#none of these things are really what I know the most about

[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

[trammellesstangent]

For a character in my (very new) comic, who is as of yet unnamed:

1. No, they travel light. However they do sleep with a knife (sheathed, of course), claiming it’s for safety, but it has become a sort of comfort object.

2. All but the hardiest plants die of neglect in their care. They don’t have any pets, but they do love animals and can look after dogs and cats for short periods of time (weeks).

3. They are ace. N/A

4. Stunning, which is why they don’t wear it.

5. Fuck no. They would not appreciate people yelling “speech!” at them.

6. They will usually take or at least consider advice from their friend Pitch (neither of them will admit that they’re friends but they are). They will never usually take advice from pretty well anyone else.

7. Distrustful, reserved, (secretly) caring. They’d likely decline to answer, firstly because they don’t want you to know, but they also don’t know what to say to that.

8. Intrigue.

9. Not really, but they appreciate metaphors.

10. If it was that point in their life, they’d want to be sixteen. If it was just age and they’re in the same situation they are now, then they’re fine with their current age.

11. They’d put it in multiple accounts across multiple banks and investment folios, keeping a fair amount accessible in untraceable currency (cash is no longer commonly used or regulated in this society) However, they might splurge a little on better places to stay, as they currently sleep anywhere they deem ‘safe’ enough.

12. No. They find romance to be a waste of time and they are overall confused by the concept.

13. They learned from their parents that it is best never to show emotion or weakness. Also how to tie a good knot.

14. No. They think people should shut up and stop apologising for what they enjoy. They also make fun of people for liking certain things.

15. Smalltalk, interpersonal dramas in real life, politeness, romance.

16. Pretty much what they already wear. Tough, manoeuvrable, comfortable, functional clothing.

17. Sometimes. Kind of. It’s easier to say no and let there be exceptions.

18. If you asked them that they would say “ew” aloud. None.

19. If they care and think it’s necessary, they study/practice/repeatedly run through situations in their head. That’s rare but.

20. I don’t know yet

21. They’re ace, no it’s N/A. But if they did date, they’d last straw would honestly most likely be within ten minutes of meeting.

22. They have threatened someone once because they kept calling them “kid.” So no, they don’t like pet names.

23. Novelty

24. Brutal honesty

25. Possibility

26. They appreciate both. As long as someone’s good with their craft.

27. I don’t know. It’s complicated.

28. N/A.

29. They have a recurring nightmare about a certain event that happened.

30. This question confuses them- “people only have restraint because they might be judged?”

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

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[ikkyfics]

White Scarf

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: “You’re wearing my scarf,” you replied, narrowing your eyes. “Oh, this?” James looked at the accessory as if he had just noticed it. “I thought it was asking to be worn. And, let’s face it, it looks good on me, don’t you think?”

Warnings: none

Masterlist

It was impossible not to notice. The white scarf, which until two days ago had been hanging on the coat rack in your room, now casually rested around James’s neck. He didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about hiding it. In fact, it almost seemed like he was flaunting the accessory as he walked across the Quidditch field, holding the broom on his shoulder with the same ease he wore that unbearably charming smile.

You watched him from a distance, arms crossed, trying to decide whether to be irritated or just resigned. Irritated because, well, it was your scarf. But resigned… because James Potter with your scarf seemed like something straight out of a dream. His rebellious black hair danced in the cold breeze, his vibrant blue eyes shining even more behind his glasses, and the carefree way he wore the stolen piece made your heart race.

When he finally realized he was being watched, he looked up in your direction, his smile widening as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. And maybe he did. With a deliberate move, James adjusted the scarf around his neck and walked toward you, his steps long and confident.

“Do you like the new look?” he asked, stopping right in front of you. The closeness made the familiar scent of wood and mint—so characteristic of him—invade your senses.

“You’re wearing my scarf,” you replied, narrowing your eyes.

“Oh, this?” He looked at the accessory as if he had just noticed it. “I thought it was asking to be worn. And, let’s face it, it looks good on me, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to appear on your lips, but you tried to keep a serious expression. “That doesn’t explain why you thought you could just take it.”

“Because,” James began, leaning slightly forward until your faces were just a few inches apart, “I like to smell you on it.”

The response caught you completely off guard, and you blinked, confused, as the heat quickly rose to your cheeks. “What?”

“It’s true.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It smells like you. And if I can’t have you around all the time, this is the next best thing.”

You tried to come up with a response, but the words simply didn’t come. How could he be so disarming and sweet at the same time?

“Besides,” James continued, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips, “I thought this way you’d have an excuse to get closer to me. You know, to take it back.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, shaking your head, but the tone of your voice couldn’t hide the amusement.

“I prefer the term ‘charming,’” he replied, leaning even closer until his nose brushed yours. “But you can call me whatever you want, as long as you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, though you knew exactly what he meant.

“As if I’m the only thing that matters in the world.”

He got you again. He always knew exactly what to say to make your heart do flips. Before you could answer, James tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was both light and full of affection. His fingers reached up to gently touch your face, holding it as if you were something too precious to lose.

When he finally pulled away, still with his lips just inches from yours, he whispered, “If you want, I can give the scarf back. But honestly, I think it likes me more now.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and this time, it was you who surprised him, pulling him into a quick kiss before whispering against his lips, “Maybe I’ll let you keep it. For now.”

“For now?” James raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

“Yeah. But only because you look really good in it.”

He smiled as if he had just won the Quidditch Cup, wrapping you in his arms and spinning you around in the air before setting you back down on the ground.

“That’s enough for me,” he said, still smiling, adjusting the scarf around his neck like it was a trophy. “But just to be sure, I’m going to take the sweater too.”

“Don’t you dare!” you replied, laughing as you gently pushed him.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” James asked, his eyes shining with that mix of mischief and adoration that made you feel like the most special person in the world.

And, as he pretended to chase after you across the field, clearly determined to steal another piece of your clothing, you realized that with James, every moment was so full of love and laughter that you couldn’t imagine a better place to be.

[bewaryofpity]

jack's sooooo clingy he follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, especially after a long day of not seeing you.

jack has been following you around since you came back from work, yapping about anything and everything that has happened to him since you left this morning. and you’re not surprised because he has the habit of lingering close to you when you’ve been gone for a while, especially on his rare days off. today is no different.

he does follow you everywhere like a very grown and very loyal puppy, today more than ever as he followed you to the bathroom where you're trying to get ready for your night routine. he’s sitting on top of the toilet seat, babbling about his day out with nico that obviously consisted of hockey related things.

you snicker to yourself when jack doesn't realize that you're taking longer than usual to get unready, or that he’s talking for this long, but you know how much he hates boredom so you let him be. it’s just that you weren’t expecting this.

it’s cute, yes, but now you’re more interested in seeing how long he’ll yap for or rather how long he’ll stay here with you. so you finish taking your makeup off before pulling the shower curtain back and twisting the knob to turn on the water and adjusting it to the right temperature. the idea that he could easily stalk you into the shower makes you smile so you play along to his not so little rant.

“and then nico lured me to the rink because apparently the kids were practicing and he wanted to surprise them. not that i didn’t like that but then their coach didn’t look too pleased, the kids were distracted for the rest of the practice, obviously.”

you hum, “is it because they took nico’s attention off you?”

“Uh, n-no. i mean i was the one hanging out with him first, so.” he mumbles “but that’s not the point!”

jack huffs, changing into a criss cross position on top of the toilet. and it’s taking everything in you to not laugh at him because he looks like a child, pout on his lips and looking so small in this position.

“well then, was it fun at least?”

“duh, baby.” hands flailing around him. “the kids loved it, they kept asking us questions and some didn’t make sense –they were like four years old, you know– and like, we had to stop for even longer because they wanted us to sign some of their stuff.”

that must be why he also took longer to text you throughout his day.

“i bet, love.” you nod along, pulling your hair up in a bun so it doesn’t get wet in the shower, finally at the right hot temperature. “i’ll shower now if you don’t mind.”

“oh, now?” eyes wide like you told a child you’ll leave him in the parking lot.

“i mean, we’re in the bathroom, and i’m in a towel, and it’s been a long day. so yes, now.”

and jack’s cheeks have a faint pink tint as he shamelessly watches you unravel your towel and step in the shower. totally not because he saw you naked for a split second, it’s just the steam from the really hot shower, right?

“uh yeah, okay” he says as he stand up. “i’ll get unready too before i go then.”

you hum in reply as you go on about your shower, but you’re actually simply standing under the water, trying to keep an ear out for his movements and words.

suddenly he’s taking his sweet time to wash his face and you think he might start brushing his teeth soon too for the hell of it.

but his talking doesn’t stop at all. he blurts out random thoughts in between before going on to ramble about some hockey plays he’s been looking over, asks you what you had for lunch. he even asks you which body wash you’re currently using –which is none yet because trying not to laugh is revealing to be harder than you thought. he’s truly finding the most random topics to fill the silence.

and the talking does finally stop, but it’s replaced by jack’s whistling, clearly out of things to say. yet you know your boyfriend better than he thinks so you know very well what he’s thinking about.

“you still there, jacky?” you call wittingly. you can see his blurry figure through the shower curtain, an excited nod coming from his silhouette.

and you bite your lip as one of his hands reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. “i guess i’ll go now. uhm… i’ll wait for you to come out. i’ll get us take out, anything you’re craving? because if you want there’s a new italian place down the street that luke suggested to me and he says it's really good, so i think maybe–”

omg he’s so cute.

you pull the curtain back, just with your head peeping out to find jack with one hand hovering the door handle, still lingering around.

“jacky?”

“yeah baby, what’s up?”

“do you want to shower with me?”

and like a kid opening presents on christmas morning, his eyes light up so quickly. his head shakes with an overly enthusiastic nod, and he’s already clumsy in pulling off his clothes that he almost trips getting his sweatpants off. you’re not surprised at all, the lack of grace and coordination are not exclusive to when he’s on the ice.

a stupid, wide, boyish grin spreads over his lips when he finally steps into the shower in front of you. 

“hi, baby,” he grins, leaning forward to hold your face in his hands and peck your nose.

“you know, if you wanted to join me, you could’ve just asked.” your smile now matching his. jack squishes your cheeks between his palms, “well, where’s the fun in that?”

[unknownati]

xi. christmas!

a/n: guys part of this was supposed to be the PROLOGUE to a 12 part sfw and nsfw winter/christmas themed drabbles (mini fics?) but i got too busy 💀 literally had 4 days left to write but then the 12th went by and i was like... damn

its ok tho i might upload the finished days just as separate fics

while we're here why does nle choppa have a christmas song

warnings/tags: none rlly, just fluff, SO corny, SO sappy, no use of y/n, no description of reader's features, gn!reader, decorating w/ ekko 🎉, reader is a THIEF, pre-arcane plotline (choosing happiness)

_______________________________________________

christmas in zaun was nothing close to ideal. it was never if people celebrated, but more if they could afford it, which most of the time was a no. unless people had kids, they weren't going out of their way to make it a whole thing. not only that, but people didn't really care for it, anyway. they had other things to do. sure, maybe you'd see some extra lights around, or maybe a few lopsided wreaths hanging on a weathered door, but it was always the bare minimum.

but ever since you snuck into piltover as a kid right at the tail end of december, your world was absolutely rocked by the blinding lights and stars and bows and garlands and wreaths and the huge tree sitting smack dab in the middle of the city, illuminating the night sky.

after that, you were obsessed with the idea of christmas. you never had the funds, nor the time, nor the energy, nor enough friends or family to make anything happen all by yourself. but the dream stuck to you.

and then came ekko, and with him, a chance. a huge tree? with an abundance of people living there? it gave you the best idea.

*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

cool november air was giving way to the first hints of winter, the sharp bite of cold nipping at the cheeks of zaunites. warm colored leaves were shriveling into themselves and trembling down onto the concrete, scattering through the town. settled in uneven piles, nestled in corners, where the wind could push them no further. christmas has long began to be advertised in piltover, and your excitement was uncontrollable.

quiet as a mouse, you slipped into ekko's work room. he's sat on his stool, elbows rested on the table with his figure shadowing over his work. your fingers glide across his biceps, chin resting against his right shoulder.

"hey handsome," you chirped, working your digits over the curves of his muscles. your lips curled into a grin you were incapable of withholding. "y'got a minute?"

"for you, always." he turned, hands hoisting the weight of his upper body on his knees. his eyes softened upon looking at you. "what's up?"

you slid on his lap, feet swinging back and forth, pendulum like. "soooo," you begin, leaning back on his shoulder. "i'm sure you know what christmas is."

"yeah, why? want me to get you something?" his fingers twisted at the hem of your sweater. you shake your head—not the goal right now.

"no. well, yes, but not what i'm asking you for right now," ekko's head tilts in response. your voice dropped into a playful yet unsure murmur. "iiiiii wanted to know if you'd maaaybe be willing to decorate the base and celebrate it this year?"

his thoughts stutter, and then he laughed. "baby, you know i'd love to, but i can't. don't have the time or the money."

a pout formed on your face, lips jutting out. "we don't have to spend money, we can use what we have lying around! and i have some extra money on the side. we're not flat broke."

"doesn't solve the whole time thing."

"oookay, make time. we'll have the kids help, too! you won't even have to do much, like—seriously, think about it. we don't even need to get a tree because the firelight tree, duh. we can use big cardboard boxes to look like fake presents, we can steal lights 'n' other stuff from the pilties—"

you rambled on, every idea you've ever had since childhood resurfacing and bubbling out of you in an unstoppable torrent. each thought, each plan, all of it spilled out, an overflowing pot.

"hey, hey—" he interrupted, thumb stroking your thigh. "listen, those ideas are great. but we can't. and you have got to stop stealing from topside."

your smile faltered. "but why!? think about the kids, think about me!" ekko hesitates to speak, eyes darting around the room as your face transitions into a pleading pout. "please? pretty please? i'll do the dishes for a month?"

"fuck," your eyes filled with stars. ekko groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "fine! fine, jeez."

the squeal that exited you entered directly into his ears, lips pressing kisses into his face in rapid succession.

"thankyouthankyouthankyou!!! oh my god, it'll be great, we can have the kids make little snowflakes, we could have a little fucking wish box to get gifts for some of the kids—" you gasped loudly upon a realization, planting your hands onto his shoulders. "—you can be santa!!!"

he scoffs, brushing a loc of white hair out of his face. "don't push your luck."

you sigh in mock defeat. "fine, hiemerdinger's got that. i'll take what i can get."

"isn't he kinda short for santa?"

you shake your head. "don't height shame."

*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

ekko rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, a small groan rumbling in his throat as he reached over on the bed to find you.

empty.

his head flipped. you've left a now cool dent in the bed in your wake, blanket left in a wild mess.

he frowned, sitting up and looking around. you're nowhere to be found.

maybe you got up to use the bathroom, he thinks, standing up to search the place for you.

the second his feet hit the floor, his brows furrow.

'...glitter?'

his gaze lifts, and his eyes widen as they follow the specks of glitter scattered across the floor, which caught the faint morning light that bled through the curtains.

he followed the trail, small drops of glitter turning into discarded cardboard scraps, which turned into unfinished rolls of ribbon, which lead him to his workroom, where the door was slightly ajar.

he slowly pushed the door open, finding you hunched over a box that you were decorating to look like presents. you tilt your head up to look at him, a smile spreading ear to ear.

"w'ssup?"

he glanced at the small clock on his desk. "it's...five in the morning, why are you up so early?"

you gestured towards the pile of finished boxes in the corner. "working!" the sound of tape ripping off of the roll fills the air as you took a strip, taping the box shut. "i already collected a bunch of paper for the kids to make snowflakes, borrowed some lights 'nd garlands from topside, aaand i'm almost done making all these boxes."

a lot done considering you had had that conversation just the night before.

ekko crouched down to your level, eyes meeting yours. "but...you're gonna clean all this up, right?"

silence.

"right?" he repeated.

your eyes narrowed. "yes?"

"why is that a question?"

you scoff, pressing an empty roll of wrapping paper into his chest. "why are you asking me so many of 'em? get to work. and i need you to use your hover board to fly around and get those lights up," you nod towards a pile of lights on his desk without looking away from your box. he opened his mouth to reply, but you cut him off. "thank you!"

he rolled his eyes and stood, tossing the wrapping paper roll into the recycling bin.

at a more appropriate time in the day, you stood at the top of the firelight tree after capturing everyone's attention. public speaking wasn't exactly your thing, but ekko insisted you do it since everything was your idea.

you cleared your throat as the crowd settled into silence, all eyes on you. you shifted your weight onto your other leg.

"um—wow, okay, hi guys. so, i'm sure you've all...heard of christmas. and i know it's usually kinda lame, but truuust me, this year i'm gonna make sure it's—" you gather your fingers, kissing the tips of them and flaring your hand out. "—chef's kiss."

eyes leave you to glance at other's reactions, the silence lifted by an excited murmur.

"yeah, but i'm gonna need help. i have a bunch of paper that i need to be made into snowflakes, so that by the end of the day this place can look better than it already does."

you shifted their focus to scar, who carried a large bin of scissors, string, and paper of various colors. (earlier, scar questioned how you got all these supplies. you just smiled at him.)

after a quick tutorial, children started racing to gather around him, picking their colors and scissors. within a few minutes, the kids were gathered in groups on the floor, cutting out their best attempts at snowflakes.

pride swelled in your chest and you looked up into the bulk of the tree's leaves, ekko's form flying around in circles with lights being strung along behind him. with fists on your hips, you beam. "i'm amazing," you praise, making your way back inside.

everything came together surprisingly quick. ekko had never seen you that focused—hanging up lights, making paper bows to place at the points where lights held, and placing those big fake presents around the tree. of course, other people helped too, which made the work lighter.

you mostly left the mural alone, only placing a few extra candles and waving to the colorful portraits.

by the time night fell, the project was close to finished. it wasn't perfect, but to you, it was. the entire base was illuminated in warm, white lights, paper snowflakes dangling from the branches and twisting in the wind. the beat in your chest stuttered. it all felt...magical.

*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

over the next few weeks, you kept adding and adding to the scene. and it was all finished just in time for today, christmas eve.

by now, you'd forced ekko into so many christmas activities, some more enjoyable than the others. he thoroughly enjoyed making matching pajamas with you and drinking cocoa that was overflowing with marshmallows—being constantly tricked into mistletoe kisses, not so much. at least, he acted like he hated it. he secretly adored accidentally walking right into your trap of a hidden mistletoe and being attacked by an onslaught of messy kisses.

ekko finds you at the balcony again, glancing out into the scene below. "hm. not bad." he leans against the railing, hips bumping into yours.

"yeah, cuz it's awesome. i did that, thank you."

warm lips meet your cold cheek. "mhm. you did." he paused, tongue running over his molars. "i-um...got you something."

you perked up at his words, head whipping around to face him. "ooh, you just reminded me that i have to finish making your gift, i—"

as you're speaking, he pulls a little box from his coat pocket, black with a messy red bow.

"it's not perfect, but...y'know," his voice trails off. he pops the box open and offers it to you.

inside rested a delicate necklace, light reflecting off of the silver metal and glimmering into your eyes. the chain was thin, the links very neatly melded together, and a little circular locket hanging off the center.

you take the box and reach in, mouth agape in awe, gently pushing the locket open. inside was a tiny picture of the two of you, laying in bed, with you sound asleep on his shoulder. ekko's eyes were shut as he was in the middle of pressing a kiss to your forehead.

you smile down at the picture, warmth flooding your chest. for a long moment, you're just staring at it, ekko awaiting your reaction. your lips press together, your vision starts to blur, and a tear rolls down your face and into the velvet lining of the box. then they just kept streaming down.

ekko's face drops, immediately reaching to wipe your tears. "hey, it's okay, if you don't like it i can get you something else."

you hiccup, shaking your head. "shut up, i love it so much, this is just everything i've ever wanted for my whole life, and it's so stupid but you've literally made this the best christmas i've ever had a-and this necklace is really cute and this was so worth doing the dishes—"

you could've kept going but your joyful sobs cut you off. it was all too much, all the decorations and all the traditions you once wished for finally coming into fruition. ekko's arms wrap around you and you return the gesture, fingers twisting into his coat.

"i'd do it again in a heartbeat." he whispers, moving to peck your wet cheek. once, twice, three times.

"boo," a voice calls below you. "get a room."

*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

[davidisnotmyname]

MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS FOR THE SEVENTH COMIC (also this post is really long be warned)

Okay I wanted to give my thoughts on the seventh comic because I, a sleep deprived teenager with absolutely no knowledge on comic making or writing, feel that my opinion is logical and good /s

First off, my immediate reactions to the comic:

OH MY FUCKING GOD THATS A CHILD. THATS SOLDIER’S AND ZHANNA’S CHILD. THATS THEIR BABY. WHAT THE FUCK

the second I saw this shit I knew this comic was gonna give me an aneurysm (in a good way).

waitasecond…

THERESTWOOFTHEMOHMYGOD (also im so fucking happy that the joke I see in fan media a lot about Soldier naming his kids stuff like that is officially canon)(also east meets west fans were eating good this comic)

I like that the comic creators have put so much focus on Spy and Miss Pauling’s relationship. Not only is their dynamic great, but it shows that Spy isn’t a heartless jackass and he not only genuinely cares about the people around him, but can and will show it (I mean most of us knew that already but… someeeee people have fallen victim to the temptations of flanderization)

you’re gonna see this come up a lot in my rambling but I fucking love the shit the mercs are doing in the background, their expressions are so funny: Heavy is sick of their shit

Demo is asleep

Scout can’t breathe

Spy is also sick of their shit

Medic (and that godforsaken baby baboon) is sightseeing

Pyro is having the time of their life

and Sniper and Pauling are just trying to make sure they don’t all fucking crash and die

This is irrelevant as fuck (but most of the stuff I say is) but I just wanted to bring up how much I liked the secretary’s design. It’s very pleasing to look at.

They are like ants to me. I want to put them in a jar with holes in the lid and a bunch of leaves and then roll them down the stairs

I know this might not be what the scene is trying to imply, but fuck yeah, lesbianism (also thank god they gave Scout some semblance of character development, they are very cute as friends)

more background mercs. Medic and Pyro in particular have me in hysterics (this comic has so much good shit I can use for my discord pfp). Also Demoman my belemoman

GOD I FUCKING LOVE THE CHARACTER DESIGNS SO MUCH, thank you young Administrator for reminding me that I am in fact gay in every direction. RIP Admin, she served cunt and died

Get that fucking thing away from me

MAKAMI!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! THIS SHIT BELONGS IN THE LOUVRE!!!!!!! THIS IS GENUINELY THE MOST INCREDIBLE PANEL IN ALL OF THE COMICS, I AM AWESTRUCK

Yet again more background mercs. They saw your AO3 history.

okay I was gonna say something but my phone flagged this image as nudity for some fucking reason? What

anyways, as I was saying:

GAY (guys listen it’s canon okay you have to believe me guys wait come back no wait)

also my first thought when I saw this was “heavy is trying to hold him back from doing weird shit to the corpses,” and I don’t care how anyone else interprets it because I am objectively the most correct /j

also looking back at this I’m realizing heavy’s hands are almost the size of medic’s entire torso lmao tf2 isn’t beating the yaoi hand accusations

I’m actually gonna be sick and die oh my god what the fuck is wrong with me

I’m not gonna put all of the panels cuz I feel like it’ll get annoying quick + the image limit, but the whole series of Pauling just standing there as the Admin is cosplaying a Nature Valley Honey and Oats Bar while everyone slowly trickles out of the room just hits so hard and so good. These comics are such a compelling narrative disguised as a series of shitposts and I’m all for it.

MISS P. NAME DROP???!!!!! (Also can we get an F in the chat for all the Francine Pauling truthers)

He is literally her dad I don’t make the rules (also yes I’m aware that it’s stated that he’s her legal guardian literally two panels later so this joke really isn’t funny, but none of my jokes are so what’s your point)

Yet another casual masterpiece by Makami, with the added bonus of the subject being a beautiful hairy old man who’s built like a fucking brick house. Heavy Weapons Guy TF2 I wish you were real. Also bearded heavy goes hard, i need to cook him into a fucking soup oh my god

Hey chat so did you know I’m actually going to be inconsolable for the next three years. Also this is obviously photoshopped we all know his last name is Elbertson (no but seriously I actually started running around my room and rolling on the floor when I got to yet another name drop)

Okay, I need to either say this now or have it fester in my psyche for eternity. That haircut gave me physical and psychic damage when I first saw it. Scout tf2, you’re ugly as shit but that’s honestly poggers, welcome to the club man (also oh my god he looks so much like Jerma I’m screaming, but Jerma isn’t ugly though I promise I would never diss my king like that)

Nobody talk to me

I SAID NOBODY FUCKING TALK TO ME

spy with his granddaughter, he loves her so much but still can’t bring himself to reveal who he truly is. I actually can’t fucking do this anymore this comic is gonna have me keel over and die of a heart attack

That’s it. Get in the fucking wood chipper right now /j seriously though I can’t even begin to explain how much this scene means to me. Spydad was one of the main things that got me so interested in tf2 over a year ago, and seeing him and Scout not only being civil about it, but genuinely caring about each other is everything. I’ve never been one for spydad angst (no shade if you do like it, I just personally prefer happier stuff), so I’m glad that this was the route the comics took with that plot point.

also don’t think I’m not gonna bring up the fucking mask. after seventeen years, we finally have spy’s face. Not only that, but the reveal was done through him giving it to his granddaughter. It’s done in such a casual and sweet way but it’s so impactful. He can be vulnerable around these people. This man, who’s spent his life building up walls around himself, refusing to let anyone through to the point of wearing that stinky ass balaclava everywhere, can now freely live as himself with his son and grandchildren. I’m gonna start eating screws I swear to god.

oh fuck I hit image limit hang on I have a little bit more to say check the reblogs the rest of my descent into madness will be present there shortly.

[therealcocoshady]

Request please🤗: Marshall x Reader, he's extra protective of her while she's pregnant

A/N : Hey ! I know you posted that Ask a while ago but I recently found it while sorting through them, and I wrote a little blurb. I hope you like it 💕.

Shields Up

CW : Pregnancy - Mention of past miscarriage - Marshall Mathers being protective

As a public figure, you were used to rumors. You had chosen this life and you were fully aware that it came with the territory. As a content creator, your job was literally based on your ability to get people’s attention, after all. After years of hard work, you had gathered a pretty huge following and you had quickly learned that the bigger you were, the more rumors would emerge. Collaborations, alleged feuds, made-up drama and, of course, dating rumors. Nothing seemed to be off the table for the media outlets and, even though it hadn’t been easy to navigate at first, you had grown accustomed to it. In fact, most of the time, you didn’t go out of your way to confirm nor deny anything. You just focused on doing what you loved, making good content and your fans were used to you being private on some parts of your life and you were often praised for your ability to be honest, sometimes vulnerable, without giving too much away. People seemed to like the fact that you weren’t ready to commodify your privacy and your relationships for engagement and clickbait.

So, when rumors started to emerge about you dating Eminem, no one was exactly surprised that both of you stayed silent. After all, you were both known to be notoriously private, focusing on your careers and preferring that the attention remained on your work you put out. That being said, none of you got out of your way to hide the relationship either, so anyone who was looking out for subtle clues could probably find them. You followed some of his friends and family members on Instagram, were sometimes spotted to events he would perform at… It was that kind of situation of something basically being public knowledge without ever being broadcasted.

After years spend together, you were in agreement that it was better that your relationship was kept separate from your professional, public personas. Both of you were known to have a strong work ethic and, though you didn’t have any expertise in music and he didn’t understand much about content creation, you respected each other’s career too much to let your relationship overshadow anything. You knew full-well that, no matter how good you were at your jobs, some of the attention would inevitably be focused on your personal lives. Detroit being a fairly small city, it wasn’t rare for you to attend the same events as him, but you always made sure to arrive separately and not engage in PDA. At most, you’d been spotted chatting on a couple of occasions over the years, but nothing in your demeanors indicated that there was any intimacy between the two of you. Until you got pregnant, at least.

As soon as you handed him the positive pregnancy test, Marshall instantly became more protective of you. You were both overjoyed by the news. Emotional, too. Almost a year prior, you had accidentally gotten pregnant. It wasn’t planned by any means, but you both agreed to keep the baby. Sadly, you ended up miscarrying a few weeks later, still in the early first trimester. Before then, you had always said you didn’t need to raise kids to feel fulfilled, and Marshall had been pretty adamant about not wanting more kids. But the event changed everything, stirring something deep within you, and it didn’t take long before you started actively trying. The miscarriage had been a tough pill to swallow, at first, but none of you really addressed it. After all, you knew it wasn’t a rare occurence, and that these things happened. But you didn’t realized how badly it had left its marks on Marshall until you got pregnant again.

He did not become overbearing of controlling - it just wasn’t him - but there was a new, unmistakable layer of attentiveness and protectiveness. It started with him making sure you were alright throughout the day, reminding you to eat, hydrate and rest, often checking in on how you were feeling. The second you expressed any discomfort, such as fatigue or nausea, he would step in, ready to do anything to make it easier for you. The thermostat would be perfectly adjusted, the fridge always stocked with your favorite snacks and he even got some of the specific teas the doctor had recommended. Of course, he absolutely refused to have you carry anything remotely heavy - not even your oversized tote - and whenever you started talking about deadlines for your projects, he reminded you that the last thing you needed was stress.

You thought he’d keep on maintaining his distance at public events - at least as long as you kept the pregnancy hidden. However, you were proven wrong when you both attended a fundraiser for some Detroit charity. As usual, he skipped the red carpet while you did the photo call but, as soon as you were done, you spotted him, waiting for you. Usually, he’d be in some corner of the room, talking to Paul or some acquaintances, but his attention was unmistakably on you. Throughout the night, he didn’t hover or smother you, but he kept closer than usual, and when you walked through the crowded room, he guided you with a hand placed on the small of your back, shielding you from jostling bodies.

« Are you alright? » you asked quietly, to which he hummed and nodded. « You don’t have to stay so close, you know, » you gently reminded him, your tone teasing and affectionate, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. « Just looking out for you both » he murmured with a faint grin. Your heart swelled and you couldn’t help but find him adorable, so much so that it took a lot of self-control on your part not to kiss him right then and there. Instead, you simply stood there, smiling at each other. As the night event on, you were both solicited by friends and acquaintances, but you could still feel Marshall’s sharp gaze on you, scanning each and every individual that engaged with you, as if to make sure they weren’t a threat. As the night wore on, Marshall’s vigilance didn’t waver. He made sure you always had a glass of water nearby and checked in with you subtly, asking if she needed to sit or if you were getting too warm under the venue’s lights. At one point, when he noticed the press swarmed near the entrance, he positioned himself slightly in front of you, a silent barrier that made it clear you weren’t to be overwhelmed or bothered in any way. By the time you left, you were both exhausted and grateful. You expected to leave in separate cars, as you always did, but instead of sticking to the usual routine, he opened the door and helped you in. Cameras flashed, capturing the rare moment, but none of you really cared. You were simply looking forward to the perspective of heading home for some much-needed rest, and you could tell that he needed to have you close, at least for his own peace of mind.

By the next morning, the Internet was ablaze. Photos and videos from the fundraiser were everywhere, showing the two of you together in ways that left no room for ambiguity. People were notably crazy about one picture, where he could be spotted guiding you through a small crowd, one hand on your back. Twitter threads speculated wildly. « We’ve seen him with her before, but this? This is different, » one user wrote, linking to a clip of him helping her into the car. « I’m telling you, they’re not hiding it anymore. ». The speculation grew more intense with every passing hour. Was this your way of confirming the relationship? Were you going public after years of silence? Marshall, as always, ignored the noise. He spent the morning in his home studio, tinkering with beats, while you scrolled through your phone, half-amused and half-exasperated by the Internet’s obsession. You walked over, wrapping your arms around him from behind. « You know, you’re kind of bad at the whole ‘keeping a low profile’ thing lately. ». He tilted his head back, looking at you with mock indignation. « I’m just making sure you’re good. They’re the ones reading into it. » You laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. « Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty amazing. »

[jweekgoji]

I keep laughing when I think about the scene where Motorcycle!Reader is so small that they don't have their own charging chamber and have to live in someone else's charging chamber because after all they are so small that they don't take up much space.

TFO!Chars/Motorcycle!Reader [hcs]

tw: none, i guess. word count: ~1600 additional tags: gender neutral reader, cybertronian reader, motorcycle!reader. characters included: B-127, Optimus Prime, Elita-One, Megatron, Sentinel Prime.

That is both a curse and a blessing in my opinion, but well, it depends on whom the tiny reader is stuck with 😋

I mean, >B-127 didn't even have his own place to sleep. All the yellow bot had, was a conveyor belt, which I doubt it was really comfortable, haha. Well then, after just ending Sentinel's regime, the ex-cogless group at least have some places to stay.

When Bee found out you'd be living with him for a while, he was overjoyed! First he made many, many new friends, gained the ability to transform, started working for the government, and now...he has a roommate? A real roommate? The one who can open their mouth when 🐝 talks to them? The day couldn't be any better! (Not that Bee wasn't happy with Steve's company...).

To be fair, Bee himself isn't exactly a bad neighbor either. It all very much depends on what kind of personality you have. If you really get along well with him, despite his extremely emotional state, which sometimes seems to never end, then good luck!

Sharing a chamber with him is going to be an absolute challenge. We remember that he talks in his sleep, don't we? And if Shockwave was so sick of Bumblebee in that short time, imagine how you have to recharge, but now all you can hear, instead of the silence you crave, is constant mumbling into your audio receptors.

Sometimes he's just mumbling about what a cool day he had with Optimus or what an intense training session Elita gave him.

Sometimes you notice how his servos only pull you harder against him. For a moment, you'd probably sigh wearily or try to make some space between you until he starts whispering softly about how happy Bee is to have you in his life. He genuinely, really genuinely loves you. After cycles of being alone, he really misses your company. Will you decide to move him away from you nevertheless?

The next morning, surprisingly, he has no memory of what he told you at all.

> Optimus apologizes to you so much when he finds out that now, unfortunately or thankfully (?), they don't have any time or resources at all to build new quarters. The new Prime has so many new responsibilities that he doesn't even know where to start! He has to clean up and fix Sentinel's mistakes, not to mention his divorce with D-16 Megatron, which has caused him a lot of trouble. But that's okay, our favorite Prime has a solution for that!

And as a good, true leader...yes, yes, you will be the one sharing the room. Lucky, huh? Oh, lucky you.

Optimus is actually one of the best candidates to share a chamber. I find that most of the time, he doesn't have much time to go to his room and fall asleep. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up later...alone. Was he with you? Did he come in at all? In response to this, you sometimes notice him passed out at his desk. You should definitely tell Elita about this to scold him about such a bad habit.

Actually, he'd be happy to share the charging chamber with you. The thing is, he's extremely shy.

When you fall asleep with him, there's just not enough room! Yeah, you're a pretty small bot, he's just so huge. It takes the two of you a long time to finally find the only comfortable solution.

With you on top of Optimus, you can put your helm on his chassis. The soft shimmer of the Matrix of Leadership doesn't bother you at all; if anything, it calms your nerves. All night long, your leader may never move from his position. He's so afraid he might accidentally hit you if he rolls over or decides to stand up...poor Prime, even Megatron didn't set such dangerous traps for him!

The first few nights, Optimus doesn't sleep much. He's nervous; he thinks up to the late night, but in the end, he can't resist you, and you two can get your well-deserved rest.

I think after Prime, the best candidate for your roommate would be >Elita. I like to think she always sleeps in “mom's pose” (if you know what I mean).

She can lie on her back with her servos on her chassis and not move a muscle all night. Other than that, she's a completely silent sleeper. Sometimes, you can stay up late at night; your shared room is unlit, and you don't want to turn on the lights so as not to disturb her. If she finds out you've been out the whole night instead of recharging, she'll kill you!

You swear you didn't even make the slightest creak, and just then, you see those bright blue optics staring at you in the darkness. Without even seeing her face, you know you're in trouble...She has very sharp hearing, unfortunately for you.

Elita isn't the tallest bot; sure, she's still taller than you, but her frame is pretty slim, unlike the others'. She is not the type to cuddle, even if you are extremely close to her. The most you can expect is her servo around your waist or shoulders.

You can tease her about it, but she'll try to deny everything, saying “just don't want you to fall and hit the floor 🙄” of course we all believe you, Elita!

I can see D-16 being a similar type to Optimus, but Megatron is a different story. I have no idea where our young Decepticon leader went with his guards, but at least they have a few cycles to spend building a base, especially one with all the comforts.

Megatron himself is not a fan of sharing, and when he realizes the problem, he doesn't even ask you if you want him to or not. You will share the chamber with him, period. Should you be worried or happy...?

Megatron, especially if we're talking about a young and inexperienced leader who was only recently forced to leave Iacon, is in need of support. He won't show it in front of anyone, not even you. But you know him enough to know what is troubling him.

He is so isolated, betrayed and saddened, he is afraid to open up to anyone else. And yet, he genuinely wishes someone could just hold him.

Megatron rarely sleeps. 24 hours a day, all he has on his mind is what he should do next. It used to be so easy; the mere thought of it makes him grit his teeth. When there was Sentinel, all that was required was to just follow the protocols. Now, with hundreds of high guard members expecting him to do something, he's lost.

At some point, Starscream or Soundwave will remind him of the importance of rest, and without any enthusiasm, he'll join you.

Now, the two of you are extremely awkward.

Of course, you can't tell much from his looks. Is he asleep? Or still lying there with his optics closed? This awkward silence makes you afraid to move. But the truth is, Megatron himself doesn't know what to do. You're so small compared to him; by some miracle, the two of you can fit, but it's so extremely uncomfortable.

Eventually, he can't stand it and just lifts you up to lay you on top of him. Luckily for him, you have no intention of moving away from him. Perhaps you're afraid; maybe you're okay with this change in positions. Either option is fine with him.

He repeats in his head that this is only temporary...when resources become available, you will get your own separate quarters, and you will be able to sleep separately. And yet, he doesn't want that. Your presence around him, for whatever reason, makes him forget his worries for a while, and he can finally rest.

You may disagree with me, but >Sentinel, no matter how sexy man people try to show him to be, would be just a terrible roommate! If he can even be called a roommate? Sometimes, he forgets that you're resting here too, and even if you remind him of that, he'll pretend to “listen” to you, only to forget after a while.

In fact, he could easily order a separate room for you; he's got plenty of them in his tower, but he's like.... no. He wants you around just because he can. There's no other reason.

I think he's more or less tolerable at first? He likes to keep something small next to him; imagine it like the cybertronian equivalent of plush toys, but only that toy is you. And it seems he may see you as such.

Every night, he can grab you at any time he wants and hold you against him. One time he just held you by his side; another time he decided to put his servo around you; tonight he wanted you on his chassis! The worst part is that his berth is quite spacious. And you can lie on the very far side, only for him to snatch you whenever he wants. Not very funny.

Recharging with him is pretty uncomfortable because those damn wings keep hitting you in the face every night. He's a pretty big bot on his own, and his wings are another big nuisance. Of course, he's not that terrible. Still, his room is very large, and you're probably very cozy, but Sentinel...sigh.

It's funny, but I like to think of him mumbling in his sleep too. Only this time all you can hear from him is about how often he praises himself. Wow.

[fionajames]

i forgot to do this! tysm for the tag way !!!

uhmmmm if we're talking fic-fics, about 7, but i write more one shots, and that would be over a few dozen :3

i just tried writing nicer, with better flow

i typically write most for star wars, but the life series smp hyperfixatino came back and ive done a lot of stuff for that too!!!

uhmm probably 6 or so

a lot actually, so ill list some of my favs rn. grumbo, scarian, ranchers, flower husbands, anidala, caitlyn x vi, codywan, and jyn x cassian

i love grian's lore character, and crosshair did not capture my heart but ive seen him in a new light so-

arcane!!!!! and life series, ive never written for it before

all of them probably

my au ones when i had no pressure in writing them

chapters of one of my really long fics, its no where near done but each chapter was a couple thousand words

probably the one that was really long, it was hard and painful to grind out

the ones i really enjoyed

my shortest would have been a one shot somwhere, and my longest is the long fic. its only 4 chapters and 40,811 words

lots and lots and lots of noah kahan, and other things depending on the genre and mood

probably a zombie apocolypse fic im writing.

a fic called 'track four', which is the zombie apocolypse one

'The week the world ends seems to last forever. It’s a whirlwind of emotions, of twists and turns and pains. The days ache and stretch, sunrise to sunset, long hours of sunlight and empty hours of night.'

'He was aware of the message as it hummed in the air, surrounded by nonexistent howls and screams and cries. He was aware of the pain on his face and the IV connected to his arm. He was aware of the voices around him, although unintelligible with the pounding of the roars.  Tears was aware that he had survived.'

“So, Tears, what’s been bothering you?” “The past, sir.” “And what happened in your past to haunt you now?” “There was an attack, sir.” “And what happened to you during the attack?” “I was attacked.” “And what else happened?” “I don’t know what you're talking about.” “You know exactly what I mean.” “It wasn’t my fault.” “But do you believe that?” “It wasn’t my fault." “It’s okay, I understand. Do you blame yourself?” “It was my fault. I blame myself, of course I do! Because it was my fault!” “It wasn’t your fault, Tears. None of it was.”

i dont really write funny stuff :/

i cant think of anything

i do my writing on google docs, and most of the planning on paper

probably getting my short story published

not really

took some time to let my brain come up with ideas without trynna force em

most of my stuff is fanfiction

i didnt do any, cause im lazy

uhhhhhh- my dog

i dont have a to do list ngl :)

MOREEEEEEEEE

tysm for the tag @waywardsou2

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[ferrarifinnick]

WHO WANTS TO BE A DADDY | THE HUNGER GAMES HEADCANON

i absolutely loved exploring this with thg boys. we only ever really see katniss’ opinion on parenthood in the books, and it was so much fun exploring these perspectives. also i know everyone hates gale but honestly he’s so fun to write for. moody and stoic. just how i like ‘em!

set post-rebellion. if they want kids + how many/genders that suits them best.

includes: gale, finnick, peeta

warnings: none

gale would absolutely want to be a father, but just not for some time after the rebellion is won and over. i can see him moving back to the new district 12, building a new house for you both to live in, far away from the ruins he watched go up in flames. i think this would be his project for a while. it would be his way to grieve the loss of his old life, while focussing on building a new one. with you. i can see this being therapeutic for him, and i can see his younger siblings helping him with painting the walls and his mother cooking a meal for you to eat together once the project is complete. and as gale is eating in your new home with his family, i think he would realise that he no longer has to provide for them like he has since his dad died. they will be alright without him now, and he can finally live a life of his own. after his family goes back to their new home, i think he would finally tell you that he’s ready and wants to start this new chapter right away. but most importantly, he wants to start it with you.

i think gale would shine best with two boys, partly because he can fill the void his father’s death left in him, and to turn them into better men than he was growing up.

i’m going to defy canon and say that finnick doesn’t really have a preference. i think his attitude would be that if it happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t, that’s fine too. it would be something he’d like fate to decide, i think. after all, finnick is much more interested in all things you than about what you can or can’t give him. but that’s not to say he wouldn’t be completely overcome with excitement if you did happen to fall pregnant. i think he would occasionally wonder what your baby would look like, if it would have your eyes or his smile, and he’d spend a lot of his free time thinking of names that incorporate your favourite flowers and colours, just in case. but if you didn’t ever fall pregnant, i can see him being equally content in taking the number one spot on the list of people that you love.

finnick is definitely great with kids. i think he’d shine best as a girl dad or as the fun uncle katniss and peeta’s kids see occasionally for holidays.

peeta has three priorities in life: propose to you, marry you, and then have beautiful babies with you. plural, because peeta has so much love for you that it couldn’t possibly be contained to just you. no, he needs extensions of you, so that he can share his love with them, too. i think peeta would take his role as a husband and father incredibly seriously, and that would include cooking every meal for your family, organising family game nights every week, etc. but he would even do little things like filling up a vase with fresh flowers every week for you, crafting his own stories to read to your kids every night (and he’d definitely make a picture book to go along with it), and really taking the time to meet the emotional needs of your family. most of all, he wants to make the kind of loving family that he wished for but never had.

he would do best as a father to at least one girl and one boy, if not more. he would definitely make saturday mornings a baking day, with you and the kids helping to bake some treats for game night later that day.

lmk what other headcanons you’d like to explore. like, comment, reblog. love <3

[trippinsorrows]

midnight sun

authors note: don't ask. don't ask. don't ask.

words: 1.8k

warnings: angst, domestic violence

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you

Pressure.

A constant, almost soothing, irreparable thing. A loyal companion that hasn’t escaped nor forsaken him for as long as he can remember. The perpetual weight of responsibility that was assigned to him the day he entered this world, and something that will remain with him until the day he leaves it.

Whenever the fuck that’ll be.

At this rate and with his luck, not for a very long time.

“Did you know that the average person has four bad days per month?”  An overheard question.  Something Roman has to scoff at. Whatever sample that was used that produced such a statistic had to have been the fucking soccer and yoga moms. The ones who consider Starbucks being out of fucking pumpkin spice the definition of a bad day. “Adults also apparently smile 15 to 20 times per day.”

Another random fact that’s overheard, except it’s something that Roman realizes is much closer than he initially realized. The proximity does not align with something that’s in earshot. More so something that’s right in front of him.

“I don’t know if I—if I really believe all that, but—”

With a heavy sigh, he lifts his head, ready to lay into the poor, unsuspecting soul. “Why are you fucking talking to—”

Two abrupt stops. Two interruptions. Two complete collisions. 

A second round.

Years. Almost twenty, and yet the instant his eyes lock with hers, he knows, and judging by the way she drops the notepad in her hand, she knows, too.

It’s been some time since he’s felt so thoroughly shaken, but that’s exactly what he feels in this moment.

“Solana?”

Not that there was any doubt before, but the tiny gasp that leaves her mouth is all the confirmation he needs that this is most definitely her. 

Her eyes. So big, brown, and inquisitive. Once filled with an abundance of hurt and pain, an ideal match with his all that time ago, is no longer the same. Something different. There’s some trace of happiness. Yet, there’s something almost disingenuous about it. Like, it’s a poor attempt at camouflaging what was felt so long ago.

What might still be felt.

“Roman….”

His jaw clenches. It’s been so long since he’s heard his name leave the mouth of someone like her. Soft. Innocent. Kind.

None of those non-physical things about her have changed. He can tell that even in this brief, unexpected interaction. 

Naturally, his eyes move over her, noticing her hair is no longer long and cascading down her back. It’s short, barely brushing past her shoulders. Lighter. It suits her.

Her body is filled out, shapely, womanly, heavy in the desired areas. And the minute her mouth curls into an almost hesitant smile, he finds himself pleased that that has remained unchanged.

She always had such a soothing, beautiful smile.

“I—what—what are you doing here?”

A good fucking question considering he has a million and other things on his to-do list and not one of them includes sitting in this random coffee shop he drove past on his aimless drive. 

“I mean,” she laughs nervously, hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that’s—that’s a silly question. You don’t have to answer—”

“I was driving and saw it. Wanted coffee.” Not necessarily a lie. He does now want coffee but not necessarily when he chose to park his Maserati and enter into the quiet, almost wholesome shop. “You work here.” A statement. Not a question.

Nodding, he’s much more pleased than he should be to see her smile grow. “Well, technically, I—I own it, but—”

“You own this place?” To anyone else, it’s perhaps a silly thing to “ask” given she just said as such, but for him, for them, it's so much more.

Her smile is bright, a light that contrasts the still unhealed bruises on her face as she shares with much more hope and optimism than anyone in their situation should have, “I want to own a coffee shop some day.” Looking over at him, consciously or unconsciously scooting closer, she challenges, “guess what I’m gonna name it?”

A bitter scoff leaves his mouth. He rolls his eyes but still gives it a go. “Sunshine’s place or some shit like that?”

Her giggle is a respite from the heaviness of the past two weeks. The only escape he’s found in this hell hole. And not just the facility. 

“No. I’m gonna name it—”

“Dulce’s…..” Roman pulls himself from a memory buried so deep, he doesn’t know how he was able to retrieve it. “You always said…..” 

“Yeah…..” she answers in a low voice, pushing back some of her hair, a nervous habit he sees still exists. But, it’s not the habit he’s focused on. It’s the diamond on her finger.

An engagement ring. 

“You’re engaged.” Another assessment. One that shouldn’t stir up whatever the fuck is brewing within him.

For a second, she looks like it’s a surprise to her as well. And, he sees it, catches the brief glimpse of an attempted escape. 

That sadness. A feeling that doesn’t quite escape a person, not to the extent she felt.

That they both felt.

Still feels, clearly.

For her, at least.

Maybe.

“Y—yes. Ummm—”

“Solana.”

Another voice introduced to the conversation. Male. Gruff. Infuriating. Roman cuts his eyes to the out of shape man who looks like a recovering alcoholic and someone who doesn’t need to be talking or even around her.

“Cody’s waiting.”

Cody?

But, Roman doesn’t have time to think too much about that ugly ass name. His focus is back on Solana, Solana who has suddenly shifted from slightly timid to downright terrified. She’s grasping at the material of her apron. “But, I—I thought he said I could work all day tod—”

“Plans changed.” A rude, coarse interruption that has Roman’s jaw ticking. Just who the fuck is this man and why does he think he can talk to Solana like that?

“Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation?” A much too late entrance into whatever this is, but an arrival nonetheless. “Leave.” 

For some reason, it seems the man only now decided to pay attention to just who she was speaking to, a recognition that has his eyes widened as he turns back to Solana, poorly whispering, “do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Kevin, please. I’ll—I’ll be out in a minute.” It ticks him the fuck off that she’s practically begging this motherfucker, a man who Roman doesn’t even know but would love to put a bullet in.

Just might after today.

Kevin scoffs and shakes his head. “Your mistake.”

He says nothing else, turning to walk away, Roman standing to possibly commit murder when Solana moves her hand in front of him, as if trying to stop him.

“It’s—it’s fine. My—my fiancé is here.”

Roman looks down at her, still completely unnerved by her complete shift in demeanor. Her fear is practically palpable.

“Solana….” He sees her eyes shut as her name leaves his mouth. “What’s going o—”

“It—it was good to see you, Roman,” she cuts him off, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “But, I—I have to go.” And it’s as she turns to walk away, he makes the mistake of grabbing her wrist. Instant regret fills him when she jumps but something else as well.

Suspicion. 

Solana has always been jumpy. He’s known that from the day they met at that god-awful place so many years ago. But something about the fear that courses through her, is stamped on her voice, feels….different.

He drops his hand, stating in a low voice. “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Roman—”

“Please.” A word no one on this goddamn earth could torture out of him, but something that so easily rolls off his tongue for her.

Obviously confused, her expression remains torn even as she reaches in the pocket of her apron, pulling out and unlocking her phone. He takes it from her, ignoring that strange feeling when their hands touch.

Moving fast and thinking quick, he programs his number, choosing an unsuspecting name, one he knows she and only she will recognize. 

Handing it back to her, he instructs, “you need anything, you call me.” It’s not preferred. What he’d prefer is to walk outside and snap that Kevin and this Cody person, if he’s outside too, necks. Would prefer to tell her to just stay with him. But, it’s too much. Much too much given how long it’s been.

And yet, they seem so easily falling back into routine. 

She’s still visibly nervous, holding her phone in her hand instead of placing it back in the apron. Another pained smile followed up with, “goodbye, Roman.”

He doesn’t say it back, almost refuses to. Just watches as she moves to the back of the shop, coming out a few minutes later, apron discarded, purse on her shoulder, nearly rushing out without sparing him a glance even if his gaze never leaves her.

Solana is only able to barely slide into the back of the SUV, the door held open by an irritated Kevin when she’s yanked by her hair.

Piercing blue eyes stare down at her, his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly but not enough to completely restrict speech.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

His voice is harsh and angry, as is the look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to try to respond when he instead smashes her head into the window. She winces but refuses to cry out in pain even when his fist collides with her jaw. Her eyes clench shut, Solana already tasting the blood forming in her mouth.

“When I tell you to come, you fucking come, you understand me?!” He shouts, once again grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

Nodding helplessly, she forces out an answer, ignoring the blood leaking out the corner of her mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

He scoffs, a cruel, wicked smile on his face as he takes pride in his work. In her terror. “Pathetic,” he hisses, shoving her away. Solana moves as far into the corner as she can, forever grateful when he pulls out his phone and initiates a phone call like nothing happened.

It’s stupid and risky and something she most definitely shouldn't be doing, but Solana can’t stop herself from also pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, moving to the R’s only to find nothing there.

There’s an emptiness that accompanies that realization that makes no sense. A sadness that fills her at the thought that he didn’t, but…..the look on his face, so handsome and strong, the fact that he even asked….he had to.

So, she continues to scroll, carefully assessing for each stored contact, stopping when she sees it. Emotion fills her for a completely different reason, reading the single word that carries such weight and meaning.

Journey

[northern-passage]

I really don't get how Lea could ever think they and the Hunter were a team, when apparently they knew about the collar thing while the hunter didn't even know??? They are the literal embodiment of the Hunter's alienation and dehumanization. Will Lea (and the narrative) ever acknowledge how fucking despicable the order actually is??? They're a bunch of child abusers who prey on poor families and practice human trafficking. On that note I actually deeply despise the Hunter's mentor. That fight scene with him forcing us to stand up again and again? I don't care that the same was done to him and he did it to make the Hunter stronger or whatever. That was the same logic my grandmother had when she hit my mother, and she would have done the same to us if my mother hadn't cut ties with her and broke the cycle of generational violence. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't play this game right now as it very clearly trigger some things within me that I should address elsewhere than in your ask box, but I guess I needed to express how helpless the Hunter made me feel. Especially with Lea. My character (and myself I guess) couldn't sit down and have a normal conversation with them given how blind they were to the Hunter's situation, and that was even before I understood what the collar thing truly meant after replaying the demo and reading the last snippet you published. Lea comes from a powerful family with ties everywhere, they are literally called our 'handler', and they know what the ladder does to someone (both short term and long term, mentally and physically)... And they truly think them and the Hunter are the same??? Equals??? The only explanation I can find is that they grew up their entire life within the order and never knew anything else, and so this is a case of great ignorance and deep denial. They need a good wake up call and a lot of character development, but when I see Noel's reaction and Lea's behavior during their rival route, I'm kinda worried.

well... i mean most of what you've mentioned here is The Point. Lea is a hypocrite, and the hunter can argue with them and refuse their partnership because of it. Jorah is an asshole and treated the hunter poorly at times, to the point that him and Rodrick argued about it frequently, and is why Rodrick attempts to intervene when they spar. the Order does cause harm and coerces people into their ranks, usually children or those that are more vulnerable and lack other options; and this is always true no matter how the hunter tries to justify it and convince themselves otherwise. all of the people and institutions in this game are complex, none of them are righteous, and they exist as they do because i have something i want to say-- all of these are choices i've intentionally made when writing this story.

and we're only on chapter 1 right now (and even before the rerelease, only on chapter 2), all of the characters need character development, none of their arcs have even started yet.

this story is supposed to make you Feel, big feelings and little feelings, my goal is for people to connect with the characters or at the very least just empathize with them and have a desire to see their stories through. i'm not out to trigger people but this game is intended to be a dark fantasy that explores heavier topics. i'm always open to discussing my thoughts behind certain characters/narrative choices and i will always welcome suggestions if you feel i need to add something to the content warning list, but i really don't like asks like this, and i'm not really sure how to respond as a stranger on the internet. you can either trust me and my intent as the author, or maybe it would be better to not continue with the story if that's what is best and safest for you. only you can know and make that choice, not me.

[illuminatedferret]

"At this point, I might as well just tell it to you straight. I've got a whole bunch of opinions about you." "Uh... well... I knew that already. For ages now," Xie Lian said. "Oh really?" Mu Qing said coldly. "Then do you know that I often thought you relied on your status too much- that even though you were His Highness the Crown Prince, even though you had good fortune, your skills weren't that much better than mine?" "..." "I also thought that you probably only liked doing all those good deeds for show, because you wanted all the praise and flattery. And that you only helped me because of that- I was the perfect subject for you to demonstrate your sympathy and kindness on. To be honest, some of my opinions haven't changed, even now." (Vol. 8, pg. 54-55)

This does not sound like a guy who has/had a good opinion of Xie Lian.

This sounds like a guy who thinks Xie Lian is an arrogant nepo baby who does good deeds for the optics. And while he mentions Xie Lian's circumstances, it's all couched in what Xie Lian is doing with them. If there is a place in the novel where I'm meant to take away that Mu Qing's issues with Xie Lian were actually with his circumstances, please point it out to me. Because from where I stand, it looks like Mu Qing spends most of the novel with a pretty poor opinion of Xie Lian. He definitely feels resentment over the (original) differences in their stations, but that resentment very clearly rolls over into his resentment regarding Xie Lian and what he sees Xie Lian doing with his station.

Not only that, we see him react positively more than once to Xie Lian suffering/doing bad things. He's a little "cheered" to learn Xie Lian's living in a shack (1.219). He's in an "excellent mood" when Xie Lian is put under house arrest, and he's "uncontrollably excited" to think Xie Lian is responsible for the Gilded Banquet Massacre (2.183). He's smug and passive-aggressive when they're talking about Xie Lian's past as General Hua (1.323) He also accuses Xie Lian of only offering to help 'his general' re: the fetus spirit in hopes of sabotaging his case (5.55). All this is to say, we see throughout canon that this guy does not think highly of Xie Lian. They parted ways on bad terms, and Mu Qing spent 800 years convinced Xie Lian hated him. It took him seeing Xie Lian again after 800 years and being hit in the face again and again with how good he is to finally start admitting both his negative opinions and that despite them, he still admires Xie Lian "more often than not." (8.55)

You also mention how Xie Lian and Mu Qing might have been different if they'd swapped places. But they do swap places!. Xie Lian spends 800 years scavenging for scraps with the worst luck possible. Mu Qing spends 800 years in the heavens, one of Thee most powerful men in the Three Realms. One stays kind and generous, the other stays skeptical and paranoid. Childhoods can be formative, yes, but there comes a limit on when we can attribute everything to a difficult childhood rather than a person's character, and the feasibility gets really stretched when we're talking about characters who have been alive for over 800+ years. TGCF definitely focuses more on nature rather than nurture, for good reason. It's a central theme of the novel.

TGCF makes it clear: to change or to stay the same are both choices. Staying the same is not a default action- often, (especially under pressure) it is an active choice someone makes. Mu Qing had 800 years to unpack his issues and grow as a person. He didn't. I find it both lazy and boring to throw everything about Mu Qing under the label of 'virtually sealed' because he had a difficult childhood, especially when we see none of said childhood. On top of that, you're assuming Mu Qing likely would have been a better person had he been in Xie Lian's position, but the opposite is just as possible- who's to say being a prince wouldn't have made him worse? Look at Qi Rong. Xie Lian's parents are permissive as hell. That Xie Lian turned out how he did speaks to his character, not the people around him. And in canon Mu Qing may dislike being compared to the Crown Prince he once served, but I imagine that if their positions were swapped, he would have hated even more being outshone by a mere servant.

Also, forgive me if this is unwelcome, but I feel like your argument would be much stronger if you relied on textual evidence from the book from phases of Mu Qing's life that we actually see- for example, I do believe that watching Xie Lian crash and burn in Book 2/4 definitely discouraged him from ever sticking his neck out for someone else. It would discourage me! But talking about Mu Qing's childhood as crucial for understanding him when we get maybe a few sentences about it isn't very compelling. Mu Qing is an interesting character with a lot of depth and complexity, but reducing him down to 'he couldn't help it, and it was always about their stations anyway' does him a disservice.

There's something to be said about how Mu Qing and Jun Wu both held these ideas about Xie Lian and who he really is as a person- specifically, that his kind and forgiving nature is a lie, and deep down he's actually just like them. These are ideas Mu Qing and Jun Wu spent centuries believing, refusing to be convinced otherwise until they had no other choice.

But that's where their similarities end. Because while Mu Qing resents Xie Lian for his good character, he also honestly admires him for it. Jun Wu, on the other hand, 'loves' Xie Lian, but grows angrier each time he's reminded of how different they really are. And so I think it's very fitting that when Mu Qing finally swallows his pride and admits his preconceptions and faults to Xie Lian, it's on the Heavens-Crossing Bridge, the literal wreckage of Jun Wu's hopes and dreams.

[windvexer]

Do you know if there's a chance that someone just... Can't do magic? I feel like none of my spells work despite trying different methods and advice, I've never been chosen by a deity like most practicioners seem to be, I feel like there's something I'm missing fundamentally that means I just can't make magic. How can I check, so I stop giving myself hope and then having it crushed?

Perhaps a bad faith take, but I doubt most practitioners have been chosen by deities. I am of the opinion that many people believe they are supposed to be chosen and then use very lax systems of omen reading to justify that such-and-such god is claiming them.

Over the years, many people have asked me for help getting their spells to work, or solving such-and-such magical blockage.

And unfortunately, just about every time, the end result is that the person really has not done as much work as they think they have done, and they are still more or less on square one (or square zero) of practice.

Here are the sorts of questions I would ask you if we were chatting about this:

Focus

What specific school of magic are you trying to learn? "Witchcraft" and "magic" are not schools. Are you trying to learn Traditional Witchcraft? Lodge Magic? Chaos Magick? Appalachian Folk Magic? Dianic Wicca?

Out of the school of magic you are trying to learn, how many books have you read about it?

Out of those books, how many of them focused on actual technique and theory? As in, explaining the magical theories as to why this system works the way it does.

Do you have a clear understanding of why this magical system works the way it does? Can you describe it to me?

Within the magical system you have chosen to study, is there a clearly laid groundwork for what practitioners are supposed to have to do before they are valid/initiated/adept within this system? If so, have you achieved all of those requirements?

How many months of ongoing study and practice do you think is reasonable until you are ready to move to a new school of focus?

Learning Plan

Witchcraft is a complex and variable skill that, like writing a novel, requires a working knowledge of many diverse skillsets.

What is the specific goal you are working towards at this time? "Getting a spell to work" is not specific enough. "Casting a prosperity spell that is able to generate small amounts of cash, gifts, or benefits within a 2 week period" is the type of thing I mean.

What is your lesson plan to achieve that goal? An example might be, 1) read a book on prosperity magic, 2) study and research 5 accessible plants related to prosperity, 3) learn an energy raising technique, 4) learn how to charge correspondences, 5) learn how to add correspondences to candle spell, 6) learn magical timing techniques.

Even if you do not have a lesson plan, can you name the top 3 things you have been actively practicing to try and become a better practitioner? Examples might be energy raising, visualizing techniques, talking to spirits.

Once you formulate a lesson plan, ask yourself how many hours you think is reasonable to spend on each step. If you don't think you've ever successfully raised energy before, do you think it's fair that you might require 10 hours of practice learning your first energy raising technique before you can do it?

Could you explain to me the steps you believe are required to perform magic? Include how many hours you've spent practicing techniques applicable to each step.

Practice

Think of magic as being like learning to close a restaurant by yourself. You must be experienced in all of the stations, and have in-depth knowledge about the standards required. Do you also have such experience and understanding when it comes to your own craft?

Outside of reading and study, since the start of your practice, how many hours of concerted effort have you put in trying to perform magical techniques? This includes energy work, casting spells, sensing energies, divination, talking to spirits.

Write a list of each specific magical technique you have tried to learn. Not just "energy work" but, "Earth-roots grounding visualization to raise or balance energy into the planet." "Gathering energy into the lungs and exhaling to release excess energy." "Trying to contact the spirits of tarot cards." Be very specific. Next, write down how many hours you think you have spent practicing each technique. Which techniques have you spent more than 10 hours practicing, even if that practice is across years?

Write down every spell you ever remember trying to cast. How many are there?

Of all the spells you've tried to cast, are they from a wide variety of intents (such as prosperity, protection, luck, binding, conjuring), or are they mostly one type (e.g., prosperity)? Write down how many different kinds of spells you've tried to cast, based on intent. Have you practiced at least 5-10 spells in each category?

Technique

You've asked me, so given the way I do things:

How long does it take you to cast simple spells? Do you think it might be reasonable to expect that casting even a simple spell could take 30 minutes or more?

When you work spells, how long does it take you to raise energy? This can also include hours/days spent finding objects/ingredients of natural power. Would you say that you spend at least 10-15 minutes raising magical power for every spell that you cast?

When you work spells, how do you imprint/program energy? How do you stamp it with your intent so you know it's going to do what you want it to do?

When you work spells, how do you deliver them to their target? What techniques and methods do you employ to make sure they can get to where they need to go?

Before you cast spells, how much divination or investigation do you perform to make sure the spell will be effective for your purposes? Even a perfect screwdriver will fail where a hammer is required.

Do you use traditional techniques like aligning your spells to planetary timing, gathering taglocks, casting circles, or calling quarters?

Hygiene

How often do you perform self-cleansing? Otherworldly grime can obfuscate magical power.

Have you ever cast, or had others cast for you, unblocking or unbinding spells to help open the roads of your power?

How often do you engage in managing your personal energy? For example, centering/reclaiming exercises to pull escaped energy back into yourself, or energy gathering exercises to build up personal power.

Resources

Of the people you are asking for magical help, are they all a part of the same group who carry similar worldviews and would tend to suggest the same advice?

Of the people you are asking for magical help, how many of them are able to affirm that they are mentors, teachers, spirit doctors, or consultants qualified to help people with the problem you have?

Do you have a group you can work with to practice skills, such as energy charging and energy reading?

When you cast spells, do you have someone you can send photos of the spellwork to, so they can try to perform readings or diagnosis on what's actually going on?

Reality

Have you chosen a start date for your practice (such as, "I've been a practitioner for 2 years,") but in reality you have only tried to practice magic for a very limited time (say, 1 or 2 months out of that period)? If so, is it possible that you are comparing yourself to the success of a practitioner of 2 years, instead of a practitioner of 2 months?

Does the kind of magic you believe in dictate that rigor and technique are required to achieve results? Or are you more working in the "visualize and believe" arena?

Are you comparing your successes to people who are telling the truth about their practice? Is it possible people you are comparing yourself to are not using rigorous self-assessment when they calculate their own wins?

Are you comparing your successes to people who may have been practicing for decades or more on intensive paths, or who have spent thousands of hours honing their practice within a single area?

Are you being realistic about what actual success looks like? For example, casting a protection spell, something not protected against happens, and then deciding that because something bad in general happened, the entire protection failed.

Anyway Anon, to actually answer your question: no, I don't believe some people just "can't do magic." In very rare circumstances, some people may have serious blockages or entanglements going on that must be resolved before they can do magic. Others may require less intensive spellwork like unblocking to clear the way (like idk, maybe granny prayed over you in the crib that you'd never get involved with all this evil occult stuff).

It's my experience that almost everyone who thinks they can't do magic, if they were being very honest with themselves, would have a hard time coming up with actual lists of things they have done to try to be better at magic; they have perhaps practiced for a handful of hours across several months; they are not learning core skills (like energy work, divination, or trancework); and they are not working off of tried-and-true systems, but are rather setting up camp at the intersection of every possible shortcut (clear quartz, rosemary, and roses are universal substitutes; you don't have to use any physical tools or ingredients; visualization is the same as energy raising; intent is all you need; traditional methods of targeting such as obtaining taglocks are irrelevant; casting a circle is irrelevant; magical headspace is irrelevant; building and consecrating of holy areas such as altars is irrelevant; astrological timing and places of power are irrelevant; going to great lengths to obtain or preserve power is irrelevant).

The other 3% of people pissed on a fairy tree when they were kids and need to spend a couple of months working with a mediator to rectify their relationship with the spirit world.

Do feel free to DM me, if you like.

[seoulbye]

FINDING EQUILIBRIUM · GOJO SATORU

( PLAY EPISODE 2 : GIVE ME A MEOWTINI. ) gojo’s friends have gotten tired of the constant flaking and random rain checks. and because of it, gojo's starting to see the cat miraculous more as a curse than anything else now | watch time : 3.8k words.

── chat noir!gojo satoru & student!reader, akumatized!geto, ladybug!unknown character, mentions of alcoholic beverages, slightly dramatic gojo, features geto suguru, shoko ieiri & nanami kento, etc.

note. give me a meowtini, please... shaken, not purred! pur!

Thursdays and the weekends are the only days that Gojo, Geto, and Shoko have any availability to hang out outside of classes. Unfortunately for Gojo, most of those days, Hawk Moth likes to interrupt his plans, and he always has to make a rain check. Oftentimes, he felt guilty, but Plagg would always assure him that it was for the greater good and for the safety of the world. And while Gojo couldn’t and wouldn’t question, it grew tiresome to always have to come up with an excuse for his sudden departure. 

Geto and Shoko would ask where he was going and what could have possibly come up at the last minute to send him off in a hurry, and he’d always have to throw some absurd excuse out there before running off without further explanation. He could see their growing annoyance the more time had passed. He’d be sitting down before his shoulders suddenly stiffen up and each excuse would start with an “uh.” They’d give each other an annoyed look before sending Gojo on his way, no longer bothering to ask what came up. This was typical Gojo behavior now. It’s a surprise that they still even invite him out. 

They’re sitting in this small pizzeria that looks like it has many health violations. Two boxes of pepperoni pizza, one empty and the next halfway there— most of it eaten by the two men while Shoko only got three slices. It comes to a surprise that the white-headed boy is still with them, leaning back in the cushioned booth seats as he reaches for another slice of the too greasy pizza. He should really stop, but it’s just too good to. They’ve been catching him up about all the things that he’s missed, their voices chirpy but keeping an alerted gaze on him. They’re ready for one chime from his phone, for his shoulders to stiffen and his posture to straighten. But, there’s none of that. 

It makes Geto skeptical the most, eyes squinting at his best friend in sheer curiosity and disbelief as he hums. Shoko continues on with her story about her shitty professor, reaching for her glass of lemonade when Geto interrupts her. “Are you alright, ‘Toru?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Gojo nods. “Yeah, I’m all good. Why?”

“You’re usually gone by this time,” Geto says. “Nothing up with your dad or anything?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ Then, he chuckles, knowing the direction of this conversation and where it’s going. Shoko silently listens in, clearing her throat from the tartness of the lemonade. “Nothing this time around… Unless, you want me gone.”

“I didn’t say that,” Geto frowns. “I’m just wondering if everything’s alright with you.”

“We’re wondering if everything’s alright with you,” Shoko corrects, chiming into the conversation. “This is the first time you’ve broken your streak of bailing out on us and we want to know if everything is alright.”

They’ve asked this question before— countless times over. Gojo always fanned it off and played it cool. Just telling them, You know, my dad and everything. Or, I just forgot about this one assignment I had to do and I don’t want the professors to kill me. Sometimes they’d catch him in a lie and try to press him for more information, but he’d dodge them all. Underneath the table, Gojo fidgets with his fingers as he knows he can’t keep this up for much longer. At some point, they’ll grow tired of him and that bond they both had since childhood would start to weaken. And, he’ll be all alone. Again. 

“Everything’s alright,” he grits through his teeth in a low voice. “I just—”

“You’d tell us if something is the matter, right?” Shoko leans forward. Geto knows everything about Gojo— what makes him tick, what keeps him breathing, what makes him happy or sad, and when he’s lying. And he’s lying right now. 

He’s had his suspicions for a while now. Every time he disappeared, not too long after are there news reports of Chat Noir and Ladybug fighting another villain. He’s seen the heroes in action as well. Strikingly white hair and bright blue eyes that were so unique to him that it couldn’t be anyone else. He knows it’s Gojo, and Geto knows that Shoko has her suspicions as well. They’ve talked about it— briefly, but they’ve voiced enough similarities between the hero and their friend to come up with a jurisdiction. Just, why wouldn’t he admit it? Why did he have to keep lying? “Are you hiding something from us?”

He couldn’t keep it in anymore. The question digging in his mind, begging him to ask and wait for Gojo’s answer. Gojo tenses up, holding his breath as his eyes flicker everywhere but to his two friends. His chest starts to heave and he groans inwardly at his best friend. He’s always been so intuitive and Gojo knows that he can try to diverge from the conversation all he wants, Geto will always have a sneaking suspicion. So, he sighs.

“No,” he says against his better judgment, watching as both Shoko and Geto’s shoulders drop at the blatant lie. Geto sneers at Gojo, reaching for another slice of pizza. 

As much as he’d like to continue pressing his friend for more and to yell at him for his stupidity, he decides that he won’t. Instead, responding with a nod and a mere, “okay.”

The rest of the lunch is awfully quiet, the three of them barely uttering out anything over three words. Gojo would try to start a conversation up, asking Shoko to continue on with her story, but to no avail. This time, it’s their turn to create lousy excuses as they push back their chairs. The legs crying out harshly against the tiled floors as they stand and make a beeline for the door. They leave Gojo to pay for the bill as he initially promised— an apology for all his impromptu ditchings— and without a goodbye, they leave Gojo alone. 

The pizzeria has always been a small restaurant, leaving only the college student and the employee watching the entire course of events play. He diverts his eyes when Gojo turns his head in his direction, finding work somewhere else in the kitchen to pass the time before sliding over the bill, a look of pity on his face throughout the short encounter. Sliding his card, Gojo lets out a sigh as he finishes the rest of the pizza by himself. And, Plagg— the otherworldly friend peaks out from his special spot in Gojo’s bag when the coast is all clear. He feels guilty for the sad exchange, whispering a small, “I’m sorry, Satoru.”

Gojo doesn’t answer. Just wallowing as he finishes the rest of his pizza.

—

“What’s got you feeling so fur-ocious?” Gojo chides, leaving his dimple prominent as he lands on the roof with agility. In his black suit that stretches, he’s on all fours as he stays on alert, not liking the menacing look that the akumatized villain gives him. In an all gray suit lined and threaded with zippers, an elastic balaclava to hide his features, it’s hair to detect just who the victim is today, but it didn’t take Gojo more than a couple of seconds to realize who it is. Piercing brown eyes that stare back at him with such venom, they’re distinguishing enough for him to know that it’s his best friend under that mask. 

It takes everything in Gojo not to falter and break this facade, but he straightens his posture just in time as Ladybug comes into the scene. Geto has his teeth bared out right at both of them as he has poor innocent victims running around soundless and in fear, eyebrows furrowed as his fists ball up tightly. “I bet you two enjoy lying to everyone, don’t you?”

Standing tall with her hand on her hip, Ladybug cocks her head to the side, looking down at Chat Noir. “What’s got him so mad?”

He shrugs, “From what I understand, he’s mad about liars. Been going everywhere and zipping everyone’s mouth shut the moment he detects them not telling the truth.” 

It cuts having to lie, even to Ladybug herself. However, they’ve both agreed that for the safety of each other and their identities, it best not to reveal to each other anything compromising that could detail each other’s identity on the off-chance they get akumatized. Anyone that possibly knew could breach their identity and lead them straight into Hawk Moth’s hands. 

Gojo’s imagined it before, and he’s sure that Ladybug has, too. Imagine what it would be like to tell your friends and those who you trust the most, but hasn’t every superhero movie revealed that it’s always a bad move. It puts everyone at risk— not just the heroes themselves. When Gojo was trusted with the Cat Miraculous, he thought it was a gift— an honor to be given something so powerful because of his character. However, looking at Geto, or The Zipper, he’s starting to feel like it has become a curse.

“You don’t care who you hurt in the process,” the Zipper sneers. “Just as long as it’s all about you still—” He grows angrier with every growing second, Hawk Moth egging him on through the akuma moth. He grits his teeth as all he can see is red, the controlling villain in his ear saying, Get those Miraculouses. “—Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen anymore.”

Gojo can recall when Shoko was akumatized. It was over something that transpired because of a particular professor that kept on giving her bad grades. It was comical seeing her akumatized, running straight towards the old man with a vengeance for better treatment and better grades. Dr. Daisy was her villain name, a cruel weapon to the man that was allergic to pollen and had an irritated nose, but it gave Shoko the satisfaction and Chat Noir the giggles. If he could, he would never make Shoko live it down. 

However, this isn’t Dr. Daisy and the look in Geto’s eyes doesn’t speak to petty vengeances over a simple friendship squabble. This one speaks more volume as both Chat Noir and Ladybug can feel the heavy tension looming over them. Chat Noir looks over at Ladybug with a sheepish look, eyebrows furrowing as a nervous smile graces his features as he tries to ease everything down. “I guess this won’t be an easy cat fight, will it?”

With his bloodthirsty eyes, the Zipper charges at Ladybug and Chat Noir with his weapon, but just in time, the heroes dodge it, going in opposite directions. Their feet paddling on the shingles of the roof, the sliding creating a bumpy sound as they made their escape. Ladybug goes and makes a clean getaway, while the Zipper’s eye line goes straight to Chat Noir, chasing him down with the weapon. 

With every spray of the gun, they become faster and faster, a nonstop patter of the gun. And as fast and agile a cat can be, it cannot dodge every single attack made at them. Chat Noir’s eyes widen as he hears the clatter of metal inches away from landing on him. There’s no room to play any trick on the villain like this. With his heart racing, Chat Noir’s eyes dart out in every direction in hopes to find an alleyway or anything that he can escape. 

However, with the Zipper’s fixation solely on Chat Noir, it creates a simple solution that her yo-yo could conduct without much help. Chat Noir will just… have to make sure he doesn’t get caught. Gojo makes sure he doesn’t look back, keeping his eyes forward as he runs down a jagged line. He’s careful with his footing, ducking and dodging at the very last second. He’s smug when he hears a disgruntled sound from his best friend, growing cocky for the moment only for it to bite him in the ass when his foot hits a leg and leads to Chat Noir’s downfall. 

One fortunate thing is that he gains some distance, rolling down a hill as tomatoes come clattering with him during the long tumble. It’s embarrassingly, really, how the hero rolls and fumbles, unable to get any grip on the floor until there’s no longer a slope. With a final thud, Chat Noir groans while the Zipper only saunters over. He’s the one with the smirk now as he finally has a clear shot on the masked cat-hero. Panic rushes through Gojo as he tries to get quickly on his feet, but right at the last second, he sees the villain stagger. A flicker of hesitation onset in his eyes as his hand starts to shake. 

“What are you doing?” Hawk Moth sneers into the Zipper’s mind. “Get that Miraculous!”

“Wait!” the villain falters, seemingly talking to himself. “No, there’s no time for waiting! Grab his Miraculous! Remember your friend! All of his lies! Get that Miraculous and exact your vengeance upon him!”

Reigniting that anger, the villain comes back to his senses, aiming the gun right at Chat Noir, pressing his finger on the trigger, a maniacal grin gracing his face as he’s got the hero right where he wants him. However, right at the knick of time, Ladybug appears in the corner of Chat Noir’s eyes, aiming the spotted yo-yo right towards the Zipper’s feet. When he goes to pull the trigger, he misses right as Ladybug yanks on the string, making the villain stumble and fall, crashing down to the ground with a thud and joining the male hero.

When Ladybug captures the akuma and the villain is unmasked, she goes to the sulking hero in a growing suspicion as her eyes sink in on Chat Noir. “Mind telling me what that was about?”

He still plays the ignorant card, standing up tall as he shrugs. “Tell you what exactly?”

“He was too focused on you,” Ladybug frowns, propping a hand on her hip as she glares at Chat Noir. He was a great partner, but he could be so insufferable and stupid at times. “And when I came to help you out, you’re on the ground watching him— not fighting back? Yeah, what was that about? You could’ve been discovered. He could’ve taken your Miraculous! How could you be so careless?”

Chat Noir sighs, his shoulders slumping as he looks down in shame. “I thought I saw him hesitate back there— wanted to see what he’d do.”

“So, you nearly jeopardize yourself— jeopardize us both on an off chance that he’d change his mind?” Ladybug grumbles. “Y’know what, it’s obvious that you two seem to be connected in real life, so I’ll just warn you right now, if you mess up again because of your stupid feelings, Hawk Moth won’t be the person you have to worry about.”

— 

You find that one of the most appealing things that college has to offer are the vast amount of opportunities given to you. Whether it is mandatory for a grade or an optional occurrence that your professor highly recommends (and offers extra credit), you find them to be very fun. Especially the ones that offer food. 

Luckily, this conference was held inside of a restaurant. The entire building booked for the event as your professor had asked which students wanted to participate. Taking up the opportunity, you had gotten dolled up for the occasion, beating your face with a light coat of foundation, lip gloss, and mascara before putting on a buttoned-up blouse and a pencil skirt, the attire requirement— business casual. You’re one of the few students to arrive early, taking a seat towards the end with those you find familiar. Nanami Kento, someone you’ve shared a few classes with and someone you start deeming as a friend, is on your right while the seat left of you is still vacant. His blond hair styled in front of his face with his typical stoic expression as the waitress makes her way around with a jug of ice cold water.

He’s the first to reach for it, pouring a glass for himself before looking over at you. “Want me to pour you a glass?”

You nod, accepting the kind gesture. “Yeah, why not?”

Nanami didn’t seem to be a very great conversation from what you’ve noticed. Whenever you’d start a conversation, he always hummed in acknowledgement as he listened in. When you asked him a question, the responses were always short and quick. Nothing to really sustain and carry it out, but you’ve come to appreciate his silence. Because what he lacked in one area, he gave in the next. He spoke a lot of words with his actions, always doing kind gestures to make up for his silence. He was so sweet and kind that it was adoring, making you enjoy his company. However, sometimes the quiet was overbearing and you needed something to spruce up the moment.

Your foot was tapping against the floor rather fast that it called for the blonde’s attention, making him finally muster up the nerve to say something first. “I’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

“Huh?”

“I’m pretty sure it’ll be fine,” he repeats, looking down at your restless leg. “We’re not the ones that’ll be talking.”

“Oh,” you hum, understanding what he meant and stilling your feet. “Sorry, it’s a bad habit. I’m fine.”

“Oh,” he mimics, cutting the conversation short. It’s a nuisance, he knows. He wishes he could start up something more with you, but he begins to feel all flustered and fumbles on his thoughts. He knows if he tries voicing them, he’d only make an embarrassment of himself and you’d lose all respect for him. In silent self-loathing, he grabs the glass and chugs the water until it’s empty, reaching for the jug to pour more. 

Right as he does, you watch your professor rush in. “Sorry, guys! I was supposed to be the first one here, but some family business happened and it held me up.”

You all dismiss her tardiness as the place is still empty all things considered, but it seems like her arrival was the domino effect as people started piling in more, trickling inside. The professors sit on the opposite of you as everyone tries finding their seats. Breadsticks were brought to the table and nibbling on one now, you didn’t realize the presence of someone else until you heard the scraping of chair legs right next to you, the man with strikingly white hair pulling out the seat. “It’s fine if I sit here, right?”

Immediately, you nod, gesturing for him to take a seat next to you. The room is getting packed as the host comes to greet everyone, setting down more menus. Having already decided what you want, you watch as Gojo takes up his position. The evening goes smoothly, but you can’t help the glances you take at Gojo. You don’t know him too well, but he seems rather perplexed. 

“I might be overstepping, but,” you call for his attention, “are you okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”

His shoulders slump, making your eyes widen as you’re worried you’ve crossed a line. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Is it that obvious?” Gojo groans, head falling forward and his styled hair falling in front of his face. His glasses tilt off his nose, nearly falling off. Your heart races, mouth falling in an ‘O’ as you didn’t mean to make him have a small outburst. He groans, hiding his face in his hands before grabbing the jug of water and pouring himself a glass.

“I need something stronger than this,” he groans, which the professor hears. She gives him a pointed look, “No drinking, Gojo.”

He grumbles, looking away. “I was only joking…”

Gojo confides in you, telling you that a friend got upset with him. Though he didn’t go into much detail about it, he was evidently hurt about the course of the situation. You tried giving him as much advice as you could, but he always had an excuse for it. You were curious about his dodginess, but thought there must be a valid reason for it if he was adamant on his stance.

“Anyways,” Gojo says, a smile gracing his features and replacing his previously glum expression. “Less about me, and more about you. Got anything more exciting than me being a shitty friend?”

“I don’t think I do,” you succumb to the discussion change. Humming out as you pondered on a discussion to talk about, you jut out your lips as you do. “I’m going out to one of those frat parties later this week. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Really?” Gojo furrows his eyebrows before chuckling. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t expect you to be someone who likes parties.”

“I do when I need a good stress relief,” you admit. “They can be fun if you go with the right crowd.”

“And do you have the right crowd?” He cocks up an eyebrow. You giggle, shaking your head. 

“Honestly, no,” you say. “My friends don’t really like partying like that.”

“Hmm,” Gojo smiles. “How about I be the crowd you need? I’ve been needing a bit of a stress reliever, too. I fear getting wasted is the only solution possible.”

“Oh, definitely,” your eyes light up at the invitation. “As long as you’re not moping around the entire time.”

“Trust me,” Gojo throws you a sly smile. “I won’t.”

When the conference is over, the professor has all of the students gather around. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a last minute assignment to tell me what the conference is about.”

Everyone chuckles, relief flooding their systems. “I just wanted to let you guys know that in one of the next few classes, we’ll have a project. You’ll need to partner up with someone else, and for this, I’m assigning the partners.”

Some people grimace at the announcement, squirming on the spot as they’re not too sure who they’ll be paired with. You start to worry, not wanting to be matched with a slacker and end up doing the majority, if not all, the work. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll like who you’ll be paired with for the most part. I was watching you all tonight and your partners will be someone within this group. I’ll let you all know right now who they are. A little VIP treatment for you all—”

Your shoulders drop with relief, knowing the probability of having a slacker has lessened. Though, you still question a few of the people in attendance, at least, you know the majority here. The professor scrolls through a list before her eyes light up with an ‘oh!’ leaving her lips. “Nanami with Haibara…”

Reading through the pairs, she goes down the list before saying your name. “You’re with Gojo.”

Standing next to you, Gojo nudges you in the ribs. He looks down happily, “That’s very convenient for us.”

You nod. “Yeah, but you better not give me all the work,” you point at him. The professor dismisses you all as he throws up his hand in defense, “I wasn’t planning on it!”

( 🐾 ) : @r0ckst4rjk @thotwiththoughts @hellokittyish @myahfig4 @kasukuna @aerareads @pixelcafe-network @fluerful @satsattoru @juneslove21 @strngegirl @etsurunii @l-ilysm @moonchhu @starriesworlds @rirk-ke

[suckerforthisshit]

1) I don't even know. Many are really cool, perhaps favorite one is when Near meets Mello eye on eye

2) I don't care. Just not to much uncanny. Personality is more important. (I would hate it anyways. My personal space wounded)

3) Pft, no one knows. Probably a long period because I wouldn't use it, would study it perhaps and keep it as a secret

4) Damn I have Hogwarts AU with Mello, Near, Matt, L, Misa and more side characters I created and added in death note universe. But I can't say it's Harry Potter universe completely because many things are changed.. I don't know. Wait that's not even anime.. Maybe persona five or something. They'd be fun in monster. Chasing Johan Liebert. I also imagined them in Cyberpunk world, as different creatures... Just- don't ask. Even couple of ferrets.

5) "I fly a helicopter with intuition."- L Lawliet scene

6) I'll say a manga cover, because I am not an anime fan. 8th manga cover with Mello sitting on sofa. Magnificent

7) Mello. Once he had a notebook. Although it's debatable

8) First L's. But nothing hit like Mello's death. I was so mad on Near for his reaction. Later on, my rage calmed down in the last act

9) Well now.. that's.. a list. I can't even chose one truly. But let's say generally, for Mello it's hard rock, bit of blues rock with metal tones, for Near it'd be electronic music, bit ot house (no pop). Matt is classic rock and punk rock. L is indie. But this all is just a vibe, not what these characters would listen to. For example in my interpretation Mello loves classical

10) Matt 100%

11) Haven't read manga for a long time, I don't remember all details. (I got driven in my own fictions and fantasies, stories of these characters rider then sticking to manga) but what really shocked me, obviously was L's sudden death, and last scene of Near eating chocolate really redirected me to some future decisions

12) Matt with lemurs

13) Meronia, other ships of my oc characters with original ones. Matt x Zoya, L x Etta. Near x Chris. Mello x Messy.. doesn't matter. No one knows them anyways

14) Naomi Misora

15) Some weird mix of all L, Mello, Near and Matt. Mello's intensity, Near's calmness and introversion, L's personality, Matt's style and laid-back behavior

16) "The one who doesn't win a game is just a loser"

17) Did Mello ever actually care about Near in manga, was his death out of his principles and 'giving up on himself', as he accepted to never actually be able to defeat him. Or actually something else, as sort of sacrifice for Near's sake

18) You mean if I was to choose the color that fits death note manga set it'd be something deep dark red or gray, black. If you ask if I was in series and one manga cover was made for me, it'd be a deep eggplant purple or dark grayish blue color

19) Something dark, black loosen dress, black aviator hat.. dark red-purple lipstick in 20s (previous century) style

20) normal, or ketchup

21) none

22) Won't even start with theories. Many

23) I won't be boring and say Mello and Near's interaction (although it's most true) , but L and Light had fun dynamic

24) Mello and Misora. Misa was fun, sometimes overdressed. Matt was fun

25) Arc two, Near hit me hard. I instantly liked him and started thinking up my own stories

26) I mean, I'll forever repeat that one moment of Mello's death as worst thing ever to happen. Near in third arc (the separated manga) was very depressed

27) I can't. Nah, no energy

28) Uhhh... Mello sitting on couch, or Mello holding a skull

29) idk

30) Near

Favorite chapter/episode?

If you had a Death Note, what would you want your Shinigami to look like?

How long do you think you could get away with hiding a Death Note?

If your favorite character weren’t in Death Note, what anime/manga do you think they would thrive in?

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Your favorite kira?

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A character you would hang out with irl.

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What is a fanwork (edit, fic, art, etc.) that you still think about to this day? (Pls link to the original!)

Favorite ships?

What character do you think you look the most like?

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A line from the series that stuck with you.

A question that was never answered, but you wonder about all the time.

If Death Notes came in different colors, what color would yours to be?

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Lay out the plot of Death Note using only emojis.

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A character that needs to be mentioned more.