ive seen ppl saying smth in the wider plagiarism discussion to the tune of "don't worry anxious people, it's impossible to accidentally plagiarize!" and i feel like that lacks a lot of nuance that anxious brains like mine latch on to to just dismiss the possibility outright, as well as a lack of life experiences fueling it.
it is possible to "accidentally plagiarize" in that you can read something, forget about it, then a while later have your brain spit the ideas back out without telling where it got them. so of course you just assume they're yours and share them as such, because That's Where Most Of The Thoughts In Your Head Come From! and it both is and isn't plagiarism, you weren't /intending/ to pass someone's else's work off as your own, i'd even say in a way you were just as much a victim of misinformation as your audience. but you very much so did still resuse the work of someone else, even if you don't remember it.
but in my experience, this kind of thing also happens to a lot of people. you tell a friend a joke then wake up in a cold sweat two days later realizing the reason they didnt laugh was because they'd told you that joke a month ago. you reply to a friend's text and after sending you realized you ended it with the same exact phrase as theirs. you're writing edgy poetry and write a line you really like only to see it in a text post two days later saying youve already liked the post. like, it happens. so if it DOES happens and you're just honest and explain, people will understand. something like "oh shit im sorry, i totally have read that, i mustve forgotten and only remembered bits and pieces and just thought they were mine. thank you for letting me know and for the source" works wonders.
people know you can forget things. people won't automatically doubt your apology just because all true plagiarists say it was accidental. HOPEFULLY people can understand the nuance between a genuine remorseful explanation, and a thief who hoped no one would find out scrambling for excuses for why they did it. and those who can't, that's a them problem, not a you problem, you've taken responsibility for your actions as much as you can. they think the answer is simple, that the only thing stopping you from saying "yes i did it on purpose, i knew the whole time and deliberately copied them" is shame/inability to admit to your actions. but sometimes things AREN'T that simple, so imo ppl who are shitty to you for not following the script they made up for you in their head should be ignored
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"D'you think she cares?" His voice came across as a little worse for wear than it oughta. Death usually restored the body to peak order aside from a few scars, but here Martyn's throat was, scratchy and harder to parse than he woulda liked.
"What?" Came the reply. Scott shook his hand out, dirt particulates separating from his fingers as he did.
"Cleo, I mean. Obviously." Martyn laughed, leaning back against Scott's pretty little house, hand waving in a mockery of one of Scott's common gestures.
"Why would I know what Cleo thinks of you? We aren't teammates this go around." Scott turns back to his work, but it's still obvious how the previous victor felt about this game by how his voice catches at 'go around'.
Martyn winces, but he shakes it off within milliseconds. "You two are always allies! There hasn't been a go when you two haven't been conspiring. I'm asking because--"
"Martyn." Scott's voice was sharper than he meant, and it softens as he continues. "For one, I won't ask how you know more about mine and Cleo's relationship than either of us have told you. You and Grian get so clammy about that nonsense. For two, she hasn't mentioned you."
Martyn doesn't flinch, but Scott can tell that hurt him. Scott lived with him for a while, he knows. Martyn thinks himself infinitely cool and collected, but he isn't. He never has been and Scott's pretty sure he never will be. The blonde coughs. "Cool."
"Cool?" Scott laughs, looking up. Arcing underneath his hair from his right temple under his hair and around his throat is a lightning scar, and it glows slightly at the middle of his throat in a cool cyan. It aches. Martyn knows it aches, especially when Scott laughs. "Martyn, you were soulbound two goes ago. I know she's cool and all, but what's your hangup? Are you this hung up on Ren? Me?"
"What! Scott, you're having a giraffe. I don't get hung up on people."
There is a poignant silence. Martyn shifts uncomfortably. Scott rolls his eyes and returns to his work.
"Scott, I just wanna know how she is. If she ever thinks about me. I don't--I try not to think about it. The past, I mean. But it just... I may die but the soul lives on. Bones are buried but the soul is still here and it still feels that little string, y'know? We had the same soul, for a while. The same beating heart." Martyn finally moves from his ramrod straight stance, squatting beside Scott, a gloved hand extended.
The palm is cold. Ice fucking cold. The diamond shaped mark seems to give his flesh freezerburn as he nears the scar to any other living being. Any that are around, anyway. Martyn is cagey about it--Scott wasn't being mean. He has four of those diamonds across his body, though he supposes he's lucky that they're all... eh, relatively easy to hide. The one on his cheek, the back of his neck, and right over his heart were harder to conceal, though. That, and the massive ragged timepiece seemingly slashed across his back. The scar that never healed. The reminder to keep his ears open. To listen. To betray when it suits him. That one still pulses red, sore and obvious.
Scott doesn't know that a diamond burns for him as Martyn nears him. He doesn't know that it gets a little harder to breathe as the scalding diamond on the back of his neck makes itself very known. Bound, again and again, had he always found himself following after another? Hitching his soul into pieces again and again? Where would a diamond appear this time, for Jimmy? Where else would the cracks spread? Scott flicks his nose.
"You're absolutely doing that thing again where you just stare at me and look pensive. Fine, you want to know so bad what I think they think? Fine, if it'll get you to either go away or help me plant." Scott finally stands up fully and stretches his back out, then his arms high above his head. He reaches over to grasp Martyn's upper arm. "Cleo is a complicated person. They do care. They also don't. You aren't the center of her universe and that is fine. For both of you. Worrying about what they think won't make you less afraid of what comes next. Holding onto us--me, Cleo, the Ahaliance, Ren, that won't give you the peace you're looking for. You and Grian hold on tighter to the past than the rest of us. Let us go, Martyn, and let what joy you can have now happen."
The diamond hurts like hell. Like Martyn has slammed back into a pool of lava and it is eating him alive. It feels like dying when Scott holds his arm. He doesn't react. Scott doesn't know everything. "Alright, alright, I don't need an intervention here, mate! I'm genuinely just trying to see if she's mad at me, and you're talking different breeds and stronger memories. Bah. Maybe you're holding on to Cleo."
"Am I, then?" Scott snorts, and thankfully releases Martyn's arm. The burning subsides, somewhat.
"I think you are, honestly. I look away and suddenly you're gaslighting and gatekeeping and girlbossing! What about my gaslighting?" Martyn holds a hand to his chest as he fakes haughtiness.
"You're a bad liar, Littlewood." Scott kneels back in the dirt. "Now help me plant before you go back to our canary."
Martyn snorts, this time. "Our canary. Yeah, Scott, only me and Grian hold on." He does listen, though, and helps cover wheat seeds with dirt. As his right hand connects with the soil, it aches like a red winter, cold and bloody. He misses Ren. He misses Cleo, and Pearl, and Mumbo and everyone. He feels like there's a world where they could have been happy together, where they played games and laughed around Christmastime. As he looks at Scott, he wonders...
"Do you know what Christmas is?" His voice is more hesitant than he means for it to be.
"No, why?" Scott replies, shoving half a tuber deep into the earth.
"No reason. Just an old story." Then, that was the difference. He and Grian knew there was something beyond. No one else remembers what life extant a Watcher's game is like. He raises his head to watch the darkening horizon. Scott boxes his ear with a smile, and he shrugs. At least they have tonight to pretend like She wasn't watching. Like they were friends planting a field.
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