Dominance, submission

TYPECAST: First Kanaphan edition

journalists underestimate the magnitude of my addiction and how far i'll go for the bit

Look, I just think it's VERY funny and on brand that I thought of an entire premise of colorful characters for half the cast and immediately drew the only one void of color.

tagged by the fabulous @cordiallyfuturedwight and @jimin-gaon <33 here's the december list

apologies for being late again new year same me: @aprylynn @jiminsproof @pauls-mccharmly @thvinyl @visionsofgideontheninth @btsbs @kimchokejin @jihopesjoint @eoieopda @monismochi 💜 and anyone else who feels so inclined MWAH p.s. please do tag me anyway if you've already done it

Okay y'all I'm gonna sleep but!! What if I talked about Tuana's prev incarnation under the cut first! Ew and Shb spoilers also That Theatre Company raid spoilers i forgot their name

So. The prev reincarnation was a Garlean playwright named Vergilius (...yeah) and he was Solus' favorite playwright. To the point he knows all of his works from the memory. And when he was still legatus, they actually sent each other a couple of letters over their shared love for the theatre but they've never met because Vergilius was a very private and anonymous person. The letters ceased to be once Solus started to turn Garlemald into a despicable invasion force and Vergilius was a critic especially after witnessing the horrors Garlean army has brought on the lands they've conquered. He continued to write but stayed anonymous. But after a while he knew he needed to get out. To leave.

And Solus still wanted to meet him. And Vergilius was about to accept if only to say that he'll leave the empire, but Hydaelyn was like "Hear, Feel, Think... And ABSOLUTELY DON'T MEET HIM. BETTER YET, RUN. LEAVE THIS PLACE." and so he did and wrote a letter to Solus. It was actually a small play but the message was very clear. Vergilius had no intention to live in a paradise forged with blood. Before he left, he gave many of his plays to Raxentales which were friends of his.

Vergilius roamed the world and met many people. One of them was Hamon Holyfist. They became friends and he gifted him several art works he himself drew. Some of them featured their own faces.

Jury is still out if I should make his death a tragedy but he died and Tuana was born.

Tuana who loved theatre and Vergilius' plays more than anything. Tuana who got adopted by Master Hamon eventually. Tuana who recieved one of those sketches that featured Hamon and Vergilius as a bday gift. Tuana who liked the art style because it was kinda like hers but also kinda different.

And of course. Of course i need to mention while Tuana doesn't look like Azem, Vergilius ABSOLUTELY did.

And once a certain two theatre enthusiasts met on the First... It was inevitable they would talk about their favorite playwright. It was inevitable Tuana would show him that sketch. It was inevitable he would recognize the face and the similarities in the art style. To think he has thought Azem's soul was gone all these years until he met Tuana. Because he's searched and searched and searched but could never find her soul. But her reincarnation was right there. Under his nose. They wrote letters to each other. And he didn't know. Then he left just as Azem did because he was not interested in living in a paradise forged with blood.

And now she's echoing that sentiment.

1 or 34 for the master pls thank u :333!!!!!!!

extremely funny to me how quickly this got away from me alsjfjfkskkdj. i started thinking too hard about okay but Who could bring the master to his knees. the doctor? hey wait remember that time ten had a god complex for a little bit. what if he got worse about that, actually. and then it just kept going-

This is not the Doctor whose arms he died in.

Oh, the face is the same, but the eyes are all wrong. Still ancient, as old as the Master is, but they’ve gone hard like bone. He doesn’t spare a glance around the room at the cowering scientists or the politician that wanted to use the Master, who gave him such easy access to a perfect plan before the Doctor landed his TARDIS on top of the machine and crushed it. Only to one human, the one assigned to hold the Master’s leash.

“Give him to me,” he says. The Master curls his fingers. A step closer, and he’ll let the Doctor taste lightning again.

His assigned guard all but throws the leash at the Doctor. (They’re all terrified. Something’s… wrong, there. Not a misplaced sympathy of his own — let them fear their betters — but it’s the Doctor, it’s how he ignores them, how he holds himself like. He looks every bit a Time Lord.) The Doctor catches it, turns it in his hand, and yanks. The Master feigns a stumble, energy surging through his skin and bones, rattling up dangerously until-

The Doctor pulls harder, knocking him off-balance and to his knees. He twists, but there’s a hand in his hair, painfully dragging his head back until his neck screams in pain. The pinprick of a needle is barely a whisper above it, but the sluggish cold that spreads from the injection spreads no matter how he struggles. The Doctor grips his hair tighter.

“There. You’re stabilized,” the Doctor notes. The Master pants, his limbs growing heavier. “And sedated. You have to be so difficult.” For the first time, the Doctor’s voice falters from the detached tone he’s taken so far. It’s harsh, as thick with accusation as with self-reproach, “I asked you to come with me.” The Master is having a hard time ordering his thoughts. They stretch too far for him to see the whole of them, his sense of time and of himself going numb.

“How?” he lands on, more important than any other question. The Doctor’s grip begins to loosen, letting his head sag forward. His body wants to follow. His vision of the floor he’s kneeling on blurs.

“You were living on borrowed time,” the Doctor says. “I have all of it to work with at my fingertips. When I saw you again…” There’s the absent trail of fingers through his hair. The Master recoils from it instinctively, though that sends him further down, barely holding himself up on his hands. The collar draws tight around his throat when he falls, forcing out a gasp, but it loosens again. “It only took a few decades. I’d have given more to you.” The Master lifts his hand, slowly, and forces it out in front of him. It’s humiliating to crawl, but his limbs can barely keep his weight. He barely moves himself forward a few inches before the collar is a hard barrier against his breath again, and this time, he doesn’t receive any slack. He has to scoot back towards the Doctor.

“You’re going to live,” the Doctor says, without mercy. He steps around the Master, the leash dragging along the floor with a mocking hiss.

“And the rest of you,” the Doctor’s voice grows louder. It becomes a proclamation, a warning. “I won’t hurt you. It’s a stupid and dangerous thing you were doing, but that’s… that’s what you love most, humans. Stupid, dangerous things.” Where’s the sickening fondness, the Master wonders. Where’s the disappointment, even, in his favorite pet species? All he can hear in the Doctor’s voice is carefully controlled anger. “I’m not going to hurt you for putting the whole world in danger,” he repeats, as though he’s reminding himself of that fact, and then, the Master can hear him smile. Regeneration after regeneration, and the Doctor always talks different when he’s smiling. “I don’t have to. If you ever try anything like this again, you won’t have existed in the first place to come up with the idea. I will take you out of this timeline.” He pauses. “Or maybe I’ll just make you kinder. Buy you a coffee on a bad day and change your life forever. You can exist, just not like this.”

He sounds powerful, and worse, he doesn’t sound scared of it. The Master uses the last of his strength to drag himself back up to his knees. The Doctor is surveying the room, memorizing faces, lost in thought about time to tamper with. The Master puts a hand around his own leash. He tries to pull.

All that does is get the Doctor’s attention.

His eyes. The Master is afraid of his eyes.

“Sorry,” the Doctor says, “I’m not going to carry you. You’ll have to crawl.” The Master is searching for anything familiar in him. And what there is, what little there is that he recognizes, is only because of how easily he could have seen it in a mirror instead. “If you pass out, I’ll drag you,” the Doctor offers like a compromise. He turns away from the Master, snaps his fingers, and the doors to the TARDIS burst open.

He takes the Master prisoner. He saves the world. They are both, after all, the Doctor’s alone to decide what to do with.

[whump prompt]

new chap new chap new chap 👻🎉

I wonder how many tags i can add on to this

i have the exact location where theyre sitting in mind however its hard to convey in shitty quality comics

first comic btw sorry i forgot to... add that

baby's first dress

Why don’t you go shopping with your weird clone and maybe you’ll feel better

ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

the ebb and flow of creativity is literally insane for months i will have to talk myself off a ledge daily because trying to write anything is excruciating and i feel like i’ll just be burned out forever, the next day it’s *sleeps for two hours* well thats probably enough right tIME FOR CHICKENS!!!!!!!

I'd like to make use of tumblr's poll features but our podcast niche is so specific that any related polls would just be shit like "which 1989 deep sea monster movie is the best?" which like 3 people would want to answer and they'd probably never see it because no-one would reblog it

Anyway -