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[qtubbo]

Qfit take he has a vanity mirror and will spend an outrageous amount of time on skin care, he has all those stupid products that definitely don’t do anything. If ramon wakes up early he just stares in disappoint at his father.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Autumn Embers Verse

Omegaverse AU where people who are compatible have complementary scents.

Your friends assure you that the bar they’re dragging you to is nicer than it looks online. You highly doubt that, but you’re willing to go along until the three of them get bored and decide to get a car to the club district. And they will get bored, because you recognize the name and address that they’re trying to go to. You’ve never been, but some of your new coworkers on the base have invited you out for drinks and pool.

When Christie flounces out in a bright pink mini-dress, you can’t help but grin. “You look great. Super cute. But I don’t think that’s the vibe of the bar.”

Admittedly, you’re dressed a bit less conservatively than the bar might call for. But you feel cute in your black skater skirt and white top. Styled with floral lace stockings, boots, and silver jewelry, it’s more dressing up than you’ve been able to do in the last 6 months.

“I’m not dressing for the military bar,” Christie says, checking her makeup in the hall mirror before dropping on the couch next to you. She tosses her brown hair over one shoulder and pulls out her phone to order a car. “I’m dressing for when Mel and Jack decide they’re done shopping for alphas and want to go to the club.”

“Military packs are already cohesive,” Jack sniffs, emerging from the hall in cute jeans, a mesh top, and a sensible jacket. Behind him, Mel is dressed very similarly, though they’ve opted for cargo pants. “It’s not impossible that we might find a couple of someones who might be interesting.”

“If nothing else, they’ll buy you drinks,” you concede. “Pretty sure they have pool tables. If there’s one open, maybe we play a couple of rounds. Give Jack a chance to bend over and show off.”

The car, when it arrives, is a little small, but the four of you pile in gamely. You sit in the front, since your hips need the room. The driver gives a smile and a nod through his cloth mask and starts driving as soon as your seatbelt is secure. You reflexively drop the window a bit, though it’s already open. It makes sense - driving groups around all night definitely lends itself to a lot of conflicting scents.

In the back, Chrissy’s floral omega scent plays well with Jack and Mel’s sweet beta and omega mix. The very subtle floral notes of your own scent don’t clash too badly, but the base note of charcoal does sometimes leave people’s noses a bit confused. You catch the moment the driver catches a hint of your scent and darts a look at you, but he doesn’t say anything. You occupy yourself on your phone for the fifteen minute drive, tuning out Chrissie and Jack’s complaints about work.

When you arrive, the bar is just about what you expected. Run-down in a lived-in kind of way but clean. Dim and quiet. The exact opposite of Jack and Chrissie, but that doesn’t stop them from swanning in through the doors and making their way immediately to the bar. You and Mel follow behind. You make eye contact with a couple of people you kind of recognize, give a quirk of a smile as a greeting.

By the time you’ve decided what to drink, Chrissie and Jack have already charmed a trio of alphas into conversation and a promised game of pool. Mel leans into Jack’s back and introduces themself in their quiet way. You give your name with a wave before ordering a whiskey sour.

“Put their drinks on our tab,” one of the alphas says. He holds his hand out to you to shake. “Daniels. I’ve seen you on base before, yeah?”

“I’ve been working admin for a couple of months,” you confirm as you shake his hand. He’s polite enough not to try to rub wrists on a first meeting, at least. His scent reminds you of the bakery near your house. “It’s not a bad job.”

Once everyone has their drinks and the group makes their way over to one of the open pool tables, you think you could have a pretty good night. Daniels and his friends, Bennet and Bakshi, are actually pretty fun. They’re obviously flirting with Chrissie and Jack (and Mel, by extension), but they’re not ignoring you. Daniels and Bakshi, at least, include you in the conversation and ask questions about your job, how you all know each other, where you’re from.

When Bakshi manages to pull Mel into a conversation about video games and cyber security, you and Chrissie excuse yourselves to the restroom.

“I should have worn jeans,” she sighs. “This is really fun, but kind of a waste of an outfit.”

You’re about to laugh when you pass by a table and make eye contact with a man you’ve only seen in passing before. You recognize Sergent MacTavish by his mohawk, and give him a little half smile. Then you notice Captain Price and Sergent Garrick. The blond in a skull themed cloth mask can only be Lieutenant Riley. You give all four of them a startled little nod of acknowledgment, and then Chrissie is tugging you into the bathroom.

You’ve never met anyone from Task Force 141 before. Any time you’ve heard of them, at least two have been sent off somewhere across the world. You don’t have the clearance to deal with any of their reports, but you know enough to understand that they’re practically rock stars.

“Five quid, Jack and Mel have all three of their numbers by the end of the night,” Chrissie interrupts your musing as she checks her makeup in the mirror. As usual, she’s perfect, and you hear her take a selfie.

“Ten quid, Bennet asks for yours,” you counter from the stall.

“No bet, he’s already asked.” Chrissie answers. “But he’s a tool.”

“You like tools.”

“That’s true. It’s the muscles.” she agrees. “If he asks me on a proper date, I won’t say no.”

“Not a waste of a dress, then,” you point out before flushing and making your way to wash your hands. “Is he wearing scent blockers? I can’t get a bead on him.”

“He’s a subtle bit of tobacco leaf. Bakshi is nutmeg and Daniels-”

“Daniels smells like fresh bread,” you finish.

“Oh, ho, ho,” Chrissie chuckles, leaning her hip on the counter as you wash your hands. “Took notice did you?”

“We shook hands.” You roll your eyes. “Kind of hard not to notice.” When you step out of the bathroom, you’re startled to see Sergent MacTavish leaning against the wall on his phone. His eyes snap up to yours and he stands up to his full height. He’s bigger than you expected, and you find yourself helpless to hold his stare. When he smiles, you feel yourself flush.

“Evenin’, bonnie lass,��� he says, after a moment. “C’n I get a moment of your time?”

Chrissie practically skips the couple of steps away to stand at the entrance of the hall leading to the bathrooms. She doesn’t quite abandon you with a strange alpha, but she does turn her back and pull out her phone.

Before you can comment on her absence, or introduce yourself, or even think about what to say, MacTavish has stepped close. His scent, something warm and earthy and somehow also floral, floods your senses. At the same time, he leans down to hover his nose just short of touching your temple. You can’t help but blush harder at how bold he’s being. The way he takes your scent into his lungs is just this side of vulgar.

“So it has been you we’ve been scenting around base,” he chuckles, taking a deliberate step back and leaning back against the wall again. He crosses big arms across his chest and smiles. “Gaz’s been tying himself in knots trying to catch more than faded hints near the caf’.”

What are you supposed to say to that? “…Sorry? I’m new to the base.”

He grins. “Well, I’m glad you’re around. Sergent MacTavish.” He doesn’t offer his hand, but considering the how rude he was before, it’s not like he needs to.

You stammer an introduction and decide to make your retreat. “It was, um, nice to meet you, Sergent. I have to get back to my friends.” “Be seeing you around, hen,” he says, and doesn’t move as you make your retreat.

As soon as you’re clear of the hall, you make the mistake of looking that the 141’s table. All of their eyes snap to your face as soon as you’re visible. You almost freeze under their attention, but Chrissie rescues you. She takes your arm and practically marches you across the bar to rejoin Jack and Mel, who immediately pull you close to drag you into some debate about music.

You can’t contribute much to the conversation. Thank goodness for Chrissie, who gleefully carries the discussion. You’re too distracted to do much more than give vague agreements for a long time.

At the end of the night, when you and your friends leave the bar, you chance a glance toward the 141’s table. Four pairs of eyes stare back.

[enqmind]

Fic!

This is what happens when you've recently read baby trapping fics and then have a conversation about what foods you can't eat around taking certain medications.

Soap/Female Reader WC: 1.4k 18+ content.

Warnings: Baby trapping, manipulation, tampering with contraceptives, tampering with food, technically poisoning, misuse of a dietary supplement. Noncon, despite containing no actual sex (because baby trapping).

Reader notes: Implied to dislike marmite, probably isn't Scottish, dislikes masks (not a covid denier. they just make her uncomfortable).

Gothmet

 Johnny has been cooking a lot lately.

 “Trying to take after your compatriot?”

 He’d laughed at that.

 “I think you’ll find I don’t hit my Boiling Point quite so fast, love.”

 You suspected he’d last five minutes in food service, since you’re not actually allowed to explode the sous chef.

 But as a home cook? Oh, he was passable.

 His latest creation was squid ink ravioli filled with an avant garde bacon and nigella seed concoction.

 It was interesting, but good was a different question.

 “Do you like it?” He asked, puppy dog enthusiasm radiating off of him in waves.

 “… I don’t know,” you confessed. “It’s certainly interesting, but I’m not sure one way or the other.”

 You half expected his face to fall, but instead he looked thoughtful as he took a considered bite.

 “Aye, I see what you mean. This’ll take some workshopping. You willing to be my taste tester?” 

 You grinned at him over your wine.

 “It would be my pleasure.”

 “And that is my top priority, after all.”

 He didn’t seem discouraged by the half hearted kick under the table, especially if his enthusiasm for ‘dessert’ was considered.

 His new culinary interest expanded to baking.

 The next day he presented you with a zebra cake with the highest contrast you’d ever seen. The chocolate stripes were almost jet black.

 “I got some o’  that ultra Dutch processed cocoa to try making my own oreos. Ordered one of them special biscuit cutters too, but it hasn’t arrived yet. So I decided to make a very accurate zebra cake.”

 “You ordered one for bourbons too, right?”

 “What do you take me for, hen? Some kind of godless heathen?”

 You raised your hands placatingly.

 “Just making sure, Johnno. Gotta check to see if you’ve been replaced by a sexy doppelganger every now and then.”

 He squinted at you.

 “Yeah, well. You’ll get your bourbons. With bourbon cream, mind.”

 “Always trying to ply me with something, aren’t you?”

 He looked scandalised when you laughed.

 Within the week he had those biscuits ready for you. True to his word the bourbons had bourbon cream and the orefauxs (as he called them) had Baileys cream. Both were as black as the devil’s bottom.

 “I might need a new wardrobe soon if you keep this up,” you joked between mouthfuls.

 “Ah, I’ll just help you work it off. Or just buy you a new one.”

 The look you gave him might not have been as withering as you’d hoped, but he seemed to get the message.

 “I’ll try to bake you something healthier next time.”

 Something healthier meant a coal black loaf of bread.

 “It’s a black bread,” he said cheerily, “it’s got rye in it. Thought might as well go the whole hog and added some activated charcoal to make it as black as you like your coffee.”

 It was with a heavy sigh that you turned your eyes to him.

 “I can’t eat this.”

 His face did fall this time.

 “Oh. You allergic to rye? Or are you afraid I’ve slipped some marmite in?”

 “My marmite take is neither here nor there. The problem is that I’m on the pill and activated charcoal can make it not work.”

 “Oh, shit.”

 He looked so crestfallen that you felt even worse.

 “Sorry.”

 “No, no. It’s my fault. Shoulda considered that.”

 You tore off a chunk and slathered it with butter, just to see him light up a little.

 “Well, I guess half a loaf over a couple days can’t hurt too much.”

 His grin was blinding.

 “Ah, but what am I gonna do with all this spare activated charcoal? I cannae eat it all meself.”

 You gave him a grin of your own.

 “Could live up to your callsign and use it to make soap. Good for the skin and all that.”

 “Ah,” he said sagely. “So that’s why they kept showing me that melt and pour stuff. I was starting to think I’d have to assassinate Bezos for knowing too much. How’d he even find out?”

 You chuckle as you eat your chunk of bread.

 “It’s really good,” you mumbled, delight rendering you mannerless.

 Johnny puffed up with pride.

 “I’ll try a different colourant next time. Still got that squid ink, after all.”

 “How is recipe development, by the way?”

 “Can’t complain. I’ll have another plate for you in a couple o’ days.”

 “I look forward to it!”

 In the meantime you were working your way through the biscuits, cake and that half a loaf.

 The second round of ravioli was divine. Exactly what was different was a question, but if Johnny was going to continue to be a magician in the kitchen then he was allowed a few secrets.

 He joked that this was the way to your heart, and he wasn’t far wrong. There was something about a handsome and rugged man cooking for you that was so very seductive. So less ‘way to your heart’ and ‘way into your knickers’.

 His culinary adventures continued with a squid ink version of the bread (still delicious, barely tasted different) and so much chocolatey goodness.

 Despite previously thinking such things impossible, you liked chocolate as much as the next woman, it was getting more than a bit much.

 “Don’t worry. I’ll take a break on the old chocolate,” he reassured you over some jjajangmyeon. “I’ve got a few more ideas up my sleeve.”

 He bought you a pie.

 It was rectangular, but certainly a pie.

 “I thought you said you made buns?”

 “I did hen, a bun at least. This is a black bun, it’s traditional around Hogmanay.”

 When he cut it open you could see why it was called that.

 The filling was dark as a moonless night and chock full of dried fruit.

 Granted, you were a bit leery, but you gave it a shot and were pleasantly surprised.

 “This is good. Remind me to come ‘round yours for New Year’s.”

 “It’ll be an invitation, not a reminder, lass.”

 You grinned, even with currents stuck in your teeth.

 The next thing he bought you was fudge.

 You were more dubious about this one than the pie.

 “Why is it black?”

 “It’s liquorice flavoured. Me mam asked me to make some, thought I’d let you try it too.”

 Maybe you could deal with the dried fruit, but the liquorice was a bit much. All sorts were one thing, but this flavour and this texture? It was weird and gritty and didn’t go. No thank you.

 “Well, you win some you lose some,” he grinned, “they can’t all be winners.”

 The liquorice might not have been, but the black sesame seed mochi certainly was.

 “It’s good in a porridge too, they use rice starch to thicken it.”

 You raised an eyebrow at him.

 “Porridge without oats? Do your countrymen know you’re speaking such blasphemy?”

 “Aye, aye. Fair point. You keep this schtumm and I'll work on some fusion cuisine so they don’t burn me in Parliament square.”

 It took a few days, but the proper black sesame seed porridge was welcome. You’d been feeling a little under the weather lately.

 “So what do we call this? Scorean? Kortish?”

 “Please stop.”

 “You’re no fun.”

 Johnny pouted.

 “Oh right. Before I forget; what happened to that soap making? Or am I just not getting any?” It was your turn to pout.

 “Ah, I decided to go cold process. So it’ll be ready when I get back from deployment.”

 You nodded.

 “Do you want me to bring some down when I come pick you up so we can throw it at Simon? ‘Cause he’s gonna need it with that fucking mask he’s always wearing.”

 Johnny’s eyebrow’s rose.

 “I still don’t get why you hate it so much.”

 “I swear he’s making faces at me under that thing.”

 “Really?” He asked dubiously.

 “I just don’t like it. He gives me a weird vibe.”

 Johnny looked affronted.

 “Hey-“

 “Because of the mask. Hated it during the pandemic, too. I’d last three minutes in Japan in the winter.”

 “I’ll take you in the summer then,” he smiled softly, placated.

 You rolled your eyes affectionately.

 “I’ll hold you to that.”

 As ever, it was with a heavy heart that you saw him off the next day.

 He did leave you with some treats to tide you over. Another black bun, some biscuits (chocolate was back on the menu) and a box of lovely dark parkin. Altogether, it should last most of the time he was away.

 It didn’t.

 You stress ate most of it when you found out you were pregnant.

[cherryatombomb]

Simon Riley headcanons

help girl this man is rotting my brain. anyway here r things that might not show up in my fics but i still think apply to him :] some of them are explicit autistic! ghost others are not but. he always is in my brain u get me. could be considered x reader bc i only mention s/o vaguely so go wild gang

Good with body language, figuring people out via how they act. Mostly good at understanding tone and such - but passive aggression is where he falters. He just doesn't get it mostly, struggles to register it. Surrounds himself with people who are pretty blunt so it doesn't matter, but oh man he hates passive aggression

Speaking of, he's so blunt. He just doesn't see why he should need to sugarcoat himself and will speak his mind all the time. Doesn't see it as being rude, he's just an honest guy.

Love language is physical affection he just has no idea. He's SO touched starved please hold him.

When he gets comfortable with an s/o he's just so cuddly when sleeping. Like, full on limbs everywhere, you have no idea whose limbs are whose. He loves it.

Favourite positions for cuddling are either his s/o on his chest, or him on their chest. Both becoming weighted blankets for the other, it's GREAT.

Also loves quality time, but when the person he's spending time with and himself are doing separate things in comfortable silence, it's so cozy.

The mask is a sensory comfort for him, that's why he wears it so often. He also doesn't emote expression-wise that much, which some people find disconcerting, so it helps. Mostly communicates physically through his eyes.

He's got a secret sweet tooth, and has multiple snacks stashes hidden throughout the bases he stays on. Gummy sweets + chocolates are his favourite.

He has dimples bc I think they're cute. That's all.

Good with kids but they scare him in the like "they're so sweet and I'm not sweet how do I handle it??". They think the mask is cool and just think he's pretty cool. Uses his shitty jokes for good if he's ever in a situation where he needs to calm a kid down, but makes sure they're more pg. Everyone thinks it's so funny to see this intimidating masked man make a joke abt fish being so-fish-ticated (sophisticated) when wearing bowties, but its okay bc it makes the kids giggle

Shows his affection in subtle ways when in public, he's not really a PDA guy. Like, pinky fingers intertwined, or feet touching when sat down. Not very obvious about it, but he's there nonetheless.

If his s/o is in the military he'll like do their armour straps before a mission, or clean their gun in between missions

Loves petting hair. It's so soft and feels so nice under his hands ohh he loves it. Lay on him and let him pet ur hair and he can die happy

Has a list of names of people who his s/o has mentioned hurting them. If they ever show up this boy will just glare the Whole Time.

Speaking of he's so protective but tries not to be overbearing with it. Like if someone's hitting on his s/o he trusts them but will just loom behind them to see if they need help. Waiting for them to either leave, or for his s/o to sic them on him like a guard dog, bc lets be real, that's who this man truly is

Loves picking his s/o up he's so strong so he can pick up most people. Only done in private time but will sling his s/o over his shoulder or stuff bc he loves hearing their response it's so fun

Good at art, but only really does charcoal landscape paintings. Very protective over this because he's kind of embarrassed about it but he finds it comforting

Not really a gift giver, he mostly just gives people money so they can buy it themselves because he's very practical.

For those that are close to him, though, I can see him making some effort - a personal sentimental gift alongside the money

Gifts his s/o one of his knives so they can protect themselves. Will teach them how to use it if they aren't military

Likes to fuck with new recruits who are scared of him because he thinks it's hilarious. This man is a MENACE

Cat person for SURE. They just get each other. The need to fuck with people and seem kind of hostile but also love affection on their terms? That's so Ghost.

[bagopucks]

Highlight Reels

Spa Days With Jamie

Something small while you guys wait for the big stuff!

He’d be completely offended if you left him out. Jokingly of course.

But knowing Jamie, he’ll ask a million questions to make sure he’s doing things ‘right.’ So you lay out the rules the first time you allow him to take part in your self care day.

You’ve secretly been preparing for this day.

No clothes. A rule that’s bendable if Jamie is uncomfortable. But you learn quickly he has no problem stripping down and slipping into the robe you bought for him.

The second rule is no worrying. No stressing. No overthinking. Strictly relaxing.

The third rule, is of course, to have fun. Jamie assumed he could follow those alright.

So what bases do you cover in a self care day?

Body care/bathing, facial care, shaving, and rest.

Depending on the mood you’re in, it’s a shower or a bath. Most times you prefer the baths, but when Jamie joins you, it’s never a question about which option you’re taking. It’s always a bath.

There’s nothing more comfortable than laying in the tub with him, resting your back against his chest, completely enveloped in his arms and his body. You love resting your head on his shoulder. You’ve been known to fall asleep there.

You’ll wash each other when the water cools off, but while it’s fresh and hot, you two like to get your relaxing time in.

After you’re both satisfied with the bath, out you climb and quickly dry off, slipping into the silk robes you simply had to buy. Jamie’s first robe was a fluffy white one. But after you found silk ‘his and hers’ robes on Amazon, you decided to make the switch.

Some days, you fit drying each other’s hair into the routine. Whether the hair is dry or wet though, you’ll still wear your headbands to keep it out of your faces when it comes to the following step.

Next comes the face masks. Despite the pain that comes with peeling the charcoal ones, Jamie has admitted he doesn’t mind them. So while some days you do the fun little animal ones, there are occasions when you do the peel off ones as well. Whichever masks you do apply, are always followed by more cuddles in bed. You two never stray far from a cushioned area to relax on during self care days.

Sometimes you put on a show to watch. Other times you’ll pull out a book and Jamie will run his hands through your hair, massaging your scalp and humming softly to himself.

Once the time is up, back into the bathroom you both go. After removing the masks, you go through the rest of your facial routine, while Jamie shaves. When he finishes that, you repeat the routine with the various oils and lotions on his own face. He always wears the biggest smile when you message his cheeks.

Another tweak that is sometimes added to the schedule, is doing your nails. If you’re feeling energized enough, you and Jamie will sit on the bathroom floor -if it’s clean- and spend additional time together doing your nails.

Of course, you can’t leave Jambo out. So you’ll usually cut his nails and file them for him before you do your own. He likes to inspect each hand after you finish them. And make no mistake, quiet little Jamie will call for customer service if he is not satisfied with his results.

He’s also no stranger to asking for the extra stuff, like the polishes that are nail bed strengtheners or cuticle oils. Things that don’t show on the nails, but any extra pampering he will gladly accept. Especially when you get the lotion out and massage that into his hands.

He certainly returns the favor. Jamie always helps pick out the colors for your nails, and he’s gotten good at painting them too.

After watching you for so long, he’s picked up on your techniques. Wiping off the polish on your skin with his fingertips, blowing on your nails as if that helps it dry faster. He’s learned proper stroke patterns and even brings out the hair dryer when you both get inpatient.

Trevor refuses to believe it, but Jamie has a knack for tiny nail art too.

Only when you’re both certain that your nails are dry, will you abandon the bathroom to find something to eat. Almost always junk food and freezer food. Things you can take back to your room to avoid the onslaught of teasing from Trevor.

He knows to let you guys have your space during self care days, but if you leave the bedroom to go anywhere that isn’t the bathroom, it’s definitely on you when you cross paths with Zegras.

He loves making fun of Jamie in his own little robe. Secretly, Trevor wants one too.

After you finish eating in your room, you two will hunker back down in bed for a nap. Sometimes you won’t even bother getting back up. Nothing’s better than recovering and recharging with your favorite person.

[marc-spectorr]

Hi!! Could I ask for Jake and reader, with the lines “shut up” and “make me” 🙈🤍

pairing: jake lockley x reader

warnings: fluff!

a/n: bit of a heads up here— idk why but this is the idea that came to mind and i also slightly tweaked the "shut up" part bc i didn't want to have jake come across as mean or anything lolol. but enjoy!

“Stop, it’s not funny,” Jake grumbles from the bathroom when he hears you giggling out in the hallway.

“You’re right; it’s not.”

“Then why are you still laughing?”

You peek your head into the open door, finding him drying his freshly washed face with a small towel. “I’m laughing because it’s cute, babe.”

And it really was. Jake didn’t expect you to come home early this evening, and you had caught him by surprise. Meanwhile, you didn’t expect to see your boyfriend lounging on the couch wearing his fluffy bathrobe and his face coated with a layer of your charcoal-detoxifying mask.

You had never known about his interest in skincare up until today.

“How long have you been using the mask?” You question as you step into the bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub.

“A month, maybe,” he replies while leaning back against the sink to look at you. 

“Ah, no wonder I’m running low on it already.”

Jake softly smiles before coming to sit next to you. “I’ll buy you more, cariño. I’ll buy us two. It’s been doin’ wonders to my skin. Even Marc and Steven have noticed a difference.”

“Shame that I haven’t,” you add, placing a hand on his cheek. “So, what else do you wanna try? If you want to get into skincare, we gotta start you on sunscreen, serums, moisturizers, maybe try out gua sha…”

Your voice is almost teasing, and Jake picks up on it instantly, causing him to stand up and walk away. “Eh, now you’re making fun of me, so just shut it—”

“Then make me—” you return as you hurriedly follow him out the door.

Suddenly, Jake turns on his heel, and his lips are on yours, kissing you deeply as his hand pulls your body flush against his. You nearly run out of air before he finally breaks the kiss, a light smirk flashing across his face.

“Just playing with you, mi amor. I’d very much appreciate you sharing some recommendations.”

You smile at Jake sweetly, already imagining spending evenings doing your skincare together, and it fills you with excitement to the brim.

✨ send me an ask with a sentence + a character and i’ll write the next five ✨

[gollldrush]

@cursedvessels for daianira.

Leo is escorted through the property by Demetrius and one of his other lackies. This time, she had been allowed to wear something a little more casual. A baggy shirt, jeans that fit a bit more loosely. However, this doesn't save her from the Ringmaster’s commentary that leaves her looking a little pale.

Outside of Shimi’s tent she pretends to drop something, taking her sweet time to bend down and gather a few papers off the ground. An elongated look inside, just hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but it reveals nothing. A hard frown, she stands, brushing her hair back behind her ears to continue the accompanied march to the ‘Mermaid’ tank.

As with everything else, Leo believes this is another mind trick. Mermaids, genies, whatever other claims to fame Demetrius swore to have were just smoke and mirrors. Parlor tricks that dazzled you while the components that made them possible somehow just blended into their backgrounds. It was convincing enough that everyone in the world seemed to be buying it. How else would he have become the richest man alive overnight?

Surprisingly, once they get to their destination, Demetrius leaves her alone. Unexpected, but, since this person was bound to the water, she couldn’t really run away with them.

The closer Leo gets to the tank, the wider her eyes grow. The tail looks so real on this person that for a moment she believes it might actually be real. So stunned by the (assumed) prosthetic that she doesn't notice the lack of an oxygen mask.

"Hello?" She calls softly, wearing a smile. She holds up her sketchbook and charcoal. "Would you mind if I drew you?"

[borderlineomniverse]

Modern Gerard Pitts Headcanons

~ This boy doesn’t get nearly enough love from the DPS fandom and he just so happens to be my favorite, so I thought I’d do the heavy lifting and start writing some Pitts headcanons of my own

If you want me to write you a self-insert Pitts fanfic or have some headcanon prompts/suggestions, please send them my way! I’d be happy to contribute. ~

Here’s a list of some things I think Gerard Pitts would do or like if DPS was set in the modern era:

He definitely listens to a lot of Surfaces; their happy vibe matches his personality perfectly. His favorite song is "Take it Easy".

He has a beat-up 2001 Toyota four door that he got for his 16th birthday; everyone he knows tells him he needs a new car but he’s attached to it for whatever reason. “It runs great, guys. Be quiet.”

All of his weekends are spent at used bookstores. He doesn’t even buy much, he just likes to put in his wireless earbuds, play some jazz, and read.

When he does buy a vintage book, it’s something weird and unique. The last one he purchased was a faded yellow hardcover from the 1920’s called “The Complete Book of Cheese”.

Most people in the DPS fandom agree that Pitts probably loves winter. He likes to spend his winter days curled up by the fireplace in a bundle of blankets, a warm mug of hot chocolate in his hand, watching YouTube off his laptop.

Speaking of YouTube, Pitts definitely has a thing for commentary videos that are informative but also funny. He's a big fan of Dylan is In Trouble and Andy King.

Pitts' Instagram is mostly aesthetic sunset pictures, filtered photos of autumn or winter days, or posting whatever book he's currently reading.

He has so. many. notes documents in his phone, mostly little reminders of things to do or short paragraphs of things he needs to remember. He has them sorted in the most organized and yet most odd way. He has a system for his folders, but no one can quite figure them out, you know?

There are at least several hundred selfies of him and Meeks doing random things in his phone. Some of his favorites are one of Meeks passed out on the floor of the school library, the two of them with charcoal face masks, and Meeks hitting Cameron one afternoon when he was unusually irritable.

[small-sinclair]

Could we get a self-care day with Lester 🥺👉👈 sweet Boy needs some love and care

-❤️‍🔥

Fireheart Anon! The one and only!

Self-Care Day with Lester Sinclair

Where do I even start with this man?

Friday nights are for the Boys. Saturday Nights are with the Bros. Sunday nights are for Togetherness.

Thursday Nights is for Self-Care.

Lester orders his favorite take-out and makes his favorite drink: Cream Soda Float with Chocolate Ice Cream.

Sets out his favorite lotions and creams to use before bed.

And starts his night.

He has no shame with his collection of face masks.

He's got it all! He has unicorns, a panda bear with aloe, some puppy ones, glitter ones, charcoal/peeling, clay.

In his cabin, he has a BIG white tub with golden lion legs that he fills up with warm water.

If it's a stressful week, he buys dried flowers and puts them in the water to add color.

He has bath bombs, too!

He likes using the bright green ones and the fun shapes! If he can find a paw print one or ones that looks like stars.

Lester likes the smell of Evergreen, warm musk, lavender, lilies, wildflowers, and vanilla (sometimes).

If it's raining/thunderstorming, he'll soak in the bath and sink into the bubbles, a glass of wine in his "Dog Dad" glass on the side, green face mask on, and cucumbers over his eyes. In the background, the station Vincent listens to. He turns off the lights and lights candles including a watermelon sugar scented candle.

He takes this time to wash good and through, making sure he's as fresh and as clean as possible, but he does it to relax.

His back hurts most the time because of picking up heavy roadkill like deer. So, the warm water and fancy bath salts with the dried rose pedals make his bones happy.

Once, he got a massage from the spa down town when his shoulders were really killing him! he tries to get one once every two months.

He also has some stone rollers and a stone for his arms, too.

If it's not Thurdays but he really needs something, he uses body washes to relax like a coffee and sugar scrub, a watermelon and strawberry sugar scrub, coconut body soap, or Old Spice: Fiji Body Wash.

Now for some other facts!

He helps his brothers do it, too!

Bo doesn't like face masks because it irritates his skin, but he loves the hazel nut and cedar wood body soap bar! He likes the way it feels on his arms, and it doesn't itch his scars.

If Bo asks nicely, he lets Lester massage his hands and arms. Working on cars hurts his hands and joints.

Lester is actually really good at giving massages.

Vincent does face masks, but only half his face (the clean side).

Vincent would use an aloe infused one or a clay mask.

Lester would work the knots out of his shoulders and lower back if Vincent asks.

Lester and Vincent would sit in the living room with the masks on, sipping tea, Bo drinking whiskey and reading the news paper from the town over, and Jonesy with a ham bone or a really big bone from the roadkill pit.

All three brothers also soak their feet (separately) in Epson salt in the kitchen after killing a group of 5-8 people. Lester would bring pizza and wings. Bo would bitch and moan over 2 or 3 people that put up a fight. Vincent would start sketching poses and outfit ideas.

But once that warm water hits and the salt... all three collectively SIGH and melt, relaxing and be silent for a couple minutes.

[sudsnyc]

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[con-clavi-con-jae]

Ok so I recently (not so recently) went to see this ghost tribute band, it was absolutely amazing and it gave me ideas for a few ghoul OCs, so here you get me rambling about them (I can't draw but I made them on picrew bc I wanted to do smth)

Gold

fire and quintessence ghoulette

Backup vocalist

Ministry ghoulettes' lesbian icon (along with Mist)

Did Charcoal's piercings and dyed his hair

Loves big crowds of people

The type to take 5000 pics of everything she does

Her scales and horns are actually made of gold

Nimbus

Air ghoul

Keyboardist

Cumulus' younger brother

Refuses to sleep before or after shows

Gets along with Riptide the best, always spends time with him

Likes to put little decorations on his and Cumulus' horns to match with her

Loves the rain, and getting his hair wet

Riptide

Water and Earth ghoul

Bass player (and my husband, like that's no joke we're married)

Has moss growing on his body

Does everyone's eyeliner before shows

He's v shy but he loves interacting with his fans

Takes five hours to decide what he does with his hair

Most likely to cry backstage before and after a show

Did I mention that the guy I based him on threw a patch at me from his uniform? So yeah, he's my husband

Cyrus

Earth Ghoul

Drummer

He's from the same tribe as Ivy

Really sociable for an earth ghoul

Buys everyone drinks after shows, all the time

Used to have a piercing on the spade of his tail, but he doesn't wear it often anymore so it closed

The "mom" of the group (Nimbus and Charcoal already call him mom from time to time)

Charcoal

Fire ghoul

Lead guitar

He's literally Dewdrop's biggest fan, to the point where he specifically requested his mask to have white horns like Dew's

As I said, Gold dyed his hair and did his piercings

The only one to call him Charcoal is Vye (and Riptide when he's pissed), everyone else js calls him Charlie

Set fire to an Amp while practicing

Most likely to go on stage drunk

Vye

Quintessence ghoul

Rhythm guitar

Hates everyone except for his band (won't admit he likes them, tho)

The scar on his lips is from Cyrus accidentally throwing a drumstick at him during practice

He has a lot of tattoos (as is common in quintessence tribes) but he doesn't like showing them

He's the oldest of the band

His quintessence abilities allow him to turn into a shadow of sorts, so he uses it to get out of interacting with fans

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Four

“How long are you going to make me stand like this?” 

“Claire, the life drawing models do this for an hour at a time, I think you can handle ten minutes.”

“At least they get paid for it, all I get is criticism.”

“Please, try to keep your feet in the same spot, the legs are really important.” 

She sighs and readjusts, planting her feet back onto the two X’s I’ve marked on the floor with masking tape, then stands still for a good five seconds before reaching up to touch her hair. 

I sigh with frustration. “Claire…”

“Sorry, I just feel like my hair looks weird.”

“It’s fine, please can you just…”

“I’m worried you aren’t going to make me look good.”

“It’s not about making you look good, it’s about capturing an accurate portrayal of human anatomy.” 

“Ugh.” She moves her arms back to roughly the correct position, but now her torso has kind of twisted out of position, so I take my gummy eraser and start rubbing out what I’ve already drawn. 

‘Why is this so hard?” I mutter under my breath as I bring the charcoal to the page again, drawing a fresh line for the curve of her spine. It seems like no matter what I do, I can never recreate the focus I have in Ida’s studio. I’ve tried drawing in my sketchbook on the bus, in cafes, while sitting on benches at the park, but my drawings always look off, I don’t feel sure about my talent like I used to. I’m not carrying an inspirational spark with me when I’m outside of the walls of my college and yet, tomorrow is Friday. The day that we all have to lay our sketchbooks out on the floor and critique each other for the work we’ve done during the week, so really I have to come up with something halfway good. I want Ida to be proud. I don’t want the cursed Dean Cullen to be mean, although he inevitably will. His default mode is nasty, but still, I can’t help but want to prove myself. To be good enough. To be the best.

“I’m not going to move, don’t worry…” Claire says. “But I just want to say that I’m getting very cold.”

“It won’t be long, I promise.” I plead.

“Don’t life drawing models also have heaters?”

“It’s not like you’re naked. Leggings and a vest are like, roughly the same thing as a heater.”

“Not at all. And it’s almost winter. Why don’t we at least have the radiators on?”

I shudder at the thought of the last electricity bill, the memory of opening up that little white envelope and feeling like I was going to have a heart attack and collapse onto the wooden floor. It was revealed then that Claire was leaving the heating on pretty much all day from the moment the temperature dipped below fourteen degrees, for the sake of being cosy. Her parents pay for everything, including her half of the utility bills, so really, nothing matters at all to her, and I know she doesn’t really understand why we have to suffer in the cold, or why I kept telling her to buy a hot water bottle instead of cranking on the radiators every time she goes to bed. If I didn’t keep remembering to switch it off our bills would be astronomical every month. I wish I could be the passive-aggressive housemate sometimes and put a padlock on the timer. 

I’m on the student support grant, which just about covers my rent and food. I don’t think she understands that some people have to think about money, that it doesn’t just endlessly flow into all of our accounts, or materialise from thin air whenever we want a new skirt from American Apparel. 

It frustrates me sometimes, the disparity between our finances. I’d never really thought about class, or where I stood in society before I moved away from home, but now it’s all around me all the time and utterly impossible to ignore, woven into my identity. I’ve never associated with the notion of being a working class person from a working class household but when I’m here it feels as though it’s the number one thing that defines me. It saturates everything, everyone’s accents and postcodes under scrutiny. Who’s dad can afford this and that, who has to work evenings and weekends to pay their way, who gets the grant, who doesn’t. I’d never before considered the fact that Claire got a thousand euro for her Confirmation and at my house, the year of the financial crash, we had plain pasta for dinner every day for three weeks, but now it seems as though this was something I should have always been aware of. 

Shane comes into the apartment without knocking, as usual at that very moment, and Claire immediately drops her pose to skip over and embrace him, as if they haven’t seen eachother in a month, instead of every single day. He has his own apartment in Clonskeagh, but is seemingly never there. He’s become our third housemate – the one who never pays rent. I groan and drop my willow charcoal back into my plastic pencil holder. Whatever is on the page now will just have to do. 

“You alright there, Evie?” Shane says over her shoulder, never letting me just have a tantrum in peace. 

“Yeah I’m fine. Just finishing up an assignment.”

“Seems to be going well, sure you look delighted.”

I stick my tongue out at him, and he ignores me. “Bit cold in here, isn’t it?” He comments, and Claire throws her hands up in agreement. “Thank you!” She says. “I’ve been trying to tell her that all evening.”

“She’s cold because she’s in a vest in leggings.”

“That you made me wear for your drawing.”

Shane smirks. “I’m not complaining about the vest and leggings anyway. Come on, just flick the heat on for a while.” He goes over to the thermostat and flips it on expertly, like a man who lives here. Which he doesn’t. He just sleeps here three to four nights a week. Then he comes over and sits beside me on the couch. I try to close my sketchbook before he can catch a glimpse, but it’s too late. He puts his big hand in the way to block me. 

“That’s good.” He says, pointing at the drawing I’ve just done. 

“Is that the one of me?” Claire says, coming over to perch on the arm of the sofa next to him. “Oh, it is good. You made me look very pretty.”

“Not hard to do.” Shane tells her with this dreadful, flirtatious look on his face and I have to suppress a disgusted shudder. 

“It’s fine.” I say begrudgingly. “But it’s not going to be good enough.”

“I think it’s great.” Claire reassures me. “What more could they be looking for?” 

“Perfection.”

Shane lifts the sketchbook out of my hands without asking and starts flipping through it. “So what, is your tutor like some kind of dragon, or?”

I sigh. “Ida is fine, she’s honest but she’s fair. There’s just this one guy.” I take the sketchbook back off him and try to close it in my lap, but he easily slips it away from me again and resumes his snooping. 

“A student, like?”

“Yeah. Dean Cullen. He’s always horrible about my work.”

“I wouldn’t care if some random man was making comments about my work. Sure he’s hardly going to give you grades, is he?”

“No.” I say. “But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of criticising me.”

“I doubt he sees it like that.”

“Yeah, and do you know him, do you?”

“Obviously not but he probably just thinks he’s being constructive, like.”

“He said the legs on my piece were lazy last week.”

“‘Lazy’ isn’t very constructive.” Claire agrees. 

Shane turns another page thoughtfully. “Some lads just say what they think and they don’t care about how it comes out, though. He’s probably like that.” 

“He’s not.” I insist. 

“Sounds like he’s got under your skin.”

“He hasn’t.”

“Alright so.” A pause. “Is this me?” He holds up the sketchbook on a page of drawings of a man’s head in profile. They’re done in brown pencil. He’s got a short-back-and-sides haircut and a bump on the bridge of his nose where it was once smashed with the butt of a hurl and never quite set back the right way again. 

“Yes. That’s you.” 

He looks at it again, saying nothing for a few moments. Then: “Can I have it?”

“No, I need the sketchbook intact for my grade.”

“Well, can you put it online or something then?”

“Why would I do that?”

“So I can show it to people. Sure it looks exactly the same as me. I’d make it my profile picture and all.”

“Nobody wants to see my work online.” I say, going red.

“Oh they would!” Claire says. “Everyone is doing it now.”

“On Facebook?”

“No, Instagram.”

I pause. “What is that?”

She and Shane exchange a look as though I’m some old age pensioner who just had a ‘moment’, and I sigh with frustration. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is, apparently I’m technologically illiterate.”

Claire whips out her brand new iphone to show me the cute little app that looks like a polaroid camera, and then scrolls through her feed, which is just pictures and more pictures, no text posts, no statuses, just photos. “Everyone with an iphone has it now.” She explains. “You just take pictures and upload them. You can edit them in the app and everything, and you follow your friends so you can see what they post too.”

“And everyone is doing this?”

“Yeah, it’s the new Thing. And look.” She opens up a search bar and types in the word “Art”, and immediately the screen floods with images of paintings and drawings. “You can look at what other artists are doing too. I think you’d really like it.”

“Hm.” I say. “Maybe.”

“Hand me your phone.” 

I obey her, and she starts tapping away at it. I watch as she downloads the app, signs me up for it, and then she follows both her account and Shane’s, who I can see has exclusively posted photographs of himself on the football field. Not content I’d be especially interested in, but I can always unfollow him later. She lifts the sketchbook off the couch and carefully turns to the page with Shane’s head drawings, and snaps a picture. She applies some brightening filter to it and then uploads it, and there it is. My first post on Instagram. 

“Thank you.” I say. 

“Go through my follow list and see if there’s anyone else there you want on your feed.” She instructs me. “And like, find out who else in your drawing class has it. You can all compare your drawings and leave nice comments or whatever.”

“That kind of sounds like a good idea.” I admit. 

“Listen to the good feedback, not just what stinky Dean Cullen says.” She strokes my hair affectionately. “You’re so good at drawing, I’d hate it if someone made you think that you aren’t.”

“Thank you Claire. And Shane.” I say as I get up from the couch and start heading towards my room. 

“We’re going to watch a film, if you want in.” Claire offers, but I shake my head. 

“I think I’m going to keep drawing. I can do more studies of my own feet or something.”

“Okay, whatever you want.”

Prev // Next

[lapetiteseductress]

skin care review of the products i've tried so far. skin type: brown skin, oily problem areas: enlarged pores, prone to hyperpigmentation

origins checks and balances frothy face wash: love it.❤️ i've been using mini sizes of this so far but i'm really tempted to buy a full size and not even bother trying out other face washes which shows how much i like it. clears up blemishes, washes away excess oil and lathers good. imo it's good value for the money because you literally only need a dime size amount. leaves your face with a clean feeling that's just a little "tight".

thayers toner: this is probably the holy grail toner for so many people and will probably become mine as well. i'm currently using the rose petal version and although it doesn't smell like roses (to me) it isn't super drying, is actually a little moisturizing and i have notice a reduction in my pore size. inexpensive and works good. 👍🏾

origins clear improvement active charcoal mask: i LOVE this mask. i wish i could use it every day but it's a detox mask so i only use it once or twice a week. when i do use it i notice that my skin is softer, pore size has gotten smaller and ALL excess oil has been removed. i just purchased the peter thomas roth charcoal mask so i'm interested to see how it compares to this one.

the ordinary niacinamide 10% + zinc 1% serum: i wanted to like this because so many people seem to rave about the ordinary's products but it did absolutely nothing for me. the serum is suppose to target and improve skin texture/dullness, reduce shine/oiliness, blemishes, etc. it did none of that for me. i will say that a little bit goes a long way, it absorbs okay into the skin and doesn't leave behind any kind of residue.

the ordinary caffeine solution 5% + egcg: 😡 i'm conflicted over this product. i'll start with the good: the serum is meant to depuff and reduce dark circles. i had "light" dark circles and the serum got rid of them. however once the dark circles were gone i suddenly started to notice FINE LINES underneath my eyes. wtf did these come from!? 😳😫🤬 after my panic attack, i immediately blamed the product because i hadn't noticed them before (maybe i was too busy noticing my dark circles lol) but now i'm thinking that the product gave me fine lines. yes i know that sounds crazy. i went back to the reviews and after reading, sure enough some of the other commenters did say that the product increased the appearance of their fine lines (or just flat out gave them fine lines) so i guess i wasn't entirely crazy. but here's the odd thing...alot of the reviewers that mentioned an increase in fine lines also mentioned how drying the product was but it was SO FUCKING OILY/GREASY [to me]. it's THICK and it didn't fully absorb into my skin, it kind of just sat there? i know that not everything that is oily is moisturizing and this was definitely one of those examples. if you use this please use an undereye moisturizer afterwards. i really wish the ordinary would put that on their box somewhere… although i'm brown skin i would advise anyone with really fair skin to test this product on their wrist before using it because it does have a yellow-ish tint to it. none of the reviews i read mentioned anything about it "staining" but i also didn't expect to get an "increase" in fine lines so.....😒 not really trying to slam this product, because clearly it works for a lot of people i just wasn't one of them.

origins ginzing oil-free energy boosting gel moisturizer: i wasn't expecting this to work for me but i purchased several origins kits and this moisturizer came in all of them so i figured i would use it. would i recommend this for oily skin? no. but i would recommend this for someone that has normal skin, maybe combo skin or anyone that's looking for a light moisturizer. it does leave a bit of a "glow" after you're done applying it which is why i don't recommend this for anyone with oily skin but i imagine that the glow would look good on probably everyone else lol. this does has a citrus smell to it. it dissipates after maybe 15 mins but if you're very sensitive to smells or just don't like the smell of citrus, i wouldn't recommend it.

in conclusion (or the tldr version): thayers toners are probably the goat for all skin types (especially if you want something that's alcohol free or have dry skin), origins mini products are great to try out if you're deciding whether or not to invest in their full sizes, the ordinary's products did me dirty.

[lupismaris]

The Opening Act of Spring- a Black Sails Fic. Chapter 3

The Ranger’s have a castle above the clouds, the delta bayou’s favorite undead son hasn’t changed much despite appearances, and we meet the patriarch of The Walrus- one of the beloved queer bars in west Brooklyn- Hal Gates. 

The condo The Rangers shared on West End ave was high up in a shiny new building, overlooking the Hudson river and the west skyline of Manhattan. Silver wasn’t surprised that his sister had opted for a sleek home with floor to ceiling windows and polished wood floors, she had always day dreamed about a place above the clouds, untouchable like the men and women they conned for eating money. And now, as he and Anne stepped out of the private elevator, it seemed as if her dreams of that life, to a point, had come true. Of course the life time of suffering and blood that had gone into it could hardly been denied, but as with all things Max did, no one would know it. Grace and Elegance masked all, by careful design.

Silver whistled at the well lit space, kicking off his shoes at the door. Sunlight was starting to spill into the open concept living and dining room. The lime washed walls were decorated with elegant pieces of art, contemporary and colorful to contrast the neutral tones of the condo itself, the furniture mid-century modern with its rich honey toned wood and brass metal accents. House plants and vases of flowers, well loved and flourishing, were tucked into every sensible corner and open surface, bringing life into an otherwise sterile home, one that Silver would have expected to see in a high end magazine review.

“She’ll be in the studio, through there,” Anne said, nodding to a room past the kitchen. She handed over the bouquet of Irises. “Give these to her. I’m gonna make sure Chaz is up for work.”

“Sure, thanks, by the way-”

She waved it off and disappeared down the dim hallway.

“Right. Good talk.”

The studio had, as expected, the best lighting in the whole condo. It was a corner unit and the studio sat right at the corner, able to scrape together whatever sunlight available at whatever time of day. Silver had to guess that Max’s bedroom was graced with either the next best natural light, or the best light fixture money could buy to mimic it. The room was filled with various dress forms and metal figures, each draped in different fabrics that would, in time, become cocktail dresses and gowns. Two work benches were littered with supplies, pages of sketches and two sewing machines, boxes of sexing tools, pens and pencils and drafting tools, shelves covered in bolts of lush fabrics in jewel tones and soft neutrals. All that was what Silver expected to find, the heart and soul of his sister’s enterprise laid bare.

But over by the windows, where Max was seated, stood an easel and canvas, with several half finished canvases of varying sizes leaning against the glass awaiting their turn. A small table attended to Max’s right, carrying a tray of oil pastels and a cloth for her hands, a pair of chamois for blending, and her morning cappuccino long forgotten, its foam clinging to the sides of the porcelain bowl.

His sister had always wanted to take up the finer arts, or so she had told him, but their lives had never allowed them the time. Too much running, too many lies, too many masks, and whats more, gutter rats like them had more important things to worry about than the delicate curve of a shadow on the page or how to blend charcoal, didn’t they?

Silver stood there silently for a few moments, watching as Max blended the soft peach of sunlight into the clouds she was attempting to capture, the view from her window shifting ever so slightly so that her canvas was a perfect dream of the Morning sky. Her dark curls, coiled more tightly than his own, were tied up high on her head with a silk scarf, the rich green and gold of it reminding Silver of laurels, a perfect contrast to her darker skin.

Of them all, Max’s laurels were most deserved.

“No one likes a ghost in the doorway, mon cher,” she said over her shoulder, taking up a robin’s egg blue pastel.

“I’d disagree but I’d hate to ruin so lovely a morning-”

Her laughter was as sharp as a jaybird’s call, joyful and just a little mocking. “Oh you’re exhausting. Come on then, you’re already half an hour late as it is you cad.” 

Silver felt himself smile, his first honest smile since landing at JFK, and let himself enter the room properly. Max set down her pastels and wiped her hands, twisting on the stool to face him. Her lounge set, knit leggings and loose tank top of bone white, looked soft and well loved. She wore no make up, the only colour on her cheeks the stray smear of blue pastel along her cheek bone from a misplaced finger, and the only jewelry Silver could see was the delicate gold bracelet he had given her years before after their first big score.

And a simple gold diamond ring on her left ring finger.

“Well now when did that happen?” Silver asked with some astonishment. He’d expected a phone call if not a photo if Anne had finally popped the question after years and years of domestic bliss.

“It hasn’t, it’s a place holder,” Max said, though the soft blush in her cheeks meant it still meant the world. “She grew tired of people presuming things, had me pick out something classic until we could custom order something better. You know I wouldn’t choose a diamond for the final product.”

“No you had always been partial to pearls or emeralds, I remember that.” Silver kissed her temple and passed over the irises. “These are from her by the way.”

“Thought as much, you never bring me flowers.”

“No I bring you shiny things worth stupid amounts of money and leave the romantic gestures to your beau.”

Max rolled her eyes and got up to find a vase for the flowers, leaving Silver to poke around the studio like a curious stray cat. “I imagine those gifts are still at your hotel, since you look like shit and Anne said she found you drunk in a bathtub this morning?”

“Mmm it wasn’t my best wake up call I’ll give her that.”

“You don’t drink, mon Cher, I take it Jack’s plan didn’t go as well as he hoped?”

It was a question, but Silver felt the rhetorical tone even with his back turned.

“Did you suggest it to him or did he think it up all on his own like a big kid?”

“Now now don’t be too cross, it could have been worse.”

“How exactly? With Flint gutting me in public? Strangling me in an elevator? Tossing me off a balcony? Or do you have a more romantic kind of murder in mind?” Silver asked dryly, dropping onto the vintage loveseat by the windows.

Max set the vase of Irises on the closest work station and turned to face him with a sigh. “Are you finished feeling sorry for yourself? Or would you like to wallow in self pity for a few more minutes?”

“Few more couldn’t hurt.”

“You’ve had more than enough time I think and I don’t want to hear it.”

Silver pushed his sunglasses up onto his hair and blinked and the sun filled room. “As you wish. I’m just saying it was a dick move. And I’m a little surprised at you, shacking up with Flint after all this. When you were the one who knew before we all did that it was worth it in the end.”

Max crossed her arms and leaned back against the workstation, taking in Silver’s haggard face, bloodshot and shadowed eyes. “More than just a drink then hm?”

“Oh I’m sorry if it was Ellie would you have done better?”

It was cruel and he knew it. His sister’s eyes hardened for a moment as she considered him.

“Yes. Because I did the work you haven’t.”

Silver sighed and turned his gaze to the window.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she said after a moment, “You abandoned us. You had the opportunity to stay and have a real chance at something better and you walked away, so what I choose to do in my business ventures is none of your concern, Silver. You gave up that right.”

“Then why ask me here?”

“You abandoning us does not mean we have chosen to abandon you.”

It took effort not to look up as she crossed the room, coming to sit on the love seat next to him.

“Even if you’d rather we did,” She added.

“That- that’s not-” He sighed, turning to her and shaking his head. “I don’t wish that, you know I don’t.”

Max smiled at him and reached up to tuck a few stray curls behind his ear. She said nothing, just let his empty lie hang lifeless in the space between them for a moment, before asking about his flight in from Istanbul.

He had never been able to lie to her, and she had never been able to lie to him, not in any way that had mattered. Little white lies and surprise parties were possible, sure, but when it mattered? Eventually it would unravel, the fibers fraying and thinning as they tried to spin them, faster and faster until they were left empty handed and shamefaced. The only lie that stood was, in a sense, a shared truth- that neither of them had existed before their meeting, that their lives had begun the moment they had met in the back room of a dusty and dirty whore house in some city they pretended to forget the name of. Before that there had been nothing. That was the only lie they would permit.

And maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better that Max knew Silver was lying when he said he didn’t want to be forgotten, abandoned to his self made misery while she and her lovers built new beautiful lives for themselves in castles on clouds. Because otherwise he’d have to admit it out loud, admit that he wanted to play the martyr and be left to the consequences of his mistakes.

That he didn’t think he deserved a second chance.

Some people didn’t deserve to be saved, right? Didn’t deserve to prove themselves bettered? Maybe, just maybe, he was one of them and the best thing he could do was let that be the case. Especially if it meant he didn’t have to acknowledge that he had in fact made the mistakes in the first place.

But he’d never win that argument with Max, not if she had it in her head that, for whatever reason, he was meant to be a part of their bizarre new lives.

Did he resent her, and the others, a little, for said beautiful new life? Despite it being everything they had bled for all those years? Yes.

Did it make sense? No not even remotely.

He found himself chewing over the thought all afternoon as they had an early lunch, the other Rangers joining them in the dining room. Rackham tried to be a gentleman and offer Silver his one punch to the stomach over drinks-gone-ary, but Silver refused him with a tired laugh.

“Let’s keep a running tally for now,” he said, letting Rackham pull him into a hug. “I’m sure you’ll earn another soon enough. Besides, I think both of us have had our nerves shaken enough over the last twenty four hours-”

Rackham laughed and kissed his cheek as he let him go. “Haven’t we just. There is nothing quite as terrifying as that man stalking you across a room. I thought I’d forgotten that fear but no, no, it has been thoroughly reintroduced to my nightmares after yesterday.”

It had never left Silver’s dreams, the way it felt to have Flint watch him from across the room, move with him, appear suddenly at his side like a phantom.

“You try bein’ in a fuckin kitchen wit’m,” Vane said over his shoulder, his rumbling voice raised slightly to be heard over the rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board. “One moment you’re alone gettin’ mise set no body but christ to talk to n’the next he’s there raining hellfire down. If he didn’t announce himself he’d get gutted for scaring a man.”

Rackham sat at the breakfast bar so he could watch Vane cook, “That’s a trait you share darling.”

“Doesn’t mean I gotta like it on him now do I?” Vane asked, feeding Rackham a slice of radish with salted butter.

Silver fought the urge to roll his eyes. They’d become bizarrely domestic and exhausting in their retirement, Rackham smitten in his expensive lounge wear and Vane wearing an apron with his name embroidered on it, putting the finishing touches on a cheese board and salad while the spanakopita finished baking.

It would have been gross, in the way it was for you to see your best friend mack on their new beaus. That is, if Silver wasn’t ultimately struggling with the concept of Vane as a kept house husband who fixed lunch for his roommates and only had a job to keep him out of trouble and wore, of all things, embroidered aprons.

Silver could distinctly remember the day he learned that Vane had removed another man’s head for pissing him off, after all. He had seen the aftermath alongside Max, her ex and the rest of the Guthrie smugglers. It wasn’t something you easily forgot.

Rackham had done the truly impossible. He’d take the wild thing and domesticated it, just enough to fool to world into thinking it had always been so. Silver made a note to never question his capacity for sex, romance, or sheer power of will ever again.

If nothing else, the embroidered apron was going to take a lot of getting used to.

He said as much later that afternoon, relishing the loud burst of laughter that rang out in reply.

“If Jackie hadn’a spent two days makin’ the damn thing-” Vane shook his head, his long hair tossing as he did. “Shoo ain’t catchin me wearin’ another that’s for damn sure. Jackie made it, understand?”

Another park, this time across the bridge, with a stunning view of the river, the sparkling glass and metal skyline of Gotham across the way. Silver had followed Vane to Brooklyn once lunch had finished, Max and Rackham off to a busy afternoon of fittings and model interviews for the summer look book, Anne joining them as she often did. So Vane had found Silver a spare helmet and pulled his vintage Harley out of the private garage, slipping the valet a few bills on their way out of the back entrance in a way that felt very routine, and they made their way to Brooklyn, slicing through traffic.

Silver watched the various pedestrians pass them by, the two of them seated comfortably on an ornate promenade bench, Vane’s bike parked a few feet away on the curb. “Still, considering you used to pitch such a fit about things like that? I distinctly remember you giving Flint so much shit whenever he told you to wear a shirt. Or say please.”

Vane snorted, all sharp teeth as he smiled in amusement. “Mmm but it is fun fuckin with that old queen innit? He cared far too much about respectability when it didn’t right matter n’he knew it, but it made him feel better to scold about it anyhow. Sense of control when it was all falling apart.” He shrugged. “Just cause Jackie get’s me playing nice doesn’t mean I believe it. Just means I believe it enough for his sake, you know? Makes him happy, makes him smile, so I believe in it enough to bring bout that result and keep one foot toeing the line should Jackie forget they don’t play fair. Means, end.”

There was that all encompassing “They” again, alongside a shadow that Silver thought he recognized, of the man who’d burned off his own finger prints at 13, who never quite understood Flint’s need for decorum, but seemed perfectly at home with Silver’s deeply rooted fear of commitment.

“And the means of working for Flint?” he asked when Vane didn’t continue.

“Mmm.”

There was a pause then, as Vane watched the clouds slowly roll in over head. A small, ghost of a smile played on his lips, as if he’d remembered some little joke that Silver wasn’t party to.

“Why I get the feeling you been asking this question all day?” he asked in turn, rolling his head over to look at Silver. “It’s eatin’ you up real bad innit, us tolerating each other again?”

Silver looked away with a sigh. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Shoo, does anything about any of this? Johnny we stole the world out from under those fuckers and what’d I get in turn?”

On the expressway below the promenade, a truck’s exhaust backfired. Smoke, the smell of burning oil filled the air for a moment as the clouds continued to shift over head, memories taking shape in the altered light as Vane continued.

He hadn’t been there, the day Charles Vane had died. It hadn’t been long after he’d lost his leg and despite a clean amputation and proper antibiotics, his lack of rest had lead to an infection. Silver had been laid up in a safe house for three weeks, during which Vane had been captured on a raid.

“A noose,” Vane continued, “A coffin. If it had gone any different, if a fucker had been a smidge less upset that  afternoon-” he laughed again, a darker, older sound and dropped his head back to look up at the clouds. Silver could see clearly the scar the rope had left, resting where his adams apple should have been, faded slightly with the years but haunting them all the same.

In the small courtyard of Rogers’ largest factory town to fall, Charles Vane had been strung up like the animal the world had thought him to be. Silver had learned later that some small speech had been made, the warden being kind enough, or stupid enough, to give Vane parting words. Whatever was said had been the last bit of fuel for the fire. In the riot that followed, his body went missing.

Silver had never been brave enough to ask him how, whether it had been sheer dumb luck or all part of a grander plan. Something told him that Vane would just level him with that tired, oddly wise look, and just smile, before changing the subject entirely.

“You and Flint tried to kill each other. More than once,” Silver reminded him, trying to change the subject. “Couldn’t agree on anything-”

“Who says that’s changed?” Vane shrugged, getting to his feet and stretching his arms high above his head, cut sleeves of his work tshirt riding up to show the faint edge of old scars long the underside of his pecs. “Said it before, Say it again- ain’t no body making that queen into a trophy but me.”

“Yeah but-”

“’Sides, something healthy bout that if you askin me. We different men, sure, he may be soft, but only I know just how so. Certain kinda intimacy you only get with a man you decide to be the end of, one way or another. Wouldn’ you agree?” Vane’s smile was teasing as he pulled out a cigar from his bag and fished around for his lighter. Silver pulled out his and waved for him to lean in.

Vane did so and held still, lips pulling at the cigar while Sliver lit it, smoke curling around his tanned face. “Thats a kind of love ain’t nothin’ gonna replace. Not comfort, not peace, not gold. Not even sex.”

Their eyes met as Vane pulled back, Silver feeling pinned under a gaze not for the first time that day. It was all he could do to stare back at the gray eyes that shifted behind cigar smoke.

“You used to want comfort, now I think bout it,” he continued, “easy comfort even. Mmm. Now you lookin more like me every day, Johnny. It’s a lean look on you. Pity we never wanted to be the end of each other. Otherwise, I think we’ a been interestin, you and me. Guess I gotta leave that to the old queen.”

Vane patted Silver’s cheek when he didn’t reply and moved around the bench towards his bike. It was time to head to the bar and for Silver to disappear back to Manhattan. That was the safest thing to do.

“Vane.”

“Mm.”

“You’d tell me if he wasn’t retired.”

Vane straddled the bike and puffed at the cigar for a moment. Silver didn’t look back at him.

“If he was out of retirement, I’d be out of retirement. Game’s not fun without that fucker in it.”

That might have been the truest statement he’d heard in the last 24 hours. Silver sighed and nodded, letting his head hang and his body sag into the bench a bit. He listened as Vane kickstarted the old bike, the engine revving to life.

“Make sure ya get home before the sky opens. Don’ want them findin’ ya in the gutter-” came Vane’s shouted goodbye before the roar of the bike echoed away down the street and Silver was again left with the settled ambient sounds of the promenade and the dark clouds building overhead.

*

The patriarch of the Walrus sat in the alley when Vane’s bike pulled up, where he could almost always be found before the happy hour rush began, his heavy form settled comfortably into the old bar chair they kept propped up against the wall. Hal Gates looked up with an unimpressed look, tired eyes peering over the reading glasses that sat on the tip of his nose to read the now forgotten copy of the week’s Brooklyn Daily Eagle that sat on his knee.  

“Bout fuckin’ time you got here,” he said flatly as he watched Vane park his bike with a laugh.

“Shoo I got five minutes n change, can’t fault me for that-” Vane paused to pull out his lighter, which had been in his front picket the whole time, and relight the cigar.

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about you shit. You want to tell me whats got him in a fit this time?”

“Why should I know, boss?” Vane flashed him a sharp smile and climbed off the bike, grabbing his bag from the saddle box.

Gates sighed and pushed himself to his feet, tucking the newspaper under his arm. Vane had a couple inches on him sure, the cocksure attitude that drove some people to the edge, but Gates didn’t need to posture when he closed the space between them. Two steps across the alley and he hummed in tired amusement as Vane watched him expectantly.  

“Because,” Gates said simply, reaching up to take the cigar out of Vane’s mouth, “He’s looking for you.”

With a sharp smile of his own, Gates helped himself to the cigar and returned to his chair. Before Vane could make his no doubt clever remark, or at least follow up on the cigar stealing, the back door to the kitchen flew open.

“Ah, there he is, on cue-” Gates murmured, puffing at the cigar and going back to his paper.

“Now wait a goddamn-” Vane tried to say, as Flint came out of the open door like a wolf from a cage, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. The momentum of his movement had them stumbling backwards, Vane pushing back against him, the two of them half wrestling on their feet.

“Where the fuck is he?” Flint snarled. “Where- So help me Vane I will break your fucking jaw where is he-”

“Fuck is that gonna do- break my jaw ya cunt how is that gonna-”

“I know you’re a part of this Rackham can’t keep shit to himself-”

“Hey what’d I say about ya goin’ for Jackie-”

“Jackie can go to hell unless you tell me where the fuck he is!”

Flint managed to get his ankle around Vane’s, getting him off balance enough to shove him back against the alley wall. He kept one hand in Vane’s shirt while the other closed around Vane’s throat, threatening but not so tight that he couldn’t get the words out.

“Tell me,” he repeated.

“Get fucked.”

“I will make you talk so fucking help me Vane-”

Vane smiled, all top teeth, and pressed into the hand at his throat. “How ya gonna do that hm?”

Flint didn’t move forward, the way Vane’s goading invited him to. He could feel the slightest pressure of Vane’s hand against his stomach, it acted as a warning. Sure enough when he glanced down, Vane’s trusty old butterfly knife was resting against his shirt, the same empty threat as Flint’s hand around his throat. Vane held his gaze with a lazy, hungry smile that called Flint’s bluff with the satisfied smugness of a card shark. Flint hated him in moments like that, hated him deeply. It would have been so easy to tighten his hand and squeeze, but only if it were anyone else. Vane knew just how to make good use of that butterfly knife.

“If you two are quite finished stroking each other off,” Gates said after a moment, “I have a bar to run and happy hour starts in twenty minutes.”

It took a moment, but with a snarl and a huff, Flint shoved Vane against the wall and stormed back inside without another word, leaving Gates puffing at his cigar and watching Vane toy with his butterfly knife.

“So you want me on bar or-” Vane asked.

“Oh no, he will be on bar. He needs to be on a tight leash tonight and I will be holding it, thank you. You keep your head down and behave yourself on the line please or I’m calling Jackie.” Gates folded his paper and stood again, pushing his reading glasses onto his head and gently stubbing out the cigar to save the rest for later. “Do I even want to know what this is all about?”

“Silver’s back in town.”

Gates blinked, then sighed with a decade’s worth of resignation. “My personal twink from hell. Fantastic.”

He stopped Vane just inside the kitchen. “Don’t tell the boys. Not yet, not with Flint so keyed up about it and all. We don’t need it to be a bigger mess that it clearly already is.”

“Shoo, alrigh’ boss.”

“Go on with you then. I’ve got a hell-hound to keep in line tonight.”

Vane’s laughter followed him through the kitchen. Said hell-hound was braced against the darkest corner of the bar, staring into a glass of dark rum.

“Are we talking about this?” Gates asked.

Flint glared at him from the corner of his eye and knocked back the rum. He poured himself another drink and put the bottle away.

“Alright then. You’re on bar with me and Muldoon-” Gates held up a hand as Flint made to argue. “No. I don’t care. This is how it is, am I clear?”

The alternative was, as it was for every member of staff (Gates included) going home for the evening. If Flint went home he’d spend the night driving himself insane or worse, wandering the city, tapping into contacts and allies, trying to eliminate all place where Silver couldn’t be. If he was at their bar he could at least stay tethered to something that felt like reality, at least for now.

“We can talk it over after close tonight,” Gates added softly, resting a hand on Flint’s back, “Figure out a plan if you like. But you know you can’t be in the kitchen with your head in the past.”

After a pause and a slow deep breath, a bit of tension eased out of Flint’s shoulders.

“Fine.”

Gates rubbed his back for a moment. He grabbed the rum bottle again and topped off Flint’s drink, before pouring himself a matching glass. The bar was mostly empty, one high top occupied by someone with a beer and a book, a booth hosting a late lunch date, one regular nursing his aviation at the end of the bar. They could take a moment just the two of them.

“We’ll figure it out, Jamie,” Gates told him, knocking the glasses together. Flint nodded weakly and said nothing, taking up his glass, tapping it gently against the bar top, and downing it with ease.

Across the street, watching the foot traffic and cars pass the brick street front of the Walrus with its custom neon sign and myriad pride flags catching the growing winds, sat a busker. He was a familiar sight on the block, playing his bass guitar under the scaffolded walkway to whatever audience would stop to listen. As the sky opened up and people hid under the scaffolding, his audience grew for a time.

Amongst them, a young man with a camera who was as interested in the bar across the way as he was in the busker’s performance. Silver had to admit he was grateful for the cover, between it and the storm, not a soul from The Walrus, patron or crew, noticed him.

Yes it was risky, even with one of his casual get ups on (you’d be surprised how often people ignored trucker caps and hoodies), and no it wasn’t like he thought Vane or the others were lying.

He just needed to see it for himself, needed to see Flint’s retirement happily ever after with his own eyes for it to seem real. Or so he had thought.

Seeing it in that moment, seeing Flint slip out front for a moment and stand under the awning to have a smoke, his attention fixed wholly on the storm clouds overhead-

It didn’t help. It just sent him running back to Manhattan with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

[lovedazai]

@44-tsu: YOU HAVE ONE NEW NOTIF !!

@KENMA: “hey, are you still awake? i have a surprise for you, so wait up for me.”

seeing kenma after a long day was enough to put a smile on your face, and it only grows when he comes home holding a bag from your favorite beauty store. when you see he bought you matching cat spa headbands and the charcoal face mask you’ve been thinking of buying, you throw your arms around him in a tight hug.

“oh my gosh!!” he’s reluctant to let go; his hands linger on you, even as you pull away from his hold to take out your presents. at least now he can see your face, and you’re always so pretty when you’re excited. it makes waiting in line at such an overcrowded store worth it. “how did you know i wanted this?”

“you left the tab open on your laptop…” he sighs as he buries his head against your neck, hands resting against your hips. you pull the headbands out of their packaging, giggling when you realize the color is reminiscent of your own cat’s fur. your heart flutters at the little detail; you adored how observant kenma was. you coo your cat over, holding them up to her. she isn’t very interested, but she sniffs and paws at the soft fabric as you unscrew the lid to the mask, sniffing the cream inside.

“will you try it with me?” you slip on one of the headbands, holding the other out to him.

“sure,” he tucks the loose strands you missed behind your ears. he sounds uninterested, but you know he wouldn’t have bought two if he wasn’t thinking of joining you.

he watches your reflection as you apply the mask, and you smile at him through the mirror when you catch his gaze. you pull yourself up on the counter, resisting the urge to pspsps for him to come closer. it was rare kenma had his hair out of his face like this, and he looks so cute. you tell him so, squishing his cheeks in your hands.

“hey, wait, you missed a spot,” you blink at him, turning to catch your reflection before he tilts your head to sneak a kiss to your neck, inhaling the clean scent that lingers from the mask. your cheeks warm under their layer of product, and you try to ignore it, busying yourself with rinsing off your silicone brush.

“so…what exactly is this going to do again?” he stands between your legs, lazily holding himself up against the counter, your thighs wrapped around him.

“it’ll clear the extra sebum out of your pores,” he closes his eyes, nose scrunching at the coldness of the mask as you trace along his features. “it makes them smaller, too.” once his face is covered, you hop off the counter, and he follows you back into the bedroom.

the two of you settle on the floor in front of his television, and you make yourself cozy in between his legs. he reaches over to pick up two stray controllers, handing one to you. “how long does this stay on for?”

“fifteen minutes.”

“hm,” he has a smile on his face, and you squint at him. maybe to someone else it would’ve looked innocent, but you’ve known him long enough to see through it. “i think that would be enough time for me to beat you in mario kart.”

p.s.! heyy mao!! i hope u like ur little fic :) ik kenma isn’t exactly tall but besides that i felt he rlly suited ur type :o i mean he is the cat man. i hope u enjoyed + ty so so much for joining my event <3 !!