#implode perhaps?

[astralriver]

No fucking way my old job just tried to call me about working there again..

[tinteduse]

swooush

[schoolbusgraveyard]

Pangender Ben was too strong and too powerful of a headcanon, immediately after posting that+the ask the entire mobile app crashed and my phone overheated to hell and back

[arsene-fixates]

WAHOO!!!!

[hide-your-bugs-away]

this article excerpt where alan talks about letting a bunch of dudes pour alcohol on him while he played the piano in the early-animal days is my roman empire

[sacrificialcrisis]

i guess this is also part of the coming around to the idea that i deserve the things i want and one of the things that i (deserve to) want is to not have sex with someone if i dont really want to. have you guys heard of this concept

[saintlesbian]

this whole Carly/brennan thing is actually kinda cute, looks like Blackbeard is laying on the charm 🤭

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

talking abt the ways one relates to dean is easy. talking about the ways one relates to sam however. ouauoaugh hundred thousand knives to the gut

[lesbianlenas]

ok it’s funny bc like. i am NOT!!!!!!! in love w my friend anymore. ok keep that in mind bc i mean it. but sometimes when i talk to her i’m still like hi <3 and i smile to myself like :) u know……..it’s just a silly little thing i do i can’t help it………i need a gf more than anything in this world……

[sharingcitrusfruit]

girl, aging girl.

[icterid-rubus]

Went to see The Trench with my ma and her friend and it was just the three of us alone braying it up in the theater and catcalling Stratham. Truly how that film is meant to be enjoyed.

[nightmarist]

Need to get my IRL friends into dragon age so I can talk magic theory and mythology and lore w them……

[valfruits-archived]

(in the context of the like constant comparisons about whether which one was worse or more justified btwn venat & emet) the only framing (of venat's actions as terrible) that i can get behind is that it was the final nail that resulted in this entire civilization/culture being gone/lost and how thats always a tragedy. but even then the text (prior to some things ew did that im ambivalent about) presents the situation like the ancients were already on this unstoppable path to tragedy (continuously sacrificing their own dwindling numbers in attempts to fix things) and venat & her group were basically responding to that by putting their feet down and saying "you cant do this anymore" and thats very different from the situation w emet & his fellow maladjusted pathetic evil sad men. like i think its disingenuous to compare venat/her group looking at their own civilisation & saying they would oppose it because it was going down a path they thought was unconscionable vs the ascians condemning multiple other worlds/cultures/etc to extinction bc they thought it was worth it if they got theirs (this is a comparison i see a lot and its frustrating bc theyre really not the same situation at all & yet...)

[t1erradelfuego]

[fjorddeluca]

The first time he had the displeasure of seeing blood, he had only been three years old. A tumble down the steps that had left a scrape on his knee that had bled. His mother had strode past him, leaving him in the capable hands of Matteo.

The first time he had the displeasure of seeing blood that had been shed by his own hands, he had been fourteen. He had stood in his parents' bedroom, the moonlight shining in over the dark wooden floors and the bed and the oil paintings that hung after the latter.

A body lay on the floor, in the space between himself and his mother, and blood pooled. It sept between the floorboards. The stain remains there to this day.

An ambush, a Venturi assassin that had gotten close enough. He had heard the fight, he had seen the chaos. He had his father's gun.

It would be the last time he would ever put a gun down.

And today would be no exception.

An ambush, a Venturi assassin that had gotten close enough. He had seen the fight, he had seen the chaos. He had his own gun.

Moonlight shines now too, has it had then. The curtains ripple, the stained glass doors open to look out over the vineyard that the De Luca family is known for. Sprawling for miles, pushing beyond the horizon that he longs to run into.

But he cannot.

"What happened, figlio?!" Vincent snapped, his voice almost close to yelling. "Do you have any idea how this will fall back on us?!"

He didn't know how to respond. There were no words to respond with. Whether this had fallen onto his hands or not didn't matter; he was the one who messed up.

"I know how it will fall back onto us, father," he replied, hands held behind his back. Remaining calm was the only option he had. He could not be afforded the luxury of expressing his temper the same way his father was now. "Do you think I had a choice, father?"

Vincent moved slowly, picking up a crystal glass. The fire that crackled within the fireplace reflected on the liquid, causing a glow that resembles amber. "A choice?" he remarked, swishing the liquid around in the glass. "There's always a choice, figlio."

It grew within him, the rising waters of a flood that would eventually engulf the entire world; the terrible urge to turn into nothing more than a petulant child. To stomp his foot against the polished hardwood floors and beg. He had had no choice. He had had raised the gun. He had taken care of it.

He had ensured that their lineage would continue and he was the one who was being reprimanded.

Their battle with the Venturis had always been a bloody one. They had killed some of the De Luca men and in return, they would retaliate. That was how wars worked.

"What did you want me to do, father?" he requested, his voice remained as even as he could force it. He was better than cries of situations becoming unfair. "They were going to kill —"

"A true De Luca man would not have allowed himself to be in that position," Vincent cut him off. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a long drink before he set it down on the table. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with you."

He wondered, even just briefly, if it would have been better if it had ended the way the Venturis would have wanted it to.

"I'm not entirely sure, capo," he said. "Would it have been better if the Venturis won?"

Vincent's eyes were filled with a rage, an anger. He turned to only son and struck him with the force of every capo before him. Every man who had led the De Lucas in this much too long feud with the Venturis.

It burnt, it always burnt. He found himself on the receiving end on this burn often. He had thought that it would slow the older he grew but that would only have been correct if he had become the son that they wanted.

"You should watch your tongue," Vincent snarled. He pointed one finger at Fjord. "Should I ask if this entire thing was one of your impulsivities?"

The words struck hard and deeper, much harder than the slap ever could. A reminder of inadequacy, a reminder that he would always fail them even if he had become the diligent son they had hoped for their entire lives.

He would never be those things.

He cannot answer such a question. "How do I fix this?" he asked.

"You don't," Vincent stated and turned his back to Fjord. "I will mop up your mess, figlio. Just when I had thought we would get somewhere with the Venturis... You're dismissed."

He did not believe that. The last thing his father would attempt would be peace with the Venturis. Their soiled relationship had become nothing but bitter roots now. Perhaps by get somewhere, his father had simply meant that he would steal a venture from them.

But that was not for him to deal with. Instead, Fjord turned and strode out of the sitting room. The quiet De Luca mansion would always be cold, regardless of how many fires had been set to build it; he listened to his own footsteps tread across the polished floor, echoing against the cold, stone walls.

Sometimes, it would feel more like a museum than a home. Those same walls decorated with art that had never belonged to them in the first place. The hallways had never been ones where he would be allowed to run or laugh or be a child. Instead, he would would walk diligently to his lessons. Sometimes it was combat, sometimes it was weapons, but most of the time, he would sit in his father's office and learn what it was meant to be a true De Luca man.

He supposed that none of those lessons ever stuck.

Walking towards the open foyer, he did not head for the wide steps that would take him to the wing of the mansion that had become known as his own. Instead, Fjord ventured towards the stained glass doors that lead out to the garden.

A trickling fountain sat before him, the marble shape of a maiden pouring the flowing water from a vase stood in the middle. Moonlight flickered in the reflection of the water, disrupted when he stroked his fingers over it.

"He says these things..." Fjord muttered, watching as the water rippled over the surface of the fountain. "But was he not like me once?"

It felt impossible to imagine his father as a young man. He had always been the hail of whisky and tobacco and gunpowder that Fjord knew him as. A man who had never been a boy.

He did not think that his father had ever been like him. He did not think that the man had felt anything but solemn duty for the life that he had been set out on.

He did think that his father had thought he would be the same. A carbon copy of a man who had never raised him, let alone raised him with the adoration that young boys on the streets of Italy tended to have.

"You could leave," he mused to himself. "But what would there be to leave for...?"

The question that had run through his mind would be interrupted by the appearance of a light. It glowed across the fountain's water, causing his eyebrow to slowly lift. Slowly turning, he was able to look up towards the balcony that sat out towards the lush, green maze within the De Luca Estate.

And there she was, stood on the balcony above him.

Elise. Sometimes it felt as though she were a world away, nothing but a routine helper in their home who would leave when she would no longer be of use. He would ache to see her gone but for now, she was there. Above him.

And for just a moment, he felt like that boy he had never been.

"Ah, a fair maiden..." he called up towards her, a smirk played at his mouth. Stepping closer to the balcony, he placed his hand on the the marble head of a statue, stepping onto the base. It brought him closer to her. "What have I done to be graced with your presence on this night...?"

@elise-venturi

[nicespam1]

once in a while i think about the steven peedee connie friendship trio that never was