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jennarations · 1 year ago

Note

Would love your landoscar fic recs 💌

your wish is my absolute command 🫡🫡

i’ve gone back to college and started student teaching and gotten covid and adopted a kitten all in the last two weeks so i haven’t gotten to read as much but here is what i’ve got! the key is the same as the lestappen fic rec:

> (Title) +/= (Multichaptered/One-Shot)

(Summary)

!!! (Link)

• (Tags - please note these are just the tags I saw relevant to myself, double check the fics themselves for any other tags you might deem relevant!) *(Word count)

Here we go! I’m also tagging some of the bestest and loveliest authors at the bottom of the post, go send them some love!! (Putting it under a Read More for all of our collective sanity)

My one (1) work (shameless self plug heheheh):

> Thunderstruck =

Lando has a childhood fear of thunderstorms and in a record-breaking year for rainfall, Oscar Piastri becomes his new teammate.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50579323?view_adult=true

• Falling in love, Slight pining, Fluff, Humor *8.1k

—

> If You’re Barbie, And I’m Barbie, Then Who’s Driving the Bus? =

Anyways, the driver room is largely quiet at the moment. But not entirely, much to Lando’s enjoyment.

Buzzing from Oscar’s headphones, loud enough for Lando to hear the words, is a song from Barbie.

Charli XCX, no less.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48940792#main

• Fluff, Comedy *800 words

> Mortifying! Anyways, =

Mortifying interaction, but he’d survive. Besides, it’s not like the cashier was that cut–

“Cute enough to make you stupid, huh Norris?” He could hear his smile before he saw his face, a proper Cheshire grin.

“Fuck off mate,” Lando groaned, already trying to scrub the cashier from his brain. Except for the Australian accent, he decided; that bit could stay. Maybe his eyes, too, as tired as they had seemed. And his hair, which looked so soft in that kind of ridiculous side part.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49328047/chapters/124474876?

• College AU, Clumsy Lando, Meet-cute *2.3k

> The New Normal =

He wears a lot of shorts.

Lando had thought that Daniel wore shorts a lot, and then along came Oscar. It must be something about Australians.

Carlos never wore shorts.

Oscar’s pale, unblemished, muscular (and hairy) thighs spill out of the team issued black shorts whenever they sit to film content, or sit in meetings, or whenever Oscar sits in Lando’s general vicinity while wearing them.

They’re not a distraction.

OR Lando’s very healthy obsession with his new teammate’s thighs.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49335997/chapters/124496539?

• Pining, Slight smut *8k

> Invocations One Fall Away From the Concrete = ♥️

“Okay,” Lando says. “What’s your power?”

“Telekinesis,” Oscar replies a little too easily, like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it. In fact, he’s already looking back down at his form. Lando doesn’t miss the way he seems completely stumped by the ‘Birth date’ square though.

Telekinetics are far and few between. You’re probably more likely to be struck by lightning twice than to meet a telekinetic. They’re so highly sought after in the hero industry that any telekinetic baby would automatically have a net worth of at least three hundred billion US dollars the second it was born. Moreover Oscar's an Oxy. It’s like, the jackpot of jackpots. This guy’s simply unreal on paper.

Lando scrunches up his face, rolls his eyes and says, “alright.” He shrugs. “Nothing to write home about, then.”

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

AKA the low-key superpowers au where they have to activate their powers doing a really specific thing. Oscar's activation is a mystery to Lando, but it involves a lot of good stuff, pinky promise. (Lando Wink™)

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49508506/chapters/124953475?

• Non-Driver AU, Superpowers AU, Roommates, Slight Angst, Fluff, Humor *10.3k

> Only Found = ♥️

“Hey, well. No strings attached, right?” Oscar says, strategically.

Lando smiles and says, “hell yeah. And now that that’s established, what’s your stance on aliens? Also, do you still want your cake?”

cinderella soulmates au where whatever you lose, your soulmate finds. except: oscar has a soulmate and lando is a No-Match, a person who doesn't have a soulmate.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49218676#main

• Non-Driver AU, Soulmates AU, Lawyer!Oscar, Streamer!Lando, Angst, Fluff *6.8k

> Carried Away =

"Oscar," Lando said. "Don't hate me, alright, but I've—”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48871015#main

• Non-Driver AU, Fake Relationship, Angst, Fluff, Humor *22.1k

> Little Bit of Love =

“I’m freezing,” Lando says. Whines, really. “Don’t be mean, Oscar, I feel like shit.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49143811

• Sick fic, Fluff, Realization of Feelings *4.7k

> Signed Sealed =

Delivered

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48959461#main

• Text fic, NSFW pics *4.3k

> Smokeshow =

Because Oscar won the American football challenge, Lando had to wear the cheerleader uniform.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48546973#main

• Smut, Cheerleader uniform Lando, Brat!Lando *3.5k

> I’ll Kiss You First =

“Uh,” Oscar says, when they’re in the car on their way to the airport. “I think you’re—um. Going into heat, mate.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/47264011#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Oscar, Omega!Lando, Smut *3.1k

> Sunflower Seeds =

Not worth dwelling on, really. Oscar doesn’t have to understand him to be on his team. If he were a pitcher, it would be different; Oscar has to get his pitchers in order to do his job as a catcher well. Lando isn’t a pitcher, though. So it’s fine.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49596088/chapters/125175172?

• Non-Driver AU, Baseball AU, Realization of Feelings, Fluff *8.6k

> Chronically Bitchless But Still Wifed Up = ♥️

Lando wasn’t above throwing his weight around in order to get what he wanted, at least in some circumstances. And he wanted to meet Oscar Piastri.

In general, he wanted to go to a MotoGP weekend and probably could have either bought tickets and waited around there like a normal person or asked one of his actual sort-of friends in the paddock to hang out in their garage, but the more specific desire was to meet Oscar Piastri.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49301212#main

• MotoGP!Oscar, Driver!Lando, Fluff, Humor *8.3k

> Negative Splits =

So officially, Oscar Piastri, pretty good steepler and pretty bad pacer, was now a professional runner.

They wanted him to steeple, mostly, though he’d be doing cross country in the fall, and Lando had pinky promised him, mid-distance guy to mid-distance guy, that if he wanted to get into the 3k flat indoor then he would get him in.

Oscar didn’t really want to ask how he planned on doing that. Felt safer not to ask.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48161206#main

• Non-Driver AU, Professional Runner AU, Injuries, Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort *10.1k

> Thinkin Bout Your Touch =

Lando’s brain gets so occupied by the thought it shouldn’t come as a surprise really, when a few rounds later Oscar says, “Dare.” Lando blurts out, “Let me suck your dick.”

There’s a long, awkward silence in which they just stare at each other, Oscar’s expression completely unreadable. “Uh,” he eventually says. “I think a dare is something I’m supposed to do.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48704749?view_adult=true#main

• PWP, Blowjob *2.3k

> I’ve Tasted Blood (And I Want More) =

Lando grabs a pillow and hits him with it, while Oscar laughs loudly. His fangs are on full display, white and sharp and pretty. “You know what I mean, you dickhead!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Oscar says, eyes twinkling. “You want me to use you as a human Capri Sun. You know, like a weirdo.”

“God, you’re making this so much worse than it is,” Lando says, burying his face in his hands. It’s. Well, it’s embarrassing, but Oscar also hasn’t outright said no, so. You know what they say. In for a penny, in for a pound. “So, will you?” And then, just in case, he adds. “Suck my blood?”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48136999#main

• Vampire!Oscar, PWP *5.6k

> Legerdemain =

“You’re so modest it’s disgusting,” Lando says. “Michelle’s told me all about it. You winning against some master back in Australia. Anyways, she wants to hop on the bandwagon, get us to play chess, take photos after the weekend. She thinks you could teach me. It would show that you’re pedantic and that I’m pushing past my comfort zone...”

Oscar scoffs. “If Michelle’s only taking photos, why do I need to teach you it? Couldn’t we just pose with a chess set, like the Williams drivers?”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49690744/chapters/125422075?

• Chess, Humor, Sexual Tension *5.8k

> What You Do To Me =

“Oh,” Oscar says, because what else are you supposed to say when your teammate says ‘I wish I still had a girlfriend so I could fuck some of that frustration out of me’. “I mean. I uh. I could give you a blowjob? I’d suggest a fuck but I don’t have any lube on me right now and I’m guessing you don’t either.”

Huh, would you look at that. Looks like the award for ‘most insane statement of the night’ doesn’t go to Lando after all.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/47993518?view_adult=true#main

• PWP, Blowjob *2.5k

> Purring in My Lap (cause he loves me) =

The cat thing ends up getting sort of explained in Bahrain, when Lando walks into his driver room and finds a small orange cat sitting on his couch.

Oscar’s cat, presumably.

And he kind of looks like Oscar, too. Slender, lean, and with a slightly grumpy, unimpressed expression on his face. It makes Lando laugh a little. Like owner, like pet, clearly. “Should I just call you Oscat, then,” Lando jokes, giving the cat a little head scratch.

The cat, Oscat, stops rubbing at Lando’s hand and just stares at him instead. Lando would almost say he was looking at him disapprovingly, but it is a cat, so he’s probably just imagining things.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/47878867#main

• Cat!Oscar, Fluff, Slight Angst *5k

> In Limbo =

“So what, you like me?”

Tick this box for yes, and this box for no. Fold it tight. Slide the paper under the desk. Don’t let anyone see.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49619383#main

• PWP, Dubious Consent *2.3k

> Eyes on Me =

He just doesn’t understand why Oscar stares so much.

It first comes to his attention at the pre-season media shoots. They have to be photographed in the new gear, and the new suits, and all the while a video camera is rolling to capture content for some behind the scenes pre-season footage. Lando likes to look back at the content they film, just to see how awkward he is.

He looks over some of the test photos while the videos load, and he sees Oscar’s eyes on him a lot of the time. Lando’s own are on the camera, his posture relaxed as he goes through the motions of what the team asks of him.

Lando notices just how much Oscar stares at him, until one day he realises just how much he stares back.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49769368#main

• Mutual Pining *3.8k

> Home Is Wherever You Are =

‘You know, we could ask Carlos to babysit tonight,’ Lando mumbled against his mouth.

Oscar pulled back and hit his husband’s chest while laughing at him and shaking his head.

‘The man just arrived, babe, we can’t ask that right away!’

Lando pouted and pulled Oscar back against his chest. ‘But it’s been so long since it’s just been the two of us.’

OR: Lando and Oscar spend the day with their daughter and friends before finally having some alone time

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49909321

• Kid!fic, Established Relationship, Fluff *4.1k

> Grand Theft August =

Oscar Piastri, eh? It's not the worst idea he's ever had.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49975555?view_adult=true#main

• Angst, Humor, Smut *6.9k

> We’re All in the Butter But Some of Us Are Looking At the Cars = ♥️

Under it, the cross stitch with the Mandela quote, there was another one. A different one. Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars. Stars, again. And then the one beneath that was also about stars. Weird, he thought, then went to the till to wait for his sister.

Above the pile, too high for twelve year old Oscar to read, a sign was stamped. SECTION #13: REACH FOR THE STARS.

Twenty two year old Oscar rests his nose to the glass and looks at the clouds.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49696357

• Angst, Slow burn, Prose, Realization of Feelings *14.3k

> Terraforming =

“WORMHOLES! An Einstein brain child. They are created when FTL objects puncture the bed sheet that is our universe. Going through them should be a trip through timespace, which sounds cool, except it’s not because we never know what’s on the other side—”

“I think you meant fabric, not bed sheet,” Oscar says.

Lando rolls his eyes. “It’s a metaphor, mate.”

“For what?”

“For like. The fabric of the universe.”

“Huh.”

“Shut up.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50099659

• Space AU, Non-Linear Narrative, Angst, Happy Ending *8.8k <- I literally haven’t read this yet because it was uploaded today but i love enzo and all their stuff is fantastic so i’m rec’ing it anyway :)

> Superdense Neutron Star//Post Supernova +

It felt good to laugh. Thursdays already kind of sucked, all of the walking and talking and nothing to do, even when he wasn’t being drilled on the abrupt shift of his career. It was manageable because it had to be; because there was half a season left and a championship spot left to fight for and a team that was still his home, even if he’d just been delivered the eviction notice.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49981615/chapters/126195823

• Angst, Fluff, Ambiguous Ending *21.8k <- i also have not had the time to read this one because of life, but i trust leaf with my feelings (and my life) so this also goes on the list.

EDIT 11/5: More additions to the list!

> Unraveled =

Lando does not have a thing for his roommate.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50085112/chapters/126476167?

• Non-Driver AU, Roommate AU, Bartender!Lando, Realization of Feelings *7.1k

> It’s Not Queerbaiting, It’s Saving the World =

Lando bursts into Oscar’s room without knocking. He’s red in the face and panting, sweat collecting on his forehead like he just ran a marathon.

“You need to kiss me.”

or, the drivers stage a protest, of sorts. Oscar might lose his mind.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49710619#main

• Fluff, Humor *1.6k

> Melepathic. Or Something =

“Thank God we used condoms,” mutters Oscar later, when they’re presentable, no doubt thinking back to last week when they. Well. Lando peeks out the door to check if the hallway is clear. It is.

“Yeah,” he says as he gestures Oscar out. “See you in a few, mate.” Oscar slips through and Lando picks up his phone again, sees a new message. Up for some fun tonight?

sure, says Lando after a moment. Amen to short refractory periods and all that.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/47589115#main

• Smut, Miscommunication, Happy Ending, FWB *8.5k

> What Would You Do (If I Went To Touch You Now?) =

“Okay, so they both like each other. We need to get them together.”

“How? Lando’s too freaked out to think straight and Oscar is the human embodiment of the standing man emoji.”

Charles purses his lips for a moment before he snatches his boyfriend’s phone up from the other side of the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Initiating Mission Landoscar.”

“Did you just make that up?”

Charles waves at him dismissively as he begins texting, and Max lays his head down on the coffee table and prays for strength.

***

In which Max tries to prove to an oblivious Charles how glaringly obvious it is that Lando is head over heels in love with Oscar. When Charles finally gets with the program, Lestappen go on A Mission™ to get the two idiots to admit their feelings for each-other, but it’s easier said than done.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48745483/chapters/122963314

• Lestappen as a plot device, Angst, Slight Smut, Fluff, Humor, Texting, Escape Room Shenanigans *29.7

> Soft Vanilla Foreplay = ♥️

“Oh shit, you’re,” Lando gasps, smiles. “You’re a. You’re Robin Hood. You’re a kitty Robin Hood.”

Oscar stops grinding. “Can we have this talk tomorrow?”

Lando laughs and comes down to place a kiss on Oscar’s lips. “Yeah. Oh yeah. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be great. I’m sooooo busy right now. Hmm.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50382910/chapters/127293583?

• Vigilantes, Cat!Oscar, Hacker!Lando, Non-Driver AU, Slight angst, Humor, Happy Ending *8.6k

> Is it Gay to Watch Your Teammate on TikTok? (Asking for a friend) +

He’s sitting on the bed, dinner long since picked at, with his knees pulled up to his chest. He feels close to hyperventilating.

It’s playing on loop, some sappy little edit captioned “i need to find someone to look at me the same way oscar looks at lando”.

And really, who the fuck was going to tell him that Oscar smiles at him like that?

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/127611460?

• Fluff, Humor, Ship aware Lando (containment breach of RPF), Pining *4.6k

> HOCKEY!!! Shrimp Colors :) =

Montreal puts Oscar on waivers after years - years of bouncing from the feeder team up to the league, and then back down. Edmonton picks him up.

Edmonton keeps him. Lando does, too.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50562061/chapters/127728067?

• Non-Driver AU, Hockey AU, Leaf puts sports boys into other sports, Angst, Fluff *13.8k

> My Shelter in a Hurricane =

Oscar wants to help Lando get better after the disappointment of Qatar's GP qualification. He doesn't know how...

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50639854/chapters/127923673?

• Fluff, Established Relationship, Post-Qatar Quali, Slight Angst *1.4k

> Pretty When You Cry =

Lando wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry, rip his hairs out, punch a hole into a wall, maybe shove someone, or maybe all of the above.

Or: the mclaren boys comfort each other after that shipwreck of a qualifying.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50624551?view_adult=true#main

• Fluff, Slight Angst *1.4k

> Already Home = ♥️

Lando takes a deep steadying breath. “I think I might be in love with Oscar.” He says, and hates how immediately when he says the words, he knows it’s true.

“Right,” Max says, nodding. “And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and?’” Lando says, a little outraged. “I can’t be in love with him! We’re married! This is like, a disaster waiting to happen!”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50704861/chapters/128087614?

• Non-Driver AU, Fake Marriage, Falling in Love, Angst, Humor, Fluff *32.5k

> Do You Like Me? Y/N =

oscar & lando have an awkward plane conversation, aided by uquiz.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50706235/chapters/128091004?

• Fluff *3.8k

> Recreate the Sun =

“You know who you sound like when you say that?” Lando asks absently, tossing the open bag of Skittles to one side and hoisting himself up the bed to rest against the pillows, head tipped back, the jut of his Adam’s apple catching stark in the TV’s flickering light.

On some level, Oscar already knows what’s coming. The Cheshire cat grin Lando gives to the ceiling near enough confirms it.

“Who?”

“Mark Webber.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48632239

• PWP, Weed use, Oscar/Mark mentions *3k

> Landoscar Cooking Show =

Lando and Oscar's love story through food-related posts on Instagram

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50825998#main

• Picture fic, Social media fic, Fluff *0k

> Little Renaissance = ♥️

And Oscar - people said he didn’t like the spotlight, didn’t know how to capture it and keep it the way Lando did. They always compared the two of them, in that regard. Even after Oscar left. But they weren’t right, the strangers, not after the first year at least.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50824324/chapters/128393929?

• Future Fic, Retirement, Angst, Pining, Acceptance, Happy Ending, Prose *14.2k

> Those Magic Changes =

“Yeah, right.” Oscar’s beer tastes stale in his mouth. “Sure there’s other perks though, right?”

Logan’s attention has been taken by his phone. Probably a girl, Oscar thinks, or his Mom. Maybe there’s a particularly big fish being shared in the family group chat. He types out a message then locks it with purpose, chucking it face down on the table.

“Yeah, I mean. You know what they say happens when you podium, right? The girl thing?”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49308133#main

• Fem!Oscar, Smut, PWP *7.8k

> Sometimes I Start To Think You Hate Me Too =

Lando seems to have come to the conclusion that his strategy of appeasing him isn't working, so he opts for being impersonal, objective. "You were optimistic, Carlos locked up, you both crashed. It was a racing incident, and you - you are being dumb about it."

It doesn't work.

He scoffs, upset, he has never left anything well alone, he digs his heels deeper. "I wasn't too optimistic, I was inexperienced, was I not?"

OR,

The deep fear of yearning, wanting and needing without understanding the jealousy that consumes you. Breaking and breathing heavily under an awfully put facade of everything going well.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49659349/chapters/125339467?

• Angst, Inner Turmoil, Fluff, Happy Ending *3.7k

> Mine =

All in all, it’d been a shit weekend for Oscar. He knew he was beating himself up over understandable, expected rookie mistakes, he knew it was a great learning opportunity, he knew that the damage to his car hadn’t been entirely his fault on both occasions. Even if he didn’t show it or express it outwardly, it stung to watch his teammate stand on the podium - P3 - after all that’d happened. It hurt even more when that P3 became P2 before they’d even finished celebrating.

Lando moved up in the championship, so did the team. He deserved it, but it hurt like a bitch.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/51053692?view_adult=true#main

• PWP, Dom!Oscar *2.8k

> Sanctus = ♥️

“Nessun maggior dolore che ricordarsi del tempo felice ne la miseria,” Oscar read. Recited. Proclaimed.

“There is no greater sorrow than thinking back upon a happy time in misery,” Lando echoed.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50752399/chapters/128207113?

• Renaissance AU, Non-Driver AU, Angst, Master/Servant Relationship, Religious Imagery, Fluff, Happy Ending *5.5k

> Anything Less Than Human =

Oscar doesn’t really do entrances. Sure, in high society, it’s deemed necessary to stand at the top of some ridiculous staircase and wait for someone to announce your arrival. But that really only works in your favor if your name has any kind of good status associated with it.

Oscar’s not fortunate enough to fall into that category.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49902154/chapters/125979850?

• Vampire!Oscar, Masquerade Ball, Consensual Blood Sucking *2.7k

That’s all for now folks!

Authors (i love and cherish u all, you’re simply the light of my life):

@wanderingblindly @eisenberg @ocontraire @celientjeee @nyoomfruits @gaslybottoms and @ venerat (ao3 user)

P.S. whoever the nonnies are that wrote “Grand Theft August” and “We’re All in the Butter but Some of us are Watching the Cars” i would literally pay you to step on me, thanks and good night.

#fic rec #oscar piastri #lando norris #landoscar #landoscar fic rec #mctwinks #mclaren #formula one fic rec #formula one #f1

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strangest-blorbo-tourney · 2 months ago

Text

Strangest blorbo tourney: prelims (propaganda under the cut)

Prowl (Transformers Generation One)

Vs.

Manfred von Karma (Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney)

Prowl:

Okay so a TF fan might not think he counts as strange but HEAR ME OUT. I'm not talking about his IDW comic book self or the version from Animated. I'm talking about the version from G1, the most popular version of the character. The version who's largest on-screen impact was his death in the 1986 movie. He had a single digit number of lines across two seasons of the show despite supposedly being the second in command of the Autobots. The version of his character that feels so concrete and consistent in all his fanworks is based on his original (largely ignored by canon) character bio, the Marvel comics (which most modern fans have never read) and decades of fanon hivemind.

Prowl was the original Goncharov. Change my mind.

Manfred von Karma:

Every single horrible thing that has ever happened in the first three games is the result of a murder he did in 2001. He is cartoonishly evil, adopting the son he orphaned and then framing said son for the murder of his father 15 years later. A lot of people HC him as a child abuser (though this is not canon, just fanon that will get you EXECUTED if you disagree with it) and if you like him, think he is a compelling villain, or even just enjoy art and fic and stuff of him you will be unpersoned. I literally made a joke about him having lead poisoning once and got excommunicated from the fandom on twitter like they were THAT upset that I would even come up with a jokey, half-sympathetic headcanon about him.

Someone once got run off the platform for organizing a zine about him. I am still to this day known as "the Lead Poisoning Guy" because I like him. One time I was in a fan server and another member constantly tried to pick fights with me because he was my comfort character. I wasn't even talking about him just, like, existing in her peripheral. I have seen Ace Attorney servers where you are banned from even mentioning him. Deadass.

It should also be noted that in the sequels there is a character who is literally like a young pretty version of him--more or less does the same level of cartoonishly evil crimes, is also a mean fancy German guy, some people even argue that this guy is WORSE. But he is beloved by the fandom and shipped with the protagonist because he is young, pretty, blonde and able-bodied while MVK is a disabled old man.

No blorbo has ever gotten me more shit than this guy. It's so weird. I think he's funny and interesting and he makes me happy.

#tf prowl #transformers prowl #transformers generation one #phoenix wright: ace attorney #manfred von karma #strangest blorbo prelims #strangest blorbo poll #strangest blorbo polls

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 2 years ago

Text

zombie au with ike ft. luxiem - In Pursuit to and from the Sun

(i think this submission got lost in the sauce and i can't find it but at least i still have this screenshot)

lmao sorry i went off the grid for a sec. life happens, you know, applied for some vsf programs, went on a classified operative excursion away from my post and got a new writing software. i actually wrote the last of this on a helicopter returning from the mission so that’s why i didn’t proofread beforehand sorryyyyy. but more importantly I TOUCHED GRASS. guys. i touched so much grass. i touched so much grass i could replant a garden. call me a topiary, i touched that much grass. is this what it’s like to work at a dispensary? bc i touched so much grass

a few disclaimers: this fic is ike centric but contains general luxiem angst as a treat and may be read in a platonic or romantic tone, whichever you prefer. it's also another 10.7k words long so if you want to read but don’t have the time, use a like/rb as a bookmark. most importantly: heed the tags for this one, i kind of went off the deep end here

tags: platonic relationship, hurt no comfort, angst, zombie au, no happy ending, gender neutral reader

⚠️ major character death, suicidal thoughts, gore, infection, arson, and apocalypse-typical violence

continued au notes and commentary here (spoilers)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ever since the initial zombie outbreak, you’ve been running around the country with your best friend Ike and the circle of close friends you both share. You’ve made peace with the fact that it will always be hard. You and your band hop around from town to wilds, with no real objective other than to survive. Every location has something to glean, after all. It’s just that the zombies are always on your tail, and there’s only so much looting to do before the chorus of dead can tear you and your family apart.

It’s deluded to pretend you’re the invulnerable main characters, though. You and your friends are in a townhouse currently being ambushed by a strain of zombies. You swear they’ve gotten more intelligent since your last encounter. A dense herd of bloodthirsty undead is one thing, but a dense herd of bloodthirsty undead that have a chance of understanding positioning is another. Closing doors is barely a second of relief now.

You were lucky to be in a room with Vox when you got ambushed. He lived his post-apocalyptic life with a rebar rod in his hand, wrested from a collapsed concrete building early in during the initial outbreak. He claimed to be a trained swordsman once, and even though the rebar was more of a club than a sword, you admit you would’ve been worse than dead if you didn’t have him by your side. You’re sure he’d be screwed without you, too. Now that the world’s gone to the dogs, you stay prepared with a pair of climbing picks that can clobber in zombie brains just as well as scale walls. Vox shoved zombies out of the way while your picks cleared a path to escape from the house out through the window, Vox in tow.

You and Vox reunite with Ike and Shu outside. The former keeps various kitchen knives hidden under his no-longer white mantle, and defends Shu from stragglers while he digs into his backpack. You notice his weapon, an iron fire poker, by his feet along with a bottle. He rips sheets off of an old Millwall brick to stuff inside the bottle.

“Blowing the place up,” Shu says, in case you didn’t make the connection already. His breath is ragged. “Where’s Luca and Mysta?”

Like a stage cue, you hear the rocket of gunfire the second he says it. Your hope is crushed. Noise attracts zombies, and Luca was the only one with a shotgun. If he pulled the trigger, the situation was even more dire than you thought.

Shu grits his teeth and repeats himself, intensity barely restrained. “Where is Luca and Mysta.”

“I’m going back in,” Vox declares.

Ike drives a knife into the head of a fallen body. Destroying the brain confirmed they wouldn’t regenerate, and he minimizes the risk as precise as a surgeon. He made short work of the zombies that hadn’t overrun the house yet, but you could see them flood the interior. “Don’t be stupid, Vox, that’s suicide.”

“You heard the gun!”

“And I said that’s suicide!”

“Not if someone goes back in!”

“How are you going to find them without getting yourself killed?” Vox opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and Ike took advantage of it. “That’s what I thought. Luca’s our muscle and Mysta’s a clever guy, you’ve seen him outsmart the zombies so many times before!”

“They know basic organization, Ike!”

“All the more reason not to go back in! Have some faith in your friends!”

Vox grants him an unholy leer through his haunting yellow eyes. “How dare you lecture me about faith when I’m trying to save their lives.”

His glare was lost. Ike focuses on confirming the dead stay dead. His back is turned from the swordsman as he chops a skull in two with a butcher’s cleaver. “Because no matter what, they’re going to get out, and they want you out just as much as they’re fighting.”

But Ike’s words were just as lost to Vox; you barely saw the trail of his blood-splattered haori before he ran back to the townhouse, rebar in hand and fury on display.

Shu shoves the remains of the Millwall brick into the cupholder of his pack, a battering ram for another day. He produces a box of matches instead. “It’s best to take them all out at once.”

You speak up. “But Vox just-”

“I know.” Shu’s lips purse. “And I’m not going to throw them. Not until I know they’re all safe.”

You watch as Vox speared through a living corpse, then threw its remains on the ground. The zombies are centered inside the house, but the windows are all covered. The door stays open as he passes through the threshold, but you can’t see a trace of him left.

Ike stabs through a brain close to you and Shu. You see him heft himself up, and the traces of a permanent dead remain on the ground. The head is split open with precision, and the brain blooms out from the skull. It leaks pink nerves and black rot among the blood, like a disgusting flower.

He passes by you, dead set on his goal. “You’re not going, Reader.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“And don’t expect to.” Ike’s words are emotionless, but not cold. As much as he pushes away Vox, you know he cares for everyone in your group like brothers. He’s the least risky out of all six of you- after all, he’s tearing apart zombie brains without a complaint while you catch your breath and Shu stands watch.

You draw your climbing picks and follow him to the field of dead. “Let me help you.”

You feel useless just standing there, after all.

Though the task of confirmation is much calmer than fighting for your life, it’s still unenviable, and you have to admire how Ike distances himself seemingly so easily from it. You try not to look at their faces, but that’s just as impossible. After all, the brain is right between the eyes. That’s the worst part.

You made the mistake of looking into zombie eyes twice in your life.

The first was your first fight of the apocalypse; a zombie had you deadlocked in an aisle of an outdoors store, and only when it was within biting range did you drum up the courage to grab the first thing you saw- two fluorescent orange climbing picks, never used- and drive them into the writhing heart. You bolted then, too focused on escape than freezing, and those climbing picks proved themselves to be your best survival tool in combat and exploration.

The second was the first time you confirmed the dead, and those eyes, that face- skin and bone but youthful, blue bleeding through the iris like a cracked yolk, remains of eyeliner and mascara along her deteriorated features- she was a person, so young, so beautiful when she was alive, like she knew she had decades to go- sometimes you swear she’s the face you see at night when you remember how human and how simply unlucky this world is now. It’s simply unlucky, and being unlucky is simply brutal.

(You held back your tears when you bashed her brain in. Later that night you pulled your best friend Ike aside, and cried in mourning of a woman whose name you never learned. He didn’t complain then, either, and you only sobbed harder when you realized as much as he comforted you, he could never muster up the vulnerability to grieve himself.)

You club a pick into the forehead of the fresh, putrid dead. The other pries it open, and a third swipe pulverizes with finality.

It’s messy. When you drive your weapons into the skull there’s a crack of metal against bone, and a thin gush of blood that spurts out to your arms. Especially large openings reveal nodules of black rot spotted through the brain. If you focus, you can see the moist, moldy texture seep through the wrinkles of the brain, and if you were any less jaded it’d be enough to make you turn your head and hurl.

But the deed is done in only three stabs, and you cling onto that fact. The more mechanical the task is, the easier it is to drive yourself to just get it done. Club, pry, pulverize. Club, pry, pulverize.

You pass by one of Ike’s carvings as you move onto another body. His work is premeditated from habit; he usually does this deed while everyone else recuperates. A standard chef’s knife is his weapon of choice when he faces against zombies, but he keeps a cleaver sheathed to his side when he has the time to get precise. One good slash goes through bone. Bone sweeps through the brain, and the work is done, and he carries on to the next, messy on his mantle but clean in the cut.

There are only a few more bodies left untouched on the yard where you hear heavy steps on the grass and Shu’s voice cry out. “Luca!”

You and Ike snap up. Luca’s blond hair is matted to his face with blood and rot as Vox runs beside him. They look like they ran through a blender of decayed flesh, and considering the herd of dead inside the house, perhaps that isn’t so strange of a metaphor. Even as Luca sprints, he turns to pump shotgun lead to the predators when they get closer, and each corpse’s fall is punctuated by hot gunfire.

Shu calls out his name again frantically. The men return, and so do you and Ike, five missing one. “Luca, where’s Mysta?”

“It’s bloody,” Luca simply says. His breath is short, and he wipes at the mess of gore and hair on his forehead. All it accomplishes is smearing black and red together along his face and in a blotch along his arm.

“But where is he, I need to know!”

“And it’s so much.” He trails off. He stares into the side of the townhouse and beyond the distance. Strapped to his back is his go-to weapon, a baseball bat littered with nails, each with residue dripping off the spikes from freshly killed zombies. “There’s a lot. Oh, I’m feeling kind of- kind of cold.”

“He’s in shock,” Ike says. He takes Luca’s hand in his, but Luca doesn’t even react. “Oh, Luca. What happened?”

“Kind of a lot?”

“Where’s Mysta?”

“He…” Luca’s eyes dart to the center of the townhouse. “He’s stuck, because of me, isn’t he?”

“Alright, lay off the man.” Vox intervenes. “We’re done asking questions. Shu. Your matches. Light it up.”

“What?!” Shu screams at Vox. You’ve heard him yell, but never once have you heard him scream. Especially not with Vox sounding so detached. “No, are you crazy? Mysta is in there!”

“Light it up, Shu-“

“I said, no! No! No way, not a- not a fucking chance!”

“Shu, listen to me!” Vox thunders. “I’m sorry, but Mysta is gone.”

Shu stands his ground. His features are tense, and his ultraviolet eyes burn holes through the earth. “Not a fucking chance.”

“Mysta is gone,” Vox insists, and you hear his bassy voice break even lower. “I saw it myself.”

“He is not.”

“It was too overrun, it’s miraculous Luca even got out.”

“Mysta,” Luca says, and closes his eyes. Ike holds him upright and rubs his arm, as comforting as he possibly can in the worst situation, as much as possible when his own face is just as distraught as everyone else.

“And I wish with everything that I have that I could’ve gotten him out,” Vox continues, more of his own justification than anyone else. “And I wish I was just a little faster, and that they were a little further away, and, God, that he wasn’t trapped, but he was, and I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t close enough…”

Shu is murmuring his own protests to himself at this point, and feeling the pit in your stomach yourself, you reach to hold his hand. He jerks away like you’re made of lava. You feel ill. “You’re lying to me.”

“And he got bit, and he knew that meant death. And he ran, ran upstairs, to draw them away from us, and there were more, and he knew, he knew, he knew he was dead but we weren’t.”

Luca lets his head fall on Ike’s chest. Ike becomes his crutch, and holds him. “Mysta.”

“His distraction saved Luca’s life. And mine if I was slow.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He was a hero,” Vox says.

“Stop.” Shu’s eyes shut. He looks like stone about to break, paralyzed in denial as the proper grief is setting in. His hands dive and clasp around yours. He’s trembling. You squeeze back. “Don’t talk about him like he’s dead.”

“He was a hero, and our brother, and the sun. Please don’t devalue his sacrifice like that.”

“Oh my god.” Ike interrupts, and his face is paler than the dead. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Luca, don’t look.”

With one hand, he buries Luca’s head into the fabric of his mantle, and with the other, he points to the tallest point of the townhouse.

You crane your neck up and squint. The townhouse has one window peeking out from the room along one small wall. When you recognize the shapes through the window your legs nearly give out. Startling, saturated, unadulterated horror grips you. You see his hat.

“He’s still alive,” you whisper. “Or he rose. But he’s still surrounded.”

With revived desperation Vox grasps Shu by the shoulders. “Don’t devalue his sacrifice, Shu, you know better than anyone he never wanted to fall victim to that curse. Let him and the rest of the zombies pass on properly, like a hero should. Light the match, please. Please.”

You absorb the chaos as if you weren’t there. You’re detached. Nothing feels real, not even as Ike strokes Luca’s hair, distressed and staring at the window, while Luca is just as distanced as you are. Vox’s heroic resolve shattered as he recounted Mysta’s last moments, and Shu, the smart one out of your group, can’t even function anymore. You knew everyone considered themselves each other’s family, but Shu and Mysta were especially close, and it tears you apart to watch Shu finally grasp the terror of the townhouse ambush.

Shu lets go of your hands to cover his face. Through the gaps between bloodstained gloves, you can see the sparkle of tears. He’s crying. “This isn’t possible.”

“Do the right thing,” you say. “Do what he would’ve wanted.”

Shu stands so still. He looks up to the sky, as if it could all go back just by an hour. The clouds just kept rolling.

He picks up a bottle and lights a match.

“This can’t be happening.” A teardrop nearly flicks out the match, but he gathers his strength, and places it by the newspaper wick. The paper flares alive in caution orange.

Shu breathes in. You see his face is scrunched up from crying even as he tries to aim, and it’s like he’s aged years in a matter of minutes. His face has never truly been clean of dirt or gore in weeks, just like the rest of you, but even under the orange fire his eyes go dull. There’s weight under his eyelids, and his mouth is forced into a tight, shaky frown as he exhales.

“I’m so sorry.” Even when it was a zombie Shu always apologized before killing. He treats it as a blessing of what they once were. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry it had to be this way.”

Shu throws the molotov.

You lose track of Mysta’s silhouette as the townhouse goes up in flames.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The death of Mysta Rias was the death of the sun, and the world has been even drearier than the desolate land would have you think.

Everyone lives on edge frostily. It’s barely been a month since he passed, but the wound hesitates to close.

Ike is maybe the best adapted to your band of six now as five, but even then you can tell he’s not the same. He’s a champion of reservation. Every sweep of his knives into dead flesh are purposeful, every word spoken is calculated.

You think back on that night you cried in Ike’s arms the first time you confirmed the dead. You still haven’t seen him cry. Strange, since he was the type to get emotional at sappy movies and video games before the first outbreak. You’re worried, but he insists he can keep it together. To be fair, he’s doing an excellent job at not having a conniption, but the way that he acts so much more emotionally distant isn’t exactly inspiring confidence either.

But Vox, for all he puffs himself up about making sure no man gets left behind and all that heroic junk, hesitates far more than his honed swordsmanship would have you think now that Mysta’s gone. It hasn’t gotten in the way of surviving yet, but you have to wonder when it will. He’s gotten indecisive and requires time to think- great for planning, not so much for a live-or-die fight.

Luca’s the one that surprises you. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him happy when your band of friends started roaming the country together, but he was good natured, and was the first to pick himself up from a bad scrape. He had a sly, sideways curve to his lips whenever he laughed, but it’s been so long since you’ve heard it that you’re starting to forget the way his skin curves into smile lines.

He doesn’t smile at all, really. As optimistic Luca was, it was no secret Mysta was the other half of the laughter in your group, and now that Mysta was gone the morale was as well. Luca keeps up his positive attitude as much as he can but it’s rare, and it’s quiet when you see it.

You notice whenever someone lights the campfire, he’s never around to watch it, and no one makes him do it. You don’t think anyone’s ever talked about it out loud, nor has he ever let himself show it. But when he turns around to feel the warmth, Vox is always to his front, blocking off the bright blazes, and sits by him while he cooks game. You have a theory Vox hasn’t given up his hero complex yet, but for as tense as he gets by the fire Luca hasn’t had a breakdown yet either. Unless things change, you won’t bring it up. Your group has never experienced a loss quite like this in the zombie apocalypse, and all things considered, for as awful as the morale it could be much, much worse.

Speaking of much worse, Shu…

He was a wreck when Mysta passed away, and that’s putting it lightly. When you ran from the remains of the burning townhouse and into a forest, your footfalls were punctuated by Shu’s shortened breaths, and he held back hiccups as you left Mysta behind. By the time Vox figured you were safe from the horde and Ike’s feet gave out from exhaustion, Shu’s eyes were shut tight in disbelief.

You barely uttered a word to him before he fell back into sobs, and when you offered a hand he threw himself to you. It was disorienting. You always considered Shu the face of serenity and restraint even in your lives before the apocalypse, and after the outbreak he was always the one that could find the best path to follow for the greater good of all six of you. But now there were only five, and the grief was fresh.

But Shu howled. He clawed himself against your chest in inconsolable wails, and his face was contorted, sore and raw red in splotches of unmuted primality, nearly unrecognizable. There was an animal in your arms. Agonized.

“It’s not possible,” he heaved. His articulation was lost in his eruption. “It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be!”

You didn’t have any words to say, and clearly Shu didn’t either. He howled again as his bestial hands clutched around your arm. Nails dug through his gloves and into your skin, and if he clutched you any tighter he’d tear the flesh off the bone straight, a creature of despair. Screaming and howling, and soon enough he was choking on his own spit and the block of mourning in his throat, some ugly peals of tears and snot, and the remains of rot on his hands and blood against the hollows of his ghastly cheek; the ash left in his lungs and the smoke that lingered in his hair, and the flames that licked through his fingers and inside the bottle and outside the glass; the blazes that ate through the wood of the house, the very same hue as his brother’s favorite shirts, his hat, flickering a cycle of brightness and color and roiling heat until he knew the fire had swallowed up what remained of Mysta.

Shu had no choice but to scream. When his throat took away that privilege he mustered up what he could of his vocal chords and churned. All his mouth went dry but he still smacked his tongue against his gums and huffed out seethings and surges of thin breath through gritted teeth, more akin to wheezing than anything else he’d howled but the pure distress gone untouched.

He eventually exhaled himself into an uneasy sleep, but even in sleep his face was still struck with suffering. Rest was more like a pause to a realized horror than it was a reprieve. You and Ike cleaned him up and laid him sideways on the ground for the night- after all, it had been an awful day, and as the moon rose in the sky you know you wouldn’t be getting anywhere after the horrible events, much less with an unconscious Shu.

Luca spent the rest of his day detached from his own experience, even after the shock wore off. When Shu’s composure broke, Vox had attended to Luca, and they quietly wept together while Shu bawled. By the time Shu began to rest, Luca looked into the ground, water bottle in hand.

Vox approached you while Ike started a fire and prepared some rations for the rest of the group. “He’s not taking things awfully, but I’m concerned for him,” he said. “Luca, I mean.”

“I know you mean Luca,” you responded. You couldn’t hide your own exhaustion from the day either.

“As much as I hate to say it, Shu freaking out was to be expected. He and- and Mysta- those two- they were so close. And Luca, too. I thought he would freak out like Shu, but hell, Reader, I cried more than him. I know I get emotional and he’s better at keeping it down than me, but…”

Vox’s eyelids fluttered as he looked up at the dark sky. His eyes were red. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. It’s not like him.”

“Well, living without-” Your exhaustion dragged down your sentence before you could finish it. You thought you were well-adjusted to the death, but your voice caught before you could utter his name. You cleared your throat. “Living like this. There’s going to be a lot of weird changes, and everyone mourns differently.”

“I suppose you’re right.” But Vox didn’t look too pleased to hear that. “We need to protect him.”

“He does plenty of protecting himself. And we look out for each other regardless.”

“Then we should look out for him especially.”

“Of course. I don’t want him to get overexerted.”

“And let’s tap out of any interaction if we can, including looting. Last thing we need is to get into another big fight with the zombies, or worse yet, other survivors.”

“Avoiding fights has always been our M.O.” A chilled breeze ran through the forest. Vox fiddled with his haori. You stared right through him. “Sorry if this comes across as weird. But do you really think laying low is a good idea?”

“It’s dangerous to let anything interfere with us.”

“We’re in the zombie apocalypse, Vox, everything is dangerous. It’s not like I can just wave a wand and poof, we’re immune from the plague. Besides, we’re just two out of s- out of five. We’ll figure it out when it’s not so late, and Luca and Shu are in working condition.” You squinted. “Hey. Enough about them for a second. Has anyone ever asked you if you’re okay, Vox?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Is now. How are you holding up?”

“What, do you want me to lie to your face? No one’s doing well.” He averted his eyes, and you knew he was averting the question. “I could ask you the same thing. Shu was intense.”

“Tired,” you said. “Just plain tired. I don’t even think I have the energy to properly grieve.” And just like the man standing before you, you averted your eyes as well. “I don’t think I want to either. I don’t know. I miss him a lot, but I don’t have the time to miss him. Not when the apocalypse is literally unfolding in front of us and there’s people taking the brunt of the loss way harder than I am. I wish I could give him the remembrance he deserves.”

Vox nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything in response, and the silence made you feel like you aged hundreds of years in his presence.

“You’re very observant, Reader,” he finally said. “And you spend a lot of time making your own conclusions before you act. That’s smart. But knowing too much prevents you from action, full stop.”

Campfire smoke curls around the chilly air and by Vox’s face. His head was still angled up to look at the sky, and the orange glow against his sharp features weathered him into a dreary oil painting. There was a gash between his cheek and ear where a tree branch hooked him while he evaded a zombie’s grapple, and the light illuminated the soft pink flesh exposed under the cut of skin. The corner of the gash met his thoughtful frown. “Every moment of life teaches you something. I’m wondering when it’ll be too much and we simply can’t go on the way we used to.”

“Might be soon.”

“Today definitely sped it along.”

The fire crackled. You and Vox sat there unmoving, too focused on the blaze and how controlled it was compared to the townhouse.

Even as the tinder burns, your thoughts were still so awry now that the group got smaller. Vox had a point about Luca. You needed to keep an eye out on him in case he’s putting on a brave front. Even then, you didn’t like how Vox deflected your concern, but prodding him would only make it worse, especially when the loss was so fresh.

Your thoughts drifted to Ike, and how you haven’t managed to share a word with him at all since the townhouse burning. He hasn’t cried, you recall, not a single time since the first outbreak. You admired his composure but now that Vox admitted his own fears for the others (and neglected to tell you the ones about himself), you can’t help the unease that settled into your stomach. What were his thoughts like? Everything went off the rails whenever you tried to collect yourself, but if Ike was able to keep it all under wraps, then his mind must be a storm.

Speak of the devil. Ike hands Luca a small can of beans, but the blond stayed by his lonesome. Your best friend took the empty seat beside you, and gives you and Vox your dinner.

You thanked him, and after savoring what little you had of your portion, you asked how he’s doing.

“Just gotta get through another day,” Ike responded.

Then he tipped the last of his beans into his mouth and stared at the fire, just as you did after talking with Vox. He was unreadable as ever, but the only thing you could glean from him with confidence is that he had just as much on his mind as you thought. Maybe even more.

You wished he would just tell you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

But grass grows over graves, and even if Mysta didn’t have a proper send off, time waits for no one.

Once Shu woke up, his face was a mess of bleariness and exhaustion. Something in his bright eyes froze over during the night. Amethyst faded to plastic.

“We’ll keep moving,” he declared, and his voice chilled you to the core. He called out the order as a leader, not a friend, without the care or delicacy he always granted to your group. His emotion died with Mysta.

(And you saw Vox ready himself to refute, but once he met those purple eyes filled with something unearthly, he shank under Shu’s presence.)

Days pass. All of them are spent on the road. The group spends as little time resting as possible just to get a few extra miles out to your next destination.

Shu and Luca say it’s to get away, but they end the sentence differently. Shu says to get away from the zombies. Luca doesn’t finish his thought at all.

It’s no surprise that Vox opposes it. The more distance between the group and the townhouse, the more he speaks his mind.

But Shu is determined to go further, just as much as Vox is convinced everyone needs to lay low.

And in all the time you’ve known these men, you’ve never seen any of them fight against one another quite like this. Vox always concedes, but not before Shu spits venom and he flings it right back. Their words are always about the plan, their future, where the group is going and why don’t they wait out the zombies instead of these hourly skirmishes on the road; but everyone can tell there’s more lying in subtext than the literal argument. You’ve seen the way Vox grits his teeth and musters up his courage whenever he’s about to tell Shu off, and you know that disgusted glare Shu gives Vox whenever he brings up hiding from the zombies.

Ike usually ends up being the one to break up their fights. One dismal evening while he lectured them both about teamwork and other platitudes, you and Luca sat next to each other. He’s a big guy, but he’s lost a lot of weight from rationing, and his expression looks like an abandoned dog more often than not these days.

He talks quietly, but plainly. “Shu hates me, doesn’t he?”

“What?” The bluntness startles you. “Luca, listen to yourself. He could never.”

“He could.”

“He wouldn’t,” you insist. “He’s gone through a lot, and he’s not taking it well, but I know it’s always because he wants to protect you. All of us.”

“So is Vox. But he just shuts him down without a thought. You ever wonder why, Reader?”

“To get away from the zombies,” you recite. That’s always his reasoning. Staying put in one place just means more time for zombies to gather at the scent of the living.

“So would finding a secure shelter, like how Vox says.” Luca sits with his knees close to his chest, and watches from a distance at the quelled fight. Vox says something, and you can see Shu’s face contort even though you can’t hear what he says. “But he doesn’t even listen to him. He doesn’t even listen to you, Reader, when you try to break it up.” He holds his legs closer to himself. “I don’t know if he’s ever listened to me. Or anyone.”

“He would if you told him you feel like that. He’d understand.”

“Would he really?” You nearly answer that before you realize the question is rhetorical. “You’ve got eyes, Reader. Be attentive like how I know you always are and look at how he looks at us. Me and Vox.”

You try to follow Luca’s request but Ike is speaking, and Shu’s eyes close.

He elaborates. “It’s not a nice look.”

“He’s stressed.”

“Then why doesn’t he ever look at you like that? Or even better, why does he listen to Ike only, and how come it never seems to stick?”

“He’s going through a lot.”

“We all are.”

Across the camp, you watch Ike run a hand through his hair. Shu is still talking, and Vox sighs.

“I think he blames us.”

You grab Luca’s arm. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s obvious anyways.”

“Because that’s our friend.”

“He hasn’t acted like one for a long time.”

“Because he’s lost so much.”

“We were all friends,” Luca snaps. “We lost just as much. Hell! I was in the house! We were together! And then we got separated, and unlike someone Vox actually tried to help him out until- and I should’ve- we saw him get bit, and I couldn’t- I just, I-”

Luca shuts himself up. Your hand falls from his arm to his palm and squeezes. No life returns your gesture.

You sit in the stagnant silence.

“I’m sorry.” Luca lowers his head. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Get it off your chest, Luca. I won’t hurt you.”

“No, I don’t think I should.” He unwraps his legs, and stands up from the ground beside you. “I’m not going to say it and be an awful friend, even if he’s acting like one.”

Before you could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Luca already turned his back, and you sat alone from the argument as he walked away from everything.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Despite all their bickering, Shu and Vox lead the group through travel. It’s more likely that the bickering is the exact reason why. The fire iron and rebar push aside the greenery, until Vox stops with his rebar casting the brush aside. “Fucking finally.”

You catch up and look across the hill. Buildings. This used to be a small rest town in a clearing between the hills before the outbreak, but now the bright signs are dimmed out and dirtied. Not a soul lurks in the abandoned town, including the dead.

“We’re not stopping,” Shu says.

“Piss off, Shu. I’m tired.”

“You’re never going to be well-rested.”

“Then how does safe sound?”

“Not possible no matter where you go.”

“But safer than on the road-”

“Guys,” Ike interrupts. “Quit acting like toddlers.”

Vox pouts and Shu squints. None of the three want to get the next word in.

So you speak up instead. “We’re running out of supplies. If we don’t find any more food soon, then we won’t even be able to continue on the road.”

“Reader has a point,” Ike agrees.

Shu’s expression sours. “Fine. We’ll look around, but make it quick. Camping out here is a great way to get robbed.”

“Then we’ll move together and keep watch for one another,” Vox declares, and he smiles. “Welcome to the correct side, Reader, Ike. It’s good to have you on board.”

Ike rolls his eyes. “Don’t drag me into your petty fights.” You fight the urge to quip he’s already in the mess as the mediator.

But the group traverses the hills and enters the remains of the town. The ground is littered with garbage strewn about in the haste for its citizens to flee town- or for the ill-fated, become the corpses dragging along the cement.

The zombies here shamble along independent from one another. That’s the best you could ask for. The only consistent thing about zombie behavior is their danger when in swarms. Alone, they’re nothing but fetid flesh barely clinging onto the skeleton, ready to fall into a hundred pieces at one strike, but when accompanied by others? Fodder makes up for each others’ weaknesses, and no matter how competent or skilled you are, one human is nothing to a crowd of zombies on the warpath.

The zombies of this town haven’t synced up with one another, and you’d like to keep it that way. While on the road, you’ve had plenty of skirmishes with small groups of zombies, but the last time your band faced off against a proper herd, you lost one.

A single zombie clambers to the front of your group. You hear metal against fabric as Ike pulls out his cleaver from its sheath, ready to do the deed, but before he can advance Shu already has his fire poker in his hands and the business end driven through the eyes of the zombie. He twists, assuring the brain is too punctured to allow the body to rise again, and the poker is back at rest. He barely even apologizes to the body as everyone trudges on.

Behind his back, Ike resheathes his weapon. He squints through his glasses, and you can read the confusion between his green eyes. Ike doesn’t meet your glance, but his expression is welcome, as unfortunate as it is. At least you’re not the only one that noticed how out of character Shu has been lately. You’re getting a sinking feeling about him.

However, the moment passes as soon as it appeared, and you and the rest of your friends rove onwards until you come across a set of stairs erring into the earth, surrounded by a dirtied glass entrance.

“Who would’ve thought?” You wonder aloud. “I never would’ve guessed this little town had a subway system.”

Vox raises his hand along the cool glass. “This could be good. The entrance is camouflage pretty well considering the damage of this town, and there might be some preserved food in vending machines. All we need to do is break ‘em.”

“And if there isn’t any food, it’s still a big area,” Ike adds. “Plenty of space and a roof over our heads.”

Luca looks down the staircase. It’s dark, but not unnavigable. The edges of the sidewalk are lined with yellow paint stripes, and features small lights along the walls from a backup generator, most likely. “It’s a good hiding place,” he says.

Luckily for everyone, Shu can already tell he’s defeated, and doesn’t put up much of a fight before you all descend down the stairs.

Not even ten minutes later Luca found a vending machine and smashed it apart with his spiked bat. Vox unwrapped a pack of Oreos with a smug smile.

The subway was no longer in operation and the trains themselves were abandoned, but you found a sign with a map of the station. The subway connected the major areas of the town together, and could be used as secret passages through the ruins.

And most interesting, there were even less zombies underground than under the sun.

“I wonder if the stairs confused them?” Luca says to himself. “Surely a few of them figured it out, since we killed some since we entered the subway, but it might be too complex for herds to come through. Or the architecture itself is confusing.”

You weren’t about to question it. This was one of the most peaceful environments you’ve entered since the outbreak, and there was no way you would ignore the moment to catch your breath, even if you can still cut through the tension with a knife.

You enter first watch with the drifting bond between everyone on your mind, and when Ike relieves you for his watch, you fall asleep in record time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

An arm jostles you awake. “Reader. Wake up, zombies.”

You curse, albeit a little groggily, but in a flash you’re on your feet. You thumb under your sleeping pad and grab your climbing picks. “I thought we were safe?”

“Not at all.” Your eyesight adjusts after you start walking, but you can already recognize the voice as Ike. Out of the corner of your eye you can spot Shu trying to shake Luca awake, and Vox gathering everyone’s things together. “They’re flooding in fast. Herds of them. Like they’re all on the same wavelength.”

“Like the townhouse.”

It dawns on you and you say it without thinking. Ike’s shoulders freeze over. “Don’t say that. Not so loudly.”

“Fine. What do you need me to do?”

“Get your things together. They’re not here yet, but they will be soon, around the corner we came.”

Vox approaches halfway through zipping a backpack together. “We should take the next right corridor. I remember that leads to a different exit.”

“You sure it’s not the same one the zombies are coming in through?” You ask.

“Positive.”

“We need to stay ahead of the herd,” Shu said, Luca in tow. “No fighting unless absolutely necessary. If we get started now we should be able to get away without overexerting ourselves. Ready?”

No words need to be exchanged. You leave the clearing just as you found it.

A collected groan follows behind you, and a chill runs down your spine. You’ve never heard so many zombies, and never so man all in harmony. The moans arrange together in the cavernous halls, bouncing off the cement and down the station.

The urgency rises once the cries grow closer. Vox breaks out in a run, then Luca, and Shu behind him.

“Right,” Vox calls, and dives at the turn. A zombie greets him. He drives his rebar into its head and flings it away without a second thought like a lancer.

The zombie smashes against a sight with arrows to different stations. Ike swerves out of the way. “Fork ahead, where now?”

“Right? I mean-” He goes one way to view a sign, then sprints the other. “Straight! Straight!”

The dead sing. You can’t think to look back but the smell of rot is suffocating.

Your foot falls under the concrete ground in time with your family, and in time with the stumbling zombies approaching faster than you’ve ever felt before.

Luca halts in his tracks, and you thump against his back. Your mouth parts to speak but your eyes fall upon the exit.

Or rather, the lack of exit.

Boulders of broken concrete hide the stairwell from daylight.

Hot breath strangles you, and you turn with your picks in hand. Swathes of the dead are fixated on your group.

Ike runs straight-on to the choir. You scream out as one reaches for him before he turns at the last fork in the road.

You cut your scream off halfway when you follow him without a second thought.

A hand covered in dirt and mold grasps against the sleeve of your jacket. You swivel and sink your pick into the limb, and the wrist pops off under your blade. The hand goes limp and falls from the fabric.

You hear footsteps behind you, and when Luca speaks up you’re full of relief even if only for a moment. “What now?”

“Just run,” You say back, more of a guess than an order.

Shu drifts in front of you. “Where are we?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to think!”

“We don’t have time, Vox!”

“I know, Shu, shut up!”

“Going left!” Ike shouts, and you all move without question.

But you realize only after the zombies cut away the turn that the station turns more decrepit on this side. The tunnels are lined with debris and the floor crumbles away along the painted stripes.

And before you can find a new route, you see a puff of dust from the ceiling.

“The roof!” You shout. You’re gasping to breathe now, and your words stumble upon the exhale.

Shu’s eyes roll up to the flickering light, and you both see the elongated crack above your heads. It’s been in decay for years. How unlucky. How simply, brutally, lethally unlucky.

“Hurry!” He pleads. He’s at the front of the pack, followed by Vox and Luca alongside each other. Ike trails behind you.

The crack in the roof follows your every footstep even as ancient instinct kicks in. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and pushes you forward, accompanied by bits of debris tangling in your hair. The flooring turns from concrete to tile, and with the dirtied mosaic comes a glimmer of hope. Surely you must be going the right way.

The zombies’ cries are loud, but the squeak of your shoe against the tiles is louder. There must be something beyond.

But the ceiling splintering out is the loudest of all.

It all happens at once:

The way that Shu turns at the sound and can’t even get one of his own out before he sees your face-

The powdered cement turning to hail in the blink of an eye-

Your war cry through gritted teeth as you launch off, the fastest you’ve ever run before-

A knife unsheathed in in warmth and frigidity in your midst-

Luca, hated, blamed, petrified.

Your brain catches up through the curtain of scrap. It’s all because of Luca. Even at his most vulnerable, you’ve never thought of him as weak. Nonetheless, his eyes are dead purple crusted against his ghost-white face, and his lips force open while a vein along his neck strains to scream out your name, but he lets out just one small, throaty heave. A miserable noise.

It silences you.

You know it, and he does too. A chunk of ceiling drops mere inches from your last step. Vox approaches, calls out your name before he’s even comprehended the truth before him. You see the dark in his pale eyes tighten into a thin reptilian pupil and he reaches out in desperation.

The last of the ceiling shatters. A broken crag hammers into his palm instead. All you hear is Shu finally get out the scream before the remains of the underground roof shuts you out from your family.

The dead rises in volume. The glimmer of hope evaporates.

You force yourself against the barricade, but your weight is no match for the pile of rubble, and you watch the zombies shamble forward with your back against the wall. The only person you have left brushes plaster away from his eyes with one arm and brandishes a knife in the other.

Ike Eveland looks like hell alive.

It would almost be hilarious if you weren’t facing a subterranean grave. His face is dirtied with mud and rubble, and the legs of his trousers are matted in blood, rot, and dirt, but even then, this is still your best friend. The years you’ve spent alongside him blend together. His once-delicate hands now bear countless scars from travel and fights, but the contours of his face are recognizable even through the dust that mars his skin.

This is an unwinnable situation. You’re locked in checkmate, but Ike stands next to you.

You speak. “No more exits, right?”

Ike swipes at his face again, and the sleeve of his mantle comes back grayer than before. “I think we both know how this ends, Reader.”

“Yeah. I do.”

You both watch the leading zombie shuffle one foot forward, and each of its followers mimic the motion.

You notice Ike’s hand against his face out of the corner of your eye. Then how his shoulders jerk up for a moment, before setting themselves in place, stony and rigid.

His words break your heart. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.”

“I wish I could refuse all this- all this-”

He sniffs.

You move without thinking, and your mind is set. You wrap your arms around Ike.

He doesn’t even raise his hands. He just leans against your shoulder lifelessly, and lets the tears fall.

You rub his back as he hiccups into your shirt. How long has he been keeping this locked up? You ache for him and all his repression as his body goes limp against yours, the only thing keeping him standing.

“It’ll be okay.” That’s only a lie you can hope is the truth. “After all this. We’ll be okay. Shu and Vox and Luca, too. It’s a straight shot now that all the zombies are on us.”

“I’m going to miss you. All of you.”

“We’re together.”

“I’m sorry this is how it ends.”

“We still have options.”

He scoffs, even as his voice cracks through his quiet crying. “We’re trapped, Reader. There’s no way out.”

“We can still go out on our terms,” you say. You place your hand over his, the one that holds the knife. “Once we’re gone, the zombies are going to search for the other three.”

You squeeze one last time, and break away from the hug. You look upon the wave of dead flesh and rot, and draw your weapons. “I don’t want them to fight any more than they have to.”

“That’s hopeless.”

“It’s all I can do.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I’m not sure myself,” you admit. “It’s just that right now, I know I’m in a losing battle, and I accept that. But I don’t accept just laying down and dying like that.”

Your climbing picks cross together as you ready your eerily still mind. The blades scrape against each other. Metal sings. “And I just want to handle things calmly. After all this time, I learned that from you.”

“I don’t know how you can just remember things like that when we’re about to die.”

“I suppose I only die on my own terms. Hey.”

Ike stumbles to his feet. His knife is pointed to the ground. With a tranquility that evaded you all throughout the apocalypse, you steady his posture and guide the blade up to the dead beyond.

Your hand rises up his arm as his eyes close, and he silently murmurs to himself. You rub his shoulder. “You good?”

Ike exhales. His body lowers as he does, and with the breath comes a relaxed posture. This is the most at peace he’s been since the outbreak strangled the past world.

His eyelashes rise. Stormy green seas focus upon the staggering zombies.

“No.” Ike’s lip trembles. But he’s set on the zombies ahead, and a bolt of lightning crosses through his eyes. “But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good man.”

“There’s about five of them leading the pack in that corner. We can pick them off and get some more breathing room.”

“Understood, Mr. Tactical.”

“Don’t call me that.” Under the exhaustion and the fear and the grittiness that comes with crying, you hear some of that classic, joking exasperation. You snicker to yourself, but the bittersweet smile remains.

“Mr. Eveland, then.” Your sight hones in on one zombie to your right. Its jaw slides apart as it follows the scent of the fresh living. “It’s been an honor, Ike.”

“Likewise, Reader, we’ll do what we can.”

“Let’s go.”

At your command, you both launch off, laser-focused on the individual dead.

Ike kicks a corpse down to knock it prone, then rakes his knife into the skull, and that’s all you can see before you throw yourself into the fray.

A one-on-one is simple. The zombie in front of you holds out a decrepit hand, perfect for your climbing pick to detach. It stumbles at the force and grants you an opening to clobber its brain in.

Rinse and repeat.

You dive between the steps of your latest kills to divert attention in time to slay another and stay moving. The trick is to use gravity to your advantage. They aren’t smart enough to stand their ground, and when they inevitably fold from the pressure of your picks, it’s like the zombies present themselves for you can finish the job.

The next target swipes at you. You jut one pick down upon the corpse and one more meets the brittle skull. This gives you enough time to duck under a lunge, sweep the leg, and aim to kill.

Something grabs your leg before you plunge the pick in. A body, dismembered from the waist up.

You yelp as yellow-black teeth rise, and frantically kick. The zombie holds on tight, but when you regain your senses, it doesn’t even see the blade incoming before the soft brain squashes in. Splatters of gore and bits of chunky nerve endings sprays against your frame while your sweat mixes in with the stench of rot and muddy mildew.

You step back to reposition. Ike’s clothing is covered in blackened blood, and you watch him plunge his knife into the chests of whatever unfortunate beast approaches next. He twists and yanks out, then goes in for a final blow between the eyes. He has a rhythm established despite the shades of rot against his mantle and shirt. It almost looks routine.

His next victim’s head rolls to the ground and breaks apart like porcelain. The brain is still in place, but the elongated gash through the nervous system confirms it would never rise again.

But one gets the jump on Ike while his back is turned, and he yells out as he thrashes. He swivels on his heel. The zombie maneuvers around even as his hands push back in a fierce gridlock. It snaps its broken jaws in Ike’s face as it snarls, and sinks its claws in. Gunk travels through its saliva.

“I got your back!” While Ike retreats, you trip the dead that crawls in front of you, and dash to his side. You drag your picks into the nape and back of the zombie’s head, and the creature goes limp just in time for Ike to shove it against the wall.

Ike catches his breath, brushes his hand against his arm, and meets your concerned look with a nod in silent gratitude. “They’re gaining on us,” he says. “You don’t need to kill all of them, disabling them is fine!”

“Got it!”

But even that is easier said than done. There are so many zombies in the herd, it looks like you haven’t even left a dent, and your space is getting limited. You hack through the edges of the herd and pray that your wild swipes cut through a limb or two.

“We’re losing turf!”

“Yeah, and I- gaah!”

Ike heaves. Your switch flips from ‘kill zombies’ to ‘check Ike’.

You follow his rasp to the corner of the room, where the ceiling crashed down. His back is pressed against the tiled wall, and he struggles to peel off his mantle.

You don’t even need to ask. His hand clutches his arm, and the chunk of flesh missing from it.

“Holy shit, Ike!” You can’t even mute yourself. Millions of warning bells go off in your head. The internals are coated in a dark membrane from where it meets the oxygen in the air, less red than it is purple, and his veins beside the mutilation rise in an ugly green.

You reach your hands out as you rip off a cut of fabric from your sleeve. “No. No, this can’t be happening-“

He slaps your hand away before you can begin to bandage the blood loss, and immediately crumples. “Don’t do that! It’s the virus!”

“There’s no way it spreads that fast-“

“It will. I don’t want you to have that.” Ike sucks in air through his teeth as he sinks to the floor.

“How did you even-“ you cut yourself off. “It was the zombie that jumped you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even notice the pain when it happened.” He curses in his native language. The green in his veins rise, and branches sprout from the veins under his graying skin, like tree bark. The rapid decay of the outbreak. “Oh, that’s not good.”

The din of the battle behind you is entirely forgotten as you focus on the uneven flesh, the imprint of the bite upon his mangled arm, how nearly every level of the wound has turned to the same rot of the zombies.

Ike’s breathing is labored. The center of his shirt is soaked with the rot of those he killed, and rises and falls shakily.

He smacks his lips, and you’re struck with the realization that talking is a strain. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

You crouch by his side and nod.

“The sheath, on my belt,” he says. “Can you unfasten it?”

You comply without question even through your blurring eyes. I can’t refuse a request from a dead man, you think, and then the weight of your thought slams you.

Ike’s unscathed hand rises from the wound, coated in slick purple gore, and brushes against the handles of his knives. The membrane pools together into beads along the handle. His fingers stop at the last slot in his sheath, and the tip of the cleaver is dyed in the beginnings of the rot.

You think you’re about to vomit your heart out.

“No.” Your voice wavers. “No. No, I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Ike comforts you, and you feel even more like trash. You should be the one comforting him instead. “I trust you.”

And that’s what gets the tears to spill out from your eyelashes. “But I can’t kill you.”

“You said it best earlier. Dying on your own terms, right?”

“But I can’t kill you.”

“I don't want to be one of them,” he admits. “Look around, Reader, we’re surrounded, and we both know there’s no way out. And being one of them, it’s unnatural. It’s just messed up. If I’m going to die, I want to know I’m at rest. None of this- whatever all this is.”

His head lolls to the side. “And I want to see Mysta again.”

The chorus of the dead accompanies Ike’s heavy breathing and your weeping. You are a helpless child.

“I’ll help you,” Ike adds. “I’ll tell you how I usually confirm the dead. You’re my best friend. I trust you.”

It sickens you.

You let out a puff of air as you draw your palm over your eyes. The gore across your face smears over with your tears.

You take the cleaver in your hands.

“Thank you.”

“You deserve better than this.”

“It’s the best we can do. I’m glad.”

“This is so fucked up.” You draw the cleaver with both hands, as if that would end the shaking. Even as you shut your eyes, you can’t get your resolve in place.

“The trick is to be fast,” Ike says, and it disgusts you at how easily he says it. It disgusts you even more when you know the decay is spreading as he speaks, all the way into his raspy voice. “It’s all in the wrist. That’s what keeps it precise instead of clumsy. It’s where all the force is. Don’t swing wide. Just center it where you want to hit. How are you doing?”

“Not good.” Your breathing deepens, a last-ditch effort to remain calm. “I’m scared.”

You force your eyes open. The world floods in white, then falls into the blurred grays of the subway station.

Ike is already so much worse for wear. The bite is entirely blackened, and the discolored skin stretches from his arm to his shoulder, creeping along what little you can see of his neck.

His eyelids are shut, gentle aside from the furrow in his brow.

“Me too.”

Even with his feigned nonchalance, there is so much sorrow laced between his words.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be safer,” Ike says, and even he doesn’t seem so convinced by it. “Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you too.”

“You’ll always be my best friend.”

You raise the cleaver.

“Please tell Mysta I’m thinking of him. We all are, always.”

“We’ll be watching.”

Ike’s head is lowered, but you still see his attempt at a smile.

You black out as you swing.

There is no memory left of his last moment. It’s all too much to bear.

You cover your face, because looking at him is simply- just- too- much. Blood mixes in with your eyelashes, and you taste metal on your lips.

You don’t even have the energy to scream, or cry, or do anything. You are a husk, and you do not hear Ike’s cleaver clatter to the floor. There is nothing.

Your body moves without your command. You step back, and even though you refuse to look, you know you’re backing away from Ike. Your heart hammers, and so do your limbs. It spreads in droves, this pressure of heartbreak, constricting you and squeezing you apart.

Daggers fall into your skin. You snap out of your stupor.

But once you identify the daggers as teeth, you wish you didn’t.

You tear your hands away from your face as a glob of rot (his rot, you realize, and you can’t even begin to wrap your head around that) flicks out in an arc. The hammering- it’s claws raking against your flesh and tearing you apart like meat.

While you accompanied Ike in his last moments, the outbreak stopped for no one, least of all you. You are no invulnerable main character. You blocked out the roaring chorus as he lay, but it continued outside of your little bubble, and with your back turned they absorbed the last of your free space for a perfect siege.

You veer your head away out of instinct when the teeth pull away, and takes a bite of muscle out with it. The pain is blinding hot- you finally regain your voice in time to screech, but it drowns out through the zombie moans.

A second set of jaws snaps you up. Already your head is spinning, and when you see the sinew from the corner of your vision you resist the urge to faint. If you take a look at the broken skin and extruding vine-veins again, you know you’re going to black out again, and never wake up.

You force your sight to anything else.

You make the mistake of looking into zombie eyes for the third time in your life.

But this time you don’t retain the memory, either. Because for as little time you have left, how could you live knowing that your best friend’s peaceful green eyes snapped open in terror in his final moment?

You choke out, and whether it’s from pain or grief or pure fear, you can’t even tell. Just that it all mixes together into a toxic blend, the poison of your undoing.

And to think, you had the gall to meet such a grisly end head-on minutes ago.

On the ground, next to his limp foot, the steel edge of Ike’s cleaver winks at you.

It’s all in the wrist, he told you, and your blood burns into dust. But Ike is gone, now, and for as horrified as his melted remains were, he was certainly watching your every move.

And the infection is unnatural, and climbs along your shoulder, and there is no agony in the world like this fate.

And you wanted to see Mysta again.

With the last of your strength you regain your legs, and kick off one zombie from your leg. It topples and gives you enough time to shake off another that has you grappled.

The weight shift combined with your blood loss makes you hit the ground hard, but you scrape at the floor nonetheless. You are so weak, and you struggle, so focused on the glint of the blade that you ignore your skin crack apart like mud in a drought.

You reach, bloodied and battered, and so close to rest.

The washed light shines off the cleaver. Its reflection teases you as a monster snatches your foot and send you back into the horde like a toy.

You emit your final scream, and that too dies as hundreds of hands hold you back. Your body and blood is swallowed by the herd of dead.

When you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, the dark in your mind rearranges to replicate the cleaver. Then it flattens, and you see the haunted remains of Ike Eveland between it.

The only sound left is teeth meeting bone.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #ike eveland angst #luca kaneshiro #mysta rias #shu yamino #vox akuma #luxiem x reader #luxiem #nijisanji x reader #luxiem angst #4402 writes #bsprites #STEALTH PROTOMEN REFERENCE BABEY #this is a bit clumsy but i'm glad it was over 10k words i wonder if saying so much is just my style now #how much of a coinky dink is it that i was binging luca's twd streams and a bunch of southern gothic music when i was writing this #i'll post the full au notes i had operating tomorrow i think

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determunition · 11 months ago

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it's finally time for the second-ever SCRYBRUARY! the february monthly challenge dedicated to creative written expression inspired by daniel mullins's Inscryption.

this year i presented a poll of potential weekly themes here on tumblr, and have selected the top four options for this year's event, arranged in ascending order of popularity! thank you so much to everyone who participated in the voting ^^

as usual the rules for this event are simple and loose; the only concrete guideline is that you must adhere to one or more of the above prompts for pieces written for the event! otherwise, you can engage however you're most comfortable; if you only want to write for the same prompt every week, or only have the bandwidth to write for one or two prompts during the event, or even aren't much of a writer and just want to illustrate for a fic you feel fits one of these prompts, go wild! this month is for fun, not for stress ^^

with this event i'd also like to announce the creation of a little discord server for this event! there's a cooldown for joining when you enter, but it's open to all; even if you're not participating in scrybruary, you're welcome regardless! i'll probably be using it for other events and general inscryption community stuff in the future ^^ the invite link can be found right here: https://discord.gg/E3QykFaBP2

with all that said, enjoy this year's scrybruary! i'm excited to see what everyone comes up with ^^

prompts in plaintext below the cut:

Week 1, February 1-7th: Role Reversal/Swap

Kicking off Scrybruary with some alternate universe shenanigans! Whether you're swapping up the Scrybes or simply changing up who's responsible for what in the story, this week is made for those wacky what-ifs and juicy narrative shake-ups.

Week 2, February 8-14th: Backstory/First Meeting

Backstory is something we're given woefully little of in Inscryption! Did the Scrybes know each other prior to "arriving" at the archipelago? How did Goobert and the Angler's supposed rivalry start off? Not to mention the myriad of question marks when it comes to why so many of these characters are the way they are to begin with... This is the week to dive deep into the past and explore!

Week 3, February 15-21st: Day in the Life/Mundane

This week we kick back and celebrate the smaller things in life! Whether you use this week to kidnap the Scrybes into a quaint little coffee shop AU or just shed light on what Magnificus's students might do to unwind after a long day, it's all fair game as long as it's nothing out of the ordinary...

Week 4, February 22-29th: Fix-it Fic/Good Ending

Inscryption's characters all despise each other, and the ending is a bit of a downer! We all know this well, if the myriad of fix-it fics already out there are anything to go by...but for many, the well is in constant danger of running dry, and these characters deserve all the happy endings they can get! So now is the time to close out the month with a bit of repair and reconciliation.

#inscryption #scrybruary #scrybruary 2024 #don't know how much i'll be able to do this month #considering i'm pretty behind on OFH lmao #but i'll try to get out a couple things! ^^

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titstraction · 14 days ago

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Can I send 7 of those ask game emojis? I'm gonna do it

✅ 💕 🎀 🌅 🤔 ⛔ 🔥

Ohh hi thank you for the questions!! Game on 😎😎

✅ list one or two favorite lines you’ve written and explain why they’re your favorite

Oooof this is a hard one!! I had to rack my brain for a while.

I love this section in dreamers:

“Sirius writes slowly, takes his time to decide the right word and only taints paper when he is sure. Reads five words back each time he manages a word forward.

Their eyes meet when Remus looks up from across the table. He is writing a book, and you can see it, bedtime stories beneath his dark iris. He smiles tenderly at him.

Dreams, Sirius writes down.”

Why well I ate with this. There’s theme and character analysis there’s gay yearning there’s Remus’s soulful eyes. I think it’s a very vivid scene, like it’s very visual and has a pulse. It’s also sexyyyy. I think it goes very well with this other section from dreamers:

“Since they first had sex, Remus seamlessly weaves into his writing as an antithesis, a crystalline stream of singing water where there is remorse sucking him dry, a wide expanse of forest where there are concrete walls enclosing him in a small space, dreams where there are holes in his memories.

Sometimes he reads them aloud, when they’re alone and warm in bed, and he figures Remus understands it because he kisses him in a way that’s just impossible -“

Likeeeeeee call the cops on me and put me up in jail cause why is this so heartbreaking and homosexual. But yaaa I think this second section reads pretty and it builds on the theme of remus as dreams and poetry and freedom and beauty and I love !!! how much life r breathes into s in this little story. Dreamers is the people’s princess fr.

💕 whats your favorite part of your writing process?

Daydreaming about putting my blorbos in situations is elite. I love the little eureka moment when I have a good idea! Had a good one for my wip the prophecy yesterday and have been riding that high since.

🎀 how do you decide when something is done?

I write very very chronologically meaning I only write scene 2 when scene 1 is done, and I like to publish chapters as I go. So a story is done when I write the final scene. Not really a big editor, if there’s typos it goes with typos mwah. As for a scene hmm it feels done when I read and I go alright chaps thats it for today.

🌅 do you typically known the ending to something before you start writing it?

Hmm I think it differs from fic to fic. Generally for my longer ones I have an ideia of where its going theme/ takehome message wise, and then how we get there/ how it unravels I usually work out halfway. But it really differs like for blue I knew pretty well how it was gonna go from the jump but for abyss I was just along for the ride.

🤔 why do you write fic?

What else is a mentally ill gay to do in this day and age!!

I always liked writing - as a kid I had the imagination and the social ineptitude and the pretentiousness and the reading habit to write well enough and be encouraged by adults around me. As I entered internet spaces and fan culture I fell in love with reading fanfic - still one of my favorite things to do and art form to engage with. So I suppose I write because its the creative expression that comes easiest to me, that I know how to do/ have ideas for, that I feel the most confident doing. Also sometimes I’m sad and bored and lonely and it’s nice to put all these daydreams and dialogues and desires somewhere. It’s wonderful that others want to read them and leave nice kind words - some comments have given me such profound joy?? So I also do it for the community of it. People are out there being SERIAL sweetie pies!! I also think it’s a good skill to work on and hone, I’m proud of somethings I have written (see above) and I believe I’ll write real great stuff when I’m a “real” adult heh!!

⛔️ whats something you try to avoid in your work?

Excessively morose and whiny and self-hating internal monologue — these bitches can be insecure and traumatized but get a grip! I think it’s much more interesting when characters want something but they unconsciously self-sabotage or it doesn’t work out or wtv than when characters don’t want it from the start because they don’t think they deserve it. Like I really fw that quote “there's a lot of narcissism in self-hatred” and it puts me off when I’m reading something and everything/ the whole romantic conflict is about how much the character hates themselves.

Obv they are deeply traumatized characters but I think it’s important to have room to be sexy fun and flirty!! In my writing whenever it gets too dark I make them fuck<33

🔥 what’s something that’s currently going really well?

Hmmmm I haven’t written in a hot minute BUT I got a really good comment from someone who said they’re reading all my works now which I love!!!!! I love finding a new writer with several fics from the same blorbos and it’s really cool to be that for someone else 😎😎

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fillinforlater · 2 years ago

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Monday of Appreciation: Part 92

Hello everyone, Smite here.

Third attempt at trying to post this. Tumblr, if you fuck this up again, I swear, I'll lose my mind. Anyways, fuck this week, it was mostly bad to downright terrible. I really appreciate all the small nice things and amazing people that have helped me through this. There will be a lot other weeks like these, please be there for me.

Enough of this shit, let's get some good stuff:

-1-

@sinswithpleasure: Trans-generational collaboration ft. IU, Mina, Heejin

Let's start of with a quick smut, simple and addictive. Enough cum to fill each of the hotties holes with cream, God I wish. It seemed simple enough at first, the twist when Mina... and IU... nah, you better read it yourself lol.

-2-

@ggidolsmuts: Rose in the Concrete Jungle ft. Riina (H1-Key)

Thank you, ddeun, for appreciating and showing us underrated and very hot idols. Who, if not the legend himself. This was well done, a cute story to get us introduced to Riina. But when she suddenly started... nah, you better read it yourself (and go listen to H1-Key!).

-3-

@capslocked: Starlet ft. Miyeon

There is no hyperbole I can use to describe the brilliance of this fic. I could go on and on about the base setting, the first scene, the ... scene and oh God the ... pointed skyward while... nah, you BETTER read this masterpiece yourself!

-4-

@worldsover: Hourglass ft. Saerom

Talking about Masterpiece: Levi, you are a madman. The kissing scene alone made my head pop and melt, I couldn't help myself amd read the entire thing in one go, as fast as possible. It felt like a second, a moment yet it was an hour.

Oh, y'all better fucking read this!

See you around, cutiesa

#kpop smut #mondayofappreciation #male reader smut #female idol smut #girl group smut

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ticklyblues · 2 years ago

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YOUR FIRST FIC WAS SO CUTE AAAAAAAA!!!!!

if you wouldn't mind another request, I would love to see ler!gwen and lee!pavitr!!! their dynamic is a missed opportunity in general, but also, there's barely any gwen tk content unless it's a buncha people ganging up on one personnnnn!!!!!

ANYWAYS, I think gwen going after pavitr because he's overworking himself w/school and spider stuff to force him to take a break would be neat. or just any concept where she's trying to get him to do/say something!!!

uhHhh, if you want specific spots, I hc pav to have chin and lower back melt spots and his underarms as a death spot!!! but with your lovely writing, you could probably use anything, and I'd agree wholeheartedly

sorry for the essay!!!! blows kisses /p

Thank you so much, thats so nice of you to say all that! Also I 100% agree I do not see enough gwen content in general and she definitely deserves some!

Blows kisses back !! /p

Taking Breaks

856 words

Lee!Pavitr

Ler!Gwen

CW: minimal swearing

It was a pretty slow day at the spider society. As usual, there was some new Peter, some old Prowler, and some everyday disasters. Nothing they'd need their "small elite strike force" for, though. Starving, Gwen made her way over to the cafeteria to find some spider-themed delicacy to wolf down.

"Spider-donuts, spider-cupcakes, spider-popsicles... hm. I feel like that one might be a little offensive." Mumbling to herself, she grabbed a few spider-sandwhiches and started inhaling her first one.

BUZZZZZZZ!!!

There goes the 11:30AM alarm. Miguel likes to keep things orderly, so he has bells every 30 minutes to keep track of time in a "neat" way, as he describes it. Gwen's hair messed itself up as she snapped her head to look at the clock. "Shit!" she whisper-yelled, she was supposed to meet up for Pavitr's lunch break 15 minutes ago!

In a split second, she was travelling to his dimension, sandwhiches in hand. "He doesn't even LIKE tomatoes..." Grumbling as she tossed the sandwhich abominations into the void, she prayed that he wouldn't mind her tardiness. Despite his occasional sarcasm, he was still a pretty forgiving guy.

Out of breath, she finally reached his school roof, their unofficial "meeting place". There was a surprising quietness in the air, meaning there was no way Pav could even be in Mumbattan, let alone school. The dude has pretty chaotic energy, okay?

Gwen doesn't have to look around to know this. While she thought it was odd that he'd be even more late than her, she found it in herself to wait. After what felt like an eternity, he finally bursted through a portal, still wearing his spidersuit.

"Woah, Gwen! I am SO sorry you had to wait for me, I had some spider stuff to take care of and on top of that I have, like, 4 papers due and-"

"No, no, no! I totally understand, dude. Besides, I just got here too." She didn't mind lying just this once, it was for Pav's sake after all. "You sound exhausted though... you alright?"

"Yep! Totally alright over here! Don't worry, Gwenny. I know how to manage my duties!" His totally-not-stressed tone might've fooled her, if he didn't have that weird grin on his face. Gwen knew, whenever Pavitr Prabhakar pulled out that fake smile that didn't even show all his teeth, something was up.

"Pav, are you sure? You know you can talk to me about this sort of thing, right? You really don't have to overwork yourself with all this, especially since you're still in school. I don't have anything on my plate, let me handle the spider stuff for you, it's the least I could do"

"Bro, I swear! I don't need to take a break from anything. I love what I do, it's almost too easy! Besides, even if I was overworking myself, there isn't much you can do to- EEK!"

Alright, she had been provoked. Gwen started clawing at his belly, pinning him to the hard, concrete roof with her free hand. Pavitr's loud, airy laugh filled the city's sky.

"Gwhhehehehen!!" Out came his smile. The dorky smile that showed all his teeth and truthfully, looked kind of stupid. But that smile was his, and he wore it proudly.

"Pavvvv!" Gwen whined, mockingly. "But seriously, dude. You gotta relax for once. The first step is realizing that's what you need!" Sensing this wasn't going anywhere as is, she quickly flipped him over and started tracing his lower back.

Pavitr almost turned into jelly at this. Even though he quieted down a little, his attempt at a backwards fetal position spoke volumes.

"Plehahaeeseeee?" Barely being able to form words at this point, he tried his best to look up at the Spiderwoman and make a sort of frowny face. Gwen snorted at this. "Puppy eyes aren't gonna work on me, pal! All you have to do is let me take over for you for a little bit."

Wanting a little more of a reaction, she gently flipped him back over and tried scratching at his underarms. Nothing could have prepared her for the borderline HELLISH shriek that came out of that boy's mouth.

"HEHEHEHELPPPP!!!! GWHEHEHEEENNNN I'LL DO ANYTHIHIHIHING!!" This was a lie, and Gwen knew it, obviously. If he really meant it, he would've told her to stop by now. Staying at his armpits, the Ghost-Spider switched techniques to vibrating softly. If before's screams were considered hellish, she wouldn't even know what to call these ones.

"EEEEEEEKKKKK!!!" Feeling bad for the guy, she moved her hands upwards to the little spot under his chin. Going back to melt-mode, Pav tried his best to get his words out. "Fihihihihineee!! I'll let you tahahahake overrrr!"

Pulling her hands back, Gwen helped him get up. She was glad he could finally relax, now that she'd be replacing him for the time being.

Pavitr's break ended with him and Gwen, drinking tea and spending time in eachothers presence. They didn't talk, and they didn't need to. Because they knew that no words needed to be exchanged for them to be as close as they were.

#tickles #sfw tk community #tickle thoughts #sfw tk blog #sfw twords #tickle fluff #tickle community #across the spider verse tickle #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar #lee!pavitr #ler!gwen #tickle fic

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cilil · 8 months ago

Note

Would you ever write for another fandom (non-tolkien)? 🧐

Thanks for the ask!

The quick answer is yes, but also no. Here's why.

Generally I always have one main fandom that takes up the vast majority of my fixation and that I write for. There are always other fandoms too that I will sometimes visit to see what's going on and what stuff they're making, but in those I'm as much of a ghost as I used to be in Silm when I first got into it. Basically nobody sees me, nobody knows me, nobody realizes I'm there and quietly reading fic and looking at art.

In recent times, now that I'm more used to sharing what I create and interacting with fandoms, I've strongly considered branching out and maybe writing a fic or two for other stuff I enjoy, however...

I'm not comfortable writing for things before I haven't gotten DEEP into the entire thing

I'm picky with fandoms due to past issues

Let me explain.

As for the first thing, I know that many people are eager to jump right in when they find a new thing they enjoy and go right to creating fanwork and let me be very clear, that's awesome and as always you do you. But I'm both a curious kat and anxious so I need time to get to know the characters, gobble up the entire lore and make up my mind about stuff. My anxiety and perfectionism demand that I get at least a decent, if not good grasp of everything first so I get it "right".

(I do realize that there are probably a whole bunch of people out there who think my Silm takes are shit and I'm ruining this or that character and getting things wrong, but in this case I can look back at years of reading, research and headcanons, so... by all means, that's a fight we can have. I can stand my ground here.)

Again, not saying this is the right or better way, that's just how I prefer to engage with media and create for it.

As for the second thing, I'm very picky when it comes to deciding which fandoms I want to create and share writing for. No, before anyone gets any ideas, this is not about numbers. And if you don't believe me: If it was about numbers, I certainly wouldn't have spent yesterday evening writing about Mr. Manwë Súlimo out of all the Tolkien characters ;)

The main thing I look at in fandoms are their vibes, particularly how chill they are with stuff. If it's a fandom that's currently blowing up, there tend to be some pearl clutchers and bad actors coming in, so I stay out. If I see a lot of controversy, like character bashing or ship hate or bullying and harassment, I'm not willing to create for that fandom. For example I recently watched another episode of a series I'm currently enjoying (some of you may know what I'm talking about...) and then I saw several comment threads going like "these characters are totally sibling-coded" and leading into "I can't believe people ship this" territory. No, the characters were not even related and no, nobody had even talked about shipping them. That tells me everything about attitudes that I need to know. And after having my old fandom (hi there, I hate you still, hope you enjoy not getting the sequel fics you begged me to write :)) ruin my enjoyment for the ship that I came into the fandom for in the first place, I'm not doing this again.

Yes, I do realize that a toxic judgemental subset of fans don't speak for everyone and that there most likely are cool people in those fandoms too that I would be friends with, but for my own mental health that's a boundary I have to draw for the time being. It may be that my fuse is just extremely short at the moment and that I dip in my toes at a later date; after all, there was a time where I was technically writing for both Silm and my old fandom, so it's very much possible.

But for now, this is why I'm writing Silm only and have no concrete plans to write for other fandoms.

#cílil answers #also this will stay a tolkien blog mainly #even if i write anything else at some point #i don't think i'll ever get over the evil hot angels

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youphoriaot7 · 1 year ago

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helloooo!! i am sen, nice to meet you all :D i've never actually used tumblr for fandom before, but i'm dipping my toes in here on qsmpblr and i've been having a BLAST (y'all may have already seen me in the tags lmao). figured i'd set up a pinned post so that you guys know a bit more!

sen – they/them – over 18 i write fic on ao3 here, and cosplay over on tiktok here! if you want more links, you can check out my carrd here! i'm a cellbit main, with frequent backup from tazercraft and fit! i jump povs a lot though, and i care a lot about lore events, so i'm always down to watch just about anyone. (i've watched a lot of etoiles, tubbo, antoine, roier, jaiden, foolish, bbh, and baghera clips, for example!)

making a tags masterlist below this (because things got out of hand on here VERY quickly lmaoooo) i'll add tags as things happen!

i'll make a fic/studies masterlist soon, as well!

GENERAL TAGS

[just wanted to put a quick notice here! i know i'm doing these little recaps, but i don't generally catch everyone and every stream. and i don't pretend to! which is why if there's ever something i missed/explained incorrectly (or if you just want to go even further in depth about whatever pov you watched) please feel free to explain more in the rbs and/or tags!!! i always love reading the stuff because at the end of the day i'm invested in everyone's lore, but there's only so much i can catch. :') i'll always reblog it with the same #qsmp recap tag as usual!! <;3]

CHARACTER TAGS

DUO TAGS

PLOT TAGS

disappearances (TW: KIDNAPPING – kidnappings) the federation are evil (federation-related) 00100001 (code related) isla quesadilla (history of the island)

pl;fuga (fuga impossivel—tazercraft, cellbit, felps) pl;childhood (TW: KIDNAPPING / CHILD ABUSE – baghera's past) pl;anarchy (fit's past) pl;presidency (forever's term) pl;paradise (fit's lore) pl;missing (missing federation employee) pl;bluebird (jaiden's past) pl;existence (TW: POSSESSION[?] – romero richas) pl;perfection (TW: DRUG USAGE – federation happy pills) pl;worse (whatever this black concrete/evilrucho thing is)

ev;chainsaw (yeah i have so much angst about this it needs its own tag shush) ev;corruption (TW: MANIPULATION – cellbit's corruption arc) ev;fedescape (cellbit & felps) ev;manipulation (cellbit's original black box missions) ev;jaidens (the dungeon, first and second times) ev;dinner (the election dinner) ev;jailbreak (TW: JAIL – tazercraft) ev;resgate (TW: KIDNAPPING – pac's disappearance/rescue) ev;arrival (arrival of nine new members) ev;memory (TW: MISSING EGGS – cellbit's forgotten egg investigation) ev;arena (etoiles arena fight) ev;watchtower (TW: KIDNAPPING – mike's disappearance/rescue/whatever the hell is wrong with him now) ev;hatch (TW: MISSING EGGS – whatever tf is happening to the eggs/couch codes—events may not be related though kgjfs)

#pinned post

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rhythmantics · 2 years ago

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So first of all, I did not know you had a tumblr??? Second It Will Not Obey You SLAPS. And third my question: How in god's name did you do so much research for your fic??? What is your secret. How do you go about organizing or even knowing where to start for that matter. I struggle with research cause I never know where to start or stop and often I'm really uncertain if the info I'm gathering is even needed or if it's extraneous. I am both stupid and a perfectionist HELP ME

Hi Anon, thank you so much! I always appreciate viewer support and I hope you're enjoying all the art on this blog that isn't in the fic. In any case, I don't know if this method will work for you, or if it's how other authors do research, but here's my process. It's pretty long, so I'll put it under a cut for you:

First, I start with a story. When I say story, I don't really mean a beginning-middle-end, this happens and then that happens; it's a little more vague than that. For me, a story is more like a feeling, some truth or impulse, and all the writing or plot structure or everything else is built around it. I don't generally bother with things like plot structures (which I think should be descriptive and not prescriptive anyway), and I do make outlines, but you'd be surprised by how barren they are. Here's the original from 2016, with some spoilers blacked out:

And as you can see, I threw about half of it away during the writing process, haha. A surprising amount remains, though!

Something that comes about from approaching the story as a single entity is that oftentimes, things just fall into place. A big fight taking place in the congo where most of the cryptids from the Kur flash-forwards get called up, or the gang getting shot down over the Amazon like in the first two episodes of the show - little coincidences like this happen all the time. I think it's because, while writing, my brain starts making connections that I'm not consciously aware of - I often go by what "feels correct," and I've rewritten whole chapters multiple times before to chase that feeling of "correct."

How that ties into research is twofold: first, I'm a naturally curious person, and I'm constantly reading about stuff like mythology or ancient history or science etc. on my own. I like to have an approximate knowledge of many things - that way, there's more for my brain to make connections to. For example, I already knew about the chinese five-element system (wuxing), and remembered mystic hotspots from the show, and Excalibur, and video games, so when I decided on a plot device to keep Zak and Francis together during the main story, it was fairly easy to land on the idea of a quest to power up a special weapon only Francis can wield by hitting up mystical hotspots, each one themed after one of the wuxing.

The second part of the process is this: I have the general vibe or concept of the story in my head, and now I've settled on something concrete plot-wise - the magic weapon wuxing powerup quest. That makes it really easy to start researching specific details. I know I need a magic weapon, and I know this magic weapon has to be tied to Sumerian mythology, so I start digging around in Sumerian mythology for magic weapons, and find Sharur, the talking mace wielded by the Sumerian god Ninurta. Then I do some more research into the wuxing and see that each element is attached to a color, so those are the colors Sharur changes into. Now, a big part of the original show was its globetrotting nature, so obviously, I need to make each of these hotspots a different part of the globe. (And incidentally, "mythic hotspot" doesn't really roll off the tongue, so I rooted around myths for power spots etc. and found the Quechuan word "huaca," which has a meaning very similar to what I'm trying to make each huaca out to be).

So I scatter the huacas out so they're all roughly equidistant to each other, and none are too similar in geography or concept, and we go back to existing connections: I want to have one in China, because 1) I'm Chinese, 2) there's plot reasons (Sharur uses the wuxing because it was enchanted by a Chinese guy), 3) China has a long history comparable to India, the latter of which already featured extensively in the show. So I root around for the "secret science" parts of Chinese history and stumble across this semi-mythical Xia dynasty with its emperor who may or may not exist. That feels very Secret Saturdays to me, so Yu the Great and his tomb are now the second huaca. Now, we know so little about Yu the Great that there's not too much to draw from for how his tomb looks, but I already know about the tomb of Qin Shi Huang - his tomb's excavation was put on pause because ancient records spoke of him having a scale mercury replica of China complete with flowing mercury rivers, and while these claims were initially considered massive exaggerations if not outright lies, they DID find a TON of mercury in the tomb, making them go "unless..."

Mercury obviously fits right in with this huaca being "metal"-themed, so it's a perfect reference. The idea of a scale replica of China was blown up into the idea of a magically-powered VR simulation of ancient China. Now I need a cryptid for this arc, and hey, howdy, turns out Yu the Great has a serpent-slaying myth, Xiangliu! And what's this? Xiangliu's blood was so virulently poisonous that after it was slain, when the floodwaters came, the land became barren! There is such a strong pro-environement and pro-taking care of animals even when they seem monstrous vibe in TSS that if this story is seen through the lens of TSS, it looks a lot like a cautionary tale for why you don't just murder rampaging animals - they're natural parts of their natural environments, and there are repercussions for messing too much with the food chain.

And hey, doesn't that sound like a lesson Francis should learn? The last huaca, we got as far as Francis going from "I don't want to be here" to "I guess I'm stuck here." This huaca, we need to highlight how different he and Zak are, and how shortsighted - and human - Francis's ideals are, where he repeats Yu the Great's mistake, and humanity's mistakes as a whole.

Again, a lot of these connections aren't necessarily being made consciously. In the moment, they just sort of "feel right," which I know is unhelpful, but I can't really explain it any other way.

For an arc that had more secondary research than already knowing things ahead of time, the arc in the Congo took the longest to write (there was a two-year hiatus between it and the previous arc), in large part because I had so little to go off of. Myths from the Congo area are fairly sparse on the ground (for many reasons), and the ones I did find didn't really feel very TSS or IWNOY. I knew that this was the arc where everything went to shit - that we'd been building to that for a while - but I didn't have in my notes exactly how things went to shit, or even what the huaca was going to be. I knew it would be wood-themed, but this being the Congo Rainforest, pretty much anything I did would count. I knew I wanted to do something with the origin of humanity and/or the lemurians, because Africa was where humans first evolved.

So, actually, I wound up doing research into pretty much everything - all the cryptids from the area, all the myths from the area I could find. Previously, in my research on lemurians when working out what their Deal would be, I found out that a lot of writings on lemurians came from occultists in the 1900s, who also had many (racist and misogynistic) writings about where THEY think the first humans come from, about mystical ancient societies that were hyper advanced, etc. etc., which fit with the way that the lemurians seemed to have a veritable magical paradise in Shangri-La before the nagas massacred them. I could at least use the names from these hippies, because I couldn't find comparable mythology from the actual area, but I stripped out the... less savory parts.

I wanted to use the eloko/biloko when I found them, because their myths give them magic bells that compel people who hear it to do what they want - much like how the lemurian's charisma was set up (this being one of those interesting little coincidences that happen when the story "feels right.") Doubly so when I found out that eloko/biloko sleep in trees, which - wood-themed huaca. But I still wasn't really... piecing anything together.

So I switched tracks and started looking into Gilgamesh, the man, the myth, the legend, at the center of this all. Read the Epic of Gilgamesh (or, re-read, rather), and found the myth regarding Utnapishtim and Gilgamesh's quest for eternal life. An old man gifted by immortality from the gods? Given that I already had in my notes that the lemurians struck a deal with the devil with Kur and became what they are, and the eloko/biloko were a failure as a result of the lemurians going "wait, not like this" halfway through, Utnapishtim sounded like he could fit in as a lemurian from this original hullabaloo. And in the original Gilgamesh myth, the plant Utnapishtim points Gilgamesh to, which would grant him all his youth and vitality back, gets stolen from him by a serpent. Hey, nagas!

Okay, so now I had the origin of the lemurians, Utnapishtim's character being involved, even a hook for the nagas, and thus Argost, but it still wasn't coming together. SO...

... I gave up and started looking at biblical stuff. I'm a sellout hack. BUT, at least you can argue that biblical stuff is always potentially relevant, because the Saturday line has biblical names (Zakariya/Zechariah, Solomon, Elijah, Samuel) and Zak is set up with a minor Jesus reference (sacrifices himself for the good of mankind, is dead for 3 (minutes) and is resurrected). Specifically, I started looking into the "secret science" part of biblical stuff - apocrypha, or non-canonical texts. There's tons of interesting stuff in there, but it turned out to be mostly useless, aside from the chapter titles, but it did help to form this idea of making deals and regretting them - and I'm realizing now as I'm writing this that this was another one of those unconscious connections - ch12 is literally named after the part in Goethe's Faust where Faust makes his deal with Mephistopheles ("Die Wette biet ich" - "the bet I offer").

So now that I'd been freed to do biblical stuff (which, hey, also fits in with the wood theme, because Garden of Eden, get it?), I had access to the imagery of the snake tempting eve with fruit. And suddenly, everything started to come together. Themes of trying to defy what you are by nature, the nagas as betrayers, Kur and its entourage as demons, getting what you wished for but at what cost, a fall into darkness as the major players fail to defy their natures (and the consequences that result) - once I started, I couldn't stop.

So it's a bit hard to answer your question because it's all so intuitive, but I guess if I really had to say, the real answer to where to start and where to end is to just pick a topic you like so much that you wouldn't mind doing tons of research on it, even if most of it winds up being unusable. I LOVE ancient history and mythology, so even if nothing I read is useful, I don't mind reading. And not minding the reading means I have so much already floating around in my head for when I need to write something new. If you forced me to write, say, a crime drama or sci-fi story - two fields I have much less interest and much less knowledge on - I would also be pretty lost! At that point, I'd have two options - either I write something by the numbers just to get it done, or I do enough reading on the topic that I find something about it to love and care about, and then write based on that.

I think more is always better. Anything you don't immediately use becomes a potential connection for something else down the line. I'd say a good 30% of weird little factoids featured in IWNOY are things I knew before I did research for it, and now, for other projects I'm doing, the stuff I learned for IWNOY sometimes becomes relevant.

And I would always try not to worry too much about overstuffing or making your first draft bad. The secret is, most of the actually good writing happens in the editing. Your first draft exists for the purpose of existing. It's fine if it's riddled with holes, if the dialogue sucks, if there's way too much exposition and "essay-style writing" (what I like to call it when you randomly infodump all the research you've done - I've done this sooooo many times), or if it's so bad you have to delete the whole thing and start over (this is a regular part of my writing process!). The point of draft 1 is to throw the damn spaghetti against the damn wall. Edits and revisions are where you tastefully arrange it so that it's good and an art piece, haha.

#it will not obey you #answers

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