sweetheart, (derogatory)
▪︎ do not stop until you are no longer yourself. what comes next will handle the rest ▪︎
muse directory. anime companion blog @michelangelowept.
todays bird
DEAR READER
ojovivo
art blog(derogatory)

Kiana Khansmith
Not today Justin
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Keni

⁂
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
No title available

blake kathryn
Sade Olutola
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
we're not kids anymore.

izzy's playlists!

Janaina Medeiros

Origami Around
taylor price

tannertan36

seen from Spain

seen from Malaysia

seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Thailand
seen from Portugal
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Russia

seen from United States

seen from Italy
seen from India
seen from Uruguay
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
@nightmarefuele
sweetheart, (derogatory)
▪︎ do not stop until you are no longer yourself. what comes next will handle the rest ▪︎
muse directory. anime companion blog @michelangelowept.
@koseigu
“Was that before or after you got suckered in the face?”
"you know as well as i do that the kraken doesn't sucker, he flails with style. wily son of a bitch caught me when i was distracted." jack puffs his chest out, with minimal effort needed because he has an incredible rack. "still on a mandatory hold, by the way. your problem now."
funny, ha-ha. see? see his face? so funny. he thinks it's so funny. “if this is how you handle your problems i'd hate to marry you.”
the best fanfic is the one the author had fun writing actually.
the second best is the one the author used to work through some issues.
the third best is the one the author wrote out of spite due to some really dogshit discourse going on in their fandom
Sukuna and his fixation with wanting to be touched in order to prove the other person wants connection with him via violent displays of strength in an effort to break the cage of isolation imposed on him by the world only to be caged by the embodiment of compassion itself. Gojo and his fixation with remaining untouched as a declaration of his unerring strength and a monument to his own self-imposed isolation from the world only to let the embodiment of compassion touch him. Could be nothing.
Malevolent shrine returns to its king in a shower of black sparks
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀!𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐏
(っ◔◡◔)っ ♡ By 5thAmendmentt on all platforms! ೀꨄ︎
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀!𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐏
(っ◔◡◔)っ ♡ By 5thAmendmentt on all platforms! ೀꨄ︎
I have soooo many drawings of kingkuna but tumblr only lets u put up 10 photos >u< I love using kingkuna to practice
Animation test
also js wanted to test how muscles move
Jean-Paul Sartre, from The Age of Reason
You can only see in others what your nature allows you to see. The range of your vision depends on the extent of the personal development. The personal, if it is deep enough, becomes universal, mythical, symbolic; I never generalize, intellectualize. I see, I hear, I feel. These are my primitive instruments of discovery.
The Diary of Anaïs Nin
Anaïs Nin
king of curses!!!
the king pretty princess of curses
I've done this based on a photo from @__mossymoss on X. It was a lot of fun!
For Toji version, go check out @ackshuallyvalerie !!! Thanks for the idea!
@koseigu ref milk.
Objectivism is a joke at his expense. He is in constant flirtation with a roadmap that leads nowhere, a puncture in the fabric. Death like a faraway tree.
There is nothing further for him. He has discovered everything.
Whether a smashed fruit seeping through his hands, or flaking bodies from his dreams gored on his sleeping, Sukuna has stuffed himself full. There are no other seats at the table, but the feast keeps coming, too hungry to stop himself. Not that he'd want to.
He tripped from the womb a pit.
Sukuna sits with his knees up and his arms around them. His chin slumps, his eyes dead. Temperate wind ghosts around him. It plays on his cheeks.
He sighs.
Maybe the Arctic is next.
When he gets up, the cell tower wobbles. He sticks his hands in his pockets and glares over the edge. Sensationalism is strikingly close to romanticism. Sukuna skirts that overlap, unfortunately. He pictures lurching over and splitting across the milky bowl below. Would he land on his feet, like a cat? He is only as good as his impulses.
Along the streets, homeless people gather like small murders. They offer hot chocolate to each other and warm their cups over barrels.
Sukuna walks through unseen, Jesus ignored.
The keening noises people make to the night really aren't all that fortuitous, but he listens anyway, mildly curious.
Chance leads him back where he's been before. He slips in while she is awake and staring. The curtain slips across his face.