#... and ignore that the canvas is flipped. don't worry about it.

[danmeichael]

a femboy, a disgraced emperor, and a second grader with a 401k walk into a bar…?

i finally got their vtuber designs in a place i like! txj after eons of struggle has granted me mercy.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I love your writing and have a request

14.. "What are you doing here? It's so late."

Something about Quinn getting hurt at a game and reader comes over afterwards to see how he is doing without telling him she would come. Because she’s worried about him. Something cute and heartwarming:)

You're so sweet, babe. Again, I hope this is to your standards. 🩷

CW | blood and injury descriptions, mild adult content

The hit had been severe. 

The amount of blood that dotted the ice looked like scarlet paint across a virgin canvas. You had wanted to go to that game, but a migraine had kept you at home in bed for most of the day. Watching the high-sticking on TV had been just as hard to handle as you could imagine seeing it in person would have been. The replay made you gasp each time you were forced to rewatch it, and seeing Quinn laid out on the ice like he was made your stomach tighten. 

He looked so little while the cameras captured him trying to realize what had happened in real-time. The way the blood dripped from his mouth and covered his bare fingertips was frightening. Finally, he got to his feet and held the hem of his jersey to his mouth as he skated off the ice and disappeared down the tunnel. It had happened so fast. 

Your heart raced the entire time he was gone, mind wondering what he was feeling. You had no memory of the first period or what had happened after the hit until Quinn returned wearing the bubble. It was hard to see how bad everything really was through the face shield, but it was obvious he had a series of stitches. The first goal --his goal-- was textbook Quinn, and it was stunning. However, it wouldn't be enough.

You had fallen asleep after the second intermission, still exhausted after fighting such a terrible headache all day. There were a series of messages from Quinn when you'd awake, and it would be late by the time you saw them.

Quinn: I'm okay, babe. In case you saw what happened. No need to worry, okay? (10:42pm)

Quinn: I love you. Hope you're alright. I haven't heard from you much today. (10:58pm)

Quinn: Maybe you fell asleep. If so, good night. I love you. I'll talk to you in the morning. (11:07pm) 

It made you feel terrible, like you had ignored him when he was dealing with so much. You wouldn't text him. Instead, you'd throw on some sneakers and your coat and leave your house in a hurry, wearing your pajamas. How could you have fallen asleep? This was one of the worst injuries you'd see him inflicted with and you felt like you had completely disregarded him. It would be a quarter to midnight before you arrived at his apartment door. 

Hoping he'd hear your knocking, you had to keep it fairly quiet so to not scare him or wake the other neighbors on the floor. 

"Come on, Quinny. Please don't be asleep yet," you whispered under your breath. 

After a few more raps on the door, you'd hear the lock flip on the other side. When Quinn opened the door, the sight of his face shocked you. His upper lip was swollen and faint bruising could be seen beneath his facial hair. 

"What are you doing here? It's so late?" He asked, though talking seemed to be difficult for him. His words came off as rude, but you hoped it was just because he hadn't expected you. 

"I'm sorry, honey! I was asleep when your messages came in. I've had a migraine all day, and it's screwed everything up. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You didn't have to do that. It's too late for you to be driving, especially if you have a migraine, but it's alright, come in." He opened the door wider, letting you slip past him into the apartment. "How are you feeling?"

Removing your coat, you turned back towards him, "I was about to ask you the same thing. I saw the game, well, some of it." 

Quinn sighed, running a hand through his freshly-washed hair, "I've been better."

"Am I...bothering you?" You asked, unsure of how to read his mood at the moment, but getting cues that he wasn't happy for the company. 

His expression changed slightly, "Sorry, no, you're fine. I'm tired, my face hurts, and I'm just-- down."

Without another word, you walked the few steps back to him and embraced him in a loving hug. Quinn melted into your arms almost instantly, the weight of all of his troubles being dropped on you, but you didn't mind. He stayed so strong through much more than any person should have to carry. 

"Can I do anything for you?" You asked, your head laying against his as you both stayed standing by the door. 

"This..for just a little longer?"

Smiling, you would oblige his request until he finally decided to break it. Quinn's hugs were the best: they were tight, warm, and always left you wanting them to never end. 

"You're staying the night, aren't you?" He asked, still staying close to you.

"If you want me to," you said, holding his injured face between your hands. 

"Always."

"Okay, baby, to bed then." You placed a kiss to his cheek, careful to avoid his swollen upper lip. It looked so painful; your heart ached for him. Quinn was the sweetest guy, so humble, and a clean player on the ice. You found it unfair that such things happened to him, but you'd remind yourself that that was just the nature of the sport. This had been an accident --you guessed-- still it pissed you off that it had been so bad. 

"Are you off tomorrow?" He mumbled as the two of you got into the bedroom. The light was off, but you had been there plenty of enough times to get around without it. 

"Yeah," you answered, crawling into the bed before Quinn. "Why?"

"I just wanted to know if you could sleep in with me." His voice sounded so small, likely a product of the constant conversation aggravating the injury. 

"Always," you replied like he had moments ago. Laying on your back, you'd wait for him to find you in the bed. Whenever he was down, it was a given that he would want some gentle cuddles to help him get to sleep, and tonight it was proving no different. 

"I'm not too much, am I?" He asked, his hand slipping beneath your shirt. 

"You could never be too much, Quinn." 

He wanted to smile, but he would restrain himself. Being right up against you, he'd give hints that you were right where he wanted you to be. His fingers would dance slowly over your skin, his thumb rolling over your right nipple so softly. You'd bite your lip in response to the sensation as your fingers got lost in his hair. Quinn was very skilled with his hands, but this wasn't one of those moments; he just wanted you to know he loved you, that he appreciated you. How dare he be injured, or this evening could have gone a very different direction. 

"Good night, babe," he whispered, hand finally coming to rest against your ribcage. "I love you. Thanks for coming over."

"I love you, Quinn. Sleep well."

"I always sleep well with you beside me."

[noellevanious]

My art tips:

Just draw shit. Doesn't matter if u think ur bad or it'll come out bad. Ignore your brain and just. Put the pen to paper. Even if it does look bad any experience is good experience

Proportions/perspective/etc don't matter as long as ur image conveys what u want to

Don't worry about flipping your canvas unless you're literally like. Going out of ur mind trying 2 keep the image balanced. The tilt given by your certain way of drawing/doing art is part of the art, and also nobody's gonna look at ur art in a mirror and go "well that looks like shit. I hope the artist dies" (honestly I really dislike this trend of 'you have to flip ur canvas' it's just giving otherwise good artists unnecessary anxiety)

Find ur favorite brush or method of making art. OK?