#I'll get it right in the end

[battlfofendorr]

Second

Christopher – Rio - is six foot one, so there’s never been any hiding in the crowd – no blending in – as if he ever would have had that chance, anyway with his jawline, his cheek bones?  He slinks low, hands in pockets, duck that head, minimizes himself with that trademark black-on-black-on-darkness wardrobe, the knit beanie – even as he makes sure it’s all pristine and brand name, the lot of it, because really, there isn’t any hiding.

As if the soccer moms in the neighborhood haven’t seen him often enough, haven’t already puzzled out their own reasons for him to be darkening their street corner.

And if there weren’t enough reasons for people to stare, there’s all that ink – a neck tattoo, and hands, arms, a roadmap on his body of all the places he never wanted to go. It enhances his looks – makes him not just good-looking, but slightly edgy. Slightly dangerous.

There’s scars, too, but isn’t that just a byproduct of life lived? Not that the old biddies peering around curtain panels can see the scars.

There’s something insubstantial to his attitude - the way he alternates between cocky and trying to fade into the background – as if he ever could? – that confuses them.  

It’s not the swagger of a fuck-buddy on his way to get some.

Maybe that’s what causes the old ladies to get the most gossipy – because he’s as good-looking as the mother-of-four he’s there to see, and everyone knows, beautiful people belong together.

It’s a silly notion – the kind you see on all that Hallmark crap that people pretend to buy in to.  

As if plans ever played in to it – as if he’d ever even planned to be exactly where he was: a former – and ongoing -  felon, part-time raising his kid, mostly not, and running – or at least managing – the better part of a crime empire, half his men on double payrolls, allegiances – loyalties – mutable as all hell?

His foundation’s rockier than a gravel pit, and the only part he’s absolutely sure on – besides Marcus, his boy – is her. The naïve little housewife with her foot sliding inch by inch into his world.   

Rio looks down – those cool brown eyes that make so many ladies giggle or back away, nervously skimming toward the ground, not avoiding eye contact exactly, or scrutiny, just moving out of the line of sight,  almost guilty as he cuts down the walkway to the back of the house in the too-nice neighborhood he’s spent far too much time in for his – or anyone’s – liking.

Maybe once that had been the dream. But if he’da known, then, what he knows now, how could he have even wanted it?  And maybe he wouldn’t have even gotten it, anyhow?

It’s the eternal question, though.  Would he have washed out as a boxer? Gotten his own gym, slipped into the role of coach?  Would he have his own proteges, and not just lackeys waiting to become statistics?  Would he have the house, the family?  Not just one kid, but the soccer team worth?  The naivety that let some people drift through life on a cloud of happiness?

Would it even have made him happy?

Doesn’t matter – he’s greedy as fuck, and he wants it – just for a moment – but then the bubble pops as his phone rings.

No point wanting what you ain’t got, right?

“Hey, Grams,” he says, answering the phone quickly, smoothly, prepared to dodge the many questions she’d bound to ask: how are you, where are you, are you being smart?  As if he’d ever had a choice.  “Wha’s up?”

But it’s not Grams on the phone – nah, his life ain’t that easy. It’s his best friend. Business associate. Right hand man.  Mick – because that’s who it is, Mick -  doesn’t have to say a word, because just the breathing – the quiet – tells him that much.

“Mick,” he says, and it’s a bullet to the gut. There’s only one reason for him to be calling on her phone. On her number. “Where’d they take ‘er?”

And for a minute, he’s so sure it’ll be a hospital, because crime life might be his inheritance, but Grams – the OG boss lady – is untouchable.

But that quiet – that stillness – it stretches on too long, then the phone goes dead, and just like that, his plans shift again. 

Maybe Mick hadn’t thought he’d be ID’s quickly. Maybe he’d ran out of words, or the strength to say them.

Didn’t matter, because the only other man that could pull Mick’s strings was incarcerated.

And if Nick was starting the old games up all over again – if he was putting Rio in the place he’d built for him, the cage he’d built on lies and slander – well, at least he had a second for the upcoming duel.

Rio glanced through Elizabeth’s window – just a glimpse of her moving canisters and bake wear in the kitchen, all done up like she's waiting for someone. Him, probably, because he really has made too much of a habit of dropping in.   It's like watching other moms do yoga. A zen space, all of her own. He could ruin it - pop her bubble like the phonecall popped his - but like a gift, he'll let her have that – let her have the night. If they're going to war with his brother-cousin, she’ll need the stored-up inner peace bullshit baking always gave her.

And really, he wasn’t a monster. Even he could admit she was damn good at it. In the morning, he’d need to rally all his troops. For better or worse, that means her – and her two little flunkies. Because really. If they can turn Mick, they can turn everyone else, too.  

Everyone but her. Might as well let her bring snacks to the war room. And maybe a juice box or two.

[bixels]

tarpit site.

[u3pxx]

i just like drawing them standing there sometimes, for my mental health

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

[cometshift]

predisasters

[reineydraws]

i have this fic series i'm still working on where mihawk sort of becomes rayleigh's kid and spends ages 11-17ish on the oro jackson.

shanks and buggy imprint on him (bugs considers him a sort of older brother figure/sparring inspiration and shanks has a crush that eventually turns into full-blown love) and this is how i imagine they're like on the day mihawk sets off on his own haha.

[starflungwaddledee]

maybe a little bit generic of me, but i adore the dream land four!

magolor and bandee are tied for tippy top favourite, but this whole group just mean everything to me and i am extremely normal about them. after these guys it's probably a very close galacta knight and marx!

king dedede was actually my first ever played exposure to the franchise (through smash multiplayer at a party where i picked him due to Bird) and marx was my first 'character i recognised + played + was obsessed with outside the mains' in star allies so i still consider him my original Little Freak (affectionate)

ask answer for @trainerbob23!

[brother-emperors]

I love how much Lucullus can't stand Pompey, and also this

Pompey the Great: A Political Biography, Robin Seager

with something from this thrown in for extra flavor

Crassus and Pompey, on the other hand, ridiculed Lucullus for giving himself up to pleasure and extravagance, as if a luxurious life were not even more unsuitable to men of his years than political and military activities.

Plutarch, Lucullus

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[grimstrawberry]

If I don't make light of everything, I'm gonna explode.

[humming-fly]

Happy to report I have finally started listening to Malevolent and to no one's surprise I am already obsessed (I'm almost done with s2 atm please don't send me spoilers yet sdlkfj)

I'll skip over my usual formality of having one normal art post before diving into shitposts let's not waste anyone's time here

[never-looked-so-good]

📷 @/ch_leclerc16_

[seventhdoctor]

Saturday morning discussions in the queer Yugioh server (thanks to Maxiuchiha22 on DA and Spriter's Resource for most of these sprites!)

[deoidesign]

quick traditional piece for fun ^^

[coern-art-very-cool-and-nice]

try again?

[ptanalo]

bagong gising

[distressed-devilsitter]

Please Larian...justice for Karlach.