#writing zombies

[the-cypress-grove]

I saw your "So, you want to write vampires..." post, and I was wondering if you can do something like that for zombies? Completely okay if you cant though !!

So, You Want To Write Zombies....

I had intended to turn the "So you want to write BLANK..." into a series so feel free to make requests of different creatures or things to so I can prioritise what you will find useful. I haven't written about zombies in a while so this will be a little rusty. Tell me if I need to change or add anything. With that said, ONWARDS!

Origins

This is more important than with my vampire episode. Most zombie stories are usually set in or around the initial outbreak so it is vital that YOU know how it started even if your characters don't.

Potential Origins you might want to consider:

Experiment Gone Wrong: It was believed to be a cure until patient zero died and rose again.

Experiment Gone Right: It was a biological weapon deliberately created and released.

A Result Of Climate Change: Some sort of virus, bacteria, or fungus was trapped in the ice and, as the icecaps melted, it was released.

Magic: An option for if you're going for a more fantastical setting.

Virus / Fungal Infection: A classic, but a good one.

Aliens: It's a result of alien interference.

2. Build Your Zombies

There are many things to consider when your deciding what traits your zombies will have and a lot of that will stem from your origins. Do they just shuffle or can they run? Can they evolve or change? Can they speak? How is the infection spread e.g. is it by touch, by biting, is it airborne? Are they affected by the cold (with no body heat it might freeze them solid or at the very least slow them down)? Are they affected by the heat (this will speed up the rotting process maybe causing them to fall apart)? Do they congregate in groups? Is there a cure? Can it even be cured? How quickly will an infected person turn? Can they swim / move through water? Can animals be infected or can they carry diseases? What are the zombies senses like e.g. can they sniff people out? How do they hunt e.g. are attracted by noise, or smell?

All these will factor will determine how likely it is for your human character to survive.

Most importantly, what are you going to call them? In most media, zombies are never called zombies.

3. Themes

The zombie genre explores some of the most interesting themes (at least to me), as often the true monsters of zombie stories tends to be what humanity becomes when law and order is overturned. How far will people go to survive? Who are the true monsters; the zombies, or the people left behind?

4. Characters

Whether you have one human character or, more likely, you end up having a group, it's interesting to explore the pack bonding that occurs when these people trauma bond with each other. They go from strangers to a family unit willing to kill to protect each other.

Some things to consider:

Who is more likely to survive the initial outbreak? First responders will probably die first as they will be on the front lines during the initial outbreak. Most people in cities will die. Rural communities / those who live in isolation will be more likely to survive the initial stages.

Humanity WILL change: in order to survive people will become increasingly ruthless and selfish. This is an arc you may wish to explore through a character.

Who will be valued: doctors, vets, anyone with combat experience, will be highly valued by survivor groups. What skills will your groups need/look for? If your story takes place years/decades after the first outbreak are these skills taught and handed down or were they hoarded. What professions are more likely to survive your zombies?

Trauma: ALL your characters when exposed to your setting WILL be affected. They will all handle this in their own way. It is up to you to decide how they do it and how it manifests. Are they paranoid? Are they mistrusting? Do they try to drink to forget? Do they push others away because they lost people? Or are they clingy?

5. Setting

Your setting will have a great impact on your characters. Cities are likely to become overrun, rural communities are likely to last longer. In the cold, zombies might be slow or stop all together until they thaw. In the heat, they might rot quicker and fall apart.

If your story takes places years after the first outbreak it is likely most stores will have been stripped of their supplies by various groups.

Places where communities might form:

A bunker: is this the beginning where people are afraid? Is this later on when they need to leave when they are running out of supplies? Have generations lived down there?

A boat or a series of boats: it's mobile and zombies are not likely to be able to swim. How do they get their food? How do they get clean drinking water?

A prison: It's defendable, but how did they clear it out?

An old castle or fort: they're built for defence but how do they get supplies?

Hills / Mountain: the terrain makes it difficult for a hoard of zombies to navigate.

6. First Response / First Days

This will be where most stories begin. The response will depend on your selected origins. Who are the first to die? Who is more likely to survive? How desperate is your character to survive? How smart is your character? What is the government's response (do they want to help, will they send in the armies, or will they burn cities in an attempt to contain the zombies)?

Where does the outbreak begin?

How quickly does it spread?

7. Decay of Modern Society

All rule and law WILL breakdown, but how long does it take? This will happen quicker in some groups / people than it will in others. What rules will groups enact amongst themselves?

Have buildings become rundown and overgrown? Is tinned food still good? How have people adapted to their situation? Do cars still work?

8. Supplies

What are people eating? How are they getting it? What about clean water? Medicine?

All this will impact how long your characters will supplies and can add conflicts and dangers for your group. A zombie in a well will taint the water. A store that's been cleaned out will leave your character hungry, desperate, and irritable. If your character is diabetic, how are they getting insulin or NOT getting insulin. What about asthma? Can they find inhalers?

9. Dangers

Obviously, you have the zombies but there are other dangers out there.

Consider:

Other people within their group, other groups, or lone survivors.

The weather

Unstable buildings

Injuries and illnesses

Their own mental health

Eating the wrong plant

Animal e.g. roaming packs of starving dogs

REMEMBER; WHILE ALL WILL CHANGE, HUMANS WILL ALWAYS BE HUMANS. SHOW THE BAD, BUT ALSO THE GOOD.

[tinyreviews]

Writing Tips: Zombies

Origins:

Experiment gone wrong: Scientific mishaps or reckless experiments.

Alien influence: Extraterrestrial influence, maybe via spores or wireless waves.

Fungal infection: A parasitic fungus infects and control hosts.

Viral outbreak: A deadly virus spreads quickly, via air or bite.

Dark magic: Mystical and supernatural forces that reanimate the dead.

Settings:

Start of the apocalypse: The story begins as the outbreak unfolds, showing how society crumbles.

Ongoing apocalypse: Set in a world already overrun by zombies, exploring survival in a post-apocalyptic landscape.

Road trip: Characters embark on a dangerous journey in search of a safe haven.

One Location: Survivors are confined in places like malls, suburbs, prisons, farmhouses, city blocks, or remote cabins.

Common Tropes:

Found family: Survivors form close bonds amidst chaos, creating a new kind of family.

Struggle for survival: Characters fight to stay alive in a lawless world overrun by undead.

Ethical dilemmas: Moral choices and tough decisions test the characters' humanity and values.

Heroic sacrifice: Moments where characters make selfless sacrifices to protect their group or loved ones, or redeem themselves.

Humans are the real monsters: Living humans(rival groups, lawless gangs, raiders, cannibals, cults) pose a greater threat than the undead.

This is part of my Writing Tips series. Everyday I publish a writing tip to this blog.

[zhukzucraft]

nuclear family as described by Iskall

[whereserpentswalk]

Imagine if a zombie apocalypse happened and nobody cared. It didn't really effect wealthier areas because guards would shoot them down. There's some paranoia that zombies would overrun humans but society never really breaks down.

You'd hear about infested areas out in the rust belt, where entire towns were overtaken by the undead. And mabye you'd see a zombie or two when you're in a really bad neighborhood and you have to cross the street. Most undead are harmless outside of large groups, but it's always good to stay safe.

And if you go to an area that's completely overun things really will look like the apocalypse. And there's something exciting about that. Society is interested in those ghost towns, not as a tragedy, but as a spectacle. You've seen reality TV where people will head into the worst of the outbreak with nothing more then a knife and a camera, all while the locals look on wishing someone could take them back.

Most people don't think about zombies. They're just another thing in the world that sucks right now. Occasionally there's a reminder of them, but eventually you forget why anyone is even afraid at all. It seems so normal.

One of your coworkers was attacked the other day by a zombie. Nobody really knew her well. The main thing people were talking about at the office when it comes to her is how lucky she is the be in the hospital having her wounds treated and disinfected, instead of stuck at work. Someone as young as her is expected to be able to fight one off, mabye she did it on purpose. Nobody was still making jokes when they realized she died, people aren't supposed to die that way if they're rich enough to work in an office.

The apocalypse isn't enough to end society. Society is meant to be more resilient then reality, that's the point.

[drewsephrry]

everybody moved on, help im still at the restaurant

[callisteios]

hello. I've made another uquiz! it tells you what kind of supernatural creature you are give it a go :)

[anonymousangstmonster]

Prompt #46

When Danny went into the portal, nothing came out, no ghost, no traumatized but still partially alive kid walked out. His fried corpse left slowly rotting in the unseen inside of the portal, somewhat preserved by the high levels of ectoplasm circulating through.

Months later, Maddie deactivated the portal to inspect the inside for any flaws that might cause the machine to malfunction.

She let out a blood-curdling scream when she found the ashen dead body of her previously missing son. His eye sockets were hollowed out pits of blackness, his skin was grey and crusty, his veins were black, she could see the shape of his skeleton under his skin. It was horrifying, but it was undeniably him.

She jumped back and out of the portal frame, collapsing into sobs as she realized where her son had been all this time and what had happened to him.

Danny awoke face up in the darkness of the portal, the only sounds he could hear were the wiring of various machines and a woman crying. He weakly lifted his hand to feel his face, it was dry and missing some bits. He tried to stand but immediately collapsed onto his hand and knees, so he started crawling towards the exit.

When he saw his mother heaving sobs a couple yards away from him, he tried to get her attention, his attempt at saying ‘mom’ come out more as a groan or moan, curtesy of his decayed vocal cords and stiff half-rotted lips.

You always see fics where his parents find his body in the back of the portal and connect the dots to realize Phantom’s Danny, but have you ever seen a fic where there is no ghost, only the body, but that body is still Danny?

[oct0bra1ns]

Do any of your yanderes get jealous? easily *cough* maybe yan!zombie🙊

Tw: manipulation, mentions of bringing harm to others , yanderes, notes:hmm good question, also new yanderes wooo reblogs and comments are appreciated!

To put simply, their yanderes', all of them get jealous, the better question is, how do they deal with it?

Yandere Zombie! is by far the easiest to get jealous, you could look at someone else for a second and they'd be in tears. They cling to you even more, hoping to scare of anyone who comes closer to you and if they still don't stay awake then, yandere zombie will be having a yummy dinner. If a person going missing doesn't tell you to stop talking to others, they'll ramp up their emotions, shedding tears, having a fit because they can't express themself before huddling up by your side, waiting for you to comfort them.

Yandere Jock is a bit less jealous, he's well aware there's little to no competition simply because he's the best of the best. Adding to it, he always makes sure that you walk around with his jacket or something he own to keep people away but oh does he hate when you talk to anyone else or when someone comes to you to ask for something, he wastes no time in throwing his hand over your shoulder, or leaning his head on top of yours/ wrapping his arms around your waist if you're too tall, glaring at them from behind, even giving them a little 'talk' if they don't back off.

Yandere monster is least jealous, sure he's given you restrictions on where to go and always having him accompany you but he does not give a shit about anyone who tries to approach you. He trusts that you won't go against his boundaries and he's aware that his citizens are well informed on what'll happen to them if they try to get too close to you. Overall, the most chill yandere.

Yandere Doctor, ohh boy, he won't show it outside and in his defense, he doesn't get jealous easily but the moment people start flirting with you, his jealousy flares up. If he's with you then he glares at the person, giving them sharp response before taking you away. If he's not there to witness it but hears it from you or if you work at the same hospital as him and because he can't say anything to the patient, he'll give you a strained smile before dealing with it after work :)

Yandere Househusband, i'd say lies in the middle, he knows no one can take you away from him because both of you are quite legally bounded and so he doesn't mind if anyone tries to do something but, when people have the audacity to twirl their hair or try to get a drink with you, he quickly comes over, linking your arms together, leaning on your shoulder, subtly (not really) showing off his ring. He makes it a point to dress to the heavens when the two of you go out somewhere just so he can show off how well you take care of him and well, if they get too annoying, he can always be a kind neighbour and give them some delicious cookies :)

[heres-someart]

I blacked out and redrew Hermitcraft text chat

The original text if you want it:

[bizlybebo]

it’ll be 2030 and i’ll still be opening ao3 posting dsmp fic btw. the world may forget but i won’t let it. i’ve silenced my fears of this fandom dying by simply deciding to Become the fandom if it ever gets too small. i will be dragged out of this shitty minecraft role play kicking and screaming because you Cannot stop me.

[evilminji]

Would Amity Parkers be Immune, specifically, to the Zombie Virus?

Cause think about it, they are all Ecto-contaminated. Maybe not all LIMNAL but at the very least? The closer they lived and worked to that Ecto Hot Spot? The thicker it runs in their blood.

And Ectoplasm?

Don't Play That.

Full stop.

What am I talking about? Basically, Yes. All the things. If it's a Thing, Ectoplasm would Prefer It NOT. Ectoplasm is corrosive AF. Aggressive AF. Will eat and eat and eat. And who would win?

Primordial Semi-Feral Plasma... or a virus.

Their immune systems are non-existent. Gutted and replaced by the goo in their veins. Virus goes in, thunder dome proceeds. Victory, as always, to The Goo. Which MEANS?

Zombies are just low-grade HIGHLY SHITY ghosts to them. Probably the result of someone fucking around with crude, man-made Ectoplasm in a disease research facility. These guys are knockoffs of the most OBNOXIOUS variety. But unfortunately... there are a lot of them.

Bummer :/

So like? Everyone's all "oh no! You've been bitten! Oh woe is you!" And they're just like " D:> MY SHIRT! That was my LAST CLEAN SHIRT! Those BASTARDS!" Because?

Lol. What's a bite gonna do? Give um, at WORST, a mild fever for like an hour?

You guys, however! Should get behind the barricades! Let us handle this! Shoo, shoo! It's not SAFE for you! Don't worry, we brought miss Lunch Lady. Dinner's in 5. And the Yetis are already dead, so they're fine!

Anyway~☆ *violent swing* *takes a zombies head off*

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @ailithnight @babbling-babull @nerdpoe

[wlwarhammer]

Rick grimes is a romcom girlie forced into a zombie show

[peachesofteal]

Ghoap x reader zombie apocalypse AU? 👀 just gonna leave that here...

Ooh anon you got me with this. Thought about it all night. A full fic of this dynamic in an apocalypse setting would be so good. Sadly, I don't have it in me to write an entire fic for this but I scratched it out as a dead disco au down below on my phone (I took bits and pieces of zombie media and smashed them together as I like):

18+ MDNI / angst, death

It was an accident.

All you had wanted to do was try to find some mushrooms. You knew this part of the woods usually had a fair amount to forage, and you were pretty good at distinguishing the good ones from the not so good ones. You hadn't meant to get distracted.

You knelt down to the forest floor, picking at a piece of bark on a downed log when you heard the rustling, the suspect sound of something moving through the brush near you.

You expected one of the slow ones. The ones that usually found themselves this far from the city, wandering aimlessly, looking for the next meal. Decaying and rotting flesh hanging from their limbs, a sign they had been long infected, the decomposition marking them as something easily escapable.

You did not expect a runner.

You screamed- a huge no no, as Simon had been drilling into your head- when you saw it, far too late, tripping over yourself to try to get away, your hunting knife pressed into the palm of your hand.

You stood little chance against a runner. They were fresh, muscles still intact, lactic acid burning through their bodies, movements fast and sharp, able to take down an entire human in one fell swoop. They even looked like you, still holding their pallor, their posture, their fine motor skills.

Only their minds were gone. Addled by the infection, brains turned to hot mush inside their skulls.

They had one objective.

Eat.

You managed to clear the log, sprinting as fast as you possibly could, trying to take long, deep breaths through your nose just as Johnny taught you.

"More oxygen that way, love. It'll help your endurance, keep you runnin' longer."

They were always doing that now, equipping you for survival. Trying to train you like a solider, teaching you the finer points they thought you should know.

"We're gonna make it, together." Simon had said, the morning they showed up in the middle being away for work, clad in full tactical gear, guns in hand. "As a family."

"Ye have to listen to everything we say, alright darling? Everything's goin' to be okay." Johnny promised at the same time as you tried to pack some essentials into your backpack with trembling fingers.

They were obsessed with trying to instill as much of their knowledge into as possible, trying to prepare you, help you, listing off rules they thought were key, ensuring you knew to follow them.

One being: don't get distracted.

You curse yourself, feet flying underneath your body and heart thrumming in your chest with panic. You're too slow, and you can hear it behind you, sprinting just as fast as you are, preparing to launch and take down it's next meal.

You don't see the snare of brambles until you're in them, nearly slamming to a stop, thorns scratching against your skin as you fight against the thicket. It's too dense, slowing your ability to get away... and the runner is still hot on your heels, working its way through the mess, snapping its jaw like a shark.

Simon comes out of nowhere. One second you're hacking away at the branches and the next, there's a massive, solid warmth at your back, standing between you and the snarling monster. He's facing away from you, brandishing a knife, engaged in a full fight with the runner, taking it to the ground in an attempt to get the blade into its temple. You watch mouth wide, frozen, holding your breath until the job is done, and Simon is hauling himself upwards, pulling you into his arms before stepping back to look you over.

You burst into tears. You've always told them, you're not for this kind of world. You're too gentle, too sensitive. You're a painter, for fucks sake. Not a killer. You're too soft to survive.

They say it doesn't matter. That you can be as soft as you want, because you have them, and they'll be the killers. They'll be the hard ones.

"Did it get you? Let me see, c'mon-" He checks your arms, your neck, the tear on your shirt but finds nothing. "Alright, you're alright." He's telling you, and himself, relief exhaling from his body with each syllable. "You're alright, darling. I've got ya. Come here." He holds you tight, rubbing your back, kissing your cheek, your forehead until you're calm, breathing deeply and wiping your face.

You believe the worst has passed, until you blink up at him, and see the blood on his neck.

The bite.

"We need to make a plan."

"We're nae makin' a bloody plan." Johnny hisses, and Simon closes his eyes like he's tired. "We keep goin'. We'll make it to the rendezvous with Price and they'll have a solution. We dinnae even know how fast it spreads."

Simon lets loose a sigh, heavy with exhaustion. With the toll that this life has become. With the weight, of everything. He tucks you into his body, wrapping his other arm around Johnny, and holds the two of you close. Tightly. Tighter than he ever has before.

"Alright."

The next morning, everything is different.

You woke up last, fire still barely smoldering, little energy bar on the ground next to you. The guys sleeping bags were already rolled up, stacked neatly with Simon's pack, and the long gun that Johnny carries.

But they were nowhere to be found.

Confused, you slid free, stretching with a silent groan, scanning your surroundings until you spot them on the edge of the woods, locked together on their feet, Johnny's face mashed against Simon's neck, strong arms holding him close.

"What's going on?" The question comes out confused when you get close, and Johnny pulls away with wet eyes, hands shaking. What's happening? Why are they both crying? Fear screams through your body, red alert systems firing up as your brain struggles to put all the pieces together.

"Simon-" Johnny begins, but stops abruptly, eyes slamming shut, lips pressed together in agony.

"'m not feelin' too well." Simon explains gently. "You and Johnny are gon’ start on ahead, and 'm gonna stay here for a while." Something, something logical, something smart, is shouting at you from the back of your mind but you shove it away, opting for delusion instead.

"Okay, you're going to catch up though, right? You said. We'll find-" You frowned, looking from him to Johnny as a sick feeling grew in your stomach. "Johnny?"

“Look at me.” Simon combs through your hair with trembling fingers, unsteady for the first time in your entire existence. “I love you, darling. I love you so, so much.”

“S-stop, we're supposed to stay together, you- you said-“

“You have to go with Johnny now, okay? He’s gonna take care of you.” He jerks you forward, closed mouth pressing against your forehead. "I love you."

“No, Si.” You sob, fingers curled in his vest. “You have to come with us. You have to, we’ll fi-find a cure, they’ll be help, somewhere.”

“Johnny.” He chokes, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, Johnny’s heavy, tearful breathing echoing just above your ear. Someone works your fingers free, pulling your hand away but not letting go, holding onto you like a lifeline.

You look up between him, to his face, to Simon’s and realize. They’ve already said goodbye.

Simon strokes the back of his fingers down Johnny’s cheek, tears dripping down his own.

“I love you both, more than anything. More than life.” He squeezes your hand, rubbing a thumb over the back of your knuckles, and then steps away, pulling the handgun from the holster on his thigh. "Take care of each other."

"NO!" you scream, but Johnny is dragging you backwards like a rag doll, away from where Simon stands in clearing, gaze never breaking from the two of you, face wet with tears. "Johnny!"

"Darling-" he chokes out amidst a sob. "Shhh, please. Please." He begs you to be quiet, to hush, but you can't, you can't stop screaming, or fighting him, trying to get back to Simon, to reunite your family, to stay together. You scream and scream until Johnny’s hand claps over your mouth, his own words clogged by his cries, pleading and begging until he's cutting off your oxygen with a desperate apology and lifting you over his shoulder like dead weight.

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is the sound of a gunshot.

[cobwebs-in-autumn]

Zombie Apocalypse Au where Ghost kidnaps a Zombie and takes care of her 🧡🧡🧡

Ghost who lost his whole team some odd years ago and has been entirely on his own since. Slowly becoming more and more desperate for human contact, losing his mind to the voices in his head, almost convinced that he’s the last man on earth. He can’t remember the last time he saw another person. In a world like that, all alone, what’s the point of living?

Well, you, of course! He found you one day on his way to the river, caught up in some fishing nets, hissing and biting at the rope you couldn’t get free of. You were soaking wet, your clothes torn and bloody. You hadn’t started to rot yet, he could almost confuse you for a living person if it wasn’t for your sickly pallor and the hazy film over your eyes that signified otherwise.

He looked at you and couldn’t help but feel….sad. To him you looked scared, like a little defenseless kitten caught in a storm drain, big wet eyes that begged to be saved. He wanted to help you. Protect you. Keep you warm and safe beside him.

Getting you back to his bunker is a hassle, cleaning you up even more so. He’s got a gag in your mouth and you’re chained to the wall by two shackles on your wrists that don’t give you much room to move. He dries you up and takes off your wet clothes, dresses you in one of his largest shirts so you don’t get cold (if you even can get cold). Strokes at your cheeks as you snarl and growl, jerking in his arms when he tries to hug you. He’s practically pudding against you, not even minding your fighting as he loses himself in the first bit of physical affection he’s had in who knows how long.

Eventually you seem to settle into some kind of acceptance with him. You still hiss and growl at him but you don’t lunge at him anymore after he starts feeding you game meat. He still has to gag you when he clips your nails, cleans you, or if he wants to hold you, but otherwise you’re pretty docile for him. Give minimal fuss when he’s gagging you or when he’s putting you in a harness for one of your rare days out, and even seem to like it when he pays special attention to your pretty cunt. Pressing slow and sloppy kisses to your clit that leave your sickly form shaking, your moans raspy and low, your hands yanking at the shackles holding you.

In fact, he realizes that taking care of you is so much easier after you’ve been given a little attention. You’re quieter and calmer, almost seeming dazed after he’s made you cum on his fingers or tongue. Getting the chance to fuck you is harder, you’re still so squirmy everytime he tries and he thinks that’s your way of telling him that you think he’s too big. None of his coos help soothe you and you screech when he manages to get the tip in. It hurts his feelings, Love :( he just wants to feel good in return and he can’t trust your mouth or hands not to hurt him. 

[dmitriene]

ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.

❝ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 ❞ 𝘻𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

❝ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 ❞ 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘶𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘺.

❝ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ❞ 𝘓𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘥𝘶𝘣 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢, 𝘥𝘳𝘺𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦.

❝𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦❞ 𝘪 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘮 𝘪 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘢𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸.

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

The world has turned into a nightmare.

A viral outbreak has engulfed an underground military base, spreading like wildfire.

Panic, chaos and isolation had become the new normal and as you sat alone in your dark house, your heart ached with worry for Simon, your lover.

You recalled that fateful day when he left for his mission, his strong arms around you, his lips softly brushing against yours as he whispered — «I'll be back soon, love»

Little did you know that it would be the last time you'd feel the warmth of his embrace.

Weeks had passed since that fateful goodbye and you couldn't help but replay that moment in your mind, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his embrace, Simon calling you when the virus first broke out, his soothing voice assuring you that everything would be fine.

You sobbed into the phone, overcome with fear, but his words and the words of his comrades convinced you that they would return home unharmed.

But as the days turned into weeks, the news grew grimmer, the base was locked down and your calls to Simon went unanswered.

You clung to hope, ignoring the growing sense of dread that settled in your chest, until one day, instead of Simon returning, a letter arrived at your doorstep, it was from the army, and you knew what it meant before even reading it.

Your trembling fingers traced the words, polite and formal at first, gradually morphing into condolences and the dreadful confirmation that he had died trying to protect his team inside the abandoned underground base.

You clutched his dog tags to your chest, the metal cutting into your skin as you fell to your knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

The pain was unbearable, the loss was too great, your life became a desolate, empty space, an emptiness where there once was love and warmth.

From that day on, your life felt empty.

Friends and comrades reached out, offering condolences and encouragement, but you couldn't bring yourself to move on, you locked yourself inside your house, spending endless hours in bed, the pain of loss weighing you down.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Simon was not truly gone.

The virus had found a home within his body, refusing to let him succumb to death entirely, he had become a creature teetering on the brink of life and death, a zombie with a tenuous connection to his former self, his consciousness was clouded, but he clung to one vivid memory — your warmth, your love.

It was instinct, an inexorable drive that drove him forward, he had to find you at any cost.

The virus left him with one goal, one destination imprinted in his mind — the path to you, to your home.

Outside, the world fell into chaos.

The streets were overrun with the infected, the remnants of humanity struggled to survive, but Simon came through it all, a ghost among the living dead.

He retained some of his old skills, an uncanny ability to navigate treacherous, unknown terrain.

The journey was risky, full of danger at every turn — he encountered groups of survivors, some hostile, some desperate, but he avoided them all, driven by the sole desire to get to you.

His body had scratches from countless encounters, but he continued to move forward, his mind focused on the beacon of your love.

Meanwhile, you remained locked in your house, oblivious to the outside world.

The days blurred into each other and you couldn’t shake the memories of Simon, the love you shared and the emptiness that replaced it.

On a moonless night, while you lay peacefully in your bed, he returned.

The room was dimly lit, the soft light of the moon coming through the curtains gave the entire surroundings a soft silvery hue, you had just calmed down from your recent tantrum, the remnants of your pain still hanging in the air as if a storm had just passed.

Unbeknownst to you, your front door had been forced open, but you remained blissfully unaware, lost in your daydreams.

His grip on the doorknob went unnoticed and his frustration made him growl quietly as he struggled with it, leaning down and feeling the space under the rug, his movements oddly instinctive.

The key hidden there was easily found, Simon did not remember how he knew where it was, he could not explain, as if some primitive knowledge led him here.

With the key in his hand, he quietly entered your house, so quietly that it might have seemed like a ghost slipping through the door.

He moved with predatory grace, his senses heightened by an invisible force, the living room was scanned with an attentive, methodical gaze, and the door closed behind him with a quiet click.

Simon's senses heightened as he inhaled the familiar fragrance of your presence, it was intoxicating, making his growls turn into low, guttural moans.

It was a sound born of instinct, a desire that drove him forward, towards you.

He followed an invisible path as if guided by an invisible force, his movements were smooth, he paid no heed to the dirt he left on the floor, his sole focus on reaching you, the door to what was once your shared bedroom was open, the gateway to his final destination.

You lie under the covers, in the cocoon of your safe bed, unaware of something else that has silently invaded your space.

With deliberate care, he approached your bedside, the mattress groaned beneath his weight as he knelt, his decayed hand sliding up your waist.

You whimpered in your sleep, murmuring his name, the scent of your arousal filled the room, driving his animalistic desires further.

His fingers tugged gently at your lips, a gentle gesture that belied the growing tension in the room, and you stirred, turning away from him, and the blanket slipped, exposing your body in pajama shorts and a silk tank top that had ridden up slightly, revealing your waist.

Simon couldn't resist the temptation, his growl deepening as he leaned over you, one knee on the bed, his cold, clammy hand roved your waist, eliciting another whimper from you.

His hand moved deliberately, fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin as his hips instinctively jerked forward, eliciting a low whine from you as you sleepily whispered his name — «Ngh, Simon…»

Your scent intensified, a heady, intoxicating aroma engulfing him, and a familiar note in your voice as you reached out your hand to touch his face, repeating his name once again — «Simon…»

But something was wrong.

You glanced at your palm, eyes widening in horror at the sight of dried blood, panic surged through you, and you were about to scream when Simon covered your mouth with his mangled hand, muffling your cries — «No, please!»

You sobbed into your hand, tears welling up in your eyes, you struggled to breathe, the metallic taste of iron and the sickening smell of rotten flesh assaulting your senses as you felt his clothed bulge rubbing against the thin fabric of your shorts right in the middle of your clothed cunt.

Panic overtook you as you said his name in desperation and realization, recognizing him as Simon, but this Simon was no longer yours.

His grip on your waist intensified, there was an animalistic demand in his touches, his cold fingers contrasting sharply with your warm skin as he reveled in the feeling of the heat, his growl became more and more insistent and heavy, more faster.

You whimpered, your pleas muffled by his hand as he continued his relentless exploration of your body and the steady movement of his hips — «Simon, please, stop!»

Your mind was in a whirlwind of emotions, fear and desire fighting inside you, you whined softly, your eyes widened in horror and confusion and he stopped for a moment, his hand now caressing your cheek, his growl softening as if he was trying to comfort you, to convey that he was still here.

And then, with a sudden, savage motion, he sank his teeth into your neck.

As his sharp teeth pierced your skin, you couldn't suppress the guttural scream that escaped your throat — it was a primal scream of agony, an instinctive reaction to the excruciating pain coursing through your body.

Blood gushed around the wound, an ominous crimson stream running down your neck in a slow, never ending cascade as the metallic taste filled your mouth, mixing with the acrid smell of the room.

You could feel the warmth of your life's essence flowing down your skin, a sensation both nauseating and frightening.

The strange throbbing pain continued at the side of the bite — it rushed through your body like a foreign feeling — as if every nerve ending was on fire, sending sharp electrical pulses of pain through your limbs.

Your muscles tensed and twitched involuntarily, a cruel reminder that you were powerless against this terrifying intrusion.

Your heart was pounding wildly, its relentless pounding adding to the agony as it pumped your life blood faster and faster.

The room seemed to spin, your vision blurred as darkness approached the edges of your vision, you felt dizzy, disorientated, as if your entire being was being drained.

And then your vision began to blur, and you felt that you were losing consciousness, and the world around you was disappearing.

In your final moments of awareness, you heard his hoarse voice, distorted and distant, but filled with possessiveness, uttering a chilling statement that sent a shiver down your spine

— «You're mine»

And then everything went dark.

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[ Next ] [ All In One ] part 1, MDNI

The vibrant colours of the setting sun blend effortlessly with the cool, dusky sky, bringing a sense of tranquillity. With every step you take down the deserted street, your eyes dart around. Your gaze keeps scanning your surroundings. The faint smell of old rain on the ground fills your nostrils. It's a sharp contrast to the day's disappearing warmth. You tread carefully, being cautious not to let the hard soles of your boots echo against the cold concrete. Despite the ache in your legs and the dull throb in your sore feet, you maintain a brisk pace. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your hurried footsteps.

In your right hand, which is glued to your side, you hold a hefty knife. The handle feels cold and digs into your skin. Your sweaty palm makes maintaining a steady grip a constant struggle. This forces you to adjust your hold occasionally to prevent the sharp blade from slipping through your fingers. As your gaze scans a row of abandoned houses, your eyes glide along the overgrown front lawns. The sight triggers an unsettling realisation — you have never been in this neighbourhood before.

A cold shudder trails down your spine. You swallow hard, trying to loosen the knot of fear tightening in your stomach. The thrill of discovering unknown places is usually a welcome feeling. It means you may find something useful. Whether it's a warm jacket, a gun with a few bullets in its chamber, or an abandoned stash of food. But when the sun sets and darkness takes over, unfamiliar territory is the last place you wish to be. Right now, you have no choice. You are miles away from your home. No matter how hard you are determined to push yourself, you won't be able to reach it tonight. You need to find another place to spend the night in. Roaming the dark streets at night is not an option — it's a risk you are reluctant to take.

The houses in this neighbourhood are all abandoned. But the dead could still be lurking within these dilapidated homes. As you continue walking down the street, you find yourself peering through the dusty broken windows. Eventually, your gaze falls on a particular house. Its windows are boarded up, though the front door stands ajar. You hesitate for a moment, your senses on high alert, listening for any signs of movement. Though you'd prefer to wait a few more minutes, the night is growing darker, and you can't keep standing on the porch. A biter could sneak up on you, and you don't wish to be its dinner tonight.

Deciding this place will have to do, you hold the knife in front of you and push the door. As it creaks, the sound reverberates through the air, causing you to grimace. You step inside the dark hallway, feeling the tension mounting. When no one jumps out at you from the shadows, you retrieve a flashlight from your backpack and turn it on. You explore the first floor, checking the living room and kitchen. A quick peek into the bathroom downstairs and an empty broom closet reassures you of your solitude. Apart from the sea of dust, broken furniture and an expired can of tomato soup, you find no signs of life. The shadows, once threatening, now offer solace in their silence.

Before climbing upstairs, you secure the front door and all the windows. You double and triple-check each one, making sure that no one else will get in or see you creeping around the house.

When you come to a halt at the top of the stairs, a sense of unease washes over you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. For a moment, you are convinced you hear something, akin to a whisper or a hushed footfall. Your heart races and your muscles tense, preparing for a biter that might be looming behind one of the closed doors. But it's a false alarm. A tiny rat scurries along the floor. You jump when the tiny creature brushes past your boots with its coarse fur.

As you step into the bedroom, the first thing you notice is the bed. It's been stripped of its mattress. The headboard is in a pitiful state, splintered and broken, a mere shadow of its former self. The rest of the room is sparse, furnished only with a chair and a dusty dresser, which you shove in front of the door. It serves as an extra layer of protection in case someone or something sneaks up on you in the dead of night.

Before settling down in the relative safety of a dim corner, you can't help but glance out of the window. Your eyes scan the backyard. You assure yourself that no biters are creeping around. Only then do you allow yourself a moment of relief. With a shaky hand, you pull the curtains closed, sealing yourself from the outside.

The world you are living in now has drastically changed, and you despise it. At first, you believed you might survive. The dead, or 'biters' as you've come to refer to them, were a constant source of terror. Their incessant low growling, the lifeless, pale gaze of their eyes, and their insatiable hunger terrified you. Yet, you weren't alone. You had a family: a mother, a father, and a brother. They made each day in this apocalypse easier to bear.

However, one time, your father was attacked. A biter cornered your mother, causing her to stumble, fall and freeze in terror. Without hesitation, your father shielded her from the dead man. Unarmed, without a gun or knife, he did his best to make the biter retreat. That day, he saved your mother but was bitten. Over the course of two nights, your father grew weaker and weaker. One fateful morning, you found him dead in the backyard. A knife embedded in his heart — the same one you now always carry with you — he killed himself since he knew what awaited him. He refused to become a dead walking man.

And yet, he turned into a biter. You were kneeling beside him when his eyes peeled open. Your father lunged towards you. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly as he tried to sink his teeth into your arm. Your mother was crying, begging you to leave your father alone. To keep her from intervening as you pulled the knife from your father's chest, your brother had to coddle her in his arms. You weren't conscious of your actions. But you knew you didn't want to die, nor did you want to see your brother or mother getting killed. So, with a shaky hand, you plunged the knife into your father's skull, causing his body to collapse on the ground.

That day, your father died twice. The last time he died, he taught you an important lesson — always aim for a biter's head.

You and your brother buried him together. Your mother, overwhelmed by grief and despair, stayed inside the house and locked herself in the bedroom. From then on, your world was forever altered. The constant sorrow that washed over you was like a tidal wave. A relentless pain that welled up in your heart and threatened to make you break down in tears at any given moment. But you swallowed all your emotions, including the terror that gripped you daily. You had to be strong, not just for yourself, but for your mother and your brother.

In a cruel twist of fate, you were separated from them during a terrifying encounter with a horde of biters. The days passed one by one. Slowly. No matter how long and hard you looked, you couldn't find them as if they had vanished into thin air. There was a possibility that they were dead and that the next time you will see them, they would be among the biters. Yet you refuse to even let such thoughts settle in your mind. You cling to the hope that when you find them, they will be alive and well.

In the early hours of the morning, noises emanating from downstairs wake you up. At first, you're disoriented, struggling to comprehend that you were indeed sleeping. But as the loud clamour persists and even increases in volume, any chance of falling back to sleep is eliminated.

Blinking, you try to adjust your eyes to the harsh brightness of the morning light. It filters through the dirty curtains. Your skin is freezing, and the cold is seeping into your bones. The fear that grips you. You don't dare to move and remain glued to the floor, sitting in the corner of the room. You listen to the commotion downstairs, your heart pounding in your chest. To combat the creeping chill, you move your fingers. This repetitive motion makes your blood flow through your veins again, providing a much-needed source of warmth to your otherwise icy body.

You know you must get out of this house before whoever is downstairs decides to explore the second floor and discovers you. Fear runs through your body like ice-cold water. You aren't a fighter; you have never been. Even outside, when you encounter a biter, it's a struggle for you. The prospect of having to fight the dead within the confined space of this home is terrifying. There is less room to manoeuvre. Escape could be more difficult, and a fight could end before it begins if a biter sneaks up on you. Your only other option is to risk jumping out of the window. But you've never been fond of heights. Not to mention the very real possibility you might injure yourself.

You pack your backpack. Casting a sweeping glance around the bedroom, you ensure nothing of value is left behind. Gathering your courage, you push aside the dresser that's been barricading the door. Your senses heighten as you leave the room and approach the staircase. You tiptoe down, gripping the railing. The sound of footsteps in the living room intensifies your alertness. You draw your knife, ready to stab any biter that comes into your peripheral view. Right now, there's no room for caution. Your survival instinct is in high gear because you're determined not to get bitten.

After rounding the corner, you press your body against the wall and peek inside the living room. Your eyes immediately land on a towering figure. His back is turned towards you, so he's unaware of your presence. You have never seen such a big-biter before, let alone fought one. However, he is blocking your only way out. If you want to exit the house, you need to reach the front door. You can't climb out through the windows because they are all bolted shut. And if you want to step a foot in the hallway, first you need to cross the living room. But it's impossible while the biter is still in there, and your only choice is to deal with him.

In your mind, you toy with the idea of tossing something across the floor. The noise might divert his attention long enough for you to sneak past. But this might not work. Your gut tells you that your only viable option, although terrifying, is to approach the biter from behind and plunge your knife into his skull before he can turn around and grab you.

At first, everything goes according to your plan. You are quiet and avoid drawing unwanted attention towards yourself. Yet, as you are about to strike, the biter spins around and lunges at you with an unexpected ferocity. Your knife slips out of your hand. It clatters onto the floor. You are knocked off balance, your feet betraying you on the deceptive carpet. The fall is harsh. Your back collides with the unforgiving ground. A loud groan of pain escapes your lips as you feel the shock of the impact.

You roll to the side, keeping your eyes, wide and filled with fear, fixated on the biter. You notice his face is concealed — he is wearing a skull mask. This means he can't bite you. The realisation strikes you like a bolt of lightning. It reignites the dwindling flame of hope inside of you and causes a surge of strength to flood your body.

The biter is relentless, showing an uncanny level of determination for a dead man. He charges at you, his hand extending as he tries to grab your hair. Despite still being on the floor, you push your body backwards, just barely evading his grasp. The carpet burns your exposed skin as you slide towards its edge. Your legs kick and slip on the dirty, coarse material.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you start swearing. Your eyes race across the floor, desperately searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Your heart pounds in your chest as you realise you don't know where your knife has landed.

As the string of curse words tumbles from your lips, the dead man, who had seemed unstoppable until now, suddenly comes to a complete halt. You, too, freeze. Your mind races as you try to figure out what made him take a step back from you. There is a brief moment of silence, but then you come back to your senses. This is your chance to flee. With a burst of adrenaline, you push past your fear and leap to your feet.

"Duck!" The man roars, his voice booming in the quiet. The sudden command almost throws you off balance and you stumble again. Nonetheless, without you realising it, your body reacts to the order, and you do as told.

He moves closer, his heavy footsteps making your heart pound even louder in your ears. You stop breathing, convinced that you've walked straight into his trap. But, to your surprise, he doesn't attack you. Instead, he lunges forward and stabs a biter that had crept up behind you.

Ever since you were left alone, you haven't seen a single other person. But now, you find yourself standing in front of another human being. It's a strange sensation. It's as if you've forgotten how to interact, how to react, and even how to contribute to a simple conversation. You're wary and apprehensive. You don't know who this man is, where he comes from, or what his intentions might be. Yet you can't bring yourself to leave. You want to at least say thank you before fleeing.

After all, he saved you. Even if he initially tried to cut you with your knife.