#MY BABIESSSS

[landoscaring]

i live here

[manchesterau]

theyre so cutee

[estah]

dinner with our besties 🍽️💖

[jackietaylorsghost]

Cloud Strife & Aerith Gainsborough in FINAL FANTASY VII REBITH (2024) dev. Square Enix

[favlie]

When he won his first Piston Cup.

inspired by a real NASCAR moment

(Human AU)

[diaryfilms]

OG TRIO IS BACK 🥹🥹🥹 THIS HAS TRULY BEEN OUR JUJUTSU KAISEN

[dwtdog]

audagsdhjasda :((

[teamnick]

from pierre's insta post

[sleepyc63]

survivor and monk designs i made before passing out for 2 hours. monk suffered a bit from me being so out of it, but thats okay!

(sorry for quality i was too lazy to send this to my phone so its just a picture from my ipad :'))

i was messing with the colors and patterns and i think i'll stick with these :] whenever i get around to making a real ref sheet

i tried to make them matching but also keep them unique. my love of patterns within families can be a curse sometimes, but i’m slowly growing out of it :^)

i gave them both spots to reference gourmand, but more circular spots to mirror their mother (the caretaker(oc)). i gave monk more spots to resemble the monk passage glyph. the spots are also matching :D also, survivor gets little socks cause why not.

i think i'll lighten the grays on surv in my final design but other than that the colors will stay like this, probably. (haven't changed the colors of my scugs since june ... what a huge change for me)

also the teeniest change to the way i draw scugs ?? idk i was experimenting w/ mouths and eyes and i kinda like this. i'll stick to giving them mouths probably tho, makes spearmaster stick out more

[aithusarosekiller]

I have this silly little thing where every time a fandom pits two characters against each other over a man, I make them bone

[ruizz-f0ster]

2nd term exams done! Dropping some doodles this month :33

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

here and now, unhaunted: dovquez [g]

@dovquezdecember bingo + mouth

Marc’s front wheel slams against the side of his own. Dovi wobbles, kicking up sludge and mud. He’s down just like that, sliding on the ground, the bike making a reedy, spluttering noise.

It wasn’t a very hard crash. The corner is narrow, slow—more annoying than anything. Same goes for how he hit the ground. Dovi gets up unsteadily, cazzo stuck on his teeth, then realizes he isn’t dizzy at all, just loose-limbed, relaxed. Amusement curls in the hollows of his chest.

Ahead, Marc has stopped, is running towards him.

He tugs off his helmet. Breathes in the December cold.

Marc takes off his helmet too. His fingers dig into it erratically, the redredred plastic of it, and there’s the cut of his troublesome mouth, pinched tight and tense. His eyes are huge, liquid, staring straight into him—Dovi’s met street dogs with more shame than that. Then considers that someone else might not read it that away. Might see malice in Marc. An insult.

“You could’ve told me we were riding for a title,” he says, deadpan, his voice flat.

Marc’s back straightens. His smile seems knife-thin, deliberate. Strained. It is the thing about Marc—bit of a naked razor, bit of a jerk. Wound tighter than people would like to think about. Dovi snorts out a laugh, pours the dirt from inside his glove.

“I didn’t ride you like this when we were fighting for a title.”

Like hell he didn’t. Dovi levels him with a look, and Marc raises his hands in a mock surrender.

“You know you can’t overtake here, seriously,” Dovi mutters.

He cradles that red-hot flicker of irritation close. Lets it unfurl into the usual harmlessness. Because it isn’t a title fight, and even when it was—

Marc shrugs carelessly. He doesn’t fidget, not really, not anymore, but he keeps looking from Dovi to the snow-licked track. Keeps—thinking, probably. All very obvious. “I know now.”

There’s a moment of suspended silence between them, before Dovi turns back to get his bike up. Marc makes a noise, a faint intake of breath, jaded, ripping around the edges, rooted to the spot. He makes an addendum to his notes—he’s also met street dogs less wary than this.

“That’s a grid penalty, for sure,” he calls out over his shoulder, pretending to shake his fist at him.

Marc frowns. Runs his tongue over his teeth. “But—do you want to?”

Dovi, well. He knows Marc now. The sharp-edged shape of his hurt. There’s no waiting, feeling it. Crystalline tears to mania to a bloodsport. It shouldn’t—charm him so much.

“We still got some fuel,” he says. Smiles.

It’s the easiest thing in the world, to forgive him, to coax him back down. Marc drops his shoulders from somewhere around his ears, rushes on to help him with the bike. From up close, he’s a lovely, devastating thing, shinning with sweat, cheeks pink, the cut of his leathers almost demure. Dovi could—reminds himself sharply that they have dinner to get through.

That it is cold as fuck out there.

Want lingers in his stomach anyway, tugging like a fishhook. Marc, evidently, doesn’t help one bit. Opens his mouth wide and breaks into a loud, shameless cackle. He stares a little, then a lot more. At the cut of his lips, chapped, broad. At the flash of his too white teeth.

Dovi remembers—was it in 2012? Marc, baby-faced, un-fucking-manageable already, looking up at him through his lashes, wrapping his tongue around the fork he’d been holding.

Christ.

“You’re starting from the back of the grid,” Dovi tells him. Doesn’t tug Marc for a kiss.

It’s a very close thing.

He bristles, indignant, gesticulating broadly—that’s way too much time spent in Italy, down to the pathos of his offense. Dovi hides a chuckle in his hand.

“That isn’t fair!”

He shakes his head, helpless as always. “Do you listen to yourself when you talk?”

“Dovi!”

It’s only when he puts on his helmet again that Dovi realizes he’d been smiling.

They don’t race after that, though. Their laps are lazy, sedate, Marc a heartbeat behind him, so overtly, deliberately careful he sighs. It isn’t even subtle. When he slows, so does Marc. When he leaves the insides open, Marc doesn’t lunge.

So he didn’t learn risk management. Dovi shakes his head.

Night falls early. It gets colder, darker, more snow on the track. His fingers creak, protest. Marc’s arm can’t be doing better, he realizes, and that fine needle prickle of worry gets him to get off the bike and herd them inside.

Inside where it is warm, and Dovi can tug off Marc’s gloves, help him out of his knee sliders. He doesn’t mention the way Marc holds his shoulder, or the way he watches him.

“Are you—” He tries, trails off, horribly clumsy in how brazen he is.

Dovi squeezes his wrist once, very light. “No, not really. Bolognese or carbonara?”

He already knows the answer. Carbonara—too heavy for the season.

Marc still watches him. Breaks into a smile that Dovi doesn’t think he even notices. “Carbonara,” he says, and Dovi—

He isn’t such a difficult thing from up close, Marc. Exactly as troublesome as promised, maybe, but not difficult. Not bad.

They eat to the noise of cutlery scraping against the plates. Things unsaid.

“Did you have fun?” Marc asks, earnest, earnest enough to ache, a smear of white sauce in the corner of his mouth.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” He doesn’t budge an inch, bull-stubborn, expectant. “Of course I did.”

Dovi leans in. Cleans that stain with the pad of his thumb, then guides Marc for a kiss with a touch on the hinge of his jaw.

There’s a noise, soft. The kitchen melts away. Marc clambers into his lap gracelessly. There you are, Dovi thinks, triumphant, and keeps him close, a hand on the flat of his back, dinner going cold around them.

[sobnatural]

[arnenth]

Sae-chan, I love you

[zhouxiangs]

15.01.2024

[polinluv]

CRYING actually