#The First Mourning
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artthatgivesmefeelings · 1 year ago
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William Adolphe Bouguereau (French, 1825-1905) The First Mourning, 1888 Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, Buenos Aires
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stigmatam4rtyr · 1 year ago
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The First Mourning (1888, oil on canvas) | William-Adolphe Bouguerau
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timethehobo · 23 days ago
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When I realised his room was right next to Rooks’ tho. 🫢
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morganbritton132 · 3 months ago
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Eddie posts a Tiktok at 6:21am that’s just him in bed, lamenting that, “sorry to announce this like this but my husband is leaving me. After making a vow to stay together forever, he is breaking that vow and abandoning me. My heart breaks. I will not survive.”
Steve comes into frame and kisses him on the cheek before telling the camera, “I’m going to work.”
“I’m going to die of loneliness and you don’t even care!”
Steve laughs, tilts Eddie’s head to kiss him on the lips and tells him to, “Try to sleep some today. Love you.”
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 3 months ago
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Lan Wangji goes to Lotus Pier (No relation to the AU of the same name)
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#better drawn mdzs#mdzs#lan wangji#wei wuxian#Another split type comic because I decided to be ambitious.#This flashback is currently beating my ass. There are so many timeskips within the flashback! My flow and pacing are wheezing!#I loved how this scene starts with the crowd's point of view. The observations and gossip add a lot.#And it helps reposition us to what the external perspective is on these two. Namely that 'they don't get along.'#Tensions are known! Even here in Nouveau Lotus Pier.#Ah...Lan Wangji never got a chance to see the Lotus Pier of Wei Wuxian's childhood and adolescence...did he?#It's not the same. He's not the same. Call them by the same name and people will know what you mean...#...but the first version - the one with the fond memories - is gone for good.#It's sort of interesting isn't it? How names can hold so much power and still be hollow?#We often get stuck over past versions of things. Be it ourselves or other people or places.#Change is scary but the truth is nothing ever stays the same. It's always moving. You're always moving.#It's okay to mourn the past. Maybe it's people you lost or the person you hoped to be. Let yourself feel the grief.#And then? Then you grow around that pain and keep on going. If you feel like you can't - remember you don't have to do it alone.#A side note: Listening to the tossing flowers extra is so essential for this scene. It's cute and gives us more of [redacted]#What's [redacted]? You'll see in the next comic!
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typenonsense · 9 days ago
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hey. hey. is anyone else thinking about how this is the first time skizz gets to properly mourn a teammate. is anyone else thinking about the fact that this is the first grave he can lay flowers at, the first eulogy he spoke.
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grabyoursaintsandpray · 7 months ago
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It's just a cartoon, it can't hurt you
The cartoon:
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thehealingsystem · 1 year ago
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hey this thanksgiving I ask people to please please please please don't forget about indigenous americans. celebrate all you want, eat turkey, spend time with family, idc, but please do so in respect to the actual meaning behind the holiday and the atrocities committed against natives. your day of thankfulness for all that you have, the things you only have because of colonialism, is a day of mourning for us
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mayhemspreadingguy · 9 months ago
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Lost boys
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attyrocious · 11 months ago
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ace on gouache more like gouace(??)
anyway happy birthday
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caffeinatedmunchkin · 23 days ago
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Rook! Myrna's mentioned you.
Nothing to scare you off?
bonus peeping from behind Bellara
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elizabeth-mitchells · 2 years ago
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RIP Laura Lee, you would've loved that there were twelve disciples yellowjackets eating the body of Christ Jackie
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demigods-posts · 4 months ago
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they're filming season two, but i'm thinking about the potential adaption of the mount tam scene in season three. you know, the one where annabeth could apologize for pushing percy out of the way and falling off the cliff in his place, and how she knows that sounds terrible but they didn't have time for another plan and she didn't want to lose him that way. but percy just engulfs her in a hug because he's so relieved that she's safe now and everything else be damned. and annabeth doesn't understand why he's snickering to himself after that last statement, but she melts into the hug anyway because she missed him. and thalia and grover stand in the background happy for their friends on the outside but internally mortified, because their friends are definitely falling for each other but fate may not allow them to see it through.
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koobiie · 4 months ago
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put together a one page zine about bird calls based on my observations!
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 7 months ago
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I want it back / I drag its dead weight forward.
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konigbabe · 1 year ago
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PERISH
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.
event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi
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November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."
"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.
It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.
That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.
"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."
"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."
His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.
"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.
32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.
"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."
Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.
As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.
Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.
"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."
Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.
Yet, the energy lingers.
Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —
A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.
As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.
The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.
— it was a decoy.
Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.
Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.
During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.
It all feels confusing.
"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.
October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM
"What’s the worst that can happen?"
Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.
The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.
"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.
"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.
Life is good.
You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.
Yeah. In the end, life was good.
2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.
Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.
A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.
The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.
He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.
Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.
Of you.
Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.
You’re gone.
And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.
Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.
One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.
Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.
"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.
Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.
"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.
"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."
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