an independent, highly selective NANAMI KENTO from 呪術廻戦 ( JJK ). written by saturn, a 24 y/o professional blood bandit. C A R R D. Inumaki Toge ⇆ sideblogs ⇆ Yoshino Junpei
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Not today Justin
Jules of Nature
ojovivo
Cosimo Galluzzi

Love Begins
DEAR READER

★
art blog(derogatory)
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Three Goblin Art
trying on a metaphor

Andulka
macklin celebrini has autism

Kiana Khansmith

No title available
Keni
KIROKAZE

Discoholic 🪩

⁂
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Africa

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland

seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Brazil
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
@kyyuryo-ex
an independent, highly selective NANAMI KENTO from 呪術廻戦 ( JJK ). written by saturn, a 24 y/o professional blood bandit. C A R R D. Inumaki Toge ⇆ sideblogs ⇆ Yoshino Junpei
ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʟᴇꜱꜱɪɴɢ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ. selective, low-activity 呪術廻戦 ( Jujutsu Kaisen ) multimuse. penned by saturn (24, they/she). carrd.
hey guys! first off: I’m really sorry (and ashamed, really) that I’m making this post because I’m aware it’s very shitty and not exactly one that people enjoy seeing on the dash… and neither do I enjoy talking about it but: I am not in a good situation.
in the last week: my teachers decided to discard a grand total of 220€ that I’ve spent on fabrics. they said to my face, and quote, “ew. these are going to the trash. no way you are using these.”. like any good student… I sucked it up and nodded. then… this morning… I decided to check my bank account. and that was when I realized that I barely have money to pay for food, much less do I have for fuel to go to school for the upcoming month (which is when I’ll receive my next paycheck).
soo… yeah. adrenaline and anxiety kicked in and I opened a ko-fi so I can start selling cosplay prints. I’ll be selling actual stuff (like anime merch and clothing) on portuguese online platforms since those are a lot easier for me to work with, but I’m still not sure if I’m even going to be able to make money out of those.
even if you are not able to help me by buying me a ko-fi or a print… just the fact that you are reblogging this post and spreading awareness is more than enough and I appreciate it a whole lot. thank you so much and I’m so sorry for sounding so miserable rn;; you have no idea how bad I hate this.
It should be enough. To make something beautiful should be enough. It isn’t. It should be.
INDIE LITERATE MULTIFANDOM MULTIMUSE BY FEL.
sometimes it was the small things.
seeing a face in the crowd that looked just a little too similar, cherry blossom tea, the scent of pine wood, letting down the guard around his soul — it sunk deep down into his bones, made his lungs ache like he’d smoked a pack straight again, dried out his mouth and his palms sweat. he thought he could control it by now, but it was a chronic sickness, one whose symptoms, this time, came to a head at the end of a speared tentacle, rocketing him up into the sky. his screams were gargled, blood staining pale pink lips a crimson red.
grade 1, the epitome of what a sorcerer was supposed to be, staring down a cackling curse, delighting in his heartbroken incompetence.
1, 10, 100 strikes, he couldn’t remember how many it had taken to get free, to finish an exorcism that felt like it would take his own soul along with it. the sight of the curtain fading came along with a darkness seeping in over his vision, body collapsing into the arms of the Window, taking her petite form down with him.
he awoke, hazy and sick, to fluorescent lights, to cold metal, to Shoko with her palm against his stomach. she was murmuring something, but his eyes strayed, trying not to roll back into his skull, trying to observe his surroundings — it didn’t take long for the memories to rush back in, the smell of rot and Getou’s perfume, the chill of the cloth over his tears. all too quickly, he sat up, the taste of iron on his tongue, the same that he used to scream something about being taken to the morgue, of all places, something about just letting him rest, forever.
Shoko knew well enough that he’d survive, physically, at least; no effort was made to stop him leaving, clutching the angry red scar across his stomach. by the time he’d made it outside, greeted by a grey sky and sat beneath the bare boned cherry tree he’d shared with the boy the world of sorcery had swallowed whole and spit out at his feet, Shoko had texted Gojo, simply:
[Shoko] 19:36 — vitals stable. his head, not so much. [Shoko] 19:37 — he needs you, not me.
for @primasolaris !
ooc. just here to say that junpei’s voice is p pretty
also if you need proof that Yoshitaka Yamaya is also adorable, here you go, this is an accurate representation of what Junpei becomes if he survives and is roped into the Clown School that is Jujutsu Tech
ooc. just here to say that junpei’s voice is p pretty
— — — — this is a socially awkward S T A R T E R C A L L.
𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐩𝐫𝐢/𝐬𝐞𝐥. 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙠𝙮𝙪𝙪 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢-𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣 ( 24 𝘺/𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘵 ). 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘥 ( 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ).
woefreed:
@kyyuryo (cont.)
He may not be as small as he was when he joined the school a few month prior, adolescent growth spurt permitting, but he certainly feels small, under Nanami’s attentive, hawkish gaze. By all accounts, he shouldn’t, really; for as intimidating as Nanami Kento could be, time and habit had slowly shown the boy how much more alike than different he and his mentor could be. Pain, he gathers, is one strange way of bringing the most unlikely souls together. Yuuta can clearly remember Nanami’s initial shock, the first time he had been confronted to Rika’s overwhelming energy; but he can also remember the look that had flashed across stoic features once Gojo-sensei had, in his own whimsical way, told the story behind the curse.
“Always nightmares.” The boy replies with pained softness, like nettle crumpled in the palm of his hand. He is grateful for Nanami’s honesty - as depressing as the statement is. It feels like lived experience; and Yuuta is tired of people tip-toeing around his grief like it is a monstrous thing not to be awaken. They never realise it is always awake. Only Nanami really does.
He holds his hand up to contemplate the ring on his finger, and drops it with a sigh, before he looks up at his teacher-who-is-not-a-teacher. “It’s a weird thing to say, but it feels unfair. Rika-chan was my only friend. We had so many good memories together before she died.” The rain hammers on the roof of the bus stop, and he looks up, reminiscing of olden days when he and Rika would run to the bus stop under the pouring rain after school. Those days were fun days. Today, they feel grey and heavy. “But it’s like only the bad stays.” And it doesn’t feel right; and he wonders if Nanami, too, suffered the same ailment of memory.
Nanami wasn’t one to dwell in his memories for very long. not only were they a fast track to inviting emotions into his work, but they often ached more than they soothed. though, in contrast to the teen who sat sorrowful beside him, he’d had far more years to parse through the pain, to pick through the needles to find the golden strands.
“That’s not out of the ordinary,” the older man murmured, crossing one leg over the other. “And you’re not wrong that it’s unfair. There’s a lot of things our bodies to us that seem unfair to us — one of them is your mind’s obsession with keeping you alive. It normally does a pretty good job, forcing you to breathe if you hold your breath, coordinating your immune system so you don’t get sick, but — when it comes to our thoughts, it’s not as simple, is it? All of the bad things that happen to you throughout your life, your mind sees them as threats to your life. It fixates on them because it cares far more about what can hurt you than it does about what makes you happy.”
running the risk of sounding clinical was a calculated effort. i don’t bring emotions to work.
a glance down at his watch set the time at 5:04pm. not at work any more, for all intents and purposes.
“... it took me years to stop the nightmares. I had to convince my mind that replaying those moments, those images, the smells, the pain — all of it brought me closer to death than it ever helped me stay alive. I know you know that pain well.” he needn’t explain himself any more for now. slowly, he leaned forward, letting his hands be splattered by the rain, some attempt at grounding himself. “Tell me, Yuuta,” Nanami murmured, staring at the way the droplets ran through his fingers and gathered on his calloused palms. “What’s your favourite memory of Rika?”
“I’ll be fine.”
any statement on his physical health could be fairly well believed, at least when mumbled to Shoko. he was a practical man — hiding wounds from a doctor made little sense. yet, his insistence on keeping his emotional health just as guarded as he kept his soul hadn’t wavered since he was a student, and if he was a betting man ( he wasn’t; Hakari’s attempt to get him into it ended in a lecture and little else ) he’d hedge his bets that it wouldn’t ever waver.
tonight wasn’t an exception.
“If I buy you a drink, can we promise not to ask any more questions about how I’m feeling? Not a bribe, just... a request.” he spoke quietly, the slur on his voice only just barely noticeable. it wasn’t much of a surprise that the two heaviest drinkers’ favourite bars happened to overlap on occasion, and they’d run into each other almost as many times as they’d intentionally gone for a drink after work — but, it was also no surprise to her that Nanami only drank this much when something was bothering him.
something awful, if the amount of empty glasses gathered neatly at the edge of his table was any indication. a functioning alcoholic he may be, but there were shades to his definition of ‘functioning’.
“Pick something nice, it’s my treat.”
for the ( well-intentioned ) hands of @homefrontt‘s IEIRI SHOKO.
Running away is easy, It's the leaving that's hard.
— — — — hello folks, saturn here ! i’m finally done with the cross country move so — S T A R T E R C A L L.
— — — — this is a quiet S T A R T E R C A L L.
— — — — this is a socially awkward S T A R T E R C A L L.
ooc. apparently in between wanting to create blogs for hakari and choso, my brain has decided it wants to write a hypochondriac volleyball player who shares my intense hatred of crowds.
🧎♀️