#thank you anon for sharing your thoughts!!

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

[lambilegs]

extremely vague and open ended request:

im in desperate need of dry humping and thigh riding with sevika… do with that what you will :)

(bonus points if it’s soft smut with a lot of praise hehe) soft sevika lives in my head rent freeeeee

soft and sleepy dry humping with sevi

♡ note to anon: HIII bae so I was sooo eepy when I got this request, and I really wanted to write some soft, sleepy sex with sevi, so I just had to do this request hehe. and thank you so so much for being so sweet about the req stuff, you're a sweetheart <3 and same omg soft!sevi has my heart ♡ contains: dry humping, sevi and reader being soft and in love, clothed sex, reader's body is referred to w the following terms: "clit," reader is called "pretty" ♡ divider by: @/kodaswrld

you whine as sevika holds you close against her in the dark of your guys' shared room, your flimsy pajama shorts drenched through as you rut desperately against her thigh. her strong arms wrap around your waist, the cool fingers of her bionic hand slithering under your shirt to scratch lightly at your skin. you shiver from the cool, smooth texture of it, the slight prick of the ends making you jerk harder in surprise.

even in the dark, you can see sevika's teeth flash at you, her sweet little gap peaking out in the row of white. god, she has such nice teeth. that thought sends you surging forward, capturing her lips in yours as you two languidly make out, the bump of her scar so uniquely her that the briefest skim of it as you shivering.

the trembles of your body cause her to tug you in closer, her hoodie plunging you into a comforting heat. a part of you melts at how even now, in the throes of pleasure, both of you heavy-eyed and hazy from sleepiness, she still manages to take care of you. she's like that, really. always showing her love in quiet, seamless ways that flow into one another like an everlasting chain of tenderness. she sees your skin covered in goosebumps, and she silently retrieves a blanket. you mention being thirsty during a walk, and she's hurrying to the nearest gas station. you mention a snack you like, and the next day, it's stocked up in your kitchen's pantry. it's the kind of affection that doesn't demand reward or to be seen. it simply exists out of nothing but care and attentive consideration.

the thoughts of how lovely your girlfriend is has you cupping her face, your tongues massaging one another's as her hand slides down to your ass, nails digging into the plush cheek of it as she grinds you forward and back along the firm, thick muscle of her thigh. the press of it against your clothed clit gives you a muffled sort of pleasure that sends your entire body squirming against hers, a soft whine flowing from your lips into hers.

"goddamn it, you're so cute," she groans against your lips, almost as though the sentiment is a personal attack on her. "you do this on purpose to get me staying up and taking care of you?"

you laugh softly, the sound shattering into a long moan when she lifts her thigh up, nudging it harder against you. "I--I-- it's not my fault you have the sleep schedule of an old man."

"hey, well," she chuckles, scattering kisses down the slope of your neck, sucking softly on the spot that dips to your shoulder, "I need to wake early to work. and I need to work so I can put my pretty baby in skimpy little shorts like this."

you shakily giggle, biting your lip so hard it aches when her hands grope your ass tightly and begin helping you ride her faster, harder. your arms loop around her strong neck, fingers toying with the ends of her silky black hair. from the tiredness wrapping around every inch of you, seeping into your skin, weighing on your eyes, and the way sevika is helping you so diligently to take your pleasure, you feel utterly softened and completely malleable.

"I love you," you whine, pressing quick, skittering kisses along her cheek.

her grip on your ass loosens, and your stomach flips at the way her grey eyes burn brightly in the dim lighting, a bit wide and imploring when searching your face. it's not your guys' first time saying it, but you know it's still a level of vulnerability she's spent years avoiding like the plague for convenience's sake. and with every stitch that gets added to the string of your guys' bond together, you can feel the veil she's held before herself stretching more and more, ready to snap completely.

she clears her throat, then gruffly murmurs, "I love you too. you know I do."

"I mean, yeah -- after all, who'd stay up until 1:00AM just to make me come when she has to be up at 6:00AM?"

she snorts, the corner of her lip quirking up. "only a damn fool."

[xxgoldie]

hi, I would like to order a bouquet for Lighter 🤭 can the focus flower be lillies, with ivy, delphinium and heather as filler flowers, in pink paper wrapping? thank you!

-🐇 anon-

goldie's gift shop : order list for : lighter lorenz // lilies + ivy + delphinium + heather + pink paper [confessions + jealousy + first kiss + idiots in love + college au] florist's note : your friend was the one who brought it up, but it made complete sense - lighter was an attractive guy who lived with a bunch of girls. one of them had to be his girlfriend, right? it was an assumption you'd been running under almost as long as you'd been friends and studdy buddies. so why was he always looking at you like that? and why was your go-to coffee order always waiting for you when you met him at the library? and WHY did the words 'i need to tell you something' just leave his mouth???

wc: 1.2k a/n: this is the fic that was giving me grief, i just love college lighter a lot and this took so much reworking to try and do him any justice notes / warnings: lighter x gn!reader, basically just fluff, reader lowkey doing some simone biles level mental gymnastics, brief mention of burnice x pulchra, no use of Y/N

"I don't want to burst your bubble, but don't get ahead of yourself. I'm pretty sure he has a girlfrienzzd. Or he's a player. Or both."

Your friend's words had, unfortunately, very much burst your bubble. You'd just gotten home from the first meet-up for a group project, for which you'd miraculously been paired with Lighter, the guy you'd been pining for across lecture theatres since you started university, and you were excited to giggle and debrief with her over the phone. And you had, telling her how he was not only hot but so nice, that you definitely thought you had a chance, until you'd sent her his Instagram handle, which you'd gotten the courage to ask for just before leaving the library, and she went quiet.

The conversation shifted to a different kind of debrief then - she told you about how she shared a few classes with a girl he lived with, Burnice, and he was always meeting her after lectures, how his house consisted of him and four girls, and every time she'd seen him around campus he was with one of them. By the end of the conversation, your high hopes were left significantly dropped. No matter what way you looked at it, the way your friend described it convinced you - whatever the situation, there was no way he was truly single. You'd accepted it as true then, and there had been no indication that anything had changed in the last few months, even as your friendship with him grew.

So just what on earth was happening to you right now?

"I need to tell you something."

Those were the words Lighter Lorenz had just said to you. The classic, default, 'I'm about to confess' line. While standing at the door to your dorm room, uncharacteristically fidgety, avoiding eye contact, and- shit, was he blushing?

This was the last thing you'd expected when he'd messaged you ten minutes ago, asking if you were busy, if he could come over. You'd expected he wanted help with the assignment due next week. Or he was bored and just wanted to hang out. Or he'd gotten into some fight and needed someone a bit more sane than his roommates to see if his cuts were serious. All of them had happened before.

A confession? No. Not on the list of possibilities. You'd long since accepted that no matter how much you liked Lighter, he was off limits. You'd yearned from a distance, lamented to your friends and your notes app that someone else was lucky enough to have him, thanked the universe that at least he was private and barely talked about the relationship so he didn't see how your jaw clenched when you thought about it, and did your best to move on with your life. It was difficult, when the two of you had a weekly standing reservation at your favourite table in the library, and he regularly joined you for movie marathons in your cramped dorm room, but you'd been making a valiant effort. Because you had to. Because he was taken.

"Look, I've been dancing around it because I really value our friendship, but it's getting to a point where I can't just push it down anymore," Lighter continued, still sheepishly avoiding meeting your gaze, unaware of the error messages flashing in your mind, the complete loop he was throwing you for, "I like you. Romantically. Like, a lot."

With a deep, shaky breath, Lighter forced his eyes to finally meet yours. He wasn't sure what look he expected to see on your face - he'd hoped for joy, had prepared for both shock and pity. But your face bore none of those - instead, you looked monumentally confused, blinking at him like he'd given the confession in gibberish.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" "What? No?"

The words had slipped out of your mouth before you could think of a better way to phrase them, but at least now he was as confused as you were. For several seconds, the two of you stood there in the doorway to your room, eyes wide, staring at each other.

Then, you processed several things at once.

One: Lighter had never, to your recollection, said anything about dating anyone. Not once. You'd been running under the assumption for months, and he'd never said anything that confirmed it.

Two: You didn't even know which one of his roommates you thought he was dating. You'd seen how friendly he was with all of them; the barrelling hugs from Burnice, the makeup he bought for Lucy, the daily gym sessions with Caesar, the way Piper fell asleep on his shoulder. And had somehow never considered he was just like that with close friends.

Three: Lighter liked you. He bought your coffee because he liked you. He made himself free whenever you wanted to see him because he liked you. He came to you first when he got injured in a fight because he liked you.

And as it all hit you, the gravity of your stupidity, all you could do was laugh. You tried to restrain it, fearing you'd think you were laughing at him and not yourself, but the pure ridiculousness left you cackling until you were out of breath, a mixture of embarassment and elation as you realised that none of your problems were even real.

You retreated back into your room, beckoning Lighter to follow you as you sat down on your bed, trying to collect yourself. He stood awkwardly just inside, door clicked shut behind him, quizzical yet fears slightly soothed by the fact you wanted him in the room. In any other situation, he'd be more than content to watch and listen as your laughter bubbled past your lips until you cried, but right now, there were slightly more... pressing matters on his mind.

"I thought you had a girlfriend," you confessed, when you calmed your amusement enough to speak, "Oh my god, I'm such an idiot. Why did I think that?"

And Lighter had to laugh as well, heart thrumming at how relieved you seemed at the information.

"Who did you even think I was dating?" he questioned, padding closer to stand by where you sat on the bed.

"That's the thing, I don't even know!" you started laughing at yourself again, lying back on the bed, "One of your roommates. I think I'd have bet on Burnice."

"No way. Even if I was interested, she literally has a girlfriend - you know Pulchra?" he sat down next to where you lay, but the last dregs of his earlier unspoken question still itched at his mind. He was pretty sure he had his answer, because now that the universe had given you permission, you were looking at him in a way that could only be described as starstruck. "So... I like you. Thoughts?"

You couldn't help but giggle again, even though your cheeks were hurting from all the laughter. Then you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down towards you, pressing his lips to yours; clumsy, both of you surprised and smiling against each other, and melting into it perfectly.

After a couple seconds, he pulled back, grinning dopily at you lying and breathing heavily under him on your bed.

"I've been wanting to do that for forever." "I'll take that as you like me too?"

And then his lips were on yours again.

[deadbeatbirdmom]

Happy Valentine's Day my fellow RWBY fans. This should be a day focused on love. Which is why I'm going to talk about something that's been troubling me for a while. This isn't about any single post, and I'm not singling anyone out. I'd put this under a read more cut but I think it's important enough not to do that. Scroll down for TLDR and a poll.

One of the common courtesies of tumblr etiquette is: don't tag hate with things like a ship tag or character tag. Or should be common, but let's face it, it's more like uncommon.

A good chunk of tumblr users who I end up blocking are those who post hate in tags like the 'Bumbleby' tag, or 'Yang Xiao Long' tag (it'd be the 'RWBY' tag too, but I don't often go there and rarely post in it). No, it's not toxic to block people, it's how you control your tumblr experience. It's how I avoid seeing hate, or try to.

But there are some tumblr users who I don't want to block but also end up putting hate in the tags: some of my fellow fans. It's not intended the same way as those who do it out of spite, but the end result is the same: your fellow fans end up seeing stuff they might prefer not to.

There's another rule, an old one that predates tumblr: don't feed the trolls. Don't give them attention. Please delete anon hate rather than answer it, although I definitely understand how trolling trolls can be fun. Just please don't tag it with the main tags or you'll do the anon's work for them if it's hate about a ship or character.

I see all too much fan art around that gets far less engagement than posts trying to fight back against hate (and unfortunately share the hate at the same time, especially when it's something from elsewhere like reddit or twitter). If you like the art, don't only hit that heart button, reblog it too!

RWBY fandom isn't dead, but we do need to do our part to encourage artists to make and share more art. Likes alone don't help the art get in front of more fans. I don't think everyone looks in the tags to find art, some will rely on those they follow reblogging art. This goes for sharing fic too! And giving fic writers comments (and kudos on AO3).

This is an appeal to keep negativity out of the main tags. I'm not saying you can't post whatever you want, just when it comes to tagging: please spare a thought for your fellow fans who are incredibly tired of negativity. If all else fails, maybe include a tag that can be added to filters? 'Wasps' for posts about Bumbleby hate, maybe?

I don't know about anyone else, but if I wanted to see hate and get angry, I'd be on twitter or reddit. I check tags here on tumblr to find fan art, and to see fellow fans talking about how much they love RWBY and its characters and ships, and find interesting theories and analysis.

I'm also not entirely sure how tumblr works with followed tags and words mentioned in posts. Do untagged posts still show up if the word appears in the post? Does that mean breaking the word with a backslash or something to avoid it showing up? I don't know, perhaps something to consider.

TLDR: please don't feed the trolls and don't tag hate with main tags. Show RWBY fan artists and fic writers some love and reblog their posts, and comment on fics!

One last thing: a poll to find out if I'm an outlier and posting hate is actually normal in this post-twitter world.

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

Thoughts about this interview with Lena Oberdorf? It has a lot of relevance to your blog I think https://www.3cat.cat/esport3/impactant-denuncia-de-voyeurisme-duna-futbolista-alemanya/noticia/3334934/

thanks for sharing, anon. i had not heard of this interview before, but you are right. she touches upon several topics that i have discussed before on my blog related to fandom.

this comment by obi stands out: "when i go on tiktok after the game, i also see a hundred edits. when i lift up my shirt to wipe off my sweat, i have five edits of it, with such sexy music...sometimes when i'm lying on the ground, i think, 'this is an unfavorable position.' we don't lie on the ground that much because we want to keep playing and that has become a problem for me." 😳

she also commented on seeing ai edits on herself and the voyeuristic nature of fandom. it's all a reminder that these are real people at the end of the day with real feelings and real rights to privacy. it's also a reminder that players see what people post about them online, and to exercise good judgment when we post about these players. 🙏

hi anon - we have spoken about this topic many times on my blog. i really am not as concerned with what first got fans into football. they may have seen a particular player and decided to follow them, and that's all okay.

but what does concern me is the second part of your ask, when fans are behaving badly towards players, and that crosses all lines of basic human decency. there's no excuse for that and that's where players should continue to speak out about it, and fans should exercise more good judgment. 🙏

[jaydick-week]

Hiii team!

I love this community, but I find it so difficult to get my works seen. Is there anything/where you suggest that I could share my fic that might help me get seen so I can engage more with jaydick fans?

Thanks, love you all! I'll be buying the next zine you put out for sure, the last one was so beautiful, and I keep it on display in my room <3

Hello! I'll break this answer down into a couple of categories.

On AO3

AO3 doesn't have an algorithm (which is a good thing), which means people have to sort through fics on their own. This means that having accurate tags, interesting titles, and strong summaries is a really good way to capture the attention of folks sorting through fics.

Of those three, strong summaries are by far the most important. A lot of people are turned off by "I suck at summaries" or "Read the tags" or even vague excerpts (though mileage may vary). Try to describe your work like it's on the back cover of a novel. This post has some good examples broken down by genre.

A lot of people may get nervous about folks only choosing to sort by hits/kudos, but in my experience, people only do this when they are new to a fandom. After they've read all the classics, most people do sort by new, so don't worry about that!

On Tumblr/Bluesky/Etc.

Just posting a link might not get that much attention on its own, even if you add some additional thoughts. Try making your own "New Work" graphic that you can edit and attach to each of your posts. An example of this can be seen here by @bitterleafs.

Other graphics ideas can include moodboards (which are very easy to make on Canva) or edits.

Post to Collections/Events

Works created for fandom events are often promoted by blogs with fairly large audiences/followings. When people make works for our events and tag us, we reblog their work to our followers, who might reblog it to theirs, and so on. This is a really easy way to reach a vast network of people you might not otherwise have access to.

(As a side note, pretty much anything can be posted for Jaydick Week, so you should join us in April!)

Joining Discord

Many discords (including the Jaydick Server - message us off-anon for an invite) have channels dedicated to sharing your work and being hyped up by other people. This is also a great way to find cheerleaders, beta readers, and more!

I hope this is helpful 💙❤️

[romirola]

I saw the fic rec you gave yesterday and thought it was really good! do you know any good fics about fred and bright eyes? if not, any good Sam and Darlin ones?

Hi, Anon! Thank so much for reaching out. I'm thrilled to hear you enjoyed the rec. It's always a lot of fun to promote my or others' stories, especially when those stories are older. The more we all share/reblog/comment/rec, the easier it is to find all the creative gems of the fandom!

It's difficult for me to pick out Bright Eyes/Fredrick material because I don't have much knowledge of the couple, so it's hard to evaluate fics that focus on them. I listened to the audios briefly before they were pulled, but didn't give them much attention. That said, I happen to know the wonderfully talented @us3rnam3-r3dact3d is a big Bright Eyes/Frederick fan, and he's written 2 fics that feature the pair. I adore his writing, and I'm sure his stories about those characters are fabulously depicted. Find them here!

As for Sam/Darling, I have written a few fics that might interest you! Mating Their Match (romcom giftfic that sees Darling ask Sam to be their mate), this chapter of post-Inversion angst, It Was the First Time (Things Felt Normal Again), a hurt/comfort prequel oneshot, or another hurt/comfort oneshot... Sam/Darling is a couple that comes up a lot when I'm soliciting prompt requests! If you are interested in longer works, I've got some Shaw Pack centric fics that featured Sam and Darling that I can always link for you, too!

For more/Sam Darling, I've also gotta take the opportunity to rec @dominimoonbeam's You Taste Like Life,

(I have additional recs for the pair, but many of these stories are rated M or E for violence, given the storyline, and I am afraid I can't link or discuss that material when you're on anon. Thank you for your understanding.)

Thanks again for the opportunity to spotlight these amazing authors, Anon!

[chocodile]

Hi ! I’ve been a massive fan through the years, seeing you develop Hyden and his world and how full of life and wonder and details is so awe inspiring and cool! I really love your work and your style is so vibrant and electric! It always makes me happy when I see your posts pass by

I wanted to ask if you had any advice about wanting to share your stories with the world. I get so anxious that no one will care and I’ll just be posting to no one. I don’t want fame , just mutual interaction or have people genuinely curious , hear about others stories and be able to tell my own

How did you start? I don’t want to assume , but you do have so much confidence and are very well spoken in the way you explain your lore, what helped you get over any fears or worries?

Gosh, thank you so much for the compliments! That's so sweet of you to say… it means a lot to me that people enjoy my stuff.

My thoughts on your other questions about sharing stories are long, rambling, and disjointed… apologies in advance for the length, I swear I tried to edit this down:

Regarding sharing stories, I'd say the most useful thing you can possibly have is to have at least one friend you share story stuff with who is totally on board with it and having fun too. I've been coming up with stories and characters my entire life, and only twice have I really had an audience for it. Every other time it was just me and my sister, or me and a couple friends, or me and my wife doing creative stuff semi-privately just for the joy of the craft.

(Of course, I know that's easier said than done… but if you do have creative friends, organizing some plans to share stories with each other, ask questions, create AUs where your OCs from different stories interact with each other, etc can be very psychologically nutritious.)

Regarding feeling anxious, I suppose I never felt much anxiety about it myself, so I'm not sure how to advise there… I was a teenager on Neopets where putting massive amounts of work into character stories that nobody might ever read was the norm… unless you were astronomically popular, it was expected that you would probably never hear from your audience and would never know how many people read your stories. Everything was primarily for your own entertainment, and I carried that approach forward into other creative works. Of course, it's hard not to feel a little self-conscious these days, when you can easily see what people are saying and see who is getting "engagement" and who is not... but I do think that aiming to entertain yourself (and perhaps one or two friends) first and foremost is the healthiest approach. Plus, if you are really invested in something and constantly producing lots of art and info about it, people tend to pick up on that positive energy.

Apologies if this isn't super useful... I know "just don't care and also happen to have a bunch of friends with very specific interests!" is not very helpful advice in itself.

I have many other thoughts on "launching" a story, how to meet other OC creators, and trying to build an audience who interacts with your characters... it's something I've thought about a lot. I can share my insights for others in this boat, if anyone's interested? I'm unsure if I should include them here since it might feel lecture-y to Anon (and also this post is long enough, PHEW). Let me know if you're interested in hearing them though!

[vladdyissues]

I always liked to share my cute Au's But I never got to the right place to say them...Sharing this anonymously I know it's cowardly...I'm a coward, one who thinks Danielle would be a nice daughter for Vlad and Danny

No mistreatment, no abuse, none of that... Just love, love from cute husbands and their spoiled little daughter who likes to braid her father Vlad's hair while eating cheese balls, Little family moments where they go to play and Dani's "ewww" sound when her parents kiss, When they snuggle up on the couch to watch a movie covered with a blanket and laugh while watching Frozen while Dani says that Olaf looks like Danny, Vlad spitting out his breakfast coffee while Danny tries to cook pancakes for breakfast while his daughter tells how she likes a boy at her school, And Vlad screaming that he knew that putting her in a public school was a terrible option, Sobbing into Danny's cute chef outfit about why he didn't grow up so fast and how he didn't want to be without a nun...Oh just walking in the park, Danny scolding his husband between kisses for spoiling his daughter so much and not giving her all his attention, and having cute moments when his daughter goes to school, Many kisses and caresses are more cloying than a cup of honey with chocolate and sugar, And how Dani jumps on his parents' bed shouting "it's daylight!" Like a child when it's already Christmas...

Yes, Pompous pep is love.

It truly is ♥

[kiisuuumii]

@kiisuuumii (A+) [for anon]

[cartoonsinthemorning]

I feel like instead of fem! Stan being kicked out, she would be forced in an arranged marriage by filbrick WAY before she's even the legal age with some rich coot since she cost the family "milions"

I think it's a better narrative than her being simply not being kicked out, since logically it still retains the same element of her literally not being apart of the family since she got kicked out, and it would have other unsavory implications aswell since marriage back in the day for girls/woman was basically handing off ownership to the woman's husband (I know this is in the 1950-60's but lets be honest, some people definitely still have that old mindset)

Ford would NOT like this, atall

I see, I see. I'm gonna be honest, I still stand by the logic of my own version, but yours? I'd love to read as a fanfic. The arranged marriage trope ALWAYS has an iron grip on my balls. AND there's so many specific things I'd love to see here- because YES I agree, Ford would NOT like at all his beloved sister getting married off to someone (else)- but what would he do? Dare to protest? and with what arguments? Or would he repress his true feelings- and, still mad at Stan- try to convince himself this is a fair punishment for her, and an opportunity for him to put a drastic, forced end to his incestuous crush- by separation? Closing the curtains of his window, but this time as Stan gets picked up by car, off to meet her new fiancé? And what about Stan? because I can't imagine her passively accepting this fate. I'm guessing this is what prompts her to run far away, from the family that betrayed- and especially Ford. EVEN IF, being hungry for angst, I'd also enjoy to bend the rules a bit, and have Stan protest at first but then, seeing even Ford- the person she loves the most- turning his back on her- feeling so depressed, discouraged, so mind broken, she tells herself maybe she will never be good for anything, anyway, so she accepts becoming someone's possession and housewife. You know, until Ford finally decides to fucking do something. But again- the possibilities are endless.

[dailyfigures]

im too coward to not do anon i want to feel special BUT new nendo boxes i think yes good bc environment friendly, but also i wish there would be a smaller window to see the nendo itself if theres a way to do that bc like everyone else we all r afraid of buying figures from places like ebay or just less trustworthy sources because of the lack of actually being able to see inside it 🥲

ah yes that is a good point, it will definitely make it harder to spot bootlegs :(

you know this reminds me of a pack of vegan cranberry vanilla cookies i bought last week. it said plastic free and i was like "plastic free? there's a clear window on the front i'm looking right at these cookies" and it had a little bubble that said "no, this is not plastic" and i was like "oh ok sorry" anyway instead of talking to a pack of cookies i should have checked what that not-plastic window was made of and gotten on the phone with the good smile company ceo. sadly i did not so the boxes will be ugly sorry guys

[greenerteacups]

Hello GT, I absolutely love Lionheart!

I published my first fic and have been dealing with some criticism; it’s not anythjng super hateful, but it’s not anything meant to make me improve either. I’ve been feeling sort of down because of it. My question is: have you ever dealt with hate or criticism before? What is your attitude towards it?

I find your work and answers on here super insightful and inspiring! I hope you have a nice day ❤️

Fuck em. Like, seriously, just fuck em. There's a time and place for writers to take critique and be strict with themselves; it's necessary for any artist to grow. That place is with a chosen group of creatives whose work you admire and whose judgment you trust. A rando on the Internet, while they may in fact be the next Marcel Proust, probably isn't. And I was raised to believe that while it's appropriate and kind to pay compliments to strangers when they're performing — just as you'd smile at a busker on the sidewalk, and or compliment a chalk artist — it's not appropriate to criticize them when what they do isn't to your tastes. They're providing you with their art for free. No one forced you to read it; no one forced you to listen. If you don't like it, it costs $0 to shut the fuck up.

Also — that thing I said about artists taking critique? That assumes that you're doing this out of a desire to improve your writing, which, while noble, is not actually a thing you need to do if you're a hobby writer. I like trying to improve; it makes me feel good. But at the end of the day, I do this for fun. I do this because in my real job, I am ruthless and self-critical and try really fucking hard to do well, and you need parts of your life that Aren't Like that. You need parts of your life where you're not worrying about whether you're Doing It Right. And living without that anxiety of critique is, paradoxically, the only way you'll find the artistic courage to take risks and develop new skills. Everyone is a little bit rough around the edges to begin with. (Not saying you're a beginner — you merely said "publish," and I certainly wrote a lot of things before I started publishing! But every artist is always trying to develop new skills and techniques; in the grand scope of things, we're all beginners.) Giving someone blunt critique when they're in the beginning phases of their journey as an artist is about as helpful as screaming at your six-year-old kid because he can't swim the butterfly.

And the thing is, these people will bluster and say "well, I'm just being honest, I'm just trying to be helpful," but like: mmmmmmno, you're not! You're not. And it's disingenuous to say so. Because if you were actually trying to be helpful, you would introduce yourself, offer your skills as an editor/beta reader, and start building the relationship of trust that grounds any meaningful co-creative partnership. People do not just accept random critique that comes flying at them from the blue nowhere. And issuing it in that form is the best way to make them hostile, defensive, and unreceptive to it. Delivering harsh feedback without a context of care and support is almost sure to fail as a method of actually changing behavior, and either (1) you know that, and are doing it anyway — presumably because you want people to know how Terribly Clever and Better At Writing you are, or (2) you sincerely have never thought about the effect that context and word choice have on how other people receive your meaning.

Which tells me you are the last fucking person on the planet I want writing advice from.

[llondonfog]

<3 I'm so happy I can add to the anguish. I thought of it while staring at the ceiling too avoid studying for finals. I think Malleus would have like. Not actually resin but the like tiktok videos of black resin and color glitter flakes. I want those bad boys to shimmer when he turns. Almost as if his on the verge of crying at all times. But he's not. Because they are buttons. :D

OOOOOO ok ok i have done some research five second google images what are we thinking about these for mal (i'm torn between black vs emerald):

these for silver: (mother of pearl but then i was thinking, he should have some really pretty designs on them, something soft and floral)

and these for our wretched "other father" lilia??

[yuujiheart]

I want both Yuuji and sukuna to live! Either by both reincarnating together or sukuna inside yuji learning about love

Anon, after seeing the countdown mv that was released today and reading 265 after nth time. I have realized I want the same thing you are saying... Since that kenny calling them the reason of curses cycle panel I have always believed that yuji will die with him as he's the only one who can truly destroy sukuna's fingers..So i thought it's fine, I don't mind as long as they are together but I was wrong. I do mind.. (Of course it was my way of coping )

That mv about yuji remembering his grandpa's last words made me really emotional because it's like them insinuating the idea that yuji will be the one to die and officials doing that hits different... but what if sukuna returns to yuji's body chaining himself to him as punishment and both of them living and then dying together after yuji grows old..like you suggested ,considering gojo has already killed higherups so no one will go for yuji's execution... Although this also means the cycle will not end at all and honestly this is what I was expecting because kenny wasn't worried about the merger at all when he died so i thought merger has to happen but now I am not sure as manga is ending...

But now I really want sukuna and yuji to live together . Especially sukuna because I realised that its only with yuji he has experienced what it's like to have a connection, to understand others, emotions that he probably has never experienced like a normal person... Unlike others yuji is the only one who has acknowledged and treated him for who he really is. With others sukuna is very much in control of his emotions but with yuji they are all over. We can sense familiarity between them..Showing sides to each other only they know of. Except yuji no one will treat him like this..

So i hope sukuna gets the opportunity to experience this for a long time. I don't feel good thinking that after being lonely for so long he only gets to experience such emotions only for a short time. As I strongly believe he has never been admired/ loved for anything else except his strength. After all both kenny and gojo died satisfied so i think sukuna deserves too..

Although you cannot trust that cat to not give a bittersweet ending so even if they are to die together I still hope that sukuna does learn love and accepts yuji as the one who satisfies him. And at least in death they both wouldn't be alone or reincarnate together as their souls are connected.. So it's also possible.

[lurkiestvoid]

PSA bc I've seen it more than a couple times now with an alarming amount of success: DO NOT "SIGN UP" FOR ANY PROTESTS. EVER. YOU LITERALLY JUST SHOW UP there is NEVER ANY REASON to give anyone your PERSONAL INFORMATION FOR THIS. and you should NEVER "SIGN UP" TO "SHOW INTEREST" IN ANY "ACTION" THAT HASN'T EVEN BEEN PLANNED YET oh my god