#feel free to send me literally all of them

[wingedshadowfan]

and the next time i hear someone in the arcane fandom say

silco's actions were necessary to free zaun

that silco was better than vander and ekko because he was ready to do whatever it took

i will actually start screaming.

using child labor in the shimmer factories? getting his own people addicted to shimmer so he could gain power and influence? paying enforcers to kill the firelights who were helping the addicts? turning his goons into shimmer monsters?

he caused irreperable damage to his community and even he said it himself, he did it for respect. we'll show them all, he'd said. he did for revenge.

the base violence necessary for change this, the base violence necessary for change that. silco, traumatized by vander, is truly a small, fragile man, afraid of feeling weak and helpless again like he did when he was being drowned, angry at all the adversity in his life that has lead him to that moment.

this is why he seizes the opportunity and stabs vander in the back. he could never beat him one on one - vander would rip him apart like a child with a bug, as someone here so nicely put it before (but with 14 year old vi instead of vander).

this is why he's always surrounded by big goons that do his bidding. he never gets his hands dirty. sevika fucking shielded him from a bomb blast, saved his ass from finn, etc.

this is why he works with enforcers and pays them to hunt the firelights so he can keep the status quo. he could pay them to do that but not to be less violent to his people? not to reform somehow or pass word onto the council?

this is why he traumabonds and weaponizes a literal child he knows is utterly alone, mentally unstable and destructive. why he makes her abandon her identity in favor of one he crafts for her because he believes it will protect her from what the hurt he experienced.

but he himself? he's all about theatrics, gassing ppl up and intimidating them, but almost never actually raises a weapon himself (aside from the tea party where the sick fuck tries to kill vi w/ jinx's gun bcuz he's afraid he'll lose his daughter living weapon iirc).

and what was his plan for achieving the nation of zaun if jinx hadn't stolen the hex gemstone and jayce hadn't come to barter? sending an army of shimmer monsters into piltover? and what about the retaliation that would've followed?

"silco was the best leader for zaun, because he would do whatever it took." everything in the whole wide world, except give jinx up (and i'm not saying he should've, but wasn't this the very difference between him and vander, and the reason sevika thought vander was weak?). he put one person above the nation of zaun y'all claim only he could've earned. dpmo.

silco they will NEVER make me like you.

[distractedrighter]

okay i give you more... 5, 23, 25, 29, 42! lay them on me, tell me more about my niece <3 i will literally ask more later

Felicity welcomes her aunt with the warmest hug ♥️

5. Highest & lowest skill

Highest - science, followed by medicine

Lowest - big guns, unarmed, melee (please don’t let enemies get too close to her!!)

23. How do they feel about physical touch and affection?

She grew up with a ton of it, always hugging her dad/Jonas/Amata. So yes, she loves it. She is a hugger unfortunately for everyone in the wasteland (not that she’s going around hugging everyone but… yes Sarah has been the unwilling recipient of hugs).

25. Are they quick to trust others?

her trust is so fucked up after the vault… I think she likes to give people the benefit of the doubt but she always suspects. She always assumes people want something from every interaction with her. It takes a while for her to let her guard down fully with new people, so most people don’t get to that point with her.

29. What is their moral alignment/karma?

Definitely good. She may steal/lie occasionally so I wouldn’t say very good. She also lets Butch do some suspect things which, may not be a karma reducing act within itself, but certainly isn’t suitable behavior for a very good character :)

42. What is their favorite wasteland creature?

I think she dislikes most of them because tbh they are all so fucking ugly. But, she likes birds :) and dogs that don’t attack her. She is kind of fascinated by tamed creatures (pumpkin for example). She doesn’t have the animal friend perk because she is a bit too scared of most of them.

[kwondotcom]

finally, finally built the emotional capacity to annotate something in the orange. on bsk's birthday, i said "the best thing you can do for yourself today is to read this fic." over a week later, it still stands true. this is one of the best pieces of work you will find not only on svtblr, but on the internet as a whole. i believed it then; i believe it now. 🍊 spoilers under the cut.

an anonymous assumption that was made about viv some days ago was whether she has a background as a film major, and her answer was no; she's just recently read the past lives script (lol). could've fooled me. this was a stellar device used for getting into the characters' head and describing them, and the eventual payoff of it just makes the story all the more heart-wrenching. on a more personal note: as a communication major who spent four years writing movie scripts? this shit was good.

the mark of a good apocalypse fic. how deep does the lore go? naming the phenomenon 'the Blight' and establishing it throughout is insane work. the information is bread crumbed. enough to keep you guessing. but in this first paragraph alone— extinction, famine, inflation— the domino effect of everything feels ominous. having seungkwan and the MC discussing [shotgun] marriage afterwards feels like a smoke screen. 'look, the world may be ending, but there is a young couple asking hypothetical questions and falling in love.'

absolutely devastating, by the way. i'm a big believer of love in the small moments, and there's just. something distinctly tender in how this is navigated. the images of walks home, shaky confessions, button exchanges. and the hints of what's happening, what's to come: mild dust storms, a barren world. this is a masterclass in writing, and it is genuinely so insane to me that i am getting to read this for free.

there's much to love in this passage. MC being right about the wires being good for barter. the passages that explain how the camera came to be. and just— all the premise in the world for why their love is so beautiful, how their affection persists. MC being a 'former writer' prepared for the zombie apocalypse is a nice touch.

[CAR CRASH] [GLASS SHATTERING] [EXPLOSION] “OH MY GOD” [BABY CRYING] “WAAAHH WAHH” [YELLING] “HELP MEE” [POLICE SIRENS] WEE WOO WEE WOEOO [YELLING] [HELICOPTERS] ‘WE’RE REPORTING LIVE-‘ [EXPLOSION] ‘MY LEG... MY LEG!!’ [BABY CRYING] “AHFUCKK SOMEONE HELP US” [REPORTER REPORTING]

both of the translations i found absolutely wrecked me. the first translation offers a specific kind of pain. the thought of the newlywed; longing for someone; a crying heart; if he cannot come, i will send my heart instead— after knowing MC is referred to as 'my heart'? and the second translation gives us tears of farewell; the trace of someone; how can old wounds be renewed? i'm a believer that everything is intentional, that nothing is left up to chance, especially when it comes to writing, and viv just bowls you over with the sheer thoughtfulness of a detail like this. i can't even begin to discuss the juxtaposition of a beach ruined by things like plastic and trash vs. bullet shells and shrapnel. the couple then running to be in the water together; the footage, partially obscured? i can't help but wonder how much of this is intentional. we've been privy to their romance so far, but this moment— what might be considered A Last Good Day, even, since this is d-4— isn't even perceivable in its entirety. there is only so much that we can see about their relationship on-/off-screen, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. i compound a couple of later scenes here. direction to hold an image of joy, in a mokpo beach (my god, viv; you are vicious) that is untouched by tragedy; uncertainty of whether the filming was accidental or intentional.

anticipatory loss, only for the loss to be one so unexpected. once again, i'm amazed by the amount of detail in the world-building— how viv outlines the conscription and the emotional aspects of it. how do we even begin to prepare for loss? and how do we live with the knowledge of how much we're about to lose? isn't that just the entirety of life, really? knowing that we are always going to lose one thing or another. in response: we hold things tight. we look, and memorize, and catalogue. it reminds me of the popular quote: "everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it."

i was struck between the eyes by the violence of that act [cutting any scenes], because this very much feels like the crux of reconstruction/memory/narrative. seungkwan is in charge of what will be remembered; how the MC will be remembered. i adore the ambiguity of whether the scenes reflect a stitched-together film or whether we're following along seungkwan's review. equally, there's just something gutting about this playing out in some perverted version of what MC and seungkwan joked about i.e. a world with electricity, where seungkwan had free reign to do what he wanted with all the gathered clips.

not thieves, just travelers. expecting last words and getting the ghost of a kiss instead. your eyes, only ever kind. there is so much to love here, so much to adore in the stylistic, technical sense, but what comes to fore for me is this: viv's respect for the dead/dying. an honorable death in its own right. unjustified, still. devastating, always.

i will be honest. it's nearing 4 a.m. as i wrap this up (annotations were done in non-chronological order lmao), and i feel my coherency waning. i know enough to say that these were some lines that felt like a literal gut punch. the idea that our writer!MC and filmmaker!seungkwan can still nurture creativity. to love and be loved. the thought that MC always smiled at seungwkan over the camera. love. loss. a heart's a heavy burden. and you were seungkwan's heart, weren't you?

i think, in my initial read— struck by grief of the fic lol— i'd skipped over seungkwan's line here. twice as many stars as usual. let's look up together. this scene takes place in a corn field, presumably the night before the Incident. two-headed calves don't survive for very long; most pass away in less than 24 hours, their deformities taking a toll on their lifespan. the poem has always tugged at my heart, because at its core it talks about finding so much hope, and light, and love, in a short lifespan. and is that not the case of seungkwan and MC? twice as many stars. some beauty and peace despite being doomed from the beginning. all any of us have is however long we have.

ending this with two of my favorite poems on grief. a discussion i've had time and time again is whether a person can be complimented on their ability to write grief. is it a insult, to be told that you write about grief well, when it takes an acute understanding of loss to be able to pull it off? i haven't figured that out yet. and so i conclude, instead, with this. grief's familiar rooms and how it reminded me of the scenes wherein seungkwan is rewatching the clips (pulling at its buttons / that are not answers); poem and how, by and by, it reminds me of this gorgeous piece as a whole. i'm changed in inexplicable ways because of something in the orange, and i'm not exaggerating. how lucky are we to be in a time where writing like this is free to read; how grateful am i to exist in viv's orbit, under the same starry skies. the poem story ends, soft as it began, —

something in the orange

summary. remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love. pairing. boo seungkwan x gn!reader genre/tags. ANGST, (semi-graphic) major character death, interstellar au-ish (just the blight), non-linear narrative, blurred fiction and reality if you squint (sorry I reread goodbye eri while writing), unbeta’d (mistakes are my own) wc. 5k suggested listening. love wins all, iu // 消費期限, seventeen // triassic love song, paris paloma // eight, iu prod. & ft. suga // yawn, seventeen // something in the orange, zach bryan (or niall's cover)

notes. midnight in korea now; happy birthday kwannie! this is very experimental, and admittedly i'm not fully satisfied w it, but I didn't know how to change it atp. sorry boo, it's your birthday but i give you pain. as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

D-17 EXT. SEOUL TRAIN STATION – KOREA – DAWN The sun rises over the ruins of Seoul Station. The air is clear of smoke and fog. A shot of the sun peeking over the heap of steel, glass, and cement that once served as the station’s framing. The train tracks run to the far horizon, to the left and right of the frame. Pan to YOU (young-looking though age is ambiguous, former writer, love of SEUNGKWAN’S life) squinting at an old, battered map of Korea’s train lines, and a compass. You’re wearing battered jeans that are slightly too big, boots, and a sturdy leather jacket. Behind the camera, SEUNGKWAN (male, young-sounding though age is ambiguous, former video producer) narrates.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         BOO-log number 529. We’re now figuring out how to get to Mokpo. Neither of us are any good with directions, but my partner decided that we could try following train lines since the none of them are running anyway. You look up at the sound of his voice, noticing the camera.

                YOU             (exasperated, but fond)         Kwannie, are you filming again? We have 30 batteries, but not all of them might be working. You might need to save battery and memory if you want to video the view of Jeju Island.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         It’s okay, I really just wanted to record us before we start. Once we’re walking, I won’t use the camera as much. And I have twenty other SD Cards!                 YOU             (not surprised)         Okay, we’ll definitely figure something out for the batteries, then.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Now— Seungkwan’s voice changes to a more formal tone, as though he were imitating a newscaster.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         What are your thoughts as we start our newest adventure? The camera catches your grin. You follow along, changing your tone to an impression of those backpackers in TV documentaries.                  YOU         Um, I’m excited to see Jeju-do, even from afar, because it’s part of Seungkwannie, and we had our honeymoon there. As long as we’re careful, I know we can do it. If we’re lucky, we may even find someone who can bring us across. Beat. You look ever so slightly awkward in front of the camera.                 YOU (CONT’D) Wait, here, give me the camera. I’ll record you this time. The footage shakes, briefly showing a tiled floor, then train tracks, before panning to a blurry face. The camera shakes for a moment before the image comes into focus, revealing a beautiful young man with dark hair. Seungkwan does a better job at the “interviewer voice”, but you’re no slouch either.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         So, Seungkwan-ssi, what are your thoughts as we embark on a new adventure?                 SEUNGKWAN             (genuine)         I think it’s about to be wonderful.

D–2183

When the Blight started, both you and Seungkwan were in high school. Though only having known you since that start of your third year, you’ve quickly wormed his way into his life—visiting his house, having dinners with your family, and he even managed to force you into joining the badminton club with him.

Bees now officially extinct, the news proclaims, an effect of the ravaging of nearly all plant life. Asia in particular has suffered; the widespread rice shortages due to it becoming impossible to grow resulted in widespread famine. The extinction of plants used for feed, made food prices across the board skyrocket. Corn, it seems, is the only crop that can resist the Blight—and the rest of the world now has to adjust its staple food to mimic the old Americas.

“Seungkwan.” You prod his ribs.

“Mm?”

“What would you do if the world ends tomorrow?”

“Marry you.” You laugh, until you realize he isn’t joking.

“What?” Your voice pitches to an incredulous squeak.

“Marry you,” he repeats.

“Why, though?”

“I always wanted to get married,” Seungkwan replies, after a moment of pondering. “And if the world ends tomorrow, as of today you’d be my best candidate for marriage.” 

For a moment, you just look at him, eyes tracing over his features. Your steady gaze makes him shift, uncomfortable, wondering if he said something wrong. Eventually, you shrug, though there’s a twinkle in your eye as you quirk a smile at him.

“While I don’t support shotgun marriages, I’d make an exception for you and the end of the world.”

His breath catches, heart stuttering as he tries to parse your answer in his head. “Wha—you—”

“Come on, Seungkwan, don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” you groan, flopping sideways to plop your head against the armrest. Your legs tilt as you do, your foot brushing against his calf. He tries not to jolt at the contact.

“I’m sorry!” He pouts, trying to calm the uneven fluttering of his heart. You laugh, shifting your lean in the opposite direction, so your head lands on his lap. Despite having done it a thousand times before, he traces softly the way your hair falls, admiring the way its color contrasts with the color of his pants.

(Looking back, he’ll think about how that day changed things, even just by a little bit; how his gazes grew longer, noticing more how the sunsets glowed against your face as you walked home together every day, painting you golden. How you’d both gotten used to creative ways of shelter when mild dust storms come, thanking your luck each time that you had gotten home before it truly began.

He’ll think about how, a year from that day, he kissed you as he walked you home for the last time before you enter your separate colleges, swallowing the teasing took you long enough from your lips as he finished his shaky confession. 

He’ll think of how you exchanged second buttons like those characters from that anime you liked did, and the quiet promises to make things work even as the world seems to turn more barren than both of you can follow.

He’ll think of how three years from then, he gets on one knee, to your tearful yes and salty kisses. Your small marriage, with just your families, batchmates, and some professors, followed by a beautiful honeymoon in Jeju. Despite it all.

None of these decisions had anything to do with the end of the world, but you and Seungkwan made them, nonetheless.)

D-9 INT. A TENT – A TRAIN STATION SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SEOUL AND MOKPO – NIGHT The footage is grainy due to the lack of proper lighting; the camera shakes as Seungkwan seems to be trying to balance it on something. The tent is quite cramped; the inside is sparse, with only two sleeping bags and your knapsacks—Seungkwan’s with two camping pans attached with a carabiner.  The leather jacket you were wearing is now resting on one of the bags. You have both swapped your sturdy day pants for more comfortable, albeit worn, sweatpants. Out of context, it looks like a vlog filmed by two campers on a hike. The camera steadies as Seungkwan moves away. He moves to sit beside you. There is an easy intimacy as you thread your fingers together, almost mindlessly.                 SEUNGKWAN         BOO-log number 531. We passed by a sign that said Nonsan. That means we’re probably halfway there.                 YOU         We made progress better than expected, didn’t we? I estimated at least two weeks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (nodding, excited)         I thought the train tracks would have been ruined, since the stations are, but they’re surprisingly reliable.                 YOU         It’s true; of course there were times when we had to find our way around the tracks, or climb above anything that fell down over it, or go through some cornfields, but mostly, it seems we’ve been lucky.                 SEUNGKWAN         By the way—everyone, it looks like we’re in a tent in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t it? Don’t be fooled, we set this up in a convenience store.                 YOU             (laughing)         You ruined it! Now we can’t be funky backpackers with a tent on the train tracks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (playfully lecturing)         It’s good to be truthful, you know. What if kids watch this someday? We have to be good moral people.                 YOU             (with the remnants of a laugh)         Okay, okay. We set this up in the Seven Eleven inside one of the train stations. Abandoned, obviously. We made it in right before the dust storm hit.                 SEUNGKWAN         Another good news today is that we managed to barter something for food.                 YOU         Yeah. This one engineer or something—I think he’s a veteran? But we saw him tinkering on his porch and offered a trade, his corn for our cables, and now we have dinner.                 SEUNGKWAN             (joking)         It’s not jokbal, but it’ll do, I suppose.                 YOU             (groaning)         Oh my God, what I’d give for some jokbal right now. With bossam. And soju. SEUNGKWAN         I’ll be dreaming of that tonight.                 YOU         Anyway, everyone, we’ll end the log here, so we have enough batteries for a nice long BOO-log at Mokpo. Both you and Seungkwan wave your corn (dinner) at the camera. You reach forward, covering the lens with your palm. The clip ends.

D–20

Seungkwan walks around the house. He’s doing his last checks, checking between what’s in his bag and what’s in the rooms to parse if he’s missed anything—batteries, your wallets, matches, passports, birth certificates, first aid kit, water bottles, toothbrushes, all the canned food in the pantry, the sturdiest kitchen knife you both owned (wrapped in two layers of cloth), the Swiss knife he was gifted a few years back, flashlights, a whistle, and all the carabiners and hard cash you had were already packed.

He finds you in your shared bedroom. There are a bunch of wires there, evidently cut from various appliances. You’ve wrapped the cables as neatly as you could manage. On the bed, you’ve laid all your dry-fit shirts and the sturdiest pairs of pants you both have. Then, from the dresser, you’ve collected the most expensive jewelry the both of you own—well, all of them, but you separated the expensive ones in another pile. He points to the latter.

“What’s that for?”

“If cash fails, maybe gold won’t. I don’t know, just in case the currency collapses. But they’re worth bringing all the same.” Also, you hold out copies of both your health insurances. He opens his knapsack and quickly stuffs them in the same place as your other documents.

“Last resort kindling?” Seungkwan offers, showing the cluster of documents in his compartment. The remark draws a quick breath of a laugh from you.

“Probably.”

“How about the wires?”

“You never know when we’ll need some emergency engineer bullshit; plus, if it comes to it, the wires will probably be better barter material. Before you ask,” you hold up one hand, “I edited a zombie novel a few years back. But if that kid was pulling out of his ass, we’re fucked.”

Despite your disclaimer, the no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way you’re handling the situation makes something settle in him, as though all he needed was an anchor amid the chaos. He pulls you close, placing a kiss to your temple. The tension in your body melts as you press against him. For a moment, Seungkwan just holds you. A temporary anchor before you need to move.

Turning to him, you offer a quick peck to his lips before holding up his trusted camera bag, worn as it is. “Bring it,” you tell him firmly. “We need a little bit of happiness. Get all the SD cards you have, too. In case we just never leave Mokpo. It’s small enough to stuff in our pockets.”

Seungkwan can’t help it; he grabs your face and kisses you. The camera bag sits between you awkwardly, but he doesn’t care. He savors this, the familiar taste of it, the contours of your face that his hands have long since memorized. You pull away, but not before kissing his lips again, then his nose. He’ll never quite get used to the way you look at him, as though there is something new to love each time.

“We’re gonna be okay, my heart.”

D-4 EXT – A LONG STRETCH OF BEACH – MOKPO, SOUTH KOREA – SUNSET The camera captures a breathtaking sunset. The sky is a wash of oranges and pinks, the clouds purple yet lined in the light of the sun. Mokpo is on the southwest side of Korea; the view of the sunset is particularly beautiful, as the sun sinks down into the sea. There are faint silhouettes of islands both near and far from the shore. The waters are tranquil, and there are no sounds except for the steady wash of the waves on the shore.

The shot slowly pans to you. Your expression is tranquil, despite the dirt and tears across your clothes.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (soft, so soft you don’t hear)         Pretty.                 YOU             (clueless)         Hm?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Nothing. Can you see Jeju Island from here?

He already knows where it is.                 YOU             (laughing softly, a little sad)         To be honest, I don’t know which piece of land I’m seeing is Jeju. A finger appears at the edge of the screen.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         There, that’s Jeju. Right behind the blob that looks like a hat.                 YOU             (squinting)         Oh! Right, that’s what it looks like. Beat.                 YOU (CONT’D) The view is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea. Seungkwan hums the opening to Tears of Mokpo. You don’t recognize it until he softly begins to sing the opening lyrics.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (singing)         사공의 뱃노래 가물거리면…                 YOU             (laughing outright)         That doesn’t have anything to do with Jeju! He sings louder just to spite you. You playfully roll your eyes. Bending down, you unlace your boots and take off your socks, sinking your bare feet into the sand with barely-concealed relish. Seungkwan stops singing as he knows what you’re about to do.                 SEUNGKWAN         Careful; don’t step on anything sharp. As you move forward, the camera follows you. It is revealed that the beach is not so picturesque. The sea seems to have dried up some, and even here, bits and bobs of life float on the surface and linger in the sand.

There are the usual culprits: plastic bags, empty cans of alcohol and soda, and snack wrappers. Yet visible also on the camera are the following: bullet shells, shrapnel, a chair leg, a ragged pillow, and a cracked desktop monitor. As all this is visible, the camera centers on you laughing, splashing in the saltwater and enjoying the breeze in your hair.                 YOU             (calling; audio faint)         Kwannie! Come here! A beat. The camera zooms in on your face.                 YOU         Kwannie, come on! Hurry up!                 SEUNGKWAN             (proximity makes his voice loud)         Okay! A rustle. The camera is laid down, cloth (Seungkwan’s jacket) obscuring part of the footage. After a nudge, the cloth disappears from frame. Another figure, barefoot, joins you.

D–119

Jeju has officially been declared abandoned, lost for some other country to use as farmland. The radio announced the treaty ratification today. Seungkwan is a spectre around the house, listless and heartbroken. 

Months ago, when the conflict began to escalate in earnest, he began whatever arrangements he could to ensure his family was safe, moving them as near to the farming areas as he could manage and encouraging them to share whatever techniques they knew could help former cities now learning how to farm. The news does not make the sharp pang of grief dull any less.

He is at the age when he is to receive a conscription notice; Korea has since shifted its system to split soldiers into those who will either fight on the front lines of the Resource Wars, or serve by tilling the land and ensuring that there is enough corn for the population, however dwindling. There is no guarantee on which one he is to get, even if he did register himself as head of household (and should hypothetically be assigned the latter), but he is due to receive news in a few months’ time.

The promise of the notice hangs over both your heads. In the mornings, you spend ten more minutes just looking at him, as though you were memorizing the shapes and contours of his features. At night, he curls into you more tightly than before; once you’d have complained that it was too hot, now, you simply wrap your arms around him and let him sink his face into your hair.

“Hey, Seungkwannie.”

“Mm?”

“Let’s go on a trip.” The hand mindlessly running through your hair falters. 

He pulls away, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You keep your head low, pressed against his chest. “What?”

“Let’s go south. Yeosu, Mokpo, whatever, just near the beach, as close as possible to Jeju. Just…just see it, even from afar.” At his silence, you barrel on. “If we walk enough, we can make it in two weeks—a week if we can hitch a ride with one of those crop trucks or something—and then just another two weeks back, if we don’t settle in Mokpo outright.” 

“Food—”

“I can pack us as much as I can. We’ll need to ration, and possibly trade, but we can do it. The treaty is in place, and it’s most dangerous up north right now. Going south isn’t as big of a risk, and the weather has been looking good lately.” Finally looking up, you cup his cheek, tracing the skin with your thumb. He presses his lips to your wrist.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to Kwannie. I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

“I…” he falters. It’s tempting. Unbearably so, despite the nagging at the back of his head that it would be better to leave it at that, keep his memory limited to the days you spent there dodging dust storms and falling in love. He doesn’t know how much it’s changed. How much the ocean might have even dried up. He doesn’t know if he can stomach to see it. “Give me a few days to think about it?”

“Of course, Kwannie. All the time you need.”

D+29

Seungkwan’s life has been demarcated into two. Before, and after. He goes through the motions of the government-run fields: waking up, clocking in, eating breakfast, tilling the soil, weeding, lunch, the occasional drills in case they were still expected to fight, transporting corn from one warehouse to another, dinner, sleep. Repeat.

Not a lot of people are here; many prefer to till fields they own, or collectively own; for once, agrarian reform straightened itself out at the start of the Blight. Yet with the dwindling population—slowly withering family trees—those lands acquired by the government grew.

Sometimes, Seungkwan thinks of home. He was lucky enough that the head of the center, Seungcheol, was kind enough to register his name as part of the deployed cadets under his supervision, despite the incomplete paperwork he had when he stumbled into his field, frail and dehydrated from lack of food and water.

Home remains now only in his memory, and in every replay of the Christmases he captured on camera. The soil is more unforgiving than before; it distracts from the loneliness.

EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The wedding is humbly decorated with dried corn leaves fashioned into flowers, as there are no real ones anymore (none within the budget, anyway). Guests came as they are, though everyone has made an effort to clean up more than usual. It is currently the reception, and the speakers are playing a quick beat. The guests are dancing, laughing, and cheering, though their movements are blurry and almost smeared onscreen (step-printing effect). In the middle of it, you stand, the only still figure in the frame. You’re smiling softly to someone behind the camera, very clearly in love. Cut to Seungkwan, in a similar position, the guests around him dancing as but blurs. He is wearing a similar expression. He begins to walk forward.

You meet in the middle, still the only clear figures to the camera, and begin to dance.  As though the dance were a spell, the surroundings cut to: INT. A MEDIUM-SIZED LIVING ROOM – NIGHT EXT. SEOUL STATION, IN RUINS – DAY INT. YOUR TENT (MAGICALLY ENLARGED) – NIGHT EXT. LONG STRETCH OF BEACH (UNPOLLUTED) – MOKPO – SUNSET Hold this image for a moment. The sea laps at your ankles. The bottom of both your garments brushes against the saltwater, but neither of you seem to notice. Both you and Seungkwan close the gap to meet in a tender kiss. Suddenly, cheers. You part, and are back to: EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The newly-married couple smiles and waves. The bottom of their garments are damp.

D+167

It seems surreal to have all the batteries he wants, and even a computer where he can replay all his footage—more than 4000 hours’ worth of it. It took a few months of work to earn enough credits and rank to access it, but Seungkwan pursued the goal with single-minded purpose. There is enough electricity in this center to run a few computers, and Seungkwan is its most regular customer, painstakingly going through each clip on the dozens of SD cards he has.

For footage so far back, from when you had just been married, there are parts where he no longer remembers what happened after the clips end. They remain in his memory as but colored ghosts, warm-tinged with nostalgia. Cabinets that would never be opened again, now filled, in his dreams, with infinities.

The house of his memories blurs with the house of his oneirism. In both, he subsists on sleep and daydreams. But memory will betray; it won’t tell him if the house he remembers has been altered by each remembrance. So he watches his videos. He walks through his house, now only alive in video and reconstructed by memory. He sees himself and he sees you, in all the different iterations you both were. Wonders if he could stitch both into narrative. Wonders if he could even bear to cut any scenes. He’s never thought about the violence of that act until now.

Inventories do not just catalogue possession; they also measure the potential of loss. It was a quote from one of your writing workshops, discussed over a late dinner. You could still afford some meat then; Seungkwan had saved just enough for a small slab of cured pork, which you would cut tiny slabs from for both of you to enjoy before bed.

He has five minutes left of his designated slot with the computer.

Seungkwan watches, and he catalogues.

D=0

Seungkwan only remembers in flashes—a gunshot. A scream. It’s only when he replays that moment in his mind that he realizes it was his voice. Barely a thud as your body is cushioned by the corn leaves. Dark red liquid, somehow both grainy and slippery on his hands as he drags you into the thick of the field, away from the path, trying desperately to stem the blood while minimizing your trail. Until finally, he collapses, feet unable to bring him a step further.

More flashes—your eyes, only ever kind. Even at your last moments. The way you hold his hand and place it over the pocket you keep his SD cards, as though reminding him one last time. The way your eyes search his face, first desperate, and then resigned. The way he leaned in when you opened your mouth, to hear your final words, only to feel the ghost of chapped lips brush against his ear. The gush of blood that dribbles past your mouth that tells him you’re gone.

(The Resource Wars felt like more a backdrop than anything else; you had come this far without any altercation. Yet even as you screamed that you were not thieves, just travellers, the gunshot rang. 

The cornfields weep with him as he leaves you behind, SD cards clutched in his bloody hand.)

D–4

TIME CUT TO: It is twilight, now. The camera is trained on the horizon. The sun has fully set, and night is beginning to settle in the sky. Only the barest hints of orange remain. The footage has already become slightly grainy due to the lighting. Neither you nor Seungkwan are on the camera. Instead, voices are heard while the darkness arrives. It is not evident whether the footage was taken accidentally, or on purpose.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (softly)         I’m glad we came. Really, even if we couldn’t get to Jeju. I’m glad. I’m glad it’s with you.                 YOU (O.S.)             (just as softly)         I’m glad too, my heart. You filmed the whole sunset, didn’t you? Start to finish?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Yesterday and today. I have so much footage that I don’t know what to do with.

Breath.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         Actually, that goes for all the BOO-logs. Even the ones from high school and college.                 YOU (O.S.)             (surprised)         You never tried editing them?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         I have, but what then? There are hardly any theaters now. Nowhere else to post. And electricity is expensive.                 YOU (O.S.)         Okay, but if we both die, what do you think’s gonna happen to this camera? Seungkwan is many things; a prideful badminton player (before the Wars stopped sports events), a videographer, casual vlogger, and a corn field worker. You are also many things; an editor (before your company closed from too little employees), author, copywriter, and occasional tiller.

Both of you still enjoy nurturing sparks of creativity when they come.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm. someone picks it up and it gets immortalized in a post-war museum. And our videos will be a special feature.                 YOU (O.S.)         Oooh. And the war museum would be on a spaceship, with funky gravity and new plants and meat the astronauts domesticated from a different planet.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         And there’s a new jokbal. Call that out of this world delicious.                 YOU         Stop! Despite the terrible joke, you both laugh, then let the conversation drift into comfortable silence. The sun has fully set. Nothing much can be discerned visually from the footage.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         Hey, Seungkwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm?                 YOU (O.S.)         If you had the chance, like computers and steady electricity, would you edit all the BOO-logs into a short film?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (skeptical, but thinks about it seriously)         What would the plot even be? A married couple traveling to Mokpo, dodging dust storms and chasing each other through cornfields? Watching the stars at night?                 YOU (O.S.)             (earnest)         Yeah! Or, y’know, make it semi-autobiographic, like two lovers wanting to visit where they first had their honeymoon. Or maybe I’m sick and you want to take me to the sea one last time? The footage earlier could fit with that storyline.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Don’t even say that!                 YOU (O.S.)             (laughing softly, apologetic)         Sorry, sorry. But if you do make a short film, I want to be the first to see it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you work.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         What about you, then? Would you write a book about us?                 YOU (O.S.)         Oh, definitely. And you’d be the first to read it. The footage cuts.

D+182

Seungkwan replays the footage again. Beside him, Vernon fiddles with a pen.

“What do you think about making this a short film?” Seungkwan asks. 

Vernon stops. 

Seungkwan may be their newest addition, but the rest of the crew has grown protective. He brings light to their conversations, effortless in his ability to entertain and bring laughter. Mingyu asks him of his favorite foods, especially the ones he misses from Jeju, even if recreating them is near impossible. Seungcheol reprimands anyone who tries to bully him into giving up his share of rations. Junhui has begun to joke more, noticing how Seungkwan seems to be particularly into his humor. 

Yet everyone recognizes the sadness that still clings to his heels.

Vernon looks, for a long moment, at the monitor, frozen with a picture of a smiling face he’s never known—never personally, only ever through the screen and Seungkwan’s stories, always shared in quiet whispers in the privacy of his room.

He knows, though. Knows that this person was real. They loved, and were loved. It speaks in how the camera follows whoever is in the frame. The cuts of certain clips, as though either the person behind the camera joined their partner or had a moment that could not be captured in film. Most of all, it was the way whoever was in the frame would, without fail, smile at the person behind it. 

“I think,” he replies, choosing his words deliberately, “that you are in a unique position to dictate how someone is to be remembered by those who never knew them. And…” he hesitates, wondering if two months of these quiet conversations is still too little to be so candid with his friend, especially when talking of loss.

So, so much loss.

Seungkwan answers that question for him. “It’s okay, Vernon-ah.”

“…Well, I just wanted to say that it’s a burden to bear, is all.”

EXT – A CORNFIELD UNDER THE STARS – NIGHTTIME The stars have emerged, visible in all their glory. After the start of the Blight, when the population began to dwindle, electricity and many other resources became scarce. Much of the light pollution that was once a problem has disappeared. Brilliant dots twinkle overhead. To you and Seungkwan, it could pass for the Milky Way. The POV seems to be at a low point; stalks of corn are visible at the edges of the frame. Yet the stars are bright, captured exceedingly well.

You’re softly speaking aloud Laura Gilpin’s The Two-Headed Calf. It was one of the poems you memorized in college, as a creative writing major. YOU (O.S.)             (as though from far away)         Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. Long beat.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Twice as many stars as usual…let’s look up together.                 YOU (O.S.)         I see the stars, my heart, but I’m tired…

A breath hangs in the air. Some rustle of cloth, as though someone had adjusted so you fit together. A soft sigh.                 YOU (O.S.) Good night, Kwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         …Good night, darling. End.

note. are the screenplay bits from the short film? the raw sd card clips? his memories? distorted memories? guess we'll never know. nonlinear bc grief is nonlinear. pls tell me your thoughts (even/esp if u didn't get the story lol) take care of yourselves always <3

[ryllen]

Look what came through the mail today! The letters & ( •̀ω•́ )σ 3 little gremlins from letterstoear.

Just wanna say i adore the flower stickers on the letters too much, they are that much worth mentioning.

[mintypsii]

as promised... here's the sanuso wall from my strawpage!!!! i cherish all of these so much aagghhh they're all so lovely thank you to everyone who sent something in 😭💖💖

[capcollector]

still wanna do something w deacon and bunny dressing up all fancy and going undercover somewhere. the thing i sketched concepts of awhile back. wondering like…..where they’d go and why. how far. probably bc i’ve been playing fnv lately but my mind went to casinos immediately, but MA’s history w casinos/gambling seems far more recent than other places? afaik anyway. so it feels like there’s not as much to work off of. but MA has no shortage of rich ppl so makes me wonder if there’s anything there w groups of wealthier wastelanders throwing like. “high society” parties.

[aether-weather]

haii i saw u wanted requests what about blaze and marine in silly outfits? :3c

hiya!! sorry it took me so long to answer this, art block hit me right in the middle of drawing this so if some parts look a bit wonky just ignore them (specifically marine's hands. please dont look at them i struggled so much ;-;)

i didnt exactly know what you meant by "silly outfits" so i kinda just drew them in outfits i thought were cool lol

this was super fun to draw though! i hope i did your request justice >:D

now never ask me to draw marine again /lhj

[paimonial-rage]

another random writing event

So I am currently in avoidance mode with my wips and i do t wanna look at them, so i decided to have another random writing event. Below I have a list of 40 random words. If you're interested, please feel free to send in a word and a character and I'll do my best to write a short fic centered around it! If there are any words that are not on the list, feel free to send in one of your own! I may not get to everyone's but I will do as many as I can.

Begrudging

Untruths

Opposites

Trembling

Expectations

Testing

Hypothesis

Indulgence

Recoil

Repose

Brazen

Consequence

Facade

Fragment

Echo

Contradiction

Skeptic

Enthralled

Ambivalence

Dissonance

Subterfuge

Glimmer

Obscured

Nostalgia

Fleeting

Desolate

Revelation

Intrigue

Zenith

Perplexity

Fathom

Resilience

Turbulence

Labored

Solace

Transitory

Temperament

Sway

Frivolity

Nonsense

[wordmojiworld]

can i get a few mojis that say *eats you* [along with versions that say them, her, him, it, etc instead of you] please ? /nf

there you go! This was as tedious as it was fun lmao, feel free to request other pronouns!

[chromatasia]

magnus au……. let me in……………..

begging u to speak on it as well :0 you made the fear assignments n all that but what does it really entail for the au itself…. what IS the au……. eheh

rolls up sleeves. oh boy do i have Ideas

clover has lived in the apocalypse for far too long. they had begun their journey to the mountain they had heard five children had died at right before it began. theyre scared, they’re alone, and all they want is justice. for themselves? for all the people they see suffering? they don’t know. all they know is the feeling of death crawling up their back and the sensation of something Watching them.

they continue to run away from everything. continue to hide from the monsters and amalgamations of fear that have overtaken everything they used to know (saying everything they used to love would be… a little bit of a stretch for them.)

then they get to mt ebott. that feeling of Death only grows. they have a feeling they won’t survive this fall, or whatever awaits them down there, but it’s easier than dealing with what is happening on the surface.

so, they jump. and they bring the same mentality with them that they had on the surface to the underground: kill or be killed

tldr: clover goes to the underground during the eyepocalypse. The Horrors ensue. in part to them (aren’t clover’s supposed to be a symbol of luck or something? doesn’t seem like it for them)

[swagging-back-to]

it's my day fucking off dont bring your child over and expect me to interact with them and ALLOW THEM INTO MY ROOM. fuck all the way off.

[spookitordukeit]

In your fic tbasawas was there anything specific that inspired you to do your specific stories and or ships?

Yes and no—

For the story itself:

Originally, I only had concepts for Aeiisy, a dark fic with a skeleton reader who is constantly having a Bad Time. But, as with most of my ideas, it got split into two different paths. (This is how I end up with most of my fic ideas btw) You might see a few similarities, or even direct reflections between a few of my works, and that’s because they are all directly or indirectly formed from a few of the same ideas, split into separate paths.

Like an au I guess???

Tbasawas was made as a direct counter to Aeiisy, so I wouldn’t pass away from angst and could have something sweet a fluffy to write whenever I got burnt out. (Ignoring the amount of angst that ended up in Tbasawas anyway… and the fluff that got put into Aeiisy…. Don’t look at me!!)

So Tbasawas was inspired by Aeiisy, and Aeiisy was inspired by the need for a skele reader, Monster Frisk, and an apocalypse fic. Not sure how any of that connects, but that’s how it went down.

Tbasawas is a soft apocalypse, if that’s even a thing. Their changes aren’t gory and the world isn’t riddled with war and violence. Just people treated like lost puppies in a cozy adoption center waiting for their ‘forever home’. For the most part.

I take a lot of inspiration directly from animal adoption processes. The whole shebang. Paperwork, wait time, vetting, inspections, background checks, introductions, acclimation— Hell, even the Assigned Nurse can be compared to a Foster. The Mimic Monitors are essentially juiced up microchips.

I’m pretty sure I even used a template for the adoption of a dog from a serious breeder for the letter that Abbee gives Nerma to explain to process. And the email Edge receives  in chapter one.

There’s a lot of themes in Tbasawas going on. Another one is the grieving process, as hinted at in the title of the first chapter. Arc one: Shock.

I’m using this version of the grieving process in particular:

I’m not sure how strictly I’ll follow it, but it’s definitely there in the background, at the very least.

As for inspiration for the relationships:

It’s all kinda based around these themes and how I think the characters would be changed by them.

I’ve changed these characters a lot. Maybe not much physically for most,(that you can see.. wink wonk) but I’ve taken a lot of liberty with their stories and backgrounds. And in the tags for Tbasawas, this universe is listed under post neutral route… not pacifist. Do with that information what you will.

Based on these changes, I think about how they might act. What makes the most sense. What they feel, what kind of person would they feel most comfortable around and what kind would they hate? Do they have insecurities? Are there any fears that they might be judged? Would that stop them from getting close to specific skeletons in the pack? *cough* Sparrow *cough*

Are they jealous or possessive? Holding on to the one good thing that’s happened to them and waiting for the other show to drop?? Even if it hinders the others ability to seek out relationships with others of the pack??? *cough* Red *cough*

I kinda just zone out and smash dolls together in my mind until I get something I like. Not all that cool of a process, but it’s what works for me.

Speaking of! Let’s use Red and Sparrow as an example!!!

*grabs my mental dolls of Red and Sparrow in my hands and smacks them together*

*loud incorrect buzzer sound*

Yep. Knew that would happen. See— Red is chill around the pack, but there’s not a lot of… feelings??? He has this disconnect inside him, whether from his LV, his trauma, or if that’s simply just how he handles his emotions, I’m not sure.

There’s this wall that he has up. He cares for the pack, and for his brother, of course he does! He’d kill for them. That was never in question. He’s just… distant. The only one who can really, really get close is Comet. And that’s mainly because they’re so similar it hurts. They’re in the same, sinking boat. Drifting out in the middle of the ocean as they keep hammering in nails in hopes they won’t drown.

Red is heavily complex, and no one knows just how to solve him and tell him to stop making so many damn holes in his boat before it’s unrepairable.

He’s smoke and mirrors with knives that will cut you if you take a wrong step.

Sparrow, is also withdrawn. But for very different reasons.

He’s not shy, per say— but he’s very conscious how he looks and how he’s perceived. He knows that he’s not as handsome as he once was (lies), he knows that he looks frightening, even to other Monsters.

His self esteem is very low, it’s been getting better thanks to his pack, but it’s still not great. He hides a lot of things about himself, whether out of shame or for the perceived benefit of the other person is a 50/50 at any given moment.

His status as a sigma doesn’t help. There are already enough stigmas about people like him and Star, if Sparrow can’t do what’s expected of him— if he falls into stereotypes—

…he doesn’t like to think about it.

He’s not as able bodied anymore, and his senses are both dulled and heightened to uncomfortable degrees. He needs to be able to trust the people around him. He needs to know that they won’t think lower of him for his weakness. He needs to know that he can depend on them and they won’t just up and leave.

Red has given no indication that he is capable of providing any of those assurances. He has in fact proven quite the opposite.

At this point in time, Red and Sparrow could never be in a relationship. Sparrow would likely end up cut on Red’s knives and shattered glass, and Red would keep hammering more fucking nails into his boat. Unaware that it’s the very thing that keeps brining in more water.

Augh. So long story short: insanity.

The idea for the story popped in my head and then I stared at characters until the imploded in my brain like a super nova and then they kept forming fun new galaxies for me to explore.

I guess it’s my characters that give me inspiration. I just wanna slap my dolls together and see wtf happens, I have no idea where I’m going and I’m equally as surprised as you are at every chapter🗿🗿🗿

I just wanna see Edge be soft and have his little found family, and to feel like he’s allowed to exist in the world despite his sins.

I wanna see Grim be an absolute menace and Get Bitches, because he loves his idiots and just wants to live life at his laziest.

I wanna see Bear put a ring on as many hoes as he likes and get to be happy and smug and purr as he crushes them (lovingly) in his nest.

I wanna see Stretch be soft and fuss about his mates and then punish them for their stupidity with various pranks.

I wanna see Star huff and lovingly bully his mates into being kind to them selves, forcing them to take it easy or face the wrath of Self Care days.

I wanna see Comet get yoinked out of his tiny shell and actually mean it when he smiles his little bastard smiles, and to be able to reach out and form other relationships within the pack.

I wanna see Black get his ass Wooed and his icy rain bloom into spring showers because he feels loved and able to be soft and love in turn.

I wanna see Blue live his life to the fullest and prioritize his own feelings sometimes and remember that it’s okay to want things.

I wanna see Sparrow have each and every one of his boo boos kissed and told that he’s handsome and I want him to accept it and be confident.

And I wanna see Red get a happy ending. I want to see his sharp edges, both the ones facing inside and out, to get smoothed out. I wanna see this bastard get soft and mushy. I’m gonna turn his ass into a grumpy marshmallow just you wait.

And of course, I want to see Nerma be the spark that gets this thing moving.

I’m just a simp…. That is all 😔

[awkwardtickleetoo]

you never know when the urge to tickle george will get too much (all the time) thank you for agreeing with my take

fully never even saw this ask in my inbox but i’m assuming this is the same anon as the one from a little while ago and you really are so real. so based. so true. the voice of the people like jesus himself for real.

(i too always have the urge to tickle george im glad we’re spreading awareness)

[privatelife]

y'all who actually have partners,, what is a text ice breaker to start conversation? im really bad at it 😭

it feels important to note that when we do talk, the conversation flows great we have a nice rapport and complimentary senses of humors it's just starting the conversation that is the problem i think we are both just painfully shy 😔 (and maybe traumatized .)

[overdevelopedglasses]

tell us more about essence 🙏🙏🙏

starts vibrating

GOD as much as I wanna talk about the story, I need to do just a little bit more exposition. Want it all to make sense, ya know?

So, assuming people have seen this post and this post, I've got what you're looking for under the cut.

Alright it's time to talk about spirits.

So throw what you know about spirits out the window, because "spirit" in the Essence world refers to the entities that can manipulate elements and energy.

For a bit of hierarchy, there's the first spirit (who's kinda lost to time, but we meet them in Essence), and then 3 different spirits who are dubbed the Creation Spirits: Soros (spirit of darkness), Uradata (spirit of abyss), and Illumi (spirit of light). In the olden times, they came down to the human world and made friends with some humans. As a bit of a token of friendship, some of the humans beared children beacuse of them (consensually!). We'll get to those children later.

After leaving the humans, these spirits got busy, and started making spirits to control elements. There's a lot of them, and we'll touch on them in a second. A few years later, something happened: the spirits and humans found out that the elemental spirits and the human children of the spirits could form a symbiotic bond with one another. These bonds... are just called bonds, but they are still a very common occurrence in the present day.

Anything beyond that delves into Essence lore, and I fear I'll ramble incoherently, so we'll stop there. For a conclusion, the new "terms" and characters I can introduce:

Bond: the link formed between a vessel and a spirit. For shelter and some nutrients from the vessel to the spirit, the spirit would grant the vessel usage of their powers, and if needed, armor and a weapon, whose form is decided by the spirit. There's some nuance to bonds, but I'll save it for another post.

Omega: spirit that controls plasma (limited control, but still pretty powerful). Bonded to Lily

Zephyr: spirit that controls wind. Bonded to Alex

Ravi: spirit that contols fire. Bonded to Percy.

Geoc: spirit that controls earth. Bonded to Enzo.

Vergals: spirit that controls ice. Bonded to Robin.

[yoohyeon]

I miss you all and I wanna come back, but the minute I’m back here I sigh and close the app I just can’t 😭 but I hope you all know :