#doom couple

[fathuing]

Funky jamming session with Ivan and Till🤟🎸🎤

[chronicowboy]

this post & merthur

[wardingshout]

Little visit

[kiisaes]

tgck for yuri day 💗 (6/25)

[assassyart]

rest in pieces, one for all yaoi

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi

[pointlessjey]

Simon and Betty

[allknowingaxolotl]

Love it when a ship is defined by how many divorces they had

[justanon-believer]

"They are my comfort couple." When there's nothing comforting in them . Basically they are —

They. Are. Doomed. By. The. Narrative.

Is a kind of flex . I have that one. I like to call it mentally ill rizz.

Swallowing myself in sadness alone is boring. Join me in the mentally ill association, mortals .

[soybean-official]

Heroes rise again

[papanowo]

soooo these started out as me doodling to get used to my new tablet but 2 months later here we are

[theellipelli]

planning for the future

[lucishell]

the summer ivan died

[miyamiwu]

How to say “I love you” in Blue Lock

I don’t really want to play soccer, but being with you isn’t a pain, so it’s fine.

Now that I can fight without you, being with you is even more fun

And then there’s this asshole...

I made it this far because of you. Since you allowed me to play soccer freely, I’ve grown this strong on Bastard München. But I can’t climb any higher that way. I figured that out in this match, I no longer need the freedom you give me. Forget about me, Ness. Find yourself a new king. It’s easier for me to live in restriction.

[see-arcane]

It was 1838 when the Great Death came to Wisborg, Germany. The last of its victims went willingly, bartering her body and blood to destroy a monster and protect her beloved.

Said beloved dies the same morning, though his body lives a while longer. Every day of breath and food is a loss. But he cannot end himself. Not after all she gave to ensure his safety. So the dead man sits in his living skin and follows the rules of maintaining it. Days to weeks to months to years.

There are very few of the latter, as it happens. The doctor will pen something down about a weak heart. Perhaps a belated demise caused by braving so much ailment in that cursed year. In truth, he knows the heart was not weak, but broken. Grief is a poison and it took the young man away before he ever reached his third decade.

Time passes.

In England, a boy and a girl fall in love. There is a connection that is both immediate and startling in its joy—as if they had known each other before and lost sight of the other in a crowd.

She is a cunning and insightful soul, brimming with a vision that she knows instinctively to dub mere ‘intuition.’ Somehow there is an older wisdom in her young head than there ought to be; she knows it is vital to be proper. To be upstanding. To not let the world catch wind of her being anything too outré. Little wonder she goes on to teach in etiquette classes.

He is a fellow apparently born to the flotsam and footwork of property law. For reasons he can’t name, he comes near to tears at how benevolent his employer is. Has been since he was a boy, all but the young man’s second father. A man the youth can trust and wishes to impress just as much as he wishes to build a future for his fiancée. He would do anything for them.

For her.

Anything.

And so, when work calls him up out to the Carpathians, he stifles a sudden inexplicable spike of dread. As does she. It is only nerves. Only worry over such a long distance to travel. He will write, of course. It will be a grand adventure. And it will help them, won’t it? Of course. Of course.

He has such queer dreams en route to the castle.

Is it his voice he hears screaming in them? Is it his love’s?

(Turn back turn back the Scholomance had many students and though they died they still walk TURN BACK—)

He arrives at the castle. The Count is there to meet him.

Hell begins.

It stretches for months. It bleeds from one season into the next. Briefly, so briefly, it seems there is an exit before them in the shape of friends and knowledge—the Devil can be beaten!—but he wants to send his love away, out of the monster’s reach…

Too late.

(Again. Forever too late.)

Blood on her lips and welling from her throat. Her scream is of the damned. God Himself burns her; marked for all time—

(All lives.)

—as out of Heaven’s reach.  

“Unclean! Unclean!”

(No. No!)

He witnesses the gallant oaths their friends make. Of course, of course they will slay her in mercy. It as God wills. As the Devil wills. As she, his love, his martyr Maiden to Death’s callous aim, wills. How lovely that they are all in agreement.

(Again.)

No.

No. It is as simple as that. No. No. No. He does not allow it. Does not accept it. He will sell himself if need be.

But not before he collects the Count’s head.

And look—look—look—

(LOOK!)

—a miracle: he does it. He and the American feed their steel into the monster and the monster crumbles just as the sun dips low. The American collapses, death pooling in him as—

(LOOK LOOK LOOK)

—the young woman, purged of the Count’s venom, comes to their side, whole and alive and weeping at the sacrifice. When the couple’s child comes, he will wear the names of all who aided them, but always with the American’s name at the top. The boy is very young and so may still lay between his parents, sleeping in the nest of their arms. In the warm quiet, the young man and the young woman stare into each other. Their lips smile and their eyes run.

“I feel as if this was where we were supposed to be.”

She doesn’t ask what he means.

Instead, “Where we left off.”

He nods and brings his brow to hers. In their arms, their child hums and clings in his sleep. They spare a hand each to rake his hair. The others weave tight, anchoring.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

It is the truth. As it ever was, as it ever is, as it ever shall be.

[badkunz]

"...Just a while longer, okay?"