#so that i can just keep posting random art there

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Mature, 18+, suggestive tones.

→ DATE POSTED: January 30, 2025.

→ NARRATED AUDIO:

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

→ A/N: So. Listen. I was out there, freezing my ass off at the bus stop, cursing my life choices because why am I even going to the gym at ungodly hours??? And then—THEN—the bus just had the audacity to drive right past me. Love that. Amazing. Naturally, I did what any rational person would do: opened my notes app and started writing instead of using those 45 minutes to, idk, reconsider my entire existence. And thus, Off-Labels was born. This drabble? It’s about the kind of man who is dangerous in the most insidious way—intelligent, competent, and hiding behind a veneer of plausible deniability like it’s a damn art form. You know he knows what he’s doing to you. You know he’s aware of the effect he has. But can you prove it? No. Because he’s just so nice. So helpful. So unintentionally devastating to your nervous system. It’s honestly sick and twisted and exactly my type. Am I a menace? Absolutely. First installment in what might become a series because apparently I can't stop writing about competent men in medical settings using anatomical terms as foreplay. Will I be taking criticism? Absolutely not. ❤️‍🩹🩺

You don’t believe in stories like in books.

Sure, you like to read them—disappear into them, let them pull you under like a riptide until you forget about deadlines and midterms and the existential dread of being a twenty-something who still doesn’t know what they’re doing.

But that’s all they are.

Stories.

Fantasies about tragic, fated loves and brooding billionaires and dangerous men with wings. You like them because they’re not real. Because it’s fun to pretend, for a little while, that you’re the kind of girl who’s got a winged fae warrior at her feet. Or a CEO husband who calls her darling in an office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Or—God forbid—her hot math teacher, who lets her stay after class for extra lessons.

Or your brother’s best friend’s secret hookup.

Not that you’re thinking about that one.

Not that it would even be your case.

You shift on the couch, burying yourself deeper into the cocoon of your brother’s old hoodie. It’s massive on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the faded fabric smelling like dust and detergent.

Perfect. The ideal uniform for an evening of doing absolutely nothing.

Your e-reader is dead, so you’ve resorted to flipping through some random paperback you found wedged under the coffee table, something with an aggressively shirtless man on the cover. You’re only half-paying attention, your eyes skimming over the words without really absorbing them.

Caleb should be home soon. Probably. He has class—or he says he has class, but you’re not entirely convinced. He’s in that phase of university where it’s mostly networking and group projects and going out more than actually studying.

Not that you care. He does his thing, you do yours.

A sharp knock at the door pulls you out of your haze.

You ignore it. Caleb has keys. If he forgot them, that’s his problem.

The knock comes again. Then the doorbell rings.

You groan, untangling yourself from the blanket and shuffling toward the door with all the grace of a sleep-deprived goblin. Your hair is a mess, your socks don’t match, and you’re fairly certain you have crumbs on your face from earlier. Good. Whoever’s on the other side can suffer.

Except—

It’s not Caleb.

It’s Hoseok.

Oh.

You freeze, hand still gripping the doorknob, brain buffering at the sight of him standing there, all easy confidence and warm eyes and—why does he always look so put together? It’s unfair. He’s in jeans and a hoodie, nothing special, but it fits him just right, and his hair is slightly tousled, like he just ran a hand through it, and—

Stop.

You force yourself to blink, to breathe, to act like a normal human person.

“Uh,” you say, which is a stellar start.

Hoseok smiles. “Hey.”

He has the kind of voice that makes people listen, rich and smooth, the kind that carries even when he’s speaking softly. Which he is now, like he knows you spook easily.

“Caleb’s not here,” you blurt out.

He tilts his head, amused. “Yeah, I figured.”

Right. Obviously. Because if Caleb were here, he’d be the one answering the door.

You scramble for something else to say, but your brain is blank, completely derailed by the fact that he’s here. In your doorway. Looking at you. And you must look insane—your hair sticking up in weird directions, drowning in a hoodie that is definitely not yours.

And he’s still smiling. Patient. Like he has all the time in the world.

You clear your throat, gripping the edge of the door. “Um. Did you—need something?”

Hoseok shifts, rocking back on his heels. “I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by, see if Caleb was around.” A pause. “And you, too.”

Your brain does an emergency reboot.

You, too.

You, too.

You swallow. “Oh. Right. Cool. That’s—cool.”

His smile twitches, like he’s holding back a laugh.

You want to throw yourself into traffic.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, ever-polite, ever-easygoing.

You should say no. Caleb’s not here, and even though Hoseok is Caleb’s best friend—and a genuinely nice person, thoughtful and reliable and the kind of guy who remembers your favorite coffee order—something about being alone with him makes your stomach twist.

But saying no would be weird.

So you step back. “Yeah, uh, sure.”

He steps inside, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Or maybe you’re just too aware of him—his presence, the faint scent of clean laundry and something warmer, something mellow. He’s always been like this, always drawn your attention whether you wanted him to or not.

You watch as he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair like he’s been here a hundred times before. And he has, technically, but not like this. Not without Caleb.

Hoseok glances at the book on the coffee table. “Good?”

You stare at it, momentarily forgetting what book it even is. “Uh. Yeah.”

His eyes flick to the cover. His smile turns amused.

Heat floods your face.

"Interesting choice.”

You freeze. A slow, creeping horror slithers up your spine. Because you didn’t even look at the book before picking it up—you just grabbed whatever you had lying around, assuming it was something boring, something safe—

And now Hoseok is holding a novel titled My Professor’s Secret Temptation.

Oh.

Oh, you actually might be sick.

You scramble for something—anything—to say, but the words wedge themselves somewhere between your throat and your rapidly spiraling embarrassment.

Hoseok flips the book over, scanning the back cover with a curious hum. “Didn’t take you for the forbidden romance type.”

You want the ground to open up. You want to disintegrate.

“I—I didn’t even read it!” you blurt out, a little too fast, a little too desperate. “I wasn’t paying attention, I just grabbed something random, and—and it’s not—”

Hoseok glances at you, amused but not in a mean way, just…interested? "Oh, yeah?”

You nod. Aggressively. “Yes.”

His mouth presses into something thoughtful, like he believes you, but there’s still a flicker of amusement in his expression, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with this new information.

“Huh.” He flips through a few pages idly, head tilting. “He’s pretty bold, huh?”

Your stomach drops. “Who?”

“The professor.”

Your soul leaves your body.

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

Hoseok just nods, easy, unbothered. “Some of these lines are intense,” he muses, flipping another page. “Do real professors talk like this?”

You are going to die. Right here. On the floor.

“I—” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know.”

He hums again, like he’s genuinely considering it, then—just as casually as everything else—he looks up and says, “You think he’s hot?”

Your heart stops.

Not in a teasing way. Not in a mean way. Just…like it’s a normal question. Like this is just an easy, natural conversation between two people who absolutely do not need to be having this conversation.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Hoseok’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smirk, not a knowing smile—just quiet amusement, like this whole situation is genuinely kind of funny, and he doesn’t think it’s a big deal at all.

“Relax,” he says, closing the book with a soft thump. “I won’t tell Caleb.”

It’s so casual. So reassuring.

Like he really, really isn’t trying to mess with you.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Hoseok sets the book down with deliberate care, spine aligned parallel to the edge of the coffee table like he’s arranging museum artifacts. Your traitorous eyes track the flex of tendons in his wrist—medical intern hands, steady and precise, the kind that’ve probably held beating hearts in ORs. You bite the inside of your cheek until copper blooms.

He glances at the sofa.

You glance at the sofa.

Three cushions. Two throw pillows. Seventy-two inches of fabric that suddenly feels like the Grand Canyon between acceptable and catastrophic.

“Mind if I…?” He gestures to the spot beside your abandoned blanket nest, already moving before you nod.

The springs creak faintly as he sinks into the middle cushion, thighs spreading in that effortless way men do—knees wide, elbows propped, phone balanced on his lap. You sit next to him—two cushions away—and watch his thumb scroll through messages, the screen’s blue light catching the silver ring he always wears on his index finger. Surgical steel, he’d told you once when you’d asked. Sterile. Practical.

Practical.

Practical like the way his left knee now brushes the edge of your blanket. Practical like the faint cedar-and-disinfectant scent of his cologne. Practical like the half-inch of skin exposed when his hoodie rides up as he stretches his arms behind his head.

Don’t look.

You look.

Stop looking.

He shifts, a subtle roll of his hips that has no business being this distracting. The movement pulls the denim taut across his thighs, and you try—really, genuinely try—to keep your eyes anywhere else. The ceiling. The floor. The stack of medical textbooks by the TV. Anything but the way his thumb now absently traces the inner seam of his jeans.

“Told Caleb I’d wait,” he says, tilting his head toward you. The motion makes his throat work—Adam’s apple bobbing, chin catching gold in the lamplight. “Movie night. You’re welcome to join, if you want.”

Your tongue feels like it’s been replaced with felt. “I—I have… readings.”

“Readings.” His mouth shapes the word like it’s fascinating.

“For… neuroanatomy.” You gesture vaguely toward your backpack slumped by the TV stand, half-buried under a sweatshirt you’ve been using as a pillow. “Midterm next week.”

He hums, low and considering. “Limbic system?”

“Hippocampus. Amygdala. All the… emotional bits.”

“Ah.” His smile softens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “The parts that make you want to throw textbooks at walls.”

You blink. “You… remember?”

“Your first-year meltdown over the cranial nerves? Yeah.” He chuckles, warm and rasping. “You called them ‘twelve little traitors’ and threatened to switch to art history.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You’d forgotten he’d been there that night—Caleb dragging him along for a pizza run, finding you knee-deep in flashcards and tears. Hoseok had quietly made tea while Caleb joked about selling your cadaver lab notes on eBay.

“Still think about it sometimes,” you mutter, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “Art history sounds peaceful. No one dies in art history.”

“No,” he agrees. “But you’d miss this.”

“Miss what? The sleep deprivation? The existential dread?”

“The way your nose scrunches when you’re trying to memorize Brodmann areas.”

Your hands freeze.

He’s looking at you now—not the performative eye contact of someone making conversation, but the kind that pins you in place. Clinical. Observant. Like he’s cataloging your reaction.

“I don’t… scrunch,” you say weakly.

“You do.” His knee nudges the blanket again. Accidentally. Probably. “It’s cute.”

The air conditioner kicks on. You count the vents in the ceiling. Eight. Eight is a safe number. Eight is not the number of times you’ve imagined him saying that word in different contexts.

Cute.

Cute.

Cute.

Your lungs forget how to oxygenate.

Hoseok’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, then sighs. “Caleb’s running late. Some study group thing.”

“Oh.”

“You hungry?”

“What?”

He’s already standing, rolling his shoulders in a stretch that pulls his hoodie taut across his chest. “I’ll make ramyeon. You like the kimchi kind, right?”

You stare.

He’s in your kitchen now, rummaging through cabinets with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times. Which he has—game nights, birthday parties, that one time Caleb got food poisoning and Hoseok stayed over to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit.

But this is different.

This is him pulling two bowls from the shelf you can’t reach without a step stool. This is him filling the kettle with exactly 500ml of water because he knows your stove runs hot. This is him glancing over his shoulder to ask, “Soft or firm noodles?” like it’s a question that matters.

“Soft,” you croak.

He nods, turning back to the counter. You watch his hands—capable, unhurried—tearing seasoning packets with his teeth. The steam fogs his glasses when he leans over the pot, and he pushes them up into his hair, revealing the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

Bike accident, he’d said when you’d asked. Twelve years old. Thought he could jump the curb like X-Games.

You’d dreamed about that scar for weeks afterward.

“Here.” He sets the bowl in front of you, chopsticks balanced across the rim. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You murmur thanks, staring at the swirling red broth. He sits closer this time—one cushion away instead of two. His knee brushes yours when he leans forward to blow on his noodles.

Accident, you tell yourself. Always accidents.

The TV murmurs in the background, some nature documentary about deep-sea creatures. Hoseok asks about your classes, and you answer in staccato sentences, hyper-aware of the way his sleeve brushes your arm when he reaches for the water glass.

“—and Dr. Park’s lectures are killing me,” you hear yourself say, chopsticks hovering over uneaten noodles. “She goes so fast, and the diagrams…”

“Want me to quiz you?”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye—the same one he gets when Caleb challenges him to Mario Kart. “I aced neuro last year. Could walk you through the basal ganglia.”

“You’re… busy.”

“Not really.” He sets his bowl aside, rolling up his sleeves. Your pulse thrums at the reveal of his forearms—dusting of dark hair, veins mapping paths you shouldn’t be tracing. “C’mon. Hit me with your worst.”

It’s a mistake.

You know it’s a mistake even as you fetch your notes, even as he pats the space beside him. Even as his shoulder presses against yours, radiating heat through three layers of fabric.

“Okay.” He scans your color-coded flashcards. “First question. What structure connects the hippocampus to the mammillary bodies?”

“F-fornix,” you stammer.

“Good.” His finger taps the next card. “Main neurotransmitter in the substantia nigra?”

“Dopamine.”

“And loss of dopamine here causes…”

“Parkinson’s.”

“Nice.” He shifts, knee pressing into yours. “Now point to your amygdala.”

You freeze. “What?”

“On your head. Show me where it is.”

“I—it’s—it’s medial temporal lobe, so…” You hover a hand near your right temple, acutely aware of his gaze tracking the movement. “Here? Ish?”

His chuckle vibrates through the couch. “Ish.”

“Shut up, I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

You glare at him. He grins back, all white teeth and crinkled eyes, and something in your chest cracks open.

“Medial,” he says softly, reaching over to adjust your hand. His fingers graze your wrist—brief, clinical, devastating. “Deeper. Protected.”

You stop breathing.

The documentary narrator drones on about bioluminescent jellyfish. Hoseok’s thumb brushes your pulse point.

Accident.

Always accidents.

Then his phone rings.

You jerk back like you’ve been shocked. Hoseok answers with a calm, “Yeah?” while you stare at your knees, pretending your entire nervous system isn’t short-circuiting.

“Caleb’s downstairs,” he says, standing. “Forgot his keys again.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

He pauses, head tilted. For a horrifying moment, you think he’ll call you out—on the shaking hands, the flushed cheeks, the way you’re clinging to a pillow like it’s a life raft.

But he just smiles. Gentle. Endless. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

You collapse sideways onto the couch, pressing your face into the cushion that still holds the warmth of him. Somewhere in the hallway, the elevator dings. Laughter floats up from the parking lot.

Four years.

Four years of this.

Four years of almosts and maybes and don’t be stupid, he’s just being nice.

Your phone buzzes. A text from Caleb:

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐?? 𝙽𝚎𝚛𝚍. 𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊. 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎?

You type no with trembling fingers.

The couch creaks as you curl into yourself, knees to chest, forehead pressed against the spot where his ring had left a faint indentation in the upholstery.

Deeper.

Protected.

Somewhere in your medial temporal lobe, dopamine fires for all the wrong reasons.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[thatbitchery]

HOW TO SCHOOL ; A COMPREHENSIVE GUIDE BY A CHAIN SCHOOLER.

Given I've been in school for 21years continuously now I'll say at this point I'm a professional in the art of schooling x studying, at least the ADHD ver. Random tips;

Go to your strengths and align with them. If you're a thinker go to the thinkings the math the Eng Lit or Lit the Calculus the classes that require for your to think. If you're a knower go to the knowings the history the Geography the Religion the Biology etc. If you're a doer go to the doings the Math the Physics the IT the Business. Go where your strengths are why suffer.

Your reputation does, in fact, proceed you. Teachers are just people and like people they are biased. School is for networking 190000× more than it is for education. And teachers are people too that can and should be networked with. If you need me to teach you how to build a reputation in school I will.

All rounders make it farthest. My formula is - one sport that does what I need it to (volleyball for cardio) and do everything in my power to be captain (I've always been). Two, a club that ticks my boxes. This has always been journalism club for me I knewww I wanted to be in journalism and communication early. Being part of the school paper (was chair in high school and editor in Uni). Leadership of student body (House captain for me. In high school. Wanted Library captain so bad but heh. Could be just being in the student council. My tip, high rank low responsibility) and take part in the most mediocre activity around (for me was Christian Council. All we did was nothing). It's the basis of- Who are you? And in life who you are is more important than what you know. Or better - what do people know you as? Keeping in mind it follows you. How people see an ex beauty queen isn't the same way they see an Ex head of student council. Also the busier you are the less time you have for all that. Alll of that. That drama thing you keep getting caught up in. + Your networks are wider so you skip the loneliness tax ie the number of things you do because you're lonely. The scrolling. The getting clingy and attached to random people that give you attention for 6 seconds. The dating people you don't even like. The over eating and over spending and- loneliness tax. We know it. Some of y'all on Tumblr rn paying it.

Always. Always. Alwaysss look your best in the most natural way possible. The world does not take kindly to unkempt women and it also doesn't want to know you pour energy into being kempt. What does this have to do with school? If you're below 25 likely you've spent 3/4 of your life in school. That's a lot of time for people to be taking jabs at your appearance or bullying you or talking hell behind your back or not coming into your space because there's no value attached to it (bc girl to girl, before you hit 25 your only value is your beauty. Again why I don't want you to date). Just make your hair and skin and nails and steam your clothes and don't look homeless it's that easy. And don't wear the eyelash extensions that look fake or the fillers or the red lips or- as natural as possible. It's school. Unless you want slaaat treatment .

Use your syllabus. I can not explain enough how much this is the way to study. Every start of semester your professor is required to release the syllabus. It has topics, subs and objectives. You see the objectives? Use those as study guides. By the end of that topic you should be able to answer the objectives if framed as questions.

Pre- during- post. You study the material pre class, on the day you'll have the class. Just go through it try answer questions. During class you listen and make side notes. After class you make the notes in writing and then go to the questions. If there are YouTube or Video or Audio explanations listen to them after making the notes and make sure you know what they're on about. DO NOT SLEEP if you know for a fact you can not recall it all. Scary hour night ver- get a pen and blank paper, offhead use objectives to write all you remember, go through the notes one more time. Thank me later.

Brown Noise White Noise- this is bs. Do what works for you there's no study noise that's standardized. I need to listen to cars and people talking noises to study some people need to listen to white noise I know someone that listens to Kpop some need no background noise so no one cares. The one rule is- IT CAN NOT BE IN A LANGUAGE YOU UNDERSTAND. The background noise CAN NOT BE IN A LANGUAGE YOU UNDERSTAND.

Niche. The niches are where it's at. Don't know what language to learn? Norwegian. How many people you know have self taught Norwegian. Exactly. If I said I speak french and someone says they speak Norwegian, automatically who sounds more disciplined and interesting? See the class that has 5 kids? Take that one for extra creds. Swimming? Deep sea diving. Stand out. Stand out.

Information retention happens in activity. Study sitting recall walking around or running or cleaning etc. The science is when you're active you need to be 10× more alert because your body id constantly scamming for threats and when you're sitting you signal to your body you're safe sooo why would it be that alert? Do your active recall on your morning jog. not yoga not activities meant for relaxing. (PS biohacking is a whole superpower and I'd teach you but I don't agree with the popular methods {when have I ever} and given my autism they probably only work for me so find your ver. Andrew Huberman is so extensive on this)

Have a signature. Sit same spot daily , have a same scent, have things that make you memorable and are associated with you. Why does it matter in school - for the exact same reason it matters everywhere, coupled by under 25 that's where you spend 3/4 of your life?

Mind the business that pays you. Stay in your lane, do your thing. Never commit to one group of friends and talk to everyone. Don't play social justice warrior matter of fact if you have to play a role move all the way over to Blair Waldorf Alison De Laurentis kind of bitchy but without being queen bee that's. Lmao. What is that. Do your thing and go home. Hang out with as many people as you can. Don't commit don't pick a side mind the business that pays you.

I'm begging you to be financially smart. Unfortunately there's no standard for this so we can work it out one on one I have all the time in the world pre August we can do it.

Boys. Stay. As. Far. Away. From. Those. I don't want you to date girls either I don't want you to date at all idc where you swing but generally I want you to know what ever a man does the women closest to him will pay for it. Even just *friends* yes be acquaintances yes hang out but NEVER let a man be a part of your identity all his problems will be yours but ×10 by associations. You see how Rihanna said 'your wife in the backseat of my car' when it's the man that messed up? that's life. THATS LIFE. Whatever a man does, the women around him will pay for it 1000×, and it's almost impossible to shake out a man's social imprint on you. Even just by vicinity. In the least literal sense of the phrase, fuck all these men.

[vienoreal]

so uhmmm, my first actual proper post on tumblr and ofc it's a fandom post

...have this *runs away with spongebob squeaks on each step*

*distantly* Slimeriana my beloveds!!

[narnour-momo-007]

Hhh

[cozylittleartblog]

Hello! 🦠 anon here again... I'm not sure if my ask wast sent so im gonna ask again,

What are your headcanons on swatch? Can you tell more of your concept of them? Like how do you view him? I would really appreciate it even it's like small fun facts! thanks a lot :)

you're fine i didn't have art to post so i didn't log in for a few days. uhhhhhh SwatchThoughts(tm):

they're the head butler ofc, but they're also queen's right-hand-man (gender neutral), her #1 bestie. they know everything about her, even about lancer before the events of ch2. they will literally do anything she asks and anything that will entertain her. it's tiring and they do complain sometimes but they enjoy their work, they know what a kind person she really is and that she's generally a good ruler, so they like to make her happy :)

weirdly competitive. nobody beats them in queen's monthly fruit-smashing competition and if you somehow do, they're a good sport but You Will Not Win Next Month. You Won't.

workaholic. oh god they wear so many hats in the mansion and they're so tired all the time, it's a miracle they get everything done

the color cafe is a regular butler cafe up front and a host club in the back. a handful of the birds, including swatch, can be paid (at quite high rates, swatch especially) to join you for drinks or sweets, flirt with you, cuddle - p much have a sweet and lightly romantic time. you would not believe how much money spamton dumped into the host club back in the day. their undisputed #1 customer even 20 years later

i generally view them as very asexual (demi specifically. + nonbinary) but they still love their host work! it's fun, they like making people happy and playing at being a romantic. and the sweets. they like the sweets just as much 🍰

damn good chef and an even better baker

very polite but short tempered 😔 they're quick to rough up people who don't follow the rules or who just personally annoy them/cause chaos, and they always win

they are the tallest swatchling, at 9 feet tall. Beast. good for carrying queen on their broad shoulders though!

their feathers, which are all slightly curly, have a slight iridescence to them that tint, along with accents on their outfit, in accordance to their mood or the paint they've been drinking . the default is pink

dressed to the nines 24/7. even on their time off.

they adore their birds. they spawned each and every single one of them (the ones in their own flock that work for queen, anyway), they know all their names even when everyone's the same color and they remember what's going on in their lives. which is impressive when there's at least a couple hundred of them ;;;

their favorite flavor of paint is dusty lilac

their favorite normal flavor is strawberry

as an art program they not only create things for lightners but also for queen ! they design a lot of things for her with her input, and with as quickly as they can draw things directly into the dark world they're always working on things for her, while dressing up their cafe for themed events in-between.

the underside of their tail is a swatchbook

they love being pet please pet them please please please p

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

self indulgent horross doodles just because i can >B)

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

No idea why I decided to put art on my evil account instead of my actual main art account so please excuse me rebloging stuff so I can keep all my art here

I guess the idea was this would only be finished pieces ?? But I dunno I think I will keep sketches/doodles here but put progress shots/character discussion to my evil account among the other evil things

Not rebloging that many pieces but I was just thinking about how odd of a decision it was

[ganondoodle]

just after i crawled my way out of that 'art-low' and i got myself excited to work on the rough draft for chapter2- i suddendly just crash and burn again bc i cant get the thought out of my head that im not a good writer either actually and my ideas are comically boring

do i really have to fight my own brain over and over again for the rest of my life (ㆆ_ㆆ)

[whumpy-wyrms]

Have you ever hear of the webtoon Silent Screams? It's full of whump and it honestly reminds me of some of your work. Highly recommend

YES!!!! i love silent screams!! i was actually just reading the recently updated episode earlier. it’s sooo good, i definitely recommend it to anyone who likes lab whump! also thanks for thinking of my stuff too that’s so cool :)

when i started reading it in like october, it made me wanna make a tllr webcomic soooo bad but i just don’t have the time for that lol. maybe some day (definitely Some day because a tllr webcomic would go so fucking hard)

also whump in the form of comics/web comics/graphic novels is like my favorite way of consuming whump so if anyone has any recommendations feel free to let me know! :)

[wolpatinga]

[thedrotter]

out of concern about accidentally burrying my art with how many things i want to reblog and say, I've decided to use a sideblog I've had for a while more actively so id like to mention it. because side-blogs are fun!

You can find it as @vacalimpia !!! For anyone who wants to hear me say random things and see me reblog stuff without me accidentally making my art hard to find here hehe

[danothan]

i love having dc mutuals! would love to follow one some day…

[starrrbitz-movedtonewblog]

This blog really is old, part of me has been wondering for a while if I should just archive it and make a new one...

Some ranting and thoughts in my tags below...

[dyesprout0ysphoria]

What the fuck why are they all the same photos 😰😰

GOD IT'S JUST THE SAME PHOTO WHHJ

[naenaex0xx]

I am so incredibly amazing at falling asleep whenever it's bed time

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

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