#ly writes

[ly-von-karma]

D'ya have any Manfred von Karma headcanons?

Mmmmmm...

I think maybe his birthday is either in January or August, don't ask why, I just feel the vibes coming.

No way in hell he's straight. You seen him? At most he's still in denial/closeted.

Man's got married on New Year's Eve and then after signing the papers he went back to work like it was nothing.

No, he didn't invite people to his wedding.

That means he didn't invite Gant or Blaise, God be damned if they somehow show up.

Would absolutely die for his wife. Like, yeah, he a bitch but the wife!!!

They've a fun dynamic. "oh yes darling dearest the love of my life, the center of my universe" kinda thing.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, he plays favourites with his children and nothing will convince me of the opposite.

A wine guy but I'm not super knowledgable in wines so maybe he likes Riesling or Cabernet Sauvignon.

C'mon, he's a white man so his spice tolerance is probably shit. The max he can handle is pepper. Would evaporate if given a taki. /hj.

"Health is wealth" sir have you looked at yourself in mirror.

^- has the worst coping mechanism: workaholism.

I want to say he smokes but maybe it's as rare, like once-in-a-blue-moon kind of rare.

Either a fancy smoking pipe or cigarettes.

He has... a sense of fashion.

^- whatever the hell he wears in court.

Has a pretty nice and comfy arm chair somewhere that he uses but not often.

Falls asleep on the couch, it's dad behavior.

This bitch is weak to shellfish, see what happens when he eats a shrimp. Ends up looking like a balloon.

He got lead poisoning™ from being shot.

That's also why Turnabout Goodbyes happened.

Anyways, he likes tea over coffee.

But if he DOES have coffee I think he'd add like a teaspoon of sugar or maybe one and a half.

Has over twenty different earrings but the ones he wears are extra special (maybe Mrs. von Karma picked them out for him?)

Speaking of earnings, the ones Franziska currently has were his but she stole them and he allowed her to keep them.

He has pancakes as a treat/dessert, maybe when he feels especially accomplished.

They're made by scratch, get that boxed shit outta here.

I want to say he enjoys ice cream, maybe his favorite flavor is vanilla with chocolate chips.

[erraticreflections]

[urfriendlywriter]

prompts that has me lying on a highway:

(feel free to use <3 10, 15, 20 are my favs omds. yall tag me when u writeeee I'd love to read :))

"I'm glad you were strong, love."

"i notice the little efforts you make for me.. and i just want you to know i appreciate it." whos cutting onions

SMILING during a kissss >>>>>

the gaze that softens as soon as it lands on you.

hand holding, twirling in their arms, slow dancing > <

telling a joke just to see them laugh

"love.. isn't a word enough to express what i feel for you."

"you were my bestfriend, before you were anything else, love." <333

hugging. especially if they're not much of a hugger, but they keep hugging you because you feel down. (this is my bestfriend aaah ilovehersm :( )

"tell me what you want, baby." in the deepest, nearly inaudible murmur AAAAH

when they always feed you their last bite

"give me a hug."

"i can't even act mad at you, love."

flirty BANTERS!!!!

"I'll come over there and make you shut up then." "you can try."

"i love you." "say it again."

caressing one's cheek (the one in the face.)

running into each other's arms after barely surviving

enemies but one is admitting, confessing and crying to the another after almost losing them!!!!!

collecting your injured lover,

^ "don't you dare die on me, [full fckn name]." "i won't, my love, i want to live for you... with you. for a long time." they strain but their smile after makes you cry.

"this is so wrong," "if so, then stop me, love," "you tempt me, [name]-" cue a KISSSSS "-and you drive me insane."

being curled up together on the bed, their face buried in your chest.

"i like how you did ____ today/that day."

forehead kisses. cheek kisses, knuckle kisses.

[ouchmyghostskin]

[writeouswriter]

Broke: Acknowledging that a character who is an objectively terrible person is also a complex and intentionally well thought out individual with different levels of nuance you can empathize with in some ways while not in others is immediately “woobifying” or “poor little meow meowifying” them.

Woke: “This character is a bad person” and “this character is still a person” are two statements that can, should and do coexist and admitting that they exhibit nuance and depth and are more than just their bad actions doesn’t immediately excuse or condone their bad actions or mean that you’re ignoring or trying to soften the canonical version of the character.

Bespoke: That’s the whole point, that’s always been the point, to be made to empathize with horrible people so you can understand that they can be anyone, that bad people can be likeable, can be interesting, can be human, are human, and it’s scary to think about all the ways they’re just like you and all the ways they’re just like everything you hate, forcing the use of critical skills in media analysis, forcing a confrontation of the duality of man.

Whatever Level is Above Bespoke: But sometimes, yeah, sure, maybe they are a poor little meow meow, what are you gonna do, get a lawyer

[keferon]

The moment I saw Orion Pax flipping off the authorities I knew that this is going to be my perfect transformers movie

Because YES of course Optimus Prime is all serious and responsible and polite and stuff. He has to be that way. And of course Megatron is all charismatic and powerful. He has to be that way too.

BUT

Between their past selves??

Orion is the one who jumps off the roofs to fight jets in the air even though he can't fucking fly himself

And Megatron is the one who hides under the table during the bar fight

And I absolutely love them being that way

Transformers one gives me everything I need ahahah

[g4ll0wd4nc3r]

idk how to word this but bg3 fans have convinced themselves that astarion is some dark suave devoted romantic with surprising humor. the people yearn for minthara but settle for a man.

[bread-that-draws]

Flowey’s so funny and has me so fucked up like he’s a talking flower. He tries to kill you upon your first interaction. He is ten years old. He is damaged beyond repair. He’s a flower named Flowey. He’s become friends with every single character. He’s killed all of them countless times. He knows everything about everyone. He doesn’t care anymore. He takes care of his mom when she can’t take care of herself. He’s killed her before. He doesn’t care if you kill her. He thinks she’s trying to replace him. He just wants to be himself again. He wants to destroy everything. He hates you. You’re the only one who understands him. He wants his best friend back. He’s terrified of them. He believes in kill or be killed because he died by giving mercy to the wrong person. He believes himself to be the wrong person. He doesn’t understand when you show him that kindness he showed others, even when you know he could kill you for it. He’s tried every route. He asks you if you have anything better to do when you try to do the same. He’s a direct reflection of the player. He’s a fucking talking flower named flowey and his only voice line is by Ronald McDonald and his officially licensed plush does a little dance for you

[the-world-is-a-poem]

The thing about writing is that either it is the most peaceful and satisfying activity ever, or you're wandering about your house at 2:30am with your laptop on 3% battery, 25+ tabs open, a cursor blinking away taunting your inaptitude as you try to remember what doorknobs are called. Or you're lying in a pit of darkness not writing at all.

[ly-von-karma]

okay so, von karma angst, yay!

context; fun au where this happens

"i know you want look away, franziska, no one will blame for not wanting to see him like that."

she shields franziska from the view. her sister's chin rests on her shoulder. she tries to soothe her by stroking her hair and rubbing her back. she's just a child. after all, no child should see their parent die- or be executed, in these circumstances. franziska chokes a sob as she hears their father being strapped in an airtight room, the door shutting loudly.

leonore tries to hold herself together. she needs to be strong, no- has to be strong for her sister, for franziska. miles edgeworth hadn't come, so the responsibility fell on her shoulders. it wouldn't have if helena was here, as she was the oldest, but she was in canada and no longer wanted to involve herself with the name of von karma, she had a life of her own now.

she bites her bottom lip as hard as she could, trying not to show a sign of weakness. and even though she had fled from home, where she was considered a failure by her father and sister, who wished to never see her again for fleeing, giving up and failing the path of law, she knew franziska needed her, no matter what.

papa struggles as the man with the injection gets close to his arm, but he's strapped and unable to escape. he's poked with the needle, the plunger is slowly pushed and the barrel's liquid goes into his vein and throughout his body.

midazolam, to sedate.

vecuronium bromide, to paralyse the muscles.

potassium chloride, to stop the heart.

he stops struggling in the gurney, his eyes close, his mouth pursed into a thin line.

seeing life expire from her father's eyes was an event that would scar leonore forever, until the day she died.

she bites a little too hard, she tastes blood on her mouth.

tears start to form in the corner of her eyes, she tries to blink them away as she chokes a sob.

manfred von karma is dead.

[simp-ly-writes]

From being able to magically move items between your and your party's inventory- feel as though the companions would do the same to yours if given the chance. Astarion would give you an extra dagger of his someday with a note saying "just in case." While Lae'zel would manage to place a whole-ass sword or something like that. Wyll and Gale would so place little notes of encouragement or witty/flirty lines they came up with. Halsin would be attentive and place useful items you may had forgotten before departing. Similar to Shadowheart would place either extra healing potions or a favorite plant or flower of yours. Karlach would place just about anything- too fascinated with the ability in general. From a very pretty rock to a large exploding barrel- she would be testing the limits with bright eyes and a wide smile while Gale would be taking notes on the whole experiment.

[willowser]

i feel like bakugou is maybe a bad liar. at least to you.

he buys you a birthday gift super early and stows it in the closet, and then one day you're digging in there to collect some clothes you've been meaning to donate and he's just—hovering.

and you see him standing there and ask, "oh, did you have some clothes to get rid of, too?"

"uh, yeah," and he looks kinda awkward, with his shoulders tense and hands curled. "yeah, move it."

so you do, and you hold your bag full of clothes and stand behind him and wait, as he sort of half-ass fiddles with the shirts he has hanging up. you don't walk off, just keep waiting, and he glances over his shoulder at you multiple times and he's not really...doing anything. certainly not looking for clothes.

you raise your eyebrows at him and his own furrow, before he throws out his hands like he's offended.

"what? gonna watch me the whole time?"

"well," you frown at him, "how long is it gonna take you?"

"i dunno, what's it matter?"

"...do you have a lot of clothes to donate?"

"i'm try'na figure it out, but you're just standin' there."

"why does it matter if i'm standing here?"

"i don't like you lookin' over my shoulder."

"why? because you're hiding something?"

there's a brief pause before he snorts, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he shakes his head. the look he gives you is so—unconvincing; mouth open a little as he thinks, taking a deep breath before he says, simply. "no. what the hell would i have to hide?"

you narrow your eyes at him, and then he finally turns around to pretend to mess with his clothes again. 'i don't know...you tell me."

katsuki snorts again and just shrugs, like you're being ridiculous. "dunno what y'r talking about. should maybe...eat, or somethin'."

[romanyeva]

Just had to talk a friend down from a two cakes crisis. Her cakes - meaning her fic - are absolutely fine, but she felt a little down and checked out the rest of the dessert table. She got caught up in the whole comparison thing. "Oh man, this fic is way better than mine 😞."

And hoo boy, have I ever been there. When I was writing prolifically, I just wouldn't read. I couldn't because I knew I'd go into that fic measuring mindset and declare myself the loser, have to step away from the keyboard and stare out the window a while. And if I had an exchange deadline? Absolute worst timing.

Not everyone goes through that of course, but it's more common than you think, even with so-called established writers. I've seen people delete wips or even their whole account over that burden of doubt. So here are some possible tips to crawl out from under that burden:

Table it. You're done for the day. You've been staring at that cursor for too long. You have no perspective on your work anymore. Go do something else: play with your dog/cat/fish, go for a walk, eat something, go to bed if it's late.

Re-engage with the source material. Watch an episode, read a chapter, listen to that podcast, whatever it is. Find that voice in your head that sings in harmony with the source.

Read positive comments left on your previous work. Trust what they've told you. Because the liar here is your doubt, not your readers.

Hit up that friend you trust and ask them to tell you your strengths. Even if you don't believe it right now, you have strengths as a writer. Maybe it's worldbuilding, maybe it's dialogue; your friend will give you concrete examples. You don't need a beta right now, that will come later.

You're not alone. This is a community. Even if it's a rarepair or gen fic in a niche fandom - and especially then! - someone will be so happy that you brought that cake to the table.

[yaksha-lover]

You were made in the image of the angel.

That’s what Rollo believes when he spots you, a speckle of light, amongst your tainted peers. You’re truly captivating to him; one so untouched by all the disgusting, dark miasma that swarms you, swirling it’s depraved fingers through your hair.

Despite magic’s presence in your life, it’s never taken root inside of you. For that, you are beautiful; the antithesis to the wicked fae that he so loathed.

He should have known Malleus would try to corrupt you. The dragon was alluring: dark tresses spilling around his broad shoulders, his piercing green eyes, and those magnificent horns upon his head. As gorgeous and charismatic as the fallen angel himself; that was what made him so dangerous.

It’s not your fault you gave into Malleus’ temptation. Rollo knows even he could have strayed from his righteous path had he been less disciplined than he was.

Still, he can’t end the burning rage when he sees the way you’ve been seduced by that man, the mark he’s begun to leave upon you.

He calms himself for a moment.

He’ll have to deal with it. For every drop of himself that Malleus has put into you, Rollo will have to cleanse you by doing the same.

Every kiss, every nip at your neck, every skirting of hands across your thighs will need to be replaced with a touch of his own, that of a pious man.

He’s sure you’ll understand - it’s only the price to pay for salvation.

[juhbebbie]

The spot saying "hypothesis: I am going to put my head in that hole" is such an underrated line because while that is just not at all a hypothesis, it is pretty much exactly the kind of shit an actual scientist would bs instead of making an actual hypothesis. If fuck around, then find out

[sun-snatcher]

hello! i love ur work and i was wondering if u could do some live action zuko angst (that makes ur heart sink) and then it progresses to fluff (that makes ur heart swell) please? HAHA idk if it makes sense but i rlly love ur work!! hope ure doing well n no pressure!!!

🐉・ HEARTBURN

summ.  Fresh from his banishment, Zuko faces the aftermath of his punishment in both his dreams and his waking hours. pairing. Zuko x f!reader (established relationship) w.count.  1k.  a/n.  A bit abstract on this one, but just typical dream logic. A glimpse at Zuko’s descent into madness, almost? Sorry anon if this is mostly angst than fluff! 🧎🏻‍♀️

Zuko’s dreams manifest at the scent of burnt flesh and the sound of his own screaming.

He feels the molten sting of a melting crown upon his skin and the fantastical beast that is his father; something monstrous— something scaled, fanged, clawed, and too large an appetite, with a touch and breath of fire that lights the skies in a blaze.

( He wakes up with his voice hoarse from screaming. The 41st Division will eventually learn early on not to mention it. They just leave a hot pot of tea ready for him come the mornings, by General Iroh's orders. )

Sometimes, it transgresses. Sometimes, it’s his mother who burns while he watches from the sidelines of the Agni Kai; Or Azula. Their shrieks mix with his when he wakes. 

Sometimes, it’s Iroh who scalds him. Great Dragon of the West, jasmine-white with razor teeth and a flame that burns as hot as the sun; serpent eyes a shining gold and a sharper tongue that spoke of his disappointment for his nephew. 

Sometimes, it begins with you.

Please, you beg, at the foot of a winged beast. It speaks in the voice of his father; damning, all-encompassing. It warns the Prince the price of compassion, of mercies, and of weaknesses. Eliminate her, or I will. 

Rarely does Zuko ever move. He’d plead in your name, to spare your life. It never happens; he just wakes to the smell of smoke and the sound of your screaming.

( There are dreams he doesn’t speak at all to defend you. The shame devours him whole. )

“I’ve killed you over a hundred times, in my sleep.”

In the aftermath of another nightmare, you turn to face Zuko. You’re not quite sure what to say. 

“Other nights, it’s the 41st, or Uncle,” he says, quietly. “Even mom, or Azula.”

You turn back to the small medical chest on the desk. The infirmary is quieter at times like these; the soldiers of the 41st know not to visit the usual haunts of their Prince. Tonight, Zuko will have to replace the bandages of his scar, and there are only two people on this ship he’d ever trust in his life to lay a hand on it.

You’re shifting towards where he’s sitting on one of the cots. “May I?”

( You ask. You always ask. Even when you’ve done this nearly fifty times, you ask. Zuko is glad; there’s a comfort in agency, especially when he’s gotten so used to losing it every time he sleeps.  )

He nods, and you make quick work to unravel the bandages. When the layers come away, you observe the way his left eye shuts and opens as he blinks, remaining half-closed into a permanent expression of pain. He looks away, downcast. 

The skin around is stretched taut, some areas rawer than others, marred with growing scar tissue that knots in twisting valleys. ( Zuko has only seen the scar once. He’s covered the mirrors in his room ever since; avoids glancing at his own passing reflections. )

The wound is still fresh; the memories fresher.

You don’t flinch at the sight or recoil like the other soldiers or dignitaries. 

He finds… solace in that.

( Something roils in his mind. It uncurls and hisses and growls. )

“Tilt your head for me,” you say, ready to replace the cotton on his eye with a new one. 

He stops your wrist just as you do. 

Your heart jumps at the contact. His hands are warm.

“Why?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion.

“Why’d you come with me?”

The reply is instant, and unintentionally drowned in affection. “Where else would I have belonged?”

Zuko almost answers instinctively: With me. By my side. He shakes his head.

“You should have never come,” he says, instead. He’d grown fond of you over the years. Too fond; over some Firenation colonel’s daughter, a force to be reckoned with and yet a childhood friend who he’d played and studied and fought with countless times. Fond enough that he’d been foolish to let you step foot into the ship of the 41st Division the day he’d been banished; fond enough to be foolish enough to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. “You could’ve had a better future back home.”

“But a miserable one,” you counter. 

His nostrils flare as he sighs. You watch the way his brows weave to a frown, the way they always did whenever he’s tamping down his frustration. "Nothing is more miserable than being banished from home. Yet here you are walking away from it.”

“You and I both know the palace was never a home for me,” you say. “I’ve been by your side my entire life. I’m not about to break that streak over some punishment. You matter to me.”

Zuko’s heart stifles. 

( Compassion, he hears the wings of the blood-red dragon in his dreams unfurl. Compassion is a sign of weakness. )

“It was a stupid move,” he blurts, letting go of you. He had wanted it to be emotionless, but it comes out as distinctively bitter: “Sooner or later you’ll come to regret your decision. Then, you’ll see I was right all along.”

“Maybe,” you say, just to appease him. “But I doubt it.”

( Lies, jeers the serpent. You have only yourself to rely on in this world, Zuko. )

For the sake of conversation, you don’t provoke him further. You continue, instead, with replacing the dressings around his eye. He’s angry enough as is with the world— with you. For being stubborn. And strong. And steadfast. And loyal. And—

Zuko glances at your face in focus, your hands so careful in binding the gauze it’s nearly featherlight. “Tell me if it hurts,” you say, with gentle authority. 

The ire leaves his body. Zuko’s gaze softens at a realisation:

“Not once have you ever hurt me. Not even in my dreams.”

It’s a statement so frighteningly vulnerable that it has you stilling. Your breath staggers. Something swells in your chest. You let your hand rest on his cheek, thumb below his scar. The touch is reassuring. Zuko wants to lean into it.

“I don’t think I ever could,” you answer, honestly. 

( She can, sings the beast. She will. And once she does, know that it will burn tenfold than what I've done. )

Zuko's hand settles on top of yours. 

“You can hurt me,” he concedes, solemn, voice barely above a whisper. “You can if you must. I command it.”

( The dragon in his head hisses. For now, it retreats. )