#gelato script

[chetipo]

[pucksandpower]

Something Sweet

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the story of your relationship … as told through gelato (in honor of Charles opening an ice cream shop)

The warm spring sun beats down on your face as you stroll along the winding streets of Monaco, gelato in hand. You savor each sweet bite, the rich hazelnutty flavor melting across your tongue.

This is bliss.

You just moved here to attend university and every day feels like a dream come true exploring your new home principality.

The picturesque buildings with their sun-baked stucco walls and colorful tiled roofs line the narrow alleyways. Locals bustle about, chatting rapidly in French as scooters whiz by. The air carries a tang of salt from the glittering Mediterranean just beyond the palace ramparts.

You could get used to this.

Suddenly, a body careens around the corner, slamming right into you. You stumble backward as the gelato goes flying, splattering across the quaint cobblestones in a sticky mess.

“Oh mon dieu, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” A frantic voice rings out as a pair of strong hands steady you before you can topple over completely.

You look up, slightly dazed, into a pair of warm green eyes filled with concern. The man is clad in athletic shorts and a snug t-shirt, damp with sweat from an obvious run. Tousled chestnut hair flops across his forehead in an effortlessly tousled way.

He’s … incredibly handsome.

Like, stupid levels of handsome.

“I’m fine, really,” you stammer out, feeling your cheeks flush as his hands linger almost ... protectively on your arms. “Just clumsy me dropping my gelato.”

He grimaces, following your gaze to the melting puddle. “I’m such an idiot, let me replace that for you.” His face is the picture of remorse as he gently releases his grip.

You wave him off with an awkward chuckle. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal ...”

But he’s already shaking his head adamantly. “No, no I insist. That looked delicious and it’s entirely my fault.” He shoots you a lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know this amazing little place that makes the best gelato in Monaco. My treat to make up for barreling into you like that.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his earnestness as you nod slowly in acceptance. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

“Perfect!” He beams at you, that bright smile crinkling the corners of his eyes in the most delightful way. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well as Charles begins leading you deeper into the winding backstreets, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. You can’t help stealing sidelong glances at him as you walk, admiring the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders visible through his fitted shirt.

Finally, he ducks into a tiny alleyway, stopping before an unassuming doorway you surely would have just passed right by. A faded sign hangs above reading Gelatomania in curling script.

“This place is my favorite,” Charles confides in a conspiratorial murmur as he holds the door for you. “Family-run for generations and miles better than any of the touristy places.”

You step inside and are immediately enveloped in a thick, sugary aroma that makes your mouth water. A few little metal tables with rickety chairs are squeezed into the compact space, but it’s the immaculate glass cases lining the walls that draw your eye.

Filled with every flavor imaginable, the gelato looks utterly divine — from naturally green pistachio to decadent chocolate hazelnut to tangy lemon. An older woman with a grandmotherly face greets Charles like an old friend in rapid Italian from behind the counter.

He responds easily in kind before turning back to you. “What’ll it be? I recommend the hazelnut again if you liked your first one.”

You nod and watch, utterly charmed, as Charles places your order for a fresh hazelnut gelato with a deferential “per favore” and that knee-weakening smile of his. He gets a simple vanilla for himself before paying and leading you over to a little iron table outside in a sliver of sunshine.

You take your first bite and … oh my god. This is gelato from the heavens themselves. You can’t contain the downright blissful moan that escapes your lips as the divinely creamy, rich concoction melts across your tongue.

“Good, right?” Charles looks incredibly pleased at your rapturous reaction as he digs into his own treat with gusto.

“This might be the single most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” you admit fervently between increasingly enthusiastic licks and bites. “How have I survived this long without knowing this place existed?”

Charles throws his head back with a full-bellied laugh at your passionate proclamation. God, even his laugh is unfairly attractive ...

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he grins around a mouthful of velvety vanilla. “I’ve been coming here since before I could walk. Quickly became my favorite gelato spot.”

“You’ve lived here a while then?” You ask between savoring bites of the impossibly luscious confection. “I only just moved for university.”

Charles nods as he licks a stray drip from his thumb. “Yeah, born and raised a few streets over actually.”

There’s a slight lull as you both focus on thoroughly demolishing your gelato for a few contented minutes, exchanging occasional muffled hums of sheer delight. The warm sun filtering through the awning casts a soft golden glow over the little alleyway, lending everything a dreamlike haze of perfection.

“So beyond being from here, do you have any exciting hobbies or interests?” You ask eventually, dragging the conversation back into the open.

“Well ...” Charles’ expression morphs into one of almost sheepish amusement as he leans back in his rickety chair. “You could say my hobby is also kind of my job. I’m actually a Formula 1 driver, believe it or not.”

You damn near choke on your next bite as his words register. “You’re what? As in ... a race car driver? In Formula 1? Seriously?”

There’s no way this stunning man is being truthful. Sure, he looks like he could be some kind of athlete with that perfectly toned physique. But a literal professional race car driver? The thought is almost too crazy to be believed.

Charles just laughs again at your dumbfounded reaction, clearly used to this response as he nods. “Seriously! I compete for Ferrari if you follow the races at all?”

You think you might pass out from shock as everything clicks into place — the athletic build, the way people seemed to stare as he passed them on the street, the laid-back confidence and easy smile of someone incredibly comfortable in their own skin ...

“Oh my god, you’re ... you’re Charles freaking Leclerc, aren’t you?” You gape at him in abject disbelief. “As in, the guy literally plastered on the huge billboard across from my apartment? Leading the championship? Incredibly talented and famous?”

He lets out an almost bashful chuckle at your rapid-fire incredulous questioning, shrugging one broad shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about incredibly talented or famous. But yes, that’s me — just your average local race car driver currently making an absolute mess while eating gelato.”

Here you sit, having just shared an utterly divine dessert while shamelessly ogling one of the most popular and well-known athletes in the damn world … and he’s acting like it’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Like you’re just two regular people enjoying a sweet treat together on a sunny day.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” you murmur, shaking your head slowly. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill to literally just ... sit across from you like this while you eat mediocre gas station ice cream, much less the world’s best gelato? I’m … stunned you’re so nonchalant about this whole thing.”

Charles merely flashes you a self-deprecating grin as he pops the last bite of cone into his mouth. “Well, to me you’re not some screaming fangirl, but just a lovely new friend I enjoy gelato with. Though my ego certainly appreciates the compliments.”

He winks at you impishly and you feel an unwitting smile tugging at the corners of your own lips despite your lingering disbelief. You suppose being surrounded by such incredible wealth and luxury every day in Monaco, Charles likely doesn’t register it anymore. Not to mention the clearly down-to-earth personality he seems to possess given that genuine humility.

The hours just seem to slip effortlessly by then as the two of you continue to chat and laugh and bask in the perfect afternoon contentment of the moment. Charles regales you with ridiculous behind-the-scenes stories about increasingly crazy bets with his friends and crew during the season. You share equally hilarious tales of your own coming-of-age mishaps as an overeager teenager.

At some point, you both reach for your long-empty dishes simultaneously, fingers brushing in a spark of contact that sends your pulse stuttering. Charles doesn’t pull back, letting his hand linger outrageously close to yours as his warm gaze stays locked intensely on your face.

You try to swallow past a suddenly dry throat as the atmosphere shifts abruptly, suddenly heavy with the hot crackle of unmistakable chemistry and unspoken tension. But then, just like that, the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket with a text, the notification startling you both back to reality. Charles sits back, clearing his throat slightly as you pull your hand away to quickly check the message.

It’s from your roommate asking when you’ll be home for dinner and if you need her to start cooking.

You glance up at Charles with an apologetic grimace. “I should probably head back. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

He blinks rapidly before seeming to visibly shake himself. “Right, of course! Time really got away from us, didn’t it?”

You stand as Charles rises smoothly to his feet as well, shoving both hands casually in his pockets. “So ... I had a really great time with you today,” he says carefully, something almost hesitant flickering across his face. “And I’d love a chance to take you out again sometime soon, if you’re interested? Maybe grab dinner when I’m back in town?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the unmistakable request for an actual date. With Charles freaking Leclerc no less ...

Tamping down your sudden nerves, you nod slowly as a shy smile blossoms on your lips. “I’d really like that,” you admit truthfully. “Let’s definitely do dinner whenever you’re free.”

His whole expression brightens immediately at your affirmation, lips stretching in a wide grin of pure delight. “Perfect! I’ll be back from my next race in just over a week then. How about exchanging numbers so I can let you know as soon as I’ve returned?”

You quickly rattle off your number as Charles punches it into his phone before doing the same for you. As if sealing some unspoken deal, he sticks out his hand to shake yours, that warm roughened grip lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“I’ll text you soon then,” Charles murmurs intently, that spark of heat flickering in his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll say yes this time.”

You can only nod mutely, mouth gone bone-dry at the pointed words and heated look washing over you. Charles maintains that blistering eye contact and heart-stalling grip on your palm for another loaded handful of seconds, leaving you dizzy with giddy anticipation.

Then, just like that, he releases your hand with one final squeeze before taking a step back, seemingly satisfied by your stunned agreement. Charles shoots you one last lingering look and crooked grin before turning to stride easily back the way you came.

You remain rooted in place for a long moment, utterly dazed by the entire surreal scenario as you watch his broad shoulders and narrow waist disappear down the narrow alleyway.

Today started out as any other nothing-out-of-the-ordinary spring day in your new home. But now … now you have an actual date scheduled with an unbelievably charming and disarmingly down-to-earth racing superstar.

A giddy giggle bubbles up from deep in your chest as reality finally settles in. Who could have ever predicted that bumping into your new acquaintance — quite literally — would lead to not only discovering the most heavenly gelato on the planet, but lining up a date with an internationally famous athlete?

Suddenly, your bright future studying in Monaco just got about ten thousand times more interesting …

***

The week passes by in a blur of anticipation after your initial meeting with Charles. You can barely focus during lectures, your mind constantly wandering to that charming grin and those warm eyes crinkling at the corners whenever he laughed.

Finally, the evening you’ve been eagerly awaiting arrives. You’ve just finished getting ready — pulling on a flowy sundress and brushing out your hair one last time — when your phone buzzes with a new text.

I’m outside whenever you’re ready for our date night. Looking forward to seeing you again 😘

You can’t bite back your giddy smile as you quickly reply that you’re heading out before taking one last steadying breath.

It’s just Charles … the internationally famous and absurdly handsome Formula 1 driver you’ve somehow managed to snag a date with.

No big deal at all.

The evening air carries a pleasantly cool breeze as you exit your apartment building, scanning the idling line of vehicles for Charles’ car. You spot him immediately, leaning against the gleaming metallic side of what you now recognize as an eye-wateringly expensive Ferrari.

Charles looks … unfairly gorgeous. He’s shed his athletic wear in favor of a simple white linen shirt and tailored slacks that somehow make him appear even more effortlessly suave. His hair is artfully tousled and damn if those clothes don’t accentuate every hard plane and corded muscle of his built frame.

You must be staring because suddenly Charles is pushing off from the car and straightening to his full height, those intense eyes crinkling warmly as soon as they land on you.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs appreciatively once you’ve drawn closer, making a show of trailing his gaze slowly up and down your figure. You’re abruptly grateful for the dusky twilight hiding your furious blush at the blatant admiration in his tone.

“Thanks,” you manage to get out without your voice shaking too noticeably. “You don’t look half bad yourself, race car man.”

Charles throws back his head with one of those deep-bellied laughs you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “Why thank you, gelato girl.” He shoots you a wink before surprising you by gallantly offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You take it without hesitation, reveling in the solid warmth of his bicep pressed against your side as Charles leads you to the waiting glossy black sports car. He opens the door for you like an old-fashioned gentleman, closing it carefully once you’re tucked inside the buttery leather interior.

The engine roars to life with a powerful rumble and you can’t resist shooting Charles an impressed look as he deftly maneuvers out onto the street.

“You know, I’m starting to think this little hobby of yours might not be too bad of a gig,” you tease lightly, waving a hand at the sleek interior compartment.

“I can’t complain,” Charles volleys back with a crooked grin, seamlessly navigating the tight turns of the old city. “Sometimes they even let me drive in circles really fast just for fun.”

You roll your eyes at his retort, but can’t quite wipe the smile off your face as Charles guns the engine, the car surging forward in a burst of speed and power. Clearly the man knows how to leverage any opportunity to show off those expert driving skills … not that you mind one bit.

Eventually, Charles pulls up in front of an unassuming doorway you never would have noticed tucked down a quiet side street. The understated sign above simply reads Trattoria Giovanni.

“This place has been run by the same Italian family for over fifty years,” Charles explains as he holds the door for you. “Best authentic cuisine in the city, but you would never find it unless you knew where to look.”

The interior appears to have been plucked directly from a rustic Tuscan villa — burnished wooden beams criss-crossing the curved ceilings and terracotta tiles underfoot. You breathe in deeply, savoring the mouthwatering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread wafting from the open kitchen.

An older man with a thick mustache and crisp white apron greets Charles immediately in fluent Italian, ushering you both back to a cozy alcove table secluded in the very rear. He pours you both generous glasses of deep red wine before disappearing again with a conspiratorial wink in your direction.

“So, how was your race?” You ask between sips once you and Charles are alone, genuinely curious about the difficult career he’s managed to carve out.

He shrugs one broad shoulder almost dismissively. “Decent enough, I suppose. Grabbed another podium finish, but didn’t quite have the pace for the win.” There’s no disappointment or frustration in his tone as he speaks, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m endlessly in awe that you treat accomplishments like that so casually,” you admit with a shake of your head. “Finishing in the top three in Formula 1 seems like the kind of thing most people would be over the moon about.”

Charles lets out a low chuckle at that, leaning towards you over the small table with eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well maybe I need to find a new way to impress someone like you then.”

You open your mouth to respond with a playful retort of your own, but Charles’ gaze has already strayed to somewhere past your shoulder.

“Ah, perfect timing then. Here’s Giovanni himself with our orders.”

Sure enough, the older man you spotted earlier bustles up with a tray overflowing with piping hot plates of food. He doles out the dishes methodically while rattling off a stream of explanations about preparations and ingredients that have clearly been passed down for many generations.

Everything looks and smells utterly divine — from the heaping bowl of glistening spaghetti blanketed in a simmering tomato sauce to the golden-baked chicken drenched in rosemary and olive oil. The endlessly affable Giovanni even sets down a small ceramic dish full of creamy pale cheese, patting Charles on the shoulder.

“The burrata for you and your lady friend. Freshly made this morning by my wife,” he declares proudly before whisking himself away again.

For the next blissful hour or two, you and Charles completely lose yourselves in this veritable feast for the senses. You savor each and every decadent bite — moaning around the pillowy strands of spaghetti and tearing off chunks of the crusty, herb-brushed breads to soak up the savory juices.

Charles, for his part, dives into the meal with just as much enthusiasm, occasionally reaching over to snag a bite off of your plate until you resort to smacking his wandering fork away between fits of laughter.

Stuffed and utterly content, you both eventually push away your long-cleared dishes to nurse the final sips of your wine as the evening stretches languorously on. You fall into these simple moments like an old habit by now — trading comfortable silences and contented looks between impassioned recounts of childhood anecdotes or musings about life.

Finally, as the candles on the small wooden tables begin to gutter and wane, Charles summons over your waiter to settle the check with a few murmured words and one of those knee-weakening smiles. Rising smoothly, he extends his hand in a wordless invitation for you to join him back out into the balmy evening.

This time, instead of heading for the car, Charles tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow before choosing a new direction — down a maze of narrow streets until you finally emerge along the harbor’s edge. Strings of twinkling lights reflect off the lapping waves while the soft strains of background music filter out from somewhere nearby.

“Feel like grabbing a little dessert to walk off that incredible meal?” Charles asks in a low murmur, bumping your shoulder conspiratorially.

You shoot him an incredulous look even as you nod. “You mean in addition to the literal feast we both just had?”

Charles tugs you closer to his side until your hips graze together as you match strides. “There’s always room for gelato,” he counters with an arched brow. “Besides, when in Monaco ...”

Any further protests die on your lips as Charles guides you around another tight corner to reveal that familiar cheerful gelato shop from your initial meeting. The old woman behind the counter greets you both like regulars already, no doubt thanks to Charles’ frequent patronage.

You maneuver through the small line until it’s your turn to order. “I think I’ll go with the tiramisu flavor this time,” you decide, mouth already watering at the prospect of that rich coffee and creamy goodness. “What about you? Mixing it up or still sticking with the basics?”

Charles shakes his head resolutely as he hands over a few crisp bills to pay for your treats. “Trust me, a heaping helping of simple vanilla is just as gratifying as all those overly complicated flavor combinations.”

You balk at his slander, bumping his shoulder with your own without any real heat. “How dare you insult my incredible palette like that?” You glare at him in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I have some of the most refined gelato taste in all of Monaco now.”

“Oh yeah?” Charles tips his chin down with a challenging smirk twisting his full lips. “Well what if I told you that vanilla is scientifically proven to be the most popular and beloved flavor in existence?”

“By who? Basic boring people?” You volley back mercilessly, eagerly leaning into the playful banter now. “If anything, those findings just demonstrated how sadly uncreative society at large is.”

Charles barks out a booming laugh as he grabs your hand and tugs you back out of the shop, gelato in the other. “You heathen! We’re clearly going to need to educate you on the finer points of flavor appreciation.”

Your eyes narrow dangerously even as you let yourself be lead to a nearby bench overlooking the gently lapping waves. “Oh, you’re on, Leclerc. Let’s see if your vanilla snobbery holds up after a taste of tiramisu heaven.”

You scoop up an exaggeratedly generous spoonful of the divinely rich, creamy gelato and make a show of savoring it with overstated moans of delight. “Oh my god, this is so good. Here, you have to try this! It’s life-changing.”

Charles wrinkles his nose even as you wave the spoonful enticingly in front of him. “Nice try but I would never cheat on vanilla!”

The two of you devolve into helpless laughter at that point, dissolving into breathless giggles over the ridiculous debate getting more outrageous by the minute. Finally, you relent in the battle, settling back into the cool metal of the bench and turning your face up to the inky sea of stars glittering overhead.

“You’re right though — sometimes simple really is best,” you admit finally in a softer tone, slowly licking another sweet bite off your spoon.

Charles hums in agreement next to you, shuffling closer until your arms brush together with body heat and contact. “The classics never go out of style.”

The next comfortable silence stretches out between you as you take your time savoring your treats while simultaneously drinking in the breathtaking view laid out before you. The water laps almost hypnotically at the shoreline, twinkling reflection of docked yachts bobbing gently on the calm surface.

A breeze skates across your bare arms, raising a faint ripple of goosebumps along your skin. Charles notices immediately, shifting even nearer until he can shrug out of the lightweight jacket he had been wearing.

Without a word, he swings the soft fabric around your shoulders, tucking it securely around your front. You burrow instinctively into the material, the lingering body heat and remnants of his cologne wrapping you up in an cocoon of soothing warmth and intoxicating comfort.

With your free hand, you toy idly with the collar until Charles’ arm comes up to curl around your shoulders, effectively enveloping you into his solid frame. You let your cheek tip onto the firm muscle of his arm as Charles squeezes you closer with a contented exhale.

Time becomes meaningless suspended in that perfect sea-side bubble, waves flowing rhythmically while you enjoy every last savored bite of your melting treats. You let the quiet inevitability of dropping your head onto Charles’ shoulder wash over you, his familiar cologne invading your senses until your entire world narrows to just him.

When Charles polishes off the final bite of his cone and you go to shift away, another cool gust skitters across the harbor. He tightens the arm curved around you, making no move to let you up or leave the cozy haven you’ve made.

“I could get used to evenings like this, you know,” he murmurs eventually, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just taking it slow and savoring each other’s company without a single worry or care beyond where to find the best gelato.”

You hum in sleepy agreement, luxuriating in the casual intimacy of having Charles wrapped so protectively around you. Part of you can scarcely believe how instantaneous and natural this connection has blossomed between you already. But another part feels like you’ve finally found your soul’s missing piece slotting seamlessly into place after stumbling around lost and incomplete for so long without ever realizing it.

The two of you remain suspended in that perfect, tranquil bubble for what could be minutes or hours more. You’ve completely lost track of any sense of time beyond the lullaby of the gentle waves and occasional murmur of Charles’ breathing ruffling your hair.

Eventually though, his stirring signals a slow return to the real world as Charles regretfully extricates himself from your entwined position with clear reluctance.

“I should probably get you back before your roommate starts to worry,” he says remorsefully as he slides off the bench to offer you a steadying hand up.

You accept it without hesitation, but can’t resist clinging to his jacket still cocooned around your shoulders, unwilling to shrug off that lingering cocoon of comfort and safety just yet. Charles notices, allowing a tiny grin to quirk one side of his mouth upwards as he takes in your refusal to part with it.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs with unmistakable heat in those hypnotizing eyes. “I may have to let you hang on to that one for a while.”

Your mouth goes abruptly dry at the blatant implications in his tone, but you manage a coy smile in return as you turn to make your way back towards wherever Charles has his car crookedly parked.

The streets are all but abandoned by the time you arrive at the discreet entrance of your apartment building. Charles hesitates a split second before rounding the front of the gleaming Ferrari to face you properly on the quiet sidewalk.

“Thank you for an incredible evening,” you say honestly, gazing up at his silhouette in the dim glow of the streetlamps. “I don’t think I can even put into words how special you’ve managed to make me feel these past couple weeks.”

His expression softens instantly. One calloused palm comes up to tenderly cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards his with feather-light reverence.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I assure you,” Charles rumbles in a low tone that steals your breath away. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize just how remarkable you are, ma belle.”

Your eyes flutter shut without conscious thought as his nose brushes yours. Charles’ lips glide torturously against your cheek leaving a blazing trail to the very corner of your mouth.

The softest, most infinitely gentle press of satin flesh on flesh and then he’s pulling back — his ragged exhale warm and intoxicating against your tingling lips. You chase his retreat on instinct, but Charles is already withdrawing further with clear reluctance.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust myself to take things slow quite yet if I stay,” he murmurs in a strained rasp, pupils blown wide and dark. “But I do hope you’ll allow me to make this our new gelato tradition from now on ...”

It takes you several faltering attempts to find your voice again, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of that lightning bolt of affection. Finally, you manage a jerky nod, sliding one trembling hand over his where it still cups your cheek.

“I want that more than anything,” you confess in a hushed tone. “Just ... promise me we’ll see each other soon.”

He releases a shuddering breath of unbridled relief, dipping his forehead to rest against yours. “Soon,” Charles vows lowly. “I promise.”

You stare up into his earnest eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Charles’ lips quirk in that lopsided grin you already adore so much. “I’m counting on it.”

With obvious reluctance, he finally steps away, snagging your hand to press one last searing kiss to your knuckles that has your heart stuttering all over again. Charles holds your gaze as you carefully back away towards the entrance, unwilling or unable to fully turn your back until the very last moment.

You chance a glance over your shoulder as you reach the front doors. Charles is still there, unmoving in a pool of streetlight beside his idling Ferrari, hands shoved in his pockets as he tracks your every step until you’ve slipped safely inside.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you lean back against the cool stone wall, fingers coming up to ghost across your still-tingling lips almost disbelievingly.

When you finally muster the courage to peek through the glass once more, Charles has moved to lean against the side of his car, head tilted back as he stares into the lobby with an unmistakable softness etched across those chiseled features.

You can’t resist pressing your palm to the pane in a gesture you know he’ll recognize. Sure enough, Charles’ intense gaze instantly snaps to lock on you from across the quiet street, expression melting into pure adoration and wonder. His lips shape the same promise he uttered just moments ago — soon — as your own quirk in a delighted smile.

One last impulsive spark of inspiration has you playfully blowing him a single kiss through the barrier between you. Charles catches the invisible token easily, hand flying up to press over that broad chest as he throws back his head with a laugh that you can’t hear but imagine with vivid clarity.

You stand there transfixed, drinking in every last detail of him — the effortless elegance he carries himself with, the striking planes of his handsome face, and those beautiful eyes glittering with a thousand unspoken promises under the streetlamps.

Finally, with your own vow to reunite pulsing between you, Charles slides behind the wheel of his car. The powerful engine roars to life, twin beams from the headlights sweeping up to briefly wash through the windows of the lobby in a silent farewell before he’s peeling away into the night back towards the glittering city center.

You remain at the entrance for several long minutes basking in the memory of Charles’ phantom embrace still clinging to your skin. Only once his Ferrari has faded into the distance do you finally turn towards the elevator up to your apartment — every footstep lighter than air in the wake of an evening that lived up to even your wildest dreams of romantic splendor.

The simple joy and humble pleasure of a perfect scoop of creamy gelato will always hold untold meaning now as the spark marking the start of something beautiful blossoming between you and Charles.

And, as you finally drift off that night with a permanent smile etched across your face, you know without a shadow of a doubt that no flavor in the world could ever compare to the sweet indulgence of a life together just waiting to be savored and explored.

***

The warm spring breeze carries the sweet floral scents of the Brera Botanical Garden through the air as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles. His fingers are laced through yours, his thumb gently stroking over your knuckles. You can’t help stealing glances at his handsome profile — the defined jawline, those soft kiss-curled lips, those kind green eyes that always seem to be smiling even when the rest of his face isn’t.

“What are you looking at?” Charles says with an amused grin, catching you staring again. You just shake your head and squeeze his hand tighter.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” you tease. Charles laughs that bright, infectious laugh of his that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You come to a stop beneath a blossoming cherry tree, pale pink petals floating down around you. Charles turns to face you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/N … there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he begins, suddenly uncharacteristically nervous. You tilt your head curiously. “You know how passionate I am about racing, about Formula 1. It’s been my dream since I was a little boy.”

“Of course,” you nod, unable to stop a small smile. Charles’ love for motorsports is one of the many things you have come to adore about him.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Charles continues, taking both your hands in his. “And I’ve realized that I want to have something else in my life too. A … passion project, you could say. Something that’s away from all the spotlight and pressure.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to imagine what he could mean. Charles has spoken before about potentially getting more involved in charity work or environmentalism on top of his racing career. But the almost childlike excitement dancing in his eyes tells you this is something different.

“I’m going to open a gelato shop,” he blurts out finally. You blink dumbly.

“A … gelato shop?” You repeat slowly. Out of all the possibilities, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

“Yes!” Charles grins broadly, clearly delighted by your surprise. “Think about it,Y/N. What’s more perfect than gelato made right here in the heart of Milano? And I’ve already found the ideal location — a little shop just across the street from here. Can’t you just picture it?”

He starts gesturing animatedly, that bright smile never leaving his face as he outlines his grand vision. You can’t help getting caught up in his infectious enthusiasm, even if the idea still seems a bit random.

“I’m going to call it Lec,” Charles says with a proud smile. You let out an undignified snort of laughter.

“Lec? Like your last name?” You shake your head in amusement. He looks almost offended by your reaction.

“No, no, not just my last name,” he corrects you seriously. “Lec as in … our last name. Yours and mine.”

The words hang in the air as realization slowly starts to dawn on you. You open and close your mouth dumbly as Charles takes a deep breath, sliding off the path onto one knee on the ground before you. With shaking hands, he pulls out a small black box from his pocket and flips it open to reveal the most stunning diamond ring you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N Y/L/N … you are my world, my everything,” Charles’ voice is thick with emotion as he gazes up at you. “I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else by my side. I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with you beside me forever.”

Tears are already welling in your eyes, one hand pressed to your trembling lips as you listen to the beautiful words.

“Will you ...” Charles’ voice catches in his throat and he has to clear it before continuing. “Will you do me the greatest honor and become my wife? Will you marry me?”

The last few words come out in a rush of breath. You’re vaguely aware of several other people in the gardens who’ve stopped to watch, but all you can see is Charles’ face — hopeful and vulnerable and so full of pure adoration for you.

“Yes!” You finally manage to choke out through your joyful tears. “Oh my god, yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!”

Pure relief and blissful ecstasy bursts across Charles’ face at your answer. With hands trembling just as badly as yours, he eases the glittering ring out of the box and onto your finger where it nestles perfectly, the diamond catching the dappled sunlight.

Before you can even look at it properly, Charles is on his feet again, pulling you into his embrace and spinning you around in a deliriously happy circle. You cling to him, laughing and crying at the same time as he peppers every inch of your face with kisses — your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

Finally, inevitably, his mouth finds yours in a long, deep, loving kiss that has your knees feeling weak. You get lost in the warmth of his arms around you, the gentleness of his hands cradling your face, the tenderness of his soft lips moving reverently against yours.

When you finally part, you’re both smiling so much it almost hurts, foreheads pressed together as you share the same breath. Charles brushes away a few stray tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you so much, mon cœur,” he murmurs softly. You mouth the words back to him before stealing another lingering kiss.

Hand-in-hand once more, Charles leads you out of the botanical gardens and across the street. You come to a stop in front of a quaint yet sizable storefront, the windows covered in brown paper and a faded For Lease sign still hanging crookedly in the door.

“Here it is,” Charles says, gesturing up at the building with undisguised pride. “What do you think?”

You take it in slowly, trying to envision what the space might look like once renovated and filled with cozy seating and the alluring scents of freshly-made gelato.

You picture the two of you working side-by-side behind the counter when Charles doesn’t have a race, laughing and bantering as you serve up delicious treats for smiling customers.

It’s such an endearingly normal, domestic dream compared to the fast-paced frenzy of the Formula 1 lifestyle. But standing here with your new fiancé, it feels absolutely perfect.

“I think … I think it’s going to be incredible,” you lean into Charles’ side and wrap your arms around his trim waist. He responds by kissing your temple and pulling you closer.

“Just think,” he says happily, his warm breath ruffling your hair. “We’ll be the owners of the best little gelateria in all of Milano.

“Sounds like heaven,” you smile. “Just be sure to make plenty of hazelnut and tiramisu for me.”

“Done and done,” he promises solemnly. “Though you know vanilla will always be number one in my book.”

“Oh really?” You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “Is that so?”

Without warning, you loop your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. You can feel him melting into your embrace, his arms snaking securely around your waist.

When you finally manage to pull apart again, you’re both slightly flushed and out of breath. Charles’ usually perfectly tousled hair is charmingly mussed from running your fingers through it. He looks at you with such naked affection and desire that your heart flutters.

“You know what?” He murmurs huskily, resting his forehead against yours. “I take it back. You’re definitely my favorite flavor. And I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you, mon amour.”

And with that promise lingering sweetly between you, Charles takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply once more, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the embrace.

You can taste forever on his lips.

When you finally part, grinning giddily at each other, Charles takes your hand and leads you back towards your next adventure. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll take it on fearlessly and joyously, side-by-side with the man you love more than anything in this world.

***

The reception hall is a whirlwind of joy and celebration as you take in the scene, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. The elegant decorations, the twinkling lights, and the smiling faces of your loved ones surrounding you all blur together in a beautiful haze.

You can scarcely believe this day has finally arrived — the day you’ve dreamed of for so long.

You turn to Charles, his warm green eyes sparkling with so much love, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his million-watt smile making your knees go weak.

This incredible man is now your husband.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, taking your hand and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Having fun, mon amour?”

A joyful laugh escapes your lips as you nod enthusiastically. “More than I ever thought possible. I’m just … I’m so happy, Charles. I can’t believe we’re actually married!”

He chuckles, that rich laugh that never fails to make you melt. “Believe it, Mrs. Leclerc. You’re stuck with me forever now.” His expression softens as he cups your cheek tenderly. “I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You lean into his touch, savoring the moment. “I love you too, Mr. Leclerc. More than anything.”

A throat clears behind you, and you whirl around to see Arthur, your new brother-in-law, grinning mischievously.

“If you two lovebirds are done making everyone else nauseous, it’s time to cut the cake!” He teases, jerking his head towards the lavish gelato cake that sits on the dessert table.

Charles throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have someone as amazing as my wife to make gooey eyes at.”

Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever. Get your butts over there before I eat the whole thing myself.”

With a wink at you, Charles takes your hand and leads you towards the dessert table, the crowd of guests parting like the Red Sea to let you through. Your heart does a little flip as the magnificent gelato cake comes into view — a towering masterpiece of creamy gelato in vanilla, hazelnut, and tiramisu, all artfully swirled together and decorated with fresh fruit and chocolate shavings.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper in awe, giving Charles’ hand a squeeze.

He pulls you into his side with a content smile. “Not as perfect as you.”

The crowd applauds as you approach the cake, and a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles rises up. Straightening your shoulders with a grin, you pick up the gleaming cake knife and lock eyes with Charles, suddenly feeling bold.

“Ready to do this, husband?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

His eyes blaze with undisguised desire. “More than ready, wife.”

Together, you slice into the towering gelato cake, the creamy filling oozing out and already making your mouth water. Once you have a generous slice on a plate, you scoop up a spoonful and lock eyes with Charles again, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

His pupils dilate as he catches your meaning, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mon cœur.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” You take a step closer, holding the spoonful of gelato up temptingly.

Charles tips his head back with a groan. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good thing you have me to bring you back to life then,” you quip, pressing the spoon to his lips.

He opens obediently, letting you slide the gelato into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His eyelids flutter shut as the flavors explode over his tongue, and he actually moans — deep and guttural and utterly sinful.

A choked sound comes from somewhere in the crowd. “Oh please, get a room!” Joris, Charles’ best friend and best man, calls out with a mixture of amusement and mortification.

Charles doesn’t even open his eyes, simply raising one middle finger in Joris’ direction as he savors the last of the gelato. When his tongue finally darts out to catch a stray bit on his lips, you feel an unexpected flare of heat low in your belly.

Okay, two can play at this game.

Deliberately holding Charles’ heated gaze, you dip your finger into the gelato drippings on the plate and slowly, so slowly, bring it up to your lips. You let the very tip of your tongue dart out to catch the sticky sweetness, swirling it around luxuriously. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, jaw tense.

That’s it.

You slip your finger into your mouth fully, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck the gelato off with an utterly obscene sound. Charles’ knees actually buckle, and he grips the table behind him for support, pupils blown wide.

“You are so dead,” he growls under his breath, low and dangerous.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a breathy giggle, drunk with a dizzying cocktail of desire and sheer bliss. Charles takes a half step closer, his eyes burning into yours. You quickly scoop up another fingerful of gelato, desperate to keep pushing those buttons and draw out that delicious intensity.

But before you can bring it to your lips, quick as a flash, Charles is on you. He drags you flush against his solid form, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. The scorching kiss steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to his lapels for purchase.

When he finally breaks away, his eyes are blazing with unconcealed want.

“You missed a spot,” he rasps.

Then he’s ducking his head, and with one torturously slow lick, he clears the stray bit of gelato from the tip of your nose. The heat of his tongue on your overly sensitive skin makes you whimper.

The catcalls and whistles from your guests fade into white noise as you melt against your husband, lost in the endless depths of his hungry gaze. Screw being appropriate — you’ll give them all a show to remember if you have to.

“Fuck, I love you,” Charles rumbles, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again — deep and thorough and all-consuming. You sigh into his mouth, bunching the fine material of his tuxedo jacket in your fists to pull him even closer. His hand slides from your neck into your hair, cradling your head reverently as he pours every ounce of his love and passion into the kiss.

An eternity later, he breaks away with a ragged breath, resting his forehead against yours. “I think it’s time to get out of here, don’t you?”

You can only nod breathlessly, already imagining the deliciously wicked things he has in store. As if in a trance, you allow him to take your hand and lead you towards the exit, shouting and wolf whistles following in your wake.

Just before you slip out of the hall, you hear Pierre Gasly’s teasing voice behind you.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two!”

Charles pauses only long enough to call over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“But there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!”

Then he’s sweeping you into his arms with a playful growl, carrying you into your new life together as man and wife. Peals of laughter and cheers chase you down the hall, but you only have eyes for each other in this perfect moment.

You’re married to the love of your life. You have forever with this incredible man. And if the wedding is anything to go by, forever is going to be deliciously amazing.

Literally.

[rambheem-is-real]

She’s Mine pt 1

pairing: ramaadhya

story: classical dancer!aadhya, street dancer!radha rama

warnings: dubious consent, stalking, nonconsensual drugging, nsfw (next chapter)

Radha Rama feels eyes on her, watching her dance on the platform.

Of course, she’s here to be watched, to show herself off, to help out her team. It would’ve been so much easier if the boys had just accepted a large donation from Mannar Corps, but they wanted to work for their money, wanted to earn it. They had wanted to continue their street dancing lifestyle, and given that they had welcomed her with open arms, teaching her their ways after she left the dance academy, Rama hadn’t pushed it.

Deva, Rinda, and now Surabhi, their newest member, were in it for their love of dance and their community, having nowhere else to go with tumultuous home lives. Rama understood the love of dance, had grown up loving every practice session and every stage performance, so she tagged along whenever she was free from her responsibilities, helping the Salaar team, as they called themselves, put on performances around the city to earn money.

She uses the cover of a twirl to glance at whoever’s looking at her, and nearly trips in shock. Even though the girl had clearly grown older in the years, Rama can’t forget those pretty doe eyes, the ones that had always looked at her with wonder and awe. It’s a familiar feeling, Rama thinks ruefully, dancing while Aadhya Krishnakanth watches from the crowd. She uses another twirl, breaking from the choreography for a second, to steal another glance at Aadhya. The boys would deal with it, they had known her well enough to know she would go off script at times, and never enough to truly disrupt the performance. Sometimes the preplanned steps just didn’t match with the audience, the weather, her mood, and she would change accordingly. Of course, it wasn’t for an artistic reason this time.

Aadhya looks the part of a New York tourist, her long black hair straightened and held back from her face by those obnoxious street glasses. She’s wearing a simple brown babydoll tee and a white ruffled skirt flowing around her knees. Unsurprisingly, there’s a bowl full of gelato in her left hand and a phone held up with her right hand, probably recording Rama. She’s filled out slightly since she was a teenager, the curve of her waist distracting Rama for another second. Deva notices, catching her eye. He briefly raises an eyebrow before he breaks eye contact to do a flip, knowing she got the warning. Rama flushes, resolving to ignore the girl until the performance is over, dropping to her knees for a series of floor movements.

-

The crowd files out quickly after the performance is over, most dropping some cash into their basket or venmoing them a few dollars as they get back to their sightseeing. The regulars take the time to greet them and wish them a good weekend before they too move on to their jobs and other activities. The little girl that’s been to their last few performances once again hands a piece of candy to Surabhi, and Surabhi smiles cheerily at the girl in thanks, before the girl scampers off to skate with her friends in the park behind the stage.

Team Salaar comes together to count their money and regroup, Surabhi chewing happily on the candy as Deva and Baachi get into yet another argument over how the money should be split. Rama rolls her eyes, and tries to discreetly watch where Aadhya’s going. The girl has walked a few blocks to the east, but as Rama watches, Aadhya turns around to look at their group. Rama quickly looks at the bickering boys, sharing an amused look with Rinda. A second later, she turns back. Aadhya has sat on a park bench, but is almost blatantly staring at their group.

Was Aadhya… here for her?

Aadhya looks off for about a minute, finishing her gelato. But Rama wasn’t wrong. Aadhya keeps sneaking glances at them.

Rama feels her lips curl up. So she’s gotten herself a stalker.

-

The rest of the day had passed as normal, except for Aadhya. The girl had followed the group to the corner deli where they had gotten lunch, burying her face in a newspaper to avoid discovery. Then she had followed them to the local flea market, and later followed Rama to her favorite ramen place for dinner. She gave up when Rama went home in an Uber, but the girl had made a very big mistake. She had gotten Rama curious.

Rama had gone home, changed, and came right back to where she last saw Aadhya. From there it wasn’t hard to look through windows until she saw the girl buying some travel guides from a local bookseller. She had waited until Aadhya walked out, then began following her to her next destination. Rama assumes it would be her home in this city, the penthouse that Krishnakanth owned.

It’s not hard to catch up to the girl, while also staying unsuspicious. As Aadhya turns the corner into an isolated alleyway, Rama smirks, increasing her pace. It’s this that gets Aadhya to glance behind at her pursuer, eyes widening at the all black outfit, face covered by the hoodie and dim lighting. Rama relishes in the fear that flashes instantly across Aadhya’s face, causing the girl to stumble.

Rama uses the distraction to grab both of Aadhya’s hands to keep her from striking, and pressing them both to the side of a building. A strangled scream begins to tear out of Aadhya’s throat at the position they’re in, but dies down at the recognition of her stalker now that she can see her face up close.

“Rama akka?”

Rama leans in closer, glancing down at Aadhya’s lips, and licks her own, making sure the movement is visible. “Oh I think we don’t need the formalities anymore, do we?” Aadhya swallows, and pressed chest-to-chest like this, Rama can feel her heartbeat through the thin top. “Just Rama is fine. Or,” Rama smirks, “I can think of some more creative things you could call me in a more private place.”

Aadhya immediately shoves her off, Rama letting herself get pushed back about a foot, but the rising blush on Aadhya’s cheeks and ears betrays her.

“What do you want?”

Rama gently blows on the girl’s face, causing her to close her eyes and turn to the side. She uses the distraction to murmur, “You.” Aadhya’s eyes fly open, and Rama’s blood buzzes in excitement. Playing with this girl was too fun, she was so easily startled and cute.

“For- for what?”

“Mmm, I don’t know, maybe whatever it is you wanted to find me for.” A flutter of emotions crosses Aadhya’s face: embarrassment, fear, guilt.

“You knew I was… following you. I was an idiot,” she mutters to herself.

“Come on, baby. I don’t deal with idiots. You,” Rama breathes, lifting Aadhya’s chin up with her snake ring, “are not one. Not if we just continue with your original plan. So, your place or mine?”

“What?”

“Unless you mean to tell me you’re here to beg me to come back to the academy,” Rama shrugs. “But I just assumed you wanted to fuck.”

Aadhya stares at her, and Rama lets her come to whatever conclusions she wants, knowing that the decision was already made. The girl swallows. “Mine. So you can’t try anything.”

Rama smirks. Desperate, the girl was desperate for her. She puts an arm around her baby’s waist, leading them out of the alleyway. “Perfect. I’ll pay for the Uber, don’t you worry.”

-

The ride to Aadhya’s place is quiet, both high strung from the tension, Aadhya clearly feeling a touch of fear as well. Rama keeps her palm splayed possessively over the bare skin exposed on Aadhya’s thigh, and can tell how much Aadhya is straining to not lean into the touch, to not give away how desperate she is.

The driver glances suspiciously at her in the rearview mirror, taking in her all black out outfit. Rama glares right back. He seems to give up after a few minutes, concentrating on the road, and Rama relaxes a bit. After all these years, she finally got her prize. Maybe not the one she had originally wanted, but this would piss Krishnakanth off just as much, if not more.

As they get out of their ride, Rama slips her fingers under the hem of Aadhya’s top. The thought of that slim waist hadn’t left her mind since she had first seen it that morning, and she had to touch. Aadhya jolts, and as Rama is about to smirk down at her, the girl yanks Rama down by the edges of her hood and kisses Rama, hard.

When they pull back Rama stares at Aadhya, surprised at the intensity, and Aadhya blushes although she doesn’t back down. So cute, Rama thinks. The girl couldn’t control herself, and she also seemed to have a fire that rivaled Rama’s own.

Aadhya looks around, realizing they were still in the middle of the street, and grabs Rama’s hand to pull after her. “Not here,” she says.

“Wherever you want me, baby,” Rama grins.

Rama resumes exploring inside the elevator that would take them to the top floor, and Aadhya lets herself lean into the touches.

“You have to leave before my dad gets here,” Aadhya says, trying to be stern but neither of them miss the way her voice shakes.

“Of course baby, what business do I have with him?” Aadhya frowns at that, and Rama leans in for a quick kiss to distract her. Rama does in fact have business with Krishnakanth- she can’t wait for the day her family buys out all of his properties- but that’s for another day.

The elevator chimes as they reach the penthouse, and Aadhya kisses Rama, deeper this time, as she pulls her onto the floor. Rama doesn’t let her go far, presses the girl up against the wall next to the elevator, lets herself bite Aadhya’s lips, pressing hard on her waist. She wants to see how far the girl will let her go, but surprisingly she doesn’t complain about the rough treatment, in fact, by the way she’s squirming, Rama thinks she likes it more this way. How exciting.

Aadhya pushes her back a little, flushed. “I’ve never..” she starts hesitantly, and Rama can only stare. “I’ve never done this with anyone before.”

Rama takes a moment to breathe, all thoughts scattered after knowing the girl was a virgin. She would be the first one to defile this doll of a girl, she would leave her mark on the girl for the rest of her life. And oh would that man be pissed, that Rama had gotten her claws on his daughter, had claimed her for herself. She doesn’t let Aadhya see any of these thoughts, but mentally rearranges her plans for the night. No, this would not be a one-night stand, she wants the girl all to herself. So she can’t scare her away.

“Do you still want to continue, baby?” She tries to seem concerned. “I can leave if you’re not comfortable.”

Aadhya scowls. “I’m not a little girl, I’m fine, we can f-fuck.” She stumbles over the last word, and Rama tries not to laugh. The girl was adorable. She would bet anything Krishnakanth had gone too far in raising her, keeping her sheltered away, and Aadhya was desperate to rebel.

“Still, I think we should take a break. Do you have any drinks? Could help us loosen up.”

The girl’s face lights up for a moment. “I’ve got vodka, specialty bottles of wine..” She trails off, realizing who she was talking to, frowning again. “Non-alcoholic for now. I can make tea, coffee, or hot chocolate.” Aadhya was still suspicious of her, but it didn’t bother Rama, since she was right to think Rama had an ulterior motive.

Rama trails her fingers over a painting next to them on the wall, depicting an ocean landscape. “If I’m going to be up all night,” she takes note of the way Aadhya’s breath hitches at that, “then I’ll take a coffee. Dark roast, splash of milk, two sugars.” She nods and heads into the kitchen, Rama following.

As Aadhya waits on the coffee machine, Rama observes the place. The decor wasn’t fully minimalistic, but it didn’t show true personality either. Just enough to make it look like a respectable person owned the building. Classic Krishnakanth, Rama thinks. Always wearing the mask of a gentleman. She gets bored halfway through looking around the kitchen and ogles Aadhya’s ass instead, Aadhya rolling her eyes at Rama when she realizes, but not saying a word. Her hair was long too. Rama imagines pulling on the length, tries to think of the sounds the girl would make.

Finally both mugs of coffee are ready, Rama noticing the girl not bothering to put anything else in her own mug. Aadhya gestures to the living room sofa, and Rama takes her mug and follows Aadhya to sit. She chooses a spot close enough to Aadhya to make it seem like she’s interested, but not close enough to be creepy. She angles herself to face the girl, who kicks her feet up and sits cross-legged. Rama lets the girl talk first, sipping at her coffee patiently as she waits her out.

“So.” Aadhya tries to break the suddenly awkward silence. “What have you been doing since…” She trails off hesitantly, knowing it was a sore subject, but Rama shakes her head. Emboldened, Aadhya continues. “What have you been doing since you left the Academy? I saw your performance this morning, it was amazing. Are you like, a professional street dancer now? You quit my dad’s place and joined Team Salaar?” The last part doesn’t come out accusatory, to Rama’s surprise.

“Well, it wasn’t an immediate shift. I sorted some stuff out-”

Broken bangles littered around the floor. Reena’s face torn open from the switchblade in her hand.

“-graduated college-”

Her foot, on the balls of the student who had dared catcall her, threaten to molest her.

“-joined the family real estate business-”

Her palm cupping the neck of the man who refused to do business with her dad, dragging his face along the table. Bruised knuckles, contrasting with her perfectly manicured, unbroken nails.

“-and found Deva and Rinda on the streets. I was intrigued by their style and asked them to teach me.” Aadhya’s knowing eyes find her own. She knows, Rama thinks. The itch inside your body, the urge to dance and move as freely as you want. She may have left the Academy but the Academy training hadn’t left her, and it never would. “I wanted to continue dancing, and this was a way for me to do so. And I’m not a professional, darling, I simply show up and do a few tricks as a hobby. I’m just helping the boys and Surabhi out.”

Aadhya nods, taking in the information. “Of course I remember you from the Academy, who didn’t know you then?” Her brown eyes sparkle with remembered awe, and Rama feels a pang of the now dormant rage at the thought of how bright she shined there, how much farther she could have reached if it weren’t for that man. “You were amazing, all of us juniors wanted to be like you. But..” She takes a sip of her coffee. “But this suits you. Better, I mean.” Rama blinks. “You being your own boss, performing the choreo you come up with, you being in control of your dance.”

Rama feels flustered all of a sudden. How well did this girl pay attention to her, years ago? To know her thoughts like that? Aadhya can’t conceal her delight and smugness at Rama’s flushed cheeks well enough, and Rama shakes the feelings away.

“How’s the Academy doing?” She asks the girl.

Aadhya sighs. “Same old, same old. Nothing’s changed since you left, my dad’s been running it the exact same way he’s been running the place for the last few decades.” She looks down into her mug. “I’m an assistant teacher now, I help out when I’m not studying,”

Rama whistles, and Aadhya blushes this time. “Look at you go, already an assistant teacher.” Aadhya giggles, and Rama takes note of the fact that she’s a lot more relaxed now. Both of them are, actually. Rama tries to tamp down her own feelings, the urge to just.. lie down in Aadhya’s lap. Where the hell did that come from? “Are you studying here? Is that why you’re in New York City?”

“I actually just transferred to NYU for this semester, my final semester. I’m trying to do a combined masters program, getting my double degree in linguistics and dance, and earning a masters in dance so I can continue to teach full-time at the Academy.” Such an accomplished girl. Rama would have fun with her. “So how are your brothers doing? Baachi and Varadha?”

She can’t help but laugh out loud. “You still hate him that much? That you forgot his existence? I have a third brother, baby.”

Aadhya blinks, then shudders. “Sorry but I don’t want to hear about Rudra.”

Rama laughs again. “That’s fair. Well, you saw Baachi this morning. He’s only with the group to promote his OnlyFans, on paper at least.”

“On paper?”

Rama leans in, and Aadhya giggles as Rama whispers mock-conspiratorially. “Streets are saying he just wants to be as cool as Deva, that he joined the group just for Varadha to take him seriously.”

“Deva?”

“The tall, brooding guy.” Aadhya nods. “He’s Varadha’s boyfriend, and Baachi hates his guts.”

Aadhya giggles again. “I don’t know Deva but I do remember Baachi.” Rama remembers how Baachi and Aadhya were around the same age, and played pranks on each other. They were close. “And I know it’s more so that Baachi is just jealous of Deva.”

Rama grins. “He’s so obvious, isn’t he, always trailing after Varadha but refusing any affection from him.”

They laugh together for a few moments. Rama thinks this is nice, actually.

“And Varadha is… Varadha.”

“What did he do this time?”

“More like what didn’t he do,” Rama snorts. “He refused to join the family business like Rudra and I.” Oh, she remembers that particular tantrum well. Her brother had accused the family of ‘unethical business practices’, but that was just how real estate worked. “He went to law school and became a lawyer, just started as an attorney recently. He works in environmental law because he’s soft like that. He and Deva met…” She pauses, frowning. “They met…”

The looseness from earlier, the feeling of happiness, the simmering lust underneath, it’s all coming to a head. Rama focuses on Aadhya’s lips, the rest of the room slowly starting to blur out. Something’s wrong. Her brain refuses to function properly, though. All she can think of are the girl’s lips, of how they would feel against hers.

“They met where? Rama?” Aadhya’s voice is crystal clear against the way the room is spinning. She holds onto it like a lifeline. “What’s wrong? What do you want?”

You, Rama thinks. Or maybe she says it out loud. She doesn’t know.

Rama, in a show of forwardness that shocks even herself, throws her legs over Aadhya’s lap and starts making out with the girl in earnest. It’s wet and sloppy and too much tongue but Rama’s too far gone for technique now, and Aadhya doesn’t seem to mind by the way she eagerly reciprocates. Aadhya brings her hands around to squeeze Rama’s ass, and Rama makes an embarrassing sound.

Something’s wrong, a small part of her is still yelling.

Aadhya pulls back slightly, gazing at Rama’s unfocused eyes, at the way she’s slightly panting. Then, slowly, her lips curl up into a smirk. “It worked.” Rama blinks, uncomprehending, until it hits her. The coffee. She hadn’t watched what Aadhya had put into it, too distracted by her ass. Her heart rate would have been spiking if she wasn’t on drugs right now. “It worked,” Aadhya traces her index finger over the curve of Rama’s jawline, “so perfectly well. You thought I was just a simple girl, terrible at stalking, thought you had the power over me. You came into my house so confident. And now? You’re mine.” She grins, and Rama feels the tables of control swing wildly in the opposite direction.

-

[steveharrington]

Hi! I just saw your post about Steve being abandoned by the narrative and I found it so interesting, but I have a question and a wonder on your thoughts.

First, how was Steve supposed to die? I knew he was suppose to die in s1 initially, but I assumed it was at the hand of the demogorgan, but if Lonnie helped Jonathan and Nancy, ig he wasn't there. Was he supposed to die in the pool instead of barb, and she didn't exist in the og script? But that feels a lil too early considering other things hadn't happened yet, so how did he die?

Also, I was thinking about whta you said in regards to Steve getting tortured has an almost light hearted tone to it, and im wondering what you think may have contributed to that tone? He's getting beat up, he's begging for his life, the general is intimidating, what about the scene somehow makes it feel less scary than other scenes? Part of me wants to sya the lighting, since it's in a well lit sterile room, but even in those lab scenes with El in the beginning, it was still scary. Idk what do u think?

so the funny thing is that the duffers apparently don’t even remember how they were going to kill steve, just that he was gonna die and lonnie would take his place during the demogorgon fight before joe keery charmed them too hard and they changed their minds

(this was apparently said during netflix geeked prior to s2 according to this rotten tomatoes article)

as for the torture scene, i just think they added way too much like…joking around? his whole little spiel about the uss butterscotch and the way he stops to be like “or maybe it’s gelato where you come from 🤣” and the fake out when the guards laugh, it’s all very goofy and kinda going in the direction of a comedic scene until they knock him out and then you’re like holy fuck. idk if the duffers intended that, maybe they thought it would be like a way to subvert audiences expectations and kinda sucker punch us the same way steve gets sucker punched, but it just creates a weird….vibe. there’s also the bit where he and robin are giggling and refusing to answer and when they suddenly start pulling on steve’s nail with pliers it just becomes insanely dark insanely fast, to the degree where i saw a gifset of that scene recently and i thought like wow that last gif (plier fingernail bit) looks like it belongs to a different gifset just from how quickly the tone changes. in scenes where el is getting tortured or hopper is getting tortured it’s treated So Seriously there’s absolutely zero comedy there are zero jokes or bits written in, which makes sense! it’s torture! but for steve i really think they struggle to write him in any mode but comedic and it just strikes a weird tone

[demoncatapologist]

Random Spriggan 12 headcanons:

- Irene tossed the role of being in charge of the Spriggans' finances to Invel as soon as he joined. ("Oh come on, he is your most talented apprentice in your own words, August, he'll be fine!")

- Ajeel didn't get along with Wall at the beginning, because of Wall's tendency to probe at others' weaknesses (which Ajeel is obviously insecure about) and the uncanny valley from his robotic face did not help. They later became friends after having to (begrudgingly) collaborate with each other to prank Neinhart after she somehow exploded the castle wing with their rooms.

- By contrast, Ajeel and Dimaria instantly clicked and became fast friends upon their introduction.

- Dimaria and Wall became friends after she offered to hear them present (read: infodump) about this new weapon that they had designed 30 minutes ago.

- Larcade, Bloodman and Wall became friends after a chat about how they "just didn't get human social norms". They hang out to complain about humans every now and then afterwards.

- Jacob, Neinhart, Bloodman and God Serena have what they call a "reading club" in which they make fun of cheesy shitty romantic novels. Neinhart is proud(?) to say that they are the biggest contributor of shitty cheesy romance novels to the club.

- God Serena is obviously one of those "how do you do fellow kids" kind of middle-aged man. Ajeel and Larcade are not amused.

- Brandish actually declined the offer to join the Spriggans that was given to her a couple months after Ajeel, saying that it was "too much work". She only begrudgingly joined, a year later, after a lot of pestering from August. ("At least I will have free gelato from the castle.")

- Invel's room is literally freezer temperature. Furthermore, for every New Year's day (when the Spriggans get a day off), he turns his room down to like -70°C (-94°F) and sleeps for the whole day, claiming it as "making up for the rest of the year" (that's obviously not how it works but okay)

- Larcade has a lot more rows of sharp teeth behind his human-like front rows. Jacob saw them when Larcade laughed at one of Bloodman's demonic script puns on his first day of being introduced to the rest of the Spriggans and he was never the same afterwards.

[crestfallen-infatuation]

Uh, ayy, live from the Crescent, it's the Christ like figure

Riding in the North with some ice cold killers

Raised on the Bank, start young drug dealing

Now my money in the banks, tripled up cartwheeling

Hoes on my nuts wanna licky, licky, lick

If you know me, then you know I give no fuck about a bitch

Live from the sticks, always got the pistol gripped

Five in the clip, let that motherfucker kick

Smoked out, loced out, homies on the jose

Top down, spokes out, smoking on a port

Crack rock, dope house, shooters with a scope

Grew up where your mama always told you not to go

Get my dick sucked, mane, these hoes just a nut

Playing with her pussy while she sitting in the front

Another in the back, rolling, smoking on a blunt

Bitch, what you doin'? Get the fuck up here and

Lick my nuts, lick my, lick my nuts, lick my, lick my (I tell 'em)

Lick my nuts, lick my, lick my nuts, lick my, lick my (I tell 'em)

Lick my nuts, lick my, lick my nuts, lick my, lick my (I tell 'em)

Lick my nuts, lick my, lick my, lick my nuts, lick my, lick my (I tell 'em)

Yeah, live from the crypt off about five scripts

Live from the ville with your bitch in my crib

Ring, ring, go the phone, it's another call missed

Hard to have a convo when her lips on my dick, yeah

Fuck the 5-0, still dead to a snitch

Can say that shit enough, talkin' like a new trend, yeah

Ride like a pimp, Cadillac with the tint

I can have them killers do you in all for some rent

Slicky heaven-sent, but I'm looking like the devil

Ruger, choppa, draco, always toting heavy metal

Hustle like a fiend even though my life settled

Every bitches dream, it's the boy Lil Wetto

Work the wood like Geppetto while I'm smokin' on gelato

Koopsta on the speakers with my foot on the petal

Rose from the ghetto, boy, rose from the dead

Gimme, gimme head, gimme head, gimme head

[demonslayedher]

What are some blood demon art concepts you find interesting but they weren’t explored in the canon?

This was one of the Asks that made me go, "uuuuuuhhhhh..."

The reason for this is that I find myself most creative in response to a problem. For example, in this fic I came up with the Mirror Demon because I wanted a demon that might be fought with the final form of Flower Breath. That's why in a lot of hypotheticals or potential AUs I'm asked about, my first response is to set the perimeters and figure out how to work within those constraints, such as asking what would be in-character. Constraints drive creativity, like how well you can write a haiku within a given set of rules.

What I'm less good at is divergent creativity: coming up with something out of nothing, no limits.

That brings me to how I'd like to answer this Ask: with a breakdown of my brainstorming methods!

A common phenomenon is that children are better at divergent thinking--imagining all the possibilities--than adults, who have had that ability beaten out of them by the emphasis on "rightness" and that some ideas are "stupid." It takes exercising this part of the brain to be able to think in more original ways instead of just "the best" ways. This page breaks it down pretty simply and explains it with the paperclip test/game, and here's more ideas for other exercises and different kinds of goals you could potentially have for creative thinking.

When I am doing a group brainstorming exercise, be it in a classroom or office setting, what I find works best is a leader/moderator at the board who can catch things and write fast and potentially legibly (within reason for how fast they're writing), and the method should be agreed upon in advance--for example, mind-mapping, which uses branches from a main idea to show relationships between ideas. Typically, this means starting with a main idea in the center and branching out into different categories as more ideas come to you. Another methods is writing things in a list format, thinking of as many things as you can in a given category. These are basics found in any cheesy corporate "how to increase creativity" guide, but they are helpful in easing people into how to brainstorm.

The challenge is to set a time frame--short enough that you are forced to think fast, long enough that it gets painful. The time frame is up to you, whether it's setting a timer for one minute or however long it takes for you to write while eating melting gelato. Okay, maybe in a formal setting you'll set a timer to keep everyone on the same page.

While you might have a different ultimate goal in the purpose of your brainstorming, what you're going for here is not quality, but quantity--as many ideas as possible--and that means not throwing any stupid ideas out. If anything, the stupid ideas are where magic starts to happen. It's the shift from "basic stuff anyone could think of off the top of their head" to "oh, I never would had thought of this otherwise." You have to force yourself to think past the initial, obvious-feeling, correct-feeling ideas to access what's more unusual, and that usually means some stupid ideas first. It's like dusting out the cobwebs of this part of your brain you aren't usually accessing. I've also heard this process described as tossing out your first ten ideas, at least in a creative script-writing approach.

Refining your ideas, convergent thinking, comes later. But only after you've gotten some ideas to work with!

The reason a legible mind-map or list works well in a group setting is because this means everyone can observe the ideas after the initial "hurry, hurry, think, think" stage. Everyone can discuss them and decide which ones to throw out, and even draw lines showing more connections and circling whatever ideas you want to come back to.

But do I look like a corporate board room to you? No. I ate gelato today while writing this:

When it's just me using it, I don't care about legibility, and I use a mix of mind-mapping arrows and lists and flow of consciousness. While playing with story ideas I might whole pages of doodles that look like this with fragments of character lines. This gave me a way to observe my own thoughts about Demon Blood Techniques and their unlimited potential, and I found that I kept myself thinking quickly by asking questions and then answering myself.

Also, I got lines like "Skunk demon" and "so now we're the Magic School Bus."

Some of the themes I found interesting were the repeated effects of sound waves (Kyogai, Nakime, Flute Demon), and infinity (the fortress, the ability to regenerate, the ability to replicate, etc.). One of the themes I thought deeper on was how much I love Kyogai's abilities, and not just Kyogai himself. For as much as other Blood Techniques are based on things we've seen in other media (being trapped in good dreams, alternate dimensional spaces, spider threads, body duplicates, illusions, etc)., Kyogai's abilities were very unexpected, but also had a rationale to them. However, instead of the sound waves only changing the orientation and spatial locations of the rooms, he also had big air claws, which otherwise would seem like they have nothing to do with the orientation of a room. In the first place, air claws and redecorating seem they have nothing to do with drums. It's the combination of these factors that make Kyogai's Blood Technique so impressive and refreshing.

Once I made that observation, I made a couple of lists of potential means that a demon might use and ways that a Demon Slayer or prey might be overcome, and then I connected them semi-randomly. I got connections like "temperature" and "memories," like how a demon might raise the temperature of a room little by little and call to a demon slayer's mind memories of their childhood, until they are completely overwhelmed with that last summer they spent in childhood innocence as they are in reality boiling alive, and "color" with "invading body," like if a chameleon-like demon can match the color of a Nichirin blade then it can gain control over the swordsman's hands and forearms, whatever grip created that color.

My favorite, though, was "fingernails" and "suffocation," because it gave me a very vivid mental image of a demon sweeping its hand like it's going to grab a swordsman's face, but draws away just shy of touching them. However, with its long fingernails, it's grabbed the Breath just about to enter a swordsman, and pulls it right out of them.

Horrific, am I right!?!?

So anyway. That's what I got from my divergent thinking experiment today. It's the kind of thing I tell myself I need to do more of when trying to write my own original fiction, but kind of like physical exercise, I think about it more than I actually do it. ^^;

[kattartsblog]

Rated: T

Warnings: Swearing, Partial Nudity, and Alcohol

Ilona was given a camcorder as a Christmas gift.

Author’s note: This is the only fic written as a script.

SETTING: RISOTTO’S APARTMENT

*There’s a slight beeping noise as the camcorder turns on, it starts off blurry at first but then it clears up to show Ilona in their room with Melone*

Ilona: Is this thing on?

Melone: I believe so. The directions said that the light should be on if you’re recording.

Ilona: Yay! Thanks again for helping me.

Melone: Anytime Ilona. Be sure to erase the footage later.

*Melone walks off screen, he closes the door*

Ilona: (into camera) Ok… well how do I start this, I mean it’s going to get thrown out so I guess I’ll say things I’ll never say to anyone. *they take a deep breath* Melone is really hot and I want to tell him but I’m too chicken. I think Illuso is a stupid mother fucker. Formaggio is like a big brother to me and I think of Risotto as like the cool dad I never got to meet. Prosciutto is a prude but it’s understandable because he’s not very attractive. I got nothing to say about Pesci, he’s pretty chill. I’m jealous that Gelato and Sorbet are in a loving relationship, they’re basically a top item. Ghiaccio is way too scary and I can never really talk to him. And finally I wish I didn’t have a stand, that way I could get rid of these stupid fucking cat paws! *a moment of silence, they catch their breath* Ok, now we can fool around.

*Ilona takes the camera off of the stand and opens the door, there is Risotto’s living room. Gelato is having a screaming match with Ghiaccio*

Gelato: It’s not my fault you didn’t get new wine.

Ghiaccio: You were supposed to get it, puttana!

Ilona: (to camera) And we’re going to a different room.

*Ilona takes the camera downstairs to the meeting area, there Formaggio is sprawled out shirtless on the couch.*

Ilona: (to camera) Ah, and here we see the exotic drunken cheese man. See how he’s… OH HECK! *they cover up the lense with their paw* (to Formaggio) FORMAGGIO PUT YOUR PANTS ON! I can see your junk through your boxers.

*Formaggio is snapped to attention and puts his pants back on. The camera lens is then uncovered.*

Formaggio: Sorry about that Illy~. Wait, are you filming?

Ilona: Si Signore, you’re on air.

Formaggio: *He adjusts himself to sit upright and look “charming”* Ok, interview me. Ask me anything.

Ilona: Ok… would you rather get punched in the nards by Ghiaccio’s White Album, or become a wrinkly old man for a week by Prosciutto’s Grateful Dead?

Formaggio: Ugh, amico… you are making this too easy. Grateful Dead, duh! I wanna keep my balls!

Ilona: Wow, that’s a ballsy choice.

Formaggio: Shut your mouth kid.

*The camera cuts to a few minutes later, Pesci is on screen doing some sort of karaoke. He’s haphazardly messing up words every once in a while.*

Illuso: Ilona, are you filming this?

Ilona: *they turned the camera to Illuso* Yeah.

Illuso: After Pesci, film me singing!

Ilona: You know I’m getting rid of this after tonight right?

Illuso: I know, but that's why it’s better to have this burned in your memories than on a camcorder.

*Once Pesci was finished, Illuso gets up and changes the song on the boombox*

Ilona: (to camera) What a drama king.

*suddenly the sound of Prosciutto screaming could be heard, Ilona points the camera at Prosciutto rushing into the meeting room. There’s black smoke everywhere.*

Prosciutto: Open the fucking balcony!

*Pesci goes to open up the balcony door while everyone starts to cough up the black smoke*

Pesci: Fratello, what happened?

Prosciutto: I was able to put out the fire, but the Pesce al Forno burned.

Ghiaccio: I told you that I should have done the cooking! But does anyone listen to me, no!

Prosciutto: Well now we won’t have any.

Ilona: Uh… If I may-

*The camera cuts to Ilona, Formaggio, Melone, and Illuso walking in the streets.*

Illuso: Why was I dragged along?

Formaggio: Because I like to tourture you. *he give a cocky smile*

Illuso: Fuck you.

Melone: (to Ilona) I can hold the camera if you want.

Ilona: Oh, ok then. *Ilona hands the camera off to Melone*

Melone: Care to fill the audience on what’s happening?

Ilona: Ok, so. To make a long story short, the 7 fish feast was abruptly ruined by Prosciutto messing up. And now on christmas eve, we 4 are trekking into town to find more ingredients! To be honest, I wanted to go alone.

Melone: Really?

Ilona: I wanted to prove to Risotto that I’m not that helpless little stray he found a year ago. But I guess this makes sense, he doesn’t trust me enough to handle it.

Melone: Hmm, now that you mention it-

Formaggio: (from a distance) FUCK!

*Illuso is seen laughing at Formaggio who is now on the ground*

Melone: (Shouting to Formaggio) Are you ok?

Formaggio: (From a distance) Nothing’s broken, just tripped!

*The camera cuts again to the entire squad eating dinner*

Ilona: (to camera) Luckily we found a shop that was still open, and we even bought a christmas cake! It’s got ice cream inside.

*Ilona shows a piece of the cake on a plate before the camera cuts once more to everyone leaving the apartment. Though Prosciutto is standing in the doorway talking to Risotto. Ilona’s taking the camera up to their room, but a feint conversation can be heard*

Risotto: You’re staying over for the night?

Prosciutto: Yes, at least I won’t have to- *Prosciutto sees the camera’s red light* Liquirizia, you better erase that footage or I’ll get rid of that toy for good.

Ilona: Oh, whoops! Sorry, don’t worry this’ll all gone by morning.

Prosciutto: It better!

*Ilona quickly covers the camera lens and puts it on the desk, they look quite sad.*

Ilona: (into camera) …I know I promised to get rid of the tape but… I’ll hide it. That way I can always have this happy memory of everyone together. I’m so happy that I have such good friends. Well Buon Natale! December 24th 19-

*The camcorder is shut off*

[eleristanton]

// Typography \\

Before digitising the sketches, I wanted to find the typography  that I had been sketching. I knew I wanted a calligraphy typeface for headings and found Dunhill Script and Gelato Luxe, I then paired it with a thicker geometric sans-serif to counter the complexity of the calligraphy. 

[jaydeemedia]

[ad_1] Italy is the stuff of oversized travel legends: gladiator battles in Roman arenas, gondolas gliding along Venetian canals, and communities frozen in time by fierce volcanoes. Yet, the nation’s true magic is often found in one of Italy’s small towns rather than the cohort of star-studded cities. Deciding which of Italy’s most beautiful towns to visit is as challenging as choosing a gelato flavour. From hilltop townlets framed by saw-toothed peaks to pretty coastal settlements necklaced by a shimmering Adriatic shoreline, the options are delicious from top to toe. Whether you’re seeking silence among the vines of a hinterland hideaway or prefer to indulge in Italy’s best local experiences, these are some of my favourite small Italian towns to visit. Unlike other articles that might spotlight lesser-known (and certainly beautiful) cities, such as Matera and Mantua, my twenty picks are true Italian towns without a single city in sight. Taormina, SicilyNemi, LazioComacchio, Emilia Romagna Desenzano del Garda, LombardyBorgo Valsugana, TrentinoSorrento, CampaniaLocorotondo, PugliaArpino, LazioCefalù, SicilyMaratea, BasilicataBellagio, LombardyAlberobello, PugliaMonterosso al Mare, Cinque Terre, LiguriaLipari, SicilyCastelmezzano, BasilicataBrisighella, Emilia RomagnaPolignano a Mare, PugliaPriverno, LazioOrvieto, UmbriaSan Gimignano, Tuscany Taormina, Sicily On Sicily’s seductive east coast, the beautiful hilltop town of Taormina observes the Ionian Sea from high above. The Greeks sure picked a cinematic spot to set up camp some 2000 years ago – something the Romans clearly agreed on when they upgraded the impressive open-air theatre. You don’t even need a script to make these terraced seats the best in the house; the dazzling comma-shaped bay backed by foreboding Mount Etna is the daily performance. Yet Taormina is as much about modern luxury as historic architectural feats, and if you’re seeking a slice of Sicilian indulgence, you’re in the right place. This is, after all, the main filming location of The White Lotus. Home to some of the most indulgent five star resorts in Italy, a treat-yourself hilltop retreat is Taormina’s grand finale. Better still, settle yourself at the base of the pretty town, and you’ll have the Bay of Taormina on your doorstep. Waking up at the Mazzarò Sea Palace and effortlessly stepping onto Sicily’s swarthy sands is a top-notch ticket, one that makes the uphill schlep to the town itself worthwhile. Read more:Reasons to visit Sicily Start in the small town of Nemi before descending to the crater lake Nemi, Lazio Castel Gandolfo is one of Italy’s most famous towns to visit on a day trip from Rome. Thousands have flocked through the imposing doors of the Pope’s palace since he gave up his summer residence for tourists. Venture just a little further, and the idyllic small town of Nemi has much the same charm but with far fewer crowds. A splendid shaded trail under chestnut trees links the pretty pair. Once in Nemi, you’ll be greeted by a cute, compact and pedestrianised core. Narrow streets link pastel-hued homes, far-reaching viewpoints, and cafes selling the town’s signature dish, porchetta (pork) sandwiches. Like Castel Gandolfo, which crowns Lake Albano, a volcanic crater, Nemi is also perched above a dazzling body of water. Not just a serene spot for kayaking alongside ducks, some of Nemi’s best attractions are found bankside: The Temple of Diana, a significant pilgrimage site since the 6th century BC, and the Roman Ship Museum of Nemi. The latter houses the artefacts and recreations of ancient Roman wooden ships, which amazingly survived for centuries at the bottom of the lake, only for a fire to destroy the museum in the 1940s. If you’re looking to tack on some small Italian towns to your Rome visit, Nemi and Castel Gandolfo are the perfect pair. Sunset in Comacchio, enjoying aperitivo on a floating restaurant Comacchio, Emilia Romagna

Wedged between the flamingo-frequented wetlands of the Po Delta and the beaches of the Emilia Romagna Riviera, the former fishing village of Comacchio is Venice in miniature. A handful of canals wend through this small Italian town, flanked by laid-back boat bars and typical restaurants serving all kinds of seafood – Comacchio’s speciality being river eels. So beloved, these slimy local delicacies have their own festival. Beyond the highlights, including an excellent museum that holds the buried treasure of a long-lost ship, the Po Delta provides even more tranquil retreats. Hire some bikes, or hop on a boat tour to explore the wetlands. Stilted fishing cabins, fronted by traditional nets, and thousands of pink flamingos await in the estuary of Italy’s longest river. Read more:Visiting Comacchio and the Po Delta Desenzano del Garda is a beautiful small town on Lake Garda Desenzano del Garda, Lombardy Lombardy’s handful of lakes are some of Italy’s finest glories. Fringed by pretty Italian towns and frequented by millions of tourists, they can also be as overwhelming as they are astonishing. On Lake Garda, the lake-moated castle of Sirmione, giving access to the peninsula town beyond, is one of the busiest spots. For a slightly more serene base, settle your sights on Desenzano del Garda instead. The location is perfect for exploring some of Lombardy’s best spots. Sirimione is reachable by a quick ferry ride, the pebble beaches of Manerba are a hiking trail away, and the unsung wine region of Laguna is ideal for tastings in family-run estates.  Desenzano del Garda itself is as picturesque as small Italian lake towns come. Lapped by Garda’s waters, the diminutive harbour is flanked by colourful Venetian-style architecture, well-heeled trattorie dishing-up Lombardian recipes, such as fragrant risottos, under shaded porticos, and all the gelaterias you could wish for on a lakeside stroll. Borgo Valsugana is a tranquil town in northern Italy Borgo Valsugana, Trentino Officially one of the most beautiful towns in Italy, as certified by the I Borghi più Belli d’Italia association, Borgo Valsugana is tucked away in Italy’s north. Located in Trentino, the Dolomites looming beyond, the Sugana Valley’s namesake town is a well-preserved example of mountain life. Sliced by the Brenta River, Roman roots are still visible in Sant’Orsola Church, although it’s mainly medieval layers, such as the 13th-century Castel Telvana you’ll see today. Stay in a renovated small palazzo or a welcoming agriturismo, most likely serving its own bottled wines, and appreciate the slower pace of life. Borgo Valsugana is also an excellent base for outdoor adventures. Mountain hikes are abundant, including more unique trails through Arte Sella, an outdoor sculpture gallery. But it’s Valsugana’s pair of pristine lakes that steal the show. Levico, a tranquil, jade-tinted pool, is perfect for SUP outings followed by a thermal spa visit, while larger Lake Caldonazzo is best for fast-paced watersports. You can even get a ski lesson from a world champion here. Read more:Why you’ll love the lakes of Valsugana Valsugana’s lakes are mountain-backed water sports heaven Sorrento, Campania The Amalfi Coast, just south of the Bay of Naples, has long been the jewel in Italy’s tourism crown. Dramatic cliff-hugging villages, scented groves of canary-yellow lemons, and pebbly beaches lapped by hushed waters have seen pretty Positano painted on millions of postcards. The gateway to it all is one of Italy’s most beautiful towns, Sorrento. And while tourism has well and truly taken over the whole of the Sorrentine Peninsula, you’ll find a slightly more lived-in experience in Sorrento than the resort villages around the corner. Long before we all flocked here for Limoncello, the Greeks and then the Romans were equally taken with the peninsula as a trading port. Nowadays, it’s an excellent base for village-hopping the Amalfi Coast or sailing across to the Isle of Capri.

Still, vestiges of the past dot the town, such as the 15th-century Sedil Dominova and the Baroque Cathedral. Sure, Sorrento is missing a proper beach, but take a pew in the Villa Comunale gardens for seascape panoramas, and you’ll soon forgive this small town for its lack of sand. Come in summer, when the seasonal music festival is in full swing, and Sorrento will be soundtracked by classical concerts – timeless and blissful. An al fresco restaurant in the whitewashed streets of Locorotondo, Puglia Locorotondo, Puglia In Puglia, the heel of southern Italy’s “boot”, idyllic coastal towns reign supreme. Take a detour from the shimmering shoreline, though, and you’ll find a trove of tranquil, whitewashed towns cradled by vineyards, olive groves, and fertile farmlands. Locorotondo, named for its circular shape, is arguably one of Puglia’s prettiest. Curved, cobblestoned streets weave through whitewashed homes, terracotta flower pots and trailing bougainvillaea adding pops of the Mediterranean palate. Settle into one of the narrow, alfresco restaurants and chow down on local specialities, such as burrata cheese, bursting with creaminess, or ear-shape orecchiette pasta, and you’ll be living out all your Italian small-town fantasies. Read more:One week Puglia itinerary Arpino is one of the prettiest small towns near Rome Arpino, Lazio With Rome commanding all the attention, the rest of the Lazio region rarely gets a look in. Big mistake. Lazio’s five provinces boast some of Italy’s best small town boltholes, and Arpino is one of the best places to visit near Rome. Stretching across sloping hills in a cross-like shape, the town is as inspiring as the surrounding lush landscape of the Frosinone Valley. And inspired it has. This is the birthplace of the Roman scholar, philosopher and statesman Cicero and the Pantheon’s architect Marco Agrippa. Best of all? Here, you’ll essentially experience two small Italian towns for the price of one. High above, the L’Acropoli di Civitavecchia is more like an adjacent village. Hemmed by mortar-free polygonal defensive walls, Civitavecchia has been inhabited since the Volscian days (around 1000 BC). Down below, the more “modern” town reveals its eras in stone walls, stacked higher and higher during the pre-Roman, Roman and medieval periods. Come in August, and you’ll be able to see the town alive for the Gonfalone of Arpino. Watching the runners balancing a terracotta amphora on their heads is just one of the unique experiences at this folklore festival. Cefalu is one of Italy’s most cinematic towns Cefalù, Sicily Sicily has no shortage of spectacular small towns, but coastal Cefalù is the crème de la crème. Founded by the Greeks some 2300 years ago, Cefalù really blossomed during the Middle Ages. Most notable is the town’s Norman architecture, which has earned World Heritage Status. Cefalù’s Cathedral, a medieval masterpiece featuring first-class Byzantine mosaics, is the star-studded centrepiece. Like a medieval movie set, Cefalù has starred in numerous films, and you’ll feel like a silver-screen star whether you’re strolling the storied streets or ambling along the arc of butterscotch sands. Not only is Cefalù one of the prettiest coastal towns in Italy, but it’s also a godsend for gastronomy. Sicilian food is some of the country’s most flavoursome, taking inspiration from all of the invaders, inhabitants and seafarers who have been and gone. Combine this with the bounty of fresh fish that arrives in Cefalù daily, plus some spectacular sea view restaurants, and you’ve got one of Italy’s best degustations. Christ the Redeemer high above the small Italian town of Maratea Maratea, Basilicata Basilicata is one of Italy’s most overlooked regions. Other than Matera, an almost unbelievable city sculpted into a rocky valley, it rarely features on must-visit lists. It’s criminal but also a blessing – you’re much more likely to be holidaying with locals here.

Maratea is one of those small Italian towns you come to when you want to escape it all. Think of a less glam, much more laid-back Amalfi Coast, and you’ve got the gist. There are a few attractions to tour, such as the towering Christ the Redeemer statue staring out to the Tyrrhenian Sea and the 9th-century Basilica of Saint Blaise, but Maratea’s main charm is the laid-back coastline. While the coastal roads don’t quite compete with the Amalfi Coast’s scenery, they certainly hold their own. Take a road trip between beaches, leafy cliffs, and overlooked coves and caves accessible only by boat. By night, retreat back into the harbour for the freshest of fish. The very hands that caught it are likely drinking at the bar. Read more:Italy off the beaten path The Salita Serbelloni in Bellagio, Lombardy Bellagio, Lombardy Lake Como oozes with glamour. For years, this has been a retreat for the rich and famous. George Clooney and Brad Pitt are just two of the celebrities with villas on the edge of this handsome lake, flecked with pastel-hued villages and backed by lush, low-slung mountains. At the tip of the lake’s two lower “legs”, Bellagio has long been considered the jewel in Como’s crown. Over more than a millennium, the town was sold between various private owners, keeping it both elusive and indulgent. Everything seems to take place in a lavish villa here: Villa Carlotta is a museum, Villa del Balbianello is open for unforgettable tours, and with a bit of an investment, a Villa can also be your home for the night. Gently sloping up from the water, the core of Bellagio is a colourful medley of staircases and narrow streets. Salita Serbelloni, the town’s most photographed stairs, captures all of Bellagio’s magic. From the top, vistas of pale yellow houses, tumbling wines, cerulean waters and soaring hills beyond are enthralling. Being one of the most beautiful towns in Italy, it’s also one of the busiest. If you’re seeking a rural retreat on the water’s edge, away from the crowds, string spots like Nesso or Varenna together into a lakeside Lombardy itinerary instead. Still, with the pretty set of gardens on Bellagio’s edge, such as Giardini di Melzi, you’ll find some serene pockets on the peninsula. The typical Trulli houses of Alberobello Alberobello, Puglia In Italy’s sun-kissed southern Puglia region, the fertile Valle d’Itria is dotted with olive groves and typical trulli houses. These stone-built, circular buildings topped with conical roofs feature on every Puglia postcard, and in the small old town of Alberobello, you’ll find their greatest concentration. Here, you can sleep in a trullo, see how they would have been as typical homes in museum-style trulli such as Trullo Sovrano and Rione Aia Piccola, or enjoy a dinner under one of the conical roofs in Ristorante Trullo D’Oro. If you’d like to spot a trullo “in the wild” rather than on these sometimes day-tripper-crowded streets, hop on a bicycle and head into the valley. Along these trails, you’ll see traditional trulli with exposed brickwork and no whitewashed facade intertwined with olive groves and citrus trees. Read more:Things to do in Puglia Monterosso al Mare is the largest of Cinque Terre’s Five Lands Monterosso al Mare, Cinque Terre, Liguria Along the North Ligurian Coast, also known as the Italian Riviera, the five villages of Cinque Terre have long enchanted travellers. Linked by slow trundling trains and epic trails overlooking tumbling vineyards and the Mediterranean beyond, it’s a timeless setting of settlements at the base of steep verdant slopes. While all of the five lands (the direct translation of Cinque Terre) are technically fishing villages, tourism has seriously reshaped the narrative here. Especially in Monterosso al Mare, the westernmost of the handful, which feels like a small town these days rather than a tucked-away village. Is it the prettiest of the five? Not really. But Monterosso al Mare does stand out for its sweep of sand, something lacking in the other four.

Thankfully, the town’s medieval character still shines, and the cluster of narrow streets, historic buildings and the Aurora Tower, which juts into the ocean while doubling as a marker for where the old and new parts of town meet, make it as old-world as the rest. For me, the best time to visit Cinque Terre is in the low season, when you’re much more likely to experience silence by night rather than a sea of selfie sticks. And off-season is when Monterosso shines, as the bars and restaurants in some of the smaller villages shutter in winter. Lipari is one of the main towns on the Aoelian Islands Lipari, Sicily The Aeolian Islands, a set of seven serene – if you ignore the bubbling volcanic activity of Stromboli – isles off Sicily’s northeast coast, host some of the more offbeat towns in Italy. San Pietro on Panarea and Vulcano Port, with its sulphur stink, are two of my favourite small towns on this archipelago. But it’s the town of Lipari, on the islands of the same name, that earns my recommendation. Amongst the narrow streets of the historical centre, you’ll find Mediterranean living at its best. The freshest of seafood (try local stuffed octopus with a glass of the island-produced Malvasia) spills across the al fresco tables of laid-back osterias. Luminous bougainvillaea falls down the fronts of whitewashed buildings. And the town’s history unfurls in the Greek and Roman exhibits of the Museo Archeologico. Once you’ve clambered up the steep cobblestone streets, you’ll reach the Castle of Lipari. These Spanish-built medieval fortress walls, perched atop a volcanic rock, afford some of the best views in town. Inside, you’ll find more historic discoveries, ceramics, and the Church of Santa Caterina. If you want Sicily in miniature, you’ll find it here. Read more:Best islands to visit  Castelmezzano, one of Italy’s most beautiful small mountain towns Castelmezzano, Basilicata One of the most beautiful towns in Italy, Castelmezzano is that dreamy mountain getaway. Perched against the backdrop of the Dolomiti Lucane, a set of saw-toothed peaks that dominate the landscape, the cluster of ochre roofs, bathed in orange street lights at night, are truly cinematic. This is a town to come to for mountain hikes and a countryside retreat. Stay a few nights in this 10th-century settlement, and you’ll soon discover all the secrets of Castelmezzano’s side streets. Castelmezzano isn’t the only small Italian town shrouded by these mountains, though. Here, you get two for the price of one. Pietrapertosa, the “twin” across the way, is linked by the Angel’s Flight, a zipline that will whisk you through the air to the second of the peak-snuggled towns. Once you’ve had your fill of rural Italian living, continue to Basilicata’s most beguiling city, Matera, a magical land of caves, ancient underground living, and streets that tell the stories of poverty, disease and now, restoration. The landscapes around the medieval town of Brisighella Brisighella, Emilia Romagna In Emilia Romagna, best known for the foodie cities of Bologna, Parma and Modena, you’ll find Brisighella, one of the prettiest small towns in Italy. I could wax lyrically about this place for days. Arriving here felt like stepping into an Italian movie set – castles stand above vineyards, a clocktower surveys the lush valley, and terracotta-roofed homes exist in a trance-like state. Set around three hills, each crowned with a landmark – a clocktower, a castle and a church – there are plenty of easy trails which will take you to the main sights. Vestiges of Brisighella’s medieval past are very much evident, especially in the Via degli Asini, a half-timbered, stone-floored passageway. And as with much of Emilia Romagna, local flavours are in abundance, with small-batch wines and excellent, if unsung, olive oils of particular note. Once you’ve bathed in Brisighella’s glory, head into the mountains of Parco Carnè or the nearby old quarry caves, where live music performances are held underground in summer.

Read more:Things to do in beautiful Brisighella Polignano a Mare is a beach town in Puglia Polignano a Mare, Puglia Puglia is regarded as one of Europe’s best beach destinations and has pretty seaside Italian towns aplenty. Even if some shorelines are pebbly rather than sandy, this does little to put off troves of Northern Italians flocking to the south every year – and Polignano a Mare is a popular choice. Chances are, you’ve seen this striking whitewashed village, which crowns cyan waters atop near-vertical limestone cliffs, on Instagram. It’s Puglia’s poster child. The little main beach looks even better from a viewpoint above, although it can get crowded in summer. Still, with an abundance of beaches on the peripherals, you don’t have to travel far for a more private spot of sand. Better still, hop on a boat tour and explore the caves to see some of Puglia’s best features. Inside Polignano a Mare’s maze of streets, you’ll find everything that makes Puglia so delectable. Narrow lanes, flanked by whitewashed and sandstone buildings, weave past little boutiques selling locally crafted ceramics. Window-style restaurants prepare stuffed Puccia Salentina sandwiches. Alfresco restaurants serve plump red prawns and cuttlefish. And gelato parlours adorned with ceramic flower pots dish out jade-hued pistachio scoops. There isn’t a long list of attractions to tick off – but perhaps that’s what makes this Italian town the perfect seaside holiday. Piazza Giovanni XXIII in the beautiful town of Priverno Priverno, Lazio Travel around an hour south of Rome and leave the crowds in your wake as you head deeper into Lazio. Priverno is one of Italy’s lesser-visited small towns, but it won’t disappoint those seeking archaeological finds. The mammoth discovery of the Roman city of Privernum, where archaeological digs continue, is nearby. In Priveno’s city museum, you’ll find these incredible mosaics, statues, artefacts and other discoveries, all curated and catalogued by humble Paula (say hey from me!). Across the plaza from the museum, a grand staircase leads into the Cathedral, where St. Thomas’s skull has put Priverno on the pilgrimage map. Around the town, medieval architecture unfurls at every corner, making the lack of international tourists all the more surprising. Come for the annual medieval festival, and you’ll see reenactments of how life once was. Just up the road is one of Italy’s smallest villages, centred around the Gothic, 12th-century Abbey of Fossanova, where St. Thomas spent his final days. This is Italy’s oldest Cistercian monastery, and it remained closed to the public, other than pilgrims, for centuries. Nowadays, you can enter the imposing, if simply decorated, Abbey before seeing more archaeological discoveries in the neighbouring museum. The provincial table doesn’t disappoint either, with buffalo produce, such as mozzarella and meats, treasured Orsini Olive Oil, and Chiacchietegli di Priverno (Priverno’s violet broccoli) padding the menu. Read more:These are Europe’s best hidden gems Fossanova Abbey is easily combined with Priverno Orvieto, Umbria Perched atop a volcanic plateau, Orvieto is one of Umbria’s most beautiful medieval towns. In this part of Italy, Etruscan history is writ large, making Orvieto much older than its Middle Ages architecture conveys. Yet it’s a different story when you head underground. Take a tour of the caves, tunnels and other subsurface wonders, and you’ll start to get an idea of how advanced the Etruscan civilization was nearly 3000 years ago. Back above, the hulking and highly detailed Duomo di Orvieto is the star. Honestly, it should be famous the world over for its magnificent frescoes and detailed facade. But all across the storied streets, you’ll find vestiges of the past, which particularly pop during Oriveto’s numerous cultural events. If you’re seeking a Tuscan-style retreat but want fewer crowds, Umbria is much more than a consolation prize.

Pin it! Top: Orvieto / Bottom: San Gimignano San Gimignano, Tuscany Speaking of Tuscany, I can’t write a list of the most beautiful small towns in Italy and forget the forever charming settlements that dot the region’s beloved rolling hills. Picking just one is mission impossible, but the UNESCO-listed Historic Centre of San Gimignano is famed for good reason. Long a pilgrimage stop on the Via Francigena – a centuries-old, multi-day, cross-country trail that traverses many of the above-mentioned towns – San Gimignano has been welcoming hoards long before it rose to tourism fame. Nowadays, it’s the well-preserved medieval architecture, especially the heaven-reaching towers that dot the town, and the unimaginable interior paintings of the Collegiate Church of San Gimignano, that pull in the crowds. Settle into Tuscan life at an out-of-town countryside stay, enjoy mornings strolling through the town’s time capsule before the day-trippers arrive, and spend your long lunches sipping the local, crisp Vernaccia wine – is there really any better way to appreciate Italy’s beautiful small towns? Read more:Underrated European cities to visit [ad_2] Source link

[chetipo]

[alessiaverafiu]

Ricordi?

Era Novembre.

Il cielo era quasi sempre grigio e l'aria era diventata fredda.

Quel giorno aveva cominciato a piovere ma noi eravamo uscite lo stesso per prendere un gelato.

Ho ancora di fronte ai miei occhi quella scena, è come se la stessi rivivendo proprio adesso…

e mentre cammino per le strade bagnate con l'ombrello in spalla mi tornano in mente questi ricordi:

dicevi  che solo noi saremmo potute uscire con quel temporale, ed eravamo felici di condividere quel momento,

io lo ero davvero tanto.

Adesso… molte cose sono cambiate,

la città non sembra più uguale,

noi stesse non sembriamo più come prima.

Oggi però sono uscita sotto la pioggia

e sto andando a prendere un gelato.

[myfontz]

Rising Stars - October 2011

This Month’s Rising Stars

Text Fonts of the Month

Follow-Up

Sponsored Font

link

[devonellington]

Fri. July 31, 2020: Die For Tourist Dollars Day 72 -- Lammas Eve

Fri. July 31, 2020: Die For Tourist Dollars Day 72 — Lammas Eve

image courtesy of Bru-nO via pixabay.com

Friday, July 31, 2020 Waxing Moon Pluto Retrograde Saturn Retrograde Jupiter Retrograde Neptune Retrograde Rainy and humid

Got out a bunch of LOIs yesterday, did some client work, enjoyed Freelance Chat.

Finished reading a book from a series I previously enjoyed, but was disappointed in this particular book. The protagonist got together with a guy who…

[sunder-soul]

Sequel Snippet Spree: Seven Devils

Prompt: Congratulations on 2 K followers!! 🎉🎉🎉 Honestly I just want you to have fun with a little snippet from Seven Devils! Adventurous, domestic, smutty, whatever you'd like to share!

A/N: Thank you so much for this one @dravenwitchmusings! I got quite a few requests for Seven Devils in the 2k event, so here’s the first of the long-awaited one-shots!!

{GIF CREDIT for header below! That blog is incredible btw, their work is literally all stunning check it out}

ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝔸 - 𝕄

@arana-alpha @cranberrypills @dear-fifi @dropssofjupitter @dravenwitchmusings @empath-bunny @expectoscamander @fish-eg @grimdevil @hueanhdang @itsjustfics @just-wordsandthoughts @lemirabitur @lucys-brain @mentally-in-northern-italy @mikariell95 @moatsnow

ℕ - ℤ

@niallwrld @nothinghcppens @obliviouspotter @oui-magnifique @pearlstiare @pink-kixxes @rededfoxy @seriouslyginnychase @silverdelirium @suicide-sweetheart636 @sunles @tallyovie @tm-mrvl-rddl @toasterking @valentinecarnage @voidmalfoy @weirdowithnobeardo @whoevenfrickenknows @whoreforgeorgeandfred @wizardcherryblossom

 ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

It was a blistering afternoon and Marina’s shoulders were feeling uncomfortably warm in that dry, papery way that told her she’d definitely find them a little burnt when they finally got back to the hotel – but still the Mediterranean sky remained relentlessly cloudless, and the crooked white walls of the buildings fringing the wizarding street were doing little to ward off the bright hot sunlight. She was definitely regretting wearing the summery yellow dress, wishing she’d chosen something that covered more of her skin.

“I’m sunburnt,” Marina said matter-of-factly.

“I offered you a Sun-ward Charm,” Tom replied, not looking concerned in the slightest as he continued to peer around the street. “And you refused.”

“I thought December was supposed to be cooler than this,” she grumbled.

“There,” said Tom, nodding at a little shop on his right. “That looks like what Angelos described, doesn’t it?”

Marina leaned forward to look around him and frowned at the sun-baked shopfront. The green paint was peeling off the door in long, shriveled strips that fluttered listlessly above the sweltering concrete, the wooden frames bleached and fissured like old driftwood, and the glass panels of the windows were so cracked and grimy that it was impossible to make out anything inside. “Huh,” she said humorously. “So that’s why he told us not to be dissuaded by its appearance.”

“I’ll go ask them about the bones,” Tom said quietly, folding up the little piece of parchment with Angelos’ looping script scrawled across it. “You better find us some place to eat.”

“On it,” she declared, rounding on the street and immediately spying a small café with white wrought-iron tables dotted around its paved veranda, each sheltered with a broad blue umbrella. “Okay done,” she said, glancing back at Tom expectantly.

He gave her a dry look as he slipped the parchment into his shirt pocket, and headed for the decrepit little store without another word.

Marina made short work of ordering rather a lot of gelato from the café (the fig and honey was her favourite, closely followed by gianduja which tasted exactly like Nutella), and she left a tall glass of cola fizzing beside to her for Tom who (much to her chagrin) seemed to love the stuff. He emerged from the store a good ten minutes later and Marina watched him approach from where she was lounging in her chair, a spoonful of blissfully cold gelato in her mouth. He collapsed into the seat beside her with a long breath and immediately picked up the cola.

“That shit’ll rot your teeth, you know,” said Marina as he took a long swig of it.

“Angelos was mistaken,” Tom said when he finally set the glass back on the table and squinted at the busy street around them. “Madam Myrmidon’s never even heard of Herpo.”

“Then where’s she getting her authentic basilisk bones from?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Considering those bones were from a diamondback rattlesnake, I doubt she’s even a real Seer at all.”

It was bad news. Finding the supplier of Madam Myrmidon’s infamous basilisk scrying bones had been one of their most promising leads since arriving in Crete. “Damn,” Marina said quietly, staring at her melting gelato. “Where to next?”

Tom sighed softly, leaning back in his chair and taking his cola with him. “Myrmidon mentioned that there’s an old library east of here,” he said, but Marina’s attention was stolen by the way he tugged the collar of his shirt away from his throat, his skin more tanned than she’d ever seen and with a faint glow of sweat – “Apparently the locals don’t go there much,” he continued, glancing at her. She looked down at her dessert quickly, hoping he’d write off her warm cheeks to her sunburn. “It’s full of books on grey magic, taboo spells, creatures of ill repute, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like your kind of gig,” Marina said wryly.

His gaze immediately shifted back to the same dry deprecation he reserved for her when she made such quips and Marina smirked back, spooning more fig-honey gelato into her mouth. “We should see what they have to offer,” Tom said smoothly, lifting his glass to his lips again. “Once you’re finished.”

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said find us some place to eat.”

“And I just said I’m not hungry.”

“Have some of mine then,” said Marina, sliding the little cup of gelato towards him and handing him the spoon.

Tom’s eyes lingered on the spoon for a moment, and then flicked to up hers. “I’m not using that, it’s been in your mouth,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to go get you a fresh one?” Marina asked teasingly.

“Or you could eat what you bought for yourself for once,” he shot back.

Marina snorted and seized her cup of gelato, stabbing her spoon into the scoop of gianduja and prying out a massive lump. “Eat this,” she commanded, handing him the spoon, “I swear to God you’ll like it.”

He gave her another very sceptical look.

“Go on,” she prompted, pushing the spoon closer.

Tom sighed as if very hard done by, set his cola on the table, and took the spoon. At the warm brush of his fingers on hers Marina dropped her hand as if burned, having to smooth out the skirt of her dress to hide the reaction. “If I eat this will you leave me alone?” Tom asked in deadpan.

“No,” she said brightly.

Tom’s expression somehow turned even more deprecating, but he lifted the spoon and Marina hastily averted her gaze to avoid watching him too closely, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head with laced fingers.

“Did you read through the translations of those old reports yet?” Tom asked.

Marina closed her eyes and sighed, letting her arms fall back over the chair. “Yeah, pretty useless, it was just a bunch of guys bragging about all the big scary animals they’d killed in the ring. Did you know they used to run an illegal giant-fighting pit here?”

“No, but that does rather sound like your kind of gig,” Tom smirked.

“Very funny.”

“Any basilisks in those rings?” he asked, leaning forward and picking up Marina’s cup of gelato from the table.

“Nah, just a bunch of chimaera and giant boars.”

“Then the library is our best bet,” he said, taking another spoonful of the gianduja.

“Yeah, off to your creepy evil library with its accursed halls and haunted books,” Marina grinned, “God, Tom, you never take me anywhere nice.”

“If you don’t want to come, you can go back to the hotel,” Tom replied, unperturbed.

“Can I have that back at some point or are you going to eat all of it?” she asked, nodding at the cup with amusement.

“You said I could have some,” he shrugged.

“Give it back, I’m hungry.”

Tom rolled his eyes and slid it back towards her and rested his forearms on the table. “Like that counts as food,” he said, nodding at the gelato.

“Says the guy drinking cola for lunch.”

“But I’m not pretending this is a meal, am I?” he smirked, picking up his glass again.

“Eat my dick, Riddle,” Marina declared simply, digging back into her gelato.

Tom choked on his cola and the door to the café swung open as the store owner emerged, an older woman with a golden tan and long, curly brown hair streaked with grey. “Everything is alright?” she asked them with a broad smile and a thick Greek accent, peering curiously at Tom who was now coughing violently and bent double in his chair.

“Yes,” Marina grinned, ignoring Tom completely, “everything’s fine, thanks.”

“I can bring you something else?” the server offered with visible concern. “Water, perhaps…?”

“No no, we’re all good,” Marina replied loudly over Tom’s chokes, “we’re about to get going, actually.”

The server’s dark eyes flicked nervously between Marina’s blithe smile and Tom’s crumpled form and watering eyes, finally managed to catch his breath.

“He’s fine,” Marina told her reassuringly with a casual wave of her hand Tom’s way. He shot her a dark look which she also ignored.

“Well,” the server said with a kind smile, turning to the table beside them and loading the empty glasses and discarded cups onto her tray, “if you’re sure – it would be a shame to cut your trip short!” she added with a good-natured laugh.

“Oh for sure, for sure,” Marina grinned, standing and nudging Tom’s arm with her knee. “Up and at ‘em Tom, don’t choke to death in an ice cream store – that would be such an embarrassing way to kark it.”

“Your concern is appreciated,” he managed to say very sarcastically, his voice a little raspy as he reached for his cola and downed the rest of it, clearing his throat with determination.

Marina hid a smirk and turned back to the server. “Thanks for the gelato, it’s insane,” she said sincerely, lifting her cup. “Even Tom likes it and he’s normally determined to be difficult and taciturn.”

Tom sighed stiffly and stood, seeming even more sick of her antics than usual. “Thank you,” he told the server politely as he slid his chair back into place.

“You are welcome,” the server said with a broad smile, picking up Tom’s glass and placing it on her tray. “Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon, yes?”

Marina froze with her spoon in her mouth, paralysed by the wave of heat tearing through her chest and staring at the server with wide eyes.

There was a suspended moment of silent stillness in which her brain failed to provide a single thing to say.

“We’re not on a honeymoon,” Tom said awkwardly from beside her.

She did not dare look at him.

“Oh,” said the server with surprise, glancing at her. “I – I’m sorry.”

Marina forced herself to laugh and stabbed her spoon back into her gelato. “No worries,” she said with artificial ease, throwing the server one last smile before turning away and weaving off between the tables. “Alright, let’s go find this evil library, then. I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon…”

As she and Tom fell into step on the footpath, Marina preoccupied herself with meticulously drawing up a spoonful of gelato to save herself from having to acknowledge him, still feeling a little hot. She couldn’t help but notice that there were definitely a few more inches between them than there had been an hour earlier.

“If all you’re going to do is push it around, I’ll eat it,” Tom said a moment later, tone very wry.

Marina glanced up to find his eyes on where she was aimlessly twisting her spoon in what remained of her gelato. She breathed a laugh and handed it to him. “I told you you’d like it.”

“You did,” he agreed softly as he took it, returning his attention to the sights and sounds of the busy wizarding street and placing a generous amount of gelato in his mouth, the warm sun making him squint again.

Marina looked away to hide her smile.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Imagine Alice in Wonderland. Alice S/O accidentally attracts the attention of La Squadra (Cheshire Cat Illuso, Dourmouse Formaggio, Mad Hatter Risotto, March Hare Prosciutto, White Rabbit Pesci,Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum Sorbet and Gelato) and the King and Queen of hearts (Doppio and Diavolo)

I love this idea

Wonderous delights pt1

(yandere la squadra X female reader X Yandere Diavolo and doppio)

You sat under the shade of a mulberry tree reading the script to a play you were to perform in a months time.

“Dear Marshall, as much as it pains me to tell... I am in love with another” you muttered your line. After that your friend Louise who would play Marshall would exclaim ‘who is this person you’ve fallen for’.

“I have fallen for the bewitching beauty of the baker’s eldest daughter, Rose is the tender flower who makes me weak on my knees” you continued before feeling a weight on your lap. You looked down to see a fluffy, floppy eared, white rabbit on your lap, you gave it a soft pat as you continued to read before feeling it tug your necklace off your necklace, a very valuable one as well.

The small rabbit hopped as fast as it’s little feet could take it. You dropped your script and got to your feet as you began to chase it across the rolling greens while holding up your white gown. The rabbit jumped into a small hole under an old apple tree. You laid down and dove your hand into it, trying to get the rabbit back in your hands and take your necklace back. You flailed your hand inside to try and feel it’s fur but you felt nothing, not even the dirt and roots inside except a cold breeze wrapping around your hand.

You considered giving up but then you felt the ground crumble under your weight everything seemed to go slow as you looked at the black abyss underneath you. Unbeknownst of the manic world that you were falling deeper into.