#Customized Notebook Diary

[akshayaquapri]

2025 Diary

Custom Diary Printing: Name or Message Printed Diaries

Add some richness in your life with our 2025 Custom Diary printing, a formal yet functional tool designed for those who are basically professional; it can bring such quality and personalization. This Custom Diary happens to be an ideal choice for personal usage, corporate gifts, and promotional exercises; this diary can bring functionality along with style.

2025 Diary: Features and Benefits:

A5 Size:

Such a diary has been perfectly made with an A5 size that easily fits into the pocket, showing great convenience in using it for office work and could be taken easily when going out. Proper writing space is provided without being bulgy.

Built to Last:

A hard cover and robust binding make this 2025 Planner. This 2025 Planner is built to endure the daily grind, so your diary remains intact with all your notes, plans, and memories into the years to come.

Ample Writing Space:

More than 190 pages of writing space in this calendar 2025. As with this many pages, it is probably one of the best choices for anyone needing a consistent daily journal or weekly agenda.

Fully Customizable Cover:

The cover of this Customised Diary is totally customizable. Include vibrant colors, photographs, and branding. This feature will be apt for businesses that are looking to create a Customized Diary with Logo. It’s also perfect for individuals looking for a Customised Diary with Name to add that personal touch.

https://quapri.in/product/2025-diary/

[exhausted-eternally]

Just a little reminder that I bind books if you're looking for a more unique gift for the artist or writer in your life. C:

Feel free to check out my shop to see what I have available, or take a look at my commissions if you're looking for something custom made! (Stuck on ideas? Have a peep at my portfolio.)

[scrollsnsketchbooks]

Painted Feather Journal

Etsy | Commissions | Ko-Fi | Discord

Much like the other one I posted last summer, though this one has parchment endpapers, and plain cream printing paper for pages. You can find it in my shop here!

[aetheriqueprintworks]

Working on more stationary... this is a cozy cottagecore/stardew inspired one!

Its fully blank and ready to be filled in with your to-dos, thoughts, or notes!

Ive already used several of these stacks! 🤣

Available in my shop now!

[leatherjournalcover]

How Rustic Town Journal Covers Add Elegance to Your Daily Writing

Introduction:

Writing in a journal is more than just a routine task; it's an intimate and reflective practice that deserves a touch of elegance. Rustic Town Journal Cover offer the perfect blend of sophistication and functionality, transforming your daily writing journal into a refined experience. In this article, we will explore how these beautifully crafted covers add a layer of elegance to your journaling routine and elevate the simple act of putting pen to paper.

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Timeless Aesthetic:

The design of Rustic Town Journal Covers is inspired by timeless elegance. The natural beauty of genuine leather, combined with minimalist design elements, creates a cover that is both classic and contemporary. Whether you prefer a sleek, modern look or a vintage-inspired style, Rustic Town offers a range of designs that complement any aesthetic. This timeless appeal ensures that your leather journals cover will never go out of fashion, remaining a cherished accessory for years to come.

Personalized Sophistication:

One of the standout features of Rustic Town Collection Journal Covers is the ability to personalize them. You can choose from various leather types, colors, and finishes to create a cover that reflects your personal style. Some covers even offer customization options such as embossed initials or custom stitching. This level of personalized journal adds a sophisticated touch to your journal writing, making it uniquely yours and enhancing your writing journal experience.

Functional Elegance:

Rustic Town Journal Covers are not just about journal cover looks; they are designed with practical elegance in mind. Thoughtful features such as pen loops, card slots, and interior pockets ensure that your essentials are always within reach. The sturdy construction and secure closure protect your journal from damage, while the supple leather exterior provides a comfortable journal for men writing surface. This combination of functionality and elegance makes your daily writing journaling notebook sessions more enjoyable and efficient.

Inspiring Creativity:

A beautiful leather journal cover can inspire creativity and elevate your writing process. The tactile experience of holding a finely crafted leather cover, coupled with the visual appeal of its design, creates a conducive environment for creativity. Whether you're jotting down thoughts, drafting a story, or sketchbooks, a Rustic Town Journal Cover enhances the overall experience, making each journal writing session a moment of inspiration and pleasure.

Conclusion:

Rustic Town Journal Covers bring a touch of elegance and sophistication to your daily writing routine. From their exquisite craftsmanship and timeless aesthetic to personalized options and practical features, these leather journal covers are designed to enhance both the look and feel of your journaling notebook experience. By choosing a Rustic Town leather journal cover, you not only protect your leather journals but also elevate the simple act of writing into a refined and enjoyable practice. Embrace the elegance of Rustic Town Journal Cover and transform your daily writing journal into a luxurious experience.

[newyeardiaries10]

Shop Premium Diary in Delhi NCR – Elegance & Quality

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[tnestationery7]

Manufacturers Wholesale Custom Simple Notebook Thickened Homework Diary

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Top Benefits of Carbonless Forms Printing for Your Business

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[thedesigngoods]

Our first composition books are here! Comes in two sizes: standard and mini; standard comes as college or wide ruled

Standard - 100 sheets

Mini - 80 sheets

Composition books are embellished/personalized, not made by hand start to finish. Our spiral notebooks are made by hand from start to finish from printing and cutting down the pages, drawing the cover art, and building and binding the spiral notebook together.

Buy on our new website! The Design Goods

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

the funny thing is, in retrospect, the existence and structure of the Journals is actually one of the areas where Ford is more like Mabel than like Dipper. like. you can buy notebooks in the 1970s-80s. he didn't have to make a fancy maroon custom-bound journal with metal insets and a monocle bookmark and gold leaf on the cover in the shape of his handprint. he also didnt have to format most of his "research log" as a diary and tape/paperclip in photos of everything he could. what im saying is, Mabel and Ford scrapbooking together

[exhausted-eternally]

Etsy | Site | Commissions | Ko-Fi

New book available in the shop!

[cuntyji]

high school au, don’t be weird about the age please…..🙏😝

choso’s heart is so stupid.

dumb and pink and fluttery, like it doesn’t know he’s seventeen and should’ve grown out of this by now.

but then again, you just said “good morning” again, and now his brain’s doing cartwheels.

he doesn’t say anything back. just kind of nods. like an idiot. and then you’re walking away and he’s left staring at the ground like it’s personally betrayed him.

“that was the worst one yet,” he mutters, marching himself into the boys’ bathroom like it’s a war room. “i didn’t even smile. did i smile? i looked constipated. i definitely looked constipated.”

he opens his notebook. not his diary—he tells himself this one’s just notes. 

it is very much a diary.

7:46 AM she said good morning again. this time i think there was a tone? like soft? i’ve decided she probably meant it. maybe i’ll say something back tomorrow. (side note: do not forget to talk about the newly discovered stegosaurus tail vertebra thing if conversation happens. she will think it’s cool. she HAS to think it’s cool.)

and like clockwork, his brain tosses him back into fifth grade like it’s the most humiliating romcom ever filmed.

he was sitting alone at the lunch table, building a sad, half-destroyed lego spaceship with mismatched bricks because he forgot to pack all the parts. then you came over—uninvited. terrifying.

“that’s the x-wing model from the 2014 set, right?” you asked, like it was nothing.

he almost choked on his juice box. 

“how do you know that?”

you shrugged. “i have it. i made a custom one with an ankylosaurus in the cockpit, though. the regular pilot was boring.”

he stared at you for a full five seconds. and in that time, he saw god.

“…dinosaurs and lego?”

“duh,” you said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“also, the stegosaurus is cooler than the t-rex. don’t argue. i have charts.”

he’d been in love ever since. 

and he’s been preparing—training—to have a full conversation with you for seven years. today is supposed to be the day.

“okay. okay, today’s the day,” he tells himself as he stands in front of your locker with a look of absolute terror on his face. you’re coming. you’re coming and he hasn’t thought of a segue yet—he can’t just open with “did you know spinosaurus might’ve been semi-aquatic?” that’s serial killer behavior.

you spot him. smile. and he short-circuits.

“i—I LIKE—” choso blurts. 

“uh. bricks.”

“bricks?” you blink.

“lego bricks. and, um. dinosaurs. because they’re cool. like you. not like you, i mean—well—you’re not extinct. or—”

you’re smiling again. worse. you’re laughing. so much worse. but you don’t walk away, and choso feels his ears go red all the way to the tips.

“okay,” you say, “what kind of dinosaurs?”

he can’t feel his legs. but god, he’s alive.

“…how much time do you have?”

[trailerheaven]

handmade coffin sewing box

heart shaped cake trinket box

customized crochet cross notebook

lighter from the antique shop

nijntje/miffy stamps

my diary with a kewpie panting

[haddce]

At My Table [1/2]

Ettore x Fem Reader – Inspired by Dexter

Summary: “When a bigger monster appears, the smaller monster’s only instinct is to hide.” But Ettore, a chaotic and not-so-methodical criminal, cannot escape the one person who truly saw him: you. As he draws closer, hungry for a connection he’s never had, you set the table where he will be brought down.

Author's Notes: First of all, I wanted to mention that English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance if there are any errors or things that sound odd to native speakers. And about the character Ettore: he is not being romanticized here, but rather explored according to my creative vision and the narrative I want to build.

Words: 3.365

The night was quiet. The kind of quiet that only exists when the world seems to have its eyes closed, ignoring what hides in the shadows. You walked with cautious steps, as if you were part of the shadows yourself — which was half-true, since you couldn’t suppress the darkness that lived within you. Your eyes weren’t just for observing; they were also for hunting.

Your gloved hands reached for the lock, which opened easily. He wasn’t there — he worked as a night security guard, a job that allowed him to choose his next victims. You had spent days learning his habits and deciphering his routine, which was messy.

The house was dark, ordinary, and almost banal. At first glance, there was nothing that betrayed the darkness its owner carried within him, but you knew — certain things shouldn’t be left out in the open. The sound of a wall clock echoed from somewhere, marking time like na artificial heart. You moved with precision; after all, this was something you did often. The black gloves prevented leaving fingerprints, but even so, it wasn’t safe to touch every surface. The small flashlight you carried illuminated only what was necessary. The house was a reflection of his disturbed mind: messy, foul-smelling, and dirty. On a table in the corner of the room, there were photos — not pictures of a united family, just one of a little boy you knew was him as a child, and a woman you knew was his mother. In the second compartment, there was na album you knew you didn’t need to look at. You already knew what you would find, what had shaped him.

In the bedroom, you found what you were looking for. A small notebook hidden under the mattress, alongside sleeping pills. The pages were filled with chaotic scribbles — it was practically a diary where he wrote about each of his victims and attached a small object that belonged to them. Personal items as trophies? Not very original.

You closed the notebook and put it back in its place. You didn’t need to take anything; you already had everything you wanted. Now, it was just a matter of time. He didn’t know it yet, but you were already inside his world. And soon, he would be part of yours.

After carefully closing the door, you melted back into the darkness, steps cautious and steady. Got you. That phrase echoed in your mind like just another item on your to-do list.

The morning sun was pleasant. The rays gently hit the sidewalk and the bench where you were sitting. Despite the countless passersby, your eyes followed only one. Ettore. His steps were unsteady as he headed to a diner on the corner. You noisily folded the newspaper and stood up, leaving your somewhat unusual disguise on the bench, the pages deliberately scattered by the wind.

The diner was small, with a facade faded by time, but it had a peculiar charm. That is, it was the typical place that attracted those who didn’t want to draw attention. People like you and Ettore.

You moved quickly, entering the restaurant alongside another man. There was an empty table by the window. Ettore always sat there; he liked to watch the street. There weren’t many customers at the counter, the line was short, and between you and Ettore, there was only one man. Your eyes never left the back of that man’s neck — the man who would soon be at your table, and then, in pieces, in the trash bags you carried in your trunk.

Finally, it was Ettore’s turn, and he did as he always did, with a slouched posture that seemed to defy any notion of order. His hair was messy, and the leather jacket he wore looked like it had seen better days. You and he were complete opposites. He wasn’t methodical, wasn’t careful. He was chaotic, unpredictable. And that, you knew, was both na advantage and a risk.

He leaned on the counter, greeting the cashier with a casual nod. He seemed oddly at ease, as if within those walls he was less vulnerable. You watched him discreetly, stepping slightly out of line in the process, memorizing every detail and movement of his body. The way he avoided prolonged eye contact, how his hands trembled slightly after picking up what he had ordered — a donut and coffee, the usual. He had specific tastes and a routine, even if both were messy. Typically, he would leave the line and head to the most secluded table by the window, casually glancing back or toward the door, as if fearing someone might be following him. He was a tormented man, trying to hide it behind a mask of indifference, and he fed his torment through a ritual of humiliation with his victims.

Finally, it was your turn. When your father taught you the code, he also taught you to be a “social chameleon”. Rule number twelve of the code of conduct: If you need friends, choose a diverse group and find something they share in common, then start sharing it with them too — or pretend to. You smiled and stepped up to the counter.

– Good morning — the cashier greeted you, nodding her head. – What would you like? Would you like to see our menu?

– No, no — You rubbed your hands together, not because you were nervous or anything, but because you needed to blend into the environment. – I think a donut and a coffee, please.

– Just a moment — the cashier said as she began preparing your order.

Your eyes finally returned to Ettore. He was sitting at the table by the window, far enough to avoid being disturbed but close enough for you to keep na eye on him without drawing attention. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, still hadn’t touched what he had ordered, and his fingers drummed against the tabletop, as if playing a song only he could hear. His posture was slouched, but there was tension in his shoulders, as if he were ready to get up and run at any moment — a tension unfamiliar to you.

And finally, you received your order. With it in hand and the code of conduct racing through your mind, a warm smile spread across your face. Your steps were calm—there was no rush, just a calculated naturalness.

– Excuse me, can I sit here? — Your voice was light, and you pointed to the chair across from him. – That side is a bit noisy.

Ettore looked up at you, and you finally got to appreciate that sharp, melancholic gaze of someone who seemed as troubled as the others who had ended up at your table. He glanced around quickly, as if only now realizing how far he had sat from everyone else. Then, he shrugged, indifferent.

– Sure, go ahead — He replied, his voice hoarse, as if he didn’t use it much.

You sat down, placing the plate and cup on the table, and after that, carefully rested your hands in your lap. Rule number 16 of the code of conduct: Your gestures speak — don’t stop gesturing while talking to someone, make them feel like your words and presence are genuine. After a few seconds, your hands wrapped around the cup, but not to warm them. It was purely reflexive, something to keep up appearances. You weren’t there for the coffee. You were there for him.

Your lips parted, and you allowed yourself to take a sip of the coffee. As you lowered the cup, you glanced at him for a moment before breaking the silence.

– You come here often, don’t you? — The words that left your mouth might have sounded like sweet syrup to others, but they were nothing but poison. – I’ve seen you a few times.

He raised his eyebrows, seeming a bit startled, surprised to have been noticed. But he quickly relaxed — or at least tried to convey that. His mind was working on the idea that he wasn’t completely invisible.

– Yeah, yeah, I come here. It’s close to home — He replied, finally taking a sip of his coffee as the corners of his lips lifted almost imperceptibly. – And you? I’ve never seen you around here.

– I moved here recently for work — One of your greatest skills was lying well, and that was the second lie of the day. – I was transferred from my job, a complicated process, and decided to start coming here. I like the coffee — Another lie. The coffee here was terrible.

He let out a short, hoarse laugh, almost a grunt.

– The coffee here is shit.

You laughed too, the instinct of a “social chameleon.” If someone laughs, you laugh.

– True, but at least it’s cheap.

He looked at you with a bit more interest now, as if that interaction were a test of authenticity.

– Ettore — He said, extending his hand.

You hesitated for a moment — he had trusted you with na introduction too quickly. But then, a smile adorned your face, and you shook his hand.

– Anne — Another lie. After all, it would be harmful if he discovered your real name. – Nice to meet you.

Ettore’s handshake was firm, almost as if he didn’t want to maintain contact for too long. You noticed the scars on the tips of his fingers and his hands, marks of a life he was trying to leave behind but that always caught up to him.

– So… what brings you here? — he asked, trying to sound casual, but you could hear the pessimistic, distrustful undertone in his voice.

– The diner or the city? — You asked, laughing at the end. It was clear he didn’t know how to navigate a conversation.

– Both.

He spoke while bringing the donut to his mouth and taking a bite. You mimicked his gesture before giving a light smile.

– I was relocated to a social psychological care unit. — You said. It was a bit risky to lie about your profession, but you lied according to your skills in certain areas. – Well, I work going from house to house checking if the people on my list are alive. As for the diner, well, the coffee is cheap, and I think it could wake the dead.

He nodded positively, as if he understood the situation perfectly.

– So, Ettore, what do you do for work? — The question left your lips like a dagger dipped in honey.

He looked at you for a moment, as if weighing whether it was worth answering.

– I work here and there — He replied evasively.

– Nothing major.

You simply nodded. He didn’t want to talk much about his life, so it was better not to push. You already knew everything, everything you needed. Time to change the subject.

– Have you lived here long? I need some tips from someone experienced — He smiled, a crooked smile.

– Unfortunately, yes. — Ettore finished his coffee and looked at you. – But the places I frequent aren’t very interesting for a woman.

You gave a slight smile before letting out a low laugh.

– I understand — You raised the cup and smiled before finishing your own coffee.

First interaction successfully concluded. When he got up to leave, your movements mirrored his, like a skilled imitator. It was time to go.

– See you around, Ettore — You said, with a smile that perfectly mimicked something genuine. – I’m sure we’ll run into each other again soon.

– Yeah — He replied simply, leaving the money on the counter.

You stayed still for a moment, watching him leave. You knew this was just the beginning. He wasn’t methodical, wasn’t careful. But you were. And, little by little, he would become part of your world. And when that happened, he would end up at your table. After all, rule number 8 of the code of conduct: Never let the target suspect your intentions. Approach like prey, so they never realize you’re the predator.

Ettore wasn’t the type to frequent obvious places. He preferred spots that didn’t draw attention, where he could blend in and go unnoticed, and that made him noticeably lacking in social skills. And that was exactly what would lead you to find him again, this time in a small bar. Ettore always went there on weekends, drank enough to wake up dizzy, and then stumbled home. The place was small, poorly lit, with exposed brick walls and na air of decay that seemed almost intentional. The smell that permeated the air deeply offended your olfactory senses — a putrid odor reminiscent of stale beer, urine, sweat, and cheap cigarettes.

You entered the bar carefully, not needing any attention directed your way at that moment. Your attire was simple, something that would help you blend into the environment: a dark leather jacket, tight pants, and boots that made little noise as you walked. Your hair was down but slightly disheveled, enough to convey na air of casualness. It was important to look like you belonged in places like that, like you were there by chance.

Ettore was sitting at the counter, a beer bottle in hand and his eyes fixed on something that, apparently, only he could see. He seemed more relaxed there than at the diner, probably due to the effects of the alcohol. But you could see that, even there, he wasn’t completely at ease. There was a tension in his shoulders that resembled the darkness you carried within yourself.

Your steps led you to the counter, and you sat a few seats away from him, ordering a beer from the bartender. As you waited, your eyes discreetly moved in Ettore’s direction, trying to decipher what he was feeling at that moment. He would certainly make a good page in your memory archive dedicated to building profiles for different killers.

When the bartender brought your beer, you knew it was time to act. You stood up and walked over to Ettore’s side, pausing as you put on a smile.

– Ettore, right? — After the words left your lips in feigned surprise, he raised his head. – We saw each other at the diner, remember?

After a brief moment of what appeared to be hesitation, he looked at you and, consequently, your body, with a gaze that bordered on sinful.

– Oh, yeah… Anne, right? — He answered your question with a question. Definitely someone lacking social skills. – What are you doing here?

– I guess the not-so-interesting places you frequent attract me — You replied, shrugging. – A beer after a tiring week always hits the spot.

You raised your beer as if toasting someone invisible between the two of you. He simply nodded, taking a long sip. It was detestable — the taste of alcohol was nauseating, and the environment only made it worse. But it was also a little nostalgic; after all, your first murder followed this method: drink and blend in.

– I like it here. Not too many people bothering you. Occasionally someone gets stabbed on their way out, but it’s nothing to worry about.

You laughed lightly, masking the disgust you felt for places like that. A few seconds later, you were sitting beside him, while he seemed to withdraw and try to contain himself. Rule number 19 of the code of conduct: Speak and act as you know the person wants you to speak and act. Every gesture, every word, every look must be carefully calculated to reflect what the other wants to see in you. Make them believe you are exactly what they need, even if it means hiding who you really are.

– Do you come here often? — Your voice was calm but carried a slight note of interest. – When I have time, yeah — He replied simply. His eyes turned to your hands, and you placed them in your lap. Starved and hungry for touch — that’s what defined his impulsive actions.

The next few minutes were silent.

Ettore didn’t know how to hide what his eyes and hands betrayed. Every time you got closer, even minimally, his body reacted as if he were starving for something he couldn’t name. You, on the other hand, could name your desire to kill. A shift in posture, a finger tapping on the table as you spoke, a gaze fixed on your hands — perhaps imagining what it would be like to touch them. He was a man who had experienced little warmth in the form of touch, and that made it easy to read and predict what he would do.

The next hour was just idle chatter and plenty of lies.

The bar was almost empty now, just a few scattered people and the bartender cleaning glasses behind the counter. Ettore was visibly more relaxed; the effects of the alcohol made his expression clearer, easier to decipher. He looked in your direction more often, and there was something in his gaze that hadn’t been there before: interest and desire.

That night, you decided to test Ettore’s limits. Sitting beside him at the counter, you let your arm brush lightly against his. He didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he leaned forward, as if wanting to prolong the contact. It was noticeable how tightly he gripped his glass, his knuckles white, as if trying to anchor himself to something real. Neediness, you thought. The same neediness he saw in his victims, the same he felt during his ritual. He chased in others what he lacked within himself.

He was a man who had spent so much time being avoided that now, any sign of attention left him disarmed.

The next few minutes were unsettling.

Laughing at a lame joke he made unconsciously, you let your hand rest lightly on his forearm, pretending it was a casual gesture. Ettore flinched, almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t pull away. And finally, those sharp, melancholic eyes shone differently, as if that fleeting touch were a gift he didn’t know how to thank you for.

– You laugh at anything — He said, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed a longing and gratitude he couldn’t hide.

– Not at anything — You corrected. – Only at the things that are worth it.

He smiled, looking away like na embarrassed teenager. You knew it was working. Every calculated touch, every exchanged glance, every laugh — it was all bait, and he was biting with na almost tragic ease.

– Do you always go out alone? — Your voice was melodic, but if a better definition were needed, it was like the voice of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Your knee brushed against his, casually, and he didn’t pull away.

– Not always — Ettore seemed hesitant to answer, avoiding eye contact while his lips were slightly parted. – But… it’s easier this way.

A knowing smile lit up your face, as if you shared the same feeling. You placed your hand just a few centimeters from his.

– Often, loneliness weighs more than we can admit — Your voice came out in a tone that seemed confessional. Mirror game. That’s how it worked: showing him a reflection of his own wounds, but polished enough for him to see himself in it. He looked at your hand, so close to his, and swallowed hard. You saw the movement of his throat, the tension in his jaw. He wants to touch but doesn’t know how. And then, you let your hand gently and gradually envelop his, in a gesture that could be interpreted as comfort. He flinched but didn’t pull away.

– Have you ever had someone who understood the loneliness inside you? — He stared at you before looking away.

– No — The answer was short. But you knew he would elaborate. – People always leave, or I push them away.

– Not everyone leaves — You said cautiously but with a firm voice, like a promise you would never keep.

He turned his palm upward, almost imperceptibly, as if secretly hoping you would intertwine your fingers with his. You didn’t. Instead, you slowly removed your hand, letting the touch linger like na unpaid debt. It was necessary to keep him hungry, not satisfied.

When the two of you left the bar, he was visibly more drunk but also bolder. Before saying goodbye on the dark sidewalk, he held your arm for a moment, his fingers gently squeezing. Meanwhile, Ettore’s other arm rose, and he brushed his fingers lightly against your waist.

And there it was, that sharp, burning gaze, as if he were a hungry wolf standing before a shepherd full of sheep. You smiled, placing your hand over his in a gesture that feigned tenderness.

– Will we see each other again? — He asked, his voice choked with a need he could no longer hide.

– Of course we will. — You lied, with the typical sweetness of someone holding the ends of na invisible rope. See you soon, Ettore.

Rule number 4 of the code of conduct: Do not form romantic or emotional connections with those you will dismember.

Final: Just to provide some context, this story is an experimental project for me, as I’m gradually getting back into writing and trying to adapt to different narrative styles.

[newyeardiaries10]

Trusted 2025 Diary Manufacturer in Delhi

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[half-an-hour-hence]

Absolutely i what more ugh I love your headcanons sm 💗💗 honestly I def think Remy is the biggest sore loser in the mansion,(escpially when it comes to cards) Can you do more headcanons (dosen't have to be abt board games ifyw)

Oh he’s definitely a contender for the biggest sore loser, but Remy losing a game of cards is a very rare thing indeed.

Anyway, here’s some more random X-Men headcanons:

- Ororo has a very high pain tolerance. And a high alcohol tolerance, too.

- Kurt writes in a diary every day, and he has a whole pile of old notebooks that he’s filled up with his entries hidden away in a box under his bed. If he can’t get to church when he wants to confess something, he’ll write it in his diary.

- Remy has a double helix piercing on his right ear. And an eyebrow slit in his right eyebrow.

- Despite lathering himself in suncream, Scott gets severely sunburnt in the summer every single year. Especially on his back and neck. It’s so bad that he can’t sleep properly at night. Logan takes great pleasure in slapping him on the back at breakfast the morning after a beach outing.

- Jean is ambidextrous

- Rogue collects postcards of the places that she’s travelled to and keeps them in a little box in her room. She likes to write what she did on the back of them to remember her adventures, whether it be the details of a mission or just a few highlights of a getaway with Remy.

- Ororo has a soft spot for gardening and has several potted plants in her room.

- Jubilee makes her own things, like custom jewellery, and also often decorates her jackets with patches and pins she’s made. Morph told her that she has a wonderful gift, and has recently convinced her to sell some of the stuff she makes on Etsy to make others happy. They have bought several of her pins already.

- Hank and Jean bond over their vinyl collections. Hank has some older records that Jean is really interested in, and Jean has some newer ones that Hank isn’t completely familiar with. They often sit down over a cup of coffee and talk about their favourites.

- Logan hates most modern phones and still hasn’t properly grasped the concept of an emoji.

- Charles is an incredibly talented pianist, and has taught both Magneto and Scott how to play some of his favourite pieces.