#round 2: dystopia

[rotg-halloween]

ONE MONTH UNTIL THE ROTG HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE BEGINS!!!

Artwork credits: 1] Concept art by Perry Maple, from the book THE ART OF RISE OF THE GUARDIANS; 2] "Guardians Dress Up!" by @purblzart; 3] Fabric swatch from @sylphidine's stash of holiday decorations, found at Ames Department Store in 1994.

RISE OF THE GUARDIANS HALLOWEEN 2024: Event Guidelines

13 days, 13 prompts.

Visual, aural, textile, and literary works are allowed - fanart, fanfiction, gifs, edits/manips, cosplay, fanmixes, crafts, or ask-and-answer.  

Unlike other fandom events, reblogs of previously created material are welcome IF THEY FIT THE PROMPT, but creation of original material is preferred.

Inspiration can be drawn from the GUARDIANS OF CHILDHOOD bookverse, the RISE OF THE GUARDIANS movieverse, and any and all associated AUs.

OCs are welcome and encouraged to interact with RotG/GoC characters.

Crossovers are welcome, but please make sure that the focus POV is a character from RotG/GoC.

Works in progress are welcome and encouraged, as long as they fit the prompt. No reason not to celebrate Halloween all year ‘round! No need to worry about having to have something complete before posting.

Don’t feel like you ***must*** post a piece Every… Single… DAY, and/or fill every single prompt.  Burnout is not fun.  But do try to post at least ONE piece during the 13 days of the challenge.

Be sure to tag your works with @rotg-halloween, and list #rotghalloween in one of your first 5 tags.

Please tag works accordingly, and be sure to use any warnings for sensitive and potentially triggering subjects.  

HAVE FUN, and support your fellow creators.

RISE OF THE GUARDIANS HALLOWEEN 2024: Prompts

19 October 2024 / Day One: Creak

20 October 2024 / Day Two: Darkness

21 October 2024/ Day Three: Cabin

22 October 2024 / Day Four: Castle

23 October 2024 / Day Five: Apparition

24 October 2024 / Day Six:  Dystopia

25 October 2024 / Day Seven: Howl

26 October 2024 / Day Eight: Talisman

27 October 2024/ Day Nine: Changeling

28 October 2024 / Day Ten: Slasher

29 October 2024 / Day Eleven: Transmogrify

30 October 2024 / Day Twelve: Orbit

31 October 2024 / Day Thirteen: Slither

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Scripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 2

Propaganda

Lucifer Kane (Kane and Feels):

an academic whose knowledge of the other side is unparalleled. bastardly little gay magic man who says he doesn't care but truly does.

Burt Harddrive (Anime Sickos: Sicko Shock 2):

we all know the classic noir detective guy. talking to and about mysterious dames, wallowing in self pity, etc. but what if, while he was doing that stuff, he was also saying computer words and trying to uncover the secrets of the cyberpunk dystopia keeping him and all of his little buddies trapped in a nightmare of eternal posting? and what if when he said the computer words he did so in a gruff but enchanting voice you could listen to for hours as he narrated everything happening to him in real-time? what if his icy heart was warmed by the power of friendship? well personally speaking i think that’d be pretty sexy

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Lucifer Kane (Kane and Feels):

#LUCIFER KANE

#LUCIE SWEEP. NEOW #you must vote for the weird short gay wizard for ME

#(lucifeeeeer)

#as much as damian is my poor little meow meow #going to go with kane #bc at least this man has fucked #and not just fucked up

Burt Harddrive (Anime Sickos: Sicko Shock 2):

A private detective in the dystopian cyberpunk future where posting is mandated by law. Also he says he's cute so that's like in the bag

Vote for Burt

#Burt harddrive sweep

#you gotta listen to sicko shock 2 so you can have your heart broken repeatedly #also jordi is there

#ANIME SICKOS PODCAST!!!!!! #BURT BURT BURT BURT #to SHIT???????

[gayelderstourney]

OLD MAN YAOI BRACKET ROUND 2

Propaganda:

Irving Bailiff/Burt Goodman:

they are TRAPPED in capitalist dystopian hell and yet gay love persists. literally they are fighting for their got damn lives to be gay. they've been subjected to evil fucked up brain surgery to make them forget who they are outside of the workplace and yet. AND YET. they fall in love INSIDE the workplace and gain the desire to fight their oppressors so they can do old man yaoi activities. i forgot to take my adderall today sorry im not forming coherent thoughts but they made christopher walken yaoi real

They have only ever experienced being at work and are desperately trying to find meaning with no memory of the outside world. Fraternization is against the rules as well. The yearning is so much.

they are 2 sad old men who are in forbidden love. they bond over a mutal love of corporate art & company tote bags. their love inspired Irving to rebel against his employers for the first time ever. Burt is even Christopher Walken.

They’re so quietly sweet and heart-wrenching… fell in love on the ‘inside’ (they both work a job that ‘severs’ their work memories from their out-of-work memories; inside the job, they have no idea who they are on the outside or what the world is like, but they found each other and found a little bit of love and meaning and happiness inside the nightmare corporate world that is their job)

canonically in love with each other! in the show people sever their consciousness so they aren't aware when they're working. this creates a separate person that only exists while they're at the office, who doesn't share any memories with the person they are on the outside. these two old men bond and find comfort in each other despite the dystopian hell situation they're in

Old men having a forbidden romance while stuck in a hellish workplace dystopia

These two old men know nothing outside of their company propaganda, which says romance is forbidden, and they still choose each other. They bond over paintings, discuss company policy in each other's arms like they're debating scripture on whether their love is allowed. They're sooo gay and it's so sweet to see true, canonical old man yaoi

Weird old man office romance except they only exist inside the bounds of the world’s worst office building and they go on a little date to a room full of plastic plants

Ravenpaw/Barley:

kitties who were outcast from previous groups they were a part of and find and live with each other. they are canonical mates even though theyre both dudes. they grow old together, but ravenpaw gets cancer and dies before barley (he lives to be considered old in warrior cats years). however ravenpaw wanted to be in the same kitty afterlife that barley will go to, so they can be together in kitty afterlife. barley is still alive though as far as we know and might be the oldest living cat in the series now. also i just think its funny to call little kitty cats "old man yaoi"

[spiegelgestalt]

Timebomb feelings because of the Arcane trailer for season 2

So I just saw the arcane trailer for season 2. It's great. I'm so excited. (so sad that Victor and Jayce died in the explosion quite an apprupt ending for them i guess... /s)

but what i really want to talk about is these two pictures:

Because it got me thinking. One of the interesting aspects of the Jinx/Ekko relationship is that they are able to communicate through other means than direct words. And that they are able to create a different image for each other.

Long and rambly explanation under the cut, which got away from me and can be summarized with: Jinx makes Ekko more violent and Ekko makes Jinx more heroic and they love each other your honor and i want to see a team up in season 2:

Song:

Jinx has a few songs (Guns for hire, goodbye, What could have been) but they are usually solos. They are usually melodic rock. And they usually concentrate on how much Jinx was wronged.

And than there is Dynasties and Dystopia. On first watch i thought it was an Ekko song. It's after all in his style (both in animation as in genre) but some words don't quite fit:

"I might just might kick your butt Go run amok then paint my nails Never learned to raise my hand Was too busy raising hell Everything I know I am You should go and save yourself Thought you had my number, huh Congratulations, you played yourself"

this just screams jinx to me. Ekko has yet to run amok. Jinx does it all the time. I don't even know what Ekko's nails look like, but we have several distinct shots of Jinxs' blue and pink nails; Ekko doesn't raise hell, if he's raising something it's paradise. And the line "you should go and save yourself" is a good continuation/rejection of the one thing Jinx says in this fight: Look who it is - the boy savior -> go save yourself! And it forshadows the way jinx will be able to get just a loss instead of a total defeat (look she was defeated- in the aftermath Ekko had a hurt leg, while Jinx needed to be revived with terrible magic drugs there is a clear winner here). Ekko thinks he has jinx figured out but he hasn't and thats why he will hesitate in the end.

But i would also argue that not all of the song is jinx:

Ooh, yeah, he mad I'm racking up white diamonds Throw me in the sky You would swear the sun shining Ooh, yeah, he mad I'm racking up white diamonds Throw me in the sky You would swear the sun shining

this verse is both of them: Basically they are saying: Look how great i'm doing (lie) Aren't you mad about it? (They will never beat the allegation that they are bitter exes.)

And I'd argue that this is Ekkos verse:

In this gothic underground city We all sin If I bring a couple rounds with me Then we all win I came back and brought the crown with me The king's den Break your nexus and your neck 'cause Everybody's on your head

and interestingly enough it's an offer. This makes sense with the visual. Encouraged through Vi who insists that Powder is still in there somewhere Ekko conjures a situation wich is similar to their old games. And it works: It's the only time Powder appears as her young self on screen. And so Ekko makes an offer he probably made before: Trust me, back down, i can help:

He starts with: We all make mistakes - one of the things that bind Powder to the Jinx personality is her guilt over having killed her entire family. But Ekko doesn't blame Jinx he blames their circumstances (something he also does in his Zaun-duet misfit toys)

If i bring a couple rounds with me, then we all win -> this foreshadows his timetravel ability. And even if he doesn't has it at this point this whole scene breaks down time itself so it still works in my head. Ekko brings the crown with him (the hextech-crystal) and he warns Jinx that everyone is going after her.

And the second refrain which I'd argue both sing once again:

Hold still while I bag that, uh Talk bad 'til I snap back, uh This ain't brown, this that dark black This that pitch black, jet black Snap yo' ex watch me give him flashbacks

Meaning: keep still, i've got this, just trust me dude!

This song shows that Ekkos and Jinx's disagreement is far more similar to the disagreement between Vander and Silco than to the disagreement between Vi and Jinx. Vi and Jinx' disagreement is personal. Vi rejects everything jinx has become and just wants her "sweet" little sister back - Ekkos and Jinx's disagreement is political. They disagree about the question what is best for Zaun. AND I'd also argue the Ekko is far less surprised by the jinx personality. He knew Powder was a bit of a shithead. He's just pissed that she's working for Silco.

Well let's finally get to these two pictures:

We see Ekko and we see Jinx drawn as hero of the resistance in Ekkos style* (compare the mural to the video of misfit toys) We know that Jinx gave Ekko a definition that didn't suit him by creating the firefly bombs and recasting him as a terrorist. And know we see Ekko who maybe drew this picture of jinx recreating her from a terrorist into a hero of Zaun.

(see me get proven wrong in the first episode of arcane season 2...)

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 2

Book summaries below:

Under the Whispering Door by T.J. Klune

Welcome to Charon's Crossing. The tea is hot, the scones are fresh, and the dead are just passing through.

When a reaper comes to collect Wallace from his own funeral, Wallace begins to suspect he might be dead.

And when Hugo, the owner of a peculiar tea shop, promises to help him cross over, Wallace decides he’s definitely dead.

But even in death he’s not ready to abandon the life he barely lived, so when Wallace is given one week to cross over, he sets about living a lifetime in seven days.

Hilarious, haunting, and kind, Under the Whispering Door is an uplifting story about a life spent at the office and a death spent building a home.

Fantasy, romance, cozy fantasy, contemporary, humor, adult

Chain-Gang All-Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah

Two top women gladiators fight for their freedom within a depraved private prison system not so far-removed from America's own.

Loretta Thurwar and Hamara "Hurricane Staxxx" Stacker are the stars of Chain-Gang All-Stars, the cornerstone of CAPE, or Criminal Action Penal Entertainment, a highly-popular, highly-controversial, profit-raising program in America's increasingly dominant private prison industry. It's the return of the gladiators and prisoners are competing for the ultimate prize: their freedom.

In CAPE, prisoners travel as Links in Chain-Gangs, competing in death-matches for packed arenas with righteous protestors at the gates. Thurwar and Staxxx, both teammates and lovers, are the fan favorites. And if all goes well, Thurwar will be free in just a few matches, a fact she carries as heavily as her lethal hammer. As she prepares to leave her fellow Links, she considers how she might help preserve their humanity, in defiance of these so-called games, but CAPE's corporate owners will stop at nothing to protect their status quo and the obstacles they lay in Thurwar's path have devastating consequences.

Moving from the Links in the field to the protestors to the CAPE employees and beyond, Chain-Gang All-Stars is a kaleidoscopic, excoriating look at the American prison system's unholy alliance of systemic racism, unchecked capitalism, and mass incarceration, and a clear-eyed reckoning with what freedom in this country really means.

Dystopia, speculative fiction, science fiction, adult

[guessthatrec-poll]

Guess That Rec: Round 2, Poll 16

Rec #61

A future dystopia where the elite thrive and the poor scrape by to survive, while the police abuse their authority to keep the poor down? A teen rebel going against that system to get revenge on his ex-bff? A charismatic cult leader trying to lay low and build up an army of supporters to seize control of these power systems for himself? A secret doomsday prophecy, with a competition arranged solely to create a force against it? It’s got everything and then some!

Rec #64

It's a coming-of-age story about friendship, found family, and learning that you can be who you want to be. There's many canonically queer characters, including lesbian and bisexual main characters, a few trans coded characters, and even a non-binary character. There's also many disabled characters, including a canonically blind main character and autistic coded characters! It's got enemies to lovers (and enemies and lovers ;)), forced proximity (>//<), rivals to lovers, love triangles!!! and secret romance. not to mention the strong female characters! more than half of the main characters are female! but get this… it all happens… IN SPACE!! You've got to read it!!

[wordstro]

[3] sector one: post-apocalypse au + mingi + "you're safe in sector one."

a/n: 3.4k words, gender neutral reader, mingi x y/n, post apocalypse/dystopia typical violence, baker!yn

part 2 | series masterlist | part 4

-

you'd gotten up extra early the next morning, the morning chill creeping under your skin as you wrapped your arms around you. You walk through dewy grass, arriving upon the main building. sector one was built by hand and you could tell. the wooden structures were put together rather shoddily, but they held up and joy had a team constantly repairing and working on the buildings, making them stronger. the sleeping quarters were built in the back of sector one's walls, right next to the commune's meeting rooms. one of the meeting rooms is used as a daycare-slash-school-room of sorts, where the children too young to contribute elsewhere would spend their days. it was filled with old toys and books and colorful chairs. the normalcy of that room alone often made you want to bury your face in your hands and sob. you avoided that room often. it felt unsafe, for a child to grow up in a world like this, or even worse, be born into it.

the other room was curtained off and used as the medical bay. joy showed it to you briefly, and it seemed well-stocked, but incredibly understaffed. sometimes, there was a line of people waiting to see a medic, and the line would go out the door.

joy's quarters sat separately down a side hallway, away from the noisy children and the people lingering in the medical bay hallway. it reminded you of the little managerial offices your bosses would clack away on a computer at during your restaurant jobs back Before. she had an open door policy and everyone called her little sitting room the counsel room.

as you step into the side hallway, you can see that joy's door is cracked open. so you knock once before slowly letting yourself in. joy is leaning over her wooden desk, pouring over a map laid out across the huge table. you recognize it immediately as a map of South Korea, but you don't understand the dozens of red X’s scattered across the map means. joy rounds the table, stepping into your view, and her soft voice echoes throughout the counsel room, "what's wrong, y/n?"

"sorry for interrupting," you say, though you're not sorry, "i'm just...i want to know why you didn’t let me know where we got those chocolate chips from."

joy frowns, "what do you mean?"

"they're from one of the newbies. you should have told me."

you'd spent all of yesterday ruminating over what wooyoung said. sure, he'd was an asshole for his actions, but when it came to precious resources like chocolate chips, it was always finders keepers. it was an unspoken rule, you thought.

"why?" joy continues frowning, her airy voice quiet.

you say, "i wouldn't have used it for everyone then. that's not fair."

joy shakes her head, and her expression grows extremely gentle. kind, even. for some reason, it angers you. she looks at you like you're one of the little children tucked away in the school room, throwing a tantrum because you don't understand something.

"sector one is a commune, y/n," joy says. "everything we bring into these walls is to be shared with everyone."

"i don't think that's fair." you say, flat out ignoring her kind, frankly condescending tone.

joy shrugs, "it's every person for themselves beyond this wall, but if we want to build a healthy community then we need to share our resources. we can't be so individualistic. we must survive for the future of humanity."

she's not wrong, annoyingly enough, but the way joy's eyes soften with her words makes you frown still. you sigh. she won't budge in this, and you still don't want to cause any waves - not with joy. you concede, "i'd appreciate if you tell me where you got it from next time at least."

so you don't get blindsided by another angry newbie next time.

"sure," joy says, and her tone grows an edge to it that is unexpected. almost as if she's holding back an eye roll. you'd done that often with annoying customers back before to catch it in her voice. joy says, "did you want to know where every single bag of flour comes from, too? a map of every neighborhood and every house each team has raided just to find a single can of condensed milk? do you want a debrief of what we found in each of those houses along the way? maybe you want pictures of the families that lived there back Before?"

you blink at her tone, bristling. you did not imagine the contempt, clearly. you should not match her tone or her energy. you've always told yourself to remain calm, to maintain a demeanor that kept you out of trouble, but perhaps staying here has softened your rules for the worst. you bite out in the same politely cutting tone, "if you think it's necessary, then why not?"

joy meets your steady gaze from across the room, and there's a tick in her jaw that you would have missed if you were not looking. she lets out a long drawn out sigh, and says, "it's early, y/n. we'll talk later. and," joy smiles and her gentleness, softness, returns, "i'll consider your request, alright?"

you know what a dismissal sounds like, so you nod and say, "thanks."

~.~.~.~.~

your annoyance grows as you head to the kitchens. you walk past the training grounds - it’s closed off to the rest of the commune by wooden fences that are chest height. the showers are accessible from the training grounds and from the rest of the communes, though you doubt one could call them showers really, since it was just a giant room with a dozen shower heads installed all across one wall and bathroom stalls on the other side. there were allotted times for certain genders and age groups to shower and it was heavily enforced by both joy and the people themselves. it still lacked privacy, nothing but a measly hooks separating each shower head that was meant for you to hang up your own towel for privacy, but it was better than nothing. you'd gone months without a proper shower before sector one so you really could not complain about these, especially because sector one somehow had hot water.

you sigh as you head past the courtyard that held all the dining tables - benches lined up side by side like a picnic camp ground - and through the bustling kitchen. joy was never quite so abrasive with anyone, and you wondered if she'd bristled at your request, or because of something else entirely.

the kitchen is hard at work on breakfast already, the head chef - kyungsoo - shouting instructions over to his bustling aids. the main kitchen is huge, with scratched up industrial steel tables, an oven, and a gas stove with blackened coils. everything is mismatched and broken in some way, but it's all the scavenging crews could find. tiny potatoes are piled in boxes in the far corner. an aid calls, behind you! and you step out of the way as they stumbled past with an armful of canned vegetables. another one follows with a couple large knives. you’d worked with kyungsoo during your first week in sector one, and you did not enjoy it. he was particular about everything, and ran the kitchen like the military. being late was not tolerated, and messiness resulted in punishment - usually hand washing the dozens upon dozens of dishes after meals, and getting more water from the wells. he'd despise the way you ran the baking kitchen, and you knew that was why he never crossed the line to your kitchen unless absolutely necessary. kyungsoo was also awful at baking, apparently.

kyungsoo tips his chin in your direction and you wave back before you slip into the back hallway, kyungsoo's shouts and the banging of pots and pans echoes behind you. the dark hallway is used as storage for both your kitchens, and serves as a small pathway leading to your bakery. there are a decent amount of flour bags lined up along one wall, and some small containers of cooking oil on the other. cooking oil is a precious resource these days and the main kitchen had priority over yours when any food hauls came in, so you often had to improvise with your recipes to substitute oil. sugar, though, was the hardest to replace, and often you had to look for natural sugar alternatives, or worse, go sugar free until the next food haul.

the lights to the bakery are on. you wonder if yeri arrived early to prepare all the dough left to rise overnight. unlike kyungsoo's kitchen, you did not get very many assistants assigned to your kitchen. it was a small space, and bread was really deemed the most necessary of baked goods that came out of your kitchen. everything else is a luxury. a treat.

you are startled when you step into the kitchen, and you're greeted by a deep grunt in response. that is certainly not yeri.

you pull your knife that you keep hidden at your hip - you cannot help it - spinning in the direction of the grunt.

you blink.

mingi has both arms up in the air in a placating manner, his eyes wide. he tries to make himself look less threatening but his height does not help.

"shit, sorry," you say, dropping your arm to your side, sheathing the knife quickly.

mingi shakes his head as he slowly lowers his arms. he says, "you're better with a knife than fists."

you frown at him. he cracks a small smile. it lights up his face, though you notice his smile does not reach his eyes. you've seen it quite a bit in everyone's faces, the dim look in their eyes, but his eyes are something else. something sallow. broken, maybe, like cracked bread or all those crushed picture frames you'd seen since the world went to shit or the way your heart shattered when you left your parent's house for the last time.

mingi peers around the kitchen, and you break the silence first, shaking yourself from your thoughts, "why are you here?"

he says, "i've been assigned to help here."

his deep voice helps expel your spiraling thoughts. broken eyes are common these days. nothing was worth fixing unless it helped you survive, especially people.

"really?" you ask, surprised. kyungsoo hinted a while back (with infuriatingly gleeful audacity) that your kitchen would only get one kitchen aide, and you and yeri had grown resigned to the fact.

"i used to work at a bakery back..." mingi trails off, shrugging, "i guess someone told joy."

the way his voice curls around someone makes you think mingi knows exactly who told joy. he's nonchalant still, unbothered in a way that makes you wary. where yeosang is guarded and, frankly, angry, mingi is calm and unbothered. you don't know which is worse. one put his cards out on the table right away, and the other felt like a mysterious ticking bomb.

"you have more experience than me, then," you say, laughing a little as you grab two aprons from the hook beside the counter. you toss him one, and he catches it easily.

mingi shakes his head, "i was just a cashier."

"even better," you say, tying off your apron, "my head baker position is secure."

a beat of silence passes between you both as you pull out dough left to cool in the fridge overnight by yeri during your day off.

then, mingi says, voice soft, "for now."

you look up at him. mingi grins once more, and his face is softer, his shoulders less stiff. you can't help but laugh. his grin grows a little wider.

you think mingi is easy to like. that makes you a bit wary.

~.~.~.~.~

you can't sleep. it's difficult to ignore what night brings, even if you are supposed to be safe in sector one.

nights are always quiet in sector one. days are often filled with chores, and the hustle and bustle of getting things done. the older compound members would sit under one of the three shade structures built along the three walls of sector one that did not hold the training, dining, and kitchen facilities, the canopies made of mismatched wood and plastic, sandbags holding the posts down, and they would weave baskets, sandals, plates, and other necessities, or scrub laundry. your first few months, you found the way they hollered at each other or howled in laughter jarring. but now, it was comforting. stronger able-bodied folks would carry pails of water in from the wells, or spend time in the greenhouses and gardens. the scavenger teams and patrol parties would walk with purpose, busy whispering to each other of their plans. an occasional child would run about, weaving through groups of people and kicking up dirt and grass. it was overwhelming when you'd first arrived. especially with how quickly the atmosphere changed as night approached.

once the sun set, everyone retreated back to their quarters. there was a large common room, with couches and ratty cushions and board games missing half their pieces and unfinished puzzles on the floor, and the hallways to the individual bedrooms and family rooms were lit up with dim torch lights, but conversations remained hushed, and no one dared to step outside. despite joy's promises, despite the fact that sector one truly did seem safe from the black fog and whatever lurked outside at night, everyone remained cautious, quiet.

perhaps, it was indication enough that the survival instincts from beyond the wall still lived on in these people. it made you feel less strange for still being wary. but the switch from lively to dead silence made it difficult to sleep.

this particular night, you wander outside the common room. oftentimes, you would not be the only one sitting quietly in the common room. a pretty boy with dark freckles and kind eyes always sits in the corner and reads under dim candlelight. he never says anything to you, and you to him, but you find his presence reassuring.

tonight, however, you step outside. the boy looks up from his book as moonlight douses him. he frowns, opens his mouth, but does not say anything. you shut the door quietly behind you, the wooden door clicking shut softly.

it's cold outside, and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. it feels as if there are eyes on you - there very well might be. whatever attacked humanity, whatever hung between the moon and stars and caused the black fog and horrible screams at night, is probably watching you walk around like a goddamned idiot.

you clutch your sweater closer as you pass by the training fences.

the grass slopes off into a short hill, that leads down to the courtyards and the kitchens. at the top of the small hill sits a familiar figure. he is awash in moonlight, and his pretty features are almost ethereal like this. he's staring up, presumably at the moon.

you still don't have the guts to follow his gaze. he's brave. you've looked up at it once, just briefly, and you still remember the tiny reflective silver objects flitting in and out between the clouds, darkening the whites of the moon. you still remember the way your stomach sank at the sight, as if your instincts knew there was something very, very wrong. it was a deep-rooted, evolutionary fear that curled under your bones and never really left you.

a burning ember sets yeosang's face ablaze, orange mixing with white moonlight. the smell of cigarette smoke is strong. you didn't know those still existed.

he looks back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes widening slightly at the sight of you before he looks away as if he is disappointed.

you step closer, plopping down uninvited next to him in the grass.

yeosang rests his hands on his folded knees, the cigarette burning out between you both. one of his knees are shaking.

after a moment of silence, yeosang speaks.

"sorry for being a dick earlier," yeosang mumbles, "and for disappearing."

"thanks," you say, fixing your gaze on the gates straight ahead. "appreciate the apology. appreciated the silence a bit more though."

yeosang snorts as he sticks the burning cigarette in a patch of dirt, grinding the end until the orange ember sputters out.

you look at him. yeosang looks tired. you say, "can you tell your friend wooyoung to apologize though? he beat me up because of you and a bag of chocolate chips."

yeosang laughs then, and the sound is unexpected. it's pretty. softer than his walls. "wooyoung is an idiot."

"that doesn't excuse him trying to dislocate my arm."

"yeah," yeosang mutters, frowning suddenly, "it doesn't. i'll tell him."

the silence afterwards is tense. you have no idea why. you want to ask, but you also don't care to know.

suddenly, yeosang says, "i heard mingi is helping you now."

"yeah," you say, "he said he used to work at a bakery."

"i met him there."

you raise a brow, "oh, back Before?"

"no, during the Invasion," yeosang cranes his neck as he peers up at the moon. you don't dare to follow his gaze. he says, "mingi killed someone who tried to kill me. was still wearing his apron and everything."

he speaks so casually, as if that day is not still a sore spot for nearly everyone you've ever met.

"you've been together ever since?"

yeosang nods.

you can't help it when you ask, "how?"

yeosang frowns at you, "what do you mean?"

how were you meant to explain that with longevity comes attachment? that survival in this world meant to remain detached, and therefore protected? that you thought him ridiculous for judging the way these people coped when he clung to mingi for so long you were sure he'd lose his mind if something ever happened to the other man? that level of commitment was insane to you. maybe yeosang was not brave, but rather insane, and that was why he could so easily look at the moon.

yeosang's eyes flickers between yours, waiting for a response. you shrug, "i don't know. i've just never stuck around with the same people for -"

a loud screech cuts you off. it's clearly from beyond the walls, triggering a chorus of shrill bird caws and the rustling of leaves. the keening sound is piercing, and you wince. you've heard that sound often when you were beyond the walls, when you were holed up in a stranger's home or some abandoned shed.

yeosang jumps to his feet, bristling like a startled cat, his gaze fixed in that direction beyond the walls.

then the keening abruptly stops, the same way symphonies stop with a conductor. the same way screams stop when someone puts a hand over the person's mouth. you'd seen that once, with one of the groups you'd left after just a few hours.

the silence afterwards is utterly engulfing. the crickets do not chirp. the breeze does not blow. it is as if the world has stilled, and even a single breath or a single twitch of your fingers will bring whatever was beyond the walls back.

you open your mouth. you want to say something, but you are struck once more by that primal fear, the kind that has every cell in your body begging for you to run.

grass crunches behind you, the softest sound turned into a blaring horn in the silence.

you spin, knife in hand. yeosang's head snaps over his shoulder.

joy stands illuminated by torchlight, soft yellow-orange lighting up her rounded features.

she's staring at both of you, eyes flickering back and forth, back and forth.

you say, "did you hear that?"

joy holds the torch higher, and she says, "it's nothing to worry about."

you glance over at yeosang, and he frowns, but he doesn't say anything. your heart slams against your ribs, still injected with fear.

"we're safe in sector one," joy says gently. "there's nothing to worry about. just breathe, y/n."

her voice is soothing enough. you let yourself breathe.

joy gestures back to the sleeping quarters, "you both should go inside."

"okay," yeosang says after a beat of silence. "fine."

joy's smile is reassuring, but her eyes are fixed above your head. behind you.

"everything is fine," joy says, once more. "you're safe in sector one."

[bahngnxxx]

FORGOTTEN DYSTOPIA 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

CHAPTER 1 

PAIRING. Bangchan x !F! reader  

GENRE. Thriller, action, horror(?), eventual smut, angst(?) 

WORD COUNT. 4.2k 

WARNINGS. 18+ mdni — explicit content, gore, knives, use of weapons, smut (in later chapters MUAHAHAH 👅👅), violence obv, fighting, all the action movie jazz.  

NOTES. Oh my god. Tuck yourself in rn, this is gonna be one of my first ever actual plot lined stories, yall will love it i swear. And thank you SO much for the likes and views I got on my last post, i did not expect that much when i woke up, i really appreciate you guys. I've been having a really rough day so excuse any mistakes or drousy shit, police and stuff waaah. (im gwenchana gang 💔) i luv yewz. Enjoyzers !! 

Waking up to the wrench of dust and grime was an everyday thing, it was like a daily smoke for free, not like the cannabis shops you used to drop by to daily, those are for the past. Thats what you would call a dystopia, a land not achievable, an alternate universe where we were once able to thrive the earth. Long gone to the crumbled houses around and mutant blobs that would thrive the creaky floors of the house. 

one you, and eight men left in this barren town. 

One might call it fate, but what use is there of such a hopeful word when hell is what we’re living in right now? It isn’t destiny, It’s a curse.  

You stretch a long stretch, trying your best not to take too deep of an inhale or you’d go into a coughing fit, adjusting your eyes to the fogged-up haze around the shared bedroom.  

There were 2 other men still asleep on the floor draped with jagged blankets, ones that were probably someone's childhood. Jeongin, second youngest but still your ‘hyung’ was wrapped up in a strawberry shortcake blanket, content as a ray of green sun streaked through the broken musted plastic blinds, particles of dust apparent in the rays. Opposite to him, with a leg over the younger man’s butt was Hyunjin, one remotely similar to a ferret, always sniffing and sleeping with his tongue bitten between his round teeth. He once had black hair that would tousle overtop of people, but now he remains bald, a kiwi. A new tease for his fuzzy hair. 

 You lean up against the creaky bed, being kind of spoilt because you were a female, one that came from afar and ended up here. Looking around the room, you find the usual set up, a sorry sight to behold. The previously brown painted wooden walls are now peeling off due to the moisture damage, curled like little shavings, the ceiling caved in, in some parts, leaving only streaks of sunlight to illuminate the room. The only few pieces of furniture in the room is an old worn bed that is pushed up against the wall which you rest in, and a table that is on a support beam with two legs, shoved to the side. The two males are curled up in different shapes on the floor, a split mattress underneath them, topped with thin blankets. The only disadvantage to you being up on a slightly more comforting bed is the loss of heat, but its alright, you already have enough to your advantage. The floors are littered with old bits of carpet and the window is slightly cracked up, allowing a cool, yet unbreathable breeze to seep in, slowly. The room overall was small and dingy, a faint unpleasent smell of something decayed lingered in the damp and stuffy air, but like how every house has their own scent, we are accustomed to it and breathe it like it is our own air.  

A few moments of staring out at the grey-yellow sky outside thanks to the pollution, and you were up and adam, carefully gliding across the men so you wouldn’t step on them like the numerous times you had before. You still pout at the sight of stepping on the younger male, IN, poor thing looked like those toys back in the days where you would squish it and their eyes would pop out.  

As you make your way out to the small grimy layout of the house and to the kitchen, your met with the deep voiced early riser, Felix, his eyes staring blankly at the tablet in front of him. Looking but not seeing. He rubs his eye and pops a pill into his mouth, catching sight of you and handing the bottle to you. “Here, breakfast. Eat up, we’re out of stock, ‘its hunting day.” he croaks in his deep morning voice, as Chan would say, a dragon man with an even dragon-ier voice. You glance up from his shoulder and to the countertops, narrowing your gaze to see the empty old water bottles laying in a pile on the floor. Great, your out, now you have to resort to dry swallowing. You squint your eyes and quickly take the pills up in your mouth, gathering up as much saliva as your weak body can before gulping them down.  

Felix is always the mother hen – having the same routine every morning, Felix will check the pills to make sure he’s taken all of his then keep watch of the others to make sure they’ve downed their amount as well. It seems redundant, and a tad bit excessive, but he always insists. He then shuffles out to the kitchen window, gazing outside the fog and to the barren lands, watering the indoor plants. Even the few that your able to keep alive will die eventually—there's only so much you can do against a dying word like this. 

“One for nutrients, one for vitamins,” Changbin hums from his spot at the table, tapping his hands on the wood. He’s already taken his dose for the morning, always the first one to snag all of the supply. You're assuming he’d finished all the water for some sort of punishment, as always. The male was previously a muscular one, one with a loud laugh that echoed across the hut, but nowadays he’d been a bit more silent, distant. All the men complain about feeling fuzzy due to the intake of the pills, even bangchan, despite him being one known to be strong and upholding.  

Eventually, a slender man sneaked up from behind you, making the hairs on your back stand up, a familiar peach fuzz skimming your neck followed by that hum he’d always do once satisfied with his scaring. Dramatic ferret, hyunjin is up, finally, but not his newborn, not yet atleast. He tickled a trail down the crack of your back, blowing a cool breeze of breath to your ear, to which you whipped back and ruffled up his non-existent hair for. He let out a playful chuckle.  

“Someone’s up early. Finally.” You scoffed out, eyeing him up and down, making sure you weren’t having hallucinations or anything. Speaking of hallucinations, the shorter boy jeongin peaked up from behind him and blew another breeze of air for revenge to him. This was a daily routine for you three, and since the younger one wasn’t into skin ship- this is the closest you could get to touch, letting out those ominous “hee hee hee’s” as he scurried away to munch down some nutrients with a grimace on his face. They tasted remotely similar to soap and vinegar with a hint of.. Old soggy sponge, but you’d bared up to custom to the taste, although you couldn’t hide the way your nose crinkled up when you swallowed them, and the taste would linger for a couple of hours after that until a new taste of grimey pills entered your throat, routinely.  

Felix was busy eyeing out and noting down who’d taken what until a creak of the second bedroom from the ominous light revealed the curly haired alternative aussie, the one you favored the most—bangchan, or Chris is what you’d call him. It’s a name that much of the other men had sort of forgotten, but the name stuck to you. He didn’t exactly look like a bangchan anyways... Not anymore. He used to have kind sparkling eyes, always being thumbnails for performance videos but those were now long gone. They went from 8 teenagers with a dream, to 8 men with a crowd, and now 8 friends trying to survive with their wits burnt to a crisp. He’d given up on his passions and youth only to be succumbed to being stuck with them for eternity, not that he was complaining, he’d rather spent the rest of his days with his dearest boys then die alone in this hell.  

You flashed him a smile and he bowed down slightly to give one back, running his pale, pink calloused hands through the kinky locks, examining the exchange between the two aussie brothers. He leaned down and flexed his arms in the wrong directions like a spider due to his.. Flexibility, discussing and mapping out things on the tablet for gathering, but as you eyed in the distance... Great. Just as you thought you had a day off, you were next on the list to seek out, and this time you were out at hick’s mall center. One of the most dangerous centrals around this time, filled with all sorts of things.. Just the thought sent shivers down your spine and a shudder to your throat. Luckily, your pair was Chan, the man you could always hide behind and sacrifice to the shadows just incase... but jokes aside you’d hoped it would be an easy trip, aside from the empty bottles on the floor nothing else seemed to be missing... But a holler followed your train of thought, those deep grumbled yells that came straight from the core, lee know. 

 You followed along the screams only for them to come to you, a soapy soaked male with a towel barely hanging off his body, bubbles covering half of his face, red eyes panicked and irratated with cleanser.  

“What the fuck happened? Loose your rubber ducky?” you groan. 

“I DROPPED THE TIN OF BATTERIES IN THE WATER BUCKET.” he cries. 

“...” silence. What else did you have to say? You pushed the wet boy aside and stomped to see the tin filled with wash water now having floating components in them. Not only were the amazing stock of batteries changbin and hyunjin found previously drowned in it, but the extra emergency flashlights were too. It was an electronic soup you didn’t dare to touch, unless you had a death wish. Great. 

 “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?? WHY ARE THE ELECTRONICS IN THE BATHROOM??” you yelled. 

“I-I’M SCARED OF THE DARK, OKAY?? I- I HAVE AN IRRATIONAL FEAR OF THEM RUNNING OUT A-AND I-” 

BAM. A slam to the wall is enough to silence his blabbering as you stomp out of the room, everyone is unfocused on the ruckus but Chan glances back at you and cocks a brow. “What’s botherin’ you? ‘seem stressed.” 

“leeknow dropped the batteries. In the water. All of them.” with a slow turn, everyone in the room is twisting their head almost animatedly, hyunjin is turning from his head in the cab nits, jeongin laying on the floor in a haze is now snapping his neck to you, Felix is.. Concerned and balling his fists, Chris is scoffing, barely containing a swear, and changbin is.. Zoned out. The first to speak up is the leader, walking past you wish a gush of wind, broad shoulders skimming past your unbrushed hair as he examines the doom soup, for sure the water is salvageable but the electronics? Not so much, no. Drying won’t do the trick, and he rubs his temples together in frustration. 

“Yah, Minho I.. cant deal with you.” he mumbles as the red cheeked embarrassed boy stands shivering outside the bathroom. He’s frozen, hasn’t even washed off the soap and still has one eye squinted shut as the bubbles slowly make their way down his face to his shoulders. Chris walks out the room with a hand on his hips and lets out a light disappointed nod to confirm the news, but you two are the main ones who let out a groan. Now two things on the list, water, and batteries. What else could go so wrong? A squeal can be heard from the bedroom Chan emerged from, followed by the sudden thumping of a burritoed han, only then do you realize what he’s covered in. Gauze, a heck load of gauze, he's mummified and not to mention, dirtied with it too. The menace and maker of the crime scene walks out, only to realize his fun has resulted with the first aid kit being used up. This couldn’t get any worse, we’re running out of things quick and everyone is fucking everything up. You let out a deep, shakey huffed breathe, barely containing your anger as you speak in a slow voice.  

“Kim seungmin. Now why would you do that.”  

“a-ah well.. It was a joke..?” he speaks in an unsure, sing song voice, trying to lighten the number of daggers being stared into him but that clearly is ineffective, and the anger clarifies it as he guiltily like a sad puppy slips out of the room and swallows down his take of pills too. Hyunjin works on cutting apart the dirty gauze from han so the poor timid boy can go around his day, but that only adds to you and Chan's platter. All nessacities are now to a waste, and the main location being stacked of is a dangerous place, so your out for a ride for sure.  

Looking around the room is almost nostalgic, really. It feels like a fever dream but it really has become an unfortunate reality. It all started with some sort of sick prank that aired on television, you’d came out fresh from a tiring day of university and to your shared dorm with your best friend, jung-hae, life was chill, honestly. You two were peas in a pod, you couldn’t loose her, you’d grown up with her, she was your life and only source of happiness keeping you alive, something you’d look forward to, someone that would put the spark in your eyes, light up your dark life. It all came to soon, came to an end too quick. You used to think the world would end with a bang, some dramatic explosion or a cataclysmic meteor. You never imagined it would start with a joke. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been late that night when the broadcast aired. You and Jung-hae were curled up in your shared dorm, textbooks scattered across your desks, half-eaten snacks littering the floor. The television flickered with a news alert: some supposed "leak" from an experimental lab, acid seeping into the rivers, mutating the wildlife. At first, you both laughed. Some sick joke, a prank blown out of proportion. Until it wasn’t. 

The reports kept coming. Footage of amphibians crawling onto land, their bodies grotesquely stretched and twisted, eyes bulging, teeth too sharp. Then the bugs—bloated mosquitoes the size of birds, cockroaches with exoskeletons so thick they crunched under bullets but kept moving. The infection spread to mammals next. Stray dogs foaming at the mouth, deer collapsing with necrotic flesh with a bright blood red seeping through the crevasse of their eyes, clotting and building up a bubbling liquid that spewed in toxic sprays, enough so to sting the skin, the air thick with the scent of rot and something worse: something alive. 

Jung-hae had always been the rational one. "We need to leave," she’d said, her voice firm even as her hands trembled. The university was too close to the river. Too exposed. You packed what little you could, stuffing clothes and food into your bags, shoving notebooks into your arms like they could somehow save you. But the roads were already blocked, the highways choked with abandoned cars, people screaming in the distance. 

The infection spread fast. 

Barricading inside your dorm became the only option. Nights passed in a blur of dim candlelight, hushed whispers, rationed food. The campus grew quieter—no more frantic running, no more desperate cries. Just the sound of something moving outside, something clicking against the pavement, searching. 

Then one day, Jung-hae was gone. 

You woke up to silence. The spot beside you on the mattress was cold. Her bag was still there, her shoes by the door. But she wasn’t. Panic clawed at your chest as you searched the hallways, whispering her name, begging for this to be a mistake. But the door to the stairwell hung open, the lock broken, and outside— 

Blood. Smears of it along the wall, a trail leading down to the courtyard where the grass had turned black, where the trees had wilted, where the bodies of students lay twisted in unnatural positions, mouths frozen in silent screams. And in the center of it all, Jung-hae’s bracelet. The one you had bought her on your first trip together. The one she never took off. 

You dropped to your knees. You should’ve stopped her. You should’ve— 

A noise behind you. A rasping breath, a gurgling sound like something drowning in its own throat. You turned, your heart hammering, your fingers curling around the knife Jung-hae had given you, the last gift she had ever pressed into your hands. 

And there she stood. 

Or what was left of her. 

Her jade eyes, once bright, flickered between life and death, pupils dilated in an eerie, unnatural glow. Her body was a twisted mockery of itself, half-decayed yet still moving, her limbs stretched unnaturally as if her skin struggled to keep her bones in place. Flesh hung from her in torn, rotting sheets, her ribcage exposed through a gaping hole in her torso. And yet—her heart still beat, pulsing weakly in its cage of bone, a sickening rhythm that did not belong in something so destroyed. 

Her mouth opened, lips cracked and bleeding, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too jagged. A strangled noise escaped her throat, something between a gasp and a growl, and her fingers twitched—longer now, nails blackened and claw-like. She took a step forward, her broken ankle bending at an impossible angle, but she didn’t fall. She wouldn’t fall. Not until the infection finished its work. 

A sob tore from your chest. This wasn’t Jung-hae. Not anymore. And yet, some part of her still lingered, trapped in the decaying prison of her own body, suffering, breathing, existing when she shouldn’t be. 

You raised the knife. Your hands shook. She made a sound—half a whisper, half a plea. You didn’t wait to hear more. You couldn’t. The blade sank into her chest. Right where her still-beating heart was. 

Jung-hae shuddered. Her eyes, wide with something that could have been pain or relief, met yours one last time. Then, finally, they dulled. The glow faded. Her body slackened, no longer caught in that grotesque state between life and death. She collapsed at your feet, her blood pooling around your shoes, hot and thick—a sick mix of her own and some sort of black tar. You had killed her. Or maybe—just maybe—you had set her free. 

The world around you blurred, but the horror remained. The bodies, the rot, the infection—it would continue. It would spread. And you would have to keep running. You had no choice now. You wiped your blade clean and turned away, leaving Jung-hae behind. 

The apocalypse had already begun. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You ran. Branches lashed against your face as you tore through the underbrush, lungs burning, legs trembling. The screams behind you were inhuman—guttural wails of creatures that had once been people, now twisted into something monstrous. The infection hadn’t stopped at the flesh. It had seeped into the air, the soil, the very bones of the world, turning everything into a nightmare. 

Something skittered too close behind you. The sound of clicking jaws, the rustling of too many legs. You pushed yourself harder, your vision blurring, the weight of exhaustion pressing down like lead. The forest was endless, a maze of shadows and tangled roots. And then— 

Your foot caught. Pain exploded through your knee as you crashed into the dirt. You scrambled to rise, but it was too late. A shadow loomed over you, a shape barely human, its fingers elongated into clawed horrors. Its mouth split open too wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth, a gurgling laugh spilling out— 

Hands grabbed you. You screamed, struggling, but the grip was firm. Steady.  

And warm. An unfamiliar feeling of which you haven’t felt in around... Two weeks? Three? You had lost count already, but you knew it had been a while since you’d have some sort of company. Your limbs were numbed out, you had lost all sense of touch and the ability to distinguish what's real or what's not, until now, and for certain this wasn't the cold grasp of a creature. 

Your breath caught as you were yanked backward, strong arms wrapping around you, dragging you into the thickets. You fought, twisting, expecting death. Instead, darkness took you. 

When you awoke, pain was the first thing you noticed. A dull, throbbing ache spreading through your body. Your fingers curled against rough fabric—a blanket. The scent of earth and metal lingered in the air. You blinked. Light flickered from a lantern, casting shadows against cracked walls. A shelter. A safehouse. Your body screamed in protest as you tried to move, and that’s when you saw them. 

Two figures. Watching. 

A man sat beside you, his gaze unreadable, his arms resting against his knees. His dark eyes flickered with something cautious, something measured. His cresented eyes ran up and down your figure, seemingly assessing your state—or maybe to tell apart a creature of human. He lets out a subtle nod, running pale and calloused hands through his ruffled hair. Not too ruffled, just right, atleast for you-- personally. Another man stood nearby, arms crossed, face tight with tension, but strong bulked up arms even tenser, hair messed in curls, thick glasses with no rim sitting at the edge of his nose, small doll-like lips perked up into sort of a pout. Neither spoke at first. The silence stretched, thick and uncertain. Then, finally, the one closest to you leaned forward, his voice low, steady. 

"You shouldn’t be alive," he murmured. "But here you are." You swallowed; your throat raw. Questions burned on your tongue, but you couldn’t force them out. Not yet. 

Outside, the night stretched on. And somewhere in the distance, the screams had not stopped. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The scent of burning wood brought you back to the present. Ah, they had lit a fire in the broken pit for some sort of warmth despite the humidity in the area. There was enough smoke already, but this type of fire didn’t necessarily emit any harmful things. It was a new apocalyptic type of invention. You sat in the corner of the room, curled up on a tattered couch, watching the fire flicker in the makeshift fireplace. The old world was long gone, swallowed by its own mistakes, and yet the warmth of the fire, the low hum of voices, made it feel like something close to normalcy. 

Across the room, the others lounged in a heap of blankets and discarded jackets. For as long as you had been zoned out and staring, the bored boys had already found something to do, and you let out a faint smile. Laughter rang out, soft and tired, but genuine. The kind that hadn’t been heard in a long time, and for once even changbins loud echoing laughs returned, alongside the dynamic of hyunjin.. Husband and wife, or wife for wife for that matter. For a moment, they weren’t survivors. They were just people, talking, bickering, existing together in a world that had tried to tear them apart, but 8 is fate. It always had been. Discluding you, you didn’t wanna ruin their happy moment. 

Alongside you, Bangchan stood with his arms crossed, leant against the wall, also previously lost in thought like your brains were interconnected, surveying them like a father watching over his unruly children. You let out a soft, nostalgic hum. "They act the same as they did before." 

"Yeah," he murmured, his gaze distant. "Like nothing ever changed." 

You glanced at him, the firelight catching in his tired eyes. "But everything did." 

A small smile ghosted his lips. "Yeah. It did." 

The memory of your first meeting lingered in the back of your mind. The chase, the fear, the moment his hand had closed around your wrist and pulled you from the jaws of something inhuman. He had saved you that day. And now, here you were, still standing, still breathing, still watching over the only family you had left. The laughter continued. Someone threw a pillow. Someone swore. Someone tried to sing. 

For a brief moment, in this ruined world, you let yourself pretend it was enough. 

But you had something else to worry about, a devil that eased its way into your moment of joy. It was getting late; you needed to restock back up on supplies. Now wasn’t the time to rest, not when you were running out of things and fast.  

Along you shot a glance to Chris and he knew what you meant, standing up and prepping yourself for the smokey outdoors, bringing up the last of the supplies were more important for you two then them, and there you both walked off into the murky air in search for supplies in a risky place. 

Heres where the chaos begins. 

--TO BE CONTINUED!! 

[fictional-library-tournament]

Prelims round 2, poll 3

Propaganda:

Sazed's Copperminds, Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson:

Copper bracers called copperminds that contain many, many forbidden books. They are accessible only to Sazed, a scholar specialising in religion and also a member of the Skaa rebellion.

‼️MAJOR SPOILERS‼️

At the end of the trilogy, the world is literally about the end, and Sazed becomes a god and uses the knowledge in his copperminds to fix/remake the world.

ART's archives, The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells:

"My onboard archives are extensive. Why haven't you sought access to them?" Of course a research vessel would brag about its research library. Why wouldn't it?

Sunai, The Archive Undying by Emma Mieko Cando:

He contains a living AI god referred to as an Archive. He is a relic who can interface with other archives and falls in love with a cute boy when he normally runs away from all attempts at intimacy and keeps being like oh? I...like him?

Merlin's Library, The Magic Tree House series by Mary Pope Osborne:

None

The Scholomance Library, A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik:

The library inside the Scholomance is so cool. It’s open to a void above, and is the safest place inside the entire school. The sections are mostly in the same place every time. But the shelves can stretch out and fill up with more books

The Thunderhead, Arc of a Scythe by Neal Shusterman:

It contains the collective knowledge of humanity and is a perfect, almost-sapient AI that doesn’t follow the “utopia is actually dystopia” trope

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing 8— “Anyone can write a book”

Yes. But actually no. I say “writing is easy” in that it doesn’t take a degree and textbook learning to understand. You can get an English or lit degree if you want, but writing is incredibly subjective. It’s not even like an art degree that has you study different mediums and historical styles. “Writing is easy” in that it’s about feeling, and instinct, and a little bit of common sense. Anyone can do it in that it doesn’t take financial investment to start. Steal a tchotchke pen and paper from a hotel room—you’ve got all the tools you need. I have a communications degree and 9 years of experience, and I'm about to publish my first supernatural fantasy novel.

Writing is not easy, however, if any of the following applies to you:

You want to make enough money to do this full time

You want to appeal to mass audiences

You want to be a NYT bestseller**** or get an adaptation

You want to be regarded as the best of your generation and fill bookstore shelves

1. It takes a healthy dose of self-awareness and a reality check

 I beta’d for an author who thought that he was comparable to GRRM, the author of A Song of Ice and Fire, because both have adult themes in their book and if GRRM can do it, why can’t he? The sheer vastness of the divide between ASOIAF and this awful, awful manuscript wasn’t worth putting into words for the amount I was being paid, though I tried.

Yes, you can write whatever you want. Yes, you can write to please yourself and stroke your ego. You can write the hammiest wish-fulfillment author insert that you desire. But you can’t expect anyone else to want to read or pay money for it. It’s great to have confidence as an author and envision your success, but starting right off the bat with “everyone will love this book because I’m really smart and I love this book” is only going to leave you bitter and penniless.

2. You might be an expert in your given field, doesn’t automatically make you an expert at storycrafting

I really, truly want the above godawful toe wart of a human (who tried to justify pedophilia in his book with the Israel-Palestine conflict) to stop featuring in my writing advice, but I know he’s not the only person out there who thinks like this. You might have a doctorate in engineering, medicine, political science, chemistry, physics, history, paleontology—any field you want. That does not mean you can successfully translate your expertise into a well-crafted and compelling narrative. It means you can write a college textbook lecturing your readers for 300 pages. Heck, if you can't explain what you do like I'm 5 years old, then you're not an expert in your field.

Elements of good storytelling include well-rounded characters, solid pacing, compelling themes and motifs, an engaging main conflict and character arcs and edge-of-your-seat action, romance, debates, and arguments. It’s so much more than “I’m going to write a textbook, but have my character tell it to you, and everyone will love it”.

They won’t.

3. “I’m gonna be a millionaire like JKR”

The frustrating thing about making money writing is that at the end of the day, you are still selling a product. Which means that it doesn’t matter how amazing you think it is, if it’s not what sells. The Fifty Shades series is hardly a poetic epic with deep, meaningful characters and themes, but it sold. It got adaptations. Why? Because it was a product people wanted and its writing style appeals to mass audiences who aren’t entertained by fluffy, antiquated prose. I hated the Divergent books. They soullessly and shamelessly fed off the success of Hunger Games. But they sold because “teen dystopia HP houses” was what audiences craved and what Hollywood was pushing to make movies out of.

Personally I don’t have any nostalgia for Harry Potter and I both wish I did so I could have one more beloved series and fandom to participate in, but also am glad I don’t because of JKR. HP is chock full of plot holes and “fuck it we’ll do it live” worldbuilding and so many concepts that look cool on paper until you really start thinking about it.

JKR didn’t make a million dollars because she wrote the greatest fantasy series. JKR made a million dollars because she wrote a book that sells every goddamn piece of lore for $15.99 or more and collects on all those sweet, sweet royalties. She understood that she’s selling a product, not just a story, selling everything from Slytherin ties and wizarding robes to golden snitches, sorting hats, wands, chocolate frogs, and every other prop seen in the movies.

You sure can chase trends and I’m sure Divergent is somebody’s favorite book and you can hock chocolate frogs. Everyone’s writing goals are different.

4. “But GRRM did it” (or, adhering to genre expectations)

Circling back to this one. Once again, you can write whatever you want, no one is stopping you. However, books are products and if what’s in the summary and on the cover isn’t what’s on the pages, you’re going to upset and annoy your readers. For example, if I slap a chiseled six-pack of man meat on my book cover with flowy calligraphy for the title that reads something like Sex and Pink Champagne and my summary is all about how protagonist girl gets the adonis of her dreams, you’re not going to be happy if, 200 pages in, the plot detours and Mr. Sexy fucks off to sell NFTs.

It doesn’t meet genre expectations.

GoT kicks off with incest and child defenestration. It tells you *exactly* what you’re getting into immediately. You can subvert plot expectations all you want. You can subvert tropes and archetypes and throw in all kinds of twists and turns. But if you’re writing a YA novel and 100 pages in after campfire songs and the power of friendship, Protagonist gets assaulted in a 7-11 parking lot because you wanted to be ~edgy~ you’re going to piss off your readers.

Take Mulan for example. It has a dramatic tonal shift so powerful, the musical stops being a musical because it’s traumatized. Mulan doesn’t drop in the grizzled and horrifying wasteland of a battlefield with thousands of dead soldiers in an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. It’s already a war movie, the possibility is already there.

If you want to write adult content, then write a book for audiences who are prepared for and want to read adult content. Otherwise you’re setting yourself up for failure.

5. “Okay but it’s not entertaining”

Your first job as an author is to entertain (your second is to do it responsibly imo). There’s millions of books out there—why should someone read yours? Whether that’s entertainment through a feel-good romance or a gut-wrenching tragedy, you need to keep convincing your readers to stay invested in the story, otherwise they can and will put it down to read something else. No one is obligated to read your book to the end.

So, yeah your protagonist might have all the elements of your own personal tragedies and it sure is meaningful to you, but the way you wrote it is incredibly boring and no one will care. It might be the most brilliant heist plot ever conceived, but you focused on all the wrong elements, the pacing is whack, and your protagonist is annoying, so no one will read it.

Very few individual elements can be good enough to carry the entire manuscript and the likelihood of an author being really good at one thing and awful at the rest is slim. Readers can quit a book over the most arbitrary reasons. Do you want to die on a hill of “I’m not changing my annoying protagonist, I’m right and they will see”? They won’t. The arguments authors get into with me over how I hated their protagonist or I told them which parts were boring and dragged because I “didn’t understand the story” are pointless. If it’s boring or confusing or annoying, no one will read it.

6. First Drafts are drafts for a reason

Actually writing is less than half the time and effort spent on getting a book to publication. Probably less than a quarter. The rest of that time is spent editing and rewriting. Some first drafts will be better than others, not arguing that, but your first run through your story has a non-zero chance of needing revisions, even for something as small as typos and punctuation.

You have to edit for pacing and tonal shifts, erroneous details and entire scenes, character inconsistencies and goals. You have to make sure your conversations flow believably, that you hit every talking point that scene requires. You have to make sure your character’s motivations don’t create plot holes and that they’re always on track like a real person and not a creation of your imagination. You have to make sure your action scenes and sex scenes are legible and as thrilling for a reader as they are for you. You have to make sure your worldbuilding is consistent and logical and easy to understand.

Some people outline heavily before starting page one. Some people have a sticky note of “beginning middle end” and run off that. Some have whole folders of different documents to keep track of all their elements. Everyone’s writing process is different, but it is a process, not a one-and-done. It requires revisions, seeking feedback, implementing that feedback, and more revisions until it’s as good as it can be.

Yes, you need to edit. No, you’re not the writing god who penned perfection on your first try. Maybe a piece of your story is perfect on the first draft, but not the whole thing from start to finish. It’s okay that your story isn’t what you thought it would be when you started, and it’s no failing of you as a writer to need edits or even massive changes. It happens to everyone.

7. “Writing is easy, thus it’s not a real job”

Really the notion that creatives are lesser than corporate business people solving problems that their business created. But specifically for writing, the idea that it’s just putting words on a page, thus it’s easy and anyone can do it, so it’s not impressive or deserving of praise and you really need a real job (you probably will because writing doesn’t make much money for most people, but that’s just how it shakes out).

I know ENNS won’t appeal to everyone. I know there will be people who hate my characters, who don’t understand them or don’t agree with their philosophies or find my writing trite and too lean and not ~immersive~. I know there’ll be homophobes out there who won’t even read it but hear about it and make assumptions and will leave me crap reviews. I know it’s not the greatest supernatural fantasy novel ever written.

I’m not in it to make money or get a movie deal and see my merch all over the shelves and get my own theme park. I write so that even one reader might see themselves in my characters and know they’re not alone. So that even one reader has one of my characters as their favorite and that character motivates them to do the Thing or keep moving forward or be brave enough to finally do whatever they’ve been too afraid to attempt before. I want to help people, even if at the end of the day, my writing only helps myself.

Yes I need supplemental income (who doesn’t these days). It’s the way of the world. But I’m doing what I love in my free time and it is a real job because it takes work, and it might not have monetary value but its value to me is priceless.

[besttropeveershowdown]

The Most Annoying Trope Showdown: Round 2, Poll 12

Darker and Edgier

The tone of a work shifts to become darker.

Propaganda:

Remember when everyone was making grimdark dystopias after Watchmen got popular? — When done wrong it is laughably bad and a self-making parody of the source material.

Aliens are Bastards

Aliens appear only to cause havoc amongst humans and for no other tangible reason. Even if they have an ulterior motive, it's always going to be something that requires the death of all humans or something along those lines.

Propaganda:

This one's obvious- we would be the evil aliens. We're just projecting. The handful of alien movies that avoid this trope are the ones that get remembered, while the violent unconsidered aliens are lost to time.

[fairytale-poll]

WORST MODERN ADAPTATION! SEMIFINAL ROUND, MATCH 1 OUT OF 2!

Sydney White (2007) is based off Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs; Beastly (2011) is based off Beauty and the Beast.

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Sydney White (2007):

Sydney White has lived rent free in my head for the last 17 years because the levels of bad it reaches is unprecidented. It was only when I forced one of my friends to watch it recently that I found out what makes it stand out. Yes, it's dumb. Yes, it stereotypes geeky guys to a level only rivaled by The Big Bang Theory. Yes, everything about its premise makes negative sense. No, college does not work how this movie thinks it works. But the main problem is that it does not commit to the level of absurdity it needs to make any of that work. Sydney White is a movie that should either take place in an alternate universe, or it should commit to realism. It does neither. It is a movie that expects us to accept that university student counsels have any sort of power, let alone complete control over university discretionary funds. It expects us to believe that a MySpace poll of which girl is the hottest matters in any way whatsoever. (This movie came out in 2007). It's a movie that expect us to accept that any college would allow students to live in a building that is in no way up to code, and that would let a female student live in a house with seven male ones and not expect to get sued into oblivion. Which would be fine if it was set in an alternate universe. An urban fantasy, or a dystopia, or literally any world that would justify its premise. But it isn't. It's set in our real, modern-day world, trying to make the audience believe that anything that happens in it is in any way realistic or reasonable. Add a villain who gets off with minimal consequences (her only punishment is being kicked out of her sorority and off the student council, things that literally will not matter in the long term) and a cast of extremely boring and one-note characters, and it's a terrible movie that I can never, ever forget. (This is the cliffnotes version of a video review I'm writing on the subject.)

Beastly (2011):

Just watch Jenny Nicholson's Beastly video but some key points Vaguely racist and ableist Nonsensical Plot Little Chemistry between lead actors I hear the book is better tho

*gestures vaguely at the whole movie* just, all of it.

There's a Jenny Nicolson video that details why it's a Terrible modern adaptation

[gayelderstourney]

OLD MAN YAOI BRACKET ROUND 1

Propaganda:

Sir Alistair Hammerlock/Wainwright Jakobs:

THEY ARE CANONICALLY MARRIED!!!!! THEY ARE FORCE/FINESSE SUN/MOON SALT/SUGAR. THEY ARE SILLY GENTLEMEN WHO ARE IN LOVE. HAMMERLOCK IS A VICTORIAN BIG GAME HUNTER LIFTED STRAIGHT FROM A STEAMPUNK NOVEL WHO IS ALL ABOUT ADVENTURE AND WAINWRIGHT IS A SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN HEIR TO A GUN MANUFACTURING MEGACORPORATION WHO HAS SMALL AMBITIONS. OPPOSITES ATTRACT ULTIMATE INCARNATION. THE THEMES AND MOTIFS AND PARALLELS BETWEEN THEM ARE IMPECCABLE. THEY SUPPORT EACHOTHER UNCONDITIONALLY AND WHOLEHEARTEDLY. HAMMERLOCK THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO DIE AND HE RECORDED WHAT HE THOUGHT WERE GOING TO BE HIS LAST WORDS AND HE SAYS, I QUOTE: "but I long not for death seeking adventures, but instead for one… last… peaceful… moment… with you. I love you, Wainwright. Farewell." DID I MENTION HAMMERLOCK HAS A NICKNAME FOR WAINWRIGHT. HE CALLS HIM Winny AND IT MELTS MY HEART EVERY TIME. GOD THEY GET MARRIED IN THE CORPSE OF AN ELDRITCH GOD AND THEIR WEDDING IS AN ENTIRE DLC. IT ALSO COVERS THEIR RESPECTIVE DOUBTS THAT MAYBE THEY AREN'T THE RIGHT MAN FOR EACHOTHER BUT IN THE END THEY REALIZE THAT IT'S NOT TRUE AND THE OTHER LOVES HIM SO SO SO MUCH JUST LIKE HE IS. I AM SO SO AUTISTIC ABT THEM THEY ARE PEAK OLD MAN YAOI BUT THEY ARE VIRTUALLY UNKNOWN IN THE OLD MAN YAOI COMMUNITY. PLEASE.

They have an entire DLC about their wedding. Their base game story arc starts with Wainwright calling you to ask you to go on a rescue mission to save Hammerlock and calling him the love of his life.

There is a whole game DLC dedicated to their canonical marriage, they constantly call each other by pet names, every single time they talk about one another there is passion in their voices, they express how much they love and care for each other.

Irving Bailiff/Burt Goodman:

they are TRAPPED in capitalist dystopian hell and yet gay love persists. literally they are fighting for their got damn lives to be gay. they've been subjected to evil fucked up brain surgery to make them forget who they are outside of the workplace and yet. AND YET. they fall in love INSIDE the workplace and gain the desire to fight their oppressors so they can do old man yaoi activities. i forgot to take my adderall today sorry im not forming coherent thoughts but they made christopher walken yaoi real

They have only ever experienced being at work and are desperately trying to find meaning with no memory of the outside world. Fraternization is against the rules as well. The yearning is so much.

they are 2 sad old men who are in forbidden love. they bond over a mutal love of corporate art & company tote bags. their love inspired Irving to rebel against his employers for the first time ever. Burt is even Christopher Walken.

They’re so quietly sweet and heart-wrenching… fell in love on the ‘inside’ (they both work a job that ‘severs’ their work memories from their out-of-work memories; inside the job, they have no idea who they are on the outside or what the world is like, but they found each other and found a little bit of love and meaning and happiness inside the nightmare corporate world that is their job)

canonically in love with each other! in the show people sever their consciousness so they aren't aware when they're working. this creates a separate person that only exists while they're at the office, who doesn't share any memories with the person they are on the outside. these two old men bond and find comfort in each other despite the dystopian hell situation they're in

Old men having a forbidden romance while stuck in a hellish workplace dystopia

These two old men know nothing outside of their company propaganda, which says romance is forbidden, and they still choose each other. They bond over paintings, discuss company policy in each other's arms like they're debating scripture on whether their love is allowed. They're sooo gay and it's so sweet to see true, canonical old man yaoi

Weird old man office romance except they only exist inside the bounds of the world’s worst office building and they go on a little date to a room full of plastic plants

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Scripted Bracket — Round 2

Propaganda

Oleta (Within The Wires: Season 1):

Amnesiac escapee getting walked through a way out of a dystopia by her girlfriend the narrator. Doesn’t actually say anything since she’s listening to the relaxation tapes but still! Listen to that narrator go.

more Oleta propaganda because she sure does say some stuff offmic!!

laughs like she's getting away with something. often she is getting away with something but she laughs like it even when she's not

is so ready to risk it all and bust out of the institute at the first opportunity that Hester has to remind her several times not to try escaping until she's been given all of the information about The Plan

is a sound engineer. an obviously sexy trade

knowingly risked arrest to continue saying hi to her sister every day. got very elaborate about it

has good taste (reads ursula k le guin and listens to siouxsie and the banshees)

appreciates art by asking speculqtive questions about it

Strelitzia (Additional Postage Required):

women..............................................in space

A true boss babe, not in the #girlboss way, but in the "I care deeply about my city and see how it's crumbling under the weight of its tourist economy, and I am willing to commit some domestic terrorism to try to improve things in the long run" way

Vote Strelitzia!

Our own Strelitzia [Last Name Redacted] has made it to a sacred and significant competition. A vote for Strelitzia is not just a vote for series scripted podcast character - it's a vote for all of New Penzance!

Oh hey I voiced that character, hi! Vote Strelitzia y’all, she rocks

[starkparade]

Title: with you (in never-ending twilight) Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Universe: Avengers: Twilight (comic) Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Dystopia, Referenced Past Torture, Growing Old, Loss of Body Parts, Prosthetic Suit, Body Dysmorphia, Angst and Feels, Getting Together, Hand Job, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending Word Count: 5100

Summary: In the dystopian future of Avengers: Twilight, Steve found out that Tony had survived the devastating H-Day that had claimed the lives of many heroes and led to the rise of a totalitarian government twenty years ago. After Steve rescues Tony from captivity, they must face their feelings for each other. The problem is, Tony's body is now reduced to his disembodied head. How could he ever be good enough for Steve like this?

The title is from this poem offered by @lightsonparkave Round 55 because I just couldn't resist after seeing the word twilight in it! I also used this gif set and this qoute for inspiration because the current theme is apparently a perfect fit for Avengers Twilight stevetony!

This fic fits the R4 picture prompt (Iron Man armor) square of my @tonystarkbingo Round 8 card. I will also use it for the free square of my @cap-ironman STONY BINGO! 2024 Round 2 card.

[themerlinlibrary]

Favourites Friday (Aug 2024) – Arranged Marriage

TML Favourites Friday round-up! August 2024 round 2

What is Favourites Friday? – The Basics

a different theme is announced on Friday each week; FF recs must match the theme of the week

only one FF rec per person per week/theme

FF recs must be unique within that week/theme; no double-posting the same fic for one theme!

no self-recs during regular rounds

only self-recs during self-rec rounds (last Friday of each month)

Theme for week 2: Arranged Marriage!

Counterpoint by PlaneJane E, 56k, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon,  Dystopia AU

and you held me tightly ('til the morning) by Imagined M, 16k, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon Canon era, druid leader Merlin

At Arm's Length by sirencalls T, 9.1k, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon Canon Divergence AU, friends to lovers

To speak the whole truth (in prayers, words and thoughts) by GonEwiththeWolveS T, 11k, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon Canon Divergence AU

To Love, Honor, and Piss Off by thenerdyindividual  T, 65k, Merlin/Arthur Canon era

Run into the Unknown by thenerdyindividual  M, 14k, Merlin/Gwaine  Canon divergence

A masterlist of all round-ups can be found here.

If you want to make sure you never miss a FF rec, or would like to participate and share your own favourites; join us on the Discord TheMerlinLibrary! Happy reading!

About the FF round-up lists:

Recs are listed in the order they were posted on the Discord; the order does not imply any sort of ranking.

The pairing given in this list is the main pairing of each respective fic – please read the tags for any possible minor or side-pairings, as well as any potential warnings or triggers.

Pairings and Eras are given as tagged in each respective fic. (?) signifies that the tags were unclear and I do not know enough about the fic to fill the gaps.

Round-ups are compiled on the weekend of the week after the respective theme of the post (when the new theme has already been anounced), to avoid omitting potentially belated FF recs.

The weekly round-up is not a guarantee! I'm running this alone, so it can only be posted for weeks when I have enough time on my hands to compile a list. If you'd like to help out, feel free to contact me on Tumblr ( @zaharya ) or Discord. Thanks to @ravenwilds for helping me out with these round-ups, and to Chel for making a whole-ass bot to make it easier!