#Never have i ever ask meme

[aces-to-apples]

Never Have I Ever: djarnakin :))))))))))))))

For this ask meme

Asdfghjkl

Haven't written it (:hmmeyes:) but i suppose what i'd do is steal sheevy's victory lap out from under him by having anakin get kix-ed: someone, either a not-in-the-loop seppie or just a nondescript republic enemy, gets the jump on anakin and carbonites him for transport. Somehow *handwaves* the transport gets lost or maybe the ones who have him store him away and then get murderized before doing anything with him. No one can find him and it becomes this great republic tragedy and actually very little changes beyond not having darth vader at his side; he still activates the chips and destroys the jedi order, the empire still rises.

(Even the twins still get split up and raised by the organas and larses because padmé twigs that sheev is, yaknow, evil and decides that it's too dangerous to raise the children of anakin skywalker when sheev definitely knows that her kids would be his. So instead she pretends she lost her one child in childbirth and instead smuggles them off naboo and to their chosen caretakers; she does in fact have a relationship with them over the years, she just can't publically raise them, especially as a key figure of the rebellion.)

The Hero With No Fear becomes a tragic figure to rally behind, something something a martyr for the republic possibly even removed by palpatine himself for how he'd no doubt oppose the creation of the empire. Cut to 30 years later and din djarin the mandalorian stumbles into wherever carbanakin ended up. Maybe grogu is the one who decarbs him? And of course it's not like djarin is gonna know who anakin is, on sight or in general.

Honestly anakin probably (metaphorically) swings first, because last he knew he was surrounded by enemies and honestly carbonite defrosting has gotta be hell on the system. So anakin comes out swinging and djarin's honestly pretty used to that. They duke it out for a minute until grogu gets distressed enough to separate them using the force, and then suddenly this random feral human throwing djarin around like a tin can and taking hits that would drop the average trandoshan constitution softens into a confused young man asking djarin's baby why he feels older, why the whole universe feels so dark and cold and empty. And like, djarin's not made of stone, clearly this guy is having a rough time and? He knows grogu somehow?? So they bring him back to their ship (rip razor crest i miss you buddy) and let him catch up on the whole damn galaxy and it's. Not pretty.

I don't think i'm a skilled enough writer to make a compelling narrative about, like, grieving the loss of literally everyone and everything you've known while also forging new connections to support you through the process but like. That's what would happen next lmao. And eventually they make out about it idk. Grogu deserves two dad(die)s.

[dkettchen]

[hecksupremechips]

Ever think about Date’s view on family and how that relates to his character? When Mizuki asks him to define family, he just awkwardly offers that its like being blood related to someone. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and Mizukis, but like, he literally had no idea what a real family looks like. He’s an orphan, a man who grew up with no family and no name, but he doesn’t know that yet. He has no memory of his past, no way of knowing if there’s someone out there waiting for him to come home, if he even had a place to call home. His only frame of reference for a family is Mizuki and her parents. Deep down he knows it’s not right, not loving, but it fits the mold of a nuclear family, man and woman, blood related, so that must be what family is. When he’s asked to take in Mizuki, he’s absolutely clueless because he literally has zero frame of reference for how a child is supposed to be cared for. He puts distance between them because this isn’t his place, he doesn’t have the right to love this child as his own because he isn’t the real dad. There’s no place for someone like him in a family. And it’s baffling to him to hear that Mizuki not only loves him, she needs him because he is her family. Date believes he’s a nobody, just a sad, lonely man with no name who absolutely does not deserve this kind of love. But he has it anyway because he chooses it, he makes something that neither he nor Mizuki have ever had before. HES HOME

[muninnhuginn]

Writers tag game

Prompt: share some writing

Thanks for the tag, @miyamiwu!

So, I'll be honest, I don't actually have any WIPs I'm intending to do anything with, but I have some oldish abandoned stuff I managed to relocate. It's back from 2021 so in my Untamed era and this bit was specifically set during Fatal Journey*:

Nie Huaisang woke blearily, cold seeping into his clothes from the floor. It was dark and it took several seconds to remember where he was. He could hear the muffled sounds of clanging and voices. As he lifted his head off the ground, they slowly resolved themselves into the clash of swords and yelling. [...] He didn't know what to do. What would his brother do? Xichen-ge? San-ge? He had his flute with him– he could try Cleansing. This was what it was for, right? Before he could doubt himself further, he started playing, pouring all the qi he could muster into the tune. He'd practised for hours the night before, long after San-ge had left, but despite that, he hadn't truly thought then that he'd need to play so soon. Was that so naïve of him? As he watched, Da-ge began to slow in his movements and Nie Huaisang felt himself start to relax. He kept his lips to the flute, trying not to let his relief fool him into making mistakes. Still, he knew he only had to play a little longer and then they could all escape. Him, his brother, his cousin. They could flee far away from the darkness that haunted these halls. And then Nie Zonghui's head hit the floor. He stopped playing.

And then I had this other bit:

He'd messed up. He must have played a wrong note. Maybe he'd misremembered the entire thing? And now Nie Zonghui was dead and his brother - what looked like his brother - was stood, Baxia dripping blood to the floor. [...] The sword was pointed at him. He tried to hold himself steady as he looked down the blade. Tried to blink away the tears that kept escaping without his permission. He could tell he was failing, unable to stop the trembling, but he forced himself to meet the eyes at the other end of the sword. He couldn't die here. He refused to die here. After all, he was the only family his brother had left.

*(it was meant to be part of a short time travel fic where post-canon characters went back not long before NMJ died. It would've had flashbacks to Fatal Journey interspersed with the "present" up until the point at which future NHS tipped off past NHS about the poisoned music. I actually got as far as figuring out where I wanted all the characters to be at the end of it, but I ran out of motivation pretty quickly so there's only this WIP stuff and the intro part written in the end.)

Ahh not sure who to tag when it comes to writing stuff. I know @roseofcards90 and @floofiestboy write some stuff? And anyone else who sees this who writes, feel free to consider yourself tagged ^^

[jkrockin]

Okay for never have I ever: I am a broken record, but if you did write butch4butch steddie, how would it go?

Ohhhh but it's such a good record, though. I am not sure! Most of my thoughts about butch4butch Steddie are just revolving them in my mind and occasionally mashing their faces together like Barbies. I'm torn on whose POV I'd want to play around in- there's so much juice in Eddie's scrungly thrift store heavy metal dyke aesthetic, her conviction she's the only gay in the village, her nerdy snobbery… her fuckass mullet…

But then, Stevie! Stevie, who used to dress like all the cool girls did in high school, but since she left high school and made friends with Robin, increasingly dresses like Marty McFly; Stevie, who used to have a big heavy shag hairstyle until she cut it short "for sports", and maybe got a little undercut? For summer? Dustin's cool dyke older sisterbrother Stevie, who really cannot work out why Eddie Munson keeps staring at her like she wants her head to explode, and why she wants to stare at her just as much? She could be so fun to play with too!

Plot? Uhhh. Must a fic have a "plot"? Is it not enough for Stevie and Eddie to flirt with each other and stare at each other until one of them breaks and initiates freaknasty hardcore sex?

[threadsun]

none of the words you write are in the bible and I love it

Actually, I think you'll find rape, incest, torture, and murder are all in the tanach. Sorry if your book isn't as cool as mine :/

[soracities]

So as someone who has been all over the internet for a while and was on tiktok during the whole 'submissive and breedable' fiasco (has since deleted, never been more free tbh) i think a lot of people used it (at first) for their fictional blorbos, most often i saw it for like bl manhwa and any piece of mlm fiction talking about the 'bottom' characters tbh and i was like ah haha ok whatever its just fiction idc but then everyone sort of drifted into calling people or themselves submissive and breedable?? And of course it was also on twitter and here and i was so lost bc why are we going backwards for funsies??? Same thing with like the mommy comments all over twitter and tiktok, a lot of women felt uncomfortable being spammed with mommy mommy and i think its really just a product of these chronically online folks who get waaay too comfortable in their online circles and think the whole world operates like that. They think bc so many progressive folks exist in certain internet spaces that the whole world is just accepting and in on these jokes, but if i said the words submissive and breedable about myself in front of say my neighbors, some would probably have a heart attack while others would have much more disgusting reactions towards me. Im begging the kids to log off once in a while and touch grass please

not gonna lie, even for fictional characters using that term makes me EXTREMELY uncomfortable because I just........I can't even begin honestly. Words have weight!!! This website and IG are like the only social media I'm properly on so I had no idea about this mommy thing and I don't think I want to either because oh my god....

[tathrin]

6... on a falling tear and 38... because they're running out of time （＾ω＾）

Oh how lovely and tragic, very nice choices! Thank you very much for the ask. I'll split them up into two separate posts because I'm incapable of ever writing anything succinct though, sigh! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

#38....because they’re running out of time. [mood music anyone?]

“Never thought I’d die as a diversion,” Gimli muttered, watching as Sauron’s army poured out of the Black Gates and surrounded the two small hills on which Aragorn had arrayed their forces.

Gimli could not count the teeming numbers of the enemy that stood before him—they were too many, too foul—but Legolas had the keen eyes of the elves, and he had told Gimli that their force of six thousand was outnumbered at least ten-to-one. They were not all orcs, either, which would have been bad enough; for surely each troll should be counted six or seven times at least.

The hills would help, Gimli thought numbly, at least a little; the incline would grant the defenders an advantage over the enemy that would have to scramble to climb up at them, and the slag pools of fetid Mordor that surrounded the low hillocks would be another impediment—but it would not be enough.

They had known it would not be enough even before they set out for the Black Gates, and they had all of them come anyway. Gimli did not regret his choice to follow his friends into doom, no; but that did not make the moment of the end any less bitter. And that moment was almost here, now; they were running out of time.

The enemy paused at the feet of the hills, hissing and cursing and some of them even spitting, and Gimli spun his axe to stretch his shoulders in anticipation of the battle to come.

He stood near the front, with Aragorn and Legolas and most of the mightiest of their fighters, where the attack would surely be the thickest. He eyed one lumbering troll that was pushing its way through the milling ranks of orcs, an ugly line of drool hanging off one side of its jaw where broken teeth distorted its already ugly grin into something macabre and ghoulish.

“Gimli,” Legolas said, standing so close beside him, his voice light with echoes of distant birdsong, and Gimli could feel himself smiling in instinctive response even as his heart twisted in sorrow at the thought of what was soon to come for them both. “Gimli,” Legolas said, “may I—I would ask a very great favor of you, my friend, if you would indulge me, please.”

“Of course,” Gimli said immediately. He turned to look up at the elf beside him, standing like a slender ray of sunlight in that bleak land, and tried to hide his breaking heart behind his smile. He could not imagine what sort of favor Legolas might ask at this late juncture—or if he could, then it was a favor that need not be spoken aloud, for Gimli had already vowed to himself that he would not allow the enemy to take this elf alive for torment when the battle ended and their defeat enfolded them.

“Anything, Legolas, you know that.”

Legolas gave a strange, half-choked laugh, and pressed his free hand to his face as though smother some strong feeling; with his other, of course, he held the mighty bow of the Galadhrim that the Lady had given him, and Gimli’s heart gave another pang at the thought of three golden strands tucked away safely behind white walls far away, waiting for a dwarf who would never return to reclaim them—but then Legolas moved, and Gimli’s eyes were drawn instead to tight golden braids that swayed before him as the slender Wood-elf suddenly swayed like a falling sapling and bent down close to Gimli’s face.

He caught Gimli’s bearded cheek with his hand and turned the dwarf’s face up to meet him, and then—oh, and then Legolas was kissing him and Gimli’s mind seemed to dissolve in a blaze of starlight. His whole world narrowed down to those smooth lips pressed so tight and hungry to his own; those long fingers twined so gently through his beard to cup his chin in their narrow palm; the brush of heavy golden braids against Gimli’s shoulders as Legolas bent low over him...

Belatedly, Gimli realized that he had reached up to press his hand to the elf’s face as well; he only noticed when the pad of his thumb brushed against the tip of one long pointed ear and Legolas’s breath hitched in both their mouths.

The drew apart, Legolas swaying back upright with a last lingering flutter of his fingers against Gimli’s beard before he pulled away. Gimli’s jaw worked soundlessly around words that would not come,his wide eyes fixed so fervently on the beautiful, beardless face before him that he almost forgot the stink of the orcs and the jeers of their ugly voices in his ears.

“Forgive me the liberty, I pray,” Legolas rasped. His mithril-bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, in that moment looking suddenly so like the pool of the Mirrormere that Gimli almost felt as though he had been transported somehow back to the hills outside Khazad-dûm, and this desperate death at the doors of Mordor made into naught but a terrible dream.

But the creeping tendrils of fear that marked the approach of the Nazgûl was no dream; nor were the thundering steps of the trolls as they began to scale the hills, nor the shouts of the orcs as they struggled to follow. In moments, the enemy would be upon them. There was so much Gimli wanted, needed, to say; but they were running out of time.

“There is—there is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he managed to croak.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Legolas replied. “For I could not bear to die without ever kissing you, Gimli.”

Gimli reached up for those golden braids and bright eyes again. “Legolas—!”

Legolas flashed him a brief, bright, heartbroken smile, and then turned away to face the enemy as the orcs rushed towards them. Gimli raised his axe more out of habit than intention and stepped up beside the elf. “Legolas...” he tried again, but his head was reeling and he could not find the words he wished to craft; they all slipped through his mental fingers, like he was trying to scoop cave-cold water with naught but his bare hands.

Then the first troll reached them, bellowing as it knocked three soldiers of Gondor off their feet to tumble down the hill towards the waiting blades of the orcs below. Gimli growled and gripped his axe, and then suddenly Legolas was scaling the troll, blasted fool of an elf that he was!

“Legolas!” Gimli shouted again, and raced to follow him into the fight.

The troll was too slow to catch the nimble elf, but its attempts to do so blunted its attention to the axe in Gimli’s hand as he hacked at its knees. The creature roared belatedly in anger, even as thick blood wept down its legs. It reached down to try and swat Gimli away, and Legolas scampered across its shoulders and drove his long knife in deep into the troll’s eye. Even that was not enough to kill the beast, but when two Rohirrim came up with long spears the troll was too woozy with pain and blood-loss to bat the weapons away from its throat.

It went down with a thud and a cry of rage rose from the orcs in response. Legolas skipped away from the body and landed on the ground again at Gimli’s side. Shaking with fear, anger, and adrenaline, Gimli caught him by the wrist and gave the elf a shake. “Don’t do that again!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Legolas laughed, fey and unfettered, his merriment as sharp and keen as his arrows. He slashed his knife through the throat of a climbing orc and twisted easily away from the resulting spray of black blood. “Gimli, we are all going to die here,” he said, wiping the blade clean on the skirt of his tunic before sheathing it and drawing his bow once more. “Put aside your fears, my dear; we have moved beyond that now. All that is left to us is to make our deaths worthy of those that came before us, and to sell our lives dearly enough that we might hope to buy enough time for others to save all those who may come after from this Shadow.”

His arrows flew true, burying themselves in throats and eyes and black-blooded hearts even as he looked back at the dwarf more often than he did at the oncoming orcs. In Legolas’s eyes, Gimli could see the glimmer of all the years together they would never have; could see the crumbling eternity of an immortal life cut short and the unscalable chasm that lay forever between the fates of elves and dwarves, sundering them from one another for all time even unto the breaking of the world.

This, he realized, was all the time they were ever going to have.

Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter. It was not enough. It would never, ever be enough—and it did not matter, because there was no more to be had.

Gimli shook his head, swallowing down the urge to weep; he had to focus on the orcs. There were too many coming up the sides of the hill now, too fierce; it was all Gimli could do to swing his axe in time to block their blows and cut them down. It was all he could do to keep close to Legolas’s side, the elf now reduced to fighting with nothing but his long white knife. There were maybe half a handful of arrows in his quiver yet, but even elvish speed was insufficient to allow for proper archery at sight a tight distance in this tumult.

Oh, why had Gimli not seen to it that his elf was better armed before they rode off to this final battle? Legolas was deadly with that little knife, yes, but oh it seemed so short in his long fingers. Why had Gimli not sought the armories of Gondor, and borrowed some mightier blade for his friend? Why had he not sought the forges, and made him one to suit his lanky frame?

He was such a fool. What had he been wasting his time on instead, when he could have—should have—been seeing to Legolas’s safety?

When he could have been kissing him?

Gimli growled, and swung his axe harder, and watched one burly uruk go down gurgling and clutching at its guts. Gimli swung again, and its head toppled free and he could turn to the next enemy, the next threat. Beside him, Legolas whirled and slashed in a flurry of golden braids and a black-blooded blade. He lunged over Gimli’s head to slit the throat of an orc that was angling a spear towards Gimli’s ribs as Gimli kicked-out low and took the feet out from under another orc that had managed to get a grimy hand around one of those bright braids.

“Away from him!” Gimli bellowed, and the orc feel back squealing over the stump of its arm. Gimli stepped closer to the elf—his elf—and they ended up fighting back-to-back, or back-to-shoulders at least; their disparate heights should have made them terrible battle-partners, but it was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Legolas, a balancing of their skills and statures. Legolas spun high with his short knife and Gimli swung low with his broad axe, and the enemy gave way before them.

But more came, replacing those that fell. Always more came, and the fight went on. Gimli could feel his limbs tiring, his bones aching from the weight of his blade and the blows that had glanced off his mail. A dozen small cuts he could not remember taking bled sluggishly, adding a dull sheen of red to the viscous black liquid that splattered his armor and his skin.

More came, and the Nazgûl followed, and all around them men shrieked and cowered beneath that mindless fear. Gimli fought on, so numb with grief that he barely startled at the cry that the eagles had come. That felt unreal, like something out of some other story; one that had a better ending than theirs. Despair rolled thick across the Host of the West and even Gimli, stout-hearted dwarf that he was, faltered for a moment before it—

And then Legolas laughed.

There was nothing merry in that sound, and the only brightness was the sharp brightness of a pale blade flashing out of the shadows of tall black trees. It was a laugh full of teeth, and claws, and all the dark and dangerous things that lurk within a wood. It was the sort of laugh that would send wise folk fleeing for strong walls and sturdy doors; the sort of laugh that might send children shivering to hide under their beds and wait for dawn. It was the laugh of a wild thing, untamed and dangerous, and it rang out light and sharp-edged above the gutteral shouts and screams of the orcs and the roaring bellows of the trolls.

Legolas laughed, and Gimli smiled to hear it. He lifted his head high against the weight of Mordor’s bleak despair and raised his axe high once more. Legolas was right; there was no longer any cause for fear. They had faced the end already, and the end was here; there was no sense cowering before it. Better to stand tall, and die fighting proud and unbowed, defying the power of the Dark Lord to the last.

And then—and then, on the other side of fear, after all hope seemed so long lost it was little more than a memory, everything changed.

The Nazguûl fled; the army crumbled; the towers fell.

Sauron was destroyed. And they had lived.

They lived.

Gimli could hardly process it. He turned to Legolas, still at his side, the both of them weary and blood-stained and heartsick from the tangled mingling of hope and despair, and he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out.

He saw all their tomorrows flow suddenly back into Legolas’s bright eyes and the elf swayed, as though the sudden lifting of the Shadow had left him unsteady on his light feet. Gimli caught his hand and held him steady.

“Legolas—” Gimli began.

“Tomorrow,” Legolas interrupted him with a smile. “Let us help the wounded now, Gimli; we will talk on other things tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Gimli said, rolling the taste of the word around in his mouth; rolling the feel of it around in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow. To think that there will be such a thing!” He laughed from bewildered joy and squeezed his elf’s hand once, tightly, before letting go and turning back to the grim battlefield. “Tomorrow. We will talk on all things then.”

Legolas bent and pressed a light kiss to Gimli’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said again, the word heavy with promise, and then they walked off together into the carnage of hopes renewed and deaths well-fought.

“Tomorrow,” Gimli murmured once more to himself, and there on the bloodstained soil of the Black Land, he smiled.

[drgrlfriend]

fic author Never Have I Ever ask game:

Mafia AU?

I'll be honest and definitely no offense to anyone who loves this AU, but I don't even read Mafia AU, even if I have read anything else by that author. I just don't like my faves being outright criminals, even if they are on the benevolent side of crime. (Red Hood gets a pass somehow.) I mean, having a character be a grifter or a pickpocket or thief or something is not a dealbreaker, but to me Mafia AU is entrenched organized terror and exploitation of people who don't deserve it and it doesn't appeal.

So, IIRC the meme was "how would I do it" if I've never written it. I'd probably down-age a character. Clint Barton would be good for this -- raised in a crime family but too soft. And at some pivotal moment he'd have to make a choice and he'd do something (refuse to hurt someone, set someone free, take down someone on his side who was hurting someone else) that caused him to go on the run. And Bucky would maybe be the one they send after him to take him out, but he's having doubts of his own, and then in the end they run away together, or meet up with District Attorney Steve Rogers and FBI Agent Natasha Romanoff and with their help take the whole family business down.

[aha-my-villainous-thoughts]

ASH! There is no one like you. Your art is so BOLD and creative and genuinely awe-inspiring. I admire all the slutty, slutty things you make Ed and Stede get up to, while also making them look so pretty and colorful. So glad we have you in this fandom. 💕

I seriously don't have words 😭😭😭😭 have some memes instead 😭😭😭💖🧡💚💙💜💖

Thank you so much marianne!!! 😭💖💜💙💚💛🧡❤️💖😭

[mythandral]

7. Someone your muse wishes they’d never met

The more I think about this one for Myth the more the answer hurts me, which is always a good sign. There's plenty of people Myth wants little to do with, but I feel for this question it needs to be someone whose introduction into and part played in his life messed things up rather than just someone he hates, and actually someone in that former group is not necessarily in the latter.

This would not be a constant opinion, just that sort of thought that hits him sometimes and he immediately feels guilty about, but I can't help but think he's thought this way about Haurchefant before.

I could write an essay about this, but it's a combination of Myth being very bad at dealing with grief ('if I hadn't met you I wouldn't have to be feeling this way') and that, while they geniunely loved each other, Myth can look back and see that if things kept going the way they were it was always going to end with one of them dying or getting seriously hurt and not being particularly happy with each other. Their relationship definitely did a number of him emotionally for plenty of reasons, and due to never getting any resolution for it I think Myth might wish it never happened sometimes - and consequentially that they'd never met, because there isn't really a timeline where they wouldn't end up in some kind of relationship otherwise.

[connabeth]

dont johnny test me is the best thing I've read this week

[shakestheclown]

y'all who actually have partners,, what is a text ice breaker to start conversation? im really bad at it 😭

it feels important to note that when we do talk, the conversation flows great we have a nice rapport and complimentary senses of humors it's just starting the conversation that is the problem i think we are both just painfully shy 😔 (and maybe traumatized .)

[touchlikethesun]

okay but you mean to tell me that when some people find a new artist they love, the first thing that they do is NOT to listen to every official album they've released from start to finish??? i'm gen not trying to gatekeep but i legit can't imagine calling myself an actual fan of an artist if i have not at the bare minimum listened to every album they have on spotify, not because of some superiority thing but like if i am a fan i am going to listen to all the music that is readily available to me, is this not what most people do is this not normal??? i just saw a vid of "bts songs you probably haven't heard before" and every single one that they listed was a commercial release on an album, not a hidden track off an album, not a cover, not a japanese release, not solos, not a soundcloud track or a festa track, they were all songs that are easily searchable on spotify, they just don't have an mv. i don't understand modern fan culture, i really don't, why do people not listen to the music of the artists they say they're a fan of???

[dreamieparadise]

❤️‍🔥Worst Ship Meme❤️‍🔥: Momo x Mukuro Edition

Why is it so bare? Their relationship would be agony, angst, stolen glances, and guilty moments 🫶🏾💕

I struggled to write good traits because...huh!?

I will say, the specificity over age difference is because Momo is always quick and smug to be older than someone [yes even at her big age] and Mukuro is a dick so he makes sure to do the same to her. It annoys her, and it delights him.

[boxwinebaddie]

same nervous anon from earlier anddd i graduated!! idk why i was scared i was totally fine lmaosl im the queen of overreacting. anyways im officially a graduate and i got SUMMA CUM LAUDE HELL YEAH

hello, baby!!!!! first of all, i just want to say...

cONGRATU-FUCKING-LATIONS, MY LOVE!!!!!

graduating is no easy feat, seriously. i am so fucking proud of you, i was so excited to finally have enough time to answer this because i am so happy that my face hurts from SMILING SO BIG!!!! :DDD

you did the damn thing!!! like i know that at points it was really hard, but you powered through it and i am so excited for you to start this new chapter of your life and see what life has in store for you. <3

i am glad your culmination went smoothly because hooooly fuck, chaperoning the culmination from my school was HELL ON EARTH, hoooooly shit. parents are so entitled and so mean to me like yeah, okay maam, i'm sorry that you are sitting in the fourth row and you wanted to sit in the front row, SO DID EVERY OTHER FUCKING FAMILY HERE TOLD, like i don't care how much you donate to the school???? i didn't make the damn seating chart, yell at the WALL!

it was...oh my god. i still get flashbacks, bro.

but AGAIN I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!!!

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!

and congratulations to all my friends in school or not, whatever you are doing, and however well or not well you think you are doing, know you are very loved and i am very, very proud of you.

sorry, i haven't been around...again, if you were dying during finals week, so am i because i am GIVING THOSE FINALS when teachers decide to rage quit and take their vacations early like??? thanks so much, legend! it's not like i...you know...have never ran your class before and i have to comfort nervous students WHO AREN'T MINE?

but yes, mwah mwah mWAH! i love you guys, i posted a very lame ask meme finally after 73093740934 years and i'm sorry, but because i am so busy i may go dark randomly and come back. the posting is slow goings and i am worried about how stressful working summer camp will be ( though, i am stoked for the structure ) but if you're on the struggle bus, its the hello kitty bus and i'm driving.

which unfortunately is not great news...

because i can't drive.

anyways! cheers! mazel! <3333

-uncle nina, grinning ear to ear