#hws gresic

[breitzbachbea]

Day 5: Supernatural [GreSic]

My fourth entry for @hwsrarepairweek2022! Michele tries to keep the ghosts of his past under lock and key, but in Sicily, the dead don't stay dead.

Ship: Greece/Sicily [OC] (Herakles Karpuzi/Michele Vento) Set in an Human/Organized Crime AU Read it here on ao3

I've bolded the Organized Crime aspect of the AU, since there are clear allusions to the mafia in this One Shot. If you want to inform yourself and/or help with the fight against Mafiosi and for Social justice, check out the No Mafia Memorial & the Libera, an anti-mafia network.

I've learnt about all the Sicilian folklore used in this oneshot from the wonderful book Creature Fantastiche di Sicilia by Rosario Battiato and Chiara Nott! The title itself is a reference to it. In the chapter on turnati, bodies that have returned from beyond the grave, the book also details on how to deal with these revenants, "perché in Sicilia, i morti deve morire" - "Because in Sicily, the dead must die".

You'll find translations for the Sicilian words & context for the historical references at the end of the work.

Perché in Sicilia i morti dovrebbe morire

It was so quiet out here.

Last night still rang in Herakles’ head: bustling city streets full of people, the busy clink of kitchenware streaming out of restaurants and bars, groups of young people, their age and less, populating the countless piazzas.

“The twins love to be out here, with friends from school”, Michele had said while they had waited for some company he had invited. He hadn’t said twins – He had said gemellini. The little twins. No doubt however that his friends, the Simonides twins, wouldn’t also enjoy to stroll around the city without a care in the world. Gemelloni, the big twins indeed. They were growing older and more interested in joining Herakles in the business each day. Their interest wasn’t the same as the Bontade twins - not the bright-eyed vigour of reality denialism and adventure escapism, which propelled Marco and Lorenzo to be at Michele’s side.

Instead, Omar and Timothea had the kind heart of their father and the steadfastness of their mother, but most of all, their parents' stoic pragmatism.

They weren’t here. They were safe at home in Athens with their parents.

Maria had left with Marco and Lorenzo a day before Herakles had arrived. “Gone east for the weekend,” Michele had said. He had bought a bouquet of flowers and now arranged it into a vase. Herakles had been reclining on the living room’s couch, with his arm on the armest and his cheek rested against his fist. “Near Syracuse, a fun weekend for Mamma to get out for a while and for the boys to fool around on the beaches. I’d wish I could say to see some culture as well, but ah.” He had laughed and thrown his head back, before he tended to the flowers again . “I don’t think that the archaeological park in Syracuse will be of much interest to them or the castle on Ortygia, unless they can get up to shenanigans unsafe to them and the historical grounds.” He had clicked his tongue and raised his eyebrows. “No, no no, I can’t put that stress on Mamma.” He had fidgeted with the flowers but glanced up at Herakles. “After the Turks tried to set foot here, in the 1570s, the Spaniards re-fortified the castle on Ortygia, you know. The opposite of what you’re doing.”

Michele had grinned at him for a second before he gave a ringing, impish laugh. Herakles had chuckled at first, but upon hearing Michele’s rascally joy, it grew into laughter as well.

“If somebody threatens me with a good time …” Herakles had answered.

He was here. Not in Athens, not in Ankara.

As they stood among the fields, Michele said: “I love to be outside around here at night. Just to stare at Monreale, how it’s lit up and tucked away against the mountains.” The walls around Michele’s garden were too high to see a lot of the surrounding area.

“I know that King Gugghiermu built the monastery and the cathedral, and all the other things, just to get the bishop out of town, but do you think he ever regretted it?” The moon was bright enough and the light pollution bad enough that they hadn’t needed any lamps for their night walk.

Michele didn’t take his eyes off the warm, orange spot of light couched into the hills. “I mean, Palermo’s beautiful, but … so is Monreale. It must sting to have such beauty tower over you.”

They trekked the last hundred metres back to Michele’s house in silence. 

“Do you think that’s why your ancestors built the fence around the garden so high?” Herakles asked and Michele looked at him, his eyebrows quirked in bewilderment at ‘ancestors’. “Because they couldn’t bear the beauty either, soaring to heights they could never reach.”

“That sounds like Luigi, yes,” Michele replied and opened the front door. He hit the light switch for the atrium. He hit it again.

Still no lights.

An exasperated sigh in the darkness. “Alright - You don’t happen to have a lighter on you?” he asked Herakles, who patted down his pockets.

“I don’t.”

“Moonlight it is then.” Slowly, yet with purpose, Michele walked into the atrium. Herakles ambled behind him, while he opened cabinets and rummaged through them. He mumbled something in Sicilian to himself and pulled a long and heavy object out of the cabinet.

A metallic click. A circle of light appeared half on the wall, half on the cabinet.

“Here, take that one,” Michele said and handed the flashlight to Herakles. “And shine into the cabinet, please.”

Herakles did so.

Michele took a closer look inside and rummaged around it some more. He straightened himself and opened a drawer. Herakles shone inside of it.

Michele mumbled a few more things in Sicilian, then something that sounded like “There you are” and turned a smaller flashlight in the palm of his hand. He turned it on.

“Alright now – Minchia -“

“Sorry.” Herakles lowered the flashlight after Michele had turned and stared straight into it.

Michele’s eyes were squeezed shut and he blinked a few times before he caught himself with a shake of his head.

“Now we’ve got to find the fuse box and hope that that’ll solve our problem.”

“Perhaps it’s a blackout,” Herakles suggested while Michele looked around.

He turned to him with a cocked eyebrow.  “Curious blackout though that would only affect my house, since we still saw the neighbours with their lights on, wouldn’t it be?”

“Point taken. Where’s the fuse box? In the cellar?”

“No, that one’s only for vegetables and wine,” Michele replied. “And … well … clandestine operations.”

“I think we made out there once,” Herakles said.

“I can hardly remember that, unless you mean stolen kisses while we were fetching something for Mamma cooking dinner. “Michele made his way around the atrium’s freestanding staircase.

“I think I meant that.” Herakles followed him. “A basement full of alcohol also hardly sounds like a place to hide from Athanasios.”

"No, not quite … It’s a good place to hide from me, though,” Michele said and looked briefly over his shoulder with a bright smile. “You wouldn’t believe how many spaces there are in this house to hide from me!”

Herakles snorted. “It’s a bit of a labyrinth, isn’t it?” Michele chuckled. He followed him around the corner and down the hallway. At its end, it split into two crammed corridors.  Michele shone a light into both sides. “Should I get you a thread, my hero?” Herakles asked and slipped his arm around Michele’s waist to tuck him against his body.

Michele jumped at the contact, but then looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow and a pouting smirk.

“Get me the fuse box, Casanova.” He quickly ran his hand over Herakles’ and gently pushed his arm away the next moment. “Before that, we should check the backdoor. I’ve checked everything before we left, but better safe than sorry.”

“Wouldn’t want to run into any minotaurs in here.”

“Yes, or any hit men or dumb teenagers, who thought this would be a funny prank,” Michele said and walked back towards the atrium. “Well, teenagers aside from my own rascals.” He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at Herakles. “Actually, you can wait for me here while I’ll check the backdoor.”

Herakles nodded and Michele returned into the atrium. He disappeared behind the stairs and Herakles heard a door open and close. He listened into the dark.

There was the constant background noise of the city far away. Silence, otherwise. Michele’s steps were muffled. Something rattled, but he couldn’t discern what would make such sounds.

He looked behind him. There was no movement in the dark; where the hallway split, the last specks of light that made it through the atrium’s glass ceiling was swallowed. There was only pitch blackness outside the circle of his flashlight.

A door opened and he turned around. Michele closed it behind himself and walked back over to him. “The backdoor is completely undisturbed, as are all the windows, so I think we’re safe from roaming monsters.”

“Good to know.”

“Yes, I would even call it vital information. Now, onto the fuse box…” Herakles let Michele pass him, before he followed him into the left corridor.

There were no paintings or other decorative objects on the walls. There was barely space to walk anyways.

Michele lit up the end of the corridor and turned towards a door. He reached for the handle but paused before he pressed it.

He looked at Herakles over his shoulder, who was met with a relaxed smirk. “But perhaps there is a scuro in here. Or a grecu livanti. Scuri like abandoned houses.“ He opened the door, the handle creaked and the hinges wailed. 

“What’s a scuro?”

“It’s a – “

“And the other thing. I thought I was the only Greek traipsing around here.“ Herakles stepped into the room after Michele.

Michele laughed to himself. “It’s named after the east winds, which we call the grecu or livanti. The creature that’s called grecu livanti travels with the winds and that is the reason why it can show up so quickly at the doorsteps of naughty kids.” Michele hunched his shoulders, curled his hand into a claw and wiggled his fingers. “And grab them!” The claw snapped into a fist. Herakes chuckled. “If it doesn’t gobble them up on the spot, it will stuff the kids down its pants to take them home and eat them later.”

Michele grinned at Herakles. “... charming.”

The grin dimmed back to a smirk. “Wonderful, the idea that one might run into such a fella in the dark, isn’t it?” Michele briefly took a look around the room, before he walked towards a box, mounted against the wall in a corner.

It was some sort of storeroom. A few wooden crates and half-empty shelves. Either a generator or an old AC unit. Herakles wasn’t sure.

“The boys would have their fun with this,” Michele said and he looked at him.

“ … fixing the fuse box?”

“They would have fun traipsing around in the dark.” Michele turned his head and the light in his hand as he examined the box’ handle and where the door met the frame.

Herakles stepped closer and lowered his light. “Unafraid of grecu livanti?”

“Oh, far from it!” Michele pulled at the fuse box’ handle, but it did nothing except for making the aged metal moan. “Oh, actually, there is a … My god, it’s so embarrassing.”

Michele pulled again, with the same result as before.

“Do you want me to open it for you?” Herakles asked softly.

“No, no …” Michele switched the lamp from one hand to the other and pulled. The door didn’t even budge this time. “But you can hold the lamp, if you would be so kind?”

“Of course.” Herakles took Michele’s lamp. He turned his own off and put it on top of the nearest crate. He stood aside from Michele now.

Michele now pulled with both hands. “You see.” There was a strain from the physical effort, but he tried to talk as if there was no effort at all. “This must have happened a while ago. Marco and Lorenzo weren’t on their-” He took one hand of the handle to gesture and the other one now pulled with short, hard jerks. “-best behaviour. And in a fit of …” Michele stopped and breathed for a few moments. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I honestly don’t know. But I had gotten the idea that maybe a bogeyman would strike some fear into their hearts.” The pulls became weaker and weaker. Michele sighed. “Now mind you, the boys fear very little.” He let go of the handle and turned to Herakles. Herakles wondered if him leaning against the door with his upper arm was intentional. “Much less than is good for them, and ghosts are most certainly not on the list. I, however, thought I’d give it a shot. Alessia, do you remember her? You ever met her? Girl, around sixteen. Loud, cheeky, got short brown hair, nearly as tall as I am.”

“I might remember someone like that.”

“Anyways.” Michele learned harder against the box.

“I don’t think it’s going to help with the power if the door caves in and crashes the fuses.”

“Well, it’s not doing me any favours with the power this way either, being closed.” Michele had said it with a smile, but released his weight.

“If anything, you might have gotten the door stuck even more.”

“Bullshit.” Michele pulled with both hands again and Herakles pouted. “Anyways, where was I? I asked Alessia if she wanted to do me a favour and she did.” He stopped and sighed. Herakles could see him stare ahead at the fuse box, but his look was lost in space. “So … Honestly, please don’t ask what’s gotten into me, but I asked Alessia to come to the house and play a grecu livanti one night. Which made the boys believe in ghosts for a few hours, who knows, really, but they also believed themselves to be excellent ghost hunters and did not resign to their fate. All I did was frighten them into more mischievous action. So much for boogeyman to keep the kids in in line.” Michele sighed and rubbed one hand over the back of the other. Herakles was glad that the banging and clanging had stopped, for it had started to give him a headache. Michele picked at his skin. “That’s the story behind the crack in the wall upstairs, by the way. And I think that Alessia, who’s now … who’s now … She and the boys will probably spend more time together in the future, and I don’t think she’s ever going to let them hear the end of it. At least someone had fun. I don’t know what I was thinking, it all seemed like a terrible and silly mistake in the same night and I apologised profusely to the two for playing such a terrible prank on them. Frighten the children with man-eating monsters! What a cruel thing to do, especially in this day and age, don’t you think?”

Michele hadn’t looked up at Herakles once. Only at his hand, at which he had picked all throughout his monologue.

Herakles stepped closer to Michele and gently laid it over the hand that picked at the skin.

“It sure makes for a remarkable story despite it all, don’t you think?” He asked. “I am sure that, give it a few years, Marco and Lorenzo will think of it as a silly childhood adventure and not a breach of trust.” Michele glanced at him. “You’re so hard on yourself, Michele. Trying to be a parent in your teens, I think it’s perhaps not that unusual to go a bit mad with the task.”

“Parent … well …” Michele buzzed.

“Older brother.” Herakles put his head on Michele’s shoulder. “Will you let me try to open the box?”

“Give me one last shot,” Michele said. Herakles rubbed his face against Michele’s cheek and neck, before he straightened up and took a step back.

Michele grabbed the handle. He took a deep breath, shifted his stance and yanked one last time.

The box flew open, with such a force that Michele stumbled back. Herakles stepped behind him and let Michele bump into him.

It was quiet for a moment. Herakles had put an arm around Michele, who slouched in his hold.

“… careful there.”

Michele snapped out of his daze.

“Hah! Eureka! Told you!” He got onto his feet and pushed up his sleeves. “Now, shine inside, be so kind.” He pulled the box’ door wide open.

“Of course.” Herakles stood right behind Michele to light the box’ interior.

The fuses were extremely old, of plastic that had gone yellow with age and dust. Some of them were labelled - a few with neatly etched plates drilled into the box, but most with paper labels. Herakles couldn’t read a single one.

“Everything seems to be fine here …” Michele said. He gingerly touched a few of them, turned one or two with an audible click, but nothing happened. Herakles looked at the room’s door over his shoulder, but stared straight into the pitch black hole.

“Curious,” he said.

“Indeed.” Michele stared ahead for a while. He turned his head to Herakles. “There’s another one upstairs.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He carefully and slowly closed the door, until it hit the frame and wouldn’t budge any further. He sighed and increased the pressure, but it would only move millimetre by millimetre and with the ugly scratch of metal on metal. “Ciaccatu,” he cursed under his breath. “Couldn’t even build a fucking box that fit. Surely, better to have it all out in the open, better than whatever shoddy electric works Luigi added to the house, but Giovanni couldn’t even bother with a proper box!” He banged his hand against the fuse box’ door. The noise rang in Herakles’ ears still. Michele sighed into the silence. “Let’s leave it at that.”

“I’m sure you want your flashlight back.” 

“I do.” Herakles handed Michele the flashlight and then took a step to the side, until he realized the problem. “Can you shine over here? I put my flashlight-” Michele had already turned.

“Of course.”

Herakles picked up his own, wiped off the dust and turned it on.

“Alright,” Michele said. “Let’s go.” He walked out of the room with Herakles behind him. He closed the door on the way out.

It was a claustrophobic feeling to walk down the small corridor. When they turned into the bigger hallway, Herakles took a moment to shine a light onto the objects on the wall.

An old clock that no longer ticked. A painting in a heavy, detailed frame that showed a shipwreck. A Sicilian marionette of a knight.

The moon had shifted. Herakles saw the polished metal of the rail and post gleamed in the pale moonlight, but everything else was engulfed by darkness.

“You’d think that this stupid glass ceiling would serve at least some kind of purpose,” Michele said as they walked towards the front of the stairs. “Or all these giant windows. But no! If the moon isn’t visible or at the wrong angle, it’s useless, all useless! It only all makes this house a living nightmare in summer and winter alike! Giovanni had the right idea when he bricked up one of these hideous things instead of fixing it - Nothing about this is practical!” He grabbed the handrail and began to climb the stairs.

The balcony at the top was marginally lit by the moonlight overhead. Beyond the landing was another yawning mouth of blackness.

“But I am sure he didn’t even install a lamp in that room,” Michele ranted about his grandfather. Herakles began to climb the stairs behind him. He didn’t care! He cared as little as his father had, just in a different way! Nobody cared about this house and how could you! How could anyone live in here, in this … in this monument to hubris!” Michele stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked at the glass ceiling. Herakles stopped as well. “It was supposed to be it all! Spanish Baroque, an actual Roman villa – well, if only this damned hole had a single use like it had in a Roman villa! But they didn’t care for history! Cared nothing for it like the fucking fascists who locked them up – Neo-classical! Neo-classical it was supposed to be too! Neo-classical my ass, have you seen the things they built in Palermo? You’ve seen the tribunale! How fuckugly! I’d rather they throw me straight into jail than try me in this affront to everything! ” Michele made it to the landing of the balcony and looked from left to right. His heavy breath echoed off the high walls and stone floors.

Herakles came to a stop beside him. “We technically don’t have to fix the light, if you don’t want to.” Michele looked at him for a moment, mouth still open to breathe through it. “We’re not gonna freeze nor die of heatstroke without the AC and I don’t know about you, but I don’t need light for the things I do at night.” He smiled. “Though some types of sleeping are more fun with it, I’ll say.” The smile thinned. Michele scanned the atrium. “But you don’t have to see even as much as the shades around the house, if you don’t want to, Michele. They’re not real.”

Michele looked at him, with furrowed brows but eyes open and alert. “If those shades aren’t real, I’m terrified of what real things they’re supposed to represent.” He turned to the left. “And I am not meeting them in the dark.”

“So we’re not going to bed?” Herakles asked and intonated it like a neutral question.

“No, we’re not. There could be something wrong with the wiring or the fuses and I want to make sure …” His voice had begun to waver. When he spoke again, the desperation in his tone wanted to rise above a whisper, but his vocal cords couldn’t manage it. “I really hope nothing happened in … that room.”

That room was to the right of the staircase. Michele walked ahead into the hallway to the left and Herakles followed him in silence. There were two large photo prints of places in Sicily, but a painting was hung prominently where the hallway split into two. It was romantic and showed the Acropolis of Athens against the backdrop of a vast landscape, devoid of any people.

Herakles noticed how the circle of light from Michele’s flashlight shook slightly.

He dared to ask the question. “Have you opened it since?”

"No." Michele turned the right corner.

Herakles wondered what the state the office of Michele’s father was in when Michele had decided to lock the door and hide the key. He wondered if he had hidden it at all or gone as far as destroying it or throwing it out to sea. He hadn’t asked any follow up questions two or three years ago. Michele had told him about it on a late summer night, when the world had been at its most quiet. Herakles had not really cared to know more than what he had told him. Michele wanted to close the door on the past. Herakles would be the last person to deny him that.

Michele cursed and Herakles’ attention snapped back to him. He had stopped in front of a door on the right side and now muttered angrily under his breath.

“Hm?” Herakles asked: “What’s the matter?”

“I have to get the key, wait here for me for a second.” Michele walked past him and disappeared around the corner.

Herakles listened to Michele’s steps down the stairs. He heard a cabinet drawer open, then close, followed by steps that receded further.

He looked around. At the far end of the corridor opposite to the one he was in, he could see a tall window. Barely any light fell inside, but when he lowered his lamp, he could see Palermo’s lights twinkle in the distance.

Herakles thusly had to assume that the window faced the front, although perhaps he was mistaking one of the towns further inland with Palermo. Despite the many nights he had spent at the house, without the warm glow of the dim lamps mounted against the wall, everything looked the same.

It took him until Michele’s return, key in hand, that he vaguely recognized his position in the house. Michele opened the door, which revealed a guest room.

Or rather, a room that could function as such. The official guestroom had become Maria’s room, now that she had moved back in with her son. Marco and Lorenzo had taken over another guest room. He knew that Michele had offered them their own rooms more than once, but they had rather shared. They were around 14 now and Herakles wondered if puberty would make the offer more appealing. He knew that as much as Timothea and Omar loved each other, a shared room would lead to a disaster.

This room had a bed with a rug, oriental but more likely to be from a North-African region, a nightstand and two closets.

Herakles had only ever slept in the one now occupied by Maria, which was a far nicer guest room than this one.

He lingered on this thought for a while as its implications occurred to him. He knew that Michele went on dates and even had met a girlfriend once, but tried to think back to the last time Michele had made him sleep in the guest room or refused to sleep in Herakles’ bed on a visit to Athens. Although it would lead to perhaps a platonic cuddle at most, Herakles’ respected Michele’s commitment to faithfulness during his brief romances. He understood that if the twins found them in the same bed, it would raise questions – Marco and Lorenzo were older than the time Michele had told them Herakles was sleeping in his room because of a sleepover. It had been a fun night in the end as they had watched movies with the two and talked until 2 am, when Michele and Herakles could barely keep their eyes open. It reminded him of the time when, years ago, Sadık had come to meet him in secret at the Simonides’ house, so that Athanasios wouldn’t catch wind of it. The two of them had barely stripped down to their underpants when there had been a knock on the door of the guest room. Sex had to be postponed for the next hour as they had entertained Omar and Timothea. Omar had shown them the Pokémon game on his Gameboy as he sat in Sadık’s lap, while Timothea and her perfectionism only managed to braid one and a half braids into Herakles’ hair, before Natasa and Ibrahim told the twins to “leave the boys alone” and had put them to bed. Herakles had left the finished braid alone, because Sadık had said he had looked cute with it.

“Have you ever considered open relationships, Michele?”

A loud creak went through the room. “Huh?” Michele asked into the dark. “Oh, so you finally got your head out of the clouds. Would you be so kind and help me with the door again?”

Herakles shone his light at him and realized that Michele struggled with the fuse box again. This one looked more modern than the one downstairs.

“Sure.” Herakles ambled over. “You want me to open it?”

“No, I think I’ve got this one.” Michele had put his lamp onto the nightstand and Herakles continued to use his own this them. He stood behind Michele, in case he had to catch him, and shone onto the box over his shoulder.

Herakles said: “I’m just saying, I’m sure you could find someone who’s open to an open relationship.” Herakles smiled. “It’s a mighty lot of fun, if you ask me.”

Michele snorted before he laughed. A welcome sound to Herakles’ ears in between his laboured grunts and the bangs of the door when he pulled on it. “I’m sure it suits you just fine, my friend.” The pulls continued. “But those things, they need time and commitment … why not just play pretend with love, if it’s fleeting anyways?” He stopped his efforts with the box and shook his arms. He swallowed. “Now, I’m glad that you got lucky in love, but I … I am starting to believe that ‘true love’ isn’t in the cards for me … But I am happy to take the scraps of love I find along the way.”

Herakles put his head on Michele’s left shoulder. He kissed his cheek. “You can always come back to me, if you need it.”

Michele trembled. He had trembled this entire time. “I know, Erculi,” he said. “I know.”

Herakles switched his lamp to the other hand and yanked the fuse box open. 

“… thank you,” Michele said.

“Thought you could use the help.” Herakles touched his cheek to Michele’s, before he straightened up.

Michele looked through the fuse box. Herakles still couldn’t read any of the paper labels, but at least these fuses looked 30 years old and not from the 30s. Michele’s fingers shook as he flipped the switches.

“Michele, I can take a look for you, too …”

“Hm? No, no … you don’t even know what is where … it’s fine …” There was an erratic quality to his eyes. He turned a knob, but nothing changed. “I don’t … I don’t know …” His hand rested on the knob. It was limp. Herakles started to notice his own breath as well. “Is there another one I don’t remember …?  Everything was fine before we left, there’s … there’s no nothing left but that room ...”

A creak went through the house and Michele whirled around, eyes wide open.

Silence.

“Old houses sound like that,” Herakles said. “Probably nothing – “

“I think I saw someone in the corridor,” Michele said. With his look fixed onto the door, he reached for his lamp behind him. He missed it a few times before he turned around and picked it up. Herakles shone his light into the open door.

“Are you sure?” he asked him.

“I saw, I saw something move …” Michele walked towards the door and Herakles followed him with a worried frown on his forehead.

“I think you might be – “

“There!” They stood in the corridor. “There again, there …”

A panel of lights hushed across the wall.

In time with the sound of a car as it made its way through the bumpy streets around the fields. 

Herakles looked to the tall window. “I think what you saw was just the headlights of the car.”

Michele stared into the dark.

The lights in the atrium flickered on and he jumped. His lamp dropped to the floor with a loud clunk.

“The electricity seems to be back,” Herakles said, but kept his flashlight on and picked up Michele’s.

“Yes …, yes, apparently it’s back,” Michele said as he looked around. He took a deep breath.

“Your lamp?”

“Oh?” He took it from Herakles. “Yes, thank you.” He switched it off, so Herakles did the same. Michele had pressed his eyes shut when he said: “I think there’s ghosts around every corner.”

“They’re only shades, though. They may pass through you, but they can’t cause you any harm.”

Michele clicked his tongue and shook his head. He looked at Herakles. “Some may only pass through you, but pray to God that none of them stick. And some of these ghosts are bodily and if they come back, they bring nothing but rot and illness with them. Turnati . Bodies who’ve crossed over but won’t stay dead.”

Herakles wondered if Michele spoke in a literal or metaphorical sense. He realized that the ghosts were real regardless. “ … I’ll send you a charm as soon as I am back in Greece. I’m sure it’ll keep some of these ghosts at bay.”

Michele’s look was turned towards to atrium. A stare tired enough for a millennia of pain. A haunted man.

“I need to sit down,” he said.  “I need a glass of wine.” He turned to Herakles. “Care to sit on the porch with me? I can’t bear another wall.”

Can’t bear the garden wall. Can’t bear Monreale.

Can bear the quiet night. Can bear to stare out at Monte Pellegrino and hope that someone would take the plague from him. Can bear to look out at the sea – Swallowing everything and giving nothing back. Can bear to look at the city, walls so beautiful and yet so bloody.

“We’ll open one of the bottles from crete that I brought, if you like.” Herakles was reminded of his remark about his own father earlier and was glad they hadn’t put the bottles down into the wine cellar yet. A ghost in a bottle was the last thing he needed right now. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good…” Michele stared ahead, where the hallway to the right of the staircase split into two. The light of the atrium couldn’t reach it. He walked towards the staircase and Herakles followed him.

~*~

Gugghiermu is the Sicilian version of William. Michele is referring to King William II of Sicily.

"Minchia" - "Shit". Literally translates to "Penis".

"Ciaccatu" - Something broken.

Tribunale is the Italian word for court. The tribunale in Palermo is an example of "Stripped Classicism", a neo-Classical style widely employed by fascist regimes of Italy & Germany. "The fascists who locked them up" is a reference to Cesare Mori. To insert historical nuance that the text lacks - Cesare Mori often butted heads with the fascist regime and thus had lost his job briefly after Mussolini had come to power. He was re-established as prefect of Sicily by the fascist regime later in the 20s. His fight against the Mafia was arguably extremely effective, but also ensured by very harsh measures, so he continues to be a controversial figure. The association expressed in the text is best explained by the fact that the fascists bragged about how it was them who destroyed the mafia. It's a bold-faced lie and soon after WWII, the mafia proliferated again and is active to this day.

Monte Pellegrino is a mountain on the north side of the bay of Palermo. The story goes that in 1625, Santa Rosalia's body was found incorrupted in a cave on the mountain and when her body was paraded through the streets, it ended the current plague epidemic that had befallen Palermo. She's the patron saint of the city ever since and often depicted with a skull.

[fireandspiceland]

I'm so sorry for sending this ask cuz you said you have so many prompts still, but I have to make sure the first second porn fanfic of my kids that not by is not THAT ship - Either 80 for SicIre or 94 for TurGreSic. You choose. If you wanna do this at all.

Send a ship and a number ask game

First of all, I want to make clear I'm only doing OCs here because I already know them and love them a lot. They fill in a hole in the hetaverse that will probably never be covered by canon. Second of all, I couldn't decide for a prompt and I'm still not sure about the characterisations so I thought some practice would be good and did a short thing for both of your requests :)

OCs: APH Sicily - Michele Vento, APH Ireland - Harry O'Connel

80. “We’re already late… do you want to be more late?”

-> probably ooc but Bea is the only one to judge me for that. Porn without plot, I don’t even know who called or where they should be going. Maybe Bea can fill in on that (tho tbh it's not really necessary)

Harry groaned when the weird ringing noise interrupting his dream manifested into something way too real for his still tired brain. He reached out to tap around the nightstand, trying to find his phone to decline the call that just woke him up. Who was even calling at- Harry checked the time on his phone. 9:37am. Fuck.

Suddenly, he felt wide awake and shot up, carelessly throwing off Michele’s arm that was on his torso. A quick scroll through his notifications showed countless missed calls and messages about his and Michele’s whereabouts. Harry turned to the other men, who made no move to wake up, and shook him violently. “Wake up! We need to get ready now!”

Before Michele even got to think about protesting Harry had already pulled the covers off him. “What’s gotten into you?!” He reached for the blanket with a frown, trying to cover up the very present evidence of a very nice dream he had just gotten pulled out of.

“The meeting started more than half an hour ago! We overslept! Now get ready!!”

Harry was frantically rummaging through the drawers, throwing pieces of clothing onto the bed, some of them hitting Michele, who was still sitting there trying to comprehend what was happening. And enjoying the view of Harry bending down to put on his socks, ass in perfect display.

When Harry turned around and saw Michele just watching him he stilled for a moment. He propped his hands on his hips. “What. What are you thinking? I can see that you’re thinking and I’m not sure if I like it.”

Michele snorted and couldn’t help but laugh. The confused look on Harry’s face only contributed to his amusement. “I was thinking..." He let his gaze wander down Harry's still half naked body. "We’re already late… do you want to be more late?"

Now it was Harry's turn to think. Was it that easy to convince him to miss a more or less important meeting?

His train of thought came to a halt when the sheets rustled and Michele crawled to the edge of the bed and quickly slipped onto the carpet, kneeling before him. Harry's breath hitched when Michele pulled his briefs down and ran his tongue along the inside of his thigh, kissing and nibbling at the skin on his way upwards.

"I- We should really get ready..." Harry's tone couldn't even convince himself, even less Michele who hummed in agreement but instead of stopping wrapped his hand around the base of Harry's cock and stroked him to full hardness. When Michele licked the tip of his cock, Harry finally gave in to the pleasure and carded his fingers through his lover's hair while he proceeded to suckle on the tip.

Michele let his other hand wander from the back of Harry's thighs upwards to pinch one of his firm cheeks. He hummed approvingly around Harry's cock, drawing a moan from him while letting his hand wander a little further.

"Okay, ok- AY!" Harry gasped when he felt Michele's fingertip prod at his hole. "Let's be more late, a lot more late."

"If that's your wish!" Michele was on his feet immediately, pulling Harry onto the bed with him, a cheeky smirk on his lips. He watched Harry roll his eyes at him, but before he got to make any snaky comment his lips were already occupied returning the kiss Harry initiated.

They nearly ended up tangled in the sheets in the process but managed to get rid of Michele's briefs at last. Fingers were slicked up, lips bitten, and moans filled the room as Michele took his time stretching Harry's hole. Once he felt Harry relax around three of his fingers, he slowly pulled them out, pressing a kiss to Harry's cheek before settling himself before him.

With Harry on his back before him, Michelle bent the other man's legs a little and lined his cock up to his hole after slicking it up as well. He carefully pushed inside, wanting to give Harry time to adjust, but his pleas for Michele only spurred him on to start moving. A few slow thrusts quickly turned into a quick pace that had Harry groan and fist the bedsheets.

Michele leaned forward to capture Harry's lips in another passtionate kiss, bending his legs a little more, fucking him a little deeper. "Fuck, right there," Harry exclaimed when Michele brushed his prostate. After a few more well angled thrusts Michele grabbed Harry's dick. They looked into each other's eyes and exchanged a quick smile before Michele started stroking Harry in time with each thrust.

Michele's movements got more frantic and sloppy with each passing second. He was pulled into another kiss, only meant for him to swallow all of Harry's moans as he came. The feeling of his lover clenching around him, the heat getting tighter, was what pushed Michelle over the edge. He quickly pulled out, coming all over Harry's hole instead of inside him.

Once they started coming down from their highs, Michele frowned at a familiar loud noise disturbing his post-orgasmic bliss. He had collapsed on top of Harry and now felt him trying to break free from his lover's hold, but Michele would be damned if he let him pick up his phone now of all times.

"Michele, I should really-"

"Shhh. We're already super late. It would only raise questions if we showed up at all now."

Harry rolled his eyes another time, but only put his arm around Michele and waited for his phone to finally stop ringing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

TurGreSic under the cut because the post got too long for my liking

94. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

-> I spent 30mins searching through our discord chat to find this thing you mentioned once when we were talking about the Cell Block Tango AU. But I knew it had to be there and now here's a drabble.

Michele came here to get fucked. The 'how' ended up a bit unexpected, but hey, take it or leave it, right? And Michele was definitely taking it. "It" in this case being Sadik's dick up his ass.

They hadn't planned for any of this to happen. Not for Sadik to keep making salacious comments about Michele shoving his crotch into his face when rehearsing their part for the 100th time, not for Michele to make retort in an equally salacious manner, and especially not for Herakles to do anything but get his Turk to stop when his hands kept wandering from Michele's waist to other parts of his body.

"Don't tell me you're starting to regret this now." Michele propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Sadik who had slowed down his thrusts a little, making the other man suspicious.

"What? No!" Sadik leaned down close enough for Michele to think he would want to kiss him. Instead he whispered in his ear. "But if you keep being so loud you might attract an audience."

The next snippy comment died on Michele's tongue when Sadik quickened his pace again, going harder and deeper. All he could manage was another moan and a couple of curses.

"Can you at least try to keep it together?" Sadik frowned, but kept thrusting into Michele as if to accentuate his words. "You can tell me about how much better than Herakles I fucked you when there aren't-"

"You think you're doing this better than me?"

The small sofa creaked under Sadik and Michele's weight shifting as they turned towards the door. They both froze while Herakles closed the dressing room door behind him and gave them a disapproving look.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Sadik straightened up, his dick still burried deep inside Michele who only rolled his eyes.

"I figured that much." With an audible thud Herakles let himself fall into the armchair opposite the sofa, only a small coffee table between himself and the other two men. "You could have invited me so I can make sure you're fucking him right, but at least I'm here now."

Michele huffed, immediately attracting the others' attention. "Could you maybe stop talking about me as if I wasn't right here with some dick up my ass?!" He clenched around Sadik to make his point clear and earned himself a surprised gasp followed by a lazy thrust.

Herakles chuckled when he noticed how Sadik gripped Michele’s hips, trying to hold back. “He doesn’t break that easily. And you don’t have to pretend as if you care if he did.”

In any other situation Michele would glare at Herakles for such a comment. But right now he just shifted, rolled his hips. Trying to coax Sadik into finally continuing where they had left off. If Herakles and Sadik had even the faintest idea of how much he wanted to see them try breaking him. He smiled to himself.

“Come on, old man, he’s begging to be fucked. Or are you tired already?” The challenging look in Herakles’ eyes was the last straw it needed to pursue Sadik into giving him a show. The first thrusts were slow, deep, making Michele moan and reach for Sadik’s arms, his back, whatever part of him he could reach to hold onto.

“He feels so fucking good.” Sadik’s voice was strained, saturated with the need for more, but he was determined to stretch this out and if only for Herakles’ sake.

“I know.” A low purr from Herakles caught Michele’s attention and he watched him pull his pants down just enough to free his hard cock and stroke himself. Their eyes met for a moment. Was that.. longing in his eyes?

Michele was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when Sadik bent his knees a little further, drove into him deeper and hit his prostate with every following thrust.

"Fuck!" Michele clawed onto Sadik's arms, digging his nails into the skin. Sadik hissed at the slight pain, but didn't slow down his pace. "You're supposed to fuck me, not re-arrange my guts!"

Before Sadik could make another witty comment, a loud moan coming from Herakles captured the others' attention. "Stop complaining, Miche." He was stroking himself faster, running his thumb over the tip every time. "He's so good at this... Watching you taking him so well...I'm almost jealous."

Herakles' breath hitched when Sadik smirked at him. No words were needed for him to know what the Turk had in mind for them to do later.

Together with the movements of Herakles' hand on his cock Sadik's pace also sped up. With a groan that he was sure the others outside the dressing room heard as well, Michele drove his nails deeper into Sadik's arms, drawing blood. His head lolled to the side, giving Herakles' a perfect view of his face.

"Please..." The word was almost inaudible, coming from Michele's lips only for Sadik to hear. He huffed, but wrapped his hand around Michele's cock to stroke him in time with his thrusts. The tip was wet with precum and so sensitive to Sadik's touch, after a couple of strokes Michele was already cumming all over himself and Sadik's hand. He bit his lip to stifle his moans, so as to not attract anyone outside to check onto them. The way he clenched around Sadik was enough for the other man to reach his climax as well, spilling inside Michele with a low groan.

When they both cought their breath again and Sadik slowly pulled his dick out, Michele once again ended up making eye contact with Herakles, who wiped his own cum off with a sweaty towel he had brought from practice. A faint smile was on Herakles' lips, but the longing look had disappeared from his eyes.

[breitzbachbea]

Day 1: Language [GreSic]

Here is my first entry for @aphrarepairweek2021! No intimacy like finding traces of a shared past on your tongue.

Ship: Greece/Sicily [OC] (Herakles Karpuzi/Michele Vento) Set in an Human/Organized Crime AU Read it here on ao3

All Sicilian & Greek words are translated at the bottom - I marked the words in red, so that you can easily find where you left off if you jump to the translations!

Much thanks to @amber-isnt-a-precious-stone for betareading this Oneshot & to @crispyliza for helping me with the Greek transcription. Love you guys <3

Since I don't describe Michele in the oneshot itself, here's also a Teenage GreSic kiss, drawn by my friend @/C0FFINATED from twitter! (They're 16 & 15 here; in the Oneshot, they're somewhere between 18 and 20)

In Una Lingua Familiare

They sat in Herakles’ old and battered kitchen. It must have been the height of Greek Luxury back in the 50s, when it had been renovated. Now it felt cosy, with all its chipped tiles and worn handles.

Something flew past the window and they both turned their heads.

It flew past the window again.

“Taddarita,” Michele told Herakles with a content smile.

Herakles smiled back. “Nychterida.”

“Oh, I think that’s the same word,” Michele said and lifted the small coffee cup to his lips.

“It’s not,” Herakles said. “After you butchered it.”

Michele chuckled about it. He still hadn’t taken a sip. Herakles had made them Greek coffee and Michele was careful with it. He dreaded the thought of reaching the bottom and ending up with a mouthful of coffee grounds. “We didn’t butcher them, we’ve made them our own. But we’ve kept them, regardless.” He finally drank some before he glanced back to Herakles with eyes half lidded. “Carusu,” he said.

“Agori”, Herakles replied.

They had drifted off and talked about history and linguistics again. A safe topic. No business. No nightmares. Michele had tried his best to get rid of the bags under his eyes before he came to Greece but he had no idea if he succeeded. Herakles hadn’t said a word about it and he was grateful for it.

He just wanted to go back to the days when he learnt Ancient Greek at the liceo classico and Herakles did the same at his lykio. When they had found another shared passion to fill the time of the rare afternoons spent together in Palermo or Athens.

“Modern Greek is still Greek” Herakles said. “The words we kept, we didn’t change.”

“Even if we changed them to suit our tongues, we haven’t replaced them,” Michele answered. “After the Phoenicians and the Romans came. And the Arabs and the Germans, the French and the Spaniards. None of them could take the words from us.” His voice was low and he wondered if it even left his mouth or just stuck as vibrations to his lips.

Herakles gave away nothing as he looked into Michele’s eyes. His form was mostly in the shadows, with only the dim light of the moon, the city and a dingy lamp in the corner of the room.

Almost nothing. His tongue darted out and licked delicately over his upper lip.

Michele watched him intently. “Liccu,” he said.

“Lihoudis,” Herakles replied.

They said nothing for a while, broke eye contact and Herakles took a sip of his coffee.

“There’s an Italian version of Herakles, too,” Michele said and Herakles lazily raised an eyebrow. “I could call you Erculi.” His accent was heavy when the name rolled off his tongue.

Herakles' thumb rubbed over the edge of his cup. His lips were slightly parted and Michele didn’t miss the attentive spark in his eyes.

He tried to distract himself by taking another sip of coffee.

“Mihalis,” Herakles said and Michele swallowed coffee grounds and sugar.

His hairs stood on end. He wanted to take Herakles’ hand and call him Erculi and babble sweet nothings in Sicilian at him. He wanted to be reminded of the touches they had shared when they had been kids, behind the safety of a schoolbook and the wild growth of a garden or sometimes tucked away in the corner of a dock wall.

Now they weren’t kids anymore, however, freed from their parents' watchful eye. He could do all that.

Herakles chuckled and despite the hour, it was a joyful little sound. Michele had put the coffee cup down and thought to get a glass of water to wash the coffee out of his mouth. He didn’t dare look at Herakles.

“You know who also changed my name?” Herakles asked and Michele glanced at him.

“Who?” The grounds stuck to his tongue and the walls of his mouth, but he wouldn’t say anything. Not unless Herakles said something first.

“Natasa. She calls me Iraklis, because she thinks Herakles is pretty pretentious in this day and age.” He chuckled again, his eyes on the table instead of Michele, and a faint smile on his face. “Maybe that’s also the reason why we Greeks changed all the words you Sicilians kept.”

Michele chuckled to himself. He got up to fetch a glass of water.

“She's been a big help in navigating this Shark Tank. Calls me Ira for short,” Herakles said and Michele nearly choked on the water. One last chuckle left Herakles, more of an amused sigh.

“Oh,” Michele said, as steady as his voice could manage.

“Interesting.”

Herakles looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “Yeah?”

In Italian, Ira means wrath.

They weren’t kids anymore, Michele thought. He wanted to sleep.

So he put his glass of water down, walked over to Herakles and peered inside his coffee cup. Empty, but so carefully drunk that he didn’t inhale the grounds.

“Iri means to go in Sicilian,” Michele said. Herakles had turned towards him. “I think I want to go to bed.”

Up close, he saw the dark circles underneath Herakles’ eyes. There was a cut on his thumb that hadn’t yet fully healed. Scratch marks peaked out underneath his hair and shirt.

And Michele didn’t care one bit for any of it, because it didn’t change that Herakles was so beautiful it knocked the breath out of Michele’s lungs.

Herakles scooted back with his chair, a dull sound on the old tiles, and welcomed Michele onto his lap. His hands steadied him as he sat down and one found its way into Michele’s hair as he kissed him. He liked the warm and heavy weight against his head and his own thumb brushed over Herakles’ cheek. Herakles’ lips were soft and warm and when his tongue darted out into the other’s mouth or it willingly met Herakles’ in his own, there was a faint taste of sugar and coffee.

Herakles broke their kiss and pulled back. When Michele opened his eyes, they went wide upon meeting Herakles’ stare. The pleading in his eyes scared him.

“Mihalis,” Herakles then whispered and Michele was ready to keel over.

“Erculi,” he got out, voice on the verge of tears and held onto Herakles for dear life as they kissed again.

~*~

"Taddarita/Nychterida [νυχτερίδα]" = Bat

"Carusu/Agori [αγόρι]" = Boy (In Greek, it can also be used to mean "Boyfriend". Since the Italian ragazzo works the same way, I assume the Sicilian carusu can also refer to a boyfriend. Do with that information what you will.)

"Liccu/Lihoudis" = Greedy; To have a sweet tooth

[breitzbachbea]

Dai vicoli di Atene al centro di Dublino ...

After a disgraceful performance on an oral exam this monday, I tried to keep the shame at bay with self-indulgent treat.

Thusly, I crawled to @modernday-jay's Ko-Fi page and asked him to doodle me some GreSicIre coddling. So here we have Michele being cuddled by Herakles and Harry. Sicilian Sandwich between two slices of tender beef <3.

Which I then immediately took to badly photomanipulate atop a picture I took during my vacation to Palermo. I saw quite a few regional trains zipping around, all with this design that combines the colors of the Sicilian flag (red & yellow) with the European one (blue with yellow stars). #EuropeLovesSicily indeed.

(And please don't come for my shitty editing skills, I know that looks TERRIBLE perspective and composition-wise, my eye for such things has basically never been trained.)

[breitzbachbea]

Okay, but, while I am reminiscing about kids too young burdened with a live that will scar them forever and turn them into their parents one way or another ... FrUK ... Arthur and François aren't drunk off their asses yet but super tipsy ... the tips of Arthur's hair are still green, the last remnants of him growing out his mohawk ... François is sitting on the floor and Arthur is sprawled out on the couch, legs over the backrest, head dropping off the front ... They are laughing and giggling about something and look at each other for a moment ... the laughter dies as they stare into each other's eyes ... and then François leans in for a kiss and Arthur lets it happen, tries to reach out for that beautiful silky hair with one hand ... to hold the other close .........

[breitzbachbea]

Will have to rewrite this part a bit for overall structual tension reasons, but new goal of my GreSic OS is now to make people who read Irish Problems and Italian Affairs and who will read The Amulet go fucking insane over SicIre and TurGre.

[fireandspiceland]

Can I get an uhhhhhhh TurSic or TurGre with the attached Plutarch, Alexandros, 11, (Fig. 1) TurSic maybe referencing how the Ottoman Empire last tried conquer Sicily in 1571 (and had their ass handed to them by the Sicilians under Spanish Leadership in Fontane Bianche), when Michele was just a teenager, or just some TurGre, with Herakles referencing his own growth and being a bold little shit like Alex the pretty alright III. Or, OR, Third Alternative, some Cat. 56 (Fig. 2) with TurGreSic, in the vein of 'Oh, haven't you heard? About our open relationship?' Or if you prefer seperate acts, have the funfact that the 'threat' of oral sex was more associated with humiliation, while anal sex with punishment. Thinking along the lines of degrading your rival and punishing your girl.

(Fig. 1)

(Fig. 2)

I'm actually so sorry for having a breakdown in your inbox but. if I have ANYTHING to look forward in the next two weeks that isn't Uni, I'd be eternally grateful. I'll probably also get whiplash when I see this insane ask again (I also DO NOT CARE for any historical inaccuracies, you should not have to do any research for this, my brain is just Wired Like This & sees ancient texts as viable inspiration). HDGDL, sorry for being your friend, you can also 100% refuse this ask <3

you stop being sorry about sending long asks and being my friend this instant okay?! I love getting requests and you even gave me stuff to work with! What could be better than this? :D I hope you like what I wrote for you.

OC(s): APH Sicily - Michele Vento

-> infidelity, but not really. it's more of a roleplay between them, no one's really mad. open relationship between Sadik and Herakles, Michele makes them both feel like they are the third wheel.

The groan that fell from Michele's lips was a mixture of pleasure and annoyance. He gripped Herakles‘ sides a little tighter as his body was rocked back and forth with each thrust. The man hovering above him leaned down to place his head on Michele's shoulder. Sweat dropped from Heracles' forehead onto Michele's hot skin, making him shiver.

"Just a little..."

"Yeah!"

Another powerful thrust had Michele cry out, his painfully hard dick trapped between their bodies, but it still wasn't enough. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes from the need to find release so badly. When he noticed Herakles' movements getting more lazy again, he pushed the other man with a grunt and flipped them over.

Taking advantage of the new position, Michele quickly found his pace, riding Herakles who held onto the others' hips. He tried to take the lead again, but soon gave in to the pleasure Michele’s movements brought them both.

“Fuck,” Michele exclaimed, his voice strained, “I think I’m gonna-“

“Now that’s a sight to behold.”

Both Michele and Herakles froze with Michele collapsing on top of Herakles’ torso. A sob rippled through his body, mourning his now ruined orgasm. The pain from being so close to coming was still apparent and he gasped when Herakles sat up while still inside him.

“I thought you were out for the night,” he stated towards his husband, who was leaning against the doorframe to the living room.

“Change of plans.” Sadik shrugged and mustered his half dressed husband on the floor and their naked neighbour on top of him. “And it seems they changed in my favour.”

Herakles rolled his eyes at Sadik and petted Michele’s back, who grumbled something into Herakles’ pecs. They had been in similar situations, but this was still a little embarrassing.

“What are you doing?” Herakles frowned at Sadik and watched him step closer to where Michele and him were still lying on the carpet in the middle of the room.

Sadik reached out to pat Michele’s back, making the other man shiver at the hot touch on his now cold, sweaty skin. “Get up. Did you really think you could come into my house and fuck my husband without any consequences?”

The accusation made Michele stiffen. Sadik noticed the muscles in his back tense up before they relaxed again and Michele slowly pulled himself away from the protective space against Herakles chest.

“Is this really necess-“ Sadik lifted a hand to silence his husband. Another roll of Herakles’ eyes made the corner of Sadik’s lip quiver upwards.

In the meantime Michele had found his breath and voice again, with a glare directed at Sadik he quipped “For once I agree with your husband, whatever you think you’re doing seems very uncalled for.”

Sadik snorted at the comment and raised a curious eyebrow. “Now look at you little slut thinking you’ve got a say in this.” Now it was Michele who rolled his eyes at Sadik. The last comment had been more than just cliché. This could’ve been right out of a porno.

With a sigh Sadik shook his head, but his expression was still one of amusement as he undid the fly of his jeans. “You two are no fun. At least try to look guilty.”

Michele opened his mouth to say something but Herakles was faster. “You want me to play embarrassed because oh no!” Herakles shot Sadik with his best puppy eyes. “You caught me! Fucking the hot neighbour while I thought my husband to be at work!”

For emphasis Herakles put his hands on Michele’s hips while lazily fucking into him, drawing a surprised moan from the man on top of him. Sadik chuckled at the display and pulled his half hard dick from his pants.

A deep blush crept onto Michele’s cheeks as he mustered the thick head of Sadik’s cock as he stroked himself to full hardness. He felt Herakles twitch inside him and gasped.

“Suck it.” Sadik nudged the wet tip of his cock against Michele’s cheek, making him turn his head. “Since you like married men filling your holes.”

Only reluctantly Michele parted his lips when Sadik prodded against them. Herakles watched him take his husband’s cock further in his mouth and bob his head a few times before Sadik took a tight grip on Michele’s head. He hit the back of Michele’s throat repeatedly, his thrusts soon becoming more sloppy.

Herakles shivered at the thought of his husband marking the man on top of him and snapped his hips upwards, causing Michele to lose his balance and choke. Sadik only let go for a moment to let him catch his breath before going back to fucking Michele’s throat, never letting his look go anywhere else than his now teary eyes.

“Sadik..”

Without looking at his husband, Sadik lifted one hand to shut him.

“You’re not getting away so easily either. Just wait for your turn.”

The demanding tone had Herakles throw his head back and roll his hips again. Michelle jerked as he grazed his prostate and moaned around Sadik’s cock. The vibrations sent a final wave of pleasure through Sadik’s body and he pulled Michele’s head back, watched thick ropes of cum splatter his cheeks and lips.

A noise of discomfort came from Michele, who had his eyes pressed shut tightly, but the feeling of Herakles twitch and jerk inside him quickly eased the tension. When he opened his eyes, Sadik was crouched down next to him. He gripped Michele’s chin and pressed a kiss to his cheek, licking up a little of the cum in the process.

Michele cleared his sore throat and gave him an impatient look. “Am I done here? I don’t want to-“

“Of course not. You came here to get fucked by my husband, didn’t you?” Sadik looked down at Herakles in disapproval. “But from what I saw you can’t even satisfy a slut like him, so I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Herakles wanted to protest, but was cut off by his husband’s instructions for Michele to get onto the couch and for him to kneel behind him. The soft cushions were a welcome change for Michele’s knees and he settled himself onto the sofa - ass up, head down - without any protest. Might as well finish what we started.

Michele gasped when Herakles pushed into his hole again, sliding into it easily. Since he got to know about his neighbours’ open marriage, he had been involved with them several times, and Sadik being there to guide Herakles got his hopes of getting off tonight up again.

“What are you- Fuck.”

Herakles bucked his hips into Michele when he felt Sadik slick fingers scissoring him open. He leaned forward to give him better access, fucking deeper inside Michele. His hole was still stretched from being played with earlier this night and Sadik tsked with mocked disappointment. It didn't take long for a litany of curses to fall from Herakles lips, his desperation only making Sadik's arousal grow again.

“I’m gonna fuck you so you can learn how fo satisfy a man.”

With that Sadik lines himself up behind Herakles, pushing inside in one swift movement. Herakles nearly collapsed onto Michele, but tried to keep himself upright.

“Just follow my lead.”

The pace Sadik set was relentless, his thrusts hard enough to let Michele feel the force of them as well. He gripped Herakles' hips, changing the angle slightly to make Herakles hit his prostate with every combined thrust of the husbands.

After a few more thrusts, hitting him just like he needed it, Michele finally found release, coming into the space between his stomach and the cushions beneath him. His body went limp from exhaustion, aftershocks still rippling through his body after Herakles had slipped out of him.

Michele still felt Herakles’ hard cock dragging against his back with every one of Sadik’s thrusts. The sounds he made were desperate, pleading, Michele swore he heard a sob at some point, but was too blissed out to care. He only hummed in response when he felt Herakles’ cum on his back and heard Sadik scream out in pleasure.

[breitzbachbea]

📓?? 👀

Okay, okay, okay, so -

Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about.

The Ancient Olympics AU (which I talked about with @crispyliza )

This AU came into being after I relistened to the "The Ancient Olympics" episode of the history/comedy podcast "You're Dead To Me". It had the interesting information that a lot of Olympic winners actually came from Sicily & South Italy! So naturally I began to wonder what might have happened if my Sicilians ended up in Olympia ...

Dramatis Personae:

- Michele Vento (APH Sicily, my OC) as Trainer of the Bontade Twins - Marco & Lorenzo Bontade (Human OCs of mine) as Athletes from Syracuse - Herakles Karpuzi (APH Greece) as Athlete from Athens - Timothea Simonides (Human OC) as Herakles' Trainer - Omar Simonides (Human OC) as ... Good question? Co-Trainer to Thea ig

The Happenings™:

- Lorenzo and Marco want to compete in the upcoming Olympics as runners. Michele,probably a distant relative to them who lives close, becomes their trainer.

- The Sicilians roll up to Olympia, most likely a few days early because travelling is an adventure in these days and it doesn't hurt to have a few extra days to get accustomed to the terrain.

- Michele also definitely loses the Bontade twins 10 minutes after arriving at the sanctuary bc he wasn't looking for 0.5 seconds. So now he lost his boys at a place that currently contains approximately half of Magna Graecia.

- The reason he wasn't paying attention? Some athletes were preparing themselves nearby, bucknaked of course. Amongst them Herakles. Michele has always been a sucker for strong arms and legs, so that plus Herakles' beautiful face has him swooning from the get go.

- After he recollects his twins, they spend the next few days training, as do the other athletes, which is when Herakles notices Michele's looks.

- Christina (crispyliza) had the galaxy brain idea that Herakles intentionally flirts with Michele to sabotage the Bontades success at the games. It's an idea that he comes up with together with the Simonides - to be completely fair, it was probably Timothea's. Omar: "My, looks like you've got a fanboy." Herakles: "And what a pretty one at that." Timothea: "He seems to be a bit shy about it, though. Or maybe he's actually after those twin brothers?" (They figure out he's the Bontades trainer) Timothea: "Oh, he's a trainer! Pretty sucky at his job though if he's oogling the competition so much." Omar: "All the better for us, though." Timothea: -oil lamp ignites over her head bc light bulbs aren't invented yet-

- While we're at the Simonides: This was before it was mandatory for everyone to be naked, so Timothea managed to sneak into the games by posing as a man. Omar helps her with it, since he's trans and thusly got experience. Christina also had the hilarious idea of them having fake beards, which is just, YES. Timothea definitely cut her hair and they made whatever beard is in fashion in Athens at the time out of them. Their mother Natasa used to be a famed winner of the Heraea, the woman's games also held in Olympia.

- So let the games GreSic flirting begin

- The Problem: Michele doesn't want his boys to think he's betraying them for a rival athlete. He also really wants Herakles to rail him. The Solution: Find ways to be sneaky and secretive about it so the twins don't have to find out. Here is one of the possible scenarios I had for this: "When I first thought about this, I also had this scene in my head. Idk how accurate it works, bc it involves a tent and in the ydtm episode they didn't mention how people were housed during the games. (Like, I am sure there were guest houses, the temples probably offered some places to sleep, both of that but in upscale fancy for all the rich and important people attending yadda yadda.) Do you know that trope(?) when someone has sex but is trying to hide it? That. Just Michele sticking his head out of the tent, clutching at the fabric to keep everything else closed. Tells his twins, who looked for him, he is kind of busy rn. Tries is best to hide the fact of what is actually happening and to make them leave. It works. Kind of. Because as soon as they are gone, Michele sighs with a :| look and tells Hera to stop. "But why?" "Because you would have to nail every corner of this tent down and then they'd still find a way to spy!" Which is exactly what the twins ARE doing. They are trying their best to get an unnoticed peak from one place of the tent. But because it has to be subtle, all they get to see is feet and they either don't hear them or don't recognize Herakles' voice. I don't think he is the person to go out of his way to pick on people or pick fights in general, so they probably haven't had much interaction. So Michele smoothes out his chiton annoyed and leaves the tent, to then just stomp around enough for the twins to notice him and pretend they weren't doing what he knew they were doing."

- One day however, Marco & Lorenzo are missing their trainer and can't find him. They run into Thea & Omar, who are missing their athlete. Hm. Weird. Wonder what's that all about :)

- They end up catching Michele and Herakles in the act, just out there somewhere underneath a tree, which, naturally, makes the Bontades VERY upset. Lorenzo: "What do you think you are doing?!" Omar, in his head: 'Herakles, obviously.' Marco: "He's the COMPETITION, Michele!" Both: "You've left us all alone for THAT?!" Since the Simonides were in on the whole thing, they're not surprised just disappointed that Herakles vanished without a heads up. "Well, that ain't sprinting practice."

- The most hilarious thing is that could not even tell you who wins the race. I didn't even think about that part until yesterday. I'm kind of particular to the thought that it's somewhat of a photo finish with the three of them, but the twins come out on top. Since there can only be one winner, they flippantly let one of them be chosen by the equivalent of a coin toss. So technically, either Marco or Lorenzo has won, but they keep both parading around with the wreath and insist that the inscription to them mentions them both as winners. Now, if they got their way is another story, I didn't read any academic articles on this at. all.

- Second place is as good as last in the Ancient Greek world, but Herakles takes the loss in stride. Timothea is probably the one who's most upset. Marco: "Hah, so all your flexing - " Lorenzo: "and all your fucking for nothing in the end!" Michele: "Hey, I'd like to think I'm a reward in and of myself, not an obstacle."

Sequel Bait:

- Back home in Siracusa, Michele gets asked if he doesn't want to train his cousins, too. The ones from Neapolis. The ones Michele can't stand. However, his mother talks him into it and he agrees. Extra funny because Lovino & Feliciano were also talked into it by THEIR parents. So Michele spends the next four years butting heads with Lovino, knowing fully well their mother will rip his head off if they don't do well. Lovino is of course hiding his giant insecurities about disappointing his loving father & mother behind snark. Michele will arrive at Olympia with four athletes in two this time and looks like he aged 40, not 4 years from all the stress.

- Herakles is no competition this time, though! He wants to try his hand at wrestling this year. However, very quickly after his arrival, he butts heads with a fellow wrestler from one of the Greek colonies in Asia minor. Only thing's more annoying than his big mouth, which he shares with his wrestling buddy, are probably the flirtations coming out of it & Herakles can't wait to show him his place. (Yes, I do know that the Turkish people came into the area that is modern day Turkey far, far later, he should be of another ethnicity [and he gotta be Greek to participate, anyways] but. Is any of you really going to deny me Herakles and Sadık wrestling, bucknaked, covered in oil? I'd hope the fuck not.)

[breitzbachbea]

Currently researching how Turkish coffee is made but in the back of my mind, all I have is Sadık rummaging around Herakles' kitchen to get something and stumbling over a caffettiera.

'Oh, Michele brought that one some time ago', Herakles explains and Sadık probably knows why, because that Sicilian rarely drinks tea and sometimes still swallows coffee grounds when Herakles makes it the Greek way.

And it stings a little, even though he knows, to find something that's so alien, a testament to someone who's so different and yet such a part of Herakles' life.

[breitzbachbea]

Things to commission:

- The GreSicIre cheek smooches in front of the #EuropeLovesSicily Train

- also GreSicIre sleeping all in one bed cuz Michele's sleeping couch broke and oh no </3 what is one gonna do </3.

Oh fuck, I accidentally made a "There's only one bed scenario."

Anyways. Michele sleeping in between two buff dudes is all I ever wanted for him.

[breitzbachbea]

Me: Hm, GreSic doesn't make much sense beyond ancient times, does it?

Also me: Completely forgets the time that Sicily was under byzantine rule.

I'm usually not that comfortable with writing historical Hetalia myself bc I keep thinking of all the ramifications and implications as historian. But Michele, after changing hands from the gothic leftovers of the Westroman empires back to the eastroman one, living with someone who eerily looks like that ancient Grecian he knew... interesting. Even more interesting for him to see someone like him, another child, running around.

[breitzbachbea]

I've been thinking about doing the "Languages" prompt of the rarepair week for GreSic. Essentially finding Sicilian words that derrive from Ancient Greek and have Modern Greek counterparts that are the same/similiar enough. I want to have Herakles being "What have you done to my mother's tongue?".

But do you know what also used to be part of Magna Graecia? Neapolis/Parthenope. Napoli. Which made me think of them being on some kind of bigger event, where Herakles overhears Francesco talk Neapolitan. Maybe he is talking with Lovino about something.

Herakles pulls a face, which prompts Michele to look over his shoulder and see the Italians talk. He immediately gets what's happening and thinks it's hilarious. "Oh, I almost want to tell him about it."

So his twins take it upon themselves, since they have no baseless grudge to hold, and go over to Franci. Franci's like "Alright, what do you two want?"

Marco: "Weren't you talking Neapolitan just now?"

Lorenzo: "We couldn't miss hearing that."

And Francesco looks over to Herakles, who is right now probably slightly annoyed by Michele talking Sicilian to mock him.

Francesco gets it. And beams.

In short, I apparently made it my mission to bully the Greek today.

[breitzbachbea]

Drabble #60

Triggerwarning for: Implied Child Abuse, Past Trauma

The following drabble talks about/alludes to physical & mental child abuse and its possible consequences. There is no graphic description of abuse. If any of these topics trigger you, please prepare yourself accordingly or don't read this drabble.

Please take care of yourself and if you decide to read the drabble, enjoy it!

Just two bros being dudes, chilling zero feet apart and overusing ancient Greek mythology references because they’re gay.

Drabble Collection on Ao3 Ship: GreSic Human AU/Organized Crime AU

 “Isn't it just like two shipwrecked men clinging to one another?” Michele asked after they were done and laid together.

 What a cruel question it was, to talk right about the reason for why they were seeking solace in each other's arms. But since he apparently felt such a tremendous need to talk about it, he must have hurt and so vetoing him from speaking would have been cruel as well.

 “Mhm,” was all the answer Herakles could muster. He didn't want to philosophize for once, not about his own pain. He didn't want to think of this as convenience.

 Michele laughed, head still against his chest and Herakles arm wrapped around him. His hair was sweaty and messy and he welcomed that a lot more than his usual neat look.

 “We've clung to each other because we both needed someone to understand our pain and ask no questions.”

 There was a hickie on his neck. A big one. He liked it but didn't dare to reach out and run the back of his fingers over it. To cause pain while other wounds still and clearly were open wasn't a good idea.

Trauma. Greek for wound. The blood from the hickey only seeped into his skin, but a far deeper trauma sputtered from his mouth. Maybe all the blood from the bruises that his father had caused him, he had swallowed and now vomited it back out.

 “Even now they're dead, we're clinging to each other because we want to forget and we need distraction. Even now I feel like I have to hide from them and find a way to make something lovely to hide all the pain.” He laughed again and buried his face into his chest. For a moment, Herakles feared that he'd began to sob any second now.

 So he took his hand and caressed his side with the other.

 “Focus on the lovely,” he said when Michele looked at him. “They're gone. For good. There's nothing we have to hide now.”

 Michele gave him a pained smile at first, but it turned more and more genuine as time passed.

 He lowered his voice and softly, added: “Do you really see this as nothing more than a distraction?”

 “No, no, no” he said, looked up and sat up. He didn't let go or shook off Herakles' hand. “Of course not, my dearest friend. It's not just distraction, you're not just anyone to me.” He looked him straight in the eyes and they ended up staring at each other for a while.

 What a man he had become, with what authority in his face. Not that he could see any of it right now, for the kind but tired and scared boy he used to know was all too evident in his features. If he was a Trojan Prince somehow gone too far ashore, he was Paris and not Hector in this moment.

 He caressed his cheek with the hand that was not held and Michele leaned into the touch.

 “I think we shouldn't think of this as distraction, but as celebration of our freedom,” he said and Michele's pretty eyes fluttered open again. “We can do whatever we want.” He realized what he just had said and sat up himself, with an electrified grin on his face and now cupped Michele's face with both of his hands. “We can do whatever we want,” he repeated, his voice no more than an excited whisper, because any louder and it would break. “No more restraints, there's nothing that could ever hold us back now.”

 Michele smiled at him, but it was more of a tired and derisive smile.

 “Sure, we can look at it like this,” he said.

 “Are you not thrilled?” Herakles asked. He leant in closer to him and cocked his head as if he searched in his face. “Where did your enthusiasm go? Where's the Michele again who, just months ago, sat in this bed with enough enthusiasm to conquer the world? Where did my Alexander go?” To know that Alexander had been an insulting nickname for his own father by Funda Adnan still stung a little, but his father never had wanted the title and not deserved it, anyways.

 Michele snorted. “I think he might have died in Paris. Or, if I'd rather say that I'm Achilles, I died through Paris.” He sighed and rubbed his cheek against one of his hands with closed eyes. “I'll have to go back there tomorrow.”

 “Do you really have to?”

 “I'll have to end what I started. I'm not going to draw my horns in and live it down, that'd be even more cowardly than what François is trying to do.”

 Herakles looked at him with a soft smile before he kissed his forehead. “Don't get killed up there,” he said. “I'd much rather have you safe at home with your loved ones without glory than dying for your ego. Don't be an Achilles.”

 Michele sighed and it might have been a failed snort. Throughout it all, he hadn't opened his eyes once until now. “Bold words to come from an Alexander like you. Are you going to Ankara again soon? Or Istanbul?”

 His smile was still soft. “I might,” he said. “If you're going to leave me for Paris.”

 “Oh, believe me, I'm not going to have half the fun in Paris that you and he are going to have.” He kissed the palm of his hand and then left a trail of kisses down his arms. “Even if I want to sleep with François out of frustration, just so that I don't have to talk with him, for god's sake.” Michele had briefly talked himself into a rage, but it was gone with a sigh and his next words: “I'll only remember how good this night was and be disappointed.”

 Herakles chuckled about this and Michele shot him a roguish smile before Herakles kissed him.

 During the kiss, one hand wandered down to the hickie and he stroked it with his thumb. He could feel Michele shiver underneath his hands.

[breitzbachbea]

Someone was bound to have inquired about these two for the character bingo already but. Hws Turkey and Greece? 😳

No one else inquired about anyone (but you all should *flatter-lattering my lashes*). Anyways, Ashley, I'm kissing you on the mouth, I am going to be SO mentally unwell about these two.

Character Opinion Bingo

HWS Turkey

Okay, the wasted potential one is just because I'd love to see more Ottoman Empire in the actual Manga, but I also think that Europe's had enough pagetime. The rest of the world deserves the spotlight more ... but if we DO stay in Europe or the Mediterranean, I want more of my Turk, dammit! If Hima loves the Iberians so much, he can just do North Africa in general, then we get new characters, AND more Egypt AND more Turkey!

As for the "Done Dirty By Fans" ... aside from fandom in the olden days being in general quite terrible to many characters, this one isn't meant that seriously. I've seen lots of lovely characterizations of him around, different but coherent in themselves. What I do think a lot about is how often the writing plays into Orientalist tropes. Writing I like! I adore! But you see a lot of these tropes crop up, a lot framing him in a way that's very different to other Empires, that I can't help but notice it. I am sure, once I actually done my research on it, I'll talk more about it ...

Also, to be fair, most characters work better as part of a dynamic, with him it's again the Empire thing. That's where the juicyness lies.

Also, for the blorbo swatches, have the latest song I associate with Sadık. It is Like Father Like Son specific, though - "Son of Man" by Phil Collins from the Tarzan Soundtrack. He gets so doted on by his parents in LFLS, because Funda has such big plans for him, that it really suits him well.

HWS Greece

Okay, the "popular ships with him suck" one is SOLELY circled for Giri/pan, which isn't even that popular. I don't even know WHY it's my notp, I just have such a strong dislike reaction to it. Nothing wrong with the ship, it's cute! It is just doing nothing and less for me, for some reason! (Also, GreSic is definitely a rarepair and I need to spread more propaganda about it).

Also, I don't know what it is about this man, but he awakens such sisterly feelings in me. More in LFLS than in canon, but even in the Manga, I'm like ... Come here baby boy!! You poor lost soul!! You wet rag of a man, let me hug you and coddle you!! He's just so ... so spoilable.