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demonvampire180writes · 2 years ago

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Community Guided Chapter 2

*** This chapter contains strong racist and homophobic language ***

Chapter Text

“Holy fuck is it hot.” The plane touched down at LAX around 4:30 PM on a Saturday. Sunlight poured through the plane’s tiny windows, and it didn’t take long for the cabin to heat up despite every single AC vent being turned on max. Turning his phone off airplane mode, the weather updated slowly just to inform him that outside was a sweltering ninety-five degrees. Japan was definitely hot, there was no denying it, but Aomine seriously considered the thought of dying of heat stroke before he’d even stepped foot on US soil.

He wiped at his forehead, uncomfortably, pulling his arm back glistening with sweat. His seatmates looked around blearily as they fanned themselves with their t-shirts. All around him passengers shifted uncomfortably, and he caught snippets of irritated, flustered, conversation. The plane eventually parked itself and the announcement for disembarking sparked cheers of joy and a flurry of people struggling to get out as soon as possible. Aomine thanked his huge build at that moment as he clawed his carry-on luggage out of overhead storage without any hassle at all and managed to stand his ground as people pushed to get off the plane. He helped an older woman get her luggage down, as well as a man that was thin as a sheet of paper, both thanking him profusely through sleepy mouths. Eventually he made it off the plane, no worse for wear.

After collecting his luggage, four large bags in total, he called for a taxi and carted off towards his next destination: the university. Upon arrival, his eyes grew as large as dinner plates as he looked around. The place was absolutely enormous. Building upon building passed by as the driver headed towards his dorm, and large, grassy, yards filled in the empty spaces. Students milled about, though Aomine guessed that it was mostly foreigners and some early arrivals seeing as classes didn’t start for another three weeks and the regular move in date for those living in the dorms wasn’t until next weekend.

The driver pulled up to a building almost as tall as a small scraper and turned on his hazards. “Can I help you with your bags at all, sir?” He asked in a thick, unfamiliar, accent. Aomine shook his head, pulling at the door handle to let himself out. “Are you sure?” The driver gave him a kind, questioning, look. “That’s a lot for one person.”

He shook his head once again. Unfortunately, a lot of the stories that he’d heard about theft in the US had gotten into his head and he was hard pressed to trust someone that he’d only just met, especially some cabbie. “I’ll figure it out.” He hopped out of the cab and dragged one suitcase after another out of the trunk before handing the driver a hundred-dollar bill, letting him keep the change. The mans aged, lined face lit up and he thanked him, repeatedly. “Don’t mention it.” Aomine said, waving him off. As he drove away, the boy set to work figuring out how the hell he was going to get this all upstairs.

He struggled for about fifteen minutes, trying different formations of bags, when a girl appeared before him. Glancing up he frowned. She had a very distinct style, similar to a goth Lolita if he had to put a name to it. She was tiny, shorter than even Tetsu if he had to guess, and very petite though her platform boots had to add an extra three or four inches minimum. Her skin was pale, though it was difficult to tell with the long sleeves, and she had sharp green eyes. At the moment, they were fixed on him as he struggled. “Need some help there, buddy?” She asked, a voice deeper than he would’ve expected coming from her lips. There was no condescension in her tone, though there was no false cheerfulness either. She looked bored, as if she really couldn’t have cared about his response either way. Her green eyes never left his face.

“I’ve got it.” He replied, shifting one of the bags again as it threatened to fall over. “I don’t need a girls help.”

“Ooo, a misogynist, are we?” She mocked, expression not changing a bit.

Aomine searched his brain for a definition but found none. “Misogynist?” The word rolled off his tongue like a lead balloon.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You don’t think I’ll be helpful because I’m just a girl, right?”

He straightened up, feeling drained physically, and mentally. “I never said that. I just don’t need your help. I’ll figure it out myself.”

She put her thin hips on her waist and huffed impatiently, “Dude. I’ve literally been watching you struggle ever since that cab rolled away. What the hell were you thinking? Did you bring your entire bedroom with you? Where the hell are you from, the planet Jupiter?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’re actually an alien? Can you not return home so you had to pack your whole life into these-” She counted the suitcases “-five pieces of luggage?”

Her rapid-fire questions hit him one after another and he tried to keep up, though his sleep deprived brain made most of it out to be complete non-sense. He was not ready for this sort of interrogation the moment he arrived here, and if he was his usual self, he would have had something snappy to say in reply, but at the moment it took all he could to translate. “I’m not an alien. I’m from Japan.” Dumb fuck, he wanted to add, but refrained.

“Hah!” She brazenly pointed a finger in his face, though her full reach only got to about chin height. “So, you are an alien!” She smiled triumphantly. “So, alien, do you want some help moving your alien shit or what? If you don’t do something soon, you’re going to start drawing attention to yourself.” I’m pretty sure you’re drawing more attention than I am, you little shrimp. He swatted away her hand.

“I’m not a fucking alien.” He was about to introduce himself but stopped short. Why should he have to introduce himself first when she was the one who approached him? “What’s your name shrimpy?”

Her pale skin flushed crimson. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

“I mean you basically called me a woman hater earlier, anyway, so what do you care?”

Caught, she was unable to respond. After a long moment she crossed her arms over her chest and said, confidently, “My name is Kaylee. Kaylee Jones. I’m majoring in economics. What about you, Alien?”

He glared at her, biting back a few choice words. “Daiki. Daiki Aomine. I’m in general studies for now.”

“Pleased to make your formal acquaintance, Daiki.” She held out a small hand and he took it, cautiously. “We don’t get too many aliens here on planet Earth, but if you ever have any questions come find me. I’m up in room 418 but don’t get any funny ideas. I’m family friendly in this household.” Staring in disbelief, Aomine couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within him. He was caught completely off guard, and this stranger was throwing him off his place. It was hard to keep up his walls around her, even if she didn’t mean to do it.

Awkwardly still standing there holding her hand she eventually let go and grabbed the handle of two of his bags. “Put your carry-on on top of that one. I’ll drag these two. The rest is up to you.” She didn’t wait for a response, heading quickly towards the front entrance.

Surprised, Aomine quickly loaded the bags together and chased after her, unable to utter a word of complaint. Somehow, some way, he’d managed to secure a friend on his very first day on campus. A blessing that he wouldn’t immediately be aware of.

-x-

A few, uneventful days, passed by. Kaylee dropped by his second day and offered to give him a quick tour of the campus, or at least what was near-by and he gladly took her up on the offer. His body was stiff from traveling, and he was hoping to maybe find some outdoor courts within walking distance. He was itching to play.

Despite her short legs she moved quickly, buzzing from building to building and explaining what facilities were in each. She showed him the recreational building which she informed him had a revolving schedule of student lead work out classes that changed each semester. In the same building there was the pool which had free swim Monday through Friday for a few hours in the afternoon, and free swim all day on the weekends after ten since the swim team practiced before that. There were three large gyms, two cordoned off by mesh nets to indicate their boundaries, which were mainly used for the physical education classes, and the main, largest, gym which held bleachers for actual games. Above the double gym was a full-sized track that was surrounded by cardio equipment and a large stretching area. Tucked away in a corner, in its own room, was a large weight room with all sorts of equipment and free weights. It was packed to the gills as they passed by. “We have some sort of health education program here so the weight room is used for classes once in a while.” She explained, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s usually not too busy, though that depends entirely on what time of day you go.” She moved on quickly, speeding through the rest of the building; pickleball courts, tennis courts, a rock-climbing wall, some dance classrooms. It wasn’t interesting she told him. Nothing too special. Japanese universities could never. He thought, idly. Students were too focused on studying and clubs to take much interest in personal activities it seemed like.

They passed through a few courtyards, Kaylee flippantly pointing out the buildings with the food courts and library as though they were of no importance to her. She brought him, briefly, through the main hall building, the one which held all the meeting rooms and even a small movie theater that showed films one week at a time, free, to students. “When you go through orientation that’s where they’ll make you go.” She nodded at the currently empty auditorium. He nodded. They scurried along through some of the different department buildings; he would have most of his classes in the three buildings closet to the dorms, he surmised, seeing as he didn’t have a specific field of study yet. It would make life easy, at least for now.

Finally, they breaked for a snack, his companion guzzling down a can of some off brand energy drink and a nutritional bar. Aomine dug into a cold deli sandwich which, while satiating his appetite, left a lot to be desired. He sipped at a can of coffee, swishing it around a little as he tried to decide whether it was better or worse than back home. The two spoke infrequently between bites, comfortable in the silence, and once finished zipped through just two more buildings before Kaylee declared her exhaustion and demanded that she retreat back to her room. Aomine let her go without a single complaint, his patience meter running close to E. Not to mention that it was even hotter today than yesterday and he had stupidly decided to wear jeans. All he wanted to do was strip down to his birthday suit and lay in bed with the AC blasting.

The next few days were no better in terms of temperature and Aomine found himself channeling his inner hermit as he locked himself up inside, coming out only in time for meals and bathing, as well as the international student orientation he was forced to attend. Around his seventh day there, the air seemed to settle a bit and it felt cool enough to venture out. He’d managed to get his phone line all set up so he felt comfortable to wander a bit since he could Google translate if he needed to, and he had some sort of map on his phone that could get him where he needed to go.

Setting out, his headphones in with music blaring, he set out at a brisk jog to take in the surroundings all the while hoping to stumble upon some courts. After four miles, and no luck, he paused in the shade of a tree and tapped out basketball courts into the map app. It pulled up a huge list of places. He scrolled for a moment before grunting in frustration and adding outdoor to the search because most of the ones that came up were pay-to-play places, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t find the type of basketball he wanted to play at those courts. The list shortened by a wide margin, and after sorting by distance, he found a court that he’d apparently passed, and not noticed, while running. Turning around, he headed back the direction he came.

A half mile up the road a sign for a park came into view and Aomine glanced around. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted a hoop, surrounded by a fence, in the distance. Taking out a headphone he approached, the sound of whooping and shouting growing louder the closer he got. When he was about a hundred or so feet away the players on the court came in to view; tall, gangly, and sun kissed, eight players moved swiftly over the concrete, a familiar speck of orange flashing in and out of view as it was dribbled and passed. He watched their every movement, eyes never coming off the ball. So focused on what was happening behind the chain-link fence, Aomine failed to notice the ninth person in the group who stood off to the side, leaning against a cracked green picnic table. The person watched him with interest as they sucked on the straw of an empty juice pouch.

“Oy.” Finally, they called out. “Oy!” Aomine dragged his eyes from the court, scowling. “This is a private game.” He spoke with a decidedly heavy voice; it wasn’t deep, necessarily, but it sounded as though it dragged its way up from the depths of his chest before he even opened his mouth. His tone was nasally, and if Aomine was honest, unpleasant.

“If you wanted a private game,” Aomine growled, “you should have played in a private place.” His blue eyes narrowed, fists clenching at his sides.

The guy scoffed, eyeing him up and down with disgust. “The fuck?” He rose to his full height. His slumped form was misleading, and Aomine actually had to look up, even at a distance, to look at his face. This guy has to be close to seven feet tall. He gawked, though his face remained stern, sneering. “I said this is a private game so fucking get lost.”

“This is public property; I can be here if I damn well please.” Aomine straightened himself up and took a warning step forward. What was with this guy?

The guy paused, and then burst into laughter. The sound of the ball hitting the court stopped and suddenly all nine pair of eyes were on him as if waiting to consume him. “Public property? Boys. Did you hear that? This is public property.” He mimicked Aomine’s voice and burst into further laughter. “You must be new here, kid.” He hissed. Now it was his turn to step forward, the gesture holding much more weight than his own had.

“Jayron, who is that punk? We’re in the middle of a game.” One of the other players called out, wiping the sweat off the face with the front of his t-shirt.

“I was just about to score, get him the fuck out of here. He’s ruining my pace.” Another jeered, sneering and showing off a mouthful of broken and uneven teeth. There was a tattoo on his bicep and, although he couldn’t see it clearly, Aomine had a feeling he knew what it was and that he really didn’t want to see it clearly.

Standing his ground, he crossed his arms over his chest and replied, loud enough for all to hear, “I’m here to play basketball, kid.” He breathed the word with venom. “Seems like I’d have better luck at a children’s party than I would here.” The taunt was unjustified, but it served its purpose well. An uproar of noise followed the statement and the guy named Jayron closed the gap between them in just a few steps.

“The fuck did you say? You see, chink, this court belongs to us. We use it when we want to, and no fucking slanty eyed bitch is going to stop us.” He grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled up until Aomine was standing on the balls of his feet. He wrapped his hand around the man’s wrist but couldn’t loosen his grip. “You wanna play basketball? Then go back to where you came from. Your third world country doesn’t even know what real basketball is. And while you’re at it, learn to speak English you little faggot.” He carelessly let go of Aomine and shoved him away. “Stupid fucking illegals, coming to this country like they matter. Disgusting.” That was the last straw. The growing anger in him bubbled over and he drew his fist back before swinging with all he had at Jayron’s face. He made contact though the guy moved just in time to avoid any real damage. His knuckles skidded across his skin, drawing blood. Before either of them even registered what had happened Aomine was throwing his other fist after drawing his knee up in the taller man’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Coming back to his senses, Jayron threw his hands up to protect his face before counter attacking with a jab of his own, connecting with Aomine’s ribs. A moment later the younger boy was sent back with a wild side kick aimed at his chest. Growling fiercely Aomine pounced and managed to grab him by the throat, fingers digging him. Jayron wrapped his absurdly long fingers around his own and pulled until he could breathe though Aomine kept pushing back until they toppled to the ground. His aggressor flailed wildly under him, nearly bucking him off a few times but failing. His temple throbbed, and he could feel the prescense of the other men on the court approaching. Derogatory names were being thrown at him left and right but he hardly registered them. All he could think about was choking this man out, watching as the light left his eyes. That was, until, he heard his name.

“Aomine?” The word floated through his brain like a dream. “Aomine, is that you? What are you doing?” It still didn’t click and he dug his fingers deeper into the other man’s flesh. He’d stopped flailing as his strength left him, but he still scrabbled at his fingers, his pale features turning more and more ghostly as his life force tried to leave him. “Ahomine stop, you’re going to kill him for real. What the hell are you thinking?” He was ripped away from the other man. The moment his fingers were torn from his neck, he turned over heaving for air and coughing up bile. A gaze, darker than the midnight sky, glared at him. “Jayron, what the hell man?”

“Ka…ga…mi?” Coming back to his senses, the anger leaving his body like a flood, he turned his head to see an all too familiar figure standing behind him, dressed in a pair of shorts and a plain white t-shirt. “Oy. Bakagami.” Red eyes turned to him.

“Don’t look at me like I’m the ghost of Christmas past. Tell me what the hell is going on here, and why you’re trying to choke this moron out? You were going to kill him.” Kagami switched effortlessly into Japanese, much to the chargin of the other men now standing just a few feet away.

“This fucker attacked Jayron!” Bicep tattoo screamed, pointing an accusing finger at him. “He kept starin’ at us so we tried to get him to leave.” The blond on the ground nodded, still unable to form words. “We weren’t doing nothing wrong.”

“Shut up.” Kagami turned an icy glare on the men, and to Aomine’s surprise, they backed off. Turning his attention back, he held out a hand to Aomine who, after a long hesitation, took it and dragged himself to his feet. Once again in Japanese, Kagami urged, “Dude. What in the actual fuck? Why are you here? And why is this how I find you?”

Aomine brushed himself off, grimacing when his hand brushed over his ribs where the guy had landed a punch. “I just got here. I was looking for some local courts and then these dimwits attacked me. Spoutin’ off some bullshit about this is a private game.”

Kagami sighed and dropped his head into his hands. In English he sighed, “You guys are fucking idiots, all of you.” They jumped to respond but a single look had them backing off once more. “All of you,” he eyed the group, then the ringleader still huddled on the ground, and finally Aomine, “picked fights with the wrong people.” Groaning, he threw his head back, placed his hands on his hips, took a deep breath, and then finally looked at all of them. “This here,” he jabbed a thumb at the other boy, “is a friend… a rival… from high school. Those fools,” he indicated the mass of players with his chin, “are other students at the college that I play with once in a while.”

“They’re racist pieces of dog shit.” Aomine spit in Japanese, glaring without pause at them. They sneered back, baring their would-be fangs.

“Whatever your beef is, you should settle it how we all know to best. On the court.” A chorus of disapproval sprung up.

“I’m not playing with no little chink that can’t even speak English good.” A different member muttered. A few others rose up in agreement.

“No worries. I’ll play with him. Us against you.”

“Two against eight? Are you making fun of us?”

“Two against six. Eights too many on the court. You can switch out players whenever you want.”

“Taiga, are you on his side cause you’re from the same shithole place?”

“So what if I am? Are you afraid to lose to a person of color?” Kagami taunted.

“There’s no way you’ll win. Not a chance in hell. Let’s do this, boys. Jayron, you sit out.” He couldn’t even bring himself to nod.

“Kagami-“

“I’ll explain later. For now, get ready. This is real streetball.”

-x-

Aomine returned home a few hours later. Needless to say, he and Kagami won the game in the end, but the struggle was real. They played a lot more aggressively than he had expected, probably more so because of what he’d done, and their footwork was on a different level. Afterwards, Kagami spent some time explaining to both sides, and the men agreed to let Aomine play with them, acknowledging his skills in the game. He then explained to Aomine why he hung out with them, and informed him that the only one he really had to worry about was David, or bicep tattoo, and even then, as long as he kept his head down, he was in the free and clear.

Dropping into bed, Aomine breathed deeply and let the exhausting take over him. His reunion hadn’t gone exactly to plan, though in reality there really hadn’t been one in the first place, but now Kagami knew that he was here and they could start playing together, again. Although he wouldn’t admit it, Aomine was looking forward to that more than anything else. Taking one long breath of air, he breathed out slowly, letting himself sink into sleep, not caring one bit about how dirty he had become.

#aomine x kagami #aokaga #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #archive of our own

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callmemythicalminx · 4 years ago

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Into The Valley Of Death - Tommy Angelo x Reader (Angst)

Fandon: Mafia Definitive Edition

Warnings: Angst, major violence, blood, explicit descriptions of bodily harm, refrences to sexual assualt, kidnapping, explicit language.

Summary: The gang war in Lost Heaven is at it’s peak. In a twisted and cruel move against Salieri which sets the end of the conflict into motion, you are catalyst which pushes your family charging into the valley of death.

A/N: Please don’t read this if you are triggered by any of the warnings or feel you may not be able to handle what this fic has in store. It’s dark in many ways and I wouldn’t want anyone be affected phsyical or mentally, so please read with caution.

Dedicated to: @kaiiiiiiparkerismyhusband @lolita-wolfson@mayday1284 @xxsamanthaxx @kneelingforvillains@loutino20@levitate-gengar @dorothynerding @blackbladevika @my-blog-for-me @rammstein-obsession @octorebel @demonsouthere

---

Things are tense in Lost Heaven. This gang war is sending shockwaves through the city, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. Everyone you know is on edge, constantly looking over their shoulder and preparing for the worst. The men are stressed but try to stay immovable in the face of danger, the love for their family overpowering all fear. Yourself and the rest of the women are supporting them in any way you can. Together, you’re fighting against Morello, but you can tell the line is drawing thin. A catalyst to end this war is coming, you can feel it.

You’re all exhausted beyond measure. Late nights spent planning, shootouts in the streets and the losses of those held dear had taken their toll. This was especially evident in your husband- you don’t think you’ve ever seen Tommy this tired before. Being one of Salieri’s most trusted men meant he was constantly out, running jobs. Nowadays, you only ever see him when he comes home, late into the night. He can only muster up enough strength to give you a sweet kiss before collapsing into your arms and falling asleep beneath the covers of your bed. You always lie awake as he sleeps, absent-mindedly stroking his hair while you pray to every god imaginable that he’ll return home safe the next night, the one after, and every other for the rest of your lives.

As you stand in the bathroom of Salieri’s, looking at your pale, wet face in the mirror, you pray even now that he will return home to you. After drying your face and swirling your mouth out, you turn towards the toilet and flush down the remaining contents of what was in your stomach not five minutes ago. You sigh as your gaze slips down to your stomach again. In the dim bathroom light, you can barely see the small bump there. Your hands rise, caressing gently. It’s time to find out. If something happens to you… or him. You need to know for sure.

You leave the bathroom, thankful there’s no one around to ask why you were in there so long. As you make your way back to the meeting room, you pass Sarah who gives you a small sympathetic smile. She’d guessed weeks back after you’d thrown up while she was cooking that you might be pregnant. Not a day later, she’d booked you in for a test at the doctors across the road. You didn’t want to believe it, worried about bringing a child into the world during such a tense time. Somewhere deep inside though, you were excited at the thought of carrying a baby inside you… something beautiful that you and Tommy had created together.

You collect your purse from your desk, closing the account books and locking them away in the safe. You’d finish your work for today as soon as you got back from the doctors. After slipping on your coat, you leave through the back of the bar and head towards the gate around the side. One of the guards, Antonio, frantically runs over to you before you can open it, pushing his hand against it.

“I’m sorry Y/N, you can’t leave right now. We ain’t got anyone on hand to escort you.” This is another thing draining everyone. Straight from the Don himself, he ordered that anytime anyone left their home or the bar, they needed someone with them for protection. You appreciated it of course, but it was exhausting having someone follow you everywhere and you knew the soldiers were always tired too, having to look after themselves and an important family member at the same time. You smile at Antonio gently and place your hand on his arm.

“I’m only going across the road to the doctors, I don’t need an escort today.” At his unmoving expression, you sigh in frustration. “This is a very important appointment- I can’t miss it. You can just keep an eye on me from here, just stand near the gate and you’ll still be able to see me. Okay?” You can see the wheels turning in his head, his face twisting this way and that. Eventually, he must come to a decision as he quickly nods his head and reluctantly opens the gate slightly, enough for you to slip out.

“Just be quick.” You can hear the bite of fear in his voice, so you send a small reassuring smile his way, nodding, before quickly walking across the road into the clinic.

---

As you step out into the sunlight again, you stop and take a deep shuddering breath. Inside your chest, your heart still pounds, hyperactive with all the emotions flooding your body. You’re actually pregnant. You’re going to be a mother. And Tommy… he’s going to be a father. Tears form in the corner of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks before you can try to stop them. You’re overjoyed. Worried. Excited. Scared. You feel like a million questions are racing through your head, your thoughts a jumbled mess. All you can seem to fathom or even understand in the frenzy... is that you’re going to have a baby.

You’re too wrapped up in your happiness to notice the truck parked down the road drive closer. Your jumbled mind doesn’t recognise the men getting out as it slowly moves. The sight of the men in suits doesn’t register in your mind. Nor do the handguns in their hands. It’s only as the truck stops in front of you, blocking the sunlight, that your eyes focus. The glint of silver metal shines in the corner of your eye before a crippling pain explodes in your head and you fall to the ground.

Through a daze, you hear chaos erupt. You hear bullets, shouting, curses in Italian. Strong hands grab you and roughly pull you over their shoulder. You try to speak, to scream for help, but your mouth won’t open. Vision blurred, you can barely register moving onto the street, the gravel swirling beneath you. You feel the breath leave your lungs with an incredible force as you’re suddenly thrown into the truck, slamming against the hardwood. Your lips part to gasp, but no sound comes out. Like shooting stars, you see bullets fly through the material of the roof, hitting one of the goons in the head and narrowly missing another. They leave little holes of sunlight that catch the dust dancing in the air and the blood that sprays as another goon falls to his knees. You hear shouting and then suddenly you're moving, the truck speeding down the street leaving a trail of tire smoke and chaos. Distantly you think you can hear your name being called, but as you slip deeper into the abyss, you can only think of two things. Tommy. Our baby.

---

Tommy’s exhausted. He’s nearly falling asleep behind the wheel as he drives back to Salieri’s, Paulie near passed out beside him. It’d been a long day. The two had traveled early in the morning last night out of the city to one of Morello’s farms, awaiting the arrival of one of his most trusted associates. It was a simple job, all they needed to do was execute the guy and get out safe. But there’d been more soldiers than they anticipated and the target ended up escaping leading to a long car chase. Lack of sleep and general tiredness we’re barraging Tommy like a ton of bricks. All he wanted now was to just head home with you and fall asleep. He just desperately hoped you were already done with work.

As he pulls onto home turf, he’s relatively lax until he begins driving down the road leading to the bar. He spots the shattered glass on the street first, stained red with the blood of the men and women littered like flies across the gravel. When he notices some of the bodies wearing the uniform-like suits of his enemies, his foot slams on the break without a second thought. Paulie flies into the dashboard, yelling gibberish as he looks around disoriented for a few seconds until his eyes settle on Tommy’s pale face.

“What they hell was that?!” His best friend doesn’t answer though. Instead his hands frantically find the handle on the door, pushing it open quickly and jumping out into the street. Paulie looks at him confused for a second until he looks forward at the road, all colour draining from his face as he witnesses the carnage in front of him. He’s quick to follow his best pa as he runs towards the bar.

Tommy can barely think. Unfiltered thoughts are running rampant in his head, clouding his rationality. The only thing he can focus on is you. Checking your okay. Keeping you safe. He pumps his arms faster as he runs round the back and enters the bar, ignoring the guard’s shouts and Paulie’s frantic nonsensical questions to them.

When he bursts into the meeting room, effectively silencing everyone in there, his eyes only focus on one thing- finding you. As he scans every face, each one growing progressively more sympathetic and worried, he can barely stop himself from passing out. Finally, he lands on the final person in the room and it’s not you.

“Boss. I-I… Wh-Where is she?” His words sound surprisingly calm even to him. He can see Sarah walking closer to him, hands outstretched in comfort, feel the weight of Paulie at his back as he finally arrives. Still he can only focus on you.“Tom, I-”

“Where is she?!” There’s a pause. It lasts only a second, but it feels like a lifetime of agony.

“She’s been taken Tom.”

His breath rushes out his lungs. His knees buckle. All he can hear for a moment is his pounding heartbeat in his head. He can feel Sarah grab his arm, feel the weight of Paulie’s hand on his back. Sam appears out of the corner of his eye, his hand rising to rest on his shoulder. His family are around him, comforting him- but he feels nothing. Because you aren’t here.

He barely recognises the gruff, raspy sound of his own voice as he grates “Where?”

“Some of our boys followed them to the docks. We’re going to lay waste to it tonight. Trust me Tom, there won’t be a single recognisable man left alive in that building.” Salieri’s words strike through the fog clouding Tommy’s mind. He feels his blood boil, his heart pounding like a war drum. Tommy has never been an overly violent man. But just this once… just this once - He’s going to kill every one of them for hurting you.

---

Excruciating pain. It ricochets through your head, sears from your palms up your arms like red hot wildfire in your veins. Barely conscious, you flex your fingers in an attempt to escape the pain, the movement almost unrecognisable from the numbness that’s settled within your bones. Through slittled eyelids, you manage to look down. Two long, thin blades slice clean through the middle of your palm, impaling your hands to the sides of the wooden chair you’re sat in. Your blood gathers like a puddle at your feet, dripping down with maddening drops that echo around the small dark room. You can barely tell where you are, your vision too hazy to understand what’s around you.

A sob bubbles in the back of your throat before bursting out of your mouth, the noise grated from the dryness of your throat. You feel like you might puke when you notice your dress has been ripped down the front, your undergarments thankfully intact but pulled tight and misshapen against your skin- someone had looked at you while you were unconscious.

The small bump of your stomach, visible through the ripped fabric brings tears rushing out of your eyes, the pearly drops falling to drip down the slightly swollen skin.

“Ah! Our guest is awake!”

Your head snaps up at the sudden noise, the force sending your vision into a disoriented mess once again. Through the stars in your eyes, you can just about make out the stark white suit in the doorway of the room, almost blinding in the low light. As he walks to stand in front of you, behind him red shadows from what you can only guess is a fire swathe him in a red glow. He looks like a demon masquerading as an angel, the flames seemingly curling around him in the haze of your vision. You know immediately that the man in front of you is Morello.

Somehow, you muster up enough strength to spit at his feet.

In response, his palm strikes against your cheek, the pain wrenching a gasp from your lungs. He’s suddenly there right in front of your face, your eyes forced to take in the sneer engraved into his skin as he growls at you. “Show some fucking respect!”

You take in a shuddering breath, but continue looking into his eyes through the haze of your tears and pain.

“Fuck… You!” You manage to stutter out, refusing to let this coward scare you. Your smugness is only short lived as his fist flies into your stomach, the force hunching you over. Your hands pull at the blades and you scream at the burning pain as they dig deeper into your skin.

Morello laughs above you, turning to look behind him. You hear other laughter and guess you’ve got an audience of his goons with you as well.

“She’s all talk, no bite, ey boys?!” More laughter rings out, echoing in your head. You try to curl into yourself unconsciously, your legs trying to pull up, but they seem to be strapped to the legs of the chair. Almost hanging there, you hunch over limply, your hair now dangling down in front of your face. You can see Morello’s pristine white shoes swiftly turn back to you, the sudden action making you flinch.

One of his hands suddenly wraps around your hair, pulling it tightly around his fist. Before you can even comprehend what’s happening, he’s pulling you up by the stands, forcing a scream from your lips. Your hands rise with you, ever so slightly rising up the blades. By Morello’s scoff, he’s not happy enough with how little you’ve moved as he wrenches you higher, the blades ripping through your flesh so the handles are pressed against your skin. In the silence of the room, your sobs echo, barely recognisable to your own ears. You refuse to open your eyes and give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears, so you squeeze them shut tightly.

Morello growls again, his free hand striking against your cheek. You feel one of his rings cut clean through the skin, a scorching ache immediately settling deep into the skin. The slap forces your head unnaturally to the side, your hair and neck twisting painfully. It makes you yelp, gritting your teeth, but still you refuse to look at him. There’s silence for a few moments except for your heavy, shuddering breaths. Your ears become hyper aware, searching for any sound. They pick up the scruff of shoes coming towards you, the telltale sound of a blade being pulled from a sheath. When you feel the cold edge of the metal press against your stomach, your eyes fly open to see Morello’s face right in front of you, a smug look in the deep pits of his irises.

“We’re gonna have a nice chat dollface. If you are corporate, I might just let you live. If not… Well, let’s just say you and this baby won’t ever see daylight again.”

You try to nod against his hand, which tightens in your hair, not trusting your voice to say anything back to him. He smiles, an expression so vile and haunted, you feel sick at the sight of it.

“Good!” Without warning, he releases your hair, the strands falling through his fingers quickly as your body limply falls back in the seat. Your palms sink down the blades only half way, leaving them propped up unnaturally. Helplessly, your body twitches away from the pain, making it worse as you tug at the blades. You can see Morello’s smile deepen above you, his eyes darkening in the dim light with a hidden evil. Unconsciously, you shrink back from him as he shouts to the soldiers. “Hang her up boys. It’s time we get properly acquainted.”

---

“Jesus Christ Tom, would you stop fidgetin’, you’re shakin’ the car!”

Paulie’s words barely register in Tommy’s head. He hasn't been able to stop moving all day, constantly fiddling with his cigarettes or scanning over the maps of the city. By the time it came to leave, Sam stepped in to drive, knowing his friend was too distracted with fear to get them to the docks safely. But truth be told, they were all out of their minds with worry. Tommy’s leg was bouncing nonstop, his hand twitching every so often over the Lupara in his lap. Paulie hadn’t stopped talking since they’d got in the car, needing to fill the silence so he wasn’t just trapped with his thoughts. Sam was quiet and contemplating like usual, but as Tommy looked at him out of the corner of his eye, he could see his partner nervously tapping his fingers against the wheel, his mind a million miles away.

As they cross through the Works Quarter, the convoy of soldiers behind them sticking close, Tommy feels sweat bead on his brow just looking at their approaching location. He isn’t worried about the goons, he’d killed enough of them to know nothing was gonna stop him from getting to you. The thought of pickin’ such a big fight with Morello didn’t scare him either. No, he was only terrified of what’s happened to you.

All day, his mind has plagued him with images of his enemy’s victims, bloodied and beaten to a pulp. He couldn’t stop the thoughts of you flashing before his eyes, hurt and in pain. Just from thinking about it now, he can feel his heart nearly beating through his chest, his blood sizzling in his veins. God help anyone who gets in his way, because he wasn’t giving any mercy tonight.

“We’re here.” Sam’s voice cuts through Tommy’s thoughts. Immediately, the atmosphere in the car changes, determination and anger filling the air so quickly it nearly gives Tommy whiplash. Behind him, Paulie primes his gun, passing one to Sam who stares ahead, eyes focused.

Looking down, Tommy picks up his own gun, cocking the trigger. He feels the eyes of his closest friends on him, their hands both coming to rest on his arm.

“We doin’ this?” Paulie whispers. A deep shuddering breath. “Yeah.” And so they go... Into the valley of death.

---

You don’t know how much time has passed. As you drift between unconsciousness and awake, all you can do is look down at your stomach through the glaze of tears in your eyes. Morello was true to his word, not laying at hand on your baby. The same can’t be said for you.

Your arms are utterly destroyed, red raw from the damp ropes used to hang you from the celing. Tracks of blood streak from the holes in your palms like dark rain, now impaled once more in the wooden chair you first woke up in. You hunch limply, too exhausted to hold you weight.

After Morello’s soldiers had strung you up, your feet absent of shoes just slightly hanging above the floor, they’d left you alone for some time, just standing there watching you. Morello had sat to the side, smoking a cigar like it was the most normal thing in the world. He read the paper while you swung in the wind, whimpering every so often from the ache of the rope against your skin. The soldiers would laugh quietly, staring at your exposed flesh as you dangled there like a doll. You felt like a piece of meat.

Eventually, Morello put out his cigar and folded up his paper, throwing it on the table with a huff. He picked up knuckle dusters, slipping them on in full view of you and flexed his fingers with an expressionless face. After a beat, he looked up at you and smirked seeing the fear in your eyes.

For what must have been only an hour, yet felt like years, Morello played with your body like a rag doll. He’d asked you incomprehensible questions, growing furious when you didn’t know how to answer. Using those deadly brass knuckles he’d inflicted hit after hit on your face, just above your stomach, anywhere that wasn’t where your little baby grew. He grew tired of hitting you quickly, changing his weapon of choice to a long knife.

In long, drawn out strokes, he had traced it along your body, digging in deeper to leave long open wounds in areas he knew were most sensitive. As he traced you, Morello’s hand had eventually started following, touching you where only your husband had touched before. You’d tried to arch away from him, twisting in the rope, but it was no use. He touched you more… and laughed when you sobbed.

You desensitized yourself to the pain eventually, thinking of an old memory with Tommy with every slice and hit. When you first met and how nervous he was, nothing like the ladykillers Sam or Paulie are. You’re first kiss, under a starry sky after he’d taken you for a romantic meal. The night you gave yourself to him fully, awake till the early hours of the morning in his arms. Watching him sleep after a long day's work, holding you close, always protecting you. As you swung there, you’d imagined what Tommy was doing knowing you were missing. He was no doubt going crazy, you knew your entire family would be. It brought a smile to your blood stained lips to remember just how loved you were. Salieri, the father you never knew. Sam and Paulie, the brothers you always wanted. Sarah, the close sister you could always depend on. The family, an open armed hug of warmth, ready to keep you safe. And Tommy… the man you were lucky enough to call your husband.

It brought more tears to your eyes as you sat alone now, worried about the future. You couldn’t remember how you got back here, you’d blacked out eventually after hanging up for so long. You’d woken up not so long ago, your whole body numb and aching. Everytime you swallowed, you could taste the blood from the wounds on your face, providing little moisture to your dry mouth. Your face has to be swollen, your eyes no doubt black and bruised. It feels like you have weights attached to them, pulling down your eyelids. You begin to lose strength to keep them open and let them shut, focusing on your breathing to keep you awake.

In your mind, you travel back to a calmer time, when there was no war. You imagine sitting down at a table in the bar, gossiping with Sarah. The boys enter the room, Paulie and Sam noticing you first and coming towards you to leave kisses on your forehead. Then Tommy appears, smiling wide. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss on your lips, retreating slightly to command “Scootch”. You laugh, but get up, so he can take your place and pull you into his lap. His breath tickles your ear as he whispers your name. Only, when you really listen, he isn’t whispering at all. It sounds like he’s shouting actually.

You grow confused, your daydream evaporating like a pile of ash in the wind. But still you can hear Tommy, shouting your name.

“Y/N! Darlin’ where are you!”

Your eyes shoot open, looking around manically. There’s no one else in the room. For a second, you lose hope, guessing your mind is playing tricks on you. But then again. A shout, echoing and loud. You hear other voices, ones you know so well. “Y/N, where the hell are you?!” Paulie’s voice. You can hear Sam’s too, strong but panicked.

They’re here.

“Tommy...” You try to shout, but your voice is quiet, grated because of your dry mouth. You try again, but it barely echos around the room you're in now. Panic and hope sets in, pushing you to shout louder. You need them, you need Tommy to find you.

“Tommy!” You can’t say anything else, you just keep screaming his name. Through your shouting, you can hear the voices get closer, hear the worry in their voices. The sound of heavy footsteps against a wet floor gets closer and then suddenly the door of the room swings open, light blinding you for a second. But then a figure appears in the doorway, a body you recognise in an instant. On a sob, you breathlessly whimper “Tommy.”

He’s running towards you straight away, collapsing to his knees right in front of you. His hands reach up to your face, cupping you as gently as possible. You sob louder, tears running uncontrollably down your cheeks in red stained streams. Tommy catches some of them gently, his eyes filling up as he breathes heavily. You hear two other pairs of feet enter the room and stop short. You look up and see Sam and Paulie, mouths open in horror at the sight of you so broken. The former, a man you know to rarely show any emotion, actually sheds some tears, his gun dropping beside him.

Your eyes fall back to Tommy and you begin laughing lightly in relief through your tears. “You’re here… You found me…”

Tommy smiles yet his face is full of pain, hurting for you. “Yeah darlin’... W-we got ya.”

For a moment, you just stare into each other's eyes, lost in the feeling of being reunited. Relief that Tommy’s here. Relief that you’re alive. Sam appearing like a shadow at your husband’s back breaks you both from your reverie. You look up at him but his eyes are glued to your hands, his face emotionalness except for the tears leaking from his eyes. Paulie’s grief stricken face appears next to him, a small sob leaving his lips when he sees your hands too.

“Tom… We-we need to get her to the doc. Her ha-hands…” Sam barely gets the words out, breathing heavily. Tommy’s eyes move from your face, taking in the sight of your palms impaled on the blades. His face fills with anger, his teeth gritting violently. “Those bastards!”

Somehow they all move as one, Paulie going behind the chair and gently pulling you back so he can gently wrap his arms around your shoulders to keep you still. Sam and Tommy each move to a hand, their hands gripping the handles of the blades tightly. You know what’s going to happen, but you can’t help the look of fear that crosses your face at the thought of them being ripped out again. Your husband notices and a few more tears slip down from his eyes, dropping onto your hand when they slowly slip into the open wound.

“I’m so sorry for this darlin’.” Then together with Sam, he pulls out the blades. You scream, so loud and harshly, you see black for a second.

“We need to stop the bleedin’!” Sam’s shouting brings you back into consciousness. You open your eyes to see them quickly wrapping their belts around your hands, cloth from the shirts trapped beneath to stop the blood spurting out. They quickly move onto your legs after, untying them. Once they're free, Paulie’s hands slip from your neck and Tommy replaces them, his arms wrapping around you back after he takes off his long coat.

Slowly, with the help of Sam, he lifts you up, taking your weight as Paulie quickly wraps your husband’s coat around you. It’s oversized on you and envelops you like a warm hug, his scent calming you. You can barely stand up, so Tommy picks you up in his arms as soon as you’re covered, already heading for the door as he pulls you tight against his chest. Looking over his shoulder, you can see Sam and Paulie follow close behind, their faces worried and focused on you.

As you all leave the room, you can see now you’re in some kind of warehouse. You can also see the battle that your family have just had to fight to get to you. There are bodies littered everywhere. Thankfully, there’s more of Morello’s men than your family. Just before you leave the building, a body catches your eye. Though it’s not as blinding as it was before, you can still recognize Morello’s white suit which is now covered in ash, his body burnt and punctured with multiple bullets. It settles some peace in your heart knowing he won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else you care for anymore.

As you step outside into the night sky, the smell of the ocean assaults your scenes. You know immediately that you’re at the docks, not even 10 minutes away from the bar. Salieri’s soldiers are stood around everywhere, helping some injured men and celebrating the end of this war with those still standing. They all go silent when they see you cradled in Tommy’s arms, barely recognisable with all the blood, bruises and swelling. You hear Sam yell at them, only making out him telling them to “make tracks”, before your husband is climbing into the back of a car, keeping you clutched tightly in his arms. Paulie jumps into the passenger side, turning round almost immediately to check up on you.

“How ya doin’ Y/N? We’re gonna take you to the doc, just hang tight.” He passes Tommy a handkerchief as Sam gets into the driver's seat. He quickly stars the car and drives off, titling the mirror towards you to check you’re alright as well. It warms your heart to see your closest family so worried about you. You curl deeper into Tommy’s chest as he begins gently wiping away the blood around your lips, his breathing heavy and shuddering. Even in your weak state, you still ache to comfort him, you hand rising to stroke against his cheek. It’s a featherlike touch, leaving some residue of blood from the gaping wound in your palm, but your husband curls into your hand nonetheless, his face so full of pained relief.

“I’m gonna be okay Tommy. I gotta be for our ba-”

You slip into unconsciousness before you can finish, catching sight of his eyes widening in surprise before your own close fully.

---

You look so peaceful as you sleep. It’s something Tommy has noticed before, but as he sits beside you in the Doc’s home surgery, slowly brushing his fingers through the hair, it’s something he’s glad for after the horrors you’ve just been through. He still doesn’t know exactly what’s happened yet, but he can see just from the trauma that’s been inflicted on your body that it wasn’t easy. In that moment, he’s glad he was the one to kill Morello, painfully slow. He would’ve drawn it out more if he had the chance, but his instinct to find you was overpowering him.

He was right to be so worried. Tommy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get the sight of you in that godforsaken chair out of his head. The blood, the wounds, the sounds of your sobs- he shudders, shaking his head. As soon as the four of them had arrived at the Doc’s house, who was ready and waiting with a nurse for backup, it’d be a blur for Tommy. He’d stood helplessly at the foot of the surgical bed, watching the nurse clean you. With every cut and bruise that was revealed, he felt his heart grow tighter, his hands shaking uncontrollably. When the Doc moved onto your hands, announcing he’d have to do surgery on them to try and close the wounds, Tommy had nearly passed out. Sam and Paulie both had to drag him away, thrusting a bottle of whisky into his hands to settle his nerves.

For hours, they all sat together, silent except for the occasional sound of liquid sloshing in a bottle as one of them took a drink. The housemaid came in at one point, putting on some slow music to rid the space of the stifling silence. She left a bowl of water for them each with a cloth to wipe away the blood on the skin. Tommy didn’t move at first, too wrapped up in his thoughts. It wasn’t until Paulie pointed out the droplets of blood and the smudge you’d left after you’d caressed his cheek earlier that he finally moved to wash it away. Salieri had called at some point asking about you and the fate of Morello. It was a quick call, but the message was portrayed quickly. The crime boss had made you suffer, so the boys made sure the favour was returned. After that, they all returned back to silence, plagued with worry for you. Tommy was busy overthinking what you had said to him before you passed out. He was too scared to believe it to what his mind was telling him to be true. He wanted to know you were okay first… he needed it.

Finally, the Doc had come into the room, announcing that you would be alright. Your wounds were severe but with a lot of rest and luck, hopefully your body would heal. There would be scars of course, something that made the boys all hang their heads in sadness, but you were alive. And that’s all that mattered.

Tommy’s brought back to the present when he feels you tug slightly as his hand which tightly clutches your own. He leans closer to you, lightly whispering your name on a raspy breath.

“Y/N, darlin’. I’m here, open up those pretty eyes.” You tug harder at his hand, your face turning towards the sound of his voice. You slowly open them, as much as you can with the bruising and swelling. Your eyes find him immediately. Tommy smiles, laughing throatilty in relief. He leans down, placing a long kiss on your bandaged palm, smiling wider when your fingers flex against his face.

“Hi…” You whisper, your voice raspy. Tommy grabs a glass of water and helps you take small sips, supporting your head with his hand. Your eyes, though half shut, gaze at him with so much love, he feels his heart pound against his ribcage. After he’s placed the glass down, he hears you gasp quietly, his head whipping round to see if you're okay. He calms down when he sees you’ve just spotted Sam and Paulie, hunched together asleep on the couch. It looks quite humorous as the former lies head back, collapsed essentially between the pillows. Paulie lies with his head against Sam’s arms, his mouth opening dribbling onto Sam’s expensive suit.

“They stayed?” Tommy can hear the tears in your voice, the love you have for your chosen brothers seeping into the words. He squeezes your fingers gently instead of your hand, cautious of hurting you more. Your head swings back to his and you smile at him, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You stayed?”

He huffs as if it’s the most silly question in the world. Tommy holds your hand against his cheek as he rasps “Course we stayed- we ain’t goin’ anywhere darling. We were so worried ‘bout you, we ain’t gonna leave you for years at this rate.” You laugh lightly, the sound like music to his ears.

“I don’t know what that bastard did to ya. If you don’t ever want to tell me, that’s fine too. But know this darlin’- I ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re my girl, this all happened just because your mine. So I’m gonna love you hard for the rest of my life, because I nearly lost you today… and I ain’t gonna waste a minute more. Not with you… or our kid.”

You let out a sob at his words, tears falling harder now as his hand moves to your stomach rubbing gently.

“I-I was gonna tell you t-today. Tommy, I was leavin’ the doctors when they took me. I’d just found out, I-”

“I know, darlin’, I know. I should’a been there with you. I’m here with you now though. And I ain’t ever leavin’ you again. No one’s gonna hurt my family anymore.” He places a kiss on your palm again, moving to your stomach to gently place one there too. Your free hand slowly moves to his hair, stroking through it slightly just like you do every night.

“Come to bed Tommy. We both need some rest.” He can’t resist you. After taking off his shoes and leaving his jacket draped over a chair, he climbs in beside you, carefully maneuvering himself so he can take you into his arms. For once, he’s gonna be the one to stroke your hair as you fall asleep, praying to every god to keep you safe. As his eyes begin to shut and he slips deep into his own slumber, his hand pressed against your stomach, he dreams only of his family and the home you’re both gonna create.

-----

A/N: Thanks for reading minxies. Sorry the ending is kinda meh. I really hoped you’ve all enjoyed though, I feel like this is one of the best things I’ve ever written.

(Unedited)

#mafia 1 #mafia #mafia remake #mafia definitive edition #tommy angelo #tommy angelo x reader #TommyHoes #sam trapani #paulie lombardo #writtenbyme

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tintentrinkerin · 4 years ago

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I fixed the poll!

Multiple answers are now possible!!!

Tagging some sinners: @laxe-chester67 @pastorpresent @wincestismyheart @schaefchenherde @writethelifeyouwant @writinginthesecrettrees @itsabookishblog @stemroses @closetedshippers @deanking @ohnoitsthebat @slut-for-jared @unus-annus-will-live-on @random-fireworks @all-4-wincest @samanddeaninpanties @wincest-endgame @nightmarecait @thinkinghardhardlythinking @fandom-hoarder @fallenfar @soulless-puppy @rpsocsandcanonohmy @co-dependent @sammy-lolita-winchester @thefreakboy @certifiable-morgan @faravvay @demonantichrist @alex-is-a-gay-human @reddieandwaiting87 @hathfrozen @cestlestial-beings @dragonardhill @sacrificialtendencies @merle-p @amoreanonyname @cloudesworld @whoreforackles @tis-a-divided-soul @alexa-alcantara @salt-and-burns

#sin talks #the poll

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ryqoshay · 3 years ago

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OTP Ask Meme (Impatient Edition) YohaRiko

Again, I know the point of these things is to wait for followers to Ask questions from the list, but reading though this one got me thinking too much. About all of my flagships. And I wanted to answer all of the questions. And not wait for a handful to maybe be asked.

Anyway, credit again goes to @lonelypond for this version coming across my dash. Reblog that version if you want to do this thing correctly.

Also, just because I’ve already answered these here, I’ve expanded on some for various reasons and left others short if I believe the reasons are obvious. So if you still want to do the whole interactive thing, you can still ask for clarification or whatever.

And finally, there will be spoilers ahead for Happy Life, and to a lesser degree the AU, both for scenes I’ve written and posted, as well as some that remain in my Notes and WIP Warehouse. I’ll try to remember to link to the chapters mentioned.

1. Who wakes up first?

Riko. Yohane is very much not a morning person, especially after a late night of streaming.

2. Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Yohane. See above. However, if she doesn’t have time commitments for the day, Riko may occasionally want to stay in bed for some activities other than sleeping.

3. Who takes longer getting ready?

Either, though they are fond of getting ready together and helping one another, so in these cases, they’re done at the same time.

4. When they can’t sleep, what do they do?

Yohane has many rituals for inducing sleep involving all manner of meditation, incense, herbal tea, topical rubs, nightmare wards and more. Whether or not they work is up to debate, but Riko is comforted by the sentiment, as portrayed in Dream Warden. Yohane herself takes comfort from being near those she loves, particularly Riko, while she sleeps.

5. Who falls asleep while watching a movie?

Yohane, though it depends on the type of movie.

6. Who falls asleep last, watching the other with a small affectionate smile?

More often Riko, though Yohane does enjoy watching a sleeping Riko from time to time.

7. Who comes up with the cheesy pick-up lines?

Yohane. 100% Yohane. And she is well aware of how cheesy they are. And she knows how much Riko loves them.

8. Who gets extremely competitive playing Mario Kart?

Yohane gets competitive over games in general.

9. Who accidentally pushes a door instead of pulling?

Yohane is more likely to do so, though Riko can be absentminded on occasion.

10. Who sets the other’s ringtone to something loud and obnoxious behind their back?

Yohane.

11. Who rearranges the bookshelf/DVD shelf in alphabetical order?

Both have their reasons for their particularness in displaying their shelving; Riko likes to be able to quickly locate her favorite doujin while Yohane is considerate of the background for her ritual streams.

12. Who does the hands-over-the-eyes “Guess Who” thing?

Yohane. With as many different attempts at different voices and accents as she can.

13. Who points out a dog when they see one?

Early on, both, though for different reasons; Yohane out of excitement and Riko out of fear. Later, Yohane retains her excitement while Riko becomes more lax in her reactions.

14. Who’s prone to road rage?

Yohane.

15. Who’s prone to wearing socks indoor (or to sleep)?

Either

16. Who reminds the other to put on sunscreen before going to the beach (or pool)?

Yohane knows she burns easily and is pretty good at remembering, though Riko is mindful that her girlfriend can be careless at times.

17. Who carries all the important documents while traveling?

Riko.

18. Who gets the window seat?

Probably Yohane. Likely accompanied by some statement about missing being able to fly under her own power.

19. Who puts their cold hands/feet on the other?

Yohane.

20. What do they argue about the most?

Early after moving in together, Yohane had a bad habit of bringing home stray pets, despite it being against the policy of the apartment complex, as depicted in Hibagon. These arguments subsided once the policy was changed, as depicted in Phobetor.

21. Who’s clumsier?

Yohane, though Riko certainly has her moments.

22. Who texts more often?

Yohane.

23. Who is better with kids?

Yohane is better at keeping kids entertained with her antics while Riko is better at tending to their care, be it feeding them, calming them down when they’re upset or applying first aid; Yohane is pretty good with first aid as well, having had far too much practice on herself.

24. Who’s the better cook?

Debatable. As I mentioned in the Notes for A Roost for Weary Wings, Yohane is capable of producing higher quality results, but also fails more spectacularly. Riko may lack the skills and confidence to produce highly extravagant meals, but she is far more consistent in producing edible food.

25. Who mistakes salt for sugar?

Riko. Despite what one may assume from my prior answer. Yohane will still eat it, not only because she has a strange sense of taste, but also because her beloved Riri made it for her and she will be damned before letting it go to waste.

26. Who puts the fork in the microwave?

Possibly Yohane.

27. Who cooks at 2 in the morning?

Yohane.

28. Who lets the microwave play the loud beeping sound at 1 a.m.?

Definitely Yohane.

29. Who licks the spoon when they’re baking brownies?

Yohane. She’ll even bring her own spoon, as depicted in Valentine’s Taste Test.

30. Who likes doing the dishes?

Riko doesn’t mind it. Yohane dislikes it but is willing to balance the workload after Riko cooked.

31. Who has bigger cravings? What are they?

For food, especially exotic or exceptionally spicy food? Yohane. Although she does have a bit of a sweet tooth, as her favorites would imply. For enacting scenes from her favorite doujinshi with her girlfriend? Riko.

32. Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

Both, though for slightly different reasons. Riko believes it is romantic to know certain things about one’s partner. Yohane believes it is the duty of a fallen angel to know such things about their little demons… or fellow angels?

33. How do they eat ice cream? What’s their favorite flavors?

Yohane will often eat too fast and give herself a headache. Her favorite flavors are those of her favorite foods, chocolate and strawberry. Riko eats slower, more often out of a sundae dish than a cone, in part because a dish is better for eating at her pace, but also because it’s easier for Yohane to “steal” a bite or two. She enjoys Yohane’s favorites, but is also fond of mint and vanilla.

34. Do they go on dates? What are they like?

Absolutely. Riko prefers going to museums or orchestra performances, though she has dragged Yohane to several doujin stores over the years. Yohane prefers higher energy environments like amusement parks, though she has dragged Riko to several gothic Lolita clothing stores and occult shops over the years. Both girls look forward to events like Comiket.

35. What do they smell when they smell Amortentia?

Riko smells the slightly sulfuric scent of boiling eggs her parents made often while she was growing up, the clean, salty air of Uchiura, and a spicy, sweet and earthy scent to which she cannot match a specific memory. Yohane smells sweet black lilies, the lingering smoke from a myriad of incense that always permeates occult shops, and a spicy, sweet and earthy scent to which she cannot match a specific memory.

The last scent for both is an idea I had while Googling random stuff for this question. It’s basically how one website describe the smell of Dragon’s Blood resin when burned as incense. I want to bring it up in a scene or two in both HL and HL(AU), though there will be a difference between the kinds found here on Earth and up in Heaven, which may end up as a minor connecting plot point.

I realize this leaves Riko without something that she knows is directly related to Yohane, but I was trying to avoid using incense too much, as it already had three entries between them. Also, it technically is related to Yohane, she just doesn’t realize it right away. I’m hoping whatever I write someday will make that connection for her. Not that she’ll ever smell Amortentia in HL, but…

36. Which one is the secret snuggler?

It’s no secret that Yohane loves her snuggles. Riko is quieter about her desires, but can be quite insistent, nonetheless.

37. Which one offers their jacket to the other when they complain they feel cold?

Riko. Yohane is far more vocal about her discomfort, especially when it comes to temperature.

38. Who reaches for the other one’s hand while driving?

Riko is more likely to do so, though Yohane might as well. That said, I don’t believe I have them owning a vehicle in HL, so this probably won’t come into play anytime soon in my works.

39. Who leaves little notes in the other one’s lunch?

Riko, as the more consistent cook of the pair, she is more likely to make their lunch bentos for the day. (Bonus: What does it say?) Casual reminders of her love for her Yocchan.

40. Who is the most affectionate?

Both are quite affectionate, though Yohane is far more likely to initiate, especially in public though even in private.

41. Who is the big spoon/little spoon?

Riko is most often the big spoon. Though Yohane might try to have one believe elsewise.

42. What is their favorite feature of their partner?

Riko loves Yohane’s smile when she is passionate about something, be it her streams or games or whatever. Yohane loves the way Riko’s fingers dance across the keyboard.

43. What is the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Yohane becomes increasingly aware of Riko’s behavior and attitude toward Chika and has to make a conscious effort to avoid holding anything against the idol group’s leader; she likes Chika as a friend, after all, and is thankful that she brought her into the group in the first place. Riko starts to include Yohane in her fantasies.

44. What are their nicknames for each other?

Yocchan and Riri

45. Who worries the most? Over what?

Riko is constantly concerned that Yohane’s abysmal luck will eventually cause her actual harm, as in more than just catching a cold or getting a scrape or small cut. Yohane also fears that her abysmal luck will adversely affect Riko.

46. Who initiates kisses?

Yohane all the time, in public and in private. Riko, in private.

47. Who says I love you first? How did it happen?

Yohane said it first in Revelations.

48. Who tells their friends/family about their relationship first?

That’s actually a good question. I haven’t decided yet for this ship. I mean I have plans for revealing that the blonde Mari knows, but as for the couple actually telling people… hrm… Off the top of my head, I’d be more likely to say Yohane.

49. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Both are quite capable of entertaining themselves without the other. Riko can play the piano and Yohane can play her games until their fingers cramp if they are not actively doing something together. And they have Phobetor and Prelude to pet and take on walks and play with. It’s not until bedtime that they become more aware of the other’s absence.

50. Who gets overwhelmed by small acts of kindness?

Depends. Yohane is more the emotional rollercoaster and could easily be overwhelmed by kindness from the girl for whom she held a one-sided crush for far too long. Riko is also likely to moved, though more through something that fits into some trope she loves in her doujin; good thing Yohane can be quite genre-savvy when she wants.

#YohaRiko #YoshiRiko #Happy Life

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bitter-as-wormwood-13 · 4 years ago

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OK, START OF THE DRESS

Its a lot longer, I just don't know how to take photos. This photo is WITH a Petticoat and blouse.

Planned changes:

-sewing up the back (the back is the same as the front in terms of depth)

-Ribbon sash

-hard to explain but you know Belle's dress from the animated Beauty and the beast? The little swoops of fabric? Bringing up the skirt to make those and pinning them up with pink buttons

-maybe lace or ribbon trims

- possible embroidery

-adding a lining layer under the skirt

I think I'm gonna go for a very doll/sewing inspired outfit, and my project brain is telling me to try and finish it today (or mostly today, I can be more lax with the embroidery)

If this turns out well I might do more (especially since it's so hard to find lolita-y clothes in my size) and I think it would be nice

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chiveburger · 5 years ago

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was reading the subreddit for short horror stories last night, and there was one that talked about a man running a store that sold lolita style clothes? one of his regular customers, which is a dad pushing around his daughter in a wheelchair walks in. they shop for some clothes for the daughter, who is already in lolita clothing, to wear. the owner of the store thinks back to all the times they’ve come in and the girl has always been very silent, and he never recalls her speaking once. the dad says it’s because she’s too shy. as they get ready to check out, the dad realizes he forgot his wallet in the car and rushes out to get it... when he’s gone the owner suddenly has the urge to ask the daughter something like “do you like these clothes?” she doesn’t respond. he eventually asks her “do you feel safe in your home?” to which she opens her mouth to reveal that her tongue is missing. not gonna lie the imagery of that almost made me pee myself and I was already thinking that after reading that I wouldn’t have slept well last night. however, because I took a laxative earlier on that day I was up shitting in rounds between 3:00-5:00AM that I didn’t even have time to worry about some real life annabelle sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the dark hallway. my colon had scarier more frightening news to tell me and by the time I was done the sun already rose. so! cheers to that yall!

#it was quiet alarming tho #both the story and my bowels #borger diary

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blakelywintersfield · 5 years ago

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what do you think about cancel culture?

So it took me a while to answer this ask ‘cause I have... a lot to say about the subject.

There’s a lot to unpack when it comes to cancel culture. Its roots I like to believe are well intended -- a means to alert vulnerable groups about individuals that have a history of hurting them. But people have taken it... way too far.

I think it’s important to hold people accountable for their actions. There’s a lot of people who get away with horrible things, simply because they produce likeable material (makeup, music, movies, entertainment, etc.). People like Jeffree Star, PewDiePie, and Kat Von D have gotten away with their horrific treatment of others for years because people enjoy their content -- and two out of three of them still are wildly successful. What pushes people over the limit? Often times it’s a matter of what white people take major issue in. In Kat’s case, being anti-vax. Is being anti-vax bad? Hell yeah it is. As someone who’s immuno-compromised it literally could lead to an early, painful, slow death for me. And don’t get me wrong, I wanna die, but not from something that takes months of suffering. But people blatantly ignored her other awful acts -- such as her antisemitic actions (telling her former boss to “burn in hell jewbag” (sic) in the form of writing on a photo she left for him and drawing a Nazi symbol on it), complacency in victim blaming (her neo-Nazi husband blames his daughter’s rape on his daughter), denying and viciously responding to criticisms about her pedophilic makeup names (”Underage Red”, “Lolita”, second not in reference to the Japanese style but the book), and actively killing her pets (she killed one cat by leaving a house full of burning candles -- cat knocked down the candles, house went up in flames, cat died; she also was found forcing a vegan diet onto her cats -- I’m unsure if this has continued but I believe one of her cats died from it). All of these are huge reasons to “cancel” her -- to boycott her products. But people didn’t actively hate her until she came out as anti-vax, something that effects the majority. And that’s part of the issue with cancel culture: people pick and choose what’s acceptable depending on how badly it effects them personally.

Let’s focus on the other two mentioned: Jeffree and Felix. Jeffree has a very, very, veryyyyy long past of being a racist piece of shit. Not even lowkey ignorant white person racist (i.e. ”I didn’t know making fun of AAE and viewing dreadlocks as trashy was racist”). I’m talking straight up using the n-slur, with the hard -er too, towards a black woman. And this was recent, too. There just haven’t been any physical references beforehand, only personal accounts. But people have defended him -- and still defend him -- on these actions, because he apologized. But then he’ll do it again a month later. And there’ll be definitive proof of it. He’ll keep doing it over, and over, and over again. And people will continue to excuse him because he keeps apologizing! That’s not how apologies work! As someone who’s been abused, apologies mean nothing if you don’t actively work on fixing what you’re apologizing for!! My abusers would apologize and then do the exact same thing again so many times that I lost count long ago! And of course, Shane Dawson hasn’t helped because he’s head over heels for the guy, so he’s been using his popularity to try and clear his name -- which is ironic, considering he’s been under fire for being racist in the past too. The only difference is he actually cleaned his act up, until now, of course. Because now, instead of creating racist content himself, he’s defending a chronically racist shitbag. And people continue to defend him, because his shitty actions effects mainly black women -- a minority in comparison to the amount of white people in the states. Jeffree continues to be wildly successful because his problematic behavior only effects a minority, and that’s... not okay.

Felix has a very similar history to Jeffree, but with antisemitism, and in my opinion he’s even worse because he’ll apologize then do something nice like donate to a charity. And that would be fantastic if he wouldn’t continue to do antisemitic things like actively support white supremacists. People continue to defend him because he does charitable things, but I constantly remind people that abusive people aren’t abusive 24/7 -- that’s literally how they get away with abuse. They abuse, then take you out for a fancy date, kiss you gently and tell you how beautiful you are. Then they do something abusive. It’s an endless cycle. And that’s honestly what Felix does. Apologize, do something really fucking nice, and then repeat his shitty action. And he has other extremely influential people defend him -- it’s why I had to stop following JackSepticEye and Markiplier. They continuously vouched for him. They continuously defended him. And they did it in the form of saying “he’s a really good person, I know him personally, he’s really fucking sweet and nice”. That’s what people say about the partner of someone really close to me! Their friends defend them all the time, but they’ve never seen how they treat my friend. They don’t know about how they are in a relationship. And that’s all we ever hear about abusers. No one wants to accept that their longtime friend is shitty. But Mark and Sean contribute to the toxic ideology of “defend your friends to the end”. And it disenfranchises those effected because 1) they’re not Jewish, they have absolutely no say in the matter, and 2) they’re abusing their popularity to keep their friend from being properly criticized. I don’t think either of them are shitty people, per se, but they’re being extremely toxic by not letting their friend see that they’re a repeat offender and need to either work on their shit or face the music. Mark and Sean both have the power to make Felix change if they just give him the ultimatum of “us or this”.

But I digress. The main issue highlighted here is that people who actually do bad things and continue to do bad things aren’t being held accountable because people don’t care to acknowledge what doesn’t directly effect them. This is the first main issue with cancel culture.

Let’s focus on another man under scrutiny: John Lennon. Now, let me put out there for disclaimer purposes that this man is far from perfect and has problematic parts to him as well. He’s done some shitty things. But cancel culture looooooooves to dig at this man. To put it crudely, they really enjoy beating this dead... man. And mainly over one really bad thing he did, which was hit his wife. However, people love to 1) over-exaggerate it, and 2) completely ignore how he handled the aftermath. Cancel culture often refers to him as a “wife beater”, as though this were a chronic habit or that he severely brutalized his wife. But they conveniently ignore that he apologized, both to her and publicly, taught himself about domestic abuse and spoke up for women’s rights, and even wrote multiple songs about how he fucked up and he shouldn’t be excuse for what he did. And, most importantly, his wife forgave him. The victim in this situation forgave him, and people still dig into this one thing and use it as their reason to hate him and his band to this day. Genuine criticism of him and what he’s done have gone to the wayside because of this one fact with no context, and it’s a huge phenomena because people, for whatever reason, love to hate popular things. Like I said, he’s done shitty things! He wasn’t perfect! But to use one issue that was literally resolved to hate him is just a lazy excuse to hate what’s popular, and that comes to our second issue with cancel culture: people want to hate what’s popular and will go to any lengths to excuse their hatred, even if issues that have been resolved.

The last main issue I have is that cancel culture is often set up in very black and white terms. Person does bad thing, they’re bad, end of discussion. But that’s... not how life works. Not at all. I know religion isn’t universal, especially Christianity, but there’s one point in Christianity that is universal: humans are flawed. No human being to have ever existed is perfect. And with the rise of technology and social media, a lot of mistakes have a permanent proof out there. Be it through tweets, tumblr or Facebook posts, Instagram or Snapchat stories, whatever it is, there is proof. And people like to take it way too far.

For example... well, I’ll use myself. There’s good things to not being tumblr famous, and I’m blessed with that, because I used to be a major shithead. Well. Okay, I still am, but I was bigoted, uninformed, and had a lot of internalized issues. For anyone that doesn’t know, I was raised in a conservative Christian household where my father was Southern Baptist and my mother had been raised Catholic (her personal religious views are much more lax though, thankfully). Both came from small towns in Illinois and Missouri respectively, and their parents, the same. I was aggressively homophobic and transphobic (ironic, eh?), covertly racist and sexist, and just overall a really shitty person. And while I didn’t join tumblr until after I’d finally started to grow, a lot of people on here are younger -- some even lying about their age and joining before they’re 13. And like me, many of these kids are in close-minded households. And for the longest time I refused to listen to other people because of the good ol’ backfire effect, but once I began to accept I was wrong, I learned. Of course I still have learning to do -- I always do. I always will. And that’s okay. But if I were 12 year old me on tumblr today, I would, well. I would’ve probably killed myself by now, because of all the bullying and hate for being a shithead child. A shithead, yes. But a child. Someone that’s going to be ignorant to a lot of things because they haven’t been alive for as long. And not everyone has informed parents that make it a point to teach them. Adults are a little harder to forgive, I’ll admit, but children have a lot more potential to learn and grow, and we often treat them just like adults.

The final issue with cancel culture is that it gives no room for improvement and no assumption of someone’s innocence. While it hurts to be on the victim end, we as a whole are obligated to correct the issue. I personally would like it to be those not effected doing that (i.e. someone making a transphobic comment having other cis people explain why it’s transphobic and isn’t okay), but regardless, we need to assume innocent until guilty with these kinds of things. It’s not easy, sure, but if I had been on tumblr while I was a shitty kid parroting my dad’s awful world views, cancel culture would’ve labeled me a piece of shit with no chance of redemption, and if I didn’t kill myself there’s no fucking way in hell I would’ve learned, because that kind of treatment would’ve stuck with me and made it harder for me to listen to the other side’s reasoning, even if they were right. We need to approach people in a manner of calm education, instead of ready to kill. In no way am I saying this is an easy thing to do, but unless they’ve refused to open themselves up in any way whatsoever, immediately chalking someone up as a lost cause is just... counter-productive. We have to acknowledge that people are flawed, and can learn and grow. We need to give people space to improve. It’s not all or nothing.

All in all, cancel culture has a good base, but its execution has become irrational and a means to justify hating those that really don’t deserve it, while turning a blind eye to those that actually are problematic. There’s a lot to be improved on.

#ask #long post #cancel culture #this is not an invite for discouse on anyone mentioned in this post #seriously i don't want to hear it #especially felix stans #Anonymous

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xxladylovexx · 5 years ago

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Nadia Marcinko’s Global Girl site for Aviloop says that, after modeling, Marcino turned to aviation because she was “ready for longer runways.” Maybe so. And maybe, after being “brought” from home into sex slavery and then “brought” to parties and seemingly “brought” to her alleged role as rape facilitator, Marcinko wanted to pilot her own life for a change. But in videos for Aviloop, she seems only to fly around white-haired old men, and it’s hard to imagine her truly dazzling smiles don’t conceal something else. It’s all too sad, and anyone who is said to have entered bondage at 15, and was forced to act as a sex slave, deserves much, much better.

In the Miami Herald last year, Julie Brown reported that Nadia Marcinko was “brought” to the US from (the former) Yugoslavia to live with an abusive man more than 30 years her senior when she was 15.

Nadia Marcinkova, by that name, first appeared in court documents, in Florida, about a decade ago. She was 22 then and had been in the US since 2000. She is one of the most prominent immigrants in the circle of Epstein, the accused child rapist and registered sex offender who was arrested on sex trafficking charges at Teterboro Airport on July 6. (He has pleaded not guilty). Unlike the hundreds of young girls who, according to testimony in court documents, were lured by Epstein and his surrogates to his mansions from Florida trailer parks, Manhattan high schools, and Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago resort, Marcinko belonged to a smaller group who came to the Epstein syndicate—presumably by plane—from abroad. An attorney who represented Epstein's alleged victims described Nadia Marcinkova as “Epstein’s live-in sex slave” in a Florida court filing. Several girls told the Palm Beach police that, later in the aughts, Marcinko pressured them to have sex with both her and Epstein.

Through the years, Epstein has maintained a fleet of aircraft that has included: a Gulfstream IV, a Gulfstream GV-SP, a helicopter, and the Lolita Express, which seated nearly 200 people. In the aughts, when Epstein logged some 600 hours of flight time per year, New York magazine reported that he flew so much because he was scouting “investment opportunities.” Before he landed in jail this month, Epstein's private jets were still criss-crossing the planet about every third day. An employee at an airstrip in Saint Thomas, close to Epstein’s 70-acre property in the Virgin Islands, which is nicknamed Pedophile Island, told Holly Aguirre of Vanity Fair that Epstein could often be seen getting out of his helicopter and boarding his jet with “children—female children.” The employees expressed disbelief and disgust that Epstein, a convicted sex offender, could move around so easily.

Though Epstein exploits an obscure federal policy that lets private owners hide their movements from the public record, the manifests from hundreds of flights are available—and they clearly show the names of the celebrities, from Alan Dershowitz to Bill Clinton, linked to Epstein.

Marcinko’s flights are somewhat harder to pin down, as girls in Epstein’s circle were often recorded only by first names or initials. The name Nadia appears in 2003, and “Nadia Marcinkova” appears on a manifest for a flight out of Palm Beach in 2004. Then “NM” starts to show up on nearly every manifest for both one of the Gulfstreams and the Lolita Express. While “NM” was generally noted zipping among airports in Palm Beach, Florida, Monterey, California, and New York, she also visited Columbus, Ohio, Newfoundland, and Terceira Island in the Azores. A pilot for Epstein testified that Marcinko had flown with Epstein hundreds of times.

Marcinko is one of four named alleged accomplices of Epstein who were given immunity from prosecution in 2008. That was the year that Epstein was convicted of one count of solicitation and another of procuring a girl under 18 for prostitution. For this, of course, he was given a nauseatingly light sentence with extensive “work release,” during which, as the lawyer for several of Epstein’s victims alleged this week, he continued to have "improper sexual contact" with young women. The lax sentence and the immunities were part of the deal Epstein got from Alex Acosta, who was then the US attorney for the Southern District of Florida and was until July 19 Donald Trump’s secretary of Labor. Acosta resigned the post amid the furor over his leniency with Epstein.

After Epstein was arrested this month, federal prosecutors further alleged that Epstein paid two people whom investigators identified as coconspirators hundreds of thousands of dollars in 2008, seemingly to keep them quiet. The cash recipients weren’t named, but it’s not unreasonable to infer that one of them could be Marcinko.

Among the coconspirators who were given immunity back then, and who might have been paid off by Epstein, is Sarah Kellen, a regular on Epstein’s flights who was accused by lawyers in court filings of “bringing girls to Epstein’s mansion to be abused.” Lesley Groff is another coconspirator, an alleged sex scheduler in Epstein’s ring who is said to have coordinated “travel” with young girls.

With a sex trafficking case, neutral language can become sinister. For instance, there sure is a lot of ominous “bringing” in this story, with girls as the verb’s direct objects. Is bringing, when it comes to unaccompanied minors, also kidnapping, trafficking, or even enslaving? Was the travel Groff reportedly coordinated international—to the US, maybe on commercial flights? Was it consensual? (An attorney for Groff says his client "never knowingly booked travel for anyone under the age of 18, and had no knowledge of the alleged illegal activity whatsoever.")

Federal prosecutors untangling the Epstein web are going to have a lot of flight paths to study—and perhaps one day we will see a map of a modern-day slave trade, connecting points east and south like Slovakia and Ecuador with Palm Beach, New York City, and perhaps some of Epstein’s other hangouts and redoubts, including Columbus, Ohio, and New Mexico.

Finally, among the alleged coconspirators, there’s another immigrant: Adriana Ross (aka Adriana or Adriana Mucinska), a former model from Poland whom Epstein supposedly hired in 2002 to set up what the court documents refer to as “sex sessions” in Florida. It’s not clear whether Epstein and his recruiters first encountered Ross in the US or Poland, but, according to flight logs, Ross is one of the people in Epstein’s circle who flew most frequently with Bill Clinton. She also appeared by Epstein’s side in Manhattan, at a magazine launch party in 2005. Ross refused to answer questions about Epstein in 2010.

As far as Marcinko goes, that chapter of her life—her teens and early twenties when she was rolling with Ross, Kellen, and Groff—seems long past. According to The Washington Post, she’s not taking calls from reporters. For this story, I tried to reach her through LinkedIn, YouTube, and other social media, as well as through a few of her friends; I heard nothing back. Her LinkedIn résumé no longer mentions her work for Epstein’s outfit. In one deposition she declined to answer questions. Nadia now uses Marcinko, a revision of the name in the 2008 indictment.

https://www.wired.com/story/global-girl-jeffrey-epstein-and-the-lolita-express/

#epstein #jeffrey epstein #nadia marcinko #youtube #bill clinton #trump #sex offenders #adriana ross #acosta #politics #global #conspiracy

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