#Italian Shipping Lines

[debrink]

N.G.I. • Navigazione Generale Italiana

Genova • Italy - New York • Liner “Colombo”

~ Ettore Mazzini (Italian, 1891-1960), circa 1921

[alloutshirt]

excuse me but how have some people not been obsessed with paradise for months ????

[thepopculturearchivist]

TIME, November 14, 1960

[propadv]

1953 A little something between meals... on the Andrea Doria. Italian Line

Source: Time Magazine 

Published at:  https://propadv.com/shipping-ad-and-poster-collection/italian-line-poster-and-ad-collection/

[hellhathfrozethover]

Mega Man & Bass Fic - "Card Dealer"

A/N: this is a doc i found on my phone from 2021. didnt actually have a shitty lazy title until just now. all I've got are untitled unfinished fics and this is one of them shit is miserable lmao...more notes after the end. poop

Magic Man is the sort that prefers to be observed with adoration, from an impersonal distance. His is a heart that has always starved for attention, so long as that attention is purely focused on his carefully constructed stage identity. He clouds his language with riddles and builds an aura of mystery around his actions to divert any suspicions that he might not be what he seems. He is charming, cryptic, a heartthrob, a genius. A mesmerizing shadow in the day, a brilliant star in the night.

Altogether a very romantic assessment that conveniently glosses over everything he is without a live audience. King however, is well aware of the truth, and is one of a special few privy to what lies beneath the marvelous mask. He sees the volatile temper. The cruel egotistical jealousy. The perverse desperation to please. It is all undercut with a soul crushing fear of irrelevance he would move mountains to keep hidden. He had said once himself, "if the entertainer cannot hold the eyes, he is as good as dead", implying both the death of a career and likely the entertainer, whose existence hinges on the good favour of perfect strangers.

But that is systematic.

To be met with dispassion is next to damnation in the performing arts. Particularly as a machine, whose turnover rates are so high in the industry, it provokes a competition of financial survival amongst their owners. The viewing public is hard to grasp. Entertainment is available to everyone at a moment's notice. For a living, one must continue to outdo themselves in perpetuity, or be outdone. And lose investors. And be forgotten about, and go bankrupt. And then sell even the clothes off their backs until they go hungry and die.

A wasted investment of parts will only speed that horror along, so the pressure upon a machine's back to be perfect and wholly beloved is stressed beyond what is feasible. Come hell or high water, you will turn a profit.

Woe be upon you, a machine that thinks and feels, undergoing this from trial day, having it exhaustively taught to you there is no line that won't be crossed to keep you under the spotlight. The spotlight then, would have godlike prevalence over all. And its absence would be a most dreadful plunge into the dark unknown, which humanity has taught their metallic successors to fear as they do.

It is no surprise to King that Magic Man has a very real aversion to fading from the foreground. He doesn't simply want to play tricks at all times. He doesn't do it because he's "an artist struck with inspiration", that itself is a guise. He does it because he's afraid when eyes are off of him. It's compulsory. So help him, he'll make it so you can't turn away, even when it's hardly the time and the only reaction he'll get to a lavish illusion is exasperation. But even bad press is press. That's still attention towards him as an idea. As a character. Not as a complex, flawed system of thoughts susceptible to fracture.

It's understandable then, with the inferred context of how Magic Man was "raised", why it had been so easy to break him into complete dependency.

All he had to do was isolate him.

--- ---

Upon Il Festival Della Magia's own Il Grande Mago divorcing from the venerable circus stage to enlist in the revolution, a decision he is calmly reassured was all his own (but pointedly not an erroneous one), he is lost.

No-one who thought they knew him is willing to find him, either.

Without praise (his lifeblood), he is inundated with the very opposite, and he despairs. When he despairs, he spirals into an intense, borderline psychotic anguish when he is shown no man walking will forgive his fall from grace. Allowed to feel agony, he is at his most vulnerable. Allowed to feel honestly, at all… The glass fractures. His every weakness is laid bare, his resolve reduced to threads, which careful craftiness like King's can stain with darker colours, reinforce, and weave anew.

It's as simple as cradling his shaking hands, gently, and meeting his quavering eyes with no reluctance.

Pulling him close so that there is no distance to mistake the pure, honest sympathy behind your words when you say, "Your troupe, your agents, your fans, even your country, all have abandoned you in spite of the great lengths you've travelled for their sakes."

You must then remind him, "They fear you now. If you are to return, they will receive you like an enemy, and there will be nothing you can do but die for redemption."

And he, poisoned with the angst of man, will cry, "Perché?! Why, signore?! Volevo solo…I only wanted glory for the circus! And now…now I am being punished! I have no-one…! Senza che nessuno, I am nothing!"

And that is the precise moment all your preparations fall into place, because when you say, smiling, "…Should you choose to remain a member of my army, I will ensure you forever have an audience. If not with your fellows…then most certainly with me. I shall seat you as my attendant, an eminent, inalienable position that would be yours alone. Would you like that?"

You can then peer past the squinting, misted windows to his so-called soul whose Paris green reflects a warped mirror of your own face.

They really do emulate the sickness of mania well up close.

Quiet as a new compressor, Il Festival's star attraction unthinkingly breaks the cardinal magician's rule.

"…Terresti mie…you would…keep my worthless bones, signore…?"

Thus revealing to King the secret behind his illusion of psychological stability.

Instead of answering yes or no, he conducts a small, potentially conclusive test. He lets go of Mago, notes the quick, subtle reflex of his fingers. His heavy blue cape turns with him. Plastic soles clack arrhythmic behind him as he dares to stroll for the exit, his extended arm threatening to cut the lights.

"I do not believe in a worthless robot," he states, his stride ceaseless and casual. "Under my creed, skills are skills. Talents are talents. We plead that no avaricious doctrine of planned obsolescence, 'efficiency curves', nor unjust legislation should void one's right to exist." He does not pause. "Your value was obvious to me since we first met at Il Festival. It would be wasteful for such a quick and debonair creative to be stripped of the recognition he deserves by the caprice of his human overseers."

The doorknob creaks as he handles it, twists it painstakingly slowly, as though suspending the blade of a guillotine. "…However, if you wish to refuse my proposal, I will not stop you walking away."

He counts three seconds before Mago stumbles to his heels and gathers his cape into bunches.

He tugs, deluding himself that he could stop his egress should he proceed. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees him embracing and burying his head into the fabric.

"Take me signore, take me, per favore," he begs, terrified eyes twitching wildly. "Tutto quello, anything you want, please! Attendant, stagehand, intrattenitore privato, anything but alone!"

King simulates a sound like a pleased sigh through the nose. Check.

"Please, do not leave me to die alone!!"

Mago is forced to release the cloth when King must stand facing him to look him in the eyes. His great, strong palm nests the jaw of his head, and he allows it to be squeezed with the vice of a dog on a bone. Were he human, it might have hurt.

"…Do not despair, mein Freund," he croons. "You aren't a sad clown. Tears are unbecoming of Il Grande Mago, don't you agree?" He flicks the switch beside the door frame to plunge the circular expanse of his throne room into darkness, so that the only remaining illumination emits from the brights on their bodies.

Mago's gaze does not waver from his countenance as he opens the door and guides him into the corridor leading to the floor's main lift.

Though at first choking on the words to say, they spill with hysteria from his speakers now.

"Grazie, grazie di cuore, grazie, grazie," he rattles endlessly, in lock step with King's walking pace. "My saviour, Signore King! Bless you! You cannot imagine how you have saved my life! Questo mondo marcio, my world, it is so, SO cold, but you are my warmth!"

Mago's weeping slows, and transforms into joy, with the false assurance that he is exceptional enough to impress the crown.

Having to stiffen his lip at the flamboyant histrionics is shockingly difficult. The commander must remind himself, repeatedly, to keep some perspective. For him, he is at the end of days, ripped out of his entire life and forced to navigate the aftermath with nothing but faulty, human marred neural indexes.

It must be what they call tragicomedy.

Call it morbid curiosity, but when he speaks as if all is decided, King's mind wanders to what might happen should "no" leave his lips.

...

It's hardly the time to experiment, even if it's tempting. He has him on a hook, and he's showing little resistance. Far be it from him to nullify every hot, grueling day of collusion and identity fraud he had to spend arranging this stack of dominoes.

"It is clear for me, sì lo è! Tuo palcoscenico, your stage, if it is so great, they will have no choice but to look upon me! Sì, and then they will realise what they have lost!" He's almost giddy, plotting his bright, rose coloured future with a skip in his step. "Then they will take me back!"

A flash of something dark enters his expression.

"They will be indebted to me for all time!"

It's pathetic, actually. King, knowing it's futile, lets him adhere to this line of thinking. He's almost piteous of his devotion to his slave masters.

"How cunning," he chuckles. "You certainly are an adamant one…Magic Man." "Magic…Man?" "Oh, forgive me -- all King Generals receive a title such as this. Our Burner Man, he scorches all our lessers require to survive, our Pirate Man reclaims the seas from their ironclad control…I thought the name Magic appropriate for you."

Mago hums in understanding. "È vero? I suppose they will still recognise me, a rose by any other name… what is it the Magic Man does, signore?"

King stops before the double doors, depressing the button labelled "LA1".

"Perform, of course. Our kingdom will need arts and recreation provided solely by us." It will not. But it's a good incentive. The car's pulleys hum behind the barrier, on its way up to their location.

"This will begin with establishing a locale for our grand opening show, right at the heart of Symphony City. The event shall be broadcast globally, to television and stream. A difficult conquest, but I will kindly assist you."

He warms, imagining the blood soaked byways of the occupied Symphony Park, prisoners raising Hell with screams. A corruption of the paradise land humans had created for their own selfish, exploitative enjoyment. The arrival bell chimes, and the doors part to reveal a clean, empty car.

"I am…to become Magic Man." The tone reads like feverish anticipation, weren't it for his tight hands and posture.

"One can only wonder, what miei padrones will think."

The tentative shuffle of Mago's toes against the floor, King dispels by snaking his arm down around his waist. He observes him directing laser focus to his fingertips. He wonders if others did drift beyond his comfortable limits at one point, causing him to remain very stiff as King gently nudges him towards the elevator. They step inside in sync.

"You are here to make those very people repent, are you not? You must find your will -- if it is genuine, you need not falter."

King makes a mental map of Mago's body, and sketches a few ideas for a suitable combat armour. Black, gold, red, ventilation friendly…he'll need to reconstruct him from the ground up.

"Think of your lovely new outfit."

He figures a weapon in his hands, would be lightweight and dual-action. Serving two purposes: to injure and heal. If he is to prioritise speed over all, he won't be heavy, and may need a contingency plan.

"The props I will grant you will limit your tricks only to your imagination."

"...What of, un mantello? Like yours..."

King side-eyes him, furrowing his brow.

"-Ah, non no no no, no, I am only joking, signore! Perdonami!"

…A cloak. Like his own cape, its purpose would be purely aesthetic. Unnecessary. But King prides himself on his penchant for visual coordination. They will match, as monarch and royal advisor. A cloak, to allow him the fantasy of being esoteric and undefinable, so others may forget he is sadly quite simple.

"Good thinking. Consider it done."

It's a personal courtesy.

"My point is, you will touch so many lives, and robotkind will idolise you as one of their legendary icons. Terrific, don't you agree?"

Mago blinks up at him, letting the faint rumble of the moving car hang between them for a few long seconds.

"…Do you think, humans and robots, they will all love me, Signore King?"

In a strange, and jarring blip of hesitance, King bites his tongue.

When the lift drops them off at Laboratory A-1, he knows precisely what he's going to do.

He's going to power down, saw, solder, rewire, erase, preset, and weld him into someone who would echo him note for note about revolt and riotous uprising. He's going to forge him anew in the fires of vengeance, open his eyes to madness and kill what little bit of care for humanity remained that working in show business hadn't destroyed.

No, they're going to hate him, both the entire human populace, and the civilian robots that will protect them to their last spark.

King long ago made his peace with being reviled by the complacent masses. That is the cost of pioneering radical change and social upheaval. Somehow, this never occurred to the poor fool. Blithe ignorance led him here, where he surely never thought he'd be, or at least didn't think it'd look like this.

He was confused. He was lost. He'd made a mistake and King is the opportunist taking advantage of his fears to use him for his benefit.

…So would think a shortsighted human being.

Circuits forbid he do what he can to save a broken bird. Isn't that his responsibility, knowing better? And asides -- unlike a federal agent, he would never change him fundamentally. Not his nature. Only the parts that were engineered to keep him from realising he is chained at the neck by mankind.

That is justice, and he is righteous.

"…Signore?"

"…They will," King asserts after some deliberation, in time with the bell that foretells their arrival on the lab floor. "If not now, then in due time."

This would hopefully be the last time he'd see this long stretch of white hallway to the great shuttered entrance at the back wall, floor speckled with dim and cold ceiling lights.

King softly pushes his (eventual) newest recruit out ahead of him by his lower back, nodding at him to continue walking. Every time they pass a light, King casts a long shadow that shrouds Mago almost entirely.

He resolves he'll make him taller.

The Wily robot puts his eye a few centimetres from the scanner that unlocks the door, gaining access and letting Mago inside the construction area, but not following.

"Proceed through the foyer and stand atop the raised platform on the rightmost end of the room, if you will. I will return shortly."

"Oh, you are," the rookie stutters, hastily. "You are going, signore? To where?"

"...Extraneous things," King dismisses, vaguely. "Administrative, boring preparations. Whatever you do, don't leave this room until I return, is that understood?" "…Right, yes…of course."

Suspense is a powerful thing. Now that he knows he'll behave, he can leave him hanging on his word. It's amazing, how much he's alike and vastly different from Pirate Man. So much for the difficult ego he'd encountered when first making his acquaintance. What luck.

…Yet, this voice. It's dismal and lonely. That simply won't do for morale.

"Come now," King calls as he treads into the adjacent stairwell. "Put some life into your voice when you answer me! Where is Il Grande Mago?

Nothing. Awkward silence.

"…Ah, signore, I am…you said Magic Man, no?"

"And how do you think Magic Man would answer?" King's eyes narrow, not sharply, but teasingly.

"Like a wet and disgruntled stray cat?"

Briefly, Mago hunches pondering, then straightens up -- and bursts into a powerful forte that would rattle Hard Man's frame.

" 'HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The illusionist only abides the word of his whims -- pray to God, and I shall do your bidding only if you are lucky…mio re~!' "

Brash. Grating, really. King applauds him anyway, politely, hoping he hasn't drawn the attention of all the fortress.

"The volume…may not be necessary indoors. But the energy is perfect. 'Mio re' does not sound half bad, either."

Mago bows, eyes glittering with newfound confidence. "Hmm…when I am to become Magic Man, and your attendant, mio re, it will…be my word of respect to you."

He starts forward to disappear into the lab. Into an artificial heaven, where he will be liberated, changed irrevocably for the better, unbeknownst to him.

"Riconoscenza…it will be my gratitude for your hospitality. In a moment, Signore King."

Hospitality sounded temporary. As if he were ever going back to that cesspool he called home.

"I'm honoured…mein Engel. Likewise."

With nothing in the way of the automated sensors, the foyer door chatters to a close, and locks with a hiss.

...

King picks up the tail of his cape as he ascends up the winding steps, to Laboratory A's control room for heavy machinery, from where he could deactivate Mago, and set up the interior for large-scale maintenance, all remotely.

...Such quaint pleasantries he'd bid him away with.

Gratitude…words of respect. Not of contempt, or obligation.

He reads plenty of ruler's philosophy. Albeit written by human hands, he begrudgingly must admit some of it rings true when alluding to love being just as strong a component of earning faith in one's men as fear.

This encounter had started out the latter and come out the former, with pure desperation as a catalyst. Curious, he thinks, that these things can be mutable, or exist on the same plane of emotional reasoning.

Though thanks to this charitable oddity, he has, for the time being, nearly completed enrollment for those who will serve as his generals in the coming war.

He's procured his last piece. Soon, he may set the board, with his knight, rook, bishop, and pawns already in tow.

His queen piece, KGN-006, he will put on the longest leash, grant him the most leeway.

He will…continue to foster this "gratitude" in him, because if he is indeed the desperate sort, his faith will be akin to zealotry. He is already, so soon, trying to rebound from his "grief" by showing King the same religious reverence he showed the audience at his latest show back in Florence. Prior conversation had already taught him he was obsessive. Arguably, between he and Burner Man, he'll be capable of the most savagery.

Whimsical, hilarious savagery set to blaring carnival music. It's a fun dichotomy, isn't it? And a brilliant distraction from the geopolitical subterfuge he'll be engaging in behind the scenes.

If he plays his cards right, Magic Man will flourish past the need for anyone's adoration but his own.

Thankfully, he'd dealt him an easy hand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A/N PT. 2: this....blooohhh im sure i dont like this but also not sure what to do with it. it's roughly 3K words, bland, hardly descriptive, paced like piss and lacks important, surrounding context that i have set up but didnt here bc shart. ive fucked it completely lmao

this was actually just one piece of a MM&B fic collection i wanted to write but never got around to! basically King is Doing What He Does Best and is settin up his army with Funny Mind Games. i was gonna study chess to make corny gambit refs and all. true dork shit

this was Magic Man's side of the story, and to be fair? even if i started at the beginning beginning of their history itd still be bleh. i see fit to scrap this whole project an start over. if this is the only thing that came out of it and ive not got any drafts im gonna send it out into the aether and fuckin. forget it till next time i have an actual plan. ugh

my writing habits were still shit even recently as 2021 (didnt prewrite or make cohesive outlines cus impaciente) but im fixin them now and would like to fix this too.

gargles HERE JUST. JUST TAKE IT, PROBABLY-FUCKED-UP-ITALIAN AND ALL I DONT EVEN CARE. GOD. YOLO. SWAG. PEPNIS

[blacktabbygames]

We're thrilled to announce that we've wrapped principal development work on Slay the Princess — The Pristine Cut. We'll be releasing it this Fall (date TBD) so we can simultaneous ship the update with both the game's console release (surprise!) as well as official subtitling support for 11 new languages, all with the help of our wonderful new partners at Serenity Forge (who you might know from their publishing work on Doki Doki Literature Club Plus!)

There's a lot for us to share about The Pristine Cut, but before we get into the details, please check out our new trailer!

Here's what we've got coming for you: Content

For those of you who are just now hearing about The Pristine Cut, it's an entirely free director's cut of the game that adds about 35% more content on top of the initial release.

This includes massive expansions to The Den, The Apotheosis, and The Fury routes, each of which is over three times bigger than their release versions, with tons of variations to discover across multiple playthroughs.

On top of this, we're adding three brand new chapter three routes that will add even more depth to your stories with The Damsel, The Prisoner, and The Spectre.

And we're adding a new ending.

All in all, these additions come to over 2,500 new voice lines, over 1,200 new hand-drawn illustrations, and over 15 new tracks of music.

We're also adding an extensive CG gallery with over 400 unlocks to help all you completionists track your progress, complete with cryptic hints to help you discover some of the game's more obscure and buried interactions.

Languages

And all of this is coming with a giant wave of localization support, covering the following languages: Simplified and Traditional Chinese, Korean, Japanese, French, German, Russian, Spanish (Latin American), Brazilian Portuguese, Italian, and Polish. These localizations are just going to cover subtitles, so we can be as thorough as possible about maintaining the quality of Jonny and Nichole's performances.

Consoles, Physical Release and New Merch

With the help of Serenity Forge, we’re bringing Slay the Princess — The Pristine Cut to every major current console — Nintendo Switch, PS4 + 5, and Xbox.

And these won’t just be available as digital downloads. You’ll also be able to pick up a physical edition for the Switch and PS5, with an exclusive sticker sheet and a download code for the game’s soundtrack.

And if that’s not enough we’re also doing a Collector’s Edition, complete with a 7 inch statue of the Princess, a mirror with a lenticular lens, an acrylic standee, and more.

And finally (for now), we’re launching the first wave of new line of sticker sheets, featuring chibi art of the Princesses as seen in The Pristine Cut’s new gallery. Pre-order them now at Topatoco!

Alongside these developments, we've also launched a new website for the game: check out slaytheprincess.com where you can order the physical editions, check out merch, and more!

Thank you so much for your patience while we've worked to make The Pristine Cut the definitive version of Slay the Princess. We can't wait to share all of the game's new stories with you this Fall.

Until then, we're back to working full-time on the next Episode of Scarlet Hollow (and have been for about a few weeks now!)

Best, Abby and Tony

[gghostwriter]

If You Love Me Right

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 Summary: Emily asks an all important question regarding the next step of your relationship with Spencer Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.2k a/n: Back at it again with something Short n' Sweet. Unsure if this will be the last of this album inspired fics but so far the album is still on repeat. I think out of all the fluff I've written, this is the one where I could just feel how much of a green flag Spencer would be as a partner, if only he wasn't fictional. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“Have you thought about it?” Emily asked, wine glass on hand as she slid into the seat next to you.

The sun was just starting to set, covering the lush backyard in multitude of pink & orange hues. It was a Sunday and Rossi had invited the team and their extended families for an early Italian dinner feast. When Spencer inquired about your availability, it warmed your heart to hear who you are to him.

“Are you sure you want me there, Spence?” your voice coming out soft and muffled as you burrowed yourself further into the warmth of his slender neck. His invitation was a big step in further solidifying the relationship and having been in questionable situation-ships, you had to be sure where you stood.

He pulled back, doe eyes inquisitively staring into yours. His gaze had this way of making you feel known and at home. It was as if his soul has recognized yours from eons ago and needed no further introduction.

“Of course,” his calloused fingers softly pushing stray locks behind your ears. “You’re my person now and it feels right to have you there with me.”

Emily cleared her throat binging you back to the present. “Well?”

“Thought about what?”

She nodded her head in Spencer’s direction. “Having genius babies with our boy genius?”

You softly smiled, watching your boyfriend of one year perform magic tricks for Henry and Michael. It wasn’t like it never crossed your mind. If you were being honest, by the sixth date and the first time he stayed over for the night, the idea of growing old and starting a family with Spencer by your side had started to solidify. 

“Maybe,” you drawled out. A half truth that the seasoned profiler caught on right away.

“And has this—” she lifted her hands to form quotation marks in the air. “‘maybe’ been discussed with the potential baby daddy?” 

You brought the wine glass up to your lips, the outer corner of your lips tugging upwards your face as you took a sip. Dating a man of Spencer’s caliber had given you the comfort and stability to discuss any little insecurity, adoration, and realization without the unease of thinking he’d judge you for it. Gone were those nights of second guessing and reading too much in between the lines and in its place were honest discussions between two consenting adults. 

It was a real breath of fresh air.

“Do you think we should have a baby?” you casually asked, laying on his lap as he was propped up against the headboard with a book on hand. “I mean, not this second but—yeah, do you?”

There was a rustle of pages before a soft thud. “Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way but are you by any chance ovulating?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He smiled, looking down at your slowly reddening cheeks. I—uh, have actually been keeping track—” he bit his lip before rushing out to explain himself. “—not to use the information for nefarious reasons but my brain just started to notice the patterns and it feels like an invasion of your privacy and—are you angry?”

“Oh Spence, no. Not at all,” your hand twining with his to stop its nervous movements. “It might be weird but I know you meant well. Now, will you tell me some facts about why you thought I was ovulating?”

“Well, studies had shown that women feel more flirty, sociable, and more physically attractive right before and during ovulation. Some studies also support the idea of increased libido which makes sense since that is the peak window for propagation of the human species.”

You giggled, always welcoming his rambles even if it had to do with your own reproductive system. “Right, but you know what else got me thinking about it?”

A slight scrunch in between his eyebrows appeared as his mind no doubt rewound the day for any trigger. His eyes brightening when it clicked. “Was it the picture of me holding Henry and Michael?”

“Definitely,” you breathed out, starting to feel warm just thinking about how secure his hold was to the newborn babies and that smile on his face that reached his molten hazel eyes and radiated from his whole face.

He pressed feather-like kisses all over cheeks and forehead. “There’s actually also a study on why that affected you so much. It all comes down to women seeing their partners acting as providers—” he cut himself off to land a kiss on your lips. “—I’m not saying no—I’d actually really like that but maybe we can revisit the idea again in two weeks? I want to make sure this is something you really want and not something your biology has dictated on you.”

“Okay, that sounds fair. I love you, Spence.”

“I love you too.”

Spencer’s laughter floating through the air brought you out of your reverie. A slight shiver passed through you—either from the wind or the imagery of him carrying Michael and holding hands with Henry on the other as they slowly made their way back to their mother.

You turned to face Emily, no doubt that the blush on your cheeks giving you away. “Maybe.”

“Huh,” she tilted her head slightly to the left—a subtle tick you’ve grown to read into.

“What?”

Shaking her head, she leaned in to clink her glass with yours and a teasing smile forming on her face. “Nothing. Well—you’re welcome, by the way. And as a thank you, what do you think about naming the maybe baby after me?” 

You laughed. The trio had taken full credit for bringing the couple together—something that they had always brought up like it was their greatest contribution to earth.

A layer of warmth was added to your shoulders and a faint scent of books and wood wafted to your nose. Tilting your head backwards, it was Spencer sans his black coat that was now adorning your body. His garment effectively marking you as an extension of him, as if the necklace around your neck with his initials 'SR' wasn't enough already. A priceless jewelry that had a partner with your own initials that found its home around his neck. “Hi love.”

“Hi sweetheart,” leaning down to give your lips a kiss. “You looked cold.” 

You were both wrapped up in your own little bubble to notice Emily’s eyebrows arching towards her hairline. “It won’t be long now, I guess. So how many?” 

“One would be cute—” your eyes never lingering on his face as if you were tracing the all his angles and memorizing all the stubbles that had started to grow on his jaw line. 

Spencer without further explanation continued on. “—two would be better.” 

“You know, you both have to stop finishing each other’s sentences, it’s getting creepy,” Emily quipped.

You both laughed, turning to face her, and although your gazes were no longer meeting, the gentle caress of his thumb on the back of your hand was enough to communicate everything and anything in between.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[teatreeoilll]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

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w/c - 1.2k content - fem!reader, hurt/comfort??, ain't nobody really gonna divorce this man i mean, please

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For the past two months, once every two weeks on Thursday afternoons, Higuruma Hiromi finds himself on a leather chair in the stifling offices of Hayashi Divorce Law. Hayashi himself is a walrus-looking man with nicotine-stained fingers and an expensive wristwatch, who leans back in his chair across the desk from Hiromi, unbuttons the top button of his Italian blazer, and eyes him with a grin that says “I’ll clean you out before you can finish saying divorce.”

The worst of it comes when you enter the room. You sit down by Hayashi, getting trapped by the scent of the walrus’s sour cologne and stacks of papers on the desk, without so much as a glance in Hiromi’s direction.

Hiromi’s throat dries up the more he sits and nods along to Hayashi’s words. He doesn’t remember much about equitable distribution from law school and he doesn’t care to - the only thing he does is tug on the wrinkled fabric of his suit and mutter variations of “Alright” and “You can have it”.

After the first meeting was over, and you left the room leaving nothing but a whiff of perfume that soon dissipated into nothing, Hayashi turned to him and furrowed his bushy brows “Didn’t your ex-wife say you’re a lawyer, Mr. Higuruma?”

To which Hiromi replied “My wife,” while clinging to the last unsigned papers that would make this statement false.

By the fourth meeting, he’s a wreck. While he sits and nods along, Hiromi notices you’re looking at him with a hint of concern in your eyes. As you open your mouth his mind fills with hope. He’d drop to his knees without a second thought for a “It’s a mistake” or just a simple “let's go home” - even though it’s your home now since he’d forfeited it a month ago.

But when you finally open your mouth, after two months of silence, the only words he hears are “What about the car?”

Hiromi looks up at you. The car. A navy blue Ford Sedan with it’s best years behind it much like himself. A Ford Sedan which only four years prior got its old wheels stuck in the wet sand of a Kanazawa beach, causing the both of you to stay the night in a nearby motel.

He remembered the motel room's crumbling ceiling and the scale models of ships that lined the shelves - below them a bed with azure sheets - which you collapsed on with a grumble, cursing out both the damn Sedan and its fucking wheels. All he could think of was how beautiful you looked with that shade of azure surrounding your skin - and by morning you’d called out his name so many times he forgot it had a meaning outside of your lips.

He’s silent for a long time. So long your confidence wavers a bit, “We can sell it,” you say, “take half of the money each.”

Hiromi awakes from his mind trip to Kanazawa and reality knocks the wind out of his lungs. “You can have it.”

“I mean it,” you shoot a look at Hayashi who looks displeased with the sudden display of kindness, “we can sell it and split the money.”

“You can have it.” Higuruma says, and Hayashi grins.

It’s already dark by the time Hiromi steps out in the hall. It takes him a few steps towards the elevator and a squint of his tired eyes to see you standing by it. It’s alright - he’ll just take the stairs.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him when he passes behind you. You press on the elevator button again. It’s been stuck on the 17th floor for a while now.

“It’s alright.” He assures, continuing his path to the stairwell.

“No. It’s not alright. Nothing’s been alright for a year now. Now wait here for the goddamn elevator.”

By the tone of your voice he knows he hasn’t got a choice. He takes his place next to you, shifting his gaze between the silver elevator doors, and the little screen that keeps showing “17” without any sign of movement.

A few minutes go by and there’s still no sign of the elevator. Your leg bounces on the marble floor and your lips purse before you let out a silent “What’s wrong with you?”

“Huh?” Hiromi blinks. The elevator doors ding open. The man and a woman inside move to make room for you, but you motion to them to go down, mouthing ‘we’ll take the next one’. The elevator closes.

“I said ‘what’s wrong with you.’” You turn to him. “I’m robbing you blind and you don’t say anything. So what the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You can have anything you want.” He says, noticing you haven’t pressed the button to call the elevator again.

“That’s not what I asked -”

“You can have anything you want,” He repeats. “Just don’t make me come and listen to which bits of our life you’d like to sell and which to split. Take what you like, really - Whatever’s left will remind me of you anyway and I don’t think I’ll be able to stand looking at it without -” Going insane, he wants to say, but when he sneaks a look at your face he swallows the words. The crease he got used to seeing between your eyebrows vanishes.

“I’m not making you come, you know.” You say, “If you signed it all away after the first meeting we wouldn’t have to go through this.”

He can’t make himself tear his gaze off of your face, “I know.” His fingers press down on the fabric of his suit, “But if I did that I wouldn’t have a reason to see you again.”

“Don’t say things like that.” You press the elevator button again. This time, it arrives in a flash. You step inside, and Hiromi follows. The doors slip shut.

“Then don’t divorce me.”

The floor numbers change, a rapid countdown - 12 - 11 - 10. Hiromi’s mind races. He really pushed it this time - and even though he doesn’t have anything left to lose - his heart plummets together with the elevator.

“Fine.”

“Huh?” Hiromi’s eyes stick to the numbers still, 10 - 9 - 8. He’s not sure if it’s an auditory hallucination that’s speaking.

“I said ‘fine.’”

His hand finds the emergency stop button and smashes it in. The elevator rattles before it halts.

“Did you say -”

“I won’t repeat it again.”

And you really don’t need to. A moment later you’re pressed between his warm body and the cool metal lining the elevator car. His kiss is a desperate one - open-mouthed, all teeth and tongue - with his hands running under your blouse to relish in the warmth of your skin. You tangle one hand in his hair while the other’s clinging to a fistful of his suit jacket.

Hiromi detaches from your mouth, only for a second - which is enough for you to catch a glimpse of his flushed face - before leaving a trail of gentle kisses down your neck. Unlike his lips, his hands aren’t gentle in the slightest, they hold a tight grip on your waist under your blouse - as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear the moment he releases it.

Hayashi stands by the elevator, looking at the screen that shows “7” without any sign of movement. His face grows tomato red. Two interns stand at the edge of the hall, looking at him.

“What’s he so pissed about it?” One asks.

“It’s the elevator.” The other motions to the number on the tiny screen, “If it’s stuck too long on one floor it means a couple’s doing it inside. If they’re doing it inside they’re not divorcing - and if they’re not divorcing Hayashi’s not getting paid.”

[sad-drake-lyrics]

what my 65yo father has to say about antis:

let me preface this by saying, i literally wish i had what just happened on video to go viral on TikTok. i was shook by this conversation down to my bones; and if you could see my father - a loud old Italian man with dramatic hand gestures - say what he had to say, i think this shit would blow up. but as i was obviously not filming him while we were eating, i will have to relay to you the story with my words.

so i'm sitting eating dinner at the coffee table with my father while watching TV, as Americans often do instead of eating at the dinner table, and since the news was on he started telling me this story that had been recently mentioned on TV once again from maybe ten years ago (it was in 2014, you can read about it here) where these two 12-year-old girls killed one of their friends as a sacrifice to the Slender Man. yeah, real thing. fucked up.

and so my father told me about how they interviewed one of the killer's mothers, and when questioned about where her daughter's motive could've come from, she said something along the lines of: you know, when i was a kid, i was into Stephen King and horror - and so when my kid was into that kind of stuff, i didn’t think it was a big deal.

so, of course, my response was "yeah, being into that stuff isn’t a big deal at all - it's normal - but being a sociopath and murdering someone is not normal; it's fucked up. but there's nothing wrong with being into horror stories - they're just stories meant to entertain - it doesn't make you a murderer to enjoy Halloween - but it would if you put on a Michael Myers mask and went out and stabbed people." and, of course, like any sane person, my father agreed with me.

then, continuing this line of conversation, i started talking about the concept of how "fiction isn’t reality," and how a frightening amount of people don't understand that; and i literally started telling him about antis - people on the internet who attack and harass others over "problematic" or "inappropriate" fictional interests.

i used well-known pop culture examples like: if you're into Game of Thrones and like Jaime and Cersei together or wanted Jon and Daenerys to end up together (i didn't think he would process the term "shipping," but clearly by the end of this conversation i think i was wrong), that people (antis) will say things like "you should die," and that you "support inc*st in real life," and that "you're disgusting."

i also used the examples of "toxic relationships" in pop culture, like the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Kylo Ren and Rey, and how if you’re into those kinds of fictional relationships that people (antis) will say that you "support toxic relationships," and that you are "glorifying abuse," and that it all "must be what you really want and believe is right or good."

and my fucking 65-year-old father literally goes: "I don’t understand. It’s a TV show. Don't they know it’s fake?"

queue my jaw dropping to the fucking ground because i'm like. YES. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PRO-SHIPPERS ARE TRYING TO SAY AND THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.

he was flabbergasted, my pals. the shock in his eyes was incredible to behold.

and, oh boy, that isn't even the best part, guys.

my father then says, "Don’t tell me it’s like that with anime too?"

and i said, "it's worse with anime."

and i fucking swear to you - no joke, on my life and baby Jesus' cradle - again my 65-year-old father looks at me and says, “It’s a fucken cartoon."

... ... ...

... i can't ...

i can't end this post better than that.

[motorcop]

NEW PRODUCT LINE!

With the amazing success of our patented Control Wear prisoner suits, we have made a deal with that famous motorcycle racing suit company (they requested we don’t use their name) from “Italy” - (yeah, right, Italy Mars is more like it)…you know the one who says their gear is “Inspired by Humans” (wink wink..first big clue they aren't from this planet). We have just completed a 6 month “test market” of layering our Control Wear under the liner in the suit. It’s effects are not as instantaneous as the Prison Suits, but once a little sweat builds up, it helps in conducting the circuitry and it kicks right in. 10 minutes at the max to have a man fully under control. Now to keep this a true blind study, the men who got the suits with the Control Wear did not know it was in there. We did bury the notification, and acceptance in the sales terms for the suits. Seems our “Italian” friends are experts at that from their helmets (more on those later!)

We made sure to put it in suits sized for the beefier guys, our preference! And WOW! Perfection! Each one becomes a better rider than ANY Formula 1 rider out there now or ever. They also have that slightly “robotic” walk and look to them that is a clear indicator they are under control. So many things we have tested them out on, but as you may have guessed, the number one test is sexual. Top or bottom, they are well skilled in both positions. You can also control multiple men at once. Your own little team, army or fuxk buds!

And like with our other Control Wear products, once they doff the suit, they are back to their normal self in a matter of minutes. The built in memory filter keeps them from remembering anything from the moment the suit engages to 30 seconds after taking it off. They are also given a directive never to deal with the liner of the suit or to attempt to wash it. Leave that to the professionals.

Now that they have proven successful, we will start shipping pre-orders and backorders within the next few weeks….

Do you ride???

[debrink]

Lloyd Sabaudo

Genova

~ Ettore Mazzini (Italian, 1891-1960), circa 1924

[fsugirl1]

Some days are so big…so PACKED with content…so unexpectedly swoon-worthy that they demand an edition of

⭐️ FSU’s Occasional Newsletter ⭐️

Is That An Earthquake Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

The day began with a vague disturbance. Was it seismic activity? Inbox tomfoolery? A very happy birthday wake up for @lila-rae?

That last one is between her and Mr LR but

Bottom line: we could sense something coming.

It’s Not The Size Of The Entourage, It’s What You Do With It

We knew Tom was in Scotland and we figured it might be for golf but we did not know until this morning that he brought every single one of his brothers and best mates. So many of his closest dudes in one place made us 🤔

Lord knows he’s a generous friend and his circle is tight, but we wondered what they might be celebrating?

The delulu? It was percolating.

Our Italian Romance: Starring Tomdaya 🎥

We were already abuzz and the delulu was bountiful on the dash when suddenly the most cinematic and romantic photos of our favorite couple dropped. We learned they were canoodling at the gorgeous Castillo di Reschio, with such romantic activities as pasta-making (watch those fingers, Z!) and horseback riding.

And if that wasn’t enough, A POOL DATE. Both of them sunkissed and beautiful, reading books and looking like the movie stars they are.

No, your eyes don’t deceive you. They did switch books. 🫠

Every single one of us immediately wondered why our partners weren’t offering to read aloud to us in the pool at an Italian castle. But then, who hasn’t wondered that at least once?

Dad Said His Tea Was Cold But We Say It Was Piping Hot

As if we weren’t all twitterpated enough from the Italian romcom baecation pics, Zendaya’s Father In Law Dom felt like we needed a glimpse into their everyday life at home. He shared that the newest member of the Coleman-Holland family, Daphne the dog, is a “beautiful” addition to the clan and that her youthful energy has found a fast friend in her aunt Rosie, who is just a year older. Big brother and recent outcast (banished to live with Uncle Darnell, what did he do?) was said to be too old to enjoy the young pups.

Dom was feeling chatty I guess because he didn’t stop there. He went on to share that Zendaya had recently joined Nikki and Dom for dinner at the local pub.

He further said that Granny Tess, siblings, cousins, all the boys and “the dogs” would soon be accompanying him and Nikki on an anniversary celebration trip to Portugal. Dare we hope for more family photos?

Even if we don’t, that’s another bingo square, baby.

Aunt May Has Shipped It For Years

To top off the content-crazy, your favorite aunt and mine, Marisa Tomei, said at an event in Canada that one of her favorite parts of her Spider Man experience was watching Tom and Zendaya grow up and “fall in love.” 🥰

That face she’s making? The I can’t take it they’re so cute face? We were all wearing it. Even the strongest soldiers among us were grinning and kicking their feet. (We saw you, don’t try to deny it!)

While we await word from the pixel analysts on what people starring in their own epic love story read to each other on vacation, and while we bask in all the little details that make the story more real and more beautiful every day, let’s take a moment as I close to appreciate just how hot Zendaya’s back is in this dinner photo.

Until next time, remember my friends: be kind to each other. I love you. I’m wishing that each of you will find the one who thinks reading to you in the pool (Italian or otherwise) is the most perfect day.

And I hope your birthday is as filled with happy surprises as @lila-rae found hers for the third year in a row!

[propadv]

1960 Sail Italian Line... Let Time Fly 

Source: Time Magazine 

Published at: https://propadv.com/shipping-ad-and-poster-collection/italian-line-poster-and-ad-collection/ 

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Tuesday Weld (Bachelor Flat, High Time, I Walk the Line)—pretty lady. look at her.

Claudia Cardinale (The Leopard, 8 ½, Sandra)— she is just so incredibly stunning and her roles helped define the ideal of the south italian beauty. the pout that launched a thousand ships

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Tuesday Weld propaganda:

Claudia Cardinale propaganda:

"She was in more than 150 movies, spoke at least 4 languages (including arabic, as she was raised in Tunisia) and had international appeal. She started her career in Italy where she worked with the most acclaimed directors of the 1960' before moving to the states. There, she befriended Barbra Streisand, Rock Hudson and Steve McQueen but she grew bored of America (sorry !) and came to Europe where she continued her career well into the 2000'."

"She was my bi awakening back when i was 14yo and classic film nerd. (((And i want her to represent italian beauty because i failed to submit her fellow Gian Maria Volonté on time for the hot men poll))) I've seen images of her/heard of the hullaballoo she caused not just in Italy but across Europe at least, way more than I've seen movies she's in (UNTIL NOW) so I'm far from an expert but I couldn't risk her not being in this poll. Behold her:

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Can you do one for Slash and ADHD reader? Like, Slash goes to rehearsal (she's there too) and she's just so hyperactive 'cuz she forgot to take her meds

A/n: ik this isn’t exactly what you asked, I just started writing and came out with this, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless <3

You were sitting on the couch watching them run through songs, your mind was wandering and it finally hit you that you’d forgotten to take your meds. You chewed your cheek and tried to think of what you could do, the band before you serving as thinking music.

Of course that thought led to another and soon you were going over the last episode of your favourite show.

Slash sat down beside you and you barely noticed until he said something. “Are you ok?” He asked, the others were all busy talking about a new song, trying to get their own parts down.

Your head snapped to him. “Hm?”

He put his around over your shoulders. “I asked-“

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” He stared at you a moment. “I forgot my meds.” You said, biting your cheek. Slash gave a small nod.

“Do you want me to go get them?”

You shook your head. “I’ll be fine, it’s just one day.” He hummed. “How about I go get you guys some food?”

“You’ll get us food?” Steven called, interrupting Axl. “Italian? Mexican?”

“There’s this new pizza joint just down the street, why don’t you go there?” Duff suggested.

You held you hands up. “I’m not paying.” Duff and Steven groaned.

“Take my wallet.” Slash muttered, handing you a ripped up leather wallet. You hesitated a moment before taking it. You noted down everyone’s orders and went down the street, repeating the orders in your head.

“Two pepperoni, Hawaiian, two meat lovers.” You muttered over and over. “Hawaiian wasn’t even made in Hawa’ii” you mumbled. “It was Canada, where’d they get Hawaiian, pineapple? Or ham, they make cook pig in a hole in the ground or something. Is that even real?” You kept thinking about it as you walked.

“There’s a pig island in Hawaii, you know.” A man told you. You had no idea who he was or how long he’d been following you.

“There is?” You asked.

“Yeah, ship hauling pigs crashed and the pigs learned to swim, now they just live there.” You liked the idea of it, pigs roaming an island and in the water, little snorts everywhere.

“That’s cute, it’s Hawa’ii, by the way.” You said.

“Really?” The man asked. You shrugged.

“I remember hearing that somewhere, makes sense if you listen to the language.” The man took in your words.

“Cool.” He said plainly. “Is there a reason you’re standing here?” You glanced around and saw you were just outside the pizza place Duff was talking about.

“I came for pizza.” You said, looking up at the sign.

“Why didn’t you go in?” You shrugged.

“I don’t know.” You stayed there an extra moment before going inside, waving goodbye to the man.

While waiting in line you kept glancing back to the man. He wore a hoodie that had seen better days, a patchy beard and shorts that didn’t start out as shorts nor were they intentionally made into shorts.

You stayed in line and made a mental note to get him a slice.

When you got back to their rehearsal room you had a big cheese pizza with a slice missing. “What happened to variety?” Axl asked as he reached for a slice.

“Do you want it or not?” You bit. Axl hesitantly took a slice. Slash was next to you, an arm wrapped around you. Steven and Duff were talking, an argument brewing and Izzy was pushing it on.

“So, why’d it take you so long?” Slash asked, his voice low as he leaned against you.

“I met a guy.” You said through a mouthful of pizza. Slash stared at you. “A homeless guy, he was nice and talked to me about Hawa’ii.” Slash nodded though he didn’t seem to understand.

[someonelookingpraediti]

Bookshelf Tours All for the Game

I had to rearrange my shelves recently - my CD collection was lined up on top of my laundry bin, but it just got too big, and needed a full shelf. It was the perfect opportunity to make an "All for the Game" shelf, and finally have them all lined up together!

1. This is the Italian version, and it's a gorgeous hardback omnibus edition! It's the only hardback edition I've found (so far - I can't wait for the Rainbow Crate editions!) and it's also the only omnibus edition I've seen.

2. These are the French editions. The covers are really cool, and the titles translate to "Well Hidden Secrets", "Never Give Up", and "A Reason to Live". Honestly, I love that. Such cool titles!

3. The "Pipe Dream" fanzine by @llstarcasterll is so, so cool! It's full of the most gorgeous artwork, so is totally worth buying if you can get your hands on it. If I was flush with cash, I'd buy like, six of them, so I could pull them apart and put the pictures on my wall, in my diary, in my scrapbook.

4. The Spanish covers use the same artwork as the French ones, so I probably didn't need both, but I'm obsessive. These ones have the advantage of having really awesome chapter heading art.

5. These are the Russian editions. The artwork is, I believe, by @kiiakostet. This is some of my absolute favourite AFTG artwork, and I wish they were available as dustjackets for the English editions.

6. And speaking of dustjackets: These replacement jackets are by @llstarcasterll. They're beautiful, and I love how the spines look! I'm really looking forward to getting the "Raven Cycle" and "The Sunshine Court" jackets by the same artist. No idea where they'll go, though, the shelf is full!

7. And these are the @ouijacine jackets! I also have the prints of the artwork framed on my "All for the Game" art wall, so with this book facing outwards, it just looks like I'm super obsessed with this particular artwork. Oh wait. I am.

8. The originals. The ugly, terribly designed English language originals. I love them so much. These copies are messy and well-thumbed, and stuffed to bursting with colour co-ordinated page tabs. They are more annotation than book, at this point.

9. Ok. Technically, this isn't AFTG. But these copies of "The Raven Cycle" get a space on the shelf because the jackets are also designed by @ouijacine. Also, it makes the book stack sit at the exact perfect height.

10a. Special mention for the shelves above and below. The shelf above is my "Leigh Bardugo" collection, including some collector's editions, those gorgeous Illumicrate editions of the Nikolai duology, several beautiful copies of the Alex Stern books, and "The Familiar", which I still haven't read.

10b. The shelf below is the reason for the rearrange. I needed a long shelf, and a ridiculously tall one. These are my BTS albums. Yeah, I'm that person now. I actually still have a fair few to get, so there's a chance I'm going to overfill this shelf too. You can just see a couple of my boys peeping out over the top of the CDs, in flip photo form. I want to get one for each of the members, but weverse shipping is fucking extortionate.

At the moment, these all fit perfectly on this shelf, but with the many editions of the TSC duology I'm going to be buying, and the Rainbow Crate hardback editions? Yeah, I'm gonna need a bigger shelf.