#hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

[woolysstuff]

@particle70 Heya! I was your secret santa this year! :D

Hope you like your gift, it was a fun prompt to draw!

And don't worry about Moon, he's fine.... probably..

[cypressketch]

[vischys]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, as it turned out, was what brought Ink and the rest of @demon-blood-youths into the city. That would mean the odds of the Vanguard to retreat and seek her own safety would be nil. The swordsman's inner disillusionment was quickly pushed aside upon harkening what the trio informed him next:

"...weapon from some guy who came to him for help. "

"Now thinking about it....did Ethan say who this guy is?"

"He just said this guy is also watching Horrors for a while too and up close, like...uh... an informat."

An informant. A liaison.

At the stark connection, the cambion's eyes narrowed and his features visibly hardened. Perhaps whatever conspiracy currently ensuing was not as convoluted as he initially assessed.

"...I am not surprised that they leveled up from eating too much of the pills or something."

The corner of Vergil's lips twitched in subtle amusement from Navarro's choice of wording, recalling their conversation of the same subject back underground regarding the Horrors' prosaic disposition of dubbing their fraction and serum after a title and genre of a certain gothic novel.

And just as the protagonist of said novel succumbed to the potency of the serum he made himself and ceded a degree of inhibition with each dose imbibed, so did those so-called Commander Beasts imbibed themselves into deformation.

"Hell...we haven't seen any of the Horrors right now."

"Maybe that demon bird is still flying around... Shdwkyz said that bird...what's her face, Shrika?"

It would seem that none of his youthful companions could tell whether the rest of the Horrors were present in the city. Perhaps some odds were still in his favor after all that the notorious leader of the Horrors had omitted himself from their incursion into the city.

"I think the Horrors are just waiting for the guy who stole their stuff to show up first."

Not if we could apprehend this thief first. Mayhaps he could prevent the Killer Night's entry into this stage of conspiracy by removing his reason therein. I need to check upon Dante and clarify the circumstances, post-haste. Since his brother was the one who was designated to rendezvous with their liaison and the party deemed as the main candidate to be both the informant and thief that the Horrors sought.

His gaze flitted toward his breast where his communication device was pocketed in the inside of his jacket.

"Vergil! What about you? Did you come here because of their bounties?"

The cambion parted his lips to answer his demoiselle's inquiry by imparting his supposed mission to neutralize the Horrors and retrieve the HYDE formula, but the sudden shrill of ringing tone and vibration from aforementioned device beat him to it, alerting him of his brother, as though somehow managed to sync with his mind from afar had sensed Vergil's summon of his presence and thus the timely call.

Vergil dipped his chin as an apologetic gesture toward Ink as he reached inside his jacket to retrieve his antiquated cell phone. Perhaps Navarro could fill her in on what Vergil had shared with him regarding his own reason and business in the city? Otherwise he could always did thus himself after this phone call.

“Vergil!” Came Dante's voice from inside the receiver. To foreign ears, his brother sounded almost like his normal self – casual and lighthearted – but Vergil could detect an unmistakably underlying tone of relief as he continued. “Finally you pick up! Do you have any idea how many times I have tried to call you? ”

“ Dante, ” Vergil replied with a tone that sounded wry to untrained ears, but he knew his brother too could detect a hint of immense relief in it at the discovery that both of them were alive. “ My apologies, brother, I fell deep below ground that this inferiorly manmade device failed to transmit the signal required to receive your call. ”

He could sense Dante's amusement from the receiver at his half-sarcastic, half-matter of fact reason.

“Thought you forgot how to pick up a phone call. What happened that got you somewhere underground?”

“ I shall apprise you of the details later. Now, establish your whereabouts. ”

“We're heading back to the center of the city.”

Vergil didn't miss the "we" instead of "I". His brother was not alone evidently. What are the odds he was with the liaison he was supposed to meet?

“I have our guy with me,” Dante confirmed readily, sounding as though he had heard Vergil's unspoken wonder. “Listen, Vergil. We've been had. This liaison Morrison mentioned– Hey!”

He could hear the sound of hurried footsteps in the background indicating that someone ran away. Tried, truly. For soon he could hear a familiar gunshot from his brother's twin firearms followed by a loud masculine yelp.

“Listen, Mr. Liaison,” Dante's voice sounded distant albeit had taken on a dangerous edge, indicating that he lowered his phone in favor of addressing his interlocutor on the other side. “You have one job, see? All you have to do is be a good boy and stand still as I'm having a brief heart to heart with my high and mighty brother here.”

Vergil couldn't but mentally snort in affectionate mirth at his brother's theatrical remark. A performance archetypal to you, little brother. There's a devil inside you as well, even if others tend to overlook that fact.

“He is not famous for his patience and frankly, after hours trying to find you while dancing between zombies and creeps alike, I think I kinda share his genocidal temper for now. Don't ask, twin stuff. Anyway, the gist is, don't try to run as I drag your sorry ass to him or the next shot won't be a miss.”

He couldn't hear the other man's stuttered reply, but it's safe to assume that the liaison must have heeded his brother's threat. Vergil would know, for Dante too possessed his own brand of diabolic intimidation when he deigned to use it for once.

“Sorry about that,” his brother's voice sounded loud and clear again from the receiver. “Anyway, Vergil, I am bringing the guy to your place so we can decide together what to do with him. Where are you now?”

At his brother's question, Vergil tilted his head slightly with his gaze flitted at one point to another in their vicinity, visibly looking for any landmark or perhaps a building name board or any manner of identification that would denote the place they currently were.

𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐨'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, the Slayer made his way together to a nearby abandoned complex, which seemingly used to be an emporium just days prior. As Ink and her comrades made a beeline to the vending machine, Vergil opted to claim a space against the wall nearby, settling with his arms folded and back leaning against it as he observed the @demon-blood-youths distributing what victuals they managed to beat out from the machine.

Keep reading

[ww2yaoi]

Unfortunately, I don’t have anything official to post for @webgottweek because I’ve been sick (and unprepared), but here’s a scene from my still yet untitled webgott wip for the day 6 prompt: haircut. Enjoy!

Joe makes good on his offer to cut David’s hair a few days later. They take their leave after dinner while most of the guys are downstairs playing cards. Joe drags David’s desk chair from their room into the bathroom and sets it up in front of the sink. He lays out his comb and scissors as David watches from the doorway with his arms crossed, not entirely thrilled to be parting with his mop. He only agreed because Joe seemed so adamant about doing something nice for him, and the last thing David wants is to deny him the chance to feel useful, especially now that the war is over and most of the company is stuck in limbo.

“Not too short, okay?” David says as Joe pushes him down into the chair.

“Jesus Christ, Web,” Joe says, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “All the officers trust me with their hair, why can’t you?”

“Yeah, right, like you’d give Captain Speirs a bad haircut,” David says as Joe wraps a towel around his neck. “You know I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Would you shut up? I’m not going to give you a bad haircut. I wouldn’t risk my reputation like that.” Joe takes a drag of his cigarette then ashes it in a tray on the back of the toilet. “Now lean back.”

David huffs, but does as he’s told, tipping his head back into the sink. Joe runs the lukewarm water, drenches David’s head, then lathers his hair with soap. Admittedly, it feels good. The last time David washed his hair was over a week ago, seeing as their billet has limited showers and insufficient hot water to facilitate so many men bathing daily. Usually, David just jumps in the lake and lets it wash away the sweat and grime from drills and training exercises. He’ll probably never be as dirty as he was in Normandy or Holland ever again, and he thanks God for that.

Joe massages his fingers into David’s scalp and David nearly groans. Joe must see the contentment on David’s face because he smirks.

“Feels good, right?”

“Yes,” David says flatly.

Joe runs his fingers through David’s hair from root to tip, then rinses out the soap. The act is oddly intimate, Joe hovering over him, touching his head and maneuvering it from side to side, using his hands so deftly. David is completely at his mercy. He wonders if Joe washes the hair of every man that asks him for a trim, if the officers get to see Joe like this, get to feel his fingers on their scalps. David suddenly feels jealous, possessive, but he knows the feeling makes no sense, that Joe is just doing a job for extra pocket money.

Joe uses a spare towel to ring most of the water out of David’s hair, then beckons him to stand up. He moves the chair away from the sink so he has enough room to walk around it, then gets David to sit back down again. He proceeds to comb David’s hair, gently working out the knots and parting it where the strands naturally fall.

“Not too short,” David reminds Joe as he grabs his scissors.

“Don’t be a baby,” Joe says. “I’m only taking an inch off.”

David listens to the snip, snip, snip of the scissors as Joe begins cutting his hair, starting at the back, and the sound is unexpectedly relaxing, almost enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. He watches as the trimmings fall to the floor like dark feathers, interrupting the white tiles below. Joe alternates between combing his hair, measuring the sections with his fingers, and trimming them down. He works quickly and quietly, gently ushering David’s head back and forth and to the side wherever he needs it to go.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” David asks.

“My dad was a barber,” Joe explains as he moves around the chair to face David and work on the front ends of his hair. “I used to help him at the shop on weekends, sweeping up clippings, answering the phone, cleaning windows, that sort of thing. I would watch him and learned that way until eventually he let me practice on him, with mixed results.”

Joe smiles, seemingly at the memory. David likes listening to Joe talk about his family. His voice has a softer quality to it when he does it. David probably sounds the opposite when discussing his parents or his siblings. Usually when he speaks of them, he’s pissed off about something they said or did.

“Then when I dropped out of school as a teenager I would do odd jobs, including cutting hair,” Joe continues. “I got pretty good at it.”

“Wait, you dropped out of school?” David asks.

He tries not to sound too dismayed, but his face must betray him. Joe gives him a skeptical look.

“Does that offend your very being, Harvard?”

“No,” David insists. “I’m just shocked, is all. You’re so—”

The word ‘smart’ dries up in David’s mouth. Joe is looking right at him as he measures the front pieces of his hair to ensure the length is even. His eyebrows are raised.

“I just didn’t expect it,” David says.

“Yeah, well, there were a lot of mouths to feed in my house growing up,” Joe says. “I would’ve rathered my sisters stay in school than me.” Joe makes a few more cuts around David’s head. “What does your dad do?”

“Uh, he’s a businessman,” David says.

“Yeah? That’s vague. What kind of businessman?”

“I don’t know.” David tries to stifle the resentment in his voice. “He’s the vice president of a trade company. It’s one of those jobs where half of his time is spent going out to lunch.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal,” Joe says, setting down his scissors.

“It’s a nothing kind of job,” David admits. “At least cutting hair you’re doing something. Dealing with a bunch of sales projections and ass-kissers all day doesn’t do anyone any good, unless you’re some self-satisfied prick in a suit.”

Joe snickers. “Jesus, Web. What are you, a Stalinist?”

“No, I just think there are better things to do with your life.”

Joe grabs a towel and runs it over David’s hair to finish drying it. “So what do you want to do with your life? If we ever get out of here?”

“I don’t know,” David says. “Write.”

“Yeah? Sounds nice.”

Joe tosses the towel aside and grabs a bottle of something off the back of the toilet.

“What is that?” David asks.

“Hair oil,” Joe says.

“You’ve been carting hair oil around war-torn Europe?”

Joe smirks. “Only the best for my customers.”

He unscrews the cap, dabs some into the center of his palm, sets the bottle aside, then warms the oil up in his hands. It smells strong and musky, and David is reminded of the other night, of the oil that coated his cock and Joe’s fingers and his thighs. They have yet to fuck like that again. Their days have been so filled with training and drills that they’re both too exhausted by night’s end to do anything but fall asleep in the same bed.

At the same time, David thinks there must be some other reason. It must be because when they fucked on David’s birthday, it was his first time with a man. Admitting that must have put Joe off, made him believe he’ll turn out to be some lovelorn kid who will just grow attached. Or maybe, Joe is waiting for him to make the next move. Maybe Joe thinks he’s too chickenshit to do it.

Joe stoops down to eye level and passes his hands through David’s new haircut, adjusting a strand here and a strand there. David just stares at Joe as he focuses intently on his styling, combing David’s curls back with his fingers, following the waves as they naturally form. He brushes a stray hair behind David’s ear then smiles.

“Can I see it?” David asks.

“Not yet.” Joe reaches out and runs his thumb along David’s jaw. “Do you want me to shave you? You’re looking pretty stubbly.”

“I shaved this morning,” David says.

“Come on, Web. You’re the kind of guy that gets five o’clock shadow at noon,” Joe says. “Your haircut won’t look as good if I don’t shave you.”

“I can handle you with scissors around my head but I don’t know how I feel about you wielding a razor near my throat,” David deadpans.

“Oh, please. I’m a professional.” Joe straightens. “Let me get my shaving kit.”

He opens the bathroom door and slips out into the hallway. David is tempted to look at himself in the mirror while Joe is gone but unfortunately agrees that the end product will look better if he shaves. Joe returns a minute later anyway. He unrolls his kit on the toilet lid, takes the shaving brush, soaps it up and lathers the lower half of David’s face. Joe is even closer now than he was when he was cutting David’s hair, and he’s looking at him, really looking at him.

“You’re getting tan,” Joe says as he reaches for his razor.

“I like the sun,” David replies.

“Why the hell do you live on the upper East Coast then?”

David shrugs. “Victim of circumstance.”

Joe chuckles. He wipes down the blade of the straight razor with a towel.

“I’ve always wanted to move somewhere warm,” David confesses. “Like Florida or California.”

Joe’s eyes flicker at that. The change in his expression is nearly imperceptible, but something like curiosity, or maybe even recognition, passes over his face. It fades in an instant, then Joe is hovering the razor above David’s cheekbone.

“Okay, don’t move, unless you want me to cut you.”

David sits as still as possible as Joe glides the razor over his cheeks and down the immediate curve of his neck, pulling his skin taut with his thumb, then wiping the soap and stubble off the blade with the towel. If David was at Joe’s mercy before, he’s completely vulnerable now. Their conversation gets put on hold as Joe works the razor over David’s skin. His hands are very steady, which is at least reassuring. As far as David can tell, Joe has always had steady hands, along with an obedient trigger finger. At least, obedient to himself. He’s a much better shot than David ever was, and David can understand why. He’s precise.

Joe finishes shaving David with one last swipe over the ball of his jaw, and David feels like he can breathe full and deep again. Joe goes to the sink to wet the towel, then returns to wipe the remaining soap from David’s cheeks.

“Wait,” Joe says. He removes the other towel from David’s shoulders and fixes his hair one more time. “Okay, you can look now.”

David gets up from the chair and turns to face the mirror. His reflection greets him like a stranger he once saw on the street but swears he’s met before in a dream. He recognizes himself, obviously, but he looks more youthful, yet without being young somehow. He’s molted his old skin, the skin that became mottled and toughened by the war, and settled into a new one. He has colour in his cheeks for once, which look impossibly smooth, and his hair is maybe the most well-groomed he’s ever seen it, at least since the war started. Shorter, yes, but shiny and expertly coiffed into a wave off his forehead. David stares at himself. He feels clean, fresh, but most of all, he feels meticulously cared for.

“Well, do you like it?” Joe asks.

“Yeah, Joe, I do,” David says, turning to him and smiling. “I really like it. Thank you.”

Joe returns his grin and winks. “I knew you would, you nonbeliever,” he says. “You look like Carey fucking Grant.”

David laughs. “Do I?”

“Well, not really, but your hair does.” Joe looks down at all the clippings on the floor. “I need to find a broom.”

“I think there’s a broom closet in the hallway,” David says. “I’ll go check.”

He slips out of the bathroom and walks down to the end of the hall, opening a thin door beside the stairs. Thankfully, there’s a broom and dustpan inside, propped up against the wall. David grabs them both just as footsteps echo up the stairwell. Luz appears at the top, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Ayy, Web. Looking spiffy,” he says. “What is this, the fucking Ritz?”

“Joe cut my hair,” David explains, fighting back a smile.

“Yeah, I can see that. Lookin’ good, kid.” Luz claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll have to get him to do me next.”

Luz disappears into his room a few doors over and David returns to the bathroom. Joe is sitting on the toilet lid and smoking the cigarette he ashed earlier. They clean up, collecting the clippings from the floor and throwing them in the dustbin. Joe gathers his tools and his shaving kit and they head back to their room, David carrying the chair.

David returns it to his desk then flops down on the bed, suddenly feeling very tired. He’s afraid to ruin his hair, but his head is too heavy to keep off the pillow. He closes his eyes and a few minutes later, he feels the mattress sink as Joe lies down beside him.

David cracks open an eye and sees that Joe is facing his direction, his head resting on the adjacent pillow, just looking at him in the lamplight.

“Inspecting your handiwork?” David asks.

Joe nods. “A little bit.”

“I feel like we should be going out somewhere,” David muses. “To a jazz club or something.”

“You like jazz clubs?”

“Not particularly. I just feel like it’s a waste. If I fall asleep I’m going to mess up my hair, and I’ll have to shave again in the morning.”

“Don’t be vain, Web,” Joe says.

“It’s not vanity. I want people to see your work.”

Joe laughs through his nose. “Well, I see it.”

“You and Luz.”

“Luz?”

“He saw me in the hallway. He said I looked spiffy.”

“And that ain’t enough for you?”

“Shut up.”

A beat passes, then Joe reaches out and strokes David’s cheek, his thumb tracing the smooth, clean-shaven line of his jaw back and forth, back and forth.

“My sisters would be obsessed with you.”

David smirks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, they would want to have your babies,” Joe says. “Except that you’re a goy.”

“Ugh.” David makes a face. “I don’t want to think about your sisters that way.”

Joe laughs and the sound cuts through the quiet. David ignores him, too disturbed by the concept. He nuzzles further into Joe’s warm palm, feeling himself being pulled towards sleep. He wants to kiss Joe, but he doubts he has the energy to start anything right now. Instead, he shuts his eyes, his body growing heavier and heavier. Joe’s hand migrates to his hair, fixing it even as he verges on unconsciousness. He brushes a loose strand from David’s forehead, smoothes his sideburns down with his fingertips. David is nearly asleep when he hears it.

“Gut aussehend,” Joe mutters. “If only they knew, Web. If only they knew.”

[cosmicccowboy0]

@benjingle ….. your boy….

[neiptune]

jjk boys x what they do for valentine's day

a/n: suggestive if you squint! these are for funsies!! like all my silly impulsive self indulgent hcs!!! enjoy!!!! i'm sending you all virtual chocolate and kisses!!!!!

ok listen yuuji is a baby he doesn't know anything and your relationship is still kinda new therefore he panics. easily. what would you like? flowers, roses? candle light dinner? the biggest heart shaped box of chocolates he can find? you best believe he won't be able to pick an option so he will just pick everything. can't risk it. a bouquet of pretty flowers is delivered to your workplace along with a box of truffles & you come home to find your kitchen absolutely wrecked (how did he even get inside?) and the table in the dining room filled with a certainly interesting combination of dishes lol listen he tried his best and you don't have the heart to tell him you would've been happy with a box of pizza and a movie so when he greets you with the sweetest happy valentine's day baby!!!! you can only wrap your arms around his silly little neck and kiss his silly pretty lips <3

megumi remembers everything. all the time. the man's an elephant. even when you think he's not listening, even if the information you're sharing is 100% trivial (pedro pascal is hot, touching raw chicken freaks you out, you think smelling fresh paint ain't odd) his brain is constantly registering everything that comes out of your mouth. not only that, but your reactions too. so of course he's noticed the way you'd softly smiled after a surprised gasp had escaped your lips when you'd found that antiquarian book in a specialized store on the outskirts of kyoto. of course he's picked it up for you (too expensive? not on his watch). of course he's slipped a simple, handmade card right inside (he knows you would've had his head if he'd glued anything on the page itself). the card reads “if you were a book, i'd never put you down”. you cry & he freaks tf out lmao

gojo doesn't give a fuck about your job nor possible weekend plans, his extra ass has bought tickets to paris and you don't get to have a say in the matter. your suitcase on friday morning? packed. your mom? informed. your boss? he ain't important enough. satoru doesn't let you lift a finger: he's prepared everything, all the way up to your airport outfit (sweatpants and his hoodie, you better be cozy and comfy), he's even cleaned the house so you won't stress about having to do it once you come back. he wants valentine's day to be extra special, you've never been a fan of big romantic gestures so he promises the whole trip doesn't have to be about expensive dinners, champagne & roses. It's about you two being silly little tourists together, having fun, trying new food, possibly fucking in the jacuzzi he's made sure the hotel room comes with-

what geto does is: show up. LMFAO you two were broken up and of course he's at your door on valentine's day, not a flower nor an apology in sight, he just mumbles an annoyed “enough with this bullshit”, takes your face in his hands and waits. the fucker actually waits for your eyes to give him permission to kiss you devour you. he doesn't wanna talk about it, he just wants to spend the night with you in his arms (soooo clingy don't even get me started, you have to eat dinner sitting on his lap bc he won't let you on a separate chair, he'll wait for you to get out of the shower like a lost stray cat, will order all your favorite snacks and happily sit right next to you on the couch never once casting his eyes away from you. he's missed your face too much, although you'll never hear him say it out loud

you and nanami have this tradition of gifting each other the most ridiculous v-day stuff you can find. he deals with enough boring serious grown up shit and you simply won't have it when it comes to your relationship. you need to see him smile and roll his eyes with fondness as you hand over personalized boxer briefs and stuffed animals and a coffee mug with “if you were an angle you'd be acute one” written on it. He does his best to follow the rules (so far he's given you socks with his face printed on them, a “i chews you” chewbacca graphic t-shirt, a “ring for sex” bell and “i love you from top to bottom” toilet paper) but he. just. can't. help it. in the end he always, always gets you flowers and makes sure he cooks at least one of your favorite meals. he keeps it simple so you won't complain but nanami is just the happiest when he's allowed to spoil you a little. he loves you sosososo much and basks in your resigned smile as soon as you come home and catch him wearing an apron. you hope he's gonna like the new watch you got him

inumaki is a little shit most of the time. he's a playful boyfriend. he enjoys banter. he loves annoying the shit outta you. but did he fall head over heels for you? does everything remind him of you all the time? does he text you pictures of red orange sunsets and weird clouds and cute puppies and his lunch 24/7? yes. doesn't like admitting it often but he's whipped. and that's precisely why his valentine's day preparations are not really preparations. he's working all year round. you look at something at a craft show? he'll get it. you're reading a book by a new author you seem to be enjoying? he'll get three more books written by them. you're into a specific type of music? he'll spend a few evenings crafting different personalized playlists. he's always ready. he always has something to give you, something he's probably picked up months before. he doesn't remember how to look at the world without noticing all the little things you'd love about it

yuuta asks you to be his girlfriend on valentine's day!!!! you've been dating & he's smitten but he thinks you want the whole thing to stay casual and he's so far from being casual lol he just can't help himself, he has to know if you're exclusive. so it's a cold cold day, you're sharing a towel on the sand at the beach and you're casually telling him about your day when his fist tightens in his pocket and he just blurts the question out. and if it isn't the softest, most wonderful “would you want to be my girlfriend?” you've ever heard. you tease with a laugh and gently nudge his shoulder with yours. “i thought of you as my boyfriend like three dates ago” and when i tell you this man's face lights tf up like imagine a million christmas lights sparkling on the most beautiful tree. that's yuuta looking at you. thank fuck the little chocolate tube he brought can actually be shared

[mothoscope]

Hi ed edd n eddy fandom. Been a while.

Missed my sons a lot <3. Have a few post-it doodles of them for the time being.

[butchcarmy]

Carm helping you through your morning sickness.

Currently experiencing hella nausea and a bitch is STRUGGLING 😭

NOOO feel better soon friend!

gonna be honest i'm uh not a big fan of pregnancy related stuff (i don't mind it i just don't care to explore it) but i AM a big fan of sick fics and getting taken care of so lets fucking go!!

One of Carmy's primary love languages is acts of service. he's a chef like what more do i need to say! but also he experiences nausea around the clock!

"Try these. Just take two an' chew 'em." He'd bring you some papaya pills to start. They're sweet and just like little candies. He's used to the taste of pepto by now, but he doesn't wanna make you drink it unless you have to. "Sorry you're not feeling well, baby. Hope these help a little."

When that doesn't help, he'll bring you his bottle of pepto he keeps on the nightstand. "Should've just given this to you first, would've helped you faster," he says, almost to himself, like he's mad at himself for not doing better.

"It's okay, Carm. It's not your fault," you tell him, but he's still got this disgruntled expression on his face. You're both seated on the couch, so you cuddle into his side, and he brings you in closer. "Can you just distract me for now? Tell me about your day?"

"Of course," he says, even though he's not good at talking. At least, he doesn't think he's good at it. "Um...we got our food order today. Buncha frozens, but it was raining today, and it got put in the freezer and it all stuck together..."

He'd go on and ramble and ramble until you feel better <3

[titaniumions]

i think it's probably somewhat clear that i see isolde and kakania as lesbians (seems to be a common hc anyway) but i think i want to explore how that'd fit into their respective characterizations, not necessarily only from a shipping standpoint. note that this does get into headcanon territory, still i try to keep it as in-character as i can

i think kakania would actually be pretty open about it. in the 1910s?? i mean sure, she's already a controversy as she is ... an arcanist, an uncertified psychiatrist with unconventional methods, an outspoken member of society who stirs up public opinion. might as well give herself one more reason to be a subject of controversy. those who are set on hating her probably have no intention of changing that, so hey, might as well authentically be herself in every possible way including this. among those who have a more positive opinion about her, i do think this would make her somewhat of an icon. she draws other members of the community toward her. she lets them know that she is there for them and will fight for them. that they can turn to her and she will not scrutinize them for it. she'd tell them, no, there is nothing wrong with being this way. it isn't something you need to be "cured" from

in line with this, i think it would make sense for the "circle" to be a queer safe space. in fact, i like to think theophil himself could've been bi and thus would've accepted his sister's sexuality. but due to her own inhibitions (which i will touch upon later) i don't think isolde would ever have told him.

meanwhile for isolde ... i think it's more complicated. having a sexuality outside of the norm would be a deviation from the socially acceptable definition of the "perfect noble" she tries to be. so even if she were to ever consider it, she would simply end up pushing those thoughts away. no, not a chance. this shouldn't bother her at all. she's supposed to be perfect, yet she already has enough problems in her life as a member of the dittarsdorf family. considering the possibility of herself being anything but straight would lead to more problems, wouldn't it? and that's the last thing she needs. nonetheless she's ... never been attracted to a man either. but she tries not to think too much of it. maybe she just needs to wait it out. or so she tells herself

now to piece it all together ... i do really like the idea of kakania being her ... awakening. in fact i think it would make a lot of sense for her story, what with kakania being the metaphorical key to the doors that have always surrounded and confined isolde ... so hear me out. when isolde started associating with her and the circle she realized that it felt far less suffocating than ... pretty much any other aspect of her life. it's like a breath of fresh air. kakania in particular would fascinate isolde, in a way that makes isolde question things about herself. perhaps she even comes close to having a realization. but again, isolde remembers who she needs to be, and stops herself short.

eventually though, she would learn what kind of person kakania is, and what she believes in and fights for. this only deepens isolde's admiration further and she finally comes to a point of acceptance about her feelings. alright. i can accept this realization now. she no longer pushes it to the back of her mind. there's still a bit of repression and shame left in there but meeting someone who has not only awakened her, but also wouldn't judge her for it, has changed something within her entirely. the feelings overflow and she can deny it no longer. but again, at the end of the day she still needs to be perfect and socially acceptable. she can't just ... exist as freely as kakania does. but it's alright, isolde has feigned compliance for so long regardless of however difficult it might be. putting up with expectations has been a regular part of her life. so there it is, something authentic about this actor that she can't show to anyone else because it doesn't fit the part that she's supposed to play. kakania is allowed to know though, of course she is. it can just be their little secret. and one way or another, she'll figure out how isolde feels toward her. surely kakania would be quite honored to be on the receiving end of the affection of such a wonderful lady. as long as this affection doesn't eventually turn into a catalyst for destruction, right ...

[bloody-cupcakes]

i loved your platonic tenth doctor fic sm 💞 would you ever consider doing a pt.2? maybe with the reader sort of figuring out what’s up and trying to get back on their own

I would love to do a part two, I'm so happy to hear you liked it! (Part one is here for anyone who wants to read it first)

Platonic! yandere/dark! Tenth Doctor x teen reader; you discover he's purposely keeping you from leaving

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, the Doctor has possessive tendencies due to seeing the reader as his child, not technically kidnapping but the Doctor goes to great lengths to make sure the reader won't/can't leave so there's that

After your conversation with the Doctor about returning home to earth, you went to your room on the TARDIS and began packing. Part of you felt bad for possibly hurting his feelings (after all, you were currently his only companion, and while you didn't get the whole story you knew he had others before you that met less than ideal fates) but you couldn't just stay with him forever. You knew you had to go back home eventually.

The next day when you found him, he was fiddling with the control panel and humming cheerfully to himself. It was as if you'd never even spoken about leaving the day before.

"Um, Doctor?"

He looked up immediately when he heard your voice, a bright smile covering his face. "Ah, there you are! I was just waiting for you before I put the coordinates in for our next adventure. Are you ready to go?"

You made a visible face of confusion at his words. Next adventure? What was that supposed to mean?

"No, Doctor, I'm not. I already told you, I have to go home now."

His right eye twitched slightly with irritation as you mentioned that word again- "home". It wasn't fair that you kept talking about it as if your time with him didn't matter. I mean, he didn't even have a home to go back to, and he was perfectly fine. He learned how to become a well adjusted Time Lord after some time he assured himself while lying.

"Yeah, yeah. I know that." He waved his hand dismissively as if it was no big deal. "I just figured you'd want to go on one last trip before you had to leave. You know, just to cap off everything."

The exhaustion still in your body was screaming at you to say no, but he looked so hopeful as he stared at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes that you ended up saying yes despite yourself.

"You know what? Sure, why not. One last trip, to commemorate our time together."

The Doctor beamed with joy at your words, estatic that he was able to make you relent so quickly. "Great! Now, let's be off, then. Allonsy!"

It would just be one quick trip, you thought to yourself as the TARDIS started up, prepared to take you wherever you decided to go. It wouldn't take too long, and them he'd take you back home as soon as you were done.

So sure that you were right, you didn't even bother to keep track of the amount of time the two of you spent adventuring that day, which meant the Doctor was able to keep suggesting more and more things for you to do on your "last day" without any fuss. By the time you finally made it back to the TARDIS, you were exhausted, heading straight to bed without any more mentions of returning home for the time being.

The Time Lord was beside himself with delight as he realized his plan on keeping you too busy and tired to even think about leaving was beginning to work. He kept at it day after day, insisting that you just needed one more adventure to top it all off, just one extra trip. And because you didn't want to upset him by declining, you said yes to every single one.

This all came to a head the day he momentarily put his plan on pause due to the TARDIS needing repairs. It had been beeping nonstop at him for the past four days, and he'd finally had enough. He parked the TARDIS and told you to stay put, not that you had the energy to go anywhere.

While he was out for supplies, you finally got the chance to relax somewhat. Deciding to spoil yourself with this newfound free time, you took a long bath and put on your comfiest clothes before settling yourself in one of the several armchairs adorning the TARDIS library. You were just about to pick up something to read when the TARDIS started beeping again.

"I know you need repairs, he'll be back soon, don't worry," you tried to reassure it, but it simply ignored you and continued on.

Letting out a somewhat exasperated sigh, you set down your book and got up, making your way to the control room. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The TARDIS made a chirping sound as it brought up the coordinates that would take you back to the time and place of your home on earth.

You frowned in confusion, your brow furrowing as you studied the screen. The Doctor had been complaining about how it had been malfunctioning lately, so it's possible that what the screen was currently displaying could mean nothing.

In reality it had actually been scolding him for keeping you from your family on earth, but of course he ignored it, meaning it decided to take drastic measures in order to help get you back home.

"Yeah, that's my home. What about it?"

Something that sounded like a huff of annoyance came from the control panel. What its next few beeps meant you couldn't know for sure, but you were almost positive it had called you stupid.

"Hey, I'm doing my best here! I'm not a Time Lord, how would I know what you want?"

You could practically feel the way it was rolling its eyes at you before pulling up all the other places you'd been to recently. The log dated that they'd all been auto-saved on the same day, the day you told the Doctor you wanted to go back home.

A chill went down your spine as you realized he'd planned this out all ahead of time, knowing you'd be far too exhausted to argue if he kept taking you on one trip after another.

"Wait, why are you showing me this? What does this all mean?"

The TARDIS let out a few more beeps as it showed you the coordinates for earth again. It seemed to be trying to tell you something, but it was hard to know what it was exactly.

"Are you... are you trying to say that I should make my way back home, all by myself? Without the Doctor?"

The affirmative chattering of beeps and boops that came next told you the answer was yes. Now that you thought about it, the TARDIS seemed to be working perfectly fine, bringing you to the conclusion it had lied to the Doctor on purpose in order to help you.

"That's great and all, but I don't know how to manage these controls. I'd probably cause us to crash before we ever got there." You rolled your eyes at the noises it made in response. "Yes, I realize the Doctor crashes you all the time, and no, I don't want to take that risk. At least he knows how to fix you afterwards."

Your argument was cut short by a series of anxious beeps, the TARDIS frantically trying to warn you of the Doctor returning. You could hear him cursing from the outside as he tried to get in through the doors, the TARDIS having apparently locked him out.

"I can't fly you. I don't even know how to work all these buttons and knobs on your control panel." The sad and dejected boop it let out made you give it a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to get home some other way."

The doors finally opened, the Doctor nearly falling over as he entered. "Ah, there you are! I was just about to look for you. We should be ready to leave for our next trip once I've fixed whatever's wrong with the controls."

The TARDIS made an offended noise at the implication that there was something wrong with it, which both you and the Doctor ignored.

"Actually, I was wondering when you were going to take me back home."

The grin on his face immediately dropped at you words. "Home? You want to go home now?"

You hesitated briefly, not exactly sure what to think after the recent discoveries you'd made involving him trying to keep you from leaving. Surely he wouldn't do anything to actually hurt you, but you decided to tread carefully regardless.

"Well, yeah. I miss my family, and I'm sure they must be missing me. And I can always come back to travel with you again, you know." You added the last bit in hopes of easing the apparent pain of him losing you.

"But I'm your family now," he insisted in an almost pleading manner, gesturing to the inside of the machine. "This is your home. I don't understand why you'd ever want to leave any of this."

The Doctor shot the control panel a dirty look when it made a noise that sounded like sarcastic muttering. "Besides, I can offer so much more than they can. Can they take you anywhere in time and space? I don't think so."

"I'm not your family, Doctor," you blurted out in a desperate attempt to get him to see reason. "I'm not. I'm not your kid, and this isn't my home. I need to get back to my real home with my real family."

He turned away from you, resting his hands on the control panel so he wouldn't fall over from shock. His hands gripped onto the side of it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Doctor...?" You questioned gently, starting to feel bad for what you'd said. "Are you alright?"

Shaking his head, he responded in a quiet voice. "No, I'm not." He sighed as he leaned over the controls. "You're right, I'm not your family."

You felt a tiny bit of hope bloom within you despite yourself, hope that maybe, just maybe he was starting to see reason.

"So, does this mean-" You began eagerly before he suddenly cut you off.

"But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you leave, just like that." He turned back towards you, his face hardened as he gave you a look of determination. "Maybe I'm not your family yet, but I will be. And this will be your home, whether you like it or not."

A shiver of fear went down your spine at his firm declaration, causing you to realize you'd made a severe judgment in error when you decided to tell him you weren't family. It was at this point that you were beginning to wish you'd listened to the TARDIS when it told you to run while you still had the chance.

[peachymune]

hii u summoned me *SHOCK ORCHESTA MUSIC*

umm well ermm

urmm.

u

said

u said rarepairs

i dontwant2bethatpersonbutthebrainrotisbrainrottingso

red clipshjd female jesse x radar?? ฅʕ•̫͡•ʔฅ

YEAAHHH OFC !! Your wish is my command snaps my fingers

so sorry this took so long btw jhfkdg, art block was prevalent, i fear @-@ !!

AND ALSO ALMOST FORGOT TO MENTION, these are screenshot redraws from a particular scene from All Saints Street giggles just thought it fit them a bit :3c

[kindaorangey]

recently i've been thinking about rowan omondi in terms of the "supportive black best friend" trope. i've had this idea for a while that it would be interesting to see a story that deals specifically with the psychological effects of being the designated "support friend", especially in cases where that character addressing/expressing their own emotions and advocating for themself would be stigmatised because of their race... and obviously, rowan fits into this neatly, actively repressing and refusing to talk about his feelings because he isn't usually given this sort of support by his friends, it's usually him who's supporting them. and i guess on a metatextual level, once he begins to address his own emotional repression and step down from that support role, you could view it as him becoming cognisant of his own role as the "supportive black best friend".

[il3x]

Old thoughts floating above a new horizon Something I'll never doubt; I know I'm rotten.

[friendly-cryptid]

safety cape

for @dariusowlhouseweek

day 5: mentor

[possamble]

Chapters: 4/?

Fandom: ダンジョン飯 | Dungeon Meshi | Delicious in Dungeon

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Marcille Donato/Falin Touden

Summary:

Hunched over the stove, wrapped in one of her embroidered shawls, Marcille stares at Falin between unruly strands of long hair. It’s funny. Kabru had called Marcille’s stunned face “owlish,” once, but Falin disagrees — owls are birds of prey. Hunters. Marcille’s eyes aren’t wide like an owl scanning for a kill, they’re wide like a startled prey animal desperately keeping still in the face of a predator. 

One part of Falin wants to leave and never make Marcille look at her like that again. The other part wants to cross the distance across the small room, grab this skittish creature by her delicate little waist and—

Falin looks away. 

[space-b33]

Maybe weird request, but could you draw Hunter wearing this:

Only if you like of cause but I saw it and could only think about Hunter's slutty little waist.😂

Not weird at all, I used this for a late night sketch to help me get sleepy. Thanks! :) (Hunter’s lil waist is often on my mind too lol)