#and then it’s up to the part of me that does the writing to figure whether or not something is in character

[zepskies]

I feel like we have no choice but to write angst with this character! loll (God how I love that Amber x Mark gif 🤣)

Ahhh thanks, Wayne!! 🥹 I told you, the first thing I saw when Michelle gave me that color palette prompt was "seasons." The colors were just perfect for it, so I thought the dividers were a simple way to capture that 💗

Her answer took me tf out! Loved her bold sass 😏🔥

Ehehe that's the line where I found the character tbh. 😂 Mark needs to be with someone who can keep even him on his toes!

Oh, interesting! Also ballsy of Mark to date his boss’ daughter. Let’s hope he doesn’t screw it up 🤞🙈

Right?! lmfao I figured if anyone was gonna, it'd be Mark 😂😂

I’m getting a queasy feeling in my stomach… I genuinely already love them! Their little beach day in Santa Cruz was so cute 🥹 (and my love for Cali is never ending, too) But my heart hurts so much because I think I can guess where this is going. WHY ALEX 😫

Aww yay!! 🥹 This is why I also loved getting your request and Michelle's at the same time, because I saw how this one could later connect to "Hits Different" when I looked up the lyrics 🥲☀️

Poor reader! Hard enough when a parent is dying, but even worse when you have to watch them go 🥺 (And so close to the wedding as well! Truly can understand her pain that her father didn’t get to walk her down the aisle anymore 😭)

Ugh, exactly, on both counts! 😓 And of course it's just fuel on the fire for Mark's later reluctance to tell her about his diagnosis.

(Her father's death is actually based on how my grandfather passed away in December. 💙 He was a smoker for 30 years, quit for 40, but it still unfortunately caught up to him in his 80s.)

(I had to lmao)

Bahaha winter is definitely coming! 🤣 Jon Snow = perfection

Men… lol We’ve had this discussion before with your headcanons about men and doctors/being sick. I think we can add Mark to that list 😂

omfg yeah!! 🤣🤣 Mark would literally be the reigning king of medical man denial. And that reminds me, I'm gonna have to add Mark to the HC lineup soon! ��

Dear God, the sister’s already a lot 🙈 You better ain’t trying to impress your sister’s fiancé, girl…

Ahaha thank you for catching that hint! She's trying to impress somebody all right 😅

The fact her father died just months before from cancer just adds such a nice and angsty layer to this whole story. Of course Mark wouldn’t want her to go through that again after he’d witnessed how the sickness and death of her father affected her. And I do understand where he’s coming from when he essentially doesn’t want to tie her to a “dead man walking,” but man, does it break my heart. It’s such a hard situation for both. Ultimately, he should’ve involved her in the decision, though. The choice should be hers if she can handle it or not, if she wants out etc.

Aw thank you! 🥲 I was trying to think of added reasons why Mark wouldn't want to tell her, and this to me felt the most impactful, especially because her dad was Mark's boss, and in my head, his mentor too. 💔

And so agree -- he should've just talked to her, even if it was probably going to be one of the most difficult conversations of their entire relationship.

Jesus fucking Christ, that makes it even sadder and more messed up 😭 (I do love your brain for this masterpiece of cruelty)

Ehehe sorryyyyyyy. 🤭 But see? He wanted to have The Talk with her, he just never got there 🥲

But man, the fact he legit was so drunk that he stumbled into the wrong room and was basically taken advantage of in this state by her sister?! I hope the bitch burns in hell, seriously 😅

Ughhhh you and me both. As you saw in Part 2, Rachel deserves every bit of the hellfire lmao

It’s been my headcanon as well that he probably cheated on Melinda with Rachel to give her an “easy out” after finding out his diagnosis, but in my opinion, it’s even worse than actually cheating on her because he’s a stupid, selfish ass because it would’ve meant he never really love her to begin with. But doing that shit to someone you genuinely love is messed up 🙈

This was my initial instinct too for Melinda and Rachel, and while it's very plausible, it doesn't make Mark sympathetic for that exact reason. If he was going to marry a girl he didn't love enough to simply tell the truth and not cheat on her right before the effing wedding, then he's a POS for that. I really hope it comes out that he fibbed to Amber about that.

And since you've already read Catastrophic Blues (tysm 🥹 - can't wait to get into your lovely amazing feedback) I'll tell you this part:

Even in this story I debated going that exact route, having Rachel and Mark actually sleep together to create that "out" (or he just lets her do "something" sexual to him lol). But in the end I felt that no, if he truly loved the reader he would've put a stop to Rachel's advances the best he could, even while drunk. 💔

But I love how you took that mini plot line and put your own spin on it. Especially for this story, I prefer Mark accidentally stumbling into Rachel’s room, and Rachel taking advantage of him. If he’d done it on purpose to “free” reader, I would’ve murdered him. After losing their father, it would’ve been so cruel of him to tear their family apart in the wake of it, so I’m glad you went a different way here. Not sure I could’ve forgiven the other thing 🫣

Exactly, I wouldn't have forgiven him either if it was intentional 😭😭

And it's an unfortunate truth that there are girls like Rachel out there: immature, selfish, jealous, entitled, even downright hateful. So I wanted to explore the thing of, there are of course predatory men out there, but there are also predatory women. Sometimes the ones that should love you the most are the ones who hurt you the most 😭

Can’t wait to jump straight into Part 2! I can totally see the song fitting for the aftermath of this 😎💜💜💜

🥹🙏🏽💗 When I tell you I got SO much inspo from "Hits Different," like immediately lol. And *gasp* I also ended up liking "Snow on the Beach" from the same album! 🤭 I also liked "Lavender Haze."

Count me as Swiftie Curious, I guess?

DOWNGRADE

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: There it was. The beginning of the end, and neither of you saw it coming.

AN: Ahhh here we go! For the first time ever, Mark Meachum! Obviously I’m still learning this guy as a character, but this idea grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. Thanks so much, @luci-in-trenchcoats for choosing this color prompt for the 5K Follower Celebration!

Word Count: 1.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, implied smut, and rom-com vibes, until the angst sets in (lol). Medical diagnoses, implied cheating

Spring

Mark set two mugs of coffee on his nightstand to free up his hands. He had to cut wide swaths through the bedsheets to reach you. As usual, you were a tangle of limbs and frizzy hair.

“Jesus, what’d you do here, woman?” he said, lips tugging at a smile when he heard your muffled giggle.

Eventually he unearthed your head and found your sleepy smile. You squinted at the sun glaring through the window behind him. It backlit that look of fond amusement on his face.

You clawed half-blind at the front of his shirt and pulled him down to you. He lost his footing and grunted as he fell, just barely catching himself from crushing you. Your laugh rang in his ear and forced a chest-shaking rumble out of him too.

You freed your own arms from the warm nest you created, just to take his face in your hands. Your thumbs caressed along the coarse edges of his beard.

“Getting scraggly, baby,” you remarked.

“Yeah, but you like your man all wild and caveman-like,” he said mischievously.

You shook your head, but you still couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Only when he fucks me,” you said. A cheeky challenge in your eyes.

Mark’s brows popped high, his devilish grin showing teeth. It didn’t matter how long you’d been his, you still managed to keep him on the ropes.

“Well, he does aim to please.”

Summer

The sound of your laugh was like sweltering sunshine in his chest. After the wave finished dunking you both, you swept the salty sting of the ocean out of your eyes and clung to his shoulders in the water.

Santa Cruz agreed with you. It shone down on your glistening skin and caught in your eyes. You both needed this—taking a beat, just the two of you.

Finally, Mark had allowed himself to take some time off. He was reluctant at first, workhorse that he was. But the Captain—your father—insisted that Mark take a break. Wrapping up a triple homicide after four months of legwork, getting to see that motherfucker be denied bail until trial, and giving the victims’ families a sense of relief that the killer was off the streets was a decided win.

“You’ve got someone waiting for you,” the Captain reminded him. “Don’t take that for granted.”

Mark grabbed your left hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. He felt the coolness of metal against his lips. It reminded him to turn your hand over.

“Whoa!” He closed his eyes and playfully looked away as if he was being blinded. “Who gave you that fucking rock?”

The summer sun glinted off a modest stone. Your sister told him not to overthink it. Just get the classic square cut. But his instincts told him to go with something called a “cushion,” like the sales lady said at Jared’s.

Mark knew he made the right choice when you gasped, covering your mouth with shaky hands, your eyes filling with tears when you met his slightly nervous ones.

Now, you just laughed in his face. “Oh, nobody really. Just the love of my life.”

His smile quirked, even though his heart was double-timing.

“You’re so fuckin’ cheesy.”

“But you love it, though.”

(That day, you both spent an extra hour looking for the ring when it somehow slipped off your finger and fell into the sand.)

Fall

“I’m just saying, sweetheart,” Mark said, his tone deep and gentle while he steadied you in his arms. “Maybe it’s best we put off the wedding, just a few months. It’s a lot coming at you right now.”

You shook your head, covering your mouth with trembling fingers.

“No,” you said eventually, but your words faltered along with your unsteady breaths in between. “No, he wouldn’t have wanted that. I just wish he, uh…could be there.”

You were a pillar of a woman, but no one could fault you for falling apart. Your father had been a lifelong smoker. He quit ten years ago, but it still caught up to him in his sixties, a severe case of COPD that he’d been trying to hide for months. It eventually withered him down to weeks of degeneration in a hospital bed, relying on oxygen masks that could no longer sustain him.

Your mother and sister had left the room for just half an hour to grab some coffee. You stayed behind.

You were alone with your father when he died. All you could do was hold his hand.

Now, all Mark could do was hold you. But he had to blink past a sharp pain, almost like a sudden migraine. Aftershocks reverberated through his skull, radiating from the right to the left.

He’d been dealing with less intense versions of the feeling for a month, but this time, it was like a small shiv between the eyes. It took him enough by surprise that it forced a grunt out of him, making him grimace and blink hard.

You picked your head up from his chest and met him with tearful eyes, frowning in concern.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Just a little headache.”

Winter

“Mark, you need to go to the doctor. You’ve gone through three bottles of Advil. That’s not normal.”

“Look, I told you already. I’m fine.”

“Yeah. That’s really convincing.”

“…Look, that’s Rachel pulling up. You ready to go?”

 You looked out the windows near the front door and saw your sister walking up the driveway. You blinked, like you both could and couldn't believe what you were seeing.

“Wow," you said. "She couldn’t have found a skimpier dress to check out the church. Who’s she trying to impress? The pastor’s already married.”

Mark snorted in amusement, but something soon occurred to him.

“Didn’t you tell me she and her boyfriend just broke up or something?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with it?”

He shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know. She’s probably just looking for attention.”

You sighed. You loved your younger sister, but there were times when you wished she’d just grow up a little.

One appointment with Mark’s primary doctor led him to the oncologist. His entire inner world was leveled with just two words:

Glioblastoma Multiforme.

Two words he couldn’t say to you.

It all rang between his ears…

The excitement in your voice when you told him how your last fitting went for the dress.

Faces he’d put behind bars. Years he’d scraped and clawed his way through bureaucratic bullshit, standing his ground against officers with more power than him, but never as much heart.

Your raw, broken grief when you watched your father waste away from the absolute monument of a man he’d been.

How was Mark supposed to level your world too?

He kept it all inside. And like the master of improv he was, he faked enthusiasm for a joint bachelor-bachelorette weekend.

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers he stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

AN: 🫣 I know, I know - I'm sorry it's not my usual happy ending. 💔 But! I am working on a second part to this for @waynes-multiverse, who also requested Mark Meachum for the 5K Celebration...though that one's gonna be even angstier than this one loll 😅 (but maaaybe with a kind of happy ending?)

In the meantime, what did you think of this drabble? Don't you wish we could've stayed in Summer? ❤️‍🩹

Read Part 2: Catastrophic Blues

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! Add yourself to my Tag Lists ⟡ Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. ❤️

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can send me requests!

Mark Meachum Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

I haven't built out the Mark Meachum tag list just yet, but he's now available on my Tag List form, for anyone who wants to add themselves.

For this post, I'll just include the Dean Winchester tag list and some others who I think are interested in Mark Meachum. Next round, I'll only tag people who want in on the tag list.

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28

@midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad @kmc1989 @siampie

@masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

@impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @bettystonewell

@bleuatlas @podiumackles @samslvrgirl

[mingiatz]

Y/N thinks Kang Yeosang is cold and arrogant. He’s actually just shy—and secretly been crushing on her for years. A group project, late-night study sessions, and a little chaos from his friends slowly pull them closer.

Pairing: Kang Yeosang (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): Slow Burn, Academic Rivals-to-Lovers, Found Family

Genre: College AU, Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as Yeosang’s friends + Y/N’s best friend

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

If Y/N had to hear the name Kang Yeosang one more time this week, she was going to throw her iced coffee across the quad. She took a deep, calming sip of said coffee instead.

“Okay, but be real,” her best friend said, twirling her pen between her fingers, “he is hot.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Y/N muttered, adjusting her laptop screen as she pulled up the lecture notes. “Everyone falls for his pretty face and acts like he’s some misunderstood genius. Meanwhile, he’s just—quiet. And smug. And—ugh.” She scowled at the screen. “Why does he always have to get top marks?” Across the table, her friend raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So you’re mad because he’s… good at school?”

“No, I’m mad because he’s good at school and acts like he’s above everyone else,” Y/N snapped. “He never talks to anyone unless it’s for class. He just sits there looking all…” She gestured vaguely. “Yeosang-y.”

“You mean hot and intimidatingly smart?”

“I mean annoying and full of himself.”

Her friend laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, it sounds a lot like someone’s been paying attention.”

“I pay attention to all my classmates,” Y/N retorted, though her ears betrayed her with the faintest warmth. “Especially the ones who are apparently trying to set a new standard for academic perfection.”

The name Kang Yeosang had been stamped across the top of every “Best Submission” slide the professor had shown this semester. His projects were pristine, his writing clean and incisive, and worst of all—he never said a damn word unless he absolutely had to. He just sat in the back of the lecture hall, hood up, eyes sharp, like he was watching a movie everyone else was acting in.

She hated that she noticed him. She hated it more that she couldn’t figure him out.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Meanwhile, three blocks away, Yeosang was mentally rehearsing a “hi.”

Just hi. Not “hi, Y/N, I’ve secretly liked you for three semesters and think the way you analyze literary theory is beautiful.” Not “hi, sorry if I seem cold, I’m actually just a socially anxious mess who memorized your favorite café order and knows exactly which bookshelf you always stand in front of at the library.”

Just “hi.”

And he still couldn’t say it.

He passed the student café window and glanced inside on instinct. There she was, as always, talking animatedly to her friend, a hand wrapped around her drink. Yeosang slowed—then kept walking, heart thudding like he’d just run a lap.

Back at the shared house, Wooyoung caught him the moment he walked through the door.

“Did you say anything this time?” Wooyoung asked, not even looking up from his phone.

Yeosang dropped his bag by the shoe rack with a sigh. “No.”

San, sprawled on the living room floor with his headphones half-on, looked over. “Dude. You walked past the café again?”

“I wasn’t going for the café,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung groaned. “At this rate, your ghost will be haunting her before you ever get the courage to say hi.”

“She probably thinks I’m weird,” Yeosang said quietly.

“Because you are weird,” Jongho called from the kitchen.

“Lovably weird,” Yunho added helpfully. “Sensitive. Mysterious.”

“She probably thinks I’m arrogant,” Yeosang muttered, sitting on the couch and pulling his hood up.

“She thinks you’re hot, trust me,” San said.

“Did she say that?” Yeosang asked way too quickly.

The silence that followed was brutal.

“…No,” San admitted. “But like, who wouldn’t?”

“Anyway,” Hongjoong said, walking in with a folder in hand, “you might want to mentally prepare yourself.”

Yeosang blinked at him. “For what?”

Hongjoong tossed a paper onto the table. “Dr. Lee posted partner assignments for the semester project.”

Yeosang leaned forward slowly, flipping the sheet over. His name was there. And next to it—

Y/N L/N

His breath caught in his throat.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Y/N stared at the same sheet posted outside the professor’s office, her best friend peeking over her shoulder.

“Well, well, well,” her friend hummed. “The academic rivals meet at last.”

“It’s not a rivalry,” Y/N snapped. “It’s—ugh, this is so unfair. Why me?”

Her friend grinned. “Maybe the professor thinks you’re the only one who can match his brain.”

“Or maybe he wants me to suffer.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. Just her luck. The one person she could barely stand was now going to be her research partner for the biggest assignment of the semester. She could already imagine the awkward silences, the unbothered stares, the way he’d probably correct her citations without even speaking. How do you work with someone who never talks?

“I’m going to drop out,” she said flatly.

Her friend patted her shoulder. “At least he’s nice to look at while you’re suffering.”

Y/N didn’t respond. But for a second, just a second, she thought about the way Yeosang’s eyes always looked focused, almost soft, when he was reading.

She shook the thought away like an Etch-a-Sketch.

“Let’s just hope he has a personality under all that perfection,” she muttered.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang stared at his phone later that night, thumb hovering over the keyboard in his notes app.

> Things I could maybe say to Y/N:

• “Hi.”

• “Want to meet this week to plan the project?”

• “I like your analysis from last class.” (Too weird?)

• Don’t say anything weird. Don’t stare too much. Just be normal.

“Why do you look like you're drafting a breakup text?” Wooyoung asked from across the room.

“I’m just… planning,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Planning your downfall?”

Yeosang sighed, burying his face in his hoodie.

Somehow, being paired with her for this project felt like the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Y/N regretted arriving early the moment she stepped into the study lounge.

The room was mostly empty—soft light, rows of long wooden tables, and the faint sound of a cappuccino machine hissing in the distance. It was the kind of peaceful, academic atmosphere she usually loved.

Except he was already there.

Kang Yeosang. Perfect posture, silent as a statue, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard like he was composing the next academic manifesto.

Of course he was early. Of course he looked like he walked out of a campaign for luxury pens.

Y/N paused in the doorway, considering her options. Walk in and face the music—or walk away and pretend she got the time wrong.

Yeosang glanced up just then, eyes meeting hers briefly before darting away like he’d been caught doing something wrong. His fingers froze mid-keystroke.

Too late to escape.

Y/N walked in and set her bag down across from him, offering the bare minimum of a polite nod. “Hey.”

He gave her a tiny bow of his head. “Hi.”

Silence.

She opened her laptop. Typed in her password. Checked the Wi-Fi. Anything to avoid having to look at him again.

He didn’t say a word.

Typical.

“So…” she started, forcing her voice to sound casual, “I figured we should divide the project into sections. It’ll save us from having to edit each other’s writing later.”

Yeosang nodded once. “That makes sense.”

“Cool.” Another pause. “I can take the theoretical framework and the intro. You can do the methodology and conclusion?”

“Okay.”

That was it. No questions. No input. Just okay.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You don’t have any suggestions?”

Yeosang looked up at her slowly. “Do you want me to?”

“I want this to be a collaboration,” she said, biting back the urge to sound sharper. “Not… whatever this is.”

He blinked, startled. “Okay. Then maybe… we outline the structure together first?”

Y/N stared. That was—surprisingly reasonable.

“Fine,” she muttered, pulling up a blank document. “Let’s outline.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then leaned forward slightly, close enough that she could smell his clean cologne and see the faint pink creeping into his ears.

She tried not to notice either.

They worked for a full hour, going back and forth over structure, sources, and argument flow. To her surprise, Yeosang offered thoughtful input—short sentences, quiet voice, but insightful. Still, it was like pulling teeth. He never elaborated unless asked. Never volunteered a single word more than necessary.

“Do you always work like this?” she finally asked, half-exasperated, half-curious.

Yeosang glanced at her, brows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like a robot,” she said flatly. “Efficient. Quiet. Zero personality.”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes. A wince? Hurt? No—it disappeared too quickly.

“I’m just not very talkative,” he said simply.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that.

“Besides,” he added softly, “I thought you didn’t like talking to me.”

Her breath caught.

“What?”

Yeosang busied himself adjusting his notes, not meeting her gaze. “You always look annoyed when I’m around. I assumed you’d prefer to just get the work done.”

Y/N felt the sting of guilt for a brief, uncomfortable second—then pushed it down. She wasn’t about to feel bad for someone who’d barely spoken to her in two years.

“I’m not annoyed,” she lied. “Just… confused.”

“About what?”

She hesitated. “You. You never talk to anyone in class, but people act like you’re the nicest guy alive. I don’t get it.”

Yeosang looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t realize people thought that.”

“Are you saying you’re not nice?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what I am. I just… keep to myself.”

Y/N watched him for a second. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t squirm. Just stared down at his notes like they were safer than any eye contact.

“People assume things about you,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Because you’re quiet.”

Yeosang didn’t answer.

That silence told her more than words might have.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Later that night, Yeosang sat on the couch in the dorm, legs folded, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands. His laptop rested on the coffee table, the shared document open—but he hadn’t typed a word in fifteen minutes.

“You okay, lover boy?” Wooyoung asked from the kitchen, tossing popcorn in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“She talked to me,” Yeosang said quietly.

“She always talks about you. Usually to complain.”

“No. Like… really talked.”

Wooyoung flopped down beside him, grinning. “Did you confess your undying admiration?”

Yeosang glared at him. “No.”

“Did she realize you’re not weird?”

“…No.”

Wooyoung patted his shoulder dramatically. “Then we’ll count today as a ‘slow progress’ day.”

Yeosang returned his gaze to the document, replaying her words in his head.

„I’m not annoyed. Just confused.“

„People assume things about you because you’re quiet.“

Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought.

But she still didn’t like him either.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The second study session started better than the first—barely.

Yeosang was already seated when Y/N arrived, but this time, instead of silently typing away, he gave her a small nod and said, “Hey.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “…Hi.”

He hesitated. “Did… did you have a good day?”

She blinked again.

“Uh,” she said, dropping into her seat. “Yeah. Fine. You?”

He nodded once, awkwardly. “Also fine.”

Then silence.

Painful, drawn-out silence.

Y/N tapped on her keyboard to fill the void. Yeosang reached for his iced americano and took a long sip, staring at his screen like it held the answers to the universe. She caught his reflection in the dark window and watched as his jaw flexed with tension.

He was trying. That much was obvious.

It shouldn’t have been funny. But it kind of was.

“Small talk isn’t your thing, huh?” she said, trying not to smile.

Yeosang’s lips twitched like he wasn’t sure if he was being teased. “Not really.”

“I could tell.”

They settled into work after that, building slides and sorting through journal articles. Yeosang seemed a little more relaxed now, making the occasional suggestion or asking short but thoughtful questions. The rhythm wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

Then it happened.

A group of girls from their department walked by their table—loud, laughing, clearly not in any rush to study. One of them did a double-take when she spotted Yeosang.

“Oh my God, Kang Yeosang?”

He looked up, surprised.

The girls hovered around their table like moths to a flame. One leaned over slightly, all faux-casual charm. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Working hard or hardly working?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. Seriously? That line?

Yeosang blinked. “I’m… working.”

Another girl giggled. “You’re always so serious. You should come sit with us sometime.”

Y/N glanced at him, expecting to see that usual blank expression he wore in class.

But his ears.

His ears were red.

Bright, telltale red.

Her eyes narrowed.

Yeosang didn’t flirt back. He didn’t even smile. He just nodded politely and said, “Maybe some other time.”

The girls lingered for a moment longer before giving up and moving on.

Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye. He stared at his laptop screen like it was his only lifeline. His fingers were rigid on the keyboard. He wasn’t cool. He wasn’t unaffected.

He was nervous. Shy. Her gaze dropped to his hands, which were now trembling ever so slightly over the trackpad. The realization hit her slow, quiet, and undeniable.

Maybe he wasn’t arrogant. Maybe he wasn’t cold.

Maybe he was just anxious.

And maybe she’d been wrong.

They worked until the lights in the library flickered overhead—closing time.

Y/N groaned, stretching her arms. “I swear this place closes earlier every semester.”

Yeosang stood and started packing his things. “Did we get through everything?”

“Almost. Just one more slide, but I can do it at home.”

She zipped her bag, checked her phone—and froze.

Then checked again.

No. No. No.

“Shit,” she muttered, rifling through her bag again. “Where are my keys?”

Yeosang glanced up, concerned. “Did you lose them?”

“No, I—” she paused, heart sinking. “I think I left them at home. My roommate locked up early, and I’m screwed unless she answers her phone.”

Yeosang shifted awkwardly. “You can call her?”

So I did. “Straight to voicemail.”

A beat of silence passed.

Y/N let out a slow breath and looked at the dark, empty campus around them.

“Well, guess I’ll go sit in the dorm lobby and wait for her to magically remember I exist.”

Yeosang hesitated.

And then he said, quietly but firmly:

“You could… sleep in the spare room at our place.”

Y/N looked up sharply.

He didn’t meet her eyes.

Just stood there with his hands in his hoodie sleeves, ears burning again.

“…What?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “I mean—it’s clean. And it locks. You don’t have to, I just—thought I’d offer.”

The silence between them felt suddenly louder than anything else in the room.

Y/N stared at him.

The walk to Yeosang’s house was… weird.

Not because he said much—he didn’t—but because he kept stealing glances at her like he couldn’t believe she was actually walking beside him. And honestly? Y/N couldn’t believe it either.

She had not expected to end up crashing at the Hot Guy House ( like her best friend liked to call it) tonight.

And yes, she had called it that—ironically, at first. But with eight of the most unreasonably attractive, campus-famous boys sharing a single house, the nickname had stuck.

Now she was about to walk into it. Hoodie-clad, holding a laptop bag, heart pounding in confusion.

This was so not in her Thursday night plan.

The house was bigger than she’d expected—a rented two-story off-campus place tucked behind the student dorms. The lights glowed warmly through the windows, and she could already hear laughter inside.

Yeosang paused at the front door. “They’re probably all home.”

“Oh,” she said, unsure how to respond.

He unlocked the door. “Don’t worry. They’re… loud, but they’re nice.”

The moment the door opened:

“WHO DIDN’T RINSE OUT THEIR CUP?!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS A CRIME, HONGJOONG.”

“I almost drank paint water, MINGI—”

“Guys,” a voice said calmly from the living room, “we have a guest.”

Everyone went quiet.

Y/N found herself standing in the entryway like a deer in the headlights as seven pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

Yeosang stepped in front of her slightly. “This is Y/N. She’s just staying the night. Spare room.”

There was a beat of silence—then all hell broke loose.

“Ohhhh!” Wooyoung said, bounding over with a grin. “So this is the girl from the project. The one you never shut up about—”

Yeosang elbowed him, hard.

“I’m San,” another said, waving brightly. “He didn’t actually say your name out loud, but he definitely said you were cool.”

“I never said that,” Yeosang muttered, clearly mortified.

Seonghwa appeared behind them, effortlessly elegant despite wearing a clay face mask. “Ignore them. Welcome. You want tea? Water? Food? Emotional support?”

Mingi popped his head out from the kitchen. “We have leftover curry! Not poisoned, I swear.”

Jongho stayed seated, eyes narrowed. “If she ends up running away screaming, I’m blaming Wooyoung.”

Yunho offered her a kind smile from the couch. “Nice to meet you. Spare room’s upstairs. You want me to grab blankets?”

Y/N blinked at all of them. The Hot Guy House was… overwhelming.

“I’m good,” she said faintly.

Yeosang cleared his throat. “She’s just staying one night. She got locked out.”

“Oh no,” Yunho said with genuine concern. “That sucks.”

“Sorry that happened,” San added.

Yeosang gestured for her to follow. “Come on.”

As she followed him up the stairs, she caught snippets of whispered chaos behind them:

“Bro, why are you sweating?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung.”

“Did she smile at him?”

“She definitely smiled.”

She sat on the bed and rubbed her hands down her jeans, gaze flicking around the room. It was tidy—no posters or personality, just neutral furniture and that faint detergent smell that came with freshly washed sheets.

Yeosang had been… strange tonight.

Not in a bad way. But in a way that didn’t quite match the version of him she’d built in her head.

She thought he’d be arrogant, standoffish—too good for anyone who wasn’t top of the class. But instead of a smug prince, she got a guy who blushed when girls talked to him. Who barely spoke above a whisper. Who stood in front of her like a shield when his friends got nosy.

Still, she wasn’t ready to let go of her assumptions just yet.

Maybe he was just polite. Maybe he was weird. Maybe this whole thing was some elaborate act and he’d go back to ignoring her the moment the project ended.

Y/N laid back against the pillow, exhaling slowly.

She didn’t get it.

Kang Yeosang made no sense. And the more she saw, the more confusing he became.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang regretted everything.

He regretted offering the spare room.

He regretted walking Y/N to the room.

He regretted breathing in front of his friends.

Because the moment he stepped back downstairs, every single one of them was waiting.

Wooyoung clapped the loudest. “Look at him! Mr. ‘I’ll die single’ finally grew a backbone.”

“I didn’t grow anything,” Yeosang muttered, face already hot.

“Tell that to your ears,” San grinned, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Mingi flopped back on the couch dramatically. “He brought a girl home and it wasn’t even for a party. What does it mean?!”

“Nothing,” Yeosang groaned.

“It means,” Seonghwa said calmly from the kitchen, “he’s evolving.��

“I’m not evolving.”

“Then why are you smiling like a man who just got noticed by his crush?” Jongho asked without looking up from his phone.

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are,” Yunho added cheerfully. “It’s okay. She’s cute.”

Yeosang’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t say that.”

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “Don’t say she’s cute? What—are we not allowed to acknowledge that your academic nemesis is lowkey stunning?”

“She’s not my nemesis,” Yeosang muttered, sitting down and pulling his hood over his head.

“Oh my god, he’s in denial and in love,” San laughed.

“I’m not—!”

“Does she know she’s sleeping just ten feet away from the guy who’s been in love with her since freshman year?” Wooyoung asked the group, eyes gleaming.

“Shut up!”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Upstairs, Y/N was staring at the inside of her backpack like it might magically produce pajamas or a toothbrush if she just looked hard enough.

It didn’t.

She sighed and flopped back onto the bed, rubbing her face. Of course she’d left everything at home—she hadn’t exactly planned to be crashing in enemy territory tonight. Her phone showed no new messages. Still no word from her roommate.

Grea.No clothes. No hygiene stuff. No backup plan. She rolled onto her side, groaning. What was she supposed to do—sleep in jeans and cry?

No.

Absolutely not.

Her pride wasn’t that fragile.

…Okay, it was. But so was her skin if she didn’t at least wash her face.

She sighed again, pushed herself up, and cracked the door open.

Soft noise drifted up the stairs—laughter, overlapping voices, someone singing off-key. The house was alive, in the most chaotic way.

Y/N hesitated for a moment.

Then padded quietly down the stairs.

The living room looked like a sitcom exploded.

San was dancing to something on TV. Wooyoung was tossing popcorn into Mingi’s mouth and missing every other throw. Yunho was trying to build a pyramid out of soda cans. Jongho was playing some kind of mobile game with deadly focus. Hongjoong was editing something on his laptop, earbuds in and only half listening. Seonghwa was trying to clean, muttering curses at an abandoned sock on the coffee table.

And right in the middle of it, on the couch, sat Yeosang—hood up, arms crossed, looking done with all of them.

Until he saw her.

His eyes widened slightly. He sat up straighter.

And just like that, every head turned.

Y/N blinked.

Eight guys stared back at her.

“Uh,” she started, suddenly very aware she was wearing jeans and no makeup and probably looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon. “Sorry to interrupt the… chaos.”

Yeosang stood. “Is something wrong?”

“I just—um. I didn’t bring anything. Clothes. Toiletries. That kind of stuff.”

“Ohhh,” Wooyoung said, grinning like it was his birthday. “You’re staying staying.”

San elbowed him. “Yeosang, do the gentleman thing.”

Yeosang was already moving. “I have clothes you can borrow. Toothbrush too. Uh—not used. New. Obviously.”

Y/N nodded, trying not to feel like she was the main character in a weird college drama. “Thanks.”

Wooyoung leaned in toward San and stage-whispered, “Bet she’ll look cute in his hoodie.”

“I can hear you,” Y/N said.

“Worth it,” Wooyoung replied.

Yeosang handed her the folded clothes without looking at her directly. “They might be big, but they’re clean.”

She took them, grateful despite the heat in her cheeks. “That’s fine. Better than sleeping in jeans.”

He nodded once, like he couldn’t trust himself to speak.

The others had thankfully gone back to their chaos.

But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting.

And she still didn’t know what to make of it.

The hoodie Yeosang had given her was soft and massive, the sleeves swallowing her hands completely. The sweatpants dragged a bit on the floor, but she didn’t care—they were warm, and honestly? Kind of comforting.

She tugged her hair into a messy bun in the spare room mirror, splashed some cold water on her face with a borrowed washcloth, and then sat on the edge of the bed.

Only then did it hit her.

Her stomach grumbled. Loudly.

Right. She hadn’t eaten since that sad granola bar between classes. She’d been so focused on school, then locked out, then—well, this.

She glanced at her phone. Still no answer from her roommate.

Y/N sighed.

As if summoned by her stomach, a knock came at the door.

She opened it to find Seonghwa standing there with his arms crossed and a kind smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re heating up leftovers. You want to come down and eat with us?”

She blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

Seonghwa laughed gently. “We’re eight guys with six stomachs each. Leftovers don’t last long. Come quick before San eats the curry straight from the pot again.”

She smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

The kitchen table was full of mismatched chairs, bowls of reheated curry, and eight grown men arguing over who left rice in the microwave “for science.” Y/N slid into an open seat between Yunho and Yeosang, who looked like he was trying to fold into himself out of sheer discomfort.

„Relax,“ she whispered. „I’m not going to bite.“

He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.

Mingi passed her a bowl and chopsticks with a wink. “You’re officially initiated now.”

“Into what?”

“The Chaos Club,” Wooyoung declared.

“She’s in when she survives breakfast,” Jongho corrected.

As they ate, the conversation turned—predictably—to Yeosang.

“Remember when he tried to impress that girl in ninth grade by doing backflips on the soccer field and broke his wrist?” Yunho said through laughter.

Yeosang groaned, burying his face in one hand.

“That wasn’t for a girl,” he mumbled.

“It was,” San said. “You even asked if your cast color made you look ‘mysterious.’”

Y/N stared. “Wait—you’ve all known each other since middle school?”

“Yep,” Mingi said proudly. “A bunch of us went to the same high school too.”

“He’s always been like this,” Wooyoung added, gesturing to Yeosang. “Quiet. Super smart. Blushes when someone says his name.”

“Shy,” Seonghwa said. “But he listens more than anyone.”

“Also,” Jongho chimed in, “he once got dragged into a student council meeting just because someone told him it would be ‚low commitment.‘ He ended up treasurer.”

Y/N blinked. This was not what she expected.

Her gaze shifted to Yeosang, who was focused on his rice like it had personally betrayed him.

The realization hit her like a slap.

He wasn’t a ladykiller. He wasn’t arrogant. He was just—shy. Painfully shy.

It escaped her before she could stop it:

“I thought you were a ladykiller.”

Silence.

Eight heads turned toward her.

Yeosang looked like he might die.

“You what?” San asked, grinning ear to ear.

“I just—” Y/N froze. “I thought you were, like… cold. And full of yourself. And probably secretly dating three girls at once.”

Yeosang made a sound that could only be described as a strangled choke.

And then the room erupted in laughter.

“You thought this guy was a player?” Wooyoung howled, pointing at Yeosang.

Yunho was nearly doubled over. “He barely has the nerve to order his own coffee!”

“Did you think he just silently seduced people with his cheekbones?” Mingi cackled.

“I didn’t know!” Y/N protested, cheeks on fire. “He always walks around like he’s in a drama. He never talks!”

“He’s too busy panicking internally,” Jongho deadpanned.

Seonghwa smiled, eyes soft. “That’s what happens when you assume people are only what they show.”

Y/N risked a glance at Yeosang.

He wasn’t laughing—but his shoulders were shaking like he was trying not to.

And… yeah. His ears were completely red.

He looked at her, just once, and said quietly, “I’m not dating anyone.”

That shouldn’t have made her stomach do a thing.

But it did.

Y/N looked away, heart confused, mind loud, mouth dry.

The curry was really good. That’s what she’d blame it on.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Y/N woke up to the smell of something warm—spiced, soft, and oddly comforting.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. The unfamiliar blanket, the slightly-too-firm mattress, the oversized hoodie tangled around her—it all came back in a slow wave.

Right.

She was still in the spare room.

In Yeosang’s house.

With seven of his ridiculously loud best friends somewhere downstairs.

And last night, she had publicly blurted out that she thought he was a ladykiller.

She groaned and flopped face-first into the pillow.

Smooth. Truly.

Rolling onto her back, she checked her phone. Still no message from her roommate. The home screen glared back at her like a cosmic joke.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up, padded toward the door, and cracked it open. The hallway was quiet. No yelling. No laughter. No flying socks.

She tiptoed down the stairs, unsure what to expect.

The kitchen was softly lit with morning sun, casting pale gold shadows across the floor. It smelled like cinnamon and something toasty.

Yeosang stood at the stove, back to her, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, hair a bit messy. He looked calm. Focused. Like he belonged there.

Seonghwa sat at the table sipping tea, scrolling on his phone. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.

“Morning,” he said warmly. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Thanks again for the room.”

Yeosang turned slightly at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met for half a second before he looked away.

“I made toast,” he said. “And eggs. If you’re hungry.”

Y/N blinked. He sounded so normal. So quiet and careful.

“Thanks,” she said, sliding into a chair across from Seonghwa. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Still asleep,” Seonghwa said, amused. “Except Jongho. He went for a run. He’s not human.”

“I heard that,” came Jongho’s voice faintly from somewhere outside.

Yeosang placed a plate in front of her with quiet precision. Toast, two scrambled eggs, a little side of jam, and even cut-up fruit. Neat and thoughtful. Like everything he did.

“You didn’t have to—” she started.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You didn’t eat much last night.”

Her fingers froze on the fork.

So he noticed.

“Thanks,” she said again, quieter this time.

He sat down across from her with his own plate and picked at his toast. Not awkward—just silent.

But the silence didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

Maybe it never was.

Y/N found herself watching him again. The way he held his fork like he was trying not to drop it. The way his eyes flicked to her and away again in under a second. How he always looked like he was halfway to retreating but never actually ran.

“You know,” she said suddenly, “you’re kind of confusing.”

Yeosang blinked at her.

“I mean—” she stabbed her eggs. “You don’t say much. But when you do, it’s always… specific. Thoughtful. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I usually have.”

She snorted. “That tracks.”

They ate in silence for a few more minutes.

Then, just as she reached for a napkin, she heard it—faint footsteps, then the creak of stairs.

“Oh no,” Seonghwa muttered. “They’re awake.”

Sure enough, chaos spilled into the kitchen like clockwork.

Mingi wandered in first, hair flat on one side, rubbing his eyes. “Do I smell cinnamon?”

Wooyoung appeared next, still wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. “Is the ladykiller making breakfast for his girl again?”

Yeosang’s fork clattered against his plate.

Y/N groaned. “Can we not start the day like this?”

San followed with a sleepy grin. “Too late. Damage is done.”

“She’s not—” Yeosang tried.

“She thought you were,” Jongho said, finally coming inside and grabbing a water. “And honestly, it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all month.”

“I didn’t mean it like—” Y/N tried to explain, cheeks burning.

Hongjoong walked in mid-yawn. “Wait, are we roasting Yeosang again?”

“It’s a daily ritual now,” Seonghwa sighed.

Yeosang stood abruptly and started clearing his plate. “I’m going to shower.”

“Yeah, go rinse the shame,” Wooyoung called after him.

Y/N watched him go, his shoulders tense, ears pink again.

But something inside her tugged differently this time.

He wasn’t running away.

He was just nervous.

And somehow…

She didn’t want him to feel like he had to hide from her.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Okay,” Y/N said, dropping her bag on the table at the campus café. “So. You know how I said I wasn’t going to talk about Yeosang anymore?”

Her best friend looked up slowly from her iced latte. “…What did you do.”

Y/N slid into the seat across from her, hoodie sleeves pushed over her palms, eyes wide with disbelief. “I think I accidentally spent the night at his house.”

Her friend blinked. “…Sorry, what?”

“Not like that!” Y/N hissed. “I got locked out of my dorm, and he offered their spare room.”

Her friend’s face did not look less scandalized. “You slept at the Hot Guy House? With Yeosang?”

Y/N put her head in her hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that!”

“What was it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know!” she groaned. “I just—he offered. And I didn’t want to sleep in the campus lobby. And now my whole worldview is cracked in half.”

Her friend sipped her drink like she was watching a K-drama. “Tell me everything.”

So she did.

From walking in on the guys being absolutely feral, to Seonghwa offering her curry like a TV mom, to the actual revelation that Kang Yeosang wasn’t the stone-cold heartbreaker she’d assumed he was.

“I thought he was some mysterious, emotionally detached, probably-has-a-secret-girlfriend guy,” she said, poking at her muffin wrapper. “But he’s just… painfully shy.”

Her friend narrowed her eyes. “Like, genuinely shy? Or ‘fake shy’ to lure people in?”

“No,” Y/N said seriously. “Like… blushes when someone says hi, panics when people flirt, barely makes eye contact shy.”

There was a pause.

Then: Her best friend snorted. “You thought that guy was a ladykiller?”

Y/N groaned. “Everyone needs to stop saying that!”

“But you did say it.”

“Out loud. In front of all his friends.”

“God, I wish I was there.”

“I wanted to disappear. I wanted to implode.”

Her friend was grinning now. “But… you don’t think he’s arrogant anymore?”

Y/N picked at the edge of her napkin. “No. I think… he’s just really quiet. And nervous. And probably overthinks every interaction with people.”

Her friend gave her a knowing look. “So he’s nothing like what you thought.”

“No,” Y/N admitted. “He’s not.”

She paused. Fidgeted.

Her friend leaned in. “And?”

Y/N looked down at her drink. Her voice was small. “He made me breakfast.”

“Oh no,” her friend said, eyes wide.

“What?”

“You’re doomed.”

“I am not—!”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, maybe a little doomed.”

They both fell into a fit of laughter that made the barista glance over with mild concern.

Later, as they walked out of the café, her friend bumped her shoulder playfully.

“You gonna tell him you don’t hate him anymore?”

Y/N snorted. “Please. I barely understand what I think about him. I’m still processing the fact that he talks.”

“Well,” her friend said, nudging her again. “For what it’s worth? I think he likes you. Like, likes you likes you.”

Y/N stopped walking.

She didn’t respond.

Because her heart had already skipped ahead of her brain.

Y/N didn’t respond.

She was still standing frozen on the sidewalk outside the café, her friend’s words echoing through her brain like someone had dropped a stone in a very still pond.

“I think he likes you. Like, likes you likes you.”

She blinked, mind racing. Because if that were true—if Yeosang liked her—then her entire interpretation of the last few years would need to be rewritten. From the awkward silences to the quiet glances to the hoodie he lent her that still smelled like citrus and clean laundry…

Her heart thudded stupidly hard.

Then, as if the universe wanted to remind her that she would never be allowed to have a peaceful, introspective moment ever again—

“Y/N!”

She turned, and her stomach immediately dropped.

Wooyoung, San, Yunho, and Mingi were walking toward them from across the quad, drinks in hand and energy levels already at “wild toddler with a sugar high.”

And judging by the way Wooyoung’s eyes lit up when he spotted her best friend?

Oh no.

Y/N could only whisper, “Run.”

Too late.

“Ladies!” Wooyoung said, spreading his arms like he was arriving at a red carpet. “What a beautiful day to run into two equally beautiful women!”

Her best friend blinked. “Do you talk like that on purpose?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Wooyoung grinned. “Charm is a full-time job.”

San fist-bumped her. “You survived us. I’m impressed.”

“She thrived,” Mingi added. “Yeosang hasn’t shut up since you left.”

Y/N nearly choked. “What?”

Yunho stepped in smoothly. “Ignore them. They’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” Mingi said, sipping his drink. “He literally asked if the hoodie was too big. He was stressed about it. Like, genuinely.”

Her best friend raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

“I didn’t know!” Y/N hissed.

Wooyoung turned his attention fully to the best friend now, leaning one elbow on the table. “Anyway. Hi. I’m Wooyoung. Your eyes are like—”

“Finish that line,” she said, deadpan.

Wooyoung blinked. “Like… stars?”

She stared at him flatly. “Wow. Original. You come up with that all by yourself?”

San cackled behind his drink. “She got you there.”

Wooyoung put a hand over his heart, wounded. “She’s mean. I like her.”

“She’s smart. She doesn’t like you,” Y/N muttered.

Her friend shrugged. “You’re not my type.”

“Too pretty?” Wooyoung asked with a smirk.

“Too loud,” she replied. “And you talk like a rejected K-Drama second lead.”

Yunho lost it.

Mingi nearly dropped his cup.

Even San wheezed. “Bro, you just got obliterated.”

“I’m not even mad,” Wooyoung said, hands up in surrender. “Respect.”

“Don’t flirt with my friends,” Y/N grumbled.

“Too late,” Wooyoung whispered.

Y/N turned to Yunho in desperation. “Please tell me you’re the normal one.”

“I try,” he said gently. “It doesn’t always work.”

San nudged her. “You going to the study hall later?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a project session with—” she hesitated. “Yeosang.”

“Oooooh,” all four of them said in unison.

“I hate you all,” Y/N mumbled.

Her best friend looked at the group of them, then back at Y/N. “You weren’t kidding. They really are a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

Y/N had never felt this weird about walking into the library before.

It was just a study session. They’d done this twice already. Yeosang would be there, laptop open, posture too perfect, probably already ten slides ahead of where she was.

No big deal.

Except… it felt like a big deal.

Because this time, she knew things. Or thought she did.

She knew about the broken wrist in ninth grade.

The backflip.

The hoodie concern.

The way he blushed when girls flirted—not because he was a player but because he didn’t know what to do.

And worst of all… she knew what his friends thought.

> “He hasn’t shut up since you left.”

Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

Still, she told herself to walk in like it was just another day. Just another project.

She found him at their usual spot in the quiet corner by the windows. He looked up when she approached, and for a second—just a flicker—his expression shifted.

Relieved.

Maybe even… glad?

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, sitting down across from him.

They both opened their laptops. The air between them buzzed—not quite awkward, but definitely not neutral either.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” Yeosang asked, eyes still on his screen.

She glanced at him. “Yeah. Thanks again. That hoodie is ridiculously soft, by the way.”

His ears turned a little pink. “I like that one.”

Y/N smiled, then quickly looked down before he noticed.

They worked in relative silence for the first twenty minutes—notes, citations, shared slides. The usual rhythm.

But Y/N kept sneaking glances at him. Noticed the way he tapped his pen when he was thinking. The way he never interrupted. The way he waited a beat after she spoke, like he was giving her time to say more if she wanted.

It was different now. He hadn’t changed. But she had.

Finally, she closed her laptop halfway and leaned forward.

“Can I ask you something?”

Yeosang paused. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you talk in class?” she asked gently. “You always have the best notes, and you clearly know what you’re doing. But you never speak up.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then shrugged lightly. “I guess… I don’t like being looked at. I get nervous when people expect me to say something smart. It’s easier to just stay quiet.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “But don’t you ever want to correct the professor when they get something wrong? Or jump into a debate?”

He smiled faintly. “I think it’s more useful to let other people talk. I learn more that way.”

That surprised her. She thought she’d hear something self-conscious. Not… that.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said.

Yeosang tilted his head. “Expected how?”

“I thought you were cold. Distant. Arrogant, maybe.”

He winced. “You’ve said that before.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re not that easy to figure out either.”

Y/N blinked. “Me?”

“You’re sharp,” he said. “You don’t let people in easily. But you care more than you admit.”

She opened her mouth—and realized she didn’t have a response.

He turned back to his screen like he hadn’t just cracked her wide open.

Silence settled again—but it was warmer now. Familiar.

And for the first time, Y/N wondered if Yeosang had always seen her more clearly than she ever saw him.

Y/N didn’t mean to notice him.

But she did.

All the time, now.

It started small—like how Yeosang always carried an extra pen, and how he’d hand it to her wordlessly the moment hers stopped working. Or how he’d open the library door for her and act like he hadn’t. Or how he always saved her a seat before she arrived—never said it was for her, just sat beside it like it was obvious.

Then there were the weirder, softer things.

Like how he read his notes out loud when he thought no one could hear.

How he always fed the stray cat outside the café without ever taking credit.

How his notes weren’t just detailed—they were color-coded and full of tiny doodles in the margins.

And how he always wrote her name in neat little capital letters at the top of their shared documents.

She didn’t mean to notice any of that.

But she did.

Her best friend noticed her noticing.

“Okay,” she said one afternoon as they walked across campus. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing.”

“That thing where you go completely quiet when someone mentions Yeosang and then look off into the distance like you’re in a coming-of-age film.”

Y/N sighed. “I’m not in a film. I’m in emotional limbo.”

Her friend laughed. “Do you like him?”

“No,” Y/N said automatically.

Her friend tilted her head.

“…I don’t think I like him,” Y/N corrected.

“You’ve been defending him a lot lately.”

“He’s not what I thought.”

Her friend grinned. “So you like that he’s sweet and awkward and probably writes your name in cursive hearts when no one’s looking?”

Y/N groaned. “You are the worst.”

“But I’m not the one catching feelings.”

“I am not—”

“Babe. You watched him eat a muffin like it was a character study.”

Y/N shoved her lightly. “I’m just… confused, okay?”

“Or you’re into him.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because maybe she was.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

That weekend, the guys invited both Y/N and her best friend to a casual backyard hangout. Someone said “bonfire” and “food,” and somehow it turned into “group chaos with mismatched lawn chairs and San bringing his Bluetooth speaker like he was DJing a music festival.”

Yeosang didn’t invite her directly.

But when Yunho texted her, she caught Yeosang glancing at her from across the library—and then quickly looking away.

So she went.

And she brought her best friend with her.

Wooyoung spotted them the moment they stepped into the yard.

“Oh look who’s back,” he sang. “Hot Girl and her Ice Princess. Welcome, welcome.”

“Are those our code names?” Y/N asked.

“They are now.”

Her best friend crossed her arms. “Still doing the flirty thing?”

“Still pretending you don’t like it?” he shot back with a wink.

“I don’t,” she said. “But I do admire the consistency. You flirt like it’s your full-time job.”

“It is,” he grinned proudly.

She raised a brow. “Does it come with denial?”

Mingi choked on his drink from the grill. “She got you again, man.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Wooyoung asked her, clutching his chest in faux pain.

“I believe in recycling,” she replied. “No point in wasting comebacks on someone who already used the same pick-up line twice.”

“I’m in love with her,” Wooyoung whispered loudly to San.

“Don’t drag me into this,” San said, laughing.

Y/N snorted and wandered off before Wooyoung could recover.

She found Yeosang crouched in the yard next to Mingi and Jongho, skewering vegetables onto sticks for the grill. He looked up when he saw her—eyes wide, then soft.

“You came,” he said.

“Yunho said you guys needed help keeping Wooyoung from dying.”

“He’s already tried to grill his own shoe.”

Y/N smiled. “Sounds about right.”

She sat beside him, and they worked in companionable silence—hands brushing once, then twice, over skewers. Neither of them mentioned it.

He didn’t say much.

But every time she spoke, he listened.

Fully. Closely. Like every word she said mattered.

At one point, he handed her a skewer already finished with her favorite veggies and said quietly, “You can take this one.”

She stared at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the skewer.

“It’s not a big deal,” he added, but his ears were already turning pink.

She took it carefully. “Thanks.”

It was a big deal. She just didn’t know why.

Later, as the fire crackled and the others told embarrassing stories and Mingi nearly dropped a marshmallow in his lap, Y/N sat on the edge of the patio with a blanket draped around her shoulders.

Yeosang joined her with a cup of cider.

They didn’t speak for a while.

He just sat beside her, arms close but not touching, gaze fixed on the fire.

“Why are you nice to me?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked. “What?”

“You used to avoid me. Barely spoke. But now… you go out of your way to be kind.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then shrugged. “I was always nice to you. You just didn’t notice.”

That… made something twist in her chest.

“Oh,” she said.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” he added, eyes still on the flames.

“I didn’t,” she said softly. “But maybe I was wrong.”

Yeosang turned his head just slightly.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

The moment had already said too much.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang stared at the ceiling.

It was 1:42 a.m.

The backyard hangout had ended hours ago, but his mind was still playing it all back like a broken reel.

The way she sat beside him at the fire.

The way her shoulder brushed his and neither of them moved.

The way her voice softened when she said, “Maybe I was wrong.”

He didn’t know what she meant. Not really.

But his heart had jumped anyway.

He came downstairs the next morning wearing the same hoodie he’d lent her the week before — not intentionally. He’d just been cold. That was it.

Jongho was already at the table, sipping coffee like a grumpy old man.

“You were out there with her for a long time last night,” he said without looking up.

Yeosang blinked. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice everything.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Bro,” Jongho cut in flatly, “you were practically vibrating with emotions.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Yeosang poured himself a cup of tea and sat down without arguing.

A minute later, Wooyoung stormed into the kitchen dramatically, draping himself over Yeosang like a fainting Victorian heroine.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “What did she say? What did you say? Did you finally confess your eternal admiration and give her a pressed flower?”

Yeosang shoved him off.

“I said, nothing.”

Wooyoung gasped. “Oh my God. That’s worse.”

“She sat next to him at the fire,” Jongho offered.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “That’s practically marriage.”

Yeosang sighed. “She just said she might’ve been wrong about me.”

Wooyoung nearly dropped his toast. “WHAT?! That’s huge. That’s massive. That’s practically her getting down on one knee.”

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Yeosang muttered.

San poked his head in from the hallway, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Who’s proposing now?”

“Y/N told Yeosang she might’ve been wrong about him,” Wooyoung said, bouncing.

“Shit,” San said. “You’re in.”

“I’m not in anything,” Yeosang protested.

Mingi wandered in, stretching. “Is this about the fire vibes?”

Yeosang groaned. “Nothing happened.”

Seonghwa finally entered the room with his tea, raised an eyebrow, and said calmly, “That’s not what I heard.”

Yeosang’s shoulders slumped. “Why does everyone know everything?”

“Because you have the emotional subtlety of a deer in traffic,” Wooyoung said, patting his head.

Seonghwa sat across from him. “You like her.”

“I know I like her,” Yeosang said quietly. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

Yeosang stared down into his tea.

“I don’t know how to be enough for her,” he said finally. “She’s smart. She’s confident. She knows what she wants. I don’t… talk right. I don’t know how to flirt or be funny or—”

“Okay, stop,” San said, pointing a spoon at him. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. You’re just not loud about it.”

Wooyoung leaned on the counter. “And maybe she’s just starting to see that.”

Jongho nodded. “You don’t have to be someone else. You just have to be real.”

Yeosang looked at each of them.

All of them, chaos incarnate, showing up for him in their own weird ways.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Then Wooyoung ruined the moment.

“But also—if you do confess, let us hide in the bushes and watch.”

“Absolutely not.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The library was quiet—too quiet.

Y/N sat at their usual table, finishing the last edits on their presentation slides. She was typing up the project summary, but her mind kept wandering… specifically to the guy sitting across from her.

Yeosang.

Same focused expression. Same organized notes. Same annoying ability to make silence feel intentional instead of awkward.

Except now, instead of being annoyed by that, she found herself watching for the smallest expressions. The twitch of his mouth when something made him laugh silently. The way he tilted his head when he was thinking. The way his fingers tapped a rhythm only he could hear.

She shook herself out of it.

This was not the time to be distracted by his jawline.

“Final slide’s done,” she said, forcing her voice to sound breezy. “You happy with the formatting?”

Yeosang glanced over, read through the slide quickly, then nodded. “It looks good.”

She closed her laptop with a little sigh of relief. “Thank God. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time fine-tuning a project.”

“You did most of the visual design,” he said. “I just… wrote stuff.”

“You wrote stuff brilliantly,” she corrected. “I think our professor’s gonna love it.”

Yeosang didn’t respond.

Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tugging at the edge of his hoodie sleeve.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What?”

He hesitated. Then: “I’m not good at presenting.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the table. “I get anxious. My brain goes quiet and I forget words. I hate standing in front of a group. I always mess it up.”

Y/N stared at him.

Kang Yeosang—top of the class, always prepared, unnervingly smart—was nervous about presenting?

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said softly. “You’re the most put-together person I know.”

He shook his head. “I’m only good when I don’t have to speak.”

She could see the embarrassment in his posture—shoulders slightly hunched, gaze lowered, like he was bracing for judgment.

But instead, something warm unfurled in her chest.

Not pity. Not even surprise.

Just… something softer.

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to be loud to be heard.”

He looked up slowly.

She offered a smile. “We still have a few days before the presentation. We could practice together. I’ll help you with the talking part.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cut in. “Besides, I’ve heard your voice. It’s not as terrifying as you think.”

Yeosang’s lips parted like he wanted to say something—but the words didn’t come. Instead, his gaze softened, almost vulnerable, and his voice came out quieter than usual.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

But the silence between them had changed again.

It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t awkward.

It was something like… trust.

“Okay,” her best friend said, popping a fry in her mouth. “Start from the beginning. Again. And no editing for drama. I want raw emotion.”

Y/N dropped her face into her hands and groaned into the table. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“I’m gonna need something more specific.”

“Yeosang.”

Her friend perked up immediately. “Oho. Continue.”

Y/N sat up slowly, like she was coming back from war. “He told me he’s bad at presentations.”

Her friend blinked. “…And?”

“And he looked so genuinely ashamed about it,” Y/N said, voice climbing in pitch. “Like he thought I’d judge him. Like he thought I’d laugh. And all I could think was, ‘Oh my god, you poor beautiful anxious thing, let me wrap you in a blanket and defend your honor.’”

There was a pause.

“…So you’re in love.”

“I am not in love,” Y/N hissed.

Her friend nodded solemnly. “Sure. Continue denying it. It’s cute.”

“I’m just—soft, okay? He makes me feel soft. Like every time he talks, my heart sits down and shuts up.”

“Wow,” her friend said, popping another fry in her mouth. “You are so far gone.”

“I’m not,” Y/N insisted. “I’m just… confused.”

Her friend gave her a look.

Y/N slumped in her seat. “Okay. I notice everything about him now. It’s disgusting.”

“Examples?”

“His hair does this little swoopy thing when he’s concentrating. He taps his pen exactly four times before writing anything. He double-checks his spelling like he’s afraid the keyboard might judge him. And when he’s nervous, he tugs on his hoodie sleeves like a baby fox.”

Her friend stared. “A baby fox.”

“I don’t know! He’s just—soft.”

A beat of silence passed. Then:

Her friend leaned forward. “So when are you going to tell him you’re halfway to naming your future cats together?”

“I’m not going to tell him anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s Yeosang! And I’m… me. And we’re project partners. And what if I made this entire connection up in my head and he’s just being nice because he thinks I’m a functional human being and not someone who is currently spiraling over his sleeves?!”

Her friend blinked slowly. “Are you done?”

“No.”

“Okay, now?”

Y/N exhaled. “Now.”

Her friend grinned. “Listen, I say this with all the love in the world: you’ve got it bad.”

Y/N groaned again. “God, I know.”

“On the bright side,” her friend said, nudging her drink closer, “you’re very cute when you’re emotionally wrecked.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell him how you feel.”

“I would rather set my own eyebrows on fire.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “But if you don’t, I swear Wooyoung is going to do it for you. That man lives for this.”

Y/N paused. Then: “…He would, wouldn’t he.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

“God help me.”

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[ckret2]

Hey, well I am a follower of yours. Also someome who has posted some stuff here on Tumblr. What advice would you recommend to get attention to posts?

I love that you make pretty art to lure in readers too. Content is good.

pretty art. You've figured that part out.

tag ur posts. With the fandom, with the characters, with the kind of content it is ("art," "headcanons," "gifs" whatever). Tumblr's tagging system is, in fact, functional these days, and people do use it to find posts they like! I do! When I wanna find stuff that might interest me I browse actual tags 20x as often as I look at the for you tab

use RELEVANT tags. On some sites it's normal to throw on irrelevant tags "for reach." On tumblr it makes you a douchebag. If I'm browsing a character's tag and I see a piece of fanart that doesn't include or even mention the character I'm looking for and yet has their tag, I will block that artist and never see anything they make ever again.

make your blog easy to navigate. This ties into tagging. idk what you make but let's say art. Tag all your art "#my art" or whatever you want and link your art tag in your pinned post. If somebody sees one of your art posts and likes it, they're gonna want to go to your blog and find more. MAKE IT EASY FOR THEM. if you don't tag any of your art and there's 200 reblogs in between your art posts they're just gonna leave rather than scroll long enough to find the next one.

interact with other people. I don't mean fishing for interactions, "hey your art's cool wanna come look at mine?" Just TALK TO people. You see a post you like the ideas of, reblog it and compliment OP's work in the tags, or leave a comment continuing the discussion they started in the post, whatever. When people see your name regularly they'll probably click on it and look at your blog and THEN they'll see your stuff. If they like it they like it. If they don't, you'll still be having more fun because you're participating in your fandom rather than standing on the side hoping someone looks at you.

don't cringe at yourself for your own creations when you post them. "here's my art sorry this looks bad," "I know this is kinda shitty," using something like "#[your name] shut up" or "#[your name]'s shitty writing" in your personal tags. Not only does it make you feel worse about your creations, it also TELLS THE VIEWERS that it's shit and they should see it that way—and that has a subconscious effect. Just put it out there, don't apologize, don't discourage the people who DO like it. If you've gotta cringe at yourself do it IRL or in DMs where people browsing your blog won't see. The more amateurish or corny or self-indulgent you think your post is & the more you're afraid it might embarrass you, the more important it is that you post it without flinching.

the most important point is "make stuff that interests people and that they wanna look at." I don't know how to teach you how to do this. I have no clue what appeals to people, I'm the person that keeps getting questions about Bill Cipher's menstrual cycle.

[melika-elena]

do revenge

this fic is for @pittpilled who was having a rough day at work, and when i said i’d write a little pick-me-up fic, requested “frank and/or samira getting revenge on their boss” which, you know what that means! sorry (not sorry) robby 😇 i hope this satisfies the request.

Robby stood in front of his motorcycle, at a complete loss. His beloved Honda Hornet, which had gotten him through a multitude of tough times, including med school, residency, multiple relationships, and the pandemic, had been completely and utterly wrecked. 

It looked like something out of a country music video— tires slashed, mirrors smashed, deep grooves into the upholstery and the deep red detailing paint scratched into so thoroughly it looked like it was naturally striped. Just completely, utterly desecrated. His baby. Something he loved more than most people. 

Numbly, he made his way back to the Pitt and asked for security. 

Dana, who was also bundled up, ready to leave, hustled over to him. “What the hell happened to you?” 

“My motorcycle…” he said, just as security ambled over. “It’s been totally trashed.” 

Her face scrunched in disbelief. “What the fuck?” 

“I need to look at security cameras of the parking lot,” Robby turned to Ahmed and Olsen. The calm he felt wasn’t even faked; he was firmly in denial about what just happened. 

Ahmed looked apologetic. “You can, but we’ve been having trouble with the cameras, lately,” he said. “The unexpected heat wave a couple weeks ago fried some things, we think, putting everything on the spritz. We’re still waiting on replacements.” 

Fucking figured. 

“Let me see them, anyway,” Robby offered. He unzipped his hoodie, feeling a flush of frustration zip through him, throwing it on the counter of the charge station. He’d get it later, after his visit to the security offices. 

“Who would do this?” Dana asked, once they were firmly ensconced in the office, abandoning going home in favor of getting intel. “Some sort of revenge?” 

“Maybe?” Robby shook his head as Ahmed sat down to access the camera feeds. “I mean, we get dissatisfied patients all the time, but they would have to know this was mine.” 

“Premeditated, then,” Olsen offered. “Any disgruntled coworkers?” He looked uneasy saying it, pointing fingers at their own. 

Robby sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He flicked a look at Dana. “None of this gets out to the nurses or anyone else.” 

She rolled her eyes. “What do you take me for?” 

Good enough for him. 

“I just wrapped up annual reviews,” Robby said. “And not all were great, of course.” 

At this, Dana looked surprised. “No one’s perfect,” she said, “but was anyone’s really that bad?” 

Robby shifted uncomfortably. “Well.” 

Dana frowned. “Well?” 

“Langdon and Mohan…” 

“Really, Robby?” Dana cut him off, visibly irritated. “What the fuck? They’re two of our best!” 

“Mohan’s speed has hardly improved, you know this!” Robby defended. “It’s a problem for everyone else.” 

“She has improved, and only because you’ve nearly broken her spirit to do it,” Dana pointed out. “Not to mention she does best when you’re not around. Coincidence?” 

Robby glared. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” 

“The truth,” Dana shot back. “Ok, fine, you were overly harsh on Mohan, what else is new. What about Langdon?” 

He refused to feel guilty. “He’s still too abrasive with the trainees. Favors King too much. Argues with Garcia in front of patients. Cherry picks cases. He’s a senior resident, he should know better.” 

Dana, Olsen, and Ahmed all stared at him. 

“What?” 

“Is that it, man?” Ahmed asked, incredulous. “I thought it was gonna be something serious, like he was using again.” 

Olsen sighed in exasperation. 

“You’re serious,” Dana said. “Like, completely serious.” 

“Yes!” Robby said, throwing his hands up, feeling a little cornered. “What part of senior resident do you not get? Not to mention he’s repeating it, so he should definitely know better.” 

“Robby, these are such minor infractions, it’s worth barely a mention while on the floor, let alone the focus of an annual review,” Dana said, irritation now bleeding into true anger. “Tell me it’s not going in his file!” 

“Well, no,” Robby said. “Although… I might have led him to believe it would.” 

“Un-fucking-believable,” Dana snarled. “I would’ve keyed your motorcycle myself for that kinda shit. What the hell were you thinking?” 

“I don’t know,” Robby said, too flustered to be anything but honest. “I just—” 

“Haven’t forgiven him for his addiction,” Dana said, “or forgiven yourself for not seeing it sooner. Or forgiven each other for fucking up your friendship over it. Take your pick.” 

Ahmed and Olsen noticeably did not say a word. 

“Right for the jugular, huh, Dana,” Robby said dryly, trying to break the tension. 

“Sure, just like you in those annual reviews,” she shot back. 

“Ouch,” Olsen muttered. 

“Let’s just see those tapes,” Robby said. He clearly wasn’t going to get any sympathy here. 

The tapes, as Ahmed and Olsen cautioned, were grainy, skipping in and out. To make matters worse, Robby had parked in a corner of the lot where the cycle was hidden in the shadows of the building for the majority of the time. At one point, a couple hours before, they noticed two figures,  average-height, clad in bulky black, dart towards the motorcycle, but then the cameras cut out again. 

“Dammit!” Robby said. “Wait, can we go back and pause?” 

Ahmed dutifully did, but they didn’t gain any other information from it. 

“Do you actually think it’s Mohan and Langdon?” Ahmed asked. “I can’t see either of them doing this.” 

“I can’t either,” Robby admitted. “Especially Mohan. But I guess I should investigate.” 

“Or you could call the cops and let them do their jobs,” Dana said, supremely unimpressed.

Robby waved her off. “Of course,” he turned to Olsen. “You’ll call?” 

Olsen nodded, already on the phone. Honestly, protocol stated they should’ve done it from the beginning, but well, sometimes the Pitt was the wild west when it came to involving the cops. 

Robby left the security office, Dana on his heels. “What are you doing?” She asked. “You can’t just go and accuse—” 

He held up his hand. “I’m not gonna do anything, just info-gather,” he said. “And I know the perfect person to ask.” 

Mel King had just come in for the night shift, and looked up with her usual sunny smile when she saw them approach her, although at their expressions her smile dropped, brow furrowing quizzically. “Good evening,” she said, cautiously.

“Hey, Mel,” Robby said, trying his best to inject some joviality into his tone. You caught more flies with honey, after all. “Question for you: I know both Mohan and Langdon are off today. You seen them at all? Heard from them?” 

Mel, gloves in hand, paused. “Um.” She said. “May I ask why? Is everything ok?” 

“He’s just being silly, hon, you don’t have to answer,” Dana assured her. 

“N-no, it’s okay,” Mel said, wringing the gloves in her hands. “Um, as far as I know Fr— Dr. Langdon took his kids to Hershey Park for the weekend. His sister’s in town. And Dr. Mohan is actually hanging out with my sister, Becca, for the day.” 

Robby blinked. “Oh.” He blinked. “Your sister, Becca? The one who… lives in the facility?” 

Mel frowned. “Yes,” she said, a little sharply. “Is there a problem with that?” 

“No, no,” Robby said. God, he was digging holes left and right. “Do you… happen to have pictures?” 

“Robby,” Dana said sharply. 

Mel shrugged. “My phone is in my locker,” she said, “but it’s on their Instagram stories? If you follow them?” 

“I do,” Dana said, and she reluctantly got her phone out. “Let’s just shut down this nonsense once and for all, okay?” 

She got on her readers, opening up Instagram. Sure enough, in @ FrankLan’s Instagram stories, there were selfies of Frank with his kids and sister, chocolate-y mouths spread into wide grins at Hershey. There was even, Robby noted, a repost from Frank’s sister of an artsy above-shot showing some chocolate bars, merch, and a chocolate-bar shaped ticket with today’s date stamped on it. So Langdon was out. And @ SamiraMohan showed smiling selfies of Samira and a brunette woman who looked like Mel, out and about at cafes, the movies, and a bookstore. 

“They look like they had fun,” Dana commented, sounding like a proud mom. 

“Samira and Becca are good friends, but she also knew I would want a quiet apartment so I could sleep before my shift,” Mel explained, although she only spoke to Dana, ignoring Robby entirely. 

“Thank you, sweetheart, for indulging us,” Dana said, putting her phone away and shooting Robby a look. “Right, Robby?” 

Robby deflated. His head hurt. He suddenly wanted to go home, right this instant. Too bad his ride was totaled. 

Just then, the cops walked in. “That’s my cue,” he said. He nodded to Mel, awkwardly. “Thanks, Dr. King.” 

“No problem,” Mel said, although it wasn’t as chipper as normal. Robby couldn’t blame her. Between his faux pas about her sister and what she surely heard about her friends’ reviews, he doubted even her good nature would induce her to think kindly of him. 

Robby half-turned. “Oh, wait, just let me grab my—” 

Whitaker, on the night shift, was also passing by. He was moving precariously, hands full, but that still didn’t save him from slipping on the newly mopped floors, pitching forward onto the charge desk.

Fortunately, Robby’s sweatshirt padded his fall a bit.

Unfortunately, it also padded the fall of the multiple urine samples he was carrying, completely soaking Robby's beloved, favorite sweatshirt. 

“Sorry!” Whitaker said, strangled. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” 

Of fucking course. 

“I give up,” Robby said, tilting his head up, speaking to god or the universe or whoever. “You won.” Fuck this entire day. 

He never did find out who wrecked his motorcycle. 

[antoniabishop]

I'm going to address some of the comments I've received on these 2 silly pictures.

These drawings of a flying car were inspired by a scene from a book intended for 12-year-olds. Nowhere in the post do I say what book it is—you have to know it to recognize it. Recently, I've seen that Beyonce has been riding in a flying car on her tour—the image has been on my mind. I don't expect to reach everybody. But I think it's important we talk.

Of course I'm aware of Rowling's political beliefs about the policy in her country. I read her twitter feed daily and have been doing so for months. Within reason, when her rhetoric reaches its most extreme, I try to engage with her and the journalists she associates with. It can be frustrating. It's made me cry. But in engaging with and responding to this rhetoric, I know I have done more to moderate the conversation than any fanart boycott/lynch mob ever will.

Please keep in mind that these books, above all others, were translated into over 80 languages and distributed widely to children in places where women have no rights whatsoever, where you can be killed for being gay, where children are sold into slavery, and where there is no running water—let alone state sponsored access to estrogen. JK Rowling's career began in global humanitarian aid with Amnesty International. She has personal experience fleeing from domestic violence and relying upon social resources and welfare to survive.

The money she has spent to create a penis-free shelter where one did not exist does not harm trans people. A trans inclusive women's shelter in the area already exists. To argue that cis women fleeing abuse choosing to stay in this shelter is transphobic only betrays the fascist ideology strawmen TERFs accuse our community of.

To take something as innocent and simple as a flying car and assume it means I hate trans people is bizarre. This is fanart of a book I read when I was 12. Doing so inspired me to write my own fantasy stories, which I've been doing ever since (it's been 20 years!). The books taught me more about friendship, dreams, division, and death than even my parents. I studied these books in school, alongside their film adaptations, and learned even more about its depictions of slavery, extremism, blood purity, and Britain's place as an imperial figure in the cultural milieu of fantasy fiction...

The body and its presentation—Ron's dress robes, Snivelly's pants, the boggart, polyjuice potion, Tonks—are depicted in Harry Potter without malice. In fact, it is liberal and playful with the subject even by modern standards. Twitter aside, Harry Potter itself is not outdated because there's no Colin Creevey gender journey, and frankly, I think getting caught up in cancel culture has caused a large part of this community to completely lose the plot.

I like R. Kelly's Trapped in the Closet. I do, I think it's a crazy, funny, actually brilliant thing (the man is illiterate! this is Shakespeare!). I still watch the myriad of Weinstein Company films I enjoyed. Alec Baldwin killed someone. And I see people post Drake all the time. There is something suspicious and scary and strange about the way the tumblr community is so quick to exile people for increasingly petty political points: no engagement, no debate, toe the party line or get block button'd. I don't think it's a coincidence that JK Rowling became a target, since her stories were a point of common ground for fucking all of us and do address issues like "media cancel culture" and "extremist personality purity cult" in extremely tangible, detailed ways. And then some.

My coworker at the record store refers to me, and other nonbinary or transmasc people, as "man period." He's in his late 40s and he does not get transness, it pisses him off! And I love this fuckin guy anyway! The more you're out in the world engaging with its diversity and intolerance and strangeness, the easier it is to accept that good and bad exist beyond having a graduate level understanding of gender and sexuality as well as a flawless execution of "they" as a singular pronoun.

"But her money—!" I hear you say. And to that I have to answer, you are just not informed about what this money is actually doing. A trans woman was making a cis woman (who had a history child sexual abuse) uncomfortable in the changing room of the hospital where they worked. The cis woman requested privacy. She was fired.

I wouldn't know that if I hadn't chosen to tolerate the abrasive rhetoric and see what was going on for myself. To be brave enough to open my mouth and argue, to get a response, to form a counterargument. It's been good for me, as I believe it's good for any community to have dialogues on their differences. I've changed minds, and I've had my mind changed on a few things. It's uncomfortable, necessary work.

Thanks for listening.

You were seen.

[thattimdrakeguy]

Like the Great Vin Diesel Said: It's All About Family.

Family has always been an integral part of what has made Tim Drake work so well as a character--

Also hold on I'm just now realizing Tim's wearing a red shirt shirt with yellow on it, and green shorts--Oh you absolute fanboy. Even when you're Robin for 3 to 4 years now you can't stop being a dork. I love this boy.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, family.

Tim was created to have a family. It's something that made him unique among the other Robins. Even when Tim's mother died, he eventually got a step-mother, which was nice, and added another sense of relatability to the character for many kids who, unfortunately, probably had to deal with similar circumstances.

And although Tim was adopted by Bruce by this time--and I am not a fan of them killing all of Tim's original family as it takes away something that makes him unique--Adam Beechen does the best damn job he can to still make family important to Tim, from him keeping a picture of his original parents--I assume that's in the script anyways, so I'll give him the credit for that. Though these early issues by Freddie Williams III are some of the best Tim works you'll ever find.

To just...this talk he has with Bruce.

It's unfortunate this moment had to come because Beechen was made to write in the evil Cass storyline, because it shows the growth of these characters and how important they are to one another.

While I don't have the panel anymore, due to hard drive issues, Bruce from the beginning thought Tim needed a strong father figure, not having the best opinion of Jack and Janet Drake's tendency to flake on their son to go world traveling without him.

So now having Bruce be Tim's de-facto parent...

It's nice that they didn't forget that in order to make Batman edgier, or mysterious, as if that's what makes him cool.

Batman is a cynic, he doesn't fully trust the human race, he likes scaring people, and beating up bad guys.

But through and through, he is a family man. It's why he does what he does, from avenging his parents, to taking in orphans that he can relate to and sees himself in.

This is totally natural progression of Tim and Bruce's relationship, even if it came at the cost of something that made Tim more unique. And that effort is absolutely appreciated by me. Things may be different, things may have progressed in ways I do not agree with, but one of the major hearts to the character of not only Tim Drake, but Bruce Wayne as well remains.

You gotta love it.

Bruce Wayne, and Tim Drake.

Father and son, for better or worse.

[ilikekidsshows]

Sorry please can I ask what are some instances in the show where you can point to the narrative trying to make her sympathetic for another case or when the show tries to make Marinette sympathetic with her oh my God I'm so horrible or by making her emotionally breakdown e.t.c.

---

Kuro Neko, Strikeback and Sublimation are the biggest offenders, but Crocoduel also has this baked into its very inciting incident.

Kuro Neko: The entire Ladynoir conflict arc of Ladybug constantly keeping more and more secrets from Cat Noir and Cat Noir being sidelined from battles leads to everyone claiming Cat Noir quit because she can’t return Cat Noir’s feelings for her. The situation is solved with Cat Walker saying Ladybug is always helping others and needs someone to help her in return and Cat Noir coming back and saying he overreacted, being the only party to apologise for the conflict.

Strikeback: Marinette put the Miraculous up in freaking cloud with direct access from her primary weapon she uses in the clear sight of everyone constantly, and misused the Rabbit Miraculous to teleport to Adrien to stop him from leaving Paris by recruiting him instead of traveling back in time to figure out what’s up with the Akuma infecting the entirety of Paris. She cries about being the worst Guardian ever because Félix then stole the yoyo and the Miraculous off her after she mistakenly recruited him.

Sublimation: Marinette, after causing possibly the worst day of Sublime’s life, corners her in her dressing room and cries crocodile tears about how she’s scared that Sublime won’t want to be her friend. And those were crocodile tears, we can see there were no tears under those hands when she peeked at Sublime to gauge her reaction to her woe-is-me routine.

Crocoduel: Marinette worries Luka won’t want to see her because he’s in love with her while she can’t return his feelings, instead of the fact that she was a terrible girlfriend who constantly ghosted him and called him by the wrong name while dating him.

Miraculous is, in general, very manipulative in the way it has the characters discuss Marinette’s many many many instances of bad conduct. This is too small in singular cases to make a full list of, but pay attention to how the characters in universe discuss anything Marinette does wrong. Do they actually use accurate words or minimize the events in some way?

A common thing is discussing something as something that happened, when it was actually something Marinette did. Aka, is Marinette’s culpability discussed and to what degree? Another thing is using lesser language to make it seem like less harm was done. Marinette gaslighting Adrien wasn’t even called “lying” in the London Special, they referred to it as “not telling the truth”. These two are the same thing, but the one they used holds considerably less weight. It’s subtle, but, considering it’s a part of a pattern, it’s another sign of the writing team being very shy of actually attributing culpability to Marinette for her actions.

---

Most of this originates from this post.

This being kinda derivative made me realize just how much I talk about specific topics, so, I’ve decided to start tagging the more recurring "salt" topics on this blog for easier post recovery. I’m not gonna go through my entire backlog, but I’ll try to tag the more relevant posts that I refer to a lot.

Most posts about Marinette are now going to be tagged with: Marinette Morality Olympics, to cover the various different ways Marinette is shielded from culpability by both the writers and fandom.

Other tags are: Adrien the Brand (for posts about how the show objectifies and mistreats Adrien) and Abuse Apologia the Show (self-explanatory). Are the Straights Okay? will also be making appearances.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

Please could you write something about possessive and a little bit awkward best friend Gavi (friends to lovers) 🙏

closer than close.

masterlist requests word count: 960

a/n: possessivegavi4life genre: fluff warnings: none.

summary: pablo’s your best friend, but lately he’s been acting weird - clingy, jealous, and way too interested in who’s texting you. when you finally call him out, he confesses that he likes you and hates the thought of anyone else getting close. turns out, you feel the same.

You’ve known Pablo since before he had money and fame. Since he was a wiry kid with too-big front teeth and bruises on his knees from falling over trying to impress you with football skills.

He’s been your best friend forever. Always there, always loud, always acting like the center of the world and dragging you with him like gravity. But lately he’s been acting… off.

Like how he practically growled at that guy from your uni who asked if you were single last weekend.

Or how he started sitting closer. Not in a “hey, I’m comfy around you” kind of way. In a “if our arms brush one more time I might explode” kind of way.

Or how he stares at your phone screen now when you’re texting. And not subtly. He leans in. Neck craning. Eyebrows twitching. Mouth pressed tight.

You’d call him out if he weren’t so obvious about it already.

Tonight, you’re at his place, flopped on the couch, half-watching some dumb movie you’ve both seen a hundred times. His hoodie swallows you whole, sleeves covering your hands. You’re scrolling through your texts when you feel him shift beside you.

“Who’s that?” he asks, voice flat.

You glance up, confused. “Huh?”

“On your phone.” He nods toward the screen. “You smiled.”

You blink. “I smiled?”

He nods again, eyes pinned to your phone like it insulted his whole bloodline.

“It’s Nico,” you say slowly, watching his jaw tighten. “The guy from lecture. I just asked for the notes.”

Pablo makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a scoff, but more annoyed. He slumps deeper into the couch, crossing his arms. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex under the fabric.

“Oh,” he mutters, clearly not meaning it.

You turn your body to face him, raising your eyebrows. “What’s your deal?”

“No deal,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “I just think that guy’s a loser.”

“He’s nice.”

“He’s boring.”

You snort. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. He looks like he does magic tricks for fun.”

You burst out laughing, which only seems to frustrate him more. He sits up straighter, eyes blazing now, and you swear there’s actual panic bubbling behind the sarcasm.

“Why are you even talking to him?” he asks, quieter this time.

“Because I needed the notes.”

“There’s like five million other people in your class.”

You narrow your eyes. “Are you seriously mad that I asked someone else for help?”

“No,” he says. “I’m mad because you could’ve asked me.”

You blink. “You’re not even in uni.”

“Still would’ve figured it out.”

His voice is soft now, but there’s an edge to it. Something raw. You stop laughing.

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it a little, then lets out a sigh. His whole chest rises and falls like he’s just come back from a sprint.

“I don’t like it,” he admits. “When you talk to other guys.”

The room goes quiet. You’re not breathing. He’s not looking at you.

You swallow. “Why not?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then, finally, he mutters, “Because they don’t know you like I do.”

You shift, curling one leg up underneath you. “So?”

“So they don’t know how you hate mushrooms, or how you fake-laugh when you’re nervous, or that you always sleep facing the wall.”

He finally looks at you, and something in his expression makes your throat tighten.

“They don’t know how you hum when you’re focused. Or that you rewatch the same sad part of that one movie every month just to cry. They don’t know the sound of your laugh when you’re actually happy.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. You’re pretty sure your heart is somewhere in your throat.

“I know all of that,” he says, voice cracking just a little. “And it pisses me off that someone else might get to learn it, too.”

You blink fast, your chest fluttering.

“Are you… being jealous right now?”

He groans and covers his face with his hands. “Yes. Obviously. Jesus.”

You stare at him, heat crawling up your neck.

“You’re literally blushing,” you point out, voice half a whisper.

He groans louder, dragging his hands down his face. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m aware.”

“Pablo.”

He peeks at you through his fingers.

“You could’ve just told me.”

“I didn’t want to make it weird.”

You snort. “You’ve been making it weird.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m just saying… maybe you shouldn’t talk to Nico.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I like you. And he’s not even funny. And also he smells weird.”

You burst out laughing again, and Pablo just watches you like he’s trying not to smile.

He doesn’t succeed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

“But you like me,” he says softly, almost like a question.

You meet his eyes. “I really like you.”

He exhales so deeply it’s like he’s been holding his breath since last year.

And then he scoots closer. Just a little. But enough that your knees brush.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice a whisper now.

You nod. “Finally.”

And when he does, it’s everything you hoped it would be.

A little clumsy, a little desperate. But warm. Familiar. Like coming home.

After, you’re curled into his chest, and he’s running his fingers through your hair, smug and soft all at once.

“You’re not actually gonna talk to Nico again, right?”

You look up at him. “You’re seriously still stuck on that?”

He shrugs. “What if he tries something?”

“Then he’ll have to deal with my possessive best friend who kisses me like he means it.”

He grins. “Damn right.”

You shake your head and laugh into his hoodie.

He holds you closer anyway.

[morbethgames]

heyyyy. Just remembered you and came to see if there was any update and nothing yet. Just want to let you know I appreciate your writing and the visceral emotions they arouse. After playing the fire guy (I've forgotten his name)'s scene when he didn't go to the burial and she went to him, I cried so hard I haven't had the mind to go back to that route. Testament of your great writing. Tried Kris too and more tears. Same with Carter. You are a great writer and I just wanted to let you know that in case you ever have any doubts.

I appreciate that a lot! I haven't given up on The Bureau, I just needed something of a break from it. Between writing a static fiction (which I'm almost done the first revision of), submitting a short story for publication, school, and other things, I wanted to make sure I didn't go halfway with The Bureau when I went back to it.

I also figured now is a time to address this portion. While the characters in the story are all inherently good people, they have flaws and quirks, and sometimes those flaws appear while they're doing their job. Like, in one of the routes, Lance roughing up the suspect in the house while arresting him, not just using her strength but also her authority to put fear into him in order to detain him with the least amount of struggle as possible. It's something I want to explore, however in the current climate I'm a little hesitant to write those grey-area scenes when it comes to law enforcement. It is meant to be a commentary on the state of the individual performing those acts and to highlight those flaws, but at the moment, it just isn't the time to explore those topics given current events.

Empathy is a big part of this story along with the grief it explores. About how trauma affects people and the way they act and react to things changes because of it. I feel that it would be irresponsible of me to not notice the empathy owed to people affected by real life current events.

What does this mean? I'm still going to finish The Bureau, and I'll still be working on it, but now may not be the time to release it. I've paused Patreon over the past few months because of this, but again, I want to stress; it's not dead. I'm not going to leave it unfinished forever, especially not when I'm so close to the finish line with it.

You are all amazing for sticking with it, and me, in my writing journey. The skills I'm obtaining through writing static fiction will absolutely be able to be carried out into The Bureau when it returns. I'm taking things one day at a time, and I hope you guys are as well.

Peace, love, and empathy to all out there, and I hope to have more updates for you in the near future. Always remember:

Stay brilliant,

-Vi

[squib-fandoms]

hi, darling! Could you write some headcanons with the Joker, his behavior when he falls in love, how would this big baby take care of him?

No one can convince me that this man is a red flag, he is SUCH a green flag

I can’t see him liking someone romantically straight off the bat. He would need to start off as your friend first! Or at least have admired you from afar for some time! I think he'd be drawn to a kind personality, so if he knows you're kind, whether he actually talks to you or not, chances are you may have won his heart <3

Before he even realizes he likes you romantically, one of his first signs is protection. He does this to everyone he considers his friend, so it’s hard for anyone to tell that this is even a sign of his romantic affection. It’s why HE doesn’t even realize it’s a part of his romantic affection!

But it’s different than his usual protection. He’ll stand behind you like a big scary guard dog, eyes on anyone who even comes close. He’s singling out anyone who could be a threat to you, that guy across the street he’s gone against in the ring, yeah he’s def a threat.

Speaking of his underground fighting, no matter what your relationship is, he’d prefer you not to know. He’s scared on making you a target against revengeful fighters enough as is by just hanging around you, he also doesn’t want you to think less of him.

^that said if you ever did get in any danger and Hajun protected you, you might be able to figure it out because he’s just a little TOO good Y’know?

Another sign for he likes you, is that he CONSTANTLY misses you, he wonders how your day was or what you’re up to. He just misses you. You’re such a calming presence in his life, a safe space for him amidst the chaos.

Of course no one else knows those thoughts as he isn’t very vocal with them, but they’re there. Wooin and Hyuk have caught on as well because he ALWAYS seeks you out in any crowd. He could be in the middle of nowhere and STILL be searching for your light, your warmth, your radiance.

Okay yeah…these thoughts are getting out of hand…that’s when he realizes he likes you as more than a friend. He’s a little caught off guard by it honestly. I can’t imagine Joker to have much, IF ANY relationship experience so he’s a little freaked out by it.

Once he realizes he likes you, it sticks with him, the thought never leaves him and it makes him more aware of how he and you coexist in a spot. Is he TOO close to you? Would you be comfortable with him being closer? You smell so good…and you’re so tiny compared to him…how would your hand fit in his?

He might honestly talk to you just a little less. It’s not cause he doesn’t like you! Actually, he can’t believe you’re single, he doesn’t understand how anyone couldn’t like you! He’s just…so self conscious and his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of you.

He wants to know everything about you. When he finds out something new about you, he’s so overjoyed but it’s not enough…he wants to know more..

He LOVES hearing you talk about all of your interests! You might be embarrassed by your rambling but for him it’s his favorite thing to listen to. Please ramble to him for hours at a time. It’s one of the few things he actually vocalizes with you as well, he encourages you to keep talking about anything and everything.

You could be telling him about how you sat for several hours watching paint dry and recorded what the paint looked like during each hour of the waiting process and he’ll be SO invested.

SUBTLE TOUCHES!! god he so badly wants to hold your hand and hug you and cuddle you, but he CAN'T!! instead, he focuses on subtle touches, fixing your hair during a windy day, pulling you away from the road by your shoulder, helping you clean up any crumbs from your mouth.

If you're physically affectionate, he loves it, all of it. He loves when you hold his hand, hug him, climb on him like a jungle gym, even biting and licking him, he loves it all and takes everything he can get. No matter how strange your habits are, he loves them all because it's YOU!!

...Names his dog something related to you. Your favorite food, your favorite anime character, something related to your hobbies. It only serves to keep you on his mind more and make him miss you though. He's surprisingly clingy if you can't tell LOL

If you get along with his brothers, his heart literally melts omg. The most important people in his life getting along so well, he's so happy.

He tries to do anything he can to provide for you, he wants to be your provider, your protector, your boyfriend and hopefully husband if you'll have him!

He's way too scared to approach you about his feelings though, so he sits in his love, letting it grow stronger and stronger until he can find his voice. For him, he's scared that not only would you reject him, but he'd lose a close friend, someone who gives him light and more motivation to keep trying hard everyday, someone who makes him feel worthy enough to be loved.

Sort of off topic but PLEASE when you two start cuddling, please let him lay on your chest while you play with his hair. This giant guy is SO soft and really loves when you touch him and you're so gentle with it, even though he feels he doesn't deserve it(he does, he deserves everything good)

[uniquethingtastemaker]

I updated Floyd's Dreaming of You comments in the Update Masterlist for the Dreaming of You Series!

It went from... I don't think I saved what I had, but I remember it said something like "He missed you and it shows." It had a little description and some comments to a sophisticated and thought-out summary. It's the closest to an actual summary than any of the others, surprisingly. This is the Updated Version:

"After falling in love with you in the real world, the line between reality and dream blurs for Floyd. Things take an uncanny and disturbing turn in his relationship, and he freaks out. He tries everything to bring you back to your usual self, but nothing works… He’s never been that skilled with the emotional stuff. That was always your job. Now, you’re not the same, and he can’t ask for help. He forces himself to leave before the situation gets worse. It seems like you’re a lost cause… He kinda hates you, but also misses you a lot. When you meet him in the sea, all he wants to do is get you away from him. Floyd doesn’t trust himself to not accidentally hurt you again…… (that was a noice summary on my part) Original Little Mermaid reference. Floyd gets ADHD meds and uses his newfound powers for chaos. Everyone should watch out, because he’s become consistently smarter. My second favorite is Azul. Although Jade is beyond exceptional."

Very exciting! Floyd lovers, get ready! I finally figured out how to write him in a way that makes me feel good and is in character. He confused me for a long time. However, I pieced together what my issue was and how to resolve it.

It felt like Floyd didn't care about other people, because he didn't think about others before he acted. The problem was that I knew Floyd did care about people, like Jade and Azul. There were certain moments where it showed, like whenever Azul was sinking into darkness at the end of his dream. Floyd was panicking and trying to get him out, so he does care. It's just that his actions don't usually show it, since he doesn't consider how he affects others.

That's my biggest pet peeve. Floyd doesn't listen to anybody, including those he cares about. You also can't force someone to listen, either, so if he's not willing, he won't. Therefore, in his current state, I couldn't see him being a reliable, good, or healthy partner. You can have someone unpredictable and fun, while still listening to you. Some people might find a different way to handle this issue, but I decided to have Reader give him ADHD meds. You take one glance at the man and can tell he has severe ADHD.

As someone with ADHD, I understand the difficulty and symptoms that he has. If anxiety weren't a huge factor, I probably wouldn't care about others' reactions to me either, especially if I had people who supported me no matter what. Floyd was also the spoiled/favorite child, so I don't think people had a fundamental issue with it. They just learned how to navigate around it. Therefore, he doesn't see anything wrong with his behavior and how it affects others. That implies he doesn't have an intrinsic drive to change it. Obviously, his stance could easily change if he met someone he was dedicated to, but I imagine it would be extremely irritating, frustrating, and distressing to try to change it. That's how I would feel. It's also different from challenging and interesting. Floyd challenges people for fun... It's hard to explain, but trying to work on something more difficult, like a fundamental aspect where you don't get dopamine from it, is painful. If I weren't forced to do it, I would quit because it's too hard. He lived without changing that part of himself, so he'd probably take the easy solution, which is to leave. Again, I would, too. Therefore, taking an easier route, like ADHD meds, would help a lot.

I'm taking from my own experience, but medication changed my life. I could think and be myself while doing tasks I usually wouldn't be interested in. It was great! It also freed up space in my mind to think about other people. I was getting what I needed, dopamine, so I didn't have to worry about myself all the time. I think it would be the same thing with Floyd, so that's what I'm doing.

What do you think? If you have ADHD, do you agree or disagree? Let me know in the comments!

[bookwyrminspiration]

chat should I do the 50k words in a month this november, as per usual, or since we're ditching the site due to shitty management should I break free of the ill-timing and do the challenge in like. june.

[diathadevil]

Do you ever think about how Fakir, after him and Ahiru finally broke everything that kept the town of Goldkröne in the ghostly hands of its writer, after they finally have some air of peace over the town finally being able to live in its intended early 2000s environment, that Fakir still feels at times like it's not real and that for a while he fears that if he closes his eyes it'll be back in Drosselmeyer's control. Like it just doesn't feel real to him during that first year of calm, until he feels the dull pain on his recovering hand injury and Ahiru who follows him without a pendant anywhere to be found.

He doesn't feel it's real, the calm finality of this town, but he makes sure to feel the scar on his hand. And he makes sure to hold the little duck and realize that she is who she has always been. Him and the town are finally living peacefully.

[pagesofkenna]

fantasy novel wip has officially crossed the 10k mark since i started the new draft with the new outline last month. gotten less writing done than i would have wished but when i am able to sit down to write i'm getting a lot more done than i had previously.

[corioliseffect]

new curse dropped: having fic ideas but i refuse to write rpf/don't think i even could

[twilight-princess240]

I'm probably going to regret posting this and might delete it at some point, who knows, but I want to get this off my chest. I'll probably regret doing this on a public post on Tumblr later.

Is it weird to miss someone who you've only talked to briefly on here who deactivated their account for a reason or another, and since you don't know if there's any other social media out there they have along with the fact that you still didn't talk to them much, you'll probably never encounter them again?

Because that happened to me. I found an account by chance while perusing Tumblr, and I was interested in what posts were on there despite them being 18+ and NSFW. I honestly liked the content when looking through it and I even sent a message through the ask function admitting as such despite being unusually shy for some reason, maybe because at the time I didn't post anything (until my rant about my girl Alyssa Targaryen not too long ago) and I usually prefer to keep to myself.

I admittedly wasn't sure what the response would be and suddenly I felt like the biggest shrinking violet on the planet at the time. It was probably because it was the first time I had ever sent an ask on anyone's account, not to mention this was probably the first guy I reached out to on my own initiative outside of those I was already comfortable around on Discord. I was so nervous and to a certain extent, scared, because even though I was 22 at the time I never knew I could be so shy. I must have been pretty red in the face from my shyness too.

But he reached out to me about my ask through Tumblr's messages function, and he was honestly really kind. In the first message he sent to me, he thanked me for the kindness in my ask, and I was so surprised that he directly reached out to me that not only did my shyness kick in full force, I admittedly didn't respond to it for a month. When I finally responded, he understood I was shy for reasons I couldn't explain at the time, and surprisingly, despite my shyness still lingering, I felt comfortable around him. He assured me that he didn't feel uncomfortable about the fact that I liked a lot of his posts, which I was feeling really conscious about and had admitted to him. I felt like I could come out of my shell at least a bit, open up a little, at least to the point where I was willing to keep talking to him if we could. There were times where there were bumps in the road, where I wasn't sure if we had gotten off on the wrong foot or something or I was wondering if I was annoying or a load because of a tendency to just run my mouth at times, but overall I honestly enjoyed talking to him and his company even if it was solely through Tumblr's messages function.

However, it wasn't for long. We only talked for a few months, and even then, it was really brief and spread out partially due to different time zones. He was dealing with a lot of hate from anons who knew they could get away with it because they could hide behind screens. It was one of the key reasons if not the key reason why he eventually deactivated his blog, last year actually, and probably hasn't returned. Our final exchange, in October last year, was me wishing him luck since he was deleting his blog and possibly not returning, and he thanked me and wished me the best as well. And we both moved on with our lives.

But here's why I think I'm weird when concerning this topic and for even writing all this. It's because somehow, I miss him and feel a wish to reconnect with him and talk with him again. Aside from us talking very sparsely, I'm not sure if we even really knew each other after our message exchanging. As a result of all that, I feel like I shouldn't miss him. Yet I do, and I feel a strange desire to reconnect with him and talk with him again. I try to quash those feelings because not only will it probably never happen, to an extent I feel like it doesn't feel right to miss him and want to reconnect with him after only exchanging messages with him briefly and it being almost a year since he left.

Oh boy, this was practically an essay. While I do feel a bit better about getting this off my chest, I'm probably going to be cringing at myself for this and considering when to delete it as well. It scares me a bit, the fact that even though I didn't mention the person's name at all, someone might still figure out who I'm talking about and somehow get it to him. Well, it's still up in the air as to whether this is going to be deleted or not, but it all depends on how much I regret posting this and how mortified and conscious I feel at least a bit later over even writing this to begin with.