#AND ITS DISCUSSIONS OF MENTAL HEALTH THANK YOU FOR THAT

[casualavocados]

you know what i dont even care this show catered directly to me in a very specific way. like there's so much value in shows like bad buddy where there is no homophobia at all and you get to experience that safety among metaphors, and ofc there's plenty of value in shows WITH homophobia too, its just ive seen enough of them for me to be tired.

but god. THIS SHOW? with its direct criticism of society and outdated beliefs and oppressive systems, it's messages about individuality tied to messages of society as a whole. the calling out of the way these systems are built on heteronormativity. the gray area between what's right and wrong like. holy shit yes can i get more shows abt the fight? and to have it also be so happy and hopeful and genuine too and not constantly putting its foot down. like idk if im even saying it right but im so impressed this show got to say everything it did. (even within not me's political radicalness, the individual characters didn't actually deal with homophobia itself in their storylines.) so like yes thank you i'll take 20 more of these gay bitches lets go.

[germposting]

pricks: you really talk about [thing] a lot huh?

me: yeah, its sorta like thats the “obsessive” part of the obsessive compulsion disorder ive told you that i have. it sorta makes me obsessed with things. dont know if you knew what that word meant or not.

[thexphial]

I feel like I have come to a point with Tumblr that I need to make a post about the way they have handled (or rather, not handled) moderation. At approximately 3am on Saturday, February 11, 2023, my wife was informed that her Tumblr account had been terminated. This came with no other information. She was not given details as to why her account was terminated and the only recourse she had was to use the "contact support" form to ask why her account was terminated and ask for how she could restore it. As of today, Feb 21, 2023, she has heard back nothing from the moderation team, just an acknowledgement that her emails have been received. We are looking at 10 days with zero communication.

My wife's account was used for fandom, for political commentary, and to discuss queer issues. She was active for years, and should not have been flagged as a bot based on her activity. If she was reported or has broken a rule, we do not know what it could have been. If this could happen to her, it could happen to you, to anyone. She used her account as a primary way of connecting with others and its loss has been a serious blow to her mental health. I have written to support myself and received a response but it was simply to tell me that she should contact them, which she has already done.

It's clear that they are not responding to her for reason or reasons unknown, given the fact that I got a response in 24 hrs but she has gotten nothing at all in 10 days. There seems to be no way to contact the moderation team outside of the support form, which has been ineffective. I feel I have no recourse but to make this issue public. Again, if this could happen to my wife, it could happen to anyone. I am half expecting to be terminated just for writing this post. I am going to try to blaze this, but I doubt they will allow it. If you see it, could you pass it on?

Thank you!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

savanaclaw light novel: the importance of introspection

I’ve previously discussed how TWST benefits from telling us the same story across different mediums. Different mediums provide different benefits over others, and some can “patch up” rougher bits of story or add more detail to them. The game is interactive and serves as a baseline for most new content. The manga is able to have far more freedom of movement and expression due to being visual-heavy. And last, but not least, a light novel, which is mostly text, has the boon of letting us see more of each character’s thoughts and feelings. We can elaborate on what the game already established and understand the characters on a deeper level.

I would say that the light novel’s format will most benefit the OB boys, as they are the ones who will go through the biggest character arcs in the main story. Because the game’s story is told via mostly dialogue and some sound effects, we rarely, if ever, get a clear understanding of what the OB boys are truly thinking and feeling outside of their brief post-OB flashbacks. The same goes for the manga, which has limited pages to tell its story, so it has to keep a certain pace. But a light novel? Well, you can go ham there with an omniscient narrator.

Today, I want to talk about Leona’s expanded post-OB introspection in the second volume of the light novel as an example of this. Then I will combine it with the information we have from the game and see how the light novel complements what already we know of his character thanks to hindsight. (I’ll be referencing this fan translation if you want to read and follow along!)

First thing’s first! From the game, we know that Leona enrolled in Night Raven College one year late (and then got held back a year, which makes sense considering he is 20 in the main story present). He didn't find a use in attending school since he, by royal birth, was able to afford all the best tutors in the world and didn't think NRC had anything left to teach him. In Leona's Birthday Boy vignettes, he further specifies that he decided to enroll at NRC after Cheka was born. As Leona says in his post-OB flashback in-game, Cheka's birth means "the despised second son loses what little claim he had to the throne forever", essentially putting an end to his hopes. This would imply that this specific change in circumstance was the push that made Leona want to physically distance himself from home. Furthermore, it's supported by Leona's other behaviors: he does not take calls or read letters from home if he can help it (implied by Cheka asking why Leona doesn't answer his letters and Cheka calling on Halloween night to catch up with him; Leona lies and quickly hangs up), he makes excuses to avoid going home (as Kifaji states), etc. If we want to extrapolate even more, how is it that Leona, second born prince, initially crossed paths with Ruggie, who was born and raised in the slums (which, I imagine, must be quite some distance away from the royal palace)? This makes me think that even before Leona enrolled at NRC he would leave his housing and roam around, finding alternative places to stay because home just felt too uncomfortable and suffocating for him. There's also the implication that Leona often brooded over his circumstances, as he confesses to thinking about it and going to NRC to get his mind away from the tired cycle--although he also acknowledges that he's running away from "the pain" of having lost the throne.

The distancing would prove itself to be beneficial to his mental health, as Leona cites that his heart started feeling lighter, his restlessness dulled, and his pain numbed. With the throne out of sight, so, too, was it out of mind, and his longing softened. But that same haunting despair returns when another group starts to place expectations on him. This time, it's no longer the palace servants, but his own dorm members. Instead of fear and derision, his new pack looks at him, their "king", with desperateness--and, more importantly, hope. Speaking about the future with sparkling eyes. That, in turn, made Leona hopeful too. He can't let these people who look up to him and rely on him down, so he must do anything to win. That's all he ever wanted: to win, just this once. No matter what, he wants to win.

But when Leona's plans crumble, that crushing sense of despair rears its ugly head. He fails. And he suddenly understands that all his efforts will always amount to nothing, that they will always be meaningless, that there is no future for him. Leona's hopes have been dashed. He has been struck down by the world once again, just as he had started to climb up, fighting tooth and nail, to prove himself. Yet when defeat came, he also claims it doesn't bother him as much as he thought he would--perhaps because he's so accustomed to not winning, because maybe this is the outcome he had expected all along in the deepest recesses of his heart. That familiar disappointment begins to hurt him once more, and Leona wants to forget it all, to retreat to the shadows and to lick his wounds, to be far away from that pain.

One interesting new detail we glean from the light novel is that Leona is terrified by his dorm mates staring at him with hopeful eyes. It's not their expectations he's inherently scared of, but what those expectations can do to him. Leona is scared of himself, of being motivated by others to act, to never give up hope, when he still anticipates being beat down again and again by a world that rejects him and denies him. He even goes so far as to say he would be pathetic if he let his dorm mates' words inspire him and keep his waning hope alive. Ruggie, who had wanted to turn the world upside down together. Jack, who was inspired by his play three years back. All the mobs putting faith in their futures on him, their one and only leader. With so many people looking to him, how can he not be swayed by that positivity that had once been so elusive to him? How could that not ignite what little spark of hope is left in him? And that's exactly what Leona finds so dangerous about it. He's lived almost his entire life being put in his place, hurt every time he tried to demonstrate what he could do, how he could contribute--yet time and time again, here comes life, tempting him to try again, just to inevitably be compared to his brother and kicked down, delivering another blow to his pride and his self-image. Leona truly seems to hate himself for not being able to let go of that small fragment of hope he has left. He wants so badly to give up and not have to worry anymore about something he can never obtain. He's so tired of struggling and suffering for nothing. If he just caved, then he would never be hurt again. He can't be hurt if he doesn't care about anything. Yet no matter how much he wishes or tries, he can't run far enough away to detach himself from those expectations of grandeur, of being something more.

There's been many fan theories about Leona's mental health in circulation well before the release of this light novel, many of which mention self-loathing in spite of how proud and confident he typically presents as. You'd have to read in-between the lines of dialogue from the game to draw these clues out, whereas the light novel lays it more bare to you. It hits very differently reading hateful statements made by the character to himself. Leona calls himself all sorts of things: a fool, pathetic, insignificant, boring. That he isn't strong, that he isn't wise, that he's not loved. (In the in-game flashback, Leona also talks in a self-deprecating way, but to a far lesser extent than in the light novel; we also see that Falena does his best to discourage Leona from this kind of behavior.) That this is who he is, that it's the one thing he's afraid to admit and accept--but he also says he lacks the "strength" to give up. That's why Leona would rather run away than confront that potential truth. The option to embrace complete nihilism just isn't possible for him, because he can't just quash that pesky little thing called hope. This is much more complex than what's explained in the games and demonstrates a maturity and degree of self-reflection from Leona that we've never seen before. What's more, this gives us brand new context with which to view many of his other seemingly mundane actions mentioned in the game. At face value, Leona often acts very callously and doesn't care to help others unless he gets some kind of benefit from it (like agreeing to poof the contracts in book 3 just because he has his own deal he wants to get rid of). We see this time and time again when he instructs others reliant on him or less knowledgeable than he is in various matters where he is well-read and experienced with. For example, he takes note of his club members' strengths and weaknesses and offers tailored advice to help them improve their play. He tells others how to mine magestones of an adequate size in Vargas Camp. Maybe he's just doing these things to make the circumstances easier for himself (so he can put forth less effort to leading them in a game, or so he can nap heartily). But from what we've just learned from the light novel, now I'm suspecting a different secondary motive.

What if... Leona is, in part, encouraging and helping others to hone their own skills to subconsciously compensate for what he doesn't believe he himself is capable of? Because there's still so much hope for his dorm mates, for his underclassmen... (and, let's not forget, it was those in Savanaclaw that first motivated Leona to "try" again for the first time in forever) but he doesn't have that same amount of hope for himself. I get these vibes as late as book 6, when Leona and Jamil have a talk. In their conversation, Leona directs many pointed, blunt words at Jamil--words that could very easily also be thrown back at Leona's face and be applicable to his book 2 self. He accuses Jamil of making excuses so he won't have to actually act, just as Leona has continuously run away from uncomfortable situations to put himself at ease. At one point, I believe Leona event states that Jamil “*isn’t like [me]”, Here, again, it can be argued that we're seeing Leona's self-awareness on display, as well as a willingness to warn others to not follow down the same path he once treaded, to lose all hope in the future. Again, it's done with a double purpose: the other one being to get Jamil out of his way while they're exploring. And (of course) Leona's way of expressing his message is gruff and not very warm, not to Jamil and certainly not to himself. He's become prickly and defensive himself after all of his experiences--but that just adds to the complexity of his character when we synthesize what we know of him from TWST multimedia.

I really wish a lot of what was in the light novel post-Leona OB was also in the game. It would have helped to flesh out Leona's motivations and fears, which book 2 was sorely needing. As he is presented now, he appears shallow and selfish in his goals, and we don't fully understand the emotions spurring him on, a lot of which is genuine self-loathing and the sinking despair that comes with thinking you're not enough and you'll never be enough. That would have been so much more relatable than the in-game Leona having himself a pity party with a great amount of emphasis on the throne--a throne which, in actuality, just symbolizes a desire for recognition, love, and acceptance. It was never about explicitly being king. It was about being seen as his own person and appreciated for it instead of being admonished and compared to his exalted older brother.

Now, as an adult, Leona has become someone who pushes away those who try to give him that which he craves. He sees a lot of people--his own family and his dorm mates, the closest thing he has to friends--as dangers to his own mental wellbeing. He's scared to let them in, so he's built up these emotional, arrogant walls around himself. Think at how often he rejects advice from Falena and refuses Cheka's affection for him. Look at how this behavior extends beyond those who are keeping him from a literal throne and to his classmates. They instill hope in him, hope which scares Leona. The things he has wanted all his life are now poison that chips away at him. Considering all of that together, it makes Leona's story far more tragic than how it was initially shown to us in the game alone. But guess what? That can also become his strength, fuel for his character arc. Leona isn't running anymore. He's actually returning home for winter break in book 4. He's determined to not get held back again. He's committing to an internship in a field (an energy lab) which will immensely help his country (which is rich in natural resources). All of this, coming from a young man who once acted bitter when his older brother suggested that there were many things Leona could do with his intelligence to benefit their homeland. Leona is making slow strides and steady progress toward a future he used to think was unattainable for him. From that darkness, he's rising anew--like the sun upon the savanna.

[cowgurrrl]

Keep the Wolves Away

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: Dedicated to my real life Andies. Thank you for making me feel easy to love.

Summary: The worst decision [5.2k]

Warnings: platonic threatening, discussions of bad mental health, so much flirting that (spoiler alert) might be real, possible THE shittiest ex I ever could've written, all the southern pet names, alcohol consumption, the resurgence of an old nude of readers, gaslighty behavior, smoking cigarettes (don't smoke kids), Joel talking reader out of a spiral, two (2) kisses

"So, it's a date." Andie declares once you're done explaining everything to her over FaceTime. You pause your blush application to roll your eyes at her. 

"It's not a date!"

"I'm sorry, so I'm just supposed to believe you when you say you're going to be just friends with the hot, sweet single dad who sounds like he's head over heels for you?"

"He is not head over heels for me." You sound a little petulant, and Andie laughs like she did when you were in high school and trying to hide a crush from her. 

"Babe, he willingly went on a high school field trip just so he could see you."

"His daughter was there. I'm sure he wanted to spend time with her."

"I'm sure he did because he's a great dad, but he also wanted to see you in your element. It's sexy watching someone do the thing they love." 

"Yeah, yeah." You brush her off, and she scoffs. You toss your makeup brush back into its bag and check out your outfit in the mirror. It's nothing insane— just a plain black slip dress— but now that Joel's arrival is getting closer and closer, you're rethinking everything. "Do I look okay?"

"You look stunning!" Andie chirps. "I'm sure your not boyfriend will think the same thing."

"I'm going to get a plane ticket to Austria just so I can choke you out with my own two hands." You threaten, but she laughs so hard you can't stop smiling. Once the trans-Atlantic giggling dies down, the line goes quiet, and you take a deep breath as you pull your mascara out. 

"Are you nervous to see him?" She asks gently. Andie came home for the summer dubbed The Dark Days. She stayed over when the one-bedroom apartment felt too big and got you out of the house when you couldn't stand the four walls anymore. She took whatever he left behind to his new apartment so you wouldn't have to (and gave him a piece of her mind while she was at it). She made you believe in love again. Not sticky, frustrating, unpredictable romantic love but pure, easy, all-knowing love that can only come from long-enduring relationships such as yours. 

For a long time after he left, you thought you were hard to love. Too loud, too bright, too much. Until you were out at a bar with her one night, trying to find the remnants of your independence and self-esteem tucked under sweaty beers and cracked leather chairs, when someone pointed out how similar you and Andie were. "Like two sides of the same coin," the woman told you. Andie is one of the easiest people in the world to love with her quick wit, creativity, and smile. And you realized for the first time if you had even a shred of that, even if only by dint of knowing and being loved by her, then you must be easy to love too. You must be worth the mess and heartache and stained fingerprints. 

So, yeah, Andie was less than pleased to hear that all that hard work could be undone by seeing him again, but she was supportive. 

"I don't know," you sigh. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've had more years without him than I did with him, but it's still scary."

"I know." 

"I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him."

"He'll probably be too busy with the gallery and everything. Maybe you won't even have to." She says, and you groan at the uncertainty of everything. 

"God, why did I say yes?" You ask as a knock interrupts your whining. You end your call with a quick "I love you, thank you, I'll text you" before throwing your phone down. "Come in!" You yell from the bathroom as you rapidly finish doing your makeup. There's a pause on the other side before he jiggles the knob and finally comes in. "I'm just finishing up in the bathroom. Give me a minute." 

"D'you always leave your door unlocked?" Joel asks. The sound of his unsure footsteps reaches your ears, and you smile at the thought of him looking around your apartment like a lost toddler. 

"Only when I know someone's coming over," you say. "Sorry, it's a mess."

"Oh, this is nothin'. You should see Ellie's room." He says, his feet pacing the floor. You swipe on a cute lipstick you never wear and finally step out into the living room where Joel is waiting. He's wearing a black button-up shirt with nice pants as he stands with his back to you, looking at some of the things on your wall. 

"Well, don't you look nice?" You compliment, making him turn around with a shy smile. His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail or sliver of skin he hasn't seen before. His intense gaze reminds you of how he looked at you in the bar when you were sure his eyes would melt you. He looks dumbstruck, and his Adam's apple bobs when his eyes finally settle on your face. 

"Wow… you look-"

"Choose carefully." You tease to take some of the tension out of the room. 

"Beautiful," he says, thwarting your efforts. "You always look beautiful." 

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself." 

"You like it? Ellie helped me pick it out," he anxiously fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt. "Feels weird." 

"What specifically feels weird?" You ask, stepping closer to him to examine his outfit. He smells like aftershave and the cologne he's prone to wearing. Why the fuck do you have his cologne memorized, you think to yourself. 

"I dunno. I think I just feel outta place." 

"Well, you don't look out of place," you say. "These might be what's doing it, though." You tap the top buttons of his shirt, the ones buttoned all the way up to his chin like a toddler going to Christmas mass. 

"Ellie said I should do all of 'em since it's a fancy art thing."

"Well, you should stop taking fashion advice from a fifteen-year-old," you laugh. "I promise it's not fancy enough to justify being uncomfortable." 

"I'm takin' your word for it." He says as he reaches up to undo his top two buttons, revealing freckles across his chest and collarbones and the tiniest sliver of a gold chain resting against his throat. For some reason, you can't tear your eyes away from the veins in his neck or the delicate necklace stuck to his warm skin. "What, it really looks that bad?" He thankfully breaks through your thoughts, and you try to recover by shaking your head.

"No, no. Not at all. You look really nice," you say, clearing your throat. "Let me get my purse, and we can go." You don't even wait for him to respond. You just turn on your heels and walk to your bedroom. In the security of your bedroom, you let out a long exhale and try to get your mind back on track. 

You're just nervous. He's being nice. You're being nice back. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing, you mentally chant. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you almost have to laugh at the fierce blush on your cheeks and the distracted look in your eyes. "You better get it together." You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror like it's gonna do anything to make tonight smoother.

The gallery is packed when you get there. Joel curses under his breath as he tries to find a parking spot, and you try to keep your anxiety at bay. All you have to do is show your face, look at the paintings, and leave. Maybe you can manage to steal a bottle of the cheap wine they're undoubtedly serving. It'll be an hour. Two tops. You can do this. 

You're so in your head that you didn't notice that Joel parked the car or that he was looking at you until he bumped your knee with his. 

"You okay?" He asks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Just need a second." You mumble. You fiddle with your earrings, your dress, anything to keep your hands busy as you psyche yourself up. 

"When's the last time you saw this asshole?"

"He wasn't always an asshole," you try to redirect, but he raises his eyebrows at you. "Since I graduated college." 

"We don't have to go in." He offers easily, and you give him a look. 

"Yes, we do. My name's on the list and everything." 

"So?" He shrugs. "The world's not gonna end just cause one person didn't show up."

"But you drove all the way here."

"And I can drive you all the way back. Besides, it's nice having a pretty girl in my truck. It wouldn't hurt to have you here next to me for a little while longer." He says, and you laugh, feeling some weight lift off your shoulders.

"You get many pretty girls sitting in your truck?"

"Just my pretty girls." 

"Right." You say, and he smiles, creating familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes. They look a little deeper in the moonlight, but his eyes shine differently. Your fingers itch to draw them if only to critique your work and find the answer to why he has such an effect on you. You're aware that you're staring, but you also can't find it in yourself to look away. Not when he's staring back at you so fondly. 

"What can I do to help you?" He asks. You feel like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice. You've talked to Ellie about her anxiety, so you know he has some practice in dealing with it, but he's acting like it's second nature. Like this is what he was meant to do. He bumps you again when you start messing with your purse. "Do you want this to be like at the bar? Do you want me to take you home and pretend like we were never here? Do you want me to go in there and crack some skulls? You say the word— any word— and I'll do it for you, darlin'." 

Darlin’. It's what he called you when you promised revenge for almost kissing you at the bar. Normally, you'd be against any form of pet name. Henry was not openly affectionate in that way, and you learned not to expect it from him. But here's Joel, dropping the term of endearment almost every time he's been alone with you. It could be that cowboy accent or his knee pressed against yours, but the nickname fills your chest with warmth and pushes away your anxiety. 

"Any word, huh?" You ask, and he chuckles. 

"My mama raised me not to make promises I didn't have every intention of followin' through on." He says. "What'll it be?"

"I think… I just need you to be there with me." 

"Then, that's what I'll do." 

"Okay." You mumble, and he smiles as a new wave of comfort washes over you. 

"Okay." He says.

"Okay." You take a deep breath and look at him in the driver's seat one more time. "Let's do this." Finally, you open the door and step down from his truck. He's quick to come to your side and offer you his arm before he can even finish locking the car. You smile, tuck your hand under his bicep, and let him keep you upright as you walk in. 

The gallery is full of people who look way more qualified than you— art critics, journalists, and other artists who can actually sell a piece. They barely glance at you and Joel when you breach the doorway, which you're silently grateful for. When a waiter walks by with champagne glasses, Joel quickly snatches two glasses from the tray and hands you one. 

"Here's to us." He says, and you cock an eyebrow at him. 

"Us?"

"Well, we're sure as hell not toastin' to that asshole, are we?" 

"I guess not," you laugh as you clink your glasses together. "To us." You each take a sip, and Joel tries to hide his reaction to the champagne, but you see right through it. "Not your speed?"

"Not at all." He groans as he chokes it down. 

"Don't worry, maverick, we'll get you something else later." You promise and tuck your hand back under his arm as you start walking through the gallery. 

A lot of his newer work resembles his work from college— normal portraits of things like fruits, beds, or people but with unexpected lines of colors lining them like they're vibrating. You even recognize some from your college days. You just never expected them to actually be displayed in this way, not even when you were dating and telling him what a good artist you thought he was. Some have vague titles like "$12" and "Jack," while others are untitled. You can see why it would get taken in by a gallery. There's a very clear skill in how he paints and manipulates everyday objects into something new. It would be impressive if it was interesting. 

Maybe you're just used to the way he paints. Maybe this is exactly what you expected of him. Maybe you thought he would've grown, if not in attitude than, at least, in skill. But it's clear that too many people told him good things about his work, and he saw nothing he needed to change or fix. Somehow, it makes you feel better, not worse, about your own art. 

"So, are these supposed to be good or bad?" Joel whispers to you as you get closer to the next section, and you laugh a little too loudly. The people around you give you nasty looks, but you can't find it in yourself to be sorry.

"Like I said at the museum, I can't tell you that, but…" you glance around to make sure nobody's listening to you. "As someone who saw him make a lot of art, this is definitely not his best."

"Okay, that's what I thought," he says before pointing at a specific part of the painting. "The shape is really weird right there, like he ran outta space or somethin'." You let go of his arm and step between him and the painting, smiling knowingly.

"Did you study for this?" You ask, and he nervously plays with the chain around his neck. 

"I may have… snuck a look at Ellie's notes." He admits sheepishly, and your eyes widen. 

"You were actin' like you were gonna have to rely on me this whole time! You don't need me to tell you what good art is!"

"Yeah, but I want you to." 

"Oh, whatever. C'mon, I wanna hear what else you think." You pretty much drag him to the next section of the gallery, but he's pliant and almost giddy at your hold on him. You take more time in the next part, and he ducks so his lips are near your ear to point out little things he notices. He said he was scared of being wrong in front of people "smarter than him," but all the observations he makes are valid and accurate. He lets you add your own analysis to his and watches you with a smile when you start talking with your hands excitedly. Suddenly, you're not nearly as miserable as you thought you would be, and you're even laughing together as you jump from painting to painting. 

"See, this isn't so bad!" You say as you move to the final part, but your smile and enthusiasm die when you step over the threshold. There, staring at you unashamedly is the painting Henry did of you when you were twenty and topless. He told you it was for his own artistic development, and you were more than happy to do it for him. You just never thought he would've kept it after all these years. Thank God your face isn't visible in the painting, but your rigid posture tells Joel everything he needs to know. He politely turns his back to the painting and steps between you and your likeness. 

"You wanna go?" He whispers at the same time someone calls your name. You take a deep breath and grab Joel's hand for support as you turn around and face Henry. His wavy blonde hair frames his face like it did in college but he's matured. His beard is a little more filled in, and he's gotten a little broader. Other than that, he's still the same person you met freshman year. 

"I'm so glad you could make it!" He says as he approaches. He doesn't try to hug you, and you don't move to let go of Joel's hand. "You look great. I mean, you always looked great, but you know what I meant," he says, looking over you. Only when Joel clears his throat does Henry even look at him. "Oh, sorry, man! We're old friends. I'm Henry." He holds his hand out for Joel to meet halfway, but he doesn't. You think it probably took fighting every single bit of southern hospitality in his veins to stop himself from shaking Henry's hand.

"'M Joel." He says, and Henry awkwardly drops his hand. 

"Nice to meet you, Joel. How are you enjoying the exhibition?" 

"'S alright." Is all Joel offers, not willing to gas up Henry's ego anymore, and you have to stifle a laugh at the expectant look on Henry's face. "Well, I think we were just goin'."

"Oh, so soon? You haven't even seen the last few pieces."

"Are those any better than the thirty identical ones I already saw?"

"Joel," you scold quietly, and his jaw flexes when you look at him.

"It's okay. Not everyone understands art enough to enjoy it." Henry says. 

"Oh, I understand everythin' just fine." You swear Joel would've punched him if he wasn't holding your hand so tight. You step in between them and raise your eyebrows at Joel. His shoulders are squared, and you can feel the molten anger rolling off him, but it softens just a bit when he meets your eyes. You squeeze him twice to let him know you're okay, and he nods. 

"Can you get me a refill on champagne? I think they're still walkin' around with some." You suggest. He gets the hint, but he obviously doesn't like it. He glances between you and Henry like he's trying to make a decision but folds when you mouth, "please," at him. 

"’Course," he says through gritted teeth. "Anythin' else I can get for you, baby?" Baby, that's a new one, you think. 

"No, I'm alright. Thanks, though." You say. Without thinking, you let your other hand rest on his jaw and kiss Joel's cheek. His jaw unclenches when your fingertips graze his stubble, and his shoulders relax when your lips make contact with his skin, but you know he's still upset because you're still upset. Joel smiles and walks away before you can get a good look at the blush creeping up his neck, and you're resigned to watching him disappear into the crowd. 

"He seems nice," Henry says the second Joel is out of earshot, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. 

"He is." 

"How'd you two meet?"

"Through work." You say, knowing that bringing up teaching will make his skin crawl. He sucks his teeth and nods, the champagne in his glass sloshing slightly.

"Ah," he says. "That's nice."

"Yeah," you agree. An awkward silence falls over the two of you quickly, and you're itching to find Joel in the sea of people. Henry notices your lack of attention on him.

"It's really good to see you," he says. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever."

"Yeah, that's usually what happens when you leave someone." 

"That's kinda why I invited you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for the way things ended," he acts brokenhearted and torn up about it, but he's years too late for the pity party he's expecting. "I should've talked to you about what was going on. We were just... becoming so different, and it felt like you were always talking to Andie or other people in the program, and there was no way to reach you."

"What are you talking about? I asked you multiple times if we were okay, and you said yes every time. I was talking to Andie so much because I needed someone who would understand me and be able to help." You say, and he waves his hand like he's swatting flies.

"Let's not do this. My therapist says it's not healthy to rehash the past like this. I just wanted to make amends and let you know I'm sorry for how you felt." It's not an apology. Not a real one, anyway. Jesus Christ, what did you ever see in him? Before you can even open your mouth to say something, he gestures to the gallery. "So, what do you think about all this? Crazy, right?"

"It's... something," you say. "Wish you would've given me a heads up about that one before I brought someone with me." You point in the direction of your half-naked body on the wall, and he gives you a confused look.

"I thought I did in the email." 

"Nope, I think I would've remembered if you said something about a half-naked painting of me from college being displayed," you shake your head. "Why do you even still have that? I thought you would've thrown it away or painted over it or something."

"Why would I do that? It's a good piece."

"I know it's good because it's my body. What's weird is you leaving me without a word one day and then keeping a naked picture of me all these years." 

"I didn't even think of it as your body. After a while, it was just a body," he says with no remorse, and you think you might hit him yourself. "Besides, you should take this as a compliment. Not many women get the opportunity to be depicted as art. It's a wonderful thing. You might even thank me one day when you're older." Finally, you see Joel walking toward you with a glass of champagne, and you take refuge in the fact that he's returning for you. "But, from what I can see, they've definitely stayed the same, so you probably don't have anything to worry about." He says like it's a secret or a compliment. You don't even wait for Joel to say or do anything. You just grab the wine from him and throw it in Henry's face. The people in the immediate vicinity gasp as you slap him and shove the empty glass into his hands. 

"Out of all the stupid things I imagined for myself when I was younger, thinking I would marry you was the stupidest," you spit. "Don't you ever try to fucking contact me again."

You feel like a fucking idiot. What did you expect? An apology? Repentance? Regret? He barely apologized when you were together. Why would he start now? God, was he always that bad? How could you have been so blind? How could you have shed so many tears over him? How could you have let yourself be so vulnerable with him and for so many years? It's a miracle he didn't call the cops and try to get the two of you arrested, even though Joel didn't do anything. You think, at least. The second you finished your sentence, you ran to the bathroom to cry and then snuck out through the back to wait outside Joel's truck. For all you know, Joel (rightfully) beat his ass and is on the run from artsy Austin hipsters. 

You put the lit cigarette back in your mouth and take a long drag, the familiar burning in your lungs a sick relief. You quit during The Dark Days because smoking was something he did, and you wanted to rid yourself of any reminder of his impact on your life. Apparently, at the same time you were scrubbing his fingerprints from your bones, he was in possession of and doing God knows what with the visual reminder of your vulnerability and love-sickness and acted like it was nothing. Like it was a compliment. Like it was just an object instead of your body. Andie would be pissed if she were here but especially if she saw you smoking after she braved all those shaky days and nights of nicotine patches and dried fruit and whatever other remedy recommended to help you quit smoking. You half-expect the same anger when you see Joel walking toward you. 

"Before you even start, I know I shouldn't, okay? It's a bad habit from when I was a kid, and I've mostly kicked it. I just... had a lapse. I'll be back on my best behavior tomorrow," you say as he stops in front of you. He doesn't look angry or upset. He just looks concerned and maybe even a little sad. Suddenly, you regret running away from him when all he probably wanted to do was help. You probably wouldn't have bummed a cigarette from a busboy if you let him. "Don't tell Ellie." You plead. His eyes flick over your face before he takes the cigarette from your fingers, puts the lipstick-stained filter in his own mouth, and inhales deeply, making the ember glow in the dark of the night. When he exhales, he blows the smoke away from you and lets the wind carry it in the opposite direction. A considerate smoker. You should've guessed.

"Don't tell Ellie," he says, handing the cigarette back to you. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head and take a long drag. It's quiet between you two for a while, the only sound being the cicadas and the distant chatter of the gallery. They're probably still talking about the psycho bitch who threw her wine in the artist's face. You don't really care. "I'm sorry for tonight. I don't know what I was expecting, and I sure as shit didn't know that painting was gonna be displayed. I swear, if I had any idea how bad this was gonna be, I wouldn't have invited you." 

"Why are you apologizin'? It's not your fault." 

"I shouldn't have roped you into this. I should've just said no, ignored the email, or came by myself. It's not fair that you got put in the middle of all this, especially when you were just trying to be nice. You're the parent of one of my students, and for you to see that side of me is just inappropriate. I just-" he stops your rambling by putting his hands on your shoulders and making you look at him, the cigarette falling to the pavement in the process. 

"Hey, hey. Stop. Take a breath." He says. Your head hurts from crying, and part of you wants to crawl into a hole and stay there until these feelings go away, but his eyes are gentle, and his hands are warm. You think he might be the only reason you're holding it together right now. "None of this is your fault, okay? Not the painting, not the conversation, none of it. We're both adults, and we can handle these things rationally. I'm not scarred for life just 'cause you lost your temper."

"But I-"

"No, buts. You told me the situation, and I didn't care. You warned me bout the art people, and I didn't care. You threw a drink in that asshole's face, and I didn't care," he says. "The only thing I care bout right now is makin' sure you're okay. Fuck everythin' else." You search his face for anything to tell you what he's telling you is going against his inner monologue but find none. He's completely and wholly concerned about you and nothing else. Not how fast he can get out of this. Not how this might look. Not what other people might think about him. Nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Fuck everything else." You agree. 

"Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He jokes, and you roll your eyes at him. He takes it in stride, his smile never fading as he looks down at you. You stop messing with the hem of your dress and let yourself relax for the first time all night.

"Thank you for being here, Joel. I really appreciate it."

"Not our best not-date, but definitely a memorable one." He says, and you laugh. You seem to realize how close you are at the same time because you both fall silent. His curls are beautifully draped over his face, and you can't stop watching his tiny expressions. An eye squint. A purse of the lips. A bite to the inside of his cheek. You want to blame your bad night or the emotions, but you can't. There's something more there. Something that's been brewing beneath the surface since he came into your classroom. Something that will kill you if you don't act on it.

You let your hands come up from your sides and tentatively brush against his waist as you stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares down at your lips, and the hands on your shoulders slowly move across your skin and up your collarbone— leaving goosebumps in his wake— until his hands are on your jaw and your pulse is thrumming against his palm. You pull him closer by his belt loops, and he doesn't hesitate to crowd your space, pushing you into the side of his truck with his body. His lips ghost over yours, just barely touching, and his nose bumps yours. 

"This is a bad idea," you breathe, tightening your hold on him. He nods and presses his forehead against yours. He's still close enough to breathe the same air as him, but the distance feels like miles. You lean forward a fraction as a test, and he doesn't move. If anything, he seems annoyed you didn't kiss him.

"D'you want to stop?" He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel. You shake your head and swallow hard when he brushes the hair off your shoulder, and you can feel his heavy hand holding you. Your hands skate over his ribs, feeling muscles and a crazed heartbeat, and his jaw clenches. "Then you better do somethin' cause you've been drivin' me fuckin' crazy for weeks." 

Finally, you catch his lips with yours. He tastes like nicotine and smoke, and you know it's going to take a lot more than patches to get you to want to stop doing this. It's gentle and sweet, all relieved sighs and shy touches until you pull away for just a second to second-guess yourself or ask him something. You don't even start to form the words before he's back on you with more fervor. Suddenly, it's like he's everywhere but not nearly close enough. He nibbles at your bottom lip and tests a hand on your sternum, long fingers grazing your throat. The metal of the truck digs into your back, but you stop caring when a little moan slips from his lips when you pull him closer.

This is a bad idea. A horrible one. A bad habit you're gonna need to kick. 

But he might just be your favorite bad idea so far.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk

[lavendercharm]

Linger, Chapter 5: Kiss With A Fist/Human Nature

A/N:

Ya'll. Writing this chapter felt like a marathon. But I think I'm ultimately very happy with it. Please let me know what you think!

This chapter is a bit longer, and I think it deserved to be named after two songs because of that. "Kiss With A Fist" by Florence + The Machine definitely fits the first half of this chapter and was one of the first songs I added to my playlist when writing this story, so I knew I wanted to use it for the big public confrontation.

The vibes toward the end are different. I discovered this song earlier this week and haven't been able to stop listening to it, so maybe I'm just reaching to try and justify including it lol. But "Human Nature" by Barrie is what I decided to use for the second half of this. Cause they're spitting facts when they say "Human nature doesn't always come easy" lmfao.

This is far from the end of this story, but it may be a second before you hear from me, depending on how busy the next few weeks are. I say that - watch me turn around and post something this weekend lol.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me thus far. I love you and I'm so grateful to know you're along for the ride.

---

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

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Barbara Howard did not take days off. It was only recently that she allowed herself her first mental health day, and while she could see the benefits, she had been eager to get back to her classroom, her students, her best friend, and even her coworkers. The life of a teacher was unpredictable, and the life of a teacher at Abbott Elementary came with its own unique set of challenges, but Barbara had seen a lot in her decades of teaching. With some hard work, support from her fellow teachers, and the grace of God himself, she had seen and survived it all. Barbara Howard could conquer anything thrown her way.

However, if Barbara had the magical gift of foresight, she might have chosen Monday morning to take her second mental health day in her entire history at Abbott. 

As it was, Barbara could not see into the future, and so she entered the teacher’s lounge at 6:30 AM, on the dot. She claimed her usual spot, made herself a cup of coffee, and began sorting through her lesson plans for the week. She enjoyed her few moments of serenity in the lounge prior to the arrival of her more talkative coworkers. It wasn’t unusual for Melissa to arrive a bit later, especially on a Monday, so Barbara thought nothing of her absence. She politely greeted Janine and Jacob as they entered together; she did the same for Gregory shortly after. As the three younger teachers gathered at their table and discussed their weekends, Barbara continued her work, occasionally reacting to what she overheard. And when you entered the lounge, your first time visiting in the morning, Barbara was mildly surprised, but she shot you a warm smile all the same. She noticed you seemed to be a bit tense, but she chalked it up to the fact that you were still very new. 

Melissa had talked her ear off about you last Monday, of course, explaining your tardiness and the shots you’d taken at her about her age. When Barb pressed her for details about your confrontation and what you’d said to each other, she simply said, “I took care of business, a’right?” 

While Barbara agreed it was unprofessional of you to arrive late, she also knew Melissa better than anyone else in Abbott did; she knew Melissa could take things too far. Melissa was as passionate as they came, which meant she was one of the best teachers at the school. On the flip side, she also had a short fuse. Barbara knew she didn’t have all of the details, but she didn’t think much of it - you were a sub, after all. She expected she’d never actually meet you. 

So when you arrived in the lounge for lunch the day after your explosive argument, she was shocked. While skeptical of you, she couldn’t help but admire your tenacity. You’d come face to face with the wrath of Melissa Schemmenti and still returned to Abbott. You’d introduced yourself, and as far as Barbara could tell, you were perfectly polite and well mannered. The displeasure and hostility radiating off of Melissa was felt by everyone in the lounge, but aside from giving her close friend a pointed look, Barbara chose to ignore it. 

You’d continued showing up the rest of the week, greeting Barbara every day before taking a seat with Janine and Jacob, as well as Gregory, occasionally. The younger teachers seemed to have taken an instant liking to you, the four of you sharing stories from previous schools or discussing the latest movie releases. You’d even had a good-natured exchange with Ava one morning. The principal had leant against the corner with her phone and talked you through her “roster”, whatever that meant. Barbara was sure she didn’t want to know. 

Barbara observed how seamlessly you integrated into Abbott’s social circles - with the obvious exception of the red head who always sat to her right in the lounge. Melissa pretended you didn't exist, which would have been fine if it wasn’t the elephant in the room. Your first day in the lounge, Janine had tried to talk to Melissa about you. She’d turned to Melissa with a huge grin on her face and said, “Man, Melissa, you’re so lucky to have such an awesome sub as your aide.” 

Melissa had glanced at Janine over the rim of her cat-eye glasses, and in a sharp tone, retorted, “What sub?” That’s all it took for everyone in the room to grasp her unspoken message: If you value your life, drop it. The only reaction Barbara saw was a sharp flash of your eyes before you turned your back to the older woman and called Janine over, changing the subject. 

But last Friday, Melissa caught up with Barbara after the school day ended and explained that you’d just given her two VIP tickets to the Eagles game on Sunday. If there was anything that would help Melissa forgive your transgressions, it was that. Once again, Barbara found herself impressed with you - you took the initiative to make amends and you’d knocked it out of the park. She was happy for her friend. She’d told Melissa, “Just think of how much you’ll be able to accomplish now that you and that young woman can work together. Now, you and Gary go enjoy that ball game.” 

A week after your first morning at Abbott, all of the water was seemingly under the bridge, and the staff room could breathe easy again. No one paid much mind to the anxiety radiating off of you. For the most part, the energy in the room was calming as the day began. 

The sudden CRACK of the door slamming into the shelves violently ripped the room’s occupants out of their morning zen. It was enough to cause everyone to nearly jump out of their skin. Heads whipped in the direction of the doorway as Melissa’s furious form charged into the lounge. Her attention was initially on Barb, but as she opened her mouth to speak, her eyes locked on you. The blush of fury rose instantly in her cheeks. She ripped her bag off of her shoulder and tossed it in the direction of her regular table, nearly hitting Barbara in the process, and as her eyes narrowed, you could practically see the steam rolling off of her as she hissed out, “You.” 

And that’s when Barbara knew any chance of a peaceful morning had gone out the window.

—----------------------

As your weekend began, it didn’t take long for it to sink in that you were well and truly fucked. You completely failed to consider the consequences of your little scheme. There’s no way in hell Melissa wouldn’t be out for blood at the start of the next school week. The smartest thing to do would be to never return to Abbott, move to a new city across the country, and change your legal name. You went back and forth between chastising yourself for being ridiculous, and being so ridden with anxiety that you couldn’t eat. You felt so stupid - what did you think would happen? 

Ultimately, you reached a point where you couldn’t handle the crushing weight of what you’d done alone, so you’d spilled to Ava. Her response had been about the least reassuring thing she could have said.

You did WHAT? I didn’t know you were crazy like that! You’re gonna die girl. I’m not even joking. We gotta go out this weekend, cause it’s your last one alive. I’ll make sure you have fun tho. Do you own any latex?

After refusing Ava’s offers to make your last days on earth worthwhile, you spent most of the weekend drowning in anxiety and imagining how Melissa would bring about your demise. You decided you had to do your best to prepare. You literally couldn’t afford to not go back to Abbott, especially after getting your headlights repaired Saturday afternoon. Under the anxiety, you could feel the ember of your rage, still pulsing with a red-hot glow, so you decided to grasp ahold of it. What you’d done was shitty, sure. But compared to smashing headlights? All you’d done was get even.

Seeing as you couldn’t afford to uproot your whole life and leave Philadelphia, the next most logical thing to do was to never be caught alone in a room with Melissa ever again. You were pretty sure this was something you could pull off - you figured you had two weeks left at Abbott tops, and as long as you had kids or other teachers in the same room, you would have witnesses who could recount your violent death should Melissa murder you. 

This is what caused you to arrive at Abbott on Monday morning a full hour and a half before you needed to be there. You’d dithered in your car for about fifteen minutes, debating driving away and then talking yourself out of it. Eventually, you braved the outdoors, darting into the building and down the hallways as quickly as you could. You practically sprinted past Melissa’s classroom door - the lights were out, but even though you logically knew she wasn’t in yet, your mind conjured a vivid image of her jumping out of the shadows like a monster in waiting. You slowed down and tried to control your breathing as you entered the teacher’s lounge, and you were immediately soothed to see how many people were already there. Even better, Melissa was absent. 

As you passed Barbara, you gave her a hesitant smile. You actually liked Barbara, as much as you can like someone who’s polite and whom you don’t know very well. You figured it may be the last chance you get - surely the woman would turn against you once Melissa told her what you’d done. Janine, Jacob, and Gregory were all sitting at your usual table, and after preparing your morning coffee, you quickly situated yourself in a seat, thankfully facing the door to the lounge.

“Hey!” Janine said, shooting you her adorable, slightly gapped-toothed smile. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh, uh… it was fine,” you said, your eyes darting toward the door as it opened. Not Melissa . “Mostly caught up on chores… had to get some work done to my car, fun stuff like that.”

“Car problems are tough,” Gregory said, spooning a bite out of his bowl of plain oatmeal. “What was wrong with it?”

“Uh…” you hesitated, unsure if you wanted to share what was really wrong. It would inevitably lead to questions and the last thing you wanted was for everyone to know the details of your feud. It was one thing for everyone to know Melissa didn’t like you - there were very few people Melissa actually liked in general. But it was another entirely for them to know she’d smashed out your headlights. Something generic - a bad alternator, maybe - would suffice.

You didn’t even get the chance to lie.

Despite the fact that you could see the doorway, the resounding SMACK of the door slamming open still made you jump. Before your brain knew what it was processing, in stormed Melissa Schemmenti, thick heels clacking on the linoleum tiles. She wore a form fitting pink sweater, the neckline questionably appropriate, and skin tight black pants. Her saint necklaces shimmered from their home on her collarbones. You supposed she wanted to look hot when she killed you.

It only took a moment for her eyes to lock on you, and in that moment you knew things were about to get ugly. To your surprise, seeing the flustered state she was in created a feeling of immense satisfaction. She was furious because your plan had worked. You didn’t even fight the smile that began to find its way onto your lips. The anxiety wasn’t gone, but you relished in the triumphant feeling of landing a critical hit. 

“ You,” she hisses, tossing her bag from her shoulder. The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife. 

Your eyebrows shoot up, feigned ignorance in your voice as you point at yourself and respond, “Who, me?”

She starts toward you, and everyone else at your table scatters. You’re shocked to see Janine step in front of you, her hands up placatingly. “Melissa-”

“Shut it, pipsqueak, and get out of my way ,” she growls, her gaze over Janine’s head burning holes in you. 

“Hey!” You spit out, anger spiking and crowding out your anxiety. You’re suddenly standing. “Don’t call her that!”

Janine turns to you, holding a hand in your direction now too. “It’s fine, she calls me that all the time-” 

“It’s not fine!” You shout, fists balled. Your eyes are glued to Melissa’s. “You think you can say and do whatever you want because no one will stand up to you. Well, I’m not going to put up with it!” 

“Oh my god, please stop this. I will never psychologically recover from seeing your dead body,” Jacob pleads, wedged between the corner of the room and the fridge for cover. 

“Can’t believe I was dumb enough to trust ya,” Melissa growls. “And after all that bullshit about ‘olive branches' and bein’ cordial.”

You smirk. “Oh, right! How was the game?”

Melissa starts forward again and Janine has to physically hold her back. She’s shockingly effective in spite of her small stature. 

“Ya know I didn’t get into the game! Gary and I went all the way to the stadium, but you gave me fake tickets! We wasted our whole afternoon and got harassed by security!” she shouts. 

“So what are you gonna do about it? Beat me up? Call the cops on me?” you challenge.

A deeply offended look crosses Melissa’s face as her jaw drops. “Are you callin’ me a snitch?” she snarls. She surges against Janine one more time, who manages to keep her back again. “That’s low, even for you!” Melissa says nastily over Janine’s shoulder.

“Oh, that’s low?” You ask incredulously. “Low like smashing someone’s headlights out?” There’s an audible gasp from Jacob in the corner, and you feel the heat of everyone’s gaze turn from you to Melissa, the whole room enthralled by your verbal tennis match. 

Melissa glances around her before pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Ya can’t prove that was me!” You thought someone would have to have been born yesterday to believe that; anyone who worked at Abbott knew that’s exactly something Melissa would do. 

“Oh yeah, because everyone else here keeps a bat taped under their desk like a neurotic asshole!” you proclaim, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“I’ll show you ya stronza- ” Melissa hisses, pushing past Janine and beginning to reach for you. Your arms come up to instinctively protect your face, but before she can reach you, a figure closer to your height blocks your vision.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Barbara Howard bellows. The whole room comes to a standstill, frozen in time. Even Melissa has been stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide in shock as Barbara looks accusingly between the two of you. You feel immediately ashamed. “Are you both not grown adults? I cannot believe the absolute foolishness I’ve just witnessed!” She rounds on Melissa. “Especially from you!” 

“Barb, she-” Melissa starts. 

“I don’t care if she insulted your cooking to your face, you do not behave like catty teenagers! We are professional, grown people! Acting like this in front of your peers? Disgraceful! ”

She rounds on you, her eyes narrowing. “And you. To think that I was beginning to think highly of you. You went to all that trouble to make fake football tickets, just to get back at Melissa? Have you ever heard the phrase ‘An eye for an eye’ ?” 

The pit of shame in your stomach is sickening as you slowly lower your arms, your eyes unable to meet Barbara’s. Feeling like a petulant child, you couldn’t help but mutter, “She started it.”

“And now I’m ending it!” Barbara yells. You feel her grip the sleeve of your sweater and pull. You stumble after, seeing her grasp Melissa as well. “You are both coming with me!” The rest of the lounge doesn’t move a muscle as Barbara Howard physically drags you into the hallway. 

She marches with both of you in tow, Melissa sending you the nastiest glares she can muster from the other side of her friend. Stopping in front of a classroom full of bright colors and tiny chairs, Barbara turns to both of you. “This has gotten completely out of hand! You are both going to sit in my room and we are going to work through this. I don’t care if it takes all day - you will NOT be allowed out until you can act like civilized adults!” She folds her arms and gestures her head forward. You stare back for a moment, thinking she must be joking, but the woman doesn’t budge. After a moment longer, you enter the classroom. You’re followed closely by Melissa, who stalks to the other end of the room. 

Barbara closes her door and pulls down the window blind. She turns to you both, her eyes closed and her shoulders rising in deep, even breaths. Eventually, she opens her eyes, and commands, “Take a seat.”

You glance around and only see chairs for children. You begin to protest, but the look on Barbara’s face prompts you to simply grab the nearest chair and plant yourself in it. Your knees are comically close to your chest and you don’t know where to put your hands. You settle on resting them on top of your knees. Melissa is pacing back and forth, muttering to herself - you guess she gets to ignore Barbara’s request. 

“Now,” Barbara begins. “We are going to talk out your problems so we can put this whole mess behind us. Your students deserve you at your best, and you cannot be your best when you’re at each other’s throats!” She’s stern, chastising, and you feel ridiculous. “Where did all of this animosity start? Why are you angry with Melissa?”

You can’t help but scoff because the answer should be obvious. Barbara presses her lips together in annoyance and you quickly reply, “Well, where do I begin? Aside from smashing my headlights out, she’s done nothing but disrespect me since I stepped foot in her room. She was insulting me before she even learned my name!”

“I never learned your name,” she pipes up spitefully, and you whip your head around to glare at her. 

“Memory not as good as it used to be?” you retort. A muscle in her jaw jumps out as she clenches her jaw, her face coloring once more. 

Before she has a chance to rip into you again, Barbara cuts you both off with a stern, “Knock it off!” She looks exasperatedly between the two of you before pinching the bridge of her nose. “The Lord is testing me today,” she whispers to herself, shaking her head. She turns her attention to the fiery woman across the room. “Melissa?” 

Melissa comes to a stop, planting herself and leaning her weight onto one hip. She rolls her eyes, gesticulating wildly as she speaks. “If we’re goin’ back to the start, then first things first, she strolled into my class thirty minutes late. Didn’t even have the decency to apologize.” 

“You didn’t give me a chance to!” you protest. “I hadn't even stepped into the room before you were criticizing me. It’s not like I did it on purpose, it was a complete and total accident. And then you started insulting how young and inexperienced I look.” 

“I was just givin’ you a hard time, that’s all,” she says indignantly. “How was I suppose ta know you can’t take a joke?”

Your head whips toward her. “And smashing my headlights? Was that a joke?” you retort incredulously. 

Her eyes narrow and her tone is venomous as she hisses, “Nah, that was for throwin’ away my school supplies, stealin’ lunches, and callin’ me a bitch.” 

You hear Barbara’s sharp inhale and jump to defend yourself. “Those supplies were all broken or unusable! You have so much on your hands with two classes and I was just trying to help you. Also, Janine gave me that lasagna because I forgot my lunch, I didn’t steal anything. You wouldn’t give me a chance to explain myself before jumping down my throat. Not to mention calling me degrading names in Italian!” 

Barbara raises an eyebrow and gives Melissa a knowing glance. “Melissa uses gabbortz quite often, it’s nothing to get offended over,” she says, an attempt to reassure you.

Melissa’s eyes dart to Barbara’s as she huffs, “Uh, it’s gabbadost , Barb. And I mighta used somethin’ more… vulgar.” To your disbelief, the red head practically looks sheepish at this admission. Her arms cross in front of her as she shifts her weight, and your eyes are drawn to how the motion causes her cleavage to swell ever so slightly. Feeling heat flood your cheeks, you dart your eyes all over the room, attempting to find something else to fix them on. Luckily, neither woman seems to notice. Barbara’s eyebrows are furrowed in an inquisitive way that suggests she’s waiting for the shorter woman to elaborate. Melissa lets out a puff of air. “I mighta used the ‘P’ word, a’right?” 

Barbara’s eyes widen as her mouth drops open in a gasp. “The ‘P’ word? Melissa Schemmenti, you don’t mean-”

“Yeah, yeah, the one I save exclusively for Kristin Marie. That ‘P’ word.” You don’t know who Kristin Marie is, but Barbara looks positively scandalized.

Tearing her eyes away from Melissa, Barbara stands and turns away from both of you, hands on her hips and head shaking in disapproval. As she takes her turn pacing across the room, the disappointed silence from the older woman allows the weight of the last week to settle on you, and you find yourself suddenly exhausted. You lean forward, your head in your hands and the shame rising inside of you like a tidal wave. How did you get here? 

“Well, I think you both have been sufficiently horrible to each other,” Barbara says, turning toward you. “Now explain how this has all made you feel.” 

You and Melissa groan in unison. “Come on, Barb,” Melissa starts, but Barbara holds up a single admonishing finger to silence her. The Italian woman becomes subdued immediately, and you notice how different Melissa’s reaction is to being silenced by Barbara.

“How has this made you feel?” the older woman presses, her tone of voice a warning to comply. Melissa leans against the wall, refusing to budge. You all sit in tense silence for what feels like an eternity, and you wish the floor would swallow you up. She was using the same tactics on you that you might use on two fighting eight year olds.

Eventually, you can’t handle the tension any longer and you burst out, “I feel totally disrespected!” You look to Barbara and she gestures for you to continue. “I uh… I feel belittled, and like you don’t take me seriously, but I think the worst part is I never got the chance to prove to you that I belong here… you wrote me off before you even met me. I’ve worked hard, and I love what I do, so to have you disregard me right off the bat, just because I made a mistake and I look young… it felt pretty shitty,” you admit, the confession coming out of you in one long rush. 

“Especially because… I was excited to work with you,” you add quietly. You’re suddenly enamored with the floor, unable to bring yourself to look either woman in the eye. You feel exposed and vulnerable, and you’re majorly uncomfortable with it. 

You’re forced to endure your feelings of discomfort for a few more torturous minutes. Suddenly, your eyes widen in shock as a husky voice meets your ears, and it takes a moment for your brain to process the words. 

“I guess I feel a lot of the same,” Melissa admits. You raise your gaze to meet hers, and she’s staring at you intently, the earnestness reflected in her jewel-green eyes making your heart skip a beat. “Felt like you didn’t really care when you were late. Some a’ these kids? They got plenty of adults outside of these walls that don’t really care. That’s the last thing they need here. And then ya walked in and you look so young… I couldn't resist teasin' ya. But then you got me back and I got defensive, and I shouldnt’a.” She shifts her weight, casting her eyes to the floor. “I bought all those supplies with my own money,” she admits. “So seein’ you throwin’ em away, it really rubbed me the wrong way. But… you were right. I was tryin’ to stretch em when there was no more room to stretch. And then seein’ my lasagna on your desk… I know I can be a real hot head, and I took it out on ya and it wasn’t fair.” 

As you look at Melissa, her red hair shining under the fluorescents and her evident unease at her own candor, there’s a swelling feeling in your chest and a warmth slowly spreading in your limbs. “Melissa,” you say, and her head snaps up to meet you. You search her eyes, waiting for her to snap at you for using her first name. She doesn’t. She simply waits, holding your gaze, and you can’t quite read what’s behind her eyes, but you suspect it’s something far softer than she’s shown you before. 

You allow yourself to swim in those emerald pools for just a second longer before you admit, tenderly, “I’m sorry.” You see her shoulders drop ever so slightly, tension releasing as she allows your words to sink in. “I’m sorry for what I’ve said about your age. I’m sorry for throwing your things away without asking. And I’m really sorry about the Eagles tickets. That definitely wasn’t my finest moment.” You say the last bit with a touch of humor. You pause for a moment, before adding, “I’m not going to apologize for the lasagna, though. Janine insisted on giving it to me, and it was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever tasted.” 

You see her eyes widen, her brows raising in surprise. A genuine satisfied smile graces her lips, and you can’t help but momentarily wish things had been different over the last week so you could have seen more of those. That smile made her entire demeanor change. 

“Well,” she says, eyes flashing with her own humor. She shoots you a sly grin, and you return a small smile of your own. “If I’m bein’ real with ya, I’m impressed. Fake tickets? Pretty diabolical,” she continues, admiration in her voice. Her smile fades, though, and she brings her hand up, pressing a knuckle to her lips briefly in thought. She sighs, murmuring, “I’m sorry too. I shoulda given you a chance before jumpin’ to conclusions. And, uh… I’ll pay for ya to get your headlights fixed.” She mutters that last part, and you notice that she didn’t apologize for smashing them - but you know it’s as close as she’ll come, because you’re not sure she entirely regrets it. You’ll take what you can get.

“Thank you,” you murmur, and once again you suddenly can’t look at her anymore. Luckily, Barbara draws your focus to her as she clears her throat. You both look toward the older teacher as she stares down at you, a smug, triumphant smile dancing across her full lips. 

“Now, was that so hard?” She asks, her voice teasing both of you. For the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe fully again. Melissa rolls her eyes, pulling herself away from the wall, but you detect a hint of relief radiating off of the woman as well. 

“Don’t expect us to hold hands or nothin’ Barb,” she says as she heads for the door. When she reaches it, she pauses and turns to you. She considers you for a moment, and you begin to feel warm underneath her gaze. Finally, she says, “Well, ya comin’? We got lessons to plan for the day. How do ya feel about teaching Science?” Her tone is gruff, commanding, no nonsense. The carefully curated tough exterior of Melissa Schemmenti is back in place. But you’ve seen the slightest glimpse of the human being underneath.

“Right behind you,” you reply, and a tentative grin breaks out across your face as you stand and begin to follow the short woman. You pause briefly though, a thought entering your mind, and you turn to Barabra. Your hands grasp each other behind your back as you rock forward onto the balls of your feet, and you convey your gratitude by giving the older woman the warmest smile you can muster and uttering, “Thank you, Barbara.”

She returns your smile, her own radiant and warm, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve been blessed a bit. “My pleasure, dear. Go on, I’ll see you at lunch.” You nod in agreement, and turn on your heel, following after your lead teacher. You’re not friends - seeing as your time is limited at Abbott, you don’t imagine you ever will be. But you feel lighter, and there’s a newfound respect for the short woman. And for the first time since you stepped foot inside Abbott Elementary, you feel excited for the day before you.

-------

A/N:

Yes, I'm sorry, Gary will be briefly mentioned/perhaps even making small appearances. Stay strong lol. Controversial opinion but I don't hate Gary. Did I think he was good enough for Melissa? HELL NO. Do I think he should have respected her wishes and listened to her when she explained her boundaries? HELL YES. But ultimately he was just a big dumb guy who was infatuated with Melissa Schemmenti, and to that, I relate. Still, I wasn't mad about that split.

Fun fact - if you've watched season 3 episode 4 already, I wrote the Ava roster line before that episode aired. I died laughing when the kids were talking to Gregory about his roster. We don't need to talk about the firefighter exchange... denial is my favorite state.

[jake-g-lockley]

hi! i see that requests are open and i love your writing! could you do an imagine with all three moon boys based on the prompt “running into reader’s ex” thank you! <3

Vengeance (Moon Knight x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?

A/N: Hi lovely! Thanks for the ask, here’s the protective moon boys (I had to include the all powerful being too)

Warnings: Slight dark!moon knight, them being extra protective, swearing, mentions of bad mental health and unresolved trauma, Khonshu needs his own warning sometimes. 

Word count: 1.3k

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You know, I really could have just driven us here.” Jake grumbled, one hand protectively clutching onto yours and his other arm slung around your shoulder.

You leaned into him as he guided you through the city’s bustling streets, your bag slung on his shoulder. You smiled at your fiance’s coddling, loving the attention that he brought with him whenever he fronted. 

The new bookstore that you wanted to visit was located in a cultural hub and you had a list of books that you wanted to splurge on. Steven was happy to join you on your spending spree, Jake was happy to carry all of your books and Marc was just happy that you were happy. The second you walked in, you sprinted away from Jake’s protective grasp towards the novel section, making him chuckle at your enthusiasm.

“Don’t go too far princesa, we’re gonna lose you to books, like we always lose Steven.” he joked, shaking his head at you.

“Jake, we are quite literally attached to the same body, what are you on about?” Steven grumbled. 

“I mean mentally, hermano.”

The second you were a bookshelf away from your boys, everything started going horribly. Your eyes landed on someone that made your hair stand on its end, goosebumps rose throughout your skin as you stood frozen, in shock. The person hadn’t seen you yet, instead talking to a customer. You back away slowly, turning the corner before you collide into a familiar chest.

“Aye, why you walkin’ backwards, sweetheart?” Marc questioned, the amusement in his tone fading instantly as he scanned your face. 

He instinctively put his arm around your shoulders and you buried your face into his chest, breathing in his calming scent. You started to count from one to ten, backwards and forwards again and again until your breathing calmed. Marc knew you were scared about something but he didn’t ask instantly, choosing to look at his surroundings to find anything that could have triggered you. You fisted his jacket and pulled him close when he shifted slightly.

“Not going anywhere, baby, we’re still here with you.” he soothed, rubbing your hair and kissing your forehead.

You were safe, you had Marc, Steven and Jake, you were fine. You focused on Marc’s voice, holding on to it like he was your rock as the memories started to flood to you. Marc began to rub a spot on your back that made you begin to tear up. 

“He couldn’t hurt you, not when your boys were around.” you thought to yourself. 

You were pulled out of your swirling memories by the call of your name.

That voice.

“Huh, I thought I saw you here.” said the smug voice.

Marc, Steven and Jake were absolutely confused. Marc looked between the man in front of him and you, trying to piece together what was happening.

“Hiding in the arms of another man like the whore you are.” 

You began to shake in Marc’s arms, fear creeping up your spine and dread flooding you. Marc was in shock. He couldn’t react to what this man had just called you, he just stood there, holding you tighter than ever. You wanted to tell them what was going on, or just pull Marc away from this mess, pretending that it never existed, but you couldn’t.

“Who the fuck are you?” Marc spat when he came to his senses.

A cruel laugh met your ears, your blood curdling at the sound, your heart racing as your brain began to shut down.

“I’m guessing the right slag didn’t tell you about me? I’m her ex.” 

Marc froze. Your ex wasn’t a topic they got to discuss. You had your own troubles, it gave you nightmares and horrible anxiety that plagued you worse than any disease ever. It haunted you but the boys hadn’t figured out how to bring the topic up, choosing to deal with the aftershocks of whatever you had gone through. They were happy with you, they didn’t exactly need a full rundown of your life to know that you were good for them. 

Marc was a little lost, trying to both focus on his own anger and pushing his alters to stay at bay. Khonshu had taken an interest in what was going on and had appeared behind the man that claimed to be your ex. No matter how much he despised the god he worked for, Marc felt relief rush over him, as if Khonshu had casted a safety blanket over them and flashed a reminder in Marc’s mind that he literally had the power of the gods. He swallowed his demons and took a deep breath. 

“I suggest you apologize to my fiance and I before I make your life a living hell, Mr… Vic.” he said, eyeing the man’s name tag.

“Hmph, what can you do? Like I care about her to apologize. She should be the one facing the music.” the man lunged forward and grabbed your arm.

Fear coursed through you like a wave as you felt yourself being pulled away from Marc but all you saw was a flash of white before you. You dropped to your knees as your eyes fell on graying bandages. You knew you were not staring at any one of the boys’ suits. Slowly you looked up and there stood your fiance’s body but he looked different, more dangerous than any of the three could be.

“What the fuck is that!” your ex screamed and looked around but no one came to his aid. 

Reassuring energy took over your fear and you now knew what was happening. Khonshu had taken over Marc’s body, his eyes shining bright and white like a full moon. Your ex was cowering now, his arms over his head as the possessed Marc stepped over your body, towards your ex. 

“Don’t hurt me, please.” he begged and part of you wanted to smile at the fear that was etched on his face.

“You’re going to pay for this.” boomed Khonshu’s voice and all you saw was another flash of white before your whole vision went blank.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up in your fiance’s bed, Steven’s worried and tired face forming in your vision. You tried to smile at Steven but it came out as a grimace as you tried to sit up, your head pounding.

“Shh, stay down, love.” Steven cooed, pushing you back down onto the pillows. 

“What happened?” you whispered.

“Well, our boss decided to show his full form, right in front of you and you passed out.” Steven said nervously, playing with the cuff of his sweater. 

“What happened to, you know…” you asked, fear edging you around you again. 

You were admittedly worried that the four of them had collectively done something irreversible and you stared at Steven with big scared eyes.

“Oh, let's just say that you’ll never have to deal with him again, my darling.” Steven said, his voice a tone lower. “And before you ask, no, he is not dead. Death would be mercy for him.”

Your mouth went dry but you didn’t question it. Instead your hands found the collar of Steven’s sweater and you pulled him down. His lips met yours gently and he pressed his forehead against yours reassuringly.

“I guess I owe the three of you an explanation.” you mumble.

“Only when you are ready, baby.” Marc’s voice slowed your heart and ebbed your anxiousness away. 

“We’ll always wait for you, amor.” Jake promised and with a soft kiss to your cheek he laid down and pulled you over him as you began your story, never feeling more safe in your entire life. 

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With the contact’s Marc had, wiping a person off the face of the Earth without killing them was probably the easiest thing in the world. All it took was a few calls, a little bit of money and Marc’s thoughts slowly started clearing. He didn’t care about the explanation you had for him, he knew your love was true and that fuelled him to do anything for you, no matter the consequence. 

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

Taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @excitedcurtain864 @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @lia275 @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie

[mandiemegatron]

【 ᵁⁿᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵀʰᵉ ᴴᵘʳᵗ 】

Black Leg Sanji x cis!fem Straw Hat Reader

Rated: T for mental health discussions. Comfort, confessions, Sanji being open about his depression, we love healing Sanji in this household.

Words ; 3, 358

Trade with @shanalikeanna !! I love you forever, my lovely shana, I hope you enjoy this!!!!!! 💖💖💖

Once again, none of this would be possible without my beta and bestie, @moss-woods !! Thank you from the bottom of my heart, my love!!! 💖💖💋💋

ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵐʸ ʷᵒʳᵏ, ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍ ˢᵒ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᶜᵃⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈ ⁱᵗ, ᵗᵒᵒ!! ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ, ᵐʸ ˡᵒᵛᵉˡʸ ˡⁱˡ ᵗᵃⁿᵍᵉʳⁱⁿᵉˢ!💖💖

The first night after escaping Totto Land, everyone was on edge.

The second, everyone did their best to try and rest, but most of the Straw Hats still tossed and turned (sans Zoro, that man can and has slept through a tornado).

The third night, you'd finally decided around 3 am to get up, your thoughts still raging through your mind and keeping the sandman from blessing you with sweet, sweet sleep.

Throwing on a simple, black hoodie and dark red sweatpants, you slipped into some shoes and quietly dipped out of the women's quarters and made it upstairs to the main deck without an issue.

To your surprise, you could smell Sanji smoking; taking a look around and realizing he was up top with Nami's tangerine groves. You climbed up and gave a small wave, not wanting to startle him.

“Can't sleep either?” You ask gently, causing Sanji to snap out of his thoughts and grin up at you, going to stand but you stopped him, instead moving closer and sitting in the plush grass with him. You reached up and plucked a tangerine, giving Sanji a grin when he gently took it from you with no words said.

“Thank you,” You begin, only to stop as you notice the dark circles under his eyes. “Sanji… have you gotten any sleep?”

The blonde stops for a moment, eyes still staring at the fruit in his hands and it's seconds later when he starts moving again, silently peeling away. After it's done, he holds the slices out to you and you take half of them, gently folding his fingers over the ones left over and pushing his hand back to him.

“Don't worry, it's our secret,” you joked, giving him a sneaky grin and a small chuckle before popping a slice in your mouth.

There was a comfortable silence between you both as you ate. The moon was bright in the sky, lighting up the grove beautifully and basking you both in its light. After you were done, you took the chance to carefully ask Sanji,

“Are… are you doing okay, Sanji?”

This time, he did look at you, his usually bright eyes dull and glazed as he seemingly stared through you. “Of course,” His usual cheery voice came through, but you could feel the hurt behind his tone.

You softly reached out and grasped one of his hands, gently holding it in both of yours as you mentioned in a lightly joking tone,

“You're really bad at lying to me.”

For a long second, Sanji stared, unable to enunciate anything, though his mouth twitched a few times. He then took a long drag and let it drift out, making sure to blow it up away from you.

“Sanji… you can talk to me. I can't even imagine what you went through-”

His hand tightened around your fingers and you froze, worry for him running through your entire body. He then took a shaky breath and finally murmured out tiredly,

“I don't want to talk about it.”

You frowned sadly, holding his hand over your heart as you replied,

“You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. I just want you to know I'm here for you, always.”

Sanji sniffles softly as his gaze wanders to the grass, the aching in his heart getting harder to ignore.

“It doesn't matter-”

You squeeze his hand and comment,

“It absolutely matters Sanji, it matters to me and it matters to everyone on this crew. We're your family, we love you, Sanji.”

Nothing but another sigh came from the chef, the fight going on inside his head clearly too loud for you to get anything through to him. You could almost read the expression on his face - you don't get it, he's thinking, his gaze burning through the grassy patch.

You let his hand move back into his lap, his other hand reaching over to flick ashes off his cigarette.

“If you don't want to talk, that's okay. Do you mind listening instead, then?”

Your voice was small, so soft that it took Sanji a moment to process the words. His gaze flickered back up to you, hazy wariness hidden behind them as he nodded slightly.

You took a moment, gathering your thoughts to form into words as you gently began,

“I believe everything that happens to us happens for a reason. The good things happen to remind us that life is worth living, worth experiencing. The bad shit happens to show us how to grow, how to fight back, and to find that inner strength that you didn't even know was there.”

You shifted slightly, sitting up a bit straighter as you continued,

“I don't know what happened with you after you left. We were terrified, I was terrified. What if I never saw you again? What if I never got to tell you how amazing you were?”

Sanji also sat up more, his curled brow shifting down as he stared silently.

“Doing hard things is never easy, but having support from the people that love you makes all the difference. Even if that hard thing is just trying to survive.”

You shrug slightly, your fingers fiddling with themselves in your lap as you added,

“I heard… about Judge.”

Sanji freezes at your words, like ice cold snow had been dropped down onto him. His face twitches, the expression slightly irritated before it falls back into the previous nearly blank one.

“Sanji, have you heard the phrase, “blood is thicker than water?” Are you aware that phrase is wrong?”

Sanji lights a fresh cigarette with a slight shrug of his own, softly murmuring, “Oh.”

“The actual phrase is, “the blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb.”, meaning, the family you create is stronger than the family you were born into.”

You reached up and plucked another tangerine, peeling it yourself as Sanji sits, stunned and watching you with a wide, blue eye.

“I don't think I've ever met a single person with great parents. Hell, even my dad was a piece of shit too! But I can tell you, with absolute confidence, that you have a great father.”

The chef gave a single, sharp barking laugh, going to reply with a snarking bite when you cut him off with your own, sharp continuance,

“Have you forgotten so easily who you are, Sanji?”

He leans back a bit in hurt, tears welling up in his eyes as you add genuinely,

“You are Black Leg Sanji, named after your father, Red Leg Zeff. You are chef to the Straw Hat Pirates and don't you ever forget that your real father would be damn proud of how far you've come.”

You popped a few slices of tangerine into your mouth as you let your words stew, watching the tears stream down Sanji's face. You finished off the fruit and hummed softly, looking up at the sky as you spoke again.

“I think you should call him.”

You looked back to him and reached over, patting him on the shoulder a few times before getting up and brushing any dirt or grass from your butt. You threw Sanji a bright grin, your face illuminated by the moon as you softly commanded,

“Go get some sleep, Sanji. Your family will still be here in the morning.”

You turned and walked away before he could say anything, only able to watch you quietly walk back down towards the main deck door.

In the silence of the small grove, Sanji's heart beat so loud he swore the whole ship could hear it. His fingers ached, his eyes burned and his throat felt tight, like someone had welded his flesh inside together.

He knew you were right, the logic and love in your words washing over him like a warm blanket the more he thought over them.

So why couldn't he get up?

He flopped back into the grass, both eyes exposed to the shine of the moon as he puffed on his smoke. He took a last drag and put it out in the grass, intent on cleaning up after himself before he moved again. His eyes slipped shut for just a moment, his exhaustion catching up to him as his fight or flight instinct finally released its grip on him.

In seconds, Black Leg Sanji had passed out, a small smile on his lips with his body lovingly covered by the shadows from the tangerine trees.

Sanji awoke the next morning in his hammock, confusion running through him as he ran a tired hand through his hair. He groans and sits up, hopping out of his bed and slowly gets dressed, having to stop a few times as the ship rocks and he nearly trips.

Once he's dressed and more awake, he makes his way to the kitchen as usual and is surprised to find the moss head sitting at the table with a drink in his hand as you wash up dishes. It's clear that food had been made, and he goes to question you when Zoro pipes up,

“Sleep beauty finally wakes! How's it goin’, princess?” His tone is snarky and teasing but there's genuine curiosity behind the words.

Sanji only aims a kick at his head, which is blocked as usual. He huffs and straightens up his tie, giving Zoro the middle finger before sliding up behind you, completely ignoring the now furious swordsman.

“Oi! Fuck you, curlybrow!”

You're shaking your head with a roll of your eyes as Sanji asks you sweetly,

“You didn't have to do all this, mon ange! You could have woken me up-”

You looked up at him with a small grin as you commented,

“You were out like a light, Sanji. Besides, I've been watching you cook for ages, I feel like I picked up just enough to satisfy everyone.”

Sanji's cheeks burn, little hearts dancing around his head at your words. You couldn't help but breathe a soft sigh of relief, glad he was slowly returning to the man he was.

“Oh mon amour! You are the most precious thing in my life!”

Zoro gives a loud, over-exaggerated gag at that, pulling laughter from you as you finish placing the last dish into the drying rack. Sanji turns his attention back to Zoro with a snarking reply of,

“At least a woman wants to spend time with me! Your stink keeps everyone at a 5 mile radius away from you.” He proves his point by placing his hands on your hips and standing a little closer to hold you to him as he makes a face at Zoro who makes one back.

“Oh yeah? She doesn't look so comfortable from where I'm standing!”

You groan and roll your eyes again, pulling away from Sanji with burning cheeks as you make your way out of the kitchen.

“You guys can fight without me being in the middle!”

Zoro stops you before you can leave, gently grasping your wrist and pulling you to him. You give a soft “Oof!” as your body collides into Zoros, your hand pressing onto his chest to stabilize yourself.

“Oi! Shitty Swordsman! Get your grubby little hands off Y/N!”

Zoro just laughs, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders and keeping you to him as he barks back,

“You're just mad that she doesn't hate me, ugly dandelion head!”

You pinch Zoro's nipple and he jumps, letting go of you as he shields his wounded pride and offended body part behind burning cheeks.

“The hell was that for?!”

Sanji can't help but burst out laughing, your own laughter joining in as you finally make your way out of the kitchen.

“Paybacks a bitch, Zo!”

With you gone, the two men glared and growled at each other, Sanji huffing smoke at the swordsman as Zoro puffs his chest out a bit, glaring Sanji down.

“Quit hittin” on her, you curlybrowed moron!”

“You quit it! She doesn't like stupid, ugly, unwashed assholes!”

Their foreheads smacked against each other as they growled and barked at each other, only finally breaking away as they heard you call from down the hallway,

“Sanji? Can I get your help with something?”

Sanji flashes Zoro a smug grin, puffing smoke in his face as he calls back,

“Of course I can, my darling Y/N-chaaan!”

Zoro rolls his eye as he watched the shitty love cook literally twirl and dance out the kitchen door, taking the advantage of Sanji being gone to raid the ‘secret’ cupboard that held all the good sake.

Finding an unopened bottle, Zoro uncorks it with a heavy sigh before heading back up to the crows nest.

Sanji, on the other hand, finds himself in a predicament as he searches the halls for you, confusion set on his face as he opens a few doors.

“Y/N? Where'd you go?”

He almost shrieks as a hand pulls him back, tugging him into a room and slamming the door shut. He turns and flares his nose slightly, staring you down as he presses a hand over his chest.

“Y/N! You almost gave me a heart attack,” he half-jokes, patting his chest lightly a few times as you grin up at him.

“I gotta keep you on your toes,” you replied lightly, giving him a quick wink before tugging him over to your bed. You immediately sat down and patted the space beside you, an almost expectant look on your face as you asked,

“You got some time to sit with me?”

Sanji takes in your expression and slowly sits, but not before putting out his cigarette in the small ashtray on your bedside table. His heart always thumped a few extra fast beats at your thoughtfulness.

He makes himself comfortable before he nervously asks,

“So? What did you need help with?”

Your face blossoms into bright red hues as you look down to your lap, your fingers fiddling with themselves anxiously as you slowly got out,

“I um, I just, um,” you stumble over your words, unsure of how to get them out. It takes a second, but you finally inhale before quickly spilling out in one, quick breath,

“Ireallylikeyouandidon’tknowifyoulikemetoo.”

Sanji blinks a few times, his mind trying to decipher the words that bubbled out of you, only for his head to tilt to the side as he gives a confused,

“Uh… what?”

Your cheeks darken, and you shove your face into shaking hands, trying to steady your racing heart as you groan into your palms.

You freeze as two warm hands grip lightly around your wrists, pulling your hands from your face only to find Sanji's own visage just centimeters from your own.

There's a sparkle in his uncovered eye and a wide grin on his face as he breathes out,

“You like me?”

You stiffen as your expression sinks nervously, only able to give him a soft,

“... Yeah….”

There's a single moment between you before your back is pressed onto the bed and Sanji is on top of you, his hands on either side of your head with one leg in between yours.

Shivers run over your body in anticipation, your eyes staring up into both of his as his hair dangles over you, showing every part of his beautiful face. You gently reach up and cup one of his cheeks in your palm, watching with a soaring heart as his eyes fall shut and he presses further into your palm.

“For so long…” He started, his voice just above a whisper. “I'd look at you and hope to God you could hear my thoughts racing, that you could hear how hard my heart beat for you…”

You felt your heart swell in adoration for him at his admittance, your own eyes slipping shut as he leans forward a bit to press his forehead against yours.

“For so long, all I wanted was for you to want me… the way I wanted you.”

The tip of his nose brushes against yours in a loving motion, his lips so close you could feel his breath dancing across your own.

“You don't even know how much you've healed me. My angel, my darling,” His voice cracks as he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears as he pours his heart out to you. You sniffle softly, tears of your own prickling at your eyes as you open them and listen to him continue.

“There isn't a day that goes by that I just… I don't feel good enough. For you, for this crew… but the last couple days really showed me how cherished I am.”

Pulling back to stare down at you with teary eyes, Sanji somehow gets out,

“I will never take your love for granted, Y/N. I love you and I don't care if you don't feel the same-”

You cut him off with a kiss, leaning your head up just enough to capture his lips, effectively silencing him.

When you pull back, his eyes are wide, tears streaming down his face as you softly comment,

“Sanji, I love you, and I have for a long time. I thought I was going to lose you to Pudding, and that I'd never see you again,” your tears flooded down the sides of your eyes as you looked up at him. “I thought I'd never get the chance to tell you how much you meant to me.”

Sanji leans down and hugs you tightly, hiding his face in the side of your neck as he sobs silently. You cling to him, rubbing your fingers over his back and through his soft hair, murmuring loving words to him as he lets all his emotions out.

It takes a long while for Sanji to finally settle, his eyes red and achy when he finally pulls back to stare down at you. You wiped at his eyes gently as you confidently reminded him,

“Black Leg Sanji, I love you, now and forever. Do not ever forget the family you have here.”

A wide grin breaks out over his face as he leans down to kiss you, your lips melding with his as if they were made for him; like two souls made of the same star dust, colliding with each other and creating a blinding light for the world to see.

You pull away after a few moments, gently holding his face again as you murmur almost teasingly,

“I have a present for you.”

Sanji's expression makes him look like a child in a candy store with no beri limit, pulling away from you to sit back on his butt as he gushes,

“For me?! You didn't have to do that, my angel dearest,”

You cut him off with a lazy wave of your hand, sitting up and reaching into the top drawer of your desk and pulling out your small Den Den Mushi.

Sanji gives you a puzzled look as you dial in a number and hand the Den Den to him, leaning back on your headboard as it begins to ring.

Peru-peru-peru… peru-peru-peru…

Sanji almost drops your Den Den as an all too familiar voice barks out on the other end.

“This is The Baratie, Zeff speaking.”

Sanji feels like he's been punched in the chest, looking to you with watery eyes once more as you sit back with crossed arms, a smug grin on your face as you motion for him to say something.

“Carne, if this is another stupid fuckin’ prank-”

“You… shitty old man…”

There's a crackle on the other end, Sanji watching the face on the snail change from irritation to one of complete surprise.

He swears every hurt he'd ever felt in his life healed when Zeff finally spoke again.

“You shitty little eggplant…” There's another pause as he hears a sniffle from the snail.

“... My son!”

[wintaerbaer]

things we don’t say: part 3 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 9.0k

chapter warnings: kook has literally zero chill (i’m so sorry about him), jimin channels his inner dominic toretto, taehyung is so sweet he’s giving me cavities, discussions of infidelity, swear words, namjoon still gives the best hugs

a/n: thanks for the patience in waiting for this one! for those who may have missed it, i ultimately opted to split this into two chapters, so now we’re looking at seven parts and an epilogue. :)

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

"I can make you a drink?"

"It's noon."

"So?"

You sigh, slumping on the couch. "I appreciate it, Kook, but I'm just…" You stretch out, pressing your toes into his thigh. "Tired."

The week has gone by in a blur of tears and sleep. You'd taken the rest of the week off, thankful both that you had been carefully banking your PTO in case of an emergency and also for having a manager that prioritizes empathy and mental health. When you'd practically had a breakdown explaining your situation over the phone, she'd quickly granted you the time off—no questions asked—and told you to take care of yourself.

It's been mostly your friends taking care of you, however. After the night you came back from the beach house, you'd been whisked away to the guys' apartment to stay with them, camping out on their pull-out couch, which they’d insisted you could have for as long as you want (Taehyung had pushed you to take his bed, offering to stay in the living room, but you'd begged him not to make you feel worse by displacing him, and he'd eventually acquiesced). Maya and Taehyung had then gone back late the next day to pack you a bag with no Jace encounters.

He'd only texted you once—to provide a weak apology and to let you know he'd clear out of the apartment.

Still, your plan is to stay with the guys for a while; you don't think you could bear to be in your apartment alone right now, especially knowing that Jace has been with someone else in your bed. It's like the image is seared behind your eyelids, tormenting you every time you blink and pushing your mental fortitude to its absolute limit. You haven’t made it a single day without a breakdown, feeling as though you’re constantly trying to walk an emotional tightrope.

Except the tightrope isn’t pulled taut and is also on fire.

That being said, you welcome the distraction of having your friends around. Between Jimin working days, Jungkook working nights, and Taehyung having a flexible schedule with the museum and his photography gigs, someone is always around to spend time with you. Maya’s also taken it upon herself to pop in almost every night with wine, chocolate, or some other variation of breakup food and hang out for a while. You'd feel bad about their attentiveness (you feel sometimes like they're babysitting you), if not for the fact that it's the only thing keeping you remotely sane as you fluctuate between sobs and an overwhelming numbness.

This Sunday afternoon, it's Jungkook's turn to babysit; Taehyung left to run some errands an hour ago, while Jimin slept in late and is currently taking a shower. Jungkook's reclined on the sofa next to you, longs legs stretched out in front of him with his fingers laced behind his head. You'd thrown on a TV movie—some bullshit about a woman who goes through trials of love, only to realize that her perfect man was hidden in plain sight the entire time.

If only life were that fucking easy.

"Do you want an ice cream sundae?" Jungkook suggests as the credits roll. "I can make you an ice cream sundae."

"Are you just suggesting things that make your twelve-year-old brain happy?"

His lower lip pushes out in thought. "No, if I was going to suggest things that cheer me up when I'm sad, I'd offer to go down on you—"

"What the fuck, Kook."

"Which I'm game if you are, but I didn't think you liked me like that."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

"Leave her alone, idiot. She's fragile." Jimin steps into the living room from the hall, fully dressed but still towel drying his hair. He takes in your relaxed forms on the couch—you, halfway burrowed under multiple blankets—and frowns. "You're not dressed yet?"

You blink slowly at him. "Should I be?"

"Yeah, Kook and I are taking you somewhere." He looks over at the man sitting beside you. "You didn't tell her?"

Jungkook's mouth stretches into a wide grin. "Surprise!"

You're still processing what the hell is happening—your plans for today were to park yourself in this spot and not leave—when Jimin strides over and yanks the blankets off of your body.

"Chim!"

"C'mon, get dressed. We have an appointment," he says. "And wear something comfortable. You're gonna love it, I promise."

A half hour later and you’re sitting in the back of Jungkook’s black Mercedes, watching the city pass by outside your window. Now that you’re up, it does feel nice to be out of the apartment instead of wallowing inside on the couch with a tissue box in your lap (which had been the general trend of the past week). Even listening to Jungkook and Jimin bickering about navigation up front helps to distract you from the dread that lingers like a blanket draped over your shoulders. All-in-all, you feel like you’re managing the fallout of your relationship as best as one can—at least when they find their almost-fiancé in bed with another woman. But grieving the loss still means that you’ve barely eaten, barely slept, and it’s not long before you’re dozing off in the backseat, dreaming of college—of sandy brown hair and green eyes.

You wake to Jimin’s hand on your shoulder gently shaking you out of your nap.

“Hey, we’re here.”

You’re on the outskirts of the city, it seems, in front of a squat, gray building that looks almost like a tiny warehouse. Peering up at the neon sign, you read, “Smash City Rage Room?”

“Cool, right?” Jungkook says, leaning against the side of the car.

You can physically feel the lines stretching across your forehead. “I don’t get it. We’re going to…?”

“Break stuff!” He takes your hand to pull you along. “Let’s go!”

You're led into a small, unassuming lobby—flat gray like the outside. Jimin gets you checked in with a burly-looking man behind a desk, who (after you’ve all signed some suspicious-looking release forms) promptly brings the three of you to a back room where you're fitted with protective jumpsuits, helmets, and goggles and instructed to "choose a weapon" from a rack filled with baseball bats and sledgehammers. At this point, Jungkook is practically bouncing out of his skin, the absolute picture of a golden retriever waiting for a ball to be thrown.

"You guys are really trying to distract me by taking me to Kook's version of Disneyland, huh?"

"That depends, is it working?" he says, grasping one of the hammers and weighing it in his hands.

"I'm skeptical but open-minded."

"Perfect!"

He hands you a bat, and your brawny host leads you to your final room—a wide, concrete space with a sturdy table in the middle and piles and piles of objects. Wine glasses, dinner plates, a computer monitor, and even a flat screen TV sit in heaps along the walls amongst some broken shards from previous visitors.

"You're free to smash anything in the room," the muscle man says in a gruff voice, "just no intentional damage to the building's structure. If you need something, you can flag us down through the camera up there," he points to the device in one of the ceiling's corners, "and someone will come check on you. Otherwise, just be safe and have fun. We'll come get you after an hour." Then he's swinging the door shut behind him.

You look blankly at the two men in front of you. "Now what?"

"We smash!" Jungkook says happily, already dragging the flat-screen onto the table. Then, before you can even respond: "Not like that, Y/N. Get your mind out of the gutter." He swings the sledgehammer down onto the TV screen, and it caves in on itself as Jungkook giggles maniacally.

"We thought this might help to let off steam," Jimin says, cracking a smile as he slams his bat into a propped up picture frame. "Try it!"

The two of them watch with wide, expectant eyes as you gingerly pick up a small drinking glass and place it delicately on the table.

"So now I just…?" You halfway lift the baseball bat, peering down at the poor, unassuming glass in front of you.

Jungkook leans forward, eyes eager, gesturing with the hammer in a light swinging motion he's clearly wanting you to mimic.

So you swing, bringing the bat down onto the lip of the glass with a moderate amount of force. It shatters, pieces flying outwards like little slivers of shrapnel.

It feels good.

The guys cheer, and Jimin reaches down to grab a champagne glass, setting it in front of you.

"Now pretend this one is that asshole's balls."

You hesitate, the mention of Jace causing the fist that's been around your heart to squeeze. You're angry with him, sure, fury simmering in your belly even now. But your biggest struggle and the source of all of your pain this week has been wrangling with your lingering feelings. Four years of loving someone are not so easily erased.

But you wish you could wipe it all from your mind.

You wish you could hate him.

"Let it out," Jimin murmurs, as you continue to stare, your hands gripping the bat. "This is the place."

You visualize Jace's face in your mind. His bright green eyes, his crooked smile, the tiny scar on his forehead from when he fell off his bike when he was nine. You can practically hear his voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

And then you see him in bed a week ago, his lips pressed to another woman's neck.

The champagne glass explodes like a small bomb into a million tiny crystals.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jungkook yells, and it’s then that you realize that you were the one who swung the bat.

Your body is a live wire, pumping with adrenaline and a newfound rage. Before you know it, you don’t even have the patience to pick up the objects and place them on the table. Instead, you’re spinning around in a whirlwind, destroying plates and glasses and small kitchen appliances indiscriminately.

“This is for all of the lies about late nights!”

BOOM.

“This is for the fact that I’ve barely been able to breathe this past week!”

CRASH.

“This is for that dumb-ass crooked smile like he thinks he’s the star of some shitty movie!”

WHAM.

“And this is for that stupid, fucking green jacket.”

You channel all of your anger through the bat—every tear, every minute of lost sleep turned into shards of glass and debris. The tears come at some point, but you barely feel them as you scream out your frustrations, Jimin and Jungkook cheering you on the whole time.

It’s not a magical cure-all by any means, but you do feel a tiny bit of relief ease itself into your shoulders.

An hour later, you embrace both men in the parking lot. “Thank you,” you say, “for everything you guys have been doing for me. I needed this.”

Jimin shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Hey, I owed you for that time when I got passed over for promotion, and you brought me to Bar 613 and paid for all my drinks.”

“I just wanted to smash stuff,” Jungkook teases with a grin, but he rubs playfully at your upper back to let you know he’s kidding.

Jimin’s phone chirps with a notification, and he pulls it out of his pocket, squinting at the screen before muttering, “Hmm, Tae’s not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?” you ask, a feeling creeping in that your day of surprise distractions isn’t quite over.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Jimin’s knowing smile twinkles with mischief. “In the meantime, what do you say we get some ice cream?”

“What do you mean you’re not coming?”

You’d returned from your rage room and ice cream outing only for Jungkook to swing his car into the “No Parking” zone outside the apartment and promptly kick you out to the curb, a pair of impish smiles flashing at you from the front seats.

“We have strict instructions to stay clear of the apartment for the next several hours,” Jimin chimes. “So we’re going to entertain ourselves for a while.”

You narrow your eyes at them, knowing they’re not going to spill but making a feeble attempt anyway. “What did he do?”

“Go find out!” Jimin says, just as Jungkook shouts, “Bye!” and rolls up the window right in your face.

You enter the building with a sigh, swinging the plastic bag from your wrist that holds the takeout container of rocky road that you’d gotten for Taehyung. A part of you wants to be whiny about your friends making such a fuss for you, working so hard to cheer you up, but at the end of the day, you just feel loved. Tomorrow, you may wake up with a hollow chest, your heart scraped out in the middle of the night as it has been for every day the past week, but for now, you let a little flame of happiness warm your insides.

You do hope, though, that Taehyung didn’t go through too much trouble for whatever he has planned for tonight. He’s already spent a majority of the past week hovering, holding you when you cry, and otherwise keeping a close watch on your moods. And in spite of him trying to be subtle, you’ve noticed how he doesn’t close his bedroom door all the way at night so he can listen for you.

He’s a great friend, the best, but the fact that you care about him, too, means that you don’t necessarily want to burden him, don’t want to be the source of his worry.

It sucks that you’re doing a shit job of it.

Probably just a movie night, you think during the elevator ride up. Like we’d do in college.

But when you slip the key into the lock and slide the door open, your heart immediately leaps into your throat, the bag of ice cream almost slipping from your fingers.

The apartment has been positively upended, furniture rearranged, flipped, stacked, and draped with blankets to create a massive pillow fort in the middle of the living room. It has to be almost eight feet tall, and you wonder what the rest of the rooms look like as you spy all three of the guys’ desk chairs incorporated into the structure—clearly, the entire apartment was raided to create this behemoth. Around the dining room and kitchen, dozens of candles have been placed and lit to give the open space an ambient glow, accentuated by the lowering sun dipping down outside the massive windows.

When the door swings itself to latch shut with a soft click, there’s a rustling sound before Taehyung’s head pops out of the fort, and he beams as he comes to stand in front of you.

“What do you think?” he hums as you continue to stare incredulously at the scene behind him. You try to say something, you should say something, but tears begin to flow over your cheeks instead, causing the room to blur and Taehyung to pull you into a hug. “Okay, I have to admit this is the opposite of what I was going for.”

You press a watery chuckle into his chest. “This is incredible,” you gasp, shifting back to look at him.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says. “And that’s not even all. Come look.”

He guides you to the kitchen, where you now notice the counters are littered with all of your favorite comfort foods alongside the snacks you used to share growing up: sugar cookies and popcorn, potato chips and pretzels, brownies and bite-sized chocolates.

“Just like old times. And—“ He lifts the lid off a pot on the stove, and you’re quickly enveloped in the soothing scent of tomatoes and basil. “Spaghetti for dinner.”

It was the first meal you ever made together. In retrospect, the lumpy, acidic sauce you concocted in your parents’ kitchen that day was far from perfect. But at the time, you’d called it the best meal you’d ever eaten, and Taehyung has spent the subsequent years perfecting his own recipe. He doesn’t make it often, but when he does, it’s the perfect blend of nostalgia and warmth.

“And to think, all I brought you was this,” you say sadly, dangling the bag limply from your hand. But Taehyung snatches it from you in a flash, digging in like it’s a Christmas present. When he pulls out the papery white container, he grins like it’s much more than just half-melted ice cream.

“Rocky road?” he asks, smiling even more widely when you nod. “This is amazing, Y/N. Thank you.”

You study him quietly as he puts the ice cream away in the freezer—just to soak in this beautiful, home-shaped human being—and he raises his eyebrows at you when he turns back around.

“What?” he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hide yet another smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you glance away. “Nothing.”

But the truth is, standing here in his kitchen, observing his tender movements as he carefully rearranges the snacks on the counter top—it’s the first time in a week that you’ve been able to breathe. And maybe it’s just because it’s been days of suffocating pressure around your chest, but the air pushing through your lungs now feels sweeter, richer as he looks up to capture your gaze again and gently takes your hand in his.

“Come see the inside.”

He pulls you to the mass of furniture and blankets, sweeping back an opening in the fabric to usher you in, and you gasp as he reveals the pillow fort of your childhood dreams.

It’s massive, tall enough for you to stand comfortably in, with wide walls and a tented ceiling that seems to suggest Taehyung has somehow tethered it to the apartment’s actual ceiling. The floor is absolutely packed with pillows, cushions, and heaps of additional blankets, and if you aren’t mistaken, there’s a literal mattress (maybe two?) buried underneath it all.

But the part that has your throat constricting on a sob, tears streaming once again, is the tiny side table he’s placed to the side, your star lamp glowing on top.

“How did—“ you choke, still taking it all in. The fort, the snacks, the lamp. “How did you—?”

“Found the lamp in your closet when we went to get you that bag of clothes.”

“And,” you wave a weak hand at the scene around you, “all of this?”

“Chugged a couple energy drinks,” he chuckles. “And Maya came by for a bit earlier to lend a hand.”

“Tae,” you say, wiping at your cheeks.

“Y/N.”

“This is…” Beautiful. Magical. Extraordinary. No single word seems adequate enough to describe what you’re feeling, his recreation of your childhood tradition to the nth degree tipping you into a state of practical euphoria after the hell of a week you’ve just had. You’d swear you feel like you’re about to combust with the amount of relief that’s flooding through your body in this moment, anger and grief giving way to joy and an overwhelming sense of fondness for the man in front of you.

You never complete your sentence, but Taehyung still seems to grasp your meaning, reaching out to squeeze your fingers one last time in a gesture of acknowledgment and understanding before he simply says, “Let’s eat.”

The two of you gather yourselves heaping bowls of pasta before burrowing into your pillow fortress, backs pressed up against the couch, which is being used to support one side of it.

“How was the rage room?” Taehyung asks, tomato sauce staining his lips.

“Surprisingly cathartic. But…”

“But?”

You rub at your temple before letting your hand fall in a huff. “Temporary. It all is. Every time I think I’m getting a moment to catch my breath, I feel like I’m being punched in the chest a second later.”

“It’s only been a week,” he says. “You’re grieving. It’s going to take time.”

“I don’t want it to though,” you snap, immediately regretting your tone, even though Taehyung looks unfazed. “I just want to turn it off. He did this terrible thing, and I should hate him for it. I want to hate him for it.”

“But you don’t,” Taehyung says, jaw clenching.

Throat swelling, you choke on the words as they find their way out. “I thought I was going to marry him.” The all-too-familiar pressure in your chest rears its head again, suffocating you from the inside. “We had all these plans.” Your breaths turn shallow, coming out in short, rough pants quickly joined by tears that Taehyung rushes to wipe away.

You’ve never known love could hurt like this until now, and for all intents and purposes, Jace was your first real love. You’d had a smattering of boyfriends in high school, but never anything long term until him—nothing that ever made your heart feel like it was going through a shredder, a blender, and a hurricane all at once when it ended. And it’s not just your idea of him or your relationship that you’re mourning, but also the future that you thought you’d have together. The dreams you had dared to dream when you’d traded ideas of rings and children and white picket fences while tangled together in bed.

Sensing an imminent panic attack, Taehyung pulls you into his lap and loops his arms around you, coasting his hands up and down your back in long strokes. He’s done this every time you’ve broken down around him over the past several days, the physical sensation giving you something else to focus on when the thoughts and memories of your now-ex come flooding through the mental barriers you’ve been trying and failing to construct.

You concentrate instead on the ministrations of Taehyung’s hands, the warmth of his large palms resting over your shirt, the glide of his fingers tracing your spine over and over. His fingertips trail up to your neck (inhale) and back down to your sacrum (exhale) on a loop as you clutch the soft fabric of his own shirt. And as the dread looming under your skin begins to ebb away, you notice how your breathing has synced up, pressed chest to chest like you’re two halves of one whole. It’s calming, the light press of his ribcage expanding against yours, and it serves as enough of a distraction to get yourself under control, your feelings stuffed back into their box for the time being.

When you lean back to look at him, his dark brown eyes map your face, steady as ever.

“Better?”

“Better.” You nod weakly. “But life would still be so much easier if love worked like a switch.”

His brow tilts downward a fraction, a touch of melancholy passing over his face. “If only.”

“That makes me an idiot though, right?” you ask. “To still feel for him even after that.”

“No, it makes you human,” Taehyung says, before his expression suddenly turns grave. “Has he contacted you?”

You sniffle, rubbing at your nose. “Nothing besides that one text saying he would clear out of the apartment.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Listen, I think everything you’re feeling is normal, and you shouldn’t put any pressure on yourself to process it any particular way.” A pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “But please, Y/N. Please promise me you’ll never take him back if he asks.”

Truth be told, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind until now—imagining a teary Jace on your doorstep, begging you to give him just one more chance. In spite of your lingering feelings for him, the image only stirs up a dull rage, disgust burning like acid in your stomach.

“Not a chance,” you say, twining your pinky around his for a brief moment, and he visibly relaxes, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t think I ever want to see him again. But it…it hurts.”

You struggle to pull in a breath that doesn’t want to come, chin dipping down to your chest before Taehyung begins to move. Long fingers reach out to squeeze your hips before nimbly dancing down to your ankles bracketing his legs, where they give you another squeeze. He works his way up your body from there, moving his hands to your knees. Squeeze. Your ribs. Squeeze. Your shoulders. Squeeze. Elbows. Squeeze. Wrists. Squeeze.

He’s pinching each joint of your fingers between the pads of his own when you finally ask, “Tae? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look up, zoned in on his task. “Putting you back together.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Yeah, Hobi and Joon have been giving me lessons.”

You snort, and it appears to be the reaction he was hoping for because he beams up at you as you keen forward with laughter until you’re practically sharing breath, faces mere inches apart.

Time freezes; something in the universe shifts.

Your eyes wander over his face, tracing the paths between details that you subconsciously know are there but which you’re not sure you’ve ever truly looked at: the deep brown of his eyes, the mole on the tip of his nose, the plush curve of his lower lip.

He’s beautiful. It’s something you’ve always been aware of—an obvious fact of life in the same way the sky is blue—but you’re also lucky enough to know that his beauty goes beyond a handsome face. It’s also in the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs with his whole body, the way he always carries crackers in his bag for photo shoots at the park so he can toss some to the ducks.

The way he’ll upend his entire apartment to help heal your broken heart.

Artificial stars dance around the fabric walls like fireflies as you become hyperaware of how his hands have drifted back to your hips, barely there but warm. It’s soothing, you think, to be held between the boundaries of his palms, as if nothing and no one can touch you here. But it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? He’s always been your primary source of comfort, your north star at every turn, propping you up within the safety of your own little world like he does now.

His warmth is a siren’s song that has you shifting closer, your hands sliding from his chest to his shoulders, when his grip on your hips suddenly tightens as he breathes out your name.

“Mmm?”

“We have snacks to get to.”

The bubble pops as Taehyung shifts you off his lap, darting away to the kitchen. You, however, stay firmly rooted to your spot in the blanket fort; your mind whirs, an unfamiliar tingling sensation gently working its way through your nerve endings and making your stomach dip. It’s not at all unpleasant, but you don’t know what to make of it, thoughts turning without reaching any kind of foregone conclusion until Taehyung ducks back under the blanket and into your space, arms overflowing with snack bags.

He smiles at you and your stomach dips again.

But your mind quiets.

He’s your person, you think. Undoubtedly now more than ever as he settles back down next to you like the rock he’s always been.

“Story time?” he murmurs, the light passing across his face as he hands you a bag of your favorite chips. You gently place it in your lap without opening it, still jittery from the way he held you only seconds ago. Watching you with hooded eyes, he frowns at your lack of movement, the way your fingers have stilled on the plastic. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you say, sitting up straighter so he doesn’t feel like you’re ignoring him. “Wouldn’t be a blanket fort without a story, right?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the light on the walls is now radiating from Taehyung himself as he launches into a clearly premeditated narrative about a princess and her devoted, best friend of a knight. After being betrayed by a prince from a neighboring realm, the two embark on an epic journey to restore their own kingdom, traversing mountains and crossing oceans together to retrieve the enchanted crown jewel that the thieving prince had stolen away. Another handsome and charming prince captures the princess’s heart during their adventure, and, once her power is restored, the two marry in the most beautiful and romantic ceremony the kingdom has ever seen.

“And they live happily ever after,” Taehyung says with a flourish. He reaches over to steal a handful of potato chips before slipping a hand behind his head and settling deeper into the mattress. You frown down at him.

“But what about the knight?”

He slides a potato chip between his lips, lifting a dark eyebrow in confusion. “What about him?”

“Where’s his happily ever after?” you ask, almost annoyed on the fictional character’s behalf. “He climbed a mountain and fought a dragon for her. What did the prince do? Just stand there and look hot?”

His expression changes, eyes widening in subtle surprise. “It’s not his story.”

“But—“

“It’s not his story, Y/N.”

He says it with finality, so you drop it, left to grumble internally about what you feel was an unjust ending for the caring and loyal knight.

It was a sweet tale, but you can’t help but think that you would’ve written it differently.

The return to work isn't as bad as you anticipated. Your boss, Jia, noticing your frayed nerves, has been easing you back in slowly with a handful of softball projects just to get you going again. As much as you think you needed that week to cry and wallow, it feels good to get back to some form of normalcy and have work to focus on and keep your mind off of things as much as you can.

The shadows linger though, anxiety grabbing hold of your chest every time you remember you'll be going home to a different apartment that night instead of the one you shared with Jace.

Jimin's been joining you for lunch every day, hanging around outside the office cafeteria before you get there like he's staking you out. You call him out for it on Thursday, and he looks sheepishly down at the table with a nervous chuckle.

"I kinda promised Tae I'd make sure you eat."

"Of course," you sigh. Taehyung's been getting up early every morning to cook both of you breakfast, insisting that it's part of his normal routine.

He forgets that you used to live together, and you know he's more of a granola bar guy in the morning, eager to get himself out the door and moving as soon as possible.

"You're all doing too much for me," you murmur. "You shouldn't have to babysit me like—"

"We don't have to do anything," Jimin says forcefully. "We want to be there for you. We do these things because we care about you."

"I know, but I just…" You swallow hard. "I don't want you all to see me as this broken thing that you need to protect."

Jimin's whole demeanor softens, and he reaches across the table to take your hand. You'd be worried about how this looks—two coworkers holding hands at lunch—if you didn't feel the tears welling up again, the urge to cry sticking itself in your throat like molasses as you try to choke it down.

"Y/N, that's not what we think," he says softly. "You're our friend. And you're hurting. And after the trauma you went through, it's perfectly understandable for you to need a little more attention and care than usual. Honestly, if anything, I'm worried that you seem to be taking things better than expected, and I think that's because you're trying to put a brave face on for us sometimes."

He’s not off-base. Especially after your Distraction Day, you've been doing your best these past few days to bottle everything down so your friends don't worry as much, taking your time to cry in the shower or quietly at night when everyone else is asleep.

"All I'm saying is that you can lean on us. That's what we're here for. And if your tough face can't fool me, you're definitely not fooling Tae. Let him help before he goes crazy with worry.”

Honestly, relying on Tae has been the least of your problems, even though you’re a little concerned about how he’s been waking up earlier than usual for you. That man has been your rock for years, and receiving comfort from him is almost second-nature at this point. It’s how the two of you operate. Everyone else, however…

“I’m fine with Tae,” you tell him. “But I’ve never felt this…vulnerable around the rest of you. It used to just be Tae and I, hiding away from our problems in my room, and now—“

“You have us!” He beams. “That’s a beautiful thing, Y/N, can’t you see? You’re not alone anymore. Not you, not Tae. You have us. All of us. We’re going to get you through this. And if you need a silver lining, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Jungkook and Maya this united against a common enemy before. I could’ve sworn I heard them the other night trying to figure out the best way to slash Jace’s tires without getting caught.”

“Don’t make me cry at work,” you say, blinking furiously to try and clear the sudden moisture from your eyes. “I think Jia is already prepared to send me home if I don’t stop sounding like I’m learning how to breathe for the first time.”

He laughs gently, giving your hand a squeeze before relinquishing it. “It’s going to get better, Y/N. I know I just called you our friend, but really, we’re family.”

The summer presses on in a haze as you focus on just getting through one day, one step at a time: get out of bed, go to work, come home, shower, try to get a few hours of fitful sleep, eat somewhere in between all of that. And before you know it, an entire month has passed.

Taehyung continues to make you breakfast every morning and insists on taking you to your favorite ramen place at least twice a week for dinner, watching you with concerned eyes from across the table. You’d give him shit for it if his worry didn’t feel so justified. If he wasn’t so persistent in making sure your base needs were being met, you’re not entirely sure you can say you wouldn’t be starving yourself in grief. And you know it makes him feel better to see you eating—how happy it makes him to care for others—so you don’t resist when he pushes an extra pancake onto your plate or orders you a second helping of noodles to go.

It’s one of your scheduled ramen nights when you get back from work a little later, a particularly emotional day preventing you from getting your tasks done on time. You drop your bag in the living room with a sigh, thankful that no one is around to ask you how your day was—you’re really not in the mood. Taehyung had sent you a text letting you know that he wanted to take a shower before you head out, needing one after a long day of photographing clients in the baking July heat. You can hear water running in the bathroom, so you assume he must still be in there.

The living room makes you feel vulnerable with its vaulted ceiling and tall windows, like you’re laid bare for the whole world to see. Because of this, you decide to wait for Taehyung in his bedroom, hopeful that you might be able to find some reprieve in his tucked-away space.

You’ve been in Taehyung’s room before, of course, but you’re not sure that you’ve ever taken the time to really peruse. Unlike Jace, Taehyung’s space is neatly organized, and you’re first drawn to the large bookcase that dominates the wall adjacent to the door. He’s stuffed it full of art anthologies: Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet, and Pollock giving way to old photography textbooks on the bottom shelves. About halfway down, you spot the bound collection of his own work that you’d had made for him as a college graduation gift (you got one for yourself too, and he’d blushed beautifully when you asked him to sign it).

Across the room, his bed is carefully made, dark bedding tucked cleanly under the mattress. In place of a nightstand and opposite the dresser, he’s set up a series of box shelves for his photography equipment—you spot lenses and tripods placed alongside gadgets you would have no idea how to use. His desk sits to the left, an impressive PC setup backed by a large cork-board brimming with post-it notes, business cards, and a photograph that has you stopping in your tracks.

The first photograph Taehyung ever took.

It’d been the spring right after you both turned sixteen, and Taehyung had finally saved up enough money from his newspaper job to buy his first camera at the secondhand shop. You’d gone along, bouncing up and down with excitement for him so vigorously that the shopkeeper kept giving you strange looks over the counter.

New toy in hand, Taehyung pulled you to the park, where the cherry blossoms were in full bloom—clusters of pastel pink contrasting wonderfully against the bright blue sky. You bought yourselves some kkwabaegi at a nearby food stall as Taehyung sat on a bench figuring out how to operate the camera. Distracted by the numerous dials and buttons, he didn’t even realize you had returned until you dusted his cheek with a bit of cinnamon sugar, teasing that his cheeks were just as fluffy as the donut you subsequently handed him with a smile.

Snacks finished, you strolled along the petal covered path, chatting about everything and nothing as Taehyung continued to fiddle with the controls.

“Are you going to be able to figure it out?” you asked, skipping ahead to pluck a wildflower out of the grass after several minutes had passed without him taking a single photo.

“Actually, I think I’ve just got it.”

“Really?” you said, turning around to face him and freezing at the sound of a click and the sight of the camera held at the ready in front of his face. His grin was full of mischief as he dropped his arms at your stunned look, and you rushed back to his side to give him a joking shove. “I wasn’t ready, you jerk. I’m going to look like an idiot.”

But Taehyung was still smiling widely, already striding down the path to line up his next shot. “Don’t worry. You looked perfect.”

You’d forgotten about the photograph after that day, as Taehyung never actually showed it to you. You figured that it probably didn’t turn out right, a blurry candid, and was scrapped. Now, looking at it, it’s not his best work, but it’s not nearly as bad as you’d pictured in the moment.

It’s you, backdropped by the pink of the blossoms, with delicate petals dancing around your form. Your eyes are bright and eager as you turn to face him, the corners of your lips upturned in the beginnings of a smile and the small purple flower raised halfway to your chest.

In spite of the struggles you know you were dealing with at home, you look content. Happy.

“Oh, you’re home.”

You jump, spinning around to face where Taehyung suddenly stands just inside the doorway, and you feel something flip low in your belly.

It’s not that you’ve never seen him shirtless—years of going to the beach house together have taken care of that—but here, in the low, intimate light of his bedroom, the sight of his mostly naked body strikes you in a way that it never has before. The veins in his arms and hands pop from the heat of the shower, skin tanned by his time spent outdoors. His dark hair is still wet and, as if on cue, a drop of water falls off the end of a ringlet, your eyes following as it rolls over sharp collarbones, down a toned chest and smooth stomach, and into the towel sitting low on his hips.

Taehyung clears his throat, and one look at his flushed face tells you that your perusal of his torso hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Why are you even looking?

“I—uh—sorry,” you mumble, snapping out of your trance also flustered, words spilling out in a jumble of unexpected nerves. “I had a rough day and just felt so exposed in the living room, and if Jimin or Kook showed up and asked me how I was, I was going to lose it so I came in here as a distraction, and I promise I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything—“

“Y/N, hey.” He crosses the room to where you stand, smiling gently down at you. “I don’t mind.”

You swallow, still looking for something to distract from the fact that you were very obviously just checking him out. “You still have this?” You point at the photo of yourself, and he looks at it, expression overcome with sentimentality.

“Yeah.”

“A reminder of how far you’ve come with your work?”

He turns his eyes back to yours, slow and warm as they settle on you. “A reminder of a perfect day,” he says, voice low, before creases form at his brow. “But your day wasn’t so good?”

Your gaze drops to the floor, and you suck your lips between your teeth in a gesture that is answer enough for him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t push; never pushes. If you told him no, you know that’d be the end of it, and he’d spend the rest of your night together coming up with different threads of conversation to divert your attention. And perhaps it’s this awareness—his consistent and mindful respect of your boundaries—that makes you so willing to open up.

“I just can’t stop asking myself if I missed signs. If I could’ve done something different. Something better.”

“Y/N—“

“We were together four years, Tae. Four fucking years.” You pull in a breath, fighting off the stinging of tears in your eyes. “And in the end, I meant next to nothing to him.”

It’s the part you’ve been struggling with the most, how you gave him years of your life—nearly half of your twenties—and let him dig his fingers into your heart only to pull it apart like clay.

Revealed bits of yourself to him that you’ve only ever showed one other person.

That man stands in front of you now, gently scrutinizing your face as he considers your words. His hands drift your way as if of their own accord, hovering into your space without ever truly touching.

“Would you want to though?” he finally asks.

“What?”

“If you could’ve done something differently. Knowing what you know now.” A pink tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Would you?”

It’s a fair question, and you know what the right answer is supposed to be. You’re supposed to say that no, that son of a bitch can burn in hell for what he did. He’s trash, you can do better—all of the empty platitudes that are supposed to be expressed when a betrayal like this takes place.

But his actions don’t erase the years you spent together. Don’t mean that what you yourself felt wasn’t real.

And you loved him. You really did.

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung doesn’t exactly seem thrilled by that but nods nonetheless, his fingers wandering back to his sides to fidget with the edges of his towel. “You must know that none of it was your fault, though.”

“But if it was?” you question. “If I could’ve been a better girlfriend, a better partner—“

“It still wouldn’t have justified what he did.” There’s an edge to his voice now, a hint of anger. “Don’t you dare let that asshole make you feel like you deserved it.”

“But—“

“No. No buts,” he says roughly, hands shooting up to grip you around the elbows. “What he did is inexcusable. There’s no making sense of it, and there’s no one to blame but him.”

You know in your heart that what he says is true, but your newfound insecurities have had you questioning your sense of self—that maybe you had a part to play in what happened. A relationship is two people after all, maybe he wouldn’t have cheated if you had—

“You did nothing wrong,” Taehyung continues, reading your mind. “He made an active choice to sleep with someone else. If he had an issue with your relationship, he had a hundred other ways to approach it. He chose to do what he did.” His hands slide up to your shoulders, appraising. “You are kind and thoughtful. Fiercely loyal. Always want what’s best for those around you. You still get breathless for the first snowfall each winter and make the most delicious triple chocolate cake.” Fingers give you a gentle squeeze. “And you never take shit from anyone. Especially people who don’t give you the respect you deserve.”

His words are a balm sinking deep into your skin, but his voice sets something alight in your core, your veins thrumming at the spots where he holds you.

What in the world is this?

“Don’t let him convince you you’re anything less than the incredible person you are,” Taehyung continues, oblivious to your perplexed state. “And if he couldn’t value that, someone else will. Lots of other fish in the sea.”

He holds your stare, gaze boring into you like he can telepathically eliminate every doubt and insecurity rattling around your skull, and a stray voice at the back of your mind thinks that whichever woman eventually gets to wake up to those eyes every morning is going to be so damn lucky.

He frowns, licking his lips again as he finally notices that you’re not altogether with him. “Are you okay?”

Y/N, what the hell?

You give yourself a little shake, playing back what he just said. “I don’t know about that.”

“You’re not okay?”

“No,” you say, taking a step back so you can loosen his grip and clear your head. “About the whole fish thing. I kind of get it now.”

He’s clearly not following. “Get what?”

“Your break from dating,” you say. “Why you wanted to stop for a while.”

He raises a long finger to rub at his bottom lip. “That’s…not quite the same.”

“Why not?”

“There were…” He tilts his head as he considers his word choice, and another drop of water slides down his chest. “Underlying circumstances.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means it’s a story for another time when you’re not trying to deflect by turning this around on me.”

“I’m not deflecting,” you argue. “I’m just saying I understand where you’re coming from now. Dating sucks. People suck.”

He chews at the inside of his lip, studying you. “That wasn’t my intention when I told you that.”

“Yeah, well when you told me that, we didn’t know that my boyfriend was fucking another woman,” you scoff.

He sighs at your crude reminder. “There is a third option, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Just let yourself be,” he says. “You don’t need to rush into anything either way. If something happens, it happens. If not, then no pressure to look for it. But maybe don’t close yourself off from opportunities entirely just because one bastard made a terrible decision.”

“Tae,” you begin with an exhausted, rattling breath. But he cuts you off, already anticipating your protest.

“I just know you, and I know you’ve always believed in love. Dreamed of finding ‘the one’ and settling down.” He wrinkles his nose. “Made that whole wedding mood board after Haneul kissed you for the first time when we were fifteen.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, you helped me cut out the pictures.”

“I did.”

You look at each other for an instant, twin smiles reflected on your faces before yours falls. “I just don’t know.”

“And that’s fine,” he says kindly, gently. “It’s okay to need time, and it’s okay to want to step away from dating for a while. It would just be awful if he ruined that part of you, you know?” His voice lowers even further. “It’s a wonderful part of you.”

You feel warm all over, like the comfiest, fluffiest blanket has been draped around your shoulders.

Honestly, what would you even do without this man?

“You’re a great guy, Tae. Do you know that?”

He blushes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and a tingle runs down your spine before he finally looks away.

“We should get going,” he tells you. “Namjoon and Hobi said they’d meet us.”

You dip your head, the moment gone. “Okay, but I’d recommend putting on some pants first.”

His face turns a deeper shade of red.

“Over here!”

Hoseok waves you down from a table at the back of the restaurant, pulling you in for a hug once you get there, just as he has every time he’s seen you since the incident with Jace. You’re then passed along to Namjoon, who embraces you with almost bone-crushing pressure.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, swaying you side-to-side. You just nod into his chest, giving him a tight squeeze before he releases you so you can slide into the seat next to Taehyung.

Aside from the hugs and the fact that the entire dinner is a ploy by Taehyung to get you to eat, the night feels relatively normal, and you’re grateful for it. Hoseok and Namjoon dramatically complain about the perils of medical school, regaling the two of you with stories about catastrophic anatomy labs and exam mishaps to your and Taehyung’s delight. The first blip comes when Hoseok absent-mindedly mentions an all-nighter of studying for boards while simultaneously working on seating arrangements before he immediately cuts himself off, throwing you a remorseful look.

“It’s fine, Hobi,” you say. “The world doesn’t just stop because my relationship did. And I’m still excited for you and Sunny.”

He nods but still looks apologetic, causing Namjoon to hop in with a change of subject. “Oh, by the way, I have my roommate situation settled.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, I’m moving in with my friend Yoongi at the end of the summer.”

“Your childhood friend?” Taehyung asks.

“That’s the one,” Namjoon confirms with a nod. “We’re planning on having a little housewarming party once we’re settled if you’ll be up for it.”

“Sounds fun,” you say. “And I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s a great guy. Musician. He’s moving into the city for work.”

“Well if you vouch for him, I’m sure he’s wonderful.”

You don’t notice it, but Namjoon gets a glint in his eye. Sipping on his water, he glances between you and Taehyung before saying, “Speaking of great guys, I’d also like to introduce you to someone.”

Taehyung stills beside you; you freeze in equally stunned silence.

Hoseok’s eyes nervously dart to Taehyung then you as he says, “Ah, Namjoon, I don’t think—“

“If you’re up for it, of course.” Namjoon looks only at you, his tone casual as if he doesn’t notice the sudden tension. “He also just got out of a long-term relationship and is kind of a mess about it. I’m thinking it might do both of you good to get back out there in a low pressure situation, especially with someone who understands.”

“I…” You don’t know what to say. You’d meant what you said to Taehyung about taking a break from dating, but you also trust Namjoon. He wouldn’t set you up with a creep, and maybe he does have a point about a low pressure date to at least take that first step.

But isn’t it too soon? You and Jace were together for years, and it’s only been a little over a month. Are you supposed to take more time? Or should you just get that first date over with? It hits you suddenly that you don’t even know how to meet people now that you’re out of school. How do capital-A Adults even find dates? Maybe it would be better to meet up with someone that’s already been vetted by one of your friends instead of some random on a dating app.

Namjoon speaks up again as your mind spins. “It’s entirely up to you. I can give you his number, and if you decide to reach out, great. If not, no harm, no foul.”

Still undecided, you turn for a second opinion. “Tae, what do you think?”

But he’s staring intently at Namjoon, expression indecipherable. Namjoon finally shifts his attention from you to engage in an intense staring contest with Taehyung across the table, the two of them clearly having some kind of silent conversation while Hoseok looks on in obvious discomfort.

You’re sitting there—just trying to figure out what the hell is going on—when Taehyung abruptly faces you, slipping a hand over your knee.

“I think you should go for it.”

His eyes are sincere, his hand hot where it rests on your skin.

“Other fish in the sea, right?”

You blink at him. Well, that’s that then. If there’s anything in the world you have complete faith in, it’s that Taehyung would never lead you astray.

Turning back to Namjoon, you shift so Taehyung’s fingers fall away. “What’s his name?”

Namjoon smiles.

“Seokjin.”

NEXT

a/n: the next two parts are my favorite, and part 4 is already around 85% written so i'll be looking to get that out asap! in the meantime, please consider leaving a like, reblog, or feedback!

taglist is open!

[holly-the-trash-writer]

Spencer Reid x Famous!Reader

Part 1. Part 2.

Synopsis: After your home is broken into by a stalker, your bf cheats, the FBI is called and a new romance begins to take over.

Told through Instagram posts

TW for mentions of stalkers

e!news

Liked by y.n.is.life, user753 and 79,642 others

e!news ‼️BREAKING‼️ Police called to Y/n L/n home after attempted break in by armed perpetrator.

Sources say Y/n was home with her boyfriend, singer Matt Carter, at the time of the break in but security chased him away.

This is not the first time an attempted break-in has been made on Y/n's property.

View all 8,432 comments

y.n.is.life Oh. My. God. Praying she's okay rn 🙏🏽

user732 Why are ppl so disgusting. She's a human being. 🤬

y.nfan HE WAS ARMED 😭 so glad security chased him away!!!

user864 She must've been terrified 😢

jojo396 NOT THE FIRST TIME?!?!?!?! STAY SAFE Y/N

yourinstagram

Liked by taylorswift and 238,9736 others

yourinstagram To my fans. Due to recent events it is with a heavy heart that I will be postponing my tour for the foreseeable future. I am so, so, sorry. The horrific events of these past few days have shaken me to my core. We have discussed this back and forth for hours and we decided that for your safety and my own this was the right course of action. Please keep your tickets and we will try and get new dates ASAP. Thank you for all your love and support. I love you all. Y/n and YourTourName Team. 💜

Comments have been disabled.

fan872

Liked by y.n.stan and 16,762 others

Fan872 I'm going to be fucking SICK. Y/n's boyfriend Matt is in Greece with some random girl!!!!!! They've been papped kissing and at restaurants!

Her house got broken into FOUR days ago and someone tried to attack her. She CANCELLED her tour due to safety concerns and HES IN GREECE CHEATING 🤬🤬🤬🤬

View all 8,726 comments

user men☕️

y.n.is.mother WTF!!!!! SCUMBAG!!!!!

Liked by 412 others

stan.y/n GUYS THATS BECCA!!!! Y/NS BEST FRIEND!!!!!!

matt.is.life No it isn't. Stfu. Stop spreading rumours

stan.y/n Uhhh yes it is.... open your eyes

sarah12 You can't even see her properly?

youralbumname13 Poor Y/n!!! 💔

user Love isn't real. Stg. 😭😭

stan.y/n they were so good together!!!!!

matt.fan I feel so bad for him. The pressure he's under. He needed a break from this

fan872 YOU FEEL BAD FOR HIM?! HIM?!

y.n.matt.4ever SHE ALMOST GOT ATTACKED AND YOU FEEL FOR HIM?!?!?!?!

user234 siding with the cheater💀Gross

selena.fan No. Just no.

rach12 And cheating was the way to go??

e!news

Liked by celeb.news and 81,624 others

e!news ‼️BREAKING‼️FBI arrive at Y/n L/n's condo in New York.

This comes after a second stalker incident.

Y/n's team has refused to comment.

View all 4,826 comments

y/n123 How is she going through all this? 😭

username3 Poor Y/n! WE LOVE YOU ❤️

user1name Why's she in NY??

y/n.becca.drama Where have you been?

user926 Her home got broke into in L.A. Then her bf cheated on her with her best friend.

user1name OMFG?!?!?!

mama.sel OF COURSE THEY DIDNT COMMENT?!?!?!?!?! WTF?!

lovebecca

Liked by spill.the.tea, beccamc and 4,173 others

lovebecca Becca has been receiving so much hate and death threats after recent photos of her and Matt Carter have surfaced online.

This is absolutely disgusting!! Cancel culture at its finest, yet again.

She hasn't done anything wrong.

Y/n stans are crazy and will do anything to make her look good and innocent in the media.

Y/n and Matt had broke up because Matt couldn't cope with the stress and his mental health deteriorated. So, Becca and Matt went to Greece together to cheer him up.

They're adults.

Grow up.

View all 6,183 comments

justice.for.becca 💯💯 FACTS

y/nnnn I've never seen someone so wrong b4 😂

queen.tyler Ummm. No? She literally went on holiday with Y/n's bf while they're still together and going through a traumatic experience?

jessicat She's literally a home wrecker

ethan4 Imagine taking Y/n's terrifying experience and spinning it into an excuse for why you cheated 💀💀

Liked by 917 others

queen.y/n The Devil works hard but Matt Carter works harder.

e!news

Liked by y.n.fan and 43,962 others

e!news Singer Y/n L/n has first public outing since the attempted break in of her home and break up with boyfriend, Singer Matt Carter.

Y/n, 24, was pictured in New York earlier today with her FBI protection.

The recent Grammy winner cancelled her tour stating security issues and mental health issues to be the cause two weeks ago.

Just days later, then boyfriend Matt Carter was spotted in Greece with Y/n's best friend Becca McKay. The two pictured in intimate moments together have led to online speculations that the two are now dating even though Matt was in a relationship at the time.

View all 9,726 comments

user74 That agent though 🥵

ginaxx I know!!! He can protect me!

y.n.stan Look how thin she is 😭😭😭

hater927 "Mental health" mmmkay snowflake

bi.queen You get stalked, have someone threaten your life and have your bf cheat on you with your best friend and THEN we'll talk about your mental health. 🤡

grow.up.y/n She looks gross 🤮

y/nnnn The irony of your name.

love.you.y/n So happy you're going back outside!!! Stay strong ❤️

everything.y/n

Liked by harrypottah2 and 6,826 others

everything.y/n Y/N CONTENT!! I'm so so so happy that she feels comfortable posting again. Even if comments are heavily monitored.

I missed her so much! I hope everything is going OK with her and she's staying safe.

P.s. she also deleted every single pic of Matt and Becca off her IG. We Stannnnnnn!!!

View all 826 comments

girl.bossss Even her shadow slays 😭

dantheman She seems comfortable around the FBI. I'd be tense all the damn TIME

oui.oui. her deleting every trace of them is such a power move!!! Revenge era.

y/n.queen SHES AT THE PIANO! WHATS SHE WRITING?!?!?!?!?!?!

matt.fan The pic of them 2 in the HP robes is so cute 🥹

bye.segual. Was. Was so cute. Not now

hate.y/n Her need for attention is sad

doc.martina Why are you HERE THEN?

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yourinstagram Figuring out what to do next has been one of the hardest things to do. After thinking it over for the past month we have all agreed that being on stage is the right thing for me right now. Life tests us all and this is my test and I will not lose. I will not back down. You all mean so much to me than you will ever know and Yourtourname will continue in NYC in two weeks. Your support has filled my heart with so much love. Stay safe. I'll see you soon 💜

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[i9fairy]

ship: leon kennedy x neutral reader

sinopse: just leon and you in a intimate and very private situationship.

n/a: Sorry if there are any mistakes! English is not my main language And this is my first time writing something like this.

It was a Friday night when I saw him again, standing at my door. With his face bruised, with its blonde strands falling over his face like a jigsaw puzzle, there were scratches on his arms that could be seen with the naked eye. When he saw that I was looking there, probably with my face of silly concern, he spoke.

"I'm fine," he said. I didn't believe him.

But what else could I do? I let it go.

Leon Scott Kennedy and I had been at this routine dance since we finished. He would come home, his house in fact, after each mission. I would pretend not to see his red and white scars (the ones that had already healed) and we would hang out. As a bonus, I pretended I didn't feel his presence sitting on my bed when I retired to sleep. I pretended not to feel his arms when he hugged me while I, supposedly, slept...Ours was complicated. we broke up after he went to Spain and when he came back... His nightmares consumed him and consequently his traumas swallowed our relationship. What followed were days of discussing what was going to happen. I lived, well, I'm still living, alone with him. We both decided to keep things as they were, to let our department just stay that way. He paid for it, because his secret work, which he couldn't tell me anything about but which on more than one occasion had made him almost never return, left a good pay, even if it was at the expense of his mental health. In addition, it had already been difficult enough to enter the market of looking for a job despite my university career, even more difficult was going to be the fact of getting a job as an infant teacher and with my salary... No, no way. Leon had been kind enough to that and I will always be grateful to him.

And my way of thanking him was by making him homemade cookies, Leon loved it when I cooked for him, and healing his wounds by changing his bandages. It was routine, it was simple, it was quiet. What Leon needed after the hell he had lived through, although I couldn't even imagine it. At that moment we were both on the couch, here was our tacit deal: he would buy me whatever I wanted (even if I didn't tell him, because I still had pikes of shame in me) and I wouldn't ask about what happened. Nothing at all. I was just assuming or drawing conclusions about how bad it had been this time because of the number of injuries.

And here was my conclusion this time, it had been moderately bad.

"did you try a new method?" he questioned, looking at my cookies. I wasn't stupid, of course I wasn't, I knew Leon thought I was, but no sir. I had looked at files on his computer and... I remember not eating that day. It was horrifying. "Why? Did you notice that they are more delicious this time?" I asked. "mh... maybe worse than last time. bug don't worry, you're going to get better at your cooking skills," he teased and we both laughed. I did it against my will. In those moments I wondered, why had we broken up? Our inside jokes were still intact and he made us both smile like the first day we had thought of it, our chemistry was in the air and I saw him like pink hearts around him even seeing him in all the ways you could see a human being and still love him... My love for him was intact, I knew that his love for me too otherwise, he would not return to my arms every time.

After we both fell asleep on the couch, he returned to his work a week later. And he came home months later, maybe two or three. I never counted them because I was too nervous.

When he came back, I saw that the refrigerator was missing beers, I saw that there were drops of blood from my refrigerator to the bathroom and I heard the shower running.

There, there was the reason why we broke up. Again he had relapsed.

Because that was the thing with Leon Kennedy, living with him wasn't difficult at all. The really difficult thing was to live with his footprints.

[catboybiologist]

I was wondering if you had any readings on the biological aspects of transitioning, especially with the info you use to deconstruct the transphobia argument that being transgender is ‘against biology’. Im a biological sciences major, but haven’t gotten to discuss (much less find resources on) this topic.

Thanks in advance.

Long and rambling response incoming! Sorry for leaving this in my inbox for a few weeks.

This is a very interesting topic to me, and doesn't really have a clean answer. Because its not really about the biology itself, its mostly about the philosophy of science, and how it interfaces with ethics, etymology, and societal understanding. The primary thing to understand is that science is *descriptive*. Morality or classifications are societal determinations that we use to "wrap" scientific observations- gender is therefore the societal "wrapper" to sex, which, over centuries, has snowballed and taken a social definition well past any biological system.

That being said, most of my arguments hinge on the totality of changes that are possible with HRT, and how they affect the molecular mechanisms of sex determination. To me, this sheer totality means that a trans man with significant time on HRT can actually be considered a "biological man", and vice versa for a trans woman. To me, the sheer extent to which cell expression patterns change, and structural elements of the body change, means that the way that transphobes use terminology like "biological sex" is bullshit. And as I've said before, this is NOT a transmedicalist argument, and if I ever sound transmed, I am sorry. Part of the totality of this biological definition includes the interface of genetics, pyschology, and sociology that comprehensively includes all trans people, even those not on HRT. Rather, I use the changes of HRT as a way to demonstrate the plasticity of sex in humans and other animals, and how thin the barrier between sexes actually is. This punches holes in a lot of the propaganda that transphobes tend to roll out, and helps demonstrate how flimsy their talking points are. All of this is to say, something can't be "against biology" because biology is morally neutral. It's not morality. It's not static definitions. It's a set of observations. But, our thinking about definitions and classifications can reflect and be advised by these observations. For me, it helped to think about HRT changes, because my personal mentality is one of a constructed identity. I define myself by what I am in the moment, and if I can document my current state, that helps define who I am- which is a woman. The biology of transition told me how deeply that is true, and continually becomes more true, on a molecular level. So. Here's some individual papers and points that help guide my thinking on the topic, and how each helped me find peace with transitioning: Medical descriptions of changes on HRT:

I'm sure everyone is familiar with this and the WPATH, but from the perspective of medical expectations. Instead, take a look at the changes documented here, and start thinking about how deep and profound they are- these cell types and body structure are sitting there just waiting to happen, and they are literally the same as their cis counterparts. This was huge for me in accepting that my post-HRT body wouldn't be "fake", and actually is literally the

Review paper of sex determination pathways in the animal kingdom:

Transphobes use chromosomes as a prescriptive definition of sex and gender. However, if you take a broader look and see how sex determination works in animals with similar genetic mechanisms as us, it becomes pretty clear that chromosomal sex determination is a late addition to the party. Essentially, most animals use a fairly random mechanism to ensure an advantageous sex ratio in their population. This is often environmental or based on some random gene on chromosome that looks nothing like XY sex determination, but if a large chromosomal deletion comes along, its a convenient way to keep the big version of the chromosome always paired with the small chromosome- for example, the X chromosome always being paired with another X, or its half-deleted pair, the Y chromosome. But there's nothing intrinsic about the chromosomes itself that define sex, its just an evolutionary ride-along mechanism.

So what does actually determine sex? Well, as with any broad scale developmental effect, one signalling molecule or gene can cause extensive downstream genetic effects, and that active, lived set of gene expression then defines what secondary sex characteristics develop.

(even though the main point is about spermatogenesis, it does provide a lot of nice summary figures about testosterone signalling) While these papers don't talk about trans people, the introduction of cross-sex hormones will activate these pathways, and cause the wide variety of downstream transcriptional changes in gene activation. Essentially, the active genes in your body will follow the dominant upstream sex hormones in your body. If you're transfemme, on HRT, the active genes in your body are female ones. If you're transmasc, on HRT, the active genes in your body are male ones.

While I never explicitly studied trans people in my biology education, studying principles of gene regulation, chromosome biology, and just a tad of reproductive physiology means that I started to think about how all of those interface with the way we define ourselves in a lot of ways. And usually, that is dynamic- you can have developmental changes kicked off by signalling molecules later in life, and it would be deranged to ignore those changes out of spite and insist that the biological system is still the thing it was before. Sex determination is not exempt from that.

Again, I use HRT changes as an example, but you can find many similar papers on the psychology of transness even pre-HRT. But, I would caution against trying to find a "root biological reason" for being trans pre-HRT- its likely too polymodal to accurately characterize. It's why I stray away from neurological papers and arguments here. That is an ENTIRELY different argument and this post is already long. But hey, every ask I get like this helps formalize my thoughts on the matter. Hope this helped!

[machinepixie]

RAMBLY HUNTER THE PARENTING THEORY.

EPISODE 4 SPOILERS AHOY!

PROBABLY SKIP THIS IF YOU ARENT COMFORTABLE WITH TOPICS IN HUNTER THE PARENTING. BLOOD, GORE, MENTAL HEALTH RELATED TOPICS DISCUSSED WITHIN.

heads up my knowledge of WTA is not oh-so-deep, ive mostly just been on the sidelines of one particular campaign at one point. i know a good bit but my knowledge is largely as a mage player.

i think simon "spit" spires is a werewolf or other kind of rage-plagued werefolk, and just underwent his first change.

not sure if its a late change. possibly? i forget the specifics of when things happen.

triggered by the stress of his adhd medication withdrawal amongst other things, overstimulation, a spiral of anxiety and such.

fatigue is a scholar of lycanthrope lore also if you catch it early on. could have possibly noticed when listening to spit venting to him that he is at the very least a kinfolk or associate with werewolf kind, pointing it out, being the full on catalyst for that change.

first changes are often blind, violent rages, far from the more methodical killing of a vampire or their minions, hence the heavy gore and viscera, ending with spit in a state of horror, and confusion, a possible state after a first change.

smaller little thing. i think the blood test could be one aggravating factor in spit's anxiety spiral, as he may be worried it would out him as a kinfolk or as the potential mole. so, spit could very much be another mole, asked to befriend the son of a hunter. i forget if anything was stated about if git and spit knew brok for a while. being afraid of discovery would not help this situation

additional thing: i also think possibly some of the nightmarish things spit is thinking is from a bubbling of rage, boiling to the surface, he's horrified, he's rejecting those thoughts.

ANOTHER THING THATS IMPORTANT TO NOTE BY THE WAY: i do not want to simply say "oh these adhd symptoms mean he's a werewolf!!1!!!!!1!!" though, i myself am adhd and i dont want to seem like im just accusing this poor guy of being a werewolf for just having a breakdown, bless him, this could be a red herring or me overthinking about this.

(i dont think this is insensitive as a theory but if this comes off as such, my apologies.)

im spitballing and trying to sort this now after the rush of the new episode.

thanks for reading. cant wait for more HTP this series is awesome.

edit: forgot to mention literal claw markings.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don’t know if you already wrote about this so forgive me if this is a repeat question but, what do you think about Leona’s depression? I feel it’s pretty obvious in game and yet it’s always glossed over as him being ‘lazy’ idk but I don’t find many talking about his really shitty mental health with any seriousness.

Surprisingly I haven't addressed this (at least not in detail)! So thank you for bringing this to my attention; I definitely feel like I've heard people (especially Leona fans) discuss this quite frequently. If you look in the right places, you’re sure to find insightful commentary on the subject! I know I certainly have, but I've yet to say my own piece on it yet.

Now, before I actually get to actually rambling, I want to preface this post with a few points so we can walk in knowing the perspective I'm coming from. Analysis isn't a "one size fits all"! My experiences and background will color the lenses through which I view Leona’s mental health.

First and foremost, I usually don't go out of my way to claim, "this character has X condition" beyond what is outright stated or implied in canon. That does NOT mean that I disapprove of fans who may have their headcanons that say otherwise or project onto or relate to characters' mental health. You can consume the media you like however you want! I am just saying that I don't have this preference so I feel somewhat uncomfortable speaking on this matter.

Secondly, I am trying to approach this situation from a very clinical viewpoint (as I do have knowledge in this area). This means that when I look for “implications” or read between the lines, I am doing so as objectively as I can. It’s how I choose to process and understand characters from a health angle. This does not mean that my opinion is certain; you could very well find someone else in this area that gives you the opposite opinion. As always, I warn you that my response is for fun, it is NOT meant to be taken as medical advice.

Lastly, PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE POST before you comment or share your own thoughts. I'm up for having a discussion, but I ask that you not do so without getting the full context of my thoughts. It’s a lot of information, and I did my best to break it down in a way that (I hope!!) is easy to understand.

CONTENT WARNING: due to the nature of the question at hand, I will be discussing or mentioning potentially triggering topics such as ***depression, suicidal ideation, dieting, homophobia, and substance abuse.*** Please look away if you are not in the right headspace to read about such topics.

Okay, let's rip the band-aid off now: I don't think Leona is clinically depressed.

Pause. Rewind. Take note of my careful wording there: clinically depressed. I don't think Leona is clinically depressed. What does that mean, and how does that relate to "being depressed"?

I think when people describe Leona as "depressed", they commonly mean that he "has depression", not that he is just feeling sad or has low self-esteem. By "having depression", I'm going to assume they are referring to "major depressive disorder", which is the technical term for the condition.

"It's just an abbreviation of the longer term. What's the issue with using 'depression'?” you're probably wondering. “You understand that we mean major depressive disorder.” Well, equating the two does NOT a diagnosis make.

Mental conditions such as major depressive disorder are documented in a handbook known as the DSM (or the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). The latest version, the DSM-5-TR (5th edition with text revisions), was published in 2022. The DSM is a manual that sets forth criteria for each diagnosis in its pages. Of course, this includes major depressive disorder—and it may surprise you to learn that Leona does not meet its diagnostic criteria.

A diagnosis of "depression" (the term I will henceforth be using as shorthand for the disorder) is much more than having persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness, being unmotivated/lazy, and wanting to sleep often. (I bring up these three things specifically because they are the ones I see being pointed at most frequently to “prove” the diagnosis.)

In order to be formally diagnosed, an individual must be experiencing at least 5 or more of the following symptoms during the same 2-week period:

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day.

Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain, or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day.

A slowing down of thought and a reduction of physical movement (observable by others, not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).

Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.

Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.

Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.

At least one of the symptoms should be either 1) depressed mood or 2) loss of interest or pleasure in activities they previously found enjoyable. Furthermore, the symptoms must cause what is known as "clinically significant distress", which is defined by impairment in important areas of functioning. This includes, but is not limited to, socialization, occupation, and/or education. The symptoms must also not be the result of substance abuse or another medical condition, and the individual must ever have experienced mania or hypomania.

Let’s briefly go through each criterion + additional documents and see what evidence there is or isn’t to support it:

We do not have his medical records to cross reference, so for the sake of convenience let’s assume no underlying or additional medical conditions.

We must consider additional context about family, lifestyle, etc. which can confound his symptoms. For example, as a prince, Leona has grown up having most things done for him by servants. This is what he is used to. So when we observe Leona not doing basic things for himself (getting food, doing laundry, making his bed), how much of this can we truly attribute to an underlying condition and how much of this can we attribute to Leona being accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle?

Leona (at least from what we know of) does not experience mania, nor is he depicted as taking mind or behavior altering substances.

Of the first two criteria, Leona must fit into one: either 1) depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, or 2) markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day. These depend on how you interpret his actions and behaviors. Personally, I don’t think Leona strongly fits into 2 because he still has an interest in his hobbies like Magift/Spelldrive and playing chess (though his involvement in it varies depending on the context). I will concede that there is stronger evidence for 1 over 2, as Leona has definitely expressed sadness and despair regarding himself and his future prospects. It is these thoughts that drive him away from home and keep contact with his family at a minimum. It is these thoughts that prevent him from seeing himself as worthy or even capable of change—a sentiment he shares in book 6, when he encourages Jamil but does not grant himself the same kindness or optimism. For this reason, we will go with the first criterion.

He has not experienced notable weight loss nor gain, nor a notable increase or decrease in appetite. Regarding his general diet, Leona has expressed a preference for meat and rejects vegetables. This by itself does not really provide any useful information in of itself; many people have this preference.

Leona does not experience a slowing down of thought. He is still very sharp and quick-witted in responding to his surroundings, especially in potentially dangerous ones, and coming up with an appropriate plan to counter. It can be argued that Leona has had a reduction in physical movement, as many characters often make remarks about how they perceive him as lazy or not doing much. However, this criterion actually refers to the speed at which one completes an activity and as far as I know, Leona is not said to be moving sluggishly, he only conducts himself in a manner that can be described as "lazily elegant". Even if we stretched the definition to encompass long-term goals he is putting off (like graduation), this criteria is still not counted for Leona since the wording used in the DSM-5-TR states “slowing down of thought AND reduction in physical movement” must be present. In other words, both must be true, not just one of them.

Leona does seem to experience some level of fatigue or loss of energy. This could be one way of interpreting his desire to sleep excessively instead of tending to more meaningful matters (like class). Fatigue, in this case, can also refer to emotional or mental fatigue. The sleep, then, can serve as a means of escape from reality for Leona, but it does not indicate actual physical tiredness. Rather, the tiredness can be intangible. This is also a potential explanation for his lack of motivation when it comes to some activities, especially those that demand him to take charge.

Leona does appear to experience feelings of worthlessness, though perhaps not excessive or inappropriate guilt. In fact, I would wager Leona does not demonstrate the latter, although this could be attributed to the fact that we are not in his head and he does not open up to others about his feelings. For example, we still don't know what his feelings are on almost killing Ruggie in a fit of rage. This does not discredit this criterion though, as the wording in the DSM is “feelings of worthlessness OR […] guilt” meaning one or the other suffices. It is no secret that Leona seeks recognition for his skills—something he was denied as a child and even put down for. While he is aware of his strengths, he has moments when he doubts himself (stating that he can’t change, or giving up when he realizes his plans won’t work so what’s the point in trying?), the contributions he can make (even when his older brother reassures him he can help their country), and encouragement from others (Jack telling him his play inspired him).

As I've said before, Leona does not have a diminished ability to think or concentrate. It has been shown to us time and time again that he doesn't do schoolwork not for lack of trying or lack of understanding, but because he thinks of himself as above it. Leona has already been tutored by the finest teachers royal money can buy, so he believes there is not much else for him to learn. He is also not shown to be indecisive--he can make decisions very quickly and can guide others or at least convince them to go along with him.

Leona does not have suicidal ideation or have recurring thoughts of committing suicide/death. While it's true that this is a game rated for ages 4+ (and therefore has restrictions on what content is and is not allowed in it), TWST has demonstrated to us that there are ways to imply suicidal ideation and other dark themes without explicitly saying it. (One notable example is Idia in late book 6, where he drops lines like "I'll go with you" and expresses dissatisfaction with "this world" to Ortho, who is known to be dead. To this, Ortho reassures him and encourages him to keep living. In fact, I could go on a whole tangent about how Idia better fits the criteria for major depressive disorder, but we're not going to get into that here.) The fact that TWST does not really imply this about Leona makes me think this is not true of him.

It can be said that the symptoms Leona does have are clinically significant, as his behavior is shown to have significant impact on his studies to the point where he was held back a grade. This was not because he did not know the material, but because he failed to find the motivation to attend class and to do his assignments. It also appears that Leona didn't really make an effort to work toward his future until book 7, when he actually talks his internship plans and about wanting to graduate.

We may guess that the symptoms persisted for two weeks or more (given Leona’s history and involvement in the main story), but the frequency of the symptoms is unclear since the game controls what we see of Leona and what we don’t.

Taking all of that into consideration, Leona does in fact exhibit depressive symptoms, but only 3 at most (I say “at most” because we have no idea about the true frequency at which some behaviors occur; we aren’t with Leona 24/7, nor has he reported it to us) out of the 8 total criteria. That’s 2 short of a diagnosis.

“But wait, there’s a lot of information missing here! We don’t have medical records, his weight and appetite changes, etc.” That’s true—but see, the main issue I take with diagnosing fictional characters in the first place is that we oftentimes do not know a character in detail enough to understand the full scope of their lives and symptoms. Noticing a few details is one thing and valid to an extent, but to evaluate an individual is not purely observational. This is particularly true for TWST characters, as even though there is plenty of content to refer back to for behavior, there is still a lack of really going into daily activities or deep feelings (beyond the one post-OB flashback for the OB boys). We cannot observe their behavior extensively. Because of this, tons of key criteria may not be visible to us from the audience’s perspective, let alone a medical history or other data to consider for assessment. We will almost always have an incomplete profile of a fictional character. Health is holistic and not entirely based on what we as individuals see or on all anecdotal evidence.

Just as health considers all parts of the individual, we, too, must consider individual cases of depression. It is possible for depression to exist without a diagnosis—many people (especially older adults), unfortunately, go undiagnosed for their condition. At the same time, it is possible for Leona to have depression which manifests in an atypical way. Each person with depression presents differently than the last, so I so not intend to make any blanket statements about the general population with this condition. The only statement I am making here is that based on my own interpretation of the current lore TWST has granted is, Leona Kingscholar does not satisfy the criteria for a formal clinical diagnosis, at least not for major depressive disorder as is defined by the DSM-5-TR.

Interestingly, Leona does fit the diagnostic criteria for a subclinical form of depression in a 1994 version of the DSM (IV). Minor depression or minor depressive disorder, colloquially known as “everyday depression”, is defined as having 2–4 depressive symptoms persisting for more than 2 weeks. One of these symptoms must be either depressed mood or loss of interest. It should be noted that this terminology is no longer recognized, as new information is added and dropped from the manual all the time. The information is flexible based on the consensus of a panel of hundreds of experts. Older versions of the DSM can be horribly outdated and it is not advised to reference them over newer ones. (As an example, "homosexuality" was legitimately listed as a mental illness in the very first version of the DSM. Yikes. Thankfully, this was dropped from the DSM-II. Other conditions like "multiple personality disorder" are granted new names like "dissociative identity disorder" or reworked altogether as our studies and understanding of mental health and science improve. It is important to keep up with the research coming out and update our approaches accordingly.)

We do not currently have a label for Leona’s situation aside from perhaps experiencing depressive episodes (periods of notable sadness lasting under 2 weeks) and exhibiting some depressive symptoms. I must stress that just because we lack a full-blown diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t impact his life. Leona is shown to very clearly be struggling with his mental health. He spends a lot of time in bed, typically cannot be motivated to attend class or do complete assignments, and has moments where he thinks very lowly of himself in spite of the confidence he exudes to others. What's more is that because Leona does not speak to others about what he's going through, it comes off as laziness or arrogance to his peers. Think of it this way: if you have a bad day and snap at a stranger or an acquaintance, the stranger/acquaintance is far less likely to grant you grace or forgiveness for your behavior compared to, say, a friend. They are not as familiar with you, so they will have less patience and are less likely to consider what you may be going through on a personal level. This also applies on a fandom level; if a fan is not actively reading between the lines, they, like Leona's peers, may miss the depressive symptoms he is displaying because they aren't looking for it. How many people can we say are close friends with Leona for him to open up to them about his circumstances? I would say Leona barely even lets his own dorm members be intimate enough with him to let them know about this part of himself. He has Savanaclaw backing him, but he probably does not talk to the mobs extensively. Ruggie is his errand boy, but I doubt Leona pours his heart out to him. And Jack is the newbie who did technically betray their dorm, so Leona might not trust him. Forget about people beyond his dorm. Even his family is not much better off; we've seen that Leona tends to brush off his brother's friendliness and attempts to make amends. There is no strong support system in place for him, which is tricky because Leona perpetuates it by keeping others at bay. In the light novel adaptation of book 2, Leona has an inner monologue about how he is afraid of letting others give him hope because it will encourage him to try again, only to fail another time. I imagine similar logic applies here; he is afraid of showing his vulnerable side because it might give him hope for change when he as late as book 6 expresses that he has given up on himself. I think that this is the detail about Leona most look to when they consider his mental health. The hallmark of depression is, after all, the feeling of perpetual sadness and despair itself. Most do not realize that other factors are considered.

From a clinical lens, it is not “obvious" that Leona is depressed. However, I understand why the prevailing sentiment tends to skew in the opposite direction. For the layman, it may be difficult to distinguish what is and is not clinically significant enough to warrant an actual diagnosis. Again, most will cite the same three pieces of information to support the depression reading: Leona's irritability, his unwillingness to participate, and the rejection he experienced as a child (which has now manifested as self-doubt and low self-esteem). Characters are often judged based on fans' own experiences, and this naturally comes with biases and subjectivity. Thus, some fans may project their own understanding or preconceived notions of what the "typical" depressed person acts like in their head onto Leona. This is normal human empathy at play. I believe that other fans see depression in Leona either because they experience it themselves or are familiar with someone in the same shoes. It can be difficult, and at times we can find solace and solidarity in fiction, especially if we find a character that “speaks to us” and seems relatable. That character may be Leona for some people. If you see do see him in this light or relate to his situation, I’m not invalidating your feelings. On the contrary, I'm happy that you were able to find comfort in him and that a piece of media you love can serve as a coping mechanism. You keep on doing you!

It is at this point that I will reiterate what I said at the start with a little extra nuance: I do not think Leona clinically depressed BUT I do believe he has depressive symptoms and poor mental health as the result of his cumulative circumstances. It is possible for him to have major depressive disorder, but we cannot determine this for certain with the information available to us right now. We are still missing several key components that would typically be considered in the evaluation process.

I think it's important to step back from focusing on labels and instead focus on the individual experience, and how you can still grow as a person and not let a perceived label define you. Leona is definitely working on himself! Changing, particularly changing a deeply ingrained mindset, takes much time and effort. We may not see the progress since Leona tends to hide it and/or we have limited intractions with him. We may not always see giant strides because the process is difficult. Even so, Leona is trying to jump over those mental and emotional hurdles. He's putting his all back into Magift/Spelldrive training. He's attending classes and doing the assignments. He's going home for the holidays. He has an internship planned. He wants to graduate. I've enjoyed following Leona's journey of growth and self-development and seeing all the intense discussion surrounding that. It all comes from a place of love and wanting to support the characters we care about, no matter how we may individually view him.

[ladyluscinia]

I'm already so sick of how the fallout of ofmd season 2 has snowballed into people on here going "fandom these days just can't handle Bad Things happening in media-- newsflash, characters have to get hurt and die, grow up!" all condescending like. First of all, in the context of Izzy, most people I've seen discuss his death agree that they would've accepted and enjoyed his death if it had just been handled appropriately, and also. "You just can't handle bad things happening to your fave!" Bruh. We were all partying it up when Izzy lost his fucking leg and was suffering physically and mentally. It can be FUN to see your blorbo suffer!

And that is just one example of a larger trend on this site-- people are really gonna come onto the "we love putting our blorbos in the blender and watching them struggle and suffer" site and say "kids these days can't handle Bad Things happening to their blorbos." Sorry, but that's just nonsense. Fandom loves their fix-its, but they also love shattering their faves. The problem has never been Bad Things happening in general, but HOW those things are framed within the narrative and how that narrative is told. The problem is when something is out of place in its genre, or when it goes against a promise the show has made, or when suffering is used flippantly and uncaringly, or when a character suffers and suffers and then just when they've finally caught a break, they're kicked down again, just for a cheap tug at your heartstrings.

Both within the context of ofmd AND in a wider fandom context, fandoms LOVE when our blorbos are hurt, as long as our blorbos are hurt RIGHT.

... And I think it sure is Something that a fandom can have a rampant issue with fans of a character being harassed and sent death threats and that's just "normal fandom being fandom" but god forbid people feel Emotions. About a Character and a Show. And dare to react by... just Offering Criticism! No, death threats are "fandom culture that comes with the territory," but if you vent post or criticize a writing decision in media, THAT'S being "hysterical" and "overly emotional" and "truly frightening behavior!" I just LOVE (big sarcasm) how back when people were getting doxxed and threatened for liking a guy, the fandom was all *cricket noises,* but NOW suddenly everyone is "terrified and exhausted by fandom's volatility" and "concerned about the fragile mental health of fans" when you simply say "damn that episode sucked and I sure am sad about it."

The OFMD fandom was toxic as fuck for a year and a half and continued to be toxic as fuck for all the airing of S2, so hardly surprising that the aftermath of S2 appears to be... toxic as fuck.

Least surprising thing in the world is that the people who hated Izzy and passively or actively supported driving his fans out of the fandom for "ruining it for everyone else" now think his fans should leave the fandom if they are so upset and stop leveraging "baseless criticism" at the show that is "ruining it for everyone else." They have normal not-at-all-parasocial relationships leading them to directly @ David Jenkins and thank him for a season that somehow managed to be both flawless and have all its flaws blamed on MAX, but those wretched Izzy stans have horrible-evil-parasocial relationships making them harass the crew by *footage not found*

If Mr. Jenkins decides to go scroll the #ofmd s2 tag on tumblr and stumbles across me - a random blog and icon - outlining how I think he fucked his show up, that's pretty clearly on him? This is tumblr. I have no relationship with this man or obligation to tailor every word I say as if he's bound to see it and going to take it personally???

I'm actually a big proponent of "Don't @ the cast and crew about pretty much anything" because the same fandom mentality that makes you think you can randomly ask him about your headcanon like you're chatting is what all these people are melting down about if someone directly goes "hey you killed my favorite character and that makes me mad!" - same fucking people, same fucking parasocial relationship. The standard of "only @ them for good things" is the flimsiest fucking line, as any ao3 writer who has received unsolicited "constructive criticism" or "advice" can tell you.

If we want to snidely get into "what this is really about" well it's the same fucking thing it was before:

People substituting subjective opinion as objective fact with zero self-awareness of doing so. "I liked this so it's good." "I didn't like this so it's bad." "I got bad vibes from that character so he was clearly written to be horrendous and unlikable." "I sympathized with this character so anyone suggesting he has flaws is demonizing him."

Or the deepest circle of fandom hell: "I think [insert identity] rep is so important and this piece of media fits into however I personally define 'good rep', therefore it is flawless and/or morally significant enough to be above criticism."

...which, yeah, leads to temper tantrum levels of fandom infighting, especially since people online express, fairly frequently, "I didn't like it because it was bad" and then present evidence for their point. And also a lot of fandom likes bad TV. Or even just mediocre TV that's entertaining.

I personally was not going to be happy about any person beyond one-offs, blatant villains, and background randoms dying because "they had to" (for their own arc or someone else's) because I fundamentally think if you believe you've written yourself into that corner in a workplace comedy that's built around a main romance arc... you're kinda stupid. Yes, even if it's pirate themed. Enough injuries have been walked off and lampshaded to confirm that part is aesthetic.

The fandom wiki for The Office lists 11 deceased characters. Three of them are fictional characters who die in an action-movie episode. Two are one-offs that get named dropped seasons later as having died offscreen. One of them is an offscreen cat, who appears to have had a more significant death plotwise and emotionally than any of the humans, and another is a woman who literally exists as a picture someone makes up a personality for and then discovers the real woman died. The most significant character on the list is a temp boss that got a four episode story arc about being a useless idiot who died in the hospital after a basketball dunking accident.

That is a show that ran for 9 seasons and over 200 episodes. It's pretty universally regarded as good, and the cringe asshole boss getting genuinely moving emotional beats is a big part of that. I think we can maybe pretty confidently say that reflecting the random realities of death is not essential to every story.

If OFMD wants to be evaluated as a hard-hitting drama or a queer story about the struggle of piracy against the Evil Empire, I will compare it to Black Sails instead of The Office. I just don't think David Jenkins is going to enjoy that comparison.

I'm not going to lower my standards because [insert rep reason the show must absolutely be a wild success here].

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. hey! I'm looking for non-specific Canon or canon divergence (MDZS verse) fics where Lan Wangji has a "he is adorable" or "he is cute" moment about Wei wuxian. or just lan wangji simping and having soft, rose tinted thoughts about wwx from his point of view >< @wutheringskies​

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2.  helloo!! i have a request for the next itmf. are there any fics where resurrected wwx has like a really bad flashback to his three months in burial mounds and juniors/lwj/or someone different witnesses it? thank u and love u @vicleey

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3. for the next itmf, do you have fics of either A) wwx not being adopted by the jiangs/him raised in other sects or B) wwx leaving the jiangs realizing he deserves better

3A)

Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, WangXian, Case Fic, No Sunshot Campaign, AU in canon setting, Kid Fic, dadxian, Strangers to Lovers, Found Family, POV LWJ, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Falling in love in metaphors)

this whole comp

3B)

🧡 Company by WithBroomBefore (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, POV LWJ, Fix-It, Pre-Canon, at least to start, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, But Not In The Usual Way, fear of character death, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, good teacher LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, brief discussion of past minor character suicide, Kitten, Not YZY Friendly)

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4. I am back for more in the mood for requests! Thank you for everything you do.

I am in the mood for modern/au fics with a stand-in for wwx dying and getting resurrected. Such as him going missing, being presumed dead, being in witness protection, or leaving by his own volition. Any fic about modern/au lwj missing/mourning wwx and them getting reunited some time later. Preferably with lwj searching for wwx?

Anything works though. I would love to see all kinds of different takes on what his canon death could be in an au.

End Racism on the OTW || Yesterday Once More by Sweetlittlevampire (T, 22k, wangxian, modern au, reality show au, Long Lost Family au, adoption, family reunions, lost love, getting back together, family feels, angst w happy ending)

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou (E, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Kid Fic, Minor Character Death, Injury, Natural Disasters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Accidents, These Things Stay the Same [Podfic] by Rionaa)

please accept this fried chicken and my feelings by thelastdboy (G, 4k, wangxian, modern, Reunions, Marriage Proposal, Trans Male Character, Trans WWX, Single Parent WWX, Mental Health Issues, Medication, allusions to past suicide attempt, Light Angst w Happy Ending, Alcohol, Drunk LWJ)

always on my mind series by sami (E, 37k, wangxian, LWJ/others, LWJ & JYL, modern, family, sexual tension, grief, superstar musician LWJ, fluff, children, pregnancy, parenthood)

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5. Hi! Thank you for all your hardwork <33 ITMF for jealous/possessive WWX, but no post-canon fics please. Thank you!

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6. Hello! ITMF Gusu lecture era smut? Like, teasing in class, getting distracted in the library, dorm room shenanigans, etc. Preferably longer fics like “ Straight at the Sun ” by diamondbruise, but short pwp would be nice too! Thanks so much!

Fentao-laoshi’s Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures by occultings (microcomets) (E, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, pining while fucking, friends with benefits, first time, cloud recesses study arc, practice kissing, sharing a bed, jealousy, getting together, confessions, happy ending)

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7. Hi 👋  Thank you sooooo much for finding that fic for me," Turn Left " 😁 its exactly what i was looking for.

Please can you recommend fics that are similar 🙏Thank you 😊 

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8. any lan zhan POVs? bonus points for those delicious misunderstandings @chellsky​

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)

Caffeine, Small Talk by mistergoblin (E, 144k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, or more accurately: frenemies to fuckbuddies to lovers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, touch-starved lwj, Slow Burn, high levels of sexual tension, Misunderstandings, Getting to Know Each Other, Switching, Bottom LWJ, bottom WWX, slight D/s, Happy Ending, side yanqing, lwj’s patented horny grip, Sub LWJ)

Mad about the Boy by TriviasFolly (M, 62k, wangxian, 1950s America au, greaser WWX, historical smoking, historical viewpoints, angst, internal struggle, pre-relationship, historical homophobia, sexual awakenings, sexual exploration, self-discorvery journey, self-love journey, gay academia, teenage dramatics)

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9. Hello, for the next itmf, are there any fic where WY is just losing it and just went mad or traumatized. But not in the the way that he become brutal and jusf killing people.

Sorry if this is weird. Thank uu

of all the hands by typefortydeductions (E, 51k, wangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, emperor LXC, PTSD, nightmares, dual cultivation, mental health issues, fluff & angst, consensual non-con, pining, politics)

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10. Love love LOVE fics where Yu Ziyuan gets her way and Wei Wuxian is removed from the Jiang Sect, only for Yu Ziyuan to run the Jiang right into the dirt while the whole world sings the praises of Wei Wuxian, who can now reach his true potential without having to scrape and knowtow to Yu Ziyuan's temper. I need more of them. I need ALL of them.

... Or I guess really just any fics where WWX ends up standing above Yu Ziyuan.

If Wishes Were Donkeys by NightOwl1 (M, 93k, WIP, WangXian, SVSSS, Time Travel Fix-It, Case Fic, Mpreg, Fluff and Humor, Dysfunctional Jiāng Family, Bad Parent YZY, WangXian Get a Happy Ending,   Period-Typical Homophobia, Crossdressing, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, It’s All The System’s Fault, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Warning: JGS, Good Uncle LQR, LWJ and WWX Are LSZ’s Parents, Inappropriate Humor, Family Feels)

💖  Light Source by abCEE (M, 31k, wangxian, not Jiang friendly, no golden core transfer, fall of the jiang sect, happy ending)

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11. I don't mind Best Jiujiu Jiang Cheng, but it's starting to bug me that everybody seems to forget it's not canon (CQL notwithstanding ig) so I'm asking for post-canon fics that acknowledge Wei Wuxian as Jin Ling's actual favorite uncle. It doesn't need to be Jiang Cheng bashing or anything like that really, I just want Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian feels and bonding that are NOT Yunmeng Bro reconciliation or focused on Jiang Cheng. I won't say NO to some Jiang Cheng bashing, but I'd prefer the focus be on Jin Ling and his ACTUAL Best Jiujiu Wei Wuxian.

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 64k, JL & WWX, wangxian, post-canon, protective WWX, protective JL, JC & WWX reconciliation, reluctant matchmaker JL, pre-JL/LJY)

i won’t let you down (give me what i need) by orphan_account (Not rated, 2k, JL & WWX)

Questioning by Rainewritesfanfics (T, 1k, JL & WWX, Crushes, Bisexuality, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Family Fluff, Good Uncle WWX, JL pov, Queer Themes)

The Truth (Untold) by anxiouswreck0_0 (G, 3k, JL & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, JL & WWX talk, JL centric, JL & WWX bonding, wangxian being shameless)

in which Jin Ling is tragically underappreciated by Buttercup_ghost (Not rated, <1k, JL & WWX, wangxian, post-canon, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Matchmaking, Time Travel, Good Nephew JL, Humor, Mild Homophobia from Jiang Cheng but it gets shut down, Supportive NHS, NHS Is A Little Shit, BAMF JL, Cloud Recesses Study Arc)

a reconstruction by JaggedCliffs (G, 7k, JL & WWX, JL & JZX, Uncle-Nephew Bonding, Family, JL learns more about his parents, he also learns that his family committed past atrocities, Jin Ling is going through it)

of past and present by Here_For_This (This_Rocks_My_Socks) (T, 6k, JL & WWX, wangxian, Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, bad unlce JC, not JC friendly, Discussions of moving on, Implied/Referenced Torture, brief mentions of Wei Wuxian’s cynophobia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, self-care, Hopeful Ending)

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12. Can I get some relationship reveal fics pls

The F-Word by raspberrymocha (M, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Family Dynamics, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Humor, Fluff, Light Angst, Weddings, Engagement, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Sex, 5+1 Things, Heteronormativity)

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13. Hi! Are there any canon-era fics where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying feel each other’s pain and/or an injury on one shows up on the other? Can be a soulmate au or a spell or the like. Thank you!

You'd Break Your Heart to Make It Bigger by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 32k, wangxian, soul bonding, first time, case fic, fools in love, soul boning, pining while fucking)

Sunder by naqaashi (E, 32k, wangxian, canon divergence, soulmate au, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Heavy Angst w Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, Pining, Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Porn w Feelings, Porn W Plot, Light BDSM, Edgeplay, Multiple Orgasms, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Rimming, Fix-It Temporarily Unrequited Love, ,First Time, First Kiss, LWJ pov, Sunshot Campaign, YLLZ WWX, Dom LWJ, sub WWX, Marathon Sex, Lube, Whump, LWJ Whump, Canon Jiang Cheng Characteristics, Angry JC, Good Sibling JYL, Good Sibling LXC, hurt LWJ, hurt WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, switch wangxian, Light Dom/sub, Cuddling & Snuggling, WWX Whump, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Suicidal Thoughts)

Flowers of pain by CorkaHadesa (M, 16k, wangxian, canon divergence, soulmates au, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, LWJ pov, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, not YZY friendly, not JC friendly, not Jiang friendly, Bad Sibling JC, Bad Sibling JYL, Protective LWJ, Protective LXC, Protective LQR, Bad Parenting, Healing, Family Issues, Child Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Happy Ending, WIP)

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14. Hello! For the "I'm in the mood for" section, I was looking for long fics where wwx or lwj (or both) have a disability. Any of them would do, I'm not picky. The longer the better, and if the fanfic has an M/E rating, I would prefer it if it's canon dynamics. Thank you so much for your hard work! :D

the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 88k, WIP,   WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol   Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days) chronic pain

some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)

we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) WWX loses a leg & gets a prosthetic

no new age Series by everythingispoetry (M/T, 145k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood,   Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death, Families of Choice)

Mod Kay: i also have a collection for stories where wwx loses his hand

The Martial Arts Instructor Fic You Didn’t Know You Needed by enbysaurus_rex (M, 423k, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, WWX & Wen remnants, WQ & WWX & WN, modern, martial arts, everyone lives au, not canon compliant, WWX has ADHD, autistic LWJ, pining, enby WWX, implied/referenced alcoholism, PTSD, slow burn, chronic illness, found family, polyamory negotiations, JC & WWX reconciliation, Single Parent WWX, Single Parent LWJ) I know I recommend this fic all the time but it’s my fav so - neurodivergent disabilities, chronic pain/injury & illness Can also apply to #4 because wwx fakes his death and lwj raises a-yuan

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, WIP, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Time Travel, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Self-Indulgent, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant)

🧡 close your eyes, feel my heartbeat by ThatDesiGirl (T, 11k, WangXian, blind!WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rewriting Canon, not a fix-it but a what-if, Golden Core Transfer, Romance, Pining)

Disabled WangXian Comp

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15. Any fics where Jin zixun succeeds in killing wwx and being lazy and callous realizes he doesn't have a gift for the party and presents wwx's as his own instead. Maybe he is immediately found out cause someone recognizes wwx's handwriting on it or whatever. Or maybe jl grows up with it and adores it cause there isn't a wwx stigms attached and like it saves his life many times, people constantly saying whoever gave it to him must of really loved him. And then he finds out the truth

a symbol to remind you that there’s more to see by paperminds (T, 9k, JL & WWX, JC & WWX, JL & JC, post-canon, canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, angst w happy ending, JC & WWX reconciliation) this one (from 2 itmfs back) is 'similar' the  other way, jin ling grows up thinking his mom commissioned the bracelet. for #15, i think i've never read a fic with jin zixun specifically stealing jin ling's gift, so i hope op gets recs, but otherwise it might be a cool prompt for the kinkmeme!sadly i cant find the 'similar' fic i want to rec lol 🤦‍♀️ its the one with ghost rogue wwx who was (spoiler) killed due to jin negligence in a nighthunt iirc, and jin zixun steal all his notes and passes them off as his own. wx have a different first meeting and lwj investigates wwx's death.

asymptotic by chinxe (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Pining) The fic the previous reccer for 15 is looking for is Asymptotic!

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16. ITMF fics with protective LXC. Maybe he goes against JGY because he dares to hurt LWJ and that's where he crosses the line. But I mainly want protective LXC over his brother (and maybe a bit dark?)

A Little Fall of Rain by Just_a_Girl_in_a_Crystal (T, 47k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, canon divergence, fix-it , Angst w happy ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Temporary Character Death, Not Everyone Dies au, Grief/Mourning, Lan Wangji’s awesome family, Golden Core Reveal, Protective LXC, Protective LQR, WIP) ooh idk fics where lxc actively opposes jiggy/discovers his actions, but for now, i have these for 16. protective lxc starts to mistrust ppl who aren't lwj

The blame game by apathyinreverie (T, 13k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, WWX & WQ, LXC & WWX, canon divergence, fix-it, time travel, Possessive LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Fluff, Siblings, Romance, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Fix) general protectiveness with the power of hindsight

Alternative Choices by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud) (T, 20k, wangxian, LXC/WQ, Time Travel, LXC pov, Protective LXC, Temporary Character Death, Butterfly Effect, Mpreg, Panic Attacks)

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17. Hi!!!!! For the next itmf I’d like some secret relationship wangxian. Preferably canon or canon adjacent, definitely not ABO tho. Thank you!

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***