#WHEN U SAID U THOUGHT OF ME
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#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanart#jujutsu kaisen fanart#jjk art#yuji itadori#gojo satoru#fushiguro megumi#nobara kugisaki#itadori yuuji#megumi fushiguro#jjk spoilers#satoru gojo#jjk manga spoilers#hina.comic#before any1 says anything i KNOw his birthday is in december ik ik ik this is just 2 show some post-battle bonding after the trauma#its winter in canon n megumi's birthday has passed and he spent it being piloted like a mech so they need to celebrate Now!!#also this was technically a request lmao anon wanted megumi birthday angst hehehehhe i hope u like it <3 bc it KILLED ME DEAD#im going to collapse remember when i said this wasnt harder than the hydrangeas im having second thoughts#page 8 made me want to bash my head in#could have stuck with one flashback image could have left them monochrome could have done literally anything 2 ease the workload#but noooo the chronic overachiever in me would not allow it#rule of threes i had to include all of them and they Had to be in colour it wouldn't have hit the same if i had kept it monochrome#i needed it to look how childhood memories look i needed it to look oversaturated and hazy and fond but unmistakably Gone#it may have killed me but im so proud of this rn like from an art style perspective these megumis and yuujis r top tier by my standards#personal favourites r the first and last panel of crying megumi like not 2 pat myself on th back but expression?????? hello??????#enjoy your cake megumi you've earned it <333 sorry fr hurting ur feelings it will happen again#oh my god i can sleep tonight bless <333 and i met my 3 day deadline NICE im so good at what i do
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hey mitskicain… I’m back…..
gave u that niki song but I raise you two more :
navi | m.list
. ⁺ . ✦ ‘sayang’ is a double-edged sword — kuroo x reader
© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.
synopsis: based on the headcanon of a half-Indonesian kuroo. in which he learns that the language is full of contradictions.
content warnings: ANGST, mentions of bullying, homesickness
word count: 3.5k
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Sayang. A two syllable word that was the unofficial translation of love in the Indonesian language. Technically love was ‘cinta’, but you didn’t like how it felt in your mouth—bulky and awkward—too big for anything. You liked the way ‘sayang’ sounded better, the way it rolled off the tongue so easily—fleeting, almost carelessly. Sayang.
Aku sayang kamu. I love you.
Your mother called you sayang. You recalled running up to her after school, her arms outstretched and wide open, waiting to wrap around you. The sweet scent of her skin that was like honeysuckle and summer, the warmth of her smile—beaming at you from the driver’s seat as you babbled about your day. She would call you that term of endearment whenever she had the chance.
Sayang, come down for dinner. Sayang, it’s time to wake up. Sayang, have fun at school!
Indonesian was your mother tongue. The first language you had learned how to speak. In a way, your entire childhood was defined by it. There were things in your everyday vocabulary that didn’t make sense, or were different when translated. In that way, you always felt like there was something missing when you spoke English or Japanese. When you left Jakarta during the 1998 riots, your mother, alongside a handful of other families, managed to escape from the fiery wrath of the protestors, sought asylum from any other country that was willing to take you. Some of your friends moved to Singapore, others, Malaysia, or Taiwan—for you it was Japan, a country that once had colonized yours but was now your saving grace. With only two suitcases to your name and your mother’s limited Japanese learnt during her high-school years, the two of you tried to make home in the foreign country. You were starting all over again. Language. School. Friends. It would prove to be difficult.
Japanese kids were mean. Not beating-you-up kind of mean, but snickering-behind-your-back mean. Back home, they would say things to your face, pick fights and shouting matches with you, but here, they talked about you in hushed whispers and lingering gazes. It was in the sharpie doodles on your school shoes and the scattered laughter that echoed whenever you slipped up when you read aloud for the class. You were still bad at Japanese—the language a tangle of syllables in your mouth. Your mother told you that it was because your tongue was just used to speaking Indonesian. You thought it was because Japan was foreign to you, in the bad way. In the way that your body silently rebelled against it by fixing your jaw in ways so you couldn’t say things right—so that years later, even after you became fluent, the trace of your mother tongue still lingered.
That was the first thing that Kuroo Tetsuro pointed out. You talk funny, were his first words to you—finger pointed straight between your eyes. A rage bubbled in your chest at the mention of it. It was something that you were insecure about, something you felt the need to hide. You didn’t even know you were muttering to yourself when you played in the playground’s sandbox until he pointed it out to you, and you hated that, and you made sure to let him know how much you did—through a mash of fists and bruises and a black eye (his, not yours).
Your mother made you apologize—the Japanese way—kneeling, on the floor. You were red hot and flushed, humiliated for having done so. Not for beating up the kid but rather for having been caught, and having to apologize. Why should you? He started it. He was making fun of you. “You talk funny,” psh, he looked funny. His sharp cat-like eyes and almost permanent bed head—how could his parents let him out of the house looking like that? Someone might mistake him for a stray.
That apology was how you found out Kuroo was a little bit like you—half-Indonesian, from his mothers side. The tiny Indonesian population in Japan meant that whoever was from the motherland clung together like thieves at sea. Maybe it was because of familiarity, maybe because of homesickness. In a way, all they had left of their home country was each other, speaking the same language, knowing the same songs, the same streets—sometimes even the same people. For them, this was the closest thing to coming home. This was how you eventually became friends with Kuroo, after years and years of living down the street and your mother inviting him over and attending the same school and making the two of you befriend the other.
It was rough at first. You refused to speak Japanese around him, fearing the same insult would come and jab at you when you would. Despite his mother’s nationality, he was never able to understand or speak the language that you did—part of himself almost denying that part of him after his mother left. Maybe that was his way of getting revenge, refusing to acknowledge his mother’s culture, her homeland.
The two of you would pass the time playing congklak, the Indonesian version of the mancala. You practiced counting this way, dropping the shells in each divot one by one—starting again if there were any remaining. He babbled on about TV shows he watched, or mangas he read, trying to make a point about how Japanese he was, how un-Indonesian, and by extension, how unlike his mother. Sometimes you would watch Ikkyu-san together. Sometimes he would flip through the comics you had brought over—Mahabhrata and Gundala and Bobo. You remember the look on his face as he traced over the pages, his nose scrunched in confusion.
“It’s too confusing, all these words look foreign to me,” he would say, putting them back on the shelf.
“So what?” You shot back, “I had to do the same thing when I came here. Kanji still looks like scribbles to me.”
There was no mashing of fists or sound of crying this time, just a mutual understanding of the others’ struggle. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat and pick up the book again, finger tracing the sentences, sounding out the words—like a child learning how to read for the first time. You sighed, defeated, and sat down next to him, trying to teach him. He was a persistent child, often needing to get his way regardless of whatever circumstances but here he was—docile, obedient. Something between the two of you shifted.
Kuroo began to grow out of his shell in middle school; making new friends on the volleyball team and tagging along during their after-practice escapades, oftentimes raiding the local convenience store for all the goodies. Sometimes you would come with, slipping into the background of conversations and keeping to yourself. You still didn’t like talking in front of anyone—so you kept your lips pressed together and our gaze downcast, a faraway look in your eyes. Of course, this caught the attention of some of his teammates.
“Is she mute?” One of them had asked, hands shoved in his pockets, walking a few steps ahead of you. Despite you hanging back, you could still hear him, but then again, it wasn’t like he made any attempt to speak quietly either. Or maybe he thought that you were also deaf.
“Dude,” he sounds, offended for you, “she’s right here.”
“So? It’s not like she ever says anything. It’s like she’s deaf, or mute—or both.”
Kuroo frowns at this statement. At home, he sits across from you, pencil tapping against the pages of his ignored math homework. You look up at him with your eyebrow cocked, as if, beckoning for him to spit it out already.
“Would it kill you to make some friends?” He asks, words sharp and unforgiving. Your shoulders slump at the question, and you give him a deadpan look before returning your attention to your assignment, already miles ahead of him.
“I don’t need them,” you mumble, “too much of a hassle.”
“How do you survive without them? Like seriously, nobody to lean on?”
“That’s how I like it.”
He grumbles inaudibly under his breath at your response, a mixture of frustration and annoyance echoing through his voice. He chews on his bottom lip before speaking up again, this time, rather boldly.
“You’re not alone.” You look up at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He thumps his chest with his right hand almost solemnly, like making an oath. “You have me. I’m your friend. I’m here for you.”
Your eyes widen in shock, a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You press your lips into a thin line, not knowing what else to say. Instead, you nod your head in acknowledgement, and return your attention back to your homework. When you are done with the practice questions, you flip over your notebook so that he can copy your answers.
The first time he called you ‘sayang’ was in the spring of your freshman year. He said it after having heard your mother say that as she bid you goodbye for school. He had let it slip, almost by accident, as he repeated the word over and over in his mind as the two of you walked—sounding it out, feeling the weight of it in his mouth. He liked the way it rolled across his tongue, and something about it—the curve of the letters when spelled out, the softness of it seemed so you. When you had heard it, you stopped, the hair on the back of your neck raising as you looked back at him, almost incredulously. He stares back, puzzled at your reaction. This was the first time he had ever seen your reserved demeanor crack.
“What? What did I do?” He asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.
“What did you say?”
“What, ‘sayang’?” His hands move up to straighten his tie, suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry, was that a bad word?”
“No, it’s..” your voice trails off, cheeks reddening. You turn around and stomp forward, hands tight around the straps of your backpack. “Forget it. Don’t call me that.”
He stays at his place on the street, feet glued to the pavement, wondering what he had done wrong. The guilt creeps in, and in an attempt to absolve it, he hands you a steaming hot pork bun in between classes, even though the heat burns his skin and his fingertips are still red at the end of the school day. It’s something he’s willing to do for your forgiveness. Over the years he will find that he’s willing to do a lot for it, actually. Later, over dinner, he finds out through your mother that it's actually a term of endearment, something close to ‘my love’. The two of you exchanged awkward, embarrassed glances across the table.
The second time he called you ‘sayang’, it was by accident again—spoken absentmindedly as he thanked you for explaining the assignment. Thank you sayang, he said, before realizing and slapping his mouth with his hand. You looked at him with an equal amount of shock and horror. You excused yourself to the bathroom to compose yourself, and when you returned, the two of you acted like it had never happened. He wanted to apologize, but apologizing would mean having to explain himself, and that explanation would mean having to tell you that he had tried learning Indonesian and thought of calling you ‘sayang’ the same way they did in your mother’s sinetrons (Indonesian soap operas).
And you weren’t sure the exact moment that things had changed for the two of you. Before, it was a co-existence, the understanding that you existed in each other's worlds and just that. Now, it had warped into an odd and unfamiliar shape. He was running up to you in the hall, babbling on and on about every single thing—he was more Kuroo than he ever was before around you. And you couldn’t help but notice how much bolder and brighter he seemed. In the mornings on the walk to school, next to you, smiling through his stories of his strange dreams—you couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were actually hazel and not brown, and for a moment, before your consciousness kicked in, you thought he looked beautiful.
The third time he called you ‘sayang’, it was on purpose. No longer a freudian slip or accident, but deliberately—with intention.
The two of you were in the infirmary—you, pressing an ice pack to his swollen cheek, and him, wincing at the sharp sensation. A fight had broken out. It was his friend, that same friend, calling you mute again, but this time Kuroo wasn’t as forgiving. There was the mashing of fists and bruises and a black eye again. His, not yours. Just like when you were kids the first time you met on the playground.
“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you speak up, finding some strength in the words. A rage bubbled in your stomach. You couldn’t make up whether you were upset at him or for him. He reaches out to touch the skin of your wrist, the first time he had ever done anything of the sort, and tries his best to keep his swollen eye open. The red will turn ugly and purple within a matter of hours.
“I wanted to,” he says softly, almost like a whisper, voice hoarse from yelling. “They don’t get to do that. Not to you.”
Your expression is almost pained, torn between screaming at him for his showmanship or kissing him for it. You couldn’t decide.
“Still,” you sound, “you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he repeats, this time, even softer. His other hand plucks out the second button from his uniform, his chest peeking through. He removes the ice pack and slips the button in between where your hand and his cheek meet. It’s still tender and aching, but the skin of his neck, where your pinkie finger grazed over, was so warm and inviting—so soft it seemed like a shame not to touch. You run your thumb over his jaw, tracing over the shape of it, and he winces. Still, he grabs your wrist and presses your hand against his cheek even harder, turning his head to plant a kiss on the skin of your palm.
You didn’t know your hands could ever feel like that. It was as if there were a hundred million nerves that you didn’t know previously existed, and now, suddenly all firing. It was almost too much.
“Sayang,” he mumbles into your hand, lips tracing on your skin—you don’t pull away. You are mesmerized, struck. How you went so long without having reached out for him you wouldn’t know. Again he calls you sayang, whispering it with his eyes closed, almost like a prayer. You bite your lip.
“Yes?” You answer.
His eyes flutter open, a small look of shock painted that is immediately replaced with relief, and then—a grin splitting his face, lips stretched as far as they could with the swelling. His hands wound tightly around yours, and again, that feeling of electricity, soaring right through you.
“You answered,” he says, almost breathlessly.
“You called,” you reply.
It would take 2 weeks for the black eye to heal completely, but even less time for him to slowly integrate ‘sayang’ into his everyday vocabulary. The word that once seemed awkward and bulky now slid off smoothly from his mouth every chance he got. He liked it. Liked the way it felt rolling off his tongue, liked the way you looked every time he did, but most importantly—he liked how nobody else (apart from your mother) called you that. Like an exclusive nickname, but thousand-fold. He tried learning Indonesian again, as an easy way to impress you. Selamat pagi (good morning). Terima kasih (thank you). Cantik (beautiful). On your birthday, he had prepared and memorized a little speech in your mother tongue. You laughed when he said ‘aku cinta kamu’. You tell him nobody says ‘I love you’ like that.
“They only use ‘aku sayang kamu’”, you explain.
“Why not ‘cinta’?” He pouts, flustered at his mistake. “Cinta also means love, right?”
“Cinta and sayang are different,” you explain, cutting into the cake your mother had baked: pandan with coconut and brown sugar frosting. She searched for the ingredients for weeks.
“Cinta is a declaration. Sayang is a promise,” you place the slice of cake on his plate, pushing it towards him, “sayang is the promise of loving someone no matter what—whether that love is reciprocated, whether it is burdensome.”
He shoves his mouth full in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. The cake is fragrant and light, a foreign medley of flavors on his tongue. He looks over in your direction, happily digging into the treat, and worries that no matter how much he tries to learn about your culture, there will always be a divide—some unabridged gap he will never be able to cross. When the two of you join a cultural exchange trip to Indonesia in the summer before your senior year, he witnesses firsthand how you spring back to life—like a wilting plant finally being watered.
The two of you ravage through the city, attending bustling night markets and festivals. He watches in shock as you devour heaps of sambal with your food. You bargain with a lady for a fair price on batik, a souvenir and reminder of Indonesia that you wanted him to have. You wear these in weddings, you tell him. His mind wanders to you wearing white, walking down the aisle. You run up and down beaches, drink out of coconuts, plumeria flower tucked behind your ear, and chat with the locals—relieved to finally be surrounded by people who looked and talked like you. He watches you throw your head back laughing, and feels his heart ache. You had been homesick all this time. Trapped in a foreign country and forced to abandon your culture for his, living in a society that merely tolerated her identity, never embracing it. His home was not yours, this he now understood.
So when you told him that you were going to move back for college he wasn’t surprised. The country had recovered from the bloodbath of ‘98 and was now brimming with potential for growth. Even Forbes had called it the tiger of Southeast Asia. Some of your friends were also returning. It was a land of undiscovered opportunity.
“I have to go back,” you explained to him. “In Indonesia, I can be somebody; here, I am always second-class.”
And it stung, because he knew you were right, and he knew that it was cruel to make you stay—like keeping a butterfly in a jar. When he sends you off, he can’t help but think of his mother. That was one of the things the two of you had in common: the both of you leaving him. However, this time he doesn’t cry or scream or beg the way he did. He lets you go, maybe even with a little bit of grace, and he does so because cinta and sayang meant different things and he meant the latter.
“Aku sayang kamu,” he tells you as he waves you off. I love you. I love you enough to let you go.
When the two of you meet again, it will be years later and you will be older. You will be dressed in white and he will be in his batik that you had gotten for him all those years ago. He will stand, awestruck, as you walk down the aisle—not towards him, but towards somebody else, and his heart will ache in the way that it did only for you.
Sayang, he will think, but not in the affectionate way. In the way that implies unbelievable loss.
Sayang. A two-syllable word that’s used to convey both love and loss in the Indonesian language. It was strange, the way something could mean the exact opposite of itself, but Indonesian was strange like that. A language that was filled with metaphors and contradictions. One that is hard to forget, and even harder to unlearn. Each word carried a weight, a duality that made almost every conversation a dance between clarity and ambiguity. It was as if the language itself knew that life was never just one thing; it was a series of paradoxes, constantly contradicting itself, where joy and sorrow often walked hand in hand.
Its counterpart definition implied grief. You used it when talking about missed opportunities, or something that goes wrong when you wish it hadn’t. It almost means: what a shame. It was just one of those things that can’t be translated just as is, because the definition was so much deeper. The same way its first definition meant to love someone unconditionally, the second meant to describe the heartache that lingers in the face of loss, a longing that never quite fades. A word that blended affection and regret all in one and could only be understood by someone who felt both at once.
He felt it then, watching you get married to somebody else.
Sayang sekali, he says.
I love you, and also, what a waste.
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author’s note: my debut entry in the haikyuu fandom and its angst 😭😭 aNYWAYS WHERE ARE THE KUROO FANS MAKE SOME NOISE 🫵🫵🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ huge shoutout to @zumicho for having to hear me ramble on and on abt the fic and take forever to write it but it’s finally here !!!! and I’m so excited to share more w u guys aaaa I hope you guys like it 🥰🥰💥💥💥💥
#like i wasn’t here yesterday#pretend#pretend this is the first time#in honor of the cultural references#ill sneak some indo in this rb#i bet kuroo smells like bawang goreng#/j… btw#PLEAAASE#THE WHOLE EXPERIENCE#WHEN U SAID U THOUGHT OF ME#AND HAD ME IN MIND WRITING IT#IT MADE IT WORSE#IM REREADING ALL TEARY EYED#EVERY WORD#EXACTLY HOW I FEEL#.#when u pitched this idea i was all like ‘ok banget sih that’s a good prompt’ BUT I DIDNT KNOE IT WOULD HURT LIKE THIS#the whole nurse’s office scenario was giving u and abang **** btw…#idc this reblog is between u and me anyone else reading it is third wheeling#ALEXA PLAY KUKIRA KAU RUMAH#SIRI PLAY PELANGI#RAAHHHHH 🇮🇩🇮🇩🇮🇩🇮🇩‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️💥💥💥#when i read the sayang is a promise line i had to put my phone down and yell KONTOLLLLLL because yeah#kuroo x reader#hq x reader#haikyuu angst#haikyuu searing hot pan to the face#haikyuu cigarette burn on my skin#haikyuu stab in my fucking heart#♥︎ 𝗧𝗢𝗣 𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗙 FICS !!
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Imagine Astarion with ears so sensitive that he's never willingly allowed anyone to touch them except for you. Imagine laying next to him in your bed, facing him, lifting your hand up slowly for that first touch. His eyes on yours, the rapidity of the breath he doesn't need to take, but still does reflexively. Seeing that he's nervous, but that he's trusting you, feeling his shaking hand come to rest on your waist. The audible sound he makes- half a moan, half a gasp- when you finally brush your thumb over the soft skin at the tip of his ear.
You trace the long shell of his ear and watch his pretty eyes, deep red like velvet in the moonlight, flutter shut. He says your name softly, as close as you've ever heard him to prayer. You pinch his earlobe gently, and his hips roll forward involuntarily, the jut of his hipbone pressing against your thigh as he makes himself still. Heat flares low in your belly, but you tamp it down as quickly as possible- likewise, Astarion makes himself still against you. This isn't sex and won't become sex, you'd promised each other (though that's not to say that you won't explore this thoroughly during one of your hours-long lovemaking sessions. He is all about experimentation these days, after all).
You lay there, touching him in his most vulnerable place, with reverence and grace and occasionally disbelief that you could be here at all with this beautiful, horrible, ridiculous and wonderful man, that you could be trusted so completely. You take in his every shuddering breath, the flexing of his fingers in your shirt, the softness of his mouth when he presses his lips to yours and tells you he loves you. If you have your way, if he has his, if somehow your utterly insane lives hold together for a year or a decade or ten, it will always be like this.
#astarion x reader#astarion x you#bg3 x reader#astarion x gn reader#astarion x tav#astarion x gn!tav#.astarion#check me never knowing how to coherently end a thought ever in my life#i AM one of those people that advocates for astarion staying snarky and awful even after everything LMFAO#it's just that now he only acts like that with people he thinks deserve it. or when it's funny#that said: with you? snarky and biting sometimes#yes. but also#sometimes#so soft it makes you want to squeeze him to death or something#also...reminder that i take requests...if u like...
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#a doodley#i had to make this blue so tumblr would stop hiding it from the dash#anyway no caption this happened 2 hrs ago#im happy abt my surgery but it and other things this year keep beinging conversations like these up#and i cant handle it at all.#everything my dad tells me just makes me feel worse and not bc its anything bad but bc I Feel Bad#like the conversation then continued to him being like no dont cry im just saying i wpuld have wanted to#quit my job decades ago and set aside money so I wouldnt be struggling as much now but that didnt happen#and i just dont want that to happen to you guys :)#so we have to support u so that your life is what u want it to be#and i cried even more bc what do u mean. thats so sad. ur a person and u were a child and baby once and ur gonna die#and you always almost cry when u talk about your mom who passed away decades ago#and your brothers that passed away#recently and im going to be your age and still sobbing bc i miss my dad. just like i have been prematurely crying about since i was 7#the other day my dad asked my mom if i cried a lot when i was a baby/kid and my mom said no and then my dad#said that when i Did cry it was so severe he thought i would ''drown in my own tears''#bc i could never stop. like. thats still true today. ive been crying on and off since then#i think i mentioned he's just been telling me stories about his life lately and it further fuels this. i get so sad. im sorry your life was#like this. i dont want to die i dont want you to die im sad im sorry im sorry#im scared. im never going to see you again. how horrible. how horrible#i cant enjoy my day today bc every day is a day closer and i get sad
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yea
#i had posted this everywhere and it occurred to me that i hadnt on tumblr. which seems like a crime#keith kogane#vld keith#vld lance#vld fanart#lance mcclain#voltron#klance#can i rant for a bit#grabs the microphone Id like to thank this huge step on my voltron healing journey to my mom#who said 'oh its that show that made you cry in frustration! the kitties!'#and i said 'yes mother i was 15'#i dont think ive ever felt so. like. bullied? i dont wanna say ridiculed but#by a shows' producer#not since fucking BBC SHERLOCK#and i dont mean oh of course it wasnt gonna be canon. Of cours it wasnt I dont mean that#what i didnt need was getting baited left and right#the show milked the shit out of. lets be real here. young queer kids and then turned around and pointed and laughed when they gained hope on#their silly red blue ship to get canon#bc lets be real if anything queer was gonna happen. ambiguous non binary pidge was already there#two skinny attractive teen boys is like low hanging fruit. diet rep#but it wasnt even abt that. at least i truly never thought klance was srly gonna b canon. i HOPED. but like. i never shipped 4 canon anyway#i LIKED voltron. i loved lotor. i had always been a multishipper allur//ce was rkly cute i couldve dug that#if they hadnt spent the last season looking miserable AND THEN DYING#tf u mean our female lead died TF U MEAN THE LATINO MC BECAME A FARMER? w the forever marks of his dead gf on his face? Are you joking rn???#anyway. hit me up for more voltron opinions i got tons#(mic drop)
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A kindling of a swordless bloodshed,
The creaking of a voiceless door —
Another piece inspired by something @mincemeat-the-warforged said that absolutely altered my brain chemistry (the same 1 am conversation that sparked this in fact!)
#curse of strahd#rahadin#strahd von zarovich#sergei von zarovich#my art#curse of strahd spoilers#curse of åsane#every day i wake up and think about strahd and rahadins dynamic#they make me sick#Rahadin being loyal to the von zarovich family rather than *only* to strahd is a critical detail to me#like aze said#wtf do u do when someone kills the only remaining member of ur ‘adoptive’ family#ur stuck w him now. obviously. there’s nobody else to turn to and u still love him despite the atrocities#esp since you’ve done just as much against the people used to belong to. you cut yourself off and now he’s done the same#(through tears) do yall think Rahadin mourned Sergei or do u think he repressed and smothered all those feelings#ik we all laugh at the rahadin amber temple frog incident but despite its weirdness it still shows how much Rahadin *cares*#sorry sorry i have too many thoughts abt this old man#ugh. strangles him#anyway
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ANCIENT wip that i finally got around to splashin color onto. NO idea where this colorin style came from n it WONT happen again!! anyway i LOOOVE the general dynamic between arthur n emizel. both are so cool and so awesome and yet SO silly...
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#jrwi suckening#arthur bennett#emizel tucker#WEEE art is so fun..FUCKED UP THO that when i posted this on TWITTER...#i wokeup today to like 9 new comments n i was SO HAPPY!! but then i realized they were all BOTS!!DISGUSTING MACHINES MADE BY DISGUSTING PPL#VILE!!anyway so. YES i scribbled this up back when the ep w this scene first came out. what ep was that?? like 2 or so??#GOOD STUFF i love this show so much... the thought of arthur tucking himself down into the back o the car so he wouldnt be seen..#hes so serious&stoic and he just does the funniest shit with the straightest face.ive said it amillion times but i LOVE ARTHURS DRY HUMOR..#I ALSo really love emizel bc AAAA!! THE WHOLE SCENE B4 THIS ONE w him just catching up with soda...#those two are so cute w eachother.... ouhhh....... they are bestieeeessssss#do u guys ever think abt void... where did she come from.. how did her n arthur become friends.....#okayokay i think thats all the ramblings i have in me. enjoy my creations and your day aswell. if you can
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congrats jannik on securing your number 1 place in the world AND in my heart
#this isnt perfect but i had to quickly draw smth for his win in shanghai before i inevitably forgot#so yeah this guy again. sorry if anyone expected me to draw anyone else#and u all thought i was kidding when i said he was my artists' muse..#no i take this sinnerista life SERIOUSLY#my art#tennis fanart#jannik sinner#jannik sinner fanart#atp#tennis#shanghai masters#shanghai masters 2024
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I grabbed a bunch of caps for that last post so here's a few more in my favorite genre of bejíta
#silly hours#dbtag#i cannot express to you in strong enough terms how happy I am that super let him be silly and have fun#He's so happy and comfortable even when he's not. he's grown so much and healed so much i am so --!!#when you've had a blorbo since you were 8 and now you're in your 30s and blorbo chose to grow and mature and heal too it's special#and it means a lot to me 🥹 Never thought I'd see the day when all those headcanons I had were validated by the canon#i am constantly thinking about how toriyama said he shied away from more complex emotional plots because he didn't trust his art#but toya's nuance and pacing and composition skill is the reason he can and chose to write those kinds of stories in super#��� i just love them all a whole lot. what a team. toya is such a find.#anyway thank you tori & toya i owe u my life or at least my undivided attention span
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maybe its just me but i cant stand when people are like "it just doesn't sit right with me how teruhashi thought about aiura 🥺" like yes... its not supposed to ??? because her thinking badly of other girls and prioritizing male validation over everything is one of her main flaws ??? can we talk about that WITHOUT making it seem like shes not allowed to have a single actual flaw without suddenly becoming an awful person? nobody can handle complex female characters at all and its so fucking annoying
#you guys all missed the point of her development AND her and saiki's relationship development#like did you miss the parts where the only times he genuinely seems to not like something she does is when shes mean to other girls#and he still understands that she isnt a bad person for having bad thoughts in the private comfort of her mind#and besides... in this case she was literally just being a dramatic and insecure teenage girl LMAO#like dont fucking lie to me and tell me when you were her age you didnt have similar thoughts#youre worse than her if you lie about it while judging her for it#sorryyyy#she shouldve been MORE unhinged youre all just cowards#AND ALSO ? how can something even be 'mean' if its just a thought#thats like if u opened ur friends private diary without permission and then unfriended them over something they said in a random upset vent#and in this specific situation if u found out ur friend called someone a bitch because they liked the same person as her ??#LIKE THATS ?? its bad but its not as crazy as you guys make it out to be#shes allowed to be angry and insecure in the privacy of HER OWN MIND#idk if this makes sense but i just feel that her thoughts are more of a concern about her wellbeing than anything else#like she canonically is extremely kind to others even when she doesnt want to be so why are we worried about how she treats others.#theyre fine. im worried about HER.#and WHY her mindset is so negative... but u guys dont give a shit because u cant handle even a spec of complexity#sorry ive said all this before i just like to rant#saiki k#tdlosk#the disastrous life of saiki k.#teruhashi kokomi#meows post
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siren!megumi concept sheet i whipped up in a single-minded fever state fr @uriekukistan
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanart#jujutsu kaisen fanart#fushiguro megumi#megumi fushiguro#jjk spoilers#jjk manga spoilers#i don't know what is safe not to tag as spoilers bc in au you can explain his scars away any way u want#anyway i didn't plan on sharing this bc it was supposed to b a quick thing based on a gc discussion#but i ended up sm more proud of it than i anticipated. he has been living in my head ive dropped entire plans fr siren!megumi#i went from not having drawn a mermaid since 2013 to spending like 3 hours researching sailfish in a daze#all so i cld slap a proper tail on megumi dsghjfdgdf#it was between a marlin and a sailfish but sailfish won on account of megumi's fighting style being less abt brute strength#marlins r more acrobatic n agile apparently#if any marine biologists or fish enthusiasts follow me im sorry fr butchering the colours ik there is supposed to b more copper/yellow#but i made it green fr Megu reasons#i also think its so cool tht they can flash different colours. yoinking that fr megumi he lights up green when hes excited i make the rules#the scales on his torso being in the same areas as his post-canon sukuna scars is probably my fav detail :'>#was rly proud when i thought of that one#anyway im not planning on doing anything or turning this in2 a full au this ws just a design exercise but know that he is In My Brain Smile#yuuji abt 2 b banned fr life from his local aquarium who said that
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#hyunjin#skz#stray kids#fantaken#feeling like im in the game show called survivor when i look at these#i thought his shirt said d1e and i was like yeah i am starting to pass away u don’t even have to tell me that
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send me a 💌 with a character and situation and i'll write a letter or a cute note from that pov
#im celebrating a rlly sweet followers milestone#like damn all of u enjoy my writing??#i've said this many times before but when i started this blog in february i truly thought only like 2 people would read me#so this has been a lovely surprise#letters are my favorite thing to write#so it seemed fitting <3#jegulus#marauders#ask game#regulus black#james potter#sirius black#remus lupin#barty crounch jr#evan rosier#dorcas meadowes#marlene mckinnon#pandora rosier#lily evans
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i have to get this out of my system
#sdv#stardew valley#sdv alex#sdv haley#stardew alex#stardew haley#stardew valley alex#stardew valley haley#genderbend#fanart#yes ; short hair stays short ftw#kinda makes me want to fiddle with the others#i'm thinking if bachelorettes were bachelors; i think i would marry penny#i love when girls denial of love or too embarrassed to be in love they yell#harry said ironically he is not dumb but alexa agrees make me cry#i think it's moe if alexa is short but u see her trying her best so hard#she will shine when she makes it#i love the thought of harry knows alexa is kinda pure hearted he wants to protect her from bad choices#tho sometimes he doesn't even give the best choices#dumb friends dumb friends#but at least he can be mean to chase u away if needed
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had this thought rotating in my mind since arthur had to wear that Anti-Sun disguise. and well. now u see it too
#OH might aswell put this here too#this time CROPPED CORREECFTLLYYYYYYY#ANYWAy i have a whole doodlepage made up of just stupid fuckin arthur comics like this. i just really love him so so so much#HES SO TRAGIC AND SAD AND ROMANTIC but also hes ridiculous. hes so funny. ouh my god.#will today be a 'ramble abt arthur bennet' day. im not sure yet. if it is ill come back to these tags and gut myself#ALSO MY LAST POST STIll stands if u wander into my askbox w a jrwi series n a dream i may share w u a WIP ill never fucken poast#ooouuhooohhh i also take Gentle Requests w a firm NO PROMISES promise. u may influence my actions vaguely#and that is a DIVINE POWER IN YOUR HANDS BOOYYYYYY. TO CHANGE THE WORLD IN SUCH GRAND WAYS.#HAHA HEY IM BACK TO RAMBLE. just a little. anwyay remember when arthur was looking for a hat to wear and chose a cowboy hat#for some reason. hey remember when they were sayin somethin abt how a blood bond makes u think abt the bonder alot.#i had a point here but then my brain went 'the bonderrrrr' and now ive lost my trrain of thought. anyway i hope deacon and arthur f#ight again i hope they fight eachother again. and then mack on eachother crazy style. hey what was that thing deacon was hiding in th cabin#remember that guy he had locked up in there. the guy that said 'help me'. what was that about
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SO UM I JOINED THIS LIKE WEBSITE BC I WANTED FUCK AROUND (NOT LITERALLY) AND I WAS CURIOUS BUT ITS BASICALLY KINKY TINDER AND THERE ACTUAL PEOPLE MESSAGING ME AND IM SHAKING IM ACTUALLY TERRIFIED IM SO SCARED I ONLY HAVE A PICTURE OF A CAT AND ITS NOT EVEN MINE
#GOD I HATE IT WHEN I MAKE TERRIBLE DECISIONS WHEN IM NOT THINKING STRAIGHT WHY DID I DO THAT#I GOT A FUCKING EMAIL NOTIFICATION AND I WANTED TO UNSUBSCRIBE BUT IT SAID I GOT A MESSAGE ??????????#I THOUGHT PEOPLE WOULD THINK IM A BOT OR SOMETHING ???????????????#A 41 YEAR OLD MAN WHO IS MARRIED ?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!?!?! YOURE MARRIED ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! MARRIED. LIKE U HAVE A WIFE. U R WEDDED SIR#IK THERE ARE SOME FREAKY COUPLES OUT THERE BUT I HOPE TO GOD UR WIFE KNOWS WTF UR DOING MY GUT IS TELLING ME THERES SMTHN FISHY GOING ON#AND THERES THIS OTHER GUY WHOS 28 HE SAID OH UR NEW HERE HI ANOTHER DUDE SAID NICE CAT YEAH ITS NOT MINE BRO#THEYRE ALL DOMS IM SHAKING LIKE A FUCKING LEAF DUDE#DO I TROLL THEM ????????????????? I MIGHT GET BANNED OR SMTHN#frambling...?
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