#if i dislike a character i want it to be because i find them obnoxious

[oneeyedoctogod]

Disclaimer: long, extremely personal rant. Yes, it's also about mdzs and Jiang Cheng but mainly, it's about me trying to deal with my own trauma when I'm being hit in the face (metaphorically) with it by putting my feelings into words. The posting is so I don't erase it and force myself to forget about it.

You know it's funny, but as I was trying to sleep (and failing. Badly. It's 2:38 am.) I kept on finding myself thinking about why I didn't like Jiang Cheng. Because you see, it's rare for me to dislike a character that much, to the point I actually have blacklisted all his tags and avoid any fics that talk about him positively.

(Again, this is an extremely personal post about my own feelings. This is not meant as a rebuke if you love him. On the contrary. Keep doing what sparks joy. Just, you know, far away from me.)

I have a funny history with the mdzs fandom. I first started watching the donghua when it started airing back in... 2018? 2019? Can't remember for sure. Then I was left hungry for more because only the first season had aired, and it ended on a big cliffhanger. I saw it was an adaptation, so I went looking for the source material... and found the manhua (I was used to japanese animation at that point and thought that was it). The manhua was also being fan translated, and despite being extremely different (and confusing for poor past me), ALSO left me on a cliffhanger. I was desperate and saw someone pointing out there was a novel! I finally found it, read it in a few nights, and loved it. I read a bunch of fics, enjoyed myself, met and befriended people. Then I moved on after a while. I remember, distinctly, that I wasn't a big fan of Jiang Cheng but that I could at least stomach him in fics.

Last December, I felt the urge to reread some mdzs fics. I read some popular ones and, after falling into the animatics and amvs rabbit hole, decided to rewatch the donghua. Except for some reason, Jiang Cheng's character rubbed me wrong. I remembered not liking him much but he wasn't that bad in the fics so I couldn't see why he was so distasteful in the donghua. I'd been warned that the donghua wasn't that faithful (my own memory was extremely hazy), so I just shrugged it off. Maybe the people behind the donghua weren't fans of jc?

I saw there was an official translation of the novel and, by that point, DEEP into the hyper fixation, I bought all four available volumes and read them. At the same time, I was still reading fics. It was fine after all, I already knew the story.

By then, I had realized something was a little wrong with the characteristization. Some of the tropes given to Wei Wuxian rubbed me the wrong way. I looked it up a little (remade a tumblr, found amazing meta, the rest is history) and figured "Ah that must be cql fics. That's the problem."

And yes, that's true. In part.

The other problem lies with the particular way some people write Jiang Cheng. I'll be clear again: I have nothing against those people. Most of them I don't know and I'm aware this is very much a, shall we say, "me" problem. It's why I avoid the positive Jiang Cheng content. I don't care if you keep writing it so long as you keep it away from the canon jc tag.

But whenever people write Jiang Cheng and completely erase his crimes and abuse of both Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling, I feel it like a slap on the face.

Last Monday, I saw a therapist and talked about her about many things (I did warn this would be a very personal post). Part of it was my mother and her treatment of me and my brothers. And after barely a few words, she said, very simply "Oh so your mother abused you."

I already knew that. I use those words myself to describe my history with her. But the validation is always nice to hear, you know? Especially because so many people try or have tried to brush it off as "nothing." My own mother did, both about her own behaviour and when I was being abused by other people and tried to seek her help. Hell, even I still do it sometimes.

And I think that's why I hate Jiang Cheng so damn much now. His canon self is... Well, I'm not a fan, but he's a well-written antagonist. But dear gods, I've seen so many people brush off his canon characteristics to make him into a more palatable character, the loving uncle, the funny tsundere brother, the ace guy who hates mushy romance (let me tell you, as an ace person I am also real fucking tired of homophobic characters being hc as ace)... Even the ones who mention his bad parts feel the need to immediately add his achievements, as if they don't dare speak badly of their fave. "Yes, he tortured Wei Wuxian, but he also sacrificed his core to save him!" "Yes, he hit and verbally abused Jin Ling, but he also lovingly raised him!" "Yes, he tortured and killed innocent people but he also has trauma and had to lead a sect when he was so young!"

And this feels familiar, every time. This feels like the people telling me "Yes but it's not that bad" or saying "Yes your mother gave you panic attacks but she made sure you didn't fail at school" or "Yes but she made you love reading" or "Yes but she gave you so much, don't be selfish" or "Yes but she was here for you when you were depressed" or "Yes but she has it hard too" until I fell in the habit of saying "Sure, my mother insulted me and threatened me financially and there was a long, long time I was convinced she didn't love me... but."

Always that damn BUT.

So you might be able to understand why I have a hard time with Jiang Cheng when people pull the same shit all thenfucking time. I'm working on it because I'd rather not be stuck feeling anxious about a silly purple grape just because he happens to be fandom fave in my current hyperfixation but in the meantime, I have to deal with it and it's... annoying. To say the least.

(I'm going to insist here: I know that Jiang Cheng isn't my mother. That's not the point here. I am fully aware he's a fictional character and that me feeling that way is something I should be working on. I am. And I'm not telling people to stop writing positive content for him. This is just me trying to put into words my complicated feelings for a complicated character. And ranting, a little bit, about badly tagged fics I admit.)

It's easier on social media. You just block the characters tag and, if people bother you about it, you block them. Friends being friends, I just need to tell them "I don't feel comfortable talking about this character" or "let's agree to disagree on this interpretation" and because my friends are the best, they agree and we move on.

Fanfiction is where the problem lies.

I know why people erase the 'hard' parts, or at least I have a good guess. It's easier that way. Fanfiction is about having fun! It's about writing about your blorbos the way you want to! I don't want to police anyone's content. I'd just like it if people tagged their OOC and stopped trying to make me feel as if I'm the one who misread the book because I don't feel like erasing the canonical abuse this character did or because I don't like that they keep putting down my favorite character to uplift theirs.

I'm not sure how to conclude this. I should be sleeping honestly.

Let's try this: if you read this to the end, congrats I guess. I want to reiterate I don't care if you make Jiang Cheng into the most loving, best brother and uncle ever. Just be aware of what you're erasing first. And tag your goddamn fics.

[meanbossart]

When you described the fashion that Drow dislikes it made me think about Bhaalist AU. Becasue Astarion on that one piece (the one with a mirror) looks exactly like your description. It's a bit ironic and I love it. Drow appreciates practicality. But Bhaalist Drow doesn't think Astarion needs to dress practical, Astarion is there to look pretty and Bhaalist Drow is there to make sure he is safe :) Do you have any more thoughts on how their (Drow vs Bhaalist Drow) perspective differ when it comes to clothing?

VERY WELL OBSERVED!

I would say, though, that it's more of a mixture of the things DU drow genuinely and consistently finds "tasteful" and the ostentatious garishness that he appalls in his redeemed path - and that is very much the character in a nutshell, a slightly more honed version of the person he used to be pre-tadpole, but who still requires that status and approval. He's more in control now - both of himself and of the world around him - but he's by no means "better".

By dressing Astarion up in a way that could be understated but then loading him with gold, silver and gems, he's making him a symbol of status as well. Astarion isn't supposed to look impressive, he's supposed to make him look impressive. And of course the fact that he's bound and weighted down in riches speaks for itself.

What's funny about Bhaalist DU drow AND "canon" drow, is that they both believe to be a new and improved person when compared to who they were prior to losing their memories. They would both mock him for his obsession with Orin, his weaknesses, his obnoxiousness, his appearance, his obsession with gold and jewels and intricate outfits - and they're both hypocritical for it in their own ways.

A Bhaal-Embracing DU drow would forego of a lot of the glitz and the murder-glamor that his past-self valued so much, especially in fashion, and treat his body itself far more like the statement piece it's supposed to be. Astarion, on the other hand would be showered with those kinds of gifts - because as mentioned earlier, he gets to be the expensive purse that DU drow carries around with him everywhere. He can care about looking nice and pretty, because he doesn't have much more of a purpose than that.

Canon DU drow, on the other hand, values things much more based on comfort, both in the practical and emotional sense. He doesn't value the individual rings he loots around, but having them on makes him feel nice even if they're cheap, scuffed, or just out of place with the rest of his look. Stealing pretty valuables is more of a fun past-time with his significant-other than a genuine lust for gold. Nice clothes are a treat, but not necessary, and regardless of his personal preferences he doesn't truly care about what his partner has on at all, as long as they seem happy about it. This is the biggest difference between the two versions of this character - they both want to make their better-halves happy, but only one of them cares whether or not it's a genuine kind of happiness.

[sunboki]

⎯ SUMMER SOLACE. a StrayKids fiction

Stray Kids x implied! fem. reader (no poly)

TROPE. friends to lovers (not really lovers, more just strangers to friends), summerschool! au, reader is in student council as class prez

WORD COUNT. 12.6k words

PLAYLIST.

WARNINGS. cursing, very troubled childhoods, han lacks parental figures, minho’s mother passed, bullies, evidence of physical violence, mentions of depression & anxiety, just overall very angsty themes, healing, sadness, comfort comfort comfort — ALL OF THE ISSUES/TROUBLES OF CHARACTERS ARE 100% FICTION

AUG'S NOTES. i hope whatever you’re going through works out in the end, and that reading this very indulgent fic can help heal a part of you and get you through summertime sadness — inspiration for the fic came from this!

SYNOPSIS. It was never your intention to be the one in charge of a summer school class��a troubled summer school class, but here you were. Eight boys in this classroom, all with their individual stories and silenced opinions. And somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to give up on them.

or alternatively :

Eight kids, one purpose. Get them to be okay with one another — with themselves — by the end of the summer.

Eight kids, one purpose.

Get them to be okay with one another.

Although, you didn’t realize that yet. That your Class President position would throw you right into such a mess (or what you referred to it as the first time you got word).

We all have the things we hate. The things we say we “heavily dislike”. But in reality, we hate it. It incessantly grates our nerves, has our patience forming into a ticking pipe bomb, enough that sometimes, we explode. Say things we don’t mean, get angry, get mad. 

The thing that sets these boys apart, according to the acknowledgements paper you were given, is that they don’t even try to be sweet, they don’t ask for forgiveness. Not towards one another, and most certainly not towards anything else. 

Your job is just as you said. Get them to be okay with one another. 

Catch? There’s a time limit. 

Twelve weeks of summer school. 

Twelve weeks for eight boys to, no, not be nice to each other, not be best friends (not even friends), but just to be okay with being in the same room, be within six feet of each other without tearing someone’s throat — or their own — out.

Is it simple? Absolutely not. 

You want to try though, because up till now, everyone has given up on these boys. People that the school district have deemed always successful have pushed them aside, called them impossible. 

You won’t be the next to give up. 

Twenty chairs in the classroom, yet not two sit next to each other, spaced out by at least three chairs per person. 

Your roster sits upon your desk, listing their names by alphabetical order. 

(Sitting on the furthest end of the classroom) Bahng, Christopher - nickname: Chan

He’s a football player (god knows how), who, despite hardly showing up to practices and arriving to random games—is always responsible for their wins. In some way you’re sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t been kicked off. 

Christopher’s an interesting case. 

He’s got amazing grades and passes school without fail, but no one has any clue about his home situation or whether he even has a home or not. You’re told he’s extremely distant and closed off, sort of void to life. He was sent due to excessive absences.

2. (Planted dead front of the class) Han, Jisung 

His record states he’s been sent to the counselor eleven times in the first two weeks of school for disruptions and inappropriate behavior. Jisung has an older brother who’s valedictorian, but they never speak to one another and don’t seem to have the best relationship. He’s said to be obnoxiously straight-forward and senseless, you wonder if it’s true.

3. (Nearest to the window on your right) Hwang, Hyunjin

Despite his popular facade, Hyunjin is regarded as the “troublesome face-card” by many deans and counselors alike. Students adore his looks, but he couldn’t butt heads more with Jisung, and they’re often sent out together. Hyunjin is believed to have a worrisome superiority complex according to the last counselor he’s been seen by.  

4. (Opposite of Hyunjin across the classroom) Kim, Seungmin

Not much has been recorded as far as Seungmin goes. He’s apparently a huge instigator in lots of illegal activity surrounding campus, but no one’s certain. His last counselor claimed he stayed silent throughout his consultation and answered suspiciously vague for almost every question. 

5. (A few seats behind Jisung) Lee, Felix

Both him and Christopher have been reported for vandalizing parts of the school in odd, incomprehensible words like “Miroh” and “Maze of Memories”. Some gossip that they’re secretly a part of an underground gang. But upon first glance, Felix looks harmle—

A hand raising grabs your attention. It’s Jisung, wearing a grin when you nod for him to speak. 

“How much for a tit-pic, Teach?”

Everyone is silent, and you hear Hyunjin stifle a snicker in the distance. 

So this is what they meant by inappropriate behavior.

The corner of your lips twitch slightly, but you successfully maintain an unnerved expression, instead, smiling back at him. 

“Let’s not ask questions like that, alright?”

Jisung amusedly huffs, still eyeing you incredulously. Although, he doesn’t say any more, and you continue down the roster’s descriptions.

Lee Minho whose info is conspicuously sparse , Seo Changbin who lashes out randomly without clear conscience (some claim he’s bipolar, you think different), and Yang Jeongin remain, bio’s dotted in unspecified theft attempts, assumed messy family situations and brief mentions of mental illness that seems to a follow a similar pattern to the rest. 

Stacking the papers upon your desk, you card eight sheets of notebook paper from the drawer, walking through rows of desks to pass each boy a slip. 

All eyes are on you now, and your breathing feels excessively loud in the stifling quietness. 

Lightly clapping your hands together in hopes of stirring some sort of sound in this stale air, you speak as fluidly and audibly as your voice will let you. 

“Today’s assignment is simple. I want you to write everything about yourself.”

Confused brows lift, primarily from Minho.

“Whether it’s what you like to do, what you don’t like to do, your favorite things, your favorite places, books, movies.”

Another hand raises. Changbin, you remember his name.

“Yes?”

“We’re not in fifth fuckin’ grade.” He growls, words booming. That was another complaint: Changbin’s explosively unprovoked opinions. 

Biting back the urge to snap back, you place both hands on the podium at the front of the class, essentially grounding yourself. 

“Yes, well this is—“ 

Somebody grumbles an incoherent sentence, and Changbin is immediately on his feet, chair squealing, eyes wild with fury. 

Second complaint: his flaming temper. 

Grabbing a fistful of Chan’s shirt (presumably the one who muttered), he sizes up the taller boy, spitting wild curses.

Inhaling deeply, you approach them, withholding the instinct to wince at Changbin’s yelling. 

“Changbin, please go back to your seat,” You usher, watching them never take their eyes off one another. Chan is eerily unmoved, though effortlessly intimidating nevertheless. 

The former spins around, shoving the other boy off to the side and resorting to sizing you up now, chin lifted, gaze belittling. 

One press and you’ll have assistance come in and help. You remind yourself, referring to the small red button residing in your pocket that sends a direct call to the other counselors. 

What good will that do? Your first step is getting them to be okay with you, not to mention each other.

No. You can do this, you’ll be fine. 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He spits, glaring as you back up the more he steps forward. That is till you stop and cause him to stop as well, leaving only a few centimeters separating your faces. 

“Because,” You ease, shoving a finger into the center of his chest sternly. “I’m your teacher now, and you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.” 

Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, hooded behind a veil of black hair. 

“I’m sure a fifth grader could understand that, right?”

And with that, you point to his seat and spin on your heel, taking a seat and watching the boys, one by one, lower their heads and begin writing. Well, excluding Changbin, who’s hands stick by his sides, staring at you. 

He chews his lip then turns around, shuffling back to his desk. 

By the time the dismissal bell echoes, you would like to say you see light in the distance, but the endless tunnel ahead tells you you’re far from even beginning.

Glasses propped on the bridge of your nose, you sort through the papers, carefully observing each one.

It’s a Friday evening, meaning you’re given a meager two days to inhale as much information as possible for the approaching week. 

There’s a variety of answers on the papers, from some stating only a song they like or others more of a list-type structure. Felix apparently bakes in his free time and has two sisters while Jeongin plays piano. Although, a certain paper in particular stands out to you. 

Han’s.

Only his name is written, nothing else. You’re not sure if it’s a matter of his laziness or carelessness toward the assignment, but clear as day, dead center of his paper, is simply his name. 

You at least anticipated some kind of response, like an offensive joke or something, but no. Just: Han Jisung.

Interesting.

A sudden buzzing redirects your attention. It’s from Chaeryoung, cheerily asking about how the first day went along with spilling details about her own day as well. 

So far, things are going well. So far. 

Not permanent. Just like how you haven’t permanently tamed the beast named Changbin. 

And, although you hate such a mindset, realistically, it’s only a matter of time until something goes wrong. 

“Chae,” You echo, the faint rustling of your papers sounding on your side of the line. She hums.

“What do you think about this one.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is heard.

You sidle to another sheet; Han’s will have to wait for another occasion.

“Hwang Hyunjin. Said to be trouble-some, argues a lot, apparent superiority complex.”

Although your senior, Chaeryoung has always been a helping hand—a soul to rely on through the rocky periods, your rocky periods.  

“Hmm..” She considers, seeming to weigh the matter for a moment. “Have you seen his grades?”

Odd question.

“Straight A student according to his records.”

Impressive. Each quarter, top-scores. 

Well, it makes sense for the superiority portion in the case he uses his grades to hang over others heads, but the rest is strange, making it unusual for him to behave so brashly.

Or, maybe it wasn’t unusual, but overlooked.

As if reading your mind, she utters the same words you’d planned to.

“Anxiety?”

Said in unison, you both burst into laughter. Her blindingly bright laugh sends warmth throughout your stomach, easing the droning headache building between your temples. 

Hours you’ve spent glaring at the same papers, determined to locate something, anything as a way to help them. A problem to find a solution.

Yet, each case was different—personal to each boy in a sense you couldn’t assign an overall solution.

Instead, you pinpointed one case at a time. 

Starting with Hwang Hyunjin.

However, his wasn’t an easy fix. As a high school student, it was virtually impossible to “fix” anxiety (if that was even the issue at hand at all).

Everyone had it in their system. Upcoming tests, pressure. 

It was also impossible to really “fix” anybody generally, meaning, more or less, you had to find a way to help them want to help themselves.

With Hwang Hyunjin though, his, stated in the page’s description saying: Cares little to nothing about grades, wasn’t a testing anxiety of a sort, but maybe a tad bit deeper, barely visible without a sharper, clearer lense. 

“Send me a pic of the sheet, can you?” She begins, startling the hypothesizing from your mind. 

Again, an odd question, but you oblige, swiping off the calling tab to snap a quick picture. 

A long silence situates itself between you, presumably Chaeryoung investigating his information.

Strangely, you feel like a detective. Climbing skyscrapers to find a solution to a problem nobody addressed until it became horridly powerful—possessing, now fallen in your hands to solve. 

You refused to let their problems ruin them. And although becoming a illegitimate teacher wasn’t the plan for your senior year, you doubt you could back away at this point, not when you had already unearthed the treasure chest.

Last step was finding the key.

Well, detectives are equipped with a magnifying glass for a reason, right?

…

“… His drawings are pretty good?”

Then do you notice the doodles in the far corner of his introductory paper, a flower, a few butterflies, and a dog.. of a sort. Chihuahua-looking. 

“C’mon Chaeryoung, take this seriously,” Lightly scolding, you sigh, wetting your lips whilst flipping to the back of the page. 

It’s a quick script of things he enjoys, accounts from students he knows or that know him, overall containing an overview of his person. 

Hyunjin gets in lots of arguments with Han Jisung. 

You know that much. 

Your finger slips down the page, scouring each sentence.

XXXX: Hyunjin likes drawing. I’ve seen him drawing at his desk before. 

Baseless information, the doodles prove that—

Hold on. 

“Chae, when you’re anxious, do you have a reliever? Like doing something, listening to something?”

She chuckles, clattering of dishes in the background causing you to cringe slightly.

“Dancing, you know this. I’m not going to Hanlim Art School for nothing.” Teasingly voiced, you frown, deciding not to egg on her sarcasm.

“Then do you think, where it says he gets in arguments a lot, he’s projecting that anxiety when arguing because he doesn’t have a reliever?”

She clicks her tongue.

“Could be. But we don’t really know Hyunjin, yeah? It could be something deeper Y/nnie. You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys.”

You sigh, rolling back your shoulders.

“You’re right, but I’m still gonna try it. I need to get through to him that I want to help him somehow, so I might as well exhaust all my options.”

You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys. A phrase truthful to its fullest extent. 

“…Try what?”

Ah, you forgot to mention that part.

“Drawing. I’m gonna try convincing him to give it a chance.”

The stunned silence tells you she’s likely thinking you’re crazy, her only response a breath of disbelief.

You smile.

“I’m insane, I know.”

“No wonder we’re best friends.”

Staring daggers at the papers in front of you, you prop your feet on the desk, sorting through option after option on what you plan next for class.

In the midst of learning more about each boy’s papers though, you overhear something, a few key words.

Friday. Fair.

Aha. 

The school’s annual summer fair, held as a congratulatory sort of event to celebrate moving onto a new year of school.

It’s decided. Friday, you’re taking them to the fair.

Mentally thanking whoever had brought it up outside the classroom, you’re quick in crumpling the additional papers, watching as one by one, the boys enter.

Hey, at least none of them are late.

…Not like they had a choice in that anyway.

And, through a rather painfully awkward second time teaching, the ice seems to be breaking little by little.

Any progress is good progress, you’ve deemed.

“Alright, before you’re dismissed, I wanna let you know we’re going to the fair Friday. Be there.” You hum, tapping the podium.

You swear there hasn’t been a more stifling pause in your life.

Though you’d been anticipating something adverse, this is a downright oddity.

“Uh.. what?” Han speaks up as you near the door. Morbidly quiet.

“All of you, meet me at the grounds at 7pm.”

Added into the deplorable silence, you glance over your shoulder whilst stepping into the hallway, face donning a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “Okay, class dismissed.”

Beginning out the sliding door, the eruption of voices behind you cascade into a multitude of conversation, your clarification they had in fact heard and you weren’t discussing plans with a brick wall.

All you can do is hope they show up.

Class continues through the week, trying to get them to grow more comfortable with the atmosphere—their classmates, more specifically.

Of course, you earn your fair share of close calls and near incidents in those four days leading to Friday, but seeing the whole group turn up that fateful evening seems to make the ordeal worthwhile.

Quick to move your separate ways, you’re hasty in tagging along with Hyunjin, the boy unusually quiet as you fall into step to his right.

“So.. you draw?” You start, scorning the nervousness evident in your tone.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t interject, nor bite back something as his infograph had led you to believe.

“Yeah,” He sharply replies, eyes trained ahead, taking swift, motivated steps through heavily trodden grass.

It confuses you, in all honesty. Everything about this so-called ‘superiority complex’. From these few days you’ve seen him or interacted (though fleeting), not once has the man exhibited any form of arrogance nor shed of his assumed traits.

He’s shy, actually. Maybe you’re simply gracing surface level like Chaeryoung advised, but certain aspects could be seen in the black of night.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good.”

Despite his lack of response, you can feel his eyes dance to your face for a split second. 

“‘Think you should try it. You’ve got potential, just saying,” You shrug, merely talking without reason nor inhibition.

“You think?”

It’s his voice breaking through your barrier of unrequited cordiality that stirs the air. A final, conversational pair of words after watching him play countless fairground games in quietness.

“I do,” You hum, nodding avidly while watching Hyunjin’s eyes flicker down to the ground below before back to yours, holding eye-contact.

In those moments, you decipher two things.

Hyunjin rivals the prettiest of paintings, and whatever earlier assumptions had been stuck to his tanned skin couldn’t be more wrong. 

“Yo! If you’re just gonna stand there, move it!”

Changbin’s interjection successfully scares the living soul out of you and simultaneously wrecks your intense staring session.

Nevertheless, it’s hard even for you to explain how you ended up competing against the boisterous boy in ball toss, only that you find yourself wanting to tattoo the sight of Hyunjin laughing and Changbin shouting with defeat beneath your eyelids forever.

Granted a gift upon winning, you snag a snorlax plush amongst the scattered options hanging at the top of the booth, presenting it to the him with a smile.

“Huh?” Changbin grunts, head tilted, gazing at you as if you’ve spawned two heads.

“Take it, ‘s for you,” You urge, surveying the boy’s tentative touch against the plush’s soft fur with evident glee.

Still pouty, yes, but you take the sight of the stuffie held in his arms while the three of you walk back as a victory. 

After a quick stop by a corn dog stand, you lean against the food truck’s side, wordless as Changbin and Hyunjin head off their own ways — the only trace of familiarity near you being someone clearing their throat.

Off to the side stands Chan, quietly sparing you not-so-sneaky glances, his hands stuffed in his black jogger’s pockets. 

You cock your brows, head tipped as if silently asking: “What?”

“Waiting for you,” Is his reply, and it catches you off guard at the consideration in those syllables. 

Not that you envisioned Chan as someone cold, but you certainly weren’t expecting him to wait for you while you ate.

Granting the boy a tiny smile of gratitude, you find yourself unconsciously gravitating his way, stuck in an orbital pattern of continuous voyage, indifferent to moving away.

“Chris is an interesting name,” You offer, aimlessly walking past endless booths, people.

“From Australia,” He speaks. Short and straight to the point, yet lacking any hostility. 

“Yeah? Why’d you move?” 

Ushering him on carefully, you manage to tiptoe a bit into foreign territory, navigating rows of traps and ambushes ahead.

“There’s nothing for me back there apart from my family.” His shoes, caked in mud, shuffle to a halt, gaze trained upward toward the constantly reeling Ferris Wheel.

Almost instantly, you can sense a shift in demeanor. It nearly makes your hair stand up on end, specifically upon seeing the hint of vulnerability shed across his face.

Maybe you’re seeing things.

“I’m just.. here. Like I work so hard for a something I’ll never have.”

His nose scrunches, beautifully glossy brown irises reflecting the blinking lights. Red, blue, green, yellow, all encompassed in those eyes.

No, this is all real.

The sight steels you a bit.

After a moment, you nudge his shoulder, his head finally turning to look at you. 

“I don’t think I’m really the greatest to talk to when it comes to this but, Chan, you have to live without a purpose.”

You inhale deeply.

“Because if you keep trying to find a reason for everything-“

The shouting of an oh-so skillful interruption known as Changbin calling your name in the distance temporarily cuts you off.

“You’ll never be satisfied with a reality that won’t change unless you do, with this life.” 

For Chan, no place like home only applied when he had a place to call home. As for now, he was a wanderer. 

That, or inches from deluding himself into a comfortable, insufficient reality instead.

Making believe until something becomes real.

“Do you think it’ll be okay?”

His words catch you off guard, and you sort of stare for a moment, holding his gaze as if looking away means your demise.

For a second, you wonder if every boy’s eyes are this captivating.

Hyunjin, now Chan.

“I do,” You whisper, voice hardly audible amidst the bustling fairground.

His lips quirking into a smile serve as your indication he heard, and he reaches a hand up to gently sweep a strand of hair from your face behind your ear.

Again, unexpected, not disliked.

“Live on, yeah?” Chan hums, lifting his pinky for you to take with a mirrored grin, emotion buried within his dark chocolate pools for eyes you fear to unearth.

Maybe that’s something irrevocably agreed upon.

Live on.

It seems so, even when you regroup with an avidly boastful Changbin barking over who won at a rifle booth against him and Han. Agreed in the pinkies still intertwined behind your backs, in the shared smiles he gives you here and there as the night continues.

“Say, what is it with the both of you?”

Sidled between Han and Hyunjin on the walk back to campus, you find the question slipping from your lips before thinking.

Hyunjin grunts, and Han shrugs.

Children, you swear.

“Constantly biting at each other’s throats, yeah?” You huff, arms crossing.

Glancing over at Hyunjin after neither boy decides to respond, you raise a brow.

“As your teacher, I’m gonna assign something,” You begin, glaring at the tiny scoff Han resounds when you try using an authoritative tone.

“Next time you see each other, try to be nice.”

Another silence.

“I’m dead serious.”

“Y/N-“ Han starts, quickly silenced by your lifted hand.

“No buts. Do it, got it?” Firmly commanding, you leave no room for argument, the two responding as if it were the worst of punishments, wallowing in self pity.

Despite an onslaught of beginnings and continuations to newly opened books, you think the chapter where Hyunjin and Han sulk all the way back to campus takes the cake.

For now it does.

“I want someone to play me,” Han says, bringing the popsicle up to his lips. 

The sun beats onto their skin, warm rays causing a scrunch to appear between his brows.

In an attempt at following your “get-along” suggestion, the two found themselves coincidentally running into each other at the nearby Supermarket after school, sparing cautious glances back and forth till someone broke the silence.

Like fate, drawn together in the ugliest of ways.

Han went first, a hesitant “hey” somehow leading to the two hunkering down on bamboo flooring with a conversation in tow. 

It’s a start.

“Play you?” Hyunjin parrots, confused.

“Yeah,” He responds, fiddling with the name tag attached to his uniform. “They say nobody knows you better than yourself, but I dunno.. I feel like I don’t know anything about me. I’m an alien to myself.” 

Jisung bunches up the wrapper, the crinkling sound rivaling screeching cicadas clinging to the trees overhead.

“I bet if I had an actor play me, I’d make a lot more sense.”

Somehow, out of all the things Han Jisung has said to him, this is the one thing Hyunjin can fully understand. 

Understand that, despite living with yourself all your life, you’re still a novice even in your own body, in need of someone to tell you about yourself, an opposing point of view to help round out the sharp corners.

That’s it. The word to describe it, how Hyunjin found himself bound to art.

Your words replay in his mind on loop.

“Think you should try it. You’ve got potential.”

Understanding.

Art, in its most frustrating, brutally painful form, allows Hyunjin to understand. Himself, his wishes, life, despair. It’s his actor. An ideal perspective responsible for clearing his conscious, a contact lense to the eyes he hadn’t realized were blurry, half-open.

“What did you write on that paper about yourself?” Hyunjin ventured, beaming sunlight cast upon long fingers that peer from the balcony’s shade, highlighting cool toned veins in an almost transparent ray.

Coins cash into the vending machine, the dull cry of birds soaring to the sky in a flurry of wings echoing in his eardrums.

“The one Y/N handed out?”

Hyunjin hums.

“My name.”

The latter’s lips quirk into a clumsy smile. 

Han Jisung, that’s all he wrote. How original of him.

Hyunjin watches an ant crawl atop a leaf, simultaneously swiping a droplet of water from the popsicle’s wrapper with his thumb. 

He tests his words.

“I want,”

A pause. 

“To add art now. To the paper, as my friend.”

Jisung purses his lips curiously, brows lifted.

However, he doesn’t pester.

“Art is your friend?”

Meeting the other boys gaze, Hyunjin finds himself, for the first time when looking at Han Jisung, smiling.

“Yeah, it is.”

. . .

“Heh. What a weirdo— YAH!”

Next Wednesday’s evening consists of a plethora of instances, some more notable to mention than others.

One, getting slammed to a wall by Changbin, and two, getting screamed at right after.

Though you weren’t aware of that yet, not when you looked up from your phone after school to see the boy storming toward you, and certainly not when you smiled, an action seeming to have provoked his hand to your collar, cornered against a wall without so much as a greeting.

“Changbin..?” You manage, slightly breathless at the impact, brows furrowed.

And instantly, listening to the words he spews, it feels as if all the progress you’d made at class—nevertheless the fair—dissolved into nothing.

Back to square one.

“Who do you think you are?” He spits, looking you up and down with a wrinkled nose. “What? You think you own the world ‘cause you’re doing something good? Helping ‘troubled’ kids?” 

Before you can interject, his grip tightens on your shirt, shaking you angrily before stopping again, darks eyes burning with nothing but rage.

“We aren’t your confidence boost, Teach, so get out of your stupid headspace. We don’t need your help and never asked for it in the first place, so get lost.”

Changbin dips dangerously close to your face, venom dripping in his tone.

“Got it?”

Using as much force as you can muster, you ram your palm against his chest, effectively pushing him off of you before slamming against his shoulder and walking away.

Halfway down the street do you stop, not daring to look back at him.

“I don’t know what makes you think I’m doing this for a confidence boost, and I’m not going to try understanding. But that gives you no right to pick me apart like you know me!” You shout, continuing to head as far as you can from him, glaring ahead.

It’s fair he got that idea. Some random student infiltrating your summer all for the sake of what? Their future? Yours? What was this for anyway? Your position as Class President using this “summer school” to make you feel better about yourself, add more to a resume? 

Plopping down at a bus stop a mile or so later, you pull your legs to your chest, rehearsing just what drove you into the mess anyway. 

You want to help them. That’s it. 

Repeating the phrase like a sacred oath, it isn’t until the burning sun’s waning scorch that you’re reminded of evening’s approach, begrudgingly lifting yourself off the now-sweaty seat.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan stood as a witness, watching either of you quarrel prior to parting, you disappearing elsewhere while Changbin remained in place, burning holes into the ground with a furious glower.

Hurriedly assessing what his first move should be (or if he should even move at all), he decides upon following you when the dark-haired boy stalks off.

“Y/n!” 

The oddly familiar voice graces your senses when you look up, pausing just outside the bus stop, earbuds dangling from your pocket. 

It’s Chan, still wearing his school uniform. 

“Oh, hey Chan.” Slapping a hopefully convincing smile on, you allow him to occupy the space to your left as you head home, entertaining his occasional questions, sentences.

You’re glad it’s Chan though. 

“Um, Chan?” You pique upon reaching your door, looking back at him, question inches from slipping off your tongue.

Has anything happened with Changbin lately?

“Yes?”

No, you can’t. 

“Never mind, um, bye!” Brushing off the thought, you give him another tight smile, waving the boy off and slipping into your home with a loud sigh.

Outside, Chan tugs his lip between his teeth, watching you debate on your words. He knows what you wanted to ask, what so obviously sat heavy on your shoulders the entire way home. 

Perhaps it’s his perception that’s gotten him this far. 

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he decides the next course of action would be locating the other half of this division. 

Unfortunately for him, Chan has no idea where he could be. The likelihood he’s home is minuscule if his hunch is right, and so, the man wracks his head for any clues.

Abruptly, a past conversation hits him.

“Have you been there? The old train station below the tunnel?”

Chan, lips pursed as he tries recalling, shakes his head.

“I like that place, ‘helps me think.”

That’s it.

Racing off despite the darkness creeping across star-splattered sky, his legs carry him as fast as possible. 

Dipping below the bridge, his skin prickles at the cold air. Minimal lighting apart from a few white beams paves a clear path to his desired individual, planted in the dead center of the platform.

“Binnie,” Chan calls. 

Only he can get away with calling Changbin “Binnie”, a nickname grown into second nature as the two grew more accustomed these past two weeks.

The boy doesn’t budge, doesn’t reply. He stands there, chin down, hands firmly bunching his pants in a tight hold.

Yet, when he looks up after a lengthy pause, Chan watches his lip quiver, watches his shoulders shake senselessly as he gradually reaches his outstretched arms.

“I.. I keep hurting so many people and.. and…it’s so lonely, why is it so lonely?” 

Without an utterance, he pushes Changbin’s head against his shoulder. 

And they hug. They hug for a long, long time. Basking there, healing there. 

Changbin cries. 

There’s a lot to cry about, a lot of things he’s needed to cry about, things he couldn’t cry about before. But he does. Tonight, in this empty train station, Changbin cries in Chan’s arms, his friends arms.

Changbin’s first friend—who smoothes messy curls down in delicate strokes, holding him dearly close. 

Chan isn’t oblivious, because in those particularly tender moments, one in specific taking place right after the fair, Changbin speaks words Chan had never heard before. 

Problems. They told each other it all. Their secrets, struggles. 

Changbin’s issues with his parents, Chan’s with his home-situation, his internal displacement.

“I know things are hard right now, but we’re going to get someplace better together, okay? We’re brothers.” Chan whispers, and his friend sniffles, nodding wordlessly.

Brothers. 

Changbin is his brother now, and no blood needs to prove that. Because in times you don’t have that family, that connection, you make it yourself.

Seungmin: Y/n, can you meet me at Gokseong Hill?

You groan picking up your phone, granted a mere thirty minutes of peace after your painful run-in with Changbin and an equally painful attempt at a conversation with Chan before your phone lights up.

Y/n: Do you plan to murder me or something?

Seungmin: I’m not as creative as Jisung, so no

You crack a smile.

Y/n: I’ll be there

Fastening a jacket over your shoulders, you lock the door behind yourself, stuffing jingling keys into your pocket.

Hey, a bit of fresh air sounds tempting.

At the peak of the hill he sits, and it’s not until you follow his upward stare that you take in the stars overhead. 

The slight altitude paves way to a more than incredible view. Countless galaxies right above your head, twinkling so brightly in the sky. Far from streetlights, from civilization. 

Your staggered breathing hiking up here proves worthwhile now.

Wordlessly plopping down beside him, you lay back, admiring.

“Do you ever wanna scream?” Seungmin reaches his hand to the sky, allowing the dark blue and black hues to waltz in his grasp.

The twinkling wonder dappled above prohibit a full view of his facial expressions, but you have an idea of how wistfully he gazes into that atmospheric abyss. Aching.

You humorlessly chuckle.

Do I ever.

“When I first met Changbin, I wanted to scream every twenty seconds.”

Seungmin laughs. Pretty.

“Guys like that do that to you.”

He curls his fingers into a fist, arm remaining outstretched. 

“Do it.”

“Hm?”

“Scream.”

He looks at you like you’re insane for a moment, then pauses, fingernails digging into the earthy soul beneath you before he screams.

Screams, louder and louder, so loud you’re surprised his lungs haven’t given up yet, surprised you haven’t laughed at how comical the entire thing is. His body practically lifts off the ground, eyes screwed shut.

Then he stops, catching his breath. 

No comments nor laughter. Quiet. 

Reaching out, you give his hand, dirty fingernails and all, an assuring squeeze.

I don’t know, but I care.

A silent utterance.

“Better?”

He nods. 

You’re next, and this time, you’re first to laugh.

As the two week mark of class is pinned, you want to give yourself a pat on the back for managing - no less surviving till now.

So, it really makes you wonder how you ended up in such a predicament.

Han Jisung, someone you never anticipated to be beside you on your Saturday, resides in the drivers seat of your parent’s car, hands sweating up nothing short of an ocean without even starting the vehicle.

Well, you are aware of how this all began, but then again, your pride wants to be salvaged, if barely.

A bit of pleading on Han’s side about his parents nagging him and a pinch of your groggy mumbling at 9am to end up here, to be exact.

“Look… About what I said the first day.. I’m really sorry about that. I shouldn’t have asked that, it was rude and- ow!”

A hard flick delivered to the boy’s forehead has his face wrinkling up, an offended expression worn on chubby cheeks.

“Yes, it was rude, and I’ll ostracize you if you ever do it again. But I forgive you, you’re welcome,” You state, arms crossed.

Han’s sheepish nod seems to be the best reply you’ll get. 

“Alright, now, shift the gear to drive.”

“…That’s ‘D’, right…?”

“You’re kidding.”

No, he wasn’t kidding, and a lesson that could’ve been an hour long turns into two and a half hours in no time.

Finally, by some miracle, you end up on the road, holding on the seat like a vice, the boy mirroring your panic with nervous jittering and random comments.

“Oh wait! Isn’t the Film Festival coming up-“

“FOCUS ON THE ROAD!”

Ah, he has the attention span of a squirrel, that too.

And if you aren’t doused in gray hairs after that you’d be surprised, Han looking just as frazzled, exiting the car with wobbly legs and wide, frazzled eyes. 

From then on out, you decide teaching the boy how to drive would have to wait.

With July days away (a miracle, you’d like to say), you bury your nose into new assignments and exercises for the class, desperately gripping onto the bits and pieces of progress you’re making.

It’s meager, and certainly not sturdy, but you’ll take what you can get. 

..Even if those hard silences are crippling.

A knock ushers you away from the barstool you perch on, cautiously peering from your front door’s tiny peephole. 

Felix.

Upon opening in the door, you first notice his raw cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

He’d been crying, unmistakably.

You don’t move away when he walks forward and presses his face against your shoulder.

“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home tonight.” The boy whispers, and you reach a tentative hand to pat his head. 

“Of course.”

Clambering the teary boy inside, you spend a decent ten minutes helping him catch his breath and calm down a bit, not wanting to stress the poor thing out with questions.

Standing in your foyer, it’s his shaky voice piercing the air responsible for your head snapping up.

“Do you.. have brownie mix?” 

.

.

.

“He was always the fearless kid,” Felix mutters, occupying himself with folding the batter in a bowl. 

Interestingly enough, Felix is a stress baker, something of which you hadn’t realized until getting schooled on the correct ingredients to use for brownies.

The topic is Minho. Or, what Felix knew of him.

“I could never read him. I still can’t. I remember he saved this cat once and it bit him. I cried the whole way to the doctor’s office and he was the one who calmed me down instead.” 

All you can do is laugh in reply, the blond sheepishly grinning.

Licking off some brownie mix, he hands you the other whisk where you lean against the counter. 

Leaning forward to smear some of the sugary goodness on his cheek with a giggle, you adore the way his eyes light up, causing his freckles to almost glow.

If past-lives were real, you think Felix would’ve been a fairy.

“You knew Minho when you were younger?”

Felix nods.

“We met in seventh grade. Our mom’s were friends through work. Although, I don’t think he liked me very much.”

He shakes the bubbles from the cooking sheet, ensuring the edges of the pan were even. You slip past him to pre-heat the oven. 

There’s a soft chuckle on his end, and it’s not until you turn around do you see the pikachu mitten he’s quite literally critiquing with his eyeballs.

Such expressive eyes, though they’re different than Minho and Seungmin. 

While Minho has something like the atlantic ocean hidden deep behind those pupils, Seungmin is more of an open field.

Though Felix, he has stars.

So many stars, in fact, that they couldn’t possibly all fit, spreading to his face instead. Down his arms, his chest. Till all of a sudden the entire galaxy found its home in the boy standing in front of you.

“Hey, no judging,” You grin, scrutinizing his innocent shrug. 

Snatching your precious oven-mit from his fingertips to load the pan in yourself, a gasp stirs when a pair of arms winds around your middle, his chin resting upon your shoulder as you close the door and set your timer.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? What for?” Stopping your movements, you allow the boy to snuggle closer.

“For reminding me of myself. I seem to get lost in other people sometimes and forget I’m here too.” At the last part of his sentence he laughs, rocking back and forth on his heels and causing you to rock with him. 

Ten minutes or so you rock. Easy, comfortable. 

Felix gives nice hugs. His clothes are sprinkled with a strange mixture of both brownies and chocolate chip remnants he’d snuck in without your knowledge.

Comfortable.

He’s a kid who never really got the chance to grow up. The one who was constantly told he’s so mature for his age, a phrase that eventually melded so far into his brain it became second nature, gum stuck to his shoe. 

Because the kid that was so mature for his age was never asked if he needed help or if he was okay, everyone simply assumed. Even when the world came crashing down, Felix was fine. Just fine. 

Until he wasn’t, and suddenly, Felix came crashing down with the world.

“..Do you like face-masks?”

You may not be able to fix his crumbling world, but you could give him some good memories to remember it by.

Which is how you found yourself roped in your bathroom, carefully applying the charcoal face mask onto his perfect skin, unblemished and definitely not deserving of the treatment. But, like you said, memories. 

You should be off to bed, already prepping for the next morning, school. June 17th, officially seventeen days into summer school. Yet here you are, greedily shoving down brownies with a new companion, Lee Felix, on the couch while looking like utter idiots in face masks. 

After seven episodes of Gilmore Girls does he wearily rise up, beckoning you with him to wash off your skincare madness only to make an equally weary trip straight back to the living room.

“Do you think Minho likes me?” Your baking partner whispers, his head resting upon your lap. Those unfairly long lashes begin to dust closed, the subtle flash of light emitted from your scented candle sending a golden gleam across the room.  

“Mm.. I’m sure he does. I’m sure he likes you very much,” You assure, not needing a response from his fallen-asleep form, not expecting one anyway. 

What occurred in the first place nor why he asked such questions wasn’t your business, but somewhere, a part of a you wanted to know. The cause of his pain, of all of their pain. 

Hardest part of your evening was definitely attempting to slip him off your lap, luckily a success after four or five minutes. 

Carefully propping a pillow behind his head and layering a blanket across his jacket-clad body, you sneakily turn off the TV, bidding the exhausted boy a hushed “good night” and placing a gentle peck to his forehead before turning off the porch light.

Laying in bed whilst your eyes resist closing, you find yourself hoping he’ll sleep well, hope this night is something he can look back on with a smile on his face.

Felix deserves that.

That morning, upon forgetting your alarm, either of you are scrambling from bed or, in Felix’s case, flopping from your couch with a loud thud!

“Minho lives pretty close,” Felix winds the straps of his backpack over his shoulders, glancing from side to side while observing the area. You follow suit, both clambering to rush out the door, jogging down the street hurriedly.

Seems the Minho kick is still here then, huh.

“But he might not be at school off and on because of his Grandma.”

The awaiting tip of your head calls for an explanation, and a light bulb seemed to bloom above him — obviously having realized something.

Either of you pause at a crosswalk.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

You shake your head, brows pinched. 

Felix pokes his tongue into his cheek.

“Well, Minho’s mom died a bit back. He takes care of his Grandma now. After she passed he got really distant and we…” His tone dissolves, and you don’t interrupt, allowing the boy to speak his mind. “Haven’t talked since.”

Apparently, there’s a corner to this billion-piece jigsaw.

One, horrifically fateful paper lay taped down onto one desk far too many boys are trying to look at.

Levanter High Film Festival. Participants will make a 25 minute short film with cinematography and soundtrack themes made entirely by themselves.

“..And you want us to do this?” Jeongin mutters, skeptically scratching the bottom of his chin. 

“Yep! We are!” You proudly announce, given quite a few confused glances in return.  

As Jisung had taken the time to so kindly mention while nearly crashing the car, July, the month in which you’ve somehow made it to with this group, means the arrival of creative festivals — or, the school boards way of enhancing student participation.

“Uh.. I’ve gotta DAW at home..?” Chan speaks up, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“…A dawg?” Han snorts, Felix smacking his back in an attempt to quell his own laughter.

“A music birth giving machine,” Changbin offers.

“Ew, weird way to put it.”

“Shut it, Jisung.”

“Alright. Now, we’re gonna break off into departments, okay? We need director, maybe script writers? An idea of where we’re gonna film, song producers, and someone with a camera.” Murmuring with your lip tugging between your teeth, you tap your foot, the group cumulating into frenzied discourse, seemingly arranging themselves. 

And, almost as fast as you blink, you’re pleasantly surprised to find no blood had been shed over positions.

Accordingly — with obvious inclusion in every position at some point — Chan, Changbin, and Han are working music, Seungmin is working on the script, Jeongin and Hyunjin are doubling as directors and camera-providing members, and Felix and Minho have been elected as the main characters. 

You can’t help but find it rather interesting considering your prior knowledge of the situation. Their situation.

Felix’s longing, Minho’s loss.

The imperfect, perfect pair.

“What’s the name gonna be?” Jeongin piques, the eight of you squinting at his frame leant against the windowsill.

The boy hesitates. 

“Like, our label?”

Equally confused stares. 

In honorary mention of the esteemed ‘Film Festival’ introduced this summer, you decided, along with Han’s incredibly distracting tendencies, that you guys would be participating.

Then again, everyone is still getting used to being within six feet of each other, so being stuck in the old photography club room on a school night remains effortlessly uncomfortable.

And with the slow eye contact each of you exchange, a gradual cacophony of “Ohhh”’s. 

“How about Boy’s Generation!” Jisung jumps in, earning a smack across the head from Hyunjin followed by loud whining whilst burying his head in Minho’s chest (of whom looks unbearably awkward) who tries to console.

Emphasis on the “tries” part.

“Maybe.. Lost Men?” Changbin suggests, quiet hums of agreement sounding from the remainder. 

You choke back a laugh, which, doesn’t turn out to be as choked as you’d prefer by the glare you get in response.

“Lost Men? Are we sailors?” Stammering down your giggles the best you could manage, Seungmin clears his throat, attention quickly directing his way.

Seungmin has a habit, if that’s what you want to call it. He’s never outspoken, no, but he speaks, a lot. Minho is the same in that sense. Whether quiet mumbling or the illustrious expressions he makes, you’re confident the both of them could maintain a perfectly understandable conversation using just their eyes. 

Sort of scary. 

“Stray Kids?”

Five seconds later and Felix grumbles, interrupting everyone’s inner contemplation.

“Kind of fitting if you think about it.”

Minho grunts, voicing a question that extinguished the conversation beforehand. 

“Well what happens when we aren’t astray anymore?”

And, although the foreboding tension sat heavy in the air, it was easy to tell he held no weight to his words.

Because regardless of what kind of conclusion they reached at some point, it was irrevocably known they’d always be stray. Searching, looking for something they weren’t sure existed.

No reply came. No one complained. 

Chan typed up the label in the lower left corner of the doc, the laptop he’d taken from his bag propped on his lap.

You gave Minho a half-smile he sheepishly returned.

The more you thought about it, the more it matched. Not only searching, but paving. One way or another, the assumed nobodies were growing, developing into something unforgettable, if only to a few people. 

You had no doubt more would remember their names in the future, but as for now, you stay as Chan, Minho, Changbin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Y/n, lodged in the school’s vacant club room, arranging ideas for the Film Festival. 

Stray Kids. 

You liked it. 

The quiet rolling of his bike gears sits between you, familiarly nostalgic chirping of crickets heightening the darker the sky becomes, dusk plowing a runway through orange clouds.

Headed back from school, you happened to run into Minho, jogging to catch up with him in the midst of his departure.

“I like my life.”

Mid-chew on a sour gummy worm, you cease your gluttonous rampage in order to catch Minho’s hushed breath.

“Being alive is nice.”

And when he says that, he turns his head toward you, expression piquing a “don’t you think so?” type of question you struggle to answer.

Zoning in on the repetitive motion of his wheel, you wrack your brain. 

“Yeah? It’s hard, but I would say it’s worth it.”

His brows raise, a barely visible, lopsided smile winding itself around his lips — chapped but still such a captivating pink hue.

All he has to do is hum, doing that habitual blinking thing he always does to know he agrees.

Minho is the small things, you configure.

He’s fixing the bulletin when a paper fell off and picking up Changbin’s Snorlax plushie when he almost forgets it. He’s reminding you to text him when you get home “just because”. He’s the little things nobodies notices, little things that show he cares. 

Lee Minho is the small things, but he’s also so much too — so many stories, people, places. He’s heartbroken but he tries, pained but still swimming in a whirlpool of an ocean that flushes him from its tides.

Perhaps somebody could be his buoy, somebody who’d keep him afloat.

You have a hunch as to who that person might be.

Bike squealing to a stop, you clamber to catch pace, backing up a bit to notice what Minho points at. 

A field.

“This would be a good place to film if it weren’t off limits.” He observes, either of you acknowledging the “No Trespassing” sign latched loosely onto a chain link fence. 

Biting your lip, a small smirk finds itself upon your face. 

“It’s not off limits if we can get in, right?” 

Minho gives you an uncertain stare, quickly tampering into downright exasperation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a good influence?”

You laugh at this, laying your bike down to hitch each hand into diamond-shaped openings and climb, sending your suspicious audience an expectant look.

“I’m meant to be a good learning experience, think of this as part of a the process. Now c’mon, climb. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Half-heartedly, you’re joined in your risky pursuit, scaling up to the top before thumping down on the other side. 

Minho, on the other hand, is a tad bit more skeptical, remaining at the fence’s peak, glaring down nervously.

Although, with lots of patience and encouragement, the anxious boy takes a leap of faith onto uncut grasses and stalking weeds. 

Halfway into your adventure do clouds begin festering, setting the atmosphere in a gray haze the longer you brainstorm filming spots, whether that’s pointing out certain locations or deciding on specific scene placement.

“We could have Felix here, then I run in and find him?” 

“Okay— what if we make it like a huge confrontation. You run in, confront him-“

Jutting of metal against another surface redirects your mid-sentence focus, gaze averting toward the sound. 

Shit. Security.

“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing!?” 

Momentary silence and either of you go bolting as fast as your legs will go.

“Quick!” You shriek, the sky dotted in strikes of lightning, alighting into a sudden electrified cauldron of clouds and rain.

Minho is right on your heels, jackets strung over your heads in a feeble attempt to divert some watery droplets from their rapid descent.

Not only the useless fear of getting soaked, but the lingering outline of an approaching flashlight in the distance and the thumping of footsteps from behind urge you onward, scaling the looming fence using slippery fingers and wild adrenaline.

Except, just as you edge over the top of the fence does your shirt get caught in the twisted wire, effectively preventing your movement (much to your panic) while Minho shouts below. 

Luckily, in the nick of time do you manage to free yourself, having to lurch forward and simultaneously earn a stinging cut before racing to your bikes and speeding off.

Learning experience was certainly a word for it. 

“So..” You start, lingering by Chan’s doorway. 

According to a fretful, rain drenched Minho speaking to your equally drenched self, his place was the closest.

“What’s our excuse?” You mumble, Minho scoffing before shrugging off his jacket to hand to you, earning a curious tip of your head.

Wordlessly does he point to your now dampened white shirt, and you can’t help but smile at the realization.

Hm. What a gentleman.

Easing the fabric over your soaked shirt, you just finish buttoning to the bottom when Chan opens the door, cocking a brow.

“Who knew it actually rained cats and dogs?”

“You’re not funny.”

Stepping inside, you’re greeted with the chilling temperature, skin erupting into goosebumps as either of you awkwardly stand in the doorway, Chan disappearing into the other room only to return with two t-shirts.

“Bathrooms are on either side of the hall, you’ll find them,” He hums, and you give him a grateful smile before padding off to change, the sound of your squeaking steps making you cringe.

Chan’s old swim-team tee hangs loosely from your body upon stepping out, plopping down onto his couch with an exaggerated groan.

Behind you, Minho sits on an unoccupied chair, taking sips of water here and there.

“So…” The eldest of the group steps in the room, hesitant. “Care to tell me how-“

“No.” Minho bluntly speaks, and you cock a bemused brow at his forwardness.

“Got it,” Chan nods quickly, eyes zeroing in on you for a moment, honing a stare you can’t discern.

“Y/N?” He quietly asks where you lift from your spot.

“Wanna come with me for a minute?” He hums, and you curiously follow him into the kitchen, plopping on the counter he motions for you to sit on.

“Lift up your shirt,” He softly instructs, and you do a double take to make sure you heard him right. 

“Huh?”

Nonplussed, he repeats himself, appearing completely unaffected despite such a request.

So slowly, nervously, you lift your shirt as he nonchalantly maneuvers antiseptic from a medical container, your brain registering the predicament as he dabs right below your chest, bottom lip held in his teeth while he works.

Your scratch from earlier on the fence.

Leave it to him to be the ever perceptive one.

Chan doesn’t budge, shy away, nor show any reaction to the newfound vulnerability. Your heart warms a bit at the sight. 

He cares, and you’ve known that, but it’s just, it’s sweet. Really, truly sweet.

Immediately upon applying the antiseptic, you wince, your grip (which you noticed) on his arm tightening while he calmly hushed you, carefully placing a bandaid on top of the wound. 

“If you don’t dress it properly you could get an infection.” Chan explains. “Tell me next time, okay?” 

You nod as he rearranged his materials below the cabinet and ensured you’ve hopped off the countertop.

“Lix told me you used to be a restaurant’s chef in Hongdae, eh?”

At this, he looked up in surprise, chuckling lowly, lips situating themselves into a sheepish straight line.

“Lix?” He echoes, and you tilt your head, evidently confused as to what he’s asking.

“Mm nothin’, just not many people can call him Lix,” He explains, padding into the living room.

“Really? Am I just the lucky one?” Snickering to yourself, the man nudges your side with his own squeaky laugh as you enter into the living room.

“That’s.. a word for it.”

It’s hard to recall when the gears really began turning. Breaking from rusty shackles to rotate seamlessly.

Chan opening up and giving you a glimpse of the heartthrob of a personality beneath his once cold facade. Han and Hyunjin able to have a normal conversation, talking to Jeongin more and more about anything and everything.

Maybe it’s the familiarity, the routine that naturally mends. Like a new fridge you hadn’t realized you were so accustomed to until gone, until you look back at what was.

A part of you wants to give yourself a pat on the back as if you were the person responsible for this summer school’s progress. Though, you’re sure just about four hundred other things also left an imprint. 

Late nights spent in the old club room. Arranging meetups for filming spots. Headaches from the sound of a power drill where props are put together. Endless repeats of the same scene everyone keeps messing up.

And all of a sudden, it hurts. Because this is one of those moments. Fleeting. Fleeting in the sense that—as you watch Chan and Seungmin burst out laughing when Changbin fails a prop test—never again in this entire world will there ever be another night like this. 

Felix won’t accidentally spill his drink. Minho won’t throw a childish fit after he gets his twenty-fifth take wrong. 

There won’t ever be another summer like this. A summer in your senior year of high school you really don’t want to forget right now, not if it costs it all to stay engrained in your mind.

“Alright. So..” Chan begins, the nine of you clambering to get a glance of his screen as he finishes the final touches.

“We’re finally done!”

It takes a whopping three weeks to finish filming and editing, the clamorous chorus of relief sounding in unison as your group’s unofficial (though wordlessly voted) leader, Chan, taps the save button one last time.

Your film covers the tale of two. Fated, yet, unable to ever meet. A constant tug of war of souls infinitely bound.

One steps north, the other makes five steps south. Pulled together like magnets even when worlds apart in all aspects, even when it seems they’re only given more reasons to avoid each other.

..Yes, you certainly thought of what Felix told you that bit ago.

No, you have been thinking about it.

When they filmed; those certain scenes where you’d watch them make eye contact. Oh to listen to the thoughts behind those eyes.

So leaden with emotion. 

Longing.

A longing for what was, for what could’ve been.

To watch two people like that makes your ears ring. So much said in the hurried lines, the occasional eye-contact. 

Listen, listen. You’ll miss it if you blink.

How gut-wrenching to be a witness to such tragedy you never were involved in. Perhaps that’s human empathy.

You inhale and exhale, but don’t count for how long. Watching the film on the that old projector sheet makes you wish you narrowed things down to the tee, scribbled them down in a notebook to recall for eternity.

Too fast, too fast. You’ll miss it if you breathe.

No, stay forever. 

If only. 

And perhaps that’s the best part.

Stray Kids places fourth place in the festival, and to be honest, you might as well have taken home first.

It sure felt like it.

Smiles and laughter. Congratulations and many thank you’s amidst a densely packed theatre room. 

Though, something is missing. No, someone is missing. Because in the midst of a celebration intended for everyone, it suddenly comes to your attention a presence has gone awry.

Meeting Chan’s eyes, it appears he just realized as well.

Han.

.

.

.

“Jisung where the hell were yo—“ 

Having stormed through the oddly unlocked door like a madman, Chan stops, noticing how positively bruised the boy is, sharp cut veering across his nose, lip busted and bloody.

Hurriedly forcing his face between either of Chan’s hands, Han winces. 

“Tell me everything.” The older of the two demands, eyes racing. 

Quick to pull away, his mouth pulls taut. It’s quiet before Han kicks the cabinet, voice watery, breaking. 

“Fuck!” He clutches his head, biting back the prospect of crying. 

Dropping down to bury his head in his knees, he stifles a shaky exhale.

“..These guys from Class 3-B broke my bike, that’s why I couldn’t go.” 

Ah.

There’s a stillness.

Then, quietly, Chan shuffles down beside Jisung, mirroring the way his knees sit close to his chest, back flush against the wooden cabinets below the sink.

“I just.. wish I was stronger,” Jisung hardly manages, words barely audible through a trembling bottom lip.

Sparing moments of silence, Chan’s jaw tightens, attention directed onto the tile floor.

“I’m quitting the football team.”

Jisung’s head snaps to the adjacent boy. 

“But why? Football’s your forte. Plus, you kick ass every time your name gets called out onto the field.”

Chan ruffles the boys hair, giving him a tight smile.

“I have.. other priorities right now.” His voice shrinks, hand resting atop Jisung’s head, staring into those bottomless brown eyes. 

He’s grateful no other questions were asked.

“Say,” He begins, his counterpart experimentally prodding his swollen eye, cringing back with a hiss. 

“I can help you get stronger.”

Slowly, the younger’s head turns, brows raised as if asking: “really?”, to which Chan nods, a faint grin tugging at his lips. 

‘Reach for me’, and Chan reaches. 

Jisung oftentimes thought the boy foolish to trust so blindly, to pour so much into someone who could easily let you down.

Yet, seeing the fist his friend held out, he returns the fist bump with a feeble grin, head slumping onto the older boy’s shoulder.

This time, an exception has been made.

There were many weird circumstances in Minho’s life, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated this one.

“..What are you doing?” Minho inquires flatly, slowing his bike down whilst Han, dripping in sweat, jogs past, avidly motivated for a reason the bystander can’t quite understand on a Tuesday morning.

He planned to bike into town and buy extra soil for his grandmother’s garden, now finding himself unable to ignore this strange appearance.

“Conditioning! New year new me!”

Minho sends the boy a mildly disgusted, mildly annoyed expression in reply.

“It’s June.” 

“Leave me be.”

His sarcastic brow returned with Han’s entertained giggle, the older boy finding it irritably hard to resist an approaching smile, pedaling to catch up to him.

How burdensome, Minho thinks.

“Is this about the Film Festival?” 

Gliding past, Han’s eyes widen into saucers.

“Please don’t tell me Y/n’s mad I couldn’t show up, I’m scared she’ll beat me up or something on Monday.”

He grins at the sheepish plea.

“She’s not, trust me.”

“And why should I trust you?”

Minho shrugs. “Why not?”

“Fair,” Han deflates, stopping to catch his breath, balancing his hands on his knees. 

The other boy, observing his exhaustion as he pushes on his brakes, grants him a side-eye, patting the back of his bike.

“Want a ride?”

Han, looking up with sweat wrecking his hair to stick up in wild directions, gradually nods, uttering a quiet “Feels like I’m cheating” as he climbs behind Minho, legs dangling off the side. 

The ride is peaceful, rice fields flourishing, fields dappled with flowers of all sorts of hues on the way to town, breeze cooling down Han’s heated face, whipping his linen shirt in each gust.

Neither talk, simply enjoying the weather, the smells, the sounds.   

Though, the enjoyment is quelled as soon as it began, Minho lugging a bag of soil atop where the younger boy had sat on the back of his bike—said boy lingering outside the gardening shop.

Door bells clanging overhead when he exits, Han gives him a questioning look as he works on tying the soil down.

“..Where am I gonna sit?” He questions aloud, and the devilish boy can’t help but wear an evil smile.

“You’re not,” He says matter-of-a-fact, swinging a leg over the seat, watching despair cross his friend’s face. 

“New year new you, right? Good luck!”

Quickly racing off on his bike, Minho laughs at Han’s shouting while he disappears in the distance, knowing full well the silent-treatment he’ll receive later at school.

Oh the throes (and woes) of summer.

Meanwhile, you’re helping Chan hang laundry in his backyard, having reviewed more of an album him, Han, and Changbin have been working on after the festival. 

The longer you listen, the more you find Chan has a knack for curating incredible music, enough that you find yourself leaning infinitely close to the old monitor of his, craning into each note the speaker procures.

“So I was thinking,” Chan clicks his tongue, hanging a t-shirt to the close pins. “What if we had a unit name? Han, Binnie and I?”

Processing his question in your mind, you purse your lips, wiping beading moisture from your forehead.

“What’d you have in mind?” You pique, giving the boy a sidelong glance, mischief evident on your face. 

Mirroring your grin, he steps down from the stool, giving you a hand as you step from yours.

“3RACHA? Cause like.. we’re three and we’re hot like Sriracha?”

Instantly, you both burst out into giggles, smacking his shoulder at the sly phrasing. 

“No no I’m kidding—“

“I like it!” You loudly interject, bringing the water bottle up to your lips.

Chan’s eyes bulge out of his skull, tilt in his head, a hint of surprise etched on sun kissed skin.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like it! 3RACHA fits,” Elaborating with exaggerated hand gestures, the spectator has to bite back his smile, dimples nudging at his cheeks.

“I’ll let them know,” He raises his brows, giving you a small high five before officially collapsing on the grass, you following suit.

By the time your eyes open again, you can’t even recall what happened in the first place, trying to figure out why the sky is already pitch black, not to mention why you’re still lying in the grass. 

Leave it to falling asleep to waste your day away.

Leaning over where you stretch your arms, Chan grins, extending a hand to help you up that you gratefully accept—granted an explanation as to how you ultimately fell asleep while he was mid conversation.

Waving him off upon noticing nighttime’s introduction, you begin back past school, crossing by the playing fields in the process.

And of course, lo and behold, Minho sits on the bleachers, watching an ongoing football practice while glancing down at his lap here and there, apparently writing something.

Seems today you’re running into everyone, huh?

Perks (and curses) of a small town.

Curiosity driving your feet toward him, you carefully jump up the steps, sitting beside him without word.

He obviously senses your presence but fails to speak up, simply letting you peek over his shoulder at his notes (to which you learned were for a class), occasionally striking conversation only to engulf in comfortable quietness once more.

“Hey Minho?” You inhale slowly, heel tapping again the metal bleacher plank below.

He grunts in acknowledgment. 

“Do you think I’m doing a good job?” 

The football coaches whistle blows alarmingly loud, causing either of you to involuntarily flinch. 

Minho, lifting his head from his notebook, studies your face for a moment, from the way your nose perches to your parted lips, he analyzes.

Returning to your eyes, he blinks.

“I do. I mean, we all like you whether we admit it or not.”

The statement causes a smile to stretch your cheeks, turning to face him. 

“Why?”

“Hm.. You actually treated us like human..? It’s like,” He scoffs, one brow twitching upward the longer he thinks. It’s the first time you noticed the small freckle seated atop his right nostril. 

Charming.

“Everybody else seemed to think we were animals.” 

Hearing him say that, it’s almost.. cruel. To think these boys simply needed a friend, a person to count on for a bit. 

But they didn’t. They were deprived.

Yet, in a twisted way, it worked out. Because it led them to you.

“Well you’re doing it right.. I think.”

You shift your weight back onto your hands, humid air finally cooling into an even breeze.

“Thanks Min.”

“Mhm.”

You’ve grown accustomed to accepting good things never last. It’s one of the many things keeping your grip tight on anything you get ahold of.

Though, it strikes you nearly dizzy how quickly something so good turned sour. 

As in, what was once near-conversation between Minho and Felix has now diminished into distanced glares and horrifically heavy silence like before.

Asking the more openly emotional of the two leads to nothing. No explanation, no reasoning. Just a shrug when you ask: “Hey, what’s up with you and Minho?”

More than ever with this group had you learned assumptions lead nowhere. But when assumptions are the sole thing to be made, you feel quite like you’re chasing your own tail in this predicament.

“Minho, you have to come to school. I’m responsible for your attendance.” 

Amongst the week and a half the boy had been absent, you don’t plan to waste the opportunity for confrontation.

No, it isn’t your usual approach, but any softer and he’ll slip right through your fingertips like warmed butter.

Back facing you where he’d been routinely walking his bike behind his house, you stand firm, eyes trained to the cowlick embedded in his hair.

He doesn’t move, nor budge a single centimeter—voice cut and concise upon speaking.

“I’ve been busy.” 

“You’ve been avoiding Felix.”

You can hear him inhale sharply, not daring to turn around.

“I know it isn’t my business, but there was this.. time Felix and I spoke. You two had a falling out again.. right?”

Prodding deeper into the wound, you can feel your heart constricting tighter and tighter in your chest.

“You’re right.” He whispers, tone low enough you crane to hear. “It isn’t your business.”

It’s your turn to suck in a quick breath.

“And.. it isn’t your place pretending like you know what my life is like. I… I’ll come back to school just-“

Ah. That hiccup. The shudder of his shoulders, the ache in his vocal cords.

“Let me deal with this by myself, alright?”

Who are you to disagree? Spoken seconds earlier, it isn’t your business nor your place shoving your nose into his life. 

Synonymously, you don’t blame him. Blame his irritation, his evasiveness.

Whatever this is with Felix runs deeper. It takes but a single glance to dictate that conclusion. Minho’s loss, his hurt. Bottled up feelings bubbling over in their soda can.

When so much of you is battered, you hide, hide in fear that everything will be ripped from your fingertips — that horrid feeling of helplessness; forging grief continuing to wrack you numb.

Minho distanced himself to protect himself, but most importantly to protect them. To protect his friends, to protect Felix.

And yet, he forgot to install a safety net around his own perimeter.

Jittering hands frantically reaching for his bike’s handlebars, and you spectate wordlessly as abundant tears streak down his cheeks the moment a glimpse of his face is seen, fingernails furiously digging into the aged rubber.

“Minho.”

The boy shakes his head, sniffling senselessly before you step forward and grab his collar, lightly yanking him up, redirecting once castaway focus staring down to the cracked pavement below.

“Minho.”

Just then you notice his watery eyes and the heartbreaking, trembling frown adorning his features. Stifling tears.

Thumb carefully tracing his waterline to rid of those beading tears, he leans into your hand, face breaking a bit.

“Just.. please don’t deal with this alone, okay?”

Looking into someone’s eyes had never made you feel like you were dying until now. How can a soul carry such heavy heartache? Grieve so tirelessly even the eyes form as a window?

So broken, so beautiful.

We’re all the same, are we not?

.

.

.

Ten minutes later, seated upon the playing field’s bleachers familiar to the last time you encountered Minho, a comfortable silence answers any of the unspoken questions lingering in afternoon skies.

The boy beside you, puffy eyes and swollen skin, quietly delights in an ice cream bar, your own held between your lips in contemplation before utilizing your thumb and index to speak for a moment.

“I mean, I may dance around in my room to music, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry in the shower at night. I’m still human, y’know?” 

Curious feline eyes hang onto your words, enough of a beckon to go on.

“My days can be bright, my nights could be dark, there’s no limit to how you’re supposed to feel.”

Leaning forward, you tap his chest with your unoccupied hand.

“And there’s no need to try and reject something you want to feel. Otherwise, you suffocate.”

He tilts his head.

“It’s like.. hmm… if I hated the way I breathed—“

“You hate the way you breathe?” Minho interrupted, giving you an “are you stupid?” look you quickly shake your head at.

“No no, it’s an example,” You defend with a feigned scowl. “So if I hated the way I breathed, I can’t just hold my breath for too long or a pass out, right? You can’t let yourself get to a blackout point for the sake of others.”

The boy across from you sucks on the skin of his cheek, observing your extended pinkie before taking it in his own.

“Promise me you won’t get to that blackout point.” 

Another promise.

Chan, now Minho.

Expression knit thoughtfully, Minho gradually nods, pressing your thumbs together before cracking an amused grin.

“Y’know, that was well-said.”

You chuckle, smacking his shoulder playfully. “I know right? I’m proud of that one.”

Of course he rolls his eyes in return, but you can see the remnant of a smile in the lifted corners of his mouth, the soft, flushed skin of his under eyes crinkling when he grins.

Ah. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?

On July 31th, your summer school class officially makes a close, and you and eight other boys graduate. 

A miracle, maybe a fluke or some sort you made it out in one piece. A task proved possible after all—intentionally or unintentionally.

In the end, perhaps there wasn’t reason to stare at each sheet and pinpoint flaws.

No, Chris isn’t void of life. Hyunjin doesn’t have a superiority complex, and Jisung certainly isn’t senseless. Seungmin gets nervous ordering coffee and hasn’t participated in illegal activities a day in his life. Felix isn’t in an underground gang, and no one has stolen before. 

There’s too many sides to a cube, so most stick to 2D squares. The complexity is shrunk so it’s easier to digest. 

In the end, perhaps you forget it’s all so wondrous in a way, so intricate and raw. 3D. 

Right before you graduated, Hyunjin gave you a painting he made. ‘A thank you for motivating me to add art as my friend’ he had told you. 

Changbin still sleeps with his Snorlax plushie, and 3RACHA released their first album just yesterday. 

Han finally got his license, Seungmin and Jeongin attend Sejong University as freshman, and Felix sells baked goods on Sundays while interning at a local bakery.

Minho volunteers at an animal shelter on the far side of town, he also took up dancing again.

He and Felix began talking again too. 

In the end, perhaps it wasn’t a matter of you helping them, but for the all of you to understand that, in the grand scheme of things, you live on, just as you and Chan had promised.

There is no choice, no point, no break to the cycle. 

It hurts, it burns, it breaks. You glue yourself together, even when the pieces shatter over and over. Shards draw blood, but a glued glass can still be useful, can still be worthy. 

Bruised and battered, scraped and scorned, a connection lies within Stray Kids that sinks deeper than the anchor you planted in a sea of possibilty, a sea of what you thought was something one-sided, a sea you once believed you’d swim alone.

Maybe it’s discovery after discovery that keeps you close, or maybe it’s something deeper.

Nonetheless, your summer—a summer of hellish heartbreak and love reaping all bounds of repercussion—was one to remember.  

A summer solace, for what it’s worth. 

FIC TAGLIST. @kayleefriedchicken, @chaotic-world-of-the-j, @minhosbitterriver, @reignessance, @thatonexcgirl, @panbish-1209, @jeonginplsholdmyhand, @neviestayy, @stayinlimbo, @tenmii, @sunoosmainchick, @hannamoon143, @juliettacandy, @c0smicstxrs

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[vanderdyks]

I geniunely cannot stand when allistics try to say Resident Alien is actually making fun of autistic people because they believe Harry is too childish now because I JUST-

In the beginning, Harry tried SO MUCH HARDER to fit in with the humans around him. He mimicked their speech patterns, consistently observed them, emersed himself in their activities so they wouldn't suspect he was different.

The Harry now? He doesn't care. He's loud in places he should be quiet. He talks how he wants. He laughs FREELY. He's learned large crowds of people? Not for him. He doesn't like being touched by strangers.

He's just Harry. Himself. Because he can be. Because he's realized even if some of the people of Patience find him strange, it doesn't matter. They'll never guess he's from outer space.

Have you noticed that every other alien we have seen is not like Harry? Not the greys, or the half human hybrids, not even Heather. When Heather is around humans who know she is an alien, we get to see the difference, but when she isn't? She fits in so well with any other neurotypical human.

Not Harry though. So yes, he is autistic because I said he is. Because I am autistic. And if you're allistic, you don't get to tell autistic people they shouldn't headcanon Harry as autistic (even though it is very obvious they're purposefully playing him as neurodivergent now.)

When you take an autistically coded character that a lot of autistic individuals relate to, and try to argue the character is actually a "child" and being "infantalised," you're actually being ableist.

You're saying that the traits we have resonated with are childish... Harry seems like he's "regressed" because instead of trying to adapt and pretend to be human, he is becoming something else entirely. Not human, but not fully alien either.

The body of doctor Harry Vanderspeigle was once just a disguise. Now it IS Harry's. It's his body, his own skin. And he's gotten comfortable in it and you know this because you deliberately witness times where he might be holding his hands like he would his claws (primarily when he's sleeping.) His brain doesn't realize he's not in his normal form, because in many ways, this is his new normal form.

He has emotions. He cares. He's in completely new territory and finding himself. And in doing so, that carefully crafted human mask? It's fallen a bit.

So that thing you label as "regression" is a thing I label as progress. He's learning still. Let him learn. Let him be. And give it time. And I hope to GOD Harry never becomes fully human to the point we can't recognize him. I hope he never loses his unique inflictions, or his love for pizza and pie. I hope he continues to love the quiet. I hope he ALWAYS laughs obnoxiously. I hope he always runs like he doesn't know what to do with his limbs. I hope you always see his emotions throughout his body because they simply cannot be contained. I hope he continues to jump when excited or pace when he's angry. I hope he stays obsessed with Law & Order forever.

Because if you take all that away, you're taking away the bits that make him Harry. You want a carbon copy human. I want the autistic alien struggling to understand human nature.

That being said, of course you can express your opinion him. And it can be discussed because everyone is going to have a different perspective.

But you don't get to dictate an autistic perspective if you are not autistic. Or try to cancel anyone for it either.

I love Harry. And I relate to him SO MUCH. And I love how much representation I can see him through him for me. Because I personally believe Alan and the writers have chosen to keep presenting this character as ND.

It's okay to dislike the direction of his character development. It's okay to find the flaws. It's okay to share that perspective. What's NOT okay is dictating the feelings of others because they might not agree with you.

I don't find him childish. I see him as an autistic individual trying to navigate a society that his brain hasn't been hardwired to understand.

And if you think he's too childish, please look closer at the why you think he is. Really be introspective on this one.

Because Harry is a parent. And has a child. And he has relationships. And he takes care of himself. Not only that, he is the town doctor and takes care of everyone else too. He is the smartest. He is the strongest. None of the characters have had to worry about the wellfare of Harry specifically. Its why no one realizes the greys have captured him. Because of course Harry would be fine, hes the alien expert. He knows what he's doing. So while everyone else spent so much time worrying about each other, no one was left to worry about Harry.

So ask yourself why you believe Harry has become "too childish" and if your answer comes down to any of his quirky traits or his misunderstandings of human nature, then you really need to consider if what you're actually uncomfortable with is autism/autistic traits.

[spacerockfloater]

You know what, I didn’t need to see Ewan Mitchell in HOTD to be convinced; I knew I fucked with Aemond since the Driftmark episode.

I don’t like him because he’s hot when he’s older. I like him because he’s metal as fuck. The way he talked to the floppy four was art.

“It’s him! / It’s me.”

Boy, it sure as hell is him. He ate that line up. The fucking nerve of speaking about him without addressing him. He was so done with their bullshit.

“Your mother’s dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now.”

Gagged her ass. Like, he met her literally today. He never knew her mother, he doesn’t owe her anything. Not to mention that during the funeral he tried to approach them and offer them his condolences with the softest smile ever and they just glared daggers at him for literally no reason until he backed off. Didn’t even let him approach. They don’t even know him and they hate him! And the first thing they tell him once they finally speak to him is accusing him of theft, as if a dragon is an object btw. Like, what are they gonna do? Tell their mum? Shut up.

“Then you should have claimed her.”

Right?! As if they didn’t cross the whole ass Narrow Sea all the way to Driftmark. It’s not like Laena died yesterday. It’s been a good fucking while. They could have at least tried claiming her at this point. What was she waiting for? And please don’t tell me she was waiting for the mourning period to end because she was keeping an eye on Vhagar constantly, hence why she was immediately aware that she flew away. That dragon is on her mind 24/7, she just had no idea how to get her. And like, it’s done. If Vhagar chose Aemond, then she would have never chosen her. They weren’t destined for one another. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be mad as shit, too. At myself, that is, for not being as smart as Aemond.

“Maybe your cousins could find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Ate and left no crumbs. This is a direct jab at Jace and Luc, too. Like, they grew up together as brothers and they thought it was okay to mock him for not having a dragon, but the moment they meet these random girls they are suddenly okay with Rhaena not having one and are ready to jump the boy they were raised with for their shake? How two faced. Typical bastard behaviour though. He was doing that girl a favour by letting her know what kind of people she’s got on her side.

And the fighting scene was delicious. Four vs one and he still mopped the floor with them. Maybe they should think twice before they lay hands on someone again.

Don’t come in my comments crying about me hating on children yada yada. Wake up, this is a fictional show about kids who wield nuclear weapons of mass destruction. Like, it was okay to dislike 11yo Draco Malfoy for being an obnoxious piece of shit, but disliking kids that physically attack another child with the intention of killing him is suddenly too much? Like, I don’t give a fuck. I want to see all four of them biting the curb in 4k. And please don’t start with the racist accusation bullshit. I thought Baela was a raging pick-me cunt since before the show, in Fire and Blood. And I absolutely adore Vaemond Velaryon. It’s not about race. It’s about characters.

P.S. Laena, who claimed Vhagar at 12 and chose to die by burning alive, would be absolutely ashamed about her daughter’s behaviour and lack of courage. But yeah, Daemon, being the crazy ax murderer that he is, would surely vibe with unnecessary violence. Those are his girls!

[starcurtain]

Hello! Wanted to say that I’ve really enjoyed your analysis on Aventurine’s theming - and yea big agree that part of the charm of the guy is that he’s a weird paradox (he got everything one should technically want, and he also lost absolutely everything he cares about) - and also I like your comment that he is, as a character, actually pretty obnoxious (it’s an odd character charm point to me)

Also your post on the way he interacts with the ladies in the cast kinda reminded me - I know folks tend to focus in Ratio’s note but I ended up zoning in on his convo with Acheron more than anything else - because a lot of Penacony is Aven butting heads with other aeon-touched people (Acheron, Sunday) - but Acheron seems like a fun foil because she also has a pretty double-edged metaphysical blessing that is associated with losing everything she loved, but she ironically hasn’t given in to full meaninglessness.

I think one of Aventurine's defining character traits is that he "tests" everyone he encounters to judge whether they are trustworthy or whether they are a danger to him (I guarantee you, he has some kind of mental ranking scale for how likely people are to dislike or mistreat him), and I think his being obnoxious is actually a direct offshoot of this.

Kakavasha clearly was raised with manners; he knows how to be polite and to tone down his responses to social situations as appropriate, which means that, in every other scenario, he is actively choosing to be obnoxious, even in situations where it seemingly won't benefit him (like talking back to the slave master or being too forward when first meeting Sunday, for example) because it allows him to gauge exactly how others feel about him and exactly how much they will let him get away with.

People who play along are potential allies (Robin, the Trailblazer) and people who act grumpy but actually tolerate the obnoxiousness are safe (Ratio, Sparkle, most of the rest of the Express Crew), while people who respond poorly (Sunday, basically everyone else Aventurine dealt with in the past, etc.) are forced into showing their true colors. If minor obnoxious behaviors can provoke them, then it means their core response to Aventurine is likely to be one of dislike and disrespect. He's just forcing that response from them out into the light sooner, rather than later, by being obnoxious from the get-go.

(And, to a certain extent, I think he also just finds it fun to be a bit obnoxious. Like, he's free to say and do whatever he wants now--who is going to stop him from being a brat if that's what he feels like doing?)

But on to Acheron... Yes, I do think there are a lot of parallels between Acheron and Aventurine (came from a doomed people, lost everyone, both determined to hold out against nihility and live just for the sake of living, "blessed" by aeons), but I think narratively speaking, the story puts Acheron in a different position when her tale entangles with Aventurine's: the surrogate big sister role.

Acheron's a very good parallel to Aventurine's sister in numerous ways: First, she essentially sacrificed herself to defeat the evil threatening her people, but is ultimately unsuccessful, resulting in the permanent loss of all she knew.

This loss also resulted in Aventurine's sister actually dying, while Raiden Mei experienced a symbolic death, taking on the name "Acheron" to evoke the Underworld, getting a ghostly, bleached white form, and prowling the river of nihility like a wandering spirit of the dead.

Second, the philosophy Acheron espouses is nearly identical to Aventurine's sister. When even as a child Kakavasha was doubting the value and meaning of life, his sister was the one constantly reaffirming that life has meaning, despite its hardships, and that continuing to exist is the way to honor those who have sacrificed for you. Just as Aventurine's sister expresses that people must hold on to faith, Acheron reminds everyone she encounters to cling to the last bit of color and light in their lives.

This ends up being echoed by the role of guidance that she plays for Aventurine, with him both directly relying on her for his continued survival:

And turning to her in his moment of greatest emotional need:

(Sound familiar? It should. This is the exact same question Kakavasha once asked his sister.)

But there's also a very, very nice visual parallel that goes on with Acheron and Aventurine's sister: the dusk rain that accompanies her.

For Aventurine, the rain has complicated emotional connotations. For the Avgin, it was desperately needed, life-giving water, and thus was considered a direct blessing from Gaiathra. Rain on Aventurine's birthday was the sign of his being favored by the aeon, and yet it also rained on the day he lost everything and had to flee from the only home he had ever known (conveniently also his birthday, dude this guy's life sucks).

Meanwhile, the rain for Acheron is equally complex--rain can bring life, the renewal of barren, lifeless lands... But we also see the rain accompany Acheron through her worst loss, the final collapse of her planet:

It also is said to rain constantly within the shadow of nihility, a lightless gray that washes away all that people wish to cling to.

For both Acheron and Aventurine's sister, the rain accompanies the end of their "lives," the backdrop to their ultimate sacrifices.

Yet it is also in the rain that they both send Aventurine onward, escaping from the cage of his destiny into a "better" life. From beneath the shadow of the storm, they both bid him to go and not turn back, freeing him and permanently changing the course of his life.

The rain that took everything from both Aventurine's sister and Acheron is ultimately what saves him.

It's all a very tidy and well-written parallel.

[alexbrunn]

Throughout my time in the fandom, I've made canon ares for myself in my head. The ones that by default apply to all my ideas to one degree or another. Not all of them I love as endlessly as Pavcoh, rather they are exactly the ones that form my standard of perception of the game.

Let's start with my second favorite ship. Abella and Henryk. Henryk is one of my favorite characters, his problems are close to me, the fact that he is a failure in all his endeavors in art and love is so close to me... the fact that he will find support in a human gives me hope, because Abella can really give it. She is kind loving and understanding, but she also has a strength that Henryk lacks with his nature (all the times he tries to become strong from different sides: whether it be being a van in art, winning terms or at least confronting for Caligura just breaks down to reality). Well, and of course the dynamics of Henryk's male-wife who cooks and keeps an eye on the house and the female-husband (does anyone even say that?) Abella who works in an important scientific field and can repair anything is kind of cute to me.

Tanaka and Olivia appeared first as an extension of Marcoh and Pav and then they started to flesh out their own ship. Tanaka has always seemed to me to be a young, impressionable guy (he doesn't have a canonical age, but I don't think he's more than 25) who has just gotten out of his father's control and wants to see the world on his own (as much as possible). He is overly concerned with the great responsibility that has been thrust upon him, and he watches Marcoh's fighting skills with rapt attention. For him, who sees the world without the confines of family control for the first time and love appears for the first time. Sweet, humble and smart, just like himself, with equally obnoxious parents. He's willing to do anything to help her, with his shitty luck for trouble he's willing to go to town, even if a strong ally isn't around. Olivia feels for the first time that people are interested in her specifically and not her sister, which comes as a real pleasant shock to her. This is probably the best ship for the future, which will definitely have a happy ending.

I'll be sincere and honest with you. I don't like Karin. I have a hard time accepting her heavy character, which made me dislike this ship at first. However, I just can't deny how many canon interactions she has with Daan. Their dynamic is endearing in their heated discussions and disdain for each other. I want to see more and more of it.

Samarina - I don't want to pick sides in the big shippers wars. Both Samarina and Marilevi have a reason to exist and enjoy popularity. It's just that to me, Levi is a character who is alien to love and romance in general. He needs a friend, not a partner. So Samarina seems like a more logical option to me, especially after she can be rescued and put on a train. I think she could have made it, after a long time of rehabilitation.

[punkshort]

Will you eventually do a Swept Away, likes and dislikes post for Joel? The little taste of his character is just delicioussss, he’s so mysterious. I’m dyingggg to crawl inside your brain and see how his character is going to unfold 😍💋

I would love to! I love getting this ask because it always gives me good ideas for future chapters, so thank you!

Let's jump in:

Likes:

1. Sunsets: he loves the colors and how every day is different. He loves it because it's a work of art that everyone in the world can appreciate, no matter who you are.

2. Boxing: it's the only form of exercise he actually enjoys. He really likes taking his anger out on a punching bag, and he tends to hold in a lot of anger from his job.

3. Money: I mean, come on, that's not a big surprise. He likes to live comfortably and without having to worry about the cost of anything. And, sure, when he slaps his black card down and someone does a double take, he feels a rush of pride.

4. Cigars: he didn't used to like them but they have grown on him throughout the years. A colleague of his convinced him to join a cigar club and he found it was a great way to network and rub elbows with the elites.

5. Poetry: he will never admit it, though.

6. Filet Mignon: he loves a perfectly cooked medium rare steak. When he was choosing which restaurant to lease space to on the first floor of his hotel, he only looked at steakhouses because he liked the idea of having a good steak a mere elevator ride away.

7. The Natural Look: he prefers women who don't use too much makeup or plastic surgery/fillers. Almost all of the women he knows, whether through set ups or spouses of his colleagues, all look like they've gone to the same doctor and had the same procedures. He likes women who are comfortable in their skin and aren't fake.

8. McDonald's French fries: it's his Achilles heel. Every now and then after a long, boring art gallery opening or cocktail party, he will instruct his driver to go to McDonald's on the way back to his penthouse to get some fries.

9. Private Jet: he loves being able to come and go whenever he pleases, anywhere he wants. And he especially loves not having to go through security and be surrounded by people squished into a tin can. He likes that he can stretch out and eat a good meal and even sleep in a real bed when he travels, which is often.

Dislikes:

1. Kale: it's a vile weed and he won't touch it.

2. Surprise parties: he absolutely loathes being surprised. Especially when it's been a long enough day and he thinks he's going home to relax and suddenly his penthouse is filled with fifty people drinking all his booze and making a mess of his home and he has to pretend to enjoy it.

3. Lifting weights: he thinks it's obnoxious and he doesn't care about glamour muscles but his trainer always makes him do one day a week where he lifts weights. He gets it over with as quickly as he can.

4. Satin sheets: too slippery and his pillow always ends up on the floor.

5. Campfires: he hates the smoke from campfires because it gets stuck in his clothes and he has to send everything he was wearing to the cleaners right away before it spreads to other fabrics.

6. Lillies: they remind him of funerals.

7. Tea: he could never find a tea he actually enjoyed. All tea tastes like hot water with a dash of some vague flavor and it's just never worth it. Unless he's sick with a sore throat. Then he might have some.

8. Boats: he tends to go out on yachts and sailboats quite a bit, but he doesn't like the open water. He gets seasick and he always has to take pills beforehand.

9. Golf: because all my Joels hate golf, for no particular reason.

[sloilan]

I want to rate the silly ships like people have been doing so I will (my memory of them in canon is so bad) 

Percabeth: 9/10

by far one of the best ships in pjo, but there are times where the "tough love" is just too tough for me

Jiper/Jasper: 3/10

I don't remember much about this ship at all but it was a little cute? It did feel very fabricated with it being forced by Hera & I found Piper's heart eyes at Jason 24/7 annoying as hell- 

Frazel: 4/10

it was cute, but that could just be the characters lol I wish we saw them more developing their crushes on each other instead of Percy showing up and being like "oh these guys like each other lol" 

I don't like the age gap at all tho, it might just be like 2-3 years but when you're a teen that's a BEEG difference in brain development and maturity levels etc. 

Caleo: -100/10

no, just no. I can not even begin to explain why it is so bad and toxic. Richardio really saw Percabeth pop off and was like "let me do that again!" and made the most toxic ship i could find fr. Me and my homies hate Calypso frfr. Even if all their interactions were rewritten so that Calypso isn't constantly talking over and shutting down anything and everything Leo does I dislike it still because it just plays into the damsel in distress x savior knight which i do not like at allll 

Solangelo: 1/10

they had slight potential in blood of olympus (and that's me being nice) but otherwise everything after that just felt so stale, fake, cringey, and toxic. 

Will's character lacks,,, well, character. If you want to construct a relationship with characters you need them to be people in the first place- and not just a "__'s boyfriend!" 

It also just feels like those 13 yr olds in school that are so obnoxiously lovey in class and then they break up after a week you know what i mean? I have more to say but these are getting long-

Solangelo (in fanon): 8/10 

Hell yeah. Most of the fan content ive seen from solangelo has been DRASTICALLY better than canon, they actually make Will feel more like a concrete person, they give proper chemistry/shared interests to him & Nico, and overall it just flows better? Idk (big fan of when people make Will freakier than Nico, my favorite flavor of Will) 

Pernico: 2/10

I can see it? But I don't like it. They have so much built up miscommunication and bad memories from each other (Percy literally tried to strangle Nico to death) also the same with Frazel; I don't like the age gaps while theyre teens 

Jasico: 8/10

I get this one, but I really see them as more like besties, so I don't partake in it too much. Otherwise it's great. 

Valdangelo: 10/10

I am biased, but good looorrrd the potential :(( the similarities of them, both being the outcasts and just heguehfh i love them 

Valgrace: 8/10

same as Jasico, i see them as bros way too much but I don't deny it's a banger ship too. 

Shelper: 1/10

I feel the same way with this as i do Solangelo, there's no character for Shel, it's just Piper and "Piper's gf!!" Rick is so bad at writing queer rep, he just picks main characters and slaps a random blank slate character onto their side and thinks he ate, but he's just desperate for queer brownie points. 

Feirrochase: 10/10

I DON'T REMEMBER THEM BUT I LOVE THEM!! 

[tbgkaru-woh]

hi! i was just wondering what it is specifically that you dislike about wangxian? i'm kind of intrigued, because while i get how someone could find them boring, i've never really considered anything about their dynamic (and as you mentioned in response to a previous anon, their confession scene) particularly off putting. no pressure to answer this, and this is in no way hate towards you i'm just genuinely curious <3 (i love your art by the way it's gorgeous)

Thank you for the compliment! ♥ This is gonna get ranty so I will hide it below read more as not everyone has to deal with reading this, so proceed with caution :'D

Wangxian is the weakest WWX dynamic. On god, even if I'm not fond of Yanli, they have very loving relationship where they are protective of each other and gentle with each other in a harsh world. I don't ship WWX/JC but their story and complicated love of someone you grow up with and care for deeply but clash constantly with is more interesting than anything wangxian ever had. Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian clicked together so naturally, they are chaotic and are similiarly not too interested in being up to rules. Jin Zixuan and WWX had a potential of going from enemies to partners in crime, to become family and have each other's backs but JZX was cut short and WWX never really cared afterwards either. WWX with the wens took time to build up but his YLLZ farmer era was one of the best WWX's in the story. Damn, even Lan Xichen who's always amused with WWX's temperament and secretly has a drink with wwx and is altogether looser with the rules while still being lawful matches with him way more than LWJ where there's... nothing. They were smashed together for convenience and we were suppossed to just go with it cause they are the two main characters. LWJ feels like he was just made so WWX has a "hot stoic top" to fuck him and the rest of the characters are actually build with the story and therefore feel more natural

Wangxian don't feel like they are in love, not in the way the fans make them out to be into some romantic picture perfect angsty deserved lovestory. LWJ's personal space is constantly disrespected, he's punished constantly for WWX's mistakes, he constantly needs to be the one to adjust to how WWX is instead of the other way around and after all that, LWJ doesn't really /know/ WWX so his attraction feels very idealized. WWX is the bad boy that goes against the rules and LWJ wishes he could be that (or with that) but it's almost a childish infatuation from their Gusu days that never evolved into something more mature. And WWX? I can't see how he'd like LWJ as anything more than in a physical sense. Even their obnoxious "Back then I wanted to sleep with you" confession scene is purely physical. He doesn't really know LWJ or respects him, LWJ is just a familiar face in a world that is against WWX and he's a hot body that likes him. LWJ is an easy score in a way, he's a safe option. And it'd be SO interesting if they went into that, but instead it's played like the only true love (dont forget, they are meant to be as the ONLY gay pairing in MDZS which I find insane when everyone else has more chemistry and in the end gets shat on so wangxian can fuck in a bush. I mean, LWJ leaves LXC to be depressed and alone after everything LXC stands for and did? Fucking ridiculous.)

It tries to "subvert" tropes but ends up being more stereotypical than anything. WWX was almost meant as this jock-y rebellious hotshot but instead we got a quirky twink, early 2000s shonen protagonist and every yaoi's Uke I've been seeing since like 2008. Are they suppossed to be different because the "stoic white-coded" one is not the bottom? Is the bar this low? If anything, this ornament top is the most usual top, let's be real, LWJ barely has personality or growth or focus, he's there to fuck WWX.

This is a petty reason but MXTX's "wangxian is the only gay couple" everyone else being implied straight as if to highlight just how real their love is that they are gay in time period where it's frowned upon, even though Yi City and 3zun combinations had more chemistry than anyone is. Annoying. And so is the "Don't ship them with anyone else and don't switch their dynamics" that fuels some of the most obnoxious people in the fandom to go after fanwork creators that do/like things differently.

All in all Wangxian is THE face of danmei, they are the most known even outside of danmei circles and they are extremely mediocry written for that. I mean, fuck, you put straight couple in their place and I guarantee no one would like it, it has the depth of a high school hormone-riddled couple who have different classes and "only" get to see each other during breaks and make out during lunch with others at the table, idk it's so fucking annoying to me when I know there were better options, when WWX had so many interesting dynamics that got shat on in favor of bland ass ship and I'm tired of having to like it/tolerate it just because it's gay.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk, this was extremely healing 🤣

[yansimstorythatiwillnotworkon]

Itachi Zametora

Name: Itachi Zametora

Gender: Male

Class: 3-2

Club: Sports

Persona: Heroic

Reputation: +50

Overall:

Liked: -50

Respected: +100

Feared: +100

Crush: None

Strength: Peak Physical Strength

__

Itachi seems like a pretty defined guy. I won't call him well-thought-out because he's not, but I will say that if I could leave any of the students unchanged, it might possibly be Itachi. He may not have much information about his character, but the gist of his character seems pretty clear.

He doesn't care for socializing with others and may openly dislike it entirely. He's strict with the workout he and his teammates does, and he also will not hesitate to save someone's life if they're in danger.

Putting all of the vague information together, we have a character who is flawed but still likable in his own way due to his heroism. Even if Itachi doesn't like socializing, it doesn't mean that he wants any harm to be brought upon his peers, obviously. Even better, he would actively try to protect them, even if it costs him his life.

I know at this point I'm just describing any heroic student, but I feel like Itachi is a special case due to his personality. Speaking of, while Itachi probably wouldn't call any of his peers friends, by logic and definition, he probably does have some.

Mainly the Sports and Gardening Club. He trains and tries his best to keep them in their best shape, and gives them helpful advice when needed. To an extent, this could be seen as a coach and students relationship, but I think it works either way.

The Gardening Club members are pretty hard to dislike all in all. That plus their patience and unfiltered kindness towards him (PLUS his enjoyment of the quiet nature), he likely feels pretty at home with them.

(I think I'll try using a different brush in an attempt to make the words more readable. I also might not use such drastically different colors. It could be because of my sensitive eyes, but even I find the colors of the words quite obnoxious and bright 🤔)

(Extra Note: I accidentally posted this too early 😓)

[utilitycaster]

1. Why do you like or dislike this character? - Percy and/or Keyleth?

I like both of them, so:

I like Percy for the surface reasons of intelligence and witty comebacks and the general Taliesin Jaffe Arrogant Guy Is Confidently Wrong About Many Things reasons, but more specifically I like how incredibly aware he is of social structures and doesn't dismiss them as stupid or fake or meaningless just because he is aware how much artifice is involved. I love how much he validates Vex in this, as someone who's been on the other side of that social divide most of her life and who knows she "shouldn't" care but does, deeply. It would be so easy for him to say "look, titles are stupid and fake, I should know, I have one," but instead he says "no, I see what this means to you, because yes it's all an accident of birth and yes it is kind of stupid and fake, but it's also the reason why you lived rough for your teens and early 20s, and you are not silly for wanting this security." I also think he's a great exploration of guilt and of someone who has a lot of complicated feelings from the gods but does value their counsel; we don't get a lot of characters with that sort of nuance. His scene with the Raven Queen remains a standout for me and for all he can be melodramatic and obnoxious at times, he is also like 25, traumatized, and should be at the club. I think the question he answers (why would someone invent the gun) is an interesting one, and I think the way that his story ends up with the obvious inevitable happening and yet he still finds happiness is unexpected and wonderful to see.

I like Keyleth for a lot of reasons people will probably be annoyed about, which is...she is annoying. Annoying women: may we know them, may we be them, and may we raise them. Anyway, I think her terror of doing the wrong thing at the cost of doing anything sets up a fantastic arc for someone who is expected to become a leader. I admire how she knows she's not the most eloquent and is scared of her responsibilities but does not back down from speaking up when she disagrees with the party. I like how she's perhaps the only example of lifespan angst that is actually portrayed as making a lot of sense, especially since she is also extremely young (probably shouldn't be at the club given the bar crawling results. She should be at ZooLights and have like, one cider.) I think in general her fears are incredibly real and make sense for the character and shape her, and that's not something you see portrayed with this amount of depth very often. I stuck with the VM-era portrayal of Percy but I will say I especially love how Keyleth is portrayed in Campaign 3, because Percy hasn't changed a ton in adulthood, merely mellowed out a little, but Keyleth very much has as she's grown in confidence, as she was only at the beginning of that during the Campaign. I think her relationship with Vax is incredibly good for both of them; her sense of belonging to a place and his ability to support. I do like that she gets angry, especially after so much time being insecure, but I feel much has been made of her anger and I don't have a ton to add there, and also while I like that she is angry and expresses it, there are other characters I gravitate to for that specifically. Also I have incredible respect for her having to take on a much bigger magical burden than expected; I have said this before but my longest-running character was in a campaign where the player playing sorcerer switched to ranger, and the cleric left, leaving me as the only full caster and primary healer (though thankfully we got a baller paladin shortly after). The fact that Keyleth had to, and could, be whatever the party needed mechanically was a godsend. I know VM died a lot but they would have died like 20 times more without her and Scanlan and especially without her.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

why season 4 is actually one of debbie’s best seasons, not her worst.

i feel like when people talk about debbie gallagher, specifically when people who dislike debbie gallagher talk about her, they talk about the change from season 3 to season 4. how she changed from being a sweet innocent kid to a bratty obnoxious teenager. these comments are always so interesting to me because i feel like people’s weird perspectives kind of diminish the purpose of debbie in season 4 which is unfortunate because it really is such a good season for her.

“the change” in question wasn’t really a drastic change at all, her behavior has been basically the same for all eleven seasons. people say her personality changed when in reality, emma kenney changed. season 3 and 4 are supposed to happen very close together, which isn’t realistic considering when they started filming. by season 4, emma and ethan both look much older than they did in the previous season. for ethan, this doesn effect how people like his character because he is both a male and comedic relief, but for emma, this will effect her.

in season 2, debbie acts pretty similarly to how she does in season 4. in both seasons, debbie is obsessed with holly, making boys like her, and looking older than she is. but in season 2, emma kenney’s face is younger, her voice is higher, the clothes she wears don’t fit and the makeup she applies is applied sloppily because she’s so young; she acts cuter. people don’t take debbie trying to act promiscuous in this season seriously because of how little she looks, and two seasons later, the standards don’t seem to apply anymore even though emma kenney is still so young. even if she’s still young, her voice is less squeaky, her body is developing, the clothes fit better, and the makeup is still sloppy but for some reason, it doesn’t make her look as childish. anyone with half a mind can tell she’s a kid trying to look like an adult, yet for some reason, when she does it in this season as a thirteen year old, it’s completely different than when she did it as an eleven year old.

she stops being as cute, and so her personality doesn’t really work. debbie has always been intelligent, extra, sassy, loyal, and desperate for attention. she’s always had a debilitating fear of abandonment and issues with attachment. when you’re babyfaced and a kid, these traits are funny, then she starts to age and these traits aren’t cute, they’re annoying. when debbie kidnaps a baby in season 1 and fiona is asked why, she says, “it’s debbie”, and although debbie has just done something really bad, it being debbie is an explanation and somehow makes the situation better. later on, when she’s still a kid just a little older, if she does something like this, “it’s debbie” is a bad thing.

i think that if people want to go down the path of saying that she majorly changed or had a downfall, they should consider how her trauma actually did effect her around this time because yes, there were a few minor changes in her that are undeniable.

in season 3, she loses the trust of both of her parents. that’s something. she waits for a whole year for frank, setting up some sort of altar for him and praying. when he returns, she tries desperately to get his love and attention like she has been for the whole show, and it ends in him destroying her room and her school project, insulting her while she’s at it. and so, she goes batshit and starts hitting him as hard as she can. ever since season 1, debbie has been dependent on frank’s attention. she knows he’s bad and she knows what’s wrong with him but she doesn’t care as long as she can still find ways to squeeze a bit of love out of him. this is where that stops. this is where she changes some of her morals, because she realizes that her father won’t change and yeah, it does destroy her. then, he calls dcfs on the siblings and gets them separated, and debbie is put all alone in an abusive home. this is obviously going to destroy a girl with severe abandonment issues, not to mention a girl who has never been alone like this before. so when she gets out of that house, obviously she’s gonna be more traumatized. then, when they go to family court, she discovers that monica and fiona saw each other, and she doesn’t want to be their mother anymore. this breaks debbie even more, and she hears frank’s bullshit about how he loves his kids and even though she’s trying to make herself hate him, she still listens to it and testifies with carl. later on, when she’s talking to sheila and taking care of her, it’s revealed that debbie blames herself for monica leaving, and if monica were to return and stay she would forgive her and welcome her with open arms.

^ so with all of that considered, she’s gonna be fucked up. and that’s only part of the reason she acts the way she does. we have her parents absence, but also her older siblings. with her parents out of the way, she becomes more dependent on fiona, but fiona is now constantly at work, leaving them with sheila, and then… well, we all know what happens with fiona in season 4. as for lip, he’s off at college. that’s that. then, ian has run away and all they have is a couple of texts. she’s desperate to get him back but fiona assures her he’s fine, and she doesn’t believe it. so when she and lip go find ian, he’s different. he’s gone. frank and monica were the people she depended on, then they were gone, and now her older siblings, her three constants and role modes, seem to be gone, too.

debbie becomes colder because she is more alone. no parents, no parental figures, she becomes even more independent than she previously was. she decides she doesn’t need anyone. holly and ellie teach her about a new way to get attention, which is using her sexuality, something she never really tried to use for attention because she’s thirteen. she starts sexualizing herself, and holly tells her she likes matty, so she decides she does. and remember how debbie decided she didn’t need anyone to depend on? yeah, bullshit. matty is a new adult in her life and with frank dying, she needs someone for male validation. matty tells her she’s sexy and a great dancer, and he gives her food, lets her sleep in his bed, and gives her the attention she thinks that she needs. she doesn’t realize she’s being groomed, she thinks it’s love. he even promises to have sex with her when she’s 16 and he’s 23 because his main concern is if it’s illegal or not.

in season 4, debbie is left, used, bullied, humiliated, and ruined. she’s a thirteen year old girl, and being thirteen as a girl is rough. her mind is changing, along with her body, her family, her life, everything. debbie historically does horrible with change, it shouldn’t at all be surprising that she acts how she does. what people view as a bitch or a brat is so obviously a hurt, traumatized child and it’s almost disturbing that people don’t seem to see that. i’ve seen debbie mocked for matty, and while in season 5 the situation got worse, she didn’t do anything wrong in season 4. all that she did was have more attitude, but it was clearly a trauma response. debbie was ignored and hurt in season 4, she was a victim. and she was realistic. the change was expected and necessary for her character. case closed.

[sunboki]

⎯ SUMMER SOLACE. (TEASER) a StrayKids fiction

Stray Kids x implied! fem. reader (no poly)

TROPE. friends to lovers (not really lovers, more just strangers to friends), summerschool! au, reader is in student council as class prez

WARNINGS. cursing, very troubled childhoods, han lacks parental figures, minho’s mother passed, bullies, mentions of depression & anxiety, just overall very angsty themes, healing, sadness, comfort comfort comfort — ALL OF THE ISSUES/TROUBLES OF CHARACTERS ARE 100% FICTION

AUG'S NOTES. and without further ado comes one of my favorite pieces i think i’ve ever written before! well, this is only the teaser, but hopefully you enjoy!! please stay tuned for posting :)

SYNOPSIS. It was never your intention to be the one in charge of a summer school class—a troubled summer school class, but here you were. Eight boys in this classroom, all with their individual stories and silenced opinions. And somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to give up on them.

or alternatively :

Eight kids, one purpose. Get them to be okay with one another — with themselves — by the end of the summer.

Eight kids, one purpose.

Get them to be okay with one another.

Although, you didn’t realize that yet. That your Class President position would throw you right into such a mess (or what you referred to it as the first time you got word).

We all have the things we hate. The things we say we “heavily dislike”. But in reality, we hate it. It incessantly grates our nerves, has our patience forming into a ticking pipe bomb, enough that sometimes, we explode. Say things we don’t mean, get angry, get mad. 

The thing that sets these boys apart, according to the acknowledgements paper you were given, is that they don’t even try to be sweet, they don’t ask for forgiveness. Not towards one another, and most certainly not towards anything else. 

Your job is just as you said. Get them to be okay with one another. 

Catch? There’s a time limit. 

Twelve weeks of summer school. 

Twelve weeks for eight boys to, no, not be nice to each other, not be best friends (not even friends), but just to be okay with being in the same room, be within six feet of each other without tearing someone’s throat — or their own — out.

Is it simple? Absolutely not. 

You want to try though, because up till now, everyone has given up on these boys. People that the school district have deemed always successful have pushed them aside, called them impossible. 

You won’t be the next to give up. 

Twenty chairs in the classroom, yet not two sit next to each other, spaced out by at least three chairs per person. 

Your roster sits upon your desk, listing their names by alphabetical order. 

(Sitting on the furthest end of the classroom) Bahng, Christopher - nickname: Chan

He’s a football player (god knows how), who, despite hardly showing up to practices and arriving to random games—is always responsible for their wins. In some way you’re sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t been kicked off. 

Christopher’s an interesting case. 

He’s got amazing grades and passes school without fail, but no one has any clue about his home situation or whether he even has a home or not. You’re told he’s extremely distant and closed off, sort of void to life. He was sent due to excessive absences.

(Planted dead front of the class) Han, Jisung 

His record states he’s been sent to the counselor eleven times in the first two weeks of school for disruptions and inappropriate behavior. Jisung has an older brother who’s valedictorian, but they never speak to one another and don’t seem to have the best relationship. He’s said to be obnoxiously straight-forward and senseless, you wonder if it’s true. 

(Nearest to the window on your right) Hwang, Hyunjin

Despite his popular facade, Hyunjin is regarded as the “troublesome face-card” by many deans and counselors alike. Students adore his looks, but he couldn’t butt heads more with Jisung, and they’re often sent out together. Hyunjin is believed to have a worrisome superiority complex according to the last counselor he’s been seen by.  

(Opposite of Hyunjin across the classroom) Kim, Seungmin

Not much has been recorded as far as Seungmin goes. He’s apparently a huge instigator in lots of illegal activity surrounding campus, but no one’s certain. His last counselor claimed he stayed silent throughout his consultation and answered suspiciously vague for almost every question. 

(A few seats behind Jisung) Lee, Felix

Both him and Christopher have been reported for vandalizing parts of the school in odd, incomprehensible words like “Miroh” and “Maze of Memories”. Some gossip that they’re secretly a part of an underground gang. But upon first glance, Felix looks harmle—

A hand raising grabs your attention. It’s Jisung, wearing a grin when you nod for him to speak. 

“How much for a tit-pic, Teach?”

Everyone is silent, and you hear Hyunjin stifle a snicker in the distance. 

So this is what they meant by inappropriate behavior.

The corner of your lips twitch slightly, but you successfully maintain an unnerved expression, instead, smiling back at him. 

“Let’s not ask questions like that, alright?”

Jisung amusedly huffs, still eyeing you incredulously. Although, he doesn’t say any more, and you continue down the roster’s descriptions.

Lee Minho whose info is conspicuously sparse , Seo Changbin who lashes out randomly without clear conscience (some claim he’s bipolar, you think different), and Yang Jeongin remain, bio’s dotted in unspecified theft attempts, assumed messy family situations and brief mentions of mental illness that seems to a follow a similar pattern to the rest. 

Stacking the papers upon your desk, you card eight sheets of notebook paper from the drawer, walking through rows of desks to pass each boy a slip. 

All eyes are on you now, and your breathing feels excessively loud in the stifling quietness. 

Lightly clapping your hands together in hopes of stirring some sort of sound in this stale air, you speak as fluidly and audibly as your voice will let you. 

“Today’s assignment is simple. I want you to write everything about yourself.”

Confused brows lift, primarily from Minho.

“Whether it’s what you like to do, what you don’t like to do, your favorite things, your favorite places, books, movies.”

Another hand raises. Changbin, you remember his name.

“Yes?”

“We’re not in fifth fuckin’ grade.” He growls, words booming. That was another complaint: Changbin’s explosively unprovoked opinions. 

Biting back the urge to snap back, you place both hands on the podium at the front of the class, essentially grounding yourself. 

“Yes, well this is—“ 

Somebody grumbles an incoherent sentence, and Changbin is immediately on his feet, chair squealing, eyes wild with fury. 

Second complaint: his flaming temper. 

Grabbing a fistful of Chan’s shirt (presumably the one who muttered), he sizes up the taller boy, spitting wild curses.

Inhaling deeply, you approach them, withholding the instinct to wince at Changbin’s yelling. 

“Changbin, please go back to your seat,” You usher, watching them never take their eyes off one another. Chan is eerily unmoved, though effortlessly intimidating nevertheless. 

The former spins around, shoving the other boy off to the side and resorting to sizing you up now, chin lifted, gaze belittling. 

One press and you’ll have assistance come in and help. You remind yourself, referring to the small red button residing in your pocket that sends a direct call to the other counselors. 

What good will that do? Your first step is getting them to be okay with you, not to mention each other.

No. You can do this, you’ll be fine. 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He spits, glaring as you back up the more he steps forward. That is till you stop and cause him to stop as well, leaving only a few centimeters separating your faces. 

“Because,” You ease, shoving a finger into the center of his chest sternly. “I’m your teacher now, and you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.” 

Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, hooded behind a veil of black hair. 

“I’m sure a fifth grader could understand that, right?”

And with that, you point to his seat and spin on your heel, taking a seat and watching the boys, one by one, lower their heads and begin writing. Well, excluding Changbin, who’s hands stick by his sides, staring at you. 

He chews his lip then turns around, shuffling back to his desk. 

By the time the dismissal bell echoes, you would like to say you see light in the distance, but the endless tunnel ahead tells you you’re far from even beginning.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[eerna]

The thing about nicasia is I don't see a lot of people talk/care about her so she misses most of the vitriol but when HB announced the Undersea book I remember a lot of people saying they don't care or 'don't want to read about that [derogatory word]' so....! But I think most don't have a lot of love for her either they just don't care to talk about her

I have a theory actually since this book series fans overlap with the likes of ACOTAR/Fourth Wing/FBAA romantasy types Most of the "look at this wonderful representation of multidimensional morally grey female rage 🤩" crowd cannot handle flawed women who aren't associated with their man of choice. Idk it comes from looking at the number of tfota fans who reduce jude down to this knife mommy with her malewife cardan who is useless and stupid and alcoholic and [insert some more tumblr fandom buzzwords] etc. etc. like I don't see alot of people understand jude as a character many of them are here for the romance, so, I have a feeling Jude wouldn't be cared about/TFOTA would have been disliked or dismissed as a whole if say Cardan died or if she never ended up with him...

10/10 ask no notes, you are so right in all of it. I also mentioned in a previous ask how TFOTA is an unfortunate fandom to participate in because of what it is at its core, and I still stand by it no matter how obnoxious it makes me sound. The romantasy crowd is making it very hard to find proper discussions (BUT THERE ARE STILL SO MANY SMART WONDERFUL PEOPLE ANALYZING THE BOOKS IN THE FANDOM YALL ARE GREAT AND MAKE IT ALL WORTH IT), and the books themselves aren't helping bc they seem to be feeding into their perceptions more with each entry into the series. No one cares about Nicasia because she wasn't a romance rival so she isn't super hated, but she is too complex to be generally liked. HB if you make the Undersea book a 100% Nicasia POV I will forgive you everything including how you treated Taryn I just want to see all the romantasy girlies' brains explode

[tangledbea]

I have seen it speculated in the fandom that Calliope was possibly neurodivergent because of her behavior in Keeper of the Spire. Do you feel that this is the case? I have an issue because I felt the writers were trying to show case that Calliope was annoying because she was being an inconsiderate "know it all" because she was overcompensating for being insecure. Being neurodivergent myself, I dislike when an "annoying" character is speculated to be neurodivergent just for being "annoying."

I agree with you. I never saw her as particularly neurodivergent (I am as well), but as a neurodivergent person with a different kind of neurodivergent sister who is also my roommate, I'm well aware that nerodivergent people can be obnoxious (both I and my sister are self aware enough to clock when we're getting too annoying). I can't fault nerotypical people for seeing someone being annoying and supposing they might be neurodivergent, simply because that means they don't understand neurodivergence, and you can't know what you don't know. (It's another thing entirely if they don't understand and don't want to learn.)

In other news, I adore Calliope for being exactly who she is.

But when it comes to neurodivergence and Tangled the Series, I always felt that "Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf" was an ND and/or mental illness allegory. The moral there is that there can be something about you that other people find off-putting or even dangerous, but its on your loved ones to respect you and help you through it and, moreover, listen to you and your choices. That episode promotes bodily autonomy like no other. They way that they all accept that Catalina wants to keep the wolf, the way that they stop calling her Red after that. The way that Eugene sits her down and blatantly tells her that if she feels herself getting too angry again to let them now so they can help her... It spoke to me, man. That episode is overlooked.

Sorry for the tangent.