#Italian radfem

[lollobarcollomanonmollo]

Il mio nuovo impero romano

[coochiequeens]

Women’s sports is not a retirement plan for old men

A 50-year-old trans-identified male runner has seized his eighth championship title in a women’s category after smashing the competition at the Italian Indoor Masters Championship in Ancona.

On March 12, Valentina Petrillo, born Fabrizio, competed in the 200m race for women aged 50 to 54. Marco Alciator, a statistician, was present at the championship to monitor Petrillo’s performance and provided a report to the Italian Feminist Post on what he witnessed. 

Alciator recorded that that a difference in “physicality [was] immediately noticeable,” and that the female competitors were unable to hold their own against Petrillo, who effortlessly dominated the competition.

But Petrillo’s prowess in women’s athletic competitions is hardly praiseworthy, says Alciator, who notes that if Petrillo had been competing in the equivalent men’s race, he wouldn’t have even broken the top 10.

“Were it not for the fact that Petrillo is still unbelievably entitled to compete in the women’s category, he would have finished 14th place in the M50 category.”

Following Petrillo’s victory, the female athlete who came in second place expressed that she felt disappointed in the results. Cristina Sanulli would have come in first place, and set a women’s indoor running record, if not for Petrillo.

“We do not feel equal, precisely because [Petrillo’s] physical structure is male,” Sanulli said to Alciator. “So we are not running at par. Although the [personal] path Valentina has taken is respectable… athletically speaking it is not, and because of this we feel very discriminated against.”

At the end of the race, a spectator could be heard shouting, “Brava, Cristina!” a cheer that received applause from other athletes. This show of support for Sanulli enraged Petrillo, Alciator says, who then shouted several times in response: “Dedicated to all those who want to hurt me!”

Leading up to the latest race, a women’s rights advocacy group called RadFem Italia contacted government officials to ensure that Petrillo would not be granted access to the women’s locker rooms. In response, Petrillo was provided with a designated changing room reserved especially for him at the Italian Masters Championships in Ancona.

On March 16, Petrillo again lashed out in a Facebook post wherein he equated criticism of his presence in women’s sports to Nazism, telling detractors they were “on the same level as Hitler,” and comparing sex-based sports categories to a 1936 ban on Jewish athletes.

Upset at being denied the use of the women’s locker room, Petrillo wrote, “In Ancona, you made me have a terrible time, it is not fair… you’ve relegated me to a ‘dedicated’ locker room,” a situation which he claimed was similar to the segregation of those called appestati, or sufferers of a plague.

A number of female athletes and professional experts have been highlighting concerns about Petrillo’s participation in the women’s category. At the Master’s Athletics Championships in Arezzo in October 2020, 

Petrillo outpaced Sanulli and Denise Neumann, both of whom had previously won world and European Masters titles and have been regarded as the best in their events.

The athletes took the podium with Petrillo at the time to avoid becoming embroiled in controversy, but later stated that they felt that Petrillo had an unfair advantage.

“I didn’t feel like I competed as an equal. It was my race, my goal for the season. I had been preparing it for a long time and I wanted to win,” Sanulli said at the time.

Sanulli and Neumann were among more than 30 female Master athletes who signed a petition in 2021 opposing men being permitted to identify into women’s sports.

The women were represented by Italian lawyer and athletics champion Mariuccia Fausta Quilleri, who claimed that the admission of male athletes in women’s competitions constitutes a violation of Article 1 of the Code of Equal Opportunities between Men and Women. The petition was sent to the president of the Italian Athletics Federation, Stefano Mei, the Minister for Equal Opportunities, Elena Bonetti, and the undersecretary of state for sport, Valentina Vezzali. According to RadFem Italia, their efforts were not acknowledged by the government officials.

Petrillo currently holds 8 women’s running championship titles, but failed to earn even one while competing as a male. In January 2019, Petrillo changed his name to Valentina and began taking estrogen. The following year, he began competing against female athletes and has since broken multiple Italian women’s running records.

Petrillo has been diagnosed with Stargardt disease, a disorder of the eye that causes retinal degeneration over time. Due to this visual impairment, he has been permitted to compete in both matches designated for women with disabilities, as well as those which are not.

In September 2020, Petrillo raced in the women’s 100-, 200- and 400-meter competitions at the Italian Paralympic Athletics Championships in Jesolo, despite having not undergone the procedure euphemistically labeled sex reassignment surgery.

Additionally, Petrillo had not altered his identification documents, which still listed his sex as male, though this did not deter him from being granted permission to enter the match. He won first place in all three races and therefore qualified to represent Italy at the Tokyo Olympic Games.

At the last minute, however, the Italian government intervened and barred Petrillo from competing against women with disabilities at the Paralympics in 2021. The International Olympics Committee (IOC) had just announced updates to guidelines for trans-identifying competitors stating that male athletes must keep the levels of their testosterone below 10 nanomoles per liter for at least 12 months in order to participate.

After being awarded three gold medals at the Paralympics qualifiers, Petrillo dedicated his victory to Bologna-based trans activist organization Gruppo Trans APS, headed by a trans-identifying male named Milena Bargiacchi. 

“I dedicated to them my victory in my favorite race,” Petrillo told OutSports. “Gruppo Trans supported me in my darkest hour, and they helped me find the answers I needed when I was questioning my identity and my life.”

Gruppo Trans’ website has a section dedicated to outreach for crossdressers, where counseling and Zoom sessions are offered. The point of contact is a man called Charlotte Verniani, who runs a lingerie and sex shop and engages in a fetish practice called “female masking,” a sexual activity which involves men donning a silicone “female” face mask, or, on occasion, a full-body silicone “woman suit.”

Speaking about his history with the BBC in June 2021, Petrillo said: “Until four years ago, if you’d talked to Fabrizio (the name Petrillo was given at birth), Fabrizio would have given you the idea he was sexist. He was a tough guy who’d speak dismissively of women and then be a woman in his private space.”

Petrillo has stated that he used to “try on his mother’s clothes” when he was younger, a behavior that until recently was considered a symptom of a sexual disorder known as transvestic fetishism. He has also said that prior to declaring a transgender identity, Petrillo would steal his wife’s clothing. While describing a memory of “touching” his mother’s skirt for the first time, Petrillo said, “It was an incredible emotion. It was like touching heaven with your finger tip.”

Gruppo Trans lobbies for males to be allowed to compete in women’s sports, and runs a program called QueerFit, a fitness course that offers “genderless changing rooms” and guarantees “privacy” of participants by allowing them to join using an alias.

The organization frequently employs Petrillo as a representative, and he has spoken for Gruppo Trans on several occasions. Gruppo Trans is backing a documentary film about Petrillo’s life called “5 Nanomoles – The Olympic Dream of a Trans Woman.” The title is a reference to the maximum testosterone limit set by World Athletics in 2019 for trans-identifying males in order for them to be eligible to compete against women.

In addition to partnering with Petrillo to campaign for males in women’s athletics events, Gruppo Trans also discusses “trans adolescents” and offers a variety of “training” programs through their website. Corporate diversity management training, courses for health care workers, and gender identity workshops for teachers are all available, as are lessons for children intended to be provided by instructors at schools.

[friendsofmedusa]

I'm so pumped!!!!

Starting today, I'll collaborate for the next three months with the Enciclopedia delle Donne ("Women's Encyclopedia") as a translator. It's a huge web-based encyclopedia (+2k entries) sharing biographies of women from all around the world and from every time period in history.

The women running it (almost pro bono) are outspoken elderly feminists and socialists, and I love them already.

I love it when women do things™!!!!!

[scumlafeccia]

I need to know if Finns with their haista vittu have different opinions about misogynistic curse words and how they represent a sexist mentality. or anyone whose native language has a way to swear different than the usual go fuck yourself/get fucked/suck my dick etc

[mallloryrowinski]

Oh my gooooddddd the Italian fascists (Salvini) are celebrating the American fascist winning the elections saying this is "good news for Italy and the future of its children" I can't anymore

He's also openly supporting the "fight" against illegal immigration, tax reductions, and a return to "Christian values" and the "valorization of freedom of thinking". We're all doomed. This is what Italian politicians openly declare to wish for Europe too.

[radykalny-feminizm]

Looking just at Western countries, do you think there are any nationalities where the men are particularly bad?

Out of my experience, slavic and balkan men are really bad. It's generally connected with being conservative and religious. Yes, it includes polish men. I also had some bad experiences with Italians (like this one old man from work who desperately wanted to date me and didn't take no for an answer, it got ugly).

Y'all, feel free to share your opinions and experiences!

[estrogenism]

i still remember the one time i made a pizza joke in reference to the popular i cooka da pizza interaction and the entirety of italian twitter was absolutely LIVID

[the-butterwitch]

I'm serious you all should really read more female writers. They're mostly good. Even the worse female writer sometimes has a take that makes you say "wow, this is woman experience", because obviously we have that in common.

Male writers depiction of females is so fake. Yet my "radfem" mutuals (mostly italians) keep reading them.

They're so proud "I spent 48654993 euros at the bookshop today" and then show the Penis Fair.

Dick mcDick, Penis O'Balls, Cock Cocking, 12 books from Stephen King (always Stephen King like are you 12 or something), 1 Allende (always one book from Allende because they're radfems!! Girl's girls! Because you can spend 485859 euros on a filthy book written by a male nobody mcAsshole you don't know at all because you have FAITH it will be a good book, but a woman? Only the most famous female writers are worthy).

[bayfuzzball7050]

SIEMPRE SE PUEDE PEDIR TRADUCCIÓN‼️‼️‼️

INTRODUCTION POST AND RULES 🔥🔥🦾🦾🦾🦈🦈

(Edit— 23/09/2024) I kinda got excited writing this ☠️

There’s like a worrying amount of text. I’m not sure everyone can gut how much I wrote 😭😭

But here are like the basics of my blog:

The name’s César or Diego. Call me whatever ya want, idc

I’m a Trans Guy, he/him exclusively.

☆ I got that dawg in me (asd) actually pls be patient im a little slow on some things

☆ Artist — I mostly make jjba fanart (currently insane about it)

☆ Art requests are currently closed!!

When open: I draw anything but nsfw/kinks, complex backgrounds, Steven universe fanart, danganronpa fanart and proship stuff

☆ Writer (no fanfic here tho)

☆ if I use emojis, be aware that most of the time it’s ironic

☆ I make a lot of kys/kms jokes, if you’re not ok with this, please don’t follow

☆ i LOVE spammers, spam likes, reblogs, whatever as much as you like :3 (if ya want to like no pressure)

☆ if ya wanna be mutuals just ask I don’t mind I’ll just check yo vibe and that’s it

Art tag: #my art

Post tag/reblogs where I add something: #​☆ momazos diego

Quality posts tag (aka when I think): #chamber of reflection (reflexionando en la chamba)

Posting when I should be asleep tag: #trasnochadoposting

oc masterpost

brushes I use

☆ art summary 2024! ☆

BY THE WAY!!

☆ I usually don’t add tw (tho I dont post stuff with heavy themes often if I’m honest like I rarely do it) But if anything, be wary

☆ I also always have my notifications off so please don’t feel bad if I don’t answer a dm or anything of the sort

☆ please excuse me if I reblog/like artists who are proshippers, I don’t tend to check blogs before interacting🧍���(I’ve gotten myself blocked many times because of this)

☆ also like if they problematic in general like idk if maybe someone I reblogged has been in a big ahh controversy or summ so uhhh forgive me

☆ dni and fandoms im in below the cut

☆ more info abt me and my blog :P ☆

So, I think imma make(try) a dni list but ik it’s ultimately useless cuz like I can’t force ya and im not your dad plus I’m too lazy to look through every blog that reblogs or likes but uh blocklist ig???

It’s just basic dni criteria, but like if ya wanna read ig?

SHIT THAT GETS YA BLOCKED ‼️‼️

(some of these are oddly specific)

☆ zionists, racists, homophobes, ace exclusionists/phobes, anti-Semitics, conservatives, ableists Proshippers, Comshippers, anti-anti’s and profiction mfs, LOL1C0NS AND SHOTAC0NS (KYS…NOWW)Transphobes / TERFS, SWERFS, and radfems, Transmeds/Truscums/anti-MOGAI mfs, Transid, “Transabled”, "transracial", Radqueers in general, NSFW agere blogs (SFW agere it’s cool I don’t mind), pedos/MAPS (I want you hanging on the STREET), Paraphilics in general, Misgendering kink blogs, kink blogs in general actually ☠️, Pro-ANA/Pro-MIA

☆ swifties.

Exceptions and specifics:

☆ I think Selfshippers / yumeshippers are cool thus they aren’t hurting anyone most of the time AND ALSO! people tend to think that transid has therians in it and no, I think therians, kinnies and fictives are cool (dont get it but cool nonetheless)

To be honest I don’t check the blogs of most people who reblog or like but- Ricky…Ricky when I catch you Ricky-

(I mostly notice when I get followed but uh- anyway 😻)

THIN ICE:

☆ dsmp fans

As much as I enjoy the Fanart and maybe the roleplay was interesting I have like personal beef with the fanbase and creators

☆ Hannibal Fans

The franchise is fire but I also have beef with Hannibal fans cuz for some reason most of them proshippers

☆ MHA fans for the same reason as Hannibal fans

☆ Same with South Park

☆ Same goes for Homestuck fans

☆ Same goes for Steven Universe fans. It’s mid btw

☆ ONE PIECE fans, y’all didn’t do anything wrong it’s just that I haven’t caught up with the show 😭😭

☆ NSFW blogs (as in porn/smut)

ANYWAY

Languages I speak:

☆ Spanish (mother language)

☆ English

☆ A tiny bit of Italian

FANDOMS IM IN (but I forget sometimes 😿)

☆ JJBA (what I post about mostly (going insane over this))

☆ Yakuza (I haven’t finished 0 yet)

☆ Brawl Stars (slowly losing my mind over it)

☆ WEIRD AL YANKOVIC

☆ LOST MEDIA. (Believe it or not, im also going insane over this.)

☆ Berserk

☆ Mouthwashing

☆ Madoka Magica

☆ ikigusare (best virtual girl band ever fr fr)

☆ Gorillaz

☆ Good Omens

☆ Moral Orel

☆ Dorohedoro

☆ My Little Pony

☆ Sonic fandom

☆ Undertale / Deltarune

☆ Breaking Bad / Better Call Saul

☆ El Cuarteto De Nos

☆ Azumanga Dioh!

☆ Vocaloid

☆ Project Sekai

☆ D4DJ

☆ Food Fantasy

☆ FNAF (grrrr I love fnaf,,)

☆ Emo / Scene / Scemo (I just don’t have money for clothes nor the patience to make a blog only for that 😭😭)

☆ actually like another shit ton more but I can’t remember 😔

Socials:

☆ Reddit u/BayFuzzball7050 (old account, permanently banned)

☆ Reddit u/BayFuzzball404 (Current Account)

☆ ofc Tumblr

☆ Wattpad and AO3 but we ain’t talking about that 🤫🧏‍♂️

☆ @bayfuzzball7050-art is my art blog (reblogs from here)

☆ @bayfuzzball7050-afterdark is my mature (straight up porn) art blog

☆ ALSO! opened a Pixiv :3

☆ I HAVE AN ARTFIGHT!

☆ Bluesky

Dis me btw

[stalinsbigspoon]

when radfems tell you that leftist men are not on women's side, it's true. I just saw one of my fav communist youtuber (he's Brazilian) laughing while talking about how the Italian boxer was beaten and how that shows that she is not a good boxer.

[lollobarcollomanonmollo]

Sei italiana? Ho visto la tag nei tuoi post e ho pensato ✨ oddio pure io ✨ se sì, mi sento un po’ rappresentata!

Siiiiiii🙆‍♀️

[caringmechs]

About Us

Welcome to caringmechs (formerly mamamech)!

This is a SFW caregiver blog for whoever may need one in the agere/cglre community! This blog is run by multiple alters in a DID system, each of which are caregivers to regressors (and some also regress themselves)!

Under the cut, you'll find more information about us and how our blog runs!

Carers

Raph, she + neos, fem terms

Sera/Al, fawn/doe/fae, any terms

Luci, hesh/herm, masc/neu terms

Monty, she/her, fem terms

Tim, he/him, any terms

Lily, she/they/it, fem/neu terms

Extra Info

Our ask/submission tag is #letterbox!

Also, anything you guys tag us in or send to us will be tagged with #our little mechs!

Our icon was made with this Picrew! It's meant to be the body (and obviously some littles!) :)

This is a sideblog; our main blog is autisticalastor!

We also run the agere stim blog babysoftstims!

We also have an ageretwt! It's only used when whoever's fronting is regressed, though.

We don't generally check DMs. However, we do check our askbox and submission box very often! That's the best way to communicate with us!

Feel free to show us things you've made/done, tell us about your day, or just stop by our inbox to chat! We love hearing from you!

We speak English and Italian!

We are bodily an adult, disabled, intersex, and genderfluid.

Our DNI is as follows: No kink/NSFW blogs, radfems/transmeds, or anti-agere/anti-cglre.

[askgothamshitty]

Do you think it's possible to acknowledge marriage as a patriarchal institution while still choosing to get married? I despise the logic of choice feminism, and I obviously think the sanctity of marriage and any of its more obviously sexist traditions (like taking the man's last name) is bullshit. I have a male partner that I believe is lifelong, we already live together, and getting married would not change my material position. I'm also from a family where divorce isn't shamed it's actually often brought up as advice from a lot of my female family members lol.

In truth, the main thing that interests me in marriage is having a party with all my family and friends, and if I could convince my whole family to show up for just a birthday party or something similar, then I would, but that just isn't realistic (overseas family etc. plus wouldn't include his family). I feel like a traitor to my cause, considering I've interacted with radfem theory for many years now. Anyway, that's my rant lol.

I am in the same situation as you 😭 I’m also trying to figure out if I want to marry my partner … it feels like the only way people would take our relationship seriously. I fear his family would judge me and think I don’t care about him if I won’t get married.

I know that if I were to do it, it would be really untraditional. No big ass ring, no proposal, no ceremony, no big party, no white dress, no dad paying for the whole thing. I’d just want to go to the courthouse and then a fancy Italian restaurant to eat at after with the families.

But I don’t like the institution of marriage! I don’t like that most people would project their expectations on us as “husband and wife”. I don’t like that divorces cost money. Ugh.

I wish I had an answer for you. I just know I wouldn’t judge a woman for being a feminist and married to a man. Plenty of feminist activists over the years have been married. But there isn’t a lot of literature on how to combine radical politics with personal relationships (at least for het attracted women)

[lostloveletters]

Bruised Fruit Chapter 7 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Gloria's last night out before she's a married woman only fuels her hesitations about marrying Michael, but despite her attempts to distance herself from him, he pulls her in deeper with an earth-shattering revelation.

Note: This takes place pre-Vatican II which changed a lot of things in the Catholic Church, including how mass was celebrated (seems like weekday mass has always been short though, lol), but it’s nothing too significant for now. Additionally, the name Ciro is pronounced Chee-ro in Italian.

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion. Predominant Catholic themes and symbolism, mainly involving guilt.

Chapter 6 | AO3 Link | Masterlist

Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

“Okay, so my parents are watching the kids tonight, and I know your people will be there, but I left the number for the club anyway,” Gloria said, slipping her foot into a black heel.

“Alright, darling. Don’t have too much fun,” Michael said, though she knew he loathed the idea of the bachelorette party the moment Vivian brought it up just two weeks prior.

It didn’t help that Connie and Sandra jumped on the idea too, even though a wedding date hadn’t even been set yet. Gloria hadn’t heard anything about the annulment in a while. She supposed the other Corleone women were just as antsy as she was to get out and go somewhere for the night.

Vivian insisted as soon as she sniffed out the slightest resistance from Michael, claiming it was only fair because the Corleones had already thrown their own engagement party in Lake Tahoe, and Gloria’s parents certainly wouldn’t do anything of the sort. He only conceded when Connie mentioned a nightclub the family operated in Manhattan. Gloria was itching to get back to that scene, thoroughly bored by domesticity.

“I’ll probably be back late. Don’t wait up for me.”

Michael smiled a bit, the purplish-gray bags beneath his eyes betraying yet another days long bout of insomnia. While Vivian and Jackie were over for dinner just two evenings before, Vivian had offered to get him in with one of the doctors at Sacred Heart to write him a prescription for sleeping pills. Michael had politely refused, insisting he was fine and had his own doctor.

Pride wouldn’t allow him to resort to turning to medication to cure his insomnia, not when he was already so reliant on it to manage his diabetes. Knowledge of his having that condition was so closely guarded, Gloria wasn’t always sure who in the family knew and who didn’t.

At times, Gloria wondered if Michael considered his suffering through his insomnia a form of self-appointed penance. Then again, that would require him to feel guilt about something. She tried not to think of Fredo, his memory potentially haunting his brother, but it was difficult not to when her own brother was around more often. 

A car horn outside signaled the arrival of her partying companions for the evening. Michael had arranged the driver, a newer family associate who had worked for the man who previously lived in their house before he passed away.

“If you need anything, call the house. If I don’t pick up, someone else will,” he said. “I love you.”

She gave him a quick kiss. “Love you too.” She grabbed her purse and rushed out the front door. Off to the races.

Connie was halfway out the back window of the car parked outside. “C’mon Glo, there’s room back here if we all squeeze in!”

Gloria shook her head, opening the front passenger seat instead. “I’ll sit up front with Ciro.”

The young man smiled at her remembering his name. They’d only spoken twice before, though she saw him more often when she’d bring the kids into the city after school to meet Michael at Genco and go for dinner. Ciro usually stood guard outside the olive oil company’s modest office building, stoney and suspicious-looking until he’d see her and smile, betraying his youthful face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Corleone,” Ciro said.

Sandra reached over the seat, playfully shaking Ciro’s shoulder. “Not Mrs. yet Ciro! That’s why we’re going out tonight!”

Vivian cheered, and Ciro laughed, smiling once more at Gloria before driving off. He entertained their antics, even bashfully acquiescing to Connie’s invasive question as to whether or not he had a girlfriend.

“No,” he answered, “not for some time.”

“C’mon, a good-looking guy like you?” Vivian asked.

“I’m focusing on work right now,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right for me to have a girlfriend and not be able to spend any time with her.”

“Aw, Gloria, tell Michael to give Ciro a vacation so he can find himself a nice girl,” Sandra said.

Gloria scoffed, “That’d go over well.”

They arrived at the nightclub not long after that, greeted by a bright, neon green sign for The Archer.

Ciro pulled up to the valet, all of the passenger doors opened for them upon their arrival. He parked directly in front of the club’s main entrance, the only car allowed to do so.

“I’ll be out here. You find me when you need to be driven home,” he said.

“You can’t come in for one drink?” Gloria asked.

He shook his head. “Thank you, I really can’t.”

Their coats and bags were collected at the door, the host emphatically reminding them that all drinks were on the house as he led them to a VIP booth.

The Archer had recently been remodeled, the walls covered in emerald green, scale-shaped tiles that resembled a snake’s glimmering skin beneath the club’s dim lighting. The booth was a sleek, modern white, deceptively creamy yet plush to the touch as it wrapped in a semi-circle around a crystalline table with gold accents. 

Funny, Michael wouldn’t be caught dead in the very nightclub he owned. Instead, he preferred old-fashioned, kind of run-down family-owned places with generous servings, strong wine, and attentive table service. The owners would always come out from the back to personally greet him, offering antipasto or a bottle of wine on the house. It almost made Gloria feel like being with a celebrity. And he was, in a way, among this eccentric group of people to whom he was more important and influential than the president.

A waitress came by the table to take everyone’s drink orders, Gloria requesting her usual rum and coke. As soon as she walked away, a waiter practically ran to the table with glasses of champagne for all four of them.

“Courtesy of Mr. Corleone,” he said.

Gloria smiled. “Thanks.”

“How about a toast, huh?” Connie proposed.

“Alright, may you and Michael have at least fifty wonderful years of marriage and half a dozen kids running around,” Sandra said.

“You’re supposed to be wishing her luck, not her worst nightmare,” Vivian joked, though it was clearly missed on Connie and Sandra.

“She’s kidding,” Gloria quickly said, shooting a glare at her sister-in-law. 

“Nothing but happiness for you and Michael, god knows what he would’ve done if you weren’t around, Gloria,” Connie said, not missing a beat.

Vivian grinned as she gave her toast. “Here’s to committing to the same cock for the rest of your life.”

Sandra laughed loudly, nodding in agreement, “God willing!”

“This is getting out of hand,” Connie snickered.

“Alright, cheers,” Gloria said, clinking glasses with her companions. 

Gloria threw back the champagne, not caring for the taste but dealing with it for the significance of the occasion. Still, she wanted it gone by the time her rum and coke came around. She tried to pace herself on her first drink, sipping while listening attentively to Vivian dishing the latest gossip from the hospital. Though it seemed she was catching Sandra and Connie up on just about everything that had happened since she started working there nearly fifteen years before.

“There’s this woman who works down in the maternity ward, her husband used to be a priest,” Vivian said.

“Hold on, was he a priest when they met—“ Sandra’s eyes widened as Vivian nodded, “Madone , and I thought I’ve sinned.”

“I mean, there are plenty of ‘em around at Sacred Heart. I’m just surprised they didn’t fire her.”

“All those nuns probably aren’t so innocent themselves,” Connie said.

Gloria laughed. “God, if my mother heard you all right now.”

“Oh, I don’t tell her half the stuff that goes on there. She’d have a heart attack,” Vivian said.

After another round of drinks, Gloria decided it was time to dance. She wasn’t particularly great at it, but it was fun, and dancing on her own in the house wasn’t the same. Michael refused to join her, especially when it came to the more upbeat, contemporary songs she preferred, but late at night, in tender moments when it was just the two of them, she could convince him to share a slower dance with her in the confines of their bedroom.

She loved Michael best in their bedroom. She didn’t have to restrain herself there, not when they were in bed together or just in each other's company. He showed unprecedented vulnerability there, the way he had during their clandestine rendezvous in Las Vegas hotel rooms, when he didn’t have to be Don Corleone. Any time she’d been with Michael outside of a bedroom, whether as his mistress or his fiance, there’d have to be distance, restraint, like they were respectable people when they both knew they were the opposite. 

So she let loose on the dancefloor, probably the last time she’d be able to go clubbing like that. The end of an era. She downed another glass of champagne in memory of the soon to be deceased party girl. She’d made it last longer than most. Wincing at the taste, she quickly ordered another rum and coke.

Her rotation of dance partners was dizzying as everyone moved about haphazardly. She wasn’t sure if rock n’ roll was on The Archer’s usual rotation, or a special request someone had made on her behalf that night, but at least she was going out with a bang. 

Leaning against the bar, feeling sweat begin to roll down the side of her face, the bartender offered to pour her a shot. She accepted, throwing it back just as ‘All I Have To Do Is Dream’ began to play. One of the few contemporary songs Michael would dance to with her. She wouldn’t sit that one out in his absence.

Her gaze fell to Ciro, now standing by the coat check. Maybe it'd gotten too chilly waiting outside.

She waved him over. 

His dark brows furrowed and he pointed to himself. 

She nodded. 

“Will you dance with me, Ciro? I love this song,” she asked when he walked over.

“I don’t know…I’m supposed to be working—“

“Just this one?”

He nodded, reluctantly taking her hand in his. He kept a safe distance between them, almost laughably farther apart than the other slow dancing couples who were wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Ciro’s a very Italian name,” she said over the music.

He chuckled softly. “Well, I am Italian.”

“You probably have half a dozen brothers and sisters.”

“Eight of us,” he answered. “I’m the fifth.”

“So I bet we all don't seem that crazy to you.”

“No, not at all.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Me too,” she said. “Y’know up until a few months ago, I used to work in a place like this.”

“Out in Las Vegas, right? Don Corleone mentioned it once.”

“I can imagine what else he’s said about me,” she joked.

“He cares about you very much. At least what I overhear,” he said, quickly adding, “I don’t make it my business to eavesdrop.”

She smiled. “It’s alright, Ciro. Your secret’s safe with me.” The song came to its end a little too soon for Gloria's liking. “Thanks for the dance.”

He nodded. “I should get back now.”

Thinking she should do the same, she made her way back to the table. Dancing with Ciro felt nice, almost normal, though she didn’t have much of a comparison for what normal was. Before she was engaged, she supposed.

Vivian reached for her hand, patting it. “I gotta call it a night.”

Sandra nodded. “Me too.”

“Lightweights,” Connie teased.

“Too old is more like it,” Sandra said. “Gloria, I’m gonna be asleep before you and Michael even have your first dance at the wedding party.”

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Gloria said with a smile. “It was fun.”

They parted with kisses on the cheek, and she watched as they made their way over to the coat check, gathering their things while Ciro got the car ready outside.

“More drinks?” Connie asked.

“I could get a few more rum and cokes in me,” Gloria said.

By the time a server brought over her fifth of the night, she was beginning to doubt her own statement. By Connie’s own admission, she hadn’t restrained herself when it came to the near-endless shots of tequila that were brought to the table every few minutes it seemed. She switched things up with a martini, however.

“You know Sandra and Tom are—”

“I kinda figured,” Gloria said. “Takes one to know one.”

“I feel bad for Theresa, but I mean, after Sonny was killed, Tom was the only one who could get through to Sandra. Sonny loved all of us, but Tom was his favorite brother even though he’s not blood. I guess it was only natural for them to share their grief that way."

“I can’t imagine,” Gloria said. 

She really couldn't. Michael seemed larger than life, impervious to death itself. If anything, he was to be feared over the great unknown, colder and more distant than death and whatever lay beyond it could ever hope to be. If even a fraction of what she read in the papers were true—and she knew they were—he dealt death like a deck of cards. No matter the hand, it was always in his favor. 

“Sonny would’ve liked you,” Connie said. “I think–he would’ve been glad for Michael. He always saw the best in people. At least, to me he did.” She downed the rest of her martini, nearly slamming it on the table when she finished. “Then Michael blamed Carlo for it, and he—Carlo could be a mean fucking prick, believe me, but he was my husband. What gave him the right to—”

“The right to what?”

“But Sonny was hot-headed. It could’ve been anyone who set him up. Then right before we moved to Nevada—dead. It’d been nearly ten years, but that didn’t matter. An eye for an eye. I don’t think I’ve really been happy since,” Connie lamented quietly.

The noise in the bar became muffled. Gloria’s lungs burned with each breath she tried to take, as if she were suddenly dropped into the deep sea without oxygen. Her vision blurred, watery and uncertain. Maybe it was how Fredo felt when he drowned. Drowned.

She realized then the extent of Michael’s unwillingness to forgive–inability sounded more like it.

Connie grabbed Gloria’s shoulder, shaking her a bit. “Hey, I’m drunk, what do I know?” 

Gloria forced a smile. 

She could hardly concentrate when Connie steered the conversation elsewhere, and within an hour, they decided to call it a night. Ciro had returned from dropping off Vivian and Sandra, and Gloria felt almost bad asking the guy to drive back to Long Island again. He didn’t seem to mind, though, helping Connie into the car when she nearly tripped over her coat on the way in. Gloria sat in the back with her this time, her gaze drifting between the buildings out the window and the back of Ciro’s head.

He dropped Connie off at her place first, walking her to the door and making sure she got in alright. 

“Ciro, will you drive around just a little bit more?” Gloria asked when he returned to the car. “I’m not ready to call it a night yet.”

He hesitated, but nodded, driving down a side street instead of continuing on the way back to the house. As homes and street signs passed by, she knew the direction he was heading. Her eyelids grew heavy, yet she awoke when he parked near the Long Beach boardwalk. The cool sea breeze reinvigorated her when she stepped out of the car.

He followed her to the boardwalk, the both of them leaning against the wooden railing just a few inches apart.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Not really, but what can you do?”

Nothing. There was nothing he could do. He was young, and in the family hierarchy probably a buttonman or soldier, whatever it was called. Maybe not even made yet. From what she'd gleaned working in Vegas and conversations with Michael, it took a long time for someone to officially be considered part of the family, and besides earning trust and respect, one task was almost certainly required of these men. It wasn’t like she could ask outright ask him, ‘Hey Ciro, ever killed someone for my fiance?’ Regardless, she didn’t want to know.

They watched the ocean waves in silence, the moon glittering off of the water in the pitch dark night. She wished she could dive under and emerge somewhere far across the sea.

“It’s getting late. I should bring you home now,” Ciro said.

Gloria wordlessly began making her way back to the car. A melancholy swept over her as they neared the house.

“Thank you for everything tonight, Ciro. It means a lot.”

“Good night, Gloria.”

She smiled, waving at him as she made her way up the short walkway to the house.

For the next few days, she avoided Michael when she could. Something about being around him made her feel uneasy. Or maybe it was the morning sickness, which she made attempts to hide from him by going on early walks and throwing up in neighbors’ flower bushes. The first time it happened, she attributed the sickness to food poisoning. Except food poisoning didn’t last for weeks on end. 

Gloria spent more time at her parents’ house, knowing Michael would generally steer clear of there unless absolutely necessary to go. Ironically, she spent more time with Anthony and Mary as a result, the kids asking her to bring them with her whenever she’d express her desire to go over. Her parents doted on them. Her mother and Mary were usually occupied in the crafting room, probably painting while Julia educated Mary on the ins and outs of New York's Democratic politics. Anthony had quickly grown close with her father, the two of them watching Yankee games in the living room whenever they were on. When they’d all walk to the park up the street, they’d play ball, Julia and Mary playing outfield while Gloria would referee from the wooden park bench nearby.

“Mary says you’re sick all the time in the mornings,” Julia said one afternoon, taking a seat next to her daughter.

“I drink too much,” Gloria lied. She hadn’t drunk since the bachelorette party, when after two days of vomiting she began to suspect the worst.

“When was the last time you bled?”

“Stress can cause that too.”

“You should make a doctor’s appointment.”

“They’ll tell me it’s nothing.”

Julia held up her hands in acquiescence. “Whatever you say.” That didn’t mean her mother was finished throwing hardballs her way. “When was the last time you went to mass?”

Gloria groaned. “Mom—“

“Drop the kids off at school tomorrow morning and then meet me at the church. St. Catherine's still has daily mass at 8:30.”

Anthony and Mary had been enrolled in the same Catholic school Gloria had gone to growing up. Even though there were parishes closer to Gloria and Michael, it had become their parish by virtue of her family already going there. They certainly weren’t going to turn down the generous donation to the parish on behalf of the Corleone family.

During the tour of the school before Michael had enrolled the kids, Gloria felt an indescribable deja vu sitting in the principal’s office again. Except she wasn’t in trouble, and the nun behind the desk was relatively young and incredibly nice, far more so than Sr. Margaret had been. Sr. Jeanne expressed that she’d do everything she could to make Anthony and Mary feel welcome despite starting there in the middle of the school year.

“I’m gonna drop the kids off at school tomorrow,” Gloria said later that evening. “I’m meeting my mother at 8:30 mass.”

“What brought this on?” Michael asked.

“She asked me. I guess I figured I’d humor her.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at your parents’.”

“So?”

“Nothing. It’s good to spend time with family,” he said, almost dismissively, but she could hear his displeasure lurking beneath the surface.

He noticed she was avoiding him and clearly thought her parents’ dislike of him had something to do with it. But he couldn’t protest it, not a man so obsessed with tradition and hierarchy. Despite how Americanized she was, Gloria and her family were still Sicilian, so as long as she and Michael weren’t married, her parents preceded him.

The following morning, Gloria drove her own car to drop Anthony and Mary off at school. It was a nice drive with the weather getting warmer, so they left the windows rolled down, Gloria’s favorite rock n’ roll station playing on the radio while the kids sang along to the songs they’d begun to recognize. 

When she pulled up to the school, she parked just between it and the church. She walked them up to the front doors, giving each of them a hug and extra lunch money.

Her mother arrived at St. Catherine’s just as Gloria made her way up the steps of the imposing church. The last time she stepped foot in St. Catherine’s was her high school graduation nearly a decade prior. It looked exactly the same as the last time she was there—marble floors and brick walls that led to a high ceiling supported by wooden rafters with ornate gold leafing. Each step one took inside the building would echo throughout. It was pretty much impossible to leave in the middle of mass unnoticed, which some people tried to do after communion.

She genuflected before getting into one of the wooden pews, her mother following. A few minutes went by, and they were joined by a friend of her mother’s, an older woman who also seemed to attend mass daily.

“Gloria, it’s been so long! Good to see you again, dear,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“And congratulations on the engagement. About time for a woman your age.”

Gloria smiled as politely as she could. 25-years-old and these people considered her nearly dead for not having a husband. If she had it her way, she wouldn’t even be engaged. 

“Any plans for kids?” she pried.

“Believe me, we’re trying,” Gloria said, feeling especially pleased at the scandalized expression that fell upon the old woman’s face, unable to react as mass was starting.

Though it’d been a while, Gloria knew weekday mass was always shorter than Saturday night or Sunday morning mass. She could endure half an hour of it.

As mass proceeded, she could still vaguely follow, though her Latin was rusty. St. Catherine’s offered four languages to its high school students. Gloria found French confusing despite her mother’s near insistence she take it, and Spanish was too close to Italian which was highly discouraged by her parents. She settled on Latin, and it ended up being one of the few subjects she consistently did well in, occasionally earning As on her report cards amongst the usual Bs and Cs.

She went through the motions of mass almost mechanically, her muscle memory of the service emerging from the mental depths she’d buried any piety under. The only reading for the mass came from Matthew, toward the end of chapter 18. Among the half-comprehensible verses, she caught one word in particular. Dimittam. To let go of or release-forgiveness.

Her chest tightened at recognition of the verse: Lord, how often shall my brother offend me, and I forgive him?

Jesus’ answer was symbolic, the nuns had told her. Forgiveness was limitless, to be doled out generously whether to one’s own brother or to those who didn’t deserve it. 

She thought back to what Connie had said at The Archer, the reason why she’d been avoiding her finance ever since. Coincidence, or a sign from a distant god that her suspicions about Michael were right. For as long as she’d known him, he could never let things go. She hadn’t minded it when it was for her benefit, like on their first trip to LA together. They had gotten dinner with Johnny Fontaine at a swanky nightclub he recommended. Gloria had nearly passed out when Johnny introduced them to Liz Taylor. Yet, later on that night, some up-and-coming actor wouldn’t give her the time of day despite her being a fan of his, complimenting his performance in his latest movie. The following morning he sent over a bouquet of flowers and personally called to apologize for his behavior, claiming he hadn’t been feeling well the night before when they met. Funny…she couldn’t remember his name anymore.

What had been on her mind wasn’t a perceived slight from an actor, though. If his own family wasn’t spared from his wrath, then neither was she. The priest’s homily was about forgiveness, something Michael rarely if ever doled out. Gloria could certainly hold her own grudges, but she couldn’t exactly do anything about them like he could. Maybe she understood the reasoning behind his ordering Connie’s first husband to be murdered; she'd want the same if someone had set Jackie up to die. But she couldn’t shake Fredo from her thoughts. What could he have possibly done to be denied forgiveness by his own brother? 

Her gaze drifted up toward the large crucifix on the wall behind the altar. Try marrying Michael Corleone.

Miraculously, she wasn’t struck down by a bolt of lightning, but after receiving communion for the first time in years, she prayed for Fredo’s soul, wherever it was.

Mass ended not long after, and she left her mother to talk with her obnoxious friend. She froze upon seeing Michael waiting outside for her.

“Michael, hi,” she said.

He smiled a bit, “Just ‘hi’? No, ‘I’m glad to see you’?”

“Of course I’m glad to see you.”

She gave him a kiss, a bit awkward and chaste, but she could chalk it up to being outside of a church.

“It’s a nice morning for a walk,” he said.

She nodded. “There’s a garden behind the convent. It’s pretty this time of year.”

He took her hand in his, and they meandered to the convent behind the church, following the worn stepping-stones to the prayer garden. Colorful and full of flowers, beautiful in the springtime, each blossom at its peak in May when they’d celebrate the Blessed Mother. She paused to look at a rose bush. Probably only a few days away; she’d know if she’d been paying attention.

“Darling, are you alright?”

She hummed. “Sure, I’m fine.”

“If you’re trying to convince me, you’re not doing a very good job.”

“The homily today was about forgiveness.”

“And?”

Her fingers twitched against his palm. “It’s just–you seem to have a hard time forgiving people.”

“Forgiveness isn’t compatible with what I do. You know that.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

“Forget about all of that. I have great news.” He squeezed her hand. “We got a letter from Cardinal Spellman this morning. The Vatican approved the annulment.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god. This is actually happening.”

“We can finally set a date.” He smiled. “How does this summer sound?”

Too soon. “Perfect.”

“Why don’t we head home? I’ll drive us back in your car. Ciro has to run an errand for me, anyway.”

The drive back to the house wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the one she took earlier in the morning. No rolled down windows taking in the spring breeze or rock n’ roll stations playing her favorite songs. It was almost eerily silent, and a foreboding grew in her stomach as they neared the house. Or maybe she had to throw up again.

Something was off when they walked inside.

“Where is everyone?” Gloria asked, the house unusually empty for a weekday.

“I sent them out, gave them the day off. There’s something we need to discuss alone.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just something I want to keep between us. We can talk about it in my office.”

She nodded, though she was sure her heart was going to jump out of her throat when she followed him into the room. He closed the door behind her despite their being alone. A heavy dread set over her body, and suddenly she felt cold, shaking as she sat down on the couch. He leaned against his desk, lighting a cigarette in his mouth and handing it to her.  

“Very few people know what I’m about to tell you, Gloria. Kay didn’t know. Most of my family still doesn’t,” Michael said. “You cannot repeat this to anybody. Do you understand?”

“I won’t.”

“You’re not going to be my second wife. Kay was my second wife.”

“What happened to your first wife?” Her curiosity was slaughtered the moment she asked. Looking into his eyes suddenly felt like being dragged to the second circle of hell.

His words cut through her curiosity with a closely controlled violence. “She was killed in Sicily by a car bomb that was meant for me. Her name was Apollonia. We were only married for a few months.”

Gloria froze. There it was, that drowning feeling again. Limbs heavy, lungs burning, sound muffled, everything moving in slow motion as the cigarette fell from her hand and onto the carpet. Her head drooped, and she let out a pained wail.

Her father’s words from just a few weeks prior echoed in her ears. ‘Has he got you living in some fantasy world? Where all that shit won’t touch you? That if you look the other way or keep your head in the sand, nothing will happen? He has no right promising you peace or safety when he deals in the opposite.’

Michael approached her cautiously, the way one does a wounded animal as not to frighten it. 

“Why would you tell me this?” she asked, looking up at him through the mess of black hair that had fallen in her face, voice strained as she held back a sob.

He knelt beside her, brushing her hair back to reveal black tear tracks that streaked down her cheeks. “So that you understand why I do the things I do, things I can’t always tell you about. Kay never understood, I don’t think she wanted to, but now you do. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you, and our baby. I had the man who did it killed, and I’d do the same for you, but it won’t come to that. Do you understand?”

There was no denying it anymore. No use in throwing up in flower bushes on early morning walks in the neighborhood to hide the clear signs of morning sickness from Michael. Whatever was inside of her, she wanted it out. Wished she could reach inside of herself and give it to him if he wanted it so bad. Kay’s abortion wasn’t so puzzling anymore. 

Against all better judgment, she clung to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Trapped with him, by him, his arms wrapping around her like a snake. She’d heard being burned alive was the most painful way to die. Unless it was instant, Apollonia spared the agony and passed it onto Kay, who through her abortion passed it onto Gloria. But there was no one else to turn to or confide in, no one who could do a damn thing about it.

“Gloria, it’s alright. As long as you listen to me, nothing will happen to you. No one will touch you.”

“You can’t promise that! You don’t know!”

“I love you,” he said, holding her tighter. “I love you.”

“More than you loved her?”

He was silent.

[abyss-princess]

What comes to mind... (pinned)

My dear sibling told me to put whatever comes to mind so, here we go

------ more under the cut ------

Basic info:

I go by Diane / Nicole / Sage, im 17, italian and very very gay (bisexual with a.. passion for mean men). Ive been studying psychology for 2 years and before i studied hairdressing, im diagnosed with bipolar 1, have frequent auditory and tactile hallucinations, suspected autism and BPD. Im hyperfixated on genshin, zzz and prehistory rn (esp the cambrian explosion).

DNI: over 30/under 14, homo/transphobe, racist, terf/radfem, tbc

Current anon claims: 🪽/💿 by the best sib ever !! 🪓 by the person that makes me question my sanity like alot (ily pooks)

[siryouarebeingmocked]

How convenient that QA's definition of "internet bad people" solely consist of people who disagree with them and are demonized by QA’s own ingroup.

>They take some normal human behavior

>Explain it in the darkest, most bad faith way possible

>And then ignore any other, often more realistic, explanation.

See, this is ironic, because everyone assumes malice. It's perfectly normal.

You are doing it right now.

And it’s not the first time. Heck, you have personally justified terrorism against alleged crimethinkers.*

Just based on a label.

Assuming "bad faith" is saying the other person must be dishonest, instead of simply wrong.

And people are also very wrong all the time.

TERFs, for example, are the logical extension of radfems, who hate men. And radfems are the logical extension of mainstream feminism, which has spent decades acting like "society run by men" is synonymous with "oppression of women".

TERFs just include trans women as "men". They are not some unusual "other". They’re radical progressives and leftists.

>And  assuming the absolute worst possible things  about a specific group while denying their complexity and humanity… 

The person who just lumped four very different groups together is complaining about people who deny the complexity of others. 

This is very ironic.

*It’s also ironic that “dress up in black shirts and physically attack alleged political opponents” is literally a tactic Italian fascists used.