#gianni i love you let's get some rest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

msfbgraves · 5 months ago

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would you maybe write something where daniel is having a tough day, maybe he is crying by himself or just quiet and down and terry finds him and comforts him, knowing he caused all of this and is sorry? and daniel lets him, because he does want to feel safe, and he wants them to work still despite it all. i just want danny to get all the cuddles 🥺🥰

The fourth time, Terry doesn't even check elsewhere anymore. Both weekends, Daniel has spent the entire time Robby and Gianni were napping in his puppies' room. Yes, Robby has had a lot of trouble falling asleep for naps since they've returned, but he seems to have calmed again. Gianni is an easy baby. He doesn't settle quickly, but he is fascinated by everything and quickly tires himself out observing how the light shifts on the wall. And the puppy Daniel is carrying is really making its presence felt; logically, there are more comfortable places to be than a rug in the pups' room during the scarce daytime they don't need watching. But there Daniel stays, more often than not, when his two youngest sons have long fallen into a slumber.

Of course his mate is omega, and this level of devotion gets him approving nods from father Martin, even if Terry sees some envy in other mothers as well - only when they think they're unseen and they quickly learn they never are. Terry has run a tighter ship of late.

But.

Four times is a pattern, and it makes Terry's stomach twist.

"They look happy, don't they, love?"

His mate flinches.

It hits Terry like an electric shock.

"Oh, Dio!" his mate says, "sorry, Terry, I was miles away." He duly stands up and kisses him hello, soft sweet and familiar as ever. And it would be so easy to paper this over with fond chatter about their pups, and he does stand with his mate for a minute, looking at their sweetly breathing forms. But ignoring tiny signs is how you end up shot in the head, and he isn't one to forget that anywhere.

He strokes his face. "You're not well, mo cuishle." Immediately, his mate protests, but he puts a finger to his lips. "It's not a question. Tell me what you need."

"Nothing, why would I need - "

"Say it."

His mate looks up at him, eyes impossibly deep, as a small shiver runs through his frame. "Terry, I'm trying."

The surge of love he feels defies expression. "I know you are."

"Sometimes...." he struggles to find the words. "This place feels safest. Sir."

"Even when I'm home." It's not a question either.

"Terry, please don't -"

"-hurt you?"

Daniel, sun kissed Daniel, turns pale, and Terry curses his past self yet again. Feckin eejit piece of pigshite, Terry Silver...

"I know you wouldn't," he starts rattling, "mama mi - I know. I really know, Terry."

"But you don't feel it," he sighs. "Darlin', I don't blame ya. Of course...."

The deepest sigh goes through him. "It's in my body, Terry," he says. "And now with puppy growing, I can't push it away, I -" He's fighting tears again.

"Come," Terry says. "Come downstairs, let's get you a pillow. Snake!" he barks. "Put the kettle on, will ya!"

"No, you don't have to -"

"You're not well, baby." He picks him up and Daniel stops protesting, no kicking or wriggling, nothing to make Terry stifle any laughter. "I'll get you nice and cosy -"

"Terry I don't like tea."

"Soup then. Snake -!"

"I have soup," Daniel says.

"Not hot you don't. Snake, get Jessica -"

"This aint something soup can fix!"

And finally, there he is, the boy with fire in his eyes, and Terry lets him down as a befuddled Snake stares up at them from downstairs.

"Mac and cheese," Daniel says then. "Ask her to make some mac and cheese?"

"Yes, boss!" he says, leaving them alone the house for now. But Daniel starts struggling again.

"The pups will be home soon, they need a snack, Terry I need to make them snacks..."

He strokes him. "Jessica will fix that for them, sweetheart. Shh..." He leads him towards the bedroom. "I only want you to rest, baby."

"I don't have time -"

"Then talk to me. Those are your options, Danny."

He swallows, nods to the room. "I can't be there alone, and the living room is too cold, just let me cook Terry, I'm fine -"

"I'll move house," Terry says. "If you can't even rest in that room, I'll move house." He pulls him downstairs. "Where do you want to go, I'll get a realtor, I'll get you a suite...

"No -"

"Of course, a vacation -"

"We've had a vacation. I'm sorry, I'm making a scene -"

"You need a rest, puppy needs a rest -"

"So leave."

They're both frozen still. Then Terry lifts his chin. "I will never do that."

"I'm... I'm sorry -"

"I will not leave you. And I will not hurt you. I didn't swear that before, but I do now." He kneels down, on one knee. "On my life, my dearest one."

Daniel stares at him. "I could go to my parents -"

"No." He stands up. "And they'll pawn you off again, for your protection."

"They would not -!"

"They would. You can forget about that, baby. They'll give you a few months to settle, call father Lorenzo, and there you'll be."

Daniel ducks together. "You're so mercenary-"

Terry smirks. "I'm a realist, and so are your parents. Still." He puts a hand on his shoulder. "That did not stay Klytaimnestra's hand."

Daniel puts a hand on his belly. "You did not kill my pup."

"People have killed their spouse for far less. You have every opportunity, baby. I know that. I accept it." He kisses his hand. "But you haven't. You haven't even asked Michael. Why not?"

"Madonna mi, Terry, we're in the middle of the hallway here!"

He takes his chin lightly. "Why not, mo cuishle?"

"Because I don't want to," Daniel spits. "Because I'm not like you. Because," he says, voice faltering, as he cradles the outline of his stomach.

Terry pulls him close. "Can you feel that in your body?"

"Of course I can," he says. "It's a kicker this one, Terry, just, I'm so tired -"

"He wasn't there before. And you still said no. Somewhere, in that enormous heart of you, you know the answer. Can you feel it?"

Daniel nods silently.

"In your body?"

Another, tearful, nod.

"How does it feel?"

And now his mate reaches up, slings his arms and legs around Terry's frame, like a koala. Terry strokes his hair. "You're so brave," he whispers. "You're so good, my love."

At those words, the tears come. "It hurts, Terry, I'm so tired."

Terry walks, carrying his mate up the stairs to their shared bedroom, softly kisses the mark on his neck. "Feel that?"

Daniel only lays his head against Terry's shoulder. "I'll help you rest," Terry says, as he slides Daniel down next to his mate's side, always furthest from the door, and pulls open the covers. Daniel shakes his head. "Please hold me," he says. "Terry, hold me."

They stand there, next to the bed, when his mate softly starts to cry again. "It hurts," he sighs.

Terry swallows. "I know," he says. "I can feel it, too. I could feel it even then."

"Why...?" Daniel sobs, heartbroken.

"Because I was an idiot," he says. "Daniel, I beg you -"

Suddenly, there's a choir of voices at the door, and Daniel perks up. "Ragazzi!" he says, a smile like sunshine on his face, "our puppies, Terry, come!"

Two dabs with his handkerchief, and he runs down, opens the door, and swings Yasmin around, until Terry is engulfed in a choir of "Daddy!!!" and three immediate requests for piggyback rides and ballgames. He herds them in, nods to the approaching Jessica as Daniel slips up to get the babies out of bed, no doubt. Later Terry watches as they busy themselves with batches of mac and cheese, makes room for Jessica at the table only to find Daniel slipping in beside him, Robby on his lap. Terry presses both of them to him and pulls faces to distract Robby, who seems close to spitting out the unfamiliar dish. But when Jessica picks him up Daniel stays there, head resting against Terry's shoulder, and their fingers intertwine.

"Can you stay home tonight?"

He kisses his hair. "Of course, baby. Eli, you can't lick your elbow, how many times..."

Daniel laughs, stands up and removes the excess sauce from his puppy. Immediately, Sammy demands help with her vulcano, and Yasmin starts trying to kill herself on the swings.

Terry grins.

The Russians will have to wait.

#silverusso #knights and pawns #omegaverse #mob au #Aftermath of trauma #tw trauma #marital problems

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thechurchofsplatterdaysaints · 2 years ago

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Everything you need to know about Out for Justice you learn before the title card. Gino Felino & his partner Bobby Lupo (yes, I'm serious) are waiting for a multi-million dollar drug deal to go down w/ the whole department on standby.

The over-Brooklyn-ing is immediate and stings and doesn't let up for the entire run time. Buckle up, baby.

Kelly Jo Minter (every 80s movie) plays a pregnant whore getting a beat-down from her foul-mouthed pimp. Do you think Gino can sit idly by & watch? Hell no! Big Daddy Fuck Pants has to serve up a spoonful of justice so he can continue to peacock around this scuzzy little turd with the appropriate level of dick chub.

“This motherfucker hit me & I'm scared I'm gonna lose my baby!”

Gino quickly dispatches some fists and slams the pimp through the windshield but not before they use the exact same sample of said pimp yelling “Yaaaaah” @ 3:17 & 3:25 respectively. You have to be some kinda next-level nihilist to do that shit. That sample has plagued me for 30 years. Fuck all 13 sound editors & mixers on this thing.

Despite my bitching this really is a great introduction to Gino and his special blend of macho horseshit.

And frankly, once you realize that no one cares and this whole God damned thing is serving Seagal's mammoth ego the only thing you can do is go along for the ride. Lean into the bullshit and enjoy because the man made one really good movie and this is it.

“Gimme an umarked and a shotgun.”

William Forsythe annihilates the gd screen as the crack smoking, meaner-than-piss antagonist who blows Bobby Lupo away for fucking his girlfriend. (Julie Strain, bitch Goddess I love you and miss you) Richie is a fucking death machine running to meet his maker and Forsythe outshines by a mile. (they edited more Forsythe out because Seagal = big baby bitch-tits)

Richie comes heavy. Richie don't play.

“You wanna fuck?”

Gino spends the rest of the movie hunting Richie down to avenge his partner's death and he has to butt heads with the mob on more than one occasion. But of course he's friends w/ the mob too, because everyone wants a piece of Gino's delicious cake. (my eyes cannot roll hard enough) Finook, gabagool, old mother dressed in black, grazie, scusi, et Spiritus Sancti, fughettaboutit.

“Cause he's a chickenshit fuckin pussy asshole.”

Seagal said the bar fight where he smashes everyone's face with a cue ball is his favorite fight scene and you can see why. The place is brimming with beefy thugs oozing criminality: we've got self-titled “Tattoo” representing Attica, master stick fighter “Sticks” (Dan Inosanto, who taught Bruce Lee nunchaku and was one of the 3 people permitted by Lee to teach Jeet Kune Do), boxing bartender to the stars Nick Dimitri (long established stuntman/actor you may recognize as the angry meth trucker from Stone Cold but check him out in Hard Times w/ Bronson mf throws down!) and last but certainly not least is Gianni Russo as made man “Sammy.” (Remember Connie's piece of shit husband in The Godfather who helped set up Sonny to get hit?)

“Anybody know why Richie did Bobby Lupo?”

Gino's bloated sense of self is on full display as always. He's waxing philosophic w/ mob guys about how “You gotta admit, God's got a strange sense of humor” which is exactly the kind of cracker jack bullshit that comes from a lifetime of never once having an original thought. Ugh. I hate that I love this movie.

"I like pain, you know." (*kiss* I love you, Richie)

The casting for this is off the charts. Jerry Orbach as the grizzled Lieutenant who understands comeuppance in a way that only men can, Gina Gershon as Richie's lippy sister, Dominic Chianese as Richie's immigrant daddy, Julianna Margulies in her breakout role as Richie's trapped and unwilling playmate. Loads of great character actors fill this thing out like one of those real nice 'Tits in Tops' pics. Kane Hodder worked with Seagal on 3 films as a stuntman and he's listed as “henchman at party” although I've yet to notice him in all my viewings. And I can't forget to mention my favorite stuntman/actor of all time Carl Ciarfalio who plays Paulie aka Is this a meat cleaver in my hand or are you just happy to see me? (Tony Doggs in Casino + 4000 other things)

Seagal is now a well-established piece of shit but it was always right there in front of us. The scene where he holds court with his wife is fucking painful. He sits high above her, she on the floor at his feet looking up at his big meaty gob as he spins this saccharine tale about some gd neighborhood man being ground down by life and dying of a broken heart.

She looks at him tenderly “It was your father, wasn't it?”

What in the actual fuck? They're married and she never knew his backstory? She let him blow his balls in her, she bore him some dimwitted little dago dipshit and she never even knew what her father in law did for a living? She never understood Gino's private pain? Who are these people? Mama mia!

The version I've been watching most of my life no longer exists if you upgrade to the blu. The movie famously used to showcase some real hack editing but it's been streamlined nicely. They also restored the John Leguizamo scene where Richie steals his drugs and shoots him in an alley.

There's some other business: a puppy named "Courage", 4000 squibs, bouncing boobs, a huge narcoleptic wiseguy, more shitty Italian stereotypes PLUS they hang out in L'Amour so if any of you Type O Negative fans wanna know what Pete was talking about in “Unsuccessfully Coping w/ the Natural Beauty of Infidelity” you've got front row seats.

This movie is 1991. If you lived it, it's fun to go back. If you didn't, take it with a grain of salt and enjoy the ride. It's hard to justify watching any of his "work" these days but he had about 10 minutes before he totally shit the bed. Essential viewing.

@watching-pictures-move & I decided to tackle this shit fest and as always he manages to be the classy one. You can read his thoughts on the movie here We considered ripping Fire Down Below a new asshole but Seagal already has more attention than he deserves. This was a fun experiment but I think if we do this again we might stick to the sleazy, obscure stuff cause that's more our wheelhouse.

#out for justice

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docrotten · 1 year ago

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TENEBRAE (1982) – Episode 234 – Decades Of Horror 1980s

“<Evil chuckle> When I realized Christiano Berti was the killer… and it didn’t take me long to realize that. <Evil chuckle> The rest, Mr Germani, was like writing a book. A Book!” Book ’em, Dan-o! Wait. Wrong media. Join your faithful Grue Crew – Chad Hunt, Bill Mulligan, Crystal Cleveland, and Jeff Mohr – as they take a cue from the 70s Grue Crew and take in some Giallo, Dario Argento-style with Tenebrae (1982).

Decades of Horror 1980s Episode 234 – Tenebrae (1982)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

American author Peter Neal, who – while in Rome promoting his latest murder-mystery novel – becomes embroiled in the search for a serial killer who may have been inspired to kill by his novel.

Writer/Director: Dario Argento

Produced by: Claudio Argento (producer), Salvatore Argento (executive producer), Allan Scott (producer: English version)

Music by: Massimo Morante, Fabio Pignatelli, Claudio Simonetti (as Simonetti-Morante-Pigatelli)

Cinematography by: Luciano Tovolin (director of photography)

Film Editing by: Franco Fraticelli

First Assistant Director: Lamberto Bava

Second Assistant Director: Michele Soavi

Special Effects by: Giovanni Corridori (special effects)

Production Services – New York: William Lustig (uncredited)

Selected Cast:

Anthony Franciosa as Peter Neal

John Saxon as Bullmer

Daria Nicolodi as Anne

Giuliano Gemma as Detective Germani

Christian Borromeo as Gianni

Mirella D’Angelo as Tilde

Veronica Lario as Jane McKerrow

Ania Pieroni as Elsa Manni

Eva Robins as Girl on Beach

Carola Stagnaro as Detective Altieri

John Steiner as Christiano Berti

Lara Wendel as Maria Alboretto

Isabella Amadeo as Bullmer’s secretary

Mirella Banti as Marion

Lamberto Bava as Elevator Repairman #1 (uncredited)

It’s time for another 1980s feature from director Dario Argento with a return to the Giallo sub-genre. The film is Tenebrae – or Tenebre (original title) or Ténèbres (French) – and features Anthony Franciosa, John Saxon, and Daria Nicolodi. Argento was inspired by a series of incidents that saw an obsessed fan telephone the director to criticize him for the damaging psychological effects of his previous work. The telephone calls culminated in death threats towards Argento, who channeled the experience into the writing of Tenebrae with a double helix of a plot.

At the time of this writing, Tenebrae is available to stream from Wicked Horror TV, Shudder, Kanopy, and Plex. It is also available on Blu-Ray and 4K Ultra HD from Synapse Films.

This is the Decades of Horror Grue Crews’ xth encounter with Argento. Here are their other Argento episodes if you care to check them out.

THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE (1970) – Episode 190 – Decades of Horror 1970s

THE CAT O’ NINE TAILS (1971) – Episode 149 – Decades of Horror 1970s

DEEP RED (1975) — Episode 77 — Decades of Horror 1970s

SUSPIRIA (1977) — Episode 58 — Decades of Horror 1970s

PHENOMENA (1985) – Episode 168 – Decades of Horror 1980s

DARK GLASSES (2022, SHUDDER) – Gruesome Magazine #369

Every two weeks, Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror 1980s podcast will cover another horror film from the 1980s. The next episode’s film, chosen by Crystal, will be George Romero’s Monkey Shines (1988). Oh yeah. We love monkeys with sharp utensils!

Please let them know how they’re doing! They want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans – so leave them a message or comment on the Gruesome Magazine Youtube channel, on the Gruesome Magazine website, or email the Decades of Horror 1980s podcast hosts at [email protected].

Check out this episode!

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basiccortez · 2 years ago

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Every Breath You Take word count: 4.4k masterlist playlist

in collaboration with @capturethechaos

His eyes scanned the whole room, looking anywhere but the girl who was chained up by her wrists. Her brown hair was stuck to her neck, her body glistening with sweat. He watched as she tried to pull herself up, trying to relieve the feeling of her dislocated wrists and sore muscles. The blood on her body, some dried and some fresh, filled the air with a thick coppery scent. Her head was covered by a black hood, hiding her identity.

“Please!” She cried, “I-I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” A distorted voice spoke. His face was all white, no features on it. He looked like a monster as Jake stared at him.

“I-I love him! I stopped feeding-” She was cut off by a harsh slap across her face. The faceless man walked over to her, and undid her chains, letting her body fall straight to the ground. The man grabbed her and put her on her knees.

“Kill her,” The man said to Jake.

“What?” Jake said, looking at the gun in his outstretched hand.

“Love destroys us. Look what it’s done to us already!” The man roared. Jake looked at the woman in front of him, her body clearly trembling. Jake’s eyes filled with tears as he looked between the woman he loved and the gun.

“No.” Jake said, “I can’t do it.”

“I said, fucking kill her!” The Man grabbed another gun, holding it to Jake’s head. Jake closed his eyes and let the tears fall freely down his face. He grabbed the offered gun, cocking it, and holding it against her head, “Hold her. I want you to hold her while you kill her. I want you to feel what love does to us.”

Jake kneeled down on the ground, taking the sobbing woman in his arms. He took the gun in his left hand, pointing the barrell against her head. She let out a loud cry when she heard the gun cock. Jake placed a kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger.

“The reaper had mercy,” He whispered as he pulled the trigger. He felt her body convulse when the bullet buried in her skull, and then still. He felt the sprinkle of pink matter on his face.

“Uncover her.” The faceless man said. Jake laid her body down, and gently took off the hood.

“No! Baby, no!” Jake screamed, seeing Y/N’s lifeless face. The bullet hole buried into her precious skin, “Why didn’t you tell me it was her! You fucker!”

Jake turned to the faceless man, who now had a face. . .Francisco. Francisco smirked looking at Jake and his ex-lover’s body. He cocked the gun and pointed it back at Jake.

“You said you would protect her. . . and now look at what you did.”

Jake didn’t say anything as he bowed his head and waited for the bullet to kill him too.

— — —

“Jacob, wake up!” Y/N yelled, finally shaking him from his sleep. He sat up with a start, looking around. His body had a thin layer of sweat and his hair stuck to his forehead.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?“ He asked her to look over her body for injuries. Y/N shook her head, grabbing his face.

“I’m fine, baby. Are you okay?” She asked him sincerely. Jake looked into her eyes, he knew there was no point in lying to her, she would just press him until he told her the truth.

“It felt so fucking real,” He whispered, “It was like watching her die… but it was you instead.”

“Jake,” She sighed and pulled him into her body to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her middle, laying his head on her stomach, “It was just a dream, baby. I’m right here.”

“I know. It was just… real,” Jake mumbled. Y/N hummed, running her hands through his hair, “I don’t want to do anything for the rest of the day. I just wanna stay here, with you.”

“Yeah well… about that-“

“Y/N, quit sucking off your husband,” Your brother Gianni yelled, waltzing into the room. Jake quickly pushed off of her, scrambling out of the bed, “Whoa, hey, there’s no need for the saint act, brother.” Gianni laughed, “Get dressed, The Don is waiting to see you both.”

Jake waited a second after Gianni left before frantically running into the closet. He searched around for his best suit, something that would impress Rafael Santiago. He had never met the Don of Italy before in person, it had only been video calls and letters sent between the two.

“How could you not tell me your fucking father was here?!” Jake whispered as he came back into the bedroom to see Y/N with an amused grin on her face, “This isn’t funny!”

“Kinda is,” She smiled. Jake looked even more stressed at her calm demeanor. She sighed pushing up from her spot, and crawled over to where he stood by the edge of the bed. She sat up on her knees and draped her arms over his shoulders, “I didn’t know they were coming until last night when the Don called. He wasn’t going to fly in until the day of the wedding but he heard about Sophie being found.”

Jake sighed and put his hands on her hips. Last night had been rough for both of them. Jake had finally opened up about his past relationship with Katherine, and bared his soul to Y/N. Their private moment was interrupted by Sam running in to tell them Sophie had been found alive. She had pressed Sam about information until the early hours of the morning. Jake had to physically pull her from the office, watching the video of guards storming into the abandoned warehouse where they had tracked down Francisco. Except, all they found was Sophie, hung up by her hands, her feet dangling off the ground, looking rather dead. They were amazed she was still alive.

“I’m sorry,” Jake said, “How is she doing?”

“I-I’m not sure. Sam wouldn’t tell me anything more. I’m guessing it was for the best.”

“And Francisco?”

“Dead. Supposedly. Found a body off the Memphis Bridge.”

“Good.” Jake said and kissed her. He finished getting dressed as Y/N looked at him and bit her lip, “What? Do I not look okay? Is this too much? Oh my god, what if I’m overdoing-”

“Jake, I love you, but shut up.” Y/N giggled. Jake stopped in his tracks and looked at her, “What?”

“Say it again.”

“Say what? That I love you?”

“Yes.”

Y/N smiled and got off the bed, walking over to where he was standing in the doorway of the closet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and Jake’s hands went straight to her waist, “I love you, Jacob.”

A squeal left her lips as Jake picked her up, and her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked over to the bed and flopped down. She giggled as he peppered kisses on her tan skin, “You’re going to be late to meet my father.”

Jake pushed himself off the bed, fixing his suit before walking into the bathroom to brush his hair. Y/N decided to go change too, knowing her father would lose his mind if she walked downstairs in just Jake’s t-shirt and underwear. She peeked over at Jake, noticing his all black attire for the day. She dug in her closet, finding a pair of simple black dress pants, and a black button up. She grabbed a pair of black pumps and gold jewelry. Jake was brushing his teeth when she walked in, and his jaw dropped. He spit the toothpaste out and wiped his mouth.

“You gonna button that up more?” Jake asked, noticing the top two buttons undone. She looked at herself and shrugged.

“No.”

Jake shook his head, “Trying to kill me before we’re even legally married.”

“Of course,” Y/N smirked, “You know my history.”

Once they had both finished getting ready, they walked down the grand staircase hand in hand. Y/N could hear Gianni telling Danny about different ways to torture people. Paulo was the first one to spot the couple walking into the room, and nudged the Don. Rafael stood up from the couch, fixing his dark green suit jacket. He walked to Jake, and held his hand out, his eyes looking at his daughter, noticing the faint coloring on her face from her healing bruises. Rafael’s eyes flashed with anger, as he grabbed Jake’s shirt collar in his fists and slammed him up against the wall. Both sets of brothers moved quickly as Y/N gasped.

“I gave her to you to protect her! And you do that shit to her face!” Rafael yelled, his voice loud and thunderous, sending a shock wave through Jake.

“It was an accident, Rafael, he’s sorry!” Y/N said.

“Sorry for smashing your face open?” Rafael snickered, “I will fucking kill you for laying a hand on her.”

“And you’re much better?” Jake said back, “She forgave me for what I did, but she will never forgive you. You have spent every single moment for the last 24 years hating her for simply being your daughter. You have wanted her gone and dead from the moment she was placed in your arms. It’s obvious to everyone in this room how easily you gave her to us.”

Rafael clenched his jaw and released Jake’s collar, “You have a mouth on you that’ll get you killed.”

“If that means I protected her, then it’s worth it,” Jake said, fixing his collar, “It’s nice to officially meet you, Rafael.” Jake stuck his hand out and Rafael just glared at him, before turning to look at his daughter.

“See neither of you have killed yourselves or each other,” Rafael spoke.

“Love isn’t always a bad thing, Rafael,” Y/N spat.

Rafael laughed and shook his head, “You’re dumber than I thought. He doesn’t love you! He loves the power he gets from hurting you. From you succumbing to his requests. He might not have you chained up in a basement fucking you repeatedly, but that doesn’t make him any better than Franky. At least he knew how to run a mafia-”

Y/N gasped as Paulo struck their father across the face, cutting off the Don’s sentence. Sam and Narciso gasped, as Danny and Gianni moved to separate the father and son. Jake moved off the wall and over to Y/N, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Well damn, Y/N, if I knew your family was this exciting I would’ve invited them over sooner,” Josh said. Y/N looked over at the curly haired man and glared at him, “Um, sorry. . . Let me get you some ice.”

Josh gently led the Don away from the foyer and into the kitchen. Y/N waited until she heard the door close before pushing off of Jake and grabbed Paulo by his collar, dragging him down to Jake’s office. Everyone followed quickly behind them, not wanting to miss any more drama.

“The fuck were you thinking?” Y/N yelled at her older brother, “Punching the Don?”

“Someone had to!” Paulo yelled, wringing his hand out, “Having you gone these past four weeks has made me realize something.”

“What? That your right hook is shit?”

“No,” Paulo rolled his eyes, “That I’ve been a shitty big brother. After hearing about Andrew, it made me stop and think. I’ve never been there for you, the way I should have. I apologize for everything I said at the hospital.”

Y/N looked her brother up and down, trying to recognize the man in front of her. Paulo has always been like her father, malicious and unforgiving. But to hear those words come out of his mouth was something she had waited to hear for years.

“I forgave you,” She said softly, “I did a long time ago. I never held any resentment towards you, I held it towards him and what he has done to this family.”

“The Don isn’t-”

“Not him. . . Francisco.” Y/N sighed, “I hate him for what he did to you, to Sophie, and to papa, and mom and-”

“And you.” Paulo said, “You are a victim of what he did too.”

Y/N nodded with tears in her eyes, as Paulo pushed off the desk he was leaning on and engulfed her in a tight hug. She stiffened at first, the feeling foreign, before melting into his touch. She closed her eyes as she melted into the hug. It only lasted a couple seconds before both siblings pulled back.

“Never hug me again,” Y/N laughed and Paulo shook his head smiling.

“I know. Felt kinda weird. Guess I need to like. . . push your face into the mud or something,” Paulo said, throwing his arm around her shoulders and walking out of the office.

Jake sent a look over to his fiancée and Y/N smiled. Paulo kissed her cheek before going over to talk with the rest of the Kiszka siblings. Y/N looked at all the men in the kitchen, a sight that should’ve made her feel safe. The strong Mafia men gathered around a table looking at various types of guns and ammo on the kitchen table would make anyone feel safe, except it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

— — —

It didn’t take a lot of convincing for Jake to let Y/N go to the hospital to see Sophie. He knew if he didn’t let her go, she would just ask Gianni. It took more convincing to let her go alone, without guards. Jake agreed to letting her go into the hospital without guards, but she was to be driven there with guards.

The hospital was in the heart of the city, and the guards dropped her off at the back entrance, giving her instructions where to locate Sophie’s room. They hadn’t told her much about her condition, but from what Y/N gathered, Sophie's injuries were probably much like hers. Her heels clicked as she walked down the stark white hallway, finding the room that the guards told her Sophie was in.

Y/N took a deep breath, preparing for the worst as she pushed the door open to her best friend’s hospital room. She was prepared to see the sight that had been burned into her mind. She was prepared to be almost looking in the mirror but she was shocked at what she did see. Sophie’s eyes were trained on the TV, watching some stupid day time television show. She looked perfectly fine, the only sign that something was wrong was the gauze wrapped around both her wrists.

“Sophie. . . “ Y/N called out to her gently. Sophie didn’t dare move her sight from the TV as Y/N walked in. Y/N took in every single detail about her. She was starting to doubt that it was her Francisco that took Sophie. Francisco was evil, and a creature of habit, “Sophie,” She called out again.

“I’m here,” Sophie whispered, not taking her eyes off the TV still. She felt the warmth of Y/N standing next to her, and pulling a chair up, “He said you’d probably be shocked. He didn’t beat my face like he did with you.”

Y/N sat down silently in the chair, just taking in the sight of her friend. She didn’t know what to think or even say. Sophie’s face was untouched, not a single scar on her face. There was nothing that gave way of the evil that she had endured for weeks while they were searching for her. The only thing that was different was Sophie’s blue eyes seemed to be a shade darker, as they stayed frozen on the TV.

“Sophie, I’m so sorry-”

“He also said you’d say that. Say that you’re sorry for letting him live, letting him escape from Gianni, letting him take me, and Isabella.” Sophie looked from the TV screen to Y/N. She lifted her hand, running her fingers gently over the scar on her face, “You used to be pretty, so fucking pretty. I used to get jealous when we’d go out that all the guys would look at you first. But he fixed that. . . gave the rest of us a chance.”

Y/N snatched her wrist, and Sophie grunted at the tight grip, “Whatever he told you is a bunch of bullshit lies.”

“He didn’t tell me anything that I already didn’t know. That you’re a selfish liar. Always have been and always will be. You’re the reason why innocent people have gotten their blood splattered on your doorstep.”

“You know that’s not true. I am just as much a victim of his, as you are, as Isabella is, as my-”

“Your mother? That whore had been trying to get with him since day one. You were all just too fucking blind to see it.”

Y/N pushed herself up from her chair, not wanting to hear anything else that came out of Sophie’s mouth. Even though she looked like her best friend, the words coming out of her mouth were from someone who had been brainwashed. Sophie’s eyes looked at Y/N, before drifting back to the TV, like nothing had happened. Y/N shook her head, and turned to leave, her hand reached for the door when Sophie spoke up.

“I hope you have a nice wedding,”

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine at Sophie’s words. She shook her head, as she pulled the door open and stepped through it out into the hallway. She took a couple deep breaths, shaking out her hands before walking down the hallway back the way she came. Y/N knew in her heart that the words Sophie said weren’t her true words, but that didn’t mean they stung any less. Y/N felt her eyes clouding over with tears as her body ran into another.

“Oh, sorry,” Y/N apologized quickly, feeling the person grab her sides to steady her.

“You should really watch where you’re going, doll,” Her face turned pale as she looked at the man in front of her, not sure if she was dreaming or not, “What’s wrong? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Franky. . .”

“In the flesh, doll. Look at you, guess I wasn’t the only one who tried to fix your face.” Francisco spoke, and her hands went straight to her nose, and felt the scar on the bridge of her nose, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, still fucking beautiful as ever.”

“Why are you here? Why now, after all these years?”

“I can’t sit back and watch you marry a man you don’t even love. He can’t protect you, Y/N. I mean, look what happened to dear Andrew, we took him out pretty easily.”

“You monster.”

“Oh, look in the mirror, doll. We’re one and the same, you and me. You’re the reason poor, poor Isabella was killed. Such a shame, honestly, I can see why Jake liked her so much. That nice, tight pussy-”

Francisco’s words were cut off by Y/N slapping him across the face. He moaned at the pain and looked at her, his eyes filled with lust. Y/N felt like she was back in that warehouse, being chained up as he overpowered her body over and over.

“Still one for the little dramatics aren’t you,” Francisco growled out, “Have a nice wedding, doll. . .”

— — —

The Santiago and Kiszka men were sitting around the table in their conference room when Y/N came storming in. Rafael stood up quickly, going to scold her, but noticed the panic expression on his daughter’s face. Jake stood up next to Rafael, and moved over to engulf Y/N in his arms. She let out a shaky sob as Jake rubbed her back, and sent a glare to the two young guards who walked in behind her.

“What the fuck did you two fuckers do?” Gianni asked, his jaw clenching and hands shaking, his telltale sign he was ready to draw some blood.

“N-Nothing Gianni, I mean Sir, I mean Mister-” A young guard stuttered out as Gianni scaled him up and down.

“Okay, shut the fuck up, or I’m gonna get violent. You wanna see me get fucking violent!?”

“Gianni, enough,” Rafael said, cutting off his middle son, “What happened?”

“He’s fucking here! He was at the hospital, just watching her. H-He stopped me in the hallway and-” Y/N lifted her head up from Jake’s chest to look at her father.

“Who? Who are you talking about, love?” Jake said, holding her at arm's length and looking into her brown eyes which were filled with fear.

“Francisco. . .”

“Son of a bitch,” Paulo cursed, “Right under our fucking noses! How did you let this happen?” Paulo pointed at his younger brother.

“Me?!” Gianni exclaimed, “What about these fuckers? They’re the ones who were supposed to be watching her. I thought you actually learned something being over in Ire-”

“Don’t fucking challenge me,” Danny said speaking up and glaring at Gianni.

“Okay! Enough!” Jake shouted, gaining control over the room, “Did you two see anything?”

“Hospital was clear, sir. We had cars posted up at all exits. No one saw him come in or out.” A guard reported.

“And now?” Jake asked.

“We’ve got guards posted outside of Miss Dubios' room. Still no sight of him.”

“Danny, Sam,”

“I already got into the security cameras at the hospital and the ones across the street,” Sam said looking at his laptop. Narciso leaned over his shoulder, watching the cameras closely.

“See if there are any cameras in that parking garage over there,” Narciso pointed at the concrete building.

“I’ll get some bodies to roam around both here and at the hospital. I’ll check the SUVs for bugs or devices,” Danny said, pushing up from his spot and heading outside, the two guards and Gianni following behind him.

Rafael looked over at Jake, proud of how he was handling this whole situation. What he didn’t like was the fear and fright that was etched into his daughter’s face, or the way she clung to Jake like he might disappear. Rafael had never seen her this scared before, it was a new sight for him. Usually, Y/N hid her emotions or Rafael just didn’t care enough to read them. But the fear and anxiety was rolling off of her in waves, crashing into everyone around them.

“We’ll find him, love,” Jake said, pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead, “I promise. Nothing is gonna happen to you, okay.” Y/N nodded and Jake pulled her back into his chest, running his hands down her back, and leaning his chin on top of her head. Rafael gave him a small nod, before quietly walking out of the room, leaving the two lovers alone.

— — —

Rafael hadn’t always hated love. He once loved it. He loved everything about being in love. The way someone’s face would light up, their smile growing big, their eyes growing lighter, their body language shifting. He was once that person, every time a young Serafina Cavani would walk into a room. Her bright, gentle smile was warm enough to melt the cold heart of the soon to be mafia leader. Rafael’s father warned him about marrying for love, that it always ended in tragedy, but he refused to listen. He should’ve known that their story was too good to be true.

Rafael stood on the balcony, letting the warm summer night air whip past him. He watched as his only daughter directed the boys around, making last minute placements for chairs and flowers before the big day. Rafael took a drink of his whisky, letting the bitter taste run down his throat.

“You’ve done a good job,” Jake said, walking out onto the balcony, snapping The Don out of his thoughts, “She’s an incredible woman.”

“I’m not the one to thank for that,” Rafael said, “It’s all her mother. She would give anything to be here.” Rafael pulled out his pocket watch, flipping open the cover to a picture of Serafina and him on their wedding day, and showed it to Jake, “Freshly twenty-two, the both of us. Had no fucking clue what we were getting ourselves into.” He closed the watch and stuck it back in his pocket, “I thought I’d have some years to settle, make a life with my woman before I took over. But I watched my mother and father get assassinated right in front of me. That changes a young man.”

“I know. I’ve seen what that kind of damage can do to someone,” Jake’s eyes drifted out to Danny, who’s smile never quite reached his eyes as he was helping Sam hang up some flowers, “Despite everything, she’s still so amazing.”

“She’s a better person than I’ll ever be. I continue to learn from her,” Rafael said bowing his head, “When she was born, all I saw in her eyes was her mother. She looks exactly like her, and it was a constant reminder every single day of what I lost. What I caused. I knew she never loved Francisco, but I pushed and pushed her until she broke. The day she went missing, I told everyone not to search for her, that she was just being dramatic. . . but I knew something was wrong.”

Rafael let out a shaky breath, “In four days he managed to do. . . all that. And if I would’ve just listened to my boys and to Andrew, none of that would’ve happened.”

Jake placed his hand softly on The Don’s shoulder as he wept softly. It was uncommon for men in their line of work to break down like this, but Y/N stood in the doorway, watching her father bare his true soul, something she had never seen him do. Rafael Santiago was not the strong man he once was, he was broken down, beaten, and tired. Jake moved softly, as Y/N quietly walked over to her father. She replaced Jake’s hand on Rafael’s shoulder, causing him to look up at his daughter.

“Tesoro-”

“I forgive you.”

Rafael quickly wrapped her in his arms and hugged her tightly. Y/N closed her eyes, taking in the feeling of being in her father’s arms. She had longed for this moment for years. She couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged her, or anyone for that matter. She felt him shudder out a sob and she let her own tears fall down her cheeks.

“Papa?”

“Yes, tesoro?”

“Will you give me away tomorrow?”

Rafael pulled back from the hug, and wiped her tears from her face. He gave her a genuine smile, “Of course I will.”

--- --- ---

taglist: @myownparadise96 @groggyvanfleet @joshkiszkas @st4rdust-ch0rds @jackiidk @maverick-rose @katie-gvf @kayleea122 @streamsofstardust @flower-power-anthem @the-weightof-dreams @gvfrry @ascendingtothestarsasone @fleet-prodigy @oskea93 @allieboop @seventieswhore @greta-van-chaos @peaceisouranthem @janegvf @fictional-duchess @gretnabancheese @gretavanflipflop @callmebymym @hayley1623 @gretasmokerising @prophetofthedune @tearsofbri @gretavanfleas @sarakay-gvf @t00turnttrauma @godlygreta @jazzyllemmon @loofypoofy @doodle417 @tripthelightfandomtastic @ohhey1293 @lvnterninthenight @eh-notreally @ryegvf @theleft0ver @ageofsinners @ohitselliana @b3l1nda @strugglingtodoshit @tlexx @theweightofstardust

A/N: one last chapter to go:( i can’t believe how fast the time has gone. I really can’t wait for y’all to read the last chapter… it’ll be a blast

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alinastracker · 3 years ago

Note

hi, bonnie, my beloved!!! I don’t know if you’re still taking those college prompts but if you are, it think 21 is pretty cute <3 it’s definitely got malina vibes

ASK AND U SHALL RECEIVE MY LOVE<3

prompt: I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

it’s nice to have a friend

"And please everyone, actually read the assigned chapters for next week!" Professor Yerwei sighs as the class dismisses. "Miss Starkov can't continue to be the only one of you raising her hand."

Alina can't help her smug little smile as she packs up her things. At first, her classmates were quite happy to have someone else participating so they didn't have to. Their groans seem to indicate that won’t be working for them any longer. Pity.

Her smile fades, however, as she takes out her pepper spray, clutching it tight in her right hand. Slinging her backpack onto her shoulders, she files out with the rest of her classmates.

Alina loves her art history class. She's learned so much about Ravkan art throughout her years, which is fine, but this class actually focuses on the rest of the world, art from Kerch, Novyi Zem, and even Fjerda and Shu Han.

She just hates that the class is only offered at night.

It doesn't surprise her. The class itself isn't very large, mostly filled with students of mixed backgrounds like herself. But there's something cozy about the class. She feels safe there.

That is, until she steps outside and has to walk across campus to her dorm at nine in the evening. It's late September, which means the sky is nearly pitch black by the time class ends, and while the campus is fairly well lit up, there are a couple paths with burned out bulbs that need fixing, a few shadowy areas that give her cause to quicken her steps. Her roommate, Genya, has offered to make the trek just to walk with her, but she couldn't ask that of her friend. She would just have to grin and bear it.

Alina grips her pepper spray a little tighter and is about to step into the night when someone calls her name.

No, not someone. She knows the voice, even if he is new in her life. Malyen Oretsev. He sits in front of her and a little to the left, giving her the perfect angle to stare at the side of his beautiful face. Any time she's not answering questions, she's looking at Mal.

"Way to show us all up in class," he says, a teasing smile spread on his face. He moves with such ease, such surety, wearing an army style jacket that fits him in all the right places.

"Well, I can't help it you don't read the book," she teases back, momentarily forgetting her dreaded walk. She's made it three times now, but it has yet to get easier.

"Hey, who said I haven't read it? Maybe I'm just shy."

Alina laughs. "Good one, Oretsev."

He grins, and for a second, his eyes flash to where her hand rests at her side, locked around her pretty purple pepper spray. "Heading to your dorm?" When she nods, he says, "Mind if I walk with you?"

She's not sure if he's asking because he genuinely wants to walk with her or if he's just noticed how shaky she gets after class, holding her one line of defense close, but it makes her all warm inside regardless. "I'm not out of your way? I'm in Sankta Lizabeta Hall."

Mal shakes his head and drapes an arm over her like it's the most natural thing in the world, and oddly enough, it feels that way. "Not out of my way at all."

On the walk to her dorm, they talk about how refreshing it is to take a class taught by a professor from Shu Han, the plans they have for the upcoming weekend. Alina smiles the whole time, surprising herself with how at ease she feels. At some point, she stuffs her pepper spray in her coat pocket, forgetting all about it.

From that day on, Mal walks with her after class each Tuesday and Thursday night, with Alina almost always tucked under his arm. She tells herself she likes being close to him because the weather is getting colder and colder, but really, he just makes her feel safe and giddy and good.

One night in mid-October, they come out of class to a downpour. Groans pass between the two of them and the rest of their classmates as they make their way out, some of them going back inside to wait it out, others making a mad dash for their dorm or nearby car.

"Should we wait?" Alina asks.

Mal pulls out his phone and brings up a radar map. "Doesn't look like it's stopping anytime soon."

They share a look, and then, almost in unison, pull up the hoods of their coats and dash into the night, the storm swallowing the sounds of their laughter.

"My brother is always forgetting his things when he visits my room," Tamar is saying as she leads them up the stairs in Sankt Juris Hall. She has yet to meet Tamar's twin, Tolya, but from the pictures she's been shown, he appears to be a giant with absolutely gorgeous hair.

Once they're in her brother's dorm, she adds gentle to the front of giant, as they walk in on him in the middle of crocheting, a podcast playing from his phone.

"Ah, my book," he says, pausing his podcast and setting his work aside.

"Yes, yes, your book. Now stop leaving your shit in my dorm."

Alina laughs, and it brings Tolya's attention to her. "You must be Alina." He stands to his full height, and she has to look up to meet his eye. Saints, he seems tall enough to make two of her.

"That's me," she says, and lets out a soft oof when Tolya wraps his large arms around her. Admittedly, his size compared to her own makes for a pretty great hug.

"Good to meet you. Tamar says you're a very talented artist. You'll have to show me some time."

She beams and nods to his abandoned yarn. "You seem to be something of an artist yourself."

Tamar groans. "Don't encourage him. I have so many scarves from over the years. Thank the Saints he's finally moved on to making things for his roommate."

"At least my roommate appreciates my work."

As the twins bicker, Alina walks further into the room. Tolya's side is neat and orderly, bed made, a basket beside it for all his crocheting, not a piece of trash in sight. The other side of the room . . . not so much.

She's seen worse, especially when it comes to boys, but the contrast is hilarious. His roommate's bed is a mess, pillows strewn and blankets hanging off like he left in a hurry. There's a few empty wrappers and water bottles on his desk, a pile of books stacked haphazardly. Then there's the heap of clothes shoved in a corner on his bed — clean or dirty yet to be determined. Her eyes linger on the pile, and she's not sure why until her eyes zero in on the hoodie on top. A very familiar hoodie.

Alina grabs it and turns to Tolya. "Do you live with Malyen Oretsev?"

Tolya pauses mid-bickering, glancing over at her. "You know Mal?"

She nods. "We have art history together."

"Oh! You must be the little friend — his words, not mine — he walks with after class. Lina. Huh, I should have put two and two together."

Alina scoffs. "Little friend?"

Tolya shrugs, and Tamar says, "I mean, he's not wrong."

She huffs, throwing the hoodie back onto Mal's bed, but says nothing, knowing she doesn't have an argument.

Just before they leave, Alina ducks her head back in and says, "Hey, Tolya? Don't tell Mal I was here."

If he finds her request odd, he doesn't show it, already going back to his crocheting. "Sure thing, little friend."

"So then, after doing all that catchup, they practically let Jrue steal the ball, and he runs down the court and tosses it just high enough for Giannis to dunk it in. It was incredible!"

"Uh huh."

Mal sighs. "I get it, you don't care about American basketball."

"Or American football, or our football—"

"Hey!"

"Okay, I care about your games."

"Thank you," he says, looking proud. "Anyway, you're saved."

They've reached Sankta Lizabeta Hall. Alina sighs, fiddling absently with a loose thread on her gloved hand. She’s wearing only one, because at some point today she had lost her pair, so Mal had offered up one of his — a gesture her heart has still not recovered from. She looks up at the building, then back to Mal. Admittedly, even when he rambles on about sports, she's always sad when their walk to the dorms after class comes to an end. Even though it's near freezing most nights now, their walk seems to take longer and longer. If Mal has noticed her slowing her steps lately, he hasn't said anything.

"Saved indeed," she says. But there's one more thing she has to do tonight before parting ways. "Though, I was thinking. You always walk me to my dorm, but I never do the same."

"Oh," Mal says and shrugs. "It's fine. It's not much further, no sense for you to backtrack."

Oh the irony. "I know, but still." She takes his hand, somehow warm despite the frosty air around them. Her heart skips a beat as she realizes this is the first time she's held his hand. "It's really only fair."

"Alina," Mal grumbles, and she can almost see the wheels turning in his brain, trying to figure a way out of this.

"What? It's not like you live much farther."

He groans. "It's late, and cold. You should get inside."

"What's the matter, Malyen?" She's grinning now. "You think I can't survive another minute or so out here? It's not like you reside in, oh I don't know, Sankt Juris Hall or something far like that."

She sees on his face the moment it clicks. Mal curses under his breath and asks, "How did you find out?"

"Tamar took me to meet her brother, and I just so happened to notice some very familiar clothes on a very messy bed. You're not quite as tidy as your roommate, Malyen."

"If you say my full name one more time, I'm going to bury myself into the ground."

Alina laughs and it’s just a little maniacal. "So what gives, Malyen? Juris Hall is like, a minute from class." Her own was around ten, longer if the sidewalks were icy or they took their time.

Mal's eyes turn downcast, and he kicks the pole of a streetlight. "I don't know. You just looked so uncomfortable leaving class each night, holding your pepper spray like your life depended on it, and I just — I didn't want you to be alone." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, it probably sounds weird and creepy and everything you're trying to avoid."

Her heart is thumping so loud she's afraid he might hear it. But he's still not even looking at her. "Mal," she says softly, and finally he looks up. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

He's unsure for a breath longer — the first time, she realizes, that she's seen him be anything but certain — before finally, he smiles. Shyly. "Really?"

She nods. "It’s ridiculously kind of you, especially since you barely knew me then. But I’m okay, really. I don’t want you to keep going so out of your way for me.”

Mal pauses, shuffling on his feet, and she can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “And if I said I wasn’t only doing it for you?” At her frown, he adds, “If I told you these walks are the best part of my week?”

She’s momentarily speechless as her brain scrambles for something to say, so she ends up blurting out, “Football practice is the best part of your week.”

His smile is sly as he says, “Football is the second best part of my week.”

“Oh, well.” Saints, she wants to jump his bones. She’s wanted to since the first time she laid eyes on him. But she hesitates still, needing to be sure before she can let herself leap. “Certainly there’s better places and times to go for a walk.”

Mal shakes his head, and there’s amusement in his tone. “Come on, Alina, are you really going to make me spell it out for you? It’s not the walk, it’s the company.”

“The company,” she echoes in a small, but pleased, voice. Her dark eyes are sparkling with something giddy — like she’s fifteen again, tripping over a smile from her crush.

He just shrugs as if to say, take it or leave it, and she knows her answer.

Alina grins and shrugs in return. “Well, then I guess you can keep accompanying me.”

He snorts. “Oh, you guess, huh?” Mal suddenly drops dramatically to one knee, and in that moment she can see his confidence has returned, the easy way he moves, like he’s singing his favorite song and knows every word, every beat. “How generous of you, oh honorable Alina Starkov, for granting me the privilege of walking on the same pavement your very feet grace!”

Alina’s laughing, she’s been laughing for the whole speech, but now she crosses the distance between them and tugs on his arm until he stands. “You’re the worst,” she says, and before she loses her nerve, she kisses him. She can tell he’s surprised, but he recovers fast. His arms wrap around her waist, tugging her closer. One of her hands is on his red scarf — one of Tolya’s making, she knows now — while the other dares to run through his hair, a fantasy she’s had all semester. Suddenly it’s not so cold out anymore.

They pull away breathless, sharing careful, sheepish smiles of two people exploring something new; something exciting, but fragile.

“I think we’ll have to find a new excuse to hang out once class ends in a couple weeks,” Alina says, looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks flushed.

“Agreed. Maybe something involving food, or drinks.” He pauses, then very delicately brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. It’s somehow more intimate than the actual kiss. “Maybe more of this.”

She bites down on the spot his thumb had just been. “Definitely more of this.”

Mal smiles, and this time, he’s the one to initiate the kiss, the one to tangle his fingers in her hair. They kiss until they’re dizzy and frozen — on the outside, anyway. On the inside, she’s all heat. They say their typical goodnights, but this time, they part with the promise of so much more than walking on the horizon.

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years ago

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. iii: tra i due litigante terzo gode ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of animal death (canon-typical), clown on clown violence.

rating: m/t

notes: putting this little project of mine up on the internet for strangers to see was incredibly nerve-wracking, but i have been so lucky to be received so kindly by folks! thank you to everyone who reads, it really means the absolute most to me.

i don't know if i mentioned this before, but you can find translations for the (google-translated) italian at the bottom of each chapter on my ao3. i know it's a hassle, i'm sorry!! just can't find an easy place to put them here without spoiling what's going on in the chap ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

thank you as always to my lovely beta @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife; this could not be done at all without you. ♡ and to @belorage, who loves euphie enough to send me the cutest message that managed to kick my ass into gear to get this chapter edited!!

Two days after the engagement party, when Santino has finally made up for his delay and lateness, is when he ruins it all again.

Later, Euphemia will think that he can’t help it—he is destined to be a wrecker, a ruiner, even if it’s for himself. It’s not his fault, not really, she’ll say. Ignoring that he is a perfectly autonomous adult means that she can excuse his thoughtlessness and not call it selfishness.

One of Santi’s men tries to tell her that he’s busy as she strides through the museum, heels clipping the floor with a strict, stark cadence. The smell of the doctor’s office is still stuck in her palette. She feels a wad of anxiety, anticipation, coiling deep in the pit of her stomach, a black stone dropped there to torture her with its heaviness. Santino will be happy, she thinks absently, chewing the inside of her cheek as she moves. He’s always wanted this.

The man is keeping pace with her well enough, despite her long legs and the purpose with which she walks to one of the back rooms of the museum.

“Bella,” he says, reaching to stop her, “per favore, he is in a meeting.”

The words put a sour taste in her mouth. Busy, the man is trying to say, too busy for you, for this, right now.

“Trust me, Gianni,” she replies dryly, “he’ll want to make time for this.”

She takes two steps into the room past the other guards, who don’t bother trying to stop her. The room is marked primarily by a high ceiling, which allows all of the paintings to be hung in it in their varying degrees of size. Euphemia recognizes Santino sitting on the bench first, and then another man that he’s talking to. The man looks like he’s just come off of the streets, his hair dark and the scruff that she can see on the side of his face manicured enough to look like he just hasn’t bothered recently.

It takes Euphemia’s brain a few seconds to register the facial features of the man who turns to look at her over his shoulder. He would be nothing, mean nothing, to her if she didn’t see the way his expression flattened, his gaze sweeping over her—calculating. Measuring. Identifying.

He looks dirty, unshowered, covered in soot, and she thinks back to two nights ago when Santino showed up to their engagement party smelling like fire and gunpowder.

Santino stands abruptly. He might be angry, or perhaps worried; it’s hard to tell the difference with him. But she can’t look at him, anyway, her gaze fixed on the stranger who is not much of a stranger at all, who she knows because of the scary stories. The rest of the world may as well be melting down around her, some sick Van Gogh painting, and she can’t look away.

John Wick has dark eyes. Shark’s eyes, she thinks. Black, soulless. Like the glass eyes on a teddy bear. She feels her stomach lurch as fear washes over her in a slick, wet wave, reminding her that she’s already received one bout of stressful news this afternoon.

He watches her. She’s sure he’s sizing her up—that is what John Wick is made to do—but after a second, he glances to Santino, gauging his reaction. If he thinks she's any kind of a threat, he's not letting it show.

“I told you not to let anyone in,” Santi says angrily to Gianni, helpless behind her—because Gianni would have never dared to grab her arm to stop her, would have never thought it acceptable to handle her like street rabble.

“Santi,” Euphie says, feeling very small and very far away and somewhere that her body isn't, “who is that?”

She knows, but she wants to hear him say it.

He steps around the bench, excusing himself from his conversation with Wick and crossing the space between them to guide her out of the room with his hands on her arms. She lets him, not because she isn’t burning with rage but because if Santino doesn’t show her where to go, Euphemia will just stand there, fear driving icy-hot spears through her chest.

He takes her as far as around the corner of the room, maybe to put as much space between her and John Wick as he can afford, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She starts to shrug his hands off of her, and oh, there it is—the shrieking, panging fear, and fury, boiling inside of her. Venomous, indignant. Her mind is a mess of color and noise and she’s vaguely aware that maybe she should be working hard to keep her voice down, but it no longer matters.

A lot of things shouldn’t have happened that did. What’s one more?

“You brought him here?” She can feel her voice bordering on hysteria. “Are you a fucking idiot, Santi? What part of I don’t want John Wick near my life—”

“Euphie, Euphie, Euphie,” Santi says, trying his sweet-talk; condescending, like he’s speaking to a child. “Lower your voice, tesora, and we’ll talk about it.”

Her hand moves of its own accord, a knee-jerk reaction to Santi sweetly telling her to shut up, and she slaps him. Hard. As hard as she can manage. The second her palm connects with the side of his face, and the needles start stinging in her palm, she thinks that she regrets it: but all she can really think about is the pure fear and rage coursing through her body, pummeling adrenaline through her bloodstream until she feels like she’s going to be sick.

And, a little, too, a warmth blooming in her chest: satisfaction.

Santino's head doesn't turn back to her right away. There is a heartbeat of a moment where only silence reigns, where his fingers reach and touch the place her palm had made contact with, like he can't believe she did it. Maybe he can't, but then he'd be a bigger idiot than Euphemia thought.

He turns to face her again and holds up a hand—perhaps to call for a moment of inaction, or to be prepared for a second blow, she’s not sure and she doesn’t care. Santi begins, his voice a low threat, “Do not do anything else you're going to regret, Euphemia.”

Anything else you’re going to regret, he says, as though she will regret having done this.

“Fuck you,” she snaps, her voice rising in volume further yet. The poison reverberates on the high, smooth glass ceiling, bouncing off of the marble walls until it’s all echoing around them. “He knows what I look like, what—what I sound like, he knows my name, Santi, you—”

She's pushing him, hitting his chest; an impatient and weak battering. She wants both to get him away from her as much as possible and keep him close. Santi catches her wrists with bruising force, trapping her and making her look at him.

“Euphemia, basta—if you had waited,” he bites out, “then—”

“I’m pregnant!” The words leave her in a visceral, furious shout, her heart thundering in her chest, her flight or fight demanding one or the other. She rips her wrists from his grip. It feels like her entire body is vibrating. “You fucking idiot—I was late, I just got back from the doctor, and—and you’re not supposed to have him here anyway! You promised me, Santino D’Antonio, you promised me!”

There is a heartbeat of time, of space, where her fiance stares at her like he doesn’t quite think that she’s real. Red blooms on his cheek where her hand made contact and the dark of his pupils has all but swallowed up the beautiful green of his irises. Finally, something seems to kick the gears back into motion, and he plunges on, catching his footing.

“Euphie,” Santi says, reaching for her again, “Euphie, listen to me. John came to me, I didn’t—”

“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Santino!” Euphemia spits, brushing his hand away from her arm. Blood is rushing through her head, louder and louder, demanding she raise her own volume to be heard over it. “I told you to leave him alone. You insisted, and I thought that was the end of it—you came late to the party that night because of him, isn’t that right? So why is he here, Santi? Why is John Wick near me and my baby?”

Santino stares at her. She can see the flex of his jaw when his teeth clench, trying to maintain what shred of control he has. He swallows, lifting a finger, to indicate one minute, and it takes all of her self-control not to scream at him that he doesn’t get any more minutes. But there is some pleasure in seeing him a little ruffled; to see the way his eyes dart over her face, trying to keep everything collected neatly in his mind, filed away for premium use. She wants to shake him until he is really rattled.

“It may have taken more persuasion than I anticipated,” Santi says finally, at last.

Euphemia makes a sound something like wrecking, like grief, because she knew this was going to happen and he told her it wouldn’t but here they are anyway. It’s a death knell, ringing in her ribcage, in the cavity of her chest. Dead, dead, dead, we’re all fucking dead now, don’t you see it? You, and me, and now our baby, dead like stones.

He continues quickly, over the sound of her agony, “But that doesn’t matter—cara mia, listen to me, it doesn’t matter because now John will do what I ask him to, and we don’t have to worry about anything else. Euphie, Euphie—come here, we'll talk about this.”

She’s going to be sick. The doctor’s words are still rolling around in her head; avoid stress, make sure you sleep and eat well. Can’t be worrying that baby, can we, Miss Volpe? Make sure your fiance does all the work, hm?

“It does matter. It matters the most, Santi, I—I told you to leave him be, I told you, and you said that you would only ask and that would be it—”

She’s grieving, now, lamenting the loss of her happiness, the hysteria taking a melancholic edge in her voice as the sorrow sweeps over her. Santi keeps reaching for her, to try and ground her back to him, and for the first time since she met him she just can’t stand to feel him touching her, saying her name, trying to sweet-talk her. His hands sweep her shoulders, coming up for his thumb to brush the nape of her neck; instinctively, her shoulders scrunch up to disembark them, arms shoving his off of her.

He says, “Tesora, we can talk about this—”

“You did exactly what I asked you not to,” she manages out, taking a step back from him. “I ask you for two things, Santi. Helping my mother, and not putting yourself at war with John Wick. I do not—you should not have asked him at all!”

“Euphie—”

By the time Santino reaches for her again, she’s turning and walking away, her steps unsteady. She’s sure that she’s sweating, or crying, or maybe both or neither and her body is just kicking into overdrive with gut-wrenching sweeps of grief rocking through her body now that she’s got Baba Yaga fifteen feet from her. From her and her baby.

“Euphie!” Santino’s voice echoes down the main hall of the museum, lighter now. Almost like they never argued at all. “We’ll talk when I get home, si? Mi amore?”

Euphemia is certain she’s never heard a sentence more infuriating in her entire life. It sparks something violent in her. It had been dormant, had stepped aside for her mourning, but it catches fire the second Santino says, we’ll talk when I get home.

Incensed, she turns and slides the engagement ring off of her finger, throwing it as hard as she can at him. Gianni had been trailing her, certainly at Santino's behest, and he tries to stop her—but it's too late, the fury inside of her forcing her to move more quickly than Gianni anticipates.

He catches her around the waist and she considers, briefly, the logistics of wrenching Gianni's arm off of her to go and slap Santino again; instead, she watches the expensive engagement ring bounce off of the front of Santino's jacket and clatter on the floor.

The way he tilts his head, as though expecting her to lob it at his face, and the irritated expression that comes over him is almost as good as actually having hit her original target of that pretty face of his.

Then, it’s pure, sheer, furious indignation that crosses Santi’s face, but she has no time to think about what that means for her.

“Fuck you, Santi,” she bites out venomously. “Fuck. You. Don’t fucking bother coming home.”

“Bella,” Gianni says, “we should get you back.”

Euphemia debates slapping Gianni, too, but it would be unfair; in his defense, he did try to keep her out of the room. She turns and marches her way out, the doors slamming shut behind her and the cold air of New York in the fall washing over her. As Gianni speaks on the phone and calls the driver around, she glances up at the sky; gray and soft as wedding silk, it stretches, endless, cut in pieces by the skyscrapers parsing it out.

A fool, she thinks. Santino has always made a fool out of me, and this is no one’s fault but my own.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two hours later, Euphemia hears him enter the loft. He lets the door click shut softly behind him, not slamming it, not storming through. She expected no less; Santi so rarely lets the anger really take hold of him, so rarely lets himself scream or yell or throw something. I’m marrying a fucking sociopath, she thinks, but there’s no heat to the thought; only exhaustion, only a tiredness that goes bone-deep

Even now, she still thinks of it as present tense: she’s marrying a sociopath, as though she didn’t try to hit him in the face with the engagement ring he picked out for her just hours ago, as though in the end, she will still be his. She will.

“Are you calmed down?” Santino asks, in the way that only he could manage—condescending, and soft. Euphemia can’t withhold the vicious scoff that rolls out of her the second he talks.

“I told you not to come home,” she replies tartly, “but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are apparently as deaf as you are stupid.”

“So no, then.”

“What do you want me to say, Santi?” Euphemia demands, looking at him now. She’s got a suitcase out but there’s nothing in it; she can’t bring herself to pack, to think about going back home to Tuscany where her mother is waiting, barely sober because she can only stay sober for about a month at a time before she falls back to her old habits. “Why don’t you invite our friend John Wick up for dinner, hm? I’m sure he’d like that, after you did whatever you did to make him show up here. Perhaps you took a page out of that idiot Iosef’s book and killed his new dog?”

“He owes me,�� Santino insists, glossing over her needling, “and I will get what I am owed.”

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?” she asks, incredulous. “If I die before telling you how incredibly, disgustingly stupid you sound when you say that, then I will—”

Santino kisses her. He does it because he knows that she’s not expecting it, and it has its desired effect; she stills, all of the furious energy like bottled lightning capped again. He kisses her softly, with no rage, but she can feel it woven into the sinew of his posture.

She thinks about slapping him again. But he probably knows that, because he grabs her hands, gripping them in his; the pressure is more relaxing than it is infuriating, which almost drives her mad, but it does what Santino always does. It pulls her apart until all that’s left is the hurt, the fear, welling up inside of her like a tidal wave crashing into the shore.

“He’s doing what I asked,” he murmurs. “And then we’ll be done with John Wick. Mia piccola volpe, look at me.”

“No,” she says, trying to sound angry but it comes out an agonized sound; she’s crying before she can stop herself, tears burning the edges of her eyes and a big, wet gasping breath necessary for her to keep going. “No, I don’t want to look at you anymore, Santi—”

“He’s doing what I ask, and then I promise, you and I will be done with John Wick forever.” His voice is urgent and insistent. “The three of us, tesora. Isn’t that right? You weren’t just saying that to get back at me?”

She nods, numbly. They had been careful, because she’d said she wasn’t ready—but mistakes happened. Pills got forgotten. She wishes that she could have lied about it and kept it secret. Maybe he’d be acting differently now if she wasn’t carrying his child; maybe his face would be something else.

“Euphie,” he whispers, taking her face in his hands. “My perfect, gorgeous Euphie—my greatest piece of art.” He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “And the one with the most bite, too, even when you are so ungrateful for the things that I do. My face still hurts.”

“Good,” Euphemia manages out, her voice wobbling. “You deserve it. Idiota.”

“Maybe,” Santi replies. He tucks her against his chest and kisses her hair. “I never thought I would piss you off enough to get you to hit me—and you did cause quite a scene in front of Wick.”

“Stop.” Just the sound of that monster’s name makes her stomach churn. “Stress is bad for the baby.”

He laughs, the first real laugh in what feels like days since he’s decided on this path with John Wick. “Fine, I will not mention him again. But know that after this, it will be done. Permanently. Forever. Si? Tell me you understand, Euphie.”

She’s so tired. She’s so tired down into her core, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a nap or a cup of coffee. “Si,” she replies, closing her eyes. “Capisco, Santi.”

Somehow, Santi’s words that things will be done “permanently” with John Wick only manage to make her more uneasy.

She can’t remember what exactly carries her through the rest of the evening. She remembers calling her mother to check on her, to ask if she’s keeping up with her meetings. She can’t bring herself to come clean about the surprise pregnancy; it’s early, anyway, and her mother would only stress her out more.

“Sei la mia stella più preziosa,” her mother says. “Ti amo, Effie.”

“Yes, mama,” Euphie sighs, unable to say the words back. “Buona notte.”

She hits the red end call button on the phone screen, setting it face-down on the countertop and leaning her palms against the marble. God, she knows that she’d fucking kill a man for a drag of a cigarette—but she could never. Not now. Not when she has—

The sound of paper on the countertop stirs her from her half-bent position. Santino slides it across to her, setting a pen down next to her hand. It’s their marriage certificate. He’s already signed it, and while she stares at it numbly, he takes her left hand and puts the engagement ring back on her finger, but this time with the diamond wedding band he’d picked out as well.

“Santi,” she starts, but he tsks his tongue, quieting her. She’s too tired to be offended.

“Sign the certificate, amore,” he says. “Do not fuss. You’re going to stop throwing this ring at me, yes?”

There are a million reasons not to sign it: but the words that came out of her mouth are, “We don’t have the witnesses or the officiant.”

“Do we need a witness or officiant greater than God himself?” Santino replies. He leans against the counter from the other side, watching her. He is polished, pristine. Any remains of her earlier transgression against him are now completely gone, at least the physical marks. She’s sure that he won’t forget very soon that she raised a hand against him. “Sign it, Euphie, and be my wife.”

She stares at the paper. She feels like she’s melting; her life can’t be real anymore, not when John Wick was, just hours ago, feet away from her, and she’s pregnant, and now Santino is asking her to sign their marriage certificate right now.

The implications fill her with dread. What’s the rush? If nothing’s wrong, if they’ll be done with John Wick, what’s the rush?

“You said that you had nothing before me,” Santino says, breaking her out of her eerie, absent-minded disconnect. He brushes the hair from her face. “You will never have nothing again.”

Euphemia signs the certificate in a haze. It doesn’t feel any different after; she doesn’t feel different and neither does Santino in relation to her, and the realization that they had felt married for a few years now sinks down on her.

Santino rounds the counter to her, taking her face and kissing her; her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth and eventually just kissing her. His hand smooths over her stomach, admiring, and he brushes their noses together.

“Perfetto e tutto mio,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Isn’t that right, Euphemia?”

She replies, without thinking, “Si, sono tuo.”

Always, she thinks, always yours, whether I like it or not.

#santino d'antonio/original female character #john wick oc #santino d'antonio/ofc #john wick #spilled ink #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #c: john wick #x: senza tentazioni senza onore #oh yeah baby real good love the SUFFERING #ugh i wish i could convey how much it means to me to have people reading and enjoy this #alas i can only!!!! cry in the tags #thank you everyone <3

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regrettablewritings · 3 years ago

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can i request the song meme with helena bertinelli?

In all honesty, I’m kinda done with the song meme. I’ll definitely do this because Helena needs more love, though.

Helena can act cool all she wants: She’s actually a pretty big nerd, with a tendency of hyping herself up by rehearsing lines in the mirror and also playing the right kind of music. Bass-heavy music. Music that makes you want to kick ass. And this? This is precisely the song for exactly that.

Well, she was raised in an Italian household: Opera is a given. She has specific memories of sitting in the living room, coloring whilst her mother played a compilation of Maria Callas’ work on the record player to accompany her knitting. In an effort to make her laugh, Helena would sometimes attempt to sing alongside the legendary soprano. But she normally saved it for this song, simply because the drama surrounding its in-show context was funny to see a little girl attempt to replicate.

Helena doesn’t really sing it anymore, barely even hums it really. But sometimes she’ll listen to it in a fit of nostalgia.

Watch out: Little Ms. Edgelord over here! Song simply makes her feel tough, especially when she’s training while it’s blaring. Brings her back to the days where her emo behavior was a bit more blatant and less about revenge and more about teenage wrath.

If anyone finds out that the notorious Crossbow Killer Huntress likes notoriously poppy group ABBA, then Gotham is gonna have a whole new rampage on its hands.

Helena worked so hard to build up an image of intimidation and darkness — she can’t let anybody know she’s let a foot-tap or head-bop happen because she was, for a moment, The Dancing Queen! But even so…She can’t help but love this particular song. It’s one of those gushy hope songs that on the outside seem too flimsy to be something a revenge-hungry wrath lady like herself would enjoy. But here we are: It’s cheesy, she loves it, she has a dream, she believes in angels, and if anyone finds out about it and tells anybody else about it then they’re gonna become an angel by her hands.

Yet another oddball song that just doesn’t seem to fit the exterior Helena’s tried to uphold in society. However, she’s a bit more forgiving if people know about it. Just a bit.

It’s Weird Al, after all, so his appeal tends to be understandable to most.

There’s no real reason why thing song in particular pops up, though; it’s just what Helena finds herself playing most often. Must be how soothing it sounds.

This, however, is more understandable as it marries two loves of Helena’s: Weird Al and rock music. She likes “Smells Like Teen Spirit” okay enough, but … she also likes the parody better. And if you try to call her out on that, you’ll end up getting your ass whooped.

She likes songs that make good fight music. More in-depth, though, is that Helena’s had to hang out at bars a lot to gather the intel necessary for hunting down her targets. Some songs, you hear over and over and hate them. Others, you hear over and over and decide to embrace them.

The latter is what happened with “Lightning Bolt”.

Come on. You’re going to look at me and tell me that Helena didn’t have an Avril Lavigne phase? It doesn’t matter if she spent most of her life in Italy, practically isolated: She found a way.

I feel like the songs her new friends would introduce her to would hold a special place in Helena’s heart. Being that Dinah is such a music-oriented person, it would stand that she’d know a few lesser-known pieces that would be easy for anyone to miss out on, let alone somebody who spent most of her life isolated and then the rest of it obsessing over getting revenge rather than growing an inner-life.

As stated before, Helena likes fighty songs that make you want to kick ass, so she appreciates this particular suggestion from Dinah.

Thank you for participating!

#helena bertinelli imagines #helena bertinelli imagine #huntress imagine #huntress playlist #regrettablewritings

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 4 years ago

Text

IF You Love Someone, Let Them Go: Part 5

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character,

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

March 2015

“You’ll see me two times in three weeks,” Victoria smiled, wine in hand as she settled in the seat beside Sonny. It was Tommy and Bella’s engagement party, which Gianni was treating as a bridal shower. The whole engagement would only have been three months, and it seemed the two younger Carisis had cost her the months of parties and planning Gina and Teresa had given her. At least Sonny and Victoria had gotten married in a church a year after they eloped. Tommy and Bella would be getting married outdoors, while she was pregnant. Everyone pretended not to notice the slightest bit of a bump, easily confused for weight gain if you didn’t know, when Gianna was around before fussing over Bella the minute she left.

“I’m a lucky bastard.”

“I hope you told your squad.”

“We’re all going out the Saturday before. I’m doing it then.”

“Really pushed it off, huh?” she asked, and he didn’t like the hurt she was trying to hide.

“The cases got heavy during the holidays. And then we busted up a sex ring and I was undercover. That also felt like a weird time. I kinda realized there wasn’t going to be a good one.”

“Yeah. Tommy and Bella inviting them kinda twisted your arm, huh?”

“Yeah. But it’s good. The last step.”

“They all coming?”

“Olivia for sure. I think Rollins and Amaro are coming together, and then honestly? Barba will when he finds out there’s gossip. He’s kind of a dick, but an amazing attorney. I really wanna shadow him sometime, but I’m too green to ask, y’know?”

“Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be nice when the time comes. And I think it’ll make Bella and Tommy happy. If it weren’t for them, it coulda been bad.”

“I got brother brain instead of cop brain, so yeah. I still can’t believe she’s having a baby.”

“It’s wild. And I know you don’t like Tommy, but he’s got a good heart.”

“And got locked up.”

“Everyone has their own problems.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Same deal as Gina’s wedding? No marriage problems talk. Just have fun and be sentimental.”

“Deal. Though if your squad asks, I’m not ignoring it.”

“Fair. But also tell the cute stories.”

“I’ll bring the photo albums.” He laughed, arm settled around her shoulders. When they’d moved out, she’d taken to collecting all the pictures of them and adding them to a photo album. She’d gotten copies of dozens of pictures from his mom, who had always kept them organized by year in boxes. When she left, Victoria took them, and he missed being able to thumb through the pages. There were multiple volumes at this point. The pages got harder to find. She didn’t scrapbook. Instead, she used the pages with four slots each, keeping them up as time went on. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were pictures from Gina’s wedding in the most recent. Maybe there were even pictures of them separate from each other to bridge the gap.

“Please don’t give Rollins and Barba that ammo. They’ll steal the really bad ones.”

“I like the ones from prom the best. Could we look any more 2004?”

“We looked damn good.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not super dated.”

“True. It’s okay. We got the pictures from Gina’s wedding. We don’t look like we’re separated in them.”

“True. You got the dimples on full display.”

“I seen the dresses Bella picked. I know you hate it. You won’t like this one so much.”

“I love it.” He raised a brow at the feigned enthusiasm. “Dom, that pink is gonna be so bad on a pale red head.”

“I like you in pink.”

“You like me in anything.”

“Because you look good in anything. Dark green’s my favorite though.”

“Mine too. Thank God for Gina. I’ll wear that dress again.”

“I’m sure I’ll have to go to some fundraising thing…”

“You asking me to be your date before you even know?”

“You’re always who I ask to be my date.”

“I better be. We’re married.”

“Gettin’ awful territorial, Mrs. Carisi.”

“You put your ring on your hand today.”

“And you put them both on the right finger.”

“It’s almost like we’re making progress.”

“I want to tell you. I’m ready. But not until after the wedding.”

“Why then?”

“In case you don’t look at me all happy anymore.”

“Literally nothing you could tell me could make me not want to work on it. Unless you cheated on me.”

“You’re the first, last, and only.”

“You are too.”

“We oughta stop being sappy. People are coming and we got put with people we don’t know.”

“Gross. It’s like ma is mad at me.”

“I’m just glad she knew better than to try and make us sit apart. I’m sittin’ with my wife.”

“You two aren’t even pretending to be awkward,” Bella teased, leaning to hug Victoria and then her brother. “This nonsense almost over?”

“Butt out,” Sonny warned, but he was still smiling. “Strictly married talk.”

“Two weeks and ya can’t use that excuse.”

“Then it’ll be strictly talks with my wife.”

“Stop, Dom,” Victoria laughed. “You look beautiful, Bella. How you feeling?”

“Kid’s making me tired as hell. I’m excited though. Tommy talks to her every night. It’s been hard, after what that bitch did. But he’s doing so good.”

“I can tell. I’m just glad you’re so happy.”

“I really am, T.”

“You look beautiful. I like this dress a lot.”

“Thanks. I like feeling all bridal.” Sonny was content to watch Bella and Victoria catch up. Over the last year, he’d come to realize every time they talked came around to when Victoria was taking him back. He probably hadn’t helped that any, constantly acting like he didn’t know why she’d gone. Thanksgiving had changed that. He stood up to his mom more, told her he was in therapy, and openly defended Victoria. The last part wasn’t new, but this time it was specific to her decision to leave. He’d told his family in no uncertain terms that, while he thought she should’ve told him earlier instead of letting the hurt fester, he had done something wrong and he was trying to fix that so they could start over. His mom and dad didn’t like that. Generationally, bottling up feelings was more acceptable to them. His sisters, on the other hand, hugged him tight and told him they were proud of him.

Their table filled up quickly as guests arrived, and Sonny was happy to help Victoria keep conversation moving until his parents spoke. That was the plan for tonight. Appetizers, speeches from the bride and groom’s parents, dinner, dessert, and finally dancing and cocktails. It was quickly apparent all the family’s required-but-barely-liked invites went to the table they’d put Victoria and Sonny at, a sure sign Gianna was over dealing with their drama. He was thankful his sister wouldn’t be having assigned seating at the reception for anyone, the bridal party included, though the thought of having Victoria joining his squad at a table made him nervous.

“I thought they’d never go dance,” she said softly against his ear, and Sonny smiled more from the closeness than the sentiment. Damn, it felt good to have her on his team. She wasn’t there day in and out, so these events felt more valuable to him now.

“Right? He’s from dad’s work. Known each other forever. I don’t know why the hell they invited him.” Her hair tickled his cheek as they gossiped, watching the people around the room and nursing their drinks. He decided they didn’t have a heavy case, so he’d tell the squad the next day, that way the giddiness of the evening would still be fresh. When they’d both finished their drinks, he took her hand, pulling her towards the floor.

“I was comfy,” she protested half heartedly before she realized he’d pulled her up for Sinatra. One hand on his shoulder and the other in his, she let him lead the few moves they’d learned in a ballroom class they’d taken. It had only been a couple years into their marriage, and they took it because it made them feel older and less like imposters. Now, all either could really remember was a boxstep, and their frame was terrible. That didn’t matter though. What did matter was Sonny resting his temple against hers to sing softly against her ear. When one swing tune melted into another, she was grateful Gianna had picked the music for this wedding event.

“Looks like we get to dance all slow again,” he teased, giving her a spin before holding her close.

“For someone getting mad when we get along, your ma worked real hard for us to get along.”

“She’s just mad it isn’t like when we were kids. If we fought in middle school, she’d give us a pizza, and we’d be over it.”

“Very true,” she grinned, looking up at him. He looked handsome, and after what came out to two years of seeing him deteriorate, she was grateful he was actually getting back to himself. She wasn’t sure if therapy, the job, or the slow progress they were making was the reason, but he was her Sonny again. He kept his hair cropped, face shaved, and smile present.

“You’re staring,” he teased before tightening his grip to dip her.

“You look good. Like not just handsome. Happy.”

“Thanks,” he smiled softly when he pulled her up again. “I’m learning to process stuff better.”

“That’s good.”

“It sounds messed up, but thank you for leaving. It made me go to therapy. I really wasn’t being good to you, Tor. And I’m sorry for that.”

“I forgive you, Dom. I wasn’t doing a good job talking to you about it. I’m sorry for not pressing until we hit the point of no return.”

“It’s okay,” he said, forehead resting on hers. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

“Me too.”

“Can we get somebody to take pictures of us?”

“Bella got a photographer, and he has definitely taken several.”

“This camera shy Sonny or detective Sonny noticing?”

“It’s Sonny seeing Gina tell him to.”

“You ever feel like the kids are trying to get us back together?”

“All the time, doll. You know how often Gina or Teresa go after me? Then Bella meddles. But Mia? She’s 17 and bound and determined she’s going to be the one to talk sense into me. And she kind of is. She actually talked to me about therapy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t know why but knows my brain shuts down when I try to open up. Heard me tellin Teresa. Said it’s toxic masculinity makin’ me feel like talking about feelings is girly and I gotta get over that if I wanna stay married and making you happy.”

“I ever tell you Mia’s my favorite?”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“How long until we can run away and go to a bar?”

“Anybody else left yet?”

“Your cousin Lauren and some of Bella’s friends.”

“What bar you thinking? Because you look too pretty to not take to some classy wine bar.”

“That works for me.”

“Then let’s go tell Bella and Tommy bye.”

“What about Gianna?”

“It’s not her engagement.” Victoria almost felt like they were back in high school and cutting class as they said their goodbyes and got their coats. Why the hell his sister was getting married outdoors in winter was beyond Victoria, but she was grateful for the fact they’d probably end up rained out and inside for the ceremony. Sonny hailed a cab, waving when he saw his mother watching them from a window.

“She’s pissed, Dom.”

“Too bad. Taking you to a nice wine bar. Ordering a cheese board.”

“You’re making it sound like a date.”

“I been shit and ain’t taken you on one in two years. Can it be?”

“I’d like that.” She was nervous, but it had become apparent he was trying. From what he said, in a couple weeks he’d be willing to open up. He was also communicating with her as it was. Maybe treating the next two weeks as a trial run could be good. Ease into the heavy discussion. He’d mentioned being afraid how she’d react. Maybe if she was always there again, he’d realize she wasn’t leaving.

“C’mon, whatcha thinking Tor?”

“Just that I’m happy we’re making progress,” she fibbed, lacing their fingers. He looked to their hands and smiled, squeezing her fingers gently.

“Me too.” Soon enough they were settled at the bar, and Sonny, true to his word, had ordered a bottle of wine and a cheese board. She was turned to face him, legs carefully crossed. He had the leg towards the room on the footrest around the base of her stool. She was boxed in, but it felt reassuring when paired with his hand on her leg.

“So what’s this new squad like?” Sonny had never quite settled in anywhere since he’d become a detective, and he seemed smitten with his spot in Manhattan.

“So Barba is the ADA. Covered him. Liv is Lieutenant. Nobody ever really gave me a shot before. Apparently I can be abrasive.” He threw the hand not on her leg up in mock affront, and she laughed.

“You? Never.”

“I know,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Rollins is cool. She’s been through a lot. She’s from Georgia though. I know you mostly grew up here, but you get that same Southern catty as her. Means it doesn’t get to me, because I know the secret. That she doesn't really mean it. Amaro is cool too. Had some problems too. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I’m acting like they won’t understand or accept our marriage. Fin’s been there longest, other than Lieu.”

“They treating you well?”

“They are. I think I’m finally not just a newbie. Barba gets mean. He’s not southern snarky though, so I think he means it.”

“I’ll fight him.”

“You’d win. He’s got a big mouth, but I don’t think he’d be scrappy.”

“I’m just real proud of you.”

“That means a lot to me, Tor.”

“You worked real hard. I watched that. And you’re going to be an amazing attorney.”

“I think I wanna try for the DA’s office if I pass the bar next year.”

“You’ll pass the bar.”

He rolled his eyes, pouring her another glass of wine as he topped off his own. When the night was over, he walked her to her door, kissing her goodnight and going to his own apartment. Sonny had decided that if it was going to be a date, he’d be a gentleman. Things were still delicate, and he had to leave early when she had a day off. He did text her the next morning to say he’d enjoyed their date, not wanting to have the wedding be the next time they talked. When he arrived at the precinct, he went to Olivia’s door, knocking.

“What’s going on, Carisi?”

“Since the squad’s coming to my sister’s weddin’ now, I felt like I gotta tell everybody I’m married and it’s really confusing.”

“Since you hadn’t mentioned it, I assumed you were getting a divorce.”

“You knew?”

“I did get sent your file when you started here. You know, I do read those.”

“I messed up bad, y’know? She’s a baker, right? And I’ve known her since I was five. Got married when we were eighteen. It was all good until I got to homicide.” Oliva gave him a sympathetic, knowing smile. “What I told you guys? How the women got to me? I was scared if I told her, I’d, like, tarnish her. Make her see all the bad stuff we see. It’s amazing talking to her, Lieu. She never stopped seeing the best in people. And I stopped acting like her husband because I thought just being close to me would transfer all of it. She left me, but we’re in a weird limbo. She’s in the wedding, and we act married when we see each other. This’ll only be the sixth time in a year and a half. But I don’t want her to meet everyone and they’re all like who the hell are you.”

“This job can make that part of life incredibly difficult, Carisi. I feel the same way sometimes about Noah. What if they take him? What if I’m so paranoid he grows up paranoid? Or god forbid he sees pictures? I try to refocus it. I think about how he can make light in those bad times. I don’t know much about her, but I’m guessing she does too?”

“She does.”

“Tell her, Carisi. If she knows something is wrong, she’ll be able to get through it.”

“I’m telling her after the wedding. My therapist said it might make it less stressful. I’ve been afraid she’ll change her mind when I tell her.”

“It’ll work out. It is a smart idea to make sure everyone knows. Barba’s coming with me, so I’ll make sure he knows and keep him in line.”

“Thanks Lieu. For this whole talk, but also giving me a shot.”

Tag List: @cycat4077 @fear-less-write-more

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x oc #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #writing

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misiwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Beyblade Week Day 4

i'm sorry i'm out here still posting things so late but here's my fourth and final 4kingdoms-verse oneshot for @beybladeweek2021, mostly this is late because i was out of town last week but these prompts were also the hardest to make a oneshot about, somehow i managed to make a quirky little story about max anyway.

this takes place probably somewhere right before the beginning of the main fic, or close to it anyways. and i feel like this needs the small explanation that 4kingdoms max looks a bit different because the north has no sunlight (don’t ask me how that works. it’s fantasy)

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Fears / Animals / Winter

“Aaugh!”

As patient as Max is, the strange sound of Giancarlo’s sudden scream followed by a soft, barely audible thump of something hitting the floor in the walk-in closet is enough to snap his attention from the game console in his hands. He casts a curious look across his bedroom to witness the striped leg of a plush toy sticking out through the narrow crack of the closet door.

Now he can already tell what has happened. Regardless, he drops the game on the couch and jumps to his feet to see what his knight has gotten himself into in the closet.

“You opened the forbidden door!” Max gloats at Giancarlo, now standing ankle-deep in a sea of plush toys. “I told you the games are in the second from left, not from right.”

“Is this why you call that door ‘forbidden’?” Giancarlo asks, one hand still on the handle of the closet door that the avalanche of toys descended on him from. “I expected something more... I don’t know... scandalous... or personal.”

“This is personal. They’re all mine.” Max crouches over to pick one of the plush toys up, the yellow mascot character of a popular Eastern children’s game franchise. “Oh man, these take me back. I haven’t really seen them since Mama ordered them to be put away. She said I was too old to keep them in my bed. But I refused to have them taken out, so I got this closet for them instead.”

“Aha. I don’t mean to judge your decisions, but I think there’s a few too many for a closet of this size.”

“Well, they fit in just fine before you opened the door like an idiot.”

Max lets his eyes scan the colourful blast on the floor, admiring the chaos of all the scattered shapes of different stuffed creatures, some more nostalgic than others but each and every one so familiar to him; some expensive and store-bought, some hand-made by his father or someone else, he hardly even remembers at this point; it’s been so long since he was gifted these toys, and at least a couple of years since Judy wanted them sealed away.

And then one of them catches his eye over the rest, one that makes his heart skip a beat of bittersweet joy and longing. He tramples and kicks his way past other toys to get to the middle.

It’s a plush dog, one whose tattered, worn-out shape isn’t particularly distinguishable as a dog. It has an elongated body and small stubs for legs, folded ears – well, one ear, as the other has come off and been lost to time – and a small, thin tail that’s also on its way to come off its stitches but is barely hanging on, miserably drooping down from the back of the caramel brown animal that’s so thoroughly covered in dirt and dust that it looks grey. The dog’s black button eyes are intact, at least, and it still has a red little tongue sticking out of its mouth.

Max is momentarily frozen in place staring at the dog. This toy brings back so many memories, some of which threaten to turn his stomach as the long-forgotten anxiety rushes back in one tidal wave, it climbs up the ladder of his spine like an unwelcome visitor from the past; but at the same time, he loves this little dog so very dearly, his childhood favourite.

“Look at these, Your Highness!” Giancarlo suddenly yells, snapping Max out of his thoughts. “Really fitting, aren’t they? Doesn’t it make you think of something?”

Max turns to see his knight holding three plush animals on his arms: a snake, a fox, and a miniature horse. Max does remember all of them, but none were his favourites. They must have been gifts from his earlier childhood, he has no memory of actually getting them or ever feeling particularly attached to them.

“Umm,” he says, “no, not really.”

“Don’t you remember? The fairytale? A guy talks to a fox, a serpent, and a horse...”

“No, can’t say that rings any bells.”

“Really?” An idiotic grin spreads on Giancarlo’s face, the same one he flashes every time he gets to feel smarter than his young king. “It’s a traditional Northern folktale! Each animal represents one fear that the dude has, and he has to face them one by one. Well, I don’t really remember the details, but it was something like that.” He lifts the tiny horse closer to his face, as if to study it more closely – or to face it, to stay true to his own words, Max assumes. “Was the third one really a horse? I think it was. I guess horses can be scary to some people. They’re big animals and all.”

Max rolls his eyes, truly wishing that Giancarlo would shut up for once and clean up the mess he’s caused in the walk-in closet – or just do anything else and leave Max be, to sort out the sudden, fairly uncomfortable onslaught of memories caused by the discovery of his old stuffed dog toy.

Instead, Giancarlo keeps talking, as he always does.

“If there was a story about my fears, it would probably be... hmm... never eating cannoli ever again... and never going on another date...”

“Some incredible fears you have,” Max comments. “Tells a lot about your psyche.”

“And what are you scared of, Your Highness? What would you face if you met this guy? Nei-i-i-igh.” Giancarlo waves the tiny horse at Max, truthfully not the embodiment of terror by any stretch.

“Me? Well, nothing, really.”

“Come on, now, no need to be shy. You can tell the good old Gianni.”

“I mean it – I have my magic, so there’s no reason for me to be scared of anything.” There’s nothing that Max can think of that he wouldn’t be able to shield himself from with his magic powers, especially his ability to turn invisible. If nothing can catch him or do as much as touch him, what reason would he have to be afraid? If anything, he loves the thrill of almost being caught but disappearing out of sight on the last second. Max prides himself in being bold and resourceful, the master of stealth, and the youngest Genbu-ou with the ability to summon the holy beast of Genbu in the known history of his kingdom.

As long as he has his magic and the golden locket of Genbu around his neck, he cannot think of anything that could cause him fear; and as the king, he can have all the materia he could ever want, so he never needs to worry about running out of cannoli pastries or whatever else.

“Okay then, tough guy,” Giancarlo snorts. “And what’s that you got there?”

Max’s gaze returns to the dog on his arms. It stares back at him with its pitiful button eyes, black and lifeless.

“This used to be my favourite,” he replies, finding the words coming out of his mouth with slight hesitation. “Papa made it for me...”

“Oh? Prince Tarou knows how to sew stuffed animals? Well, I guess that makes sense, since he’s such a talented craftsman – but still... It’s hard to imagine a burly man like him making something like... that thing.” Giancarlo forces down an obvious cackle, raising a hand to his mouth to hide his amusement. “I mean...”

Max knows what he means, the puppy with a hot dog-like physique is a pathetic sight, but he cannot help feeling just a little insulted by Giancarlo laughing at it. This puppy brought him so much comfort during a time of turmoil, and it was specifically made by his father for that very purpose. Tarou most likely stitched it together over a single night all those years ago.

“You mean what?” he challenges the royal knight, his tone arrogant.

“Uh... Well, you know... Oh, never mind.”

* * * * * *

When he was younger, Max had no objections over his sheltered life in the Snow Glory Palace, as it never even occurred to his child’s mind that it could be anything but; and the thought only came to him as he entered the rebellious years of puberty and by the questionable ideas that his whimsical knight planted in his head, the thought that it would be exciting to sneak out of the palace every once in a while and wander around the royal capital out of sight.

Max has always been adored by commoners, as the only son of their beloved (by now former) king, the strong yet beautiful and hauntingly intelligent Mizuhara Judy, the only female Genbu-ou of their lifetime; and as much as Max loves the attention and savours the constant awareness of his status of importance that doesn’t escape anybody in his kingdom, he’s equally entertained by the idea of walking among all these people on a lower social ladder without their knowledge, freely entering spaces where his appearance would normally cause a considerable brouhaha. The complete control over whether he’s perceived or not gives him a great amount of satisfaction.

And, most importantly, his ever-so-predominant mother has no idea about it happening right under her nose. As much as Max loves his parents, like any teenager, he has an innate need to break free and seek independence from them, do as he pleases without their scrutiny, without any adult paying attention to him...

at least sometimes.

How many times has he traversed the narrow streets of the ancient royal capital, heard the snow crunch under his shoes without anyone seeing it’s the young king leaving a trail of footprints on the ground covered in white? And when the snow is quietly falling from the sky, the shield of magic around him reflects his surroundings, camouflaging him from other people’s line of sight, he blends perfectly into the arbitrary dance of the snowflakes in the dark.

Then, sometimes, when he finds a suitable corner or shade or hideout for himself, he plans a delicious little display of seemingly appearing out of nowhere into the spotlight. And all the attention is once again drawn to him.

It’s borderline addicting, that calculated spectacle, the thrill of a surprise and act of rebellion that Max is perfectly aware he’s not allowed to do. That his ice queen of a mother would be absolutely furious if she knew.

Now he’s again walking down a cobblestone street, the stone fence of a cemetery on his right-hand side. There’s a layer of powdery snow on the stone, like the icing of a sugar cake.

A cake, oh, a cake sounds excellent to him; and he’s now across a bridge, and the familiar sight of a cosy little coffee shop greets him some feet away. It has a sign outside, a metallic one, shaped like a kettle that’s hanging above the entrance, the shop’s name written on it in cursive.

Max walks over to one of the shop windows and takes a peek inside, bathes in the golden light coming from the other side of the glass. As expected, nobody pays him any attention, none of the people sitting around the lovely little tables inside see him.

He’s ready to be seen, however, and decides to step inside, greeted by the ring of a bell attached to the coffee shop’s door.

“Good evening!” he says cheerfully upon his entrance, flashing a wide grin to everyone in the shop.

People turn to stare at him. Nobody is smiling back at him.

“Er, good evening,” replies the person working behind the counter. Their voice is polite but wary, they stare at Max like everyone else in the shop, with an expression of wide-eyed confusion.

This is not what Max expected. Where are all the delightful gasps, all the “Oh, Your Highness!” and “It’s the young king!” and “This is such an honour!” – all the surprised smiles and the rush to be the first to shake hands with him? He darts some quizzical glances around the shop, eyebrows raised, but his grin remains.

Maybe he’s come here a few too many times. He should have gone somewhere new instead, not the closest place he could think of.

A bristly feeling that he’s very much not used to suddenly spreads all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes: embarrassment. He’s embarrassed that his magic trick failed, the trick he was so confident in, so proud of.

He needs to get out of here.

And the next moment, he’s walking down a different street, this time in the heart of the city of Resting Palace. The lights here are so bright that they illuminate the black sky and give it a hue of light purple instead, almost a dirty tone, it looks dusty and devours the stars and even the Moon.

He’s walking past numerous people, but nobody turns to look at him. Nobody does as much as grant him a smile of acknowledgment, no faces light up with recognition when he passes by.

He stops to stand in the middle of the street. Someone immediately bumps into him from behind.

“Oh, sorry,” the stranger says and hurries away without looking at him. He doesn’t even have the time to say it was his fault for stopping so abruptly.

Max turns on his heels, lets his eyes wander aimlessly in the scenery. There’s a hotel to his left. There are people everywhere, but none of them are looking his way.

Now another person bumps into him. This is an older man, staggering on his feet and visibly losing his balance for a moment, and he turns to stare at Max with a sullen face.

“Hey, kiddo,” the man groans, “stop blocking the walkway, will ya?”

Max only stares back, not knowing what to say or think. Kiddo? What is this? Why is this person talking to him like this? He’s so dumbfounded by this behaviour that he simply hangs his mouth open without making a sound. Nobody in his entire life has acted this way towards him, and it’s making his blood run cold under his heavy cloak.

On a bewildered whim, he suddenly turns to whoever is passing by his left-hand side on that very moment. “Did you hear how that person talked to me just now?” he asks the passer-by. “How dare he?”

The person he’s talking to casts him a look of utter confusion. He can immediately tell this person doesn’t recognise him, either.

“No, I’m sorry,” the person mumbles hastily and hurries away. Max stares after their disappearing back.

What is happening? What is happening? How could this possibly be happening to him? Now panic is seeping into his heart, he arbitrarily grabs the sleeve of whoever happens to pass by him next.

“Excuse me,” he says breathlessly, “you know who I am, right? Right?”

Another astonished stare, but at least this passer-by is polite. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Are you perhaps lost?”

“No!” Max’s words now escape as a desperate eruption of discomfort, “I’m the king! The Genbu-ou! Don’t you recognise your king?!”

The stranger’s expression changes slightly – to that of pity, to Max’s horror.

“I’m sorry, boy, I don’t have time to play around with you,” the person says, and the next moment he’s gone.

Max spins around, glancing wildly in every direction, looking for anybody who recognises him. This is the royal capital, isn’t it? It definitely is, he knows the exact street he’s on, but for some reason nobody knows him, he’s only a mile away from the Snow Glory Palace and nobody knows that he’s the king, how could such a bizarre thing ever happen?

“I look like the Genbu-ou, don’t I?” he asks yet another stranger, this time a younger person, a teenager just like him.

The person stops to stare at him, evaluates him with her eyes for a moment, as if she has to think about it first.

“I guess you do,” she finally says, “a little. But Genbu-ousama has spots of black in his hair and skin as clear as snow.”

What? What?

Max drops down to his knees into the snow and now he’s on the riverbank; he hauls his shaking self closer to the aquamarine glow of the water, and he crouches over to look down at his own reflection on the surface.

His hair is yellow like the Sun, bare, the splashes of black brush strokes gone. But his face – his face is covered in something – small dots everywhere, his skin is infested with them, they spread from the centre, the bridge of his nose, in every direction on his skin, he lifts his hands to his face and—

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is covered in cotton candy clouds of pink and purple, they rotate ever so slowly around the axel of the chandelier in the middle, with stars blinking in and out through the veil.

He rolls over in the four-poster bed that feels like an entire ocean to him. The pillow under his head is wet, it feels gross and he grabs it with two tiny hands, tosses it away as hard as he can and it lands on the edge of the bed. It knocks a couple of his plush toys to the floor.

He can hear voices from behind the bedroom door. It’s Mama and Papa, they are yelling at each other again.

Max rubs his tear-stained eyes and crawls out of bed, wrapping his enormous blanket around him like a cape, he drags it along across the carpet as he makes his way to the door. He stands on tiptoes and opens the door as softly as he can.

He makes his way to the hallway’s railing just in time to see his parents walk into his view downstairs. They’re not yelling anymore but still arguing, in quiet voices now, Max can tell they are spewing arrows of poison at each other even if he can’t make out the words.

He’s staring through the narrow hole in the railing as Papa spots him, it’s probably a subtle sniffle that gives him away up there.

Seconds later, Papa has climbed the stairs and has knelt down to talk to Max in a voice that’s meant to be soothing but is seeping with recently suffocated agitation, and it makes him uneasy.

“Are you having trouble sleeping again, buddy?”

“I don’t want Papa to go away,” Max says, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his orange sleeping gown.

Papa gives him a lopsided smile, pats the top of his head. “I’ll come visit you often, I promise. And – this is only temporary, okay? I will keep talking to Mama, and maybe I’ll be back home in a couple of moons. Papa will bring you lots of presents then, but for starters...”

Now something appears from behind Papa’s back, he’s holding a plush toy dog that has a silly face with a tongue drooping out, its body so long that it nearly matches Max’s height. Papa hands it over to him.

“I made this for you, to help you sleep better. I call it Sleepy, but you can call it whatever you want.”

Max stares down at the dog’s face. It has plain black buttons for eyes, and a third one for a nose.

He presses his own little nose against the button, immediately smearing the dog in the snot and tears of a six-year-old.

“Take me with you, Papa,” he says, the words muffled against the dog’s snout. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“You won’t be alone, Max, Mama will be here.”

“She’s always working, she never pays attention to me.”

“That’s not true...”

“I don’t want to be alone, Papa.”

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is velvet blue, with the silver sickle of a crescent Moon glowing faintly in the night’s silence.

His heart is beating in an anxious rhythm inside his chest. He quickly sits up in the bed, driven by the panic of the lingering terror of his nightmare that makes his fingertips tingle and his stomach turn, and he gasps for air.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

The momentary urge to rush to his feet, to check that he actually is who he’s supposed to be in the mirror, recedes quickly upon the realisation that he’s in his own bed, in the royal palace, exactly where he should be. He’s covered in sweat, the blankets feel uncomfortably sticky against his skin, he tosses them aside.

Then he notices three shapes in the darkness, sitting at the end of his bed. A row of three plush animals is staring at him from a distance.

A fox, a serpent, and a horse.

#my writing #4kingdoms stuff #LetItRip2021 #iconic that i had to stop in the middle of posting this bc i saw a spider and was too fucking scared to sit down again

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thatesqcrush · 4 years ago

Text

Fall From Grace, Pt. 6

Brian Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: Smut, angst, language. I was in a mood.

AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

AN2: Brian remains my favorite a snarky lawyer asshole. Shh, don’t tell Barba.

WC: 3106

***

The sounds of the city coming to life filled the bedroom. Sunshine poked through the curtains of the half-open window. You rolled over and came face to Brian’s sleeping form. Brian let out a soft snore and you giggled quietly. He rolled in his sleep and you were face to his well defined, muscled back. Two large colorful koi fish encircling each other graced his back. You reached out and softly traced the tattooed scales. Brian began to stir, and he shifted again, now back on his back. You crept out of the bed and made your way to the bathroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Relieving yourself of your ablution, you washed your hands and made way back to the bedroom.

You jumped slightly seeing Brian awake. His arms were folded against his head and the white sheet that had covered him was now resting just at mid-thigh, exposing his morning wood. You felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through you. “Good morning.” “Good morning.” Brian replied, his voice warm and inviting. “Coming back to bed, I hope?” You nodded and reached over to whip off the light pink cotton tank you had been sleeping in. You climbed over Brian and dipped your head to capture his lips with yours. Brian’s large hands made their way down the slope of your back to your ass where he grabbed and squeezed. You broke the kiss to catch your breath and leaned up so your tits were in his face. Brian took a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the pebbled flesh. You moaned his name softly as he turned his ministrations to your other breast. You reached behind and stroked his cock, which felt heavy in your hands. Brian kissed you once more, his hands wrapping into your hair, bringing you close to him. You pulled away slightly and slowly shimmied down his body, marking a trail of kisses down his chest. Having been with Brian enough, you knew he enjoyed it when you grazed your teeth against his own nipples. Your eyes flitted up to his and you sucked a mark right below his pecs. “Marking your territory?” Brian groaned. You ignored his comment and ignored that flopping sensation in your gut. Instead you continued to kiss down hist stomach before settling in between his legs.

“You are so fucking cocky.”

“I call it confidence… and I’ve got your cocky right there.” Brian winked.

You rolled your eyes and then blew your breath over his weeping cock before flattening your tongue along his impressive length. Brian hissed as you continued to tease him, running your tongue up and over. His chest rose and fell, as he tried to get in deep breaths. You sucked just the head - the salt of his pre-cum filled your mouth - before releasing him. He took his cock in his hand and tapped it against your cheek. You winked and moved lower to take one of his balls into your mouth, lightly sucking. You released one to spit onto your hand before reaching up to stroke his cock. “Oh fuck, Y/N! You’re such a good cock sucker.” Brian grunted. You keened at the praise. The wetness in between your legs grew and you could feel how damp your panties were becoming. You released his testicles to suck on his cock, taking him deeply. Your nose brushed against his pubic hair which was neatly trimmed. “That’s right, take that cock all the way. Such a good girl.” Brian grunted some more. Your eyes watered as you gagged on his cock, swallowing more until he reached the back of your throat. From there, he began to fuck your face with gusto. You sputtered and gagged some more, saliva drooling out of your mouth and along his cock. His hands were firmly planted in your hair as his hips hammered into your mouth. After a few minutes, you tapped his thigh lightly, a silent request for Brian to ease up which he did. You gasped for air, coming up and sat back on your haunches. A tear rolled down your cheek. Wiping your eyes, you smiled and took him once more in your mouth. Brian groaned loudly. He could never get over how much you enjoyed sucking his dick. “Can’t get enough, hmm?” Brian asked huskily. Truth be told, he could not get enough of you. He wanted you in every way – and that shook him to his core. Anytime he swung by your office, or you his, or he saw you walking about at the firm, his heart skipped a beat. You came off - a string of saliva connected you to him. You used the back of your hand to wipe it off and then spat in your hand again. You stroked his length with one hand and used your free hand to touch yourself. You were soaking, arousal dripping down your thighs. To your surprise, Brian responded by pulling you onto him. He kissed you softly, slowly. The kiss was intimate and sensual and it surprised you, causing your stomach to knot and your breath to hitch. You both paused, your lips were barely touching and you breathed in each other’s air. Your skin prickled and you felt your heart swell. It was almost as if time stopped. You knew you were in deep. And your gut told you Brian did too. Finally, you gave into the kiss again, claiming his mouth, hungry and intense. Brian returned the kiss with equal fervor. A rumble emanated from him, deep and guttural. Brian rolled you so you were back to his chest. He pressed kisses along the nape of your neck and slope of your shoulder, before hooking your leg over his. His fingers deftly pushed your panties to the side. His fingers teased and stroked your sopping wet cunt. Your eyes fluttered close in anticipation. Brian removed his fingers and rubbed his cock along your slit. You bit your lip as he pushed the head of cock in slowly. You moaned and Brian pushed in more slowly, until he was fully sheathed. He pulled out, until the only the head of his cock remained and then slowly pushed back in. You relished in how you both fit so perfectly together. Brian began to slowly thrust in and out of you, testing out a rhythm. Your head lolled back, resting on his shoulder. Moans from both of you and sounds of skin smacking skin filled the room as Brian increased the tempo. “Oh God Brian, yes, give it to me!” Brian pistoned into you harder, he pulled your leg up higher so he could penetrate you deeper, hitting your sweet spot. Your bodies were covered in a thin sheet of sweat. You started to clench around his cock. Brian took the cue to reach down and around your body to roughly rub your clit. Finding your release, you arched against him and came hard, screaming Brian’s name. “That’s my girl. Cum for me.” Brian grunted as he quickly followed. Brian stilled and cursed as he gripped your hips, shooting streams of his hot cum inside you. He came so hard, that it leaked out of you and dripped down his cock. Your panties were ruined. Your bodies came to a still and he pulled your leg down. Brian withdrew and you flipped over to face him once more. You were just about to press a kiss when his clock caught your eye and you jumped. “Shit! I didn’t realize it was so late!” you all but yelled as you gathered your remaining belongings into a makeshift ball. “I need to get home and get ready for work.” Brian looked at the clock and swore loudly. “I have a meeting with Diane Lockhart in an hour.” Brian shifted once more. “I’ll have Gianni pull the car around and get you home.” He reached for his phone and sent a quick text message.

You quickly dressed and took the hair tie from your purse and made a makeshift bun. Brian slipped on some boxers and went to the bathroom to turn on the shower. You hopped along the hallway, trying to get your shoes on. Brian reached for the door and opened it. “Dinner at Bavette’s tonight?” you asked as you turned as to give him a kiss goodbye. The look on Brian’s face made you freeze. You turned around and came face to face with Diane Lockhart and Lucca Quinn – and while they weren’t Brian’s bosses – they were your superiors.

“Diane… Lucca…”

“Ms. Y/L/N.” Diane replied curtly. Lucca raised a brow at you. You felt your cheeks burn.

“Diane. Lucca. Good morning.” Brian gritted.

You turned back to Brian, no words coming from your mouth. You were utterly horrified by the turn of events and you pushed past the three, and made way for the stairs, not even bothering to wait for the elevator.

An hour later you were walking into the office. An iced latte graced your hand and sunglasses donned your face. The office was busy, everyone was chattering. You wondered if news had already spread about your torrid affair with Brian Kneef.

You had sunk into your cushioned chair when Marissa popped in your doorway. “Hey, are you ok?”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Marissa arched her brow. “Want to hear something crazy?”

You removed your glasses. “Always.” You needed the distraction.

“Diane and Brian got into some kind of heated argument this morning. Apparently he’s screwing someone in the office. Diane was like ‘She’s a young woman – you’re taking advantage, blah blah. My money is on Gemma the new intern. She was flirting with him from day one.”

“It’s not Gemma.” You muttered.

“If it’s not Gemma, then who is it?”

You stood and walked to the door. You poked your head out and then shut the door. You leaned against the door and let out a large sigh. “It’s me.”

“You! Since when?” Marissa exclaimed.

“Shhh!” You hissed. “Since the Statler case. But it’s just sex – nothing more.”

Marissa furrowed her brow. “Are you sure about that?” She watched you carefully.

You nodded. “Absolutely. We’re adults. He scratches my itch. I scratch his. People can just have sex and it not mean anything.” You replied.

‘Liar!’ your conscience screamed at you.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Marissa crinkled her nose. “You need to be careful.”

Your afternoon was spent in a large meeting. Diane was pacing the floor, rattling off directives and you were taking notes. You found yourself unable to meet her eyes. You could almost feel Lucca’s eyes boring into you. The door swung open and you looked up – it was Brian. He paused mid-stride as your eyes met. Turning to Diane, he nodded and made his way up to the front of the board room.

The upcoming litigation the Firm was handling was going to be an intense one. It was all hands on deck. Diane and Brian literally split into teams of two, picking who they needed. You had hoped Brian would pick you, after all, why wouldn’t he – but he didn’t. You were chosen last – and really it was just down to you left. Everyone was given their marching orders and the boardroom emptied out slowly. It was just you, Brian, and Diane. You finished your notes and opened your mouth to say something but found yourself at a loss for words.

“Come Y/N, we have a lot to do. I am going to need your undivided attention.” Diane barked. You nodded and followed her out. You looked at Brian wistfully as you left.

Brian’s face was stoic and unresponsive.

---

Dinner that night was planned for 6pm sharp at Bavette’s. Brian didn’t show. You felt a pit in your stomach emerge.

“Miss? Can I get you anything? An appetizer while you wait?” the waiter asked as you polished off your third glass of wine.

“No.” You replied, swallowing the last of your wine. You could hear the shake in your voice. “Just the check please, thanks.”

The case ate at all of your time – including any free time you had. Your billables exploded and you found yourself working at all hours. You had attempted to reach out to Brian, but he didn’t respond to any of your texts. Weeks went by. You tried going up one early afternoon to his office when you saw him walk by, but the STR gatekeepers made you turn back. “Mr. Kneef is very busy and he shan’t be interrupted!”

You paced your office one evening - you had tried to finish up a motion but you could not focus. Brian had gotten to you – or rather, his lack of response had. “Fucking feelings.” With a groan, you gathered your belongings and decided to call it a night.

You approached the elevator bank just as the doors were about to close. “Wait, hold it!” you shouted and foolishly, stuck your hand in between the doors to keep it from closing. It worked and the doors opened again.

And you came face to face with Brian.

“Ms. Y/L/N.” He acknowledged you quietly.

“Oh, it’s Ms. Y/L/N, now? That’s not what you were saying when I was in your bed.” You snapped.

“Now is not the time or the place.” Brian replied, his eyes firmly planted on the floor numbers marking the descent.

“When will it be then? Hmmm – since you don’t answer my calls?”

Brian turned to you. He set down his briefcase and crossed his arms. Taking a deep breath, he began.

“Whatever this is… it was what it was. Nothing more.”

“Is this about Diane and Lucca? Who gives a shit? I thought-”

“You thought nothing.” Brian interruped. “Want me to spell it out for you? I don’t do stage 5 clingers – I don’t do the boyfriend thing. I told you that from the beginning. We had our fun and we got caught. It’s not fun anymore. Now you need to move on. I already have.”

The elevator dinged, signaling it’s arrival. Brian raised his brows and walked out. You trailed behind him, the distance between you two growing larger and larger.

Brian’s car came around and it whisked him away. But not before he saw your resolve break down in front of the office building.

Yet another meeting was occurring. ‘Another meeting that could have been an email.’ You thought to yourself. You stifled a yawn – pulling all nighters was starting to catch up to you. You wanted to murder whoever decided a meeting at the end of the day was a good idea.

You leafed through a brown box of random files. All of it looked like miscellaneous junk but then something caught your eye and you perked up. You scanned the room – Brian was across the way, talking to an associate.

“Uh – Diane?”

Lucca looked over at you. “What did you find?” Lucca asked, walking over. She snatched the paper from you.

“Holy shit – this is an internal memo showing that our client knew about engineering defects.”

“We’re on the wrong side of this.” You sighed. Diane came over and put on her glasses.

“Is this what I think this is? Brian!”

Brian came over. Diane shoved the memo at him. “I never saw this thing in my life.” Brian snapped.

You arched your brow. “Sure looks like you did. That is your signature on the receiving end. And statute of limitations doesn't apply to fraudulent concealment.”

“I didn't conceal jack shit.”

“Then who signed it? Hmmm?” You shot back, rolling your eyes. “This looks so fucking bad.”

“I don’t care how it looks!” Brian snarled. “It’s bullshit.”

“Then tell me what’s exactly bullshit here because I'm looking at a document that undermines our entire defense. An anonymous memo with names and dates blacked out. It's damning, and it implicates you – this firm - in a cover-up.”

Brian stared at you, his eyes furious. “I don't know what crawled up your ass today, but I take care of my business!”

You were taken aback. “Don’t bite my ass since I happened to find it. It’s not my fucking fault.”

“Enough you two.” Diane snapped. “What are we going to do about it?”

The next morning you returned to the office bright and early. Marissa slid into the empty space on the elevator next to you. “I have it on good authority that there are roses on your desk. And a card.” She reached into her top and whipped out a small white card that had your name scribbled on it. You recognized Brian’s handwriting.

You carefully opened it and took out the small card: Let’s meet.

That night Brian bounded down the steps to the main floor. He went to drop off a file at reception when he noticed a dozen red roses on the end of the receptionist’s desk.

“Where did those flowers come from?” Brian asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh! Y/N gave them to me. She said she was allergic. Such a shame – they’re gorgeous flowers.”

Brian felt his blood pressure go through the roof. He bid the receptionist well and made his way to the elevator. By the time he made it to the main lobby, he was seething. He reached into his jacket’s breast pocket to call you, when he realized he left his phone in his office. With a groan, he pivoted and returned to the elevator bank.

After a minute, the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival. It was Brian’s turn to come face to face with you.

“Y/N.”

You looked up at Brian. ‘Fuck.’ You stood straight and stuck your chin out. “Have a good night.” You went to move past him and he grabbed your wrist.

“Like hell – you’re coming back upstairs with me. We need to talk.”

You yanked your wrist from his grasp. “No. You have made it quite perfectly clear that we are nothing.”

Brian grabbed your wrist again and pulled you flush against him. It was clear you were angry. Your skin was flushed and your jaw was clenched. You licked your lips subconsciously. ‘Fuck it all.’ Brian thought as he crushed his lips against yours, kissing you roughly. His lips mashed against yours, teeth clashing. The kiss was intense, with one of his hands on your ass, the other wrapped in your hair. His beard scratched against your skin and immediately you felt your panties dampen.

Your mouths parted and you both stared at each other. You both breathed heavily. And without hesitation, you slapped him across the face.

Your eyes widened at the realization and horror of what you had done. You took off, your heels clacking against the floor, the sound echoing throughout the lobby. Brian rubbed his reddened cheek, his skin stinging at where you slapped him.

“I deserved that.”

TBC.

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader- anyone else, just ask! xo

#brian kneef #brian kneef imagine #brian kneef smut #brian kneef x reader #brian kneef x you #brian kneef and reader #the good fight fanfic #the good fight smut

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msfbgraves · 1 year ago

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Love your Mobverse so much! I for one, am dying to see the scene where Daniel decides to return to Terry! Like, when he decides and when Terry comes to pick him up. What do they say to each other after those difficult days apart and what Terry did? Do they hold each other, touch? Do they even speak? I wonder what that first night is back at the house. The pups will be so happy to have their sweet Mama back, but I am sure it would have been awkward and strange between Daddy and Mama. I wonder if they even slept in the same room, let alone the same bed. I feel like that would be traumatizing for Daniel…I just want my bb boy to be loved and cherished 😭

He hasn't slept all night. Maybe there's been some exhausted haze, but he couldn't find any rest, any comfort.

He has to come to a decision, because if he doesn't, Pop will make the choice for him. But what choice can he possibly bear? Condemn his mate? Provoke a war? Though Kreese is not likely to want that either, and could probably be bought off, also, the LaRussos are in much, much better shape, he might not even want to risk it –

His mouth is dry.

Terry must understand the consequences now, though? That he can't... can't...

Daniel doesn't have the peace for prayer. He used to do this for his mate, used to mean it with his very soul, as little as one week ago, and now –

He hugs his baby, but Gianni's fussy. It's not his job, of course, to care for Mama.

“Daniele, sweetheart?” That's his own Ma. “Your puppies are here!”

His babies, oh, his darling babies! He hoists Gianni up and races downstairs, he can hear them coming up the driveway, reaches out to catch a glimpse from the window...

But at the sound of Terry's voice his blood runs cold. Instinctively, he hands his puppy to his father. “Tranquillo, tesoro,” the man says, and it does help. He's safe here. He could stay here, surrounded by his little ones...

“Nonna...!” That's Yasmin at the door, but she sounds so quiet, he can't stand it, he runs into the hallway and of course it's Eli who sees him first. The poor thing straight up launches himself into Daniel's arms, and he falls to his knees to hold him, half a breath later there is Yasmin, sobbing, and he can't stop kissing her, she's so pale. He lifts his head for Sammy and Robby as his Ma takes Eli from him. Terry's holding Robby, who's crying to get down, and Sammy is staring at him –

He opens his arms wider. “Sammy, carina, come to Mama!”

She stands there, one moment, then runs into his arms and simply breaks. “I don't want you to go,” she hiccups, she can barely breathe, even Yasmin lets go, startled, and runs to her Nonna. “Mama, I need you,” Sammy continues, and Daniel dares look over to Robby only for a moment, who has gone completely still in his Daddy's arms. “I need you too, baby,” he whispers in her ear. “Mama loves you, he needs you so much, darling! It's OK, mi'angelina, Mama's here, Mama loves you...”

“Don't go,” Sammy keeps sobbing, clinging to him like she never has before.

He looks up and meets Terry's eyes, one second.

His mate averts his gaze.

He sits up, puts Sammy's face between his hands. “Sweetheart,” he says. “Mama and Daddy lost something. And we need to go find it. But I promise you, I will never leave you. You and your sister, and Eli and Robby and Gianni, I love you, baby. I love you more than my own life.”

“But why are you going?”

“So I can come home to you.”

She holds more tightly. “I don't understand!”

“Neither do I, babygirl,” he says softly. Then he kisses her, stands up, and takes Robby from Terry's arms. “Cuoricino,” he breathes against his neck as he holds him tight against his heart. “My big boy, look how you've grown, darling...”

I never want to let him go, never want to miss another second with any of them.

Pop comes in, carrying Gianni, and only then does Terry step in completely, to take the delighted baby from his arms.

Daniel looks at his father. “You told him to pack?”

A nod.

He gives Robby another kiss, cuddles Eli, Yasmin and Sammy once more. “Hold them for me,” he says to his father. “Keep them safe, make sure -”

“With my life, Daniele.”

He turns to the puppies. “Be good to Nonno and Nonna, ragazzi,” he says. “Give Daddy a kiss, too, now, quickly.”

As they turn to him, he takes Gianni, and presses the baby against his heart. “Topolino,” he whispers. “Don't grow too much, don't...”

It's too much for him then. He puts his baby into Lucille's arms, grabs a coat and hat and walks to Terry's car, checks for luggage in the trunk, tries to get his breaths even. He hears his mate behind him. “Danny, love...”

He looks him in the face. “Pop didn't want to let you drive me, even. In case you'd abduct me. Even though they'd come find me if you did that.”

He's very still. “Daniel...”

“And then I said, Pop, if he was going to do that, our pups would lose us both, and you wouldn't, for their sake.”

“Of course – ”

“And if you were that crazy, you could kill me on that boat too, so don't tell me I don't trust you, Terry, don't tell me I'm not risking anything.”

He's trying so hard not to cry, and his mate looks tortured, but he has to say it, doesn't want to live in his father's world of veiled, half spoken threats.

Terry reaches out, but stays his hand, shakes his head instead. “I would never -”

“I can't know that.” He opens the car door, doesn't want to see Terry's face, doesn't want to hear his puppies call his name, so he closes it, shuts out the world.

He hears Terry go back, say a few words to his family, kiss the pups and then return.

They don't speak the whole ride over.

#silverusso #knights and pawns #omegaverse #mob au #angsty #angst tw

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manuscripts-dontburn · 3 years ago

Photo

Imperial Legend: The Mysterious Disappearance of Tsar Alexander I

Author: Alexis S. Troubetzkoy

First published: 2002

Pages: 320

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Who doesn´t love a mystery? Especially one that actually does seem very probable? The legend of Alexander I faking his death and living out the rest of his life as a humble starets has always been the one Romanov conspiracy theory that intrigued me, especially because it seems plausible and is yet to be completely dismissed (unlike the last Imperial children surviving the well documented bloody slaughter in the summer of 1918). The author compiles most of the interesting and "suspicious" information and on the whole, the book is very readable. However, he also spends over three-quarters of the book narrating the actual and documented facts of Alexander´s life and reign and you quickly realize this is just a basic and not much detailed biography with some titillating add-ons at the end. I suppose it would serve well as an introductory book to Alexander and the rumours surrounding him.

Stalin's Daughter: The Extraordinary and Tumultuous Life of Svetlana Alliluyeva

Author: Greg King, Sue Woolmans

First published: 2015

Pages: 740

Rating: ★★★★☆

Fascinating and completely bewildering life of a woman whose whole existence was bound to her father´s name and his crimes. Exhausting, but very readable, the book captures a complicated personality which one can admire, pity but also disagree with and just shake your head over many of her decisions. In the end, it was all quite bitter and I appreciated the balanced way the differences between the USSR and the USA were presented.

The Holy Bible: Places and Stories from the Old and New Testament

Author: Gianni Guadalupi

First published: 2003

Pages: 304

Rating: ★★★★☆

Stunning paintings and photographs illustrate a concise and very much abridged version of pretty much the whole Bible. A good book for meditation, but expect neither a deep introduction to the religion nor a detailed artistic analysis of the works presented.

Candide, or the Optimist

Author:Voltaire

First published: 1759

Pages: 160

Rating: ★★★★☆

A madcap journey of a naive but honourable (to a fault) Candide and a bunch of other, more earth-bound characters, is a perfect "F-you" from Voltaire to some of the philosophical trends of his day. At first I was completely taken aback at how sparse the writing is and how incredibly fast everything happens, but once I managed to get into the book´s stride, it became very enjoyable, even if one doesn´t know whether one should roll their eyes or simply laugh at many of the events that take place in the story.

Le Pater (Otčenáš)

Author: Alfons Mucha

First published: 1899

Pages: 56

Rating: ★★★★★

Beautiful and striking drawing by Mucha, accompanied by his own words which clearly show how he personally viewed the Pater Noster prayer. An intriguing piece of art.

Creating Anna Karenina: Tolstoy and the Birth of Literature's Most Enigmatic Heroine

Edited by: Bob Blaisdell

First published: 2020

Pages: 400

Rating: ★★★★☆

What does it take to write a book? And what does it take to write a book as impactful, influential and successful as Anna Karenina? Bob Blaisdell gives you all of the answers. With a dedication and enthusiasm for the book that shines through every page, he introduces Tolstoy during a short time in his life when he battled procrastination, family losses, publication deadlines, severe depression and more - and somehow managed to create his possibly greatest work. Partly a biography, partly critical study and all a love letter to the book, this was a surprisingly engaging read. Naturally do not read it unless you have read Anna Karenina first :D

The Amazons: Lives and Legends of Warrior Women Across the Ancient World

Author: Adrienne Mayor

First published: 2014

Pages: 540

Rating: ★★★★★

This was truly fascinating and well written. Perfect if you want your feminist history to be well researched and argued.

The Chosen Ones

Author: Steve Sem-Sandberg

First published: 2014

Pages: 504

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

This book deserves all the praise for research, psychological portrayal and writing. But there is no real story, no actual plot. It is really just a long, awful journey through some nearly unimaginable suffering, to the point where I had to question whether the point has not lready been made repeatedly and the author just tries to turn this into a pain-porn. Exhausting and unpleasant reading experience.

The Secret Lives of Church Ladies

Author: Deesha Philyaw

First published: 2020

Pages: 179

Rating: ★★★★★

I am not big on short story collection or contemporary fiction, but this, this I liked very much.

Bodies of Water

Author: V.H. Leslie

First published: 2016

Pages: 130

Rating: ★★★★★

Holy shit! That was what I thought when I finished this book - and I only regret I could not read it all in one sitting. Such a short book it is, but it grips you and does not let go, it sucks you in and drowns you with its atmosphere. It is genuinely disturbing, but there is something immensely satisfying about it as well. Perfect if you crave something gothic and creepy.

#booklr #wrap up #August 2021

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wkemeup · 5 years ago

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Drabble ideas / things I’d love to see for I’m With You: first date, first Christmas, how Bucky asks her to be his gf, how Bucky’s relationship with Becca turns out, do they get married? Kids? I can see them returning to the airport they met at 😭😭😭

Let’s start with a first date, huh? 😉 (the other questions will hopefully be address in other drabbles!)

I’m With You - Masterlist

“Listen, we’ve got a jam-packed day today so I’d move a little quicker if I was you!” Bucky called from the other side of the door as you rushed around your closet-sized studio apartment in search of your shoes. You could hear him tap his forehead against the door. “We’re on a schedule here, Y/n and it’s been a full week since we landed back in the city and you haven’t let me see you since. It’s a real tragedy, you know? Plus, you’re making me step foot in Queens and I, for one, am—”

Still without your shoes on, you unfastened the locks and held open the door abruptly, only for Bucky to lose his footing and fall right into you. You steadied him on his arms and he was laughing as a blush crept up his cheeks. In his hands, a bouquet of pink and white flowers he must have picked up on the way over. He extended them to you, a new nervous energy around him now that the door was there to act as a shield.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you sighed, though you accepted the flowers. They smelled of fresh air and sweet florals; something you didn’t find often in the city. When you glanced up at Bucky again, you found him smiling at you adoringly.

“It’s first date protocol, doll.”

Bucky shrugged teasingly, making his way into your kitchen and going through the cabinets until he found what he was looking for. He set a vase on the counter and gestured for the flowers back.

“You seem to have a plan for everything. Flight cancellations, first dates...” you observed, handing him the flowers and watching as he trimmed the stems and unwrapped the plastic. He set them into the vase, not completely satisfied with their height, and pulled out a few to trim another inch off the bottom. He stepped back with a grin when he was finished.

It must have been the first time he really got a look at you because he pulled his lower lip into his mouth, eyes trailing down your dark wash jeans with frayed holes at the thighs, the oversized sweater hanging off your shoulder, and your noticeably bare feet.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply and you wondered if your heart might beat out of your chest.

He crossed the room, attempting to pull you into his arms kiss you, but you skirted out of his hold. He pouted as you held up a finger at him.

“First date, right?” you started, finally locating your shoes hidden under the blanket by the couch. You slipped them on as you held onto the armrest for support. “We have to do this in the correct order, Bucky. Be normal with me, will you?”

“Nothing about us has been normal, doll,” he chuckled. “Can’t we just lean into it?”

“I want that proper first date, Barnes,” you teased, pinching at his shoulder. “You promise me a walk in the park and an Italian street vendor. Don’t think I forgot about that.”

“Where do you think I’m taking you, sweetheart?” Bucky had a hand on his heart, feigning offense, and you swatted his shoulder.

He offered you his hand on the way out the door and you took it without hesitation.

It only took a twenty-minute walk from your apartment before you reached the garden he’d been telling you about. It was quiet, away from the clusters of tourists taking pictures down by the bridge, and surrounded by beautiful brick archways. You paused at the entrance, surprised to find such a small, intimately beautiful Edan you hadn’t known existed so close to home.

But that wasn’t what stilled you in your tracks.

At the center of the open space was a blue and white checkered blanket, a series of wooden woven baskets, and a small speaker playing soft acoustic music a few feet away.

“Worthy of a proper first date?” Bucky asked, noticeably watching your expression with a grin matching the surprise on your face.

“When did you— How did you do this?” you gaped as Bucky tugged you along to the picnic blanket. You sank down to the ground, hand brushing over the plaid cotton and then to the basket. You opened it, curious, to find it filled with plates and napkins, but no food. You laughed, sitting back on your heels as you eyed Bucky. “I think you forgot something.”

“Did I?” he asked cheekily before he nodded to the entrance of the garden.

A short statured man with rosy red cheeks and a prominent frown emerged from behind the brick archways. He was wearing a white apron stained in grease over his red t-shirt, had a slight limp in his step, and was carrying a plastic bag full of food wrapped in tin foil.

“Gianni, my man!” Bucky greeted and the man carrying the food seemed to light up instantly.

“Ah, Booky, s’a good to see you!” Gianni set the food on the blanket next to you and engulfed Bucky in a hug tighter than he was prepared for. Bucky coughed a few times before Gianni let up and eventually let him go. Bucky handed him some cash and patted him on the back.

Gianni turned to you, wide eyes flashing in recognition. “This mus’ be your airport girl!”

“Be cool, Gianni!” Bucky hushed, pushing at Gianni’s shoulders as a heat flushed his cheeks. You started to laugh, though you spared his ego as you distracted yourself with unwrapping the food and the smell of mozzarella, garlic, oregano, and basil flooded your senses.

Bucky ushered Gianni away and finally came back to the blanket, dropping down in a huff before he met your eyes nervously. He took a deep breath.

“Is this okay?”

You raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of a garlic knot that tasted of heaven. “Okay? Bucky this is amazing. You really didn’t have to do all this for me--”

“Will you stop with that?” Bucky teased, shaking his head as he unwrapped a slice of pizza. “You deserve all of this and more, alright? I know you’d be happy sitting on the couch watching TV and ordering takeout, but you have to let me do this every once in a while, doll. I gotta prove to you and the surrounding Brooklyn area that I’m still a romantic at heart and a damn good boyfriend!”

You swallowed, staring at him and you realized he didn’t seem to notice what he said. He was contently eating his pizza, chewing mouth fulls of bread and cheese as he settled in beside you.

You pursed your lips, leaning down to rest against your elbow. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Bucky froze instantly. Like stone. Though his face was beet red.

“We did skip several steps, didn’t we?” you added, giving him some relief from the panic undoubtably coursing through his veins. He nodded slowly, apprehensively, though he was still stiff. You laughed, reaching over to run a hand down his arm in hopes to loosening the tension. “I think the idea if you do.”

He chewed on his lip, blue eyes flashing at you enough to twist and pull at your stomach for decades. “Yeah?”

You nodded, heart racing. “Yeah.”

“Think you’d let me kiss you now?” Always the charmer.

You shrugged. “Only if you’re okay with a little garlic.”

“Little? You ate four garlics in the span of two minutes,” he grinned, though he was closing the space between you. His nose brushed yours, his smile reaching up high into his cheeks and you decided this was where you wanted to be, always.

He brushed over your lips, teasing you before pulled back enough to give you a full glimpse into the ocean blue of his eyes. “I will take every opportunity to kiss you, sweetheart.”

And he did.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #marvel

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