#but its fascinating bc i only ever thought that people would choose to kill the monsters on purpose to get the no-mercy run

[thaeon]

obviously late to the party on this like 9 years later and not saying anything that hasn't already been said but its sooo interesting going back and watching blind playthroughs of undertale bc its so funny how many of the people drawn to the game immediately fall into the very first pitfall set by it by being so unimaginative that they cannot imagine a game system existing that does not require grinding up levels even as they say to themselves they don't want to kill the characters AND the npcs reference the game mechanics TO them

[kamil-a]

5 8 13 for ask meme!

this got long lol

characters ive changed on over time: ocean!! after the initial like YEAHHH GET HIS ASS kind of moment where ocean is birthed, once it starts Doing Stuff on its own, it did kinda seem like the most boring and wasted potential one a bit? but in s6 it clicked to me that this was likely by design- the whole point of ocean (at least how i interpret it) is it isnt actually free even a little bit. it got freedom and is choosing to not use it and brags about how it can do stuff that everyone else has FAR outpaced it at (speak1r's body count (AS IN KILLING) (unless🤔😳?!) is wayyyy higher than urs, sayer n future are the torture kings (gender neutral), 2peaker can just say No I Dont Wanna to orders, etc etc.) thru that perspective i grew to like ocean a lot!!

fave relationships: sayerhale #1 sayerhale #1 sayerhale was made in a lab to be catnip to me i think. i literally have 2 pairs of oc relationships that if i post them now you people will be like "thats just lesbian sayerhale🙄" and ill be like shut uppppp i invented them years and years ago. you cant tell me theres a big evil non-anthropomorphic entity that bosses around some human it basically owns and later puppets his BODY. yuou cant do that to me. if you do that, im going to guet sicl. (guetting an illness, of course, results in hauveing it.)

IN ADDITION: i think about futureporter like....more than i talk abt it bc i havent figured out how to express what i want to say? but i think about them. im equally down for platonic and romantic futureporter.... they just need to support each other ;n; (by doing epic murdersz)

whatevers going on with young (all) and future is of course extremely fascinating too. i think theres a lot of room to interpret if simyoung ever thought of future as a real friend or was just using it and the answer i come round to is like.... no but yes but no? i dont think he ever thought of it as a true equal. but something that is your sole comfort in hell is still your friend. it was his tool but also his only friend. it's heartbreaking if you think too long about it....

anyway ill stop at three lol but theres definitely more i think about.

invent sayer merch: OHHHHHHHH BOY. OH BOY OH BOY. i am personally always a sucker for character themed scented soap. I also would looooove to see some subtle fashion accessories like character themed watches or shoes or bags :] those are so neat. ohhhhhh and we need a pop up cafe like for an anime so badly.......... OHHH and we need a sayer escape room so so so bad............

[sixty-silver-wishes]

anyway I wanted to do a quick fic based on this concept bc like. I've been thinking about it. cw for implied abuse

-

For as long as you can remember, you've been lonely, but you've never been alone. Your waking moments are few and meticulously rationed, but when you do get them, every single one is filled with horrified gasps and drunken jeers, bright carnival lights and dizzying noise. Away from the stage, you are confined to a small, dark coffin, withering from neglect until a pair of greedy hands crawls over your body, slipping over your skin and running through your hair and across your protruding ribs and devouring what's left of you. It's less painful when you're asleep, but if you thought sleep would be a mercy, you'd be hopelessly deceived. It's when you're asleep that you're most vulnerable, your body a machine subject to another's cruel whims. Broken and dangling on invisible strings, you are wrenched from your coffin and sent into the street, and it's not until you wake up all over again, the blood being washed from your hands and out of your hair and the paint slathered over your face, that you may vaguely realize what you've done- although despite how long you've been asleep, you're far too tired to so much as think about it. The stage, the coffin, the hands, the blood, the stage, the coffin, the hands, the blood- your mind and body are far too weak to escape the cycle, until eventually, you're completely used up. Your wasted, shattered shell is paraded into the same room you entered when your fate was sealed. The hands touch you for the last time; they are cradling you and caressing you with a violence disguised as remorse. You are left behind on that stretcher, and they all walk out. None of them bother to check for a pulse; it's not like they would want to, anyway. As far as they're aware, you're dead, and if you're not, it's better to let you die than to deal with the crushing guilt that every single one of them- the doctors, the police, the townspeople- were all complicit in what you had become, what you had been made to do, the decay of your body, the molestation of your mind, and the seizure of your soul. They are content to leave, taking comfort in knowing that's the end of you.

Except it's not.

Over the years, the cycle repeats. History passes. The cruelty you suffered becomes chillingly relevant, again and again and again. You wake up at the fair. You kill, you refuse to kill, you abduct, you die. Your world is long gone, but we still watch you. You have been watched for over a hundred years. But something is different now.

Rather than waking up to faces of fear and mockery, you see smiles- not cruel ones as you are accustomed to, but ones that welcome you. People don't avert their eyes in horror like they used to, nor do they stare in revulsion. Their faces light up with a sort of warmth you've never seen before, just because they're glad you exist. You would think it was a dream, but you've had countless dreams, and none of them have ever made you feel this way before.

You're not quite sure how to respond, so you choose what you've learned is the safest option, which is to stay quiet. They approach you, each with something they want to say. Some compliment you on your graceful movements and delicate features. You're confused; you're not supposed to be complimented. You move carefully because you are fragile; your face is haunted, not beautiful. But you don't know what else to do, so you continue to listen.

Some of them tell you they pity you- your position as a spectacle, the destruction of your identity and its horrible replacement, your unwilling transformation into a cold, speechless puppet. All of this fascinates you; you had grown so accustomed to it, you didn't realize you were hurting. Your humanity had long been reduced to nothing but basic means of survival- eating and sleeping, and only at the whims of your captor- and it had never once occurred to you that it should never have been that way; when would he have let you think that? As you process it slowly, they offer friendship, they promise that if it were up to them, you'd be treated better, that they would do anything to protect you. You're not sure if you want friends, or protection. You're still trying to figure out what those are.

And yet, more people still come to you. You can somehow tell that they want to take your hand, but they refrain, because they know you wouldn't want to. You see yourself reflected in their eyes, and it frightens you a little, but you continue to listen. For a long time, people were told they could ask you anything, and you would answer. You have grown used to confessions from strangers. But for these people, you are not an attraction, or a soothsayer, or a novelty. They sometimes appear just as scared as you are. They tell you that they feel trapped, just as you were, whether it be by someone else or by societal norms or by their own bodies. They say you are important to them, and you think of how it feels to be important. You have been called important before- you have been an important tool, an important means of satiating a desire for revenge, an important piece of a very long story. But this is a new kind of important, one you have been denied for so long, although you have always been this kind of important, because despite everything that's been done to you, you are still someone. Some of them thank you, although you don't think you've done anything worth being thanked for. Others stay silent, but they don't need to tell you anything.

It's been said that you can see the future. It may or may not be true, but your supposed omniscience has kept you captive for so long. But maybe if you could, every time you'd wake up, again and again, amidst all your suffering, you'd see it- a future that lasts far longer than you could ever imagine, in which so many people, far too many for you to count, would at last see you as someone worthy of love.

ngl it’s kinda heartwarming to see all these positive comments on fanart and stuff of cesare. like yeah he’s not real, but this character literally embodies trauma, goes through the most horrifying shit in the film, and nobody in it shows him any concern. and then over a hundred years later, we’ve got a small but dedicated community from around the world showing him so much love. idk I think about it sometimes

[ectonurites]

for the character headcannons ask game, jason and cass?

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT im putting this one under a cut because it got SUPER long bc i cant shut up ever

lets start w jason

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok using the ‘realistic’ category here loosely but GOD i love the idea of Damian & Jason having interacted while Jason was staying with the League before getting dunked in the Lazarus Pit. like. this obviously would need to be set more in preboot and following the Lost Days & Batman Annual 25 version of Jason’s resurrection, but god the idea of it just makes me scream in a good way. Like... these are things Jason likely doesn’t remember very clearly once he’s brought back to life more fully by the pit because he was uh pretty catatonic, but Damian being a little kid and knowing about the boy that his mother keeps around the base, that she’s trying to help bring back to health. Damian not even knowing that’s his big brother, just that he’s a presence that shares his mother’s attention. Jason again being unresponsive but like, ok god you know that part of lost days where Talia shows the others observing him that he only fights back at those he perceives as genuine threats trying to hurt him, 

Because Jason can perceive that she’s safe, she’s not actually trying to hurt him, he trusts her because she saved him? thinking about lil child Damian who is ya know already being trained in fighting stuff and like the idea of him trying to provoke Jason just to see what happens but Jason not fighting back because on some level be it his connection to Talia or even little baby Damian visually reminding him of Bruce, he knows that Damian is safe too 🥺 

and then when Jason and Damian meet again in Gotham as Red Hood & Robin respectively, Jason not really remembering because there was so much going on back then for him, but Damian realizing that oh... that was Him

B (hilarious): 

alright so if we are looking at comics currently, in modern stuff jason is what, like 22? hes old enough to drink in the US but still definitely early 20s so around my around my age, thats what im using as a basis here. if we adjust timeline and still consider his death having happened when he was 15, that puts it around 2013. and then coming back to like interacting with people about three years later if we still kinda base things off of the preboot timeframe (since we never got a super solid retelling of the timeline of death -> resurrection -> training -> tries to get revenge aside from knowing he went to the all-caste instead of the lost days version of the story) making him reenter the regular world and stuff around age 18 in 2016. meaning a solid three years of pop culture that he was entirely missing, and like im sorry but he really doesn’t strike me as the type to bother looking into what he missed, he’s kinda busy focusing on other stuff. lets take a quick look at some major things from those years. 2013 gave us ‘what does the fox say’ and ‘the harlem shake’ . 2014 had that time U2 just put a fuckin album on everyone’s phones, The Fault In Our Stars movie came out. 2015 introduced the phrase ‘Netflix and Chill’ and the whole blue & black vs gold & white dress debate happened. imagine any of the other batkids (or even arguably roy during rhato stuff) bringing these things up and jason’s ensuing confusion. thank you for your time

C (heart-crushing): 

so. there are two specific instances from rebirth era Jason i want to bring up here and much like a lot of these it’s less a headcanon and more of an inference based on observations, but i wanna take a sec to discuss Jason’s relationship with other people’s death. early in rebirth, Tim ‘dies’ from that whole thing in detective comics. he didn’t actually die, we as readers know, but in-universe they all very much so thought he was dead. frustratingly a lot of the batfam wasn’t really shown mourning him aside from in the Detective Comics Rebirth title itself (which just. when a major character dies even if its temporary- that should have a ripple effect) BUT an exception to that is in RHATO 2016, where we get this offhanded comment in Jason’s internal monologuing

similarly later when Roy, who like, had an incredibly close relationship w Jason that had just gotten mended before Heroes in Crisis, gets fuckin murdered in that whole thing... Jason doesn’t go to his funeral either. He leaves a dramatic voice mail and then visits the grave on his own later, choosing to instead keep working on the mission they’d started rather than going and taking the time to mourn properly.

Jason’s relationship with death is incredibly complicated, obviously. He has died, he has come back, and he now is willing to cross the line most other bats won’t and will kill people when he deems it necessary. I think thats something important though- he doesn’t just like... go around killing for fun (usually, some writers preboot made him a little murder happy but even then usually this still was vaguely followed) he kills people he thinks deserved it. Like, even looking back at the mess of Morrison’s Jason during Batman & Robin 2009, Jason was still trying to bring a sense of justice with who he was killing (”punishment that fits the crime”), it wasn’t killing for the sake of killing. He sees things in this kind of almost black and white ‘people who deserve it’ and ‘people who don’t’ way, and he has no problem dealing with death when it’s with the people he thinks deserve it. 

but when someone who doesn’t in his mind ‘deserve it’ gets killed? i think he just goes into total avoidance mode. throws himself into other things he’s doing, tries not to dwell on it too much no matter how much he still thinks about it (this is especially evident in him consistently telling people “i’m fine!” after what happened to Roy, despite bringing Roy up literally like every few issues for a WHILE after he died and very clearly still struggling with it, Artemis is the only one who gets through to him on it a little bit) 

but yeah, I just think that from Jason’s relatively unique situation of having been murdered, he knows what it’s like and he is perfectly fine wishing that on people he thinks are bad and deserve it, but it crushes him to imagine the people he loves and cares about having to experience something as painful as what he went through. not to mention the whole “I came back, why do I get a second chance at all this when they, who are a much better person than I am, probably won’t” mindset we get some implications of him having 

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

hello DC i am once again insisting a batfam member is bisexual

CASS TIME

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok so we know cass likes ballet. thats canon. however i think we also should in general explore cass experiencing other types of dance/performance as well, be it herself as a performer or even just watching. like... god imagine her & like my brain just automatically for group activities puts her with tim steph and duke but also for this in particular I feel would be a Jason embraced activity, but like them going to see a broadway show or some other professional theatre or something, and her just being enthralled by the reading of body language of the performers! like again by any point in current stuff cass does have like, the ability to speak fine (reading still hard tho) but even so I think like. okay im a theatre kid if that’s not obvious from the Everything About Me but one thing I always do after seeing a show is ya know spend dinner afterwards discussing it with whoever i saw it with.

I just think that like, bringing those people i just mentioned to the table to discuss seeing a show after would be so FASCINATING because cass would bring this whole perspective of critiquing their acting on a whole different level- not based on how well they delivered lines out loud, but by what their body language was saying as they moved on stage. like im very amused by the idea of cass getting a totally different picture in her mind about what a character’s motivations were because she was paying way more attention to what their physicality was saying vs the words that were written and how they were delivered. i think the debates her and the others would have would be EPIC there. jason defending the text as it was written adamantly and cass being like ‘ok yeah sure but thats not what they did’

B (hilarious): 

cass having no concept of money because why would she bother? is SO funny to me. like it’s not that she couldn’t be reasonable if she wanted to, but like, she knows that the Waynes are well off so it’s not something she actually needs to be concerned about, so she just goes hog wild. takes steph out to fancy dinners and makes steph order for them since cass ya know doesn’t really read the menus, and steph’s like ‘jesus christ this costs-” “don’t worry about it” “but cass-” and she just holds up one of bruce’s credit cards and steph’s still like “but you don’t even know the range-” “it is fine”

bruce does not have the heart to tell her to stop

C (heart-crushing): 

i mean this is pretty much canon but especially now after death metal where she’s remembering, not just being told by a guy using weird alternate timeline technology, that she used to be an adopted member of the Wayne family... like that hurts so bad. To look at these people who have ya know been kind to her, Bruce has still been a father-like figure to her (i mean literally from the moment they met in New 52 canon during the flashback in Batman & Robin Eternal, where he’s telling her that she’s not a monster just because of what people forced her to do.... that she’s a hero... that hug.... dad behavior), and they do to some extent treat her as family... But to then really know, to feel and remember that she was actually adopted! She was a part of their family. To look at how she’s been calling herself Orphan while working with them this whole time... that’s so heartbreaking! I have cried about this idea so much! I want so badly a conversation between her and Bruce now where he offers to officially adopt her again, I need it so bad and if it doesn’t happen at some point in the next year or two I will be so distraught.

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

i want an in-depth exploration of cass’ relationship to her own gender. being raised without language and you know with so much of her life being independent (remember: CASS RAN AWAY AROUND THE WORLD WITHOUT REALLY KNOWING ANY SPOKEN LANGUAGE) and outside of an organized society impressing too much of gender expectations on her, i feel like the way she experiences it would be very unique! like sure she’s so far been fine with being assigned ‘girl’ (ya know that comes with batgirl, and how people just automatically treated her based on how she looks) but in terms of gender expression and like her actual relationship with ‘traditional femininity’ etc like... because of how she was raised I just think she’d have a really different perspective on it that could be cool to explore, and I think she’d fall outside of the binary after she really thinks about how she identifies.

tldr on that: she/they nb cass is what i’m getting at here

[piratemadi]

i really think about vane so often. he has so much in common w flint maybe not biographically but the parallels btwn them are really underrated i think. like theyre both so principled but the difference is that flint’s principles were forged w Love. loving thomas and loving miranda (and then later loving silver and madi) were so important to flint’s war cuz at the end of the day he was fighting it for the people he loved. whereas vane’s principles were born of violence and bloodlust and ultimately a desire for freedom above all. like that weird little conversation in miranda’s house where vane was like i dont need comfort i would rather die than be comfortable and flint is like...ok it was all about vane saying that love and comfort and domesticity might as well be shackles! to him love+comfort is something that WEAKENS rather than STRENGTHENS and he wouldnt risk being weakened bc he needs to defend his freedom its the most important thing in the world to him! his principles r the most important thing in the world to him. and to him, love would weaken that. he doesnt want to even be able to betray his principles for love.

but ofc how can a person be whole and happy without having ever felt unconditional love and comfort? it’s tragic the way vane never experiences that and the only thing he clings to is freedom and the strength he needs to defend it. flint’s struggle is defined by love and vane’s by a lack of it. flint’s hallucination of miranda says to him “When I first met you, you were so... unformed. And then I spoke and bade you cast aside your shame, and Captain Flint was born into the world... the part of you that always existed yet never were you willing to allow into the light of day. I was mistress to you when you needed love. I was wife to you when you needed understanding. But first and before all... I was mother.” and at first i thought that was so strange but then later in the jail cell. eleanor is lost to vane just as surely as miranda is lost to flint. and eleanor says to him  “You're not a man. You're deformed. Unformed. Flesh, bone, and bile, and missing all that which takes shape through a mother's love. You cannot comprehend what you took from me or why it was good, because there is no goodness in you. There is no humanity in you, no capacity for compromise, nor instinct toward repair, nor progress.” the good that miranda and thomas did for flint was literally bringing him into the world by loving him. that love keeps flint going, even thru the worst times in his life, even when it seems like everything is lost. that capacity for compromise, that instinct for repair and progress is because flint was loved and loved in return. and vane never was. that parallel is explicit but subtle. unformed, before the formative love of a mother.

obv eleanor was going a little hard on him cuz she hated him LOL like vane WAS principled! equally as principled as flint and madi! but flint and madi were people who cared deeply about love and community and humanity. but the reason that vane will always choose violence and brutality over love and comfort is not just bc he’s never really felt love and comfort is bc those principles that flint and madi internalized with love? vane internalized w violence. like flint was inspired to fight for freedom for his lost loves, madi was inspired to fight for freedom for her people, and vane was inspired to fight for freedom cuz what gave him freedom to begin w was violence. he was a slave as a child, and then blackbeard, the most fucked up guy EVER, took him under his wing and brought him to nassau, which is a cesspool of violence and also vane’s only real home. everything good in vane’s life, his freedom, his principles, was bought w blood. and he considers that its better that way bc he thinks that love would weaken him.

and the crazy thing is that the narrative ultimately proves vane right! flint’s love for silver and thomas prevents flint from killing silver or abandoning thomas to keep on fighting, so even tho flint doesn’t die, his struggle does. vane would never have been caught up in some shit like that. he would never let himself be weakened by love. he lets himself be hanged bc this is his struggle, and it is to the war that he’s pledged himself to beyond anything. its interesting bc the only person of similar conviction, the only person who would never EVER betray the war, not for a beloved’s life, not for the men’s, not for their own, is madi. madi is probably the only other person on the show who would have or could have done what vane did. and this is the interesting part bc while flint’s struggle is WEAKENED by his love for silver and thomas madi’s struggle is STRENGTHENED by her love for her people. vane and madi’s dynamic would have been FASCINATING bc this is absolutely the first time it would ever have occurred to vane that love doesnt have to be a crack in the armor! that principles forged in blood and violence can be just as strong or stronger if forged instead in a fiercely loving community!

and those unbreakable principles that unstoppable campaign for freedom whether based in violence or based in love is WHY both vane and madi have the reputations they do. it’s why flint says about madi that “There isn't a man or woman in Nassau who'd argue that she isn't the best of them all." it’s why billy says that “By stirring resentment, finding sympathetic ears, reminding them that Charles Vane was once the best of them-- still is the best of them.”

anyways. thesis statement of this is that flint is similar to vane and flint is similar to madi and vane is similar to madi and the major differences btwn them is the role that love plays in their lives and their struggles. to charles vane keep thotting it up in heaven king

[dragqueenpentheus]

Okay no one has to read this but i DO have to write it:

PYROC VS FATHER PAUL

Ya bitch needs an art break bc im getting angry about voices existing as i try to keep myself entertained. Today is NOT a god one for sinking into repetitive line work and that’s just about all i have on the table atm

SO! Im gunna do a little thinking about my little meow meows all fucked up by religion. Just a comparison for my sanity and interests. Pyroc is my baby i wrote him for the first time years ago. Five?????????? Whadda hell. Going on six.

ANYWAY john joined religion because of his trauma. His sister died and he felt lost. He was unmoored in this fishing village and looking for reason looking for hope. Hed had his heart broken and trying to make sense of tragedy on his own was totally beyond him. Thats why his interactions with riley in AA are SO good like. He knows that confusion and he knows the rhetoric that’s supposed to combat it. Only it dooesnt work for riley.

The same sort of thing happens for pyrc, only inverted. Loss urns him away from god and religion because its SO strong in his family and not only is he loosing trust in god, but his kin as well. He’s suspicious there’s mre they arent telling him, at the point of his fathers death. And he agrees to, on the surface, absolutely wholly throw himself in to being the second the family and the village need. But he’s keeping his treachery under wraps.

That’s one of the coolest things about father paul imo is like. That slow unraveling of what is. Frankly. An awful half assed plan, driven by fear and loneliness and desperation and dementia and love. Even VERY obvious things like. Taking down the newspaper photo of his young self ‘slip’ by him. I think, on some level, its DEEPLY intentional. He wants people to CHOOSE this. He wants people like bev. He wants people who see him and are in aw of him beating god. Of killing death. He wants to be worshiped and adored and for people to come to him willingly, no tragedy driving them to his arms.

Pyroc also wnats to be worshipped, but he ALSO wants to do the worshipping. He really longs for an element of almost????? But not quite??? Subjection?? He wants to be shown something and for a Great Voice to tell him, unquestioningly and unerringly that it is GOOD. Full stop. And then he wants to spend his life worshipping it. But this booko is an exploration of how….. no such thing exists. And more importantly no great voice exists either. There is nothing wholly good, nothing wholy evil. His lack of faith in himself once he becomes god is him starting to understand that as well. Thats on purpose baked into the lore. The starting point was ‘what if god was a position and in order to get promoted you had to be a murderer. No matter what’. He understands things are not wholly good, at that point. I onder how long it will be for him to realize they are not fully evil as well?

Bc pruitt does hm hm hm an interesting move. Where he takes something the narritve is very sure to communicate is EVIL no wiggle room just fact. Even if its driven by animal instinct its. Evil. And he makes it, not just good, but HOLY. And god i LOVEEEE that for him i ADOREEE that what a MOVE. Driven by desperation and dementia and relief and ‘if god saved me than maybe i can be good despite loving and sinning and maybe if i defeat god then i will be Thee Good’. SO sexy of him. Im really fascinated by his morality. He seems to have an understanding of the shades of grey in some respects??? But if he had a BETTER one with more forgiveness in his heart i feel like hed have left the church anyway after sarah was born??? Even if millie didnt ask him??? That might just be my own sensibilities creeping in but ….. like he culd have seen her on the weekends. He can do other jobs. Hes straight (??? Not totally convinced of this) he could have just dated her that makes me crazy. LIKE OBV HE HAD LINES HE THOUGHT THAT WOULD CROSS AND HE HAD INTERNALIZED THE CHURCH AND THE RULES AND SHE WAS MARRIED AND ECT ECT i know he couldnt have really but. Thye were straight. They coulda.

Im not gunna do fantasy homophobia bc i think its …………….. Boring. But i think some element of??? The vindlegaurd line MUST be passed along and for that particular rules must be applied. But thats also boring as hell :/ maybe i can work in my parthenogenesis lore?????????? I bet pyroc would love building that spell in any universe. That’s the sequal when he goes to magic university in helsin. But yeah i do like the concept that. Anyone can have a baby thru magic its just a time and energy commitment. Just a matter of wanting it enough together. Every baby is so deeply wanted and its mere existence is proof. Thats dope i love that. HMMM to be decided at a later date when im deeper into the story i think. I still havent figured out fully how and where and why orion is going to be invovled and if???? Pyroc and orion are even going to be romantic??????? Im torn im TORn…….

Thikns about john bonding w sarah over science and learning and starts wEEPING…. Like theres some surity beloved. Its just a matter of uncovering. I think sarah felt that same thirst for answers and hunted them differently. Her faith is in logic and science. I loveeee her god. Every scene w her and her dad absolutely RUIN me like!!!!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW LOVED SHE IS!!!!!! I hope at hte very end she saw the blood as the gesture of love it SO clearly was and not him trying to poison her. God i love that she spat it out. GOD. Thats about being gay, btw. Spits the religious offering that could save you across the gasoline soaked church floor like BABE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I think we as a collective should talk about the possibiites around sarah/erin more. Bc their defiance combined would be. Earth SHATTERING for crockett.

In the future pyroc gets a kid. Ever since that campaign where Enemy ended up playing his daughter im like. How did i NOT know this idiot wanted nothing more in the entire world than to travel it with his daughter. I dont care how or why hes getting a kid. Hed be so doting and awful abut it. He would need orion as a co-parent for the kids self esteem to be normal levels. thINKS ABOUT PAUL GETTING TO RAISE SARAH AND JUST ABSOLUTELY GASSING HER UPPPPPPPP HANGING EVERY DOODLE SHE EVER MADE ON TEH FRIDGE. BOASTING ABOUT HER SCEINECE PROJECT OT ANYONE WITHIN EYESIGHT EVEN THOUGH ‘WE K N O W JOHNWE WERE ALL AT THE SCEINCE FAIR’!!!!!!!!!!! Let these fuck ups be doting fathers im fucking begging. That scene where paul is like. You take ccare of everyone on the island sarah. Its more than being a doctor. You comfort them.

HM HM comfort is such a thing for Miss Bitch like!! He sees it as a Good Thing. He tries to bring it for riley by asking to hold the AA meetings on island ((also manipulation. Obvously also manipulation. I wouldnt have bene shocked if he was slipping the vampire blood into the coffee every meeting either. But thats just a theory. A game theory.)) ANYWAY he sees comfort as hly. The church gave it to him when he needed it. The angel gave it to him in the cave. Feeling safe and warm is HIGH on his list of priorities and what makes him hand over respect.

I think pyroc has lived a very comfortable life in SO many ways, but in none he. Activly recognizes. A key part of his character arc his him…. Opening his eyes to the world around them. Seeing the privilege he has and being like. Wait. This isnt Right. We have to change thi. And when no one agrees ti shifts to I have to change this. With Violence. A little revolutionary <3 it only costs the life of his whole ass family

Thats more fun comparison ground like…… paul is SO much about I know whats right and there is a cost but i AM ignoring it. Like HE KNOOOOWSSSS he knooooows he just doesnt want o See. I’m not sure if im going to surprise yroc with the ……megadeath of. His whole family. Or if it’s a choice he has to activly make. I think a choice makes it more compelling, more layerd. It has to be in the moment though, becaus ei think thats. A key difference between them. Pyroc wouldnt do it.. hed just leave hed peace out and do what he could in small ways. But he wouldnt do his big stand off with god. Hed shrink his goals in order to not hurt his family. Out of love?? Intimidation?? Some instinct wihtin him that balks at the idea of disobedience??? I think even he doesnt know. But i LOVE john becaue he jsut decides to lie. He closes his eyes and says i am being stupid on purpose. I think thats PERHAPS more compelling than good guy coward pyroc BUT!!!!! Thats who he is rip to ths little man. Cant change him now hes a whole ass child in my head. The PLOT i can change. Him….. not without massive character development <3

UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MM set my brain on FIRE!!!! Im so glad nano is coming up. I love sharpening pyroc against the comparison of other AMAZING characters. Father paul hill my beloved millstone <3 anyway sorry to anyone who reads this its literally me unhinging my jaw and emptying my brain out. I had to write stuff that wasn’t novel or fic. A little character time down and dirty. I wil NOT be editing this love and light to future me trying to decode this

[junghelioseok]

pronoia.

↳ you can definitively say that you did not sign up for this.

◇ namjoon x reader ◇ zombie apocalypse!au | college!au ◇ 15k [1/1]

notes: a very late birthday present for @imaginationofacrazyfangirl, who i kind of like for some reason. 

⇢ pronoia (n): a state of mind that is the opposite of paranoia. a suspicion that the universe is conspiring in your favor.

warnings: some violence obviously. some gore. mostly just me trying to be funny. irreverent humor, zombieland jokes, and a couple bad philosophy references bc idk what i’m talking about. exactly one (1) brooklyn 99 joke. yoongi is lowkey a badass bc u cannot convince me his crafty, conniving ass wouldn’t be good in this kind of situation. jk’s ready to risk it all for a twinkie. tbh this is kind of a mess and the ending might be rushed but i still worked really hard on it so please leave feedback sndfjfkjsksds 🙈

It’s too quiet.

Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, the dull hum fading into the background as water starts dripping somewhere to your left. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding erratically against your ribcage as you suck in a deep breath and tighten your grip on your baseball bat.

It’s hard to believe that just three days ago, you were a regular college student. Three days ago, your biggest concerns were finding a decently paid summer job and getting through your last philosophy lecture without daydreaming about the cute teaching assistant bending you over his desk. But now, sandwiched between two rows in the back of your university’s biggest auditorium, you have several new concerns. Bigger concerns.

And first and foremost among them, are the zombies.

To be honest, you still aren’t entirely sure how it happened. The last emergency alert had killed your phone’s battery for good, and you’d only just managed to catch a glimpse of the words “mutated virus” and “nationwide epidemic” before the screen faded to black. And a good thing too—the undead guy trying to sneak up on you from behind definitely would have gotten you had you not seen his reflection in your now-useless hunk of metal and glass.

Thank god for the softball unit in high school gym class, you think to yourself, trying in vain to wipe the blood and brain matter off of your bat. Sure, you didn’t think you’d be utilizing those skills to kill zombies, but at this new low point in your life, anything that aids your survival is a home run in your book.

Deeming your weapon sufficiently clean, you tuck it back into a makeshift sling you’d fashioned out of an old scarf, adjusting it so that it lays flat against your spine. With both hands now free, you begin inching toward the back exit. There’s a growing ache in your bladder that you can no longer ignore, and you send a quick prayer up to any gods that may exist before cracking the auditorium door open, glancing left and right down the seemingly empty hallway. Silently, you count to ten.

After a few more moments of deliberation, you decide the coast is clear. The restrooms are at the very end of the hall, and you can’t help but feel like the little gendered stick figures are taunting you as you cautiously make your way toward them, your shoes silent against the linoleum floor.

You are approximately fifteen feet away from your destination when you hear footsteps. Your heart kicks into overdrive at the unsteady rhythm—a short tap followed by a long dragging sound, as if the approaching individual were limping. For a moment, you debate running for the nearest bathroom and barricading yourself inside, but enclosed spaces are a bad idea according to every zombie movie you’ve ever seen, and you aren’t particularly keen on the idea of becoming zombie food.

Instead, you steel yourself and turn around, pulling out your bat. The approaching zombie doesn’t look like a student—in fact, you’re pretty sure he was your trigonometry teacher for a semester during freshman year—but that’s hardly important right now.

What is important, however, is the black-and-white figure that’s just rounded the corner behind the limping math professor-turned-zombie. And it’s running toward you—fast. Far faster than any of the undead beings you’ve seen, and, upon closer inspection, faster than most of the human beings you know.

And that can only mean one thing.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, half in surprise and half in horror as the dark-haired track star pulls even with your former professor and swings at his head, using all of his momentum and landing a solid crack. The zombie crumples to the linoleum floor, blood and viscera seeping from the crack in his skull, and you frown in distaste before looking up at your classmate. “Uh, hi?”

“{Name}?” Jungkook asks in disbelief, skidding to a stop. He’s wearing a single boxing glove on one hand and wielding a smashed wine bottle in the other, and you almost want to laugh at his appearance. After all, you’re about ninety-nine percent sure he was wearing the exact same thing at the last house party you both attended. But now—with a bloodied zombie still twitching at your feet and the imminent threat of even more coming after you—probably isn’t the best time to bring that up.

“It is you,” Jungkook says in disbelief, his eyes widening. “Are you alone?”

You nod. “Yeah. You?”

Jungkook nods back. “Yeah. You’re the first person I’ve come across who hasn’t—well… you know.” He gestures downward vaguely.

“Yeah. I know.”

For a few seconds, the two of you stand in silence, ruminating on how everything managed to change so quickly. Just last week, you and Jungkook were regular college students. He ran track and and co-captained the campus dance crew, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were lab partners, you aren’t sure you ever would have met. But after months of sitting together in class, equally stumped by the biology textbooks you were forced to buy and elbow-deep in formaldehyde far too often for your liking, you’ve grown to consider him a friend. And right now, you really, really needed a friend.

“Jungkook,” you begin, laying an arm on his shoulder, “I need your help.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he says, shaking his shaggy hair out of his face like a dog and glancing around the hallway. “We should team up. I mean, we’ve been lab partners for months so we already know we work great togethe—“

“We’ve failed almost half of our lab reports, and you nearly set the table on fire last Tuesday,” you cut in. “But that’s not the point. The point is the current state of my bladder and how you can help me with it.”

Jungkook blinks. “Uh.”

“I need to pee,” you clarify.

“And what exactly do you want me to do about that?”

“Come with me,” you reply, grabbing his wrist. Jungkook lets out a protesting grunt when you begin pulling him down the hallway toward the restrooms, struggling even more vigorously when you try to make him follow you inside.

“This is the girl’s bathroom!” he gasps, wrenching out of your grasp.

You stare at him. “The entire city is overrun by zombies and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“It’s weird!” he protests. Nevertheless, he trots in on your heels, peering around curiously as you bang on the wall of the nearest stall in an attempt to draw any lurkers out into the open.

“Check for zombies, idiot,” you instruct when Jungkook gets distracted by his own reflection in the mirror. “I don’t wanna get eaten.”

He huffs but complies nonetheless. Raising his broken wine bottle, he glances into each stall, kicking open the doors with unnecessary force. “Clear,” he reports once he’s checked the last one, offering you a mock salute. The effect is ruined by the bright red boxing glove still on his hand, but you bite back the snide remark on your tongue and instead walk into the nearest stall.

“Plug your ears or something,” you tell him as you lock the door. “I don’t want you listening to me pee.”

“Why the hell would I listen?” Jungkook retorts, sounding thoroughly horrified.

“Some people are into that,” you reply, wagging a finger at him despite the fact that he can’t see you through the closed door. “It’s called urolagnia. Don’t kinkshame.”

“I don’t want to know why you know that,” he grumbles under his breath. “Shut up and pee already. I have to go too.”

“But this is the girls’ room,” you snipe, finishing your business and stepping out to wash your hands. Jungkook takes your place inside the stall while you turn on the sink, eyeing his reflection pointedly in the mirror. “You’re gonna get cooties.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Ha, ha,” he says dryly. “You’re hilarious.”

And then he’s turning around, flipping you the bird before slamming the metal door in your face.

You shrug, unfazed. “I know I am,” you say, addressing your own reflection in the mirror. “Also, do you by any chance own a car?”

///

“This feels like a bad idea,” Jungkook mutters, eyeing the quiet parking lot. It’s nowhere near full, but there are still several dozen cars scattered around, empty and abandoned with no owners to be found. At the far end lies your prize—a black SUV with tinted windows and a bicycle strapped to the roof. “Should we make a run for it?” Jungkook asks. “I mean, we don’t really have any other options if we wanna make it out of here with our brains intact, and—”

“Hang on a sec,” you interrupt, grabbing his arm. “We can create a diversion first. Give me your wine bottle—I’m gonna throw it.”

Jungkook hugs the glass bottle to his chest, eyes round and expression aghast. “And leave myself defenseless? What do you want me to do, punch the zombies away?”

“That’s literally what you did ten minutes ago,” you point out, rolling your eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”

He pauses for a long moment before a resigned sigh leaves his lips. “Fine. I get to throw it, though.”

“Whatever,” you reply, waving a hand at him. “Knock yourself out. Or them. You should really knock them out, on second thought.”

Jungkook wisely chooses to ignore your rambling, hefting the bottle and testing its weight. Rearing back, he tosses it in a perfect arc, and you watch in fascination as it somersaults through the air before crashing down onto the asphalt in an explosion of shattered glass. “There!” you hiss urgently, tugging on Jungkook’s sleeve when a zombie immediately lumbers out from behind a nearby sedan, searching for the source of the noise. “We run on three, got it?”

“Got it,” he whispers back, watching raptly as several more zombies follow the first. “One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

Together, you make a mad dash for the SUV. Jungkook gets there first, skidding to a stop and trying the driver’s side door only to find it locked. “I’ll check the other side,” you tell him, glancing around to make sure the zombies are still distracted. “Work on breaking a window or something, fast!”

The sound of a throat being cleared stops you dead in your tracks. “You’ll do no such thing,” a low voice drawls. A moment later, the platinum blond head of Min Yoongi—a reclusive senior you only know because he deejays at your favorite club every Friday night— pops out from behind the hood of the car, his dark eyes narrowed at you accusingly. “We got dibs on this one.”

“Yoongi?” you ask in surprise. “What are you—wait. We? Who’s we?”

“I’m we,” a new voice announces—one that you’re very, very familiar with. Kim Namjoon steps into view behind Yoongi, and you aren’t sure whether to be horrified or thrilled to see your philosophy TA alive and well, with what looks like a metal fence pole perched on his shoulder like a bayonet. “Hey, {Name},” Namjoon says, offering you a small smile. “Fancy seeing you here, of all places.”

“N-Namjoon,” you stammer, your heart skipping a beat and racing to catch back up. “You’re… okay.”

“More or less,” the tall man replies agreeably, shrugging. Then he glances toward his blond companion, raising a quizzical brow. “Come on, Yoongi. We’ve got room for two more, don’t we?”

Yoongi grumbles something under his breath that sounds like acquiescence, and Namjoon grins, patting him on the back. “Welcome aboard,” he says, turning back to face you and Jungkook. “We’ve got to move fast. You’re Jeon Jungkook, right? I’ve seen you around the track field. Can you do me a favor and watch my back while I open this door?”

Jungkook nods, accepting Namjoon’s brief handshake and the metal pole he hands over. Namjoon then pulls a wire coat hanger out of his jacket pocket, and you watch, awestruck, as he jimmies the car door open.

“There aren’t any keys,” Jungkook points out, peering over the taller man’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the ignition. “Now what? Does anyone know how to hotwire a car?”

“Yes,” Namjoon and Yoongi say simultaneously.

“Well, only in theory,” Namjoon adds when Yoongi rolls his eyes and brushes past him to duck underneath the steering wheel. “Yoongi’s the real expert here.”

“That makes me sound like a criminal,” the blond man grumbles as he sets his toolbox on the ground and gets to work. “For the record, I only know how to do this because of all the times my keys have gone missing. I’m not the fucking Pontiac Bandit.”

“Sounds exactly like what the fucking Pontiac Bandit would say,” you and Jungkook say at the same time, high-fiving each other.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “This isn’t even a Pontiac,” he grumbles, hissing through his teeth as he pulls a few wires free and begins fiddling with them. “Quit watching me and make yourselves useful. Go check the trunk for supplies, or something. Christ.”

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, eyeing the surrounding cars. “That’s actually a good idea. There might be something useful in some of these other cars too. {Name}, why don’t you come with me? Jungkook should probably stay here and keep watch.”

Your mouth goes dry at his suggestion, but you nod hurriedly before your brain can short-circuit at the sound of your name leaving his lips so casually. “That… yeah. That sounds good. Let’s do that.”

“Good luck!” Jungkook calls cheerily as you walk off, earning himself a hard kick in the shins from Yoongi, who’s still flat on his back on the floor of the car.

“Dude, shut the fuck up! Do you want to die?”

Jungkook looks properly abashed. “Right,” he says, lowering his voice. “My bad.”

To your left, Namjoon muffles his laugh behind his hand. Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, and you grin, waving at the two before departing with Namjoon. Together, you wander deeper back into the maze of abandoned vehicles scattered around the lot, peering inside for anything that might be useful. Stopping at a sedan with open windows, you slip a hand inside and unlock the door. There’s an unopened bottle of soda in the cupholder, and Namjoon smiles as he reaches into the backseat and pulls out a few grocery bags.

“Try popping the trunk,” he suggests.

“On it,” you reply, searching for the right button. Namjoon walks around back to open the lid, grinning triumphantly when he sees what’s inside.

“More groceries,” he says, hefting another bag. “And half a case of bottled water. This should be enough to get us started.” Beckoning for you to join him, he hands over the three bags before hefting the case of water over one shoulder. “You okay? I can take a bag if you want.”

You shake your head, threading your baseball bat through the handles of each bag and hefting it onto your shoulder. “I’m fine. Thanks, though,” you tell him, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picks up when he gives you a look of approval, a small smile curling the corner of his mouth and dimpling his cheeks.

“So,” you begin as the two of you start trekking back toward the SUV, “where are we headed, anyway? It seems like you and Yoongi have a plan.”

Namjoon nods. “We do. There’s a reported quarantine zone up north—it’s all over Twitter.” Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulls out his cellphone, along with a massive battery pack. “I’ve been conserving my phone battery as much as I can, keeping track of any news, and I think it’s our best bet.”

“Smart.” Ruefully, you pull out your own device and show him the black screen. “My phone died ages ago.”

“You still might be able to charge it,” Namjoon points out. “The electrical grids haven’t gone down yet. And I know Yoongi’s got a cord back at the car, so we can charge our devices on the road too. He’s got all sorts of stuff—this battery pack is his, actually. I couldn’t find mine.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” you mutter, thinking back to every time he’s misplaced his laser pointer or lecture notes during class.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. Off in the distance, you spot a few zombies shambling along, no doubt searching for their next meal. Silently, you and Namjoon begin walking faster.

Yoongi and Jungkook are both seated inside the car by the time you return. Jungkook hops out to help you load the bags, and you shoot him a grateful grin as you climb into the backseat alongside him. Namjoon takes the passenger seat, kindly plugging in your phone while Yoongi adjusts his mirrors with a frown. “The engine’s gonna draw their attention,” he says. “They probably won’t be able to get us in the car, but hang onto your weapons just in case.” Then he pauses, glancing back at the metal pole in Jungkook’s hands and the wooden bat in yours. “Well. We’ll need to make a stop and get actual weapons.”

“We can try the police station,” Namjoon suggests. “I’m sure others will have had the same idea, but it’s really our only option. Then we’ll have to load up on food, water, and gas.”

Curiously, you peer into the grocery bags sitting on the floor between you and Jungkook. “Most of this stuff’s perishable. We’ll need to get non-perishable stuff if we’re going to be on the road for a long time. How far did you say that quarantined zone is, Namjoon?”

“I didn’t. I’m not actually one-hundred percent sure myself. Social media is a mess, as you might imagine.” Turning around in his seat, Namjoon shows you his Twitter feed—conflicting news alerts interspersed with grisly photos of the destroyed city and panicked requests for aid. “The last emergency alert said that the military base just outside of city limits is safe, but I’m not so sure.” He scrolls down, revealing several videos of zombies staggering around a helicopter, and upon closer inspection, you realize that they’re in full military garb. Horrified, you take his phone to get a closer look, thumbing down the page to reveal even more atrocities.

“Shit,” Jungkook breathes, sidling over to look over your shoulder. “That’s not good.”

Yoongi sighs, eyeing both of you in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, no kidding. The only thing we’re sure about so far is that the infection started in the south, so heading north is our best bet. And hopefully, we’ll find—”

THWUMP!

Namjoon’s phone clatters out of your hands as the parked car suddenly tilts, swaying dangerously to the left before all four wheels return to the asphalt once more. Horrified, you stare at the huddled horde of zombies that has suddenly appeared at your window, bloodstained hands trying in vain to reach you through the glass. “Yoongi, I think you need to drive now!” you shout, wincing as they begin thumping on the window in earnest.

The blond man curses when the car rocks again, his eyes flickering between the dashboard and the zombies swarming on Namjoon’s side of the car. “Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfu—HA!”

The engine roars to life, and you watch as the zombies closest to you flinch at the sudden noise before renewing their efforts, banging on the window until spiderwebbing cracks begin to form.

“Dude, floor it!” Jungkook yells.

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. The car lurches forward, tires squealing, and you yelp as you’re slammed back against the seat. Instinctively, you fumble for your seat belt, ignoring the stunned look Jungkook shoots you in favor of buckling yourself in and watching the undead horde recede in the distance as you pull farther and farther away. “Holy shit,” you mutter, your head falling back against the backrest, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. “Holy fucking shit.”

Yoongi huffs out a sardonic chuckle as he slows ever so slightly to turn onto the main road. “Yeah. Welcome to the apocalypse.”

///

It’s odd, seeing the city you know and love in ruins. Billowing black smoke rises in the distance, filling the air with an acrid stench and a metallic tinge that you don’t want to think about. The roar of the SUV’s engine sounds like a siren’s song in the eerie silence of the streets, drawing unwanted attention from the undead. Everywhere you look, soulless eyes follow. Some zombies even try to chase the car, but they are quickly left behind as Yoongi slams down on the gas pedal, weaving past overturned vehicles and prone bodies.

You don’t wait to see if any of the bodies will rise up again.

Namjoon begins fiddling with the radio as Yoongi turns down yet another street, heading downtown. Static blares from the speakers, and you watch his frown get deeper the further along he scrolls through the stations. “Nothing,” he mutters after a few long minutes. “That’s not a good sign. The infrastructure is crumbling.”

Jungkook tears his gaze from the window. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon switches off the radio, letting silence envelop the car for a few seconds before speaking again. “I mean everything that sustains our way of life—the things we take for granted most days, like running water and electricity and the internet. We aren’t going to have them for much longer. Without workers to run things, we…” He sighs. “I figure we have maybe a week, at the most.”

“And then what happens?” you ask, your voice soft.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon admits. “To be honest, we might not even survive long enough to find out.”

“But we have to try,” you murmur. “Sure, we’re outnumbered and weaponless, but we have a car. We’re faster and smarter. I don’t think things are hopeless just yet.”

Namjoon shakes his head at your optimism, but Yoongi’s nodding, meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror. “Don’t mind him,” he advises. “Joon likes to overthink things and work himself up into a frenzy, but I think we’ve got a chance at making it through. Besides...” He gestures out the window with his thumb. “We won’t be weaponless for much longer.”

The car rolls to a stop in front of a square brick building that you recognize as the police station, the dark windows overlooking the street like gaping mouths. Most of the glass is broken—even on the higher stories—and you shiver at the sight of the jagged edges glinting like teeth in the wan afternoon sun.

“So... getting inside won’t be a problem,” Jungkook says dryly.

“Guess not,” Namjoon says, frowning. “Somebody definitely beat us here. Should we chance it? Everything could already be gone.”

“We’re already here, man,” Yoongi drawls, already beginning to open the door. “We may as well check it out.”

Cautiously, the four of you pile out of the SUV, eyes darting left and right as you make your way toward the front door with Jungkook in the lead. It’s hanging off its hinges and the glass is pocked with bullet holes, and a frown spreads across your face as you trace one lightly with your index finger. “Looks like there was a fight,” you murmur quietly to Namjoon, who’s standing just behind you with a rather large rock that he must have just picked up from outside. Yoongi takes up the rear with a hammer grasped tightly in his hand, and you bite back the Thor joke that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here anymore, though,” Jungkook says, winding his way farther into the lobby. “Think these elevators still work?” he asks, gesturing at the twin metal doors on the far wall.

“Not worth the risk,” Namjoon decides, walking over to the stairwell and opening the door. He peers inside before gesturing for you to enter, allowing everyone to step past him before quietly shutting the door and eyeing the two sets of stairs branching out from the landing. “We’re looking for the station’s armory,” he whispers. “What do you guys think? Up or down?”

“We could split u—” Jungkook begins to suggest, but you cut him off before he can even finish the sentence.

“And get killed off one by one like in every horror movie ever? Are you serious, Jeon?”

Jungkook blinks. “Fine. What do you think, then?”

“I think the parking garage is probably downstairs,” you muse, peering over the railing to look at the lower landing. “And it doesn’t look like there’s another level below that, so I’d say going up is our best bet.”

A smile curls the corner of Namjoon’s mouth, dimpling one cheek as he follows your lead and glances downstairs. “Nice observation,” he says once he’s straightened up again, laying a hand on your shoulder. The gentle pressure sends a shiver up your spine, a butterfly taking flight in your stomach on fluttering, iridescent wings. It’s all you can do to smile back, thanking him softly as he retracts his hand. Already, you miss the warmth of his palm.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook says, effectively ruining the moment as he begins the ascent with his pole at the ready. Yoongi follows, and Namjoon gestures for you to go ahead of him, tucking his rock under one arm.

“It’s not the best weapon,” he says when he catches you looking, a rueful chuckle escaping him.

You grin back. “Better than nothing.”

Up ahead, Jungkook stops on the second floor landing, pressing his ear against the door. “I can’t hear anything,” he grumbles, fumbling for the doorknob and cracking the door open. “But it looks like the coast is cle— oh, shit!” Jungkook pulls the door shut again, his eyes wide.

“What happened?” Yoongi hisses. “What did you see?”

“There’s a bunch of them in the corner,” Jungkook whispers. “They’re… eating something.”

“Someone,” Yoongi corrects wryly, earning himself an elbow in the ribs courtesy of Namjoon. “Sorry,” he mutters, not sounding very sorry at all.

“How many are there?” Namjoon asks.

Jungkook pauses, casting his gaze upward as he does a mental tally. “At least seven or eight that I saw. There could be more though.”

“Did you see anything that could’ve been an armory? Some place where weapons would be stored?” Namjoon presses.

“Nah. Looked like a bunch of desks, mostly. Offices and whatnot.”

Namjoon nods slowly, tapping his chin. “Okay,” he says after a few seconds of deliberation. “Let’s keep going.” He takes the lead this time, stepping past Jungkook to the next staircase, and you follow after him, struggling to keep up when he elects to take the steps two at a time. His long legs span the increased distance with ease, and it takes every ounce of self-control you possess to refrain from staring at his flexing thigh muscles.

One flight of stairs and several instances of shameless ogling later, you find yourselves on the third floor, tiptoeing through a darkened hallway lined with doors and peering inside one by one.

“These all look like interrogation rooms,” Yoongi grumbles after a few fruitless minutes.

“Nope, this one’s a closet,” Jungkook pipes up, walking inside and exiting with a mop. The door slams shut behind him, and he winces under the absolutely withering glare Namjoon shoots at him. “My bad,” he whispers, offering the taller man the mop. “But on the bright side, I think this might be a better weapon than a rock.”

Namjoon sighs and accepts the mop. “Fine. Let’s make the rest of this search quick though. And be quiet,” he adds, with a pointed look at Jungkook. “We might be close to where the weapons are kept now, since we’ve left the administrative areas behind.”

And as it turns out, he’s right. The very next door you open is a room with a multitude of industrial shelves and racks lining the walls. Much to your disappointment, most of them are empty, but a more thorough search turns up a couple of handguns along with several cases of ammunition. Jungkook finds a stockpile of smoke grenades that he refuses to part with, and you roll your eyes as he shoves them into his pockets. “What the hell are smoke grenades going to do against zombies?”

“You never know,” Jungkook retorts. “Besides, I don’t see anything else in here. Do you?”

Dejected, you shake your head. “No, I don’t. Guess Namjoon was right—someone had the same idea as us.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Namjoon says, picking up one of the guns and peering closely at it. “Who here knows how to handle a firearm?”

Yoongi grunts. “My uncle used to take us hunting on camping trips. I’m not a great shot, but I’m all right.”

Namjoon glances over at you Jungkook. “What about you guys? No?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Do shooting games count?”

“No.”

“Okay, then no.”

Namjoon sighs and hands the other gun to Yoongi, who accepts it and checks the safety before tucking it safely into his belt. You watch as Namjoon checks his own gun, unloading the magazine and inserting a new one. “I take it you know a thing or two about guns,” you remark, inching closer to him as he engages the safety with deft fingers.

“My grandfather was a cop,” he replies softly. “He taught me a lot before he passed away.”

You bite your lip as his brow furrows, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs, his gaze sliding up to meet yours. “It’s alright. It happened years ago.” Then he glances down at your hand, his expression softening just the tiniest bit. “But I appreciate it. Thanks.”

The next few minutes pass in silence as the four of you complete your sweep of the room, peering at the bottommost shelves for any equipment you might have missed. “Hey,” Yoongi says suddenly, his voice hushed. “Hand me your bat, {Name}.”

Both you and Namjoon turn to face him. “Why?” you ask curiously, handing it over and watching as he lays it on the table and pulls his hammer from his waistband.

“Nails,” he says shortly. “Found some in that drawer and figured I’d make you a proper apocalypse weapon.”

“Wait,” Namjoon interrupts, striding over as Yoongi begins hammering nails into your wooden bat. “You’re making too much noise. Someone’s going to hear us.”

“Uh, it’s kinda already too late for that,” Jungkook hisses from the entrance. He’s peering through a little square window that sits about two-thirds of the way up the door, and flinches when a bloody, pale fist slams against it, splintering the glass. “We’ve got company, guys,” he grunts, pressing his full weight against the door and wincing as the glass shatters over his head. “Anyone got any bright ideas to get us out of here in one piece?”

“No,” Namjoon says slowly. “Unless…”

“Unless?” you press.

“We need a diversion,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t see how we’ll create one unless… well, unless one of us goes out there and leads them away from here. But that’s asking way too much, and—“

“I’ll do it.”

All three of you whirl around to face Yoongi, who looks thoroughly unfazed by the sudden scrutiny, picking idly at a frayed corner on his jacket. “You can’t be serious,” Namjoon says, finding his voice first. “It’s dangerous.”

“So is staying here,” Yoongi replies. “Besides, aren’t you always going on about the greater good? Altruism and Comte and all that shit? Let me do this, man. I can handle it.”

“That’s not—” Namjoon stops, rubbing the bridge of his nose and letting out a heavy sigh. “That’s not the point. It’s just not practical, Yoongi. You’ll be vulnerable if you’re alone.”

“No, I’ll be fast,” Yoongi corrects, pulling out his gun and clicking off the safety. “You think we’ll do any better as groups of two? I don’t.”

“But—“ Namjoon tries again, his brow creasing, but Yoongi shakes his head and strides to the door.

“I’m gonna go left,” he says, his hand on the handle. “We came from the right, so you guys should be able to retrace our steps and get out.”

Jungkook stops him before he can exit, pressing a handful of smoke grenades into his palm. “Hang on,” he says, his throat tight. “You might need these.”

Yoongi pockets them, nodding. “Thanks, man.”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue some more, but finally bites his lip and nods, his face resolute. “Good luck,” he says after a long, heavy pause. “Stay safe.”

Yoongi flashes you all a crooked grin. “See you soon.”

And then he’s flinging open the door, swinging his hammer into one zombie’s skull and kicking another in the knees. Namjoon stays in the doorway, shooting any and every zombie that he can see through the smashed window. You can just barely hear Yoongi jeering insults over the sound of gunfire and stumbling footsteps, the occasional thud of something heavy against the linoleum floor letting you know that Namjoon has successfully found his mark.

After what feels like an eternity, Namjoon finally pulls back from the window and turns back to you and Jungkook. “Coast is clear,” he whispers. “Let’s go.”

“And Yoongi?” you ask, anxiety roiling in your gut at the thought of the blond man facing the horde of undead alone.

“He’ll be fine,” Namjoon says automatically, and you know he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he’s reassuring you. His grip is tight on his gun as he wrenches open the door and ushers the two of you out into the hallway, and even in the dimness you see the worried glance he shoots over his shoulder, lingering on the corner that Yoongi has disappeared around.

“Come on, Joon,” you murmur, nudging his arm gently. “Yoongi’s gonna beat us back to the car at the rate we’re going.”

That draws a soft chuckle from your companion. “You’re right,” he murmurs back. “Let’s go.”

///

As it turns out, however, Yoongi does not beat you back to the SUV. The blond-haired man is nowhere to be found, and you see concern etch itself permanently onto Namjoon’s forehead as he peers around the eerily quiet street. The air feels too still, and every crunch of gravel from underneath your sneakers sounds like a gunshot.

“He’ll be back, right?” Jungkook whispers urgently to you while Namjoon is out of earshot, his doe eyes wide and beseeching. “You don’t think he got…”

He trails off, and you shake your head, unwilling to even think of the possibility that harm has befallen the blond-haired man. “Yoongi’s tough,” you declare. “He’ll be back any minute, and we should be ready to take off when he does. In case, you know, he’s still being chased.”

“Right,” Jungkook says, glancing over at Namjoon, who’s standing closest to the driver’s side and is suddenly beginning to look very sheepish.

“So… I can’t actually drive,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as your jaw drops.

“Wait, you can’t drive? Don’t you live off-campus? How do you get to class?”

Namjoon shrugs. “I usually bike. Sometimes I walk to class, if the weather’s nice.” Then he pauses, dejection settling on his features. “Although I guess I won’t be teaching classes again any time soon.”

Your heart sinks. You know from the syllabus that he handed out on the first day that this was his first semester as a teaching assistant, his passion for philosophy shining through in every lecture he’s given. “You’re a great teacher,” you tell him, intent on cheering him up. “I learned so much from you. I mean, nobody likes moral philosophy, but you somehow managed to even make that interesting, which is pretty damn incredible.”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh. “Thanks. You were a pretty damn incredible student, yourself.”

“Why, thank you,” you tell him with a grin.

Beside you, Jungkook rolls his eyes and pretends to retch. “Fine, I guess I’ll drive.” Grumbling, he swings open the driver’s side door and plops down onto the seat, adjusting it for his longer legs. “Now how the hell do I start this thing?”

Namjoon clears his throat awkwardly and tears his gaze away from yours, reaching underneath the steering wheel and pulling out a tangle of wires. You stop listening as he explains to Jungkook how to spark them together and instead turn your gaze back to the looming police station, watching intently for any sign of Yoongi’s return. Crumpled newspapers and stray plastic bags roll by, buoyed by the spring breeze. Across the street, a lone pigeon roams, head bobbing as it searches for crumbs.

“Looking for me?”

You jump, letting out a surprised shriek as Yoongi’s blond head of hair suddenly pops out from behind the trunk. “Jesus Christ, Yoongi, what the hell? Where did you come from?”

“Originally? My mother’s womb,” he replies, shrugging. The movement draws your attention to the sleeves of his jacket, newly tattered and splattered with crimson, and any witty retort you might have had is immediately swallowed up by concern.

“Is that blood? Oh my god, is that your blood?”

Your shout alerts Namjoon and Jungkook, twin looks of concern marring their faces as they clamber out of the SUV and join the two of you. “No, no—I’m not hurt,” Yoongi reassures, dismissing your worries with a wave of his hand. “Things did get a little dicey, but it all worked out in the end.”

“How exactly did you escape?” Namjoon asks.

Yoongi grins crookedly. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Jungkook blinks. “What?”

“If I couldn’t beat them, I had to join them,” Yoongi elaborates, gesturing to his tattered, dirty clothing. “I stumbled across the evidence room while I was trying to find another way out, and got an idea. This—” he gestures at the red stains splattered across his clothing, “—is actually spray paint. The police must’ve confiscated it from graffiti artists or something. Then all I had to do was rip up my jacket and limp a little and, well, here we are.”

“And that worked?” you ask in disbelief. “You just… pretended to be a zombie and walked out?”

“More or less,” Yoongi says with another shrug. “Now come on, let’s blow this joint. They could find us any second, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t really wanna die just yet. Pretending was enough.”

You have about a million more questions, but Yoongi takes his spot in the driver’s seat before you can ask any of them, readjusting the seat and promising an inquisitive Jungkook that he’ll teach him how to drive the hotwired vehicle next time. The rest of you take your seats as the engine roars to life underneath the blond man’s skilled fingertips, and with a squeal of tires against asphalt, you are off once again, heading toward the great unknown.

///

“Wait, wait, no, stop!”

Yoongi slams on the brakes at Jungkook’s shout, the car skidding to an abrupt halt. “What is it?” he demands, his gaze darting around frantically as his fingers reach for his gun. “Is there a problem?”

Jungkook winces. “Sorry. I was talking to Namjoon, actually.”

Yoongi visibly relaxes, shaking his head as he resumes driving. Namjoon glances back at Jungkook, his eyebrows disappearing behind his dark hair in silent inquiry. “Yes?”

“The radio,” Jungkook says, gesturing at the dashboard buttons that Namjoon has been fiddling with incessantly for the last several minutes. “Go back to the last station for a sec.”

Obediently, Namjoon turns the dial. Staticky white noise fills the air, and Jungkook frowns. Then a few jumbled words filter through the static, and he lets out a triumphant shout. “There!”

“Huh,” Namjoon says, leaning closer to the speaker. “I can’t understand a thing they’re saying. We must be out of range.”

“But we must be getting closer—I think I can make out a few words,” Jungkook says. “Everyone shut up and let me listen…” He trails off, and for a few moments, there is only the sound of garbled static and the low whir of the tires against pavement. Then Jungkook flops back against the seat, a pensive frown settling on his face. “Huh.”

You nudge his shoulder. “Well? What did you hear?”

“Not a whole lot,” he admits. “And I can’t be sure that what I heard was right, but… I think the broadcast is coming from Sonyeo City.”

Namjoon purses his lips, his chin jutting out in the way it does whenever he’s deep in thought. “Sonyeo City… that’s about six hours away, isn’t it?”

Yoongi hums. “Yeah, just about.”

“Do you think…” you trail off, hesitant. “Do you think that this means Sonyeo City’s… safe?”

“There’s no way to be sure.” Namjoon casts his gaze out the window, and you get the feeling he’s looking far beyond the crumbling streets and dark buildings, to the horizon where there still may be a glimmer of hope. “But at least we now have a destination in mind.”

The rest of the ride is quiet. Namjoon keeps the radio on just in case another snippet of discernible audio comes through, but none of you manage to catch anything important. Yoongi stops at a gas station to refuel, and a few minutes after that, finally manages to find a grocery store that looks to be mostly intact and devoid of any immediate threats.

“Let’s get this bread,” Jungkook proclaims as he slides out of the backseat, walking toward the entrance of the store. “And by bread, I mean Twinkies.”

You gape at his retreating back. “Is that a Zombieland reference?”

“Maybe,” he replies, shooting you a playful grin over his shoulder.

Shaking your head, you follow him through the automatic doors and glance around the interior of the store. Row after row of shelves take up the majority of the room, with an open space on the far right for fresh produce and glass-paneled refrigerators lining the wall. Behind you, the doors slide open again with a whoosh, and you turn to meet Namjoon’s eyes as he steps inside with Yoongi. “We should lock the doors,” you point out.

“You’re right,” Namjoon agrees, inspecting the metal frame surrounding the glass.

“Hang on,” Jungkook interrupts, eyes wide as he watches Namjoon fumble with the mechanism. “Are you locking us in?”

“For the time being,” Namjoon says absentmindedly, still focused on the door.

You walk over to Jungkook and pat his cheek. “He’s not locking us in; he’s locking them out. Or would you rather have a horde of zombies stumble in while we’re grabbing supplies?”

“... fair point.”

“Exactly.”

Yoongi, meanwhile, is gazing around the store, leery as always. “Hello?” he calls, his voice cutting through the silence. “Anyone home?”

Not even two seconds later, a shambling, shuffling figure emerges from a far aisle, moving surprisingly quickly despite its odd, lopsided gait. Two more follow, and Yoongi raises his gun, clicking off the safety and narrowing his eyes.

Toward the other end of the store, you spot another zombie dragging itself along the floor, leaving a trail of streaky, bloody handprints in its wake. Three more shuffle out from behind a display of watermelons, heading toward you, and you tighten your grip on your nail-studded bat as they draw ever closer.

Shots ring out behind you, but you don’t chance a glance backward. Out of your peripheral vision you spot Jungkook on your left, bringing his metal pole down onto the crawling zombie’s head with a sickening crunch. Leaping into action, you swing at the closest zombie’s head. It was once a woman, you notice—long stringy hair falling around her decaying face, the bottom half of her jaw visible through the peeling skin. “Sorry about this,” you say, wincing as your bat makes impact. The nails catch in her skin, her neck cracking under the force of the blow, and you yelp as she falls over and the other two zombies take her place.

“Watch out!”

Namjoon’s voice suddenly sounds from behind you, and you instinctively duck as he sprints over and shoots one point blank. Jungkook takes out the other, driving the pole through its chest before pulling it out and smashing it over the zombie’s head. “Are there more?” he asks, slightly out of breath.

“Not sure,” Yoongi says, rejoining you. “I would think most of the lurkers were drawn out by all the noise.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Namjoon says. Walking over to a checkout lane, he grabs a pile of plastic bags and an abandoned cart. “Let’s stay together and take the aisles one at a time. We’ll take as much as we can carry.”

“Don’t forget bottled water,” you pipe up, pointing at the stack of water bottles piled next to the door. “We’ve already drank most of what we have. And if we’re getting canned food, we’ll need a can opener too.”

Namjoon follows the direction of your finger. “Good call.”

“I’ll get it,” Jungkook volunteers, jogging over to select a twenty-four pack of bottles and heaving it into the cart. “Now what?”

“Let’s grab the can opener first,” you say. “Maybe some other utensils too. Sound good?”

Namjoon nods. “Sounds great,” he says, handing you one of the bags. Jungkook and Yoongi accept the other bags that Namjoon doles out, and together the four of you head farther into the store, scanning the signs until you come across the one labeled household goods. It’s clear that others have been here before you, but a quick raid of the shelves yields two can openers and a set of silverware, all of which you deposit into your bag. Namjoon grabs four unbroken bowls, mismatched and in varying sizes, and you hold out your bag for him to drop them inside.

Next up is the canned food aisle, where you stock up on various vegetables and far more beans than you care to think about. Jungkook grabs a box of instant coffee, and Yoongi disappears for a few seconds and returns with a massive jar of vitamin supplements. “Gotta stay healthy,” he says in response to your raised eyebrows, adding it to the growing pile in Namjoon’s cart.

“Speaking of healthy, we should grab some produce,” you say. “It won’t stay good forever, but we can at least get some apples and oranges. And we should probably grab some stuff for dinner too. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”

As if on cue, Namjoon’s stomach rumbles. “Dinner would be nice,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “Let’s finish up here and then eat in the car. We probably don’t want to stick around here for much longer than we have to.”

After some discussion, the four of you decide on sandwiches for dinner and set about gathering the necessary ingredients. Yoongi wanders to the deli area to pick out a selection of meats that haven’t yet spoiled, and even manages to locate some cheese. You peruse the produce, selecting a head of lettuce and several ripe tomatoes while Namjoon fills a bag with apples and grabs a bunch of bananas. Jungkook raids the bread display, shoving two whole loaves and a box of dinner rolls into his bag. Several bags of chips and a pack of juice boxes later, you are ready to go, heading back out into the parking lot where the SUV is parked.

“Wait!” Jungkook suddenly yelps, stopping dead in the middle of loading the trunk. “I forgot my Twinkies!”

“Are you serious right now, Jeon?” you hiss, watching in disbelief as he hurriedly drops his bags and turns back toward the entrance.

“Yes,” he says stubbornly, already beginning to jog away.

Yoongi groans and flops down into the driver’s seat. “Sartre was right,” he grumbles under his breath. “Hell is other people.”

Namjoon gives him an astonished look, mouth already open and ready to question what exactly his friend knew about the French existentialist philosopher, but quickly snaps back to the issue at hand when you abandon your own bags and dart after Jungkook. Immediately, Namjoon follows, nearly tripping in his efforts to keep up with you, and you whirl in concern when he lets out a sudden, startled shout. “What is it?”

Namjoon grimaces, brushing a stray lock of dark hair off his forehead. “Sorry, it’s just—holy shit!”

A skeletal, gaunt hand is grasping at Namjoon’s ankle, and you gasp when you realize that it belongs to the female zombie from before, her milky eyes gazing unseeingly out from beneath stringy hair. Cursing, Namjoon shakes her off and fumbles for his gun. Pointing it down, he aims and pulls the trigger.

Click.

“I’m out of bullets,” he whispers in dawning horror.

You reach for your trusty bat, tucked away in its sling on your back, but the handle keeps evading your grasping fingers, the nails catching in the fabric. Your palms begin to sweat as Namjoon kicks at the zombie, stomping on her arm and cracking all the bones. He’s glancing around frantically for something he can use as a weapon, but to no avail. And all the while, the undead woman continues her dogged pursuit, crawling after him with one good arm like a lopsided cockroach, teeth gnashing furiously in anticipation of her next meal.

“NOT TODAY, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Jungkook barges onto the scene with his metal pole in hand, glinting dull silver in the flickering fluorescent lights. He smashes the zombie over the head once, twice, three times before relenting, his chest heaving with exertion. Namjoon sucks in a deep breath when she finally falls limp, reaching out to clap Jungkook on the back. “Wow,” he says shakily. “Thanks, man. That was a close call.”

Jungkook straightens up and hefts his weapon over his shoulder. “And that’s why we have rule number two here in Zombieland,” he says proudly.

Namjoon asks the question before you even have a chance to stop him. “What’s rule two?”

Jungkook grins a grin so wide, you’re surprised his mouth doesn’t fall off altogether. “The Double Tap, of course.” Then his gaze flickers downward, to where a familiar blue-and-white box lies crumpled against the linoleum. “Oh, no. My Twinkies!”

You sigh.

///

Dinner—if it can even be called that—is a quick affair, eaten while huddled in the SUV and parked in an alley. The sun is setting rapidly, dipping beyond the horizon and bathing the surrounding buildings in a fiery orange glow. It’s been mercifully quiet for the past half hour, broken only by the occasional crunch of a chip or a slurp from a juice box.

Yoongi starts driving again after he’s polished off the last of his sandwich. Dusky twilight cloaks the city in purple—turning it into something strange and unfamiliar. Normally, the streets would be aglow with lit lamps and illuminated homes, crowded with people returning home after a long day of work or classes. Now, though, the streets are silent and abandoned. The few zombified citizens you pass are quickly left behind, and you know you aren’t imagining the melancholy air that’s settled over your companions, nestling deep into the nooks and crannies of the SUV, stagnant and unshakable. It grows stronger the farther Yoongi drives, the buildings getting shorter and the space between them growing longer, and your heart breaks a little in your chest when you turn for one last look at the city you’ve all come to call home.

You can’t quite explain it, but somehow, you know you won’t ever be coming back.

Namjoon begins fiddling with the radio dials again as Yoongi turns onto the highway, a burst of static breaking the stifling silence in the car. Jungkook startles slightly at the sharp sound, looking up from where he’d been staring out the window. “Is that the station from before?”

Namjoon hums in affirmation, adjusting the volume until the white noise is just a low buzz. Jungkook settles back into his seat, but you can see that he’s listening carefully, his knee bouncing in anticipation.

And then, without any warning whatsoever, a voice comes through the static, clear as day.

Testing, one, two. Is anybody out there?

If you’ve still got a functioning brain and at least one ear, congratulations! another voice chimes in, brighter than the first. You’re listening to 2J! Straight out of Sonyeo City, we’re your premier source of zombie news—

—your only source, really—

—and we’re here to bring you all the latest so that you can stay safe out there, the second voice continues as if there was no interruption at all.

Unfortunately, the first voice says, adopting a more somber tone now, there isn’t a lot of good news. We’re still in the dark about how this epidemic started. Reports claim that it began in a city in the south, which multiple sources have confirmed, but the government has yet to put out an official statement regarding the situation.

They’re being pretty dodgy about the whole thing, to be honest, the second voice continues. The first emergency alert said it was a mutated virus, but the second claimed it was a contaminated water reservoir. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was some super-secret experiment gone wrong, Jin.

Honestly, me neither, the man named Jin says. But that’s enough of the conspiracies for now, Jay. Let’s talk survival! First thing you’ll want to do, dear listeners, is head north toward Sonyeo City, where a quarantine zone has been set up.

Jungkook releases a long, pent-up breath. “We were right,” he whispers. “Thank god.”

Namjoon flashes him a little smile and cranks up the volume, listening carefully as Jin’s voice fills the car.

Your best bet is to drive, of course, hop in your car and get going. Stock up on gas and non-perishable food, and some weapons certainly wouldn’t hurt either.

If worst comes to worst and you have to kill a zombie, the best way to do it is to smash its head in, Jay pipes up. You can also break their kneecaps to slow them down, but that won’t kill them for good. They’ll keep coming as long as they can still move—and if they bite you, you’re a goner.

Now onto ways to avoid zombies! Jin says, perhaps a bit too cheerfully. One thing I’ve noticed during my research is how quickly their optic nerves deteriorate once they’re infected. In fact, the rate of deterioration is second only to that of their vocal chords!

And now tell them what that means in plain English, Jay prods, laughing.

Jin chortles. Basically, they have shit eyesight, especially in the dark, he clarifies. If it’s nighttime and you find yourself surrounded somehow, your best bet is to stay quiet and move slowly. If they hear you, well…

You’re a goner, Jay supplies helpfully.

Exactly. Thanks, Jay.

No problem, Jin.

And that brings us to the end of this broadcast, Jin says, clapping his hands. Thanks for tuning in today, and we’ll see you next time.

Until then, this has been 2J. Stay safe out there!

There’s a dull click, and then the static resumes, filling the silence left in the wake of the broadcast. “Well, at least we’re headed in the right direction,” Yoongi says after a few long moments. “It’s a long drive though, and I don’t think I can stay awake for much longer. We might want to start looking for a place to sleep for the night.”

“That’s a good idea,” Namjoon says. “I’m pretty sure we’ve all been running on pure adrenaline up to this point, so we definitely need some rest. We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning.”

Mumbles of agreement all around. Ten minutes later, Jungkook points to a quaint little farmhouse on the right side of the road, the windows dark. “Think anyone’s home?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Yoongi replies, slowly pulling off the road and into the winding driveway, watching for any movement from the house or the surrounding fields. The hum of the engine doesn’t draw any unwanted attention, and you breathe a tentative sigh of relief as he parks the car beneath a large oak tree. Together, the four of you pile out and approach the house, weapons at the ready.

“Should we knock?” you whisper, looking at the little brass knocker in the middle of the front door. “Ring the doorbell, maybe?”

“Can’t hurt, right?” Jungkook jabs his thumb into the button by the doorknob, listening intently as the bell chimes inside the house. After a few beats of silence, he shrugs. “Guess no one’s home.”

“And the door’s locked,” Yoongi says, trying the knob. “Maybe they’re away on vacation or something.” Wandering over to a nearby window, he jimmies the frame, a wry grin crossing his features when it pops open easily. “They should probably invest in better locks, though.”

One by one, you climb through the window. Namjoon is the last one inside, folding his tall frame through the small space, and as soon as both his feet touch carpet, Yoongi shuts the window again and closes the curtains. “Don’t wanna be seen from the street,” he explains as he pulls out his cell phone and taps the flashlight button, illuminating the room in harsh white light. Namjoon does the same, as does Jungkook, and you pull your own phone out as well—now fully charged from the long car ride. A quick sweep of the house reveals that it is indeed empty, and Jungkook whoops when his flashlight falls upon a rifle mounted over the fireplace. Further investigation reveals two more pistols in a cabinet, along with ample ammunition, and Yoongi grins as he loads all three guns and hands one over to you.

“You ever shot one of these before?”

The gun is heavy in your palm. Slowly, you shake your head.

Yoongi glances over at Namjoon slyly. “Why don’t you give her a lesson out back, then?”

You don’t miss the way Namjoon’s ears flush pink, his feet scuffing nervously against the carpeted floor before he chances a look at you. The smile that he offers you is warm but hesitant, and when he speaks, his voice is even more so. “Sure,” he says. “I can show you how, if you’d like.”

“I’d really like that,” you tell him, the butterflies erupting in your chest when his smile widens. Together, the two of you head toward the back of the house, taking a detour to the kitchen where Namjoon grabs an armful of empty soda cans. His shoulder brushes against yours as you walk, but neither of you pull away. Even as you step onto the wooden patio that leads into the rest of the yard, you remain side by side, admiring the full moon that hangs bright in the sky, providing just enough illumination to view your surroundings.

“I suppose we should start with the basics,” Namjoon begins, his gaze alighting on a low fence lining the property. Jogging over, he lines the cans up on the wooden beam before returning to your side and gesturing for you to raise the pistol. His fingers skim across yours as he shows you how to disengage the safety, and your heart skips a beat when he explains how to reload once you run out of bullets, his large hands guiding yours through each step.

There’s a damp chill in the evening air, but you don’t even feel it. Namjoon is so close by this point, his chest pressed almost flush against your back as he shows you how to aim. His fingers wrap around your wrist, warm and gentle, and you shiver when he speaks again, his mouth at your ear, his voice rumbling through his chest.

“Ready?”

You nod, almost afraid to breathe as your finger finds the trigger. Namjoon’s grip on your wrist loosens but doesn’t disappear entirely, and you steel yourself for the recoil as you finally pull the trigger. The loud crack has you wincing, but Namjoon is laughing, the sound deep and husky as he urges you to lower the gun.

“Nice shot.”

You turn to look at the fence, now missing one soda can. “Oh, wow,” you breathe. “That was… kind of therapeutic, actually. Can we try again?”

Namjoon grins. “Of course we can.”

///

Ten cans and a box of ammunition later, you and Namjoon find yourselves lounging on the steps of the patio, staring up at the velvety night sky. “I’ve never seen so many stars before,” you murmur, a little awestruck by the sight. “But now that we’re away from the city and all that light pollution… wow. It’s amazing.”

“It’s beautiful,” Namjoon agrees, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long before he collects himself and looks up at the sky once more.

“I wish I knew more constellations,” you say, laughing softly. “I can really only pick out the Big Dipper. And even then, I can only find it about eighty percent of the time.”

“What about the Little Dipper?” Namjoon asks. He scoots a little closer to you, pointing upward. “Do you see that really bright star up above the Big Dipper? That’s Polaris—the north star. It’s the end of the handle.”

You follow the trajectory of his finger curiously, eyes widening when you spot the smaller, but still distinctive, spoon shape. “Oh! Yes, I see it now. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before.”

Namjoon chuckles. “I can show you where Orion is too,” he says. “That’s as far as my knowledge of constellations goes, though.”

“You know more than I do,” you reply, smiling up at him. Softly, you lay a hand on his arm. “Thank you for showing me.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, cheeks dimpling as he gazes down at you. This close, you can see all the stars reflected in his irises, his skin glowing silver under the luminescence of the full moon. And in a sudden surge of boldness, you allow your hand to slide down until it’s laying atop his, your fingers settling in the spaces between his own.

Namjoon glances down at your intertwined hands, his lips twitching with a barely restrained smile. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath visible in the chilly air, “I’ve always kind of liked you.”

You blink at the admission. “Really?”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, his chest rumbling with the sound. “It’s crazy, right? But it’s true. Ever since you sat down in the front row on the first day of my class with a bright pink pen and no laptop… do you know how rare it is to see someone take handwritten notes in this day and age?”

Your cheeks heat up. “You noticed that?”

“I did,” he replies, taking your hand in his and twining your fingers together properly. “Do you remember that essay the professor assigned? It must have been the second or third assignment—the one about moral responsibility in modern society?” At your nod, he smiles and continues. “Yours was the best one I read, hands down.”

“Yeah, he talked about it for three days straight,” a new voice says. Whirling around, you see Yoongi’s head poking out the back door, smirking like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. “He wouldn’t shut up about it. It was annoying as hell.”

Namjoon groans. “Seriously, Yoongi?”

The blond man puts his hands up innocently. “Just stopping by to make sure you guys weren’t dead,” he says before letting the door shut again, chortling to himself.

Namjoon sighs and turns back to you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry about him. He doesn’t have much of a filter.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry about it. He’s gone now, so I can finally do this.”

Namjoon tilts his head curiously. “Do wha—?” he begins to say, only to be cut off by your mouth on his. The kiss is soft and slow, your lips moving lazily against his, and by the time you pull away, both of you are breathing much more heavily. Namjoon’s hands find their way around your waist, tugging you close, and you nestle deeper into the warmth of his embrace, enjoying how it wards off the chill in the air.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, you know,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his cheek.

He chuckles and chases after your mouth, his nose bumping affectionately against yours. “Yeah. Me too.”

///

You wake up the next morning to golden sunlight streaming in through the window and an arm wrapped firmly around your waist. Namjoon hasn’t opened his eyes yet, his hair sticking every which way, but his grip on you tightens when he feels you begin to stir. “Good morning,” he mumbles, finally cracking an eye open and smiling down at you.

“Good morning,” you whisper back. You’re positive that you look like an absolute mess—hair in disarray, face crusty from sleep, body desperately in need of a shower—and yet Namjoon is staring at you like you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on, dimples dotting his cheeks as he reaches up to stroke your cheek with his thumb. You reciprocate with a kiss to his palm, and he grins. Grabbing your chin, he tilts your face up so he can kiss you properly—his lips soft and gentle against yours. It almost feels like an ordinary morning, and for a few moments, you can pretend that there isn’t a monstrous epidemic running rampant through large swathes of the country. For a few moments, you’re just a girl and a boy, basking in the idyllic haze of each other’s presence.

But then there’s a knock on the door, followed by Yoongi’s low drawl. “Get dressed and come eat, lovebirds. Sooner we get on the road, the better.”

You break apart from Namjoon, giggling when you see the dopey grin stretched across his face. “Why are you looking at me like that, you weirdo?”

His grin only widens, his arms looping around your waist. “It’s just funny,” he says. “Waking up with you, Yoongi yelling at us—this is the first ordinary morning I’ve had in a long time. And I’ve missed it. I’ve missed it a lot.”

“So have I,” you murmur, burying your face into the warm cotton of his t-shirt and allowing yourself one more moment of normalcy before getting out of bed. Walking into the bathroom, you are pleased to discover that the water is still running, and Namjoon even manages to unearth some unused toothbrushes and toothpaste from underneath the sink. The bristles are a little too stiff for your liking and the water has a metallic tinge that refuses to dissipate, but being able to brush your teeth makes a world of difference. There’s a noticeable bounce in your step as you make your way downstairs with Namjoon, and Yoongi and Jungkook pick up on it right away.

“Someone’s chipper this morning,” Yoongi says without looking up from his bowl of dry cereal. “The sex was that good, huh?”

“W-we didn’t…” Namjoon stammers, his cheeks flushing. “That’s not what we—”

You squeeze his hand, stopping his rambling in its tracks. “Let them think what they want,” you advise. “They’re just jealous of your dick game, anyway.”

“Ew,” Jungkook grumbles, throwing an apple at you. “Way too much information, {Name}.”

You shrug, just barely managing to catch the piece of fruit. “You guys brought it up first. Not my fault.”

The remainder of breakfast passes quickly. Yoongi and Jungkook head outside to start loading the car while you and Namjoon scour the house one last time for anything that might be useful, and within the hour, you are back on the road toward Sonyeo City.

“You know, this Jin character sounds like a piece of work,” Yoongi grumbles from the passenger seat for what feels like the millionth time. Jungkook is driving today, which leaves you and Namjoon in the backseat with the eclectic collection of food and weapons you’ve amassed. The four of you are listening to the 2J broadcast again, and after a rather lengthy discussion of zombie evasion techniques, Jin has lapsed into telling the worst dad jokes you’ve ever heard.

What does a vegetarian zombie eat? Graaains!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Yoongi groans.

Morning turns into midday, the sun high in the sky. The road winds on, through green cornfields and grassy plains and the occasional small town. Several times, you spot a zombie or two shambling around aimlessly through the windows, but they’re quickly forgotten as Jungkook slams on the gas pedal. You get the feeling that he’s relishing the lack of an enforced speed limit, and taking full advantage of the empty highway.

It’s late afternoon by the time you arrive on the outskirts of Sonyeo City. Off in the distance, you can see taller skyscrapers rising up, gray and hazy against the horizon, but the area you’re in right now seems to be the warehouse district. Low, squat factories sit on either side of the road and a branching network of railroad tracks weaves throughout, but everything is eerily still and deathly quiet. No smoke rises up from the smokestacks, and you’re pretty sure you spot a train that’s been toppled over onto its side before Jungkook hits the gas again and takes you deeper into the city. The buildings get taller the farther you drive, but you still have yet to see any signs of life besides the occasional bobbing pigeon or scurrying rat.

That all changes when the car rounds the next corner. It looks as if a bomb has gone off in one of the largest brick buildings lining the street, covering the entire block in a layer of rubble. Zombified citizens mill around in the debris, and Jungkook slams on the brakes, his eyes wide with panic.

“Dude, just back up and try another street,” Yoongi says when he doesn’t move. “They haven’t noticed us yet.”

“No, that’s not it,” Jungkook says, his voice shaking. “We’re… we’re low on gas. Like, really, really low.”

Yoongi takes another look outside and blanches. “Are you fucking kidding me? We’ll get killed if we try to refuel now!”

“I’ll—I’ll get us as far away as I can,” Jungkook stammers, throwing the vehicle into reverse and beginning to back away from the mayhem. He clears the corner and continues backward for another two blocks before the car slows to a full stop, a groan escaping his lips. “Fuck.”

Glancing out the window, you see four stray zombies stumbling toward you. “Uh, guys? We have a bit of a problem.”

Namjoon curses and begins digging through the stash of weapons at his feet, pulling out several long knives and an axe you’d taken from the farmhouse. “We don’t stand a chance without a car,” he mutters as he pulls out supplies. “Yoongi, grab the gas. I’ll watch your back while you fill up the tank. Jungkook, be ready to drive at a moment’s notice. {Name}...” He grins, handing you the rifle to join the pistol you already have at your side. “You’re on sniper duty. But save it as a last resort, okay? Gunshots will draw even more attention to us, which is the last thing we need right now.”

“Got it,” you say, accepting the box of ammunition he slides over and ignoring the way your heart begins to pound in your chest. “Stay safe out there, okay?”

Namjoon presses a quick kiss to your mouth, ignoring the disgusted sound Jungkook makes. “I will, don’t worry. Be back soon.” And then he’s hopping out of the car, joining Yoongi at the gas tank and scanning the street for any approaching threats. The four zombies at the end of the street are still a block and a half away, but the distance doesn’t make you feel any better as you watch Namjoon and Yoongi standing out in the open, unprotected. Through the open window, you can hear Yoongi cursing, hands shaking as he opens up the gas can.

Bang!

A young man bursts out of an apartment complex just up the street, the door slamming against the brick wall behind it. Even from a block away, you can see the frantic expression on his face as he dashes outside without taking proper stock of his surroundings. Your mouth opens to shout a warning—beside you, you can see Jungkook about to do the same—but it’s already too late. The zombies are upon him before he can even scream, rotting teeth tearing into his flesh and ripping chunks away until he’s reduced to a huddled mass of blood and viscera on the ground, deathly still and silent.

Then, to your absolute disbelief, the man is crawling to his feet again, his stance lopsided and his expression blank. Half of his jaw has been torn away, exposing teeth, and your stomach squirms at the sight of his fresh wounds still oozing crimson.

“Holy shit!” Jungkook screeches, whirling around to face you with wild eyes. “We need to get out of here!”

“I know, dumbass!” you yell back, craning your head back to check on your other two companions only to nearly jump out of your skin when the door flies open in your face.

“It’s me!” Namjoon shouts, sliding into his seat. Up front, Yoongi is already seated, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. “Drive, Jungkook!”

Jungkook lets loose a colorful string of curses and fumbles to start the engine, eyes skittering between the steering wheel and the approaching zombies. “Come on, come on—”

“WAIT!”

All four of you whirl around, searching for the source of the unfamiliar voice. A split second later, a young man with fluffy blond hair pops up in your window, followed quickly by another man with longer, dark brown hair. “Please wait!” the blond man entreaties, wincing when you let out a startled yelp and slam a hand against the glass. “Please!”

“Who the fuck are you?” you gasp.

“My name’s Jimin, and this is Taehyung,” he says, glancing over to where the zombies are rapidly approaching. “You have to take us with you!”

Jungkook chooses that moment to butt in. “What the fuck? No way! How do we know you’re not infected?”

“We’re not!” It’s Taehyung who speaks this time, his voice low but no less urgent than Jimin’s. “Please, you have to believe us.”

“How do you expect us to do that?” Yoongi growls. “We don’t know you—you could be trying to kill us, for all we know.”

“Why the hell would we kill you?” Jimin yelps, looking offended by the very idea.

“We’re not zombies, I promise” Taehyung adds, frowning. “No need to be so paranoid.”

“I think a healthy dose of paranoia is a good thing in this situation!” Yoongi snaps.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Namjoon’s pensive expression, his chin jutting out in the way it does when he’s focused. “Joon? You okay?”

His frown deepens. “I think we have to let them in.”

Yoongi balks. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, seriously. Remember what Jin said in that broadcast—about how quickly an infected person’s vocal chords deteriorate? There’s no way they’d be talking if they were infected. Absolutely none.”

Jimin claps. “Exactly! Now can you please unlock the door?”

You look at Namjoon, who nods. Jungkook groans and Yoongi slaps a hand over his eyes, but you nod back and reach over to flip the switch, the door unlocking with an audible click.

“Thank you so much,” Jimin chants as he piles into the backseat in a mess of limbs. “Thank you. Holy shit, thank you.” Taehyung follows after him, slamming the door shut, and you grunt when Jimin scoots over to give him a little more room and nearly elbows you in the face.

“Careful,” Namjoon cautions, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging until you are practically seated in his lap. Beside you, Jimin and Taehyung make themselves comfortable, carefully avoiding the bags of supplies on the floor as Jungkook starts the car.

“Thanks again,” Jimin repeats earnestly once he’s settled in. “I know it must’ve been hard sticking your necks out like that, but we really do appreciate it.”

“Why were you even out in the open like that?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his eyes at Jimin. “Isn’t there supposed to be a quarantine zone somewhere in this godforsaken city?”

Taehyung nods. “Yeah, it’s in the city center, past the river. We were headed there ourselves, but then the explosion happened.”

“You guys must’ve seen it,” Jimin says. “Few blocks back, rocks and garbage everywhere? We think it was a gas leak, but who knows? It totaled our car, and we’ve been on foot ever since.”

Yoongi looks a little abashed. “Sorry to hear that.”

Jimin shrugs and offers him a crooked grin. “It’s all good. We’re still here now, and we’re still alive. That’s really all that matters.”

///

As it turns out, Jimin is a cadet in the local police academy—something you discover when his jacket falls open to reveal an impressive array of weapons strapped to his belt. Taehyung is an art history student, but between his fondness for paintball and his childhood on a farm, you quickly find that he’s almost just as well-versed in marksmanship as Jimin.

In the last ten minutes, however, Taehyung has fallen oddly silent. A glance over at the brown-haired man reveals that he is staring out the window, lost in thought as buildings rush by. Jimin is still chattering about the academy to a very interested Namjoon, but you don’t miss the occasional furtive glance he gives his friend, his brow creasing briefly in concern before he manages to smooth his expression out again.

Up ahead, you catch a glimpse of the river—a ribbon of blue snaking its way through the city. “There’s a big bend in the river, kind of like a horseshoe, right around the downtown area,” Jimin explains. “I think it was some kind of fortress back in the day, before the rest of the city was built around it. Most of the walls are still standing—historical preservation and whatnot—so the only way to get there is by crossing the bridge or going through the tunnel. And I’m like ninety percent sure they’ve already closed the tunnel down.”

“Bridge it is, then,” Yoongi says. “You know how to get us there?”

“Yeah, you take a left at the next light and then—”

“Can we actually stop here for a minute?”

Everyone glances back at Taehyung, who seems to have finally found his voice again. “Stop?” Namjoon asks, a frown etching its way across his face. “Why?”

Taehyung sucks in a deep breath, his gaze darting over to an unassuming brick building on the corner. “It’s just that… that’s where my little sister lives.”

And in an instant, you understand. You understand why he’s been so quiet this entire time, and why he’s been gazing out the window so wistfully. Jungkook steps on the brake, and the car rolls to a slow stop at the curb. “I get it,” he mutters, his fingers tight around the steering wheel. “I’d… I’d want to check too, if it were my brother.”

Murmurs of agreement all around. Taehyung smiles weakly, mumbling his thanks, and Jimin takes his hand with a reassuring smile. “Come on, Tae. Let’s go get Eonjin.”

“I’ll come too,” Jungkook volunteers, hopping out of the driver’s seat. “You might need the extra help.”

Yoongi sighs and exits the car as well, glancing back at you and Namjoon. “Guess I should stretch my legs too. You two wanna watch the car?

You nod. “We can do that.”

Yoongi nods back and follows the other three men into the building. You watch as they disappear into its dark depths, letting out a soft sigh.

“Do you think they’ll find her?”

Namjoon hums. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I hope so, for Taehyung’s sake. But I really don’t know if they will.”

You sigh again, shifting into a more comfortable position on his lap and letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. His arms tighten around your waist, and you shiver as his warm breath caresses your neck. “I’m glad my parents are overseas on a cruise right now,” you say softly. “They posted photos just yesterday, so I guess that means that whatever this epidemic is, it isn’t a global thing.”

“You’re lucky,” Namjoon mumbles. “I haven’t heard from my parents yet.”

You stiffen in his embrace. “You… you haven’t? Oh my god, Joon, I’m so sorry.”

He tries to shrug off your concern, but you don’t miss the way his throat bobs harshly as he swallows. “It is what it is,” he says after a few seconds. “I’ve heard from my sister, at least. She says she’ll be making her way here in the next day or two.”

“That’s good,” you murmur. You don’t know what else you could possibly say, and Namjoon, luckily, seems to understand.

“Yeah.”

Silence falls over the two of you, then—each of you lost in your own thoughts. Even though you’re so close to your destination now, it still feels far—as if it’s a mirage that will disappear if you so much as breathe the wrong way. You don’t know what awaits you, and for a moment, you’re terrified of the possibilities. But Namjoon’s arms remain wound around you, his presence warm and reassuring even now, and you think to yourself that maybe—just maybe—everything will be all right.

And then Jimin’s banging on your window again, forcibly pulling you out of your stupor. “Guys! Guys! It’s Tae—he’s been bitten!”

A beat passes. His words take a second to register in your brain—Tae, bitten—almost as if they don’t make sense together. It’s a sentence you never wanted to hear, and your limbs suddenly feel like they’ve been submerged in water, slow and heavy and dragging.

Namjoon, however, is up in an instant. “Where is he now?” he asks, throwing the door open and laying a hand on Jimin’s shoulder as he blabbers on. “Is he bleeding? Is he hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no—” Jimin looks close to tears. “It’s just—it all happened so fast. We were in Eonjin’s apartment but she wasn’t home, and then this guy came out of nowhere and—and…” He trails off, gesturing weakly behind him. “Look for yourselves.”

Yoongi and Jungkook stumble their way out of the building, supporting a pale-looking Taehyung between them. Blood drips down his wrist and onto the sidewalk, and the sight of the bright red liquid shakes off any stupor you might have been under. Delving into the backpack full of supplies from the farmhouse, you pull out the first-aid kit, brandishing it in the air as you jump out of the SUV. “He’s losing way too much blood,” you say, pulling out a roll of bandages and a tube of ointment, handing the rest of the kit over to Namjoon. “We have to stop it.”

“This isn’t exactly a safe spot for medical procedures,” Yoongi points out, gesturing around the street with his free hand. “We’re out in the open, totally exposed.”

“Then we’ll get back in the car,” Namjoon says. “We can drive and patch him up at the same time.”

“But he’s infected,” Jungkook whispers. “What happens when he… y’know. Turns?”

None of you have an answer for that. Jimin’s running his hands frantically through his hair, and you can practically see the desperation swimming in his honey brown eyes. “We can’t just leave him behind,” he murmurs. “We can’t.”

“Then we won’t,” you tell him, stepping up to Taehyung and slathering a generous amount of ointment on the bite wound. Then you pull off a short section of bandage, tying it around his upper arm like a tourniquet. “We’re going to get you in the car now, Tae. Is that okay? Can you still walk?”

Taehyung blinks dazedly, his brown eyes taking a few seconds to focus properly on you. “I… I think so. Hang on. Lemme try.”

Namjoon nearly drops the first-aid kit. “Wait, did you just talk?”

Taehyung blinks again, swaying slightly on his feet. “Yes?”

Your eyes widen as realization dawns. “Wait, but infected people can’t talk. Their vocal chords…”

“... deteriorate,” Namjoon finishes for you. “Yeah. So then that begs the question: why can Taehyung still talk?”

For the second time in as many minutes, none of you have an answer. “Tae,” you try again. “How do you feel right now?”

Taehyung’s mouth pulls down into a slow frown. “I feel… slow. A little muddled, I guess? No brain eating urges or anything though, which is nice. Brains probably don’t taste very good.”

“No,” you say, exchanging a glance with your equally flabbergasted companions. “I can’t imagine they would.”

///

Not twenty minutes later, you are driving across the bridge that leads to your final destination. A rather formidable wall with an even more formidable gate stands in your way, and you watch as several guards peer out from over the top, weapons drawn and at the ready.

“Stop right there!” the guard stationed on the ground commands, his gun trained on the SUV. “Get out of the vehicle with your hands up and identify yourselves one by one.”

“My name is Kim Namjoon,” Namjoon says, clambering out with his palms extended. You follow after him, stating your name as well, and the guard directs both of you to stand against the wall, calling for a man named Seokjin to come check your vitals as your companions continue introducing themselves.

A minute later, a smaller door to the right of the gate opens, and out walks a man wearing a white coat and a genial smile. “Sorry about this,” he says, adjusting his stethoscope. “Proper procedure and all that. You can never be too careful, right?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, pulling the collar of your shirt aside so he can listen to your heartbeat. “This is hardly the worst thing to happen to us in the last few days.”

The young doctor laughs—a high, squeaky sound that reminds you of a windshield wiper. “Touché,” he says, waving Namjoon over so he can listen to his heart as well. “Well, look at that! You both appear to be alive—congratulations! It’s nice to meet you.”

His laughter is contagious, and you can’t help the answering giggle that bubbles up in your chest and escapes into the open air. “Nice to meet you too, Doctor.”

He grimaces, flapping a hand at you. “Please, call me Jin. Everyone does. Doctor makes me sound way too stuffy.”

The sound of the familiar name has your eyebrows flying up into your hairline. You exchange a glance with Namjoon, who looks equally shocked, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he ventures, “Jin? Does that mean you’re one half of the 2J radio broadcast?”

Jin’s face splits into a delighted grin. “It sure does! Were you guys listening to us?”

You nod. “It was the only station we could find. I don’t think we’d be here if it weren’t for you and Jay.”

His grin broadens. “His real name’s Hoseok, actually—I had to talk him into the nickname. Took me ages.” Then his expression sobers. “That’s great to hear about the broadcast, though. Really. We weren’t sure that we were reaching people, but it’s nice to know that we definitely are. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” you tell him earnestly.

Jin grins. “You’re welcome,” he says, waving goodbye as he moves on to check on everyone else’s vitals. He makes friendly smalltalk with Yoongi, Jungkook, and Jimin as he listens to their heartbeats, but frowns when he reaches Taehyung, regarding him a little more closely. Jimin looks on anxiously, twisting the hem of his jacket, and you and Namjoon wordlessly sidle closer, ready to defend your friend if the need arose.

“You look a little pale,” Jin says, but his voice isn’t accusatory. “Are you feeling okay?”

Taehyung shrugs vaguely, his eyes unfocused. “I’ve been better.”

Namjoon chooses that moment to step forward, keeping his voice low and guarded. “Jin, you know a lot about the zombies, right?”

Jin nods. “I’ve been conducting research, yeah. It’s slow going though.”

Jimin eyes Jin warily. “What would you say if we told you that one of us was immune to the zombie virus?”

Jin’s mouth falls open, his gaze immediately landing on Taehyung again as he leans closer and stares intently at his pupils. “Immunity? Now that’s interesting,” he mumbles to himself, rubbing his hands together. “That could change everything.”

Taehyung blinks blearily at him. “What are you going on about?”

Jin just laughs. “They’re clear,” he calls to the guard, who nods and returns to the guardhouse. Once he’s gone, Jin claps his hands together and beams. “All right!” he exclaims. “Let’s get you all settled in, shall we?”

“What are you going to do to Tae?” Jimin asks suspiciously, scooting a little closer to his friend.

“Absolutely nothing, if I don’t have his permission,” Jin promises. “But guys, think about it. Someone who’s immune? I could learn so much about what’s causing that immunity if I ran a few tests… maybe even find a cure, eventually. It’s an incredible opportunity.” Upon seeing Jimin’s lingering distrust, however, he stops and laughs again. “But honestly, I won’t do a thing if he doesn’t want me to. Right now, I just want to help you get settled in. All of you need lots of rest and a proper meal. Doctor’s orders, okay?”

Jimin nods. “Fine.”

Up ahead, the gate is slowly beginning to creak open. Jin is welcoming all of you to Sonyeo City, but you barely hear him. Your focus is on Namjoon and Namjoon alone, his presence warm and reassuring as he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. 

“Ready?” he asks.

You suck in a deep, steadying breath and squeeze his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

[legacyofabsolutewalnuts]

@swtorpadawan tagged me in this meme, and I am hella into it. This is my favourite musing bc swtor in the canon of star wars is fucking hilarious. On a side note, for anyone who does this and chose only one oc, but has thoughts about the others oh my god do and let me know. Im a snoopy bish give them all to me. In this case I’m going to try to keep it brief while covering my main four, Viticalia, Thomsyn, Belville and Montym. Partly bc I’ve been thinking about their dynamics for a joint Alliance Commander AU lately

This got really long, bc I couldn’t choose one, and Im a wordy bish, so I’ve put the actual answers under the cut, so as not to kill everyones dashes

What would your OC do if they were thrown through time and into Star Wars the Clone Wars:

1. Who would they fight for?

I think most of them would either end up going independent or siding with the Republic. Montym and Belville would actually be the most likely to commit to the Republic, they’re both two people who value loyalty and understand that sometimes things need to be changed from the inside out. Thomsyn I think would stay with the Republic, but may end up with the Grey Jedi. She isn’t inclined to this whole “just peacekeepers” deal and would want to take the fight to the Sith directly. Viticalia would be an independent, committing to neither except for who would pay her most, or just destroy the CIS and take her place at the top of it. She would not be willing to submit to being ordered around by Dooku, or lord forbid Grevious or Ventress, and she definitely wouldn’t appreciate Sidious being unwilling to step up on the frontline with his troops.

2. If not a force user, would they keep their job (Would a trooper still work for this new Republic and would an Agent be loyal to the Separatists?)?

Bel would probably make a play to join the SIS. And then immediately question how the SIS went from agents like Theron to seemingly having the capabilities of two people and paperclip. I’m just saying how did no one put any of the diddly dang dots together. He’d be the type to pull off an op and then basically drop it at the Jedi’s feet like “here, give me a job.” I’ll get into why he would go to the republic in a bit.

3. Who would they hate?

Vits would despise Dooku and Sidious. She would like Ventress but find her training considerably lacking. She understand some cunning, undercover work, and what it can do, that’s why she and Bel get along, but the lack of commitment to stand beside your men and fight with them is something she despises.

Thomsyn would have some problems with the way the Jedi, but she and Montym would both have a much bigger problem with Senate oversight. They’re both used to working with politicians, but the inability to work without that oversight would bother them. Neither of them think the Jedi are infallible, but they both have a big problem with the idea of needing politicians to greenlight things like humanitarian missions. 

Bel would have a huge problem with the Jedi that he keeps under lock and key. Part of it would be due to Kothe. The other part is...well he’s seen what happens when Sith lead, he doesn’t really think the Jedi should be given military power for their ability with the Force either. 

4. Who would they get along well with?

Bel would actually get along really well with GAR Specforces. I think he’d adjust pretty easily to them, and people like Skirata and Vau would be comfortingly familiar as Bel actually got along really well with Shae and Torian. And he would very much enjoy the troopers, he understands their mindset, and especially with the Commandos, they understand the importance of intel people like Bel are meant to provide. He’d also be all in to spar with the ARC’s, and hone his skills against theirs.

Montym would have had a romantic crush on Obi-Wan within five seconds of the man dramatically dropping his cape and that’s really all there is to it. He would also get along well with Senator Organa.

Like I said earlier, I think Vits would have liked Ventress, and probably tried to poach her as an apprentice in a damn second. Thomsyn I’m not really sure who she’d get along with best.

5. What would they think of the Jedi Order?

Viticalia has, and always will be fascinated by the Jedi in that sort of detached, research-esque way. Otherwise she doesn’t care about them much, although she does find it a bit amusing to watch some of them tout the ideals of the Republic as things go down hill. She at least never had any misconceptions about the Empire. Thomsyn and Montym sort of understand how the Jedi could have come under such heavy control of the Senate. They both would have hoped for better, but aren’t that surprised, not after Saresh.

Bel could not care less about the Jedi. Likes them well enough individually for the most part, but that’s his approach to any and all force users really.

6. What would they think of the “rule of 2” Sith?

Viticalia thinks its the stupidest thing ever. Probably starts taking on as many slightly sensitive people as she can and calls them her Apprentices just to piss off these new “Sith”. Really she’s just adopting herself a bunch of children, but it counts and that’s all she cares about.

7. What would they think of having a clone and droid army fighting instead of typical soldiers?

Bel understands what its like to be treated as less than a person. As an asset only. It’s still something he does to himself, thinking about himself as only an asset or a liability, which is a mindset Theron’s working on having him get rid of. So he would sympathize pretty heavily, which is part of why he’d go to the Republic. He’s turned the tide of a war and saved countless of his coworkers in the military before, he would try it again.

Viticalia and Thomsyn would have more practical issues with the idea a droid army. They aren’t creative, they can’t interpret, and they aren’t built for every situation. Thomsyn however would have a lot of problems on the legality of clones, whereas Vits is used to slavery and is prone to forgetting about how that works.

Montym thinks the whole idea on either side is terrible, for various reasons, but cannot stand that clones are not legal citizens but the Republic uses them anyhow.

8. If Republic - if they became a general in the army what would their relationship with their clones be like?

I think Montym would accept a position as a General, Thomsyn...maybe for a while. Montym is a little better with handling the cost of war, whereas Thomsyn counts on herself to keep everyone around her alive. I think they’d both be on good terms with their troopers, Montym would take a bit longer, he’s quiet and a bit...odd, but when he likes people he makes it clear. Thomsyn would get close to them quickly, and each death would hit her pretty hard.

9. If Imperial - what would they think of the complete lack of sith and excess of droids in the Separatist army?

Viticalia has soooo many problems about tradition with the way the Sith operate, but in particular thinks the CIS is...stupid. The idea of a civil war is fine, sure, but their execution is lacking. Bel thinks they’re stupid but also finds it very funny. Terrible tactics, questionable leadership, not a good spy in sight... but he also thinks the way the Republic has alienated so many of their own...well he’s seen it before with Imperial worlds, and after Saresh it isn’t surprising. He’s largely disillusioned and just wishes someone would learn from their mistakes already. Part of what would push him to join the Republic in this case would be that he values peoples lives a lot more than droids, and he hasn’t valued the Sith as leaders in a long time, so he has no reason to go to the CIS and as far as he’s concerned, Republics got the better chance. 

10. Consider they were born in this era - where would they fit in Clone Wars canon?

This I’ve actually thought about this a bit. Thomsyn and Montym would be still pretty much the same, Jedi, although Thomsyn would not have joined the Grey Jedi in that AU as she would be more accustomed to what this Republic is like. Viticalia I would go with a Jedi who leaves the order eventually, simply because it would be really fun to explore a much more light-sided Vits. Bel’s a bit more difficult to place, in a society that doesn’t put as much importance on genetics and perfection, he would have the chance to do whatever he liked, which he didn’t in the Empire. In an au that follows his canon life a little better, he would probably join the SIS, but more likely as an anaylst or undercover agent, not as a sniper and agent. 

Honestly time travel and born in that era, they’re def aus I’ve thought about writing

[codylabs]

Chapter 15: Tale of Two Bots

-date: 13/20/2094-46’\

Hello.

My name is Ɖg@}Nᶌ.

As one of the survivors of the crash of colonial vessel 46.18’\, I am starting this journal to document our experiences on this planet. In the event that we are rescued, or survive long enough to reestablish contact, this log will serve as a record on our experiences. If you recover this and we’re not here to give it to you… Then I guess we’ve failed.

And this is our story.

Well.

As I said, the colonial vessel has crashed. Near as I can tell, we were traveling near-horizontally at an altitude of several kilometers, when some type of interference or malfunction disabled the vehicles artificial-gravity engines. We hit the ground before control could be regained. The impact was directly into solid rock, at a velocity in excess of 400 meters per second. The ship carved a large chunk out of a mountainside, and half-buried itself in its own artificial valley. The impact was sufficient to free the majority of the nuclear fuel from containment, disable the primary propulsion system, and kill the entire pilot and command crew. To the best of my knowledge, I, and 52 other passengers, are the last survivors of the collision.

We have escaped the confines of the ship, and have used salvaged tarps and materials to erect a small camp on the hill above it.

More of us are injured than not. Many terminally so. Since the vessel’s power supply has largely gone into meltdown, all remaining power has been automatically diverted toward containing the damage. Periphery systems, including the auto-medics, have gone offline. I’m no surgeon, but the others are even less so.

They expect me to repair the wounded.

I’ll see what I can do.

-date: 13/21/2094-46’\

My medical tools were designed for my species specifically. They are poorly suited for the others, who are primarily carbon-based. Their bodies are squishy, ever-shifting, mostly liquid. I don’t know how to handle it. Many of the terminally injured have died following my surgery. I was able to fix a few, but… But the others are angry with me. They think I could have done more for the dying. Survivor count now 41. The names of the living are included here for posterity:

Ɖg@}Nᶌ

Klk76y

Zlfo]n

ƉN::ᶌ

&4r(/_^`;~y

iA**5{y

-@N^^>

C0gsJRY

V;M9OZ

4EtR%ibP

WA~/\hi(B

~u81FF:’

S~5VH/’QepKl

3v49EVv

iZxFpLo

wX~~E2VY

IeR&Usp

xE][fo

I6gyvPh

7ncZ9Itx

bC*$l9DSEmm

J86O/\oBZg

v89Z;vHFiv

4g0ORH

Xp;DWstNBYi

0aF2I(zLxyn7k

SGff\mBOfic8

0Xzn

TSpqQfjFn

famESw

W8{A1EdwQ

j0wX

KlcfG;B0lw0

4hArMXj4

qKhcn0U

SXz4;

PxNeLwi

w4A;mVIV5

tVkqZme

oy.}szN;XJCc

og;hgnC5j8Ca…

I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.

-date: 13/22/2094-46’\

Only one other survivor belongs to my same species. We were bound for the same colony, her and I, but now everybody we knew is gone. I’m glad I have somebody to speak to though, especially after the failed surgeries. Her name is ƉN::ᶌ, and she is kind to me. Seeing as how it looks like we’re here for the long haul, I wonder if perhaps we could begin the colony here, with only us two.

No, I can’t think that. It’s indecent.

She’s looking at me.

I am pretending to type something in.

-date: 13/28/2094-46’\

Klk76y has gotten one of the computers online, and has retrieved data from the crash. Apparently, we are on body 3.0 of this system, on one of the northern continents. It’s hellish here. There’s air, it’s hot, the gravity is high, the surface is soaked in unhealthy chemicals like water, and infested by native (and occasionally hostile) carbon-based life. Even its moon, 3.1, would have been better than this. We can survive, but it isn’t well-suited. Natural terraforming processes won’t work.

I just wish we would have crashed on 4.0. It would have been nearly perfect for our needs.

The only metal ƉN::ᶌ and I have to eat is that from the ship’s hull. Livestock and crops could easily survive on this diet, but they would rip the whole craft apart in the process. Since we’d rather leave it salvageable (by the slim hope that we could repair it someday), we’ll keep the farming systems in stasis for now.

I hope our colonial supplies are still intact. They should be tougher than the other cargo, but I don’t know.

Titanium-steel alloy plating is sure getting bland though. Hard to chew. Hard in general.

I want some fruit.

-date: 13/22/2094-46’\

Everything has calmed down now, as much as it can. The fires from the crash have died out. We’ve buried as many of the dead as we can find. The other survivors are settling into the camp, and they’ve gathered some meager supplies, enough to last the winter. ƉN::ᶌ and I can survive directly off the ship’s power, so we should be fine indefinitely. Klk76y has also taken charge as a sort of leader, and everybody seems as content as they can be.

I suppose that now is a good a time as any to give my own personal story.

It all started long ago, and far away.

It was cold and hard and small, one of many solitary, airless moon of a bloated gas giant, bathed in the light of an old, red star. To look at it, you might mistake it for a larger asteroid, or one of the many unnotable, dusty rocks that inhabit the empty voids of space.

But this rock wasn’t any rock. This was a living place, filled with rugged natural beauty. Spreading seas of liquid sand, mountains of the dust of ancient timbers, and the great, towering forests of mighty trees. Fields abounding in fruits and grains, the woods crawling with wild animals, the void alive with the radio singing of the bugs and the birds, the sun shining brightly on the leaves. And a humble people toiling with bliss beneath the stars, picking and eating their food, building their houses and roads, constructing and raising their children. It was a place where families could be happy. A place of peace.

This was my beloved home.

But I never once enjoyed it.

Why didn’t I? It was a paradise. I could have grown old and happy there. I could have been rich and prosperous. I could have had everything that people strive for… Everything but meaning.

Mind you, I wasn’t alone. There were many of my peers who considered it an utterly boring, menial existence, where our young minds had nowhere to explore, where knowledge and learning was scarce, and where our toil and daily labor did not satisfy our hunger for adventure. We were children then, restlessly longing for something more. I wish now I hadn’t been among them… But I was.

Two cycles ago, when I had just finished being a boy, but didn’t yet know what ‘man’ was, another race came to our world. They arrived in an enormous ship from some other dimension, on a mission (so they said) to explore and archive the wonders of the universe, to seek out new and deviant life, to see, hear, touch and explore that which nobody had ever experienced before, and to set up colonies among the far reaches of space. They visited us for this same reason, collecting samples from our planet, examining and studying us. (The reason for their fascination, I found out later, was our metallic bodies and mechanical makeup. Apparently, it’s something of a novelty to these squishy carbon-based people.)

Regardless, I’m sure you can understand my thoughts when they revealed this mission of theirs. How glamorous! How grand! How adventurous! How meaningful! I dreamed to accompany them, to whatever fate lay beyond the horizons of my own mind. Once, I even had the chance to speak directly withCaptain &:V->GN[], commander of the alien vessel.

“I wish I could accompany you!” I had told him. “I wish I could count myself among the colonists on your ship.”

“It’s certainly a hard life.” He had tempted me, with a twinkle in his eye. “Long years aboard a closed metal ship, and at the end of your journey, an unknown fate… It could be dangerous, it could be strange, it could require things from you that you don’t know you had. Even WE don’t know what we’ll find in that great unknown…”

He was telling me precisely the type of tale I wanted to hear, and naturally I fell for it. “I would be willing!” I told him. “And I have friends as well! We would all love to leave our world, and travel with you to the ends of the universe! We would follow you!”

He stroked his chin, and nodded. “We have set down several colonies already…” He said, as if it were my idea the entire time. “Perhaps there would be room among the organic cargo sectors for your… Particular breed of crops and livestock…”

“I hope so!” I said, and I meant it.

The next day, he announced to our people that they would be taking on passengers and cargo, whatever passengers could fit in sector 22, and whatever farming supplies we could fit in stasis in sector 43. They would allow our people to found a colony on a world of our choosing, or even, if we wished, they would allow us to return with them to their home dimension.

It goes without saying that I, along with many of my friends, signed up eagerly.

My father silently watched me as I entered the shuttle, and he had a sorrowful look on his face which I will never remember, because I never once looked back.

And so did I venture forth, to seek my fortune among the stars.

It was a lie.

No sooner had we left the system, but the crew confined us to quarters, and began to treat us harshly. They told us they were cracking down on troublemakers, and that this was just a necessary caution. But among themselves, they were communicating using their suits’ radios. My people could hear such signals plainly, and I learned to understand them.

I learned that our people were not to be set down on a colony of our choosing. Rather, we were all to be brought back to the aliens’ dimension, to be treated as scientific samples, or even used for their own purposes.

They began to experiment on us.

It was a nightmare.

I would hear the communications as they would take our people, one at a time, from the passenger areas. Always young females. Whenever the rest of us moved to intervene, the crew would summon security drones to threaten us, then say it was for our own protection.

One day we heard their purpose… Well, I feel dirty even describing it.

The females of our species naturally have reproductive systems in their abdomen areas. Normally, these organs serve only to manufacture and assemble the bodies of children. The organs are perfectly designed for the task, and they are able to do so reliably and repeatedly. Since the living bodies of children are inherently complex, the organs must be highly versatile.

The aliens saw this.

So the science team, under the direction of Captain &:V->GN[], were downloading foreign code into the women’s organs, to try and make them manufacture artificial systems: Tools. Weapons. Drones. Storage crates. Spare parts. They were trying to turn our people into living factories. This was just a proof of concept, before they returned to their home dimension and refined the idea into an industrial process.

The experiments were invasive and painful, and the women were not willing.

I began to discuss these matters in hushed tones with the other colonists, of both my own species and others. We all agreed that something needed to be done.

So one night, all at once, we staged a mutiny. We sawed through the doors of our rooms, gathered improvised tools and weapons, rendezvoused with the organic passengers, and aimed ourselves for the bridge.

It didn’t work.

They put us under guard from that point on, reinforced the doors, equipped us with stun collars, and pumped all the air out of our rooms to keep us from audio communication with the other passengers. They also encrypted their radio signals, so we could no longer listen in to them.

A cycle passed quietly and despairingly. An older friend of mine likened it to prison.

But then, days ago, it happened.

For reasons none of us know, Colonial Vessel 46.18’\ crashed.

Now here we are. The greatest adventure of my life, more excitement and strange new weirdness than I ever could have hoped or dreamed: aliens, lies, betrayal, mutiny, heroism, bravery, fierce enemies on all sides and a grave mission to follow… This is the adventure of a lifetime.

And I would trade it all away in an instant. What I wouldn’t give to be back home. My quiet, peaceful, meaningless home…

For there is no meaning to be found out here either. We’ve crossed galaxies by now, gone where none have gone, and we are no closer to something higher than when we started out. There is no height to be climbed to reach enlightenment. There is no lesson or sense or justice to bring to our predicament. Life is cruel and short, and our lives are either empty or painful. Some, like mine, are both.

So that is how I, Ɖg@}Nᶌ, got to where I am now.

ƉN::ᶌ says I’m being pessimistic. She says there is a meaning, and that God has a purpose and plan for our lives, even through our pain and misfortune, even though we do not see it.

I hope she’s right.

I prayed for the first time today.

-date: 13/30/2094-46’\

Why are we on this planet at all? Why did the command crew stop here? Did they have to land to make repairs? Did we have to restock supplies? Was there another mutiny we didn’t hear about?

I, for one, suspected the command crew was goaded into it by the science team. They noticed something interesting on the flyby, and convinced the higher-ups of the need to stop and release probes.

It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. We’ve had several unscheduled stops over the course of this trip. Always the science team wanting to collect samples or specimens, or examine some readings. Always something new and interesting to look at.

But why here? What makes this valley so special? What drew their curiosity? And what about this valley caused our crash? We may never know; all the sensors are down, many of the computer logs were damaged, and many of the remaining mission files are simply classified to us passengers.

I suppose I’m just complaining. I shouldn’t complain. What’s done is done, and now all we can do is pick up the pieces and make the most of what we have left.

Perhaps it’s just God’s will.

-date: 15/2/2094-46’\

We sent 5 men deeper into the wreck to see what they could salvage. It’s been 6 days now, and they haven’t come back out. I wonder what has happened. The automated security system is coded for all the colonists’ identities, so even if it reactivated somehow, none of them should have anything to fear… I wonder if perhaps some of the more dangerous scientific specimens have been released from containment.

The rest of the survivors are wanting me and ƉN::ᶌ to venture in after them, since our metal bodies make us tougher than the others.

She is afraid, so I will go in alone. I will be their hero. I will be her hero.

-date: 15/3/2094-46’\

I’m back. I found nothing. No signs of a struggle, no weapon damage.

But no bodies either.

Perhaps they got lost down there. I can see why they would; the crash mutilated the vessel into a veritable labyrinth of twisted metal. We can only wait, and hope that that they survive, and hope still that they can find their way back out.

While I was down there, I did stumble across the scientific sample area. It was torn wide open. Everything in the stasis chambers are dead.

But a few of the chambers are open.

And all the chambers that are open are empty.

Specimens must have escaped. Could one have killed and eaten the men we sent inside? I don’t know what manner of subjects they’d stored in the now-empty chambers, but judging by the looks of some of the others… Let’s just say I’m glad most of them are dead. Out of all the nasty things they’ve collected on their journey, I think that living robots are the most harmless of the bunch.

I’m back on the surface now, and gave my report to the other survivors. It frightened them. They don’t want to explore the wreck any deeper than necessary. I understand that.

ƉN::ᶌ is beating herself up for letting me go alone. She swears that whatever happens next, she will be there for me. I’m glad for the promise.

As it stands, Survivor count now 36.

-date: 15/16/2094-46’\

Survivor count now 28.

We don’t know what’s happening. People go missing. Randomly. Unforeseeably. Without trace. As if they decided to just walk away in those moments when nobody’s watching.

After the last incident, Zlfo]n instructed us to watch closely for anyone behaving strangely. He encouraged us to keep up conversation frequently. I don’t know what he suspects, (does he think we’re going mad one by one? Does he know something we don’t?) but I hope he’s on to something.

I modified a few power tools into melee weapons, so that ƉN::ᶌ and I can defend ourselves if the need arises. When I offered her a cutting drill, she said she would prefer to use her teeth, since they’re sharper and easier to carry around anyway.

It’s nice to have somebody to laugh with, even in times like this.

But seriously though, she’s literally going to use her teeth. This girl is crazy!

I kind of… Never mind.

-date: 15/18/2094-46’\

Somebody struck up conversation today with Klk76y. He mumbled his way through a brief exchange, but in the process, he gave something away: he didn’t possess even the most basic knowledge of Klk76y’s life or job. It quickly became apparent that he wasn’t Klk76y at all, but rather something else, looking exactly like him, bluffing his way through a conversation. Zlfo]n, ƉN::ᶌ, and myself attempted to confront him, but he attacked with an incredible physical strength, and escaped into the forest. Zlfo]n suffered several broken bones during the fight, and will not last long. Meanwhile Klk76y, the only leader we had, is gone like the others.

Also, at some point, ƉN::ᶌ managed to clip the enemy with her teeth. This drew green blood, whereas the real Klk76y would have had yellow-white blood.

Something is out there.

Something that’s changing.

It takes us one by one, probably eats us, and impersonates us to learn more before eating again.

Survivor count now 27. Soon to be 26, as there’s not much I can do for Zlfo]n.

-date: 15/19/2094-46’\

Zlfo]n pulled me close today, and told me about the shapeshifter. He described everything he knew of its abilities, its methods, its mannerisms, and its intelligence. He told me where the science team found it, what it eats, where it lives, what it wants.

(Future reader, I have transcribed his analysis, and saved it as a separate file. This is my journal, after all, and not a tactics guide. Suffice to say that this shifter is quite a character herself, and I don’t like it one bit being on the receiving end of her cunning.)

I asked Zlfo]n how he knew so much about the creature. He sighed and he told me:

Zlfo]n was on the science team.

So I took him outside the camp, and I left him to die. By now he will have perished from his injuries in the silent forest, without burial, without dignity, alone except for the memories of the women he violated. Alone, save for his conscience. I hope he has one, so that he suffered. And I hope the shifter finds him, and that she realizes we are not her enemies.

…Did I do wrong, to let Zlfo]n die like that?

I don’t think I did.

Did he deserve better?

I don’t think he did.

Did ƉN::ᶌ approve?

I think she did.

I never asked her if she’d been a part of the onboard experiments. I pray she didn’t have to suffer it, because I don’t know what I could do for her damage. I’m not that type of doctor. Heck, I’m not any type of doctor! What am I supposed to do for a damaged factory, huh? Look at it? I’m a male. Even that’s not proper.

All I can do for her is to be her friend, and love and respect and care for her regardless of anything else. And I really do love her… I’ve been realizing that more and more.

-date: 15/27/2094-46’\

Survivor count now 23.

The other survivors can’t stand it anymore. They need to get away from the wreck. Whatever the shifter wants, it is hostile. And it is near. And since we haven’t the vaguest inkling of how to face it, we need to flee.

They others all agreed to pick up and head North, as far from the crash site as possible. They are carbon-based, and can therefore subsist on native food. They collected all the weapons and tools they could find, and started off. They should be safe from the enemy… Or at least see it coming… I think they’ll be alright. I hope they’ll be alright.

Either way, ƉN::ᶌ and I need to make other plans. We are not carbon based, and therefore need to grow our own crops if we are to survive. We’ll need a farm. We picked out a pretty good spot for it to the South-East, but this planet doesn’t have a lot of dense deposits near the surface, so our crops won’t grow.

We’ll need to improvise some type of soil.

The hull of the spacecraft, combined with the minerals in the native rock, should supply our farm with all the biological sustenance it needs. It would make excellent soil. But we don’t want to stay in the craft’s immediate vicinity, so we need to somehow cut loose a massive section of the hull and bring it all of 20 kilometers to the farm.

How do we do that?

It was her idea to jury-rig the ship’s last remaining artificial-gravity nacelle. Normally, these nacelles create a gravitational dipole large enough to put the entire ship into free-fall in any direction. One nacelle may not be able to do something so grand on its own, but it still possesses a large amount of power. ƉN::ᶌ thinks it should be a simple matter to shrink this dipole and concentrate it, if only we could get to the engine room. This would allow us to ‘jackhammer’ a section of the hull loose. A slightly larger dipole will then be able to carry the disconnected section 20 kilometers through the air, and set it down at the farm. I just hope the craft has enough power left to run this stunt.

To operate the nacelle, we need to get down to the engine room and do it manually. This means risking whatever tricks and tactics the mimic has in store, but we would prefer to risk it immediately, rather than stay above ground and wait for her… Rather take her on our terms: immediately and directly.

We’re going inside tomorrow.

If we never come back out… Let it be known that ƉN::ᶌ and Ɖg@}Nᶌ were here.

-date: 15/30/2094-46’\

It has been 3 days since my last entry, but we are now back. We successfully completed the mission.

But first, a word on what we found down there.

Let’s just say that at this point, the ship would need half again its weight in glue. Its main propulsion system, (everything except the one intact nacelle), is completely offline. 7 of the 8 main reactors have also gone into meltdown, and the computer automatically locked down the last one for safety. The vessel’s long-range communication systems and tracking beacon were in its lower areas, and were therefore destroyed when it contacted the ground. There is no chance of signaling home, or anywhere.

However, there were a few intact things. The perpetual-motive emergency power generators were left online somehow, and should stay remain so indefinitely, barring mechanical breakdown. These were the only thing running the ship until we got down there.

Also, we found we weren’t the only survivors. There were more, some even among the command crew, who had survived the crash but stayed underground. They were barricaded in the ship’s mid levels, and just stayed down there.

But they aren’t alive anymore.

Apparently, the mimic got to them too. Some of their survivors had taken to drawing graffiti on the walls since the computers were down. Most of it was just innocent nonsense, but then there was some stuff like “GweeV7w isn’t what he seems!” and “That’s not the real u*/~h!” and “Specimen has escaped is changing forms.”

And everybody was dead.

Eaten.

The mimic is smart. Smart enough to kill them all without putting itself in danger. Smart enough to use fear like a weapon, and fill her enemies with it. Smart enough to stay in shadows.

Smart enough to learn to hack computers.

The mimic has reactivated the security system, and made several changes to their programming. Firstly, she wiped the drones’ entries for recognized individuals, so that they now recognize everyone, every last man, woman, child and animal, as unidentified intruders. Secondly, she reprogrammed their tactical assessment system, so that they now evaluate threats based on chemical signs of aggression and fear. If any carbon-based lifeform shows fear in a drone’s vicinity, it is programmed to contain or destroy them.

Since the shifter was terrorizing everyone else while remaining calm herself, it worked perfectly: the drones would leave her alone and go straight for any of the other cowering survivors.

As for us metallic life forms, well… The mimic is smart, as I said. She knew we didn’t have a sense of smell, so she rigged a booby trap that sprayed us with hormones. We didn’t even notice, until every drone in the ship started to attack.

That was a dicey couple hours. Those drones are learning and self-adapting, and can sprout pretty much any weapon in the database. We managed to beat them, barely, by modifying one of the perpetual-motive generators into an electromagnetic pulse emitter. We almost killed ourselves with it too, but it took out most of the drones. Enough so we could slip away.

I don’t know that I’ve ever been more scared in my life than when I was down there… But… I think I might have been having fun too. Crazy how that works. It probably just depends who you have by your side in the thick of things, doesn’t it? And while we were fighting down in those dark depths, I had ƉN::ᶌ. And that made it all right.

Anyway, we made it to the engine room, and ƉN::ᶌ managed to bypass a security lock and reactivate reactor 5. From there, she was able to reprogram the art-grav nacelle, and use the immense gravity field to rip apart the hull.

We tore off half of the ship’s upper hull, along with the entirety of sector 43 (sector 43 being the cargo area where all the samples, livestock and crops from our planet were stored.) The gravity field gathered all this wreckage together, forming an enormous ‘fistfull’ of twisted metal and cargo. ƉN::ᶌ then used the gravity beam to guide this mass through the air to the farmland we designated, and spread it out there. The entire process must have been rather eerie to watch, I imagine.

There was only one problem now: if we could make use of those gravity fields, chances are the mimic could too. If she set the field to a high strength and low size, she could use it to physically crush our entire farm, with us inside.

With that kind of power, the mimic could kill anybody she wanted. And anywhere.

So, we removed the power control coupling from the last reactor, and destroyed all the spares. The coupling is small. Small enough to take with us, and keep hidden forever. So that’s what we’ll do.

We made back above ground without much trouble.

Now, everything seems in order. The livestock and seeds will be waiting for us in sector 43’s wreckage, ready to be unpacked, unfrozen, and organized into a farm. A colony. First thing tomorrow morning, we’re off to begin our new life.

-date: 3/14/2096-46’\

Two local years since my last entry.

Farm is going great. Got some trees planted, and some crops. The ecosystem is starting up, and the drilling worms have started breaking down the spacecraft hull. The cats are working as guards, which should be enough to scare away the mimic if she finds us here. I tampered with the cats’ genetics as well, to make them instinctively react defensively toward any unrecognized large organic. Meaning whatever form the mimic takes, the cats will turn on it. I’m just glad this planet doesn’t have intelligent inhabitants; that could make for a rather messy misunderstanding.

I also found an old runabout shuttle stashed in the wreckage. We turned it right-side-up, half-buried it in the ground, and are now using it as a house. Its glass hull should keep it from decay, and its engines still have enough power to run heat, lighting, and farm equipment.

The place is finally starting to feel like home. The trees are supplying power now, so we don’t have to ration anymore. And they’re beginning to bear the first fruit. We haven’t had actual food in so long, and it’s delicious.

And… Well, there’s one other thing. I don’t really know who else to tell, so I guess I’ll tell this journal.

Anyway…

I finally asked ƉN::ᶌ if she would be my wife. And she said yes. I’m not really sure what I expected her to say, since we’re the only two here… But it was the WAY she said it; it made me believe that she would have chosen me out of a crowd. Like I would have been her first choice out of all the men on all the worlds. She said yes… And I’m a married man now! I’m really happy. I really love her. I’m really glad to be alive.

That probably sounded super corny, huh?

-date: 8/9/2098-46’\

Three local years since my last entry.

We lost contact with the other survivors. I don’t know what happened to them. Maybe it was local wildlife or sickness, maybe it was the mimic again, maybe something else. Anyway, let it be known that this farm contains, to my knowledge, the last 3 survivors of the crash.

3 survivors?

That’s what I said.

Because ƉN::ᶌ is pregnant.

I’m gonna be a dad.

Speaking of dad…

If this recording somehow gets to you, mom and dad… If the fabeled Time Giants ever find this log in the far future, and decide to do a favor for my present, and bring it back to you… If you’re reading this now in the comfort of your own home after I’ve left…

I want you to know that I’ve finally found that life I always dreamed of. There’s a little bit of adventure here and there, sure. (This planet seems to harbor some very improbable life. We’re always finding ourselves in some weird situation or another.) But most of all, I’ve found home. I’ve found love. I’ve found peace. And I think… With the help of God, I’ve found a bit of meaning. Here, in a filthy, watery world at the end of the universe. Here, in the valley carved by the crash of colonial vessel 46.18’/. Here, where nobody else has ever been, is where I’ve decided to stay. And here, I am happy. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

-date: 16/13/2098-46’\

There was a fault in ƉN::ᶌ’s manufacturing system. The child was damaged during final assembly, and… I’m not sure what happened. There was a problem with the release, and something snapped. There were sparks, and leaking oil.

And she died.

Her and the baby.

I made glass coffins so they wouldn’t decay. And I buried them behind the house.

I guess that’s it then, huh?

So much for our life. So much for our colony, and our future, and our children, and our love… So much for all that. Whoever’s reading this, I’d dreamed that one day we would have healthy, happy descendants who’d be able to hand this to you. And they’d say ‘Take this. This is their legacy…’

But what good are dreams?

Dreams are for young men… And today I feel old.

Anyway… If you’re reading this journal, then… Then I guess I’m long dead. The barn and the tractor and the windmill will have been eaten all away by now… Only the glass shuttle-house thing will remain; that and the coffins… Give it long enough, and the farm will probably grow all over the place… The drilling worms and trees will have digested the last of the hull wreckage we drug out here… That will make for the only soil on all of 3.0 that can support metal life, so the little forest will have reached a maximum size and stopped growing. Due to the atmosphere, the crops can’t spread seeds far enough to fertilize on the main wreck, and even the cats don’t explore very far. So. By now all the livestock will be all feral, all the trees will be huge… It will all be totally natural. Just like God intended.

It’ll be a little tiny drop of home, right in the middle of all this carbon slime. A tiny drop of home…

And that’ll be our legacy.

I’m locking the house up now, and I’m leaving.

I’m going back to the crash site. I go to find our last and greatest enemy, the mimic, and kill her. I go to ensure the safety of anybody who may come to this planet after us. I go in the name of peace. One final battle. One final adventure.

This is Ɖg@}Nᶌ, last survivor of the crash of Colonial Vessel 46.18’\, furthest explorer of a gentle people, last civilized lifeform on this planet, farmer and doctor and husband and father, signing out for the final time. Whoever finds this… I hope God’s plan for you is gentle. Gentler than it was for me.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.

Have a nice life.

[zevons]

what are your favorite EVERRRRR football fics?

The first thing I did when I saw this in my inbox was zip over to my handy dandy excel doc of fics I like and filter for football rpf.

WOW, okay self. So I scrolled through and opened up the ones I remembered particularly adoring, trying to be selective and

…alright then.

So what you see here is a list, painstakingly teased out and compiled and highly angsted over! There are so many excellent fics out there, goddamn. These are the ones that I return to over and over, and I also tried to get a good cross-section of some of my favourite pairings, because honestly I have 43 gerlonso fics alone to choose from and wanted to get a wider selection. (Also hey, my excellent followers! Please add what fics I’ve forgotten/whack me over the head with a newspaper for leaving out your faves.)

As Far As You and Me Go - distira: Pep Guardiola/José MourinhoFULL DISCLOSURE: I AM SO WEAK FOR THIS ~NARRATIVE IT IS EMBARRASSING. It’s so trope-y it could have been scripted for television. And this is, imo, the best fic out there for them, and a brilliant read besides. Even if you’re not into the pairing I can’t recommend it enough, as by nature of the ship it’s sort of the opposite of a getting-together story. (Also Sharon refused to read it for ages and ages bc ew, Mou, but I broke her down and she agreed it was good SO THERE.) The slow collapse of their relationship, the underlying nastiness on both sides, the scheming, conniving…this is the perfect example of ‘like a trainwreck; it’s terrible but you cannot look away’. You just have to keep on reading in a sort of fascinated horror as they go about carving their way through to their various victories, and at the end it’s impossible to be sure that they’ve even lost anything of value. If someone asked me to explain José Mourinho to them, I would probably give them Jonathan Wilson’s excellent article in the actual, real life Guardian, and this fic. SERIOUS BUSINESS. 

Being Young and Famous is Not a Consolation Prize - synaesthetical: Thomas MüllerA lot of these fics are Spain/England-based, but do not be fooled. On my deathbed, when my family is gathered around my withered corpse, weeping as I slowly fade from this life, one of my favoured great-grandchildren will ask, ‘Sabina, did you lead a happy life? What was your finest moment?’ And I will gaze up at the ceiling through my cataracts and say, smiling with true joy, ‘Yes, my life was fulfilled. Germany won the World Cup in 2014.’ AND THEN I WILL DIE. This particular fic is not about 2014, it is about 2010, but the point stands. If you love Germany NT, or feel, y’know, not hatred towards them, then please read it because it captures so wonderfully the tone of that tournament and that squad. Old enough to know better, but young enough to have a second chance when the time comes. This is one of those fics that I think really exemplifies not only a good story, but a good piece of football writing as well. That World Cup feeling, deliriously, dangerously happy, and at the same time how deadly serious this is. How deadly serious football is. It’s light, lovely writing, and it hits hard. 

eDisharmony - ascience: Benedikt Höwedes/Mats HummelsI’m not even going to pretend like this fic doesn’t hold the massive cool award of being the fic that inspired me to get back into writing. I gotta love myself, yknow! It’d been five-ish years since I’d written any fic of substance (I think I only posted about 4,000 words in total in that time) and then wham, I read this fic, fell entirely in love, and decided to jump on the train. And just so you know I’m not entirely biased, I reread it like a week ago and yes, it’s still hilarious, 10/10 would restart my fic career again. The dialogue and the pacing bounce along so gleefully in this story, you really have to be eating popcorn while reading. There’s a wonderfully joyful irreverence and so many shenanigans. Sooo many shenanigans. The style of the humour is also just infectious. It’s fun, there’s no better way to say it. This is a fun fic. It also has the added pleasure of reminding me just why I love/hate forums. Ohhh forums. Bring back forums! I’ve lurked on ONTD-F too long to ever properly participate and r/soccer is full of manchildren. 

Filling Up the Space - luxover: Xabi Alonso/Steven GerrardThis isn’t exactly what you would think of as ‘traditional’ gerlonso (and forreal, it’s such an Institution by this point that it’s practically spawned its own subgenres. That’s when you know a pairing has really made it.) and so it’s always stuck out to me. It’s mean, in a way that this pairing usually isn’t, and I find it absolutely fascinating. I also love this Steven; a bit harsher, a bit harder, a bit more destructive than usually shows up in fic. I mention it later down this list in a different rec but fic!Stevie has a tendency to become a bit soppy, and this is a man who would kill for his club, grim but determined. This is a divorce fic, more or less, and the way that it pulls all the threads apart to show why they were woven together in the first place is…I don’t want to say chilling, because that makes it sound like a horror story or something, but it definitely gives you pause. Idk, I just really appreciate it. (By the way it does have a happy ending, if a lack thereof would have turned you off. On the other hand, if you’ve been jaded to gerlonso and are just sick to the teeth of them, this might be the thing to draw you back in! Incredibly compelling read.)

Good Timing - Ferritin4: Xabi Alonso/Steven GerrardI couldn’t even tell you how many times I’ve read this fic. I love future fic, love love looove it, and this is possiblymaybedefinitely my favourite of the genre. Xabi is managing Real Madrid and Stevie is a pundit and it is glorious. Their voices are so perfectly written, it’s the kind of fic where I have to set aside twice as long to read it as I usually would, because I inevitably end up reading and rereading almost every line, just to really savour the dialogue and the pacing. And the pining! Oh, the pining. Stevie and Xabi are so perfectly characterised, and in such generous characters. That’s really the only way I can think to describe them. Generous. The fic is warm and funny, and so comfortable. You can really tell that they’ve been friends for decades, and how deeply important that friendship has been to both of them. Also did I mention the pining? Oh god, the pining. It is delicious. 

look back in anger - neyvenger: Jamie Carragher/Gary NevilleIf you like rivalshipping and you haven’t read any Carraville fics, WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING. I don’t care if you’re only vaguely, guiltily fond of Liverpool and still haven’t forgiven Manchester United for doing All That Winning in the most formative years of your footballing life, filling you with the kind of simmering rage that probably won’t go away until you die. (What, talking from experience? Nah m8, this is a hypothetical. Haha. Hah. sigh) I don’t care!! It’s a great pairing that managed to escape the boundaries of being a crack ship and has somehow strayed dangerously close to being the best ship in the business! And if you like Carraville and haven’t read this fic, THEN I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU UNTIL YOU SIT YOURSELF DOWN AND READ IT. There’s time-travel! There’s enemies-to-friends-to-enemies-to-friends! Bb!Carra putting in tackles! At one point David Beckham is described as having “the air of a lazy cat”, which made my deep and enduring crush on said David Beckham cry out for mercy. THIS FIC HAS EVERYTHING.

Sandbox - scheherazade: Michael Ballack/Alexi LalasDo you like nonsense? Do you like obnoxious Americans? Do you like obnoxious Germans? How about a lot of insufferability on both sides, a whole lot of pigtail pulling, and people being Wrong in football analysis? Then this pairing is for you! Micha was my first football crush and I will forever thank whoever decided that he would make a good analysis partner for Alexi Lalas. There’s something so great about that footage from 2012, whenever Alexi says something and you can actually witness the incredulity in Michael’s face as he prepares to utterly and irrefutably shoot down whatever ridiculous statement he’s just heard. God bless! I just love these confrontational ships. They deserve a mountain of fic but with ones as good as this, I’m satisfied. They dance the line between dickiness and idiocy with such delight, you almost find yourself rooting against them because they probably don’t deserve it, even if good-hearted golden retriever Taylor Twellman is pulling for those crazy kids. This is a funny fic, and they’re such a wonderful odd couple, but if you’re like me and are consistently being emotionally tortured by the 2006 World Cup/Euro 2008/Michael Ballack’s general life and career, then you will also appreciate the underlying disappointment of a man behind a desk when he just wants to be out on the grass. 

Supertyp - imkerin: Pep Guardiola/Philipp LahmLAUGHS WILDLY INTO THE VOID OHHHH MY GOD this fic exposed me for the wreck of human being that I am, because I seriously seriously did not mean to ship this beyond like, a thought experiment, and then this fic happened and I was forced to come to terms with the fact that wow, I am All About This. Pep and Philipp’s mutual appreciation society finds its beginnings, Pep is exploratory, Philipp is cautious, José Mourinho is a ruinous individual who knows just when and where to twist the knife, I am fired into the sun by the United Nations for being entirely not okay. I was vaguely keeping it together until this fic. And so naturally, I reread it like, every other week. Every word is perfectly placed and every exchange is shoot to kill. The characters in this fic don’t do anything out of the ordinary for their jobs, but you get the sense that if they were in politics or poisons they would be frightening. 

they were a long hallway - madanach: Bastian Schweinsteiger/Lukas PodolskiTen years for this shit, man. Schweinski is one of those long-term, rock solid ships that you can rely on to like, have made you dinner when you get home from a twelve hour shift and pour you a fourth glass of wine without asking if you’ve maybe had too much. It’s always gonna be there, even though they’ve had their shaky moments. Despite those shaky moments and a lot of awkward growing up, it’s also a ship that can somehow seem easy. It can somehow seem like they don’t have to work for it. This fic has them work for it. There’s messiness and idiocy and some amazing fun times and some shitty low times. This fic is like the Bildungsroman for schweinski. It’s not clear-cut and it’s not straightforward: in life you get all tangled up and are sometimes tempted to just chop your way out, Gordian Knot-style, but you just can’t do that, y’know? This fic does such a good job with the tangling and the untangling, I feel like it validates a lot of the nonsense I got into in my Youth. Even though I’ll probably never win the World Cup as payoff, but still.

This Bitch of a Country - Rave: Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard[quiet wailing noise] nnngnggjhgn okay I said I was going to try and mix up the ships in this list but look!! look. Gerlonso is like, the ultimate holy fucking grail and there’re simply too many good fics not to throw more than one in here. Also it would be a crime not to include this one, which manages to be hilarious and heartbreaking, comforting and cruel, all at once. There’s something about mid-2000s Liverpool that will never fail to make my breath catch, this sort of tragic magnificence that achieved so goddamn much and yet…and yet. (Read this fantastic article from gone-too-soon Grantland, because this fic understands that atmosphere. Also I blame Thierry Henry entirely for validating my soft spot for this club. He set such a precedent!) There’s familiarity here, and anger, and the sort of hopeless love that makes you want to weep your goddamn eyes out. This fic manages to show the hurt on both sides without woobifying anyone out of recognition (and look…I love a good woobie as much as the next person but sometimes gerlonso gets skewed a bit too much in one direction or the other, with Stevie either being a helpless weepy ruin or Xabi being run out of everyone’s hearts on a rail, which can be great if you’re in the mood but a little bit of perspective is nice. And this fic has perspective in fucking droves.) 

tripas y corazón - Hyb: Iker Casillas/Sergio RamosThis fic will have you on the fucking floor. One of the inspirations behind football fic is, of course, the personalities and the relationships: who are these people, how do they interact, what ties them together. But another aspect is of course the clubs. Some of the best football fics are the ones that can really dig into the clubs, which are really sort of nebulous entities defined mostly by the players and the supporters. This fic uses the entity of Real Madrid to devastating effect. It’s a seriker fic, but it’s also very much a fic about the love affair between Iker and Real, and how thorny and complicated such a love affair can be. (Do you ever cry your eyes out about Iker Casillas? Do you ever wish you could throw yourself into a volcano as a sacrifice to make his life easier and happier? JOIN ME TODAY!) There’s something about the prose that brings everything out into a kind of harsh definition. As you read, you think that you can see what’s happening but then it does happen, and you feel winded, somehow. Blindsided. As a bonus, there’s also a cryptic and unhelpful Xabi cameo, in utterly classic style. Read and enjoy, read and die slowly inside because your life is a mess and you never even really supported  Real Madrid what has happened!!!!! here!!!!!!

und wenn ein lied - scheherazade: Philipp Lahm, Bastian Schweinsteiger, genThis is a difficult fic, okay. It’s not a nice fic, I guess, definitely not a happy fic, and it’s a tricky subject. It’s hosted on lj but if it had been written yesterday on AO3 there would be a lot of warning tags. Essentially it deals with homophobia in the sport, and whether or not players should come out or not. It’s a serious story and more than a little bit heartbreaking, but it’s a brilliant read and I can’t recommend it highly enough. Maybe I’m a little bit biased, because I love Fips and this fic can be seen as a kind of vindication for some disagreeable comments he made back in 2011 that got the fandom all a-spinning and it was generally not a great time. (On a side note, it is really interesting to read today and see just how much these politics have changed in the past- oh, fuck me, six years? Jesus I feel old) So definitely a huge YMMV warning on this one, but it remains one of my favourites. It’s beautifully written and really delves into various characters and the tightropes that they walk.

vainglory - anemoi: Raúl González/José María GutiérrezI blame two culprits for my complicated Thing with Real Madrid. The first is Iker Casillas and his unfairly beautiful face/hands, and the second is this fic. Because it’s fine to have a long-lasting crush on a player, but when you start delving into a club’s legends and becoming invested in the story lines? Then, my friend, you have a problem. There’s something gloriously sparse about the prose of this fic. It’s like a thin jacket in late fall that isn’t quite keeping you warm, so you just have to pull it tighter around yourself even though you keep shivering. There are so many descriptive passages that make you shudder: orange streetlights, oranges from a cart on the streets. There’s a sense of desperation in the bones of this fic, which is so stark against the backdrop of the club and the responsibility placed on the captain and vice-captain. Strength on the pitch contrasted with open vulnerability in quieter, more private moments. Breath-taking and just- ugh. This one really made an impact on me, and is always going to be one of my favourite Raúl/Guti stories amid a multitude of excellence. 

….

good grief, I know I’ve forgotten so many (and will in all probability wake up in the middle of night tonight in abject horror because how could I have forgotten such-and-such fic! And so-and-so!) but here you go, thirteen fics that I love and adore. All of these authors, too, have incredible oeuvres that are worth checking out! I could talk forever about fic and honestly, come ramble with me because yayy literary criticism! and also crying about footballers! etc etc

If you’ve read this far, I commend you. Thanks for the opportunity to talk your ear off!

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 12

lets do itttt

I love nick roches art...he draws rodimus so twinky, its a delight

ohhh I forgot abt the non-linear storytelling this issue. bangin

rewinds feet don't even touch the ground hhhhhh tiny

i fuckgin love that panel of skids talking abt briefing vs debriefing, everything both he and rodimus say is just golden

I love hearing tailgate tell completely made up stories from his primal vanguard days, that slaps storytelling-wise

HHHHHH and the fact that tailgate’s happiest memory is movie night at rewinds ;_; gosh

lmao I love whirl kicking down the door 

OOOOH and then the time skip!!!!!!!!! I fucking love non-linear stories

jesus, swerves whole face being gone is still disturbing

magnus rlly is a grade A badass. I forgot he has missile shoulders

rodimus saying ‘wham, bam, in the van!’ is my fuckgin favorite hvbsdhhfbhdjkf that's my son right there

cd saying that rewind is allergic to ultraviolet light [eyes emoji] remember how UV light is the only way to see mnemosurgery marks? that little detail must be in there for that ‘cd did mnemosurgery on rewind’ plotline that jro didn't end up doing (thankfully) 

I love how mtmte came up with a name for cybertronian marriage :) that's the kind of lore I want baybe!

also rewind and cd hhhhhh they....the og canon gays...confirmed outright in issue 12, which is so early on, considering!...its a beautiful thing. I will talk about the representation in mtmte Extensively throughout my reread since this is, yknow, Just The Beginning when it comes to canon gays - which, again, what a beautiful thing!

actually I'm not done. thinking abt the fact that this issue came out in 2012 and also this is freaking TRANSFORMERS of all things - a long-running franchise whose primary audience is adolescent boys - is extra amazing. augh, the representation! it gets me man.

ok, so, the story! jesus poor cyclonus

chromedome riding on the trex guy hbhsjkfbjshdf dude. I choose to believe that that’s his go-to tactic here bc he’s probably pretty terrible at fighting. idk how canon that is but I just see cd as the type of dude who cant fight well at all, regardless of how many fights he’s actually been in

minibot squad!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm really interested in the little we see of general cybertronian attitude towards organics - obvs the decepticons think very little of them, and the autobots generally believe all life is important, but the post-war attitude seems a little more grey and I like that 

tailgate!!!!!!!!!!!! I love tailgate SO much. the way he volunteers to defuse a bomb that he has NO idea how to defuse, and the way he lies so quickly and casually? fucking love it 

and then he takes all of his bomb disarming cues from rewind, who ALSO isn't a bomb disposal expert by any means - like, tailgate risks both his own life and everyone else’s, just because he wont come clean about his real job - that's some [chefs kiss] characterization right there, I love it

augh I love how he prompts rewind, who of COURSE would have some idea about this as an archivist, for help, and rewind doesn't have any idea that tailgate’s even more clueless than him

but tg, being a generally good person, still tells rewind he should proooooobably stand clear - just in case!!!!! 

and then rewind whips out some marriage issues and tg is like ooookay then lol

cyclonus just stabbing people w/his hands....icon

whirl quoting the raw ass line ‘you, who are without mercy, now plead for it?’ nice

swerve. WHY would you point a gun AT YOUR OWN FACE. especially a gun made by BRAINSTORM. why did anybody let swerve handle firearms if this is how he does it. actually, why did anyone give swerve a gun after the thing w/rung. jesus yall. so not only are hipaa laws basically non-existent on cybertron, but gun safety is a rarely-taught thing as well. no wonder yall have issues

so cd must not like cyclonus bc cyclonus was the one who attacked kimia, where cd worked. right?? am I remembering tfwiki correctly? lmao 

OOOOF cd saying he was born w/out innermost....I cant remember, is it canon or just extrapolation that that isn't true, and rather it was that cd gave all his innermost energon away w/his previous husbands and whatnot, but he doesn't remember since he forgot about them? either way, oof

all the functionist history stuff is so INTERESTING...I could read an entire comic about just like, pre-war when the functionists were just taking over

tg saying he hates dominus - is that that tweet from jro where somebody asked him why tg said that, and jro basically said ‘he’s petty and jealous’ lol I fucking love it. I love how a character like tailgate, who is very ‘pure’/innocent, has flaws as well

cd has a good point - its hard to kill tfs. so, that makes it extra fucking depressing that cd was seeking out death to that extent

gahhhh the whole rewind-dominus thing is so INTERESTING - I love how vague things are...we only hear about dominus from other people’s perspectives; mainly rewind who clearly thought highly of him, but he’s obviously biased, so it’s hard to tell what dominus was REALLY like, especially with the unavoidable power gap between rewind and dominus...UGH its so interesting

oof, the whole dynamic of cd thinking that rewind cares more about dominus - dominus the ghost, and finding out what happened to him in general - than chromedome himself, is just so Ouch

and the fact that cd thinks that the SOLE reason that rewind is going into battle is so he can look for dominus, but tg makes a good point - rewind is likely also worried abt cd’s safety, especially after dominus disappeared how he did - rewind is probably terrified that the same thing will happen w/cd, bc rewind cares about cd just as much as he cared/cares about dominus, but cd cant see that. AUGHHHH the Complexity!! mannnn

HHHH and like I adore that this first gay couple we get isn't perfect, and that's OKAY bc they’re not The Gay Rep, we get plenty of other gays with their own 3-dimensional relationships....augh bruh it Gets me ok

AHHHHHHHHHH THE OVERLORD STUFF. AUGHHHHHH

who was that talking to cd?? I don't remember....it must've been drift, I think? or maybe brainstorm...

whirl :’) I mean, we find out later that its kinda his fault that rewind was blown up, but still, him putting his own life at risk to save rewind...aww

cyclonus be nice to tg, he’s trying to give you his cool baja blast innermost energon

CYCLONUS BE NICE :( :( :( 

we gotta have our slowburn, tho....OOOOUGH

hhhh and then cyclonus like, realizes how much of a dick he’s being and goes back to help tg.... ;_; 

cyclonus my man u are lucky that tailgate is so forgiving

and then we have whirl and cyclonus, which is another relationship i LOVE. their development is just...[chefs kiss]

cyc just grabbing tg by the head and YEETING him out the door...lmao

cyclonus’s extremely detailed threat to whirl came at like, the WORST possible time lmao 

alternatively, rewind unfortunately asked the worst two people for help at the worst time

also alternatively, tg defusing his first bomb ever based on instructions from another amateur was maybe not the best move

and of course whirl just deciding to lock cyclonus (and rewind whoops) in with a bomb lmao

the requisite to joining the lost light is that you have to be a complete disaster of a person, on some level 

cyclonus shielding rewind ;_; 

fucking love how they managed to have a cliffhanger w/the bomb going off, despite us seeing exactly what the outcome of that was earlier in this very issue. brilliant

ah, issue 12, the issue that officially canonized the gays and introduced us to a whole bunch of worldbuilding on cybertronian relationships. i love it! plus we have some fascinating backstory and some cool character stuff, and relationship development for tg and cyclonus. awesome stuff!

up next: humansona business! oh fuck yeah