#but there’s also smth else and I cannot precisely name it

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

Not nonbinary as in “third distinct gender” or “lack of gender”, nonbinary as in “pressure’s off; I don’t have to label whatever the fuck is going on in there”

[staysuki]

squid game episode 3 reactions:

1) mr. detective (already forgot his name, mr. hwang not-hyunjin i think) didn’t even ask for backup. should’ve at least told someone where he’s going :,)))

2) a ship hm 🤔 oh wait yeah, they were in an island huh

3) i still don’t understand how nobody has caught mr. hwang yet he’s been walking around like he owns the place or smth. and for an organization so precise, they didn’t even notice his car following one of the vans(???) idk.

4) HWANG WENT INSIDE THE VAN. WHY EVEN. THAT IS— oh well he won the fight. quick, wear the uniform.

5) ok he did wear the uniform and disguised someone else as him and murdered someone in cold blood, good to know. it’s nice to see inside the game’s perspectice as hwang infiltrates the organization. but also, i feel like he’s also gonna get found out and die a horrible death idk.

6) no way in hell did they not see or feel the girl (no. 67) pickpocketing around with her knife 😭. though i guess they established twice that she has slippery undetectable hands and this is the first time we see it in actual action. oh well.

7) i like no. 1 and no. 456 friendship :(

8) want a guy like Ali in my life 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 he’s such a cutie oml. he deserves the world

9) sang woo looks like he’s gonna betray the team owo. either way, i like their group dynamic. no.456 is sort of the lightheartedness that they need and then no.001 is the old man trope, ali seems to be the soft balance to sang woo but ugh. they’re gonna die probs.

10) i cannot read any person in this other group, esp. the mother (no. 212????). and again how does nobody notice no.67’s knife 😭. how does she even plan on hiding it again after using it. i kinda wish there was a softer woman character idk, but not like a damsel in distress.

11) oop, suspicious hwang not knowing how to open the door. it seems like his neighbor is trynna catch up on what he’s all about

12) i like the distuingishment of hierarchy with the mask shapes uwu

13) THEY LET HER PEE OMG

14) vagina smuggling, the best kind of smuggling

15) the bathroom scene is kinda cool but idk, it wasnt tense enough for me, kinda funny though. but it reminds me that sometimes korean humour is not my kind of humour.

16) hwang is gonna die. but he’s so smart he was able to piece context clues on how the system works already. maybe its cuz its similar to military(?)

17) no.456 is lactose intolerant, i sympathize 💔. they’re spoiling ali uwu, he does need to eat a lot, i have no doubt he’s probably going to be the muscle of the group with sang woo being the brain.

18) dalgona candy 🥵🥵🥵. sang woo big brain moment pls dont disturb his thinking time. but mister has no right talking about investing, he’s in debt 😩. gi-hun being sangwoo’s proud mother, we stan. i kinda dont like how he’s being a bit shady

19) what a weird image of them just sitting around trying to make dalgona

20) oh damn, no snipers this time. i wonder how hard it is for the masked workers to actually shoot them point blank now. i wanna know more about the workers’ perspective and how they’re so cold hearted, i bet we’ll find out more about that with hwang’s storyline.

21) no. 212 lighter big brain. damn everyone’s passing, congrats ya’ll. i feel bad for the umbrella people and also no.001 with his shaky hands huhu. i kinda like no.101, idk, with the way he’s a gangster but he’s still posed as a scaredy cat idk.

22) who is this no.111 guy hm

23) im surprised nobody has done the licky licky thing earlier. EVERYBODY STARTED COPYING. GIHUN SECRETLY A GENIUS. he’s still always the buzzer beater guy huh.

24) i absolutely love the action choreography in this. it’s so smooth and packed.

25) “you’re just a kid” LMFAO PLS. THEY’RE JUST REGULAR GUYS. WHAT DID THEY EXPECT. ALIENS???? poor him though.

26) mr. hwang going through the ranks, one mask at a time owo.

[seventeenbiscuits]

#11 [alone pt. iii]

Genre: Kind of metaphorical watered down angst and lil bit of fluff

Word count: too much prbs more than 2K [its 2386 words wow]

A/N: guess what its biscuits back with the alone series istg by the time i finish this svt would alrdy been touring halfway around the world on their 9th comeback or smth also THIS SWITCHES BETWEEN JEONGHAN POV AND READER/VIEWER POV DONT GET CONFUSED

There is a click and whirr from the camera that I press to my face, like a shield, some hapless attempt at protecting me from the world. Everything I can see is separated from me by layers of glass and lenses, a little window to the outside world, framed by black plastic and the snap and shutter of the lens. In the moment where I stand, motionless, waiting for the perfect shot, I can feel anticipation shivering through every little cell in my body. Like the moment before a pianist touches the keys at the concert when the audience is held on bated breath in eager expectancy and there is nothing in the minds of the people but the silence waiting to be broken.

And then when I take the photo, there is a little buzz from the mechanism inside the camera in the seconds before I press the button, and then a click as the camera captures the landscape in skilled and precise hands. It’s like the soft sound of fingers on piano keys before even a single note is played, of the slight rustling of an audience in admiration as the pianist exhales, inhales, prepares themselves.

Then there is the photo itself. Once I lower the camera from my eyes, I can see the true view before me. It is no longer an image viewed through a lens, but a living and breathing scene that cannot compare. The anticipation is over, the performance has begun, and with the gentlest striking of a chord, my world comes to life.

The house I am in isn’t even mine, but nevertheless, it's a serene place that envelops me and adopts me as one of its own. I am serene, as I lay on a messy couch, scratching my pen against my notebook while the wind rustles over the trees and around the house. I am also safe here, the house is distant as it is serene, and it is serene because of its distance. I look up from my notebook at the city far, far away. Perhaps I am like the house, in all its stately secluded serenity, as I distance myself from the ones whom I used to know.

The couch holds an unfamiliar scent, full of someone else’s shampoo, someone else’s musky scent that lingers around the doorways and tiptoes in when I’m at the window. I can almost detect a hint of nostalgia amidst the slightly overpowering cologne, a light note of the flowers on memory lane. Each time that scent flutters to my attention, it puts me more at ease to brush it away. It’s no use remembering the days past when you still have days to come.

As I open the window to gaze out at the myriad of quaint little houses, much like this one, amongst the mottled envy green of the trees, the wistful scent suddenly is everywhere. When I place my hands on the windowsill and brush my fingers up and down the glossy white paint, I brush up memories that draw me into the recesses of my mind.

JANUARY 2016. JEONGHAN’S LOG #7. CHEONGSANDO. The screen turns on and Jeonghan with long, amber red locks is walking while filming his log.

“Hey, Coupseu! Jeonghan here. I hope you’re enjoying yourself with the rest of the crew at Yeoseodo. Right now, I’m-”

Jeonghan breaks off suddenly, and the camcorder drops to his side. There is furious shriek heard distantly in the background. Jeonghan reappears into the screen, laughing and panting as he runs away from a very enraged Joshua.

“I’m *huff huff* being chased by Shua. *huff huff* I stole his cola!”

In the distance, we hear Joshua yelling “YOON JEONGHAN! YOU DEVIL! THAT COLA HAD MY NAME ON IT!!”

Jeonghan stops running and chuckles.

“You can buy more, Joshua,” he yells back.

“Anyway, I should probably apologise to him and buy him another bottle. Have fun and stay safe. Tell the kids I said hi, Cheol.”

The video ends.

My mind drifts off, reminiscing about good times. I am awakened back to the present by the whistle of the wind as it breezes through my hair and shakes the palm fronts underneath the window.

I allow myself an indulgent little smile, before raising the camera once again up to my face, like a guard against the painful memories, and take another breathtaking shot. The smile slips off my face, and concentration lays a thick blanket over my expression. I pick up my pen again to write a couple more notes, but as I form the date on the page, I slip once more into a daydream of the past.

JANUARY 2016. JEONGHAN’S LOG #9. CHEONGSANDO. The screen turns on and Jeonghan moves back from the camera and sits back on his knees. His surroundings are plain, and the blanket is mismatched with the pillow.

“Coups, don’t be mad about the chicken.”

He pauses to chuckle to himself.

“It… wasn’t my idea!”

“Ok, maybe it was.”

“BUTDON’THURTMEOKIMNOTTHEONLYONEWHODIDIT.”

There is a loud victorious shriek from the adjacent room, followed by a whack. Laughter ensues.

“Oh no, don’t tell me that they decided to play games without me…”

Jeonghan cranes his neck to look out the door. He gives a little gasp and then hurriedly leans forward and switches off the camcorder.

I find myself smiling once more. Good memories are infectiously cheery, and you can’t stop a grin from spreading across your face as the blissful drug of nostalgia renders you uselessly fuzzy and warm.

I move around a bit on the couch to try to get comfortable, the little smile slowly being replaced by a resentful sigh, the curve of that joyful laugh dying on my lips as they press together in a thin and serious line. I get up despite having taken the effort to get comfy and cross the room in a few strides.

The calendar I brought with me hangs by a thread on a screw that I drove into the wall. I know the real owner of this house will not be happy, but at least he has a place split his calendar now.

It is the morning of the 9th. I mark yesterday off with a double flick of the marker. Two days.

When I get up, I don’t brush my teeth. I don’t eat breakfast. I don’t even get out of bed. Instead, I lie on the sheets and let the sunlight spill over the window and flood gently into the room, illuminating everything it touches in a warm glow. I watch as the room gradually soaks up the sun until I’m sinking oceans deep into an endless sea of golden warmth.

JANUARY 2017. JEONGHAN’S LOG #10. JAPAN. The screen flickers on to reveal a slightly worried Jeonghan peering intently at the camcorder. A split second after the video stutters to life, his face smoothes out in relief.

“I was beginning to think that this was broken,” he jokes weakly, a plastic smile plastered on his pale face.

He lets out a deep sigh, and his eyes drift away from the camera.

“What’s the thing with the curse going around?” he asks. “And what does it have to do with us?”

His eyes flit past the camcorder and presumably studies the wall of his room.

“Is it why Vernon keeps running away? Is it the reason why we all don’t talk anymore?”

He continues to avoid looking directly at the camera and now stares into his lap.

In a voice barely audible, he whispers, “Why are we all alone now?”

I let out a deep resentful sigh, somewhat like the one I sighed in the video, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, letting my feet dangle above the sunlit floorboards.

I have so many questions that unfortunately, have been answered with answers I don’t want to hear.

My stomach gives out a plaintive growl. I frown and finally get out of the room.

Instead of heading to the kitchen (which is empty anyway), I find my camera where I left it on the sofa yesterday. With another sigh, I push my questions and problems away and pick up the camera again, to once again capture my lonely surroundings for another day.

I stretch on the sofa. My back aches and my shoulders ache. Probably the consequences of sleeping on a bed that isn’t mine. I chuckle when I envision the owner returning to his home, all messed up thanks to yours truly.

After I write a couple more notes on the scenery in my book, I get up and cross off the date on the calendar.

It is the 10th, and I am still under a curse. One day.

When I wake up, I don’t dwell on my thoughts in bed as I did yesterday. Instead, I do it on the couch. I am up before the sun now.

There is no golden ocean drowning the room in its splendid warmth, only the chill and the cool of the morning sky as it glares down at me from its superior perch in the sky.

I spend nearly three hours dwelling upon my thoughts. Not in bed, but on the couch. Reasonably less comfortable, but more scenic and I am buried so deep in my mind that I don’t bother to even touch my camera.

MAY 2017. JEONGHAN’S LOG #11. SOME PLACE, AWAY FROM YOU. The screen blinks on. Jeonghan is in the house that is not his, and he is sitting on the couch cross legged.

“Hi, Seungcheol. Do you remember this place?”

He shuffles around a little bit. His hair is newly dyed blonde, and it falls in soft waves over his eyes and around his ears.

“Remember we all camped out here after our first win, and we all got so wasted?” he prompts, laughing lightly at the memory.

His eyes glaze over as he stares off into the distance. The camera pans towards the wall, where the calendar hangs. It is the 6th.

“Vernon is here with me. He didn’t go home after Woozi told him to.”

There is a little noise of affirmation from the cameraman.

Jeonghan smiles at Vernon.

“Leave the camera here, I’ll finish up. You go eat lunch.”

Vernon clatters down the stairs.

Jeonghan sighs and focuses intently on the camcorder.

“He was so stressed when he came to my house. Being the start of the curse is not a thing he should have gone through.”

There is a breath of the wind that seemingly divides Jeonghan sitting like royalty on the faded cream couch from the viewers, and then it is gone.

“And you went through it, Cheol.”

He is referring to Seungcheol’s hunt for his prime number as he ran through the streets of the city.

“But you called me afterwards,” Jeonghan continues.

His voice becomes sharp and bitter as a double edged sword.

“Why me? You could have passed the curse onto anyone but me.”

He glares resentfully straight at the camera, cutting through lenses and film and straight into the eyes of the viewers.

“And now I’m stuck with it.”

There is a crash from downstairs. Jeonghan frowns in worry.

“I’m going to send Vernon to you. Don’t go anywhere, and don’t run away. It’s your fault I have the curse and can’t take care of him, so you have responsibility for him now.”

Jeonghan gets up, meaning to turn the camera off, but then hesitates for a second.

“What was that you told me, the last time you spoke to me?”

“Jeonghan, you said. You were thinking about what I meant to you.”

He stands up, and now his face is cut out of the frame. His voice is shaky.

“And when I asked you what our times together were, what our friendship meant, what did you say?”

His arm moves as if to switch off the camera, but then he speaks one last sentence.

“Someone said it meant imperfection and danger, is what you said.”

The video ends.

Seven days since Vernon left me alone in this house. Alone once more, with no one to depend upon, no one to keep me company.

I hope he’s doing okay.

I wish I could say the same for myself.

With a little rustle of cloth, I get up off the couch and out of my silent reverie. I pick up my camera and turn it over in my hands, admiring every little chip and crack in its worn exterior. It has been with me for so many years, my faithful companion even when others have left.

I lift it up to my eyes to take another photo, this time of the room, awash in the golden glory of the morning sun, and when I press the button, I hear a little strange beep.

No more storage.

I laugh without humour, the dry chuckle falling from my mouth and smashing to porcelain pieces on the sunlight stained floor.

What am I supposed to do now, I wonder.

I let my gaze meander over to the calendar. It is the 11th today. I leave the camera on the coffee table and snatch up the permanent marker to cross today off.

When I look at the calendar again, the 11th is circled in red. I begin to think that maybe I am losing my grip in this isolated place.

But even after I rub my eyes, pinch myself, turn around and back around again, it is still there.

And then, it hits me like a strike of lightning from heaven itself, cackling and zipping around spastically, firing off every neuron in my brain.

Today. 11th. My number. 11.

It is no coincidence.

Like a thousand butterflies being set free in my stomach, my excitement and joy at finally finding my prime is unconfined. The butterflies burst out of every orifice in my body and lift me up on their papery wings.

I half-trip, half-sprint down the stairs to the door, and run out the house without any thought for locking it.

Nothing matters now that I have my prime.

Thanks for reading this too long fic!