#this is my first time making a post in this sort of format

[palmolli]

Now that Link Akiran has Coltin tagging along, I can just imagine him in the middle of an intense battle against Link Kagena and Zelda, when Coltin suddenly walks in.

Kage: "Akiran, we don't want to fight you-"

Coltin strolls in, cookie in hand: "Hey, Link, I saw these cookies on the table, is it okay if I take one?"

Coltin, looking around akwardly: "...Am I interrupting something?"

Akiran: "Yes. You are. Get out."

Coltin: "But... can I have a cookie?"

Akiran, rolling his eyes in exasperation: "Yes, just get out, Colt!"

*Coltin exits the scene, hands up in surrender, holding a cookie between his fingers. Kagena and Zelda exchange confused glances*

Kagena, with a smug smile: "Wow, a divorced father at only seventeen. What are you doing with your life?"

Akiran: "Shut up! He's not my kid, and- Nevermind. Arguing with you is pointless."

Zelda: "Hey, can I have one of those cookies?"

Akiran: "I hate both of you."

[r0semultiverse]

Small indie artists in need of support for moving out by September!

💜 These lovely folks [@QuinsCurse (they/them) & @sswitchblade03 (xe/xem and he/him)] are part of a small queer-owned Youtube community I'm in. 💖

💖 If you could lend a helping hand by reblogging & queueing this post up until the start of September, I'd greatly appreciate it & I'm sure these fine folks would too! 💜

⚠️ Do not tag as d*nations or anything like that! ⚠️

"Hi everyone! Requests are officially closed as I am opening emergency commissions! Please consider supporting me as we are getting kicked out and have managed to find a place that’s affordable but need to save up 5k by the end of the month! Anything helps! I also have a dontations page if you are willing to help do that! All the money received from commissions will be going to the deposit! https://ko-fi.com/quinscurse/commissions https://ko-fi.com/quinscurse/goal?g=32"

⚠️ Do not tag as d*nations or anything like that! ⚠️

"https://ko-fi.com/sswitchblade03/commissions https://ko-fi.com/sswitchblade03/goal?g=0 EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS!! My roommate ‪@QuinsCurse‬and I are needing about $5000CAD for a down payment on a new place as we need to be out of our current place by September! Every bit counts! My goal is to be set to $3000CAD. I will draw anything (coloured and rendered) for $5 CAD each! If you are willing to give more it will be appreciated. Examples of my work below!"

⚠️ Do not tag as d*nations or anything like that! ⚠️

[critters-drawing-circle]

Creature Commissions!

I have nothing better to do with my time, so I’ve decided to start doing commissions!

Prices are all in mush, but anyone can feel free to request like random little doodles that I may do whenever I feel like it. price ranges vary depending on how complicated the creature it

anyways I only have the vahi as an example for now but as i draw more creatures I’ll get more examples up i just don’t wanna wait to make this bc i have lots of motivation rn

Basic Lineart: 100-150 mush

what it says on the tin, just flat lineart

Colored: 200-300 mush

Varies greatly depending on how complicated the colors are

Effects: +15 mush

like the ‘snow’ on the vahi art

How to get one:

You can dm me right here on tumblr! I’m starting out with two open slots just to begin, we’ll see how that progresses later :)

[triangle-strategy-notes]

Quahaug Concept Art

Quahaug's concept/reference art! Translation notes and image id under the cut.

Translation notes:

"OP sort of powerset" was literally translated as something like "cheat-like." I feel like OP is the more common English term for that sort of thing, so that's what I used, but some of the meaning was probably lost there.

"Older-tween-ish" was specifically a reference to a particular middle school year for children who are about 12-13 years old. Since grades and names of grades vary a lot from country to country, I just went with "older tween."

ID:

[Image id: Several images displaying different parts of 2 pages of the Triangle Strategy artbook, with both the original Japanese as well as versions with English translations. There are several disclaimers noting that the translator doesn't speak Japanese, and that there are likely many mistakes.

On one page, there is a large colored version of Quahaug's canon portrait, along with a smaller, uncolored version. There is an illustrator's note at the bottom that translates to read, "'Manipulating time' is an OP sort of powerset, so though he looks like a child, I aimed to create a look for him that conveyed a sense of unknowable power. (Tatsuaki Urushibara)".

On the second page, there are many drawings of Quahaug, including a closer bust-up portrait in which he's compared to Lyla, with an arrow and label reading, "Mother." There's also several notes that explain the construction of his costume. The costume is labeled as a Greek "phelonion" (a priest's outfit with no real sleeves, just draping fabric). There is a small drawing of this version, with an arrow leading to another drawing that does have sleeves, with the note, "If you can't display this in pixels, use this one." There are several notes that explain how this draping cloth should be considered his everyday clothes, while the ceremonial decoration that goes around his neck is placed over it. There is a close up of the ceremonial dressing's fastenings underneath the metal decoration. Some more notes highlight details on his staff, emphasizing the hourglass on top and the small wheel to the side that can be turned to flip the hourglass. A larger piece of text underneath one fullbody drawing reads, "Character Who Manipulates Time."

On the second half of the second page, there are drawings of some beta designs for Quahaug. He looks much more punk-ish. On one bust-up portrait, there are the captions, "The burden of the time demon caused some of his hair to go gray…." and "All-natural highlighted tips." On the same portrait, he is snapping his fingers, and there's a note that reads, "Manipulating time is as easy as snapping your fingers. You just have to want it or whatever." A speech bubble near his head reads, "I don't think of Anna as a mother." A caption pointing to some green markings on his arm reads, "Demonic time seal on body." In a fullbody drawing of his beta design (which is made up mostly of chains that barely cover him as well as a long roughed-up cloak, there is the note, "Almost naked cloak."

At the bottom of the second page, there is another note that reads, "Initially when we hadn't quite figured out the setting, we had an idea for a more older-tween-ish character as displayed here, but after discussing it with the producers and Mr. Ikushima, we went with his current form. As a boy who manipulates time, I placed an hourglass at the tip of his staff, and his face resembles that of his mother, Lyla. (Tatsuaki Irushibara)". /end id]

[portalhan]

⠀ꔫ˚　༝　◌ ⌒⌒ three strikes !

↳ jeongin swears on his life that he's seen something odd between you and felix... exactly three times, in fact, but he needs more concrete proof...

PAIRING: felix lee x gn!reader

FORMAT: one shot

GENRE: college au, friends to lovers, fluff, jeongin third wheeling...

WARNINGS: brief mentions of food and being sick (just the flu bug nothing huge)

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

FAE'S NOTES: this is just a little bit half-assed... idk if i have much faith in this and i believe i can do better than this but i'm gonna post it anyway for you guys! please let me know if you have any feedback, my writing muscles have basically atrophied and i need to find my rhythm again TT

jeongin doesn't usually second-guess his closest friends like this, but something has changed. he knows you and felix well enough to know at least that.

you have always been hard to read. you're an independent, reliable sort of person, not outwardly emotional nor needlessly arrogant either—you tend to show your love for your friends through small, quiet gestures. felix, on the other hand, is someone who wears his heart on his sleeve—almost to a fault. always baking extra brownies to gift people, always going the extra mile, always looking on the bright side, even in the darkest of situations. he is as fragile as he is affectionate.

yes, affectionate. that's the word he's been looking for to describe the changes in your friendship with felix. you've been more affectionate. jeongin has always chalked it up to felix's own proclivities rubbing off on you given the sheer amount of time you spend together, but now... he's not so sure it's that simple. there have been three strikes jeongin has kept score of so far.

STRIKE #1

jeongin remembers it was a tuesday, because that's the only day of the week where all three of you shared classes. you would always sit in a row near the back of the class. he has made it a point to memorise both yours and felix's timetables this semester—as do the both of you with him—so he knows you don't usually have prior arrangements before coming to campus. you've always had a tradition of meeting in the lobby before walking to class together as a result.

so, when his phone pings with a message from you saying 'sorry innie, we're gonna be a bit late! pls go to class first, just save us seats', he is immediately struck with confusion. what did you mean, "we"? felix, uncharacteristically, hasn't said a word and it's already 5 minutes shy from when class starts. he always arrives at least 10 minutes before. how strange, jeongin thinks to himself as he trudges up the stairs to class, incredibly unfamiliar with the circumstance of having to do so on his own for the first time. he just brushes the nagging suspicion off, telling himself it was probably because of some public transport situation that's delayed you both—not something entirely uncommon.

it's about 15 minutes into the class before he sees you. the second he spots felix and you stumbling through the doors, profusely apologising to the professor for your tardiness, though, is when the same sensation of suspicion comes back. as you and felix shuffle to make their way to the seats jeongin saved for you, he can't help but notice your attire. you're wearing an oversized black shirt with some graphic of an anime printed on. jeongin's eyes squint as he stares at it, assuming it must have been a new purchase of yours. but he swears he's seen it before.

when you and felix take your seats and the professors picks up where she left off, felix turns to jeongin and apologises for being late. "we're really sorry jeongin, we owe you one," he quips, before he fishes his laptop out of his bag. the younger boy just shrugs it off as no big deal. plus, he had something else on his mind to worry about than harp on the two of you being late to class.

the dots quickly connect a few moments later in jeongin's head. felix has a shirt just like the one you're wearing. he swears he's seen him wearing it before, just last week when the three of you had gone out for dinner. it's been a shirt of his for years now, so worn down by so many uses that it has bleach stains on the sleeves, despite how much care felix puts into his clothing.

jeongin leans back in his chair and slowly, subtly pushes it back. he steals a glance at your side profile, thankfully without either you or felix noticing. there they were: bleach stains on the sleeves. upon further inspection, the shirt you were wearing looks way too worn out to be a new shirt—he concludes it must be felix's. but why would you wear felix's dank shirt to begin with? it would be weird to ask if that's his shirt you were wearing, so he decides to keep his silence for now.

STRIKE #2

this time, it was jeongin's turn to be late. the three of you had planned a picnic to celebrate the end of the gruelling semester—an idea felix suggested. he wanted it to be a potluck, so the each of you planned to bring something of your own making along.

jeongin wanted to go all out with his: he wanted to bake cupcakes, something felix had recently taught him how to. he wanted to show you his latest endeavours, baked fresh, but he didn't expect it to go sideways so last minute. he ended up showing up almost half an hour late, hair sticking to his forehead from all the sweat and cupcake frosting smeared all over the tupperware he placed them in out of haste.

when he finally spots the two of you amid the grass field at the park, he notices something... odd. he stops in his tracks to catch his breath and squints his eyes to get a better look. if he didn't know any better, he'd have thought you two were... holding hands? the sun was glaring directly in his face, obscuring his vision, so jeongin couldn't be 100% sure. but what he does know is that your figures were so close to each other they were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. this isn't exactly beyond felix, who is notorious for his habits of physical affection. but it is most certainly out of character for you, as someone who prefers to keep most people at an arm's length.

jeongin shrugs it off. he guesses felix nor he would be considered "most people". perhaps it was a trick of the light. he also doesn't have good enough reason to find it entirely strange—perhaps felix had gotten through to you in that regard. he had bigger things to worry about: your dinner getting cold.

STRIKE #3

the legitimacy of the third time is still up for debate, jeongin surmises. this time it wasn't your behaviour around each other, instead more so about how felix in particular reacted.

this happened over summer break. he remembers the sun being more unrelenting than ever—40 degrees celsius to be exact, he saw on the news—so you three had just decided to hang out in your bedroom, where the air conditioning is the coolest and crispiest (according to you). jeongin vividly recalls you lying on your stomach atop your bed, while the two boys were sprawled on the floor. that is, the carpet that laid over the spot where they would usually sprawl on the floor.

it was one of those 'parallel play' days, as you liked to call them. not necessarily doing things together, but doing separate things in the presence of each other, you said one time. felix was busy on his switch playing some pokemon game, you were scrolling on your phone and jeongin was just seconds away from drifting off to sleep on felix's lap.

it's been silent for, what, almost two hours now? but you end up breaking it first. "woah," you suddenly exclaimed, brows furrowing as you read something on your screen. "do you guys remember seungmin? from calculus?"

jeongin does not move an inch aside from nodding his head, and felix just lets out a little "yeah?" though his eyes were never once peeled from the console screen.

"i think he just asked me out," you tell them, bewildered.

this, of course, elicits reactions of surprise from jeongin and felix. the former lifts himself and sits up to ask details, while the other just turns the switch off—did he even save his progress on the game?—and sits there in silence as he silently watches you and jeongin discuss your classmate's... proposition. jeongin makes a playful jab at how you could have given him the wrong idea by flirting with him, which you immediately shut down. "i've never done anything suggestive to him, i swear!" you exclaimed in full defense.

seungmin has only ever made conversation with you once or twice in class, jeongin recalls. you also never really put in the effort to get to know your other classmates if jeongin and felix were in the same classes. jeongin makes a passing comment about how seungmin could pass as your type (if you squint hard enough), but it falls on deaf ears when you and felix meet each other's gazes.

"you're gonna tell him no, right?" felix suddenly chimes in after moments of prolonged silence, raspy voice cracking just a little. jeongin snaps his head to turn and look at his friend, head tilted and brow lifted. you give felix a look jeongin cannot quite describe, and chuckle with a soft smile as you nod. "of course i'm gonna say no," you assure him. he lets out a very heavy sigh of relief, but none of this goes unnoticed by jeongin.

this is very weird, jeongin remembers thinking. you have always been receptive to potential love interests, even if they weren't necessarily people you'd normally be into. so why are you so sure now that you'd reject seungmin without even giving him a chance?

on that note, what's it to felix who asks you out? why does he have a say? plus, he could've sworn he detected some semblance of... jealousy in his question. but he supposes that could be normal considering all three of you are so used to spending time with each other. jeongin does admit to himself that he'd feel lonely if you were to be whisked away by some stranger out of nowhere. it wouldn't be the same.

jeongin has theories, maybe even concepts of a theory, but no concrete enough proof for confrontation—so far. it looks like he has to wait till he does before he can address the massive elephant in the room.

FINAL STRIKE

it finally happens when he decides to stop by your apartment with take-out. you had told your friends about falling sick the night before—alas, you have caught the flu bug. they were just textbook symptoms like a low-grade fever, sore throat and a runny nose, nothing to worry about in particular, you told them. but jeongin just so happens to pass by your neighbourhood on his usual route home from work, so he decides to drop in with some chicken soup for you as a small surprise. you had already been texting the group chat the entire day about how exhausted you were to make yourself a half-decent dinner, so jeongin thought this would be a nice way to take care of his friend.

he knocks on your door multiple times to no response. maybe you're sleeping? he looks around the potted plants sitting outside your door and lifts the snake plant up, grabbing the rusted spare key tucked away from prying eyes just underneath. he quickly and quietly unlocks the front door and lets himself in. i'll just go in, check on y/n and put this soup on the table, he tells himself as he enters. maybe text you to let you know he got you dinner.

that is, until a warm aroma of what he believes to be fresh bolognese wafts to where he is at the front door. he hears the distant clanging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, and—strangest of all—he hears... conversation? he can definitely hear you talking and even giggling, but he can't quite make out who the other person was. he's about 99% sure there was someone else in here, but could it be just a phone call? he sneaks down the hallway to the kitchen, the noises getting clearer as he inches closer. when he sticks his head out from a blind corner to peek into the kitchen, he sees it: felix plating a fresh bowl of spaghetti while you're sitting on the dining table engaged in idle chatter. a lump catches in his throat—what is felix doing here? and most importantly, why didn't he know of this? he felt momentarily betrayed.

jeongin just stands there in silence, unsure of how to confront you, while you and felix continue chatting. it's only when felix sets down two plates of pasta and goes in to plant a peck on your cheek does jeongin yelp in shock, which frightens all three of you.

felix squints his eyes, which widen in utter disbelief when he recognises the familiar facade lurking by the corridor. "jeong...in?" he asks, voice trembling a little from disbelief. when he says jeongin's name, you shoot him a similar look, but this one is more panicked and afraid. jeongin awkwardly steps out within view, but he puts a hand up to cover his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. he raises the other arm to point an accusatory finger at the both of you. you swear you just heard felix gulp next to you.

"i..." jeongin sputters. "i knew it! i knew something was going on between you two idiots!"

the verbalisation of his revelation is what completely opens the floodgates, causing the entire place to erupt in complete and utter chaos. jeongin paces back and forth with the chicken soup still dangling from his fingers as he rants about how he's caught you doing "weird stuff" a couple of times but couldn't have known, about how he's been feeling a little left out recently, how you have been looking at felix funny sometimes. meanwhile, felix just begins to talk over him with near-equal (if not more) amounts of sheer panic and distress, reaching out to him to get him to calm down while explaining that this wasn't how they had intended for him to find out.

you, crippled by the shock from jeongin's unexpected appearance, just sit there, unable to do much of anything what with your flu, just silently watching felix and jeongin form a panic attack circle jerk in your own house.

"enough!" jeongin raises his voice, which immediately shuts felix up. jeong has never raised his voice. you shoot felix a nervous look.

"i thought we were best friends," jeongin utters, the slightest hint of melancholy lacing his voice. he looks offended. you've never seen him look this offended, not even when he was accused of academic misconduct that one time. "i'm happy for you, ecstatic even! i swear i am, but really? why would you keep this for me for so long?"

you decide you should talk to him—felix is very clearly out of his depth when it comes to handling intense situations like this and he's only making jeongin feel worse with all the jabbering. you stand up from your seat on the table and walk over to him, taking your hands in his.

"i'm sorry, jeongin. we... we weren't entirely sure of how we were gonna do this," you tell him, almost in a whisper.

felix scratches the back of his neck, avoiding any and all eye contact with either of you. "we wanted to keep it quiet," he admits. "at first, at least."

you nod in agreement, and turn back to look at jeongin. "you were going to be the first person we would break the news to. not even our own parents, i swear," you divulge, while you spot felix in the corner of your eye making a silent crossed hearts gesture to double down on his sincerity. jeongin's once-tense features start to ease up a bit, but not entirely. "you are our best friend. we never want you to feel like this. we're sorry," you assure him, before pulling him into a bear hug. you feel felix join from behind you to make it a group hug.

"i don't care what you guys have going on, but don't keep any more secrets from me. got it?" your friend huffs after you all pull back, feigning some sort of authority. felix chuckles at how ridiculous he sounds—being the youngest of the three, the tone just sounds alien when it comes from him. "we would never," felix tells him, reaching out to give jeongin a firm pat on the back. "i think y/n might like you more than me anyway, they're always going, 'we should call jeongin! we should send him a photo! we should—"

your palm slaps against the lower half of your boyfriend's face in protest. "we might be dating but you're on thin ice," you glare at him, before he raises both hands to surrender.

jeongin jovially chimes in to break the tension: "can i just say, i've always felt like you'd get along. aren't you glad i introduced you to each other? you wouldn't be a thing if it weren't for me, ya know." felix and you just huff in response—he can have this.

[doufudanshi]

ON GHOSTS AND DEMONS: Wei Wuxian's "demonic" cultivation?

There are a few big misconceptions I have repeatedly seen in English-speaking fandom about things that are fundamental to the story of MDZS. One of them is this—

Wei Wuxian is not a demonic cultivator.

To prove this, let's take a deep dive into the original Chinese text of MDZS.

(Adapted from my original gdoc posted on Twitter on May 27, 2022. All translations my own unless otherwise stated.)

Demon vs. ghost

Let's start from the very basics. In addition to orthodox cultivation using spiritual energy and a golden core, there are two other forms of cultivation that are mentioned in the novel:

魔道 (mó dào), or ���demon cultivation/path.”

鬼道 (guǐ dào), or “ghost cultivation/path.”

To be clear, 魔 mo "demons" and 鬼 gui "ghosts" (and thus their respective cultivation/paths) are not interchangeable because of the in-universe worldbuilding within MDZS. Using the characters in the term 妖魔鬼怪 "monsters," MXTX created four distinct categories of beings, each of which has a strict definition in the novel. From chapter 4 (jjwxc ch 13):

妖者非人之活物所化; 魔者生人所化; 鬼者死者所化; 怪者非人之死物所化。 Yāo (妖) are transformed from non-human living beings; mó (魔) are transformed from living people; guǐ (鬼) are transformed from the deceased; guài (怪) are transformed from non-human dead beings.

And of course, WWX hoards all the ghost-type pokemon monsters at the Phoenix Mountain tournament, and he only exerts control over corpses, spirits, and the like (aka people who have already died). (As opposed to Xue Yang, who appears to have been actively trying to make 魔 "demons" out of living people with those "living corpses" of his, perhaps.) (And, ironically, in order to avoid showing necromancy / zombies on screen, CQL technically does show WWX practicing demon cultivation because everyone is "supposedly alive" even when they're corpses? Which is, funnily enough, far worse morally in the MDZS universe, lol.)

So, intuitively at least, we know that WWX must be practicing ghost cultivation—now let's look at some concrete examples from the book.

Running the numbers

1) 魔道 (mó dào) means “demon cultivation.” As such, it must use living humans.

魔道 appears one (1) time in the novel.

Yes, once. The only time it appears is in the term 魔道祖师 modao zushi, or the namesake of the novel, in chapter 2. This is a title the general public has given him through rumors:

魏无羡好歹也被人叫了这么多年无上邪尊啦、魔道祖师啦之类的称号，这种一看就知道不是什么好东西的阵法，他自然了如指掌。 Wei Wuxian wasn’t called titles like “The Evil Overlord,” “The Founder of Demon Cultivation,” and so on over the years by others for nothing—he knew these sorts of obviously shady formations like the back of his hand.

2) 鬼道 (guǐ dào) means “ghost cultivation.” As such, it must use dead humans. 

鬼道 appears 12 times in the novel.

Here is the first instance that 鬼道 appears, which I believe is the first time Wei Wuxian's method of cultivation is properly introduced. From chapter 3 (jjwxc ch 8):

蓝忘机 […] 对魏无羡修鬼道一事极不认可。 Lan Wangji […] had never approved of the fact that Wei Wuxian practiced ghost cultivation.

Here's another quote from chapter 15 (jjwxc ch 71) for funsies:

蓝忘机看着他，似乎一眼就看出他只是随口敷衍，吸了一口气，道：“魏婴。” Lan Wangji looked at him as if he saw through his half-hearted bluff. He took in a breath, then said, “Wei Ying.” 他执拗地道：“鬼道损身，损心性。” He stubbornly continued, “Ghost cultivation harms one’s body, and harms one’s nature.”

3) 邪魔歪道 (xiemowaidao) means heretical path/immoral methods/evil practices/underhanded means/etc—e.g., lying, cheating, stealing, bribery, and so on.

It appears ~24 times in the novel.

I mention this last term because it is often used to refer to Wei Wuxian's cultivation, but as a pejorative. Every instance of 邪魔歪道 is said by or to quote someone looking down upon Wei Wuxian’s cultivation (Jin Zixun, Jin Ling, etc.) and referring to it derogatorily, whereas every instance of 鬼道 guidao/ghost dao is said by someone discussing it neutrally and/or factually (Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian himself, random cultivators at discussion conferences, the narration, etc.). Here is a pertinent example with Jin Ling (derogatory) and Lan Jingyi (neutral) in chapter 9 (jjwxc ch 43):

金凌怒道：“是在谈论薛洋，我说的不对吗？薛洋干了什么？他是个禽兽不如的人渣，魏婴比他更让人恶心！什么叫‘不能一概而论’？这种邪魔歪道留在世上就是祸害，就是该统统都杀光，死光，灭绝！” “We are discussing Xue Yang,” Jin Ling said angrily. “Am I wrong? What did Xue Yang do? He’s scum that’s lower than a beast, and Wei Ying is even more disgusting than him! What do you mean ‘don’t make sweeping generalizations?’ As long as those practicing this kind of demoniac, heretical path are alive, they’ll continue to bring disaster. We should slaughter all of them, kill all of them, annihilate them once and for all!” 温宁动了动，魏无羡摆手示意他静止。只听蓝景仪也加入了，嚷道：“你发这么大火干什么？思追又没说魏无羡不该杀，他只是说修鬼道的也不一定全都是薛洋这种人，你有必要乱摔东西吗？那个我还没吃呢……” Wen Ning shuffled around. Wei Wuxian gestured at him to stay still, only to hear Lan Jingyi also cut in loudly, “Why are you getting so riled up? It’s not like Sizhui said Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have been killed. All he said was that people who practice ghost cultivation aren’t necessarily all like Xue Yang. Do you have to go around breaking things? I didn’t even get to eat any of that yet…”

Tl;dr—Wei Wuxian does not 修魔道 practice demon cultivation. When Wei Wuxian’s craft is discussed in a neutral and factual manner, it is referred to as 鬼道 ghost dao. 

In fact, Wei Wuxian’s imitators are also referred to explicitly as 鬼道修士 ghost cultivators.

魏无羡早就听说过，这些年来江澄到处抓疑似夺舍重生的鬼道修士，把这些人通通押回莲花坞严刑拷打。 Wei Wuxian had heard a while back that over the past few years, Jiang Cheng had gone around snatching any ghost cultivator suspected of being possessed or reborn, detaining them in Lotus Pier to interrogate them using torture.

So why the confusion?

Of course, there is the matter of the novel's title, which I will get into in a second. But the real issue is a matter of translation.

The idea that WWX uses "demonic cultivation" is a misconception in English-speaking fandom due to issues with the translation of terminology. Of note, EXR actually did translate 鬼道 guidao as "ghostly path" most of the time, though there were at least 3 instances of "demonic" and 1 instance of "dark," especially regarding the first few.

However, this misconception was perpetuated (and arguably worsened) by 7S's official translation, which not only mistranslated additional terms as "demonic cultivation/path" (at least in book 1), but also consistently mistranslated every instance of 鬼道 as "demonic cultivation/path."

So why is this book called 魔道祖师, commonly translated as "Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation?"

One possibility is one posed in Chinese-language meta online, which often cites that WWX himself is a sort of 魔 demon. While this may be true—after all, he can hear the voices of the dead—it doesn't quite explain the fact that the title sets him up to be the 祖师 or "founder."

My take is that this novel is very much concerned with hearsay vs. truth. This is one of the many monikers WWX is given by the public, who collectively view him as evil. (Also of note is that the non-cultivator public is not aware of all the nuances that cultivators learn re: distinctions between the 妖魔鬼怪 monsters.) In the quote from earlier, note that the first title we're given is actually 无上邪尊 “The Evil Overlord,” then 魔道祖师 "The Founder of Demon Cultivation." Like, what can that be other than MXTX telling us, "please take both of these with a HUGE grain of salt, lol."

(And not only the title, but the very first line—"魏无羡死了。" / "Wei Wuxian is dead."—is a lie.)

I think the title is genius, honestly. It intentionally makes readers come into the novel with preconceived notions that Wei Wuxian practices 魔道 demon cultivation and evil techniques—just like the public in the novel. What better way to tell a story warning about the dangers of how easy it is to fall for misinformation and jump to incorrect conclusions?

(Though, in our case, perhaps it worked a little too well.)

[bonus-links]

Hello! Could we have a director’s commentary on Ruins pt.11 please?? It drives me insane 🥺🥺

YEAHHH this is gonna be a long one. link to the update

this is also one of my favorite updates (and 100% my favorite dialogue in all of ch.1, possibly the whole comic so far) but I'm glad I waited to do a commentary bc I think this is actually really relevant to the latest update

cause like the conversation Loft has with botw Zelda here is very similar to the one he has with Ganondorf, though he's much less snippy during it

I wanted to give Zelda a chance to be bitter and share her grievances with the gods. Her entire story in BOTW is largely about how the legends and the expectations put upon her by them fail not only her personally but the entire kingdom. And yet she's made to feel like it's all her fault.

A lot of his comic focuses on the legacy of the Hero, but I don't want to leave Zelda (or Ganondorf) out of the conversation. The cycle makes victims of all three of them in various ways, and while I can't do everything at once, it's still my goal to explore that. The Zeldas in particular are all in interesting positions as members of the Royal Family, because they're at once always thrown in peril by it with little agency, and expected to be the facilitators of its success as the people with the closest proximity to the gods. Much to think about.

on that note BOTW Zelda is my favorite Zelda. she is my babygirl. she is my everything. I will die a BOTW Zelda defender. we haven't seen the last of her in this comic i promise :-)

okay on to actually analyzing the comic. This top panel is framed like a diptych, two paintings hinged together. these are often (though not always) associated with religious paintings and are often altarpieces. I use a triptych format in the newest update :D sidenote I think it's very cute that some of the Hylia statues in BOTW have been decorated, so i gave her a little flower crown

I imagine praying starts to feel a little strange when you are dating ur god. yeah. Also I think it's interesting that Skyloft seems to mainly worship Hylia, with the other gods being more distant. It makes sense given the whole "she personally raised us up into the sky to save us all" thing. Even though Loft is the very first hero sent on a personal religious quest directly by his goddess, I've always imagined him as kind of,,,,casually devout? In that way that it's all you've ever known. Like obviously his beliefs are deeply ingrained, but he's not as into the formality of it all as other Links we might meet later.

I think about Zelda in that freezing pool on Mt. Lanayru all the time. RAHHHHHHH

I've posted this before but close up of Slate running their errands, the errand being talking to the Great Fairies about if they've noticed anything weird going on lol. I actually wanted to make it a whole update on its own, but I cut it for time and also because. I don't think the Great Fairies really have any information that was necessary other than "no I don't know what's going on". So u get this panel.

I like this shot of that little statue towering over the both of them, and I mimic it a little bit in the new update here. something something about why we build monuments and what they stand for.

negative sim interaction

Loft still has to believe that Zelda and Slate's negative experiences had to have been some sort of misunderstanding. If Hylia could have helped, she would have. Knowing and loving your goddess on a human level also makes you want to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I actually really love that in BOTW Zelda resents Link for having some sort of access to the divine that she just can't reach. She has her arc about it in the game, but especially now she's come to understand that having the gods' favor is a double-edged sword. Also, that's not really meant to be Peony, but I like the idea that Champion also had an affinity for fairies. :-( Intentionally the same pose as Slate at the fairy fountain, though Slate is so tiny I probably didn't need to bother lol

that was a lot of rambling lol but i have. so many thoughts abt the subject matter of this update. this is the shit about LOZ that makes me froth at the mouth tbh

[kyupidos]

pokepoke.. i saww that requests r opeenn:3 so can i request the housewards w m!reader whos super energetic and always happy,,, ball of aunshine (oor like emu:3!!) hcs pwease

04/11/25 — twisted wonderland <3

‘is meaning smile!’ — summary. ‘housewardens with an energetic and happy m!reader!’

characters ;; housewardens -malleus , tags ;; reader is male ( masculine terms like “boyfriend” ), reader may or may not be yuu ( up to the reader ), romantic fluff

a/n ( omg…gets poked…AAH it’s been MONTHS since this ask, my apologies..i got stuck a few times and really had to look deep into my heart to come up with ideas, but here it is! i mean i wrote it a long while ago when i first received the ask but things came up…like me working on getting a job,, i also ended up cutting out malleus, i’m sorry 😭 sunshine x gllooomyyy(..??) is such a common trope but i ended up having a hard time writing him. i think my bias in characters shows in writing length anyways.. ( also hope you don’t mind me testing formats here )

riddle rosehearts —

riddle is, quite usually, strict and hot headed—of course, that’s not to say things change. especially upon meeting you, who always seems to be so lax and free spirited. not only that, but very full of energy and enthusiastic, so he noticed. for quite a bit of time, he watched you from afar, in all honesty, in almost the smallest tinge of jealousy ( not that he’ll ever say it aloud, unless you manage to get him vulnerable enough ).

actually, he quite likes your attitude, from time to time, even if it, when you first met, would give him a migraine most of the time from your fits of energy and happiness. whenever he becomes upset about any sort of rule breaking, your energy and good spirit tends to bring the peace ( not to say he doesn’t still get pissed over ace and deuce..especially ace, cough. that’s a lost cause ). and it gave him pleasure to know that despite his..attitude, especially pre book 1, you seemed to be so chipper around him despite what he put you and the others through.

and to be honest, he can’t even begin to count the amount of times you’ve happily and willingly, he notes, listened to his rants and helped him calm his temper when necessary. not condescendingly or anything, just be there both for him and with him.

for some reason, despite the fact you’ve been together for some time now, he still lets out a hushed puff of surprise when you grab his hand, sat at a gazebo hidden within the rose maze—particularly to follow rule 339, for your post-meal beverage to drink some lemon tea with two sugar cubes together. quite usually, and especially prior to his overblot, this was a solemn act. but it’s as you squeeze his hand empathetically he comes to terms with the fact that “solemn” won’t be a phrase he’ll use to describe himself any time soon, from the very moment he met you.

“i hope you’re not too upset about the mess from earlier,” you laughed it off easily, and he’ll never understand how you manage to find it in you to be so cheerful, but he’ll never be truly upset about it. “i’m sure ace and the others didn’t mean it.”

“the fact ace always ends up mentioned by name should be enough to state how much of a trouble maker he is,” riddle huffed, but in all honesty, he stopped being mad the moment you stepped in to help out—at the very least, you covered most of the blow. ace definitely owes you after that one ( or so he promises ), but it’s not like you were doing it for selfish reasons anyway. “i’ll make sure he properly atones soon later.”

you laughed at that, but he already knew you weren’t doing it out of ill will. especially since he could feel the genuinity behind your smile from miles away. “yeah, i bet,” and your hand is still gently holding onto his, he noticed. he wasn’t a fan of pda, but honestly, he really loves this kind of attention. he never says it, but his content smile tells you all you need to know. and he adores his loving boyfriend more than you’ll ever think.

leona kingscholar —

he will, truly and honest to goodness, never understand how you do it. leona would even go as far as to say that your cheerful outlook on things even blinds him and forces him to close his eyes even when he isn’t about to go to sleep. and honestly, he’ll never be able to make sense of the way you always, whether literally or figuratively, always seem to extend your hand towards him so invitingly and with such genuine warmth. when you were only getting to know each other, in fact, he almost hated it. almost.

of course, he loves and worships you now. not so blindly, of course, he knows better than to be so ignorant when it comes to having this kind of relationship with someone. but that doesn’t change the fact he has a bias towards you, and it’s obvious ( ruggie had to corner you to make sure you weren’t stealing his money. ). at the beginning, your overwhelmingly positive attitude somehow put a damper on him. maybe it was jealousy, or the fact at the time he was convinced he would never get to have you, he’ll honestly never understand or recall what his thought process at the time was.

but now he does have you, and you have him, and his dreams most definitely are far better now. since he convinced you to start being his living pillow, actually, he’s been more content in his sleep, he noticed. makes it a little harder to wake him up, you’ve heard ruggie complain..but still, you think it’s nice he feels so safe to be off guard around you, the predator he prides himself to be. ( a lot of his dreams consist of you too, but he’ll never say that aloud given said pride ).

you were having one of those nice moments right now, actually, together in his dorm room as he draped himself over you, you smiling like an idiot ( or so he thinks so on a whim, but if he were to be more poetic, he’d say you were blessing him with a smile befitting to be worn by angels ) as you combed through his hair with your hands. his hand gently holding hours, with barely any force so you could still go on with your handiwork as he gazed up at you through his half lidded eyes.

“you don’t always need to be so loud during our spell drive games,” he muttered, almost like it was mostly just something he said to pass the time. “it gets embarrassing sometimes.” a half lie, he’s actually very proud of the attention you give him and will never not use an excuse to flaunt it. the teasing remarks from malleus and his goons ( as he calls them ) during spell drive games tends to get on his nerves though.

“huh? why wouldn’t i cheer on my boyfriend?” you questioned like it was obvious, in a way that almost makes him feel silly for even asking. of course that’s how you would respond. “isn’t that a boyfriend’s duty? i’ll love you forever, you know! i’ll show you off forever, you can trust me on that, leona.”

oh, by the way, if he ever had the chance, he would finally and definitely let you know he loves you just like that and 100x more. because just so you know, if he ignores the fact you are his sun, not even the explosion of the sun would be enough to get him away from you.

after all, you make a very comfortable pillow ( cough his way of saying he loves you ).

azul ashengrotto —

point blank and simple, when he first met you he assumed your cheerfulness and kind “act” ( he can’t believe someone would be so genuine with him ) was a ruse to extort something, anything, out of him. but it never happened. he was convinced you were playing the long game, and i’ll tell you, it took him a while to finally adjust to the fact that you’re not kidding when you say you’d rather blow the school up with a microwave mishap than do anything like that to him. i mean..it’s a little out there and oddly specific ( he’s actually worried you might’ve actually accidentally nearly done that once ), but floyd and jade have said worse so it’s fine.

actually, no matter what, he’ll never get used to how you seem to never expect anything in return. ‘it’s stupid’, he thinks, and he even goes as far to call it idiotic, ‘how does he even survive in this school?’ it stresses him out actually, because he always considers himself indebted to you whenever you do something for him that you keep telling him he didn’t need to pay you back for. he just couldn’t seem to get it out of his head that someone would do something for him out of the pure goodness of his heart.

that’s part of how the two of you grew closer, in fact..somehow. in his need to no longer owe you, he’d offer you little things like discounts at the mostro lounge or his help in certain subjects you were struggling with free of charge. slowly, these things turned into a genuine pleasure to be around you, and a way to no longer owe you slowly became an excuse to meet with you again and be greeted with your constant energy and affection. how long is takes for him to accept this and actually confess to you ( or maybe you just confess to him if you’re impatient enough ) is another story.

however it goes, he’s thankful it happened. after all, your cheerful and high spirited attitude, which you seem to always be able to tune and adjust to when the situation needs it ( he quickly realizes the more he spends time with you that you’re also much more perceptive of social interactions than he first gave you credit for, ) always seems to help destress him after long days of work at the mostro lounge.

“dear,” he starts carefully, “you don’t need to wait for me to finish my work like this. i suspect it may take me much longer than i initially expected it to…i’m sorry.” you perked up when he first spoke, but didn’t let him deter you. “i know i said we could go out today, but..”

you didn’t let him finish. instead, you got up carefully to hug him from behind, something he tensed at. not because he wasn’t used to your affection, he learned long ago how casual you were with it, though you understood when he didn’t want it ( albeit not often, he always seems to be vying for it ). rather, because he knows that’s how you like to tease him.

you gave him a light kiss on the cheek, one which he sighed in content at as he slowly raised one arm to hold onto yours, which still seemed to be holding him. “you think i’d just leave you by yourself knowing that?” you teased, and he hummed in response as if he already knew the answer. “plus, if that’s the case, i think i have the solution.”

he tilted his head up now to look at you in curiosity, “is that so?”

he was quite sure at first you only said it on a whim given your usual spurts of energy and unbotheredness at the unfortunate turn of events, but he quickly came to terms with it as you took a chair to sit right beside him, though you leaned against him as though the chair rests dividing the two of you never existed at all.

“i’ll just stay here with you!”

he wanted to refuse, at first. the work pile was enough that he would likely have to pull an all nighter for it, as embarrassing as it was to say, which was probably why he left that tid bit out in the first place. but as you gleamed in happiness at the idea as you usually do, so unbothered by these sorts of things as usual, he couldn’t help but be a little selfish.

“alright then, dear,” he sighed, although in a dramatized way for you to know he wasn’t truly upset by the turn of events, “stay here with me.”

kalim al-asim —

a kindred spirit, in a way, and kalim can’t help but be delighted. it’s unusual for a guy to be in night raven so casually, so merry about their way and energetic on top of that, he knows and acknowledges that. consider him a babbling idiot all you like, he knows better than that, and you’re quite sure he knows more than anything he ever lets on.

actually, he approached you first. and when i tell you, he was in for a big, but lovely surprise when you returned the favor. two people whose energy and smiles could put out a hundred stars and more. truth be told, he was a little worried at first. he’d been in love with you since the moment he laid eyes on you, but for a few days, the idea you were so kind to him only to poison him for his family lineage, or worse, stuck in the back of his mind as if the idea itself was a poison. but only just a little, because you managed to wipe those worries away so easily with your sunshine attitude.

through your enthusiastic reassurance, he’s come to learn to trust and rely on you whenever he needs it, and you, of course, do so with him too. jamil finds himself feeling like if the two of you plan another party in the next three days then he’s going to get an aneurysm. you assure him he won’t, at least any time soon, but he’s a little unconvinced when you cheer on kalim to make this party “the most exciting one yet!” ( you’ve been proclaiming about that for at least nine prior hosted parties ).

“hahah…sorry you had to get stuck with cleaning with me, [y/n]!” kalim giggled nervously, rubbing the back of his head with his free palm before reverting back to sweeping the mess left on the floor from the party a few hours prior.

as it turned out jamil had taken your word when you reassured him he wouldn’t be getting a bad headache anytime soon, and scolded you both into cleaning the aftermath. not like you minded, you’re someone who keeps your word.

“you don’t need to apologize at all kalim,” you waved him off mindlessly, not too far from him as you collected the party streamers from under the tables, a smile still on your face despite it all. “even the boring things can be fun whenever i’m with you, you know!“

“hey, you’re right!! after this, wanna go on a magic carpet ride? we can make this into a game until then!”

“kalim.. i’d be delighted!”

vil schoenheit —

vil gets typecasted as a villain too constantly. as a result, oftentimes, he ends up to be considered intimidating and hard to approach, even by his peers. that in mind, he finds it refreshing to find a soul who can be so casual and friendly around him, not taking into mind his celebrity status.

originally, his thoughts were: ‘someone such as yourself would never survive in the acting industry’. whether you’re actually interested it or not, he can’t help but initially observe you for at least a hot second as if you were a rival of his. he lets go of the thought soon though, allowing his conscience to relax the longer he spends time with you. he finds himself relaxed and pleased by your upbeat attitude.

it’s winter time—naturally, vil needs makeup to compensate for that change in temperature, no big deal. of course, things always seem to be fun whenever you decide to tag along, no? rook seemed to be busy dealing with “hunting for the winter season” or whatever anyways. you weren’t completely used to this high end kind of outside market, but that didn’t seem to stop you as you stayed beside him pointing out all the nice items you saw.

“wow…” you spoke awingly in a loud whisper, more than enough for vil to hear as you intertwined fingers, “the world of the rich and famous is totally no joke, isn’t it?!” vil never wasted an opportunity to spoil you in luxury ( though he doesn’t want you to take advantage, and you don’t, of course ), and yet you always still seemed to be caught off guard by whatever you came across.

“hm,” he hummed contentedly, “i suppose, though it’s nothing special for me.” not as though he intended to brag, it was more so fact and not any kind of attempt to put you down, and you could tell by his genuine smile at your excitement. “if there’s anything you like, i would be alright buying it for you.”

“what?! no way!” you perked up, looking around, almost overwhelmed by what you saw that interested you and had to choose from. “i’ll take you up on that, then!”

vil couldn’t help but allow himself to freely laugh in amusement, then, as he watched you scurry off to the different stalls to look around.

though, he grew to be surprised when you returned with something that, though he knew you were fond of, wasn’t exactly the type of thing you’d select out of everything you could have. now, if it was something that related to an interest the both of you shared…

“this is for the both of us!”

‘ah…of course.’

and, as he imagined, his solemn laugh away from you turned warmer once you had rejoined him and laughed alongside him.

idia shroud —

‘there’s no way he’s surviving here..’ that’s the first thing idia thinks when he first sees you. and then he quickly learned not to be fooled by you, as there’s always more to a person that meets the eye, no? even before formal introductions, he found himself entranced by you and your positive energy.

he would always feel warmer in your presence, but he could never quite tell if it was because he was envious or enraptured by your high spirits. ( of course, it wasn’t long before he found out it was the latter ). and ever since then, he can’t remember the last time his hand wasn’t so warmly clasped around yours.

you always indulged in his interests, just as much as he indulged in yours, even if he didn’t quite understand what the interests of someone completely opposite to him exactly entailed. he gets excited though, when it comes to the interests the two of you share, and he’s always ready to be there and join alongside you…so long as he can do it in the comfort of his room. he’s extremely thankful you’re not too hard on him about it, by the way.

today was one of those days he was even given the blessing of you joining him, casually laying on top of him, sitting on his lap in fact as you watched him engage in some open world rpg boss fights. you had yet to create an account to join him, as through a terrible stroke of unluck, your router was completely busted ( but don’t worry, ortho’s helping you out there ), but that didn’t deter you from joining him one way or another.

“y’know, [y/n],” he starts, and you have a feeling he’s starting one of his usual rambles when he gets in the zone during certain gaming sessions, “i know you love me..a-and, i love you! but…i was super shocked when you wanted to know what i liked, and stuff…”

every now and then he has these sorts of self deprecative rants—and you always let him know you were never one to judge, letting him express his feelings and reassuring him all the while. it was when he let out a little grunt to show he was done that you lifted your hand up to stroke his hair, him leaning into your touch, and gave him a response.

“of course, idia!” you expressed easily, like it was the most natural and correct response, subconsciously lightening his nerves as he got better at the game. “because you’re amazing…so don’t believe anyone who says otherwise!”

he felt a little bit better about himself after that. he hopes you know how much he likes you.

[bearambles]

Okok little request if ur up for it. Just Hamzah x reader (gn if mentioned) where they have a smoke sesh together in his new apartment but reader gets too comfortable and accidentally falls asleep on Hamzah with the cats.

Just pure fluff lmaoo I just can't get the thought out of my head I need to grip his shirt like a child he just looks so comfy :')

Also idc what format it can be headcanon or a small fic, whatever u feel!!

close to you 🎀 (hamzah)

words: 1.1k

warnings: use of weed, making out, fluff, established relationship

note: hi lovelies!! im so sorry for the lack of posts recently - im on vacation and ive had no time or motivation. on the ride home though, im gonna try to catch up to requests!! and im thinking abt writing smut again 🤭

“do you wanna smoke?”

hamzahs head turns from looking at the ceiling to looking at you. he looks almost nervous, his eyes darting across your face like he did the first time he kissed you. you smile at the thought and sit up on his bed.

he’d invited you over to see his new apartment (finally). you’d ended up in his room playing with his new cats, blue and red, who seemed to take a liking to you. blue sits in your lap now, and you scratch behind her ears as you speak.

“like, a blunt?”

he stays laying down, red lying on his chest. he pets her and laughs softly.

“nah, i have a pen. but it’s the same idea.”

he raises an eyebrow, “you have smoked before, right?”

you blush, your face heating up. you look down to the kitty in your lap, and bring both legs up so they’re crossed.

“duh. just like. once or twice in high school, though. and…” you trail off.

“and?” he asks, picking up red in his arms and sitting up next to you.

“i don’t think i did it right. like, i didn’t really feel anything.” you admit

“oh okay. that’s okay. i mean like- if you don’t wanna-“

“no, i do.” you say quickly, “i just - like you’ll have to teach me i guess. that sounds stupid. but the first time was like, a bong and i totally didn’t inhale shit.”

he laughs, and the sound makes you crack a smile, even after embarrassing yourself. he’s wearing his camo hoodie, and his curls are just the perfect amount of messy. one falls into his eyes and he blushes it away with his palm.

“that’s okay, i can show you. though, i don’t know how great a teacher i’ll be.”

he places red in your lap next to blue and gets up from the bed, going to dig through his drawers for his pen. you watch the way he moves, the way his sweatshirt rides up and shows a bit of his back. the way his pants fit. you look away when you catch yourself being a creep.

he finds it and goes to sit in front of you this time, near the end of the bed. he’s closer now, his legs matching yours in a sort of lazy criss-cross. he observes the device in his hands for a second before bringing it to his lips and inhaling.

when he releases the smoke, he tilts his head up and you stare at his neck. the smoke leaves his lips slowly and quickly disappears. he looks back to you and holds it out for you to take.

“it’s gonna die soon so we can just finish it today.” he says as you grab the pen from his hand, “unless you like, go crazy after a few hits.”

you roll your eyes and look at the pen in your hand, before lifting it to your mouth. you look to him for confirmation and he nods, so you deeply inhale like you saw him do.

“okay, now inhale again, and you’ll feel it in the back of your throat.”

you do as he says and feel it - it sort of burns. after a moment you puff out your cheeks and then release the smoke, slow at first. that is until you cough, and the rest comes out.

he laughs and takes the pen from your hand.

“you okay?”

you nod, but keep coughing for a moment. sitting up, you reach your hand out again, wiggling your fingers to ask for the pen back. he raises an eyebrow at you.

“you want it again already.” you nod. “alright, but be careful, for real. don’t do too much just to impress me.”

you give him a look.

“i’m not, i swear. just, lemme try again okay?”

he hands you the pen and you take another hit, this one burning less. you feel it in your head, and you smile as you let out the smoke into his face. he waves his hand to get it away, but he’s laughing.

“thatta girl, hey, you feel good?”

“i feel great.” you say, going in to kiss him. he kisses back and leans forward, wrapping his hands around your waist. you uncross your legs and sit up on your knees.

his mouth is soft and you moan into it as he moves his hands down to the back of your legs, lifting you onto his waist. from there he moves back so he’s up against the bedframe with you in his lap.

it’s like that for the next hour - slow kisses and the pen passed between you two. neither of you suggest anything more despite your closeness (and hamzahs obvious hard-on). there’s a soft sort of feel to the moment.

“i wanna try something.” he says eventually, taking the device from your fingers and moving it to his mouth.

you look at him with curiosity and lean back slightly to watch. he pushes the smoke around in his mouth a bit before taking your face in both of his hands and pulling you close. you open your mouth to kiss him, but he stays just an inch away, and while your lips are parted, blows the smoke into your open mouth.

inhaling it, you smile against his mouth and properly kiss him. you can feel his grin forming too. he deepens the kiss and his hold on your waist tightens.

when he pulls away, his eyes dance across your face and his mouth rests in a lazy smile.

“what?” you ask, regarding his staring problem

“just so…so fuckin pretty.”

you bite your lip to hide your grin and shake your head. your hair is a mess after all that’s happened and your makeup is smeared. still, hamzah seems mesmerized.

you bury your head in his neck for him to hold you. his hoodie smells like the smoke and a bit of his cologne. you breathe in and out repeatedly, smelling him. he smells so good, so safe.

slowly you slump down to lay on his chest. on instinct, his hand reaches to play with your hair, pushing it out of your face.

it’s funny, hamzah never seemed handsy before this. you never considered him someone who likes physical touch - not with friends or even family, mostly. but with you it’s different. he didn’t expect it either, but as soon as he felt your soft skin on his, he never wanted it any other way.

the motion of him stroking your hair makes you sleepy and eventually your eyes drift closed. you sleep for hours - if you had any actual plans for the day you would wake up stressed and anxious. instead, you wake up and see his head above yours, resting against his pillow.

he’s fallen asleep too.

-

i hope you enjoyed! requests are open! >_<

[mylovesstuffs]

all our love 💌 ot13 x reader.

A quick assembly of some things I now realize, thanks to thirteen boys who call each other family—and have somehow made space for me in that orbit; my bd special:

✦ › comfort, mutual devotion, extremely mild angst only if you squint, “i’m sorry i couldn’t do more,” but this is everything i have. a headcanon, notes and letter sort (???) from carat, me to svt (and back). inspired by All My Love by SEVENTEEN.

A/N: i’ve always wanted to flip my interpretation of aml and write a storyline/plot from both perspectives. i didn’t quite manage that but maybe one day, there’ll be an ot13 fic that does. prompt courtesy of myself… and the tears i shed at 2am. this timeline kinda follows my own personal timeline of knowing them, loving them, staying with them. this format is new for me. the emoji dividers were lovingly stolen [10000% inspired/copied; they were ia when I texted but ily, love/ I got permission] from kae @studioeisa , who inspires in ways they probably don’t know. the note/journal style might be theirs too 😭 but it's definitely from somewhere bc it's a picture inside my brain. i’m pretending it’s an homage. also, thanks to J @cheers-to-you-th for dropping the most reflective title of my idea and this post. Mutual. Soft. Full-circle. thanks to @trustmypoison for the paragraph format instead suggestion!

i dislocated my foot and highly terrorized a few veins in the process, which meant this wasn’t written under ideal circumstances. had no tab or laptop while visiting my mother’s hometown, so this was made entirely on my phone. rewritten and reformatted three times, minimum (again and again) because apparently i like pain. anyway. hbd to me. i made this with all the love i have left.

April 08, 2025 at 17:13

I realize that love doesn’t always shout. That sometimes it sounds like "Did you eat?" or "Text me when you get home."

I realize that absence doesn’t make you less part of something beautiful.

I realize that some people are a home, even if you haven’t seen them in weeks.

That honesty is love.

That patience is love.

That waiting is love.

That respect is love.

That friendship can be louder than romance. Softer, too—but not lesser.

That some goodbyes are temporary, even if they don't feel like it.

That it’s okay to miss versions of people that don’t exist anymore.

That you can outgrow places but still carry the people in your pockets.

That care doesn’t have to be earned. It’s a currency you give freely.

And that it’s not always about the people you find, but the ones who find you first and stay.

October 01, 2024 at 14:30

Starting to Love Them

You were just another fan at first, but as you listened to their songs, you began to see not just their talent, but the raw emotions and passion they put into everything.

You saw the vulnerability in their eyes, the dedication in their voices, and you couldn’t help but fall in love with them. Their love felt real, even through the screen.

This is where the connection starts. The realization that they are human, just like us. Their smiles, their voices, their personalities — they made you feel understood.

October 05, 2024 at 22:04

Loving Them

As time passed, your love for them grew deeper. It wasn’t just their music anymore. It was about how they made you feel — seen, heard, and appreciated.

Every word, every lyric, every note felt like it was meant for you, for us. They’ve been there for you, comforting you when you felt like no one else would, filling your heart with warmth when you were cold.

You want to thank them, for everything they've done, for all the times they’ve been the source of your strength. But no matter how many times you say "thank you," it never feels enough.

December 13, 2024 at 15:01

Apologizing to Them

But then, as you hear their words in All My Love, you realize something: they feel like they’re not doing enough for you, for Carats.

They feel like they’re only giving you a small amount of love, but we, as fans, feel the same way.

We wish we could do more for them. We wish we could reach through the screen, wrap them in our arms, and tell them that they are enough. That their love has changed our lives. That their songs have healed us in ways they may never fully know.

“We’re sorry too,” you would say.

Sorry that we can’t be there for them every time they need us, sorry that we can’t always protect them from the hurt they feel. But we love them deeply, and we will always support them, just as they’ve done for us.

December 14, 2024 at 03:17

The Love Between Us

The beauty of this connection — this bond between idols and fans — is that it’s unconditional.

They may feel helpless when they see us struggle, but we are the ones who should be grateful.

Their love and care for us go beyond what we could ask for.

Every lyric, every smile, every performance is a testament to the fact that they give all of themselves, even when they think it’s not enough.

And we, as fans, feel the same way — even when we feel like we can’t do enough for them, we love them with everything we have.

Just like All My Love says, "it's alright, it's okay." Their love is more than enough, and we are here to remind them of that, always.

December 29, 2024 at 04:58

do/watch together before 2025:

◯ Jeonghan in one million won [AHHHHRDRCTCYFRYR]

⬤ “I know how the mafia thinks”

◯ INSIDE SEVENTEEN 'in-complete' dance practice behind #2 [Svt being no. dino fanboy, verify.]

◯ Kyeom’s very serious acting in that coin ep

⬤ check in on Hoshi’s tiger agenda

◯ rewatch Kidult stage [mandatory group crying?]

⬤ ask Cheol if he finished shooting cook scoups — weverse

⬤ ask Dino what song he’s dancing to lately — weverse

February 14, 2025 at 01:13

Bias wrecking:

Cheol - ✓✓ [he was too sexy, but then went back to being cute]

Joshua - ✓✓✓✓✓ [surprised?]

Mingyu - ✓✓✓ [blame svt for making him so reliable and turning me on]

Kwan - ✓✓ [yeah]

Everyone else - somewhere between “I was on my way to wreak” and “you're just avoiding”

March 05, 2025 at 20:05

Sappy shit (unedited):

Sometimes I think about telling them what I feel.

About how I carry them in everything I do.

How I measure time by memories we made.

How they’ve changed the shape of what I thought love was supposed to look like, and I remember: maybe I don’t have to say anything at all.

Maybe they already know.

April 08, 2025 at 00:00

Romantic? Love?

It’s not always romantic.

But it’s always love.

To SEVENTEEN,

I never expected to feel so connected to a group of people I’d never met, but somehow, from the very first time I heard their voices, their music reached into my soul. It wasn’t just the songs anymore — it was them. I fell in love with them, not just as idols, but as real people, struggling, striving, and living just like us.

But then I realized, they’re apologizing to us, as if their love isn’t enough. And it hit me: I feel the same way. I wish I could do more for them, I wish I could protect them from all the pain and exhaustion they must feel. I wish I could take their burdens away. But I can’t. All I can do is send them love, support, and gratitude. So, I want to say: I’m sorry too. Sorry that I can’t always be there when they need me, but I’ll always be here for them, cheering them on, loving them.

And to them, I want to say: Your love is more than enough. You don’t have to apologize. You’ve already saved so many lives with your music, your presence and just by being yourself. Your love is overflowing, and it reaches farther than you could ever imagine. You’ve made a difference in my life, and I know you’ve done the same for so many others.

Thank you for everything. And it’s alright, it’s okay. We’ll always be here, just like you’ve always been here for us.

- Celeste <3

—★

“i think of you when the sky looks like a peach

— and i think of you when the world feels heavy

i hold you quietly, and i hope you know

— we feel that, too”

[konpeitonom]

Pookie I'm BEGGING YOU for a curly x fem reader smut but like he has a rough day and reader asks her to take it out on her so he's like rougher with her than usual 🤭🤭 then there's some nice fluffy aftercare afterwards. As usual take ur time and take breaks!

-🌺 anon

a long day of work, captain grant curly.

nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader — content warnings for light choking, degrading.. he’s a bit mean. some creative liberty was taken..

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; i don’t like to write full length one shots n such and don’t plan too.. just not my style. so i’ll write this in sort of a headcanon-ny / drabble formatting. just a quick heads up for anyone who requests me! i also.. forgot the fluffy aftercare part.. perhaps another time, or a little pt2 if i feel so inclined..

but this might have been my favorite to write for today. this is my 6th piece for the day (posting in the morning..) thank you for ur request anon..

nsfw under the cut! minors do not read

— curly after a long, tiring day of work, all he wanted was to see your pretty face. it always made him feel better. everytime he opens that door, he’ll hear, “welcome home!!”, “you were working for so long, can’t you cut back your hours?”, “i missed you so much. quit that stupid job, please?” .. you get the point.

— he seems extra tired today. even after dinner, a nice bath, some tv, he still looks so stressed! you have to do something. isn’t there anything you can do?

— eventually he ends up venting about work, how stressed he is. he doesn’t like to but he knows you don’t mind. one thing led to another and he was on top of you.

- ♡

“curly.. you know, you don’t have to hold back as much as you do..” you say, your hands on his arms. your fingertips trace his muscles just slightly, as a way to ease him into the idea.

he groans at that thought. god, he really needs to let it all go. but he can’t do that. he really can’t, “what are you talking about?” he said, playing dumb. but you were able to see through him, of course you were.

“curly..”

“no, i can’t.”

“please.. you can take it all out on me. please? i want it. i really do. don’t you want it too?” you respond so desperately.

- ♡

— you knew your husband well. he’d only do it to make you happy. and if that was it? then he can’t say no.

— he’s a bit soft at first. he’s still holding back. just be patient with him, it’ll take awhile for him to get a bit rough the way he does.

— one of his hands holds tightly onto the bed frame, the other on your shoulder keeping you down. his pace is regular but his thrusts are much rougher, you can feel his dick bruising your insides.

— please be vocal.. it tells him you’re enjoying it too. even all pent up and stressed, he’s prioritizing you’re pleasure. even like this, he’ll make sure you cum first.

- ♡

your mouth is wide open, the prettiest noises coming out of it. he looks down at you, his eyes a bit squinted as he places a hand on your neck. you nod gently as to reassure him it was okay, and that’s when he pressed down.

he lets out a low groan, “fuck, do you like that? seriously?” he teased, his tone mean. you didn’t expect that from him, but it was more than welcome.

“god, should’ve told me sooner.” he said, as he pushed down just a bit- pushing the boundaries of what was you’re regular, “look at you. you’re such a mess. i wish you could see your face right now, it’s fucking pathetic.”

- ♡

— you can tell he feels bad, but small reassurances fuel him. so just nod and smile and he’ll continue.

— at this point his pace quickens and he’s rough with it. his hand that isn’t wrapped around your neck like a vice, is on your hips- digging deep into your skin.

— he’d then turn you over to your tummy, making you go on all fours as he pulls your hair back. kind of like a leash. his dick balls deep into your pussy still.

— god, he was so rough. it hurt, you can’t lie. but it felt so good, so good to know that the sensitive man you married has a side to him that only you have the pleasure of feeling.

— “fuck. seems like you enjoy being used like this. yeah? like a fucking toy? why didn’t you say so before then?” he’d whisper into your ear.

— he cums at the sight of your eyes rolled back to make eye contact with him, your tongue a bit out as you moan uncontrollably. maybe it was also the teardrops that stained your face. you looked pitiful, really.

— “are you okay?” he’d whisper in your ear. he felt bad for cumming first. but he couldn’t help it. he could only hope you wouldn’t be too upset.

— that’s when he’d turn you over to your back to see your face much more clearly. if you tell him now that you need a break, he’s happy to do so- then please you. no harsh words, just love.

— but if you nod, tell him it’s okay- and that you want to continue. you’re in for a long night, because at that slight nod he’s already shoved his dick back in you. he’s desperate, and you’re willing to give it to him.

[olderthannetfic]

hi, as someone who is tragically gen Z and only ever read AO3, can I ask: what was so great about LiveJournal? Like, I know that there were fics posted there (and I've even read about the "purge", so I get why it isn't used anymore) and that it was sort of a forum-type thing. But what I don't understand, wouldn't Tumblr fill in the latter function? How was that site any different? I see a lot of people reminiscing about it and I'm confused

--

A big factor in LJ's greatness is timing and nostalgia.

It was genuinely great, but it wasn't quite as great as all of the Lo, shall the Golden Age ne'er come again? posts suggest.

LJ arrived at a pivotal time in the development of the internet both in terms of technical stuff and how many people had access. Many fans who are now in their thirties to fifties first discovered fandom through LJ and many were at a time in their lives when they were feeling energetic and up to making lots of new friends—and to figuring out how to make a site work for them.

I got on LJ in 2002 when it required invites. Fandom arrived in droves in 2003, first via coordinated campaigns to get invites to key people and then when LJ opened up free account creation to everyone. Back then, LJ's features sucked. It was impossible to search properly, among other things. At its height (2005-7, let's say), there was a reasonable site search, and fans had developed all sorts of community resources for finding each other.

People often remember this phase but not the early days of suckitude.

This development parallels how Tumblr used to not have that private chat feature and how a lot of fuckyeah[whatever] type tumblrs have helped curate the site and make it much more usable for fans. Fandom draining away from LJ after strikethrough also parallels people draining away from Tumblr after the purge.

There are people who talk about Tumblr the way my cohort talks about LJ...

And to the shock of no one, they are people who came of age on Tumblr, who found fandom via Tumblr, who were on Tumblr during pivotal times in their lives and ones when they had energy to make friends and figure out how a site worked.

Those same Tumblrites are now making all the same geriatric-sounding posts we LJers do about how other sites lack the required features to be good for fandom while missing that 90% of tumblr's "features" at its height (2012-2016, let's say) were actually fan-created and were basically the same as any fandom newsletter or links page or all the versions of this kind of personal curation stretching back to long before the internet existed.

What life phase you hit a site at matters.

--

With all of that said, no, LJ was not a forum. It was a blogging site with threaded comments.

The key point to understand is that conversation was always happening in a specific person's space. Unlike on a true forum, people were in the comments on a particular post in a journal owned by another fan. (On a forum, there's the first post in a thread, but it's still more of a communal space with less of a hierarchy.)

Overall, the LJ format can have a feeling a bit like you're over at someone's house for tea. There's more of a sense of intimacy and also behaving yourself in front of community members.

Tumblr being obscure and impossible to find anything in does give it some of the same vibe relative to Twitter, but it's still part of modern social media that tries to shove every rando into the face of every other rando.

But it wasn't just vibes: LJ also had robust privacy features where you could lock a post to this or that group of friends. You could moderate your comments section properly. Tumblr has far fewer controls to force people to behave or leave on a technical level.

--

The biggest thing many people miss about LJ is the threaded comments. At least by late LJ and on Dreamwidth, you can expand and collapse threads, making it far easier to deal with a massive comments section. But more than that, things are properly threaded with multiple levels of hierarchy that are all easily visible in the same place.

On Tumblr, it used to be extremely difficult to find all of the actual commentary on a post. Nowadays, it's far easier, but you still have to scroll chronologically, and multiple versions of a post with a long chain of commentary may be much more divorced from each other than what would happen in a LJ comments section.

--

But could we use Tumblr pretty much how we used LJ?

We could.

I do.

--

The key things that people tend to miss about LJ, aside from the younger and more excited version of themselves or the friends they've lost since then, are:

Heavily text-based

It may sound odd on the modern internet, but there are a lot of people whose brains don't like or handle an image-heavy site well. They were everywhere in SF book fandom. They were everywhere on the early internet. Today, they're hanging out on Dreamwidth and still going to their SF cons. They're usually not on Tumblr.

You could follow the discussion

Threaded comments help, but a lot of it is about having some place you can check for updates. It wasn't actually that easy to follow big LJ discussions unless you were subscribed to comments and reading along as things were happening instead of coming along after the entire mass of comments had been left.

The tone of the discussion is intellectual and one's enemies are "idiots", not "problematic"

All this requires is a penchant for longwindedness and an itchy blocking finger to remove anyone slinging ad hominems from the comments section.

On tumblr, it's as simple as conversations happening in the replies on a popular account and that person not tolerating suibaiting and threats.

(And make no mistake, a lot of LJ discussion was in the comments on popular accounts, not spread equally between everyone's.)

It does require that multiple people like that tone and want to engage in that way, but lots of people do want to.

--

These days, I interact with tumblr by checking my askbox and reading my activity page. The vast, vast majority of my posts are ones where I'm the OP, so if I block someone, they're booted from the discussion entirely.

For me... yeah, Tumblr functions almost exactly like LJ.

Also like LJ, while I'm hosting the conversation, if you hang around, you'll see the same people again and again in the comments. They may or may not also host that kind of conversation in their space, and there's a larger pool of lurkers who have some notion of which people count as regulars. Other people are watching from the shadows, enjoying or deriding the takes of the usual crowd.

People presumably do like reading my lengthy commentary or they wouldn't be here, but my tumblr wouldn't be popular like this without a healthy pool of other people who chime in regularly. It's not just that there are more people: it's that you see the same people over time. There's a bit more sense of place and community than on some parts of the internet.

--

So, in my opinion, the failure to just recreate LJ fandom on Tumblr was a skill issue.

Threaded comments were great, but LJ culture came from mailing lists, and mailing lists had the same issue as tumblr with the diverging threads.

We solved that back then by clipping out only the parts we wanted to respond to (you'd write "snip" around the quotation to show it was incomplete). We solved the smaller LJ issue by linking to other posts we were referencing and doing discussion link roundups. We solve it on tumblr by, again, linking to what we're talking about and even quoting multiple reblog chains in our own reblog of just one chain.

--

Tumblr's technical features and even general crap-ness aren't really the problem. 90s and early 00s sites regularly went down for periods of time unthinkable today.

The missing piece is people.

When one is in an active fandom with others who curate or with friends who let one know what's up, a site with imperfect features is easy to figure out and retrofit for fandom's needs. When one already feels out of touch and is between fannish passions—or at least fannish passions anyone else cares about—seeing the potential in a new site is hard.

--

Threaded comments are different and better.

LJ's built-in way to see everyone's blog in your own style was better. The automatic timestamps and the ease of seeing a paginated archive of an entire blog was better than tumblr's endless scroll and lack of clear date labeling. But some of that can be fixed with xkit or knowing your way around tumblr well.

A lot of it is nostalgia for the lj era and a refusal to take the time to figure out how to use tumblr in an oldschool internet way.

--

So by all means, people, weigh in about what made LJ great or how the culture felt at the time...

But if I see one more god damn response going "You can't have a conversation on tumblr!" in reply to my tumblr, which contains nothing but conversation, I am coming for you.

[boltwrites]

I haven’t recently thought about Hugh Jackman but this Movie has recently given me hunger™️

Reader/Logan fic hurt/comfort where Logan knew reader in his world (but reader never met Logan in their world) and tries to ignore them out of guilt but reader is persistently trying to be friends w him. Eventually Logan opens up about what happened in his world with reader…

A/N: so uh. i originally wrote this as headcanons in bullet point format but tumblr didn't like it so i had to redo some shit and uh. anyway. it's not my normal fic quality so i'm sorry for that.

in other author's note news - lmk if you want the recipe.

You smiled at Logan across the table as Wade rambled on about something or other. You didn't know him - well, other than what Wade had spouted off about him before inviting you to this make-birthday party after the first one went to shit - but you wanted to.

You didn't exactly know why you wanted that. Maybe just curiosity? Wade did say he'd be living with him for the foreseeable future, and as his neighbor, you should introduce yourself and be friendly, right?

But it was kind of more than that. He was hot. definitely, very hot. Maybe not your usual type - you weren't typically into older men. But there was just something about him. Something magnetic.

Either way, he'd definitely avoided you at that party. spent most of his time sulking in the corner, talking to Al or sometimes Colossus.

You'd walked up to him, smile on your face, and introduced yourself. He'd barely looked at you.

"Nice to meet you," he'd replied, his tone gruff and dismissive. By the way he spoke it sounded less like it was nice to meet you and more like you were inconveniencing him with your mere existence. Like he'd been dreading the idea of you coming over and introducing yourself.

"Wade says you helped stop the time ripper," you tried, willing yourself to ignore how shitty he was treating you. Wade had mentioned that this man - Logan - was a little rough around the edges. rude. A drunk, even. Maybe he just wasn't good with people in general.

"Yep," he replied, shooting you a glare over the glass of - was that pure fucking bourbon? - he was sipping out of. You tried your best not to let it get to you - but you also knew how to take a hint. He wasn't interested in talking. That shot straight to your stomach like a bullet made of embarrassment and guilt, but whatever.

It's fine. you were younger than him by a decent margin. He could probably tell just by the look in your eyes that you were interested in him as more than just a friend. He probably just wanted to shut that shit down as quickly and efficiently as possible. You weren't gonna blame him for that. You've done the same for several weird men in the past - including Wade, before he got the hint and the two of you became fast friends. You weren't necessarily interested in being his post-Vanessa rebound, and he respected that.

So, that's fine, you'd just be nice to Logan. He could be your friend, too. He was rooming with Wade and Al, after all. It would be good to make friends with him.

"Hey!" You smiled when he opened the door a few days after the party. You stood there, hands currently occupied by a tin foil-wrapped package.

"What do you want?" Logan asked, looking you up and down with more paranoia than you'd expected. You thought that maybe he was just uncomfortable with your advances, but this time, it was like he was searching for something. What, you didn't know.

"I just wanted to give you this," you replied, thrusting your gift into his hands - the smooth glass of the pie mold contrasting with the brief brush of his calloused hands. You tried not to shiver.

"It's a pie," you continued on, even as Logan stared off into the distance, at something you couldn't see. "When I saw what you were drinking at the party, I thought you might like it. It's a family recipe. Pumpkin pie with a shitload of bourbon. As a welcome to the neighborhood kind of thing."

You offered him an awkward sort of smile, a little shrug. He blinked, snapping himself out of his thousand yard stare only to glare at you like you'd just offered him a dead animal instead of a home-baked pie. Your blood briefly turned to ice as you wondered if maybe this man was actually sober and you'd mistake the iced tea in his glass as pure liquor. As if Wade ever had that sort of shit in his apartment.

"I-" he looked down at the pie, then up at you, taking a breath as if he wanted to say more, but instead shaking his head, like he was knocking some bit of cobwebs or old dust loose. "Thanks."

He nodded at you in acknowledgement, then slammed the door in your face. Great.

Wade wasn't much help either. He'd returned the pie dish and you'd wrung your hands and asked him if you'd done something that made Logan hate you. The dish was empty, but your stomach churned at the thought of the man just taking a knife and scraping the whole thing into the trash. You'd even made the crust by hand, too.

"Oh, fuck no!" Wade scoffed, shaking his head. "Are you kidding me? Listen, if there's anything I know about our not-so-furry friend, it's that he can put up with a metric fuckton of asinine shit. I mean - he's living with me! Do you know how many times he's used his little clawsies to hole-punch my organs? Like - so many!" Wade waved his arms for emphasis. "If he really hated you, he wouldn't just sulk around about it like a teenager - no! He'd hurt you! Like the kind of teenager that would shoot up their local high school!"

You rolled your eyes at Wade, but you knew that's just how he was. No filter, all idiocy. "Did he - did he at least try the pie," you asked, voice a little more hopeful than you'd meant for it to sound.

"Try it - fuck! That man has full-tilt sprinted at me on all fours and I've never seen him so animalistic. He was eating that pie like it would crawl inside his dick itself and pull out an orgasm. I swear - and may Thor strike me dead and then mourn my fried corpse - that he actually growled when I asked for a slice."

You didn't believe Wade for a second, but fuck. at least that made you feel better. You offered him your thanks and a sweet smile as you received your dish and promised to make him something "Wolvie" wouldn't hoard when you brought something over next. You promised to try your best.

Really, what you'd try your best at was winning this shy Wolverine over to your good side. You didn't want to force him to be your friend, obviously - but if you had made a bad impression, even if that impression was solely based on the fact that you were also friends with Wade - you wanted to make it right.

So you did everything you could. Baked and cooked and offered the results up whenever you could afford the extra ingredients. Made sure to snatch up any packages bound for Wade's apartment so your notorious Amazon thief didn't have the chance to. You even dog-sat that nasty looking creature Wade had adopted - she was very sweet, but you had nightmares about that tongue.

It all came to a head, one day. One day when you almost brained yourself walking up the stairs.

You'd been holding grocery bags - supplies to make your perfected mac and cheese recipe - head down as you ascended the steps. That was, until you ran into what felt like a brick wall. Or, an iron one. Your shoulder smacked whatever it was and you jolted backwards, gasping as you dropped the bag you were holding to cling to the railing-

Only to catch and grip tight at thin fabric as a firm, steel-strong arm wrapped around your waist. You finally caught your breath, lungs filling and then immediately vacating as you locked eyes with none other than Logan.

"Fuck."

Both of you said it. But you gasped, it, breathless and dreamy. Meanwhile he spat it, like he knew something like this would happen, and he'd been planning his whole day to avoid it.

As soon as you found your footing again, he threw his arm away from you like you'd burned him. Like your very existence was offensive to him, somehow. He manages to spin you around as he let go of your waist, disorient you as you sputtered, glancing after him.

The stairs were littered with groceries - blocks of cream cheese, butter, cookies for the crust - fresh fruit for the filling. A bag of sugar had exploded, its contents dusting the next landing like snow. All of this - ingredients you'd bought, with money you'd worked your ass off to afford - and the man you'd been trying to impress stepped in that puddle of sugar, granules crackling under his boot.

You damn near saw red.

"Logan!" you snapped, your voice harsh, crisp as it echoed through the stairwell. Fuck. You hated using that voice - but it made him freeze on the spot.

He turned to look at you - eyes wide, as if he was some child who'd been caught in a lie. But also - that gaze was knowing, somehow. Like he knew what you used that voice for. What it meant for him.

You sighed, tried to regain your composure. It was fine. You were fine. When you opened your eyes, you addressed him with even, annunciated words:

"Why do you hate me?"

Even as you tried your best to dull your voice of emotion, it slipped through. A waved of your throat, the hint of water in your eyes. You hated it - this man didn't hold that power over you. You just - you were used to being liked. That's all.

Logan looked at you like you'd shot him.

"What?" he asked, just as breathless as you felt. You thought you detected just a hint of hurt in that syllable.

"It-it's just-" you tried not to let yourself waver, but you stuttered as you spoke. "I've been trying to just - to be your friend, to be a good neighbor. Like I am to Wade, like we - we hang out, sometimes. But you- you're just - I feel like you've been kind of rude to me."

You sounded like a child.

Logan took a breath. A deep one, as if this were a confrontation that had been a long time coming (which it was) and that he was prepared to have a conversation he'd dreaded (which was really what got you - if he really just disliked you, why would he care enough to prepare something? What was going on?)

He turned around - gathered up all your dropped groceries - and started walking up the stairs, passing you and continuing his way to your shared floor. He'd previously been on his way out, so you didn't do much except stare at him until he was nearly half a flight ahead of you and your brain finally switched on again.

He led you to the apartment he shared with Wade, nodded as he held the door open for you. It felt strange - you hadn't been inside the apartment since the party. You'd always felt too nervous to ask Wade if he wanted to continue your usual game nights. Too intimidated by Logan.

He set the groceries on the counter, and practically sank into the couch. You perched on the chair opposite it, still not quite believing that he had let you in. That you were going to talk. He breathed in deeply, steadying himself before he spoke, eyes still glued to the floor.

"I'm not from here. 'M sure Wade told you that much," he glanced up, only to nod in your direction. You nodded back.

"My world - timeline, whatever the fuck - I killed it. Everyone I loved, everyone I cared about - they all died. Because of me."

You sat in rapt attention as his shoulders tensed, his jaw flexed. This was a lot, for him. You didn't really understand why he was telling you about it, but it was important to him. So you listened.

"Every timeline is different. At least, that's what the science says. Ones that are closer together - might have the same people show up at around the same time. Might be - people I knew. People I - cared about."

Logan glanced up, again. Caught your eyes with his and swallowed harshly.

"You're - one of them. One of the people I lost."

"Oh," you breathed, because now it all made sense. The strange looks, the curt conversations - even the thousand yard stare. You were triggering his memories of a horrible time of his life with every step you took in his direction. And you didn't even know it.

"I'm so sorry," You whispered, trying your best to quell any tears that might form sympathetically. No wonder he kept pushing you away. You were a walking PTSD trigger.

"No-" he gasped, shaking his head as he stood up, like he'd been shocked upright. "No, it's not -"

He cleared his throat, shook his head like he was trying to find the right words.

"I know I was pushing you away. And it is - hard, to see you again. But - I want to see you. I want to get to know you, again," if you didn't know any better, you'd think that there were tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

"You made the pie, you know. The pumpkin pie. I was only there for the one Thanksgiving, but I remember it. You swore you'd cooked off all the liquor, but Xavier made you promise only the adults would get a slice."

He grinned at you, then - wide, real. It was pretty, that smile. You could imagine recognizing it, in another life.

"None of the kids got any. Too good for them, anyway," he took a step towards you, and you rose from your seat, legs only a little wobbly.

"That's good," you breathed, voice as shaky as your knees. "I use vodka in the crust, too."

"I know," Logan grinned, a hand grasping yours, his smile somehow wider than before.

You wondered, as you strode forward into a crushing hug against his chest, if it felt so right in every universe.

[nostalgebraist]

In other uncanny-valley AI voice news...

Google has this new thing called "NotebookLM," which allows you to upload any document, click a button, and then a few minutes later receive an entire AI-generated podcast episode (!) about the document. The generation seems to occur somewhat faster than real-time.

(This is currently offered for free as a demo, all you need is a Google account.)

These podcast episodes are... they're not, uh, good. In fact, they're terrible – so cringe-y and inane that I find them painful to listen to.

But – unlike with the "AI-generated content" of even the very recent past – the problem with this stuff isn't that it's unrealistic. It's perfectly realistic. The podcasters sound like real people! Everything they say is perfectly coherent! It's just coherently ... bad.

It's a perfect imitation of superficial, formulaic, cringe-y media commentary podcasts. The content isn't good, but it's a type of bad content that exists, and the AI mimics it expertly.

The badness is authentic. The dumb shit they say is exactly the sort of dumb shit that humans would say on this sort of podcast, and they say it with the exact sorts of inflections that people would use when saying that dumb shit on that sort of podcast, and... and everything.

(Advanced Voice Mode feels a lot like this too. And – much as with Advanced Voice Mode – if Google can do this, then they can presumably do lots of things that are more interesting and artistically impressive.

But even if no one especially likes this kind of slop, it's highly inoffensive – palatable to everyone, not likely to confuse anyone or piss anyone off – and so it's what we get, for now, while these companies are still cautiously testing the waters.)

----

Anyway.

The first thing I tried was my novel Almost Nowhere, as a PDF file.

This seemed to throw the whole "NotebookLM" system for a loop, to some extent because it's a confusing book (even to humans), but also to some extent because it's very long.

I saw several different "NotebookLM" features spit out different attempts to summarize/describe it that seemed to be working off of different subsets of the text.

In the case of the generated podcast, the podcasters appear to have only "seen" the first 8 (?) chapters.

And their discussion of those early chapters is... like I said, pretty bad. They get some basic things wrong, and the commentary is painfully basic even when it's not actually inaccurate. But it's still uncanny that something like this is possible.

(Spoilers for the first ~8 chapters of Almost Nowhere)

The second thing I tried was my previous novel, The Northern Caves.

The Northern Caves is a much shorter book, and there were no length-related issues this time.

It's also a book that uses a found-media format and includes a fictitious podcast transcript.

And, possibly because of this, NotebookLM "decided" to generate a podcast that treated the story and characters as though they existed in the real world – effectively, creating fanfiction as opposed to commentary!

(Spoilers for The Northern Caves.)

----

Related links:

I tried OpenAI's Advanced Voice Mode ChatGPT feature and wrote a post about my experiences

I asked NotebookLM to make a podcast about my Advanced Voice Mode post, with surreal results

Tumblr user ralfmaximus takes this to the limit, creating NotebookLM podcast about the very post you're reading now

[sweetvoidstuff]

Undead, Undressed, Unexpected I Part 1

Jungkook x Reader I Slowburn (sort of) I zombie larp au I smut with feelings I friends to lovers vibes I soft but messy I table trauma I kinda domestic kinda feral I camping chaos I emotional intimacy

Summary: A LARP weekend takes an unexpected turn when BTS wants to film there Vlog there. Or: “I don’t know what’s weirder,” Yoongi muttered, sipping the beer you’d tossed at him. “That this is happening or that you’re all so prepared for it.”

Word Count: 50K (both Parts)

Masterlist

Part 2

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1 and Part 2 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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You had always thought your inbox was a place of controlled chaos—occasional partnership requests, a flood of player questions, shipping delays on makeup foam, and the usual budget arguments with your logistics friend, Pia. But the chaos started earlier than usual that day—with a phone call from Lea, the friend who usually handled the LARP's shared email account.

“Hey,” she said casually, “some Korean entertainment company emailed us? Something about a possible collab for the next event?” You nearly dropped your lunch.

“Wait—what Korean company?”

“I don’t know, Big-something. Big…Hit? BigPunch? I forwarded it to you.”

You froze. Your heart stuttered. “BigHit? Are you serious?”

Lea made a confused noise. “Yeah, is that a big deal? I just thought it was, like, a local talent agency or something. They didn’t say much. You okay? You sound like you’re gonna combust.” You didn’t answer right away because your brain was rebooting.

“They’re—Lea, they manage BTS. Like, the BTS. Global. World tour. Grammy-stage BTS.”

There was a pause on her end. “...Oh. Uh. Is that the one with the guy who did a thing with Charlie Puth? Or is that the ramen guy?” You laughed, a choked, borderline hysterical sound. “Yes. No. Sort of. I’ll check the email. Just—thank you.”

“Anytime,” she replied, bemused. “I guess let me know if the ramen guy’s showing up.” You hung up with shaking hands and sprinted for your laptop, yanking it open so fast the battery nearly popped out.

And there it was.

FROM: bhentertainment.official@bighit.com SUBJECT: Collaboration Inquiry – Upcoming LARP Project

You stared at it for a solid minute, blinking hard, rereading the signature and domain. You even copied the email into a group chat with your seven friends titled “Project Zombie Apocalypse 202X” with the caption:

"Tell me I’m hallucinating."

You didn’t.

Over the next few weeks, the back-and-forth with BigHit solidified something real and turned into a full-blown project folder on your desktop—contracts, security forms, scheduling proposals, and endless discussions about what was feasible and what wasn’t.

They were interested in sending one of their groups for a LARP experience to include in their “challenge vlog” series. They loved your concept: four days in a remote woodland complex turned survival horror sim, where around 250 participants would play out a fictional zombie outbreak in real-time. Minimum power except for medical posts and staff centers. No phone service. Just radios, bloodied props, a kitchen, and pure adrenaline.

At first, your team didn’t take it seriously.

“Some Korean band wants to vlog here?” Pia had said during your first group Zoom call. “Okay, sure. Do they know our kitchen runs on two electric hot plates and prayers?”

“They know,” you sighed, rubbing your temple. “I told them in the first reply. I made it very clear that we’re... rustic.”

“They probably think we’re some scenic wilderness experience,” Erik muttered. “Wait ‘til they see our ‘bedding options.’”

“It’s not just some band,” you shot back. “It’s BigHit. That’s... that’s massive. This is actual, career-changing visibility. Even if they send a small or new band.” That caught everyone’s attention, but the tone shifted from surprise to skepticism quickly.

“Okay, but do we want that kind of visibility?” Lea asked. “We built this to be immersive, chaotic fun. Not something where we have to worry about stepping on a celebrity’s shoe.”

“It would mean a lot more work,” Pia added cautiously. “Like...a lot. Extra infrastructure, coordination, liability coverage. Probably hiring more crew down the line. And taxes—Jesus, we’ll have to register it differently. No more fun hobby exemption. We’ll need to go full business mode.” You felt a cold knot in your gut. She wasn’t wrong.

“But it also means we could finally get paid properly,” you said, more softly now. “Like... not just break even. We could maybe even fund the next LARP without crowdfunding. Or get better props. Maybe even hire full-time help. This could be our way out of ‘barely-making-it.’” That silenced them. For a moment.

“Only if we survive it first,” Erik muttered. “And if it doesn’t kill the vibe.”

In the end it was decided, you would give it a try.

You found yourself writing emails late into the night, negotiating with BigHit’s reps while triple-checking your spreadsheets for costs. At one point, you were balancing on a stepladder fixing a hanging light while on the phone with your accountant friend, trying to figure out how to legally declare sudden international income.

BigHit wanted privacy, but also good footage. They wanted realism, but no actual injuries. You had to promise fast response plans, prep multilingual safety briefings, and accommodate a small filming crew without giving the players any clue who was coming.

It was exhausting, overwhelming, and a logistical headache—but when BigHit confirmed the collaboration and wired the down payment, you stared at the numbers in your bank account for a full minute in shock.

This wasn’t just a cool opportunity. This could be the thing that made your dream sustainable.

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It was the day before the event—the day you’d circled in red on every planning calendar and spreadsheet. You and one of the BigHit staff had agreed: the band would arrive a full day early for privacy, filming, and a crash course in zombie apocalypse survival.

You were their primary contact for the duration. The only one on your team fluent in Korean and English, which meant every question, every request, every last-minute panic would come straight to you.

The old asylum grounds you rented every year sat deep in the woods, surrounded by rusted fences, gravel paths, and fog-thick silence. It looked exactly as eerie and perfect as ever—half horror movie set, half forgotten relic. Soon, over two hundred players would fight to survive a fictional outbreak here. The zombies (your tireless NSC crew) would sleep in a locked-off wing of the asylum, like always. The uppermost floor—off-limits to players—was reserved for the organizing staff. You’d already transformed it with air mattresses, fairy lights, warm blankets, and the half-desperate charm of veteran event runners.

Whoever BigHit sent would be staying there too. In the same room as you.

For privacy. And for emergencies. And not to interfere with the other Orga or the plot.

The Orga floor had its own bathrooms—tiny, ancient, and a little creepy—but it was better than the alternative: the heavily trafficked bathrooms down near the NSC quarters, split by gender but used by dozens. The kitchen was also down near the NSC zone, which meant any idol who wanted a snack might have to wade through latex-coated zombie crew at 2 a.m. That’s why you had your personal stash of snacks on hand.

You’d explained all of this to BigHit in a painfully detailed PDF. They had agreed. You still weren’t sure if they fully understood what they were walking into.

You had just finished breakfast—instant coffee and a lukewarm breakfast wrap—and were lounging outside in a creaky camping chair, soaking in your last hour of relative calm before the storm. Erik was beside you, sorting through printed liability waivers and contracts for the players arriving tomorrow to sign.

“I still don’t get why they want to film here,” he muttered, flipping a page. “Like, no offense to our haunted horror dreamscape, but... this isn’t luxury content.” You shrugged, sipping from your dented thermos. “Maybe they want something gritty. Or real. Or ironic. I dunno. Maybe they just like zombies.”

He smirked. “Sure. Maybe one of them has a secret undead kink.” You opened your mouth to sass him back—then stopped cold. Three sleek black SUVs rolled down the gravel path toward the asylum gates. Silent, shiny, and entirely out of place.

Erik raised a brow. “...Oh shit.”

You stood so fast your chair fell backward into the dirt. You swore your heart stopped. The first door opened. Jeon Jungkook stepped out of the first SUV like it was nothing. Like this was normal. Casual in black cargo pants, a harness vest, and a hoodie, he looked like he’d walked straight off a dystopian movie poster. His eyes flicked over the asylum grounds with quiet curiosity.

Behind him came Taehyung, laughing at something Jin said as he followed. Taehyung wore a long coat and combat boots like it was fashion week.

Yoongi had earbuds in, head down, expression unreadable. Jimin waved cheerfully, his hair fluffing in the breeze. Namjoon caught your eye and nodded—calm, respectful, already reading the vibe. And Hoseok, last out, stretched and turned his face toward the fog like he was trying to feel the mood in the air.

They were all here. All of BTS.

In your forest. At your LARP. At your chaos-riddled, mud-streaked, budget-scraping zombie survival event.

Erik leaned closer, whispering, “So uh… I guess it’s not the ramen guy after all.” You couldn’t answer. Your brain had short-circuited.

And the real chaos hadn’t even started yet.

You took a deep breath, forced your legs to move, and tried your best to walk over professionally, even though the inside of your chest felt like a popcorn machine of nerves. All seven members of BTS stood together, flanked by three guys from the filming crew—compact gear bags slung over shoulders, cameras padded in protective foam, one of them already eyeing angles like he was mapping a cinematic plan in real-time.

You greeted them in Korean, voice steady even as your palms sweated.

"Welcome to Outbreak Protocol. I’m Y/N, I’ll be your main contact before and during the event." Namjoon smiled, surprised but happy you spoke Korean, his voice warm. "We’ve heard a lot about the project. Sounds pretty intense." Jungkook’s eyes drifted past you to the rusted fences and fog-cloaked trees. "This place looks like a horror movie set."

You grinned like he’d handed you an Oscar. "Perfect. Because tomorrow, you’re all survivors."

You shifted into logistics mode before your brain could spiral. You pointed toward the makeshift parking area. "You can park over there. We’ve got the legal documents all ready—Erik will help you with those." The filming crew gave polite nods and peeled off toward the cars. Erik waved and waited near the porch, clipboard in hand.

You turned back to the members. "Would you like the grand tour first, or do you want to settle in upstairs and look around later?" The group exchanged glances, some rolling their shoulders to shake off travel fatigue. Jin was already shifting his backpack into a more comfortable position. Jungkook flexed one hand to crack his knuckles.

“We’ll drop our stuff off first,” Namjoon said. “But we’re definitely doing the tour after.” You nodded. “Follow me then.”

As you led the way toward the heavy front doors and up the creaking staircase, you caught a few quiet murmurs of interest from behind—Yoongi commenting on the paint-peeling walls, Jimin quietly admiring the fog that still clung to the edges of the broken windows.

A strange thump echoed from the lower hallway, something shifting in the NSC quarters. Probably a dropped bin or one of the staff testing props. Hoseok jumped. You couldn’t help your grin as you looked back. “First scare of the weekend goes to you, I guess.”

He laughed, embarrassed but entertained. “Is it always like this?”

“Sometimes it’s worse,” you teased. Just as you reached the upper floor, Lea passed by holding a coil of LED fairy lights and two rolls of duct tape under her arm. She paused, nodded politely to the group, then looked at you and held out a radio.

“For you,” she said. “Orga team check-ins start now.” You took the radio and clipped it to your belt, clicking the button twice before speaking: “Unit Sparkles to HQ. Guests incoming.” There was a long pause, then Erik’s voice crackled through, dramatic and low: “Copy that, Sparkles. Hostiles confirmed. Prepare for contact.”

Taehyung laughed aloud, almost tripping on the last step. “Wait—did you say Sparkles?” You looked over your shoulder with a wink. “I did.”

“Is that your code name?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

You grinned wider. “Just because.”

Taehyung snorted. “That’s not a reason.”

“That’s exactly the point.” He grinned at you like you were a riddle he wanted to solve. You opened the door to the upper dorm hallway, leading them past the first room on the left. “This one here,” you said, pausing with your hand on the frame, “is the organizers-only room. Our private space, mostly for sensitive documents, extra gear, and collapsing in secret when the caffeine wears off.”

You continued walking and stopped at the next room, opening it fully this time. “This one,” you gestured them in, “is where you’ll stay. It’s a shared space. Sorry, no luxury suites here.” Inside, air mattresses had already been inflated and neatly spaced out. Each was made with sleeping bags, throw blankets, and a small labeled bag of towels and toiletries. Fairy lights flickered lazily along the upper edge of the ceiling. The air smelled faintly of mint tea, dust and fresh laundry.

“We had to compromise,” you explained. “This room has somewhat heating, and it’s closer to the emergency exit in case of… well, any kind of problem. Plus, it’s more private than the downstairs dorms. The bathroom’s through there—shared, though. Welcome to the apocalypse.” Jin raised an eyebrow, inspecting the setup. “Charming.”

“I did warn your manager about the rustic conditions,” you said with a small shrug. “It’s better than some green rooms we’ve had,” Yoongi mumbled, setting down his backpack. Namjoon gave you a grateful nod. “This’ll do. Thanks for being upfront about everything.”

You returned the nod with a smile, then turned to gesture down the hallway. “This floor is the staff area. Off-limits to players, which means you’ll have some privacy here when needed. Once the game starts, though—”

You turned back toward them, your smile shifting into something more mischievous.

“—you’re all survivors. No exceptions. Survivors can’t come up here—not even to sleep. You’ll have to make do with what you find out there and work with other players to get a place to rest. And trust me,” your voice dropped to a playful threat, “I run the NSC , the zombie side of the event. I make sure survivors get very little sleep.”

Taehyung looked half-terrified, half-thrilled. Jungkook grinned like someone had just challenged him to a fight. Yoongi raised a hand immediately. “Can I just be a zombie from the start and skip the sleep deprivation part?”

You laughed. “Yes, absolutely. You can request to switch roles if you want. It’s a game—not actual torture. If anyone gets too exhausted, just tell me. You can and should rest. This is meant to be immersive fun, not military training.” He nodded in approval, clearly filing away that option.

As they set their bags down, Jimin drifted toward one of the mattresses—clean, thick blankets folded neatly, some big fluffy pillows, a water bottle placed in the middle like a hotel mint. It looked more like an actual bed. He tilted his head and asked: “Who gets the fancy bed?”

You followed his gaze and smirked. “That one’s mine.” A beat. Then a chorus of mock groans followed. “Of course it is,” Jin muttered. “I respect the flex,” Jungkook said, dropping his bag onto the floor next to a less-decorated mattress.

But then something in the air shifted—a glance shared between a few of them. Some of the members looked uncertain, shifting slightly in place. Hoseok scratched the back of his neck. Taehyung was unusually quiet. Finally, it was Yoongi who broke the silence. “Wait, so… we’re all sleeping in here with you?”

You blinked, nodding. “Yeah. Didn’t they tell you? This was the agreement with your staff—one room for all of you and me, so I’m close in case of an emergency and you don’t have to look for me. This is the safest and most direct setup.”

Namjoon cleared his throat, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “Right. They did tell us that. We just didn’t know about you and logistics, exactly…”

You tilted your head, eyebrows drawing together in genuine confusion. “What about me and logistics?” There was a beat of silence. Namjoon sighed and rubbed at his temple. “This might sound awkward, but… you know, sleeping in the same room. You are a woman and might be in, uh, sleeping clothes. Or… yeah.”

You blinked. Jungkook suddenly found the floor intensely interesting. His ears flushed red. You stared for a second longer, and then laughed—just once, not mocking, but surprised. “Oh. I mean—sure. I get it. Thanks for saying something.”

Then your tone shifted into something firmer but still friendly. You looked at each of them in turn. “This could turn into a cultural, or language misfire so bear with me I will be direct... Let me ask you this: do any of you intend to do anything to me—without my consent?” The effect was instant. A few of them looked scandalized. Jimin’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights. Hoseok choked on a breath. Jungkook’s ears turned even redder.

Namjoon stepped forward, hands raised slightly. “No. Absolutely not. Never.” You nodded once, satisfied. “Then, I don’t see a problem. I’m not here to be uncomfortable—I’m here to make sure this whole thing doesn’t fall apart. And at night it can get really cold. So no way for short shorts. I’ll probably pass out in leggings and a hoodie, and you’ll be too tired to care.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Yoongi let out a single low chuckle. “That… actually makes me feel better.”

“Same,” Jin muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called out so politely and so brutally in the same sentence.”

You grinned. “Good. Now that that’s settled—pick your mattress. Tomorrow, you're all getting hunted by the undead.” Jungkook finally looked up, still red around the ears, but with the corner of his mouth twitching into a reluctant smile.

Taehyung slung his bag onto the far corner mattress. “I want the spot closest to the door in case I have to run from you.” You gasped in mock offense, hand to your chest. “Run from me? Please, I’m the safest person here—unless you insult my campfire coffee. Then it’s over for you.” Taehyung grinned wide, eyes crinkling. “Noted. No coffee jokes.”

“Exactly,” you said with a wink. “Respect the bean or face the consequences.” The others chuckled, and you caught a flicker of movement from the corner of your eye. Jungkook, who had just set his bag   on a mattress near the edge of the room, paused. His gaze flicked from Taehyung to you—lingering for half a beat longer than necessary. Without a word, he picked his bag back up, walked past a few other mattresses, and set it down on the one right next to yours.

You noticed—of course you did—but didn’t say anything. You just glanced down at where he was now crouched, adjusting the pillow like it needed perfect alignment. “Strategic placement?” you asked lightly, not looking directly at him.

Jungkook glanced up through his lashes, a crooked smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just figured I’d want to be near the person who controls the zombie apocalypse.”

“Oh, smart,” you replied, lips twitching into a sly grin. “Stick close to the Game Master. That’s either genius or cheating.” He looked like he might respond, but Jimin threw himself backward onto his chosen mattress with a groan, breaking the moment.

Taehyung leaned toward you and whispered loud enough for only the closest to hear, “I still think you’re secretly a final boss.” You gave him a dangerous smile. “You’re not ready for my final form.” Jungkook coughed—just once—and looked back down at his bag like it had suddenly become fascinating.

You raised your walkie again, clicking it twice. “Unit Sparkles to HQ. Base camp secured. Survivors setting up now.” Erik’s voice crackled through after a second. “HQ copies. Keep ‘em alive, Sparkles.”

“Can’t promise that,” you muttered, already mentally ticking off the next steps on your checklist.

“Why Sparkles again?” Taehyung asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. You winked. “Because it makes people underestimate me.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Noted.”

You smiled at them all as you backed toward the door. “Once you’re settled, come find me downstairs. We’ll start the tour, walk through the storyline, and then go over the filming schedule. If you have time, I’d like to give you a short survival orientation too.”

Jungkook perked up. “Like… a zombie boot camp?” You smirked, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Exactly. Think of it as your apocalypse training montage.”

His mouth parted like he was about to say something else, but just then, the walkie crackled at your hip. “Sparkles, this is HQ. Got a delivery truck trying to get through the west gate—paperwork’s a mess.” You sighed and clicked your radio. “On it.”

Turning back to the room, you gave the guys a quick wave. “Duty calls. I’ll see you all in a bit.” With that, you slipped out the door, your boots soft against the scuffed linoleum.

Jungkook watched you go, his brow furrowed slightly. You were cool. Open. Friendly in a way that wasn’t fake or overly impressed. You didn’t act like they were some otherworldly beings descended from the sky. You were just… normal. Confident. You had a job to do, a passion you clearly lived and breathed—and somehow, you still kept it together even when seven global superstars walked out of three SUVs.

And now you were gone before he got to ask what role you usually played. Or how long you’d been running events. Or what made you pick zombies of all things. He frowned at the floor. How had Taehyung managed to flirt so much with you already?

His grumbling thoughts were cut off when Hobi dramatically fell backward onto a mattress and groaned, face squishing into the pillow.

“Ugh. I’m already regretting this. You know they’re gonna put me through hell tomorrow.” Yoongi, setting his phone to charge beside his mattress, didn’t even look up. “You can die early and join the dark side. I plan to. I already feel like a corpse.”

“Can I be a fast zombie?” Taehyung asked. “I want to be dramatic.”

“You are always dramatic,” Jin replied, tossing him a rolled-up blanket. Namjoon glanced around at the mattresses and raised an eyebrow at Jungkook. “You moved your stuff?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away, just mumbled something about lighting and space. Not about the way you’d smiled at Taehyung, or how you’d winked during that “respect the bean” comment. Jimin sprawled across two mattresses and groaned, “I’m not ready to fight for food in the woods.”

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon replied dryly. “If we lose you, I’ll eat your snacks first.” The room filled with laughter as the group continued settling in. They unpacked bags, laid out blankets, and immediately began comparing the modest comforts of their temporary setup to your very clearly upgraded, fairy-light-lit corner of the room.

“Yo,” Jimin said, poking Jungkook’s side. “She really has the best bed.”

“I saw,” Jungkook murmured, glancing again at the door you’d disappeared through.

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When they came back down to find you, they didn’t expect the sight they walked into. You were hunched forward, arms wrapped around one side of a massive wooden euro pallet—one of three—that you and Erik were hauling toward the large toolshed near the edge of the gravel lot. From the looks of it, you weren’t on your first trip and dangerously close to snapping your spine in half.

“Wait—are they lifting pallets?” Jin blinked.

“Damn,” Taehyung murmured. “She’s gonna pop something.” Before you could straighten or even notice them fully, Jungkook was already moving. He practically jogged ahead of the group, brushing past Jimin, who huffed, “There he goes.”

You saw motion and started, “It’s fine, I—”

But it was too late. Jungkook was already there, nudging you gently out of the way with the side of his shoulder, his brows furrowed in focus. He slipped in opposite Erik, bent down, and lifted the side you’d been hauling with practiced ease.

“Where to?” he asked. You blinked, slightly thrown off. “Uh—behind the shed. Along the wall. They’re barricade props.” Jungkook nodded without another word and followed Erik, muscles shifting under his sleeves, tattoos dancing as he hoisted the pallet like it weighed nothing.

“Helpful,” Jimin chuckled behind you, watching your expression. “He’s just bad at saying it out loud.”

“I noticed,” you said with a small smile, brushing your hair back from your face. “Thanks.” A few minutes later, Erik came back, Jungkook trailing behind him and brushing dirt off his hands. You made sure to stop him with a light tap to the arm.

“Hey,” you said, looking him in the eye. “Seriously—thanks. That was a lot.” He gave a small, sheepish grin. “It’s no problem.” And with that, you launched into what you’d promised earlier—the grand tour.

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You led them through the central facilities first, starting with the compact, camp-style kitchen.

“This is where the NSC—Non-Survivor Characters, but also the makeup team and staff—get food. Basic stuff. We’ll prep three times a day but no five-course meals, sorry.” You gave them a mock apologetic shrug. Jin raised a hand. “Will there be snacks?”

“No promises,” you teased.

The next stop was the makeup rooms, where several folding chairs, makeup kits, and prosthetic materials lined the walls. “Here’s where we zombify people. If you die in-game, you’ll come here, get turned, and be sent back out with directions. Sometimes as slow walkers, sometimes fast. Sometimes… something weirder.”

Jimin leaned in. “Something weirder?”

You just smiled. “You’ll see.”

Then came the outdoor terrain. You walked them past several adjacent cabins and storage sheds. “These are part of the playable zones. All of them are open unless marked otherwise. We have hidden clue points, some locked areas, and a couple jumpscares set up, but you’ll get used to it.”

You led them toward the forest edge, indicating with hand signals where the terrain began and ended. “The game area ends about five hundred meters that way. Beyond that? Too steep, too muddy, or just plain dangerous. Avoid it.” Yoongi eyed the tree line. “How will we know?”

“I’ll point it out tomorrow again before game start, but we’ve also put up orange tape and warning markers. You’ll know.” Back near the edge of the game field, you turned to face them all again and reached into your backpack. You pulled out a bright, eye-searing pink warning vest and held it up dramatically.

“This is your holy relic,” you said, grinning. “If you see me wearing this during the game, it means I’m in staff mode. You can approach me for help, questions, breaks, water, whatever. I’ll avoid interfering unless it’s an emergency. But my every word is law.”

“And if you’re not wearing it?” Namjoon asked. “Then I’m playing as a survivor or NSC. You’ll find me out there, somewhere, scrounging for food and dodging zombies like the rest of you. However—if you get uncomfortable or need out of a situation for any reason, say the phrase, ‘That has a nice sparkle to it.’ Or something similar.”

Taehyung snorted. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” you said. “It’s a safe phrase. The game can get intense. If I hear it or any other Orga for that matter, we’ll pull you from the scene immediately—no questions, no breaking character.”

“That’s actually smart,” Namjoon admitted.

Jungkook stepped in closer, curiosity in his voice. “So if you’re out there as a survivor… are you playing to win?” You raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. “You think there's winning at the literal end of the world?”

He blinked, taken off guard for a second, but you didn’t give him time to recover. You smiled—but didn’t tell him how you really liked to play the game. Instead, you slipped into a mock arrogance that fit too easily. “I’ll be scavenging, bartering… probably stealing. So stay alert.”

“I will,” Jungkook said, mouth curling in a slow grin. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.” You smirked, gaze flicking up and down him. “That goes both ways.” Taehyung slung an arm over Jungkook’s shoulder, all mischief. “She’s got bite, huh?”

You didn’t miss a beat, voice sweet but edged with a grin. “Some zombies every year actually do. But me?” You flashed your signature mocking smile. “I only bite if you ask nicely.”

Jungkook’s head turned toward you too fast—eyes narrowing with a spark of surprised amusement, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or lean in closer. Taehyung burst out cackling. Even Yoongi gave a low whistle under his breath.

Jungkook shook Taehyung’s arm off with a grumble and stepped just a touch closer to you, adjusting his hoodie like he needed something to do with his hands.

“So,” he asked, tone a bit lower, “what’s your tip for surviving the first night?” You tilted your head, studying him. For a moment, you actually thought about it. Then you answered, quietly but clearly, “Stay moving. And don’t just trust any survivor. If they kill you, they’ll loot your shit.” His brows furrowed slightly.

You added, “So yeah… best tip? Stay quiet. And stay off the main road.” Jungkook looked at you like he was filing away every word. “Noted,” he said softly.

After you had finished explaining how to fake fight and how “death” in the game would work—that the moment they "died," you'd pull them aside to explain how to play as a zombie and give them their undead assignment—they were all quiet for a second. Attentive. Processing.

Especially Jungkook. His gaze didn’t leave you. “And… you designed all this? The rules, the props, all of it?” You gave a small, casual shrug. “With my friends, yeah. A lot of long nights. A lot of coffee.” There was something about the way he looked at you that caught you off guard. Not the usual idol poker-face. He looked… impressed. And maybe a little something else—like he was trying to figure out you, not just the game.

“It’s… impressive,” Jungkook said, voice quieter than the others. “Kinda crazy. In a good way.” You opened your mouth, unsure whether to say thank you or make a joke—but all that came was a laugh, slightly flustered. You turned away before you could smile too obviously.

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Later that evening, the guys were off filming some of their vlog content—lots of running through the woods, fake dramatic reactions, and over-the-top “lost in the apocalypse” monologues. You gave them full freedom for the rest of the day to capture whatever material they wanted. You had work to do anyway: final checks on game mechanics, syncing walkie-talkie channels, triple-confirming the food schedule, and helping your team scatter props in the right zones.

You only got pulled in once—when Jin called over to you with a shout about “something moody.” Yoongi was standing next to him, holding up a camera and trying to catch the golden-hour light streaking between the trees. “Do you have something… cinematic?”

You pulled off your bag, unzipped one of the side pouches, and without missing a beat, produced a smoke grenade—sleek, matte black, like something out of a spy movie. Jin’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Wait, what?”

Yoongi blinked. “You just have that in your bag?”  You gave a sweet smile. “Always keep one for emergencies.” Hoseok, already half-suspicious about the creepy makeup room earlier, took a cautious step back. “What kind of emergencies need smoke grenades?!” You didn’t answer—just gave him a devilish grin.

Jimin cracked up. “She’s totally evil.” Taehyung beamed, clearly delighted. “That’s exactly the vibe. I love it.” Jungkook didn’t laugh immediately—he was watching you again. But then a soft chuckle escaped him, and he looked down like he hadn’t meant to smile that wide. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

You shot him a wink. “Naw, too fun.”

He laughed properly then—low and surprised—and you had to turn back to your work fast before anyone saw the grin tugging at your lips.

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You had just come from the shower, wrapped up in your oversized hoodie—your LARP team’s logo printed proudly on the back—and a pair of leggings that still clung to you with faint humidity. Your hair was damp and pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, a quiet testimony to how fast you’d gotten ready after a long day.

You found an empty camping chair near the bonfire and immediately sank into it, curling around a warm mug of tea or maybe mulled juice—whatever had been available. The scent of grilled vegetables, meat, and woodsmoke hung heavy in the air. Laughter bubbled from you as Pia leaned over to mutter something only meant for your ears, and you nearly choked on your drink in response.

Not far away, Jungkook emerged from the trees with the rest of the BTS members, the last golden slivers of twilight painting their silhouettes as they returned from filming. He spotted you immediately.

You looked different now. Not in a dramatic way—just… softer. Cozy. The sharp, efficient energy you’d carried during the tour and safety briefing had melted into something warm and content. It was the first time today he saw you truly at rest. You noticed them coming in and lifted your hand in greeting.

“Hey,” you called, voice already lazy with bonfire comfort. “Food’s self-serve. We grilled ahead for the evening. I made two kinds of pasta salad, Lea did her cucumber-dill thing, and Erik has clearly declared war on every sausage in the region.”

They laughed, and Namjoon gave a thankful little bow as he made his way toward the tables. “It smells amazing.”

“All the stuff we don’t finish gets put out again tomorrow,” you added. “So dig in. There’s no losing here.” Jungkook’s eyes wandered from the food to the little table you and your friends had arranged—organized chaos, a mix of homemade sides in mismatched containers and tin trays with foil. Without realizing it, he made a mental note: Try the pasta salad you made first.

The group spread out slowly—Yoongi asked where he could find drinks, Jin demanded more marshmallows with absolute seriousness, and Hoseok yelped dramatically when an owl hooted a bit too close for comfort. You were still translating here and there, weaving between your team and theirs with a natural ease, until eventually things just settled.

Jungkook ended up back near the fire, hoodie pulled over his head, paper plate in one hand as he lowered himself into the camping chair beside you.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You weren’t trying to impress anyone. You just sat there, cheeks a little flushed from the heat, watching the fire flicker and crackle with the same quiet pleasure as everyone else. The shadows danced across your face. Jungkook looked at you, a bit longer than maybe he should’ve, and realized he didn’t want to interrupt the peace you were wrapped in.

But still, he found himself asking, “Tired?” You turned your head just slightly toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “So tired I forgot I’m tired. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, mirroring your smile. “It does.” He took a bite of your pasta salad, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “This is really good.” You looked smug. “Lea and I spent an unreasonable amount of time arguing about whether we needed more garlic. The answer is always more garlic.”

Jungkook chuckled. “You should sell this stuff.”

“Oh, yeah,” you drawled playfully. “Just a side hustle while running full-scale zombie wars in the woods and having an adult job. Easy.”

“You don’t mind being out here for days?” he asked, voice low, pitched only for you. You turned your head toward him, and your smile was quiet, grounded. “I live for this. It’s exhausting, sure. But when the game starts? Everyone forgets it’s fake. And for four days… it’s just survival. Emotionally messy. Physically brutal. And unforgettable. If you let it happen.”

Jungkook studied your face for a moment—how the embers danced in your eyes, how certain you sounded. You weren’t just hosting a game. You were throwing people headfirst into a world you loved. He leaned in, just a little. “You ever thought about filming it like a movie? You’re already doing something cinematic.”

You blinked, surprised by the question, then smiled. His tone hadn’t been flippant. He really meant it. “Actually… yeah. We’ve talked about a YouTube channel. Mini-series, behind-the-scenes stuff. But we don’t have the gear. Or the time. Or a consistent enough crew.” You glanced at him with a tilt of your head. “You think people would actually watch?”

“I’d watch it,” Jungkook said without hesitation. His grin turned a little crooked. “I mean, if I survive the next four days.” That made you laugh, and the sound felt natural between you, easy. Warmer than the fire now burning low in the pit.

The longer you sat next to him, the stranger it felt that you hadn’t known him longer. There was an openness to him tonight—a curiosity, a genuine effort to understand your world, and it wasn’t performative. He hadn’t needed to ask those questions. He just wanted to.

The fire crackled again. Your friends and his were mingling in overlapping conversations now—language barriers half-forgotten in the mix of food and warmth. Your friends were joking around in rapid English while trying to coax Namjoon and Taehyung into playing some kind of night-tag game with glow sticks. Jimin was fully horizontal in a deck chair, whisper-singing spooky background music. Jin had given up and wrapped a blanket around himself like a burrito, muttering about zombie bites and indigestion.

You took another sip from your mug, and Jungkook watched as you closed your eyes for just a second, letting the night settle over your shoulders like a second hoodie. It was quiet, comfortable, unforced.

And Jungkook thought—not for the first time today—how unfair it was that Taehyung had gotten to flirt with you first.

One by one, people started trickling back to the sleeping quarters. Eventually, Erik started packing up the grill with sleepy movements, Pia tossed a blanket over her shoulders, and Hoseok finally declared he couldn’t feel his toes.

As you stood, knees crackling a bit from sitting so long, you stretched your arms above your head with a quiet groan. Jungkook’s eyes lingered, just for a second—like he couldn’t help watching your hoodie move higher—before he stood too, brushing stray bits of ash off his sleeves.

The rest of the members were already grumbling about the cold, groggy and slow-moving.

So they began retreating into the main house or their sleeping quarters. Jin flapped his arms dramatically. “Why does it feel like I’m sleeping in a refrigerator? Who builds houses out here with no insulation?”

“It’s historical,” you reminded him, biting back a grin as you grabbed your toiletry bag. “Be honored. You’re basically in a museum.” You turned in the low, amber-hued glow of the fairy lights strung loosely above the old rafters, their dim twinkle casting soft halos over the mattresses lined up like dominoes across the floor. Yours was nestled near the corner, extra blankets piled at the edge, and Jungkook’s mat had ended up right beside it—not close enough to touch, but closer than coincidence.

“Yeah, a museum of frostbite,” Jin shot back, wrapping his hoodie tighter. By the time you got to the bathroom, you found Jimin leaning against the doorframe. “Can I brush with you?” he asked, voice soft, already holding his toothbrush.

You nodded with a smile, and the two of you brushed side-by-side. Soon, Hoseok padded in to rinse his face and complain about the cold again. Jungkook came in last, hair still tousled from the hoodie, looking far too good for someone about to camp in a half-renovated asylum for the night.

Back in the sleeping area everyone was getting situated. The fairy lights making barely any light. Despite the portable heaters you had brought, it was still drafty. The floorboards creaked under your steps. The windows hissed with night wind.

“Okay, no, seriously,” Hoseok groaned from his nest of sleeping bag. “This is inhuman. Jin-hyung, I can feel my soul freezing. My kneecaps are shivering. Who brought us to the North Pole?!”

“I think I lost three toes already,” Jin added dramatically, clutching his hoodie like a shawl. “This is not what I signed up for. I’m not even a real actor and I don’t deserve this.”

“You’re not even outside,” Yoongi mumbled from under a blanket. “Doesn’t matter,” Jin whispered, haunted. “The cold found me.” Hoseok rolled closer to Jin like a dying Victorian noble. “Hyung. If I don’t make it through the night… tell my stylist I loved her.” Namjoon groaned loudly from the other side of the room. “Oh my god, Hyung, please. Just sleep!”

“Easy fix,” you said, sitting up and tightening your hoodie. “Just bunk with someone. Body heat solves most of it.” You meant it practically—your team had done this a dozen times. It was survival basics. But before the sentence even finished, Taehyung had already propped himself up with an eager glint in his eyes.

“Can I bunk with you?” he asked with a mischievous grin, already halfway toward your mat like a very cold puppy. You snorted, raising an eyebrow. “That wasn’t an invitation.” Before you could answer, Jungkook sat up from his corner with a sharp huff. “Yah—don’t just ask like that.”

Taehyung turned toward him slowly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You wanna bunk with us, Jungkook? You keep her right side warm, I’ll be her left?” You lost it, full-on laughing now as Yoongi let out a long, tortured groan and flopped a pillow over his face. Namjoon was face-down in his blanket, shaking his head in exhausted disapproval.

Jungkook looked mortified. His ears flushed pink even in the low light. “It’s not—! I wasn’t—!” He cleared his throat hard. “It’s rude, that’s all. She’s the organizer. She needs space.” Your brows lifted, amusement all over your face. “Uh-huh.” Taehyung looked like he was biting his tongue just to stop himself from saying something even worse.

Jimin, bless  him, nudged Taehyung back toward the other side of the room. “Come on, Tae. You’re gonna get us kicked out. I’ll bunk with you. Stop flirting.” With a dramatic sigh, Taehyung accepted it, flopping down beside Jimin and stealing half his blanket. “But just know—I could have been the hottest option.”

Yoongi didn’t even open his eyes. “You radiate chaos, not heat.”, when Hoseok snuck under his blanket and just sighed like a man who had given up on peace. Jin wiggled his eyebrows at Namjoon, who just deadpanned: “Try it and I’m tossing you outside.”

You shook your head fondly, digging into your supplies. “Jin, I’ve got an extra blanket if you want one.”  He hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, I’ll manage—”

“Really its fine,” already holding it out. He accepted it with a sheepish grin. “You’re sure you don’t need it?”

“I’ve still got two more and a sleeping bag. I’ll be fine.” You moved carefully through the half-dark, stepping around boots and duffel bags, a folded blanket in your arms for Jin. The wooden floor creaked beneath your socked feet, each step an exercise in balance over warped boards and chaos. You murmured something to Jin, who accepted the blanket like he’d been rescued from an arctic death, dramatically clutching it to his chest.

You turned back toward your mattress, navigating the familiar obstacles in reverse. As you made your way back to your spot. And then you caught your foot on the edge of someone's abandoned hoodie.

“Shit—!” You stumbled forward—arms flailing—and would’ve face-planted if it weren’t for a solid pair of hands catching you mid-fall. Warmth met you.

You blinked.

Jungkook.

He was already sitting up, half-covered in his sleeping bag, hoodie still up, his phone forgotten beside him. His hands had caught your arms instinctively, steady but not grabbing. You were kneeling awkwardly now, one hand on his chest, the other braced on the mattress behind him, close enough to feel his breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet with concern, eyes wide in the fairy-lit dark. Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. “I—yeah—sorry,” you stammered, cheeks already burning. “Didn’t see where I—uh—my foot—hoodie—” He chuckled under his breath, one hand still lightly on your elbow. “It’s okay. You didn’t fall. Technically.”

Your eyes flicked up to his—too close, too pretty in this soft, sleepy light—and then down again, like maybe you could disappear straight into the floorboards if you just willed it hard enough.

From the dark, Jimin’s voice floated lazily through the room. “Everything good over there?”

“Yup!” you squeaked, trying to stand too fast and instead just half-falling sideways—straight into your sleeping bag with a flustered huff. There was a moment of silence before Jungkook chuckled again, softer this time. You could hear the shift of fabric as he laid back down beside you, his voice pitched low. “Smooth recovery.”

“Shut up,” you whispered through a grin, tugging the sleeping bag over your head in self-defense.

The fairy lights buzzed faintly above, and somewhere in the room Jin sighed contentedly into his new blanket like a satisfied burrito. But Jungkook stayed quiet beside you now, arms folded under his head, gaze occasionally drifting in your direction long after the rest had fallen asleep.

He couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips.

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The house woke slowly. The soft creak of floors and the smell of coffee drifted through the old wooden frame as morning sunlight filtered in through mismatched curtains. Jin was the first to loudly complain that someone had stolen his blanket—which turned out to be Hoseok, who claimed it had “drifted onto his mat” during the night.

“You were snoring like a vacuum cleaner,” Hoseok groaned, head buried under a pillow, insisting he needed another hour. “It’s the least you owe me.”

“I don’t snore,” Jin declared with wounded dignity. Namjoon hummed dryly. “You do. Aggressively.” Laughter bubbled through the group, even as no one quite managed to leave the warmth of their sleeping bags. Jungkook was the last to sit up, hoodie still half covering his eyes, glancing once to his left—to where your mat lay empty. Already cold. You’d been up for hours.

The smell of instant coffee and toast lingered faintly in the air, and while the boys slowly filtered through breakfast—some filming themselves with still-sleepy voices—you and your team were already darting between bags of props, radio check-ins, and set dressing. You'd been radioing Pia about the entrance setup while giving Erik a checklist and stuffing a walkie into your jacket all before most of the group had even laced their boots.

“Do you even sleep?” Jungkook had asked, watching you with something like awe as he munched on toast with one hand and held his camera with the other. “After the apocalypse,” you’d joked without slowing down, already halfway through sorting a box of bloodied bandages and prop ID cards.

Around midmorning, it was time to head to the game zone.

The boys filmed their "arrival" separately, capturing the forest entrance and the handmade wooden signpost marked "ZONE 3 – MISSION: BLACKOUT" while Erik, now dressed in dusty cargo pants and boots, played the enthusiastic guide.

"Welcome to hell, gentlemen," Erik grinned in-character, flinging his arms wide. Jin burst out laughing immediately, and Yoongi muttered, “This already feels like a fever dream.” Meanwhile, you and your friends were spread across the clearing and bunker grounds, setting up props, panning out gear to the incoming LARPers, and checking walkie frequencies.

You pulled the boys aside just before the first players arrived.

“All right,” you said, already in your organizer vest and scarf. “Masks, caps, scarves—anything to obscure your faces. Just until everyone’s settled.”

“I feel like a secret agent,” Taehyung said as you handed him a half-face tactical mask.

“Good,” you smirked. “You’re not supposed to be famous here. You’re a dirty, starving survivor like the rest.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jin huffed dramatically. “I’m going to be the hottest starving man in the zone.”

“AH! And no selfies unless you’re dead,” you added with a teasing glance.

“That’s so specific,” Namjoon muttered.

“It’s been a problem before,” you grinned. “One guy literally tried to live-stream his own death scene. Kinda ruined the mood.” Still, they complied—caps tugged low, scarves around mouths, sunglasses here and there. They settled off to the side near a small outcrop of trees, watching the entry path as players trickled in.

Jungkook pulled his mask halfway over his face, watching you bounce from person to person, still radiating energy despite the chaos. Even beneath your scarf and with your walkie clipped to your belt, you looked in your element. Confident. Happy.

That’s when the first wave of survivors started to arrive.

Boots crunched gravel. Cars rolled in, gear piled high on roof racks. The first few survivors were new and wide-eyed, some shy, some filming themselves as they approached. But others came in loud, excited—familiar faces from past games. People spilled out in various levels of post-apocalyptic chic—some clearly new, blinking in wonder, others grinning with the casual swagger of veterans. Some even had also Go-Pros on them.

“Hey, look at them,” Jimin nudged Jungkook, nodding toward a group of heavily geared players striding in like Mad Max extras. “Wow,” Taehyung whispered. “Some of these people look like they live here.”

Then they saw you.

You were greeting people by name, hugging a few, clapping shoulders. One player—a tall, bearded man with a thick leather coat and a ridiculous foam axe strapped to his back—let out a joyful bellow.

“THERE SHE IS!” he boomed, arms already out. “My favorite corpse-wrangler!”

You turned just in time for him to lift you clean off the ground and spin you in a circle, your laughter ringing out across the lot. “Markus!” you wheezed, swatting at his shoulder as he set you down. “Warn me next time! My spine isn’t apocalypse-proof!”

“Missed you, boss,” he grinned. “Ready to get emotionally traumatized again?”

“Always.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. He was too slow to school his expression. Taehyung, still beside him, caught it instantly. “Ohhh?” Taehyung leaned closer with a smug grin. “What was that face, Jeon Jungkook?”

Before Jungkook could deny anything, another man approached you—this one younger, maybe late twenties, tall and lanky with buzzed hair dyed copper red. “Hey there, fluffball,” he grinned, eyes dragging down your body.

You gave him a polite smile but stepped slightly back, putting some space between you as you shook his hand instead of accepting the hug he clearly wanted. “Hi, Lukas.” He didn’t quite get the hint, his hand brushing along your back as if to pull you into a side hug, but you dipped forward just in time to greet someone else passing by.

“Excuse me! I’ve been looking for you!” you said loudly to a surprised but delighted player behind him. Lukas was left smiling awkwardly at your back. He was, one of the newer regulars, known for pushing boundaries and blaming it on “just being friendly.”

Jungkook had taken a step forward, body tense—but as you gracefully handled it, he forced himself to stop. Taehyung saw that too.

“...Someone’s jealous,” Tae sing-songed under his breath, elbowing Jungkook lightly in the ribs.  “Looked like ‘mildly jealous caveman’ to me,” Jimin added, peeking over his mask. “Shut up,” Jungkook muttered. Taehyung grinned. “You want to go spin her around too? Or just go hug her? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind—”

Jungkook snorted. “Shut up.”

Jimin held up both hands, laughing. “You’re so obvious, man. You’ve been watching her like she’s the main quest.”

“She is the organizer,” Jungkook grumbled, though his eyes followed you again as you helped someone fix their shoulder rig. “Of course I’m watching her.”

“Sure,” Taehyung said. “It’s definitely about the logistics. Not about how you almost exploded when the Mad Max McThighs got touchy.” Jungkook tugged his scarf higher up his face to hide the small, helpless smile. He’d never seen you laugh like that. Not while working, not while briefing them. It was unguarded. Effortless.

And somehow, he wanted to see it again.

Even if the guy spinning you around was the size of a refrigerator.

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By noon, the grounds were buzzing. The last car had pulled up, and nearly 200 players were now scattered around the staging area. Some stood in loose, eager groups, already forming alliances. Others sat quietly with water bottles, eyes scanning every detail like it might matter later.

You, already hoarse from shouting, clapped your hands to gather attention. "NPCs to the barn! Survivors over here—yeah, red scarves, come to Erik. Zombies, you're with me. Group A briefing starts now, Group B you're next."

As you walked backward through the chaos, still calling instructions, Jungkook spotted your pink vest and your megaphone clipped to your belt. It amazed him how you moved through the mess with such control. Like a general of the end times.

The members had already received their own briefing—thankfully in Korean, which made it easier to absorb the detailed rules and storyline. BigHit’s crew, mostly keeping a low profile, helped secure GoPros and test audio. They would run after the members and try to get as much footage as possible.

“You ready?” Jungkook asked, testing the strap of his fake holster as he caught up to Taehyung. Taehyung tilted his foam machete like it was a guitar. “Born ready. I’m emotionally prepared to die in the first ten minutes.” Jin snorted. “Please. I’m planning to survive and retire with a fake garden and fake dog.”

“Can we have fake ramen?” Jungkook asked, smirking. “Or do we have to scavenge that too?” Then, like a starter pistol, the airhorn blasted. A long, echoing blare that shattered the warm afternoon.

Everywhere, people moved.

Screams. Laughter. Stomping boots. Half the crowd surged toward the tree line, another half bolted for the barn. Some fell immediately into character, yelling things like, “Split up! Head north!” or “They’re coming from the creek!”

Jungkook was startled to see how real it felt.

He hadn’t expected the panic—the thrill. Despite the fake weapons, the rubber knives, and the painted faces, when a mass of snarling “zombies” came barreling out of the woods, the instinct was to run.

Even he flinched before catching himself.

The zombies were good. Dirty, growling, twitchy. You were leading the pack from behind—he recognized your pink vest, your voice barking direction to the others in character, but you were already gone again into the trees.

Only those with long-range weapons made a stand—firing their limited fake ammo with purpose, trying to buy time for others to flee. In the chaos they had already lost some of the members. Jin clutched a piece of bent cardboard like a broken riot shield. “Okay, okay, fallback, regroup, hide—what are we doing?”

“Hide,” Jungkook said immediately. “Barricade if we can.”

“Find ramen,” Taehyung added.

“You’re obsessed,” Jin said.

“I’m hungry, Hyung.”

Behind them, Erik—wearing a bright pink vest that read “MODERATOR”—raised two arms and made a dramatic “breaking” motion.

“That’s the signal!” Jungkook yelled. “Barricade’s compromised!” Players screamed, laughing as they fled in a dozen directions. Taehyung grabbed Jin’s arm and bolted toward a row of abandoned sheds, while Jungkook pushed the crew member following them behind a thick wooden post before diving for cover himself.

“Okay, now what?” Jin gasped, crouched behind a fallen sign. “We regroup,” Jungkook said, catching his breath. “Try to find Yoongi or Namjoon.”

“Or her,” Taehyung added, eyes twinkling even beneath his mask.

Jungkook pretended not to hear it. Still, his thoughts drifted back to you—your voice, you disappearing into the woods, your laughter from earlier. He hoped you were okay out there in the madness you’d helped create.

Though, something told him you were probably more than fine.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

The first day had been equal parts chaos and clever hiding. It was kind of a miracle that he, Jin, and Taehyung had stayed out of the early chaos—ducking behind barns, creeping through drainage ditches, hiding under an overturned canoe at one point while a group of howling zombies passed within arm’s reach. Some groups had immediately gone feral, fighting over water jugs or arguing about whose map was correct. Others just wandered, yelling for allies or screaming when someone leapt out of the bushes as a fake infected.

Jin’s idea had been simple: “Stick together, don’t get bitten, and avoid anything that sounds like foley work.”

Jungkook agreed. They didn’t run. They didn’t shout. They watched. Stuck to the edges. By the time the sun began to dip past the tree line, casting a soft violet glow over the LARP zone, they had only minor dirt smears and one near-miss.

“I never thought crawling through actual dirt would be part of this,” Jin muttered, wiping leaves from his face. Taehyung laughed, breathless. “We were born for this. We’re survivors, Hyung.” Jungkook had just grinned, heart thudding, feeling more alive than he had in weeks.

By the time the sun dipped below the tree line and the shadows turned long and gold, they were dirty, tired, and hungry—but they found them.

“Jimin-ah!” Taehyung called in a stage whisper. Jimin—who had been rifling through an overturned toolbox with Namjoon and two strangers—turned, eyes wide, then relaxed into a smile. “Hyung! You’re alive!”

“Holy crap,” Namjoon said with a breathless laugh. “You made it.” The reunion was short but sweet. The group Jimin and Namjoon had fallen in with—mostly guys in tattered cosplay and thrift-store camo—were initially suspicious of the newcomers.

Several of them were already carrying canvas satchels and worn-looking packs, with scavenged “rations” (pre-placed supplies from the orga) tied at their hips. A few were skeptical at first.

“Who the hell are the new guys?” a tall man with a buzzcut muttered.

“We’re clean,” Jin said with a flash of his ‘actor smile.’ “Untouched. Pure. Like rice at a wedding.”

“I hate that metaphor,” Taehyung whispered.

It took some convincing. Namjoon vouched for them—half in character, half with real charisma—and eventually, the group let them stay. The trek back to the safe zone was cautious, deliberate. No one shouted. No one ran. Even the leaves beneath their feet seemed to hush under the weight of tension.

Their new “base camp” turned out to be a miracle of DIY survivalist craft. And Jungkook was impressed. There were rotating shifts for keeping watch and a pile of ration cards being counted for their next food run. Spotlight had been placed and where working, casting bright cones of light around the camp's edge. A whiteboard on the wall labeled who was “on shift,” “scouting,” or “MIA.”

It felt like a real camp.

“Who built all this in six hours?” Jin asked, amazed as he folded onto an upturned crate near a lantern. “Apparently some of the veteran players just… knew what to do,” Jimin said, unwrapping a protein bar. “It was like instinct kicked in. With the things the Orga carried around yesterday.”

“I watched a guy build a water collection system from trash bags and a mop,” Namjoon added, shaking his head. “People are scary smart under pressure.”

“He wants to drink from it?” Jungkook looked shocked. But Namjoon shook his head, “Said the Orga would bring water if he builds it.”

“It’s crazy, So much for realism.” Taehyung muttered back.

 Jungkook sat near the barricade, fake rifle laid across his lap. He chewed a bite of cold ration bread and scanned the tree line, still charged with energy. They were just starting to relax—just starting to settle for the night—when the first growl came from the tree line.

It was subtle at first. A rustle of leaves. Then a shuffling footstep. Then a hiss.

Just two at first—figures staggering toward the barricade in the fading light, their shadows stretching long over the grass. The nearest watchman gave the alarm, and others scrambled into place. Flashlights switched on with shaky hands. Someone dropped a rubber axe.

“They’re coming!” a survivor called.

But the barricade held. More zombies emerged from the trees, groaning and clawing. Foam weapons swung, shouts echoed. One particularly committed zombie hurled himself at the gate with a blood-curdling screech that made even Jin yelp behind Jungkook.

“They’re good,” Jungkook muttered, eyes wide. “Too good,” Jimin whispered beside him, holding a battered flashlight like it might actually do something. Taehyung was grinning ear to ear. “I want to die dramatically. Let me jump from the roof.”

“No,” Jin said. “You’ll twist your ankle.”

“Then carry my corpse and avenge me.” Jungkook was laughing quietly, heart thudding.

Then—

From the woods. A flicker of movement. A splash of pink just barely visible beyond the tree line. His breath caught. There. A pink vest. It was you. Even in the low light, he knew. The confident way you moved, one hand raised in signal, clipboard tucked under your arm like a weapon. You watched the chaos unfold with a hand on your hip, head tilted.

Jungkook’s pulse jumped. He nudged Taehyung, whispering, “It’s her.”

“Huh?”

He pointed. “Pink vest.” Taehyung squinted, then smirked. “Your little crush?”

“Shut up.” But he couldn’t help the grin pulling at his lips. You were behind this. Orchestrating this wild, thrilling, immersive madness. He remembered what you’d said the night before: I run the NSC side of the event. I make sure survivors get very little sleep.

“What are you planning now?” he murmured to himself, eyes locked on your figure as you turned and melted into the woods again.

Whatever it was—you’d already hooked him.

And he had a feeling things were just getting started.

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The air had stilled for a moment. No more groans from the woods. No rustling leaves. The tension that had coiled tight for the last hour had begun to loosen. Jungkook leaned back against the cabin’s wooden siding, rifle balanced across his knees. “Maybe they’ve gone to harass another group,” Jin whispered to Jimin, who was starting to doze upright.

Namjoon was jotting something down on a paper map in the corner while Taehyung peered through a crack in the barricade with childlike fascination. Jin had found a reasonably clean blanket and was curled up with it like an idol with his stage towel.

Then—

Jungkook saw you again. His eyes caught movement near the tree line, just beyond the rough gravel road leading to the cabin. You stepped into view like some trick of the moonlight—vest still on, hoodie zipped to your chin, your silhouette unmistakable even in the dark.

He sat up straighter. No zombies around. Just you. Watching. His heart thudded in a mix of nerves and anticipation. Were you just checking in on them? Taking notes? Or—

Then your hand lifted. Tapped the button on your walkie. And you smiled. Right at him.

He couldn’t hear your voice, but your lips moved. He was sure you said, “Good luck… Now.”

A second later, the lights went out. With an audible click, the generator died. The spotlights illuminating the barricades flickered, then vanished. Instant pitch black—except for the sliver of moonlight painting the gravel and one flickering lantern down the street.

Jungkook’s stomach dropped.

“Shit,” he muttered, not even realizing he’d said it in English. “What?” Jimin hissed beside him, now fully awake.  “I saw her. Just now. She was smiling. That was not a friendly smile. Taehyung perked up. “A plot twist?” Jin groaned from under his blanket. “I hate plot twists.”

Then—

The moans began. Soft at first. Far off. But they built, swelling like a tide. Multiple voices. Low, rasping. Fast. Namjoon was already grabbing his weapon. “Positions!” People scrambled. Someone dropped their flashlight. Someone else screamed as a “guard” tripped over his own feet trying to get back into place.

Then Jungkook saw it. A flicker. A bounce of light. Something small fell a few feet before him on the ground, rolling toward him—right up to the edge of the barricade.

“What the—?”

PFFFFFTT—

A cloud of smoke exploded outward, thick and grey. “Oh come on—a smoke grenade?!” Jungkook backing up.

“Smoke!” a woman with a crossbow screamed, not missing a beat. “They use those for haunted houses. Totally safe.”

“Terrifying,” Jin muttered, waving a hand in front of his face. “I smell artificial doom.” The fog rolled over the makeshift barricade and down the path, mixing with the moonlight and giving the street a cinematic glow—soft yet eerie. Every silhouette looked ten times taller, their edges distorted by smoke and shifting shadows.

Then came the moans.

So many.

Zombies surged from the smoke like nightmares. They were louder now. Hungrier. Faster. Their makeup looked worse in the dark—more grotesque, more desperate. Foam weapons still in their hands, but they snarled and lunged and shrieked with a commitment that made Jungkook’s blood run cold.

“THEY LOOK POSSESSED,” Jin yelped as a pair slammed against the wooden fence.

“Shit,” someone whispered from the rear. “They’re using the smoke to cover a flank.” Jungkook grinned, adrenaline kicking in again. You were really going for it tonight. One “undead” scrambled over the barricade, wild-eyed, reaching for Jimin. Jimin screamed—then clocked the guy in the shoulder with a rubber hammer.

Taehyung had tears in his eyes—from laughing. “This is the best night of my life.” Jungkook couldn’t help it—he was terrified and thrilled. He felt like a kid again. A very armed kid with a fake rifle and a vendetta.

And then—figures appeared in the fog. Dozens. Some slow, arms dragging. Others twitching unnaturally, heads jerking with every step. Even though he knew it was fake, Jungkook's heart pounded. The lighting, the fog, the groans, the chaos—it was better than any horror game. You’d turned the entire woods into a living set.

He braced his foam knife tighter in one hand and his fake gun in the other. Beside him, a guy in a battered leather jacket grinned. “Whoever planned this is evil.” Jungkook beamed, eyes locked on the misty tree line. “Yeah,” he said under his breath, spotting a flash of pink from your vest in the shadows. “She really is.”

"Positions! Now!" someone barked—not one of Jungkook’s friends, but a woman near the barricade. She had a blue streak in her hair and a crossbow slung over her back. "Close-ranged to the front! Spotters up top!"

Players sprang into action. This wasn’t just cosplay—it was commitment. Everyone threw themselves into the game like it was real. A guy wearing a dirtied duster coat and fake blood smeared across his cheek grabbed an axe and stood shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook.

“You new?” the guy asked, breath fogging. “You three look fresh.”

Jungkook grinned, ducking as a zombie thumped against the boards. “First time.”

“Hell of a night to start. If we make it out, I’ll show you where we hide the real snacks. Not the ration boxes. The actual chocolate.”

Jungkook laughed. “Deal.”

Meanwhile, Jin had cornered himself behind a crate. “Does this look like a hero arc to you?” he snapped at a random player crawling beside him with a prop spear. “I am a bard. I sing. I complain. I don’t get eaten!”

“I don’t understand shit! You’re literally holding a hammer,” the other player said, crawling past him. “You’re doing great.” Taehyung, meanwhile, had somehow ended up in a roleplay conversation mid-battle with a grizzled survivor in a torn biker jacket and a toy pistol. “My name’s Snake,” the man said seriously. “I used to run with a group out east before the swarms came.”

Taehyung blinked. “Out east, like… Seoul?” The guy didn’t break character. “Used to be called that. Now it’s a graveyard.” Taehyung whispered to Jin, “This guy’s living his dream.”

“Yeah, and we’re living his fan fiction,” Jin muttered. The barricade groaned again—another wave.

Jimin dove forward with a group of other survivors to reinforce a gap, slamming a foam board across it just in time to hold back a zombie clawing through. Someone shouted, “We need more cover left side!” and Namjoon ran to help, organizing people like he was born to be a post-apocalyptic general.

One of the players, an older man with a scar drawn across his cheek and a “Medic” patch sewn on his jacket, muttered, “Something’s wrong.” Jungkook edged closer to the front again.

And then he saw it—you, darting across the tree line just long enough to be spotted. Just long enough for him to catch the wicked grin on your face. You disappeared into the trees again like a shadow, headset still pressed to your ear.

“She's still here,” Jungkook whispered, oddly proud. “Of course she is,” the chocolate-smuggling player muttered beside him. “We call her secretly the Puppetmaster. She only smiles like that when something real bad is about to happen.”

And then it did.

A guttural howl tore through the woods—different from the earlier zombie moans. Everyone froze. “What the hell was that?” Jin asked, eyes wide. “Boss zombie?” Jimin guessed, not sounding confident. Namjoon slowly rose from behind his makeshift command table. “Or worse.”

The front barricade shook again—but not from a horde. From something heavier. Then smoke again—this time from behind. Jungkook spun. “Back entrance!”

Several players rushed to the rear barricade as you unleashed the next chaos round. Amid the smoke, a dozen zombies swarmed from the woods—some moving faster than before. Their groans were louder, their makeup more grotesque, their eyes glowing faintly from the LEDs embedded in their masks.

You had leveled up.

“GUYS—THIS IS SO COOL,” Taehyung screamed as he dodged behind a barrel. Jin smacked a zombie's arm with his foam hammer, panic written across his face. “THIS IS A FORMAL COMPLAINT!” The players were laughing, yelling, swearing, acting—and Jungkook loved every second. The adrenaline, the immersion, the fact that you were the mastermind behind it all.

Then he caught a flash of pink again.

Your vest. You were darting through the shadows behind the zombies—counting, correcting, watching them as they attacked. Fully in control. He couldn’t help but grin. Then, your voice cut through the night commanding: “GAME STOP!”

The word was like a spell. Every player froze, weapons half-raised, breaths held in the chill dawn air. Only the few you signaled with a hand gesture moved, carefully shifting the faux-barricade aside to make the scene safe again. Jungkook blinked, heart still thudding. Even though he knew it was a game, the adrenaline refused to fade.

And then—there you were.

Stepping lightly over the uneven ground, in that same pink vest, headset snug against your cheek, clipboard in hand. You made your rounds like a stage manager inspecting the set after a complicated scene—checking faces, weapons, broken props.

When you passed Jungkook’s side of the barricade, you didn’t say anything. Just gave him a sly wink. He didn’t even try to hide his grin. Then, turning to face the cabin, you lifted your voice: “Ready?”

A few tired nods. Some thumbs up. You waited one extra beat… and then stepped aside with a flourish of your hand. “Continue.” The world shifted again—players jolting into motion as if time had resumed. As zombies now flooded the cabin.

He raised his fake gun, nodded to his new squad of random survivors, and shouted: “Let’s defend this place!” Someone cheered back, “For the chocolate stash!” “FOR SEOUL!” Snake added dramatically.

Jungkook aimed and fired a foam dart into the chest of a rushing zombie, adrenaline coursing through him like fire. He was in your world now.

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The attack had ended.

The aftermath was quiet, eerie. Six players had “died” during the horde, and one had been “bitten.” Jungkook watched as the bitten man and his friend played out a painfully convincing scene by the fire—whispers, pleading, an emotional goodbye, then a single dramatic “stab” to the chest with a foam knife. The bitten man fell back into the shadows, now part of the undead ranks.

Jungkook was impressed. He hadn’t expected people to feel this much playing pretend.

After that, the next few hours passed in relative quiet.

They re-secured the barricade—Jin helping hammer prop-boards into place while Jimin argued over who should take the next watch. Namjoon and Taehyung went through “scavenged” supplies, checking LARP rations, carefully labeled in duct-taped bags. The fake walkie-talkie system still worked, and the illusion of apocalypse held steady.

As the deep purple of night slowly melted into that strange, pale blue of early morning, Jungkook sat against the side of the shed, rubbing at his neck and breathing in the cold.

“I thought we were dead for sure,” Jin murmured next to him, legs stretched out. “I almost cried,” Jimin said dramatically, flopping down onto a sleeping mat. “I thought Tae got bitten.” Taehyung scoffed. “I was performing, thank you. Some of us have range.”

Namjoon sipped from a thermos of something that was definitely just instant coffee, but in this world felt like a potion of life. “Honestly, I’m surprised we made it through the night. That will give amazing footage.” Jungkook didn’t say anything at first.

He was looking past them—toward the tree line again, where the smoke had cleared and the trees looked just like trees again. He had seen you there, in the middle of it all. Smiling. Running the show. Creating chaos and keeping them all safe inside it.

And he’d felt… exhilarated. Not just because he’d survived. But because you’d made it feel real.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured without thinking. The others glanced at him. “Huh?” Jimin blinked. “Who’s amazing?” Jin teased, raising an eyebrow. “No one,” Jungkook said too quickly, but his ears were already red. Taehyung didn’t say a word, just smirked, bumping Jungkook’s knee with his own.

Jungkook looked up again, just as you appeared around the corner, talking into your headset with that same intense focus—head tilted, brows furrowed, clipboard under one arm.

Still working. Still organizing. Still making this world turn.

And somehow, even after staying up all night surviving fake zombies and crawling through fake smoke, Jungkook had never been more awake.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

You jogged across the field, half-laced boots kicking up dust in the early light. You had just gotten word from your comms team: one of the BTS members had officially “died” in-game.

Time to pick up the body.

The makeshift makeup atelier was full with people that wanted to turn into zombies, turn from reality into the ruined world your team had crafted. You expected someone tired, maybe a little dramatic. You did not expect Yoongi lying on a fold-out chair like a lazy vampire, arms crossed and hoodie pulled halfway over his head.

“Yo,” you greeted, brushing back your windswept hair. “Dead, or just felt like napping?” Yoongi cracked one eye open and gave you a smirk. “Bit of both. I figured I’m way better at being creepy than surviving.” You laughed. “Honestly, valid. Want a break first or should I track down the others for you?”

Yoongi sat up, hoodie slipping from his head. His eyes glittered, mischievous and strangely at peace with his new undead status. “Food. Nap. Then undead chaos.”

“Respect,” you said with a grin. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the kitchen. You good with whatever they’ve got, or should I threaten someone to find you a real croissant?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes but followed. “If there’s a real croissant, you’re legally required to bring it to me.” You held your hand over your heart. “Scout’s honor.”

The kitchen was one of the few non-immersive zones—filled with thermoses, cereal, toast, and bleary-eyed crew. You led Yoongi in, checked he had everything he needed (which, as expected, was basically a piece of toast, tea and a quiet seat), and leaned on the table.

“If you wanna hop back in after your nap,” you said, “just head to makeup. They’ll get you zombified. Walk-ins welcome.” Yoongi gave a lazy salute. “Enjoy the chaos.”

You smirked. “Oh, I will.”

As you stepped back outside, you pulled your vest off, checked your headset, and tapped your radio.

“Sparkles goes in to play,” you told everybody in the Orga channel.

The wind stirred your hair as you walked up the stairs to get into your survivor outfit. Somewhere out there, survivors were scavenging. Somewhere in the trees, barricades were being reinforced, stories played out.

And maybe—just maybe—Jungkook would spot you again.

You couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

You had changed.

Gone was the confident, sharp-eyed game runner in a bright vest and headset. In her place, standing at the back entrance of the ruined asylum terrain, was a frail young woman—dirty, disheveled, a little wild in the eyes. Your cheeks were flushed as if you’d cried, and your hair was messily pulled back like it hadn’t been washed in days. You wore a torn oversized knit sweater that hung off one shoulder, stained and torn, and your jeans were fraying at the hems like you’d worn them through hell. A ratty scarf was wrapped around your wrist, and your hair was a tangled mess like you hadn’t had a brush or mirror in days. But it was the lifeless plastic baby doll swaddled in a stained cloth to your chest like it was your entire world that completed the look.

You looked haunted.

You were embodying the character you'd warned the staff about weeks before—the “young mother,” a deeply unhinged, petty chaos agent with one goal: survival. At everyone else’s expense.

The back entrance of the asylum was quiet now, but as you predicted, players had already started establishing a trade hub there. Makeshift tables held bartered goods—scraps of old food props, dummy ammunition, lighters, glowsticks, water bottles, a few hand-written “currency” notes. Some players stood guard, clearly skeptical of strangers, while others played smooth-talking scavengers or suspicious loners.

You blended in perfectly.

Your current mark was a man with a fake shotgun and far too much fake canned food to his name. You rocked the doll in your arms, sniffled, and gestured toward the woods as you explained in slow, stilted English that you were looking for your brother.

“I’m just… looking for my brother,” you said softly in a broken, unsure tone, gently rocking the baby doll in your arms. “He… he wanted to look for food…but… I think something happened…”

A weathered-looking survivor with a fake scar across his jaw nodded slowly. “You armed?”

You looked at him, eyes wide. “No. I—I’m not stupid, I had a knife, but I traded it. For formula.” You shook the baby slightly. “She… she was screaming. And people were starting to look. Please… he said he’d meet me here, if something happens. Please, I don’t want anything. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

Your eyes glittered with wetness. The man softened, the way players do when they think they’re being heroes. “Stay close, alright? If you need anything—”

Jungkook, Taehyung, Snake (still inexplicably calling himself that), and Molly—crossbow-slinger extraordinaire—were making their way through the asylum’s crumbling courtyard. A day and a half in, they looked the part now: mud on their clothes, sweat-dampened shirts, fake bandages here and there. They had clearly made it through a night and a morning of scavenging, and judging by the pack Taehyung carried, they were doing well.

That’s when Taehyung spotted you from a distance.

He nudged Jungkook and hissed under his breath, “No way. Is that Y/N?”

Jungkook’s eyes locked on you—and froze. “She’s… acting, right?” Jungkook asked, but he was already moving toward you.

Gone was the confident, sharp-eyed you that Jungkook had seen commanding a smoke grenade like it was part of your DNA. Gone was the grinning puppet master who had thrown him and his friends into a zombie nightmare for the sheer love of chaos. Instead—standing under the gray, early-morning sky—you looked like someone lost.

You stood at the trading post near the old asylum ruins, speaking softly to a weathered player with fake dirt on his face and a rusted toy gun slung over his back. Your voice was shaking. So were your hands.

“Y/N?” he said uncertainly, a flicker of hope in his voice. You didn’t react. Of course not. That wasn’t your name right now.

So he tried again, stepping closer, more hesitant. “Hey… are you okay?”

Taehyung beat him to it, his Korean accent thick but clear. “Miss? Is everything okay?”

You turned toward them slowly. Your lip trembled. And the look you gave them… it was so raw it knocked the wind out of Jungkook’s chest. You looked at all of them like you didn’t know whether to run or cry. You glanced from Taehyung to Jungkook to the two strangers flanking them. You held the baby tighter to your chest. Your lip wobbling, and your voice came out small.

“I’m just… looking for my brother,” you said. “We—we said we’d meet here. I lost my knife. I traded it for formula. For her. Please, I don’t want anything. I just—I need help.”

You clutched the baby doll tighter and gave a little, heartbreaking smile. And Jungkook’s heart squeezed in a way that shocked him. He should know better. He did know better. This was a game. You were in character. You were one of the organizers. Hell, he’d seen you cut the power and signal a horde like a general commanding troops just last night. But right now…

Right now, all he could see was you looking scared, tired, alone—and goddammit, holding a baby. Even if it was a fake one. You looked down at the baby doll, brushing your thumb over its plastic cheek. “She’s been so quiet, but I think she’s hungry. I… I don’t know where else to go.”

Jungkook couldn’t breathe.

Your vulnerability wasn’t just convincing—it felt real. Too real. He knew it was stupid. He knew this was part of the game. But still, something primal and protective swelled in his chest. He wanted to shield you. Even from pretend danger. Even if you were one of the people causing it.

You looked up at them again with a shiver. “You’re not with the men from the train, right? They had—masks. And one had this axe…”

Molly gave a soft, reassuring nod. “We’re not with the train people. You can come with us, okay?” You nodded, eyes wide. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Snake muttered under his breath, “If that baby starts crying tonight, I swear—”

“I’ll keep her quiet,” you said quickly, gripping the doll tighter. “She knows not to cry anymore.” Jungkook couldn’t take his eyes off you. His brain kept screaming it’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake—but his heart wasn’t listening.

As the group turned and began to walk back toward their temporary outpost, you fell in step beside them, eyes alert but downcast. Jungkook moved quietly beside you, matching your pace. You didn’t look up, but you let your arm brush against his as if by accident. He glanced sideways—and for the briefest moment, your expression cracked just enough for him to see the smallest flicker of a smirk.

You knew. You knew exactly what you were doing. And god, it was working. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair and sighed through his nose, exasperated with himself.

He was so. fucking. doomed.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

It was crazy. Absolutely insane.

From the second Jungkook’s group took you in, everything changed. One of the trade vendors, a grizzled guy with a sheriff badge duct-taped to his chest, handed them two extra magazines of Nerf ammo “for the baby.” Another gave a can of pineapple, whispering with serious urgency, “Good for nursing moms.”

You nodded, clutching the doll like your life depended on it, eyes watery with gratitude. You didn’t overplay it. You didn’t need to. Back at their camp—a semicircle of barricades and scavenged supplies around the shed—chaos broke loose. You walked in and people lost their minds.

“She’s got a baby?” “She has a baby!” “Is she alone?” “Where’s the father?” “Was she pregnant during the outbreak?!”

People took it way to serious. But Jungkook kind of understood. The men swore to protect you. Loudly. With solemn nods and fist-to-chest pledges. Even the quieter ones suddenly sharpened their focus, ready to fend off zombie hordes at the sound of a rattle.

The women? They were instantly circling. One gently tugged your sleeve and whispered, “You should sleep, hon. Let someone else take care of the little one for a bit.” Another offered to heat water and try to sterilize a bottle. A third handed over a slightly-clean blanket, saying it would be softer for the baby.

Molly, tough-as-nails Molly with her battered crossbow and flinty eyes, was the most surprising of all. She stepped up, arms crossed. “You need to eat. Properly. Sit.” You blinked, nodding slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

Molly took the baby doll from your arms like it was made of glass. Then—dead serious—she growled at it. “Don’t give me that face. Your mom’s busy.” You couldn’t help but laugh, eyes crinkling with warmth. When you returned from the warm food someone shoved into your hands, Molly handed the baby back with a straight face. “Grumpy little thing. Missed you.”

“Thank you,” you said, genuinely touched, your hands brushing hers as you took the baby back. “You’re… really kind.” 

Taehyung, crouched by a rusted fire barrel with Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon, leaned in and hissed low under his breath, “Don’t let her distract you. She’s got villain energy written all over her right now.” Jimin snorted. “Bro, she’s holding a doll and crying.”

“That’s exactly why,” Taehyung said seriously. “That’s exactly how they get you.” Namjoon didn’t speak. He just looked across the camp, watching you sit under the tarp, huddled with the baby like a storm-wrecked statue.

Jungkook… didn’t speak either. He just looked at you.

Watched the way you curled your body around the doll, like you were shielding it from the cold. The tiny smile you gave to the woman who offered to stitch the tear in your sweater. The way your eyes scanned each person like you were searching for something real. Your brother. Maybe hope. Maybe a way out.

He knew you were acting. He knew you were playing a role.

But the tenderness of it—the truth underneath it—cut into him.

You were building something. A narrative. A presence. A story that folded into theirs, made their world feel larger, more real. You asked softly, eyes tired but kind, “Has anyone here seen my brother? He’s about this tall…” You held your hand a bit above your head, eyes sweeping over their faces. Everyone shook their head with murmurs of apology. No one had seen him. You gave a small nod, looking down at the baby. “Okay. Maybe he’s further south.”

And then, reluctantly, after they insisted—you let them lead you to a cot inside the shed, where two women covered you in blankets and one brushed your hair softly from your forehead. “Sleep,” she whispered. “We’ll keep watch.”

And you did.

 He didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Maybe because you trusted them, even just in-character. Trusted them enough to sleep.

Jungkook stood nearby, cross-legged on an overturned crate, his gun across his lap. He kept his eyes on the tree line. But every few minutes, he turned and looked toward you.

Just to be sure you were okay.

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You woke slowly, groggy but warm. For a moment, the peaceful hum of camp lulled you—muted conversations, the scrape of someone sharpening a weapon, distant birdsong. And then your hand slid over the blanket beside you. Nothing.

The baby doll was gone.

Your eyes snapped open. You sat up fast, breath catching, scanning around wildly until you spotted one of the women from earlier—Annette, the redhead with the braid—standing by the fire barrel. Holding the baby. You stormed over. And went into character.

“Give me back my child!”

Every head turned. The group froze. Annette startled, backing up a step. “I was just—he was cold! You were asleep—!”

“You took him without asking! Without telling me!” You were full of fake hysteria now, body trembling, eyes shining with fresh tears as you stomped toward her. “You were passed out!” she snapped back, holding the doll protectively. “You’re lucky you have people to help you. Don’t act like a saint—you’ve got a whole family around you now!”

“Don’t you dare guilt me for caring about my own child!” you screamed, and the camp exploded into noise.

Women yelled. Men hovered uncertainly, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon staring wide-eyed as you and Annette tore into each other like wild animals in rags and apocalypse grime. Jimin held his hands up like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Molly shoved through the circle. “Alright! Enough!” She snatched the baby out of Annette’s arms, cradled it to her chest, and stalked back toward your bed. “I’m putting him down where he belongs.” But the damage was done.

From the woods, groans began—deep, feral, unmistakable.

“Zombies!” someone shouted.

And then you and Annette were surrounded by indecision. The men hesitated—do they break up the fight? Do they protect you? Annette was still fuming. “You can’t even handle being a mother!” You looked around wildly—then saw the zombies moving closer. Ten? Maybe more.

You didn’t flinch.

“You don’t deserve him!” Annette screamed. And with a dramatic sob, you shoved her hard—right toward the oncoming horde. You stumbled back just in time not to end as Annette.  As Annette let out a perfectly-timed scream as she stumbled backward into their arms. The zombie players descended in full choreographed carnage—screeching, arms grabbing, paint splattering.

“NOOOO!” she wailed, perfectly, theatrically, just as she was “bitten” and dragged to the ground. Her hand reached out… and dropped.

Game over.

The whole camp went dead silent. Jungkook’s heart was hammering. He saw it all—your heaving shoulders, your wide tearful eyes, your trembling hands. As some of the guards went to deal with the zombies now coming your way. You had just killed someone.

Sort of.

Molly returned, baby doll back in your arms. “She touched your kid. That’s on her.” Another woman nodded sharply. “No one takes a child from its mother.”

Taehyung whispered, “She’s terrifying.” Namjoon exhaled like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Jimin blinked. “Did she just—?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook whispered. “She did.” But it wasn’t condemnation in his voice. It was awe.

You pulled the baby closer to your chest as the zombie players—groaning, covered in fake blood and smugness—left toward the next part of the map. You wiped your eyes and turned toward the fire, shaking.

And the group? They closed in around you, no questions asked. Annette’s name was crossed off the board.

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Jungkook approached slowly, hands in the pockets of his tattered apocalypse jacket, still glancing at the baby doll cradled in your arms as if it might blink.

“You know…” he said, voice low and a little awkward, “the kid has the same sparkle… in his eyes as you.” You froze. Your head snapped up immediately. Your gaze flicked to Jungkook. You gave him a small, quiet nod of understanding. “Thanks,” you said, softly. Then, to Molly, “Could you watch him for a second? I need… I need a breath.”

Molly, rocking the fake baby as if it were the most precious thing in the world, smiled. “Of course. He’s an angel when he naps.” Before you could turn, she added, “Take Jungkook with you. He looks like he needs it too.”

You looked at him grinning, one brow raised. He looked… startled. But he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

The trees offered some quiet from the chaos behind you. For a while, you just listened to the wind threading through the branches and the crunch of your boots on dry leaves. It was strange how easily the game dissolved out here. No screams. No laughter. Just you and him. Then you stopped and looked at him with the same gentle concern you’d shown to the doll not five minutes ago.

Jungkook stared at you, confused. For a moment—just a second—he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

“I… I think I used the wrong phrase,” he admitted. “The sparkle thing—I thought that’s how people got out of the game? Like… a code?” You looked at him, something melting in your expression. “It is a code,” you said softly. “You used it perfectly.” He blinked. “Then… why do I feel so messed up?”

You inhaled slowly and reached up to remove the scarf around your head, your shoulders relaxing as you let the mask of your character slide off. “I’m going to talk to you now as me,” you said. “Not the mother. Not the Game Master. Just… Y/N.”

Jungkook nodded and saw your entire demeanor change. You were instantly more open—more you.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently.

“I don’t know why it hit me so hard,” he admitted eventually. “I knew it wasn’t real. You were holding a doll. I saw it. But something about it—your voice, the way you shook, how scared you looked…” He laughed bitterly. “I thought, if something happens to her, I won’t be able to fix it.” You watched him with quiet patience.

“You know,” you said, “a lot of people come into these games thinking they’ll be cool and strategic. Like it’s chess with costumes. And then they see someone crying over soup, or hear a scream at night—and suddenly their brain forgets it’s a simulation.”

Jungkook gave a tired nod. “Yeah. That happened about three hours in.”

“Of course it did,” you smiled. “You’re human. Your empathy isn’t fake.” He looked at you. This time, really looked. “You were so good,” he said. “I thought—” His voice broke off like it betrayed something too personal.

You didn’t press. You gave him space.

“I’ve been doing this a while,” you said. “I’ve seen heroes break down because someone pretended to die in their arms. Seen friends scream at each other over fake betrayals. Emotions can be real even if the context isn’t.”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So you mean I’m not crazy?”

“Not even a little,” you said, stepping closer. “But I will say this—” He met your eyes again, waiting. “If you do ever get too close to a character—too emotionally tied—step out. Use the sparkle phrase. And don’t be ashamed of needing a breather. It’s not weak.”

Jungkook exhaled, long and slow. “You’re really good at this.” Your lips twitched into a grin. “That was my evil plan.” He laughed—genuine, breathy, warm. “Well, it’s working. You’ve got, like, twelve people ready to die for you back there.”

“I know,” you said, brushing a leaf off your sleeve. “I love watching human psychology unfold in these settings. Throw in a helpless baby and a crying woman, and boom—pack instinct. Protector mode activated.” Jungkook chuckled again. “You’re dangerous.”

“I try.”

You walked a little further, the air calmer now, your heart beating less like you were in a game and more like you were just… here. With him. “Do you feel better now?” you asked, tilting your head. He exhaled, but it didn’t quite reach the bottom of his lungs. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”

But you could see it—how his body still carried it. The weight. The leftover adrenaline. The strange, instinctual need to protect something that was never real. You hesitated for only a breath, then took a small step closer.

“Can I offer you something?” you asked. Jungkook blinked. “Uh… what?”

“A hug.” His eyes widened, and he laughed—not at you, but because he hadn’t expected that. “A hug?”

“Sometimes it helps,” you said with a gentle smile. “Just—Something human. Especially after hours of zombies, crying, and everyone screaming about rations.” He paused. You could see him considering it. Then, with an almost sheepish smile, he said, “Yeah… okay.”

You stepped forward, arms open but soft, giving him room to change his mind. He didn’t. Instead, Jungkook folded into the hug like he hadn’t realized how much he needed it until it was happening. How it made him realize you were safe. His arms wrapped around you, firm but hesitant at first. Then, when you didn’t pull away, he held tighter.

And for a moment, there was nothing but the two of you in that quiet patch of woods—no fake apocalypse, no baby dolls, no cameras. Just his heartbeat against your chest. Just your breath near his ear. “You smell… nice,” he mumbled, half-laughing, and you felt his smile against your shoulder. You grinned too. “Thanks. Its called a shower.”

He pulled back laughing, just enough to look at you. His eyes were clearer now—less dazed, less confused. Grounded. You gave him a look like, See?

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. And he meant it. You nodded. “You’re welcome.” You started turning back toward camp, but paused, reaching out and placing your hand lightly on his forearm. “One last thing,” you said quietly. He looked at you, attentive. “When the time comes,” you said, voice more serious now, “don’t try to save me.”  Jungkook frowned. “What?”

“I’m supposed to die,” you explained. With how serious he took this you didn’t want to traumatize him. “It’s planned. For story, tension, payoff—all of it. So when it happens… let it happen. Don’t let your character die for me.” He looked at you for a long moment, lips pressed tight. He didn’t like it. Not even a little.

But eventually, he gave a small nod. “Okay. I’ll try.” You smiled at him. “That’s all I ask.”

And the two of you walked back to camp—quietly, but closer. Something between you had shifted. And the end of the world kept spinning.

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Back at camp, the mood was lighter for a while. People were laughing over old canned soup, swapping stories about their fake injuries, showing off smudged zombie makeup like war medals. Jungkook sat beside the fire pit with Taehyung and Jimin, poking at the embers with a stick as the sun dipped lower behind the trees.

“I talked with Y/N earlier,” he said, voice quieter than before. Jimin raised a brow. “The mother?”

“She broke character. For me,” Jungkook added. Taehyung leaned forward, grinning. “That’s unexpected. You okay?”

“I think so,” Jungkook said, then smiled a little to himself. “It just felt… too real. Like I couldn’t separate her from the game. I looked at her and couldn’t tell where the mother ended and she began. I needed to separate them for a moment.”

“She offered me a hug,” he added softly, almost like it embarrassed him to say it. “You took it, right?” Taehyung asked, nudging him. “Yeah,” Jungkook said. “And it helped. It made it feel like… it was okay to enjoy it again.” Jimin nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “She’s good. I think she sees when someone’s slipping too far into it.”

Before they could say more, a horn blared from the far end of the camp. Then came the scream.

It was you.

Blood-curdling. Raw. Real enough that even the most seasoned players froze for a heartbeat. You crashed into camp, fake tears streaking your cheeks, your baby doll clutched tight to your chest. “They’re coming—I can’t—I can’t do this—please, someone—!”

Jungkook's body moved before his brain did. He stepped forward—but too late. Then, in your frantic scramble, you fumbled with the makeshift barricade and ripped it open. And the horde swarmed in.

Chaos erupted.

It was like a dam breaking. Zombies—dozens of them—surged from the trees with low groans and guttural snarls, their movements jerky and terrifyingly fast for something supposed to be undead. The illusion was flawless. You bolted for the other side of camp, stumbling with your doll in your arms, and vanished.

The scream that came next didn’t belong to you.

It was Jin.

“NOPE. NOPE. I’M OUT!” he yelled, laughing even as he backed himself into a corner, behind some stacked crates meant to look like a supply station. “I’m not fast enough for this sh—!”

They got him.

One of the zombies tackled him, then another. Then three more. Jin disappeared under the pile, mock screaming and laughing at the same time, smacking at the air with ketchup-smeared hands. “I’M BEING EATEN ALIVE! SAVE ME—ACTUALLY DON’T—THIS IS KINDA FUN—”

And then his hand dropped limp. Fake-dead. Out of the game.

Jungkook turned to call for Jimin—but Jimin was already being overwhelmed. He had tried to hold a makeshift line near the fire pit, swinging a padded bat and shouting commands, rallying three of the younger players behind him. “Hold the flank! Hold the—AH—!”

One grabbed him from behind. Then another. A third clung to his legs. “Shit—shit—I’m down! I’m—gah—nooooooo—!” Jimin crumpled dramatically, laughing breathlessly as he disappeared beneath a tangle of groaning zombie players. He held up a hand one last time before letting it fall with a thud. His “death” was over-the-top—classic Jimin—and it still managed to hit Jungkook square in the chest.

Within minutes, nearly half of their group had gone down.

Some were taken trying to flee. Others died fighting. Some just froze in the panic, paralyzed by the sheer size of the horde. And when it cleared, only three of the members were left, with only a few of the original survivor group.

Jungkook.

Namjoon.

Taehyung.

The camp was littered with bodies—players lying still, arms splayed, makeup smeared with fake blood, laughing and groaning as they pretended to be “fresh kills.” Jungkook stood, chest heaving, heart racing. His bat dripped red corn syrup. He looked around, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, and spotted you.

You were across the camp, standing slowly, brushing leaves off your shirt. You still had the doll but now hit hung limp like a doll in your hand, your expression was calm again. Collected. You turned. Found him with your eyes. And waved. And for the first time since the screaming started, Jungkook remembered to breathe.

He waved back, just once.

Then you were gone again—heading off toward the makeup rooms with Jin and Jimin rising to follow. They teased each other as they walked, still catching their breath, still smiling through the chaos. Followed by many other undead, ready to find other survivors or to go with you the makeup rooms.

“You really went all in,” Jin said, chuckling. “God, I thought you were actually going to cry for real.”

You laughed. “Almost did.” But it was Jimin who leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You left an impression,” he said. You blinked. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure how the baby would play with the—”

“No,” Jimin cut in. “Not the character. You.” Your brow furrowed, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” Jimin smirked. “I mean, you—Y/N—you got under Jungkook’s skin. He’s still pretending not to notice, but I’m telling you now, something cracked open in him. You’re in there.” You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. “He just got stuck in immersion.”

“Nope,” Jimin said confidently. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I saw the way he looked at you. That wasn’t caring for just your roll.” You glanced back once, just before disappearing behind the curtain of trees toward the makeup.

Jungkook was still watching. And your chest fluttered—just a little. You smiled shyly at Jimin, brushing dust from your shirt, cheeks still warm from the earlier chaos. “Oh… then Jungkook won’t like my next character,” you murmured. Jimin raised a brow and leaned in. “Oh? What’s it gonna be?”

You only grinned. “First? Food. And maybe an hour of sleep.” Jimin laughed, nodding. “Fair. I’ll be around. Don’t forget to scare me later.” You gave him a mock salute and started making your way upstairs—up into the top floor of the asylum, where players weren’t allowed. Where you could take a breath, eat without breaking immersion, and switch roles without being spotted.

On the way up, you passed a surreal little scene—Yoongi, fully zombified with his head twisted at an odd angle and one eye gone pale with makeup, lumbered through the halls muttering, “Did you see Hoseok? I want to scare him."

You stifled a laugh. “No but I will let you know.”

“Acceptable,” Yoongi mumbled in his zombie voice, shuffling away.

You made it to the upper ward, peeled off your layers, and managed to get two and a half hours of rest. Your alarm buzzed at 9:45pm.

It was time.

By 10:00, the event would shift. The safe zones would crumble. And from 11 onward… there would be no mercy. Downstairs, five of your most seasoned zombie player had been briefed and would meet you at the NSC hall. You wanted your entrance to be theatrical, disruptive, and unforgettable.

By 10:15, you were halfway through your transformation—tight brown neoprene pants clinging to your legs, the lower half of your costume fitted. The upper part, a terrifying piece of neoprene and latex-mottled horror, hung around your hip, along with the harness system that would make your movements twitchy and unnatural.

You were just adjusting your sports bra and reaching for the torso suit when the door creaked.

“Hey, did you—” Taehyung froze in the doorway, wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights. He blinked hard, processing the sight of you: half-dressed, back turned, casually sorting through prosthetics and blood tubes.

You turned around, utterly unfazed in your sports bra and pants. “Dead or tired?” Taehyung swallowed, his voice catching. “Uh. Dead. I died. Heroically. Saved Snake and Molly. Got torn apart. Y’know. Normal day.” You chuckled, reaching for the suit. “Glad someone made it out with flair.”

Taehyung lingered, clearing his throat. “Uh—do you… want help?”

“Please,” you said immediately, stepping toward him and turning your back to him. “The zipper’s a nightmare.” He caught the heavy latex piece awkwardly and stepped closer. The suit was clammy from the spray blood and tight as hell, almost impossible to shimmy into without another person. You guided your arms in, shifting your weight.

Taehyung tried not to look at the way the fabric stretched around your body. “You alright?” you asked as he fumbled with the zipper. “I—yeah. It’s just—tight,” he mumbled, finally getting the zip started, pulling it slowly up your back.

When it clicked into place, you rolled your shoulders, adjusting the neckline and tugging at the seals. You met his eyes over your shoulder. “Thanks. This character’s a little… worse.”

“How bad?”

You smirked darkly, your voice lowering. “Tonight… there’s no more safe space.” Taehyung blinked. “Like—none?”

“None,” you confirmed. “No sanctuary. No barricades. Only hiding. Running. Or dying. And I’m going to make sure they remember it.” Taehyung stared at you. “I think Jungkook’s gonna have a heart attack.” You laughed. “Good. Maybe I’ll let him live if he plays it right.” He shook his head with a grin, backing toward the door. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Y/N.”

“You should’ve remembered that the moment you walked in on me half-naked,” you called after him. Taehyung flushed but grinned wider. “That wasn’t my fault!” You grinned back. “It is now.”

You picked up your blood capsule belt, slipping it over your shoulder. The last part of your transformation was almost complete. From here on out, no one would recognize you under the makeup, the prosthetics, and the twitchy, grotesque movements of your new role.

Tonight, you would become the thing people whispered about.

And Jungkook would be right in the middle of it.

The night was thick with fog and the smell of wet leaves, the moonlight too thin to offer comfort. You stood in the shadows just beyond the NSC hall, the five zombies around you adjusting their gear in eerie silence. Your neoprene suit clung to your body like diseased skin, the painted latex blistered and blackened. You had blended the mask into your neckline so your real face disappeared beneath rot and ruin. Only your eyes remained—but even they were ringed in thick, oily black makeup, obscuring any hint of humanity.

Taehyung stood nearby, wide-eyed, one hand over his mouth. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “You guys look like something from Silent Hill.”

You tilted your head slowly toward him, silent.

“That’s not helping,” he added, stepping back.

The other five—Alex, David, Mira, Yuji, and Garam—stood tall beside you, identical in costume and horror. A collective nightmare. One of them cracked her neck; another flexed their fingers in tight gloves soaked in darkened blood. You all looked like a single organism splintered into six lethal bodies.

And when Eriks voice whispered through your comms—Go—you didn’t stumble or lurch like the rest of the infected.

You ran.

Fast.

The six of you surged into the night like a flock of death crows, howling, shrieking, voices jagged with distortion. You had trained for this—months of movement practice, stunts, and horror choreography. Every motion you made was unhinged and wrong, arms twitching, heads jerking too far. Real terror wrapped in rubber and foam. And when the normal zombies saw your group emerging from the darkness, they actually cheered.

“Let’s go, monsters!”

“The bosses are here!”

“Hunt them!”

It was like a celebrity entrance from hell. And that’s exactly what you were—hell in motion. And Taehyung watched in horror. He was suddenly very happy he had died and hadn’t had to face you.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the map…

Jungkook sat against the cracked wall of an abandoned two-story building, head tilted back, breath steady. He hadn’t realized just how badly he needed the break until now. Namjoon dozed lightly beside him, one hand still on the prop axe resting across his lap. A few others—veteran players and a couple of newer ones—had taken refuge here too. One, who played a frazzled but skilled doctor, had claimed the cellar and set up shop with fake supplies and dim LED lights to simulate a generator hum. He’d even set up a patient cot.

Snake sat at the window, looking out into the forest with haunted eyes. “Taehyung shouldn’t have saved me,” he murmured. Jungkook leaned forward. “He would’ve done it every time.” Snake didn’t reply, just gripped the curtain tighter.

Since you had left the game earlier in the day, Jungkook had finally started breathing normally again. Watching you with that doll—sobbing, panicking, screaming as you threw open the barricades—had twisted something inside him he hadn’t expected. Even knowing it was part of the event, it had pierced something too real. Too much. Your trembling hands. Your broken cries.

And then you were gone. Not dead, not hurt. Just… absent from the game. And that distance, as strange as it was, helped. He could see it as a game again. He could focus on survival. Strategy. The vlog footage. The thrill.

But then—

The screams began. Far off at first, like crows fighting. Then closer. Louder. Sharper. Wrong. Jungkook shot up. Namjoon blinked awake, eyes wide. “What the hell is that?” It wasn’t the usual zombie moan. Not even a fast-zombie screech. This was like someone being torn in half.

And then the first impact hit.

Something—or someone—slammed into the front of the building with a crunch and a spray of fake blood. One of the new players screamed as the front barricade gave way and something darted through the broken opening.

It wasn’t stumbling. It was sprinting.

“Upstairs!” Namjoon barked. “Now!” Jungkook grabbed Snake’s arm and hauled him back as one of the monsters—rotting flesh, twitchy limbs, face all wrong—threw itself at the nearest survivor. They weren’t like the others. These were different. Silent coordination. Screaming, yes—but like hunters calling to each other, not mindless noise.

Upstairs, the survivors scrambled. Jungkook kicked over a shelf to block the stairwell. It bought them seconds at best. And then another scream—closer, more guttural. One of the new players was down. He looked out the broken top-floor window.

There were five of them. All identical in horror.

Jungkook backed away from the window, breath caught in his throat. Below, the five nightmares prowled through the dark yard like wolves who had just learned how to hate. They didn’t move like zombies. They moved like something smarter.

And then came the curse: “FUCK,” one of the veteran players snapped, fumbling with the fake gun strapped to his shoulder. “What?” Namjoon asked, crouched behind a toppled cabinet. The veteran pointed sharply out the window. “They brought them again.”

“Them?” said a new player, confused and wide-eyed.

“Crawlers,” the vet spat like it was a slur. “They’re fast, they’re coordinated, and worst of all—they don’t go down like normal zombies. You can’t just push them or tag their arm. You have to fight them. Hard.” Even Namjoon’s brow furrowed at that. “I thought this was supposed to be a survival horror game. Not full-on combat.”

“Oh, it’s both, still LARP fighting only,” the vet said grimly. “But that’s the boss class.”

The "doctor" player popped up from the cellar stairwell, glasses askew, fully in character. “But if we catch one,” he said, voice buzzing with faux-manic glee, “I might be able to extract the virus. Create an antidote.”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” he said, indignant. “That’s literally my quest line.”

Upstairs, they fortified the landing. One staircase. One hallway. If nothing came through, they were safe—for now. Official game rules meant no break-ins unless an Orga member approved it. Everyone relaxed slightly.

Until a scream ripped through the room.

The vet player stumbled back, swearing again. “Window! They’re coming in through the fucking window!” Two of the Crawlers were halfway inside—literally crawling through the second-story window frame, their movements contorted and snapping, their masks reflecting the dim LED lights with a shine that made everyone recoil.

“They climbed the goddamn drainpipe!” someone shouted.

The room exploded into chaos.

One of the Crawlers lunged for the doctor, who barely rolled out of the way. The second went for the vet, who fought back—but in the scuffle, he clocked the monster hard in the ribs.

“GAME STOP!” the veteran called, hands shooting up in the air. “STOP, STOP, STOP!”

Everyone froze mid-motion. The doctor, mid-laugh, cut off instantly. Namjoon swore and backed up, gun lowered. Jungkook was halfway through a lunge and immediately paused, breath caught in his throat. Garam was slumped against the wall, arms cradling his side, eyes shut tight.

“Garam?” someone asked, voice tense.

“I didn’t mean to hit that hard—shit, I’m sorry, man,” the veteran said quickly, rushing over but stopping short, hands out in apology. “I panicked. You were coming at me like a fucking demon.”

“I’m fine,” Garam said hoarsely, holding up a hand.

“No, for real—are you sure?” Jungkook stepped in now, crouching next to him. Looking beyond the horror of a costume. “Don’t push through if you’re actually hurt.” Garam drew in a breath, sharp and shaky, then slowly exhaled. “I’m okay. Winded. Just… give me a sec.”

Namjoon knelt beside them, offering his canteen. Garam took a sip, then leaned his head back, already laughing softly. “God, you guys are so soft now. Its cute.“ The veteran muttered, visibly shaken. “I’m really sorry. I got scared, man.”

Garam looked at him properly now. “It’s okay. Honest. You got a clean hit. No cracked ribs, I think. Just knocked the air outta me. Good reaction time.” He smiled—strained, but genuine. The group laughed lightly, nerves easing. The veteran still looked remorseful but nodded gratefully as Garam gave him a reassuring pat on the leg.

“Let’s keep going,” Garam said. “I want my death scene to be worth it.” The players regrouped fast. And the fight picked up again with renewed fury. One Crawler went down under coordinated fire from Namjoon and the vet. Another—Yuji—was tackled and “captured” by the doctor with wild delight. The remaining Crawlers hissed, shrieked, and clawed, but were picked off one by one.

And then there was you.

You’d gone for Namjoon—darting in from the shadows with a curved movement that made his skin crawl. You tackled him into the wall with a guttural cry. He shouted in shock, the breath knocked from him.

But just as you leaned in to “bite,” Jungkook moved like lightning. He grabbed the prop axe from the ground and turned you off Namjoon with a strike so fast it made everyone pause.

You froze.

You dropped like a puppet with cut strings, dead in the game.

Unmoving.

Breathing hard, Jungkook stood over you. Startled for a moment. Had he hurt you? But the crawler didn’t groan or called for a stop. “Nice save,” Namjoon muttered, rubbing his side. The doctor was practically dancing in place. “Bring the bodies down! I’ll dissect them for a cure!”

Normally, a dead player would be tapped or, just sit up and ask where to go. But Jungkook was staring at you like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

He crouched beside you, prop axe still in hand, and leaned down to “double tap” for dramatic effect. But as he did, he whispered low: “Y/N…?” You gave the smallest nod.

His heart jumped.

He hadn’t been wrong.

You were here. You’d been one of them. One of the nightmares. The others were getting ready to drag the bodies into the cellar, the doctor already spinning in-character theories about viral extraction and neural mutation. The noise fell away for a moment when Jungkook leaned closer, hoodie brushing your side.

He cleared his throat. “Y/N… would you be part of the cellar scene?” You gave a tiny nod, keeping your body limp. “Can I move you?”

Again, you nodded—expecting the usual signal. Normally, the player in charge of corpse transport would tap the "dead" player twice on the shoulder, telling them to get up and walk to the next area. But instead of that, Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He simply leaned down and scooped you up into his arms like it was second nature. Like you weighed nothing, in front of the entire group, Jungkook slipped his arms under you and carefully picked you up, cradling you against his chest.

Startled, you tensed—and your hands instinctively gripped the front of his hoodie. Tight. Jungkook paused the second he felt it. “You okay?” he whispered softly, head close to yours. You hesitated a second, then exhaled shakily and slowly relaxed. Your body went slack in his arms.

Jungkook felt it. Felt your trust settle into his chest like warmth. He held you tighter, more securely, and started moving down the hallway toward the stairs.

The doctor whooped. “To the lab!”

“Man, how are you touching that thing like it’s not disgusting?” one of the players called playfully. “Dude, it smells like rubber and old meat!” another joked. “Jungkook,” Namjoon called, eyeing him curiously, “you sure you wanna carry that thing?”

Jungkook didn’t even look back. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ve got her.”

“Think he likes corpses now,” a third laughed.

Jungkook ignored them all, only shifting you slightly in his arms so your head wouldn’t bump the stairwell wall. As he stepped onto the first stair, he heard it: a whisper, muffled under your latex mask. “Please don’t bump me against anything…” He smiled.

His grip tightened again, protective, steady. “Never,” he whispered back.

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The doctor’s “lab” in the cellar was cluttered and eerie, dimly lit by flickering lanterns. It smelled like fake blood and floor polish. He’d cleared a long table in the center for dramatic effect, and when Jungkook arrived, the doctor clapped gleefully.

“Put her here, yes, yes—right under the light!”

Jungkook didn’t just drop you off. He gently lowered you onto the table, hands bracing your back and shoulders until he was sure you were resting comfortably. The latex of your suit squeaked faintly as you settled.

The others filed in, dragging the other Crawlers. Garam gave Jungkook a thumbs-up before collapsing back into his dramatic corpse pose. The doctor hovered over you, monologuing in detail about virus strains, moral quandaries, and the possibility of a cure—“if only we can harvest enough tissue before the mutation completes!”

Half an hour passed before the doctor clapped his hands and declared, “That’s a wrap on dissection!”

People relaxed. It was an immersion break. But sometimes that was the only way to get a group of zombies out of a scene. Laughter bubbled up. Someone offered Garam a bottle of water. Another player grabbed a granola bar.

You sat up slowly—but before you could stand, Jungkook gently touched your arm. “Wait.” You blinked at him through the mask. Your body still wore the look of rot and infection. Only your eyes were visible—blackened around the edges with makeup, narrowed at him curiously.

He stared for a moment.

Then you reached up and peeled your mask back, the latex lifting with a soft hiss. Your face was flushed from the heat, and the black makeup had smudged slightly around your eyes. Your hair stuck to your forehead.

“Better?” you asked, voice hoarse but warm. Jungkook’s lips curled into the softest smile. He nodded. “I think…” He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “I think it’s easier when you’re the danger.” You chuckled—tired and amused—and without thinking too hard, you leaned forward and gave him a hug. Arms around his shoulders. Quick. Sincere. Real.

He hugged you back before he even realized it.

Then you stepped away, slipping the mask back into place like a switch had flipped. The creature returned. Crawling death. Fear incarnate. The doctor gave a playful salute. “See you on the battlefield.”

With a blood-curdling scream, you launched yourself back into the night with the other Crawlers, skittering up the stairs like nightmares given shape. Namjoon leaned into Jungkook’s side as they watched you vanish around the corner. “You’re down bad.” he teased. Jungkook didn’t look away, eyes fixed on where you vanished.

“She hugged you coverd in latex, dude. Latex.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered cheeks flushing just a little. Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “And that’s not even the weirdest thing you’ve been into this week.” Jungkook’s voice dropped, quieter than before. “She is just cool…”

Namjoon blinked, “She let you carry her like a princess.” then clapped him on the shoulder, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You need to calm down before you propose in the basement, Romeo.”

Jungkook didn’t even hear him. He was still staring toward the stairwell. Waiting for the screams.

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Now, early morning had settled over the camp. Despite all their efforts to survive the night, the relentless game had even caught up to Jungkook and Namjoon. But even the strongest couldn’t escape unscathed.

Namjoon was the first to go down. It happened so fast, almost by pure chance. They had been trying to treat a wounded player nearby when a zombie slipped in unnoticed from a side corridor. Namjoon barely had time to react before the creature was on him.

Half an hour later, Jungkook went down too. He and Snake had gone to refill their water bottles when one of the Crawlers—not you— ambushed him suddenly, and he was taken down, collapsing hard to the ground.

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Now, around the breakfast table in the NSC lounge, the members tried to catch their breath and regroup. The early morning light was soft, the room cluttered with empty coffee cups and half-eaten granola bars. Yoongi sat back, arms crossed, shaking his head with a wry smile. “I couldn’t find Hoseok anywhere last night. He’s got to be the last living member out there, right?”

Taehyung smirked, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes, hell bent on changing the topic. “You know, Y/N’s got a really nice trained body.” The others immediately turned to him, eyebrows raised. “How would you know that?” Jin asked, clearly curious.

Jungkook cut in quickly, voice low but firm, “Taehyung, maybe you should drop it.” Jimin gave Taehyung a pointed look, then glanced over at Jungkook with a slight warning. “Yeah, Tae, that’s not really something you should say out loud.”

But Taehyung just laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not lying. I actually saw her—in her underwear, earlier.” Jungkook’s jaw twitched involuntarily at that confession, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face. Taehyung grinned wider, clearly enjoying the moment. “I was helping her get dressed after her break. You know, the suit’s tricky to put on alone.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, but Jungkook’s expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between frustration and reluctant amusement. Jin clapped his hands, eager to change the mood. “Hey Namjoon, why don’t you get zombified with us? We can go find Hoseok and scare the hell out of him.”

Namjoon grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Sounds like a plan.” He looked expectantly at Jungkook. Jungkook shook his head firmly, rubbing his tired eyes. “No way. I want to sleep for at least two hours before anything else. I’m wiped.”

Just then, the door creaked open and you walked in, still in your Crawler costume — the latex suit clinging tightly, eyes rimmed with smudged black makeup from sweat. You grabbed a banana and a granola bar from the counter, munching casually.

“Morning. Looks like you all had fun without me.”

Yoongi grinned slyly, waving a hand. “You have no idea. I’ve been having a blast scaring the other players. You should see their faces.” They shared stories, laughing about close calls and wild moments. You smiled, genuinely happy they’d had fun.

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You and Jungkook moved quietly up the creaking stairs together, the weight of the night’s chaos finally pressing down on both of you. The stale air clung to your skin, mixed with sweat and the grime of hours spent playing your part in the nightmare. You could already feel the tight neoprene suit clinging uncomfortably, suffocating you in every movement.

You placed your mask and gloves at the foot of your mattress, giving a small sigh of relief to finally be rid of them. The room still smelled faintly of latex, dust, and whatever old building materials had long since decayed here. Now came the tricky part—getting out of your suit. You reached behind your back, fingers fumbling for the zipper, but as expected, it was nearly impossible to grab at that angle.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Jungkook walking by, towel slung over one shoulder and his small toiletry bag in hand, clearly headed for the showers.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you called, turning your head toward him with a sheepish smile. “Can you help me with the zipper real quick?” He stopped mid-step, blinking. “Oh—uh… yeah, sure.” His voice cracked slightly, caught off guard, but he didn’t need to be asked twice.

You turned around fully, holding your hair out of the way so he could see the zipper running along the back of your suit. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your back as he grabbed the zipper tab. His touch was warm—surprisingly careful. The sound of the zipper sliding down seemed louder than it should have been in the quiet of the room.

As he pulled it lower, his eyes involuntarily dropped, catching a glimpse of the smooth expanse of your sweat-slicked back. Taehyung hadn’t lied—your body was strong, defined, glistening slightly from the hours of movement. Jungkook’s fingers lingered a moment longer than they had to, hovering near your spine before he cleared his throat and stepped back like he’d touched something sacred.

“There,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “You’re good.”

You turned back to him with an easy smile. “Thanks, lifesaver.” He gave you a short nod, but didn’t meet your eyes. As you peeled the top of the suit down and started pulling it off your legs, Jungkook retreated into the bathroom, flushing hard even before he got to his cabin.

Inside, the showers were basic—four stalls with curtains, old tiles that had probably seen better days. Still, the hot water was a gift after hours in costume. Jungkook stepped into his stall, undressed and put his clothes on a hock and turned the knob, exhaling as the warm water hit his skin. But then he heard your voice from the stall just two over—cheerful and relaxed.

“So how did you die?” you asked through the running water.

“Huh?” he answered, caught off guard again to here your voice so close with his state of undress. “In the game,” you laughed. “Last I saw you, you were still human. What got you?”

“Oh. Uh… Namjoon went first, some zombie got him when we were trying to distract for a medic run. Then me and Snake went to refill water and one of your creepy little friends came crawling out of a hole and nailed me.” He chuckled. “I didn’t even see them coming. They were small.”

“That was probably Mira,” you replied, amused. “She’s got the smallest frame but is pure chaos in the dark. She lives for that kind of ambush.”

“She’s terrifying,” Jungkook admitted, grinning despite himself. You laughed, and he could hear the sound of you scrubbing your hair. “So you didn’t last long without me.”

“Are you saying I need you for survival?” he teased back, as he washed his own hair.

“I’m saying you should’ve let me kill you. I would’ve taken you out dramatically.”

Your banter echoed between the stalls, easy and natural—both of you shedding more than just the sweat and grime of the game in that moment. The intimacy wasn’t physical, but it was there, warm and unspoken.

After the shower, both of you dressed in sleepwear—loose, clean clothes that smelled faintly of soap. You stepped out first, toweling off your hair. Jungkook followed shortly after, ruffling his own damp hair into a messy puff. He was wearing simple sweatpants and a hoodie, but he still managed to look unfairly good in the dim light.

You returned to your mat with a small yawn, ready to collapse—and then frowned.

Your blankets were gone. You looked around once. Twice. Only your sleeping bag remained. “What the hell,” you muttered. “Did Pia take my blankets again?”

Jungkook glanced over, already halfway through pulling on his hood. “What’s wrong?”

“My blankets are missing,” you said flatly, rubbing your arms. “Again. That’s like, the third time during a break. I’m gonna freeze.” You grumbled under your breath, tugging your sleeping bag tighter around you as you curled inward, trying to trap any hint of warmth. It wasn’t working. The bag alone just wasn’t enough, not after hours of sweat and adrenaline that had now chilled on your skin.

Next to your mattress, Jungkook had already made himself comfortable, lying cocooned in his own sleeping bag, arms tucked under his head. He watched you silently for a moment, then sat up a little, reaching for the extra blanket that lay folded over his legs.

“Here,” he offered gently, holding it out to you. “Take this.” You looked up at him, surprised, and hesitated before shaking your head. “I’ll be fine,” you murmured, forcing a small smile. “Just need to fall asleep quickly, that’s all.”

Jungkook didn’t argue at first, but you could tell from his expression that he didn’t buy it. And honestly, neither did you. Not even a minute later, your body gave you away as a shiver rippled through you, followed by another. Jungkook sat up again with a sigh, clearly having reached his limit.

“Seriously—just take the blanket,” he said, a little firmer this time. You shook your head again, teeth almost chattering. “You need it too—if you give it to me, you’ll be cold.” Jungkook stared at you, frustration twitching in his brow, and then—without warning—he huffed loudly and tossed the blanket at you with a bit more force than necessary.

“Okay, then we’re both using it,” he muttered.

Before you could even react, he scooted over with a soft grunt, shifting from his mat to yours with a little “hup.” You blinked at him, startled, still lying on your back as he threw the blanket over both of you and pulled the edge down to tuck it around your sides.

“There,” he said, grumbling, but not unkindly. “Better?” You swallowed, your heart giving a strange little kick as you nodded slowly. “Yeah. Better.” Your voice came out quiet, meek even. “Thanks.”

You could still feel the cold—your limbs hadn’t quite caught up yet—but the difference was immediate. The blanket added a crucial barrier, but more than that, Jungkook's body was a furnace next to yours. You were lying close, shoulders nearly touching, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your hoodie like sunlight under a door.

Minutes passed in silence. You stayed perfectly still, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his breath, hoping he’d fallen asleep—because the truth was, you were still cold. Less so than before, but it lingered. The kind of chill that settled into your bones. You hated the idea of waking him if he had managed to doze off.

But then, you heard it—another huff. A small, exasperated sigh that made it obvious he was still awake. “Are you seriously still cold?” he asked, voice low but clear in the darkness. You didn’t answer right away, unsure if you should lie or not. “I’m fine,” you whispered eventually. Jungkook shifted beside you, the sound of fabric rustling. “You’re shaking.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but the next second, you felt his arm slip across your waist, pulling you ever so slightly toward him. Not forceful. Just enough that your sides touched fully now, his chest against your shoulder. The heat from him was immediate, his hoodie warm against your arms.

“Okay?” he asked softly, this time with less exasperation—just concern. You hesitated, heart thudding, then nodded into the pillow. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Thank you.” He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a quieter sigh, this one sounding more like relief. His hand stayed at your side, resting lightly, and the closeness wasn’t awkward—it was grounding. Your shivering slowed, then stopped.

As the minutes ticked by, the room grew quiet again. The air had stilled. But the space between you and Jungkook was something different—small, warm, shared. You closed your eyes.

“Night,” Jungkook murmured, his voice just barely audible.

And for once, you were warm enough to whisper back, “Night.”

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You woke slowly, the edge of sleep still soft around your thoughts. Everything was warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Sometime during your rest, your sleeping bag had worked itself open—or maybe Jungkook had helped, you weren’t sure—but now you lay wrapped in something better. Jungkook’s arm, solid and warm, lay snug around your waist, pulling you gently back against his chest. His tattooed forearm rested across your middle, the ink just barely brushing your skin where your hoodie had ridden up. You could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, steady and slow.

You didn’t move for a long moment.

Even with all the work still to come—players to scare, undead routes to reset, makeup touch-ups to manage—you couldn’t bring yourself to shift away. Not yet. Instead, you nuzzled back a little deeper against his chest, murmuring a quiet, contented, “Warm.”

A subtle ripple moved through Jungkook’s chest in response—a slight hitch of breath, then the unmistakable rumble of his voice, low and gravelly from sleep. “Morning,” he murmured, the sound wrapping around you like a second blanket.

His arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you more securely against him until the crumpled sleeping bags beneath you rustled. You felt the line of his body at your back, his warmth chasing away the last of the chill from your sleep. You smiled. “Morning.”

He stayed quiet for a moment longer before speaking again. “Did you sleep okay?” You hummed, nodding as you tipped your head gently back against him. “Yeah. I did. You?” There was a pause. And then, too honest to be casual, came his answer: “I did. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

The quiet that followed was thick and strange and sweet all at once. Your heart did an unhelpful little flutter as you stared at the wall. His voice had been quiet—like a secret—but it was the way he said it, the way it settled under your skin, that startled you.

Still tucked in his arms, you hesitated before slowly peeling yourself away, stretching your legs and arms with a small groan. “We should probably get up,” you muttered. Jungkook made a reluctant noise behind you, but eventually pushed himself upright, dragging a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. He blinked down at you, his voice still a little hoarse. “So… what horrors await us today?”

You reached for your phone and tapped the screen. Your eyes widened. “Shit. We overslept.” You turned to him, already scrambling to gather your things. “We were supposed to be up at least an hour ago to prep the player routes. Come on!”

Jungkook followed suit, grabbing his clothes and slipping them on with smooth, practiced motions. He grinned as he shoved his arm through a hoodie sleeve. “Guess I really did sleep well.”

“You better hope I can still get you into the zombie ranks,” you teased over your shoulder, pulling on your boots. “They might reject you for being too cuddly.”

“Hey,” he said, raising a brow as he followed you out into the hall. “That was survival cuddling.”

“Oh yeah?” you laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Absolutely. Basic warmth acquisition.” He bumped his shoulder against yours lightly, and the two of you headed down the stairs, your footsteps echoing in the sleepy silence of the building.

You both made your way to the kitchen, where the smell of instant coffee and oatmeal powder greeted you. Inside, Taehyung was leaning against the counter, his long limbs wrapped in a tattered bloodstained robe, clearly halfway into his zombie transformation (or out of it) already. Jimin sat at the table eating a banana, one eye shadowed with black makeup.

“Well, well,” Jimin drawled, spotting the two of you. “Look who finally decided to rise from the dead.” Taehyung grinned. “Didn’t know we had to go wake the lovebirds.” Jungkook rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the bait. You just raised a brow and headed to the table for the last granola bar. “You’re just mad we look better rested than you,” you quipped.

“Debatable,” Jimin muttered around a mouthful of banana. “So. We still got one survivor left—Hoseok. You two in?” Jungkook grinned. “Absolutely.” You leaned on the counter next to him, smirking. “He won’t know what hit him.”

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The day moved at a full sprint. The final night of the event loomed close—players were on edge, volunteers ran from one side of the forested game area to the other, and the undead roamed with renewed energy, determined to make the last full round of scares their best yet.

Jungkook, freshly zombiefied with a smear of fake blood on his cheek and a torn-up hoodie that somehow still looked good on him, had left with Jimin and Taehyung just after lunch. The three of them had dramatically limped into the woods, groaning and growling, arms outstretched as they slipped into character followed by on of there camera guys. You’d only had a second to wave at Jungkook before he disappeared behind the tree line, flashing you a boyish grin beneath all the gore.

You, meanwhile, were knee-deep in logistics. Between coordinating player movements, monitoring timelines, and fixing half a dozen costume or prop-related mishaps, your feet barely touched the ground. Still, through the organized chaos, you caught glimpses of the guys doing what they did best—causing a scene.

At one point, you spotted Jungkook chasing a trio of screaming players down a muddy path with Jimin crawling out of the bushes behind them. Later, you heard Taehyung howling like a banshee near the river checkpoint. It was impossible not to smile. They were having the time of their lives.

But by nightfall, with just a few hours left before the grand finale at 6pm tomorrow—and the afterparty that would follow—it was becoming clear that one thing was still unresolved. “Hoseok’s still MIA?” you asked one of the Orgas, brows raised as you checked your notes. “Completely vanished,” the guy replied, breathless from running equipment between checkpoints. “Jungkook swore he saw him near the cornfield trail, but then poof. Gone.”

“Okay, either he’s in deep stealth mode, or he’s sleeping in a tree,” you muttered.

Around 10 PM, drained but steady, you made your way back to the NSCs rooms. You were just about to climb the stairs toward the staff rooms when the door burst open and the rest of the crew poured in—Yoongi, Jin, and Namjoon among them.

“I’m done,” Yoongi declared, already pulling off his gloves. “Like, corpse-mode. Actual sleep tonight.”

“Same,” Jin said, groaning. “If Hoseok’s really vanished, I’ll haunt him tomorrow.”

You smiled tiredly. “I just came to change back into my crawler costume. I need to help with the tunnels. We’ve got a group going through in twenty minutes.” Taehyung immediately perked up, nearly tripping over his own boots as he took a step forward. “Want help changing again?” he asked, eyes bright and hand half-raised like an eager kid.

You hesitated, suddenly more flustered than you expected to be. Taehyung had already helped you into the suit earlier with no shame whatsoever. He hadn’t done anything inappropriate—it had just been functional.

Still... you’d kind of hoped someone else might offer this time.

You stumbled for a second, unsure how to phrase your answer, but you didn’t have to say anything. Wordlessly, Jungkook came up beside you and gently placed a hand on the small of your back. Without saying a thing, he guided you up the rest of the stairs.

Taehyung blinked after you both. “I was just—”

“She’s fine,” Jungkook said over his shoulder, calm but firm. “We’ll wait outside if she needs help.”

“Wait, we?” Taehyung started. But Jungkook turned, holding a hand out against Taehyung’s chest and calmly, but with that subtle steel in his tone, said again, “Wait. Outside.” Before Taehyung could protest again, Jungkook closed the door with a soft click, leaving you blinking inside the small room, alone and stunned.

That… was kind of adorable.

You got changed fast, tugging on the skin-tight crawler suit, grimy from hours of wear. With the bulk of it on, you opened the door a crack, needing just a bit of help with the zipper. The first thing you saw was Jungkook’s back—broad, inked arm crossed as he leaned against the railing, still arguing quietly with Taehyung about “giving people space.”

He must have sensed your presence because he turned at once, and the second your eyes met his, you grinned. Wordlessly, you turned around and held up your hair.

Without hesitation, Jungkook stepped into the room, his hands warm against your back as he reached for the zipper. His fingers brushed your skin lightly as he drew it up, not rushed, not clumsy. You could feel his breath near your neck, the subtle tension in his shoulders. His touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to—his fingertips barely grazing your lower back before he let go.

It wasn’t overt.

But it was enough for your heart to stutter. Was that on purpose? You didn’t dare turn around yet, just let your hair fall back down and murmured, “Thanks.” Behind you, Jungkook cleared his throat, voice quiet. “Anytime.” There was something intimate in the silence that followed, something thick and unspoken. You finally turned, meeting his eyes.

He didn’t say anything, but he was watching you—really watching you. Not with teasing or smugness like Taehyung, but something quieter. Something... careful.

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The moody, overcast sky hung low as your group of undead moved silently across the clearing, a grim swarm of crawling, shuffling figures. Those who hadn’t needed rest—the tireless, restless ones—had followed you and the other crawlers, forming the largest horde of the weekend so far. It was impressive. Terrifying. Beautiful.

Jungkook kept close to your side, his gait eerily fluid now that he’d embraced the undead role. His makeup—smudged and dripping as intended—made him look like he’d clawed his way from a shallow grave. It was hard to look at him and not feel a chill, even knowing it was all fake.

Your target loomed ahead: the same weather-worn house from yesterday. The survivors had taken the whole day reinforcing it, piling fake furniture against doors, jamming wood panels over the windows, and even reinforcing the crawlspaces and drainage. You had to admit—you were impressed.

No ordinary zombie was going to breach those defenses.

But you and the crawlers weren’t ordinary.

You circled to the back, scanning every possible entry point. The drain was blocked. The cellar sealed. Windows barricaded. But then you spotted it—an open skylight above the sunroom extension. Small, maybe two feet wide, but you could make it through.

You just needed a lift.

Turning to Jungkook, you lowered your voice to a whisper. “How strong are you?” He blinked, caught off guard. “Uh—what?” You pointed toward the skylight. Jungkook followed your gaze, his expression morphing from confusion to surprise. “You want me to… hurl you up there?”

“If you think that’s too much, I can ask someone else,” you teased, your voice cool, deliberate. Jungkook's jaw set. “No way. I’ve got you.” He wouldn’t risk someone else making a mistake that could get you hurt. You grinned, already backing up to get a running start, moving in position as Jungkook did as well. “Alright then. Just don’t drop me.” He crouched, hands out in position. “You better jump like you mean it.”

The two of you moved like you’d practiced it for years. You dashed toward him, boots silent on the damp grass. At the right moment, you planted your feet into his hands. Jungkook grunted as he pushed upward with strength that surprised even you. The world tilted—sky, house, the sharp outline of the skylight racing toward you.

Fingertips caught the ledge. You gritted your teeth, swung a leg up, and wriggled through. It was tight—but you made it.

You dropped into the attic-like space below with a soft thud and a grin, heart pounding from the adrenaline. A second later, you peeked back through the skylight. Jungkook stood below, looking stunned. You whispered down, “I will never ask someone else for this shit ever again!” He gave a breathless laugh, already approached by the next crawler.

In the next few minutes, you helped pull up two more. One got through on their own, the other needed Jungkook’s full strength and a bit of a climb. From your high perch, you coordinated their positions through narrow crawlspaces and above ceiling beams. Inside the house, muffled voices from the survivors grew louder—unaware of the silent, slithering danger creeping above.

And then the screams began.

Chaos erupted inside.

One of the crawlers dropped from the attic into a bedroom and shrieked. Another lunged from the shadows of the hallway, forcing a survivor to tumble back and crash through a makeshift barricade. The rest of the horde—waiting like hungry wolves—poured through the newly opened path.

You grinned with satisfaction as the house devolved into beautiful, fake carnage.

By the time it was over, the “survivors” were either “dead” or fleeing into the woods with wildly flailing arms, laughing and screaming in equal parts. You climbed out through the front window, breathing heavy but beaming, makeup streaked with sweat again.

Jungkook waited by the tree line, breath caught in his throat when he saw you. “That was… insane.” You sauntered toward him, brushing a cobweb from your shoulder, the thrill still sparkling in your chest. “You mean brilliant,” you corrected, giving his shoulder a friendly nudge. “Couldn’t have done it without my undead catapult.”

Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were just—like—gone. I thought I overthrew you for a second.”

“Well, lucky for both of us,” you said, nudging him again, “I have excellent upper body strength.” He looked at you for a moment longer than he probably meant to, eyes tracing your face, your smirk, the fading makeup. There was something new in the way he was seeing you—somewhere between admiration and being completely, quietly floored.

“I’m seriously not sure if I should be impressed,” he murmured, “or mildly intimidated.” You raised a brow, amused. “Why not both?” Jungkook grinned—genuine, wide, and a little shy. “Yeah. Both works.”

And together, shoulder to shoulder, you wandered back toward camp, the last moans of the “dead” trailing off behind you.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

You had played through the night. One relentless wave after another, your massive horde had flushed the most of the remaining survivors out of every hideout they had pieced together over the weekend. Some screamed. Some laughed. Some fought back valiantly—but none of them lasted long. It had been glorious.

Jungkook had stuck by your side for most of it, shambling and snarling beside you as if he'd been part of your crew since day one. By now, he fully understood why you loved this—why Yoongi had defected to the undead team without hesitation. There was something cathartic about giving in to chaos, something addicting in being the fear rather than the prey.

But still… playing a survivor had made Jungkook feel more. Adrenaline. Hope. Loss. Victory. Desperation. And you. You, always right in the thick of it. There was something unforgettable about the way you'd looked at him, teasing and alive.

It was nearing 10 AM now. The fog was finally burning off the morning air. Everyone had dragged themselves back to base. Some were already sleeping in bunks or huddled in chairs. Others slumped over mugs of instant coffee. The ones that hadn’t been up all night, just came back from their zombification to pick up were you left of.

You had wandered into the break area for off-duty undead NSCs. There, without a word, you'd climbed onto the billiard table, peeled off your gloves and mask, and lay down flat on your back, arms draped across your stomach. Eyes closed. Still in costume. Still streaked with grime and fake blood. But utterly at peace.

And Jungkook couldn’t stop looking at you.

He wasn’t the only one. Taehyung leaned lazily against the wall next to Namjoon, watching you with a curious tilt of his head. “She’s knocked out cold?” Taehyung asked, though he already knew the answer. Namjoon smirked faintly. “Nah. Just recharging. Like a haunted Roomba.”

“Should I poke her?” Taehyung grinned, raising a finger.

“Do it and lose that finger,” Yoongi mumbled from his spot in a nearby armchair, eyes barely open. “She hasn’t slept properly since Thursday.” Jungkook smiled to himself at Yoongi’s comment. But then someone else entered the room. The last person Jungkook wanted to see.

Lukas.

The same guy who had all but tried to force himself on you as he arrived here on the first day, eager and overly familiar from the start. A former survivor who’d now joined the undead side like everyone else. And apparently still hadn’t taken the hint.

Lukas sauntered over to your resting spot, standing at the edge of the billiard table and launching into some one-sided conversation about how epic the finale last year had been and how this year would probably be even better, he’d totally bring better gear next year, and how “you and me should team up next time” and on and on.

You didn’t move much, didn’t open your eyes, but the subtle pinch of your brow was all Jungkook needed to see. You weren’t relaxed anymore. Jungkook set down the energy bar he’d been holding and stood up.

Namjoon noticed. “Oh?” he murmured, nudging Taehyung. Taehyung leaned closer. “Here we go.”

Jungkook ignored them both, grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of chips from the supply table, and made his way over to you. He stopped right beside Lukas, who faltered midsentence, startled by the sudden appearance of the younger man.

In slow, careful English, Jungkook said, “Make space, please.” You opened one eye in surprise.

Lukas blinked. Jungkook held the bottle out toward you. “Water. For you.”

You stared at him for a second, then slowly sat up to make room on the table, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks,” you said, genuinely touched. You hadn’t asked him for anything—but you also wouldn’t say no. Especially not if it meant Lukas stopped talking.

Jungkook climbed up next to you without hesitation, stretching out on the green felt beside you, propping his head on one arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wasn’t even subtle about it—he just was there. Close enough to feel the heat of him again. Like last night.

Lukas stood awkwardly at the edge of the table, clearly thrown. “Uh… well. I guess… I’ll see you later?”

You hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t look at him. Lukas lingered for a second more, then mumbled something and left the room. Taehyung whistled low. “Oh damn.” Namjoon laughed under his breath. “That was smooth. Very nonchalant. Ten out of ten for execution.”

Yoongi cracked one eye open from his chair. “Is he lying next to her now?” Taehyung nodded. “Full-on pool table cuddling. He just stared that dude down in second language flirtation mode and won.” Yoongi closed his eye again. “About time.”

Jungkook ignored them, offering you the chips as well. You took one, still smiling. “Didn’t mean to steal your table,” he murmured. “You didn’t,” you said, voice soft and relaxed now. “You upgraded it.” His grin was small but pleased. You lay back down beside him, arms occasionally brushing as the room fell into a comfortable lull.

The room buzzed around you in muted tones—people talking in corners, the occasional thud of boots, a laugh carried on the tired air—but next to him, it felt like the eye of the storm. Warm, peaceful, grounded. You didn’t need words. Just the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest next to yours and the shared quiet of mutual exhaustion. And this time, no one interrupted your peace.

That was, until Jimin appeared.

Without hesitation, he climbed up onto the billiard table with the agility of a cat and flopped across your legs like he belonged there. Which, apparently, he did. “Comfy,” Jimin murmured, his head pillowed on your thigh. “You’re crushing my soul,” you replied, flicking the back of his head affectionately. “Good. You weren’t using it.”

Jungkook snorted, as you muttered, “He always like this?”

“Worse when he’s had sugar.”

You all stayed like that until the walkie-talkie on your belt crackled and broke the spell. “HQ to zombie queen Sparkles. Everything’s in place. Megaphone announcement’s done. All survivors have been warned. Last stand is good to go.” Eriks voice offered.

You sighed, sitting up with an exaggerated groan. Jimin flopped onto the floor dramatically like you’d cast him off a cliff. Jungkook stretched beside you, rubbing a hand over his face and smearing the last of his undead face paint across his cheek. The three of you reluctantly peeled yourselves off the table and made your way to the final battlefield.

The terrain had been cleared. Flags were up. The megaphone had roared across the campgrounds announcing the final stand. The survivors, what few were left, had gathered and were bracing themselves behind makeshift defenses, guns ready, darts loaded.

You moved among your horde. Dead eyes. Snarling mouths. Fake blood drying on skin and clothes and fingernails. All of them buzzing with excitement and end-of-event adrenaline. Everyone was here.

Everyone… but Hoseok.

You were starting to worry, but then—

A scream. A scramble. And then, emerging from the woods, looking like he’d barely slept or eaten in a week, came Hoseok followed by a cameraman and hunted by two Zombies. Mud-streaked. Wide-eyed. Alive.

Barely.

Yoongi didn’t miss a beat—lunging from a bush with a banshee screech. Hoseok screamed. Like a horror movie final girl. Dropped to the ground, arms over his face, bracing for impact. Yoongi just cackled and stood over him. Namjoon helped Hoseok to his feet, who was still shaking like a leaf.

“How the hell—” Namjoon began, looking both amused and baffled, “—how are you still alive?” Hoseok blinked rapidly, eyes darting around at all the undead closing in now. “I… I did what she said,” he stammered, gesturing weakly toward you.

You raised an eyebrow. “What did I say?”

“Keep moving,” Hoseok replied. “Don’t stay too long in any one group. Hide when it’s quiet. I—” He swallowed. “I spent the night in a tree.” There was a beat of stunned silence. Taehyung let out a bark of laughter. “You feral squirrel! You slept in a tree?”

“I panicked, okay!” Hoseok shouted, hands in the air. The final stand didn’t last long after that. You and your horde overwhelmed the last defenders like a slow-moving tidal wave of moans, shrieks, and Nerf darts. The end came gloriously, with dramatic deaths and heroic sacrifice.

And then—it was over.

Cheers erupted. Everyone collapsed on the grass. Some in laughter, some in total exhaustion. Hugs were exchanged. Final photos were taken. The event was officially declared a success.

Which meant only one thing: the after party.

What began as a mad dash turned into a full-blown war in the dorms. Everyone rushed after you as they saw you make a run for the room and then to the limited bathroom stalls. You, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Yoongi ended up in a four-way standoff in the hallway outside the bathrooms, all equally caked in grime and fake blood.

“There’s four showers!” you said, already tugging at the zipper of your jacket. “We can do this. We can be civil.”

“We’re never civil,” Yoongi muttered, eyeing the doors like he was going to sprint at the first handle that turned. “I vote Taehyung showers last,” Jungkook said, pointing at Taehyung’s face. “You literally have glitter glued to your cheek.”

“It’s part of my character,” Taehyung retorted. “I was a vampire zombie warlord, thank you very much.”

“I call stall three,” Jimin shouted as he skidded in, already half out of costume. “And if anyone touches my conditioner, I will bite.” You laughed, giving up the illusion of control. “We’re all feral.” But you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Especially not the way Jungkook’s eyes kept drifting toward you, even now—mud-streaked, tired, and grinning like a man who had just found something worth crawling through dirt and fake gore to keep seeing.

From your group of eight, you, Jimin, Jungkook, and—surprisingly—Namjoon had won the great shower battle and secured first dibs on the stalls. Victory had never felt so warm and sudsy.

But that victory came with a price: the walk of shame.

Wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair still dripping and skin flushed from hot water and scrubbing off layers of fake gore, you had to walk barefoot from the shared bathroom back into your room—with them. Not your usual mix of female friends and old LARP buddies, but instead a full suite of K-pop idols with unfair cheekbones and far too many curious eyes.

You opened the door and stepped inside, water-slicked and entirely underdressed. Yoongi whistled, long and low.

Taehyung? Didn’t even pretend to be subtle. His eyes dragged over you like it was part of a performance piece. Jungkook, bless him, nearly dropped the hoodie he was folding and spluttered, “You—you forgot to grab clothes?”

You shrugged, casual as could be, striding across the room to your duffel bag. “Didn’t forget. Just didn’t want to lose my spot in the shower queue.” This wasn’t your first post-bathroom towel walk. But you had to admit, it was a lot easier around your usual chaos crew. You were used to that. You weren’t used to standing in a towel while the nation’s heartthrobs stared at you like you were a comet they weren’t supposed to look directly at.

You bent down, rifled through your things, and grabbed your black underwear and—

—pulled out your party outfit.

Jimin, still towel-drying his hair, froze. “You’re serious.”

“I’m dead serious.” As you wiggled into your panties, trying not to lose your dignity and keeping the towel in place, Jungkook caught Taehyung shifting on his bed and very pointedly moved to block his view. With Jungkook’s back turned to you like a protective wall, you quickly slipped on the rest of your clothes and zipped up the front of your fuzzy red panda onesie.

You were warm, soft, and immediately happier. Taehyung laughed, incredulous. “A red panda? For a party?” You grinned, cheeks flushed but triumphant. “All the Orga are wearing onesies tonight. And this one’s warm. And comfy. And now—” you spread your arms with mock pride “—I am fluffy.” Jimin ran over like a heat-seeking missile and threw his arms around you. “Confirmed. Very fluffy.”

Jungkook, finally looking at you in full red-panda glory, let out a soft laugh, and the last of the embarrassment in his expression faded into something gentler. He didn’t say it out loud, but the look in his eyes clearly read: adorable.

By the time the group of you arrived at the after-party, the hall had already transformed. Music was pumping, string lights strung between beams. People were dancing, drinking, lounging on couches—some still in costume, some freshly scrubbed clean like you, and others halfway in between.

You headed toward the bar, where Lea was already pouring drinks with practiced speed and familiar chaos, dressed in a beautiful dragon onesie.

“Beer?” she asked, without needing to be prompted.

“You know it.” You turned to Jungkook, who was already pulling out his wallet with that polite determination he always showed when trying to do something nice. “I’ll get hers too,” he said to Lea. You chuckled and lightly pushed his hand down. “No need, golden boy.”

“Huh?”

You leaned in, voice pitched over the music. “It’s my event, remember? My name’s on the staff list. I drink for free.” His eyes went wide. “Wait—you organizers drink for free?”

“Perks of power,” you said, and with a wink, handed him a beer instead—on your tab. Jungkook stared at it like it might explode in his hand. “You got me a drink?”

“Don’t look so shocked. You helped me catapult into a house full of screaming survivors, I figured I owed you one.” He took it with both hands like it was sacred. And then he blushed.

Hard.

Taehyung, passing behind him with two colorful drinks and glitter again clinging to his jaw, gave you a knowing smirk. “Careful. Jungkook might fall harder than that survivor who tripped into the fog machine earlier.” You raised your beer to your lips and shrugged, grinning. “I don’t mind a little drama.” And beside you, Jungkook drank, trying not to smile too hard—and failing.

The party had a warm chaos to it, the kind that made the exhaustion of the last few days dissolve into beer foam and basslines.

Somewhere during the first hour, a regular player—Mads, one of the older guys who had survived every single event you ran—took over Erik’s place at the grill. Erik, grateful, passed off the tongs with mock ceremony and rejoined the rest of the organizer crew.

That meant, for once, all of you (except poor Lea, glued to the bar like a bartender in some Viking saga) could give your traditional end-of-event speech.

So there you were: standing on the makeshift podium in your red panda onesie, Erik beside you in his lemur suit (complete with a striped tail and hauntingly round eyes), Pia in an inflatable frog getup, and four more of your crew in various animal-shaped fleeces. You each held beers, shouted into the mic, and barely kept a straight face.

“Thank you for not dying too early!” Erik called out, the lemur ears wobbling as he waved his beer in salute. “Thank you for dying dramatically!” Pia added. “And remember,” you said, holding your mic aloft with one paw-gloved hand, “when in doubt—scream louder.”

Your crew’s unofficial anthem blared from the speakers. And with that, the dance floor was officially open.

Players whooped. Some already half-drunk stumbled forward. Others started clapping, and the lights dimmed enough to encourage even the shy ones. Your crew, still in onesies, immediately launched into the most chaotic, uncoordinated, off-beat dancing the LARP world had ever seen.

You waved your arms like a raver raccoon on energy drinks. Pia was hopping. Erik did something disturbingly close to twerking with his lemur tail. It was a mess. Jungkook watched from the sidelines, drink in hand, shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—not to laugh. “What… are they doing?” he asked quietly, in disbelief. “They’re dancing,” Namjoon said around a mouthful of chips. “I think.”

“No one taught them rhythm?” Taehyung asked, grinning. Yoongi chuckled. “Who needs rhythm when you’ve got that much conviction?” Jungkook took another sip of his beer, gaze lingering on you, red panda tail bouncing as you did a spin that nearly knocked over Pia. It was stupid. It was adorable.

But then his jaw tensed.

Because there, half-shadowed near the back of the hall, stood Lukas—again—watching you with a kind of focus that rubbed Jungkook the wrong way.

He stiffened.

Yoongi noticed immediately. “What’s up, lover boy?” Jungkook blinked, caught. “You’re staring at that guy staring at her,” Jimin chimed, leaning into Jungkook’s side like a nosy little devil. “You gonna do something or keep clutching that beer like it’s gonna kiss her for you?”

“He’s just… watching her. Again.” Jungkook’s tone was too neutral to fool them. Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “So you watch her, but when someone else does it, it’s creepy?”

“Yeah, because he didn’t get her hint. Not the first day, not earlier. He doesn’t even know her.” Jimin tilted his head. “And you do?” Jungkook opened his mouth—then closed it. “I know enough.”

“Then go talk to her,” Yoongi said simply. “It’s not that easy.” Jungkook looked away, jaw tight. “She’s… different. This isn’t some club. We’re in the woods. This whole thing’s temporary. What am I supposed to give her? A one-night stand in a barrack at the ass-end of nowhere?”

Yoongi was quiet for a moment. Then: “Why are you deciding for her?”

Jungkook blinked.

“If that’s all she wants,” Jimin added, “fine. Go for it and stop looking at her like a lovesick puppy. But what if she wants more?”

“I’m an idol,” Jungkook said quietly. “Schedules. Tours. Cameras. Chaos. I don’t even know where I’ll be next month. How do you fit something real into that?”

Yoongi leaned on the table next to him. “First of, this doesn’t look real to me,” and with that Yoongi pointed back at you and your friends now all twerking… in a circle… rubbing your butts together? “Second, maybe you don’t. Maybe she fits you into her life.”

That thought lingered, heavy and hopeful. Jungkook stared into the crowd, finding you again—laughing now as you leaned on the bar next to Lea, talking with some of the remaining players. One girl clasped your hand and said something earnest. Another guy raised his drink and said, “Best LARP I’ve ever done.”

You looked genuinely happy. Genuinely in your element. Jungkook felt his chest tighten. But before he could take a step—before he could even turn around—

There was a commotion.

All heads turned. Glass clinked. Music faltered for a second. Jungkook shoved his drink into Yoongi’s hand and moved. He didn’t hear Yoongi call after him. He was already in motion, eyes locked on you, on Lukas, on the way your shoulders tensed and your voice cut through the music like glass.

“Let me GO!”

Lukas had you by the arm—tight. His face was flushed, not just with drink but something rawer. Jungkook’s pulse surged. By the time he got to you, Erik and two other guys were already there, trying to pry Lukas off. You weren’t crying, but your face was pale, and the way you leaned back, straining against Lukas’ grip, made Jungkook’s stomach twist. Your body was tight with fury.

Jungkook didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t posture. He just stepped forward and gripped Lukas’s wrist—not his shoulder, not his chest, but right at the tendon and bone where Lukas was holding you. His grip was precise. Firm. Final. His other hand found your waist. Gentle. Protective. Steadying.

“Let go,” Jungkook said—low, dangerous, and razor-sharp. Lukas jolted at the tone, but his grip stayed locked on your arm. “I just wanted to talk—”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you snapped, voice ringing out above the crowd. “Not now. Not ever.” Lukas faltered, blinking at you like he couldn’t believe you’d just said that in front of everyone—as if his entitlement had never once been challenged. His hand stayed where it was, fingers tight around your skin.

Jungkook’s fingers pressed harder on Lukas’s wrist, just enough to make the point clearer. But you weren’t done. Your eyes blazed as your spine straightened. “If you don’t let me go in the next five seconds,” you said, voice shaking with rage, “I swear to god I will break your nose.” Jungkook could feel the rage vibrating through you—radiating off your body like a storm about to burst. He wasn’t sure if you were bluffing or if you were about to swing.

Honestly? He wasn’t sure if he should stop you if you swung.

But Lukas still didn’t let go. His pride puffed up like a balloon on the verge of popping. He looked around, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. Of how many people weren’t stepping in to defend him—but you. Cornered, humiliated, he snapped. His voice turned sharp and bitter as he sneered at Jungkook, eyes flicking to the hand still resting protectively on your waist.

“What, a ching chong like you thinks he can just show up here and take my girl?”

The words hit like a slap—sharp, vile, and so incredibly wrong. Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. He’d been called worse before—more vile, more venomous. He’d learned, long ago, to let it pass over him like cold wind. But here? In a place like this, surrounded by paint-stained props and foam swords and people just trying to have a good time? It surprised him. How casual the cruelty was.

And it surprised him even more—how fast you moved.

Your fists clenched, words hissed. “What did you just say?” Everything about that sentence—the racism, the possessiveness, the delusion—made your blood boil. And you lunged.

And Jungkook caught you. Barely.

His arms snapped around your waist like instinct. His fingers curled tight, grounding you as your momentum dragged both of you forward a step. He was strong, but you were all rage, and it took everything in him to anchor you still. Erik and his friends surged forward again, grabbing Lukas and dragging him off you.

You thrashed once in his hold, fists curled, jaw clenched. “Let me go,” you growled, low and lethal. “I’ll break his fucking jaw for that—I swear to God—" Every inch of you wanted to throw your fist into Lukas’s face. And you would’ve—if Jungkook didn’t hold you.

“Hey—hey,” he breathed against your temple, voice still calm, still quiet—but laced with something tight and simmering underneath. “He’s not worth it. Not your hands. Not your energy. He’s not worth you.”

But you were shaking with more than rage now—humiliation, helplessness, the aftershock of being touched like that, spoken to like that, in front of everyone. If not for Jungkook holding you tight, grounding you, you might’ve done it. You wanted to.

Lukas shouted something incoherent as Erik and his friends dragged him away, kicking and protesting. “This is bullshit! I didn’t even do anything—!” As they dragged Lukas toward the gate, shouting and protests growing quieter, you stood trembling—but trying to take slow and controlled breaths. Your hands shook as they fisted in Jungkook’s hoodie. Your jaw locked so tight it ached.

You weren’t scared. Not with Jungkook behind you, Erik standing guard, and half the event ready to rip Lukas apart. But you had been handled. In public. Dragged like you didn’t matter.

And that... stayed with you.

Jungkook’s grip loosened just slightly, but he didn’t let go. You didn’t either.

He glanced down, brows tight with worry. His hands were steady. But his pulse wasn’t. He could feel the fury in you—righteous, volcanic—and for a second, something deep inside him marveled. At how fast you’d defended him. He wasn’t proud that it had happened—wasn’t proud of being reduced to a slur in front of strangers. But he was proud of you.

Proud he’d had to catch you mid-swing because you’d chosen to step in—for him.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” you muttered automatically. But you weren’t. Your arm was red—angrily so—and your fingers, curled into his hoodie shaky. That told him all he needed to know. You weren’t fine. And the way the red panda fluff of your onesie caught in the light only made it more noticeable. Jungkook followed your line of sight, then looked down at you again, brows pinched.

“Can I see?” he asked gently, nodding toward your arm. You hesitated—just for a second—then gave a short nod. He let go of you slowly. You turned to face him as he carefully reached for your wrist. His fingertips brushed the discolored skin—hot, raised, aching.

You hissed through your teeth before you could stop it. He pulled back instantly. “Okay,” he said softly, like talking to a cornered animal. “You’re gonna need ice. And space.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

But your voice was strained, and your hand trembled again—this time against the chest of his hoodie, where you were still holding on.

You weren’t fine. You were furious. And humiliated.

Jungkook didn’t say anything else. He just looked at you. You were standing there—shaking, unsure, your arm throbbing now that the adrenaline had started to burn out of your bloodstream. You felt the ache settling in, the way your fingers trembled at your side, the warmth of Jungkook’s presence suddenly too close and not close enough.

Embarrassment burned hotter than the bruise.

You couldn’t look at him. Not really. Not after lunging like that. Not after being manhandled in front of half your own damn crew. Behind Jungkook, Jimin and Yoongi stood nearby. They hadn’t interfered but had clearly been ready to jump in if things had escalated. Jimin’s jaw was set, eyes still flinty and sharp with anger on your behalf. Yoongi, meanwhile, had that unreadable look—cool, assessing, but not uncaring.

Then Yoongi tilted his head, dry humor flickering in his eyes. “I’m just saying…” he said, glancing at your clenched fist. “Jungkook should’ve let you throw that punch.” That broke the tension like glass underfoot. You blinked up, startled. So did Jungkook.

A small laugh escaped you—wry and strained, but real. Jungkook huffed a soft sound. “Don’t encourage her,” he said, though his mouth twitched. “She was serious.”

Yoongi just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Exactly. When was the last time a pretty lady was ready to throw a punch for you?” that forced a chuckle out of you and Jungkook.Seconds later, Taehyung arrived with long strides and no smile in sight. His usual easy warmth was replaced by something clipped and focused as he held out a bottle of water to you.

“Erik’s walking him out,” he reported, eyes flicking to Jungkook, then back to you. “I called our security. He’s handled.” He paused. “Jungkook, you might want to press charges.” You nodded before Jungkook could answer, your fingers brushing his. Even that soft contact was shaky. Your grip was weak around a water bottle, and it took you more strength than normal to unscrew the cap. Your mouth was dry, but swallowing felt harder.

Jungkook’s voice was calm but resolute. “I’m not pressing charges.” That made your head snap toward him, brows pinched. He met your gaze. “It’ll only drag the event into it. Headlines, attention… you don’t need that.” The quiet that followed wasn’t reassuring. It wasn’t peace. It was the stillness of something raw, exposed.

You nodded slowly, but you felt small. Shrinking. The ember of humiliation sat low in your chest—tight and awful. Being grabbed like that—dismissed like that—had settled in your bones. Your voice was smaller than you intended. “I think I’m gonna sit down for a second.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. “Come on.” He placed a hand lightly on your back, steering you gently toward a quieter corner behind the bar. You weren’t sure how you got there—just that he never left your side. You could still feel the aftershocks in your hands. The tremble wouldn’t stop.

Lea saw you coming and immediately crossed the bar with urgency. She passed Jungkook a folded towel packed with ice, eyes widening at the redness blooming across your arm. “Thanks,” you murmured, pressing the bundle to your skin.

You sank onto the bench like your knees had finally given out. Jungkook crouched in front of you, eyes locked on your face. His brows furrowed—not with frustration, but with a quiet, watchful worry. He waited until your gaze finally lifted to meet his.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, throat thick. “For… ruining the mood.”

“You didn’t,” Jungkook said immediately, voice low, unwavering. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” But still, the weight of it sat heavy in your chest—like you’d broken something sacred by needing help.

“Yeah, no offense,” Jimin chimed in gently from somewhere just behind Jungkook, “but the mood was already kinda dead when you guys started that weird circle twerk thing.” You blinked. Then snorted. Taehyung pulled another bench over, slouching onto it with theatrical despair. “Was that meant to be dancing? Because I think my eyes need therapy.”

Yoongi gave a low chuckle from behind a cup of water someone had handed him. “Honestly, I think I preferred the screaming zombies.” The laughter this time was softer, but it curled through your chest like something healing.

The boys were trying to lighten the air, you realized. Trying to give you a minute to feel normal again. And you realized—this was what safety felt like. Jungkook didn’t smile, though. Not really. He huffed, looking down with a rueful smile, then leaned in a little closer, voice quiet and serious. “Honestly? Would’ve been nice to watch Lukas get dropped flat. Especially by you.”

Yoongi gave a quiet snort of agreement, and Jimin let out a low, appreciative, “Damn.” Then Jungkook looked back up at you, head tilting. “And you came in swinging for my honor. That was… sweet.” Your stomach dropped. You groaned, burying your face in one hand. “Don’t make it sound like that.”

“What?” Jungkook grinned, teasing. “It was kinda romantic.”

“I hate this,” you mumbled into your hand, burning. “I should’ve just bitten him.”

“You were aiming,” Yoongi commented. “I saw that jaw clench.” Jimin leaned in, mock-serious. “Next time, lead with the knee.” Taehyung, blinked. “I miss five minutes of drama and apparently it turned into Mortal Kombat?” That finally earned a real laugh from you—soft and sore-throated but genuine.

You looked down at Jungkook—still crouched in front of you like you might fall over again if he wasn’t anchoring you. He looked up, eyes dark and gentle. “You sure you’re okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded once. “…Getting there.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything to that. But the look in his eyes said enough.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing. English is my second language, and this tools help me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

Taglist: @dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant @chaeisrichnow @canarystwin @mar-lo-pap @notyourfriendooo @bjoriis

Not sure if i did everyting right with the tag list. Please let me know if there was a mistake.

[dixonsdarkelf]

Flattery: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader

Prompt: Themed Lingerie

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Word count: 600 words

Warnings: No use of y/n, suggestive themes but no smut

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

I'm finally dipping my toes into the world of Character x Reader writing. This is my first time writing in second person/x reader format, so please go easy on me or I'll cry. I'm posting this before I stare at it for too long and change my mind.

Part 2

A massive thank you to @dixons-sunshine for proofreading, helping with translating Daryl's dialogue into Daryl, giving me tips, and encouraging me to do it/post it. I love you sm 🖤

“Daryl? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cocking an eyebrow, you looked past your shoulder at him, your new boyfriend’s eyes quickly averting once he realized he’d been caught.

With winter setting in and temperatures beginning to drop in Virginia, the two of you had been sent on a run to a nearby department store, your goal to find coats, boots, blankets, and whatever sort of winter necessities you could get your hands on. Amongst all the cold-weather attire, you’d found a little something hot for yourself.

“Dunno what ya talkin’ ‘bout,” he mumbled, his normal sun-kissed complexion becoming one akin to a fresh tomato.

Your gaze dropped to the material in your hands, your fingers dancing over the satin cups, and a small smirk crossed your lips. You were holding a set of Christmas lingerie—a babydoll style two-piece. The red cups and mesh of the flyaway bodice were bordered with a fluffy white trim that trailed down the center with a red thong to accompany it.

“Ah, I see,” you teased, your cheeks beginning to heat up as you held up the garment, “this why?”

You’d only been together for a few weeks, the farthest you’d gone in terms of anything physically being a heated make-out session with little hand exploration. You’d been itching for things to move further but not wanting to push any boundaries. Daryl was clearly skittish and uncomfortable in the realm of sex and romance. However, unbeknownst to you, he’d been itching for the same.

He pictured the mesh flowing around your hips as you twirled before him and the thong sliding over your thighs and falling to your ankles. His signature small smile appeared as he pictured your eyes glossed over with lust and thought about what every inch of your soft skin felt like in his work-worn hands. He was reveling in this sweet little daydream, and you’d caught him in it.

“It’s ok, Daryl. I’m flattered.” As you walked back to him, you purposely swayed your hips a little extra, drawing the archer’s eyes to them for just a moment. Yours fell to your feet, that sweet heat returning to your cheeks again.

“Flattered?” He sounded surprised by your choice of words, like you couldn’t possibly be flattered by his longing gaze and the lewd thoughts you knew he was having. Despite having finally made your relationship official after months of going in circles, he was confused by sparkle in your eye he’d caught a glimpse of when you first looked back at him.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been…thinking about it too,” you assured, lashes fluttering as you brought your gaze up from the floor to meet his ocean eyes, “hinting at it for a while now. Hasn’t it been kind of obvious?”

The silence from him was loud, deafening as it practically echoing off the white walls. That alone was an answer enough for you.

A sweet giggle emanated from the depths of your chest, the sound like music to your man’s ears. “Okay, maybe not so obvious. I adore you, but you can be incredibly dense sometimes.”

“Grab the coats,” Daryl instructed, clearly flustered as he haphazardly gestured to a box on a nearby table. He was beginning to turn red again, somehow an even darker shade than he had before. He grabbed a box from off the floor and was quickly heading toward the front door. “Talk when we get back.”

“Talk…right…” you mused, a chuckle slipping past your lips as you stowed the lingerie away in your bag, “I’m sure that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie

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