#noticed that while looking for reference

[aghw18]

A compilation of kuro-related art requests while i was gone

[screwpinecaprice]

Made adjustments with an older winter connverse because sometimes I like to revel on what improvement I had by 'correcting' my earlier stuff. Lol

[ryssbelle]

Inspired by these comics by @zivazivc and this comic by @chongotheartist

This has been chilling in my mind since I first saw ZivaZivcs comic and I finally got the energy to make it XD

[dreamyblanket]

Sorry guys, wafer on the brain, it's terminal u.u

Anyway, I'll elaborate on this in the tags bc omg I'm going to yap your metaphorical ear off.

[milkbreadtoast]

quick yoojin phone doodles from memory/without reference... im surprised it turned out so accurate considering i havent drawn him much(this is like the 2nd-3rd time) but ig it's bc im always taking notes in my head when i look at my screencaps of him... 😳

[adastra121]

Which is harder to catch — a magician or a thief? Now you see them, now you don’t! 🪄🎩

If you wanted to check out my other MCs’ daily schedules:

Luneth’s Daily Schedule

[nhura]

What's up guys I'm going to be a panelist at RATIOCON 2024 giving an improvised presentation on how silly and weird this guy is

[vieoeil-riae]

okay but imagine you get isekai'd into black myth wukong but you're chronically online and have played the game, like if you make any cultural reference or joke or jargon you'd just sound insane

like imagine you accompany the destined one and zhu bajie and you end up having to explain why you know so much despite very much Not Being From Here and you quote "this is an RPG, what role am I playing? the fucking victim?" while describing the combat or start yapping about how insane it would be if BMW was an open world because if that happened and the graphics were the same then your console would like, explode, and they just look at you like you've grown 3 heads

like you could be the funniest mf out there but you giggling at your own jokes just makes them worry about your own mental state 💀💀

[rosieyart]

Hello! I hope that you are well!

I was looking through some of your drawings of Shuichi Saihara (which are amazing, by the way!) and noticed that you often draw him with piercings.

It's a great design and suits him well, but it made me wonder what you think of Rantaro Amami's design. Unless I am misremembering, he is the only character in Danganronpa V3 that has piercings (and a lot of them, haha). If you ever drew him, what would you add, change, or take away from his appearance?

On the same topic, what are your general thoughts on Rantaro? Do you have any head-canons of him?

Thank you for your time, and keep up the amazing work!

- Saber

hi, thank you so much for your compliments! i’m quite flattered haha

as for your ask, i like rantarou! he’s really neat and i was actually so devastated that he was the first to go because upon first meeting him, i knew he was going to be a possible favourite. as of now, i’m more so indifferent, and i don’t really care for green characters too much, but my feelings for him lean towards positive. i think he’s neat. seems really chill

can’t say i really have a whole lot of head canons since he’s admittedly not someone i give too much thought to, but overall i would give him an eyebrow piercing and imagine he has a few sets of snake bites he alternates through. i gave him an eyebrow slit, too, to match with his piercing in my recent work. he already has so many piercings i cant say i���d give him more — maybe more on his left ear though, since his right is uh. very heavily pierced haha. i could see him having a piercing at his clavicle though, or maybe his tongue. again, i wouldn’t add much more, personally. if anything i’d give him some tattoos. i can easily see him being a tattoo artist.

despite me not caring for his specific shade of green, i actually love his design a lot and think he’s definitely an underrated character (or maybe he’s not? i actually don’t heavily interact with the drv3 fandom so perhaps he’s more popular than i think he is). initially, in my first play through of v3 and when things went wrong, or there was a death of some sort, i’d tsk and shake my head, telling my friend i was playing with that none of this would’ve happened if rantarou were there haha. he was just an enigma that haunted my v3 experience and when i found out his effigy was just… hanging upside down in ouma’s room i lost it because i thought it was so funny. proceeded to then be heavily disappointed that clicking on his effigy did nothing and we, as the audience, never truly learned why ouma hung it in his room……. right by his bed no less 💀 (reason was likely just due to his evidence hoarding tendencies, but still)

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

I usually write Ghost fanfics but my little musical theater enthusiast brain has been buzzing since I saw Les Mis in Paris, so, there you go. Also, feels strange to write about my french little guys from a french book in english, given that I am, yes you guessed it, french, but oh well. I like my writting better in english anyway.

It's the light scraping of his chair that betrays Grantaire. He's been sitting in silence for quite a while now, content to watch Enjolras furiously scribble under the flickering light of dying candles for as long as the blond's engrossed mind will allow him.

The sudden noise puts an end to it, as it makes Enjolras look up, sharp eyes, barely dulled by the shadows underneath them, locking on Grantaire's slouched form. Impossibly bright blue flickers toward the bottle in his hand, pink lips, bitten raw in deep reflexion, pressing into a thin line. Grantaire watches mournfully as Enjolras' brow knits.

"I would have thought you'd be gone by now, Grantaire. Gone or asleep, at least. Has your liquor not knocked you uncouncious yet ?"

There isn't as much bite to the words as Grantaire expected. Enjolras' voice is steady, if not slightly strained with the exhaustion that no doubts weights on him. Stripped, for the moment at least, of his scalding enthusiasm and righteous fury, messy hair golden in what little light it catches, tie sitting as loose and askew as ever, Enjolras seems less marble, more flesh. Grantaire blinks slowly, feeling the effect of his own tiredness, huming lowly.

"It seems that today, my dear mistress absynth has left me before my eyes could close, and in such hurry that she took my legs with her. I will just sit here, if you'll let me."

Enjolras' face scrunches up as he lays his pen next to his work, careful not to smuge the still-drying ink with his sleeve.

"I do not understand how you could call mistress something that hurts you so much, Grantaire."

The disarming earnestness with which the reprimand- because it is still one - falls from Enjolras' mouth is almost enough for Grantaire to forget his wit. Almost. He reclines further in his seat with a half-smile he knows Enjolras abhors, twirling the bottle in his hand.

"You say that as if yours only ever did you good. How many times did Patria dear hurt you, Apollo ?"

The blond's expression sours further, but he doesn't snap. Instead, he gets up, leans over the table to gently pry the bottle from Grantaire's loose grasp. It was mostly empty anyway, and in doing so, Enjolras' undone collar gives Grantaire a great view of his collarbones. They're nice collarbones, and he is not strangely hypnotized by the sight, not at all.

When Enjolras drags a chair closer to Grantaire, plopping there with a deep sigh, it feels like the earth tilted on its axis just a bit. Because Enjolras is sitting right here, ankle propped on his knee while the other brushes Grantaire's, watching him with only a spark of annoyance and much more curiosity. There's a grace to Enjolras that Grantaire's wretched hands never quite managed to capture on paper, something that makes the way he rolls his sleeves just now captivating. The Musain is long closed, the backroom barely lit, shadows waiting in the corners, but Enjolras is still a vision. Grantaire's unworthy eyes are roaming, too much exposed skin, too close ; he is afraid an inch closer and Enjolras' simmering fire will melt him like those poor dying candles fighting to provide light.

"Patria hasn't hurt me."

Grantaire huffs, something both fond and painful swirling in his chest.

"No, my aplogies. You've hurt yourself for her."

Enjolras shakes his head, curls bouncing around the sculpted angles of his face. He has his stubborn face on - his everyday face, really.

"I've hurt myself for my beliefs. For the people. Such an important battle requires sacrifices. What I don't understand is how you can love something that causes you so much aimless pain so fiercly."

Saying so, Enjolras gestures toward the discarted bottle, but Grantaire feels like they're straying from the subject, like maybe Enjolras meant something else. Or maybe alcohol is encouraging his self indulgent thoughts. However Enjolras is still waiting for an answer, leaning just that much further toward Grantaire. It's dangerous, to trust him with that face up close and personal, the arch of those eyebrows, the sparkle of those dream-like eyes, the slight crookedness of that nose, sharp cheekbones and even sharper jaw, oh, and Grantaire can't bare looking at Enjolras' mouth, at the pink of perfect lips.

He would lean back, put some distance between them, but he can go no further, the chair's back digging in his spine. It takes a too-long pause and a clearing of throat before Grantaire can answer.

"I believe it happens more often than you seem to believe. As you know, le coeur a ses raisons. Sometimes, the hurt isn't nearly bad enough to move on from the good. Sometimes, the hurt is so entertwined with the good it becomes one. Sometimes-"

There Grantaire's voice breaks, but he is determined to finish his sentence.

"...sometimes, the hurt is all that is deserved."

Because he's sitting so close, Grantaire can see the way Enjolras' expression crumbles at that, taking pieces of his already mangled heart with it.

"R..."

The nickname, both foreign and familiar, rolls off Enjolras' tongue with a pained accent. It's like for once, he's at a loss for words, rethoric failing him perhaps for the first time in his life. Grantaire would jest about it, if he didn't felt naked under the steel of Enjolras' eyes. Then a hand covers his, and his brain officially stops functioning, nothing but a low hum running through his head, because even when Grantaire is sure he can't anymore, Enjolras surprises him.

The stray spots of ink on Enjolras' fingers smudge on Grantaire's own when the blond tangles them together, thumb running along the veins at the back of his hand. He is warm, something that somehow always startles Grantaire. There, in the backroom of the Café Musain, as the shadows keep gaining ground, threatening to swallow them both, Enjolras and Grantaire hold hands.

"You don't deserve the hurt," Enjolras whispers after a long pause, urgency tainting his words, as if making Grantaire believe that was of the highest importance, "you don't. And if I gave you the impression that you did, then I apologize. I apologize, R."

Nothing could have prepared Grantaire for the way Enjolras then bows his head, pressing his lips to R's scarred knuckles. The touch, light, tender, unexpected, like the suspicious shine in Enjolras' eyes when he straightens, takes Grantaire completely by surprise, leaving him to stare with his jaw on the floor. He doesn't say anything, can't, really, which Enjolras seems to take as a bad omen, for his hold on Grantaire's hand slackens.

R can't let that happen, not when it feels like Enjolras letting go would shatter him, a man turned porcelain doll by the simple squeeze of slender fingers. Grantaire's hand convulsively tightens around Enjolras'. One of the candle dies, the shadows lunge closer, but they're still vaillantly held off by the last two flames burning low. Even now, Grantaire can make out the relief washing over Enjolras' face, and he doesn't need light to feel the blond matching the strenght of his grip.

It should be studied, the way Grantaire's heart manages to miss at least three beats, then jump into a frankly concerning rythm when Enjolras leans closer, free hand delicately cupping R's jaw, like he's something to hold with care, like he's worthy of a touch that's careful, a touch that admires. In his wildest dreams, Grantaire would have never imagined this : Enjolras' head tilted so he can maintain eyecontact through the dark curls tangled on R's forehead, so close they could accidentally headbutt each other at any sudden movement.

The look on Enjolras' face is familiar, something that's usually reserved for when Combeferre's migraine has him excusing himself from a meeting, or when Eponine slinks in the back of the room to pretend she's not looking for Marius with a look of utter exhaustion, when Feuilly collapses on his chair with a sigh heavier than him, when Jehan curls in on themselves instead of chatting with everyone.

Worry, Grantaire's brain supplies.

"Let me take you home," Enjolras hums, absent-mindedly brushing a strand of hair away from Grantaire's face. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to answer, his smirk somehow less convincing than he would like it to be.

"Why, dear Apollo, that is certainly an offer."

Pink spills on Enjolras' cheeks, a delicious flush Grantaire longs to know the extend of.

"I did not mean...I simply want to make sure you get some sleep."

"I know what you meant, Apollo, I'm only teasing you. I am surprised, though, i'll admit it. Do you even know where I live ?"

Enjolras nods, with the steel-clad certainty of the ones who are rarely wrong. He may even be smiling, if Grantaire's wishful eyes aren't deceiving him.

"I do. You rent a room a few blocks from here ; it is a rather short walk, but one you like to prolong by wandering through streets you needn't take."

It's said so matter-of-factly, like that little bit of Grantaire's routine is a well-known constant somewhere in Enjolras' brain. R doesn't remember ever explicitly mentionning his tendency to roam the streets aimlessly to anyone other than Bossuet and Joly, maybe Bahorel too. Unless, of course, Enjolras was paying more attentions to the conversations unrelated to the cause than Grantaire thought.

"Besides," Enjolras adds as, once more, R let the silence stretch on for too long, "I was talking about mine."

"Your-"

Grantaire might just faint at this point.

"Yes, Grantaire, my room."

This conversation feels like a fever dream. Enjolras of all people, asking Grantaire to follow him to his room, with barely enough space between them for the words to really leave the blond's mouth; it is so deeply incomprehensible Grantaire can do nothing but chuckle, now only drunk on the sheer astonishment he's feeling.

"Now you're just asking me to twist your words," he grins, leaning slightly more into Enjolras' hand, willing his shaken brain to memorize the feeling. The blond scoffs, but despite the deepening blush now spreading on his neck, he smiles, dangerously charming and charmingly dangerous.

"I'm afraid I share a wall with Combeferre, a thin one. Whatever you wanted to imply would never happen here, unless you don't mind the audience."

The laugh that spills from Grantaire's lips is crazed, whole body shaking with it. He feels like he's going insane, because there is no way Enjolras anticipated a crude joke and went along with it. Not only that, but the way he phrased it- it almost sounded like the option was only off the table because of the risk of making Combeferre an unwilling witness. No, Grantaire can't think about this, can't read into it, so he just laughs, face slipping from Enjolras' hand when his head falls back.

"Ah, Enjolras, it looks as if your humor awakens after the witching hour."

Standing up, the blond allowes himself to smile down at Grantaire, holding himself in a looser form than in the light of day.

"I didn't intended it to be half as funny as you seem to find it, Grantaire. So, what do you say ?"

Grantaire stares at the hand Enjolras extended for him, palm up. He shouldn't do this. Tonight is going better than he would have ever expected, but he and Enjolras walk a thin line, all the time. If Grantaire had to describe their relationship, he would call it whiplash-inducing, always pulling them back and forth in opposite directions. And tonight, Enjolras is hauling the both of them further than they ever went, like pulling taunt an elastic ; Grantaire should think of his poor little heart, of how it'll hurt that much more once the elastic snaps, and they're yanked back to the opposite end of their dynamic.

Instead, he takes Enjolras' hand and let him pull him to his feet. For a beat too long, they stay like this, chests almost brushing with each inhale, both aware of the importance of the moment without being able to fully grasp it still.

Then Enjolras clears his throat, taking a few steps back to collect his things. Grantaire busies himself by pushing the chairs back where they belong, keeping an eye on Enjolras as he pats his pockets for the double of the keys Musichetta let him use so he doesn't have to leave when she does.

Wordlessly, Enjolras splays a hand between Grantaire's shoulderblades when he goes to blow the remaining candles out. Suddenly plunged in darkness, they shuffle out, Grantaire following a few feet behind Enjolras. As he crosses the threshold, the blond looks back over his shoulder, eyes locking with Grantaire's.

It's colder outside than R had anticipated, goosebumps raising on his skin. Before he can do anything about it, a warm weight lands on his shoulders, and he finds himself wearing Enjolras' infamous red coat. The man in question watches him with all the intensity Grantaire dreams of, and even chuckles when R exageratedly squares his shoulders, tugging the collar up like Enjolras does when he feels especially dramatic. With a mock reverence that earns him a sigh, Grantaire is the one to offer his hand this time, adding some unnecessary flourish just because he can.

"Shall we ?"

Once again, Enjolras takes Grantaire's hand, and the world is just a tiny bit brighter thanks to that.

[lbhslefttiddie]

thoughts on orv as of ep 45:

i love women they are all so cool thank god for women

i am now 1500% certain something is deeply Wrong with kdj (affectionate)

if anything happens to this child im gonna scream and cry and throw up

took a look at the wiki bc im still not wholly sure if i should be saying gilyoung or gilyeong and this is how i find out the webcomic is an adaptation of a novel (when questioning for orv was, long ago, i just googled orv and looked at the first thing that wasnt the wiki)

in the original novel GILYEONG DOESNT EXIST??? fucked up im shaking and crying

[radiomogai]

excuse me, you recently related a post with a tag asking if people remembered when people cared about recoining things and I’ve been thinking about it and I’m wondering if you meant that caring about recoining was good or bad?

We dislike re-coining. I don't have the spoons to explain the full part of it, but it mostly comes down to our more general criticisms of the extent of individualism in the MOGAI community (recoins, especially when they are of terms that have already been coined many times, often feel as though they are disregarding the contributions of other coiners, as well as ignoring the community symbol purpose of flags) and it feels disrespectful to the work of archivists. Every time we see another gender related to the song I/Me/Myself by Will Wood and nothing else, we feel like our work and our efforts in not only preventing terms from being lost as well as making them so easy to search for is, uh. Pointless. Not valued. We've spoken about this with some other archivists who have said they feel the same.

There are five (5) genders related to that song on our blog alone, by the way, and that's only counting the ones that have no other specifications. There are also five (5) related to the album Everything Is A Lot, and four (4) related to the song Thermodynamic Lawyer, and four (4) related to The Normal Album. Again, this is only counting ones without any other specifications, and are only the ones posted on our blog. This is a regular thing.

[ludoka]

I need someone to understand why I think Eduardo and his father's eyes look like this:

Because THIS is what their eyes look like when they smile or laugh:

His eyes are small and half slanted. They barely see when they smile 😂

[petrichormeraki]

wip that i couldn’t keep to myself, they’re so CUTE

[hychlorions]

imagine they don't give you eyes and you think it's probably because of your glasses but the guy next to you has glasses AND eyes so what the fuck. you just don't deserve eyes i guess. anyway

[anerol152]

You know how you can be in a fandom for years and simply not think or notice things?

Hakuba Saguru. Saguru Hakuba. S.H. Sherlock Holmes.

How did I miss the joke for years-