Do I have to?

Craving more Stray Kids? We’ve got you covered.

We asked the group a whole lot of questions—and gave them very little time to answer them. Shenanigans ensue. Check out our Rapid Fire Q&A above! ⏰

You pace your feet one in front of the other in a rushed step since you overslept that morning. The train station was as busy as ever so you have to mind your step and look ahead to be sure not to miss the train you have to catch. You can feel your heart pick up its pace, your lungs falling just a little short of breath, but you are managing. As long as you make the train, you are fine.

You can hear the train squeak as it hits the brakes to stop and let commuters get on board. You are still some ways away from the door.

This whole time you are concentrating on the door and you feel a foreign force envelop your abdomen. The force startles you as you can not feel the ground under your feet anymore. The invisible clutch squeezes your waist. You feel like a rag doll. Your voice is stuck in the depths of your throat as you flail your arms and legs in an attempt to free yourself. You feel yourself rise to the roof of the underground station. Your face grinds against the hard cold concrete with a crunching sensation as the skin peels off your cheek which is dragging against the hard surface. Your ears begin to pulse.

You feel your bag and your wooden sword slip off your shoulder and fall to the ground. You can hear other people screaming and scrambling out of the way of the invisible force in panic. 

You want to scream but you still cannot find your voice.

You feel your face bleed as your belly starts to ache due to pressure. Your eyes start to water as you try to hang on a seam on the roof. Your fingers dig into the concrete, your nails splinter from the pressure. You refuse to give up as the pain intensifies and your heart picks up in pace. The pain in your head blocks the oxygen from reaching your brain. The monstrous grip holding you hostage drags you firmer, but you refuse to let go in hopes it gives up.

Your voice finally comes out when your abdomen scrunches and tears. You glance toward your feet and you can barely register your innards spilling out as your body is torn apart.

You scream your throat hoarse until your hands lose strength in them and you convulsively let go, falling to the ground unsupported by the force which is now only holding your disconnected legs.

Slowly, the light in your eyes fades and you disappear into the abyss.

You gasp for air as soon as you open your eyes. Your back feels damp and cold and you scramble to get the hair out of your eyes, they stick to your forehead. 

It’s dark around you. As you look around, you notice a light white mist cowering the ground. It feels like standing on a trampoline, unstable and uncomfortable.

The space rocks lightly. You turn your head to see the narrow walls. They’re dyed red and slimy, chunks of flesh dripping down. It’s enclosing you from two sides - one wall has small rectangular windows leading to darkness, the other wall has doors. The view reminds you of a train with personal compartments.

You stand up and dust off yourself. You can see another car behind the sliding door connected to the one you are in. The other end also has a car. You still cannot tell which way the train is moving, but it is rocking slowly so you are sure it is moving.

You hear a sliding door open and a group of small children run past you giggling and rushing one another. They disappear in the other car.

You stare at the wake of the children, your skin pricks and cowers in goosebumps. Sweat slicks the entirety of your body, you wipe your palms on your legs. 

Behind you the sliding door opens again. As you turn to the sound, you freeze. Your breathing hastens. You struggle to draw in the breath. The being before you closes the door and steps in close to you. A sweat drop runs down the side of your face. You swallow heavily. The man before you wears a black uniform suit. You cannot see his face - it is covered with a hideous mask. Perhaps it is his face. You do not stop to ask. Hastily turning your body, you run after the children. 

The sliding door jams, but you manage to pull it open.

The next car is quiet. You look back to make sure the man does not follow. He is there, next to the door.

You scramble to hide inside the compartment. It’s cramped. You can barely fit with your arms pressed to your sides. Your heart is hammering inside your rib cage. You squeeze your hands tight into fists and take deep breaths. You want to close your eyes but you know you shouldn’t. 

You can hear light footsteps even through your breathing. They sound soft, yet heavy. You hold your breath in hopes the man will not find you. 

The steps fall silent right before your hiding spot. The breath hitch in your throat. The door flies open and there he stands. Eyes dark, face as if melted off. 

Your heart stutters, but you hold in the scream. 

The man stands there for a moment. There comes a jagged low voice “Hit or run,” it says. 

The man lifts his hands towards you and you scramble out of the compartment.You close your eyes and you push the man as hard as you can, hitting your fists where it will connect. 

The man stumbles and you run. The children pass you again, giggling, “hide, hide, the game continues.” 

You run to the next car and hide in another compartment. You can still hear the children opening and closing their own doors. 

Your hands are cold, clammy. You take a deep breath but it stutters. You try again. This time you manage to take a proper gulp in. You still feel your heart hammer, you can hear it in your ears. 

You jump when the door slides open revealing you to the man. Once again he utters in that dreary voice, “Hit or run”. 

You’re frozen. Your legs refuse to move. The man raises his hands and pushes you out of the compartment. He takes your place and closes the door.

Your eyes go wide. You stare at the closed door. You jump at the sound of the children running out. 

They pass you once more. You try to stop one of them. “What is this place?” you ask. 

“Hide or seek. Hit or run,” one of them sings out and runs off again. 

You feel a lump form inside your throat. Your lips quiver. You bite down on your lower lip and try to take a breath. Your body shakes as you take a step. You stumble in the dark. The only light source seems to be the white mist under your feet.

Moments later the man himself runs past you, as if joining the game you unknowingly entered. It is your turn to seek. 

You take a faltering step toward the compartment you saw the man hide. You have a mind of ignoring him and going for the kids. They are not as intimidating, but you hesitate. You linger by the closed door which hides the man in the hideous mask. 

You lift your arm. It trembles. You feel a chill run down your back. You breathe in. Push the air out. You want to close your eyes, but you make yourself look. You have to see it. Just be brave.

Your fingers tremble as you slide the door open. The man is standing there. Silent. Unmoving. This time you pull him out and take his place. He goes without much force as if willingly giving in to you.

You hear three pairs of small feet run past you as you hide. The game continues. 

After a moment you leave the cramped space to find another one equally cramped as the rest of them. The man does not chase. He waits for you to hide.

You know what to do now. You hide. And you wait. You are ready now. You place your legs wider. As wide as the cramped space allows. “Hit or run”, you remind yourself. You raise your hands, palms out, fingers stretched as if to slap at someone. You take a deep breath in, push it out. Repeat. You are ready. 

The steps in the corridor near the place you’re at. You are ready. The sound of feet dissipates as the man stops right in front of you. You can feel it. He’s there. 

A rivulet of sweat runs down your nose. You strain your eyes, stop your breath to listen for movement. Silence. The man isn’t moving. He’s just there. Waiting.

You hear a door slide open where you know a child was hiding. You hear a light voice, but can’t understand what it says. The child is talking as if to themselves. 

“What happened?” comes a clearer voice from another side. 

“I don’t understand,” comes a reply, louder. 

They run again, leaving the car this time. You feel your heart pick up again, but your hands are not shaking. You wipe the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. Take another breath. Grab the side of the door and slam it open.

The man is there. Standing. Staring. The mask looks like a face now. You can see the eye sockets, but no eyes. You can see a nose, wrinkled and tarred. No nostrils. You can see a line of the mouth, but there is no mouth. Just a black melted mask.

You both stare. Unmowing. Waiting. 

Just as you are about to raise your hand to slap the man, he walks away. 

You walk out to the corridor, following the black clad figure walking away. You blink once, twice. Shaking your head you look around. 

The door to the next car closes and you move. Slowly at first, then picking up speed. You run to the other car. The man opens a compartment door. A child hits him and runs off. A group of other children pass you, urging you to run, to hide. 

You stay still. Waiting. 

The man moves. Step by step he moves closer to you. You block his path. You breathe deeply, sweat dampening your back, your palms. You can feel your legs starting to shake, but you do not move. You stare at the man. At his face. The man stands, moving slightly to one side, then to the other. He tilts his head to one side, as if asking “What gives?” 

You breathe in. Lift your arms and step forward. You’re inches away from the man. You register the quiet murmur of the children behind you, hiding behind the car door. You take another step and raise your arms higher. You have to stand on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around the man’s neck. You breathe out the air you keep in. You press your whole body to the man, straining your muscles to tighten the embrace. And you wait. 

You feel pressure on your back, his arms wrapping around you and tightening, fingers clenching your clothes. You can hear his breath hitch upon coming out. Your shoulder dampens as you hear a sob. 

You release the man and step back, your arms lingering on his shoulders. He looks at you with a tired face, blue sunken eyes. His nose is crooked and his mouth is wide, the face full of wrinkles. No mask. 

The man cries quietly, large tears running down his pale face. He tries to smile. You smile back. Your heart is calm, and your hands stopped shaking long ago.

“What is this place?” you repeat your unanswered question.

“The soul train,” the man says. “We’re inside the demon who devoured us.”

Your eyes widen. Demon was the last thing you were expecting. You look around. The children are there, beside you. You count seven of them. 

“Are we dead?” you ask. 

The man nods and turns to the front of the train. The train shakes and rocks wildly. You stumble and fall into a wall. The wall is moist, freezing cold. Your hand leaves a print. 

The rocking continues for a while. The children are screaming and huddled into a bunch. The man is bracing himself in between the walls.

When the shaking stops you stay put on the ground. You check on the kids. They’re safe, just scared. The man looks to the front of the train once more. You can see a shadow fall on his eyes. He knows something.

“What is happening?” you ask.

“Outside,” the man says, “The demon is fighting someone.” 

You look in the direction the man was looking and stand up. You feel cold coming in from the front. You can feel a pull. You want to go there, but you’re unwilling. You don’t know what awaits there. 

“How did you get here?” you ask the man. 

“The demon devoured me and my train,” he answers in a low voice. 

You look at the kids. They are discussing the matter in hushed conversation. 

You look at the machinist, once more glance at the children. You look to the front of the train and huff out a puff of air. 

You stretch your neck to both sides, roll your shoulders and stretch your legs. Your fingers crack under the pressure of the fists you make as you step toward the door to the next car. The machinist calls after you, but you march on. 

You slide the door open and get in the other car. You do not stop. The machinist runs after you, the kids follow. You pass all the cars one by one, while the man in a uniform tries to stop you. 

You know what you need to do.

The train shakes again. You stumble, but don’t fall. 

“You will die,” the machinist insists.

“I’m already dead,” you say and stand firmly.

“Your soul will stop existing,” a child pippes in.

“I’d rather try than do nothing and disappear anyways,” you smile and open the last door to the car next to the front. 

You feel a chill envelop you whole. The blackness surrounding the locomotive makes you shiver. It oozes evil and cruelty. You feel a lump form in your throat, your breath hitches. The machinist looks at you with fear and pity, but doesnt try to stop you anymore. He can see the determination in your eyes. 

You wipe the tears which manage to run off without permission. You take a couple of deep breaths and brace yourself. 

You wrench the closed metal door open and plunge yourself into the darkness. You feel cold. Cold sweat sticking your clothes to your body. The entirety of your body convulses out of fear and need to escape. But you do not move.

You open your eyes and clench your fist tighter. Your nails dig into your palms releasing your body from the bind of fear. You try to see, to look around. From a white patch in the dark mist you see a man dressed as a monk. He is outside, fighting the demon who devoured you and the others. The man has a long, wide sword, but he is losing. The demon is too big, too strong.

You concentrate and stamp your foot. The car flinches. You see the man freeze in a daze. “It worked,” you think. You stamp again, and the train lurches.

The black mist surrounding you thickens, trying to suffocate you.

“Try now!” you urge the man outside in hopes he could hear you. 

You stamp your legs and you slap your hands around cutting the mist. You feel the train rock and lurch. The mist is getting thicker. You are almost out of air. 

The blinding light comes out of nowhere. You hear a deafening scream making your ears bleed. The dark mist dissipates as a wide blade slices through it, missing you by a hair.

You can move. You look back to see the kids and the machinist. They all are enveloped in a soft light, making them transparent. They disappear with wide smiles and large tears on their faces. 

You look at the monk. He’s tired, bloody and perturbed. He looks straight at you and utters, “Thank you”. 

You are still at the train station. But the crowd is nowhere to be seen. After the demon took you, people could see it. You can see your distorted body splattered all over the waiting area. You gag, but there is nothing to come out.

You glance at the monk and ask, “You need company? I think I’m quite good at this.”

You smile when he nods. You walk out to the daylight behind him. 

Irish is the native language of Irish people. It’s an ancient language that is on the brink of extinction as a direct result of colonialism and cultural and physical genocide.

Names like Saoirse (freedom), Áine (radiant), Aoife (beautiful) etc are traditional Irish names. They’re spelt “funny” because Irish is a different language from English, and has some sounds that aren’t found in the English language.

There are villages in Wales that speak only Welsh as well, I grew up in one that was mixed language but pretty much everyone bar a few immigrant parents spoke Welsh.

Here a some example names

Efnision, Branwen, Iown, Rhys, Nerys, Ceridwen, Sian, Taliesin

A few example names are from the Mabinogion which is the Welsh book of fables and includes some of the first stories about King Arthur.

This language is dying, but it's fighting to stay alive, and a lot of White Americans don't understand the history and significance of Welsh names.

You have this 16-year-old kid, just barely having gotten inducted into the world of the supernatural, he’s staring at two things here:

1. A hunter, a dangerous person who could and WOULD hurt Stiles if he was so inclined, who has a history of hurting innocent people for virtually no reason

But also

2. Another human being, Chris has no reason to kill Stiles because Stiles is human, and if Stiles were to back down and submit to what Chris was asking- or even just, you know, not mouth off- there’s a pretty fair chance Chris would just leave him alone, or atleast not kill him

And Stiles has not ONLY made his loyalties clear- he sides with the wolves, he’s always sided with the wolves, and he generally has an even harder time working with hunters than some of the other non-born-wolf people on this show do- but he’s also gone above and beyond

This isn’t just Stiles being his usual smart-mouthed self, he’s taking Derek’s side, no matter what his relationship with Derek is right now, no matter what this other HUMAN is telling him, he’s taking Derek’s side, instead of using one of the many things that hunters have done to SCOTT as an example, he takes the ultimate crime they committed against DEREK as an example and he takes it to heart, he’s not just getting in a jab at Chris here, he’s making it very clear that his loyalties lie not only with Scott, but with Derek and wolves in general

This is Stiles saying “Scott is not a special case, this is not me loving my best freind and trying to look past his species, this is me being a full-on supporter of werewolves and telling you that none of your intimidation tactics are going to change my mind” and that’s amazing

This is one of my favorite things and one of the scenes that really pushes, in my opinion, the Stiles Is Part Of The Hale Pack semi-canon, because Stiles stood with Derek and stood with WOLVES in a way that even Scott wavers on at times (“Maybe they deserved it” *shudder*)

This is the perfect example of why I will ALWAYS headcanon Stiles as being an intensely active wolf-protector, as someone who will always be more inclined to sympathize with wolves than hunters, as someone who would have lived and breathed and died for the Hale pack totally regardless of his individual relationships with any of them

And this is one of the best things about Sterek that kind of only gets talked about in fic rather than meta: That Stiles sees Derek as a person when no one else wants to

Stiles doesn’t get dragged into the werewolf stuff by force like Scott does, he jumps in willingly and makes peace VERY early on with accepting and SUPPORTING werewolves as people instead of trying to blame them, other them, or worst of all, bully, harm, or hunt them (wow the allegories are strong with this one)