#he's such a massive idiot i love him

[galaxy-fleur]

what is Leons reaction when he finds out he's gonna be a girl dad?

To be honest, I don't think his response changes much whether it's one or the other! In either case, this man will simultaneously become euphoric, anxious, and choked up. Basically, a bit of an emotional mess. It's what happens after the reveal that makes a difference. If he's having a girl, catch him reading up on articles upon articles on how to be a great dad to his soon-to-be daughter. He takes it a step too far, honestly. You'll have to reassure him that he does not, in fact, need to read a study on how to best approach a tween daughter about her first period. It's great that he wants to be ready, but that's a bit excessive! She hasn't even been born yet for God's sake!

Unfortunately stocks up on stereotypically girly baby clothes. Fairy prints, glitter, and vivid pinks are all included. Even worse is that he actually forms a personal likeness to those because they are so stupid looking, and he somehow finds that endearing. You'll have to put up with him being a huge goofball with those. Or perhaps you're the kind of person who enjoys his dumb jokes about the ridiculous prints. Regardless, you'll have to be the one to actually buy some neutral stuff instead. In response to the question of 'what if she won't like pink?', he'll just go and buy the same set of clothes in every color they had it in. That's one way of spending his money, you suppose.

[canisalbus]

gothic lolita machete came to me in a dream

.

[yujeong]

no but the fact that korn would shoot win in that instant after knowing they're fucking behind him woah 😮 🙏🏻

Anon, I won't say much about this, I'll just proceed to copy and paste the words I sent to some friends about this specific moment and call it a day: HE UNDERSTOOD HOW FUCKED UP THE WHOLE SITUATION IS, HE UNDERSTOOD WHY TONKLA DID EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING, HE EVEN UNDERSTOOD THE CHEATING BECAUSE HELL, HE BARELY PAID ATTENTION TO HIM, HE KNOWS, HE APOLOGIZED FOR IT, HE HAD FASAI ON THE SIDE, SO OF COURSE HE'D TURN HIS GUN ON WIN, HE'S THE EASIEST OUTLET FOR HIS FRUSTRATION, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK, THIS FUCKING SHOOOOOOOOOW!!!!

[softquietsteadylove]

The arranged marrige au looks very interesting 👀, may i ask for another part. Also i wanted to thank you so much for posting your work, without your work i'll be bored and sad they make my days better, also you write so good, you write Thena and Gil and their relationship so beautifully. 🤍

Thena sighed. There was just no way around this. She wished it hadn't come to this, but she didn't have another choice. With great reluctance, she cracked the door to the dressing room open. "Gil?"

Even with only one eye to peek at him, she could see him sitting on a chaise just outside her door. He was being reflected in the multiple mirrors lining the walls of the enclosed fitting area. She couldn't see his screen but she could tell he was doing something work related.

She cleared her throat and swallowed her pride, trying a little louder, "Gil!"

He blinked, immediately slipping his phone in his inside pocket. He put on the perfect smile as he looked up at her. "How's it feel, sweetheart?"

It was the finest material she'd ever put on her body, it felt like a dream. That wasn't the problem. "Gil, I can't wear this."

He looked appalled, basically pouting. "Why not?"

Thena rolled her eyes, opening the door just a little more. The dress was beautiful, and it fit her well. But that wasn't the point! "When I said I needed some things to wear, I meant something casual, for running errands, or seeing some friends."

"So?" he stood, grinning and oblivious. "This looks perfect on you!"

Thena huffed, pulling the door open completely and crossing her arms at him. "This dress is for formal events, and I think it costs more than a year of my old rent."

She could just tell he wanted to comment on the fact that she didn't have to worry about rent anymore, now did she? But he held his tongue in a rare moment of restraint. "Thena-"

"Gil," she relented. She knew he meant well--she meant for it to be a sweet gesture, and the fact that he was here instead of just sending a bodyguard with his wallet was testament enough that he was trying to sweet about it. "It's too much. I can't wear this."

He was still borderline pouting, holding her modest white peacoat under his arm with his hands in his pockets. "I got you other stuff like this and you didn't say anything."

She squirmed on the spot. "Well, I don't wear any of those things either."

Gil's jaw dropped.

She attempted to reason with him again, taking his hands in hers so he could really hear her (which he did better through the sensation of touch, for whatever reason). "Gil, I know it's just part of your lifestyle. But you've seen the clothes I brought with me--what I wear at home. I need...that. I need some normal clothes. I was just going to go myself when-"

"No." He was firm about that. He was very firm, actually; under no circumstances was she to go wandering around alone. Her first instinct was to act defensive about his need to keep an eye on her. But she couldn't act childish; his work was dangerous, and there was a reason he'd hired a car for them, had tinted windows, and never left her side this entire afternoon.

She gave his hands a squeeze, "please, Gil?"

He really did have a soft heart, and he wore it on his sleeve, completely out in the open. How did anyone take him seriously as a gangster when he was clearly just a big, soft teddy bear walking around in a pinstripe suit.

"Okay, sweetheart," he conceded to her, as he always did. He raised her hands to his lips. "Whatever you need--I promised that. You get changed and we'll find some things that suit your tastes."

"Sir, Madam, do you need any--oh!"

Thena drew her shoulders up. She had no reason to feel flustered, or embarrassed. Gil had thrown the doors open and asked that his 'wife' be assisted by their best and brightest. That was probably more embarrassing than them being seen by the staff holding hands in her changing room.

There was no need for her to blush.

"It's all right," Gil chuckled, letting her close the door to get changed again. She heard his shoes on the fancy marble floors as he walked back out into the store. "Everything's great, but I think we're going to try some other places."

"Very good, sir."

This was the most posh place she had ever come into. She did tell Gil she usually shopped off the rack sales for generic corporate casual clothes. If she weren't a mobster's wife, maybe she would even peruse the shops or malls like a normal person.

But she got changed and hung up the gown that was so expensive she was afraid to touch it. It was beautiful, and she had to admit that it had fit her like it was made for her. Gil had seen it on display and insisted she try it on.

He was right, it had been perfect for her, but that didn't make a good enough reason to buy a dress like that.

She exited the room, holding her purse and going to find Gil. This time last year, she never would have come into a store like this. She would sooner assume she would be laughed out of the shop all together.

"Yeah, someone will pick it up later."

"Gil?"

"Hey, princess," he turned, raising her hand and kissing it again. He released her coat and held it out for her to put on. "Ready to go?"

"I suppose so," she murmured, looking at the staff all waving goodbye to them. Maybe all fancy shops were like this, but she had a bad feeling about it. "What was that about?"

"Oh, I just told them that we'll definitely come again some time, we're just looking for a different vibe today."

He was lying. But Thena let him hold her hand as they exited the name brand store, massive and towering and shiny enough to reflect a blinding amount of sun this time of day. It was nice out, though. It was a large part of the reason she had proposed going shopping for herself.

And from the moment she mentioned it, everyone who worked with or for Gilgamesh in any way had panicked. Every time she wanted anything or wanted to go anywhere, it was a unanimous sentiment; the boss's wife could want for nothing. Either they had to handle it, or Gilgamesh would.

"You okay, Thena?"

She blinked, coming out of her thoughts. "Hm?"

Gil sighed; he almost looked contrite. "I know this probably isn't the kind of day out you're used to. But...I wish I didn't have to go this far. But if anything happened to you-"

A big, soft teddy bear, who liked to pretend he was all grizzly and growl-y. When, in actuality, he had the softest heart around. She slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow. "I know you're just trying to protect me, Gil. It's nice."

He wasn't entirely convinced. But they kept walking, taking their time moving away from the luxury branded buildings towards a more regular collection of shops. "I'll try to make arrangements so you can go out on your own--with security, obviously."

"Obviously," she humored him. She was walking arm and arm with her husband, but more than that, she had to admit it was nice to talk with someone like a friend.

"What else?"

"What?" she blinked, alarmed by the grave change in his tone.

"What else do you want to do?" he asked more gently, moving them off to the side. "I don't want to hold you back, Thena. If you want to explore this part of the city, see more of downtown, call up any old friends--anything."

She didn't have much in the way of 'old friends'. Dealing with her father was such a dominating and isolating aspect of her life. She was quite sure none of her old coworkers would even notice her absence. Even if that weren't the case, she wasn't exactly yearning to explore weekend markets or clubs, either.

"Unless it's an old flame," Gil added hastily, holding up his finger with a heavy gold ring on it. "Then maybe, but you have to say it's just as friends, because you're married now."

Oh, she certainly had no such thing. But she grinned at him, as he often did with her. "Oh, well, I didn't think my husband was the jealous type. What if I tell him we're married in name only? What if he offers to whisk me away from this life?"

She was laughing, but Gil had that look on his face whenever he was watching sports and the team he owned was losing. It wasn't murderous, but it was decidedly pissed off.

"He can offer." Maybe she had taken this joke too far. But Gil moved her hand so he could hold it again, locking their fingers together. "But I'm gonna introduce myself as your husband, so he knows what he's dealing with."

Even in this fictional, joke world, that would paint an intimidating picture. She leaned against him faintly--to calm his temper, she told herself. "Wasn't it part of my contract that I not be in any relationship?"

Gil looked away, pretending he was examining his suit. He could get somewhat sheepish from time to time, which she had to admit was quite adorable. "Our contract--and that doesn't mean you don't have some ex-boyfriend or something pining for you at this very moment."

She definitely had no such thing. And even if she did, it would be far from her mind as she leaned against her husband, their arms sealed together, his massive bicep against her slim one. She looked down at the strap of her purse, fiddling with its latch. "Well, I don't."

"Good."

"Good."

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[whoblewboobear]

Still thinking about this bc being a shitty teacher isn't the same as being evil and yet- *gets shot*

[renjaminnifer]

does anyone on this godforsaken website remember hero 108. ik theres a bit of a fandom but are u still there. speak to me i have brainrot

[illmoraineakoi]

Everyone out here giving Hollow cute moth partners, or pretty mantises or bees or whatnot.

Fuck that, where's the AU where Hollow falls in love with a massive feral Wyrm?

[lupismaris]

The Opening Act of Spring- a Black Sails Fic. Chapter 2

Welcome to Chapter 2 (yes its been a long time coming its been a helluva year) in which Anne comes collecting a very defeated Silver and brings him a little more up to speed on everyone’s lives five-ish years after the Urca Gold Heist

A harsh spray of ice water woke Silver the next morning, the skies opening up in a thunderous downpour. It left him gasping for air as he tried to sit up, his one good leg slipping on porcelain as he threw his arms over his face, muffling the flustered curses he uttered.

“Morning,” came a dry voice, dripping with thorough amusement. “You look like right shit.”

The water shut off and Silver, after a moment’s hesitation, given that he entirely expected the downpour to resume the second his arms lowered, peered over his forearm.

A woman stood there, slim and androgynous in her loose fitting men’s jeans with torn up knees and boxy t-shirt, cuffed at the shoulders. Her long red hair, fine as a spider’s web, was pulled up in a careless bun atop her head. On her hip, looped through the belt loop of her jeans, hung a black trucker hat with the name of a bar, and a carabiner heavy with keys and pepper spray. A heavy industrial chain hung on the opposite hip, her street legal answer to brass knuckles, Silver guessed. She smiled down at him, if the sharp toothed grin of an alley cat could be considered a smile, and crossed her tattooed arms over her chest as she leaned against the bathroom wall.

“Anne?” He croaked by way of greeting.

“Morning, jackass. Your sister wants to see you. Rise’n’fuckin shine then.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“The fuck did you turn the shower on for?”

“The fuck you sleeping in the bathtub for?” Anne replied. “Practically begged me to douse you. Was it the old better to puke in here than the carpet bit?”

Silver groaned and tried to sit up, grabbing at the sides of the bathtub to pull himself forward. His vision swam a little but he could see the bottle of whiskey sitting at the other end of the tub, three quarters empty.

That would explain the pressure behind his eyes then, the pulsing rhythm in his temples, the dryness in his throat, heaviness in his limbs.

“Seemed smarter,” he said. “Not a good time, hopping n’crawling to hurl on something you can clean n’all that shit.” He sighed and looked up at her again, then at the shower. “Actually can you just-”

Anne switched the shower on and Silver sighed as the cold water washed over him, soaking through the pillows and blanket that he’d had the presence of thought to grab the night before, to make passing out in the bathtub a smidge less miserable. He’d slept in less comfortable places truth be told, bedrooms floors, back rooms of bars, store closets, dingy bathrooms at rest stops. This tub was practically a queen size bed in comparison, he told himself, rolling his neck and savoring the click of vertebrae releasing one by one.

After a few minutes he waved a hand and the water switched off, Anne dropping a towel on his head unceremoniously.

“I’d recommend a proper shower if you can be quick about it. You smell like cheap booze.”

“I feel like cheap booze.” Silver held out his hand and without a word Anne took it, bracing her boot clad feet against the marble floor so Silver could leverage himself up onto his good foot, his other hand gripping the artistic safety rail on the wall. “Just grabbed what was easiest from a shop on the way.”

“Clearly,” Anne said. Once Silver was steady on his one foot she reached down and grabbed the sodden pillows and blanket, tossing them aside. Silver was grateful she didn’t comment on his lack of clothing, even to just make fun, but then living with Rackham and Vane she was probably used to a certain level of uncouth male nudity. She passed him the light-weight bathroom stool the room had provided, and once that was situated, a mug of black coffee. Silver guessed it came from the hotel room, it was nice enough to have a little kitchenette corner though he hadn’t bothered to really look it over the night before.

“Shower,” she said firmly. “Drink your coffee. I’ll find you some clothes.”

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

Silver pulled the curtain shut and switched on the water, before taking a seat. The tub was pressed against the wall with a window at the head of it, thick tinted privacy film covering the glass so that, even with the lights on the view from outside would be obscured. Silver set his mug on the edge of the tub next to the bottle of whiskey and opened the window, breathing in the cool spring air. They were high enough up on the 28th floor that the smog was mild, the traffic sounds below muffled some into an ambient drone.

He’d fled back to his little midtown hotel room the night before, taking a winding route from The Village, on foot, on the train, just in case Flint had decided to follow him after all. After two hours of wandering and a sense that while he wasn’t safe he at least wasn’t being followed, he grabbed his things, checked out, and headed for the address printed on the card Rackham had given him. Some swanky place on the Upper West Side as it turned out, not quite in the same neighborhood as his sister’s condo but an easy enough walk, or better still an easier Taxi ride.

So he reasoned he must have checked in, but how it had gone he didn’t clearly remember. The dissociative fog that had carried him into a taxi in Midtown, oversized duffle under his arm and his only suitcase with his collapsible crutches carefully stowed in the trunk, had persisted all the way until Anne had woken him. There were clearer moments than others, sure. Greeting the pretty brunette at the front desk, who welcomed him as Mister Robinson and asked how his flight in from San Francisco had gone. The feel of the bottle in his hand, bourbon from the second to last shelf, as the man behind the counter passed it and a two packs of cigarettes over the counter to him. He vaguely remembered the smell of fried food- had he eaten dinner?

“Get a move on Silver!” Anne called from the next room.

Silver sighed, wiped water out of his eyes, and chugged half of his coffee. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured a shot or two into the mug and sighed.

He was already considering his return to the Western Hemisphere a mistake.

Twenty minutes later, Silver was lighting a cigarette on the street corner, freshly showered, medicated, and dressed in the old jeans and off-white Henley that Anne had dug out of his duffle. He’d pulled his curls up with a claw clip and hid his aching eyes from the morning sun behind old over-sized shades he’d stolen from someone at a party once.

Anne snagged his lighter and pack of cigarettes, helping herself to one. “There’s a decent egg’n’cheese shop on the way. She’s working so you’ll probably have to wait for lunch.”

“S’fine. By the way I get one good shot in at your man. He deserves it.”

“Dick is off limits or else Chaz’ll be cross but yeah, fair enough.” Anne puffed at her cigarette before offering him a grimace. He took it for the sympathy it was. “Break his nose though and I’ll rescind my blessing.”

“Fine. Did you know he was gonna pull that?”

“Nah. Thought he’d do something stupid but didn’t think he’d go just- full blitz stupid. Thought Flint was gonna skin him alive and send him home to us in deli paper,” she laughed as they fell into an easy stride. Anne had always been good about Silver’s somewhat slower gait, never making it seem like a nuisance or hindrance, always being the first to fall back with him on nights out.

Silver looked up at the sky, watching as slivers of clouds fought their way through the towering rooftops of stone and metal. “And did he?”

“Nah, Jack just said he seemed shaken, so much so that he forgot to be angry. Didn’t even say anything to Jack just said goodbye to that chef guy and bolted.”

“Hilarious.”

Anne shrugged, turning them down a side street of residential buildings. “Maybe. Not like he’d have done anything, can’t risk the attention. And he knows better, his husband would have his cock in a vice faster than he could utter his safe word.”

She smiled around her cigarette as she said it, glancing sideways at Silver for his reaction. The idea that anyone, let alone the great Pacifist Saint that Thomas Hamilton was rumored to be, could have Flint on so tight a leash was laughable to Silver. Even he, when they had been one malformed creature, hadn’t managed to keep Flint on a leash like that, nor would he have wanted to. You didn’t cage a wild and beautiful thing after all, you found it a proper home, etcetera, etcetera.

“Why can’t he risk the attention?” Silver asked instead. “He’s got a clean record, same as you lot. Nothing would flag if he got brought in on disturbing the peace.”

“Just because you got a clean record doesn’t mean you can go ‘round tossing known associates off rooftops whenever they piss you off. Much as we all wish that weren’t the case some days.”

“Then why bother keeping tabs on each other at all?”

The street opened up onto Broadway, where they stopped for bagels and coffee before turning southward. Anne led the way, keeping the route somewhat winding. It was an old habit, one Silver maintained, one that he knew Flint likely practiced as well. Even if they weren’t being followed they still threw an extra block or two into the route to avoid congested areas and obvious details to their end destinations.

So when their path took them to the South end of Riverside park, Silver wasn’t all that surprised. It was a nice change from the concrete and polished glass, the midmorning crowds emerging from offices for their coffee runs or early lunches, the tourists pouring out of the 72nd street station.

He felt steadier with food in his stomach, the greasy perfectly balanced egg’n’cheese (he’d bought two of them and inhaled the first before they reached the park) soaking up the last of the bourbon with grace and flourish. He lit another cigarette and sipped his coffee, the slightly burnt taste a perfect accompaniment to tobacco.

Alright maybe, just maybe, he’d missed the little details of life in a grungy city.

“Why are you keeping tabs on Flint?” he asked again, once Anne had finished her food.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “We’re not.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nah it’s not keeping tabs, it’s more like- tentative alliance.”

Silver stopped in his tracks. “A what?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t look at me like that, it’s just this thing your sister and him agreed to- same city n’all. We keep an eye out for him, he keeps an eye out for us, for old times’ sake, and no one gets hurt. No stepping on toes, sends info our way if theres anything we should know about, clients for your sister to pitch designs to, shit like that.”

“Flint doesn’t help people for no reason.”

“I’m not saying he does.” Anne shrugged. “I’m just saying he’s mellowed out a bit, you know, know he’s getting a good fuck regularly?” Silver scowled at her. “Was that mean? That was mean wasnit?”

“And you all trust him because?”

“He’s got no reason to fuck around these days. He’s retired, same as us, plenty on the line to lose.” She shrugged again. “So we help each other out a bit. Not gonna say it’s trust, but It does mean we get invitations to their swanky dinner parties n’shit.”

The face Silver made sent Anne into a short fit of wheezing laughter, hiding her mouth behind her coffee cup.

“Dinner parties? Jesus fucking Christ- who are you Martha Stewart?”

“Oh you think thats bad? Chaz has a fuckin job now-”

She timed it well, waiting until Silver took a swing of his coffee, knowing it would would garner so much genuine shock that he would likely choke on it. Anne’s laughter, crackling and rough-edged, rang out loud as Silver coughed, trying to clear his throat.

“He has a what? The old bayou bastard has a what?” Silver demanded. “You’re fucking with me! You have to be fucking with me- Anne please tell me you’re fucking with me-”

A world in which Charles Vane had an honest job was not one in which Silver wanted to live, at least, he was pretty sure of that. Charles Vane was the last bastion of hill country, bayou basin, working class freedom, white man edition, who held no job, no credit cards, no permanent address, and no legitimate Government ID. His Fakes were better than any you could buy but Silver would wager a hefty sum that he didn’t have a social security number and if they went looking, probably wasn’t even listed in the citizenship records under a legal name these days. He’d burned off his finger prints as a teenager to make sure they’d never be found at a crime scene, just in case he happened to slip up badly enough that the cops would track him down. Why would he be at a crime scene you ask? None of your concern, he’d answer. To Silver’s knowledge, the likelihood of cops catching him was so slim that Vane had to start the fight himself for the cops to even know he existed most days.

Or at least, that had been the Charles Vane Silver had come to know, in a dusty beach hut in old Nassau, quietly day drinking while Flint tried to convince him of the greater good. That conversation had ended, as most did back then, in a brawl. Silver didn’t remember the winner.

“I am not.” Anne shook her head. “He has a fuckin’ job. Wanna guess where?”

“Not really. Still having trouble wrapping my head around them finger printing a man without finger prints. Or making him sit through HR Training, can you fucking imagine?”

“I don’ think they have HR training for line cooks.”

Silver made a face as he thought about it, trying to picture Vane in a busy kitchen, surrounded by equally stressed out and strange people, tattooed and strung out, with their own code of ethics known only to them.

“Actually no that- that I can absolutely see. Line cook suits him. Constant access to sharp dangerous objects. Something always on fire. Questionably legal substances. Only demographic more bat shit than he is.”

“Flint gave him the job.”

“Oh fuck off, what?”

Anne smiled, the small almost grimace. “Yeah. At his bar.”

“He- he owns a bar.” She nodded. “That’s his big retirement gig? A bar?”

“Yeah he opened it few years back with that old quartermaster of his, wass’is name-”

They made their way through the park as they talked, passing little pods of nannies with their charges in brightly colored designer strollers, joggers out with their dogs, the occasional remote employee making use of the open lawns and calm spring day to get some work done outside of their shoe box apartments. Silver felt more queasy than he had before his breakfast, all the new information racketing around his aching head, his stomach churning with confusion and a sense of- well, unreality. Everything he had been certain of, everyone he had been sure of, was suddenly beginning to unravel around him in the strangest of ways and he felt as if he was left to grasp at the threads, flimsy and fraying in his hands.

“His quartermaster? You don’t mean Gates do you?” he asked. It couldn’t be Gates, there was no way in hell that Hal Gates, of all men, would be in New York running a business with James Flint of all people.

“Mm yeah that’s the one, short bear of a man, bald? Mutton chop sort of thing?” Anne asked, running her knuckles along her jaw to mimic the rather iconic facial hair of the one and only Hal Gates. “Yeah he and Flint co-own a place across the river. Flint gave Chaz a job last year when he got picked up by the-”

Silver felt dizzy, his prosthetic aching as it pressed against his knee. He wasn’t listening to Anne anymore, as she explained, no doubt, the very interesting story of how Vane came to work for the man he once hated and who had once hated him in turn, tentative alliance aside. No, Silver was having too much trouble processing the fact that Hal Gates, father to all and longest suffering man alive, who had walked away from a fortune all because Flint required, if Silver remembered his words correctly, “too much heartbreak to believe in these days”, was not only back in Flint’s life, but committed to him again in anyway shape or form.

He could still clearly remember the way Flint’s hands had looked wrapped around Gates’ throat, the empty, wild look in his eyes, the softly spoken words that had made Flint stop before it was too late.

“You good?”

Anne’s voice cut in on his thoughts with sharp precision. Silver blinked, the world around them coming back into violent focus, leaving him reeling. Anne was watching him patiently, her eyes tired with a lifetime of ghosts behind them. He knew he didn’t have to explain, knew she got lost in her thoughts as often as he did. But even so, it never felt good to get lost so easily. He prided himself on his ability to be present, to keep his wits to tightly controlled that his will was greater than any god’s, and yet-

He was rattled.

“I wasn’t ready. For him,” he admitted in a small voice. “For Flint. For anyone to have just… Forgiven him for everything and moved on.”

Anne nodded. “S’fair. None of this is gonna be easy. Wasn’t easy for us in the beginning. Still weird at times.  But, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that they win if we let them. And we let them by holding on to these wounds, these… failings.”

They.

What a simple all encompassing term. It could mean the world at large, it could mean Rogers and the the Bankers who had tried to run them all into early graves. It could mean Flint.

Whatever it meant to Anne, whatever it meant to Silver, the point remained. It was for Silver to decide what victory he allowed them, what space he made in his life for them. If he chose to face it, chose to do what Anne and the others had done, in whatever way he saw fit, chose to face the things left unsaid rather than running, then at least it would be on his terms, and no one else's.

“Besides. I can’t speak for Gates, or the others, I’m not them. Ain’t never had much Issues with the man. But Flint- he’s been alright.” Anne continued, once the distraught look on Silver’s face lessened and they began to walk again. “Mind’s his manners well enough. If you need information or resources he’ll get you what you need. My money says he’s done the therapy gauntlet a bit with his husband but that’s just a guess. You know how you can tell when people use them big words n’all?”

Flint in Therapy, that was almost more ridiculous a thought than Vane with a job.

“All I’m saying, retirement suits him well enough, you may find yourself pleasantly surprised.”

“That’s if he doesn’t strangle me on sight,” Silver replied. “You all seem to be forgetting things didn’t exactly end a la When Harry Met Sally for us.” Anne frowned. “I ditched and he’s pissed, remember? Not exactly a rom com ending that’s gonna make him swoon when I walk in his front door, carrots.”

Anne rolled her eyes at the nickname. “Not if you keep avoiding him it’s not. That’s just gonna goad him on, I tell you right now.”

“Let it. I think if anyone can avoid him it’s me. Been doing it just fine for the past five years I think I can manage just fine a bit longer.”

The curve of Riverside park brought them back up to street level, alongside the elegant prewar buildings that lined the boulevard, wrought iron balconies with the first shocks of spring greenery reaching out to the morning sun. Anne tossed her empty coffee cup into the bin on the corner and held out her hand, Silver passing her his pack of cigarettes and lighter without pause.

“Sure you can,” she said around a cigarette, pausing to light it. Silver watched as the sparks lit her face, embers glowing against bright sea glass eyes, freckles turned to ash across the bridge of her nose. She lifted her head and looked skyward, looking for something unknown to him, finding it, and smiled sadly. “You’ll keep running, he’ll keep chasing you. His husband will let him, even.”

She pulled out another cigarette and passed the pack back to Silver, waiting until he opened his mouth to argue, knowing he would, to place the cigarette in his mouth. Rackham, who wasn’t a smoker in the traditional sense, fell for the trick often and really, Silver should have seen it coming. He fixed her with a tired look behind his sunglasses as she lit the cigarette and continued.

“You’ll run and run ‘til your heart gives out or he dies of old age n’grief, which ever comes first,” she said casually, as if they were the only two in the world, unbothered by the people walking past, “and the guilt you tell yourself goes away, eventually, will finally catch up with you when you get the obituary in the post, or he turns up at your deathbed confessional. Whichever way you like it, Silver, you’ll get it, you always do.”

“I didn’t want this, Anne.”

“Yes you did. You convinced yourself of it, because it was easy, because you couldn’t cock it up,” She scoffed, “can’t cock up what you don’t commit to, mm? Please, you ain’t the only one who’s been running for a lifetime. Ain’t the only one who knows the tricks. Don’t act like you and your neurosis are somehow all that unique.”

“You didn’t leave Max. Or Rackham,” he reminded her. “You had the chance to do both.”

“Didn’t have to. They both tried it with me,” she replied, taking a long drag from her smoke.

Silver stood there in silence for a moment, letting his own smoke burn out in his fingers. There had always been and uncanny familiarity between the two redheads. They were incredibly different, no mistake to be made about that, unbearably different. But there had been moments, since the inception of it all, when shadows would cross Anne’s face, or a light might hit Flint’s eyes, a weight in her slim shoulders, a grace in his hips, a violence and a loneliness in them both- and Silver would be struck by an unnerving sense they should have, in another world, been siblings.

Of course the notion that Anne was, in this moment, able to sympathize more readily with his Ex than himself was less of a comfort than he liked and the unnerving familiarity was bordering on slightly terrifying, if Silver was going to be honest.

“Face him, or don’t. Fuck if I care in the end, unless you drag us into it and then I will have you by the balls,” Anne said flatly. “But you’re wasting a hell of a lot of time, aren’t you? Running? And for what?”

She turned and kept walking before Silver could reply, making it abundantly clear that the conversation, and any advice she was willing to give, was over. Silver was left standing on the street corner for a moment, watching fellow pedestrians hurry past, cars crawl along the boulevard with their echoing engines, the cigarette still burning out in his fingers.

He sighed and took a drag from it, waiting for a gap in traffic before jaywalking across to the next block to rejoin Anne, who was lurking in the shadows of a flower shop awning, buying a bouquet of irises.

He was far too hungover for this.

[magnifiico]

❝ What's your wish? ❞

It's such a simple question, and yet, Leon is stunned he took so long to think of it. He's overwhelmed, he supposes; there's so many new sights and sounds and experiences to take in here, and there's only so much his multitasking can manage at once.

❝ I've heard it said that you grant the kingdom's - and that's admirable, truly! I'm sure Rosas is very grateful for your generosity. But have you granted your own? ❞

@danderosa || welcomes this lovely boy into our arms ;v;

“Oh my. That might be a new record, actually.”

For as stunned as the prince may be toward his own delayed inquiry, King Magnifico has half a mind to begin timing this sort of thing: just how long it takes someone in his company to broach that burning question. And certainly—yes!—it's admittedly a valid curiosity, far from a point of interest to be at all peeved about (honestly, he's impressed by those who choose not to ask), but the expectation breeds an almost... bitter amusement.

Something, however, the king is well-practiced to not show. As he turns then to face his guest, his smile is benign. His posture remains relaxed. Patience swaths every inch of his demeanor, and he breathes out a fluttery laugh before saying more.

“The, ah... Well.” He hesitates, contemplating the most efficient method of explaining. “Perfecting the magic of wish-granting was a long and arduous process. By the time I had mastered it, any wish of mine was beside the point. That is to say...” A shrug rolls through his shoulders. “I wanted nothing more than to provide hope for my people; that has been my guiding principle and desire for as long as I can remember, and while Rosas prospers... I suppose—for the sake of this line of inquiry—that'd make the wish 'granted,' in its own way.”

[silverselfshippingchaos]

sleepy... (totally didn't stay up playing f.f8 because I have a crush)

[hiyori-ii]

i want sanji so bad. like yes. cry for me pretty boy. cry

[galvatronsthighs]

@malenkiandromeda

Sorry this is a side-blog so I can't reply/send asks

BUT I AM ALWAYS HAPPY TO SEE OTHERS GET INTERESTED IN THIS DUMB DYNAMIC I LOVE!

Roddy and Galvs had a lot of parallels I feel and don't often see them pointed out, combined with the fact Galvatron saw this little Autobot runt show up inside Unicron but still wanted to reach out against their 'common enemy' gets me feeling. Plus the fact this "no-name runt" actually did it and subdued Unicron? Fucking superb you funky little fire car!

[gregmarriage]

the entire scene where eddie! mulder attempts to seduce scully, and they almost kiss (and scully is definitely into it), until the real mulder walks in, makes me feel like i’m having a stroke

[shotmrmiller]

getting shot down by ghost without even asking him out or anything because he'd heard from one scottish bird that your type of guy was exactly like him and thinking back on it now, all the qualities you'd listed for your dream man do sound like as if you were describing him. yikes.

you don't take his rejection to heart, even though it does lightly sting but before you get a chance to explain that said scottish bird is an idiot and very mistaken in his assumption, ghost is telling you that it'd never work, you'd only get hurt and that you do take to heart because what does that mean, exactly? does he think you some dewy eyed farm girl looking for love? that you can't have casual sex with someone without eventually wanting for more?

"tha' ain't wha' i said. you'd get hurt, i mean look at ya." what about you? it's not like you'd let any of what happens behind closed doors affect your performance or anything, you and kyle always keep things professional while in the field.

also, is he aware that he doesn't have to have a reason to not want to sleep with you, or anyone else for that matter?

"you're small," he states, as if fact.

small? small where? your irritation dissipates, shoulders bleeding tension as genuine worry begins to set in. his vision might actually be going bad. could it be the black paint he wears under his mask? is it even safe to use on the face let alone near the eyes? did he read the instructions?

but then you realize he's looking at your legs, or specifically, what's between them and things click, and now you're wondering how someone so bloody brilliant could be this fucking stupid.

"while i appreciate your concern, lieutenant," you pointedly snap, "that's not even- i'd be just fine." he's a big guy, for sure. massive, if being honest. his neck alone is easily bigger than both your hands and you've caught him once or twice having to duck his head to enter the debriefing room but him being so endowed that it poses a threat to you is idiotic at best.

he hums, long and low in his throat, as he peers down at you through heavy lidded eyes, and raises his right shoulder in a shrug. "as you like," and that's the one and only warning you got.

simon had given you as much foreplay as needed, had lapped at your pussy until you forgot what day of the week it was, curled and scissored his fingers until his bedsheets were sodden and it still hadn't been enough. he'd only fit about a fourth of it in before he took pity on you and fucked your thighs instead until he got close, pushing his ruddy tip back into your aching cunt because "spillin' outside is a waste," and sent you on your merry way.

you're no quitter though and after some shopping online, your saving grace (dilators) will be here in a week.

(now to find soap and rip the rest of his hair right out his scalp for wagging his tongue.)

[gregrulzok]

This is something I love SO much about Kuro, and about Dunmeshi's portrayal of Bilingualism.

Like ... When we first meet Kuro it's so easy to assume he's a dummy. He's a big doofy-looking dog man that only talks about food, and his sentences are disjointed and broken, so you think oh, haha, token dumb character.

But then we swap to speaking Kobold and it hits you like a truck - Kuro is a person, and he has a full and complete train of thought that he can articulate. This is a grown ass man, and in his native language he speaks just as well as anybody - not only that, but here we see that Kabru, who is usually so good with words, speaks Kobold just as poorly as Kuro does common.

It's such an easy, obvious, and common trope to depict broken speech in a characters non-native language as a funny gag at the expense of their intelligence - not even just in fiction! Making fun of non-native English-speakers for their broken English is so fucking common and normalized - and here you have such a clear and simple portrayal that, no, in fact, Kuro isn't stupid.

And the thing is, common is common for a reason, right. In general high fantasy, "Common" means "Language that is effortless for everyone to speak". But in Dunmeshi, it's explicit that Kobolds can't fully learn Common - Common is designed for Humans, but Kobolds are demi-humans with different mouths and throats that don't allow them to enunciate in the same way.

And yet Kuro is doing his best to study it. He's going out of his way to master a skill most others don't even have to think about. Speaking of which ...

We get this exchange between him and Kabru, which I also wanted to focus on.

Because when we first see Kuro, then portrayed as a simple-minded dummy, it's easy to think that Mickbell is taking advantage of him and Kuro is unaware. Here, Kabru even assumes they can't truly be friends unless they speak the same language perfectly.

But that's not really the case - Mickbell isn't taking advantage of Kuro, not in the way we (and the rest of the party) assume - because Kuro isn't as stupid as we assume. He's thankful to Mickbell, he wants to repay him, and the food is a nice perk - but ultimately he cares about Mickbell enough to put this much effort into learning a whole language for him (while Mickbell cares about him in his own way, though since Mickbell grew up without a family or friends, it usually just manifest in over protectiveness and a fear of losing him. His goal in life is to buy a house for them to live in together. Cmon.)

I think generalising Kuro and Mickbell's relationship as unhealthy (whether you perceive it as romantic or not) is doing a massive disservice to Kuro's intelligence due to his speech - something Kui goes out of the way to disprove.

I love these idiots.