#and that is to say they are both human beings that i really. really do not like to see on my screen at all

[enigmaris]

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they���re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist]

Sorry it is 3AM and my field of study is more based on climate adaptation and mitigation as opposed to the hard science behind how climate systems work so I may not be able to explain this perfectly.

However. Unless I am completely misremembering David Wallace-Wells’ work, while it is true that scientific predictions for the degree of warming that we expect has come down over the past couple decades or so, the predictions for the severity of impacts that we will see at lower levels of warming have increased. So that is just really not an honest way of framing what he’s talking about. I believe Genevieve Guenther has a really well written criticism of the claims he makes in her book The Language of Climate Politics if anyone is interested in that.

It is important to understand that at present levels of warming we are seeing impacts that were expected at higher levels. And many climate scientists are massively concerned about this.

And like. Sure this still doesn’t mean that we’re all going to live through some sort of sci fi apocalypse movie. However I am from Florida. I expect many of the places I grew up around to become uninhabitable within my lifetime due to a combination of sea level rise, hurricanes, and extreme heat.

Also, sure we do technically have greater capabilities to adapt and respond to natural disasters. But like. I am currently in the works of beginning a semester long research project into sea level rise adaptation and we absolutely are not prepared for the scale of disasters that future climate impacts will bring. Hell we’re not even prepared for what’s happening now. My hometown was still recovering from major infrastructure damage from Hurricane Ian from 2022 when it was hit by both Milton and Helene over the course of THREE WEEKS. Like you have to realize that these horrible things that you see on the news still have effects years down the line after you’ve stopped hearing about it.

And it is also true that scientists cannot rule out the possibility of human extinction. I do not say this to fear monger. But people deserve to know that. Like we are very likely going to hit potentially major tipping points within our lifetimes.

Also. I am so sorry but choosing to believe that demand for renewables and technological innovation will save us is bullshit. The market will not work this out. Speaking as someone who is in the built environment fields there are tons of sectors other than just energy that are much more difficult to decarbonize. And the fantasy belief that like. “Green growth” on a finite planet will save us from climate disaster is just wrong. I am so sorry. But no. I can try to follow this up with more resources tomorrow. But no. This entire post is so full of misinformation that I just. I cannot figure out how to coherently explain this. Just no.

Also I am so sorry but we are not fucking going to re lower global temperatures through net negative emissions. That is literally the most absolutely bullshit claim. Jesus fucking Christ. Literally any amount of digging into carbon capture technologies will reveal that it is bullshit. It is quite literally just a bullshit diversion tactic from fossil fuel companies. All of the really great cool studies you keep seeing about how carbon capture is going to save us are being funded by them. I believe that like. Fucking Columbia Climate School is taking a ton of funding from them last I checked. It is just an excuse for fossil fuel companies to be able to keep emitting and to make people feel like the change necessary to actually tackle the climate crisis isn’t necessary. When it is. It is the same shit as tobacco companies funding studies into literally any other cause of lung cancer other than smoking.

Just like. Let’s please have a little bit of reading comprehension here too. Like okay we have avoided truly apocalyptic levels of global heating? For who? For the residents of island nations whose land will no longer be habitable due to sea level rise? For the 1,301 people who died on the Hajj pilgrimage when temperatures exceeded 50C/122F? For the people in Asheville, North Carolina who were found dead in trees because they jumped out of their upper story apartment windows and tried to climb when the water rose too high? In a town that is thousands of feet above sea level and hundreds of miles from the coast. Be so fucking serious with me right now.

This is a moment that is unprecedented within geologic history. Much less within the time that has provided a stable climate for our species to evolve. We are currently living within a mass extinction. That is fucking apocalyptic. I do not say this to fear monger. I do say this because people have the right to have an accurate understanding of what is happening so that people can understand the urgency of the present moment. I do not say this to spread the idea that things are so bad that we’re doomed and should just give up. Because that is also a horrible way of looking at this and is also very unproductive. But like. People don’t need to be lied to. People need to be educated on the actual realities of the current situation. This is not a fight that ends unless we get to the absolute worst case scenario of human extinction. Which to be clear is not something that is expected. It is just something that cannot be ruled out. Just please please do not spread this misinformation. I can try to follow this up with more resources tomorrow and do a better job of evaluating the things they’re saying and the sources they’re using.

We have already averted truly apocalyptic levels of global warming.

Yes, read that again. Let it sink in. This is what the science now says. We have already averted truly apocalyptic global warming.

To quote David Wallace-Wells, author of The Uninhabitable Earth, from his huge feature in the New York Times:

"Thanks to astonishing declines in the price of renewables, a truly global political mobilization, a clearer picture of the energy future and serious policy focus from world leaders, we have cut expected warming almost in half in just five years... The window of possible climate futures is narrowing, and as a result, we are getting a clearer sense of what’s to come: a new world, full of disruption but also billions of people, well past climate normal and yet mercifully short of true climate apocalypse." (New York Times, October 22, 2022. Unpaywalled here. Emphasis mine. And yes, this vision of the future is backed up by the current science on the issue, as he explains at length in the article.)

So we've already averted truly apocalyptic warming, and we've already cut expected warming IN HALF in just the past five years.

The pace of technology, of innovation, of prices, of feasibility, of discovery, of organizing, of grassroots movements, of movements in other countries around the world, have all picked up the pace so fast in the last five years.

Renewable technology and capacity are both increasing at an exponential rate. It's all S-curves, ones that look like this:

-via The Economist, June 20, 2024.

How much more will we manage in another five years? Another ten? Another twenty?

I know the US is about to fucking suck about the environment for the next four years. But the momentum of renewable energy is far too much to stop - both in the US (x) and around the world.

(Huge shoutouts to India, China, and Brazil for massive gains for the environment in renewables, and Brazil for massive progress against Amazon deforestation.)

We're going to get there.

Say it with me. We're going to get there.

[love-marimo]

The Strawhats x Model!Reader (Modern AU)

Lolita's Note: these are really short. just a few (some are platonic and some are romantic) headcanons for the strawhats with a model (gender neutral) reader! a bit of suggestive stuff (mostly crack) on sanji, zoro and brook's. enjoy ♡

cw: mentions of smoking and drinking.

Franky

he's going to be SUUUUUPER supportive about your career.

i imagine him to be a mechanic/engineer in the modern au so your pairing is definitely unconventional

will develop an app that detects nearby castings when you're on the go.

and if he can sit somewhere in the audience during one of your shows, he's gonna put up a sign that says something like "I LOVE YOU MY SUPER HOT PARTNER"

will might get kicked out for obnoxiously cheering for you.

Usopp

he'll definitely think you're cool and will brag about you a lot to his peers.

so much so that he'll make up lies like you're also secretly the designer, or you're the highest paid model (even if you aren't).

he gets so mesmerized when he sees you walk in those pretty clothes and he will definitely take photos of you.

like a lot

will run a secret fan account that you will never find out and he'll brag about you lots on there.

Robin

this woman has connections. a LOT of it. she's the most likely out of all the strawhats to sit front row because of how many people she knows and she's affiliated with.

you both follow each other on instagram and people love to see what you two post. you're definitely a power couple, both online and offline.

your stories and feed will scream quiet luxury and glamour, and everyone is here for it.

she'll help you grow in your career and you might even rise to the top because of her.

she's like your manager and she'll do it for free just because she loves you so much.

Nami

you will be models together. period. no questions asked.

absolutely goes crazy during fashion week. she'll plan all your outfits a year ahead and she's very good at predicting trendy pieces in every. season.

will go with you to every casting and will not settle if the directors don't hire the both of you.

like robin, your online presence will scream power couple.

but the difference is you'll post a variety of things online.

one moment there's the baddest, coolest, and most amazing runway photos of you both and the next there is a video of you having the worst jet lag ever.

Jinbe (if he was human)

need a bouncer? say no more. he's got you covered.

this man will immediately know if there are sketchy people who pretend to do castings.

so you will go to him for advice about it especially when you're just starting out.

if you have an international gig, he'll pack you a lot of essentials (toiletries, medicine, staple clothes, you name it) and he'll be your personal body guard until you reach the airport.

make sure to send him photos, he'll definitely collect those and all the magazines that has you in it.

Luffy

do not bring him to an hour long fashion show, or his restless ass won't take it.

that said, he's also going to be very supportive even if he doesn't understand and relate to your kind of work.

he's the type to wait for your turn and then leave once he knows you're not gonna show up anymore.

will go 0o0 every time he sees you in designer clothing. and he will ask for a photo before you set out to stage.

he's so oblivious that there was one time where he innocently and confidently asked the designer themselves to take a photo of you.

you were definitely scared of being reprimanded and black listed.

luckily his child like charm lets the both of you get away with it.

Chopper (if he was human)

poor baby, he's going to be so confused.

he has no idea how the modeling industry works but he tries his best!!

will get lost in thought, admiring all the models (especially you) who wear the most unbelievable and extraordinary (to his eyes) pieces he's ever seen.

he's that little brother who claps and goes starry-eyed even if he doesn't know what's going on.

in his head he's like "cool cool cool cool!!!"

if he catches you smoking backstage he gets angry, and the other models will find that cute.

the thing is though, he's so well versed in medicine that he convinces all of you to stop smoking.

Sanji

oh boy.

this man is even worse than franky

he's not gonna scream or whistle or do loud things in a regular show (rtw or haute couture)

but! BUT

do not invite him to a bikini show like the VS Angels.

this man will get a sensory overload and will collapse.

also runs a fan account about you and is SHAMELESS about it.

he will post the most out of pocket captions that you have to take his phone away for a week.

Zoro

this man is so fine that underwear and fitness companies want to hire him.

he is not interested. he'd rather see you model for a bikini calendar (which he'll definitely buy)

will also be your personal bodyguard. and he'll be secretly happy about it.

prefers to watch you model for photoshoots than walk the runway. he doesn't like waiting and he wants to focus on only you.

will be your personal errand boy and will take you out drinking after shows.

Brook (if he was still alive as a human)

this old man will either be the sound engineer, or the performer in one of your shows.

do not also take him to bikini shows or he will go around backstage reveling in all the panties he sees.

otherwise, he's pretty chill. he will socialize with other guests and talk about how pretty all the clothes are.

will also go to fashion week with you and get the attention of a lot of street photographers.

ー Lolita

[vexwerewolf]

How would you add depth and complexity to the culture of the Purview?

Right now, the KTB gets way more attention both because of the two supplements dedicated to it and because the competing noble houses each with its different gimmick and political alignment make it so easy to come up with drama and intrigue.

Meanwhile the Purview seems, both in and out of fiction, flat and uniform. I'm sure its leadership would want to see it and have it seen that way, but given how much it keeps expanding, and therefore adding new cultures to itself, it would have to have a lot of diversity under the hood, even if it would like to pretend otherwise.

I definitely think the Purview has a harder time of it than the KTB, but that's largely because we have a Field Guide to the KTB, whereas the Field Guide to Harrison Armory never got published because of Miguel's non-compete.

There's also the problem that the KTB has this... glamour to it, in both the modern and traditional senses of the word. I've noticed this in a lot of sci-fi properties - that applying the veneer of nobility and monarchy to something can make people forget or forgive its transgressions more easily.

When Harrison Armory, the nationalist corprostate, does imperialist expansion, we can point at it and immediately say "that's a fascism" (even when it's actually... not? Imperialist expansion is always bad but it's not always necessarily fascistic). But somehow, when the KTB do the same or sometimes worse things, like using nanite terror weapons on Free Sanjak, I've noticed people are quicker to make excuses? Like, oh, yeah that's obviously bad but their society works different the KTB are a big place and like of course they're shitty traditionalists and that's really only the Hagiographs and at least the Karrakin have Republican elements who want change and reform and yeah it's bad but aren't Knightly Chivalrous Mechs Just So Gosh Darned Cool?!

I think the nuance of the KTB is also helped by the fact that they're explicitly depicted as non-monolithic. There are ten named Major Houses with their own distinct cultures, politics and homeworlds, and great pains are taken to ensure us that there's multifarious cultures and religions even on an individual world. HA suffers because to some extent it would be more monolithic - it's a nationalist corprostate with only 400 years of history, compared to the KTB's hybrid elective-monarchy neofeudal federation with 10,000.

HA is distinctly American in the way that the nation has become a brand, and a good citizen has to remain on-brand, so things would be more homogenized. To add to that, omninet and blinkgate technology has existed for the whole of HA's lifespan. The unique and distinct cultures of the KTB worlds came about largely because they spent millennia separated from one another by light years. HA has never had this issue, and likely never will. They have the option - and, more importantly, are motivated - to keep a homogenous culture across all of the Purview.

Lancer is fundamentally a game about examining and fighting against unjust structures of power that oppress people but also being larger-than-life heroes that have fun doing it, and the KTB has an innate leg up by virtue of the fact that it has what I'd call a really strong "initial sell:" YOU'RE A SPACE KNIGHT! SPACE KNIGHTS ARE COOL! (PLEASE DON'T EXAMINE SPACEE FEUDALISM!)

To make Harrison Armory compelling, you'd need a similarly strong initial sell for them. And I think I know just the thing.

FOR HUMANITY! FOR LIBERTY! FOR HARRISON! (Please don't examine space nationalism!)

If I were to write the Harrison Armory Field Guide (Tom and Miguel HMU - just kidding. Unless...?), I'd make it BIG and LOUD and OVER THE TOP and OBVIOUS PROPAGANDA with insertions of the actual truth from a HORUS hacker on the side. I'd put Harrison Armory's positioning as "liberators of the galaxy" front and center - "we dive feet-first into hell to save people from tyrants and slavers. We do the work even the UDoJ/HR won't do. Please do not examine our imperialism or social credit system."

[olenoidedserratuspilled]

This is a lovely thread you have going on here, so I'll go ahead and do that thing when I butt in and shit all over it with my trademark doomerisms. If that's not something you wanna read, ignore the post from this point forward.

I'll preface this response by saying I'm AMAB. Do I identify as a man? I don't know and I don't care to know. I don't genuinely believe any of what I'm about to say, I'm only playing devil's advocate.

TERFy fearmongering about trans women being fundamentally dangerous derives from exactly the same toxic, fucked-up view of male sexuality - and of male existence - espoused by Evangelism: that all men are biologically predisposed to predation, violence and other sexual evils, such that they can't ever really be trusted.

While this is true, it misses the root both sentiments share: humans, regardess of gender, have an innate capacity for violence and harm. Said violence and harm often takes on the form of sexual predation when it comes from men. For much of history institutions enabled that human predisposition in men rather than attempting to combat it. You already know this, of curse.

Why's this relevant? Because you can never tell who has or lacks the predisposition for that kind of violence. It's the poisoned M&M allegory, the old game of hawks and doves. The hawks will always fight you for food while the doves will always share it, but you can't tell the hawks from the doves. Safest bet is to assume all others are hawks.

Violence directed against women by men is a widespread problem! But it doesn't follow that a majority of men are bad by default

Says who? "Many men are dangerous so most men are potentially dangerous" may not be objectively true, but it's a logical reaction to observable fact, and many people hold that view their whole lives without any issue. If there's no incentive, internal or external, to change a belief, why change it? "Because it's wrong" doesn't count as an incentive.

Many have been trained to entitlement and bad behaviour by patriarchal systems and misogynist ways of thinking, which are both things we have the power to change.

Why should we? It's not our job to educate/change them. If they don't want to change themselves, what reason is there to not just go "Fuck 'em"? The majority of female separatists I've seen, for example, understand that first half perfectly well and still arrive at my conclusion. I know I don't agree with them, but my bias on the matter should be obvious.

Attemping to affect this change and bring about equality is the core conceit of feminism, and we can see, very demonstrably, that it works.

Says who? Many feminists ont his very website disagree with it being the core conceit of feminism, or a conceit of it at all. Many posit that it doesn't work, and all indicators of it working are fabrications, outliars or insufficient. Maybe they're factually wrong, but if their message has the wider reach and greater staying power, do the facts even matter? I don't really think the do.

You're not only saying that the long-term goal of feminism is impossible

Oh it's very much possible. What you do is that you just punish all men collectively. Be it through isolation, termination or whichever other method you prefer. I think it'd be morally abhorent to do that, but if there's enough demand for it, what's it matter what I think?

For what it's worth, this isn't me saying everyone with "Kill All Men" on their bio actually means it. I don't think they do, but it'd be ideologically consistent if they did. That's the point I'm trying to get at here: the goal is to end the patriarchy. If you get the job done, who cares how you did it? Doesn't matter the color of the cat, as long as it catches mice, and it definitely doesn't matter what the mice think about it.

you're functionally agreeing with every disgusting, sexist rape-apologist who brushes off assault and misogyny as "boys will be boys" and "men are just like that."

Easy solution. Can't agree with them if they're all dead. Or isolated off in their own separate society. Whichever you find more palatable.

Their misdeeds aren't synonymous with their masculinity, but are rather choices they specifically have made.

Says who? If you decide that masculinity is defined by those choices, then yes they're synonymous with masculinity. Words can mean anything you want them to, if you an get enough people to agree with you. Is that fair? It is if you define "Fair" to include it.

rather than representing some default state of cruelty to which all men naturally revert, misogyny is instead taught

All this means is that misogyny can't spread if there are no men to learn it. Sounds like an easy fix. I know what you're saying! "That's not biologically possible! How will we reproduce?". There are a few answers:

A) It's not biologically possible yet. We just have to make it so.

B) The "good ones" can stay, under our conditions.

C) Who says we need to reproduce?

I find all of them morally repugnant, but then again, who asked me?

The teaching itself, while offering contextual authority to men, can also be harmful to them.

And why should you give a shit? They brought it upon themselves, it's their fault to begin with, they'd never show you the same sympathy you show them. If they hate it so much they can always just choose the rope. All of those are horrific things to say, sure, but who cares as long as the crowd agrees with them?

So why am I saying all of this, exactly? Because I think you're talking at a brick wall. I think the time to talk about this came and went a long time ago, and trying to do it now is only gonna get you grief. You can't reverse entropy. You're on fucking Tumblr, for crying out loud. People here just see the word "men" and start typing up Anon hate.

But sure, keep punching the tip of that knife the rest of your life. Have fun.

I cannot express how jarring it was after being raised by a "Porn Addiction Coach" to get into a relationship with a woman and come face to face with the fact that she did actually want me to sexually desire her.

Like, in Evangelical Purity Culture, male desire was basically poison. It was a threat. It was this constant temptation that would destroy everything. And even after leaving, in the sort of queer, feminist spaces i spend most of my time in that wasn't something that pretty much anyone was spending time actively dissuading me from feeling.

But my desire is good. It's not something that I'm being accepted in spite of. It's a positive thing. It's a bonus. Not even just vanilla stuff, all the stuff I'd convinced myself were these weird terrible desires that were shameful to have.

It honestly took me over a decade to fully accept that. To stop dissociating during sex and confront that I was, in fact, being a massive perv and that was fantastic and preferable and that I could accept that into my self-image without shame or self hatred.

But it's important to do. It's important to leave relationships that don't welcome that part of you. To know that your sexuality is valuable and valid and worth owning and celebrating. Because the alternative is just...not being. Either existing as yourself and repressing the part of your identity that is sexual or allowing that sexuality to exist but turning off your self while it does.

[beneathsilverstars]

what does the party think of loop being a different siffrin. like why theyre here. likee do they think loop is a siffrin who.. succeeded? a siffrin who died?

[context: Dagger Ending AU]

Ooh yes. Here's everyone's theories from the first week or two, and what Loop had to say about them!

They've all discussed their theories together (though with some details omitted when Bonnie's there), and they have varying opinions on each other's, but they mostly stick to arguing their own if just because they have a clandestine bet going on. Maybe a little gauche, but sometimes you need to lighten the mood by acting the same way you do for sillier topics.

Bonnie's theory: Siffrin asked the stars for a friend.

Bonnie's story is inspired by some fairytales they were told when they were younger. Those fairytales were inspired by stories from the forgotten island, so Bonnie's version here actually brings it closer to the originals again! Though of course, with a Vaugardian twist.

Bonnie says: Siffrin was worried about being left alone, so since he really likes the stars for some reason, he asked the stars to be his friend forever. So one of the stars came down to be with him! But obviously a dot of light wouldn't make a very good friend, so they had to Change to be a person — and a dot of light that isn't a person yet wouldn't know how to Change right yet, so they just cheated and copied Siffrin. But it's impossible to Change to be exactly like another person, you can only ever be a new version of yourself, so that's why Loop isn't the exact same as Siffrin.

Bonnie: I know you don't want to explain to us why there's two of you, and why you're not a— you're... more different than people can normally be, but if I tell you my thee-ry, will you at least just say if I'm right? Loop: Hm... Probably not. Loop: But you should tell me anyway! [Bonnie explains their theory.] Loop: Aw! That's a very cute story~ [Loop's smile becomes more forced.] Loop: That is all I am, aren't I? A star friend for pooor little Siffrin, so he doesn't have to be all alone? Bonnie: I knew it!!! Bonnie: Do you miss being a normal star, up in the sky? [Loop takes a deep breath.] Loop: I miss a lot of things. But I asked to be here. Bonnie: Oh! Did you ask for a friend, too? It would make sense for the stars to pick you to send, if you were lonely too. Loop: ... I did! You're very good at this. Bonnie: Of course I am!!! Loop: You know, you should tell your story to stardust. I think they'll like it better than I do. [Bonnie runs off to tell Siffrin about it, and then to tell the other adults that Loop said they were totally right.]

Isabeau's theory: Loop is a sadness made out of Siffrin's self-hatred and loneliness.

There's stories about people finding "their" sadness that mirrors them exactly, including both fiction that uses it as a metaphor for inner battles, and folktales that claim to be true. Isabeau used to not believe the folktales at all, because they vary so wildly, and surely one single person's emotions couldn't be strong enough to make a sadness as sapient as some of the stories claim — no sadnesses are that clever, not even the big powerful ones that are made out of so many people's emotions that they aren't even vaguely human-shaped.

But, now, well... If it is possible, it's hard to find any negative emotions stronger than the reasons someone tried to kill themself. And it's undeniable that Loop seems to be closer to a sadness in physiology than they are to any living creature.

Plus, there could very well be some other factor that pushed Loop into full personhood! Some of the stories include the sadness feeding on its originator until the person wastes away and the sadness takes their place, which is far-fetched, but so is this whole situation. Or, animating a statue kind of involves putting a bit of yourself into it — your craft energy, your intentions — so perhaps Siffrin had put a lot of themself into Loop, in a way that isn't possible with something nonliving. It would explain the craft exhaustion, too, if Siffrin had fueled Loop's becoming in some way or another.

Isabeau: Bonnie said you said they were right. That you're a star sent to be Sif's friend. Loop: I'm sure they did. Isabeau: ... But it's not true, right? [Loop looks away.] Loop: ... I didn't actually tell them it was. I didn't lie to them. Just... parts of it. Isabeau: Parts of it were true? Isabeau: Which parts? Loop: ... What do you think? Isabeau: Well, it would depend on exactly how they worded it, wouldn't it? They keep changing their mind on the details. Loop: What do you think, then? Isabeau: About… Loop: Me. Isabeau: Right. [Isabeau makes a face.] Isabeau: I... don't know that it would do any good to tell you. Loop: Wow, that bad, huh? Now I have to hear it. Isabeau: Just, promise you won't take it the wrong way? [Loop squints at him.] Loop: I'll take it whatever way I want. Isabeau: Alright, fair enough. Alright. But, whether or not my theory is true, that doesn't change how I think about you, okay? You're a person, and you're our friend, and I'm glad you're here with us. Loop: Just get on with it, Fighter. Isabeau: Yeah, yeah, alright. Isabeau: It’s... I think you might be a sadness? [Loop gasps dramatically.] Loop: Ooooh, how could you~? Isabeau: There would definitely have to be more to it. You are a person, and you're stable, Sif's moods don't affect you any more than they do the rest of us. But... you're not human. You don't need to sleep, you can't eat, you're just... not made out of living stuff? But you're not artificial either, you're not an inanimate thing that's been crafted to move. You're alive! And there's only one sort of... being... that I know of, that's alive but not living. And, well... Sif...... Loop: ... They were so very, very sad. Isabeau: Yeah. Loop: Well! It does make sense! Loop: Of course you'd go for the depressing, realistic answer! Loop: You're entirely wrong, of course, but... Loop: I... [Loop looks down at their hands.] [They move their hands up, to grip their arms.] Isabeau: Sorry. I knew you wouldn't like it. I swear it really, really doesn't matter, okay? However you... got here... you're here now, and you're you, and we're glad of it. Loop: ... Isabeau: I'll go see if Bonbon needs any help with dinner.

Mirabelle's theory: Siffrin killed himself, and he both got brought back to life and lived on as a ghost.

To be exact, he successfully(-ish?) committed suicide when he said he was going to go take a nap in the meadow. She thinks it's an earlier attempt rather than the one Odile saw because: Siffrin had originally told Isabeau he wanted to talk again with someone he'd spoken to the day before — which could only have happened earlier in the day, because Siffrin was never left alone later — and while that could be a lie it also explains how Siffrin knew that Loop was at the favor tree at all; Odile mentioned how confident and unflinching he was about it, which could be explained by having done it before; and everyone agrees that the recent changes in Siffrin started, though more subtly, after the nap in particular.

Siffrin not dying from his late afternoon attempt isn't necessarily as much of a factor — Vaugardian ghost lore includes stories of people being haunted by earlier versions of themselves that they’d Changed away from, so there’s precedence for living people having ghosts. Of course this means there are other major Changes besides death (or deciding to die) that can create a ghost, but the other ways Siffrin has changed don't seem quite dramatic enough in the right way to have been the catalyst. In fact, it’s strange than Loop seems to be the more Changed of the two! But perhaps pre-Dormont Siffrin actually was more like Loop and just hid it better, or perhaps Siffrin used to be more like Loop at an earlier point in their life, and had somewhat Changed but not enough to be happy with themself. Either way, any of Loop's traits that post-Dormont Siffrin doesn't seem to share much at all would be parts of themself that pre-Dormont Siffrin "killed".

Mirabelle: Loop... You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but... Are you a ghost? Loop: You know, stardust guessed the same thing! And I told them... Well, I don't remember anymore. Something about the Favor Tree being my grave? Loop: Anyway, you could sort of say that! Except, how could I be his ghost when he didn't actually die? You made sure of that. Mirabelle: Well... I thought maybe... Mirabelle: Maybe Siffrin did kill themself? Before that? And you're the parts of Siffrin that they killed, but you stayed because... because you still had things to get done, or Siffrin still needed you, or… or something like that...? Loop: HA! Loop: Yeah, something like that!!! [Loop laughs hysterically for a bit, then suddenly stops.] Loop: ... Go away, Housemaiden. [Mirabelle leaves to fetch Siffrin.] [While she's gone, Loop leaves the camp.] [Siffrin finds them and brings them back several hours later.]

Odile's theory: Siffrin wished for a companion.

The final loop through the house didn't include either of the forgotten language books on wish craft, but it did include discussion of the impossibility of time craft, and the diary where a lonely person wished for a copy of themself. Odile initially dismissed the diary as creative fiction, but it was still fresh on her mind when she met Loop later that day!

During the next couple days in Dormont, she asked Euphrasie about how she crafted Mirabelle's blessing, because she loves cutting-edge craft. The conversation turned to the King's impossible time craft, and Euphrasie said she thinks he probably used wish craft. She explained that she doesn't know much because it's hard to find anything more than brief mentions of it, but she's confident it's real. She's pretty sure you need to do very particular things in order to use it, though — not any old wish will do — and she doesn't know what those things are. But it's probably the only way the King could have gotten the power to stop time, and there's a chance that the people of Vaugarde’s wishes for salvation contributed to his defeat (but she's not sure because who knows if anyone actually wished the right away).

Now, knowing that wish craft could be real… it’s strange to think that Siffrin might know about something basically unheard of. But they did know about the orrery in the house, and caring about stars is basically unheard of, too! And… Loop says they’re a star… and the King has stars on his armor….. And it’s risky to use one guess as evidence for another, but that could be three instances where the shape or knowledge of stars appeared alongside the use or knowledge of wish craft. And Siffrin spoke to Loop at the Favor Tree, and supposedly that’s where they spoke the day before too, and a Favor Tree is a place where you ask for something you want.

Siffrin’s craft exhaustion could be a point for or against; on one hand, making a copy of yourself must be powerful craft, but on the other hand, wish craft was what allowed the King to perform craft so strenuous that it should’ve instantly killed him. Plus, Siffrin’s exhaustion didn’t hit till at least a full day after they went to the Favor Tree alone the first time. So Odile doesn’t know enough to call that factor either way.

And why would Siffrin try to kill themself shortly after their wish came true? Was it just not everything they hoped it would be? Siffrin and Loop fight a lot, but they obviously care for each other a lot, too… But maybe even getting something they really wanted could make a depressed person feel worse, if it doesn't help as much as they hoped it would, and they decide that means they’re hopeless.

Odile decided on this theory by day three. There are other mysteries that aren’t as neatly explained by it, like the ease with which Siffrin navigated the house, but perhaps they’d made a second wish? Or perhaps that was the influence of the Vaugardian wishes that Euphrasie talked about? And over the following weeks, Siffrin’s behavior has only gotten stranger, in worrying, unexplainable ways. Odile is finding many different pieces to an unknown number of puzzles… but she’s fairly certain she’s got a good start on the Loop corner.

Loop: Well, Researcher? Everyone else has told me their theories on what and how and why I am. What's yours? Odile: I was wondering when you’d ask. My best theory is that Siffrin made a wish — for a friend who wouldn’t leave him, or someone who understood what he felt, or something along those lines — and your existence was the answer. Loop: … Loop: Same story as the Kid, huh? Odile: You did say that they got parts of it right. Loop: It just seems a bit unrealistic for you, Researcher~ Stardust wished for a friend and one just fell out of the sky? Odile: Your entire existence is unrealistic, Loop. But if a craft has the power to freeze an entire country in time, surely it also has the power to create life. Or split it, perhaps. Loop: … But the king used time craft. What does that have to do with wish craft? Odile: The Head Housemaiden of Dormont believes wish craft is what gave him the power to stop time. Loop. W- How does she know about wish craft?? Odile: How do you, Loop? Loop: The— It’s— [Odile waits patiently.] Loop: The book! The, the diary, in that room, with the— the thing for the stars. It talked about wish craft. Odile: Ah, of course. The diary of a person who felt lonely and misunderstood, so they used wish craft to make a copy of themself. The diary you’ve never seen, because you… branched off, let’s say, the day before we fought through the House. Loop: Stardust told me about it! Odile: Of course. You know, they remember a surprising amount about the House? It's been several weeks, and you'd think between the traumatic injury the day before and the fevers afterwards, even the average person would consider it all a bit of a blur. But they still remember details that the others have forgotten, about conversations it seemed they were barely paying attention to. Even one or two things that I don't remember at all. [Loop breathes shallowly.] Loop: W— What are you implying? Odile: Nothing in particular. However shaky the wish craft theory seems, I'm even less sure about everything else. Loop: Well, you should be! Because there is nothing else! [Odile sighs.] Odile: I'm sorry, I know you don't want us knowing about these things. You and Siffrin both. But he's... not doing well. [Loop looks away.] Odile: And frankly, I don't think you are, either. But we can't help if we don't know what the problem is! It's your choice not to tell us, but I'm not going to stop trying to figure it out. Loop: It doesn't matter! The other things. He has you now, all four of you. You're helping. They'll be okay. Odile: What about you, Loop? Loop: ... I'm helping too. I'm trying. I'm here to help them. Odile: Loop... [Odile is about to say something, but stops. She takes a deep breath before continuing.] Odile: It would help a great deal if you and he could be more open with us. Loop: ... Odile: Can I take this as confirmation of my theory, at least? Loop: ... Not quite. Odile: But I'm close. [Loop doesn't claim otherwise.]

[dalishious]

Hi, hope you're doing well!

I had to unfollow you/block a lpt of tags for a while until I beat datv but I'm so happy to be back. You're one of the first da blogs I followed, and I see you've gotten a lot of argumentative people at the moment, but I just want to say I think that you're great, and I appreciate the candid way you answer people.

Just a quick question, you said Taash's rivaini route had a lot of bullshit? I've just beaten the game for the first time and that was the route I chose so I was wondering if you could elaborate?

Thank you!

Disclaimer: A lot of this is written from a personal place. In no way am I trying to discredit anyone who feels differently. That even includes Trick Weekes, when it comes to the gender stuff at least. And please keep hatred of Taash out of this post; as I say in the end, I do still really enjoy Taash as a character!

The player first meets Taash when still identifying as a woman. However, Taash soon comes to realize they are not a woman; they are non-binary. While most of this answer will be quite critical of Taash’s story, there are positives I would like to acknowledge first. For example, I do think that the dialogue options surrounding the acceptance of Taash’s gender is fairly good. I like that you can be encouraging but not pushy about them exploring their identity further, when the topic first comes up. If you play as a non-binary character yourself, you are able to relate to Taash on a personal level, and provide them with a sense of kinship outside that which they seek from the Shadow Dragons, (who apparently double as both abolitionists and queer support group?) The game makes it clear that Taash’s gender is not just player-reactive; if the player chooses to avoid Taash’s personal questline, Taash still later on announces they are non-binary and use they/them pronouns now, with a game notification letting you know they went and embraced that with the help of Neve and Harding. And while some people have criticized the use of terms like non-binary as “not being fantasy enough” for their tastes, I personally think it’s perfectly fine to be overt like that, instead of dancing around the topic. I saw a post on a recommended Facebook page from some cis person who said they learned a lot about gender diversity because the game went out of the way to be so blatantly inclusive. Yes, there are a moments I can agree are kind of cringe, but lord knows there’s plenty of cringe in other regards as well with the writing, so it’s not like it’s exclusive to Taash’s gender writing. Overall, I think it’s a good exploration about someone stepping outside of a binary view of gender, except for one glaring problem: It is so very, very, white.

Trick Weekes, Taash’s writer, is non-binary themself, but they are also a settler living in the colonial project known as Canada. And that has very clearly influenced their perspective on how they think gender and culture works. With Taash’s writing for the Rivaini route, Weekes paints a picture that their gender journey must come at the sacrifice of their cultural identity, as if the two must be distinctive, separate things. What’s worse, is how binary the cultural identity aspect to Taash’s story is; ironic for a character who is supposed to be about stepping outside a box like that!

Not once, not twice, but three times, Rook is forced to choose to convince Taash if they should be Rivaini or Qunari. The first time, there is an option to say “why not both?” But that option is not present the second or third time the dialogue prompt comes up. The one that hurt me the most is when Taash is clearly having a breakdown over who they want to be vs. who they were raised to be, and the only way to try and console them is to make them pick a singular thing to identify as.

I also think it was a hugely missed opportunity, in choosing to have a bunch of Tevinter humans be Taash’s only source of learning about gender diversity. We know from codex entries that they talk to the Shadow Dragons about that topic, but apparently no one else? Why not have Taash consult a Rivaini Seer for advice, or hell, how about adding more qunari characters who aren’t just standard brutes to mash buttons against in a fight? So, in limiting the scope of this knowledge to just Tevinter humans, Taash is only getting more reinforcement that gender comes before any other cultural identity.

As a Two-Spirit person, I cannot stress enough that gender and culture do not exist in two separate vacuums. They can overlap and/or can be essentially under the same umbrella. So, when Weekes writes about Taash struggling with cultural identity and gender identity at the same time, I can understand that feeling so well. But I cannot understand the written approach Weekes takes. The message I received was “your gender is more important than your culture.” Which again, I must stress is such a white colonial idea of queerness.

I do really like Taash despite these shortcomings from Weekes, though. Just like how I really like Sera despite Kristjanson’s bullshit in Inquisition. I’m not about to hate on a character just because there are certain parts of their writing that I think should have been handled better, when there are more parts that are really fun about Taash. They are so refreshingly autistic-coded in a way that doesn’t punish them for being so, for example.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

My dearest Yve,

I actually teared up reading this—no joke. The fact that you took the time to write such an in-depth analysis and appreciation for the little details means the world to me. It genuinely overwhelmed me (in the best way possible). So, in return, I’m going to take my time to respond to each and every one of your comments. But first, I owe you an apology for taking so long to reply... ms girl had a little detour to A&E over the weekend LMFAO (I’m fine now!).

You raised such a great point about how loud MC was when she threw the can. I actually debated whether I should keep that in, but ultimately, I left it because I felt it reflected the impulsive nature of humans. At that moment, she was starving and had risked her life to find food only to discover that it was rotten. I wanted to capture that raw frustration. The fact that this was the very first paragraph and you already caught onto such a small detail blows my mind.

YES! In every zombie film or show I’ve seen, the biggest threat is almost never the zombies. And that’s the irony, isn’t it? Because zombies were humans once. It really highlights how, dead or undead, human beings are always the ultimate apex predators.

Thank you for appreciating the comparative parallel in the nightmare line EHEHEHE

When I was planning her character, the only thing I knew for certain was that she needed to be independent. By extension, that meant making her a complete badass who doesn’t rely on others to survive. I think this also stems from her past experiences with survival groups and after being on her own for so long, she’s developed an instinct to act rather than wait for problems to resolve themselves. She’s practical and hardened by her reality, but at the core of it all, she’s still human, with fragile emotions beneath the surface.

OMG, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for noticing that none of the boys stepped in to help her! Having them swoop in to save her would have completely undermined her character. She survived almost a year alone in a zombie apocalypse—she’s not about to need a man to rescue her from one zombie. Also, “In your bed” is crazy, by the way!

THANK YOU AGAIN for noticing the fact that both the reader and MC don’t immediately know who’s speaking? That was so difficult to write during the motel sequence, but I’m so glad it paid off. And Ni-ki being that obvious? LMAO.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you actually take notes while reading. You are truly one of a kind, and honestly, every writer deserves a reader like you.

Even though you told me not to answer, I'm going to do it anyway. Yes, you are a freak for enjoying the scenes where she's running for her life. BUT, I am also a freak for writing them. So really, we’re just in this together.

I knew Jay was the perfect fit for the cautious character because, in my mind, he’s someone who is wise and learns from experience. I actually debated between him and Sunghoon for this role but ultimately went with Jay. Also, JAYWON.

You are so valid for saying you would’ve up and left too. Honestly, same. The only reason MC didn’t was because she didn’t want to be like the people from her last group. As pragmatic as she is, she hates being proven wrong.

So, we’re both SE Asian, Libras, AND Jungwon-biased? Shayla, tell me this isn’t fate.

AGREED ABOUT THAT TRAIN TO BUSAN CHARACTER. Had me pulling out my hair watching. The selfish, stubborn characters always survive too long for my liking. And it makes sense because If you put yourself first, you stand a better chance of making it out alive.

To clear up any confusion about how the zombies in this AU function, they rely on whatever senses are still available to them. I assume you were referring to the line “empty eye sockets seem to bore into you.” In that case, the zombie had no eyes and was relying on sound cues. Later on, I used “milky eyes” to describe those that do still have their vision. Basically, they react to whatever they can—sound, the smell of blood, movement—if something grabs their attention, they go for it!

That’s it. That’s the message. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

XOXO, Nat <3

SAFE & SOUND — part 1

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 14k

MASTERLIST

Rotten.

The can of tuna you’ve risked your life to retrieve from the mart in the next neighbourhood is rotten. Just like everything else roaming the streets.

The smell hits you first, sharp and metallic, curling through the air like a mocking laugh. It’s only when you peer into the greyish sludge that you know for sure. Gagging, you launch the can across the dimly lit room. The clang as it hits the wall feels louder than it should, echoing against the hollow silence. A greasy smear marks its path before it rolls to a stop.

Your stomach tightens, but not from hunger—not entirely. It’s exhaustion, or frustration, or both, a familiar cocktail of feelings that churns in your gut. You press a hand to your stomach, willing it to stay quiet. The small victories matter now, even if they’re as simple as keeping quiet.

“Figures,” you mutter, wiping your hands on the knees of your tattered jeans. The word feels heavy in the thick silence of the abandoned community building you’ve been calling home—a makeshift fortress that’s only just kept you alive for the past year.

The windows are boarded up with planks you scavenged from nearby wreckage, letting in only the faintest cracks of moonlight, casting fractured shadows on the walls. The small corner where you sleep is enclosed by a barricade of furniture you've managed to tie together with ropes and scraps of cloth you’ve gathered. It’s not perfect, but it’s held so far.

Outside, the telltale groans of the undead float through the night air, mingling with the distant sound of screams and breaking glass. You’ve learned to tune it out, to pretend that the world hasn’t fallen apart.

But every so often, when the noises grow too close or too many, the illusion shatters, leaving behind a pit of fear in your stomach that no amount of fortification can fill.

You lean back, letting your head hit the wall. The cracks in the paint catch against the rough weave of your jacket, the sound gritty and small. Your mind drifts back to that fateful day, the day everything went to shit.

You’d only been living in Seoul for a month, you were barely unpacked, just starting to memorise the labyrinth of subway lines, the shortcuts to your university. University acceptance had felt like the first step towards something bigger, something brighter. You can still see your parents’ faces, lit with pride, when you shared the news. Getting into a university in Seoul—it’s like gaining instant bragging rights for life.

Except now, none of it matters. Those things out there couldn’t care less about your alma mater, whether you’re earning a six-figure salary or pulled from the gutter. To them, you’re just another meal on legs—flesh, blood, and bone all blending into the same, mindless craving.

You’d always thought you’d know what to do in a zombie apocalypse. Every movie and survival guide said the same thing:

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

So when the news started to break, you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed a bag—essentials only—and set out, determined to make it back to your parents in the province. You didn’t even pause to think about how impossible it might be.

But the city had other plans. You hadn’t even made it ten blocks before the streets were overrun. A tide of chaos, of screams and shoving bodies—alive and not—forced you off course.

The community building was a last-ditch refuge, its doors flung open to anyone desperate enough to run for them. You’d barely made it inside before the barricades went up. It wasn’t the plan, but then again, nothing about survival ever is.

At first, it felt like a haven. There were enough supplies to keep everyone fed—if barely. Dozens of survivors shared the space, most of them too old or too scared to leave. The rations were thin, one meal a day if you were lucky, but it was enough.

You and a handful of the younger survivors took turns venturing out, gathering what you could from nearby shops and houses. It wasn’t much, but it worked.

For a time.

When the convenience store was stripped bare, you moved to the supermarket. When that was picked clean, you ventured further. Each trip took you deeper into danger, the risk growing with every step. Supplies dwindled. The fear grew sharper, harder to ignore.

People started to die—some to the undead, others to hunger, and still others to the kind of cruelty that only surfaces when survival is on the line.

You learned quickly that it wasn’t just the zombies you had to fear. You’ve seen it firsthand: the way desperation changes people.

At first, it was small things—arguments over ration sizes, whispers of distrust. But then the small petty arguments turned into fights, and fights turned into bloodshed.

One by one, people either left to take their chances elsewhere or fell victim to the chaos within. A high school student, he had barely turned eighteen, stabbed a man over a tin of peaches. A woman abandoned her own mother to save herself when the barricade was breached.

Survival strips away more than flesh—it strips away the pretence of civility, leaving only the raw, animalistic instinct to endure at any cost. It’s not just the undead that keep you awake at night—it’s the memory of what people are capable of becoming.

So when the barricade failed during a particularly viscous storm and you’d barely escaped with your life, you dragged what little you could salvage to this corner of the building, patching up the holes as best as possible. Alone, because it was safer that way.

Now, alone in the faint light of your makeshift fortress, the weight of it all presses down on you. The loneliness, the hunger, the constant, gnawing terror—it’s all too much. But you shove it aside, because there’s no room for weakness here.

Weakness gets you killed.

Your stomach growls again, insistent, and you grit your teeth. You’ll have to go out again soon. The thought sends a chill through you, but there’s no other choice. Survival doesn’t wait for fear to subside.

Taking a deep breath, you stand and reach for your weapon—a rusted crowbar that’s seen more use than you’d like to admit. Tomorrow, you’ll go out again, search for food, risk what’s left of your life to keep it from ending.

For now, you sit in the dark and listen. To the groans. To the screams. To the sound of your own ragged breathing. And try not to dream.

A loud thunk from below jolts you awake, not that you were fully unconscious in the first place. Your entire body goes rigid as you strain to listen. Another thunk. Then a scrape, like something heavy being dragged across the ground floor. Your mind races—it could be the wind, or maybe another scavenger. Or it could be them.

Your grip on the crowbar tightens as you slowly push yourself off the floor. You tiptoe toward the staircase leading down to the lobby. The wooden stairs creak under your weight as you inch down them, and you wince at each sound. They might as well be gunshots in the stillness.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you reach the landing and peer into the dark hallway beyond. Shadows shift and flicker in the faint moonlight filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The dragging sound comes again, closer this time, and your grip tightens until the ridged metal of the crowbar bites into your skin. Then, a growl echoes from the darkness. Low. Guttural. Not human.

You back up instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Your foot catches on a loose piece of debris, and you stumble, barely catching yourself on the railing. The noise you make is small but loud enough to stir the growling into a frenzy. The shuffling grows faster, more erratic.

They’re coming.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, scrambling back up the stairs. You’ve rehearsed this scenario a hundred times in your head. Go to the second floor. Block the stairwell. Wait it out. It’s worked before, but something tells you this time is different. There’s too much noise, too many of them. And you’re already running low on supplies.

By the time you reach the top of the stairs, the first figure emerges into the faint light below. Its flesh hangs from its bones in sickly, yellowed strips. Empty eye sockets seem to bore into you as it lets out a chilling moan. Behind it, more shadows lurch into view, a grotesque parade of decay and hunger.

You’re out of time.

Slamming the door to the stairwell shut, you shove a heavy desk against it and wedge the crowbar beneath the handle for good measure. The door shudders almost immediately under the weight of their assault, the moans and growls growing louder with each passing second. You back away, your mind racing for an escape route.

Your eyes dart to the boarded-up windows. It’s a long drop, but there’s a fire escape just a few feet out of reach. If you can break through the boards and make the jump, you might stand a chance. It’s a gamble, but so is staying here

And if you’re being honest, you’d rather plunge to your death than be torn apart limb by limb.

Grabbing a chair, you smash it against the nearest window. The wood splinters and cracks, but it holds firm. Behind you, the door creaks ominously as the barricade begins to give way. Desperation fuels your next swing, and the boards finally snap, leaving a jagged hole just big enough to climb through.

You don’t think—you just act, hauling yourself up and out onto the narrow ledge outside. The cold night air hits your face, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. Below, the fire escape beckons. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and leap.

For a moment, you’re weightless. Then your hands slam into the metal railing, and you scramble to pull yourself up. Your palms sting, and your muscles scream in protest, but you don’t let go. Not when survival is so close.

Behind you, the door finally gives way. The sound of splintering wood and the enraged cries of the undead spur you into action. You don’t look back as you climb down the fire escape, each step taking you further from the nightmare above, and closer to the nightmare below.

When your feet finally hit the ground, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. But it’s short-lived. The streets are no safer than the building you just escaped. Shadows move in the distance, and the faint echo of shuffling feet reminds you that you’re never truly alone.

With nothing but the clothes on your back, you start to run. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you can’t stop. Your legs burn, your lungs ache, but you keep moving, fuelled by a singular, desperate thought: keep going. Always keep going. Because if you stop, even for a moment, it’ll all be over.

The groans follow you, relentless and hungry. You don’t dare look back. Instead, you focus on the narrow alleyways and shadowed streets ahead, praying you don’t make a wrong turn.

You finally spot a building—an auto store with its doors hanging slightly ajar. Without thinking, you rush inside, slamming the door shut behind you. Your hands fumble for something—anything—to block it, and you grab a rusted toolbox, wedging it against the frame. It feels pathetic, barely a barrier, but you convince yourself it’s better than nothing.

Your breaths come fast and shallow as you scan the room. Rows of dusty shelves cluttered with tools and car parts stretch before you, their contents untouched for what feels like decades. The air is stale and heavy, carrying the faint tang of motor oil. For a fleeting moment, the oppressive noise of the streets is muffled, and you almost feel safe.

But the reprieve is short-lived.

Voices. Human voices. Low, urgent, and drawing closer.

Your stomach twists as panic sets in, sharp and paralysing. You reach for a loose screwdriver on the floor and dart behind a shelf, crouching low. Dust clings to your clothes as you press yourself against the cold metal, willing yourself to disappear.

The door creaks open, and the toolbox scrapes uselessly across the floor. You curse silently under your breath. What a waste of effort.

Boots scuff against the ground as they enter. Voices—male voices—filter through the stale air, rough and laced with tension. “That was close, fuck.” one mutters, his voice shaking. You can hear him catching his breath, the fear in his tone unmistakable.

Looks like you weren’t the only one running from the horde that came out of nowhere.

“What the hell is The Future doing in the city?” another snaps, frustration cutting through the hushed atmosphere.

The Future...?

"They're looking for us, what else?" a third man grunts, his voice deep and gravelly.

"Talk about obsessive,” a fourth says, anger simmering beneath. “We escaped more than six months ago. How are they still trying to track us down?"

“That community… they’re worse than the dead. I’d rather take my chances out here than go back there.” Five.

“You don’t get it. They’ll hunt us down. They always do,” Six.

"I mean… We stole almost six months’ worth of supplies. And a van. I'd hunt us too." This one is a little cheeky. Seven.

"Shut the fuck up,” the gravelly voice growls. “You think this is funny?”

Your mind races. A community hunting them? You’ve heard of survivors forming groups. Hell, you were part of one. But this… this sounds different. Darker.

You press yourself closer to the shelf, your gip on the screwdriver so tight your fingers cramp. Seven men, at least—that’s how many voices you can count. Could you take them? Absolutely not.

For now, the only option is to stay hidden. You force yourself to breathe slowly, silently, and focus on their words, desperate for answers. Whatever these men are running from, you need to know if it’s worse than what’s already out there—or if it’s heading straight for you.

Just then, a faint groan slices through the oppressive silence, this one agonisingly close. Your head snaps around, heart thundering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Right there, not more than a foot away and obscured beneath a grimy sheet of cardboard, something stirs. The groan rises in pitch, raw and guttural, as the cardboard shifts, revealing a face ravaged by decay. Skin, or what’s left of it, clings to its skull in uneven patches, and its milky, dead eyes lock onto yours with an almost sentient hunger.

You freeze, the breath hitching in your chest as time seems to slow. The stench of rot floods your senses, almost choking you, and a cold sweat slicks your skin.

Before you can react, the creature lurches, its skeletal hand shooting out with horrifying speed. Filthy, jagged nails scrape against your leg, finding purchase in the fabric of your jeans and digging into the flesh beneath.

A piercing shriek tears from your throat—raw, primal, and louder than you intend. The sound ricochets off the walls, each echo feeding the panic clawing at your mind.

Desperation surges like a tidal wave, drowning out coherent thought. You kick wildly, your boot connecting with the thing’s chest, but its grip is unyielding. The screwdriver slips in your sweat-slicked palm as you fumble to raise it, your muscles trembling with adrenaline-fuelled terror. Its grip tightens, nails biting deeper, and for a moment, the sickening thought flashes through your mind: You’re not getting out of this.

But then instinct takes over. With a desperate cry, you swing the screwdriver down, the metal driving into its skull in a sickening crunch. the sound reverberating through the stillness like a death knell.

The zombie spasms, its hand loosening slightly, but not enough.

Your vision narrows, fury and survival instinct blending into a single, overpowering force. You strike again, and again, each impact a visceral symphony of shattering bone and yielding flesh. The stench grows worse, cloying and metallic, as blood splatters your hands and face.

Finally, the creature goes still, collapsing into a lifeless heap at your feet. Your chest heaves as you stagger back, the screwdriver slipping from your trembling fingers to clatter against the floor. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the rasp of your own ragged breaths.

"Fuck," you whisper, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your gaze drifts down to the bloodied mess staining the floor, bile rising in your throat. You swallow hard, forcing it down. There’s no time for weakness—not now, not ever.

When you finally look up, your stomach twists into knots. Seven figures stand over you, their faces obscured by shadow but their postures unmistakably tense.

One of them steps closer, the metallic glint of a pistol catching the dim light. Your breath hitches as the cold barrel presses against your temple, its unforgiving weight a reminder of how precarious your situation has just become.

"Who the hell are you?" One of them growls, his voice low and dangerous. The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken threats, as you stare back at him, your mind scrambling for a response that might just keep you alive.

You swallow hard, your mouth dry as sandpaper. “Just… just a survivor,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. The cold barrel against your temple makes your skin crawl, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure they can all hear it. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I’ll leave. Please.”

"Drop the act," another voice cuts in, this one sharp and impatient. "The speaker steps closer, his silhouette lean and wiry, eyes narrowed. “You think we’re stupid? You’ve been listening in.”

“What should we do with her?” someone else pipes up from the shadows. His tone is casual, but the words make your stomach drop. “She could be one of them.”

“I’m not!” you blurt, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I swear, I don’t even know who you’re talking about! I just ran in here to hide!”

The gunman doesn’t lower his weapon, his piercing gaze locked onto yours. The air is thick, suffocating, as he scans your face, searching for any hint of deceit. The silence stretches unbearably until someone else breaks it.

“There’s seven of us, and she’s a girl.” one points out, this one almost amused. His tone is light, but his eyes glint with curiosity. “Not exactly the kind The Future kept around. Didn’t they kill most of their women? Called them weak or some shit.”

"Doesn’t mean she’s not a threat," the gunman mutters, but the tension in his stance eases slightly. The barrel wavers, though it remains trained on you. "Start talking. What are you doing here?"

You take a shuddering breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. "I was running from a horde," you say, jerking your head vaguely toward the door. Your voice is steadier now, but your trembling hands betray your fear.

“Where’s the rest of your group?” he asks, his tone laced with suspicion. “How many of you are there?”

“There’s no group,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just me. I’ve been on my own for months.”

"On your own?" A man near the back crosses his arms, his posture sceptical. "That’s a load of bullshit. Nobody lasts this long alone." His blonde hair gleams faintly in the dim light, a beacon that would make him laughably easy to track in broad daylight. You wonder how someone so conspicuous has managed to survive this long, especially when they’re clearly being hunted.

"I’m telling the truth," you insist, your voice firm despite the quiver in your hands. “I’ve got nothing to hide. My place got overrun. I just needed somewhere to hide.”

“What place?” the blonde man carefully makes his way in front, crouching slightly, levelling his gaze with yours. The question hangs heavy, and you know your answer could mean the difference between life and death.

“A community building,” you answer, your voice quieter now. “It’s just down the street. I can show you if you don’t believe me.”

“Show us?” Another man scoffs. “You said it was overrun? Why the hell would we follow you to a place that’s crawling with them? Are you stupid?”

You bite back a retort, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not lying,” you say, your voice sharper than before. “Look, I didn’t survive this long just to let a bunch of men decide whether to shoot me in my fucking head for being in the wrong place at the wrong bloody time.”

The man with the blonde hair tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite solve. Then he speaks again, his tone quiet but firm. “Can we trust you?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze, unflinching, and nod once. Slowly, deliberately. For a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the weight of their stares, assessing, calculating.

Finally, a simple, subtle raise of the blonde’s hand is all it takes for the gunman to lower his pistol. The others, though still wary, seem to follow his lead. Relief washes over you, but you keep your face neutral, refusing to show weakness.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jungwon.”

His name is Jungwon. It strikes you as a strangely gentle name—garden—yet nothing about him feels soft.

"If you’re lying," Jungwon warns, his tone like steel, "you won’t get a second chance." It doesn’t take long for you to realise—he’s the leader.

“I understand,” you reply, your throat tight. The words feel hollow, but they’re all you can offer.

"What’s your name?" one of them asks, his voice brighter but no less wary.

"Y/N," you reply. "And you?"

He hesitates before giving you a small, guarded smile. “Sunoo. And don’t get any funny ideas. We’re a small group, but we bite.”

The faint attempt at levity doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does little to ease the knot in your stomach. You nod again, glancing at the others. Their eyes still linger on you, like predators sizing up prey.

“You said there’s a horde,” Jungwon says, cutting through the moment. His tone is all business now. “Where’s it coming from?”

“South,” you say, your voice steady but curious. “Wait, weren’t you lot running from it too?” Your eyebrow arches as you ask, testing the waters.

“Don’t ask too many questions, or I might just kill you,” the same man who held the pistol to your head snaps, his tone as sharp as the glare he fixes on you. Tough one, you think grimly. Definitely not the friendly type.

“How big is it—the horde?” he demands, his words clipped and impatient. His posture is rigid, his eyes narrowing as though he’s daring you to lie.

“Big enough,” you answer grimly, your voice heavy with the weight of what’s chasing you. The memory of the mass of undead flashes in your mind—their grotesque forms, the relentless moans. You push it aside, forcing yourself to focus. “They’re close. If we stay here much longer, they’ll find us.”

Jungwon doesn’t hesitate. “Then we move,” he declares, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for debate. It’s a tone you’ve heard before in those who’ve seen too much, those who lead because no one else will. “Grab your things. We leave in five.”

You swallow hard, scanning their faces. They’re already moving, collecting bags and makeshift weapons, their movements practised and efficient. You take a breath, forcing your hands to stop shaking.

“There’s a motel north-east from here, just off the horde’s course.” you say, stepping forward slightly, trying to sound confident. “I cleared it out once when I couldn’t get back to the community building. I can take you there, wait for the horde to pass, and then I’ll be on my way.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you feel the tension in the room shift. The air grows heavier, colder.

Jungwon’s sharp gaze locks onto yours, his expression unreadable, but it’s not him who speaks. The man with the sharp tongue—the one who held a pistol to your head earlier—lets out a humourless laugh. “Who said anything about letting you go?” he says, his voice dripping with malice, as though your suggestion was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

The silence that follows his words feels suffocating, heavier than the looming threat of the undead outside. You try to keep your expression neutral, but the knot in your stomach tightens with each passing second. Your eyes flick to Jungwon, hoping for some sort of reprieve, but his face remains impassive, impossible to read.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” you say carefully, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I’ve survived this long on my own. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want to be in your way.”

The gunman scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. “Bold words for someone who had a gun to their head five minutes ago.”

“Enough,” Jungwon cuts in, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. The others fall silent, though their postures remain taut, their eyes still fixed on you. He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if gauging your reaction with every step.

“We don’t know you,” he says, his voice measured but carrying an edge of steel. “You could be useful, or you could be a liability. Either way, we’re not taking risks.”

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to stand your ground. “I’ve already told you—I’m not with anyone. No group, no weapons, no agenda. Just me. If you think I’m lying, you’re wasting your time.”

He watches you for a moment longer, his dark eyes scanning your face for cracks in your resolve. Finally, he speaks. “You’ll come with us,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll see what you’re worth.”

Your stomach twists, the flicker of hope you’d allowed yourself extinguished in an instant. Your jaw clenches, but you nod. There’s no point in arguing—not when they hold all the cards.

“What if she’s dead weight?” the pistol-wielding man mutters, his arms crossed as he glares at you.

“Then she’ll stay behind,” Jungwon replies coldly, his eyes still locked on yours. The words send a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to flinch.

The group moves quickly, their actions smooth and practised as they gather their supplies. You take a moment to glance at their makeshift arsenal—rusted blades, a machete, a pistol with a half-empty box of ammo. It’s not much, but it’s enough to survive. Barely.

Jungwon’s voice cuts through the room again. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”

The group falls into formation, their movements synchronised, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. You find yourself in the middle, flanked on all sides, nothing to defend yourself with. Even the mere rusty screwdriver taken away from you.

Their message is clear: you’re not one of them. They don’t trust you.

As you step out into the night, the cool air hits your face, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the room. The streets are eerily quiet, the faint groans of the undead carried on the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the shadows, every instinct screaming at you to run. But there’s nowhere to go—not empty-handed, and certainly not without them gunning you down before you even make five feet.

Jungwon takes the lead, his blonde hair catching the faint glow of the moon as he moves with purpose. You follow closely, your senses on high alert. Every shuffle of movement, every distant sound sets your nerves on edge.

Sunoo sidles up next to you, his steps light and almost casual, though the wariness in his eyes lingers. “Don’t let Jay get to you,” he says in a low voice, his lips curving into a faint smile. “That grump always tries to come off scarier than he is. He’s actually a bit of a softie.”

Jay. The name sticks in your mind, sharp and blunt at the same time, just like the man it belongs to. You glance over at him—his posture rigid, eyes scanning the shadows like a hawk. There’s nothing soft about him now, not the way he grips the pistol or the sharp edge to his jaw as he walks a few paces ahead.

“A softie?” you murmur back, your voice sceptical. “He doesn’t look the type.”

Sunoo chuckles quietly, his expression lightening. “Oh, he’s a pain in the ass, no doubt about that. But trust me, when it comes down to it, Jay always looks after the group. Even if he’s a bit dramatic about it.”

You don’t know whether to take that as reassurance or a warning.

“Does he look after the strays too?” you ask, your tone laced with cautious humour.

Sunoo raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “That depends,” he says, his tone light yet probing. “Are you planning to stay a stray?”

You don’t reply, and the silence stretches just long enough for it to become uncomfortable. Sunoo seems to take the hint, letting the question hang unanswered. His smile fades slightly, but he doesn’t press further.

Instead, he shifts gears, his voice dropping low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the others. “So, this motel of yours,” he begins, tilting his head. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, though the scepticism in his tone pricks at you. “It’s just a place I found. Empty, at least the last time I checked.”

“And if it’s not?” he presses, his brow furrowing as his sharp eyes flick to your face. There’s no malice there, just careful calculation, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re bluffing.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” you say firmly. “Like I’ve dealt with everything else.”

He studies you for a moment longer before nodding, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. “Fair enough.”

You nod back, though your attention is already shifting, your gaze flicking from Sunoo to Jungwon, before landing on Jay. He hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction since leaving the shop, but you can feel the weight of his presence, like a storm cloud hanging overhead. Softie or not, there’s no denying he’s dangerous.

This whole group is dangerous. Not just in the way they pointed a gun at your head. You’d have done the same if the roles were reversed.

No, it’s something deeper than that. It’s in the way they move together, a silent understanding passing between them. It’s in the way they trust each other without needing to speak. That trust feels foreign to you.

Distrust is second nature now, woven into every fibre of your being. It has kept you alive, but here, it feels like a barrier, separating you from the unspoken bond that holds them together. They don’t trust you, and you can’t blame them. You’re the outsider, the unknown element, and trust is a commodity none of you can afford to give freely—not for you, and certainly not for them.

The group moves swiftly through the shadowed streets, their footsteps light but purposeful. You walk in the middle of their formation, acutely aware of how exposed you all are. Every darkened alley, every overturned car feels like a trap waiting to spring.

Suddenly, Jungwon raises a hand, his entire body going still. The shift is immediate—the group halts in unison, their movements instinctive, like a well-oiled machine. Your breath catches, your heart pounding like a drum as you strain your ears. At first, there’s nothing but the faint rustling of the wind. Then you hear it—shuffling, faint but unmistakable, just ahead.

“Eyes up,” Jay mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as he tightens his grip on the pistol.

The group edges closer to the corner of a crumbling building, each step measured and deliberate. Jungwon moves first, peering around the edge with slow precision. His posture stiffens, and when he pulls back, his expression is grim.

“A group of them, about thirty, maybe more.” You feel a chill run down your spine.

“South?” Jay hisses, his sharp glare cutting through the dim light as he looks over his shoulder at you. “You said they were coming from the south.”

“They are,” you snap back defensively, lowering your voice but unable to hide the edge in your tone. “How was I supposed to know they’re crawling here too?”

Jay lets out a low, humourless laugh, his head shaking lightly. “This is exactly why we didn’t believe you when you said you survived the city all alone.”

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the rising tension. “Now’s not the time for this,” someone says—the voice calm but clipped, firm enough to settle the brewing argument. You glance towards the speaker, realising you still haven’t put a name to his face. “Why are there so many of them tonight?”

You shake your head, the unease in your chest growing heavier. “Tonight is… different,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “There seem to be more of them roaming the streets. It’s like something’s drawn them here.”

“Yeah, like a scream of some sort.” The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Slowly, one by one, the group turns their heads toward you.

Your stomach drops, and you open your mouth to protest, but the conversation is cut short by a sudden, guttural growl. One of the zombies has noticed you. Its milky, lifeless eyes locking onto the group as it lets out a low, haunting moan.

“Shit,” Jungwon mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade.

The moan spreads like a signal, the rest of the horde turning their decayed heads in unison. Their shuffling quickens, their jerky movements laced with unnatural determination.

“Here they come,” Jay snaps, his voice sharp as he raises his pistol.

“Sunghoon, they’re coming from the back too!” Sunoo’s voice rises in alarm, his gaze darting to the rear of the group. You whip your head around, your blood running cold as more figures stumble into view behind you.

“We can’t fight them all,” Sunghoon says, panic bleeding into his usually calm tone.

For a moment, everything feels suspended—the groans of the undead growing louder, the sharp intakes of breath from the group, the suffocating realisation that escape is narrowing with every passing second. Then, with a voice like tempered steel, Jungwon breaks the paralysis.

“Move!” he commands, his voice slicing through the chaos.

The group breaks into a run, weaving through the narrow streets and abandoned cars. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural growls follows close behind, a relentless reminder of what’s chasing you.

Your lungs burn, and your legs ache, but you keep moving, driven by pure adrenaline. As you round a corner, the motel comes into view—a squat, two-storey building with boarded-up windows. Relief surges through you, but it’s fleeting. The dead are still on your heels.

“There!” you shout, pointing toward the motel. “We can barricade ourselves inside!”

Jungwon nods, taking the lead as the group sprints toward the building. Jay fires a few shots over his shoulder, each one finding its mark, but it only slows the horde momentarily.

“Go, go, go!” Sunoo yells, holding the door open as the group piles inside.

The moment you’re inside, you move instinctively, grabbing a nearby desk and shoving it against the door with Sunghoon’s help. The others pile on whatever they can find—chairs, shelves, anything to hold the door shut. The pounding starts almost immediately, a grim reminder of how little time you have.

“We can’t stay here,” says someone whose name you haven’t learned, his voice trembling as he steps back, his wide eyes darting between the barricade and the rest of the group. “They’ll break through eventually.”

Jungwon turns to you, his dark, calculating eyes pinning you in place. “You said you cleared this place before,” he says, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Is there another way out?”

“There’s a back exit,” you say, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “But it’s narrow. If they cut us off—”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jungwon interrupts. “We’ll make it work.”

The pounding intensifies, the barricade creaking under the strain. The group exchanges tense glances, their exhaustion mirrored in each other’s faces. Your palms are slick with sweat as you clench your fists, the urge to act warring with the mounting dread in your gut.

“Let’s go,” Jungwon says sharply, gesturing for the group to fall into formation. He starts toward the back, his movements quick and precise, but you grab the edge of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

“Give me a weapon to defend myself with,” you say, your voice low but firm.

“No,” he replies instantly, not even breaking his stride.

Your grip tightens, forcing him to pause. “Jungwon,” you say, your tone urgent but measured, “I can see you care a lot about your group. I also know that when push comes to shove, I won’t be your priority. If you can’t guarantee my safety, then I need something to defend myself with.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing deeply. The pounding against the barricade grows louder, each crash like a warning bell, and you can feel the impatience bubbling beneath your skin.

“Please,” you press, your voice softening but losing none of its intensity.

For a moment, he stares at you, the tension in his jaw betraying his internal debate. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he reaches into his belt and pulls out a small, serrated knife. “Fine,” he says, his tone clipped, handing it to you. “But you stay close to me. No exceptions.”

Relief floods through you as you take the weapon, the cool metal solid and reassuring in your hand. “Understood,” you say, nodding quickly.

“Move!” Jungwon orders, his voice cutting through the noise. The group springs into action, heading toward the narrow corridor that leads to the back exit. Your heart pounds as you grip the knife tightly, your eyes darting to the barricade one last time.

The group moves quickly, the narrow corridor pressing in on all sides. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet feels deafening, every shadow a potential ambush. Jungwon leads the way, his blade gleaming faintly in the dim light as he keeps his focus locked on the path ahead.

“Stay close,” he mutters, glancing back at you for a fraction of a second before returning his attention forward.

The pounding on the barricade grows faint behind you, but a new sound takes its place—the unmistakable shuffle and groans of the undead echoing off the walls. The noise comes from ahead and behind, a cruel symphony that makes your stomach churn.

You’re surrounded.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you don’t even know who is speaking, all you can tell is—he’s panicking.

The group halts, frozen as the reality of your situation sinks in. Jay takes a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder. “They’ve cut us off,” he says grimly. “We’re trapped.”

“Keep moving,” Jungwon orders, though his voice is taut with tension. “We fight through. There’s no other choice.”

As if on cue, a wave of zombies emerges from the shadows ahead. Their decayed faces twist into grotesque mockeries of hunger, their milky eyes locking onto the group. The moans grow louder, their jerky movements speeding up as they close the distance.

Raising his pistol, Jay fires a clean shot, dropping the lead zombie, but the rest surge forward undeterred.

You tighten your grip on the knife Jungwon gave you, your palms sweaty. The first zombie lunges, and Jungwon meets it head-on, his blade diving into its skull with practiced precision. Another takes its place immediately, forcing him back.

“Behind you!” you yell, spotting movement in the shadows. A zombie stumbles toward Jungwon, its bony hands reaching for him.

Without thinking, you surge forward, driving your knife into its temple before it can lay a hand on him. The impact sends a jolt through your arm, but the creature collapses instantly, its lifeless body hitting the ground at Jungwon’s feet.

He spins around, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing in acknowledgment. “Thanks,” he mutters, before plunging his blade into another.

You barely have time to catch your breath before you spot it—a narrow opening in the wall ahead, barely visible in the chaos. It’s just large enough to squeeze through, and beyond it, you can see an open street.

Your heart pounds as the thought crystallises in your mind: freedom. You could run. You could escape. You could leave all of this behind and save yourself.

The idea is tempting. The promise of survival so close you can almost taste it. But as quickly as it takes root, something stronger rises to smother it. Something within you that won’t allow you to abandon them. These people—dangerous and distrustful as they are—are fighting to survive, just like you.

Your gaze flickers back to the group. Jungwon, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision, glances back to check on Jay before taking on another zombie. Jay’s pistol rings out, his shots deliberate and controlled, his sharp eyes scanning for threats to the others. Sunghoon swings a crowbar with brute force, stepping in to shield Sunoo when he falters.

They’re… looking out for each other…?

You hesitate, the knife in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. It’s not just survival fueling them—it’s something more. Something you haven’t seen in a long time.

After everything—the chaos, the selfishness, the betrayal—you didn’t think there was any humanity left in people. Not after what went down at the community building.

You’ve seen what desperation does to people, how it strips them bare, leaving nothing but fear and greed in its wake. You can still see the faces of the ones who abandoned their own blood. The ones who took more than their share, who fought over scraps while others starved, who left others behind to die just to save themselves.

And yet, here you are, watching this ragtag group fight not just for themselves, but for each other.

There’s something different about the way they move. It’s primal, yes, but not animalistic. They swing their weapons with purpose, shouting warnings to each other, putting themselves in danger to keep one another alive—not because they have to, but because they choose to.

They’re holding on to something—civility, camaraderie, maybe hope. Or maybe it’s the uncanny refusal to let go of what makes them human, even when the world around them is anything but. It makes your chest ache, this flicker of humanity you thought was long dead.

You aren’t sure why—not entirely. Maybe it’s the look of determination on their faces. Maybe it’s that fleeting look of surprise in Jungwon’s eyes when you saved him that stays with you. The unspoken gratitude, the trust he gave you in return. Maybe it’s the fire in your chest that refuses to let you be like the others, the ones who ran when things got hard. To hold on to what little humanity you have left. Or maybe it’s something simpler: you just don’t want to survive alone anymore.

Your gaze shifts back to the horde. More are flooding into the corridor from both sides, their moans growing louder. The group is outnumbered, overwhelmed. If you leave now, they won’t make it.

Your grip on the knife tightens as the choice solidifies in your mind. The opening in the wall calls to you, but you can’t move toward it. Not when they’re still fighting. Not when leaving would mean becoming one of them.

You take a step forward instead, slashing at the nearest zombie before it can reach Jay. The creature collapses, and Jay’s head snaps toward you, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t say anything, just nods once, almost imperceptibly, before firing at the next target.

The path forward is a blur of movement and noise. You don’t think, don’t question. You just fight.

“Over there!” you shout, pointing to the opening. “There’s a way out!”

Jungwon’s head snaps up at your words, his dark eyes meeting yours. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable, a mix of surprise and something else you can’t quite place. He nods sharply, his voice steady even as chaos erupts around him. “Stay with me,” he orders. “We’ll make it out together.”

The group presses forward, fighting with renewed determination. You stand your ground, slashing at anything that comes too close, your heart pounding as adrenaline fuels every movement. The horde presses in, relentless, but inch by inch, you force your way toward the opening. For reasons you can’t fully explain, you stay close to them.

Jungwon moves ahead, his blade a blur as he carves through the oncoming zombies. You’re at the rear now, turning back occasionally to strike at anything that gets too close.

A zombie lunges from the side, its grotesque face inches from you before you drive your knife into its eye socket. The creature crumples, but the force of it pulls you off balance, and you stumble, landing hard on one knee.

“Get up!” Jay barks, his voice sharp but charged with urgency. He fires a shot over your shoulder, the bullet whizzing past to take down another zombie that had been closing in on you.

You scramble to your feet, gripping your knife with renewed determination. The narrow opening is only a few feet away now, and the others are already pushing through. Sunoo slips through first, then Sunghoon, the two of them pulling at debris on the other side to clear the way for the rest of you.

“Move, move!” Jungwon shouts, his voice cutting through the cacophony. He’s still holding the line, his blade flashing in the dim light as he keeps the horde at bay.

You shove Jay forward toward the opening, your pulse racing. “Go!”

With a grim nod, Jay ducks through the opening, leaving you and Jungwon alone with the horde. The zombies are almost upon you now, their grotesque moans filling the narrow space. Jungwon glances at you, his face slick with sweat and streaked with blood.

“You first,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.

“Not a chance,” you shoot back, slashing at a zombie that gets too close. The blade slices through its rotted neck, sending its head lolling to the side as its body collapses. “They need you. I’ll be right behind.”

For a moment, he stares at you, something flickering in his dark eyes—frustration, maybe, or something closer to understanding. Then he nods once, a sharp, decisive motion, and the two of you fall into a rhythm. His blade swings high while your knife strikes low, each movement synchronised as if you’ve been fighting together for years.

The opening is right there, but the horde is closing in fast. A zombie lunges at Jungwon from his blind spot, and before you can think, you shove him aside, your knife plunging into the creature’s chest. The impact sends both you and the zombie crashing to the ground, the stench of rot filling your nose as you wrestle against its weight.

“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding. He pulls the zombie off you in one fluid motion, driving his blade into its skull. “Get up, now!”

He hauls you to your feet, his grip firm but not unkind, and together you bolt for the opening. The others are waiting on the other side, their faces pale and drawn but alive. Sunghoon reaches out, grabbing your arm to pull you through just as the horde slams into the debris you’d hastily piled to block the passage.

The group collapses onto the open street, panting and bloodied but alive. The sound of the horde pounding against the barricade is deafening, but it holds—at least for now.

“Everyone okay?” Jungwon asks, his voice steadier than it has any right to be. His eyes scan the group, lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than the others.

“Barely,” Sunoo mutters, leaning heavily on Sunghoon. “That was too close.”

Jay stands a few feet away, reloading his pistol with practised efficiency. He glances at you, his expression unreadable. “You could’ve run,” he says flatly, though there’s something in his tone that isn’t quite accusatory.

You meet his gaze, your grip tightening on the bloodied knife in your hand. “So could you.”

Jay snorts, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough.”

Jungwon steps forward, his blade still clutched tightly in his hand. “We need to keep moving,” he says, his tone brisk but quieter now. “The noise will draw more of them.”

You nod, your heart still racing as you fall into step with the group. The streets ahead stretch out in shadowed uncertainty, but for the first time, you feel a flicker of something you haven’t felt in a long time. In the presence of people—people who aren’t trying to eat or kill you.

When the group reaches the edge of Seoul, where cracked asphalt gives way to gravel and the looming forest stretches into the horizon, everyone stops. The air is thick with tension, the only sounds the distant rustle of leaves and the crunch of boots on dirt. The group exchanges wary glances, but it’s Jay who breaks the silence.

“Surely she’s not coming with us back to camp,” he says bluntly, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. His pistol hangs loose in his hand, though his sharp gaze flicks to you with suspicion. Then, he turns to Jungwon. “We still don’t know anything about her.”

“She helped us escape,” one of them counters, his voice steady but calm. He’s tall, with an easy confidence, though his tone carries just enough weight to make Jay glance at him. “That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Jay doesn’t look convinced. “It doesn’t mean she’s not a liability, Heeseung.” he counters, his voice clipped. “We’ve all seen how that ends.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” you say, your tone flat but laced with frustration. You’re too tired to hide the edge in your voice. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have stuck around to help.”

“Helping doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy,” Jay shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “Plenty of people are helpful—until they aren’t. Jake, why don’t you remind Jungwon what happened the last time we trusted someone?”

Jake—leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed—glances at Jay before speaking. His voice is lighter, more measured, but no less pointed. “She was armed,” he says, nodding toward the knife still clutched in your hand. “If she wanted to hurt us, she’d have done it by now.”

“She practically did,” Jay fires back, his glare intensifying. “With the way she brought that horde down on us.”

You stiffen, your exhaustion bubbling over into anger. “If you think my pathetic little scream brought in a horde that big, then you must be denser than I thought." you bite out, your tone dripping with incredulity,

Jay takes a step closer, his expression darkening. “Then why don’t you care to explain why there were so many of them tonight? You said so yourself—it’s different. Something’s drawn them here.”

The accusation hangs heavy in the air, each word sharp and biting. Your chest tightens, frustration mingling with the lingering fear from earlier. “How the hell would I know?” you snap, your voice rising slightly before you force it down. “You think I have all the answers? I’ve been on my own for months. I don’t know what’s out there any more than you do.”

“Exactly,” Jay counters, his voice cold. “You’ve been on your own. No one to vouch for you. No one to trust you. Why should we be the ones to take that risk?”

You open your mouth to argue, but Jungwon raises a hand, silencing the brewing argument. “Enough,” he says, his voice calm but commanding.

“You said you’ve been on your own." Jungwon turns to you, his dark eyes meeting yours, unblinking.

You nod slowly, meeting his gaze with as much calm as you can muster. “That’s right.”

“Then why didn’t you run?” Jungwon asks, his voice softer now, though no less searching. “You could’ve left when you saw that opening.”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and weighted with meaning. For a moment, you hesitate, your chest tightening. The truth feels raw, vulnerable, but you know it’s the only chance you have. “Because I’ve seen what happens when people leave others behind,” you say quietly, your voice steady but laced with emotion. “I… was left behind. It’s not who I want to be.”

The group falls into an uneasy silence. Even Jay says nothing, though his expression remains guarded. Sunoo glances between you and Jungwon, his face unreadable. Heeseung exhales slowly, lowering his machete just slightly, his knuckles no longer white from gripping the handle.

“She doesn’t seem like a threat to me,” Sunoo finally says, his tone softer now. “Besides, what’s one more person? It’s not like we’re overflowing with allies.”

“She could slow us down,” Jay argues, though his earlier venom seems to have dulled. “What if she can’t keep up?”

“I kept up with you just fine back there,” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop.

“And she saved Jungwon. Knife to the skull. Pretty impressive, actually.” says the cheeky one you remember from the auto shop. His tone is casual, but it carries just enough humour to make Jungwon roll his eyes.

“Very funny, Ni-ki,” Jungwon says, exhaling through his nose. His expression remains unreadable as his gaze sweeps over the group.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly weighing the risks, before finally speaking. “She comes with us, we'll figure the rest out at camp." he states firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jay mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t protest further. Sunoo gives you a quick smile, while Heeseung offers a small nod. Ni-ki shrugs, already turning back toward the forest path.

The journey to the camp is long and fraught with silence. The group moves with practised precision, their formation tight as they navigate the dark, twisting paths that grow denser with every step. You trail close behind, clutching your knife tightly. The blood and sweat drying on your skin makes you feel grimy, but the real discomfort comes from the sharp looks Jay still throws your way whenever he glances back.

Eventually, the dense trees give way to a clearing, revealing the camp nestled among towering pines. A cluster of tents, a single battered van, and a manmade lean-to are scattered around the space, surrounded by a crude barricade of fallen logs and scavenged metal.

“Home sweet home,” Sunoo mutters, his voice tinged with fatigue as he pulls the barricade open just wide enough for the group to slip through. The camp is eerily quiet, save for the distant rustling of the forest.

You glance around, scanning the area for signs of other people, but it becomes clear that the group before you is all there is.

Weird. They don’t have much, but leaving an entire camp unattended like that is reckless, bordering on suicidal. It’s the kind of decision that makes you question their judgment.

Now you’re even more confused about your perception of these people. Are they confident? Brave? Or are they simply stupid?

It’s hard to tell.

But whatever the reason, it leaves you uneasy. Because in a world like this, confidence and bravery can look an awful lot like arrogance—and arrogance gets people killed.

“Who’s on first watch tonight?” Jungwon asks, his tone brisk and businesslike as his eyes sweep the camp.

“Jake and Ni-ki,” Heeseung replies, dropping his machete with a heavy sigh.

“Erm... both of them are already passed out over there.” Sunghoon’s voice is dry, almost amused, as he points toward the lean-to.

Your gaze follows his finger, and sure enough, you spot two figures sprawled out on the uneven ground, tangled in what looks like a half-hearted attempt at bedding. One of them is snoring softly, an arm flung carelessly over his face, while the other lies curled into himself, his back rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. They’ve managed to find the least uncomfortable positions possible in a place like this, but it’s clear they’re out cold.

Jungwon pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture that speaks to his weariness more than any words could. “Brilliant,” he mutters under his breath, the exasperation in his tone cutting through the quiet. He looks like a man who carries the weight of everyone around him, even when he doesn’t want to.

The group shifts awkwardly, the tension thick enough to press against your chest. Your fingers twitch around the handle of your knife, an unconscious reflex as you weigh your options. You don’t owe these people anything. And yet, when the words leave your mouth, they surprise even you.

“I can take first watch, and one of you can cover me after.” Your voice is steady, but the exhaustion leaks through at the edges. You don’t offer because you feel like you owe them. No, the truth is simpler: you know you won’t sleep. Even with your body screaming for rest, every muscle and bone aching from the day’s events, your mind is wide awake. Very, very awake.

Jay scoffs immediately, the sound sharp and derisive. “Like hell we would leave you on watch alone, what if you run?”

The comment makes your blood simmer, but you clamp down on the flare of frustration. Instead, you meet his glare with a level stare. “Jay, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you,” you say, your tone firm but not aggressive. “If you don’t trust me, then you can take first watch with me.”

The challenge in your voice is unmistakable, and it hangs in the air between you like a taut string. Jay’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hardening as though he’s deciding whether to call your bluff. You hold his stare, refusing to back down, even as the silence stretches.

Your heartbeat drums in your ears, but you keep your expression steady, determined not to show weakness. You don’t know if they’ll ever trust you, but you’ve survived too long to let someone like Jay intimidate you now.

Jungwon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again, as though trying to contain the growing tension in the camp. Finally, he lowers his hand and looks at Jay, his expression firm but calm. “I’ll take the first watch with her,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Jay’s mouth opens, likely to argue, but Jungwon cuts him off with a sharp look. “Get some rest. We’ll need everyone at least awake tomorrow.”

Jay clicks his tongue but doesn’t push further. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and stalks off toward the fire, dropping onto a log with a pointed lack of grace. The others disperse as well, settling into their makeshift bedding or sitting quietly by the fire. Jungwon turns to you.

“Come on,” he says, motioning toward a ladder tied to the side of what looks like a precariously constructed watchtower. “The view’s better up there.”

You follow him, gripping the ladder tightly as you climb. The watchtower, built from scavenged wood and tied together with ropes and wire, creaks slightly under your combined weight but holds firm. When you reach the top, you find a narrow platform with a rough wooden railing. From this vantage point, the camp feels small, a fragile sanctuary surrounded by endless darkness.

Jungwon settles near the edge, resting his blade across his lap as he scans the treeline. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, constantly moving as though anticipating the worst.

You sit a few feet away, your knife still in hand, though you’re not entirely sure what good it will do against the night. For a while, neither of you speaks, the silence broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the faint crackle of the fire below.

“Do you always volunteer for shit the rest doesn’t want to do?” you ask, breaking the quiet.

Jungwon glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not always. But someone has to do it. Might as well be me.”

You nod, your gaze drifting to the dark forest beyond the barricade. “You don’t trust me either,” you say, your voice quiet but not accusatory. It’s a statement, not a question.

He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the horizon. When he does speak, his tone is measured. “It’s not about trust. Not entirely. It’s about knowing what people are capable of when things go bad.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Yeah. I’ve seen what people are capable of.”

Jungwon glances at you again, his expression softening just slightly. “What… happened?” he asks, his voice low, as though he knows it’s a loaded question but is willing to bear the weight of it.

You hesitate, the memories clawing at the edges of your mind, threatening to drag you back into a place you’d give anything to forget. Frankly, you don’t want to answer. You don’t even want to think about it. But the past has a cruel way of lingering, forcing you to confront it over and over again, like an open wound that refuses to heal.

“The community building,” you begin slowly, the words bitter on your tongue. “It was supposed to be safe. A place where people worked together. Where we helped each other survive.”

“At least, that’s what we told ourselves. But things changed when the supplies started running low. Suddenly, it wasn’t about helping each other anymore. It was about who could take the most, who could get out alive.” You pause, your fingers tightening around the knife in your hand as the images flood your mind. The arguments over food, the mistrust that spread like rot, the way desperation revealed the ugliest parts of human nature.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words spill out, raw and jagged. “I watched people turn on each other. Families. Friends. People who’d shared meals, shared stories, who’d promised to have each other’s backs. They fought over scraps. They left others behind without a second thought. And when the barricade fell… when the dead came through…” Your voice wavers, and you clench your jaw to steady it. “They didn’t just leave the weak behind. They trampled them. Used them as bait. Anything to save themselves.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but his gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s judging you, pitying you, or just listening. Maybe it’s all three.

“I’d like to think the ones who made it out remember that place the way I do,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “But I don’t think they do. I think they tell themselves it wasn’t their fault. That they had no choice. Maybe they’re right. But I had to see it, and I have to live with it.”

Jungwon watches you carefully, his expression unreadable but not unkind. After a moment, he asks, his voice low and steady, “Is that why you choose to survive alone?”

The question cuts through the quiet night, striking a nerve you hadn’t realised was exposed. You hesitate, your gaze falling to the dark ground below. “Maybe,” you admit softly. “It’s easier, I guess. No one to rely on. No one to disappoint you. No one to leave you behind.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything immediately, but his silence feels deliberate, as though he’s giving you space to continue. You exhale slowly, the memories pressing against your chest like a weight you can’t shrug off.

“When you’re on your own, the only person you have to worry about is yourself,” you say, your voice hardening slightly. “If you make a mistake, you pay for it. If you survive, it’s because you earned it. There’s no one else to blame, and no one else to lose.”

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, and there’s a gravity in his eyes that makes you feel exposed. “But it’s also lonely,” he says quietly, as though he’s not asking but stating a fact.

You swallow hard, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. You don’t answer, but the silence between you speaks volumes. Jungwon shifts slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he speaks. “Not everyone would’ve made it out of that and kept going,” he says quietly. “Most people would’ve given up. You didn’t.”

You blink, his words catching you off guard. They’re not exactly comforting, but there’s a sincerity in them that makes your chest tighten, like a wound you’d forgotten you were nursing.

“I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of,” you admit, your gaze fixed on the dark forest beyond the camp.

“It is,” Jungwon says firmly, and there’s an edge of conviction in his tone that makes you glance at him. “It means you didn’t let it break you. And that’s harder than most people realise—keeping yourself from going insane. Stopping yourself from letting this fucked-up excuse of a world swallow you whole. You didn’t give in, and that counts for something.”

You study him for a moment, his face lit faintly by the moonlight, his blonde hair swaying lightly in the night breeze. His expression is calm but resolute, as though he’s been through his own version of hell and come out with his soul intact.

You’re not sure how to respond, so you don’t. Instead, you let his words sit with you, their weight lighter than the memories they’ve momentarily displaced.

“You’re not as rough around the edges as Jay seems to think,” he says after a while, his tone lighter now. “But you’re not like the others either. You’ve got... fight in you.”

You glance at him, arching an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He smirks. “Take it however you want.”

“But that’s not what we do here,” he continues. “If someone falls behind, we don’t leave them.”

You turn to him, searching his face for any hint of deception, any sign that this is just a comforting lie. But his expression is earnest, his eyes unwavering.

You’ve been on your own for almost six months. You don’t even remember the last time you had a conversation this long with anyone. Words, when they did come, were usually short, functional—commands barked at yourself to keep moving, or fleeting exchanges shouted during desperate encounters.

This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.

It’s not that you haven’t come across other survivors. You’ve met people. Survivors who had extended a hand, offered you a place in their groups. Some seemed kind, others desperate. But you rejected them all. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford, and joining a group means opening yourself to betrayal, to risk. You’ve seen what people are capable of when the stakes are life and death. Better to keep moving on your own than rely on someone who could turn on you at any moment.

Still, sitting here with Jungwon, his calm voice cutting through the quiet night, you find yourself oddly enjoying it.

“Must be exhausting, caring about people.” you say, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

Jungwon chuckles softly, the sound low and almost foreign in the stillness of the night. “It is,” he admits, his gaze flicking briefly to the camp below. The firelight dances across the faces of the others, who are finally beginning to settle down for the night. “But it’s worth it. At least, I like to think it is.”

You watch him for a moment, the corners of your mouth quirking slightly upward. “Did you know each other? Before?”

“Yup,” he says, leaning back against the rough railing of the makeshift watchtower. The faint moonlight softens the hard edges of his face as he speaks, his tone lighter now, touched with nostalgia. “Childhood friends. I’d just started university, and they wanted to come check out the campus. It was supposed to be a quick visit.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting toward the dark expanse of trees surrounding the camp. “We just so happened to be together when everything went to shit.”

The simplicity of his words doesn’t mask the weight they carry. You imagine the scene—an ordinary day, plans for the future barely set in motion, torn apart by chaos. You wonder if he thinks about how different things might’ve been if the timing had been just slightly off. If he’d been alone, or if they hadn’t been there together.

“Lucky, I guess,” you say quietly, though the word feels wrong in your mouth. Luck doesn’t feel like it belongs in this world anymore, not when it comes with such brutal cost.

“Yeah,” Jungwon replies, his voice softer now, almost like he’s agreeing and disagreeing at the same time. “Lucky.”

“What happened?” you ask cautiously, sensing the weight of his memories but curious nonetheless.

He exhales slowly, the breath heavy with remembrance. “We started out as a big group—most of the faculty ended up holed up in the auditorium. We thought we’d escape the initial chaos for the time. But someone got bit early on and hid it from the rest of us. They turned in the middle of the night. It took out half of us before we even knew what was happening.”

You swallow hard, the familiar pang of loss and horror creeping into your chest. “And the rest of you?”

“The seven of us, plus a few others, managed to get out alive,” he says, his voice tinged with a faint bitterness. “We thought our luck had turned when we ran into a group of people in military uniforms. They had tanks, rifles, the works. We thought we were safe.”

“That was The Future, wasn’t it?” you ask, recalling the name you’d overheard the others mention earlier.

Jungwon’s gaze sharpens, his expression darkening. “Do you really not know anything about The Future?”

You shake your head slowly, a knot of unease forming in your stomach. “No. I’ve been on my own for months. I’ve seen groups, but nothing that sounds like what you’re describing.”

Jungwon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice lowers, taking on a colder edge. “They’re not a group. They’re an organisation. Big. Made up of military personnels who went rogue when they realised the government couldn’t control the outbreak, and high profile politicians started to abandon the people to save themselves.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably, the weight of his words sinking in. The idea of a well-organised, militarised group with no one to answer to makes your skin crawl. “And you escaped from them?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”

“If they’re so strong,” you press cautiously, “why did you leave?”

Jungwon’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the dark ground below before lifting to meet yours again. “Their way of surviving… it’s messed up,” he says, his tone grim. “It isn’t about helping anyone—it’s about control. They take what they want. Supplies, people, anything they think they can use. If they decide you’re deadweight, just another mouth to feed, they won’t hesitate to…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you.

Your throat feels tight. “Is that why Jake said they’d gotten rid off all their women?” you ask tentatively, the memory of Jake’s earlier comment sharp in your mind.

Jungwon’s expression darkens further. “Not all,” he corrects, though the words do little to ease the growing unease in your chest. “Just those who, to them, served no purpose. And not just women. Children. The elderly. Anyone with a disability, or even someone who was sick—whether it was visible or not. If you couldn’t pull your weight or be useful to their ‘mission,’ you were as good as dead.”

Your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat. “That’s not survival,” you say quietly, your voice shaking slightly. “That’s—”

“Evil?” Jungwon finishes for you, his tone bitter. “Yeah. It is. They hide it under words like ‘efficiency’ and ‘necessity,’ but it’s just cruelty. That’s why we left.”

You can see the weight of the memories in his eyes, the lingering shadows of everything he’s seen and done to survive. For a moment, the silence between you feels suffocating, the distant rustle of the forest doing little to break the tension.

“How many of you escaped?” you ask, though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re all that’s left.” he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of names and faces you’ll likely never know.

He leans back against the watchtower railing, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the past has settled there. “We’ve been running ever since. Trying to stay ahead of them. Trying to survive without becoming like them.”

The knot in your stomach tightens further. The apocalypse had already stripped the world of so much—life, hope, humanity—and now it seemed to have given rise to something even worse.

You glance down at the camp below, at the group who had been wary of you, who still didn’t fully trust you. Yet despite everything, they’d chosen to leave a place like that behind, to hold onto something resembling morality.

“Must’ve taken a lot,” you say quietly. “To leave. To fight back.”

“It did,” Jungwon replies, his voice steady but tired. “But if surviving means losing everything that makes us human, then what’s the point?”

His words linger in the cool night air, settling deep into your bones. For the first time, you realise that you and the group aren’t so different after all. Just ordinary people, barely on the cusp of adulthood, thrust into a world that demands you play the role of protectors. Not because you’re ready, but because the ones who should have been there to protect you failed. Now, all you have is each other, forced to fill the gaps left behind by the people who should have kept you safe.

"But why are they still trying to hunt you down?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can think twice. It lingers in the air between you, heavy with curiosity and unease.

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze shifting to the dark treeline beyond the camp. For a moment, it seems like he might not answer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Because we didn’t just leave,” he says, his voice low and edged with something darker—regret, perhaps, or anger. “We took supplies. Food, medicine, weapons. Enough to give us a fighting chance out here. To them, that’s unforgivable. They don’t see people. They see assets. Resources they think they own.”

You feel a chill crawl down your spine as you process his words. “You think they’re after the supplies you took?”

“It’s not just about the supplies,” Jungwon replies, his tone grim. “It’s about control. We embarrassed them. Made them look weak. To The Future, that’s worse than losing anything physical. If they let us go, it sets a precedent. It shows people that they’re not invincible, and then what is to stop others from doing the same?”

Your stomach churns. “So they’re chasing you to make an example of you.”

“Exactly,” he says, his voice colder now. “They want everyone to know what happens when you cross them. And they won’t stop until they get what they want.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, the reality of their situation sinking in. It’s not just survival they’re fighting for—it’s freedom from a force that refuses to let them go. You glance back at Jungwon, his expression calm but laced with something harder, something forged by experience.

“How long have you been running?” you ask softly.

Jungwon exhales, the sound low and tired. “Almost six months,” he admits, his gaze fixed on the treeline.

There’s a pause before he continues, quieter this time, as though saying it aloud makes it more real. “Although… we think we might have lost them. For now. But we’re always ready to keep moving. Always looking over our shoulders.”

“Every time we think we’re safe enough to settle down, they find us,” he murmurs. “Like an obsessive ex-girlfriend, you know?”

The analogy catches you off guard, and you chuckle despite the seriousness of the conversation. It’s a strained laugh, but genuine—a brief flicker of something human in the midst of everything bleak. “The kind that won’t take a hint?”

Jungwon huffs a small laugh of his own, though there’s no real humour behind it. “Exactly.” He glances at you, a shadow of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Except this one’s got a lot more firepower.”

That explains it. Why they were so willing to leave the camp unattended, why they carried more supplies on their backs than they could possibly need. It wasn’t out of carelessness or greed—it was strategy. They packed light enough to keep moving, but just heavy enough to make sure they wouldn’t have to stop.

Everything they did was calculated, preparing for the worst. Ready to run at a moment’s notice if the situation demanded it.

Ready to disappear without a trace.

The fire below flickers, its faint glow casting long shadows across his face. For a moment, you see the weariness behind his sharp exterior, the cracks in the armour he’s built to protect himself and the people he cares about.

“You said tonight was different—you said there were a lot more of them than usual. Why did you think that way?” Jungwon asks, his tone low and measured, though his eyes flicker with unease.

You hesitate, chewing on your thoughts. The question pulls at loose threads in your mind, unravelling memories of the streets you’ve come to know too well. Images flash behind your eyes—the empty alleys, the shifting shadows, the silence that stretches too long before it breaks. You’ve always trusted your gut, and tonight, it screamed louder than ever.

Something is wrong.

“The city is… unpredictable,” you reply carefully, the words slow as you try to make sense of the thoughts swirling in your head. “Some days, the streets are empty. You might see the occasional horde passing through. They linger for a bit before something else catches their attention—a noise, a movement, anything that draws them away.”

“But hordes… they’re creatures of habit,” Jungwon listens intently as you continue, his brow furrowed, tension tightening his posture. “The noise they make keeps them together, pulling in the surrounding stragglers to join their little marching band. It’s a cycle. And that’s what makes them manageable. You can figure out their patterns, track the way they move, and avoid them if you’re careful.”

“But tonight, though…” You pause, the words lingering on your tongue like a bad taste you can’t quite spit out. “It wasn’t just one or two. It felt like they were coming from everywhere. Every direction.”

Jungwon’s gaze flickers to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. His expression hardens, the flicker of dread in his eyes matching your own.

“Like someone put them there.”

The words hang in the air, thick and heavy. As soon as you finish, the thought sends a chill down your spine, settling deep in your chest. The silence stretches between you both, tense and oppressive, as the weight of the implication sinks in.

The idea that someone—anyone—might be capable of coordinating something so horrifying is almost impossible to comprehend. Almost.

“Do you think it was deliberate?” you ask, your voice quieter now, as if afraid to hear the answer.

Jungwon exhales slowly, his expression hardening. “Truth is, we don’t know for sure. We were in the city earlier, scouting for car parts to fix up the van. That’s when we thought we ran into members of The Future. But one thing about them—they don’t fuck with the cities. They stick to the communities near their base, taking whatever they need—supplies, weapons, fuel. They think the cities are too dangerous, too unpredictable.” His words hang in the air for a moment before he continues, his voice darker now. “But the way the hordes moved tonight... it felt like someone wanted them to sweep the area.”

The thought settles over you like a heavy fog. “But you don’t think it’s them? The Future?”

Jungwon shakes his head, though the hesitation in his expression is hard to miss. “It’s not their style. They don’t deal in chaos—they deal in control. And releasing hordes into the city? That’s reckless. Dangerous, even for them.”

“If it wasn’t them...” you start, but your voice falters.

Jungwon’s gaze sharpens as it meets yours, steady but grim.

“Then it’s someone else."

You sense that the weight of the conversation is more than you can handle for the rest of the night, and you know Jungwon senses it too. The quiet lingers between you, heavy but not unpleasant, the kind that almost invites you to leave the darkness of your thoughts behind.

“Should I go wake Jake and Ni-ki up for their shift?” you suggest, breaking the silence. You’re not sure whether the talk with Jungwon has helped ease some of your inner turmoil or if the sheer exhaustion from the day’s events is finally catching up to you, but your eyelids are growing heavier with every passing second.

Jungwon shakes his head slightly, his voice calm and even. “I’m actually just going to keep watch for the night. You can turn in if you’re tired.”

You blink at him, his words jolting you back to focus. “What?” you ask, disbelief lacing your tone. “In that case, we’ll take turns. There’s no way I’m leaving you up here alone the entire night. I can only imagine what Jay’s got to say when he wakes up tomorrow and finds out.”

Jungwon’s lips twitch, and then, to your surprise, he laughs—a genuine, unguarded laugh. The sound is startlingly warm, almost foreign in the bleakness of the night. For a moment, it feels like the world around you isn’t as broken as it really is.

“Fine,” he says, shaking his head in mild amusement. “You can rest first. I’ll wake you in an hour.”

His words carry a gentleness you hadn’t expected, and it throws you off balance more than you’d like to admit. You study his face—the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the faint trace of a smile still lingering.

You hesitate, your exhaustion pulling at you, but the lingering sense of distrust—of everything, not just him—roots you in place. “You sure?” you mumble, your voice heavy with fatigue.

“Yeah,” he says with a faint nod, his eyes scanning the dark forest beyond the camp. “I’ve got it.”

“Alright,” you finally agree, leaning back against the railing and letting yourself relax just a fraction. “But don’t forget to wake me.”

“I won’t,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost reassuring.

The weight of the day presses down on you like a blanket, and despite your reluctance, you feel your body begin to give in.

Leaning back against the rough planks of the watchtower, you close your eyes, telling yourself you’re just resting them for a moment. But the distant rustling of the trees, the faint crackle of the campfire below, and the steady presence of Jungwon beside you lull you into a state of half-awareness.

At some point, you shift unconsciously, your head tilting until it finds something solid—warm. You’re too far gone to realise what’s happened, the exhaustion dragging you under.

masterlist | part 2 - warmth

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: i'm adapting a new form of writing specifically for this setting. i think i mentioned before how i struggle describing present moments over writing thoughts and monologues. lo and behold, turns out an apocalypse au is all about the present moment... i'm taking this as a challenge and honestly don't have high hopes. but i sincerely appreciate the read from all of you! things will start picking up in the next part~

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @tinycatharsis @M1kkso

taglist open. @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz @jellymiki @adoredbyjay @rebeccaaaaaaaa @baedreamverse @bamguetismee @flwwon @l1s0ro @st4rgirl1235

[meo-eiru]

Ive been thinking about your Silas x pre pregnant darling a lot lately.

As a momma with a 3 year old daughter, I feel like Silas would be my biggest blessing and curse all rolled into one.

Little one needs a playmate while I'm busy with something? Silas has her playing till she falls asleep in his lap, both wearing matching flower crowns.

But now she's pouting and crying because I told her it's nap time and NO she can't sleep on me because momma is touched out? SOMEHOW it's not EVERYONES nap time and Silas has me trapped in the bed with them.

She's throwing a tantrum about being told no? Silas is saying how cute her little yells are despite me asking him for the 1000000th time to IGNORE her when she's like this.

Worst of all is after she's gone to bed for the night and he's asking me for the millionth time what pregnancy and breastfeeding was like when she was a wee one. Ah fuck, I must have looked a bit too nostalgic when talking about it. Now he's reaching for me with tears in his eyes and saying how much he's going to love getting to watch my tummy swell. How amazing it's going to be to have TWO tiny humans in his grove.

Oh 100% Silas would spoil the hell out of his child and enable all sorts of bad behavior. That's one of the reasons why I don't trust him with an actual kid.

Though he can be very strict in certain aspects. Like how he currently forces you to breastfeed from him no matter how much you try to refuse, or doesn't let you get out of the house without him and if you do go out you can't leave the garden.

In that sense there might be a bit of a love and hate relationship develop between Silas and the kid, because he'll mostly let her do whatever she wants and play with her but suddenly start being insistent with what she eats and stuff no matter how much she cries. Which of course would confuse the kid and I imagine cause more behavioral issues.

Things can go south really fast if you are not dominant enough to stand your ground and keep their relationship in check until at least when the kid starts to mature a bit.

[fandom-susceptible]

The Moonshadow Elves in The Dragon Prince really take so much from the night elves (and nightborne) of World of Warcraft and between that and how much I've been watching Avatar (James Cameron) recently I just keep thinking what if Rayla had fangs

What if all the Moonshadow elves really did have sharpened incisors

It would explain all the stories that both humans and other elves tell about them having fangs (which in canon is an extrapolation of the Cult of the Blood Moon drinking blood, which apparently inevitably creates a bit of vampire-like mythos)

Rayla mentions they're primarily vegetarian, but there are other fanged creatures that share the trait - fruit bats, which eat a lot of the same type of things as they do and are also nocturnal, being one of them

I'm just saying the crew and also the fandom have an opportunity here to really commit to the weird

Moonshadow elves respond to any threat with immediate murder and shroud themselves in mystery and ritual to pretend they're not feral already

Just imagine little Ezran and Callum from season 1 demanding why Rayla has sharp teeth if she's a vegetarian and she just huffs about how they're for biting through fruit, thank you very much

Rayla trapped by Amaya's shield and hissing, baring her little fangs at the General

Runaan just curling a lip to show larger, sharper fangs when Viren comes to taunt him

Callum and Rayla's first kisses having the added awkwardness of "Callum forgot that fangs are sharp" and he yelps and Rayla almost wants to hide about it

Callum making it a point in the later seasons when they're comfortably back together again to say he likes her teeth. and her horns. and everything about her, really, it's not weird -

Lyrennus hissing and baring his fangs at Rayla during the Ritual of the New Moon when he loses his temper

Realizing we've never seen Ethari that feral until he's showing his in the background in response

Runaan never showing his teeth through season 7, showing how off-balance and shattered he is, until the final battle where he's knocked down and we see him snarl at Claudia as Rayla takes his place

Consider this face

But like this (Tyrande Whisperwind, if anyone's curious, High Priestess/de facto ruler of the night elves)

or this (First Arcanist Thalyssra of the nightborne)

Took surprisingly long to find a male example that's still a true night elf (Malfurion Stormrage)

but yeah

Imagine this face showing teeth

[sillygoofyqueer]

LeviathYuan baby can gnaw on me I don't mind <3

Please tell me more about baby.

Grumble grumble grumble......I wouldn't have answered this if I hadn't needed a way to dive into The Creature™ Lore (/silly). After some careful deliberation (a poll in the server...should I make a mutuals server? Putting that thought away for a rainy day), I have decided that the topic of choice will be Leviathyuan interacting with other CQMS cultivators. So, Liu Qingge is the most likely to find Leviathyuan first - he's the most likely to be out on the prowl and hunting demons, perhaps not recognising how far he's gone until he's being attacked from all sides by monsters he has never even seen before. Obviously, there's only so much he can do without getting beaten up by attack after attack, so he's got the shredded robes and bloodied everything, fucked up ponytail (I've got a note next to the main note that says 'awooga 😍', so there's that as well). He ends up in The Cavern and is immediately suspicious of the huge ass lake (he's got that natural hunter instinct fr fr), so he's got Cheng Luan out (he hasn't actually put it back in its sheath since he ended up in the Abyss) and is on guard as he picks his way along the shore - but he's literally fucking exhausted and running on the last legs of adrenaline at this point, so he's really fucking hoping that whatever it is, it can be dealt with really quickly. Leviathyuan is chilling in The Depths, and he smells this new kind of blood - it's different, it's unique, and he is definitely intrigued. After all, he knows what all the blood of animals in the depths smell like, and this is not anything he's ever known before. He swims up to the surface pretty casually, looking around and seeing something tiny moving around on the shore and transforming into his more humane form to be of an equal size (he is, funnily enough, SHORT). I just need you all to pause for a second, come here real quick, and see this from Liu Qingge's perspective with me. He has literally just been like "please for fuck's sake, let whatever creature in here be easy to kill so I can just fucking relax for a second" and then boss music basically starts playing as the water erupts around him, and this leviathan - bigger than anything he's seen before - curls down and stares right at him. Just as Liu Qingge is gearing up for yet another fight, this monster just fucking SHRINKS. This monster becomes a demon with more humane attributes (but not a human, which is obvious by the staggering everything that points otherwise), and stumbles over to him like it isn't used to walking, not blinking at the sword in his hand, so it is an easy target! Of course, Liu Qingge severely underestimates his exhaustion levels, and is decked right in the face with them when this demon pushes the sword out of the way and only has to shift to avoid his sluggish attempts at attacking it. Eventually, the demon raises a hand and just pushes Liu Qingge over, which is enough to fully knock him out when his head hits the floor (this only happens because he is exhausted and weak, not something that would happen usually because of his thick skull. Also, Leviathyuan didn't mean to hurt Liu Qingge in any way, he just knows rough housing with other monsters of The Depths). When Liu Qingge wakes up (something that he didn't even expect to happen after being defeated), he is swaddled in something that is both warm and fluffy, and yet smells distinctly of blood. Turns out, a fluffy monster followed Liu Qingge into The Cavern, and Leviathyuan was just like "this creature is cold. You have warmth :3" and fucking DESTROYS that beast, without any other thoughts in his mind. Then he skins this beast using Cheng Luan (who is only slightly self-destructing at being used by a demon) and dumped the skin onto Liu Qingge (fluffy side wrapped around him, don't you worry). (Let me know if you want me to continue this, I've got like, half a page of notes left :3)

[angelsdean]

found the post. anyways as I said here, jack and emma are so similar. both had to grow up fast. both had one human parent and one monster parent. the difference is jack was the son of lucifer, which one would expect would warrant more apprehension and caution, while emma's monster parent was less dangerous overall. yet emma is the one that gets killed, point blank, without a chance, while sam advocates for jack and insists he could be good (though a big motivator for this belief is that sam wants to train jack to use him to find mary).

as per my tags on this post, dean has a pretty consistent code when it comes to monster children and that's that they are innocent until they choose to prey on / kill innocent people. my tags on that post:

#he was sympathetic toward bobby-john the shapeshifter baby #he said it wasn't his fault he was born a shifter #and he spared amelia pond's son bc he hadn't done anything wrong #and when claire was a werewolf he told her it was okay that she could still have a life as a monster #bc the cure was not guaranteed and he would rather her be alive as a monster than dead #so i really do think dean would have been fine with his freak daughter (affectionate)

AND we even see him display this code of ethics toward jack. he says he'll kill him if jack goes bad. until then, they'll keep an eye on him, take him in. he's not immediately trying to kill jack. he's wary of him because of the aforementioned "being lucifer's kid" and because he still is sus about Cas suddenly doing a 180 on everything. But he still follows his code that until a monster proves to be a threat to others, he won't go after them.

so i think it would have been interesting to see the issue of emma be brought up again during this arc and see dean talk about her again (she's been on his mind, he was meant to tell mary about her in s12), and see some brother conflict over all of this. dean confronting sam abt his hypocrisy re: monsters when he's giving jack a chance but killed emma on instinct. dean's grief during early s13 being compounded as he also opens the wound of losing his child on top of losing cas, mary, and crowley. dean coming around to jack, as we see him do in canon, and it's not just because he starts seeing cas in jack but also because he starts seeing emma in him too.

kinda. kinda need s13 dean to confront sam abt emma when sam’s defending jack and insisting jack’s GOOD and not a monster or a freak just bc of who one of his parents is like. just need dean to ask, a little hollow a little broken, “then why was killing my daughter okay?” 

[wrath-of-achilleus]

Please make a full character analysis of Patroklos because I just LOVE how you yap about him and I need to know more of your view on him

omg my first ask 🥹 thank you so much for this question I adore patroklos and any day I get to yap about him is a good day!

one of the most fascinating aspects of patroklos’ character is the fact that in books 16 onwards, he begins to act as an essential stand-in for achilleus. he wears achilleus’ armor, leads achilleus’ people, and goes to war to get kleos for achilleus (not for himself, and he’s the only hero in the iliad to commit acts of war for someone else’s glory). when he dies, we see someone in the armor of achilleus die (and this is really important, because in the iliad, we don’t actually see the death of achilleus despite it constantly alluded to, and despite the narrative basically leading to it).

in the lament for patroklos, thetis rises from the depths of the sea and laments him with the other nereids. his funeral games are also really posh for someone who’s not royalty. basically what I’m saying is that the mourning we see for him in the iliad is actually the mourning that we don’t end up textually seeing for achilleus. this also makes a lot of sense because patroklos’ death is the reason why achilleus rejoins the fight, knowing that this will lead to his death. so essentially patroklos’ death is both a metaphor for the eventual mortal death of achilleus and literally shows a very important part of achilleus dying with him.

the symbolism around his death is important to understanding his character because when achilleus loses patroklos, we see him lose his humanity — showing that patroklos WAS his humanity. he was a mirror of achilleus and a part of achilleus and a partner (wife) of achilleus all rolled in one.

I’ve already made a post about how patroklos was a symbol for domesticity for achilleus. because of his gender, he wasn’t actually able to just be achilleus’ ‘wife,’ he also had to fight. and so when we do see him fight, we see him being a stand-in for achilleus and dying almost immediately (within the book itself), and this is used to show us the loss of achilleus’ humanity.

this is further cemented by the fact that, when achilleus is distanced from his community, i.e. the rest of the greek commanders and armies, after The Quarrel, patroklos remains his only tether to them, and to civilisation in general (hence him grossly perverting funeral customs by desecrating hektor’s corpse after patroklos’ death).

interestingly though, patroklos’ death is also what reunites him with these values of civilisation and community. it’s when he goes to help the greeks recover patroklos’ body that he first reconciles with them (“his companions wept as they stood around him. on swift feet achilles ran to join them, shedding tears to see his loyal friend…” 18.287). and later on, when priam comes to ask for hektor’s body, one of the most important scenes in that book (and in the iliad as a whole) is of priam and achilleus both weeping over their respective losses, hektor and patroklos respectively. it’s this unity in grief that convinces achilleus to see priam in a new light, and finally brings him back to his humanity.

so basically patroklos’ character encapsulates one of the most beautiful paradoxes of the iliad, and of achilleus himself — the capacity for incredible violence and incredibly gentleness. he is one of the most domestic characters in the iliad (he cooks for achilleus in book 9, achilleus remembers his cooking in book 19, briseis laments his kindness to her, menelaus laments his kindness and gentleness to all his friends), but his death is both preceded (through his own actions in war) and succeeded (through achilleus’ reactionary massacre) by the most violence we see in the iliad. he is a symbol of domesticity, and also a symbol of the consequences of the violent uprooting of this domesticity. he is one of the most complex characters in the iliad, second to maybe achilleus himself.

[frogs-stealing-sleep]

Gods so I love this ship so much I love these goobers

Red/Fell belongs to Fella/Vic

Blue/Swap belongs to Popcornpr1nce/The UTMV Fandom

Headcanons and my interpretation of CherryBerry below

CW some questions can be ready as semi suggestive or just are straight up suggestive

(asks about my interpretation of CherryBerry are also open)

Also yes I did skip some and add other questions based on my own comfortably<3

Love languages to give?

Fell- Quality time

Swap- Acts of Service

Love languages to receive?

Fell- Physical affction

Swap- Words of affirmation

Who is the most affectionate?

In public? Swap

In private? They're both pretty affectionate

Most common argument?

Cleaning for sure keeping their shared space tidy. They have different definitions of what 'clean' means. (Different standards for clean)

Who apologizes first?

Fell

Favorite (non-sexual) activity to do together?

Probably play some silly video games (putting the mine craft beds together) or they like watching bad movies.

Who drives and who rides shotgun?

Swap drives, Fell isn't allowed to drive often anymore

Who is most likely to carry the other?

Swap actually carries Fell a decent amount with him being a "lazy bones"

Though Fell can carry his own weight (and Swap's) when shit hits the fan (though he does have less stamina overall)

Nicknames?

For Fell: Red, Cherry, Goldie, Spike, Rose bush

For Swap: Blue, Blueberry, Berry, Toots, Muffin

Who proposes?

Swap

Who sings along with the radio?

If they're driving Fell will because Swap is too focused on the road

If they are in public Swap will

If they are alone it depends.

Swap will when cleaning, doing the dishes, or working.

Fell will to tease, when cooking/baking, or when reading he'll hum.

Who worries most?

Fell

Who always wants to take selfies with the other?

Swap, he loves to keep pictures for memories sake as well as probably has a picture book.

Who likes to playfully tease the other?

Fell

Who has the weirdest taste in their music?

Fell. I think he'll listen to any and everything

Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

Swap

Favorite date place?

The movies or a planetarium

Who is embarrassed to take their clothes off in front of the other?

Fell probably, something something scars

Who tops?

Gay, but depends :)

Who initiates kisses?

Swap

Who reaches for the other's hand first?

Fell; it's the comfort of knowing someone is right there in your corner that's in reach feels nice to him.

Who is most ticklish?

Honestly I think it goes either way?

Who has the best 'puppy eyes'?

Swap

Who brings an animal they found home?

Swap, lord help Fell

Who holds the umbrella for the other when it's raining?

Fell, Swap enjoys the rain and would run out in it

Who tries to playfully embarrass the other in public?

Fell attempts to Swap is actually successful in it.

Who kills the scary bugs?

Swap

Who asks the weird questions at random in the middle of the night?

Fell

Who hogs the blankets?

Fell, I think he's a freeze baby

Who wakes up first?

Swap, something something routine

Who wants to stay in bed just a bit longer?

Fell

Who always makes coffee for the other each morning?

Fell, Swap doesn't drink coffee in the morning, not anymore

Who cries during certain films or when reading sad books?

Swap

Who gets scared during horror films?

Neither really, Fell is more likely to jump during a jump scare/fakeout though, just being the more jumpy and on edge of the two

Who cuts the other's hair?

They're skeletons 🩻. Lmao but if they where humans I think Fell would cut Swap's hair.

Who says "I love you" first?

Hmmmmmm Fell

Who tells their friends/family about the relationship first?

Fell definitely gloats about how he bagged a hottie

What do their friends/family think of the relationship?

Fell Paps(Edge)- He is just released someone else can help watch after his brother. As well as it's someone as strong and capable as Swap (Who he has personally tested)

Swap Paps (Stretch)- Was a bit on edge at first. He trusts his brother as an adult to make his own choices but something nagged in the back of his head knowing the rumors about Fell verse's. So he kept an eye out. Now he's calmed down a bit though he isn't fully comfortable buddy buddy with Fell the two are civil and polite. Though they do throw jabs at eachother when Swap isn't around. Baby steps.

(No I don't subscribe to the Stretch is an over protective brother who must protect his baby Bro thing from especially early utmv fandom.)

Who is more likely to ask the other to dance with them?

Swap, Fell would claim to have 2 left feet

Who cooks best?

Swap

Who wears the other's jacket?

I think it's mutual theft of equal opportunity but Swap definitely does it more

Who uses cheesy pickup lines?

Fell

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear?

Fell

Who makes the other laugh most?

I think Fell makes Swap laugh the most

Who needs more reassurance?

Both they both have issues :')

Who would have to bail the other out of jail?

Swap is bailing out Fell

What would be their theme song?

Who would sing their child back to sleep?

Fell, I think he has the smoother singing voice

What do they do when they're away from each other?

Fell probably goes about his day, he'll send memes and regular texts like 'remember to eat' 'miss you' and little things like that. Sometimes he makes snacks for Swap and drops it off.

Swap looks at pictures of them or when he's out and sees something will buy Fell treats, small things, or the occasional clothing item when he sees Fell has worn one out.

A headcanon about them that stabs your feels?

How long they probably spend apart. With Swap being apart of the stars, whatever job or side hustle Fell has at the time (struggling to keep a stable one). They don't get too much private just hang out and be time.

The amount of times they've probably seen the other injured too late to actually help besides mend and be near the other just to need to leave before being assured the other is fully healed probably gets to them at times.

A headcanon that mends the previous one?

The just sheer amount of love and cuddles when they are around eachother? Those two probably can't keep their hands far from each other (not in that way calm yourselves-). Hand holding, cuddles, hugs. They absolutely relish in each other's affection when able.

Link to the list used

Past CherryBerry works

Boy kissers

Edit

God I love this ship 🚢

[zebra-rigel]

part 2 of demonic cultivation teachers Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan (warnings are in the tags: they're nothing big, but i just wanted them to be there as an option) (This doesn't include lbh yet, though my boy will be part of the shen's minor sect. I think I'm gonna progress the story linearly and we'll get to him in due time, once everything else is fleshed out ) After some thinking, I've realized that sj and sy wouldn't really have the resources to take care of a newborn, so they leave Ning Yingying in the care of the brothel jiejies and visit every month to give them money. Shen Jiu plans to let the child grow up there, but in a rare act of defiance A-Yuan demands that he buy a house and that they raise her together. Jiu refuses to consider it at all, stating that Shen Yuan's plans lack foresight and logic. At least, until the rumors of some cursed ruins reach his ears.

The interesting thing about cursed ruins, is that if treated with the right combination of rituals they become optimal places to cultivate demonic energy. Naturally, it's land like this that demonic sects build on. Shen Jiu decides to scout the location and its potential for such use.

The twins travel to the village, but as they get closer and closer Shen Jiu's chest starts to tighten, sights and places stirring long-buried memories- it's at the last stretch of the journey, talking to an old woman who sets the story straight for them, that he fully realises they are headed to the burnt husk that is the qiu estate. Shen Yuan shares a few of his memories because of that unfortunate sharing of life-force. He stares at Shen Jiu and quickly turns them around. "We're leaving, right now!" he declares.

Leaving .. can he, really? Shen Jiu remembers being afraid of this place as a slave- he remembers longing without end to leave it. Resenting it.

Weren't the Qius a cultivator family? Hadn't he- almost- ended their clan? If so, what was the next logical step of his revenge ?

Desecrating their property. "No, Yuan," he says finally. He turns to the old lady. "We are cultivators and wish to take a look at those grounds. Is there anyone we may ask?"

"There isn't," she croaks. "The ruins have been all but lost to the forest around it. No one will stop you. I for one, do not think those lands can be cleansed, but I won't stop you from trying."

Shen Yuan waits until they have walked a good distance away. He follows behind Shen Jiu and tugs at his sleeve. "What do you want? What do you intend to do?" "Wait and see," he responds curtly.

The estate is both less and more than he imagined it would be. He remembers the massacre- killing all the men after the women and children had been ordered away by Qiu Jianluo. Not a single witness had been left but Haitang, and he would be happy to demonstrate his experience in murder to her if she was still around. He approaches the supporting pillar of what used to be Jianluo's bedroom. A burst of qi dislodges it from it precarious postion and it falls into the debri around it. His resentment rises- manifests in his qi and mixes with the resentment of those who died there. It is a powerful loop, two streams of water flowing into each other eroding the sand around it. He breathes and slips into meditation. Focuses on the resentment. Slightly, but surely, he feels it strengthening his qi.

Shen Jiu opens his eyes and cuts off the flow. Turns back to A-Yuan. "Well?" he asks. "Isn't it suitable for cultivation?" Shen Yuan stares at him, mouth agape. "Yes, but- don't tell me you're seriuously considering it? This is a great cursed ground, true, but it's also- also!!"

Shen Jiu recognizes that words to express human suffering elude the elegant plant spirit. It marks the difference in experience between them- that no matter how much he is taught and learns, he will never understand shen jiu for what he truly is. A monster. "It's also the place I grew up imprisoned in, you mean? That's what makes it an optimal cultivation area. My resentment is mine to control." Shen Yuan still looks unconvinced. The next thing he says makes Shen Yuan drop his fan on the ground and stare at him with disbelieving shining eyes. He is so easily distracted, Shen Jiu thinks distantly. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[sungkixx]

Nezushi Dance Scene Analysis

I was talking with a friend about how the way two people dance show a lot about the status of their relationship with each other. Then I decided to give my own thoughts about Nezushi’s Iconic Dance Scene and what was the dance scene trying to show.

This may be an obvious thing to some, but I wanted to express my thoughts anyway :)

In a scene before this, Nezumi passed out due to the Song of the Wind (Elyurias’s song) and later wakes up to Shion next to him. Shion then worries incessantly, checks him to see if there was anything wrong or if he was in any pain.

Nezumi sees his earnest worry about him and gets agitated and uncomfortable, since he’s not used to another person worrying about him. He gets especially narked when Shion tells him straight up that hes a human being and that he should look out for himself.

Having someone worry over you means more shackles on you, in order to put in the extra effort of being careful. Basically it means someone loves you.

To Nezumi, this was not necessary.

But even after his yell, Shion still continues to care. He then spontaneously decided to teach Shion how to dance.

To me, this dance was basically a show of their life together from the night that they met to now.

They start off with Nezumi asking if Shion has any experience in dancing, he says no.

Here I think it’s a reflection of his naivety of the world outside of No.6, with Nezumi saying he’ll teach him some basic steps, like he’ll give him the introduction of The West Block.

“Don’t look down.”

I highly imagine this being a direct reference to Nezumi saying, “Don’t look away, look at the world in-front of you.” We know he has said this to Shion many times.

Shion then says to cut it out, how it’s useless, and gives a few excuses on why they should stop dancing, like the times Shion would be on the verge of breaking down, saying how it’s useless, and was willing to give up. But a few words from Nezumi, became his guideline, and helped him overcome it. He stumbles and is slow to keep up, due to this being a whole new experience for him. It’s hard to take in.

As time goes on, Shion’s understanding of Nezumi and how he views the world becomes clearer and clearer. The more they dance, the more he understands. He is watching, seeing the world in Nezumi’s POV, he is empathising with him.

“Dance…dance, Shion.”

Nezumi encourages Shion to live in this new world.

After they finished dancing, Shion is out of breath, and laments how hard dancing actually is, saying he learned something new. Shion is huffing and puffing, while Nezumi is, assumedly, all right. This basically proves the point Nezumi wanted to make, to not worry for him, since he’s basically been doing this all his life.

He does not need the care and the love.

But even after all that, Shion still does anyway.

It’s a direct retelling of their story, and I had never noticed the underlying meaning behind the dance. I had first watched it in the anime and thought the scene was done so beautifully. I had recognised the purpose of them dancing through the West Block, like a show of their life spent with each other. Then I read the manga and novel, which I read through quickly without much thought since its a scene i’ve seen many times.

I played it off as a wonderful iconic scene in the novel, a show of love and intimacy. But what I didn’t know was how much it was a representation of the journey they had up to this point in time. Not only did it show their dynamic and connection, it was like watching them both reflect on the impacts they had on each other.

It was an amazingly written scene and I’m glad it is in the story.

｡.:*☆

If you have read this far THANK YOU SO MUCH GENUINELY um I really hope this was easy to read and understand, i still dont rlly know the mechanics around here, so if u had a hard time reading it, or some feedback, or maybe ur personal input on the dance scene, FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A COMMENT !! <3

i have a test tmr im supposed to be studying for and here i am talking abt nezushi sigh they have taken over my brain TvT