#apocalypse field trip

[teaitty]

mega edgelord o’here

[glitterfang]

field trip

post S4, apocalyptic, friends to lovers, road trip, smut

pairing: stommie (Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

rated e | 9k | part 2 of an ongoing series

cover art by @mojowitchcraft

[kaiju-wolfdragon]

Field Trip Days-cityville 2: The Giant Apocalypse

In a place in the Cityville building, inside of the office is the mysterious person, after the success of the project called cityville, he decided to get this plan to come to place that humanity in the real city will face in an apocalypse plan of theirs. The mysterious person was now looking for his files of his favorite guest of 14 students, so many experiences for them to react…. Luckily for him, their fun has just begun…

The mysterious person called in his assistants skittles and mark, they were called in for an next plan, the mysterious person asked them “So, is the control device ready?” Mark answered “Indeed boss, it's up and ready!”. Skittles nodded nervously, Skittles wasn't sure it was a good idea to do that to the 14 students of blaze Spirit school, the mysterious person asked if it works, Mark said that it works quite well as it can control their behavior like giants.

It made the mysterious person impressed, then he looked at Skittles and walks towards him as the mysterious person hands over the control device and 14 bracelets and said, “Now Skittles, I need you to find the victims of blaze Spirit, and put this on their wrist, after you’re done, give mark a signal so he can use this to turn them into giants, but you got to do that in sundown when they're asleep”. The mysterious person gave mark the growth button that activates the bracelet to change their size, and then the mysterious person gave Skittles the files of the 14 students.

Skittles and Mark looked at each other and agreed on their boss and they're waiting until sun down to start their plan.

Meanwhile after school, the students were in a bus getting back to school, they do have fun but also worried about the victims from the cityville project the mysterious person did, but at least one of escape there thanks to a student name Theo with his eating trick to keep the tiny human safe, right now the tiny human is on his pudgy belly asleep and Theo enjoys the tiny human’s company too. Aiden watches his friends then goes back to look out of the window and enjoy the ride of the school bus, but also can't help but wonder about the mysterious person and why he made this project in the first place…

After school, 14 students went back home spending their time enjoying the weekend while out of school, then it's now getting late and each student went to bed to sleep.

Meanwhile, with Skittles and Mark, they're ready to do the job, Skittles looks at the files to find the right students to put the bracelet on, one by one, Skittles keep sneaking into their rooms and gently puts the bracelet on them as it beeps to green as it's locked on their wrist getting ready to start the plan. After Skittles got out of the last room, he gave Mark a signal to start, Mark pressed the button and then the students started to glow each random color, then the two assistants ran away back to the building and waited until the magic happened.

In the morning, Aiden slowly woke up and slowly noticed that something changed, Aiden got up and looked down in shocked that he's bigger than a building, he then got up and carefully trying not to step on anything, luckily the students didn't wear shoes as some wearing socks, then he saw the same students that's from his school, everyone here is so confused, as for theo, he was worried about school his tiny friend since he thinks he could have crushed the little fella, then he felt something very tiny and he saw was a dot, he noticed that was his tiny friend, it was on his belly this whole time, luckily for any size he’s now extremely huggable.

Every student looked at each other talking about what's happening to them and what makes them like this, then that's when Brandon saw what's on his wrist, it was a bracelet on them, he tried to get it off, but unfortunately, it's not coming off of his wrist, “Guys! It was this bracelet that happened to us!” said Brandon, it made the students notice the bracelet and they tried to get it off “Um, it's not coming out..” said Diego. He’s right, it's stuck like glue, it's not coming off!

Then one of the students noticed something's off and noticed not knowing what's going on… But who did this… The students now noticed a pattern that it was that mysterious person that works in that cityville project!

The students are pretty upset about what that mysterious person did to them, and then Nico tried to move out of the way and then accidentally stepped on a car which caused a panic from the humans, the students are nervous about their surroundings. Then something happened to the bracelet, they looked at the bracelet and then the bracelet glowed red, and suddenly it changed their behavior into enjoying the destruction as evil giants.

The giant apocalypse was a full success to the mysterious person, the mysterious person and Mark are quite impressed with their work, except for Skittles as he's getting worried about them, sure he doesn't want to let him down, but at the same time he's pretty concerned about them too.

“Um sir, are you sure it's a good idea? I mean the plan is quite a great success but is it really necessary to do this to them?” Said Skittles as he's very concerned. Mysterious person didn't say anything to Skittles for a minute until he looks at him with an unimpressed expression and said, “It is necessary Skittles, besides we seen the results for them at that project, and now everyone will have to survive 14 giants as they take over the world causing many destruction as they can!”.

It made Skittles even more concern about the situation, then he thought about it, he should stop this own his boss’s plan, Skittles got into another room and saw the blueprints of the device, then he saw how to disable the behavior section, then he tried to find a way to change their size back to normal, then he saw something that surprised him, it doesn't have to be shut off, but you can change their size to normal size or giant sized only.

Skittles grabbed the plans and snuck out of the building and drove a helicopter just to be safe from getting stomped by the students. At first sight he saw Aiden, destroying parts of the city by just crushing buildings with his foot like little ant hills that need to be destroyed.. Skittles looks at the bracelet and then the blueprint, all he has to do is to deactivate the rage behavior by turning a switch inside of the bracket. Skittles activate the grappling hook and hit it on the bracelet and slides onto it to shut it down, Unfortunately Aiden noticed and tried to grab skittles as he was working on changing the behavior route, Skittles kept dodging and dodging until he got it. Aiden stopped and went back to normal but he's still a giant, he feels dizzy and lost balance and crashed on some buildings and it made Skittles fall down and off of Aiden's wrist, but luckily Aiden catches him before he falls to the ground.

Skittles and Aiden are now face to face with each other, Skittles looked nervous at Aiden and then said, “U Um. H hey there, Aiden right? It's a long story but I used to work with the boss and-” he got interrupted by Aiden as he looked pretty angry “Did that mysterious person do this… to us?....” Skittles nodded in fear, Aiden bared his teeth and squeezed Skittles tightly but not too tight, Skittles had fear in his eyes looking at the angry giant, he struggled and tried anything to calm him down. “I know you're angry! But I'm here to help you!"said Skittles, Aiden growled a bit as he's still angry, but then he started to calm down and loosen his grip, letting Skittles sit on the palm of his hand. “I'm sorry, I was just very angry at that mysterious person that he did this to us…” said Aiden as he's calming down. Skittles understand their pain being an experiment as he's also part of the cityville project before, he was a test as he's a giant to the cityville, he tried his best trying to be friendly but they didn't see him as a friendly giant, they let him try stomping on buildings and cars and eating tiny people.

Aiden sees Skittles’ pain and can't help it but feels bad for him, after finding out his past with the mysterious person and all. Aiden got up while holding Skittles, all he needs to do is get close to all the students and deactivate their rage behavior, Aiden agreed and the other students to get them at their normal behavior, first Skittles deactivate Carly's rage behavior, then Cassie, then nori, Nico, Ava, Jake, Diego, Theo, sky, Nina, George, Ruth, and then last but not least Brandon.

It was very tough for them to stop their rage behavior, always moving around much and trying to eat him or destroy him. The students was what they did to the city as it's halfway destroyed, the students felt ashamed of what they did, then Skittles came below them, trying to cheer them up, the students were circle around him looking down on him which it made Skittles extremely scared knowing how it really feels to be a tiny person. Theo grabbed Skittles and gave him a great big hug which made Skittles feel safe from them. The students are having a conversation about how they can get the bracelet off. Skittles spoke to them, “Well… Unfortunately you can't get them off, but the good news is that you can change back to normal by pressing the red button to shrink back to normal sized, but before they're about to do that, they decided to give this mysterious person a visit after what he did to them.

Theo picks up Skittles and the tiny person on his shoulder so they can hang onto him, Skittles puts the tiny person in his coat pocket keeping them safe, then the students are now taking a stroll as giants, going back to the cityville building.

Meanwhile with the mysterious person and Mark, they're very upset seeing Skittles betraying them. “I can't believe that prick betrayed us like that! When I get back I'll show him what happened when he betrayed me!” Said the mysterious person as he's pretty furious. Then Skittles came back and saw that his boss was very furious at him. Skittles backed up away from the mysterious person and then the door shut behind him, then mark grabbed him by his arm and put the same bracelet that's just like the students had, Skittles wasn't ready for this and he wanted him to stop this madness, but then the mysterious person grabs out the remote button that will activate the same way as they did to them and said, “You're lucky that you're my assistant… but you need to learn the life as a giant like them, you're way to nice and kind for them and that sickens me a lot to see how very pathetic you are… and thanks to them, they're a perfect target for you to change your life�� Enjoy your new rampaging life my assistant~” Skittles prepares himself to become a raging giant as he's about to press the button, until…. “He’s not your assistant, not even anyone else's!” it was the angry voice of the giant, and that voice was Aiden.

Nico and Brandon lift up the building as it's pretty big but not too big, just the same size as them. Mysterious person lost balance and dropped the remote as in shocked to see the 14 students coming to save Skittles. A mysterious person tried to keep them out of control with the backup button, but it didn't work. “How is it possible!” Said the mysterious person, mark noticed that the bracelet was rerouted by Skittles, Skittles ran away and jump out of the building and to land on theo’s soft pudgy belly, then nori grabbed the model city of cityville out and the gun from the the mysterious person, after nori got all the stuff they needed, Nico and Brandon threw the city at the other side to crash it far away from this city.

They watched the building crumble to pieces after throwing it far away, they're safe.. for now… A few minutes later, the 14 students are helping the city by cleaning up their mess and Skittles on the other hand are getting the pieces of the cityville model back to normal, including the people too.

After a long hour of cleaning the city up and everything is back to normal, Aiden let Skittles in his house to be his roommate after his place was gone for good by the mysterious person. Since the 14 students and Skittles had their bracelets, they all had to live as a normal sized person and a giant too..

Everyone thinks it's over.. until the mysterious person came out of the rumble and then smiled again and then said “well, at least that's a bust, but don't worry… soon they'll join my side.. and I know they will soon…” then the mysterious person took off his hoodie to reveal a dragon face with green eyes. Then his transformation turned him into an enormous city sized dragon and roared and then Mark crawled out and witnessed his form and then flew away never to be seen again soon…

The end..?

[melanchoire]

please do bballplayer!yujin x cheerleader!reader. i love your fics so muchhhhg😚😚

SMACK THAT ──── ahn yujin.

── ( 🏀 ) in a world where cheerleaders and athletes are seen as allies, your world turns upside down when a heated clash with the stunning captain of the women's basketball team, ahn yujin, ignites a fiery passion that threatens to turn rivalry into something much wilder that leaves you questioning your loyalties—and igniting a burning desire that neither of you can resist.

pairing. bratty dom!basketball player!ahn yujin x sub!cheerleader!fem reader

warning(s). cum eating, cunnilingus, dirty talk, fingering, nipple play, semi exhibitionism, squirting.

word count. 5,5k

the move was a whirlwind. boxes overflowing with your life were crammed into the back of your parents’ car, the goodbye hugs from your friends lingered in the air, and the endless miles of highway blurred into a monotonous landscape. new house, new neighborhood, new faces — it was all a bit overwhelming. but the biggest hurdle, the one that filled you with a quiet dread, was the new school.

surprisingly, it wasn’t the social apocalypse you’d envisioned. your classmates were… tolerable. the teachers seemed genuinely invested in their subjects. the school itself was modern and well–equipped. the problem, as always, was sports. or rather, the mandatory sports selection. unlike your old school, where PE was a shared misery endured by all, here you had to choose a specific athletic activity. a cold sweat prickled your skin. this was your everest.

you didn’t even like sports. what could you do? in elementary school your classmates always hated teaming up with you because you had no interest in participating in class or playing the silliest sports and games.

you’d always been the kid picked last. the clumsy one. the one who tripped over air and whose athletic contributions usually involved apologizing profusely. elementary school recess was a blur of mortification, the crushing weight of your teammates’ disappointment a constant companion. the thought of reliving those days made your stomach churn.

lunchtimes became a minefield of awkward conversation and forced smiles. afternoons were spent strategically avoiding the gym, the fields, anywhere remotely athletic. you were a ghost, flitting through the hallways, desperate for a safe haven in a world that seemed obsessed with athleticism.

during lunch on your third day, you sought refuge in the near–empty classroom during recess, hunched over your phone, fingers flying across the screen as you texted yizhuo, your best friend from your old school. you typed furiously, lamenting your predicament: “it’s literally sports or nothing. what am i supposed to do, zhuo? fake an injury for the entire year?”

suddenly, as you waited for her reply, a shadow fell across your phone screen. you looked up to see a girl standing before you, a beacon of bright red hair and an even brighter smile. she was tall, with a lithe, athletic build, and an almost cartoonishly cute bunny smile.

“hey.” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “i’m yuna. me and the girls… we saw you’ve been having a little trouble figuring out the whole sports thing.”

you shifted uncomfortably, feeling your cheeks flush. “yeah, you could say that.”

yuna’s smile widened. “so, listen. well, we might have a solution. the cheerleading team is thinking about opening auditions to add a new member this year, and we thought… well, we thought you might be interested. it’s kind of a secret right now, but we thought you might be interested. before everyone else finds out and the tryouts are even harder.”

cheerleading? you blinked, completely taken aback. you? a cheerleader? you’d never considered cheerleading. the idea seemed so absurd, so utterly out of character, that you almost laughed. it wasn’t exactly graceful, but maybe, just maybe, it was something you could do. but the desperation in your heart outweighed the absurdity. any port in a storm, right?

“i… i don’t know, yuna.” you stammered. “i’m not exactly known for my athleticism.”

yuna waved a dismissive hand. “don’t worry about that.” yuna said, her voice reassuring. “we can teach you everything. just… give it a try?”

what did you have to lose? at least this was better than the embarrassment of fumbling your way through a soccer game or, heaven forbid, trying to dribble a basketball.

you looked into her bright eyes, saw the genuine kindness there, and something inside you cracked. “okay…” you breathed. “okay, i’ll try.”

yuna squealed with delight, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. “great! c’mon, the girls are waiting!”

she practically dragged you across the campus, her energy infectious. you ended up on the sidelines of the university’s athletic fields, next to the basketball court. a group of girls was laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

“guys, this is… umh…” yuna trailed off, realizing she hadn’t actually asked your name.

“it’s (y/n).” you supplied, feeling your cheeks flush.

“okay, (y/n)–ssi. this is chaewon, karina, and wonyoung.” yuna beamed, gesturing to each girl in turn. they all greeted you with warm smiles and polite introductions, instantly making you feel more at ease.

yuna introduced them with a flourish: chaewon, all boundless energy and infectious enthusiasm; karina, radiating warmth and a mischievous glint in her eyes; and wonyoung, with her quiet confidence and elegant demeanor. they welcomed you with genuine smiles and polite introductions, making you feel instantly at ease.

“sometimes other girls join for practices.” yuna continued, “but the four of us are usually the main cheerleaders during the games.”

“welcome to the cheerleading squad where there's free entertainment.” chaewon joked.

as if on cue, a chorus of giggles erupted from the bleachers overlooking the basketball court. you glanced over to see a group of girls huddled together, their eyes fixed on your group. even from a distance, you could sense their amusement.

wonyoung rolled her eyes. “ugh, it’s them. don’t mind them.” she said dismissively. “that’s the basketball team.”

yuna, who followed wonyoung’s gaze almost immediately, can’t help but let out a scoff at the sight of the basketball team, sweeping them with her gaze in the dirtiest way: you wouldn’t lie, if she did the same thing to you, you probably would have peed your pants and fainted from embarrassment right then and there. “they think they’re so cool.”

you looked closer. you didn’t recognize any of them, which wasn’t surprising, given you were still practically a stranger. but they certainly looked like they belonged: athletic builds, confident swagger, and an air of effortless cool. they weren’t all dressed in athletic wear — some wore their school uniforms, others casual clothing.

then you noticed something else. two girls with short, dark hair were playfully shoving the shoulders of a taller girl with wide, puppy–dog eyes who was wearing her cap backwards. smirks danced on their faces as two other girls murmured things to the other three.

and then they looked at you. a not–so–disguised look, filled with a mixture of amusement and something you couldn’y quite place. you felt your stomach clench.

wonyoung scoffed. “yeah.” she muttered, “typical losers.” she proceeded to give you a rundown of the team: kazuha, ryujin, yujin, yunjin, and a girl nicknamed “winter.”, whose real name was minjeong, but apparently only her close friends used it. she painted them as the stereotypical jocks, surrounded by adoring admirers, whose lives revolved around basketball and popularity.

“they’re like the typical frat boys or playboys in the movies, you know?” yuna added, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “except, you know, girls.”

the way wonyoung and yuna talked about them, trading gossip and inside jokes, made it clear that this wasn’t just casual observation. there was a history there, a rivalry, maybe even a touch of… something else.

karina, sensing your unease, stepped forward with a warm smile. “don’t worry about them. we’re happy to have you. hey, why don’t you join us later? the school gym will be free, and you can show us what you’ve got.” her tone was casual, but the intensity in her gaze made it clear: they wanted you. not just on the team, but… well, you weren’t sure what else.

and so it was. that afternoon, you found yourself in the echoing expanse of the school gym, attempting to contort your body into positions it hadn’t seen since… well, never. the girls patiently guided you through stretches, jumps, and basic tumbling, their encouragement a welcome balm to your self–consciousness. after testing your skills and flexibility, the four girls welcomed you into the team with open arms.

of course, since you were still a newbie, they told you that at first it would be better if you were not the one who was the “flyer” (the athlete who is lifted into the air during a stunt or pyramid) when they did the group stunts, putting yourself together with another of the girls as “bases” (the athletes that hold the flyer or “top girl” in the air during the stunt) until you gained enough confidence to take on the more challenging role, but in this case, wonyoung and yuna would be the main ones that would catch you, since they were the ones with more training and experience than the other two, they knowing how to grab or hold you when you didn’t have much experience or confidence.

cheerleading practice quickly became the highlight of your day. the girls were supportive and encouraging, and you found yourself enjoying the challenge of learning new skills. you even started to feel… dare you say it… athletic?

practices quickly became routine, a bizarre mix of grueling physical exertion and surprisingly fun camaraderie. you learned to trust your teammates, to rely on their strength and support, both literally and figuratively. you even started to enjoy the challenge, the feeling of pushing your body beyond its perceived limits.

the basketball team, however, remained a constant, and unwelcome, presence. karina explained that since the cheerleaders preferred to train outside on the basketball court because it was better than the stinky gym, so it was obvious that you would see the basketball players around here.

their behavior was bizarre. you felt like they were like perverts, wearing their stupid jerseys and basketball pants along with those backwards caps, having smirks or shit–eating grins and seemed to be enjoying themselves every time the cheerleaders practiced. you caught them smirking and exchanging knowing glances, like they were in on some private joke.

yujin’s gaze, in particular, made you uneasy. you always felt her eyes on you, burning a hole in your back. whenever you were the flyer, you could hear her teammates cheering her on, clapping her back, and pushing her shoulders towards the basket. whenever you looked over your shoulder at her or turned around you saw her eyes quickly move from your ass to your face, grinning or biting her lip to avoid a smirk, her grin a mix of amusement and… something else you couldn’t quite decipher.

one night, you were at a party, trying to navigate the crowded dance floor, when a ridiculously handsome guy approached you. he leaned in close, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass.

“hey.” he said, his eyes sparkling. “my friend wants to kiss you.”

you felt a jolt of surprise, followed by a surge of nervous excitement. he gestured behind you, stepping aside so you could see who his friend was. your smile faltered. the excitement evaporated.

standing a few feet away, surrounded by a gaggle of friends and the ubiquitous basketball team, was yujin. she’s smiling even with her eyes, holding a can of beer while the other idiots chant her name and push her by the shoulders between them, pushing her forward, the backward cap casting a shadow over her eyes.

that cap, that oversized hoodie, those baggy jeans, those beat–up converse sneakers… suddenly, you found yourself noticing the curve of her jaw, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the confident swagger in her posture.

wait a minute…were you drooling over ahn yujin? your own consciousness shook you back to reality. it couldn’t be, could it?

you glared at the well–meaning messenger and abruptly turned away, heading back to your group of friends. but even over the noise of the party, you could hear the sound of your name being called, followed by a wave of raucous laughter.

the air crackled with nervous energy. you straightened your new cheer uniform, the fabric feeling stiff and unfamiliar against your skin. the basketball game was about to start, a cacophony of cheers and shouts already echoing from the stands. you were still new to this whole cheerleading thing, still trying to memorize the routines, still acutely aware of yujin’s persistent gaze.

as you made your way to the court, practically vibrating with apprehension, a familiar figure blocked your path. ahn yujin, radiating cocky confidence, stood grinning in front of you. her backwards cap cast a shadow over her mischievous eyes, which sparkled with amusement.

“well, well, look who it is…” she drawled, her voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine against your will. “hey there, cheerleader. heard you’re heading in. gonna cheer me on, huh?”

you crossed your arms, trying to project an air of indifference you definitely didn’t feel. “don’t flatter yourself. i’m here to support the team, not you specifically.”

yujin chuckled, a sound that was somehow both infuriating and strangely appealing. “sure you are. but i know you’ve been thinking about me. a lot, probably.”

“in your dreams.” you scoffed, but your cheeks betrayed you with a telltale flush.

“oh, i have plenty of dreams.” yujin said, her eyes gleaming suggestively. “and you’re in most of them. wearing that little skirt, too.”

“okay, pervert alert.” you muttered, rolling your eyes. although you tried to avoid it, your cheeks slowly began to turn a reddish color. you hated how she could easily have an effect on you.

yujin laughed, undeterred. “listen, about that kiss…”

it doesn’t take long for your brain to work to understand what she’s talking about. of course, that kiss that her friend asked you for at that party — honestly, you thought they were just joking around and looking to annoy and piss someone off to pass the time, but knowing yujin’s reputation, you knew she wasn’t entirely joking.

“don’t even start.” you snapped. “i don’t owe you anything.”

“oh, i think you do.” she chuckled, her voice low and teasing. “you love playing hard to get; i admire that about you.”

“c’mon~...” she persisted, stepping closer. “why don’t we make it interesting? a little wager, maybe?”

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “what kind of wager?”

“if we win today, you’ll give me a kiss. a real one. aand if we lose…” she paused, leaning in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “... i’ll stop bothering you. completely. no more staring, no more teasing, no more showing up at cheer practice just to make you blush. deal?”

the offer was tempting, ridiculously tempting. the thought of yujin’s attention, her constant presence, finally fading away was almost a relief. but the idea of actually kissing her… despite the annoyance, the frustration, the undeniable fact that she was a major pain in the ass, a thrill shot through you.

the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. “you’re on.” you tried to sound confident, but you were sure your voice quivered slightly. “and if you cheat, i get to pick your punishment.” you added, a smirk playing on your lips.

yujin grinned, her eyes sparkling with challenge. “deal. don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

“fine.” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “but don’t expect me to pucker up. you’re going down.”

“we’ll see about that.” yujin whispered, her grin widening as she turned and jogged towards the court. “see you after the game, babe.”

you watched her go, your heart pounding in your chest. you’d just made a bet with the biggest flirt in school, a bet that could end with you kissing her or, blissfully, never having to deal with her again.

the game was a blur of squeaking sneakers, bouncing balls, and roaring crowds. you tried to focus on the cheer routines, but your eyes kept drifting back to yujin. she played with an intensity that was mesmerizing, a raw energy that crackled in the air. every time yujin made a perfect shot, which was often, she’d blow a kiss in your direction, her eyes sparkling with triumph.

and then, it happened. the final buzzer sounded, the score displayed in bright, unforgiving numbers on the scoreboard. they had won. and not just won, but dominated. yujin, MVP, was grinning triumphantly, her gaze locked on you.

your stomach dropped. you had lost. you owed yujin a kiss.

fueled by a mixture of anger and mortification, you practically stormed toward the locker room after the game, yujin hot on your heels.

you slammed the locker room door behind you, breathing heavily. you leaned against it, trying to calm your racing heart.

then, the door creaked open. yujin sauntered in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “running away?” she teased, easily catching up to you. “i thought you were the feisty type.”

“shut up, ahn.” you snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to face her. “you wouldn’t stop annoying me and now what? are you happy for winning?”

she grinned, thoroughly enjoying your anger. “extremely, yes.” she admitted, taking a step closer.

"this is ridiculous.” you protested, crossing your arms. “it was just a stupid bet.”

“a bet is a bet.” yujin said, stepping closer. “and i won fair and square.”

“you cheated somehow, i know it.” you accused, your voice rising slightly.

yujin laughed, shaking her head. “jealous much? I'm just that good, baby.”

“don’t call me baby.” you snapped, your cheeks burning.

“why not?” yujin teased, closing the distance between you. “you like it when i call you that.”

“i do not!” you retorted, but the lie hung in the air between you.

yujin stopped right in front of you, her gaze intense. “you’re so cute when you’re angry.” she murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

you glared at her, your fists clenched. “i’m not kissing you.”

“oh, i think you are.” she whispered, her voice laced with playful challenge. “unless you’re going to chicken out?”

that was all it took. you grabbed her by the collar of her jersey and pulled her in. your lips crashed together in a kiss that was far more heated and desperate than you had anticipated. you were angry, frustrated, and caught up in a moment of reckless abandon.

yujin moaned softly, her hand cupping your face as she deepened the kiss. your own arms reached up to wrap around her neck, pulling her closer. the kiss was electric, a rush of heat and sensation that made your head spin.

you lost yourself in her, the scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against yours. her hands moved down your back, pulling you impossibly closer, and you gasped against her mouth.

the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. you felt your own body responding, your need for her growing with each passing second. her hands slipped under your cheerleading top, tracing the curve of your waist, and you moaned against her lips.

you were both breathless, desperate. you wanted more, needed more.

yujin pulled back slightly, her chest heaving as her eyes, dark with desire, looked into yours. “i still have a few minutes before my post–game interview, do you want to...?”

“just fuck me already, yujin.”

the locker room was dimly lit and empty, the air thick with the scent of sweat and the distant echo of cheers from the basketball court outside. yujin backed you up against the wall, caging you in with her arms on either side of your head. she leaned in until her lips were a mere whisper from yours, her breath hot against your skin.

“this will be your way of paying me back for taking so long to give me what you owed me.” she breathed, before capturing your mouth in a searing, hungry kiss. her lips moved demandingly against yours, her tongue delving past your teeth to explore the warm cavern of your mouth. yujin kissed like she did everything else — with wild, reckless abandon.

one hand slid up to tangle in your hair combed in a half ponytail, tugging lightly as she deepened the kiss, while the other gripped your hip, pulling your body flush against the hard planes of her own. you could feel every inch of her lithe, toned physique pressed against you, from her plush breasts to the lean muscles of her stomach and thighs.

yujin broke the kiss with a soft, wicked laugh, smirking down at your undoubtedly kiss–swollen lips and dazed expression. she licked her lips, tasting you on them. “fuck, you taste even better than i thought you would.” she praised, her voice a low, seductive rasp. “i’m going to have so much fun ruining you, baby.”

“just—... try not to mess up my uniform too much. you know, my team will suspect things if they see me leaving here in a bad state with you.”

obviously. both the cheerleading team and the basketball team, as soon as the game ended, you two headed to the dresses in the blink of an eye. of course, your initial intentions were clearly not to be alone to fuck the girl who was always trying to piss you off on purpose by flirting with you… maybe in part yes, but you wouldn't admit it out loud!

yujin threw her head back and laughed, a rich, throaty sound that echoed off the locker room walls. she looked down at you, her dark eyes glinting with amusement and lust. her hand slid from your hip to your ass, giving it a firm, possessive squeeze.

“oh, baby, don’t worry about your cute cheerleader outfit. i’ll make sure you're presentable enough for your squad...eventually.” she purred, her voice dripping with wicked promise. “but first, i’m going to mess you up in ways you’ve never been messed up before.”

with that declaration, yujin crashed her lips back onto yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. her tongue pushed into your mouth, dominating you, claiming you. she kissed you like she owned you, like you belonged to her.

yujin’s hands slid under your cheerleading top, pushing it up and over your chest. she broke the kiss just long enough to yank the garment off over your head and toss it carelessly to the side. her fingers found your breasts, palming the soft mounds, feeling the stiff peaks of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

yujin attacked your neck with bites and kisses, sucking dark marks into your skin. her teeth grazed your pulse point, and she licked over it, feeling it jump beneath her tongue. one hand slid down your stomach to the waistband of your cheer shorts, slipping inside to cup your mound.

“you’re already so fucking wet, aren’t you?” yujin breathed against your neck, her fingers rubbing your clothed slit, feeling the dampness seeping through. she nipped at your earlobe and whispered. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll take good care of this cute pussy… once i’m done playing with it.”

she punctuated her words by shoving your cheer shorts and panties down your thighs, letting them pool around your ankles. cool air hit your heated skin, but it was quickly replaced by the scorching heat of yujin’s fingers as they pushed between your legs and found your naked, dripping sex.

yujin groaned softly against your neck as she felt your slick folds, your arousal coating her fingers. she circled your clit with the pad of her thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck forward, seeking more of that delicious friction.

“that’t it, baby. grind on my fingers just like that.” yujin encouraged, her voice with a low, seductive murmur. she slid one long finger inside your tight heat, feeling your walls clench around the intrusion. she pumped it slowly, shallowly, teasing you with the promise of more.

her other hand pushed down the cups of your bra, freeing your breasts to the cool air. yujin’s mouth found your nipple, drawing it into her hot mouth and suckling greedily. she licked and bit at the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

yujin added a second finger, pumping them faster, harder, curling them to hit that special spot inside you with every thrust. her palm pressed against your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in time with the plunging of her fingers.

she could feel your body tensing, your muscles tightening as your orgasm approached. yujin knew your body better than you knew it yourself. she could feel the fluttering of your walls, the way your breathing grew ragged and shallow.

just as you were about to tumble over the edge, yujin pulled her fingers out of you and stepped back. she brought her soaked fingers to her mouth, sucking your essence from them with a moan of appreciation.

“fuck, you taste divine.” yujin praised, her eyes dark and hungry as she looked at your disheveled, desperate form. she licked her lips, savoring your flavor.

the sudden emptiness inside you made you open your eyes. rilting your head still against the wall behind you, you look at her with half–lidded eyes, still somewhat shaken from your near–orgasm. “why did you stop?”

yujin smirked at your breathless, frustrated question. she could see the desperation in your eyes, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. she loved reducing you to this state of need, knowing that she held the power to give you the pleasure you craved… or deny it.

“shhh, baby. patience.” yujin cooed, trailing her fingers teasingly along your inner thigh, staying maddeningly far from your aching core. “i stopped because i want to taste you. i want to bury my face between your thighs and devour this sweet cunt until you’re screaming my name.”

yujin gripped your thighs, pushing them further apart as she sank to her knees before you. she looked up at you through sooty lashes and with a wicked and hungry grin, her dark eyes filled with lust and promise with a gaze intense and hungry. her hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further apart, opening you up to her eagerly exploring mouth. without breaking eye contact, she leaned in, her breath ghosting over your dripping folds.

“you smell incredible… and i bet you taste even better.” yujin murmured, inhaling deeply. her fingers spread your lips, exposing your glistening pink flesh to her appreciative gaze. “i can’t wait to taste you, baby. i’m going to eat this pretty pussy until you’re begging me to stop… and then i’ll keep going.”

with those words, yujin dove in, burying her face between your thighs. her tongue, hot and slick, dragged up your slit in one long, slow lick. she moaned at the first taste of your arousal, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

yujin licked and sucked at your folds, her mouth covering your slit entirely as she lapped at your essence. she focused her attention on your clit, suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves with single–minded focus. her tongue flicked and circled, teasing out more of your delectable juices. yujin pushed your thighs further apart, burying her face deeper into your cunt, eating you out like a starving woman.

as she ate you out, yujin’s hands gripped your ass, kneading the firm globes and pulling you harder against her mouth. she consumed you like a woman starved, like she needed your taste to survive.

yujin paused briefly to hook one of your legs over her shoulder, having your thigh over her shoulder and your leg resting on her back, opening you up even more to her hungry mouth. she licked her lips at the sight of your glistening, dripping folds, now fully exposed and vulnerable to her teasing ministrations.

“look at this pretty pussy, all wet and ready for me…” yujin purred, running a single finger along your slit, feeling the slick heat. she brought her finger to her mouth, sucking your essence off with a moan of appreciation. “you taste even better than i imagined, baby. i could eat this sweet cunt for hours.”

with that declaration, yujin dove back in, burying her face between your thighs. she licked and sucked at your clit with reckless abandon, spurred on by your desperate moans and the way your body squirmed against her. one hand reached up to pinch and tug at your nipple, rolling the stiff peak between her fingers.

yujin could feel your walls fluttering, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. she knew you were close, and she wanted to taste your release, to feel your cum coating her tongue as you screamed her name.

she focused her attention on your entrance, plunging her tongue deep inside your tight channel. she fucked you with her tongue, thrusting in and out, feeling your velvet walls clench and grip at the slick muscle. at the same time, she rubbed your clit with the pad of her thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you flying over the edge.

determined to give you more, she slid three fingers inside your dripping sex, pumping them in time with the thrusts of her tongue. she curled them, rubbing that special spot inside you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. yujin could feel your walls starting to flutter, your body trembling with impending ecstasy.

“yes, that’s it baby. come for me.” yujin urged, her voice muffled against your sex. she looked up at you, her dark eyes blazing with lust and hunger as she gazed at your face, watching your every expression. she wanted to see your beautiful face as you lost yourself to the pleasure she was giving you.

with a final, hard suck to your clit and a deep thrust of her fingers, yujin pushed you over the precipice. she felt your pussy clench down hard on her fingers, your walls spasming and fluttering as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

your cries of ecstasy filled the locker room as you came undone, your fingers gripping yujin’s hair, holding her in place as she rode out the aftershocks of your release. yujin just moaned against your sex, the vibrations adding to your pleasure, drawing out your high.

yujin could feel your body stiffening, your muscles pulling taut as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. she didn’t let up, continuing to thrust her tongue and fingersdeep inside your spasming cunt, fucking you through your intense orgasm. your essence gushed out, flooding yujin’s mouth and chin as she lapped it up greedily.

finally, after long, blissful moments, your body went limp, your leg slipping from yujin’s shoulder as you slumped back against the wall. yujin slowly pulled away, sitting back on her heels and looking up at you with a self–satisfied smirk.

yujin licked her lips, savoring the taste of your release that still lingered in her mouth. she took a moment to admire her handiwork — your chest heaving, your skin flushed, your hair a wild mess around your face. you looked thoroughly debauched, and yujin felt an intense sense of pride at being the one to reduce you to this state.

rising to her feet, yujin leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered. “that was so hot. watching you come undone on my tongue, feeling your pussy spasm and gush all over my face... i could get addicted to making you scream like that.”

she nipped at your earlobe before trailing her lips down the column of your throat, sucking a dark mark into the sensitive skin. her hands slid up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading the soft mounds. she could feel your heart pounding beneath your ribcage, still racing from the intensity of your orgasm.

yujin’s fingers found your nipples, rolling and tugging at the stiff peaks. she could feel them harden even further under her touch, your body responding eagerly to her ministrations. she smiled against your skin, knowing that she could easily work you up to another peak.

yujin pulled back slightly, glancing at her smartwatch and cursing under her breath. she had lost track of time, too caught up in pleasuring you to pay attention to the ticking seconds. reluctantly, she released your breasts and stepped away, straightening her clothes and running her fingers through her disheveled hair.

“shit, i can’t believe it, but i’m going to be late for my post–game interview if i don’t hurry.” yujin muttered, grabbing her phone from where she had tossed it earlier. she shot you a wicked grin, her eyes glinting with unspent lust. “rain check on the rest of our fun, baby. i promise, next time i won’t let anything interrupt me wrecking this sexy little body of yours.”

yujin leaned in for one last searing kiss, plundering your mouth with her tongue. she nipped at your bottom lip before pulling away and giving your ass a firm smack. “think of me when you’re getting ready for your cheer game later. i hope the next time you touch yourself you imagine it’s my fingers buried deep in this tight cunt, and if you’re good enough, you can pick me up after my training with my team, i wouldn’t mind a fuck after playing.”

she purred, delivering one last filthy promise before turning and sauntering towards the door.

with a final wink thrown over her shoulder, yujin disappeared through the locker room door, leaving you alone and desperately aroused, already craving her touch once more. you knew it wouldn’t be the last time she left you in such a state — yujin always got what she wanted, and right now, she wanted you.

[anonymous-existences]

MasterPost

Updates are currently... Hiatus. Cuz I'm busy as fuck, don't worry guys I'll reappear soon and say something when I update as always!!! A.E OUT!! (And then the fear of the AO3 curse striking me again with a new found trauma I never knew I didn't have yet is terrifying to think of so yuhh slay.)

[Author's First Fic is Finding Family, it's kinda bad? I think—]

Prolouge : Last Moments

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Spectral Mysteries On AO3

Part 1, Part 2

Title : Search For a Peaceful Resonance]

Also On Ao3

Search for Peaceful Resonance ReWorked

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Title:Fatherly Struggles with Dan

DanxBruce Ship Name - Apocalypse Knight , thank you @kashlyn for telling me 🤭🤭 super appreciated!!!

Fatherly Struggles With Dan AO3

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Lost and Divided Fic

Chapter 1 : One Sided Family

Chapter 2 : Stargazing

Field Trip to Gotham Now in Ao3

Chapter 1 : Off to Gotham

Chapter 2 : Gotham Shenanigans

An Apparition In The Dark, A Small Series.(just a small idea thing)

Pt 1

[Updated every New Chapter That's Posted and also Updated if a new Fic is being written :))]

[dannymayevent]

Dannymay 2024

Welcome back to Dannymay! We sincerely apologize for the delay this year, as we're releasing this just a day before the event is due to start. Life's been a bit hectic for all of us, but we're here now and ready to get this event started for you!

If you aren't aware, Dannymay is a yearly event where creators are given a daily prompt and are free to run with it! Any and all art is allowed; fanfiction, fanart, music, poetry, and anything else will be welcomed!

Feel free to complete as many or as few prompts as you'd like, and remember to have fun! When you're done, post your creations to Tumblr with the #Dannymay2024 tag so we can see it!

Like last year, we'll be compiling an ao3 collection under the tag Dannymay 2024, and we'll fire up the Dannymay discord for another year - the link is in our FAQ!

Full text prompt list and AU explanations are below the cut

Insect

2. Wish

3. Invisible

4. Wander

5. Nails

6. Immortal AU: What if Danny/Halfas couldn't die?

7. Mind Control

8. Style Challenge: A unique prompt to kick off the second week! Take the characters and draw them in the style of a different piece of media, or experiment with your own style and see what you can make!

9. Hunger

10. Mausoleum

11. Mutation

12. Time Travel

13. D&D AU: Drop the characters into the world of Dungeons & Dragons, or imagine them playing the game!

14. Light

15. Field Trip

16. Glowing Veins

17. Equilibrium

18. Revenge

19. Iron

20. Pitch AU: What if the show had aired as presented in the Pitch Bible, where Danny is a human with an owl named Spooky, rides a motorcycle, and has a psychic connection with Sam? For more information, the Bible has been uploaded to the Internet Archive

21. Funeral

22. Song Lyric: Just one week left! Take a line from a song you like and use that as inspiration!

23. Reflection

24. Electricity

25. Games

26. Shoes

27. Zombie AU: What if the ghosts were zombies, or what if canon Amity Park were to face a zombie apocalypse?

28. Healing

29. Fireworks

30. Goodbye

31. Free Day: You made it, thanks for participating in the event! For the last day, create anything you'd like!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

��My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[megalomaniacz]

ENTANGLED IN YOU— WHEN WILL MY LIFE BEGIN?

ways to help, daily click, do not support neil

ellie williams x reader

a/n: this actually isn’t the best but i’ll post it now and edit it later :D let me know what you think

tags: @astralnymphh

masterlist

…

once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who lived a castle…

okay maybe it was an abandoned apartment complex, and maybe she wasn’t a princess, but that isn’t the point of our story. our story focuses on how fate is inescapable.

“flower! let me up.” the doctor calls. you look outside of your broken bedroom window and quickly rush to the main room where there is a lever. you then, twist it with all your might. this triggers a series of reactions going downward which opens a space in the wall for the doctor to walk up.

this was a daily routine. doctor would go out and forage for supplies and food while you tidied up your “tower” as you called it. it wasn’t much but it was home and helped protect you from the outside world.

many years ago an outbreak occurred causing a sickness in the people of the world. doctor says it was terrifying to see. disfigured faces as a parasitic virus took over their minds.

but you were special.

you were born a few years later in a hospital doctor had been working in at the time. your mother had been seeing doctor for months and she was finally ready to deliver you. then suddenly, there was a break in. the infected monsters stormed through and bit your mother as you were being born. in a panic, doctor wrapped you up, ran as fast as she could until she found this abandoned building, and promised to always keep you safe.

she waited to see if the affects of the bite were passed onto you, and gratefully reveled in the fact that they did not. she still continued to watch you carefully. just in case. then, one day while cleaning up, she turned her head for a moment and you’d been scratched by an infected that had found its way inside the building.

you wailed and so did she before she realized that you were not turning. days began to pass and you still hadn’t turned. you were completely fine other than a small scratch on the back of your neck.

doctor rapidly got to work. after running various tests she used your blood to create a cure. it’s temporary against the infection, but it helps keep it from doing extensive damage. it gave those who were previously hopeless a reason to be hopeful.

she was excited about the results and prepared to share them with the world.

once she’d gotten in touch with the others in her field, they said in order to make a viable cure for everyone you would have to die, which she did not agree with.

so she rushed back to the tower, closed the doors, and swore to never let you leave out of fear that others would hurt you. even after you’d grown older. even after a cure had been fashioned years later from a mystery flower. even after the apocalypse had been declared over and it was semi safe to leave again. you would never leave. and she was confident that you’d never try to, until…

“are you excited for you birthday tomorrow, flower?” doctor asks as she walks into the lounge area. you were sat in the corner knitting a scarf out of yarn you’d fashioned from leaves. “i am actually. i’m more excited about the possibility of-“

“leaving to see the festival?” she finishes your sentence. you huff. “doctor, please. i look outside of my window and i see people laughing and lights shining just down the mountain. i know that a settlement is out there. have you still not checked it out?”

“no i haven’t checked it out and i’m not going to. i told you it’s probably fires started to control a large population of infected.” her tone is stern. she has checked already, it is a settlement.

you slump down in a chair next to her, hands clasped together. bottom lip sticking out. “please. please! atleast promise you’ll check on your next trip.”

she looks over at your face and smiles. “fine. we’re running out of supplies anyway. i’ll check on my trip tommorow, would that make you happy?”

“very.” you respond, smiling.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

a loud clanking is heard from underneath the tower followed by a string of curses. “doctor?” you call out. your heart begins to race. what if she’s hurt again and she needs help? or more of the cure? you quickly turn the knob and listen as her footsteps get closer.

then you hear her speak and it is definitely not doctor. you hide behind the entrance, a frying pan in hand as it was the closest thing to you. you watch as the woman steps up and looks around. breathing heavily with dirt all over her. before she can turn around, you knock her hard on her head.

[hyuuukais]

⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆˚.⋆ ͙͘͡★ LOOK UP TO THE STARS

pairing ▪︎ han jisung x fem reader

synopsis ▪︎ sent out on a mission to a neighbouring QZ that's gone radio silent, y/n falls into the hands of a post-rebellion group after things go terribly wrong. giving up on rejoining her squad, she joins the group on a trek to find a missing member, the group leader's sister. what's supposed to be a not-so-simple trip out and back to their base becomes a one-way ticket to the end of everything they know.

warnings ▪︎ general, blood, broken bones, some description of injuries

MASTERLIST | NEXT

CHAPTER ONE ▪︎ SET UP FOR FAILURE (7.2k)

"What do you do when a nearby Quarantine Zone has gone radio silent?"

The squad leader paces the front of the classroom, watching hands fly up. This year, there are fewer cadets than ever, the population dwindling constantly. They're eager, hungry for field action, wanting to see the hypothetical scenarios themselves. Sure, the simulations were exciting, and the history of the world prior to the apocalypse was interesting enough. Still, even you, one of the few who genuinely liked these classes, were getting sick of sitting back and hearing about missions instead of being able to see it all firsthand.

"Send out a squad?" You answer when your hand is picked, shrugging.

"No." You wince at your squad leader's strict voice, but it relaxes. "Not a squad, just a few troops to scout the area and survey the damage. So, not entirely wrong, but not entirely correct either." He leans back on the chipped blackboard, hands behind his back. "This is stuff you'll need to get down if you want to move up in the ranks, all of you. I'm not singling you out Y/n- ehem, Cadet L/n."

A few people in the back giggle at the slip-up, knowing your more personal relationship with the soldier standing before you. He hides a smirk behind a well-trained stoic face, your own painted with a furious blush of red. Like the professional he is, the lesson continues without much of a pause, only briefly calling out the laughter to remind everyone who's in charge here.

After being drilled with so much information it could cause a migraine, you're finally able to leave. The next parts of your day include physical training and weaponry practice, then dinner, and bed at 10:30PM sharp. No time for chitchat, no time for leisure outside of the confines of your small room. Not that you've earned your own room yet, so at least you have your roommates to entertain you.

You hang back, having a few minutes to spare before heading off to throw punches or do push-ups or whatever they'll have you doing next. Just enough time to give Minho an equally needed break.

"Squad Leader Lee?" You approach his desk once everyone is gone with a flirty tone in your voice. "Why, that lesson was... I have no words, truly. The way your voice projects over such a large room, so deep and velvety, really. And don't even get me started on how good you look in that uniform-"

"Cadet L/n, that's enough," he says in a strict enough tone you almost take him seriously.

"My bad, my bad. So, what is it?" You ask, grinning. "No dessert or bathroom duties?"

"How about both?" His face finally betrays him, the corners of his mouth upturned.

"Now there's that cruel soldier everyone believes you to be!" You cry, dramatically holding a hand over your heart. "How could you! You know how much I love the mushy crumble and how much I hate cleaning those disgusting public toilets. Just cause humanity has fallen doesn't mean you can't still be decent, people!"

You both laugh a bit too loudly, and you're about to continue your acting until a harsh knock on the open door interrupts you. Swiveling around, you're met with the hard stare of your Captain.

"Cadet. Squad Leader," He greets, clearing his throat and eyeing you. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Y-yes," You flinch. "Yes, sir."

"Better head off then," He says, waving you off as he enters the room. "Squad Leader Lee, spare a minute?"

"Of course, sir." Minho stands, voice fading as you rush down the hall.

-

"What is going on with you two?"

Standing over your panting figure is Seungmin, your best friend since coming to the QZ. He offers you a hand, taking it away just as you go to grab it.

"Dick." You push yourself off the ground, sweat dripping down your back. "Nothing, you know this! Why does everyone think something's going on?"

"Duh, because you knew each other before coming here? You have history," Seungmin wiggles his eyebrows, bumping his shoulder against yours. "Another round?"

"What? So you can just kick my ass again?" You huff. "We both know you're a better fighter."

"Only in the physical sense. I'd hate to be on your bad side with a weapon in your hand, sheesh." He hands you your water bottle and a rag, grabbing his own after. "Besides, you were obviously distracted today. Usually, you're much better."

"Complimenting me, are we?"

"Never." He grimaces, taking a seat on the bench.

You follow his lead, sitting back and watching your fellow cadets spar on the mats. Some just use their fists, like you and Seungmin, and some are equipped with small knives. No one is allowed to critically injure someone else, but accidents happen, usually among the more bloodthirsty of your peer group.

"Fuck, he's brutal," you say, pointing to the back where a larger member of the group is throwing down his opponent. "Lucky I got stuck with your skinny ass."

"My skinny a- really? Look," Seungmin smacks your right arm, as you shake with laughter. "Look. Call this skinny?" He flexes his muscles in his left arm, putting your hand over his sleeved arm to prove his point. "I could crush you. I will crush you."

Empty threats, empty promises, but full, full laughter erupting from your throat. It's short-lived, however, as your Captain is now walking toward you through the mats.

"Jesus, this guy and I just keep running into each other today, huh?" You mutter, wiping away excess water from your mouth.

"This guy could use you as zombie bait-" Seungmin abruptly stands and salutes. "Afternoon, Captain."

"Good afternoon, Cadet Kim. As good as it can be these days." He clears his throat as you stand, copying Seungmin's behaviours. "Cadet L/n, we meet again. First, you're taking up Squad Leader Lee's time, and now you're slacking in your physical training."

"She just needed a minute to breathe-"

"I'm talking to Cadet L/n right now," the Captain cuts Seungmin off who's barely hiding his annoyance. He's never liked your Captain. "If you keep up like this, you'll never improve. Just some food for thought."

"Yes, Captain Park."

"Now, get back out there. You still have time for a few rounds before weaponry training." He turns halfway, looking at you over his shoulder. "Change your stance and you'll get knocked down less. Cadet Kim, I trust you can show her?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good." With that, he heads out.

"Why was he even watching us?" You cross your arms, no longer hiding your disgust. "Doesn't he have better things to do?"

"Apparently not." Seungmin steps back onto the nearest mat where you like to train, easy to step off for breaks both necessary and unnecessary. "Let's get back at it, I guess. I don't want to get stuck on dish duty."

-

After all training for the day concludes, you head to the cafeteria, planning to grab a sandwich and head back to your room early. As usual, the area is full of hungry soldiers, making it hard to be quick. You tend to avoid eating here and getting stuck in meaningless conversations with people you likely won't see again, never sticking around long enough to make proper friends. Seungmin was scheduled for dinner a half hour after you, leaving you alone for the first half. The one time you waited to eat with Seungmin and his friends was the most painfully awkward experience of your life, standing against the wall with your tray of food trying desperately to not get knocked over by the sea of bodies.

Nothing against Seungmin and his friends, but you didn't know them that well either. You briefly met Ryujin that day, but she was similar to you. She spared enough time to talk and eat, but once she was done, she was done. Gone to her room early for God knows what.

For a while there was Jeongin, but he was mistakenly sent on a mission; something that was supposed to be a fake scenario turned out to be very much real. No one's seen him since. They didn't find a body, so you have to assume he turned. You've never asked Seungmin what he thinks happened knowing it's a touchy subject, changing the topic whenever someone else brings it up.

Today is different, something in the air makes you want to hang around. There's a feeling of secrecy, whispers of rumours thick in the air. Getting as close as you can to the people next to you in line without it being weird, you try to eavesdrop. They're also cadets, but from a different squad; you don't recognize them.

"No way, they would tell us that, wouldn't they?" The taller one says, further away from you.

"You really think so?" The one closer to you scoffs. "The higher-ups don't tell us shit about anything that goes on beyond these walls."

"Okay, but isn't missing a whole QZ kind of, I don't know, important?"

You grab a spoonful of bland potatoes.

"Obviously it is!" The shorter one whispers. "But at our level, I seriously doubt they'll let us know. We won't even be able to do anything anyway since we can't go beyond the walls yet."

"Sometimes they let squads out of training early." The taller one scoops some beans. "Maybe-"

"Shh, Captain Park is right there." He hands you the spoon, unaware of your part in the conversation.

So that must be why Minho had to discuss abandoned QZ's and the procedures today. You knew it wasn't the originally planned lesson, hearing Minho complain all about it the day before after class. Maybe he knows something. Maybe he's just as in the dark as the rest of you, only being told of a sudden lesson change and that's it. Could he be hiding something from you? That talk with the Captain...

"Hey, keep the line moving!" Someone shouts, unfreezing you.

You dash out of the cafeteria, leaving your food behind. It's okay, it was barely edible anyway.

If Minho knows something, you'll find out. He can't keep secrets from you and you know it, using the fact to get ahead of the rest of your class even though you already knew it all. But this? Something to this extent?

"Minho!" You swing the door open only to be met with not just Minho, but Squad Leader Seo as well. "Oh, um, evening squad leaders. I just, um, came to..." You spot an assignment paper on Minho's desk, snatching one up. "...grab a new copy of this! Once you're available, could we go over question nine? I got a bit confused."

"Question nine..." Squad Leader Seo leans over to look at the papers. "'What to do if a zombie bites your fellow soldier'? Sounds pretty straightforward to me."

You bite your lip, cursing yourself for not looking at the questions first.

"Of course, Squad Leader," you address her, putting on your acting face. "The thing is, the question's a bit broad, no?" She cocks an eyebrow. "Well, you see, where was this soldier bit? Obviously, there's no hope if it's the neck. Goner, shoot in the head. But what if it's the forearm? Or the calf? Are you not able to amputate the limb before infection spreads?"

Squad Leader Seo just shakes her head. "She's all yours, Lee."

You stand back triumphant. If there's one thing you're good at, it's annoying or confusing people to your advantage.

"Wow," Minho gives you a slow clap. "Just... wow. Next time I wanna get someone off my back, I'll give you a call."

"Gotta use my natural talent somewhere," you chuckle, taking a seat in the chair Seo must have pulled over. "Not like actress' still exist."

"Clowns do."

"Screw you!" You ball up the paper, tossing it at him lightly. It bounces off his chest and falls to the floor.

"So why are you here now? Don't you only have-" He checks his watch. "-eleven minutes until your dinner hour is over? Meaning I have eleven until mine starts."

"I had a question."

"Something more important than getting a well balanced meal in?" Minho raises an eyebrow.

"Way more important. And you know those meals are gross, you and your secret spice stash... you still need to tell me where you get those. Anyway!" You take a breath, unsure how to approach the topic without being too blunt. "I've heard people talking-"

"-because they're always so truthful."

"Shut up." You lean in, not wanting to risk any passerby hearing. You really should have shut the door behind you and risked talk about you and Minho. "I overheard some cadets talking about a neighbouring QZ going silent and couldn't help but think that it might have had to do with our lesson today. Do you know anything about this?"

Minho stiffens. "If I knew something, I couldn't tell you, you know that."

"But I'm your exception." You roll your eyes. "We both know that."

"For a lot of things, yes, but this?" He eyes the door. "Even if I wanted to tell you, I can't, and that's final."

"Minho-"

"That's final," His tone is harsh, the only way he knows how to get you to stop pressing further. "Got it, Cadet?"

"Got it," you mumble, pouting.

You really thought you'd be able to get something, anything, a crumb of information from him, but no. He had to put Squad Leader Lee on and Minho away, leaving you with the same info as you walked in with.

An idea was brewing, and Minho could tell.

"What's that face for?" He questions. "You're scheming, aren't you?"

"No," you say, all too quickly. "Course not. Nice chatting with you!"

You stand abruptly, your chair squeaking backward as you dash out of the room to avoid questions. Fellow cadets stare as you bound past them, back to the cafeteria. There were two minutes left in your hour, just enough to pull Seungmin out of his chair and to the side, leading him outside before he can protest or even register what was happening.

Cold air hits your face, skin prickling in the early spring moonlight. Turning him to face you, you let go of Seungmin's arm. There are few people occupying outdoor seats on the patio, still too cool to have a meal enjoyably. This works in your favour, moving to the table furthest from the doors for some privacy.

"Why'd you drag me out here? Can't a man eat in peace?"

"Short answer, no." You drag a hand through your hair, only loose during your free time. "Long answer, we're going to break into Minho's office."

"Should I get Captain Park to drag you to the infirmary? Because you've lost it, genuinely lost it."

"Ugh, I've seen him enough today," you groan. "Listen, Minho obviously knows something about what's going on-"

"What's going on?" Seungmin asks.

"Haven't you heard of the abandoned QZ?"

"Oh, that," he says. "It's just a rumour."

"Or is it?" You smile devilishly. "I asked Minho about it and the way he reacted suggests otherwise, plus my lesson today was all about radio silence. It all adds up!"

"It all adds up because you want it to add up." Seungmin scans the patio, inhaling when more people join you outside. "We shouldn't be talking about this."

"Fine, don't join me." You lean back hard, arms crossed. "I'm gonna do it anyway."

"Well, it was nice knowing you." He leaves you then, and you realize your dinner hour is past over.

Sneaking back to your room will have to do. Good practice for tonight! But your mind wanders as you head back. What if doing this hurts your friendship with Minho? Should you really risk so much over some rumour? Besides, even if it's true, if you get caught you won't be able to go with your squad to check it out anyway.

"Not that they send training squads..." You pout, opening your door.

You're met with hushes, creaks of beds, and giggling.

"Relax, it's just me."

"Oh good, it's about time you showed up." Your roommate, Yeji, sits up with her hair all messed up from trying to act asleep. "I thought you'd be in Captain Park's office again."

"Nope. Almost in Minho's though."

"Fucking finally!" Yeji cocks her head, a wide smile on her face.

"Took you long enough," another voice says.

A head pops up from Yeji's bed, and your other roommate Yuna lies there. You realize it's actually Yuna's bed they're in, having both rushed thinking you were someone else.

"I'm gonna get my stuff and get ready for bed," you say, grabbing a small netted bag with a towel and soap inside. "Don't have too much fun while I'm gone."

Closing the door with a soft click, you head to the communal showers. They're at the end of the corridor, each squad getting their own with their floor. Your squad, number fourteen-three, kept it surprisingly clean and even won an award for housekeeping the year before. This was your last year here, moving on with the rest of the squad to the frontlines next year. That is, if you make it that far.

Privacy was hard to come by, so you sit in the shower stall a little longer after the water's turned off. Wrapped in your towel, you slouch sideways against the wall, closing your eyes for just a minute. At first, you think you're dreaming of the voices you hear, shaking yourself awake. Goosebumps prickle at your skin for the second time that night, either from the cool air coming in from under the shower curtain, or the realization of people joining you.

"No, you can't tell her anything." Oh, you're definitely not supposed to be hearing this. "I don't care how much you trust her. You know how much I want to tell Bin, and I can't. I don't see how this is much different."

Squad Leader Seo sighs, loudly.

"She won't tell anyone," Minho replies.

They're talking about you.

"She'll tell Seungmin, who will tell Ryujin, who will tell Yuna, who will tell Bin. Then what?" Seo hisses. "You need to understand this."

"I hate this." Minho shuffles. "I hate not knowing and not being able to do anything."

"I know you do. I do too," her voice softens. "Last I heard is they're planning to make an official announcement tomorrow. Hopefully, that'll be enough to satisfy her curiosity."

"It better be."

Their voices fade and you wait, you wait until it's completely silent, and then some, ensuring they'll be gone by the time you step out.

-

Soldiers shuffle around to find empty seats, sitting with their squads. In the row in front of you sits Minho, next to him Squad Leader Seo, with a gap large enough for one person to walk through between their seats to separate their squads, fourteen-three and fourteen-four. The other two squads in your section are seated in the rows ahead of you, not much further away. Your squad only consists of ten people, two rows of five each. Yeji and Yuna sit to your right, Seungmin to your left.

"Attention!" Captain Park clears his throat from the stage; you think this used to be a school's auditorium. "Please, give me your attention!"

Everyone falls silent.

"Thank you. Now," He points at a white sheet behind him, an image of a map projected onto it. "We are here." He points to a small red dot at the bottom of the map. "Our closest neighbouring QZ's are here," he points at a green dot, "and here." He points at a blue dot. They look close enough, but you know from studying the maps they're a lot further than they seem.

"For a long time, we've established trade routes to help sustain us, sent trained soldiers and healers to each other when needed," he begins his speech. "This system has worked for thirty years." Captain Park takes a few steps on the stage. "Now, one of them has gone radio silent. We haven't heard back from them nor our messengers who've been sent out to find out what's happened."

A few people gasp, whispers arising. Panic fills the air, heads turning and some even standing up.

"Sit back down!" Captain Park barks. "There's no need to panic, really. All but one of our messengers have gone and not come back. It turns out they've been... overrun, slightly, forced to the middle of their zone where the infected beings have trapped them.

"Most of the infected have wandered back out, running out of resources." You cringe; he means people. "So we're using this as a training opportunity. Thanks to some of our best squad leadership yet, we're sending out squads fourteen-three and thirteen-four. You're about to graduate early!"

Shock runs through your body so intensely your hair could be standing up. So the rumour was true, and you're being sent out.

You're being sent out.

You.

"Shit," you gasp, tears forming in your wide eyes.

"Y/n! Did you hear- hey." Seungmin takes your face in his hands, catching the falling tears with his thumbs. "No crying where people can see you, remember?" You sniff, nodding. "Good. This is good news. We're finally getting a chance to get out of here and experience the real world."

"Right," you say, determination taking over your numb face. "Right! Finally!"

You jump out of your seat, joining the rest of your excited squad mates. This was an opportunity you couldn't pass up, no matter how frightening it is now that it's happening. You're leaving, you're really leaving.

But when you lock eyes with Minho, all you can see devastation.

-

Twelve hours later you were in the backseat of a vehicle heading to the next QZ. Sitting next to you is Seungmin, silently looking out of the window. Most of the surrounding area had turned into dense forest, the dirt road bumpy. Minho was up front driving, one hand on the wheel and the other lounging in the open window, wind coming back and hitting you in the face.

You drifted in and out of sleep on the trip, a restless night keeping you up before. This morning offered barely any time to down some kind of caffeinated drink and a small breakfast, packing some for on the road. It feels like a lifetime has passed since you left, seeing more of the real world than you've seen in a long time.

Most people in your squad had either been born in the QZ or arrived at such a young age that they don't have any memories of outside of it, but you had lived beyond it for the first decade of your life. It wasn't hard to forget since you'd become so accustomed to life inside the walls.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Seungmin's voice brings you back to reality.

"Hmm?" You detach your eyes from the trees, looking over at your friend. "Oh, nothing, really. Just kind of zoning out."

"You better zone back in." Seungmin points between the front seats and you follow his gaze. "We're here."

In front of you stands a large, grey wall with a secured gate and two lookout spots on either side. Barbed wire lines the top of the structure, although you highly doubt zombies can climb. There isn't much difference from your own, just a different number spray painted above the gate. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, minus the missing soldiers.

"How'd the infected even get in?" You ask, thinking out loud.

No one answers, unease settling in. Minho leaves the vehicle first, circling around to grab his gun from the back. Yeji leaves next and you follow, Seungmin and Ryujin out last. On you, you have two small knives strapped to your thigh and a small pistol on your hip. Lastly, you have a slingshot tucked into your back pocket, a small satchel secured across your body to hold ammo.

The five of you walk toward the gate, Minho punching a code into the pin pad on the right. With a groan, the gate starts sliding open. Behind that gate is another for extra security also requiring a code, so Minho continues on, the rest of you getting your weapons out to prepare. You hold one of your knives, opting for something quieter before the chaos ensues. This gate creaks open slightly faster, allowing entrance into the QZ.

"So," Minho slows to a stop a few steps ahead. "That must be how they got in."

To the left is a huge hole in the wall, still smoking from whatever- or whoever- blew it out. Infected figures twitch and drag their feet around by the opening, far enough away they won't see you quite yet. Unlike your own QZ, there's a big parking lot to your left with what you assume are all of this QZ's vehicles, still intact. The explosion might have been big, but not enough to reach every inch of the area. To your right is a short building, probably where patrol squads check in and out, or where newcomers are interviewed. Straight ahead is a homemade gravel road leading into more domestic areas, small houses lining beyond the obvious military buildings out front.

You knew once you reached a certain rank you'd be able to get your own apartment or even a house like these ones, but you've never seen so many. This comes as a shock to you, believing you were one of the largest QZ's in the area, but you guess largest doesn't need to apply to the population within the walls, but the space it takes up.

"Squad Leader Lee." Seo runs up, placing a hand on his shoulder. "How're we doing this?"

He thinks for a minute, staring at the gaping hole.

"Split your squad into two," he starts. "You'll take half to the left with half of mine, leave the rest with Changbin." She gives him a look, clearly against the idea. "We both know he's capable and this is training after all. He'll lead his half and mine to the right side, snaking through buildings to reach the middle ones marked on the map. You and I will head to the right, taking out the infected as we go."

"Should we not all go right? We're here to rescue, not to kill." Squad Leader Seo turns him to face Minho, hand falling from his shoulder. "We shouldn't go into unnecessary danger."

"If all of those infected catch wind of where we are, not only will everyone on the right side then be trapped, but we'll have every single one of them after us. This way we can thin out the hoard." Minho checks his ammo, a way of signifying the end of the argument. "Feel free to do what you think is right, but don't blame me when your squad gets killed."

Squad Leader Seo looks taken aback, unused to Minho in action, hard and strict. Face void of emotion, he motions his squad forward to section off who will go where. Of course, you're chosen for his group, along with Ryujin, Seungmin chosen to lead the others going with Changbin.

"I swear to fucking God if you die-" You adjust the strap holding Seungmins ammo.

"I should be saying that to you," He chuckles. "You die on me and I'll kill you."

"Please do," You say, semi-serious. "I don't wanna be one of them."

"I won't let that happen," Minho says from behind you, gaining both your and Seungmins attention. "Finish your goodbyes and let's go."

"He can be such a dick." Seungmin rolls his eyes. "Comes with age, I guess."

"Shut up," You laugh. "He's not even much older than us."

Seungmin half-smiles, looking down at you. "My squad is gonna leave me if I don't go now. Squad Leader Kim, out."

"Wait." You grab his arm when he moves past you. "Not even a proper goodbye?"

He considers this. "I don't want to say goodbye to you."

"How about see you later?" You offer. "That promises we'll meet again after."

"Promises don't exist in this world," He says, but notices the way your face drops. "I'll... make an exception this time. See you later, bug."

"Squad section one, over here!" Minho waves his arms, signalling you and the others assigned to him over.

"See you later," you say finally.

Your section moves out, staying low between abandoned vehicles and corners of buildings, slowly but surely making your way to the hole. The closer you get, the more infected you see.

They look worse up close, prominent black veins popping out of their necks. Some limp, some stalk, some just stand there unmoving. You're hiding behind the tire of a truck, barely out of sight, and watch as one inches its way over. Its eyes are sunken in, lines deep in the skin, and nails grown out long with dirt and decay stuck underneath the tips. As it starts getting closer to your location, you make eye contact with Minho who sits behind a concrete barrier across from you. He makes a motion downward and you know what he's saying immediately. Crouching low, you slide your body underneath the truck, knife ready. You can see the feet shuffling through the front.

"Stay there," Minho mouths, wielding a knife of his own.

Part of you wants to disobey; it'd be so easy to take it down! But you know better. Moving too early won't just risk you, but your squad too.

It stops at the side, tips of its feet underneath the truck and right by your arm. Sweat beads on your forehead, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. You didn't know how much intelligence these things really had, always learning they lost most of it once turned. Most, not all. What if it somehow senses you and crouches down; or turns around and spots Minho? Would it grab you, claw at your skin until it's raw and bleeding, dragging you out finally to feast?

But it does none of that, simply standing there.

You move slowly to the other side of the truck and survey your surroundings, taking in where you can move to for quick cover. There isn't much, mostly rubble, but you spot a home nearby where a piece of blown-out wall has made a new entrance. You'd have to stay low as there isn't much to hide you on the way, but you couldn't stay here trapped under this vehicle. Making eye contact with Minho, you nod your head toward it. He has an easy route to move there, and so does most of the squad, you're the only one who has to risk anything.

He moves toward the front of the house, opting to use the front door.

"Always has to do it his way," you mutter, dragging your body out from underneath the truck.

What you failed to see is another infected making its way from the back of the truck, a low growl escaping its throat as you go into a low crouch. Slowly, you turn around right as it sprints at you, pouncing and pinning your arms down. Instead of biting you right away, it screams, spit flying onto your face and neck, and you notice the way its skin is peeling away from the corners of its mouth. You fight your own shout, struggling against the strength of its hold.

This is it. It'll go for the killing blow in a second.

I'm sorry Minho, you think as you see other infected alert at the sound of your attack. I'm sorry Seungmin, I'm sorry Squad Leader Seo, I'm sorry Yeji, Ryujin, Changbin-

You fight back tears as the infected on top of you continues to wail and wonder why it hasn't bitten you yet, why it's prolonging this encounter when you could be dead already. The grip on your forearms is bruising, pushing them deeper into the ground.

You hear it before you see it- another explosion as the hoard gathers. All you can do is hope the others got to safety, even if you're going to die here. Your first mission, failed.

A hand comes out of nowhere, piercing the infected in the skull and it drops onto you, rolling to the side. When the grip loosens, you push the dead weight off your body, grabbing the hand now offering help.

"I said I'm not letting you become worm food." Minho runs with you, hand still holding yours. "Everyone, back down! Head to the gates!"

No one hesitates. Another two explosions sound behind you and you don't dare to look back, the second sounding closer than the first. The ground rumbles underneath your feet and you stumble, Minho barely catching you before you hit the ground. Shrieks sound from behind you, terribly human. You finally glance behind.

Ground and body parts fly up in the air and you can see the grenades being thrown from all sides. You catch a glimpse of someone running across the destruction, face half covered in a black cloth and sunglasses obscuring his eyes.

"There's people!" You shout over the noise, forcing Minho to stop as you stare in horror. "We have to help them!"

"Pretty sure they're the ones causing this shit," Minho says, close to your ear. "We need to get out of here while we still can."

You want to protest, but the grenade that lands by your feet suggests you move. The two of you barely make it behind a parked van before it blows, heat blasting over you. Whoever is doing this either has no idea your squad is there, or don't care.

"We just need to get past those buildings." Minho points, and you realize how close you are to the exit.

You're on the gravel road straight to the exit, right by the beginnings of the training buildings, short and matching the patrol station at the front. The next moves are obvious; book it out. Emerging from your left are the other two squads and you can see Seungmin scanning the area until he spots you. Clearly, he wants to run to you, but something is stopping him and you don't have to guess what it is when you hear the now familiar groans and cries.

"Now!" Minho shouts, running out of cover.

A second delayed, you follow. The gravel is uneven and holey, making it hard not to slip. Minho is faster than you as you pant, trying to catch up. At the gates, he stops and turns in your direction, watching in slow motion as a heavy-duty, homemade bomb of sorts lands near you, tumbling to the edge of a building and blowing bits of concrete everywhere, the force knocking you down. A larger piece traps your left leg, pinned against the ground.

"Y/n!" You look up, seeing Seungmin rush to you and Minho frozen to the spot. "Damn it, this is really heavy."

He attempts to lift the chunk off of you and you scream out, face contorting in pain. You can feel the broken bone threatening to rip your skin. Seungmin comes back into sight, gun in hand, frantically shooting above you. Twisting the best you can, you reach for your own gun and find it missing. You must have lost it with all the running and ducking.

Now you can see the infected coming at you in full force.

"Seungmin, go!" You cry out, panting. "Get out of here!"

"What happened to no goodbyes?" He backs up slightly, spotting something you can't see from down here. "Shit."

Seungmin is back by your side, desperate to get the piece of wall off of you. He falls back, an infected clawing at his shoulder. Blood seeps through the beige fabric of his coat and he winces, using his good arm to hit the creature in the neck with his knife. Distracted, you don't notice the infected leaping at your body unit it's too late, eyes now trained on Minho being held back by Squad Leader Seo. You can see her shouting at him as he struggles to get past her, ultimately failing when she gets Changbin to help drag him toward the gates. Reading his lips, you realize he's been shouting your name, and twist back around just in time to see the infected land over you.

"No!" Your body is contorted painfully, not able to fully turn onto your back to fend off the creature due to your leg being trapped. "Get off!"

Sharp nails claw into your hip and pushing it downward, a scream of pain ripping from your throat. Your hip was definitely not supposed to turn that far. The other hand digs into your jaw, a terrifying set of teeth descending on you.

A gunshot sounds and blood pours out of a small hole in its forehead and onto your neck, body falling limp and releasing your own. Your body falls back into the natural position it should be in; back on your stomach. People you don't recognize are helping Seungmin up from under the infected that attacked him, a couple more running behind you. You're too tired to turn around and see what they're doing, barely registering the pressure change on your leg. Minho is gone, and so is the rest of your squad it seems, gates closed.

They left you for dead.

He left you for dead.

Hot, angry tears roll down your face as your vision begins to blacken, unable to keep it inside anymore. Loose hair tumbles over your eyes, getting stuck in the mix of tears and blood, slicking over your forehead when you put your head down on the gravel path. Every muscle in your body is crying out, burning white hot as you're lifted.

Someone puts an arm under your armpits and another under your legs, holding you bridal style, and your head falls into their chest. You know it's not Seungmin, having forced him to carry you enough times when you were too lazy to walk to a shared class or back to your room. Eyes barely open, you watch as blurry figures run back in the direction of the hole in the wall. There's a group of three in front of you, one holding onto another while the third helps them keep up with the rest of the group.

"Anyone see Ji?" The one holding you yells out, voice thick with an Australian accent.

"Last I saw, he was climbing out of the lookout." Someone jogs up beside you. "She looks like crap. Why didn't you leave her?"

"Everyone else already left her, figured she could use a hand."

"Do you think he's gonna be okay back there?" They ask. "Lots of military personnel and still tons of infected wandering about too."

"He'll be fine." He stops walking. "Mind opening the trunk? And maybe riding back here with her?"

"You know I hate riding in the back, it makes me nervous," they grumble, but still obey the request. "Lemme go grab my pack from the other truck."

"Don't bother, we're all going to the same place." He lifts you up, placing you down carefully on what feels like a thin blanket and flat pillow. "Better to get out now-"

"Hey! I'm here!" A voice cuts him off. "Damn, that looks a lot worse up close."

"Oh thank God." The person who was supposed to stay with you steps away from the truck. "He can go with her considering he saved her life and all. See you!"

See you later.

"Seung... Seungmin...?" You mumble, eyes fluttering closed as you feel the back of the truck move under the weight of someone stepping on it. "Is he...?"

"Shh." A warm hand gently pushes the strands of hair off your face. "Man, she's burning up."

"Here. Keep an eye on her until we get back to camp." The voice gets further away. "Bang on the back window if she starts dying or something."

"Got it." That's the last thing you hear before slipping into the dark completely.

-

Three days later, you open your eyes. They're dry, having to blink several times before you can register the dim light around you. You're on an uncomfortable cot in what you assume is a medical tent, three other unoccupied cots around you. Next to each is a small wooden table, all empty except yours which has half a bottle of water and a lantern, the source of the light. The entrance of the tent is closed, but you can still tell it's night. Looking over to the other side, you see someone's back turned to you.

"Hel-" You clear your throat, voice low and rough. "Hello? Where... am I?"

You try to sit up as they walk over to you, but pain shoots through your very soul. Biting back a shout, you stop moving.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He hands you the water. "Drink up.

"You look familiar," You say, taking in his foxlike features. "Is this another outpost?"

"No, not exactly." He turns his face away from you. "I have to let the others know you're awake, but take this-" He hands you a couple of pills. "-it'll help with the pain."

With that, he exists the tent. You don't know how long it takes until he comes back with another man by his side, but you've managed to sit up the best you can. One of your legs is tucked under you, the left sticking straight out in a makeshift splint.

"You're awake." You recognize the accent.

"You're the one who saved me."

He chuckles, taking a seat in a chair on the right.

"I can't take all the credit," He says, looking down at his hands briefly. "One of our snipers took out the infected on you. You asked about your teammate before passing out... he's okay, still recovering from a shoulder injury though."

"Seungmin's okay?" You shift suddenly in your bed, bad move, and wince at the soreness.

"Try not to move so much," The boy from earlier says.

"Yes, he's okay, and he's been asking about you too." He sits back. "This is only the second time he's left your side since you got here."

Hearing that makes your heart ache.

"So, I figure it's time for proper introductions!" He claps his hands together, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "My name is Chan, welcome to what's left of the rebellion. That over there-" he points to the boy, who really looks about your age. "-is Jeongin."

"What?" Your head whips toward the boy. "That's why you look familiar! This is where you went? Oh my God, everyone thought you were dead! Does Min know?"

"That's..." Jeongin crosses his arms uncomfortably. "A story for another time."

"Chan!" A head pops into the tent. "Oh, I didn't realize she was awake, sorry."

"It's okay. What is it Chae?"

"The squad is back," She announces. "I told H-"

"Captain!" A man strides into the tent and 'Chae' leaves with a small eye roll.

"I told you to stop calling me that-" Chan stands, rubbing his forehead. "I'm kind of busy right now, the report will have to wait a minute."

Chan gestures toward you and the man's eyes widen.

"She's awake! I mean, you're awake, sorry," He says, giving an awkward smile and holding a hand out; you take it hesitantly. "I'm Han, Han Jisung. The guy who saved your ass."

---

notes ▪︎ first chapter let's goooo. i'm actually so excited for this u have no idea. i love love LOVE zombie/apocalypse stuff sm!! so it's nice to share smthn like that

─── taglist (18+) : @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @staysinbloom @manuosorioh @hanjisunglover @xxstrayland @puppyminnnie @hanjsquokka @kpopsstuffs @ot8girlfie

[dixons-sunshine]

Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU Headcannons Part 5 | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Word count: 592.

A/n: Focusing back on them before the apocalypse for now. And the last part personally had me giggling. Kids, huh? Anyways, I hope you like this!

Specially dedicated to my biggest supporter on this au, @ddamm.

★ Daryl bought his own motorcycle shortly after the two of you moved into your final apartment.

★ He had spent years saving up for it, even hesitantly accepting any money you wanted to add to the savings for his motorcycle.

★ He was hesitant to take your money because he felt bad. He didn't want you to “waste” money on him, money that you could use to buy yourself something nice.

★ However, you were adamant, and your contribution to the savings helped him immensely.

★ The day he bought his own motorcycle, he was ecstatic. It wasn't anything fancy, but he loved it, and therefore, you loved it as well.

★ You'd been with him for over a decade at that point. You knew practically all the lore surrounding the motorcycling community. Daryl took great pleasure in teaching you everything he knew.

★ It made Daryl happy to know that you took interest in something he liked. He could go on for hours about motorcycles and you wouldn't mind. You'd actively ask questions and ask him to explain something you didn't understand.

★ Daryl was even teaching you how to ride one. It wasn't quite like teaching you how to ride a bicycle, like you had joked when he had suggested teaching you how to ride a motorcycle, but you got better with time.

★ Soon, you were able to ride one on your own, though you still preferred to have the professional—Daryl—ride it instead with you on the back, holding on to him.

★ Going away from motorcycles for a bit, Daryl was also the one that taught you how to drive a car.

★ Merle had essentially given his truck to Daryl way back when, and the old thing surprisingly still worked years later, all the way to the start of the apocalypse.

★ That was the first thing—apart from a bicycle—you ever learned to drive.

★ When Daryl bought his motorcycle, he basically gave you the truck to go to and from work, the supermarket, basically anywhere you wanted to go.

★ During the earlier stages before he bought the motorcycle, he'd go and pick you up from work with his truck.

★ He once picked you up a bit later than usual due to the field trip you had taken your class on, and when you had gotten off the bus to greet him with a cheek kiss, the kids all collectively commented on it, eliciting chuckles from you and your husband.

★ “Ew.”

★ That's also how your class had gotten introduced to your husband. After that, they never stopped asking about him.

★ “Mrs Dixon, how'd you meet Mr Dixon?”

“Mrs Dixon, have you and Mr Dixon ever kissed with your mouths like my mommy and daddy?”

“Mrs Dixon, do you love Mr Dixon?”

★ You had also once gotten a question from one of the kids that had you choking and blushing.

★ “Mrs Dixon, do you and Mr Dixon play with your clothes off?”

★ You changed that topic of discussion very quickly. Nope, you weren't gonna teach a bunch of five year olds about sex.

★ It did make for some good comedy when you got back home. Well, for Daryl at least. When you told him about that, he couldn't stop laughing. He found the question hilarious.

★ “Well, what'd ya tell him?”

“I didn't say anything. I changed the topic.”

“Ya could've said yes. We do “play with our clothes off” a bunch'a times.”

“Daryl, I'm not gonna say that! Do you know how many parents would be plotting my murder?”

“I know. M'jus' messin' with ya, Darlin'.”

[incorrectbatfam]

Each batfam member’s recurring stress dream

Dick: he was an only child again

Jason: he became the shortest sibling

Tim: Bart and Kon were in charge of Titans Tower

Damian: he got a squirrel that turned out to be the last of its kind and he had to protect it in against an animal zombie apocalypse

Duke: tarantulas in the toilet that laughed like the Joker

Cullen: his pants fell down in front of the Justice League

Stephanie: the waffle iron broke so she had to carve her own squares onto a pancake

Cassandra: David Cain dragged her back to where she came from

Barbara: she had to substitute for Ms. Frizzle on a field trip through a wormhole

Harper: her hands were welded to watermelons

Carrie: she was made of peanut butter and couldn't stop eating herself

Kate: her car got stuck in the snow on Mount Everest

Alfred: a new law passed stating all eggs must be cubes and he was on the run from the FBI with the last carton of round eggs

Selina: Bat-Cow sucking her toes

Bruce: Jason

[waihtie]

Watching and washing

Season 5 Episode 16 - Dark Side of the Moon

*wakes up to a gun in his face* *he's calm, but instantly checks on Sam*

○ "Wanna spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester's on your ass? Because I don't." The power he holds. He's known. He's feared.

"When I come back, I'm gonna be pissed." Boy knows he can't stay dead.

Imagine having plot armour that thick

○ Aand they're both dead. RIP boys for my guess is not even a whole episode

We actually get to see them in heaven?!? I love it. Like so much.

○ "I'm dead" "Condolences" I love Cas more than literally anything

He can't visit heaven, so he's using a spell to speak to him through his car radio

○ Lmao Dean found Sam's heaven. There's a road connecting all the heavens.

Awee Sam understanding why Dean is in heaven, but not himself. This man's self-worth has been so low all season.

Also, interesting how Dean's heaven is a moment between him and Sam and Sam's is a time with another family. Each speak a lot to their characters.

○ Heaven is just people reliving their best memories

○ Zachariah needs to return them to their bodies so they can be vessels, but Cas doesn't want them to just yet. Wants to use them in heaven to find an angel named Joshua first.

FUCKKKKKK It deleted everything after this point. This was such a long post, too. Let's see what I can remember

Cas says Joshua talks to God and is in the garden in the center of heaven

○ Back to one of Dean's memories

"I just never realized how long you’ve been cleaning up Dad’s messes." Dean has been doing it even before they lost Mary (and he was only 4 when that happened)

Even when they're in heaven, there's so much trauma.

○ Back to one of Sam's memories

And of course there's more trauma

"And when Dad came home…" Dean can't even finish this sentence

And even more trauma

○ Zachariah wants to send them back to earth, but he still needs them to say yes, so he's gonna fuck with them a bunch first

○ ASH ASH ASH ASH ASH ASH

I love you. I never thought we'd see him again.

Dude's hacked heaven. Man, have I mentioned I love him? He hops around other people's heavens.

"He wrote the Kama Sutra. That boy’s heaven? Woah. Sweaty. Confusing." So Gay. I love it.

Dude's hacked angel radio

He says he's met the boys a few times here already. Each time they get revived, they forget heaven. Are they going to remember this time?

Awe they have to tell him Jo and Ellen died

He hasn't found Mary or John in heaven

○ Dean thinks these individual heavens sound lonely. And he doesn't like the fact that nothing around him is real. It's all a remake.

(I'm reading a fanfic that is the PERFECT season 16, and it has a lot of exactly that - Dean hating that heaven isn't real, so he misses earth)

○ Pamela is here

She's trying to convince Dean to say yes. Feels sketchy.

○ "I’m sure I’ll see you again soon." Ash knows how it goes.

○ Mary is saying all sorts of traumatizing stuff and has yellow eyes. I guess Zachariah found that way to fuck with them.

Zachariah is saying he's doing this memory of their mother. Disturbing.

He's mad that they've ruined his reputation

Some guy interrupted and says God will be mad if Zach doesn't let him talk to the boys alone. I take it that's Joshua.

They're in the garden. It looks different to different people. To them it's the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. They went there once on a field trip.

God has a message for them: "Back off."

"He knows what the angels are doing. He knows that the Apocalypse has begun. He just doesn’t think it’s his problem. God saved you already. He put you on that plane. He brought back Castiel." He's finished helping

"This time, God wants you to remember" there's that answer.

○ Aand they're back on earth

○ Hi Cas, baby

He's all depressed bc he just lost his faith after learning how much of a dick God is.

"You son of a bitch. I believed in…"

He gave back Dean's God-finding necklace. Then dipped.

He looks so good being all down and depressed. I love a pathetic man.

And Dean threw it out bc it made our boy sad (or because he also lost faith bc of what Joshua was saying, and because he's mad at God, but imma go with it's because it made our baby sad)

It was so special to him

Let's hope I got all my thoughts down. I'm very angry at this stupid app.

[mariacallous]

A long trip on an American highway in the summer of 2024 leaves the impression that two kinds of billboards now have near-monopoly rule over our roads. On one side, the billboards, gravely black-and-white and soberly reassuring, advertise cancer centers. (“We treat every type of cancer, including the most important one: yours”; “Beat 3 Brain Tumors. At 57, I gave birth, again.”) On the other side, brightly colored and deliberately clownish billboards advertise malpractice and personal-injury lawyers, with phone numbers emblazoned in giant type and the lawyers wearing superhero costumes or intimidating glares, staring down at the highway as they promise to do to juries.

A new Tocqueville considering the landscape would be certain that all Americans do is get sick and sue each other. We ask doctors to cure us of incurable illnesses, and we ask lawyers to take on the doctors who haven’t. We are frightened and we are angry; we look to expert intervention for the fears, and to comic but effective-seeming figures for retaliation against the experts who disappoint us.

Much of this is distinctly American—the idea that cancer-treatment centers would be in competitive relationships with one another, and so need to advertise, would be as unimaginable in any other industrialized country as the idea that the best way to adjudicate responsibility for a car accident is through aggressive lawsuits. Both reflect national beliefs: in competition, however unreal, and in the assignment of blame, however misplaced. We want to think that, if we haven’t fully enjoyed our birthright of plenty and prosperity, a nameable villain is at fault.

To grasp what is at stake in this strangest of political seasons, it helps to define the space in which the contest is taking place. We may be standing on the edge of an abyss, and yet nothing is wrong, in the expected way of countries on the brink of apocalypse. The country is not convulsed with riots, hyperinflation, or mass immiseration. What we have is a sort of phony war—a drôle de guerre, a sitzkrieg—with the vehemence of conflict mainly confined to what we might call the cultural space.

These days, everybody talks about spaces: the “gastronomic space,” the “podcast space,” even, on N.F.L. podcasts, the “analytic space.” Derived from some combination of sociology and interior design, the word has elbowed aside terms like “field” or “conversation,” perhaps because it’s even more expansive. The “space” of a national election is, for that reason, never self-evident; we’ve always searched for clues.

And so William Dean Howells began his 1860 campaign biography of Abraham Lincoln by mocking the search for a Revolutionary pedigree for Presidential candidates and situating Lincoln in the antislavery West, in contrast to the resigned and too-knowing East. North vs. South may have defined the frame of the approaching war, but Howells was prescient in identifying East vs. West as another critical electoral space. This opposition would prove crucial—first, to the war, with the triumph of the Westerner Ulysses S. Grant over the well-bred Eastern generals, and then to the rejuvenation of the Democratic Party, drawing on free-silver populism and an appeal to the values of the resource-extracting, expansionist West above those of the industrialized, centralized East.

A century later, the press thought that the big issues in the race between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy were Quemoy and Matsu (two tiny Taiwan Strait islands, claimed by both China and Taiwan), the downed U-2, the missile gap, and other much debated Cold War obsessions. But Norman Mailer, in what may be the best thing he ever wrote, saw the space as marked by the rise of movie-star politics—the image-based contests that, from J.F.K. to Ronald Reagan, would dominate American life. In “Superman Comes to the Supermarket,” published in Esquire, Mailer revealed that a campaign that looked at first glance like the usual black-and-white wire-service photography of the first half of the twentieth century was really the beginning of our Day-Glo-colored Pop-art turn.

And our own electoral space? We hear about the overlooked vs. the élite, the rural vs. the urban, the coastal vs. the flyover, the aged vs. the young—about the dispossessed vs. the beneficiaries of global neoliberalism. Upon closer examination, however, these binaries blur. Support for populist nativism doesn’t track neatly with economic disadvantage. Some of Donald Trump’s keenest supporters have boats as well as cars and are typically the wealthier citizens of poorer rural areas. His stock among billionaires remains high, and his surprising support among Gen Z males is something his campaign exploits with visits to podcasts that no non-Zoomer has ever heard of.

But polarized nations don’t actually polarize around fixed poles. Civil confrontations invariably cross classes and castes, bringing together people from radically different social cohorts while separating seemingly natural allies. The English Revolution of the seventeenth century, like the French one of the eighteenth, did not array worn-out aristocrats against an ascendant bourgeoisie or fierce-eyed sansculottes. There were, one might say, good people on both sides. Or, rather, there were individual aristocrats, merchants, and laborers choosing different sides in these prerevolutionary moments. No civil war takes place between classes; coalitions of many kinds square off against one another.

In part, that’s because there’s no straightforward way of defining our “interests.” It’s in the interest of Silicon Valley entrepreneurs to have big tax cuts; in the longer term, it’s also in their interest to have honest rule-of-law government that isn’t in thrall to guilds or patrons—to be able to float new ideas without paying baksheesh to politicians or having to worry about falling out of sixth-floor windows. “Interests” fail as an explanatory principle.

Does talk of values and ideas get us closer? A central story of American public life during the past three or four decades is (as this writer has noted) that liberals have wanted political victories while reliably securing only cultural victories, even as conservatives, wanting cultural victories, get only political ones. Right-wing Presidents and legislatures are elected, even as one barrier after another has fallen on the traditionalist front of manners and mores. Consider the widespread acceptance of same-sex marriage. A social transformation once so seemingly untenable that even Barack Obama said he was against it, in his first campaign for President, became an uncontroversial rite within scarcely more than a decade.

Right-wing political power has, over the past half century, turned out to have almost no ability to stave off progressive social change: Nixon took the White House in a landslide while Norman Lear took the airwaves in a ratings sweep. And so a kind of permanent paralysis has set in. The right has kept electing politicians who’ve said, “Enough! No more ‘Anything goes’!”—and anything has kept going. No matter how many right-wing politicians came to power, no matter how many right-wing judges were appointed, conservatives decided that the entire culture was rigged against them.

On the left, the failure of cultural power to produce political change tends to lead to a doubling down on the cultural side, so that wholesome college campuses can seem the last redoubt of Red Guard attitudes, though not, to be sure, of Red Guard authority. On the right, the failure of political power to produce cultural change tends to lead to a doubling down on the political side in a way that turns politics into cultural theatre. Having lost the actual stages, conservatives yearn to enact a show in which their adversaries are rendered humiliated and powerless, just as they have felt humiliated and powerless. When an intolerable contradiction is allowed to exist for long enough, it produces a Trump.

As much as television was the essential medium of a dozen bygone Presidential campaigns (not to mention the medium that made Trump a star), the podcast has become the essential medium of this one. For people under forty, the form—typically long-winded and shapeless—is as tangibly present as Walter Cronkite’s tightly scripted half-hour news show was fifty years ago, though the D.I.Y. nature of most podcasts, and the premium on host-read advertisements, makes for abrupt tonal changes as startling as those of the highway billboards.

On the enormously popular, liberal-minded “Pod Save America,” for instance, the hosts make no secret of their belief that the election is a test, as severe as any since the Civil War, of whether a government so conceived can long endure. Then they switch cheerfully to reading ads for Tommy John underwear (“with the supportive pouch”), for herbal hangover remedies, and for an app that promises to cancel all your excess streaming subscriptions, a peculiarly niche obsession (“I accidentally paid for Showtime twice!” “That’s bad!”). George Conway, the former Republican (and White House husband) turned leading anti-Trumper, states bleakly on his podcast for the Bulwark, the news-and-opinion site, that Trump’s whole purpose is to avoid imprisonment, a motivation that would disgrace the leader of any Third World country. Then he immediately leaps into offering—like an old-fashioned a.m.-radio host pushing Chock Full o’Nuts—testimonials for HexClad cookware, with charming self-deprecation about his own kitchen skills. How serious can the crisis be if cookware and boxers cohabit so cozily with the apocalypse?

And then there’s the galvanic space of social media. In the nineteen-seventies and eighties, we were told, by everyone from Jean Baudrillard to Daniel Boorstin, that television had reduced us to numbed observers of events no longer within our control. We had become spectators instead of citizens. In contrast, the arena of social media is that of action and engagement—and not merely engagement but enragement, with algorithms acting out addictively on tiny tablets. The aura of the Internet age is energized, passionate, and, above all, angry. The algorithms dictate regular mortar rounds of text messages that seem to come not from an eager politician but from an infuriated lover, in the manner of Glenn Close in “Fatal Attraction”: “Are you ignoring us?” “We’ve reached out to you PERSONALLY!” “This is the sixth time we’ve asked you!” At one level, we know they’re entirely impersonal, while, at another, we know that politicians wouldn’t do this unless it worked, and it works because, at still another level, we are incapable of knowing what we know; it doesn’t feel entirely impersonal. You can doomscroll your way to your doom. The democratic theorists of old longed for an activated citizenry; somehow they failed to recognize how easily citizens could be activated to oppose deliberative democracy.

If the cultural advantages of liberalism have given it a more pointed politics in places where politics lacks worldly consequences, its real-world politics can seem curiously blunted. Kamala Harris, like Joe Biden before her, is an utterly normal workaday politician of the kind we used to find in any functioning democracy—bending right, bending left, placating here and postponing confrontation there, glaring here and, yes, laughing there. Demographics aside, there is nothing exceptional about Harris, which is her virtue. Yet we live in exceptional times, and liberal proceduralists and institutionalists are so committed to procedures and institutions—to laws and their reasonable interpretation, to norms and their continuation—that they can be slow to grasp that the world around them has changed.

One can only imagine the fulminations that would have ensued in 2020 had the anti-democratic injustice of the Electoral College—which effectively amplifies the political power of rural areas at the expense of the country’s richest and most productive areas—tilted in the other direction. Indeed, before the 2000 election, when it appeared as if it might, Karl Rove and the George W. Bush campaign had a plan in place to challenge the results with a “grassroots” movement designed to short-circuit the Electoral College and make the popular-vote winner prevail. No Democrat even suggests such a thing now.

It’s almost as painful to see the impunity with which Supreme Court Justices have torched their institution’s legitimacy. One Justice has the upside-down flag of the insurrectionists flying on his property; another, married to a professional election denialist, enjoys undeclared largesse from a plutocrat. There is, apparently, little to be done, nor even any familiar language of protest to draw on. Prepared by experience to believe in institutions, mainstream liberals believe in their belief even as the institutions are degraded in front of their eyes.

In one respect, the space of politics in 2024 is transoceanic. The forms of Trumpism are mirrored in other countries. In the U.K., a similar wave engendered the catastrophe of Brexit; in France, it has brought an equally extreme right-wing party to the brink, though not to the seat, of power; in Italy, it elevated Matteo Salvini to national prominence and made Giorgia Meloni Prime Minister. In Sweden, an extreme-right group is claiming voters in numbers no one would ever have thought possible, while Canadian conservatives have taken a sharp turn toward the far right.

What all these currents have in common is an obsessive fear of immigration. Fear of the other still seems to be the primary mover of collective emotion. Even when it is utterly self-destructive—as in Britain, where the xenophobia of Brexit cut the U.K. off from traditional allies while increasing immigration from the Global South—the apprehension that “we” are being flooded by frightening foreigners works its malign magic.

It’s an old but persistent delusion that far-right nationalism is not rooted in the emotional needs of far-right nationalists but arises, instead, from the injustices of neoliberalism. And so many on the left insist that all those Trump voters are really Bernie Sanders voters who just haven’t had their consciousness raised yet. In fact, a similar constellation of populist figures has emerged, sharing platforms, plans, and ideologies, in countries where neoliberalism made little impact, and where a strong system of social welfare remains in place. If a broadened welfare state—national health insurance, stronger unions, higher minimum wages, and the rest—would cure the plague in the U.S., one would expect that countries with resilient welfare states would be immune from it. They are not.

Though Trump can be situated in a transoceanic space of populism, he isn’t a mere symptom of global trends: he is a singularly dangerous character, and the product of a specific cultural milieu. To be sure, much of New York has always been hostile to him, and eager to disown him; in a 1984 profile of him in GQ, Graydon Carter made the point that Trump was the only New Yorker who ever referred to Sixth Avenue as the “Avenue of the Americas.” Yet we’re part of Trump’s identity, as was made clear by his recent rally on Long Island—pointless as a matter of swing-state campaigning, but central to his self-definition. His belligerence could come directly from the two New York tabloid heroes of his formative years in the city: John Gotti, the gangster who led the Gambino crime family, and George Steinbrenner, the owner of the Yankees. When Trump came of age, Gotti was all over the front page of the tabloids, as “the Teflon Don,” and Steinbrenner was all over the back sports pages, as “the Boss.”

Steinbrenner was legendary for his middle-of-the-night phone calls, for his temper and combativeness. Like Trump, who theatricalized the activity, he had a reputation for ruthlessly firing people. (Gotti had his own way of doing that.) Steinbrenner was famous for having no loyalty to anyone. He mocked the very players he had acquired and created an atmosphere of absolute chaos. It used to be said that Steinbrenner reduced the once proud Yankees baseball culture to that of professional wrestling, and that arena is another Trumpian space. Pro wrestling is all about having contests that aren’t really contested—that are known to be “rigged,” to use a Trumpian word—and yet evoke genuine emotion in their audience.

At the same time, Trump has mastered the gangster’s technique of accusing others of crimes he has committed. The agents listening to the Gotti wiretap were mystified when he claimed innocence of the just-committed murder of Big Paul Castellano, conjecturing, in apparent seclusion with his soldiers, about who else might have done it: “Whoever killed this cocksucker, probably the cops killed this Paul.” Denying having someone whacked even in the presence of those who were with you when you whacked him was a capo’s signature move.

Marrying the American paranoid style to the more recent cult of the image, Trump can draw on the manner of the tabloid star and show that his is a game, a show, not to be taken quite seriously while still being serious in actually inciting violent insurrections and planning to expel millions of helpless immigrants. Self-defined as a showman, he can say anything and simultaneously drain it of content, just as Gotti, knowing that he had killed Castellano, thought it credible to deny it—not within his conscience, which did not exist, but within an imaginary courtroom. Trump evidently learned that, in the realm of national politics, you could push the boundaries of publicity and tabloid invective far further than they had ever been pushed.

Trump’s ability to be both joking and severe at the same time is what gives him his power and his immunity. This power extends even to something as unprecedented as the assault on the U.S. Capitol. Trump demanded violence (“If you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore”) but stuck in three words, “peacefully and patriotically,” that, however hollow, were meant to immunize him, Gotti-style. They were, so to speak, meant for the cops on the wiretap. Trump’s resilience is not, as we would like to tell our children about resilience, a function of his character. It’s a function of his not having one.

Just as Trump’s support cuts across the usual divisions, so, too, does a divide among his opponents—between the maximizers, who think that Trump is a unique threat to liberal democracy, and the minimizers, who think that he is merely the kind of clown a democracy is bound to throw up from time to time. The minimizers (who can be found among both Marxist Jacobin contributors and Never Trump National Review conservatives) will say that Trump has crossed the wires of culture and politics in a way that opportunistically responds to the previous paralysis, but that this merely places him in an American tradition. Democracy depends on the idea that the socially unacceptable might become acceptable. Andrew Jackson campaigned on similar themes with a similar manner—and was every bit as ignorant and every bit as unaware as Trump. (And his campaigns of slaughter against Indigenous people really were genocidal.) Trump’s politics may be ugly, foolish, and vain, but ours is often an ugly, undereducated, and vain country. Democracy is meant to be a mirror; it shows what it shows.

Indeed, America’s recent history has shown that politics is a trailing indicator of cultural change, and that one generation’s most vulgar entertainment becomes the next generation’s accepted style of political argument. David S. Reynolds, in his biography of Lincoln, reflects on how the new urban love of weird spectacle in the mid-nineteenth century was something Lincoln welcomed. P. T. Barnum’s genius lay in taking circus grotesques and making them exemplary Americans: the tiny General Tom Thumb was a hero, not a freak. Lincoln saw that it cost him nothing to be an American spectacle in a climate of sensation; he even hosted a reception at the White House for Tom Thumb and his wife—as much a violation of the decorum of the Founding Fathers as Trump’s investment in Hulk Hogan at the Republican Convention. Lincoln understood the Barnum side of American life, just as Trump understands its W.W.E. side.

And so, the minimizers say, taking Trump seriously as a threat to democracy in America is like taking Roman Reigns seriously as a threat to fair play in sports. Trump is an entertainer. The only thing he really wants are ratings. When opposing abortion was necessary to his electoral coalition, he opposed it—but then, when that was creating ratings trouble in other households, he sent signals that he wasn’t exactly opposed to it. When Project 2025, which he vaguely set in motion and claims never to have read, threatened his ratings, he repudiated it. The one continuity is his thirst for popularity, which is, in a sense, our own. He rows furiously away from any threatening waterfall back to the center of the river—including on Obamacare. And, the minimizers say, in the end, he did leave the White House peacefully, if gracelessly.

In any case, the panic is hardly unique to Trump. Reagan, too, was vilified and feared in his day, seen as the reductio ad absurdum of the culture of the image, an automaton projecting his controllers’ authoritarian impulses. Nixon was the subject of a savage satire by Philip Roth that ended with him running against the Devil for the Presidency of Hell. The minimizers tell us that liberals overreact in real time, write revisionist history when it’s over, and never see the difference between their stories.

The maximizers regard the minimizers’ case as wishful thinking buoyed up by surreptitious resentments, a refusal to concede anything to those we hate even if it means accepting someone we despise. Maximizers who call Trump a fascist are dismissed by the minimizers as either engaging in name-calling or forcing a facile parallel. Yet the parallel isn’t meant to be historically absolute; it is meant to be, as it were, oncologically acute. A freckle is not the same as a melanoma; nor is a Stage I melanoma the same as the Stage IV kind. But a skilled reader of lesions can sense which is which and predict the potential course if untreated. Trumpism is a cancerous phenomenon. Treated with surgery once, it now threatens to come back in a more aggressive form, subject neither to the radiation of “guardrails” nor to the chemo of “constraints.” It may well rage out of control and kill its host.

And so the maximalist case is made up not of alarmist fantasies, then, but of dulled diagnostic fact, duly registered. Think hard about the probable consequences of a second Trump Administration—about the things he has promised to do and can do, the things that the hard-core group of rancidly discontented figures (as usual with authoritarians, more committed than he is to an ideology) who surround him wants him to do and can do. Having lost the popular vote, as he surely will, he will not speak up to reconcile “all Americans.” He will insist that he won the popular vote, and by a landslide. He will pardon and then celebrate the January 6th insurrectionists, and thereby guarantee the existence of a paramilitary organization that’s capable of committing violence on his behalf without fear of consequences. He will, with an obedient Attorney General, begin prosecuting his political opponents; he was largely unsuccessful in his previous attempt only because the heads of two U.S. Attorneys’ offices, who are no longer there, refused to coöperate. When he begins to pressure CNN and ABC, and they, with all the vulnerabilities of large corporations, bend to his will, telling themselves that his is now the will of the people, what will we do to fend off the slow degradation of open debate?

Trump will certainly abandon Ukraine to Vladimir Putin and realign this country with dictatorships and against NATO and the democratic alliance of Europe. Above all, the spirit of vengeful reprisal is the totality of his beliefs—very much like the fascists of the twentieth century in being a man and a movement without any positive doctrine except revenge against his imagined enemies. And against this: What? Who? The spirit of resistance may prove too frail, and too exhausted, to rise again to the contest. Who can have confidence that a democracy could endure such a figure in absolute control and survive? An oncologist who, in the face of this much evidence, shrugged and proposed watchful waiting as the best therapy would not be an optimist. He would be guilty of gross malpractice. One of those personal-injury lawyers on the billboards would sue him, and win.

What any plausible explanation must confront is the fact that Trump is a distinctively vile human being and a spectacularly malignant political actor. In fables and fiction, in every Disney cartoon and Batman movie, we have no trouble recognizing and understanding the villains. They are embittered, canny, ludicrous in some ways and shrewd in others, their lives governed by envy and resentment, often rooted in the acts of people who’ve slighted them. (“They’ll never laugh at me again!”) They nonetheless have considerable charm and the ability to attract a cult following. This is Ursula, Hades, Scar—to go no further than the Disney canon. Extend it, if that seems too childlike, to the realms of Edmund in “King Lear” and Richard III: smart people, all, almost lovable in their self-recognition of their deviousness, but not people we ever want to see in power, for in power their imaginations become unimaginably deadly. Villains in fables are rarely grounded in any cause larger than their own grievances—they hate Snow White for being beautiful, resent Hercules for being strong and virtuous. Bane is blowing up Gotham because he feels misused, not because he truly has a better city in mind.

Trump is a villain. He would be a cartoon villain, if only this were a cartoon. Every time you try to give him a break—to grasp his charisma, historicize his ascent, sympathize with his admirers—the sinister truth asserts itself and can’t be squashed down. He will tell another lie so preposterous, or malign another shared decency so absolutely, or threaten violence so plausibly, or just engage in behavior so unhinged and hate-filled that you’ll recoil and rebound to your original terror at his return to power. One outrage succeeds another until we become exhausted and have to work hard even to remember the outrages of a few weeks past: the helicopter ride that never happened (but whose storytelling purpose was to demean Kamala Harris as a woman), or the cemetery visit that ended in a grotesque thumbs-up by a graveside (and whose symbolic purpose was to cynically enlist grieving parents on behalf of his contempt). No matter how deranged his behavior is, though, it does not seem to alter his good fortune.

Villainy inheres in individuals. There is certainly a far-right political space alive in the developed world, but none of its inhabitants—not Marine Le Pen or Giorgia Meloni or even Viktor Orbán—are remotely as reckless or as crazy as Trump. Our self-soothing habit of imagining that what has not yet happened cannot happen is the space in which Trump lives, just as comically deranged as he seems and still more dangerous than we know.

Nothing is ever entirely new, and the space between actual events and their disassociated representation is part of modernity. We live in that disassociated space. Generations of cultural critics have warned that we are lost in a labyrinth and cannot tell real things from illusion. Yet the familiar passage from peril to parody now happens almost simultaneously. Events remain piercingly actual and threatening in their effects on real people, while also being duplicated in a fictive system that shows and spoofs them at the same time. One side of the highway is all cancer; the other side all crazy. Their confoundment is our confusion.

It is telling that the most successful entertainments of our age are the dark comic-book movies—the Batman films and the X-Men and the Avengers and the rest of those cinematic universes. This cultural leviathan was launched by the discovery that these ridiculous comic-book figures, generations old, could now land only if treated seriously, with sombre backstories and true stakes. Our heroes tend to dullness; our villains, garishly painted monsters from the id, are the ones who fuel the franchise.

During the debate last month in Philadelphia, as Trump’s madness rose to a peak of raging lunacy—“They’re eating the dogs”; “He hates her!”—ABC, in its commercial breaks, cut to ads for “Joker: Folie à Deux,” the new Joaquin Phoenix movie, in which the crazed villain swirls and grins. It is a Gotham gone mad, and a Gotham, against all the settled rules of fable-making, without a Batman to come to the rescue. Shuttling between the comic-book villain and the grimacing, red-faced, and unhinged man who may be reëlected President in a few weeks, one struggled to distinguish our culture’s most extravagant imagination of derangement from the real thing. The space is that strange, and the stakes that high. ♦

[joelalorian]

Wonder in Winterland - Part IV

Hallmark!Joel x f!reader | wc: 3913 | masterlist

Series Summary: You, a city girl on a cross-country road trip a week before Christmas, find yourself stranded in a whimsical Christmas town. You soon discover there is more to life than big city dreams. Based on the Hallmark movie Love You Like Christmas.

Warnings: None (although the rest of this blog is 18+ mdni). This is utter fluff and whimsy, with a occasional foul language and lots of banter in the AU style of a Hallmark Christmas movie. Matchmaker!Sarah. Limited descriptions of reader and no use of y/n. Enjoy it with a cuppa hot cocoa and a warm blankie.

AN: This is it, my friends. The finale to this little mini series. I wanted to have this out by Christmas Eve, but my hubs surprised me with a PS5 and a zombie apocalypse game (Days Gone) that I haven't played before. Had to pry myself away to finish this lol. Hope you enjoy and Happy New Year's to you all!

Part IV

The fire burned out overnight, leaving you chilled despite the pile of blankets covering the bed. With hurried motions, you added kindling and wood, stoking the fire until it burned steadily. Back under the covers, feet snuggled in a wonderful pair of cabin socks you picked up at the general store yesterday, you gazed at the fire, recalling the moments you shared with Joel the night before.

The moon hung high above the mountaintops, its silver glow illuminating the snow-covered fields and casting shadows on the inn’s wraparound porch. It was quiet save for the occasional creak of the wooden boards beneath your boots and the distant hoots of a Great Horned Owl. The air was crisp, but you barely noticed with Joel sitting beside you on the porch swing, the heat of his body like a furnace where it touched yours.

“I’ve been thinking about it, you know,” you said with a wistfulness to your voice, breath visible in the frosty air.

Joel’s dark eyes flicked to you, the moonlight catching the warmth pooling in those rich brown irises. “What’s that?”

“About staying,” you admitted, shifting your body to face him more fully. “I want to, more than anything.”

“So, what’s stopping you,” Joel responded with an unreadable expression.

You glanced down, twisting your fingers in your lap. “I don’t know. An over-inflated sense of responsibility, maybe. Self-inflicted expectations. My life, everything I’ve worked so hard for, is back in the city.”

He eyed you for several long moments. “Is it?” Joel’s voice was gruff and tight, the question hanging in the air between you.

Your eyes darted upwards, breath catching at the intensity in the gaze that met your own. “What are you trying to say, Joel?”

Shrugging, he glanced down at his boots. “I’m just saying,” he began, voice softening to a near rasp, “maybe your life’s wherever you decide it is. Doesn’t have to be one place or another, one thing or another.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, comforting but too thick to fully wrap your head around. “You make it sound so simple,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course, it ain’t, darlin’,” Joel replied, leaning in with an earnest expression on his handsome face. “But sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones worth makin’.”

The swing slowed to a stop as the two of you sat there, the night air thick with more than the chilly temperature. Joel’s hand rested on the edge of the swing right next to yours and you both stared as his pinky reached out, tangling with your own.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in slightly, his unique scent brushing against your senses. Joel’s eyes flicked to your lips; his breath warm against your cool skin the closer he got.

“I probably shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, yet he didn’t pull away.

“Why not?” you murmured with a trembling voice. His large hand gripped yours fully now, other fingers tangled along with your pinkies.

“Because if I do,” he said, his lips curved into a faint smile as they almost brushed yours, “I might not let you leave.”

Your eyelids just fluttered closed when the sound of the door creaking open broke the moment, and the two of you pulled back as Maria’s voice called from inside. “Joel! Are you out here? Sarah’s ready for bed.”

Joel’s eyes lingered on you as he sighed. “Guess the universe has other plans tonight.”

You laughed, the tension easing slightly as you stood and led the way inside. “Goodnight, Joel.”

“Night, darlin’,” he replied with a soft smile, watching as you climbed the stairs to your room.

Heart fluttering madly at the memory of a mere almost-kiss made you wonder how it would feel to actually kiss Joel. With his pouty lips and the bristles of his scruffy beard, you imagined kissing him would be akin to satisfying a long-held craving. You lost yourself in daydreams for a few minutes before forcing yourself from bed and down to the dining room for breakfast.

The morning sun filtered through the inn’s frosted windows, creating a soft glow in the cozy common room. You sat on the couch in front of the hearth, letting the heat from the fire lick your toes until they were nice and toasty. The other guests were still asleep while Maria hummed in the kitchen, and Tommy shuffled through the door with a sleepy greeting, his hair askew and a bundle of firewood in his arms.

You phone buzzed loudly against the wooden end table, the screen lighting up with the absolute last person you wanted to talk to – your boss. A sense of dread settled in your chest as you answered the call.

“Hi,” you said, forcing a neutral tone.

“Good morning,” your boss replied, his no-nonsense tone immediately setting you on edge. “Nice work on revamping the campaign.”

“Thanks. Is that all you called to say?” You stood from the couch, restless, glancing toward the window. A fresh layer of snow made everything seem softer, kinder, pulling once again at your heart.

Your boss scoffed. “Are you on the road yet?” he snapped, his impatience slipping through any pretense at pleasantries.

Dread flooded your gut. “Uh, not yet. My truck should be ready this morning though.”

“The owner of our largest account getting married and personally inviting you to the wedding is a big fucking deal and we cannot afford for you to miss it. Why you didn’t just get a rental car and go instead of staying in that Podunk town is beyond me—"

“Hey!” you interrupted, not caring if you cut him off. “I love that truck. My dead father left me that truck and you damn well know what it means to me.”

He caved a little, shifting to a placating tone as he said your name. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… I need you back on track, your focus where it should be.”

With a heavy sigh, you gripped the phone tighter. Silence hung in the air as you prayed for patience, before you finally huffed a defeated, “Yeah, I know.”

“I’ll expect an update from the road later today. You’ll barely make it as it is,” your boss replied before the line went dead.

The temperature dropped mid-morning, the cold more biting than ever with the wind cutting through the layers you’d bundled yourself in to pick up your truck from Jimmy’s garage. The old hunk of metal, held together by little more than the blood, sweat, tears, and unending love poured into over the years, rumbled to life as Jimmy went over the repairs made.

With a heavy heart you drove back to the inn, feeling like your choice was made for you, parking the truck in the driveway to make it easier to load up your belongings. Snow started falling again, rubbing salt in the wound of having to leave. You left the truck running, wanting to make your goodbyes quick in fear that you’d cave to any pleas to say.

Maria stood by the door, her arms crossed tightly and your packed luggage at her feet. “You’re sure you want to do this?” she asked, her voice tinged with reluctance.

You nodded, barely able to meet her eyes and voice tight. “I’ve got to make it to San Francisco. My boss is already breathing down my neck and has made it clear what will happen if I don’t make it to this wedding.”

Tommy leaned against the porch railing, grinning despite the melancholy air. “You’ll be missed, sweetheart. You certainly left your mark, especially on that brother of mine.”

Before you could respond, Joel’s truck pulled to a stop in front of the inn and Sarah burst out of the backseat like a whirlwind. Her red beanie sat askew atop her head, and her arms clutched tightly to something as she ran toward you, “Wait! You can’t leave yet!”

You knelt to meet her as she barreled into you, holding up a small bundle of pinecone ornaments tied with a ribbon. “I made these special for you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, a sheen of tears in her eyes. “So you’ll always remember us.”

Heart clenching painfully, you clutched the young girl to you and sniffled, careful not to break the thoughtful gift. “Thank you, little bug. I could never forget you, but I will treasure these always.”

“Will we ever see you again?” she asked through a debilitating sob. “I sure hope so, bug,” you replied fighting back tears of your own. Oh, how you hoped so.

When you pulled back, Joel stood a few feet away, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. Wide, coffee-colored eyes held yours, both of your gazes filled with a potent cocktail of emotions. “Mind if I walk you to your truck?” he asked softly. “I’ll load up your bags.”

Words failed you and you nodded, following him down the path while the others lingered on the porch pretending not to watch while they gave you the illusion of privacy. The crunch of snow underfoot was the only sound for the too-short walk to the truck. Joel turned toward you, a guarded expression marred his brow, yet his eyes gave everything away – the longing, the thought of what could have been, all of it.

“You sure about this?” he asked in a low, mournful voice.

No. No, not at all.

You looked away, the ache in your chest making it hard to breathe when you looked at him. Once again reminded of all the things you have given up for sake of this damned career – this loss would be worst of them all, you knew it. “I must – you know that. I can’t just…”

Joel nodded slowly, his jaw tightening at the words you didn’t say. “I get it, I really do. But I wish—”

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, the tears brimming in your eyes spilling over. It was all too much.

He stepped closer, his presence a warm haven against the cold. The world went still, disappearing until it was only you and him under the falling snow as he took your hands in his larger, calloused ones. Your breath caught as he leaned in, dark eyes peering into your soul as he kissed the tear tracks scattered across your face.

The press of his chapped, warm lips against your cool skin made you weak in the knees. You turned your head suddenly, catching his lips with your own in a searing first kiss, one you would never forget. Forgetting yourselves, the kiss deepened, his tongue dancing along the seam of your lips until you gasped, and he licked into your mouth.

The sparks flew like nothing you ever experienced.

How could you walk away from this?

How could you afford not to?

A whoop startled the pair of you apart, chests heaving from the heady mix of want and lack of oxygen. When you peeked past Joel’s shoulder, you saw Sarah dancing across the porch, cheering and signing out your name followed by, “and Daddy sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…”

Laughter bubbled from deep within, a watery smile spreading across your well-kissed lips as you met Joel’s amused yet bittersweet gaze.

Clearing his throat, Joel pressed his lips against your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and your lips once more before stepping back to help you into the truck. Once settled, he handed you a slip of paper with his phone number and address written in block print. “Please, drive safe. And don’t forget us because we will never forget you, darlin’.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you breathed, “for everything. You and your family made an impression, I could never forget you. I’ll call, I promise.”

He shut your door with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, patting the hood of the truck as you threw it into reverse. Your vision swam as you backed out of the driveway, rear tires slipping a bit in the fresh powder. You couldn’t look back, tapping the horn twice as you drove off, tears cascading down your face.

The winding snow-covered road stretched for miles ahead, flanked by towering evergreens that seemed to close in on you the further you drove away from the Millers. The ornaments Sarah made for you sat on the passenger seat, a bittersweet reminder of what you were leaving behind. The town’s charm and warmth that once loomed large, now grew smaller in the rearview mirror, and with it, your spirits. A bittersweet ache built up with every mile that separated you from the life and people you didn’t want to leave behind.

What the hell were you doing?

You thought it was the right thing, to get to that wedding, to return to your life back in NYC. So, why did it feel so wrong to leave Winterland and all it offered behind? The pit of your stomach ached.

Your phone buzzed with a text notification – your boss sending another sharp reminder of the importance of what awaited you in both San Francisco and New York City. You glanced at the screen only long enough to read the first few words, your blood pressure already spiking from the stress of everything weighing down on you. When your eyes returned to the road, a massive shape appeared in the middle of the road in front of you.

A moose, more massive than you thought any North American four-legged animal had a right to be, stood stock still in the road, enormous body taking up both lanes, dark form stark against the white snow.

“Holy shit!”

You pumped the brakes like your father taught you, the old truck not equipped with antilock brakes, your mind racing in the milliseconds that passed. There was no way around the moose, and you hoped you could stop the truck in time, the thought of hitting the breathtaking creature shattering your already fractured heart. The brakes locked up after all, the truck skidding on the icy road.

The moose bolted into the trees as you fought valiantly to regain control and the vehicle fishtailed, but it was a lost cause. Every movement of your hands on the steering wheel an over-correction, the truck spun sideways before slamming into a snowbank with a sickening crunch. Your head whipped to the side, striking the driver’s side window hard enough to make stars explode behind your eyes.

The truck shuddered before dying, and for a moment, everything went silent except for the faint hiss of the hot engine against the cold precipitation. Pain pulsed through your head, sharp and disorienting, as you struggled to regain your bearings.

Shaky hands searched the cab for your phone, finding it wedged in the bench seat, as the adrenaline drained from your system. You fumbled to unlock it, pulling the slip of paper Joel handed you earlier to type in his phone number, the numbers blurring. You had just enough signal to call for help.

“’Lo?” Joel’s crisp, deep voice rumbled through the phone, and you were both relieved and pained to hear it. Your head hurt so damn much, competing with the pain in your heart.

“Joel?” You fought to keep the tears from falling, but the effort strained your throat, clouding your voice.

“Darlin’? What’s wrong?” The urgency in his voice steadied you somehow. Sucking in a deep, rattling breath, you replied, “I need help.”

You needn’t say any more, already hearing Joel unlock his truck as he demanded, “Where are you? I’ll be right there.”

You gave him the closest approximation of your location, out by the highway. You hadn’t gotten too far in your failed attempt to leave Winterland.

“Stay put, sweetheart. I’m on my way.”

“Shit! Tommy!” Joel yelled frantically for his brother as his truck pulled up behind yours with a spray of snow and ice. The two men jumped out, boots crunching against the ice as they ran to you.

“Darlin’?” he called, his voice urgent yet strong as he wrenched the driver’s side door open. Tommy fetched your belongings while Joel helped you, stowing them away in Joel’s truck.

You blinked at Joel with slightly blurred vision. “I’m okay,” you mumbled, though the knot on your forehead and the associated throbbing suggested otherwise.

Wide, dark eyes scanned your face, his expression tightening when he noticed the bump, a small gash visible in the center. “You hit your head,” he replied, voice low and soft like he was handling a hurt puppy. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Joel, I’m fine—”

“Can you stand? Walk?” he questioned doubtfully. Joel helped you out of the truck, large hand steadying you with a warm and reassuring grip. You wobbled, head spinning, proving his point that you needed to go to the hospital. “No arguments, darlin’. We’re going to the ER.”

Tommy climbed into the backseat with your luggage as Joel helped you into the front passenger seat. You were shaking, half from the cold and half from the dissipation of adrenaline, and Joel reached over to turn your seat warmer on and covered you with his warm coat after buckling you in.

“The hospital is in the next town over. Shouldn’t take long to get there though,” Tommy assured while Joel worked his way around the truck to climb behind the wheel.

The ride was quiet except for Joel occasionally checking on you and the soft rumble of Tommy’s voice as he updated Maria. Joel’s grip on the steering was tight, knuckles white and jaw set as if holding back a storm of worry as he navigated the icy roads with precious cargo.

The small-town ER was surprisingly empty when Joel pulled up, rushing inside to get a wheelchair for you as Tommy helped you out of the truck. Once inside, the staff whisked you into an exam room, collecting information along with your vitals.

The sterile brightness of the hospital room felt jarring, and you scrunched your eyes against the harsh light. A nurse held an ice pack to your head with gentle pressure while Joel hovered nearby. His concerned smiles were a constant, grounding force.

“Looks like you have a mild concussion,” the doctor diagnosed after some assessment. “I’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”

Opening your mouth to protest, Joel jumped in. “She’ll stay,” he said firmly, holding your gaze as he spoke to the doctor. To you, he added, “No arguments this time.”

You fell back against the reclined hospital bed with a sigh. “Fine,” you muttered, the edges of your irritation softening when Joel pulled up a chair and sat beside you.

After receiving some medicine for the pain, you were allowed to doze off for short periods of time. The nurse came in at various intervals to check vitals as the day turned to late afternoon, Joel never leaving your side.

The buzzing of your phone stirred you from a light doze and you grumbled. It felt like you just fell asleep, dammit. Joel picked the phone up, scowling at the screen. “It’s your boss,” his deep voice a rumbling whisper as he handed you the phone.

Dread coiled in your stomach as you answered, turning the volume down to ease the lingering headache.

“You didn’t check-in,” your boss snapped in lieu of a greeting. “How far along are you?”

Teeth clenched, you spat back, “I was in a car accident. Didn’t get very far. I’m still in the hospital.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said under his breath, though you heard every word. “That’s unfortunate. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve let me – and our biggest client, I might add – down. If you would have gotten back on the road when I told you to, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Silence settled for several long moments as you fought back tears and wracked your staticky brain for a suitable response. When nothing came, your boss heaved a frustrated sigh.

“If you can’t handle your responsibilities, maybe this isn’t the job for you,” he said with finality.

His words cold and detached, they struck harder than the crash. You sat there, phone pressed to your ear and staring into Joel’s kind eyes, as the weight of everything pressed down until something finally snapped.

“You know what?” you replied, voice calm yet firm. “You’re right. This isn’t the job for me.”

“What?”

“I quit,” you said simply, feeling the weight lift from your shoulders even as the words left your mouth. “Consider it one less thing to worry about.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up, and though he tried to hide it, a small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“This is ridiculous—” your boss began, but you cut him off. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Brad,” you spat, ending the call before he could respond.

Joel stared at you, eyes sparkling with barely concealed joy, the worry that clouded them earlier giving way to something brighter. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and sweet, the weight of unspoken relief slipping through in his tone.

“Never better,” you said, the realization dawning even as the words left your lips. “I think this accident was a sign that I shouldn’t leave. And him calling to scold me over it just sealed the deal. I’ve wanted to tell Brad to fuck off for so very long.”

Joel’s laugh was low and warm, his hand reaching out to brush yours in a gesture so simple yet full of meaning that your breath hitched. “Good,” he said, smile growing until the corners of his eyes crinkled. “That guy sounded like a real horse’s ass.”

A surprised burst of laughter filled the room, the sound breaking the tension that had been building in your chest for days. “He really is,” you admitted, your fingers curling slightly against his.

Joel’s hand tightened around yours, his expression turning serious, yet the warmth of his gaze never wavered. “So, you’re really going to stay?”

“I am,” you smiled at the warm, certain feeling in your stomach. “I just need to find a job and somewhere to live and move all my stuff from New York and…”

Joel didn’t let you finish. He moved with purpose, slipping into the hospital bed with you. His broad form barely fit, but neither of you cared. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft yet full of promise, sending warmth cascading through you.

When he pulled back, his voice was low and steady. “We’ll figure all that out after the holidays, darlin’. Until then, you can stay with me and Sarah to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s the way you’re supposed to – with family”

The mention of Sarah made your chest tighten with joy. “She’s going to be over the moon,” you murmured, the thought of her bright smile filling your heart with a new kind of warmth.

Joel smiled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “So am I.”

Hope bloomed in your chest, mingling with the beginning flutters of something a lot like love. You clung to it with every fiber of your being, realizing that maybe this was the moment your heart had been waiting for all along.

What else, other than the magic of Christmas, could be responsible for turning a simple traffic delay and breakdown on a snowy highway into something so special?

the end

tag list (i included anyone who previously commented, requested, or I thought might like to be added, but please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @abirdsnest @brittmb115 @harrysrosetatto @carolineesnell @tuquoquebrute @inept-the-magnificent @lovely-vamp-princess @kyberblade @bluestar22x

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Proposal

Joel Miller x fem reader (pre apocalypse)

Joel adjusted his grip on the handle of their suitcase as he and Y/N sprinted through the crowded airport, hearts pounding and breaths coming in short gasps. The final boarding call for their flight to Tennessee echoed through the terminal, pushing them to move faster than they thought possible.

“Come on, Babe! We’re almost there!” Y/N called over her shoulder, her voice tinged with urgency but also bubbling with excitement. Joel admired her energy, even in the most stressful situations. He couldn't help but smile at her infectious enthusiasm.

They made it to the gate just in time, breathless but relieved. The gate agent gave them a knowing smile as they scanned their boarding passes and hurried onto the plane. As they settled into their seats, Joel took a deep breath, the anticipation of meeting Y/N’s family mingling with the nervous flutter of the engagement ring hidden in his carry-on bag.

The flight itself was uneventful, giving Joel time to think about the proposal. He’d been planning this trip for months, knowing that Y/N's family was important to her and wanting to include them in this monumental moment. When they touched down in Tennessee, Joel was struck anew by the charm of Y/N’s southern accent, which seemed even more alluring amidst the local twang of the people around them.

As they drove from the airport to her family’s home, nestled deep in the countryside, Joel found himself falling even more in love with Y/N. The lush, rolling hills and the golden hue of the late afternoon sun made everything feel like a dream. The tension in his shoulders began to melt away as Y/N chatted animatedly about her family and the adventures they’d have on the farm.

Upon arrival, Y/N's family greeted them warmly. Her parents, her siblings, and even the family dog embodied the essence of southern hospitality. The house, set on 15 acres of land, was sprawling and picturesque, complete with a variety of farm animals roaming the property. Joel felt an overwhelming sense of welcome as he shook hands and exchanged hugs with her family.

“Come on, Joel, let me show you around,” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she led him by the hand.

They toured the cozy, welcoming home first. Every room was filled with a sense of history and love. Family photos lined the walls, and Joel could see Y/N’s life story unfolding before him. From childhood pictures to high school graduation, each snapshot added another layer to the woman he loved.

Outside, Y/N showed him the expansive land that her family owned. The fields seemed to stretch endlessly, dotted with horses, cows, and chickens. Joel marveled at the beauty of it all, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. When they reached the four-wheelers, however, his sense of calm wavered.

“Uh, I’m not so sure about this,” he admitted, eyeing the vehicles warily. The idea of tearing through the fields on one of those things made his stomach churn.

Y/N laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how it’s done.” She hopped on one of the four-wheelers and demonstrated its use with practiced ease. The way she handled the machine with confidence and skill only made Joel admire her more. Then, with a mischievous grin, she took off, leaving him standing in a cloud of dust.

“Come on, you big baby!” she called back, her laughter ringing out across the field.

Determined not to be outdone, Joel climbed onto the remaining four-wheeler. He hesitated for a moment, then hit the throttle. The vehicle jolted forward, causing him to grip the handlebars tightly. The initial shock soon gave way to exhilaration as he found his balance and began to enjoy the ride. The wind rushed past him, the landscape blurring as he sped up to catch Y/N.

“Want to race?” Y/N shouted over the roar of the engines, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

Joel grinned, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. “You’re on!”

They raced across the field, the thrill of the competition electrifying the air between them. Joel, with a combination of luck and determination, managed to pull ahead and cross the imaginary finish line first. He stopped and turned just in time to see Y/N pulling up beside him, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement.

“You won,” she said, breathless and smiling, clearly proud of his newfound skills.

Joel leaned over and kissed her, the thrill of the race still thrumming through his veins. “Guess I did,” he murmured against her lips.

The rest of the evening, Joel was the perfect southern gentleman. He helped with dinner, fitting in seamlessly with her family. They laughed over old stories and funny memories.

Later that night, as the house quieted down and everyone retreated to their rooms, Joel found himself alone with Y/N in her childhood bedroom. The familiar surroundings seemed to embolden her, and soon they were tangled in each other, the connection between them sparking into a passionate encounter that left them both breathless and sated.

As they lay in the aftermath, Joel's mind drifted to the ring hidden in his suitcase. He couldn’t think of a more perfect time or place to propose, surrounded by the love and warmth of her family and the memories of her past. With Y/N nestled against him, he knew that the future he envisioned with her was not just a dream, but a tangible reality waiting to unfold. He gently kissed her forehead, feeling her relax into him, and whispered, "Tomorrow. I'll ask her tomorrow."

The next morning, Joel awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee wafting through the house. He stretched, feeling the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the window. Y/N was already up, her spot next to him empty but still warm. He quickly dressed and made his way downstairs to find her in the kitchen, helping her mother prepare breakfast.

“Morning, handsome,” Y/N greeted him with a smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” Joel replied, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her cheek. “What can I do to help?”

The morning passed in a blur of delicious food and laughter. Joel couldn’t help but feel like he belonged here, among these warm and welcoming people. After breakfast, Y/N’s father suggested they take a walk around the property, a tradition that the family held dear.

As they strolled through the fields, Joel listened to Y/N’s father recount stories of the land and its history. The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything. Joel’s nerves started to kick in as he realized the moment he’d been waiting for was fast approaching.

After the walk, the family gathered on the porch to enjoy the afternoon. Y/N’s father brought out a guitar and started playing some old country tunes, with the rest of the family joining in singing. Joel couldn’t help but be charmed by the simplicity and beauty of it all.

As the sun began to set, Joel knew it was time. He took a deep breath and pulled Y/N aside. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his voice slightly shaky.

“Of course,” she replied, looking at him curiously. He led her to a quiet spot under a large oak tree, the golden light of the setting sun casting a warm glow over them.

“Y/N,” Joel began, taking her hands in his. “These past few days have been incredible. Being here with you, meeting your family… it’s made me realize how much I want to be a part of this, a part of your life.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she squeezed his hands. “Joel, I—”

He cut her off gently, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the ring. He dropped to one knee, looking up at her with all the love he felt shining in his eyes. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

Tears filled Y/N’s eyes as she looked down at him, her hand covering her mouth in surprise. “Yes, Joel. Yes, I will!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.

Joel slipped the ring onto her finger, standing up and pulling her into his arms. They kissed, the world around them seeming to fade away. When they finally pulled apart, Joel rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too baby,” she whispered, her voice filled with happiness.

They returned to the house hand in hand, Y/N’s family erupting in cheers and congratulations when they saw the ring on her finger. The rest of the night was a whirlwind of celebration, with music, dancing, and laughter filling the air.

After dinner, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, twilight glow over the house. The family had moved to the living room, the comforting hum of laughter and conversation filling the air. Joel found himself sitting on the cozy couch, sandwiched between Y/N and her mother. Her father brought out an old, worn leather-bound photo album, its pages thick with memories.

“Y/N, why don’t you show Joel some of your baby pictures?” her mother suggested, a twinkle in her eye.

Y/N groaned playfully, rolling her eyes. “Do we have to?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Joel said, grinning. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

With a dramatic sigh, Y/N opened the album, revealing the first page. Joel leaned in, his curiosity piqued. The initial photos showed a newborn Y/N, wrapped snugly in a hospital blanket, her tiny face scrunched up in what seemed to be a permanent pout.

“Aww, look at you,” Joel teased, pointing at a picture of baby Y/N crying her lungs out. “Such a happy baby.”

Y/N rolled her eyes again, but she was smiling. “Yeah, yeah. I wasn’t a fan of the world yet.”

As they flipped through the pages, Joel’s teasing became more affectionate. He pointed to a photo of a chubby toddler Y/N with a face smeared with chocolate cake. “Now, this one’s a classic. You were really enjoying that cake, huh?”

Y/N laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “It was my first birthday. And yes, I was very enthusiastic about cake.”

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle at a picture of a slightly older Y/N, probably around four years old, dressed in an oversized cowboy hat and boots, wielding a toy lasso. “Looks like you were preparing for your future on the farm early.”

“I was quite the cowgirl,” she replied with a playful smirk.

They turned another page to find a picture of Y/N on her first day of school, her hair in pigtails and her backpack almost as big as she was. “You look like you’re ready to take on the world,” Joel said softly, his teasing tone giving way to genuine admiration.

“I was terrified,” Y/N admitted, her voice equally soft. “But my mom said I put on a brave face.”

Joel continued to flip through the album, finding more pictures of Y/N at various stages of her life. He laughed at the photo of her with braces, giving a shy smile to the camera. “You were adorable,” he said, earning a blush and a grateful smile from Y/N.

One picture in particular caught Joel’s eye. It was a candid shot of a teenage Y/N, sitting under the same large oak tree where Joel had proposed earlier that day. She was reading a book, her face serene and content. Joel stared at it for a moment, feeling a deep connection to the past and the present intertwining.

“This is my favorite,” he said, pointing to the picture. “You look so peaceful here.”

Y/N looked at the photo and then at Joel, her eyes shining with emotion. “That tree has always been my favorite spot. It’s where I go to think, to read, to just be.”

Joel leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Now it’s even more special,” he murmured.

They continued to flip through the album, Joel’s teasing becoming gentler, more affectionate. He marveled at the young woman Y/N had been and the incredible person she had become. Each picture told a story, a piece of the puzzle that made up the woman he loved.

Eventually, they reached the end of the album. Joel closed it gently, feeling a sense of awe and gratitude for being allowed a glimpse into Y/N’s life. He looked around at her family, who had been watching them with fond smiles.

“Thank you for sharing these with me,” Joel said, his voice sincere. “It means a lot.”

Y/N’s mother smiled warmly. “We’re happy to have you, Joel. You’re already part of the family.”

Joel felt a lump in his throat as he looked at Y/N, her hand still in his. “I’m honored to be here,” he said softly.

They continued to share stories and laughter, the bond between Joel and Y/N growing even stronger. The photo album had given Joel a deeper appreciation for the woman he loved, and he knew without a doubt that he had made the right decision in asking her to marry him.

The night had grown late, and the living room buzzed with a warm, convivial energy. Joel found himself more relaxed than he had been in a long time, thanks to the welcoming company of Y/N’s family and the few glasses of Tennessee whiskey he had enjoyed. Y/N, too, was clearly feeling the effects of the evening’s drinks, her laughter coming more freely and her eyes sparkling with a playful mischief.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Y/N leaned in close to Joel, her breath warm against his ear. “Joel,” she whispered, her voice husky, “I’m so turned on right now.”

Joel’s heart skipped a beat at her words, a flush creeping up his neck. He glanced around the room, noticing that her parents were still chatting, though the hour had clearly taken its toll on them as well. Her father’s eyes were drooping, and her mother stifled a yawn behind her hand.

“We just need to wait a little longer,” Joel murmured back, trying to keep his voice steady despite the surge of desire her words had ignited.

Y/N bit her lip and nodded, her hand slipping into his under the table. They exchanged knowing glances, the anticipation building between them. Finally, her parents stood, announcing their intention to head to bed.

“Goodnight, you two,” her mother said, smiling warmly. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Goodnight,” Joel and Y/N chorused, their voices a touch too casual. They watched as her parents made their way upstairs, the creaking of the old house signaling their slow ascent. The moment they heard the distant click of a door closing, Y/N turned to Joel, her eyes blazing with intent.

“Come on,” she whispered urgently, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs.

They moved as quietly as possible, stifling giggles and shushing each other as they crept up to her childhood room. The door closed softly behind them, and the moment it did, Y/N was on him, her lips crashing against his in a fervent kiss. Joel responded eagerly, his hands tangling in her hair as he pressed her back against the door.

“God, I’ve wanted you all night,” Y/N murmured between kisses, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.

“Me too,” Joel breathed, his hands roaming over her body, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

They stumbled towards the bed, shedding clothes in a frenzied dance. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the rustling of fabric. Y/N pushed Joel onto the bed, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she said, her voice low and seductive as she ground against him.

Joel groaned, his hands gripping her hips. “You’re driving me crazy,” he managed, his voice thick with need.

She leaned down, capturing his lips again as they moved together, the intensity of their desire building with each passing second. Joel rolled them over, pinning her beneath him, and she arched into him, her fingers digging into his back.

Their movements became more urgent, their need for each other overwhelming. The bed creaked beneath them, but they were too lost in each other to care. Joel’s world narrowed to the sensation of Y/N beneath him, her soft moans and gasps driving him wild.

When they finally came together, it was with a ferocity and passion that left them both breathless. Y/N clung to him, her body trembling with the intensity of her release, and Joel buried his face in her neck, his own climax crashing over him.

They lay tangled together in the aftermath, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Joel kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, every inch of her he could reach, murmuring words of love and adoration.

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied. “That was incredible,” she whispered.

“Yeah, it was,” Joel agreed, his heart full as he gazed down at her. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly.

As they drifted off to sleep, Joel whispered a silent vow to always cherish and protect the woman he loved. Joel couldn’t help but think about how perfect everything had been. From meeting her family to the passionate moments they shared, it all felt like the beginning of something beautiful. And with Y/N beside him, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[jollyhunter]

Everyone knows (and agrees with me, I'm sure) that the one episode concept we really missed out on was a Sam and Dean body swapping. What do you think they would do if they did body swap for a day OR (alternative or additional question) what's the episode concept that would magically exist in your perfect Djinn reality? <333

Okay, not gonna lie. I had to think about this for a while. Thanks for the question friend 😏

Now, I gotta put a disclaimer here first: I haven't watched all the seasons yet, so if I'm getting things wrong or something like this does actually exist as an episode please just ignore my rambling. <33

Sam and Dean body swapping would have been interesting and hilarious! I to be honest think they'd have a strict 'no touching my body' rule and they sure as hell would both follow it. Because - I don't have any siblings so correct me if you think I'm wrong - I strongly believe that you wouldn't want to touch your dongle when you're in your brothers body since that's basically just like touching them and we don't go down that lane. Nope - nuh -uh.

Despite that, I feel like Dean would enjoy being taller and would constantly be like "huh, so that's the view you have of me. thank god I only date shorter girls than me". He'd probably hit his head at least a dozen times on door frames, or when sliding into the seat of Baby or when he whips his head around to look after a lady just to get slapped in the face by Sam's long ass hair and he slams into a pole half-blinded by them 😂 Also bowlegs. They’d both walk funny. Dean stumbling around not being used to the long stalks and Sammy trying to make the bowlegs work.

Sam would probably hover over him the entire time and tell him to stop messing with his body because oh this is going to be a field trip for Dean. He'd shove any food down that hatch that makes Sam pull at his - well - short Dean-hair. Speaking of hair. Dean would absolutely get a hair cut just to piss Sammy off. He might even get some stupid unamoosed-tat on his ass cheek (the pain's worth Sam's reaction). Basically, I'd imagine this episode when they're older version prank day where they'd both act like stupid teenage boys again 😏

ALRIGHT SO. NEXT QUESTION. (Sorry I'm just rambling at this point)

About the episode concept that would exist in my perfect Djinn reality? Let's just say I'm super torn between 'I just wanna see my boy(s) happy' and 'I'd love to see how they're in our world with no angels, no lucifer or apocalypse, no monsters, but they still do their job - but wait, there are no monsters? Oh but yes. They still kill.

But as two unhinged contract killers who are known as "The Brothers" or "The Winchesters" with their own twisted set of morals who always get the job done' (guess this is more of an alternate universe oopsie - sorry!)

Imagine something like Dexter, or “The Twins” (Lemon and Tangerine 🫶) of Bullet Train for the vibe. 🤭

Oh and how could I forget the good old angst-version:

I've always wondered what Dean's and Sam's life would look like if their birth order was switched. Meaning, Dean was the little brother and Sam the older one.

Dean's entire personality is built on the fact that he's 'the older brother'. Not just literally but also figuratively speaking. The moment Dean had to carry baby Sammy out of the flames with his innocent 4 years and was told to "look after his little brother", his role was set in stone. He has to be the strong one, the one who protects and looks out for Sam - and basically anyone but himself.

This just makes me wonder what would he be like if their roles were switched? What would Sam be like? Would he have dealt differently with the responsibilty? Just gonna throw this out there. What do you think? 🥺 And what would be your favorite magical Djinn reality? 👀