#.... lol

[tearful-thing]

if you mean any character at all perhaps a Yesod. for. reasons.

i wanted to do more doodles but i struggle in deciding poses. she ye on my sod until i

@consumer-of-m0ss (1/3)

[a-crow-is-white]

not his name

[i-probably-sleep-too-much]

haven’t had a life ruining homoerotic friendship in a while, anyone wanna step up

[mxihi]

I know the apocalypse is happening but I got called into my shift at the food truck, sorry

[utamonogatari]

新機動戦記ガンダムW (Mobile Suit Gundam Wing) 1995

[philtstone]

anne/gil parent au!, enemies to lovers, "why are you awake so late?”

It’s much easier to do this now, here, in the small hours of a night where she’s invited him up for coffee (symbolic -- he knows Anne only ever drinks tea) to discuss an upcoming teachers’ strike, and in this new, different sphere of existence where they are no longer quite so solidly in the category of enemies.

Friends, maybe.

Gilbert watches the way her simple string of pearls -- the one he’s never seen her without -- moves against her neck as she puts water to boil for tea, and swallows down any other words that come to mind.

“How strong do you take it?” Anne asks.

“Oh -- however you like.”

She purses her lips -- amused -- in a way that means she knows he’s being deliberately amenable. I’m not the one with opinions on everything, Gilbert wants to say, but he’s not sure they’re close enough yet that she wouldn’t mistake the fondness for criticism.

But perhaps she’s not wholly to blame for that reflex.

“Anne?”

“Oh --” She whirls around. “Dora. Dora. What are you doing up so late?”

The little girl shuffles in the doorway that leads from the main room to the bedrooms. Two bedrooms, in this tiny little flat -- and she somehow affords it all on her teachers’ salary. 

“I can’t sleep,” whispers Dora, her usually small voice smaller and even more demure at this late hour. Her bleary nine-year-old eyes move from Anne to land on Gilbert, sat just a bit awkwardly at the kitchen table.

“Would you like to sit with us a while?” asks Anne, in that gentle, earnest, serious way she has with children. Absurdly, Gilbert feels the sudden urge to take her up into his arms and never let go.

“Marilla wouldn’t do that,” says Dora, frowning rather adorably. 

(Gilbert can’t be sure -- he’s busy tamping down the urge.)

“Well, Marilla’s gone to Charlottetown for the eye doctor this weekend,” says Anne, smiling. “You can come sit with me, just beside Gilbert. I’m sure he won’t mind sharing his tea.”

“No, of course not,” says Gilbert, scrambling to pull himself together; it really is late. “Miss Dora,” he adds seriously, nodding his head in a funny approximation of a bow as Dora shuffles forward shyly, soft blonde pigtails pillow-mussed, her little person decked out in a rather uncharacteristic set of sparkly Frozen-themed pajamas.

At his bow, she gives a startled, sleepy grin, then hides her face behind the tea cups.

When he looks up again, Anne is staring at him with a peculiar sort of expression. 

Then it’s gone.

“The strike,” she says, pulling her own cup of tea towards her. Gilbert sighs.

“The strike,” he agrees.

[mermaidsirennikita]

If Star Wars fans end up being shocked and disappointed by what JJ Abrams did I just... his first contribution was literally nothing more than a redux of A New Hope? That people largely enjoy because of nostalgia goggles?