#Fortification Guide

[fogaminghub]

🐜✨ Master the "Fortification" mission in Empire of the Ants with our comprehensive guide! From resource management to defensive strategies, we’ve got everything you need to succeed. Don’t miss out - check it out! 

[justposting1]

Home and Family Safety: Protecting Your Loved Ones During Natural Disasters

Natural disasters are a growing concern for families, especially as climate change contributes to more frequent and severe events like hurricanes, wildfires, and floods. Keeping your family safe in these unpredictable situations requires preparation, knowledge, and a proactive mindset. This guide will walk you through key aspects of home and family safety, focusing on actionable steps to protect…

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — part 1

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

word count: 14k

MASTERLIST

Rotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

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

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

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

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

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

For a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weakness gets you killed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re coming.

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

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

You’re out of time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the reprieve is short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Future...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re surrounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re… looking out for each other…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s hard to tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “Take it however you want.”

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

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

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

This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ready to disappear without a trace.

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

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

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

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

“Like someone put them there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then it’s someone else."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist | part 2 - warmth

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

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

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

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

[bolters-and-rivets]

I am an Iron Warrior, can confirm. that sleadgehammer was glorious

And as any self respecting Iron Warrior I will also take advantage of oportunities to operate old as fuck (endearing) multi-ton machenery when given the chance

Iron warrior fetish content

[ladyoftheflowers-witch]

Messages from your spirit guides 🌌

Left to right : pile 1-pile 2- pile 3.

Pile 1 : 9 of swords, The Lovers.

Your spirit guides want to be heard so bad, you are dealing with things with just mere logic and reason and this is fine sometimes, but you are resignating your feelings because of fear of getting hurt.

External noise is not letting you connect with your guides, it seems like you are ignoring them on purpose and they only want to hug you and tell you everything is going to be fine as long you pay more attention to your intuition.

They know you aren't looking for love because it only caused you worries, missunderstandings, deception and dissapointment, but in the future there is a relationship that has the potential to collaborate with your spiritual development.

Know that every relationship, being with friends, lovers and familiars that we encounter in life it's our teacher, even when when there is deception, trials and hardships. This relationships are meant to fortificate our spirits and not the other way arround.

Your spirit guides knows you have the spiritual wisdom needed, and the correct balance to face life as it comes and manage to overcome any obstacle that cloud your understanding. Try to express your feelings more, they are not your enemy, you are delaying your spiritual growth by denying them.

Know that when you know what you want you'll be more selective with your relationships and you will be able to take your time to see who fits your personal values and who is far from it. You are allowed to chose who matches your expectations and who doesn't.

Our time and energy is sacred and we must honor that, just be sure you are not shouting people out of your life for your resistance to learn the lessons that comes with experiences. Yes, you have to be vulnerable to let love in.

Pile2: Strenght, Death.

You are exhausted pile 2, you need to destroy and recreate, start anew, follow your heart. Your guides are promising you that they are going to be there for you no matter what, your joy is their joy, your sadness is their sadness. You are always going to find refuge and confidence in them for you will find them abode in your heart.

They are the strenght you find after the most wrekening circunstances. Notice how life has never torn you apart, you have raised from ashes like the fenix each and every time. Your beneficient fortitude has already subdued so many hardships and even after that your innocense remains intact or that way should be.

Your guides are delivering two different messages for you, one is that whatever you want to create it needs you to change your perspective. You will see things clearly once you know you already have what it needs, you have the will, power and energy, you just need to take action into your goals with enthusiasm and passion, and you will acomplish success and the recognition you deserve. Don't let your fears gobernate you.

The second message is that you are manifesting, consciously or unconsciously, a reconciliation, someone needs to ask for your forgivness. This is a past relationship, clearly, that you thought it was ended for good but there's still a conversation you two need to have of you let them come forth to you.

This person looks at the stars at night and they remember seeing the same stars with you, the conversations you two had were always so profound, but they understand that the old relationship has to die, you needed to be apart from each other to figure things out, to leave the past behind and start again.

Pile 3: 7 of cups, 9 of cups.

Honey you are confused, you have what you truly wish in front of you and you aren't seeing it. Might be that you have high expectations in love, not meaning that you look for too much in someone, but in the sense where you see the smalls flaws of others and transform them into a big whole excluyent factor.

This behaviour can interfere in other aspects of your life, seeing your own small flaws as a condition and excuse to not pursue your goals, leaving you stuck and paralized. You need to make balance between what are your expectations and what you already have achieved.

Try to see life from another perspective. Be thankfull for what you already have, this will make life easier for you, either way you are gonna end indulging in every poisoned vices you have. Change those destructive habits for healtier ones, eat more fruits, don't eat junk food, quit smoking, honor your body, be carefull of unwanted pregnancy, and you'll be fine.

Last thing your spirit guides would like to tell you is that you have to listen to your interior voice, trust your intuition, because you are going to feel so good after you have taken care of yourself. Everything surrounding you will vibrate in the same level as you, I see an end to a difficult situation and going back to normal.

But not only that, I see you happy, being satisfied with your results in some expectations that you had, maybe in love. I guess you will have to wait until it happens. But overall I see you happy, having lucky strikes and finally being able to feel peace and harmony within you.

That's all my lovely piles, hope you have a wonderful day. Remember to drink lots of water, stay safe, and take care of yourself.

Sending a hug for those who need it most. Yan.

[blessedbyahuntress]

Warrior of the Sun and Moon

Chapter Two: An Unwelcome Distraction

Prev/Next

Warnings: One suggestive comment if you squint

Word count: 1.2k

You drew your bowstring, the same bow Apollo had given you a few years ago moving smoothly under your tight grip. 

You released it, your arrow cutting through the air.

The deer you had been hunting never stood a chance; it’s head was still down as your arrow passed straight through its heart. 

You emerged from the darkness, behind the bushes where you’d been hiding. Your face was streaked with mud to hide your scent, your dress replaced with trousers and a tunic- the only part of you that showed any sign of palace life was your hair, still perfect despite the wind and tree branches tugging to knot it. 

“Thank you, Apollo, for guiding my arrow with your steady hand to pierce this magnificent creature through the heart,” you murmured as you crouched down, stroking the dead deer’s fur. “Thank you, Artemis, for allowing me to kill an animal sacred to you. You have my apologies for taking its life.”

You slung the deer over your back carefully, wobbling a bit as you stood. Your fresh kill was heavy, and you were still petite for your age, and despite being eighteen, you were much too small to be carrying an animal of this weight. 

Yet, you forged on, the woods finally giving way to the wall of the palace. This was where your job got tricky.

You bit your lip, looking up at the stone fortification in front of you. Sighing, you set the deer back on the ground. You removed a rope from your belt, wrapping it around the body. You then tied the opposite end of the rope around an arrow, making sure the deadly projectile was made of sturdy wood and wouldn’t snap from the weight of the carcass. 

You drew your bowstring back as far as your arm would allow, shooting for the top of the wall. To your relief, your arrow spiraled just to wear you’d hoped, dragging the deer’s body off of the ground by barely a centimeter. 

You paid it no mind, stepping onto the dead animal in order to scramble up the rope. You used your legs to propel you on the side of the wall as best as you could, but it was a long while before you slung a leg over the top of the wall. 

You thought of this as the easiest part of your daily journeys- pulling the dead animal up after you. 

“C’mon,” you muttered, a bead of sweat running down the side of your face as you tugged at the rope. The sun was high in the sky, and you had left before dawn; your mother would surely be looking for you by now.

At last, the deer flopped onto the wall, but you’d misjudged your momentum and ended up tangled in the cord. You felt yourself slipping, and you closed your eyes. 

And then there was a rough pull on your leg. You yelped in pain, glancing around to find yourself hanging upside down by your ankle. 

You tried pulling yourself up to untie the knot that had found its way around your foreleg before giving up. You’d have to wait here for someone to find you- preferably Telemachus or a servant.

It turned out you didn’t have to wait that long, although when you heard his boisterous laughter you wanted to say, “no, just leave me here. Please and thank you.”

Fighting against your pounding headache- all the blood was rushing to your head- you opened your eyes. You let out a groan as your suspected fears were confirmed.

“Well, well, well,” Antinous said smugly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “If it isn’t the princess herself. In such a… odd position.”

“Oh, stop gloating,” you muttered. “Get me down from here.”

Your suitor’s smirk grew wider. “Only if I get something in return.”

You shook your head wildly, which only caused the ache to spread. “No way, Antinous.”

He sighed dramatically. “Ah, well,” he said in mock disappointment. “I suppose I’ll have to leave you hanging there until Telemachus is done with his duties, which won’t end for another couple of hours.” He sighed once more. “Such a shame.”

You groaned again. “Fine,” you relented. “Name your price.”

The glint in his eyes made you want to take back your words.

“Wait-”

Antinous continued before you could finish your sentence. “I’ll let you off easy this time, princess. But if I find you like this again, things won’t look good for you.” His cocky grin only seemed to grow. “All I ask for is one kiss.”

Your eyes widened and your lips parted. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you looked away, blaming it on the fact that you were hanging upside down. “Alright,” you said once you’d regained your composure. “I’ll do it. Just get me down from here.”

Antinous chuckled as he unsheathed his dagger. You went still as he cut the rope, but your suitor caught you with ease before your head could meet the ground. 

You glanced up at him, his face disturbingly close to yours. You blushed as you realized he was still holding you bridal-style. 

You scrambled to get out of his grasp, turning back to the rope that now dangled above your reach. You leaped for it, eyes flashing with frustration as you fell two inches short. 

“I’ll get that for you, for another kiss.”

“Not happening,” you answered without even looking behind you. As you lunged for the rope again, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist. 

“Here.” Antinous’s breath was too close. You could feel it brush your ear. 

He lifted you up a little higher, your fingers just barely managing to grab the cord. “Thanks,” you whispered as he brought you back to the ground. 

You began tugging on the rope, surprising yourself when the dead deer came tumbling down. You gave a small shout and came rushing forward, catching the carcass before it could get covered in the mud waiting below. 

“What…” 

You turned back to your suitor, who’s wide eyes were flickering from you, to the dead deer, to the bloody arrow you’d dug from its heart, and back to you. 

You gave a casual shrug, effortlessly extending the dead animal to him. “Do you want it? You could probably use it more than me.”

Antinous still only stared at you in utter shock. You rolled your eyes, setting the deer on the soft grass beneath you. “Since you waited so long,” you said, drawing your hunting knife. “I get to keep these.”

You made two clean cuts through where the deer’s pelt met the antlers, a bit of blood squirting out, though you didn’t seem to care. 

You whirled around to leave, took a few steps and froze. You were an honourable person, and a dead deer did not make up for going back on your word. 

You scurried up to Antinous, having to rise to your tip-toes to reach him. You placed your lips against his cheek in a delicate kiss, turning scarlet all at once. 

Then you turned on your heel, sprinting away, back toward the palace, antlers the only reminder of your kill. 

Antinous stared after you, still frozen. What the hell just happened?

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041@shapter-draws@sunshinewhosketches@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@shroombloom248@my-gods-i-read-too-many-books@keikeiluvyou@tati-the-fangirl@bookmuncherss@sabrina-senpai@artemis-andrea@sunshinedaisy21 @0anodite0 @orionspaperwork

[sideysvault]

⋆˚࿔ Handmade 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ (pt.2)

Cregan Stark x fem!reader ₊ read part one

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ • ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

wc. 1380k

tags. [nsfw] no smut but mentions of breeding, arranged marriage, fluffy, mutual pining, happy ending. (requested)

────────

Despite the feelings of unworthiness, she had to admit that it was a beautiful life. It exuded purpose. The Princess had made a habit out of accompanying her husband to duty. Cregan, understanding and indulgent as he was, usually let her do whatever she wanted. 

He initially was a little hesitant, specially before they visited The Wall together for the first time. 

And so, the training began. As soon as Cregan mentioned his intentions, his wife’s head perked up and her eyes sparkled. The Princess had always wanted to try the sword, although she later admitted to him that this desire was based solely on the fact that she wasn’t allowed to, but her brothers were.

Cregan was a great swordsman, but even he couldn’t fix her inability to yield any type of knife with any sort of efficiency. Instead, he taught her how to use the bow and arrow. If she wished to accompany him, he said, she ought to learn how to defend herself. 

The Princess felt rather deflated after her futile attempts at the sword, but as soon as her new training began, all the shame was forgotten.  

Stark carefully positioned himself behind his eager wife, trying to stop thinking about the way her ass was pressed against his crotch, failing to stop his pants from tightening around his cock. He guided her hands with tender precision. 

His voice, unusually soft and unsteady as he adjusted the Princess’s stance, his fingers lingering over her body longer than necessary. “Relax your grip,” he murmured.

The Princess could feel the skin of her neck come alive against her husband’s warm breath, and a shiver ran through her spine. Somehow, his touch both was both grounding and profoundly exciting. 

Time and time again, his wife would land the arrow shy away from the target, and then she would turn around to face him, with a wide grin adorning her face. And time and time again, he would speak words of encouragement, urging her to continue practicing. In all earnestness, his wife was rather talented with the bow, but he couldn’t get enough of their archery lessons. The air between them felt like an unspoken promise, and her touch and excitement was nothing if not addicting.

────────

Regardless of her knowledge on the myths, nothing could have prepared her for its greatness. 

It was a colossal fortification that stretched along the Northern border, separating the realm from the domain of the wildlings who live beyond. The majestic Wall was made of solid ice. It was supposedly constructed using both magic and mundane means eight millennia ago

After talking to his advisors and the Lord Commander, he found his wife trying to hit different targets down at the patio, all while hearing the stories of the men’s lives. Laughter and chatter could be heard all throughout the Shadow Tower. He smiled. After all, he couldn’t blame them. The Princess was a beautiful, charming woman. And, he probably looked just as boyish and excited when he was around her.

After noticing how smoothly things had gone the first time, she had begged her husband to take her there more often. She enjoyed drinking with the men and hearing their stories. After all, no matter how tragic, or violent, they all found solace in the camaraderie of the night watch. 

Cregan, of course, indulged her. His excuse for it was that she was good for morale.

But it wasn’t only the unexpected softness of it all that had changed her. Her recent devotion to her new life also came from less honorable sources. 

Since the royal couple had yet to be able to produce an heir, they had the most pertinent excuse to go to bed together as frequently as they could. At first, she was exasperated at her husband gentle manners. He refrained himself from fucking his wife daily. He argued that he wanted to protect her body from soreness and a lack of libido. So they only became intimate a few times a week. The Princess begged him until she had her way. She talked about the necessity of producing an heir, about the urgency this trying times presented to them.

The Lord of Winterfell never called her by anything other than title, even in bed. Despite this, she could almost feel his desire for intimacy hidden between every encounter. It went far beyond the efforts of procreation; They were long shifts, filled with laughter, moans, and sweat. 

She could not yet explain the intoxicating feeling of the sweet, warm cum of his husband slightly dripping out of her pussy, falling down to her ass. It was pure bliss to her.

The best part of those nights, however, were that it absolve them of the expected stoicism; they could just lay together, hugging one another, feeling the warmth of their skin melting away with the night.

────────

The next few weeks were spent between stolen glances and held breaths. The Princess prayed at night for her husband to remember the occasion, and Cregan was struggling to foresee his wife’s reaction towards the unexpected, gentle gift.

When the day finally came, Lord Stark approached his wife with a boyish, timid grin adorning his face. He was holding something behind his back, and she thought he looked extremely endearing, almost innocent. He carefully showed the gift to his wife, without saying a word, his eyes transfixed in the stone floor. 

A smile appeared immediately on her face as she opened the small wooden box with all the care in the world. She was astounded to find a beautifully lavish ring staring back at her. It had clearly been handcrafted, polished with care, and the stone was of her favorite shade of red.

Her eyes sparked with excitement, before being quickly being put under control as a peculiar sight danced before her. That of the wife of the Wolf of Winterfell, sitting alongside austere lords, banner men and counselors late into the night. What would they whisper behind her back?

“Oh, you,” the woman took a quick glance at the beautiful stone before averting her gaze from the temptation, “, shouldn’t have. I do not know if it’d be appropriate to wear around court”

He said her name with a tenderness she had not known until then, “You are my wife. Part of this House. You ought not to punish yourself by avoiding innocent pleasures” 

Carefully cupping her face with his hands, for just a moment, all he could think about was the soft feeling of her tender skin against his hardened palms. Lord Stark couldn't help but noticed a sense of disappointed, situated deep in the pit of his stomach. She had, after all, rejected his gift, even if he understood the sinless frustrations from which the dismissal came from.

Cregan rested his forehead against hers as he murmured, “I do not wish for you to lower your standards just because I am not quite fit to meet them”

She laughed, ignoring the pinch of sadness she felt. Did her husband really think she was that superfluous?. The Princess caressed his hand as she laughed and raised her gaze to meet his own, “You don't understand, husband. I am raising them.”

Mildly, he raised his eyebrows and for a moment said nothing. Until that very moment, he had not yet noticed how tender they were being with each other. His chest expanded with a warm, fuzzy feeling that, for a second, made him feel eternal.

He smiled, and his breath shakes while whispering her name as he put the ring on her finger.

“I love when you call me by my name” she said, stumbling into his chest, “You say it like you think you are doing something wrong.”

Cregan was taken over by a whimpered, a sense of need that he could no longer ignore. Before he knew it, his hands were already tangling in his wife’s hair. Desperately pulling her in for a kiss. Despite their inexperience, the kiss was filled with certainty, and a need of taste. They sloppily crushed against each other, finally being able to release all the tension of guarded secrets. Between sealing kisses, bites and desperate tasting each other's neck, they told one another how they really felt.

────────

Notes. The writer's block is finally melting away!. And my friend's idiot father finally got her out-of-town, so the kidnapping threats are futile, and she's finally safe!!.

I'm sorry for disappearing for so long, anon. It has been ages, but I'm so glad you requested a second part, it was so fun to write.

Anyway, as usual, take care of one another,

-Sidey xxo

cregan taglist. @damneddamsy

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Hand tight around the handle of his sword. Shadows pulled close, close, closer; cloak, hood, shroud. Still as a stone, hardly moving, barely breathing, waiting, waiting, tensing.

The whispers outside his cabin door grow louder.

He shot awake half an hour ago. A shift, under the cracked-open window, rustling, turning. Fabric, maybe, or fur brushing across the polished stone of the wall. Not a hellhound — he’d feel the bent shadows of its presence — nor any other creature from the Underworld, but clearly something dark, foreboding. Some heavy, stifling presence. And many of them, too, or perhaps one thing that is growing. It shouldn’t be possible within camp borders, but he can — feel it. A sense of ambush, of impending attack.

Every few minutes there’s a shake at his door handle. A wiggling of the Stygian iron metal, a whisper of sound as it’s jiggled, fruitlessly, a hiss as something draws away. The sound of quiet, throaty murmurs, muffled through the obsidian door. Escalating. Louder, louder; angrier, frantic.

Something is waiting for him.

It’s some comfort that it can’t get in. The handle was his design — not that most monsters would try to use it, but the burn as it touched their flesh, the threat of the Pit, would certainly would deter them. The obsidian doorway he insisted upon, regardless of skeletal complaints, was for practicality as much as pageantry. He has spent enough time in the well-run Land of the Dead to take notes from his father, paranoid he may be.

The noises, though, still grow stronger. Whatever is waiting for him has not been deterred by his fortifications, nor frightened by his aura of death. The handle jiggles again, and this time, the intruder is smarter — the lock turns, clicking as it is overcome, handle turning to follow it slowly, slowly. Nico holds his breath, gliding along the shadow, hovering in the doorway.

The door swings silently open. A clumsy lump of something steps hesitantly forward, huge and cumbersome; bulbous. At the front of it is a single long, glowing talon. The intruder pauses, contemplating, in the flood of low light, the cabin’s twisting shadows, turning slowly, carefully around. Nico glides along the floor, guessing at its blindspot, holding close to himself, waiting, waiting.

One.

The creature pauses.

Two.

The talon twitches to the left, following the creak of the settling bed springs.

Three.

Nico surges forward, bringing down his sword. It clangs against the talon, reverberating outwards, echoing the screams of the monster and tear of fabric —

“Nico! Nico! It’s us! Cool it! Watch the sword! Watch the sword!”

A burst of fire shoots upward, enveloping the cabin in a burst of white light. Nico hisses, nearly dropping his sword in his hassle to clamp his hand on top of his eyes, hunching protectively forward.

“Leo! Fucksake, you tryna blind us?!”

“Sorry! Sorry! He freaked me out, I flamed too hard!”

“Just fuckin’ — scream, next time! Jesus! I’ve gone blind!”

“What the fuck,” hisses Nico, blinking the spots out of his eyes, “are you idiots doing?”

In front of him stands not a monster but five infuriatingly familiar faces, each holding — for some reason — a mattress. Percy’s sword is still held loosely in front of him, and Jason’s jacket has been singed. Piper and Annabeth blink spots out of their eyes. Leo stands, in the charred ruins of his mattress, wringing his hands.

He glances up at the ceiling. Nico follows his gaze, noting where the black rock has been re-vulcanized into glass from the heat of the flames. He looks back down.

“From the bottom of my heart,” Leo says, solemnly, “my bad.”

Nico sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

His friends, for some reason, take this as a cue. The heavy door is pushed back closed, cutting off the last of the low light from the Greek fire torches outside and the whistling of light wind. Someone feels around for a light switch, and, upon finding none, shrugs and pokes Leo until his nose catches fire, guiding him around until all the lamps and fairy lights have been located and turned on. Someone else — Annabeth, he guesses — begins instructing mattress placement, directing a crew to dig through his closet for linens. A comment about how spacious it is now that he’s not in it pops into his mind and he shoved it back down. He will not make light of the situation. He won’t.

“What the fuck,” he reiterates, louder this time.

Nobody answers. A faucet starts running in his background, and he hears the flip of a drachma.

“If nobody answers me in the next ten seconds I’m going to reanimate Andre the Giant and have him bodily throw y’all out. He will not be gentle. He will —”

“Y’all count,” they all say at once. Percy, gleefully from the bathroom’s running faucet, calls, “I’ll keep track! Remember if it goes over twelve I win!”

Nico snaps his mouth shut, ears burning.

Why has he remained at camp, again? He trained with Achilles and Patroclus. He learned how to read with Literal Shakespeare. Alan Turing taught him math. Not successfully, or anything, but still. He has no bearing here. He could be anywhere he wants to be, and for some reason he is putting up with unrepentant disrespect.

Nico four months ago would smite them. Nico five months ago would turn them to shadows for their insolence. Nico a few weeks ago, even, would have at least sulked off into the forest to cool of for several days.

Here he stands, Nico of tonight.

Unmoving in the centre of his sieged cabin.

No Andre the Giant raised.

No terrors inflicted.

Hardly even a threat.

What the shit.

“What love does to a young lad, eh?” Piper says, patting him condescendingly on the head. He aims a kick for her knees, which she unfortunately dodges, cackling and scampering away. He surges after her.

“I am several decades older than you, you little snot, what are you even talking about —”

“Older and uglier, you wrinkly ass bitch —”

“Guess who’s gonna be ugly when I remove the flesh from her body —”

“Ha! Catch me first, shrimp arms —”

“It’s working! I got it!” Walking very carefully, not unlike a toddler holding a too-full open cup for the first time, Percy steps out of the bathroom, faucet finally off. In his cupped hands is a quickly spinning vortex of sink water, letting off a fine mist. A prism taped to the side of his forehead refracts a rainbow into it. “Say hi, Hazel!”

“Hi,” says Hazel, waving from her surprisingly solid connection. She meets Nico’s eyes, grinning. He matches it immediately, dropping Piper out of the headlock he had her in.

“Hey,” he says, ignoring Piper’s dark muttering and promises for revenge. “You look eager.”

“I am eager. I heard we’re having a sleepover and talking about boys!”

“…You heard what.”

Percy shucks off his shoes, stepping gingerly over Jason and plopping right in the middle of the mattress pile, legs crossed. Nico realises for the first time that he is wearing pattered Superman pajamas, which is frustratingly endearing. He shifts the water vortex so that Hazel’s projection faces him.

“I’m so pumped,” he says earnestly. “I’ve never done this before. I’m so intrigued. Do we talk shit? Is that how it’s done? Is there swooning? I have a plan if there’s swooning.”

“We’ll get there, Seaweed Brain.” Annabeth brushes a hand through Percy’s hair as she walks by — somehow dignified, which is impressive, Nico has never seen anyone wobble over a mattress elegantly before — and presses a kiss to his forehead. He leans into it. “Ease into it.”

“Yeah,” Hazel snickers. She sticks her tongue out at Nico’s glare. “Don’t spook him.”

Nico throws his hands up. “Don’t spook me, she says. Heaven forbid anyone tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, you’re trying to court that boy, right? The cute one with the motormouth?”

Crazy how two sentences can reach down your throat, grip onto your beating heart, squeeze out your soul, drag it from your body, still pulsing, and leave it to actively shrivel on the floor next to your withered, fetal-positioned body to the audience of your cackling friends. Genuinely wild.

There’s a woman who wanders around the poplar fields of his father’s kingdom and has for tens of thousands of years — longer than even his father. Legend says she is the first user of language as it is understood in modernity. Nico may have to beat her up the next time he sees her. Or, well, try, ‘cause she’s jacked, but her crime cannot go unpunished. How dare she introduce the curse of language upon the human race.

“Which one of you,” he croaks, voice cracking more than Jason’s old man joints when he sneezes, “you — fuckers, told my sister about — about.”

If he says his name he’ll die. Like Voldemort except not stupid.

When he looks up, all five of them hold their hands proudly in the air.

“It was more of a conference call,” Jason explains. “And it was less ‘us telling’ and more us calling to say hey, Hazel, Nico keeps shutting down every time this particular person smiles at him, and then Hazel went oh, is it the medic boy he keeps rambling about when he calls me, and we went yeah, totally, can you elaborate on the rambling —”

“Cool.” Nico scrambles to his feet, brushing off his sweatpants, tucking his sword under his arm. “I’m going to go drown myself, if y’all will excuse me.”

He barely makes it one quarter step away from the stupid fucking mattress pile.

“Initiate part two of the plan!” Annabeth hollers.

“Y’all count!” Percy yells.

Without waiting to be chased, Nico sprints for the door. Immediately a fireball is launched at the handle before he can reach, melting it. He veers for the window, but a gust of air slams it shut, and a shining dagger pins the lock in place. In his final desperate dive for the nearest shadow, Piper sprints over — curse her long legs — and tackles him to the ground, rolling them both towards the nearest light source.

“Every single one of you —”

“Ow! Teeth away! Teeth away! Don’t make me muzzle you!”

“—except you, Hazel, never you —”

“Jason! He’s fuckin’ — his nails are clawed into the doorframe, help me!”

“—will be facing me in judgement day! And I shall not be lenient!”

“Quit trying to bite me or I’ll beat you up again!”

“No! Suffer!”

Conveniently, a spot on the uncomfortable floor has been left free of mattresses and pillows and beddings so that Nico and Piper can claw the shit out of each other properly. He lands a good hit on his collarbone, but she jams her heel into his ribs when he foolishly leaves his left side open. He manages to pin her arms to her sides with his legs, but she mirrors the move and squeezes her thighs around his neck.

“Do you usually just let them kill each other?”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. They didn’t get to spar yesterday so they’re a bit pent up, they’ll be fine soon.”

“…Must be a Greek thing.”

“Don’t you guys have Violence Fridays?”

“Uh, not quite.”

“We have war games,” Jason explains, “but there are generally repercussions for aiming for one’s jugular.”

Annabeth frowns. “Well, that seems flawed. How do you children ever learn to defend themselves?”

“If I recall correctly, by surviving to adulthood.”

“Touché.”

Knowing the scolding he’s about to get is going to be fierce, Nico rolls them both towards his (thankfully untouched) bed, sinking them into the shadows under it and popping up on top of Jason’s reclining body. As he planned, the combined chaos of Jason’s screech and Piper’s nausea gives him just enough leeway to kick himself free and scramble away behind Annabeth. Not that she’ll usually protect him, but he has a feeling that she has an itinerary and is therefore invested in keeping them on task.

“Okay,” she says, holding Piper back by the forehead — success. “Piper, put the nails away. Nico, quit making faces at her or I’m gonna let her claw you. Go sit on opposite ends of the mattress pile.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” they both say, immediately cowering and Annabeth’s glare and scampering to do as asked.

“Thank you. Alright, everybody grab a blanket and gather around. Nico, is there a — thermostat in here, or something?” She tightens the skull-patterned blanket (that she stole from his closet like the thief that she is) around her shoulders. “It’s freezing.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “I prefer to have my external environment the internal temperature of my soul.”

He smiles smugly to himself at the chorus of boos that echo around him. That was a good one. He feels no shame.

“You should,” Percy tells him seriously.

“Stick your finger in a socket.”

Annabeth tosses an overflowing binder into the centre of the mattress pile before they can really start to go at it.

“Be quiet and behold,” she says grandly, “the plan.”

Nico stares at it dubiously. “The plan.”

“Yes, the plan.”

“Say plan one more time and I’m chewing the floor.”

“You’re such an odd person.”

“Having your fucked up ghost mentor put you in a labyrinth to be hunted for sport by his monster friends for ‘training’ will do that to you.”

Will once told him that he reverts to making people uncomfortable via depressing personal anecdotes when he is nervous. Startlingly perceptive for someone who, in the same breath, asked Nico if he could bring his siblings to the picnic Nico had planned in the strawberry fields for them, alone, at sunset.

“Just — open the binder, oh my gods.”

Huffing, Nico does.

It’s less intimidating than it looks. The heavily doodled title page reads OPERATION: WOOING WILL, which is embarrassing, but the rest of it is as cleanly professional. Several sub chapters including plans A-L, gathered information, outside input, sources, and hand-drawn diagrams are neatly organized and typed out. It’s even in dyslexia-friendly font. Truly a work of art. Too bad Nico is considering incinerating it.

“It’s not even gonna work,” he mumbles, pointedly avoiding the six pairs of eyes watching him. Well, five, Leo walked in the cabin and immediately got distracted by something else. He’s been poking at a pile of bronze for the past forty minutes at least. “He’s — unplannable.”

“Nothing’s unplannable.”

“He is. He doesn’t — think about things. In the same way.” Nico traces his fingers over a page titled Dropping Hints — How Begging Someone To Go Out With You Has Changed In Seventy Years. “You and me’ll see someone go out of their way to make life easier on somebody and know they’re — crushing, or whatever. But Will goes out of his way for everybody, all the time. It’s not odd for him.”

“Can’t you just tell him? Outright?” Hazel asks. “I mean, he told you, didn’t he?”

“That’s different.”

It isn’t, really. Nico could tell him. He could walk up to breakfast tomorrow and just blurt it out. Same words, even. I think you’re gorgeous.

He wants to. He wants Will to know, wants his bright eyes to go wide and his nose to go red and his voice to go quiet as he says, really? And Nico wants to feel the goosebumps that cover his arms when he rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist and says, yes. Wants to watch him shiver as he says, you make me feel safe, you know. Watch his golden eyelashes flutter as he adds, wanted. Safe and wanted.

“It has to feel right.”

———

next

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Ironroot Warlord

"Alone, it's a fortification. At the head of its troops, it's a battering ram." —Skerk Hobnett, wilderness guide

Artist: Filip Burburan TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[jayceispathetic]

[MINECRAFT AU]

ISLANDERS : THE SEVEN RULING VILLAGER CLANS

—————————————

CLAN #01 : PLAINS

The common folk of the Grassland Plains Biome. They're a simple people, probably the most common and well-known villagers you'll encounter while exploring Caeloria. They have harvest festivals, public gatherings in central markets, and tell stories around the campfire. Their economy is made up of skilled farmers, traders, and builders. They produce and export grains, livestock, and crafted goods which vary on the profession. They rely on Iron Titans and rudimentary fortifications but distrust weapons (although some villagers like blacksmiths do create weapons for trading with people more open to violence.) Their villages are made up of homes with the timber-framed architecture style, wooden roofs, and are usually surrounded by small farms.

CLAN #02 : DESERT

The inhabitants of the Desert Biomes. They are not as simple as the Plainsmen, and their culture is more focused on keeping a holy life, alongside securing a safe trip into the Afterlife. They do daily prayers to honor the sun, moon, and the passage of time itself, alongside intricate funeral ceremonies and rituals to ensure safe passage into the Afterlife. Their economy is famous for their trade caravans, glasswork, pottery, and exotic spices. While they also have Iron Titans, they use dynamite traps to protect their sacred temples and religious sanctuaries. The villages are made up of Sandstone, with domed roofs to regulate temperature, often built around oases and river beds.

CLAN #03 : JUNGLE

The hunters that reside within jungle biomes. Unlike most villager clans, they're a militaristic civilization, focused mainly on hunting. They have daily ritual dances at sunrise and sunset, large hunting trips usually consisting of "packs", and a variety of face paint representing their roles in society, or, for a hunter; their achievements and rank in hunting. They're a people skilled in herbal medicine, dye-making, and the creation of weapons. Instead of living on the ground like most villagers, these hunters live in wooden treehouses interconnected by bridges to maintain high ground advantage during hunting. They use the vines of the trees to climb up and down. While they have their own variant of the Iron Titans, they also rely on boobie traps and ambushes from multiple packs as defense mechanisms.

CLAN #04 : SAVANNA

Savanna Villagers are the second most welcoming villagers of Caeloria, and similar to the Plains Villagers, they rely on community, tradition, and peace. The main thing that separates them from the Plainsmen is their belief in astrology. They believe that the stars guide their fate, and a lot of their traditions revolve around astrology. Stargazing ceremonies, seasonal festivals aligned with celestial events (basically just.. holidays) and storytelling under the stars. Their economy is constructed of skilled weavers and artisans, known for intricate carving, cloth-dyeing, and crafting of jewelry, usually having a celestial theme. Unfortunately, I couldn't capture that as much as I could with the designs, as the concept came after they were already done. They're also expert animal handlers, known for domesticating and breeding fast horses for both companionship and a good defense mechanism, aside from the Iron Titans, ofcourse. Their villages are usually made up of terracotta or mud blocks, shaped in the style of mud-and-tatch huts. I also like to think that in-game there would be a massive baobab tree in the center of the village, which would lead in an Iron Titan attack if it were destroyed by a player.

CLAN #05 : SWAMP

These guys are the black sheep of Villager society, even if per say the Jungle Clan's hunting traditions are questioned by the rest of village society, at least they keep their hunting trips tame! These guys are a full-on cult, the most controversial of the clans. Their traditions are rather questionable; they make blood sacrifices to some kind of "Spirit of The Swamp" some mystical natural energy they seem to try and appease. New members of the cult must craft their own ceremonial mask from the remains of a hunted beast, believed to bind them spiritually to the creature and grant them its strength. This is basically my in-universe reason for why certain things like skeleton heads, creeper heads, dragon heads, etc. can be collected. Maybe if this were a mod of some sorts you'd need some kind of mob skull to not get attacked while exploring the swamp? Idk. Every twenty years or so, a great hunt is held for a "cursed beast," often the last of a dying species, as they believe such creatures hold the most potent spiritual energy. We know the Sniffers are nearly extinct, maybe these villagers are related to that in some way. Hell, when we play the game, the Sniffer could be the beast they are out to hunt. Their economy is built on potion-making, fungus cultivation, and fishing. They lack Iron Titans for defense, instead relying on hunting and camouflage techniques, their houses themselves are designed to camouflage with the bog's trees. They're also oomfies with the Witches. With all this world-building done you'd be surprised to find out that these are actually my least favorite of the seven villager variants in-game.

CLAN #06 : TAIGA

Considering the last two yap-fests, I have a lot less to say about the Taiga Villagers. They're a people who value trust, loyalty, strategy, and honor. They live in communal spruce wood long houses, typically working inside. They tend to train inside, meditating and having communal prayers inside of huts, circling around the campfire. Some also go out and meditate in the cold to test their endurance during full moons, which doubles as an opportunity to hunt for resources. Their economy is built on their massive supply of wood, meat, natural herbal remedies, and leather skins. They have Iron Titans that protect them from wild animals and Pillagers. They're strong allies with the Plainsmen, alongside the Desert and Savanna Tribes. Their strongest ally, however...

CLAN #07 : TUNDRA

A group of small tribes that are master survivalists. They believe in community, honor, and strategy. They're the strongest ally to the Taiga Clan, and vice versa. They also don't mind trading with the Desert Clan. These cold and reserved people live within reinforced wooden cabins, often remaining inside at all times unless it is necessary to go out hunting. They trade seafood, wool, and rarer gems such as emeralds, gold, and even diamonds. They also trade large supplies of wood. That's all I really have to say about them!

And that's all seven Villager clans redesigned and expanded upon!! I hope they came out looking decent lmfao

[powerhourao3]

Breeding - Vulpes Inculta (NON-CON)

Additional tags: Stripping, body praise, praise, degradation, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, overstim, cream pie, body betrayl, sexual torture, dacryphilia.

Female reader by sex and gender.

Your naivety had led you to believe that in aiding the Legion in their conquest, you would be immune to the fate of the women who loitered around the camp. You felt pity for them every time your eyes met theirs. They were broken, any color dulled by the Mojave sun beating upon their fractured bodies day after day and the maltreatment from the Legionnaire's physical and emotional abuse. They saw through you like a dumb Brahmin. It made you shiver thinking of yourself in their spot, the idea becoming a reality at this very moment. 

After winning the war at Hoover Dam, you were promptly put in chains and dragged across the river back to Fortification Hill. Not one man said a word to you, only spoke to you to silence and berate you. You were wordlessly led to a tent, not just any tent, but the tent belonging to the great leader of the Frumenrarii, Vulpes Inculta.

You had worked closely since the start, all the way back in Nipton, where you met him upon the burned bodies of sinners, the stench of fried hair and tires still clear in your senses to this day. You'll never forget the bright blaze of the tires on fire; you could hear the rubber squealing from the heat, melting, much like the victims of the Legion hours before your arrival. 

   As soon as you two met eyes, something stirred deep in your gut; it was something profound, an ancient that had awoken from its eternal slumber. It felt like destiny; your chest tightened when his sharp eyes pierced yours, and at that moment, he captivated you, and you, him. 

   The relationship between you was firey, only being described in likeness to twin flames. His presence was intoxicating, making you feel drunk with giddiness and anxiety. Even though he played nice at that moment, he was still a dog and could turn and bite you at any second, at any slight perceived threat or sudden movement. And you were the exact same, two dangerous, capable killers, obsessed with each other's company but knowing of the weapons each lurking inside their pockets. Both constantly exchanging sarcastic quips and unbearable sexual tension, it felt like biting into the apple in Eden's garden, the snake that was Vulpes enticing you with sweet whispers, six, allow me in, let me devour your heart. 

   God was absent from the picture to warn you of the danger that was obvious in his words, far too honeyed to be true. You always thought yourself above whatever evil he could inflict on you; you were the Courier Six, the one who had saved Goodsprings, the one who took down Mr. House, the one who raised from the dead. You were a legend, able to shake frightful nightmares into even the strongest of Fiends or NCR. Who was Vulpes to be capable of catching you, chaining you like a prisoner?

   It was thought impossible until the men who guided you with such a bruising grip released you calmly into his den. It was surprising the men did not shove you to the ground and unintentionally forced sand into your eyes and mouth. They undid the rope bindings, careful to not have them bite into the skin of your wrists. You could feel them restrain from causing harm to you; the only thing keeping them at bay was Vulpes' commanding glare, flickering between both of their forms, advising them to be careful. His arms were crossed across his chest, head bowed slightly to increase the effectiveness of his death glare. You couldn't help but ogle at how his biceps and forearms bulged, each carved curve of muscle making your heart skip a beat. It distracted you from your dilemma for a moment until you were unbound. 

The men leave with their tails between their legs. Vulpes' face softens when they depart; he finally has you where he wants you. 

"Inculta, what is the meaning of this? I did your bidding, I did the Legion’s bidding, I-"

"Hush, Courier. You are in no position to be so expletive." 

He pushes his body from the bookcase he was leaning on, walking over to you. Vulpes' hand reaches to lay on your shoulder, applying pressure to force you to kneel at his feet. With no strength left in your body after the war, you crumple, legs giving out. Beneath you, ass to calve, eyes peering up at him through your lashes, questioning his motive and subsequent move. He continues.

"Yes, you have served Caesar well; the Legion gained victory with your aid. But you are still a woman. A woman I see fit to be my bride and carry my legacy." 

His words feel like ice in your veins; the Mojave heat could do nothing to warm you at that moment. All time had seemed to stop, your breath held on the back of your throat. 

"There's no way, I- no, Vulpes-"  You shook your head to get your bearing and stop sputtering-

"I don't want this. Is this what I get for helping you? For helping the Legion? I have ensured I prove myself more worthy!"

"More worthy than what, Courier?"  His voice flicked off his tongue like that of a snake's, head tilted to the side almost mockingly.

"More.. More worthy than.. Than that of a slave, the other women." 

He barks out a laugh, crouching down to your eye level. He cups your cheek to force you to look at him.

You had never seen the look he had on his face now before. It looked far to soft, far too.. 

Deranged. 

He looked simply possessed, his eyebrows creased up, lips tugged into a sly smile, and eyes half-lidded filled with obsessive content. It felt like he was showing his true self, the one he had been hiding behind his cunning fox persona. He could stop pretending to feel indifferent towards you, he could stop teasing you with every ghosting touch of his hand or body, and he could stop pretending he only saw you fit to fuck.

No, you brought so much more than that. Finally, the cat-and-mouse game was over. 

He had never hungered after a body quite like yours; he watched you day and night as you shook the Mojave in your steps, changing lives and saving people. He knew from the moment he saw you at Nipton that he had to possess you, keep you tucked away like fine China. There was a certain glow you emitted, a glimmer in your eyes that had him unraveled in seconds into a pile of ribbons at your feet. He saw you as strong and capable, and he wished to cage it, to crush it out of you and make you into his perfect partner, his bride, and the mother of his children.

Your genes were the only ones worth in the Mojave, hell, then the entire world, to be able to mix with his. Your combined creation would be godly. 

"My dear, you are not to be one of those pathetic women outside; no, you will be my bride, my wife, my precious Broc flower. I will dress you in the finest of satin; no harm shall ever come your way again if I may help it, my dear Courier; I will treat you like the goddess you are. I do not bestow this upon you lightly. Do not take it for granted." 

The threat falls from his lips half-heartedly.

His words struck your core, emotions and feelings mixing in your head and melting into anxiety pooling in your chest. It was so conflicting; he talked as though he loved you like he would worship the ground you stepped upon. It felt alluring and comforting, a love you thought was not possible. But the rational part of your brain, what little you had left from Benny, screamed of his true intentions, the fact that he was a dog, even wore the head of one. He was a mutt trying to make you submit to him, the Legion, the great Courier, submitting to a mere man. A cowardly one at that, hiding behind his ideology and cult-like world.

Whist deep in your turmoil, he pressed a light kiss upon your lips, then another and another, each becoming harder, hungrier, more desperate. Until his knees hit the ground with yours, arms wrapped around you like a python, teeth clanking against your mouth, unmoving to reciprocate his advances, your head moved back and side to side to escape his mouth. But his hands were quick to clamp to the sides of your head, your own come up to try and pry them off. It was fruitless; you were spent, and you were no match for him physically. 

Your hands drop from his, deciding to clutch the fabric of his chest; at this, he pulls you closer to his person. 

Your mind was muddied, swimming and thrashing with hot arousal and cracking morals; you couldn't think at all clear with his tongue lapping at yours and the throb of your cunt beating into you with such ache it made you want to cry. 

His tongue separated from yours, pulling back to watch the string of saliva fall from the tips of your tongues, both outstretched and looking for each other. 

This felt like pure sin, truly unholy; it made you want to pray to a god that surely didn't exist in this hell hole of a wasteland. At least not anymore. 

"You taste-" he huffs, gaining his breath back. 

"You taste simply divine. Just like I imagined, and more some, like the sweetest of fruits the desert has to offer." 

Vulpes licked the spit that fell from his tongue to his chin like it was the fines of wines. 

It made you whine with both want and repulsion. 

   He dove in for another series of kisses at hearing your pathetic whining, hands going to undress your person, undoing your protective leather to get at the rags you call a shirt underneath. Again, you felt powerless, hands limply trying to take his off your clothing, yet too distracted by his skillful tongue licking your teeth and sucking your own tongue. 

He managed to get your top layers off; the freeze of the night made your nipples perk and spread goosebumps across your arms and back.

His fingers began to grope and pinch at the mounds with such force it hurt. A particularly perfect tug made you moan hotly into his mouth, and tears finally were let loose. 

"Yeees, yes, your tears are perfect-" 

He leaned from your mouth to your cheeks, licking a hot stripe from the bottom of your jaw to your cheek with such pressure it made your eye crease.

"My dear, you have no idea-" 

His tongue comes to the other cheek, giving it the same treatment, kissing the corner of your eye once it came to the top.

"How long I have waited for this, your tears, your moans, stalking, praying, and waiting for the moment to strike, to make you entirely mine."

"Mi comes animae-"

Vulpes pushed you back onto the carpet, causing your head to hit the plush fabric, cushioning the blow a bit. His teeth came to your chest, arms curled around the small of your back, and his hand cradled the back of your head.

You let out a short, loud yelp as he bit down on the bud, sending hot electricity to bloom over your chest. Vulpes soothed the irritated skin with sweet kitten licks before kissing the nub into his mouth and lips. Vulpes moved to be on top of you, slowly parting your legs apart to expose your heat to him. 

"Vulpes, pleas-Hngg, ah stop." 

He continued, switching to the other breast and giving it a swirling suck; a moan ripped from his throat, animalistic; the vibrations made your soul spiral with desire. His hand moves from the small of your back to stroke the inside of your thighs. 

You felt like you were going insane; it felt like you were on a different plane of existence, so encased by the heat of his body and ministrations, the months of tension finally coming undone right before your very eyes. 

"Your body is one of the most perfect things I have laid my eyes upon, love. I cannot wait to ruin you, to see you full of my seed and round with my child, our child." 

"No, no Vulpes, I am begging you, do not get me knocked up-"

"I am bestowing a gift upon you, giving you my perfect genes; you should be more grateful. You may be the Courier, but to me, you are another dirty woman in the desert. Do not forget your place so quick you start ordering me around; you are under me in every sense of the word, even right now." 

Vulpes was showing the snapping dog in him that you hated and feared. It made you want to cry, confusion from the contrast of his loving praises earlier, making you feel like royalty, like a gem in the Mojave. It was enough pain to make you shut your mouth lest you start openly sobbing. 

Vulpes reveled in the pain and destruction in your eyes, glimmering beautifully with fat tears ready to spill at any moment. 

"Let them free; let those pathetic whimpers out as you cry beneath me; it is all I will allow you to do."

Inculta's words were final, his elbow coming to cage the left side of your face beside it, the other stripping your lower half of its trousers and boots. The only thing you were capable of was whimpering and whispering pleas to be left untainted and unfilled by him. It only made his cock harder with the need to be buried between your thighs.

His calloused hands came to the fat of your thighs, slowly spreading them apart to the gift that was your pussy. It shined with wetness, causing his heart to skip a beat. His tongue came out of his mouth to quickly give a harsh, overstimulating lap, and another, it seemed like he couldn't stop himself from pushing his face into your mound, devouring you like you were the last meal on death row. It made you cry out from the intensity of the contact, not seeing it coming. 

Your legs raised and curled to rest on his shoulders, hands gripping wildly at his dog hood, slipping in and under to his short hair beneath. It felt silky and thick between your fingers, reminding you of Rex but a whole lot less filthy.

His lips suctioned your sensitive unprepared clit in between his lips, flicking his tongue there until you felt that hot lead ball of heat in your groin, finding no pleasure in the raw attention to the bundle of nerves. 

"Ah, wait V-Vulpes, its too much; slow da-down-"

A sob ripped through the tent as he continued, ignoring you but looking into your eyes as if to, say I know.

   His eyes were sharp, brows pointed inward like he was angry, like this was a punishment for even attempting to dissuade him from joining the destinies of the union between you both. Did you not know this was fate? As soon as your eyes were laid upon each other, you were his, and he was yours. 

His mouth kept its painful, overbearing weight upon your lower half; even when you twisted with what little strength you had left, he was there quick as the fox he was to pin you down again. He rubbed the tip of his nose over your clit, making you start to see stars, burning hot, just like Nipton, dance around your vision. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours of torture, he released you with a pop. Your cunt felt numb from the stimuli, wholly soaked and sore.

   Inculta took little time enjoying your disheveled body before he pushed his cock flush with your pussy making you jolt from your disassociation.  He kissed the temple of your head as he slowly slipped into your heat, feeling the way your cunt accommodated him, squeezing his shaft and gripping the weight of his girth and length, sitting directly against your cervix, kissing it like he was kissing you.

   The breath was stolen from your lungs as he stilled; it felt like he was in your stomach. It had to be at least 7 inches long; your mind didn't want to fathom the girth at this moment, already scared of when he was about to move. 

His pace started off slow, but with each thrust, it became increasingly frenzied, unable to hold back and maintain composure. He needed to breed you, and he needed to do it now. 

   Vulpes cried out from the heat and tightness of you, latching onto his cock like it was begging to be bred. Quickly, he shoved your head into the space of his shoulder and neck, his arms holding it. There was a vice before he set the most brutal cervix-bruising pace you had ever experienced. Immediately you couldn't hold back the whorish moans that sang from you, and he couldn't stop his whimpering and growling, turning into the dog he had worn on his head in this moment of heat.

Your legs came to wrap around his waist in the midst of his abuse; he laughed, stroking your hair with his hand, crushing your head between his biceps. 

"I knew you would love this; you are made for me! Sing, sing how much you love this, how much you need me to make you full and leaking with my cum-" 

You would respond if he wasn't practically choking you.

Vulpes was drunk off the ecstasy your pussy provided; he could feel you close to your end as well, with your walls fluttering around him, twitching with the need for an end.

He came with a stuttering moan and threw his head back, feeling you squeeze around him like a death choke as you came as well. 

You could feel his cock twitching and bobbing in your cunt, his seed bloating you, making you feel uncomfortably filled. It made you nauseous to think about becoming pregnant and being forced to carry a child, his child in particular. Your fate felt sealed as he slowly pulled out, trying to keep too much of his seed from spilling onto the carpet. He rolled your hips up and placed them atop his thighs, coated in sweat. 

Vuples' fingers scooped up some that had managed to leak out and gently pushed it back into your pussy. 

"We need to ensure it will take," He said more to himself than you.

"You did so well, my little Courier; soon, you will be my bride; you will stay by my side through all." He leaned over your body, curling himself over you until your hips moved to touch his chest just so he could place a sweet kiss upon your gasping mouth. 

"Te amo, angelum meum."

----

"Mi comes animae" My soulmate

"Te amo, angelum meum" I love you, my angel.

(Requests are open!)

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — PART 1 PREMIERES @ 15th JAN WED 0000 KST

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

word count: 13.6k

featuring: enhypen as themselves

genre: dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, angst

taglist: open! comment, send ask or submit the form on my profile to be added!

notes from nat: starting the new year with a bang 💥

MASTERLIST

TEASER

Rotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

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

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

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

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

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

For a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weakness gets you killed.

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

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

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

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Narrow Out

Looking to slip past the imperial naval blockades, you and your fellow strangers have paid for passage aboard a smuggler’s ship. Something's gone wrong however, you were supposed to meet at the mouth of the old sea cave but the person who was to be your guide hasn’t shown. With no hope of turning back, your only chance of escape is to press onwards into the dark.

This adventure starter is intended as an intro for a group of newer players and provides an introduction to a campaign full of mysteries, hidden motives, and nautical swashbuckling.  It lets you get a group of unrelated characters together, give them a starting point to begin constructing their backstories (why they need to leave the land under blockade), and familiarize them with the game’s mechanics (whichever that game might be) before sending them out into the world for larger adventures. 

Challenges & Complications

After some brief introductions at the mouth of the cave (perhaps asking how everyone is dealing with the chill of the evening, and the stress of trying to slip past the military blockade), you can send the party into the mouth of the cave with the shared understanding that their contact is long overdue. Finding their way through the caves is essential to them obtaining their freedom, but solving the mystery of what happened to their contact will prevent the same from falling into a similar fate. 

The initial leg of the journey through the cave is full of darkness, dead ends, and the usual denizens of any low level dungeon. The idea here is to teach your party the basics of game mechanics ( combat, skill challenges etc) before they get into exploration proper. These early tunnels are little more than various natural caves that the smugglers use as a buffer between their hideout and the outside world, sometimes creating false trails that lead would be interlopers into traps. 

The interior of the smuggler’s lair is an old fortress built into the walls of the cave itself, a secret dock constructed during the Grey Duke’s Revolution (or whichever conflict fits your campaign backstory)  and lost in the subsequent shift of power.  Since then it’s become a place for the smugglers to store their ill gotten good while blocking off several sections for being too dangerous to utilize, which just may prove to have unclaimed valuables. 

The smuggler’s ship, the Singing Eel is awaiting the party at the dock, all decked out and ready to sail but with no one apparently on board.  It’s an eerie sight, made all the eerier by the discovery that several of the innocuous statues stashed away in the cargo hold are in fact former members of the crew, victims of the flock of cockatrices the smugglers were transporting at a noble’s behest who managed to escape their cages and now lurk in the ship. 

While the party’s contact is stone dead, the rest of the crew is hold up in one of the old fortifications, ordered to hide by their all too cautious captain who’s scared of the beasts attacking.  The cockatrices haven’t left yet because one of their number, the lone rare female is still stuck in her cage, kept alive by the males foraging for her and passing food. The smugglers are on the edge of mutiny, some want to bolt, some want to try and fight, some want to recover their deadly cargo for the rich payout they were promised, and the party can have a strong impact depending on which side they talk up. Alternatively, if enough of the party are proficient in sailing, the thought might occur to them to cut the smugglers out of the deal entirely and take the ship and/or the surviving cockatrices for themselves and risk the blockade. 

While they’re exploring the old dock ruins, the party can come across a number of documents which might include maps of the dungeon, clues to hidden treasure, backstory on the cockatrices, blackmail information on the crew, as well as a hint of treasure in the location they’re headed off to. 

Art 1

Art 2

[soon-palestine]

I feel helpless ! My children suffer from hepatitis “jaundice”… Anyone who is familiar with this viral disease knows that “diet” is the cure for it. Like any mother who takes excessive care of her children during illness, I have been shackled by incapacity and scarcity, and I cannot find anything to care for them! No dates, no honey, no fruits, no vegetables. Everything here is organic, manufactured and canned. However, there is no laboratory to be examined in, nor a pediatrician to tell you what to do. If it were not for God and the presence of my father, a medical veteran, to guide me, I would have died of extreme disability. We have nothing to heal except water, prayers for healing, and morning and evening fortifications. Our small wars in this great war are too big for a mother who lost her husband to bear!

[noosferik]

Raymond of Aguilers, chronicling the passage of the crusaders through Bosnia and Dalmatia in 1096, paints such a beautiful image

When they entered the Slavic country, they suffered great misery on the way, most of all because of the winter at that time. Namely, the Slavic country is a desolate one, impassable and hilly, where in three weeks we have not even seen beasts nor birds. The inhabitants of that region are so wild and cruel that they neither wanted to trade with us nor be our guides, but rushing from their villages and fortifications, they slaughtered like cattle weak old women and infirm poor men, who, because of their weakness, followed our army far, as if they had caused them a lot of damage... That's why, I think, God wanted his army to pass through the Slavic land, so that wild people, who did not know about God, would learn of the virtues and patience of his soldiers, and at once come to their senses from their cruelty or be brought before God's judgment without justification. Finally, after many painful dangers, we reached the Slavic king in Shkodra. With him, the count repeatedly affirmed brotherhood and gave him many gifts, so that the army could peacefully buy and seek what it needs. But this was merely an empty hope. We regretted looking for peace, because on that occasion the Slavs, raging as usuals, killed ours and stole from the unarmed whatever they could. We were looking for an opportunity to quickly remove ourselves, but not to take revenge. That’s all on the Slavic country.

[simmearly]

Sims 4 Challenge: Virtual Village

The Premise:

You've been tasked with building and managing a thriving virtual village in The Sims 4. Your villagers will need to work together to survive and prosper, relying on their unique skills and abilities.

The Roles:

* Spiritual Leader: A wise and powerful individual who can commune with the spirits and provide guidance to the village. This Sim can be a Spellcaster, but it's not mandatory. They are the primary caretakers of children and are responsible for passing down the village's knowledge and traditions. Upon their death, a designated heir must take their place, or the village will perish.

* Skills: Wellness, Herbalism, Alchemy, Parenting, Writing, Swimming, Snorkeling, Painting, Knitting, Cross-stitch, etc.

* Scientists: Intellectually gifted Sims who can unlock new technologies and advancements. Train these Sims in the Logic skill. You can have up to two Scientists per generation. Reaching Level 10 in Logic unlocks new advancements for your village.

* Builders: Skilled craftsmen who can construct homes, tools, and infrastructure. Train these Sims in the Handiness skill. Level 10 Handiness is required to construct larger structures like piers, foundations, and monuments.

* Farmers: Hardworking individuals who can cultivate crops and provide food for the village. Train these Sims in the Gardening skill and have them fish to maintain a steady supply of resources.

The Challenge:

* Establish Your Village: Create a new household with two unmarried Sims (ideally) and an optional child.

* Live off the land: in the early generations, attempt to feed your villagers what they forage, collect, fish, grow and harvest! In the later game, feel free to purchase these things as you have guided your villagers into thriving!

* Assign Roles: Designate specific Sims to each role, ensuring a balance of skills. For instance, one Sim could be a Spiritual Leader/Gatherer/Scientist, while the other could be a Builder/Gatherer/Farmer.

* Technology and Advancement:

* Logic Tech Tree:

* Trainee (1-4): Basic knowledge, off-grid living.

* Adept (4-9): Intermediate skills, irrigation, farming, basic crafting.

* Master (10): Advanced technology, monuments, complex structures, higher education.

* Tech Points: Earn these through training scientists. Complete collections to earn an extra 5000 tech points once per Generation, Spend them to unlock new technologies and structures.

* Trainee: 1000 points

* Adept: 5000 points

* Master: 20000 points

* Tribal Tech Tree:

* Tier 1: Survival

* Fire Mastery: Unlocked at the start.

* Shelter (5000 points): Build basic shelters like huts and lean-tos.

* Crafting (10000 points): Unlock candle making, nectar making, and other thematic crafting stations.

* Tier 2: Community

* Agriculture (5000 points, Master Farmer): Unlock advanced gardening techniques.

* Animal Husbandry (5000 points, Master Farmer, Adept Scientist): Domesticate animals.

* Social Structure (10000 points, Generation 3): Unlock clubs, weddings, and social events.

* Tier 3: Civilization

* Pottery (1000 points): Unlock pottery for storage and cooking.

* Weaving (5000 points): Unlock knitting, cross-stitching, and clothing customization.

* Metallurgy (10000 points, Generation 3, Master Scientist, Master Builder, Shelter and Metallurgy unlocked): Unlock metalworking.

* Tier 4: Advanced Civilization

* Writing (Generation 2, Adept Scientist, 1000 points): Unlock journaling and storytelling.

* Astronomy (5000 points): Unlock telescope.

* Architecture (10000 points, Generation 3, Master Builder, Master Scientist, Shelter and Metallurgy unlocked): Construct complex structures like temples and fortifications.

The Goal?

Build your village across multiple lots, and play through 10 Generations, unlock the technology you want, and create a small civilization! This is a creative challenge, so feel free to adjust the rules and tech tree to suit your play-style!

Additional Challenges:

* Natural Disasters: Simulate natural disasters like fires, floods, or droughts.

* Disease Outbreak: Introduce a disease to your village.

* Conflict with Neighboring Villages: Roleplay conflicts and negotiations.

Have fun and let your creativity soar!

Remember, the key to success is balance, cooperation, and innovation. Good luck!

(Point System - WIP!)

Some tips!

Build a winery, and a warehouse to store your goods!

Once you have unlocked advanced construction, create a mystical temple to house your Spiritual Leader!

Create more villagers as you progress, and have as many children as you want! Everyone does not have to stay on the Initial lot!

Pull from Sumerian, Egyptian, Aztec and Early Native American design elements to create to your hearts content, there is no money in this challenge, only Technology!

Sul Sul!