Never forget that sugisaki once made a mini comic about how dark’s biggest complaint was that his dick is too big for daisuke’s pants

D・N・ANGEL Links Document Updated!

Link to new DNANGEL chapters and other translations

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VPBlJowVXeq4FbNgm1qiMX1G0DWxsR8kmKQJyCIqmdo/edit?usp=sharing

Thank you everyone who added links and helped keep the document updated! The document is now updated through this month, May 2020! Have made it so now anyone can edit the document to keep it updated :) 

gaianforged‌:

luanna801 replied to your post: u m m

It says so much about our fandom that 34 notes is like ‘WHOAAAA WHAT A POPULAR POST’

I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING HONESTLY BUT Also it's just nice to see cause it means interest is growing again, and it makes me so happy honestly! I will shitpost all day long if that's what the fandom needs to grow

u m m

Well, it certainly seems deserted. Now if only he could remember what he came here for.

Artless:: Got all excited when my notifs said someone followed this hollow echoing mess so I came to check and let me tell you the awful fiasco earlier this month has not affected the goddamn pornbots at all so uh

Anyway now that I'm here I hope everyone had a wonderful christmas or at least a nice relaxing tuesday, here's to grinding what's left of 2018 into dust so we can kick next year's ass <3

whispers who wants to come poke a boy while I chip at drafts and ignore the election results in an attempt to not s c r e a m

gaianforged‌:

The smirk all but vanishes from his face. The force put into the shove wasn’t really enough to send him very far back, but surprise keeps him stumbling a few steps more before he catches himself. It’s Zidane’s turn to stare and gape, though it hardly comes with silence. Stuttered half-words are all he can manage for the first few seconds – until he catches a glimpse of the flush growing across an otherwise pale face.

❛ What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?! ❜

It was a weakness. Satoshi tried so hard not to show weaknesses like this, which of course meant he had to press twice as hard to get an answer.

❛ If it’s just some stupid slang, then why didn’t you just tell me, huh? ❜

Teeth grit as the boy’s thin jaw visibly tightens, the dark eyes smoky as he pulls in a breath to blister the older boy- only to let it out in a long rush as thin fingers come up to rake through the lank hair. 

Stupid, stupid- it’s his own fault for letting Zidane get under his skin for something so trivial. Another deep breath as he smooths the anger from his face, as deliberate as an ace laid on a table; thin shoulders settle with the same controlled intent. Anger no longer burns in him with the same insidious fire as before, but old habits die hard, and he clamps down the gut-churning roil of emotion with the urgency of long instinct. He can’t hurt Zidane- not over something so petty.                                        (Not again.)

“...Because you’re making more out of this than there is, Zidane. Again. It’s a stupid joke someone made at my expense, alright? Can we drop it now?                                                                                                 Please?”

Manhandling symbol starters

Send one for your muse to…

★ - drag my muse by the arm ⁂ - grab my muse by the front of their shirt, possibly shoving them back ✱ - take my muse by the hips to carefully move them out of their way ➜ - smack my muse upside the head ⌧ - grip my muse by the back of the neck © - put a hand on my muse’s back to steer them somewhere ✂ - point sternly at a chair and tell my muse to sit down ✉ - push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed (perhaps involving illness, injury, or sleep deprivation) ☛ - press a finger to my muse’s lips to shut them up ♚ - put a hand on my muse’s knee while sitting next to them, to discourage them from standing up ♧ - slap my muse’s hand away from something they shouldn’t touch ♦ - grab my muse’s hair and yank ♤ - slam a door shut before my muse can leave the room ♞ - physically pick my muse up and carry them ♭ - grip my muse’s jaw to make them look yours in the eye ♨ - rub my muse down with a sponge/wet cloth  ☀ - pin my muse with their arms behind their back ☠ - slam my muse into a wall ☾ - wrestle/pin my muse to the ground

Add as much or as little context as you’d like!

fuckyeahkosukeniwa‌:

As the boy stepped forward, rigid as a soldier, Kosuke’s flush receded, leaving only a vague chill in the presence of the two Hiwataris.  Perhaps he had pushed too far this time.  His rushed words, seemingly suspended in the air by their sheer audacity, were never given the chance to fall flat though.

And he’d never heard the stoic teen utter so many words before !  The opportunity to hear more stood willingly before him.  Another chance to speak again with Daisuke’s Hikari friend, this time free from the watchful eyes and ears and cameras of family members.

Was it wise to leave the father to his machinations ?  Was it wiser to steal away the son to a safer area ?

“ Is that so ?  Sorry for wasting your break, Hiwatari-san… ”  He rubbed the back of his neck, usual shy smile not far from spreading across his face and matching the other man’s.  Maybe not sorry for rushing in with accusations in the first place, nor for insisting on staying, nor for  −             well, regardless, this Niwa still had a few manners left and no hard feelings for the Hikari’s family, feud or not.

“ We better leave you in peace now.  Enjoy your lunch ! ”

One quick and final bow, then he started his exit, taking with him a lingering knot of curiosity and worry for what truly lay beneath the shiny container.  But he was more curious and worried about the solemn boy anyway, Kosuke reminded himself with a slight shake of his head, and growing more eager to leave this awkward moment behind.

“ Lead the way, Satoshi-kun.  Where would you like to go ? ”

Not a moment of hesitation does he allow himself; the slightest sign of uncertainty would be enough of a gap for the Commander to exploit, and scuttle this whole audacious farce. Only a single glance back, into eyes of such a deep brown they seem black, like the pupils have expanded to consume any hint of human expression- the flat, serpentine gaze above the seemingly warm, wide smile catching and holding him, pinned in place as the older Niwa moves away. It’s just for a moment, before the gaze is hooded again, vanishing behind occluded lenses as he sketches a careless, teasing salute and turns away; a final glint from the box in his hands escaping before the door to his office clicks softly shut, and he’s gone.

It’s quick, like most of the unspoken exchanges between them; to an outsider it might seem only that the young Hikari hesitated a moment before shaking his head and striding to catch up with the spiky-haired man who calls for him. 

Once out of sight of the museum, though, the cool confidence of earlier seems to slowly leak from the boy’s demeanor, leaving only a withdrawn, stick-thin teenager to pace alongside the older man in increasingly awkward silence, his innocent question hanging ever longer in the air as they make their way out of the museum district.

It was this way last time too- he can’t fathom this man, this outsider who seems to know so much of his family’s tangled history. Something in his manner- the strange soft sympathy that he seemed to radiate like heat from a fire- seemed to dissolve the cold defensive walls he’d always thought so strong. (Maybe this is where his son gets it. Satoshi has never understood how a Niwa came by such kindness.)

“...We can stop here if you’d like, sir.”

Here is a small, slightly-shabby noodle house, awkwardly indicated by a wave of a pale hand; one of the boy’s favorites, because it stays open all night. He’s lost count of how many times he’s dragged himself here to eat after a heist, nursing bruises, and once a broken wrist, a memento of a particularly spectacular miscalculation.

“And I-... apologize, for interrupting your conversation earlier. It just- seemed like an unwise topic to pursue. The Commander- my father can get unpleasant over his... collections.”

Ah,       What an amazing feeling, to set such a thing free into the world.

Even watching the chaos that follows in its wake, like the ripples around a stone flung into still water, has its own seductive appeal.

He really shouldn’t have, he knows; freedom from one curse doesn’t preclude forgiveness for another. But sometimes, sometimes, he simply can’t help himself.

He is a {H i k a r i}, after all.

EVERY TIME I THINK I’M FREE IT COMES BACK TO HAUNT ME

gaianforged‌:

❛ Hey, come on! I know it means something! Why won’t you tell me? ❜

Then it dawns on him. A grin begins to slowly creep onto his face and he leans even closer, voice dropping back down to a reasonable volume with a new teasing tone.

❛ Ohh, I get it. It’s something bad, huh? It’s like that, isn’t it? And here I thought you were so uptight! ❜ 

It’s not often that someone manages to catch him so unawares as to deprive him of speech completely, but so it is here and now. From annoyed discomfort his expression flashes into confusion and then immediately into something between disgust and mortification, the blue eyes staring up at their lighter counterparts with a still-unusual openness as his mouth opens and shuts on a response he can’t quite articulate-

-Before a pale hand plants itself on a tanned shoulder and shoves the thief away from the flustered stain of color that’s spreading rapidly across the thin features.

“Don’t be disgusting! It’s not like anything- it’s nothing like that! It’s just some gaijin slang, you idiot! What’s wrong wth you?!”

💃 – dancing with them

Something mumbled barely reaches his ear, and he’s so preoccupied with deciphering the words that he doesn’t notice the movement until it happens. Teal eyes widen as his hands are slowly taken in the boy’s own, and he allows himself to be lifted from his seat and brought to the center of the room.

There’s a slight tremble in Satoshi’s hands, but he says nothing–he’s curious, he’s wondering, he’s watching and waiting to see what the other has planned, and he wouldn’t ruin it for the world–and he gives both hands a gentle squeeze. That seems to be enough, for in the next moment one hand is released and shaky fingers just barely brush against his arm until they find a home at his back, and there’s a pause that encourages Zidane to mimic the motion. They stand like this for a few moments and he waits, a smile starting to form on his lips.

It’s less dancing than it is awkward swaying from side-to-side, less graceful steps than careful shuffling against the floor. In all its unsteady demeanor, it’s methodical – perhaps too much so for the task at hand, but it’s so like the boy, and it’s something that he lets continue on for a short time.

In the end Zidane can’t contain his laughter and his head turns to bury as many of the chuckles into his own shoulder as he can. A pointed glare greets him when he recovers, and his grin only widens.

❛ Here – let me lead. ❜

His hand slides down from the boy’s shoulder until it reaches the small of his back, and so much more assured in this posture he was that it even dares to curl around his partner’s waist. He waits patiently for Satoshi to readjust before very slowly taking the first few steps and waiting until they’re mirrored. Slow, small, methodical; just as they had started before, but steady. The smile he’s been wearing slackens into something softer as memories of teaching prospective Tantalus members how to dance start seeping in. It’s nostalgic and gentle – it’s home.

A small thump against his chest makes the memories dissipate, and instinctively his arms move to wrap around Satoshi and keep him from falling. Of course he should have been paying more attention – focus was the first thing the new recruits were taught, and here was the teacher breaking that rule and letting his own student trip. ( It’s a good thing Baku wasn’t here to see that. )

❛ Sorry! Are you okay? ❜ He hears the boy’s affirmation partially mumbled into his chest and lets out a small sigh. But relief didn’t come with release; instead, Zidane found his arms tightening and pulling Satoshi even closer. There’s a certain comfort he finds in the embrace, and he doesn’t want to let go, not now, not ever, and blond head nestles itself on thin shoulders. 

After a few moments, it occurs to him that they were dancing. Unwilling as he was to move at all, he didn’t want tripping and falling to be the last memory that the boy had of actually dancing – and so he compromises by gently rocking them both back and forth to some imaginary tune, never once lifting his head or arms from their place on the other.

It’s faintly warm. It’s close. It’s home.

touch meme / @bleak-resilience