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pressagie · 1 year ago

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tw: homophobia

hello!! first of all i just wanna say that i love your blog (@/diospirando) so much. i found you through your uquiz (which was really helpful btw). i came here to ask about my love life. here is a little bit about me: my hobbies include learning about marine life and watching films. i am a lesbian and come from a pretty religious family and almost everyone i know is also very religious. i haven’t come out to anyone for obvious reasons except for a few really close friends. i myself am not religious and have left my religion last year, however i feel this overwhelming sense of guilt for leaving even though whenever i try to come back to my religion i just can’t get myself to believe in it again. sometimes i wish i could just go back to believing in it like i did before and try my best to start liking men because i really dont want everyone i know and love to hate me. all of my irl friends are homophobic and i feel a lot of guilt for what i am and after constantly being told my whole life that i will go to hell for simply loving someone i just dont know anymore what to do because i am really so lonely. a lot of my irls are in relationships and i just wanted to ask if there is someone for me as well? like someone who is able to understand me unlike all of the other people in my life and accept me for who i am? and is there a chance of that person being a guy? (i know this sounds bad of me asking since i just said i am a lesbian but i really am just hoping that there is some guy out there that i will like so i can continue to have a good relationship with my family and friends). i am honestly just really sick of being lonely and not being understood, i just want to meet someone who gets me well. i have a preference for tarot but you can decide which works best for my situation. i’d also like to request a book passage and song of your choice. again, thank you and sorry for this question being so long.

hi im so sorry im the person who sent the last anonymous ask (the one that mentions being a lesbian and having a very religious family). i forgot to add something to it and i have no idea how to unsend/edit an ask because im kind of new to tumblr but i just wanted to add something to my question. I'd like to know about future patner and the type of person they are (any information is about), it can be their appearance, personality, achievements, where I'll meet them or even how they're doing currently in life whatever you can channel I'll be happy with anything. thank you :D

Hey 🤎

I'm so sorry you're going through that.

(And thank you for the TW.)

Speaking as a queer person with christian and queerphobic relatives: please remember that you can't choose to like men, or anyone for that matter. Obviously, attraction is fluid – but let me ask you this (and tell me to fuck off, if it's not my place): even if you were to be with a guy, would that solve all the problems which the people in your life have?

I can't tell you what to believe, just as no one should. But if you need to hear this, and it helps in any way: I promise that you're not going to hell for being a lesbian, and you deserve so much better than the judgement and guilt from your family and other people. You deserve to be happy, be it single or otherwise. You deserve understanding, to feel connected – and not only acceptance, but FULL BLOWN RESPECT.

(I'm really glad that you liked the quiz! Guessing you meant this one?)

(Did I understand correctly that you follow me @diospirando? Either way, feel free to come say hello 🥰 I'm very curious to know if we've interacted before, but no pressure!)

(Oh and you can't unsend/edit asks.)

Note: I added some info to my pinned post, and I recommend (to everyone who sent in questions) giving it a read.

Now on to your reading... I did try Tarot first like you asked, but the Oracle's what you get today 🤠

This deck is based on animals at risk of extinction in the Iberian Peninsula (where I live) and others with relevant roles in our mythologies/religions... I included their names, in case they have any personal, special meaning for you – and there are some marine species :]

Spoiler alert: you only got birds 😂 but at least 3/5 (that I checked) are related to the sea!

Is there someone for me as well?

— Who is able to understand me unlike all the other people in my life and accept me for who I am?

ASCENSION & the pigeon Columba palumbus azorica (horizontal)

I take the terms the author of this deck uses with several grains of salt cause I don't buy into the common spiritual associations with, e.g., ascension (but that's a conversation for another time) so here I'm taking the card to mean distancing yourself, traveling... Flying, if you want to be more literal.

This species is endemic to basically one of the Azores islands only – meaning it can't be found anywhere else in the world. If you combine this information, I think it's fair to say that you can find someone (to have a relationship like you want) if you look somewhere you already expect to find them, such as a specific community (that could very well be online)!

Sidenote: it landed on my lap instead of the table, and I usually use that to signal if something/someone has tried to catch your attention, or is still trying – so pay attention.

I'd like to know about my future partner and the type of person they are.

— Their appearance, personality, or even how they're doing currently in life.

RECOGNITION & the falcon Falco naumanni (horizontal) AUTHENTICITY & the gull Ichthyaetus audouinii (upright) + VISION & the eagle Aquila adalberti (inverted) WISDOM & the eagle-owl Bubo bubo (upright)

You may recognize each other from somewhere, but not like you knew each other well before (there is a Reunion card to symbolize that kind of previously established contact/relation in a stronger way). This falcon is a summer migrant so that might point to when you first crossed paths and/or will cross again.

Their personality is authentic, but you'll have a hard time seeing that (at first). This could be related to your own interests and lifestyle, and the concept of individuality (refer to the gull's and the eagle's links for inspiration to think deeper about this).

Either they're being thoughtful regarding how they live, and making wise choices, they're a student/teacher – or both! The Bubo bubo (adorable name) being a species of eagle-owl can indicate some connection to the previous eagle card (individuality, perspective...).

This is getting a little long so I'm gotta let you take it from here 🐚🌊

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1865) Chapter III: A CAUCUS-RACE AND A LONG TALE

«They were indeed a queer looking party that assembled on the bank – the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.»

Movement by Hozier in Spotify Singles (2019)

Thank you for trusting me to read for you. I would love to know what you think: if this resonates with your circumstances, and what comes of it. Don't be afraid to give me honest feedback and suggestions, after all, it'll help me become a better reader :]

Do you want to expand on this or have another topic to explore? Leave me a (follow-up) question!

You can always include the numbered tag associated with your reading(s), and I'll add it to the future posts as well, so they are identified as belonging to the same querent, and easier to find – check below, next to #OMEN DEAL.

For Ko-fi tips (zero pressure)

I honor the spirit who helps with my practice – for winding and guiding my path, learning how to sit with me, and being a light to read by.

Elioth Gruner's Milking Time / Araluen Valley

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 3 months ago

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pspspspspsps here kitty kitty kitty (Joking,... now you laugh) ....

Italian, Fem!Reader, that had traveled briefly to the village, to sell some books, movies, and whatnot -- just to grant the vilagers some sense of like.. the outside world? If that makes sense?

Reader, having already timed their escape, decides to go to that peculiar house up on the hill, across the bridge, before their departure, -- maybe the residents, who, Reader thought, was an old couple, or a very wealthy woman, .. maybe even one of those trust-fund families.. yes! Reader BET that the inhabitant of a place so grand would spend a pretty penny on some foreign knowledge.. maybe, Reader could even upsell. Yes! That would be enough to pay off Readers risky carriage fees.. (nervous laughter)

Reader, ignoring all darkness, all red flags and blatant signs of danger, because, well, Reader is very oblivious, and very optimistic, -- and, well, they barely know English, so, .. how would Reader know what the villagers say about the owner of said.. Oh-so large mansion? Pfft. As if.

'Oh.. its getting dark. Jeez, the trees sure do make this place gloomy!' 'Uhhhh.. why do i have a blaring sense of discomfort, nausea, unease, and a will of fright that makes my stomach churn with instinct to yeet myself the opposite direction? Oh, man, i knew i shouldnt have eaten that un-refrigerated fruit!'

Angie, if i remember that dollies name correctly, answers .. takes one look at Reader, in all of their 'Italian-beauty-standard-fitting', 'italian-book-carrying', 'Donna-language-speaking' glory (Donna language speaking because.. Italian. That was also a joke. Plz laugh), and immidiately, with that screechy voice calls Donna over

Donna fucking FAAAWNNNSSS over everything Reader has, buys their entire stock, then, out of pure gushy-ness, of how nostalgic, and amazing, and flavourful (meaning, how much stuff that Donna was desperately searching for, Reader has in stock) Readers 'for-sales' are, that she, spur-in-the-moment, ushurs Reader inside, makes them tea and whatnot,

well.. so much for Readers plan of escape. Poor bus-maid Reader hired, they thought, as they sat awkwardly beside the lady in black, veiled thickly, who was talking in Italian, since, well, Reader has little to no knowledge of english. Atleast shes also Italian. Thats nice. Wait.. why does Reader feel their cheeks heating up? Gosh, darn it, Reader has read (aha) far too many romance books.

Make it so that, since Reader, who, now, cant escape the Village, since their little plans of flight had been SPOILEDD!! (reference. Chuckles) they stay with Donna, then, after awhile, after teaching Donna everything they know about Italy, and get really comftorable with her, and sees her without her veil on accident, and cooks traditionally, does fucking .. house chores, because, well, they're an unpaying guest in a strangers home, they both start catchin' feelsies and all that sweet stuff. I'll leave the deciding of when and how to you! How generous of me!

(No smut, please. Aroace look'enne for sum intimate, not-so-intimate love. Aha. Joke again. Just a little giggle, please 😨)

Hope ya have an amazing day!! Yes, i know im too descriptive, im just awesome like that. Much apreesh, Anon. 💗

(p.s, thank u blusy 🫂🫂🫂 virtual hugs from italy. ciao bbg.. or.. bbb.. i dont .. i dunno)

Yesss!!!! Well, that was quite long request, but it was funny to write!!! Thank you for sending it and for your funny words!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language(s) mistakes!!!!

Foreign Business

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Italian! Reader

Warnings: fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 8,585

Summary: Should you leave that gloomy village?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

“17:30, do you hear me?” the young woman driving the small bus said.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, picking up your stuff.

“I don't think it will… How do you say… take long,” you murmured with an innocent smile, taking out your suitcase as best you could, letting it fall into the snow.

“Hey, stranger,” the girl said, with a gloomy look. “You have to pay me now.”

“Cosa? No, I'll pay you when I get back,” you said with a frown, crossing your arms.

“I'm leaving,” the girl whispered, starting the vehicle again.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey! No, no, no…” you said comically running towards the small bus. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Look stranger, it's clear that you have no idea of what’s going on in this place, right?” the driver asked, with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head and smiled innocently.

“Hey, I was invited,” you protested confused, giving up and taking out your wallet.

“Who has invited you?” she wanted to know.

“I have a relative in this country who is also a businessman,” you explained, putting on your coat because of the cold. “He says he is known as… The Duke.”

The girl looked at you curiously, but finally shook her head.

“No idea…” she murmured. “Besides, that doesn’t matter to me. My job is to bring you here and take you back to Bucharest. If for… Well, for whatever reason you don’t come back, I’ll be left without my money, do you understand?”

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” you asked nervously, looking down the hill, where the old village stood in a frozen mist. “I'm just going to sell my stuff and…”

“You bore me,” the driver sighed, with a mocking laugh that made you burn with rage. “Just pay me now, spaghetti.”

“Mm, politeness is not your best virtue, is it?” you murmured, wishing to say other things, other not-so-elegant words.

After all, that stupid girl was your only transportation in that place in the middle of nowhere… You should control your desire to insult her with all your might.

“I'd rather be rude than stupid,” the young woman laughed, extending her hand for you to give her the money you were holding, squeezing it tightly.

“Ugh, here, your money,” you grumbled, getting a satisfied look from the driver, who turned off the engine, reclining her seat and picking up a magazine.

“A pleasure doing business with you, spaghetti...” she sighed with a sinister laugh.

You, without her seeing you, made fun of her, angrily picking up your suitcase and walking towards the path where you had met with the Duke.

“Stupida...” you hissed, shaking your head, observing the landscape around you.

The trip had been exhausting. Dodging the mountains, those snowy landscapes had taken you too much time, but, that seemingly remote place had a special charm that made it worth it.

You were always a saleswoman, descendant of a family of merchants that expanded throughout old Europe decades ago. Sell, buy, repeat… That was your way of life. Trading in the villages of your country, Italy, was something simple for you, perhaps too simple.

The lack of interest of people in the modern world for something as simple as books, films, or any element of culture, had caused your business to falter, and you had no more than four clients in your area.

You always believed in tradition, in following the family legacy, even when circumstances were not in your favour. You could say that you were also a bit stubborn. Your family branched out to all possible places, places like France, Germany, Spain…

They all seemed to be haunted by the same curse, the same lack of interest in a good book, in knowledge itself.

But there was one place, a place where the tentacles of your family had arrived to stay for a long time, a place where the past lived, where present and future seemed not to exist at all.

A distant relative, the Duke, was for you the luckiest member of the family. Not even your parents knew how long that man had been in that village, in Romania. There were even rumors that he never came, that he never left, he had always existed.

Nonsense and legends in your opinion.

What you did know was that in that place, there were some business opportunities.

You had heard many things about the Duke, about the place where he worked. Apart from old superstitions and legends of witches and vampires, things you didn't believe in, you had heard that the people of the place lived completely oblivious to the outside world.

A unique opportunity. How much would a person pay to know what the world around them was like?

You didn't really care much about the reasons, those strange rumors. You didn't even wonder why that village seemed to be frozen in time. The only thing you thought about when you got on that plane was business.

“Qui...” you sighed when you reached that meeting point the Duke marked.

Without having anything else to do but wait, you sorted your merchandise while you studied the snowy forest that surrounded you, trying to decipher the old wooden signs that indicated illegible directions.

“Re-Reser-Reservoir...” you stammered, removing the snow from one of those signs, looking around. “Un bacino idrico?” you asked, scratching your head. “Mm, interessante...”

Yes, maybe if you finished soon you could do some sightseeing and, above all, you could see the enormous castle that seemed to guard the village.

The minutes passed, you couldn't tell if quickly or slowly. Nothing, there was no sign of the Duke. You might not have known what he looked like, but… In reality, you hadn't seen anyone pass by that path.

The cold began to mix with impatience, making you shiver.

“Ah!” you shrieked when, out of nowhere, a flock of black crows appeared, passing over you, close, too close.

Those black birds seemed like an evil omen, but you were too eager to know that place to realize it. Simply, with a proud cough, you stood up from your crouched position, shaking the snow off your dress.

“Uccelli…” you growled furiously, watching how that flock of crows moved away with sinister sounds.

Checking that your merchandise was still intact, you closed your suitcase, crossing your arms, slowly losing patience.

As you sighed for the umpteenth time, you realized that maybe you were in the wrong place. Asking wouldn't do any good, and besides, there was no one you could ask.

“Mm?” you muttered when you noticed something different among your stuff, a sealed envelope that you could swear wasn't there before.

Looking around confused, thinking no way those crows left that envelope, you slowly picked it up, opening it with a frown. As you began to read, you looked nervously at that forest again. It was a letter for you, in the middle of nowhere.

Dear (Y/N)

I'm afraid something unexpected has come up. It prevents me from attending to you, even though I was certainly looking forward for us to meet. I suppose that, since you are my family, to trade in the village on your own won't be a problem for you.

I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

PS: A word of advice, listen to what the villagers tell you, I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse. Please take care of yourself.

Duke

There was no doubt about it, that letter had arrived there by magic. The idea of messenger crows seemed less and less crazy. But the reality was overwhelming: you were alone in that unknown place.

You had two options: You could take your suitcase, walk back in your tracks and go to the bus, writing yet another failure in your diary, a very expensive one. On the other hand, you could ignore those chills, that feeling of being where you shouldn't be and do what you had come to do.

I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse…

That warning seemed like an irony, a little joke that was surely common to all outsiders like you. Well, it's not like it was a place where there could be wolves but… That wasn't the disturbing thing. What could be worse than being savagely devoured by those beasts?

Curiosity or cowardice, that was your dilemma.

With a thoughtful sigh, you looked at those two possible paths, imagining that, under each of them, there was a line of text that told you which page to go to, like those adventure books that offered several possibilities, some of them fatal ones.

You always fantasized too much thanks to those books. Maybe if you had been as rational as the protagonists of those great adventures, you would have considered your possibilities better.

Shrugging, not wanting to have wasted your money on a fruitless trip, you didn’t listen to the Duke's letter. After all, your job was to talk to people, you didn't need his help, or so you thought.

The castle was increasingly imposing as you approached. It was fascinating, a place from a novel, full of possibilities. Surely when you returned home and read one of those books, you would imagine that gloomy and mysterious landscape.

The glances traveled to your eyes passively. These villagers were definitely strange, they seemed to either fear you, or wish you away, you weren't sure.

Unfortunately, your eagerness to offer knowledge to these poor souls was unsuccessful.

Muttering things you didn't quite understand, in an English that was practically incomprehensible to you, which, on the other hand, was bad luck, since you didn't fully master the language either, each one of the doors of those old cabins closed in your face.

“Hey, I haven't even said my name!” you protested after the tenth disinterested grunt from one of the inhabitants of that place. “Cazzo…”

The door opened again and a young woman with an apologetic look appeared.

“Forgive my father. He doesn't trust outsiders,” the young woman said. Well, at least she spoke to you. “My name is Elena.”

“Sono (Y/N),” you said politely, shaking your hand with the young woman's, who frowned upon hearing you speak that way.

“It's clear that you're not a villager,” the girl joked, closing the door.

“No, I'm Italian,” you said, with a business smile that you had already rehearsed.

The young Elena nodded curiously, glancing at your suitcase.

“Are you a merchant?” she asked, pointing at your merchandise.

You nodded slowly.

“Yes, I've come on behalf of a relative... His name is, or he calls himself... Duke,” you explained with a trembling voice. Your nerves couldn't fail you. At least you had managed to talk to someone.

“The Duke?” the girl asked, with a surprised look. “Wow, I didn't know he had a family.”

“Yes, but he seems to be the only one who is successful,” you murmured jokingly, pronouncing the words in the best way possible. “Well... Elena, right? Are you interested in something?”

“No, I'm sorry. I'm afraid we have everything we need,” she said, shaking her head with a kind smile. “My father says that books are a waste of time.”

“Sciocchezze,” you sighed with a mischievous smile, showing her a vinyl record. “What about music? It's the sound of the soul.”

“No, no, I... I'm afraid we don't need anything like that,” Elena shook her head again.

“Oh, great,” you said, letting your smile fade at the thought that you couldn't even get enough money to recoup the investment of the trip.

“Don't be offended, just…” the young woman said, gesturing with her hands to emphasize her apology. “… We just work to live, that's, that's all we do, anything else would be entertainment.”

“Oh,” you said curiously, arching your eyebrows.

“But, um…” the girl said, looking around. “Maybe, maybe I know someone who might be interested.”

“Do you?” you asked.

Elena nodded, briefly pointing to a large house that stood out from the orchards.

“Luiza has always been a very cultured woman, and she is very kind. Maybe she would want to listen to you,” the young woman explained, in a kind tone. You blinked, looking at the indicated place, and smiled. “She lives up there, in the orchards.”

“Elena!” A loud voice was heard inside the cabin and the girl shuddered.

“I'm coming, father!” Elena shrieked, with another apologetic look. “Sorry, (Y/N), but…”

“Oh, of course, there is no… Pro-problem,” you said nervous about the impatience of that unpleasant man. “Luiza… Okay. Ciao!”

At least that girl helped you not to lose hope.

Elena wasn't lying, that Luiza seemed a bit different from the rest of the villagers, kinder, smarter, with an understandable English... It seems that you interested her enough to invite you into her house.

“Wait there, I'll make tea,” she said kindly, indicating that you sit at a table where a man seemed to be sharpening a knife with a distrustful look. After a few tense seconds, the man left his task, looking at you with distrust.

“So you're a merchant...” he whispered, tilting his head and crossing his arms.

“Yes,” you answered, with that well-rehearsed smile.

“And an outsider...” he whispered, with a sinister smile. “Luiza says you are related to the Duke...”

“That's right,” you said, without losing your merchant composure.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Wow, I didn't know the fat man had a family,” the man said, with the same surprise in his voice as the young woman before. “Where are you from?”

“Italy,” you said proudly, ignoring those dark eyes, which hardened when they heard you answer.

“Italy, you say?” he asked, leaning a little towards you, narrowing his eyes. “You say you're related to the Duke?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, confused by that change in attitude.

“Mm, are you sure you're related to the merchant?” he asked suspiciously, making you nervous. “Hey, maybe by any chance you know...”

“Ahem,” Luiza interrupted, serving you the cup of tea. “Marcus.”

“What? I'm just asking, the girl says she's Italian,” the man, her husband, apparently, protested. “You and I know who…”

“Marcus,” Luiza said, with a firmer tone. The man shook his head, sighing in defeat. “Don't scare the poor girl.”

“Bah, if she's not scared yet, she must be brave, or stupid,” Marcus commented, laughing amused. You made an effort to smile at that little joke, smelling the delicious aroma of tea.

“Okay, (Y/N), unlike my husband, I’m interested in those foreign items… Do you have any opera records?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” you said, as if coming out of a confused thought, opening your suitcase and putting on a display of everything you had.

Well, you did manage to sell a few things. You would always be grateful to that woman, the only kind woman in that place, apart from the young girl, of course. But even with that partial success, you didn't have enough to feel like you had succeeded.

If that woman had bought you something, nobody was telling you that there couldn't be more Luizas in that place. You just had to find them.

You were ready to leave that house, when a small book caught your attention. It looked like a book full of old photographs of the village. You approached it with curiosity while Luiza kindly opened the door for you.

“Um, sorry, but... Can I take a look?” you asked, pointing at the book. The woman looked at her husband and he shrugged, making a vague gesture of farewell.

“Of course...” the woman sighed, faking a smile. You returned it gratefully, starting to turn the pages of that album. “This village is an old one.”

“I see,” you commented nodding, turning pages and pages full of snowy landscapes. “My family had told me about this place, but... Well, not much. What is this?” you asked, pointing to a kind of square guarded by four large statues.

“Those are the… The four founders of the village,” Luiza explained. “The Dimitrescu family, owner of the castle; the Moreau family, owner of the lake lands; the Heisenberg family who owned a metal factory on the outskirts of the village, and the… The Beneviento family, the doll makers.”

“Oh,” you sighed interested, not even hearing the names very well, you were more attentive to those old photographs. “Does anyone live in the castle? I'd like to visit it.”

“Um, no, I…” the woman stammered, making you frown. “I don't think you should go near it, (Y/N).”

“Isn't it open to the public? What a pity,” you said with a disappointed voice.

Luiza made a strange gesture, shaking her head.

“Young lady, take some advice from me,” the woman said, speaking in a very low tone, approaching you with a hand on your shoulder. “You must leave this place.”

“Why?” you asked, confused, looking away at another of the photographs, one with a beautiful mansion, guarded by a waterfall.

It quickly caught your attention, even making you ignore the kind woman's warning words.

“Because…” Luiza sighed, with a broken tone, as if she were afraid of something. “It's not the best place for an outsider.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” you said, amused, gesturing with your hand. “I have people skills. That's not a problem. Tell me, is this house in the village?”

“Oh, that house…” Luiza murmured, looking at the same photograph.

“It's impressive,” you said curious. “Does anyone live there?” you insisted, running your hand over the drawing of what looked like a symbol, one with a moon and a sun.

“It's, it's far from here,” the woman commented, closing the album and subtly pushing you towards the exit. “Listen to me, don't go near that place. It's very dangerous.”

You shook your head with wide eyes, pulling your suitcase.

“Everything here seems very dangerous,” you commented with a low voice and a frown. The woman put on a sad look, caressing your cheek in a strange way.

“Go away, (Y/N), go away before the shadows invade you,” Luiza whispered, turning her back on you and closing the door softly, leaving you petrified on the floor.

“Cosa diavolo non va?” you asked yourself with a strange grimace, slowly moving away from the house.

Ignoring these strange warnings, you walked aimlessly through the village, looking for someone who wasn't afraid of your presence, or who wouldn't bow their head, ignoring your greeting.

Tired from your erratic walk, you decided to lean against a stone sculpture, in the middle of another snowy square. Failure loomed in your thoughts, in your mind, wondering if perhaps with the Duke present, things would have been different.

You looked at your watch and sighed, it was still early to leave, and even more so when you had barely sold four things. You had to make an effort, either that, or try another nearby village.

The crows flew above you like a bad omen that you couldn't interpret. The sky was dark, gloomy.

Don't let the shadows invade you...

Luiza's words echoed in your ears, words you didn't know how to interpret, or rather, that you didn't want to interpret. You were in a different country, in a different culture, lost in that snowy, sinister village. Even though you believed that nothing could go wrong, a bad feeling began to haunt you.

Yes, maybe it was time to leave.

You stood up with a defeated gasp, shaking your head, depressed by your ridiculous failure. But, you had barely taken two steps when something caught your attention.

In front of you was a wooden door, a kind of fence that separated a private property. Above the frame, there was a symbol, one that you remembered having seen before: that moon and that sun.

Your mind was left thinking. Yes, surely that would be the way to the waterfall house. It had to be. Luiza warned you to not get too close but… Curiosity was calling you.

Okay, it wasn't a huge castle but… Still, that mansion couldn't belong to just any villager. The curious relationship of wealth, bigger houses and kindness that you found in the village made you think that maybe someone rich lived there, a person or family with enough money to think about leisure or wisdom.

“Mm,” you murmured curiously, approaching that place, looking at that symbol closely. The door was open. You almost thought you heard whispers that encouraged you to enter that dark path.

You swallowed when a cold breeze came out of that darkness. Your body trembled for no reason, but your mind was blinded by greed. You couldn't miss that opportunity to know what or who was on the other side, who lived in that place.

The sunlight illuminated the path you had to follow with increasingly less intense rays. Slowly, you followed that luminous advice, entering through the wooden door, walking towards the unknown.

It didn't seem like a very strange place, or so you thought. The trees seemed sad, that place seemed devoured by time. Strange objects hung from the almost rotten branches, which you passed by without flinching.

You simply kept your mind busy, like a danger blocking mechanism that seemed to alert your subconscious. Instead of worrying, when you saw that those things hanging from the trees were dolls, you simply whistled, making your way through the branches with a slow walk.

You passed an old wooden bridge, one that said: go away in all possible languages. You were never good at interpreting those words, those screams from your mind that demanded your attention.

The sunlight diminished as you walked, it was getting dark. The branches of the trees drew disturbing shadows that surrounded a pair of ruined cabins.

“Brr,” you shivered when you saw those wooden claws stalking you.

The smile never left your face, but your body began to notice the symptoms of that inner fear; a dizziness, a feeling of heaviness in your stomach... All of these were physical signs that seemed to want to stop you in your tracks.

You even thought that the tea or the fruit you ate at Luiza's had upset your stomach. No, you didn't see the danger in any way, or rather, you didn't want to see it.

Finally you reached a clearing, where a mound showed a sinister grave you didn't want to approach. Your stupidity and your desire for wealth were so strong that you thought it was perhaps a simple decoration.

“Un ascensore...” you murmured when you reached a red door, surely the entrance to that curious mansion.

Biting your lip, you rubbed your hands entering those metal bars. Of course, whoever lived in that place had to have a lot of money, and, above all, a great desire to spend it. You fantasized about what you were going to find: a rich family? A widow, perhaps? A wealthy man? Maybe one of the founders of the village’s descendants? It didn't matter who it was, but you could smell money from miles away.

When you got out of the elevator, the sight in front of you forced you to stop. There was that house, that huge house with a beautiful waterfall next to it.

“If this doesn't work, I'm leaving the business,” you said, rehearsing in your head the phrases to say to the inhabitant of that place, greetings, smiles, all your charms.

The sound of the falling water relaxed you, although you didn't know why you were even nervous. The word danger whispered in your mind like a premonition or intuition, but you let the waterfall completely eclipse it. The beauty of that place couldn't entail any danger, you were convinced.

You cleared your throat as you approached the door, slowly climbing the steps. At the moment, there was nothing that matched Luiza's warnings, nothing, until, before you could knock on the door, it opened with an ominous creak.

“Um, hello?” you asked, seeing how, in front of you, there was nothing but a beautiful wooden room, with a rocking chair that moved by itself. “Ciao...” you repeated in a lower voice.

There didn't seem to be anyone in that place and you sighed, relaxing your shoulders and looking around.

“Oh!” you squealed in fear when you looked down, where, what looked like a ventriloquist's doll was standing looking at you. “Oh... Cazzo... What...” you said upset. “Good... Good trick...”

Smiling, thinking that, like the gravestones in the clearing, this was just a joke, you crouched down curiously, looking at that puppet.

“Hello?” you repeated, standing up again and ignoring the doll, which, perhaps because of the accumulated fatigue, you thought was following you with its gaze.

“Down here, stupid!” a high-pitched screech scared you again, making you fall backwards, tripping and crashing your body against the hard stone of the porch.

But neither the pain of the fall nor the fright were the worst. Yes, you were not dreaming, if it was a joke, it was the best one you had ever seen.

That doll, that damn doll moved, moved its articulated mouth, laughing out loud.

“Who are you?” the puppet asked, approaching your collapsed body. You backed away scared, crawling until you reached those small steps.

“Ahhh! Una bambola parlante!” you shrieked in fear, standing up as quickly as possible with your hands in front of your body.

“Who are you calling a talking doll, you silly, silly?” the puppet asked.

No, there was no doubt. There were no strings, no ventriloquist, it was alive.

“Ah, io, io… What?” you stammered nervously, shaking your head, blinking hard to make what was undoubtedly a hallucination go away. It didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, can you repeat that?” the doll said, approaching with a comical step. “What did you just say?”

“Cosa?” you asked, grabbing your suitcase, ready to run away. “Sorry, I… No, no… What?”

“You called me a talking doll,” it said, crossing its arms.

You nodded confused.

“I'm, I'm, I'm sorry... No, no...” you stammered, still shocked and scared by the impossibility of that old toy. It couldn't move, it just couldn't.

“Who are you?” it asked again. “Why do you know Italian?”

“I-I-I'm Italian,” you stammered, shaking your head.

The doll tilted its head curiously, looking you up and down.

“You're a long way from home, you silly Italian,” the doll commented in a mocking tone.

You blinked again, scratching the back of your neck, searching all over the doll for the mechanism that was supposed to make it behave like that. You didn't find it.

“I-I'm a merchant,” you said with a broken voice. The doll nodded, walking towards you quickly, climbing up your dress. It was too close, you couldn't move.

“Merchant?” it asked again, looking at you as if it was reading your soul. “What do you sell?”

“I sell… I sell… Books and… Vinyl and… Movies…” you explained when the doll finally got off your body, without taking those cold eyes off you.

“Books and movies?” the puppet asked.

You, nervous, still scared, nodded erratically.

“Do you have Italian stuff?”

“S-Sure I have,” you whispered in a small voice.

“Mm,” the doll murmured turning around, but looking at you several times before disappearing into the darkness of the mansion. “Donna, Donna! You have to see this, come, come!”

“Donna?” you asked yourself, gathering enough courage to walk back to the door, where, after a few seconds, the sound of heels approached.

In front of you was a woman, a woman dressed completely in black, with a veil covering her face. She had a stoic pose, she emanated danger, and even more so when you saw that she was holding the doll in her arms.

Even if she was the most experienced ventriloquist in the world, she could never have done that, it was simply impossible.

“She's pretty, huh, Donna?” the doll said, nudging the lady, who sighed tiredly. “An Italian beauty knocking on your door, not even in your dreams could you imagine something like that.”

“Angie…” A hoarse, dark voice came out of that black veil while the woman lowered the doll to the floor. It laughed amusedly, staring at you again.

“Um, well…” you murmured confused, with your gaze fixed on that black veil, on those invisible eyes that you knew were watching you. “H-Hello…”

There was no answer. The lady didn't even seem to be bothered by your words.

“Um… I'm… I'm (Y/N),” you said, putting fear aside and politely extending your hand towards her, who looked at it briefly, without returning your greeting. “No? Okay… Well…”

“I'm Angie!” the doll shrieked, grabbing your hand instead of its owner and shaking it roughly. “Nice to scare you!”

“H-Hello… Suppongo…” you whispered, still confused but, mysteriously, more relaxed.

“Forgive her, she doesn’t like to talk,” the doll explained, pointing at its owner in a mocking way. “Shall I tell you a secret? She's Italian too.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, looking at the lady, who nodded briefly. “Che strana coincidenza…”

“Perché strana?” that hoarse voice asked again, the voice of that mysterious lady.

“Oh, well…” you said embarrassed, of course, that doll hadn't lied to you. “No, it's nothing…”

“Che vuoi?” the lady in black asked again, her tone lighter, but reflected impatience.

“I'm, I'm a merchant,” you said again, trying to smile, making a superhuman effort to make that strange situation stop being so strange.

After all, she was the inhabitant of that place, and she was also Italian. The business seemed to call you…

“She sells a lot of things, Donna!” the doll shrieked, pointing at you. “Things you like!”

“Mm,” the woman in black murmured, looking over your shoulder at the merchandise. “Me li può mostrare?”

“Oh, sure, sure…” you said nervously, heading towards your suitcase and opening it on the floor, closely followed by that strange doll, which didn't seem to want to leave you alone.

“Look, Donna, your favorite record!” the doll squealed, rummaging through the merchandise without any kind of hesitation, under your watchful gaze, and hers.

The lady took that vinyl, observing it carefully. You almost thought you heard a slight laugh coming out of that veil.

“È, it's a special edition,” you murmured when you saw how interested she seemed to be. “You, you know… Come prima… Più di prima…” you sang in a timid and horrible way.

The veiled lady looked up with a sigh.

“Are you also a singer?” she asked with a weak, whispering voice.

You laughed nervously shaking your head, with your cheeks slightly blushed.

“No… The truth is, I’m not… Although, although they've always told me that I have a beautiful voice,” you said timidly, looking sideways as Angie rummaged through the books.

“Mm,” the lady murmured with disinterest, looking at the vinyl again.

“Donna, Donna! Nonna's favorite book!” the doll squealed, handing her one of your books in perfect condition. “Look, look, this one isn't broken!”

“I have that one on sale… If, if you're interested… Donna, right?” you said with your voice cracked by nerves, playing with your sweaty hands.

“Donna? Lady Beneviento for you, silly!” the doll snapped at you, in a haughty tone.

“Beneviento?” you asked involuntarily, knowing that you had heard that name somewhere.

Of course you heard it. Like a whisper of help, your mind recalled Luiza's words, those that explained to you the families who had founded the village. Of course, that Donna Beneviento was an important person in that place. Despite everything strange, your greed took precedence, she seemed truly interested in what you were selling.

The mysterious woman nodded slowly, leafing through that book with curiosity.

“I’m sorry, Lady Beneviento,” you said elegantly, lowering your head. You knew she was not an ordinary villager and therefore, you could not treat her as such.

“Vieni,” she whispered, gesturing for you to enter the house.

You nodded nervously, closing your suitcase and pulling it into the mansion, with an extra weight. That living doll had climbed on top of it, swinging its legs in a playful way.

“Hey, do you mind?” you said nervously. The doll, obviously, shook her head.

You groaned, still in disbelief, and when you looked again you saw something strange.

There was a portrait, a portrait hanging on the wall of the stairs. On it, there was a woman, a really beautiful, gorgeous woman with a pale face, serious eyes and black hair. Next to her, there was that puppet, the Angie doll. Would she be the lady?

Lady Beneviento cleared her throat, getting your attention, letting you know through her non-verbal language, that she didn't want you to look at that portrait. You decided to be good and obey.

“Sit down, I'll make some tea and we'll talk business,” the woman whispered, pointing to a cozy corner of that house.

“Sure... Yes, um... Thank you,” you said with a kind smile.

The woman in black looked at you for an almost awkward moment and then turned around, walking slowly towards a hallway. You followed her with your eyes until she disappeared.

It was a strange situation indeed. Perhaps you should have listened better to your survival instincts.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lady returned, serving you a cup of tea with an elegant gesture and sitting in front of you.

“Grazie…” you whispered with a grateful smile, blowing on the steaming liquid. “Truth be told, I didn't expect to find someone who spoke my language… I've never been good with English.”

“You seem to speak it quite well,” she commented, with a regal pose, barely moving, not letting anyone see for a moment what that black veil was hiding.

“I have no choice, I guess,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Do you trade all over Europe?” she asked curiously as you opened your suitcase again, your hands shaking.

You weren’t there to chat. You had gone to do business. You couldn’t forget that.

“No, I… Well, I used to trade only in Italy,” you explained with a sad smile.

“Where in Italy are you from?” she asked again as Angie, with the suitcase open again, rubbed her wooden hands, rummaging through your stuff with an evil laugh.

You looked back at the lady, a bit confused.

“Da che parte d’Italia vieni?” the lady repeated with a slightly darker voice. “Nord, sud…?”

“Oh, yes, Well… I was born in the city of… This may seem like a joke to you but… I’m from the city of Benevento,” you said with a shy smile.

You didn’t want her to think you were laughing at her. It was just a stupid coincidence.

“Mm, why would I think it's a joke?” she asked, with a tired sigh.

“Well, because of your… Your last name… It's quite similar, isn't it?” you said with a fake smile. “Are you from around there?”

“No,” the lady answered dryly, without bothering to shake her head. “I was born here.”

“Oh, okay…” you murmured, glancing at the doll, who was shuffling through your books. “Hey, um… be careful…” you said to the doll, who made a mocking gesture, imitating your voice in an unpleasant way. “Hey, la, la bambola…”

“Angie”

“Yes, Angie…” you repeated with a frown. “Why is she alive?”

“That's none of your business,” she said, with a cold voice, one that ran through your nerves, putting them on alert again.

“O-Okay, sorry,” you murmured, looking down.

“Do you have Italian movies?” she asked after a tense moment, one that you took advantage of to hide your embarrassment in the teacup. “Film.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course…” you said nervously, reaching for the suitcase, rummaging through your messy things due to the Angie doll, who protested with a grunt at your hand. “I have a lot of these.”

“Mm?” the lady murmured, looking at the cover confused, opening it and taking out the disc. “What is this?”

“A, a movie,” you said, clearing your throat. “A DVD.”

“DVD…” she whispered, looking at her reflection in that shiny disc, visibly confused. You couldn't believe she didn't know it. That village was definitely stopped in time. “I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand you.”

“Um, well…” you said, scratching the back of your neck, wondering how you were going to explain that to this mysterious woman. She didn't seem to be joking, at all.

“Hey, it's like a mirror!” Angie squealed, climbing onto her owner's lap and comically looking at herself in the disc, turning it curiously. “I want one, Donna, I want one!”

“Ugh, va bene…” the lady whispered, putting the DVD back in its place and handing it to the doll, who jumped victoriously. “It's still not what I'm looking for.”

“What… What are you looking for?” you asked, flashing your fake saleswoman smile again.

“Don't you have any 28mm rolls?” the woman wanted to know.

You nodded confused.

“Yes… But, but they are, they are special, I mean, I mean… They are… They are molto costose, you know… They are, they are almost museum relics,” you said, taking a metal box out of the suitcase and opening it, displaying its contents.

“Fine, I want them,” she murmured, nodding and snatching the box from your hands. “Money is not a problem.”

Well, that phrase fostered a more sincere smile on your face.

“Va bene… It is…” you said nervously, taking out a notebook in which you wrote down your sales.

“I'm not finished,” she interrupted you, leaving the box on the floor. “I also want those books.”

“Those? Which ones?” you asked confused by her vague description.

“All of them,” the lady said abruptly, leaving you glued to the seat. “I've been asking the Duke for that classic novel collection for a long time.”

“The Duke? Oh, well, I'm related to him,” you said smiling, taking the books out of the suitcase and leaving them on the table.

“You?!” Angie asked in a shrill voice, getting too close to you again. “Come on! You don't look like that fat greasy guy!”

“Fat greasy guy?” you asked amused. “Well, I don't really know him, but it seems that in this village you do it quite well.”

“Oh, yes, he's a scammer!” Angie shrieked laughing amused. “Isn't he, Donna?”

“Mm…” the lady nodded, distracted by the books.

That scared you.

“Oh, I… I'm not like him. I'm always fair with prices and… Cazzo, don't think I'm trying to rip you off or anything like that… Cazzo.”

“Do you mind stopping talking like that? I don't like rude girls,” Donna snapped at you, with a dangerous, annoyed tone.

“I'm, I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, I'm not used to being understood,” you explained with a different blush, one that was accentuated when a shy laugh came out of her veil.

“It was just a joke,” she said amused, more relaxed, surely fascinated by that collection of books she was looking for so much. “Do you want some more tea?”

“Oh, yes, per favore,” you said, extending your cup towards the teapot, with a calm smile.

“I still don't know what a girl like you is doing in a place like this...” she whispered after a moment of calm silence, one that served to, little by little, get you used to that sinister atmosphere, and that doll.

“It's a long story...” you sighed, leaning back on the old sofa.

“I have time,” she said, with the same tone as you. “I'm sure you'll appreciate having a chat in your native language, right?”

“S-Sure…”

As if you had suddenly forgotten what you were doing there, or how much time you had left to leave, you began to chat calmly with that strange woman.

At first she seemed gloomy, reluctant to hold any kind of conversation but… As you explained everything that led you to the village, your concerns, your goals… Well, her attitude relaxed quite a bit.

The short, dry sentences turned into a soft voice, into shy laughs from time to time. It seemed that she had gained some confidence with you, or so that living doll hinted. After your hectic trip through Romania, a chat in your language effectively lifted your spirits, it was almost like feeling at home.

On the other hand, that erratic behavior of the lady in black never ceased to surprise you. Like the rest of the villagers, she seemed not to understand or comprehend very well the outside world, the time in which you lived.

To your surprise, she had never even set foot on Italy. Yes, her family came from there, but, incredibly, Donna had never been there. But that was not the only thing that was curious, so were the words that claimed she had never left the village.

It might seem that this woman, with money, with power, from an important family, had little or no interest in traveling, in leaving this sinister time capsule.

But that was not the case. Her words were full of sadness, her sighs, that nostalgia with which she listened attentively to your words... It seemed as if deep down she wanted to leave, as if, for some reason, her stay in the village was some kind of condemnation for her.

The mansion grew darker as time went by as you talked, sharing impressions, tastes, hobbies… It was almost as if you had just met a friend, a friend with an interesting voice, with a beautiful body, with a subtle but intoxicating lavender perfume…

Your cheeks betrayed those erratic thoughts about the lady in black and you shook your head several times.

You, a cultured girl, a fan of romance novels, always tended to idealize that kind of situations. You didn't want to believe in love at first sight, but you certainly didn't know what it felt like, if it was even possible.

No, no, no, no… You couldn't think about that, despite how attractive Lady Beneviento was to you. Everything had an end, and sooner than you would have liked, yours came.

Sighing, finishing your last cup of tea, you looked at the clock and almost choked.

“Oh, cazzo!” you said hurriedly, getting up from the sofa. “5 o'clock, if I don't hurry…”

“What's wrong?” the lady in black asked, getting up too, playing nervously with her hands.

“I'd love to stay and chat but… If I don't make it to that stupida’s bus, she will leave without me and…” you explained, gathering that was left in your suitcase. Donna had bought almost everything without thinking about it.

“Are you going to leave?” she asked in a whisper, with a voice that, at least to you, seemed sad.

You looked at her and nodded with a polite smile, extending your hand towards her, a hand that, this time, she shook briefly.

Damn, her hands were very soft…

“It's been nice meeting you, Donna,” you said kindly, turning around to walk towards the hall.

“Are you going to let her just leave? Silly Donna…” you heard the doll whisper in an indiscreet manner.

“W-Wait, wait a moment,” the nervous lady said, running to meet you, making her veil move, inducing your mischievous eyes to look at what was underneath. “D-Do you really have to go?”

“Yes,” you said with a confused look, totally innocent.

“W-Wait, I… I…” she murmured, approaching slowly. “It's dangerous to go out at night.”

“Hey, can someone explain to me what it is that scares you so much about this place? And why are there living dolls?” you asked with an impatient tone, remembering each of the villagers' warnings.

“I'll explain everything to you, but, but only if you stay with me a little longer, just a little longer,” the lady said, in a tone that sounded curiously desperate. “Per favore…”

“Please, please!” the doll repeated in a shrill tone.

“Um…” you stammered, unable to find an answer, a desire to stay that you knew existed. But that village had already given you so much trouble, you wanted to leave, but at the same time, you didn't.

Damn senseless crush… How can you even know if you really liked that woman?

“Okay,” you said, letting your words speak for themselves, sighing as you looked at your wristwatch, knowing that, even if you ran, you wouldn't make it to the bus on time. “Hai un telefono?”

The lady nodded, pointing to a small table.

You walked slowly past her, checking how, in a disturbing way, the doll and owner followed you with their gaze.

“Irina?” you asked when someone finally answered, after a few tense moments.

“Oh spaghetti, it's you!” the driver of the bus screamed. She seemed agitated, as if she was running away from something, or so you sensed, there was too much interference. “You have to… Help me! Wolves… Monsters…! Call the… Lice!”

“Cosa? I don't understand you, are you okay?” you asked with a frown, that stupid girl seemed to be in danger.

“No…! No…! Mother Miranda!”

After those screams, the call was interrupted, leaving you disoriented. Seeing you like that, Donna approached, taking the phone from your hand and hanging it slowly, as if somehow those screams hadn't surprised her.

“It seems that there are some connection problems,” Angie mocked, laughing, but stopping when the lady suddenly looked at her, as if she had said something she shouldn't. “Oops…”

“I think she wanted me to call the police… Who is Mother Miranda?” you asked confused, with your heart racing.

“She’s the leader of this village,” Donna murmured, with a somber voice. “But don't worry, she won't hurt you, I won't allow it.”

“Hurt? Um, hey, Donna, I think, I think Irina was in trouble,” you said nervously, focused on finding out what had happened.

“You'll be in trouble if you go out at night, silly! You have to stay here!” Angie yelled at you, pointing comically at the floor.

“Oh, no, no, I don't want to disturb you,” you said with a trembling voice.

Your intuition wasn't wrong at all, but... In that house, you didn't seem to be in danger.

“You're not disturbing me, I like your company,” Donna said, with her hands in front of her body, with an elegant posture, unfazed by what seemed to be the death of the bus girl. “Do you want...? Do you want to cook something for dinner?”

“Oh, um, yes, dinner... Um...” you said confused, nodding without really knowing why. “Va...Va bene...”

As if you had forgotten what had happened, as if that call hadn't taken place, you went down to that dark basement with the lady in black and started cooking. It was a fun, entertaining time.

You both shared your own recipes, your special ways of doing things. Your mind had forgotten about going home, it had forgotten where you wanted to go, why you wanted to leave. The only thing you knew was that you wanted to stay with that dark Italian Lady. You wanted to talk to her, laugh with her.

Yes, you started to believe in love at first sight, you had no doubt that it existed, you were experiencing it.

Day and night began to dance before your eyes, the sun and the moon. How long had you been there? You didn't know. Had it been days, weeks, months? You weren't sure.

Cooking, reading, watching those movies… Any excuse was good enough to forget about your problems, to forget you had a place to go back to.

Maybe darkness had invaded you but… You had become addicted to her, to Donna Beneviento, to that strange woman and her doll, to her voice, her words, her laughter… To the lavender of her perfume…

“Sale,” Donna said, extending her hand so you could give her the jar she needed while, like so many days, like so many times, you cooked with her.

A curious routine, cooking, cleaning, sewing… Something that your own conscience used as payment for being a guest who didn't pay for her stay but… Were you really a guest? What were you?

“I've never seen anyone making pasta,” you said curiously, leaning your elbow on the counter. Donna laughed amused, shaking her head. “Well, my grandmother usually…”

“You say I'm like your grandmother?” she joked, kneading calmly.

“No, not at all,” you said, amused, looking hypnotically at that curious dough. “I buy it ready-made, it's easier and faster that way.”

“Chi va piano…”

“Va lontano…” you finished, smiling again, with that damn blush on your cheeks. “It's true, you're right, Donna.”

She glanced at you briefly, giving you another of her beautiful laughs. You were so dazed that nothing mattered anymore, only waking up in that guest room again, only going downstairs to share moments with her, only her, only Donna mattered to you.

“Wait, let me help you,” you said, picking up one of the flour sacks and putting it on the counter with a loud thud, raising a thick cloud of white dust. “Cazzo! Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

The lady coughed, brushing the flour away with her hand, clearing her vision. It could be a comedian or a dangerous one, you didn't quite know. Her little apron was unable to stop all the flour, which landed on Lady Beneviento, including her veil.

“Tutto bene?” you asked timidly, brushing the dust out of your hair.

“Sì,” the woman in black murmured, accidentally removing her veil, shaking it in front of your wide-open eyes.

When she realized the mistake she had made, the mistake of showing you her face, she gasped nervously, shaking her head.

You stood petrified, admiring every inch of her beauty, a hidden one, one that you only sensed and you had just confirmed. No, a stupid scar couldn't be that important, it wasn't capable of hiding anything, of overcoming her beauty.

“Non… Non…” she whispered, turning around and covering her face with her hands. “Non guardami!”

“Donna, wait, wait…” you said nervously, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t, don't cover yourself, You are… Sei bellisima…”

“No, no, no…” she repeated, nervously, pushing away your comforting hand. “Sei una bugiarda!”

“I'm not lying, Donna, really, I…” you said, trying to reason with those incipient sobs, with the trembling of her body.

“Now you'll want to leave… You'll make me hurt you!” she shrieked, completely out of control. You shook your head, ignoring that dangerous last sentence.

“Shh,” you whispered softly, turning her around, taking advantage of a slight moment of weakness. “I won't leave, I like being here.”

“No… Non é vero…” she said, moving away from your gaze.

You snatched the veil from her so she couldn't put it back on and, without thinking, you launched yourself at her lips, kissing them fiercely, just as you had wanted to do for a long time, you didn't know how long.

“Donna…” you sighed when you pulled away from the kiss, a messy kiss that she had a hard time joining.

Finally she did, caressing your cheeks, mouth agape by that sudden reaction, one that she was apparently also waiting for.

“You have come into my life like a savior, like a light that has passed through the darkness…” she whispered, kissing you again, losing that fear, that cowardice, the fear of being discovered, of you seeing her wounded face.

What Lady Beneviento didn’t expect, is that you would feel something for her.

“Per favore…Non partire…Rimani con me…Per sempre…” she murmured while your lips caressed each other, while the warmth of that unexpected love slowly passed through your body, until it reached your heart.

“Per sempre…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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brotherwtf · 4 months ago

Text

... anyway Buck and Bucky are getting married rn

it's always been you on AO3

(read below the cut for the full fic, too)

The John and Gale wedding fic

gonna take this post to also just send a virtual hug to the entire mota fandom and all of it's contributors. You all are some of the kindest and sweetest and most creative people I have had the privilege of posting alongside of. can't wait to see what the future holds for us, never stop creating!

The first thing Jess and El did when they saw Gale was give him the biggest hug he had ever received. It felt akin to coming home, like being enveloped in a warm blanket that smelled like charcoal and something sweet. They didn't talk, which was odd for an Egan, but they did smile the smiles that always warmed Gale's heart.

He helped them bring in their bags and directed them to the guest room, apologized for the mess, and allowed them to get settled. When he returned to the living room, Marge sat on the couch.

"How are you feeling, Gale?" Marge asks when Gale sits next to her on the couch.

Gale sighs, doesn't quite know how to put it in words. He's vibrating with excitement but also feels a pit of dread in his stomach. John's not home right now, he's going to pick up their dress greens, and Gale worries he might say something stupid if he was here right now.

The thing is, Gale and John were getting married that evening. It wasn't going to be anything official, couldn't be anything, but John had "proposed" to Gale about a month ago. It wasn't anything grandiose, the off-handed mention that John's mother gave him the ring. Told him to "use it when he knew it was right", and John knew that Gale was right. It made Gale's heart swell, the idea of being bonded with John forever through something more than words.

Gale was still experiencing the nerves of writing to Marge and John's sisters and still felt afraid to show this vulnerable side of John to his past lover, but Marge only smiled sweetly at him when she arrived. She brought Peggy, the girl she had been living with as Gale lived with John since the war.

"Just nerves is all. Feel like I'm flying again," Gale mutters and Marge chuckles, the sound akin to windchimes in the summer breeze.

She extends a perfectly manicured hand, gripping Gale’s hand in her own. Before the war, Gale might have flushed at the touch, had been so overwhelmed with the feeling of Marge touching him. Now the feeling is just a ghost compared to the nerves he’s feeling in his stomach now.

“Well, you shouldn’t be nervous. You’re surrounded by all of the people who love you the most in your life. Hell, I think John’s sisters are giving me a run for my money by how affectionate they can be towards you,” Marge says and Gale chuckles wryly.

She gives his hand another squeeze and cranes her head to look at John’s sisters who have plopped down on the other side of Gale. They’re smiling as bright as ever, the exact same one that John gives him when they wake in bed together.

“Marge having to talk you down from the ledge? Having second thoughts about marrying our Bucky?” Jess asks, extending a hand for him to squeeze as well.

When John had told Gale he wanted to bring his sisters to this little ceremony, Gale was hesitant. He was afraid that even with how much he trusted Jess and El, they would still look down at them for being “unnatural”, for being queer. He never could have seen El with a scowl on her face, nor Jess with the look of disgust, but he was still afraid they wouldn’t accept him as John’s lover. Even now as he watches El fuss in her purse for the ring she brought from her mother’s, he feels that same guilt.

Marge can no doubt see the expression on his face, so she presses a kiss on his cheek before leaving the living room. Gale turns towards Jess and El, who give him a fond expression as they take his hands.

“El, why don’t you take Gale outside, feels a little stuffy in here,” Jess prompts and El nods.

Jess leaves the room, mutters something about needing to get ready, and El brings Gale into the backyard. Gale can see the flowers he planted for John, can see the small part of land where the ceremony is going to happen, and feels a wave of nervousness flood over him again. It’s hidden from the road, Gale made sure of it when they even hinted at doing something like this, but Gale still felt a fear deep in his gut that won’t quite leave. Like a part of the war never left him.

He turns back to El, gives her a fond smile and brings her in for another hug. She hugs him tight, every Egan child does, something that must have gotten beaten into them since youth. It grounds him now, makes him feel like he’s on solid ground instead of falling thousands of feet through the air. Gale smiles fondly when El squeezes his shoulders gently, smiling a crinkly smile that Gale has seen a million times.

It’s alarming how similar El and John look. They were twins, Gale knew that, but the way their hair curled over their forehead and their lips broke into a smile were exact mirrors of each other. It helped to soothe the fire in Gale’s heart, felt like he was talking to John but not at the same time.

“Do you ever resent me for it? Could have been one of you guys who got this ring. Now it’s just me,” Gale mutters and if looks could kill, Gale would be on the floor with the one El gave him.

“Gale Cleven, by god if you weren’t getting married today I would knock you on your ass for saying such things about yourself,” El says, pointing a stern finger in his face.

Gale chuckles, raising his hands in surrender so El wouldn’t hit him. She was shorter than him by a couple of inches, but Gale knew she could probably clobber him if she really wanted to.

“I don’t know if John ever told you, or if you figured it out on your own, but I’m like you. I’m like Marge, and I gotta say I wish you introduced me to her sooner, by god she is an angel,” El says, lightheartedly shoving Gale’s shoulder. Gale shakes his head, smiling something that crinkles his eyes and hurts his cheeks.

“Jess never had any interest in getting married. She moves around too much to settle down, would find marriage too boring. So Ma didn’t give her the ring because she didn’t want it. And I ain’t planning on settling down either. Haven’t found the right gal for me. But you, Gale, you’re the right fella for John. I think Ma could sense it when you visited last year. She may be a little old yet, but she understands so much more than any of us ever will,” El says and squeezes Gale’s shoulder again.

It comforts Gale, having El here alongside them. He felt so lonely when he and John had started living together, felt he couldn’t express how he truly felt about John to anyone but John himself. Marge hadn’t mentioned how she was seeing Peggy when he decided to break it off with her, mentioned her offhandedly in a couple of her letters, but Gale only truly learned about their relationship when Marge wrote back to John’s inquiry about a visit for a “special occasion”. At least he has her and El to talk about his nerves, about his bursting feelings for John that he can’t express to anyone else.

“That’s mighty kind of you, El. I’m glad you’re here,” Gale says, clasping her hands in his and squeezing them.

There’s the telltale sound of John’s rusty pickup entering their driveway and Gale can’t help the smile that spreads across his face at it. El smiles something knowingly at him before shoving him back towards the house.

“See? You’re perfectly fine, now go get ready we’re losing daylight,”

When Gale crosses the threshold, Marge practically shoves him into the powder room, squawking something at Jess further inside the house.

“You can’t let him see! Just give me the uniform I’ll get him ready!” Marge shouts with a giggle and Gale gives her a confused look.

She grabs the hanger from Jess outside of the door and promptly closes the door, smiling impishly at him.

“Keeping secrets from me now? Come on, we’re adults,” Gale mutters, but Marge only shakes her head.

She pantomimes zipping her lips shut and forces Gale to take off his shirt and put on the uniform.

Marge was a natural at helping Gale get dressed up in his dress uniform, had helped him in the bathroom more than once to fix his hair and epaulets so they looked perfect. It was the same principle now, but Gale couldn’t stop thinking about how different it was yet.

She smoothes out the lapels of his jacket, adjusts his wings on his breast pocket, and smiles kindly down at him. She lets him fuss with his hair in the mirror, shaving one last time so his face feels smooth when he runs his hand over it. The man in the mirror looks younger than Gale feels, almost reminds him of the man who jumped behind the yoke of a bomber with gusto when there was a war to be fought. That man still lives inside him, somewhere, and maybe he’s peeking out right now. There’s all sorts of emotions running through him right now. Will this “ceremony” be worth it? Will those eyebags ever truly go away? Will John fill out his uniform nicer than he does now? Will he ever not be haunted by ghosts and memories?

Marge must be able to hear his thoughts because she grabs his cheek, tilting his head towards her in an awful mimic of the night before John shipped out. She gives him a smile, a kiss on the cheek and laughs silently at the expression that must color Gale’s face.

“Oh come on, Gale. You’re gonna be just fine. You just gotta focus on Bucky, that son of a gun is gonna explode when he sees you like this. By god, it’s making my heart hurt a little just looking at you now,” Marge says and Gale can see the glassiness in her eyes.

She pulls him in for a hug and Gale hugs her back like she’s a tether back to the earth. He’s falling again, but Marge is acting as his parachute for now.

“I’m glad you’re able to do this, Gale. I’m glad you’re happy with John. Fuck, I’m so glad you’re okay, you’re alive, fuck you’re alive,” Marge says and her voice is shaky and wet.

Gale clenches his arms around her further, letting her sob into his shoulder. She pulls away and laughs at the state of herself in the mirror, wiping some of the mascara that has streamed down her face away with her fingers.

“God, I’m sorry Gale. I’m just so fucking happy for you, you’re getting married,” Marge whispers and Gale smiles down at her.

She takes his hand and wipes the tear marks from her eyes, opening the door and yelling to see if the coast is clear. She leads him out into the backyard where Gale and El were standing earlier, and Gale feels his face break into a smile when he sees John and his sisters talking animatedly with their hands. It comforts him to know that John doesn’t look as nervous as Gale feels. As they approach Jess gasps, going silent and pressing a hand to her lips. Gale chuckles. He knows how emotional she gets, the drop of a hat could make her well up.

Gale kisses Marge on the cheek one last time before she stands next to Peggy, perfectly dolled up as always.

And he’s standing in front of John again, feeling like he’s in flight school or being shipped to London, a wave of emotion hitting him like a ton of bricks.

It looks like no time has passed since the night John was being shipped out. He looks the same as he did back then, youthful like no war interrupted their lives and shook them around. He filled out his dress greens the same as he did back then, broad shoulders and stocky frame still as strong as ever. Gale smirks at him, taking John’s hand and bringing it up for a brief kiss.

“So this is it,” John says.

“This is it,” Gale says, smiling sweetly at John’s steely blue eyes.

They didn’t rehearse anything, didn’t want anything to feel forced, and they can’t help but stifle their chuckles when they both open their mouths to speak at the same time. Jess stifles something like a sob into her arm when Gale starts to speak.

“John, Bucky, christ it’s been so damn long since you gave me that name. But we’ve been through so much since that together, Buck and Bucky. And every time I wanted to give up, to let the sky swallow me up, you pulled me up by the shoulders. Told me it was going to be alright, we were going to get through it. Those years would have been so much rougher without you by my side through all of it, John. By god, even on the coldest days or the toughest missions, I stayed alive just to see your smile when I landed, to hear your laugh when you would call me ‘Buck’. It’s you I gotta thank for my being here today,” Gale says, and turns toward Marge at those last words.

She’s weeping into her handkerchief, something quiet and muted while Jess is crying into El’s shoulder and he chuckles, turning back to John.

He smiles something fond, that same warmth filling his eyes as he puts a hand on Gale’s shoulder, the other on his waist so he can pull him gently closer. Gale smiles, pressing a hand to John’s lapel to feel the faint heartbeat underneath it.

“Fuck, Gale. I don’t know what I would do without you. You know, I gave you my name because I was so damn infatuated with you I wanted you to be reminded of me every time someone called for you. It didn’t help when you helped me so much during flight school, helped me tie my shoes and everything,” John says and Gale can’t help but chuckle at the memories.

“I was shaken to my damn core every time you went up in those fucking birds, couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. And when I thought I lost you, when I thought you were taken from me, by god I couldn’t have been happier to see you in that damn Stalag. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. Second to this, of course,”

Gale smiles, wants to lean into John’s chest and listen to him speak, feel the rumble of his voice underneath his chest, but just keeps his hand on John’s heartbeat to center himself.

“I love you, John,” Gale whispers.

“I love you too, Gale,” John whispers back, sneaking his fingers into his breast pocket and pulling out his mother’s ring and a small, grimy piece of paper.

It’s the damn lucky deuce John had forced onto Gale, the one that Gale kept in his trunk until John came back safely from the Stalag, the very one he pressed his lips to at night and whispered how much he wanted John to come back.

“You son of a bitch. How did you find this? Thought I lost it,” Gale says, taking the note between his fingers and flipping it over.

“Dry cleaner found it in your pocket before she washed it. Saved it for you, doll,” John says, closing his hands around Gale’s hands.

The note crinkles under his hands and Gale can’t help the rush of emotion that swells over him. He looks up at John again. There are tears behind his eyes, but they won’t break over his eyelids. It’s been years since he’s been able to cry.

But here, in front of John, he might just allow his emotions to take hold and stream down his face. There’s a look of pure fondness in John’s eyes when he presents his mother’s ring to him, gently held in the palm of his hands. Gale mirrors him, holding the ring his mother had gifted him for Marge in his hands for John to take.

They’re both similar rings, both meant for women with their slimness. John’s has a tiny blue gem in the center while Gale’s is iridescent and clear, refracting the evening’s sun onto his knuckles. John hooks a finger onto the cord holding Gale’s dog tags under his collar and spills them onto the front of his dress uniform, unhooks the tiny clasp, and threads the ring onto the cord. It makes a tiny “chink” sound when it collides with Gale’s dog tags, the one that claims him as part of the military.

Gale does the same with his ring, sliding his hands under John’s lapel to touch the hot skin underneath. He places it back inside of John’s shirt, pressing a palm to where the ring presses against John’s sternum. John takes his hand and keeps it pressed there, gently pressing his lips to Gale’s knuckles.

“Will you be mine forever, Gale?” John asks, squeezing Gale’s hands gently.

Gale smiles, crowding ever closer into John’s space until their chests are pressed together, both of his hands trapped between their proximity.

“I was always yours, John,” Gale says.

Gale presses closer until their noses brush and John finally closes the gap between them.

It’s one of the sweeter kisses they have shared since they confessed their love for each other, one of almost fairytale love and sweetness, the type of kisses that one might read about in a romantic novel. Gale inhales deeply as one of John’s hands finds Gale’s face, tilting him up so he can kiss him ever so slightly deeper. They both exhale together.

Finally, their love is solidified.

Finally, they will stay together, forever.

#clegan #mota #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #masters of the air #fics

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