Loa 🌤️ @loaa4 - Tumblr Blog

crush by etorphine i genuinely think about u daily

I need to see someone draw Death Note characters in JJBA style, I would be especially curious about how it would look on Near and Matt, it lives rent free in my head lately

#death note #death note art #wammys house #wammys kids #jjba

smallsinger5901

forever biting things about near btw. What if you were 13 and got told the man whose identity you had to replace was already dead. what if that man didn’t even reach twice your age. What if you hated every second of it but there’s nothing else for you to do anyway. what if you have to do it alone. What if you have people surrounding you, people who you trust, who you never ever show that trust to because you don’t understand your emotions and you don’t want them anyway. What if the only other person who went through the exact same thing as you dies. what if he was only a year and a half older than you. what if you cant tell if it was a necessary sacrifice or if he just really wanted to die. What if you won despite and because of him. What if you didnt win, anything, at all, in any way. What if you were 27. What if you were wondering when it was your turn. What if you kept living.

Ok idk if that makes sense, but I strongly hc Mello during his time at Wammy’s House as a bulimic, like, the guy will, at some point, be too frustrated, angry, and not knowing how to express his feelings and deal with it in a rational way. It’ll keep getting worse until, at some point, he binges (mostly on chocolate), and will compensate by prolonged fasting. It can also be me just projecting, but I just think it can fit him in a way ??

#death note #mihael keehl #death note mello #headcanon #mello headcanons #death note headcanons #wammys house #wammy boys

finpyre

In the death note 13 how to read it mentions that mello is not as good at viewing multiple monitors and absorbing large amounts of info and all like near and L are.

So like. He made Matt do it for him and idk that's kinda funny to me.

"Why dont you switch places with me" HE CANT hes not good at it 👎

felix-xpl

Idk

antikr1sta

there’s nothing beautiful about a promise

thisiisjune

Quote out of the “LA BB Murder Cases”, so full credit to that

I imagine Matt is calling Mello emo as he’s writing this.

I truly hope you enjoy as I plan to illustrate more of the book! Sadly I think these few pages are a bit too busy, but still.

unremovablemoldstain

DIARY EXCERPT__NOV. 30 2008

a short fic in which I attempt to explore Mello's feelings after the explosion.

__________________________

Healing isn't any sort of miraculous blessing of a process. It’s just a duty. A simple given to be taken bluntly. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides, the journey that actually matters to me is beating stupid Near. None of that recovery crap. The past days in bed have just been a huge waste. When I tell you I despised it with my very soul, I mean it. Although it’s probably bound to happen when you’re bedridden for too long, I kept having terrible nightmares. Even in my sleep sadness was trying to curl its glum hands around me and squeeze. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. Until the wall of apathy was crushed and I actually started to care a bit about all the suffering done unto me. Hazy memories tormented me every night as they painted themselves on the back of my eyelids. Kids huddling around Near and praising him, while they only could offer sorrowful looks to me and all my silver medals. The rain pelting me as I left Whammy’s with nothing but a few dollars worth of savings and fiery ambition. Red hot singing leather, skin, and hair. Smoke and ashes befalling bloodied hands; a gas mask dripping melted plastic.

I would wake up and contemplate that I might have actually earned the right to cry.

But no. That’s an action reserved for defeat. The thought of ever partaking in an action that silently confesses weakness in such a submissive and pathetic way disgusts me. I can not bear the thought of my own impotence. The world doesn’t understand that I don’t want to think about those things and wallow in self pity. When things happen, I don’t need a whole three months to process. Maybe three minutes at most.

Whatever. At least on this calm Sunday morning, I am finally unchained from healing and have reached the point of recovery. The cotton that has masked my right eye for so long is finally torn off. This moment has been awaited eagerly since the thing was first taped over my face. The world is offering me freedom for once. A quick event that allows me to work towards continuing the battle to solve the kira case before Near. Which is all I really wanted.

But when I catch myself in the mirror it flashes a glimpse of reality that I struggle to suppress in the name of moving forward. Grooves and thick clumps of tissuey veins are caught in the light the morning sun sheds. It’s like a fleshy lava has been slathered over my face and then hardened. My eyebrow has been burnt away, and my eyelids are seared almost shut. Peeking under the barely open eye is a pupil that has lost its bright blue to a colonizing dull grey. My vision has noticeably declined in that eye, as well. Suddenly every part of me falls into itself.

My looks have never mattered that much, right? Even as I stare at my own mangled features. Even as the eyes that had always been the one thing that never changed about me for 19 years now reunite with their reflection in a way permanently different.

Honestly, I spent all this time trying not to cry out of fear that it would preach defeat. Looking at my face though… It’s a symbol of everything I’ve fallen short on etched right into my very skin. What started as 95s against Near’s 100s and my card tower crumbling after it reached two levels as Near’s stood at a good meter or two became him getting picked first to be the successor to the great L. And now it’s become me wearing the sign of Less Than as his skin remains fresh and without blemish.

If crying is defeat, I don’t know what this is.

So I do allow myself to cry.

Tears streak down my skin and wet the raised keloid. They’re warm and stinging and I try not to think about how serious this is as I choke on air. I make weird chirping noises as I sob, like something not even human. Everything is being forced out of me in emotional vomit. It’s uncomfortable. But it doesn’t last long.

I stop crying when I see myself in the mirror again. As my chances of ever becoming number 1 narrow, I realize that I cannot allow any time to be wasted. In a way, I’m almost glad for this. It was the wake up call I needed. A reminder that it’s come down to all or nothing.

And I will not live with nothing.