#Encouragment

[softwaring]

[unwelcome-ozian]

[aventurineswife]

Dan Heng with a reader who loves to write stories of their own but rarely show them to others in fear of criticism or getting made fun of. But one day, they decided to ask him if he would read their story (since Dan Heng loves to read books) telling him if he can give a feedback about it as they fidgeted with their fingers nervously while Dan Heng read through the contents of the story, awaiting his reply. (You can also add other characters who fits this scenario if you'd like!)

Pages in Light

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Emotional Support, Encouragement, Writing and Creativity, Trust and Vulnerability, Gentle Critique.

Warnings: Mentions of self-doubt and fear of rejection, Introspective moments (emotional vulnerability).

The clatter of the cafeteria quieted around you, the usual hum of intellectual debates and the clinking of cups barely registering in your ears. Sitting across from you, Dr. Ratio loomed larger than life, his hair catching the light, eyes as sharp as ever. His presence was both reassuring and utterly intimidating—a paradox that left your fingers twitching nervously against the notebook in your lap.

You had spent weeks debating this moment. The stories you poured your soul into had remained private for years, hidden away in notebooks and files on your datapad. Sharing them wasn’t something you did—not because they weren’t good, but because the idea of someone laughing at your words, at you, was unbearable. Yet, here you were, about to hand your story to one of the most brilliant minds in the universe.

“Dr. Ratio?” Your voice was quieter than intended.

He glanced up, his eyes piercing as they met yours. A golden ring around his pupils flickered in the light like an unspoken challenge to match his intellect.

“Yes?” His voice was calm but commanding, effortlessly filling the space between you.

You swallowed hard, gripping the notebook tighter. “I��� I wanted to ask if you could read something for me. A story I wrote. I—well, I’d appreciate your feedback.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward, an amused expression dancing across his face. “A story? That’s a departure from the academic essays and research papers I’m typically handed. Intriguing.”

He reached out, palm open, and you hesitated before placing the notebook in his hand. His touch was steady, the slight brush of his fingers against yours sending a wave of nervous energy through you. As he flipped the first page, his eyes narrowed in focus.

You watched him, fingers fidgeting against each other under the table. He was silent, entirely absorbed in the words you’d poured your heart into. The silence stretched on, each second feeling heavier than the last.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he closed the notebook and set it on the table. His gaze returned to you, thoughtful and intense.

“This is remarkable,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

Your heart leapt, but you quickly tamped down your excitement. “You… you really think so?”

Ratio leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yes, though not for the reasons you may expect.” He gestured toward the notebook. “Your writing carries a certain rawness, an honesty that is difficult to achieve. Your world-building is vivid, your characters compelling, but it is your voice—the unpolished sincerity—that makes it stand out. It is not perfect, but perfection is overrated.”

His words were firm, yet kind, their impact settling into your chest like a weight lifted.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, warmth flooding your cheeks.

He leaned forward, his golden shoulder piece catching the light as he rested his elbows on the table. “You hesitate, don’t you? To share your work. You’re afraid of judgment, criticism.”

You nodded, averting your gaze. “I just… I don’t want people to think it’s silly.”

“Let me tell you something,” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. “The greatest ideas in the universe were considered ‘silly’ at some point. Genius is not born from fear of ridicule. It is born from the courage to create despite it.”

His words hit harder than you expected.

Ratio pushed the notebook back toward you. “Your story deserves to be shared. Not because it is flawless, but because it is yours. There is nothing more extraordinary than that.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled, a rare and genuine expression that softened the sharpness of his features. “Now, if you ever need further feedback—or simply wish to share—I am here. And next time, try to believe in your own brilliance, yes?”

You nodded, clutching the notebook to your chest as a small but growing confidence blossomed within you. You would take his advice, you decided. Your stories were worth sharing.

Ratio’s gaze lingered on you as you stood to leave, his expression unreadable but warm. “Until next time,” he said, and you swore you heard a hint of pride in his voice.

The softly humming engine of the Astral Express served as background music to an otherwise still evening. You sat in your quarters, nervously clutching the manuscript in your hands. Words you had poured your heart into, meticulously crafted, yet kept hidden for far too long. Tonight, you decided, was the night to share them—with someone you trusted.

Dan Heng had always seemed like the perfect confidant. His quiet demeanor and love for literature had endeared him to you in ways you hadn’t expected. If anyone could offer constructive feedback without ridicule, it would be him. And yet, as you approached the archive room where he often spent his evenings, your courage faltered.

You lingered in the doorway, peeking inside. Dan Heng was seated at his usual spot, a book open in his lap. His hair caught the glow of the lamp beside him, and his expression was serene yet focused, as always.

“Hey,” you called softly, stepping inside.

He looked up, his sharp eyes softening when they met yours. “Something you need?”

“I, um…” You fidgeted, gripping the pages in your hands. “I was wondering if you’d… if you’d read something for me. And maybe tell me what you think?”

His gaze flickered to the papers you held, then back to your face. He set his book aside and leaned forward slightly. “Is it a story you wrote?”

“Yes,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t usually show my writing to anyone, but I thought you might… you might be the right person to read it.”

He nodded, his expression calm but encouraging. “I’d be honored to read it. May I?”

You handed over the manuscript, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his. He noticed but said nothing, only shifting in his seat to make room for you to sit beside him.

“Stay while I read?” he suggested, his tone gentle.

You hesitated, then nodded, sitting at the edge of the seat as he began reading. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. You fidgeted with your fingers, chewing your lip as your thoughts raced. What if he hated it? What if it wasn’t good enough?

Minutes stretched on like hours as his eyes scanned the pages, his expression unreadable. Occasionally, his lips quirked or his brows furrowed, and you found yourself holding your breath, hanging onto every subtle reaction.

Finally, he set the manuscript down and turned to you.

“Well?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Dan Heng regarded you for a moment, then said, “You’re talented. Your writing is vivid and heartfelt. I could tell you poured yourself into this.”

Your chest loosened, relief washing over you like a wave. “Really?”

He nodded. “There are a few places where the pacing could be tightened, and some descriptions that might benefit from more clarity, but overall, it’s captivating.”

His words filled you with a warmth you hadn’t expected. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “You have a gift, and it would be a shame to keep it hidden.”

You ducked your head, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Dan Heng. That means… a lot.”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze softening. “If you’d like, I can help you refine it. I’ve read enough books to know what works and what doesn’t.”

Your heart swelled at the offer. “I’d like that.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and fleeting but genuine. “Good. I look forward to seeing more of your work.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt confident in your writing—not just because of Dan Heng’s feedback, but because you had taken the first step to share a piece of yourself. And knowing he was by your side made all the difference.

[natalyajjohnson]

i pray you stay strong. i pray you keep going. i pray you never give up. i pray you never loose hope. i pray you never stop trusting. i pray you keep healing. i pray you always remember you're loved. i pray you remember you're worthy. i pray you hold onto the fact that you're enough. i pray you get through this. i pray you come out better than you were. i pray you find healing. i pray you remember the world needs you.

[peakypookyy]

I’ve been swelling my belly🤤🤭

[zewik7]

If someone wanted to flood my asks with questions, humiliation, degradation, teasing or encouragement, i’m open!! 🥺🐷

[watercolourcritters]

i'm ready with arms wide open to embrace the entire world

[ID from Alt Text: marker art of a brown toad circled by text that reads "I will love this world fiercely with my whole fucking heart." The background is white, and the artist's signature is @ watercolourcritters. End ID.]

Instagram | Etsy

[uncanny-tranny]

Not to be all hopeful, but there is never an age where you stop "growing up." You can always say, "when I grow up..." because you never have a set point where you're done developing, growing, changing, and learning. You are still growing up, no matter how old you are 💛

[doinkdoinkdonk]

via mickey.the.ragdoll.kitty on instagram

[letsgrownnhealtogether]

Maybe you're like me, really good at not texting back or showing up to the work parties.

You are all too good at being alone while very well feeling the depths of loneliness.

You do desire connection. You do want friends. You don’t like being alone all the time, or never receiving text messages.

It’s time to stop lying to yourself. It’s time to text first. It’s time to attend those work parties. It’s time to join that book club. It’s time to work through the anxieties and insecurities, and show up. You deserve connection. You deserve friends.

[treasure-goblin]

To all the lovely little writers and artists who haven't made it big

To those with under 100 followers

To those who's art never makes it big

To those who's writing ends up as a flop post

To those who never get art of their ocs

To those who feel like it's pulling teeth to get people to be interested or care

To those who know its not about the notes but damn if they don't help

You are loved and seen, lovely, and this is your encouragement to keep going because for every person who creates, there is a little world all of your own that only you can make <3

[daughter-of-mary]

[natalyajjohnson]

you don’t deserve to be treated poorly because of someone else’s inner turmoil. what goes on in their life is for them to hold, not for you. i want to let you know that it’s not your fault, okay? it’s never your fault. you don’t deserve to be disrespected just because someone else’s life is met with hardships they have to heal through. it’s not for you to carry. you are meant to be met with love, kindness, healing, and understanding. you know why? because that’s what you are worthy of.

[unwelcome-ozian]

E. E. Cummings (1894-1962) "To be nobody but yourself in a world that's doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting."