#i was hoping that people would read these & feel inspired to write or draw something of their own based on my entries

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[kxsagi]

Hii!!!

I love ur writing so so so much. Genuinely i’ve been reading EVERYTHING. I was wondering if you could do one abt reader being really insecure about her thighs and stomach.

Tysm!

“𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞? 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞”

a/n: thank you so much for your support!!! i hope this could make you smile :)

and yes the title is a lana reference (i’m just so inspired by lyrics today)

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, niko ikki, kaiser michael, ness alexis, karasu tabito, shidou ryusei

itoshi rin

you're standing in front of the mirror frowning at your thighs when rin walks in. 

"what are you doing?" he asks like you're plotting a heist. 

"just… nothing," you mumble, tugging your shirt down over your stomach. 

he immediately knows something’s up. rin doesn't do emotions, but he does read you like a book. 

“you’re doing the self-hate monologue again, aren’t you.” 

you nod. he just sighs deeply and grabs your face like he's about to deliver a dramatic anime speech. 

"i need you to understand something." 

"… okay?" 

"your thighs are incredible. like, dangerously hot. people would pay to get crushed between them." 

"rin." 

"no. and your stomach? i literally fall asleep holding it every night. it’s the safest place on earth. i’m not even joking." 

later that night he buries his face into your stomach and mumbles, “see? perfect pillow. i win.” 

itoshi sae

you make a self-deprecating joke about your body and sae just slowly turns his head to you with the most unamused expression imaginable. 

“was that supposed to be funny?” 

“no i just… i don’t like my thighs.” 

"cool. i do." 

"yeah but they're –" 

"shhh. you're not allowed to talk shit about my favorite thighs." 

then he just grabs them casually while sipping his drink like it's tuesday. 

“don’t test me. i will write a love letter to your thighs and frame it.” 

and this man would. on fancy paper. with wax seals. 

your stomach? yeah he pokes it just to watch you squeal and then hugs it like it's his emotional support plushie. 

“stop saying dumb stuff. i know what i like. and i like you.” 

drops mic. walks away. leaves you blushing on the floor. 

isagi yoichi

isagi is not having ANY of this negativity. 

you say “ugh i look bloated” one time and he spins around like a rom-com protagonist. 

“you’re what? LOVE. no. come here.” 

wraps you in the softest hug and literally kisses your stomach like it's sacred. 

“this is the cutest stomach in the world. i’d build a monument for it.” 

“yoichi –” 

“and your thighs? do you know how many times i’ve spaced out staring at them? once during a team meeting. bachira noticed. it was awkward.” 

he starts complimenting every little thing with passionate sports announcer energy: “and here we have the most stunning pair of thighs gracing this room. yes, folks, look at that form!” 

eventually he lays his head on your lap with a dreamy sigh and goes, “you don’t even get it. you’re my favorite view.” 

bachira meguru

you look a little down and he immediately panic-scatters into your space. 

“what happened? who do i fight? did a mirror insult you? i’ll punch it.” 

you admit you’re just feeling insecure about your body, especially your thighs. 

he gasps like he just witnessed a war crime. 

“THOSE thighs? the thighs i mentally thank god for every single day???” 

clutches them dramatically. 

“they are elite. masterpiece. top-tier. anime protagonist levels of divine.” 

then he pokes your stomach and giggles when you try to squirm away. 

“it’s bouncy! it’s cute! it’s squish-approved! 10/10! best cuddling material ever!” 

draws a smiley face on it with his finger. names it. gives it a backstory. 

“this is sir squish-a-lot. he’s royalty. treat him with respect.” 

you’re laughing so hard by the end you forget you were ever upset. mission accomplished. 

nagi seishiro

you say something negative about your thighs and he just blinks at you. 

"no thoughts. head empty. but thighs good." 

“nagi that’s not –” 

“your thighs are comfy. they’re warm. they’re literally my headrest when i nap. don’t disrespect my nap station.” 

then just flops face-first into them while mumbling, “mmph. perfect.” 

he pats your stomach too and goes, “this is where i press my face when you’re mad at me. can’t believe you’re beefing with it.” 

tries to fix your insecurities by aggressively cuddling them out of you. 

“if i kiss the things you hate enough times, will you stop hating them?” 

spoiler: yes. yes you will. 

mikage reo

genuinely offended when you say you don’t like your thighs or stomach. 

“wait what? are we looking at the same person? babe, you’re an art piece. i’d hang a painting of you in my mansion.” 

“reo, you don’t have a mansion –” 

“yet. but i will. and your thighs are going in the foyer.” 

threatens to fund a PR campaign for your self-esteem. 

“billboards. magazine covers. motivational speeches. i’m not kidding.” 

hugs you from behind and whispers, “how dare you talk bad about my future wife’s perfect body.” 

dramatic but also seriously in love with every inch of you. 

“if you ever insult your thighs again, i will cry and guilt-trip you for a week. i’m rich. i can be petty.” 

niko ikki 

you’re feeling insecure and niko notices right away, because this boy is observant as hell. 

“you keep covering your stomach,” he says gently. 

you admit what’s been bothering you, and he gets this serious expression like he’s going into soccer mode. 

“your thighs are my favorite thing to cuddle. i literally mold into them like memory foam.” 

you snort, but he just shrugs. 

“i’m being real. and your stomach? that’s my safe zone. my emotional recharge pad. stop hating on it.” 

later, he literally tucks himself into your side with a blanket and mutters, “mmm, yup. serotonin unlocked. no more insults allowed.” 

deadass gives your thighs a pep talk like, “you guys are killin’ it. keep up the good work.” 

kaiser michael

you say you feel gross and kaiser’s mouth literally drops open. 

“EXCUSE ME???” 

“what do you mean you hate your thighs. are you blind? they are a national treasure.” 

puts his hand over his heart like he’s been personally wronged. 

“your stomach too. i love that thing. it’s adorable. it’s sexy. it’s mine.” 

proceeds to rant for 10 minutes about how obsessed he is with you. 

“i would get in a physical altercation with a mirror if it made you feel bad. i’m being serious, stop laughing!” 

then starts listing celebrities and why they don’t even come close to your level. 

“zendaya? beautiful. but do her thighs make me bark out loud like yours? no. i win.” 

you’re laughing so hard you can’t even argue anymore. 

ness alexis

he goes into full puppy boyfriend mode when you say anything mean about yourself. 

“noooo don’t say that! your thighs are literally heaven-sent!” 

grabs them and wiggles his fingers into them like they’re stress balls. 

“i could live between these thighs. i would die happy here. let me in.” 

“alexis please –” 

“no. you brought this on yourself.” 

hugs your waist so tightly you can’t escape. 

“and your tummy? my favorite place. soft. warm. 100% wife material.” 

will pout dramatically if you keep putting yourself down. 

“i’ll cry. i will. then you’ll feel bad. don’t do that to me.” 

karasu tabito

hears you insult your stomach and just slowly blinks. 

“so we’re lying now?” 

“karasu, i’m serious –” 

“me too. your thighs are elite. S-tier. baddie-coded.” 

starts listing reasons why you’re the hottest girl alive. 

“you walk and i stare. you sit and i stare. you breathe and i STARE.” 

pokes your thigh and says, “this is the reason i lost my train of thought mid-practice yesterday.” 

constantly hypes you up in the most unserious ways. 

“your body’s so fine it needs to come with a warning label. handle with care. dangerous curves ahead.” 

and when you finally laugh, he grins and says, “there’s my girl. don’t let dumb thoughts talk shit about my favorite person.”

shidou ryusei

you mutter something like, “ugh, i feel gross today. my thighs look huge,” and shidou literally stops mid-bite of his protein bar. 

“what did you just say about my favorite thighs in the universe?” 

stares at you, dead serious. 

“you tryna make me cry right now? ‘cause i’ll do it. ugly sobbing and everything.” 

immediately drops to his knees like he’s about to propose, but instead he wraps his arms around your legs and mumbles into your thighs, “nah, i’m not letting this slander slide. not on my watch.” 

you try to walk away but he’s LATCHED ON. 

“i love these thighs so much i’d build a church and worship at the altar of ‘em. i’d name a stadium after ‘em. shidou thighs arena™.” 

your stomach? he pokes it, leans in close, and whispers, “you got that sexy villain belly. soft and deadly. dangerous in the best way.” 

“what does that even mean –” 

“means i’m obsessed. you look like you could ruin my life and i’d say thank you.” 

will not stop until you laugh. will not stop even after that. 

“don’t ever talk shit about my favorite parts of you again. you’re so hot it’s distracting. like. spiritually.” 

later that night he flops across your lap and announces, “if thighs could kill, you’d be doing life in prison. and i’d be your cellmate. willingly.” 

he’s the unhinged hype man you never asked for but desperately needed. 

and the second he sees you smiling again, he grins all smug and goes, “yeah. that’s right. those thighs are mine, baby.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[purinfelix]

hiii, i love your writing so freaking much, can i please ask for a Franco fic inspired on Gold rush by taylor swift? he just literally gave me that vibe and I NEED to read something like that, please and thank you <3

everybody wants you ‧₊˚✩ - franco colapinto

summary: when your best friend since birth finally joins you in formula one, it's safe to say that you're excited - though when it becomes apparent that he's the more favoured one, you start to doubt things, including your feelings w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oh anon i love this idea but also this was my first time listening to this song so i hope i interpreted it the way you hoped and did it service !!! <333

You hated how cliche it was. 

The two of you were childhood best friends, together for as long as you could remember. You always credited yourself for getting into karting first and Franco, always eager to stay by your side, followed suit. The track only gave the two of you another domain to be inseparable in, with every race ending with both of you on the podium - and it never mattered who was first, only that you were both there, together. 

There was an unspoken understanding in your hometown that the two of you were never to be separated, which you initially revelled in, but the older you got the more you felt yourself developing a feeling towards your friend you couldn’t quite explain. Somewhere in the realm of jealousy, just beyond admiration and reaching just short of a childhood crush.

It came in waves, flowing whenever you were reminded of just how different the two of you were, and how inadequate you felt next to him - with his charismatic personality and curly brown hair that always fell perfectly into place, always drawing more and more people towards him. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself wondering why he had chosen you of all people to stick so close by, even if he never gave you a reason to doubt it. 

And so when you decided to move away to pursue racing, it wasn’t shocking that Franco would too. The two of you set off, after many tearful goodbyes to your friends and family back home, to brace the world, hand in hand. 

You stayed racing for the same teams, always getting promoted or signed at the exact same time - almost as if the universe had heard the same unspoken understanding of your town, and knew that you worked best together. And whilst it helped to see each other during practices, debriefs, and even wearing the same uniforms, it was far from the only thing that kept your friendship strong. 

Away from almost everything else the two of you knew, you clung to each other tightly and came to know absolutely everything about each other through it. Hushed midnight conversations, early morning snack runs, and even visiting landmarks as you grew and travelled countries - all the while with Franco by your side. 

Strangely enough, it never did occur to you to see the boy beside you as more than just a friend - no matter how much the other girls you befriended seemed to think otherwise. Whenever they would sneakily whisper to you, asking whether you were sure the two of you were just friends you would always roll your eyes shooting back something along the lines of Ew? Franco? No, we’ve known each other forever - which typically made them happy to pursue him themselves, even if they strangely never succeeded. 

All this came to a screeching halt in the summer of your second year in Formula Two, however, when you were met with a contract deal from Alpine Racing. A racing seat for one. 

“You’re taking it right?” his voice is excited as the two of you sit in the stuffy hostel room you’re sharing with about eight other strangers, all too broke or cheap to pay for anything better. Franco was the first you had told, before your coach, before your family, before anyone. 

“I don’t know Franco, I mean-“ 

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” 

You chew your bottom lip as you fiddle with the bedsheet below you, not able to look him in the eye. “It means we won’t get to race together you know,” you sigh. 

“Well you don’t know that, maybe you race alone for a year but once I make it into F1 we’ll be side by side again! Plus you’re stupid if you think I won’t be visiting every one of your races anyway.” 

You watch his green eyes scan your expression, searching for a clue to how you’re feeling. 

“It’s just a big step, I don’t know if I’m ready for it.” 

“I think you’re more than ready,” he insists, though you don’t feel convinced. 

When you finally speak again your voice is tiny, “I’m scared, Franco.” 

In that moment, he gives you a sympathetic look before pulling you into a tight hug and even though neither of you spoke about it again that night, you knew exactly what it meant - I know you’re scared, but I’m here for you. 

And you aren’t ashamed of the fact that it was his reaction alone that pushed you to make the decision to take up the deal, and you couldn’t have been happier that you did. At least, that’s how you felt for the initial months of your contract which was filled with cocktail parties, race suit fittings and media interviews. And despite what you had expected, and as selfish as it might’ve been, having Franco not by your side for once felt like a breath of fresh air you hadn’t known you needed - it filled you with a lone sense of pride, having ‘made it’ without someone being right there for you to be compared to. 

It was perhaps this sense of pride that helped you manage to score points on your debut. You still remember running up to where Franco was waiting for you in the garage, the biggest smile on both of your faces as you jumped into his arms - and it felt, just for a moment, like this euphoria might’ve been what you had spent your whole life waiting for. 

But perhaps you had spoken too soon, since your progress saw a steep decline causing you to lose not only the chances to score points and impress your team, but also the confidence you had spent so long working on. 

And one night, just when it seemed like you were at your lowest, after a weekend full of DNFs and near-crashes - the most unexpected thing happened. A singular text from Franco, halfway across the world, excitedly explaining how he was going to be filling a position in Formula One, in a different team to you. 

There wasn’t a single word to describe the millions of emotions you felt rushing through you in that moment. For one, surprise at the mid-season switch as well as a certain sort of selfish disappointment that you would no longer be the only one in the highest form of the sport you both loved. But above all else, a thrumming excitement about being with your best friend once more - to see him at the paddock, catch up with him during sessions and not have to trek all the way into grandstands just to see his face. 

It didn’t take you long to realise though, that you were far from the only one who felt this way. It was almost like the moment Franco stepped foot on the paddock, donning the blue of Williams for his first race weekend, the world fell in love with him. Online, conversations about him blew up to the point where you couldn’t go moments without being bombarded by clips of his interviews or edits of him. It was strange, one part of you felt proud that the world was finally waking up to the treasure that was your best friend, but another felt the strong urge to hide him away, for him to be all yours. 

A small part of you had expected this, having known Franco and his personality since before you could put it into words - but what you hadn't expected was for him to also back it up with amazing performances. Now, it was him who was scoring points and impressing everyone - and you who was left to do little more other than celebrate with him, for your own results paled in comparison. And once news got out about you being childhood friends, through a couple of grainy leaked photos of the two of you smiling proudly in your tiny karts, the comparisons started up again. 

It was like salt in the wound, agonisingly so - seeing your best friend adored him doing well in the sport you got into first, while you were left to, weekend after weekend, fail to make it into points range. And to make matters worse, the media frenzy that cropped up around Franco did little other than make you come to a realisation you might've spent your whole life running from - that you were jealous, not of Franco, but of those who loved him. That maybe your desire to constantly stick by his side was more than just a childish habit, and that your jealousy of his achievements was just a reminder that you’d never be more than just a friend, one that was always a little behind, a little worse. 

Despite your best efforts, the two of you began to drift apart, each achievement he got driving a deeper and deeper wedge between you. It hurt a lot, race weekends beginning to bleed into each other - a plain blur of failed races, celebrations from other teams, and Franco's adoring fans.

It all seemed to come to a head one weekend, a minor crash in an earlier lap winding you up in the Alpine garage - sweaty, irritated and extremely exhausted. Yet you continued to watch the race, not so much for anyone else, but more so that you could keep a close eye on the blurry blue car, and its driver.

And before you knew it you were watching it cross the finish line in third, Franco’s first podium - right in front of your eyes. 

You weren’t sure why, but your first instinct was to hastily get up from the fold-out chair you were sitting on and rush away to your driver's room, like a child throwing an immature tantrum. You knew Franco well enough to know he’d come looking for you but knew yourself enough just as well to know you couldn’t face him right now. With everything that had been going on, with the constant stream of less-than-kind comments you were getting online and the extreme dip in your performance, the last thing you wanted was to be reminded of your inadequacy. It was extremely selfish, sure, but you convinced yourself that you were actually doing Franco a favour since you knew your acting skills were too poor to convincingly put on a show as he celebrated right in front of you. You always had been a faster runner than him, at least, that’s what years of playground tag had told you. 

But it had been a while since then and before you could make it to your room you heard an all-too-familiar voice call from behind you. 

“Hey!” 

“Not now Franco,” you huff, so close to the door of your room that you’ve got one hand on its handle already. 

“What? C’mon, I just got a podium and that’s all you have to say?” You pause at the handle, the hurt tone in his voice pulling at your heartstrings. 

“Yeah, I saw, good job but I just can’t right now.” 

“Can’t what? You’re joking, right?” His voice rises in volume a little, and he sounds in disbelief - you’re glad the garages are mostly empty so that no one can see the scene he’s making. 

“No, I’m not,” you shoot back firmly. You’re still facing away from him, arm hanging limp from the door handle - you can’t remember the last time you felt this defeated, this tired. 

“Seriously, what is going on with you lately? It’s like, you were so excited for us to race together but now we barely talk even though we see each other every day.” 

“Franco,” you say, quietly. 

“We’ve known each other forever but this feels like the first time where I truly have no clue what is going on in your head, why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? You don’t think I don’t notice you avoiding me?” 

“Franco, please.” You feel tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes, and it doesn’t help how accusatory he sounds. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, just go celebrate.” 

“No! If you think I’m just going to leave now without you, you’re seriously ridiculous. I mean, this is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it?” 

At that, you turn around to face him - looking him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like months. You watch his brows unfurrow immediately as his expression softens at the sight of you, tears welling up in your eyes which are surrounded by dark circles, marks left from your many sleepless nights. It’s clear that he notices how small you look as well as you hunch into yourself, barely having the energy to stand up straight. 

“Woah, hey,” he says, his tone gentle now. 

“Don’t do this Franco, don’t talk to me like we’re still children,” you say, instinctively defensive. 

“Aren’t we?” 

You let out a laugh, soft yet cruel as you struggle to hold in your tears, “Everything’s different now, isn’t it? When was the last time we were on a podium together or even spoke face to face like this.” 

“What are you even saying?” You feel a pang of pain in your heart at the look in his eyes, a little anger mixed with disbelief. 

“I’m saying, that maybe being friends isn’t going to work if we’re racing against each other anymore. Have you seen the way I get compared to you relentlessly? Everyone loves you, everyone wants you, and I’m just, there! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have no one backing you?”  

“You’re my best friend, I’m right here, backing you!” 

“Franco,” you say, just above a whisper. 

There’s a moment of silence, and you can see Franco working up the courage to say something, his hands fiddling with the fireproof mask he’s been holding this whole time. You feel a couple of tears finally make their way down your cheeks and you do your best to wipe them away, eager to not embarrass yourself in front of him anymore. 

“I love you.” He finally says. 

“Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.” You’re about to turn away, ready to just shut yourself in your room. 

“No, like, I love you.” You hear him take a couple steps closer to you, to the point where he’s right behind you. 

“You don’t mean that,” you sigh. 

“I do,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I have, for years.” 

You pause, silently turning around to face him, and it feels like the breath has been knocked out of you. He looks at you, nervously waiting for a response though trying to put on a face that tells you how serious he is about what he’s just said. 

“And I know that you probably don’t feel the same but I need you to know this because I can’t keep going on like this, barely seeing or talking to you and-” he begins to ramble, and all you do is let out a relieved sigh as you lean forward to rest your head on his chest in silence. However, it’s clear this confuses him as he stops talking immediately. 

“I love you too, Franco.” 

“Wh- really?” 

“Yes,” you say, the smile audible in your voice. 

“Like, seriously?” 

“As serious as a heart attack.” You lean back against the door with a smile of relief, or as much a smile as you can muster up figuring that you feel like you’re about to collapse right there and then. 

“I’d kiss you but,” he gestures to his face and hair which is drenched in sweat. 

“Oh shut up and come here,” you say quietly, looping your arms around his neck as you pull him close to you. When your lips meet his arms wrap around your waist as he pushes you up against the door of your room, and even though you couldn’t care less, you’re once again glad there’s no one here to see the two of you. No cameras, no fans, no other drivers - just the two of you, and the years of history between you. 

When you part, his face is flushed as he offers you a shy smile, his arms still around your waist. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” 

“I could say the same for you.” 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“You go celebrate your first podium,” you reply excitedly. 

“We,” he corrects, finally unlooping his arms to take you by the hand and lead you out of the garage - and whilst your beaming smiles might’ve seemed to many the results of his podium, the two of you knew they were part of something much, much bigger. 

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[viridian-dagger]

That You Are - 1

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x OC

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: sex worker!oc, age gap!, non-explicit discussions of sexual assault and a physical assault, vague descriptions of sex work and injuries, Langdon is straight up mean to her, other people judge her for her line of work, some insults, Abbot is highkey a simp for her, mention of Abbot being a widower. This fic is in part inspired by Pretty Woman which will become more relevant later. Smut in later chapters to come 💕

✨ this is a companion to Residuals by @eureka-its-zico but can be read on its own. Jenn's character Dr. Fullerton is featured in this ✨

word count: 5.3k

Author's Note: listen. i didn't intend to write this but Jenn got in my head and now here we are. i don't think this will be too many chapters, but it also was never supposed to be more than a one-shot so we see how that turned out. lmk your thoughts and if you want to be on the taglist 🖤

-----

She hates the way she can’t force herself to leave the waiting room. The only doctor she’s ever seen there who didn’t treat her like garbage was part of the night shift, and she’s pretty sure that he's long since gone. All she can do now is hope it’s not him who gets saddled with her. He has a way of making her feel worse than a client ever could.

But her face hurts, and she can’t bring herself to stumble back out onto the street without the pill. She knows too many girls who lost everything relying on birth control alone — she won’t let that be her.

Hopefully the nurses won’t ask too many questions, or the doctor believes her when she says the bruises are a few days old; she knows they look bad. She isn’t immune to the stares she’s been getting for the last few hours; mothers with disdain in their eyes as they shield their children’s gaze, the leering stares from men, the pitying looks from girls who think they know the fear she’s been living through. In a way, she's grateful for them. They think she’s just another party girl who trusted the wrong guy on a night out, and in a way they’re right. But while this would be the worst night of their lives, for her it’s just another day late she’ll be on rent.

So she ignores the looks, ignores the pain radiating from underneath her skin, ignores the way her pleasers dig into her toes and have long since gone numb, ignores the black dots that dance in the edges of her vision, and focuses on her rapidly dying phone battery and the crooning in her headphone that she wishes could tune out the man complaining to anyone who would listen about his treatment thus far, or lack thereof.

“Kat Thomas?” The intake nurse calls out, eyes scanning over the waiting room teeming with people, all suffering in different ways. She tries not to flinch at the pity in the intake nurse’s gaze when they make eye contact; she knows she’s seen this nurse before, and her stomach drops. She knows he is an inevitability now — she knows she’s a fool for hoping to see someone else, anyone else. 

She holds her head high as she walks toward the doors and the ER nurse who's waiting for her and away from prying eyes, but the click of her heels on the linoleum draws eyes like flame draws a moth, and she regrets ever sitting in the far corner. By the time she reaches the door, a hush has settled on the waiting room and she can feel the discontent stirring.

“So you’ll take some junkie whore but you won’t see me?” A man calls out, and the rage in his voice makes her toe catch on the waxed linoleum. She can see in perfect detail in her mind the way she’s going to be sent sprawling on the floor when her ankle wavers the same moment the nausea hits. But hands under her elbows stop her descent before it can begin.

The ER nurse who caught her has curly brown hair and a softness in his eyes she doesn’t see on many people; he knows what she is, but he doesn’t care. In fact, there’s something she can almost recognize as rage in his eyes when he looks away from her, eyes locking on someone behind her — undoubtedly the man who just called her a whore for all of Pittsburgh to hear — before they slide back to meet her gaze. 

“Do you need a wheelchair?” He asks, voice soft. The words die in her throat as she shakes her head before straightening out and pulling her limbs from his grasp. He withdraws without a fight, the small smile on his mouth unwavering as she steps away, toward another nurse standing at the door who wears another tight smile trying to hide pity, and she retreats into the all too familiar bustle of the emergency department.

She can hear his voice again, hard and stern, when the door closes, but the words are muffled by both the plexiglass and the chaos of it all that’s been kept out of view by the waiting room. She wonders if people would complain so much if they could see just how busy it is back here as she follows the nurse back to a room, and she can’t help but scan the faces of every doctor she can find who’s wearing black scrubs. There are four faces she doesn’t know, five really when she sees a woman in black scrubs disappear into a bathroom. But none of them are the one she's dreading, and for a moment she lets herself hope. 

The nurse gives her a pitying smile again when they enter the room and gestures to the gurney and the folded hospital gown that’s waiting for her. It almost makes her embarrassed when she realizes the gown will cover more of her than the dress she’s wearing, but she swallows it and gives the nurse a half-smile-half-grimace. 

The nurse turns to leave, and the words come out of her without her permission. “I know it’s a long shot,” she rasps, ignoring the way her throat burns and the way it coincides with the downturn of the nurse's mouth, “but is Dr. Abbot here?”

“I'm sorry, but no. He usually works the night shift, and left a few hours ago,” the nurse says softly. “Someone will be by in a minute to check on you,” she trails off, ducking her head to look at the tablet in her hands as she turns, clearly eager to leave if the speed the privacy curtain closes is any indication.

The moment the nurse is gone, she lets herself deflate. Stripping the dress off her body hurts; emotionally and physically. Her joints pull, her skin is raw, and it feels like every nerve ending is on fire. But the state of her dress just makes her sad; the glittery mesh is torn in multiple places, and the white satin is flecked in blood. The whole thing is going to have to go. 

Just looking at it makes her feel sick, but she refuses to think about the man who did this to her. She puts the concept of him out of her head and slips the hospital gown on. It chafes the bruises on her throat but she ignores it in favor of tossing her ruined clothing and the holographic platforms on the chair in the corner and making herself comfortable on the gurney. She wouldn't be surprised if it was hours before someone saw her. 

-----

If Jack is honest with himself (which he tries to be most of the time) it wasn't the vet patient dying that fucked him up this morning; it started way before that. It had been calling the time of death at 2:39 am on a Jane Doe who had been attacked and all but bled to death in the ambulance on the way in. Because when the call had come through 14 minutes before he had to call it and Bridget told him about the inbound sex worker found on the street, his throat felt like it was closing. Because he knew it could have been her. Because when they rolled her in on the gurney, black hair spread out like ink on the white sheets, blood spilling from her slashed throat, face bruised and swollen so bad she was nearly unrecognizable, he couldn't breathe. 

But then he saw it — more the lack of it — Jane Doe didn’t have a tattoo. She had a tattoo of a mermaid in the dead center of her left forearm, a beautiful thing he always wanted to ask her about but never got the chance. The realization it wasn't her had the vice of fear loosening its grip from his chest. 

He worked hard to save the girl (even though she wasn't her) and he probably let the effort go on longer than he should have, but the inevitability of her death couldn't be changed. He tried to let go after; let go of the panic that had invaded his senses, let go of the questions lingering in his mind. 

But the unease had stuck to him like a fly trap through the rest of the shift. It might not have been her, but damn well could have been. 

Losing the vet had just taken him out at the already shaky knees. And he held it together until he knew Robby was about to show up for his shift. Only then did he retreat to the roof. Only then did he let himself feel it all the way. 

He knew he wasn't going to jump, not when he had so many unresolved parts. Because more than anything, Jack craves the completion, to get the full image, the satisfaction of all the pieces coming together; it doesn't matter if the outcome is bad, it just needs to be done. And she is unresolved. 

So the first thing he does when he walks out of the hospital is call his therapist. Jack talks as he walks through the park, his therapist listens, and when they're done talking, Jack gets in his truck and drives home; the police scanner stays on low. 

He started listening to the scanner years ago, wanting to be prepared for anything. Prepared to come in on his day off. Prepared to go in early if he's needed. But it's only recently that he really listens for something. Any mention of a Jane Doe that fits her description, Jack has to see. Has to know if it's her. And thankfully it hasn't been yet. 

But he’s afraid it will be soon. His therapist, Walter, keeps telling him to talk to her the next time she comes into the ER. But he also knows he shouldn't, for any number of reasons. 

In fact, he has a list of reasons, detailing exactly why he should not speak to her or seek her out for any reason:

1. She's way too young for him, probably with baggage he hasn't the first idea how to deal with

She's younger than he has any right to even look at, younger than he thinks he could ever be comfortable with. And he knows her line of work isn't something people go into easily or with a lot of other options. The thought of her forced into that life unravels something in him that he thought he left in the desert overseas.

2. He's a grown man, with a lot of baggage he still isn't quite sure he knows how to deal with

Jack knows the life he’s lived hasn't been easy; tours and medic training and losing a foot and losing his bride days after she walked down the aisle to marry him. All probably before she was even old enough to drive. Maybe even before she hit puberty.

3. She's a patient (sometimes) and he's her doctor (sometimes)

These go hand in hand, because there are lines he told himself he wouldn't cross, lines he knows he shouldn't cross. And the biggest one was taking advantage of someone who he was duty bound to. Worst of all, it's a position he's seen lesser men take advantage of many times, and Jack has always enjoyed making those men regret it.

4. She could ruin him 

Despite all the things that he knows about himself to be true — he's standoffish, borderline suicidal, a workaholic, not quite cold but definitely not warm — the one thing he can't deny is that he’s never been able to do something in half measures. Jack can't do casual, not anymore; he tried after his wife died. He told himself that he couldn't commit to someone again, but the emptiness the one-night stands left haunted him. And he swore off flings after the last one left him bitter and hollow. 

5. He would happily let her ruin him if she wanted to

He feels like Odysseus tied to the mast of his ship when it comes to her. And he convinces himself that he’s resisted her pull until the next time she ends up waiting in a patient bay for him. He desperately wants to know her, wants to be pulled into her orbit, wants any part of her she'll give him. And he knows himself; he is already too attached to her. Because he doesn't even know her name (she always comes in with a different one) but it doesn't matter to him. 

And he knows he should tell someone, Ellis maybe, or Robby. But he also knows he won't, because he needs to see her. He needs to know she's alright. Because he knows it's a dangerous world out there, especially for a girl in her line of work. Because he’s already lost himself to her. Because the day he goes to ID a Jane Doe and it's her, he's going to shatter. 

So he drives home listening to the police scanner and recites his list while he packs away the anxiety and the emotions from the shift and starts ticking off the items on his day off list: he sleeps, he goes grocery shopping, he picks up his package from the post office, he picks up a new book from the library. And he hopes he doesn’t hear about her through the police scanner.

-----

The sound of the curtain being pulling back is what startles her out of her half aware doze; it isn't like anyone can get much sleep in the ER. But the loss of time still confuses her; he must have hit her harder than she remembered. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she can't really remember what happened other than the pain and the fear. But the memories around it — how he got her alone and how she got away from him — are what's missing. The more she thinks about it, the less she can remember even getting to this side of town. PTMC should have been an hour walk at least, and she can't remember making that walk at all.

But she puts that aside as she braces herself for him;  the condescending remarks, the accusations, and the threats of getting her arrested for prostitution. She’s taken every insult, every intimidation, every reproach and doesn't say a word. He'll never know what it means to live the life she does and how vastly different it will always be from his world; if not for the fact that he is a man, but also for the choices and opportunities that have been handed to him at every turn. 

She tries not to let his words stick too much, but sometimes she can't help but hear his voice in her head, sneering and snide as he walks out the door, gloves snapping, “I can't wait for the day you show up in the morgue instead of my ER.”

It was what she heard rattling in her head when she was losing consciousness under violent hands a few hours ago.

But the relief swamps her all at once when two female doctors walk in, neither of whom she'd ever seen before. One looked younger than her, by five years at least; her eyes widened and she fought to stifle the gasp that tore through her throat when she walked in. The other was the one who disappeared into the bathroom when the nurse walked her through the ER; she was confident, but not cocky, and despite the kind smile on her face, her eyes betrayed her pity.

She didn't want their pity, she was sick of it. For a second, her rage burns bright and hot, but it gets smothered instantly by shame. What right did she have to be angry at them? They could pity her all they liked, maybe she deserves it. She’s broken enough for it today. 

“Good morning, Kat. I'm Dr. Fullerton,” the doctor with the kind smile says. “I have a student doctor here with me. Is it okay if she comes in with us?”

She gets tired of watching the shock compound on the student doctor’s face and she turns away from their stares before agreeing half heartedly.

Moving her head was evidently the wrong move as the ringing in her ears comes back just then, and she can barely hear Dr. Fullerton’s question, but she’s been through this enough times to know what the question was. 

“I need Plan B,” she mumbles back. She doesn't really care anymore if that's not the answer to the question she asked, only that the sharp ringing starts to subside. Only now the bright, fluorescent lights are making her feel like her head is being bounced off the pavement again. 

She hears the muffled sound of satisfaction and agreement, before the wave of pain passes, and Dr. Fullerton’s voice now comes back, “—did you get your injuries?”

That's the question that always makes her cringe; they're never interested in how it actually happened. And even when they are, all it means is that cops are soon to follow. They don't need to know that some guy who was supposed to pay her decided he wanted to get his pleasure for free, and didn't like it when she said no. 

She flicks her gaze up to meet Dr. Fullerton’s eyes, pity now stowed away. She doesn't bother looking at the student doctor — she knows exactly what she'll find there. The shrug she gives gets no response, and she finds she can't look this doctor in the eyes and lie. So she looks away, down to her beaten up hands and says, “Took a nasty fall down some stairs.”

“That's one hell of a staircase,” the student doctor fires back, and if it were any other time she would have laughed out loud.

But her ribs scream even as she huffs out the mirthless chuckle, “You're not wrong.”

Dr. Fullerton looks distraught for a second before schooling her expression into something neutral. "Do you mind if I examine some of them? I'm worried about your right eye, especially. It's swelling up pretty good."

The thought of missing a shift sends her reeling. She needs the money, badly. Ivan took her rent money saying she never paid him out for last weekend. If she doesn't have the money by the end of the week, she'll lose her apartment, and being on the street is the one thing she really doesn't need right now. 

"Is that going to take a long time? I-I kind of need to get back to work…” she hopes they understand, hopes they see the urgency in her eyes.

Dr. Fullerton looks nauseous as she stares into the middle distance just above her head. It makes her nervous more than it makes her comforted by someone's care; if Dr. Fullerton wants to keep her there, to try and save her from this, she's dooming her to a life worse than what she has now. 

It takes a moment for the doctor to find her words before speaking. "It depends if the exam findings indicate anything that appears worrisome. Your wellbeing is important and I'm going to treat it as such."

The simple way Dr. Fullerton says it shocks her all the way to her bones. It's maybe the nicest thing she's heard from a doctor in a while — definitely the nicest from anyone on day shift regardless of the hospital. 

But as she watches the doctor’s slow, methodical movements and feels all at once like the feral cat she feeds sometimes outside her apartment. Skittish, wary, ready to strike out and escape. She supposes the image does fit as the doctor's hands move toward her face and she cringes away, expecting the pain.

"I'm going to apply a little pressure," Dr. Fullerton says, pushing her thumbs against her cheekbone first before moving them up towards her nose.

The gasp that escapes her is involuntary but cuts through the silence of the room like a knife, followed by a hiss of pain that makes Dr. Fullerton pull away.

Dr. Fullerton looks actually aggrieved as she sits back in her chair, small frown set on her lips. "I'm going to order a CT to rule out any facial fractures. Have you felt dizzy at all? Any bouts of nausea or vomiting since you...fell?"

She almost laughs; of course she has. The room hasn't stopped spinning since the first slap. Every blow that followed only made it worse. It reminded her of learning ballet as a little girl and getting dizzy when she lost her spot in a turn. But she also knows that telling them means more time in the ER, and she doesn't know if she can afford that. Especially not when she doesn't really know what time it is anymore.

"No,” she says dismissively, but as soon as the lie passes her lips her head throbs and her conviction wavers for a second, “I mean… I get a little dizzy but it's okay. Is the CT going to take a long time?"

Dr. Fullerton looks actually distraught by the idea of her not getting a CT scan and she decides she can try to wait it out as long as possible. But over her shoulder, she sees the one person she's been desperate to avoid since walking into PTMC.

"I'm super curious what your name is today? Val? Eva?" Dr. Langdon’s words land like a slap and she recoils as if he had as well. He leans against the doorframe, arms over his chest with a smug smile and she can feel the threat in his stance. He wants her to know he's caught her and he’s going to make her suffer for it.

"What are you doing?" Dr. Fullerton snaps, voice full of what she can only identify as rage and indignation. 

But he isn't phased, he just juts his chin towards her and smiles passively at Dr. Fullerton like he’s about to open her eyes to some unseen truth. And she hates how nervous it makes her. "She's a frequent flyer and has been flagged at multiple other hospitals for drug seeking."

But Dr. Fullerton’s mouth purses in disgust as she glares at Dr. Langdon over her shoulder. "Can I speak with you for a minute?" The doctor’s voice is clipped and angry, and it sends a sick satisfaction curling in her gut. Especially when she sees how it makes him sweat and watches the confidence die in his eyes. 

“I'll be right back, Kat, alright?" Dr. Fullerton says, and everyone in the room jumps when she snaps the gloves off her hands; the sound still makes her flinch as Dr. Langdon’s words echo in her head. 

"Okay,” she chokes out, ignoring the metallic shing of the curtain and the hiss of the door closing. 

The student doctor shifts back and forth from her toes to her heels, looking at anything but her. The girl is pretty in an innocent sort of way, and she knows with near certainty that this doctor has never met someone like her before. 

“So, is this your first day?” She asks, trying to break the tension.

“Oh! Uh, yes. It is. I don't think Dr. Fullerton said it but I'm Dr. Javadi,” she says back with a smile, holding her hand out for a shake. She can't help the wry smile that sneaks on her face as Dr. Javadi starts to second guess her attempted pleasantries.

She reaches out to shake the hand offered politely; her grandparents would have rolled in their graves if she snubbed the poor girl's handshake. “If it's not too rude, how old are you?”

Dr. Javadi’s eyes widen in alarm before she cringes and admits, “I’m actually 20.” The look on her face must have betrayed her surprise because Dr. Javadi is quick to follow with, “I swear I finished med school, I am a real doctor. I just-I had a lot of—”

“That’s awesome,” she manages to breathe out, which stops Dr. Javadi in her tracks. 

“Wait, really? You think it's cool that I'm a huge nerd who finished med school like 4 years before everyone else?” The doctor chokes out and she smiles.

“Yeah, it's really fucking cool,” she laughs, “I’m older than you and I don't even have my—”

The door hissing open draws her attention away from Dr. Javadi and onto Dr. Fullerton, who's bustling in the room so quickly she almost stumbles into another doctor's back. For a second, she's happy it's not Dr. Langdon.

But that's immediately overshadowed by fear. She's seen this doctor before, not as a patient but around. Dr. Langdon pointed him out to her once, the warning in his tone was clear but the words were lost in the haze of pain from her fractured collarbone. 

His eyes go wide as he scans her, and just for a second she sees shock and horror. But he shutters it quickly and steps aside to let Dr. Fullerton back into the room.

She can't deny how scared she is; he’stall and broad, hair salt and peppering at the temples. But his presence looms and steals the words from her mouth in response to Dr. Javadi.

She's instantly back to feeling like a cornered animal, and she knows she probably looks like it to the doctors in the room as well when all three of the doctors softened their postures.

Dr. Fullerton gives her a soft smile, "Kat, this our senior physician, Dr. Robby. I asked for his help during our assessment."

Her eyes cut back to Dr. Robby warily, "Hi," she deadpanned cautiously. She couldn't tell if they were preparing to kick her out or follow through with Dr. Langdon's threat to send her to jail. 

Dr. Robby gives her a small smile, tight but lacking pity. "It's just like Dr. Fullerton said; I'm just here to check on you. I also want to apologize on behalf of my resident earlier if anything he said upset you. That's not how we operate here."

It would have been funny if she wasn't so afraid he was lying; Dr. Langdon had been threatening her for months, ever since the first time she'd come in. She waits for the catch, for the caveat, for the hint of a lie. But he simply stares at her, waiting for permission. She nods, but hesitation lingers in her mind.

He approaches her like the scared animal she feels like, hands outstretched toward her. "Can you tell me how this happened?" He asks, gently taking her face in his hands presses on her cheekbones, just as Dr. Fullerton had. 

The pressure makes her vision swim and her eyes water and she forces out the words, "I took a nasty fall down some stairs." It barely tastes like a lie when her face feels like it's on fire, pressure moving closer to her nose and forcing a tear to track down her face. 

She winces, and surprisingly he stops, but his hands stay hovering slightly over her skin. "Does it hurt when I apply pressure?"

"Yes," she spits out, willing him to stop with her mind. 

"On a scale of 1 through 10," he asks, and she fights the urge to snarl at him.

"It hurts but I'll live,” she grits through her teeth, staring him in the eyes.

She barely notices his hands fully leaving her face, fighting against the tears gathering in her lashes, when he takes her arm in his hand, lifting and prodding.

The medical jargon starts flowing between the doctors in the room and she feels like a doll on a shelf; it's a familiar feeling for her. She lays back on the gurney when he directs her to, and lets him press on her stomach.

She finally zones back into the conversation when Dr. Robby starts "—a CT also for chest and abdomen along with an x-ray."

"Why?" Dr. Fullerton and Dr. Javadi ask at the same time. 

Dr. Robby gives her a sympathetic smile and moves his hands and presses on a spot that makes her groan in pain.

"That hurts, ya know," she gasps. 

Dr. Robby gives her a wry smile, "I know. You're sure you fell down a flight of stairs?"

Defiance rises in her chest and tastes like ash in her mouth as she snaps, "You calling me a liar?"

She stares him down, all the judgement and vitriol and pity filling her like acid. He wants to paint her as a victim, but she's a fucking person and she doesn't have time for this.

"Not calling you a liar," Dr. Fullerton cuts in, voice soft and pleading. "Your injuries unfortunately don't seem to be from falling and landing on concrete."

She almost feels bad for snapping at Dr. Fullerton but Dr. Robby's tone and condescending doubt override her sense, "I fell."

His humourless chuckle makes her want to scream and the disapproving smile that plays on his face fills her with rage. "It's okay if that's how you want to play this," Robby says gently, but the disbelief in his tone bristles. When she doesn't back down, he crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively, shoulders curling inward as he shrugs. "We won't force you to share more than you're ready to, but we just want to make sure you're safe."

Safe, a hilarious concept for her. Especially after she's received more threats from PTMC doctors than any other hospital in the city. "I'm good. Great even" She deadpans, not backing down from his stare.

He sighs and nods, "Okay. Well, you're in good hands with Dr. Fullerton. She's one of our best."

Dr. Fullerton nearly runs out of the room after him when he leaves without a look back in her direction but she stops and looks back, eyes focused on Dr. Javadi who's been doing her best impression of a decorative plant for the last 5 minutes.

"Can you put in the orders for the CT, x-ray Robby suggested, and a urine analysis? Give her tylenol with codeine for pain. If her UA comes back negative for pregnancy, go ahead and put in for Plan B," Dr. Fullerton instructs and barely sees Dr. Javadi's nod before tossing a hasty, “I’ll be right back,” over her shoulder as she passes through the door, following after Dr. Robby. 

She and Dr. Javadi sit in silence, letting the moment pass, but she can't help but mumble, "I bet they used to date."

The startled laugh claws out of Dr. Javadi’s throat, but the panicked, half coherent protest just solidifies her opinion. While the young doctor has clearly never considered the idea before, she can always tell. Maybe it's just the line of work she's in that gives her the hint, but the signs that those two were lovers are hard to miss. 

“Well, anyway, I'm gonna get you a cup for the UA—I mean the urine analysis—and then get you lined up for CT and x-ray. I'll be back in a minute,” Dr. Javadi smiles nervously. 

“Wait,” she calls out, and Dr. Javadi stops in her tracks, eyes wide. "What time is it?”

“Oh, god, yeah, uh it's…” she trails off, pulling up her sleeve to look at her watch, her expensive watch, “Almost 11am.”

She gives the doctor a smile and turns away, giving the out she knows is needed. She decides to wait for the scans, hopefully they don't make her wait too long to take the pill. But as long as she can get out by 4, she can make it.

-----

taglist is open!

[imdoingjustgr8]

hey

soooo... how have any fellow td fans been coping recently

meme aside, i got """a bit""" of a vent coming below that no one's obligated to read. and if you do, forgive me if it ends up long asf and kind of all over the place. it was 5 in the morning when i began writing and i just want a place to get all my thoughts out or i won't be able to sleep in peace.

so, here it goes:

td suddenly being taken down out of nowhere and confirmed to be canceled, never to come back was a massive bummer and all, but honestly? i've been taking the news of the official td discord server's impending deletion much harder. don't get me wrong, i do feel really damn bad for outlaik, i just find him dropping td much easier to accept than seeing the first and only big dc community i've ever joined, that encouraged me to post so much sonexe art in the first place, hell, even have made a bit of a name for myself in (literally being known as "the sonexe guy") be sent to oblivion along with it.

to think that i initially only played a random goofy-looking sonic.exe roblox game out of sheer boredom, to think that i initially joined the discord to only make player reports and maybe lurk around. but when i discovered the creations channel, i've ended up checking that very channel almost religiously, posted alot of my own silly drawings, and met so many cool, funny people and amazing fellow artists that have inspired me to this day.

i've only been around for 2 (and a half?) years, so to see everything go down to shit so suddenly was really jarring. i tend to be a really sentimental guy, like "i hoard 1000+ pictures of a sand sculpture i just built in multiple angles" levels of sentimental, so the thought of all those fun interactions and discussions, creative takes and suggestions, and amazing art that i couldn't all save becoming inaccessable to look back on, to become completely wiped out soon has been pretty distressing to me. it doesn't help that most of the artists i've followed on there don't seem to have links or have posted on other platforms.

one of my biggest comforting hopes at the moment is that if anyone else from on there i've interacted with happens to see this and recognize me, artist or not, i'd be really happy to give you a follow! and to those who don't, if i might not see you again for awhile or ever, i wish you well and hope you know you're cool asf. like, i seriously feel very lucky and grateful of how nice and unexpectedly crazy-supportive everyone was, especially with my first ever sonexe post. i really mean it when i said you're all what encouraged me to post without fearing massive judgement and made me feel excited to share my silly doodles and ideas. seriously, thank you all.

also, i feel as if this is something that needs to be said, or atleast said more; i hope that people would learn to be more considerate of outlaik's pov on everything. i seriously doubt anyone would have the motivation to continue a project they wanted to move on from long ago in the first place. getting a copyright claim on his ass, having his acc and dev career at risk, still being constantly interrogated about td's return (bc of ppl making shit up) when he's already done all he could was just the final nail in the coffin for him with the game. i respect him wanting to just quickly move on and i do hope he finds successs, possibly pull even more than what he got from td with current and future projects he can fully enjoy. i'd also have to thank him and his game for bringing us all together in the first place.

ok big sappy rant over. idk how to end this gracefully i just rlly want to go to sleep atp lmao. i've been typing for 4 straight hours kill me rn

good mor-night 😪

[daisydosie]

hiiii^^

so i was thinking that maybe you could write a jungwon one shot, angst/fluff!! i would love to read one inspired by Rosé's "number one girl"

reader and jungwon are besties since kindergarten, and when they are in high school, reader realizes her feelings for Jungwon are more than platonic. plus she is convinced that Jungwon has feelings for his vice president (you can put any other fem idol you'd like). so reader hurts, wishing to be Jungwon's number one girl (you get the hint) eventually reader has enough and spills everything to Jungwon when it gets too much as Jungwon kept asking her what's wrong. and when she does, it turns out that Jungwon actually loves her too and he was just scared to confess.

i hope you like the idea!! you can modify it if you want, but my main goal is the inspiration by the song.

<333

𝑁𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙 | 𝑌.𝐽𝑊

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐬𝐟!𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

❥ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭! 😽

❥ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐬𝐟𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

❥ 𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

❥ 𝐰𝐜: 𝟏.𝟓𝐤

❥ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐚'𝐬 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

From the first day of kindergarten, they were inseparable. Yang Jungwon and her had been the best of friends, partners in crime since before they even knew what love meant. They spent hours together—building forts in the corner of the playground, trading snacks, and whispering secrets under the shade of old oak trees. She had always loved those moments of peace, where everything felt easy and simple, and Jungwon was always there beside her.

As they grew older, the friendship between them never wavered. It was a bond built on years of shared laughter and trust. No matter what happened, they knew that they had each other’s backs. Jungwon had this way of making her feel seen, of understanding her like no one else could. When she was sad, he would bring up their childhood memories, knowing just what to say to make her smile. And when he was stressed, she was there to listen to him, to support him through whatever challenges came his way.

But high school was different. The once simple world they had known together was no longer so clear. They were no longer the same people, even if they didn’t quite realize it yet. And for her, things were starting to change in ways that made her heart ache.

It had started small—a glance that lingered too long, the way her heart raced when he smiled at her. At first, she thought it was just a phase, something that would pass. But as the months went by, she realized it wasn’t going anywhere. Every time Jungwon laughed at something she said, her heart skipped a beat. Every time they sat close together, the warmth of his body next to hers made her stomach flutter.

But the real turning point came when she started to notice the way he looked at Karina, the vice president of the student council. Karina had been a presence in their lives for the past year, and while she was confident and smart, there was something else about her. Something that made her seem like she had a way of drawing people in—especially Jungwon.

She saw the way Jungwon’s eyes softened when Karina spoke, the way he would laugh a little more freely in her presence. It was obvious to anyone who had ever seen them together that Jungwon was drawn to her, and it made the knot in her stomach grow tighter each day.

It wasn’t like she didn’t want Jungwon to be happy—she did. But seeing him so clearly fascinated by someone else… it stung. It hurt in a way she couldn’t explain. And as much as she tried to hide it, to bury those feelings deep down, she couldn’t ignore the ache in her chest every time Karina’s name was mentioned, every time Jungwon’s attention drifted away from her and toward the girl who seemed to shine a little brighter than anyone else.

Over the next few weeks, things between her and Jungwon began to shift. Not drastically at first, but enough to make her feel like a stranger in her own life. It wasn’t that Jungwon had pulled away from her—if anything, he seemed even more concerned about her, always asking if she was okay. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. There was a distance between them now, something she couldn’t put into words, but she felt it every time she caught him glancing at Karina or laughing at something she said.

"Hey, are you alright?" Jungwon’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She was standing by her locker, staring blankly at her textbooks, lost in her own world. His voice had a soft, concerned quality to it that made her heart ache in the most unbearable way.

She forced a smile, trying to act like everything was fine. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just… you know, tired."

"You sure?" Jungwon’s brow furrowed, and he leaned against the locker beside her, his eyes searching her face for any sign of what was going on. He could always tell when something was off with her. He had always known, ever since they were kids.

"Really," she said quickly, shaking her head as if to brush away his concern. "Just school stuff. You know how it is."

Jungwon didn’t seem convinced. His gaze softened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he changed the subject, and they spent the rest of the afternoon together, walking to their next class. But as they walked side by side, she couldn’t shake the thought that they weren’t the same as they used to be. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was drifting away, if the friendship that had once felt so secure was now hanging on by a thread.

The next few days were a blur of forced smiles and carefully curated conversations. Every time she saw him, there was that quiet ache in her chest, like a constant reminder of how things had changed. Jungwon had always been her rock, the one person who understood her without question. But now, she was starting to wonder if she was losing him to someone else—someone who was better suited for him than she could ever be.

The weight of everything she was feeling became unbearable. The way Jungwon seemed so focused on Karina, the way her own feelings for him had grown so much more complicated—it was all too much. She had tried to ignore it, tried to convince herself that it wasn’t that big of a deal, but every day it became harder to do so. The ache in her chest intensified with each passing moment.

Finally, she couldn’t keep it inside anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when she was dying inside.

It was a Friday afternoon when it all came to a head. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the school courtyard. She had been avoiding Jungwon all week, telling herself that it was for the best. But when she saw him waiting for her near the tree where they always used to meet, she knew that she couldn’t run away any longer. She had to face it.

He looked up when he saw her approaching, his expression softening as he smiled. "Hey," he greeted her, but there was a hesitation in his voice that wasn’t there before.

"Hey," she replied, her voice quieter than usual.

"Are you sure everything’s okay?" Jungwon asked, concern evident in his tone. "You’ve been acting different. Is something wrong? You can tell me, you know."

Her heart raced, the familiar ache in her chest growing stronger with every word he spoke. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything—to spill the truth, to confess how much it hurt to watch him fawn over someone else when all she wanted was to be his number one girl. But the words wouldn’t come. She had never been good at speaking her heart, and this was the hardest thing she had ever had to do.

"Jungwon," she finally whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I love you. I love you, and it hurts. It hurts so much to see you with Karina. It hurts because I know I’m not the one you care about. I’m not the one you turn to when things get hard. And it hurts even more because I know you’ll never see me the way I see you."

Jungwon’s face fell, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, as if trying to process what she had just said. Her breath caught in her throat, the tears she had been holding back threatening to spill over.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel like I’m losing you."

The silence between them stretched on, thick with unspoken words. And then, finally, Jungwon stepped forward, his hands gently cupping her face. His eyes searched hers, and in that moment, she saw something—something soft, something vulnerable—that made her heart skip a beat.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "I didn’t know. I never knew you felt this way."

She shook her head, tears beginning to fall. "I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin everything. But it’s been too much. I just want to be your number one girl. I want to be the one you love."

Jungwon’s expression softened, and he leaned in closer, he wrapped his arms around her frame engulfing her in the usual comfort it brought. "You are my number one girl," he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "I’ve always been afraid to tell you, I love you too. I’ve loved you for so long, but I was scared. Scared that if I told you, I’d lose you. Scared that I wasn’t enough for you."

She blinked, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. "You… you love me?"

"Yes," Jungwon said, his voice stronger now. "I love you. I always have."

For a moment, everything stopped. The world around them seemed to fade away, and all that was left was the two of them standing there, holding onto each other, their hearts finally aligned.

"You’re my number one," Jungwon whispered, pulling away to look into her eyes brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Always."

And in that moment, everything clicked. The ache, the confusion, the loneliness—it all disappeared. She was his, and he was hers. They were no longer just best friends—they were something more, something beautiful and real.

End.

[burquillos]

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the final MHA chapter because the internet seems to be very divided

I waited till MHA officially ended! Long post ahead!! People being divided on the ending makes sense. Different people come to watch shows and read comics for very different reasons and with very different expectations for an ending in mind. Especially for a series like MHA which is a battle manga that seeks to subvert shonen genre tropes.

I think part of the reason why people are so divided on it right now is because of leak culture and reaction culture. People have to remember that comic books and manga are a storytelling medium. The author actually thinks about the arrangement of the panels, what’s in the panels, and how the combination of these things can form a narrative. Reading it from twitter thread/discords from people in a rush to translate to get the information to you as fast as possible is NOT the intended way to experience the story.

The “leak format” kind of encourages people to put too much focus on certain panels and roughly translated text that would otherwise feel very different when you are reading the story through the intended medium, and when you pair that with the highly reactive way people ‘consume content’ nowadays, the result is a snowball of very volatile emotions being thrown around without a moment for people to breathe, think, and wonder for themselves “Why did the author write it like this? Was there something I missed? How does this re-contextualize story? Have I actually missed the point this whole time?” etc.

That being said, I sort of have a philosophical way of approaching MHA?? When I got back to it again, I was hyper-critical of it especially because I just came back from reading One Piece (and the writing styles and messages are VERY different). I slowly learned to judge the writing for what it is rather than keep comparing it to other series and I learned it was more enjoyable to experience the story like that.

The ending is a very hard pill to swallow for a lot of people which is understandable, but it didn’t come out of nowhere. I mean, just look at the ending lines of "Do Not Be Defeated by Rain", the poem that inspired Deku’s character:

I am also a stubbornly optimistic person, and my number one rule is never to engage with anything in bad faith. I CHOOSE to see hope through the margins and the final chapter being so open to potential encourages that thinking of mine.

So even though I think there are some things that could be handled better (the villains) and storylines I WISH were explored (OFA vestiges my beloved) there’s no reason why it couldn’t be fixed.

There is this openness to it that leaves so much room for hope and imagination that I can’t truly be mad at it.

I might find MHA lacking as an entertainment piece, but I will defend it to the end as an artistic piece.

Horikoshi has said before that he doesn’t care if his manga is popular or not, MHA is basically a culmination of the stuff he enjoys, and I KNOW drawing whatever the hell you want despite knowing not everyone will like it takes a lot of guts and it’s what makes MHA so human.

All the traces of him are in there, flaws and everything, so you can endlessly turn it around, flip back and forth and there will be always something new to unpack, learn, and realize and the thought of what could've been will always haunt people (just like Star Wars, a series he also likes kajdbaldnlk)

[sunflowerrosy]

Hi! Hey! Hello!

y'all can call me Sunny! I'm an artist, photographer, and writer!

this blog is my creative and social outlet where I can share, create, and consume art, writing, and other content and interact with my lovely mutuals!

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CURRENTLY ON HIATUS

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As many of y'all are aware, I am currently in the process of rebuilding my blog after my old acc got deleted. Some of the links in this post may be broken, but I'm working on fixing them and updating everything!:)

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A Little About Me:

I am a Christian! anyone who has questions about what I believe please feel free to leave an ask!! God Bless! <3

My favorite colors are sunshine yellow (but not the neon kind), lavender, peachy-orange, any shade of green that isn’t lime green or, again, neon (it melts my eyes lol), and various shades of soft pink/red!

I am 1000% a Caffeine Addict so I pretty much live on tea and coffee depending on what mood I’m in.

I have Very Many interests + hobbies so if I jump around a lot with my rbs and posts then that’s just my various hyperfixations having a field day don't mind me ;)

I adore chocolate! (and if you see me put a double shot of espresso in my hot cocoa no you didn’t)

My favorite book is The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton! Idk why but I’m so glad we had to read that book in middle school!

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What I post about:

pretty much anything and anything!! :D

I plan to share my art (mostly traditional sketches) and writing here (story intro will be added soon!) with a sprinkle of my photography here and there!

I also reblog a lot of other people's art, writing, mood boards, and whatever I happen to be hyperfixating on at the moment! As I said before I have a Lot of interests lol

I CANNOT DONATE, SO PLEASE DON'T SEND ME ASKS ABOUT THAT THEY WILL BE DELETED

• Current Read(s): Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler

• Current Hyperfixation: my main wip!!! (LFS)

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If y'all would like to join my taglist, you can do so here!!!

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I participated in @agirlandherquill's Writemas Challenge, so here is a masterpost of all my works for the challenge!! <333

Interests/Hobbies:

Drawing/Art! - I'm hoping to post more of my sketches and other art pieces soon!

Writing! - I currently have one main wip STORY INTRO COMING SOON!! :D and that will likely be the focus of most of my writing pieces

Reading! - My love for reading was semi-recently rekindled by a dear irl friend and now I'm almost always reading something!

Photography! - Both my header and my pfp are taken by yours truly!!

I'm also a member of Many fandoms including, but not limited to Star Wars | Once Upon a Time | The Chosen | Harry Potter | Hamilton | Epic: The Musical | Percy Jackson | Gravity Falls | Dream SMP | Anything Disney | Meadowlark/Yaelokre | The Amazing Digital Circus | & more!

My Tags:

#sunny says stuff - random textposts

#storytime with sunny - lore dumps + rambles about my story!

#sunny writes - my writing (poetry, short stories, snippets, etc!)

#sunny draws - my art/doodles

#sunny’s photography - the photography tag I promised months ago

#project time capsule - posts about my blog recovery project!

#sunny's vault - remade posts from my old blog! :3

#sunny’s queue - my queued posts

#sunny days - just little things I post involving my daily life!

#sunny’s misadventures - all the dumb things I do lol

#sunny side up - encouragement/inspiration/happies :D

#sunny’s garden - any and all interactions with my lovely moots! <3

#sunflower seeds - sharing/reblogging other people’s art and writing

#sunbeams - stuff I'm tagged in like tag games :3

#sunny answers - answers to your asks!!

#sunnycore - moodboards I like/that fit my blog aesthetic :3

My Friends (mutuals)!! (since I can only list so many of my friends in the post, the friends list will be continuously updated in the comments!! <3)

@the-ellia-west @busybussinbee @seastarblue @thebookishkiwi @vesanal @corinneglass

@homelessnerd @pastellbg @urnumber1star @agirlandherquill @i-do-anything-but-write

@rivenantiqnerd @write-with-will @theeccentricraven @abiteofhoney @17panicattacksinatrenchcoat

@pharaohbean @thewritingramblingsofstacey @just-emis-blog @aalinaaaaaa @tiredpapergirl

@27paperlilies @indoorghost @elfecassepied @leahnardo-da-veggie @imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese

@finleyorion @toridraw @aesthetic-writer18 @bonnibelleangelica @whatwewrotepodcast

@jwritesalright @ryns-ramblings @greypaw @johannaflowers @foyle-writes-things

@fangedcinnamonroll @poeticdevotion @doodleoo @seekerknight557 @lilliesandlight

@blargh-500 @pizzamanstan @lunaeuphternal @afantasyoffiction @sanders1665

@sugaredparchment @viridis-icithus @peach-the-gospel

(CREDITS: ALL PHOTOS USED ON THIS POST ARE FROM PINTEREST UNLESS OTHERWISE STATED!! I plan to update this with some of my own photos later!! :3)

[sinister-sincerely]

hi sin... :3c ... >:3c

we care youuuuuuu 💜💜💜

much sillies!! & much lovely art!! from @midnight-mourning @luckyyyduckyyy @soupdweller @wyervan & i, for you!!! 🫵

we hope that you are doing well! and that you are taking care, giving yourself grace through the highs & lows alike. it's not always easy, but you're not alone. hopefully this gets a laugh for ya to enjoy 💜

& in the future, if you'd like to draw together, or simply chill ambiently... the offer is always open!

... In full disclosure this took me a wretched amount of time to pull myself together to actually respond to.

(Its a long one, just a heads up. I do think its worth it though)

To say I was floored~ moved~ touched~ The words pale in comparison.

I believe the saying that a measure of someone being a good person is how they treat those that can do nothing for them.

And here I am, a stranger, being shown a kindness that I am not so sure I deserve but am grateful nonetheless.

To think that anyone, let alone all of you, amazing writers, artists, … people I respect and admire thought of me for even a moment to do something like this.

Depression- it holds me back a lot of the time.

It convinces me, like I am sure it does MANY of those readin' this, that your absence in this community, in this world, would not be felt.

There is a reason that I am a part of this community.

Its because it has a way of pulling together some of the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know.

Now. I wanna return some of that kindness and talk specifically about the ones that pulled together to do this for me. (And also a few that are never far from my mind too)

@divinit3a

You are one of the only people I know that can just be there and your presence felt. Charismatic in the most brilliant way, I love the way your personality shines through everything you interact with (whether that be your writing or something as simple as a Tumblr post)

There is a reason that when you entered the community that people were drawn to you. You have an ability that is both captivating as it is striking in how powerful that magnetism is.

I am so grateful I get to know you, and I am so excited to see what else you create whether that be in this community or elsewhere.

I will always be a supporter, a fan, and most importantly a friend.

Read their stuff!

@midnight-mourning

Sometimes I get caught up in the fact I actually get to speak with the person who has wrote one of my favorite works on AO3.

I first stumbled upon your fic the day it was published and immediately fell in love with the snarky depiction of Sun (and the beautiful mysterious Moon) that you created in a world that has so much more left to be uncovered.

You manage to balance your life along side updating which in of itself seems like such a superpower that I envy to the core.

You also floored me with the kindness you've shown through out us chatting back and forth. Sometimes I feel just in awe that I can say we know eachother…

@luckyyyduckyyy

Talk about someone I've been actively following for awhile- Lucky, your ANE fanfic was one of the very first I read when stumbling upon the DCA community! It inspired me to take a chance at writing myself and posting it for the first time.

If I hadn't come across you- well, I wouldn't be here now… How do you even begin to pay that back?

I have no idea how I can thank you enough for doing that for me, let alone thank you for doing the above for me…

Its my hope that I get to continue to be friends with you, learn more from you and maybe one day manage to give back a fraction of what you've given me…

@soupdweller

AHH! Hi! So- I have no words but thank you.

I've admired your art for a very VERY long time and its such a cool, (and a bit) intimidating (but in a good way) gesture to have this coming from you too.

Your rendering is beautiful.

The way you laid out the DCA's internals still give me steampunk vibes in the BEST way with the colour palette~ I can gush forever but I also wanna seem cool and somewhat mysterious in that 'kinda quiet way'…

… I'll cut that out for now ^^

on a serious note, thank you, you don't know me very well but you still did this and what I mentioned before about the measure of being a good person- that describes you.

@wyervan

… Would it be weird for me to say that anytime I think of the DCA as humans I can't for the life of me not picture the AU forms that you created that has single handedly metamorphosized into a community Slasher Y/N multiverse?

That is an amazing talent, I am just in awe at what you've managed to not only do, but also how you've brought so many people together!

I have so much to say, and yet I don't wanna put my foot in my mouth by actually following through with the amount of admiration I wanna express.

Thank you for taking part in this for me, we don't really know each-other much just yet but I hope that changes. You seem like such an amazing person, I'd love to gossip about skinny, scrawny, somewhat unhinged guys with you sometime.

-

I have a few people I wanna shout out too

@amarynthian-chronicles:

Thank you for always supporting me, even when I don't think I deserve it. You've been an amazing person to me, and I hope I get more opportunities to return the favor

@gniteruirui

Gosh. You've been such a beautiful person to get to know this past year or so. Your artwork gives me life, and seeing your name pop up in all the ways it does makes me smile.

@lets-zofifi-stuff

I hope you continue to have more good days vs bad- I hope the sun shines on you and you always find random luck whenever its needed.

You were one of the first people I made friends with here on Tumblr… I may have also looked back and saw that you even made a post about me when I left Tumblr the first time.

@bubbiethesaur

I don't have enough words to express how much I adore you for just being you. Thank you, I hope I can be a friend that deserves you.

I just wanted to tag you- You are so talented, wonderful, and kind.

Something about you just makes me smile whenever I see your username come up. I've always wanted to get closer to you, friendship wise, but I also get scared because you're so cool.

I've been working on it.

Just know that our conversations in Qwille's discord have always been some of my favorite moments in this community.

@maldefekt

Thank you for reaching out to me- even that most recent time when you saved me from something I know would have haunted me forever!

I am looking forward to getting to know you more

[deedeeznoofs]

You’re? Correction! I’m Yours 

➺ Characters: Ryomen Sukuna, GN!Reader 

➺ Word Count: 900+ 

➺ Genre: Fluff

➺ Content: Non-Curse!AU, Nerd!Sukuna, Established Relationship (with some pre-relationship sprinkled in), Swearing

➺ A/N: Shout out to my wonderful mutual @heian-era-housewife for this post about Heian Era Sukuna doing poetry. If she’s reading this: I hope you don’t mind the tag but your post seriously inspired a huge chunk of these headcanons 🥹

➺ Synopsis: Headcanons of all the nerdy things Sukuna does because deep down inside that’s all he is and all he wishes to be ❤️

➺ At first glance he doesn’t read as someone who would be super nerdy or all that interested in learning. 

➺ I mean, can you blame anyone? No one really expects the dude constantly looking for a fight to pull up with some textbooks during his free time.

➺ Once you get to know him though, you realize that on the inside he is in fact a giant nerd about basically everything.

➺ It starts off subtly: at first you’d ask him questions and he’d be able to easily come up with answers without even giving it a second thought.

➺It could be a question about anything, regardless of the subject or perceived difficulty, and Sukuna would be able to explain it to you. Not only that, but he’d be able to explain it to you in a way that made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. 

➺ At one point you basically just started playing trivia and just started asking him stuff normal people didn’t know the answers for and he’d answer with ease, albeit he’d get really annoyed with your constant random questions.

➺ Sometimes if he’s really excited about a subject his explanations would turn into full lectures that’d put most college professors to shame.

➺ Although it was shocking at first, it started to make sense when you realized that the main reason why he takes time to learn about stuff is because he’s constantly bored and looking for new things to entertain him.

➺ He’s good at basically everything so long as it piques his curiosity, but his one and only love will forever be literature, mostly because of how infinite the possibilities are with the medium.

➺ He’s well versed in literature of all genres and different cultures, but he is the most drawn toward Japanese works (and let’s be honest, his favorites would probably come from the Heian Period).

➺ Ever since getting with you, he’s been leaning more toward the romance genre. Just in case he needs any inspiration on how to spice up your relationship, you know? 

➺ He’s taught himself multiple languages just for fun and to see how far he could go.

➺ He LOVES poetry, he both writes and reads it a lot and it’s his favorite hobby besides eating.

➺ Other than literature, he also has a huge fascination with art.

➺ He designed his own tattoos because he wanted to play with the idea of turning his body into a canvas. It also just so happened to make him look intimidating as hell which was a plus in his book.

➺ He also has a little journal that he carries around and he sketches a lot whenever he’s bored or sees something interesting.

➺ As for styles, he’s a really big fan of Sumi-e painting because he’s allergic to color but he basically just uses and does whatever he feels like at the moment. 

➺ He’s the type of person who draws what he sees, but he would especially enjoy drawing nature. 

➺ He would go out on hikes whenever he felt the need to draw and would walk until he found something interesting. 

➺ He’s really into meditation while he draws and he uses sketching as a way to keep himself level headed during particularly annoying days.

➺ He isn’t too fond of drawing people, but you’d be the exception. 

➺ He would 1000% draw you while you sleep. It’s the perfect time since you’d be still for most of it. 

➺ Sukuna is able to write really good cursive and also does calligraphy because he got bored one time (shocker) and so decided to see if he was able to do it well and to no one’s surprise, he was eventually able to.

➺ The reason why he leans towards the humanities so much is because they’re both subjects no one can really “master”. With both art and literature, there isn’t a point where someone knows absolutely everything about either subject. Since Sukuna loves a challenge, he wants to be the first person to go “Fuck you, I DO know everything about this”.

➺ One of the little things he does every day includes writing you short little romantic poems on a post it note and leaving them in out random spots for you to find. 

➺ Sometimes they would be in your pocket or other times on the bathroom mirror, wherever it is they would make you smile. 

➺ Though, sometimes he would stick them onto such odd spots that you’d wonder just how he did it?

➺ He has TONS of pride in his writing (to be fair, he’s prideful about basically anything he does) and he always appreciates it when you mention his little notes and complement the work he put into writing them.

➺ Sometimes when the both of you are talking together he’d say some of the most poetic sentences that you’ve ever heard like it’s nothing. 

➺ When you gasp he just goes “What? Why are you staring at me like that?” as if he didn’t randomly drop lines that sounded like they came from straight out of a novel.

➺ He’s a dick when it comes to spelling and grammar, especially during petty arguments.

➺ “How many times do I have to tell you, if your going to the restroom put the damn seat down afterwards” ➺ “It’s YOU’RE*, actually” ➺ “Fine, YOU'RE** a piece of shit Ryomen!”

➺ Don’t fret though, because while Ryomen Sukuna wants to know anything and everything there is to know about the world, he knows deep down inside that the best thing the world could have ever offered him was you.

-

➺ Edit: Okay I made this story quite a while ago but I HAVE ANOTHER HEADCANON TO ADD! I think his observation skills are super on point which is how he’s able to understand things so easily

A/N: Everyone list what you think Sukuna’s favorite book(s) would be 🗣️

A/N: If you enjoyed my thoughts on Sukuna, you’d love this story I also wrote paired with some headcanons! 

[mecharust]

There is this thing in fandom spaces I noticed where it doesn't really feel like a community anymore but more... corporate. The transformers fandom is not an exception. An artist having hurt feelings over their fanart being copied is not something that needs to be discussed under "what is legal" or not. We are not businesses trying to sue each other we are all people that like the same toy line.

As artists, the line of inspiration and plagiarism can be a fine line, however just like most things in life- Proper communication and acknowledging the humanity in each other is the proper way of dealing with issues like this. If you hurt someones feelings your first priority is making sure what that person needs to not feel hurt anymore. Not trying to damage control the situation to appease the public eye. BE CONSIDERATE OF THE PEOPLE YOU ARE SHARING A SPACE WITH.

I see people that make these fandom spaces feel weirdly cold and uncaring, So i decided to also take the time to mention and discuss my inspirations that helped me form my own voice when it comes to my transformers related art & writing- Because I think we as artist should learn on how to give back when we take inspiration:

DerrickJWyatt:

Starting off with the late Derrick- I enjoyed his unique and recognizable art style even outside of transformers, but it was Transformers Animated that became my first exposure to the franchise when I was watching cartoons- It's unique setting made me experiment with how I want my AU to feel like. I studied the concept art when I was trying to get a grasp on how I want my designs to look, which helped me create my own unique design philosophy that still feels like it is transformers while also being its own thing. His twitter is still up for those that want to see his doodles and fun ideas.

@disformer:

Incredible artist with the ability to make drawing robots look so effortless, which if you are an artist you'd understand how having the ability to make something look effortless- requires a lot of effort. The resources they posted are so incredibly helpful- This video he made saved my life when trying to draw these stupid robot ppl- recommended to anyone who hates drawing squares and is lazy <3.

@combaticon:

The- and I mean THE transformers writer. If you haven't read her work you are missing out because her writing comes from such a genuine place, where even tragedy and uncomfortable feelings are written beautifully to capture the complex and messy experience that is life. Writing that embraces queerness without sanding off the edges to make it appealing to the masses. Combaticon writes stories that can only be written at home, for you and your friends. It makes me enjoy sharing my own writing to connect with others in the same way her work spoke to me.

@drill-teeth-art:

Amazing and creative artworks that highlight body positivity not seen much in fandoms. Drill-Teeth creates Transformers designs that all look incredibly interesting, distinct and unique! Also just incredible artworks done digitally as well with a pen and paper. I have been getting into drawing more on paper myself because of the amazing work I saw drill make. (However my analog art could use some work </3)

There are more I could mention but I would probs be sitting here all day- I hope any artist who reads this decides to think about how they can give back to a community that inspired them. Peace and love everyone

[catyangz]

💌loveletters

pairing: ricky x gn!reader

genre: fluff/romance

summary: in which the reader writes ricky a love letter in hopes that their confession reaches him; wc 881

a/n; hey everyone! this is my brand new writing account. i’m very unfamiliar with the concept of tumblr so please bare with me as i slowly find my way through figuring this app out😅😅 i may be very inactive as finals are coming up and i have to prepare for uni, so forgive me if i don’t find time to post. i don’t usually write, and this is the first fanfic i have ever written and decided to post it to see if i should continue on doing it as a hobby as i quite enjoyed writing this one! reblogging, likes or any form of interaction would be appreciated and i’d love to hear your thoughts on it:) the whole story is basically just one huge love letter to ricky so its like zero plot and more truth bc who wouldn��t fall for this man?? anyways i will have to say i got inspiration from 5sos, sabrina + beabadoobee lyrics so a huge thank u to them hehe:) i rly hope u enjoy reading!

shen quanrui. what did the name mean to me? to start off, the first time i saw you, it was needless to say i fell in love. we were in the canteen and you were smiling amongst the herd of your friends. oh, that darned smile. it tugged at my heartstrings. in the crowd of people, you were the one who stood out to me most.

you had the most perfect hair, like you actually put effort into the way you looked. it was an unfamiliar feeling, it was refreshing. it was impossible for anybody to see you and not fall for you. you were the most popular, the most loved out of everyone in the whole school. you were kind to everyone, and you worked hard because you cared. you were so confident and down to earth. it wouldn’t take a 5 year old to know your intentions were the most genuine.

i thought “how could somebody so perfect exist?” it was almost unrealistic. too unrealistic. i tried so hard not to be like everyone else, to not fall for the likes of your charms after hearing your name constantly being discussed in a positive light throughout the hallways. hearing about how loveable and amazing the shen quanrui was.

but after we locked eyes that one friday, i haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since. you were my lifeline, my only supply of oxygen that pumped the blood in my veins to keep my heart beating. the person who truly showed me what the word “loving” meant. you were the flower and i was your honeybee, constantly feeding off your pollen. i always wondered if you would ever like me back, as i thought reciprocating my feelings would simply be out of the question considering how many admirers you had.

after all, you were on the basketball team. it was easy for you to capture everyone’s hearts after they saw how impressive you played. not only could you play but you could also draw. extremely well. the more i learnt about you the more i thought, “what couldn’t this man do?”

you had the ability to make my heart turn into an art class, painting my world with vibrant colours. i never thought i’d see the earth more brighter after i had gotten to know you. every day my whole life started to get a little better, and i looked forward to getting up for school in the mornings. i learnt to appreciate life and the ups and downs that came with it. because somehow i’d always have stored in the back of my mind that the ones you would face, you would know how to get through it. and that was what motivated me. it was you. it has been you all along.

i started to cherish the little things in life, savouring every moment that came with it. because you taught me that there’s always something good worth getting out of something bad. how the world is made up of energy and i take control of how my story goes depending on how i choose to write it.

the butterflies i saw on my way to my part-time job last weekend couldn’t compare to the ones you gave me living in my stomach. every single aspect i came across started to remind me of you. and i could no longer understand what hate was when everything around me was so full of love.

the more spring faded away and summer came into light, word around town was that you were moving away to the coast. it was then i could’ve sworn i felt my heart shatter into a tiny thousand pieces. i didn’t know what i was going to do without you. after all these months of admiring you from a distance i wish i had finally spoken up. from all the letters that i’ve saved, this is everything i didn’t say.

so here it is, shen quanrui. this is my love letter to you. i hope you don’t mind, i asked your friends for your new address. i’d be lucky if you had even read this at all, let alone get this in the mail. but i hope this letter reaches you. and i hope my feelings do too.

from a fellow classmate,

signed y/n.

Ricky looked up from the paper unfolded in his hands, signed by one of his classmates that he had little interactions with. He was unbeknownst to these sort of things, oblivious in fact. He’d never have known the signs to look out for when it came to somebody having a crush on him. He was the type of person who had to be told straight up.

So when he got the letter in the post a month later, he’d only wished one thing upon himself. And that was being granted the knowledge of the person he had always secretly liked for years and tried so desperately to grab the attention of, the reason why he had started putting effort into dressing himself in the first place, had actually liked him back.

Now, as he stands staring at the letters inked onto the piece of parchment in total utter disbelief, he could only think of one solution.

Go back.

tags; @elikajinnie @birikitti @simjack @starf4lls @strawsbe @jromzz

[bloobydabloob]

Your art is genuinely one of the most inspiring I’ve seen in ages. Immediately upon discovering your blog, I was mesmerized by your creativity bleeding into and staining each piece you’ve posted. Don’t know a lick of Homestuck, but it’s unnecessary to when your art tells me all I need to know without saying a single word. I can grasp why fans of the comic hold it so dear when you paint such a beautiful image of it. (figuratively, not referring to your actual paintings, LOL! Does this count as a pun?)

Sorry, this is just an unrelated doodle because I don’t have any relevant images to add.

I really appreciate you taking the time out of your day to tell me this, thank you. I know it is just like a little act of kindness to you but nice messages mean a lot to me and I wish I could properly project how glad I am to have kind people supporting my art in *any* amount. I’m someone who gets very easily stressed out running accounts so talking to people is what makes it worth the hassle for me. I’m glad you like my art and that it inspires you and anyone else reading this who may feel similarly, I hope I don’t quit art and that I keep improving.

I also do very much recommend giving Homestuck a read if you’ve got the time. The fanbase is unfortunately something I don’t have much of a positive view on but even if it is just some internet comic, reading it growing up is definitely something I wouldn’t take ever back. It has some of the best character / world building of anything I’ve read thus far and it has always just stuck with me. I’ve never had a homestuck friend that moved on from it, which is something I rarely find. I think it appeals to everyone in a different way because of the writing and how vast it is / how many bases it covers. I’m sure that if you ever read it you would find your own connections within the comic. I know though that my drawings are less connected with the atmosphere of the comic itself and infinitely more attuned to my own interpretations and feelings towards the characters, but I also think there is already enough more fitting homestuck art for me to just draw whatever.

Anyways here is my cool new print I got for my wall from @/ReptileEnclosed’s InPrnt, and here are just some of the nice things people have said to me that stick in my mind. Every time someone says something I appreciate I screenshot it and add it to a folder called “Nice Words”.

[writingwithcolor]

Judaism, Angels, and Monstrosity

@neapolitangirl asked:

I'm writing a story about the angel Muriel traveling through a world inspired by American folklore (Ex. The Bell Witch, Fearsome Critters, etc) while hunting demons. I wanted to draw inspiration from the legend that says Muriel and Abaddon are one and the same because I thought it was interesting. However, I also know that Abaddon is important to Jewish cosmology and wanted to avoid any unfortunate implications. Muriel is very skittish and kind of a coward, but turns into the more violent and vengeful Abaddon in the presence of demons. Appearance-wise both Muriel and Abaddon are tall and skinny, but Muriel is more like an owly-human while Abaddon is a spiky skeletal being. Would this be connecting Judaism to monstrosity? Also, is there anything else I should try to avoid?

So…angelology, the whole idea of angels with names and personalities and individual jobs, is just…not something the average Jewish person thinks or cares about, even the ones who know a little about it. Not that it’s bad, it’s just not something that is prominent enough that it would have tropes attached that we might be able to warn you against.

That said, we’re posting on the Niche Scholarship and Special Interest website, so if there’s a reader who happens to have a lot of knowledge and feelings about Jewish angelology we would welcome the contribution and specialized expertise.

As it stands, my instinct is to give these more general considerations:

Balancing Jewish and Christian Elements

To what degree are you trying to tell a Jewish story, a Christian story that does not harm Jewish readers, or a story strongly influenced by Christian ideas about the heavens in a way that does not harm Jewish readers? How does deciding where you fall among those distinctions affect how you construct your story, and how you portray your angels?

Jewish Concept of God and Angelic Appearances

To Jews, God Godself does not have a physical body or visible appearance. If you’re describing the appearance of God as you’re navigating your angel-centering narrative, you’re squarely outside the territory of inclusivity toward Jewish readers. That’s okay, if you’re clear with readers that you’re not telling a Jewish story. It’s not okay if you’re trying to conflate Jewish and Christian ideas into a single narrative when they are often incompatible.

Angelic Appearances and Jewish Scripture

Angels might have appearances, and some descriptions of some types of angels in some Jewish scriptures have body parts of various animals. I haven’t the foggiest clue if it matters to anyone what appearances belong to which angels, so if it matters to someone reading this I hope they will speak up.

Are angels Jewish? This is a subject that could make for a fun discussion among Jewish people as a way of exploring the nature of Jewishness, but in your narrative you will have to think this through in your own way. If your angels engage in Jewish practices, then what does that look like and why, and if they don’t, why don’t they? The answer to that may of course be “Because I’m not actually telling a Jewish story.”

Christian Themes and Sensitivity to Jewish Culture

It’s okay to not be telling a Jewish story. But in that case keep in mind what demonstrations of Jewishness you include in a Christian story.

Especially, if you’re depicting a divine Jesus, or a Jesus character with any type of more-than-human powers or ancestry, or you are including any reference to the idea that Christianity might be in any way objectively correct, then you must tread EXTREMELY CAREFULLY with including any depiction of Jewish practice in your work, as the line where depiction turns to appropriation is in that case extremely near.

In all things, try and avoid depicting Jewish humans and any character who might be Jewish or be seen as Jewish in ways that are otherwise harmful: we’ve often talked about tropes around greed, sneakiness, power-grabbing, gender and sexual dynamics, and other tropes that apply to portrayals of Jewish characters. If your angels are Jewish, or Jew-ish in flavor, that goes for them as well.

Again, I know absolutely zero about Muriel and Abbadon and am not very interested in learning more as their lore has zero bearing on my Jewish practice in any way, and that’s a somewhat important point to me to be making because…2J3O. Two Jews, three opinions. So again, if a reader does in fact have knowledge and opinions about the specific angels themselves, please speak up.

–Meir

[heazueken]

Hi, I saw you were taking requests ? I just read your vastaya!Jayce fic and it was really really good and since you're open to requests, I wondered, why not try ? If it's alright ?

I just had that thought that... I don't think Jayce ever saw Viktor crying. Crying is often a byproduct of sadness or frustration but also sometimes joy. Or sometimes, it's a "everything is just too much and I need to purge it" and I think Viktor would really benefit from a good cry. I don't know, I just have this really vivid image of Jayce whipping away Viktor's tears with his thumb, or kissing the corner of his eyes and comfort him ?

thanks a lot if you have the time or inspiration to give it a shot but otherwise it's more than fine ! I hope you have a good day !

thank you so much omg! i had a ton of fun writing it if you couldn’t tell lol!

when i read this request i immediately thought you want my dead. reminding me of this, i view viktor as so restrained and someone who bottles up his feelings bc who the hell can he go to? i hope what ive written expresses that and i appreciate you and everyone’s patience for my writing :) i hope you enjoy!

wc; 4.1k

Viktor was a loner. Singed was the first to insinuate the label on a poor child and since then Viktor had accepted that fact.

I’ll never be noticed or remembered. I’ll always be a loner.

Had he been noticed by one of the founding fathers of Piltover? Yes. Was he still looked past in every situation? Yes. Despite being on the taller side he never felt like anyone’s focus, sometimes he felt that way about Heimerdinger— the very man who gave him the wonderful opportunity to be his assistant.

Then Jayce came into his life. This young (one year younger than him) naive, boy who was toying with something much bigger than him had been on the verge of banishment had it not been for his mother to get involved and lessen his sentence to expulsion had been the one to completely turn his entire life around.

He had never been included in anything his whole life. Hearing the words “our Hextech dream” was something completely otherworldly to Viktor. It’s like Jayce had reached into his chest and grabbed ahold of his heart and took it for his very own to keep, and Viktor was happy to do so even in his state of shock.

Their relationship then formed at a rapid pace, they were allowed a lab together and worked side by side and for once Viktor actually felt like he belonged. Being a Zaunite in Piltover was, well, unheard of for the most part, let alone the fact that he was disabled.

And that’s where we are. Viktor has come to a conclusion the more he looks around Piltover and at the very many citizens who happened to be disabled in one way or another. You’d think Viktor and these people were one in the same but you forget one thing—

Viktor is still a Zaunite. Which means he doesn’t get as well of a treatment for his ailments like the rest of the Pilties (he heard the term once when someone from the undercity mistook him for one).

You see, Viktor’s leg had been bothering him, more so than usual and at first it started with his cane. No longer could he take a few steps without it or get up without having to use it as leverage. The thing was practically glued to his hand and it wasn’t working well anymore. Old and rusty the thing was and Viktor had half a mind to make his own because Gods knows no one would make one for him.

Then one day, Jayce came strutting in, decked out in his usual fancy get up. A double breasted button up with his house colors accented on the shoulders and waist. He has a few things in his hand, measuring tape, a metal rod, and a permanent marker. Viktor turns his full body towards Jayce.

“What’s this?”

Jayce smiles and Viktor’s heart flutters momentarily. “Can you stand up for a moment?” They look at each other for a moment, Jayce with a big fat smile plastered across his face and Viktor who stares back at him with a perplexed brow.

“Okay…” He draws out the word and grabs his old cane beside him so he can lift himself off the chair. He uses all his strength, leaning the entirety of his body weight on the cane and Jayce is suddenly rushing in front of him and setting down all his supplies on the table.

“I’m such an ass, here—“ His huge hand wraps around Viktor’s entire arm. For some this would be comforting— big strong man helping you, lifting you and taking care of everything. “Let me help.” But for Viktor this was torture. Since when did he ever make it seem like he couldn’t do a simple thing like get up from a chair? How dare Jayce even think of such a thing. They both know what Viktor is capable of, they both are aware of his resilience and independence. What an insult to his character. He smacks Jayce’s eager hand away and stands up on his two legs with shaky effort.

“I’m not some helpless cripple, Jayce.” He spits with venom and it’s not directed towards someone he would call a best friend but no matter— Viktor directed his own frustration with himself on Jayce. His hand grips the handle of his cane tightly and he grits his teeth, his jaw protrudes with irritation and shame. He looks away from the man in front of him because he knows if he were to face him he’d be met with the saddest pair of puppy eyes he’d ever seen. He shuts his eyes in an attempt to rid of the image but a hand on his shoulder deters him.

God dammit.

An antagonizing gaze, a scolding, Viktor can see it now. Jayce giving up on him because he was too difficult, too weak, too incapable of doing anything himself. The staccato tapping on his food filled the room's deafening silence. The air felt heavy and Viktor’s cheeks slowly warmed up with shame. He finally begins to lift his head to look up at his partner before him.

Jayce looks at him with waxy eyes, there’s a sadness in them and an understanding. But what could he understand about Viktor’s terror, what claws at his spine and the chronic aching of his leg. The feeling of his body decaying, cracking and breaking slowly like a growing tumor of torment.

Viktor tears his eyes away and bites his tongue.

“I’m up now. What are we doing?”

“Right.” Jayce’s voice is tight but there’s an underline of softness. He pauses, afraid to move but slowly goes for the measuring tape he set on their desk and the other can see him out of his peripheral come closer and take a deep breath. “I..uh, can I get some measurements from you?”

Huh?

Viktor’s head snaps to stare up at Jayce. “What? For what?”

Jayce just takes a step closer. “I’ll show you when it’s ready. Please?”

There’s a twist in his stomach and it makes his insides feel like they’re being sucked into a black hole and that makes him dizzy. What exactly was Jayce planning here? He goes to eye the other supplies to piece his thoughts together to come up with what he could possibly be doing but before he could Jayce was already blocking his view.

“It seriously won’t take more than a minute.”

His leg is starting to hurt now and he just wants to sit down and get back to work. He reluctantly slacks his shoulders and motions for Jayce to do what he came in here to. Jayce seems to practically hop with excitement and the clinking sound of the tape measure echos in the room.

Skin on skin wasn’t something Viktor was very familiar with and he didn’t make it much of a habit to be touchy with anyone. Jayce had proved to be quite the opposite and it seemed like all he could do was touch. A hand on the back, the shoulder, hell, he even laid his own hand over Viktor’s once during a frustrating day of experimenting what else the hex crystals were capable of doing. Viktor did not like physical touch.

Yet with Jayce it was a losing battle and he could never admit that at times he actually enjoyed the warmth of his hand and the comfort of someone at least being there with him.

This was not one of those times, however. Viktor—still ashamed with himself for snapping at Jayce— couldn’t handle the proximity of their bodies. Jayce is much too close and his knuckles brush over his ribs as he closely measures his friend's height, then the length of the floor to his shoulder, then from the floor to his armpit. He mumbles to himself and scribbles down the numbers he collected.

Just as quickly as Jayce invaded Viktor’s personal space, he was moving away from him and curtly saying thank you before making his way out of the lab with a haste Viktor had never seen.

He really fucked up.

It had been a couple of days. Viktor had been so consumed by his contrite thoughts that he completely disappeared from the lab. Taking to staying in his room and only leaving at late hours into the night when he knew no one would be around in the halls or streets to notice him. He was good at slipping away, at being alone. It was for the best, really. He’s out of the way, there’s no chance of him getting frustrated towards himself and directing it towards anyone who didn’t deserve to get the sharp end of his abhorrent views of himself.

He missed the lab, though. He missed Jayce if he was being honest with himself but that was a lot harder to face and so he would simply forget the thought even popped up and put it on the back burner of his mind. But that burner grew hotter and slowly began to simmer before turning into a boil and bubbled over him all at once how much he truly had fucked up.

“I owe him an apology at least.” He decides tomorrow morning he’ll go back and properly say his sorry’s.

Just as he was getting ready to settle into bed, there was a knock on his apartment door. He looks at the clock.

11:45PM

There was only one person who knows where he lives and knows he’d still be up. Viktor gathers up his courage with each step towards the front door.

Of course it’s Jayce behind the door, he didn’t even have to question it nor look through the peephole. He slowly opens the door and peeks around the corner of it.

“Jayce?” He says like he’s shocked. Jayce is standing there, looking handsome as ever but he didn’t seem like his usual self. His hair was a bit messy and his five o,clock shadow had grown into a scruff. His eyes were droopy and held evidence of a long sleepless night— or several nights, really. His face seems to lighten when Viktor answers the door, almost like he wasn’t expecting him to even give him the time of day.

“What are you doing here so late?”

“I needed to see you,” He says it frantically and Viktor flinches at the intensity of his tone. It doesn’t go i noticed and Jayce takes a step back in a silent apology. “I wanted to give you something…I’ve been working on it for a bit now.”

He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t have the faintest clue, but with him a little further away he feels safe enough to open the door wider and get a good look at the man in front of his doorstep.

Plain white T-shirt, a pair of pajama pants with…is that his family crest on the sides? The get up was in high contrast compared to what he had on his feet— his fancy, brown leather work shoes. Viktor stifles a laugh expertly and glances back up to Jayce who he now notices is holding something behind his back.

He sighs and admits defeat, perhaps moving his apology to tonight would be better. He couldn’t even begin to think of going to sleep with the fictional scenario he’d play and replay over and over again until the sun finally came back up. He had to own up to his own stupidity and immaturity. Viktor widens the door open and steps to the side to let Jayce in. They smirk awkwardly at each other and the younger walks in just as awkwardly. He side steps, his back facing away from Viktor to deter him from seeing the it behind him.

He rolls his eyes but finds himself smiling and feeling the warmth of his beating heart increase. It makes him feel sick and he takes a wobbly step forward, leaning his hand against the wall. He’d forgotten his cane in his bedroom. Jayce stands there unsure to reach out and ask him for help and that terrible knot in his throat grows at the base of his neck and creeps up until it’s in the underside of his jaw.

“Before you show me what you’ve made. I…needed to tell you something.” His hand on the wall turns into a fist and he presses it hard as if to ground himself. He fights the urge to look away from Jayce because good lord he looks scared and Viktor knows he thinks he’s done something wrong.

“It’s nothing you’ve done.” He starts off when Jayce doesn’t respond. His shoulders fall just an inch and he sees the immediate relief wash over his friend before he continues. Viktor can’t fight it, he looks down at his feet. “I wasn’t myself a few days ago. I…I wasn’t feeling well and it brought up some unwanted thoughts and I couldn’t control myself. I snapped at you.”

Silence. He still can’t look at Jayce because that knot in his throat has turned into glass and it shreds down his throat with each difficult swallow and he knows the tears come after that. “You were just trying to help me and I did need help— I wanted the help but I was too embarrassed to take it from you and I directed my own frustration onto you. I’m sorry for that.”

Once more, silence. The air is thick and Viktor wonders if Jayce can feel it. Can feel the struggle to breathe and that terrible churning in his stomach just as he’s feeling now. He’s too scared to look up and to be met with a ridiculing glare and an unforgiving tone. But he hears the wood floor squeak under Jayce’s weight, and he hears it again, and once more.

His head is hung low, his fist is tight and he can feel the nails almost break the skin of his palms. Viktor’s eyes squeeze shut and he braces himself for Jayce to walk right past him and slam the door behind him.

“Hey,” His voice is sweet and warm and it’s much closer, so close that it startles Viktor and draws a gasp from him. His eyes are glassy, still fighting back a few tears but he opens them to look up to see Jayce just inches away from him. A smile grows across his lips, his eyes like a warm drop of honey bear into Viktor’s and there’s a soft, apologetic look across his features.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was out of turn for me to assume you needed help—“

“No!” Viktor exclaims, he opens a palm out as he feverishly speaks, “It’s me who’s wrong! I spoke out of turn and let my anger out on you when you were just trying to help. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you’re capable of doing things yourself, V.” The nickname makes his stomach flip, Jayce doesn’t use it often and it catches him by surprise every time. “I just saw the pain in your face and I wanted to help.”

“I know! And that’s why I’m apologizing, because I smacked you away and..and I was cruel.” He drops his hand and lets it smack against the side of his thigh. Viktor releases a drawn out sigh and lets his shoulders slump. Jayce looks down at him solemnly.

“It wasn’t cruel. But I accept your apology— even though I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“Well, I hurt you, didn’t I?”

Jayce chuckles. “Maybe a little bit, but I’m fine.”

They stand silently again, Viktor finally letting his hand rest spread out on the wall. His leg was beginning to hurt now and sitting all his weight on one hip was beginning to pinch a nerve. He looks back to Jayce who’s still standing there with his hands behind his back.

“Have a seat and show me what you made already.”

Jayce’s expression changes into one of worry and Viktor swears he can see a bead of sweat on his forehead.

“R-right! Uh, let’s have a seat.” He lets Viktor lead the way. He had never been in Viktor’s apartment very much, he mostly strictly stood at the threshold and spoke to his partner there before leaving. Never had he taken a step inside and taken in the homely atmosphere Viktor had curated. It was so very Viktor, with the likes of books and endless shelves of academic publications printed out and bound in thick leather. Or the many notes strewn about with at least one pen or pencil resting on any surface. He noticed a small toy boat on display in his living room and he has the urge to ask him about it, or the drawing of what seemed to be a mechanical golem resting on his coffee table in front of his worn loveseat.

Before he can even ask, Viktor is reaching down and crumpling it and tosses it into a bin. They sit side by side on the small couch and Jayce feels his cheeks blush when Viktor indicates for him to show off already.

“Okay, uh, could you…look away for a moment?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow and purses his lips. “I’m sorry?”

“I want it to be a surprise…just indulge me…please?” Jayce attempts to bat his eyelashes and Viktor laughs at the clumsy way he can’t seem to find the momentum to bat them quickly. He obliges and places his hands over his eyes, he shuts his lids for good measure.

“No peeking, got it?” Jayce almost giggles.

“I would do no such thing.” He would.

Jayce brings the gift out from behind him, he’s shocked that he was able to hide it this long, he was sure Viktor would figure it out by now but he’s pleased to know his lab partner is oblivious to the fact that he had spent a week perfecting what he hoped Viktor would appreciate.

There’s cool metal on the palms Jayce told Viktor to face upward in his lap and it shocks him before he’s slowly wrapping his fingers around the material. He slowly opens his eyes, aware too much of Jayce’s intense gaze, there’s concern and hope and fear in his eyes and Viktor finally looks down at what’s been placed in his lap.

His eyes run across cool, steel metal with accents of red, white trimming of metal brings the piece together and his hand finds the first handle of what is a brand new cane sitting across his legs.

The handle is red and it looks to be the perfect length and width to fit into his hand. There are indents shaped just for his fingers and it’s made with cushioned leather. Viktor stares in awe of the expert work of the shape. His eyes follow up the cane to the top handle, it's curved and made with the same leather. On the tip of it is a circle framed with metal and what looks to be Jayce’s family crest. His eyes glide back down it, finding the same sigil on the side of the cane.

He’s speechless. Utterly incapable of saying a single word, let alone form a sentence. Jayce had taken the time and effort to actually make this for him. He thought his chronic pain hadn’t been so obvious— at least it wasn’t to literally everyone else who knew him or were acquainted with him. He never had been perceived so closely, so intimately and it aches in his heart the realization that Jayce had clearly seen Viktor this whole time.

He was no longer alone and Jayce had seen the inner workings of his pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised, they were together every single day and they were coming up on five years of working together.

Viktor’s ribs were a broken cage and released his emotions freely. The dam that held back his tears broke and out came a flood. His vision immediately becomes blurry and his hands tremble with the cane rattling gently in them.

“I…What…Why did you do this?” His voice is shaky and he bites his tongue to stop himself from speaking. He sounds so pathetic and small. “This is for me?”

Jayce gently reaches his hand over and places an index finger on the top handle.

“This is for support under your armpit and this—“ He points to the next handle. “Is for your hand to grasp onto. I saw the way you had been leaning lately and I could see the pain it was causing for you…I wanted to try and make something to help with that…”

He’s too sweet. Much too sweet to be in the presence of Viktor— someone who couldn’t fathom why he deserved such a thoughtful and well crafted piece of metalwork. He spent his free time on this, he worked on this by hand, by himself, for a week. He thinks back to the strange measurements Jayce had asked of him. How he tried to be slick and looking back he was because Viktor was too busy with his maintenance on the Hexgates to really consider why the hell Jayce needed to know how long and wide Viktor’s hand was or how he liked to hold his cane and how heavily he leaned onto it for support.

Viktor still couldn’t find the words. He barely even notices he’s crying until he sees a tear land on the metal and he’s immediately turning away from Jayce and swiping the rivers running down his face. He knows he looks pathetic like this and he never once wanted anyone to see him cry, let alone Jayce of all people.

“Thank you…truly,” He says with a shaky breath, his voice cracking around the lump in his esophagus. He covers his mouth, still turned away from Jayce.

“You didn’t have to…”

Warmth spreads across Viktor’s hand, he feels Jayce’s calloused fingers against his skin and it doesn’t help the flow of falling tears. His eyes screw shut but it’s not enough to hold them back and he barely registers another hand reaching out and Jayce’s thumb swiping across his cheek gently.

“Viktor,” He speaks gently, saying his name with relief and a sweetness that made Viktor’s teeth ache. Hearing his name come out so gently is too overwhelming and he shakes his head. “Hey, What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Yes. Yes! You saw me and for the first time I’m feeling like I’m someone important!

His mouth parts to speak and it’s dry, his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he attempts to form a sentence.

“No…no…you did a wonderful thing, I'm just…I’m embarrassed.” Jayce wipes away another tear that escaped and ran down to his lip. He captures it and rubs it away on the edge of his lips and they both a shock in the touch of his fingertips. They say nothing about it.

“Why?” Jayce asks simply.

“Crying…”

“You’ve seen me cry. How is this any different?”

Viktor’s glassy eyes look up into Jayce’s and this time he’s able to hold his gaze.

“I’m not meant to be comforted.” He says it so plainly like it’s a fact and Jayce feels his heart throb in pain. How his partner could ever think such a thing about himself he has no idea but he’ll do anything to change his mind.

“You are,” He lets his hand cup Viktor’s cheek and he watches the way his lashes flutter closed and he leans into the touch. “Don’t ever say that. You deserve…everything, Viktor.”

They sit like that for a while, Viktor unsure of what to say next and instead basks in the comfort of Jayce’s touch and Jayce who watches the tears slowly dry and leave streaks on his cheeks. It isn’t until he pulls his hand away does Viktor look back down at the cane in his lap. He turns it in his hands gently and runs his finger over the family sigil.

“The Talis hammer…a bit egotistical, don’t you think?” He huffs a laugh and Jayce is equally amused, his cheeks grow red and he slides his hand across the side of his neck as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, well, habit I guess…” He leans in a little close. “You really do like it, though?”

Viktor, now smiling down at the cane, nods. “Yeah, I do. Looking at it might make me cry again.”

“Well, let me take care of that then.” Jayce’s thumb runs across one of Viktor’s cheeks affectionately and for a second they forget they’re just friends and revel in the comfort of one another.

[letteredlettered]

Hello!! I've read all your hp works and I wanted to say that I love them all and they've made me feel feelings. The way you write drarry and just hp in general is very close to my heart.

That being said, there is a question I wanted to ask you as a writer. What does plagiarism mean and what does it constitute? Like... I hear that term a lot but just reading a definition is not making it clear to me. As far as I understand, copying someone's work, word by word is plagiarism. Does it also count as one if I copy someone's idea but just modify it a bit. Carry on is such a work and it's resemblance to hp and main pairs similarity to drarry are well known. Even hp itself has a evident similarity to Neil Gaiman's ‘The books of magic’ , at least as far as the titular character goes. It was also said that maybe jk stole the idea from there but Neil later said that it wasn't the case. So I'm guessing that's not plagiarism.

Let's take another example, I love you fic away childish things .. so if I wrote a fic with the same idea.. is that plagiarism? Or if I copy the plot? What if I liked a particular scene very much.. or a sentence very much and I used it as a base for a new fic.. or used that scene/sentence itself but in a different context is that plagiarism? I'm sure a lot of people have read Running On Air by eleventy7 in the drarry fandom. So if I use the sentence “Going away is easy, coming home is hard.” in a fic I write (maybe in another fandom or the same) does that count as plagiarism? Ofc I'm assuming that other people will know which scene or sentence I'm using on account of said fic being a famous work (in this case, fandom). But there could be a case where the source is not well known. What if I took something from a particular folktale of a community or country? Would that count as plagiarism? Jk Rowling herself has said that she used a lot of info while writing hp from various stories, folktales, religious books, lore and some good old tropes of said genre and pure imagination. Most of it was done unconsciously while writing. I guess it doesn't count as plagiarism if the place where you're copying from doesn't have a particular author (for eg folktales etc). Like.. God is not gonna sue me if I wrote things similar to some religious text. His followers on the other hand... yeah best not go there haha. But yeah.. what if I used different things from various sources, like.. just picking my way across it all and using them to write a story, just mish mashing things together like a collage and making something out of it. Will that be plagiarism? Or is that just being inspired by other art? On the other hand there is a saying that every art has a genesis and nothing is original. Every work is inspired by some other work be it art, music, writing or whatever. So where does one draw a line between inspiration and plagiarism?

I know it's a very long ask and I'm using a lot of scenarios but I wanted to cover everything that might come under the word 'Plagiarism'. What are your thoughts on it? What is included in plagiarism? Specifically, in writing.

If you made it this far thank you for reading where i essentially just ramble lol. I would like to know your answer and if you have any reading material on it please point me towards them. Thank you and I hope you're doing well xoxo

Plagiarism is copying word for word. It's one kind of stealing.

Copyright infringement is also a kind of stealing. That's a legal term about copyrighted material, but laws from some countries around this issue can maybe help clarify what is socially considered stealing and what is considered fair use. "Fair use" is also a legal term (at least, in the US); it refers to reasons you can use a copyrighted work without permission. I think that what many people socially consider "not stealing," even though its using someone else's ideas, falls under fair use.

Fanfic generally falls under fair use. The Organization for Transformative Works (OTW)--which is the organization behind AO3--argues that while fanfic uses things like characters and settings from copyrighted work, fic falls under fair use because it is creative and transformative.

The transformative part is important. If you copied Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone word for word and put it on AO3, that would be plagiarism. It's not transformed in any way. But if you write a story in which Harry and Draco fall in love, you're significantly transforming the story in a way that progresses the world of literature.

Other attributes of fair use (beyond whether the work is transformative) include whether the work is done for profit, whether the market for the original copyrighted work will be impacted negatively by the derivative work, and how substantially the derivative work uses the original copyrighted work. Fanfic uses the original copyrighted work quite substantially in many cases, but if it doesn't impact the market for the original copyrighted work and isn't done for profit, that shouldn't disqualify it from fair use. This is why it's extremely important never to ask for money for a fanfic, and why any author doing that should be reported to the hosting site.

Now, you asked about the Harry Potter series. While JKR may have gotten ideas about kids attending magical schools from other books, HP differs significantly enough that whenever she was sued for copyright infringement, she won her cases. Some might call JKR's books a ripoff of other books like it, but most agree that while not terribly original, these books do not count as stealing. (I would add, though, that just because someone wins a case doesn't mean it's not stealing. Disney steal shit all the time but wins cases because they own everything.)

You also asked about Carry On. I would say about that series, too, that it is substantially different enough from other books, that it doesn't count as stealing. There are just lots of books about kids secretly going to magic school, as it turns out. But I would add that even if there were more similarities to HP than there are in Carry On, Carry On could not be considered theft, because it is transformative.

Carry On, like Lev Grossman's The Magicians, is in a conversation with books like Harry Potter, books about magical schools and books with young, Chosen One protagonists. Carry On is not a fanfic; the characters are not the same; the set-up is not the same; the plot is not the same. But it is a book that asks questions about Harry Potter, and other books like Harry Potter. It's asking, what does it mean to be the Chosen One? Isn't there something sinister about a supportive mentor figure who pushes young people into war? Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games is also in a conversation with books that have young Chosen Ones, and it asks the same questions. Carry On further asks, isn't there a strange chemistry between the archetypal Golden Boy protagonist and the archetypal schoolmate antagonist? That's something tons of high school romance stories ask, and tons of HP fics, but it wasn't something that hadn't yet been done in a magical school Chosen One series--not with homosexuality--which also makes it pretty damn transformative.

You asked about using a line from Running on Air in a different work. This is plagiarism, because it's the exact words. Using that sentence in any work would be plagiarism. Using the exact sentence that someone else wrote, not matter how well known the work, is plagiarism. You likely won't be sued, but it's still stealing in most cases.

Now, it could be acceptable to use a phrase from the sentence to reference Running on Air. You'll see this in a lot of older literature. You'll see a little phrase in quotes that isn't credited, but your Penguin footnote will tell you they were referencing another author there. That was common because everyone was expected to have read the same body of work in certain cultures.

In fandom, lots of people will have read the same fics, so it could be a nod to another author to quote their work in a fic of your own. That's generally not the culture, mostly because the reason authors would do that had more to do with literary ideas that story telling, and most fic has a focus on storytelling. And, because fandom is a non-professional community where it's easy to reach out directly to the authors, if you do want to quote something by a different author, the author should be asked--again, because that's the culture.

Some material is so often quoted that it's idiomatic. If you say "I put away childish things" in a work, that may be from the Bible, but most people know where it's from, and even if they don't, it's part of our language now. Same would be true if I put in a work "Parting is such sweet sorrow," which is from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Few would call it stealing if I didn't credit such sentences, but if you're not sure whether it's idiomatic, a place where you're using the exact words should be credited with a footnote or citation.

You asked about using a line from a folk tale. As you say, folk tales often don't have known authors--but more importantly for your question, they usually don't have definitive versions. There are literally thousands of versions of Cinderella. If you used an exact sentence the Brothers Grimm used in their version of Cinderella, that would be plagiarism. Any exact language from an extant version of the story would be the same way.

A lot of what I'm saying is about how law works (particularly in the US), which deals with what might be socially acceptable in terms of whether something is stealing or not. But many cultures do have oral traditions that have a specific way a story is told. I would argue that's still a specific version, and if you're quoting the exact language, it's still stealing. But lots and lots of cultures have stories they like to tell but always tell it a little different, in which case you might be stealing ideas but not plagiarizing. And some things that are said enough, such as "Once upon a time" and "And they lived happily ever after" are idiomatic and not consider plagiarism.

But idioms touch on an interesting topic related to idea theft, which is how likely it is that you came up with something on your own, or that anyone could without the original text. The line you quoted from Running on Air is unique, but the idea that coming home is hard is commonly accepted. Indeed, there is an idiom that states "You can't go home again," which refers to the difficulty of coming home again.

Therefore, if someone said, "Going home is difficult," it might be a paraphrase of the sentence from Running on Air, but it might also be a paraphrase of the idiom, and it would be a little silly to call that plagiarism. Paraphrasing can be plagiarism, but it depends on a) how closely the paraphrase hews to the original, b) how much is paraphrased (as soon as you're paraphrasing more than a line, it really starts to be plagiarism), and c) whether someone could reasonably come up with it themselves.

So, if someone said, "Leaving home isn't difficult, but going home again is," that paraphrase is a lot more directly related to the original sentence and could be considered plagiarism. However, in a story without any other Running on Air references or similarities, I would assume an author came up with that based on the idiom and would never even dream of accusing them of plagiarism. But if the next two sentences were also similar to lines from Running on Air, I'd get suspicious.

In fact, the original line you quoted is close enough to the idiom that if I read it in a different story, I might assume that the author hadn't remembered that that line was from Running on Air. This has definitely happened to me--I used a line or phrase that I thought was mine, but I actually got it from somewhere else. If you're doing it consciously, you shouldn't. With paraphrasing, I think it's a little dicier; some would say if you're consciously paraphrasing anything it's a problem, but if you know you read that line from Running on Air but also know you've thought about that idiom about coming home a lot, it might be fine to say something sort of similar, as long as it's not the same and as long as you're not taking other things.

The same is true with ideas. You asked about Away Childish Things. If you read that fic and decided to write a fic about Harry de-aging, you might have been inspired by me, but it isn't stealing because de-aging is a common trope in fandom. You could've come up with it yourself or by reading any number of things. You asked about the plot; if you wrote a story in which Harry and Draco got to know each other by identifying illegal potions and then while doing some of that work together, Harry got de-aged and later Draco got de-aged, I would still say that this is a plot you could have thought of yourself. If you wrote a story in which everyone was infected by a potion that was like Imperius, meaning Harry only trusted Draco to help him, and Harry de-aged, and then to cure him Harry re-aged and then Draco de-aged, and could only re-age one year at a time, dealing with all of their Hogwarts years again and revealing Draco's history with his mentally ill mother and Muggle dating, I would say...okay, that's hewing pretty closely to Away Childish Things and feels a bit like you took something from me.

If you called a shop in your fic Tailored Tinctures, that's very specific, and I would say you took something from me. If you had an indicator solution in which you had to dip your thumb and your thumb turned cerulean to indicate a positive, I would say you took something from me. For these kinds of questions, it has to do with the amount you took but also the specificity of it.

As I mentioned, fandom has its own culture. Usually if you get an idea from someone else it's a very good idea to drop that author a line and say, "Hey, I got inspired, do you mind if I do?" But I don't do that when there are a hundred fics that all have the same idea, because by then it's starting to be fanon, and using fanon is not considered in this culture to be stealing.

Different people have different ideas about this, but I do feel that I'm pretty close to the general thought on this. Some people will say that any time you are inspired by anything you must credit, or you must ask, or you must never use it to begin with. But most of us are inspired by things all the time, and the only times we claim we aren't are the times when we really can't remember what the original inspiration was, or when things are so jumbled that ten different things inspired one idea. In those cases it isn't true that we aren't using other works, only that we can't identify them.