#eve corleone

[laulo821]

they're in love your honour

[laulo821]

literally them

I do love when two very fucked up people are in very fucked up love with each other

[citylighten]

My Pietro and Sal gameplay have both been interesting and led to me having so many different headcanons. I’ve always struggled playing Fallout 4 because my main gripe is that I can’t recreate ANY oc want due to them having a set backstory and dialogue that reinforces certain plot things, but Pietro has a pretty good Sole Survivor AU. He's canon divergent though. More undercut!

-Pietro Impellizzeri was an notorious and powerful gangster Pre-War. He’s similar to Vito Corleone of The Godfather in the sense that he immigrated to America as a child and rose to the top of his community’s underworld.

-He had crossed paths with the human Nick Valentine on numerous occasions over ‘missing people’ as well as a ‘dirty money trail,’ but Pietro always knew how to throw the detective off. They were neither enemies nor friends, just merely people who kept a tense eye on one another.

-As a Boss, in terms of his conduct, Pietro was a composed, fair man but he was also known to be ruthless when the situation called for it. Outside of public events, he was seldom seen. If his men saw him it meant something bad was going to happen. Despite having such affluence and respect, Pietro's over-indulgence in the finest things (liquor, media, women) kept him blind to the things going wrong in his personal life.

-Pietro was married to Jasmine, who was a pinup model before marrying him. Their marriage was based on sex, possession and material interests. Ultimately, Pietro was a largely inattentive husband due to the demanding nature of keeping things afloat in his criminal empire.

-As a nuclear war approached, Jasmine began a series of affairs with men. Some powerful, some were Pietro’s enemies. Her wrongdoings ranged from supplying large sums of money to her lovers, to telling inside secrets. There came a moment, days before the bomb dropped, when Pietro (at his limit) considered murdering his wife. However, this did not come to be as the bombs fell over America.

-Needless to say, when Kellogg shoots Jasmine, Pietro feels guilt. Yes, he was plotting to murder her, but he knew that line of thinking wasn’t right. He doesn’t come into the Wasteland in the pursuit of being a better, kinder man, instead his decent actions come largely from the need to survive and understand the world he’s in.

Whereas Sal comes out Vault 111 ready to murder and massacre anyone in Eve’s name, Pietro’s mentality is: “I need to understand what civilization is like now. I need to know who is in charge of things.” Especially because since Pietro has been at the top for so long, it’s been years since he was doing dirty work for himself, let alone personally killing others on a continuous basis.

-When Pietro meets Nick Valentine there’s tension. But, they recognize they need each other to find Shaun, however there isn’t full trust between the men. Gradually, as the two spend more time together, Nick believes that Pietro can become a good man in this new world and often pushes the idea that Pietro is kind. Pietro does not believe himself to be kind, because he’s not burying the man he used to be before the bombs fell.

-There are times when Nick and Pietro split and his companions become MacCready, who reminds him of a lackey he would’ve used Pre-War, and Preston, who is yet another character who believes there’s an inner goodness in him. As a result of Preston and Nick - plus an envy for the mayor of Diamond City, Pietro decides to invest time in building the Minutemen and building settlements to lead. Despite possessing aspirations to lead, Pietro is shifting morally. Often, Nick helps him on Minutemen quests which strengthens their relationship.

-While helping settlements, Pietro meets Rosaria at Covenant. The woman is a secretary for Jacob Orden, the town’s mayor. Even when Pietro seems like he could be trouble for the settlement, she helps him learn more about the Amelia Stockton case with her insider information. After that, she leaves Covenant to affiliate herself with the Minutemen, which allows Pietro to see her more often. Time with Rosaria [who enjoys farming] has Pietro nostalgic about Sicily and as a consequence, he grows to enjoy things about nature as well as treasure the present he gets to spend with her.

-And that’s all for now because I haven’t completed his run yet 😘

[melis-writes]

You're Still My Brother [Godfather Part II AU].

Read on AO3. | Fanfic Masterlist | Fic and Prompt Requests Info.

18+, explicit oneshot.

Death is clipping at Fredo Corleone's heels and there's only one way out of Havana tonight. With chaos ensuing from the rebels and the kiss of death sealing Fredo's fate from Michael, Fredo's heart gives in. Helpless, desperate and terrified of his brother, Michael manipulates his Fredo's good nature into trusting him and leaving Cuba together. Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola are dead, or so Michael has Fredo believe in but Michael has no intention of letting Fredo leave Cuba alive.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy angst / Character death / Strangulation / Fratricide / Hurt with no comfort.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: From one of my favourite, angsty scenes from The Godfather Part II, here comes an AU oneshot I came up with in one sitting tonight with Fredo actually leaving Havana with Michael…💔 I had always wondered what would have happened in Fredo got into that car with Michael, how he would be convinced, what Michael would say and what would come next. 🥺 Playing on emotionally manipulative strings and lies in this AU, I've made Michael seal Fredo's fate differently. This is my first Godfather oneshot/fic that isn't X Reader, romance or smut related!! 🤭💕 I definitely plan to write more as they come amidst updating my multi-chapter fics! Heavy, HEAVY angst in this oneshot with all tags/warnings applying, just a heads up!! 👀🫡

Panic. Mass confusion. Violence answers the questions of the innocent, the confused, and the helpless. Michael’s amongst them, but not one of them.

Aside from the rebels leaving nothing but destruction and the ensuing chaos in their wake around the vicinity, Michael remains to be among the very scattered few who neither fear nor react to the violence surrounding them.

Seemingly coordinated enough on New Year’s Eve, Michael’s more than well aware of the threat the rebels have been posing at all times.

It was enough to see rebels give their own lives in order to take one of the police officers in front of Michael’s eyes to convince him the rebels would take any opportunity to spill blood and fight back even if cornered regardless of the consequences.

Despite the ongoing panic, Michael knows he is in no true danger nor is he a target of the rebels just as he knows the party is over and he has outstayed his welcome as have all the guests at the president’s party.

Michael slipped through the packs of crowds rushing out onto the street and did so without attracting unnecessary attention, but the same couldn’t be said for his brother.

Fredo pushed through anyone and everyone who got in front of him the moment before the onset of the violence began.

Fredo was already running for his life with fear swelling in his heart because of Michael; the truth of his betrayal was never as clever as any lie Fredo could tell Michael or any way Fredo could pretend he didn’t cause an attempted assassination on Michael’s life.

The darkness in Michael’s heart confirmed the death wish he bestowed upon his brother by sealing the kiss of death over Fredo.

Now, no explanation, no apology, and no justification can exist in this world where Michael may exercise mercy or forgiveness over his own brother.

As death itself follows at Fredo’s heels, his only escape is to flee Havana but hiding elsewhere in Cuba will spare his life longer so as long as Fredo doesn’t return to where Michael has eyes and ears in the United States.

With tears stinging his eyes and whimpers of fear escaping his trembling lips, Fredo’s breath quivers as he sprints out of the presidential palace; taking as many twists and turns as he can.

But it’s only a matter of mere moments before the planned attack takes place at the same time; its sole benefit helping Fredo blend in with the rest of the outpouring crowd seconds later.

Michael’s chauffeur never strayed far from the presidential palace; parked just a few meters away from the side of the building with intentions to take Michael and Fredo to the airport to catch their private jet later on this evening.

Standing by the vehicle now, Michael keeps the passenger door open with one hand over its rim as he looks out for any signs of his brother amidst the terrified crowds.

Fredo has no choice but to slow down the steps of the presidential palace when he spots the rioting rebels, seeing no prying eyes over him.

Among dozens of other black and white suits, Fredo is almost impossible to spot—mirroring the same body language as other rushing guests.

The vehicles of the rebels arrived in a circle around the presidential palace, honking incessantly and powering the noise and hollering of its drivers and the other rebels.

Rebels armed with bats and clubs swing at the pillars of the presidential palace and the windows of nearby guest vehicles, only causing further alarm.

Swallowing hard, Fredo stumbles down one of the steps and frantically looks around him to find some route of escape—seeing some guests have already gotten into taxis and nearby vehicles.

 “Argh—” Fredo grunts out in surprise as a couple accidentally bumps into him—ramming their shoulders into his back.

Fredo almost trips down the next set of stairs before him, catching his balance before Michael’s eyes land on his brother just across from him in his line of sight now.

“Fredo!” Michael calls out from afar, shrouded in the darkness where he stands away from streetlights or any direction crowds run toward.

Fredo freezes in his tracks, feeling his muscles instantly tense up from nothing but utter horror at the sight of his brother; pure fear triggering Fredo’s fight or flight response.

Fredo’s fear of his own brother has intensified and tripled in a matter of moments back in the presidential palace to the point where Fredo trembles in Michael’s presence and practically feels nauseous being under his brother’s gaze.

Fredo’s eyes widen as his mouth runs dry, eyeing his brother’s body language for immediate resentment and hostility.

“Come on!” Michael gestures out with his hand towards him; only appearing as a concerned brother insistent on helping his brother and escaping together.

Nothing over Michael’s expression or tone of voice resembles the putrid hatred that promised death to Fredo minutes back at the presidential palace.

Refusing, Fredo begins to slowly turn around but keeps his eyes on his brother as his body screams for Fredo to move away.

“It’s the only way out of here tonight,” Michael hollers back, noticing Fredo beginning to pull away. “Roth is dead!”

Naturally, the fate Michael planned and anticipated for Hyman Roth has failed unbeknownst to him but with Fredo’s betrayal stemming from Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola, it appears to be very convincing and tempting.

Still, the fear Fredo feels towards his own brother is all the more overpowering and there’s not a shred of trust nor hope left in Fredo to believe in Michael’s words.

Michael extends out his hand, seeing his words having no effect on his brother. “FREDO!”

Fredo forces himself to keep moving—staggering through the remaining crowd down the steps but with his head still turned towards Michael as if Fredo expects him to follow or lunge after him.

“Fredo, come with me!” Michael raises his voice above the noise of the crowds; seeing his brother is about to run off entirely. “You’re still my brother!”

Fredo’s just begun to rush off again into the crowd but stops at Michael’s words—the most convincing above all, promising they’re still family.

“Fredo!” Michael takes a step further, beginning to move in Fredo’s direction and away from the vehicle. “FREDO!”

Sensing no harm or ill intention from Michael amongst danger and chaos, Fredo’s good nature does not lie to him but coaxes his heart to trust in Michael and escape out of Havana with his brother.

In Michael now, Fredo wants to see his brother’s emotional vulnerability; despite everything, family ties and bonds never break, despite everything, Michael would want no harm to come to Fredo and certainly not here.

“You’re still my brother!”

Fredo turns back around to Michael and swears to himself he can see a pleading look in Michael’s eyes, past the shadows that keep him almost completely concealed.

Tears spring from Fredo’s eyes as he runs toward his brother, unaware he’s accepting his damned fate but giving his trust, love, and belief in safety to Michael.

Michael steps aside to let Fredo into the passenger seat, moving to the other side of the vehicle to get in for himself.

Fredo scurries inside and slams the car door behind him; a pitiful state of worry and exhaustion over him compared to Michael who still remains composed and calm.

Michael does the same, needing to give no signal or word to his chauffeur who immediately begins to drive off in the opposite direction of the presidential palace.

For a moment as Michael’s preoccupied with looking towards the chauffeur and windshield to see what’s ahead of him, neither he nor Fredo say a word to each other nor make eye contact.

Fredo peeks out the window to see hoards of people pushing into the US Embassy and pleading with the guards by the gate for safety; everyone fending for themselves in desperate hopelessness.

Fredo even spots a private jet beginning to take off as others help their family onto nearby boats and ships eager to get off the dock.

As the vehicle continues to move and navigate around the rebels and crowds with ease, Fredo flinches at the sight of the rebels setting nearby garbage cans on fire and rushing into the presidential palace itself.

With all of this occurring in mere seconds as the violence worsens and fires spread to smashed-in vehicles and broken goods from inside the presidential palace, Michael’s eyes land on his brother inside the car once again.

Fredo catches Michael’s gaze, looking as pale as a ghost with worry crossing his eyes as the vehicle now begins to slow through crowds clamoring at every angle.

Michael’s chauffeur keeps his composure, honking again and again as he continues to drive.

Michael knits his brows, gazing out both windows and somewhat concerned himself not about the damage the rebels continue to do, but what can come from the panicking and desperate mobs of people surrounding the car.

“O-Oh my God,” Fredo shudders as the vehicle finally begins to pick up its speed and separate from the crowds.

In a split second, Michael makes eye contact with the chauffeur through the rearview mirror, signaling a change in the destination; one out of sight with no one to hear anyone’s helpless screams.

Fredo doesn’t notice, nervously sitting next to Michael and looking down to see his fingers trembling uncontrollably in his lap just from Michael’s presence.

“We’re almost out,” Michael finally speaks; his voice calm and soothing enough for Fredo to believe it.

Fredo keeps his eyes on the road, refusing to relax and snap out of his alarmed state until the car drives much further down the road and Fredo’s unable to hear the rebellion behind him.

“The plane—” Fredo stammers, swallowing. “Are we getting out of here?”

“We are,” Michael reaffirms as the chauffeur takes a different turn to drive upon the side of the road where Fredo’s door faces the ocean. “Fredo—” Michael looks at his brother, “it’s fine. It’s over now.”

Fredo gives a glum nod, attempting to relax in his seat. “I don’t know what to say, Mikey. I…”

Fredo’s voice trails off as the car comes to a slow halt by the ocean; the chauffeur avoids looking towards the rearview mirror or making eye contact with either Michael or Fredo.

“I d-don’t…” Fredo’s voice cracks as he attempts to speak again, looking helplessly at his brother.

Michael faces Fredo whose almost too emotional to even realize the car has stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

“Mikey,” Fredo breathes out—his throat tightening as hot tears stream down his cheeks. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Fredo,” Michael turns his body towards his brother, watching Fredo weep softly and break down in front of him.

“You have to u-understand, Mikey,” Fredo pleads—emotion straining in his voice, “I w-was caught in the middle. I didn’t agree—I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t know it would end up like this—I didn’t know it was gonna be a hit or anything.”

As Michael stares into his brother’s eyes, his grow colder and Fredo’s words ring out to him with no meaning, no justification nor anything worth believing for the man in front of Michael is no longer his brother but a betrayer, a traitor and a stranger bearing the same last name.

Michael gives a small nod to Fredo as if he’s understanding of it all and figured as much for himself, but the chauffeur hits a small button over his door which immediately causes all of the doors to lock.

“Michael—” Fredo croaks, flinching from fear and looking towards his passenger door in alarm.

“Fredo, look at me. Look at me.” Michael detracts Fredo’s attention from reaching out to attempt to open his passenger door—facing his brother directly again. “Listen to me.”

“I d-don’t want anything to happen to you, Mikey,” Fredo blubbers, sobbing.

“Look at me,” Michael cups his brother’s face with both hands, feeling Fredo’s warm tears against his palm. “I know. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Never, ever,” Fredo gives his head a little shake, clutching onto the fabric of Michael’s trousers with a shaky hand. “Y-you’re my brother, my brother—”

“I know,” Michael repeats again, eerily calm compared to Fredo’s distraught state on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.

“I c-could never live it down,” Fredo hiccups, his knuckles turning white from how hard he grips Michael’s trousers.

“And you don’t have to,” Michael replies, wiping a stray tear away from Fredo’s cheek.

“I’m s-scared, Mikey, when you look at me like that—”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Fredo,” Michael lies, “you know that. Wouldn’t I leave you to your fate there if that’s what I wanted?”

“Y-yeah, I guess—” Fredo smiles weakly at Michael, comforted by his brother’s lies. “I love you, Mikey. I j-just want you to know that.”

Shallow, empty words with no meaning that register nothing to Michael. He chooses to ignore them, unshaken by what’s to come next.

“I know,” Michael kisses Fredo’s forehead, slowly moving his hands down to Fredo’s neck.

Fredo’s eyes snap open in terror as Michael wraps his hands around his throat firmly just moments after. “Mikey—"

“Goodbye, Fredo,” Michael immediately begins to exhort force over Fredo’s throat—crushing his esophagus.

Fredo wheezes and whimpers, but can get barely anything other than a whine out. He attempts to thrash out at Michael with his hands but Michael tilts his body back while pinning Fredo onto the car seat to avoid his grip.

Kicking at Michael in the twisted position his body is in doesn’t help nor does kicking at the chauffeur’s car seat who gazes out the window to watch the waves of the sea; completely ignoring the murder ongoing in the back seat.

Fredo’s lungs burn, begging for air as Michael squeezes and applies as much pressure and might as he can with his hands to Fredo’s throat—watching Fredo’s helpless movements slowly coming to a stop.

Wide-eyed and terrified as the life and strength choke out of him, Fredo stares at Michael who remains to be much more physically strong and fit than his brother.

The cold, lifeless expression on Michael’s face doesn’t change throughout as the color drains out of Fredo’s face as Michael continues to strangle him; his grip far too overbearing and tight to squirm out of.

Just a few moments in of helplessly trying to pry Michael’s fingers off his throat, Fredo feels his life slipping away and falls unconscious seconds after.

Michael doesn’t stop there. To ensure his brother’s death once and for all in front of his own eyes, he clutches Fredo’s head in his hands and with one sharp swerve of his hands and arms, snaps his brother's neck.

A sickening crack can be heard out before Michael lets go of Fredo’s lifeless body plopping back down onto the car seat.

Michael breathes in deeply, staring at the corpse of his brother next to him with no reaction; only the relief he’s felt and continues to feel upon having his enemies assassinated.

Not a shred of remorse, guilt, or regret clouds Michael’s judgment or chokes his thoughts.

Michael reaches towards Fredo’s passenger door as the chauffeur unlocks it without looking back; nothing goes through Michael’s mind as he pushes open the door to kick his brother’s corpse out.

Fredo’s body tumbles out of the vehicle and off the ledge leading straight into the ocean on this side of the road.

From the sound of loud traffic afar and waves crashing upon the shore, Michael doesn’t hear Fredo’s body drop into the water nor does he bother to watch it sink.

Instead, Michael sits back in the vehicle and shuts the door as his chauffeur begins driving again, pretending as if nothing happened.

In the chauffeur’s best interest, nothing did happen and he only picked up Michael from the presidential palace. The chauffeur never saw Fredo or even heard that name; the chauffeur isn’t even aware Mr. Corleone had a brother.

“To the airport, Mr. Corleone?” The chauffeur spoke for the first time since Michael got into the vehicle.

“Yes,” Michael confirms, “I have a private flight to catch to Lake Tahoe.”

[lostloveletters]

What holiday traditions do your OCs have😊🎄

This one is so fun! Thank you🖤

Holly: She and Bucky are definitely the type to do the elaborate lights outside their house...not quite Clark Griswold levels, but like they've got the most festive house on the block and it's not even close. They take a whole weekend to decorate for Christmas inside and out (and then host parties every subsequent weekend)

Woody: She doesn't really have any until she marries Brady...she thinks midnight Mass on Christmas Eve is pretty, but once they have kids, definitely buying and hiding their gifts and then seeing their reactions on Christmas Day to what "Santa" got them

Leona: Making up reasons why they can't spend the holidays at her parents' house. I decided Leona owns a pizzelle iron and makes pizzelle for holidays, but I'm not sure if Gale likes the anise flavor or if he sticks with the lemon or vanilla flavored ones she makes for Luke...

Gloria: Feast of the seven fishes, of course! Especially after she marries Michael, the Corleones do not half-ass holidays, and there are so many people over at the house, it really is a feast. Christmas Eve is a bigger deal to them than Christmas Day

🦇 Battie

[muadweeb]

uh huh yeah. uh huh

fredo corleone is sooooooo versatile with succession brothers <3

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Gideon Rachman: “I believe in America.” That phrase has rattled around my head, throughout the rise, fall and rise again of Donald Trump. Only belatedly did I recall that this comforting sentiment is the opening line of The Godfather. The words are uttered by Amerigo Bonasera: a man who has actually lost faith in America, and who is turning to a mafia don in search of vengeance. Trump is now telling American voters that “I am your retribution” — appealing to all those who have been “wronged and betrayed” by the system. It is all very Don Corleone. And it is working. Trump is generally ahead of Joe Biden in the polls for the 2024 presidential election. He is the bookmakers’ favourite, not just for the Republican nomination, but for the presidency.

So how can I keep the faith in America, when the voters seem poised to elect a man who faces trial for trying to overturn the last presidential election? “Believing in America” can mean two distinct things. First, you can believe in what America stands for. Second, you can believe that America will come good in the end. The two ideas are related — but they are not the same. My belief that America is a force for good in the world has led me, over the years, into some bitter arguments — even in Britain, which counts itself as America’s closest ally. Whether it was the Vietnam war, Ronald Reagan’s arms build-up, the Iraq war or gun violence, America’s passionate critics have always had plenty to point to. My usual response is that, like every great power in history, America has done terrible things. But in the three great global confrontations of the last century — the first world war, the second world war and the cold war — the US was on the right side. In fact, America was the decisive factor in those conflicts, ensuring that the democratic world prevailed over autocracy or outright dictatorship.

That is why so much rides on my second form of belief in America — the belief that the US will come through in the end. For the past 80 years, America really has been the “leader of the free world” — both an example of democracy in action and as the protector of its fellow democracies, through a network of alliances with other free countries in Europe and Asia. If democracy begins to crumble in America, then liberal democracies all over the world will be in trouble. It is reassuring that the world’s richest and most powerful country is a fellow democracy. In a second Trump term that sense of reassurance might disappear. Many Trump supporters will respond that, if their man wins the election, his victory would be an example of democracy in action, not of a slide into autocracy. But a Trump election victory could not scrub the record clean. We know the character of the man. Trump is somebody who has already demonstrated that he has no respect for the most basic of democratic procedures — a free election. His promise of “retribution” also involves repeated threats to put his political enemies on trial, ranging from Biden himself to Mark Milley, the former head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Unlike the indictments against Trump, these would not be cases brought by independent prosecutors who have weighed the evidence. They would be political show-trials ordered by the country’s leader. That is the hallmark of an autocracy.

So how do I keep believing in America under those circumstances? First, and most obviously, nothing is foretold. There are still many months to go before the election in November.

Second, America’s period of greatness and global leadership has always involved turmoil and melodrama, from John F Kennedy’s assassination in 1963 to the “war on terror” under George W Bush. In the end, the country always righted itself and its underlying dynamism and constitutional system reasserted themselves. So it seems unlikely that this latest melodrama — “America season nine”, as some call it — will bring the series to a definitive and tragic conclusion. The melodrama that America churns up — even the Trump melodrama — can be a sign of vitality as much as sickness. The US is a country with a rebellious, anti-establishment streak that allows it to shake things up and constantly reinvent itself. Voting for Trump is a sign that people are demanding fundamental change. And even if Trump is not the right answer, his emergence is a sign of that restlessness and refusal to settle for the status quo.

Trump’s enduring popularity may even belatedly be prompting some necessary self-examination by the American elite. Biden’s effort to put equality back at the centre of US economic policy is one example of that correction. So is the beginning of a backlash against “woke” thinking. As one Biden aide put it to me, in a moment of introspection: “We’ve realised that a lot of people are frightened of the American left.” Trump’s “retribution” against the left could take the US off in some new and frightening directions. But I believe in America enough to think that it would take more than one more term of Trump to destroy American democracy. The US is not Hungary. It is a big, complex country with many different sources of power and wealth. Trump and his acolytes could not bring them all to heel, in just four years. So you can still count me as somebody who “believes in America”. Me and Amerigo Bonasera.

[Financial Times]

[skyblue0502]

The Kiss of Death

The Godfather Part II (1974) X Interview with the Vampire (2022) Parallel

honestly this is just an excuse to combine my love for the godfather and the iwtv tv show. but anyways let’s get into it.

In the hit 1974 film The Godfather Part II, Michael Corleone kisses Fredo as a way of marking him and letting him know that he knows of his betrayal and that Fredo will be murdered. This kiss happens at a New Year’s Eve party.

At the very end of the movie, Michael watches as Fredo gets murdered by Al Neri, basically Michael’s assistant.

Interview with the Vampire (2022) does a very similar thing with Louis and Lestat. At this party for Mardi Gras, Louis knows he and Claudia will kill Lestat yet kisses him. The meanings of the kisses are different specifically because Louis did not use it to tell Lestat about his upcoming murder yet they both mark the death of the one who received the kiss.

Lestat is then murdered by Louis and Claudia, 2 of the people closest to him just like how Fredo was murdered.

anyways this is definitely not what the show runners meant but i thought the idea of the kiss of death being prevalent in both pieces of media very interesting!!

[lincolnchristie]

A Masque of Shadows: Your Suspect List

Uh I mean. Meet your lovely cast of characters!

Let's start with our exhausted detective who really didn't sign up for this, Matthias bar Aeneas:

And our victim, the controversial (some would say infamous) regent of Serenissima, Lord Dante di Fratelli:

The person who drags Matthias into this mess is his lifelong best friend and ex-girlfriend, Spymaster Festivity bar Corleone:

Festivity will do anything to serve her queen-ascendant Cassandra di Adriel, who is the number one suspect in Dante's death on the eve of her long-delayed coronation:

If you want information, there's no more reliable little eavesdropper than Sapphire, Festivity's protege and Matthias's affectionate pain in the ass:

While Matthias himself relies heavily upon his lieutenant Lyria, even if their favorite habit is playful insubordination:

We can't overlook two other suspects - Dante's own daughter Allegra di Fratelli, said to have inherited her father's ruthlessness and cunning:

And Dante's son, the charming liar Antonio:

Antonio's lover Piper probably had quite a few bones to pick with Dante as well, seeing he disapproved of their relationship with his son:

Our list wouldn't be complete without including the women Dante seduced and scorned, such as the beautiful (and married) Lady di Tigrana:

Or Cassandra's own trusted personal maid Lara bar Bini, who Dante left in the lurch:

Cassandra relies deeply on Lara, since her noble ladies-in-waiting can't be trusted - some of them have ties to other nations, such as Mari Von Musel:

And then there's the Duke of Mendax, Olivier Fisher, who holds a powerful strategic position and seems to be playing his own game:

But it might be his younger brother Jacques Fisher that brings it all crashing down, because the number one rule of solving a murder is never get involved with a suspect…

The stage is set, our players are in position, and we're ready for a very memorable twelve days of Masquerade.

[defsiarte]

Make assumptions about me via asks based on this fucked up kinlist

(character names under the cut)

Nitori Kawashiro (Touhou), Satori Komeiji (Touhou), Nightwing (DC), Barry Berkman (Barry), Konata Izumi (Lucky Star), Bill Haverchuck (Freaks and Geeks), Muffet (Undertale), Jo (Kid Cosmic), Stanley Barber (I am not Okay With This), Starfire (DC), Dave Strider (Homestuck), Orla McCool (Derry Girls), Sayaka Kanamori (Eizouken), Veronica Sawyer (Heathers), Eve Polastri (Killing Eve), Huey Freeman (Boondocks), Will Graham (Hannibal), Haruhi Fujioka (Ouran), Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place), Richie Tozier (It), Miles Morales (Marvel), Shou Suzuki (MP100), Chat Noir (Miraculous Ladybug), Charlie Kelly (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia), Cher Horowitz (Clueless), Goether (Seven Deadly Sins), James (The End of the Fucking World), Malcolm Bright (Prodigal Son), Newt Geiszler (Pacific Rim), Rin Okumura (Blue Exorcist), Nyles (Palm Springs), Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), Janis Ian (Mean Girls), Sally Reed (Barry), Buttercup (Powerpuff Girls), Blossom (Powerpuff Girls), Caitlin (We Are Who We Are), Ted Logan (Bill & Ted), Zeffirelli (The French Dispatch), Carmy Berzatto (The Bear), Sidney Adamu (The Bear), Shouto Todoroki (BNHA), Lila Cerullo (My Brilliant Friend), Marcus Lopez Arguello (Deadly Class), Kabru (Dungeon Meshi), Tetia (Witch Hat Atelier), Michael Corleone (The Godfather), Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives), Kobeni Higashiyama (Chainsaw Man), Kendall Roy (Succession)

[francis-ford-kofola]

rules: tag (9) people you want to know better and or catch up with, then answer these questions below!

thank you for tagging me, @chairhandle! <3

four ships:

Jimmy McGill/Kim Wexler (Better Call Saul)

Francis Lionel Delbuchi/Max Millan (Scarecrow)

Michael Corleone/Kay Adams (The Godfather)

Lex Luthor/Eve Teschmacher (Superman 1978)

last song: One Way Ticket by Eruption (part of my cooking playlist)

currently reading: Dune by Frank Herbert

last movie: The Witch (2015) and Morbius (2022) (putting both of them here because I watched them in one sitting and I don't want to say just Morbius, lmao)

The Witch was very atmospheric and dreary, I liked it but I don't see myself watching it again pretty soon because it felt really hopeless. Morbius was... well, Morbius. Extremely bland and incoherent.

craving: at least another week of holidays, my exam period just ended and the new semester starts tomorrow

tagging @antifiction, @alpacinoinheat, @goodanswerfoxmonster, @groovytimes, @paprikaspapamkazdyden, @wohlbruecks, @scarface-1983, @fruitcage, @rubylured (only if you want to <3)

[laulo821]

06 - Golden

[ouatihell]

Rating Main Characters from the Top Ten of Variety’s 100 Best Movies List Based on Whether or Not I’d have a Drink with Them

I have massive beef with this list but that’s beside the point

1) Norman Bates (Psycho)

11/10 and not just bc @old-wild-child would be disappointed in me if I rated him any less. I don’t even care if Mother would try to kill me. He’s also probably got zero tolerance for alcohol and I think that would be funny to watch.

2) Dorothy (The Wizard of Oz)

0/10 that is a CHILD. I would however get fucked up with the scarecrow.

3) Michael Corleone (The Godfather)

5/10 I’m scared of him but maybe it would be fun idk. I haven’t seen this movie in ages.

4) Charles Foster Kane (Citizen Kane)

7/10 IF it’s like 25 year old Kane. Idc about old man Kane but I bet he’d be entertaining if it was that era.

5) Jules and uhh. Uhh. That other guy. Vega. VINCENT!! (Pulp Fiction)

8/10 for the pure gits and shiggles of it. I don’t think they’d kill me because they don’t have a reason to.

6) Kambei Shimada (Seven Samurai)

5/10 because I’ve never seen this but uhhh he’s got a sword that’s pretty cool.

7) Dave. Guy. Dave Bowman? (2001: a Space Odyssey)

3/10. Is this picture even him? I don’t know, I haven’t seen this one, but considering it’s space and they’re probably sad and stuff I don’t think he’d be super fun to drink with. That said I would totally drink my sorrows away with Roy McBride. Yes I’m biased.

8) George Bailey (It’s a Wonderful Life)

I know I JUST said I wouldn’t hang out with Dave because he’s sad and weird but me and George are the same kind of sad and weird so he’s getting a 7/10 👍👍👍

9) Margo (All About Eve)

6/10 because I ALSO haven’t seen this one (fake film bro 😔) but she looks like fun.

10) Tom Hanks. I mean. Uhh. JOHN H MILLER (Saving Private Ryan)

5/10 because I’ve never seen this and he looks scary :((

[fnafmangl]

For the Deviantart Contest of my dear friend and wonderful artista @coolboss13 ! ;o; ♥♥♥ i forget to post here, girls have a good time at Miss Dolly but Eden does not like very much the Bendy plush toy that the doll owns

[melis-writes]

Hi there! I’ve been sick all week. Do you think you could write a soft and fluffy prompt in which Michael is sick and Victoria takes care of him?🥺

Aaaaah, me too, anon! 😭😭 It’s flu season and I absolutely hate it. I hope you feel and get better soon!! ❤ I actually want to incorporate a sick Michael/Victoria comforting and caring for him type fluff in the actual fic sometime soon, so I absolutely LOVE this prompt idea already! 🥺🤗

“You were a most generous host tonight, Mr. Corleone,” you can’t help but giggle to yourself at the annoyed expression crossing over Michael’s face.

“Indeed I was,” Michael replies back sarcastically, ruffling a towel through his damp hair. “Hosting two holiday parties within days of each other, of course… What’s there to expect?”

Sitting up on the bed with your black, satin nightrobe wrapped around you, you gaze up at your husband with a smile over your lips. “Mm, you seemed to enjoy it more last year.”

“Last year all of my business partners didn’t ask me for investment support and question me incessantly about our shareholders in what’s supposed to be a holiday celebration.” Michael rolls his eyes, walking from the foot of the bed back towards the bathroom. “It’s completely unprofessional.”

Semi distracted by the sight of Michael in a white beater and grey briefs, you watch as Michael sets the damp towel in the laundry bin, turning to face you by the doorway. “And you’ll have to forgive me, darling.”

“Forgive you?” You blush, attempting to ignore just how turned on you are from the way Michael looks at you.

“For all those meetings and having to go back and forth to my office.” Michael clarifies, approaching you once more. “I wanted to spend time with my family and colleagues only. It was out of control.”

“But unavoidable.” You tell him, feeling your cheeks sting with blush as Michael takes both of your hands in his, kissing them.

“You understand me.” Michael murmurs softly over your knuckles. “Mm, I love you.”

“I love you more.” You kneel up on the bed, stealing a kiss from Michael’s lips before moving your arms up to his shoulders. “Now come here before your champagne gets warm.”

Michael chuckles quietly, letting his fingers linger over your hands for as long as he can as Michael moves to his side of the bed, sitting next to you. “At least we can enjoy a drink in peace and privacy.”

“Oh, we can definitely toast to that too.” You tilt your head back, laughing as you pick up your champagne flute. “Here’s to peace, privacy, and prosperity all throughout the new year. Cheers!”

“Cheers.” Michael clinks his champagne flute with you as both of you take a sip, savoring the taste of the bubbling liquid over your tongue.  

You snuggle up to Michael’s arm, inching the duvet and blankets over the two of you. “Just perfect.”

“Little less flashy now without the fireworks, but it’ll do.” Michael swallows his champagne, leaning over to peck your lips.

You kiss back, clutching the champagne glass in your hand. “Don’t tell me you prefer it that way.”

“I prefer whatever you prefer.” Michael laces his free hand with yours. “Anything with you.”

A blushing, flustered mess, you continue to enjoy your champagne and soft conversation with Michael throughout the late evening hours until 3AM before the two of you decide to call it a night—ready to sleep off the exhaustion of tonight’s New Year’s Eve party.

Tossing, turning and snuggling up to Michael’s side every now and then throughout the night, you’re facing the opposite side and fast asleep on your side when Michael—whose asleep on his back—begins to slowly feel discomfort grow inside of him.

Nothing to blame the late night party’s festivities or champagne, but rather a discomfort that seeps throughout the entirety of his body in a strange wave of heat.

Although the window is slightly pulled open to let in a little bit of cool air, the bedroom remains at a regular temperature—neither hot nor cold for comfortable sleep but Michael can no longer tell.

Stirring from his sleep, Michael momentarily thinks to himself he may be coming down with a fever but to him, his body doesn’t feel hot nor does he feel any feverish symptoms at the moment.

Instead, Michael feels as if he’s boiling in bed despite only having the duvet over him and in his briefs and a beater.

Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, staring up at the dark ceiling with half open, lazy eyes as his body continues to feel as if it’s overheating.

Michael grunt softly, turning over to his side as he lets out a deep breath. Still in discomfort due to a fever beginning to slowly settle in him, Michael only pushes aside the duvet a bit further off his body before attempting to ignore the feeling altogether.

Assuming it’s just the untold exhaustion he’s felt all day, Michael can’t help but sleep in discomfort throughout the night; he feels as if he’s awake although his eyes are closed and his mind beckons for sleep.

With Michael’s regular sleep schedule, he almost always wakes up at the same time every morning on his days off—9:00 AM and wakes you with him. However, when the clock hits 9:00 AM, it’s you who awakens first.

You rub at your eyes, beginning to slowly sit up in bed and expecting Michael to do so with you as usual.

You glance over sleepily next to you and see Michael still sleeping soundly, despite the alarm having gone off on your nightstand a few seconds ago.

You smile lazily to yourself, thinking nothing of it and remembering just how mentally and physically Michael was all last night.

At the same time, you know Michael may get a few more minutes here and there to rest, but he’s not over one to sleep in regardless of how much time he has.

Getting off the bed, you put on your slippers and head into the bathroom to wash up and get ready for the day, but Michael continues to sleep.

Michael feels completely weak from head to toe; a lingering headache, fatigue, heavy body aches and heavy discomfort keep him in bed but in an uncomfortable type of sleep.

Michael heard the alarm this morning loud and clear just as he heard you get up, but Michael absolutely has no strength to pull himself out of bed.

It takes all of Michael’s will power and remaining strength  to flip over from his side facing away from you and onto his back and it’s then that you hear a pained groan come out from your husband.

You set your hair brush down, raising a curious brow as you step out of the bathroom and peek back at Michael.

Michael can barely keep his eyes open, feeling even his eyelids grow weary and ache tenderly as the rest of his body does. He lets out a shaky sigh and you notice his body tremble a little from shivering.

“Baby?” You call out, beginning to cautiously approach Michael on the bed.

“Vic—” Michael coughs out, attempting to sit up in bed. “What time is it? Urgh.” Michael does his best to completely hide his fatigue and discomfort from you, but it’s all too telling to you.

“You’re shivering.” You murmur, your tone of voice concerned as you place your head over Michael’s forehead—your eyes growing wide. “Baby, you have a fever.”

“What?” Michael mutters, breathing shallowly. “A fever?”

Frowning, you quickly pull the duvet off of Michael only to have him resist and tug it back on him. “No, baby, I’m fine. Here… I’m just a little cold—”

“Overheating, more like!” You pout, quick to snatch the duvet off Michael. “You have a fever, Michael. You’re burning up.” You rest the back of your hand against Michael’s forehead again, feeling his hot skin burning back against your hand. “Oh, baby.”

“How the hell—” Michael attempts to prop himself up on his elbows to sit up, but you gently coax him down by placing your hand over his chest.

“No, no, no. Baby, no. Look at you! No, lay down, please.” You squeeze his hand, using your free one to move the duvet down to his waist. “And don’t think about getting up! A fever first thing in the morning—”

“The l-last thing I needed.” Michael grumbles to himself, closing his eyes. “Everything’s aching. I can—” Michael lets out another deep, shaky breath, “barely keep my own eyes open. God, it actually hurts.”

Your eyes quickly dart over Michael as you rush back over to the bathroom. “Don’t move a muscle! I want you resting on that bed, I know the flu when I see it.”

“Flu…” Michael repeats to himself, swallowing hard. “After last night…?”

“That could be the case.” You quickly grab a small, plastic washbowl—filling it with ice cold water from the tap before soaking a clean cloth in it. “It’s flu season after all, baby, and you were around so many people yesterday.”

“Still…” Michael forces his eyes open as he watches you approach him hectically with the plastic bowl.

“How did you sleep last night?” You ask, quickly setting the bowl on the nightstand and submerging the cloth in it again. “Did you feel achy, fatigued, or hot?”

“A bit of all, but…” Michael groans softly to himself, “mostly hot. Very hot, as if I was sweating, and…” Michael’s voice trails off—his interest peaking as he watches you squeeze out a little bit of excess moisture from the cloth before placing it gently over his forehead. “And you…”

“I feel fine, baby.” You squeeze Michael’s hand, frowning. “Don’t worry about me at all. All I want to do is get this fever down as soon as possible.”

“You won’t for long if you say I have the flu.” Michael coughs quietly, beginning to enjoy how soothing the cold cloth feels over his forehead. “It’s a cold, perhaps…”

“With body aches and a fever?” You softly press down on the towel, making sure it covers Michael’s forehead. “Mm, it’s never as simple as just a cold with your sinuses.” You glance at Michael’s nose. “How are they? Can you breathe okay?”

“Just fine, yes.” Michael answers, “but my throat—”

“It’s sore?” You pout, insistent for answers like a doctor recording symptoms.

“Not really,” Michael breathes, “it feels tender every time I swallow and my ears…” He squeezes his eyes shut, groaning again. “My hearing. It’s like I’m underwater.”

“Thank God Dr. Katherine is at the estate today.” You sigh quietly in relief, taking the cloth off Michael’s head to re-soak it again in the cold water. “You’ll need medication as soon as possible otherwise your symptoms are going to worsen and I—” You place the soaked cloth back over Michael’s forehead. “Need that fever down—”

“Dr. Corleone.” Michael murmurs jokingly, watching as you take his empty water glass on the night stand and rush back over to the bathroom.

“Something like that,” you giggle to yourself, filling up the glass with cold water before opening the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. “Until I get a real doctor up here., at least. Let me see… Ooh, okay.” You grab a glass thermometer, going back into the bedroom.

“It’s freezing in here.” Michael shudders, beginning to breathe out of his mouth.

“It’s quite warm, baby. It’s your fever, oh—” Almost on the verge of tears, you press down the cold cloth and set the thermometer and water down on the nightstand before you grab your own pillow. “Here, okay. I’m gonna get this right up under your pillow for more support and…” You put your pillow underneath Michael’s, supporting his head. “There. Drink please, baby.” You hand Michael the glass of water.

Weakly taking it from you, Michael drinks down half of the glass of water before practically collapsing back on the pillow. “W-wouldn’t have expected it to be half as bad.”

“I can’t even remember the last time you had the flu, let alone a cold.” Completely worried, you gently coax the thermometer into Michael’s mouth. “I need to get your fever down first. God, I hope it’s not too high.”

Even Michael’s lips ache along with the rest of his body—having barely any energy to keep the thermometer in. “Baby…”

“Shhh, it’s alright, baby. Let me see…” You take the thermometer out from between Michael’s lips, only feeling slight relief reading the number. “It’s 101. I hope that’s gone down even just a tiny bit, but…” Setting the thermometer aside, you soak the cloth once again in cold water, this time gently caressing all over Michael’s face with it to cool him down.

“I’m appreciative… Baby…” Michael whispers out, losing strength in his voice from his sore throat.

“I love you and I’m not going anywhere until I know that fever is gone and you’re medicated. I promise, baby. Just rest for now, okay?” You give Michael’s cheek a gentle kiss, reaching over to the telephone by the night stand. “I’m gonna call Dr. Katherine in to get you everything.” You begin to dial Dr. Katherine’s number to her living quarters on the compound. “Something for your throat, your fever of course and also—oh! Dr. Katherine, good morning!”

Michael closes his eyes, breathing in and out deeply. His eyelids feel ten times as heavy just as the rest of his body seems to be weighing him down to the bed.

Michael can’t even imagine trying to stand and get out of bed in this state, giving up.

When Dr. Katherine arrives, she does so with medication for Michael’s fever, cough drops and syrup for Michael’s throat and light coughing both of you figure will only get worse without immediate and consistent treatment, medication for Michael’s sinus and painkillers for his body ache.

Dr. Katherine administers none of the medication but takes note of Michael’s symptoms and state in her notes before leaving you two in privacy with everything she could think of to bring to fight off the flu.

“Lots and lots of rest, just as Dr. Katherine said.” You whisper to Michael as he swallows down a painkiller; his fever almost completely passed.

“Mm.” Michael croaks out weakly as you take the glass for him, exchanging it with sinus medication. “The aching… It’s honestly unbearable.”

“I know baby, I know.” You pat the cold cloth over Michael’s head cautiously, watching as he takes his medicine. “I hope the medication will kick in fast enough, although as Dr. Katherine said it’s going to make you drowsy.”

“Great.” Michael sniffles, swallowing down the bitter cough syrup.

“It’ll help you sleep, baby. Rest is going to be the only medication helping us out of this.” You take the sinus medication next—a nasal spray for Michael’s stuffy nose.

“Us...” Michael sniffs up the nasal spray, breathing in and out deeply.

“You and me, baby.” You unwrap a cough drop in the palm of your hand. “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re doing better. I’m going to take care of you for as long as it takes—nothing less.”

“I’m going to bring your breakfast up here, okay?” You hold both of Michael’s hands in yours. “Dr. Katherine said the medication should begin to take effect in less than half an hour. I’ll make you some soup in the afternoon and honey-lemon tea with ginger that I want you to drink as much of today as possible.”

Michael weakly squeezes your hand and in his weakened state, you can still see the appreciation and gratitude in your husband’s watery eyes.

[lostloveletters]

Bruised Fruit Chapter 17 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Christmas Eve and the ensuing holiday week brings uncertainty to the Corleone family's future.

Note: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Thank you so much for y'all's support for this fic and patience with me throughout this past year. This is the one OC fic/series that I always feel motivated to work on (even if life gets in the way of updating as frequently as I'd like to) because of y'all's enthusiasm for it. I'm truly overwhelmed with gratitude for how incredible y'all are. Love you🖤

Warnings: None specific to this chapter.