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@antiresolution

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immortality as theft (you have to steal life from something else) immortality as parasitism (there is something else inside You that is keeping you alive and you become less of yourself more and more the longer it stays in you) immortality as violence (everything is trying to kill you because everything is supposed to die and the universe will always try to find a way to right the wrong that is You) you understand
@uninvitedawn
I. In numb stillness, they recognize each other without the need for names.Â
The leather back of a gold rimmed watch slides loose from his wrist into a waiting palm. His near invisible tan line would disappear as the murmur of fall turns into the sighs of Seoulâs working class dragging the dead weight of another winter.Â
Lingering bodies on the street this late chase warmth in pocha full of ranting drunks inhaling the smoke of chili oil and rice cakes. Any other day, he might have entertained the same to drown out the sweet whisper of boredom carrying an itch of impulse. Gambling with half-buzzed retired minds willing to hemorrhage money wouldn't quiet his thoughts.
Instead, he stares down at tiny metal hands journeying around a pearl clock face.Â
This AU is heavily inspired by many different little things (Armored Core and Nier Automata etc.) for @antiresolution
Mars. 25 years post the Great Destruction on Earth. 4 years since the second war began.
You have suffered too much damage. Breaking 40 km in altitude. Hull integrity at -23 and dropping fast, fuel cells at 10% and 12%, oxygen supply approaching dangerously low levels. Pilot, you must disengage. Pilot, you must disengage. Hellhound must turn back.
@minseologs Minseo had always run along with Wenhan's thoughts. No matter how strange or mundane, including ones that sound terrifying. She was unsure how to reply because she thought he knew the answer. There is no way around it; the idea of peace counts as an ultimate luxury for people like them. "Well," She shrugs, words hanging as if she wanted to say a whole monologue. "You're not crazy." Her eyes averted over his, and a half-hearted smile was shown on her lips.
The way she escapes his eyes reminds him of a kid collapsing to the ground without screaming out for anyone. Weirdly satisfied with picking at dried over scabs alone. As if wounded knees were a victory in their own way. Someone who has learned silence gives a faster answer.Â
He, who has never found comfort in silence. His jaw flexes. Words threaten to spill on his tongue. A mouth so comfortable with braiding sentences together that could give him answers to everything he wants, and nothing. He speaks as if searching for something undiscovered. She speaks as if there is nothing more for them outside the violence permeating beneath their skin.Â
Is there comfort in thatâ
Her, comfortable with holding pain.
Him, too willing to give it to someone holding out their hands.
And this time, heâs quiet. The kid always willing to wait until his performance takes center stage before collapsing. Every movement practiced. Suddenly, alone and without a proper line.Â
Every lie of his is perfect. Loving, tender, sweet
Every truth, ultimately, clumsy. Spitting, biting, scathing.
He tightens his grip around a cold can of barley tea. The heat of his palm turns to a numb ache. He grabs for her hand, pressing their open palms together to one of her cheeks.Â
He lets the ice kiss of metal press against the other cheek. Forcing them both eye to eye so she has nowhere else to wander.
âAre you here now?â
If she was going to sink into her own sea, heâd chase her with the cold shock of his own.
Did there need to be comfort in that?

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SQUID GAME | 2x01 | Bread and Lottery
tell me everything will be okay.
Wenhan answers first with a growing plume of cigarette smoke. This is not unlike the first meetings between them. Sudden and intense and ambiguous with strangness. Except the face in front of him had undergone a metamorphosis and lost some of its boyish edge. It's words that reach for him instead of hands this time. And it's his eyes that search Zan's a little too long.
Perhaps the signature of time could be measured by the loss of something and the return of certain habits.Â
âIt probably won't be if you're looking at everyone with that face.â Wenhanâs hand rests on the back of the zan's neck. A touch that could easily turn gentle, demanding, or violent. To anyone else, it probably looks like he's about to force a little brother into a headlock. If zan wanted to be comforted, he would've gone elsewhere. Or maybe, he likes being a masochist with certain people more than hearing a shallow lie. âWhoâd you kill this time.â
do you ever wish you knew the person i am now?
Knowing someone across a lifetime comes with the weight of perverse clarity.
He can't unsee the proper chaebol kid with a summer dust of freckles. I know the hurt child.
Can't unknow the woman behind the scar that still itches beneath his clothes. I know what you're capable of.
Can't forget the weight of Jinwooâs head in the palm of his hand after holding him for the first time. I know who you want to be.
"Tell me. What version of you do you think I'm actually willing to forget?"
There was his habit of punctuating questions as if they were impenetrable. His eyes meet hers as if he's challenged her this way a thousand times already. Hoping, or knowing every version of her would push back.
trigger warning: This au is based off the godzilla universe (specifically minus one). I focus on the aftermath of graphic disaster scenarios, so I suggest to skip if you're not in the mood!
He stumbles in the second act.Â
Prisms of light scatter in Wenhanâs peripherals as he stares down at the stage floor. Red and gold pom poms and strings of glass beads hit against rouged cheeks, gouging out small trails the way careless brushes of fingertips do. The sweat curtaining his skin becomes seamless pearls blending into white face paint.Â
I miss you so much. You're a godfather now, by the way.
I love the jump scare but if you switch your burner phone, you have to tell me first.

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ways your muse says i love you.
character headcanons.
The happy I love youâs.
The sad I love youâs.
The âI feel vulnerableâ, I love you.
The âdonât leave meâ, I love yo u.
The âIâm always the first to apologiseâ, I love you.
And the inner monologue where heâs waiting for you to apologise but itâs okay, I love you.
The âI really fucked upâ, I love you.
I love youâs in:
âI made you your favorite breakfast.â âHereâs your lunch box for work.â âIâm taking you out to your favorite dinner place.â
Where he writes a handwritten letter, I love you.
The âI want every inch of your skinâ, I love you.
[ sms ] I know where you live. Deleting your socials doesn't help your case, fucker.
[ sms; čč ] Come find me, then.
>> dream eating gods Dreams become concrete in his hands. All his thoughts are wet grains of sand between fingers until the oceans steals the castles he builds. Water will flood his empty rooms and truth will be the salt burning his throat, because the truth is all these rooms were always meant for someone else. And nature is always wild and alive inside this boy. This boy who fights wars for his own good reasons. Violence has never been the only way to rebel.
@uninvitedawn
the pact of the damned
ft. @antiresolution
~
Minseo had always been a busy woman.
Since she was a child, she preferred a nice and scheduled day. Down right to the point of her evening plans. Nowadays her image was being surrounded by either secretaries chasing her for answers about the companyâs needs or guards surrounding her for protection, or by business people doing business things, as she likes to put it.
So when things donât go to plan, she is aware in an instant.
WRITING EXERCISE: RELATIONSHIP LYRIC PROMPTS Â
Wenhan @antiresolution : ěěŠëě´ (To you/Whirlwind): Seventeen // ě ë§ ęł ë§ěě ëëŹźě´ ëë 깸, ë´ę° ě´ëťę˛ ę°ě ě ěěęšě // tears might flow because I'm so thankful, how can I ever repay this?
As warmer weather became frequent, Minseo took the opportunity to have Wenhan outside for fresh air during the evening hours. It was after dinner that they walked together, holding hands as his request, just the two of them. Though they lived in a private and gated community, Minseo couldnât risk another harm coming towards him, she didnât say that a guard or two pretending to be civilians roamed around nearby. Able to see that he was getting better from the intentional bullet wound she caused, their walks became longer around the block.
âRemember when we did this? Walking me home and you go straight to that ugly hagwon,â she speaks, mischief lacing her words. Their hand swing gently by habit. âYou didnât even study well, did you?â
It was reminiscent of their university days, with Minseo tattling along a usually grumpy Wenhan. To this day, she held the same mannerisms only familiar to him. The same way she would tell him about her day, the same snickering she did when she thought it was funny. Her animated reactions didnât change either. The little skip she does when another thought runs by so to get his attention again.
âI canât believe weâre still talking to each other this long. Thank you for that. Just being here after a long dayâŚ. Itâs nice.â A soft smile creeps in her lips, feeling a little shy with rambling about her thoughts about them. âYouâre my best friend, but you already know how I feel about you, right?"

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âWeâre the reason choking is mainstream now.â
BEEF (2023) by Lee Sung Jin
@iaesus
Nostalgia is dangerous. Certain people could revive versions of you that you've convinced yourself were long dead and gone. Hanjae is one of few honest relationships growing inside shared ugly truths, so itâs easy to resuscitate old habits.
One thing Wenhan has always been is unapologetic, so this isnât breaking into Hanjaeâs place. Just like it wasnât an invasion when he crawled into Hanjaeâs bed in middle grade, highschool, undergrad. Always without warning, always after a fight within the family, though they both understood in that silent way between people that had known each other too long.Â
With this simple act of treating a foreign place like his own, today becomes like yesterday from ten years ago, though the delicate lines in Hanjaeâs forehead are new. They arenât kids anymore, but Wenhan wears a half-cocked smile just as easily as he wears a shirt and sweatpants swiped from a closet that doesnât belong to him. Heâd wear Hanjaeâs life on his shoulders again, just for a little bit.Â
âWhat if I told you Iâm homeless? Donât you like taking in strays?â
A half truth that could become reality if his fatherâs threats were serious.Â
Wenhanâs smile might be easy, but he grits his teeth after falling into Hanjaeâs bed. That simple movement triggers a fresh needling of pain from a healing bullet wound. Though he pulls the blankets up to his chin and grunts at the ceiling.
âYou coming to spoon or not? I can pillow talk better than the unsaved numbers on your phone.â