#anything for notes 👍

[tiny-crescent]

Suggestion if you ever feel the time or motivation, or need the motivation. Perhaps draw Hideki Ide with different kinds of eyebrows? :)

[pizzagame4000]

we all know human vigilante… but what about… slightly human vigilante

[overly-verbose]

Seriously, bro's a professional yapper lmfao

Tbf it's not completely unprovoked and he does just want to at least try explaining some things, if in a roundabout way, to make people more at ease (if not in the moment then overall) but, well-

sometimes it has the opposite effect lmao 😂

Also like, it's absolutely hilarious how I thought

'oh but this is just, like three scenes - how long could this be'

but all the freaking talking and stuff that everyone's doing is making Part 8 the second longest in the series 😂😂😂💀😂

(I fear for my poor brain, man - we've only just barely almost covered the Detention Center Arc

(and a little bit of the VS Mahito Arc Mahito Gets Curse PTSD Arc but I do wanna fill in some of the gaps between those)

and it's already gonna be over 40k words???

Why am I being so ambitious for my first ever proper writing project frrr *perishes a bit*

but I do hope to get it to the end - and beyond because there's no way I wouldn't constantly add to the post-main-plot shenanigans lol - however long that takes heh (just try to be patient with me pls I try my best here 😂) 👍)

[itsalwaysforyou]

the black sky and all those lights

a silly little something i wrote for jalentines!!

When Mal opens the dormitory door, Jay is standing in the hallway in his workout gear, hair tied up in a bun. He’s already grinning in that way he does when he wins a fight. Mal rolls her eyes at him. Grabbing her bag, she says bye to Evie, and joins Jay in the corridor. 

She scowls as they walk, her workout clothes tight on her skin. Jay had insisted they’d do things properly, and not in their usual leather. 

The hallways are decorated for Valentine’s Day, making Auradon Prep even more gaudy and colourful as usual. Pink and red hearts plastered across the walls, boasting the abundance of love here in Auradon. Jay’s had a thousand notes in his locker. Mal’s had none. Every morning, she watches Jay approach his locker like he would a target on the Isle. Weight forward, shoulders squared; ready to fight if needs be. And the paper falls to the floor like blood, only sickly pastel. Scrawled glittery gel pen. Words confessing passionate love, or asking him on dates, or doodles of hearts. Jay smiles the whole time. Greets and winks at girls. Scrunches those notes up in a fist. 

“Everywhere looks disgusting,” Mal says as they approach the sports hall. Heart-shaped bunting crests the doors.

Jay holds the door open for her. “It’s fun.”

“You would think that.”

The sports hall is mercifully free of décor. They drop their bags in the corner and begin to warm up, another stupid practice Jay insists on. His top rides up as he side-stretches. Isle rule: never show skin, especially to the enemy. Except, Jay loved to parade around in those stupid sleeveless vests. She’s yelled at him plenty of times about it—Are you insane? You’re a walking target. He would just grin and say, they’ll have to catch me first.

Jay laughs as he grabs the practice swords from their stands. “Here.” 

He throws it, and Mal catches. The weight in her hand is familiar. Already, her pulse is thrumming faster, and maybe if she closes her eyes she’ll be back on the docks, with the wind ripping at her hair, and the salt stinging her nose, and half a dozen of Uma’s crew jeering over the clanging of swords. 

Jay chucks her a mask too, before attaching one to his own face. The mesh turns her vision slightly hazy.

“Ready?” Jay asks.

Mal’s watched fencing practise a few times, mostly as an excuse not to do homework and instead watch her boys wipe the floor with all those prissy Auradon princes. Coach Jenkins appointed Jay captain of the team a few months ago, a role he takes more seriously than she’s ever seen him take anything. 

“Rassembler! Salute! Lower the point. Masks down. En guarde!”

Mal lunges first, which Jay clearly anticipates, parrying her blow. He circles. Strikes. Mal blocks it. He’s quick. Reflexes honed to a sword’s point; learned by practise and theory. Mal lashes out again, just catching his free arm before he jerks away. She grins underneath her mask. Her breath comes quicker. Jay’s blade arcs down, hitting her chest. Mal swats his blade away. She hears him laugh. She growls. Strike. Parry. Strike. Block. Strike. Jay lands another hit. Their shoes squeak against the linoleum floor. 

“Come on, Mal,” Jay teases. 

Mal lunges like a cat on its prey. Jay’s blade grates against hers like steel against flint. Jay may be quick but Mal’s smaller, and she weaves her way through Jay’s blade until they both have the sword’s point angled at each other’s chests. 

They’re both panting. Jay lowers his sword first. Takes off his mask. 

“You came in clutch at the end,” he says. 

Mal huffs, wiggling the mask off her face and wiping her forehead with a sleeve. “You actually get training.”

“And now I’m training you!” 

His hair has loosened during the sparring, spilling out at the seams. He unties the bun; flips his hair down and shakes it out. In this late-afternoon light, his hair could be made of gold. Hair longer than Mal’s ever had. 

He pulls his hair back into its bun, deft fingers making quick work. When he straightens back up again, his face is slightly flushed from the match. 

And Mal looks at this boy she’s known most of her life; this face and these hands; a boy that has held her at the end of the world and the start of a new one. And she snatches back down her mask. 

“Again,” she says, lifting up her sword. 

She’s swinging before Jay’s even had the chance to pull his own mask back down. Her blade slices against his chest, and she hears the breath escape from his lungs. 

“Fuck!’

Jay’s blocking her hits in no time. Mal grits her teeth. A boy who’s inhabited every place she’s ever been. The shadow along the street; a fixed point on the rooftops. Those long, quick fingers that know their way around bandage; around open flesh; around her own hands. Like a comet to Earth. Like an eclipse. Totally consuming. 

And here, where the sun shines brighter than they could have ever dreamed, she is left blistering. Those girls that fawn over Jay, professing their love with the same ease that Mal can hold a dagger to a throat. Jay’s clicking tongue, and that low fry to his voice when he’s chatting someone up. Everything is always so easy to him. He can wrap anyone around his finger with a wink. 

His blade slams into her stomach. Mal pants, the budding pain in her side clearing her head. Jay’s standing above her like some heavenly deity. 

“Best of four?” he offers.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“C’mon. Let’s take a break.”

Jay drops his sword and grabs his water bottle from his bag. Mal joins him, still gripping her sword, gulping down her water like a man in a desert. 

“We should do this again soon,” Jay says. 

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s the Valentine’s Ball tomorrow.”

Mal snorts. “Yeah, and?”

“I was gonna go.”

His words are coming too slow; too considered. Like when he used to talk about his dad, or a particularly bad Barge Day. Rehearsed. A guard dog who’s smelled danger, prowling at the sidelines. 

Mal presents her blade. “En guarde!” she shouts, and Jay ducks her swing before scrambling over to his own sword. 

“Really, Mal? Another sneak attack?”

“I’m keeping you on your toes.”

They waltz around the sports hall, the blades clashing and slicing and singing.

“We all agreed we weren’t going to go to the Ball,” Mal says, jabbing at Jay.

“We never agreed anything.”

Jay lands a blow. They are at the dockyard, with its rotting wooden pier and dead fish stench. The screeching of metal; the shouting; Mal’s heart hammering like the tide. Blood, and life. The roar in her ears. A dragon’s call. Body moving without a thought, as quick as a lightning strike. Not having to look behind her because she knows Jay is there.

“Exactly!” she says. “Why would we want to go to some stuffy Auradon ball?” Jay tries to say something but she ignores him. “Why would we care about Valentine’s Day? It’s corny, and over-commercialised, and a stupid excuse to make everything about love.”

Jay has her backed up against a wall. With no time to mount his mask, his lips are slightly parted, and his hair is escaping from his bun again. He looks just like he did on the Isle; none of his perfect prince act that fools Auradon. His sword hovers above her throat. 

“Do you yield?” His voice is low.

Mal stares at him. Those eyes that have seen every part of her. All the blood; every smile; her pale skin in the dark Isle nights. The boy that has beheld her every action; weighed it all against his own understanding of the world, and decided that they slot together as easily as a bullet in a pistol.

“Who are you going with to the Ball?” Mal asks. She’s still clutching her sword. She could claim the upper hand, if she really wanted.

A grin creeps across Jay’s face. All those notes and heart-shaped lollipops. The giggling girls at his locker. He could pick any one of them. All of them so beautiful, in their sunset-coloured dresses. He could have anything he wanted.

“Well,” Jay says. “I was going to ask you.”

The sword’s point makes sure they keep their distance. Never too close. All touches so light; so fleeting, as if you could’ve mistaken them for a dream. As if you could’ve imagined the whole thing. All those nights in the hideout where the barrier of the body seemed thin, and the world became so small: just two kids who wouldn’t even dare knock knees. 

So Mal shakes it all away with a laugh. “I’m not going to the Valentine’s Ball.”

Jay lowers his blade. Neither of them move. “Not even with me?” 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other girls who actually want to go with you.”

“I want to go with you.”

His words echo through the empty hall. His word is as steadfast as ever, the only opinion Mal will ever trust. Compass, anchor: Jay does it all. 

Heralded here, Mal as real as the vast sky outside. Here, in his gaze, held aloft by trust where there shouldn’t be and compassion where there shouldn’t be and understanding where there shouldn’t be. A home for all her broken bones. 

Mal’s lips unfurl into a smile. This ache in her chest. In her throat. Jay always being able to disarm her. Jay in every place she’s ever been. Jay as her shadow; her skin; her second self. A reflection in the mirror. The line of separation is nonexistent. Like the sun, like the moon: one cannot exist without the other.

[dailyrazordoodle]

day 148: with the new patch coming up, remember not to buy nilou's new skin or whale for kaveh or buy anything from hoyo at all!

[ratatatastic]

[chrisbangs]

🐺🫧

Here

Now go to sleep

[trainingdummyrabbit]

"not to ocpost-" please oc post (as long as you're ok with it) i would love to learn more about holly and chun-run!! (as long as you're ok with it!!)

! oh its absolutely ok, i love being enabled ^w^ kjfngdkjf um um. this is another Entire Thing(tm) that requires Exposition(tm) so um hope youre ready to read More Paragraphs !

the short answer is

the long answer is: i went 'hey i have two* ruina-era ocs, what if i put them next to each other for fun? haha they'd hate each other ^w^' ... 'Oh God They'd HATE Each Other.' so uh, the exposition.

Holly! You've Never Met Her Before. certainly not. ttttechnically. out of narrative, Holly was originally a branch of what Cocoa's character would have been when I was first developing her. in narrative, Holly is what would have happened if they'd never been picked up by LCorp. she's... an entirely different person, basically.

in essence, if you thought the other one was unstable, Oh Boy(tm). Holly is what happens when the city Actually gets the chance to sink its claws in. it's just this time, she was far, Far less quiet about it. girlies who completely fucking failed their stat check Again. there's only so much 'keep your head down and take it' you can really handle before you're just about ready to tear a bitch apart, and well. Well! anyway.

Holly is another angle of the Human/Monster/Object tangle, in where Cocoa's development hinges on the equivalent of trying to balance several spinning plates and Fucking Up Miserably, Holly has started hurling plates directly into the audience with intent. if you will.

humans are always talking some hot shit about how high and mighty they are, the "value" that comes with just being Human, and yet their entire lives are a horrible, animalistic dance of clawing each other to shreds while hiding behind ideas and roles they themselves put into play, like it's some stupid game. that harm is just an intrinsic part of the human nature. she can't fucking stand it.

essentially, she's an odd argument between the Human and Monster corners of the tangle. not only hates the binds that the city places on them of obligation, but also the ties of human emotion-- namely guilt and connection. that endless dance. she wants nothing more than to shed these ideals completely-- unfortunately, she still intrinsically and unconsciously clings onto them, afraid to let go. a human trying to claw its way out of humanity. it doesn't matter what it takes-- she's not letting this city take her first.

...and then there's Chun-Run.

we just don't know where chun-run came from. but she sure Is, and she's Immediately going to make it a Huge Fucking Problem. being aligned with the musicians of bremen, she has.. very normal views about art, and what it means to be Alive. she's the closest thing to a human time bomb i can think of, probably.

she doesn't have much of a character... honestly kind of intentionally? her entire being is solely rooted in the present, the What Is and the What Will Be. she strives to feel what the pianist's performance invoked that day-- through any means necessary. whatever happens to Her, to anything around her-- none of it matters. first and foremost, she is a conduit. it's all secondary to that singular experience.

horrifying. painful, disgusting. striking, poignant, pungent. it makes her sick to think about, but some part of her wishes she was closer to truly Feel it. its repulsive– but she Needs to hear it again. to witness, to experience. what is it– what was it? to grasp onto an ephemeral feeling she physically cannot understand– frustrating, frustrating. but she Needs to. to make the soul sing, cry out in reverence... to call it a Song is almost insulting.

so you have the worlds most unstable walking contradiction with absolutely no outlet and an unidentified fucking thing intent on wringing some undefineable meaning from the soul through physical violence.

so like, moth meet flame.

chun-run is pretty much Instantly infatuated with holly-- but for the Entire Wrong Reasons. it's pretty much "Yeah I Could Make Her Worse." all the way down, but expressed entirely through Murder. yknow, girl things. and holly, of course, fucking hates this are you for real right now??? shut the fuck up about reaching Art through Violence there is something WRONG WITH YOU. chun is entirely convinced that she's what will harmonize closest to that sound she's chasing-- that dissatisfaction, desire, rage... it's so painfully close. and yet she refuses to acknowledge that spark! refuses to engage entirely! is it not the nature of the soul to sing? so sing girl, sing.

girlies who are trying to claw their way back to stability and girlies who want nothing more than to burn to ashes in a beautiful blaze of Being. in conclusion:

[jichanxo]

made a tierlist of my kuwagami fics for funsies (+ notes for a few) ↓

(everything listed in the same tier are equals, so the order they're listed in has no meaning)

[grimalkinmessor]

We need a fucking Light Yagami Bashing tag because holy FUCK

[b-blushes]

also i am going to the dr tomorrow so please can you send some spare good vibes my way if you have them thank you

[mercifullymad]

recently i have been spending a lot of time with a man in his 90s, and while he doesn't have dementia or alzheimer's, he does frequently forget information. he will tell me a story and then re-tell the exact same story to me a few weeks later. when i am tired and frustrated (with him and/or the day and/or myself), sitting through the exact same story again seems unbearable. but recently i have been trying to look at things differently; to frame these times as something i "get" to experience rather than something i must endure.

lately i have been thinking about repetitive cycles and finding one's home in them. so much of our discourse and mental health advice is about getting OUT of repetitive cycles, breaking the cycle, etc. but why? there is an unquestioned assumption that all cycles are bad and meaningless and we must strive to break them. but what if we take a "you can never step in the same river twice" approach to what we believe to be "identical" repetitive cycles?

i may have heard the same story before, but i have never heard it with this inflection, or in this setting, or while feeling this way — at the very least, i've never heard this story at this hour before. i may have spent the last fourteen years of my life enduring the "same" repetitive thoughts running around my head, but i've never before experienced this thought at this moment, as the person i am right now. no matter how much i think i'm experiencing the same story, or the same thought pattern, over and over again, that isn't the full truth. it is the same story and the same thought, but it is also a new experience each time.

[abyssalzones]

did very badly at my math placement exam today. where's the Oh fiddleford we're really in it now post

[overly-verbose]

A whole lot of the next Part is literally just;

Everyone else's brains: *the entirety of the Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney OST intensifies*

Meanwhile, SIkuna's brain: *the Wii theme song (occasionally interrupted by falling_metal_pipe_sound.mp3) starts playing*

.

[wizardbuckets]

Please show us the notes app list of things it's gay AF for men to do

hehehe my collection… >:3

if anyone has any more to add Please tell me i will love u forever

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

6 weeks post op and im still having pretty bad pain around my incision 😬 damn if only surgeons were actual people you could ask for help