Jul 24
"i hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child & fell asleep on the couch during a family party. i hope you can hear the laughter from the next room"
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"i hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child & fell asleep on the couch during a family party. i hope you can hear the laughter from the next room"
This is a perfect time to read the brilliant and unforgettable graphic novel(s) Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, about growing up in Iran during and after the Iranian Revolution, and the rise of the oppressive theocracy that persists to this day.
Both graphic novels are available free online (Persepolis vol. 1, Persepolis vol. 2)
It also was adapted to a wonderful film (co-directed and co-written by the author) which is available to watch for free on Sundance Now (sign up for the free trial)
how cruel can our world be
Hey look I finished it :3
Prints are available on my Etsy 👀
as for Rocky? well, someone has to watch over his best friend in return
companion sketch to this drawing
In 1970, my mother's family adopted an intellectually disabled man named Horace. Horace was 56, and had been in an institution since 1921.
My uncle, who was 19, was working as an orderly at the institution where Horace lived. He only stayed a few months as the abuse he witnessed was too much for him. He had become friends with Horace and told him "I'll come back for you."
Horace replied "They all say that."
By that Christmas, Horace lived with my uncle and his family. My grandparents did the official adoption. Horace had never seen a Christmas tree, and that was his first real Christmas.
Horace died in 2010, at the age of 96. He laid down for a nap and just slipped away.
At least two generations of children grew up with him. He felt immortal to us. He loved Hot Wheels, pizza, cartoons and to talk to the portrait of my grandparents as he sat in his rocking chair.
He knew everyone's birthday. He loved unconditionally.
He had scars on his back from the institutions. If you asked him about that place, his face would screw up and he'd say "oh, it was a bad place. Bad place."
And for 40 years, he was safe, loved, and happy. He loved us in return.
No point to sharing this. But I still miss his laugh as he held a conversation with a portrait, whispering about his day to the people who had helped rescue him.
Some angsty thing nobody asked for
꒰shrine꒱ sukuna lost the love of his life ꩜ cw: heavy angst. grief. major character death (reader)
What a fool the King of Curses had become.
Reduced to something he used to mock – a man ruled by emotion, unable to fight back against the way they spilled from his eyes and from the open wounds on his knuckles; a blind rage that had left bloodied dents on the walls.
The walls you had been so adamant on decorating. With ridiculous ideas of portraits and family pictures you'd one day take together. One day. A day that never came.
You humans were fragile things, he knew that.
He knew that.
But how could he have resisted you? When your smile made him believe he had a heart again? When your eyes alone made him want, crave, yearn for something he used to deem so unnecessary?
Sukuna loved you from the moment he first saw you.
And that would be the death of him.
Because you weren't here anymore.
No.
He was alone again.
Alone with the stupid walls in that colour he hated, but you had looked so happy when you chose it. Even more so when he lifted you up on his shoulders so you could reach the ceiling, dragging the colour all over with the large brush as he watched from below, mesmerized by your smile.
You had pouted when you saw the end result of your uneven streaks, but Sukuna told you it was perfect. Of course it was perfect – you had created it.
He still remembered the way you smiled, lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes to kiss his deformed cheek. No one else had ever been gentle with him like that. Why the fuck would they?
Another punch breaks through the wall, another punch bringing him back to this horrifying reality he can't accept. Was this what he deserved? Were the gods mocking him again?
Whatever crime he was paying for, whatever law of retribution he had triggered, it didn't change the fact you didn't deserve it. Sukuna would have chosen his own demise over yours any day; would have gladly left this world if it meant you could still be here, safe, smiling.
Putting up the pictures you dreamed of. Having the family you deserved.
Sukuna's knees give out before he can throw the next punch, falling to the floor with a loud thud, his vision hazy with so many tears he didn't even know he could shed.
Over the corner of his eye, something catches his attention though. It's in one of the moving boxes you hadn't finished unpacking, now lying half thrown on the ground with it's contents spilled.
But there, he saw it – the smile he loved. The face he needed to see more than anything.
Sukuna crawled to it like a man condemned, shoving everything else out of the way to pick up the picture on the floor. When had you framed this? He couldn't remember, but the memory of it was clear as day in his mind – a day in the park, a polaroid some stranger had taken without permission and dared ask money for. Sukuna already had a scowl on his face, but you convinced him to buy it. You said you loved it.
It showed the two of you in a moment where you thought no one was looking. Just a casual day, leaning on the bridge under the bright sun, his arm around your waist. Your face was turned to him with a beaming smile, and his lips also tugged upwards in a look he only ever shared with you.
Sukuna had thought the man's suggestion so offensive he had barely bothered to look at it. But he was glad you convinced him to buy it.
Sukuna loved it too.
His crimson eyes turned to the walls then, resolute, already looking for a hammer and nail he was sure would be lying around one of the moving boxes. His legs brought him up again, moving to the half destroyed wall with the picture in his hands.
You said you wanted pictures of your family on there.
He could do that for you.
He'd find every picture you ever took and nail it to the walls of the home you were never able to make.
Fuck it, he'd make a whole shrine.
Honour you in any way he could.