#( x . self para )

[keegansgurl]

Summary: The reader gets captured by Graves during his siege of Las Almas. And the commander has certain ideals about what's in store for her.

Warnings!! Gun violence, wounds, implied sexual content, Kidnapping, being held captive, 18+ themes

Thunder cracks in the distance as you step out of the hummer with Soap, Ghost, Alejandro, and Rudy. It's dusk, and the air is starting to get heavy with moisture as the thunderstorm in the mountains grows near.

"Is that Graves' guys posted up at the gate?" You nudge Ghost when you spot the armed guards standing at the gate leading into the base.

Alejandro and Rudy share a look before Alejandro steps forward toward the gate. You hang back with Soap and Ghost while the Colonel searches for answers as to why a bunch of hired guns are guarding his base.

"What's Graves doing?" You ask Ghost as you watch Alejandro get up in his face.

"I don't know." Ghost replies in a gruff and cautious tone. "But I've got a bad feeling." He adds.

You nod in agreement, your dominant hand hovering over the pistol holstered at your thigh. Alejandro and Graves continue to but heads until all hell breaks loose. Alejandro gets taken down swiftly by one of Graves' men. Shots begjn whizzing through the air and Ghost grabs your arm to pull you behind cover.

"It doesn't have to go down like this, Ghost!" Graves shouts from his spot in front of the base gate.

"We need to get out of here." You crouch down next to Ghost with urgency.

Ghost nods in agreement and begins coming up with an escape plan. Graves' men begin to fan out and come towards the group. You and Ghost make a break for it but one of Graves' men manages to clip you with a shot to the shoulder. A searing hot pain shoots up through your shoulder and you crumble into the dirt.

Ghost stops and turns around to pull you up, but you wave him off with the hand that isn't clutching at your shoulder.

"No! Ghost, go! Get out of here!" You shout at your commander, the sound of Graves's men closing in growing louder in your ears by the second.

Ghost nods in understanding and takes off before your enemies descend upon you. One of them trains his gun on you while the other one grabs you by the injured shoulder and hauls you up to your feet.

"Ah!" You yelp in pain from the contact to your bullet wound.

Graves' men drag you back toward the gate and right up to their commander. Graves cracks a smug grin as you are dumped into the dirt at his feet.

"Well well well, if it isn't the infamous Spectre of the 141." Graves leans down and grabs your chin harshly in his hand.

You glare up at him as Graves holds your chin in his calloused hand. You grit your teeth as he smiles down at you with a sinister look in his eye.

"Boy who'd of thought that such a pretty thing like you could have all that rage and violence locked up inside." Graves chuckles at you. "You know? I'm glad it was you that my boys managed to catch first. Means that I get to have a little fun before work." He grins and signals for his men to take you away.

"You won't get away with this, Graves!" You kick and shout as you're dragged away and into one of the buildings on base.

You get tossed into a small barren room harshly. Your knees scrape against the floor, head hitting the corner of the doorframe as you get tossed down to the floor. The door slams shut and you hear a click followed by the sound of heavy boots walking away from the door.

You suck in a breath and manuever yourself into a sitting posistion on the cold floor. Graves' boys secured your hands behind your back with zipties after they got you inside the builging, so your movement is severly limited.

"Fuck." You groan to yourself as you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down.

You glance at your shoulder where you got shot. Blood has completely soaked through your shirt and beginning to dry into the fabric. The tendons in your shoulders burn with every little movement, making you wince in pain.

You scoot yourself over to the far corner of the room and lean against it. Graves's men pulled the zipties around your wrists pretty damn tight. But if you can somehow dislocate your thumb on one of your hand. Then you think that you can manage to slip your restraints.

You keep your back almost against the far corner of the room as you work to dislocate your thumb. While you work you keep your eyes fixed on the door on the other side of the room. You can hear footsteps and muffled voices on the other side of the door. Graves' men no doubt. But if you can pull this off then you'll be ready for them next time they come through that door.

"Come on. Come on!" You mumble to yourself as you work. "Fuck! Yes, that should do it." You wince quietly when your thumb grinds against bone and eventually clicks out of place.

Your hand aches now as well as your shoulder. But now there is just enough leverage for you to dig your hand free from your restraints. The zipties dig into your skin, scraping away at the first layer of your dermis as you go. But you've got to get free.

After some effort, your left hand finally manages to slip free. You breath a sigh of releif as you move your arms back into their normal posistion. Your wrists are rubbed raw and bleeding at this point. But you're free.

"Okay. Stay calm, YN." You calm yourself down now that you're free.

You tear a strip off the bottom of your shirt and wrap it around your shoulder into a makeshift sling. The sling takes some of the pressure off your shoulder and you allow yourself a little bit of time to rest and recover. You think about Soap and Ghost while you rest. Surely the two of them managed to get away and are coming up with a plan to come rescue you and Alejandro right now.

The heavy sound of footsteps approaching the door switches you out of relaxing mode. You quickly pull your arm out of the sling and wrench your hands behind your back again. If your captor doesnt know that you've free'd yourself. Then you've got the element of surprise.

The door creaks open and Graves steps into the room. He closes the door behind him and grin at you. "Well, aren't you a sigh for sore eyes, sweetheart? All hunched up in the corner, cowering in fear like a meek little bunny." He chuckles to himself and approaches you.

You watch Graves come towards you. You could spring on him right now and take him down. But you know that it's better if you wait until he's closer and more off guard to strike.

"Fuck you!" You growl at Graves with fire in your eyes and venom in your tone.

Graves comes to a stop a few feet in front of you. He smiles at you before gesturing for you to get up.

"Come on! Let's see it." Graves prompts you. "I'm not stupid, sweetheart. I know that you've found a way out of those retraints by now." He insists.

You grit your teeth and begruginly move your arms back in front of you. It'll be no use in trying to attack him now.

"Atta girl." Graves muses and reaches behind him. He pulls his arm back out in front of him with a bottle of water in hand and offers it to you. "Go on. Take it."

You scoff and turn your nose up at the offer. "I don't want shit from you, traitor." You spit at him.

"Suit yourself, sweetheart." Graves shrugs and pops the cap off of the bottle.

You watch Graves place the bottle to his lips and take a large swig of water from it. You become acutely aware of just how dry your mouth and throat are as you watch little droplets of precious water drio out of Graves' mouth and dribble down his chin.

"Ah!" Graves smirks and screws the cap back onto the now half-empty bottle. "Refreshing." He taunts you.

"If you're going to kill me, can you get it over with already?" You stare up at Graves with disdain written plainly on your face.

Graves laughs and crouches down to your level. "Kill you?" He scoffs. "Now why would I go and do something as stupid as that?" He asks you. "Shepard gave me a look at your file, you know?"

"General Shepard?" Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

"Mhm." Graves grins. "You are quite the soldier. Long list of skills that could be useful for a man in my business." He adds. "And all wrapped up in an enticing package too."

You reel back as Graves reaches a hand out to caress your face. You breifly think about biting down on his hand as hard as you can. But you know that he'd just overpower you if you did.

"Come on, sargent." Graves coos at you. "Think about all the trouble we could get into if you teamed up with me, huh?" He paints a picture for you. "Think about all the fun we could have. All the money that we could make." Graves drones on.

"I'd rather die than ever work for a scumbag mercanary like you." You growl and turn your head away from him.

Graves doesn't seem to falter any at your harsh words. He steps forward again, backing you further into the corner. Both of you are standing up now. But Graves is at least half a foot taller than you are. He watches you with intense eyes as you try your best to turn away from him.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, YN." Graves scoffs. "Don't think that I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at me these past few days." He reaches forward and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "Hmm? All those stolen glances at breifings? Or that cute little smile being directed at me when your meathead 141 buddies aren't looking?" He teases you.

You turn your head in shame, knowing that everything Graves is saying is true. Graves chuckles and grabs your shoulder where you got shot. You gasp in pain and turn to look at Graves again.

"Let me go!" You huff a breath out at Graves and try to pull away from him.

Graves doesn't budge, and instead steps closer to you. His body traps you between himself and the wall and you can smell the mint on his breath as well as the cologne he wears wafting off of him.

"Come on sweetheart, just give in." Graves leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers in a husky tone to you.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you freeze in place. It's like your brain is short circuiting right now. All those dirty thoughts that popped into your head 24 hours ago when Graves first introduced himself come flooding back all at once. All those thoughts about how handsome Graves looks in his tactical gear. About how that damned Southern American accent ignited something inside of you when he introduced himself to the group.

Everything.

You could cut the tension in the room with a simple wave of the hand.

That tension is broken when a rapid knock sounds at the door. Graves step away from you with an annoyed grimace at being interupted. He backs up towards the door and offers you a wink and charming grin. "This conversation aint over sweetheart. I'll be right back." Graves assurs you before slipping out of the room.

Your heart thumps against your chest like it's due to burst at any moment. Your gaze stays transfixed on the door and you can hear Graves scolding whichever of his lackies dared interupt him just now.

Silence falls over the room again and you slide down the wall and back down to the floor.

"Oh fuck." You murmur to yourself, head in your hands as you try and regain your composure.

Somewhere outside, sirens start to blare throughout the compound as Ghost, Soap, and Rudy rally to take the base back. The trio locate where you and Alejandro are being held and begin their retrieval plan.

You are still sitting in the corner when the door swings open with force. You look up from your lap expecting to see Graves saunter in again but find Soap instead.

"YN!" Soap crosses the room in barely two strides.

"Soap!" You let out a shakey reply.

Soap leans down in front of you and helps you to your feet. He sets a hand on your shoulder and allows you a few seconds to calm yourself down.

"Are you alright? Did Graves do something to you?" Soap asks you.

"I'm okay, MacTavish." You shake your head and compose yourself. "Have you guys found Alejandro?" You ask him.

Soap nods, trusting that you wouldn't lie to him since the two of you have always been close. "Ghost and Rudy are getting him right now. Are you ready to go?" He asks, offering you a gun from the back of his vest.

"I'm good." You take the gun with a nod and prepare yourself for the fight to come.

A part of you wonders where Graves is at right now. You wonder if he's thinking about you at all. As delusional as that sounds.

Because it does sound delusional, right?

He's the enemy now.

Right?

Right.

[drrutherford]

Pt. I/III

He's been on edge all day, hasn't slept a wink before it, knowing the court documents had been served to her last night. But by 6pm, he's starting to think he might be safe. Maybe the barrage of vile voice notes won't come, the angry missed calls. Maybe he'll even sleep tonight. When the bell rings, he doesn't check his security app. He expects it's Damon, who's kept in touch all day via text, waiting with him for the second shoe to drop. He assumes his brother's coming over to celebrate a little earlier than planned.

But when he opens the door, he finds himself staring at Katherine.

"Is this some kind of joke??"

There's no greeting with her, there never is. She's always blown in like a storm, with all the force of a natural disaster.

His hand goes lax around the knob. "I've never joked about Felix. I never would."

Katherine sees her opening and takes it, shoving past the open door, heels clacking against his floor. "You're going to put our son through that same old rollercoaster?? Now that he's old enough to remember it?"

"Oh, he's our son now, is he?..." The last six years, whenever she's spoken of Felix, it has always been in strictly possessive terms; my, my, mine. Her cherubic doll, to cling onto a wholesome public image. Her bargaining chip against her ex-husband, to be dangled and revoked on a whim, whenever it's suited her to punish him; to remind him of who is in control. Reluctantly, Gideon shuts the door behind her. "... Funny how that works."

He can't risk drawing attention, or being overheard by the rest of the building, but that doesn't mean he's rolling out the welcome mat. "You're not supposed to be here."

The actress whips around, adopting a cloyingly sweet tone. "And who's going to stop me, Gideon?... You? Your lawyer? Better yet, that mousy-looking creature you've been keeping on your arm?" Katherine adjusts the strap on her purse and sweeps down his front hall, poking her head into his living room, first, followed by his kitchen.

"Where is she? Is that why you're doing this?? You want your picket-white fence?"

He doesn't understand her disdain. As if it's ridiculous to want that kind of stability, as if he wasn't chasing that same dream with her when he popped the question ten years ago, didn't clutch even more desperately when their marriage began slipping through his fingers, and Katherine slid into new beds and old habits.

Still, he's glad she doesn't know about his breakup with Amélie. It'd bring her too much pleasure. She's always preferred him alone, held on as tightly to her control over him as Gideon once held to his love for her. "She's not here. What do you want, Katherine?"

She's satisfied with that answer. Abandoning her bloodhound quest, the blonde turns to face him again, this time wearing a derisive smile on her pink lips. "Well, it doesn't matter..." She strolls forward, slowly minimizing the distance between them until he can see the pinpricks of her pupils. He wonders what cocktail of drugs she's ingested most recently. Wonders which among an endless stream of babysitters is watching their son right now, and whether Katherine had the dignity to shoot up in a private space, or whether he'll be fending off questions from his six-year-old next time he's allowed to see him, about why needles are going into mommy's arm.

"If you go up against me again, you're just going to lose."

Her voice is honey, but her words are gall. Gideon watches her, tension wrought around every muscle fiber in his body. He still can't understand it. How this is the same woman who stood with him before an altar ten years ago, the same one who had whispered she loved him under a sea of lights at the reception hall, as he had held her in his arms and fancied himself the luckiest man in the world. He used to question if that woman was still inside her, somewhere, or whether she'd never really existed in the first place. But these days, he's stopped torturing himself over answers he'll never get.

"I suppose we'll just have to find out."

"Poor Gideon." The actress croons, reaching out to touch him without his permission. The palm that finds his chest is featherlight, but still manages to suck all the air out of his lungs. "Haven't you gotten used to losing?... Don't you remember what happened the last two times you took me to court?" For a second, he almost believes the pity in her blue eyes as she gazes up at him, but then he remembers how she likes her games.

This is why she's still so beloved onscreen, even if her star has begun to fade over the years. This is how she'd kept the public in a thrall during their excruciating, extensively covered divorce. This is how she'd managed to drag his reputation through the mud, while shining her own halo and covering her own crimes in the process.

"It's time for you to go, Katherine."

Something like fury sparks in her eyes. The change is swift enough to break her mask, even if she adjusts it a second later. She isn't used to this; not getting a rise out of him. He's danced on her marionette strings for so long; taken the bait, reacted and ignited, hated her with as much compulsion as he'd once adored her.

But it's true what they say about the opposite of love not being hate, but indifference.

And he doesn't love her anymore.

"Bring your finest lawyers, darling, it won't change a thing. It will only be all the more humiliating for you when you lose, and such a mortifying ordeal for Felix." Katherine's hand drops abruptly from his chest. She moves to the front door, wrenching it open.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Her hand is gone, but he still feels the pressure in his chest. It doesn't lift until the slam of the door shocks him back to life, jolting his muscles into use. Gideon moves forward to lock it, feeling hopelessly tired, but more determined than he has in a long time.

Don't say I didn't warn you, either.

[nulljeager]

Paracelsus/Dismas for the soul

Reblogs > Likes

[ok-lobotomita]

Yuna (Ziggy) y Neuro (Alastor)

[mishavorshevsky]

ANYWAY...

When: After Party, post-plot drop TW: None (for once)

Silence settles over the crowd like a lead weight, perverse in its gravity and filled with dread as they watch the video unfold. Unfortunately, Mikhail's experience with such limitless violence does not allow him enough naïvety to crumble into shock with the rest. Already his gaze sweeps across the room to find Vika, whose well restrained anger matches his own almost precisely–– both stormy behind the eyes and cautious in how they show it to the world.

He moves swiftly through frantic bodies once the lights return, scooping up Iza's arm along the way and practically hoisting her towards the exit. Without enough force to harm, but the rapid nature of his pace and obvious insistence leaves little room to argue. Not that she would, particularly after such a harrowing spectacle.

Perhaps that is what angers him most, beyond the simmering rage felt on behalf of Kosta losing yet another fragment of his first wife. That Mikhail had been successfully shielding Iza from most of the carnage, keeping her reality somewhat at bay and allowing her and Dmitri to live a relatively unscathed life. It wouldn't last, they both predicted as much, but he truly hadn't wanted it to crash down like this.

Cynicism whispers, at least it isn't her on the tape. Or Yuli, or Vika, or Sveta...

The corners of his mind are a mass grave filled with long dead women from his life and he ardently refuses to add more bodies tonight.

For once, there is gratitude to be found in the security that haunts his footsteps. His orders to them are frigid, unquestionable, sounding more like a Vorshevsky than ever before when the matter of his wife's safety hangs in the balance. It would be easier to avoid her gaze and usher the blonde along, to keep himself from reading the expression he knows is etched into her delicate features, but he clasps them between both palms anyway.

His thumb wipes away a miniature trail of saltwater from her skin as their eyes meet. Glassy versus resolute. "You need to leave now. Don't speak to anyone and do exactly as Boris and Pyotr say until I return. I'll be right behind you, promise." She merely nods, impeded from the full gesture by how deliberately Mikhail cups her face. "I love you." Sentiment exchanged, he releases Iza and allows his team to cart her off to a waiting car before returning to locate Vika.

Finding her is simpler than expected, probably because their train of thought so frequently aligns, and there is one terribly specific way to return a favor to their enemies. His palm nearly envelopes the Pecatti woman's entire face as he forces it back into position against his cousin; so unlike the fervent adoration used on his better half only minutes prior.

"It took you long enough. Hold her still."

"With pleasure."

[giordirossi]

BEHIND THE MASK

A question never asked, yet answered all the same.   Date: Between April 10th-20th, 2024. Warnings: None.

Phone calls shouldn't drag out for longer than fifteen minutes tops, at least in Giordana's opinion.

Unless, of course, she happened to be caught in the endless conversational circle that was ringing her folks back in Launceston. Those always devolved after a quarter of an hour, playing catch up with mild news and constantly skirting around the massive elephant on the line surrounding her work. Inevitably they ran out of topics to hash out and resorted to rundowns of local obituaries, what birds her father saw in the yard that week, and when, for the love of the baby Lord Jesus himself, would she settle down with a nice Italian Catholic boy?

Which admittedly elicited more silent smirks than quick goodbyes these days. The kind only viewed by her reflection in the floor length mirror as she sat engulfed in the fabric of a shirt her very non-Italian, non-Catholic boyfriend left behind.

Tonight there were no private, mischievous smiles. No gossip about people from the old neighborhood. No jovial atmosphere behind this chat whatsoever. It felt rushed, almost frantic in a way that she seldom allowed her parents to hear. Or anyone else for that matter.

“I need you and Dad to go stay with Aunt Bea in Philly for a while.” Already she could hear her mother scoff, imagining the sight of long dark hair folding on itself as she undoubtedly gave Giordana's father an incredulous look. As if their daughter was begging for leniency on her adolescent curfew. “Not forever, just... until things cool down.”

"What things?”

“Ma—“

“Well, we can’t move our entire lives. D'you know how much it costs to relocate that fast?" A thick Launceston accent practically barreled down the phone at her. "We have important events coming up, what are we supposed to tell our friends and neighbors?"

As if on instinct, two fingers pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Dad playing cards at Vespucci's and you going to the salon with Trina do not count as important events, Ma." How to make them understand the gravity and the danger if they stayed? How she couldn't protect them across the pond if everything exploded? “You know Frankie and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”

After the grandiose disaster that was the awards and how tepid the Sovrani alliance with the French appeared in its aftermath, she wouldn't take chances here. With no threat of croissant retribution as a barrier back in Launceston, the Russian hyenas waiting in the shadows would turn her hometown into a bloodbath again. Anyone with ties to the organization, especially to leadership and those in their circle, were fair game.

Under no circumstance was Giordana losing the only true parents she'd ever known.

Right when she anticipated a stern remark about tone, or lack of respect for her elders, her rebuttal was only met with heavy silence on the other end of the line.

And then, "I want you to answer me honestly." Shit. "Are you and your brother in some kind of trouble over there?"

"Not yet... Maybe soon.” Which equated to all the information she could provide, despite how ominous and unclear.

“Please, can you go stay with Beatrice? We need you both out of Launceston." A sigh through the speaker. "And we’ll need you to send over anything you have in the house connected to us. Pictures, documents, third grade macaroni art, whatever's left.”

“What! Why?!”

From somewhere in the background, her father chimed in, “I thought you said this wasn’t permanent, Giordana.”

“It’s a safety precaution. I’ll text you my address in London, don’t write it down anywhere.”

Nobody would rat them out as her parents— as the Rossi’s. There were too many Sovrani sympathizers or adjacent families in the old neighborhood who all looked after each other, but not every Russian traded competency for violence. The risk of somebody snooping where they shouldn’t remained a possibility.

Maybe paranoia gripped her because it’s what she would do to find a mark, rifle through family homes looking for connections. They needed to cut ties with Launceston and their children for awhile, only then could they be safe.

***

Barely one week later and a myriad of deliveries line the hallway of Giordana's home.

Boxes full of memories from hers and Frankie’s youth, all meticulously labeled because her mother never half-assed anything in this life. From high school yearbooks to little league sports trophies. Beneath a cardboard flap, some Polaroid photo sticks out partially obscured, though she recognizes it immediately as the outside of a local ice cream parlor back home.

A man stumbled up to the counter only minutes after the photo was taken. Unsteady on his feet with a blue shirt stained purple, his hands coated in a substance she couldn't see before her father rushed them into the car.

Good ole childhood memories, right?

Documents

The large black lettering catches her eye and Giordana scoops the package up from the floor, carrying it beneath one arm to the kitchen table. Unsure what compulsion makes her curious to rifle through it, she cuts open the clear tape and lifts a few papers into the light. Perhaps in search of an embarrassing disciplinary file from Frankie's school days that she could frame on the mantle. Wouldn't that be a sight.

Most of the sheets are expected and benign, so much so that she nearly misses the one labeled Birth Certificate. To her knowledge, Frankie was in possession of his after getting married to Aria and she keeps her own in a small personal safe in the bedroom down the hall.

Correction, she owns the amended version. The one reissued after a legal adoption has taken place. Her eyes hesitate at the top of the page, not venturing any further than the title.

She'd never seen the original before.

Never wanted to, quite frankly. Any early memories before her adoption were strategically buried once the Rossi's welcomed her into their family. What good was it to learn about the mother who abandoned her? Who sang a little girl to sleep until one morning she decided to just... give her away. Forever.

Had she known what that little girl would become? Did she sense the strangeness of her own child? The birth mother was still alive somewhere, or so Giordana heard, but hardly cared enough to find out.

Yet standing in the middle of her kitchen with the evidence of a long forgotten past sitting between slender fingers, she feels the oddest pang of–– not regret exactly. More of an incompleteness, a sudden deficiency that might be cured with a single glance.

Who was she before becoming Giordana Rossi?

Her gaze lowers, skimming over the birth details she already knows. Hospital, weight, height, nothing would be altered there. The birth name is different though.

Simone Martinez.

A breathy laugh escapes suddenly, relieved and amused all at once because she can't fathom answering to the name Simone. It isn't terrible, but neither does it match her current personality. She'll be sure to inform her parents of the wise change.

Mother: Monica Martinez.

No bells ring and while she hardly expected them to, somehow that leaves her a smidge disappointed. For all the faint memories she holds of the woman who gave her life, none of this feels familiar. She can only vaguely picture the face, blurry and distorted by the passage of time.

At least the father column is guaranteed to be empty. All her parents ever told her, and all she requested to hear, was that the woman had been a single mother and the birth father was unknown. Even to this Monica person.

Giordana peers down for confirmation and her stomach instantly drops. A barely audible, "What the fuck?" passes between painted lips as she crinkles the page in her grasp while holding it closer to the light.

The second parental designation isn't a blank space at all.

Father: Artur Petrov.

No.

No, that–– it must be a typo. Or a forgery.

Maybe her father planted it as a belated April Fools prank. Gotcha, that's what you get for worrying us! Ha ha!

Eyes widening with every passing second, she stares in horror at the name for what seems like an hour. As if scrutinizing it long enough might change the shape of the letters or erase them entirely.

Artur Petrov.

Petrov. It glares back at her from the document right above the official hospital seal and doctor's signature; a mocking condemnation.

The roar in her ears is loud enough to disorient and she drops the paper, discarding it with the rest of the box's contents before turning to stand over the sink. She hasn't vomited in years, yet bile rises in her throat all the same as realization upon realization crash over her head.

A desperate gasp staves the mess off just long enough for a softly anguished groan to replace it.

She's fucking Russian.

[damonrutherford]

Tales of the insanely wealthy and alone...

He got like this sometimes when the clock rolled over to the early morning hours and the high of his evening wore off. When there were no more skirts to chase and no amount of liquor in the world could drown out the dull roar in the back of his head. Hardly meant he wouldn't try to find another outlet though.

So there he sat on the otherwise dusty floor of his mother's tomb–– a vague mental note made to get someone in here to clean more often than the current cadence. A ridiculous luxury considering the subject, but if Andrew insisted that they weren't going to be buried in the ground like everyone else, then the least Damon could do was spruce the place up. Flowers, too. He'd get more of those.

Then, as he did in childhood, Damon rattled off about his day and spared absolutely no details. An odd sight he imagined, speaking so candidly to the walls of this crypt, but if she were still around, Cerys would encourage it. In fact, she'd probably be a bit hurt if he left anything out. Or at least this was how he preferred to think of his mother, despite the three decades since her passing somewhat muddying his memories.

Didn't all kids elevate their mother to a version of sainthood after losing her so young? At least in his case, she actually had been one.

In the middle of recounting his idea for investing in a tech driven hedge fund, the familiar ping of a text notification drew him up short. His phone was an endless abyss of unanswered messages, emails, and voicemails–– most professional, some scathing, most which remained muted to avoid inundation. Only four people had their settings converted to bypass that feature and all but one shared his last name.

It used to be five.

The reminder hit him unexpectedly when he read over Lara's brief response to their earlier conversation. Without thinking, he closed her text and opened his contact list, barely scrolling through the A's before the name jumped out.

On low nights, genuinely deep pits in the midnight hours, he sometimes thought about calling that number just to hear the other man's voice on the recording. Call it personal cowardice or misguided altruism (because what if Revati hadn't turned it off?), Damon could never bring himself to press the button. Not even once in the year since he received news of yet another devastating loss in his life.

Amir hadn’t deserved to go out like that. In his opinion few did, but especially him, regardless of how familial loyalty and complications drove them apart. Now the lack of closure or goodbye festered forever beneath his skin, the burgeoning what ifs would always linger; too bitter a pillow to swallow.

Another message flashed across the unlocked screen, this time a reminder from his assistant.

The Malaysian investors will be in-office soon for your scheduled conference call. 3:00 sharp. I know you're up, drink some water and be ready in 40.

Only six months on the job and already Dana managed the insurmountable feat of both organizing his entire calendar and keeping Damon somewhat in check. Maybe he would take care to not sleep with this one and ensure she actually stuck around long enough to matter, as Gideon so rightfully suggested. Or perhaps he should simply refrain from hiring beautiful women to avoid any future temptation.

Well, the plight of old dogs and all...

"Duty calls, I'm afraid. I'll have to regale my plans for world domination next time." His thumb traced over the inscription of Cerys' name. "Bye, Mum." With that, he turned and departed into the muggy cemetery air.

All at once, his formerly somber expression fell behind the mask of public charisma as he dialed his assistant's number. Since apparently she was also awake at this hour ––enough to send him a cheeky text–– it shouldn't be an issue. “Dana, love, can you send a car to the location I’m about to drop?” Morbid to share like this, but she knew precisely who was buried here. Everyone did.

Answering without apologies nor puttering for her earlier message, Dana only offered to reschedule upon reviewing the address he sent over. Which was precisely what he liked about her, respectful with enough moxie to snap him back to reality.

“No need to cancel, I wouldn’t want to keep our prospective friends waiting.”

[renata-dp]

He sure is helping me getting trough my finals and keeping it up

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I blame the extra to random images I had been sent and random fanarts I came across that gave me the idea lol

[alive-but-dead-ah]

Black-and-white digital commissions for @shipshroom

Thank you so much for the opportunity to work with you, your oc is adorable!

[taliah-tezel]

Location: Taliah's Home. Mentions/Tags: Kaan (her father), Ayda ( her mom), Lousie (her father's girlfriend), Serkan (her Uncle), @colemonroe, @emiri-tezel, the club in general. Triggers: talks about death, grief, trauma. Summary: Taliah's father finally returns 'home' from business after months. He hasn't been home in almost an entire year and so, they have a lot to catch up on. Fatherly concern, decade-old confessions, emotional speeches and hope for the future.

"Well, better late than never." Taliah shrugs from her seat on the couch, staring at the presents now placed on the coffee table. They were supposed to be exchanged at Christmas, but at the last minute, her father had cancelled his trip and had only just gotten around to visiting. Still, it was a happy occasion, she loved to catch up whenever he came back and this time, she felt as though she had so much that was positive to tell him.

At least half an hour had gone by, she'd told him all about how her new role at the fire station was going, everything about July 4th, right down to running in and saving her friend's child. That earned a solid look of concern that was completely warranted, but she wouldn't let it take away from the fact she got lucky and actually saved a child's life. Taliah spared her father the details of her breakdown and chose to only tell him that she had been attending therapy sessions for a while now. She wasn't ashamed by it, why should she be? It takes strength to admit when you need help. That much she knew was true.

"That's all wonderful, kızım," [my daughter,] "I can see the difference in you. You look happier." Kaan nods, smiling warmly over at her. "I am happier." Taliah agrees, able to feel the difference in how she was just a few months ago. She hadn't got around to talking to him about Cole yet, saving that for last only because she knew she'd talk the most about that topic. "How long are you staying? I have the day off on Thursday. I can cook dinner, you me and Cole? It'll be nice." At least, it sounded nice in her imagination. "And Louise?" He says, causing Taliah to shuffle her shoulders in mild discomfort. "I didn't know you brought her with you." An honest comment and one that actually tracked because when he did come back here, she usually stayed in whatever luxurious all inclusive resort they'd been residing in. "She's my partner, Tali, I'd really like you two to share more than a couple of words. So, sure, I think dinner together sounds like a wonderful idea, give us all a chance to chat. You'd like her if you just give her a real chance." He speaks convincingly, and all Taliah can do is respond with a tight smile and enough grace to say "okay." Even if she didn't believe it for a second.

"It's long overdue, and I would like to catch up, especially since I haven't had the chance since you and Cole became an item." Nodding, he tried his best to smile but Taliah knew him well enough to see that something was off. "... Yeah," she mumbled. Before she could ask, he was already making an additional comment that had her mouth popping open. "I lost the bet," sighing, he leans forward to place his cup down. "Serkan and I, outside of the clubs bet, we had a foolish one between the two of us that we shook on maybe 5 or so years ago now. He bet $100 that you and Cole would get together in the next ten years. I bet that you wouldn't, I thought the two of you would just remain friends." Chuckling slightly, Taliah couldn't help but crinkle her nose a little, though she wasn't surprised there was yet another bet that happened in regards to them.

"Um, well yeah, we were friends. You know he's always been my closest friend, that hasn't changed." Even now they were in a relationship, it hadn't changed the fact that Cole was still her best friend, he always would be. "I'm a little surprised, actually, you're the first person to say they didn't see it coming a mile away." She comments, watching curiously as he shakes his head as if to suggest she's wrong. "I could see what everyone else did, I just never thought you'd act on it. The years had gone by and I guess I just assumed you were looking for someone... you know, different." Still with a polite smile, he hadn't meant any offence, but Taliah couldn't help but feel like he wasn't as happy for her as everyone else was.

"Different?" Scratching a little at her head, she shrugs her shoulders. "To be factual, I wasn't looking for anyone, period. If I was, maybe I'd have noticed what everyone else did a lot sooner, but, different?" Frowning, she shakes her head firmly. "No. He's always been everything I needed, you know how he treats me, you have seen how he cares." The way Taliah had always turned to Cole first, above everyone, her father knew the pair of them were bonded from the first time they met. "Oh, I know that, Taliah. I don't mean it the wrong way, Cole is a great man." Kaan nods, knowing it to be true, at least regarding his daughter. How could he ever forget how he sacrificed his freedom to protect her?

"He is a great man. So why is your face doing that thing it does when you're not being honest." Taliah folded her arms, finding herself just a little defensive and confused. "If you have something to say, dad, just say it." Adapting a firmer tone, she couldn't stand people who beat around the bush - whatever he was thinking? She wanted him to spit it out. Kaan sighed, knowing that tone all too well, remembering how his wife, her mother, had the exact same one whenever she got irate. "My sweet girl, I'm not saying I'm not happy for you, I am. But... As a father, I think there's a part of me that hoped that if you found someone to share your life with, it would be someone... Normal." His eyes partially squeezed shut as soon as the words came out, knowing that he hadn't really explained that the way he intended.

"Normal?" Taliah was taken aback by everything he said, but nothing stuck out to her more than that word. "Normal..." she repeated, leaning back in the chair. She knew what he meant by it, he was inadvertently saying that he wasn't thrilled that she'd chosen to share her life with someone belonging to the club. "Normal doesn't equal safe." Tilting her head to the side, a look of distant thought there in her eyes. "I thought Callum was normal. Look where that got me." Brown eyes watch as her father practically grimaces at the spoken name. "I understand why you would have your reservations as a father, but I think you're out of line. Cole, the club as a whole... They took us in like family, you know them. You know what they'd do to protect those they care about."

"I know, I know... It's just a worry, the things they do, the dangers, I can't handle the thought of you getting wrapped up in something because of how they live their lives. That's not me judging any of them, sweetheart, it's just my instinct to be concerned for you." Grappling with his own thoughts, he was trying his best to articulate exactly what he wanted to say, but he could see from the look on her face she was far from impressed. "Bullshit." Taliah scoffs. "I'm a grown woman now, I don't need your concern. Where were these instincts when I was 16? You moved us here to be with Serkan, you knew that meant the club too. You can't...." Pausing, she can't help but blow out a half breath, half laugh of pure disbelief. "You can't decide to be worried now, when that worry wasn't enough then to keep us at home and a world away from them all." Home being Turkey, that was. "What absolute bullshit, honestly." Pressing a thumb and finger over her eyes, she needed to take a minute, a breath. How could her father rain on her parade this way? Why couldn't he just be as happy for her as everyone else who loved her was?

"That's not fair, Taliah." Grumbling at her sees to her hand moving away from her face, eyes widened with surprise. "Oh, it's not fair, well fuck me, guess I didn't realise it wasn't fair. Must run in the family." Biting at him before she could even keep up with what was coming out her mouth, she would be lying if she didn't regret it. Not that it showed on her stubborn features and folded arms. "Meaning?" He asks, and she knew to expect that he would. "Meaning," a pause, a deep breath as she makes some attempt to form the words and do so carefully. Her intention was not to hurt him, but she felt so defensive right now that it was difficult to really articulate. "Was it fair for me when you uprooted us from home and brought us here? You needed your brother, don't think I don't understand that. It was just hard for me, I don't think you ever really thought about that." A slow shrug, she can see the wheels of confusion turning inside his head. "I wanted a new start for us, I..." He stops, not even knowing how to proceed, but luckily, she did. "You wanted to run away from your pain. Like I said, I understand. I never protested, but that doesn't mean I wanted the same. I just kept quiet because I knew it was what you needed, and I thought if it helped you, then it was worth it." Taliah admits. "But I was so... Isolated. We left behind everything. Everyone. All my friends, all the things that I was using to help me, it was gone, and we were here. Strange town, full of people who talked so fast I couldn't keep up. Because maybe you forgot, but I didn't have the world experience you did, nor the ability to be as fluent in this language as you were. Emiri tried her best, Serkan too, and so did Cole, but it didn't change the fact that for a long time, I didn't want to be here, I wanted to go home, and you didn't see me enough to notice."

"You never said..." His voice was quiet and his face, a vision of guilt he had never registered before. "You never asked." Taliah says, pulling in another deep breath. "Me, Serkan, the club, we made sure you kept your head above water because that's what you needed. It was Cole who did that for me, he didn't talk at me, he talked to me, with patience and kindness that helped me feel like I wasn't so alone. That's what helped me see that the entire club was doing their best to invite us into their world, into their family." Sitting forward, Taliah holds his gaze just so she can be sure he's listening. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty... And I don't blame you, not for any of it. I just don't think you've ever let yourself think about how your decisions impacted me. The club saved your life and they certainly saved mine. So you can take your normal, and shove it. I don't need normal. I need them. I need Cole. They're my family."

"I know they are. Taliah! You've misunderstood what I was trying to say." Frustrated, he drags a hand over his face and lowers his head. Everything she'd just let spill out needed time to process. The fact she was right about it all only made him feel more ashamed than he already did. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did that to you. I... had no idea you felt so unhappy about the move. I thought it was what we both wanted. I didn't want to be there without..." He stops, even now, finding difficulty in talking about her mom. "And I just assumed you felt the same." His eyes are stung with tears, and Taliah can't help but feel bad about the way this all came tumbling out. "Dad, I don't need you to be sorry, I never did. I'm just trying to explain, because I think you need the reminder that the people you're worried about me being around are the same people you propelled me into as a teenager. The same people who helped us when they didn't have to. The dangers now were the same then, the only difference is I'm an adult now. I can decide for myself whether they're risks I want to take, and much like you, I've chosen to take them, with the knowledge that they're completely worth it. They're built differently, you know they are. Every one of those men would shield you from harm, every one of them, I could leave my drink with and know I'm not going to get spiked. They are good men at their core and I know now that being here, with them, with Cole, it's where I belong. So you can give your blessing or refuse it, your opinion really doesn't influence how I feel." Nodding her head firmly, she has to swallow the lump in her throat that threatens to show how shaken she is by her confessions. She doesn't want to crumble, she needs to be strong because this was the truth; it was her truth.

Her dad was silent for what felt like minutes, in reality, it was probably just a few seconds. "Serkan was the best man I ever knew, and back then, I didn't know what it meant for him to be a Son's founder. I knew a little, and suspected a lot, but what I knew in my heart was that he was a good man. It didn't take me long to see that the people he was surrounded by were just as good. So yes, Taliah, you have my blessing, of course you do. Maybe you forget that I too, have watched Cole grow up. And what he did for you back then, with no thought for his own consequences, it gets my highest respect. Anyone who would give up their freedom to protect my daughter is worthy of my daughter. I don't need you to tell me he's good at his heart, I can see it." Kaan breathes out slowly, keeping his eyes on his intertwined hands. "I've let you down more than I realised... And Cole never has. That's what you're telling me, isn't it?" He glances his eyes up at her with a gentle, sad yet knowing smile. "Not in such a black and white way, but yeah, I guess that's what I'm saying." Taliah whispers, not feeling great about knowing she's basically pushed her father down and gave him a kick for good measure. "You weren't the same after mom, but you did your best. You did what you had to, to survive. That's why I don't need you to be sorry. No regrets now, it worked out. I love this town now and I couldn't see myself anywhere else. The decision you made back then gave me everything I have now." Offering a smile, she feels a lot calmer now, but also incredibly sad.

"I'm still your father, I'll worry about your safety even if you were in an empty room. I really wish I could have been better for you, Tali. I'll be eternally sorry that I wasn't. More sorry for all the misery I caused you without noticing. I'm... glad you had people to help you when I couldn't." He nods, shifting in his seat. "I guess I've never shown it the way you needed me to, but you are my entire world, my child, and I'm so proud of you. I love you, Taliah, and I'm very pleased to hear that you're happier than you've been in a long time. That's all I've ever wanted for you, is for you to be happy." He stands up, gesturing for her to do the same, and she does. "I'm in town for another couple of weeks. I'd like to spend most of it with you, if that's okay? Cole too." Opening his arms out, Taliah nods silently and walks in for a hug, finally choking on the breath she was trying to steady. "I'd like that." She mumbles, for all the raw truth that had been voiced, she also felt like this was something that needed to happen, perhaps now, they could understand each other better. "I'll see when Cole is free for dinner here one night. You... can bring Louise. I don't like her, dad, but I'll be civil, only because you clearly do." Even though Taliah thought Louise only wanted him for his money, she could try to be nice. "Well, don't strain yourself too hard," he jokes, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "I do appreciate the effort to be civil. Now, can I just clarify that you mean you'll be civil in the universal sense, or civil in Taliah sense?" He teases, already to Taliah's huffy annoyance as she gives him a shove. "Be grateful I'm even using the word civil!" Frowning, they held eye contact for a couple of seconds before bursting into a laugh that felt a lot like healing. Maybe, just maybe, they were going to be just fine now.

[summercassidy]

A Place to Call Home | Self Para

2200 words. Featuring: Sadie Levitt, Luke Levitt (mentioned), Quentin Levitt, Prue Cassidy (mentioned). TW: fire, burns, hospital, internalised homophobia (if you squint).

When Summer found out she was pregnant, the first thing she did was cry.

When Summer found out she was pregnant, the first thing she did was cry. If you asked her today, she would tell you it was from happiness. How she was so lucky to finally be blessed with a child. If she told you this, it would be a lie. When Summer found out she was pregnant, the first thing she did was cry. She felt like her life was over; like her career was ending before it had even began.

Of course, her husband Quentin was over the moon with the news. Really, he was the only reason she even went through with the pregnancy. He had always wanted a child, and she had always wanted fame. She never expected the two paths to cross, until that cross appeared on the test she held in her hand in their bathroom. She wasn't the motherly type. She saw kids as pre-adults, and she had no idea how to talk to them or play with them or spend time with them. She didn't even know how to speak to her own sister at times.

When Sadie was born, Summer spent the first two weeks just staring at her. She was hoping the maternal instinct would suddenly rip through her bones and take over like one of those lions in a documentary she accidentally watched when she couldn't find the TV remote. She was so tiny, she was afraid that one wrong move would hurt her. Quentin, of course, was fantastic, so she left most of it up to him. He was a father; he had been a father before Sadie was even born, simply waiting in the wings to take his role. Summer on the other hand felt like an imposter, like she had stepped out onto the stage without learning any lines, bumbling her way through a performance when everyone else knew their parts well.

Eventually, she began to understand Sadie. She was kind, clever, smart and inquisitive. She reached for Summer's hand when they were walking down the street, and she drew pictures of her when she went to daycare. Summer began to think that she was actually doing something right, even if she still didn't know her lines. So when she was back in the same bathroom, looking at the same result on a stick three years later, she didn't cry. She felt like she was ready.

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By the time Sadie was seven, her mother was a household name. A stream of successful box office hits solidified her legacy, and soon she saw her less and less until she was only visible on the screen, acting out as someone else's mother or pretending to be in love with some else's dad. When she was home, it was almost worse. She sometimes woke up to the sound of her parents fighting, trying their best to keep their voices hushed and hissed, but her mother was an actress when push came to shove, and keeping her voice low was not one of her strengths. Still, she relished when she would wake to the sound of her gentle voice, the sun reflecting off of her golden hair as she gathered her into her arms. She would breathe in the scent of a perfume that was just simply mom, closing her eyes and imagining she could stay there forever, even if she knew it could never happen.

A tear fell down Sadie's face as the incandescent glow of eight candles began to make their way to her. Her dad had an optimistic smile on his face, but the spot beside him was missing. Her mother had promised she would be there, had even performed the sacred 'no take backs' which had become a foundation of their trust in each other. She hadn't seen her in six weeks, hadn't even had a happy birthday call from her. She could tell her dad was upset, but he forced a smile for her, asking her to make a wish as the cake was set in front of her. She closed her eyes, thought of her mother for a brief moment before a coldness took over. She forced herself to think of something more reliable and blew.

The shouting was louder than ever that night. Sadie had no idea when her mother had returned home, but when the fighting woke her up, she could hear the distant tune of a bird, completely unaware of the tears and shouting that happened in their home. Her mom was talking different, her words slurred together more and her voice was even louder than usual. Her dad sounded angry. Creeping out of bed, she moved to the top step of the stairs, perching herself down so she could get a better view. ""Don't fucking turn this on me, Summer! I have defended you for missing so many things for so long that tonight I had nothing to say to make it better. I was the one she constantly asked when you were getting there and every time I told her you were probably already on your way. Don't you fucking dare accuse me of driving a wedge between you and your children because you are doing a mighty fine job of that on your own." Sadie forced herself to stay quiet, watching her parents fight. Not knowing it was going to be the last day they were all going to be under the same roof.

"Happy big 13th birthday gorgeous girl!! will see you soon. love u so much. xxx". Sadie rolled her eyes as she deleted the text immediately. Of course Summer couldn't spare five minutes to actually call her. She probably got her assistant to send the text for her, lest she disturb her perfect manicure. It had been months since she had last seen her mother in the flesh, and she was glad of it. The woman was intolerable, and she had found herself beginning to deny to her classmates that she was even her daughter. They were like night and day; Summer was a pink, bubbly cloud of fake happiness and rainbows while Sadie was a realist, choosing to see things the hard way. There was so much Summer didn't know about her, she wasn't sure if the title of 'mother' was even still appropriate. She had her dad, she had her aunts and uncles, she had Prue (who was technically an aunt but more like a friend. Besides, she didn't like to dwell on the fact that she came from the same source as Summer) and she had Luke, who still held onto the childish believe that she still cared.

"Why don't you try this skirt on, babe? Seriously, all the girls your age are wearing them. Don't you want to try and be more like them? You're beautiful, Sades. It's about time we see that." She didn't know how she ended up getting roped into shopping with her mom. She had crawled back to East Haven with her tail between her legs following her exile from Los Angeles, and ever since she had been like a flea Sadie couldn't quite shake. Summer was so desperate to turn her into a cardon copy of herself that she didn't take a moment to see that Sadie wasn't her. She wasn't girly or smiley or bubbly or- Sadie had realised she was gay when she was about twelve. She guessed she always sort of knew she was different, but she thought that was a given when she was the offspring of the world's biggest narcissist. She had confided in Prue when she knew for sure, and she felt like a weight had been removed from her shoulders when she was met with the validation she had been craving. Despite the fact she never vocalised it to her father, she was sure he knew as well. He never questioned her about boys or the friends that she had. Summer, on the other hand, was oblivious. She would always try and talk to her about the cute boys in her class or the dresses she should wear to prom and everything that simply wasn't Sadie. She had convinced herself that if Summer found out, she would see her as a stain on her reputation. The perfect Summer Cassidy has a queer daughter. She could imagine the look on her face.

Sadie watched as the wind forced a tree branch to join in its cruel dance, nearly taking it off the trunk entirely. She didn't understand why her mom had dragged her to the mall the day a windstorm was due. That was Summer, though. Act now, think later seemed to be her slogan. Summer had convinced her she needed a new pair of shoes, and Sadie was trying her best to delay that plan for as long as she could, deliberately spending time in every store in the place. She had ducked into the candle store just as Summer had began a conversation with an old friend from school or something, watching as the woman ended her conversation abruptly to follow her inside. "Sadie, will you just- stop!" Summer never yelled, and it did cause Sadie to freeze. "I have been trying my best for you, Sades. I've really been putting in an effort, but you're making this, like...so much harder than it needs to be. If there's something I need to do to make the last few years up to you, please just let me know. Until then, can you stop just acting like a child?" Sadie opened her mouth to respond, but she never got far enough to do that. Everything happened so fast. Wind had been blowing the candles, which had caught fire on the surrounding furniture in the store behind the mother and daughter without them knowing, which had grown bigger and wilder the longer they stood. Sadie was in shock, staring at the growing flame while Summer repeatedly told her to get away. More candles fell, more flames. If it was between fight or flight, Sadie discovered she was in flight. The last thing she remembered was her mom pushing her out of the way. And a scream.

It took Sadie longer than he was proud of to visit her mom in the hospital. She knew that the accident was her fault; she had only gone into the store to piss her off. Whilst she had been questioning if her mom really cared about her or not, she risked her life for her. It should have been her in that hospital bed, covered in burns. Eventually, she knew she had to go and see her. She gulped as she walked into the hospital room, almost afraid at what she might find. She was surprised to find her mom sitting upright in the bed reading a magazine, the portions of her skin on display seemingly unaffected by the malicious fire. As soon as Summer looked up and spotted her, she set down the magazine and stared at her for a moment, before a smile stretched across her lips and she held her arms out for a hug. Sadie immediately accepted it, almost dashing into her mother's arms. The familiar scent of her perfume transported her back to when she was a child, when the only time she felt safe was in her mom's arms. She still felt like that, she just didn't know it.

They spent what felt like hours talking, snacking on the box of chocolates someone had left for her mom. Eventually, the conversation drifted off and she could see there was a question forming on her lips, dying to get out. "Sades," she began, looking at her daughter with imploring eyes. "I want to understand you better. I know you don't like fashion and glamour like I do, but I want to know what you do like, so I can be there for you and enjoy the things you do." Her round blue eyes were genuine, and Sadie knew it was the point of no return. She took a deep breath and began to explain everything to her mom. She kept a close eye on her face, waiting for her expression to change or asking her to get out. Instead, shockingly, a smile returned to her face. "That's it? That's what you were so scared to tell me? Babe, you love whoever you want to love, it has nothing to do with me. All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy, and I know I'm the person that took that happiness away from you for a while, but I'll do everything in my power to make sure it never happens again." Sadie was relieved, feeling like her mother was finally seeing her. Still, there was one more question she needed to ask her. "Stay then. Stay in East Haven. You don't have to get back together with Dad or give up your job, but I don't want you to leave again. Please, mom?" Her heart raced, waiting for the familiar rejection. Instead, Summer nodded, reaching for Sadie's hand and squeezing it. "Why would I leave when I'm home, Sades?"

[drrutherford]

May, 2024.

It starts like this; his father offers him a cigar. And Gideon declines.

"Now you're too good for my old cigars?"

It's a poisoned dart. His nerves begin to thrum. "That's not-... It has nothing to do with that." He defends, following Andrew into his office. "I'm just thinking if I win this case it'll mean that I'll have Felix around a lot more so I'm trying to- I probably shouldn't..."

There's a puff of smoke from the lit Cohiba Siglo, the bitter coffee scent singes his nostrils even at a distance. Andrew exhales sardonically. "Ah, yes. A model father."

Gideon looks at him. Really looks, and sees, perhaps for the first time, what he's failed to see these last few years. The flash of insecurity-resentment in his father's chestnut eyes, the wiry hair – more salt than pepper these days – frown lines about his mouth, the papery creases around the corners of his eyes... He's getting old. Older, perhaps frailer, too. Maybe it shouldn't come as a shock. But for someone who's always been more myth than man, as immortal and impervious to ageing as some demigod in the Greek Pantheon — it's a realization that occurs to him with a start. Gideon lashes his own retort back behind his teeth, letting the patriarch's bitterness pass as if unnoticed.

"You know I've been seeing Amélie."

"The schoolteacher, you mean? The one we had over for the holidays?"

"Journalist." The surgeon corrects a little tersely. He can't help the suspicion that it's an intentional slight, innocently dressed as a slip. Andrew has information at his fingertips and all the paranoia in the world to use it; knows everything Gideon wants to do almost before he does it. He would have found every piece of dirt on Amélie that he could find, traced her genealogy back to Eve and the Serpent before letting her so much as draw breath under the crystal chandeliers of his front foyer. He knows she's a journalist.

"Pleasant young lady," Andrew acknowledges charitably, "awfully well-mannered." But Gideon knows that it's about as much a compliment as he might throw to the runt of a litter. The mob boss has little use for well-mannered in his world and esteems it about the same amount. "What is it you wish to tell me about her, son?"

For all his years'-long stubbornness as his father's black sheep, Gideon feels a tendril of trepidation run through him at the question. The familial phrasing, the luring invitation. He wets his lips. "We've been together for almost a year now and known each other far before that. I know I didn't-... I haven't advertised that part, exactly," – he hadn't denied it, either, but had kept external opinions at bay as long as possible by avoiding the label of 'girlfriend' to shelter her – "but we've gotten to know each other in all that time."

"How wonderful."

Gideon struggles to continue. "And-... Well, the point is, I can't keep lying to her."

"Then don't."

"I mean about us. The family."

Andrew Rutherford's hawk-like gaze meets him over the thick frame of his reading glasses. "I fail to see how that's relevant to your girlfriend. Otherwise known as a girl who may be here today and gone tomorrow. With all due respect, of course."

"She won't be. That's my point." The stubborn streak is back as son and father stare at each other over the latter's desk, though Gideon feels his pulse beginning to hammer in his throat. "She's important to me... Special. I want to pursue something serious with her, but I can't do that in good conscience if I'm lying to her all the while. She deserves to know what she's signing up for, by being with me."

"Signing up for what, exactly?" A droll tone enters his father's voice. "You've made it ever so clear you have no part in this family's business endeavours, I hardly see how—"

"It's not good enough. I'm still lying by omission. It still affects her, my association to the family alone is enough to affect her. Reflect on her, it wouldn't be fai—"

"And how is it fair to this family that you would spoon-feed a journalist her next big break by telling her whatever drivel it is you believe about the work that we do?"

"Drivel?" He echoes. It's followed by a disbelieving scoff. There are so many things he could say to that in reply, write an entire bloody essay on exactly the sort of drivel his father has been responsible for in countless neighbourhoods across two continents an ocean apart. The fires he's ignited, the lives he has torn apart, the brainwashing of their mutual loved ones to bear the brunt of that blame alongside him. It makes him sick to the gills to think of all the drivel his father's allowed or actively incited, but it isn't why he's here today. He's fought that battle a million times already... He's always lost.

"She isn't like that. You don't know her at all." Gideon struggles to keep his voice even, rather than accusatory. Remembering that it has been just as much his choice to keep Amélie away from his father as it is Andrew's to be dismissive of everyone's potential to be more than lying, thieving opportunists.

"Whose fault is that?"

A muscle tenses in his jaw. His gaze stays fixed to the cabinet behind his father's desk, patience beginning to fray. "All I'm trying to say is that she wouldn't. She wouldn't want to bring harm to the people that I care about. Hell, she worked herself into a tizzy just thinking she might insult Lara by her choice of dress last time we met, or worried she hadn't complimented Yvonne enough on raising Maddie so well. She loves Damon as much as everyone loves Damon, and Adri she—"

"— And you're willing to change all that. By running your mouth off so that you can sleep better at night. What good will it do her, Gideon? Answer me that."

It's a wonder that Andrew doesn't see it. But is it so surprising? A man whose personal relationships are decomposing at various rates all around him. "If she is going to be a part of my life, a part of this family, she has a right to know what she's signing up for."

"If you're thinking about jumping into another marriage—"

"I'm not," He cuts in hastily, an embarrassed flush spreading along the back of his neck. "Or well, I don't know. It's too early to thi-... But it isn't about that, it's about clearing the air and giving her full disclosure before things get that point. Not just blindsiding her. Why is that so difficult for you to understand?"

Andrew strolls over to the long, arched window and grabs the tieback holding the silk curtains off to one side. He releases it with a snap, nursing his tobacco all the while. The room falls into shadows. "And what about Lara?"

"What about her?"

The father turns back on his son, moving towards his desk again, keeping it between them. "You love her — some say to a fault." A smile cuts cruelly on his mouth. "Because you think she's so different than me. What's to spare her my fate if your journalist runs prattling to the first newsstand that she can find?"

If he were a better man, he would tell his father that Lara's fate is her own. That she's neither a prisoner nor a child anymore; blindly following in her father's footsteps. That if she cleaves to the mob, one day her fate will be sealed either way; by a court or by a criminal, and that in either case there will be violence.

He would tell his taunting father that even in such a case the responsibility would be neither his, nor Amélie's, nor even some stranger's — but her own.

... But he isn't a better man.

The house of cards shudders with that warning and the surgeons croaks out; "She won't! I know she won't." Resting his argument on a plea. He hates begging, hasn't begged anything from his father since he was a child; but Amélie, he knows, is worth his pride. "You gave Rodriguez a chance. I just wish you'd do the same for Amélie."

In mentioning Lara, Andrew seems to know he's hit a nerve. His posture relaxes, he takes another puff from the Cohiba Siglo. It's almost gleeful. "They aren't quite the same though, are they?... Félix Rodriguez brings us prestige, a foothold into politics. What does your French girl bring us, exactly? What makes her worth the risk?"

Gideon doesn't offer any response. Once again, it's clear how much his father has grossly underestimated a person if he believes that Yvonne's fiancé is the sort of lapdog to roll over for a treat. But he says nothing. It isn't his job anymore to warn Andrew Rutherford of the consequences that come with devaluing human beings.

"You're going to do it anyway." The older man observes, after a beat of silence passes between them. He pulls out the office chair and eases himself into it. He rests his cigar on its wooden holder and looks up at his son expectantly.

"Yes."

He can't tell if it's respect or contempt in his father's eyes. These days, they tend to look the same. He steps away from the desk, as if testing the bounds of his freedom. He rounds the chair, turns his back on Andrew Rutherford and makes it almost to the door when the older man calls out to him. "— Gideon."

He turns, guarded grey eyes finding inscrutable brown.

"Not everyone will understand us. Not everyone should try." The mob boss reaches for his decanter, removing the top and pouring some of the liquid into a glass with careful, precise movements. "If you lose her, remember that it was not my doing."

— End.

Mentioned: @amescastaignede, @lararutherford, @yvonne-rutherford, @amaroadriana, @damonrutherford

[factandfiction]

📣 SOURCE CALL: AHS, CULT.

⚠️🔞☣️🕊️ ⋅⊱༺ DM ・Like・Reply to be contacted. ༻⊰⋅

♚ Introduction:

"The Blue Hair & Pronouns you've been warned about."

Hello. . .

This is an attempt to reach out to and [re]connect with anyone who might remember or come to know me as someone of substance, made of more than just rage, destruction, and confusion. That I am a violent and heinous creation I cannot deny. That I crave and seek possible retribution for the errors of my beliefs and actions I must not ignore. That I yearn to be a reliable source of stability and comfort to those around me I will not disgrace.

That I must transmute the hauntings and curses of my own soul into visionary blessings, through discipline and honor I will not falter. That I am peeling back the layers of what is fabricated and what is unrefined to forge a new understanding of the world around me I must continue. If you too struggle with anything I've expressed, I want you to know that you're not alone. Feel free to drop by any time.

♚ About:

❕ THIS IS NOT ROLEPLAY. ➤ DEVOUT ANIMIST. ➤ UNAFFILIATED ANARCHIST. ➤ PART OF A SYSTEM (PLURAL). ➤ BODILY BIPOC, AUTISTIC, DISABLED, OVER 21 // UNDER 30.

「 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞(s): 」

⁀➴ ASTAROTH. ⁀➴ KAI ANDERSON. ⁀➴ PRICKY, THE CLOWN. ⁀➴ CHESHIRE CAT.

-ˋˏ’ ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

「 AGE: 」

ADULT (20-30s)

-ˋˏ’ ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

「 PRONOUNS: 」

He/Him/His. They/Them/Theirs. It/Its/Itself. 🫐/🗳️/💙/🤡/💊.

-ˋˏ’ ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

「 SOURCE(S): 」

Great Duke of Hell, Lord-Prince Astaroth. Catherine: Astaroth. American Horror Story, Cult: Kai Anderson. Alice In Wonderland/Alice Madness Returns: The Cheshire Cat.

-ˋˏ’ ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Thanks for reading. & Please, have a nice day ☺

[havenbsinclair]

Timeline: November - December of 2023 Mentioned People: Lake Sinclair, @julianxheywood, @kanyonwebb, Marie Sinclair, @summercassidy (brief recap of the thread), @riverxjackson (brief recap of the thread), @noahsinclaxr, @norasinclair (Some of the threads are still being written on the dash so I summarized what I imagine will happen.) Notes: All research in regards to this self-para was done via Google. It is in no way intended for this self-para to be harmful, nor misinforming as I simply used the internet and my imagination to develop a scenario and instill some development within my character.

Note: Colored writing is dialogue by NPC's. Yellow is Lake, pink is Haven's mom

November 15th, 2023

"You know, Mom, that stuff you put on my cut didn't fix it like you said it would." It wasn't typically normal for Lake to be argumentative in this sense, but, to say that Lake had been 'normal' recently was almost the wrong word to use. Things with Lake had been rather tense since he'd started spending time with his dad, Kanyon, and while Haven was almost too concerned with it, she let it going; after all, Lake was at that age where growth spurts, mood swings and puberty were all possibilities. While she was convinced it was anxiety ridden from the change in his environment, she knew that he would talk when he was ready, and until then it was her job to help him. Raising an eyebrow as she listened to her son's words, Haven turned from the stove where she was making a fresh batch of mac and cheese for Thanksgiving and looked at the spot on his arm that had popped up what felt like two weeks ago. "It's still not heeled?" she questioned, letting herself turn towards him and examined it as he lifted the band-aid that he'd been picking at for nearly an hour it seemed. "Well, if you'd leave it alone, Lake it would probably do better." she spoke, though, she couldn't deny the thought that something about it not healing completely yet seemed suspicious. "Let's maybe try something else and keep it covered for a few more days, but someone may have to eat some more vegetables to keep his bones nice and healthy and his scrapes healing up properly." she laughed, offering her son a playful wink as she heard him move to the bathroom to grab some other medical supplies, the faintest 'bleck; leaving his lips in disgust. With a chuckle, Haven shook her head as she washed her hands, following her son to doctor up his injury before dinner.

November 23rd - 26th, 2023

Thanksgiving morning started out like all the other mornings in the Sinclair household. Just like she'd done many time growing up - and especially when she'd moved to college and only really got the comfort of home for the holidays - Haven turned on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and cuddled on the couch with a cup of coffee in her hand. She had biscuits and bacon in the oven - upon Lake's request - and was spending as much time with her boy as she could while they awaited the presence of Julian and time for Haven to start cooking her portion of Thanksgiving dinner. Haven wouldn't get too many of these, so, she was trying to soak it up while she could; if she blinked too hard she'd find herself watching her son drive off to college or something just like she'd done to her parents, and the thought made her heart hurt a little. So, just like she often did, Haven leaned over in the moment, cuddling with Lake who was laying on the couch, but instead of being greeted with an eager and enthusiastic child, she was met with an attitude that reminded her a lot of herself in her younger days. "No, Mom! Get off of me. I don't want to cuddle you." The remark it's self wasn't what seemed to take Haven back; it wasn't unusual for Lake to not want to cuddle her in his older age, but rather it was the attitude, the way that her son seemed to be talking to her like she was his worst enemy. This wasn't like him, even when he was mad or upset Lake had never snapped at her like this. Nodding as she moved, Haven sat up, moving from the couch in an attempt to distract herself - the only thing she really wanted to do was cry - she checked the food in the oven, setting a timer for the remaining time limit on the oven and sipping the glass of water she poured herself and awaited her boyfriend. At least he wouldn't yell at her and tell her he didn't want to cuddle..

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, sweetheart, he's a growing boy. You know, you weren't exactly the nicest child when you were going through puberty yourself." The sound of her mother's statement sent a shutter down Haven's spine at the mere thought that Lake could be experiencing signs of puberty. He was almost twelve after all; but, Haven hadn't expected for this to happen for another few years. Sure, it was an unreasonable thought, she knew that, but, the idea of her son being her 'baby' for just a little while longer had become such a comforting feeling to her that she wasn't quite ready to face that things could be changing for him. With a sigh she nodded as she looked over at her son who was carelessly playing video games on the living room tv and nodded, despite the fact her mom couldn't see her. "I think that's it. Or at least I hope." she added. "I was talking with Julian and Kanyon about it and Kanyon said he noticed it too, but, I'm trying to just be positive." she sighed. "I wonder if he's a little anxious about all the changes and such and that's why. I mean, he went from having just me and our family to having to share me with Julian and share his time with his dad too, I just think it's a lot." It had been a few days since the Thanksgiving get together with the Sinclair family, and just like the morning that he'd snapped at Haven, Lake's behavior was back to him being snappy. It was consistent, and thankfully it wasn't just at her anymore, however, the feeling of not doing or being enough for him seemed to be overwhelming her more and more as each day passed. Though, something about listening to her mom made he smile, and Haven nodded when she heard the voice of her mom reassure her on the other end. "I just don't know where it's coming from. I wasn't ready to deal with this yet, but if this is a glimpse of what it's going to be like raising a teenager, I'm not ready."

November 30th, 2023

It was a tradition that Haven and Lake get a real tree every year, just before the start of December and decorate it once they got it home and situated. And this year was nothing different, only difference is they were going a little earlier in the year than planned, but Haven didn't mind that. With Kanyon now in the picture and her splitting time with him for the holidays, she wanted to do as much with Lake early so that they didn't miss out on their traditions. And much like with other years in the past, shopping for their Christmas tree ended with a night of grocery shopping and picking out a new Christmas movie to watch, but much to Haven's surprise, Lake picked out far more snacks than normal this year. But, she didn't say no; she couldn't. The part of her that was holding onto her son's childhood was enough for her to nearly give into any random request; from Christmas cookies to the holiday trail mixes, slowly the cart started filling and Haven smiled. These were the nights she'd been looking forward to the most when she'd found out she was pregnant; carrying on holiday traditions and creating new ones with her children some day. Dinner had been pizza - much like years passed - and Haven had been shocked at how much of the pizza Lake had eaten. Eight slices of a medium pizza at one point had been enough for the two of them for dinner, and lunch the next day at least, but, tonight had been different as Lake had managed to eat nearly the entire pizza in one sitting and was asking for more. With a small shake of her head, Haven laughed at her son watching as he devoured the last bite of pizza. "Sorry bud, but I don't have any more pizza but I can make you something." she smiled, looking at her son for a moment before she tussled his hair. "Or we can dive into the snacks?" she watched as Lake began scanning the snack spread that was on the counter and she laughed, looking at him with the smallest smile. "You feeling okay, bud?" she questioned, but watched as Lake nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I'm just hungry." he shrugged, opening a bag of trail mix and moving towards the living room. "Can we watch Elf next?" he asked and Haven nodded. "Sure thing, get it ready and I'll get the hot chocolate." she smiled, making herself a mental reminder to be sure to buy Lake the next size up in clothing. Between the energy he was exerting into sports and his age there was probably a growth spurt happening with this amount of food he was consuming, and she wanted to be prepared for it just in case.

December 7th - 13th, 2023

With Lake's emotions in full pre-teen swing, Haven was thankful for any attention he was getting outside of the negative attention he'd been getting from her recently. She didn't like putting her foot down or being strict when it came to discipline, but, his behavior and attitude recently had been something she couldn't ignore, much less when he was around other children. It was one thing for him to be hateful or snappy with her, but, for him to do it around other kids seemed unusual, though, just like most of the things Lake was doing these days, that didn't stop him from being a kid. The mother and son had been at the park for nearly half an hour already when Lake was reaching for a bar on the monkey bars and completely missed, falling to the ground. Obviously concerned Haven checked on him, only to be told that his vision was a little blurry, and concerned that he'd hit his head, she'd made the child sit which had resulted in 'worst mother of the year award' she was sure. Because no child wanted to be sat down at the park, much less one Lake's age. Though, as Lake and Luke played once Summer and Luke arrived, Lake's mood shifted - more so confirming with Haven that her fears of being the worst mom ever were in fact proving more to be true by each passing second. That was something she'd definitely have to work through, that was for sure. But for now, she was focused on watching her son play and while he was still young at heart she wanted nothing more than to watch him be a child.

"Lake, man, you keep rubbing your eyes." Haven spoke, looking at him as he came back from the lane rubbing his eyes again. "Are you sleeping okay?" she questioned. "Do we need to get you some allergy meds or something?" she placed her hand on top of his head as she often times found him eager to do whatever his mind was set on instead of stopping to listen to her. Though, just as she assumed Lake shook his head. "No, Mom. I'm fine." the child spoke, looking at his mom, rubbing his eye again and then closing it, looking at her now with one eye. Though, shaking her head she looked down at him. "You say that, bud, but, you rubbing your eyes like that has me concerned." she spoke. "You still seeing things blurry?" she asked, looking down at him. With a small nod and a quick glance at River, before shrugging. "We'll keep an eye on it, use some drops and maybe talk to your teacher." she commented. "But maybe go clean out your eye, see if that helps and then come back." Nearly five minutes later Lake did just that, nodding at his mom. "That was a good idea Mom, it worked!" he excitedly explained, taking the glass of water he'd poured for himself and chugging it, before returning to the bowling lane. With a small smile and a nod, Haven laughed. "Glad it helped, bud." she smiled, looking back at her son and then at River, shrugging before they joined him on the lane.

The week had been long, and Haven felt like she'd been running around like crazy. Between the playdate with Summer, bowling with River, holiday shopping and all of that had taken a toll on both of them. So, when Lake had decided to nap after school on a Wednesday afternoon, Haven hadn't thought much of it. He'd had a dentist appointment just after lunch, and once he'd finished his homework, Haven had found him sleeping and while she put dinner in the crockpot for that night, she let him rest. Though, at 5 o'clock when he was still sleeping she went to wake him having him get dressed for his horseback riding lesson, though, the second she left the room Lake was asleep again. And when she got distracted with a meeting, she didn't quite realize it until it was already after six, and when she rushed into Lake's room to get him to leave, she found he was sleeping again. "Sorry, Mom, I'm just tired." Though, being tired didn't warrant an apology and Haven shook her head at him. "You don't need to apologize for being tired, Lake." she smiled. "Your rest is important. If you want to skip practice today you can stay home and rest. It's flu season so, I don't want you to risk it. If you need sleep, stay home and rest." she reassured, but made a mental note to keep an eye out for any other symptoms as she left his room.

December 18th - 22nd, 2023

Haven had noticed enough about Lake to be concerned and had already tried calling to get an appointment with his doctor who didn't have anything available until the middle of January. She'd notified his teacher, curious if they'd noticed anything to which she'd been told no. Though, when the last week of school before Christmas break came around, she'd gotten an email from his teacher, explaining that this week he'd been easily distracted, unable to focus, very moody and also was needing to take frequent bathroom breaks, which was really beginning to disrupt his learning. Replying to the email that she'd talk with him over break and try to get him in with the doctor, Haven sighed, letting herself really think about all the things that she'd been experiencing with Lake. What could they mean? What was going on and why did it suddenly not feel like this was pre-teen hormones anymore?

December 29th, 2023

Waking up that morning had been nothing short of normal; Lake had stayed the night at Noah and Nora's place and Haven had gotten some much needed alone time after some holiday plans. She'd planned to go to their house for lunch, spend the day with them and bring Lake home to have some quality time with her son - she was hoping that some alone time with him would help his attitude recently - as she knew these days were limited. Lake was growing before her eyes and she wanted to hold onto every part of his childhood that she could. He seemed to be growing right before her eyes, and she hated every moment of it. She was enjoying the peace and quiet though, watching a Christmas movie she'd been meaning to catch up on, a bottle of sparkling water on the coaster beside her and a bar of chocolate in her hand. She still had a few hours before lunch, and in true Haven fashion she'd missed breakfast so this was her first 'real' meal of the day. She hadn't even realized that she left her phone on the island in the kitchen, and only stood to get it when she heard it buzzing, watching as the screen changed from a call to a missed call and she saw that Nora had called her twice now. Growing concerned, she lifted it to call her back just as Nora was calling her a third time, and Haven answered, but before she even had time to speak she was hit with the news that felt like a punch in the gut. Lake..passed out.. conscious.. loopy... Noah and hospital. were the only words that seemed to resonate in her ears and she nodded, quickly, feeling her breathing begin to quicken as she felt herself begin to panic. She couldn't even remember if she said anything to Nora before she hung up the phone, grabbing her keys and leaving her home abandoned. She could barely even remember getting from point a to point b, her heart pounding in her ears as her wallet and phone were thrown into the passengers seat and her car was thrown into reverse, backing out of the driveway as her mind went through all the things that had happened recently. The mood swings, the intense hunger and thirst, the blurred vision, the fatigue, his behavior at school along with the constant bathroom breaks, and lastly him passing out, was it all connected? Had she missed something that she should've seen a long time ago, something that was a key part in why Lake was on his way to the hospital now? She didn't have time to think, she didn't even have time to cry, yet, somehow the tears that she didn't even know she was holding in had escaped, running in streams down her cheeks. Wiping her cheek and her nose with the back of her hand, Haven put the car in drive and began the drive to the hospital, flashers on and foot on the gas; her baby needed her, and there was nothing and no one that would stop her from getting to him.

THE END

[primaverea]

bitches get stitches.

trigger warning: domestic violence.

Coppery and salty across his mouth, blood pools and wells in a cut just inside Emilio’s lower lip. The cause; a backhanded slap that had knocked him clean off his feet. It’s not exactly how he’d expected the confrontation of his boyfriend cheating on him to go. If anyone should have been sporting a busted lip, it should have been Stefan, who’d pushed the smaller man outside the hotel room (that Emilio had paid for) with his bag strewn open at his feet.

He'd come to Milan just two days before Stefan was supposed to head back to Dresden, for good. The man’s working visa had finally come to an end after a year of being in and out of Italy, and – well, whatever the hell the two of them had going on.

At first, it’d been sunshine, flowers, secret kisses around corners and stupid pet names like Stefanovski. In the end, black eyes and tears, lots of tears, and derogatory words being thrown around like cunt. The German man wasn’t worth dog food scraps, but he’d been Emilio’s first. His first love, his first boyfriend and someone he had even considered a friend. So, even when he’d been flung into walls and cursed at, he could never find the strength in himself to leave.

Moments before the hit had landed, Emilio had confronted Stefan about him hanging out with a woman that Emilio’s own friends had seen Stefan kissing, in some piazza late one night before he’d arrived in Milan. The news had made him violently ill and even though part of him knew that saying something would end in a brutal screaming match, Emilio wanted to give Stefan the benefit of the doubt. Again, as he always had, without paying mind to his better judgement.

Instead of coming clean, Stefan had decided to settle with ‘if you want to act like a bitch, I’ll treat you like one,’ and dealt one of his harshest blows yet. Not only because the force had rocked his entire body into the ground, but because Emilio finally understood that Stefan had never loved him in the way he so wholly had.

let the light in At your back door yelling 'cause I wanna come in

Sobs wrack his frame as he knocks on the door over and over again, loud and harsh despite the time nearing 2AM. “Please, Stefan, just open the fucking door! It’s so late, just let me in so I can sleep and leave in the fucking morning!” His English is heavily accented but he makes do as his fist comes down on the wood again and again.

turn your light on Look at us, you and I, back at it again

“Qual è il problema? Cos'è tutto questo rumore?” A voice comes from a room the other side of the hall, an Italian woman in a robe pulled tight around her with a frown on her face. Milan was supposedly the city of smiles – you could be fined $100 for frowning –but all Emilio had done since he’d gotten to Milan was cry.

“Sorry, my–” what was he? “…friend won’t open the door and I’ve left some things inside.” He lies, wiping at his face, but he knows how he looks to her. Like a batshit crazy foreigner, with his blonde hair a mess on his head and eyes almost swollen shut from all the crying he’d done.

She takes a contemplative moment before she responds, as if weighing out what scene was unfolding before her, an exasperated sigh coming out as she shoves hair behind her ears. “Cazzo... Call the reception and shut up then, or I’ll call the police.” She huffs, before shutting the door hard behind her.

The slam makes him wince with his shoulders, and the silence that follows is deafening. He’s alone in the hallway again and the tears continue to roll down hot over his cheeks. “Please, Stefan.” He mumbles, trying the doorhandle one last time as the last shred of dignity leaves his body.

Only silence fills the space.

-

“Emilio? Stai bene? Sono le due del mattino...” His mother grumbles through sleep from the other end of the line. Hearing her voice is enough to spark another crying fit as he sits on the curb just outside of the hotel, and he’s suddenly very thankful that it’s a weekday. Not many people are out to witness the lowest point of his life.

He’s silent for a long moment despite the questions on the other end, so his crying can’t be heard, because he doesn’t want to worry her. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for calling so late, but can you…” He swallows down a sob and takes a breath before trying to speak again, “…wake papa and tell him to come and get me? Per favore, mama. Right now. I want to come home.”

-

Emilio loves his parents for many reason but especially because they don’t question him. Not even as his father pulls up to see the bloodied lip and the distraught look on his face some hours later. Not even as his father rubs his back continuously as he cries with his head tucked between his knees for the entire trip back to Monterosso Al Mare.

Pick you up around quarter to two Usually we got nothin' to do

The only thing his dad, Antonio, asks is “Is it over? Whatever it is, is it done, Emilio?”  

A weakened nod is enough to get the message across. It’s over. He doesn’t love me, and he never did. You don’t hurt the people you love. Not like this.

It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

And the words resonate inside his chest hard enough to make his ribs reverberate to the point he feels like throwing up. There’s no food in his stomach to vomit, so he spends the ride choking around tears that at some point seem to stop coming.

Until they start like clockwork all over again when his mother greets the two of them at the front door, a look of shock settling onto her graceful features as she sees a bruised, bloody mouth. “Emilio, who…” But she doesn’t finish her sentence as her own eyes well with tears, and Antonio gives her a look from over Emilio’s shoulder that translates to something like; ‘I don’t know, he wouldn’t say.’

They expected that much from their son after all; always secretive about the wrong things so not to worry his, supportive, loving parents. This was no exception, seeing as they didn’t know he was gay let alone the fact that he’d had a boyfriend who had been downright abusive for several months.

So, as they normally do, they wait in silence for him to come to them, always kind and encouraging and never overly forceful, yet ready to spring to action. But as the days of being bedridden and force fed slowly out of his heartache, his parents realise he’ll never mention it – and they never ask.

Not even when he’s finally gotten back to being okay, and then suddenly breaks down in the kitchen one morning, a mess of snot and tears. All because Stefan had decided he wanted to get back together, and when Emilio had shut him down – which had taken every ounce of strength he could muster – he’d turned to all of Emilio’s friends and chopped and changed the story to make Emilio the bad guy. The one who’d cheated first.

Look at us, you and me back at it again

He thinks it finally over when he blocks Stefan's number and all the bullshit he’d been spurting, but then a new number texts him. A new email messages him, and no matter how many numbers and email's he churns through, he’s forced to change it time and time again, until he’s almost strangely missing it on the days where Stefan doesn’t message. As though he's been conditioned to expect them, to want them.

They continue to come,

and they never stop.

They won’t stop until I’m dead, Emilio thinks. He won’t stop until he makes me suffer one last time.

[eightysixed]

26.05.23

It wasn’t often they ended up at separate social events, but tonight was a night like that. Sasha had been invited to a thing with the girls, well, the girls who were still left after the bust. And he had gone to support Mikey at a work thing. It was going to be a boring presentation, that’s what Mikey had dressed it up as. But suddenly he was at a house just off of WeHo with a pool. And it was a party in the capital P sense of the word. Hours and hours and much alcohol swam through his system before he stumbled outside. 

He dialled. It went to voice mail. 

“Get me outta here. There’s so many nerds here...oh my god. So fuckin’ many...they’re like...coding something. Who codes at a party? These fools.” Some guy wandered outside and gave him a thumbs up. It was nice on this stretch bed, long chair, whatever it was called...device for lounging by the pool. “‘Member when we first met? I think about that. Like how Greta lived in a totally different apartment, and what if you’d moved into that apartment with her...we woulda never met.” He sniffled, and ran a finger under his nose. “My life woulda been so terrible right now dawg...you got no idea.” A different time, another universe, the one where they met in. Three years almost, some change and it would be three years since the day they’d met. “Fuck, I think our wedding anniversary’s coming up.” He had forgotten. He’d been so busy, she’d been so busy, but that was life for you, happening in between the bits where you were rushing around. At least he’d remembered now. “Don’t know what you wanna do for that...if you wanna do anything at all. I’m down for anything. And everything. You know me.” He would be happy being lazy with her in bed or just strolling around their block. It was nothing like Silverlake, of course it wasn’t, it was Van Nuys, but still. It was the walking with her that he liked. They couldn’t really afford much at the moment, but would he still try to make it a special affair? He sure would. “We should get a clown...why does Damien get a clown for his birthday? It ain’t fair. I want a clown.” He thought about that for a second. “Nah, that’s gay.” What else, what else... “Don’t know how long this thing goes. I love yo—” His phone beeped twice and the call ended. “Motherfucker.” 

He hit limit just as Mikey emerged into the debauched yard, checking on his friend who knew nobody else here. Not that that was any trouble for Tyson, at ease in a crowd of strangers as much as with friends. Who could meet you and not love you. Sasha had said just that, one time, or something like it many times. She was silly, that wife of his, wasn’t she? She said so many nice things about him. No one had ever said that many nice things about him. Well, some people did. But half the time it felt like fake things, or nice things for the sake of being nice, like gee Tyson you’re so funny, you’re so good with that skateboard, you’re good with those kids, you wanna watch mine for a bit? Everyone had some kind of motive. Not her though. She saw him for what he was and even though he didn’t know what he was half the time, she saw that too. 

“You crying?” Mikey said.

“What? Nah I ain’t.”

“Yeah you are.” 

And on and on and on they went.