serendipity

(n.) the occurrence and development of events by chance, in a happy or beneficial way.

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if i survived a slasher it’s because i fucked him

BRO COOKED‼️‼️

what if instead of being called jujustu kaisen, it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 kaisen, and we had nanami, true form sukuna and toji butt booty naked, oiled up twerking at maximum efficiency with loud volume and in 4k?????? what then 🤔🤔🤔

I need this

"react to their s/o drawing them" "reader sketches their bf" NAH. WHAT ABOUT THIS.

Reader who has a secret hobby for painting like genuinely painting good ass portraits. Has a shed in the backyard for the whole thing it's dead ass bolt locked.

Said character finds it and somehow gets in seeing done and unfinished paintings only to notice one is on the wall. Seemingly in front of readers desk covered by a black veil.

Pulling it back they see a PERFECT. SHINING. BEAUTIFUL portrait of themself. Done and made in their whole image sitting on a chair or a throne or smth.

How would they react 🤨.

OR OR even a gory one for those killer/evil characters. Like those cool ass paintings where it's a character holding a bleeding heart or a skeleton or smth. Please. Y'all request this shit to good authors 😔🤚

Repost plz :p

I NEED THIS WITH HAIKYUU PLEASE 🙏🏾🙏🏾‼️

miracle boy ✨

I love him😭🫶🏾💕

I guess we can do this now. 😸

Happy birthday, my boy

gwenpool #1 redraw!

Enough for Two (Tendou x Mute!Reader) Ko-fi request

So sorry but here come the waves of request that i have for you.if you cant write some it doesnt matter.I like being able to make requests but i especially want to support you. Can i get a Tendou x reader fic please?

If and when your commissions are open would you be open to writing about a Soulmates AU Reader/Satori Tendou or what ever AU/Non AU you want? If you have too much on your plate, then no worries I just really enjoy your writing!

Also found here on AO3 if it’s more convenient to read, please enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785287

—- —- —– —–

Sometimes people do things without reason to give themselves reason.

It’s a bit of a strange thought, but it’s really the only thing that makes sense to you in this situation right now at lease.

You watch your notebook go sailing across the hallway floor, sliding like a hockey puck until it smacks with finality against the opposite wall. You stare, still on your hands and knees from where you’d been about to pick it up and feel an incoming sigh well up in your lungs, hefty and full of power.

The sigh leaves your lips, nothing but a quiet, big gust of air. It does nothing compared to the racket of laughter filling the hall, shrill giggles that make you wonder if your own laugh sounds like that. You pray not.

In a perfect world, you imagine yourself turning your head to the trio of girls behind you—always in threes, isn’t it?—turning around to face their laughter with a disgusted frown and opening your mouth and spitting out, “ What the hell is your problem?” They’d probably turn white as ghosts and go screaming for the hills.

But the girls don’t go screaming for the hills. They continue to laugh and those words never leave your lips. They can’t, anyway, and your notebook is all the way at the other end of the hall since one of them sent it flying with a good kick. You remain there on your knees, staring after it for a long while before you turn back to the three girls.

They smile at you, bright, glossy sneers pulled over their lips.

You’re not really sure what it is but you think this is where you hypothesis comes into play—bullying doesn’t quite make sense, but at a school like Shiratorizawa where the students are rich and wonderful and have mostly met the hierarchy of needs necessary for a good life—they get bored. And when students are bored their minds wander, their hands wander, and their eyes wander too, all the way until they land on the girl who never says a word in the corner of their class they like to call a freak even though her problem isn’t freakish—it’s perfectly diagnosable.

When people get bored they sometimes need a reason to remind themselves they exist, even if there really is no reason for that at all.

“Oh, sorry,” the first one says, exactly the way they would in a drama—it’s a little amazing, actually. Maybe art imitates life more than you thought. “We didn’t see it there.”

“You shouldn’t just crawl on the floor like that,” another says. “What if someone tripped over you?”

“You look sad like that,” the last one says, pitifully. “Need some help?”

You gaze at them for a long moment, meeting their eyes in silence. They snicker, putting hands daintily over their mouths. They’re the annoying types who like to make sure their arm sleeves are folded up nice and neat so everyone can see the ink black words scrawled out on their skin, make sure it’s not hindered at all, bold and visible.

They start shooting each other looks. “Can you believe her?” they say to each other. “Look at her, oh my god. Is she for real?” and “Wow, this is so sad. We should stop.”

But they’re bored, so of course they’re not going to stop.

It’s useless, but you move your fingers anyways, aggressively shifting your hands in the air.

“ No, thanks. You can scram you pieces of shit. I’m tired of choking on your perfume. ”

It’s quite a hefty amount of words leaving your fingers. They take it as your way of feebly apologizing or saying something that fits their narrative and they giggle, turning on their heels and leaving you behind. This probably won’t be the last you see of them, not until graduation, but that’s fine.

It’s just one more year.

You wait until they disappear around the corner and finally stand up, brushing dust off your skirt and your knees. You stare at the floor for a few minutes, thinking up words and sentences in your head and using the memory of voices you like to imagine your own voice sounding just like that—telling them off and giving them a scare.

“W-What? You’re not mute? Oh my god!”

Yeah. You think, scoffing in silence at yourself. As if.

You feel a bit more resentful than usual even though this isn’t really anything new. They’ve done worse; tripping you in the halls or shoving you on their way to their desks. You’re just a picture perfect target in their pitifully cliche world to give them more meaning to their otherwise useless lives.

When you think of it in such a haughty manner, it does make you feel a bit better. Just a bit, because this still sucks.

You shake your head, reluctant to go get your notebook but knowing you need to do it anyway. You rub the etched, pale marking on your wrist for reassurance and start the long trek down the hall, keeping your eyes on the floor.

If it gets anymore annoying or anymore physical, you’ll bring it up to the teachers. You hate the thought of getting the staff involved but you’re not stupid enough to let them get bold enough to shove you down some stairs and risk your life. Who knew what the hell these pigeons were capable of? You’d just be the sad, bullied mute kid telling on the teachers but who cared?

No one.

Your stickered notebook pops up in your vision, grinning food stickers beaming back up at you. You blink, briefly terrified for a second before your head quickly snaps upwards.

His shocking red hair juts up in your field of vision first, followed by the easy, sneaky looking slant of his eyes and the almost perched little way his lips curve up into a tiny, peckish smile. Beside his face he throws up a giant peace sign with his two fingers.

“Hiyah,” he says, grinning cheekily at you. “This is yours, rrrrriiiiggghhhtt?”

He’s in your class, you realize, mind racing. Tendou, I think. He’s on the volleyball team and he sits two chairs behind you. You remember all this because you always collect the papers up at the front and see his name, messy and hurried. And he talks a lot too. He’s loud and laughs and teases people all the time in class—you watch him sometimes because you’re a bit jealous of how much he talks, how much he’s able to talk, shifting the tone of his voice in all these little creative ways, whether because he’s making fun of someone or just answering a question.

He feels like someone who really, really makes good use of his voice. Makes sure it’s used, you mean. Doesn’t waste it.

You like that.

Tendou flaps the book once in front of you. You blink, quickly nodding and reaching out to take it.

He holds it up over his head, grinning down at you.

You stare up at him in disbelief, feeling your stomach sink.

Not him too. You knew he was notorious for being disliked amongst some of your peers—people tended to forget you were mute, not deaf—and he teased people however he liked. He was a generally tough nut to figure out no matter how you looked at it, but you never took him for a small time school bully either.

Disheartened, you wordlessly look up at him, frowning. Tendou continues to smile, holding your notebook over his head.

“Is that what you say to someone who helps you?” he says. “Nooooothing?”

I can’t. You mouth, pressing your hands to your mouth. I can’t. Sorry. You move your lips, exaggerating how you mouth the words. Thank you. Please give it back.

“Nope!” Tendou says. “Try again.”

He’s ridiculously tall. He really must be good at volleyball too. There’s no way you’re getting it with a measly jump. Your hand clenches into a fist at your side, your free hand twitching on instinct to sign out your words but you wordlessly try mouthing them at him again, feeling your frustration bubble up useless into your throat.

“Come on, I know you can do it,” Tendou says cheerfully. You clench your fist harder. His free hand moves sloppily in the air in front of you, waving his fingers in a lazy sort of manner that matches the easy look on his face, amused. “Try again!”

Wait a minute.

Your eyes quickly hone in on his free hand, staring at him in stunned disbelief. Tendou’s smile widens and he moves his hand again, shifting his fingers. With purpose. Not uselessly. You stare at Tendou’s hand, eyes growing round in shock. Your jaw drops and you look back at Tendou.

“Try,” Tendou signs and says, grinning like an imp, “Again!”

Your hands quickly move, “Thank you.”

Tendou drops your notebook right into yours hands, grinning. You stare, stunned and disbelieving, a part of you realizing he signs terribly—he must’ve just learned—and Tendou throws his hands behind his head with a whistle. “There ya go! You’re not so mute now, are ya!”

Your eyes shoot up to Tendou’s but he’s already turning, waving his hand at you and disappearing around the hall. “Bye bye (L/n)-chan!”

You’re still standing in the hallway like an idiot, staring at the spot where Tendou had been in disbelief.

Tendou, the loud, tall, bright red-head kid in your class, the same kid you never saw yourself ever communicating with, the same kid who was on your school’s top notch volleyball team, the same kid who made fun of people and scared others off and only hung out with his team—

Knew how to sign? A bit? Badly?

You blink, stunned.

Huh?

Keep reading

I love this🫶🏾😭💕

Don't ever hesitate. Reblog this. TUMBLR RULE. When you see it, REBLOG IT.

Take care of yourself please 💕🫶🏾

Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die. Muichiro will NOT die.

Muichiro will NOT die.

someone draw aiden and tyler like this

SOMEONE

My favorite video of all time🍾

bestfriEND.

boyfriEND.

girlfriEND.

it all ends.

y’know what doesn’t end?

drew from the music freaks.

Real‼️‼️