#ask diego

[brucequeensteen]

are you bisexual. have you been bisexual. Will you be bisexual. when will you be bisexual

[laurrelise]

i made some more tua textposts

[littlecrittereli]

Have you ever thought about Young Chris in Reprogrammed?

dude 14 year-olds are so scary, Guardianship AU Chris would beat the shit out of Diego

[citree]

Blorbos from my shows.... ☂

[im-in-andromeda]

s1 ep1 of umbrella academy is a magnificent pilot. even ignoring how well it establishes the characters (+ their estrangement/relationship to each other) the sheer audacity of introducing them as 1, 2, 3, 4, and then 7!!!!!

like you know there is a story there and you need to know it and that’s in the OPENING SEQUENCE

[doctorsiren]

I saw an interesting post a while back that said “Capcom made us [Miles and Diego/Godot] only have like two(?) interactions because they knew we would be unstoppable with a brother dynamic” and tbh it stuck with me bc it was intriguing.

So yeah that potential brotherhood, but that Godot/Diego AU I made (that I still need a name for)

Also I bet Gregory Edgeworth would have smelled like a bit like coffee, and so Diego just reminds Miles of that comforting presence 😭 (the von Karma estate was a tea household, so he didn’t smell much coffee after DL-6 and didn’t realize how much he missed it/reminded him of his father)

[andorerso]

it's giving Jyn and Cassian, a happily married power couple, and very much still alive into their 40s 💜

[gael-garcia]

Rudo y Cursi press tour 2009 - Diego Luna gets asked who's the better kisser (he's worked with Penn in Milk)

Sabor a mí - Luis Miguel

[chloesimaginationthings]

I don't know if this been asked before, but did you draw all the genderbent villians or only a couple. I like your art style and how you draw everyone btw!!

I’ve technically done all main villains, besides Diavolo

[goatpaste]

t4t lesbian dinopants i <3 them so much

my wife who hates me <3

Buy your local Bitrans Man a Kofi!

[maglorthecrab]

I just think AA7 should be a Mia game

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: a tua comic.

Panel 1: Viktor says "Why are you in my apartment."

Panel 2: Five, who is in Viktor's apartment, says "We're going to a pottery class on Thursday."

Panel 3: Viktor, perturbed: "Wait, what? ...I'm busy" Five, offscreen: "You're not, I checked."

Panel 4-5: Viktor, from offscreen, says "wait-" while Five says "The flyer said to wear clothes you don't like" and disappears.

Panels 6-9: Viktor, looking bewildered, asks "Does he do this to you guys too?" Luther replies "We made candles. They... look like shit. But they smell nice!" Allison replies "We made keychains." Klaus replies "I... guess he drives me to my knitting club? I think he just does it to flirt with the old ladies."

Panel 10-11: Viktor prompts, "Diego?", who looks embarrassed.

Panel 12: Diego tilts his nose in the air and says "needle felting." Allison replies "of course."

Panel 13: Diego opens one eye and says "I'm gonna make Lila a wolf." Luther replies "of course." End ID.]

Needle felting is the stabbiest craft.

also i have though long and hard about what five should do with himself now that the apocalypse is gone, and i have decided that one of the answers is "drags his siblings to community crafting classes against their will"

(takes place not in season 4, but in the equivalent time period (ie 2024) in one of those classic "after season 2 the sparrows are quickly taken care of and they get back to their own timeline" aus, becuase season 4 was mostly ok but i don't want to play in its space.)

[slowd1ving]

Hello, I love your work, can you write a Dg x boyfriend! Reader who is like Osaragi from Sakamoto days please, take care of yourself, you are great

FAR FROM ANY ROAD ゜・DG

"And strange hands halted me, the looming shadows danced; I fell down to the thorny brush and felt the trembling hands." And after the numbing day concludes, after the rain swallows all your sorrows, where else do you return if not home? honestly anon when I got this request I was fully wondering whether you meant the full deal of osagiri and was going to write actual assassin reader... then I re read the request. anyways hope you enjoy this short fic because once more I was at a loss whether to write actual headcanons or a scenario.. pairing: diego kang x male reader warnings: canon typical violence, blood, sort of hurt/comfort? not comedic sorry :'( wc: 1.4k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Tonight, the rivulets of rain streaming down your body feel particularly heavy. Those drops chase the blood that stains your skin and seeps into your clothes: petrichor battling against the acrid, metallic reek; purification against the concentrated sanguine of your sins and the sins of these assailants. 

In this abandoned construction site, you feel much like these unfinished buildings. A crude facade with crumbling foundations. Of course, the unconscious bodies of these Workers resemble those decrepit structures far more—alas, you’re not referencing their physical state, but rather the slightly-numbed, slightly-exhausted mental state you’re in. 

The bruises and scrapes littering your skin might make any lesser man hiss at his incompetence in guarding his temple, but to you, you absently trace the wounds with curious fascination. One last moment of entertainment, before your fun and games abruptly end. 

“How unpleasant,” you finally utter—the bleak words are washed away by the rain, to be heard by nobody but yourself. It’s always a thrill to perform your Sacred Duty; that is, teaching these wrong-doers a salient lesson that is beaten into their very bones. Your transgressions are only to correct their own sins, not bound to any particular affiliation but yourself. 

Against your injuries, your gelid fingers don’t spark the same warmth he does. It is at this particular moment that the joy completely evaporates, it is at this moment where all you want is to take off the crushing black veil and retreat back home. 

Home. You’ll be late as usual—limping back to the dimly-lit apartment with carmine kissing your knuckles and a frown on your face. 

These hours, where the clouds swirl a rich black, and only the street lamps pity your lonely journey home, no longer feel so welcome. So it's despondently that you start the meander back to the city. 

゜・

It’s early summer when you transfer to his class—almost comically late in the year, James Lee notes. Right on the cusp of the holidays, you stand before your peers with caustically empty eyes and a careful blankness on your face. How dull, he dismisses before crunching down on his candy: an obnoxious gesture that swivels your pupils in his direction. But not much else changes in your face—it seems you’ll be just as boring as his classmates, if not slightly more weird.

Though, as you slip into your seat with almost serpentine grace, as you click your mechanical pencil in such a way he briefly wonders whether you know you’re wielding a writing utensil and not a weapon, as your loping gait starts appearing in the edges of his vision wherever he is—this is where his eyes start following your motions curiously.

These endeavours prove fruitless; you’re a model student, if not subpar to his own vast academic success. There’s nothing noteworthy about your clipped speech, nor about your penchant to eat heaping bowls of food in one serving on the rooftops. Maybe there is that feeling he gets—that you seem to be holding yourself back during sports and other activities—but he’s come to his own conclusion. Boring. And just like that, his interest wanes once more.

It’s in the holidays that he sees you once more. This time, you’re out of uniform and in such peculiar garb he half-believes you’re an apparition: clad in rich black with a veil thrown over your head.  Or at least, he would believe you were a ghost were it not for the heaps of unconscious gang members strewn around you, and the vibrant red staining your fists and face. And when he laughs, when your head finally turns to gaze at the boy at the abandoned parking lot—you look as nonplussed as ever, and that is perhaps the most interesting thing about this ill-fated encounter.

Even with the lacerations cutting deep, you barely wince. Even as he finds you, again and again and again as you’re guts deep in beating these ‘sinners’ up, you barely spare him any greetings as he watches on amusedly. Even as he’s taken to cheering you on from the sidelines, you ignore him just like he did you—though, it’s more matter-of-fact than malicious, like it would be unprofessional to acknowledge him. 

It seems James Lee has found himself a new form of entertainment: all wrapped up neatly in a parcel of a boy with weirdly haunting eyes. 

゜・

But with age, naturally, comes the act of growing up. As he sheds his crimson locks, as he slips on his new moniker and buries his name along with his past, as he finally puts a name on the captivation you’ve bound him in—no longer does he laugh as you throw yourself into danger. 

Rather, with each new scar you accumulate on the vast and brilliant canvas of your skin, he can’t help but feel each pain on his own body. 

This especially bodes true as you stumble across the threshold, back into the lonely recesses of your apartment. It’s a small thing in the suburbs—far from prying eyes that snag on the lace decorating your body, far from those that could pick up on your sins. 

When you shuck off the heavy boots—ever the contrast against the exquisite craftsmanship of your clothing—you want nothing more than to collapse against the cold tiles of the floor. As you take on the more fatal—the more perilous—jobs, the money proportionally increases. 

But you don’t get the chance to sink onto the ground, because warm hands suddenly catch your frigid body just as you’re about to keel over. 

DG, Kang Dagyum, Diego—he’s got many names. James. The man you’ve known for the past three years holds you close to his designer sweater. He willingly lets the plush fabric to be soaked in the sins that trailed in with you: clear, polluted rain, which seems to perfectly encapsulate your sullen mood; mud soaking the hem over your veil; and finally the sanguine, oily blood that never seems to wash off. 

“Sorry.” Guilt eats away at you as you watch the material seep with wickedness. “I ruined it.”

Laconic as ever, you feel worse for staining his clothes than you do for coming home bruised and bleeding. His heart seems as tattered as you look, wrenching and twisting through his flesh while you inhale the powdery scent of his freshly-laundered loungewear. 

“You’re not sorry for coming home to me like this?” he bites out. There’s not a trace of laughter in the tight lines of his mouth—for James can’t find these stupid jobs amusing any more. He makes enough, God knows he makes more than enough, for you to leave this cursed work behind and just stay by his side. 

“Um,” you murmur, and he can practically hear the cogs in your brain whirring as you wonder why he’s not mentioning the deep smears of crimson that assault his outfit. “I can change before coming in—”

“Stop.” He interrupts you with his tight grip on your body and the concerned, devoted glint in his softening eyes. “Can’t you worry about yourself for once?”

His job is harsh within itself: volatility and high-pressure wrapped in one, but the things you do for money are downright punitive. It’s paradoxically comical: a man who’s stained his hands with blood far darker and deeper than you have, versus a pseudo-vigilante whose life revolves around violence. Diego Kang, or more accurately, James Lee conceals his past as though it were a separate entity: while still keeping the dregs of yesteryear with him in the form of you.

No, that’s not right. He doesn’t keep you by him. He’s bound to you instead, he realises through his adoring gaze and tender hands, through the reverent kisses he presses to your glacial arms. 

You still as his fingers card through your skin: past the fragile, wounded dermis; weaving through the sinuous muscles, and past the tangles of veins; and finally, they hold tight on the steady thrum of your pulse. You’re alive. You’re alive and breathing, and your heart is still beating through all those layers. 

Only then does he gaze up at you. None of his past ghosts through his look: neither boredom nor the callous indifference he once regarded you with. He’s been destroyed and reborn anew within these three years, while you still remain the painfully reckless fool. 

He’s no longer James Lee.

No, there’s not a single trace left of the boy who once saw your endless struggle as entertaining: save maybe the part of him that’s always been enraptured by your existence.  

゜・

EXTRAS

DG: …

reader: yeah I beat up those haters who were harassing you on twitter

DG: …

DG: without me 🥺

[littlecrittereli]

This is for the request. Could you draw some Diego and his siblings plz I’m obsessed with their story and lore 🥲🙏

Family Portrait

This portrait is probably old so everyone is a little younger than they are in Reprogrammed.

I had a lot of requests for the big cat family so I wanted to make sure I do one of them! I'm gonna try to get through some more of the requests in the next few days lol

Carmen i love you

fun fact she was supposed to die in ch 13 but I wrote it and got legitimately so sad that I changed it so she lived LMAO

[literalite]

san myshuno !!

[im-in-andromeda]

i’ll never get over how in the first episode of umbrella academy it has their numbers as names and their “names” in quotation marks

like ohhh you’re adults but you’re still the product and property of your father okay okay