#its not even a lot of notes compared to other subjects

[not-equippedforthis]

staring at the page of notes i need to consume for the mock exam tomorrow and i just cannot. be assed.

[pinkyjulien]

.

[sunboki]

— HELLION INN. a Stray Kids fiction

🌖 : Lee Minho x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. dystopian! au, enemies to lovers, monster! au, apocalypse! au, “we have to get along to survive” au, angst, high stakes

WORD COUNT. 10k ⭑ 50min read

WARNINGS. gory descriptions, cursing, descriptive violence, implied intercourse, death, a dubcon kiss, talk of vomit/vomiting, lots of mentions of death, one mention of k*lling oneself, parasites, murder, inclusion of fire, injury, usage of guns, injury, knives, reader and minho are “hunted”, mature themes

AUG'S NOTES. it’s finished! i wanted to cry (out of happiness!!) closing the last part :) i truly love this piece, and, though it certainly isn’t all too lovey dovey compared to alternative fics of mine, i was so incredibly fortunate to be able to write for themes i adore! i hope my enthusiasm was able to be conveyed in the subject of monsters/apocalyptic au’s!! please enjoy<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Receiving an ominous letter in the mail, a monster invades Seoul minutes later, carrying an uncanny sense of smell despite its blindness. Countless people have been slaughtered already, and with your letter as the only meager explanation to this madness, you find your feet leading towards the one place it said was safe: Hellion Inn.

or alternatively :

Minho won’t let you die. Not if it means letting this Monster get him or hell’s dawning itself. You’re going to survive. Together.

Run, something is coming. Go to Hellion Inn, you’ll be safe there.

Something? What is something? A terrorist attack? War?

Never had such a letter arrived at your doorstep other than this Tuesday, with the morning sunlight peeking through half-opened blinds casting your pajama-clad frame in its cascades.

And again, you reread and reread, questions raging in a distorted frenzy amidst your once just-wakening mind. 

Little were you aware what would come. What already roamed Seoul’s streets, approaching closer, closer. 

One objective resides in too many possibilities. 

Find Hellion Inn. 

.

.

.

Stuffing the letter in your pocket serves as the most sensible solution while you go over your options. If you didn’t have a clue about what dishes would be cooked, you’d check the ingredients first.

And yet, upon turning on the TV, you find your meal already served. 

On a platter, dripping with blood.

“This just in, an unidentifiable entity is making its way through Seoul in a rampage. The creature is highly dangerous. It appears to lack vision, and speculation has deemed it relies upon its smell to discern other beings. The creature has not been detained at this time. Under no circumstances should citizens leave their residences, and in the case you’re on the street, please evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately. Further information will be released.”

Your blood runs frigidly cold, enough you swear you could’ve turned to ice.

All of a sudden, war or a terrorist attack doesn’t sound nearly as daunting as before.

A monster. Ruthless, bloodthirsty. 

Monster. 

Instantaneously are news sites everywhere exploding, posting footage, pictures, and accounts of the creature each second. 

More and more and more until-

It all goes dark, your home plunged into a black abyss meagerly sustained by the sun’s rays, phone in hand ultimately powering off. 

Electricity down. Fully.

This isn’t like a usual predicament of a public threat, not something you’re prepared for, nor something anyone was prepared for. There’s no drill for a monster, no tsunami shelter or high rise building to reside upon. 

Was it obliviousness? Or were you all simply sheep to a ravaging wolf?

The latter seemed most convincing.

An exhale. No, a growl is what breaks your train of thought. Like the chuff of a tiger, curdling in its throat. 

Above. 

You can’t even bring yourself to move, can’t bear to breathe in fear you’d give yourself away as a shadow covers that once hopeful sunlight.

No shadow, but a thing. A monster. 

How did it get here so fast? How.. how the hell is this happening?

The sound of tiles shifting on your roof makes your fingers twitch, eyes stuck wide. 

The worlds apex predators turned into the prey. 

Each pound of your heart lies evident in ringing ears, listening to those low, horrendous gurgles, repeating that same chuff before it shifts again.

Again and again, and you’re unmoving.

Leave. Run. Anything. 

Yet, you can’t move a muscle, glued in place.

Until you do, and your legs act before you can process a thing. Grabbing for items, whatever it may be. Mind unable to process in its frantic state.

No. No.

A plea as your hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning down the apartment complex’s stairs in rapid descent, listening to the slow growls of the creature.

Don’t look behind, just go.

A mistake you find yourself making even when a life is on the line.

Your life is on the line.

And when you spare that single glimpse, murky lifeless eyes stare blindly back at you, bulging from its skull as if they never were intended to be there. Skin a hallowed, fleshy tone — ligaments hung awry. 

Disorderly, distasteful. If you look close enough, you swear you could’ve seen a beating heart, watched the oxygen cells rush through a pumping bloodstream. 

Gaping jaws hold copious teeth, ant-like incisors residing on either side of a ceaselessly smiling mouth, the corners of what appears to be lips ascending all the way up to nonexistent ears. 

Four legs, two antennae atop its head. At least two times the size of a human.

Horrific.

Never had such a thing appeared so terrifying.

With the letter clutched in one hand and your powerless phone in another do you run, praying that nonexistent vision truly is nonexistent.

Well, until a car alarm begins to ring, and you feel your stomach climb to your throat simultaneously.

Because it twitches. Not even a glance-sort of reaction. The entirety of whatever neck that monster hones twitches to look at you with a nausea-worthy crack! of its ligaments. Those jaws parted, a flattened nose breathing in.

And then it lurches, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran as fast as you did now.

Far, far. As far as you can go. 

It’s futile listening to gargled cries for help amongst rubble, the reaching of hands for your feet you can’t even spare a moment for as those scraping claws continue their perilous dance after you, scavenging on people as they go. 

So the second an intact person comes into view—a boy, looking about your age (and freakishly calm at that) with fluffy hair and rounded cheeks retaining such youth—you’re racing ahead before you can even think, ramming through those convenience store doors in a flurry of panic and fear.

“Monster— Monster- there’s a monster we have to go-“

“Do you like grilled cheese?” He mumbles, and you wonder if he’s talking to himself or you, no less asking such a question during this downright apocalypse.

“No, no there is—“ A shriek pierces the air in the distance, the clutter of debris alerting the monster’s proximity.

You, in a frantic attempt to redirect his attention, place either hand on his shoulders.

“A monster. There’s a monster out there and if we don’t hide, it’s going to kill us.” 

The boy licks his lips, cocking a contemplative brow before looking toward the freezer section. 

“Freezer?”

At this point the creature might as well be turning the corner, and you don’t need to respond for either of you to go running as fast as your legs will carry you, stuffing yourselves into the biting cold just as the bells above the entrance door ring.

Scariest part is this customer is intelligent enough to open doors.

This customer isn’t human. 

Like slow-motion you hear it. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, the lack of air in such a tight space, the monster’s rumbling.

Your hidden counterpart lodged himself into a freezer opposite to you, eyes squeezed shut the nearer clicking footsteps on tile sounded.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you open them, met with the monster’s face, hundreds of razor-sharp teeth lining its mouth, stretched into that same, chilling smile while it stares at you through the glass.

It can’t see you. It can’t see you. It can’t see you, You internally plead like a mantra, suffocating on the scream rising in your throat.

The loud clanging of a soup can the boy throws has the creature’s disfigured face whipping around, and you wordlessly communicate through mere terrified-eye-contact what either of you are thinking:

Run.

Without conscious you go flying, ramming past discarded groceries and tormented bodies into Seoul’s open roadway, void of any vehicle whatsoever.

Except for one.  

It’s a tow truck, key still lodged into the ignition, window broken with streaks of blood lining the door where a middle-aged man’s body had been dragged out. He rests lopsided below the front tire, abdomen severed in half.

Grotesque. 

“Car- Car!” You cry out, wildly gesturing for him to follow suit while you pry the driver’s door open, the monster’s frustrated growl enough motivation for the stranger to throw himself in as well.

In the nick of time you press down on the pedal, winding the wheel in a quick motion just as the hell-sent smashes itself from the shop, evidently angered.

“I’m Han!” The man occupying the passenger seat shouts, the hole through the windshield causing enormous amounts of wind to soar through the car and synonymously blur your senses.

“What?!” 

“My name is Han! Han Jisung!”

Squinting whilst looking through your mirror at the wickedly approaching Monster, you veer past as many obstacles as possible — most being corpses — as fast as the engine will let you.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Y/N!”

Han nods, grasp clutched onto his seat the more you speed increases, recklessly maneuvering left and right as if dodging a crocodile. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a crocodile, but a blood-thirsty beast wanting nothing more than to behead you. How sweet.

“Do you… Do you know how to drive?” He yells, and you raise your eyebrows, narrowly shifting past a shopping cart.

“If you count Mario-Kart as driving, I’m a pro!”

Han audibly squeaks his fear in response, eyes squeezing shut as if to not stare at the monster’s face nearing the mirror.

The speedometer cries out, vehicle shuddering as you near train tracks just at the edge of the city. 

Hopeful. 

Fleeting hope when the roar of a train’s whistle soars through the air, the look Han gives you doing little to sustain your already thinned sanity.

Perhaps you’ll die getting hit by a train than this monster.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

“We’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make i—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP—-“ You screech, foot slammed as far down on the gas pedal as possible, the rumbling of the train’s engine deafening. 

“HOLY SHITTTT—“ The man screams, mouth ajar as you soar over the tracks, preparing for impact only for a hair of the train’s front barely brushing over the car’s bumper. 

Currently realizing you’re still breathing and not dead, you floor the brake, either of you launching forward in your seats while the endless train keeps the monster at bay on the opposite side. 

Both panting hysterically, you place a hand on your chest, hoping to slow down the terrifyingly fast pace of your heart — close to bursting out of your chest. 

Your passenger, Han Jisung, turns to look at you, eyes wide as saucers, a gradual open-mouthed smile growing upon his flushed, sweat-stricken face.

“That was.. sick.”

The flashlight flickers here and there, found in the tow truck’s trunk along with a med kit currently carried along by Han.

By chance did you end up in what remained of the red-light district, rubble dotting roadways as evidence of the Monster’s previous siege.

Amidst the held supplies, your pocket seems to ache with the weight of the letter, sitting there in its futile warning of what was to come, now arrived.

You hadn’t brought it up to Han yet, a persistent fear of blame lingering in the back of your mind. Was it your fault you didn’t react in time? Disregarded the letter?

No. There’s no time to regret now. Whatever past existed has been annihilated. 

Night is approaching, and with that comes rising unease and a desperate need to find shelter.

Seoul’s red-light district had always been a taboo for Korea’s upper class. A hushed word, quenched beneath harsh scolding and wrinkled noses at the mere mention.

As if their own well-off sons don’t get driven there on a daily basis, ignorant to their own affiliation as if it’s a genetically determined trait.

Quite funny how none of that matters now. Not when it’s the end of the world, that is.

Every (once) building looks the same. Rubble. Litter lines the roads, cars strewn awry, wrecked into buildings, run over people. 

A pattern lies in everything. 

This pattern consists of fear. 

Struck on faces, painted carelessly along torn apart surfaces and walls, splattering the cities ruby red.

Incessantly, you can’t help but fear. A natural biological response when in the presence of actual or perceived danger, inflicting sharp wounds throughout your body, mind on an endless neurological high of adrenaline-fueled paranoia. 

How could someone not be paranoid when they were being hunted?

“In here.”

Han’s voice pulls you out of your head, turning where he points to a brick building, multicolored beach towel draped over a window torn to shreds, soil from plants staining the cracks of tiles, floor a mixture of blood and bacteria. 

“It’s abandoned,” He notes, prying the creaking door open. 

Abandoned isn’t the word for it. The inhabitants left as most people did upon hearing the news of invasion, although they didn’t get far, you’re plenty aware of that. 

What a shame. Thinking they could escape, in their wake, slaughtered ruthlessly. 

Instead of abandoned, call it evacuated, barren.  

Inside, a radio runs in a constant string of white noise, the addition of broken air conditioning the only source of apparent life. Haunting, flickering lights cast the few rooms in an eerie, ghoulish green like that of a basement.

“I’ve been here before. There should be a mart nearby.”  

Allowing his remark to sink in, you pause, a slight grin drawing upon your lips. 

“You’ve been here before, in the red-light district?” 

Phrase lingering amusedly, he stops as well, shifting on his heel to grace you with a similar smile.

“What? Not everyone can stand high and mighty in this society. Plus, there’s no need to pretend anymore when death is so close by.”

Your smile drops, and you suck on the skin of your cheek, a loud breath through your nose enough to continue the descent.

Perhaps you should change the abandoned description. 

Just then, from the corner of your eye do you see a figure emerge, the glinting edge of a kitchen knife barely brushing your shoulder blade before you dodge to your left, the attacker colliding with an ironing board.

Mere seconds later the figure rises to their feet, identified as female, adorning lanky limbs and skin as pale and zombified as the surrounding room. Her lips are cracked and purple, eyes nearly black, blanketed with equally raven hair reaching the floor in length.

The girl looks like a creature, barely alive with the lack of coordination in her loose stabs, alienated stare vividly murderous. 

Only by narrowly pummeling into the wall do you manage to immobilize her, Jisung’s efforts stalled.

Liquid obsidian blinks back up at you from where you’ve caged her to the floor, her nostrils flaring in hasty breaths, your own panting ringing in your ears.

“Look kid- I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Now if you calm down and let me—“  

A third of the steak knife puncturing the side of your thigh veers your head back, choked scream jostling your nerves tenfold. Bubbling blood slips from the wound, trickling warmth dizzying you into a foggy spell.

It’s not until a low bang! sounds that her arm, raised for another strike, falls limp to the floor, looking behind you to find Jisung holding a pistol, silencer attached to the muzzle, aimed directly at the girl below you. 

Immediately, before you can release the unheralded screech compressing your lungs, Han hoists you up by your elbows, the jarring movement beckoning a squealed sob you bite your tongue containing.

Snatching clothing from a closet behind the door, the man rips the fabric using his teeth, returning to your slumped frame.

Reminding you to hold your breath, he aligns the makeshift bandage prior to tying it, your reaction becoming quieted as your eyes roll back.

And the world falls into a dark abyss. 

By the time your lashes flutter open again, searing light invades your vision, the urge to open your eyes aiding a roaring headache.

Although, it appears you’re still in the same room, alternatively relocated to a futon on the floor, leg propped up using folded pillowcases and books. 

“You’re up.”

Han enters the room, two metal cans of mashed spam and rice held in either hand, one of which he gives to you. 

“You were knocked out cold,” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, uncharacteristic to the fact he just shot someone.

“The shirt should staunch the bleeding. Eat.”

Staring down at your meal, you glance up, stomach churning in an unsightly manner merely considering food.

But you eat anyway, gulping the bites down despite the nausea.

“And the girl?” 

Han takes a bite, scraping every last grain from the noisy tin without so much as a shiver.

“I took care of it.”

It’s your turn to laugh, confusedly surveying the teenage-boy-looking friend of yours.

“What are you? A hitman?”

He clicks his tongue, eyes thoughtfully flickering to the ceiling. 

“I’m.. somebody who really wants to survive.”

All you do is return his tight-lipped expression.

Yet, truly accounting for your introduction, there’s a whole lot you don’t know about him. His past, his goals. What his life was like before. 

He comes off as cheery and good-natured, disposition claiming he wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

You’ve come to realize that isn’t the reality whatsoever. Because Han Jisung is exactly what Han Jisung said he was.

Somebody who really wants to survive. 

You can relate to that.

“So.. Random note, random warning, no location?” 

“Pretty much.” 

Seated beside you, Han surveys the letter, reading over the contents a few times before folding it back up and handing it to you. He’s redressed your wound, utilizing the medical kit’s antiseptic and gauze to wrap the skin.

“Hellion Inn,” Han repeats softly, brows knitted. “Never heard of it.”

You shrug once more from your place on the ground, leg still propped while he squats to your left.

“If anything, it’s likely it was destroyed if it’s an actual Inn,” He mumbles, tapping a puffy bottom lip with his index, earning your half nod before you pause.

“We can still try it though? We can find a stick or somethin’, I’ll use it as a crutch.” 

This time, it’s his turn to nod — rising up with a somewhat-assuring: “I’ll be right back” before leaving the room, returning after a few moments with a table leg, nearly comical in the proud manner he lifts the wood, jagged edges evidence of his severing with a knife. 

After copious laughter do you glance at him, brow cocked. “This is really all you’ve got?”

Asking from your place beside him, you brace more weight onto the makeshift crutch, granting Han a side-long glance.

“If I had more I’d use it,” He huffs, watching you hobble slightly but remaining upright with worried brows, hands poised to stabilize your steadying adjustment.

That’s most important, you deemed, no matter how puny. A drag to the team means death; you won’t be that drag.

Tomorrow morning you’ll head out. Find somewhere else to occupy whilst searching for Hellion Inn.

The one remaining routine amidst the apocalypse is time, and as the sun cracks above a horizon once able to be admired and not envied, you’re helped to your feet, gathering bags slung over each other's backs. Additional clothes, torn tablecloths. Anything of even insufficient use.

You don’t think these streets had been this quiet since your grandparent’s time, with bustling citizens and raging business overtaking wherever you look. Now, it might as well be a ghost-town. No more cries for help, no more groans and moans in agony.

And yet, it’s almost unsettling as it is reassuring. Suffering has ceased. Cries for help drawn to a close. 

Peace within death.

Trekking for only about a mile feels tumultuous, the ache already coiling in your bones like snakes seen slithering through rubble, waiting for rats to swarm decomposing carcasses in search of easy victims.

Seoul has become a jungle, eat or be eaten. It’s only a matter of time, a split-second ignorance, that can have you eaten. Perhaps by the true Monster, perhaps by your own kind.

The sight of broken columns and french doors parted in what looks to be a hotel in front of you redirects your focus, granting Han a hum of acknowledgment. His hand reaching for the pistol in a fashioned holster, yours coming to the kitchen knife held in your bag.

Wary, but slow steps paired with your hobbled ones make for the small bout of stairs, buzzing of flies caught in flurries littering goosebumps along your arms.

Something about this place is abnormal. That much is known. And if this is the so-called “Hellion Inn” (or what remains of it), your hope for sanctuary plummets in tandem with the temperature upon stepping in. 

Cold. That dead, stale kind of cold, warmth from the heart void, no longer beating.

Matchstick providing barely enough light, you carefully pry open the squeaking doors in the second doorway, blade wielded close to your being. The putrid odor of decay perplexes your gag reflexes, allowing Han to take the lead in his observing endeavor. 

Abruptly, your foot smushes against something below, and when you look down only to be met with a lifeless hand there, bulging, horror-stricken eyes staring back up at you, you hurriedly bite your lip to conceal the bubbling scream clawing from your throat, frothing like a brewing cauldron. 

Han can only grimace. 

It was here. You’re not sure when, but these wounds — these corpses mercilessly ripped apart — aren’t the doing of humans.

A bone chilling thought surfaces in your mind.

What if the monster is still here?

Your traveling companion spins around on his heel, hands placed on his hips. Honeyed irises momentarily flit between your paled frame to the obvious terror staining your features, his eyebrows raised.

“Hey, I know it’s scary, but the monster’s likely gone by now, and if we can find someone or a sign that’ll redirect us then maybe…”

His words trail off, suddenly all too familiar with the sound of chortled breathing ragged in his ears. Exhales stenching of rotted flesh, the scraping of sharpened claws on the floor.

And how you’re not staring at him, but above him. 

Your palms slowly reach up to cover your mouth, taking the tiniest step back manageable.

“..It’s right behind me, isn’t it?”

Yet, before the Monster can swipe a clawed hand and hack off a limb, deja vu strikes in the form of another gunshot, not silenced, booming,

It soars right past your shoulder with pinpoint precision to land within the Monster’s side, collecting a shriek in return. The beast flails wildly as Han races from its clutches towards the unknown savior of his.

Fluffy hair, a torn, mud-stained jean jacket over his shoulders, white undershirt equally unkempt. The four of you survey the monster’s descent deeper into the hotel, not appearing to execute anymore attack attempts.

For now.

No less, you’re helped outside in your wobbly state, the shot-gun boy leading, another seeming to take up the rear behind you and Han. His companion, maybe. Just as you and Han are.

Sharper features oppose the shotgun-carrying boy’s downturned eyes with inquisitive, apprehensive ones. Lighter hair, jeans bagging by his shoes, white tee’s once graphic design smudged, unrecognizable. His own weapon lies in spiked boxing gloves, nails seemingly ruptured through the cushioned layers.

And when his eyes meet yours, you feel fire in your veins. Blazing, warming you from your toes to your fingertips.

“You guys alright?”

Shot-gun boy, introduced as Kim Seungmin, speaks first, spinning on his heel to regard either of you. Though, it’s hard for your mind to stay attentive, the feeling of Seungmin’s companions’ eyes incessantly boring into your back causing a wary twitch of your fingers. 

“Lee Minho.”

His voice breaks you from that apprehensive spell, that watchful gaze of his surveying both you and Han with an unimpressed exhale.

“Don’t slow us down,” He scowls, shouldering past Han, lips drawn into a tight line. He heads for their own vehicle, a worn down truck narrowly resting in better condition than your earlier tow truck by the tracks.

Real friendly.

Seungmin, a tad bit more benign, gestures with a curt nod to the vehicle, ushering your injury-wielding self to sit in the passenger seat with Minho as driver, Seungmin and Han taking the truck’s bed.

Just then does the Monster make its return, bursting from the hotel in a seemingly rejuvenated spirit from before, gaping jaws aching to be filled.

You could only hope your flesh wouldn’t be the filler.

“This is why I hate introductions,” Minho, already slamming his foot onto the pedal, grumbles, not granting a response upon tires burning rubber over dusty roads as you speed off – a replay of your ride with Han on loop each time you see the Monster in your mirror.

Approaching closer, closer again.

It seems food becoming involved is a common theme, jarred when the truck swerves in front of a supermarket. Seungmin shouts from the back as he and Han race ahead, beckoning you two to follow them, your steps lightly hobbled with feeble help of the makeshift crutch.

“The hell do I have to be on babysitting duty for?” Minho, lifting your arm over his shoulder, grovels, and you fight the urge to whack him with your crutch, making through the desolate supermarket. 

Weapons in clutch, it grows taxing trying not to grimace hearing clattering glass, the mental picture of those bulging eyes doing little for your already queasy stomach.

“It’ll hear us!” 

With your horrible luck intact, this already dislikable stranger ends up being the same soul you're lodged into a bathroom stall with.

Minho hisses, furrow of his brows causing his face to scrunch with distaste, the loud clatter of soup cans and chip bags alike resounding from outside in the thick of the Monster’s carnage.

“No, it’ll hear you. More people means more death, and lucky for you, I’ll be off your hands in no time.” Now it’s your turn to retort, the man lacking of his usual boxing gloves, strap of Seungmin’s shotgun over a shoulder instead.

Wriggling yourself from his grasp, you hesitantly slide the notch to the door, movement only stopped by Minho’s lingering hand grabbing your sleeve. 

“And what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m repaying a favor.”

Weighing your ability to walk well, you snag the shotgun from his shoulder, granting the man a wink and a: “Thanks for the shotgun”, before slipping from the stall, leaving his starstruck figure in tow.

Ignoring the biting ache in your thigh thanks to a discarded crutch, you savor cool metal beneath your fingertips, watching the blur of the other two boys racing past the Monster’s attempts of attack. 

“Hey! Ugly fucker, over here!” You shout, chilled seeing blind eyes rip your way.

Cocking the gun, your eyes narrow, focusing the sight on its head and–

Bang!

Echoing around the supermarket does a copper bullet gnash into thin skin, puncturing straight through, shell casing crinkling onto the floor below in tandem with a low groan of the creature.

Minho bursts from the bathroom moments later, still sporting a starstruck visage. Han and Seungmin go thundering right past back to the truck, the wild goose chase persisting. 

What wasn't persistent was Minho’s arms wrapping around your back, hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of rice whilst chasing right after his counterparts.

As much as you’d like to thank him, your thigh still hurts like hell.

“Yah! That- hurts- asshole!” Shrieked between his hurried footsteps, you smack his shoulder blade defiantly.

Hopefully that serves as a thank you.

However, escaping is far from reach, and feeling presumably safe is equally residing far from grasp when, after finally being able to inhale without a stutter to your lung halfway down the road, the sharp snap of a tire blows.

And the truck flips over.

It was one thing maneuvering from the flipped car, shards of glass embedded in your skin beckoning pinpricks of blood, and another continuing on foot to wherever the two acquaintances planned to lead to.

The largest of things, however, was learning the name of this apparent destination.

Hellion Inn.

With Seungmin sustaining a minor head injury, Han luckily unharmed, and an also unharmed Minho reluctant to aid in being your temporary crutch, you’re given plenty of time for interrogation along the way — wondering just who the hell was responsible for the letter. 

As far as their replies go, not a soul knows.

And at this rate, you can’t bring yourself to care about pestering for answers anymore, not with Minho’s aggravating complaining and equally as irritating, stupidly good-looking side profile.

So, the torturous walk to this supposed ‘Inn’ prevails, which, turns out not to be an Inn at all. Instead, it’s this metal, bus looking contraption, like a trailer.

Silver of the exterior tarnished, it hides within a surrounding forest entryway, vines curling around door fixtures as if with time, what remained would be swallowed by the greenery.

From the bus two more men exit, and you can’t help but wonder if this so-called Hellion Inn has just as many residents as an actual Inn.

Christopher Bahng and Seo Changbin introduce themselves hastily, quick to rush back into the bus and retrieve a medical kit. After enduring both the painful removal of glass, your reopened wound stitched, and Chris’s heart wrenching smile of assurance (followed by a pat to your kneecap after, ensuring an imminent heart attack on your part), you’re finally invited inside, introduced to the others.

Three more. 

It’s a clown car. Definitely. 

Yang Jeongin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix. Boys- no, men, with features you’d like to deem frustratingly attractive. 

Maybe photoshoot, not a clown car.

No less, the seven interact with ease, Han intermingling as if he’d been by their side for eternity. A bonfire, expertly lit behind the bus hidden amongst foliage to conceal smoke, provides warmth in the night.

Cold, just as it’s always been. Even more so with autumn’s presence.

Yet, you find your eyes falling right back to him.

Minho.

Man of fire, whose gaze on yours feels like your ribs cracking apart, as if his fingers bend your windpipe every which way, rendering no air into your lungs. He is fire, licking at your skin in the most deplorable of ways.

And you crave it.

If he were Hades, you’d eat the pomegranate seeds like a fool just to feel his eyes on you again and again.

Selfish.

When he looks at you, you feel selfish. Perhaps it’s the stakes, perhaps your heart has grown too weak, beat too fast it falls for any and all. Adrenaline-induced love.

You aren’t naive like Persephone, aren’t blindsided by curiosity.

That latter is a lie. Especially when you shift on the log, purposefully scooting closer to catch bits and pieces of his conversation with Jeongin, listen to the perfect pitch of his voice, aided by the crackling of flames before you.

You wonder if touching him would rival those white-hot flames. Scalding your fingers till you grew numb. 

You’d take that bet.

Fluffy fabric placed over your shoulders makes you flinch in place, sympathetic eyes of chocolate meeting yours.

Honeyed. Chris.

“It’s cold, stay warm,” He ushers, crouching to take a seat on your left.

Then do you register his actions. A blanket, the material a survivor of water’s toil and plenty of stains. But it’s warm, durable, and most importantly, sweet. Chris is sweet, you decide, a bit like this warm blanket.

Your nod of thanks doesn’t feel like it even slightly compensates for his kindness, though, for now, it’s enough.

Tomorrow, Chris, Changbin, Minho, and Jeongin will relocate the flipped truck. Haul it back, fix it up again. That’s what your sensible mind discerns, seemingly adopted into the group like any other as sleeping arrangements in the bus are modified for both you and Han.

Strays, huh.

A flickering gas lamp keeps your gaze glued to the ceiling where you lie, watching shadows twirl like a strange ballet along the walls. Near the front of the bus does Chris sleep, Changbin glued to his side, Felix tucked beneath his arm.

It brings a smile to your lips, watching them. Even Seungmin, with his more boundary-oriented persona, close to the others, his hand brushing against Hyunjin’s shoulder, Jeongin’s head. 

Human beings, after all. Even when it all falls apart. And maybe, maybe in monsters as well, there is human. The need to be close, to feel skin on skin. 

Counting heads, you find one missing.

“You should be sleeping.”

Minho flicks a lighter on and off, waiting to relight the gas lamp. He squats down in front of you, jeans stretched over muscular thighs.

Your brow furrows, wondering if he’d been here this whole time amidst your ignorance.

“Are you scared?”

His words dull your ability to reply, retort something smart. But, the tone keeps your mouth shut. Cool and calm, like when he spoke to Jeongin by the fire. Not taunting, nor instigating.

“No.”

The words are a lie, unveiled in the crease of a dirt-stricken face, chapped lips pulled taut.

His pinky finding yours verifies that fire theory. From the tips of your toes to the very top of your scalp you feel it. 

Scorching. Hot.

Your skin seems to melt from your bones, but only you can see it.

There are lots of questions to ask. Wondering, hope. Why?

But he beats you to it. It seems you’ll have to get used to that characteristic.

“Go to sleep. Nothing can get you here.”

A lie, you know it well. Any second that monster can stumble here. Smell you, turn the perfect corner to find the bus, sheen shimmering beneath a full moon. Ravage each and every one of you beneath claws and blood.

But the letter, no, Minho says you’ll be safe here. That Hellion Inn will be your safe haven. 

Tonight, you choose to believe that, falling asleep with his pinky twined with yours, his back to one of the side booths, focus trained on your features.

Safe.

“Hnn..” 

Insistent poking to your cheek abducts you from your dream, bleary eyes straining to open. Jeongin sits up, bracing himself with his hands, youthful smile stretched over his face watching you. Meanwhile, the hellspawn guilty, Hyunjin, can’t help but laugh cheerily.

“Wah— I wish I had a camera!” Ebony strands peek from beneath a white ball cap, his voice carries from the bus for Felix’s head to peek in, echoing Hyunjin’s laugh with his deeper baritone.

Similar to Chris are you met with Felix’s kindness, his lithe form slipping past the bus doors to gently smooth back your bed hair, utilizing a hair tie on his wrist to bind the unruly strands before patting your head.

It’s easy to ache for anyone’s touch, you discover.

In the early morning, the car was retrieved by Minho, Chris, Jeongin, and Changbin, the low chatter of voices outside evidence of their progress restoring the once flipped vehicle.

When you step out, Changbin hands you a tin of steaming soup as meager breakfast you’re quick to thank him for, bringing the spoon to your lips whilst lingering near the car, watching them flit about, handing each other tools and screws alike like busied ants.

“You just gonna stand there or help out? Last time I checked you weren’t worried about appearances.”

Instantaneously, Minho becomes his normal, annoying self with each snidely sarcastic remark, cocked brows urging you to retaliate.

Unfortunately, your barely conscious mind can’t formulate something smart back, so you resort to serving as the tool-supplier, handing different ones here and there from a stool near where the Man of Fire works on the popped wheel.

His new title, apparently.

Man of Fire.

“Wrench.”

“Did you just call me a wench?” You scoff, eyes wide with shock at the murmured comment. 

Perhaps you were blindsided after all by his nice face.

“Wrench.”

Or not.

Begrudgingly, you extend the wrench, scowl embedded in your expression he can’t help but crack a bemused grin at.

Attaching the wrench to a bolt to crank does his vein-littered forearms flex, and your throat feels unnaturally dry, forcing yourself to focus on something else in order to school an unaffected facade.

Nevertheless, by night, he’s.. different. Lacking cockiness, harshness.

Unspoken things, like when you’re stirred from sleep, dazed gaze settling on Minho across the bus, his fingers tenderly patting Changbin’s head when he stirs awake. They speak in hushed whispers alternative to Changbin’s boisterous presence. 

And sometimes, amidst the other seven, you’re the one beneath his comforting hand. Those times nightmares plague your sleep, his careful hands tracing your knuckles, slow circles over your skin urging you back into the solace of sleep.

To you he doesn’t talk, just hums a low melody, wipes unshed tears from your waterline. Seeing his face makes you want to cry more, so you can be scooped into his hug.

Though, you doubt you’d ever let go, so you never allow yourself more tears. Maybe that’s for the better.

Because while you’re so selfishly enamored as night falls and he becomes that doting figurine bathed in moonlight, Minho is endlessly selfless. Wordless, but selfless.

The guardian of the night, sustaining a semblance of care and safety that silently engulfs the bus each time a star twinkles within the sky.

Then again, risks are always present. Missions out for food, stashing of possessions in case of invasion.

Windows of the bus covered, the group convenes that evening, leant over a book on the floor, huddled with knees held close to chests. Sharing things of value, adding more.

An old journal, spine tattered and moth-eaten. Inside looks to hold the secrets of the world, hidden within yellowed pages, hurried writing of smudged ink.

All of it, from the Monster’s mannerisms, exterior, presumed weaknesses. Written, documented. How such information was gathered is beyond you. Intricate, detailed.

Study after study, page after page. 

In two days, you’re arranged to head out with Chris for a medical restock. The pharmacy isn’t too far from the Inn, and it’ll only be a few hours of collecting before returning back.

The morning of, Seungmin hands you his shotgun, and Chris takes Minho’s—the Man of Fires’—nail-wielding boxing gloves. Two backpacks, one goal.

Fortunately, the journey isn’t too grueling, filled with quiet conversation and query till barely divisible characters reading ‘PHARMACY’ come into view, slipping into the hollowed, whitened confines of a once thriving business.

Eerie, with medication strung awry, unknown blood splattered along a wall behind the register.

It’s almost funny how the money there goes untouched. What use is it now?

Captured within your peripheral does a door become of topic, shielded behind a hanging towel in the far corner of the pharmacy that you slowly pad over to inspect, fingers tentative in nudging to the side. 

Though, it’s the sudden flick of lights, electricity, that makes you gasp, flashlight of little necessity as you part double doors.

The sight makes your heart stop.

Because beneath the disguise of a pharmacy rests a drug-den, a laboratory, first and foremost.

“Uh.. Does Seungmin have this in his journal..?” 

Building long since redlined by the look of it, Chris is quick to join your side, muttering an awestruck: “Holy shit” you would’ve laughed at if it weren’t for your combined surprise. 

Though, he places an arm in front of you as your foot moves to step inside, instead advising the muzzle of your shotgun to lead you, clearing the area before feasting on this monstrosity.

Countless test tubes litter every surface in sight, but it isn’t mixtures, isn’t a combo of products.

It’s insects, piled with them.

Many deformed in gruesome ways, trapped inside the tubes. Chris, hastily pulling an old camera from his bag, snaps photos, the shutter’s sound echoing around the room.

Yet, you can’t help but notice a near uncanny resemblance.

Incisors, bulging eyes, like the Monster.

No, it wouldn’t be. A mega ant? No, that thing is far from solely ant with its hulking size.

“Don’t you think this is just.. odd? I mean, they’re already up to their noses in cash from the drugs, I’m sure, so why the.. ants?” 

Chris exhales slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

“My guess is as good as yours. And calling it a ‘guilty pleasure’ just makes me nauseous, I mean look at them, they’re.. infected.”

Fungal growth is clear as day, that’s agreed. The true question rests in reason.

Just what were they doing here?

The longer you linger, the more unsettling it becomes.

Because somehow, your gut can’t shake that resemblance to the Monster.

Your walk back to the bus is quiet, shrouded in nerves and a wanting for familiarity. Safe to say you both sigh in relief seeing that silvery, unmoving vehicle.

It’s almost comical how the uneasiness spreads, like whatever fungus altered the insects, contorting them in disfigured shapes, features. Overtaking the nine of you similarly.

Merely thinking about it gives you chills, Chris’s description, as you’re coddled into the bus with the others to explain, doing little for the vomit tempting your throat.

Effortlessly, your same silence washes over the others, paled as they acknowledge the identical resemblance you’d conjured before.

“You don’t think..” You’re feeble in attempting to disprove the suspicions, trembling of your fingers stilled only when Minho’s index traces your wrist. 

Though, it isn’t night, and the look he grants you makes you wish for his touch even more.

Assurance, worn within the grooves of his face, repetitive stroke of his fingertip over a hammering pulse.

“I do think, show me the picture again.” Seungmin beckons, hurriedly flipping through his own notebook as he narrows his eyes on the photo Chris shows. 

Seungmin, you learned, used to be an entomology major in Seoul’s most prestigious university. Studious, with a bright future nearing.

Interesting how easy those aspirations can crumble apart within a day, within seconds.

But there’s no purpose in reminiscing, is there?

Now resorting to gathered notes of the past, he finally stops at a page, finger glued to the scribbled notes. His other hand reaches to the photo, pointing to a tiny label taped to a test tube halfway outside the frame, writing messy and uneven, barely legible against the blur of the camera.

Ophiocordyceps unilateralism, or, in easier terms, zombie-ant fungus. 

Thanks to Seungmin’s insight, his knowledge dictates the occurrence as “a fungus capable of infecting the mind of its host while simultaneously altering its body.”

So, in a horror-movie-esque, freakish way, a parasite. 

Jeongin pipes up, and you swear at least four of you flinch at the sudden sound of a voice against leaden silence.

“But the Monster’s too big to be an ant, right? How could the—“ 

“What if it wasn’t an ant, but another animal? A bigger animal. Some scientific breakthrough where the host was able to be taken over, not by an ant, but by something bigger.” 

The entirety remains consumed in a stillness, taking in the revelation they’ve just come to. 

Fear is almost palpable. Nearly able to be tasted, smelt. 

Han’s leg bounces anxiously, dirty fingernails reaching to claw at his hair, tearing at his scalp with visible shuddering Chris’s warm palm hopes to ease, placed on his shoulder.

“We’re being hunted by a parasite.” He croaks hoarsely in disbelief, tone pathetically cracking in terror. 

A parasite, yes. This, however, is different. 

The monster lurking through Seoul was planned, arranged accordingly under the guise of law and human greed for motive unknown.

A lone pharmacy, meant to cater to human health, now manufacturerers of human destruction.

This parasite is man-made. 

Your spirit could’ve been staunched easily, dampened by the weight of discovery. Grown unwilling to fight anymore, unwilling to try surviving.

Who are we if not going for each other's throats? Why must someone’s greed become everyone else’s problem?

Something so selfish, so horrid it grew out of control, festering like a seed of hatred in one’s heart till spiky leaves and branches poured from their lungs and suffocated them.

For a moment do you entertain the doubts, the scornful attitude over the boiled egg in hand. An early breakfast the day after the realization, with the nine of you seated along the bus’s roof, legs swinging off the side while watching the sunrise. 

You feel like the only people in the world. 

And a bit longer seeing shades of orange and crisp blue bleed across the sky does it feel like it’s all worth living for once again.

So instead, you adapt.

Jotting down more details about the fungus, figuring out ways to combat it. Continual stocking of food, the usual.

Fixing things, keeping up with communication. Laughter and smiling, momentary glances to that Man-of-Fire making you clam up, just like before.

At least that was predictable. 

A continual gas lamp, those same quiet visits of his within the night. And, more often than not, you’d find Minho’s pinkie linking with yours while he slept, without a nightmare or sleepless night as explanation. 

In the mornings, you’d pretend like it never happened. Go back to cat and mouse, square one.

Hold my hand, but keep quiet. 

I don’t want you to leave.

Plenty of things echo through your mind as dawn arises, when your lids twitch and disoriented eyes flutter open to find him beside you, peacefully asleep.

Most days, he’s gone by dawn, somewhere across the bus sleeping, leaving your groggy mind to configure his touch as a mere dream.

No matter the awe, your body betrays such an occasion, and you fall right back to sleep again hoping he could read your mind, keep that contact beneath the blanket.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment your eyes close, his eyes open.

But you’re already asleep when a gentle index traces your cheek, his lips parting with a slow breath. 

“Pretty,” Is whispered, failing to echo around the bus in its hushed volume, a pinch of normality within the chirping of birds, the breach of an emerging day peering over sparse clouds.

“Hm?” 

He wasn’t anticipating your response, breath catching in his throat.

“Hi Minho,” You murmur gently, greeting his surprised disposition as your lips wind into a tiny smile. 

Involuntary. Lips quirking upwards the longer you hold eye-contact.

And surprisingly, Minho cracks a smile too.

It’s feeble, barely divisible apart from the twitch of his lips. Your thumb traces the crinkle, too sleepy to speak, too comfortable to act. 

“Hi there.”

His hand returns your touch, finding your cheek to rest on, savoring the feeling of your skin on his, his on yours.

Stay here, don’t go.

I don’t want to be left alone again.

His brisk glance at your lips has your nerves buzzing beneath such a gaze.

Knowing, obliging.

Obliging as his head tips, as yours complies. Capable of fitting like the perfect puzzle as—

Seungmin mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, and it’s all a dream once more how Minho slips from your hands as if he was never there in the first place.

Three and a half months at Hellion Inn passes in a flash. Research on combatants to the zombie-ant fungus prevalent, plenty of days spent crowded in the bus, throwing around possibilities and idyll conversation. 

Monster sightings have become sparse, with the vast majority of reports informing of its scavenging of the city’s copious bodies.

A sense of relief until it runs out of flesh and craves more, which is where your apocalypse began all over.

Starting with that same, chillingly bellowed chuff at least half a mile out from Hellion Inn.

You don’t think you’d ever seen the eight of them move so quickly. Gas lamp extinguished, weapons cocked and loaded with ammunition ready to fire. Minho’s studded boxing gloves, Seungmin’s shotgun, Chris’s dual pistols. Plentiful traps arranged about the bus, ones you never anticipated having to utilize up till tonight.

How foolish you were.

However, the bus’s roof isn’t caved in by a claw, the nine of you intact for the remainder of the restless night, void of any more sound from the Monster. 

Then again, the torment is far from yielding, with those same, restless nights becoming avidly frequent, Minho’s soothing capabilities tested as a nightmare per week triples in number.

In those times, you find comfort in each other, comfort in bodies snuggled together, in shared pain and happiness. In as much comfort support allows in the thick of a never-ending hailstorm. 

As for you, you find that longing has folded itself into squares of eighteen from a once meager eight. Folded over and over that, the greater the paper grows with each parted fold, the greater that longing burns. 

Burns, like the smoke billowing from a fire outside.

Location of the slow-to-set sun leads you to believe it’s around 3pm, your figure slumped to the floor of the bus.

Though, the missing factor rests in a lack of eight others who currently occupy the fire outside for dinner.

Yesterday, you and Jeongin took on a water restock, roaming about what seemed to be innumerable miles to repeat the walk with heavy packs of water all the way back, currently the cause of your exhaustion as you sleep into the evening the day after.

If only the sleep was peaceful, refreshing.

It’s not.

Well, it was. But not for long.

A shower, according to the flickering of your consciousness as you dream. Warm water droplets pattering on the tile floor underfoot, cleansing grime from your skin. Electricity.

And somehow, a peculiar name leaves your lips upon seeing a shadow behind the shower curtain.

“Minho.”

The sound of your voice is light in this dream. Awaiting, familiar. 

Yet, the pit in your stomach grows, unnaturally.

You find the cause when pulling back the shower curtain, that same, leering smile of the Monster staring back at you as it lunges.

Not Minho.

Your vision goes black, only able to hear the ringing screech of your scream, the heat of the shower now putrid metallic. Blood, replacing the water.

It fills your senses, suffocating you slowly but surely. Overflowing from your nose, your eyes, till you cry crimson.

A sharp twitch of your hand jars you awake.

You’re not bleeding, not in a shower, no Monster in sight. Although, you’d be lying to yourself to say you can just forget it all, act like nothing’s the matter.

More so when you see Minho—recalling his name uttered so sweetly in your dream—standing at the bus’s doorway, seemingly a witness to your horrors as he closes the door behind himself.

Ah. 

No, don’t look at me right now with that doting gaze, as if I’m something to be cared for, something delicate. 

For once I wish you away, so I don’t begin to cry, so my love for you doesn’t become my ruin.

“And it was- it was right in front of me and—“

He sees through you each time, through the toughened exterior, the shake of your head when he asks if you need anything, want to talk about it. 

He came in for an extra blanket, apparently. One long forgotten by now.

Spill your guts, but when it comes to him, you find your heart spilling with it. Words caught in a hyperventilating daze, your hands flail, eyes struck permanently bulging.

At some point, everyone starts to break. No time table to give you an estimate, forewarning.

It just bubbles until bursting.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this anymore..” Voice a desperate plea, sobs wrack your body numb.  “Why can’t…” You begin, eyes flitting to Minho.

“Why can’t we all just die together?”

Heaved between sharp inhales is your face taken between calloused hands, his brows knitted.

“Cause who’s going to take our place? Who else is alive?” He whispers, kneeled upon the floor, staring at you nonsensically.

“This once, let me be selfish. I won’t let you die. You can’t die because I want you alive. Do you understand?” 

Slow to nod, bleary vision situates upon the man, cursing the dip to your usually strong tone — cracking, weakened.

“Can… Can I just.. forget?” 

His eyes flit to your lips if only for an instant, like that time a month ago, stolen. 

And for a moment, you think he may have just read your mind.

“Minho, please… I want to-“

Ah.

And he kisses you, and then, no, more. More and more, till you’re tangled up in sprawled blankets and sleeping bags. Smoke tainting the air from outside, calves dangling from his shoulders, toes curled. 

Minho makes you forget, forget and forget, leaving you to helplessly utter his name past chapped lips — till another round turns into what feels to be a lifetime. 

Your palms pressing to his jaw like a plea, head tossing back once more with a sound purely guttural. 

It’s sloppy, it’s clumsy. Sweat-stuck kisses to sweat-stuck skin. Nails digging into already moth-eaten clothing, his lips permanently pressed to your pulse, hammering and hammering in a wordless incantation of bliss. 

And yet, no amount of greedy, mindless sex, no amount of his doting kisses, his careful assurances, praises, can deter your mind from a reality unavoidable.

There’s no euphoria, no recovery your skin can even acknowledge as he flops to your side, both out of breath.

“.. Am I selfish for a pleasure I can’t even enjoy?” 

Silence breached, your eyes flutter closed, an involuntary tear slipping down your cheek where you lay upon the bunched sleeping bag.

This had been a dream, to be burned by the Man of Fire. Allowing his kiss to brand you, his touch searing every ounce of skin raw.

Little did you know you’d already scorched it all yourself.

Cruel. Irrevocably cruel.

Not even clarity grants your senses, emotion muddled between undergarments feeling too tight and grimy and the lack of fresh air rendering sticky bodies into a cold sweat.  

From beside you, his hand extends to your cheek, thumbing away the salty droplet with a weary smile.

“There is no selfishness, just… grasping onto what’s left. You’re not selfish for taking what you can get, not when everything is being taken from you.”

Hellion Inn was not your safety, it was the one gazing at you, the seven others outside. 

This is only a house, Minho is your home.

Fifth month arising, a conclusion is met. Amongst not-so-helpful input, bickering, and plenty of runs to libraries to gather more books on Ophiocordyceps unilateralism for a very studious Seungmin, he presents a possibility, an option.

Of its known enemies, the zombie-ant fungus doesn’t have many. There was the initial hypothesis on ways ants protect from the parasite, but with the Monster already infected, those methods were out of the question.

Then came the breakthrough.

Torrubiellomyces zombiae, or T.Z. An additional, fanciful word for a more powerful parasite. A Hyperparasitic fungi, zombie-ant fungus’ predator.

Create an ultimate beast without known opponents? Simply double the size, the power.

That’s where T.Z arrived, the species a core option for the Monster’s destruction. Get the spores on the Monster’s skin, and stay alive until it takes over and stabilizes the fungus’ infection.

Much easier said than done, which left room for the organized members of the group separating steps into phases.

Phase one focuses on collection of the spores. Extra photos Chris took that first encounter in the pharmacy unveiled the likely presence of the desired spores, which Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin have been elected to collect as Team C.

Phase two regards locating the Monster, introducing the presence of a harpoon gun (an idea Han loved (for the sole reason of fooling around with the harpoon gun)).

The point of the harpoon will be coated in collected spores, teams of three with three members each (A, B, and C) dispersed throughout the surrounding area the monster before Team A shoots.

And of course, courtesy of Han’s mention on what phase three should be: 

Run like hell. 

Phase two enacting in exactly a week, Hellion Inn spends its days in preparation, plaguing each breathing moment with gathering necessities and ensuring utilities are present.  

Between those lines comes the lividity.

Kisses in the night, his kisses. The shared cockiness, incessant teasing when the others are around as original as it comes despite such tenderness in private.

Your souls bared, secrets spoken into the air for only your ears to hear.

While the others sleep, you love till your heart hurts, watching him fall asleep against your palm where he’d kissed each of your fingertips minutes prior.

“I love you,” He whispers one night, his nose buried into your cheek with a heavy sigh. 

There’s not a single doubt within your mind, a hesitation, a hint of surprise.

Plenty of times it’s been said without words, repeated in the peck he presses to your skin.

“I love you too.”

And you repeat the words in a kiss to his lips. Slow, careful.

Savor. As if it were your last.

Dark clouds wrinkle your vision, spitting rain nothing short of irritating as you, Han, and Minho slip through cluttered underbrush.

Gathering of the spores had been successful by Team C according to the flare gun’s signal, and Team A—consisting of Changbin, Jeongin and Chris—tracked the location of the monster. 

Itaewon hasn't changed apart from the lack of bodies, assumed to be the Monster’s doing. Debris prominent, scavenging animals littering the streets without the usual congestion of people.

When the second flare blooms into shaded sky, that’ll be the indication the last stage: shooting the monster, is underway. For now, the three of you wait, listening in as hurried footsteps of Team C come thundering towards you.

Seungmin offers the vial, Minho lifting the harpoon gun to plunge into what appears to be an oddly shaped mushroom, your arm already lifted to the sky to fire Team B’s own flare gun.

Half way. Not done yet.

Now for Phase three, but, prior to the “run like hell” notion.

Jeongin is the retriever of the harpoon gun, angling through side streets past a lingering monster in the center to deliver the catalyst.

Almost there, almost–

His foot clashing against the metal of an alleyway trash-can disrupts that peace, and synonymously do you feel all breath held.

Chris was supposed to deliver the shot. Jeongin was supposed to make it to Team A unnoticed.

The world seems to grow mute, Han’s wrenching scream from beside you fallen upon deaf ears as the Monster’s gaping jaws beeline for Jeongin, claws extended, the boy kneeling to the ground.

Then, a ping! resounds, and your eyes are slow to open in fear his mutilated body would sit there, bright eyes lifeless.

It’s almost slow motion seeing it. Centimeters from Jeongin’s face does a palm outstretch, twice the size of his head, fingers twitching as if frozen in space.

Then you see it.

In the middle of that palm, the mere edge of the harpoon—only able to get halfway from its sheath—embeds.

Cavernous jaws of the creature part, incisors poised as if disbelieving of the matter itself. Disbelieving of the parasite taking over, altering its blood stream. 

Wilt.

White, almost decaying in the manner the alternate fungi destroys the weaker one, its muscles failing, body freezing.

You half anticipated the creature to at least try fighting in the meantime, land one last swipe. 

But the more time ticking past as you lean forward disproves any chance of movement, able to physically see the blood cells permeating the creature ashen, once curved claws diminishing simultaneously like that of crumbling embers.

Just then does Hyunjin’s voice breach your focus, curdled in urgency. It’s his cry that beckons Jeongin back to his feet, racing back after the others, tip of the harpoon still wedged within the Monster’s palm.

Oddly enough, as you watch the last of it dust into the wind as if melting, it doesn't feel real.

Too simple, uncanny. As if millions hadn’t extinguished in its horrid maw—a single parasite killing off the apocalypse bringer as easy as that.

Yet, it wasn’t easy at all.

Testing every last ounce of your wish for life, wish for a reality snatched from not just you, but eight others’ fingertips.

It was taxing. Surviving, experiencing the start of new love you didn’t think could sprout among a wintery wasteland included. 

But it did sprout, and the way you’re the first person Minho’s eyes drift to speaks that loud and clear.

Twin blossoms of the most brilliant colors, growing brighter the nearer they are. 

Closer than love, truly. 

We made it.

The Monster is gone.

There isn’t a word spoken as you make back for Hellion Inn, make back for home. The crunch of footsteps along gravel rings in your eardrums, breath exhaled from parted lips, matted, grease-ridden hair the least of your concern. No joyous shouting, no celebratory behavior in the slightest.

What is there to celebrate anyway? So many lives lost, too many to mourn.

Progression of your footsteps carries each soul with it, allowing them a final sleep in their eternal resting place.

Sleep well, Seoul. 

“It’s all over.” 

Whispered amidst roaring flames, you can only stare at the pharmacy as fiery flickers—vials, chemicals, ants included–swallow whatever has been left, torching hell’s origin once and for all.

One last stop. One last goodbye to all that was, the last chapter.

Without a word, Minho’s pinky links with your own.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @linocvp1d

[queer-ragnelle]

Why do you hate the Once and Future Knight? I decided not to pick up the book because of personal preference but I’d love to hear your rant on it

Hi anon!

I’m assuming you mean The Once and Future King by TH White?

There’s nothing I could say that hasn’t already been said before I’m sure. But I didn’t read the series until I had already read many other Arthurian tales and I really don’t understand the love the series gets. The negatives don’t outweigh the positives, and worse, the lasting impact of TH White’s characterization choices on subsequent retellings is a stain on the literary tradition that set us back too far to comprehend. Putting my rant below a cut because I went off and the subject matter is disgusting.

First and foremost, the bigotry is astounding. The racism, the misogyny, the ableism and every other prejudice and cruelty you can think of are staggering in their variety and magnitude. It’s vile. It’s inexcusable. I don’t read modern Arthurian retellings to be bombarded with that in every single chapter. TOAFK is not “a product of its time.” It’s a product of a deeply unhappy and hateful man. Plenty of earlier writing is vastly kinder to Palomides and Guinevere and Morgause and Mordred and Lancelot or any other character unlucky enough to be depicted by TH White. Literally the Medieval source material is more nuanced than that. Morgause get behind me.

Secondly, the anachronism is an annoying stylistic choice at best and yet another tool for bigotry at worst. Why are Mordred and Agravaine likened to Nazis? Like seriously what the hell? It’s not enough for them to be antagonists, the text has to invoke the Holocaust? It’s so extreme it rips the reader right out of the story and calls to mind the most horrific parts of history for no narrative benefit whatsoever. Baffling and bad.

Thirdly, the prose just kinda sucks. It’s rambling and TH White will pause the narrative to stand on a soap box to talk at the reader about his views. He’s anti-war. Fine. But of all characters to use as a mouthpiece—King Arthur? The warlord King Arthur? Make it make sense.

Fourth, most tragically of all, so much of what TH White did in his series is reflected in stories told to this day. Every other retelling has a cover quote comparing it to TOAFK. (It’s supposed to be a compliment!) To put it in perspective…

You ever read a retelling with evil neglectful parent and rapist Morgause/Morgan? TH White’s fault.

How about added incest between one of the Orkney bros and their mother (which sometimes results in someone other than Gaheris killing her, say, Agravaine or Mordred)? Thanks, TH White, that’s just what Arthurian Legend was missing, more incest.

Ever see disabled, crippled, bad seed Mordred? TH White started that trend.

What about Guinevere assaulting Lancelot when she learns about Elaine getting him drunk and raping him? TH White really said “Lol what if Guinevere hits Lancelot and spits in his face while he’s crying?”

And the racism! TH White walked so Thomas Berger could run (derogatory). Discussions of race are so intense and so frequent and so random like one minute the narrator has paused the plot to talk about how war is bad and now it’s slandering Native Americans? Brother this is Medieval England what is even happening right now? Oh, look, another N bomb. The antisemitism! Weren’t you just comparing Mordred to Hitler? What do you mean the Orcadian/Scottish characters are evil because of *checks notes* “the incalculable miasma which is the leading feature of the Gaelic brain?” [Queen of Air and Darkness chapter 5] Thanks TH White for stripping Lot, Morgause, Gawain, Agravaine, Gaheris, Gareth, and Mordred of all nuance, a condition from which they have, literally, never recovered. Of course there are some retellings since that write one or two of them with a crumb of nuance, but they’ll never be like they were in the Vulgate. Not all at the same time. I feel sick.

It goes on and on. I have to stop listing examples or I’ll get pissed off. But frankly, more people should be pissed off about it! I’m tired of seeing five star reviews on storygraph and goodreads accompanied by a review excusing the most bigoted garbage I have ever read in a children’s book. It’s vile and everyone should feel bad about defending it. It’s inexcusable. This wasn’t a case of good-intentioned inclusion with dated language, this was an author going out of his way to be hateful. Period.

Big names in the fantasy book community like Daniel Greene should not be awarding five stars and leaving an uncritical review.

Far too many readers acknowledge the racism and then rate it five stars anyway. Go to Hell, Spencer.

Here’s some from storygraph with, of course, praise for Marion Zimmer-Bradley’s pedophilic power fantasy Mists of Avalon, another piece of hot festering sludge everyone should stop talking about. Kill the legacy already. The real life victims have suffered enough.

There also seems to be a trend in these reviews that excuse the texts bigotry by referring to how “old” it is. Which is crazy to me for many reasons. TOAFK in its final form was published in 1958. That wasn’t that long ago. Also racism has always been racism, misogyny has always been misogyny, ableism has ways been ableism. Plenty of authors came before this and really make TH White look like a clown.

Let’s promote them. In reverse!

John Steinbeck wrote The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights in 1956 (published posthumously in the 70s, don’t go by that date). His depictions of Morgan and Guinevere are nuanced and fascinating, not to mention some original characters including an old granny who teaches Owain to be a warrior! This book also has a morally gray sun-powered Gawain without insulting his heritage, an emotional and thought-provoking Lancelot without marking his sin with a facial deformity, and a really sweet Marhalt who doesn’t often get much spotlight!

John Erskine wrote Restoring Palamede in 1932. He does exactly what the cover says, and writes a story about the Muslim knight Palomides beginning in his own country, living with his parents whom are both named, and follows him as he learns the ways of the world and finds an ally in his friend Brangaine! Tristan and Isolde are compelling here and while Tristan can still be a jerk to Palomides, it’s not the mask-off bigotry we’ve seen…elsewhere.

Howard Pyle wrote one, two, three, four books between 1903-1910. Two thumbs up from me. No notes. He drank his respect women juice, drew them with loving care, named so many previously unknown, and gave them voices. He was kind in his portrayal to Palomides and even some other knights of color from India. Morgause survives the narrative! We love to see it!!!

Henry Newbolt wrote Mordred: A Tragedy in 1895. A fascinating examination of family ties, all five Orkney brothers here AND their wives Lyonors, Lynette, and Laurel! (Minus Ragnelle bc life is unfair.) Guinevere and Lancelot are tragic and heart wrenching. Arthur struggles against his son Mordred and their destiny in a way that doesn’t outright demonize either side. It will rewire your brain.

Richard Hovey wrote his poetry between 1891-1900. A complex and interesting Guinevere and Elaine who are not enemies, Lancelot close with Galehaut during the war, destroyed by his torn loyalties between Arthur and Guinevere, Gawain who loves his friend Lancelot with all his heart, and so much more without tearing anyone down!

Oscar Fay Adams wrote his poetry between 1886-1906. Here we get a wide variety of character focus, with title-featured names from King Lot to Dagonet to Lamorak to Lionel. Each one is more fascinating and nuanced and fresh than the last, from a tour of Lot’s castle and meeting each inhabitant to Lamorak on Grail Quest learning to forgive himself from “sweet” Sagramore.

William Morris wrote his poetry between 1856-1910. All of it is on the Camelot Project but I also have this scanned book. Here we delve into Guinevere’s trial as she calls out those who have wronged her, lonely Galahad on Grail Quest relating to his father Lancelot and praising Palomides in his steadfast hunt of the Questing Beast, there’s even a poem named for Palomides himself!!!

Anonymous wrote Moriaen in the 13th century. It follows Aglovale’s illegitimate son Moriaen, who is of African descent. As he travels around Britain looking for his father, Moriaen meets many people who are afraid of his dark skin. BUT! All the Knights of the Round Table leap to his defense, even threatening townsfolk who try to demonize Moriaen for the way he looks and refuse him service. It is, essentially, an anti-racism story from the Medieval era. Not to mention healer Gawain’s care and attention given to the sick and disabled. That’s not even the moral/focus of the story so much as Moriaen’s journey, but it’s there and worth mentioning.

So here we are with a whole list of stuff to read that predates TOAFK and surpasses it. The last one is only sort of a joke. But it’s there to make a point about how inexcusable TH White’s racism really is. If Anonymous could give a black knight like Moriaen the narrative respect he’s entitled to for existing as a representation of real human beings that look like him, then TH White was capable of it too. Progress is not linear. This is not to say Medieval times were “better” than society today. But to write off any problematic story of the recent past as “a product of its time” as an excuse to make oneself feel better about liking it, well, I don’t know what to say. Maybe reflect on that. And while that marinates, read something else.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

HI RAVEN!!!! 🤔 kinda a random thought not really but would you consider ace and sebek to be like? RIVALS? or to have a strong dislike towards eachother compared to other first years/students? 🤔🤔 haven’t read much sebek stuff or book 7 so maybe it’s just the way I interpret things……..

🤔🤔 for me at least I feel like ace brings up sebek especially a handful of times? and to bash on him too or at least poke fun at him. can’t think of a lot off the top of my head but in ace’s birthday jacket vignette he picks at sebek specifically when going thru dorm choices. WHICH LIKE……. I DUNNO ITS GIVING VERY “I BEEF W HIM” VIBES. I figured it could just be because he’s a fellow first year but ?? jack or epel don’t get mentioned when he was talking about their dorms so i’m not sure 🤔

👁️👁️ but I wanna hear your take on it!!! are ace and sebek ACTUALLY beefing or was it all just a headcanon??? 😭😭 hopefully I didn’t yap too much. btw

Sorry for the lack of screenshots; I don’t own all the relevant cards in EN and didn’t want to include screenshots sporadically 💦

But!! I did my best to cite where I’m pulling my information from (main story, vignettes, etc.) and directly quote from the official localization. Hope that’s okay!

I mean… Sebek is pretty much always pissing off his peers because of the condescending way he talks to them. It’s no wonder why he rubs people the wrong way. As for Ace, he has indicated that he finds Sebek to be a pain in the ass. I don’t know if I would personally call it “beefing” though?? I see it more as Ace just wants Sebek to shut up and chill out (though Sebek would definitely shout at Ace and fight him) 😂

Point is, I don’t see Sebek having a particular disdain for Ace (he is abrasive toward everyone), but I do see Ace having a particular dislike for Sebek. They aren’t “rivals” in the same way that Ace and Deuce are, as Ace and Sebek don’t really compete for anything or get into many instances of bickering—at least not from what we see. That might just be a product of Sebek being formally introduced later than the other first years, but even counting vignettes and event interactions, it’s still pretty one-sided; often we see Ace commenting on Sebek but not the other way around.

According to Ace in 7-11, he knows Sebek because they’re in the same Magic Analysis/Enigmics (EN writes this class as both of these so it can get confusing) elective. He also implies (in 7-34) sharing other electives with Sebek. This means Ace has regular direct experience with Sebek compared to the other first years (except maybe Deuce?)… ie more opporunities to be annoyed by Sebek’s arrogant loner attitude.

Ace reports (again, in 7-34) that “[Sebek] insults people like, all the time. He even says stuff right to my face when we're in the same group, like, 'Don't you dare slow me down, human!' And he always finds some way to make every subject about Malleus, then drones on and on about how great he is." In regards to those intense feelings about Malleus, Ace says "[Sebek] takes it to a whole other level [...] I can see why people would idolize [Malleus]. But, like, you don't have to make it your entire personality, y'know?" Ace repeats these ideas in his Birthday Boy vignettes. “[Sebek]’s always yelling something or other about his precious Malleus. Oh yeah, and he talks down to us for being human. Dude's a total fae fanboy.”

In Sebek's School Uniform vignette, Sebek yells at Ace for running in the halls. Ace responds by calling him an "uptight nag" whose yelling will disturb other students. Ace also points out how pathetic Sebek comes across as after witnessing him trip over himself to apologize to Malleus. “Dude, nothing you say's gonna impress anyone after that sorry sight.” When Ace tries to leave the scene to make it to class, Sebek shouts at him. “You wait just a minute! I'm not finished! COME BACK HERE!” It should be noted that Ace is someone who always tries to find shortcuts or ways to get out of work whereas Sebek is strict and diligent. Their mindsets and values naturally clash.

This, I think, is a very good summary of most people's problems with Sebek. Ace is just saying what's on everyone's mind--and this makes sense for Ace's character, as he has consistently been the type of guy to call others out. He also encourages Yuu to do the same (in his Birthday Boy vignettes). This detail at least implies Ace finds it amusing on occasion to tease Sebek for his shortcomings.

We see Sebek’s behavior in class for ourselves in his Dorm Uniform vignettes. Ace actually appears in them too, remarking that Sebek is a “loudmouth”. This is something he echoes in his Birthday Boy vignettes; “Loudmouth doesn't even begin to describe him.” When Sebek starts arguing with his group members (some mobs) and refusing to work with them while simultaneously extolling Malleus, Ace says “Here we go again with Sebek and his ‘liege’… Man, imagine being grouped with that guy who […] All he had to do was play nice and let [the mob students] help. He CHOSE to make things harder. How does that guy even function in society?” Side note: In Ace’s Suitor Suit vignettes, he calls Sebek the “number-one worst contender” for a groom. Ace clearly thinks Sebek is unfriendly and annoying in areas extending beyond academics or school life. This is, of course, in addition to Ace finding his loud voice grating.

Later in the same vignettes, Ace and Deuce are forced to sit close to Sebek in the crowded cafeteria. Sebek insists to Lilia that his classes are going well, to which Ace starts snickering and reveals the truth: “Dude... No problems whatsoever? You've got nothing BUT problems, bro! Haha!” Deuce pitches in: “He got into a loud argument with some classmates during our defensive magic lesson. He called his groupmates ‘burdens’ and insisted on doing their entire project by himself.” Ace then says Sebek must think highly of himself and gets annoyed when his words are taken literally. “Do you not understand sarcasm either?” He tells Sebek to fix his attitude, but it doesn’t seem to work. Ace sighs and says he’s just wasting his breath on this.

Sebek’s Dorm Uniform vignettes illustrate Sebek’s general struggles to get along with all of his classmates, not just Ace or Ace specifically. Deuce notably also calls Sebek out for causing trouble for his peers, even stating “[…] as an aspiring honor student, I can't condone your behavior. Having confidence is fine and all, but you shouldn't make things harder for others. That's just being obnoxious.” Sebek pisses off the other first years in 7-34 too, calling them “shallow” and making a terrible first impression. Ace, who is also present, says that no one wants to be chummy with him anyway—not if he’s going to act like that.

In conclusion, Ace has explained his rationale for disliking Sebek many times over. Rather than saying Ace has a problem with Sebek, I think it would be more accurate to say that Ace has a problem with Sebek and is simply relaying the opinions that everyone else holds directly to Sebek’s face. (He gets annoyed that Sebek takes none of it to heart though.) As for the other party, Sebek chides Ace no differently than he would anyone else stepping out of line, not appreciating Malleus, or… just existing as a human 💀 He doesn’t seem to have issues with Ace other than his lax attitude (which could also apply to many other characters such as Leona).

In my opinion, Ace and Sebek are not rivals (at least not major ones), nor do they have specific beef with each other outside of one-off instances or whenever Ace is in the mood to lay down The Truth and embarrass Sebek. I see Ace and Deuce as your classic rivals and Sebek as like… a villain of the week who cameos here and there after his first appearance to cause shenanigans.

[scummy-writes]

Things I've learned about being in fandoms on tumblr

Sometimes when I am navigating fandom, I will have bouts of... depression? negative feelings? regarding it. I think a lot of people go through this, but in the areas of fandom I buzz around in, I don't see many people talking about ways to sort of re-center yourself and take care of yourself in an online space. I thought I would attempt to share some of my habits I try to follow when I hit one of these moods. So here are 14 of them covering various subjects I run into the most. They will not work for everyone, but I do encourage you to think a bit about each point and see if it would work for you.

Feel free to add some of your own, but I am looking for positive advice that is not meant to put down others in a harmful way. I would also like to preface that I've been in fandoms for over seven years, most of them smaller rather than huge, but a lot of this advice is centered around someone just trying to enjoy the space/enjoying it as a fan creator (writing fanfics in my case). The 'you' used in this is a general usage of the word 'you'.

-> It's good to celebrate milestones, whether its how many followers you have, works you've made in a year, or similar.

However... Don't let this become a competition or reasons to compare yourself to others. We're here to have fun and to celebrate us doing so- don't put completely unneeded and unnessacary competition on it. What's the point of that competition other than to make yourself feel bad or to belittle others? This extends further to notes - no number games. none. You can be proud of the numbers you have gotten, but curb all impulses to swing that in a negative way. The second that starts happening, talk to friends. talk to someone IRL. do something that isn't staring at your notifs, immediately. Even if its listening to silly things while washing the dishes- get out of your notifs tab!!! The numbers game isn't a game you have to be a part of, ever.

-> Don't put other bloggers on pedestals.

It's fine to be a fan of someone's work, and to be excited when they post or even talk to you and you're surprised by it. However, we're all just nerds together in a fandom- maybe don't put them up on a pedestal and hold their opinions/words as gospel rather than things you agree with. There's an unhealthy disconnect there for both parties, and can lead to unhealthy habits of a bad comparison game with one party not even knowing you're comparing yourself or others to them. And I promise that no one likes being pitted against others in those.

-> separating my main blog from my fandom blog has done wonders for me.

This one is a lot more of a 'me' thing that MIGHT be helpful towards others, but it's such a nice thing to have a 'normal' space where I don't have to worry too much about fandomisms but want to be online. I want to reblog other things that are not just fandom related and I don't want people from the fandom blog bothering me for. For the longest time I wasn't very upfront with my main blog purely because I wanted that separation, but for others to block me properly I put it up more bluntly.

I also think that this is good when you want to write about some things, but are nervous. In my example, I get nervous writing about my ocs. So what did I do? Made a sideblog for one, briefly mentioned it, and I post untagged drabbles at times when trying to explore her character. It's more practice on not caring about the note amount each post gets for me, and it makes me more at ease with things not getting any notes while exploring different subjects I don't usually write about.

-> Does everyone seem horrible, or are you just not in a good mood?

This is silly and maybe redundant for some, but it's good to keep a track of IRL verses Online. If IRL is weighing you down so much that you use online as an unhealthy habit (self destructive behaviors towards things you worked hard on, lashing out at friends for things out of their control, lashing out on other bloggers for inane things, focusing your bad mood on notes or fake popularity contests...) then try and figure out the big important things: Have you eaten, slept, drank enough water through the day, or are in pain/annoyance with something offline that you're not realizing? Is it one person online making you feel like this? Have you blocked them? Have you taken healthy breaks offline to reground yourself? When i am randomly bitter about the online world, this is typically my frustrations with smth IRL leaking out, and so I do something to help process that or to breathe through it. My personal go to is getting out of the house so I can listen to music, watch silly videos while putting together a simple craft I bought, or doing chores/playing games.

-> Is the fandom full of cliques, or are you witnessing friends just talking to each other?

I get it, it fucking sucks not being involved in a friend group. You know what makes that worse? By looking at other's friend groups bitterly and making up shit in your mind to justify it. The reality is this: people will be friends with a limited number of people, and frequently talk to them because that is who they are comfortable with.

You not being in that friend group does not mean there is anything wrong with you OR them. The honest truth is that it's hard to keep up with a ton of friends at once, and so people may not respond to your messages, or they might mean to but it gets lost in their hectic IRL, or they just don't mesh with you- and all of that is normal!

And... Really... It takes work to build up a friend group. You have to get out of your comfort zone and send the first few messages. You have to embrace the fact that it's possible a friendship won't pan out. It's natural, it's normal, and doesn't mean there is anything wrong with you or the other person. After trying and naturally just talking to people in the fandom, I promise that you will find a friend group of your own.

We are all socially awkward people trying to nervously talk to each other. Yes, even the people you follow that seem like 'everyone' likes them- they are nervous too. we're all just nerds here, remember that.

-> Understand that no one is obligated to do anything.

This ranges from so many things. Here is a list as short as I can manage it to get my point across: No one is obligated to comment, read, like, or reblog any posts. Any posts. No one is obligated to scour for new creatives in the fandom spaces and reblog their work. No one is obligated to tag their posts/creative adventures to your liking. No one is obligated to follow by your DNIs and BYFs. Obligation does not exist. Even your friends are not obligated to do any of this.

It is courtesy to do these things. Blogs will do their best to be supportive by nature, and to try and at least do some of this at any given time, but it's not a requirement. It's NICE to do so and encouraged, but the second you drill it into your head that no one, not even you, are obligated to do this, it's a bit easier to breathe and accept that no, it's a bit insane and difficult to read through 50 fanfics a week and comment a paragraph on all of them while also working on your own things and trying to manage 15 conversations while working 40 hrs a week and and and---

Instead, focus that energy on friends and yourself when you can and accept your own limitations.

-> have other fandoms you enjoy where you DON'T feel pressured to do ANYTHING.

Due to my hard fixation at usually one to two games at a time, I am usually only writing for those at a time- but I need other things to enjoy where I don't feel like I need to make something to post online. I don't feel that pressure from myself, i don't feel the need to try and engage with others. Just a quiet enjoyment for me.

-> If creating is really stressing you out and making you feel worse than better, reflect on the reasons this may be.

Are you hanging out with people who are regurgitating really bad beliefs regarding creation ("shame, you only got twenty notes, that's nothing", "wow fifty notes? that flopped.", "how did this person's shitty work get 30 more notes than me?"). Are you getting anons putting you down? Is your depression convincing you what you've made is worthless? Look at some of the points in this post regarding friends, blocking, and if you're neglecting your body's needs. If that still persists, there may be some self-reflection as to why things get to you so badly. Try to journal out the reasons why until you believe you hit one that is not your depression speaking.

An example: I would freak out about notes because I had friends that would talk around or to me in the examples listed in the previous paragraph. Cutting them off, focusing on friends who focused on the joys of creating, and focusing more on what *I* wanted to write rather than requests... I still get depressed at times but it's been so much more managable now with better support and feeling free creatively. Usually calling myself out at staring at notes helps me shake my head and move on now.

-> Blocking/Filtering is your friend, but maybe don't over do it.

Blocking seems vaguely controversial at times, but I do believe it's needed for a positive fandom experience. Outside of the obvious, the reasons I block people are typically related to how upset I am by something the person has done or said, even if it's related to fancreations. If it's something like them berating others for not believing their headcanon/fanon? Or grossly demonizing some character's mental illness? Or harassing people who dislike some characters and vice/versa? That's all a block for me.

I personally try not to overdo it and make educated decisions based on like, hey, is this just someone misunderstanding and not realizing how they're coming off? Is this someone who I am misreading their tone? Is this just a weird one-off behavior? Ok, then maybe no block button. But if seeing poor takes makes you angry for longer than, say, 20 mins? an hour? It's a week later and you're still all huffy about it and legit pissed? Maybe dig into that while also blocking the person for now.

The Filters aspect of this is similar, but it's a lighter version of blocking for me. Maybe I don't want to block this person but seeing them talk about bugs really stresses me out, so I look at how they tag those posts and filter it out for myself. Maybe I love their fandom blog but they're multi-fandom, so i will filter out a fandom I don't want to see them post about. That's it.

-> Don't be afraid to cut anon off, even if it's for a few weeks at a time.

I feel like those of us who take requests for fan creations are terrified of this a lot, but truly, taking breaks from the anon function should be encouraged. It is indeed a button for shy people, but there are assholes everywhere regardless. When they occupy your time too much or just annoy you, take away their ability to actually say anything to you.

For a creative, sometimes this can feel like the end of the world. But... you Can turn it back on later. I frequently shut it off during major life events, fanfics I am worried I might get weird anons about, when I'm in a randomly bad mood and don't think I can handle it. I Sometimes have it off for months at a time. You can cut it back on. But if anons make you anxious just imagining getting one right now? Flip that off for now. (also please utilize the block function for mean anons!!!)

-> turn those tumblr notifs OFF!!! (mobile) Additional: Turn your status OFF!!!

The only notifications I get on my phone from tumblr is when someone IM's me, and I've had it like this for years. I cannot imagine having my phone constantly going off with random tumblr notifications, I think I would have a bad spike in anxiety having that happen. It would make any negative feelings with notes/followers/number worse for me.

The online status is debatable, some people really don't have an issue with this, but I tend to feel pressured to respond to people asap if they see that my status is online and similar. Those people have not said anything to me regarding it, it's just my personal issue. So..I turn that status off. And it helps me feel better about answering in my own time.

-> Look at who you are communicating with.

Do your friends regularly dunk or mock people on the daily, over shit that is inane and petty? Are you a creative a bit nervous with your work because your friends are pretty rude with how they view other's works? Are you scared to like a character because your friend severely hates them/is attached to them to an unhealthy degree?

There are other subsets to this, but those are ones I find really troubling and try my best to avoid. I dont want to be friends with people who regularly mock others on the legit daily. I don't want to be friends with people who nitpick notes and use notes as a measure on how much worth someone has. I don't want to be friends with people who mock other's creative endeavors.

So... I don't! If I notice things are becoming a salt pit, I try to talk things out at first, but if its clear that's not gonna work, then it's outties for me. It's very true that everyone will salt over something eventually, but it's up to you to decide how severe it is with your friend circle, how it wears you down, and are they really people you want to hang around with if they just make you anxious or stressed all the time?

-> That vaguepost isn't about you.

Friend venting about someone who sounds oddly like you? Does your favorite blog mention something they dislike and you think you fit into that catagory- guess what. It's not about you!!

It's something I struggled with for a while, but eventually I came to terms with it by going "If they truly have an issue with me, they can talk to me one on one. Otherwise, i am assuming that this isn't about me" and gritting my teeth and forcing myself to repeat that until I feel at ease. Truthfully, I also just stopped hanging out with people who do this a ton in a harmful way, so my anxiety about this decreased. If it's an issue, friends should be willing to bring it up to you personally rather than make really meanspirited vagueposts.

-> A personal one I am putting at the end since I believe can easily turn bad, is... Stop looking in the fandom tags if they continiously bum you out.

I will be transparent, I've had bouts of running into a ton of 'why you should love/hate this character' posts over and over, posts that are random but use 50 different character tags, posts about how annoying my fave is, posts from/about bloggers I dislike, etc etc. After a while, I decided to just curate my feed via whoever I was following, and stop looking into tags as often. At most, I do it once every 1-3 months.

Yes, this does limit what all you can see, however... There's only so much information I can take in at once. If I follow people who reblog a ton of fandom content I love and it's different across the board, that's good enough for me and I don't feel negative looking at the tags sometimes.

[weenwrites]

Hi, can I request TFP headcanons (megatron, predaking and shockwave) with a gorgon medusa s/o? The reader has a human body but has snake hair and is also a very beautiful person, and does his power to turn people into stone also work on Cybertronians? (note: the reader can only activate the powers if she wishes).

✎A/N: Hi, please keep in mind next time that I only write gender neutral readers, so as such I've written the headcanons in third person.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Megatron

He's primarily interested in weaponizing their ability against the Autobots, and the fact that their ability is irreversible is what makes them all the more powerful when compared to the likes of the most dangerous iacon relics such as the immobilizer. He's put Shockwave in charge of conducting experiments to test the limits of their abilities, and ordered Knockout to look over your physical health during and after the experiments.

He's paid little attention to human culture and folklore, so he doesn't know of the Greek myths surrounding gorgons unless they've explicitly told him. But the most fascinating thing he's heard from these myths is how Perseus was still able to utilize Medusa's petrification abilities even after her beheading. Now, he doesn't take these myths as truths, and he swears by his very spark that they will come to no harm, but he still keeps it in mind.

Predaking

He's rather fascinated by their non-human appearance. Of course they still retain quite a lot of human features, but their hair is something unique. He never knew that it wasn't considered normal to have living snakes in place of hair, but then again he doesn't have much experience with humans in general.

Regardless of whether they're cold-blooded like a snake or warm-blooded, there's no denying that his naturally warm plating isn't nice to cuddle up against. He's good at regulating his own temperature as well, to ensure that his plating isn't scorching hot to the touch or uncomfortably chilly.

If they feel any sort of alienation from other humans, he can vaguely relate with that feeling too. However, he doesn't feel any negative feelings as a result of the stark differences between him and a "normal" cybertronian. His predacon heritage makes him proud, it sets him out as unique, stronger, and better than the others in his eyes. So the way he sees it, with your superior abilities, you're better than other humans.

Shockwave

Their ability would prove most useful against the Autobots, as soldiers on the field naturally try to broaden their view of the enemy whilst remaining concealed themselves. Primarily, his goal is to understand how their ability works in order to replicate it in weapons himself.

Why does their gaze initiate the petrification process? How does the petrification progress? Is there a way to reverse the petrification process? He doesn't notice any visible source of water permeating the flesh and replacing it with dissolved mineral deposits, and he's had them petrify animals time and time again for his own observation. He's cut the animal open and snapped limbs off the animal as it was being petrified and swiftly moved to observe the progression under a microscope, yet it progresses too quickly on such a small animal for him to properly observe and document the way it functions.

As such he's decided to upscale his test subjects to larger and larger animals in hopes of observing it better, and to gauge and possible limits to their ability. But don't think he's forgotten about his primary subject. He'll observe them over time, taking note of any little detail he notices to ask if it's a repercussion of their abilities later. He's even gone so far as to have Knockout hook them up to medical equipment to observe various factors surrounding their physical health, however it's not primarily out of concern but rather its in order to observe what happens within their eyes or body in general to trigger the petrification process.

[libraryspectre]

I wanted to talk about the Black Parade uniforms and it kind of turned into an entire essay. My ideas on the intention behind each costume and their cohesion as a group really evolved over the course of writing this, and I think it brought into focus a lot of things I knew subconsciously but hadn't articulated. I also noticed a lot of details I had never seen before. This has futher convinced me that 1) costume design and what you can say with it is really fascinating and 2) this is S-tier costume design of all time. And it's really long so I'm putting the rest under the cut.

What I would have loved is a Weezer-style picture of the five of them standing side by side, full bodies visible, but unfortunately that doesn't seem to exist. They're either covering each other up, or posed in such a way that details aren't visible or cut is hard to compare, so I'll have to provide a variety of visuals. This weirdly blurry poster is the closest thing I could find to a Weezer picture, so take them in as a group and refer back as necessary. I want to start by saying, obviously, that they look amazing both individually and as a set. "Dark marching band of death" is a really fun concept that is very well executed. But this isn't their first time doing a look as a group - think back to Revenge for a minute, when they really started to think about their costuming as a band. Gerard has talked about how then, they were kind of closing ranks against the vitriol coming their way. They needed to feel like a team, a gang, and dressed like one. I think some of this mentality has carried over into the Black Parade uniforms - they're less defensive, (there's no bulletproof vests), but in taking on new, nameless identities they have removed themselves as individuals from the equation, which is protective in its own way. What's left are stage personas, and the more you look the more you see that these were designed by someone who is very familiar with the history of the band and how each member presents themselves on stage. It's absolutely genius costume design, because when everyone is in uniform, the little differences are more noticable and tell you so much about the intention behind each variation.

Before we really start, I have to confess that I have no history in costuming or even a lot of familiarity with marching or military bands. I can only say I find costuming interesting, so I've read a little about it, and I went to high school in America and almost all my friends were in marching band. Someone who is more educated in these things could probably give more specific insights and have a better vocabulary to talk about it, but do not underestimate me. I am deeply obsessed with MCR and got A's in English, so let's find some meaning in symbolism! But please remember that with all art, there is no one interpretation. And remember going forward that these costumes were designed by Colleen Atwood, based on sketches she was given by Gerard, so there's no telling what elements were brought in by her and what elements Gerard had planned originally. If anyone has sources on that, PLEASE let me know because I'm very curious about the design process.

Also, I'll be using the uniforms as they appear in the WTTBP video as the standard, with acknowledgements toward variations seen in posters and the FLW video. It's worth noting that in many live performances they wore different, less unique jackets, and often forewent the pants for black jeans. This is almost certainly because they were easier to perform in and they didn't want to subject the originals to the sweat and rowdiness of regular shows. Ok, here we go! Here are some pics to refer back to throughout.

Starting with the band as a whole, I want to point out two things: first, marching bands evolved from military bands. The individual costumes vary in how "military" they look, but you can definitely see the influence when you look at them as a set. I imagine they leaned into that a bit because of the military elements on the record - the suggestion in Mama that the patient was a soldier, maybe even a war criminal. We also know they've done military aesthetics before, in The Ghost of You music video, and that the band was formed in response to 9/11. Suffice to say, the military is on the mind, and this is a continuation of that.

They also look a bit like skeletons. Obviously they would occasionally do the face paint, but the uniforms themselves suggest a ribcage with the horizontal silver lines, and at some angles the stripes on the pants also really contribute to the image. I know most people have already realized this, but I wanted to point it out explicitly because it took me an embarassingly long time to see it.

Alright, I'm gonna talk about them individually now, going from my personal least to most favorite. Taste aside, they're all individually really interesting.

5. Bob

(I can't find another good Bob picture, just scroll up to the blurry one)

It's not just because I don't like Bob, I genuinely like this one much less than all the others. It might be because it's less tailored - the others look much sharper, he looks almost rumpled in comparison. The lose fit might be because as a drummer, he needed better range of movement, but I'm not a drummer so I don't know. The cut of his jacket looks kind of naval to me, which is interesting. His stripes are also very minimal compared to the others. Overall, his looks the least like it's part of a set. I don't necessarily think they meant to set him apart, but maybe they did, considering he's the only non-original member (I'm counting Frank as an original member) and the only one not from New Jersey (which, I only point out because they ALWAYS point that out to people who mention they're a Jersey band. We're from Jersey, Bob is from Chicago.) Maybe it was a subconscious thing, or maybe as the drummer his costume was designed to make the most of what would be visible sitting and partially obscured by the drum kit. It does have a very dramatic collar. That's probably also part of the reason they gave him a more distinctive haircut for this - I'm not gonna talk about hair much, but it's worth mentioning. Overall, I don't have a ton to say about Bob because I don't think of him much (sorry, but not really).

4. Frank

Frank's is really interesting. His is the least traditional-looking, which is why it's here in the ranking, but I like it and I think there's a good reason for that. Those stripes on the sleeve are a really strong look, and the material of the silver has kind of a tarnished/dappled look you can see better in other photos. I've seen people say it's a subtle camo pattern, but I'm honestly not sure - I think he's supposed to look a little less new and shiny. The blockiness of it widens him and gives him a lot of presence that might be lost if he was dressed more like the others, and it compliments his performance style well. That's particularly important in the WTTBP video - on that float, he simply doesn't have room to be as wild and energetic as his standard performance was at the time, so this uniform helps him stand out and draw attention to what thrashing he is able to do. As far as bucking tradition, he also is the only one without shoulder tabs (those little loops). There's something funny about that - those tabs are meant to hold loops and eupalletes that would signify rank, placement, or achievement, which apparently you could not give to Frank if you tried. I think this lack of traditionality is reflective of Frank's more punk sensibilities, having come up in the Jersey scene. His playing style evolved over time as he and Ray influenced each other, but at the start he was very much their punk guitarist and coming up in that scene continued to influence how he conducted himself as a musician. I think this uniform marks him as a non-conformist even within the group.

He also has that patch with a red cross on the sleeve, the only bit of color on any of them. I don't know what to make of that, maybe it's just for the Catholic vibes.

Honestly, Frank's feels the most like what people would expect from an "emo" marching band uniform. Especially considering the poster, where he's found a hole to stick his thumb through. I don't think he's wearing it in the video, but in that poster he has this belt with some kind of weapon?? Maybe?? We get it, he's a dangerous little man.

3. Mikey

Mikey's uniform is by far the most military - it's not just the medal, it's also the cut of the jacket. And he's the only one with a fun little belt, which helps keep the silhouette look nice and tailored even though the jacket flares a little at the waist. We all know the medal is a reference to his death in The Ghost of You video (there's no way they didn't know we would make that connection) and it wouldn't surprise me if the rest of his uniform looks more military because it was built around that idea. But also consider Mikey's stage presence at the time - due to his discomfort on stage, he used to be really stoic, standing in the back, getting the job done with little showmanship. I think that presentation lends itself well to a classic military figure. Mikey is also pretty thin, and the long jacket and it's strong, solid construction keeps him from looking too Victorian-orphan waifish (especially with how pale they all are), and more like a dead soldier boy.

Additionally, Mikey's costume leaning so hard into the military side helps them look more military as a group. It keeps the association in your mind when you look at the others. Also, he's wearing a little necklace here, which I've never noticed before, is he wearing that in the videos?? I think it's an anchor, which is fun considering he died on a beach.

2. Gerard

Yes, Gerard's is #2 in my ranking. I'm sorry, I might have a slight bias knocking it down from #1. But maybe not, let me defend myself when I get there. Anyway, Gerard's is the most classically marching band, which makes sense considering he's the frontperson. In fact, he has one of those braided loops on his shoulder we talked about earlier, demonstrating.....something, it seems to vary a lot, but we're probably meant to think leadership. He's not wearing it the WTTBP video, but it's there in Famous Last Words. He also has that fancy little star thing on the shoulder, which definitely seems to suggest rank. Otherwise, his uniform is very basic. He's the template that the others' uniforms are variations of. And it's a great look! He's also got nice big buttons compared to the others, three whole rows of them, which is a nice touch to make it look a liiiiittle more feminine. Because, of course, the back of the jacket is corseted, in a genious stroke of gender that puts the entire outfit in a new context. I think this is a good example of how Gerard likes to play with androgony by balancing masc and femme elements. The cut of his jacket makes his shoulders look wide and his waist narrow, but not so narrow it looks terribly feminine (just a little, taken on its own). A lot of this is achieved by the piping - notice how on Bob, Mikey, and Frank, the top row of piping (I might be using that word wrong but let's go with it. I'm talking about the silver stuff across the chest) is pretty much the same length as the bottom row? On Gerard, they start out wide way up on his shoulders and get progressively narrower at the waist. It's still a mostly masculine silhouette, but then you have the counter balance of the big buttons and his little white pixie cut, both of which lean just a little further toward femme than masc. It's an androgynous look that leans toward masc as a whole, until he turns around and, boom, corseted back. Showstopping. He also had those black leather gloves that give some nice formality, and maybe a touch of impersonality. They make it so that when he's in full uniform, the only skin you can see is that of his face. They're like an edgier version of the usual plain white marching band gloves.

1. Ray

Going purely by aesthetics, Ray's is my favorite. It's the fancy one, most obviously distinct by the flourishes around the buttons on his jacket. He Mikey are the only ones with pure silver shoulder loops, and Ray has more silver piping on his jacket than the others. In some pictures he's wearing this really ornate knotted tassle thing? You can see it in one of the group pictures above. He isn't wearing it in any of the videos, which makes sense as it could be really annoying while playing. The cut of his jacket at the bottom also looks formal to me, but I'm not sure why. Overall, the ornanamentation could be a reflection of his playing style - the same caveat here applies to Frank, in that they influenced each other through their parnership as guitarists, (and Ray has a lot of influences from different genres), but at the start he was their metal guitarist, and the guitars in metal are often complicated and showy. And he's their soloist, they need to show him off a little.

Additionally, the construction here is giving him an absolutely wild silohette. Like Gerard, the piping on his jacket gets progressively narrower to suggest a smaller waist, but without the really long stripes at the top to make the shoulders look broader. Those vertical lines across the front add to the effect because they're curved inward - which is interesting, because everyone else's uniforms are composed of entirely straight lines and sharp angles. And his jacket is cut REALLY high on the side. I can't tell if Ray's pants are more high-waisted than the others, or if it just looks that way because of the cut of the jacket. You see the stripe of the pants go all the way up his hip, and since he's already tall with long legs, it really accentuates that. It's hard to tell, but I think his pants are even a little more form-fitting than the others. The other day I saw people commenting on a gif of Ray in the WTTBP video about how they never noticed how long his legs are - this is why!

We talk about how part of what makes Ray such a compelling performer is how he moves, and I think this costume was designed to compliment fluid motion. The tailoring and curves of the piping avoid making him look too rigid or blocky, as a marching band uniform could easily do, and the high cut of the jacket lets the line of his legs continue uninterrupted. Honestly, this is a favorite look for Raygirls (gender neutral) for a reason - I think they knew exactly what they were doing putting him in a pretty, well-tailored uniform that accentuates his movement. (Caveat here that I'm a Raygirl (gn) so I'm definitely biased, and they all look great in their uniforms, but I do think Ray's is.....uniquely flattering, and I don't think it was an accident).

Conclusions

So now that we've talked about all of them, I think we have some interesting contrasts to make. Gerard and Mikey both have very classic looks, but Gerard's is more marching band and Mikey's is more military. Mikey and Bob both have very military looks, but Mikey's has a much more solid construction. Gerard and Ray are both on the marching band side of the spectrum, but Gerard's is classic while Ray's is ornate. My favorite contrast is between the guitarists - Frank's is blocky and rigid and tarnished, Ray's is curved and fluid and shiny.

The interplay between similarity and contrast is what makes this so compelling as a group costume - just by looking you can tell who's the leader, who's the tragic figure, who's the outcast, who's the rebel, who's being spotlit.

In closing, thank you Colleen Atwood and Gerard Way for designing these and the rest of the band for wearing them, I will never get tired of looking at them.

[jyantabear]

been playing pathologic throughout the summer and i've enjoyed it a lot and im currently on the changeling campaign and I heard a lot of people say the changeling route is underwhelming and weak but honestly i think it's been really great so far and I think it has tons of depth and I find Clara very interesting Idk im on day 8 of the campaign I feel like I have more thoughts on this route then the haruspex campaign. Perhaps its partly because Clara's subject matter appeals to me a lot but I think it's amazing It's this tragic story about a little girl who so badly wants to be good and do good. She wants to be love and accepted and find her place in the world with all the anxiety she has over her unsureness on her identity and the strange circumstances of her existence. It's about the Saburovs playing this pretend, toxic, nuclear family structure with her. Where a part of them does care about and love her but for selfish reasons. They project their insecurities on her, both of them. They want her to be their salvation and be their key to finally helping the town as they feel they're failures and frauds in that pursuit. So they pressure, love bomb, and abuse their daughter to fit this mold. And Clara is scared but she follows anyway desperate for love. And even without realizing it she's mimicking their teachings and values because It's all she's been given in this world. The only source of guidance It's about Clara and her relationship to the people around her. How she feels sympathy for her bound because she sees herself in them. Because she sees they're people with dimensions and are complicated. And she wants someone to see and grant her mercy and forgiveness as well. And it's so interesting to compare this to her interactions with Daniil and Artemy. Who she's also very similar with but demonizes them. (which I don't think is unjustified btw as they're very horrible to her. But I want to note that while the healers always had some tension between them this route has definitely cranked it up a ton and in the opening play Clara is the one criticizing them for being heartless, selfish, and "not knowing compassion" right off the bat. And even in the few times Artemy and Daniil can have pleasant exchanges with her it's short lived and never sticks with her) And she goes the extra mile to demonize them and deny and dismiss any complexity they might have as she also sees herself in them but doesn't want to admit it. Because it's what she doesn't want to be. It hurts too personally for her to associate with them and makes her feel pathetic even thinking she could be similar to them because she doesn't want to share their loneliness, their struggles, their failures. It makes her feel more stable in her identity to put them down and go "Well at least I'm not like those bloodthirsty horrible useless doctors" And While Clara also feels dislike towards Maria. Maria is someone Clara wants to be. She wants to be that beloved and powerful mistress. Someone who can guide and help others and use her power for good. Which is why she'll say "Her and Capella will be the only ones to understand my loneliness." Clara wants someone to understand her pain but only if she can protect this idealized image of herself she's painted in her mind because she's been hurt too much. It's a tragic story of the unrealistic and harsh standards placed on young teenage girls. And the idea that perhaps humanity is the problem. But taking that message in a rather conservative and violent way then one that acknowledges the complexity and indoctrination society and people have built. A young girl internalizing beliefs of irredeemable ontologically evil people due to all the abuse she's been put under.

[frownyalfred]

tl;dr: what's your opinion on posting roleplay replies on ao3?

i know they are frowned upon on ao3, at least that's what i've seen so far, which i can understand... to some extend. they are allowed in the archive, yes, but they also clock tags and it's annoying to read something you don't understand without the other replies and further context. they are tolerated, but i get the sentiment.

here's the thing... i rarely write for myself. i enjoy writing with others and building something together, and sometimes i create pieces i'd love to share. like, recently i have written a reply for someone that explores two different bruce's; one that has helena wayne/the huntress as his biological daughter, one that doesn't, how she got cursed into another universe, and how one deals with losing his child, while the other tries to re-order his life in order to make her fit. it's something beautiful that works on it's own, something i am very fond and proud of, but i'm torn on wether i should post it or not.

i could've kept the fact it's from roleplay a secret, but that also feels shit, lmao. i could keep it to tumblr, but no one would read what i put out -- let's be real, tumblr works very different compared to ao3. so i thought i'd give reaching out to one of my favorite authors a chance.

sorry for the lenght, feel no need to answer.

Hmm. I guess I haven't given it a ton of thought before now. I don't usually engage in roleplay myself, but I absolutely view it as a legitimate version of creation. Just because it's created a certain way doesn't mean it doesn't belong on ao3 -- it's an archive for transformative works, not just cookie-cutter fic formats.

I would say, err on the side of caution and tag as much as you're comfortable (tagging things after the required ao3 warnings is always optional, I want to reiterate, but sometimes additional tags help readers a lot). Make sure it's clear what the structure of the work is, if possible, but don't do yourself a disservice by making roleplay a dirty word, if you use it.

I don't think you're "clogging" up the tag, any more than the person writing 139/250 50 word individual fics haha. There will always be floods of content in various tags, and people who throw shitfits about that need to grow up. Unless someone is breaking the ao3 TOS, everything else is "etiquette" and that truly is nebulous and subjective, even if people will insist it isn't.

As for the missing context and replies -- I think that's something you can get creative with, if you want. But also, if you never fill in those blanks or provide that context, that's okay too. It's an archive, not a site where you have to actively promote your fic and make it the most appealing it can be to the largest group of people.

A final note on context though: I've found that the roleplay chunks I do come across in the wild look a lot like dialogue planning I do for some fics! If you ever want to turn them into a traditional fic structure, I don't think you're very far off at all. But only if you wanted! As I said above, I think what you have is 100% legitimate and should stand on its own on ao3.

[t34-mt]

You might have answered it before, I tried to search for it but got no results, do kyhuines and maanuls share a diet? That is, is there anything that one can eat that the other can't digest?

i think i did answer that a while ago, or maybe my memory is failing and I only did it with friends. but even if this is a repeat, i don't mind it!

yes, maanuls and kyhuines can eat each other's food, at least they can eat the majority of it safely. Some products may cause one to be sick, and a few may be lethal. And when it's lethal it's mainly because of the quantity of a toxin found in the food that the other can't process because of their biology.

for example, many bugs, which are a large part of a kyhuines diet, cannot be safely eaten by maanuls because of their toxins. some species can be processed in various ways to remove said toxins and become safer for maanuls to consume.

Things like kelp are things kyhuines can eat safely. And are quite a common dry snack to import inside the mountain alp ring, once trading routes are open between the "inner" continent and the "outside". However, Kyhuines will digest it worse than their larger cousin counterparts. their digestive system does not take as many nutrients from it as maanuls, because maanuls have evolved to process it better since kelp has been used a lot in their cuisine for thousands of years. Kyhuines are better at having a lot of starch in their diet too because of the way their agriculture was and what species they'd cultivate compared to maanuls, and so on with things like this. its quite a fun subject honestly!

in areas such as kaar'kchir and its sister cities, where the population is of mixed species, meaning the area has on average as much kyhuines that there is maanuls around. food stands and other services involving food, will prefer serving food that accommodates both so they can have more clients (kaar'kchir and the sister cities live under different systems that utilize money compared to the majority of the world). But also out of consideration, because establishments and even houses are expected to be able to welcome both species inside. Food stands that only offer food

More recently built infrastructures in kaar'kchir are rather large to let maanuls in, while older still standing builds from before the traverse of the alp and first contact are too small for maanuls. The older ones are usually familial homes that are still living here or have been repurposed for storage. kaar'kchir was a kyhuine colony for info, build before first contact and the traverse of the alp expedition. So old buildings never had maanuls in mind because they didn't even know they existed.

even between the non-gliding kyhuine species and mierthri kyhuines there is food that the other cant consume, many fungal species from the mierthri biome is used by the mierthri kyhuines to ferment food and have it last longer. Their guts are better suited to eat the weird things that grow near the mierthri biome, while non-gliding kyhuines may get extremely sick from it.

on a silly note, because of the size difference between the two (actually 3, since miethri is a different species but in-world they don't categorize it as such. but even then myself ill just say the 2) alcoholic beverage and how fast it affects one is quite silly. the percentage of alcohol in maanul fermented drinks is very high on average even for a human because of their size being larger they can take up more, kyhuines are much smaller than maanuls (kyhuines are smaller than you are for info). So 1 glass of a medium alcoholic drink that is of maanul origin to a kyhuine can be enough to make their head feel warm and funny already. mierthri kyhuines do not drink alcohol made by maanuls. Theyre 120cm (1 ft tall) so if they do they're KO quickly. unless its very light and made with kyhuines in mind, including the gliding kyhuines (mierthri), but then its so light that it defeats the purpose for maanuls. if they care about that to begin with.

i had fun writing ask answer, thank you!

[sakasakiii]

Hi!

I love your work!! Your art is very pretty. Do you have a specific idea of how old everyone is ? Do you lean more towards canon or do you have your own dates in mind ? If don’t wanna a answer it’s ok!

Hope u have a nice day

(Remember to drink water!)

hiiii nonnie!!! thank you for checking in, and im happy u like the stuff i put out!! when it comes to ages, it's difficult to answer sometimes bc of the way professor tolkien's timeline is-- it makes gauging one singular place where most of the cast can be compared something that makes my tired brain go 😵🤧🤕 but i love the prompt youve given! and thus heres my attempt at it

with most of my tolkien stuff, i always try to stick to canon wherever possible emphasis is on try lmao and the topic of ages is one such place. i do make exceptions to the Professor's canon sometimes for a few reasons: 1) i like some of the scrapped ideas in his drafts, or 2) i just prefer other options. with ages, i think the only charas with canon-established ages i deviated from are fingolfin, finrod, turgon, and aredhel. i try to keep cases like these minimal tho, so i hope it doesn't bother anyone too much... 👉👈

anyways i figured just dropping a list of numbers would be kinda boring to look at so heres an illustrated guide to what the ~rough~ ages of the finweans are in my head whenever i write or draw. Y.T. 1495 (the year Finwe dies) is the controlled medium ive used to enable a fair comparison of the Finweans

note: "born Y.T. xxx" means this is the canon date of birth listed on Tolkien Gateway. "est. born [xxx]" means this is a noncanon estimate:

the First Age gets a lot more muddled from there due to the hullaballoo of everything going on, so ill only be including the doriathrim and a few other denizens of nargothrond:

it's mostly the older elves that are more undefined/vague with their ages (i.o.w. others like elwing, earendil, the peredhil twins, and most Men all have set dates of birth), so they're all i'll be doing for now. but it's that vagueness which makes hcing all the more enjoyable, isn't it! plus since we’re on this subject, under the cut are just a few headcanons and musings ive had that i wanted to put somewhere 😙

Finarfin and Earwen were born within months of each other! Finwe and Olwe made a Really Big Deal out of when they found out their wives were pregnant at the same time. As a result, the two were often sent on many playdates with each other to “bolster healthy relations” between the Noldor and the Teleri. It wasn’t an arranged marriage situation, but I like to think they were goofy for each other from the start… Resulting in the two eventually getting married as soon as they came of age, the fastest out of all of Finwe’s kids to do so. 

The reason the Ambarussa are significantly younger than the other Finweans (especially the Feanorians-- there’s a 100 Valian year gap between them and Curufin alone!) is because I imagine they were accidental babies that even Feanor didn’t expect to conceive. too bad morgoth said "its morgin time!" and started Messing Things Up shortly afterwards.....

Anaire was Lalwen's good friend long before she married Fingolfin; they met through Lalwen who wingmanned Fingolfin the whole time. i like think Anaire'd be the best out of all the wives at keeping good, healthy bonds with all the women of her family :DD

luthien's potential 姐姐/big sis dynamic with all the younger doriathrim elves is something i daydream about a lot 😌 but sometimes the fact that she's older than finarfin keeps me up at night

this has been really fun, so thanks again for asking-- annnd yessir, i am chugging water as i write this so you better be doing the same ❤️ have a great start to your week!

[layzeal]

Dr. Lace, as a practicing Lan Wangjiologist, why do you think Lan Wangji waited until the end of the novel to tell Wei Wuxian about A-Yuan surviving? Like, in universe, because while I think the real answer is that the twist plays out better at the end of the story, it’s more fun to guess why Lan Wangji kept quiet.

"Dr. Lace" and "Lan Wangjiologist" made me laugh for like two days straight. well done anon. well done sjdhfkjsdhlfkdsjf

but you've actually caught me on something that i don't know if i have a true answer!! i mean, as you said there is the obvious reason of it just working a lot better from a storytelling point of view.

us readers don't really learn about a-yuan existence until wwx mentions it the first time as they're hanging out in yiling before climbing the burial mounds, then there's a flashback where we met the wen remnants, they die, wwx is killed, and immediately after we return, we get the blood poll scene, which also immediately reveals to us that the little boy we met is actually now the BIG boy we've fallen in love with a long time ago! we care about lan sizhui long before we even know that he was relevant in wangxian's life before that. "what happened to a-yuan" isn't a looming question that follows us or the characters throughout the story, because a-yuan only comes up quite late in the plot. mxtx wasn't going for a shocking plot twist with that reveal, but merely using him as another piece in the story's theme. we love lan sizhui before we even know he's a-yuan, and knowing that he's now only alive BECAUSE wwx sacrificied all he did to save the wen remnants, even if he "failed" shows us the human side of how worth it was.

but of course that doesn't come without its foreshadowing. note that i don't subscribe to the "wangxian are a-yuan's parents" or "lan sizhui secretly calls lwj 'baba/fuqin'" headcanon (although u can always argue that 一日为师，终身为父 but that's for another day lmao), i find their relationship has a lot more nuance and honestly more depth than that of a nuclear family. we see how he and lan wangji seem to be much closer compared to other juniors (ie hgj personally teaches him the qin language, gives him books that other lan disciples seem to not have access to, etc) and while that is curious, it's not out of place for lwj to have a particular student he wants to train more closely. lan sizhui clearly deserves it! however, once it is revealed just how much sizhui means to lwj, as well as how he gave him both his new "birth" name and his courtesy name, as well as why he'd want sizhui to be under his protection and teaching, it all clicks!

but again, it's simply not a major focus within the plot.

ok cool lace, that still doesn't answer why lan wangji doesn't bring that up in-universe. and you're right! i'm quite fond of tangents

but seriously, i do think that's part of it as well. just like how the question of "what happened to a-yuan" doesn't follow us around the story, that's the same for our main characters. wei wuxian has long been convinced that a-yuan died alongside the wen remnants, so he doesn't ask because he's allergic to reminiscing anything about the past. for lan wangji, lan sizhui is safe (and still amnesiac), and wei ying is back to life, there are a thousand other things they need to focus on before bringing all of that up. and lan wangji is nothing if not focused on fixing the most important tasks at hand, matters of the past can be talked about later unless relevant (it's no wonder that all of lwj's backstroy is revealed to us by the narrator or a different character, after all).

but most of all, i think lan wangji didn't bring it up because he simply did not know how to tackle the subject of the first siege, wwx's death, or the wen remnants with him. it's understandably a very sensitive subject, and lan wangji did not wish to overstep his boundaries by bringing it up when wwx wasn't ready to. again, he's a man of priorities, and he wouldn't risk breaking the scab off the wound unless it was necessary, or wwx did it first.

from those lens, it's no question why he only seemed to consider revealing a-yuan's identity after the second siege, not only because wwx has finally had closure on the death of the wens, but because lan sizhui himself is starting to piece things together, though it is also not something that should be forced. however, after the second siege, things really begin speeding up again, and between wwx watching the wens fade away and having a fight with jiang cheng, he's is clearly both physically and emotionally drained all the way until they get freaky in the bathtub, where things get even WORSE, and then guanyin temple happens which just... yeah. there was enough telenovela drama for one night.

so, once all of that is finally over, and lwj sees sizhui analyze chenqing with a clear sense of reminiscing, lwj finally settles it that he will reveal it. they're not in a hurry, wwx is finally doing okay, closure has been achieved in multiple things, and there are no other priorities at hand.

except that! he doesn't even need to. because sizhui catches up does it for him. and isn't that even more fitting?

but really, since i received this ask i have been thinking to myself "at what other time would lan wangji have revealed a-yuan's identity? and why?" and i just... keep hitting a wall. because revealing extremely charged emotional subjects to a beloved person who has never brought it up to you, about another person who doesn't even know or remember it, it's simply not lan wangji's character. wei ying is alive and safe, a-yuan is alive and safe, tearful revelations can come later, but right now lan wangji needs to ensure that they'll continue that way.

[elsalouisa]

"Volodia was an extraordinary being, a living instrument of rare sensitiveness which could of itself produce sounds of startling melody and purity and create a world of bright images and harmonies. In years and experience he was still a child but his spirit had penetrated into regions reached only by a few. He had genius. The first child of my father's second marriage, he confirmed the theory that exceptional children are born of a great and exceptional love. When he was still a baby there was something indefinable about him that set him apart from the others. When he was a child, in fact, I considered him a nuisance, affected, and priggish. But later I understood that he was simply a being older than his years lost in the milieu to which his age assigned him. His parents saw how different he was from the others and wisely did not try to shape him according to pattern as had been done with us. They allowed him comparative freedom to develop his unusual abilities. While still a child he wrote good verse and very fine plays, to be acted by his small sisters. He played the piano j he painted j and at a very early age astounded people by his extensive reading and his extraordinary memory. Until he was sixteen, he shared my father's banishment in France. Then he was sent to Russia, with the Emperor's permission, and entered in the Corps des Pages, a military school. According to the family tradition he was to be an officer. There was nothing military in his character, but the years spent away from an adoring family, the contact with boys of his own age, and the discipline of the school did him a lot of good. He became more natural, simpler in his ways. Having formerly spoken Russian very badly, he quickly learned his mothertongue and knew it better than many of those who had lived in Russia since childhood. The many subjects studied at the Corps did not prevent him, even there, from developing his own abilities. At eighteen he brought out a first book of verse which made something of a stir. He wrote with equal facility in three languages, but preferred to publish his first works in Russian. Throughout his stay at the Corps he continued privately to school himself in painting and music. He was more than talented; one had the feeling that mysterious forces worked within him, driving him onward to inspirations inaccessible to ordinary humans and remote from all things mundane. In his later verses, which came out during the war and the revolution, contemporary events were not in the least reflected j his work, on the contrary, was permeated by a profound sense of peace and of spiritual equilibrium...

During the last summer he wrote ceaselessly. Inspiration seemed never to forsake him. He would sit down at the typewriter and write, without pausing, verses that needed almost no correction. Yet in spite of this productivity and this purely mechanical way of writing, the quality of his verse improved continually. It seemed to me then that the speed of his work was somewhat overdone; I remember saying to him once that in pouring forth such torrents of new verse he gave himself no time to polish them. He was then sitting at his desk, one hand propping his cheek while with the other he made notes upon the margins of the poems he had just finished. Having listened to my words he turned towards me his face, always pale, and smiled sadly and somewhat enigmatically. "What I am writing now comes to me in a completely finished form J changes would only spoil the freshness of the inspiration. I must write. After I am twenty-one I shall not write any more. Everything that is in me must find its expression now; it will be too late afterwards. . . ."

Marie, Grand Duchess of Russia "Education of a princess"

[fluffydice]

I've mentioned it before, but I think I finally want to try and explain how I write the characters in my Saiki K fics. It's mostly for me because I love talking about writing and Saiki K, but maybe some of you will enjoy this, too.

I did Toritsuka because @akechi-gf mentioned wanting tips on writing his dialogue, but 1) I felt bad info-dumping on his post and 2) didn't quite answer the dialogue answer and jumped straight into characterization (Sorry! Hope this still helps you in some convoluted way, if you're willing to read it all LMAO)

Obviously, he's very aggressively horny. He and Aiura are probably one of the firsts to laugh over something that could be taken the wrong way. But I think it's his way of trying to connect with others. He might open a conversation with some odd, vaguely creepy comment on a girl with the intention of moving the subject to something else.

He's vulgar, though I don't consider him much of a swearer. Not when compared to Kuboyasu or maybe even Kaido.

I personally write him as someone who is very opinionated. If he thinks Saiki is being too passive, or in over his head, Toritsuka is going to tell him straight up. Even if he knows the other won't take it well.

That's a big part of their relationship, I feel: even if Toritsuka is the first to cower away from Saiki puffing out his chest, he's also the first to come bounding back. He's not a 'once burned, twice shy' kind of guy. He doesn't really hold grudges, and can't quite go through with threats. I think it's why Saiki puts up with him. Like Nendo, Toritsuka is very devoted.

If you want to portray him differently, that's alright, but I always feel that something people miss with all the Saiki K. characters is that most of them are genuine assholes. They're teenagers, and I feel Toritsuka exemplifies this best. He'll say hurtful things and fucking mean them. It doesn't make him a bad person, but he definitely doesn't have the same emotional regulation as...I was going to give an example but I don't know if any of the kids are good at that. Akechi, maybe.

And speaking of emotions, he's not the best with them. He understands them, sure, but he's not even remotely delicate. That means he'll back off easily when he thinks things are beyond him. If Saiki tells him to leave it alone, that's what he's going to do. He isn't a bad guy. Toritsuka doesn't want to actively make things worse.

And on that note, he's also really fucking whiny. I try really hard not to shy away from making characters unlikable in certain aspects. If they're annoying, make them annoying. If they're a jerk, then so be it. I don't like sacrificing personality for likability. I just make sure its balanced out by other things. Toritsuka, despite his faults, has a lot of things genuinely good about him. He has pure, unadulterated faith in people, a genuine desire to become a better person (after some nudging), has shown care toward his ghosts...there's definitely stuff there.

Toritsuka's world view is fucked up, point blank. The way he talks about women isn't right. If I wrote from his perspective, it'd probably include him objectifying them. But, depending on what period of his development he's in, he might be able to step back and acknowledge that what he's thinking isn't right. He's very capable of growing and changing. Even if he's reluctant with it, he starts being less self-centered and more willing to do things just because it's the right thing to do.

He has mommy and daddy issues up the fucking wall. I think it colors his interactions with the other psychickers (who are willing to keep him in check), especially Saiki (who mother-hens basically anything that moves). He needs guidance, even if it's a bit of bullying.

[densnake]

Helloooo can I request Karl Heisenberg with a Stoic Male S/O who is bigger and taller than him and has blue fire powers?

Karl Heisenberg With A Stoic! Reader With Fire Abilities

Reader type: Male reader [Boyfriend, Guy, Etc]

Fandom: Resident Evil

Content Warning: Might Be OOC, And Nothing Else!

Authors note: Hey! this is literally my first time writing a fic at all so I'm so sorry if it isn't the best quality and the abrupt end! It was very fun to write though thank you! ^^

——————————————————————————

When Karl first took notice of you it was when he had realized someone inside the village had natural abilities. He immediately was set on being the first one to have you in his possession.

He wasn't going to let anyone else get to you just to waste your potential, especially not Alcina. Just the thought of her beating him to you and turning you into a snack made his blood boil.

So Karl sent some of of his drones after you to be retrieved immediately.

When you arrived back to Karl he was eager to begin studying you and turning you into another project of his. He was aware that you could easily put him in danger with your large stature and powers this, for the most part, enticed him.

While he was very interested in you already Karl also had to be prepared for any reaction you had. He needed a plan to get you to remain relatively calm while he studied the extent of your powers.

When Karl first saw you in person he was very surprised by your size he hadn't expected someone as big as you and especially as tall. Karl knew not to dwell on this fact but it definitely was something he was going to be thinking about.

Karl had originally told you that he had needed your help for an invention to bring back Mother Miranda knowing you'd be another follower.

You didn't complain about the situation and asked minimal questions about where you were and about Mother Miranda. It was a surprise that you were so seemingly calm about the situation at hand. it was good that you were so co-operative with him even if it was just blind faith.

When he spoke to you it was like he was talking down to you even if it irked you he would continue to speak harshly with you and make fun of you.

Considering you weren't one to speak in the first place when you had next to nothing to say back to him it made him frustrated. He wanted to make sure that you knew he was in charge here.

With your attitude and engaging less in his behavior along with the way you stood over him he felt somewhat insecure while he had to look up at you. He didn't feel small or bad about himself compared to you he just didn't like the idea that you could be underestimating or feeling greater than him. He always made sure that you were aware you were under his control.

Seeing as you were much more reserved and stronger than originally anticipated Karl found himself wondering what you were thinking and what you were capable of.

The tests he subjected you to were disguised as apart of the process where he would gather information about your physical abilities such as your base strength, your resistance to your own and outside fire/heat, and how hot you can burn until it affects you if at all.

While you worked with Karl you provided a great assistance with its development that he was not used to. you also provided as a good way for Karl to let out his frustrations about the other Lords. During this time you learned a lot about him and them as you provided a silent ear to him.

During any particularly heated rants Karl would let some things slip about himself and the other lords without realizing. Your silent nature allowed him to share more than what he would originally notice.

During this time you also gave small details about yourself when he was finished as well and any of the criticisms or doubt in your faith in Mother Miranda and the Lords that you had. When you spoke about it you were short but you got your point across well.

He appreciated being able to finally speak to someone that didn't kiss the ground that they walked on. Even if you weren't as passionate as he was about it he was more than happy to dominate the conversation.

Eventually when the time came where Karl would have to make a decision on if he was going to keep you around as an 'assistant' in his shop or turn you into another one of his experiments.

Obviously he chose to keep you around instead of stripping you of your individuality and free will.

As you both had grown closer over the period you spent together Karl would eventually tell you the truth if you were to stick around. He was very blunt with you when it came time to tell you what you believed was false where as you would have to eventually come to accept as the truth.

It was easier to accept as you had been previously listening to Karl picking up hints he dropped when you spoke however it still hardly prepared you for what he had to tell you

He could not be able to sympathize with you in any feelings of betrayal you might have upon learning it as he is hard set in his feelings towards everyone else and wasn't willing to learn as to why someone could or even accept any faults of his own.

Becoming a resident was very different than just his potential project for starters you weren't in as much danger as you were originally be it because you were now subjected to less or because you were simply new.

Karl was still stubborn and rude most of the time however now it wasn't as aggressive as before. He still felt like he had to assert himself he eventually became somewhat less passionate about it.

Karl indulges himself in getting you to use your power for tasks even if he could easily do it himself he enjoys watching you do it. You might need to stop him from going over board with this new ability.

There was no real confession from him he just gradually became more affectionate with his little comments and the way he spoke to you. Soon enough one day he would just call you his boyfriend while was teasing you [In a positive/playful way].

Around this time is when he would take more notice of how big you actually were compared to him. Not even just how tall you were but by how strong you were to match. This was more apparent whenever you got close or physical. He would be lying if he said it didn't appeal to him.

He would definitely call you 'big guy'.

Karl isn't very physically affectionate and not a fan of PDA. He would much prefer keeping all that in the private. This wouldn't be a big issue for you both though.

However Karl can get jealous very easily. This, again, doesn't happen very often for the two of you as you aren't one to actively socialize with the others. He'd never admit to you that he was jealous. However if he feels that one of the others is getting too friendly or doubting you he will immediately step in.

it isn't that he thinks that you can't handle yourself in discussion with them he just hates the idea that you or him will be put into suspicion.

——————————————————————————

That's All! Thank You For Reading!