@doctorhazama - Tumblr Blog

“Medicine cures diseases, but only doctors can cure patients.” – Carl Jung.

// looking for mutuals!

rules | about

#black jack #anime rp #manga rp #rp promo #roleplay promo #roleplay

// hey guys im still here. ive had health issues arise so i havent been active. ill respond to my asks when i can!!!

KIRIKOSENSEI ⬩ ⬩ ⬩ indie, canon-divergent and low-activity of the genius surgeon and the Reaper's Avatar ── .✦ Doctor Kiriko. ⬩ ⬩ ⬩ 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘 ﹠ 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙

#* //𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓿𝓮 → ⸢ promo ⸥

egomassacre

#* // 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 → ⸢ me ⸥

dejiko-chan-nyo

Black Jack (1973) — Tezuka Osamu

#* // 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 → ⸢ me ⸥

gentleward

#* // 𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 → ⸢ aes ⸥

manga-meow

#* // 𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 → ⸢ aes ⸥

kirikosensei

004. a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .

⬩ ⬩ ⬩ 𝕾𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉. The harsh street lamp light bounced off each flake. Wailing still rung in his ears. The sound of grieving children huddled over their father — lifeless, serene. A pale sheen had frosted his skin, the remaining evidence of a painful battle against death. We could have prevented that. The Death Doctor sighed to himself alone, opting for restraint this time.

⠀⠀⠀"Good work, Doctor."

⠀⠀⠀Black Jack stewed beside him, lost in thought and maybe hopefully some sort of regret. Kiriko's cigarette case felt frigid even through his thick leather gloves. End-stage nephritis; three failed transplants, years spent in agony, countless invasive procedures. He took a cigarette to his lips. The patient's tormented groaning replayed in his mind. I don't know what he was expecting.

⠀⠀⠀Kiriko's gaze fell upon the surgeon's shoulders. Snowflakes dissolved into black wool fibers. He resisted the urge to brush off the rest. A lighter sparked twice. Smoke convened with the snow, a familiar dance between black and white.

⠀⠀⠀"I wasn't being facetious, in case that wasn't clear." He nudged Black Jack with his elbow.

doctorhazama

The doctor felt the snow kiss his face—cold, fleeting, gone in an instant. It melted the moment it touched him, as if the fury simmering beneath his skin was too fierce to let anything remain. He couldn't accept this. He wouldn't.

He should’ve known better. The human body could be a marvel of strength—and a monument to fragility. That bitter truth gnawed at him.

It made his blood boil. He wasn’t someone who folded, who failed. He had done everything right—every incision, every stitch, every step executed with unwavering precision. And still, all three transplants had failed. Black Jack’s fingers tightened around the handle of his briefcase until his knuckles turned white. The rage was silent, but it screamed inside him. There was nothing more he could do.

Kiriko stood beside him, offering quiet support. It felt like a slap. Black Jack didn’t need pity, and he certainly didn’t need validation from him. Without looking, he spoke—his voice low, thick with venom.

“I don’t need your pity,” he growled.

#kirikosensei

emzycore

???

Pourquoi tu me regardes pas?

#* // 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 → ⸢ me ⸥

youronlydrpepper

Black Jack! ♣️✨❤️

#* // 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 → ⸢ me ⸥

pucksources

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌. 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚎

here is a small collection of tiny detail questions to ask about someone’s muse, some questions have multiple parts! feel free to add/change as you see fit <3 potentially nsfw. if a multi, please specify the muse!!

how long are their nails? do they paint them?

what is their hair texture? do they take good care of it, if they have any?

what are their favorite fabrics? least favorite?

what is their skin texture?

do they have a skincare routine? if yes, how involved is it?

what does their sweat smell like?

body hair; do they crop anything short? let it grow naturally? wax?

name two or more things your muse can’t leave the house without.

does your muse usually carry around a bag/purse/backpack? or do they prefer to keep only what they can fit in their pockets?

do they get hay fever? if so, how bad?

do they have any sensitivities to smells?

do they have any sensitivities to tastes?

do they have any sensitivities to textures?

is there a sound that drives them crazy? ( like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, styrofoam rubbing together, cardboard boxes, etc?)

what is their favorite genre of music?

what is their favorite flavor in food?

what is their favorite scent? (candles, perfume, food, etc.)

what household chore do they absolutely hate doing?

what household chore do they like doing?

do they have a “comfort outfit” or a go to look? if so, why did they choose those pieces?

in a relationship, are they the ones stealing their partners’ clothing? or are they the ones having their clothes stolen?

do they have bumper stickers on their car? if so, what kind? (bonus points for pictures!)

do they have a comfort movie? book? tv show?

if forced to wear socks, what kind do they prefer? ( ankle? crew cut? patterned? plain? )

what do they do when they are deep in thought? ( bite their nails? twirl a strand of hair? lick their lips? just look off to the side? nothing too exciting because this is a highly specific question? lol )

what is their favorite snack food?

what do their hair care products smell like?

how dedicated are they to their favorite color? must everything they own be that color? do they even care that much?

what does their perfume smell like, and how much do they put on?

do they prefer the overhead lights on in their house? or are they an ambient lighting/holiday lights around the house kinda person?

#* // 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓶𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓮 → ⸢ memes ⸥#// *jingles keys* hey you wanna send me one of these

drafthearse

Bones of chest, neck and head on a wooden base, with heart and blood vessels sprayed on in wax. University Museum Utrecht.

#* // 𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 → ⸢ aes ⸥

godsbestvictim

#* // 𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 → ⸢ aes ⸥

002. a cabin in the middle of the woods . - @dorobou

@dorobou

This was where they met: a weather-beaten cabin tucked deep within the woods. It was small, aged, and carried the faint, persistent scent of rot—like something long forgotten by time. Secluded, yes, but inconveniently so. Still, neither of them seemed to mind. As long as the job got done, the setting hardly mattered.

They were both criminals, though of different persuasions. Their vices didn’t align, but one thing did: a shared love of money. Cold, hard, untraceable.

Standing across from him was Arsène Lupin Troi—the infamous gentleman thief, elegant even now, though disheveled. He clutched a blood-streaked bandage pressed tightly to his shoulder. Sloppy. That wasn’t like him. Something must’ve gone sideways during the last heist. The doctor assumed, not unreasonably, that the police might be trailing close behind. If that was the case, the price of his services would go up—hazard pay.