#classic came back wrong (or different at least) trope

[allright]

came back wrong trope but the character knows that they came back wrong. they’re so acutely aware of how different they are now from how they were before that it drives them fucking insane. they’re stuck trying to return to somebody that’s long dead. they can never be the person they once were. everybody around them knows it. deep down, they know it too, but they’re trapped in a cycle of their own making. of trying to revive someone that no longer exists.

#i am just obsessed w the idea of someone being revived that so badly wants to be the person they used to be but that person is dead. #they're dead and gone and now all that is left is the person they are now who is fucked up from being revived !!!! #it drives them to madness <3 #also whenever i think of the came back wrong trope i think of jason todd #classic came back wrong (or different at least) trope #all.right

[soyouareandrewdobson]

TIMBER! The artistic Growth thing...

I apologize for the recent silence almost immediately after I came back. Unfortunately the last weeks were affected by personal and work stuff that I think no one cares about here, so I was unable to write much.

That said, plans are in the making and I thought today I would at the very least bring out one comic that to me is not necessarily wrong in the message Dobson conveys, but does after all not apply much to him

The thing about this comic is, that Dobson is not necessarily entirely wrong. There are people who believe that artistic growth is more or less developing in a progressive line, kinda artificially. Which based on my own experience, is not really the case. At least I have seen artists, writers and such, who, if allowed to grow in a more “organic” manner, will eventually manage to create stuff and tell stories with a more unique flavor than they did before. The “key” however to do so is to also think at least partly outside the box and being “genuine” with what you want to create. Case in point for me: Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels.

While I did enjoy a lot of Pratchett’s early novels in the Discworld cycle, I will admit that it wasn’t really until “Mort” and “MacBest” that I think Pratchett started to move away from simply “spoofing” the common tropes in fantasy fiction while telling a story and that it was around that time, he really started to flesh the Discworld out in the manner that many people came to love, while also giving flavor to it with his unique sense of humor. And Moving Pictures in that regard was the true definitive turning point, as from there on we “left” the classical fantasy tropes in favor of a fantasy world more akin to a 19th century fantasy world, entering the industrial revolution and everything that it included. But Pratchett, in order to reach that point in his career as a writer, and in regard of his Discworld mythology, had to start somewhere with novels the like of “The Light Fantastic” and “Colours of Magic” and had to "progressively" improve at least to some degree before reaching the point he could organically breach out.

Which brings me to the following: Dobson claiming that there is no “linear progression” at times is kinda wrong. Particularly when you are familiar with long running manga series such as One Piece or certain webcomics. From a technical aspect, there is “progress” so to speak. Look at One Piece and how chapters are drawn e.g. back during the East Blue or Alabasta Cycle and compare the linework e.g. with how things escalate in the Wano arc. Oda obviously became more comfortable fleshing out panels even more than before.

Drum vs Wano...

Another example: Compare THIS early strip of a certain internet webcomic…

With how it looks nowadays

Yeah, I know sinfest is utter garbage made by a demagogue WAY WORSE than Dobson (honestly, fuck Ishida with a broken bottle), but technically speaking, he “evolved”.

Next, let me just say that I find the assumption of Dobson that “most” people think artistic growth is “only” an artificial linear process, kinda insulting. Mostly because I think that most of us are aware that it is rather a mixture of “organic” growth and linear progress, rather than one extreme or the other. But obviously, Dobson must claim this is the “truth” about most people, cause otherwise, his take isn’t “unique” anymore and he isn’t special. Special for making a whimsical, romanticized and “creative” statement about artistic growth being more like a tree. Free to grow and beautiful to look at. Something we must nurture and care for.

Yeah, about that, in regard of the last line that reads, and I quote: Everyone is different and everyone grows at different speed. Through loving care and constant nurturing, you’ll always improve.

I think we all know Dobson well enough, that what he really is saying is the following:

I am different than others and I grow at my own pace. Please, I will improve if you give me likes and pay for my stuff instead of giving me mean criticism I can not stand. Now let me just phrase it in a manner that sounds like I say something compassionate that can apply to every person, hiding my own insecurities and selfish wishes.

In that regard, let me show you the beauty of Dobson’s artistic growth as of present day.

Okay, snark put aside at least partly, I do agree that yes, people are different and as artists can grow at different speed. Often times other factors, such as personal life experiences, exposure to stuff outside their certain comfort zones or even just having the right tools to work with, can affect a lot the artistic growth of a person.

I even agree, that “loving care and nurturing” (or in other words, positive feedback and support, at times, even financially) can help. But where I draw the line is at “constant nurturing”, because that feels like to Dobson, the only way he or other artists can ever improve is only through praise and nothing more. No. No Dobson, you also need to at least tolerate at times “criticism” and negative feedback. And I don’t mean stuff like “kill yourself, faggot”, I mean when someone tells an artist for example that certain technical aspects of his work, such as linework, positions, storytelling etc. need genuinely to be worked on. Because guess what? Getting your mistakes pointed out, doesn’t necessarily need to be something negative. It can also be something positive, if it genuinely helps you learn from those mistakes and improve your work.

Not that Dobson ever learnt how to deal with “criticism” in a positive manner anyway, as evident by journal posts as followed...

And this piece of “artwork”

Comic with stabbed critics

Not to forget, the person who gives us this “advice” is the same person who did not really live by any of it himself. I mean, Dobson claims that artistic growth is doing best when allowed to grow organically, slowly and steady and that as time goes on, it will also branch out and diverge.

I will say this: Yes, there are content creators who tend to branch out at times also from their “familiar” tone and style, just for the sake of creating art. Gendy Tartakovsky comes to mind, having started off in very cartoonish stuff like Dexter’s Lab and Powerpuff Girls, only to then also give us Samurai Jack, Primal and Unicorn-Warriors Eternal. Not having really betrayed his roots (as evident e.g. also by his involvement with the Hotel Transylvania franchise), but branching out to different degree.

When did Andrew Dobson ever “branch out” or diverge? His original stories such as Formera and Alex the Pirate, which were derivative of humor and pacing issues related to comedic mangas of the late 80s and early 90s as well as newspaper comic strips, were utter failures he abandoned around the late 2000s/early 2010s.

Most of the stuff he ever created was random fanart, and if anything he actually got worse over time. Having perhaps once upon a time created some decent fanart…

And then later providing people more with stuff like that, where he doesn’t even get the original design of the characters right

Even a low effort comic such as SYAC had become lazier and lazier over the years. Mostly because instead of just telling a joke, you had most of the time just Dobbear over the course of four panels stand in a green void and blubber on how he thinks certain artists or fans sucked because of opinions they had.

The most he ever bothered to “branch out” was ironically when he worked for brentalfloss, as the guy forced Dobson essentially to draw more detailed backgrounds at times than he ever did for anything else.

And the deal with Brentalfloss ended by 2012 or even earlier.

The only other noteworthy creations he made in his last years online would be the Adventure Zone comic that no one asked for (essentially turning some podcast into a comic that had severe pacing issues. Something Adventure Zone fans pointed out) and Miraculous Ladybug comics he made, because that shitstain on the magical girl genre became his new favorite.

And the later were just an extension of the dumb, unfunny and meanspirited newspaper level humor he was already famous for when it came to Alex ze Pirate and early SYAC.

Not to forget, he couldn’t even draw the characters remotely close to the show’s style, something he even pointed out himself.

JESUS! She looks like a farting squirrel with mental disorders.

Dobson himself may have hated his younger self and what he drew…

But you just have to look e.g. at his “Inktober” contributions in later years to see, how much within the shortest amount of time he could regress artistically instead of grow.

To clarify: The Dr. Who pic was in his first year of doing inktober. The not on model Gary was on his second, and the Dipper one on his last year of participating in it. And he actively decided out of spite to no longer work with ink the second year forward, because the first time he did it, he felt insulted by people actually paying him positive attention again in years among other things.

Truth be told, Dobson had all the time in the world within the 15+ years he was an online presence. And even with people like me making fun of him and criticizing his work, he still could have done something to improve artistically for the better and grow into a beautiful tree.

Instead he shriveled up to some stinking flora with a lot of pricks and was stomped out by natural forces, leaving me and others behind to further salt the earth on which he grew.

Turning from this...

to this!

With his very last project known as Cabin Rest ending up pretty much like that:

#so you are a cartoonist #adobsonartwork #andrew dobson #artistic growth #comic #webcomic #hypocrisyofandrewdobson

[whatudottu]

The Classic Ben 10 series had a lot more mutants and otherwise unexplained creatures and happenings that do not directly relate to aliens, and it’s with that absence thanks to UAF retconning a lot of mutant and magic stuff (as well as not even acknowledging the blatantly weird that just seemed to be so accepted) that I generally prefer OS over most other iterations of Ben 10. It also might be why I actually enjoy what I watched of the reboot, because there’s some stuff in there that is rather unexplained and bizarre.

But I come with this post with an idea, one based in the original series and also inspired by what Kai does in Omniverse much later in the show’s continuity. What if the Ghostfreak arc of Ben 10 was not based entirely on alien monsters?

This thought mainly came from the idea that it’s generally bizarre to have not only an alien mummy - which connects in a different way than most to the ancient alien trope especially around Egypt - AND a Frankenstein’s monster construct, based on a very independent and specific story written by Mary Shelley in what’s considered to be one of - if not THE - first science fiction novel. The concept of a bipedal wolf alien is hardly odd at all, considering the logical steps that one could evolve in such a way aren’t too high for leaps and bounds, but I suppose also a ghost alien may be a little too out of reach, but the twists that are made towards ectonurites in their function and form made me think of a curious idea.

So what if, within the context of OS, that the only aliens of the Anur team were Zs’Skayr himself and the Werewolf/Yenaldooshi, for I find from both the modern idea of the werewolf and the yee naaldlooshi that the name has been derived from, that the entire concept of Ben shifting from boy to lenopan in a weird error of the watch fits the concept of man-wolves and witches turning into animals. For whatever bullshit that happened for Ghostfreak to dip out of the watch, whether it be some shred of ectonurite DNA finally regaining it’s sentience or perhaps something else, anything directly affecting Ben and the Omnitrix in this instance at least should maybe be alien fuckery, and Ben having another Omnitrix glitch out causing the DNA absorption mode to slowly come into affect (maybe from the damage it sustained) would probably lead to a new alien in the selection.

But what of the others? What of thep khufans and transylians? What do I do now with the existence of the mummy and doctor Viktor himself?

Well, we have other main characters don’t we? We can’t have everything be just about Ben, now can we?

Perhaps I’m looking too far into this, but in the debut episode of the mummy in ‘Under Wraps’, Gwen made the attempt to cast her spells from within the containment suit... failing because of the suit. But that brought up the idea that, within this arc, while Ben faces against a lenopan and ultimately gaining a new skill set, that Gwen may find her arc-based rival in the mummy as a being of ancient magic, born of the funerary practice of ancient Egypt so long ago.\

With some searching, the rituals of ancient Egyptian burial - the mummifying of the body, the grave goods to send across to the afterlife, the casting of spells - were believed to be necessary in ensuring immortality after death. Hah, if you think that’s interesting, just wait until I tell you this! It was believed that, if the bodies were mistreated after death, that the buried would rise again and look who we find walking around playing quest finder to a team of monsters.

The fucking mummy, that’s who!

Now we essentially have the ancient body of a disrespected undead, perhaps a mage themself responsible for casting spells of their own for the funerals of others, of someone who probably was only a mere serf who has found themselves back in the world of the living and come face to face with a man made of other men and women staring back with eyes in the wrong colour. Yes I am back on my Frankenstein bullshit, and yes, I’m making Viktor the modern Adam by some modern Frankenstein fanperon who accidentally found themself with another crime to humanity.

And baby, this lad is now Grandpa Max’s rival of the Ghostfreak arc.

Of course, the visual design of Viktor is very much influenced by the modern and more bumbling beast takes on Frankenstein’s monster, but he also appears - at least pre-reveal - to have taken on the interest of the academic that the original Shelley monster had. And also, maybe the uglier and disjointed Viktor looks correlates to how much the disrespected mummy wants to work with him rather than target specific assholes who shat on their grave or whatever happened (US archeologists do it like the British and fucked over another country’s historical grounds and got a mummy sent on their asses?), but regardless of that, I find it interesting that he has that dynamic between monster and man.

His debut episode, he is very much a doctor who has found his way into the graces of NASA, and that alone could very much parallel Max in the perspective of a human reaching their hand out towards the stars. But if the grand Dr Viktor is a being made of the parts of people very much passed, a created life searching for life outside of the planet and between the expanse of space itself, boy howdy the modern Prometheus has gotten futuristic and DAMN if that isn’t interesting you can fuck right off i’m joking i’m joking i just think this is very cool-

It is also in this episode, that Max and Viktor are both of their team’s ticket to get within NASA and - very much for the latter than the former - get their hands on rather limited Earth developed space tech, even if Dr Viktor and the mummy don’t have experience of otherwise. And on that note, for as much as Viktor may be reaching to discover more about the stars above, it is Max who has known and met more aliens than the constructed man learning the theories and building the tech to reach them, the two - in this context - parallels of the scientist seeking to learn and the front-liner on the field getting first hand experience of intergalactic contact.

But all this comes to ahead with whatever the fuck ectonurites and Zs’Skayr are in comparison to team monster, what is he and what fuckery are his people?

Well, Zs’Skayr is integral to Ben as the alien that never felt his own and made his skin - it’s not his it’s not HIS - crawl whenever he had become Ghostfreak. But with his multiple showings within Omniverse, his significance in association with magic began to spawn and thus, Gwen too gets involved with the schemes of Zs’Skayr, not only from just being occasionally possessed that one time. And reversing back to his reintroduction into the series in UAF as a prisoner kept under watch for crimes unknown to us, but perhaps to Mr ‘top of the board’ galactic police Max Tennyson; dealing with the reincarnated DNA of a ruler of a nation and a criminal of interplanetary degree has never been more Plumber business, but with Zs’Skayr directly impacting on the lives and mental states of his grandchildren, it just got personal.

But what the fuck is up with that? How in the world does Zs’Skayr just do that? To essentially spawn copies of himself from shreds of DNA not just from stored data like the Omnitrix, but from the scattered remains of his ash against the brick and mortar of a preppy... high school? Collage? Whatever it was it was some form of clock tower.

Well, my dear friends, ectonurites are just built like that... because of their exposure to Legerdomain.

How I see it, certain locations within the universe have thinner barriers between dimensions (as actual dimensions and not alternate timelines like Dimension 23) and the thinnest between most planes is within the Forge of Creation, worn thin by the powers of celestialsapiens rather than a naturally fragile veil between realities. On Galvan Prime, for example, there was a veil thin enough for the galvans to discover and experiment with, developing the technology responsible for traversal into the Null Void.

For Legerdomain, a few notable planets have a thinner veil between them and the magical dimension, that being Anodyne, Aldabra and now Anur Phaetos (oh look they all start with ‘a’). The presence of Legerdomain in such proximity is equivalent to UV radiation from the sun, and much like the green grass upon our own planet being the colour suited to reject the majority of Sol’s light, beings like anodites and geochelone aerio have adapted to be filled with mana to the point where they’ve become resistant to the effects of it. In fact, because the veil is thinnest across Anodyne, even breaching the two realities and serving as gateways, anodites have completely converted into energy beings built from the mana itself.

In contrast, ectonurites on Anur Phaetos have become the equivalent of orange/red/magenta grass growing on a planet with an Earth like star, adapting to diametrically oppose mana to take in all of the background mana like a sponge. And akin to UV radiation, mana in such intense is very much a radiation of life energy, and for ectonurites to welcome it with open arms with their anti-mana bodies... well.

You might find that they have more life in them for one person to enjoy...

Between being rather adept with magic should they so try to develop the skills for it and being biologically more welcoming to extraneous life force, a lot of their ghostly powers are the result of mana manipulation in quite the opposite application of anodites, and are magically capable of retaining memories and intelligence in strands of DNA instead of being purely centralised in a brain; possessing one primarily for motor manipulation rather than for sentience. And it is with this intense exposure - what is equivalent - to mana radiation, there is no one form an ectonurite is nor is formed to be.

It is an anomaly to regenerate as one was before, being that the power of regeneration from particles is a form of asexual reproduction were the high presence of mana turns the pieces that used to be you into people entirely new, a planet-wide acknowledgement that - at least to them - reincarnation is very real. It is that anomaly that is why Zs’Skayr is so intrigued by the Omnitrix, because inherent as a machine there is no shred of mana within it, regardless of how much life is stored within it’s database.

The appeal of immortality, of existing as a constantly regenerating being through the use of the Omnitrix, is what led his DNA being gathered and stored within the watch. Though rather unfortunate, the Omnitrix did not end up being simply a DNA storing device as it was planned to be, as a very particular warlord interrupted it’s path towards the Omnitrix’s final and true destination.

And that’s a compilation of what I think might be cool if OS kept with the mutants and magic addition with aliens for I guess a rewritten Ghostfreak arc, with some exploration of ectonurite biology for a bonus, perhaps in some way a series of headcanons I can drag to the more canon settings of the Ben 10 series as a whole. I mean, I certainly am proud of that exploration of anti-mana and the fucked up things it can do to a species’ development, but do tell me what you think of that and my other ideas.

I don’t know, this was ultimately rather random and I just thought I’d share it, haha!

#loboan #ben tennyson #thep khufan #gwen tennyson #transylian #viktor #max tennyson #ectonurite #zs'skayr #anur phaetos #legerdomain #there are other mentions of species planets and dimensions #but these are more integral to the point and if i elaborate- they'll be in different posts #this isn't about them- it's about team monster #ben 10 #headcanon #rambling #what would this constitute? is this au enough? do i want this to be my way of thinking? #would i even consider it to be fully an au? #hmm #ben 10 au #mutants and magic #i guess it's more than just an 'i'm ignoring your retcons uaf and ov' explanation and just straight up #turning two alien species into essentially the undead #having the mummy walk around as the body of an ancient human real fucking upset that grave robbers are still a thing 5000 years later #especially face to face with a frankensteinian being #who thanks to the heightened presence of alien activity #probably has a few of the mystical based plumbers hunting down that very fateful grave robber successful at creating life #since kai green is going out searching for a certain dr jekyll's serum- might as well be a victor frankenstein running about #or maybe- who knows- maybe the authors of such stories are the true scientists behind the plots of modern classics

[stay278]

Not ever. (HJG)

Warnings: ANGST, sad ending, Han Jisung x Fem!Reader, best-friends-who-secretly-fell-in-love trope, Han Jisung astronaut au

A/n: Sorry that this took so long to post. I've been stressing about school. You definitely deserve a better explanation than that, but, that's all I have. I hope you enjoy this, and look out for my Marvel reference! Also, please do not repost my work as your own!

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

Y/n's POV

It was wrong.

It was all so wrong, and you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

You we're about to lose your best friend (and mega crush,) for two years straight, and you couldn't even bring yourself to speak.

But for him, his happiness and dreams,

it was the right thing to do.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

You see, you and Jisung had grown up together. Physically and mentally. You were with each other to, the end of the line, as some might say. You were with each other through the thick and thin. The heartbreaks, small crushes, first kisses, exams, summer vacations, goofing off at a relative's wedding, (although you both agreed to never speak of that again.)

And now, navigating through your twenties, with a massive crush on your best friend.

Classic K-Drama story, right?

Why were you losing him for two years?

Oh, simply because of his dream of becoming an astronaut.

Yeah. You were a writer, and he wanted to be an astronaut.

Such opposites, right?

One wanting to be out there, discovering, and one wanting to be curled up on a couch, pouring hard work into a quiet life.

Jisung was selected by a special program that was run by the top recruiter and business in space exploration. Needless to say, Jisung would be set for life if he took this mission.

And after making sure that you were okay with it, he accepted the offer.

But you were acting, of course. Anything so that he could be happy.

Both of you, though in different senses, were ambitious.

Just not in the face of love.

The truth is, both of you had fallen for each other ages ago. But each of you were to scared to admit it. Both of your willpowers were surprisingly strong when it came to this topic. Neither of you wanted to scare off the other, and both of you were too scared to take the next step.

The two of you were so in love with each other that even Chan, one of the other people selected to join the mission-research team and one of Jisung's closest mission-team members, could see it, clear as day.

The two of you were fools, he thought, seeing you give each other you last hugs and farewells for the next two years. You were both so clearly in love, that he was almost in agony, trying to push Jisung to confess. But he also wanted Jisung to confess of his own accord. So he wasn't necessarily forcing him.

Necessarily.

"Promise me that you'll still be my idiotic Jisung when you come back? Two years in space better not take you away from me," you warned playfully.

"Y/nnie, I'll be fine! I'll miss you a lot though. Man, someone should have brought the internet to space. I don't want to go two years without hearing from you!" Jisung whined, as you gave him another quick hug.

"Sungie, I'll be fine. I'll miss you too. Now go before they leave you behind!" You giggled, slightly at his antics, and slightly at how quickly the two of you had switched roles. You shoved him gently in the direction of the rest of the team.

"Hey," he said, dropping his playful grin for a serious expression. "I'm serious. I will miss you."

"You act like I'm not going to miss you. Now go!" You said, shoving him a little harder this time.

"Fine, fine. Love you!"

"Love you."

You wished that Jisung had meant that affirmation of affection in a romantic sense, as he walked away to join his team, waving back at you one last time.

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

Jisung's POV

I walked away from my crush/best friend with a heavy heart. I loved her so damn much, and she probably didn't even feel the same way. I did want to go on this mission. I was sure about at least that. But I didn't want the two years away from her.

Y/nnie would want me to go.

So I'll go.

For her.

"You know, you two are really obvious." Chan said, as I caught up with him.

"Chan hyung, we've talked about this. She probably doesn't like me back."

"And that's where you're wrong," Chan exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air and carelessly waving them around, nearly hitting a passerby in the face.

He mumbled a quick apology before continuing.

"That's love if I've ever seen it."

"What is?" I asked, incredulously, and exasperatedly.

"ALL of that! They way she looks and acts around you! Go for it Jisung!"

"Fine, fine, but there's no time now hyung! We have to prep and get on board."

"You're not seriously going to make me wait two years for you to confess right?"

"..."

"Oh my god. You are."

"Well...-"

"-Well, you better confess when we get back." Chan said, teasing me.

"Okay, hyung! Can we just not?!" I said, having had enough with his teasing.

"Fine. Catch up with you later."

As we parted ways, it clicked. Chan was right, as annoying as that is to say, he was. Y/nnie looks at me the same way I look at her. Every memory we've had always leads me back to notice that she likes me too. Chan's only known her for 6 months and even he could tell that she liked me.

Man, I really was stupid.

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Y/n's POV

I watched the countdown for takeoff, each second made my heart feel heavier and heavier, its ache making it feel like I had an anchor in my chest.

10

You had endured so much in life already, and you gave up another one of of your loved ones for their happiness.

9

What were you thinking?! You wanted Jisung to go!

...right?

8

Two years. Would you ever survive without him?

7

Maybe not, but it's not like he's leaving you forever.

6

Tears began to well in your eyes, and cloud your vision. You blinked them away, but they came faster, and faster, until they started to fall.

5

It hit you. Like a punch to the gut. He was leaving. He would be gone. Would he be the same when he came back?

Yeah. He promised right?

4

You replayed all of your best memories with him in your head. Laughing at shows and movies with him on Friday nights, going to cafés and goofing off until you got kicked out, laughing at him when he got rejected by a girl after drunkenly attempting to woo her. All of them, were all you had until he came back.

3

You stared at the thrusters of the rocket, glued to your spot as they lifted the mechanism into the air, ever so slightly, as if to goad you into yelling and screaming for anyone, anyone, to stop the aircraft and bring you best friend back.

2

Two years, twenty-four months, it wouldn't be so bad right?

1

You couldn't watch anymore. You turned away as everyone around you erupted into cheers, as the rocket lifted off of the ground and gravitated to the sky.

Two minutes later though, was when it happened.

"Hey, what the heck is that?"

"What do you mean?"

"That! That thing right up there!"

Another voice arose from somewhere else.

"OH MY GOD! It's the rocket! It's falling!"

"What?!"

"WHAT?!"

...What?

You turned back to the screen, and what you saw crushed you.

The rocket was engulfed in flames, free-falling into the bay, just outside the launchpad. The pristine white aircraft was now covered in orange and red flames.

No.

No. No. NO!

JISUNG!

Your heart shattered into a million pieces. Your vision blurred, and then you realized that you were dissociating again.

When you came to, the room that was formerly filled with proud, and happy cheering, was now filled with anguished and desperates cries and pleas, as you all helplessly watched the flaming aircraft delve into the water.

The aircraft, that had become your beloved's tomb.

You let out the most heart-wrenching cry ever heard. You desperately clutched at your shirt and fell to your knees, replaying all of your happy memories with Jisung.

And then you froze.

You were replaying these memories as a filler. In hopes that your beloved Jisung would come back to you.

But he wasn't going to.

He wasn't coming back to you. No matter how badly you wanted, no, needed him to.

Jisung wasn't going to return to you.

Not now.

Not ever.

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A/n: Hi again! I apologize if this was bad. Feel free to tell me how I can improve, and shoot me requests! I won't take smut since I'm really bad at writing pieces of that topic.

#love #angst #stray kids han #stray kids imagines #chan #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz jisung #skz x reader #stray kids #straykids han #skz han #jisung imagines #han jisung astronaut au #astronaut #stray kids han jisung

[harfanfare]

How to win a heart of Jamil Viper?

1.   Don’t be a typical hero(ine).

Contrary to the popular romance trope, tripping over the air to land on a certain cool-looking boy, and dropping all carried things, wouldn’t make Jamil fall for you. Instead, just falling because of you and sharply crashing with a floor would make him rather cautious around you and keeping a distance whether he has anything in his hands.

Believe him or not, he doesn’t need another ditsy and erratic person around him—like a certain leader from a certain dorm, who happens to create a mess anytime, anywhere.

So, let someone else be the protagonist of the story.

In that situation, you may be a side character that gets its way through obstacles and classic borders of story scheme and is much more interesting than the main persona.

That’s how you get his attention.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2.   Be a help.

Oh, a person that would help him with his chores means to him much more than gold. Sometimes.

“Can I help you anyhow?” you asked when Jamil was going to the kitchen after a daily training with the rest of the dorm. He lifted his eyebrow, waiting for further explanation. “I mean with cleaning or something.”

Jamil glanced at you, not sure about your intentions.

Who would like to do something to help without having something in return? With only your will? No, it doesn’t work well in the same sentence.

But some help would be great. So, he just needs to keep sure that he won’t fall into any trap for letting you help, yes?

“Sure,” he said casually, not letting his face nor voice reveal any of his thoughts he run into. “[Name], right? Could you bring and clean the dishes from longue?”

And you helped. You really helped him a lot, staying over two hours till everything was shimmering with cleanliness and your abrupt desire to clean something and be more useful, burned out.

“Thank you for your help,” Jamil said, after correcting the last cushion in the Scarabia’s longue. You flashed him a smile. “But why, if I can ask, did you offer it in the first place?”

He got a quick response in form of a shrug.

“I... don’t really know,” you admitted, glancing at him. “...But you don’t complain, no?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3.   Be his dish taster.

“The way to a one's heart is through his stomach.”

“Try it,” Jamil handed you a spoon filled with some kind of stew. You consentaneously your opened mouth and drank all content of the spoon. Your mouth filled with many flavours and you couldn’t be sure if you ever ate that good combination in your life. “How was that?”

“Excellent as always.”

You said it all sincerely and maybe would have asked for seconds, if not the fact that Jamil already turned his back to you and got back to pots. He took another spoon and tried the dish himself, clicked his tongue and added more salt.

Once again, he turned to you and handed you a spoon.

“And how was that now?”

“Excellent as always,” you chuckled as he frowned at you.

“Don’t you think that you should add more words to your dictionary? You say the same thing on every dish,” once he said that you finished drying the last plate and preparing silverware for today’s fiesta.

“Don’t you think that I won’t be able to eat anything at the party when I will eat enough of your cooking now to write a poem about each of your culinary masterpieces?” Jamil chuckled slightly at your words.

“So, you don’t want any more?” he teased, but inside he was really flushed. Praises or cajolery, it all makes his heart skip a beat.

Finally, there was someone who appreciated all work he’s done.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4.   Distract Kalim from him.

“You really shouldn’t go there,” you said, your voice as serious as you could keep it. “I mean, what if there is a monster who wants to kidnap you?”

Kalim cocked his head a little, considering your words. After a while, he nodded, fully convinced by your argument.

“You’re right,” he said. “I will warn others about this..!”

Kalim turned on his heel and spotted some people returning from morning classes. He ran to them, greeting them and walking with them as he tried to introduce the situation.

Still not believing Kalim fall for your words, you were standing alone in the centre of the corridor, a bit dumbstruck to discover the excuse Jamil came up with work.

“...Are you sure, you don’t want to tell him that some student’s from other dorm are here?” you asked as if saying to yourself your thoughts aloud.

But there was someone, someone who was hiding behind a big potted palm. He only gave you thumbs up as a preventative measure if there was still a chance that Kalim didn’t just dash through the halls to talk with some dorm students.

Jamil only looked at you and mouthed “No. Party. Today.” and quietly shifted to the corner, where the wall hid him and he could finally get up.

Mission accomplished.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.   Get rid of bugs for him.

“[Name],” Jamil called out to you, bursting through the door to your room. He looked very pale and panic was staying still in his eyes. “Would you be so kind to... deal with an intruder?”

You frowned a little before biting back a sigh. At first, you were concerned. Even Kalim getting in a serious mess didn’t make him react that seriously. But then you remembered that there was one thing that could make Jamil call you out of nowhere, acting like in an emergency. Emergency only in eyes of few.

Bugs.

Jamil never admitted to you that he is scared of them, but every time you brought up the topis, he snapped his fingers at it, saying that insects just aren’t his favourite kind of animal.

“Hmm~ Maybe after I finish this chapter,” you said, conspicuously turning a page of the book you were reading and with all your will trying not to smile nor to look at the wincing expression Jamil was wearing.

“[Name],” he said, his voice shaking with anger or frustration. “Go there right now or I will make sure you won’t get today’s dinner.”

...No dinner?

“Yes, mum,” you said putting the textbook aside and getting up from the comfortable couch.

Of all people, Jamil is probably the only one—well, maybe also Trey—that could make those words sound dangerous. Like, no dinner made by the best chef in Scarabia? It would be pure agony.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6.   Have competitions.

“Aren’t you a little too good in this game?” you asked, regretfully placing pieces of the game back to the initial places.

He gave you a smile that slowly turned into a smirk, as you groaned at the next round you have lost. You flopped on the big pillow, all your will to play destroyed, as you sank between really cosy material.

“I told you I won’t give you a head start,” Jamil said, his steady voice mixed with amusement. “You even told me that you don’t want me to go easy on you before the game started.”

“Too bad,” you clicked your tongue at his response. “I was sure that after watching you play with Kalim, I remembered your tactics.”

You’ve watched at least eight rounds of Jamil and Kalim playing this game, and when it was coming to end, you were almost sure you understood and remembered the technique he was using in certain situations.

But, to your disappointment, it looked like he – even without using any of his tricky cards in his sleeve – was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, because, after three moves, you knew that probably all three were wrong when the opponent was Jamil.

“You gained nothing by it. Of course, I lost to him or... there would be a trouble,” he exclaimed. “You are different.”

“Oh, thank you. I can lose but he can’t, huh?” you frowned at him as he almost choked on the surprise he felt by hearing your response.

“...Yeah, that’s it. Just it.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7.   Have study sessions together.

“One class had a test before us,” you said scrolling through your class chat group. “They said that there wasn’t any question about these dates.”

Jamil scribbled down years of the most important magic wars, from time to time looking at you who were listing some test exercises and feeling somehow unmotivated to even properly open a history book.

Your notebook was lying in front of you, today’s lesson topic on the top of the page and many detailed doodles on its margin.

Once again... what was the unit you are having an exam about?

“It doesn’t mean, we won’t get a question about that,” Jamil tried to convince you, sliding textbook your way. “Now, read that aloud, while I prepare notes.”

You blinked twice as if woken up from daydreaming. Were you daydreaming?

“Are you sure..? I mean, all I will do is reading. Wouldn’t you rather want us to read it silently and then share our notes after this?”

“Don’t think about it much. I really like your voice,” he said it so thoughtlessly you weren’t sure if said it as an unarguable fact or just his smooth talker abilities were showing off, “and gave me your notes for the last exam so we’re even. And you won’t do any good notes when you’re sulking over this exam like that.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8.   Remind him to take breaks.

“You won’t get out of here,” you exclaimed spreading your arms as shielding a door from him. “Not a chance.”

Jamil stood a feet next to you, grimace stretching on his lips as he knew what’s coming up.

“I have to go, [Name].”

He tried to get through you, lightly removing you of his way. He wasn’t a fan of using force on anyone, and he was a hater of using force on you.

Much more than a speakable argument, you were pushing each other closer or further from the door, having a staring contest and reciting all the things he had done in the past two days; except for his daily duties and with the upcoming birthday party of few students of Scarabia who happen to have a celebration in the same day, the number of tasks he was given was overwhelming.

“Stop it!” you protested, trying to push him back. “I am seriously worried about you! Please... take a break.”

Every time he was coming closer to the exit, you stepped back, blocking his way, bumping into him and having to try again.

“You know I have a lot of work to do,” he said, finally stepping back and giving you a break from trying to separate him from the door. “I can’t just give up all my duties, even if I would love a break.”

“I can do it for you,” you quickly offered. “But please, now, go to sleep and don’t you dare touch anything related to school or cleaning.”

...What a weird request.

When was the last time anyone told him to take a break?

He doesn’t remember.

But now, he can say it was recently, all thanks to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9.   Promise.

It was really hard for him once all his hard work to keep a high position within the dorm students suddenly dropped after his overblot accident.

“[Name]...”

However, the thing he regretted the most was hurting you. Taking the whole dorm under his unique magic spell, the hypnosis also affected you, making you another servant of his. Even you weren’t the one he ordered a lot, you felt betrayed that even the friendship you two developed didn’t stop him from overblotting.

And if he knew that you would avoid him like fire after the accident, he would probably hesitate a lot.

His throat tightened as he saw you one day in the corridor, looking somehow lonely and tired. He dashed to you, beseeching you to talk to him.

“Sorry for asking, but, Jamil, you don’t hate me, right?” you asked with a pain in your voice. You couldn’t even look at his face, feeling the incomprehensible weight in your gaze. “I mean... Do you only act in front of me friendly? ...Like... with Kalim..?”

“No, no, no,” he protested quickly, making it almost sound like a plea. He gently grabbed your hands, praying that you won’t harshly jerk them back because of him. “I don’t hate you. I really like you. I mean every word I said to you.”

The feeling of release struck you like thunder, you took a big breath, your eyes watering. You slowly reached for his touch, finally ending in a hug.

Jamil ran his fingers through your hair, smelling a familiar, reassuring scent of yours. After a while, he whispered a question.

“So... could you please not avoid me anymore? I know it will be hard to bring up the same relationship we had, but... could you give me a second chance?”

“Okay. But under one condition,” you said, slightly backing off from him. Before he could wonder about the term you would require from him, you finished your thought. “You must be honest with me. I... don’t know what will I do if it all turned to be a play...”

“I will,” he replied, putting his whole heart in these two words. “I will always be honest with you. And won’t ever use my unique magic on you.”

You looked up at him, a small smile starting to rise and heart-throbbing more wilder with his words. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10.            Make him confess.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Jamil appeared in front of you, almost like popping out of nowhere, as you were done with today’s lessons and slowly heading to your dorm. He caught up with you, changing his pace to match yours.

“I have no plans. I will be probably sleeping or something,” you answered honestly, shrugging and reminding yourself that you should finally hang out with some people from your class to make sure your social life isn’t all over dead.

You were walking in quietly before Jamil broke silence and spoke up again.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he asked his voice only giving a hint of nervousness—it was nothing compared to the stress he felt inside. It was just a “yes or no” question, he knew that he will meet in future many amazing people like you and shouldn’t be stressed, but having someone so dear to him being asked for a meeting where he will try to finally out find his feeling... it is stressful.

“Hehe~ what, are you asking me on the date?” you teased, but much more than mocking, you were hoping for an answer. For the honest answer, he promised you.

“...And what if I am?” he asked, his voice a bit hushed, but steady.

You felt how heat was coming all the way up to your cheeks, although you tried your best not to let anything more, as if a blush wasn’t obvious enough, know how excited and spellbound you are.

“Then, your wish is my command.”

#.......i don't know how to feel about this #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland jamil x reader #twisted wonderland

[achliegh]

Dopamine

Alrighty, this is a fic for the lovely @punkkkkboi who got teeth stolen from him and one put back in because why not. Anyway, this fic was a mild challenge for me. I asked him for a couple things and that's all I had to work off of.

Ship: Wolfstar

Trope: Getting Together

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Universe: My Choice (I chose AU)

Title: Dopamine

That's what I had to work with and this is what I came up with.

Enjoy :)

“I’m not getting out of the car.”

“Yes. You are.” James reaches over Sirius and pulls the door handle so it pops open and pushes it a little so it's slightly open. Letting the cold London breeze float into the car. “You need to go.”

“But I’m fine-”

“Sirius! You’re a fucking alcoholic! Let us help you!” James is now squeezing his shoulder, Sirius looks at him. That was a mistake, his best friend's pleading eyes were something he couldn’t say no to and James knew that. “Please Padfoot, at least for Harry.”

“That's a low blow, Prongs!” Sirius gets out of the car and slams the door stomping inside before James can even get another word in. James wasn’t wrong, Sirius knew he needed help but he didn’t want to be one of those fucking losers who goes to AA meetings… And yet here he is storming into a primary school gym to sit in a circle with a bunch of freaks and mope about his life.

Addiction is passed down in his family and his family was the cause of him turning to the bottle so much, wanting to turn his worrying mind off so he can relax. Maybe he took it a bit too far, drinking every time he even thought about his family, but it's the only way he knew how to cope.

Walking in the gym he sees the classic circle of chairs but there are only like five people there and they are all gathered around a little table, drinking hot drinks and eating sweets. Seemed odd. Sirius just wanted to get this over with so he made his way over to a seat and plopped in it. Crossing his arms and legs he just stared at the clock for a few minutes until someone sat next to him, he didn’t take his eyes off the clock.

“Have you checked in yet?”

“No.”

“Can I have your name?” This welsh accent motherfucker was annoying. He only said nine words and Sirius already knew he was one ugly guy. Turning his head towards the peasant accent he frowns. This guy wasn’t ugly, has his spot on judgment started faltering over the years? This guy had a mess of tawny brown hair and these rather sweet looking brown eyes. He was a bit on the skinny side but his height made up for it… This bitch made Sirius feel tiny, even if there were only a couple inches of difference between the tops of their heads.

“Sirius Black. What's yours?”

“Remus Lupin, I’m the group leader.” Sirius raised his eyebrow, they looked to be about the same age yet this guy was the leader? Weird…

“How old are you?”

“23, you?” He was the same age as him! Maybe he just… was forced to come here when he was younger.

“22, 23 in a couple weeks.” Remus Lupin smiles at him and that when he notices the scars on the bridge of his nose and the one through his lips. Sirius didn’t know if Remus answered him before he got up. He stared at where Remus Lupin was for a moment before blinking and shaking his head a bit, turning his eyes back to the clock.

The meeting started not long after, people standing and saying their name and addiction, Remus sat across from him. He would ask simple questions about people and their addictions that would make that person stop and think. It made him nervous, because he was next.

“I’m Sirius Black and I’m an alcoholic.” He sighs standing in front of everyone, noticing the whispers because of his name. His family is well known in politics and he wanted to get as far away from them as possible, But his name followed him everywhere. The chorus of saying hi back to him pissed him off. These people didn’t care about him so why should they even talk to him.

“When did you realize you had a problem?” He looks at the tall man across the circle from him and glares.

“I don’t have a problem, my friends just forced me here.” He watches Rmeus write something down on his clipboard before he crosses his legs and leans back.

“Why do you drink then?” What a loaded fucking question.

“I don’t know, maybe because my family is ruining this country and I want nothing to do with them but they just keep bothering me.” Remus just nods, Sirius sits back down and looks back at the clock. This was going to take forever.

The meeting went as fast as a turtle walking through wet cement. It was slow and soooo fucking boring! He didn’t speak the rest of the time and was so excited to leave that once it was time and everyone got up to socialize he made a b-line for the door.

“James isn’t here yet.” He stops just short of the doorknob.

“How do you know?” The brunette walks over and leans on the other door, Sirius notices he was wearing a really thick sweater that was an off shade of green in the middle of the meeting because he was so bored he looked at the only interesting thing in the room.

“Because he told me he wants you to socialize so he's gonna purposefully show up five minutes late.”

“That piece of shit!” Remus just chuckles.

“If you want you can just talk with me for a bit, the more meetings you come to the more you can get to know some of these people. I think you’d get along with them more than you think. Sirius just rolled his eyes, still looking at his hand that has now grabbed the doorknob. His hand slides off the knob and he leans forward on the door before groaning annoyed.

“Fine! But only until James shows up. How do you know him anyway?” Remus turns to face the other people in the room with his back to the door. Sirius mirrors his stance.

“I was a friend of Lily’s first, met at a cafe and just became friends from there. James being her other half just naturally became friends with me.” Sirius was taking in his features are he talked, his slightly crooked nose, his sharp yet soft bone structure. It was probably only sharp because he was pretty skinny.

“James wasn’t nervous you were trying to get with Lily?” Remus laughs and it makes his stomach do a funny little flip. What the fuck?

“I’m gay he has nothing to worry about.”

“Oh… I’m-”

“Bisexual I know, James doesn’t shut up about you. You’re basically family to him.” A silence fell between them for a couple seconds, they both watched the other people in the group act like old friends to each other, laughing and joking, hugging even. “He’s just trying to help you, Sirius.”

“Maybe I don’t want help.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need it.” Remus looks at the clock and moves from his one of the two doors and opens it. “He should be here now, I’ll see you next week. Try to improve just a little.”

“Whatever.”

He did keep going to the meetings, he started befriending a couple people in the group and got a new paper every week to keep track of how much he drank. To make sure he stayed on the right path. Remus was another reason why he kept going, he was funny and charming and they actually started hanging out together away from the meetings.

But not all good things can last. Sirius stayed going to the meetings for a good three months and he hadn’t touched any alcohol in two months… then he got a letter.

His brother was dead, he didn’t even know he was sick.

Sirius stopped going to the meetings, James couldn’t get a hold of him either. Pounding at his apartment door everyday just hoping Sirius would get annoyed enough to answer, but he wasn’t budging.

Sirius was collecting his mail though, he was reading every article about his family he could. He wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral, he was a drunk and a disowned one at that. So, he just sat in his apartment, he stared at the wall with all his newspaper clippings on it.

He felt like shit, but he deserved to.

One day he went to collect his mail, opening his door he stands there for a second. Remus was leaning against the wall across from his door… reading his newspaper. Sirius just closed the door and went back to sitting on his bed. He heard keys at his door a little while later, some hushed talking was heard too, but he couldn’t make out what was said.

Footsteps were approaching him but he just kept staring at the wall, bottles littered the floor, clicking every time the other person took a step closer to him.

“Sirius?” The welsh voice washed over him and before he knew it he was crying again. Not sobbing or wailing. He just felt the tears rush down his face and his lips twitching downwards. Remus makes it over to him and kneels on the ground in front of him, gently resting a hand on his knee. “It's okay.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How is it okay? I didn’t know he was sick, I wasn’t allowed to go to his funeral, I abandoned him when he needed me most. How is it okay?” Remus was silent for a moment, Sirius tears his eyes away from the wall and looks into the familiar brown eyes. His breath stutters as his crying becomes more than just crying. He feels hands on his cheeks and rouch thumbs wiping below his eyes. It felt so… nice. He leans into the hands more, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath that makes his lungs feel like they are jumping.

“Would he want you to be like this?” Sirius just shakes his head.

“He was the one who told me to go all those years ago because I was miserable.” Remus hums and Sirius feels a pair of lips on his forehead. God, it felt so good, he just wanted loving gestures like this. It made waves of relief flush over his body for a few seconds before the crushing sadness came back.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Sirius.” Remus must not have been expecting Sirius to wrap his arms around his head and pull him into his chest so he was crying into that soft brown hair.

“Can you just stay like this?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Please don’t go Remus… Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Remus looks up from Sirius' chest at him. Their eyes meet, they just stare at each other for a while. Remus runs a hand through Sirius’ hair, tucking it behind his ear and cupping his cheek like he did before. Every few seconds they would get closer and closer until finally. “Sirius?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it okay if I-”

“Do it…” Sirius brought their lips together in a barely-there-kiss, it made that sadness dissipate, not entirely it was definitely still there, but the fact that someone wanted to show him love, someone that he felt an attraction to since he first met.

It’s all he ever wanted.

A month passed, Remus helped him clean up the apartment and get him back on his feet. The last day of the month they decided to start a habit. They would travel to Regulus and tell him all the progress Sirius had made. The first time they did this, Sirius just broke down and couldn’t get a word out as he placed a flower on his brother's grave.

Remus supported him the whole time.

Remus supported him forever.

#wolfstar #wolfstar au #remus lupin #sirius black #aa #regulus deserved better

[lesbianrobin]

What do you think are the good and bad aspects of each season of ST?

ok 1. thank u for this question omg and 2. this answer may or may not be a mess, but either way it’s long (almost 7k words lmao) bc i’m insane, which is why it’s under a cut. it’s still by no means an exhaustive list but these are the things that just kinda came to mind.

also i realize you asked “good and bad” and i wrote this whole post as “strengths and weaknesses” which um. is not Exactly what you asked. but close enough <3 i also ended up including a lot of au ideas ksjdckmn bc like i personally hate when people say a certain plot or whatever was bad without suggesting anything that could have improved it yknow so whenever possible i tried to provide Some idea for fixing the issues i had with the show!!

season 1

strengths (this is probably gonna be the longest section but that’s because a lot of these strengths also apply to s2/s3 by default)

nostalgia and authenticity

this one’s pretty simple, but i think that season one did a good job of blending classic eighties media homages (such as the many many e.t./el parallels) with explicit pop culture references (such as mike’s yoda impression, mentions of the x-men, etc) to create a show that’s essentially dripping in early eighties nostalgia without it feeling too forced. before st, i think the most popular depiction of the eighties in mainstream media was that overly exaggerated neon scrunchie aesthetic from the mid to late eighties, and it was usually done in a comedic sense first and foremost. st took a different approach, instead focusing on the early eighties, a time that’s often ignored in favor of going either Full Seventies or Full Eighties, and i think that this choice likely resonated with adults who lived through the eighties and hadn’t yet seen something that felt quite so accurate to their own adolescence. a lot of young people who watched st were totally unfamiliar with this period of time, unfamiliar with books/movies like “stand by me” that st borrows from heavily, and i think st lent more seriousness to the eighties than most young people had experienced so far, and this was refreshing and interesting!

the use of dnd in the show is also quite genius in a way i’m not sure i can articulate?? it isn’t something Everyone would have played at the time, but it’s something that existed within a different context back in the eighties than it does today, and it really lent a sort of authenticity to the naming of the show’s sci-fi elements. like, of course these kids would name parallel dimensions and monsters and superpowers after these similar things in their favorite game! it just feels so real and it grounds st in our reality moreso than you might expect from the typical sci-fi or horror universe.

utilization of existing tropes

almost every single character in st clearly originates from some popular trope. the plot itself is riddled with classic eighties movie tropes. almost every single element of stranger things can be clearly traced back to some iconic eighties film or just to, like, overused horror/sci-fi/mystery/coming-of-age movie tropes in general. this might sound like a bad thing, but it really works in st’s favor! starting off with familiar tropes gives st the ability to easily create a lot of complexity and make a big impact by selectively deviating from those familiar, comfortable tropes!! while el’s whole plot, hopper’s character, etc, are all examples of this in action, i think the steve/nancy/jonathan plot is the greatest example. even from the start, the fact that good girl barb dies while nancy is off having sex with her asshole boyfriend is an incredibly thorough inversion of the most well-known horror movie trope in the book. how often do girls in horror movies have sex for the first time, walk home alone in the dark of night, and live to tell the tale? nancy and jonathan’s dynamic at first glance is a sort of classic “good girl meets boy from the wrong side of the tracks, discovers he’s actually got a heart of gold” thing, but instead of following this well-trodden path, st diverged. nancy is brash, impulsive, and at times downright insensitive. jonathan is angry, bitter, and actually a bit of a creep at first. while they have the capacity to emotionally connect and support one another, they can also bring out each other’s darker side, which is not what we’ve come to expect from that initial tropey dynamic.

in addition, steve, the popular rich asshole boyfriend, is actually... a human being! unlike the cartoonishly evil jocks that we’ve come to expect (especially from eighties movies), steve has complexity. despite his initial immaturity and selfishness, he’s also kind to barb, he backs off when nancy says no, he’s gentle and sweet when they sleep together, his first big Dick Move of the season is in defense of nancy, he realizes the error of his ways after the fight and does what he can to fix it, he’s worried about nancy when he sees that she’s hurt at jonathan’s house, and to top it all off, he ends up saving both nancy and jonathan’s lives when he could have just walked away, and the three of them all work together to fight the demogorgon. like... steve began as the most stereotypical character of all time, and by the end of the season, he had one of the most compelling and unique arcs among the whole cast!

finally, at the very end of the season, instead of dumping steve for jonathan as expected, nancy ends up getting back together with steve, and they’re both on friendly terms with jonathan. i realize that i just kinda. summarized s1. but my POINT is that i don’t think the dynamics between the monster hunting trio would be nearly as fun and interesting had the characters of nancy, steve, and jonathan not been set up to follow certain paths that we already had charted in our own heads. like, within the first couple episodes of s1, it’s pretty obvious that nancy and steve are gonna break up, nancy will get with jonathan, and steve will either die or go full evil or just never be seen again. like, duh! you’ve seen this story a million times! you know that’s how it’s gonna go! so, when the story DOESN’T go that way, the impact of each character’s arc and the relationship dynamics become stronger due to their unexpected complexity and authenticity. 

distinct plotlines separated by age group

this one’s rather obvious, but the way that the adults in s1 were essentially in a conspiracy thriller while the teens were in a horror flick and the kids were in a sci fi power-of-friendship story and all three converged at the end... wow. brilliant showstopping etc. not only was it just really well done and unique, it also gave stranger things near-universal appeal. like, there’s genuinely something for pretty much everyone in season one!

casting

obviously this applies to every season sorta by default, but when i think about what made season one So successful, i always think about the cast, and not just winona ryder. yes, she’s absolutely amazing in the show and it’s very doubtful that st would be as big as it is today without her name being attached to it from the start!! however, i think the greatest determining factor in st’s success is the casting of the kids, particularly millie bobby brown. like... el is just absolutely incredible. she’s amazing. this has all been said many times before so i won’t harp on it, but millie and the other kids are all So talented and charismatic and i think their casting has been instrumental to the show’s success.

strong visuals

the way that multicolored christmas lights which have been around for decades are now kinda like. a Stranger Things thing. jesus christ. those lights are probably the biggest stroke of stylistic genius on the show.

atmosphere and setting

this is probably like. the least important one here for me sdjncdsc because i think s2 and s3 both had like Even Better atmospheres and shit but s1 was good too and it laid the groundwork!! i know a lot of people would have preferred st be set somewhere more Spooky with lots of fog or giant forests or whatnot, and while i do enjoy thinking about alternate st settings and how they might alter the vibe, i think hawkins indiana was a good choice. as the duffers have said, placing stranger things in a fictional town allows them more flexibility than if they’d gone with their original plan of using montauk, new york. besides that, i think the plainness and like... flatness... of small-town indiana just Works. like, the fact that hawkins is never really scary on the surface is a big part of the horror in the lab’s actions and their impact. hawkins isn’t somewhere that people just disappear all the time. it isn’t somewhere known for strange occurrences (prior to s1, that is). it isn’t somewhere shrouded in mist and secrecy. hawkins on its surface seems like the sort of place with no secrets and nothing to fear, and that’s the point! the lab is out in the open! it’s right there! everything is so close to the surface, yet so far out of the public eye, and i think that really works.

the byers family’s whole deal (specifically the joyce/jonathan dynamic)

this is going here bc i miss it so bad in s2 and s3. i’m not one of those people who believe The Byers Are The Whole Point of the show, because st is and always has been an ensemble, and el, hopper, and the wheelers are just as instrumental to the plot as the byers, but ANYWAY, i do think the byers were one of the most interesting aspects of s1. joyce’s difficulties with supporting her sons as a poor and (implied mentally ill) single mother, jonathan’s stress as a result of having to earn money, care for his brother, and keep the house in order when his mother is unable to do so, and the resulting tension between them when will’s disappearance and supposed “death” brings the situation to a tipping point? holy shit! it’s so good! that argument after they see will’s “body” is just incredible and gut-wrenching. their relationship feels so real and messy and i think it’s just... good. also winona ryder REALLY acted her heart out and she carried a lot of s1 which i think people often forget to mention so i’m saying it here.

weaknesses

pacing/timing

ok so pacing is probably going to go in each season’s weaknesses, to be honest, because i think they all had a blend of some good and some bad pacing. good pacing is invisible pacing, though, so i probably won’t be putting it in any of the strengths sections and will only be focusing on it in the weaknesses. i’m also probably not going to talk about weird day/night cycle things, just because i don’t want to get nitpicky on timelines because that would require going back and rewatching things to double check timing which i don’t wanna do at the moment lmao. anyway, when i think of bad pacing in season one, i primarily think of two things: nancy’s little trip into the upside down and subsequent sleepover with jonathan, and the sort of staggered nature of the climax in the final episode. the latter is simple so i’ll explain it first: while i understand that each group’s respective climax is like part of a chain reaction and that’s why each big moment happens separately and at different times, i think that st is strongest when the whole group is together, and i think that makes the stakes feel higher too, so i’m not In Love with the way s1 separated everyone and gave each group their own climax. 

okay, now on to the nancy/upside down thing! idk if i’ve ever talked about it before, but i think the worst decision made in s1 by far is the inclusion of nancy’s brief trip into the upside down, wherein she dives headfirst into another dimension with absolutely no backup, watches the demogorgon chow down, freaks out and runs around for a minute, and then leaves. like... what the fuck? even putting aside what an idiotic decision this was (because i do think nancy’s tendency to rush into things headfirst is an intentional and consistent character trait), it just kind of destroys any remaining suspense surrounding the demogorgon and the upside down, and it accomplishes basically nothing besides scaring nancy enough to have jonathan sleep over, which is lame. i will break it down.

like, first of all, nancy just getting to waltz in and out of the upside down and get a good, long look at the demogorgon makes the entire thing far less mysterious, and by extension far less scary. like... before this scene, we the audience haven’t got a good look at the demogorgon. we’ve seen its silhouette briefly and we’ve seen a blurry picture of it, but nothing more, and i think that is far more effective at building fear than this jaunt nancy goes on which gives us a full view of the thing and makes it into less of a horrifying nightmare and into more of a humanoid animal. like, maybe this is just me, but i found the demogorgon far less intimidating after that scene than before. it also lets nancy and jonathan know For Sure that they’re right without providing any crucial information that they need to fight the demogorgon (aka it’s unnecessary to the plot), which removes a very compelling story element (the faith nancy and jonathan need to have in order to keep going against a vague and poorly understood enemy, the doubt they might have about each other and their own sanity, the possibility that they might be wrong, the trust they need to have in each other) a bit earlier in the plot than i believe is ideal. at the end of episode 5, nancy goes into the upside down and jonathan doesn’t know where she is and it’s intense!!! you’re thinking like, oh fuck, not only is nancy missing and fighting for her life now too, jonathan might be implicated in her disappearance!! some people already think he’s the one who killed will and people know that he took creepy pictures of barb and nancy before they both disappeared, maybe this is gonna cause some serious problems for him!! maybe nancy will find will in the upside down and she’ll help him survive!! fuck, maybe she’ll actually die!! this is huge!! and then episode 6 starts and they’re immediately like oh nevermind jonathan found the tree and got nancy out and she’s fine. my point with all of this is that nancy entering the upside down could have done A Lot in the grand scheme of the plot, but all it did was just... get jonathan to sleep over so he and nancy could have some awkward romance moments and steve could see them together and pick a fight. which could have honestly happened at Any point while nancy and jonathan were working together to hunt down the demogorgon, without ruining the demogorgon’s and the upside down’s mystique. so yeah <3

weird behavior and dumbass decisions that make no sense (aka the whole camera thing)

gonna go off about the teen plot again sorry but: why was nancy so unbothered and quick to forgive jonathan for taking those pictures? girl what the fuck are you doing? why wasn’t that a bigger deal? why was jonathan’s motivation for doing it so weak and why did they just kind of forget about the whole thing? why did nancy TRACK HIM DOWN AT THE FUNERAL HOME while he was PICKING OUT HIS BABY BROTHER’S CASKET to be like hey can you tell me what’s in this creepshot you took? it’s insane. it’s so insane. i mean i think the funeral home thing is hilarious and i don’t mind it being in the show necessarily but like my point here is that i think a lot of character decisions in s1 just kind of.. happened because they Needed to happen for the plot. like, they wrote this plot that required jonathan to be secretly taking pictures of the party and required him and nancy to work together after seeing something odd in the pictures, but they didn’t like... really consider what that event would mean for their characterization and relationship. the whole thing was sort of just dropped with minimal discussion and i think it did both nancy and jonathan’s characters a disservice and was really mishandled.

lighting and saturation/color grading

i am literally begging horror/sci-fi shows to let me see shit. i GET IT okay i understand that when you’re doing cgi effects it helps to keep the lights down and i’m not mad at any of the lighting in the demogorgon/upside down scenes!! i’m really not i think the demogorgon scenes in s1 all look sick!! but like... dude. the colors. where are they. why does everyone look like a vampire. i know blah blah this was probably an intentional stylistic choice intended to mimic film at the time blah blah but dude a lot of old movies are very colorful!! please just let people have color in their faces so everyone doesn’t look like a sheet of paper!!! also i’m white and not a professional lighting designer so yknow grain of salt but i think lucas was kinda poorly served by the lighting sometimes in s1. not Hugely so, not to the degree that i’ve seen poc be poorly served by lighting in other shows, but there were some times where it felt kinda like the lighting setup was just not designed with darker skin in mind. 

horror

i just personally don’t find s1 very scary like... ever. i don’t think they were really Trying to be extremely scary yknow so i’m not counting this as a big deal, but i do think that each season has improved on the horror aspects. i think s1′s horror lies more in the mystery and the unknown than in what’s seen onscreen, and as i’ve said already, i think s1 kind of fumbled that suspense ball.

season 2

strengths

the possession plot

i’ll warn u rn this whole s2 strengths section is probably gonna be really short bc idk like. how much there is to really say i feel like it’s all so self-explanatory skjncmn. anyway yeah the possession plot!! eerie as fuck, and noah OWNED. so did winona tbh and finn and sean etc but like. noah. wow! i think the possession plot helped the show maintain a good amount of tension and suspense throughout the season, and a lot of scenes with possessed!will are flatout disturbing to watch. in a good way. i think the mindflayer and will’s possession were far more genuinely frightening than s1′s demogorgon, and it provided a new layer of depth and intrigue to the antagonist besides just “bad monster want eat people.”

tone and aesthetics

halloween season... literally halloween season. halloween season. that is all.

actually i will elaborate a bit and just say that i think s2 did a good job of having the sort of foreboding vibe that s1 was often going for, but without the annoying darkness and desaturation. so points for that.

also st2 is like one of the best Autumn pieces of media ever like it just. like steve and dustin on those train tracks with the fallen leaves all around them.... god. god the vibes are unparalleled. all of the halloween stuff also really contributes to the nostalgia st runs on yknow it makes you think about childhood and trick-or-treating and you kind of get transported like damn... i remember going to the rich neighborhoods to score the good candy..... idk i just think the whole thing is incredibly effective. 

“babysitter” steve

by sending nancy and jonathan off together, the show created a problem: what to do with steve? this problem pushed them to create the unconventional and unexpected duo of steve and dustin, and the world is so much brighter for it. seriously though we all know steve and dustin are great i don’t need to argue that point. all i’ll add is that i think allowing steve to grow in this way, serving as a mentor figure and becoming genuine friends with someone so unexpected, really took the originality of his character to the next level. no longer content just to defy his archetype, in s2 steve begins branching out in ways that never would have been considered in s1, creating an incredibly complex and interesting person from the sort of character that most shows would have simply written out or killed off for convenience’s sake. and it works and steve and dustin are such a joy to watch and i love them. <3

the lucas/max plot

so first of all max mayfield is the most perfect baby girl on god’s green earth and idk what i would do without her but anyway. i think lumax is the best romantic relationship in the show and not just because they’re the only ones with like an age-appropriate approach to the whole thing. it’s also because their relationship accomplishes more than just putting the two of them in a relationship!! lucas and max spending time together motivates billy to do his evil shit, providing more conflict in the narrative, and it also helps establish max as part of the group in a relatively natural way while giving both her and lucas a great subplot. lucas (and dustin) has a crush on the new girl, they start spending some time together, and lucas ends up needing to decide whether he’ll keep the secret of the upside down and lose her, or risk both of their lives by telling her the truth. that’s a pretty big, character-defining decision that he gets to make!! max has to choose whether to trust this boy she barely knows and endanger herself, or to walk away and stay safe, yet another great character-defining choice that also contributes to the sense we get as an audience of max as somebody who’s incredibly lonely and desperate for love and connection. this post is way too long already and i have a ton more to say so i’ll stop now but yeah i think lumax really Works in the show without ever distracting or detracting from the overall plot and narrative in the way that some other ships (coughjancycough) often do.

balance between the normal and abnormal

s2 i think did a pretty solid job of melding daily life with more fantastical sci-fi horror elements. i enjoyed seeing so much of the kids at school in the first few episodes!! you really get a strong sense of where they’re at in life, what their daily lives are like, and you get a sort of gradual shift into madness that makes everything feel more grounded than i think it would if they had just leapt straight into the horror shit, yknow? 

the el and hopper dynamic

go back and rewatch s2 and tell me that’s not one of the most moving portrayals of parenthood and trauma and growing up that you’ve ever seen. you can’t. or well you can but i won’t listen. i really can’t imagine stranger things without el and hopper’s relationship, and it’s my absolute favorite part of s2. their whole dynamic is so beautiful and complex, and gives them each amazing personal arcs in addition! the black hole scene is literally one of the show’s greatest moments of all time. any given scene between the two of them in s2 is just guaranteed to be heartwarming as well as heartbreaking, and i think that makes for an incredible show.

weaknesses

flashbacks

okay this applies to Every season they All have too many flashbacks but in s2 specifically... please stop showing me shit from season one. i watched it. i know what happened. you don’t need to spoon feed everything to me!! flashbacks can be a really helpful way of delivering information to an audience, but st has a bad habit of not only being kinda demeaning in how often they flash back to shit that the audience already knows, but they also have a bad habit of using flashbacks almost as a crutch to avoid having to deliver information subtly and naturally. 

you know i gotta say it... the lost sister

this is so sad. the lost sister really is like a great concept for an st episode, and i’m not mad about the idea of st taking a break from the normal action to focus on one story for a full episode, but the execution of it was just dreadful. kali and her crew feel very over-the-top and stereotypical, and its placement in the season totally kills the tension and excitement that was built in “the spy.” 

i think the lost sister honestly could have gone over far better, even with the stereotypical fake-feeling gang kali has, if they had just swapped it with “the spy” like... ok, the end of episode five has el setting off to find kali and will collapsing on the ground seizing. right? imagine if, instead of immediately following will to the lab, we’d followed el. we don’t know what’s happening with will, but it’s a very simple cliffhanger that leaves us on edge without making us feel cheated by the show cutting away. we follow el on her little journey, everything happens much the same as canon, and then at the end, el sees hopper in scrubs. she sees mike, screaming, sees that they’re both in danger. holy shit!!! what the fuck!!! what’s happened since we left will seizing on the ground??? we feel el’s fear and confusion. she decides to go home. and then... boom. “the lost sister” is over. now, we rewind, right back to will seizing on the ground, and “the spy” commences. we learn how they got into the danger that el saw in the end of “the lost sister,” and we sit on the edge of our seats all through “the spy” and “the mind flayer,” KNOWING that el is on her way back to save them but not knowing when she’ll arrive!! idk i don’t think that would have necessarily saved lost sister but i think it may have alleviated some of the issues that i and many others have with it, timing-wise.

the nancy/jonathan sidequest

once again, the idea of nancy going off on her own little mission to find justice for barb after s1 is like. amazing. genuinely i love that plot for her and i can’t imagine anything better for her to have focused on in s2. unfortunately though i think her and jonathan’s little trip to see murray was just kind of... lame. the whole thing just felt like an excuse to get the two of them alone together, yknow? which is fine i guess people contrive all sorts of situations to get characters alone together for romance reasons but in this case i think it just really doesn’t work for me because of what it’s juxtaposed with. like, will is POSSESSED, and jonathan is just off on a mini road trip and sleeping with his bestie, and jonathan never seems to communicate to joyce/will that he left town, and joyce never like... thinks to tell him that will is like sick and fucked up and they’re looking at him in the lab??? like it’s so weird i know joyce always forgets about jonathan when shit’s happening with will but jfc you’d think at some point in that like... 72-ish-hour period where jonathan was out of town she would have thought about him. like at least once. maybe i’m forgetting something and she mentioned him sometime and i missed it but even still, i hate the juxtaposition of nancy and jonathan just like cheers-ing at murray’s place and sleeping together and whatnot while everyone else is dealing with possession or trying to hunt down dart yknow? it feels really boring in comparison and i think it could have been done far better. like it was SO insanely easy for them to get into the lab and get an admission of guilt and escape with it!! i think it might have been a lot more engaging if maybe someone from the lab tailed them to murray’s place and they had to like lose the tail and race to get the recording out to as many news outlets as possible before they got caught, or something like that. the tension in their plotline is completely resolved in episode four!! episodes five and six are just them screwing around and addressing envelopes. while there were a lot of strong ideas in this plotline (i really enjoy nancy going out of her way to get justice, and the fact that they have to water down the story to make it believable), i just think the focus on nancy and jonathan getting together hindered it a lot without adding a ton to the plot or their individual characters.

season 3

strengths

starcourt mall as a setting

while i don’t think the mall was utilized quite to its full potential (something i could make a separate post about if anyone’s interested), i do think that starcourt was a genius addition to the series. i’ve said this before, but building a new mall is a literal Perfect in-universe justification for a significant leap forward in fashion and aesthetics, and it provides a great location for characters to just... be characters. idk how else to articulate this i just think that the mall is a great setting to let people interact with each other and to bring people together who may not have been otherwise (i.e. scoops troop). not to mention how sick it was to see the mall get wrecked toward the end kdjncdkm like they were able to do so much more with the mall in terms of like The Finale than they could with just the byers house or the cabin or the school or even the lab. i love all the back tunnels they run through it’s such a fun like acknowledgement of how this glitzy eighties mall is just a real place where employees get shipments and take out the trash and shit idk it’s all about the perfect facade and what’s hidden what’s underneath what’s hiding in plain sight etc etc i’m just saying words now. anyway. 

willingness to experiment and go against expectations

gay robin. neon aesthetics. giant fucking meat monster. i know some people hate both the neon and the meat monster but i personally think they were kind of amazing and like. yknow regardless of personal tastes i think it’s impossible to deny that s3 had a lot of incredible visuals, and they’re all visuals that just wouldn’t have been possible if the show were too afraid to stray from its s1 aesthetic. robin being canonically gay (and her resulting friendship with steve) and the season’s striking visuals are two things that most everyone (besides like homophobes skjncdknm) can agree were great, right? and they were both departures from where the show began and what we all expected!! so yeah i think while some of the experimentation in s3 wasn’t ideal it was also that experimentation that allowed for some of the season’s strongest elements to come about.

the hospital sequence (and the season’s action/horror scenes in general)

this one is fairly self-explanatory. while they may have underutilized the “body snatching” element of the season, the hospital sequence with nancy and jonathan fighting off their possessed bosses did an amazing job of building tension and creating a genuine sense of really intense and personal danger.

in general i think that s3 melded action and horror rather well, particularly in the sauna test, the hospital, and when the mindflayer busts through the roof of hop’s cabin. horror can come from many things, and in this case, st elicited horror largely from the feeling of helplessness, and it was really effective for me personally. i think it worked better for me than s1′s brand of horror because it doesn’t rely so much on a lack of knowledge or a sense of suspense that inevitable disappears upon a second viewing.

the body horror we got in s3 was also really fun! that’s it i just think all the blood and guts and slime were fun and i would like more of them. once again, the impacts of body horror are less dependent upon the viewer being in the dark or unsure as to what’s happening, and as such i think it tends to be a little more effective at eliciting reaction in the long term.

timing and mechanics of the battle of starcourt/finale

i think the battle of starcourt is just fucking awesome, and beyond that personal opinion, i think it’s the most high-stakes and intense finale of all three seasons, and this is for two main reasons! 1. el is out of commission, and 2. (almost) everyone is in the same cental location. this means that (almost) everyone is in danger all at once, and they are all working together at the same time to fight the same threat. s1/s2 have their groups more fragmented for the finales, and while i understand why in each case and i wouldn’t call either season’s finale necessarily weak, i do think the centralized nature of the s3 finale just Works on another level. in s1 and s2, large segments of the cast are already perfectly safe by the time el dispatches the primary threat. in s3, however, everybody save for dustin and erica is still in danger up until the last moment, and el is seemingly (you can def debate how much power she still had in her when she peeked into billy’s mind and whether the memory broke the mindflayer’s hold on him or if she was actually controlling him to some degree) completely vulnerable. this increases the tension and raises the stakes, making the finale a real crescendo to fortissimo as opposed to a series of little mezzo forte moments. i hope everyone reading this knows music idk how else to phrase that my brain is stupid.

emphasis on friendship and adolescence (but in a different way than s1/2)

this is definitely a controversial one but i think that s3 really did like... show a side of friendship that had been more or less unexplored thus far in the show. el and max were amazing, and i think it’s really nice that we got an opportunity to see the kids have some growing pains as well as see them support each other through Normal Adolescent Stuff like boyfriends and breakups instead of just like. death and trauma. this is maybe just a personal preference, but i think it can be really enlightening and provide a lot of depth when you get to see how characters respond to normal everyday conflict and not just how they respond to giant world-ending conflict!! letting el use her powers for goofy teenage shit like spying on boys and messing with mean girls at the mall is not only fun for her and the audience, but it also really emphasizes just how much those powers are a part of el, making it that much more devastating when she loses them at the end of the season. 

weaknesses

tonal dissonance

so this is like. obvious. but it must still be said! i won’t go on and on about it since we all know this so i’ll try to like talk about it from an angle people don’t usually? anyway. it seems to me like they were maybe a little worried about s3 being too dark. while the choice to really lean into humor was definitely driven by the sorts of eighties teen films from which s3 drew inspiration (like fast times at ridgemont high), i think it was also done in an attempt to alleviate the more troubling implications of some events in the season, particularly the russian bunker plot. like, yeah, st can be incredibly dark, but if they’d played the whole “children being stuck inside of a foreign military base, tied up, tortured, and drugged” thing completely straight without the humorous elements that exist in canon, it had the potential to be like... disturbing on a new level. steve and robin don’t have powers like el yknow their kidnapping/torture doesn’t have any sci-fi elements to sorta soften the blow. they’re just innocent teenagers being brutalized and traumatized by grown men. so anyway yeah i think maybe the writers were concerned about this storyline coming off as too dark and they wanted it to be a little more whimsical but they ended up pushing way too hard in that direction and creating extreme dissonance at times. this goes for joyce/hopper/murray/alexei too, but to a lesser extent. i think the ridiculousness in that group felt a lot more like... realistic. but still. 

newspaper plot

once again i feel like i don’t even need to say this skjdncmn we all know it was insane how the show basically ended up delivering the message “while misogyny is a serious problem poverty and classism are not” and i’ve said it on this blog a million times so i don’t need to repeat myself. i’ll focus on another weak point of this plot: the fact that it completely separates nancy and jonathan from everyone else. once again, the show’s preoccupation with j/ancy held them back! like... can you imagine a version of s3 where nancy and jonathan both worked in the mall? i have a lot of ideas about this possible au and like how the plot could play out differently if they worked in the mall but first of all it’s just more realistic, second of all it further utilizes the mall as a central setting, and third of all, it would bring everyone together. as it is in canon, nancy and jonathan were unnecessarily isolated from the rest of the group, and this isolation was detrimental to both of their characters. like, they only ever get to interact with each other! if they’d gotten summer jobs in the mall, they could have had more interactions with the kids/steve/robin, and they absolutely still could have had a similar argument! maybe in this case, nancy notices the rat thing (or something else odd) herself when taking out the trash behind the mall, and she wants jonathan to ditch work with her to check it out bc she thinks it may be related to the lab. jonathan doesn’t want to ditch work because he needs his job, nancy argues that they’re working shitty mall jobs anyway and who cares if they get fired, and we get more or less the same thing as s3 without the cartoonishly over-the-top misogyny. i mean honestly i think the rat shit could have been cut entirely it didn’t rly... accomplish much of anything. in my opinion. like imagine s3 without the rat plot you literally would not be missing anything except it would be more surprising when the dudes melted into goo at the hospital. so yeah i think it would have been better if nancy and jonathan had jobs at the mall, weren’t isolated from everybody else, and were maybe absorbed into the party’s plot or the scoops troop’s plot from very early on, allowing them to interact with more characters and have a less... dumb.... plot. like god splitting up nancy and jonathan between the party/scoops troop would have been So Much better i just. sdkjcnksdmn anyway yeah.

briefness of group reunion/separation of groups

remember in s2 at the beginning of “the gate,” where mike and hopper had a confrontation and max and el met for the first time and el hugged everyone and steve and nancy had their sad little moment together outside... where’s that energy? obviously the s2 reunion wasn’t that long either, but it made space for some significant emotional moments to take place. s3′s reunion had some hopper/el/mike resolution, but besides that... there was nothing, really. i just think that the whole group getting together in s3 was SO exciting and powerful the way they did it (with both the scoops troop and the adults having their own Big Moment reconnecting with team griswold family), but the emotional potential was more or less squandered. 

i also think in s3 at times they were really stretching to keep everybody separated even though it made no sense. and like... in s1 the separation worked bc nobody else knew that (x group) was experiencing weird shit too, and beyond that, each group (as i mentioned in the s1 section) was sort of operating within their own genre and bringing something unique to the season. they’ve stopped doing that though! now, the groups aren’t separate bc each plot is tonally/structurally different, the groups are just separate bc... they need to be, because it’s a big ensemble cast and you can’t just have them all be together for a whole season or it would be way too difficult to coordinate things and keep the show dynamic. all this is to say that i’m excited for s4 because the location differences make it so there’s a Reason for each plot to be separate at the beginning, and i think that’ll work better.

general ridiculousness

i dont mean like i think it’s bad that they made jokes this is just me lumping in all the dumb shit like hopper not worrying about el and not wanting to check on the kids, him and joyce bickering long after they both know they and their children are in danger, max seemingly forgetting that billy is a racist abuser, etc etc. i think many of these are just a symptom of the show 1. trying desperately to keep the groups split up a certain way even though it may not make any sense, and 2. trying to fit into a certain genre/trope mold when their actual characters are more complex than the tropes they’re imitating. this is so fucking long already i am not gonna elaborate further rn but i trust u all know what i mean.

soooo... yeah, that’s about all! i mean it’s not all there are definitely many more things i could talk about and i know i focused sorta disproportionately on the teens which is my bad :/ but i’m done for now. thank you for asking, and apologies for the delay in responding!! i’m sure some people reading (if anyone read this far) will disagree with some of what i’ve said and that’s alright like i’m not The Authority on st or anything i’m just trying to talk about like my own thoughts yknow? so yeah luv u all i hope someone enjoyed reading this!!

#asks #em talks #lesbianrobin.canon #stranger things #if u actually read all this i love u and im sorry #these r just my opinions!! and im sure i misremembered some shit my brain is swiss cheese #i did my best tho

[plus-size-reader]

Spin the Bottle

Shawn Hunter x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1876 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Cory’s twin sister has a huge crush on Shawn, and gets suckered into admitting it at a party

Part 2

——————————————————————————————————

You had never really been into parties as a general rule.

You didn’t like all the strangers and all the pressure to be something that you weren’t. It just wasn’t your scene, and frankly, it was never going to be. You and your brother had always been losers, outsiders to the popular crowd

...but you had been invited to this party by Shawn Hunter.

Which meant that you had to go.

Shawn had been your brother’s best friend since you were children, and that meant that he had been in your life for as long as you could remember.

Honestly, it had been so long that you could hardly even remember a time before him.

He was all you’d ever had that was even close to a friend outside of your brother, and it was only a matter of time before the feelings you had for Shawn morphed into something else.

It was a classic highschool trope, falling for your brother’s best friend but you just couldn’t help yourself. Shawn was calm, cool and collected all the time.

Anyone in their right mind would be completely head over heels for him, and by the time you were in high school, you had the biggest crush on him that you were sure anyone ever had.

Still, the worst part of the whole thing was that you had to keep it a secret.

If Cory ever found out, you would never hear the end of it. You knew that, and you were also one hundred percent sure that Shawn would never share your feelings.

You knew him too well to ever live under the illusion that he would.

Shawn had dated plenty of girls, different kinds of girls, from all walks of life but never anyone that looked like you. Every girl he’d ever been attracted to was a size two at the most and you just weren’t.

You never had been, and you doubted that you ever would be, so you made a point to keep your crush all hidden away.

It was your biggest secret, and you were absolutely positive that it would never see the light of day. It was just better for everyone that no one ever found out about it.

Or at least, they never should have.

You did as good a job at keeping it hidden as possible but still, the truth always found a way to come out into the open. It was bound to happen at some point.

...And apparently, that day was today.

You arrived at the party with both males, to find the room crowded, and full to the brim with people but you were only focused on a single corner of it, the corner you were in.

Everything else was far too overwhelming to pay attention to.

Really, you were just waiting for the entire thing to end so that you could go home but just when you thought the night was wrapping up, you were proven wrong again.

From where he was standing, in the middle of a huge crowd of people, Shawn had insisted on beginning a game of spin the bottle.

It was a terrible idea really.

You had never liked that game.

It felt like a stupid excuse to humiliate other people for no reason other than the fact that you could, fueled completely by peer pressure and a desire to fit in.

However, even knowing that, you chose to partake anyway. You couldn’t help yourself where Shawn was involved.

It was pathetic and you didn’t need anyone to tell you that to come to terms with it. You knew that it was ridiculous and you would never live it down if anyone found out.

You just didn’t care.

“Who wants to go first?” he called, looking between every single person who had sat down in the circle around him, doing their very best to avoid his focused gaze.

Even the most confident girls fiddled nervously with their fingers, doing anything they could to keep from looking him directly in the face.

That was just the effect Shawn seemed to have on everyone he was around and you were, in no way, immune to the feeling. You wanted to volunteer, of course, but knew better.

If Shawn focused his attention on you for more than a few moments at a time, there was no telling how you would react. With this many people around, everyone was bound to take notice.  

Still, after a few rounds, as the game continued, everyone grew more and more relaxed with one another, as did the bottle spinning.

Every part of this was nearly enough to give you a panic attack but when your turn finally did roll around, you tried to just keep your head down until it was over.

That came, of course, but not in the way you would have expected.

You reached out to grasp the bottle by the neck, giving it a hefty spin. You couldn’t even bother to look at it as it came to a stop, not willing to endure the embarrassment.

Frankly, you would have been more willing to crawl into a hole than to do this at all.

Though, just when you were sure it couldn’t have gotten worse, you looked up to find Shawn standing there, offering a hand to you. You took it, out of habit, but couldn’t really think past that.

The group of teens around you hooted and hollered as you stood from where you’d been sitting, trying to fade from this plain of existence.

This was fun for them.

Part of you wondered what he was thinking, wondered why he didn’t just refuse, moving on to the next player. It would have been easier than having to submit himself to any kind of ridicule.

Still, Shawn didn’t even seem to bat an eye at their teasing.

Not that you had much time to process that before you found yourself locked within the close confines of the hall closet, the muffled laughter still audible.

That part was added later in the game with some of the players suggesting it would be much more fun to morph the current game with seven minutes in heaven.

An even worse idea than before.

Though, even you had to admit that you were kind of glad for the privacy now. At least if Shawn was going to reject you completely, he wouldn’t do it in front of everyone you knew.

“You okay kid? I’m not gonna bite ya” Shawn teased, closing the door behind your two bodies, yanking the string to turn on the light slightly after.

You nearly retched at that terrible nickname.

It was the same thing he’d been calling you since elementary school, when it had been cute. Now that you were nearly adults, it almost felt like an insult.

You didn’t need any more reminders that Shawn didn’t see you as a dateable girl. You needed to just accept that, to him, you were never going to be more than his best friend’s sister.

“How long do you want to stand here before we can go back out?” you asked, not even operating under the illusion that he would actually want to do anything here with you.

As far as you knew, you were just going to stand here for a few minutes then you were going to go home as quickly as you could.

All you could hope for was the chance to dodge the comments on your way to the car. Those jerks were going to eat this whole thing up and you would likely never live it down.

Now, from where he was standing, Shawn was admittedly shocked.

That wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“Geez, not even a little humor?” he teased, knitting his eyebrows together, though his lips tugged into a smile. This was just a big joke to him, or so it seemed.

You should have seen this coming.

“Did you set this up? Is this some kind of joke?” you asked, briefly considering that Shawn could have done this all for a laugh, though you didn’t think he would.

At this point, you couldn’t put that past anyone.

“Wow. What are you talking about?” he asked, all signs of that smile now gone. Up until now, he thought you were playing along with him but in that moment, that fell away.

You seemed really upset.

“What is going on? Did something happen?”

Those words came a moment later, when you didn’t answer his first question. You knew that he was worried about you, and that it was all coming from a good place but you were already too far gone to stop now.

You couldn’t just grin and bare your way out of this.

At this point, you had been doing that for too long.

“No Shawn, nothing happened and it’s never going to. I’m never going to be hot and athletic like Jennifer Bassett or exciting like Dana Pruitt” you sighed, burying your face in your hands as you spoke.

You were humiliating yourself, and it was all for nothing. Shawn didn’t even know what you were talking about.

“What? Why would you want to be?” he questioned, wracking his brain in a desperate attempt to figure out where you were going with this.

He hadn’t thought about either of them in quite some time but clearly, you hadn’t given yourself that same luxury. You had something going on, and he was going to figure it out.

No matter how long it took or how stupid he made himself look in the process.

“God! Because they’re perfect and that was why you liked them so much. I can’t be like that, and that’s why-” you scoffed, leaning down against the door until you came to rest on the floor, your words fading away the longer you went.

If you had let what you were about to say slip, nothing would ever be able to take it back.

...And Shawn seemed to realize that too.

“Why what?” he hummed, kneeling down beside you, his hand gingerly falling on your chin in a desperate attempt to get you to look at him.

You were doing that thing Cory always did, pretending like you could keep it all in though it was only a matter of minutes before you burst and told him the truth.

“Come on Kid, just tell me what’s going on. Please”

You wanted to smack that gentle, supportive man in his face for sitting there, acting like he actually cared about you but you couldn't.

You couldn’t, because he was really just gentle and supportive.

“Why you could never like me like that” you muttered, swallowing thickly as soon as those words left your lips. It was killing you, this whole thing, and you nearly cried at the thought of it.

...But you knew that would do no good.

You had made peace with the truth a long time ago, but something about tonight put a chip in that wall you’d built and it was just getting harder to cover it up.

Not that it would matter much after this.

Shawn would probably never speak to you again after this and you couldn’t blame him.

#shawn hunter #shawn hunter x reader #shawn hunter x ps reader #shawn hunter x plus size reader #shawn hunter imagine #bmw #bmw x reader #bmw x ps reader #bmw x plus size reader #bmw imagine #boy meets world #boy meets world x reader #boy meets world x ps reader #boy meets world x plus size reader #boy meets world imagine

[glompcat]

I think one of the key things, in large fandoms that contain so many different media types they may as well be 20 separate fandoms, that can differentiate coming across as an asshole when entering larger fandom spaces and well... not, is understanding that in any conversation you are going into, literally every single one, there is going to be at least one person who LOVES the things you dislike.

That one part of the franchise you think is irredeemable? That’s someone’s most favorite thing ever.

Of course, the reverse is also going to be true.

When you are in a small conversation with people you know feel the same as you about the fandom in question, or you are on your own personal blog or wherever, obviously saying things like “this is just really fucking bad, there is no good to be found here and forming an emotional connection is impossible” isn’t rude, as it is all a matter of knowing the space, but saying that in a much larger forum space or chatroom or in direct response to someone’s post about liking the thing means you are just directly telling someone that the thing they like is bad (which no one wants to hear, least of all when they are in a fandom space), and also, often, with the way people tend to frame these things these days that they are in fact wrong/bad/strange for responding to the stories that they do. 

Which is, in fact, an asshole move.

This isn’t to say it is rude to express a dislike of a thing, not in the least, critiquing media is an important part of fandom, but the KEY difference between a reasoned attempt at doing so in a large fandom space and Being An Asshole is the universality of it all.

Are you saying that YOU PERSONALLY felt a certain way or that EVERYONE HAS TO FEEL THIS WAY. Are you saying YOU PERSONALLY did not feel the writing allowed you to form emotional connection or it is written in a way where NO ONE AT ALL could possibly form an emotional connection?

Essentially are you telling people how they should interact with the media or just reporting on your own personal feelings about it?

To use some examples, if someone was to say “I don’t like the Mandalorian, it’s not my cup of tea, I dislike the whole strong but silent trope so it doesn’t appeal to me” that is a very different statement than someone saying “how does anyone like the Mandalorian, the main character hardly ever speaks, it’s trash.”

“The character of Anders in the Dragon Age games came across as pretty sexist to me when I was playing DAO, and therefore I am not comfortable with him as a character” is a very different statement from “Anders is sexist and anyone who likes him is an apologist.” Or: “I find Cullen’s political positions to be very uncomfortable and worthy of push back as he has advocated for some pretty deplorable things over the course of the games” is a very different statement than “you’d have to be a genocide apologist to like ramen hair.”

Even when it comes to the larger issues, people often read texts differently, and universal statements can make things tricky and even prevent people from actually hearing what you have to say. “The villain in the Classic Doctor Who serial The Sun Makers is an antisemitic caricature” is simply a true statement, “anyone who likes The Sun Makers is an antisemite” less so. If your goal is to explain to people why The Collector is so harmful and how his presence undermines the rest of the Sun Makers so they can better understand these things, that second one probably isn’t the best opener to go with (if that is not your goal however and you are just pissed off and do in fact want to pick a fight with people, go for it, but know you are picking a fight).

Unless you are in a group that specifically is for or against a particular thing, you have to assume that in a more generalized fandom space there are going to be people who disagree with you, and if you insult them directly they are probably going to go off at you because you very much will have been A Rude Asshole in that conversation.

Conversely, there is a certain level of being socially awkward that we all have to have understanding for in these spaces, not to mention of course the fact that at the present moment every person on this planet is stressed af and dealing with a pandemic. We should also always be keeping in mind that when someone is talking about something that is bigoted against a group they themselves belong to, their emotions will be heightened in a very particular way and they will probably show up in any conversation about it in an heightened state. In other words, everyone is human.

To say nothing for the fact that no matter what there are flaws with the things you like too (there is no such thing as unproblematic media), and if you make a habit of telling people the things they like are bad and they are bad for liking them, the people you piss off might point to the flaws in the stuff you like and use them to accuse you of things too, turning it all into a horrible toxic escalating mess.

Basically, in short, what I am saying is the rules of social interaction that apply offline? They don’t magically vanish just because the people you are talking to are behind a computer screen and not in the actual room with you. Obviously you can say whatever you want to say however you want to say it wherever you want to say it, I certainly have no interest in policing anyone’s behavior, but just be aware that you do not exist in a social vacuum and if you say something about people they are going to at the very least judge you, or even push back in some way.

#Long Post

[inkmyname]

The Ember Island Players: performing toxic masculinity and narrative complicity in propagating misogyny

Initially I wasn’t going to respond to concerns about Katara’s racist/misogynistic portrayal in the Ember Island Players with anything more than snarky tags, but apparently I can’t keep my mouth shut, so I’m posting my response as a standalone meta about how the writers’ insistence on creating drama for drama’s sake leads them to--in lieu of actual character development--fall back on lazy narrative shortcuts whereby a performance of toxic masculinity against a gendered heternormative background is used to create tension in a romantic relationship, presumably with the goal of keeping the audience invested.

The Ember Island Players is problematic for a lot of reasons, not least of which is the pervasive tone-deaf misogyny, including racialized misogyny, directed at Katara. There’s a lot of meta on this, so I’d like to focus on something different: Aang’s relationship with gender and romantic attachments.

Aang seems so uncharacteristically chagrined the whole episode: “I’m not a woman!” Based on his previous characterization up to this point:

The Fortuneteller. This is the same Aang who makes a necklace for Katara when she loses her mother’s. Observe how he responds to Sokka’s jibe about jewelry-making, which can be seen as a feminine pursuit: Sokka: Great, Aang. Maybe instead of saving the world, you can go into the jewelry-making business. Aang: I don’t see why I can’t do both. Femininity isn’t presented as being mutually exclusive with narrative pursuits like saving the world which have traditionally centered male protagonists (especially if we take the entire canon of anything every written in any genre that’s not specifically, say, something like shoujo or jounen which are directed and young girls and women, the narrative focus on male personalities is overwhelming).

The Warriors of Kyoshi. Oh, and this is the same Aang that dressed up in full Kyoshi gear, kabuki makeup and all, without complaint. Why would he? After all, she was him in a past life. (There’s a whole meta here about gender-critical analysis of kabuki productions where male actors typically assumed female roles and how Avatar both takes inspiration from this real-life kernel and subverts it in Rise of Kyoshi where Kyoshi’s signature look is not only an homage to her parental heritage but also a reimagining of who can inhabit what roles. Her legacy, though imperfect, is also notably feminist, taking face paint worn typically by men IRL and expanding it into war paint for women warriors.) (There’s also great headcanon-adjacent meta here about gender non-conformity and non-binary identities in Avatar. Avatar was not overtly explicit about its feminist or gender-progressive mindset outside of episodes like The Warriors of Kyoshi or The Waterbending Master, but it was still way ahead of its time. If anyone was to be presented or headcanoned in such a way, it would be the Avatar who’s lived a thousand lives, inhabiting a thousand skins and a thousand identities, including gender identities. There’s also cool crossover meta here about the Legend of Korra depicting a female Avatar in Korra with masculine tendencies and visible muscle vs Aang as a male Avatar with a gentler pacifistic spirit and gender nonconforming tendencies.)

The Cave of Two Lovers. Aang wears a freaking flower crown and is generally wholesome and adorable, even leading up to the “let’s kiss lest we die” scene with Katara. He’s not pushy or overly concerned with appearing masculine and it is in fact Katara who suggests the kiss and Aang makes a fool of himself. From the transcript: Katara [Shyly, blushing.] Well, what if we … kissed? Aang [Very surprised.] Us … kissing‌? Katara See? It was a crazy idea. Aang [Dreamily.] Us … kissing … Katara [Fake-jokingly.] Us kissing. What was I thinking? Can you imagine that‌? Aang [Fake-jokingly.] Yeah. [Awkwardly laughs.] I definitely wouldn’t want to kiss you! [Beat.] Katara [Insulted.] Oh, well! I didn’t realize it was such a horrible option. [Angrily.] Sorry I suggested it! Aang [Realizing his mistake.] No, no, I mean … if there was a choice between kissing you and dying … Katara [Disgusted.] Ugh! Aang [Desperately.] What? I’m saying is I would rather kiss you than die - that’s a compliment. Katara [Enraged.] Well, I’m not sure which I’d rather do! [Slams the torch into his hand and storms away.] Aang [Miserably.] What is wrong with me … Aang, sweetie, this is not what you say to a girl you want to kiss, but generally, this is Wholesome™ and narratively, this is Good™. Eventually, they do kiss and that’s perfectly acceptable because there’s a whole conversation beforehand with humorous romantic framing. There’s consent and communication and initiative by the female protagonist. So solid A on the sensitive writing.

General Air Nomad culture. We don’t get a lot of Air Nomad culture in the show (and what little we do get what presented in such a misguided way, especially the whole commitment to forgiveness/pacifism which was handled in such an amateur black-and-white way from a writing perspective in season 3). But I digress. I really, really don’t think that Air Nomads who were so concerned with the spiritual side of bending and general existence had stringent notions of gender and romantic relationships–at the very least, they had very different notions of these issues compared to, say, the Northern Water Tribe. Canonically, even though AN philosophy emphasized detachment, Air Nomads practiced free love. Same-gender romance was freely accepted unlike in the homophobic Earth Kingdom (which even Kyoshi, a bisexual woman, wasn’t able to change) and the militant Fire Nation (Sozin outlawed homosexuality after declaring world war, essentially). And though the temples were gender-segregated, it seems that the burden of raising children fell to the entire community instead of just the women. Both male and female Air Nomads are revered. In the case of the former, Guru Laghima who unlocked the power of flight through achieving complete detachment from the material world. And in the case of the latter, Avatar Yangchen, who has statues everywhere because she came to be revered as a deity not just among Air Nomads but in the physical world in general. Nowhere in Air Nomad philosophy is the concept of gender, romance, love, sexuality, relationships etc. etc. tainted with jealousy and possessiveness (especially towards women) or rigid binary heternormativity.

So this was Aang for the better part of the first half of the series. Not overly concerned with gender roles. Pretty much fumbling his way through his first crush like a lovesick puppy and it’s all very wholesome. Supposedly a classic product of Air Nomad upbringing.

Meanwhile, Aang in EIP:

Checks out Katara’s butt as she’s sitting down.

Gets mad at being portrayed by a woman.

Accuses Katara of being the racialized misogynistic version of herself depicted on stage ([sarcastically]“Yeah, that’s not you at all.”).

Nods in agreement when the misogynistic stage production of Katara presents her as the “Avatar’s girl.”

Unable to differentiate between fiction and reality and puts the onus on Katara to do the emotional labor to justify something she never said (”Katara, did you really mean what you said in there? On stage, when you said I was just like a … brother to you, and you didn’t have feelings for me.”)

Assumes they would just… fall into a relationship… just because he forcibly kissed her at the invasion and again pressures Katara to do the emotional labor to justify why their relationship is not how he wants it (“But it’s true, isn’t it? We kissed at the Invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together. But we’re not.” / “Aang, I don’t know.” / “Why don’t you know?”)

Forces a non-consensual kiss on her even though “I just said I was confused!”

So, there’s so many things wrong with this, most of which are a laundry list of behaviors typical of toxic masculinity:

Ogling

Outdated misogynistic humor (what’s wrong with being a woman?)

Verbal abuse

Offloading emotional labor

Gaslighting

Pressuring a potential romantic partner

Lack of direct communication about romantic desires

Lack of sensitivity

Lack of active listening

Lack of emotional intelligence and empathy

Lack of consent and sexual assault

I could go on and on.

My question is Where and when did he learn these toxic behaviors? What happened to the wholesome boy making necklaces, wearing flower crowns, and generally being adorable in a kid with a first crush kind of way when it comes to romance?

Now, you can argue that EIP players Aang has been through a lot, including being shot by lightning and actually dying, and after the failed invasion, he’s stressed out with the weight of the world on his shoulders and maybe not expressing himself or his desires in the best way and taking out all of his frustrations on Katara.

Except… that is all just conjecture because the actual writing of the show doesn’t put in the hard work and make those connections. Instead, they fall back on misogynistic tropes and toxic heternormative romance tropes and a forced love triangle subtext and they just, to put it politely, fuck it up, two and a half seasons’ worth of work, gone, in the space of one episode. And even if it weren’t conjecture, it would still be wrong of Aang to act the way he did.

Let’s list Aang and Katara’s interaction in relation to each other in season 3:

The Headband. “Don’t worry about them. It’s just you and me right now,” Aang says as he pulls Katara into a dance. I have qualms about the writing of this episode: the creators wasted a golden opportunity to flesh out the Air Nomad genocide because they were too busy playing footloose in a cave, they wrote Katara–the same Katara would said fuck you to Pakku, freed enslaved earthbenders from a Fire Navy prison, and became a spirit goddess ecoterrorist to help a village in an enemy nation–as uncharacteristically shy just so Aang could sweep in and pull her into a dance. But like fine, whatever. It’s cute and really well-chreographed and there’s actually appropriate romantic framing here for once and at the end of the dance, look at Katara’s face–she’s happy! Positive Kataang interaction, and I don’t actually mind it. 7/10.

The Day of Black Sun Pt.1. He forces a kiss on her on the mouth, taking her completely by surprise. A chaste kiss on the cheek and a wistful pining last look and “Be safe” might have been acceptable, but given Katara’s shocked and uncomfortable body language, the kiss on the mouth was not. Worse yet, the show just… forgets… to follow up on it for several episodes and when it’s brought up again, it’s used as a sledgehammer to punish Katara for not magically being with Aang. 0/10.

The Painted Lady. Let’s look at the transcript: Katara [Using a disguised voice.] Well, hello Avatar. I wish I could talk, but I am very busy. Aang Yeah, me too. I hate that. [Looks at Katara’s face from behind the veil.] You know, you’re really pretty, for a spirit. I don’t meet too many spirits, but the ones I do meet, not very attractive. [Looks at Katara suspiciously. Tries to look under the hat.] Katara [Giggles nervously.] Thank you, but- Aang You seem familiar too. Katara A lot of people say that. Aang [Suspicious.] No, you really seem familiar. Katara Look, I really should get going. [Covers her face and runs, but Aang uses his airbending and blasts her hat up into the air, exposing her.] Aang Katara? Katara [Guiltily.] Hi, Aang. Aang [Shocked.] You’re the Painted Lady? [Pointing at Katara.] But how?Katara I wasn’t her at first, I was just trying to help the village. [Takes her hat off.] But since everyone thought that’s who I was anyway, I guess I just kinda became her. [Drops her hat on the ground.] Aang So you’ve been sneaking out at night? Wait, is Appa even sick?Katara He might be sick of the purple berries I’ve been feeding him, but other than that he’s fine! Aang I can’t believe you lied to everyone, so you could help these people. Katara I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have … Aang [Happily.] No, I think it’s great! You’re like a secret hero! Katara Well, if you wanna help, there’s one more thing I have to do. Aang gives her a curious look. Cut to the Fire Nation factory. Aang and Katara run along the river’s edge toward it. Aang looks at the polluted water. Aang You wanna destroy this factory? Katara Yes. Sokka was just kidding, but he was right. Getting rid of this factory is the only way to help these people permanently. He helps her blow up the Fire Nation smelting plant! Yes, he does call her pretty, but more importantly, this is one of the few times he acknowledges her faults (lying, deception, putting the mission at risk to help the enemy nation etc.) and still thinks she’s so fucking cool. He calls her a secret hero! There’s a lot of admiration and support here from Aang. He’s raising up Katara (instead of putting her down as in EIP) not because he sees her as a potential love interest but because he admires her and her compassion! This is great. Solid wholesome Kataang interaction. 10/10. But all good things must come to an end…

The Southern Raiders. I’m not going to spend too much time on this because there’s a million pieces of meta on this episode. He’s completely out of line asking Katara to be forgive her mother’s killer, the source of her greatest trauma as a victim of targeted ethnic cleansing. Given that he’s a victim of ethnic genocide himself, although he personally wasn’t there for it/didn’t actually witness it unlike Katara, he should have understood. He does say “You need to face this man,” which is good and supportive and he should have stopped there, because he continues on to say, “But when you do, please don’t choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.” Stop. Stop stop stop. No one should tell a traumatized victim of ethnic cleansing how to deal with their trauma. By the end of the episode, Katara doesn’t kill him–but she crafts a third path as the conclusion to her hero’s journey and it is not the path of forgiveness that Aang preaches. Ironically, it is Zuko, who also confronts Ozai, the source of his greatest trauma, who never tells Katara what to do but follows her lead instead: even though he redirects lightning at Ozai and could have killed him, he doesn’t go through with it. He understands Katara and he understands that she needs to this. Kataang interaction rating: 0/10.

So that’s where we are with Aang and Katara in Ember Island Players. Some positive interactions that are appropriately romantically framed and some that are just wholesome and good… but all ruined by forced kissing and moralizing about Katara’s trauma instead of offering understanding. So that still doesn’t answer when Aang would have learned all of the toxic masculine/heternormative behaviors he displayed in The Ember Islands Players.

The only answer, I’m forced to conclude, is bad fucking writing, where the creators were not only tone-deaf in portraying Katara in a racist/misogynistic way or, you know, in writing solely for the male gaze because fuck half the audience, I guess, but they just wanted to create drama for drama’s sake. They completely disrespected their female lead and I would argue they disrespected Aang’s character too in making him a stereotypical self-insert Gary Stu who displays toxic masculine behavior without consequences because that’s what’s expected of a toxic heternormative romantic plot device.

And worse yet, they never follow up on this, just like with the kiss at the Invasion. In the last five minutes of the finale, Katara looks up at him with admiration for saving the world and then kisses him. This is not only a missed opportunity for character development for Aang, but also a big fuck you to the female audience because the message is clear: the guy gets the girl as a trophy for saving the world, and fuck input from the female half of the partnership because that’s just not important and is not worthy of screentime. But I guess screentime dedicated to displaying toxic masculine/heternormative behaviors without ever condemning such behavior as a follow-up is just fine! :)))

If the EIP was supposed to make an argument for Kataang, then it failed. but more important:

By the show’s own high standards, The Ember Island Players is a failed episode, full of bad writing and worse characterization. For a show that was so ahead of its time, this episode is a narrative black mark, a failure of progressive representation and a disservice to its main characters.

There’s some wholesome Sukka and Zuko/Toph interaction, but even that doesn’t manage to save this episode, especially given there’s no resolution to the central conflict: the relationship between Aang and Katara. The entire unnecessarily OOC and forced Kataang drama drags it down.

We know Aang is capable of lifting up Katara and being supportive of her, as he was in episodes prior. We could have had honest, supportive, and open dialogue between Aang and Katara that actually followed up on the Invasion kiss, with Aang clearly expressing what he wants, Katara expressing that maybe she didn’t want that right now, and Aang completely respecting that and them hugging at the end because their friendship/connection is much more profound than pre-teen romance. This is an instance where Aang could have chosen to center Katara’s feelings, for once, instead of his own out of selfless love. If this happened, I would have been okay with a Kataang ending. But that isn’t what we got, obviously.

Part of what appealed to me about Aang as a male protagonist in media aimed at young audiences is that he–at least initially–did not start out as a toxic self-insert Gary Stu lifted from every problematic heternormative romance film ever. In fact, given his playful trickster archetype, general kindness/gentleness, and his stance against violence (a typically masculine trait), he both subverted expectations of and expanded the boundaries of what a male protagonist in children’s media can look like. Unfortunately, the creators don’t go all the way with Aang. In fact, they took a step back with his portrayal in The Ember Island Players, where the creators not only rely on misogynistic tropes to create drama but also make him complicit in propagating said misogyny. And that’s just a damn shame because we could have had a wholesome Kataang storyline and a sensitive male protagonist who cares not about your outdated gender roles and respects his partner’s autonomy!

#atla #aang #katara #kataang #eip #meta #my meta #aang deserved better #katara deserved better #queer #heteronormativity #toxic masculinity #misogyny #feminist criticism #kataang critical #but only in the sense that the writers messed it up #nothing against kataang personally

[howlingday]

About Jaune ships...

I have opinions. You may not agree, but they are mine. They may change in time, but not now.

LANCASTER ( RUBY X JAUNE )

The old tried and true. I mean, what's not to like? Cute girl falls for first guy she meets at Beacon? Classic romance trope, and after reading how much Ruby loves romance stories (I consider certain parts in the manga canon), it makes sense. In fact, after Arkos sank (A moment of silence, please . . . Thank you), many moved to Lancaster, which isn't bad. Happens all the time in fandoms. Sad thing, though, is far I think she'll last. If we're talking Volume 5 or earlier, then maybe. However, I feel if Ruby were to have an endgame in romance, it would be RoseGarden (I have opinions on that as well, but today isn't the day to discuss that), mostly because Oscar bumped Jaune's role from male lead to male side. Not to mention that while Jaune is becoming a beast in his own right, Ruby is a different creature altogether and evolving her character more rapidly and chaotically than anyone else (Must be all that screentime).

TLDR: I want it to be canon, but I might just be hoping.

WHITE KNIGHT ( WEISS X JAUNE)

Doofus in tin foil meets princess who hates daddy (Am I in the romance section of the library? You know, the corner for adults only?) No, but I do like this ship. I'm always a sucker for the fantasy genre, and using a zero to hero male makes it relatable. I also kind of ship it because the same reason I ship NaruSaku in the Naruto fandom: he likes her and he's willing to go the distance. But enough about that; instead let's talk about canon. Will they hook up? It's a soft maybe for me, for two reasons. 1. Rosegarden is most likely to be endgame, and after Ruby and Pyrrha, I'd say Weiss is Jaune's next to be his love interest. 2. Weiss has warmed up to Jaune. Sure, not lover or crush level (Yet), but she's definitely changed her opinion on him. In Volume 1, Jaune was bugging her, like all the time, which I could see as him getting mixed signals on (Exhibit A: Tall, blonde, and scraggly). When Volume 5 came around, everyone jumped onboard because he saved her life (Don't lie, because I'll admit that I did it, too). Not the best reason, but still reason enough, I'd say. Then in Volume 7, she hangs out with him and Oscar to the movies (It was either that or awkward Bumbleby all night. I feel ya, sister). Nothing romantic happens, but it does show how much their relationship has developed. If Weiss is Jaune's endgame, then they have set the pieces up perfectly to do so.

TLDR: High likelihood to be canon and I'm a sucker for Knight/Princess ships.

KNIGHTSHADE ( BLAKE X JAUNE)

This is the part where I say definitely not. Not in a million years, but I'll explain why I like the ship, though. As for why it won't work, the answer is Bumbleby. They haven't kissed yet, but you know they're going to eventually (Because if they don't, the fans will attack like a swarm of hornets). But here's the question you might be asking now: why do I ship this? Well, it's part of the allure of "opposites attract" ('Cause I'm dressed like a cat!). Blake is an intelligent, outspoken, and agile ninja with a criminal history of terrorism who spends her free time reading novels. Jaune is a B at best on his tests, soft-hearted, and ground-based knight who's worst crime is fraud (Still a crime, but peanuts compared to literal terrorism) and spends his free time hanging out with his team. Day and night. But they also tried that with Sun for a season and a half and it didn't last (BECAUSE BEES).

TLDR: Not even a snowball's chance in the summer sun, but so much story potential if you do (Which I do)!

DRAGONSLAYER ( YANG X JAUNE )

This, I would say, is the opposite of Knightshade, where Jaune is the day and Blake is night, here Yang is the Sun and Jaune is the Moon (Like their crests! Remember those? Y'know, when they were relevant?) Will it work? Even less so than Knightshade. However, it does open up some interesting paths considering how... provocative Yang can be, and Jaune, compared to the other guys, is the nerdiest, geekiest dude at Beacon. It's like the cheerleader/nerd romance, except the cheerleader is the captain of every sports team... and rides a motorcycle. The Volume 8 preview introduced us to Yang and Jaune riding motorcycles and we went nuts over it. Yang was back in her element, roaring down the street, riding on walls, popping off tricks with Oscar riding- Back to what I was saying, people were asking, "How did he know how to ride a motorcycle?" and the elementary answer is "He didn't." He almost fell off his bike from a small box in the road. True, anyone would, but look at how he reacts: he stiffens, he refocuses on the road. This kid literally started riding at breakfast, and I DARE you to prove me wrong. But hey, great fic material right there, though, eh?

TLDR: Never gonna happen, but I don't care. All I care about is writing that they love each other. And they also fu-!

ARKOS ( PYRRHA X JAUNE )

I'm sorry, I need a moment. . . . Alright. Do it for her. This ship... was perfect. Probably the best ship out them all. I legit almost cry every time I think about Volume 3. Pyrrha was everyone's favorite. Her background, her interactions, her choreography, everything! But, of course, like everything in our lives, she was too good to be true. But let's honor her memory by talking about her ship, Arkos. Pyrrha was the champion of the world, the Brothers' and Oums' gift to Remnant. She could do no wrong and she HATED it. Her plight was with how she was seen. Everybody knew her! Everybody, except Jaune. And he only figured out she was "a big deal" was because Weiss had to spell it out for him! As time went on, they became the best of friends, two peas in a pod, the perfect odd couple! They worked together and trusted each other, they cared for and supported each other, they lo- No. No, I can't say it. It's been years, and it still hurts. So, I'll explain something else: the reason why Jaune SHOULD NOT be shipped right now. That reason is Pyrrha. Jaune was helpless to save her. He's suffering from survivor's guilt and he's still grieving. In Volume 4, he would sneak away and train until late at night to scroll recording of her. In Volume 5, he confronted Cinder and got Weiss almost killed because he let his grief for Pyrrha take control of him and let his emotions run wild. In Volume 6, he finds the Pyrrha statue and he... I don't know how to say this, but he let's go. He accepts that Pyrrha is gone and he's starting the healing process. He's finally ready to move forward.

TLDR: T.T I never felt that it was wise to wish too much~

MARTIAL ARCS ( REN X JAUNE)

I'll be honest, I don't really ship it. Yeah, it's cute, and it falls perfectly into the "if I had to pick a guy" part of me, but to be honest, I don't ship it. 10% because Renora and 90% it just doesn't click with me. They both just seem too soft, too quiet, too introverted. Best friends? Yes, definitely! But lovers? Eeeeeh, not really.

TLDR: I will only ship as neccessary.

NORA'S ARC ( NORA X JAUNE )

I've only just got in this deep with the fandom only recently, so I don't know if a lot of you know me. Heck, I'm probably just some RWBY fan you happen to spot as you move through your dash. However, old or new, I want to be made absolutely positively clear on this. Of all the ships here, this has got to be my-

O T FUDGIN' P

Wow! Never thought I'd feel so strongly about a crack ship like this. And yes, as sad it is to say, this is a crack ship. Renora was planned from day one, so it can't be helped. At least it didn't blast me in the face all of the sudden (OH NO, NOT THE BEES! AAAAARGH! THEY'RE IN MY EYES!). But why this ship? Well, for one thing, it's that whole opposites attract thing with Nora as the bubbly, outspoken, airhead powerhouse and Jaune as the soft spoken, introverted, nerd tactician. But wait, there's more to this trope, because it can go deeper: Order VS Chaos! Who makes all the messes? Who cleans up those messes? Who follows all the rules? Who makes their own doors? It's just. So. Damn! GOOD! One sad thing about this ship though is that it's not only not canon because of Renora, it's anti-canon because Renora. Every fan fic of Nora's Arc requires an explanation for Ren and Nora to not be together-together, like you have to write a formal apology to the FNDM for liking something that's different from what is canon or commonly accepted. If that's the case, then I'll be the anarchist here!

TLDR: I LOVE IT! What's that? Not canon? Who gives a damn?! I just explained why Jaune won't be shipped anyways! Now, if you'll excuse, I have some fan fics to find.

ARCFALL ( CINDER X JAUNE )

Oh, here it goes! Now, if we're talking ships that'll never happen, this is where we find better reasons than "it's not canon" and "character development". No, this... This is a declaration of war. Allow me to explain. Cinder Fall is evil. Like, down to her core. She wants power and she'll cut through anyone to get to it. Including Pyrrha. This woman sank Arkos by means other than "X and Y kissed, so..." She killed X, leaving Y alone. And her interactions with Jaune tell me she wouldn't even be worth a hate-bang. But, as Momma always, there's a thin line between love and hate. This is where the appeal comes in. Cinder is evil with no past, which leaves the previous chapter's of her life story blank to be filled in. Jaune is good with a troublesome, albeit easy past, but untapped potential for more. It's another opposites attract, but different from INTRO VS EXTRO and CHAOS VS ORDER; this is GOOD VS EVIL. Who will win this battle of wills; will our hero purify the tainted heart, or will he slip deeper into darkness, never to return to the light?

TLDR: Should be a NOTP, and yet the allure pulls me in.

What do y'all think? Do you agree? Let me know!

#rwby #jaune arc #my thoughts #jaune arc ships #ruby rose #ruby rose x jaune arc #weiss schnee #weiss schnee x jaune arc #whiteknight #white knight #knightshade #dragonslayer #bumbleby #blake belladonna #blake belladonna x jaune arc #yang xiao long #yang xiao long x jaune arc #yang xiao long x blake belladonna #pyrrha nikos #arkos #Pyrrha nikos x jaune arc #nora valkryie #nora's arc #nora valkyrie x lie ren #renora #nora valkyrie x jaune arc #arcfall #cinder fall #cinder fall x jaune arc

[blackjack-15]

No, the Creature’s name is Fraulein’s Monster — Thoughts on: The Captive Curse (CAP)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN, WAC, TOT, SAW

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraphs above, along with my list of previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: CAP, mentions of SAW, mentions of ASH.

The Intro:

The obvious Frankenstein reference in the title of this meta is the only one I make in the whole meta, I swear. It was a mistake to make the monster look like Frankenstein’s Monster, but I’m not gonna drag you guys or the meta down with that.

We’re professionals here.

This is a game with rather big shoes to fill, to be honest — it’s our first game in Germany, comes right after a very well-received “haunting” game and has shades of being a “haunting” game itself, its (small bit of) marketing played off Grimm’s Tales, and Savannah’s comment about staying in a castle where she discovered that the real monster was human cruelty is directly pointing towards it. CAP and its story could have crumpled under the weight of high expectations like MED, MID, and (in a slightly more controversial opinion) SEA did, but instead it did the opposite: in nearly every way, it improved on the Faerietale Formula that SAW inspired, and added to it.

Rather than a spooky haunted faerietale with a Hidden Villain, we have instead a monster — out in the open, even — as our main villain. The difference between ghosts and monsters isn’t really important in, say, a “Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark” or “Goosebumps” book, but it’s fairly important in a mystery, and even more in a Nancy Drew mystery.

As I’ve said a few dozen times in this series — and if you’re not tired of it yet, you will be soon — ghosts are a Reality in the Nancy Drew universe; they exist, they cause trouble, and they sometimes even help the living (or at least coexist with the living).

Monsters, on the other hand, never really exist — not banshees, not werewolves, not malicious wolves with opposable thumbs and the ability to cook poisoned foods, and certainly not monsters that in no way resemble the main villain from a Universal classic horror flick. Monster in the Nancy Drew universe is a Title, not a type of creature. Whenever there’s a monster on the loose, it’s a sure sign that there’s a bitter individual somewhere looking to hurt someone — usually for a personal grudge.

Which, as it happens, is exactly what happened here.

We’re still firmly in a Faerietale game — the ‘Nancy’ games start with ASH — but I do think it’s important to note here that the girls in this game (the victims of the monster, Renate, Anja) are all shadows of Nancy. The previous victims, sharing the designation of the Girl in the Dress with Nancy, are shadows of what could happen to Nancy if she doesn’t change the fate that’s been designated for her — down to the red hair of the original Girl.

Renate is a type of detective, trying to solve the mystery of the tragedies that strike the castle through the actions of the past. And Anja — well, let’s just say that Anja and Nancy have a lot more between then than the first glance might show.

The two women are foiled, especially with their love lives. Nancy’s dating a good man — despite the obvious, glaring problems in the relationship — and so their argument (and her own selfish behavior) isn’t the end of the world, nor the end of the relationship. They stop, they assess, and — with a little help from Anja — Nancy’s determined to try a little harder, leading us straight into ASH. The big thesis statement of the game is delivered, like last game, by our villain — “There’s nothing like love to bring order to a scattered world”. Anja gives Nancy good advice: communicate, and work for what you want.

Anja, however, was not dating a good man; she encouraged him, much like Ned does with Nancy, to be better, to try harder, to really reach for what he could be — only to be cast aside as soon as all the hard work that she had put in to supporting him led to good results. Her world was not scattered before — but after Markus, there was nothing that could put it back together again.

There’s nothing like love, indeed, but when it’s the wrong kind of person…well, the message that Anja took out of it was that somebody, somewhere, should care about her. And if they weren’t going to…well, a tragedy necessitates the force of Fate, and we know what Renate says about fate:

“Fate has a habit of digging in its claws when tempted.”

The last thing I want to touch on in this introduction — which I realize is a bit heavy on themes, but so is the game — is the importance of Titles within this game. The Bürgermeister, The Castellan, The Monster, The Girl in the Dress — this game operates a lot on character tropes, like any self-respecting faerietale, and the titles go a long way to showing who each character is. Karl feels dwarfed and inadequate next to his title; Anja wanted hers so badly that she was willing to lie; the title of Monster strikes fear into the heart of the vast majority of our cast.

And the Girl? The Girl in the Dress is a symbol of helpless fate, a sacrifice to propel the narrative forward. Remember what Renate tells Nancy? “The monster, he is here for you.”

Tellingly, it’s Nancy’s changing of what exactly it means to be The Girl in the Dress that allows our faerietale to meet with a happy ending, rather than a tragedy (the ending normally brought about by Fate, in Renate’s words). In keeping the title but changing the scope of the title, Nancy figuratively beats the Monster, and saves the memory all the Girls that came before.

The Title:

The Captive Curse is, as far as titles go, a masterclass. Nearly all the titles of the 20+ numbers are fabulous, but CAP’s title is a shining star even among them. Let’s talk about the important word in the title — “Captive”.

There are a lot of things that are “captive” in this game. We have the captives of the monster, to start off with, but there’s a lot more where that came from. The residents of the Castle and the castle’s town are also captive — they’re held captive by fear, as evidenced by the doors that refuse to open even when Nancy begs them to.

Shrugging off the idea of keeping this meta even a little bit spoiler-free, I’d also add that Markus is a sort of captive of Anja — there under false pretenses, drawing a web around him to finish him off — and equally that Anja is a captive of Markus’ — the shadow of her dick ex-boyfriend hanging over her dream job, watching him profit off of being a truly terrible person.

Renate and Nancy get in on the action, too. Renate is a captive of guilt, returning to the castle to try to prevent further deaths, haunted by her sister’s early death. She’s also a storyteller — a profession famed for having a “captive audience”. Lastly, Nancy is forced into the costume rather than her own clothes — a captive of the tale that’s being spun by our major players.

The Faerietale

In SAW’s faerietale, Nancy was the visiting prince, the Knight in Shining Armor to look after and save the kingdom. In CAP’s faerietale, however, her role gets changed around — not the least of which because we discover what an actual Knight in Shining Armor really is, courtesy of Renate:

“A knight in shining armor never did nothing for nobody. He never fought. A knight in dented, scraped armor - now that’s what you want.”

This isn’t the cynical take that some might spin it into — the Nancy Drew universe is not and has never been a Nolan-style grimdark-fest, skeptical of any good deed or honest inclination — but instead a declaration that it’s what people do that makes them heroes, that makes them good, that makes them who they are, not what they are (or what they seem to be).

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that, in a game exploring what good a Knight in Shining Armor might be, that the series’ resident Knight appears within the context of his fight with Nancy.

Ned in the video games series is the closest to a Knight that we really get; he doesn’t make mistakes, he’s always patient and kind and understanding, and helps out the best he can without being actually on the scene. In other words, his armor has no dents, nor scrapes, not so much by his choice (excepting possibly CRY), but by Nancy’s. By constantly leaving him behind, she’s cast in him his role as Knight in Shining Armor — but, as Renate points out, that’s not necessarily a good thing. Ned has the potential to be and do more — as ASH will show us.

And yes, there’s someone in the series that fits the knight in dented, scraped armor, but this is not the time for a Francy meta. If ever there is a time for Francy meta.

The biggest thing that changes from SAW to CAP is that Nancy’s learned from last time, and starts trying to figure out the faerietale she’s in the minute it starts in earnest. When she hears Renate’s tale, she’s sure she’s figured it out — guessing it was about Renate’s sister — but we’re shown that her perception is a little off (as the girl was Renate, not her sister). This shifting up of the roles is crucial thematically to our ending, where Nancy gleefully assumes the role of the Girl in the Dress as the hero of the piece, rather than the victim that the Girl had always been.

What Nancy happens upon here I’ll cheerfully call the Power of the Storyteller. All faerietales shift and change depending on who’s telling the story — look at the thousands of versions of Cinderella had all over the world, all too old to just be a knockoff of their geographical neighbor’s story or (yes, I’ve heard this) based off the Disney property.

With Anja telling the story for the majority of the game, it’s a tale about how sometimes the “monster” (and her version of a monster, specifically) wins — and how sometimes they deserve to win, to perpetuate the faerietale as it always has been; as Renate reminds us, “when death goes to take a ride, he follows the road that serves him best.” In Anja’s mind, there must always be a Monster, and there must always be a Girl in the Dress. With Nancy taking over the story, however, it’s about how the victim doesn’t have to be the victim, and that they have the power to assume their own destiny.

In other words, they’re playing out the central conflict that Renate outlines in her first discussion with Nancy: “If our time together is a comedy, then I was brought here by coincidence. If our time is a tragedy, then it must be fate.”

Coincidence and fate are also, coincidentally (heh) the driving forces in a faerietale — except that fate is also a driving force for romance. And because romance is our Chief Concern in CAP’s story, a lot of the story is about fighting against fate. In the end, it’s a coincidence that Nancy arrives, but Anja tries to spin it into fate by making her the Girl in the Dress. It’s only when Nancy takes charge, not letting fate have its say, that she arrives at the ending and is able to best Anja.

One of the great questions that this faerietale presents is about the Monster is whether or not it ever existed. In a Faerietale, the Monster nearly always exists in some form or another, needing to be drawn out and killed by our hero(es) before the day can be saved.

Indeed, in Anja’s modern-day retelling of the faerietale, the monster doesn’t exist — at least, not in its Monstrous form. In her story, Markus is the monster, and she must put on the guise of a monster in order to defeat him — in other words, if a monster is going to win, it’s going to be her.

To quote Ned’s astute observation, “[Castle Finster] has too many monsters.”

But it’s Savannah’s words that we should look to, as she’s a Storyteller just as much as Renate is. Savannah, heavily implied to be speaking of Castle Finster, says that the monster she found wasn’t a ghost — it was human cruelty that made the castle and its history so terrifying.

So we’re faced with the question: did the monster ever exist, or was it solely bad people, stealing cattle and sheep and young girls away for their own wicked purposes? Was there truly an amorphous being roaming the countryside, or was it just a clever way to shift blame from those who would do evil unto others? Remember what Renate tells us about monsters:

“The worst monsters are self-made. They are people like you and me, but they have taken a terrible turn. They let everything awful, everything sad, take up all the breathing room in their hearts, until all they know is revenge.”

The answer I would give is that, for this faerietale, it doesn’t matter if the Monster is real or not. The concern is not the nature of the monster, it’s the people’s reaction to the idea of a monster, real or imagined, that sets off our faerietale and provides the stakes. The fear is real and palpable, and the ends of our villain, while understandable and perhaps even praiseworthy, require some downright dastardly means.

The Mystery:

We open first on a look back at a young girl in an Era Past being captured by an unseen monster in the woods near a castle…only to have Nancy drive up on the Castle Finster itself in the modern day. Nancy’s been called in by the owner of the castle, Markus, who wants any troubles with the legendary monster cleaned up before he and his Rich Investor Friends arrive.

Rather than a welcoming piece of history, Nancy is greeted with a scared, unwelcoming town, the fear of the monster looming large and cutting deep — and that’s before the Curse itself turns its eyes on Nancy, forcing her to play along as the Girl in the Red Dress, the favored victim of the monster. Those in the castle are kinder than those outside of it, but there’s still the sneaking suspicion that someone is up to no good, using the guise of the monster to wreak a little havoc of their own invention — and time is running out before the monster claims yet another victim…

As far as the mystery goes…I don’t like to use words like “spectacular” because let’s face it, every game has its holes, but honestly CAP’s mystery is pretty spectacular. Attention-catching, a bit sad, a bit horrific, and loaded with faerietale tropes, subversions, and themes — there’s honestly just not much wrong here, especially given the limitations of, well, making a Nancy Drew game in the first place. The writing does a masterful job at hinting at horrors that, given the rating, they can’t say out loud, while still telling a fully cohesive story that even the young players will be able to grab at and understand (if not to quite the same extent)

The Suspects:

The game begins with Lukas Mittelmeier, so perhaps we should too. Lukas is the rather precocious son of the head of security of Castle Finster, as well as being Anja’s nephew. Bright, mischievous, and a huge fan of games and pranks, Lukas makes the castle a little more interesting — as well as making Karl’s life a bit more hellish.

Unlike another youth living in a castle (coughJanecough), Lukas is bright enough to be a competent culprit…he just isn’t malicious enough. Sure, he’ll play dress-up, spook Karl a bit, and stall Nancy outside the gates of the castle, but that’s really as far as he goes. He would have been an especially poor culprit, thematically speaking, and so it’s a good thing that the game never really attempts to lead you there. Even his dressing up as the monster is more meant to lull the player (and Nancy) into letting down their guard so that the real monster is a bit scarier.

Next up is the Bürgermeister and bad-luck-magnet himself, Karl Weschler. Having encountered his doppelganger as a small child, Karl has expected — and received — bad luck for the rest of his life, and lives in fear of being the cause of unhappiness to those around him. He’s also a board game enthusiast, having developed the (incredibly fun, it should be noted) board game Raid! and enlists Nancy to help him polish it while she solves the “huge monster problem” that Markus hired her for.

As a culprit, Karl would have been interesting, but thematically a little off. It would have had to be a situation where enough bad things happened around him at the castle to make him want to shift the blame, dressing up as the monster in order to throw the punishment off of himself and onto a nebulous force. An interesting plot to be sure, but not one that fits the more sinister nature of the game.

Our charming castellan and cunning culprit, Anja Mittelmeier is next on the docket. Incredibly good at her job, polished, polite, and fiendishly dedicated, Anja keeps the castle in good running order, gives Nancy advice, and is a doting aunt — all while secretly sabotaging Markus by acting as the monster.

I have a lot to say about how good a character Anja is — which I’ll cover more in the next section — but she’s also the perfect villain. All the information you need to figure out who she is happens to be presented to Nancy pretty quickly, but none of it is in the proper context to make it obvious.  Even her line — “there’s nothing like love to bring order to a scattered world” — is sweet and romantic at the time, and rather chilling and menacing when you have the whole context of exactly what Anja is doing to ‘bring order to a scattered world’.

It seems only fitting that after Anja should come Markus Boehm, the owner of the castle and the ex-boyfriend that Anja is working for revenge against. Markus is snappish, short-tempered, obnoxious about his money, and rather boorish — though he has some of the funniest lines in any Nancy Drew game — and is guilty of a lot, though not of haunting his own castle.

Casting Markus as the villain would have made this game an entirely different faerietale, one that would have necessitated Anja becoming The Girl in the Dress rather than Nancy. It might have been a more stereotypical Nancy Drew story, but it also would have been weaker – after all, a lot of the horror in this faerietale comes from the curse having its eyes firmly on Nancy, rather than on her watching it unfold.

Finally, our most divisive character is probably Renate Stoller, a cake-loving storyteller bound to Castle Finster by a mixture of fate and history. Personally speaking, I’m a total fan of Renate; she has a lot of freedom to liken the situation to stories and to spell out the fact that all stories are ambiguous without being morally relativist or faux-deep.

As a villain, Renate would have been interesting — set to haunt the castle that has haunted her for so long and caused her pain — but it would have removed the Storyteller archetype from the game, causing the player (and Nancy) to doubt everything she’s said, which would have been a shame.

The Favorite:

There’s a lot to love in CAP, both big and small, so I’ll try to tackle this section with some sort of organization, rather than just gushing from point to random point.

My favorite moment in the game is (in a stunning change from 90% of Nancy Drew Games) tied between the beginning and the final confrontation. The old-time film style beginning (a great example of a “cold open” of a type of horror totally distinct from SAW’s brand of horror) through Nancy’s first discussion with Karl is tightly paced and incredibly well done, introducing our main problems, a few characters, and how Nancy is stepping into this faerietale that’s been all but prepared for her. Special shout out to Karl’s “huge monster problem” dialogue, and Lukas’ getting caught at the castle’s gates — just some really great, distinct character writing that we normally don’t get this soon into a game.

The confrontation, which is normally somewhat cheesy, sometimes awful, and nearly always ill-supported (HAU being the best/worst example of this) in a Nancy Drew game, here instead shows off Nancy’s quick thinking and almost triumphant, smug nature when she figures it all out and traps the villain. The games coming up, as I’ve mentioned above, I refer to as “the Nancy games”, as they give us a lot of insight into who Nancy Drew actually is, aside from an amateur/burgeoning professional detective, but SAW and (to a larger extent) CAP really start giving us peeks at Nancy’s character — not as an infallible main character, but as a girl with an actual personality.

My favorite puzzle in the game — and I realize that it barely counts — is quite honestly Raid. Normally, the games that HER comes up with as minigames within their games are lackluster at best and criminally annoying at worst, but Raid (along with the games in ASH which are particularly enjoyable) is fabulous; it gives us more of that faerietale vibe that the game runs on, brings in Germany’s well-deserved reputation of being the King of Board Games, and actually contains a few moments of good characterization for Karl as well.

And I’m a sucker for getting to create your own card for the game. That’s just stupid cool.

One of the things that CAP does particularly well is its characters, so let’s talk a bit about them here.

Renate, a common favorite, mostly lives up to her hype, due to her storyteller’s dialogue, status as a Sage (slightly different from the usual Sage in a Nancy Drew game, due to her backstory), and intense relatability with falling asleep after eating cake.

Lukas is one of the few child characters in the ND games that actually feels like a child, so he gets points there automatically, even without noting how charming he is. Having Nancy talk to him under the table is also gold, even with the sense that she’s just humoring him, and having him dress up as a monster in a fake out that fools nobody (and even better, is not meant from a writing standpoint to fool anyone) feels perfectly in character for a relatively unsupervised rapscallion like Lukas.

Last on the favorite character list is Anja, a character done To Perfection. It breaks my heart sometimes that she’s the villain, but her character also wouldn’t be complete without being the villain — nor would I love her so much. Anja is patient, loving, a great aunt, friendly, gregarious — and a villain. Her line when she’s talking to Nancy about how she was honest and worked hard every day, and no one cared hits me every time. Anja’s a perfect example of a character who is intensely sympathetic and quite relatable without ever having the thought that her scheme involving Nancy was even a little bit okay. She’s a villain that I’d love to have come back, whether as a villain again or as a begrudging helper.

Finally, let’s get down to the miscellany.

The dialogue in CAP is pitch-perfect, from the distinct way of talking that each suspect has, to Markus’ insults, to the one-off phone call with the pamphlet company. The game in part is so fun because the dialogue is so fun, walking the line between faerietale-style narration (Anja, Renate) and almost Buffy-speak modernity (Karl, Lukas, Markus).

The last thing I want to touch on it — yes, you knew it was coming — the fight between Ned and Nancy. Yes, I’m a Francy shipper, and I do love that Frank is the one Nancy turns to for help with the fight, but that’s not what this part is about.

First off, I love that problems that would /necessarily/ come up in a relationship like Ned and Nancy’s are brought up here; Nancy’s constant jet-setting, while a common side effect of the job she does, is also something that would cause tension — especially considering that Nancy doesn’t really tell him when she sets off for another state/country at a moment’s notice.

A thing that has become Increasingly obvious over the entire series is that Nancy is, let’s face it, not gonna win any awards for Girlfriend of the Year, and in fact might win the opposite award. Ned is constantly giving her attention, validation, helping out when she calls him, and is understanding when she cancels; for her to not give the same amount of care to him (in different ways, as everyone needs different things, of course) becomes more and more glaring as time goes on.

My firm stance on being a bit anti-Nedcy comes from the belief that Ned deserves to get as much out of a relationship as he puts in, and Nancy, as the person she is and even as the best person that she can be, just can’t provide that. Their needs as people are just too different for a relationship to be fair for either person – and, as this game demonstrates, though Ned has the shorter end of the stick, it’s not fair for either one of them.

The Un-Favorite:

There’s not a lot that goes into this section, to be perfectly honest.

The forest is probably my least favorite section of the game — the part that I consider before starting a new game over — but besides tweaking it slightly to help navigation not be quite so frustrating (see below), even the forest is a pretty good puzzle.

The bag puzzle — especially if you, like me, forget every time that you can rotate the objects in Renate’s purse — is the only other annoyance in the game, and ranks as my least favorite puzzle over the forest simply for the fact that you can use a walkthrough to navigate the forest, while you can’t use a walkthrough to do the bag puzzle for you.

Other than that, CAP is just a wholly solid game — no least favorite dialogue, no awkward moment, no point where I turn down my brightness to make it seem like This Isn’t Happening.

The Fix:

So how would I fix The Captive Curse?

Honestly, the first and only change I would make is to fix the forest just slightly. I get that it’s a puzzle, but it’s not quite visually distinct enough to make it feasible for a lot of players to learn how to navigate. To fix this, I wouldn’t take out the forest, I would just make each piece of it a little more visually distinct, with more markers so that players couldn’t lose their place as easily.

There’s nothing other than that worth fixing. Even my dislike of the bag puzzle isn’t strong enough to suggest scrapping it, and it’s a type of puzzle that many people like and are quite good at — not to mention the fact that it’s not at all gamebreaking in its difficulty.

The Captive Curse is often sort of a “top middle” or just “middle” ranking for a lot of players due to the fact that it’s not quite as showy as a lot of “favorite” games, and thus can get lost in the fandom shuffle. But looking at it as both pieces and as a whole proves that this game is one of the most solid in the series sporting a great mystery, fantastic characters, and more than a little faerietale wisdom to carry to the next story.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #CAP #the captive curse #nancy drew meta #my meta #video games #long post

[ad1thi]

@starklysteve  rhae asked for some winteriron recs (read: i volunteered to spam rhae w buckytony fics because i adore them), so in no particular order, and based on my memory alone, here are some of my favourite buckytony fics!!

(please remember to leave kudos and comments!!)

American Memorial: @/spqr

“Pick up the shield,” Tony said. Understandably, Bucky told him to go fuck himself

Losing You (Is My Supervillain Origin Story):  @amethystinawrites

There are a lot of things that Bucky regrets. The list is, quite frankly, longer than he can handle on most days and, right at the very top, is lying to Tony about who killed his parents. Bucky has known even from before they started dating, but he simply can't bring himself to say anything — to ruin one of the few good things he has in his life. It's selfish and wrong, but Bucky just doesn't know how to tell Tony that he is the one responsible for Howard and Maria Stark's deaths.

So when he starts receiving anonymous emails, threatening to expose the truth to Tony and the rest of the world, Bucky is desperate enough to agree to the blackmailer's terms, even if it means breaking up with Tony. Bucky cannot, under any circumstances, let Tony find out about his parents from anyone but Bucky himself.

Too late Bucky realizes that there is much more to the blackmailer's scheme than just having Bucky break Tony's heart. Too late Bucky realizes that despite his best intentions, he will still end up losing everything — in a much more permanent way than he could ever have imagined.

Hindsight: @amethystinawrites

Ever since he was a little boy, Bucky has dreamed of becoming an astronaut together with Steve, and he can hardly believe their luck when both of them are picked for the Ares 3 crew — the third expedition sent to explore Mars. It is, quite literally, a dream come true.

Things get complicated when Bucky finds himself inconveniently attracted to their mechanical engineer, however. Tony Stark is funny, competent, and absolutely captivating, but considering NASA's strict non-fraternization policy, Bucky knows it's better to keep his interest to himself — at least until they return to Earth. He can wait.

Not once does Bucky consider the possibility that all of them might not make it back alive, or just how much he'll come to regret not acting when he had the chance.

Arsenal: @tangodancer91 (part of a series) (also my all time favourite buckytony series ever)

Two years after the Civil War that tore apart everything she’d bled to build, Toni Stark sacrificed herself for her newly-reinstated teammates and ended up stranded in the past. Freed of her name, her fortune, and her hostile ex-teammates, she built herself a life as an agent for the OSS, the American secret service, and, having nothing to lose, accepted a mission to infiltrate the newest player in the war: an organization that call themselves HYDRA.

Then, she met a young draftee with a dreadfully familiar face, and they clicked like she had never clicked with anyone before. By the time she realized she’d fallen for the man who’d cost her everything, it was too late, but she’d always been an all or nothing type of girl, and if she was damning herself, well then…might as well go all the way.

Yield: @aurumacadicus (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

All Bucky has ever wanted was to win the contest for Tony's hand in marriage. It's a bit harder now that he's down to one arm, but luckily his friends are willing to help make up the difference.

Barnes Family Motors Inc: @phlintandsteel-ao3 (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

In a world where alphas legally own omegas, Bucky is just a small time mechanic from Brooklyn who gets lucky in a poker game. Tony is an omega whose life is fraught with abuse, until his luck suddenly takes a turn for the better.

In the grand scheme of things they may only be able to make little differences in the lives of those around them, but that doesn't mean it's not worth making them. After all, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

The Long Con (don’t kid yourself): @phlintandsteel-ao3

When Tony finds out that Howard is thinking about changing the terms of Tony’s trust fund, he embarks on a not-so-elaborate scheme to prove that he’s totally settling down and not in continued need of Howard’s “guidance” until 25 instead of 21. Step 1: Get a fiance Step 2: ??? Step 3: Profit (Finally be free of Howard)

Unfortunately, Tony Stark is the worst con-artist ever, and may only be kidding himself..

Hot Mess:  @/niki

“Would serve him right if we had the world's most ill-advised one night stand.”

Imperceptions and Assumptions: @/NarutoRox

Afterward, Bucky would look back on their first meeting with fondness and a healthy dose of amusement. At the time, though, he’d mostly been confused - and more than a little embarrassed.

Bucky hadn’t paid much attention to the media in his early days, and hadn’t bothered really reading up on the team or anything, either, so when Steve had said ‘Tony Stark’, Bucky had just assumed.

The same way he’d looked at the three people who’d walked through the door - an imposing redhead in heels, a bored-looking brunette who dimpled when she saw him and Steve, and a sturdy-looking man wearing a slight glower - locked eyes on the man, and assumed him to be the infamous Tony Stark Steve wouldn’t shut up about.

It was Bucky’s first lesson when it came to Natasha Antonia ‘Toni’ Stark - never assume.

~

In which Tony Stark is actually Natasha Antonia 'Toni' Stark (which everyone knows) as well as Iron Man (which everyone does not know), assumptions are made, and there are misunderstandings.

From this prompt: How about a cross between my two favorite tropes? Nobody knows who iron man is other than Natasha/Antonia Stark's bodyguard but Bucky is in love with one or both of them

i know, you know (that i’m not telling the truth) : @imposter-human

psychic tony stark is called to work a routine case with detective bucky barnes; only, he seems to be more connected to the case than anyone thought

or, a psych au!!

the new romeo and juliet: @imposter-human

Bucky and Tony weren’t dating, because a firefighter and a detective couldn’t date (never mind that Tony hadn’t slept with anyone else since their thing had started, and he and Bucky hung out with an alarming frequency, and the whole precinct thought that they were an item). It didn't matter how many nights they spent together, how Bucky had a drawer of Tony's things and vice versa, they just couldn't.

It was a classic Romeo and Juliet situation, if Romeo and Juliet actively disliked each other on top of everything.

if found, please return to: @capnshellhead

Tony Stark shows up at Bucky's bar after a really tough break up and Bucky decides to look after him

gods of carnage:  @deathsweetqueen (part of a series)

On May 29, 1970, the Winter Soldier feels a burning sensation and looks down at his wrist to find a single name written in enduring ink: Antonia Margaret Stark.

HYDRA, fearing the defiance of their greatest asset due to a bond that cannot and will not be denied its due, immediately dispatches the Soldier, to locate, collect and deliver this newborn girl to HYDRA, which will become her new home, her new family and her entire world - to be raised as another one of HYDRA’s great warriors: their Engineer.

But the Engineer is a faulty asset. She thinks things that may get her killed one day. She wants things that she shouldn’t, that are not hers to want. She has a mind and body that belong more to herself than any handler, than any commander she may have.

And if she cuts her strings, when she cuts her strings, well, when you put sheep next to wolves, you ask for a bloodbath.

where i walk, you follow (where i burn, you burn):  @deathsweetqueen

At his father's command, Anthony Stark trades in his northern keep for a southern crown, wedded and bedded by Alexander of House Pierce, First of His Name.

Tony does his duty, becomes a wolf in name only, toothless and clawless, and a dark, gleaming ornament for the King, even if he would make himself a widower a hundred times over.

Honour demanded it of him, and so he did.

But it is Ser James Barnes, named the Kingslayer for his sins during the Rebellion, that draws his eye, gives him comfort in this pit of liars and monsters

So, what is honour compared to a good man's love? They are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love.

[Fic by deathsweetqueen, Art by MassiveSpaceWren]

Cat Parenting (And Other Meet Cutes):  @singingwithoutwords (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

Of all the ways Bucky could have finally gotten a chance to speak to his crush, why did it have to be his cat getting Tony's cat pregnant?

Codename Heartbreaker:  @rinnwrites (part of a series)

Today was a day that, contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark had most certainly not been looking forward to. It was election day, or election night, rather, and the polls were closed, the results were in; Howard Stark was the next President of the United States of America.

or

Tony Stark Bingo - R3: Election Day

Fate Strings Not Required: @akira-of-the-twilight

“Hey doll,” a new voice said from Tony’s side.

Tony glanced at the person approaching.

Someone was working the rugged, bad boy look. The new guy rocked a leather jacket and blue jeans.

His blue eyes lit up with joy as he approached Tony. “Something wrong here?” The new guy gave the first guy--the one insisting he was Tony's soul mate--a once over then turned his full attention on Tony. “You’re looking a little stressed, anything I can do?”

Tony took the hint.

Tony wrapped his hand around the new guy’s elbow. He kept his touch light and breakable in case he’d misread the cue.

“Just some guy claiming to be my soul mate, babe.”

The new guy’s eyebrows rose to his hairline in surprise. He chuckled and gave the first guy a smirk. “Strange. Last time I checked we were soul mates.”

Siren’s Treasure: @akira-of-the-twilight

Prompt: I really love the idea of playboy!Bucky flirt of the seven seas first-mate to Captain Rogers, falling completely overboard in love with our Blacksmith-Inventor Inexperienced!Tony who goes from confident captive to shy woe-begone man in the presence of Bucky's fierce affections. Virgin!Tony wonders what a siren like Bucky could possibly want with him. Bucky wants to know what the fuck Logan thinks he's doing flirting with the man who stole his heart like sunken treasures. Happy ending please?

“Sirens killed your crew?” Steve repeated.

The dark haired man nodded. Just an hour ago the Avenger crew had found the man clinging to driftwood in the middle of the ocean. Now he clutched the flask of rum Bucky had given him like it was all that kept him buoyant during these tumultuous times.

The man—Tony—had already downed more than half the flask and was still sober. “Not exactly my crew, but close enough. Yeah.” Tony uncapped the flask and threw back a mouthful.

Steve frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Tony shrugged. “I wasn’t captain of the ship.”

“So what were you?” Steve pressed.

Road hazards: @riotwritesthings

Steve and Bucky's BFF road trip is not going well. For starters, Steve couldn't even make it, and for some bizarre reason asked Tony to take his place. The fact that it’s only a couple days before someone is trying to kill them isn’t nearly as stressful as the fact that Bucky and Tony have never really had an actual conversation.

It’s hard to avoid someone when stuck in a car with them though, and if they manage to stay alive they just might learn a thing or two.

Once Upon a Wintertime: @iam93percentstardust (this is an a/b/o verse fic)

Look, Bucky knows that he’s fulfilling every cliché in the book right now. He knows that, as a bodyguard, he’s not supposed to fall in love with his client. But Tony’s good and sweet and so, so lonely and how could Bucky not? He thinks he’s got a shot after Tony breaks up with his boyfriend but on a trip across the country, he finds out that Tony needs a bondmate or the board will steal SI—and Ty’s already said yes.

little bird: @thxngam

Bucky laughs, and it’s loud and unbidden, a way he hadn’t laughed for years before, tugging his giggling omega into his lap. Tony quiets and nestles into Bucky’s chest like he was made to belong there, and Bucky has noticed several times that Tony is much smaller than he is, but he never quite noticed how Tony always seemed to curl into him as a reason for his size.

Tony nestles like a little bird.

Teenage Dream:  @anthonyed

Tony Stark develops a crush on the school's bad boy who is too cool to hang out with anyone. At least, it's what Tony thinks. He never considered that James Barnes is probably as lonely as he is.

(in the process of editing)

The Best Laid Plans (of Mice and Men):  @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

A Kitten and a Soldier: @/ThatDamnKennedyKid

Bucky hadn't heard from Rumlow in years - since the whole Winter Soldier fiasco in Siberia. They've been discharged for nearly six years, but when he gets a message that only says "I need your help" , he grabs his jacket and keys.

The Prince’s Bride: @hddnone

After Tony loses the love of his life to pirates on the high sea, not much matters to him. He agrees to wed Prince Justin Hammer to gain access to vibranium and shut himself away in his workshop until the end of time, but a group of ruffians kidnap Tony to take him to Hydra.

Tony's rescue takes on an unlikely form - the Dread Pirate Rogers, who killed the love of his life five years ago.

A Princess Bride AU

A Kind of Destiny: @weethreequarter

A chance meeting at a wedding brings together an American war veteran and the Prince of Wales. Little do they know, the wheels have been set in motion for a relationship which will change not only their lives, but the monarchy itself. Bucky and Tony strike up a friendship at Steve and Peggy’s wedding, a friendship that soon develops into more. But it’s not so simple: Tony is the Prince of Wales, and heir to the throne of Great Britain and the United Kingdom. Any relationship is played out in the press and public eye, and then there's that pesky issue of succession to consider too. But Bucky is no coward, and when he finds something he wants, he’s prepared to fight for it. And fight he will, at Tony's side, for their very own fairy tale ending.

#adi's rec list #buckytony #winteriron #bucky barnes/tony stark #bucky barnes x tony stark #bucky/tony #bucky x tony #i should create a tag for fic rec lists #this got sort of long so ive hidden some of them under a read more #that doesn't mean they're any less good though!!

[tlbodine]

A Horror History of Werewolves

As far as horror icons are concerned, werewolves are among the oldest of all monsters. References to man-to-wolf transformations show up as early as the Epic of Gilgamesh, making them pretty much as old as storytelling itself. And, unlike many other movie monsters, werewolves trace their folkloric roots to a time when people truly believed in and feared these creatures. 

But for a creature with such a storied past, the modern werewolf has quite the crisis of identity. Thanks to an absolute deluge of romance novels featuring sometimes-furry love interests, the contemporary idea of “werewolf” is decidedly de-fanged. So how did we get here? Where did they come from, where are they going, and can werewolves ever be terrifying again? 

Werewolves in Folklore and Legend 

Ancient Greece was full of werewolf stories. Herodotus wrote of a nomadic tribe from Scythia (part of modern-day Russia) who changed into wolves for a portion of the year. This was most likely a response to the Proto-Indo-European societies living in that region at the time -- a group whose warrior class would sometimes don animal pelts and were said to call on the spirit of animals to aid them in battle (the concept of the berserker has the same roots -- just bears rather than wolves).

In Arcadia, there was a local legend about King Lycaon, who was turned to a wolf as punishment for serving human meat to Zeus (exact details of the event vary between accounts, but cannibalism and crimes-against-the-gods are a common theme). Pliny the Elder wrote of werewolves as well, explaining that those who make a sacrifice to Zeus Lycaeus would be turned to wolves but could resume human form years later if they abstained from eating human meat in that time.

By the time we reach the Medieval period in Europe, werewolf stories were widespread and frequently associated with witchcraft. Lycanthropy could be either a curse laid upon someone or a transformation undergone by someone practicing witchcraft, but either way was bad news in the eyes of the church. For several centuries, witch-hunts would aggressively seek out anyone suspected of transforming into a wolf.

One particularly well-known werewolf trial was for Peter Stumpp in 1589. Stumpp, known as "The Werewolf of Bedburg," confessed to killing and eating fourteen children and two pregnant women while in the form of a wolf after donning a belt given to him by the Devil. Granted, this confession came on the tail-end of extensive public torture, so it may not be precisely reliable. His daughter and mistress were also executed in a public and brutal way during the same trial.

Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? 

The thing you have to understand when studying folklore is that, for many centuries, wolves were the apex predator of Europe. While wolf attacks on humans have been exceedingly rare in North America, wolves in Europe have historically been much bolder -- or, at least, there are more numerous reports of man-eating wolves in those regions. Between 1362 and 1918, roughly 7,600 people were reportedly killed by wolves in France alone, which may have some bearing on the local werewolf tradition of the loup-garou.

For people living in rural areas, subsisting as farmers or hunters, wolves posed a genuine existential threat. Large, intelligent, utilizing teamwork and more than capable of outwitting the average human, wolves are a compelling villain. Which is probably why they show up so frequently in fairytales, from Little Red Riding Hood to Peter and the Wolf to The Three Little Pigs.

Early Werewolf Fiction 

Vampires have Dracula and zombies have I Am Legend, but there really is no clear singular book to point to as the "First Great Werewolf Novel." Perhaps by the time the novel was really taking off as an artform, werewolves had lost some of their appeal. After all, widespread literacy and reading-for-pleasure went hand-in-hand with advancements in civilization. For city-dwellers in Victorian England, for example, the threat of a wolf eating you alive probably seemed quite remote.

Don't get me wrong -- there were some Gothic novels featuring werewolves, like Sutherland Menzies' Hugues, The Wer-Wolf, or G.W.M. Reynolds' Wagner the Wehr-Wolf, or even The Wolf Leader by Alexandre Dumas. But these are not books that have entered the popular conscience by any means. I doubt most people have ever heard of them, much less read them.

No -- I would argue that the closest thing we have, thematically, to a Great Werewolf Novel is in fact The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. Written in 1886, the Gothic novella tells the story of a scientist who, wanting to engage in certain unnamed vices without detection, created a serum that would allow him to transform into another person. That alter-ego, Mr. Hyde, was selfish, violent, and ultimately uncontrollable -- and after taking over the body on its own terms and committing a murder or two, the only way to stop Hyde’s re-emergence was suicide. 

Although not about werewolves, per se, Jekyll & Hyde touches on many themes that we'll see come up time and again in werewolf media up through the present day: toxic masculinity, the dual nature of man, leading a double life, and the ultimate tragedy of allowing one's base instincts/animal nature to run wild. Against a backdrop of Victorian sexual repression and a rapidly shifting concept of humanity's relationship to nature, it makes sense that these themes would resonate deeply (and find a new home in werewolf media).

It is also worth mentioning Guy Endore's The Werewolf of Paris, published in 1933. Set against the backdrop of the Franco-Prussian war and subsequent military battles, the book utilizes a werewolf as a plot device for exploring political turmoil. A #1 bestseller in its day, the book was a big influence on the sci-fi and mystery pulp scene of the 1940s and 50s, and is still considered one of the best werewolf novels of its ilk.

From Silver Bullets to Silver Screens 

What werewolf representation lacks in novels, it makes up for in film. Werewolves have been a surprisingly enduring feature of film from its early days, due perhaps to just how much fun transformation sequences are to film. From camera tricks to makeup crews and animatronics design, werewolf movies create a lot of unique opportunities for special effects -- and for early film audiences especially (who were not yet jaded to movie magic), these on-screen metamorphoses must have elicited true awe. 

The Wolf Man (1941) really kicked off the trend. Featuring Lon Chaney Jr. as the titular wolf-man, the film was cutting-edge for its time in the special effects department. The creature design is the most memorable thing about the film, which has an otherwise forgettable plot -- but it captured viewer attention enough to bring Chaney back many times over for sequels and Universal Monster mash-ups. 

The Wolf Man and 1944's Cry of the Werewolf draw on that problematic Hollywood staple, "The Gypsy Curse(tm)" for their world-building. Fortunately, werewolf media would drift away from that trope pretty quickly; curses lost their appeal, but “bite as mode of transmission” would remain an essential part of werewolf mythos. 

In 1957, I Was a Teenage Werewolf was released as a classic double-header drive-in flick that's nevertheless worth a watch for its parallels between werewolfism and male aggression (a theme we'll see come up again and again). Guy Endore's novel got the Hammer Film treatment for 1961's The Curse of the Werewolf, but it wasn't until the 1970s when werewolf media really exploded: The Beast Must Die, The Legend of the Wolf Woman, The Fury of the Wolfman, Scream of the Wolf, Werewolves on Wheels and many more besides.

Hmmm, werewolves exploding in popularity around the same time as women's liberation was dramatically redefining gender roles and threatening the cultural concept of masculinity? Nah, must be a coincidence.

The 1980s brought with it even more werewolf movies, including some of the best-known in the genre: The Howling (1981), Teen Wolf (1985), An American Werewolf in London (1981), and The Company of Wolves (1984). Differing widely in their tone and treatment of werewolf canon, the films would establish more of a spiderweb than a linear taxonomy.

That spilled over into the 1990s as well. The Howling franchise went deep, with at least seven films that I can think of. Wolf, a 1994 release starring Jack Nicholson is especially worth a watch for its themes of dark romantic horror. 

By the 2000s, we get a proper grab-bag of werewolf options. There is of course the Underworld series, with its overwrought "vampires vs lycans" world-building. There's also Skin Walkers, which tries very hard to be Underworld (and fails miserably at even that low bar). But there's also Dog Soldiers and Ginger Snaps, arguably two of the finest werewolf movies of all time -- albeit in extremely different ways and for very different reasons.

Dog Soldiers is a straightforward monster movie pitting soldiers against ravenous werewolves. The wolves could just as easily have been subbed out with vampires or zombies -- there is nothing uniquely wolfish about them on a thematic level -- but the creature design is unique and the film itself is mastefully made and entertaining.

Ginger Snaps is the first werewolf movie I can think of that tackles lycanthropy from a female point of view. Although The Company of Wolves has a strong feminist angle, it is still very much a film about male sexuality and aggression. Ginger Snaps, on the other hand, likens werewolfism to female puberty -- a comparison that frankly makes a lot of sense.

The Werewolf as Sex Object 

There are quite literally thousands of werewolf romance novels on the market, with more coming in each day. But the origins of this trend are a bit fuzzier to make out (no pun intended). 

Everyone can mostly agree that Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire was the turning-point for sympathetic vampires -- and paranormal romance as a whole. But where do werewolves enter the mix? Possibly with Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter books, which feature the titular character in a relationship with a werewolf (and some vampires, and were-leopards, and...many other things). With the first book released in 1993, the Anita Blake series seems to pre-date similar books in its ilk. 

Blood and Chocolate (1997) by Annette Curtis Klause delivers a YA-focused version of the classic “I’m a werewolf in high school crushing on a mortal boy”; that same year, Buffy the Vampire Slayer hit the small screen, and although the primary focus was vampires, there is a main werewolf character (and romancing him around the challenges of his wolfishness is a big plot point for the characters involved). And Buffy, of course, paved the way for Twilight in 2005. From there, werewolves were poised to become a staple of the ever-more-popular urban fantasy/paranormal romance genre. 

“Sexy werewolf” as a trope may have its roots in other traditions like the beastly bridegroom (eg, Beauty and the Beast) and the demon lover (eg, Labyrinth), which we can talk about another time. But there’s one other ingredient in this recipe that needs to be discussed. And, oh yes, we’re going there. 

Alpha/Beta/Omegaverse 

By now you might be familiar with the concept of the Omegaverse thanks to the illuminating Lindsay Ellis video on the topic (and the current ongoing lawsuit). If not, well, just watch the video. It’ll be easier than trying to explain it all. (Warning for NSFW topics). 

But the tl;dr is that A/B/O or Omegaverse is a genre of (generally erotic) romance utilizing the classical understanding of wolf pack hierarchy. Never mind that science has long since disproven the stratification of authority in wolf packs; the popular conscious is still intrigued by the concept of a society where some people are powerful alphas and some people are timid omegas and that’s just The Way Things Are. 

What’s interesting about the Omegaverse in regards to werewolf fiction is that, as near as I’ve been able to discover, it’s actually a case of convergent evolution. A/B/O as a genre seems to trace its roots to Star Trek fanfiction in the 1960s, where Kirk/Spock couplings popularized ideas like heat cycles. From there, the trope seems to weave its way through various fandoms, exploding in popularity in the Supernatural fandom. 

What seems to have happened is that the confluence of A/B/O kink dynamics merging with urban fantasy werewolf social structure set off a popular niche for werewolf romance to truly thrive. 

It’s important to remember that, throughout folklore, werewolves were not viewed as being part of werewolf societies. Werewolves were humans who achieved wolf form through a curse or witchcraft, causing them to transform into murderous monsters -- but there was no “werewolf pack,” and certainly no social hierarchy involving werewolf alphas exerting their dominance over weaker pack members. That element is a purely modern one rooted as much in our misunderstanding of wolf pack dynamics as in our very human desire for power hierarchies. 

So Where Do We Go From Here? 

I don’t think sexy werewolf stories are going anywhere anytime soon. But that doesn’t mean that there’s no room left in horror for werewolves to resume their monstrous roots. 

Thematically, werewolves have done a lot of heavy lifting over the centuries. They hold up a mirror to humanity to represent our own animal nature. They embody themes of toxic masculinity, aggression, primal sexuality, and the struggle of the id and ego. Werewolf attack as sexual violence is an obvious but powerful metaphor for trauma, leaving the victim transformed. Werewolves as predators hiding in plain sight among civilization have never been more relevant than in our #MeToo moment of history. 

Can werewolves still be frightening? Absolutely. 

As long as human nature remains conflicted, there will always be room at the table for man-beasts and horrifying transfigurations. 

--

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#horror history #werewolves #horror #werewolf #long post

[ephemerlskies]

the eighth hour | ot7

⇢ pairing: hoseok x reader

[other members - namjoon, seokjin, and jimin]

⇢ genre: (long ass) one-shot, angst, partial fluff, thebreakfastclub!au, highschool!au, badboy!hoseok + fosterchild!hoseok, jock!jimin, nerd!namjoon, and seokjin as just your classic seokjin, childhoodfriends!au, friends to enemies to lovers

⇢ word count: 38.1k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, underage marijuana usage, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, themes of bullying, themes of depression/anxiety, mentions of mental abuse, cliché high school tropes, mutual pining (as always), homophobic themes, mentions of physical violence, mentions of explicit pictures

⇢ summary: who would have guessed that five separate events could converge into one shared Saturday detention? what emerged as an even bigger, yet pleasing surprise was the bonds that could form despite the contractual bindings of the high school cliques that you, jimin, namjoon, seokjin, and hoseok were assigned to.

♪ playlist: apple juice - jessie reyez • around - niki • ivy - frank ocean • friends - bts • dont you (forget about me - simple minds ♪

a/n: holy shit this was super fun to write!!! i was going to make this a series but instead i just impulse wrote this as a super long one shot. anyway i hope you enjoy! <3 also the playlist really does match the ~vibes~ so i hope y'all give it a listen :)

8:00 - 10:00

You blamed timing. It had been the only scapegoat to somewhat reconcile your seething frustration, though there was always that part of you that scorned your own poorly executed decisions. Maybe if you hadn’t stopped to say hi and discuss something as unimportant as the temperament of the weather with your teacher in passing, or if you didn’t skip your semi-weekly coffee, or if you hadn’t spent as much time inspecting the new flyers pinned onto the bulletin board then you could have avoided this conundrum. Timing, however, was completely out of your control, making it ideal to place blame on. That and the troublesome deviant who had you being held accountable for actions that were not of your own doing. 

Jung Hoseok. Your once childhood best friend turned bitter and drifted towards a life of immorality and mild misdemeanors due to his series of unexplained personal calamities. 

Even the nonverbal idea of his name had triggered aggressive animosity in you. Well, it felt like hatred; the burn in your chest whenever you thought of him felt like hatred, but you never dug deep enough to figure it out. 

It was shocking that you could feel this despise with such severity, but Hoseok had that particular quality about him that seemed to make anything possible, though you could never quite place what that quality was. And of course, your path intersected with his at the exact wrong time and the exact wrong place. That particular quality had drawn a treacherous curiosity to influence you to linger a few seconds too long, another poor decision of yours. To top it off, the exact wrong person had caught you in this perfectly timed and unfortunate situation and convicted you on the grounds of guilt by association to land you a Saturday detention. Mulling over these consecutive misdirections was punishment enough to drag you miserably through the rest of the week; the detention waiting for you at the end of it was simply the cherry on top.

 Apprehensive questions had always been your mom’s go-to tick when it came to you. The car ride to school had been flushed with them being that this was your first detention, let alone run-in with authority, in your entire academic career and your annoyance to her queries was more fuel added to the already monstrous fire of regret. This had produced some odd concoction of eagerness to escape this interrogation. Though you had no real desire to start this long day, your mom’s questions were the closest to giving a reason to that.

Your mother pulled up two blocks away from the library where you would be jailed for the next eight hours, and she packed in a few more questions to delay your departure. You and she sat in the car, marinating in the discomfort, waiting for the minutes to tick by until eight o’clock arrived. Your mother looked to you with pity and guilt as if she were delivering you to a slaughterhouse, not aiding to relieve the guilt of your own harbor.

“It’s just detention, Mom. It’s fine.” And you wished you believed it as much as you wanted her to. 

“Did I remember to pack the apple?” 

“Yes.”

“And the water bottle isn’t leaking anymore, right?” Her worried voice and demeanor had not been subtle in the slightest for this question had been asked about eight minutes ago in this same car ride.

“No, mom.” The bite in your response had warned her to relent her questions. 

“Okay, I’ll see you at four.”

“I’ll see you.”

“I love you, ___.”

“Love you.”

Stepping out of that car, finally escaping from the perpetual, suffocating questions had you identifying the crisp Winter air as a comfort. The fog decorating the school’s roof and treetops looked like it wouldn’t recede. It was abhorrent, not being able to get a glimpse of the sun before an epoch of detention stole your last few seconds of freedom. 

Your deep inhalations had formed a few puffs of clouds mixing with the surrounding fog, and you began to prepare entry into the penitentiary that others called the library. Your heart had been pounding from the momentum of frustration with your mom’s doting. However, it hadn’t ceased even when you parted ways because of the dread of facing Jung Hoseok once again. 

If the thought of his name was enough to send you into a hurricane-like rage, you couldn’t imagine what type of disastrous storm awaited you being confined with him for the next eight hours. 

The walk down these couple of blocks was paced intentionally to stall the beginning of this tortuous Saturday. Your strides had slowed substantially as they carried you down the halls of your high school, past the bulletin boards that hammered more guilt upon remembering that was one of the fatal mistakes that led you here, then past the school’s cafe that drilled the regret even deeper in your bones. 

As you approached the doors to the library, you gripped the cold handle until it grew warm from your hand. A bit of time to breathe, compose and mask your nerves granted you half an ounce of dignity needed to open the door and step through the threshold. You walked over to the two rows of three desks and exchanged a cordial glance with the school’s renown football star, Park Jimin, seated at the front right table, in a manner that disguised your guilt with indifference. Then, you settled in the seat at the table behind his, finding this the optimal place to draw the least amount of attention.

The quiet boy sitting in the back of the rows had reacted with a noticeable surprise to see your face in this setting. He looked as embarrassed to be here as you felt, however, while you refused to show it, he draped it on his expression with little to no restraint. Both of you did not bother with the formality of a nod or smile, but a simple acknowledgment for the lack of proper acquaintance. 

Though you had never had a personal interaction with him, you still knew his name to be Kim Namjoon and that he was characterized by everyone who knew him as the nerdiest kid in school. Quite a cliché, though you had no reason to think he was anything beyond that since his rounded eyeglasses and turtleneck sweater certainly upheld the truth in that stereotype.  

The remnants of your intruded sleep felt heavy in your eyes which numbed your endurance to stay awake. Soon after the bothersome exhaustion almost conquered you into a sleep, a disarrayed body had fumbled through the doors snapping the heads of you, Jimin, and Namjoon towards him. He stood in front of the door, glancing back to it as if he were considering a swift escape from the concerned glares and embarrassment of the scene he had just made. And though there had only been three others to witness the progression of him rattling the handles, pushing against it with just enough force to unbalance him, and then nearly tripping into the eyes of his peers, it had been just enough to elicit a sizable amount of anxiety.

“Sorry, the door um…” He gestured towards it then towards the handle, then after bringing that same hand to his head to itch away his nervousness, “the door was jammed.”

None of you sitting in that book-filled jail cell cared, much less wanted to know the reason he barged in to interrupt the silence, but the way he fumbled through his words had been far too interesting and entirely ineffective in dismissing the unwanted attention. 

Jimin had found this particularly amusing as he choked down a few laughs as not to raze the other boy’s ego completely, but his efforts had just drawn more awareness that he was laughing at him. The lanky figure with red-tinted ears and cheeks scuttled with a low hanging head to the front table, next to the one Jimin was seated at, without another word as to avoid further demoting his dignity.

Dignity was a funny thing to everyone in the library. It was handled differently by each body during this Saturday detention. Some were trying to protect it, some had paid no mind to tend to it, some (you) were trying to pretend it was undisturbed, and one had felt the weight of his diminishing dignity as no heavier than a feather.

This one, the same one that tormented you with his mere existence, had shoved the door out of his way in a manner of excitement. He strutted through the room to suggest he had some sort of twisted pride to be here and that his dignity fluctuated from the various looks of disgust, annoyance, confusion, and attraction. 

Hoseok didn’t offer you more than a glance, although the scan of his eyes could hardly be counted as any sort of acknowledgment. In fact, he glared longer at Namjoon who had done everything in his power to surrender any dominance, already in scarce supply, and appear meek to avoid an altercation with Hoseok. 

The other boy, Kim Seokjin, who had previously made a fool of himself, waved at Hoseok expecting to make a quick friend through his naive opportunism. Hoseok responded by lurching forward with his fist raised level with his shoulder in an advancement of hostility. Despite Hoseok being about ten feet away from him and in no realistic position to actually hit him, Seokjin flinched. His juvenile bullying proved to be ineptly humorous to everyone else in the library, except Seokjin who successfully lodged himself deeper in embarrassment.

For some reason, you were agitated that everyone else’s presence but your own was enough to earn his attention. It was beyond reason to want this man’s eyes to meet yours, and yet when it failed to do so, there was an unmistakable disappointment sitting in the place where you wanted Hoseok to look. 

You knew it stemmed from the unsatisfied hope that he wouldn’t act like he didn’t know you once, that maybe he’d let the guarded past seep through and guide his eyes to rest on you gently, as they often used to do. But what did that matter? You hated him.

There was some shame that followed how you counted yourself lucky that he sat at the desk right behind you, giving you a perfect trajectory to shoot him a snide look. You hoped it would arouse guilt that he had been the reason you were here and that he couldn’t even present the decency of proper eye contact, though he most likely found it flattering from the way his lower lip slid between his teeth and a twisted grin formed. The quick avert of his wandering eyes had replaced the heat rising in your body with more disappointment.

“Hey, tool.” The voice behind you passed over your head to the target sitting in front of you. Jimin turned back to assure Hoseok was audacious enough to call him that name, “Yeah, I’m talking to you.”

“What do you want, dickhead?” Jimin had been over this conversation before it even began, but he still played into Hoseok’s little game. He too had succumbed to that particular quality of Hoseok’s that had many people wanting to argue with him. Nowadays, it seemed to be the only way to get a bit of his attention. 

“Ooh, dickhead.” Hoseok’s low scoff had interrupted him momentarily, and the toss of his feet on top of the desk and lean in his chair drained a bit of suspenseful tension into the air, “Those are big boy words. Someone’s been drinking their big boy juice!” His voice was caked in a sharp taunt that had Jimin’s fists contracting into themselves, leaving crescent-shaped dents in his palms from his fingernails.

“What’s your problem, dude? Just leave me alone. I didn’t even say anything to you.” Turning his body to face away was not nearly enough to evade Hoseok’s mission of infuriating Jimin just for the hell of it. 

The boy, layered in a black leather jacket over a red flannel, mounted the desk and jumped onto yours then Jimin’s with a racket of stomps that echoed between the shelves of books. You looked over to the spot on your table where his foot landed, grimacing at the dirt residue of his shoe print and the whiff of nicotine Hoseok left in his wake. Your attention, along with Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s, was soon shifting over to Hoseok who slumped into the chair beside Jimin, all in deep anticipation of what the delinquent would do next. 

Your focus was trained on his fingers that pushed through his hair, exposing his forehead, and if you weren’t so invested in his interaction with Jimin, you might have noticed the pesky butterflies flitting around your stomach. 

“Can I help you?” Jimin didn’t give Hoseok the satisfaction of another turned head, making Hoseok greedy and frustrated with Jimin’s passive protest.

“I just wanna know…” The glance he shot to you sent shivers through your body, but you knew there was some mischief in this look, “You and princess over there are fucking?”

“What the hell?” These words had escaped from your mouth before you had the chance to fully construct a more dignified response. Jimin looked to you in attempts to apologize on behalf of Hoseok’s foul tongue. Seokjin’s ears had grown into a much deeper red upon hearing these obscenities and Namjoon’s eyes had widened almost as large as his jaw-dropped mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I don’t even know ___ like that.” Hoseok sat on the desk to face you with a smirk of such arrogance that it riled a combative sneer from your face. 

“So, you’re telling me, you’ve never slipped him the tongue, ___? I swear I could cut the sexual tension with a knife.” 

“You’re delusional.” Jimin cut in.

“Maybe. I couldn’t be as delusional as you, being concussed probably a hundred times from rolling around in the grass with your football friends.” 

“As if a loser like you knows anything about me or my friends!” 

“You like rolling around with your brain-dead guy friends?”

“What did you say?” What Hoseok was alluding to hadn’t been a reference to what Jimin perceived it as, though it had gashed against a rather sensitive spot. More so a personal, secretive spot and Jimin sewed his lips shut in fear to push Hoseok any further.

“Shut up, Hoseok! Everyone stop acknowledging him. He just wants attention.” Though what you had said was true, and everyone surely agreed on that, Hoseok had drawn in each of you and had you all completely wrapped around his finger in minutes. 

You seemed to be spooled around it the tightest as your eyes were now at war against his piercing glare. A small ten seconds grew into eternity when you were under his gaze and the canopy of memories it seemed to hold, and when it was torn away from you there was a sense of relief and exhilaration tilling through you. 

Hoseok would never admit to it, but your eyes had almost faltered his own, almost moved him to an obedience that would have him sitting down at his desk and shutting up. There was a bloated discomfort with his recollection of your power over him, especially uncomfortable with the fact that the years of distance hadn’t diminished it in the slightest. Nor had it given him the time to muster a tolerance against your gleaming eyes. This pushed him to look towards the nerdish boy sitting in the back.

“What about you, nerd? Ever gotten down and dirty? I’m sure you haven’t but maybe ___ could help you out with that.” Namjoon was stiff except for his hands that had been quivering the moment Hoseok began directing his torments towards him. Maybe it wasn’t the hollow comments that had angered you, but the fact that he still wouldn’t find the nobility in himself to face you when he disgraced your name in such explicit ways. Or the fact that each time he failed to meet your eyes, you only felt yourself wrapping tighter around his finger.

“You’re an ass, Hoseok.” Jimin muttered under his breath because part of him was too afraid to address him with full confidence. 

“Jealous, meathead?” 

“Didn’t you hear ___? No one cares for the bullshit that comes out of your mouth.”

 “Yeah, that’s the point. If no one cares, then I can say whatever the hell I want.”

Someone did care, not that he had the mind or attention span to notice how even in hatred, you felt natural to be at his side again. Or rather, in between the crossfires of Hoseok and Jimin’s deafening stare-off. The letterman jacket covering Jimin’s torso had instigated Hoseok to flick the flap of his collar against Jimin’s cheek. He was swift to knock Hoseok’s hand and now his anger gave him the motive to speak louder. 

“Don’t start with me again, asshole.” 

Hoseok performed a fake shudder in the face of the confidence born in Jimin’s tone. The two have now risen to their feet and inches away from their noses brushing against each other. Jimin’s hands had repositioned into the same fists of enragement while Hoseok called Jimin’s aggression and raised him with his arms folding across his chest. Seokjin’s nails were being fervently trimmed by his teeth and Namjoon shifted to the edge of his seat. It was clear neither of their prideful masculinities would allow for them to subside from this standoff. Who would make the first move, however, had yet to be unraveled and thrilled everyone to oblivion in the dimly lit library.

Again, your eyes couldn’t be ripped from Hoseok and how his white tank top had clung against his heaving chest. The way his cocked eyebrow and ego had the strength of a crazed hurricane, one that swept you up in its winds with no trace of mercy. Still, there was nothing that could peel your eyes away from him, not even the rampant air currents thrashing through the library. Your focus had nearly distracted you from displaying your shameful affinity towards his arrogance and intimidation. Internally, you were sure you would have been salivating profusely with the way your mouth hung open. On the outside, you only stared, leaving the rest of what that meant up to Hoseok’s imagination. 

Has it really been long enough to note that his shoulders broadened and his jawline sharpened?

Timing played its incessant role as the overly suspicious Vice Principal Donald Dickson walked in, ridding the library of what could have resulted in bruised eyes and busted knuckles. Jimin and Hoseok sat down upon hearing the tick of the door handle, before the supervisor fully walked through the door and set his eyes on this group of expectant students. A beat of silence clung onto the space between the five of you, now six including the Vice Principal, and Dickson took in the sights of what he perceived were cowardice troublemakers sitting in the desks before him.

“Hello, everyone. You’re here today because you did something wrong. A wrong that needs to be punished. And what better way to do that than wasting away your Saturday?” 

His words had been spoken from an embittered tongue, eager to thread more guilt into each one of you. Truly the only thing more distasteful than his mustard colored tie paired with a navy blue collared shirt was his arrogance. In seconds, he squeezed the excess space between the five students, cramming you all, almost unwillingly, into a team against him. The surplus of space, flushed out by his own demean, drifted him further away. He stepped closer to the desk, specifically to the leather-coated boy slouched in his chair and leaned forward intending to tempt Hoseok into picking a fight with him. 

“Welcome back, Hoseok.” 

Dickson's arrogance began to singe the air, making the space smell rancid as if something had been rotting in this library for months.

“Good to be back, buddy!” His sarcastic chide sat horribly with Dickson, feeling this pet name as a challenge to his authority. And if something as trivial as the word ‘buddy’ stung him so, he couldn’t have been less prepared for the comment about to spill from Hoseok’s mouth, “How ‘bout we go for dinner after this, Donald? Oh, actually never mind. Looks like you’ve been eating enough for the both of us.” 

Normally, his empty insults would have passed through Dickson’s head but he had been in a bad mood today. The heckling had sent him right over the edge and gave him the opportunity to take his frustrations out on Hoseok.

“It’s Mr. Dickson to you. And you just earned yourself another Saturday detention.” Said with the slam of his hand against the table. All but Hoseok jumped from the slap that reverberated through the halls. The underlying tactic to put his foot down, or rather his hand down, lost its effect on the one person it was meant for; Hoseok saw this as a reciprocated challenge and was always up for a way to reclaim his domain.

“Don’t be stingy, how ‘bout another one?” Doing the exact opposite of what Dickens wanted, testing his power even more, though to Hoseok his power was nothing more than a pathetic hunger for any sort of authority, something missing from his life outside of work. If bossing around children was the only outlet to feed this obsession, Hoseok saw to it to make this worth his while.

“Fine! You got one!” 

“Can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

“That's it! All your Saturdays for the rest of the month are gonna be spent here, with me. You happy now?”

“Over the moon.” 

“Hoseok, stop it.” Even though your plea had been a whisper, it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Hoseok snuck a glance to your disapproving face. You’d been surprised to meet his unworried expression, despite arguing with Dickson and sacrificing all his Saturdays for the sake of knocking the vice principal down a few steps on the hierarchical ladder. His attention to you was stolen by Jimin.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jimin had his head facing down in compliance as if he were setting an example for Hoseok. Just minutes ago, they were at each other’s throats, but Dickson had this vulgarity in his threats that excelled in earning him the title as the most hateable person known to humankind, of a much higher rank than Hoseok, and that forged some unspoken solidarity between all of you. If it hadn’t been for Dickson, Jimin and Hoseok would have broken into an all-out brawl. Instead, it smoothed the dynamic between the two boys to a shielding defense of one another.

“Shut it, Park. Or you’ll get one too.” 

It took everything in your willpower to not scoff at Dickson’s insolence. You, personally, had quite a bone to pick with him as he was the exact wrong person that caught you, withheld the opportunity to explain yourself, and unjustly held you responsible for simply being in the vicinity of the crime scene. As much as you hated Hoseok, there had been nothing so compelling of your hatred than Dickson.

“Now, each of you will write an essay.” All five mouths groaned in response to this, “Yeah, yeah. You’ll write an essay whether you like it or not. You will sit here for eight hours, not say a word, not move unless it's to write your essay, and not even think about trying to leave.”

“What if we have to go to the bathroom?” This was a genuine question masked with innocence, however it doubled as a ploy for Namjoon to aggravate Dickson.

“Well, you’ll hold it!”

“Mr. Dickson, you’re definitely supposed to let us go to the bathroom.” You added.

“Even prisoners get to go to the bathroom.” A comparison laid out by Hoseok, quite fitting as Dickson seemed to treat you all lower than the dirt lodged between the ridges of his shoes. 

“You don’t tell me what I can or can’t do!” Dickson grew red in the face, a sight for the sore eyes of the five prisoners in this library.

“So, you expect us to hold it all day?” Jimin tossed his own objection in this dispute. 

“I expect you to do what I say, or do you three want to join your little friend next Saturday?” Dickson didn’t hold his tongue or restrain the volume of his voice that was barking this unreasonable demand. The wag of his fingers was as if he had truly asserted any real or respectable power over the five of you. Seokjin released the chuckle that had been brewing in his chest ever since Dickson began spouting his hollow threats. 

“Something funny, kid?” 

Yes, you’re making an ass of yourself, you thought.

“Nope just… thought of something that happened earlier today. Like, way earlier today, uh, a joke! It was funny, so…” Now you were all at the mercy of Dickson’s comical attempt to have students worship him. 

Jimin’s head had buried deeper towards his chest to mask the tears forming from holding his laughter behind his teeth, while Namjoon utilized the cover of his hand to fence in his. You and Hoseok had been trading off with noiseless snickers that exhaled as huffs of breath when Dickson had turned his back to check the time.

“It is eight thirty-two. You punks have a good six and a half hours until four comes, so I suggest you take the time to work on your essays. If you don’t finish, you’ll be back here next week to do just that. You’re going to write about what you did wrong, and why it was wrong, along with a long, thoughtful apology for what you did.” Dickson paced back and forth in the front of the desks with the sets of eyes, minus Hoseok’s, following his body. Two things stood with a backless stance in yet another empty threat of Dickson’s. One, there were not any grounds for Dickson to mandate another Saturday detention if the five of you didn’t finish an unrequired essay. Hoseok had the pleasure of pointing out Dickson’s other incorrect claim.

“Seven.” 

“What?” One could see the steam pouring from his ears and nostrils as he halted as if Hoseok’s retort acted as a hurdle placed in his path.

“We have seven and a half hours until four.”

“That’s what I said.” 

Jimin’s eyes had rolled back at Dickson’s inability to ever admit he was wrong, a trait only painting him into a bigger joke. You shook your head softly because the stillness you were trying to maintain was too overwhelming to handle, and this seemed to ease the second-hand embarrassment raging through you each time Dickson opened his mouth.

“No, you definitely said six. You said ‘you punks have a good six and a half hours until four’. Then Hoseok said ‘seven’ and then you said ‘what’ and then he said ‘we have seven and a half hours until four’ and then you sa-”

“Enough!” Dickson exclaimed.

Seokjin spoke innocently to give a correction to Dickson. His shallow grasp of social cues often had his well-intentioned actions trilling off his tongue with a sting to Dickson’s pride. Though, nothing had done more harm to Dickson’s pride than the prance of his half delusional authority before the eyes of those who had their own reasons for being stuck here. None, however, had been as lewd as the tyrannical reasons that drove Dickson here. 

“Watch your tone, kid.”

“Who else heard Dickson say six?” Hoseok asked after raising his hand high, followed by Jimin, Namjoon and you casting your concurring votes. Seokjin’s slow uplift of his hand was soon diverted to play off his affirmation as scratching his head. Hoseok’s smirk bloomed from the majority’s favor with him, and the one effortful but ultimately silenced support of Seokjin. 

“Looks like the Is have it!”

“Whatever! I’ll be back to check on you all in a couple hours. No moving from your seats. No talking.” He felt the slight of each of your hands, depleting his once esteemed title of vice principal to a speck of dust that did nothing more than agitate the noses of unimpressed students. The stiffness in all your muscles began to deteriorate from Dickson’s reluctant retreat, having you loosening the clench of your jaw. Watching Dickson wrangle the handle of the broken door before a gruff exit had assisted in soothing your nerves.

Not long after he left, not even a few seconds after the door closed, Hoseok felt an itch for not-so-civil disobedience and scratched a sweet relief to that by walking over to Namjoon, who had been scribbling on the paper that should have been filled with the assigned essay. He snagged the paper from the pencil once being grazed against it and jerked his hand away to evade Namjoon’s attempt at retrieving the stolen item. 

Everyone else’s attention had been forthcoming, and all found the contents of Namjoon’s paper much more worthy of their time than the essay was. Hoseok took a second for his own inspection as his lips curved to a quiet grin. Before Namjoon got the chance to explain it, Hoseok cruised along to the front of the room to behold to the rest of you the picture etched onto the paper.

“It looks like we got an artist on our hands.” Though it was heavy with teasing, there had been a cloaked adoration in Hoseok’s word. It was almost as if he were showing Namjoon’s talent off through the guise of badgering. You hadn’t known the man before you in the same way you knew him as a child, yet you still picked up on this through the lilt of his voice. 

It dawned on you then; no matter how many years past and how the roads of change diverted you in life-altering directions, there would always be a piece of the inner child in you. Small and fainter than the drop of a pin, but still there. You saw the kind child that Hoseok used to be still rummaging around deep within, trying to find its way to the surface.

Hoseok took notice of your perceptive glare that had differed from the others; your eyes always whispered something more that made him equal parts elusive towards you and troubled that maybe you’d been able to crack open his once impenetrable veil. The crusted formation of his toughened skin soaked in your eyes, making it softer and easier to see through. 

“Is that-” Your eyes squinted to focus on the detailing of the drawing, “Is that me?” The simultaneous glares of everyone onto Namjoon had caused a slight perspiration to fog the lens of his glasses. 

It was unmistakable, the face and shadowing were a near perfect imitation of yours, but the sharpness of each line exuded a striking tenacity quite the opposite of the demure front you upheld. A tenacity that felt indicative of a desperation for something; to Namjoon, it was clear in your eyes there had been a facet in your life missing which left you feeling robbed. This tore through you like lightning, leaving you to discover the source of what had been robbed of you. 

“Looks like I was wrong. The sexual tension wasn’t between meathead and ___, but bookworm and ___.” The blush on your cheeks wasn’t nearly as red as Namjoon’s entire face. “My sincerest apologies, please tell us how you and ___ fell in love. I wanna know every little detail.” 

He’d considered various routes of excuses, such as the picture wasn’t of you, or that maybe he’d absentmindedly sketched your features simply because you were in the same room but there would be no avail in either. He knew Hoseok wouldn’t accept that, backing him against the wall of shared curiosity between the other four, so Namjoon resolved that telling the truth was far more becoming of him than protecting the last of his dignity.

“To be fair, I drew almost everyone in the room.” He slipped a few papers from underneath his notebook, accompanied by an exasperated sigh, all depicting his own interpretation on his peers sitting before him. Each one held some unfeigned element of you all, not of intention though also not of coincidence, that drained the multiple facades to ineffectiveness until they were completely impotent. Everyone had gathered around Namjoon’s desk looking for their own picture, and neither Jimin nor Seokjin were prepared to face theirs.

“Yo, this is sick!” Jimin had his portrait between his fingers, eyes scaling the led sketch that accentuated his more flattering features. It was pleasing in the beginning but as he examined with more scrutiny that feeling had been sullied into fear. There had been a glint of worry in the eyes of Jimin’s drawing that had his once excited smile fading into a humbled concern of the growing nuances this small detail suggested. Jimin was just glad everyone else was concentrated on their own portrait so no one would be able to see this unsettling vulnerability strewn into the drawing.

Seokjin’s was a rather accurate paradigm of his eccentric expressions and attitude. To his surprise, this was given a more favorable look to what most people thought were awkward tendencies; it had become the focal point of the portrait as if there had been some unadulterated goodness in his heart that Namjoon seemed to be the only one to see. And below that surface of the painting, there was a tired expression bleeding through the excited one. All at once, his burdens seemed lucid and bare within the positivity intended to circumvent those exact burdens.

“I didn’t know you drew.” Jimin broke the silence with what he believed to be a keen observation. Namjoon found it quite daunting of him to act like this had been some revelation that the rest of you shared. 

“Well, you never asked. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation.” There had been an edge ruminating within the words Namjoon spoke that blew through the air and raised a few hairs on Jimin’s neck.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that we’ve been in art class together all year and my art has just now caught you by surprise.” The accusations in his tone shriveled Jimin into a corner of odd mortification for his ignorance of those who didn’t run in his circle. What made matters worse was there could be no proper objection to what Namjoon said, as he looked around to each of your faces trying to recount any memorable interaction with you all. It would be more fitting to call the rest of you strangers than acquaintances, let alone schoolmates, and least of all friends.

“I-” All words had been brushed to a place unworthy of being verbalized. 

“Meathead has better things to attend to than talking to us lowlifes, Namjoon.” Hoseok cut off Jimin’s already lost train of thought. 

You and the four others were now positioned in a circle, though some sitting on the floor and others finding a seat on top of the desks, you were all in this circle, together. The outside world had given you all the freedom to choose who you talked to, what kinds of people you associated with. Perhaps too much freedom that amounted in severed connections and missed opportunities to meet those who might serve as beneficial to your life. However in this room, in the crowded library which held that freedom from you all and granted you an even better gift of contingency, there had been an irresistible gravitation to seek entertainment through each other and learn what would have gone unlearned if not for the five different mishaps that led the five individuals to this room.

“I never said you were a lowlife!”

“Oh, but you were thinking it. Admit it.”

“Are you ever going to stop talking?”

“Are you ever going to stop using the entire bottle of Axe body spray or do you want us to lose our sense of smell?” Namjoon and Seokjin were more humored by this comment than you had been. Not because you didn’t find it funny, and it was all too true to foster any denial from Jimin and anyone in a ten foot radius of the boy, but because you kept busy wondering how the transition of the once sweet-tongued Hoseok had developed him to acquire such a thirst for belittlement. Or perhaps, why he had undergone this caustic transformation.

“Oh, like you’d ever be caught with me or Jimin at one of your parties with all your hoodlum friends.” You shot him this retort aspiring to sour his praise from the two other boys.

“You wanna party with me, sweetness? I think I can arrange that.” It was surprising, the sarcastic offer, and it suggested that he wasn't the one who initiated the drift of your friendship. That had struck some chord with you because you were certain it was all his doing, and subsequently cleared your tongue of a witty retort that would shut him up. He shifted from his crossed legged pose to dangle his legs from the end of the table that sat behind where your back had been. The tip of his foot had nudged against your shoulder blade in a tease to which you hastily swat his dark boot away.

“Fuck off, Hoseok.”

“You’re the one who brought it up! Don’t be shy, I’d love to see you get plastered with me and my, as you call it, hoodlum friends.” He had been a few more light kicks away from you landing your hand against the side of his cheek. To his luck, your resolve had kept your hands folded in your lap.

“In your dreams.”

“I’d party with you!” Seokjin’s idealism had interrupted your exchange with Hoseok as his eyes, now raked with astonishment, moved to the boy sitting diagonally from himself.

“I'm sorry, did you say something?” Hoseok asked. Jimin’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose while you had surrendered to the foot still digging into your upper back to turn towards Seokjin as well.

“Um, just that I’d hang out with you.” A bit of regret had a stutter leaking through his words.

“I wouldn't want to interrupt your bible study with my hoodlum parties.” Thickly layered sarcasm was just another social cue Seokjin was wholesomely unaware of, or perhaps he’d caught onto Hoseok’s aim to insult but didn’t care about it as much as you and the others had.

“I’m not even religious and I can handle parties! I’ve been to lots of parties.” He had fooled no one in the library with that statement. Seokjin’s volume had tapered off towards the end, filling the quiet of his voice with even more regret. There was a force out of his control that had him spewing the first thoughts that popped into his head through an unfiltered mouth.

“Bud, you are the human embodiment of an unwanted boner. Stiff? Yes. Annoying? Check! Something no one wants at their parties let alone in their pants? One hundred percent.” The rest of you, but mostly Jimin, had given up on taking the high road. This was made obvious to Seokjin and Hoseok through the contagious laughter afflicting the three of you, and even Seokjin couldn’t resist the smile tugging at the ends of his lips.

“Hey Hoseok, come look.” Namjoon’s beckon was said seconds before a few more taps of his pencil against the paper. It wasn't in his nature to call out to someone like Hoseok, but the need for him to face his painting had given his words the momentum to be spoken.

His approach had been a bit too unsuspecting; he didn’t think to craft a strong guard for seeing his portrait that he’d been waiting for. That had been a grave mistake. 

Hoseok stared at the page as if he had seen a ghost. Though it was not one of an unfamiliar face, the apparition had been the mirror image of him. With the glide of his pencil, Namjoon haunted the man with the impenetrable veil to a state of uncharacteristic lethargy. You were sitting right behind him, giving you the perfect vantage point to witness the picture of a man being stripped from his conceit. In the drawing, he was crying. This had nearly gone unnoticed from the obstruction of your vision by his shoulder. 

Nearly, but it was the first detail that caught your eye. It was eerily familiar, like Deja-vu. Even if the others were to see it, they wouldn’t have distinguished how this had illustrated a portrayal awfully close to the innocence of a younger Hoseok, of which only you had been acquainted with, and he immediately crumpled it to a ball before you were able to collect any more of the details to your memory. 

“What kind of shit are you trying to pull, huh?” His demanding question stripped the lighthearted atmosphere from the room. The cuff of Namjoon’s turtleneck joined the shriveled paper in his hand as Hoseok yanked him to a weak stand and an even weaker defense. 

Jimin compensated for Namjoon’s frailty with a firm grasp on both of Hoseok’s arms followed by pulling him away to stop what could have been a brutal beating. The paper had fallen from Hoseok’s hand which went unseen because he was struggling to free himself from Jimin’s strong grasp, which was cultivated through his athleticism.

“Bro, calm down!”

“Hoseok, stop being like that!” Your voice had his scowl now directing towards you, still maintaining the weathered clutch on your heart. There was no ambiguity in fear. One thing often scarce in Hoseok's eyes, but you saw it then. You knew his anger wasn’t of shallow disliking to the picture, but what it exposed of him that he was trying so desperately to mask.

Seokjin had taken it upon himself to see what triggered the fumed reaction from Hoseok by picking up the paper and stretching out the wrinkles enough for proper inspection. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why Hoseok would waste his temper on something as trivial as a few fictitious tears. With one more thrust of Hoseok’s shoulder, he escaped Jimin’s distracted hold and swiped the paper from Seokjin before anyone else had the chance to see it.

Hoseok wished you hadn’t seen it, as well as the other boy. The troubling fear in the painting, and how it reflected that particular quality onto him, though in an entirely new light. He wished it were gentler, the reflection; he wished it didn’t cut deep enough to carry a brutalizing truth. He wished it wasn't a reflection at all, that instead it was a misjudgment or an oversight. And he had no idea you saw past what Seokjin saw as just penciled tears on a paper. His shields of iron and skin were in no position to stand against your eyes. 

They never were.

“What the fuck are you looking at, freak?” 

“Hobi, don’t call him that.”

And with the utterance of the long-abandoned nickname, Hobi, it had sparked a sequence of memories to rattle through Hoseok’s mind. He was collapsing into himself, into the memories of you and your voice possessing exclusivity to the nickname that held a sentiment of which he’d almost forgotten. The scenes had tranquilized his boiling fury to a light simmer. Such nostalgia had that effect on his mind, as well as expelling the surroundings of the library from each of his senses and replacing them with sweet, untouched memories. 

The fragrance of fresh linen and lemon crowded his nose, the same way it would when he would walk into the comfort of your home. Long ago, when his arrival required no invitation, but was an expected, weekly affair. And during tough times, it grew in frequency. 

His nose would grow to associate the smells of linen and lemon with your home of pure safety, then into the arms of your mother whose delight had gone almost unmatched when she saw him. However, it never surmounted the ripples of joy you would feel when you were greeted with his arrival, and you believed you would never have to miss that feeling. This scent sailed him into the tragically estranged feeling of safety, now a malicious craving for it to return pooled in his chest; missing the feeling of safety he once had with you almost hurt more than the actual absence of it.

Though he wondered if it truly was the nickname ‘Hobi’ that swept him in a melancholic reminiscence, or the stark smell of fresh linen and lemon invading his nose. He wondered why it was that no other person had ever made him remember such insignificant details of his past that were too good to hold onto. He wondered if it really were the nostalgic scents and nickname, rather than the person who they reminded him of; all the good, safe things that left with you and your budding friendship. 

The muffled voices of those around him were just enough to crack through the tent of reminiscence.

“It’s okay to cry, Hoseok. We all know you just act tough but inside you care about what others think just as much as the rest of us.” That comment had been restitution for Hoseok’s previous jab at Jimin’s body spray misusage.

“Yeah, I cry all the time! Just the other day-” Seokjin chimed with agility from the quickly fading regret.

“Please stop talking. Please don’t make me punch you.” Jimin’s interruptive threat crammed back the thoughtless anecdote about to spill from Seokjin’s mouth.

“Wait, I’d actually like to see that. Seokjin, keep going.” To Namjoon, the idea of a boyish fight between the two sounded far more entertaining than whatever story Jimin had stopped Seokjin from sharing. “Why are you so afraid of crying anyway?”

“Yeah why?”

“Tell us, Hoseok.”

Consecutive questions such as these held a violence equivalent to assault in Hoseok's mind. He’d been cornered, his eyes that once couldn't bear to rest on you before now seemed to plead with yours for a salve from these bombardments. And you couldn’t tell if you hated him or the fact that with one look, he had winded you tighter around his finger.

“Hoseok is just mad because he cried during Marley and Me.” You said, quick to scavenge for a decent distraction. Your memory of watching this movie with him about ten years ago had been far too riveting to keep to yourself. 

In fact, you rationed it positively selfish to hoard something as enthralling as Jung Hoseok crying real tears, not like the ones on Namjoon’s drawing. And part of you, part of him too, knew this was done in favor of Hoseok to misdirect the rest of them from the actual root of his anger. Exploring the soul-bearing secrets he kept hidden beneath his thick skin was a venture overwhelmed by terror and discomfort. You felt this through that look glazing his eyes, and figured the Marley and Me incident was a worthy sacrifice to protect something far too fragile to tread on. The four of you were now swimming through a lake of laughter as Hoseok tried to suppress his annoyance, and especially his gratefulness to what you had done for him.

It began then, the struggle. He found the constant maintenance of keeping his skin intact over his heart forfeiting to your offer of kindness. As much as he tried to press the skin back onto himself, it would shed almost a bit too easily.

“What kind of heartless monster doesn’t cry at a dying dog? You’re all insufferable.” Hoseok stood up, turning away from the belly-aching giggles still erupting from you and the other three, “And I was eight years old. And ___ cried harder.” His trudge to the back of the room, away from the commotion of the drawings, was gorged in a strange distrust.

There was the possibility he had spilled one too many secrets with his long, catatonic silence after the way you called him that name. How you all had established a comfort to open yourselves to a partially amiable conversation together and that Hoseok felt like he was the one standing on the outside looking in. 

Thus, leaving Hoseok feeling betrayed, distrustful, and fumbling over where to place the blame. 

With himself, the full-fledged outing of his feelings that were ripped from his chest by his own hand without the consent of his mind. It felt unlawful, like he was unwillingly breaking his own rules. Or perhaps blame lied with the people who took one look at his leather jacket and paid zero caution when shedding a few layers of the deceitful front of his skin. What was left was the outer shell, the once impenetrable veil lying on the floor, and a man without his protective skin, open and raw and sensitive, though scared of vulnerability above all else. 

The rest of you followed suit to return to your empty chairs, ignoring how the air was damp with a complex rigidity that none of you felt equipped to handle. No one, least of all you, had been sure of what to do with the discomfort that sterilized the air with nothing but the sounds of five syncopated breaths, longing for some release of this silent torture.

You were sure of two things. 

First, you hated Hoseok and he showed his reciprocation of that through the flipped middle finger when you braved a glance back to him. Second, you concluded that the reasons pillaring your hatred for him had changed within two of the eight hours in this library. It was astounding, torn between being impressive and pathetic the way he’d roped you back into the sentiment of the young, inseparable children residing in the darker caverns of your hearts. 

The younger you that handed him a tissue and a shoulder to lean on, a gift of nothing close to judgement, when you had seen him crying at that sad movie. The younger him that in many ways held a strapping debt over your head for rescuing you from numerous bullies throughout elementary and middle school and a long spell of loneliness from your lack of friends in your younger years. The two mellow hearted friends attached at the hip, and the heart, that skipped along the steps of life as if misery and loneliness were nightmares lived out by those who didn’t have a person like Hoseok in their lives. They were locked away for quite some time and remained that way due to the abundance of freedom that this library had suspended. 

Because in the library, you couldn't run or hide.

Hoseok was sure of one thing, and one thing only. It was far clearer than the tainted air of the library along with the fogged arena of the outside world, and brighter than the way your eyes still outshined the shadow of his own pain; the irrefutability was beyond the depths of the ocean. 

His heart had been broken, pulverized to a dust, for far too long and it was because of how dearly he missed you and the safety that accompanied you. 

If you looked closely, you could see past his skin to his bones and all the secrets and scars carved in them.

 10:00 - 12:00

Timing. What you thought was an incarnation of the devil itself, seemed to torture you through today like it had a personal agenda against you. The five students and their endurance of boredom had been eroded from the minutes that felt like hours and the confiscated cell phones leaving you all to the devices of screenless misery. 

The silence continued stalking the air, still just as heavy and nuanced as before. You wondered why the quiet didn’t feel all that quiet. In turn, it was nothing less than an earthy rumble at this point, like the ground was ready to shake and knock every book from the shelves around you. Every time your eyes would meet with another one of your peers, they’d be instantly veered with a quick glance towards the ceiling or down at the blank papers sitting on the desks before them. Hoseok fell asleep long before you had the chance to read the hints of his mind that were lightly seasoned in his eyes, that seemed to have a way of avoiding you today. 

Still without some of his skin, and now the loss of his dignity joined. Because of that, he was tired and needed to sleep. It had more or less been Hoseok’s melodramatic efforts to recoup for the loss that put him in a moped mood; you not being in his life was the little secret that fringed his heart far worse than Namjoon’s portrait.

Maybe if you would have let him know that yours and the others’ dignities had been left at the broken door of the library then he wouldn’t be as mortified. At the time, you didn’t feel like it had been your job to do so which was retrospectively an all too uncompassionate choice. A bad choice. Far worse than the ones you made to lead you to detention.

Seokjin and Jimin had been tossing crumpled pieces of binder paper and shooting them in the trash can with high spirits, the heavy boredom of detention being cut through by their makeshift basketball game.

“That's fifteen.” A gloat followed Jimin’s victorious fist shaking but soon to be shut down by Namjoon.

“No, that was fourteen.” He held the paper where two sets of tallies were marked side by side under the initials J and S.

“What? I was counting too and that was fifteen!”

“Ha! Read it and weep.” Seokjin teased.

“Jin, shut up! You've made like three.”

Namjoon checked the paper and confirmed Jimin’s rebuttal with a thumbs up. Your resting head on the palm of your hand shook with laughter at the scowl plastered across the boy's face, which had made a habit of blushing a bright red in regret of his comments. 

Seokjin said nothing to this, instead proceeded to crumple four more pieces of paper now encased in his hand.

“Well now it's gonna be seven.” He had made this claim a bit too soon after the sling of his arm amounted to all four paper balls bouncing off the rim of the trash can and scattering onto the floor. Having all three of you laugh broke the fourth boy’s slumber, but he went about it calm. Hoseok’s eyes opened, quiet and slow, and none of you noticed he had regained his consciousness.

Dickson’s return had hushed the last bit of laughter along with the surprising enjoyment circulating through the third hour of detention. This time, Dickson was mindful of your collective vendetta against him which was why he had been armored with even more aggression than the last time. The mix of you four riding off the delights of playing with the little entertainment made available and Dickson’s heavily loaded disdain would make for quite a reactive outcome. There had been a lewd displeasure of finding littered papers along the floor adding to his frustration.

“Which one of you imbeciles were tossing around paper balls when you should have been writing your essays?” The unresponsive silence pushed him over the edge of annoyance, “Well?” 

His earth-shattering holler had fully awoken Hoseok who joined the unconcerned teens in this noiseless stare off. A yell or a whisper wouldn’t have made a difference by the means of intimidation since none of you could take seriously a man who missed the step of re-zipping his fly after going to the bathroom. The five of you were urged to point it out, though none of you felt the need to bury him even lower in all of your regards; he did that quite adequately and consistently on his own.

“We all just really want to do well on our essays! What you call paper balls were the triumphant efforts of remorseful students, sir.” Any resistance to Hoseok’s humorous antagonizations towards Dickson were depleted by the second round of his arrival. Namjoon demonstrated his agreeance with a snide head nod joined by Jimin who also nodded some proof to Hoseok’s lie.

“Really? Is that true, Seokjin?” 

“Yes, we all just want to better ourselves, sir.” Singling the evidently weakest willed student did not go over the way Dickson had hoped. He stood by Hoseok’s lie even if he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with Dickson. There had been some unknown element of surprise that had Seokjin just a few steps ahead of Dickson and a few steps behind the rest of you. Still, he was far ahead of Dickson, whose temper seemed to be strained.

“What about you ___, any thoughts?” He asked you this as if there was any evidence for his disbelief. And he was right of course, to be disbelieving, but the derogation of his voice did render his correct assumptions as nothing short of foolish dictatorship. Again, there was space. It was the five of you, a dividing space, and then Dickson. 

Space is meant to be empty, or it is not space at all, and Dickson’s unwelcomed invasion into it had made him the target of five unrelenting students.

“My English teacher says writing multiple drafts before turning in the final product is a clear-cut way to do well on essays.” Your eyes weren't level with his. They had been glancing back and forth from the desk to the unzipped fly of his pants that were now unfortunately a foot too close in your peripherals. Provided you had nothing to lose, maybe another one of your Saturdays, but even that seemed to be worth pointing the zip, or lack thereof, of his pants. “Sir, your fly is down.”

He hastily corrected this and his authority had been running too thin from the jabs sent his way, diluting any call to action he made into a watered down whine. It wasn't enough to spread over himself or each of you, making his second retreat taking place faster than the one before. On his way out, he tossed three out of four of the papers in the trash and kept one to inspect. There was no draft of an essay written on the paper, and for once he was right and it felt awful. 

You would have felt bad, but no one could empathize with his fatal arrogance.

“You kids are a piece of work. I don't get paid enough for this shit. You better be done with these essays by the end or I swear.” And he didn’t finish whatever he was about to say before walking out of the library, hurried and belittled. Jimin was, of course, the first one to burst through the silence with giggles and the sound had doubled, tripled, and so on until all of you had been absorbed in a fit of laughter. Even Hoseok released a smirky chuckle, and felt attuned with you, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jimin. 

For lack of skin, one could assume. Or maybe he genuinely liked the way he felt around you and those who were on this team that was too diverse to give a definite label.

“___, I can’t believe you actually said it. God, I was going to but I thought he would have cried.” Jimin pushed out this appraisal through gasping for air. 

“I couldn’t help it. It was right in front of my face! I think I have to go wash my eyes out.” You were rubbing your temples to massage away the increasing disgust upon picturing it.

“If anything, I thought Seokjin would’ve been the one to do it.” Namjoon said, keeping busy with another illustration.

“Nah, ___ handled that perfectly.” Jimin managed to level his breath by now.

“I wonder if your bite is as big as your bark.” Hoseok said, just to get another one of those annoyed glares, which seemed to be the only way he knew how to get your attention now. His affluence of communicating, especially to you, has been sloping off to quite elementary levels. Still, he did what he could.

“You wanna find out?” Your voice insinuating you wouldn't falter to his bereavements. Your eyes looked back to the smirk of satisfaction painted over his face, boiling a bit of frustration in your chest. Mostly, frustration with yourself for finding your eyes trailing along the length of his admittedly handsome face. Frustrated that, no matter how insufferable he was, you were undeniably attracted to him which made you struggle to suppress your own smile.

“Guys, look.” Namjoon held up a stick figure sketch of Dickson. It wasn’t nearly eligible to be considered a sophisticated piece or technically accurate to Dickson’s appearance. Though the elementary style of it had a stronger sense of accuracy than any proper portrait of Dickson would have. The grimace of the stick-figured Dickson and the detailed pants that included a dropped fly upstaged whatever ornate cross-hatched or contoured lines that had been applied to the four of your drawings. 

“You have a talent, you gotta give me some lessons sometime.” It felt like Jimin meant more of this. Perhaps he had been referring to what Namjoon had said before. As if he were realizing his range of friends left Jimin destitute in the terms of social circles and in some way, Namjoon had been entirely unique from anyone he’d ever met. He didn’t want to be another cart in a train of unexpanded minds due to a case of the status quo. 

Namjoon was alluring, to put it simply. Outside of his long undisturbed comfort zone.

“Well, you haven’t seen my art skills. I like to call myself the Van Gogh of our high school.” Seokjin did nothing but embarrass himself, but it had a normalcy you and the rest had grown used to. Now it was not just expected of him but looked forward to. Things were changing before the eyes of the five different faces with five different stories. Changing, yet at the same time, feeling as if things had been returning.

“Yeah, all you have to do now is cut off your ear!” Namjoon said sarcastically.

More laughter, more good feelings poured into the library that once felt nothing more than a temporary, barren jail cell and a source of guilt and boredom. It was full now. Full of something much warmer than before. 

You were looking at Hoseok, now with a little less hatred. Seeing him smiling, laughing even, had softened your hatred to something else. It was still painful, and just as hard to identify as that particular quality of his. Whatever blame you directed towards him hadn’t been as hampering as this new feeling you got when you looked at him. He felt your gaze, louder than the chime of a bell, and wondered if he had shed enough skin yet to look back at you. To be filled with fresh linen and lemon and all the pieces of safety latched onto the exchange of glances that were not of the seniors in high school, but the childhood friends that long ago shared one heart.

Sadly, he didn't look to you, not yet. Not when he felt unready and unaccustomed to the ripe, underlying skin covering him now. He couldn't be brave enough to risk disappointing you with how his gaze might not have measured up to how sorry he felt for being the loose cannon in your life.

 You looked at the clock that read it was twenty-two minutes until the third hour of detention. Watching time tick by had proven to slow it nearly to a full stop, so you took to the sights displayed by the library window. The fog was still heavy, trading the perimeter of the parking lot with thick invisibility. Somehow, you had acclimated to the unseen sectors of what was within the fog. You couldn’t see through it, all you could truly see was fog, but that was not as pronounced as what you felt and what you knew. There was, without a doubt, something beyond the fog; that was what you knew. And what you felt was consoled in knowing there was surely something, anything beyond the fog, thus leading your eyes to Hoseok, again. You looked at him, right at his face, at his thin skin, and knew there was something beyond the fog.

“Stop leaning against the table, you’re gonna knock it down.” Namjoon had been referring to the tower of dusty books gone unread for a considerable amount of time for anyone, even the librarian, to notice they were missing. 

What, you wondered, could be more captivating than the mysteries hidden between the fog? To Jimin, Namjoon, and Seokjin, the antics of stacking books was that and more. There were about ten, maybe thirteen books piling taller than Namjoon. Though it had the advantage of resting on the already raised table, it was still admittedly impressive since Namjoon was on the taller side. Jimin stood on the table with arms flattened and extended to steady his balance and to still his body from any shaking that could derail their handy work. 

“Yeah, Jin, stop leaning.” What Hoseok said was clean of genuine concern, made clear from how he’d bumped the table with his knee causing the pile to teeter side to side, yet not enough to actually knock it down. The other three boys held their hands toward the books as if the gesture would have actually saved it from toppling over.

“___, come over and help us steady the books! Hurry!” Seokjin’s request had you rushing over try and balance the stack wobbling nearly to a complete collapse.

“Do you guys wanna do something actually fun?”

If not for the almost bewitching inflection of Hoseok’s question, you would have maintained focus on keeping these towering books from falling. Though, he spoke with an implication that he possessed something that would whisk you away from boredom and you were still, a bit less unapologetically, reeled tight around his finger. So, your attention was spent on Hoseok until there was no more. Same with the others. All four eyes tossing an unrestrained marvel in place of a verbal answer to his question. The vigilant silence was enough to have Hoseok’s hand digging in the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a neatly rolled joint.

“No fucking way, we can’t do that in here… Right?” Although he wanted to sound doubtful, repulsed by the stick of weed between Hoseok's fingers, the question threaded along the end of Jimin’s doubt had a faint enthusiasm.

“Dickson’s stupid. We can just tell him it was a skunk.” 

“I think we should really evaluate our actions before we do them.” By we, he really meant Hoseok. Seokjin tried to act in place of a sort of parental guidance, though he knew now how unlikely his influence would take effect.

“You’re right. Let’s see.” He paused and inspected the joint pinched between his fingers, “I’m bored, in fact, we’re all bored. I have weed, I want to get high, being high is fun. My evaluation says we should definitely get high.” Mocking the frail advice from Seokjin, Hoseok evaded the logic behind what the other boy had presented with yet another sarcastic remark. No one else argued, even those who were strongly opposed to drug usage, because there would clearly be no avail in discouraging Hoseok. Not to mention, deep down, all your inexperienced hearts had a slight curiosity for the coveted thing in Hoseok’s hand. 

“That’s hardly an adequate evaluation, Hoseok.” Namjoon said, though he was already crawling with a rising inclination since a much less favorable boredom would have tormented him if he declined the offer. Jimin, Seokjin, and Namjoon drove through the traffic of worries and doubts and arrived at the destination where Hoseok was impatiently waiting.

“Fine, then I guess I’ll just enjoy this by myself then.”

“Wait! I’ll- um, I’ll go.” Jimin said and it was enough for Namjoon and Seokjin to admit defeat to their desires. Football season had not begun yet, neither the periodic drug tests, and there was a growing stress looming over them all that could be displaced by getting high.

The only one still fraught with a neurotic hesitation and clinging opposition that pushed back from the cohorts all in agreement was you. Marijuana had always deterred your fascination, even though you knew it was on the safer side of most drugs, and your virgin lungs feared it in the same way your stomach feared alcohol and your heart once feared Hoseok’s return in it. However, Hoseok had slithered his way back into your life and that wasn’t scary in the slightest. It was exciting and comforting, even, to be graced with his return and it made you question what else you had been missing out on.

“Alright. Dickson usually falls asleep around now because he gets tired after eating lunch. God, I hate that I know that. Anyway, this gives us the chance to sneak out to the second-floor bathrooms where there aren’t any fire detectors.” 

The timing of his plan mapped out a perfect escape, however timing was never one to do you any favors. 

As the others snuck past the ajar door to Dickson’s office, inside the vice principal was sure enough sound asleep, you remained in the library and watched the others, one by one, throw all caution to the wind. Hoseok’s stalled exit from the room was ushering you to a state of indecisive pacing. It was clear he was waiting for you, though Namjoon’s, Jimin’s, and Seokjin’s company would satisfy the quota for a proper smoking circle. 

“You don’t have to come if you don't want to. The offer still stands either way.” He spoke tentatively and his eyes were habitually resting on anything, your hands, your chin, your lips, the floor, and even the fogged window, but not your eyes. He could resist the magnetism of your eyes because he felt like he needed to, but surrendered to the way his feet carried him a few steps closer to you. Enough steps to work a fast beating into your heart. 

“I’m not going to pressure you. I wouldn’t do that, you know?” 

You knew he meant this genuinely. The only thing thus far that came out of his mouth without the stain of sarcasm. It was because of how genuine he sounded that made the rattle between your bones far more feverish than the shallow, meaningless jabs he’d made to and about you during today.

Why does it hurt when you talk softly? Why does what should feel like soft fleece burn like the friction of gravel against my skin? 

You branded these questions in the eyes unseen by Hoseok. It aches to know that you hated him all this time, and you just now realized his soft spoken voice had been reigned by you. Softly, like the inner child begging to be liberated from Hoseok’s protective skin. Softly, like when he said he wouldn’t do that to you, it came from a place in his heart ten years in the making and reserved wholly by you.

“I just…” His steps hushed you. The proximity of his body to yours had placed you in the eye of the hurricane, where it was quiet and calm and even softer than his voice. He radiated an energy that reminded you of something strong that was tired of being strong and on the verge of withering away; like a tall, old oak tree. Mighty, beaten down from the weather, and readying to lay in its tomb. 

You always were able to admit he was attractive. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that. The delicious sharpness of his facial features made for quite a face to look at. He was damn near perfect. But when did he become so beautiful? How did his sharp features soften to become delicate and lovely? The duality of this man was flexible, ranging from rough edges to rounded, gentle surfaces.

You believed his approach was to lead his quiet, soft voice to your ears because one had to be close - very close - for another to hear such a gentle tone. But he wouldn’t have achieved such closeness if it weren’t for the fortitude of longing and the smell of fresh linen and lemon that emigrated from you. Nor the gentleness of his voice could have been procured if the other three were still here. When it was just you, there was no reason to be anything but honest and gentle and close. Resistance was now undone by being with you and the timing of it all. It was peeling away more of Hoseok’s skin down to the bone and he allowed you to do this. Finding a place, the library, with someone, you, filled the hollow chasm of his chest with an oasis one could only classify as safety.

I want you to stay here with me. 

Wherever that thought surfaced from, whether it be the spirit of a younger you or the sentiment of the current you, it was too real to keep from choking back a few tears.

“___, I-” Before the words of an unbarred tongue expressed how he wanted to admit he missed you and lay out every reason for pushing you away in order to annul all the pain he caused both you and himself, Seokjin had peaked his head through the door quite similarly to the frantic way he previously exited it.

“Hey, are you guys coming or what?” His urgent whisper had melted the overwhelming feelings being exchanged through silent pauses and simultaneously reconstructed the wall that severed your friendship, or whatever you had with Hoseok. 

“___, you’re not coming?” Seokjin sounded friendly in his disappointment. If it weren't for the fact that what he was referring to was smoking pot then you would have joined simply because his tone had flipped into a sweet, inviting plea.

“No, sorry. I think I’m gonna hang back. Someone’s gotta keep watch for Dickson.” Hoseok exhaled with relief that you didn’t come. He didn’t want you to feel pressured and at least he could accomplish doing that.

The skin retraced its steps back onto Hoseok. And when you looked out the window, for you didn’t want to watch Hoseok leave you again, the fog was impervious. The tepid steps of his departure sounded similar to that of a ticking clock. Each tap moved time forward and Hoseok away from you.

When you looked back to the emptiness of the library, you wished you could follow him. It was too difficult. Not the walking itself, and joining them had only been one staircase away, but the following aspect of it. To follow him, to chase the man that left you like he did years ago, like a decomposed afterthought, was difficult because you feared to be met with dry rejection. You’d rather not venture off into the fog, and stay unharmed in the clearings.

 Hoseok should have, in the wise words of Seokjin, evaluated his actions before making any official commitments to them. His constant neglect of this crucial step had led him into quite disturbing situations, including this one.

It was a few minutes after the joint had been smoked to the stub of the filter. Hoseok tossed it in the toilet of the large stall they occupied. For the most part, the boys were silent and enjoying their highs. And Hoseok was silent as well, but his thoughts were under completely different circumstances. They were blaring around in his head with a sharp ringing.

The memory of you, his awareness of missing you, seeing you again, and finding that his ability to look into your eyes long expired had been a taxing precursor to getting high. It was a first to have his emotions heightened taller than a mountain because of his intoxication; most of the time it numbed his emotions and the world around him. Though, there is a first for everything and Hoseok was clamming up from all the guilt, loneliness, and longing ensued by the Indica making its way to his brain.

They were all talking by now, describing how they felt or if they were feeling any buzz at all. Namjoon was the first to be hit with a wave of high and he unceremoniously stood up to wash his hands because he insisted that he could ‘feel the germs crawling on his hands.’

Jimin and Seokjin were the next victims of the unspared joint. Jimin had been repeating the word “woah” until it was devoid of all meaning. 

Hoseok slipped under the spell last, but his high wasn't fermenting in the same light-hearted ways as the other boys’ highs. His harnessed a colossal weight that was an ounce away from being too much, from sending him into a fight or flight reaction. The stressor could only be the pent-up emotions that were billowing from his chest so wildly that there was no chance to inhibit or ignore it. Hoseok was not as high as the others, but high enough to send his dignity into the unreachable air. Soon, he couldn't tell if the discomfort in his skin was because of his high or his new discernment for this stifling barrier. 

The depth of this emotional hole was deeper than that of a dried well, and had left Hoseok to be somewhat of a benign lump to the conversation at hand.

“Guys, I think I’m peeing. I feel like I’m peeing. Am I peeing my pants right now?” Seokjin rose to a panicked stance, spinning and bending to check if there was any wetness seeping down the pant of his leg. Namjoon, who was still washing his hands, and Jimin had fallen into a debilitating laughter. Though even in a state of sobriety it would have perpetuated a hearty laugh, their elevated reactions were that of the high they were still riding, and based on Hoseok’s observations, wouldn’t be coming down from anytime soon. 

“Holy shit. Dude, just pee! we are literally surrounded by toilets.” It was a difficult task, but Jimin managed to squeak this out between his giggles. 

“I can't pee in front of you all! I get… I get pee shy.” They all noted, Seokjin was an exemplary companion to get high with. 

If Hoseok weren't entrapped in his thoughts of you, of fresh linen and lemon that seemed to be far more pungent than the remnants of weed wafting in the bathroom air, he would have tallied Seokjin as one of his go to smoking partners. Nothing deemed lucrative to distract him from what really mattered to him: 

Fresh linen and lemon and you, and his damn skin.

“You guys may make fun of me for my axe body spray but at least it’ll cover the weed smell.” Jimin gloated, hunchbacked and head lowered to check if the scent of weed clung to his clothes or hair.

“We’ve been in a closed room for like twenty minutes. Obviously, you’re not gonna smell the weed. ___’s probably gonna tell us that we smell like a walking dispensary.” Namjoon said with a chuckle. 

“Now you smell like Axe body spray and weed.” Seokjin hadn’t stopped patting down the inseam on his pants to make sure nothing was inordinately wet while throwing in an additional jab.

“We should be heading back soon.” The faucet finally shut upon hearing Hoseok’s suggestion. “You three go ahead first, I’ll hang back so Dickson doesn’t catch me with you all. God knows he would be way angrier to see me walking around with you three.” 

Namjoon dried his hands and nodded with red glazed eyes covered by partially deflated eyelids. Jimin stood up and yawned from the weed-induced drowse blanketing his own eyes and Seokjin’s eyes still scaled the expanse of his pant leg with hulking paranoia. 

In a line, they left the bathroom to house no one but Hoseok, the pungency of weed, and his memories. In Hoseok’s eyes, they were blindsided by one thing and one thing only.

 Ten years ago…

White faded to grey in the clouds hanging above your inattentive eyes. The sandbox with worn plastic digging tools and a red bucket was the only part of the world that mattered to you. Soon, everything else blurred into nothing. You liked the sandbox not for the majesty of castle building or the sandy canvas to carve the visions in your young, creative mind with the swipe of a finger, but because of its smallness and how there was no room for others to play in it if you were in it. That was undoubtedly a strange reason to enjoy a sandbox, especially since youth usually carried along with it a craving to meet the first friend you could find and stick with them through the trials and tribulations of elementary school. You were harder to please in the sphere of friendship, leaving you to take to the sandbox where there breached no worries of finding a companion. 

Your finicky little heart made you a feeble target for young, boyish bullies. The pleasure of picking on the loner of the grade often satisfied little boys of their brutish desires. You’d always been a bit docile, and perhaps too much for your own good. There was no need to fight back and usually their torments were no more damaging than paper cuts that would heal in less than one or two days.

Today, however, you were proud of the sand replica of the Andes Mountains, which was quite accurate in your own opinion. Having it grinded down to nothing, to a footprint of a bully’s unforgiving torture was the last straw. 

“What are you gonna do about it, loner?” One boy asked.

“Ha ha, good one!” The others cheered on his infantile belittlement.

You didn’t think words sanctioned a fitting reprimand for their actions which led you to throwing a handful of sand, aimed at their face. It wasn’t enough to do any physical damage, but it had been more than enough to elicit anger and fill the opened-mouthed laughs of the three other boys with the specks of dirt and other fine sediments. One boy cupped a clump of sand around a medium-sized rock and pelted your arm with it.

Hoseok, who had been sitting a few yards away, turned to see where the pained yelp originated. When his eyes laid on you and the way you had been rubbing a rock-shaped red mark on your left arm, he felt the muscles in his legs moving him before his brain told him to help you. Quite heroically, he leapt between the blockade of three boys and you, fists clenched and eyes narrowing to push the little roughness he had in his soft facial features against them.

“Leave. Go pick on someone else.” Hoseok warned with an edge that had two of the three boys tutting their heads down in shame.

“Oh yeah? What are you, ___’s boyfriend?” 

“I’m the guy who’s gonna beat you up if you don’t leave.” It had been the conviction in his voice that held all the power. The voice of an angel to you, and to them, the voice that made picking on the defenseless loner not worth the trouble. They all retreated to kick around dirt at each other giving Hoseok the chance to turn around and check your arm’s injury.

“Are you okay?” He sat down next to you, and to your surprise, there was just enough room for him in this tiny sandbox. 

“Yeah, it’s just a bruise. It’ll go away.”

“I’m sorry about those guys… I- I think they’re dumb jerks.” This little slight towards them was quite modest in comparison to how Hoseok spoke in his later years. It wasn’t intended to insult the bullies necessarily, but to show he was on your side. That you didn’t have to play in the sandbox alone anymore if he was lucky enough for your picky taste in friends to acquire a bias towards him

“Yeah, major jerks. They ruined my Andes Mountains.” You were shoving around some sand to piece together the broken sculpture.

“Why the Andes Mountains?”

“I don’t know. They’re cool! They’re super tall, have you seen them?” In some way, it wasn’t the mountains that were feeding your excitement and the discussion, though short, was much longer than anything you experienced before Hoseok. Not only did you ward off the few people that stumbled into your sandbox, but many kids began avoiding you altogether. 

“No, but I’ve seen pictures of other mountains.”

“I’ve seen them! They’re big and rocky and they go alllllll the way up to the sky!” Your arms shot up to mimic the mammoth Andes mountains. 

“I’ve never seen a mountain like that but I’ve seen a volcano.”

“Woah! Where?”

“It was on some beach. I don’t really remember.”

“You’ve been to the beach? I’ve always wanted to go! The beach is like one giant sandbox.” Hoseok chuckled at your fascination. If he could travel back in time, he would have befriended you long ago so you wouldn’t have to wish to go to the beach. You would have already been there - with him.

“It’s so fun! I found a jellyfish on the shore and threw it back into the ocean and it didn’t even sting me!” Now you had been laughing at his whimsical personality. 

“You’re weird… I like you.”

“Could I- Could I help you?” Hoseok asked this, already preparing himself to an untimely demise of his efforts to befriend you. 

You paused. Your empty arena of friends had gained a candidate well-suited for your liking. Even as a child, you knew the trope of ‘boys who bully you only do so because they have a crush on you’ was just a way to excuse the brazen attitudes of entitled little boys. Hoseok wasn’t like any of those boys. He was kind, he spoke gently when he asked to play with you. He fit into the sandbox with you and you didn’t mind the company. 

The answer was clear.

“Yeah sure. Grab a shovel!” You didn’t bother looking at him, though his eyes were immovable from you. 

“If you wet the sand it sticks together better.” He said, attempting to prove himself an asset to your sand mountain construction.

“I never thought about that. Thank you.” This piece of advice was the first of many gifts this boy would give to you. 

One could assume the rapid advancement of your affection towards him could be due to how easy it was for younger children to build attachments with one another. However, that could not single-handedly explain the way you already felt close to him and how when he wasn’t in the sandbox with you, the vast space was not comforting as it once was. Not in the slightest. It could not explain how you and him never fought over petty things such as sharing the red bucket or whose sandcastle was better. He, without fail, insisted yours was always best. How your fondness of him only grew whenever he handled you in a much more tender way than he handled the bullies, no longer coming around to throw rocks and mean words at you.

“Wanna have a playdate?” You proposed in an uncharacteristic lapse of valor. 

“Um…” The hesitance wasn't because he was opposed in the slightest to this offer, but the little details of his life that often got in the way of building normal relationships, “Yeah.”

“Yay! I just have to ask my mommy first. She will probably want to meet your parents.” You said while molding the sand into a pointed mound.

“I don’t…” He stilled his fingers against the dampened sand, hoping it would calm the fast pace of his heart. “I don’t have parents. I’m a foster kid.”

You didn’t give an immediate response, instead turning your attention over to the boy who was unable to move from mortification. It confused you that he felt ashamed of this, your young, well-intentioned mind unaware of the negative implications and stigmas that surrounded being in the foster system. You simply smiled.

“Well, that's ok! Mommy will just be happy I’m finally having a playdate.” You said, shearing away the depth to this aspect of Hoseok. He was surprised, and also comforted in the fact that him being a foster child was no bigger of a deal than the color of his hair or the size of his shoes. As if this trait of his was something normal. He felt normal with you, and his inexperienced heart couldn’t decorate the thankfulness he felt with the right words.

“I’m Hoseok, by the way.”

“I’m ___.”

And the rest was history.

With him, the world didn’t matter. The end of recess didn’t stalk your mind. The threat of mean boys had become unthreatening. The lonesome life that you were comfortable with now felt like pins and needles against your body. The idea of friendship that once felt like pins and needles was comfortable, with Hoseok. To think, you had been fooling yourself into believing you were okay with being lonely and that you would have never come to terms with the emotional poverty that being alone subjected you to if it weren’t for him. Because with him, you believed the byword adults would regularly preach ‘sharing is caring’. You nursed a considerable affection towards Hoseok to care for him and had now realized you had far too much space in your sandbox to not share it with him.

“Thank you for being my friend.” You said, in the wake of all the goodness of friendship he had introduced you to.

In sixth grade you weren’t worried about a new school or leeching onto a clique. The burden of belonging didn’t barge in on your life like it had most of your peers. You had the privilege of being best friends with Hoseok. He told you on the day of your fifth-grade promotion that middle school wasn’t so scary, not when he had you. There was nothing for you to do but trust in him, not because you had to, but because you wanted to and because you knew he would always be honest with you.

It was you, Hoseok, and the little sandbox against the world… until it was not.

Unlike the end of elementary school, the end of middle school was met with no such promises of the kindling allegiance Hoseok used to assure you of. You assumed it was because his consistency in your life now went without being said. However, you learned this was a terribly incorrect assessment.

The start of high school was when everything changed. The seasons cycled through right before your eyes, and you weren’t ready for the new semester of school that Autumn brought. What you had been even more unready for was the gradual disappearance of Hoseok from your life. When he’d been drawn to certain promiscuities and stopped coming over for the weekly visits and soon forgot the comfort of fresh linen and lemon. You wanted to ask him, or rather, plead that he wouldn’t drift. The only certainty in your life was becoming more and more unseen and, in his place, an evasive fog to renounce him from your vision altogether. There was nothing for you to do but let him go, not because you wanted to, but because you had to.

Because he stopped looking at you and forced a cold divide between you two without negotiation.

Eventually, you made friends though not nearly of the same caliber as Hoseok. Most of your connections felt shallow and a bit forced and you knew there was no way in hell you would have let them into the sandbox with you if you were a kid again. Not in the way you let Hoseok; you hated living with that knowledge.

It was horribly painful the way he tore the plant of his body from your life. He’d buried the seeds and began to fertilize your world with companionship and intimacy. He grew with every step that you grew, however the bud of your friendship hadn’t the chance to blossom before he ripped out every root tangled within the inner workings of your life.

He had abandoned you in the dark night of doubt and confusion and aloneness. Half of your broken heart was somewhat glad he didn’t tell you why he had done this because it would have been devastating to find out he simply didn’t like being around you anymore. That horrific thought that the need for you to be in his life grown to a rusted nonessential was second to aloneness in being the worst thing he left you with. The other half of your heart was dedicated to wishing he would walk into your life again.

Why would he do that to you? 

And more importantly, how could he do that to you? He knew there were no two things more fitting for each other than the two of you. So how could he dispose of the one thing that meant everything to you and leave it to rot in the soil with the rest of the broken, decaying promises? 

There was a reason, and he forbade himself from telling you. He was so ashamed of his bones that he decided to cover every fond memory and every scar that turned his skeleton textured with permanent divots with endless layers of skin.

The half of your heart that longed for him eventually merged with the other half that felt nothing but complete abandonment. The sandbox was of single occupancy once again. You hated him for that.

 Present day

Hoseok’s eyes were full. Not of bloodshot vessels along the whites of the eye and not of worry that Dickson would catch them. They were full, almost outweighing the irises, with none other than melancholy and tears. Real, wet tears. He could blink away the tears and wipe them on the sleeve of his flannel, but he couldn't disengage the melancholy, the utter sadness from infecting his eyes. 

Looking up at the tiled walls of the bathroom, there waxed a bitter disgust in his chest for going so long, far too many years, looking at anything that wasn't your eyes. His labored efforts to keep away from you, not even allowing himself the option to explain the purge of you from his life, was bitter. Disgusting. It filled him with more guilty tears. 

He wasn’t crying for himself or the pressing torture he had endured for the majority of his life. He was crying for you. He was crying for the fact that he couldn’t tell you all the reasons he’d left you and tarnished the purity of your smooth skin. He was crying for hurting you, he was not oblivious to it. 

Yes, he was crying. The portrait held a valid hypothesis of the future. An older Hoseok, crying for fear of losing you. For you.

He waited a few minutes longer, giving enough time to account for any sudden stops or distractions that might have been littered in the path of the other’s transfer back to the library. Hoseok stood, checking the mirror that the tears were dried, and the melancholy was clouded with a redeeming fog, and then made his way back to the library.

No one, not you, not even the thick skinned Hoseok could be immune to the commands of timing. It was unavoidable, the misfortune that timing would always sweep over the lives of you and Hoseok. Dickson was second to timing on being an unavoidable force of annoyance and persecution. Walking down the extensive, closed hallway gave Hoseok no possible divergent path to escape the hunt that Dickson seemed to be on. 

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here? I’m disappointed to say I’m not surprised to see you breaking the one rule I enforced.” The completely irrational and dictatorial rule that he had been referring to, of course, had Hoseok’s rejection of it written all over the way he strolled through the halls. 

Any number of excuses would have cushioned the blow of Dickson’s repercussive actions about to be set in a meticulous line. He could have said he honestly needed to relieve himself or that he was feeling nauseous and needed some air and a quick lap around the halls. But he didn’t want to make excuses for himself. 

Hoseok had been parading around this Saturday as if he had enough skin to protect him against the external forces of you, Dickson, even the other three boys. He was tired, reaching the apex of a tall cliff, climbing and climbing to what seemed like an abstracted end without the comfort of a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on during this tiresome journey. And now, he just wanted to let his body fall down the agglomeration of his own barricades.

“I was smoking weed in the bathroom.” His defeat from trying and his apathy towards Dickson’s belligerent blows left him on the bottom of the cliff. There was no use in standing, in climbing again. No use but to fall and wait for the day to end.

Dickson took this vulnerability to his advantage. He was all too quick and far too eager to sink his teeth into the thin skin on Hoseok. As he was drinking the juices of all the power he felt entitled to, his thirst grew morbid, thinking the only way to quench it was to swallow every last drop of dignity from Hoseok’s body.

“You, Hoseok. You act like you’re top dog. You do whatever you want, whenever you want, and what does that leave you with? You’re never going to be satisfied. You’re gonna end up empty and broken just like the family you never had.” This was beyond crossing the line. Dickson had stomped over it, pummeled it into mush, spit his dirty hatred in it, and perverted every aspect of Hoseok’s life that had once been latched safely behind the line. “No wonder you’re such a troublemaker. You’re desperate for any sort of attention or authority because you never had the father figure in your life to set you straight. And even if you did, even if the world gave you every privilege and shortcut to living a better life, you would still probably be empty, broken, and useless to everyone around you. What are you gonna do? You’re gonna graduate in a year and I can safely bet you have no plans. You’re going to end up a nobody. A loser. Just another unwanted orphan.” 

The Hoseok four hours ago would kiss his knuckles against Dickson’s lip before he had the chance to finish grinding him to a pulp with those words. The Hoseok at twelve o’ clock, four hours older, was tired and swept in his anguish of losing you, or perhaps letting you go, or even worse, pushing you away. The tonnage of all these put his head into a haze and he couldn’t see Dickson, not that he wanted to. He couldn't see you, your eyes, even when he fell to his knees and begged the universe for that. He couldn’t smell fresh linen and lemon, only the faint memory of them which was quickly fading. The fog was surrounding, enclosing, imprisoning him but for what crime? For being the one who never seemed to be at the right place at the right times?

“Get your ass back to the library, Jung.” Dickson let this command roll off his tongue as if he’d been dubbed a place on a shiny pedestal. As if anyone in their right minds would have honored him for degrading the most fragile parts of Hoseok and shredding the sensitive skin of the man already fallen to the base of a cliff.

Wordless, visionless, Hoseok walked in a slump past Dickson to the library. Though, this book-filled prison felt safer than outside. Because it had you, it had the memory of your laughs and your eyes. It had the people who, though annoyed, still cared to give him more respect than he deserved. 

And everyone, especially you, were increasingly worried about the amount of time it took Hoseok to get back. The others almost settled on the conclusion that he had been caught and put in some sort of solitary confinement by Dickson. Toes curling and hands fisted, you prayed that he would return. You prayed and it cleared all the hatred from you, still leaving a few stains of resentment for him. You resented him, but hated? Not in the slightest. 

It was shocking, more so than your hatred of him, how in just four hours your animosity transformed into something tame and a little bit bruised and quite dramatically opposite of hatred. In hatred, one wants nothing to do with the other. In resentment, one seeks resolve with the other. You wanted him here and you wanted his eyes to make contact for longer than thirty seconds to make some sort of amends. 

“I’m guessing what's worrying you right now isn’t your essay?” Namjoon tacked a concern in his question and through the way he had been staring at the empty seat behind you, there was no doubt he was talking about Hoseok.

“I don’t know why I care. He’s the one who decided to leave.” The low hanging grin was the best ‘I’m fine’ face you could pull. It was no use against someone like Namjoon who, within seconds, painted a part of you gone unvisited by anyone, including yourself. “He probably ditched. He can never commit to anything.”

“Ouch. Didn’t know you took detention so seriously.” You and him were well aware that these questions were void of their surface meaning. The connotations strung onto his every word had encoded his knowledge of what was really going on and he was about to get it out of you. “You and him were friends in middle school right? I think I remember. You guys would always eat lunch together.”

You were about to correct him and tell him you’d actually been friends since the first grade, but you decided against it. What were you trying to prove by saying that, anyway?

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.” 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry.”

“No, it's nothing you have to be sorry about. It’s probably nothing he has to be sorry about either. It's just me setting my expectations too high and disappointing myself.” You paused to stilt the quiver in your voice about to crack through your words. No one had ever asked about what happened with you and Hoseok. No one had ever cared enough to even wonder. This was a first for you.

“I don’t see it that way. I think he’s lonelier than he lets on.” Namjoon wasn’t sure of what he was trying to prove, but he certainly harnessed more emotional intelligence than you had assumed. 

You suddenly felt guilty for doing the lazy thing of resigning him to a label, a slightly dehumanizing one at that, without even having one full conversation with him. 

“Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I don't know. I’m not sure why I said that, but I just felt like I needed to say sorry. You’re a good guy, Namjoon.” The grin bubbling from your lips was not a front this time. You were genuinely, profoundly touched by the way he’d shown you compassion about the Hoseok situation like no other did. 

“Thanks, I guess.” He chuckled at the randomness of it, but knew you meant well and that you fully knew why you were apologetic. Feeling seen past the stigma pinned on his back, he knew you only meant well.

Right when you were about to give up and mark this as another self-designed hope that failed to be upheld, timing came to your aid. 

For once, it did and it brought Hoseok with it.

“I just got chewed out by Dickhead.” 

Despite the sting, the way he rubbed against the raw wound left by Dickson, it felt better than admitting it hurt him so. To make light of his deepest cuts and sprinkle a bit of his own salt in the wound, well, that was what Hoseok specialized in.

Seokjin, still riding on the waves of his high, walked over to Hoseok and wrapped him in a hug as if he had been gone for days. Hoseok stood still, he didn’t return the hug, nor did he shove Seokjin off of him. It wasn’t because he fancied a hug from this strange boy, but more so he felt too awkward to move or even react.

“Dude, we thought you died. We thought he killed you.” Eventually, Hoseok gathered the resolve to lightly nudge Seokjin from his personal space. 

“Well, I’m alive so you can stop hugging me.”

“Hoseok, what happened? Did he get you in trouble?” You sounded far more concerned than the rest. You really wanted to know if he was okay, but you found that it filtered through your throat with an overly mild expression of that. Still, he caught this, along with every other subtlety in your voice, and wanted more than anything to tell you the truth.

No, he thought, He did something far worse. I would have rather taken a lifetime of detentions than to have been forced to witness the sickeningly honest criticisms Dickson threw into my already melancholy, tearful eyes. How he left that interaction unscathed and I was drenched in the pain of facing my truth.

But the words didn't come out. He didn’t feel like anyone would care about what he said anyway, and he didn’t feel like dragging you into more of his issues.

“He just got all worked up about his no leaving the room policy. The usual ‘how dare you go against me’ sort of speech. I honestly didn’t really pay attention.” His eyes trailed to the floor.

“What a dick. Sorry, man.” Jimin said while yawning, unrecovered from the Indica induced drowsiness.

“Yeah sorry, but I’m sure you got in a few good comebacks, right?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah, for sure.” Hoseok would have otherwise been boasting about the way he fired back against Dickson. You were expecting that, and when it failed to come you knew something was wrong.

Namjoon had been drawing a new picture while he asked this. Absent-mindedly enough to not notice Hoseok’s shaken behavior. The sketch was of the five of you, sitting in a circle. It was laid back, with a touch of delight that shed the new bond forming between you all into a visible light. No one in that room would have guessed this Saturday to turn out the way it did, however none of you really cared for the alternative outcomes. You were all just glad you were living through this one. 

The one that was encapsulated by the painting, the erasure of circumstantial union by a wave of perfectly crafted comradery. This wasn’t some deep insight of Namjoon’s, not like the ones in the individual portraits he drew. This was not of blind guesses or improbable hopes. This was clear to him, to you, to everyone. 

There were no such distractions to clamor your notice of his timid mannerisms. The way he walked a bit too quietly to his desk as if someone had stripped him down to nudeness for all eyes to witness. And just like before, when he first walked into the library, he found his seat without a single glance in your direction. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel frustrated with him. Not when his worries were more real and devastating than his portrait. 

This time it was different on two accounts. One, your ambition for him to look to you was not so you could relish in the guilt tripping stare he would be met with. The reasons you wanted him to look to you now was because you wanted him to know he was seen and was anything but alone. Whatever Dickson said or did was not a burden he had to shoulder on his own. And two, he didn’t sit behind you, didn’t try to avoid the unavoidable. He sat right next to you, in the scant space of your table, and there was enough room for him; even in the smallest spaces, there would always be enough room for him anywhere you were.

The scenery of him was bringing it all back. The sandbox, the mountains of sand, the young savior with the heart of gold. The love of having him by your side and the pain of his gutting absence. The roots of him were sliding back between your veins, once again seeking habitat for the bloom of friendship, or something more. 

Look at me, you wanted to say. I’m finally able to see you again. Can you see me? We’re all here, Hoseok. Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and me. We’re all here, waiting for your eyes. Waiting to see the bones beneath your skin.

“Hobi, are you okay?” This time you made sure your whisper only touched Hoseok’s ears.

“I don’t know. I don't know anymore.” He couldn’t see you and he had no idea you had been waiting for him, in the fog, all this time. 

 One week ago

The text read that the study group you had been invited to join, courtesy of your friend Lisa, had a study session on the second-floor study room. It wasn’t to hang out, just to study, and you wished it would be more than that. At least a part of you did. The other part of you, the one still hung up on something that happened long ago and the same part of you that liked to play in the sandbox alone, didn’t care that most of your friendly interactions had been surface level. 

One day, you’d meet with a few friends for coffee, or another you’d meet up with a group to study, and the more you hung out with people, the less personal friendship began to feel.

Friendship without Hoseok began to feel like a business exchange, or a mechanical interaction that had become overproduced and of less quality. Like pulling the same lever repeatedly, until it became a boring chore. Not to say you didn’t appreciate it. Though shallow, trite, and forced, it was more than Hoseok ever gave you these days.

But the text made you feel lonely, like an add on or an afterthought. Simply someone to fill an extra seat at the table. You wanted to feel like you weren’t just going through life without connecting, but connections were placed at such a high standard, thanks to Hoseok, that they were hard to come by.

Your teacher passed you through the halls, you tried to avoid eye contact but that made it even more obvious you didn’t want to talk to her. You both exchanged a cordial greeting and flung a few thoughtless comments about the weather into the mix to prevent any awkwardness. It was raining, you said. The rain looked like it was going to clear up, but still looks foggy out there, your teacher responded. She walked to her office and you returned to reality. 

Your reality. Alone.

You stared at the bulletin board and the dozens of neon colored flyers for new clubs and campus organizations. Band? You were hardly the musician. Physics? Barely passing Chemistry answered that quickly enough. Chess? You’d rather be lonely. Maybe it was pathetic, but you wondered why there wasn’t a club for finding people. No underlying activity, no common hobby shared amongst the group, just a club to help a few lonely souls feel a little less lonely. For people who had a hard time meeting friends and an even harder time keeping them. Where was that club?

You walked past the school’s cafe, not needing the caffeine to wind yourself up over the impeding awareness of how alone you felt today. Monday. The day of reckoning it seemed. When you felt alone, as you did today, your thoughts could only gather memories of Hoseok to cheer you up. To remember that once you weren’t so alone, it definitely felt better than remembering you were alone.

You and Hoseok had been diametrically opposed ever since the gradual end of your friendship. He’d become somewhat of a rebel and you stayed humbled and quiet. The once parallel lines of your souls running along the span of seven years together had diverged, his line east and yours, west, by the time you hit the eighth year. 

Today, all alone, you decided to start walking east. Not that you were looking for Hoseok necessarily, you were simply hoping to find something, or someone. It was that decision, along with the various others, that had you walking east and trying to get home before the rain fell again. You could have been surrounded by a group of classmates by now, who were half discussing the contents of the next Statistics exam and half meandering about what they were going to do this weekend, but that wouldn’t change the fact that you felt alone. 

Just like the one who played in the sandbox, you’d rather be alone while feeling alone. Though solitary walks in the rain meant you weren’t of any access to distractions. You began to wonder, which was never a good thing in your case, why you felt alone? There must be something wrong with you. Everyone else seemed to get along with the idea of friendship no matter the depth of them. You had concluded maybe ‘sociable’ wasn’t programmed in your DNA because sometimes you found yourself absolutely hating the idea. But that couldn’t be true because there was a part of your life that you spent loving the idea. Not just the idea, but the real deal as well. What could it be then? What was the reason you walked alone this Monday afternoon?

There he was. The moment you saw him you knew he was the reason.

“Hoseok.” You hadn’t felt those syllables in that order fall from your lips for quite some time, only hearing it in your head made him seem nearly unreal. But he was real, so was his name.

He had a cigarette stuck between his lips, then soon his fingers, leaning on the seat of his jet-black motorcycle. You were walking closer to him, slowly, like the way one would approach a wild animal so not to scare them off. Your steps drew you back to first grade again, and proximity wise, you were just as close to him as you were in the sand box. However, your hearts hadn’t even been in the same country.

“Do you need something?” The worst part about what he said was the fact that he didn’t mention your name. As if your name hadn’t crossed his mind in four years unlike how his was practically branded between the wrinkles of your brain. As if, to him, losing you was nothing more than a check off of some to-do list, a chore, a burden he was just trying to get over with. So, it was absolutely pathetic what you thought immediately in response to what he asked.

I need you.

“You smoke?”

“No, I just like holding cigarettes in my mouth.” Your eyes rolled to this, feeling a shockwave disassembling the Hoseok you remembered in your head. He was entirely new, not the boy who liked to go to the beach and played with sand, and you had a hard time recognizing him with this new skin he wore and the fog that, as your teacher guessed, was thickly lurking through the air. 

“How are you?” You thought this was a dumb question because you knew he would answer with some short winded, meaningless ‘good’ or ‘fine’ or maybe he wouldn’t even say anything at all, leading to a fateful dead-end to this dragged out conversation. It was enough to make you equally eager and exhausted. If you could call what you felt for him with words, it would be hate. Probably.

His face looked paler than it had before, and his hands looked like it would feel like ice if you touched them. You used to touch them all the time, and they were warm and looked just as warm as they felt. If you touched them now, would they be as cold as his voice? Would he even let you?

“I’d say I’m quite annoyed that someone decided to interrupt my peace and quiet.” He flicked the butt of the cigarette to shave a few ashes off the end of the stick. You just shook your head at how he didn’t hide the way he dodged your questions with insincerity.

“Sorry, jeez... How the tables have turned.” 

“What?”

“Oh just that,” You paused to wonder if him asking what you meant was some subtle indication he wanted to continue talking to you but you settled your bets on that being wishful thinking. Besides, you hated him so why should you care? “Way back when, I remember the roles were reversed. You were the one interrupting my peace and quiet.”

“I distinctly remember saving your life.” To you, no matter how desperate it was, any sort of mild banter with him was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, treasured with the memories stored in your chest. This was certainly the case being that in almost four years, the little he said to you now was the most he’d probably ever say to you in the rest of your lifetime. You took what you could get, after all, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Okay, calm down, you saved me from getting sand in my hair and down my pants.” You laughed and took a subconscious step closer to him. Carefully, lightly as not to scare him away because Hoseok looked stiff and distant minded when he saw you move towards him.

The mumble was registered clearly by Hoseok from the way you watched his partial scowl transform into a barely intelligible smile. You saw it, despite how small it was, and you missed the way he looked when he smiled at you. You missed knowing why he smiled, since right now you had no idea what prompted him to curve his lips the slightest bit upwards. More than that, you missed being the reason he smiled. That was selfish, maybe, and far-fetched from the looks of the gaping distance he seemed to be as comfortable with as you were uncomfortable.

“Li-”

“You-”

“Oh, you go.” His and your eyes were both fixed on the cigarette twirling between his fingers. And though you haven’t talked to him in a while, you knew that the tapping and twirling of his fingers was one of his habits to soothe his nervousness. 

Was he nervous? 

You wanted to carve the part of your brain dedicated to overthinking, specifically when it came to Hoseok, out of your skull. You hated the fact that you overanalyzed his every movement down to the twitch of his ears more than the fact that you cared enough to do so in the first place, and you hated that more than the man himself.

“You shouldn’t put that stuff in your body.” From the way his eyes didn’t move from the cigarette, it felt like you could have said nothing at all. He brushed it aside as if he was never intending on listening to you in the first place.

No, you thought, not Hobi. He would care, I think. He has to care enough about himself to keep his body healthy. And for some reason, above all the other overthought thoughts, that one seemed to scare you the most. If he didn’t care about you anymore, and he didn’t care about himself, then did he care about anything at all?

“Mm.” His gruff response fit unfortunately well with his hand, the one with the cigarette, that was moving towards his mouth again as if it were some act of defiance against you. 

Your hand moved to curl around his wrist, which began a new set of overthought thoughts about how rough his skin felt against your hand. Soon, you found your thumb grazing softly along the underside of his forearm. It was you double checking to make sure this was the same skin as the Hoseok you knew before, an accidental gesture born out of instinct rather than methodic planning, something that, if he asked, you wouldn’t be able to explain. For the time being, you did everything you could to investigate where his new nihilistic attitude had bloomed from.

Before the ten second mark of this abnormal, slightly familiar contact, you channeled every neuron in your body to signal your hand to let go of him. He seemed blind sighted enough for you to snag the cigarette out of his hands and into your own.

“Do you want a hole in your neck?” 

“What are you doing?” He didn’t sound as angry as you expected him to be. Moreover, he looked worried which under sighted your awareness of the deft approach to reach for his cigarette back.

“Like I said, the tables have turned. Now, it’s me who’s saving your life.” 

Before you could throw it on the ground and flatten out the flame with your shoe, you braced for the unforced mistake of looking into his eyes and seeing nothing. All that was sitting in the socket of his eyes was a lusterless fog. You wanted to see his eyes more than you wanted him to care, which was an odd transition being that his care had been the top priority ever since freshman year. Your hands were gloved by warm cotton, but you would have taken them off to hold his hand and make them warm with yours.

“Hey!” You thought that was just in your head. Maybe the voice of reason to advise you from holding his hand because that would be extremely weird to do to an estranged friend. But it wasn’t a voice of reason that stopped you, it was quite possibly the worst person to stumble upon this encounter. “No smoking on campus!”

You turned around and saw Dickson’s manic expression then immediately turned to the cigarette that was in your hand. 

Shit.

“I can explain! It wasn’t-”

“Can it, ___! No excuses.” Dickson’s eyes trailed to the pack of cigarettes that the one in your hand was sourced from. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and reached into the pocket of his blazer to pull out that notorious pink pad of detention slips. With nothing more than a smug grin flashed like bright headlights against you and Hoseok, one that you would grow to hate more than anything, Dickson turned and strut away with long strides and an elevated self-esteem.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” He smirked. To you, it was a mockery and some sort of reprisal for taking his hand and his cigarette soon after. 

“Fuck you.” You turned away to walk a petty five or so yards away from him before some gravitational force pulled your head to turn back to him. To see if he was watching, perhaps waiting for you to walk back over to him but sure enough he’d kicked his leg over the seat of his motorcycle and started the engine long before you walked halfway towards where you were left to do nothing but watch him leave. He became smaller and smaller, hazier and hazier, and then unforeseeable in the fog.

You watched him leave, and you were almost sure you hated him.

 One week ago

[Hoseok’s POV]

It was enraging and inconvenient for the weather to fog up right as school let out. Hoseok had more trouble driving his motorcycle when there was too much clutter in the air that disoriented the view of the road. He rarely stayed on campus for longer than he needed to, but it looked like he needed to. On the brighter side of things, Hoseok didn’t have to return to his foster house that smelled of old, wet, rotting rags and sounded of strained but persistent screams of his foster parents. 

Even sitting in the fog, sucking in the burn of nicotine, was better than going back there. Days similar to these, days intruding his week more often than not, he found himself stuck between a place he wanted nothing to do with and a place he could envision through a pixelated glare that brought him warmth, quiet tranquility, fresh linen, and lemon. The arms that would meet his body and wrap him snug against another body, then the excited face of yours that met with his equally excited face. 

It was a shame he could only live out these delights through an array of distant artifacts far too old to expel the loneliness from his heart.

Monday was whirling him through a pool of memories he’d rather keep covered up; it was winter and there was no need to swim in such a pool unless he deemed the risk of freezing to death a tenable substitution for smoking cigarettes in the fog. But it was not a matter of whether he would willingly dive into the pool, rather it was whether or not he could keep himself from falling in or even being pushed in.

Hoseok hadn’t seen your face in nearly four years. Of course, he saw you around the campus, strolling the halls or sitting in the cafeteria. He hadn’t seen your face, however, the way he used to look at it before high school. When he was a child free to flagrantly admire what his heart fancied as beautiful, there was no remorse or guilt from the way his eyes brazenly printed the details of your face into his memory. The creases at the sides of your mouth, the ends of your eyes that were pushed closed by the force of your cheek, and the number of teeth visible when you would smile had been graphed out like a mathematical equation; he was of the few that could solve it between the interval of two seconds. He knew where the inner portion of your eyebrows began and how far down the tip of your nose rested on your face along with the lining of your hair scaling the top of your forehead better than he knew any geographical map studied in school.

Most importantly, he studied your eyes more meticulously than he had his own eyes. Not your arms, or hands, or even the support of your legs could carry as much as your eyes. Hoseok liked to look at them when you smiled because they held the softness of a blanket after a tiring day burdened by a snowstorm. He could see it so clearly, a vast cloth in your eyes made specifically to wrap around a body in need of warmth.

But when you were angry, they held the wildest fires that would burn down anything in their line of vision. No matter how difficult it was to look at your eyes when they were sad, he was familiar with the molting roses that made your tears look like wilting petals; it was unsurprising that even in sadness, you shed beauty from your eyes. 

To him, you were the most beautiful being he’d ever gotten the chance to see.

He loved seeing your face, even if the only way he could do so now was through the partially disfigured memories of his younger self. He was sad to say he had no current frame of reference to jar in his mental gallery of you. There was no way he could look at you on the will of his own because he was afraid to unsheathe the distance and repression set to protect you from him

There was no way, because he would have probably fallen in love with you all over again.

He was about to leave, but a gust of wind blew him towards the decision to smoke one more cigarette before surrendering to the house that smelled and felt quite the opposite of one place he truly considered his home. 

And then he saw you. Walking slowly, and you looked so frightened of him. In all fairness, there was no reason for you to look at him with anything other than repugnance and unease because he turned quite jagged over the years.

You, however, were a relic of the past. Like a highly revered piece of art in a museum of grandeur, with the flawlessly manicured, picturesque beauty that couldn’t be bothered with the touch of Hoseok’s calloused hands. He could only stare from behind the velvet roped boundary that kept his body from melting into the art of you.

“Hoseok.” Your voice doubled down on the apprehension that tensed your walk up to him. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, feeling it inappropriate to have such a foul thing in his mouth if he were to greet you. 

You looked so beautiful. So different from the thinly spread memories of your face; your cheeks had grown into maturation but still maintained a soft innocence. When he looked in your eyes, he did not see roses or raging fires or warming blankets, in fact, he could barely recognize them let alone see what they were holding. It hurt more than the smoke battering his lungs.

Get your shit together. Get away from ___. He reminded himself in an incriminating manner.

“Do you need something?” How he had the ability to keep his mind wrapped around you but spewed words forcing you away was beyond any comprehension. Nonetheless, he did it, simultaneously scolding and applauding himself for not reverting to the version of him that would have greeted you with a soft hug or loving smile.

“You smoke?” The disappointment packed into your voice put him at an odd with himself. 

Finding the frustration plowing through his chest, he processed these self-aggressions through a misdirection onto an unsuspecting victim. One he never thought deserving to be the target of his projected anger, but then again, it was the only way to hinder your warm hands from digging beneath his skin.

“No, I just like holding cigarettes in my mouth.” He exhaled relief, along with the rest of the smoke inhabiting his lungs, that you had rolled your eyes. His charade was fooling you into annoyance, keeping you just out of his reach where you belonged. 

“How are you?” Or maybe this act of his was not working as well as he thought, since you padded these questions down like you had nothing better to do. Hoseok began to feel worried, the brimming loneliness was about to unleash through the conversation you were, for some reason, trying to initiate.

If you were to go away, it would break me again. But, at least, it would keep my skin intact.

“I’d say I’m quite annoyed that someone decided to interrupt my peace and quiet.” He freed his cigarette from the ashes bunching at the end, hoping you would mimic this riddance. Maybe you would see he had burnt your body to an ash, and sooner or later the entire cigarette would fall away to black dust. If you saw that, would you finally have the sense to leave him?

He couldn’t stand looking at your eyes. To behold such beauty, suspended from any chance to have your body against his was nothing less that torture to him because he was so very cold, and you looked like you harbored enough warmth in your fingertips alone to cure him of it.

“Sorry, jeez… How the tables have turned.” 

Hoseok bit down against the side of his cheek hard enough to steal a bit of blood from his gums and to keep him from asking what your eyes were holding today, and if you would be so kind as to give him a piece of it to feed his empty, starving eyes.

So, he settled on:

“What?”

“Oh just that,” Hoseok panicked in the span of your brief pause. Could you notice he was asking for a bit of your eyes and warmth? He was fucking everything up as usual, he thought. “Way back when, I remember the roles were reversed. You were the one interrupting my peace and quiet.”

The jig had not been up yet, thankfully.

“I distinctly remember saving your life.” 

“Okay, calm down, you saved me from getting sand in my hair and down my pants.” When you stepped close to him, the film of fear once guarding your walk was scraped clean which led to more silent punishment for letting his selfish indulgences of your company get the best of him. 

His muscles couldn’t resist the smile bubbling under the thick skin on his lips. Not even skin, or fog, could hide the smiles that never seemed to run short with you. 

And it was the step, or how miserably trapped in the purgatory he felt, or how he smelled fresh linen and lemon exuding from your hair and clothes that pushed him into the pool of memories he’d been walking around, but avoiding submergence. 

It was deathly freezing. Now, he was fully submerged in the fluid-filled vat of your memories, however. It wasn’t the bone chilling frigidity of the water that had him reaching his arm out and gasping for air, but the enticing warmth of your body that stood above him, as if you were waiting for him to reach to your aid, for you to fill his depraved lungs with linen and lemon tinted oxygen.

“Li-”

“You-”

“Oh, you go.” He believed it was better that you spoke.

“You shouldn't put that stuff in your body.” 

The broken levers and switches and pulleys which made up the inner mechanisms of his body found your banal suggestions as the only surge of kindness his old machinery had felt for a while. He’d heard it before; the Health Education segments, the anti-smoking adverts, the doctor’s orations tunneling out of his ears as quickly as they entered. But your words were caught like traffic in his head, so much that it blocked all entry of a fiery retort to pass through his mouth.

“Mm.” He mumbled because you were right. He shouldn’t be smoking; he shouldn’t be doing a lot of things but some of his actions felt out of his control at this point of his life.

Unprepared could not describe the intense degree of shock Hoseok felt when your fingers wrapped around his wrist so attentively. He was reaching his arm out, waiting to be removed from the cold and isolated pool he’d fallen into (or perhaps pushed into by you), but he never expected his hand to be met. He predicted he would spend eternity reaching to no avail, left to drown in this chilling pond of memories that rendered him frozen in the world of the past. Instead, his body reunited with the dryness of the air.

Hoseok hoped you couldn't feel the embarrassingly quick speed of his pulse with your thumb that rested right against his artery.

“Do you want a hole in your neck?”

He would have responded with: Could it be any worse than freezing to death?

“What are you doing?” His expressionless visage, one labored with hiding his worry, had fallen away from his face. 

The way the cigarette looked in your hands had him nearing a faint. To him, it felt like an accessory, like a bracelet or a belt, like it belonged in his hands. But when you held it, the small stick looked like it was going to leave permanent stains of corruption along your skin. It was absolutely abhorrent in your fingers. Any second, your entire body would be lurking with his repulsive residue and he thought it would kill him before it killed you.

“Like I said, the tables have turned. Now, it's me who’s saving your life.” 

That was the tipping point for him. The surge of tender nostalgia. The last bid of persuasion he needed to grab your wrist instead and press his mouth against yours, warm and wet and gentle. And he would have done exactly that, he would have kissed you and offered his last breath to your lungs if not for the unexpected saving grace that arrived in the form of a bitter vice principal.

“Hey!” Dickson’s approach was followed with the inevitability of detention. Hoseok only knew this to be true because even when he wasn’t smoking on campus or doing something that would elicit a detention, Dickson always found a way of weaving in reason to prosecute Hoseok. “No smoking on campus!”

“I can explain! It wasn't-” 

“Can it, ___! No excuses.” Hoseok was in his own world now, counting down the seconds until the pink slip of detention would be presented in front of him on a rusty silver platter. When Dickson walked away, he found it fitting to begin breathing once again.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” The mischief in his smirk bred the annoyance back into your chest, which was his goal of course. Before he got the chance to enact his sinful deed to close the space between your lips and his, he hopped on his motorcycle and wheeled himself to a safe distance. 

Cold and lonely, but safe.

He had the rest of the week to figure out how in the hell he was going to spend an entire day with you without looking into your eyes and breaking through the already vulnerable skin. 

 12:00 - 2:00

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

About two minutes after Jimin’s head took a dive, landed against the solid wood of the table, and snapped back awake, he looked a bit confused and tried to reattach himself to reality.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” 

“Twelve ten.” You and Namjoon answered in unison like you had been keeping track of every minute that passed since eight o’clock. 

“Time isn’t real.” The still high and rosy cheeked Seokjin mumbled out through a cluster of thoughts bumping around the otherwise empty space in his brain.

“I’m going to punch you.” Hoseok said, feeling sensitive to irritation after the denigration he had just undergone courtesy of a washed-out vice principal.

“Hoseok.” Your tone was a punishing command that needn’t more than the one-worded sternness to make Hoseok huff lightly in adherence. 

“It’s been,” Jimin paused to count with his fingers, “four hours already? It honestly hasn’t felt like it’s been that long.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Namjoon commented this with no further explanation as if Jimin had any actual clue to what the other boy was referring to.

“What? What do they say?” Jimin responded, expectant for the explanation.

“I know. Is it that time isn’t real?” You tried not to laugh at Seokjin’s re-utterance of his thoughts that were polished over with an intoxicated glaze, knowing your approbation to him would further aggravate Hoseok into actually punching Seokjin.

“How are you still that high, Jin?” Namjoon said through a soft chuckle.

“I don’t know it’s kind of freaking me out now. Am I gonna be high for the rest of my life?” 

“No and no. It’s that time goes by faster when you’re having fun.”

“That’s rich.” Hoseok took it upon himself to point out the irony and wicked hypocrisy of the insinuation that Jimin was having, of all things, fun with the four of you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin had almost forgotten Hoseok seemed to get the most satisfaction out of picking at Jimin specifically. 

Jimin wasn’t the easiest target since he was the furthest from a social pariah, Seokjin and Namjoon filled that slot, but he had both a namesake of being a star football player and a pyramidal structure of friends to lose from Hoseok’s unforgiving tongue. This made it much more satisfying to Hoseok.

“I just would have never guessed you would get off your high horse for a few hours to join the rest of us lowlifes. Consider me flattered.” This wasn’t the first or last sarcastic remark to whip tirelessly against Jimin however it was enough for Jimin to feel deserving of answers.

“Where do you keep getting this idea that I think of you guys as lowlifes?” 

“Oh, you wanna know?” Hoseok said, finding the clutter of denial Jimin had congregated around himself both ignorant and audacious. Even Namjoon and Seokjin found it astounding how gullible Jimin was towards his own refusal to admit an all too terrible truth.

“Please, enlighten me.” In the simplest terms, Jimin was in over his head to take on such a challenge with the amount of overzealous egoism in his voice. It felt like an affront, the ignorance shrouding him, to the experiences of the minnows that had to walk the halls with their heads hung low in order to avoid an unsolicited and traumatizing attack from the sharks of your school.

As much as Jimin didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was a shark, and the rest of you were minnows.

“Why don’t you tell everyone why you got detention?”

Jimin stiffened to a stone-like manner. It was petrifying to even move, let alone speak on behalf of his actions that led him here. He didn’t have his posse of dim-witted friends to protect him, nor the freedom of avoidance being trapped in the library. There was, for once, nowhere for Jimin to turn to other than the four faces of those deserving of his explanation.

“Well?” Hoseok coaxed.

“Damn, was it that bad?” Seokjin was worried he placed too much hope on Jimin’s shoulders. He wanted to believe Jimin was one of the good ones, or better ones at least. That out of his friends, Jimin would be the one to do the right thing because it would have been nothing short of betrayal if he relinquished himself to the cowardice of the ‘follow the leader’ mindset plaguing Jimin’s group of friends.

Perhaps it was the razing hues of the cheap fluorescent lights in the library, but there was a strange brightness illuminating this room in particular. Out in the halls, it was darker and easier to miss the faces of passing students. So dark that when you first stepped into the library, your eyes felt a slight burn and was forced to readjust to seeing with clarity for once in quite a long time. 

In the library, there was no way to miss their faces. Maybe if you closed your eyes it would have been easier and the burn of the lights infiltrating your retinas would be boiled down to a grazing sting but now wasn’t the time for closed eyes. The rarity of brightness and clarity was too good to return to the blindness of the halls and the fogged space of the world outside. It was safe to keep them open, just for now.

“Don’t tell me it was one of your dumb football friends who put you up to something.” You said as if you already knew this to be true. 

“They’re not dumb.” “What? Are you trying to defend them? Defend yourself?” Hoseok said and it was not caked in indifference or sarcasm. It was angry and driven by some demented sort of care for Jimin to take accountability for his actions; it was as if he knew Jimin was better than that but he wouldn’t admit this even with a gun to his head.

“No! It’s not that. It’s just…” Jimin had reached his breaking point. There was nothing left to hide. Not when the library was so damn bright that it singed his vision enough to well a few tears to collect at the base of his eyes. “They’re fucking cruel. I don’t think dumb people can be as cruel as them.” 

Jimin’s eyes were spaced out to the floor as if he had seen a ghost, or many ghosts in the form of the untracked amount of students that were swept into a relentless attack by those Jimin dared to call his friends. Those who he stood by, even if it cut through every moral instinct in his body. The most shameful ghosts were the ones sitting before him, listening attentively.

And the most haunting ghost of all was none other than himself. 

“Jimin, what did you do?” Namjoon, walking on eggshells or rather shards of glass, asked this of him apprehensively knowing how overwhelmingly displeased you all would be with his answer. 

“I didn’t have a choice! I-” The tears once held at bay on the bed of Jimin’s eyes had now been pushed over and down his cheeks from the guilt crowding the space where they once rested. “You know my friend Connor right? Well, I don’t know if I can call him a friend. Not anymore at least.”

The four silent nods didn’t give him enough time to construct the strong foundation of courage he needed to build upon this. However, Jimin had exhausted the last of his courage. All there was left for him, for all of you, was to be vulnerable. To be welcoming of his pain seemed to be the only source of strength to say what was needed to be said. What, for once, he felt like he could openly admit to. 

The library was bright. He began to feel seen because of it and the noiseless juncture gave him a chance to be heard.

“I, um, I made the mistake of leaving my phone out. God, I was so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I did that.” He took one deep breath to energize himself, “I, uh, I got a text from Kim Taehyung and,” 

Jimin had been instilling frequent pauses between what he was saying. Talking, especially to those whose opinions held a measurable importance to him, was the most difficult thing he had to do. Jimin spent over ten hours in the beating sun, extrapolated his muscles of their ability to move with the intensive workouts he had to do for training, ran over seven kilometers nearly every other day, and shoved an integral piece of his heart to a place of hateful and regretful shame for his whole life. But this, the uncomplicated act of talking had twisted into an unsolvable maze with Jimin placed right at the center.

“Connor looked. He- he fucking looked through my texts.”

The mention of Kim Taehyung, the only uncloseted person in your grade, had given you all the information needed to know why Connor looking through Jimin’s texts was not just an invasion of privacy but an infestation to the immunity Jimin built against how he loved; who he loved. The boundaries had been set and had been wrongly trespassed over, and to someone like Connor, that didn’t register as a violent act of homophobia. Jimin didn’t have to explain the contents of the texts for you all to know that it was far beyond platonic.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Hoseok. Being that he was the only one who knew what happened, but not as much to know the reasons behind it had him feeling almost as guilty as Jimin.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I didn't know all that.” Hoseok had given Jimin an opt out, a shortcut to escape from the maze Jimin was still wandering through, which was his way of apologizing and clarifying he would never cross that boundary, the boundary that Connor ravaged with a hateful heart. 

Jimin turned it down. He turned down the shortcuts. This wasn’t a journey that would be accomplished by taking the easy way out. Sometimes, one must run right into the eye of the hurricane to be freed from the shackles of self-despair.

“No. I need to tell you guys. I don’t want you guys to think that...” Jimin pushed past the final wall, realizing the very mask meant to protect him was the thing that had been turning him into someone he couldn't recognize when he looked in the mirror. “I just… I want you guys to know.”

The low social status of the others in the room wasn’t why he felt like he could be honest. It wasn’t the fact that even if you all knew, it would have been diluted to an unverifiable and petty rumor because no one took what the delinquent, the loner, the nerd, and the freak said seriously. What motivated him, or more fittingly, what inspired him to be honest was your gift of listening, not just hearing to hear, but hearing to care and understand Jimin.

“I’m gay.” And he finally found the end of the maze. “I’ve never said it out loud before. It sounds weird coming out of my mouth.” What he expected was awkward silence, a few uncomfortable or disapproving grimaces, or a complete rejection of what he revealed himself to be. These expectations weren’t met, by the grace of God or more likely the grace of those who listened with care and understanding. And Jimin cried harder.

“I don’t think it sounds weird. I’m so happy you shared that with us.” You said in place of the expected rejection, and you smiled in the place of the expected turned back. “I’m proud of you for being so brave.”

“You are?” 

“We all are.” Namjoon added to the support.

No longer did Jimin feel the need to rely on the fractured confinement of the closet, but on the open, warm support of the four others and the brightness of the library. When he gathered the reactions for the four of you, the soft expressions directed towards him, he knew he was in a safe place. Even Hoseok, without outwardly smiling, gave him more acceptance than any of Jimin’s football teammates would have given him.

“No disrespect but what does that have to do with why you got detention?” Seokjin’s bluntness corralled Jimin back on topic, even if it wasn’t the most empathetic way of going about it.

“Oh yeah. Well, Connor started saying all this shit about telling everyone if I didn’t um…” It felt like the words coming from his throat weren’t hot air from his lungs, but jagged rocks scraping the sides of his windpipe, “If I didn’t beat Taehyung up then he’d tell everyone and leak our conversations.” 

“Would people finding out about you two be so bad?” Seokjin asked naively.

“You don’t understand. There weren’t just messages.” He had been fidgeting with the end of his shirt, engulfed by the regret of how he handled things. Though, his choices had made him a parcel between deciding on the lesser of two evils and this was never a fair advantage. “There- there were pictures too. He threatened to leak them and I… well, I thought I was protecting Taehyung from him, but I was being selfish. Weak. I was protecting myself.”

“Jimin, that’s not fair. Connor put you in such a fucked up position! God, how fucking dare he?” Your face was red with anger. Hoseok had been tracing the distress lines on your forehead and between your brows with reverence because it was too heartbreaking to look at the defeated expression tolling Jimin’s. “You know Connor also sent around my friend’s nudes after he was begging for them. He’s fucking vile.”

“There has to be something we can do to get him in trouble.” Namjoon had already been willing to risk having to voluntarily interact with Dickson to rat Connor out. However, Jimin objected strongly.

“No! Then word would get out. You don’t know half the shit my teammates say about gay people. There’s no way they would let me stay on the team. And my parents don’t have a clue. I have no idea how they’d react.” Jimin brought his forearm to wipe away the tears still spilling from his eyes. “I’m scared. I already lost the one person who I really cared about in this damn school because of that asshole. I can’t lose anything else.” 

“Why would you want to be on a team with people who hate gay people? Or be on the same team as the guy who literally blackmailed you into beating up your boyfriend.” Jimin didn’t take too kindly to Seokjin’s unthoughtful assertion. 

“You wouldn’t understand. I- I’ve built my life around football! I wouldn’t have any friends and my whole future is riding on my football career. God knows my grades aren’t enough to get me accepted into college let alone get a scholarship. You don’t understand the social pressure of not being a part of something.” Now, it was Jimin who made thoughtless assertions against Seokjin. “Someone like you just wouldn't understand.”

“Someone like me?”

“Do I have to say it?”

Internally, you pleaded with him not to say it. Namjoon already knew the hurtful assumptions Jimin had placed upon the four of you this whole time.

“Well, you're the one who brought it up.” Seokjin retorted.

“Say it, Jimin. Admit you think of yourself as better than us just because you're popular and on the football team.” Hoseok spat with a determined bite to his words.

“Fine! Someone like Seokjin is an outcast. It’s true, okay? It’s not my fault he doesn’t get the pressure that I’m under.” The admittance was torrid and vain but nonetheless true to Jimin’s prerogative. 

“Are you kidding me? You don't think all of us don't understand the social pressures of feeling like we don't belong?” He was never one to argue or get upset about things. He often felt like he had no place in ever standing up from the many instances when he’d been pushed to the ground for his entire life. 

Seokjin, and Namjoon too for that matter, have been casted as a sort of boot licker trapped in between the cogs of the social hierarchies in high school. Being at the very bottom, on the receiving end of the brute force from those who are lucky enough to be a part of something, hadn't been easy. They didn’t get the leverage to misstep or speak out, and their consequences had always been enforced with an expensive debt of hiding what was really on their minds. 

“You don’t think I see and hear the way people talk about me? I’m a freak, a low life, a joke. No one wants to be friends with someone like me. And yeah, I guess I am the joke of the school! The inside joke that everyone is a part of except for me. I've never had the fear of not belonging because that was a given ever since I started high school. At least you have something to lose. I never had that and I have to pretend like I’m okay with it all! I have to pretend that everything people say about me or make fun of me doesn't affect me. In fact, I feel like I have to constantly make a fool of myself because that’s the only way anyone pays attention to me! That's pathetic! If I didn’t, if I just shut up or if I-” His voice cut off momentarily from the lump impeding on his throat, “If I were to just disappear… or… if I were to die no one would care. And I have to pretend to be okay with that. But I’m not- I- I just hate it.” 

You didn’t have to look at his eyes to know he had also been crying. And he was right, everything he said. The way most people disregard him and when they do acknowledge Seokjin, it’s only to place hate or insults to titillate their sick amusement. It brought you to tears in the most gut-wrenching way, because part of you attuned to his loneliness. His feelings of unimportance, that if you were to fall off the face of the Earth one day, your tombstone would be just as undeclared and forgotten as your once beating hearts.

“Do you know how many death threats I’ve gotten in my locker? Yeah, they’re probably empty threats just to piss me off or scare me but they still affect me. I- I start to believe maybe I should be dead. I just… I just want to be seen.”

In some way, Jimin felt decided for just like Seokjin did. Decided by external forces that he should be manly, straight, and nothing beyond what had been expected of him. Though the oppression of heteronormativity chained around his neck was vastly different that the shackles that kept Seokjin at an arm's length away from ever making a true friend, there was a communion within the unwelcomed and pervasive loneliness.

And that kind of loneliness drives someone to a deep and unyielding kind of depression. The damaging isolation from having no one to tell you they love you when you feel unloved ricocheted against your insides, and it begins to feel like a hunger but a million times worse.

You couldn’t feed it on your own. You just have to wait for someone else to want to feed it, to want to love and accept you. But no one could wield such compassion when they were too occupied with fitting in, until now.

“I don’t think you’re a freak or a joke. I’d never make fun of you, and I would notice. If you left, Jin, I would notice.” Namjoon said to give Seokjin shelter and company in feeling out of place. He felt it too and it was heavy, crushingly heavy. 

“I think we’re all just pretending to be okay. Pretending that living and existing doesn't hurt and that every day doesn't leave a scar on our body in some way. Being alive when you are pretending is lonely because it isn’t you who’s living and existing. It’s the shell of you, and the real you has to watch from a distance. That distance is so lonely. And when you try to crawl back into that shell, and maybe become whole again, you just can’t. You’re stuck because you've been hurt too many times to feel safe in your own body. I’ve felt it, now I know Jimin and Seokjin feel it. Even ___ and Hoseok, I know you guys feel it too. I wish we could stop. I wish we didn’t have to pretend. If we could stay in this library, together, we wouldn’t have to. But the end of the day will come and we’ll all have to go back to pretending, won't we?”

A speechless agreement filled the air.

“I don’t. I don’t want to feel lonely anymore.” Seokjin said.

“Me neither, I don't want to go back to pretending. I want to be able to love who I want to love.” Jimin looked to Seokjin, scared and unsure of whether or not they could face the world again. Oddly enough, comfort surfed over fear and uncertainty because they were not alone anymore. To be in a state of apprehension with those who take time to understand one another lightened the load tenfold. If one can be lonely with other lonely people, then maybe they weren’t alone after all. 

In this library, bright and giving, they certainly weren't alone.

There was nothing to say or refute. Hoseok had in fact been pretending, his skin just as fake as the leather jacket covering him. Though now, unlike when he saw his portrait, he felt the absence of his skin to be freeing. He felt uncomfortable in his skin; he wanted it off completely. Being strong, pretending to be unhurt led him to come crashing down as hard as he did when he faced you again. You and all the mistakes he’d made and Dickson’s hostile attack in the halls. Perhaps weakness is a form of healing.

Letting the guard down just enough to let the kindness of another’s heart in. 

“Do you guys… to me, you guys are my friends.” Spoken with an intentional rephrase and delivered without an expectation that the four of you returned this projection of friendship, Seokjin felt less alone than he did in the dark of the hallways that, although physically narrow, were wide enough to have him walking through alone.

“You’re my friend.” You said this quickly, to not give any chance for silence to settle doubt. You were his friend, truly, more so than the friends you made to fill the Hoseok sized void in your life. “I don’t have a lot of friends either.”

“Me neither.” Namjoon said.

“I mean, I have a lot of friends, but I think it’s all bullshit. I think you guys are the only ones close to anything real.” Jimin said through a smile.

And though Hoseok had come to realize what it felt like to be seen, to have his bones exposed to the eyes of the understanding, there was still that adjustment period. Letting go of the habitual usage of rudeness and sarcasm as a defense mechanism against the rawness of being human with other people was not an easily dropped reflex.

“Wow, well this love fest was certainly something.” 

How could he do that? How could he reduce the trauma and bravery piled between the five of you to another crass, insensitive comment? 

“Oh, god. Can’t you just quit it already? Can’t you take anything seriously?” You were well beyond the brink of holding your tongue. Beyond the point of patience that was placating your owed explanation for Hoseok’s drastic change and unannounced desertion.

“No, that part of my brain died a long time ago. Sorry to burst your bubble, princess.”

“Oh, is that what your excuse is?”

The other boys sensed there was some unsaid history between the two of you which placed them as silent audience members, serving a watchful mediation to this long-awaited performance. 

“What’s your deal? Calm down, it was just a joke.” His insensitivity came from a place that grew used to pushing you away and stonewalling the idea of emotionality, yet another defense mechanism brandished to become second nature to him. And with the attentive eyes of the other three, there was no chance of loosening the skin and veered away from showing his bones. Hoseok knew exactly what ‘your deal’ was but he didn’t have the slightest idea of how much his feigned indifference packed more dirt in your wounds.

Or at least, you hoped he didn’t. It would have made it far worse to know he was aware of the way he hurt you. 

“What’s my deal? My deal is that you don’t care about anyone! You never cared about me and you made me believe that I could trust you. You’re just an asshole, when you get down to it. You have no heart.” You spat, feeling the heat rising just as quickly as your body which collected the strength to take a stand. 

He too stood up, facing you and it overspent the little energy he had to look into your eyes as you said these harsh things, unhidden in the library’s brightness. Of course, you didn't believe anything you just said. You knew he cared, or at least he did once, and that he had a heart, no matter how emptied of love it felt in his chest. His heart was there, beating slowly as if waiting to stop completely.

You were speaking through the frustrations of trying to reach out to someone who held their guard up stronger and mightier than a brick wall and seemed to want nothing to do with you. 

He didn’t know this. Hoseok was up to his neck in regret and guilt. He was tired, and his heart was weary from doing its job of maintaining his breath. A breath he didn’t feel worthy of harboring anymore. He had been tired for a while now and just wanted to be vulnerable, like the rest of you. However, no matter how many times he thought it over or talked himself into it, the skin just seemed to regenerate faster than it shed. 

He wanted to take you in his arms, never let go, tell you where it hurt and hoped you would love him there in the same way you would when you were young, and when his heart didn’t fully understand the hefty price of being the unwanted orphan who dragged misery into the lives of everyone associated with him. He wanted the sandbox, the Andes mountains, Marley and Me, the first grade, the aromas of linen and lemon, and you all over again. But he knew, he never stopped wanting that.

“You don’t know that, ___! You don’t know anything so how dare you make claims like that about me when you don't know half the shit I’ve been through!” He was screaming, though not so much in the literal sense. The high pitch of his voice was him trying to talk over the secrets that he kept from you. It seemed like the only thing that would drown out the loneliness itching to be liberated was his hurtful words. It sent you into a rage

“Then tell me! Let me help you or be there for you! Stop running away. For once in your life stop running!”

“Why would I tell you of all people?” The true meaning behind this was unclear through his spiteful tone and sandpaper skin. The one person he wanted the best for, he wanted to protect, wasn’t the person to dump all his problems on. Not you. Not your kind eyes and soft, warm hands and skin. He couldn't drag you under the bus with him and make you solve the unsolvable. To put you through that, it would have been better to drive a dull sword right through your chest. 

You wanted to slap him or shake him. Shake the secrets out of him and place him right under the bright lights of the library. You wanted to reach into his chest and pump the slowly dying organ with your own hand so he could keep on breathing.

“I hate you, Hobi. I fucking hate you.” You said this and you said his name. The name owned by your tongue that carried too much sentiment to mean anything of hatred. Both his name and your hatred flew through the thick fog surrounding Hoseok, but only one of those two met with his skin and melted it off his bones completely. 

“I hate me too.”

He couldn’t let you, or anyone see him cry. So he ran, just like always. Hoseok walked out of the library, right into the dark halls, but it was him running again. Running far away from you just like he did over three years ago.

It seemed like he didn’t reveal nearly as much as Seokjin and Jimin had. Even Namjoon, with the few words he’d offered on his place in the grips of loneliness seemed to be loads more than Hoseok gave.

But to you, it was enough. To you, his silence and grim avoidance told you everything you needed to know about Hoseok.

Dry eyes, dignity, skin, the defensive masks once mounded over your faces were nowhere in sight of this library. Becoming emotionally undone and disarmed was nothing more than becoming honest with yourselves and others. It came just in time before those mighty walls broke down to leave you all sitting ducks to the much harsher grasps of your peers’ judgements

It felt like symbiosis. The mutual giving and receiving between those who had been pretending, but were worn out by the last few hours of detention. To give the skin that covers and protects and hides the things unwanted by most of society. The things often put to shame or denial or negligence and root loneliness deeper into one’s body. And to receive a mindful ear that cares and listens, empathetically, to the words locked away, as well as a place where these insecurities and inner torments can be put to rest through the form of words.

No longer were these secrets kept. There was no one to shun or misunderstand or commit the crime of breaking the bones of those who stand out to fit in the mold of what was considered acceptable or worthwhile. 

Four out of five coats unworn, laying in the center of your circle, safe and understood.

The question remained, if and when the fifth one would be shed?

Namjoon broke the tense silence.

“Are you going to go after him?” 

If it was your freshman year, you would have been racing out of those doors before Namjoon had to ask. The you of the past would have climbed over the Andes mountains, the you of elementary school would have swam across the vast oceans to drag him back into your life. The you of the past, the one that had only a sandbox and Hoseok, would have gotten to the door before he had and blocked any exit from this room. 

But you were not in the past, and Hoseok was already gone. Namjoon had to ask whether or not you would go after him and that meant there was a chance you had given up, for good this time. There was a chance you wouldn’t go after him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

 Five years ago

For the better part of a year, Hoseok tumbled through life without any cadence for feelings and emotions. He was an adolescent boy, after all, and each week brought a new challenge to his plate that left little room to focus on the chaos of his life and guidance of his heartbeat. This week, he set his sights on getting you to race him on your scooters down the steepest hill in your neighborhood. 

Dusk was orange and warm, sending its hues along the streets and faces who were under it like an important message one must read with the utmost care. Hoseok liked this part of the day specifically because the end of the hour would take his tired body into your home to eat dinner with you and your mom. He saved that for later and for now, he and you were occupied with scraped knees and tired knuckles from gripping the handles of your scooters, and a hill rolling down so far it seemed like it would take a lifetime to reach the bottom of it.

“Come on! We’ve been practicing for hours! You can do it!” His scooter was edging to slip off the slope and down the hill in eagerness. Yours stationed a foot behind with your helmet strapped snug around your chin and a grip around the handles so tight, you left the divots of each finger on the rubber padding. 

“What if we die?” You looked at the back of his head soon turned to become his face as he peeled away his determined glare to a soft reassurance. Wheeling back to align the front of his scooter with the front of yours, he was left to subside to the beatings of his heart, fed by the sun placing itself on the crest of your helmet and the luminescent rays drizzling like a serene waterfall down your face and body. 

He never thought about beauty much, being that he was no older than thirteen years, but seeing you under the aging sun had put it at the forefront of his focus.

“If we die… then you’re mom’s gonna be mad. So, I won’t let that happen.” 

“Hobi!” You swung your arm that braised the bone of his shoulder not without a laugh at his rather playful response to your worries. 

“Trust me. We don’t die. And whoever gets to the bottom first wins.” Your laugh served as a catalyst that quickened the pace of his heart. Whatever it was trying to tell him in this moment, it was surely of sizable importance being that it sent waves of warmth through his cheeks and down to his legs. The challenge now hadn’t been the epic scootering down the hill but putting his heart aside long enough to last the rest of dusk.

“Wins what?” You asked with intrigue.

“I don’t know. A piggyback ride all the way home.” Tired legs and a heavy head convinced you this prize had been worth the risk of falling, akin to dying in your perspective. Your head turned to the hill, looming over the intersecting street at the base of it, notifying Hoseok that backing down was no longer an option.

“Alright. Ready, set, go!”

Opening your mouth didn’t come with the expected release of terrified screams but laughs of thrilled enjoyment. The wind was cut through by your body, now rocketing down the gradient that felt much less steep than it looked, and you commended Hoseok for convincing you to tackle this seemingly trifling challenge. 

“This is so fun!” Your yelp was lost in the rapid descent, but Hoseok, a few feet ahead of you, had been in range of your acclaim. 

It was then when the young adolescence in his brain was overtaken by the guidance of his heart. His own tired body became alive and light. When you said this, the joy in your voice made the decision for him to discreetly apply pressure to the metal brake of his scooter with his heel, to realize he couldn’t make you carry him home. 

Not because it was tiring for you, but he wanted to see the look on your face when you won. He needed that smile and the warm blanket of your eyes that would heal his aching muscles and tired body. And it was your open-mouthed smile and celebratory hops, along with the showering glints of sunlight and the end of dusk that turned his loss into an incredible win. His covert efforts to draw this joy from you came from a place none other than pure love.

“I won! Hobi, I won!” Without a second to spare, you ran and mounted his back with legs wrapped tight around his torso and your arms snug, but not quite choking, his neck. 

“Alright, fair is fair.” Though, it wasn't fair. Not in the slightest, and Hoseok made sure of that. 

The feeling of your soft, jaded breath against his neck was energizing, and every so often you would give his body a tight squeeze when he was struggling to trudge back up the hill, as if to thank him. And you were because you knew he let you win. You squeezed him in your arms, keeping firm to the memory of him and this triumph gifted to you. Though, it was not as great of a gift as Hoseok was to your life. 

“Thank you, Hobi.” Your soft whisper was followed by an even softer kiss on his cheek, damp from the sun and the hill and the piggy-back ride. Soft enough to communicate to him the gratitude in your heart, which translated and directly manifested into his lungs now fanned of all the burning once inflaming them; his face sporting quite a bashful smile too.

He was not tired, not when he was holding you because it felt more like you were holding him. Like you were always going to hold onto him.

The neatly lined houses had little to no variation. Individuality in this small, suburban town was like finding that needle in the haystack. To him, your house was that shiny little pin. Your house was a home, and he saw that through the partly uncurtained windows that gave him a view of the scene inside. Most of the time, you were already seated by the sill, waiting for him to arrive. 

You and Hoseok had arrived at the base of your driveway, staring up at the small incline that looked like it was taller than the Andes Mountains themselves to Hoseok.

“You know how I said we won't die?” You turned to his lightly blushed cheeks upon hearing this to see he was smiling. “Yeah, well, I think I’m going to die.” 

His pearly whites cemented with metal braces and strands of his unkept hair stuck in the sweat of his forehead were sightly. You began to laugh, looking at the goliath hill separating you and him from a home-cooked meal courtesy of your mom, then back at the odd, awkward boy who had yet to discover the wonders of deodorant and properly fitted clothing.

Hoseok wasn’t all too desirable in terms of the traditional realm of attractiveness. His arms were lanky, unable to place themselves naturally at his sides without looking uneven, and his posture did him no favors either. And you took in all five foot five of him, before he hit a spur of growth, and thought he was the loveliest little thirteen-year-old in your grade and in the whole world. 

“Come on, you know my mom won’t allow that. I got you, Hobi.” You weaved your hand through his, pulling with all the force your muscles could exert to haul him up the driveway. You made it to the top and your hand didn’t let go of him. Your mind was trying to deny the twists and turns of your stomach and the fast pumping of your heart any credence. 

When all else fails, you must listen to your heart.

Both you and Hoseok discovered in your very young, inexperienced lives that hills and driveways and scooters and all the other trivial barriers were no match to hearts. 

It was in first grade that he knew he was going to be your best friend. It was by eighth grade he knew he loved you. So much he’d carry you with bruised knees and broken arms to the ends of the earth. 

 2:00 - 4:00

Hoseok’s memories of you became sort of a mosaic. The little pieces of you were, singularly, a bit insignificant in the time they were being experienced. Often overlooked, and taken for granted, he couldn’t realize the beauty they captured until he stepped back. With distance, he saw the full picture, the ethereal mosaic had brought him a far and lonely appreciation for the past. 

All throughout the day, he didn’t want to look into your eyes like he did the day you convened with him in the parking lot where he was smoking. His fluency of your eyes had unraveled with time, leaving him feeling illiterate in the language of you and completely lost. When he felt lost, he wanted his heart to guide him again, but it would instruct him to return to you and replenish the deserted friendship. However, from what everyone told him, even Dickson, he wasn’t worth the effort. 

You had been staring at the door opened and closed by Hoseok, waiting to be opened and closed by you. As if there were a part of you deciding on letting him go, you tapped your hand against the table synchronically with the seconds ticking by on the clock. The door had eroded the rest of the library away, along with the three sets of eyes staring earnestly at you.

“So, are you gonna go or what? We have like two hours left and God knows whether he actually stayed on campus or not.” Seokjin sliced the wordless atmosphere with heavy hopes you would make any indication of your next move. 

“Seokjin, shut up! ___, don’t feel pressured to do anything.” This overlaid Jimin’s pounding urge to hoist you up himself and throw you into the wiles of the halls.

“What? ___ clearly wants to find him.” 

“Well, he clearly doesn’t want to be found. He’s such a child, honestly, I shouldn’t waste my time.” You knew you only said this to try and talk yourself out of the decision which had been established by your beating heart the minute Hoseok walked out. The obvious desire to follow him had been expressed through the discomfort you felt for tearing your eyes away from the door; you were guilty, above all else. 

Each tap of your hand could have been a prelude to your inevitable pursuit of the man who, in fact, did want to be found. It was effortful but insincere to attempt leveling the scale between the two options of chasing or letting go; the opportunity of Hoseok was a weightier one than the life without him, executed through repetitive, passionless motions. You were bored, repulsed by the way you had lived out each moment of your life just to wait for the next and the next until your life was over. 

“Come on, you know that’s not true.” Namjoon added, “We’ll cover for you if Dickson comes back. I really think you should go.”

“Yes, please. Go.” Seokjin placed his desires proudly once again. 

“In all honesty, I think you should go t-”

“Enough! I’ve already gone down that path. All I ever got from it was unheard voicemails and ignored texts.” You were still looking at the door, and still trying to talk yourself out of it - and still feeling guilty.

“Love is hard, I get it. But-” You didn’t let Namjoon finish his well-thought out life lesson that would have coerced you into going after him.

“What? I don’t love him.”

“Ooo, ___ and Hoseok? Fire and ice. Rain and sun. Winter and Sum-”

“Seokjin, don’t you have an essay to write?” You cut his words down as well, finding none of their entertainment in your inner psyche appropriate. They were placing themselves in your mind, but to them it wasn’t so much of a locked door than a door wide open with its secrets spilling out faster than the tick of the clock and the tap of your hand.

“Well, he clearly loves you. I don’t know him that well, but I can assure you he doesn’t get like that around just anyone.” Whatever ‘like that’ meant, you were annoyed that you knew exactly what Namjoon was implying. It didn’t stop you from perpetual, stubborn denial.

“He doesn’t love me.” 

“Oh… Are you being- Is ___…? Are- You’re stupid.” Seokjin’s words crumbled to near incoherency due to his complete astonishment for your lack of judgment. Perhaps if your belief that he didn’t love you was a genuine judgment, then his assessment would have been correct; you were being stupid.

“Well, fuck you too!”

“What he means to say,” Namjoon’s pause was to shoot Seokjin a disapproving glance, “is that it's really obvious you guys are into each other. I don’t know your history but there are definitely some unresolved feelings.”

“If you’re not gonna talk things out with him, at least tell him to come back so Dickson doesn’t get him into even more trouble.” Jimin’s addition only vegetated your inclination to find him again. 

It made sense. It was rational, reasonable, and therefore possible. You couldn’t let him get in trouble. You were just doing him that small favor. In your head, it caked over the real reason; to know he still cared or to see his eyes looking back at you, and figuring out what was the wedge that drove you and him apart. Maybe this would somehow re-cultivate the half of your heart still hanging by the thread that tethered you to him.

“I-” You stood up, walking towards the door that was about to be opened and closed, and looked back at the three boys now favoring much more satisfied and slightly smug looks on their faces, “Oh, shut up.”

Jimin held his hand, palm facing the ceiling, in front of Namjoon who greeted it with a victorious high five. Seokjin held his pencil up to signify you that he could now peacefully start his essay, to which you smiled warmly. You couldn’t thank them out loud, because you had nothing to ‘thank’, or so you thought.

You were just making sure Hoseok wouldn't get in trouble. That’s all it was. Then, you opened and closed the door and began the chase again. This time, however, the fog that once hurdled your vision was easy to sift through with the loud beats of your heart navigating you through the moors of the hallways.

You turned left, then stopped to ponder on turning back and going right instead. Hoseok didn’t make this easy and you wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. Eventually, you just let your body wander the many halls for about ten minutes before you decided on furthering your search to the roof of the main building. 

There was a new revenue of motivation that moved your legs forward. Before, they were struggling to keep up with everything life hurled at you. Now, it was far more determined and self-assured because you were moving towards a goal. You wanted to find him, and this time everything you had faced, all the loneliness, self-blame, forced smiles and friendships couldn’t keep up with you.

The stairs proved to be quite a test for your determination, and you passed with flying colors, heavy breaths, and inflamed hamstrings. You were lucky to push through the door and find him standing, staring off into the expanse of the fog. Towering over the haze had you realizing the entire school had been submerged, not just Hoseok and you and the library. Everything was under that sheet of blindness except for, as of now, you and Hoseok. The roof served as a platform to look upon the fog and stand safe from the numbing effect it debilitated on those in it. You knew he heard you. The perk of his ear as you ungracefully fell through the door to the open air told you he knew you were there. 

You stood a few feet behind him, and he offered only the view of his back facing you. There was a line to be crossed if you were to go towards him, place your hand on his shoulder, and ask him to face you. Whatever line that was, you knew it was Hoseok who set it and you wanted to know why.

“It’s cold out here.”

He said nothing, but did provide the tenuous gesture to turn his head, giving you a side profile of his face. In turn, wiring through your eyes was the stains of what could only be deduced as tears along his cheek. 

“Aren’t you cold? Let’s go back inside, Hobi.” 

Hoseok couldn’t look, doing so would only invite you to join him. It would plot his every desire along the pavement and undress how much he wanted to have and hold you. But you were no one’s, least of all his, to hold.

“Dickson could be back any minute.” Your footsteps towards him raised the clarity of your voice. You were doing a fine job at hiding the real reason you came up to get him, both from yourself and Hoseok. It pinched his weathered heart that you had just come up to warn him about Dickson. 

“Okay.” He answered curtly to bitter the atmosphere and showed no sign of leaving. 

“Well, I’m not leaving here until you get your ass down there, so, you’ll be getting me in trouble too.” You crossed the line which felt more like walking over a burned bridge, and placed yourself next to him with perfect access to see his face.

He was even more beautiful standing above the fog. 

You leaned your elbows next to his on the ledge of the building. His eyes, glistening from the tint of resisted tears, plowed over the treetops peeking through the top layers of mist. It was difficult to tell whether or not he was listening when his eyes were busy whispering secrets to everything in the far distance and the close proximities. To everything but you.

“Why?” Hoseok’s eyes were nudging towards the direction of you. He wanted so badly to look at you, to brave a glance but he was so cold out here that he had frozen over into ice. 

In this ice, he couldn’t move or even breathe for that matter. Looking at you and not being able to move towards you was an unnecessary torture of which he'd rather not look at you at all. So, he remained in his calcified state, eyes edging dangerously close to you.

“Why what?” Your eyes moved away from him, to the fog instead, trying to see the ground below. “You’re staying up here, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m staying with you.” Hoseok was shocked that you said this with such decisiveness; it was difficult to decipher whether this proposition came as easily as it was said. The lonely glades of mist were entrenched by a new plurality, like a double-edged sword ready to cut through the veil of secrets. The more you would push through Hoseok’s skin, the more it penetrated your own.

“God! Why can’t you just leave?” He removed himself from the ledge, pacing over to the space in the middle of the roof. Thinking this would suffice the desperation for distance was a gross miscalculation. You too pulled away from the ledge that overlooked the foggy plains and placed your steps consecutively with his. 

“Don’t you see I clearly don’t want you here?” That lie tasted much more sour when spoken out loud.

“I don't! Okay? I really don’t. I don't understand… I- Why did you leave? What the fuck did I do?” Your voice had matched in elevation with your frustration; you were not referring to him leaving the library, but to his cold departure from your life over three years ago. And with that, was the unending pursuit of him. 

“___, you just have better places to be. So go! Stop staying with me. Jesus fucking Christ! Look at me!” His hands angrily emphasized his sharp features that would surely draw blood if you came too close. “You shouldn't be hanging around with someone like me.”

“Is that what this has been all about?” You stood paralyzed; your body was stunned from this all too underwhelming reason. You were hoping that this wasn’t it, there was surely a much more redeeming explanation for how he ripped your heart right out of your chest. The thought that this was the reason for the cut tie had cornered you in a fiery rage. It made you furious. “Are you fucking kidding me, Hobi? That’s what this is about?”

What better place to be than right here, with you? You knew he would not be generous in giving any further explanation, so this question remained in your head.

“Yeah, actually, it is.” A shiver riddled its way under his jacket. He turned towards you, finding that revealing the truth which cemented him into a miserable, solitary life was not as climactic as he expected. Nor did he expect it to be revealed in the first place.

But it was, unceremoniously, rolled onto the roof. He had nothing to hide anymore so he looked at you. Your eyes, that he could finally see since you were above the fog, were close to tears. Years and years of denial and repression compounding against your heavy heart now alleviated, but it was not the least bit rewarding. You thought he was absolutely delusional to believe the gesture that his abandonment was rooted in the effort to protect you, when all it did was hurt you.

“No I-” You swiped your hand against your cheek, though it was useless as tears soon replaced themselves on your face, “That’s so stupid. That’s- You think I care? I don’t give a fuck about what you look like or what you do, Hobi. Don’t you understand I-”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not good.” His voice wavered through his throat, releasing more as a cry for help than an assertion of truth. 

“How could you say that?” You did him the favor of taking the strides towards him. The initiative fell to you and your body moved through instinct to close that distance Hoseok kept trying to re-establish. His body was weak up close; when there was no space or fog and the jacket draped over his body could no longer keep his skin collected along his bones, he was weak and it was far more relieving to see him vulnerable. 

“You were the best thing to ever happen to me. You were the only little first grader that wanted to be my friend and not just that. You showed me that someone could actually want to be my friend. You gave me so many years of happiness that would have been dreadful without you. I would have hated life without you. And I do! I hate life without you, Hobi. I’m so lonely.” You were unsure how you came to finally reveal every message your heart pumped through your veins and up to your brain for all these years, but you were glad it happened.

It wasn’t Hoseok’s lack of effort that kept all the good things he’s done under the rug of unimportance. It was the mounds of contempt the world held for kids like him. The stigma of abandonment and undesirability that was clamping down on any part of him brave enough to reach out, making it difficult for any feelings to be shown without irreparable harm or discouragement.

“You don't mean that.”

“I don't mean that. That’s it? That’s all you can say?”

It was, for the moment, all he could say. The feelings of unworthiness facilitated utter shame of himself like congruent figures now inseparable from each other and had molded a cage of confinement around Hoseok. His body was trapped under the scrutiny of everyone who expected him to fail, and one day he was afraid your eyes would join. That one day, you would look upon him with nothing of warmth, love, or admiration. Nothing of the eyes populated with blankets and storms and bountiful roses. 

“You’re so fucking persistent!”

“Why are you pushing me away?”

“Because!”

“Tell me why! You know I deserve it.” The conversation metered out with a lot less organization and structure, which was the result of many untouched feelings released between the two of you. The blizzarding words were combative and destructive as well as reparative and conjoining, but most of all it was grievously uncivilized.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Three years. Three fucking years, Hoseok. I’ve wasted three years of my life blaming myself for losing you. Blaming myself for being lonely. God! I'm so mad at you! I'm so mad at myself for still loving you!”

And there it was. The last stroke of courage slipping from your mouth into the words spoken through an unfiltered and unrestrained heart. It was beating fast right now as if it had been unmoving in your chest for the past three years. Finally beating again, you felt all the blood return to your limbs in waves of pricks along the expanse of your skin.

Hoseok was not ready to be cast into the shallow, yet inescapable oasis of your testament. The remoteness of the past three years had him crawling through an emotionless desert, purged of any source of water or food or nourishments to keep his thick-skinned body functioning. The moment he was presented with a bit of the revitalizing water, Hoseok, like many starving people, dove into it too much, too fast.

He felt the atrophied muscles in his legs gain traction to glide towards you. The force was a savage agent of his tightly packed emotions which erupted the moment you said you loved him. He loved you, he knew that now, and his body wouldn’t allow him a second longer to sit desolate and starved. 

Without stopping him, his lips planted roughly and passionately against yours. You were wrapping your arms around his neck before the logical sense of what was happening had been granted permission into your conscience.

Your heart, his heart, were guiding and deepening the kiss, only tangling you tighter into your dedication for him as much as it was twisting the confusion and unanswered questions into a larger, messier knot.

His tongue slid against your lower lip, assuming an entrance to slip himself into your mouth. Your jaw hung slightly agape and gluttonous at the way his lips spilled such tender movements against yours. His hands were running along your back fervently, holding your body firmly in place, like he was trying to keep his own body from disassembling. 

Your lips were moving messily against his, though unchoreographed, they moved with a near perfect synchronicity. Refinement had seceded to your hunger to taste him. His mouth was sweet and hot, gentle and forceful, loving and angry, and the light pinch of his teeth that took your bottom lip between them had you moaning lightly into his mouth.

Then, everything once expounding into inexistence flooded back into reality. You divorced yourself from him as every empty promise claimed their demands to be fulfilled. The push against his chest was strong and it had to be in order to dissect that long awaited act of closeness. 

“What the hell?”

A long interval of silence tormented the rooftop since Hoseok could only explain himself through guilty looks directed at the concrete floor. The surface upholding him was solid, of course, so it was strange that he suddenly felt like he was sinking into the ground below. His hand ran through his hair, trying to bring himself to words. To say anything or do anything other than take you in his arms and hold onto you so that his body wouldn’t sink beneath the roof’s malleable surface.

“I’m sorry.” And that was not good enough for you. Not when he kissed you like he loved you and didn’t let you fill three years with desperate, lost hopes.

“Sorry for what? For kissing me or for giving up on our friendship? Or for breaking my heart? Or for making me feel like I did something wrong or wasn’t enough for you? Or for making me think that everything built between us was just my imagination?” The list could have lengthened into an unplanned admittance of all the pain he caused you, however, it wasn’t the time for you to speak. 

It was his turn.

“I guess I was just…” Afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore, “I guess I just didn't see it that way.”

“Stop lying.” You said and could only hope he wouldn’t revert to his evasive and insincere responses. Your hand came to rise and press against his chest. There was nothing to testify what came over you in this moment, but you wanted to feel his chest and know his heart was still beating. That, like yours, it still sent life throughout his body with its consecutive pumps. It was. 

Ever so harshly pounding away at his rib cage as if it were trying to break free.

“I never… I never had anyone care.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t wanna drag you into my shit.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your hand moved from his chest to his chin, holding it in place so he couldn’t get the chance to look anywhere but into your eyes.

“Don’t be stupid, ___. My life isn't exactly picture perfect. From the beginning, my parents didn’t even want me.” He felt like he was being held emotionally captive by the years of trauma he had endured. Of the cycle of abuse and repression that crushed his will to feel anything at all. He was trying to break free. Despite all these facets of struggle, he spoke gently to you and it made your heart bleed empathy for his pain.

“Listen, there’s always that kid that everyone knows is trouble. Everyone knows that they’ll end up in a bad place. You know what I mean... That was me. I was that kid. I didn’t wanna drag you in that shit with me. You think I wanted to push you away? I had no other choice!” To you, he did have another choice. He could have stayed with you, but of course, he had no idea. 

Hoseok looked at you so sadly, with eyes begging to be loved and a voice softened by his tender, bruised heart. He felt so isolated. The imminence of his downfall became prevalent ever since he began to pay attention to the judgmental whispers of teachers and parents on open house nights when he showed up parentless, or when he was the last one at extended day care when everyone else’s parents came to pick them up from school. Paying attention to detail was the wrench thrown into his life, unhinging the naivety, and drilling in its place the knowledge that society had ostracized him for being an orphan.

Maybe it was because you loved him so much, and it was blinding. You didn’t see much of the world outside of the lens of Hoseok, but you didn’t feel the need to see such a place. Your figment of him was always in a good light; you couldn’t fathom shedding darkness or disappointment or repulsion anywhere near him. So, when he said this, you were completely oblivious of that dehumanizing label many teachers, parents, and fellow students grouped him under.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Of course you don’t.” He jerked his head away with a scoff. Though to no avail, your hand still mounted onto his chin.

“No I mean,” Your head turned down, attempting to process this information into coherency, “I don’t understand how anyone could see you like that.”

“See, this is exactly why I can’t be around you. I’d ruin you! You see the best in me and that's the worst thing you could do.”

‘Ruin you’? You still didn’t know what that meant.

“Were people really that bothered that you were an orphan?”

He said nothing. He simply looked at you as if you had pointed out an observation so universally accepted that it went unneeded to be discussed. Like it was a given to cast someone like him off, or to repeat his worthlessness until it was purged from a tongue bored of belittlement and moved onto the next victim of verbal assault. He was simply one of the dominoes falling into place. Falling on top of each forgotten and neglected child.

“You wanna know what Dickson said to me?” He paused, not to wait for your permission but to prepare himself to recount the hurtful things still pronging against his open wounds, “He told me I’m unwanted. He told me that I was going to end up some loser not even worth considering a part of society. Basically, I’m damaged goods, ___, and you shouldn’t be hanging around me. You actually have a chance to make something out of yourself. Don’t waste that chance on me. I can’t let you do that.”

“You know that's not true.” Your hand moved to his cheek since he slipped too easily away from your grip of his chin. You held him in place, you held him with you.

“Why shouldn’t I believe it? ___, think about it. I am pathetic. My own parents didn’t even want me. And my foster parents told me I was just a financial asset. That my only worth was their monthly foster parent check.” 

It was crushingly difficult to hear such punishing words coming from Hoseok. That he not only had to endure the unfeigned demoralization of those who saw his worth to be instrumental but that he had come to believe them. He came to resent himself for a choice that was not his to be made but still suffered every waking day for it.

“And I guess I thought you were going to leave me behind like everyone else seemed to do. Like everyone eventually just wants to get rid of me.” 

“What?” The core pillar of your relationship with Hoseok relied on his permanence in your life, so hearing him fear what didn’t once cross your mind took you back as well as your hand. “Hobi, how could you think that?”

He shrugged distantly.

“Don’t. Don't you dare.” Almost out of nowhere, your soft cries were emulsified by the dryness of the air and turned into a heavy sob. But, it was not out of nowhere. It was from somewhere deeply upset that you let him think so lowly of himself all these years. That maybe, you hadn’t fulfilled your job as his best friend. “First of all, don’t you dare say that about yourself and second of all Dickson is a piece of shit.”

“___, please don’t cry.” He was urgent in his request. 

Not over me. Don’t waste your wilting petals of tears over my corpse.

“You thought I would leave you? You weren’t protecting me from whatever inferiority complex you’ve carried around your whole life. You were protecting yourself.” 

“It’s not like that.” He stepped towards you, trying to ignore the wince worthy pain when you dodged him as if he were a bullet. “___, I love you.”

You were astounded by the signals so contrasting of each other that they led you to a plight of hysterics. You had to let out a flustered chuckle at the way he told you he would be heading left then turned right when you were already walking on the opposite path.

“I love you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I love you.”

“You have a fucking horrible way of showing it.” Your arms folded over your chest and he realized it was his turn to keep your gaze locked with his. To chase you and to be put in the position that he forced you into three years ago. “I can’t understand you.”

“I was weak. If your hands were covered in blood would you walk up to something good and clean and force your stains on it? Would you leave disgusting prints of yourself on something so pure just because you were the only person in my life that didn’t see me as just an orphan?” Hoseok drowned himself in his words, but obtained and kept a soft hold on your cheeks with his hands.

 He was unable to register how distorted his perception of himself was in your eyes, feeling as though everything he said drowned his lungs with waters that almost choked him from speaking at all. 

There was a borderless delusion which fraught the comparison Hoseok just explained. It fell close to thoughtless and hollow, the way he reduced you to some virginal, helpless and unattainable prize on a pedestal; he subjected you to some paradigm of pristine stature that wouldn’t have the good nature to be anything less than empathetic for him. Though, you were not the image of purity or unmarred of pain and suffering; he was the reason for that.

“I'm not some little innocent kid. I know bad shit happens, but I’d never let that change the way I see you.” Filling the vacancy of your heart wasn't all too touching. You were distraught, distrustful, of everything in this world that led Hoseok to such a destructive mindset. To ruin the sweetest boy and subject him to undeserved misery. “You’re not just an orphan. You will not let that define you, you hear me? You are you. You are Jung Hoseok. To me, you will always be Hobi.”

The most frustrating part of this was tied between the fact that no real blame could be placed on one contender and the difficulty of understanding someone’s story when it went untold for far too long. Perhaps you had been pretending his pain didn’t exist because it was easier to see him as a stone-like, uncaring heathen. It was easier to cover your deep grief for losing him with hatred, but it did nothing to solve the division between you two; at the end of the day, you were still lonely and you still needed him. Wasting three years away to bitter resentment was nothing compared to knowing the truth of it all but having no power in redirecting yourself to compassion rather than anger.

“I should have been honest. I was scared.” He said. “I just thought I could never be enough for you.”

The fog was fully cleared. Your eyes panned from the edge of the roof to Hoseok’s needful gaze and down his addicting lips. All this time, he was just as alone and just as afraid, existing no less than a car ride away from you and still light years from ever being able to garnish his defeat with an admittance that he needed someone.

What more was there to say? Hoseok could have droned on about the way his foster parents stripped him of innocence and tossed him into the frigid hands of self-reliance or how he felt himself sinking into failure when the world of no mercy pulled him by the ankle and dragged his thrashing body through life without the guidance of someone who knew what was best for him. He could have explained how every unmet expectation put him against the world, in constant competition with not just everyone else but himself. Fighting against his need to be cradled and cared for with his resistance to tenderness enacted to thicken the skin on his body so the weaponry of an orphaned life, unearned glares of contempt and disapproval, and predisposed low regards wouldn’t dig as deeply. 

He could have relayed all his nights lost to wondering why he wasn’t worth keeping. Why a child without the slightest clue how to dress, or bathe, or speak, or trust was turned away by the very people who brought him into this world and had to figure out all these lessons on his own.

It was the depletion of his own self-worth that drove him to loosen his grips, and how that was not of apathy but instead caring too much to let himself get in the way of your opportunely life. Letting you go was a loss that came with a painful imminence.

He said none of this because you looked at his eyes and he looked at yours. Through the clean air, the ripe and unhazed space among reuniting stares, he saw what your eyes carried. It was an ocean. A place of immeasurable depth and complexity, never still and constantly giving the sand something to shelter and love. A wide body of life and water that replenished the seared collection of bones under the parched skin of Hoseok’s flesh.

In loving you, in gazing into you, he let the water diffuse his skin until he was skinless, fully bone.

“I never stopped.” You redacted the fact that you were referring to loving him, because the unsaid implications were communicated much more beautifully and accurately than what the entire collection of the English language could attribute.

“Me neither.” Hoseok paused, dropping his hands from your face to his sides knowing with full confidence you and your gaze would remain with him, “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“I hate living. It's terrible. Everything about my life is terrible and I hate it.” His face turned wet quickly. Seeing this brought a natural desire to hold him again and to cast off his despair with your loving touch.

“Am I terrible?” You asked, hoping your words would serve as that gentle caress.

“No, how- Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m a part of your life. You might have gotten rid of me once, but I’m here to stay. Am I so terrible?”

“No. You’re wonderful.”

“Can you look at me and tell me I’m wrong when I say I need you in my life just as much as you need me?” The stagnant exchange of undeterred eyes was a comforting overture. A beginning that was not quite new, but a dormant adventure ready to be reborn into fruition.

“No.”

“So, I’m going to tell you. Hoseok, I need you in my life because I love you. Because no matter what people may say, you’ve brought nothing but love and happiness into my life.” The words, like a needle and thread woven into him, stitched the fabric of his heart back to fullness.  “Do you understand? I believe in you. I will be there for you. That’s what friends are for.”

“You’re my friend.” It constituted both a question and an irrefutable statement.

“Yours.”

“Mine.” He smiled softly, a gentle disparity against his tears.

“Life won’t be so terrible. I promise. If we have each other. If we have people who care, life is not so terrible. You have me, Hobi, you have someone who cares.”

There was no profound revelation with what you said. Nothing that was original or unordinary; it was quite common to be told you were cared about. One could refine your words to about three, maybe four, with the same tact. But that is exactly what made it original and unordinary to Hoseok. Countless people said the words ‘I care about you’, trillions of times and in hundreds of different ways and languages. It was said over and over again but Hoseok was never familiar with the comfort of being on the receiving end. To be cared about, and to be told he was cared about was quite revolutionary, and a completely profound rarity to him. And to him, these words were invented by your caring tongue; the first utterance that transformed the radical concept of care into something plausible. 

Sometimes, that’s all one needs. To be told they are cared for. Sometimes it’s enough to clean the bone of its wretched, heavy skin.

“What’s going to happen now?” You and he had migrated to look out to the fog ejecting itself among the trees and stretching all the way to the horizon. The trees were sitting so close together yet far enough for fog to slide between them. You wondered if the trees knew that they weren’t alone. 

“At this point, it's up to you.”

Once again, it wasn’t said. The beautiful things were expressed through silence because it somehow fertilized the sincerity with greater effect. Verbalizing them would have tainted what was kept clean and loving inside the warmth and safety of your hearts. You never knew to have such a connection with someone where the most important things that should be said aloud were somehow louder when they weren’t. Somehow, with the gentle brush of his arms against your sides as he was embracing you from behind, it was louder than words.

There was a stillness encompassing every piece of this moment. A stillness of the air, of time, of the two bodies placed above the fog. You and Hoseok were arrested from reality, lounging in the freedom of each other’s presence. The bright orange sun permeated through the grey clouds, reflecting specks of light along the faces of you and him. Seeing your skin once again carrying soft ornaments of the sun’s rays returned him to the only place he felt like he belonged: your heart. Being taken away from the chaos of life, Hoseok felt that this Saturday fell within the bounds of eternity.

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Together, we will be. We have each other.”

You took his hand in yours, fingers sliding together. His attention was stolen by you, or maybe it had belonged to you this whole time and was simply being returned to its rightful owner, still soaking in the sweet rays of the sun. He had no facetious, obtuse comment to tack along the tenderness of the roof. For once, he was vulnerable. It felt euphoric, like his heart truly began to pump life blood into his body.

“Okay.” He readied himself for the new world he was about to embark on, though this time, it was hand in hand with you.

“Ready?” You took a few steps back, towards the stairwell, your arm pulling Hoseok along, “I got you, Hobi.”

He nodded, no longer afraid of the dark halls. His narrative was not a singular venture. There was a partnership, a force of love perhaps, that pushed him to step forward. 

Hoseok once feared no one would get to his bones; to see the skeleton of himself underneath the epidermal armor. After many years and many layers of skin, no one had attempted much less succeeded in exposing his bones that yearned to be seen by the eyes of someone brave enough to face this quagmire.

And by chance, by timing's watchful eye, you had done just that. Lovingly exfoliated each layer of skin, washing away the scars and bruises of everything they had endured, and held his bones bare in your hands. Standing in the glimmering ocean waves of your eyes, feeling his bones, purified of all grief, against the air and conflated four years’ worth of the lonely, blinding fog once surrounding him. 

Standing in the sandbox once again of double occupancy. 

“I love you.” The words cascaded off his tongue with the same grace and earnest of what being in love felt like. Hoseok couldn’t do a lot of things and had quite a bit of trouble expressing himself for these past few years, but his love for you was something that couldn’t be anything less than accurate and sincere to do his heart a bit of justice. 

“You said that already.”

“Are you going to say it back or not?” He pulled you in by your waist, leaving you no other option than to oblige the requests he flew into the air.

“I love you, Hobi. I do. I love you.” Your hands lifted to his face, and his cheeks were warm. Though soft skin covering it, you could feel his bones. They were being caressed, loved, touched by your hands. 

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last time he felt this at home when he wasn’t in your home of linens and lemons. His face shifted to the side to press his lips into your palm.

“I love you.” He said again, seeping into skin, printing the words into your bones. Hoseok had to repeat it, just to hear you say it once more, to make sure it was all real. That it wasn’t just him that was melting into the art of you, but the art of you touching him, coalescing with him.

“I love you.” Tears of his face were brushed by your thumb and they didn’t feel like the sad ones shed before. They were a sweet and gentle ode to everything he’d ever wanted since the moment he asked to play with you in the sandbox.

You were crying as well, holding him in your hands. Holding him. You could not see the fog, the only thing rapturing every sense was Hoseok. Your lips pressed lightly against his, feeling him smile into the kiss, and that drowned out the crisp, punishing air that pricked chills against your cheeks. 

Hoseok knew he was going to be okay.

 The two of you made your way back to the library, greeted with three suspenseful eyes, trained against the doorway partly from apprehension that Dickson would return and partly from hoping you and Hoseok would make a swift return. They, too, cared and wanted to see if Hoseok’s skin had finally shed.

“Heeeeey.” Seokjin drew out his coy greeting to tease you and Hoseok for the all too noticeable gesture of holding hands. Jimin and Namjoon were captured in the physical intimacy that you two casually displayed as well.

“You two took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Namjoon said to the pair of smiling faces now returning to the table behind Jimin without further explanation. He was implying the long absence of you and Hoseok was not delayed through a reprimand from Dickson but by your own insatiable desires for each other. 

“I found this idiot on the roof. Took me a bit to convince him to come back down here, but I did it.” You turned over to Hoseok who was investing his efforts in rearranging himself back into an outwardly tough manner.

“Oh, I bet you had to do a lot of convincing, huh ___.” Seokjin’s comment was met with a light slap against his shoulder by your hand for his lewd teasing, and the way his fingers imitated quotation marks when he said the word ‘convincing’.

“Hey! I actually had to convince him. This man is very, very stubborn.”

“Yeah, ___ wouldn’t leave me alone so I didn’t have much of a choice.” He stared at his hand once being held in yours, trying to shovel over the smile simmering on his lips. Jimin shifted to face you and Hoseok, eyes squinting to slits from reading the overwhelmingly happy expressions on your faces.

“So, Dickson came back.” Jimin said, smiling widely.

“Oh shit. What did he say?”

“We all pretended that we could see you and he was the only one that couldn’t see you guys. It was hilarious, you should have seen his face.” Seokjin intervened with his own account of the story. Jimin turned to him and burst out laughing harder than when Dickson walked like a defeated soldier out of the library.

“He was like, ‘You kids need to learn respect. You mess with the bull, you get the horns’ whatever that means. But he didn’t even end up doing anything because he knew we wouldn’t snitch. But, damn, you should have seen his face.” Jimin’s hand covered his mouth during the process of him laughing and wedging in pieces of the story in between. 

“That sounds like the dumbest cover up ever, but I guess Dickson is somehow dumber than that.” The count of five smiles amounted to each of you hunching over with laughter at the vice principal’s idle reactions to the detentionees displaying a clear sign of insubordination. 

“He is. He really is that dumb.” Namjoon said during a pause from whatever he was drawing.

“Well, either way, I appreciate the effort. And Hobi does too, even though he won’t admit it.” His stubborn disavowal of expressing appreciation contrived through rolled eyes that then landed onto the four others accompanying his space. Though shadowed through his many apathetic modes of emoting, he found this Saturday detention not only bearable, but enjoyable. He found himself attached to other people after severing all ties from actual intimacy. Being connected and vulnerable was an easier way of going about his life. And, he didn’t realize it then, but he planned on keeping it that way. 

“Hey guys?” Seokjin tossed aside the Dickson debacle with this conversational prelude, “What’s gonna happen when we go back out there?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, absentmindedly reaching over to grab Hoseok’s hand at the mention of leaving the safe space of the library. He responded to you with a gentle, reassuring squeeze that eased the contraction of your worried muscles.

“We’re still gonna be friends, right?” The prospect fell into consideration as the five of you were moved to silence. After a few exchanges of ambivalent and uncertain glances, Namjoon worked in a soft smile to soothe the frightful thought of returning to the harsh reality. 

“Yeah. We are.” His confirmation spoke for the rest of your benevolent agreement. 

“Well, I better see you guys at all of my games.” Jimin set this expectation as a receival of the newly polished friendships, grooming quite a bit of fondness being that the four of you knew more about Jimin than his own parents. “And, we’ll be sure to go to Namjoon’s.... Art competitions?”

“Not quite, but I appreciate the thought.” Namjoon laughed. 

The commonalities that were once so obscured between you all had become clear by the arrival of the eighth hour. Though there were many obstacles placed to stint any form of connection between five polar adversaries, you all found a salve from the relentless feeling of loneliness through each other. Your essays were never written, finding Dickson’s call for another Saturday detention of probable cause. Even if you were to write an essay on what you did wrong and why it was wrong as well as why you were sorry, there would be no truth unveiled in it. You all found that living unapologetically had been a far more effective catalyst for growth and maturation than any half-hearted essay assigned by a man with no credentials to call himself a student administrator.  

There was that phrase, "down to the bone", that had hung over Hoseok's mind for quite a bit today. Some say it implies when you've spent all you had, and are left with the poverty of dry marrow. That, to him, was a mutilation of the phrase which he couldn't accept.

This colloquial, "down to the bone", could not be a reference to having nothing left. Not in his case at least. Not when he felt so full of safety with nothing but his bones under the home of your eyes and hands

Hoseok looked at you, then to the other three and knew things would be different. Eventually, things would get better, he just had to wait long enough for those better things to come.

You found each other, and that was all that mattered.

 A week later, you met up in the campus’ cafe with Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok discussing the rather insignificant topic of which contestant was going to be eliminated from the reality television show you had all been keeping up with. 

“Hey, did you guys ever actually write that essay Dickson told us to write?” Seokjin asked, knowing he had failed to do so.

“Nope.” Jimin said unregretfully, almost with a prideful twist.

“Of course not.” You replied.

“Well, I might have written something on behalf of all of us. It wasn’t an essay per say, more like a letter to Dickson.” Namjoon said smugly into the cup of his coffee.

“What? What did you write?” Jimin put forth the curiosity shared by the four of you.

“Oh nothing too special.” But, of course, if it was anything of Namjoon’s doing, it was something entirely special.

You decided not to further pry on the specifics of what was written, rather sipping your coffee and learning not to regret how the hot liquid burned your tongue. Those eight hours spent in the library gifted you with a wider perspective. Maybe you burned your tongue on this coffee, and tomorrow you might miss the bus to work. Or, sometime in the near future, there would be a new store in the mall that lured you away from the errands set to a schedule and you would have to rush back to work a few minutes late. You learned that these small misdirections in life happen, at the exact right time and the exact right place.

The grateful receive of every moment, deliberate or erroneous, was like a single grain of sand. One grain might pinch out some annoyance. Ten was too textured to ignore. Dozens and thousands padded down as a sandbox where two childhood friends could play. And millions of grains of sand, of gratefully received moments, cultivated a soft shoreline; a place where the deep blue tides had a comfortable bed to tumble onto when it was tired from the tempestuous ocean. Where the contents of the ocean could spill along the wet sand, and it would humbly the tired water’s offerings. A place where a mass of misty, opaque air could roll in, cover every inch of the ocean and would blind the eyes. 

But, never the heart. 

The hearts, joined since the first grade, were free of scars because of the plethora of love that continued to flourish even in your absence. Love always keeps the heart safe.

Timing was a fickle arbiter, always tearing you from one thing to the next and the next and the next, but somehow leading you to exactly where you were meant to be. It has a way about itself, inevitably delivering you into the lives of those you were meant to be with. 

With Jimin, with Namjoon, with Seokjin.

And once again with Hoseok.

-----

a/n: thank you so much for plowing through this long, angsty one shot! i am so happy to finally release this and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed creating it. as always, i would love to hear feedback from you lovely readers! 

#bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #jung hoseok #hoseok x reader #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #hoseok fanfic #bts ot7 #bts high school au #hoseok bad boy au #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #seokjin x reader #hoseok one shot #bts writing #rubycoast #the eighth hour

[the-littlefangirl]

TFATWS episode 2 rewatch commentary

We should've guessed John Walker was going to be an asshole the moment it was revealed he played football in high school

That remix of star spangled man is my villain origin story JEEEEEEESUS i want to punch something

They literally mass produced a Walker action figure in two weeks what the fuck

"Your new Captain America" GAAAAAAAAAAh * angry noises *

"For those who aren't familiar with John's resume" thank you GMA lady

My face during that whole speech: wtf and indignation intensify

Bucky's face: yep same.

Imagine being Sam and everywhere you go you're seeing your one (1) mistake spit in your face overandoverandover again that's g r e a t

Tbh that sambucky reunion was anticlimatic as fuck but i actually liked that, it was like WELL HERE WE GO AGAIN they can’t look at each other for 5 seconds before they need to start bickering

"You think it didn't break my heart" SAM SWEETIE

YeAH TELL HIM SAM

The way I know this clip by heart help me. It's still hilarious but it's even better now that I know that they literally just met and they're already bickering can you PLEASE stop you children

T H E  B I G  T H R E E

Spoiler it was a thing

Love how nonchalant Joaquín is about this entire situation lmao

"You sure about that"

*Fakes smiles* yeah, * screams *

Congrats at least you didn't rip your arm off this time that's what I call progress

is he… is he wearing high wasted skinny (jeans) combat pants?

Redwing i'm sorry for what's about to happen :(

"Look at you all stealthy" PLEASE

"it's white wolf, actually" n e r d

SAM MATERIALIZING OUT OF THIN AIR SAFHAJSFHA this is the second time that happened it’s so funny

H E LLO H O W A R E Y O U?

GOOD! WHAT DID I MISS! NOTHING

They're literally 5 CHILDREN CHILDREN PLEASE STOP

AND I CAN FLY WHO GIVES A SHIT fsdjhfadjkfh

L e t  m  e   s e e

Four

Yeah

Five!

YeaH

“So they're strong. W h a t e v e r”

SFHJDASKFA we're superheroes ma'am vibes

3 supersoldiers what could possibly go wrong

REDWING MY BELOVED FAREWELL

"I always wanted to do that" *gets punched in the face* you deserved that

YEAH BABEE look at those wings

Why do the knockoff duo have a special handshake jesus fucking christ i hate them

“SAM JOHN WALKER CAPTAIN AMERICA” Sam: *Glares harder*

Sam is having a very shitty day

So are we going to ignore that Bucky did t h e  t h i n g with the shield? Ok? Ok.

You can't tell me he wasn't thinking of just grabbing it like a toy and not returning it in the middle of the fight sfj

LOOK AT THOSE W I N G S

*whispers* t h e e arm thing

*Stares at the wall* I CAN'T WITH THAT SEQUENCE WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MEJSFHJASFAH PLEASE they didn't have to go that far with the grunting noises PLEASE

John Walker getting his ass served is something that can be so personal<3

Also, I like that they've now established that he CAN lose a fight, which makes me wonder if he's also going to use his political influence as leverage against sam and bucky once he goes berserk

"It's one of the big three" "Aliens, androids or wizards" "pretty sure" lmao yeah I don't think that's the vindication Sam was looking for

"Look, I've done the work, okay" SHUT THE FUUUUUUCK UP

"You ever jump on top of a grenade" bucky finding out about it in the middle of a briefing during the war fic trope intensifies

"It's a reinforced helmet" well you're fucking losing the point there then you naive clown

Captain "Kind of the government" America??? NOPE NOPE GOODBYE N O P E NOOOOOOOOOOOPE

"Usually said by the people with the resources" daaamn

“I'm Battlestar. John's partner" A clown that’s what you are

Bucky: YES I'VE REACHED MY LIMIT STOP THE FUCKING CAR

"It'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingmen on my side" FUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUU

"It's always that last line" yeP

Erin Kellyman is??? So pretty???

"The GRC care more about the people who came back than the ones who never left" love how they keep putting those random bits since otherwise their position sounds??? Extremely reasonable?? BUT THEY ARE V I O L E N T  R E V O L U T I O N E R S fuck off

"Let's take the shield, Sam" oh you BET he's been spiraling thinking about 3224 strategies on how to steal the shield during that flight

Sharon name drop:)

YES I KNOW YOU WERE ON THE RUN FOR TWO YEARS I'D REALLY HAVE WANTED TO SEE MORE OF IT JFC @marvel i hate you so much

The whole Baltimore sequence * chef's kiss *

ELI SWEETIE

Friendly reminder that Isaiah Bradley won a fight against the Winter Soldier. Proceed.

"I'm not a killer anymore" bucky sweetie

"You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be" OOOOF

Carl Lumbly's acting f u c k

"How could nobody bring him up" SAM SWEETIE

I'm going to go ballistic now excuse me:))

This whole scene is so well written jesus fucking christ

Have you praised Anthony Mackie's performance today?

Twitter is this clear enough for you?????

Tbh i'm actually surprised marvel allow them to go there even if the situation didn't escalate.

They put the tiiiiniest handcuffs on bucky lmfao

How many more "bucky"s from Walker's mouth until someone punches him?

"He's too valuable of an asset to have tied up" YEAH BEEP BEEP ALARMS GOING OFF RIGHT THE FUCK NOW UHM THOSE WERE SOME… WORD CHOICES… THAT WERE USED… fuck you Walker

"It's something I use with couples" oh coME ON

SFHAJSDFH this is ridiculous i love it

Malcolm Spellman: * agressively takes notes on Stackie's interviews *

SOUL-GAZING EXERCISE LMFAO

THEY'RE SO STUPID I HATE THEM

Sambucky: *chaotic leg positioning*

Dr Raynor: WOW ALL RIGHT

I love that the staring contest thing is the conclusion of the bucky staring joke lmao

AND DON'T SAY SOMETHING CHILDISH

this is literally not about you bucky

"Maybe this is something you or Steve will never understand. But can you accept that I did what I thought was right?" YEAH!!!! 

Why is everyone, on the show and outside of it too, acting as if Sam made that decision of out the blue and didn't think about it for six months straight, and look what happened! He got fucking played! He's feeling enough remorse as it is jfc

"Thanks Doc for making it weird I feel much better" LMFAO

Oh you KNOW that the shoulder clap is going to come back unironically and it's going to be soft as fuck

"I feel better" "I feel awful" props for the honesty boys!

"It wouldn't make sense to work with you" more like you're the fucking government's lap dog and we wouldn't touch that with a twelve feet long pole. Let's fucking go Sam let's fucking go

10/10 building of Walker actually being a fucking asSHOLE

The Power Broker name drop!

Yes Bucky SHOULD beat the SHIT out of Zemo. As a treat.

"We're going to go see Zemo" *CLASSICAL MUSIC STARTS BLASTING IN THE BACKGROUND*

Oh I love that last bird eye's shot at the end of the scene

Overall thoughts: This episode was MUCH MUCH better on second viewing. I do think it’s a little bit too fast paced so a lot of things keep happening and there’s not enough time to process them in between?? Again the best moments are the quiet ones like the flight back and the Baltimore scene, but mad props to everyone from jumping between comedy and drama so fucking well. Even though there are, in tone, some very opposite atmospheres in the episode it never feels chaotic, and the situations that happen are very well connected and don’t feel disjointed at all.

The highlight of the episode was definitely the two different ways Sam and Bucky are (avoiding) grieving over Steve, and how his legacy hangs between them at all times. It makes so much sense for Bucky to take the entire situation so personally because Steve was the One thing he knew he could trust, while Sam is trying to see the bigger picture and not just what Steve demanded of him.

Hope that makes sense!

#tfatws commentary #tfatws #tfatws spoilers