oikaw-ugh

[oikaw-ugh]

The One that Got Away (Yushiro x f!reader)

a/n: Because TOTGA is superior and I love that song so much.

Also, Tumblr did me dirty. It posted this long ago without my consent! >=[[[ (Tumblr, no means no!) Shout out to @seth-writes (hi, Seth!) I saw them liking the version Tumblr posted long ago. Also, because they love KnY.

And to @animatedarchives (Hello, BB)! Because she's one of the few moots I know who are obsessed with Demon Slayer as well!

"Listen to this."

Yushiro glanced down at his chest where her head rests. Her hands fidgeting along the screen of her phone as she handed Yushiro a bud of what she called as 'earphones'.

He took her offer, plugging the bud on to his ears and was immediately enveloped with a melody he has never heard of. Words that were from a foreign language, words that are meaningless to him but somehow, it felt so painful to hear.

Yushiro hates promises.

He believes promises are for the incompetent, giving the receiving end a glamour of assurance. For him, promises are just for the sake of comfort. Words that are half-baked irritated him. He didn't like that.

So when she made him promise to never leave her side, Yushiro hesitated. The tip of his tongue itching to voice the words she'd love to hear from his lips. But somehow, it felt so wrong to say the word he has been loathing for the longest of time.

He wouldn't leave her, it was something so obvious and not worthy of making a promise for. So why?

"Listen to this..."

Yushiro looked down, a set of fragile hands adorned with blue veins held his. The warmth of her palms enveloping his that are rather cold, a sensation he has long forgotten ever since becoming the creature that he is now.

He crouched, hands reaching for the bud resting on her lap. Plugging into his ears, he is again enveloped with the sweet yet painful melody she introduced him decades ago.

His arms rested on the cold steel of her wheelchair, both of them staring at the wall where his paintings of Tamayo hung, each canvas representing his loyalty for her after all these years.

She weakly sighed as she tucked her gray strands that were once (hair/color). Her heavily hooded with wrinkles eyes scanning every canvas Yushiro has crafted.

"I should've told you what you meant to me, 'cause now I pay for the price."

"Yushiro..." She breathily muttered, barely audible but was not ignored with Yushiro's sharp ears, "Promise me you won't leave me..." She said, breath seemingly disappearing along with her words as her eyes slowly shut.

He fondled with her old hands, now slowly losing its warmth, mimicking his. He reached for the top of her head, inhaling her scent before pecking a kiss.

"I promise," Yushiro was finally able to say the word she wanted him to say.

[oikaw-ugh]

Pianist. (Oikawa fic)

pianist!Oikawa, aged up characters, slowburn (?), Oikawa x reader

Mainly inspired by the piano shop I always pass by whenever i went home back when I was still in junior high. They always had this high school pianist playing one of their displayed piano every 4-5 in the afternoon. I never saw his face which disappoints me :(

He once played the piano with someone, too! And he played it with a kid too

When the familiar bakery that you used to drop by every time you walk home after school announced the shutting down of their operations, you didn't mind.

And when you learned that a piano shop would replace the bakery, you didn't mind either.

But when you saw a young boy, with his back facing yours, gliding their fingers along the keys of the black piano of the piano shop, you kind of got curious.

It was a warm afternoon. The sky is painted with an orange hue and the streets were not as busy as they usually are. A perfect afternoon, you hummed as you walk along the streets towards the bus terminal.

It was quiet not until faint piano keys kissed your ears.

Your steps went into a halt and looking to your right, you see a young boy, with his back facing yours, gliding their fingers along the keys of the black piano of the newly opened piano shop.

The music was faint and so, this made you crave for more. Tiny steps were made and before you knew it, your hands are pressed at the glass that separated you from the peculiar pianist.

His head wobbled every time his fingers reached for the keys, his brunette hair bouncing along. You were able to glimpse with the outline of his lashes and the tip of his nose whenever he looked from side to side.

His fingers are notable, too. They look long and soft from your view. And the way they danced along the surface of the piano made your jaw drop in awe. It's as if the piano was a part of him and his hands expertly rummaged along the keys.

"Are you interested to play?"

You look to your left and is startled to see a woman standing in front of you. With the color of her shirt mimicking the color of the piano shop's exterior, you knew she worked there.

You look at the glass wall again and gasped as the mysterious pianist is now looking at you. His upper body facing towards you, his eyes gleaming with the strikes of the glass wall. His skin had a soft orange glow with the sunset light. His brows were lifted as he stared at you in the eye.

You were embarrassed. You bashfully ran away.

It was an experience you wish both parties forgot. And it took you long to recover from the shy.

Your hands clutched tight on the strap of your bag as you stopped at the familiar piano shop.

You turn to the glass wall, breathing hitched and heart raising. The thought of him remembering how embarrassing you were that day made your stomach upset but nonetheless, you took your shot.

You looked at the glass wall and there he was.

His back, once again, facing yours. His body slightly dancing as his hands expertly pressed the right keys to press. You were allowed to see a glimpse of his smirk from time to time whenever his head tilted sideways.

And just with that, the nervousness vanished. Replaced by a warm fuzzy feeling as you stare at the mysterious brunette playing on the black instrument.

The doors are closed so you weren't given a taste of his music. You pouted as the tip of your finger pressed the glass wall. What could he be playing? A question you'd probably never get the answer.

I guess that's enough for now. With a smile, you looked away and proceeded to walking.

This happened the next few weeks after. Walking towards the terminal, you'd stop by at the shop. A five minute glance on his back swaying as he played, you'd proceed to walking with a satisfied grin.

This was more than enough. Or so you thought.

Hailing a cab could've been easier but you refuse to skip your daily afternoon ritual. You must stop by at the shop.

So, despite the heavy rain and with your school uniform as the only thing that is keeping you from getting entirely wet, you went towards the shop.

You cursed along the way as you've suffered from the puddles of water and the splashes of collected rain from reckless drivers as you walked. Curse this rain.

A sense of relief washed your body as you sought refuge at the roof of the piano shop. You gripped the ends of your cold skirt tight, your lips shivering as droplets of water fell from your crumpled skirt.

You combed through your wet hair in the attempts of fixing yourself. Feeling satisfied, you look towards the glass wall.

Though the rain was hard and the air was cold, you had the warmest smile on your face as your expectant eye scanned the interior of the shop, your wet hand wiping the fog of the wall.

And when you spotted him, the smile on your face surprisingly disappeared as you realized he isn't alone like the usual. He is with someone.

The fog isn't enough to conceal how the mysterious pianist is now warm from the cold. His neck hugged by a warm-looking scarf. And his hands, surprisingly, are not attending the keys as his left held a mug and his other held the hands of the person beside him.

The ray of hope vanished as you see them in front of you. The way his hands fondled the fingers of those beside him made you scowl. But when he lifted their head, kissing their knuckles as his eyes never left their face, the scowl faded.

It turned to a frown. Then the frown went blank.

Your hands slowly dropped from being glued to the glass wall. You blinked as droplets of rain are threatening to intrude in your eyes. You turned your back, now facing the almost floody street.

God. You just want to go home.

The next day, you fell sick. And no words can express how grateful you were that you had an excuse to not drop by at the shop.

The next week, you avoided the shop still. But it wasn't because you still had the fever. It was because your heart felt sick.

The next-next week, you received a confession from an admirer. You were skeptical.

"Are you seeing someone?" They asked.

The pianist. The back of your mind screamed. But you are no delusional so you shook your head.

"Then let's go out together," your admirer concluded.

Days spent together with your admirer was like eating an affordable cake. It was unsurprisingly dry. But still, you want more of it just to satiate your hunger at least.

When your lover asked to walk you home, you hesitated. But nonetheless, you let them tag along with you.

Your heart ramming wild as you see the familiar signage of the shop. Block of unknown forces at your throat as your stomach churned.

You flinched when your lover held you at your waist. You looked to your left.

The mysterious pianist was alone. Unlike when you last saw him, his body rocked back and forth slowly. His fingers were dragging along the keys and you don't get to see the wobbling of his head.

His shoulders were slouched. He looks sad and this made you worry. Is he okay?

You wanted to step closer and to reach for him but before you could even lift your foot, the force of your lover dragged you away from the outside of the shop.

You cursed your lover. No. It wasn't just because of that incident.

Like an affordable cake, it eventually dried your throat, making you feel suffocated and sick. The affordability could not compensate with the disgust that you are now feeling.

You want out but your lover begs to disagree so you walked away.

Your heart heavy, ears hot, and with your tears threatening to fall with every stomp, you marched the route towards your terminal. Exhaling from time to time with the overwhelming disappointment and anger.

None could uplift your anger. Not even the mysterious pianist.

Without even noticing, you are now in front of the piano shop. Looking to your right, you see the brunette seating at the stool. But what is weird is that the piano case is closed and his hands are attending to papers rather than the keys.

You exhaled through your nose before walking again.

You grew.

You'd like to think you did.

You grew wiser after that horrible experience of 'love'. You didn't try entering into one again. Not when you're feeling half-assed.

Today, you walked towards the terminal. And today, you decided to drop by at the piano shop.

There he was at the spot where you always see him before.

He wore something casual today. Wearing only a simple black shirt, for the very first time, you are given the chance to see his bare arms. They weren't muscular but they weren't skinny either. Slightly honed but not too much that they'd look odd.

You lift your gaze and you see his nape, making you blush as it felt like watching him naked.

A smile creeps into your lips as your hands run through the glass wall.

And just like how you were when you were younger, you proceeded to walking. Feeling satisfied with this less than a minute interaction.

Change is inevitable.

You zipped your case as you stood from kneeling on the floor. You dragged the suitcase along with you as walked out from the house you've considered as home for the past decade and a couple of years.

It was inside of the hailed cab when it dawned to you. You're leaving and you're never coming back. The gentle touch of your mother nor the hearty chortle of your father could not console your weeping heart.

You will never see your friends again. Or the familiar streets you have been walking. Or the familiar faces of your neighbors.

You will never see the pianist again on your way home.

You closed your eyes tight. You never had the chance to know his name. It's...the end. It's gone.

You open your eyes wide this time.

A funny grin at your lips as you winced with the embarrassment of such memory.

Seasoned by trials and struggles in life, you're the wisest version of yourself. A chuckle escaping your lips as you remember how you felt so hopeless when you had to move away.

Well, if you really missed it then I guess we're back.

Your hands embraced your arms, wary of the surroundings. Funny how you whined about these streets as your home and here you are now, feeling foreign and unfamiliar as you revisit it after years have passed.

It doesn't feel nostalgic. At all.

Well, maybe a little.

Your feet unconsciously lead you towards a familiar shop. A particular shop you loved to drop by whenever you were on your way home.

With the years that passed by, the shop grew old. No longer was the pasted tarpaulins vibrant in color. The little plants that served as tiny barricades in front are now gone. Even the grand piano displays are now different in brand and color. You don't even see the same lady who asked you the very first time you went here.

This isn't the shop you used to love.

You run your fingers on the glass wall, creating a screeching sound as friction stood in the middle of your skin and the glass. Your eyes darting at the grandest piano at the center, unattended.

If this was before, the familiar pianist could've been sitting there, his back facing yours as his body rocked lightly with the dance of his hands. Instead, you see an 8-year old boy and his poor attempts of sitting at the high stool, finding the task difficult as his hands are attending his thick music notes.

You furrowed your brows. An 8-year old what?

Your face went near the glass, blinking as you try to recheck if your eyes were playing tricks. But they aren't. You indeed are seeing an 8-year old boy now comfortably sitting at the stool.

And just when your brain is starting to formulate questions, you feel a presence beside you. This made you stand straight as you look at the direction where the presence is from.

You froze. And he did, too. The pianist did, too.

It has been so long when you last saw him. Not to mention, the only time you were able to see his face was when you were flustered from the lady's question. It has been so long you actually forgot how he looks like. It's just you chose to linger with the memory blindly.

But now, here he is. The mysterious pianist. His air of mystery finally stripping away as you have finally, after all these years, see his bare face. And this time, clearer.

His brunette hair is not as long as they did back then. It is still fluffy-looking but it is shorter in length. His eyes are round and they are the same color with his hair. You exhaled in awe as your eyes traveled to his pointy nose and thin lips, then to his other noteable features like his sunburned cheeks and the faint stubble on his jaw.

You blinked. He looks beautiful.

"I'm sorry, I startled you," he spoke and your heart beated violently. His voice is deep, something you expected. What you didn't expect is how it made your heart flutter and your ears craving.

You couldn't respond. Your mind is a mess. Your thoughts tangled like a kitten's yarn. Your mouth freezing in place as your tongue poorly tried to roll out words.

"Are you...interested to play?" He asked when he received no respond from you.

You closed your mouth, eyes glued at his but this time, you are calmer. Though it contrasts how your hands are pathetically clinging to one another as your toes curled inside your shoes, you are calm. Yes, you are.

Slowly, your shock faltered, a small smile plastering at your lips as you did a small nod.

"Sure," you finally said the word you've been meaning to respond to the lady from the past.

And, "What's your name?" you finally asked the question you've been meaning to ask the mysterious pianist ever since you heard him play.

[oikaw-ugh]

Routine.

Kita x Reader

Warning: Aged up characters, suggestions of Kita and reader having a child. Also, setting is at February 13 (not an important detail but I just wanna add).

Also, I'm scared 'cause I've never formally written for Kita before

Fluff.

You are slowly believing in what other couples say.

Love is not forever. The blissful feeling you felt when they first placed the glistening ring at your finger would soon fade away. The butterflies fluttering at your stomach whenever you glance at them would eventually die. And that...wonderful, inexplicable sensation you feel whenever you shared a kiss would no longer warm your heart the way it warms you ages ago.

Love is not forever, it becomes a process. It becomes a routine. Slowly, it merges with your everyday rituals. Before you knew it, love became mandatory. Suddenly, the kisses you give are only for the sake of being their partner. The intertwining of fingers becoming a reflex your nerves have master. It became a title but it has lost its meaning.

Last night, you had a fight with Kita.

A petty fight. It started with him overworking at his fields. Then it escalated to shortage of eggs at your fridge and with how Kita couldn't spare a couple of hours to do the grocery instead of attending at his stupid rice field.

And before you knew it, the food went cold. The chattering of your silverwares as you ate your dinner asserting indifference with one another. The averting gazes irritating both parties as the night grew deeper.

You shut down your car by inserting your key. Your little one has previously reminded you they'd be staying at a different school's campus for the next four days with their pursuit of becoming a professional volleyball player.

Just like Kita used to be when he was younger.

You pulled down the front mirror of your car, fixing your hair before exhaling. With one final squint of your eyes, you pulled out from your car.

Living at the countryside, you are spared with the traffic and the nuisance number of people, especially at night. As you walk now towards the front of your house, you finally appreciated the serenity living at the mountainside brings.

You stopped from walking when you see a familiar figure in front of your house.

And there was Kita. His strong arms honed by his volleyball experience and his immersion to farming crossed loosely at his chest. His legs are formed into a 'four' as he sat on the old monobloc chair resting at your front yard.

Kita immediately sensed your presence as he shifted from his position. He didn't stand. Instead, he shamelessly eyed you, carefully trailing as you slowly walked towards him.

You looked down on him now that you are in front of him. A weird set up as you're used with the fact that you always looked up to your taller husband.

"I'm home," you muttered before fidgeting with the strap of your leather bag.

Kita nodded, "Welcome home," he said with his usual voice in which you've grown familiar of with the past years of being with him, "I cooked dinner," he said.

You strained a smile. You knew this routine. It's his way of showing you that he's apologetic, "Thank you," you managed to still impose your nonchalant demeanor.

Kita reached for your hand in which you happily offered. His calloused fingers running over your fingertips. You gazed into his eyes adorned with wrinkles due to aging. The roots of his hair slowly turning gray and permanent lines are now embedded at the side of his lips.

You knelt from standing. With his hand still on yours, you guided them to your cheek, closing your eyes as you realized you probably look the same as Kita now. Wrinkled eyes, gray hair, calloused hands.

Maybe if love was a routine, you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life doing these with him.

[oikaw-ugh]

Scent. (Atsumu fic)

Hell yeah, more Atsumu brainrot. Also, queued post :>>>>

It could be the way your eyes shone whenever you talked about the series you binged-watch last Sunday or the way your hair looks sinfully adorable whenever the cursed wind blew your strands away.

Or the way your black school vest hung poorly on your much smaller frame than Atsumu’s, giving him free access to peek at your collarbones.

Or maybe it was how the both of you shared the same sentiments towards a particular subject? Both agreeing that it sucked and it was a waste of time. Or was it the way you comfortably would nudge his arm whenever you found something interesting or funny or worth his attention, very different to how his fans are very delicate around him, afraid to ruin his temper?

Unconsciously, Atsumu reaches for your shoulders, rough palms landing on your blades just so he could pull you closer to his. He tilts his head towards your hair just so his nose could inhale your scent. A sense of familiarity flows through his lungs. Was it your scent, though? Was it the way you smelled that made him want to grow closer to you?

“What?” you asked him when you noticed how ridiculously close you are to the piss-haired now that he pulled you towards him, “You love my shampoo, don’t you?” you teased.

Atsumu rolled his eyes before playfully pushing you away, “No, it smells so bad,” he retorted which sparked you two’s banter for this afternoon.

There’s no way in hell he’s gonna admit he loves your smell.

[oikaw-ugh]

Thinking of KnY, why am I reminded of Yushiro?

Devoting his self entirely to Tamayo, living for an eternity without anyone to be with is nothing. Yushiro has considered his loneliness as a form of punishment for not being able to protect Tamayo on that fateful night.

It's not your fault, the survivors consoled him but his ears are blocked, only willing to listen to his grieving heart. Realizing he has no one who'd understand him, he decided to stay hidden in the dark, expressing Tamayo's beauty in the form of art.

He needed no one. Hence, amidst the recognition he is getting for his works, he remained to be in discreet. He didn't ask for their adoration. It's not what he needs. What Yushiro need is...

"How painful." You muttered when you once saw a painting of his.

Accidentally bumping to Yushiro one night, you barged in into his life and before he knew it, you have seen his most priced possessions: his private portraits of the late Lady Tamayo.

Whenever you visited, Yushiro would fall silent at the side. He hated the media whenever they tried to reach him but surprisingly, he found it comforting whenever you are around, scanning his paintings. He'd only stare at you as you walk around his painting room, your eyes unable to stay still with the overwhelming portraits of Tamayo.

Yushiro didn't need praises. He needed someone who understood his pain and when he saw how you mirrored the eyes he has been wearing for the longest of time, he broke down. Sobbing his heart out, he'd call for Tamayo's name, hoping she'd miraculously appear in front of him to wipe his tears.

But that never happened. Instead, he felt himself enveloped by your warm embrace, your cries synchronizing with his. As if feeling the same pain he has been baring with ever since Tamayo died.

"They are pretty," you once said admiring his latest piece, "But tragic." You added.

Days where you visited suddenly became anticipated. Everything just seemed lighter with you around, as if you absorb the emptiness of his house. He started feeling nostalgic as the old habits of protecting Tamayo from strangers are reawakening with you in his sight.

Your visits are mostly spent on his living room, with Yushiro mostly just staring at you. In a short amount of time, he familiarized the little things about you. Whenever you visited, you either brought food he has never heard of or books that were foreign to Yushiro. There are times you'd introduce him to games that were 'trendy', and you'd laugh at how he finds it difficult to press the buttons of your portable console in synch.

His excessive staring at you eventually paid off. Yushiro didn't even realize how he could easily recall now the grin you'd always cast whenever you find something funny. He even familiarized how your expressions varied from one another, and how expressive your eyes can be.

Today, Yushiro found himself sitting in his painting room, gripping his brushes tightly in his palms as he remembered how beautiful you looked when you last visited him, heart slightly racing with the fact that you're dropping by later.

"One day," he swore to himself, "I'd definitely create a portrait of you."

[oikaw-ugh]

It’s 2:15 p.m. as I Write this and It’s Not Really a Good Time to Think About Sinha

Being a successor of the Blue Dragon’s blood, Sinha grew with his fate already written in his palms. Although he didn’t want it, he was bound to be considered as an outcast from his village, treated as a curse people should avoid.

Sinha has long etched that in his mind to refrain himself from hurting from all the indifference and the hate he would be receiving for the rest of his life. But I guess this changes when Yona has given him the chance to come alongside her journey. And it changed more when he met you.

Deprived from knowing the world as a kid, you remained a wonder to Sinha’s peculiar eyes. There’s something odd with the way you ran your fingers through the green meadow, or how you submerge your hands in to the flowing river in a delicate manner.

You were a piece of the world that Sinha has never been in contact with but instead of feeling fear, he’s oddly enticed by the vibe you emit.

The way you would help Yoon attend to his wounds would always tug his heart. Even the way you stared right through his eyes, unafraid of the curse it possesses, it always felt like you’ve seen right through him, finding his deepest secret: that you have an impression to him.

He’s bashful, that he admits. But in his most private daydreams, he dreams of being close to you. To not to be reluctant to reach for your hands, to grip them tightly and securely in to his, to gaze into your eyes without the fear of the ‘curse’ happening to you.

He knew the moment the new successor of the blue dragon’s blood comes into the surface of the earth, he would have to say goodbye with his extraordinary sight. Like a flower slowly withering as the new successor would slowly suck up the power he has received from his father. Eventually, he’d lose of his eyesight that has given him the opportunity to see you.

He’d look at you whenever he has the chance to. He’d look at you laugh heartily with Jae-Ha’s flirtatious remarks, or how you’d smile softly at Kija’s stories. He always has his jaw drop when he sees you enjoying the meal with Zeno and he casts a smile whenever he sees you have fun with Yona and Son Hak as you try to learn bow and arrow yourself.

In his most private thoughts, he said to himself that you are be the best view he could see before he loses his sight.

[oikaw-ugh]

The mermaid who tames the oro

[oikaw-ugh]

Gusto mo? Luh, asa.

JAHSJSJSJS MY REFERENCE PHOTO SUCKS HAHAHAHHAHA but yes :>>> redraw

[oikaw-ugh]

i'm planning on uploading a tiktok of that tiktok trend where you compare your yearbook photo with your current self but with my jjba ocs. so far, i've made 4 yearbook photos.

also, the style is a little bit inspired by lookism art haha

[oikaw-ugh]

Grand Duchess Mackenzhie of the East

[oikaw-ugh]

golden kamuy. asirpa.

[oikaw-ugh]

Thinking of KnY, why am I reminded of Yushiro?

Devoting his self entirely to Tamayo, living for an eternity without anyone to be with is nothing. Yushiro has considered his loneliness as a form of punishment for not being able to protect Tamayo on that fateful night.

It's not your fault, the survivors consoled him but his ears are blocked, only willing to listen to his grieving heart. Realizing he has no one who'd understand him, he decided to stay hidden in the dark, expressing Tamayo's beauty in the form of art.

He needed no one. Hence, amidst the recognition he is getting for his works, he remained to be in discreet. He didn't ask for their adoration. It's not what he needs. What Yushiro need is...

"How painful." You muttered when you once saw a painting of his.

Accidentally bumping to Yushiro one night, you barged in into his life and before he knew it, you have seen his most priced possessions: his private portraits of the late Lady Tamayo.

Whenever you visited, Yushiro would fall silent at the side. He hated the media whenever they tried to reach him but surprisingly, he found it comforting whenever you are around, scanning his paintings. He'd only stare at you as you walk around his painting room, your eyes unable to stay still with the overwhelming portraits of Tamayo.

Yushiro didn't need praises. He needed someone who understood his pain and when he saw how you mirrored the eyes he has been wearing for the longest of time, he broke down. Sobbing his heart out, he'd call for Tamayo's name, hoping she'd miraculously appear in front of him to wipe his tears.

But that never happened. Instead, he felt himself enveloped by your warm embrace, your cries synchronizing with his. As if feeling the same pain he has been baring with ever since Tamayo died.

"They are pretty," you once said admiring his latest piece, "But tragic." You added.

Days where you visited suddenly became anticipated. Everything just seemed lighter with you around, as if you absorb the emptiness of his house. He started feeling nostalgic as the old habits of protecting Tamayo from strangers are reawakening with you in his sight.

Your visits are mostly spent on his living room, with Yushiro mostly just staring at you. In a short amount of time, he familiarized the little things about you. Whenever you visited, you either brought food he has never heard of or books that were foreign to Yushiro. There are times you'd introduce him to games that were 'trendy', and you'd laugh at how he finds it difficult to press the buttons of your portable console in synch.

His excessive staring at you eventually paid off. Yushiro didn't even realize how he could easily recall now the grin you'd always cast whenever you find something funny. He even familiarized how your expressions varied from one another, and how expressive your eyes can be.

Today, Yushiro found himself sitting in his painting room, gripping his brushes tightly in his palms as he remembered how beautiful you looked when you last visited him, heart slightly racing with the fact that you're dropping by later.

"One day," he swore to himself, "I'd definitely create a portrait of you."

[oikaw-ugh]

They're clearly unimpressed with the prince's dancing, your majesty.

oikawa, atsumu, and I in royalty au

[oikaw-ugh]

sketch. trying to incorporate emilyena's art style in mine bc i like their art.

[oikaw-ugh]

i think this was the turning point between my relationship status with oikawa

DO NOT REUPLOAD

Reference: Cherry Magic

tag list. @mirakeul @gayerthanthee

[oikaw-ugh]

i like to torture myself by drawing genshin characters knowing that i hate details and too much measurements

no taglist bc i forgot who they were haha

[oikaw-ugh]

jinx. that's all.