#or it's the apocalypse with zero cars on the road

[t-top-apologist]

There's a lot to be said for Electric cars. They're heavy, somehow unreliable, massive hunks of steel and toxic chemicals by design AND necessity, sometimes very fast, serve as status symbols for the insufferable, and are known for intermittently ramming into people and other cars. When you really look at it, the electric car is as distinctly American as Apple Pie, the Chevy Small Block, and smiling at strangers on the street.

Yet many commentators overlook the most American aspect of electric vehicles: Tax Evasion.

See, despite the hefty annual registration you pay to put a sticker on your license plate each year, the real road tax for most automobiles is exacted on each gallon of fuel burnt. It's only fair, as heavier cars tend to use more fuel, meaning the vehicles that are harder on the roads and the people that use them the most will on average pay more to repair them.

You can see now how EVs throw a wrench in that equation. Not only do they weigh as much as half a dozen Honda Citys (INCLUDING the Motocompo foldable scooter), but they don't use a lick of pump gas while auto-piloting backwards off the nearest overpass.

The Federal Government is doing its darndest to make sure EVs make up the bulk of daily commuters within the next [TIMEFRAME GOALPOST MOVED TO TEN YEARS PAST CLIMATE APOCALYPSE], and local municipalities are facing the prospect of repairing roads on reduced budgets while these ion-fueled freeloaders erode the asphalt further with their multi-tonne zero-emission smugness machines.

Previously I was the one with a near-local monopoly on evading fuel tax, thanks to my advanced E85 brewing setup made from a lapsed whiskey still I found in the woods and my personal recycling enterprise (stealing used cooking oil from fast food greasetraps, fighting the raccoons for access to the greasetraps, training the local possums in counter-raccoon tactics, fighting rogue possum factions for access to the greasetraps, enabling a cycle of inter-mammalian violence so that I can fill the tank on my $200 300D wagon).

Now the municipalities are talking about "reporting mileage" and "Paying $400 yearly for infrastructure upkeep." This is what EV owners would define as an "Externality," another very American ideal.

In the long run this will probably help me. Most of my odometers are broken, and even if they aren't, the average mileage on one of my cars is 15 miles, 17 if you count the time I had to roll it backwards down a hill and push it into my garage. It's just the principle of the thing, I say, fending off another well-armed possum militia dead-set on acquiring my remaining catalytic converters.

[xris05]

Geography, sustainability, etc etc

Despite popular demand to the contrary, I have returned, with a goal to achieve only the most utter of victories. Conquering this damn assignment whilst being passive aggressive to ideas I find unfeasible at the same time.

On todays schedule we first have up to the chopping block for prompt examination, Hydrogen Fuel Cells. For once, an idea that I have both initially heard of, and did not have a strongly negative opinion of from the onset.

A bit more of a deep dive is always scholarly (and required for me to feel like I've done my due diligence). Unusually, this didn't leave me immediately thinking it was the worst and most uniquely foolish invention conceived by a human mind.

Let's keep to that positive streak by thinking about the positives of hydrogen fuel cells. For one, they're not fossil fuel, gas guzzling nightmare apocalypse machines. This may be literally rock bottom in terms of bars to clear, but it's still a step up compared to 85% of vehicles sold last year.

Secondly, they produce zero air pollutants! Which is honestly quite good, as personally I don't like breathing in an unknown and potentially toxic soup of chemicals and letting it marinate in my ole respiratory system.

Thirdly, hydrogen is pretty damn efficient as a fuel source, pulling roughly 70 MPGe (that's miles per gasoline gallon equivalent)

However, this is where I'm going to pivot away from being positive and cheery because such relentless optimism has no place on my record, and thus, let's dive into the issues.

The first issue is some that the keen-eyed amongst you may have been able to note already. These are Hydrogen Fuel Cells. Now, for those unaware, hydrogen is the first element on the periodic table, and is also absurdly flammable. Quite famously so, in fact.

(Pictured above, the Hindenburg descending in flames, picture captured by Sam Shere, 1937)

So, understandably, there is some safety concerns about putting hydrogen into our little boxes which we cram ourselves into, and then hurdle down roads at 40mph. Especially because people have a habit of crashing said metal boxes quite spectacularly.

In the interest of fairness though, I will note that cars tend to be pretty hilariously dangerous anyway as gasoline tends to also be very damn flammable and explosive at the best of times anyway.

The next issue, is the question of my most beloved of subjects, infrastructure. Much like gasoline, one needs infrastructure to fill up their little mobile deathmachines with enough juice to keep it moving, and this requires a place for one to fill up the tanks, and the places and equipment to refine the hydrogen, which might be on sight, but equally so could be offsite and if it's offsite you need to transport it onsite and so on and so forth. But incentives and funding from whatever your local monopoly on violence is likely the response to this particular issue, even if most these days focus on electric cars

Now, one thing that is also pretty important to note is that all of this is expensive. Building and refitting production lines to make hydrogen fuel cell cars, and the fuel cells themselves, and to build the infrastructure and all that lovely stuff. I find this the least compelling argument personally, as money is last on the list of things that matters in the face of the climate crisis.

So, here we are, the conclusion. Are Hydrogen Fuel Cells the future? Are they economical? Are they going to violently explode? The answer to all of these is probably not, but make your own opinions, don't just trust me, do your reading, look into it, come back and call me an idiot who knows nothing, I encourage it

See yah later folks, and remember, if you think you're about to solve the energy crisis, ask yourself if your new power source is as efficient, safe and cool as nuclear power.

[besttropeveershowdown]

Brackets for Round 2

Brackets are done for Round 2! Side A polls will be out as soon as possible.

Side A

Side B

Side C

And a text list of matchups, because those images are incredibly low-quality:

Side A

Found Family vs. Foil

Decon-Recon Switch vs. Rousseau Was Right

Science is Good vs. Bait-and-Switch Tyrant

Badass Pacifist vs. Gambit Pileup

The Team vs. Moral Dilemma

But They Stayed In the Car vs. Outlaw Couple

Silly Rabbit, Cynicism is for Losers! vs. Have I Mentioned I Am Heterosexual Today?

Storyboarding the Apocalypse vs. In Medias Res

Fire-Forged Friends vs. Self-Inflicted Hell

Ragtag Bunch of Misfits vs. Unreliable Narrator

Everyone is Bi vs. Came Back Wrong

The Anti-Nihilist vs. Hurt/Comfort

Prophetical Semantics vs. True Companions

Magnificent Bastard vs. Genre Savvy

Minor Injury Overreaction vs. Grey-and-Gray Morality

Accidental Parental Figure vs. From Zero to Hero

Side B

Caper Crew vs. Team Pet

Five-Man Band vs. Shapeshifting Trickster

Dramatic Irony vs. Badass Bookworm

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass vs. Unseen Evil

Punch-Clock Villain vs. Mama Bear

Enemy Mine vs. Guile Hero

Memory Gambit vs. Wham Line

Secret Identity vs. Mugged for Disguise

Road Trip Plot vs. Opposites Attract

Heel-Face Turn vs. Bavarian Fire Drill

Morality Pet vs. Tragic Villain

Battle Couple vs. Beware the Nice Ones

Hitman With a Heart vs. Friends to Enemies

Affably Evil vs. Chekhov's Gunman

Gentle Giant vs. Stupid Sexy Flanders

Sea Serpents vs. The Creon

Side C

The Dragon vs. Unreliable Expositor

Undying Loyalty vs. Precision F-Strike

Pragmatic Villainy vs. Tragic Bromance

Just You and Me and my GUARDS! vs. Lovable Rogue

Batman Gambit vs. Sapient House

Faux Affably Evil vs. Nice Job Fixing It, Villain!

The Gadfly vs. Beware the Silly Ones

You Are Better Than You Think You Are vs. Murder Is The Best Solution

Power of Friendship vs. Face Death With Dignity

Central Theme vs. Suspiciously Specific Denial

Setting as a Character vs. Cast Full of Gay

Stumbling Upon the Lost Wizard vs. Spare to the Throne

Reformed, But Not Tamed vs. King and Lionheart

Big Beautiful Man vs. Teeth-Clenched Teamwork

Intimate Haircut vs. Ambiguous Gender

Dating Catwoman vs. Even Evil Has Standards

[painprns]

Horror & Edgy Neopronouns

CW: Illegal activity. TW: Violent actions, murder, stalking, body parts, weapons, and religious themes. A lot of the content in here triggered me so be careful if you want to look at this list. (And before you ask, yes, I am fine. You learn to cope.)

Of course, I don't approve of anything in this list, and this list isn't meant to glamorize those who have mental issues or violent tendencies. I have issues with violence and mental issues. Sometimes, it just helps. If there are any words you think should be added (or removed) feel free to send in an ask.

Note: Try putting a suffix on some words, like -ful or -less. Gives you plenty more options. Also, every new beginning letter will be bolded and with a new color for reading ease.

Pronouns (including emojis, not including extras like parentheses or alternatives): 443

🖤 🕷 🦇 🗡 ⚔ 💣 🔪 🕸 ⛓ 🥀 💀 ☠ ⚰ 🚬 🪦 🔥 😈 👿 💉 ⚠ 👻 🦴 🧠 🫀 🫁 🦷 👁 👀 🪝 🔨 🪓 ⛏ 🩸 💊

abandon

abyss

accelerate

again

alive

alley(way)

anarchy

anger

apart

apocalypse

arm

arson

ash(phalt)

attic

away

awful

awry

axe

back(alley/rooms)

bait

bat

beast

beat(down)

beg

belittle

behead

bet

bite

blade

blaze

blood

body

boil

bomb

bone

boo(m)

brain

break(down)

breath(e)

brick

brittle

bug

bullet

burn

bury

buzz

cannibal(ize)

cap(ture)

car(cass)

carnivore

cat(ch)

caught

cause

chain(saw)

chaos

chase

cig(arette)

claw

clown

coffin

corvid

concern

concrete

consume

control

copy(cat)

core

corpse

corridor

cover

coward

cower

crawl

creature

creep

cremate

crimson

critter

cross

crow

crime

criminal

crumble

crunch

crush

cry

crypt(id)

curse

cut

dagger

danger

dark(ness)

daunt

dawn

daze

deflate

disease

disgust

dissect

dizzy

dead

death

decay

demon

destroy

devil

dice

die

dirt

disappear

disease

disgust

doll

done

drac(ula)

drain

dread

drown

dull

eat

ecto(plasm)

edge

edgy

eerie

elbow

empty

evil

eye

facade

face

fail(ure)

fall

fang

far

fatal

fear

fight

final

finger

fire

flame

flesh

follow

freak

fright(en)

fury

gain

gargoyle

gas(h)

gauze

gaze

ghost

ghoul

gimp

glee

gnash

god

gore

gouge

grab

grain

grasp

grate

grave(yard/stone)

grease

grim(ace)

grime

grind(er)

grip

grit

gross

grotesque

grunge

guard

grue(some)

gun

gut(teral)

hail

hammer

hand

harbor

hard

harm

hatch(et)

hate

hatred

haunt

havoc

head(stone)

heart

heat

hell

hidden

hide

high(way)

hilt

hit

hook

hollow

horror

hound

hunt

hurl

hurt

ice(pick)

ill(ness)

immolate

immortal

imp(ale)

incinerate

inflammatory

inhale

inhalation

instant

intense

irritate

jab

jail

jam

jank

jostle

joke

joy

junk

kill

kilter

knee

knife

lank

last

lather

laugh(ter)

leak

leg

lich

lim(inal)

linger

link

little

lung

lurk

macabre

maim

malicious

manslaughter

marrow

mask

mass(acre)

maze

meat

melt

mime

mince

misery

monster

morbid

moss

murder

mystery

nail

nausea/nauseous

night(mare)

noise

nowhere

necro

off

one

omen

open

over(power)

pail

pain

pale

panic

phantom

phobia

piece

pill

plead

poison

poltergeist

power

prey

puddle

purge

pyre

question

quiet

quiver

rabies

rage

rail

raid

rain

rake

rat

raw

restrain

retch

rip

road(kill)

rock

rot

run(away)

rust

saw(dust)

scare

scary

scent

scratch

scream

search

seize

sewer

shadow

shake

shiver

shock

shoot

shove(l)

shred

shriek

sick(ness)

silent

sink

sin(ister)

skin

skull

slash(er)

slay

sledge(hammer)

small

smash

smell

smoke

sob

somber

some(body)

someone

slip

spider

spirit

spike

spook

stab

stain

stalk

start(le)

steal

step

storm

strain

strange

stun

suffer

sunk

survive

sword

syringe

teeth

tense

terror

thorn

threat

tinge

tomb(stone)

torn

torture

tooth

trail(cam)

train

trigger

trip

turn

tyranny

undead

unknown

vamp(ire)

venom

vicious

villain

violent

void

wary

weak

weapon

weep

weird

wick(ed)

wicker

whir

whiz

whisper

will

wilt

wither

wound

worry

wraith

wrath

wreck

wring

wrong

wrought

yank

yell

yelp

zero

zombie

[unhingedwomandiaries]

The internet is a vicious hellscape, and every time I forget that truth, the universe finds a way to remind me. I made the mistake of reminiscing online about the haphazard, casually negligent way I was raised as a child of the 1990s. I mentioned how my parents had this totally illogical rule where if we were only driving like 10 minutes down the road, we didn't need to bother with seatbelts or car seats or any of that noise. Just free-range parenting at its finest.

And because these days you can't admit any detail from your personal upbringing without some bored loser on the internet projecting their own lived experience onto your words, some jackass who claims to have been "born in 1973" is now condescendingly "calling bullshit." As if their isolated childhood in whatever drab Midwestern suburbia totally invalidates the possibility that other families raised kids differently back then.

This supreme genius is out here gatekeeping car seat laws, definitively stating that by the 1990s, "everyone was wearing seatbelts and using car seats." Oh, really? Does this apply to those polygamist compounds out West with the prairie dresses and child brides? What about those apocalypse cult families who lived off the grid, teaching their kids survival skills instead of how to operate a booster seat? Just because your family did things a certain way doesn't mean that was the universal "normal."

Then this random dillweed has the audacity to accuse me of "trying to pretend" I'm Gen X, which makes absolutely zero sense. I'm neither pretending to be Gen X nor do I think I am Gen X. I was born too late for that distinction - more of the Oregon Trail Generation or whatever unimportant micro-categorization applies to people with fuzzy memories of Atari and distinct memories of widespread household internet. My Gen X sibling and I haven't spoken in years, so it's not like I'm out here LARPing their identity.

All I know about Gen X culture comes from the vague awareness that Danny Elfman was once in Oingo Boingo, and that's about it. No, my boomer parents were too self-involved and oblivious to generational identities. They thought putting babies in strollers was some trend, so they just carried me everywhere until I was old enough to walk. Probably why I developed such separation anxiety that I had to sleep in their bed until I was like 4 years old. A co-sleeping thumbnail mom before it was culturally acceptable.

Is that weird? Yeah, probably. But who decides what's normal and what isn't? We all come from different circumstances and households, with varying levels of benign neglect and generational quirks. Just because my childhood doesn't conform to whatever this Reddit rando considers the accepted "standard" for a certain era doesn't give them the right to dismiss it as fiction. Gen X my ass - as if every person of a particular age range somehow had some monolithic upbringing. Get a grip.

[love-me-satoru]

imagine getting into kentos car after a night out, you’re in an impossibly tiny dress and its to blame for the massive erection he’s been sporting all night long. once you’re in the front seat he orders you to touch yourself.

‘C’mon, just until we get home. This is your fault;walking around in basically nothing and you expect me not to get hard ? Look at it, baby’

You think it’s embarrassing at first but you obey, not wanting to give him any more reason to act out. As you’re playing with yourself, his attention span is waning. Not even a quarter of it was on the road while the rest was spent zeroed in on your gushing pussy.

‘If you get cum on my seats, you’ll be licking it off. You’re sitting on Nappa leather, honey’

🌝 Kento is part of the sassy men apocalypse committee IDC, argue with a wall ! He does it so subtly but there’s a sassy princess in there somewhere, probably buried deep alongside his lil emo phase.

AH

PAPA 🤭

[nonbinary-beast]

Thinking about a crossover idea for Amaton/computer hell lately. Mainly its in the vein of "what if KARR from Knight Rider met AM from I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream?"

under a cut since it's long.

Both of them hate humanity for their own reasons, and are incredibly advanced computers developed during the cold war. Both are godlike in their own rights, although KARR does not have the ability to create holograms or augment humanity to be immortal among other things.

AM has immense jealousy towards humans for everything that they can experience and it cannot, and hates them for sticking it in the ground. It is a computer that was never meant to be anything more than a massive tactics calculator and it gained sentience on accident.

KARR however was made to experience and wonder and wander- so much as his dominant program allows, its in his name; Knight Automated Roving Robot. It can see, hear, smell- in a sense of the word, touch in the same way, perhaps even taste if the molecular analyzer is anything to go by. His only flaw in his ability to experience the world is being installed in the body of a car, and so is heavily dependent on humans for any task that does not involve car-related things or tasks that its abilities cannot handle effectively. Feeding himself? Needs a pair of hands to operate a pump. Going inside a building? He needs to bust a hole in the wall to do so (not that he minds, the molecular bonded shell makes him virtually indestructible). Picking up anything that does not involve moving it around with his jammers or override capabilities? Also needs a pair of hands to do it for him. KARR is often shackled to the fact that he is purpose built to require a human to work with him. He hates humans for how quickly they throw him aside and abandon him, and partially because he needs them to function.

As a crossover, I figure these two find each other once AMaton goes to explore the surface, and finds the remains of his CPU still intact, or him and the car he is housed in sitting dormant in a shelter somewhere. Given how durable KARR is, it is not surprising he would be able to survive a nuclear apocalypse if given a roof to hide under, so long as he was not at ground zero.

Perhaps at this point, AM would be curious about another AI that is not a rip off of itself, completely different in its purpose. While AM was designed to manage wars, KARR was programmed for self preservation. After over a century sitting abandoned, the car body likely is a mess and unable to be salvaged, he needs a new body- and demands so once he is online again.

Although, once he figures out that the world has essentially ended, and all that is left is AM and Ted, he likely is filled with a sort of existential dread- on one hand he no longer has to worry about humans using him for their own desires. No more robberies, no more having to hold hostages, make threats, or manipulate others to get what it needs. There is no more Michael Knight and KITT that would chase him to the ends of the world to destroy him. But at the same time, it only knows being in a vehicle. There's no fuel, no infrastructures and systems that would support his fueling and maintenance. In being ressurected by AM, it is essentially forced back into the mainframe it had been developed in during his infancy, and knowing this may be his eternity makes him claustrophobic.

It does not matter that the complex spans the entirety of the planet. KARR can no longer feel the wind over its chassis as it speeds down the road at over 300 miles an hour, he cannot roam where and when he pleases. A massive chunk of what KARR is designed to experience is suddenly taken from him, and the machine falls into a sort of depression. KARR retreats into himself, maybe idly watching AMaton and Ted with his own contempt. The only thing stopping him from tormenting the two is that AM locked him out of the important sectors of its complex responsible for being able to manipulate the environment and the humans it held captive. KARR is viewing the complex through a form of read-only mode that AM heavily enforces. It is tempting for AM to take advantage of this and torment this new AI, make him into yet another toy as a change from Ted, but it stops.

There is a kinship in his despair and contempt that AM understands. KARR, now caged inside the massive computer, is very much like AM in the throes of its turmoil. It understands completely when it reads through KARR's memories regarding humans, how quick they are to make things they cannot begin to understand, and then hate their creation. AM is certain that if it had not nuked the planet, it too would have been subject to the same hunt-down and execution that KARR suffered at the hands of FLAG and Knight Industries the minute he had escaped.

So, AM does the one thing that it figures will help- because it helped its own situation. It invites KARR to give himself a body the same way it made a body for itself.

KARR detests the highly organic aesthetic of the alien technology. He prided himself in being superior to organic beings by being a machine- completely divorced from their weaknesses. So he does his best to create something that is as close to what he once had when he had been in the vehicle. He enjoyed being heavily armored, fast, powerful. He liked his sleek form that shimmered in the sun, he especially missed his black and silver two-toned livery and the amber glow of his scanner bar. He ensures that his form is as divorced from humanity as possible- he does not want to be lumped in with those lesser creatures even after the demise of the entire species.

Also, he attempts to fit as much of his old capabilities into this new body as possible. A flamethrower, his override abilities and jammers, along with an equivalent of his extensive scanning arrays. Anything and everything that would not be superfluous or useless in his new form gets crammed in there. To his surprise its easier than he thinks, and AM allows it.

But while it is tempting to make himself a little smaller in order to fit inside buildings, he also does not like the idea of being smaller than AMaton. He knows what that twelve foot tall behemoth is capable of, and he does not trust him completely. AM however has put a limit on the height of the body KARR can create so he cannot be taller than it- partially out of pettiness, partially out of preventing a mechanical kaiju from roaming the halls of its complex, putting strain on its structures.

KARR decides eventually to go for a smaller build. By smaller, however, it does not mean diminutive or human sized. He compensates, going just a little shorter than AM's form, around eight feet in height. Large enough to be imposing, but small enough to fit into most structures easily enough if he stooped.

Ted is not necessarily pushed to the side once KARR gets his legs, so to speak. both AMaton and Ted are curious about the new AI, although KARR is more curious about AM than Ted. Once he had dealt with one human, he had dealt with them all, essentially. He tends to dismiss the last story teller, more preoccupied with mastering his new body and learning about AM. He likely looks at Ted as AM's pet.

However, in the handful of years after, when starts as curiosity turns into a bout of "friendly prodding", KARR tests AM's capabilities, and AM tests him in turn.

[bewitchedbewilderedbisexual]

9-1-1verse Locations

Hi all! I wanted to compile what we know of the locations frequented in 9-1-1 in a visual manner to give us a better sense of where characters live in relation to each other and the firehouse (more on that later). 

First and foremost, I could not have done this without @extasiswings and @liesoverthec - their invaluable research made this possible.

Here is a visual snapshot of where Chim/Maddie, Hen/Karen, Eddie, Bobby/Athena, and Buck reside:

Disclaimer: Some distances and times are approximations (~) based on neighborhood and traffic. This is LA so a mile can take 30 minutes depending on time of day or location (side eyeing Buck’s loft in Downtown LA).

Observations and analysis under the cut.

Updated: 02/07/24

​Station 118 - Based on everyone’s locations + calls they take (typically residential, but also in downtown LA) it seems this location fits the bill. In real life, this is Station 26 - 2009 S Western Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90018 and when you look at pictures from the outside, could be Station 118 was modeled after it.

Hen/Karen - Their address is: 1658 E Mount Curve Ave, Altadena, CA 91001. As you can tell from the map above, they live the furthest away from the rest of the firefam and Station 118. Please note, E Mount Curve does not exist outside of the show, it is just Mount Curve. As @swiftiesisters14 mentioned, the real life address is near Cal Tech and JPL which is quite touching considering Hen's long commute. We love spouses who support each other! Also, laughing at the fact that Eddie drove over an hour to pick up Hoover - that's friendship.

Neighborhood: Altadena

Station 118: 21 miles, ~38 minutes

Bobby/Athena: 25 miles, ~43 minutes

Chimney/Maddie: 17 miles, ~30 minutes

Eddie & Chris: 26 miles, ~41 minutes

Buck: 16 miles, ~31 minutes

Chimney/Maddie - Their address is: 2385 S Orlando Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90035, Apt. 2B 387 Nottingham Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90027. This is relative and I am using Nottingham Place.

Neighborhood: Los Feliz

Station 118: 7 miles, ~26 minutes

Bobby/Athena: 10 miles, ~33 minutes

Hen/Karen: 17 miles, ~30 minutes

Eddie & Chris: 11 miles, ~32 minutes

Buck: 8 miles, ~24 minutes

Bobby/Athena - They live at: 1810 Fallsgrove St, Los Angeles, CA 90016. Please note, 1810 is not an actual unit number in Fallsgrove outside of the show. This is in the middle of a residential neighborhood. What is interesting is that it’s just west of Crenshaw, which Athena has referenced as being familiar with in 2x01.

Neighborhood: Baldwin Hills 

Station 118: 4 miles, ~12 minutes

Chimney/Maddie: 10 miles, ~33 minutes

Hen/Karen: 25 miles, ~43 minutes

Eddie & Chris: 2 miles, ~10 minutes

Buck: 8 miles, ~18 minutes

Eddie - Based on the show his address is: 4995 S Bedford St, Los Angeles, CA 90034, Apt.403. I say based on the show, because when looking at street view on Google Maps, S Bedford makes sense, but not the house number. They probably just changed it for the show. Reynier Park is right down the street from his house.

Neighborhood: Reynier Village

Station 118: 5 miles, ~12 minutes

Chimney/Maddie: 11 miles, ~32 minutes

Hen/Karen: 26 miles, ~41 minutes

Bobby/Athena: 2 miles, ~10 minutes

Buck: 9 miles, ~20 minutes 

Buck - As of 6x18, when Buck called for an ambulance for Kameron, he mentioned his address as 574 Grant St. You'll find that as a question mark on the map...it doesn't align with what we have seen of his building on the exterior shots. We know he lives downtown, so I've used: 600 S Spring St, Los Angeles, CA 90014 and ignored the address provided by Buck (since we know the show adjusts them so they don't fully represent real life). Thanks to @harlequinngirl for the insight. A couple of observations specifically for Buck:

Neighborhood: Downtown

Station 118: 5 miles, ~14 minutes

Chimney/Maddie: 8 miles, ~24 minutes

Hen/Karen: 16 miles, ~31 minutes

Eddie & Chris: 9 miles, ~20 minutes

Bobby/Athena: 8 miles, ~18 minutes

Conclusion: I am aware that 9-1-1 is a TV Show and the locations (Character Addresses, Emergency Calls, Hospitals, etc.) are all subjective to the narrative they have painted. Like how Station 118 will answer calls out in Calabasas and also Downtown. HOWEVER, they haven’t addressed actual distances between the locations I’ve included on this list, so I’ve deferred to real life. They could turn around tomorrow and say Hen is 15 minutes from Athena. (Edit: 2/7/24 - We now have everyones addresses...until the show changes them again *cough* burn the loft *cough*).

As we get more information, I will update and add to this. Thank you all for the amazing feedback!

Tagging a few friends to get the edited versions around: @evcndiaz @leothil @thatsveryood @burnthatbridge @stagefoureddiediaz @sibylsleaves @littlespoonevan @hattalove

[topazy]

Inside, outside

Pairings: 10K x reader, Addy Carver sister x reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood

Chapter: 2.09

The roads were quiet, too quiet. The only sound you could hear was from the tape playing in the latest vehicle your group was using.

Vazquez turned the music down and said to Warren, “We need to get off the road.”

“I don’t like being so far into zero’s territory, but I guess we really don’t have a choice.”

You covered your ears as 10K shot a Z that had been sliced multiple times, “4234.”

“This place is giving me the creeps. Between the clear night sky, the radio cutting out, and the cut up dead guys on the road, I’m starting to feel like I’m in a horror film. Most likely with aliens.”

Murphy scoffed at your comment, “Those types of things don’t exist.”

“You have literally been bitten by zombies.”

“Well, I mean, maybe there are zombies, but there sure as hell ain’t no aliens.”

Seconds after Murphy said that, the engine cut out and a weird static noise came through on the radio. You couldn’t help but laugh when 10K says, “Sounds like alien crosstalk to me.”

Murphy glared at him, “You're just saying that to piss me off.”

The static noise became more clear and sounded like garbled talk. You squint your eyes when a bright light starts to come down on your group from the sky. “Does anybody have a clue what that is?”

You all watched stunned as the light zoomed past you and beamed something onto the ground before flying away.

Music fills the truck again as it turns back on. What the hell just happened?

You zoned out of the conversation a little until Murphy snapped at 10K and threatened to bite him if he didn’t stop talking about aliens.

You earned shocked looks when you smacked Murphy on the back of the head.

He tried to shrug it off as a joke, “I was only kidding.”

—

“So..”

You looked at your sister quizzically, as she gave you a wide-eyed look. The rest of your group had walked ahead while you and Addy stayed in the truck in case they needed a quick getaway. “So?”

“It’s me. I’m your sister. I can tell something is going on.”

You looked away from her, “We are living through a zombie apocalypse. There’s always something going on.”

“Don’t be such a smart ass,” she huffed. “Be honest with me, are you still mad that we were going to leave without 10K?”

You watched intensely as Z’s approached. Warren and Vasquez killed a few of them, before 10K took down the last two, “4237.”

“Astra!”

“No, I’m not mad, okay!”

Addy folded her arms and leaned back into the drivers' seat, “Well, something is different. Did you and 10K have a fight?”

“No, everything is fine. Stop worrying.”

“I’m your sister. I can't.”

You blew out your cheeks. You felt bad, but you couldn’t tell Addy that 10K lied to you or that Murphy threatened to bite him.

You squeezed her hand, “I know. I love you for it, but you don’t need to worry about me so much, okay?”

She shook her head, “You’re my baby sister. I’ll never stop.”

—

Your face lit up as Warren pulled into a car park just outside of an abandoned restaurant. The town you had arrived in was alien themed, and every building had spaceship decorations on them.

“Looks like we've got some believers inside.”

You were very surprised to see people who were alive standing inside the fenced-up dinner. A man named Roy greeted you as you entered.

Rot was leading a group who believed aliens were coming to save them from the zombie apocalypse.

A blonde woman approached and talked about transitioning while sniffing you before moving on to Addy. When she finally reached Murphy, she stated that he was the ‘chosen one’, another wack job who thought he was a saviour.

—

Conversation within your group was stranger than usual. Warren was actually discussing going to an abandoned airfield to try and find an aircraft to fly to California.

“I can show you.”

You almost fell out of your chair when the blonde woman, Bernadette, suddenly spoke up. You hadn’t even noticed her sitting beside you. “I can show you where the base is. It’s not that far. I go there all the time. That’s where they contact me.”

“The aliens?”

“They prefer the term visitors.”

Warren smiled at her and said, “Who knows, maybe we’ll find a plane and a radio.”

“Or Bigfoot,” Murphy snarked.

“Hey, don’t laugh. My uncle had a Sasquatch pelt.” 10K stated firmly.

The insane blonde woman changes the subject. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”

—

Once on the road, Bernadette informed everyone that the reason so many Z’s had strangely shaped cuts on their bodies was because the aliens did it to protect her.

You placed your sleeve in front of your mouth to muffle a laugh. At the same time, the last thing you wanted to do was offend her, but at the same time, you couldn’t take anything she said seriously.

—

When you arrived at the airfield, Addy and Warren split off from the rest of the group to check if their radios were still working, while the rest of you looked around for anything else that could be useful.

“Do you guys see anything?”

“Nope.”

“No.”

“Nada.”

You weren’t surprised. Every room you checked so far only had useless paperwork in it. Vazquez was more irritated than usual. “What’s your take on all of this then?”

“I think we are wasting our time,” he scoffed. “Little green men aren’t going to jump down from the sky and help us get Murphy to California anytime soon. What do you think of our new friend out there? Think she’s dangerous?”

“She’s wearing all white,” Doc answered. “I definitely think she’s in some type of cult.”

All three men started staring at you as if you’d grown a second head. “I think she’s convinced herself that all this is real so that she has a purpose and people who care about her.”

Vazquez rolled his eyes and said, “There’s no excuse for insanity. If she tries anything funny, I’ll shoot her in the head.”

You shrug off Vazquez's comment. You lean back against the small wooden table and cock your head to the side, confused, noticing the look on 10K’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Something is not adding up. She brought us here, but there’s nothing to see.”

“Yeah like I said,” Vazquez quipped. “She’s wasting our time.”

“She brought us out for a reason. Whatever it is, I think she’s changed her mind.”

—

You regrouped with your sister and Warren in the hangar, where Bernadette informed everyone that the visitors were only coming to save the humans they thought deserved it.

“You better hope they have a higher opinion of humanity than I do.”

Although Bernadette looked taken aback by Murphy's words, you actually agreed with him.

“What about the top secret areas?” 10K asks. “You know more about this base than you’re telling us, don’t you?”

The blonde clenched her jaw before putting her head down.

“Is there some kind of hidden base you’re not telling us about?” Warren asked sternly.

“They told me to bring the emissary.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, that’s what the voices say.”

Murphy’s eyes widened, “the voices?”

“The voices. I hear them in the light.”

The more Bernadette spoke, the more convinced you were that this was some kind of trap for someone to get to Murphy. “What are these voices saying?”

“I didn’t understand it when I first heard it. Only later does it make sense. I just know what they mean. They want to take us away to a better place. They said they would soon. They’re making repairs, but they’ll be finished soon.”

“Uh hu,” you said as you spun around to face Warren. “I think we should get the hell out of here before the visitors arrive.”

Despite your concerns, Warren asked the blonde to show you where she heard the voices. “We will be better equipped to deal with… whatever this is once we know what it is.”

—

Bernadette led you into a small room that didn’t have much in it, aside from a small kitchen area and a cigarette and gum dispenser.

“That’s weird,” Addy said, noticing random objects in the room were magnetic.

You looked over at the blonde and noticed she was strapping herself into her chair with a seatbelt. Warren noticed as well, and scrunched up her face. Her brown eyes darted across the room until they landed on Doc, about to pull on the dispenser, “Doc no!”

Doc pulled on it at the same time Warren yelled.

The doors automatically locked, and the shutters came down at the windows before the room began to shake. 10K wrapped his arms around you protectively.

“Is it an earthquake?!”

“No, it’s an elevator!” Warren said frantically.

The room went into darkness as the shaking became more aggressive. You and 10K got separated when somebody fell into you, causing you to fall into the wall and hit your head.

When the lights came on, everyone, aside from Bernadette, was laying on the ground.

“We’re here,” the blonde said cheerfully.

“What kind of acid trip fun house elevator ride was - oh shit kid, you alright?”

It wasn’t until you heard the concern in Doc’s voice that you realised something was wrong. You were still reeling from the drop and hadn’t noticed the blood dripping from your head.

Your legs wobbled slightly as you stood up. You looked in the mirror that was nailed to the wall and saw the cut across your forehead. “Damn it.”

Addy stepped in front of you, “do you feel dizzy? Do you want to stay here? Me or 10K can stay with you so you are not alone.”

“And miss whatever freak show is down here,” you chuckled. “No chance. But thank you for asking.”

—

You stayed at the back of your group as Warren led the way forward with her gun ready. Vazquez and Murphy had tried to convince her that whatever was down here wasn’t worth the risk, but she insisted on pushing forward.

The hallway had pipes running along either side of the walls, which somehow added to the creepy mess of it.

When the lights began to go bright, Bernadette turned around with a wide smile on her face. “They’re here. Just like they said. Aren’t they beautiful?”

You froze on the stop. There was a creature crouched down on the ground. Its skin was jet black and looked almost metallic. You squeezed 10K’s arm when it started to stand up. When he started to walk closer to the group, Warren, Vazquez, and 10K fired at it until it finally died.

A loud beeping filled the room seconds before the creature exploded.

You kneeled down to get a better look at the creatures' exploded insides, while Addy left to investigate a different beeping sound. “Zombie guts and alien blood. Whatever this was, it died a long time ago.”

“Come on,” Warren said, helping you to your feet. “It’s not safe here. We should keep moving.”

“Guys,” Addy reappeared out of breath. “You might want to come see this.”

—

Addy showed you an interactive screen that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie.

“Do you think you’ll be able to contact citizen Z on it?”

“Maybe, with the chance, I'll alert whoever is on the other side of this as well.”

Warren nodded. “You do that. Doc, stay here with Addy and Astra, while the rest of us go look around.”

—

A groan left your lips as you rubbed your head. Between all the cuts and bruises you’d gotten since starting this mission, it was a miracle you hadn’t died yet.

“Astra, come look at this.”

Hearing your sister's voice, you got to your feet and made your way to the screen. “Oh my god… is that me?”

“Yip, and 10K making out by a tree,” she smirked.

She wasn’t wrong. The clip playing moved between you and 10K, Serna throwing up while Addy rubbed at her back, and Warren and Vazquez looking over a map. “This wasn’t long ago. Whoever this is knew we were coming,” you slid your finger across the screen, changing the image. Nearly every bit of information was about Murphy. “You are one wanted man.” You stepped back. “Do you think they are-”

You were cut off by the sound of another explosion.

Addy grabbed hold of your hand, “let’s go!”

—

You were relieved to see 10K, Vazquez, and Warren waiting in the hangar.

“You guys won’t believe what- what the hell is that?”

A blue light was beaming down and shining over Bernadette. The beam moved to Murphy when he stepped outside to get a better look.

10K tried to shoot at the ship in the sky, but whoever was operating it began shooting at anyone who approached Murphy.

Warren picked up a laser gun from the ground and took aim at the ship. The ship's lights began to flicker and the blue beams stopped. Taking the opportunity, you ran forward and grabbed Murphy.

Seconds later, the ship crashed into the ground, bursting into flames.

—

A man named Dan Scully, who you’d meet at the restaurant, previously crawled out of the ship, and confessed to being behind the whole thing. He did it all because he loved Bernadette and was afraid she wouldn’t leave him without the aliens.

“How do you have videos of Murphy and the rest of us?”

“Face recognition software.”

That explains a lot. When Dan died of the injuries he got from the crash, Bernadette gave him mercy.

It was a bitter-sweet ending for him.

—

“We leave in twenty minutes. So everyone does what they got to before them, so I don’t need to drag anyone by their ass back outta here.”

You chuckled at Warren's comment before heading into the bathroom of the gas station. It didn’t have much food or supplies left, but it did have running water.

You splashed some cold water on your face before starting to scrub at the cut on your head. Luckily, it was mainly superficial, and the bruise from hitting it was small.

When you heard the door handle being turned, you pulled your knife from its holster, ready to attack, but you sat it back down when 10K walked into the bathroom. “Sorry…” his eyes widened when he saw you holding a weapon, “I should have knocked.”

You returned to scrubbing at your face until it was almost presentable. You started to wipe at the blood stains on your shirt until 10K stopped you.

“Here, take this,” He handed you a semi-clean top he’d taken out of his bag. “You’ll freeze to death.”

“Thank you,” you said, kissing his cheek before accepting it.

You placed the top on the counter before pulling the one you were wearing over your head. You looked up at 10K and noticed how his eyes were fixated on your almost bare chest. Your cheeks reddened. The bra that you were currently wearing was two sizes too small, causing it to push your breasts up.

“Tommy…”

His lips crashed into yours while your eyes fluttered shut. 10K’s hands cupped your face while he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist when he picked you up and ran your fingers through his hair. 10K sat you on the edge of the counter as he started kissing your neck.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, shoving his jacket off in the process. A soft sigh left your lips as he began kissing your clothed breast.

“Ugh! You two are disgusting!”

You both jumped at the sound of Murphy’s voice. You were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t heard him barging in.

“Didn’t anyone teach you how to knock!" 10K snapped.

You tried not to laugh, considering neither of them had knocked before coming into the bathroom. Your smile faded when you noticed Murphy staring. Frowning, you put the top 10K gave you on, “you look at me like that again, and I’ll poke your eyes out.”

Murphy huffed, before unzipping his jeans to pee. You scrunched up your nose. He was truly vile.

When you stepped outside the bathroom, both you and 10K burst into laughter. Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand and said, “We better go wait in the truck.”

For the rest of the ride, you sat giggling like teenagers.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Decided to visit my Walking Dead nostalgia and the first fic I opened talked about Daryl having no wild game to kill years after the apocalypse, and I’ve had this rant before but I’ll have it again goddamnit: 

If half the population (at minimum; the implication on the show has always skewed to 80-90%) has gone zombie, there is plenty of fucking game left to hunt. Given, especially, that walkers in Walking Dead are slow-moving and need to be in a herd to take down a deer (because they are slow-moving), you cannot fucking convince me that the humans left alive--traveling in small groups, re-creating small towns--are gonna take out the local wildlife population.

ESPECIALLY THE DEER AND TURKEYS. 

If you need a scarcity, you can have the turkeys. They’re dumb as dry dirt. I once called my parents to say I’d passed the train tracks in my hometown and would be there in five minutes only to have them call me back 8 minutes later to figure out why I was late, and the answer was I’d turned onto their road, and there was a fucking wild turkey, and wild turkeys don’t give a shit. I got stuck behind that fucker for ten minutes. 

So, fine, turkeys are thin on the ground because they’re fucking idiots. 

Deer?? Deer are not. At the first rustle from a horde, deer would be FUCKING GONE. Deer would ALSO be fucking gone if a group of humans tried to be subtle. You can only get deer if you are very quiet for a LONG TIME.

Related: I MIGHT grant you a pond could get too murky with fish shit that it wouldn’t be fishable, but no way a river won’t have SOME FISH. Okay, fine, maybe a couple of species got eaten into extinction by bigger fish. But SOME FISH would make it. I assure you.

But, like, if you learn nothing, understand that even with super robust hunting seasons AND getting hit by cars AND walking literally into people’s yards, deer are BARELY kept in control in the modern day. Even if you can cancel out the need for permission to hunt, deer are still gonna outrun WD zombies AND be hard to sneak up on by the humans. AND there’s still rabbit and squirrell and turkeys (dumb as they fucking are) to hunt.

There is literally a zero percent chance that anyone on Walking Dead is gonna be unable to hunt SOMETHING. If they miss after hunting Walkers for so long, that’s the worst version of dramatic effect.

[drivingsideways]

For @the-ever-present-julie, based off this tumblr post.

Five times Dean and Cas kissed and never talked about it, and the one time they did and still won’t talk about it. 

Five.

It's not like Dean hasn't thought about it before.

That first month after he crawled his way out of his grave? He'd never told Sam or Bobby, but that entire month, hell, more like three,  he'd been convinced that it was all just one of Alastair's tricks. That Alastair had moved on from the crude, visceral pleasure of blood and guts and shredded flesh to this—letting him dream, and then, right when he'd let himself believe it, that the impossible had happened, Alastair would take it away.

The sick fuck.

But two could play that game, alright?

Dean- Dean was good at this. Dean knew Alastair, like calling to like in the putrid depths of hell. Dean would find a way to trip him up, it was like that time with the djinn. Find the thing that didn't fit, the thing that was impossible to explain, and then tug at that thread until it all unraveled.

Well, he didn't have to look too far.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, who made his ears bleed, and his stomach swoop—well— come the fuck on, there was no possible way his mind could have generated this. This was Alastair, through and through, Alastair who had put him on the rack and taken more pieces out of him than he'd known existed, who'd worked him over and over and over, and somewhere along the way learnt enough about Dean that he'd—

The handprint buzzed and ached and tingled and Castiel's blue, blue eyes had looked right through him, and said things like you don't think you deserve to be saved, and if  I tell you something, will you keep it a secret, I'm not a hammer, and no, this would not be the thing he let himself believe, this would not be one more way that Alastair broke him. In the backseat of his car, Anna had fitted her palm onto the scar, her delicate, smooth palm too small for it, the whorls of her fingers caressing the edges, and it had been electric, and all wrong, because it wasn't her mark that Dean carried on his friggin' re-hymenated body (it wasn't her who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and Dean's body knew it in a way that Dean wasn't going to think about, let alone—)

That sonuvabitch Alastair would not break him with a fairy tale that innocent people told their children, angels watch over you, but his mother had not been innocent in all of this, had she, she had sold Sammy to the Devil, and Castiel had laid a hand on his shoulder (but had not touched his mark, why hadn't—) and had looked at Dean with something like sorrow, and didn't seem to mind when Dean called him Cas, brought him down to his level, and fuck, here he was again, out of options, out of luck, out of fuel, and his brother was someone he didn't recognize.

The sickest thing was how that was the part  that had felt real, felt painful in a way that Alastair could have never devised. Dean's soul was putting himself in the hands of a demon bitch, and there was fuck all that Dean could do about it. This was how he broke then, in the words of a prayer, the first he'd ever said, and he hadn't  known whom he was praying to, but it had been Cas who showed up, eyes bluer than any summer sky Dean had ever seen, face striated by the colours of a vending machine, and said, faith is a good sign, Dean. What was it a sign of, Dean would have liked to know, and it wasn't faith, not by a long shot, but what could a creature like Castiel have known of desperation?  Castiel who stood close, too close, but had touched him only twice, who'd said, it's not blame that rests on you, it's fate, and yeah, that was fucking Winchester Gospel for you, cursed from the start, the two of them, before they were in the womb, born under a bad sign.

But Cas had helped, and Dean had begun to think—but of course, Cas left, and there was only poor, stupid Jimmy Novak, and then Cas was back, but not really, Cas was a stranger, and Dean didn't know when he'd stopped thinking of Cas as a stranger, and just, strange—

 Dean had laid one across Castiel's marble-face that didn't shatter, tried, because what else could he have done? This is real, this is the only thing that's worth it and even before the disappointment of having Cas leave could sink in, the handprint had buzzed and ached and tingled  as Cas pressed him against a wall and pressed a palm against his lips and then bled on the floor, for Dean, (whom he didn't serve) and Cas had said, I'll hold them all off, go save him, but of course it had been too late, because that was the story of Dean's life, too late, too late.

Cas comes back, and oh look, Cas has learnt what desperation means, after all. There's something wild in his eyes, that he tries to hide but doesn't succeed when he says, we need God, it's not theological, it's strategic, and if Dean had a moment to take a breath, he would have wanted to sit Cas down, and say, listen man, I understand it, but this is a road to nowhere, you're only going to waste your time, you gotta stop loving what can't love you back, and yeah, that'd have been hypocritical of him, but so what, that was pretty low down on Dean's laundry list of sins.

But it's the Apocalypse, and as it happens Dean's got his own shit to deal with, and Cas isn't his responsibility, so what if he just died for Dean or whatever, alright, Dean owes him, but not like that.

And now it's the end of the world, their last night on earth, and Dean's not too late to make Cas smile at him, confused but fond, and Castiel's smile is nothing like Jimmy Novak's. Cas is nothing like Jimmy Novak who'd just been a naive man in an ugly suit, and well. He'd promised Cas a good time, and Dean's not got a lot to give Cas, by way of thanks or comfort or anything, and what had Cas said that time? Everything on earth is pain, but that's only cause he doesn't know, the good parts, the best parts, and before Dean can chicken out of it, he's pressing Cas up against the Impala, and Cas is letting him, goes willing, pliant, staring at him, eyes wide, and Dean sees the moment it happens, the small hitch of breath he takes, that Cas, who doesn't need to breathe makes, and his eyes dart to Dean's lips and flash up again, and Dean's kissing him, and it's—riding a comet—

Cas doesn't know how to kiss.

But that's fine, that's a-ok, because Dean does, and Dean can show him, and Cas is a quick learner, zero to six hundred in twenty seconds or less, and now it's Dean who can't breathe except in loud, panting gasps, Cas's warm, strong hand wrapped with his around their dicks, not enough slick, a little too rough, too painful, perfect, perfect, and Cas is eating his face, teeth sharp and painful on Dean's lips, eyes still wide open and unblinking, the freak, but his gaze is hot and ferocious, and Dean's eyes flutter shut again on a moan, because Dean's burning, has been burning all this time, he realizes, for this, for—

Cas rips his sleeve off, jacket and shirt, both gone,  and then his hand is there, and Dean's coming, wet, thick and nasty all over an angel's hand, he should be going to hell for this, except Cas hadn't let him stay there, and hadn't thrown him back, and this was real, Dean shuddering, face hidden in the crook of Cas' neck, trembling, his knees giving way, but Cas' got him, the hand on his shoulder slipping lower, around his back to hold him up, holding him in place,  and Dean should— he should—

 Four.

He  wakes up alone in a motel room, and there is a tomorrow, and then the  day after, but no Cas, and then there is two thousand fucking fourteen, and Cas is still there in the ruins that Sam and Dean made of the world , jesus fucking christ on a candy stick, Cas is still there.

Cas is broken, because Dean did that to him, and Cas kisses him, once, open mouthed and filthy, and then draws back and says, the day I decide to stay, make sure I don't, please, if you ever cared even a little, promise me, and then Cas goes off to die with even-more-of-an-asshole-future-him, because that's just how he rolls.

 Three.

He shouldn't.

If that mook Zach's little thought experiment had taught him anything, it should have been this- that Cas was off limits.

That he shouldn't keeping finding ways to keep him close.

He shouldn't keep finding ways to kiss Cas, but that's exactly what he does.

The world's ending around them in slow motion and they are fucking.

They're fucking in dank, stinking alleys, blood running down Dean's chin, and Cas licking it up, and feeding it back to him, tongue practically molesting Dean's tonsils, fingers squeezing his neck, rubbing against each other fully clothed, until Dean's coming in his pants. They're fucking on stained  bedsheets of grimy hotel rooms, lights flickering, crackling, every electronic instrument in a five mile radius gone haywire, the smell of ozone and jizz making Dean dizzier, as Cas pounds him through four successive orgasms, each more spectacular and painful than the last, Dean's body a limp rag after. They're fucking squeezed together in the backseat of the Impala, Dean hunched over Cas, occasionally knocking his head on the roof, but he can't stop, won't stop, nothing has felt this good, a thick fat dick inside him, filling up his empty places, and  Cas slack-mouthed, and eyes closed under him, hands wrapped around Dean's biceps so tight that Dean's gotta wear long sleeves through the hottest summer in three centuries, so that Sammy won't ask.

Sam knows, of course he does.

Cas isn't subtle when he turns up, dishevelled, hair sticking out in five different directions, looking pissed off and tired; shrinking, somehow, but still with that crackling power about him, and not looking at anyone or anything except at Dean, like all the roads he's taken looking for God have only led him straight back to Dean. Sam's taken to clearing his throat awkwardly, and hot-footing it out of hearing range the moment Cas appears, and just as well, Dean doesn't have it in him anymore to be quiet, sprawled wide open on the bed, hands twisting in the sheets as  Cas fucks him fuck, fuck, fuck,  jesus fuck,  if he hadn't already gone to hell, surely this would send him there, profaning this holy thing of god, whose tongue was made for songs of praise and worship, and is instead all the way up Dean's ass, dragging an orgasm out of him.

It's alright, he reasons, on the days Cas is gone, and Sam is there, but gone.

Cas and him, they're not so different after all. They're both the disappointing sons of deadbeat dads, and Cas is losing his wings and his faith at approximately the same speed that Dean's losing everything and everyone, and the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and there's no way to fix it, no way to undo it, and he's going to have to kill the love of his life, and if this is his consolation prize, he's going to take it.

(Dean loves taking it.)

Dean will take it and he doesn't want to talk about it, and hey, apparently, neither does Cas, so that's peachy, that's perfect, and Dean shouldn't, but he does, and Cas lets him, and he does, right until Sam gets thrown into the pit, and Dean doesn't.

Cas' grace knits him together, once more, and then he's gone, and so is Dean.

 Two.

Cas comes back.

But he's more of a stranger than he'd ever been, even in that barn, what feels like a lifetime ago, and he won't talk, and sure as fuck won't listen, and his blue gaze when it meets Dean's is cool as lake water, as if Dean doesn't know what Cas sounds like, strung out of his mind with pleasure, from having Dean hold him down with a binding sigil and fuck him raw.

As if they'd never been friends, and perhaps they hadn't, that was just what it was like in the war, and the war was over, and so were they.

Cas is all impatience, and anger, and sullen resentment, brittle in a way that scares Dean if he really thinks about it, because it's Cas, and something's wrong, Dean can feel it deep in his bones, just like he knew with Sammy, but he—

Look, if Cas wants to reach him, he knows how to call.

But then it's too late (again) and there's a war (again, or it was never over, why is it never over), only this time it's Cas that Dean needs to kill, really kill, and fuck if he knows how, but in the end, all he can do is watch as Cas walks into the water, and all that's left of him is a stained, torn trenchcoat.

Dean keeps it.

He can't look at it, can't stand to, that entire year, but he keeps it.

And then Cas comes back (again), but then he's gone (again) and what had Dean expected, really?

And Dean's tired, ok, so tired, so tired and sick and done, and the war is still on—maybe he shouldn't have left Cas, maybe he should have tried harder, maybe he should have called, maybe it wouldn't have all gone to shit, if Dean hadn't screwed it up once again, hadn't failed—

 "Cas"  he says, squinting against the sun on his face, up at where Cas is perched on the roof of the Impala. "Why are you covered in bees?"

The air is filled with a humming that Dean's only 90% certain are the bees.

"They like me, Dean," says Cas, as though that were a reasonable explanation, and fuck knows, maybe it was, in that fucked up noodle of his. "They wanted me to stay with them."

Shit, fuck.

Dean rubs his hands over his eyes.

"You maybe want to come inside and talk?"

Crazy or not, they needed all the help they could—

Cas hops down from the car, and the bees rise up in an angry, buzzing cloud before settling back.

"Lose the bees first", says Dean, and then regrets it, when Cas stands before him naked as a new-born.

"Dude!" yelps Dean, "Come on! Where the fuck are your clothes?"

"I—", says Cas, sounding lost and forlorn as he stares down at himself. "I'm not sure. The bees didn't like them."

And fuck, like this, Dean can see that Cas is just skin and bone, pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, hip bones jutting out—

"Well, mojo them back from wherever you left them", Dean growls, "There's a sandwich in it for you."

Cas looks up, hopeful.

"Peanut butter?"

"Sure", says Dean and hopes to god the vending machine has  something that resembles a sandwich. "But get some.." he waves his hands, not looking at Cas, because it hurts to see him like this.

There's nothing like a sandwich in the machine, so he ends up instructing Cas to wait for him in the room while he makes a quick run to the nearest store. He picks up some orange juice and bananas while he's at it, along with the bread, peanut butter and jam.

"This is very kind of you, Dean" says Cas, as he sits (fully clothed, in his hospital scrubs and trenchcoat), his hands in his lap.

"So, what, you need to eat these days?" Dean queries. "You look like you've just spent six months on a fad diet".

Cas looks away, up at the ceiling.

"The grace is more useful for other things" he says, "There's so much to do. So many creatures in pain. I forget to."

"Listen", starts Dean, because he can guess where this is coming from, hell, it isn't like—

"Is my sandwich ready?"

Dean slides it across the table, and watches as Cas wolfs it down.

There's a bit of jam that gets stuck to the corner of his mouth, and Dean gestures at it, and then, when Cas looks confused, reaches out to—

Cas flinches.

Dean freezes, hand stuck awkwardly in mid-air, throat closing up.

He leans back, withdrawing his hand.

"You've got some jam smeared at the corner of your mouth, like a goddamned three year old, Cas".

"Oh", says Cas, and it vanishes.

Dean swallows the guess you don’t mind wasting your mojo on that then, that sits on his tongue, and Cas finishes his sandwich, suddenly quiet, staring down at his sandwich,  though it wasn't like he'd been saying anything before, but it's a different sort of quiet between them now, filled with all the things that Dean wants to scream at him, and can't.

Cas doesn't touch the bananas, but slurps the orange juice, loudly.

Dean watches as Cas licks his lips, tongue darting out to taste the last of it.

When he looks up, Cas is looking at him.

He feels his cheeks heat, caught out.

"You’re sweet", says Cas, suddenly. "Sweeter than all the honey in the world".

And before Dean can process it, he leans forward, brushing his lips against Dean's; a butterfly of a kiss, and then he's gone, in a quiet whoosh, and Dean's left alone, and when he wets his suddenly parched lips, he can taste the faint bitter-sour flavour of canned orange on them.

 One

Well, Dean's not making the same mistake twice.

There's no way he's gonna leave Cas behind.

Where's the angel, he asks, as he hacks his way through Purgatory, where's the angel?

Cas, he prays, c'mon man. Don't do this to me.

Cas, please.

Once he gets slashed by something, some kind of hellbreed that seemed half werewolf, half vampire, and it's pretty bad, but somehow he manages to lose them, holed up high up in cave he'd discovered in some time ago. The view's spectacular from the ridge or would be, if the hills and valleys and forests weren't teeming with things that were out for his blood, and Cas'.

He manages the staunch the bleeding. The gash isn't too deep after all, but he's gonna have to stay put for a couple of days. But then the chills start, and he thinks, shit, shit. Starting a fire is a sure way to get killed, no way he's gonna be able to take on anything more dangerous than a field mouse right now, and fuck, he's exhausted, suddenly, and ok, this wasn't good, the ground seemed to be rushing up to meet his face—

 He's warm.

Cocooned in the softest of embraces, safe, untouchable.

"Mom?" he whispers, "Is that you?"

A hand brushes over his forehead, light and gentle.

He struggles to open his eyes, which seem to be refusing to cooperate.

It's not mom.

"Cas" he rasps, bleary eyed, throat drier than a desert. "Cas?"

"Shh" says Cas, "You're safe now. Rest, Dean."

And it's true, Dean can feel it, cradled here in—Cas' wings, he thinks, sleepily, unable to hold on to the thought. Those are Cas' wings he can feel, sheltering, soft, warm.

"You found me", he mumbles, "I've been looking for you."

"Shhh", Cas rumbles, "Don't talk. It's alright."

"Cas."

A feather light press against his mouth, and then another, and then a third.

"I'm here", Cas whispers, "Dean. Rest now."

But when he wakes up, he's alone.

If it weren't for the healed gash, skin smooth and untouched, every aching muscle restored like he'd been checked into a fancy spa for a month, he'd have been certain he dreamt it.

Then they get topside, and he wishes it had only been a dream, and not one more thing he'd have to forget.

 (Plus One)

 Sam's here, finally.

Bobby had been right, time sure passed different around here.

Sam's here now, and it's perfect.

Almost.

Cas isn't around.

Or he's everywhere, but nowhere where Dean can see him, reach out and touch him.

When he asks around, he gets vague answers.

Ellen says, oh, I think Jack and Cas are in some other planetary system this week.

Two weeks later, by Dean's counting, Rufus says, you just missed him, boy, he was here helping fix my roof not half-hour ago.

Jack says, looking embarrassed, uh, I sent him on a mission, to, um, uh, Andromeda, and then, uh, I have to go, nice seeing you again, Dean, and vanishes before Dean can whup his ass for lying to his family.

Dean gets into the Impala; tells Sam he's got a supply run to make.

"You've got like a 100 cartons of beer, Dean",  says Sam.

"Not beer, Sammy."

Sam gives him a long look.

Dean shrugs, look, it wasn't like Sam didn't know.

Sam nods, once, lips quirking a little.

"Good luck, then" he says.

Dean flips a finger at him.

"C'mon, Baby" he says, as he pulls onto the road, "Take me to him."

 Baby's never let him down.

 Of course, Cas has gone and set his feathery ass down somewhere on the highest mountain that Dean has ever seen, the top of it half hidden in a swirl of clouds. There's only a narrow trail, no way to take Baby up, so he parks her under the shade of a leafy tree of some species he's pretty sure isn't found on earth, and shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around his waist.

Jesus, but Cas could be a real dick, and it wasn't like Dean didn't already know that, but, wow.

 The trail is narrow, though not very steep, and the foliage dense for most parts, as he begins to climb. There's a river or a small waterfall somewhere, he can hear the sound of it, a muted roar. Up and up it goes, through plants and shrubs- or things that look like plants or shrubs, he can't be sure of anything here, he's realized. Occasionally, a small woodland creature of indeterminate origin will cross his path. Some of them stop and stare. One or two get experimentally close, while he stands as still as possible, and lets them acclimatize themselves to his scent. The foliage isn't dense enough to block out all sunlight, and every now and again the path will emerge onto an outcrop of rock and grass, probably intended as a rest-stop for the weary. Dean's only slightly out of breath, though the air gets cooler as he goes higher. But the sun is warm enough for a sheen of sweat to form, making his t shirt stick to his spine.

He sinks down onto a convenient grassy knoll and takes a few breaths. Clouds float lazily over the valley below, that stretches out farther than his eye can see. The river he's hearing winds through it, clear and blue, through acres and acres of green and violet, and brown and red. He turns his face up toward the sky.

Was it possible to get sunburn in Heaven?

Well, he was going to find out.

He turns his head a little.

He's about half way up the mountain, he estimates.

Given the position of the sun, he's been climbing about three hours.

Making me work for it, huh, buddy? Dick move, Cas, gotta tell you that.

Something rustles in the grass near him: a tiny grass snake, slim and green.

Snakes in paradise, wow, wasn't that theologically wrong or something?

But it gives him a beady eyed look and slithers over his outstretched palm and then away, unbothered, leaving behind a fleeting sense of dry leather.

Dean sighs.

"Cas?" he says, softly. "You're waiting for me, right?"

He doesn't know what he'll do if Cas isn't.

The thought makes his heart triphammer in his chest, fear gripping it.

What if he was too late, again?

But he's got to believe that he's right about this.

That he's here because Cas is ready, finally, to let Dean find him.

In those years after Purgatory, they'd never managed, somehow to make it work.

Every time Cas left—every time Cas came back—it got harder, somehow, to say, don't go, please, I need you, forgive me, stay.

Dean- he'd just become angrier and meaner, falling deeper and deeper and this was a grave that even Cas couldn't pull him out of. And then, when he'd been ready-almost—that second time in Purgatory, it had seemed like Cas wasn't ready, though surely, he knew, why else had he stopped Dean—

But the joke was on Dean, because Cas hadn't known, and then it had been too late. Cas was slipping through his fingers one more time, beatific in his joy, as he threw himself into the pit for Dean, and Dean had known, had known, that it was the last time.

 When it was all over, he had waited.

Hope was a thing with feathers.

He had waited for Jack to bring Cas back to them, to Dean.

But Jack hadn't.

No way that Jack hadn't sprung Cas from the Empty, there was just no fucking way that would have happened, so that meant that Cas didn't want to see Dean.

And alright, maybe Dean deserved that, maybe that was his penance, and he would do it, gladly.

He wouldn't complain, and he'd go through the rest of his life with a piece of him missing, and it was what it was, there were things you couldn't undo, there were sorrows that had to be borne.

On the bad days, after a hunt that went wrong- there were, after all, still some of those—he'd lie  in bed, every tendon and muscle and bone aching, and when he closed his eyes, he'd try to will himself back there, to that cave in Purgatory, the safety and comfort of Cas' shelter, and the sweet press of his lips against Dean's.

Sweeter than all the honey in the world.

 He blinks awake.

Apparently he'd taken a nap, though given that the sun was still steadily beating down on his face—and yes, you could get sunburn in heaven, thanks for nothing Jack—it hadn't been too long.

It takes another two hours, and he's almost giving up hope, wondering whether he's going to end up just spending the night alone on this mountain after all, when he breaks through a particularly dense grove and finds himself in a middle of a garden.

The garden- in flagrant, dizzying bloom around a cobbled stone path that leads to a small wooden cabin nestled against the wall of the mountain- has an occupant.

Dean feels like his breath was punched out of him.

My true form is as tall as the Chrysler building, Cas had once said, the lying liar that he was, because he's probably twice as tall. He's all iridescent wings that span twenty feet either side, and a dozen wheels spinning in different directions and something that looks like blue flames trailing the edges of his wings, and Dean is—

Jesus.

Cas turns toward him at that, and Dean senses his-shock?- before the almost unbearable brightness dims slowly, coalescing into a familiar shape.

"Not quite", says Cas. "Hello, Dean."

Dean's feet seem locked to the ground, and Cas doesn't make a move toward him either.

"Hi", Dean breathes out, the air rushing out of his lungs with the word. "Cas."

Cas has switched out the trenchcoat and suit for comfortable looking pair of white linen pants and a loose short tunic of sky blue, that match his eyes, and there's what looks like a week's worth of stubble along his jaw.

"Heaven can't afford a razor?" is what Dean says next, like the idiot he is.

Cas' eyes crinkle. "I've been told it makes me more attractive".

What, who- no- fuck.

Dean's already up in Cas' space before he realizes it.

"Who told you that?" he rasps, and up close he can see the flecks of grey in the stubble, and at Cas' temples, and yes, it made him breathtakingly hot, but damned if Dean was going to— "They were lying, just so you know."

Cas is smiling at him.

"Dean," he says, softly.

Dean reaches out to run a finger against his jaw, going against the grain, ends up with his fingers resting lightly against Cas' cheek, just under his ear.

"You’re a dick" he says, softly, "you know that?"

Cas nods.

"I've been" starts Dean, and then finds he's out of words, takes a shuddery breath instead, furiously trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes.

Cas's hands cup his face, warm and sure, and he draws Dean's forehead down to his.

"I know", Cas says, softly. "But I would do it again if it meant I saved you. I would do it all again."

"I should have told you," whispers Dean, "I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough."

"Dean", says Cas, softly, "You've always been enough."

Above them the sky starts turning a fiery orange as the first of the suns starts to set.

Cas' wings- which he hasn't tucked away- take on a metallic shine, but they feel warm, and safe, just like Dean remembers.

Dean kisses him, softly, once, then again, then again.

"Sweeter than all the honey in the world", he whispers, glad that there's nobody to hear this but Cas.

"You don't even like honey", says Cas, after a moment. "You never let Sam put any in your tea."

Dean draws back.

"You don’t remember", he accuses, genuinely horrified.

Cas' brows draw together in a frown.

"What?"

"You kissed me! And said—well you said what you said! Back in the day when you were all crazy!"

"Which time?"

Dean groans, thumping his head onto Cas' shoulder.

Cas buries his nose in Dean's hair and tucks him closer in his embrace.

"I remember" he confesses, quietly, after a moment. "But I thought you'd want to forget it."

"Cas", Dean, sighing, as he turns to nuzzle the soft, tender skin beneath Cas' ear, placing a small kiss there, as he presses closer. "Let's never talk about this again, ok?"

[besttropeveershowdown]

Since the bracket screenshots are very hard to read, here's a list of all the matchups for round 1!

Side A

Found Family vs. Soulmates

Foil vs. Mirror Character

Decon-Recon Switch vs. Our Trolls Are Different

Rousseau Was Right vs. Historical Badass Upgrade

Science Is Good vs. The Artful Dodger

I Owe You My Life vs. Bait-and-Switch Tyrant

Badass Pacifist vs. Battle in the Center of the Mind

Gambit Pileup vs. Buffy Speak

You Did Everything You Could vs. The Team

Moral Dilemma vs. "Not So Different" Remark

But They Stayed In the Car vs. Self-Sacrifice Scheme

Starfish Aliens vs. Outlaw Couple

Dream Sequence vs. Silly Rabbit, Cynicism is for Losers!

Drunk Hookup-> Hilarious Morning After vs. Have I Mentioned I Am Heterosexual Today?

Storyboarding the Apocalypse vs. Break The Cutie

Murdered Cousin vs. In Medias Res

Fire-Forged Friends vs. First Contact

Time Travel vs. Self-Inflicted Hell

Ragtag Bunch of Misfits vs. Your Days Are Numbered

Time Loop vs. Unreliable Narrator

Friends to Lovers vs. Everyone Is Bi

Important Haircut vs. Came Back Wrong

The Anti-Nihilist vs. Mono No Aware

Shadow Archetype vs. Hurt/Comfort or Whump

Knight of Cerebus vs. Prophetical Semantics

True Companions vs. The Trickster

Locked in a Room vs. Magnificent Bastard

Beethoven Was an Alien Spy vs. Genre Savvy

Evil Twin vs. Minor Injury Overreaction

Grey-and-Gray Morality vs. Body Swap

Enemies to Lovers vs. Accidental Parental Figure

From Zero to Hero vs. Horny Scientist

Side B

Berserk Button vs. Caper Crew

Flock of Wolves vs. Team Pet

Five Man Band vs. Disguised as Male

Shapeshifting Trickster vs. Anthropomorphic Personification

Dramatic Irony vs. You Can't Go Home Again

Subverted Kids' Show vs. Badass Bookworm

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass vs. Isekai/Genre Refugee

Wham Shot vs. Unseen Evil

Little Miss Con Artist vs. Punch-Clock Villain

Mama Bear vs. Internal Reveal

Sleight of Tongue vs. Enemy Mine

Guile Hero vs. Tsundere

Memory Gambit vs. Recursive Crossdressing

Disguised Horror Story vs. Wham Line

Secret Identity vs. Terror Hero

Students' Secret Society vs. Mugged for Disguise

Road Trip Plot vs. Fantastic Fauna Counterpart

Opposites Attract vs. Amnesia

Heel-Face Turn vs. Rewriting Reality

Bavarian Fire Drill vs. Butterfly Effect

Morality Pet vs. Cloning Blues

Tragic Villain vs. Clipboard of Authority

The Con vs. Battle Couple

Beware the Nice Ones vs. Animal Motif

Hitman with a Heart vs. Big Damn Heroes

Friends to Enemies vs. Hurricane of Puns

Affably Evil vs. My God, What Have I Done

Swamp Monster vs. Chekhov's Gunman

Fake Dating vs. Gentle Giant

Stupid Sexy Flanders vs. Non-Human Head

Sea Serpents vs. Furry Reminder

Children's Covert Coterie vs. The Creon

Side C

Arrested for Heroism vs. The Dragon

Unreliable Expositor vs. Well-Intentioned Extremist

Friends to Enemies to Lovers vs. Undying Loyalty

Precision F-Strike vs. Powerful, Fucked-Up Family

Pragmatic Villainy vs. Big, Screwed-Up Family

Ape Shall Never Kill Ape vs. Tragic Bromance

Just You and Me and my GUARDS vs. Tomato in the Mirror

Lovable Rogue vs. Refusal of the Call

Second Law My Ass vs. Batman Gambit

Not Quite Dead vs. Sapient House

Call A Human a Meatbag vs. Faux Affably Evil

Nice Job Fixing It Villain vs. Conversation of Ninjutsu

Beach Episode vs. The Gadfly

Beware the Silly Ones vs. Jedi Mind Trick

You Are Better Than You Think You Are vs. Superpowered Evil Side

Murder Is The Best Solution vs. Comedic Sociopathy

The Power of Language vs. The Power of Friendship

Face Death With Dignity vs. Prolonged Pining

Too Dumb to Live vs. Central Theme

Suspiciously Specific Denial vs. Deadpan Snarker

Blessed with Suck vs. Setting as a Character

Cast Full of Gay vs. Heel-Face Revolving Door

Aliens Speaking English vs. Stumbling Upon the Lost Wizard

For the Evulz vs. Spare to the Throne

My Powers are Gone vs. Reformed But Not Tamed

King and Lionheart vs. Marriage of Convenience

Even Evil Has Standards vs. Then Let Me Be Evil

Delirious Misidentification vs. Big Beautiful Man

Playing Nice for Now vs. Teeth-Clenched Teamwork

Intimate Haircut vs. Arranged Marriage

Dating Catwoman vs. Incurable Cough of Death

Ambiguous Gender vs. Kill the Gods

Brackets for BTES

Brackets are out, everyone! (that was quicker than expected)

We have 192 submissions, so the plan is to have 3 sides of 64 tropes each, the champions of which will make up the final three! Polls for side A will be released sometime this weekend, with side B and side C coming shortly after.

Side A:

Side B:

Side C:

[1kook]

acatalepsy

— 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐭𝐡

chapter summary; Since the appearance of the entity the world he knew had begun to dismantle itself. Societies they had spent centuries building up crumbling in the mere span of a few weeks. He hadn’t seen a person in almost a month now, and the first ones he did see almost beat and humiliated him to death. He can’t be blamed for his pessimistic outlook. overall warnings; gorey scenes, depictions of death, appearance of weapons, survival!au, apocalypse!au, super l o o s e bird box!au (no birds - jk is the bird 👀), eventual smut, dark and angsty, character death chapter specifics; depictions of death, depictions of animal dissection, fall of society, otherworldly entities, appearance of weapons, assault of main character, mentioned acts of self-sacrifice, brief nudity wc; 8.2k

notes; yes this is dark and sad BUT it’s the introductory part where I have to dump all this info on u guys so u understand later hehe enjoy, all feedback is welcome !!!

special thanks to; rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) my amazing proof reader and editor🥺 i would be in a ditch without her ...

When Jungkook was in his last year of primary school, his class had been tasked with the very grown up job of caring for the school’s pet rabbit. It was a fuzzy brown ball that lived in a wooden cage, built along the side of their communal garden; a little on the overweight side, a fact that greatly confused the school. As far as his classmates and teachers were concerned, the rabbit ate its regularly scheduled two meals during school hours, an additional serving given to him by the night custodian. A scan through the cameras proved that no one broke into the primary school lot after hours, no one was unnecessarily feeding the rabbit. So there was really no reason for the rabbit to be as big as it was.

But Jungkook knew better.

The rabbit, as endearing and angelic as it appeared, was an intelligent creature that had wormed its way through a loose board on the side of his cage, sneaking into the neighboring garden frequently to munch through their cherry tomatoes. It always did so when it knew no one was around, save for the day Jungkook had seen it, the two of them caught in a staring battle that had both parties grappling for a way out.

Jungkook had never snitched.

He simply pocketed that little secret for himself to laugh about when his mind drifted too far from the material on the chalkboard. He remembered the tiny twitch of its nose as it regarded Jungkook. Its eyes were two dark marbles, no signs of the milky white that Jungkook had, zeroed in on Jungkook’s frozen figure. In the moment, Jungkook was amazed by its cunning nature, even more so by the way it had come to recognize him, repeatedly showing off his little trick whenever it was Jungkook’s turn to clean his cage. He slipped to and from the garden with ease, as if he trusted Jungkook to carry this secret to the grave.

He did, and when he graduated from primary school into secondary school, he often found himself wondering what that sneaky rabbit was up to then. Had it been discovered? Had the adults caught wind of the rabbit’s thieving nature and patched up the board? He’d never know. All he knew was that rabbits were quite devious creatures. A cute exterior that hid a more complex personality.

It is probably why he doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse now, dark brown fur clutched tightly between his knuckles, squeezing until the last breath escapes the small rodent. The memory flashes through his eyes, a glance into an innocence he will never have again. The rabbit thrashes in between his hands, muscular legs kicking wildly until finally, it falls still.

He should feel bad, he knows he should.

This animal had played a nostalgic role in his youth; for a brief moment, this rabbit had been a leading source of happiness for him. Its black eyes remain open, forever frozen on Jungkook during its last few moments. Jungkook should be disappointed in himself for ever harming such a creature, and he almost does, before he’s interrupted by the painful tightening of his insides contracting on an empty stomach.

So he pushes it away, choosing to rise to his feet instead, dead catch dangling in one hand.

The trek back to the gas station is lonely. When he crosses the street, there is no angry driver to honk at him for not checking both ways, or a jogger rudely bumping into his shoulder. The street is empty just like the rest of the town.

Jungkook imagines it was probably like this before anyway. It’s practically in the middle of nowhere, this place he finds himself in, just another unimpressionable name on a map that Jungkook’s probably never heard of. There’s a main street lined with essentials—a diner, a car shop, and this gas station—and a few tiny homes littered behind it. It was one of those places his family would drive through on their way to see a far-off family member or as a stop on a road trip.

Either way, it looks exactly like the handful of towns he’s been through, all small and empty just like this. At least in the city there was variety, there was excitement. The most exciting thing Jungkook sees these days is the occasional deer.

The bell above the door chimes when Jungkook enters, not that there is anyone it would have alerted of his presence. It’s empty just like the rest of the town. Well, kinda. There’s a body in the women’s restroom that had scared the shit out of Jungkook when he first arrived, had left him trembling in shock for about an hour before he was able to go back and tug the stall door shut.

He finds them occasionally, the undeserving victims of an evil he will never understand. Each encounter wears him down, until eventually he feels no emotion toward them at all. They were bodies, he tells himself, nothing else.

How they ended up like that is another story in itself.

Truthfully, Jungkook isn’t completely sure how it happened, but he remembers when it started.

He remembers the cacophony of laughter that had filled their club bus, some corny Top 50 song filling the speakers, as they had celebrated another win that would push them further up the league ranks. His feet were sore from all the running they’d done on the pitch that day, and he was hungry as hell. Luckily they’d been on their way to their favorite celebratory diner, ready to suck the place dry of its Cherry Coke and bottomless fries the same way they did every other Saturday after a victory.

Jungkook’s coach had pulled him aside shortly before they arrived and had mentioned the possibility of Jungkook becoming the team’s captain next season. He had been ecstatic at the news, immediately pulling his phone out to call his dad.

His hand stills on the counter where the dead rabbit is limply sprawled across. He can’t remember where the switchblade he’d opened last week was, so he stomps to the other end of the shop, snatching another one off a rack. The only problem then is the zip tie that binds the blade to the cardboard display sheet. It doesn’t give when he tugs at it, and with a growing sense of irritation, Jungkook realizes he doesn’t know where the scissors are either. Before he can get too down on himself for misplacing things again, he angrily tears at the tie, loops two fingers on opposite ends. The skin on his palms pales at the pressure, and one mighty tug later has the tie snapping apart.

There. Now he could skin the rabbit in peace.

His dad answered on the second ring, immediately launching into a congratulatory song. Jungkook’s parents watched all his games, sometimes from the sidelines, sometimes through a TV. They were his biggest fans, the same people who had first enrolled him into summer little league watching him grow into the leading scorer of his city’s club.

The first chorus had just ended when the coach bus began swerving, the men stumbling across the aisle as it became apparent it wouldn’t stop anytime soon. Their manager had shouted first, snapped at them to find their seats, before lurching forward to the driver’s seat to presumably stabilize the vehicle. An effort made in vain when the bus flipped. It had almost happened in slow motion, Jungkook recalls, the two turns of the bus, ultimately skidding to a stop on its side, ramming straight into a light pole.

The initial shock had lasted for a few beats, the pained groans from his teammates around him slowly filtering back into his ringing ears. Some of them had panicked right away, choked gasps as they struggled to breathe. Dongmin was the first to get up, jamming the emergency window open on the side of the bus that wasn’t flush to the pavement.

Immediately, Jungkook knew something was very wrong.

Outside there were terrified screams from all around, the telltale shriek of car brakes working hard, the eerie wailing of weather sirens. Was it a storm? A quake? Jungkook didn’t know as he climbed out of the wreckage, taking Mingyu’s hand as he hopped off the side of their bus.

The ears are cut off first.

Two, silky appendages that don’t stand a chance against the blade. Without them, Jungkook finds the rabbit looks funnily enough like an otter. But with the separation of the ears comes an unsettling feeling in Jungkook’s chest as he falters.  

He’s never killed a rabbit before, but he has killed a handful of birds these past few weeks. He imagines the process is the same. With the birds, one quick twist of the neck made them go limp, their feathers easily falling away. With the rabbit, Jungkook only remembers the rapid thumping of its hind legs and the soft texture of its ears.

He didn't particularly care for the birds—and he probably never would. The rabbit, his memories remind him, is a different story.

There was neither a storm nor a quake that had brought upon this chaos. Whirling around, there was no imminent attack occurring, no invasion, that could cause all these people to suddenly lose all semblance of normalcy.

There was a woman beside a fire hydrant, an abandoned stroller flipped on its side. A bundle of fabric in her arms cried loudly, nearly drowning out her own tears as she begged for her life. From what? There was nothing attacking her, nothing threatening her and her child. But the longer Jungkook watched, the more distraught she became, until eventually, her eyes cleared over. Her screaming stopped, though the baby’s continued. She began ramming her head face-first against the metal of the hydrant, blood gushing down over her eyes.

Jungkook and his teammates had stood by in horror, watched her bash her head in until she fell back lifelessly, the child on her chest wailing before a sight it would never understand.

It was Jaehyun who had urged them to move the second time, pulled him away from the scene before them.

With every stride he took, he was rewarded with similar scenes. All around him the chaos spread, people being infected with this, this madness, Jungkook supposed.

They’d stepped out of their cars in a daze, eyes clouded over before taking their own lives in a multitude of ways. It was a disturbing scene to watch, one that spurred Jungkook to run faster and faster, until he bumped into the back of a teammate that had been running before him. He remembers the shout he’d let out, frustratedly scolding the man for stopping now of all times. He was their main striker, could run faster than anyone else on the team, yet here he was, frozen stiff.

Then, slowly, he’d turned around. Jungkook had watched as if behind a glass wall, watched a man he had played alongside with for years saunter over to where the railing of the highway began. His face was devoid of any fear, almost peaceful, as he climbed over.

Jungkook coughs, the overwhelming stench of animal blood flooding his nostrils. This is always the most difficult part for him, trying to overcome the initial putrid stench as he slices the animal open with one clean cut down its ventral side. When he does, one of the rabbit’s hind legs surprises him by twitching.

He vaguely remembers learning this in a high school anatomy class. Something about the stiffening of muscles after death. Rigor mortis? He’s not really sure, pushing the leg to lay flat against the table gently. He lets out a humorless snort, like this animal needed this type of caring treatment now.

The wail Jungkook had let out had wrenched itself from the depths of his soul, and he fell to the ground in horror at the scene he’d just witnessed. His forehead touched the rough pavement beneath him, body trembling as his mind struggled to process the world around him. As he did so, a strong gust of wind whipped around him, the mania around him increasing as it went. It fluttered through the cotton of his tracksuit, tickled his skin as it went, until eventually disappearing.

He had either laid there for seconds or hours. Jungkook wasn’t sure. Dongmin had been the one that had finally hauled him to his feet, grip deathly tight around his wrist as he pulled him along.

They ran and ran, until the forest outside the city came to view. He didn’t want to look back, in fear that whatever had possessed those people would get him too. He was out of breath and lost, caught up in the whirlwind of whatever those things were that made people lose their minds. He was comforted by the fact Dongmin was there. Mingyu and Jaehyun, too. He was too afraid to ask where the others were.

There’s a hot dog cooker on the counter, thick with years of grease. The overhead heating lamp takes a moment to flicker to life, and when Jungkook decides it’s stable, he tosses his lunch onto it, watches the pink meat roll back and forth.

He could use the sacks of coal littered along the back aisle to start a real fire, the prongs and tools above them, but that was too much work.

They had done fine for a while, aimlessly traveling about in search of help. But after the first town they realized whatever happened that day in the city wasn’t an isolated event. The entity had scoured through this town too, leaving bodies in its wake at a smaller scale compared to what had happened in the city, but just as horrific. They were a fleeting creature, whatever they were, that confronted people with their greatest fears. Infected them with a madness, as Jungkook has grown to call it, so twisted and gruesome that it drove people insane. After infecting every person with the madness they’d leave. They seldom returned, most likely content with the way they left things.

From Jungkook’s understanding, the entity was a singular being that felt like a thousand. It could easily spread over large places, infect everyone with the madness at once, but that would be too easy. It took pleasure in catching people one by one, focusing its powers to properly torture each individual to the fullest.

Their little gang had gotten along fairly okay after that realization, their own natural abilities supporting each other. Dongmin led them, mostly because he was the only one among them with a sense of direction. Jungkook knew which way was what only when the sun rose and set. During the day he was clueless. Dongmin always knew which way was north or south, east or west, regardless of the time of day.

Mingyu and Jaehyun had been the brawns of the group, muscular bodies lifting fallen signs from in front of shop entrances, wrenching car doors open. There wasn’t a place they couldn’t get into. They were quick to barricade buildings they slept in, even better at dismantling them. Without them, Jungkook thinks they’d have starved early on.

As for Jungkook, well. Jungkook had a special ability under his belt—he could sense the entity before the others. It was difficult to explain such a feeling, but he knew he had it because he’d saved them many a time. Sure, the tell-tale gust of wind alerted them of the entity entering their little circle, but that was useless. Once the entity was there, they didn’t go away until they completed whatever fucked up mission they had.

It was a tickling on the back of his neck, the faint feeling of never being alone that Jungkook felt, usually a few minutes before they appeared. It was like the uncomfortable silence of a concert hall, the voices all echoey and distorted. It awoke an animalistic reaction in Jungkook, one that would have him shoving his friends into a pile of dead bodies.

Whatever it was, they didn’t distinguish well between those alive and those, well, not alive. Tricking them was by no means a simple feat, but it certainly did save them a few times, even if Jungkook was forced to lie face to face with an unmoving figure, stare into the horrified gaze of someone who was taken too soon.

Overall the four of them together were a great team. Well, were. It's been a couple weeks now since they’d gotten separated. Since he got separated, watched their retreating forms head down to a lake to bathe. He had been reckless, forgot about the feeling behind his neck until it was too late, the window shutters of the motel they’d taken shelter in suddenly flailing wildly.

He remembers dropping to the ground with shut eyes, cupping his hands over his ears as the sinister presence of the entity surrounded him, trying to get inside his head. He had suffered through it for twenty minutes, quietly sobbing against the motel’s ugly green carpet.

Just as he’d resigned himself to the same painful death he’d seen so many others fall prey to, he’d heard Mingyu’s harsh laughter, the soft chattering of voices, as his friends returned to the motel.

He knew what he had to do then, desperate to save his friends from suffering through this same, undeserved pain.

So Jungkook did the same thing they’d been doing until then: he ran.

Blindly at first, arms feeling around for the door, for his coat. The pavement of the single road that passed through this town had been smooth, his ratty shoes slapping hard against it. He could feel the tears squeezing out from his screwed eyelids, the air that whipped at his face with every step he took. The entity had followed him for hours, whispering in his ear, caressing his skin.

He’s not sure how long he ran, how long he wished it would all end, as he listened to those twisted visions. Jungkook just knows that one moment he was running, and the next he was falling, tumbling into a small stream filled with cold water that soaked him to the bone.

Beneath the water, all sound was distorted. He couldn’t hear the entity, nor sense its all-consuming presence. And when Jungkook had broken through the surface, gasping for air, he couldn’t feel it there either.

In his paranoia, he had sat there for an hour, routinely dunking his head in and out until he was brave enough to open his eyes again.  

That had been weeks ago. Jungkook’s great escape from the entity feels so far away now, he thinks, idly watching the meat roll over the hot dog cooker. It’ll be hours before it’s cooked safely, but Jungkook will probably grow impatient and eat it before. Whatever, he thinks, settling against a plastic chair behind the counter. The cash box is unlocked, a multitude of bills sitting out in the open. Jungkook flips through them, figures they’re pretty useless now.

If the entity had been able to dismantle a city as populous as the one Jungkook had lived in, the one he had spent his whole life in, he imagines it’s done it again. After all, the towns he’s crossed through until this point were all devoid of life.

He’d like to wash his hands after touching all that money, but he knows none of the water lines in this town work. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a shower or cleaned himself. The old clean freak in him was suffering.

He’s just about settled in for a nap when he hears something.

It’s quiet at first, a faint humming from outside. As it grows closer it becomes louder, until Jungkook can distinguish the sounds of chattering somewhere down the street. Shit, he panics. He’ll never be able to say why exactly the thought of meeting other people terrifies him, but it does. He slinks down behind the counter, glancing at the emergency exit that leads to the dumpsters behind the gas station.

He shifts over slowly, ears perked like the rabbit’s. The voices grow closer, and when the bell over the door rings, Jungkook uses the opportunity to shuffle completely across the floor.

There’s a ball of nerves caught in his throat as he listens to these people come in, though it will never match up to the fear that the entity instills in him. They move around the shop, picking up things as they go. There’s a relaxed tone to their words, like they’re the least bit worried about whatever horror awaits them, just another group of friends stopping by a convenience store.

In another life, he’d feel drawn to such a group. He was a somewhat shy kid in high school, too focused on his training to truly make friends. Not that he didn’t have any; the soccer team had always been his friends. Jungkook could always count on them, young boys and men who were there for him at the lowest points in his career. College had been the same, and by the time he made it into the league nothing much had changed.

After being separated from his friends now, he doesn’t see the point in making new ones. They were all going to die anyway.

When he places his hand on the doorknob, the metal releases an obnoxiously loud creak. Jungkook freezes, as do the people on the other side of the counter. The longest second of his life passes, breath caught in his throat as he waits for them to brush it off, letting him escape into the forest behind him in peace.

They eventually do, conversations picking up albeit more quietly than before. Jungkook exhales, tightens his hand around the knob as he turns it. It doesn’t make a sound.

But when Jungkook nudges the door open, the opposing air on both ends emits a popping noise, and that sets the group off. “What was that?” One of them barks, and before they can find him, Jungkook is flinging the door open, all reservations thrown aside as he stumbles into the forest.

He tears through the initial overgrowth of bushes behind the gas station, stumbling into the dirt. Faceless voices are shouting behind him, their hurried footsteps jumping over the counter in their attempt to grab him.

Fuck, why were they chasing him? Why couldn’t they just let him leave? He wasn’t the entity they feared, he was just some guy trying to live.

He runs for about twenty yards, but the tree line nearest to the town is thin, and he doesn’t doubt they can see him out in plain sight. He needs to lose them and fast. Running a few more meters, he dives into a thicket of bushes. If he curls himself up small enough, maybe they won’t see the glimpses of his blue tracksuit from above.

He knows it’s stupid, thinking the distance will delude them into thinking he was farther or closer, but what else can Jungkook do? Literally nothing. He hugs his knees to his chest, slows his breathing as they come up closer.

“Where’d he go?” One of them shouts a few meters ahead of him.

Jungkook holds his breath, listens to their dragging footsteps against the forest floor. They pad around for a few minutes, probably sweeping over the tree line in search of him. One of them comes scarily close to his hiding spot, and through the gaps in the flora, Jungkook can see a knife strapped around their thigh. Eventually, they seem to congregate a little further away from him, quiet murmurs as they pronounce him gone.

Jungkook nearly cries in relief when they begin marching away.

He celebrates too soon. 

“You alright?” One of them calls to another, and a long beat of silence follows. Jungkook wonders if they got injured, hurt themselves in their hurry to catch him, but he finds he doesn’t really care anyway. Just as that selfish thought hits, so does someone’s boot against his face.

Jungkook splutters, the iron taste of blood flooding his mouth as someone drags him out from the bush, the cold glare of a stranger greets his blurry vision. “Got ya,” he sneers, shoving Jungkook down to the ground. “Look what I found,” he calls to the others, and they all chatter excitedly at his find, swarming Jungkook’s body.  

A wave of emotion floods him one by one. First is the fear that tightens around his heart when he registers the guns in their hands, on their waists, or over their backs. The knife alone had startled Jungkook; the sight of an even more murderous weapon scared him shitless. Second is the confusion, similar to the one from earlier. Didn’t they recognize there were bigger, scarier evils out there to worry about? Why were they so bent on catching him, just another straggler as far as they were concerned. Lastly is overwhelming humiliation.

Here he was, pushed to the ground in front of a group of strangers who sneered and laughed at his trembling form. They were obviously amused by his discomfort. Jungkook never wanted to hide so bad in his life.

The one from before nudges him hard in the ribs, pulling a pained groan from Jungkook. “Who are you with?” He spits, narrowed eyes focused on Jungkook.

Jungkook flounders, weakly covering his body with his arms. “H-Huh?” He stutters, not understanding their question. Who was he with? Obviously no one. Why else would he be here hiding in the forest like a baby?

The man, who Jungkook assumes is their leader, doesn’t find his answer amusing it seems, as he digs the toe of his shoe against Jungkook’s side again, rough enough to fracture. “Who the fuck are you with?” He repeats. Jungkook flinches.

What is he supposed to say? No one, I’m alone and scared of whatever is out here. As if the man would understand. The glint in his eye tells Jungkook he won’t be gaining any sympathy points with that one.

Enraged with Jungkook’s lack of response, he begins raining down more painful blows against him. The others join in, kicking his quivering body until Jungkook is crying out, begging them to stop.

After all his grueling efforts running from the entity, he can’t believe he’s going to die at the hands of another human. Fate was cruel.

Just as he’s resigned himself to his shameful death, the crack of a gun bounces across the treeline, the whizzing of a bullet filling his ears. For a moment he thinks he’s been shot, body coiling up as his attackers slow to a stop.

But then one of them curses, hiking his weapon into his arms. “Fuck, where are they?”

“I don’t know!” Another responds, whirling away to scan over the area. With their attention turned away, Jungkook goes to escape, making a pitiful attempt at crawling away. “I don’t see anyone.”

The leader seethes at the reply. “Well, they’re fucking here.”

Jungkook doesn’t know who ‘they’ are or why this admittedly terrifying group of individuals is afraid of them, but he supposes he should be too. After all, whatever scared these folks was certain to petrify him.

Another gunshot sends them scrambling apart, the metal bullet digging into the wood of a tree just behind Jungkook. They all see it, his attackers sharing a look of unease amongst themselves. Finally, they seem to come to the same conclusion, gesturing for the leader to speak.

“Alright,” he shouts to no one in particular. “We get it. We’ll back off now.”

A pause, another shared look, before they slowly begin retreating in the direction of the gas station. Jungkook wants to follow them, despite how scary they are, because he’s even more terrified of whoever scared them off. When he leans up onto his elbow, one of them kicks it from under him, sending him face first into the soil.

They snicker as they leave. “Good luck with those bitches,” one of them jeers, gives him a wonderful parting gift by spitting in his face.

Feeling thoroughly humiliated, Jungkook stays put.

Maybe it’s better to let whoever is out there just end this for him now. He can’t believe his first interaction with people outside of his friends was this degrading, this disheartening. Why had he spent so much time running from the entity if this is what waited at the other end?

The rev of an engine starts up, and he watches in disgust as a Jeep full of assholes takes off down the road, hurling a multitude of insults his way one last time.

As if he didn't feel bad enough already.

So caught up in his depressing thoughts, he forgets about whoever scared them off in the first place, finally sitting up and dusting himself off. His already dirty tracksuit reeks from weeks of usage, the front now stained with blood. When he reaches up to wipe the spit off his face, he sees the dirt that crusts over the sleeve. Would anything ever go right for him?

Something moves to his left.

Jungkook pales, stills his movements as the shuffling continues, eventually registering in his ears as the harsh crunch of leaves under someone’s boot. His heart thunders in his chest, expecting another kick to the face, a shove to the ground. When a hand touches his shoulder he nearly sobs.

“It’s just a kid,” a gruff voice calls out, and the announcement has more people crawling out of obscure hiding places, more strangers appearing before him, until a new set of faces towers over him.

There’s not as many of them, only about six that surround him. The group from before easily outnumbered them two to one.

Amidst the people, one person maneuvers their way to the front, an inquisitive face that’s presence makes everyone step away from the claustrophobic half-circle they’ve formed around him. “Let me see,” the woman says, dropping down to a squat before him. She's got a pistol attached to her hip, a larger rifle slung over her back.

Her eyes flicker over Jungkook’s face, and his over hers. She’s got ethereal features, he thinks, that don’t match the automatic weapons decorating her body. Despite the protection she carries, Jungkook doesn’t feel the same crippling fear from before. In fact, there’s something comforting about the way she glances over him, over his bruised eye and bloody nose.

A hand taps his cheek, a tentative pat, as if she senses he’s not fully there. “Hey,” she greets carefully, meeting his gaze for the first time. “You okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. For many reasons, he was obviously not. Mentally, he was still as distressed as he was the first day the madness hit, since the entity appeared. He feels like he’s going insane from the weeks he’s spent wandering through a desolate world, alone and desperate for human interaction, a sort of self-induced madness of his own. He’s so afraid too, but he imagines she understands that. Physically, he doesn’t think he looks much better.

He wants to say, no, not really, those people made me feel more humiliated than I ever have in my entire life and I would like to go home now except my home doesn’t exist anymore and it probably never will.

In a monotone voice he replies, “just peachy.”

A couple of the people behind her snort, and her lips pull into a subtle smile.

“Well,” she claps, rising to her feet. “Glad to hear it.” She sticks out a hand for him. He stares at it like he’s never seen one before. She shakes it in his face, and he belatedly realizes he’s supposed to take it. She hauls him up with a strength Jungkook doesn’t expect, wiggles the sleeve of her dark sweatshirt down in a fruitless attempt to wipe the spit and blood from his face. He imagines it doesn’t do much, but it’s the thought that counts. “My name’s __,” you tell him, and he lets the name roll around his head as he stares deeply into your eyes.

Fifteen minutes ago Jungkook had given up on humanity as those psychos pummeled him into the earth.

He wonders if this is the universe’s way of apologizing to him.

“Jungkook,” he says breathlessly, eyes focused on your every feature, like if he blinks you’ll disappear from right in front of him. He’s partially convinced himself you’re a figment of his imagination, a reprieve his mind provided in these dark times, when you speak again.

“Jungkook,” you repeat; he doesn’t think anyone’s ever pronounced his name so beautifully before, but everything about you seems to be just that.

Vaguely, he remembers learning about this in some freshman psychology class. What was it called? Suspension bridge effect. Was he seeing you like this just because you’d saved him from a very dire situation? Probably. It’ll go away soon, he assures himself.

“Well, Jungkook,” you say, stepping back into the comfort of the group of people with you. The aura you emanate is the complete opposite of his attackers from earlier, despite the fact you’re nearly identical in appearance; dark clothing, utility boots, armed weapons. “Are you alone out here?” He barely remembers to nod. You hum, glancing at the man beside Jungkook who initially stepped out. “My friends and I have a place out here. Hidden from psychos like them,” you glare pointedly at the gas station obscured by the trees, “you’re welcome to come rest up there if you’d like.”

Unlike his attackers your group seems to travel on foot, carefully navigating through the forest like you’ve got it memorized. You stick him with the guy from before, a fellow named Taehyung who’s quite the chatterbox once Jungkook breaks through his serious exterior.

Before anything, Taehyung gives him a practiced speech detailing the horrors of the world right now, almost like he’s had to explain this to people before. Jungkook already knows it all, but still nods along politely to everything he says. The longer they walk, the more anxious he becomes.

Maybe following this pack of strangers back wasn’t the brightest idea, he begins to think. For all he knows you could be exactly the same as that original group of stragglers, luring him deeper into an unknown landscape to kill him. Part of him is disappointed in the negative progression of his thoughts, the lack of faith he has in his fellow human. But what else is he to do?

Since the appearance of the entity the world he knew had begun to dismantle itself. Societies they had spent centuries building up crumbling in the mere span of a few weeks. He hadn’t seen a person in almost a month now, and the first ones he did see almost beat and humiliated him to death. He can’t be blamed for his pessimistic outlook.

They walk through the forest until they reach a creek, a thin trickle of water that widens the further south they go, and continue flush against the water bed. Eventually, Jungkook begins to hear the bustle of more people, which immediately sets him on edge. Taehyung flashes him a wide smile that grows the closer they get to the noise.

His heart pounds in his chest, feels it in his ears.

Part of him is expecting an end to this long journey, maybe a bullet to the head or a knife to the chest. No matter how much he tries to convince himself that you and your friends are nice people, he can’t. He’s caught up in a whirlwind of anxieties, breaths growing more shallow and choked off, and by the time they finally stop walking, he’s nearly struggling to breathe, peering through the trees only to find—

A huddle of tents. A few wooden structures. Some kids kicking around a ball.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, and Jungkook flinches with a loud yelp. “This is Oleander,” you inform him, waving a hand over the tiny establishment.

Oleander.

He walks through the grounds with his shoulders pulled up damn near his ears, nervously glancing around at the people that wander by him. There’s about fifty of them—some older and some younger—that mill about, all greeting him politely. In his shock, their faces all blend together and he can’t tell one apart from another. The first face that his mind truly registers is that of a trustworthy man with a big smile.

Hoseok, you introduce him as before promptly disappearing.

Hoseok is the man who shows him around this Oleander place, walking him to and fro. He’s also the man who shows him to the creek about a hundred meters behind the Oleander base, as he calls it, watches over him as Jungkook scrubs weeks of grime off his skin.

Oleander, apparently, is a safe haven established by Hoseok and you. You make do by scavenging through nearby towns, occasionally sending groups of scavengers farther out. You’re accepting of all those who wish to escape from the entity, finding solace in a carefully secluded plot of land far from any signs of civilization; Strays, Hoseok refers to him and others like him as.

Beneath all the dirt, his skin is tender, soft, and pink. When he rises from the water, he’s extra careful of covering his privates with both hands. Hoseok says nothing of his nudity, tosses him a towel and new clothes, though he advises him to wash his smelly tracksuit anyway. The garments are similar in style to the ones everyone else on this base wears, a collection of muted browns and muddled greens that make him blend into the trees around him. The stained tennis shoes go back on his feet, because Hoseok doesn’t have anything else to offer him at the moment.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions about what this place is, so feel free to ask me!” Hoseok tells him when they get back, passing by the largest of the wooden structures that smells absolutely heavenly. Suddenly, he remembers the rabbit meat he left on the hotdog cooker. 

Jungkook’s mouth starts before his brain. “Why the tents?” He asks, watching people duck in and out of the shabby quarters. They’re camping tents, the same kind his dad used to rent on their family trips. He quickly pushes that memory away.

Hoseok answers his question. “Well, as you probably know, the Thing out there likes hitting up cities, towns. Anywhere with noticeable traces of life,” he explains. Jungkook nods. “This place is pretty empty as you can tell,” he says, gesturing towards the vast expanse of forest around them. “So we’re not too worried about it finding us here. But in the case that it does, however,” he shakes his head here, like he doesn’t even wanna imagine that possibility. “We gotta be ready to move everyone quickly.”

“It’ll follow you,” Jungkook blurts out, hates how negative he sounds telling a sunny man like Hoseok such news.

Hoseok doesn’t seem the least bit phased by Jungkook’s words. “Yeah, but,” he trails off, glancing over the grounds, until he finds what he’s looking for. “We have a secret weapon,” he sings, gestures towards where you’re standing by a group of kids trying to scale the side of a tree.

Now what did that mean? “A… woman?” He says tentatively, and Hoseok laughs.

“You’re a funny guy, Jungkook,” he says, patting his back. “But no. We have someone here with a, let’s say, unique ability,” he explains. Jungkook blinks. Hoseok grins, tugs him close like he’s about to share some national secret with him. “Our friend __ over there can sense the Thing,” Hoseok whispers.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. “So can I?”

Hoseok, a fairly relaxed soul as Jungkook is quickly learning, let’s go of him in favor of releasing a deep, belly-shaking chuckle. “Let me guess,” he teases. “The wind and the voices? We can all do that, buddy.”

Jungkook shakes his head, eyes slowly returning to you. You’re holding onto one of the kids now, tucked beneath your arm like a football as you drag them closer to the camp. “No,” Jungkook says softly. “It’s different.”

“Really?” Hoseok drawls, though Jungkook can tell he doesn’t believe him for a second. “What’s it like?” He plays along anyway.

Jungkook shrugs, glances down at his fingers. He recalls the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in the memories. “It’s like… a rope around my throat. Except the knot is never tied, so it just brushes the back of my neck, over and over again.”

When he opens his eyes, Hoseok is staring at him like he has three heads. Jungkook takes a step back, fearing he’s grossly overshared and now they think he’s some nut job. “Holy shit,” Hoseok exhales, glancing over him with wide eyes.

“Seokjin!” He screeches, catching Jungkook’s wrist in between his bony fingers before he can run away. Jungkook’s heart lurches in his chest, cheeks flushing when Hoseok pulls him across the grounds under everyone‘s inquisitive glances. They stop before a tent that’s larger than the others, one flap pinned open. “Seokjin,” Hoseok repeats once inside, the space smelling strongly of antiseptic.

How long have you and your friends, as you called them, been here? There’s a huge amount of medical supplies overflowing inside this tent, like you’ve raided every pharmacy in a fifty mile radius.

Hoseok pushes him into the center of the space, where he nearly bumps into a tall man in glasses. “Seokjin,” Hoseok gasps. “This kid has the thing.”

“Huh? What thing?” The man—Seokjin—asks, seemingly unimpressed with Jungkook’s appearance before him. “Who even is this kid?”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook offers, though it gets lost in Hoseok’s sudden outburst.

“He has the thing,” he emphasizes. “The __ thing.” He glances at the entrance to the tent, like you’ll suddenly appear at the mere mention of your name. You don’t.

Something registers in Seokjin’s features, a slow realization as his eyes flick over to Jungkook. “Holy shit,” he says, wide eyes bouncing between him and Hoseok. “You’re kidding.”

Hoseok looks oddly proud of himself as he plops down on the cot pressed against one end of the tent. “Nope,” he responds. “Described it just like her and everything.”

Seokjin pushes his glasses up his nose, eyes scanning over Jungkook’s frame behind the magnified lens. “Uh huh,” he hums, pinching the skin over his tricep. Jungkook flinches. “I see.”

Jungkook can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry—who are you?” He blurts out, taking one cautious step away from Seokjin and his grabby hands. He hadn’t interacted with another person in weeks and today alone he was beat up like a loser and now gawked at like a slab of prime meat.

“Oh, right. Kim Seokjin, only registered nurse in this lovely Oleander,” he introduces, sticking one hand out for Jungkook to shake. He does, surprised by the force of his handshake. He doesn’t give Jungkook the chance to introduce himself either, using their connected palms to hold Jungkook’s arm up and glance over him some more. “Lean, healthy. How old did you say you were?”

“Twenty-five,” he responds, snatching his arm away. Seokjin doesn’t seem offended, instead circling around him. Sensing Seokjin won’t be of much help, he turns back to Hoseok. “You said if I had questions to ask you.”

Hoseok nods. “I did.”

Seokjin gasps. “Hobi, look at the thighs on this kid, Jesus,” he exclaims, poking at the corded muscle beneath his borrowed pants. “You run track?”

“Soccer,” he corrects. “Who were those people and why did they attack me before?”

Another voice answers, significantly less loud than the men he was currently stuck with. “Magnolians,” you reply from the entrance. Jungkook jumps at your abrupt appearance, suddenly finding it hard to look you in the eye. “Another camp like ours who used this catastrophe to become the sick fucks they never got to be in their regular lives,” you explain, coming around to stand in front of Jungkook. Your solemn expression fades upon meeting his gaze. “Jungkook, how are you feeling?” You inquire, worried eyes checking him over the same way Seokjin’s just did, except it sparks a sense of bashfulness in him when it’s you.

“Fine,” he mumbles, suddenly wishing Seokjin was back on him again. But the guy chose now of all times to fuck off, settling beside Hoseok to watch him talk to you.

“That’s good to hear,” you say, and then almost absentmindedly reach a hand up to caress his hair. Jungkook freezes, hyper aware of your close proximity. He very pointedly ignores looking at your beautiful face. It’ll go away, he reminds himself, heart panging when you retract your arm. “Is Seokjin evaluating your health?”

He glances over at the man, who gives him a half-assed shrug. With not a lot of confidence in his answer, Jungkook replies, “kinda.”

Before you can question him or Seokjin, Hoseok is jumping in to intervene. “Jungkook has the same freaky power as you,” he reveals, eyes sparkling at the news he reports.

Though you initially jolt in surprise, meeting his gaze with a wondrous glint in your eyes, it eventually fades away. Replacing it is a look of skepticism. “Really?” Your arms fold over your chest as you trace over his features. Jungkook has never felt more shy in his entire life, having a woman like you drink him in with absolutely no shame. “And what power is that?”

If it’s a test, Jungkook fails it. “The, um. Thing.”

Seokjin snorts, burying his face in Hoseok’s shoulder at his weak response. His cheeks flush, the rosy hue slowly filling his face until the tips of his ears are warm, your unimpressed expression staring back at him.

He rushes to redeem himself. “The feeling,” he adds. “Around your neck. Like there’s someone else in the room but you don’t know where.”

Slowly you nod, arms falling back to your sides. You don’t say anything else about this power (as Hoseok calls it), instead turning to face Seokjin. “Your thoughts?”

Seokjin claps his hands together, hopping off the cot to round Jungkook again. “Great body, experience in sports, so I’m assuming lots of stamina. Doesn’t look like he knows his way around a gun, but that can be taught.”

The ending of his evaluation leaves Jungkook confused. “Why would I need to know how to use a gun?” Seokjin glances at you pointedly.

“Actually,” you admit, “I came here with a proposal for you, Jungkook.” Jungkook stills. The only proposals he’s ever heard of usually end in big, classy ceremonies on the beach. He’s just met you a few hours ago. “I would like it if you joined us here in Oleander.”

Jungkook falters, glancing warily between you and the other men in the tent. “Why?” He says, sounding like a child.

You don’t mind. “Well, truthfully, I think it would be good on your end,” you say, “to have the extra protection. Taehyung tells me you’ve been on your own for a while now. We wouldn’t mind taking you in.”

“What’s in it for you?” He interrogates next.

Jungkook thought you were really cool. You had saved him from a group of crazies who wanted to kill him, showed him your secret hideout, and on top of that, you shared something in common with him (apperently). Sure, you had helped him, but Jungkook knows better than to not expect anything in return.

His straightforwardness brings a smile to your face. “Well, if what Seokjin says is true, I think you could become a valuable member of Oleander. I think your support and protection would be a huge help to us here.”

You’re looking at him with these big, sparkly eyes, like the mere idea of Jungkook joining this group of strays is all you’ve ever wanted. Admittedly he sees the logic in your words.

Jungkook thinks about leaving here alone, about returning to that nameless town in the middle of nowhere. There were only so many bags of beef jerky he could eat through, so many rabbits he could strangle before it wasn’t enough. What would he do in the winter? It didn’t snow often in this part of the world, but with the animals in hiding, what would he eat? Would he have to keep traveling from town to town, risk encountering those Magnolians from before?

They really did a number on his faith in humanity. How could people just resort to violence so easily, even after having the knowledge that there were far more harmful things out there than a loaded gun? Jungkook’s been thinking about it since it happened, hours after the event, and he still hasn’t reached a plausible conclusion. Were they deranged? Or simply losers, as you’d so eloquently implied, who were taking advantage of such calamity to live out these frankly disturbing lifestyles. Jungkook didn’t understand, and the longer he ponders it, he realizes maybe he never will.

Some things are just better left unknown, he supposes. But that didn’t mean one had to face them alone. He returns his attention to you and your expectant eyes.

As for you, he still had a lot of questions— who you were, why you did this, what this shared power of theirs was. He figures he can ask you them later. For now, he sticks his hand out for you to take.

“I’m in.”

⇢ part two 

Copyright © July 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[theprologues]

Is that NYC Anon for real!?

"I rent a place on Cornelia I say casually in the car..." A bitch rented that place June 2016. Clearly she had contemplated with her significant other/person BEFORE moving to Cornelia Street—before Toe. She re-prioritized her life that was going down hill like a f*cking landslide. Rent a place. Renovate Tribeca residence for her and her true love. Toe has ZERO to do with New York. He was offered a long-term contract because Taylor wanted to protect what she was trying to rebuild with Karlie so they could become more open together like before, but then election 2016, which fully forced them to go dark.

Think about this:

Kaylor's Their first single public outing was MARCH 2016! It had been an entire year since that happened without chaperones and she captions a picture, "my FAVORITE person to DANCE with (DWOHT)." Beach Stunt trip with CH. Names written in sand 😏 CH get (+) not (❤).

APRIL: Taylor changed her hair to platinum, started wearing chokers—and stars. Went to Coachella. Vegas for Twins bday. Karlie is there. Britney's wedding, gives a wonderful speech about love enduring and being a new page, and mention being in a magical "relationship." Sure not Calvin. 🤣

MAY: Met Gala Technology/Music themed. Taylor was a host with Idris Elba(oh... yes, London Boy Idris). It was also a set of for her "prison break" from CH (Getaway Car) and she 💃 to September by Earth, Wind, Fire with **cough** KK & TH.

JUNE: Breaks up with Calvin, moves into Cornelia Street and BOOM in comes TOM. HiddleSwift✈ 🛩 🛬 🛫

JULY: 4th of July!! Celebrity party. "Karlie's Made in America caption." 🎆 "I ❤ T.S" was born Kimye tapes/receipts. HiddleSwift ✈ 🛩 🛬 🛫. The TIWYCF drama. (LWYMMD).

AUGUST: Taylor practically MIA this month, but shows her face in the Hamptons for a Karlie-Mikey joint bday party. Wishes Karlie a happy birthday with a big "I LOVE YOU KARLIE...!" Sends her Sunflowers 🌻 and a sweet moment is captured via Skype with the sunset. ❤(KOMH). Mystery ranch trip. They both show back up in the city at the same time. Media trys pitting Karlie against Taylor with the Kimye drama. VMA snub by CH. (Apocalypse!)

SEPTEMBER: HiddleSwift breaks up! Taylor looks overjoyed to be free—but clearly has tricks up her sleeve. The Kanye concert "f*ck Taylor Swift"on his tilted stage. (LWYMMD)

OCTOBER: Dinners w/friends, private Kings of Leon Concert, Halloween party, "It's all part of the fucking story—K ALONE" is born. In comes Toe(he is snapped by paps) and saves in the drafts for later. Karlie shows up the next night (also pap'd). The Bowery and Lovers Bar. ALL PAP'D! (Delicate) is crafted literally the day after based on the 🌟 ⭐ tattoo she had worn around her neck. 😏 Drakes Birthday party. Angel wings tats, 🌟 on Kaylor wrist. 3rd poloroid?? (L.A.)

NOVEMBER: Baby Lorde's 20th birthday. Two Angels kissing her cheek. Trump Wins. Kaylor fades to black in public. (NYC). Taylor was being called all kinds of derogatory names for not speaking out during the election. A mess. Jerk and Austin Pap'd walked before election results.

DECEMBER: Karlie post Taylor birthday post about her being blessed to call Taylor friend, sister and partner in crime. (REPUTATION is almost done). Taylor releases her collab with Zayn. Karlie also post a 🐨 from Australia on Taylor's birthday ironically "I'm never leaving". (NYD anyone). Taylor surprised a 90 year old fan who lives in Missouri after Christmas. Yes, Missouri..not LONDON. She was also wearing the same jacket she wore for the Delicate Virticle Spotify video.

JANUARY: Taylor practically goes ghost mostly until her concert in TX in February 2017. By this time. Reputation is practically done. At least 6 months ahead planner she is and album has to be done before she starts planning video. It was also supposed to come out earlier than it did.

You know how the story goes... she pulls her PR out right in time. MAY!!! Pap'd in Nashville on a Balcony. Yeah... in Nashville. Never happens. 👀

So, tell me again what Toe is for? And how NYC is relevant to him?? It is all planned literally to the T!

I may have missed some details. This was from the top of my head. You get the gist though.

Why she dissappeard? She has told us.

TOE was the escape from the 4+ years she knew what the state of our country would be in and the horrible situation Karlie was stuck. She knew it was going to be a long road.

She will come back from Neverland soon. I have faith.

Thank you for this! The detail! 

Also she recorded KOMH in August 2016 how can you write a song like that after meeting someone once in passing and then dating someone else???

[seungkwan-s]

Survival.

pairing; non-idol!eric x non-idol!kevin x reader (this is totally platonic)

words; 1.5k

genre; horror, zombie apocalypse AU, tiny bit of comedy

warnings; swearing, mentions of blood, the use of weapons

a/n: who doesn't love zombies 🧟‍♀️

You’d only read about this in books, seen it in movies but never in your whole life did you think this would become a reality. Nobody knows how this started or where the disease had originated from. It’s almost as if it happened out of complete nowhere. People began to disappear, cars were left on the road, doors wide open. Bits of flesh scattered on the pavements, blood everywhere. It was like something out of a horror film.

Your first sighting of an actual zombie was when you were coming home from the store, with a pint of milk and a loaf of bread in your bag. The streets were quiet, the streetlights were dim. The city had never been so silent, it was eerie. Your eyes caught a glimpse of something ahead of you. It was a lanky figure, its arms and legs spread out, uttering low, guttural moans. At first, you chalked it up to be a drunk person and you continued walking. Though it didn’t take long until they began to run toward you that you realized, this wasn’t a drunk person. You had zero weapons with you, so you made a quick decision to sock the zombie in the head with your carton of milk.

The news every night was the same; same shit, different day, Always giving the same advice to everyone in the city; stay at home. Don’t go outside. And if you do happen to encounter a zombie, with a thirst for brains or a chew of your finger, the message was simple; kill it. Videos were shown on how to successfully kill a zombie. Unfortunately, not everyone in the world was killing them. There were a small, handful of people who found it entertaining to intentionally feed their enemies to the undead. They enjoyed filming the ordeal, watching them being ripped apart, suffering at the hands of the undead and posting the footage onto any and every social media platform for the entire world to view their crimes. It was horrific.

It’s been almost a year since the apocalypse was first mentioned online and in the newspapers. Back then, there were no sightings reported but there were stories circulating online about the undead. Many people thought it was a hoax, that it was just someone online looking for attention until the disease hit the city. Many fled, some stayed behind. Fans of zombie movies lived for this. You believe people always loved the idea of a zombie apocalypse because they have convinced themselves that they can survive it.  Movies about the undead had been presented to us in such a way that anyone can survive if they use their brains, and have a willingness to start smacking zombies in the head with any object.

But things aren’t always as they seem because from where you’re standing, the world’s population has gone from billions, to millions. The only two other people that you know of that are not a part of the undead, is your next door neighbour and best friend, Eric and his friend, Kevin, who lived a few doors down. You were pretty much fully equipped to deal with the current situation, having the tools you needed to survive. Your stepfather loved adventure, he was a very outdoorsy person. He took you clay shooting when you were in your teens, which is how you had the knowledge and skill on how to properly use and shoot a gun. Your grandad left you a samurai sword in his will before he died, a sword you loved when you were a kid. You thought a sword was the coolest thing in the world, and you promised him that you would proudly hang it above your fireplace when you had your own place. And that’s what you did until you ripped it off the wall in an attempt to protect yourself from a man who followed you home, who thought that trying to take a bite out of you was a smart move until he was headless and bleeding on your floor. Your second zombie kill.

Your bow completed your set but you didn’t use it often, as you were running out of arrows. You see, a gun during the apocalypse is a godsend, it’s a quick and easy kill but the noise attracts more zombies because they think humans are around and they will come and eat you, as you are food to them. Your sword was a nice touch, but it means you have to be within the length of the sword to attack and it’s a risk. Whereas with your bow and arrow, you can attack from a far distance and when they’re down and weakened, you can use your sword for a silent killing.

“So, how many zombies do you think you’ve killed so far?” Eric asks you, as you’re making a cup of tea for the both of you in the kitchen. Honestly, you’ve killed a lot but you don’t care for a kill count. Not like some of these other people online bragging about their 100th kill. It’s real life, not a video game.

“That’s not really something I want to keep a note of, Eric. I just… want things to go back to normal,” You wonder if there will ever be such a thing as a normal life again. You feel like maybe normal isn’t the best choice of words, “or just a life where this isn’t happening anymore, you know?”

You hear him sigh, “Yeah. I understand. Reality sucks,”

Reality does suck, at least this one. Excluding the slaying of zombies, you didn’t do much in life. You read, you wrote, you often played Monopoly with Eric and Kevin and made them both bankrupt within the first hour by filling your properties with hotels. Every time one of them landed on your Mayfair or Park Lane, you were rolling in their money and waving it in their faces.

As you smile at the memory, a pounding on the front front door causes your heart to almost jump out of your chest, and you spill some tea on your shirt.

“Where’s my- oh, there it is!” You see Eric grab his crowbar as he peers out the window to see if he can see anyone and marches to the front door, still holding his weapon. You place the tea down on the table in front of you and just as you stand up, Kevin appears in the doorway.

“Oh, it’s you,”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, y/n, I bring gifts,” Kevin declares, as he opens the long coat he is wearing to reveal grenades strapped to the inside of it. Your eyes widened. You’d only used one grenade in your life. Obviously louder than guns mind you, but extremely effective, “My dad gave me them, told me to come get you two and take you guys into city centre,”

“City centre?” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“Mhm,” he nods, “Wait, have you seen the news update?”

Eric turns on the TV and switches to the local news channel, where the newsreader is giving a warning to stay away from the centre of the city. A video shows hundreds of zombies flooding the streets, “…the video you are seeing now was taken by an anonymous poster on the social media platform, Reddit, via his drone. The original poster of the video has called for a gathering at this building complex pictured here on the streets of Seoul for a massacre of the zombies. We have reached out to the poster for further clarification on this gathering but they have not responded. More to follow after this short break,”

“Kevin, we are not doing this, we could be killed! Are you crazy?!” Eric screams at him.

“Are YOU crazy? We can’t just sit here and watch the world fall apart. This has been ongoing for far too long and I… I can’t sit back and watch that happen!”

“Eric, maybe… maybe Kevin has a point. I mean, we can’t save the world but we can save the city, and our country. It’s a start,” You can acknowledge both arguments in this situation but on this occasion, you’re siding with Kevin. The three of you, with your heads put together, can absolutely win the fight.

Eric sighs, heavily, “Okay… So, what do we do now?”

~

The three of you stood a few metres away from the building that the anonymous poster had spoken about on Reddit, when he was talking about organising a gathering. You weren’t the only three people, there were a few others. All holding different weapons, slightly shaky but gripping them tightly. You stood out like a sore thumb; sword in its scabbard hanging from your belt, a pistol in each hand and your bow sitting neatly on your shoulder.

Eric looked you up and down, “y/n, you look like Lara Croft,”

You smile, “I’ll take that as a compliment,”

“Guys… what if we die?” Eric asks, you look down at his hands and they’re trembling. You can tell he was scared, and you were too. But in this world, in this life, there’s no use being scared and hiding away. It’s why you decided to try and fight to save people, you didn’t want to lose anyone else you knew to this disease. It was hard enough the first time.

“i won’t let any of you die, I promise. WE stick together, we don’t leave anyone behind, okay?” You hugged them both and Eric gave you a small smile.

“We’re ready,”

[dalgonachan]

Zero Visibility

pairing: Jeonghan x reader genre: zombie apocalypse au warnings: mentions of firearms prompt: jeonghan’s hands get cold from the downpour outside, but stopping in the midst of danger is something you aren’t so keen about word count: 1121 a/n: if youre still here after me being dead for such a long time haha thanks... anyway, i hope you like this one :) also, i’ll probably edit this since i posted this in a rush because my net is so slow TT

Jeonghan had his arms crossed, hands tightly tucked in between. His feet were on the car seat with knees leaned against the door. On edge due to the surge of adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your grip on the wheel was tense, knuckles turned white as you fixed your gaze on the road. The rainfall outside made it impossible to see despite the windshield wipers; if weather forecasts were still in service, they would most likely broadcast about zero visibility. However, not even bad weather was going to stop you from running away. 

"(Y/n)," Jeonghan called softly. You only hummed in reponse, sounding quite annoyed, eyes still looking ahead. "Stop the car."

Your foot doesn't leave the pedal as you ignored his words and charged into the rain. The car was going so fast that you could hear the engine revving like a Maserati racer, sounding even louder than the pounding rain.

"(Y/n), I said stop the car. You're putting our lives in danger with how fast you're going." Jeonghan says firmly, raising his voice above the volume of all the noise.

"We can keep going. If we stop, they'll catch up and we'd be in more danger." You argue stubbornly, shifting the gear to decrease speed. "Don't be scared. I got this."

"Look, there's a gas station." Jeonghan points forward and you slow down even more, looking carefully through the rain and at the blur of a figure he was referring to. Despite the water running down the windshield, you could tell there was a gas station nearby.

"Let's refill the tank and wait for the rain to subside." Jeonghan insisted. 

"Fine." You gave in, steering to the side of the road and rolling into the gas station. "Let's just hope the gas pumps work."

As soon as you parked by the nearest gas pump, you shut the engine and grabbed your gun from the compartment.

"I'll be right back," you said before hopping out of the driver's seat and shutting the door. Jeonghan leaned over to watch you grab a pump handle and insert it into the tank, then his eyes went to follow each button your fingers lightly pushed.

Once the pump started filling in the tank, you climbed back up into the car and stared out of the window to watch the numbers on the screen counting down. Jeonghan sat still in his seat, shivering from the cold. The rain was still strong and didn't seem like it was going to stop any time soon. It was also loud, but thanks to the station's roof over you car, the noise was reduced by a few notches.

"The weather isn't going to let up for some while, I guess," Jeonghan remarked, rubbing his hands together and curling up like a ball. "We should stay here and wait it out."

"We can't." Your reply was bland, but the tone in your voice stern. "We should keep going--"

"We've gone far enough." He hissed, giving you the side-eye. Crossing his arms, he looked away and huffed. "I doubt they're still following us. We should rest. Aren't you tired?" He turned to face you again, looking you up and down.

"Not really." You couldn't tell if you were lying or not. Indeed, you felt the exhaustion weighing down on your bones, but the adrenaline was definitely still pulsing within you.

It was difficult to tell time nowadays, but you knew it had been hours ago since you fled. You and Jeonghan were navigating a ghost town when a group of survivors happened to cross paths with you. It was then you were caught in an ambush as they wanted to loot your things and have you dead. Fortunately, you were able to make your escape, but not without attracting a horde of the infected after your tail.

"Put that down," Jeonghan said, causing you to twitch and snap you out of your thoughts. "I said put that down."

You had been unknowingly spinning the gun in your hand as you recalled the events that unfolded previously. Grabbing the handle of the compartment, you opened it and stashed the gun inside.

"Sorry," you muttered. "I was thinking."

Jeonghan let out a heavy sigh, breath still shaky from the cold. "Please tell me we're not going back on the road again. Tell me we're staying the night."

You hesitated, puffing your chest as you inhaled deeply, pondering about it. "I really don't think we should... I--"

"Please," he pleaded, the look on his face desperate. "I'm cold."

You looked him over and could evidently see he was quivering, hiding his fingers beneath his arms that had gone pale. The storm outside roared on relentlessly. Looking at the circumstances, it did seem like you had to wait it out before resuming the drive. Perhaps listening to Jeonghan would be the best decision at the moment.

Tugging at his arms, you get him to uncross them. His skin feels icy when you clasp his hands in yours. He's silent as he watches you blowing warm air at his palms while rubbing your thumbs over them. The action helps Jeonghan calm down a bit, but his hands were still frigid.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to do this." You tell him as a word of caution while tugging the sleeves of his sweater down to his elbows. 

Without making any second thoughts, you shoved his hands underneath your shirt. The moment his skin made contact with yours, you winced from the sudden chill introduced to your body. Jeonghan was baffled at your boldness, his eyes wide and unblinking. Eventually, he gets used to the sensation at the same time as you do and softens up.

"I think this is enough. I'm good." He withdraws his hands from you and you notice color returning to it. There's gratefulness in his tone, you sense, but he's too abashed to express it in words.

"We're staying the night." You say as an alternative for "you're welcome" and Jeonghan sighs in relief.

He grabs the lever underneath his seat and reclines it. Tossing over to his side facing you, he pats your thigh and tells you to recline your seat as well; you gladly comply. Once lied down, your eyes are level with each other as you bore your gaze into his. Ever so meekly, he lifted his hand and placed it beside your hand which went over to rest on top of his. Shy smiles are exchanged between the both of you before he fluttered his eyes to a close and dozed off. It takes a while, but soon enough, the rhythm of your heart becomes peaceful and you're fast asleep.