#his home does NOT breathe

[emmcfrxst]

jason todd swears like a sailor whenever you ride him. the visual of your body on top of his, the feeling of your hands on his chest and your cunt fluttering around him, the sweet sounds of your moans and mewls— everything about getting ridden makes jason’s dick hard and turns his brain to mush

[mintjeru]

technically this is for the requester but it's also for anyone who's having a hard time-- you've worked hard, good job today 💜 "alhaitham and kaveh hugging but kaveh is comforting alhaitham" for @/zarzaryyy. thank you for your donation to @hkvthm-action!!

open for better quality | no reposts

[leoisstillalive]

i have this. horrid yet incredibly amusing vision. of marc and pecco next year on the podium.

pecco wins, marc comes second, and so valentino (having attended the race) thinks it reasonable to go and congratulate pecco for his win. give him a bit of a morale boost for the championship fight. nothing drawn out- he has a debrief to do with franky and diggia- just a quick hand shake.

so he goes to the barricade at parc fermé and pecco is there and he's grinning and he looks hungryyy because he's made ground on marc's title lead. vale pulls him into a hug, clasps a hand on the back of his neck, etc, and it's nice and easy.

so far so good.

then marc appears. seemingly from nowhere. vale hasn't been watching out for him- maybe he should've been. he definitely should've been.

marc shakes pecco's hand, claps him on the back. they're all giggles and heavy, panting breaths. and marc is sweating still and his hair is parted in damp, messy clumps, cheeks rosy and youthful and vale smacks his lips; tries to disappear back into the crowd but

it's packed tight. and nobody seems to be giving because they're all reaching over him to congratulate marc-- of course. they're on the same team. vale isn't a child, he doesn't let it anger him. he instead keeps his eyes fixed on his academy student as pecco smooths back his hair.

marc finishes with pecco and brings his obnoxious, bubbly laughter to the barrier and starts grabbing hands and letting people pat his head, moving down the row, and then.

vale jumps back when marc's sweaty palm locks against his own. marc's fingers curl tight around the ridge above vale's wrist and vale's mouth is agape and he can't tell if he's offended or shocked or- just a bit- pleased by the large, firm hand encasing him. and marc isn't looking at vale-- hasn't looked at him once, vale's not sure if he even knows he's there, caught up in the whirlwind adrenaline, almost post-coital ecstasy of getting a podium.

but vale knows. and the people around vale have noticed. and vale is frozen still like a tree- everything in him tense as hell except his heart, which is rattling like an alarm. he is afraid marc can feel it hammering through his skin.

marc's brows curl together and his smile turns confused as everybody quietens down, all eyes turned to the two men like some sort of baroque painting.

marc lets his gaze fall on valentino at last-- at long last, but vale would not, could never admit this. and his smile wobbles at the edges, goes sharp and thin. he releases vale's floppy hand and blinks a few times, pupils blown wide like he’s spotted a lion in the reeds. valentino is absolutely stunned. can't say a word. can barely breathe.

and pecco shares his surprise- only, a small, sly smirk has crooked at one side of his mouth and he looks nigh on laughter. valentino would be too if he wasn't so. astounded. his hand is tingling from the contact, heavy as if packed with mud.

marc bites and licks his lips. habit. vale does not track the movement-- he doesn't. but he spots it in his peripherals and is glad for the shield of his sunglasses.

marc lingers. for some reason. like he is waiting for something- for valentino to speak or retake his hand or dissolve into smoke like a super villain. nothing happens. they both just stare until it becomes. very awkward for their spectators.

finally, valentino clears his throat and turns back to pecco, gesturing him over for nothing in particular- simply trying to get marc out of the way, trying to pretend none of..... that just happened.

marc seems just as eager to move on, shuffling away to the corner of the barricade. but there is a crease of sadness or loss on his face for a moment- only long enough for valentino to spot it. and then he is smiling again, laughing and shaking hands, while everybody just watches. slightly confused, very amused.

vale hopes the cameras didn't catch that but. fucking. of course they did. now he's in for it

[tojiscrack]

jjk manga ending in 5 chapters? that takes us to september 30th and you wanna know why that’s significant?

it’s ten days after the supposed ‘death’ of gojo’s, and half of ten is actually five, which is also the remaining chapters left of jjk, and because we wrap up shinjuku next week, there’ll be four chapters remaining, four being the number of letters in gojo’s name, and that’s an even number. keeping that in mind, gojo has the six eyes which (you guessed it) also happens to be an even number, and the number of letters in his first name, and a positive plus a positive makes another positive, therefore gojo has to return in one of these final chapters because it’d make us all very positive :)

[zootzar]

waiting.

[ratwithhands]

Since I finished the manga a few days back, I wanted to revisit my two demon slayer OCs I made last year. Here's Yoshi and Syougo ^^

Syougo and Yoshiaki are childhood friends who both ended joining the Demon Slayer corps after being separated earlier in life. Yoshi spent his years training under his retired slayer father before passing the final examination, while Syougo ended up having to figure his own methods out after his first teacher made it so he couldn't use a true breathing technique again.

As an overview of the techniques they use:

Field Breathing is a technique Yoshi's father came up with over his career in the corps. When he retired, he continued to polish the forms and taught them to Yoshi. Both the name and the forms it utilizes are based on the flora around the rice fields he was raised and later retired to. The technique emphasizes speed, flexibility, and applying pressure to the opponent as much as possible. It's fluidity and aggressiveness leads Yoshi to be quick in handling threats since he pushes opponents around

Spirit Breathing (or if you're using archaic kanji, Vengeful Spirit Breathing) is a breathing technique Syougo made as a way to regulate his body and state of mind after losing the lung capacity to use Total Concentration or other methods. It's based around his base breathing rate so he doesn't overexert himself, which means to an extent he is always using it. In combat it's intended to psych out opponents and help highlight their weak points. Since it's mostly a distraction/intimidation technique, Syougo uses a secondary weapon to get the jump on opponents when they're not focused.

For some bonus design notes, here's some details for how they dress:

Yoshiaki's samue is based on what he'd wear when working at the rice fields with his family. The light green colour comes from being dyed with wisteria leaves, a precaution his mother took hoping it would protect him

Having nostalgia from weaving baskets with his mom when he was younger, Yoshi tends to use dry reeds for securing things. He ties his hair with it, decorates his equipment with it, and though his legs aren't visible, he ties reeds in a crossed pattern over his kyahan

The brown cotton sageo and tsuba he uses are handed down from his father. The scar on his cheek is also there for the same reason, his father had one and Yoshi decided to cut his cheek to look cool and match 💀

Syougo's haori has kogin-zashi embroidery across the sleeves and shoulders. He sewed it himself in between his training as a way to decompress and slow down. His kyahan have a matching stripe across the front

Syougo's tsuba was gifted to him by his current mentor who thought he would enjoy the oblique patterning to match his outerwear. His current mentor also requested a nichirin style tanto for him to use for his secondary fighting technique

The ragged look of Syougo's hair comes from him prioritizing training over all else, even appearance. The only instance where he will fully comb and dress his hair is for important meetings and ceremonies. He does maintain the part of his hair though, modelled after his mentor's (much shorter) hair. This is one doodle with clean hair

I'd write more about their character but this is getting long as it is 💀

I have a piece with Syougo that I'm going to put up soon, and at my sister's request I'll try doing a matching one for Yoshi

Hope you guys like these fellas ^^ I'll see you later

[stranded-labyrinth]

my ideal post fall dynamic is Will as the classic grumbly whiskey and beer drinking American husband and Hannibal as the ever doting housewife and no i do not accept criticism

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

sometimes ya just gotta scribble your favorite character giving you words of encouragement. even if that favorite is a guy from your own brain

[askchilchuck]

What do you think of Chappell Roan, Mr Tims?

I’m not really the type to care about musicians if I’m being honest with you. If the info that one anon gave me is true, she has a good head on her shoulders from what I can tell. Then again, there’s a lot of stuff I don’t really have context for, so I could be wrong. The girls seem to like her music, at least.

[merakiui]

some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)

Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal. 

But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus. 

When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you. 

But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.

He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.

Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do. 

But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.

So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: “I must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”

Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set. 

Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.

Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial. 

The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim. 

Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you. 

He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you. 

And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering. 

Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable. 

Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all. 

“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. “There, there.”

You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee. 

“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. “In that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”

And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate. 

Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies. 

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

So I was reading articles about John Hurt (as I do when I procrastinate on life in general lol) and I saw a still shot of a movie I’ve never seen still shots of before; so I looked it up. It’s a play. I was worried I wouldn’t find it in full online; but I did, so here it is in all its glory:

He’s just… ugh I want to gently hold his face in my hands he’s just so sad and lonely with his weepy voice and eye bags. I couldn’t process half of what he said but I think this is a warning about always speed-running through life to get to the next good thing. We should appreciate the moment; because in the end, we’ll have nothing at all but our memories. If we rush through life, we won’t have any memories to keep us warm at night when the chill of death creeps up on us in our old age.

Also, spool, spooooooooooollll…….

spoooooooooooooooooooooolllllll [cackles in mentally unstable]

@kaleidoscopr @theindo @possessedbydevils @randomtwospirit

[snowshinobi]

Kaveh's relationship with his mother is fascinating. She's alive but she's gone. A massive desert plus an ocean away. His father sank to his death in that very desert. He has a copy of the architecture textbook she wrote; in his journal, he nitpicks the cover design. He mentions his absent mother's name, Faranak, but not his dead father's. He calls her mother, not maman or even mom. It's implied he learned his trade from her. His journal reveals that he feels agonizing guilt about his father. He has never spoken of visiting his mom in Fontaine, nor her returning to visit Sumeru.

like what the fuck is going on. There's intimacy here, but it's strained. There is the person she was, of whom Kaveh speaks fondly, and the person she is, who he neither knows nor seeks. HUH?????????

[softquietsteadylove]

Me again! I am once again humbly requesting more of the family law au. Anything you wanna do with the story, I know anything you write will be amazing

Thena looked up as a small body plunked down onto the bench next to her. She looked back at the courtroom door, but the child had appeared from elsewhere. "Hello."

The child sniffled.

She looked around them, but court was in recess, currently. "Where is your guardian?"

The kid shrugged.

She could simply ignore the child. She wasn't a bailiff or authority, she was only in court to close a case of her own, it was signatures in front of the judge. But she recognised the deep hunch in her shoulders and the way her feet kicked idly hanging off the edge of the bench. "I know you have one. Kids aren't allowed to just walk into courtrooms alone."

The kid looked around; she couldn't have been older than twelve. "My parents are talking to a lawyer, but I left."

How did a kid walk out and no one noticed? Thena frowned, "who was watching you?"

"My dad's new wife."

Ah, an unwanted stepmother; Thena angled herself toward the young girl. "Hm, the lawyer speaking with your parents, is he...big?"

She looked up at Thena, her face betraying the vulnerability her body language was trying to hide. "Really big."

Thena couldn't help but smile. There was no more way effective way to describe Gil. "Trust me, he looks scary, but he's actually quite nice."

The girl looked back down at her lap again. "I dunno."

If her parents were speaking with Gil, it was some sort of family issue. Divorce - and to some extent, custody - was her specialty, but Gil handled plenty to do with family settlements and custody issues. He didn't always get to see families on their best day.

Thena rethought her approach. She undid her suit jacket and put her arm up on the back of the bench. "My youngest sister is around your age. She also hates talking."

The girl giggled, just a little. "I don't hate talking."

"Well," Thena paused and shrugged strategically. "Tell me why you're here today."

The kid sighed, seeming even more like Sprite. "My dad's new wife wants us to stay at their new house for his weekends with us. But it's really far away, and they only have one bedroom for me and my sister to share."

As much as she was listening to the child, her mind couldn't help but think that - professionally speaking - it didn't sound suitable for at least one preteen, if not two. "Are you parents discussing this now?--where you and your sister should go, that is?"

She nodded, sniffling again. "They got a little nicer with each other after the divorce. But now all they're doing is yelling again."

Thena bobbed her head slowly to show her understanding. The poor child had been through this already and was now reliving the struggle of an ugly custody hearing. "And do you remember what they were saying?"

The girl made a face, scrunching her small features. "I had to go with my dad's new wife when they started yelling. My sister is still in there, though. They were talking about 'confidence' or something."

So, the sister was older. Even more of a reason that the girls sharing a room would be unfavourable. "Competence--it means they want to know who's the better parent."

She looked up at Thena again, even sadder than before. "I like both my parents. I just don't wanna live an hour away every weekend!"

"Okay, okay, all right, sh," Thena attempted to comfort the girl (which had never been her specialty). She patted her back as the poor thing loudly hiccuped and sniffled up her excess snot. "Can I tell you something?"

Children enjoyed knowing secrets.

The girl nodded.

Thena sighed. It went against all her personal rules against disclosing her personal life, family situation, getting close with people in a professional setting. But she sucked it up, as Sprite would say. "I've had to prove my competence before, when I signed up to take care of my sisters."

"You take care of your sisters?" she asked, although she didn't seem so incredibly astounded.

"One is 16, although it feels like she's turning 20," Thena laughed faintly, and at least the girl smiled. It was the kind of thing a parent would say, much to her dread. But she continued. "I told you the other is around your age, she just turned 13 in the spring."

"How old are you?"

She ignored that question. "I had to prove I could take care of them, like a parent would, although I didn't really know how. But do you know what helped?"

She shook her head.

"Hearing from them," Thena said more gently. It seemed a revelation to the girl that someone might listen to her. "They said they wanted to stay with me. That I would take good care of them, and I swore I would. And I've tried my best, even if I'm not perfect. I get things wrong sometimes, like getting them to school late or forgetting about projects they have."

"What do you do?"

"I try again," she shrugged, and if anything the girl seemed to appreciate her honesty. "Because someone who's going to look after you only wants what's best for you. What's important is if you're safe, and taken care of and comfortable. If you're happy, and doing well in school, or with your friends. The person who's going to take care of you will care about that even if it means you're far away."

Something seemed to dawn on the girl. Although Thena didn't want to sway her opinion any, it would seem her assumption that the husband was not doing his due diligence was correct. Or perhaps the wife was pushing too hard for her new role in his children's lives. Either way, if the girls were best off with their mother, it was more than clear to the client, now.

"Thanks," she smiled at Thena, her shoulders un-hunching faintly. "I'll tell my sister that."

Perhaps the older one could communicate that to the parents. It sounded like the parents were a few precarious steps away from hiring individual lawyers for each of their sides as opposed to using one. But Thena regarded the girl, labelling her 'her client' in her mind. And it was her job to keep her client's best interest at heart.

"There you are!"

Thena looked up, catching Gil jogging over to them. She stood out of habit, holding her coat over her arm. "Mister Gilgamesh."

"Hey," he smiled at her before looking down at the girl. "What's the deal, we turned around and you were gone."

The mother and father immediately began berating the daughter for running off. Thena caught Gil's eye aside from the family. She leaned closer, "my client has some concerns about the pending custody battle."

"Oh," Gil blinked, looking from the girl and back to her. He smiled, showing off the charming and warm temperament that made him so popular, especially with families. "She does, does she?"

They drifted further from the family having their own discussion. Thena eyed Gil, who looked both exhausted and also a whole pot of coffee deep. "How is it?"

He angled himself closer to her and away from the family. "It's getting ugly, and I don't know what I can do to stop it. They're ready to hire their own custody lawyers."

Thena also peeked over at them cautiously. The girl was accepting her berating, although when the father's wife appeared over his shoulder she looked away, taking on a more defensive stance again. She really did remind her of Sprite. "Let the girls talk."

"What?"

She shifted on her feet. It was Gil's case, and she had no real right to get involved, even if it did cross into her expertise. She whispered, "let the girls speak. If nothing else, it should sway the parents enough for them to come to a decision."

Gil made a face, crossing his arms. It pulled his suit jacket to the point of strain; ridiculously thick arms, he had. "Or it could be the drop that makes the dam burst."

Thena shook her head though. "It won't. Those girls know the best place for themselves, and I believe the parents do too. Let the girls state what they want. The parents will respond to their needs and settle."

He gave her a peculiar look, and she couldn't fault him for it. She usually didn't offer personal perspectives on cases. She worked solely and completely on evidence, maybe sometimes on how a judge might regard something. But she didn't give personal opinions. "How do you know?"

Thena looked at the family again. The father patted both his daughters on the shoulder as the bailiff ushered them back to where they had been discussing things during the recess. She looked at Gil. "I just do."

Gil didn't look at the family again. He focused entirely on her, unfolding his arms, slipping his hands into his pockets and raising an eyebrow slightly. But he nodded, "okay."

"That's it?"

He shrugged, furthering the rumpling of his suit, entirely by his own doing. "I trust you. If you say the family will settle, I believe you. I'll ask for the kids to talk."

She smiled, genuinely relieved at the idea of the young girl's feelings being heard. Maybe there was something to how Gil made all of his cases personal. "I think it will be best for everyone."

"So, uh," Gil finally did just barely glance over his shoulder as they started walking back as well. "What'd you say to her?"

Thena pursed her lips. "Not much of anything, truly. The girl is quite competent for her age. All she needs is to be heard."

Gil chuckled.

"What?"

"Nothing," he laughed now, furthering her scrutiny. He shrugged, "you're great with kids, which I guess I should have expected."

"I would not say that."

"You just demonstrated it."

"You didn't see it happen."

"You literally have kids."

"I am not a mother," she argued, and it was true, even as a defense of herself. "She's around Sprite's age, and I recall when Sprite first got into her phase of wanting to shout at the world but not wanting anyone to look at her, either."

"See?" Gil gesticulated with his hand before rolling his shoulders to correct his suit jacket (it did not). "You're a natural."

That was not what the courts thought when she was going through her own proceedings a matter of years ago. But she smiled, giving his poor suit jacket a tug here and there to get it to sit right on him again. Why was he so ridiculously well built for a family lawyer? "Your clients await."

He gave her a more grateful smile as she brushed her hand over his lapel. "Thanks--hey, I'll make sure your client gets her fair say."

She waved him off as he went back to his meeting, and then the proceeding hearing. Technically she didn't have any reason to linger--it wasn't her case. But she sat herself down on the bench outside of the main courtroom doors again, pulling out her phone.

Can I go see that new gangster movie with sersi and her friends?

She would never understand Sprite's obsession with foreign, violent gangster action comedies. But she sighed. She had been poised to say no, that she would pick them up from their free roaming at the mall (which she only allowed them when she had court dates anyway). But she resigned herself to her decision.

That's fine, I'm still at court anyway. But don't stuff yourself on movie snacks, you still have to eat at home

With that, she slipped her phone away again, staring ahead at the elevators opposite her bench of solitude. It was silly to wait. She could ask Gil about it later if she was so concerned. It was inappropriate. It wasn't her case.

Then she would think of how Sprite had tearily asked if she and Sersi would be put in some stranger's house. She would think of that little girl who had sat right down next to her, and she thought of Gil, nervously pacing outside before even she had arrived for her earlier hearing time. He had been poring over this case all week.

Maybe she should do something for him if the case went well--and if it didn't go well, in all honesty.

Thanks thee btw can gil come and cook again it was soooo good

Thena swiped the notification away, decidedly ignoring the leading question. It was nothing but entrapment; as sweet as it was that her sisters had grown a fondness for Gilgamesh, she didn't need them reading too much into her relationship with her colleague.

No matter how amazing his lasagne was, and how often she had thought about it in the past week.

[nicoscheer]

London Night 1 x She's ready x Love MK

X

Have mercy

X

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[melonthesprigatito]

I've been hurrying to finish my Breath of the Wild playthrough, so I stopped off at Rito Village to get the Great Eagle Bow again and I happened to run into Saki and I like her, so I talked to her to see what she had to say

And uh…. Hoo boy, this dialogue hits different knowing what happens to Tulin in the sequel 😬

[quietwingsinthesky]

transmasc rose tyler who isn’t out yet, maybe hasn’t even figured it out for himself, but the minute he absorbs the heart of the tardis and has his mind opened across all of time, he’s like oh yeah, right, of course i am. and while he’s disintegrating daleks and making jack immortal, he’s giving himself time vortex hrt.