#trying out some new techniques with this one

[arachnidseyesmoved]

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

YOU AND ME

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

A/N: Previous. Next. Damian and reader go on a date!!! That's all that happens, I swear! w.c: 1.8k

You bow with the rest of the performers on stage as the crowd gives one last show of appreciation. When the curtains fall, you very stealthily scamper towards the dressing rooms, not before catching the sly wink Zatanna throws your way.

Maybe you weren’t being that stealthy.

The door to your dressing room clicks shut and you eye yourself in the vanity mirror, only then realising how nervous the girl in the mirror looks. There’s a lot that can go wrong today and a lot you really want to go right. You fix yourself with a look of determination.

With a little twirl and a poof of smoke, your magicians outfit is swapped with the outfit you spent a rather embarrassing amount of time picking out. Before you can fuss anymore over your reflection, there’s a knock on the door.

That was fast, at least you’re not the only eager one. You take a quick, deep breath before opening the door.

Damian Wayne stands in the doorway, he takes you in while you take him in. He’s dressed much less fancy than the last time you saw him, bomber jacket with a simple but probably unnecessarily expensive t-shirt and loose jeans.

“Are you ready?” You ask, unable to fully hide your excitement. You see just the smidgen of a smile on his face as he answers rather seriously,

“I’m always ready for anything.”

“Ooh, Don’t challenge me, Wayne.”

You pull him into the room and shut the door. After knocking three times on said door, you give him a grin.

“You let me plan this whole thing, remember.”

You open the door and step through into an entirely different place. Damian’s sneakers touch cobblestone road and he squints in the sudden sunlight. He thinks he knows already, given the wide bustling streets and the architecture of the buildings around him, but he asks anyway,

“Where are we?”

You’re all too happy to tell him, winding an arm around his and leading him in a seemingly random direction.

“Turin, Italy. I did a mission here a while ago. That’s what we’re going to see first by the way, some good old spooky occult shit, this city has tons of it.”

He lets you drag him to several such occult sights. He listens while you yap about the differences between demonic and non-demonic cathedrals, how to know if a crypt is cursed and which ghost sightings are obviously real and which are fake. He does it all with an attentive mind, almost like he’s reading a book he really likes and he's trying to burn it into his mind.

Once you're done showing him all the "cool shit", you proudly announce that you also planned some things he'd actually enjoy. He keeps the fact that he was enjoying himself the entire time to himself.

You take him to an art gallery, an archaeological museum and a natural history museum. You listen to him yap all about unconventional painting techniques, which period had the best samurai swords and which fun facts about prehistoric animals are actually true and which are completely wrong. You listen with the ear of someone who’s hearing their new favourite song for the first time.

─⋅⋆⁺.

“I get that, but when a magician asks you for your favourite animal and you say "Anaconda." You should at least be a little ready for her to pull out an anaconda! He almost soiled himself on stage!”

Damian huffs a laugh, easing back against the bench you two found that completely coincidentally (as far as he knows) has a perfect view of the sunset. You sit in easy silence, sharing a cup of caramel ice-cream. He looks more at ease than you’ve ever seen him before and an embarrassing amount of pride blooms in your chest at how well your date turned out to be.

You stare ahead at the horizon and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are, the thought sparks a bit of unease. Realising you haven’t said something stupid or irritating in a while, you decide now would be a good time to break the fast.

“Do you think the sunset will be this pretty on our wedding day?”

His lips nudge downwards, not quite a grimace but he eyes your smug grin with much annoyance. He sighs and takes another scoop of ice-cream with his little wooden spoon before saying,

“I hope so.”

The teasing grin disappears from your face, and all you can do is gaze ahead blankly. That’s not what he was supposed to say.

You clear your throat and take a bigger than necessary bite of ice-cream, racking your brain for what the hell to say next. After a few minutes you try again, teasing tone more forced than before.

“Do you think Alfred would walk me down the aisle?”

He doesn’t look at you this time, he just stares ahead at the pinkish-orange sky.

“I'm sure he would if you asked. So would my father. He would be glad that at least one of his sons can commit.”

You look ahead too, wishing you could see the view through his eyes instead.

“I'm sure he'd be proud.”

Damian doesn’t have to ask who you’re thinking about when you say that, so he doesn't.

“Would you invite…her?”

He tilts his head up, genuinely thinking through how that would play out despite how ridiculous this complete hypothetical is.

“I don’t know. I’d want to.”

You nod in understanding. Some things are just too complicated to work out in the end. A twinge of sadness settles before you feel the impulsive urge to turn to a lighter topic.

“Titus would make the perfect flower boy.”

He lets a smile slip onto his face, finally looking back at you. The sun leaves little specs of gold in his eyes and you find yourself openly staring (unbeknownst that he’s making the exact same observation). He takes the cup from your hands and places it beside you on the bench. Taking your hand in his, he leans closer and kisses you gently.

His other hand gently holds your cheek. When you part, he stays close. It feels just like those stupid cheesy movies, like a pretentious romance novel, like a sappy love song. But it feels good, good enough that you hold off on the snarky comment for just a few seconds more.

“You know you’d have to make Jon the best man, right?”

Damian groans, pulling back and closing his eyes, acting as if that's actually something he'll have to do. You laugh and lay your head on his shoulder.

“C’mon, He’d be devastated if you didn’t.”

Damian puts his arm around you, keeping you close.

“Maybe I’ll just lie and tell him Arab weddings don’t have a best man.”

You let out a snort,

“Good luck with that.”

You stay like that until the sun sinks behind the distant mountains, replaced by the orange glow of street lamps. Eventually, you stand from the bench, clearing your throat a bit.

“I know I’ve kept you all day, but do you want to grab dinner?”

He stands from the bench as well, throwing away the little ice-cream cup before casually lacing your hands together.

“Anything for my future wife.”

Your heart almost stops. Your brain stammers and so do your words.

“Don’t- Don’t say that.”

“Say what, beloved?”

He asks, looking down at you with a smirk. You very much do not like being on the other side of this dynamic at all. And you know he knows that, he might just be able to feel the heat from your face!

“Stop that-”

Before you can finish, the world stops, literally. Everything slows to a halt. Crickets stop chirping, the breeze stops blowing, all commotion on the street is silenced. Even Damian is suspended in animation just like everything else. Everything except you and-

You’re looking around already, knowing exactly what this is. He used to do this when you were being belligerent on missions. He'd just stop the entire world to yell at you for being a dumb kid, even if he could only do it for a few precious seconds. Nothing for months and he picks now?

You slide your hand out of Damian’s and step closer to where you can see the yellow portal forming.

“You really have bad fucking timing.”

“Language.”

John Constantine steps out of the portal, hands in the pockets of his coat, cigarette in his mouth.

“I need yer help.”

You couldn’t stop the eyeroll if you tried.

“Obviously.”

Why the hell else would he be here. He sighs and takes in his surroundings, looking anywhere but you.

“What are ya even doing here, sight seeing?”

You step back towards Damian and grab his hand, bringing him out of the time freeze. He looks around, taking in the situation with shocking calmness, his expression turns to understanding when he sees John.

“I'm on a date.”

John looks to you, then at Damian, then back to you. It takes him a minute to understand who Damian is and what that means. The cigarette falls out of his mouth as he sputters like an idiot.

“Yer fucking with me.”

“Language.”

He regains some composure when he notices the way you’re looking at him. As if he just remembered how you two left things. That you might actually not want to see him.

“Look, Love, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't an end of the world kind of thing.”

You feel Damian squeeze your hand a little, a reassuring act, an act of trust. There’s a deep understanding between you but with that comes a lot left unsaid. Left in the grey space of "We both understand this so there’s no need to discuss it really.” or is it that you want to talk about it but don’t know how. Being exceptionally gifted kids with exceptional, world-saving parents and bucket loads of trauma isn't something you just bring up casually.

But Damian understands obligation and responsibility. The need to do what’s necessary.

“Fine.”

John sighs, like he actually thought you wouldn’t say yes for a second. The thought brings you more spiteful pride than you’d like to admit.

“Come along then.”

He simply states, before disappearing into his little portal leaving it open for you to follow. Everything slowly returns to normal pace again, the bustle of the street returns as pedestrians keep on like nothing happened. Lucky bastards.

“I’ll call you…when I’m done.”

He nods his head. He’s taking this very well and you’re not sure how to feel about it. He's trying to be understanding, probably because he knows you'd do the exact same thing for him. You barely have to talk about why you have to go, what you have to do… but that doesn't mean you don't want to.

"Don't make me stitch you up again."

He brings you into a hug. You think briefly on how awkward a hug from Damian would have been just a month ago. The thought makes you smile as you burrow your face in his warm neck, breathing in his distinct scent. You open a magic door for him,

“This’ll take you home. To the manor.”

With that you give him one last long look before following your dad into his portal, going who knows where to face who knows what.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

[blueweaver1]

Jeez Soundwave, you get to be a telapath and see into the multi universe?!?

Honestly this au idea came from the joke post about Cybertron x Soundwave i made. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.

---

So basically in this universe there's a bot chosen to be the planet's Sparkbond. These bots are regularly changed out and retirer because it put a lot of pressure of their sparks. (This is propaganda, most of them actually go insane and then die soon after. Cybertron is not purposefully doing this, it's a giant cosmic entity that doesn't truly understand the small ones).

Cybertron is able to see into the Multi Verse and is trying to direct it's inhabitants into a future that avoids the worst the Revolution/ Civil War that's coming. However, while it holds back giving it's sparkbond everything, it often still overwhelms them.

Soundwave was never chosen to be the planet's Sparkbond. He had be sent by Senator Ratbat to assassinate the bot that been chosen to be the new Sparkbond. While trying to carry out his orders Soundwave was chosen by Cybertron. The overload of different lives and painful and disorienting, however the sensation wasn't new. It was very similar to how his life was before being able to control his telepathy. Using similar techniques to controlling his telepathy he's able to center himself. He is still has to be careful not to overload his processor, but compared to many Sparkbonds before him he's in a much better place.

Now he just need to figure out to end?curb?redirect? the seemly unavoidable war. Act crazy enough that the Senate stays off his back, but still be able to do things. Kill his old boss. And get the two idiots, that the wars always seem to center around, to actually talk before 4 millions of baggage happens. Maybe do some self reflecting, but only if he has time.

How hard can it be? 🙄

[tawghasa]

I endorse all of this.

I had to change careers in my early 30s (grant-gunded research scientist + four years of no grants in my speciality = redundancy with no hiring opportunities). Here are a few things I learned from that journey:

Consider doing the same job for a different employer. I spent 5 years working for a lab that, in retrospect, had a really terrible workplace culture. I got a position in another lab in the same institute, and the experience was a LOT better.

(It was still rough at times, due to the bullshit I had internalised clashing with similar bullshit my lab supervisor had internalised. But I cried in the bathrooms WAY less.)

There can be a LOT of jobs that are tangentially related to your current job, that no one in your current job is really aware of. Or if they are aware, they overestimate the barriers to getting there.

(E.g., I moved from medical research into intellectual property. I assumed that you would need some kind of legal background for that... But nope!)

On a related note, be sceptical of any career advice you get from people at your hell-job. If they haven't gotten out themselves, they are sharing conjecture, not facts.

Most people have bad resumes and weak cover letters/responses to selection criteria. I highly recommend checking out Askamanager.org, in particular this masterpost of advice for resumes and cover letters. Alison also has a guide for preparing for job interviews that I've used with success (it's free when you sign-up to her mailing list. I think I've gotten maybe two e-mails in the six years since I signed up to get the free pdf).

Being older can be a benefit in the workplace. Some recent hires at my job are in their 50s, and were REALLY surprised they made the cut... But they both have so much experience under their belts, they're very familiar with the norms of a 9-to-5 job, etc. (They're also less likely to look for another job before they retire than younger hires.)

Also, you just know more stuff. You have more experience in having a job, talking to people, doing things. You have more years under your belt of troubleshooting, finding easier workflows, cleaning up messes.

E.g., I hated my time in retail but I know a LOT about how to talk to people: how to give someone bad news without them yelling at me, how to tell them they stuffed up without them yelling at me, how to tell them I stuffed up without them yelling at me...

I have an excellent phone manner and a "customer-centric commitment to issue resolution" which has been a huge asset in both of my post-retail careers - but neither of those jobs had any kind of intentional training/mentoring in those areas! Those are skills I developed in THE shittiest supermarket in South Australia while developing bone damage in my feet because I was standing for 10 hours a day.

A few other bits of advice:

It's hard to be productive outside of work when you work a terrible job that is corroding your soul. It's hard to write a good resume/apply to further education/whatever when you hate your job and you're exhausted and everything is pointless. Don't beat yourself up if it takes longer than you'd like to get anything done.

Make things easier for yourself by asking for/accepting help. Use the Ask A Manager resources, ask friends and family (ideally ones who have jobs they like) to help you with your job search and your application materials.

(Are we mutuals? Do you want some help with a resume? Send me a DM. I can also hop on a Discord call and chat with you about interview prep and technique.)

Try to start prepping now, BEFORE the dream opportunity crosses your path. It's easier to have an up-to-date master resume that you can tailor to the role, than to scramble to pull one together the night applications close.

Reddit can actually be really helpful. There are subreddits for a lot of careers/industries, with posts every few months asking how to either break in or get out. They can also be a good place to ask what the day-to-day is like in a career you're thinking of switching to, which can help you identify any skills you already have that would be an asset/consider whether you'd enjoy the reality of the job. Keep in mind that it's all subjective, and no two people's experiences will be the same.

If you've read this far, try to find time to update your resume this weekend. Even if you like your current job. (That's usually the best time to look at other jobs - you're not desperate, so you're in a strong position to negotiate any offers.) Because if you've read this far through a thread about changing jobs/careers, you're probably interested on some level in doing the thing.

I’m thinking of doing a complete career switch- or at the very least, making an attempt to start it- and the idea is frightening for so many reasons- money, feeling like I’m behind, insecurity, family- but then i think of just sticking to the path I’m on and it sends me into a crying fit so. I think I’m going to have to be brave

Be brave! I changed industries at age 41 and it was so good for both my career and mental health.

It sounds silly to have to outright say, but if the thought of going to your current job makes you cry every day, it is time to LEAVE. You are not the first person I have had to give this advice to this week. The longer you stay in a dead-end job, the more your skills will rust and the inertia will drag you down.

It feels frightening, but you can get through the imposter syndrome by becoming a thorough note taker (assuming you are white collar, but a lot of this also applies to blue):

Capture every conversation you have

Immediately distill meetings and emails into to-do lists

Review your to-dos daily

Most importantly: write down your accomplishments, no matter how small, at the end of every week

Notes by hand helped me so much, and my little treat to keep going was to begin a fresh mini-notebook every 2 weeks, which I could decorate with ink stamps and washing tape. I used a different color gel pen every day, too. My notebooks were fun and super helpful with keeping me organized.

You will catch up soon enough. It sucks to be an older person in a junior role, but you will be more mature and hopefully adept at handling work drama. I hit senior at age 47 after doing my time, and now I'm pretty indistinguishable from the folks who beat me here.

People aren't meant to do the same thing for all their lives, if it means sacrificing other opportunities. It's ok to say goodbye to a career or hobby or whatever else, to make room for something new. Don't feel guilty sampling from life. Specialization is for insects.

[junkiepunkie]

The kissing thing - Jegulus

Regulus hadn't meant for Remus to find out about his thing for James, but after a horribly awkward incident during one of their study groups when James had shown up and helped with a few charms questions (not that Regulus needed help, it was all a ploy), he had been caught staring, and Remus would not let it go.

"Is it because he did that thing? Because if it's that, I've got to warn you-"

"Thing?" Regulus asked.

He braced himself for some horrid news about death and ruin and straightness, all of the terrible things he hoped James would never face, but Remus' answer was somehow worse than all of that.

"Oh. You don't know about the kiss thing yet do you?"

"the kiss thing?"

Now Regulus was panicking, and Remus could see it, he shut both their books over in the hushed air of the library at midnight and looked into the younger boys eyes.

"Reg, don't panic, but James, well... James is convinced soulmates are a thing and, god this is awkward, the way James thinks you find your soulmate... is by kissing them."

Regulus nodded slowly. Okay that wasn't that bad, kind of sweet actually-

"And so far, he's 'tested' about seventy people."

"SEVENTY PEOPLE?!?!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days had passed since the day he had found out James' soulmate 'thing' and Regulus had felt perpetually sick ever since. Remus had explained it in part, James had heard him and Sirius discussing the magic of their first kiss, and the idea had come to him that that was the way to be certain who he was meant to be with. It's not that Regulus cared what people did in their own free time with their own bodies, but merlin, the thought of James with anyone else made him want to die on the spot. Of course, now that he could barely look at him James was desperate for his attention.

At breakfast, he had greeted James with a nod from across the hall only for James to get up and eat at the slytherin table, much to the horror of Sirius and Peter and the absolute knowing glee of Remus. James had bullshitted an excuse of course, something about getting to know the enemy quidditch team's techniques and ways to prank Snape, both things he could have just bribed Barty for information on (Barty was famously easy) and yet he only talked to Reg, leaving the poor boy shaking like a leaf.

In Potions too -Regulus had been moved up a year for his excellence- James seemed to flock to him in every single moment of silence and, much to Regulus' horror, stood close enough to smell. The broom polish and pine scent both made his heart pound and his flipping stomach settle, and when James' hair ever so slightly grazed Regulus' arm when he ducked to pick up his dropped quill, the younger boy had almost simply collapsed entirely.

It was the after dinner walk that had tipped Regulus over the edge. There he was, just trying to enjoy a brisk walk in chill of the early winter, when he had been accosted with a cloak, thrown over his entire being with such speed that for a moment he was back in the family residence being shoved backwards into the cloakroom and locked in for the day in the blackest of black without so much as a candle. The scream that left his mouth at the memory was instinctive.

"Reg! Reg?!" The cloak was hurled away from him to reveal a horrified James Potter. "Hey, Reg I'm so sorry. I've got you, you're safe, I've got you."

Regulus was crying and he knew it. It had been just long enough that he had managed to drive off the memories of home for the school year, but he couldn't stop his most primal of reactions to the thought of reliving the torture. Still, seeing James and his big hazel eyes did help ground him. Certainly, he wouldn't have stopped crying nearly as soon without said eyes boring into his own.

James waited until Regulus' gasps of air and heaving sobs turned into sniffing and wiping stray tears and then softly lowered them both to the ground. They were just ten feet from the shallowest point of the black lake now, a nice view all things considered.

"I'm sorry." Regulus managed to croak out, still wiping his wet face.

James doe eyes widened somehow in response.

"You're sorry? Reg, I scared the light out of you because I thought you looked cold. I should be the sorry one."

This brought a smile to Regulus' face.

"You threw a cloak over me because you thought I was chilly?"

James grinned. "Can't have you getting sick now can I? Without you my potions grades would... well actually they'd be better."

A slither of Regulus' pride had returned by now, so he took this for an insult.

"Excuse me? I'm the best in the class!" he insisted.

James laughed gently.

"Yeah, you are." he stated "But every time I look at you I forget where I am and I can't get the work done."

Everything in Regulus' mind stopped working for a second. What? James had been looking at him? James LIKED looking at him? Oh dear lord, James was distracted by him.

"Now come on, I'm hardly that interesting."

James rolled his eyes.

"Are you kidding? Reg, you might be the most interesting person in the world. You're so kind, but you don't let people see it, you're so beautiful but you hide behind your fancy robes, you're- You cry over cloaks which is SO interesting because who in the world does that-"

Regulus didn't want to cut him off, he never wanted James to shut up in the slightest, but he had to do it, he had to ask, lest his heart explode and his lips lay unused.

"Are you going to test me or what?"

James stopped his rambling and shot Regulus a look of confusion.

"Test?"

Regulus smirked.

"You know, that thing you do, kiss people to test if there's a chance they're the one."

James just stared at him and slowly but surely Regulus began to panic again. Had Remus lied to him? Was James really flat out not even curious if he was the one? Was he that unappealing??

As if James could hear the thought spiral he grabbed Regulus' hand and placed it over his chest, over his heart.

"Reg, first of all I don't know who told you about that test but that was definately a secret I was meant to die with."

"Remus" Regulus whispered, in awe of where his hand was.

James smiled at the dazed look on the boys face.

"Of course it was." He sighed. "But Reg, I have done that in a year, and that's because I don't need to anymore. Can you feel that?"

Regulus looked away from James' face -flushed and perfect as always- and down to his hand. He could, indeed, feel it. James' heart was working overtime, pounding like it was trying to escape his ribcage. It sounded a lot like Regulus' own heart did in his ear drums.

"That's the sign, not a kiss like I thought it was for Moony and Padfood, just this." He explained. "Every time I'm around you my chest aches for you. I just- well, Reg I need you. I need you so much i'm going insane. You haven't looked me in the eye until now for three days! Reg I've been going crazy thinking I'm losing you! Which is stupid I know because I haven't even got you in the first pla-"

Regulus grabbed James' shirt with the hand that had been placed there, and yanked the boy forward, connecting their lips with a desperate surge of energy and passion.

James melted into the kiss, his hands finding their respective paths like they had been training for this moment all their lives, one folding into Regulus' hair and the other grasping his waist. Regulus too unfurled, both his hands gripping onto whichever part of James they could as their lips slotted and their spit mixed and Regulus was sure James could taste the salt left by his tears.

When they separated they were red and panting, and James looked high on the taste of Reg.

"I love you." The older boy confessed, his lips plump and freshly familiar.

Regulus smiled the toothy way he had tried to hide from everyone for years.

"I love you too." he breathed and pulled James in for another kiss, this one quicker but just as electric as the last. "Don't ever do that test with anyone ever again. You're mine."

James bit his lip.

"No need to search around, I've found you now."

[shedelulululu]

omg 33!!!

33. things you said from across the room (full list here)

light smut | M | mel is a bit tipsy! | 2.1k also on ao3

Mel liked to party. Unfortunately life had other plans for her. Halfway through undergrad she lost both her parents in a matter of 6 months, unrelated causes. Overnight she became a Real Adult, she had a sister to take care of, bills to pay, tests to study for.

She didn’t resent Becca for the invites rejected, and rejected, until they just stopped coming. She could never feel that way towards her. But, she still felt like she was missing out — on friends, potential boyfriends or situationships, beer pong tournaments, getting high and watching Nathan For You surrounded by giggling friends. She wished she got more sleep, that she ate better, that she had more room to try things — more room to make mistakes. It’s not the life she dreamed of — would anyone dream of losing their parents? — but it’s still good, she’s grateful despite it all, because Becca is her best friend, and how could she not feel full when she makes her happy.

So when Becca gets invited to a sleepover with one of her new friends at the centre, Mel jumps at the chance to say yes.

“Are you free Saturday night?” Santos flicks her head to Mel who approached her left. An open mouthed smile pulling at her lips.

“Why Melodrama? You finally ready to switch teams and admit the big fat crush you have on me?”

An aggressively fond smile forces itself on Mel, powerless to suppress it. “I do have a healthy respect of your girlfriend” — “ you mean fear” — “and I’m quite happy with my ‘team’ thank you.”

Santos gave her a disbelieving look, questioning the mere notion that any straight woman is happy with her options. She shot back one of her unimpressed frowns.

“Ugh you’re no fun…just one kiss?” the frown deepens “yes I’m free, you need help moving or something? I’m great with a u-haul” she shoots finger guns in what Mel has decided in some sort of disarming technique.

“No… Becca has a sleepover —” Santos eyes light up, unable to resist interrupting.

“Did you give her the Talk?”

“It’s not that kind of sleepover—” Mel implores.

“I’m just saying she’s an adult too and she’s not disinterested, you’ve seen her romance novel collection”

Mel blinks a couple times “you really think…? I guess it couldn’t hurt to refresh.” She shakes her head, refocusing the conversation to her initial plan “I’d like to take you up on your offer to go out. I’m inviting Samira and Langdon — no complaints.” A beat “invite whoever you want, just not the new med students, I don’t think they like me.”

Santos salutes her with a puzzled look “Aye Aye King!”

Mel glances at the board, thankful Dana is not at the central hub or else she’d realize was Mel was not actually finding a patient to pick up. She was calculating, given a set of symptoms, the time admitted, the nurse on the case, she could figure out with near certainty which room Langdon was in at any given moment.

Central 11. Kid with a rash.

She stands just outside, pretends to review a chart but the screen was off.

He emerges from the room, med student in tow, going over the differential diagnosis. He notices Mel as they’re discussing the treatment plans. He flashes her a smile. Quickly schooling his face, he gives instructions to the med student, sending them on their way. She should really learn their names.

“Need something, Mel?” he asks, leaning against the wall, “got an interesting case?”

Seeing the light in his eye as he imagines what kind of complicated case would have her seeking his advice as a PGY3, almost makes her feel bad that she she has nothing of the sort to offer.

“I do have a request, but it’s not work related”

His brow furrows “is it something with Becca?”

“Yes!” she replies on instinct “oh but not like that” she cringes a bit “Trinity found out Becca has a sleepover on Saturday—”

“Did you give her the talk?” he waggles his eyebrows, gleeful at the idea of Becca doing something about her myriad of Centre crushes.

“Why does everyo— I have Becca handled, thank you. As I was saying, she forced me into agreeing to go out with her and I’d really appreciate the back up.” She gives him a small smile, looking up at him through her lashes — Samira had told her that he wouldn’t be able to say no to her if she gave him this look.

He runs a hand down his face, an aggrieved sigh escaping his lips “yeah Mel, I got your back.”

She beams up at him, “I’ll text you the details!” She rushes away to catch up on patients before Robby catches on to her lacklustre performance today and starts asking questions.

Mel loves the music. She loves that it is dark. And she loves the way she feels after 2 gin and tonics and 1.5 tequila shots.

Parts of her mind feel quiet for once. The voice telling her that bodies jostling around her burned like a brand, instead feel comforted by the union of a crowd brought together to dance as individuals, all together. Which is perhaps a generous description for what was occurring in a club, on a random Saturday, in Pittsburgh — but she felt good, and a little romantic about life.

She really missed this.

Well, not this part.

Mel invited Langdon for a reason, between a little liquid courage on her part, and an aspirationally enticing outfit — Samira helped her get dressed, she selected a white a-line mini skirt with two small slits over her thighs, and a powder blue one shoulder crop top — surely one of them would finally crack. Mel is tired of them dancing around each other, every day at work, most days off work, for nearly a year now.

Mel did not anticipate her outfit attracting the attention of people other than Langdon. Yet here she is, cornered by a strange man while the rest of her friends were off to god knows where.

She didn’t know his name, honestly she couldn’t tell you if he had introduced himself. She could only hear her mind screaming how wrong he was. He is just a bit taller than her, sandy blond hair, dull grey eyes, and a very clammy hand that just wouldn’t leave her shoulder no matter how many times she pointedly shrugs.

She is searching over his shoulder, really how did he think she was at all interested in talking to him, looking for Samira (outside, texting someone), or Santos (making out with someone to bring home to her girlfriend) — she isn’t confident Whitaker could help, no offense, Which left one person.

He isn’t close, but there is a direct line of sight from where she stands to where he leans up against the bar — chatting with the bartender who happened to have been a frat brother of his.

He is staring at her. A problem, usually, but right now she couldn’t find it in herself to complain, because she really needs him.

She widens her eyes at him, mouthing a brief “help me” before returning to a conversation she did not ask for.

“Sarah!” she hears his voice and is confused by the name, shooting him a look.

He waves his hand, gesturing for her to play along. “Sarah, I haven’t seen you in what 5 years? I can’t believe that’s really you!”

She looks up in awe as he uses his body to push out what’s-his-name, positioning himself in front of her, and it doesn’t even read as aggressive. She envied him for this; she always felt flustered, or shut down in the face of conflict, and he was always so cool about it, unflappable. On top of all that, it was unbelievably hot to her whenever she was witness to him telling off patients.

“Um, yeah just in town visiting family and friends” she keeps glancing to their right, where who-cares-who has not yet gotten the hint to leave.

He sniggers to himself, turning towards the nameless man “hey man, can you leave.” It is phrased like a question but Frank’s voice leaves no room for interpretation, it’s an order.

She laughs to herself, watching him walk away, disappearing into the crowd sheepishly.

“Y’know we could’ve been the ones to leave?” she says, laughter still lacing her voice.

“Maybe, I like this corner” he says with a smirk.

She’s smiling still, but she squints at him, searching for an answer. She feels like he is trying to flirt with her, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Thank you for getting rid of him, by the way.”

“Anytime Mel. I’m surprised he didn’t pick up on you not being interested—” she could feel his eyes skating over her legs, her chest, her lips, “maybe he just didn’t care.”

Mel hates being dishonest, with herself and with others. She has never been good at hiding her feelings anyways and holding this in, pretending whatever this is wasn’t happening, is eating her alive.

“Why aren’t we dating?” she blurts. The additional half tequila shot doing it’s job.

“Jesus, Mel.” A helpful response. He would regret it later, but right now his brain is frozen.

She pouts “I really like you Frank, and I know I’m really not the best at reading people — I’ve been informed of at least 4 people I didn’t realize were flirting with me. But I like to think I’m pretty good with you, and I think you like me too” she takes a breath, shoulders sagging, “and I’m really tired of almost having something. So — is there a reason?”

His gaze darkens, moving into her space, a sharp ledge digs into her back, his leg slotting between hers. His hand skims across her waist, the other cupping the nape of her neck.

“I guess not” he whispered, closing the distance between them. She hikes her right leg around his waist, arms looping around his neck, pushing herself even closer to him.

It is like everything clicks into place having him like this. Lips that were always made to slot against hers, finally finding their way home. His body sliding into place with hers, engulfing her in a way that she never knew could be so addicting.

He moves his attention to her neck, nipping, sucking, kissing. It feels like her body is on fire. His hand travels to grip her bottom, a faux move to readjust her position.

It’s involuntary when she whines as he detaches himself to look her in the eyes.

He squeezes her cheek twice, a confused and cautiously excited look on his face.

She bites her bottom lip, her face heats up, but her eyes never stray from his “I—uhm, I’m not wearing underwear.” She rocks against his thigh, chasing any sort of relief as her pleasure builds.

His jaw is hanging open, if Santos could see him she’d call out the ‘stupid’ expression on his face. He moves his hand just a bit further, just under the short hem of her skirt.

“Oh, you hate me” he groans.

She grabs his wrist, pushing his long fingers towards her entrance.

“I think you’ll find evidence to the — ah! — contrary” she struggles to maintain her composure as he easily pushes two digits into her, soaking and relaxed for him.

She can’t remember now why she was ever so afraid, it seemed like with everything else, nothing was difficult when it was with him. She could never lose her confidence in his hands.

“You — you are something else sweetheart,” he nudges her down onto his denim clad thigh, encouraging her to grind. He grins when he sees the dark line forming on the fabric. “I can’t believe I denied myself this for so long” he kisses her again, briefly, peppering kisses up to her temple, “didn’t think I was right, like I deserved you.”

“Mm—! Don’t, ever” she’s panting lightly between words “make a decision like that for me ever again.” She bites his earlobe, kissing down his jaw to work on his neck.

“Mel, baby, I will do anything you want for the rest of our lives, IF you leave with me right now because I’m not giving you an orgasm with Whitaker 30 feet away.”

She laughs brightly, smiling up at him as she disentangles their limbs.

“My apartment is empty, and I could really use someone to fill it.”

He shakes his head, smiling at the ground as he processes her double meaning.

“Lead the way Melibu Barbie” he lays one hand over her shoulder.

She rests her hand over his, chuckling, “oh that’s a good one!”

[tlcartist]

WIP

[temporary-tats]

A soft-bees ko-fi roulette request for @notoftheskaal! Happy (belated) birthday my friend! Thank you very much for the support <3

(My links and my ko-fi, should you wish!)

[bigtiefsart]

portrait practice with my warden Tabris

[xxcrystalinerose]

Quick doodle of my current Stardew farmer, Eury!

Owner of Citrus Grove ranch, proud cow parent (24 of them!!), often seen wearing flowers that seemingly never wilt, and is the embodiment of this post (except she stopped fishing like a maniac as soon as she got her first cows).

[bmpmp3]

e

[maaarine]

Why are British teenage girls so unhappy? Here’s the answer (Caitlin Moran, The Times, Sep 13 2024)

"The report, by the Children’s Society, found that British 15-year-old girls are the most unhappy in Europe.

British girls aged 10-15 are “significantly less happy” with their life, appearance, family and school than the average boy — and their happiness is still declining.

Boys’ life satisfaction, meanwhile, remains broadly stable. (…)

But I still didn’t have an “aha!” moment about why this so disproportionately affects girls until… I talked to some teenage girls.

It was at a party, and I went to vape with them on the patio. Because I take my nicotine like children do.

“Duh — it’s the boys,” one said when I brought it up, as all the others agreed.

“The boys?” I asked.

My last book, What About Men?, had been all about how much boys struggle these days: their loneliness; their suicide rates. I’d spent the past year feeling very sympathetic towards boys.

“Yeah, well, who do you think they’re taking out their unhappiness on? It’s us,” another girl said.

“One boy at school used to draw a picture every day of how ugly I was,” a third girl said. “Every day for two years.”

“They’ve all got ‘Rate The Girls’ polls on their WhatsApps,” the first said. “They mark you down for weight gain, haircuts, what you say.”

“But then, if you’re hot, it’s just as bad, in a different way, because they’ll be talking about how they want to f*** you.”

The girls discussed coping techniques. Bad news: none of them worked.

“The only way you can stop them is if you become ‘one of the boys’ and hang out with them. But then,” the second girl said with a sigh, “all the other girls call you a slut. Because you’ve gone over to the boys’ side.”

“Surely it’s not all the boys?” I said. “There must be some nice boys?”

“Oh, yeah,” one girl said. “But they keep their heads down. Because… well, look.”

She showed me the Instagram account of her friend. Under every picture she posted of herself — smiling in a new dress; with her dog — dozens of anonymous accounts had replied with the most rank abuse.

“Fat.” “Slut.” “You gonna try and kill yourself again, for attention?”

“They’re all boys from her school,” she said. “And look, this one boy tried to defend her.”

I saw a series of messages from a brave teenage boy, posting things like, “You’re all big men, leaving these replies under anonymous accounts.”

As I could see, this boy immediately became a target too. Mainly accusations that he was “white knighting” this girl: “You wanna f*** her, bro?”

“So,” I asked, “you don’t think it’s social media pressure to be beautiful, or the economy, that’s making girls so sad?”

“Well, yeah, them too,” the first girl said. “But, Monday-Friday, 9-3, I’m not on social media. I’m not… in the economy. I’m just with these boys. And no one talks about how horrible they are.”

I thought about another recent report, showing a 30 per cent ideological gap between Gen Z men, who are increasingly conservative, and Gen Z women, who are increasingly progressive.

I thought about Andrew Tate, who has nine million mostly young male followers — and faces human trafficking charges, which he denies.

And I thought: maybe these girls are on to something. Maybe more people need to vape with teenage girls and ask them for the school gossip."

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most ���tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@making-you-in-spore

Incredible works of art from a limited medium, the blog favors quality over quantity and I am always in awe when a dancing creacher in Spore [2008] crosses my dash.

His spores often take him multiple hours to create, and he will go through astounding amounts of effort to commit to the bit. He made his cull poll in spore and then blew it up. Hes also super responsive and active and seems really eager to share his creation techniques and spread the joy of making things in spore [2008]. His blog almost singlehandedly sparked a significant resurgence in interest and playerbase of a 16 year old game that most people see as nothing but a meme. Hes just a guy who likes spore [2008]

i say vote for making you in spore because seeing them blow up their opponents after they win is hilarious

[dollyichi]

I JUST GOT A CRUSH! ᯓ★ katsuki bakugou x f ! reader. 1.02k words / fluff / not proofread

bakugou is bad at social media. not exactly terrible, yet not so great either.

he really doesn’t care too much for it nor does he use it that often but he’s not that unfamiliar with it. he finds himself being on tiktok from time to time though he never really bothered to make it known that he had an account in the first place, just enjoying whatever he comes across and liberally blocks accounts that come up on his fyp that pissed him off. he never posts anything either so it didn’t matter. it’s a typical account with a generated username and a blank profile, 57 following, 0 followers.

recently he found a video that he wanted to share (an edit made by a fan) and posts the link on twitter, alongside saying how ‘it’s real sick’ of them to make that for him. he didn’t even know videos like that were famous. the effort and skill it took made him think it were cool.

what he also didn’t know, was that his profile would be revealed when you press on the link.

he got so confused when his account suddenly gained so many followers in just two days since he ‘never mentioned it.’ that was until he sees the replies on his tweet that the linked he used to share got him exposed.

he checks it out for himself which proved that he did actually share his account without knowing, but it’s ‘whatever.’ even after everyone found out he just used it like normal. it’s only a pain when they kept asking him to post something.

he truly is without care, yet he underestimates the fans who immediately stalk his ‘almost’ empty profile. you see, he doesn’t know that his reposts are public because he doesn’t actually look at his own profile. it’s usually a like, like, repost, favorite, like, then close app routine that he does before he goes to bed.

there's a few funny videos here and there, cooking videos and recipes too, things he'd like to try out soon for himself, or techniques that were really helpful for him. some are also videos of fan edits that he recently discovered, where the same video he shared was at the top of the page.

yet, there was one reoccurring face that kept popping up. a pretty girl who likes to lip sync some songs or show off their trinket hauls. sometimes mini vlogs from their day to day or makeup vids. and the topic trends everywhere: DYNAMIGHT TIKTOK CRUSH

when you saw it you really couldn’t believe it yourself that the one anonymous commenter on your videos was a pro-hero, your favorite nonetheless. though, it makes you a little nervous since your face is plastered all over different social platforms because you’re only active on that app. you don’t know where to go from there except squeal into your pillows. definitely flattered when you recall the many times he called you pretty on your vlogs.

as the rest dive deeper into his little ‘crush’ they even saw him comment on a few of your videos with compliments that sounded extra flirty. they teased him so hard saying how he looks like a creep especially with that profile. he’s never gonna hear the end of it. soon a new topic blows up that reads: GO FOR IT DYNAMIGHT

in his defense, if he were to give anyone an explanation, he thinks you have a really nice smile and a really soothing voice. also that you’re real cute and charming, that’s why he could watch and even rewatch all your content in one sitting. he couldn’t get enough of you, absolutely smitten. even had to ask kirishima how to turn on notifications for an account in the guise of turning it on for his agency's tiktok.

you’re also the only account he’s following that’s not a cooking channel or a pro-hero. and yeah it’s basically all that, a crush. not that he expects you to actually give him a chance, he’s happy just seeing your content.

however, the poor (not really) bakugou is actually unaware of the whole situation of his ‘tiktok crush’ trending since he was finishing a mission. only finding out when he got a call from kirishima asking if he found a girlfriend already. “what the fuck are you on about?”

“your fans are talking about how you keep reposting videos of this one girl on tiktok. i mean, it’s kinda obvious if you’re dating.” and it hits him, quick. your username (the one he could only remember, really) flashes in his head, but he laughs it off. “nah nothin’ like that. think i could shoot my shot though?” he asks him and kirishima says, “haha! i think she already beat you to it.”

not knowing what he meant, he swiftly gets home, showers, and lays on his couch whipping his phone out of his pocket to search up your username. and there he was, staring at his phone, unable to stop the smile on his face when he sees the thumbnail of your new video. he opens it immediately and there you were, holding a dynamight figurine (a very limited one too!) close to your cheek that you’ve never shown before until now. you never thought to show it thinking he might see it and think of you as weirdo. it gave the opposite effect actually, even made him more confident because who would've thought your pretty collection had a 'random guy' in there (definitely not random for you at least).

bakugou immediately likes, reposts and adds it to his favorites. even screen recording the whole thing cause you never gave access to download your videos—it was a very special moment for him okay!

he then comments, ‘you can have the real thing too.’

a few minutes later it’s got your icon with a heart beside it. he chuckles, happy that you finally noticed him. beams when he gets a notification that you followed him back.

he’s definitely going to dm you after he calms down. just hopes this time you don't beat him to it again.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i love a katsuki with a crush i think it's so cute. but i love it even more that he's still confident about it!!! i like to think that reader probably has like 20k followers or something so pretty big but not as big as the others. the first time he met you he stumbles upon a video of you talking about the ice cream u just got and then he got hooked cause u were so cute when u were picking the flavor. PLEASE DO NOT SHARE THIS ON TIKTOK BTW >< also minors & ageless blogs please do not follow me!

[syncrovoid-presents]

I'm doing Digital Art (evermore on my crusade to get better at it. Alas I'm still best at pencil and paper) and my respect for all that do detailed backgrounds has skyrocketed.

I knew it was tough but damn, balancing the line between detailed and not detailed enough is Hard

[dorywhynot]

"XVI (The Tower)" 8x16", Watercolor. 2025

On view now at Vakarie Gallery, for "Arcana: Painting the Fates," a Tarot themed group show

Original Artwork available for purchase

Prints

The Tower is a notoriously negative card, but the more I learn about tarot the less I believe in starkly positive or negative meanings. The Tower symbolizes challenges, difficult ones, like....the kind of challenges that leave you back at square one. But challenges in my mind mean change. Getting knocked down means you have to do something different when you try again, whether that is putting more care and effort into the techniques used before, or trying something new entirely.

Some of you know by now that I've been having an issue with my spine/sacrum for a few years now - while I'm able to carry out my days normally-ish now it has left me with chronic pain that I'm still hoping will heal. It's affected the way I work, the way I relax, the type of exercise that I can do...Pretty much everything part of a routine that I worked hard to build has had to be altered in some way. It's a journey I'm still on and frustrated by. I'm not fully convinced that the diagnosis I received is the entirety of the issue. I also think a part of it isn't a diagnosis thing at all, I'm just getting older.

The spine is the center. It connects the brain to the body, and serves as the conduit for every message between them. It's the foundation for our anatomical hardware and software.

So, is this a personal piece?....Who's to say.

Full painting process documentation of this piece is included in this month's Artist's Notebook PDF, over on patreon.