#it’s a crime that i’m italian and i’ve never been there

[inkykeiji]

bf’s parents arrive home from italy & they bring us pounds n pounds of chocolate + cheese HEHEHE

look at how THICK this bar is!!!!!!! it’s so so so yummy i already had like four squares ehehehe (*/ω＼*) not pictured: me trying to snap that bar with my bare hands and bf’s mom going oh my god please help her before she hurts herself and rushing towards me with a massive knife to chop the chocolate for me

[drdemonprince]

I remember when civil unions for same-sex couples were legalized in 2016. I was only 17 at the time, and I was still dealing with a lot of stuff. Marriage was only a very far thought in the back of my mind, but still, I remember being so happy to hear that news. It was a new option for me, one that could also open up to the possibility of having a child someday, something I had never really considered possible before that time. It’s been several years now, and little to no progress has been made. I hate how slow this process is. And now we’re going backwards I’m still quite young, only 25, but I already know I would like to become a parent. It’s a difficult feeling to describe. I want to love another human being in the same way that my father and my mother have done with me. I want my boyfriend to become a dad and I want to be by his side throughout all of it. When I see my boyfriend playing with my one-year-old niece, I daydream about having a son or a daughter of our own. I want to see my parents love my child like they loved me. I want to see their smiles while they’re rocking my baby to sleep. I want to tear up at my son or daughter’s graduation. I want to be nervous about the person they’re bringing home for dinner. I want to fear for their safety. I want to trust them to make the right choices. I want to be sad about seeing them move to another city. I want to be proud of their accomplishments. I want to hope that they’ll be happy with the life they’ve chosen and that I’ve helped them build. I want to feel all of it.

A heartbreaking piece from Giulio Serafini on Italy's universal ban on surrogacy -- a policy that I'm embarrassed to admit I was not aware of until just now. Surrogacy was already banned within the country prior to this year, but this new policy now bars prospective parents from conceiving via surrogacy anywhere in the world and then bringing their children back. Between this and the country's complete ban on gay adoption, it's now impossible for same-sex couples to have children.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

It is in the Details

He had always been meticulous, even as a child. It was his brother who taught him to observe and to keep an eye out for tiny details. 

“The more subtle, the more elegant people will find you. Whether it is your attire or your movements. That way, they will not question your ulterior motives,” Mycroft told him.

Sherlock considered this, and when Mycroft bought him the Belstaff and had added the red buttonhole, he understood. It added an eye-catching sophistication to the garment. The fact that it was one of a kind, made it even more special.

Before he attended his first official crime scene, Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, used a fair amount of his inheritance on expensive hair products, had a bespoke cologne made, purchased Italian leather shoes, and spent an agonising hour at one of Savile Row’s tailors to have his measurements taken.

“Only blue and black suits. A dozen white shirts. Two of the aubergine ones over there. Two of that shade of blue. No ties.”

The tailor didn’t even bat an eyelid when Sherlock made his order and insisted that everything should be tightly fitted.

“I need to breathe, but that’s about it.”

“Of course,” the tailor replied.

***

“Who are you, and what have you done with that high as a kite kid who turned up and solved a crime for me last year?” Greg Lestrade asked when Sherlock strode towards him.

“Gone. I’m clean as of last month. Just what you commanded, detective inspector,” Sherlock drawled. “Now, where are the bodies?”

Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson weren’t as easily dazzled by his newly invented persona, but Sherlock saw them as irrelevant, so he didn't care about being offended by their snarky comments.

***

“Just look at you,” Mrs Hudson cooed when Sherlock knocked on her door.

Her favourite colour is still purple. Recently been to the hairdresser. Didn’t get that cat after all.

“Hello, Mrs Hudson. Lovely to see you again. Are you still renting out the upstairs flat?”

“I take it you are interested,” the elderly woman said and winked. “Don’t you think it’s a bit big for just you. A flatmate would be nice. What do you say?”

“Who would tolerate living with me?” Sherlock answered with a grimace.

“Oh, come now, Sherlock. Deep down you’re as fluffy as a plushie,” she stated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went upstairs to take a proper look at 221B.

It was cluttered, but the atmosphere was cosy, even though it hadn’t been inhabited for several months. 

It feels like a proper home, but do I want to share it with another man? I’ve never lived with other people than my family before. None of my peers tolerated me for more than a few minutes at a time. I find it hard to believe that somewhere out in the London streets, a man walks around willing to share this flat with a pompous and infuriating git as myself. It would be nothing short of a miracle if that was the case.

***

“Sherlock, meet an old friend of mine, John Watson,” Mike called out when he walked into the lab.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the fair-haired man. To Sherlock’s astonishment this John Watson offered to let him borrow his phone when Sherlock asked Mike for his, even though he knew it was safely tucked into his coat pocket.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The awe in the man’s eyes, made Sherlock look away quickly to hide his own confusion. No one had ever gazed at him like that.

“Who said anything about a flatmate?” John asked when he’d gathered himself after Sherlock’s rapid deductions about his career, family, and wound.

“Mike did,” Sherlock explained and put on his coat and scarf with deliberate movements.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at my hands and neck, John Watson.

***

“Will you be needing the upstairs bedroom?” Mrs Hudson asked when she followed him and John into 221B the next day.

John blushed but didn’t answer, which was quite promising.

“We’ll let you know,” Sherlock mumbled.

“We have all sort around here,” she assured them before she went down to her own flat.

John placed his cane by the red chair and wandered around to look at all the eccentricities the flat had to offer. The more he walked around, the less he limped, much to Sherlock’s satisfaction.

“Yes, I think this will do just fine,” John said and made himself comfortable in the upholstery chair.

***

“How did you get glitter in your hair?” John asked two days before Christmas later that year.

“I went to Liberty’s to buy some decorations for our tree,” Sherlock said.

“What happened to the Grinch I moved in with in February?”

“He fell in love with an ex-army doctor with a psychosomatic limp,” Sherlock quipped.

“Did he, now,” John murmured and circled his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

Sherlock hummed and bent down to kiss John softly.

“Noticed anything else?” he asked innocently and a bit breathless when they parted.

“I did actually. You’ve been to your tailor,” John said with a broad smile.

“Tell me,” Sherlock purred and sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Just spotted some small things. Your shirt isn’t tucked into your trousers in its usually way, one button is only half buttoned, and your left trouser leg has a – “

Sherlock interrupted John’s deductions with a passionate kiss. He looked down into the blue eyes and it felt like he was drowning in a sea of adoration.

“You are a marvel, John Watson,” he whispered.

“Just paying attention to the details that are out of order,” John shrugged, a bit embarrassed by such praise.

“A shame you only catch such details when it comes to me and not at crime scenes.”

John slapped Sherlock’s arse, called him a brat, and went to make tea, while Sherlock decorated the tree.

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

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[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

SET ME FREE x MIN YOONGI

[MAFIA AU]

PART ONE

Red Chopsticks

Side Characters: Kim Namjoon/police officer detective, Jeon Jungkook/police officer detective, Jung Hoseok/mafia member and Yoongis right hand.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, death, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, porn (a lot of it), drugs, cuss words.

Song: Gods and Monsters by Lana del Rey.

Next ->

………………………………………………………………………………….

I knew that working as an intern at the police station wasn’t going to be easy. As a young woman i knew that very well. But life wasn’t ever exactly easy for me, when i wasn’t fighting to survive i was planing how to survive tomorrow.

At least i was never bored.

“Another fight against the mafia Min left three police officers in the hospital in critical condition and five dead, the police said that they are taking care of the case right now and so far they can’t disclose any information about the investigation but, everything indicates that the mafia leader Agust d was behind it. We’ll be back after the break…”.

I took a sip of my coffee as i watched the news on the tv in wall of the coffee shop. This Agust d was one of the most wanted criminals in the world, they say he has deals with the Italian and the Japanese mafia. No one knew how he looked like, the only way to know he was behind a crime was looking at the crime scene. He had a way of doing in the most cleanest way. Bodies dropped dead in a blink of an eye and no one would know.

I always wanted to be a police detective just like my father, completely influenced by him but when he passed away i made the promise to take his place and do just as much good to the world as he did. To continue his legacy. Since I was the oldest I had to take care of the house and my younger brother. Who was still in high school.

After completing my training i was assigned to work as an intern at the police station. I’ve been working for almost four months now, it hasn’t been easy since.

Many male seniors looked down on me and tooked me for weak. But that didn’t stop me. It never did in the academy and It won’t here.

I’m gonna do my job and I’ll be the best at it.

Days are work were usually the same, sitting on my desk making documents and delivering documents with criminal information on crime scenes, criminals and people who passed.

I had to make sure every information was in order and ready to be documented and archived in the system.

At lunch break I would seat in the table with the few detectives that saw me as one of them, Namjoon was working on the Agust d case together with Jungkook and his other man, he would always take care of me when he could. As fathers used to know each other and for that reason he’s always been like a big brother for me in the station.

- how’s been work so far y/n? - he asked, a smile showing his dimples making him look even more attractive.

- same old same old - i said, sitting in front of him on the table. - how is the investigation of the Min mafia?

- don’t even tell me about it. The damn Agust d is like a ghost. - he held his chopsticks tighter, a deep look in his eyes showing me how much this case has been burning him, no one wanted to catch that man more than him - But just you wait…. I’m gonna catch him and make him pay for his crimes.

- I’m sure you will - i send him an assuring smile - no one can do that but you.

He replied my smile send a small one back to me, the air around seemed to have lightened up since.

- make sure you document our relatories right y/n - Jungkook the youngest detective said to me in a teasing way. Turning the attention to me.

- you do your job and i do mine - i said - I’ll be better then you once i become a detective.

- she’s coming for you man! - Namjoon teased, getting playful too.

- I’m not scared of girls - Jungkook stated, looking my way.

- well then I’ll make you scared - I said daring. We all just laughed after that.

Lunch time was always pleasant with them, as much as they can’t seem to stop teasing me for being the youngest, it was nice being with them.

After lunch i went back to work finding a new pile of documents with a small yellow note saying to transfer them all to the system. One of the other female workers who was a senior Looked at my way saying the boss requested me to do the documents and send it to him.

I sighed knowing it would take more then hours to complete the work, specially with how slow the system has been lately.

…

Finishing the last paper o looked outside the window at the office. It was night already, half past eleven.

I yawn getting up from the chair, time to clock out. As I walk down the stairs to the front doors of the station, Namjoon comes from the corridor of the left. I smiled at him and he does a little jog to come to me, accompany me as we both exit the building.

I take a deep breath once outside, finally time to go home.

- you need a ride home? - Namjoon offers.

- oh no, thank you though - i declined - I have my own ride home.

- don’t tell me you’re still driving that thing? - he asked incredulously of my ride home.

- hey! Don’t talk like that about my baby - i said. Hitting his arm.

- i swear that motorcycle is a monster… - he said playful.

- no it’s not… - I’m interrupted by my cell phone ringing, my brothers name shining on it. - sorry i gotta go, bye Joonie!

I quickly said by to him as i run to the parking lot, once my motorcycle was in my sight I took the call.

- hey bro what do you-

I couldn’t finished. My voice got stuck in my throat as i heard him sobbing, silent cries.

- they are coming to get me… I’m so sorry big sis…- he cried, I could hear laughs and other voices in the back.

My mind was doing loops. Different scenarios about what he might have gotten himself into that could have gotten him in that situation, i felt the rush in my body and completely lost control of myself. The only family I had was in danger and i just couldn’t breath at the thought of it. How could I not do anything?

Knowing i was just an intern at the police station but i would never turn my back to someone in need. Never.

I’m so stupid.

I moved out of instinct. Getting in the motorcycle. Turning on the GPS of his cellphone so i could track his location, finding out my brother l location was my focus now. Turning the key the loud roar of the motor was flowed through my ears. I checked the GPS once more finding out he was at the wets part of downtown.

My eyes looking incredulously at his location, just what in the world was he doing at one of the most dangerous parts of downtown?

Once I find him I’m going to smash some sense in his head, with my fry pan. Hard.

Driving this late wasn’t so bad, everyone was sleeping and those who weren’t were coming back from work or just going to parties, getting dunk or eating out. It was easier to get there faster, as i drove towards my brothers destination the streets began to slowly turn darker, and i don’t mean light sense.

I was struck by how things went down there. I never came a single kilometer close to this part of the city. Now I know why.

People fighting in the middle of the streets, some drunk men being dragged out of a pub, woman bearly clothed walking around smoking.

I stooped my motorbike to look at the GPS once again, he was close now one street ahead in the next alley. I drove there slower till I was close enough to go there on foot and made my way to the alley.

I couldn’t find words to describe this place, it smelled so bad my head started to hurt. Cigarettes and cheap alcohol, piss in the corners and some people laying on the floor. I didn’t know if they were alive but, i didn’t know if going there to check would be a good thing to do.

I had my own share of trouble to solve now. Once in the alley i felt paralyzed, honestly I didn’t know what to expect from this. I didn’t know what to do. I just knew my brother was i danger and i had to get to him quickly.

Once there i stood in the alley, my heart was weighing on my chest, as i saw three men cornering my brother. Two of them wearing big jackets and while one wore a baseball hat the other a bucket hat he was the one who held my brother against the wall while the other one threw a punch against him. Those disgusting pieces of trash.

- ya!

Anger boiled inside me. Now finally getting their attention. The one who threw the punch turning towards me. He was bald and had a dragon tattoo on his face that follow the side of his head to his left eye.

- there's nothing to see here princess - he said - get out or... we might not let you go.

- no, you leave - i stood my ground - i already called the coops, leave my brother.

They all just laugh, i didn't move an inch through if i wanted to win this I would have to fight. I knew I would.

- you all heard that? She called the cops - he said in a mocking way to the other guys and they all laughed - you must not be from here little girl.... the coops don't come here any more.

- yeah... - the other one who held my brother said, he took his cap off siding with the tattoo guy - Agust D made sure of that.

They looked at each other and chuckled.

- we gotta thank him for that... - the back one said walking towards me - thanks to him we can do whatever we want to little girls like you....

I felt like throwing up.

It wasn’t long before two arms held me from behind, a breath of cigarettes hitting my face. A forth men? I tried to break free from it but the man’s hold was strong.

Bald guy walking towards us a vile smile on his lips as he did so, my mind was completely blank and all i could hear was my heart beating faster in my chest and their laughs as if it was coming from far away.

My eyes desperately searching for my brother finding him laying on the floor, fear boiling on my body. I could only watch.

How useless i was.

- we are gonna have so much fun… - he said grabbing my face and smiling sickly. I was so disgusted and angry at the same time.

Still i spit on his face. For a second it seemed like he didn’t believe it, then he angrily cleaned his face with his hand.

- you bitch! - he was one second from slapping me in the face.

If I’m in hell, might as well shower in flames. I closed my eyes waiting for the blow, but it never came.

- what’s is all this garbage?….

A different voice said this time, before anything could happened, from behind the man in the other end of the alley a man stood there.

I couldn’t make his face as he was too far, he proceeded to light a cigarette and take a blow. Smoke flying above his face as he lets it all out. He was wearing simple clothes, ripped jeans a white shirt and flower shirt over it. Long black hair slick back. He walked slowly towards the commotion, as if this was nothing but exactly what he stated: garbage.

- we don’t need more people here friend… - the man in front of me said, walking towards the new stranger - just keep minding your own business.

- well you see… friend - he said closer now, eyes falling over mine and i noticed the scar on his face. It made him look mad. - i don’t like men hurting woman…

- I don’t give a shit about what you don’t like get the fu- before the man can say even one more word, scar men throws a punch on him, cigarette still between his lips.

He falls on the ground nose bleeding and groaning in pain, scar men takes a second blow lof the cigarette letting the smoke fall out of his lips slowly in the air watching the men on the ground, a smirk on his face.

- I also don’t like poor dirty vocabulary… - he said, throwing the rest of the cigarette on the man.

The two other guys went stray to the scar men, one of them throwing a punch on him but he quickly dogged grabbing the guys arm bringing towards him he punched his ribs then kicked him on the same spot, while this were happening the other one who just watched grabbed a piece of wood and went straight to the scar face men.

It happened so fast, the guy didn’t stood a chance as scar face held the piece of wood and his other hand before he could do anything, a sick laugh coming from scar face lips. He looked as if he was having the most fun but, more then anything like this was nothing to him.

I knew he went hard when i heard the sound of cracking, but it wasn’t from the wood. The painful groan that left the guy mouth was enough to tell me, scar men broke his arm then threw the guy on the floor two with another kick. He stood there pushed his hair back and looked at me, a smirk still on his face.

The forth men that was holding me finally let me go, turning back i only saw him walking fast as if he had nothing to do with this signaling to the other men to get out of there, one after the other they got up from the floor leaving quickly. I don’t know who that men with the scar is but although he helped me and my brother, he doesn’t seem like one to mess with.

As the alley was clear i ran to my brother, checking to see if he was okay. He hugged me as soon as i kneeled beside him.

- why did you come? - he cried on my shoulder - they could’ve hurt you…

- and they hurt you - I told him - how could i not come? Should I have just left your!? You punk.

I helped him up holding him by the waist, I honestly thought the scar men wouldn’t be here anymore. I was surprise to see he was still there looking at me and my brother. Both hands on the pockets of his jeans.

Noticing my look of surprise at him he only side smiled, I couldn’t read his expression.

- it’s still dangerous to be alone at this time… - he said walking to the end of the alley where he came from and towards the street - let’s eat something till things cool down in downtown.

I didn’t question. I didn’t know how things worked at downtown and if he’s from here he knows more then I do. Seeing how my brother was still in pain I thought that would be a good idea, at least until he gets better to go and as the scar men said till thing cold down.

So i follow the him. We walked without saying anything else, the streets of downtown seemed to really be quieting down now . He stopped in front what looked like a noddle restaurant, it looked old with rustic furniture and decor.

He walked around as if he new the place and quickly sat down in one of the tables on the back, i fallowed him sitting in front of him after helping my brother to sit beside me.

And old lady came to our table, she seemed to know scar face as she smiled at him.

- the usual mister Yoongi? - she asked him, he nodded.

- the same for them - he then replied, she looked at me once then my brother the expression on her face showing clearly. Pity.

She quickly went back to prepare the food, i looked at the men in front of me. The scar on his face gave him a fearful look, he had sharp eyes too and moved with so much confidence and control of himself. Nothing around his surrounding seemed to fazed him, he looked indifferent to everything.

He’s from downtown. The part of the city were crime was all over it, the mafia Min had control over it more then the military soldiers. No one could take this area down. They had so much power over it no one from the outside could even imagine what was truly happening here, everyone feared getting even the stlighly close to here.

I tried not to think about it so much as time passed, the food was put in front of us by the old lady. The scar face who’s name the old lady said before was Yoongi took his chopsticks blowing the noddles before eating.

His knuckles had some blood on them, but he just eat as if it wasn’t nothing to him. Are all the people in downtown like this? Born bad? Born with blood in their hands.

Now here i’m right in the middle of it. With this men in front of me who looked like he was some kind of mafia criminal.

- are you in the mafia? - I only realized I said my thoughts out loud when he looked at me.

He stoped mid eating, mouth slightly opened as he hold his chopstick. His eyes locked on mine and he stared at me, it felt cold the more i held eye contact with him. I couldn't decipher what was going on his mind, it made me even more intrigued and for a second it felt like time had stoped, everyone and every thing around us simply didn't exist.

How did I get here? Who was this men?

I couldn't breath. My eyes were glued on his, how could someone like him have this kind of effect on people? I felt a shiver run down my spine as he licked his lips smirking if that was somebody else I’m sure it wouldn’t look as attractive as he made it look and before he took a bite of his food he simply said without breaking eye contact with me.

- no.

Nothing else was said after that.

We all just eat our food. The silence was filled with only dish sounds and food being cooked, some old people talking about sports and how some areas were too dangerous.

I kept checking on my brother to see if was fine, he only eat his food quietly blood dried already on his bottom lip, a bruise on his right eye turning red. I hated the fact i couldn’t protect him. Even after becoming a police officer I couldn’t do anything to protect my only family.

Mat the sudden movement in front of me my eyes turning to Yoongi as he got up from his seat, he grabbed the pair of red chopsticks before looking at me one last time.

- i have something to deal with now - he said - you know that way out, don’t worry about the food… is on me.

Was all he said before turning his back and walking towards the back of the restaurant with the red chopsticks.

What a night.

Taglist: @missmin @whipwhoops @glosstwn @i-have-no-life-charlie @kooslilhoe @catlove83 @taegicity @ginger-coffee-addict @rosquilleta @tarahardcore @liveyun @manuosorio @thvlover7 @4ukiyo4 @sukonsukuna @passionandsuga @missroro @btspurplesky

Notes: First part is out YES. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes I didn’t edit yet! 🥺💖🤭

[serensama]

I think we're getting low on onions again...

Chapter 4

Heavy dialogue, hardly any exposition. Too much bravado throughout. ALSO- I’m willing to believe in Antiva, there is a dialect of mostly Italian and one mostly Spanish. It is the only way I can take the mashing of it all in DA:VG. That is all.

Read on Ao3 Prompt 2 out of 25: Braggadocio Rivain. 

How he loved the bustling docks, the scents of the sea and the vibrant, carefree atmosphere of the coastal city. There was no better place apart from his beloved Antiva. 

The city was always livelier whenever big names fought in the Hall of Valor- and with Rook in the city as Isabella’s headliner, it felt almost like Satinalia with the amount of people clamouring about. Everyone wanted to see the person responsible for leading the charge against the Elven Gods and saving the world. 

Apart from the buzz of excitement and the heady aroma of rich spices- there was something different in the air. As he moved between the market stalls, a familiar tension began to coil in his gut, like the soft whisper of a shadow moving just beyond his sight. 

A voice broke through the din of the evening crowd. 

"Well, well, if it isn't the infamous Zevran Arainai. I heard you spent most of your time in Ferelden now," the voice was smooth, not unlike his own, with the same lilting accent of his homeland. Zevran turned, his hand instinctively reaching for a dagger. Standing across from him was a man, sharply dressed in impeccable dark leathers, his eyes gleaming with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were capable of. 

Lucanis Dellamorte. 

Lucanis had no intention of ever taking up the outstanding contract on Zevran. It was almost an urban legend within the Crows, that only those who wanted to die took it up, and this angel of death granted them what they had so craved. He did not give it much credence, he knew the target was just a highly skilled Crow with a grudge (not that he could really blame him). 

Lucanis never thought he would come across the man, the world was wide and if he wasn’t looking for him, the odds of finding him were little to non-existent. But the Maker worked in mysterious ways. When he saw an elven man with golden hair and tattoos along his face sitting beside Isabella, he knew exactly who he was looking at. He had the tell-tale posture of someone who had once been a killer for hire, the dark glint of experience in his eyes—the former Crow was unmistakable, even after over 20 years since leaving his House.

"There is a contract on your head," Lucanis said without flourish, not wishing to do a disservice to the legend before him. This did not need flair, or a witty rejoinder to follow up the killing blow. "You can come quietly, or you can resist and die. Either way, you're coming back to Antiva to answer for your crimes against House Arainai."

"Ah, the newest Talon himself. Your reputation precedes you, Lucanis. Must we do this? I had not intended to join in fights in or outside of the Hall, but I must admit, I am intrigued. It has been a while since I’ve had a good scuffle," Zevran smirked as his fingers danced idly over the hilts of his twin daggers. "Tell you what, Fledgling —if I win, I walk free, and you return to Antiva empty-handed with an amazing story to tell. If you win, I will go back with you and face whatever punishments await. What do you say? Nothing too formal like a duel to the death, some Talons can take time to kill and I’d rather make it in time for the opening rounds at the Hall of Valor."

The ebony haired assassin narrowed his eyes, sensing the weight behind Zevran’s challenge. Plainly said it was obvious the man didn’t want to kill Lucanis, but he firmly held the belief that he could. There was no hesitation in his stance, and he expected no less, as one could not exterminate six Eighth Talons in succession through sheer luck alone. 

"Very well. Let us see if the man truly lives up to the stories history has told about him."

“Ahh you flatter me, Fledgling. To know that the Crows still speak about me warms the cockles of my heart,” the older assassin grinned whilst he unsheathed his weapons, the steel glinting in the light of the setting sun. 

“In truth, you are mentioned as more of a cautionary tale, a ‘don’t do what this idiot did and bring shame to all of Antiva’, sort of deal,” Lucanis chuckled as he pulled out his prized wyvern toothed dagger. 

Zevran threw his head back in laughter, his own daggers hanging limply at his sides. “Wonderful! Nothing makes me happier to know this. Well, it has been fun, Baby Talon, but let us make this quick yes? I would like to get something to eat before the show starts.” 

Lucanis rushed forward and the civilians around them dispersed quickly, far too used to seeing this type of scene happen in their city. Whether it was a fight between pirates, lovers' spats or just two very drunk people, it was not uncommon for disagreements to end with blood being spilled. The two rogues were left in a large circle in the middle of the thoroughfare for the two to fight without the worry of hurting a random passer-by. 

For the most part, it seemed the two rogues were evenly matched. Zevran still moved with the grace and agility of a Crow in his prime, his blades flashing in and out of the fading light as he tried to find an opening in his opponent’s defences. Lucanis danced around nimbly with sharp, precise motions- each step and slash made with the controlled, measured quality his House was renowned for. Zevran was as fast as Lucanis was shrewd, and neither could afford any mistakes. The two were a blur of steel and shadow, determined to test the other’s mettle.

“This cannot be it, Baby Talon,” Zevran clucked his tongue at him, knowing that the man trying to kill him was holding back. “If you do not pull out something special, I will be taking that pretty dagger with me as a prize.”

Lucanis knew he was taunting him to make a mistake, to get a rise out of him and if it were any other weapon, anything other thing- he would not have reacted. But this was Rook’s first gift to him, he valued it more than his own heart. Lucanis’ eyes blazed as a surge of energy wrapped around him like a cloak. In an instant, he took to the air with eyes aglow and the ends of his wings sharpened – to cut the Old Crow!-  for threatening to take something that was theirs. Zevran cursed under his breath as Lucanis darted well above him making him impossible to reach, weaving through the air with inhuman speed.

Zevran, however, was no stranger to adversity and was always on to think quickly on his feet. 

“The rumours of you being a good old fashioned abomination are true then? My goodness it has been a while!” he yelled out over the clashes of their weapons.

“Not abomination! Partners! We made a deal!” Spite sneered as he dove once again, his raw power undeniable but his movements erratic and void of the focus Lucanis had.

“You see, that is exactly what an abomination would say,” the older Crow snickered as he continued to skirt around him. “I’ve killed my fair share, though not enough to get a fancy and apt nickname like you, oh Demon of Vyrantium,” he guffawed, ducking a swipe aimed at his face that if it had connected, would have rendered him blind and vulnerable. 

“Oh you think I’m fancy? I’m honoured,” Lucanis retorted, taking back to the sky. “But make no mistake, the greatest honour will be collecting your contract and putting this business to rest after all these years!” 

Their weapons sparked after Lucanis’ attack was blocked, pushing the former assassin closer to the edge of their unofficial arena. They stilled for a moment, both breathing heavily and sizing the other up, before Zevran managed a soft laugh. 

"You will make a fine First Talon, Lucanis, truly. You have been a worthier opponent than most," he complimented the younger man, rolling his wrists and spinning his blades with unexpected dexterity for a man so long out of the Crow’s employ.

Lucanis dropped lightly to the ground, his eyes narrowing. He was not so green to trust that his enemy was not biding his time or using it to plan something to gain an advantage over him.

"My thanks. You’re not bad yourself, it is a shame the Crows lost you, you would have made a fierce Eighth Talon yourself if you had been so inclined. But your kind words will not win this battle, Master Arainai. You will answer for your crimes against the Crows."

Zevran, ever the charmer, flashed him a devilish smirk. It was not the first time he had heard those words and he knew it would not be the last. "Perhaps I will not win today. And you are right, I will have to face the consequences of all my actions eventually. But not today, and certainly not by you."

Lucanis’s lips quirked slightly as he looked at the elf, respect passing between them hidden underneath their snarky comments. A silent understanding born from their journey as Crows; fraught with hardship, and all the pain, blood and tears shed to get them both where they stood. 

“Before we continue, I hope you can humour me, First Talon.” 

“Certainly.”

“Tell me, Lucanis, are you as turned on as I am right now?” 

Lucanis asked Spite to repeat what Zevran had said, unsure if he misheard the man. Apparently, he did not. 

“What?!” Lucanis balked, afraid his eyes were bulging out of his head. He was a trained master assassin, things did not often surprise him but that- that random and invasive question confounded him. 

“Come now, you are a handsome young man, you must know this dance well,” Zevran grinned at his challenger's reaction.

“Dance of Death? Absolutely. Dance of whatever the hell you think is happening between us? Not at all!” Lucanis lurched, taking an unconscious step back. This was exactly why he preferred to get in and out as quickly as possible when it came to his contracts, whenever he stayed too long things got awkward; not much one can say to someone they’re there to kill without it being a little uncomfortable. Mind, he’d never been this kind of uncomfortable with a target but he supposed there was always a first for everything. 

“Look at you! So young and innocent to it all- it is so refreshing! The Crows sure have changed since-”

“Since you brutally and systematically slaughtered those Eighth Talons? Yes, yes they did. Not completely, and not all for the better, but changes were enacted thanks to the uh... consistent changes of leadership we faced, or so I was told,” Lucanis admitted thinking back on his past conversations with Teia and Viago. 

Zevran smiled and looked far too proud of himself for Lucanis’ liking upon hearing how he shook up the inner workings of his once beloved Crows. He felt like celebrating, not fighting- change was progress, change was good.

“I propose a new duel, we take each other to bed and the first one to fall to the raptures of bliss, has to let the other one go. The Loser has to be edged for the rest of the evening,” Zevran said as his eyes raked over Lucanis’ body appreciatively. “To be fair though... I wouldn’t mind being the winner or the loser.” 

The younger Crow stared at the lascivious man like he had just passionately made out with Caterina in front of him. 

“As...flattering though misguided your attempts to pitch woo at me are, I must deny you and insist we continue as we were,” Lucanis replied, cursing his body for reacting to the ex-assassin’s flirtations, his cheeks burning under the man’s gaze. Zevran was older, yes, but as an elf, he remained somewhat out of time’s clutches and looked merely 5-10 years older than the new head of House Dellamorte, and still as handsome as all the senior Crows had described.

“Pity. It would have been fun to frolic about with you and your lovely inamorata,” Zevran teased, falling back into a crouched position and readjusting his grip on his daggers. “Rook, right?” 

“You will not. Touch. Our. Rook!” Spite seethed with jealousy and possessiveness, monstrous waves of energy pouring out of him, alarming the crowd around them. “You should not breathe the air she breathes. We pity. For your chosen. You are Disloyal. Unfaithful. You dishonour them.”

The change in Zevran’s demeanour was imperceptible to most, but not to Lucanis. At the mention of someone the assassin held dear, the man’s bloodlust finally reared its head. 

“Your demon friend has quite the mouth on it, Baby Talon,” he hissed with such an edge that had it been a knife in his hand, he would have been the one to claim first blood. “You should teach it to speak only when spoken to and only on matters it understands. Your inamorata must be desperate indeed, to choose to lie with an abomination.”

“Old Crow talks too much. Knows nothing about our Rook,” the demon said, glaring at the blonde rogue, spinning his knives menacingly.

“Is that so? Well I do know that my Sereda is by far the most exquisite being to walk the world, in Orzammar and Thedas, and even so- she chose me freely.”

“My Rook is incomparable, resplendent and unrivalled in both the physical world and in all the Fade! The woman could have anyone but she has decided to stay at my side.” 

Zevran scoffed, pointing the tip of his blade at Lucanis’ head at the implication that anyone was more beautiful than his lover. 

“Sereda once killed seven enemy soldiers in succession using only her bow, three arrows, a dagger and a fork. She somehow managed to beat 2 of them to death with the end of her bow.” 

Lucanis snorted at his vain attempt to one up him through his lover’s accomplishments. For who could outdo Rook? 

“That’s nothing! Rook killed 20 darkspawn in a matter of 5 minutes- including two ogres!” 

“Impressive. But Sereda, an exiled dwarven princess, managed to make the human nobility of Ferelden bow to her whims and follow her judgements. She united clans of elves, werewolves, mages and dwarves to fight for her, together, under her command!” 

“Quite the feat. However Rook was once a Tevinter slave, and she rose up to defeat a blighted Qunari conqueror and saved Treviso from occupation- and that wasn’t even part of her saving the world, she just did it because she is a good and kind person!”

“Blighted? You want to speak of Blights? Sereda, was the Warden who ended the Fifth Blight in a year and killed an Archdemon! And during her downtime she chose the next King of Ferelden and Orzammar!”

“So what? Rook played personal matchmaker to Fen’Harel and the Inquisitor at the same time as stopping the whole world from being destroyed by the Elven Gods! On top of that, together we’ve killed two blighted dragons and two Archdemons!”

“...You did?”

“What... like it’s hard?”

“Seriously. How are you not turned on at all?”

“I know I am!” someone else chimed in behind them, startling the two rogues. Perched on top of a stone bench was Rook, grinning widely at them and waving all too casually. “Please continue, as a Lord of Fortune I heartily believe in relishing in one’s successes. Continue on telling everyone how amazing I am, Luca! Please, do not stop on my account. I’m about three more outlandish compliments away from orgasm.” 

The dwarf standing beside with her arms crossed shook her head and chuckled at the younger woman, her brash nature reminding her of herself back when she was running amok on the surface more than 20 years ago, flirting with everyone with a pulse. Rook glanced over her shoulder and turned back to the warring Crows. “Oh and please continue saying lovely things about my new friend Sereda Aeducan! Isabella introduced us, apparently the two of them go way back!” 

Zevran sheathed his daggers and smiled at his lover, leaving his neck thoroughly exposed to Lucanis. A rookie mistake. He had to exert more influence over Spite to ensure the demon did not prey upon it – it’s right there Lucanis! I could even bite him to death! -knowing that the man knowingly chose to end the match and no longer wished to fight. He could not bring himself to strike him down in good conscience, especially when Rook was looking at him so intently. 

“Principessa! Where have you been? I’ve been walking up and down these docks for hours waiting for your ship to come in!” he called out, completely disregarding Lucanis as a threat. “I was getting bored but some entertainment found me and kept me busy for a time.”

“I can see that Zev,” the Hero of Ferelden replied, glancing over to the First Talon. “Let me apologise for him, unfortunately once a smart ass Crow, always a smart ass Crow. I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Mi Amore! You wound me! I was minding my own business, when this man decided he wanted to collect on my long standing invitation. Did you just want me to accept and get killed for the sake of forgoing a little trouble?” 

“Zev, I do not believe that for one second!”

“It is alright my Lady Aeducan, he was no bother to me at all actually,” Lucanis called out, offering her a deep bow, scandalising the former Crow. Zevran, known for his quick wit was unable to reply with anything other unintelligible noises and offended expressions to anyone who was paying attention. Which unfortunately for him was no one but Spite, who cackled manically beside him. “It is a great honour to meet the Hero of Ferelden, I read of your accomplishments whilst growing up, I never thought I’d ever get the chance to have the pleasure of meeting you.” 

“You realise that I was the Warden’s companion throughout the Blight, yes? I helped!”

“Yes, yes that’s nice Arainai. Say, Lady Aeducan, have you ever come across a wyvern in your travels? I know you’ve travelled extensively and wanted to know the best places to go to see one in the wild nowadays.” 

“Oh yes, you’ll find the Hissing Wastes have many, and Crestwood has been known to have a few there too,” she replied, giggling at the childlike expression of awe her newest acquaintance wore. “I adore them, I spent three whole days just camped out at the Wastes, just watching them all go about their business. If you get me a map, I can mark where they were last and where I camped.”

“That would be amazing, thank you! I adore them too! Rook! Imagine, three days of wyverns!” Lucanis chirped excitedly. 

“I can’t believe I’m getting ignored for a glorified lizard,” Zevran whined, catching Rook’s eye who smiled at him apologetically. 

“Before you get too invested in planning our trip to the Wastes, Lucanis, Sereda and I were chatting and she told me Morrigan was also her friend. She was part of her team battling the Fifth Blight- what a small world right?!” Rook squealed, her feet tapping against the cobbled stone path. 

“Friend is… such a strong word,” Zevran chuckled as he took the dwarf in his arms and stole a kiss from her, not frightened to display his affection in public. Lucanis had a sneaking suspicion the elf probably enjoyed being watched. “Let us say she was a good acquaintance. A friendly tag-along. A mostly cordial associate who only occasionally threatened to make us eunuchs if we came a little too close to her fire at camp.” 

Rook hummed thoughtfully to the woman who assisted them since the start of their journey. “Are you remembering right? Our Morrigan was always so polite and personable, I can’t think of her to be anything else.” 

Zevran stared at Rook, his expression full of doubt and then back to Sereda who looked at the mage with surprise. 

“Huh. The only time Morrigan was ever personable to me was when I stole her mother’s grimoire for her… and then again when I killed her mother for her,” Sereda thought back, scratching her chin. 

“Ahhh that Flemeth! Part of me wished we had let the old bird live. If we got her out of the swamp and into some nicer clothes- she could have been a Wynne-level beauty and maybe she would have let me rest my weary head on her bosom.” 

“Was that before or after you beheaded her?” Sereda snorted. 

“YOU BEHEADED MYTHAL?” Rook shrieked, horrified at what she had heard. 

“Mythal? What are you talking about? Who is Mythal?” Sereda asked, openly confused. 

“The All-Mother of the Evanuris and my people! She was an elven goddess who took refuge in Flemeth!” Rook grimaced, remembering her time with her in the Fade. Thank goodness she hadn’t tried to kill her and just used her words- how many times was that woman murdered?! 

“Well hey look at that Baby Talon, my Sereda helped kill an Elven God too!” the fair-haired rogue rejoiced, finding another reason to brag about his lover, the woman in question only staring at him and shaking her head at his need to best the other man. He was impossible. 

A loud voice called out over the crowd, reminding them that the matches were set to start in one hour and to get to the Hall of Valor as soon as possible if they wanted seats. 

“Oh we need to go, Sereda!” Rook quipped, “They’ll be waiting for us.” 

“Us?” Lucanis asked, brow crinkled with curiosity. 

“Isabella managed to twist my arm and have me fight in the arena with this one here,” the dwarf grinned, pointing to Rook with her thumb. “Isabella has pools running on which one of us will be able to get more kills.” 

“I’m willing to take Sereda for that bet,” Zevran said, pulling out his rather hefty money pouch and jingling the coins within. 

“Not so fast, I’ll double it, in favour of Rook ,” Lucanis countered and brought out his own very sizable purse from inside his jacket. 

“Not possible, Signore, for I will bet thrice of whatever you will put down!” Zevran chimed, pulling another pouch out from the sash at his waist. 

“Alright, alright, I can see where this is going- no need to pull out all your sacks and measure whose is biggest,” Rook grinned, waggling her eyebrows. 

“Well there’s no doubt, obviously the heir to the House of Dellamorte is going to have the biggest sack,” Sereda said matter-of-factly, much to the irritation of her lover. “But if we’re talking cocks, that’s got to go Zev.” 

“… I beg your pardon?” Rook asked, her laughter ending abruptly. “No no, Lucanis has the biggest sack and cock arou-”

“Child, the thing of beauty between my man’s legs-”

“… Do you feel a little dirty?” Lucanis asked Zevran, watching as their partners loudly debated their penis size for all of Rivain to witness. 

“Yes. And not in the good way,” he answered, his face clearly displaying his distaste at the downward trajectory their discourse was headed. “Ladies! Ladies- truly the only way we can ever know is if we all band together tonight and we celebrate the old fashioned way- an orgy with Isabella. For old times’ sake.” 

“… One orgy, 20 years ago and I will never live it down,” Sereda muttered, sending him a look of muted annoyance. “Come Rook, let me see what this generation of god killers can do.”

“Hey did I hear him right? You killed a soldier with a fork?!”

“Yes, it’s remarkably easy. I’ll show you when we’re in the arena.”

The two Antivans watched on as the women linked arms and headed towards the Hall, leaving both of them standing alone in the streets. Their original purpose for fighting each other long since forgotten after talks of wyverns, gods and testicle euphemisms. 

“So,” Lucanis began, “it seems you did manage to charm the Hero of Ferelden and keep her for all these years. I guess not all the stories about you were as embellished as your fighting prowess has been.” 

Zevran bit at the knuckle of his forefinger, laughing at the audacity of the younger Crow. 

“I like you Baby Talon, I think you and I will become good friends yet, orgy or no. So please don’t make me dispatch my first, First talon. There are not enough Dellamorte’s to succeed you like in House Arainai.” 

“I’d like to see you try. Unlike Rook, I also know how to kill someone with a fork.”

Zevran sighed happily and threw an arm over Lucanis’ shoulder, ignoring the hiss from the demon that resided within him. If the future of the Crows, and the world, were in the hands of Rook and her Talon, perhaps it wouldn't be too long until he could return to Antiva as a guest and not as fugitive-

“He might be okay with you. But I don’t like you, Old Crow. I’ll eat your face when he goes to sleep.”

… Maybe not.

[fragileruns]

welcome backk !!

request for tasm!peter - peter would always blow off reader on dates because he's busy fighting crime and stuff like that, and reader has always been patient with him and understanding until she finally had enough. peter went to her apartment without thinking ( so he was still wearing the suit ) because he wanted to make up with reader right away and then he reveals his identity to her and they make up ( can end with smut )

i am terrible at making requests, and sorry if it would be hard to understand T T

anywaysss happy that you're back :D take caree

sorry this request took so long, lovely! i hope you enjoy! sorry for not including any smut, i’m just not the best at writing it yet.

summary: peter’s been showing up late, or not at all, for all your dates recently and you’re upset, until you find out why.

content warnings: fluff mainly, very slight angst, peter being a stressed baby, gn!reader (i think, let me know if not!), not proofread

The first time it happened was a study date. You had been struggling to grasp the new topic that had been introduced in your mathematics class and Peter, being the braniac he was, had been quick to offer to tutor you. He was supposed to come over that Friday night and have a movie night, after you finished studying. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he was just running late or had an emergency, but then the hours creeped on and he still never showed. He apologized the next day, claiming May needed help with something and he couldn’t get away (apparently, this ‘something’ had kept him from messaging you that he wouldn’t come, as well, but you decided not to bring that up).

The next time was a bit more annoying. It was date night. You and Peter always set aside at least one day every week to be ‘date night.’ It usually just consisted of take out food and really cheesy movies, but it was nice to be able to spend time together, especially when classes filled up most of your schedules. You had a stressful week, with exams coming up and final projects being due, and you had been looking forward to spending a night with your boyfriend. He always knew how to put you at ease. You waited up for him for hours, but he never showed, again. At least this time he did text you, even though it was nearing midnight and it only read ‘I’m so sorry, this huge emergency came up. I’ll make it up to you with an icecream date tomorrow???’

The cycle continued on. He kept missing minor dates, sometimes showing up hours late or texting you that something came up, and other times just going radio silent until the next day. And you had forgiven him everytime, but he could tell you were getting annoyed and feeling rejected. Rightfully so. He knew he had to make it up to you, somehow, and his best plan of action was to scrape together whatever money he could and find the fanciest restaurant nearby (which wasn’t as fancy as he’d have liked, but it had foods he had never heard of, so he figured it was good enough).

“Okay, listen, I know I’ve been really, really bad at showing up to our dates on time, as in, I haven’t been,” he had started one night, coming into your apartment after one of his classes. You were sitting on the couch, surfing through movies to find something to watch, and he walked over to plop down next to you. “And I know you’ve been stressed with exams, and I just… I want to make it up to you and tell you I’m proud of you for getting through them. So, I made us a reservation at that fancy place - the italian one, down the road? Anyway, it’s for Saturday at 7, and if you don’t totally hate me, I thought it’d be nice.”

You glanced over him, furrowed eyebrows and with only a hint of hope. It was hard to keep believing he’d show up whenever he had missed so many. “I don’t hate you. I just… are you sure you’re gonna show up? I’m really tired of embarrassing myself by just waiting around,” you admitted with a doubtful sigh, and Peter’s heart nearly broke. He felt even worse for missing everything, and he wished more than anything that he could just tell you why.

“Hey, I swear, okay? I — I’m really sorry for missing any of our dates, and I’m sorry you felt embarrassed. But, the only way I don’t show up for this one is if I’m dying in a hospital somewhere, alright?” He rushed to reassure you, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and keep your attention on him. Seeing his puppy dog eyes made you give in quicker than you would have liked to, and you just nodded with a small ‘okay’ to agree. He grinned, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss, before turning back to the TV, decidedly picking some action movie that he thought you’d like.

Saturday came around, and you hated to say it, but you were excited. You had dressed nicely, taking over an hour to get ready just to make sure you looked perfect. You even arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, waiting outside for Peter to show. He ended up texting you that he’d be running a few minutes late and asked that you went ahead to claim your seats, told you he’d still be there shortly. You lost some hope, but still trusted he’d keep his word and went in to sit down.

By 7:30, most of that trust had died and you apologized to the waiter for wasting so much of her time, but you were sure your date would show. She gave you a sympathetic smile that made you want to curl up and die as you ate your complimentary bread.

By 7:45, you had already send Peter a string of texts, letting him know you were about to leave and would talk to him later. You still hoped he’d respond though, but no luck.

Finally, by 8:00, you had given up all hope and just left, apologizing again to the waiters as you hurried out, eager to get away from the stares. You stopped by a small pizza place on your way back, starving as you hadn’t ate since before noon that day, scarfing down the slice before going to your house. Part of you worried that Peter was, in fact, dying in a hospital somewhere and that was why he didn’t show, though you knew that wasn’t why. Knew he just got caught up with something else, like always.

Peter stared down at his phone, mask held in his other hand as he frowned at your string of texts, all consisting of things like ‘this is humiliating, are you showing up??’ and ‘you promised you’d show.’ He felt that deep pit of guilt, and he didn’t think before swinging to your home, only wanting to make things up to you. Only wanting to make things better before you finally just gave up and broke things off with him. He wasn’t at all focused on the fact that he was wearing his tight suit, mask in his mouth now, identity fully revealed if anyone squinted enough.

His heart was beating a mile a minute, but not because of the adrenaline of the fight or the feeling of whipping through the air. Because he could only imagine how upset and angry you must feel right now, and he felt awful for being the cause of it.

He got to your house in less than half the time it would usually take, moving as quickly as possible, tapping on your bedroom window as soon as he spotted you in bed. You had rolled over at the noise, eyes squinting to see what was going on at first before you spotted him. He noticed the split second of anger that came across your features, but it was quickly replaced with wide eyes as you rushed to let him in. He glanced behind him to make sure nobody was about to throw something at him.

“Peter, you’re —” you had started once you pulled the window up, but you didn’t have time to continue before he started rushing to apologize.

“I’m sosososo sorry, I know I promised and I don’t have a good excuse, and I know you must be so upset right now,” he started, his own eyes wide as he climbed in, hands immediately finding your waist to stand you in front of him, ignoring your own shocked look and attempt at getting words out. “Tell me how to make it up to you, I’ll do anything, I swear. Seriously, Do you want a puppy? A cat? A — a lion? Anything?” He was practically begging.

“Spiderman,” You had responded. His eyebrows furrowed, hands dropping from your waist as he took in what he thought was your request.

“You want — you want Spiderman? Like, a cutout? That’s… okay, I didn’t know you were that big of a fan.”

“No, Peter, you’re… you’re Spiderman,” you stated and he was more confused than ever, but then your hands reached out to grab the mask that had dropped to the floor, and everything clicked together. He had never changed.

“Oh, that — um, I was at a costume party,” he attempted to lie, and it was clear on your face that you weren’t falling for his bluff. “Okay, yes. I’m Spiderman. That’s… sort of why I’ve been so late to everything.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you not trust me?”

“No. No! That’s not it at all. I just — it’s dangerous. For you to know anything. For you to even be with me, but I’m too selfish to end things. I just didn’t want someone coming after you just because you knew my identity,” he admitted with a frown, upset that you were now in harms way just because of his own stupidity.

“You’ve been doing this alone? You haven’t had any help?”

“What?” He questioned, looking at you as if you had asked the most absurd question possible. You were worried about his help when he had just missed his probably fifth date in a row? And put you in danger? “Um, yeah, I’ve been doing it alone. Look, I’m really sorry about tonight, and I promise —”

“Peter. It’s fine, I’m not mad. Anymore. I just can’t believe you hid this from me. I could’ve helped you, you know?” You cut him off, reaching out to rub your hand over a bruise forming near his eye. He hadn’t really noticed it from the fight, used to being punched around and overly focused on trying to get home to you.

His eyes were wide and filled with both worry and guilt. Guilt over missing tonight. Worry because he had no idea what was going to happen now, because it was about to become ten times harder to keep you safe. If anyone found out you knew his identity, they’d come for you, and Peter really didn’t know how to deal with that.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I was scared something would happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice small, and your heart broke.

“You won’t, okay? Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I’m here. But I wish you would’ve told me, I hate thinking about you out there, getting hurt. Not having anyone to patch you up. Is that why you’d wear hoodies so often?”

“Yeah,” he looked slightly embarrassed, and he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, keeping a hold of your hand as you went to sit next to him. “I usually heal up really fast, though, I promise. So it’s not that bad. And I’m really good at patching myself up, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you. I worried about you before I knew you were Spiderman, why would you think I wouldn’t worry about this?” You sighed, scooting closer to him as he wrapped his arms aorund you, moving to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You could tell how messed up he felt about it all with how openly he was craving your affection, but you didn’t say anything and instead just put your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“Sweetheart, ‘m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,” he said, but you didn’t stop and he didn’t stop you.

“That’s fine. Just go to sleep, bug boy.”

He grumbled something out about the nickname, something about being a man and not a boy, but it was quiet, and he almost immediately fell asleep soon after.

[wishful-thinking64]

HH Rewrite Related Post #04

The final results from the 2nd poll are in and the winner was... 🥁 🥁 🥁

Hell's number one porn star, Angel Dust! While he was my favorite character during the pilot days of Hazbin Hotel, I wouldn't say he is now as a lot of what made him a like-able asshole character in the pilot isn't there in the series. My grievances aside, let's get to Angel's character sheet! ________________ [CURRENT NAME] 🞂 ANGEL DUST BUT DOES OCCASIONALLY GO BY ANTHONY & ANTONIA. 🞂 Has basically been going by this ever since he arrived in Hell as he refused to continue to being a mobster, quickly taking to sex work to make quick cash and get to live a more “exhilarating” life.

[FORMER NAME] 🞂 ANTHONY TARANTELLA. 🞂 The name Anthony means Priceless One and Praiseworthy whereas his last name is Italian for Tarantula and, yes, Tarantella is an actual last name that Italians can have albeit an uncommon one.

[D.O.B + D.O.D] 🞂 BORN APRIL 1ST, 1913. 🞂 DIED DECEMBER 24TH, 1947.

[AGE] 🞂 BIOLOGICALLY 34. 🞂 CHRONOLOGICALLY 111.

[GENDER & SEX] 🞂 BORN MALE. 🞂 STARTED IDENTIFYING  AS GENDER FLUID BACK IN THE 90S. [SEXUALITY] 🞂 STILL GAY.

[ETHNICITY & NATIONALITY] 🞂 AN ITALIAN WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED AS AN AMERICAN CITIZEN. 🞂 I’ve written for his parents and older brother to be Italian immigrants who came to America looking for safety as tensions between Turkey and Italy during this time were high due to the war and there was a lot of social outrage within their own country during the early 1910s. I imagine that Angel never got to visit his home country which is something that deeply upsets him as he knows that he’ll never be able to see Italy’s beauty outside of photographs.

[SOCIAL STATUS] 🞂 CONTRACTED SINNER. 🞂 I feel like Sinner’s who have signed soul contracts would be below regular Sinners as they aren’t seen as someone else's property and still have control of their own life. Cause let’s be real, Sinners who’ve sold their souls away are often treated as slaves.

[CRIMES COMMITTED IN LIFE FROM LEAST TO MOST OFFENSIVE] 🞂 TAX FRAUD. 🞂 THEFT. 🞂 B&E (Breaking and Entering.) 🞂 SMUGGLING. 🞂 MONEY LAUNDERING. 🞂 SUBSTANCE ABUSE OF BOTH ALCOHOL & DRUGS. 🞂 EXTORTION (mainly opted to use threats but would easily resort to using violence if threats didn’t work.) 🞂 INFILTRATING LEGIT/GENUINE BUSINESSES. 🞂 FRAUD IN GENERAL (specifically counterfeiting, check fraud, mail fraud, securities fraud, and loan sharking.) 🞂 TRAFFICKING (typically involved in drug trafficking though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t involved in any type of human trafficking at all.) 🞂 KIDNAPPING. 🞂 TORTURE. 🞂 MURDER.

[SINS COMMITTED IN LIFE FROM LEAST TO GREATEST] 🞂 LUST. 🞂 WRATH. 🞂 GREED. 🞂 GLUTTONY (I put Gluttony as the number one sin since I’m still having Angel die from a drug overdose just not from PCP.)

[OWNER OF HIS SOUL] 🞂 THE DEPRAVED OVERLORD OF LUST, VALENTINO. 🞂 I’m unsure of how the show is going to explain the reason behind Angel Dust signing his soul away to Valentino but I’m having it be because he was ultimately promised protection from other demons as anyone who decided to mess with him would have to deal with Val. Alas, that doesn’t mean Angel is safe from Valentino.

[PROFESSIONS] 🞂 MAIN JOB: PORN STAR. 🞂 SECONDARY JOB: MODEL. 🞂 He does mainly work for Valentino as the man owns his soul although he does work for Velvette once in a while and is even regarded as one of her top models.

[CORE PERSONALITY TRAITS] 🞂 ALLURING. 🞂 BOLD. 🞂 COCKY. 🞂 CRUDE. 🞂 DEFENSIVE. 🞂 FLEXIBLE. 🞂 LAID BACK. 🞂 OPEN-MINDED. 🞂 OPPORTUNISTIC. 🞂 PROMISCUOUS. 🞂 SNARKY. 🞂 TALKATIVE. 🞂 VAIN. 🞂 WITTY.

[RELATIONS TO THE VEES] 🞂 VARIES DEPENDING ON THE PERSON. 🞂 Angel’s relationship with the Vees truly is a mixed bag as he hates his boss but with Vox he’s on neutral ground. He likes Velvette as she acts as his (better) second boss and number one gossip buddy and the latest addition of the group, Vanitas, is the one he gets along with the most thanks to them being the most reasonable and level headed.

[REASON FOR CHECKING INTO THE HAZBIN HOTEL] 🞂 HIS LAST APARTMENT GOT DESTROYED IN THE MOST RECENT EXTERMINATION AND HE NEEDS THAT RENT FREE ROOM. 🞂 It totally isn't tied with him deeply missing his younger twin sister and secretly hoping that the hotel actually works so he can be reunited with her.

[THOUGHTS ON THE HAZBIN HOTEL & IT’S STAFF] 🞂 THINKS THE HOTEL’S PLAN WILL FAIL. 🞂 HAS VARYING THOUGHTS ON THE STAFF. 🞂 The staff member Angel Dust was the most positive/receptive towards upon his arrival at the hotel was Lavanya. It wasn’t because she was the Princess of Hell (though that certainly plays a factor into it) but because of her optimistic outlook for her people. She genuinely has hope that some of them can change their ways and ascend to the pearly gates. He thinks it's sweet despite it being foolish in nature. He’s pretty neutral on the rest of the staff minus Valoris. He does not like her and she does not like him one bit. _______________

That's the core information for Angel Dust and I used he/him pronouns for Angel throughout the character sheet because genderfluid people tend to use one set of pronouns at a time and not multiple pronouns at once like a lot of people seem to believe. Years before the pilot Angel Dust was going to be gender fluid until Vivziepop thought that information didn't fit anymore. Also the reason I said I wouldn't have Angel pass from PCP is because while PCP was discovered in the year 1926, it wasn't made aware of the public until the year 1956 under the name of Sernyl where it was marketed as a type of anesthetic. In short, there's no fucking way Angel died from a drug overdose on PCP. Another instance where Viv didn't do the bare minimum of research because that information about PCP took me all of two minutes to find and that was solely because I wanted the exact year from the 50s where it was introduced otherwise it was a twenty second Google search. In any case, next I'll do Valoris' character sheet since she got 2nd place in this poll. Thank you to everyone who participated in the poll and I hope you guys liked Angel's character sheet!

[bellobambino]

Teeth

part of the Fugitive!Luigi series

summary: luigi, having just quit his job in hawaii, arrives in baltimore. His mother tells him he’s a failure and he can’t come home. He’s got nothing left for him, and he’s at rock bottom. He calls his cousin mateo, asking for a place to crash. Instead, he finds a whole new purpose.

Mateo is a sociopath anarchist. and no taller than 5’8 in shoes.

1682w

Warnings: yeah so suicidal ideation and the suicide to homicide pipeline. emotional manipulation and i guess short guy syndrome, mateo doomsday device as an individual.

Notes: mateo freaks me out. but he’s so funny. after this fic you need to read Dead Man Walking which is released in a few hours. stay tuned

————-/—

January 10, 2024

Baltimore Air Port

My cousin Mateo answers on the third ring, and I hear a lighter flick before he even says anything. Then:

"Luigi! Cugino, long time no talk."

"Hey," I said. "I’m in Baltimore. I can’t go home."

A beat.

"No shit," he said. And then, "I got a couch you can crash on if you bring some booze."

Not a bad deal.

I grab a bottle of crown royal from the duty-free liquor store in the airport before getting an uber to mateo’s place.

He lives on the third floor of an apartment building that looks like it gets away with a lot of code violations for being old. The door looks like someone took a hammer to the lock.

I knock and shove my hands in my pockets, and exhale. I have to mentally prepare myself to behold the experience that is Mateo Mangione.

Cugino Mateo has always been a problem. Not just for my family, not just for the law, but in an existential way that people like him are problems. The way a forest fire is a problem, or a collapsing bridge. The world is structured in a way that can’t contain people like him, and so they just crash through it, burning, breaking, refusing to be anything other than what they are.

I remember him as a kid, showing up to family functions late, wearing some ridiculous leather jacket that made my mother physically ill. His father used to grab him by the back of the neck in that way Italian dads do, shake him, tell him how he was disrespectful, reckless, a stronzo, un figlio di puttana. All while Mateo smiled that too-wide smile, like everything that happened to him was a joke.

There’s some shuffling inside the apartment, then the door swings open. Mateo fills the space. He makes 5’7 feel like 6’8. It’s weird how much we have in common. The same Mangione thousand watt smile, except his is cranked up to a million, all sharp teeth and wide-eyed mania. He’s all angles, sharpness, sudden movements, and unfiltered thoughts.

“Luigi,” he grins, voice dripping with amusement, like this is already fun for him. “The prodigal son.”

He steps back, and I follow him in.

Inside, Mateo's apartment is exactly what I expected and somehow worse. The lighting is horrible. Just a couple of mismatched lamps with red-tinted bulbs that make the whole place feel like a crime scene in a David Lynch movie. The ceiling light is just… wires. Completely missing a fixture. A Glock sits on the coffee table next to a massive bong, a box of Family Size Honey Nut Cheerios, and what I think might be a slice of American cheese still in the wrapper. The TV leans against the wall on the floor instead of being mounted, frozen on a PS5 home screen. A laundry basket full of clothes is dumped across a futon that looks like it’s been slept on.

And it smells like something is in the oven, “are you baking something?”

he flops down on the couch, “cinnamon roll candle. the ladies love it.”

there are no ladies here. “what ladies?”

“you never know”

I sigh, sink down into what I think is a chair.

"Quit my job."

Mateo whistles low, shaking his head, "Finally."

“mom told me i’m throwing my life away.”

“of course she did. she only cares about you doing shit that makes her look good.”

He jolts up, reaches for his bong and loads a bowl.

i’ve known him my whole life, so i don’t flinch when he moves, but i can totally see how other people would. He’s so unpredictable, it’s stressful. For everyone but him. You need to be prepared for literally anything around him.

He rips the bong, holds it, and blows out the smoke. He gestures to get me to continue.

So I do. “I have nothing left, no future, no plans. For the first time in my life I feel like there’s… nothing for me.” I’m messing with the cuticle on my thumb. I exhale. “I quit because it didn’t matter. None of it does. I got my degree, I did everything right, and for what?”

He says nothing,

I continue. “I can’t go home. I don’t have a home.” I hesitate. My throat is tight. Fucking fuck. My hands are fists. “I don’t even know why I’m still here.”

Mateo’s face doesnt change. He just takes another drink, watching me over his glass with his sharp fuckin eyes. He doesnt do the concerned “you have so much to live for” bullshit.

“You dont wanna kill yourself.” he says, looking at me with too intense of a glare. “You want to make them pay. The people who made you feel like this.” He gets up, “I have a better idea.” he says.

He points, gesturing for me to hand him the Crown Royal. He takes it into the kitchen. Theres slamming of various cabinets and clinkings of glasses. Whatever dishware he found, he rinses out in the sink. Then pours two fingers of the crown in two glasses.

Well… he hands me the one scotch glass he found. He’s decided to use a coffee mug, with ‘CHILL, I GOT A SPREADSHEET FOR THAT’ in faded letters on the side.

I stand up, and we cheers. His eyes don’t leave me as we both drink.

Then:

“You think your life is over? No.. This? This is where it begins."

I roll my eyes. "Mateo…"

"No, really. You’ve never been more free than you are right now. No job. No obligations. No family ties. You think that makes you directionless, but that makes you untouchable."

I scoff. "Yeah, well, I’m not going to fucking work. And I’m never talking to family again."

"Good!" He yells, making me flinch. "Fuck ‘em. Who needs ‘em? You were never gonna climb their stupid little ladder anyway. And your mom doesn’t want you to be happy, she wants you to suffer."

I hate that he’s right..

"You were already dying, Luigi. The system kills you slowly. You just finally broke free of their chains."

I rub my face, exhausted. "Yeah, okay, but that doesn’t help me now. I have nothing."

"Exactly. Nothing to stop you from taking fate by the throat and making your life mean something real."

Something real.

He leans forward, "Luigi, tell me something." he’s watching me too closely. "Why do people let it happen?"

I blink. "What?"

"Why does nobody ever really do anything?" his intensity is getting dialed up, sharp and crackling. "You’re not dumb. You’ve seen it. The world is built on suffering. The little guy gets ground into dust so the motherfuckers up top can keep their yachts and their golf courses and their congressional insider trading rings. It’s all rigged.”

His voice gets low, quieter, and dangerous, "And the only way to win a rigged game is to flip the fucking table."

I swallow.

He means every word.

"You wanna know the truth, Luigi?" He gestures broadly. "These fuckers deserve to die."

His voice is smooth when he says it, like its really just a matter of fact.

"You were ready to die. But why should it be you?"

Something inside me,already dead and rotting, is listening very closely. I’m suddenly furious. Mateo sees it.

He sets down his mug of crown on the coffee table, and does a little dance in place, a little too excited about this dangerous conversation. He’s rubbing his hands together. “We’re gonna roleplay.”

“No we arent.”

“Yeah we are.” he snaps back, already decided, he’s in his performance theatre mode, “I’m the ceo of a multi billion dollar health insurance company. And you’re a single mother of 2. One of your kids has seizures and needs a specific medication to live a normal life.”

He continues “Now, ask me if its covered.” he politely puts his hands together in front of him, waiting for my answer.

“Is it covered?--”

Mateo claps his hands, delighted. “NO!” he shouts, practically bouncing on his heels. “Of course it’s not covered! What do I look like, a fucking charity?” He gestures wildly with his hands, like I’m the crazy one. “What, you think we just give life-saving medicine away? How entitled of you..”

Then he grabs the gun from the coffee table and slaps it into my hand.

I don’t even really think about holding onto it, not at first. It’s just there, weighty and solid in my hand, and my thumb finds the texture of the grip, which is rough and stippled. It’s something to hold onto in the middle of all this. I run my thumb over it, slow, dragging across the bumps and ridges like there’s some kind of message in it if I just keep rubbing. It grounds me. It keeps me from spinning out.

Which is fucking dangerous. Because the longer I hold onto it, the more natural it starts to feel.

He exhales, shaking his head like I’m so slow. “C’mon, man, use your brain. What are your options?” He starts ticking them off on his fingers. “Cry? Beg? Sell your car? Sell your house? Get a third fucking job? Watch your kid suffer? or….” he gestures at the gun in my hand.

I should say something. I should say something.

I shake my head. “youve lost your mind.”

He rolls his eyes, “Luigi. The system doesn’t listen, It does not care if you beg. It does not care if you march in the streets, protest, light some candles, or post a fucking hashtag.” He stops, eyes locking on mine. “But it will listen to this.” He nods at the gun.

He leans in further, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Shit doesnt change until the people in power feel afraid. and the only way to make them afraid?” He nods at the gun again. “you make an example out of one of them.”

I exhale, slow.

Mateo is beaming with his sharp fucking teeth.. “What’s one less CEO, huh?”

I don’t answer.

[fairyhagmother]

el, you're special. you don't have to get interrogated about felix. instead I'm asking about our joint hallucination, maximinius ravinstill... (considering that almost everything about him has been made up by us together... I'm giving you the out of felix... who is mostly a guy I made up... rip)

man from the prop money…..also I’ve had a drink

First impression: none because he wasn’t there

My impression now: absolute wet rat of a man. has about as much swag as trembling Italian greyhound. Somehow also the president of fictional fascist state Panem? Kind of an enigma but mostly volumnias pet president. she parks him in the lab meeting rooms when she’s at work and he stares at the wall.

Favourite thing about the character: how u made him up

Least favourite thing: the war crimes 😔

Favourite interaction that character has with another: when he nodded at coriolanus that one time

A character that I wish he would interact with more: volumnia. hate to break it to everyone but they literally never interact in the book. They interact in my heart and mind. however

Another character from another fandom: King Arthur. He is an absent figure around which the entire narrative revolves. but also he is depressed does not really want to be there and will leave an event early to take a nap

A hc: loves to read and loves history. When his crush dies (rip) he is like I’m going to kill myself like in the tragedies I read. They’re by this guy called Shakespeare? You wouldn’t know him bc the govt of panem censored him 😔 slept with volumnia once and then was like. well now I’m gay for suresies

A song: sure I’ll put him on my 1980s British electronic music abt science playlsit. Or maybe common people by pulp bc that would be funny

Unpopular opinion: N/a all my opinions are popular by default bc no one really thinks abt him outside abyssal me and meekmedea

Favourite picture

[hoffstrap-yuri]

To Have and To Hold

ao3 // masterlist

*Summary: Like a game of cat and mouse, Hoffman and Strahm continue their little ruse from DC. Just in New York this time.

*Rating: +18 for Explicit Mature Content

*Tags: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Slight Feeding Kink, Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Domestic, Domestic Fluff

*Status: Sequel/Complete (First Chapter of First Fic Here) (Second Chapter of First Fic Here)

Author's Note: So Hi. Here's the sequel people have been asking for to "In Sickness and In Health (Insurance)". Sadly there's no fraud in this one, but I wanted to focus more on them growing as a couple than them just being bickering accomplices so that's why there's more focus on one date. This is also for the anon on tumblr who clocked me for having a feeding fetish in seconds after I reblogged a "make an assumption about me" ask game. Also yay Perez cameo in this fic, because I love her dynamic with Strahm so much.

Hope you'll all enjoy this one as much as the last, and thank you for reading as always!

Click. Click.

“Stop.” Strahm looked over at Hoffman from across their desks

“Give me the answer to 5 across, and then I’ll stop.” Hoffman replied, continuing to click his pen. He didn’t lift his eyes off the paper in front of him.

“I’ve got something better.” Strahm slid a paper across their desks and Hoffman took a glance at it. He couldn’t make out the details so he used the end of the pen to slide the document closer to him. He looked over the paper and brought it up to his face.

“I don’t get it. Is this the answer to 18 down?”

“No dumbass.” Strahm’s face dropped and covered his eyes with the palm of his hand. “I got us a reservation to a place.”

“What kind of place?”

“An Italian place.”

“Sounds nice.” Hoffman crumpled up the paper and threw it back into Strahm’s lap. Strahm unfurled the paper and smoothed it out over the desk

“You told me you wanted me to buy you dinner back at the hotel a couple months back. I’m buying you dinner.” Strahm grumbled a little bit

“And you’ve only shoved your tongue down my throat about five times since then. So much restraint on your part, Agent.” Hoffman rolled his eyes, “What’s in it for me?”

“Other than free food?”

“Yes.”

“You get a free ride into the city and don’t have to deal with Manhattan parking?”

“More.”

“What more could you want, you idiot?”

“Give me something like that bathroom in Virginia and our hotel room after our meal.”

“You want me to get us a hotel and make a weekend out of going an hour away?”

“Only if you want to. I was referring to the more heinous things we did in those places.” Hoffman stood up and leaned over Strahm’s desk. Strahm forcibly expelled a breath through his nose and Hoffman sat back down with the satisfaction that Strahm had gotten the memo. He crossed his legs and picked his puzzle up in time so that when Perez strolled in, it looked like the two law enforcement agents hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Honestly, when do you two ever eat?” She asked, looking over at the partner she’s had for five years

“When I feel like it.” Strahm responded. He leaned in his chair and flipped through the manila file folders before him as Hoffman answered Lindsay with a shrug. Hoffman got occupied making calls to potential witnesses for interviews the rest of the afternoon, while Strahm was tasked with making a drive out to a crime scene.

---

Strahm walked through the door of the other man’s home. It’d become second nature to him to go back to the detective’s house at the end of the work day. Perez even joked that she never saw Strahm at their hotel’s complimentary breakfast and he brushed off her concern with a ‘we must just go down at different times’. He sat down on the couch that was like a second home to him and turned on the TV without so much as a second thought. Hoffman leaned against the door frame and watched his partner from a distance before Strahm felt his gaze squarely on him. He looked back over at Hoffman before saying,

“Come here.”

Hoffman walked over to the couch and sat next to the FBI agent, taking the other man’s arm and putting it around his shoulders. He asked Strahm, “What are we watching tonight?”

“General?”

“I’d rather die.”

“Fine. We could watch survivor…”

“What about that Law & Order show?”

“You don’t think we get enough of that at work?” Strahm scoffed

“I don’t get to see Mariska Hargitay at work every day.” Hoffman shot back

“Oh bullshit, I know you’re not looking at her.” Strahm looked down at Hoffman and at his lips. He was frustrated having this back and forth exchange with the detective with no end in sight but he needed the other man. He craved the feeling of Hoffman’s stupidly thick lips on top of his.

“You look ravenous, Agent.” Hoffman caught Strahm’s gaze and leaned further into his space.

“Just thinking of how stupid you’d look with a mustache. It’d only highlight how damn big your lips are.”

“Right, that’s definitely what you were thinking.” Hoffman leaned back. Strahm made a noise in the back of his throat from the lose of contact but made a face instead of admitting that he wanted the detective in his arms. “I’m going to bed. If you care to join me.”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Something caught my eye on the pay-per-view channels.”

“Just give me the money later if you decide to watch something.” Hoffman got up from the couch and walked off to bed without so much as another word. Strahm looked over his shoulder and watched Hoffman walk away. He flipped through the channels mindlessly for a couple more minutes before crawling into bed next to Hoffman. Hoffman felt the shift in the weight on his bed and wrapped his arms around Strahm before the agent could protest. Strahm rolled over just enough that he wouldn’t break the grip Hoffman had on him and shut his eyes. When Strahm woke up the next morning, Hoffman was already in the shower. Strahm rolled over to look at Hoffman’s bedside clock. 6:30. Lindsay was probably down at the hotel’s breakfast right now, or was on her way to get some coffee from Dunkin. While he thought about his partner, his other partner stood at the bedside before uttering,

“The bathroom’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” Strahm replied back before lugging himself up off the mattress and into the bathroom. He put the previous day’s clothes on the side of the sink and hopped into the shower. He stole a bit of Hoffman’s aftershave and rubbed it across his neck. Before stepping out of the bathroom he slung his clothes on and realized he was missing a tie. He walked back to Hoffman’s bedroom and sat next to the other man.

“Something I can help you with?” Hoffman looked him up and down

“What did you do with my tie from last night?”

“You got some food on it and I threw it to get washed.”

“You mind if I borrow one of yours?”

“Sure. Won’t Lindsay notice?”

“Not if we bury the lead.”

“I don’t know how much further we can bury before we seal our coffins, Agent.” Hoffman got up from the bed and walked over to his cabinet. He pulled the first tie he found out and threw it at Strahm, who clumsily caught it. He wrapped it around the back of his neck before Hoffman swat his hands away and tied it for himself. He pulled the knot tight as Strahm stared at Hoffman’s hands working with a speed he’d never expected from the detective. “Now hurry. Or else she might get to the office before you do.” Strahm thanked him quietly and scuttled off to his car. He turned the key in the ignition and sped off out of the alleyway. When Strahm got to work the minutes dragged into hours. Hoffman talked to him like they hadn’t been one brush of contact away from making out that morning and it was killing Strahm. He started clicking the bottom of his pen before Lindsay gave him a look. She knew under normal circumstances the clicking would’ve driven Strahm insane and Strahm seemed to notice her gaze. He stopped what he was doing and shot a look at Hoffman who seemed to relish in the fact his habit seemingly grew onto Strahm.

“Doing anything fun this weekend?” Lindsay asked Strahm, pulling her attention back to the computer in front of her

“When have I ever done anything fun with my time off, Linds?” Strahm scoffed

“Don’t know. Weather’s supposed to be good.”

“I’ll be sure to stop at the Central Park Zoo for you.”

“Thanks.” She took his sarcasm and slung it back at him

“You must have something going on then.”

“Just going to see my mom.”

“Tell her I said ‘hi’.” He nodded

“I’ll make sure to save you an empanada.”

“Is that your way of asking to leave early?” Strahm looked up at her

“Maybe. Could throw in a slice of tres leche.” She shrugged

“Just go.”

“No tres leche?”

“No, definitely bring me a piece.” Strahm scoffed

“See you next week Pete. Hoffman.”

“Bye.” Hoffman replied as Perez threw her stuff in her bag and left

“We could probably get out of here early too.”

“Could we now?” Hoffman looked over at Strahm, “And what would we do with all our extra free time?”

Strahm looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was around before uttering in a low voice, “I could buy you a new outfit for our date.”

“Now we’re talking, Agent.” Hoffman grabbed his suit jacket and got up from his desk. Strahm followed with his case files in hand. Hoffman got in Strahm’s car and Strahm questioned him about it.

“The hell are you doing in my car?”

“It’s more efficient to carpool these days, Agent.”

“But what if Perez comes back and sees my car gone but you’re still here.”

“She’s not coming back.” Hoffman replied, “Now drive us to the mall and we can pick my car up later.”

“Fine.” Strahm backed out of the lot and drove them to the mall. While it wasn’t nearly as exciting as their first time shopping for a dress for Hoffman, he still had his fun teasing the agent with quick utterances about how his legs looked in a long dress he brought into the dressing room, or how tight a midi dress looked around his waist without ever going out to give Strahm a sneak peek.

“These two.”

“One.” Strahm said

“Two.” Hoffman bit back, “I know you can afford it and after all, this was all your idea.”

“Fine.” Without another fighting word, Strahm brought the dresses up to the counter while Hoffman looked at the various accessories by the registers. To the average onlooker, it probably looked like Strahm was buying the dresses for his wife while Hoffman was trying to pick out earrings for his bride. Strahm slung the bag over his shoulder and nudged Hoffman out towards the mall before Hoffman guided Strahm to another store.

“Seems like I’m getting low on my aftershave.” Hoffman remarked

“Wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“Right.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and picked up a bottle from the store. He stepped out a couple seconds later before his lips nearly grazed the side of Strahm’s ear. He whispered into it, “You know that bra you got me won’t work under my dresses.”

“So let’s get you something that’ll work.” Strahm replied as quiet as he possibly could. Hoffman walked off with a smirk as he dragged Strahm to another store. Hoffman threw a stack into Strahm’s arms and brought the other man up to the register to pay for it all. The cashier tried to strike up conversation with Strahm, saying how lucky his wife must be to have him out buying something for her. “Yeah. She is.” Strahm replied, not taking his eyes off the ever climbing total. He shakily handed his credit card over before getting the bag in return. Hoffman hummed in a twisted satisfaction as he practically pulled Strahm out of the store in his borrowed tie. “Think you’ve blown enough of my money for today here?”

“And if I haven’t?” Hoffman countered

“Then I would say you’re crazy.”

“To bad you don’t have the balls to say no to me.” Hoffman smirked. He saw a hallway in front of them and pulled Strahm around the corner before pushing his weight onto the special agent, pinning him to the wall. “Watching you squirm like this, Agent Strahm… does something to me.”

“Sadist.” Strahm scoffed

“If I’m so much of a sadist, what do you call it when your partner will use any phrase but the simple three worded one to get his feelings for you out? I think that’s pretty sadistic.” Hoffman growled at the other man. Strahm felt his face getting hot. So Hoffman had noticed his dances around saying the words ‘I love you’. He thought he was being slick about it, but if Hoffman noticed he must’ve made some unsubtle move in the past… Before he could give Hoffman an answer or a reasoning behind why he’d been avoiding those words, Hoffman pulled himself off Strahm. “Think about it, Agent.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Let’s go get my car.” Hoffman hummed and they walked back to Strahm’s vehicle. While Strahm was pulling away from the mall, Hoffman leaned in and kissed Strahm’s cheek. Strahm’s face turned a beet red yet again before realizing no one would notice their intimacy at 40 miles per hour. Strahm pulled into the lot of a fast food place quickly and kissed Hoffman square on the lips before driving back to the police station. “See you at home.”

“See you.” Strahm replied quickly and sped off. Strahm beat Hoffman to his house and waited at the patio door for Hoffman to come with the key. Hoffman strolled to the door and reached behind Strahm to unlock the door. He kissed Strahm’s cheek before walking into his home. Strahm followed suit and trailed behind Hoffman all the way to the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around the detective as the man reached for something in the cabinet overhead. Strahm then buried his face in Hoffman’s neck.

“Here I thought you only liked me with a bra on.” Hoffman reached behind himself to run a hand through Strahm’s hair. “Such affection from you, Agent… will tonight be the night you slip up and say it?”

“No.” Strahm makes a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat

“Saving it then for tomorrow?”

“You’re just egging me on.” Strahm replied, though it was mostly to himself

“And you seemingly fall for it, hook line and sinker.” Hoffman was quick to counter him. “Get out of my way, I’m trying to cook.”

“Fine.” Strahm peeled himself off Hoffman and sat in the living room, faced with the dilemma yet again of what was there to watch this evening. Hoffman brought a plate over to Strahm and sat down next to him before Strahm stopped on a movie. Something unremarkable and inoffensive for two grown men to watch. Hoffman got up at one point to throw their plates in the sink and grab a blanket from the other side of the room. Strahm looked up at Hoffman before resting his head on the other man’s shoulders

“You looked tired.” Hoffman explained

“Yeah. I am.”

“Then we can sleep out here.”

“Okay.” Strahm let his eyes close shut and woke the next morning to the sun pouring into the living room. Once again he was alone on the couch and cocooned himself further with the blanket now that he didn’t have to share. He heard the floors creak, more than likely from Hoffman getting out of the bathroom, but decided to wait until the detective came out to the living room. He flipped the TV on and watched a news channel for a second, waiting on the weather report. “Looks good…”

“I haven’t even shown you yet.” Hoffman peered around the corner with a slight smirk on his face

“No not you, I mean the weather. For tonight.”

“Good.” The detective stepped out and fluffed up the ends of his hair with his fingers. Strahm looked him up and down for a good while. “See something you like, agent?”

“I…” Strahm stammered, looking for coherent words rather than guttural throat noises. Hoffman’s smirk grew. He slipped his fingers underneath the bands of the garter belt he was wearing before using a free hand to pull Strahm’s gaze up to his eyes.

“Say something, hubby.”

“I… You look really good.”

“How good?”

“Like I could take you right now good.” Strahm replied weakly. Hoffman let go of his chin and sauntered away back to the bedroom, though he still seemed pretty smug as he did. He came back maybe ten minutes later with his face completely dolled up and his dress on. He posed at the entrance to the hallway, putting one hand on his hip and waiting for Strahm to say something before approaching him. Instead Strahm got up from his seat and met the detective, wrapping a hand around Hoffman’s back. He leaned in and pressed his lips onto Hoffman’s before pulling away.

“You smudged my lipstick, ass.” Hoffman used the tip of his thumb to clean up the edges of his lips. “I take it you’re ready to go then?”

“Yeah.” Strahm replied while getting his coat on. After Hoffman locked the door, Strahm held the car door open for his wife and Hoffman slid into the seat. Once Strahm gets in, he reaches over Hoffman’s lap and fumbles with the glove compartment to find the directions he printed out back at the police station. He puts his hand on the gear shift and Hoffman covers Strahm’s hand up with his own. Strahm looked behind them quick and pulled the car out of the alley before taking off towards Manhattan. Hoffman rolls the window down and Strahm takes a quick glance at the detective. His hair was getting blown back by the spring air while Hoffman looked absentmindedly out the window, but his grasp on Strahm’s hand was still tight. His legs were also crossed and Strahm could hardly take his eyes off Hoffman but returned his focus to the road as he realized it had been a second since he checked. It took every ounce of self control Strahm had not to cuss while driving into the city, and even more when looking for parking somewhere near their restaurant. When they were parked he let out one big, “Fuck.”

“Good boy.” Hoffman let go of Strahm’s hand and gave him a supportive little scratch under his chin, “Getting your anger under control.”

“Shut up.” Strahm turned away from his touch and Hoffman grinned. They got out of the car and Strahm held his arm out for Hoffman to hold onto.

“Thanks honey.” Hoffman kissed his cheek and latched tightly onto the arm. They walked along the sidewalk and dipped into the restaurant

“How many?” The host asked

“Reservation for Strahm… Peter.” Strahm replied

“Okay, give me one second and make sure your table is ready.”

“Thanks.” Strahm nodded before he pressed his nose into the top of Hoffman’s wig.

“Nuzzle me any harder, agent, and my wig will go flying off.” Hoffman said under his breath between clenched teeth

“Sorry.” He pulled himself off Hoffman as the host returned and grabbed two menus for the couple. Hoffman sat down and dramatically flipped the menu open as he crossed his legs under the table. “Get whatever you want.”

“Is that why you were being so stingy at the mall?” Hoffman asked him, not taking his eyes off the paper before them. Strahm just quietly scoffed while a food runner came by and dropped off a bread basket for the table. Hoffman looked up and stole two pieces immediately and buttered them. Strahm looked up and watched the speed with which the other man devoured the appetizer before him. Strahm wasn’t one to notice this normally. Hell when Hoffman was sitting next to him on their couch at home, he just kept to himself. Maybe it was the way he so publicly ate like a pig but Strahm pushed the basket closer to Hoffman.

“Aren’t you going to have some, Agent?” Hoffman asked, mildly suspicious of the other man’s intentions

“Yeah.” He took one slice and buttered it up, before putting it down on the side plate as the waiter approached the table. They put their order in and Strahm took a small bite from the bread. Hoffman stole another couple of pieces from the basket. The waiter came back with their glasses of wine and assured them it wouldn’t be much longer on the food.

“You keep looking at me like you have something to say honey. Just tell me what you want, perv.”

“Here we are.” The waiter stops by with two giant plates of pasta and puts it down on the table. Hoffman gives Strahm a look before taking a sip from his wine glass and takes a stab at a couple of noodles on the plate. Strahm starts picking at his meal, clearing off a decent amount in the time it takes Hoffman to finish his pasta.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting full.”

“Bullshit, agent.” Hoffman scoffed

“That’s all it is, I swear.”

“And that’s why you’re pushing the plate towards me, like I’m going to eat it?”

“Might take it home for leftovers.” Strahm shrugged

“Pasta never holds up.” Hoffman pulled the plate closer to him and took a tentative bite from the plate before pulling it all the way over. Strahm swapped their plates and slipped off Hoffman’s plate towards the side. The waiter came back to check in and cleared the plate without much thought. Strahm grabbed a slice of bread as Hoffman twirled the noodles around his fork and brought it up to his lips. The FBI agent looked away quickly as some of the sauce sat on Hoffman’s lips. He reached across the table and used his napkin to clean his partner’s lips. “I can take care of myself, honey.”

“I know… just didn’t want you ruining the dress I bought for you.”

“Sure. That’s your motive here.” Hoffman eyed him up before deciding to tease Strahm a little. He took the front of his foot and wiggled it in between Strahm’s under the table. He saw Strahm shift his posture as his legs moved to the side and let Hoffman’s foot wander closer. With a guess, Hoffman lifted his foot up and used his tiptoes to put some pressure on Strahm’s crotch. The other man made a choking noise and hid his mouth in his hand, but Hoffman pressed a little bit more against the growing bulge in the agent’s pants. “Oh honey. What’s got you so bothered, huh? Is it my appetite; you know shoveling food into my face?”

“I…” Strahm started to say. He wanted to deny it this time again, but realized there was no hiding from Hoffman. “Yeah.”

“There, was it that hard to talk to me, your bride?” Hoffman scoffed, flipping his hair back against his shoulders as he sat so his feet would be crossed under the table. Strahm whined softly at the loss of pressure from Hoffman’s foot. “Now be a good boy and tell me what you want.”

“Just eat a bit more than you normally would.” He replied, “I mean… you’re eating for two.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget.” Hoffman smirked and called the waiter over and ordered a second plate of pasta for himself, “It wouldn’t do me any good to deliver a baby while I’m wasting away.” Strahm could only nod as the waiter dropped the plate down in front of Hoffman. He offered to get Strahm another bread bowl, which Strahm was more than happy to accept.

“This is really good. Have a bite, hon.” Hoffman held the fork out across the table and Strahm took it from the detective. He nodded and handed the utensil back to Hoffman before Hoffman continued eating. Hoffman let a sigh escape from his lips and rested his free hand on his stomach. “I don’t know how I’m going to finish this.”

“It’s only half a plate.” Strahm mumbled under his breath, “I’m sure you can find room in there.”

“I know I could, but…”

“But what?”

“I just don’t know how I could find room.”

“Come here.” Strahm huffed. Hoffman carefully slid from his seat and used a hand to brace his back as he got up. He firmly sat down on Strahm’s lap and looked into his partner’s eyes. Strahm’s hands rested on Hoffman’s hips for a second before turning him around on his knee, making Hoffman face the table. A hand spread across the center of Hoffman’s swollen stomach and Strahm used his fingertips to massage away the tension.

“Oh that’s it, hon.” Hoffman whispered, backing his ass further into Strahm’s lap. Strahm let out a weak noise as his erection rubbed against the fabric of his dress pants. His hands sunk further into Hoffman’s belly as he tried to keep his composure. Hoffman leaned back into Strahm’s chest and let himself get felt up by the FBI agent. He pulled his hair back all one way to make sure it was on Strahm’s shoulder as the other man worked at the tense ball of flesh. “Bet you could feel the baby kick if I really had one in there.”

Strahm made a small grunt of approval that came out as a ‘Mhm’.

“Hell if I eat anymore,” Hoffman started, “I might look like I’m carrying twins. You’d like that wouldn’t you, you sick fuck?”

“If I said I did?” Strahm replied quietly

“I might have to push you over the edge.” Hoffman peeled himself off of Strahm’s lap and went back to his seat across from his partner. He ate the rest of his pasta without much fanfare and pushed the plate away from himself before grabbing the dessert menu that sat on the center of the table. Strahm moved his seat closer to the table and hid his face behind the palms of his hands as Hoffman flipped through his options. “What do you think the babies would like, honey?”

“Why are you asking me, you’re the one with the cravings. Right babe?” Strahm teased Hoffman

“You’re right, honey.” Hoffman giggled like a school girl. As soon as he did that he scoffed under the ends of his wig. Who the fuck was that in his body just now that made him act like a ditz? When the waiter came back to ask about dessert Hoffman ordered tiramisu and two cannoli. He thanked the waiter as he returned and carefully slipped the bill over to Strahm. With a small ‘No Rush’, the man walked away as quickly as he could. Strahm looked it over for a second and looked up at Hoffman. He was being obnoxious about it, but Hoffman sucked the cream out from the cannoli shell and used the edge of his tongue to clean the powder sugar off the center of his lips. He gave Strahm a knowing wink as Strahm buried his face back into the bill holder. Hoffman snaked his hand behind the envelope and tugged on Strahm’s tie, forcing him to look back at Hoffman’s gaze.

“Give your poor wife some of your attention, mi amor. Surely the bill can wait?” His lips curled at their ends and Strahm slid the bill aside, firmly placing his elbows on the table as he watched Hoffman. He hid his mouth behind his hands and kept his eyes moving, trying to avoid eye contact. Hoffman snaps his fingers in Strahm’s face and brings up a little spoonful of the tiramisu up to his lips. Strahm takes the bit willingly, only to hear a soft coo from Hoffman. “That’s it. You’re being so good.”

“Didn’t know you spoke Spanish.” Strahm muttered to himself, only for Hoffman to return Strahm’s self-deflecting barb with a smile. Hoffman finished his desserts and used a hand to brace his back a little as he leaned into his seat. Strahm slipped a couple twenties into the envelope and pulled Hoffman up onto his feet. He wrapped an arm around Hoffman’s waist and guided him out of the restaurant. His hand rested on the slight bulge in Hoffman’s dress, making the man look like he was a couple months along with a baby. Hoffman wove his fingers in between the spaces of Strahm’s and the couple strolled out of the restaurant, Strahm practically pushing Hoffman back to his car.

“Maybe I wanted to look around.” Hoffman dropped his voice back down to his normal tone and gave Strahm a look, “Or are you too impatient?” He knew it was risky, but Strahm pulled Hoffman into an alleyway and after making sure there weren’t cooks out on their smoke breaks, he pressed his lips onto Hoffman’s.

“I love you…” He moaned Hoffman’s mouth. Hoffman pushed Strahm off of him for a second before looking at him. Strahm opened his eyes and thought for a second about what he had said. He had dropped the big ‘l’ word while making out with a man behind a restaurant in New York.

And hell, he meant it too.

“I love you.” He repeated, this time a bit more quiet. Still loud enough for Hoffman to hear, but it was only for the other man’s ears. Hoffman pulled him back on top of him by the collar of his shirt and bit down on his lip as their kisses became less rational and more about the contact between them. Strahm ripped Hoffman’s coat off his shoulders and threw it to the ground, after which Hoffman wriggled out of Strahm’s hold to pick the garment up. Strahm rolled his eyes, but then remembered the credit card statement from that purchase and helped Hoffman clean the jacket up so the muck from the street wouldn’t ruin the jacket. After that was back in working order, Hoffman started to sprint towards the garage where Strahm’s car waited for the two of them. When they got into the corner where his Crown Victoria was, Strahm threw the jacket on top of the roof of his car and pinned Hoffman to vehicle. Strahm pressed his lips onto Hoffman’s neck and with a soft mewl Hoffman said in his falsetto,

“Say it again, Agent.”

“I love you.” Strahm replied. His voice was deep and guttural as he lapped his tongue at the skin of Hoffman’s neck like it was a spring in the middle of a desert. “I love you.”

“That’s a good boy.” He worked a hand through the back of Strahm’s hair before dropping again, “I have you wrapped around my finger, don’t I?” Strahm looked up sheepishly at Hoffman, his eyelashes accentuating his fondness for the detective. Hoffman made a quick ‘tisk’ with his tongue and said, “I need to hear it, Agent Strahm.”

“I’m wrapped around your damn finger. I’m your little bitch. Is that what you wanted?”

“More than enough.” Hoffman pulled the other man back on top of him, using his tie like it was a leash. He hooked a leg around the back of Strahm’s leg and used Strahm’s outer thigh to give himself some friction in his lace underwear.

“I need you.” Strahm let the words slip from his lips again with desperation. Hoffman used his hands and shoved Strahm off him before getting into the car. Strahm scuttled around to the other side of the car, turned the vehicle on, and flipped through the radio stations.

“And there’s congestion on the 495 as far as the eye can see bringing your commute home to about an hour…” The radio personality said as Strahm turned it off.

“All that time in the car.” Hoffman’s fingers were already trailing up in the space between Strahm’s pecs, “How are you going to make it, Agent?”

“Thank god we’re not in Midtown.” Strahm cursed under his breath, ignoring that his bulge was growing with every playful press of Hoffman’s fingertips on his chest. Strahm scanned the signs and picked the next accessible exit for him and looked for a garage that would be quiet enough for them. Strahm put the car in park and got out of his car before thinking to tell Hoffman what his plan was. He thought for a second before telling the other man, “Get in the back seat.”

“Okay.” Hoffman got out of the passenger seat and slid into the back. Strahm took his coat and laid it on the concrete before getting down on his knees, “Aren’t we moving a little fast there honey?”

“Shut up.” Strahm worked a hand slowly up the inside of Hoffman’s dress and kissed over the bulge underneath the loose fabric. Hoffman groaned softly and lifted the end of his outfit up so that his stomach was still covered, but his legs were exposed. Strahm grabs the waistline of his tights and when they don’t come off Hoffman’s legs fast enough his nails leave streaks in the fabric.

“Remind me to buy another pair next time we’re at the mall.” Hoffman muttered to himself “Come on.”

“I’m going as fast as I can.” Strahm growled back at his partner. When the stockings were down around Hoffman’s ankles Strahm kissed the inside of Hoffman’s thighs. He wrapped a hand underneath the meaty flesh as his teeth sunk in, sure to mark up his partner’s thigh. Not that anyone else would see these. This was for his eyes only. The way that Hoffman glared down at him as he took his time to service him, the love bites he left for himself later… it was all his. Strahm let a hot breath escape from his mouth and saw Hoffman’s dick twitch a little inside the silk panties he was wearing. Rather than free him, Strahm pressed his lips onto the skimpy waistband that almost dug into Hoffman’s thick hips before letting his tongue roam down to the seam on the bottom of the lingerie.

“I don’t think you are.” Hoffman pulled him back using a firm grasp on the strands of his hair

“Fine.” Strahm took the panties and slid them down to Hoffman’s ankles just above the leggings and in a swift motion found his mouth around Hoffman’s cock

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard was it?” Hoffman teased. His hand found the back of Strahm’s head once more. He awkwardly managed to get his legs hooked around Strahm’s neck and rested his calves on Strahm’s back. Strahm slid his hand under one of Hoffman’s ass cheeks and started to slow bob his head along the length of Hoffman’s dick. He pressed his tongue against Hoffman’s tip and looked up as Mark’s eyes were shut tight. Everything in cross-dressing man’s body worked against him. His legs getting weak, his eyes wanting to roll all the way to the back of his head, his mouth threatening to let a moan escape if Strahm’s mouth got any warmer around his cock. He hit the back of Strahm’s head lightly and shifted so his back laid flat against the ugly seats in the back of Strahm’s car. He arched his back a little before Strahm’s hand laid flat against the fat of Hoffman’s stomach and pushed him back down onto the fabric. Strahm continued to thrust Hoffman's dick deeper into his throat until it triggered his gag reflex. He pulled his mouth off for a second and Hoffman lifted his head up. He was so damn close and if Strahm didn’t finish servicing him he was going make Strahm regret it. Strahm looked at him with a slight smirk before wrapping his lips back around Hoffman. A couple more bobs of his head and Hoffman came into Strahm’s mouth.

“God damn…” Strahm coughed as he attempted to swallow every last bit of Hoffman’s cum. He pulled himself off of Hoffman once more, and Hoffman lifted his hand up to Strahm’s lip. He paused for a moment before wiping the last drop off the soft skin and brought his finger up to his own lips. He waited while Strahm sheepishly slid Hoffman’s panties back up his legs and did his best to adjust the tights so they wouldn’t trip the other man on the walk to the passenger seat. When he got Strahm’s undivided attention once more, he licked his fingertip clean and sucked on it. Strahm leaned in and kissed him, resting a hand on the side of Hoffman’s neck as he stood over the detective.

“Say it.” Hoffman demanded of Strahm. Strahm hesitated for a second before saying “I love you” one more time. Hoffman sat up in his seat and ran a hand across Strahm’s chest. “When am I going to hear it from you, huh?”

“When I feel like it.” Hoffman pressed his lips onto Strahm’s cheek and with a stiff finger pushed Strahm off of him. They got back into their respective seats and before Strahm took off he flipped on the radio once more. Traffic had cleared up, and they headed back to Hoffman’s house. Hoffman unlocked the door and leaned against Strahm as they stood in the entryway. “What do you want?”

“On the couch.” Strahm replied

“Oh. Can’t even wait for the bedroom?” Hoffman teased him, kicking his heels off with wild abandonment before stepping over to the couch. He sat down and Strahm sat down beside him. “That it?”

“No. Put your feet up.”

“Okay.” Hoffman raised an eyebrow and slung his legs over onto the couch. Strahm wrapped an arm around his shoulder and tucked Mark’s head onto his shoulder. “What’s this Agent?”

“That post-coitus cuddle I was looking for in DC.” Strahm said without missing a beat. Hoffman shrugged and sat with him while Strahm turned on the TV. He was pretty happy, but Hoffman wanted more. He could tell Strahm wanted more too. So to drive up the tension a bit, Hoffman rested a hand on the inside of Strahm’s thigh. When Peter seemingly ignored that gesture he worked his hand over in small circles.

“C’mon. I’m down for something.”

“What?” Strahm’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed back the dryness in his throat

“Let me be in control this time.” Hoffman hooked a leg over Strahm’s lap and sat there. He pulled Strahm’s dress shirt out from his pants and worked a couple of the buttons open. Next, he took off Strahm’s belt and threw it towards the kitchen, making sure to toss it in the opposite direction of the TV. Underneath him, Strahm turned the TV off. Whatever was on wasn’t getting him in the mood. Strahm lifted his head up to kiss Hoffman’s neck, and as badly as he wanted Strahm to kiss him, Hoffman pushed him back into his couch. “I said, let me be in control, Agent.”

“Fine.” Strahm muttered under his breath and let his hands rest squarely on Hoffman’s hips. Hoffman bucked his hips slowly up into the slight muffin top sitting on Strahm’s stomach. Strahm made a soft grunt as Hoffman continued to roll his hips up against him for a moment until he moved back a ways. He tugged Strahm’s fly zipper down and slid Strahm’s pants and underwear down far enough that he had easy access to his dick. Hoffman huffed as he realized what he wanted to do involved having to get up, but pulled himself off of Strahm for a second to slip his tights and panties off. He threw them to the side and plopped his full weight down onto Strahm’s lap once more. The man under him made a grunt noise as his body braced for the other man’s weight, and Hoffman leaned into him. He took his face and kissed it, snaking a hand under the bottom of Strahm’s open shirt.

“I thought I was the chubby chaser.” Strahm remarked dryly

“Didn’t say that I didn’t like people with a little… heft to them.” Hoffman responded in kind. His hand rested on Strahm’s stomach before working through the hairs that grew along there. “I’ve been quite restrained with you so far, Agent. So I ask you, are you willing to trust me?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to hear you say that you’re willing.”

“I’m willing to trust you.” Strahm sighed and looked up at Hoffman. Something so devious hiding in those eyes, but Strahm couldn’t put his finger on it. Hoffman groaned softly before getting up and walking quickly. He comes back with a bottle of lube and coats Strahm’s dick liberally before taking Strahm up his ass. Strahm let out a moan as Hoffman’s hole closed around his dick. “Fuck.”

“Like that, huh?”

“Yes.” Strahm continued to moan. Hoffman saw Strahm getting ready to move his hips so he moved his hands over the sides of his hips and applied a bit of pressure. He bucked up into Strahm furiously, riding his partner until he gave up. He saw Strahm’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he came quickly into Hoffman’s hole. Hoffman continued to thrust himself up and down until Strahm’s back slumped back into the couch. Hoffman pulled himself off Strahm’s dick, but stayed seated on Strahm’s lap for a second, putting Strahm's hands on his hips.

“I love you.” Hoffman ran the back of his finger along Strahm’s jaw and looked into his eyes. Strahm nudged Hoffman off of his lap and guided the other man’s stubborn body back into the position they’d been in when they first started sitting there. “You’re not going to say anything about that?”

“About what?”

“About me saying ‘I love you’.”

“It’s an honor.” Strahm replied dryly. He pulled Hoffman’s wig off and caressed his cheek with a careful hand. Strahm pulled a blanket over his lap, only for Hoffman to steal half of it for himself as they cuddled. A couple swipes across Hoffman’s shoulder through the night, a touch against Strahm’s chest… it felt comfortable. Strahm almost didn’t want the night to end, but when he felt his eyelids growing heavy he lifted the blanket up and stood. Hoffman tried to grab the blanket back but before he could Strahm tucked an arm under Hoffman’s legs and lifted him.

“Jesus.” Mark stared back at the couch before wrapping an arm around Strahm’s neck. “The hell are you going to do now?”

“Care you to bed, idiot.” Strahm said, making the move across the room and to their bedroom. He dropped Hoffman carefully onto the mattress and let out a deep sigh before lying next to his partner. Resting on his side, he leaned in and said “I love you… Dumbass.”

“I love you too, jackass.” Hoffman smirked as he kissed Strahm’s cheek before they both drifted off.

[slavicdolls4mangione]

hi jana!! omg!! ur so cool i cant believe u know multiple languages!! i have a few q and a questions for you hehe if you don't want to answer it that's totally fine too!!

fav lana album?

omg how were u able to learn multiple languages?? ahh you’re so cool and talented i love this blog smm

oo favorite books? / book recs?

what college do u go to if ur comfortable disclosing it!! i find it so cool and interesting that u have a bachelors in european lit!! omg!! can u share some snippets of ur road to achieving that :)

do u have any fav paintings or art or any museum !! 

i find it so interesting that a lot of the writers in this community have some sort of education in the humanities and speak more than 2 languages omg!! keep it up w ur blog a lot of people are enjoying it have a fun day!

hi sweet anon! ofc i don’t mind answering your little q&a :)

fav lana album

this is SO hard 😭 i can’t choose one so i’ll give you 2 hope that’s okay? not to sound dramatic but ultraviolence changed the trajectory of my life, i never recovered from that album; annnd born to die because that’s how i discovered lana so it has a really special place in my heart

languages

you’re so sweet! i’m so glad you’re liking my blog <3 as for your question, bosnian and french are my native languages and i’ve been engaging in american media from a very young age, all the movies my sister and i would watch were in english so i became fluent in it very quickly, but of course i perfected the language through school as well; then i took german from 6th grade all up until senior year in high school but i wasn’t the biggest fan learning it (maybe cause i didn’t get the best teachers ?) and finally i studied italian in uni!

favorite books/book recs

my favorite book is called ‘the good son’ by youjeong jeong, it’s a korean thriller and it’s one i’d recommend 100%.

other recommendations would be crime and punishment and the brothers karamazov by dostoevsky, the housemaid by freida mcfadden, fahrenheit 451 by ray bradbury and the silent patient by alex michaelides. this last one is more of a self help book but the four agreements by don miguel ruiz is the one i’m currently reading and it’s so interesting!

uni

for safety reasons i can’t disclose what college i’m going to :( but i will say it’s a community college in a small city in france, hope you don’t mind anon! how i went for that bachelor is kinda funny ngl lmao i initially wanted to get my bachelor in english literature but i missed the deadline… and european literature was the best next thing i could enroll in and the courses were really interesting to me so i was like why not! italian literature and history was a huuuge part of my curriculum and since i’ve wanted to learn the language for the longest time i decided to go for it! as you could imagine it was a lot of books, literature analysis, linguistics, history etc, but that’s always been my thing since i can remember (math hater over here)

favorite art/museums

yes i do have a favorite painting! it’s monet’s water lilies. i also really love the ballet dancers by edgar degas

as for museums, i was in new york for the first time last month and the met really left me in awe but nothing can beat the louvre in my eyes.

and yes it is very interesting that a lot of lu girlies studied/are studying humanities to me as well but i’m loving it here! and well, you know what they say, opposites attract!

thank you for your ask anon i really appreciate your sweet words and willingness to get to know me better! i can’t wait for this little community that came together in support of our lu to grow closer and stronger!

much love,

jana 🩷

[kamaandhallie]

Ladon - A Kama & Hallie story (ft. The Silano Crime Family)

On the outskirts of Howardsville, Kama sat in his Mystery Tent that he pitched in Mark’s backyard, and opposite of him was an anxious-looking Italian-American mobster. The man wore a grey suit as well as gold necklaces, and Kama thought he almost had a resemblance to Joe Pesci, except this man was way taller than the actor. Kama did not understand why this man came to see him as he had never met the man or even had any connections to any illegal organisations, not to mention this was an adult hardened criminal asking help from a teenage conspiracy theorist and self-proclaimed paranormal investigator living in some broken down house in the outskirts of a town surrounded by misty pine forests. 

“What’s your name again?” Kama asked the man.

“Salvatore Manzoni. You can just call me Sal. The guys call me Delivery Sal,” the man answered.

“Why’d they call you that?”

“Well, ‘cause I’m in charge of overseein’ the deliveries of our products.” 

“And you say you’re a…wiseguy?” Kama asked again, trying to find the right words.

“Yeah, that’s what we call ourselves. You’d know us as gangsters, mobsters, mafiosos or whateva’.”

“I didn’t even know there would be gangsters in this small town.”

“Yeah, we didn’t always live ‘ere, an’ we don’t jus’ control this town. We used to operate in bigger cities but these past few decades the FBI have been fuckin’ us left an’ right, even the Five Families ‘ave to go lowkey nowadays. Not our boss, though, he decided to move the family’s base of operation all the way here in Howardsville. It was a pretty fuckin’ smart plan, an isolated little town surrounded by misty mountains an’ forests, no one would suspect us bein’ ere.”

“And why are you even coming over here telling me all this? I’m pretty sure what you’re doing right now is pretty damn dangerous. Telling someone else about the life you’re involved with,” Kama told the man, anger and fear beginning to overtake him.

“Because I saw your account over on social media, you’re some kinda ghost hunter, right?” Sal asked.

“Paranormal investigator,” Kama corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, the point is you deal with weird shit, an’ these past few weeks, some really weird shit has been happenin’.”

“What happened?”

“Lemme jus’ give a little context. So I’m a part o’ the Silano Crime Family, that’s what we’re called. Around a month or two ago, the boss ‘imself, Roberto, and three other guys took a vacation. The three otha’s bein’ his son, Gabe, the underboss, really nasty fuck that kid; Vinny De Luca, Roberto’s most trusted capo an’ also the guy who’s crew I’m a part of; and Paulie, who’s only a soldier but he’s been workin’ for the family for fifty ever since Roberto’s father was still runnin’ things so he gets special privileges, makin’ him a real pain in the ass. Anyways, the four of ‘em decide to take a vacation ova’ to Greece, an’ they were only gone for around…ten days, I guess.

          But when they came back, Paulie and Gabe were all excited like a couple o’ schoolgirls who won the fuckin’ lottery. Naturally, the rest of us wondered what the fuck was up, then Roberto said that he just found a huge money maker, an’ we couldn’t fuckin’ believe our eyes. He pulled out a sack filled with honest-to-God real golden apples!”

“Golden apples?” Kama asked, surprised at what he was hearing, but also skeptical.

“Yeah! We checked an’ everythin’! These weren’t  regular apples painted gold or even pieces o’ gold shaped into apples, these were 100% natural apples that were gold! It was like a fuckin’ gift from Heaven! Ever since then, we’ve been usin’ them to pay off the authorities an’ any other rich bastard an’ bureaucrat. Nobody could ever resist gettin’ their hands on these things! Neither can I, but I never got my hands on one.”

“But…where did they even get these apples from?”

“Well, that’s the real question, isn’t it? I’ve no fuckin’ idea. That’s why I came to you,” Sal said.

“You never asked the boss or the other guys where they come from?” Kama asked.

“I did ask ‘em, but they didn’t say nothin’. They’re keepin’ the origin o’ these golden apples top secret even from the rest of us! Only handful o’ guys have the privilege of knowin’ where the apples come from, which obviously includes Roberto, Gabe, and Vinny. Paulie’s not allowed because everyone knows he’s a greedy bastard, he was really pissed off when he found out he was left outta the golden apple club,” the mobster chuckled recounting the event.

“So you want me to help you steal these golden apples?”

“Steal? Well, I wouldn’t put it that way, it’s…alright, yeah, we’re stealin’ ‘em. If I could get my hands on the mother stash, it would set me up for fuckin’ life! I could be my own man, not havin’ to constantly pay up to that hothead, Gabe, to Vinny, an’ especially not that greedy stingy prick, Paulie! I could move to the Caribbean an’ just enjoy sandy beaches, clear water, an’ sexy tanned broads everyday ‘till I die! An’ I’ll make sure you get a cut too!” Sal told the teenager.

“There better be a cut,” Kama said angrily. “This is a really risky thing you’re asking me to involve myself in! If things go wrong, we’ll all be dead!”

“Relax, kid. You’ll be with me, an’ as long as you do exactly as I say, you’ll be fine. Luckily for you, I recently became a made guy, so you’ll be under my protection,” Sal reassured.

“I better be!” Kama said. “Alright, I’ll help you. These golden apples sound particularly interesting.”

“Good. Meet me outside the supermarket at 12 o’clock sharp. I’ll brief you about what to do.”

The next day, Kama rendezvoused with Sal at the agreed time and place. He decided not to take Hallie and Mark along for this particular case because he knew his two friends would not be great candidates for an investigation that involved dangerous criminals, the two of them would mess things up and get all of them killed.

Kama walked alongside Sal, who told them they were going to the nearby abandoned warehouse around the outskirts of the town, where he said the Silanos were all currently meeting as well as allegedly being where all the golden apples were kept. On the way there, the mobster decided to brief the teenage conspiracy theorist with rules of what to do and what not to do.

“Alright, so when I introduce you, I’m gonna call you “a friend o’ mine”, that means you’re conne-”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I watched ‘Donnie Brasco’ too,” Kama cut off the mobster.

“Alright then, but that’s another rule, don’t fuckin’ cut me off in the middle of a sentence, especially not any o’ the otha’ guys! They won’t kindly to it like I do! So you betta’ shut up do whateva’ the fuck I tell you an’ don’t speak unless you’re spoken too!” Sal ordered.

“Yeah, got it,” Kama simply said.

“An’ especially be careful talkin’ to Gabe. That kid’s got a short fuckin’ fuse. If he starts threatenin’ ya with his switchblade, that means you fucked up an’ you should shut the fuck up. Because that’s the warnin’, an’ the first strike, an’ Gabe’s only got two strikes. Piss ‘im off a second time an’ you’re gonna find that switchblade lodged in ya neck or stomach. There’s a reason we call ‘im ‘Stiletto Gabe’.”

        An’ stay away from Paulie too. He may not be actively tryna cut ya dick off but he’s got a real short fuse too. A lotta the guys like ‘im an’ think he’s so fuckin’ funny but he can be a real ball-buster when he wants to,” Sal warned.

“I’m a made guy now, so that means you have some protection by me an’ the otha’ guys can’t touch ya easily. But I’m still responsible for ya, so don’t fuck anything up, ‘cause it’ll be both our asses if we get in trouble!”

“Copy that. So what exactly is your plan to get the golden apples anyway? You don’t even really know where and how they’re kept,” Kama asked.

“Well, today’s our lucky day, ‘cause I’m scheduled to deliver some o’ these golden apples to this rich prick as payment for ‘im to fund our operations. I don’t know the details, I wasn’t exactly briefed too much, but the point is we’re seein’ the damn apples! Once we see where they’re comin’ from, we’ll figure things out from there.”

“‘Figure things out from there’? You mean you don’t actually have a plan?” Kama asked in disbelief, fear and frustration beginning to creep in.

“No, that’s not what I said! I meant…we’ll know what to do when the time comes along.”

“Fucking Christ…” Kama muttered to himself under his breath. Now he was starting to get really worried.

After a few more minutes of walking along a lonely road surrounded by tall pine trees, the mobster and the young conspiracy theorist turned a corner and saw the abandoned warehouse. It was an old metallic greyish-blue building covered in stains and beginning to rust in some spots. A very gloomy looking location that gives the impression there’s not a single living soul in its radius, but the two of them knew better.

Kama and Sal approached a small metal door somewhere on the side of the building, and Sal looked around for a moment before knocking on the door. After about fifteen seconds of waiting, a man finally opened the door and let them inside. 

Once Sal and Kama entered, they saw surrounded by large piles of wooden crates was a table full of men playing poker together, their forms slightly obscured from all the smoke coming from the cigars and cigarettes they were smoking. The room they were in were illuminated merely by the yellowed frosted glass on the dingy rusted metal walls of the warehouse where the sunlight beamed in through and illuminated the table and the cold grey floor. As the two of them approached the table, Sal quickly briefed Kama on who was who.

“That kid in the with the yellow shirt, that’s Gabe, the underboss,” he pointed to a young man in his mid to late 20s with greasy combed black hair wearing an unbuttoned yellow shirt over his white undershirt and gold chain necklace around his neck, focusing intently on his own cards being held up by arms just as hairy as his chest was.

“That’s Vinny, captain o’ the crew I’m in,” Sal pointed to the man next to Gabe. It was a very obese tan-colored man wearing a purple silk button shirt and gold necklace with the same greasy black hair and hairy arms that Gabe had, except Vinny had grey sideburns due to him being twice Gabe’s age. He also had a cigar in his mouth as opposed to Gabe who had a cigarette instead.

“Who’s the boss?” Kama asked.

“He doesn’t seem to be here yet. Should be ‘ere shortly,” Sal answered.

The two of them arrived at the table, and the men at the table noticed their arrival and looked up at them.

“Ah, Sal, ya finally arrived,” Vinny said, taking the cigar out of his mouth.

“Who’s the fuckin’ kid?” Gabe asked, nodding in Kama’s direction.

“Oh, he’s a friend o’ mine. This is Kama,” Sal answered his superiors, gesturing to the teenager beside him.

“Wait a minute, I’ve seen that kid before. Isn’t he that little nutjob who goes around town chasin’ fuckin’ flying saucers?” Gabe asked again, pointing at Kama with the fingers holding his cigarette.

“Yeah, he is. But don’t worry, he’s alright,” Sal tried to reassure his younger hotheaded superior.

“Oh yeah? Why’d you decide to get involved, kid?” Gabe asked Kama directly this time.

Kama was taken aback by the sudden attention placed on him, nervousness beginning to take over while he tried his best to sound calm in this room full of murderous criminals.

“Uh, well, y’know, just looking for an easy way to earn some money. In today’s economy, it is hard to earn enough money to survive, especially with all that minimum wage bullshit American businesses keep pulling. Besides, that deadbeat loser, Mark, who I live with, is the worst breadwinner on the face of the planet and he doesn’t seem to be getting any better. So might as well take matters into my own hands,” Kama explained as casually as much as could make himself sound.

Gabe sneered. “The modern economy. Ain’t that a bitch?” he said before taking another puff of his cigarette.

“Yeah, he’s a little nuts and kinda fuckin’ stupid, but he’s a good kid,” Sal reassured his friends while Kama glared at him for what he just said.

Suddenly, Kama and Sal heard the metal door they came in from open, and they saw a large fat man with a very square-shaped build covered-up by the pinstripe suit he wore that had a red flower on his lapel. The man appeared to be in his 50s, with greasy black slickback hair covered by a black hat that matched his suit’s color and grey sideburns, small squinted eyes on his large oval face, and a cigar in his mouth.

“That’s the boss, Roberto,” Sal informed Kama in a whisper.

“How’s everyone doin’ today?” Roberto asked after taking the cigar our of his mouth. He had the most ridiculous sounding voice Kama ever heard. It sounded like someone doing a horrifically bad impression of a stereotypical mobster voice, except Roberto’s voice was one hundred percent genuine.

“Doin’ just fine, Pops,” Gabe greeted his father from the table.

Roberto walked towards his spot on the table, but as he passed in front of Kama and Sal, he stopped in tracks and turned his attention to the teenager, who was now beginning to feel even more nervous than before, but didn’t let his face show it.

“Who’s this kid ‘ere?” Roberto asked.

Before Sal could answer, Gabe answered for him. “A friend o’ Sal’s. He’s that little flyin’ saucer nut we see around town.”

Roberto remained silent for a moment, simply analyzing Kama through his squinted eyes. Kama felt awkward and scared at seeing the mob boss stare at him for what was only a few seconds but felt like an eternity for the teenager. It didn’t help that Roberto was a very large man who loomed over most of the people around him. The smoke coming from the cigar in his mouth somehow made him spooky.

After a moment of silence, Roberto finally spoke. “You keep some very strange company, Salvatore,” Roberto told the man beside Kama, pronouncing his name as its original Italian pronunciation instead of the Americanized pronunciation.

Kama silently breathed a sigh of relief as the large mob boss turned his attention away from him and continued walking towards the table. Once Roberto sat down, Sal decided to ask him about his job for the day.

“So, Roberto, how many o’ the apples am I gonna ‘ave to deliver today?”

“This is a very high-payin’ client, so there’s gonna be a considerably higher amount of apples this time. Those ova’ there are the crates you’re gonna use,” Roberto pointed to a pile of several empty fruit crates.

When Kama and Sal saw these empty crates, they were both silently in awe. The fact there were enough golden apples to fill up all these crates was amazing enough, but the way Roberto spoke clearly implied there was still many more apples to probably fill at least a hundred of these crates, or more.

“Madone…just these crates alone are gonna set up for even my kids’ futures,” Sal silently said in awe.

The way Sal said his sentence made Kama’s expression of awe disappear as he suddenly realized something; they never discussed how much Kama was gonna get out of this.

Kama leaned in closer to Sal to whisper to him. “Hey, Sal, how much did you say I was getting out of this?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’ll make sure you get at least five golden apples as payment,” Sal answered, his tone making it obvious he wasn’t interested in discussing the matter.

“Five? Five?! Out of potentially hundreds of these apples?! You cheap bastard, I’m wasting my time and risking my life helping you! I should get paid more for this!”

“Hey! Five is already me bein’ very generous! An’ remember, I’m in charge! So either you take the five or the only thing you’re gettin’ is a bullet through your fuckin’ head!”

Kama stared back at Sal with complete anger and hate, and Sal left him behind standing like an idiot to talk to his superiors.

Sal turned to the table where all his bosses sat. “Alright, the van to take these crates should be arrivin’ in a few minutes. In the meantime, I gotta take a leak,” he said before walking off to find the bathroom.

As Kama saw the man walk away, an idea struck his head as a way to get back at Sal. He walked over to the table of mobsters.

“Excuse me, there’s something I need to tell all of you.”

“The fuck do you want, kid?” Gabe asked.

“I should tell you that Sal isn’t planning to take those apples to wherever he’s supposed to.”

“Whaddya mean by that?” Gabe asked again as he, Roberto, and Vinny leaned closer to hear what Kama had to say.

“I mean he’s planning on stealing them. He told me just now to help him with smuggling the apples. In fact, if you search his pockets, I’m sure you’ll find the plane tickets to the Caribbean that he told me he was gonna use the apples for,” Kama said with a raised eyebrow.

The three high-ranking mobsters looked at each other for a moment with a mix of confusion, scepticism, and anger. Gabe was the first to speak up.

“I fuckin’ knew that money-hungry prick was not to be trusted!”

“You don’t know anythin’, Gabriele! Let’s not jump to conclusions so fast!” Roberto told his son before turning back to Kama. “This is a very serious accusation. There betta’ be proof o’ this, ‘cause I don’t tolerate slander against the reputation o’ one o’ my guys.”

“Oh, there’s proof. As a paranormal enthusiast, I know the importance of proof, and there is. Don’t worry about that,” Kama reassured with a slightly cocky tone.

After a moment, Sal returned, wiping his hands after having just finished washing them. 

“So, where are the apples?”

The three mobsters' faces suddenly lightened up, looking much friendlier than they did mere seconds ago. It was like everything that Kama just told them immediately disappeared from their minds. They weren’t smiling or anything but their faces became less intense than before. Kama has heard a lot of stories from movies and real-life cases about how mobsters could act like your closest friends right before murdering you brutally in cold blood. Just hearing about it was scary enough, but actually seeing how quickly they change their tune was chilling to see.

Roberto got up from his chair and walked towards Sal. “Ah, yes. Well, you’re a made guy now as well as a very big earner for us, so I suppose you can now be trusted with the location o’ the golden apples.” Roberto put his arms around Sal in a friendly way, talking to him as a friend. “Y’see that right there?” Roberto pointed to some point in the warehouse.

At the spot Roberto pointed at was a long narrow tunnel that looked very out of place from the rest of the warehouse. And at the end of the end of the tunnel was a door. Kama thought it looked like the most ominous thing ever, but it didn’t seem to be raising any alarms in Sal’s head who seemed to be very eager to finally see the mother stash.

“The golden apples are right through that door. Load ‘em up in the crates an’ bring ‘em back ‘ere,” Roberto instructed.

“Sure thing, boss!” Sal replied enthusiastically.

When Roberto let go of Sal, his hand brushed past Sal’s coat pocket and while Sal wasn’t paying attention, Roberto quickly slightly pulled out whatever was in the pocket to take a quick peek and immediately put it back before Sal could even realize anything happened. Sal grabbed a nearby box dolly that he stacked all the fruit crates on and pushed it down the tunnel towards the ominous looking door. Behind him, Kama along with the three mob bosses all watched him excitedly walk to the biggest treasure trove of their lives. Kama watched the three mobsters standing next to him, and he watched their expressions all reverted back to their angry hardened selves as they were when Kama told them about Sal’s betrayal.

“The kid’s right, there are tickets in there,” Roberto told his two underlings, his tone completely serious, contrasting his friendly manner just earlier.

“I always fuckin’ knew Sal would backstab us one way or anotha’ one day,” Gabe said, venom dripping from his voice.

“Don’t go through that door,” Roberto told Kama, who looked up at the mob boss with confusion. “We’re going through ‘ere,” he pointed at another door right beside the tunnel, and the four of them walked into it.

Sal hummed to himself as he excitedly walked down the tunnel towards the door. He could only imagine just how many golden apples were waiting for him. He could picture it in his head, an entire mountain of them. Enough to make him the richest man on Earth and to secure his children in that position for generations to come. The plan was simple, he’ll take all these golden apples, pretend to do the delivery, and he’ll be at the airport to his dream home in the Caribbeans before any of the guys could even realize what happened. It was perfect, at least in Sal’s head.

Sal reached the door, quickly opening it to see the heavenly sight he knew awaited him on the other side, and when he opened it, he saw exactly what he expected, in fact it was better; a huge tree where golden apples grew in large numbers from its branches. What he didn’t expect was to also see a hundred pairs of eyes and mouths filled with razor sharp teeth staring back at him.

“Oh, fu–” Sal blurted out before those hundreds of mouths lunged at him and tore him into a thousand bloody pieces.

“HOLY SHIT!” Kama shouted seeing the sight before him.

He and the three mobsters stood in some kind of observation room that overlooked the room where the golden apple tree was kept. It was the most amazing sight Kama has ever seen. But coiled around the tree was a very large reptilian beast with one hundred serpentine heads, each of their mouths covered with Sal’s blood and flesh who they just finished tearing apart.

“What the hell is that thing?!” Kama asked the mobsters, completely freaking out over the sight before him.

“A little somethin’ we found on our trip to Greece,” Roberto answered, holding his cigar close to his mouth. “We stumbled upon it purely by luck one day, an’ we couldn’t just leave somethin’ this valuable behind, so we pulled a few strings an’ managed to use some of our connections to help bring this tree back home with us. Couldn’t get the dragon off the tree, though, but it’s not a problem ‘cause this thing helps make sure no idiot tries to steal any o’ the golden apples. It annihilates anyone who comes near the tree.”

Kama stared at the beast and the gruesome display in front of him, his eyes the widest they’ve ever been, trying to fully register what he was seeing. Suddenly, something clicked in Kama’s head. “Wait a minute…why does this…this all kinda sounds like…Oh! No wonder this whole thing sounded familiar! This is all from Greek mythology! Those must be the Golden Apples of the Hesperides! Which means that creature is Ladon, the hundred-headed dragon that guards the tree!”

“Yeah, ‘cept this ain’t a myth no more,” Roberto replied, still looking through the window that separated them from the room containing the mythical tree and hundred-headed beast.

“‘Ladon’, huh? Is that what it’s called? I just gave it the name ‘Vinny’, ‘cause it’s a big fuckin’ beast that hates anyone touchin’ its food,” Gabe said.

“Ha ha. You’re so fuckin’ hilarious,” the obese purple-shirted man who stood next to him said, completely unamused by the joke.

“So how do you even grab the apples with this thing guarding it?” Kama asked.

“That was the tricky part, yeah, especially since this big bastard neva’ sleeps. But the guys who helped us move this thing in the first place had a fuckin’ brilliant idea! Anytime we wanna take the apples, we’d give it a dose o’ some sorta sleepin’ gas that knocks it out for around ten minutes. Enough time for us to get all the apples, an’ once we finish, he’ll wake up soon afta’ to guard the tree again an’ make sure no greedy pricks like Sal try to take any behind our backs,” Roberto explained, ending his last sentence with anger and nodding to splatters of blood, flesh, and torn fabrics all over the ground that was once Sal Manzoni.

“But what’s to stop someone from just knocking Ladon and taking the apples anyway?”

“We’re not complete idiots, we thought o’ that too. That’s why the sleepin’ gas can only be activated by me, Gabriele, an’ Vincenzo ova’ there, via a fingerprint scan.”

Roberto decided to demonstrate for Kama, as well as continue the job Sal was originally supposed to do, as he placed his thumb on a fingerprint scanner on a small control panel under the window they were looking out of. Once the scan was read, Kama could hear machinery noises all around them, and soon after, gas began pouring out from the vents on the walls of the room on the other side of the glass. After a little more than a minute, the hundred-headed dragon was out cold on the ground.

“And that’s when it’s safe to take ‘em,” Roberto finished off his presentation.

“Huh, a monster from Greek mythology defeated with a little sleeping gas. Impressive,” Kama looked through the window with great interest. “So you actually stole from the Garden of the Hesperides? I’m pretty sure a lot of Greek myth stories have told us that stealing from anyone in the Greek pantheon is a really bad idea.”

“Well, nothin’ bad has happened to us so far. So I think we’re golden,” Gabe brushed off what Kama said.

“‘Sides, even if the Greek gods are real, we’re followers o’ the real God. We’re God-fearin’ men. That automatically gives us the uppa’ hand,” Roberto added.

“Yeah, even the Virgin Mary could kick Zeus’s ass,” Vincenzo added as well.

“Uh-huh…yeah, sure they would,” Kama said, heavily doubting the idea of God or any Christian figures taking the side of a gang of murderous criminals. “Why are you even showing me this?”

“Because you helped expose a traitor in our midst. That’s a very stand-up thing to do,” Roberto answered.

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” Kama said, before pulling out his lightning gun and pointing it at the three mobsters. “‘Cause you just gave me the best opportunity to take your stuff!”

A large blast of electricity shot out of Kama’s cattle prod shaped gun as he blasted all three of the mobsters in front of him. In a matter of seconds, all three high-ranking mobsters were lying on the ground, unresponsive. In no time, Kama bolted out of the observation room, back downstairs, and went through the same tunnel Sal went through, but not suffering the same fate as him.

Kama entered the golden apple room, having to step over the remains of Sal that littered the floor. He also had to step around the spaghetti-like mess that was the unconscious heads of Ladom, all asleep on the ground. Kama grabbed one of the fruit crates Sal was taking with him that was still unbroken from the attack, as well as a ladder propped up against the wall to better reach all the apples. 

After a while, Kama grabbed enough golden apples to fill the fruit crate to the brim. He made extra sure not a single fruit fell out as he climbed down the ladder, as just one of these apples would be worth a huge fortune. Even the richest billionaires would probably give half of their money just to get their hands on a single golden apple, especially after knowing their origin.

Kama didn’t know how much time had passed since the dragon was knocked out by the gas, but he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible in the short time the dragon was still asleep. But just as made it out of the massive tangled pile of serpentine heads and necks, Kama tripped one the necks, spilling the contents of his crate everywhere.

“Goddammit…” Kama muttered angrily under his breath, getting back up to his feet, grabbing the crate, and attempted to retrieve all the spilled golden apples as fast as possible.

Unbeknownst to Kama, who was too occupied with picking up his apples off the ground, one of Ladon’s eyes opened behind him. Then another eye opened up, then another, then another, and another, until all one-hundred pairs of reptilian eyes were wide open and stared at the oblivious teenage boy with murderous intent. All the heads began to slowly and quietly rise up from the floor into an attack position. Kama didn’t hear anything at first, still busy picking up the apples he dropped, but he eventually began to sense something wrong and looked behind him, only to find a hundred snarling dragon heads staring down at him.

“Oh, shit…” Kama muttered in pure terror.

He dropped his crate of golden apples and attempted to run to the door, which was only a little more than ten feet away, as fast as his legs could possibly managed, but by then it was too late. One of Ladon’s heads lunged forward like a snake and snatched Kama’s leg, causing him to fall to the ground right at the door frame. As the head pulls Kama back towards it, Kama grabs onto the door frame for dear life, but it didn’t last long as his the dragon’s more powerful pull made Kama’s fingers slip off the door frame and he met the same fate as Salvatore Manzoni.

Some time has passed since Kama’s death. The warehouse was dead silent now. Looking as abandoned as it was supposed to be. The silence was then broken when an elderly man with two large white stripes in his hair wearing a blue tracksuit walked into the warehouse. Paulie Sirico stumbled awkwardly into the old dingy metallic warehouse, grumbling quietly to himself after having a bad experience driving on the way here. His car and some careless driver’s hit each other, which led to a huge argument. But unfortunately, there was a police officer around, so Paulie couldn’t do anything bad to the other driver, which for someone like him took a lot of restraint and patience. The situation eventually calmed down and the officer suggested they pay for each other’s damages, which only angered Paulie even more as he hated having to give his money away for any reason, but he had to keep his cool lest he risk getting arrested. Now his car was parked nearby with a large dent on it as he didn’t have time to take it to a mechanic.

“Sorry I’m late, some fuck hit me on the ro–” Paulie tried told his fellow mobsters before stopping when he realized there was nobody around.

The table in front of him where he expected to see his friends sitting down was completely deserted. All that was left on it were scattered playing cards, empty shot glasses, and ashtrays full of smoked cigars and cigarettes, yet no sign of the people who were using them. Paulie looked around for them, but what instead caught his eye was the tunnel leading to the room containing all the golden apples, which he noticed the door leading into it was wide open, and not only that, he saw several golden apples on the floor in front of it.

Paulie’s eyes widened excitedly at the sight. He looked around him to make absolutely sure that nobody was around to witness what he was about to do before he made a beeline toward the apples. The elderly mobster picked up each golden apple off the floor one by one, stuffing the fruits into the pockets of his light blue tracksuit, making a very noticeable bulge in his clothing. He was about to pass through the door to pick up more of the golden apples, but stopped dead in his tracks when he looked up and saw a sight that nearly stopped his ageing heart from beating.

On the other side of the door, he saw a large serpent-like dragon coiled around the golden apple tree with one hundred heads, all of which were watching him intently, seeming to dare him to take another step. Paulie looked down at his feet for a quick moment, seeing that he a mere inch away from going past the door, and looked back up at the hundred-headed dragon whose heads were all snarling at him, preparing to attack if he got any closer. 

Paulie may have been a very greedy man, and there’s nothing he’d like more than to go into the room and completely pluck the tree down to its last fruit, but fortunately, his survival instincts were stronger than his greed. He slowly stepped back away from the door, not taking his eyes off the dragon, and once he was out of the beast’s sight, he turned and ran out of the warehouse as fast as he could, never looking back.

It’s now been six months since Paulie grabbed those golden apples from the old warehouse, and while he wasn’t able to grab a whole lot, what he was able to get his hands on was enough to set him up for the rest of his life. Every day, all he could think was how those apples were the best thing that ever happened to him as he sunbathed while holding his tanning mirror, sitting in the sunny beaches overlooking the crystal blue oceans of the Caribbean while he drank a cocktail that he placed on his side table.

On the outskirts of Howardsville, Kama sat in his Mystery Tent that he pitched in Mark’s backyard, and opposite of him was an anxious-looking Italian-American mobster. The man wore a grey suit as well as gold necklaces, and Kama thought he almost had a resemblance to Joe Pesci, except this man was way taller than the actor. Kama did not understand why this man came to see him as he had never met the man or even had any connections to any illegal organisations, not to mention this was an adult hardened criminal asking help from a teenage conspiracy theorist and self-proclaimed paranormal investigator living in some broken down house in the outskirts of a town surrounded by misty pine forests. 

“What’s your name again?” Kama asked the man.

“Salvatore Manzoni. You can just call me Sal. The guys call me Delivery Sal,” the man answered.

“Why’d they call you that?”

“Well, ‘cause I’m in charge of overseein’ the deliveries of our products.” 

“And you say you’re a…wiseguy?” Kama asked again, trying to find the right words.

“Yeah, that’s what we call ourselves. You’d know us as gangsters, mobsters, mafiosos or whateva’.”

“I didn’t even know there would be gangsters in this small town.”

“Yeah, we didn’t always live ‘ere, an’ we don’t jus’ control this town. We used to operate in bigger cities but these past few decades the FBI have been fuckin’ us left an’ right, even the Five Families ‘ave to go lowkey nowadays. Not our boss, though, he decided to move the family’s base of operation all the way here in Howardsville. It was a pretty fuckin’ smart plan, an isolated little town surrounded by misty mountains an’ forests, no one would suspect us bein’ ere.”

“And why are you even coming over here telling me all this? I’m pretty sure what you’re doing right now is pretty damn dangerous. Telling someone else about the life you’re involved with,” Kama told the man, anger and fear beginning to overtake him.

“Because I saw your account over on social media, you’re some kinda ghost hunter, right?” Sal asked.

“Paranormal investigator,” Kama corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, the point is you deal with weird shit, an’ these past few weeks, some really weird shit has been happenin’.”

“What happened?”

“Lemme jus’ give a little context. So I’m a part o’ the Silano Crime Family, that’s what we’re called. Around a month or two ago, the boss ‘imself, Roberto, and three other guys took a vacation. The three otha’s bein’ his son, Gabe, the underboss, really nasty fuck that kid; Vinny De Luca, Roberto’s most trusted capo an’ also the guy who’s crew I’m a part of; and Paulie, who’s only a soldier but he’s been workin’ for the family for fifty ever since Roberto’s father was still runnin’ things so he gets special privileges, makin’ him a real pain in the ass. Anyways, the four of ‘em decide to take a vacation ova’ to Greece, an’ they were only gone for around…ten days, I guess.

          But when they came back, Paulie and Gabe were all excited like a couple o’ schoolgirls who won the fuckin’ lottery. Naturally, the rest of us wondered what the fuck was up, then Roberto said that he just found a huge money maker, an’ we couldn’t fuckin’ believe our eyes. He pulled out a sack filled with honest-to-God real golden apples!”

“Golden apples?” Kama asked, surprised at what he was hearing, but also skeptical.

“Yeah! We checked an’ everythin’! These weren’t  regular apples painted gold or even pieces o’ gold shaped into apples, these were 100% natural apples that were gold! It was like a fuckin’ gift from Heaven! Ever since then, we’ve been usin’ them to pay off the authorities an’ any other rich bastard an’ bureaucrat. Nobody could ever resist gettin’ their hands on these things! Neither can I, but I never got my hands on one.”

“But…where did they even get these apples from?”

“Well, that’s the real question, isn’t it? I’ve no fuckin’ idea. That’s why I came to you,” Sal said.

“You never asked the boss or the other guys where they come from?” Kama asked.

“I did ask ‘em, but they didn’t say nothin’. They’re keepin’ the origin o’ these golden apples top secret even from the rest of us! Only handful o’ guys have the privilege of knowin’ where the apples come from, which obviously includes Roberto, Gabe, and Vinny. Paulie’s not allowed because everyone knows he’s a greedy bastard, he was really pissed off when he found out he was left outta the golden apple club,” the mobster chuckled recounting the event.

“So you want me to help you steal these golden apples?”

“Steal? Well, I wouldn’t put it that way, it’s…alright, yeah, we’re stealin’ ‘em. If I could get my hands on the mother stash, it would set me up for fuckin’ life! I could be my own man, not havin’ to constantly pay up to that hothead, Gabe, to Vinny, an’ especially not that greedy stingy prick, Paulie! I could move to the Caribbean an’ just enjoy sandy beaches, clear water, an’ sexy tanned broads everyday ‘till I die! An’ I’ll make sure you get a cut too!” Sal told the teenager.

“There better be a cut,” Kama said angrily. “This is a really risky thing you’re asking me to involve myself in! If things go wrong, we’ll all be dead!”

“Relax, kid. You’ll be with me, an’ as long as you do exactly as I say, you’ll be fine. Luckily for you, I recently became a made guy, so you’ll be under my protection,” Sal reassured.

“I better be!” Kama said. “Alright, I’ll help you. These golden apples sound particularly interesting.”

“Good. Meet me outside the supermarket at 12 o’clock sharp. I’ll brief you about what to do.”

The next day, Kama rendezvoused with Sal at the agreed time and place. He decided not to take Hallie and Mark along for this particular case because he knew his two friends would not be great candidates for an investigation that involved dangerous criminals, the two of them would mess things up and get all of them killed.

Kama walked alongside Sal, who told them they were going to the nearby abandoned warehouse around the outskirts of the town, where he said the Silanos were all currently meeting as well as allegedly being where all the golden apples were kept. On the way there, the mobster decided to brief the teenage conspiracy theorist with rules of what to do and what not to do.

“Alright, so when I introduce you, I’m gonna call you “a friend o’ mine”, that means you’re conne-”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I watched ‘Donnie Brasco’ too,” Kama cut off the mobster.

“Alright then, but that’s another rule, don’t fuckin’ cut me off in the middle of a sentence, especially not any o’ the otha’ guys! They won’t kindly to it like I do! So you betta’ shut up do whateva’ the fuck I tell you an’ don’t speak unless you’re spoken too!” Sal ordered.

“Yeah, got it,” Kama simply said.

“An’ especially be careful talkin’ to Gabe. That kid’s got a short fuckin’ fuse. If he starts threatenin’ ya with his switchblade, that means you fucked up an’ you should shut the fuck up. Because that’s the warnin’, an’ the first strike, an’ Gabe’s only got two strikes. Piss ‘im off a second time an’ you’re gonna find that switchblade lodged in ya neck or stomach. There’s a reason we call ‘im ‘Stiletto Gabe’.”

        An’ stay away from Paulie too. He may not be actively tryna cut ya dick off but he’s got a real short fuse too. A lotta the guys like ‘im an’ think he’s so fuckin’ funny but he can be a real ball-buster when he wants to,” Sal warned.

“I’m a made guy now, so that means you have some protection by me an’ the otha’ guys can’t touch ya easily. But I’m still responsible for ya, so don’t fuck anything up, ‘cause it’ll be both our asses if we get in trouble!”

“Copy that. So what exactly is your plan to get the golden apples anyway? You don’t even really know where and how they’re kept,” Kama asked.

“Well, today’s our lucky day, ‘cause I’m scheduled to deliver some o’ these golden apples to this rich prick as payment for ‘im to fund our operations. I don’t know the details, I wasn’t exactly briefed too much, but the point is we’re seein’ the damn apples! Once we see where they’re comin’ from, we’ll figure things out from there.”

“‘Figure things out from there’? You mean you don’t actually have a plan?” Kama asked in disbelief, fear and frustration beginning to creep in.

“No, that’s not what I said! I meant…we’ll know what to do when the time comes along.”

“Fucking Christ…” Kama muttered to himself under his breath. Now he was starting to get really worried.

After a few more minutes of walking along a lonely road surrounded by tall pine trees, the mobster and the young conspiracy theorist turned a corner and saw the abandoned warehouse. It was an old metallic greyish-blue building covered in stains and beginning to rust in some spots. A very gloomy looking location that gives the impression there’s not a single living soul in its radius, but the two of them knew better.

Kama and Sal approached a small metal door somewhere on the side of the building, and Sal looked around for a moment before knocking on the door. After about fifteen seconds of waiting, a man finally opened the door and let them inside. 

Once Sal and Kama entered, they saw surrounded by large piles of wooden crates was a table full of men playing poker together, their forms slightly obscured from all the smoke coming from the cigars and cigarettes they were smoking. The room they were in were illuminated merely by the yellowed frosted glass on the dingy rusted metal walls of the warehouse where the sunlight beamed in through and illuminated the table and the cold grey floor. As the two of them approached the table, Sal quickly briefed Kama on who was who.

“That kid in the with the yellow shirt, that’s Gabe, the underboss,” he pointed to a young man in his mid to late 20s with greasy combed black hair wearing an unbuttoned yellow shirt over his white undershirt and gold chain necklace around his neck, focusing intently on his own cards being held up by arms just as hairy as his chest was.

“That’s Vinny, captain o’ the crew I’m in,” Sal pointed to the man next to Gabe. It was a very obese tan-colored man wearing a purple silk button shirt and gold necklace with the same greasy black hair and hairy arms that Gabe had, except Vinny had grey sideburns due to him being twice Gabe’s age. He also had a cigar in his mouth as opposed to Gabe who had a cigarette instead.

“Who’s the boss?” Kama asked.

“He doesn’t seem to be here yet. Should be ‘ere shortly,” Sal answered.

The two of them arrived at the table, and the men at the table noticed their arrival and looked up at them.

“Ah, Sal, ya finally arrived,” Vinny said, taking the cigar out of his mouth.

“Who’s the fuckin’ kid?” Gabe asked, nodding in Kama’s direction.

“Oh, he’s a friend o’ mine. This is Kama,” Sal answered his superiors, gesturing to the teenager beside him.

“Wait a minute, I’ve seen that kid before. Isn’t he that little nutjob who goes around town chasin’ fuckin’ flying saucers?” Gabe asked again, pointing at Kama with the fingers holding his cigarette.

“Yeah, he is. But don’t worry, he’s alright,” Sal tried to reassure his younger hotheaded superior.

“Oh yeah? Why’d you decide to get involved, kid?” Gabe asked Kama directly this time.

Kama was taken aback by the sudden attention placed on him, nervousness beginning to take over while he tried his best to sound calm in this room full of murderous criminals.

“Uh, well, y’know, just looking for an easy way to earn some money. In today’s economy, it is hard to earn enough money to survive, especially with all that minimum wage bullshit American businesses keep pulling. Besides, that deadbeat loser, Mark, who I live with, is the worst breadwinner on the face of the planet and he doesn’t seem to be getting any better. So might as well take matters into my own hands,” Kama explained as casually as much as could make himself sound.

Gabe sneered. “The modern economy. Ain’t that a bitch?” he said before taking another puff of his cigarette.

“Yeah, he’s a little nuts and kinda fuckin’ stupid, but he’s a good kid,” Sal reassured his friends while Kama glared at him for what he just said.

Suddenly, Kama and Sal heard the metal door they came in from open, and they saw a large fat man with a very square-shaped build covered-up by the pinstripe suit he wore that had a red flower on his lapel. The man appeared to be in his 50s, with greasy black slickback hair covered by a black hat that matched his suit’s color and grey sideburns, small squinted eyes on his large oval face, and a cigar in his mouth.

“That’s the boss, Roberto,” Sal informed Kama in a whisper.

“How’s everyone doin’ today?” Roberto asked after taking the cigar our of his mouth. He had the most ridiculous sounding voice Kama ever heard. It sounded like someone doing a horrifically bad impression of a stereotypical mobster voice, except Roberto’s voice was one hundred percent genuine.

“Doin’ just fine, Pops,” Gabe greeted his father from the table.

Roberto walked towards his spot on the table, but as he passed in front of Kama and Sal, he stopped in tracks and turned his attention to the teenager, who was now beginning to feel even more nervous than before, but didn’t let his face show it.

“Who’s this kid ‘ere?” Roberto asked.

Before Sal could answer, Gabe answered for him. “A friend o’ Sal’s. He’s that little flyin’ saucer nut we see around town.”

Roberto remained silent for a moment, simply analyzing Kama through his squinted eyes. Kama felt awkward and scared at seeing the mob boss stare at him for what was only a few seconds but felt like an eternity for the teenager. It didn’t help that Roberto was a very large man who loomed over most of the people around him. The smoke coming from the cigar in his mouth somehow made him spooky.

After a moment of silence, Roberto finally spoke. “You keep some very strange company, Salvatore,” Roberto told the man beside Kama, pronouncing his name as its original Italian pronunciation instead of the Americanized pronunciation.

Kama silently breathed a sigh of relief as the large mob boss turned his attention away from him and continued walking towards the table. Once Roberto sat down, Sal decided to ask him about his job for the day.

“So, Roberto, how many o’ the apples am I gonna ‘ave to deliver today?”

“This is a very high-payin’ client, so there’s gonna be a considerably higher amount of apples this time. Those ova’ there are the crates you’re gonna use,” Roberto pointed to a pile of several empty fruit crates.

When Kama and Sal saw these empty crates, they were both silently in awe. The fact there were enough golden apples to fill up all these crates was amazing enough, but the way Roberto spoke clearly implied there was still many more apples to probably fill at least a hundred of these crates, or more.

“Madone…just these crates alone are gonna set up for even my kids’ futures,” Sal silently said in awe.

The way Sal said his sentence made Kama’s expression of awe disappear as he suddenly realized something; they never discussed how much Kama was gonna get out of this.

Kama leaned in closer to Sal to whisper to him. “Hey, Sal, how much did you say I was getting out of this?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’ll make sure you get at least five golden apples as payment,” Sal answered, his tone making it obvious he wasn’t interested in discussing the matter.

“Five? Five?! Out of potentially hundreds of these apples?! You cheap bastard, I’m wasting my time and risking my life helping you! I should get paid more for this!”

“Hey! Five is already me bein’ very generous! An’ remember, I’m in charge! So either you take the five or the only thing you’re gettin’ is a bullet through your fuckin’ head!”

Kama stared back at Sal with complete anger and hate, and Sal left him behind standing like an idiot to talk to his superiors.

Sal turned to the table where all his bosses sat. “Alright, the van to take these crates should be arrivin’ in a few minutes. In the meantime, I gotta take a leak,” he said before walking off to find the bathroom.

As Kama saw the man walk away, an idea struck his head as a way to get back at Sal. He walked over to the table of mobsters.

“Excuse me, there’s something I need to tell all of you.”

“The fuck do you want, kid?” Gabe asked.

“I should tell you that Sal isn’t planning to take those apples to wherever he’s supposed to.”

“Whaddya mean by that?” Gabe asked again as he, Roberto, and Vinny leaned closer to hear what Kama had to say.

“I mean he’s planning on stealing them. He told me just now to help him with smuggling the apples. In fact, if you search his pockets, I’m sure you’ll find the plane tickets to the Caribbean that he told me he was gonna use the apples for,” Kama said with a raised eyebrow.

The three high-ranking mobsters looked at each other for a moment with a mix of confusion, scepticism, and anger. Gabe was the first to speak up.

“I fuckin’ knew that money-hungry prick was not to be trusted!”

“You don’t know anythin’, Gabriele! Let’s not jump to conclusions so fast!” Roberto told his son before turning back to Kama. “This is a very serious accusation. There betta’ be proof o’ this, ‘cause I don’t tolerate slander against the reputation o’ one o’ my guys.”

“Oh, there’s proof. As a paranormal enthusiast, I know the importance of proof, and there is. Don’t worry about that,” Kama reassured with a slightly cocky tone.

After a moment, Sal returned, wiping his hands after having just finished washing them. 

“So, where are the apples?”

The three mobsters' faces suddenly lightened up, looking much friendlier than they did mere seconds ago. It was like everything that Kama just told them immediately disappeared from their minds. They weren’t smiling or anything but their faces became less intense than before. Kama has heard a lot of stories from movies and real-life cases about how mobsters could act like your closest friends right before murdering you brutally in cold blood. Just hearing about it was scary enough, but actually seeing how quickly they change their tune was chilling to see.

Roberto got up from his chair and walked towards Sal. “Ah, yes. Well, you’re a made guy now as well as a very big earner for us, so I suppose you can now be trusted with the location o’ the golden apples.” Roberto put his arms around Sal in a friendly way, talking to him as a friend. “Y’see that right there?” Roberto pointed to some point in the warehouse.

At the spot Roberto pointed at was a long narrow tunnel that looked very out of place from the rest of the warehouse. And at the end of the end of the tunnel was a door. Kama thought it looked like the most ominous thing ever, but it didn’t seem to be raising any alarms in Sal’s head who seemed to be very eager to finally see the mother stash.

“The golden apples are right through that door. Load ‘em up in the crates an’ bring ‘em back ‘ere,” Roberto instructed.

“Sure thing, boss!” Sal replied enthusiastically.

When Roberto let go of Sal, his hand brushed past Sal’s coat pocket and while Sal wasn’t paying attention, Roberto quickly slightly pulled out whatever was in the pocket to take a quick peek and immediately put it back before Sal could even realize anything happened. Sal grabbed a nearby box dolly that he stacked all the fruit crates on and pushed it down the tunnel towards the ominous looking door. Behind him, Kama along with the three mob bosses all watched him excitedly walk to the biggest treasure trove of their lives. Kama watched the three mobsters standing next to him, and he watched their expressions all reverted back to their angry hardened selves as they were when Kama told them about Sal’s betrayal.

“The kid’s right, there are tickets in there,” Roberto told his two underlings, his tone completely serious, contrasting his friendly manner just earlier.

“I always fuckin’ knew Sal would backstab us one way or anotha’ one day,” Gabe said, venom dripping from his voice.

“Don’t go through that door,” Roberto told Kama, who looked up at the mob boss with confusion. “We’re going through ‘ere,” he pointed at another door right beside the tunnel, and the four of them walked into it.

Sal hummed to himself as he excitedly walked down the tunnel towards the door. He could only imagine just how many golden apples were waiting for him. He could picture it in his head, an entire mountain of them. Enough to make him the richest man on Earth and to secure his children in that position for generations to come. The plan was simple, he’ll take all these golden apples, pretend to do the delivery, and he’ll be at the airport to his dream home in the Caribbeans before any of the guys could even realize what happened. It was perfect, at least in Sal’s head.

Sal reached the door, quickly opening it to see the heavenly sight he knew awaited him on the other side, and when he opened it, he saw exactly what he expected, in fact it was better; a huge tree where golden apples grew in large numbers from its branches. What he didn’t expect was to also see a hundred pairs of eyes and mouths filled with razor sharp teeth staring back at him.

“Oh, fu–” Sal blurted out before those hundreds of mouths lunged at him and tore him into a thousand bloody pieces.

“HOLY SHIT!” Kama shouted seeing the sight before him.

He and the three mobsters stood in some kind of observation room that overlooked the room where the golden apple tree was kept. It was the most amazing sight Kama has ever seen. But coiled around the tree was a very large reptilian beast with one hundred serpentine heads, each of their mouths covered with Sal’s blood and flesh who they just finished tearing apart.

“What the hell is that thing?!” Kama asked the mobsters, completely freaking out over the sight before him.

“A little somethin’ we found on our trip to Greece,” Roberto answered, holding his cigar close to his mouth. “We stumbled upon it purely by luck one day, an’ we couldn’t just leave somethin’ this valuable behind, so we pulled a few strings an’ managed to use some of our connections to help bring this tree back home with us. Couldn’t get the dragon off the tree, though, but it’s not a problem ‘cause this thing helps make sure no idiot tries to steal any o’ the golden apples. It annihilates anyone who comes near the tree.”

Kama stared at the beast and the gruesome display in front of him, his eyes the widest they’ve ever been, trying to fully register what he was seeing. Suddenly, something clicked in Kama’s head. “Wait a minute…why does this…this all kinda sounds like…Oh! No wonder this whole thing sounded familiar! This is all from Greek mythology! Those must be the Golden Apples of the Hesperides! Which means that creature is Ladon, the hundred-headed dragon that guards the tree!”

“Yeah, ‘cept this ain’t a myth no more,” Roberto replied, still looking through the window that separated them from the room containing the mythical tree and hundred-headed beast.

“‘Ladon’, huh? Is that what it’s called? I just gave it the name ‘Vinny’, ‘cause it’s a big fuckin’ beast that hates anyone touchin’ its food,” Gabe said.

“Ha ha. You’re so fuckin’ hilarious,” the obese purple-shirted man who stood next to him said, completely unamused by the joke.

“So how do you even grab the apples with this thing guarding it?” Kama asked.

“That was the tricky part, yeah, especially since this big bastard neva’ sleeps. But the guys who helped us move this thing in the first place had a fuckin’ brilliant idea! Anytime we wanna take the apples, we’d give it a dose o’ some sorta sleepin’ gas that knocks it out for around ten minutes. Enough time for us to get all the apples, an’ once we finish, he’ll wake up soon afta’ to guard the tree again an’ make sure no greedy pricks like Sal try to take any behind our backs,” Roberto explained, ending his last sentence with anger and nodding to splatters of blood, flesh, and torn fabrics all over the ground that was once Sal Manzoni.

“But what’s to stop someone from just knocking Ladon and taking the apples anyway?”

“We’re not complete idiots, we thought o’ that too. That’s why the sleepin’ gas can only be activated by me, Gabriele, an’ Vincenzo ova’ there, via a fingerprint scan.”

Roberto decided to demonstrate for Kama, as well as continue the job Sal was originally supposed to do, as he placed his thumb on a fingerprint scanner on a small control panel under the window they were looking out of. Once the scan was read, Kama could hear machinery noises all around them, and soon after, gas began pouring out from the vents on the walls of the room on the other side of the glass. After a little more than a minute, the hundred-headed dragon was out cold on the ground.

“And that’s when it’s safe to take ‘em,” Roberto finished off his presentation.

“Huh, a monster from Greek mythology defeated with a little sleeping gas. Impressive,” Kama looked through the window with great interest. “So you actually stole from the Garden of the Hesperides? I’m pretty sure a lot of Greek myth stories have told us that stealing from anyone in the Greek pantheon is a really bad idea.”

“Well, nothin’ bad has happened to us so far. So I think we’re golden,” Gabe brushed off what Kama said.

“‘Sides, even if the Greek gods are real, we’re followers o’ the real God. We’re God-fearin’ men. That automatically gives us the uppa’ hand,” Roberto added.

“Yeah, even the Virgin Mary could kick Zeus’s ass,” Vincenzo added as well.

“Uh-huh…yeah, sure they would,” Kama said, heavily doubting the idea of God or any Christian figures taking the side of a gang of murderous criminals. “Why are you even showing me this?”

“Because you helped expose a traitor in our midst. That’s a very stand-up thing to do,” Roberto answered.

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” Kama said, before pulling out his lightning gun and pointing it at the three mobsters. “‘Cause you just gave me the best opportunity to take your stuff!”

A large blast of electricity shot out of Kama’s cattle prod shaped gun as he blasted all three of the mobsters in front of him. In a matter of seconds, all three high-ranking mobsters were lying on the ground, unresponsive. In no time, Kama bolted out of the observation room, back downstairs, and went through the same tunnel Sal went through, but not suffering the same fate as him.

Kama entered the golden apple room, having to step over the remains of Sal that littered the floor. He also had to step around the spaghetti-like mess that was the unconscious heads of Ladom, all asleep on the ground. Kama grabbed one of the fruit crates Sal was taking with him that was still unbroken from the attack, as well as a ladder propped up against the wall to better reach all the apples. 

After a while, Kama grabbed enough golden apples to fill the fruit crate to the brim. He made extra sure not a single fruit fell out as he climbed down the ladder, as just one of these apples would be worth a huge fortune. Even the richest billionaires would probably give half of their money just to get their hands on a single golden apple, especially after knowing their origin.

Kama didn’t know how much time had passed since the dragon was knocked out by the gas, but he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible in the short time the dragon was still asleep. But just as made it out of the massive tangled pile of serpentine heads and necks, Kama tripped one the necks, spilling the contents of his crate everywhere.

“Goddammit…” Kama muttered angrily under his breath, getting back up to his feet, grabbing the crate, and attempted to retrieve all the spilled golden apples as fast as possible.

Unbeknownst to Kama, who was too occupied with picking up his apples off the ground, one of Ladon’s eyes opened behind him. Then another eye opened up, then another, then another, and another, until all one-hundred pairs of reptilian eyes were wide open and stared at the oblivious teenage boy with murderous intent. All the heads began to slowly and quietly rise up from the floor into an attack position. Kama didn’t hear anything at first, still busy picking up the apples he dropped, but he eventually began to sense something wrong and looked behind him, only to find a hundred snarling dragon heads staring down at him.

“Oh, shit…” Kama muttered in pure terror.

He dropped his crate of golden apples and attempted to run to the door, which was only a little more than ten feet away, as fast as his legs could possibly managed, but by then it was too late. One of Ladon’s heads lunged forward like a snake and snatched Kama’s leg, causing him to fall to the ground right at the door frame. As the head pulls Kama back towards it, Kama grabs onto the door frame for dear life, but it didn’t last long as his the dragon’s more powerful pull made Kama’s fingers slip off the door frame and he met the same fate as Salvatore Manzoni.

Some time has passed since Kama’s death. The warehouse was dead silent now. Looking as abandoned as it was supposed to be. The silence was then broken when an elderly man with two large white stripes in his hair wearing a blue tracksuit walked into the warehouse. Paulie Sirico stumbled awkwardly into the old dingy metallic warehouse, grumbling quietly to himself after having a bad experience driving on the way here. His car and some careless driver’s hit each other, which led to a huge argument. But unfortunately, there was a police officer around, so Paulie couldn’t do anything bad to the other driver, which for someone like him took a lot of restraint and patience. The situation eventually calmed down and the officer suggested they pay for each other’s damages, which only angered Paulie even more as he hated having to give his money away for any reason, but he had to keep his cool lest he risk getting arrested. Now his car was parked nearby with a large dent on it as he didn’t have time to take it to a mechanic.

“Sorry I’m late, some fuck hit me on the ro–” Paulie tried told his fellow mobsters before stopping when he realized there was nobody around.

The table in front of him where he expected to see his friends sitting down was completely deserted. All that was left on it were scattered playing cards, empty shot glasses, and ashtrays full of smoked cigars and cigarettes, yet no sign of the people who were using them. Paulie looked around for them, but what instead caught his eye was the tunnel leading to the room containing all the golden apples, which he noticed the door leading into it was wide open, and not only that, he saw several golden apples on the floor in front of it.

Paulie’s eyes widened excitedly at the sight. He looked around him to make absolutely sure that nobody was around to witness what he was about to do before he made a beeline toward the apples. The elderly mobster picked up each golden apple off the floor one by one, stuffing the fruits into the pockets of his light blue tracksuit, making a very noticeable bulge in his clothing. He was about to pass through the door to pick up more of the golden apples, but stopped dead in his tracks when he looked up and saw a sight that nearly stopped his ageing heart from beating.

On the other side of the door, he saw a large serpent-like dragon coiled around the golden apple tree with one hundred heads, all of which were watching him intently, seeming to dare him to take another step. Paulie looked down at his feet for a quick moment, seeing that he a mere inch away from going past the door, and looked back up at the hundred-headed dragon whose heads were all snarling at him, preparing to attack if he got any closer. 

Paulie may have been a very greedy man, and there’s nothing he’d like more than to go into the room and completely pluck the tree down to its last fruit, but fortunately, his survival instincts were stronger than his greed. He slowly stepped back away from the door, not taking his eyes off the dragon, and once he was out of the beast’s sight, he turned and ran out of the warehouse as fast as he could, never looking back.

It’s now been six months since Paulie grabbed those golden apples from the old warehouse, and while he wasn’t able to grab a whole lot, what he was able to get his hands on was enough to set him up for the rest of his life. Every day, all he could think was how those apples were the best thing that ever happened to him as he sunbathed while holding his tanning mirror, sitting in the sunny beaches overlooking the crystal blue oceans of the Caribbean while he drank a cocktail that he placed on his side table.

[persephoneflouwers]

Hey Angie, please excuse my rant in advance. This is not about 1D, this is about the US election. I’m American and I’m very very liberal- I think healthcare should be free and people should be housed and billionaires shouldn’t exist and of course I’m a massive feminist and we have this election happening in three days and I am truly ashamed and upset about it. Donald Trump is obviously not an option, I’m not even going to go into why. Everyone knows it. And Kamala has some good policies and I see eye to eye with her on a good amount of stuff (not everything). But I cannot support her stance on Israel which is that she will continue supporting them and in doing so, continue supporting and arming the Palestinian genocide. I feel like I am losing my mind because everyone is acting like it’s ok what Israel is doing and it’s NOT. They are committing the most egregious war crimes I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. But I can’t not vote. And voting for a 3rd party who has no chance of winning (the politics in this country are so fucked up) will only split what is probably going to be a close vote and could tip thr scales for Trump. How do I reconcile voting for someone who has better policies than the alternative but has one deeply upsetting policy that I truly feel I cannot support? I also can’t not vote, I won’t throw away my chance to vote. But I also can’t keep seeing mutilated corpses of innocent civilians that are a direct result of the US greed and involvement. Help!

I understand your frustration.

I also think that I would have no problem voting a third party. I’ve been voting for little parties for ages and to this day I can say I’ve never won an election. I don’t vote PD, which you would say is the Italian version of your dems. I have never voted them. Still, I don’t think my vote didn’t count.

This way of thinking looks a bit manipulative of the Democrats, if I’m honest. They use this mathematical approach to hold people back from voting another party. Masses make the difference, but the change is slow and won’t be happening in a season. Just taking into consideration a third party now seems a huge development. Maybe in 25/30 years, there won’t be THIS or THAT, but a strong third option too.

The thing is you shouldn’t vote to make the other party lose. You should vote because you believe in a political program and identity with their policies.

If all the people who say “voting for a third party will only split the votes” could actually vote for a third party, maybe the third party would have a chance of winning.

We all know Trump is dangerous, but is Harris winning safe?

[hot-take-tournament]

it's finally time to close the book on this

HOT TAKE TOURNAMENT:

SHOWDOWN AT HIGH NOON (#15)

Submissions 8, 24, 28, 33, 88, 98, 213, 261, 272, 280

IS PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA GOOD?

[ALL PROPAGANDA UNDER THE CUT]

Then we never have to talk about this again.

Pre-preliminaries will be used to determine what qualifies as a hot take. Propaganda is encouraged!

Also, remember to reblog your favourite polls for exposure! (exposure like when your exposed to deadly radiation)

YES:

(24)

Pinapple [sic] belongs on pizza.

There are many dishes that mix sweet and savory. Cheese and fruit as found on charcuterie boards is a prime example. What else mixes fruit and cheese? That’s right. Pineapple pizza. The salty savoriness of the cheese blends perfectly with the cooked pineapple, which is less tart than raw fruit. Add bacon, canadian bacon, or chicken for extra deliciousness. You either like pineapple on pizza or you’re a coward.

(28)

Pineapple on pizza is not only good, it’s the best pizza topping there is

Sweet and savory is a godly flavor combo. It hits all the notes at once. It provides the acid and the sweetness to an otherwise very heavy dish

(33)

Adding to the last one I sent [about milk before cereal], "pineapple does not belong on pizza" people are also annoying as fuck

I don't even like pineapple but it's the only pizza my best friend will tolerate and I'm tired of people calling her a freak for it

(98)

Pineapple on pizza is fine.

I work in a pizza place & have to see absolutely fucking horrific monstrosities that people call pizza. Here’s a list of things worse than pineapple that I’ve seen on pizza: any topping that people ask for “extra extra” of (like mushrooms or spinach), fish, nacho cheese sauce, & a mix of beans and salsa

(213)

Pineapple on pizza is fine.

It's not mana from heaven or anything but it's not bad either. The flavors balance out pretty well.

(261)

PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA IS AMAZING!!!

it tastes good and pepperoni fans are just mean to us pineapple on pizza likers.

YES, but –

(272)

i like pineapple on pizza. the ham is the problem

listen i can do meat on pizza. but ham AND pineapple? no. something about that feels unholy. so i pick off the ham so i can enjoy my pineapple pizza. also i am allergic to pineapple. but we persevere

(280)

pineapple pizza is good in america

the sweet and savory combination is just… ough. but most native italian people don’t like the idea of pineapple pizza. why? the answer comes in the difference in tomatoes in italy and the united states. in america, tomatoes are very sour and savory, so pineapple can really do a pizza some favors. however, italian tomatoes, while still savory and tart, are very sweet. putting pineapple on an italian pizza would just be redundant.

(8)

I think people need to stop being so angry about Pineapple on Pizza. Weather [sic] you like it or not isn't a big deal

If we're supposed to 'respect other's opinions' then why do pizza toppings need to start a war? It's really pointless.

(oh... um... sorry dude. guess i'm not helping, am i)

NO:

(88)

pineapple on pizza should be outlawed

disgusting. crime against perfectly good pizza.

i’m RIGHT., i will FIGHT YOU, 🍍+🍕= 🚮

(266)

Pineapple should not be on pizza.

Fruit allergiers, particularly pineapple allergies, are steadily on the rise and this topping will legit kill someone if there's not at least some proper storage.

I work in a pizza place, and have been working with pizza for years. There is NO proper storage for pineapple at most pizza places. It comes from a can and the juice gets on every surface. Same with 90% of other toppings.

If you have a friend who is allergic to pineapple, do not recommend pizza for dinner during hang outs. Opt for anything else.

Pineapple should not be on pizza. The hell fruit should stay out of pizza kitchens.

[ccthewriter]

CC's New Watch Ranking - April 2023

Every month on Letterboxd, I make a list of the 10 best films I’ve seen for the first time. It’s a fun way to compare movies separated in time, genre, and country of origin, and helps me keep track of what I’m watching! This is a breakdown of those films.

April! An early heat wave broke and gave us the rainy, misty days that this month is supposed to contain. My vegetable garden is starting to take root. This is the first year I’m planting in earnest, prepping trays of seeds to make their way outside. I’ve been learning a lot, and keeping my eye on the backyard window as I’ve been settling in to watch these films. Plants like music - do they like film scores? Maybe I’ll take my speakers outside and find out. I bet they’d love Angelo Badalamenti, whose work is featured heavily in this month’s list. After a slow start due to several exciting new work opportunities (yay!), this month ended up containing some cinematic heavy-hitters! 

Click below to read the breakdown! Click HERE for the list on Letterboxd! 

10. The Hawks and the Sparrows 

1966 - Pier Paolo Pasolini

A delightful absurdist tale by one of Italy’s greatest directors. A father and son, whose attitude seems ripped right out of Waiting for Godot, wander a road with indeterminate purpose. Along they way they meet a philosophizing talking bird, and fall backwards in time to the life of St. Francis. Interspersed are some scenes of modern (1960s) Italian life, including the real funeral procession of a Communist leader. It’s a strange, lopsided work, perhaps not achieving the thought-provoking or artistic heights that the director intended, but contains some brilliant gems of absurdism. I’m particularly struck by several shots and discussions that focus on the Moon. You may know, reader, that I am obsessed with Fellini’s Voice of the Moon. That is an absurd, wandering meditation on the moon’s symbolism and power, and echoes of those ideas are found here, too. It gets me wondering about what Fellini and Pasolini shared, the experiences that united their thought, and got them to create such interesting, parallel pictures. 

9. For a Few Dollars More 

1965 - Sergio Leone

Impeccable craft. The platonic ideal of a Western that so many movies/other media try to grasp, but can never quite achieve. (Looking at you, Mando.) While The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly might be the ultimate piece in this trilogy, For A Few Dollars More still manages to hold all the compelling, subtle characterization and breathtaking conclusion that makes that capper so legendary. Two bounty hunters seek out a mad fugitive - they all double-cross one another in pursuit of victory. There’s just grand vibes within this thing. A legendary score, gorgeous shots, handsome sweaty men trying to kill each other (aka flirting), and other tiny design choices that are beyond iconic. What’s not to love? Toss this on with a bourbon, pardner, and watch them shoot a hat. 

8. Bitter Rice 

1949 - Giuseppe De Santis

What if we fought back against systems that oppress the workers of the rice fields AND we were both girls 👀. First and foremost watch this if you love wlw - there is some subtext that occurs between the main pair as they squabble. A jewel thief, coerced into crime by her shitty boyfriend, hides out among rice workers with her stolen goods. She meets Silvana, a peasant who catches onto their scheme and ultimately gets entangled in their lives. It feels like both the thieving pair lust after her. The politics of this one are messy, to say the least. Francesca, the thief, sides with some scabs who want to work the fields despite not being part of the union. Silvana organizes the workers against them, but ultimately they come to a patronizing compromise to let both sides work together. The film doesn’t care about the details that would make this labor struggle real - what does it take to join the union? Who organizes it? Do the members get to vote about how they feel about the scabs? Pulling those threads makes the movie collapse, along with the shoe-horned melodramatic ending for Silvana, which seems born out of an American Hayes Code sense of what must happen to a woman who "chooses wrong." Despite these elements, the film is shot beautifully by Otello Martelli, Fellini’s cinematographer, and contains one of the greatest framing devices for a neorealist film ever devised. A voice over telling you that what you’re about to see is the real testimony of rice workers, which diegetically shifts into a radio announcer present at the scene, is inspired. A film to yell at as you enjoy it. 

7. Touch of Evil 

1958 - Orson Welles

The film opens with a bomb being place in the boot of a car. Then there is an unbroken shot lasting about 5 minutes of that same car driving slowly through a crowded street. It is breathtaking tension building. Hitchcockian perfection. What follows is a surprisingly nuanced exploration of police corruption. These pigs live in paranoid fantasies sustained by evidence that they plant - hatred, ignorance, and alcohol let them forget that they created the justification for their hate themselves. This film drips with noir style and culminates in a chase scene that’s just as satisfying as the end of The Third Man. Who else understands noir like Welles? He gives a remarkable performance here. 

6. Inland Empire 

2006 - David Lynch

Lynch was doing creepypasta lo-fi found footage before it was cool. Seriously, watch this film and be surprised that this came out before Marble Hornets! Lynch’s first foray into digital filmmaking follows the story of actor Nikki Grace, played by the inimitable Laura Dern. (Consider her!) She is cast in a film that she later discovers is an adaptation, derived from a production that was shut down due to strange events happening to the cast. This grounded framing quickly dissolves into classic Lynchian surreality. The narrative is intersected by stories of 19th century Polish sex workers, modern day drifters, an unnamed woman who watches the film’s events on a TV screen, and more flashes of disconnected images than I could ever try to remember. Terry Crews is there for a few minutes. Lynch’s films defy simple explanation, as their very structure seems to repel logical attempts to define them. It is enough to say that this all builds into a moving tale of the exploitation built within the Hollywood machine. To be an actor, even with all the progress we’ve made, is to give yourself up to depersonalization, to completely vanish in the eyes of the viewer. Audiences want to see a self that is inside you, but is not you. You can get lost pulling on that thread. And there are dark figures who are only too happy to encourage you to get lost, who want to sit behind a camera and watch your selves separate, so they can bottle it up and sell it for massive, massive profit. Fascinating to see such a film come from Lynch, who by all accounts is a highly ethical filmmaker and whose crews (particularly Dern!) adore working with him. I think it takes a fundamentally good and kind person to truly understand evil - they must have the good grace to recognize what lives within them, what lives within all of us. 

(Also, these fucking rabbits terrify me in ways that I'm still understanding. I think I saw the short film Lynch made with them while I was under the influence of certain substances. They know what I'm thinking and will show up at my doorstep one midnight, I just know it.)

5. Lost Highway 

1997 - David Lynch

Whereas Inland Empire explores the loss of self that’s a feature (not a bug) of acting, Lost Highway explores a broader loss of self that can happen any time, anywhere, to anyone. Recapping the plot, again, seems a little pointless, but in brief, it’s about a jazz musician who appears to be stalked by a shapeshifting entity. As he tries to understand why he’s being targeted, he gets arrested for (apparently) murdering his wife - but while in jail, he mystically transforms into another person entirely. This new character lives an entirely separate life that eventually intersects with the original one in shocking ways. It’s all very cyclical, and vague, and contains a host of implications that are too broad to clearly explain. Lynch is the ultimate Oneric filmmaker in this way - the content of the dream is so different than the lasting impression it gives you. Towards the beginning of the movie the main character has this exchange: 

Fred: "I like to remember things my own way"

Cop: "What does that mean?"

Fred: "How I remember them, not necessarily how they happened"

That’s the ultimate explanation of how these films function. They are truly symbolic masses that pass through you, live inside you, and then transform into something greater than its sum ingredients. 

4. Bound 

1996 - The Wachowskis

So after dipping our toes into that Lynchian, vaguely defined dreamscape, here we have a much more straightforward film. What if the hottest most gorgeous most sapphic most jaw-droppingly sexy women imaginable did a crime together??? Wouldn’t that be cool?????? There really isn’t much in the way of symbolic nuance in this picture like there is in some of these other recommendations. This is just a straight-forward, tightly constructed crime thriller, starring (cannot emphasize this enough) just the biggest queerest icons you can imagine. I knew this movie would rewire me once I saw it, and am pleased to report that it really, really has. If you’re in the sapphic camp please check it out - it’s as required viewing as But I’m A Cheerleader is. Corky is a stone-butch ex-con who’s hired to renovate an apartment. She discovers that living next door is a mobster and his disaffected trophy girl Violet. Violet seduces Corky in the most noir femme fatale porn-adjacent way imaginable - quite literally “can you fix my pipes?” - and the two agree to pull one over on the mob so they can run off into the sunset. What follows is tightly constructed, steaming tension, as Hithcockian in perfection as Touch of Evil’s opening oner, but with a little more pulpy crass. Gays and theys, please, do not hesitate to watch this. It’s the film that let the Wachowskis make the Matrix, it is truly that spectacular. 

3. The Immortal Story 

1968 - Orson Welles

Welles is a master storyteller, a magician, a ponderous and monologuing baron of Art whose work is now embedded in the history of this medium. When he’s not playing himself, he’s playing corrupt, ignorant men. What do you think compels him to do that? He had the power and resources to play anyone he wants - why was this the role he chose? These questions will naturally rise up when you’re watching The Immortal Story, Welles’ last feature fiction that he would ever direct. It follows the story of a wealthy businessman who has a meeting with his assistant late one night. The businessman - this baron - reveals that he despises fiction, and only wishes to tell or hear things that are true, like data in a ledger. But then he reveals a story a sailor once told him, about a wealthy man who once paid the sailor to sleep with his wife and produce an heir. His assistant knows the story; he says this is a common folk tale, repeated in every port, on every ship, and that his master is incorrect in believing he heard it from the person it actually happened to. This sends the businessman on an obsessed journey - he commands his assistant to recreate this tale, to hire a courtesan, to find a poor sailor, and reconstruct this tale exactly as it was told to him, line-by-line, so that… well, the baron’s reasons for recreating this tale are obscure. Obsession? Stubbornness? A late-life spark of creativity? These questions intermingle with the first few I proposed. What impresses me so much about this film is that it is Welles clearly exploring his own creative drive, questioning all the motivations that have driven him to the life he has been leading for decades. It’s an incredible meditation from one of cinema’s greatest filmmakers. I firmly believe it sets the ground for the future explorations of truth and fiction that Welles accomplishes in F for Fake. How appropriate that this is the capstone towards his fiction-telling career. 

2. Mulholland Drive 

2001 - David Lynch

The perfect fusion, and appropriate mid-point, between Lost Highway and Inland Empire. Lynch explores the fundamentals of identity as two people try to discover who they are within the mad dreamscape that is Los Angeles. A woman stumbles out of a car crash into the home of a newly-arrived dreamer, ready to go on an adventure and help this woman restore her identity. Or, perhaps the real story is that a jealous actress clings to a more successful starlet, but gets her heart toyed with and torn to pieces as part of some power-tripping game. Lynch is a master of montage, assembling seemingly random moments into a cohesive whole that leaves a distinct emotional message. The competing, lopsided, cyclical narratives that make up this film are no exception. All the cutaways to different characters that intersect with the main pair’s lives are incredible, too. This is the Lynch film that most feels like it captures life itself. Its many contradictions and absurdities, its passion and revulsion. The highlight is the scene where the protagonists sit and watch an underground show. “It's all just a recording,” the performer repeats. This film is just a recording. Our lives will become a recording, once we’re gone and can only be remembered by artifacts. In this moment the movie seems to speak to the viewers directly, reminding them that everything they’re watching is false - and they’re allowed to let it transport them to other realms, anyway. 

1. The Music Room 

1958 - Satyajit Ray

One of the things I like most about movies from before, say, 1975, is that they don’t mind really lingering in a certain mood. Much of this movie shows a bored man, descended from royalty, lounging around his dilapidated palace. He hides from responsibility, debts, and truths he’d rather forget. But one doesn’t get bored watching him linger. Almost like a survivor in a horror movie hiding from a monster, Biswambhar is actively hiding, actively moping and avoiding the reality of his situation at any cost. It is a remarkable effect. Biswambhar’s only passion in life is live music, and his music room is his treasure. When his family meets a tragic turn of fate, he is left alone in his palace, situated on a flood plain that will eventually sweep away all his land. He decides to spend the rest of his life waiting for the day, living on ever-dwindling reserves of treasure and sherbet. Destiny seems to call to him at one point, and he decides to spend the rest of his reserve on one final, grand act, like in the good-old-days. He hires a musician, invites all his neighbors, and acts like he hasn’t been a reclusive hermit for several years. We understand him the most in this moment. The way he lights up, reopening the music room. The fantasy he embodies. As the musician plays, and we linger in the majesty of her dance and the hammering tabla, we are mesmerized just as he is. Cascades of meaning become clear. This man has sacrificed everything just for this moment, has given it all away to live inside a happy bubble, shunning the outside world… and can you blame him? How can anything life offers compare to the astral travel music can provide? If only he could have found a way to balance his obligations and this passion. Maybe if he had been a musician himself. But no. He can only watch… just as we, watching this movie, are now. Satyajit Ray is a director most capable of making the audience question itself, whose films seem to provoke deep thought and lingering wonder long after the work is over. This film might be the greatest example of that ability. As our own world changes in uncertain times, with an unclear future, a film like this forces us to question just what we’re doing consuming so much media. Like Biswambhar, I think many of us are turning a blind eye to environmental change so we can linger in the happiness of the music room, too. That’s the lesson to take away from this film. One can’t live their life waiting for that room to contain magic once again… 

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

Thank you for reading! If you liked any of these thoughts feel free to follow me on Letterboxd, where I post reviews and keep meticulous track of every movie I watch. Look forward to more posts like these next month! 

[nintendowife]

I finished Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney on Nintendo 3DS a couple of weeks ago. I saw both the good and bad ending in 33 hours.  The game tells the story of Apollo Justice, a fresh defence attorney just starting his career. We also get a look into the past and learn how the famous Ace Attorney Phoenix Wright lost his lawyer license.

The investigation and courtroom sections follow the familiar Ace Attorney pattern. You get a client who is accused of a crime and you must prove their innocence. You do this by investigating crime scenes, gathering evidence, questioning people and cross examining witnesses in court. You also get to use Apollo’s unique ability to sense and perceive the tension of people who aren’t telling the truth. The game's story is built over four cases, each offering a new defendant for Apollo.

The cases are entertaining but marred by some inconsistencies and leaps of logic. I've played a couple of other Ace Attorney games before and they all seem to have this same issue but in Apollo Justice this was especially prominent. The third case had some glaring issues with far-fetched conclusions and I apologize if I'm spoiling something for you with the following.

Apollo had to prove the innocence of a blind person who was accused of murder. Incredibly any of the evidence or just common sense wasn't brought up here. The crime scene was littered with all kinds of clutter like boxes blocking the way to the only possible exit of the room - how could a blind person quickly escape in this kind of environment? Killer was claimed to have moved the body to match something in a song’s lyrics - how could a blind person have read the lyrics written on a paper and how could he understand the song’s meaning when he didn’t know the language? None of this mattered! The deduction here was that the killer couldn't actually be blind because the victim had written something on the floor with blood and the writing was smudged, as if someone had tried to erase it. Okay. As if it couldn’t have accidentally gotten smudged by the victim who was struggling to stay alive on the floor.

I also didn't like how the logic of the game mechanics seemed to change at points. Normally when you yell "objection!" at something, you need to prove there is an inconsistency in the witness's statement. Here you suddenly had to object to something and then present evidence that supports the witness's statement. What? That was so confusing and a reason why I started looking at a guide at some point.

The localization was also slightly embarrassing, referring to a Japanese crime family with Italian mafia terms and talking about a pasta restaurant when the context seemed to refer to noodles.

The game serves a good portion of humor again. I got a good laugh out of the judge when he apparently heard of nail polish for the first time - and realized his wife’s red nails had been painted and weren’t like that naturally. Good god that man is so gullible it’s almost endearing, haha.

I felt the game wasn't as interesting or well-written as the other Ace Attorney games I've played (Dual Destinies and Spirit of Justice). The game offered some good "a-ha!" moments, interesting turns of events and I liked the last case's way of wrapping everything up. And I'll never stop enjoying the wacky characters, name puns, hilarious expressive animations and super good music! Even though it may sound like the game is full of negatives, I'd recommend playing it anyway as it's decently good and enjoyable, and it reveals valuable information on recurring characters in the series. Just keep your expectations in check and you might very well have a good time with Apollo Justice.