#the italian man cries: the fic

[fakepeppinomybeloved]

hey you should read the fic Scopophobia by @rapono-writes-stuff its prob my new fav peppi fic : )

[totaly-obsessed]

Unexpected Meetings

Alessia Russo x reader fic

-> The reader forgets Alessia's team bonding and bursts into the room, her teammates don't know about the reader

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Alessia had been at the Arsenal Women’s Football Club for about three weeks now. She was settling in nicely. The girls were welcoming and happy to have her, most of them already familiar with each other in one way or the other.

Every Friday there was a team bonding session, those were quite helpful for the new girls to get to know the team and form friendships. The blonde had offered a movie night at her place for this week's ‘Team Date’ as she liked to call them.

None of the girls had been around to her place after the move. It was her family and Ella who helped her move. Oh – and you of course! Being the striker’s girlfriend of just shy of two years you were living with her. So, it was not only the blonde's move, but yours as well, being offered a position as a teacher at one of London’s many schools. It could not have been more perfect.

You knew that the girls were going to be at your apartment, you really did. A co-worker of yours, a quick new friend offering you a place to stay for the night. But somehow, you forgot.

The girls were arriving at your apartment, one after the other, getting comfortable on the large couch Alessia had insisted on buying as you moved in. The floor in front of the TV had been covered with a mattress as well as a mountain of blankets and pillows.

“Less this place is incredible. Just look at your kitchen, man!” Beth was in awe of the apartment. To be fair you had put a lot into making it as comfortable and homey as possible for the both of you.

“Yeah w- I am really happy with it.” With a deep blush, she was hoping, that no one noticed the deep blush on her face. And no one did – except the ever so attentive Leah Williamson.

“It is quite big though Less. Don’t you get lonely?” The Italian sputtered out some weird response about getting a dog to fill the void.

“Where is your bathroom then Russo?” Katie had been suspecting nothing to this point, but it was in the bathroom, where she noticed it. Two toothbrushes, towel sets, and bathrobes. Upon further inspection, she noticed the many shoes in the cabinet, many of them with heels and a lot smaller than the sneakers that undoubtedly belonged to her teammate.

The brunette saw Alessia’s gaze, wary of her wandering around her apartment. Then her eyes fell to Leah who had a subtle smirk on her face. “Oy, Viccy! Change with me, would ya?”

And just like that McCabe had gotten what she wanted, leaning close to Leah. “When do ya reckon she’ll tell us?”

The blonde shrugged. Carefully she pushed aside the fringe that had fallen into her eyes, once again. “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile: You have had a shit night. The school was holding a teacher conference until late in the evening wanting to discuss changes in the school. You had not even been there for longer than three weeks and you were already starting fights with misogynistic, homophobic, old, white men.

With all of that still fresh on your mind, you could not wait to tell Lessi everything. The footballer understood that you did not need or want solutions, you needed someone to be angry with you and still hold you when you cried.

And she could do that incredibly well.

In a hurry you threw the apartment door open, it was freezing outside and you could not wait to fall into bed with your girlfriend. How you did not notice the massive number of shoes in your hallway, you still do not understand to this day.

It was quiet, aside from a movie blaring from the TV. Alessia liked her movies and shows, always having something on in the background. “Less! You won’t believe what happened, baby!”

Hastily you threw your coat onto the bench, stumbling over one of your own shoes. The woman in question shot up in her position on the couch, as did every other woman in the room, looking at her with wide eyes, but keeping quiet.

“That old twat Mister Grimm, or whatever-“ you were out of breath stumbling over your words, still loaded with anger, “said, that it is ‘okay for boys to slack off but girls need to work even harder’.”

An angry huff could be heard from the hallway, where you were fighting with your scarf, not finding the way out of it. “And he wants the girls' grading to be harsher, because ‘boys need more concentration to pay attention than the girls’”, while Alessia couldn’t see you yet, she could imagine the air quotes you were inevitably doing – her teammates were quite amused by your annoyance, but interested nonetheless.

“What does that even mean? How can someone be so-“ By that point you had wandered into the living room, at least twenty women were looking at you.

Fuck.

You had forgotten Alessia’s team night. “

Less I am so sorry.” The blonde however wasn’t even mad (or surprised).

“It’s fine baby, I wanted to introduce you to them anyways – just made it easier.” She stood up, hugging you close to her. “C’mon Russo! Don’t be shy, give ya missus a kiss!” It was Katie who found her words first, wanting to embarrass the Italian.

But Alessia was not as bashful as expected, and instead pulled you into a bruising, passionate kiss – her teammates cheering in the background, hollering at the two of you. After pulling away, because you were still out of breath due to your ranting, she mumbled a quick “I missed ya, amore.”

Now it started to sink in, the reality of standing in front of the entirety of the Arsenal girls, who didn’t even know you existed up until now. Alessia however was beaming next to you, swaying your joined hands between you. “Guys, this is my girlfriend. Baby, these are my teammates.” 

“Hi. Nice to meet you guys.”

It was silent for a second, but it was Caitlyn who started the conversation – “So what did that Mister Grimm say?”

Just hours later Alessia could not help but smile – you were cuddled on top of her, in a deep conversation with Lotte, next to her, about some book both of you had read.

This day could not have been better if she tried. She was home.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

liked by stanwaygeorgia and 44.331 others

alessiarusso99: Team-Bonding Movie Night style!

[amakumos]

enhypen as f1 fans - headcanons.

SYNOPSIS. enhypen as f1 fans this is literally just it

GENRE. probably just crack

AUTHOR'S NOTE. this is literally just for fun and i love lando norris. lmk what else you would want to add if u like f1 and enha... let me know what types of fans theyd be... not tagging taglist in this cuz its not that serious of a fic

LEE HEESEUNG. ★

favourite team: aston martin

favourite track: spa-francorchamps

favourite driver: fernando alonso / lewis hamilton

heeseung also gives me the vibe that he likes red bull as well! i think he definitely wouldn't be mad if a rb driver won, but would prefer drivers from his favourite team

he's definitely gone to races before. occasionally buys paddock passes.

had the time of his life in the first half of the 2023 season when aston was good... after the upgrades (more like downgrades) he's been going through it...

but i think he'd still have hope.

the kind of guy to quit watching the race if his favourite driver dnfs

buys merch like a crazy person

loves fernando’s tiktok account with a burning passion. probably uses them as reaction memes in the gc

will lose his shit when fernando or lewis retires.

has a soft spot for oscar

bashes his head against the wall when his fav driver has a slow pitstop

the kind of guy to yell at the tv when the result outcome is terrible

"i'm never watching formula 1 again" he says when his fav doesn't make it to the points... and then proceeds to turn the tv back on the next race week

probably has a selfie with his fav driver (and probably cried a little bit after)

uses that video of fernando's celebration dance as a way to get out of awkward conversations

the first guy to like fernando's new tiktoks whenever they r posted

JAY PARK. ★

favourite team: mercedes

favourite track: circuit of the americas

favourite driver: lewis hamilton / sebastian vettel

honestly i feel like everyone in enha loves lewis

lost his shit when seb retired

i think he also likes nico rosberg as well. seems like a brocedes guy (he sheds tears every time someone brings brocedes up tho)

would sacrifice his right lung for another lewis hamilton win

would gladly help seb build his bee hotels in suzuka

paddock passes every time when he goes and watches f1.

probably has selfies with every driver that he likes

hes just a mercedes guy through and through

he's loyal to his team! if ur a mercedes driver, jay loves u AUTOMATICALLY.

probably died a bit on the inside when george and lewis had contact on turn 1 in qatar 2023

not a red bull fan. im sorry

but he sometimes thinks about turning into a red bull fan because life as a red bull fan is much less depressing compared to being a merc fan

misses the merc domination era

probably on f1twt and is famous there

people know him for having selfies w the drivers and always buying paddock passes. he's a rich guy what can i say

another guy who yells at the screen during a race

whenever merc has disappointing strategies he just sighs and thinks: "i could do a better job"

JAKE SIM. ★

favourite team: ferrari

favourite track: monza / monaco

favourite driver: charles leclerc

SOMEBODY SAVE THIS MAN????

he goes through it every single weekend. every weekend he is constantly disappointed by ferrari and at this point he is considering to quit watching f1

only cares about charles. loves that man with his life

he also likes oscar and danny ric as well, because they're australian

you know how every italian man is in love with charles? they post stuff on their story like "met my husband😍" and it's a pic of them and charles? that's jake. he is him

jake reminds me of that one fan who made charles a pizza and gave it to him in person. like that’s lowkey some shit that he would do

picks up on phrases that charles says. mainly "it's like this" ...

prays every single weekend for charles to get good results (he is always disappointed)

wanted to die when he saw charles' slow pit stop at the dutch gp in 2023... they had NO TYRES and jake threw the remote control at the screen

has charles merch. definitely bought the monaco special edition hat. probably buys apm monaco for charles too

he's definitely gone to races before. probably bought paddock once but he will never do that again his wallet was crying

was 100% in the crowd during charles' 2019 monza win. also shed tears during that moment

"BURN THE SF23" is the most tweeted thing on his f1twt account of the 2023 season

argues with sunghoon all the time over f1 because sunghoon is a red bull fan... but secretly they're literally lecstappen

in general jake would sacrifice his entire life for charles leclerc and... he's so real for that

PARK SUNGHOON. ★

favourite team: red bull

favourite track: zandvoort / red bull ring

favourite driver: max verstappen

the only one enjoying the 2023 season

because his favourite driver always wins

the only one in enha whos NEVER disappointed whenever a race happens

yells rlly loud whenever max wins (so basically every race weekend) and the rest of the enha boys just look at him like 😒

probably has like 5 red bull shirts in his closet and sleeps in them

defends max with his life. probably has a twitter account w the user onlyverstappen and you'll see him bashing the shit out of max haters

prob bought a max mini helmet. almost bought the max verstappen christmas sweater (hes a dedicated fan what can i say)

big maxiel fan. would sacrifice everything for a max and daniel pairing again because he thinks they're funny together

likes max bc of his humour as well

watches youtube videos about f1 like "every f1 driver getting mad at nikita mazepin" or like "funny f1 driver radio moments"

the kind of guy to save every max edit into his camera roll (hes in love what can i say)

started drinking red bulls because of his love for the team… he says it’s his way of supporting them

fan of liam lawson too. needs him to get a seat and he does not care with what team. he just needs to see that man in a f1 car ASAP...

has been to f1 races, bought paddock once to go with jay. max won that race and he never shuts up about how he saw max verstappen win with his own two eyes

has the same passion towards f1 as jake except he lives in a constant state of happiness due to red bull's dominance while jake lives in a constant state of depression

KIM SUNOO. ★

favourite team: alphatauri / williams

favourite track: singapore

favourite driver: yuki tsunoda / alex albon

big yuki fan. thinks his radios are funny

he's not too invested in f1 but watches occasionally

loves alex bc of how he's somehow able to drag a williams into the points

he's pretty quiet when he's watching f1 i feel

feels like the kind of guy to just sit on the couch and be like "hmm. good job" or like "oh. maybe next time..."

mainly bc his fav drivers and teams arent fighting for podiums or championships... but he hopes that they'll be able to someday

he's that one rlly lucky fan that could just be walking around in the same city as his fav f1 driver and just bump into them on the street

doesn't hate any team and doesn't hate any driver. he's a pretty chill f1 fan

the ONE time sunoo probably got pissed was when yuki was on his formation lap and his engine broke down... meaning he didn't start

wanted to punch smth because How in the World

probably bought one of yuki's mini helmets bc he thinks its cute. "good room decor" - kim sunoo 2023

probably has a yuki or alex cap but that's as much merch as he'll buy tbh

likes the yuki / daniel combo for alphatauri but also thinks nyck should've been given a bit more time

probably hasn't been to an f1 race in person... if he went i don't think he'd buy paddock unless one of the other members bought it and brought him along

keeps up w f1 news from twitter or from jake bc he never stops talking about how ferrari’s fucking up charles' strategy again

YANG JUNGWON. ★

favourite team: mclaren

favourite track: silverstone

favourite driver: lando norris / oscar piastri

no, i’m not just saying jungwon is a lando enjoyer just because i am (maybe a little bc i’m biased BUT)

they’re both just adorable so what can i say really

depressed at the beginning of the season when the mclaren boys were driving a fucking TRACTOR for a car

landoscar enthusiast. i don’t make the rules… he and jake remind me of landoscar kinda… like jake would be a lando and jungwon would be an oscar

would do anything (I MEAN ANYTHING) for a lando win… me too

mclaren 1-2? YOU BEST BELIEVE HE'S YELLING LIKE A MANIAC

spends money on lando merch (HOODIES!) and prob wears it bc the designs r insanely cool

sits in silence in the corner when it’s a bad race week for his faves… like he’s crazily silent to the point where it’s scary. it's giving eye twitches vibes

gets hyped for race week tho he’s the kinda guy to have every race logged in his calendar

makes maeumi watch f1 with him. unfortunately maeumi is not a mclaren fan much to his disappointment

if you hate lando or oscar he will hate you. defends them with his life and trust and believe me he will win.

is on f1twt, pretty well known on there (he just tweets random shit and gets 1k likes and hes like... Wtf)

attends races whenever he can, prob not paddock cuz he thinks it’s not really worth it bc of how expensive they are

used to mclaren being good now compared to the start of the season so he’s devastated when they’re not top 5

NISHIMURA RIKI. ★

favourite team: mercedes (ferrari later tho...)

favourite track: suzuka

favourite driver: lewis hamilton / yuki tsunoda / kimi raikkonen

lewis fan because he’s the goat, yuki fan bc he thinks he’s funny and bc they’re both japanese, kimi fan because well... hes KIMI

riki’s prob been invested in f1 since he was a kid, definitely the most involved / passionate w motorsports

probably watches other motorsport series too! pretty sure he’s talked about formula e, and i could see him enjoying indycar and motogp

yk how lewis released that collab w fortnite? riki prob bought the skin and plays as lewis in fortnite😭

loves roscoe!!! would want bisco and roscoe to meet tbh

wants lewis to win again SOOOO badly

prob has a picture with yuki and the height difference would be hilarious (yuki is 159cm)

i think he's a big fan of schumacher, senna, prost too, definitely been watching this sport for a WHILE!

in a complete state of SHOCK when it was revealed lewis would be going to ferrari

started learning italian on duolingo after the big announcement

has definitely been to a few f1 races (suzuka, silverstone & singapore are probably the ones he's been to)

a BIG ACCOUNT ON F1TWT

probably gets invited as a guest of his favourite teams n shit it's crazy he's practically an influencer there

would start an f1 podcast for fun and it would go viral

[parisiterileymoon]

Yoo i just read your angel dust x reader in the 40s and it was great! If you ever need to write something in italian i'll gladly translate it for you (i am italian)

Btw are your requests open? If so then can i ask for a sort-of follow up to your aforementioned post? Reader goes to hell after getting shot by angel's dad, some years pass and angel dies too but they don't know they both went to hell and assume the other one is in heaven and one day they meet again out of luck and recognize eachother after having a conversation in a bar or something like that (btw if you could refrain from calling him anthony too much it would be greatly appreciated, nothing against that it's just that my dad is named antonio and it feels kinda weird to read a fic with my dad's name lol, but if you want to call him anthony anyway i don't mind at all), thanks for reading!

If my request violated any rules please tell me so that i won't make the mistake again

You are incredible! I adore how detailed this request is. I will use as little “Anthony” as possible lol.

Angel dust x reader (1940s follow up…or part two?)

C/W: cannon typical violence, grief, loss, mildly suggestive, survivors guilt, regret, crying LOTS of emotions.

~~

70 years. 70 years is how long it’s been. 70 years since you have seen him. It was startling at first. You never thought you would see him again. For a while you just held eachother. You sat there, your face nuzzled in his fluff. “Oh my god I have so much to tell you.” He smiled down at you. He began to talk about the family. You didn’t listen. You just stared at him. At how beautiful he is. You held his bottom set of hands and rested your head on his chest. You’ve never seen him so happy. This beautiful man you have been waiting for him for what it feels like an eternity and he’s finally here. You are in his arms at last. “Hey are you listening?” “No. I’m not. I’m sorry but…you look so happy. I can’t help but think…I mean it’s like- my whole brain is occupied by the thought ‘holy shit…this is it. This is what I have been waiting for. What I have been wanting.’ I’ve waited seventy years, my angel.” Tears well up in both your eyes. “Oh…oh my god.” He grabs your face and pulls it up to his. He kisses you. Not a kiss full of heat, but not with any less passion. A kiss filled with love and adoration. A kiss from a man missing the love of his life for 70 years. 70 years filled with pain and agony. For a moment, he forgot his pain, suffering, trauma, and tears. You are his everything. You are the reason he wanted to hang on. The shred of hope that you might reunite. “I thought you went to heaven” he said after he pulled away. You shake your head. “Why?” You laugh pitifully “I’ve done terrible things…” he sighs. “Because you regretted it. Every time. Every time you shot or stabbed you felt horrible. You brought flowers to their graves. You cried, tha-that can’t mean nothing!” He looks confused and angry. How dare they deny the love of his life entry to paradise? You are the kind of person to cry when Bambi’s mom died every time. Without fail. You put a chocolate smile on his pancakes once! “You’re too good for this shithole, (____)…too good.” His voice shakes as he said your name. You kiss him. Comforting, passionate, painful, sweet, and loving. “If I went to heaven I would’ve never seen you again.” You looked into his eyes. There were so many emotions swirling between the two of you that night.

I think the moral of this story is that…I don’t know hold on to the people that love you.

~~

I cried well writing this. Any feedback is encouraged. Thank you for reading🫂

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Tommy questions the gardener on Lucy's location, and Lucy seizes a possibility for escape.

Word Count: 5,170

Notes: Warnings for depictions of torture, blood, violence, mutilation, suicidal thoughts, and references to sexual assault.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 24: Twisted & Deranged

Tommy unfolded the razor that he’d pulled from his pocket. Light from the lanterns in the room flickering off of the blade as he turned it to and fro, the glinting metal promising a sharp, painful bite.

“You can go, Charlie,” he said softly. He’d shed his overcoat, suit jacket, and hat, leaving him in just his waistcoat and button down. The leather of his black gloves creaked as he tightened his fingers around the handle of the razor. 

Charlie looked nervously between him and the man bound to the chair in front of them. “Tommy…”

“You can go,” he repeated, voice still remaining soft, though his eyes did not leave the gardener. 

Charlie hesitated for a moment, then nodded, plucking up his lantern and shuffling out the door. Tommy waited until the hinges had squealed shut behind him, and then he began to approach the man tied to the chair.

Paul Smith. That was his real name. Not the one that Lizzie had hired him under. They’d found two sets of identification forms on him. Tommy was guessing that Luca had Sabini helping him make up new identities for people. 

Paul Smith, who’s piece of shit rapist son Lucy had castrated not that long after she’d first started working for him. 

He remembered watching her that night. Fascinated. In awe of the way the orange light from the lanterns reflected off her fiery hair. The way that her eyes danced with curiosity and primal bloodlust as she watched Xavier Smith bleed out before her, turning the blade she was holding over in her small hands. 

She’d looked beautiful, wild and unhinged. But her movements had been controlled, her eyes analytical as she observed the way Smith’s body jerked and quickly drained as he died. 

After, when her blood had cooled and it was just the two of them, she cried in his arms, head tucked against his neck while she clung to him as if he were her only lifeline.

He’d promised to protect her. That no one would ever hurt her again. How badly he had failed, in that regard. 

Crouching down in front of Paul Smith, crowding into his line of sight, Tommy stared into the man’s small, black eyes.

“Where is she?” 

Paul stared back at him stubbornly, jaw tightening. “I don’t know.”

Tommy could see the lie in his eyes. Frustration flared through his nerves, like an angry dragon roused while atop its nest of gold. He did not have time for this. 

“Yes, you do,” he somehow managed to keep his voice calm, despite the desire to slice and scream and kick something. 

“I’m dead anyway, why would I tell you shit?”

Tommy cocked his head, considering, then nodded. “You’re right. You are going to die. But not until I have the information that I need. How long that takes, and how painful it is for you, however…” he passed the razor from hand to hand idly. Paul’s eyes followed the gleaming blade warily. “That’s entirely up to you.” He brandished the weapon in Paul’s face, bringing it to just a few inches away from the corner of his right eye, enjoying that way that the man tried to cringe back from it. “You tell me what I need to know now, and I’ll make it quick,” he promised. 

Paul was shaking, but when he looked up at Tommy, his expression was steadfast. Stubborn. 

Alright, then.    

Drawing himself up to his full height, he flexed his fingers around the grip of the razor, head tilting while he considered. He couldn’t take his tongue, at least not while he still needed him to speak. 

A shiver wracked down his spine. Every time he blinked, he was transported back to that dimly lit room, Vincente Changretta bound before him, mumbling prayers in Italian while Tommy danced on the line of losing what little sanity he had left. 

Arthur’s bullet in the old man’s head was the only thing that had saved him from turning into a monster. 

But Arthur was not here. And Tommy could not stop. If he did, he may never see Lucy again.  

Leaning forward, Tommy brought the razor to Paul’s face. Pressing the tip of the blade against Paul’s cheek, he drew it down in a diagonal line starting at the corner of his eye to his lips, but not exerting enough pressure to actually break the skin. 

“Tell me where she is.” He commanded. At no answer his temper flared, eyes narrowing, getting right down into Paul’s face. “You want me to castrate you like Lucy did to your fucking son?” he snarled. Paul flinched, a tiny little whimper emitting from his throat, so quiet Tommy might not have heard it if their faces weren’t inches away from each other. His captive clenched his jaw, but it did no good to hide the way that his lips trembled. 

“She’s getting what she deserves after what she did to my Xavier.” Despite practically shaking in his boots, Paul’s eyes were blazing like two twin flames, chin jutting up slightly when he spoke. 

Tommy rocked back, eyes widening. For a moment, he was nearly blinded by a pulse of rage so white-hot it could put the sun to shame. The leather of his gloves creaked when his hand tightened unconsciously around the handle of the razor. 

He took a deep breath, managing to wrestle himself back under control before the rage burst from his very veins and he did something he’d later regret. The man was probably trying to goad him into losing his temper and killing him prematurely. 

“Your son,” he wetted his lips, forcing his voice to remain level, “was a rapist sack of shit, and he got the punishment appropriate for his actions.”

Paul’s face flushed with anger. “And now so is she. Mr. Changretta promised me that he’d make her pay. That he would punish her for all the pain and fear she’s inflicted in your name upon those of us who live in this city. He’s going to destroy her.” He let out a creaky, pained sound that Tommy realized after a moment was a laugh. 

Tommy forced himself to take a step back, refusing to let himself lash out like he so wanted to. His hands were shaking, and he tightened his grip on the razor in an attempt to stifle it. His imagination danced with the horrid images that had been cycling on a loop inside his mind.  

His Lucy. His sweet girl who at times was the only source of positivity and joy in his life. They were hurting her. At this very second, this very moment. She was alone. Scared. Probably wondering where he was and why he hadn’t come for her yet. 

The very suggestion that she may think he’d up and abandoned her spurred him into sudden movement, the blood rushing so loudly in his ears that he hardly even heard the words Paul was still spewing at him.   

“God, I wish I could have watched. Hearing her cry and scream would have made me–” 

 An echo of his own voice, from what felt like an entire lifetime ago, screaming in the dark, razor brandished out in front of him, thundered in Tommy’s head. 

I’m a Blinder I’ll take your fucking eyes first! 

Lunging forward, he grasped Paul with one hand by the sides of his face, halting any more words that may have come from his lips. 

The razor in his hand was a precise little blade. Perfect for making the most delicate of incisions. 

He severed the muscles around Paul’s right eye with two quick flicks of his wrist. Distantly, he was aware that his captive had started screaming, but he didn’t really hear it as he wiped the razor clean and tucked it back into his pocket. One hand keeping Paul’s face held firmly still, Tommy jammed his gloved fingers into his eye socket. He had to flex and wriggle his digits a little to drive entirely under the eyelids and get a good grip on his slimy eyeball. Paul howled, twitching and writhing in his bonds, trying in vain to jerk his face away from Tommy’s steel grip.  

With a sharp twist and a yank, Tommy tore the eyeball cleanly from its socket, a bloody tail trailing out from the back of the surprisingly firm sphere. Blood poured copiously from the newly fashioned hole in Paul’s head, running in a gushing waterfall down the right side of his face. 

Tommy tossed aside the eyeball unconcernedly, instead seizing Paul by either side of the cheeks. His black gloves left red smears against his skin. The man sobbed, mouth open and gaping with pain filled wails as Tommy curled two fingers into the bloodied hole where his eye had been, pressing down on the sensitive, irritated tissue. 

“You tell me where she is now, or I’ll take the other fucking eye,” he threatened, voice a low growl. The pure monstrosity that he heard in his own voice sent a shiver down his spine. 

He sounded like some thing risen up from the depths of hell. An instrument of nothing but misery and pain. 

Paul just continued to sob, shaking in the chair so violently that the wooden legs rattled against the floor. Tommy let go of his face, still looming over him as he watched the man’s head bow forward, gaping eye socket still bleeding heavily. He’d need to be careful, to ensure that he didn’t drain too fast. 

No answer to his question came, and so Tommy reached back into his pocket, razor once more finding its home in his leather clad palm. 

This time, when he descended upon him, Paul begged him to stop. Broken, whimpering pleas that were quickly cut off by another agonizing cry when Tommy dug the razor into the skin around his remaining eye. The overwhelming coppery scent of blood and what Tommy realized a moment later to be urine filled the warehouse. The bastard had fucking pissed himself. 

Fingers diving in, he took hold of the eyeball and twisted it slowly in the socket almost a full ninety degrees before ripping it out with the same ease that he’d removed the first. There was a roaring in his ears, sickness twisting in his gut from the tiny part of him that still clung to sanity. His veins sang with the thrum of fastly pumping blood, a twisted sense of vindication washing over him. 

They were hurting Lucy because of the man before him. He would like to think that he’d at least partially paid him back for the pain that his actions had caused his lover. 

“WHERE IS SHE!?” he roared, mouth but a breath away from the crimson, empty sockets staring back at him. The stench of blood was almost dizzying, only further addling Tommy’s mind and adding to the bloodlust, rage, and overwhelming terror that fully encompassed him. He was shaking, he realized, mind beginning once again to take up a horrible chant. 

You’re too late. You’re too late. You took too long, and it’s too late. She’s dead. She’s gone. They’ve destroyed her, they’re hurting her, they’re raping her, they’re killing her, it’s all my fault, oh God, oh God, Lucy, no…

In a movement driven by rage–at Paul Smith, at Luca Changretta, at himself–Tommy lurched forward and plunged his thumb into one of the fresh, bloody divots where Paul’s eyes had once been, digging in deep. The man’s screams finally pierced through the roar of self loathing echoing in Tommy’s ears, echoing so loud throughout the warehouse that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that anyone in the yard would be able to hear him. Hell, they could probably hear him all the way down the bloody street. 

“YOU WANT ME TO CUT MORE FUCKING PIECES OFF OF YOU? WHERE. IS. SHE!?” He did not recognize his own voice. Had not even known that his vocal cords were capable of making such a menacing sound. 

“The church!” Paul suddenly started to wail. “They took her to the church! It’s a thirty minute drive south on the road from Miss. Stark’s house! Please, just stop…”

Tommy immediately knew which church he was talking about. It was a big, white building with lots of stained glass windows. The bowels of it had once been used to hold individuals deemed enemies of the Catholic church, or those who needed to be placed under the watchful eye of a priest while seeking penance. 

He straightened, the bubble of blind madness that had enveloped him popping with Paul’s confession. His stomach turned as he took in the full scope of what he’d just done, swallowing hard. 

“Are you lying to me, Paul?” he asked, voice soft once more. Paul whimpered, trying to shrivel back further into himself, as if expecting at any moment to feel the bite of Tommy’s razor slicing into his skin again. 

“No…no…I swear. I swear…” 

Tommy cocked his head, not detecting any lie in his voice or remaining features. But still, he debated whether or not it would be worth it to keep him alive until they were sure that the information he’d offered up was true. 

He was still weighing options in his head when the door behind him creaked open.

“Tommy, I just–Jesus bleeding Christ!” Arthur’s report was promptly cut off by his exclamation of shock when he took in the bloody mess before him. It was only then that Tommy realized that he had blood all over the sleeves of his white shirt, red smeared down the front of his waistcoat and a few sticky droplets clinging to his cheeks. 

“He says that they’ve got her at a church near Lizzie’s house,” Tommy told his older brother calmly, deciding that it would be better for his own sanity if he did not think too hard about how he must look. Eyes glazed over, hazy with violence and desperation, a slight tremor in his hands, brutality roiling off him in waves. He wondered if he finally looked like the monster so many in Small Heath believed him to be. 

 Arthur just gaped at him, gaze darting from his blood drenched brother to the eyeless man slumped over in the chair behind him. Ignoring the shocked expression, Tommy went to grab his coat.

“Come on.”

“You’ll never get to her in time,” Paul was still sobbing, greatly undercutting the bite Tommy was certain he intended to carry in his words. “Luca…Luca has plans for her…”

Tommy clenched his jaw, hand squeezing so hard around the grip of the razor that the joints in his fingers ached. Something was trembling inside him. That need to rage and scream scratching at his insides. He went stock still with the effort that it took to force it down, eyes fixed firmly on the ground, his back to Paul. Paul, who just kept on talking.  

“Even if by some miracle you get her back, she’ll never be the same.” A hiccupping combination of a laugh and a sob interrupted him. “The Red Demon is dead. She’s gone. You’ll never see her again–” 

The thing within, which he had up until that point by some massive feat of will managed to battle back, snapped. 

A sound that was half scream, half roar tore from his lungs, whirling and promptly lunging at Paul. He seized the back of his head with one hand, brought the blade to his throat with the other, and slashed with a furious, uncontrolled movement. The razor ripped through skin, blood, and muscle, severing vocal cords and windpipe. Blood exploded upwards in a fountainous spray, droplets spewing to dot Tommy’s cheeks, like crimson freckles to add to the collection that he already had covering his skin. More poured out to cover his hands and wrists, sticking to the leather of his gloves and soaking the white sleeves of his shirt. 

“Tommy!” Arthur shouted, and he was half aware of his older brother’s hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him away. Straightening, chest heaving with heavy breaths, Tommy allowed him to draw him two steps back. Arthur looked from him to the man twitching and steadily drowning in his own blood in the chair. “What if he was lying?” 

“He wasn’t.” Wiping his face on his sleeve, leaving a red smear where his skin made contact with the material, Tommy went to collect his coat, cleaning the razor and dropping it into his pocket with shaking hands. “They’re holding her at a church not far from Lizzie’s house. Come on.” He shot one last look at Paul, collapsed back in the chair, limbs dangling limply, his head lolled back as blood pulsed sluggishly from the open wound in his throat.

“Tommy, the Golds are still all the way across town. I told them you wanted them, but it’ll still be a while before they arrive here.”

“So you wait for them. I’m going.”

“Tommy! What if it’s a trap?” Arthur scrambled to keep up with him as he made his way to a car stored out of the rain. “You should wait for backup.”

“Can’t wait,” he shook his head, opening the car door and slipping into the leather seat. 

“Tom!” Arthur latched onto the frame of the open window. “Just stop and think for a moment–”

Tommy looked up at his brother, and there must have been something in his eyes–desperation, fear, madness, he could not have known–because Arthur drew back with a grave look. 

“The church that’s thirty minutes south from Lizzie’s house. You can use the other car in the garage.” He dug out the keys from his pocket and tossed them at him. “Follow me there now, or sit here and wait for the Golds. It’s your choice, but I’m going.”

“Tommy…” Arthur murmured in one final plea. But Tommy shook his head. 

“I have to go, Arthur.”

His brother said nothing more as he watched him push the button to start the engine and begin to drive out into the cold, rainy night. When he glanced in the rear view window, he could see him still standing there, hands limp at his sides, watching the car pull out of the yard. 

Dragging his eyes away, Tommy adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, drawing in a deep breath, attempting to calm the jitteriness that had begun to eat at his limbs. His foot pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring, the car rolling faster and faster down the road. Images of the bleeding Paul Smith nudged at the edges of his mind, but he pushed them away, instead focusing on the dark road in front of him.

Hoping the he was not too late. 

∗ ∗ ∗

The entire room was filled with the overwhelming coppery stench of blood. Like an abattoir containing freshly slaughtered animals hanging from meat hooks. 

Everything hurt. Not a single nerve was spared from the burn or throb of fiery pain. 

She kept her eyes closed, lacking the energy required to even open her eyelids. Not that she particularly wanted to. Being awake meant being in pain. At least while in the sweet embrace of unconsciousness she was free from the agony that coiled throughout her entire body. 

“Do you think she’s alive?” came a voice, speaking in Italian. Lucy made no indication of hearing it, body remaining limp despite the horrid pain it caused within her shoulders.

“Nah, she’s still breathing, see? Look at her chest.”

A chuckle. “As if I could look anywhere else.”

Bile rose in her throat at the reminder that she was still naked, even though the dried blood on her body covered a good portion of her pale skin. 

She could hear the soft scrap and shuffle of their shoes against the floor as they circled her. Like two vultures, swooping around and around above an injured gazelle they knew would soon succumb to its wounds. 

“Any idea what Luca’s got planned for her next?”

“No idea. I’d say he’s outdone himself already.”

Silence, for a moment. “Shame that he won’t let us have a taste.”

Her limbs stiffened a little with dread, though thankfully not enough for either of the guards Luca had left to keep an eye on her to notice. One of them made a sound of agreement. 

“When will he be back?”

“Don’t know. A couple hours, probably. He was going to go have dinner with his mother.”

From beyond the door, Lucy thought that she heard some sort of commotion, but she couldn’t be sure that it wasn't just her hearing things.

“What the hell is that?” asked one of the men who’d been circling her, and only then did she know that the sounds she was hearing were real. There was a creak as the door was shoved open.

“Giovanni, Marco and Nico want you. Something about settling some dispute they’re having over their game of cards.” 

Giovanni sighed. “Are you serious? Why can’t you or one of the other boys settle things between them?”

“You know that Nico only listens to you.”

There was a good deal of grumbling from the guard, turning to his companion. “Stay here with her.”

“C’mon, man. I wanna go play cards with the boys. She’s out cold and tied up. Not to mention beaten to shit. What’s she gonna do?”

“Nothing, probably. But Luca will have more than our balls if something happens while on our watch.”

A grumble. Then, “fine. Just don’t take too long.”

There was the sound of footsteps towards the door, the squeal of its hinges closing again, then silence. 

“You awake?” There was shifting in front of her, and then a light prod given to her stomach. She had to grit her teeth together to hold in a hiss of pain as she was sent swinging slightly back and forth. The guard huffed, shoes scraping roughly against the stone floor as he paced in front of her, snorting at her lack of reaction. “Figures.” She heard a rustle that sounded like he was turning around. She waited a beat and then, very deliberately, fluttered her eyes open just enough that she could see through her lashes. 

The guard had his back to her, head bowed and fiddling with his hands folded in front of him. He was close enough that she could have poked the small of his back with her toe if she wanted. 

Tucked into his belt, right there, right within reach of her foot, was a hunting knife. 

Lucy’s eyes popped open the rest of the way, gaze zeroing in on it like she would a beacon.

It was hooked into his belt in a way that, if she could wrap her toes around the hilt, she could easily pull it free. Of course, she would have to deal with him first. 

A tiny bloom of hope started to build in her chest. 

She could very easily die. There was no way to tell how many men Luca had stationed upstairs guarding her. 

Better to be shot to death in a fight than to endure anymore of this.

Toes flexing, she experimentally tensed the muscles in her legs, encouraging blood flow. This would hurt like a fucking bitch, but she had no choice if she wanted that knife. 

With a quick, deep breath, she tensed the muscles in her core, raised up one of her legs, and swung it around to wrap around the guard’s neck, using the momentum of the swing to keep her leg turning, until she heard a sharp crack emit from his neck. 

White sparks of pain flew across her eyelids, every bit of her screaming in agony at the sudden movement. It took everything she had not to let the guard’s body drop to the floor, and several moments of gasping, trembling breaths before she could bring herself to move again. 

Leg still wound around the guard’s neck, and squeezed it tight to keep his body half raised up while her other foot reached down, grabbing at the hilt of the hunting knife. A grunt of strain left her lips as she fought to get a good grip on it, grateful that the hilt wasn’t so thick that she couldn’t get her toes around it.

She had to take another break once she had it out of the belt, letting the guard’s heavy body drop with a thud to the floor. Now came the next hard part. If she dropped the knife, she was fucked. For a second, she wondered if it would be easier to slit her own throat, rather than to cut herself loose. 

Shaking the thought away, she tightened the muscles in her core again, and raised her leg up, up, up. Her back curled, screaming in pain the entire time, while she contorted herself to pass the knife from her foot to her bound hands. Whimpers rocked from her lips, half numb fingertips flexing as they tried to grab the knife. The muscles in her stomach trembled with exertion, sweat beading on her brow. Never before had she been so thankful for her past time practicing contortionism as a kid, or the exercises she'd continued to partake in over the years to maintain her flexibility. 

Her hand finally managed to snatch the knife, squeezing it in a white knuckled grip. She didn’t have the dexterity or coordination with her toes to trust herself to be able to saw through the ropes around her wrists. The muscles in her core and leg relaxed, swinging down from their inwardly curled position. A yelp left her lips as she swung back and forth with the momentum. It felt like that one action had sapped nearly all of her energy. 

Just a bit more, she told her tired body. Omitting, of course, that once untied she’d still likely have to fight her way through Luca’s men. Craning her head up, she focused on maneuvering the knife to slice through the rope that kept her bound wrists dangling from the ceiling. It was harder than she’d thought; the angle was funny and her hands sweaty. She almost dropped the knife twice, heart stuttering with terror each time.  

Finally, she got the knife at the right angle and began to saw. Tears started to stream down her face as the rope, little by little, started to give way. When it finally snapped, she went falling to the ground with an unceremonious thud that knocked the wind out of her, groaning softly against the cold, blood-slickened stone.

She laid there for a moment, so exhausted that she was half tempted to just curl up there and close her eyes, not caring that she was now lying in the pool of blood that had collected beneath her over the days of torture Luca had subjected her to. But a part of her–the part that by some miracle still had a drive to live–forced her to raise her head and drag herself up, fumbling with the knife and crawling towards the guard’s body beside her. With a heave, she rolled him over, fumbling in his suit jacket until her fingers kissed the grip of a revolver. 

She really started crying then, yanking it from the holster and checking it to find a full round of golden bullets already loaded inside. She striped him hastily out of his clothes, pulling on his white button down shirt and trousers with shaking fingers. They were much too big for her, but she rolled up the sleeves and pants legs and used his belt to cinch the trousers around her waist, determining that they were better than nothing, and would hopefully provide some sort of protection and coverage for her many gaping wounds. 

Scrambling, half slipping on the blood on the floor, Lucy went to the door. It was locked, and that had a heaving sob leaving her lips, even as she moved to press her back to the wall next to it, stuffing the revolver into her waistband and clutching the knife with shaking hands. 

It was not long until she heard footsteps approaching from outside, and then the click of a key sliding into a lock.   

“Hey Leo, if you want to go upstairs–” the guard started to say as he opened the door, but was unable to finish his sentence on account of the slice of her blade across his throat. His eyes widened, hands flying to the slit in his skin. Lucy seized him by the front of the shirt, dragging him into the room with her. He was trying to grab at her, mouth working as if attempting to shout. She drove the knife up under his ribs into his heart, waiting until he’d stilled before reaching into his jacket for his gun. Sheathing the knife in her belt, she fumbled through his pockets until she found a ring of keys, stashing them away in her pocket. She stuffed the second gun in the back of her waistband. 

Both hands wrapped around the grip of the first gun she’d taken, she cautiously kicked the ajar door open the rest of the way, poking her head out to peer down the hallway leading to a flight of stairs. 

There was no one there. 

Tentatively, she started to creep out of the room that had served as her prison cell for the last few days. A surge of adrenaline had helped to somewhat dull the pain she was in, but everything was still extremely tender and raw, wounds rubbing painfully against the fabric of her oversized clothes. She was walking with a notable limp, one hand groping for the wall to help keep her upright. As she started to creep up the stairs, she could hear the sound of voices. 

The top of the stairs were closed off by a door, and she hunched down to peer through the keyhole to try to make out what was on the other side. 

She could see into a chapel, with high arching ceilings and a depiction of Jesus on the cross at the altar. Pews made of rich dark wood faced the cross. Seated at a table between the pews and the altar, two men were playing cards. Two other men were seated on the pews, passing a flask back and forth to each other. She spotted at least one other man pacing the length of the room. 

Lucy adjusted her grip on the revolver, weighing her options. 

The only way out was forwards. 

Head leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes, listening to her breathing and the thunder of her heart in her ears. Trying to steady herself.    

Gun raised, she kicked open the door. 

Later, she would not be able to entirely recount what happened. Her mind blocked a lot of it out. But she knew that there was shooting. There was screaming. And there was lots and lots of blood. 

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[thonethatflies620]

I HAD AN ALASTOR(or Lucifer bc i like when my birds flock together) AND/X READER IDEA

(Not specifics on smut, fluff or angst. Just a reader idea. Could go any way.)

So in mythology, there are strixs. They are like owls, but feed on human flesh and blood. Anthropophagics.

So, like Alastor, reader is a dead cannibal. While he ate adults, reader ate babies.

"In this Greek myth, the ill-omened strīx herself did not perpetrate harm on humans. But one paper suggests guilt by association with her sons, and seeks to reconstruct an ancient Greek belief in the man-eating strīx dating back to this age (4th century BC)."

So, reader ate dead babies, but didnt kill them. Their family killed, but reader only dined.

OR

"Like the lamiae, and succubi, they preyed upon unprotected sleeping men and children. With men, they turned into women, had sexual intercourse, then drank the men’s blood. To children, they offered their poisonous milk. "

Reader was ate then ate. Or poisoned kids.

So if it were a Lucifer fic, it'd be very RadioApple esque. Except reader is very into it.

But Alastor? Bonding over yummy tummy nummies. Killing together and feasting, reader hanging upside down from his antlers screeching.

"that cries by night, without food or drink, with head below and The blue portion? of feet above, a harbinger of war and civil strife to men"

The harbinger portion??

A little precognition. When reader gets hungry, boom! A precognition of violence!

"In Romanian, strigăt means 'scream',"

When reader is doing the precognition, it screams!

They could have a damaging scream! As a weapon!

"There are several examples of the strix's plumage, etc., said to be used as an ingredient in magic. Horace in his Epodes, wrote that the strix's feathers are an ingredient in a love potion, as has his contemporary Propertius. Medea's rejuvenating concoction which she boiled in a cauldron used a long list of ingredients, including the strix's wings."

Reader has useful feathers. We already have magic and hornifying Valentino mouth juice. Why not potions?

What makes potions? Witches!

"Strega (obviously derived from Latin striga) is the Italian term for witch."

Ozzie mentions to Stolas in Oops! that he doesnt do love potions, which implies that they exist.

Witches can enchant! Make potions!

[hiddlesdeni]

The guy from Hellfire Shop

Hi guys, here I am with this idea I had on my mind for a while. This fic is originally in italian, so if you see some mistakes, I pleeeeease ask you to letting me know, so I will correct them. When 2 years ago a tried to post this nobody read it, so I post the prologue for now and if you'll like it, I'll go on. Let me know what do you think about it. Should I post the first chapter?

AU sci-fi - distopic - Eddie x oc

Prologue - Chapter 1

Summary

2024: The planet is controlled by ruthless, sentient androids, creating an unlivable environment for humans. However, Hawkins is one of the few towns that have managed to escape their control, where the residents are forced to hide to avoid being discovered by the "sentinels" patrolling the area. Eddie Munson is an eccentric young man considered a misfit, the owner of the Hellfire Shop on the outskirts of Hawkins, a place located in an old, abandoned gas station surrounded by nothingness. It is there that Paige ends up after a rebellion against the androids forces her to flee from her city.

Prologue

When Paige fell to her knees, it was almost like feeling them break. She was so exhausted that she found herself on all fours on the cold asphalt. Her hand scraped as soon as it hit the ground. She lifted it to inspect the damage: there was no blood, but the red mark stung. Yet, it seemed insignificant compared to the rest of her condition.

Her feet throbbed, and she could feel them swollen inside her sneakers. Those laces were now tight compared to when she had started to walk, to the point that she felt the need to take off her shoes and leave them somewhere to continue barefoot. But how would she endure the feeling of the asphalt scratching her skin?

She cried without even realizing when she had started, yet she found herself wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

No, she had to get up, she had to keep walking, and she had to make it, despite the darkness of the night, despite the fatigue. She took one, two, three deep breaths, then gathered her strength and stood up with an effort she herself thought was inhuman. An effort so overwhelming and intense that at the first step, she found herself back on all fours on the asphalt.

A desperate sob escaped her, which she immediately stifled behind the palm of her hand. She couldn't make any noise and had to find a way to pull herself together and keep walking. But she was so tired that she would have preferred to lie down there in the middle of that deserted road and be found, no matter what would happen to her; she just wanted to close her eyes and rest, regain the strength she had lost.

With trembling hands, she retrieved the small backpack she had been carrying on her shoulder and emptied it completely onto the asphalt, turning it upside down and shaking it. Out fell some batteries, an analog wristwatch, a slightly faded and crumpled map, a wallet with a few coins inside and nothing else, some bandages dirty with soil, a sealed letter envelope, an old leather-covered diary, some empty paper bags, and wrappers of snacks that were long gone. Finally, the water bottle clattered loudly as it hit the ground. Paige grabbed it and unscrewed the cap. She went to take a sip but realized that nothing came out of it.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, tears still streaking her face as she reluctantly screwed the cap back on.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had eaten or drunk anything. She felt dehydrated, hungry, and on the verge of fainting at any moment. If she hadn't died from what happened at home, she would die like this, running away from a situation that she already knew would eventually kill her.

Another long sigh, and she hurriedly put everything back into the backpack, then slung it over her shoulder and lifted her gaze in front of her: there was a light in the distance, the only one that didn’t come from the flashlight hanging on her belt. In other circumstances, she would have considered it a good thing, a chance to ask for help, but now that only meant danger. It was surely a sentinel, and she couldn’t let herself be seen for any reason in the world. She needed to move from there, get off the road, even though she could barely move. She looked around and realized that the woods framing the road might be the solution she was looking for.

With the last bit of willpower and survival instinct she had left, the only thing she managed to do was literally crawl toward the ground on her left. She went in further among the trees, dragging herself with her arms as if she were dead weight, then hid behind the trunk of a tree and leaned her exhausted back against it. She had never thought that something so simple as leaning against something could bring her relief, yet it did. After all, she hadn’t stopped even once to rest.

Now she just had to stay quiet and wait for the sentinel to complete its patrol. She heard it pass by on the road, its wheels creaking on the asphalt, and its blue light illuminating everything in front of it like a beacon. Nothing would escape that light, so she was glad to be behind that trunk; otherwise, that damned android would have detected her, and her escape would have lost all meaning.

She remained motionless until the sentinel became just a blue dot in the distance, then she told herself she had to keep walking in the opposite direction. But her legs didn’t respond to the commands from her brain, and she had to accept the idea of resting… just a little, just a couple of minutes. Paige fell asleep with the fear that she might never wake up again, overcome by exhaustion, hunger, or thirst.

Not even her survival instinct had helped her in that moment.

When she woke up, she did so with a start; she had a terrible nightmare that she couldn’t even remember, yet it helped her because her heart was racing in her chest, making her realize she was still alive and hadn’t died in her sleep.

She looked up at the sky, and it was still pitch dark. She couldn’t tell if she had slept for an entire day and the sun had set again, or if she had only slept for a few hours.

She tried to move and almost screamed from the sharp pains in her back caused by the position she had slept in. Her legs and feet were still throbbing with pain, and that sleep had only given her a terrible headache. Paige, however, didn’t want to die. She used the trunk she had leaned against the whole time to stand up and get back on her feet. She cursed under her breath, then looked at the road: the sentinel was gone, and the surroundings had returned to complete darkness. She grabbed the flashlight hanging from her belt and turned it on to inspect her surroundings while desperately holding onto the trunk of that tree. She saw nothing but more road, more woods, and nothing else except a sign welcoming her to "Hawkins." She had never heard of that place before.

She looked again as far as her eyes could see and came to her own conclusions: Hawkins had to be a ghost town. She couldn’t spot any androids or signs of life. Her own town, where she came from, was a good example. She had never left it, but she remembered seeing lights and sensing the presence of androids and life forms even from a reasonable distance. And then, the sentinel that had patrolled the road didn’t seem to have detected anyone. But that could be a good thing: maybe the inhabitants who were no longer there had left some food, some water. She could get back on her feet.

It was this thought that managed to get her walking again.

She kept the flashlight pointed ahead the whole time as she limped toward what appeared to be an old shop at a gas station. The gas pumps were obviously old and out of use for years, and climbing plants and moss covered the exterior walls of the place. It was the only building around, and it seemed strange to her to see the windows boarded up with nailed wooden planks. The sign was almost unreadable, and it took her a moment to make out "Hellfire Shop" through the vines that covered it.

She approached, and when she placed her free hand on the wooden surface of the door, she realized just how tired she really was. Her forehead leaned against the rotten wood, and she managed to glimpse a faint, flickering candlelight through the cracks.

There was someone inside. How could there be someone there?

She didn’t think it could be dangerous because she noticed light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, indicating there was electricity, but someone had chosen not to use it. So, someone there was hiding and trying not to be detected by anyone.

She started banging on the door with her hands and used the faint thread of voice she had left to call for help. Could it be a trap? She didn’t know, but it was worth the risk. If she stayed out there, she would die of starvation anyway.

She pounded her fists on the rotten wood for a while, but no one came to open the door, and Paige found herself sobbing desperately, resigned to the idea that she would turn to ashes on those steps, that she would disappoint her parents, that she would disappoint her brother because she hadn’t managed to save herself. But then she heard slow footsteps getting closer and closer. Paige pressed her ear against the wooden door and realized she wasn’t imagining it, because now the footsteps were clearer.

“Please, open the door, please…” she said desperately, her sobs making it hard for her to speak. There was a moment of silence, then the door suddenly swung open, almost causing her to fall forward onto the steps. In front of her stood a strange guy with long dark brown hair, pointing a spear made from makeshift tools at her, and what seemed like the tin lid of a trash can, studded with sharp, rusty nails.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said, his tone a mix of defensive and threatening, though the first adjective seemed to suit him better at that moment. He wasn’t a threat; now she understood that. “I asked you, who the fuck are you!” Paige didn’t respond, but only because she realized she no longer had the strength. This was evident when, shortly after, she collapsed right there at the entrance and fainted.

The guy who had opened the door stood still for a moment, confused. He extended a foot and tried to nudge the girl to see if she was dead, unconscious, or just messing with him… but she didn’t move. He lowered the spear and his tin shield, observing her uncertainly until he noticed that Paige was visibly at her limit: deep, dark circles surrounded her eyes, her skin was covered in bruises and scratches, her lips were dry and cracked, and her hair was frizzy and partly covered in dirt. He even noticed her knees were bleeding because her jeans were stained.

This girl wasn’t a threat; she was in danger. He tossed the spear and shield aside, making a racket he paid no attention to, then quickly crouched to check if she was still alive. Her pulse was still there, and she was breathing, but he didn’t have time to do anything else before a beam of blue light appeared in the distance.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, and he was forced to drag her inside the shop, pulling her by the arms. “Shit, shit, shit,” he continued just before shutting the door the moment Paige was completely inside the room. Right after, he made sure to lift her and lay her on the couch, then rushed to blow out the candles, leaving only the one in the back of the room lit, as it was harder to spot. He quickly clambered over the clutter scattered throughout the shop, then returned to grab the spear and shield and slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor.

The sentinel’s wheels sped by on the asphalt, but Eddie Munson didn’t let his guard down even when he was sure it was gone.

He peeked through the cracks in the door, letting out a sigh of relief, then turned to look at the girl unconscious on his couch and rolled his eyes.

“Just what I needed,” he said, resigned.

[fawnofanxiety]

Cursed fic idea

Okay look, Ezio Auditore is literally everything. There are times I've asked myself #whatwouldeziodo and then do the exact opposite because it'd probably involve murder.

James fucking Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier have taken up residence in my brain and heart and are 100% there to stay.

Please tell me you see where this is going and have begun crying like I have been for the past 2 god damned months.

My brain decided that my favorite murder baby needed competent help in the form of the best assassin to ever exist. #fightme

SO! So *cries* I started sketching out a fic where Ezio gets yeeted into the MCU a la Isu Bullshit at some point during WW2. There's developing friend/mentorship when my favorite murder birb stumbles on Azzano bc you best believe he'd help the Italian Resistance and dismantle any and every scrap of Nazi supply line he can get his hands on. Like I can see Ezio rolling his eyes at Steve because ho boy does this blonde-haired blue-eyed innocent and idealistic child remind him of himself before- well before he became an assassin. Bucky? Well, Bucky is the man he became after taking his first leap of faith in Venice and his skills as a sniper are breathtaking. Can't really find fault in passing on intelligence to the SSR when he learns of Hydra and pointing the Howlies at this repulsive entity(they are absolutely adorable but he doesn't have the time to focus on giving them more than the bare minimum of time to pass on some of his skills and good lord do the ridiculous duo pick up skills fast. Though Steve frowns on the sneaky sneaky, whatever, they've saved his life more than once). Now, Ezio is the one to give them the info on the train and the soul-crushing guilt he feels when his favorite doesn't come back? When they don't even send a single person to try and recover his body?! That's not gonna fly. Unfortunately, he learns of this too late and well. We all know what happened to Bucky.

I can see Ezio getting to know Howard, understanding but ultimately disapproving of his obsession with finding Steve. After all, Ezio knows just how isolating that obsession can be. But, a sort of friendship? develops? Because Ezio is 100% a hypocrite. He spends every second of his free time trying to track down Bucky. There was no body but he found where he should have been.

Ezio being Ezio cultivates a... hm comfortable amount of wealth over the years and valiantly ducks questions about why tf he isn't aging. Isu Bullshit is my favorite excuse in the AC 'verse. I can see him talking about this to Howard and Peggy when he trusts them enough. Maybe. Maybe, he talks Howard down from building weapons, just a little, but can't completely stop his fall into alcoholism and being a shit father. Maybe, he falls completely under Tiny Tony's spell and becomes Uncle Ezio. Who 100% teaches Tony how to fight back and escape after his first kidnapping. Swapping out with Peggy when he's off searching for Bucky (who he's figured out is the WS but can't fucking track him down) but always always shows up for holidays, birthdays, graduations, science fairs, and silent support at the stuffy galas. Listens to this little boy, who reminds him of Petriccio, trip over himself talking about what he's learned and learning, his never-ending ideas and frustrations. (Jarvis fucking loves this wonderful Italian who also occasionally scares the shit out of him but ignorance is bliss and it's no skin off his back to wash the occasional blood stain out of Ezio's clothing and administer first aid.)

Maybe, he stops the WS from assassinating the Starks. Maybe, he helps Bucky find himself even if he can't do anything about the trigger words. Maybe he becomes a little more blood-thirsty, a little more ruthless when going after any and every Hydra outpost he can. Maybe he sits there and holds Bucky as he cries when Ezio finds the book. Stands behind him, in pride and grief with a hand on his shoulder as Bucky and Tony burn the damn thing. Maybe he whole-heartedly approves of Rhodes, even as Bucky gives the poor child the stink-eye. Is the one to give Tony the shovel talk when he notices the beginnings of attraction between these two idiots. The fact that Bucky proceeded to leave a whole host of bruises when he found out just makes Ezio laugh with pride.

Maybe, just maybe, Ezio finds himself sitting on the balcony of his villa on the outskirts of Florence watching the sunset over his sprawling vineyard with a glass of wine in his hand, his heartache over the family he left behind so very long ago on that bench in the middle of the summer market no longer suffocating. The faint sounds of his bright-eyed and brilliant nephew bickering with the haunted but hopeful man he proudly considers to be his son bring him a sense of peace he never thought he would have again.

[cuntstable]

Gyro :>

YAY my other favourite italian guy…. TY :D

first impressions:

wow cool cowboy

impression now:

my freak. my manslut. my bestie. my foul beast. the tool with which i have terrorized others by posting horrid ugly pictures of him. but ok genuinely i like him so much. hes just so entertaining to me. hes simultaneously a mentour character and a fail fuck up mentee himself. hes a huge asshole and a cunt and an insufferable dork who still does almost always do the right thing at the end of the day and stands out as ultimately the one character in sbr who isnt selfishly motivated (he chases the corpse for johnny, wants to win the race for the little boy). and of course he is sexy in a rat like way to me.

favourite moment:

when he asked johnny to steel his balls so he could run or whatever happens in the story idk (his death 😞)

idea for a story:

idk man his backstorys so thorough as is…… i will say that i think sbr is the one jojo part that i think would work and be entertaining as a Normal Au fic or whatever btw LOL. like i usually Dont Like Those but i do love the idea of gyro and johnny and diego and hp just being weirdo collage students in a horse girl club. its fun to me. gyros a med student and him and johnny meet up through that. whatever.

unpopular opinion:

i have absolutely no idea about what an unpopular or popular gyro opinion would be. oh my god. ok well i think dont think the pizza mozzarella song is his funniest moment !!

favourite relationship:

absolutely unsuprising johnny. their friendship feels so real to me like. gyro starts off as the mentour to johnny but ultimately they both end up learning from each other and growing through their relationship to one another. theyre both assholes to everyone around them except to one another, because when is just the two of them they let their guards down and turn into complete dorks. but they still have his competetiveness about them because they are just similar personalities in that regard but also because they both want to constantly push each other to greater hights. and ofc the fact that they sacrifice so much for one another. well. goes and cries in the corner now thingking about ”lets go home”

favourite headcanon:

i think he got his gold grills way before the sbr race maybe because of some tooth problems he had (possibly due to. poor hygiene LOL). and he just had the Go Go Zeppeli carved into them right before the race :)

[madangel19]

I posted 34,086 times in 2022

90 posts created (0%)

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Blogs I reblogged the most:

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I tagged 1,323 of my posts in 2022

#stranger things spoilers - 26 posts

#helluva boss spoilers - 23 posts

#the band ghost - 20 posts

#ghost bc - 19 posts

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#what in tarnation - 17 posts

#sonic the hedgehog 2 spoilers - 16 posts

#fanfiction - 15 posts

#ghost band - 13 posts

#body horror tw - 13 posts

Longest Tag: 103 characters

#i love con clavi con dio but i'm certain i'll summon a demon if i sing it in the middle of the night xd

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Already got an idea for another Ghost fic!

A child gets in a car wreck with her parents that happens to be close to the ministry. Both parents are dead and child goes to the nearby church for help and a sister of sin takes her in and brings her to Papa 4. Papa hears her story and then asks if she has any other family and she says no, so he offers to let her live at the ministry. Child accepts and she then gets to live in the church and explores and learns all about it. Lots of bittersweet stuff ensues.

Been seeing lots of sweet pics and vids of the Papas interacting with young fans and wanted to do something cute

11 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

#4

 A sneak peak of my Ghost/Scooby Doo fic for ya’ll :3

There were eight, no, nine figures in the red-lit room that resembled the main stage. Eight of these figures were clad in all black and each one wore a terrifying black horned mask. The more he looked the more demonic they became. They surrounded a ninth figure who was dressed like he ran a church, but something felt very bad. He was swinging some strange smoking device around as the others played different instruments. 

“Siamo con clavi, siamo con Dio

Siamo con il nostro Dio scuro,” the main figure sang in a ghostly tone.

They were summoning demons! This was bad. Really really bad. Ghosts he was used to, but this was much more sinister and dangerous. He had to find Shaggy. No, he had to find everyone and warn them. 

Scooby turned and came face to face with one of those masked monsters. It hissed in his face and pushed him forward, making him yelp and fall through the door. 

The music stopped instantly. Scooby looked back and saw that the creature that pushed him had vanished. He heard low voices whispering amongst themselves and he whipped his head around to find that he was surrounded by those eight confused and slightly agitated masked creatures. Scooby was at a loss for words as he looked at each one. All he could see and sense were bad intentions and bared teeth as some growled at him.

“Ruh-roh,” he managed to whimper, trembling like a leaf. The eight figures stepped back, letting their obvious leader come forward. Everything about this one felt evil to Scooby as a single pale eye looked down at him. The man’s painted face appeared frozen in a scowl before he smiled and chuckled darkly.

“Ahh, we have a visitor. You look nervous, piccolo amico,” he crowed in an Italian accent as he bent down to face him properly.

Scooby found the energy he so desperately needed and he let out a howling scream, kicking the man towards the creatures and jumping to his feet to run. He didn’t dare look back as those other creatures let out alarmed cries.

“Ah! Cazzo! Get him!” The man exclaimed.

Let me know what ya’ll think so far. I’m having a lot of fun with this :D

Also @space-is-a-paradox enjoy ^-^

11 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

#3

Getting 3 of my wisdom teeth removed in an hour. Wish me luck y’all ✌🏼

11 notes - Posted October 14, 2022

#2

God, I’m such a simp for TFP Starscream :’D

12 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Ghost (Sweden Band), Scooby Doo - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Papa Emeritus IV, Nameless Ghoul(s), Scooby Doo, Norville "Shaggy" Rogers, Velma Dinkley, Daphne Blake, Fred Jones, Original Female Character(s), Hex Girls (Scooby Doo), Muffy St. James | Dusk, Kimberly "Kim" Moss | Luna, Sally McKnight | Thorn Additional Tags: Mystery, Minor Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change Summary:

Scooby and the gang have another mystery on their hands after being invited as VIP guests for the Hex Girls who are the opening act for the mysterious and ghoulish band, Ghost, in a mysterious theater. One of Papa's ghouls has been framed for attacking an employee of the theater, but Papa insists that his ghouls would never do such a thing unless provoked. Can Scooby and his friends prove the band's innocence before the big show begins or will more people be attacked by the mystery ghoul, resulting in the show to be cancelled and Ghost being sent away?

Chapter 3 up! Check it out ya’ll :D

13 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[hahahahahangst]

See, dear (Be The Young 35)

TW: [suicidal thoughts, self h*rm, violence, s*xual assault]

Other tags: [sister fic, canon-level violence, dean is an asshole, angst]

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will occasionally break canon✨ .

Summary: Emily Reed, born and raised in Portland, is preparing her admission papers for Stanford, medical school. Little does she know, her life is about to change forever.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

A/N:  Sammy is baby

MASTERLIST

See, dear

See, dear, it’s difficult to explain It’s difficult to talk about ghosts of your mind [...] See, dear, some crisis are just a sign of something screaming to come out

The journey from the warehouse to the hospital was one of the hardest Sam had ever gone through. Emily lost all the toughness and game face she had with Alastair the second she touched the car seat. She started crying, of exhaustion, out of panic and because so many things had just happened. She tortured a demon together with Dean, then Sam arrived and he killed him. She didn't dare ask any questions about it. She just cried. And when crying didn't feel like it was enough, Emily screamed. Sam didn't stop her, he didn't try to calm her down. He stared in front of him, checking every inch of the road as if a deer might have crossed it at any given second. The hospital staff didn't have much choice but to admit her and stuff her with meds. Not that they did much to make her brain stop bouncing back and forth between hell and reality, but at least they made her body tired enough to stop crying and resume breathing at a normal rate. Under Sam's request, they put both her and Dean in the same room. 

Sam sat in between his siblings. Emily was almost passed out, her body finally giving up under the exhaustion and the drugs, Dean was still passed out. 

“Sam?” Muttered Emily. He turned to her. He also looked tired after driving for so long. “Is Dean okay?” 

Sam smiled. “Yeah. He will be okay.” He fixed her bed sheets. “Why don’t you sleep, you’ve been going at it for a while.” 

“No, no…“ Emily fell asleep for a second. “I want to wait until he wakes up, I need…“ She closed her eyes and then shot them open again. ”...what if I fall asleep and he dies?”

Emily felt Sam’s hand on her forehead and sank a little deeper in her pillow. “Oh god, your hand is so warm- Please keep it there.” She put her hand over Sam’s, trying to get all the heat possible. 

“Are you cold?” 

“Mh-mh.” she muttered. 

“Emily, Dean is going to be alright.” He stood up and took a blanket from the top of a cabinet. He laid it on her. “You should rest.” He put his hands on the end of the bed. 

“You promise?”

“Of course, kid.” When she woke up, Sam’s place had been taken by Castiel. He stood in front of her bed, leaning on the same cabinet Sam had taken the blanket from. 

“Oh, hey Cas.” She said, rubbing her eyes. “Where’s your italian best friend?”

“Ramiel has been missing.”

“Do you think he’s okay?”

“I don’t know. He joined me in disobedience, but then disappeared. I suspect he was taken.”

“What about you, man, what are you doing here?” 

“Waiting for your brother to wake up.” 

Emily turned towards Dean. His breathing tube had been taken out, but he was still asleep. “What the hell happened down there, Cas? You really can’t handle a devil’s trap?” Emily crossed her leg and sat up.

“I’m sorry. It should not have gone like that.” 

Dean woke up, grunting. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Joked Emily. 

“Fuck you.” He muttered, also sitting up. “Wait, what happened to you?” He rubbed his eyes.

“Brain snapped again. Currently high on…“ She turned the IV that was dripping in her arm. “Diazepam.” 

Dean shrugged, releasing a weak “ah.” When he noticed Castiel, his expression changed. 

“Are you all right?” Asked the angel. 

“No thanks to you.” Said Dean, tired and angry. “You need to learn how to manage a damn devil’s trap.”

“That’s not what I mean. Uriel is dead.” 

“Uriel, your boss, Uriel? Was it the demons?” Asked Emily. 

“It was disobedience. He was working against us.” 

“Is it true? Did I break the first seal?” Asked Dean. “Did I start all this?” Castiel looked away, but nodded. Emily released a long exhale. 

“Yes.” Said the angel. “When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to hell and we fought our way to get to you before you-”

“Jump-started the apocalypse.” Concluded Dean. “But you were too late, why didn't you just leave me there, then?”

“It's not blame that falls on you, Dean, it's fate.”

“Okay, but…“ Interrupted Emily. “What about me? Why did Ramiel bring me back?” 

“I don’t know. They don’t tell me much about my own orders, I certainly don’t know about other angel’s.”

“Well, whatever they want, you’re screwed, Cas.” Said Dean. “I can’t do it, it’s too big.” Emily frowned and started trying to get out of her bed. “I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me.” 

Castiel stared at Dean. If Emily didn’t know any better, she would have guessed he was sad. She dragged herself from the bed to the wheelchair that was next to Dean’s bed. She scowled at Castiel, who looked away, nervous, before disappearing with a wing fluttering sound. 

“Are you okay?” Asked Emily, seeing Dean was trying to hide a tear by drying it. “Because I don’t think I can climb on your bed at the moment.” 

“You that high?” He half smiled. 

“It’s either this or the screaming, crying, throwing up Emily.” She laid her hands next to Dean’s body on the mattress and rested her face on them, facing away from Dean. He put a hand on top of her hair. 

“Well, the important thing is that you’re alright.” He exhaled. “Where’s Sam?” 

“I guess he went to sleep, he had to drive us here while I actually was screaming and crying. He must have been exhausted.” 

“How did you get out?”

“Well…“ Emily hesitated. “We kinda had to use our powers.” 

“Come on, really?!” He sounded slightly upset, his hand lifting off her head for a second. 

“We saved your and Cas’ lives, man. We would all be dead if we didn’t.” She turned her head facing Dean. 

“Emily, Cas warned us about those powers. You shouldn’t use them.” 

“No, he warned you about Sam taking a dangerous road with them. That’s not the same thing.” 

“I still think you shouldn’t be using them.” 

“You weren’t complaining yesterday when I used them to help you torture Alastair.” 

“About that- You should have stayed out of it.” 

“You know what?” She shoved his head away from his hair and sat straight. “No, you don’t get to say that. I helped you. I kept the game face on when you were about to break. Was I supposed to let him talk shit about our family like that?” 

“Yes! God, you’re such a child- He was doing it on purpose, to rile you up and trick you into using your powers!” Dean sat up straighter, accusatively pointing at Emily.

“My powers saved your ass!” She stood up from the wheelchair, almost losing her balance. “And don’t call me a child!” She turned the other way around and rested her hands on her bed, to balance. The hints of a fight approaching stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t want a fight. It was the last thing they needed. “I’m doing my best, Dean.” She sighed, trying to calm herself down. Dean hesitated.

“I know.” He said, after a long pause. “I’m sorry.” 

“You can’t keep telling me what to or not to do, Dean. I am aware of the consequences of my actions. When I decided to join in, yesterday…“ She exhaled and faced Dean, sitting on her bed. ”...I knew I would have ended up crying on the floor. I knew it would have made you mad. But I wanted to do it. And honestly?” 

“Don’t say it.” He shook his head. 

“It felt good.” 

“Come on- Don’t even joke about that.” 

“Dean, I know it wasn’t easy for you, but he- He tortured me. For one hundred years. And it wasn’t only physical. Everyday, he would remind me that it had been that many days since you thought about me, that you were never coming to rescue me. That you would have done it for Sam, but not for me. Then, he made you join him. I kind of had some unfinished business to sort out.” Dean traced his face with his hand.

“Well, as I said… The important thing is that you’re okay now.” He sighed. “Come on, sit back down.” He pointed to the wheelchair. She did and rested her head back on Dean’s mattress as it was before.

Sam entered the room soon later, but Emily was about to fall asleep again.

[everythingelseisextra]

Alright, well... I think this is my longest book report so far. I apologize for not being able to get to this fic immediately. Today is my first day off from work I've had in a while (horses mean you have to work weekends, too). So, finally, I've gotten around to reading this. Here are my thoughts, and my apologies for talking so much. It's a bad habit of mine.

Thunder rumbled overhead as Aurora made her way into the room, unnoticed by everyone, skirting the perimeter of the room as she listened carefully. Already, it’s interesting to me that she goes unnoticed. I assume based on this that she’s often underestimated, and made to feel smaller than she really is. She’s powerful and volatile, that much was clear by Changretta Calls 2, but there’s more to her and her reputation than that. 

I’m going through and translating all the Italian. It makes for a more engaging and interesting read, to be sure. I LOVE reading things that are puzzles, written in other languages or in verse form or in chopped and mixed sentences (I’m partway through House Of Leaves, if you’ve ever heard of that.) It’s a joy to see this in a fanfic. 

“Don’t you remember what the intelligence said about his family? They’re gypsies, fucking savages,” Not sure how I feel about this. First of all, fair enough about the savagery, Tommy and Co certainly have a way about them that’s far bloodier than probably necessary, and the word ‘Gypsy’ wasn’t a slur at the time, but still… you’d think based on what I know about her that she would know that there’s no such thing as a true savage, at least not in the stereotypical sense. But, she has a fire to her, and I can respect that. 

He didn’t want to listen to the distinct sounds of Luca’s blows striking the object of his ire or Aurora’s muffled cries, but he would have to stand watch until it was over to know how to proceed.  Christ, that’s… awful. I love that the POV changed briefly so that we as readers get to experience the brutality of Luca towards Aurora without actually having to see it. And we get the view of an outsider on their relationship, so that it’s clear that the people around them are fully aware of the abuse and complexity of their partnership. 

“And Enzo, buy her blue hydrangeas tomorrow,” Antonio ordered. “They’re her favorite. I don’t want her feeling homesick,” That’s… that’s sad. She’s still his little girl, and he wants her to be safe. It gives us a glimpse into the softness that’s there within her, that we don’t get to see because of the precariousness of her situation. There’s no chance for her to be gentle or human, she has to be tough and ruthless at all times. But, as I guessed earlier, that’s not all there is. There’s so much more to her than that. 

“Thank God she married a man like me to keep her in her place, right?” Ew.

“An alliance with the Jews? That’s clever,” she praised, hoping her guess was correct. Running a hand along his knee seductively, she waited for Luca to confirm her suspicions. DO WE GET AN ALFIE APPEARANCE IN THIS FIC? HAVE YOU BLESSED US WITH ALFIE SOLOMONS AND HIS BEAUTIFUL OUT-OF-POCKET PERSONALITY? ~in truth, I feel like this is a ruse of some kind, and that there will be no Alfie, but we shall see~

“Vaffanculo!” Agreed, love. Agreed. 

“I insist,” the woman said with a definitive nod. “I’m Rose Solomons, Alfie’s wife. Come in,” she said with a wave of her hand. What is this, a crossover episode?

He didn’t like being humiliated by the Solomons woman and made a mental note to make Alfie pay dearly for it. Yeah, good luck with that. Alfie is smart, and Luca has a bad habit of underestimating his opponents. He’s a bit of a megalomaniac in canon, seems to think he’s tougher than everyone else simply by default. 

“You’d die by his hand? Because that’s where you’re headed, love,” Rose warned, recalling her own difficult past. “Won’t you try?” Well, shit. Now I need to know about Rose, too. Especially considering my deep (but platonic) love for Alfie, I’d love to read some more of her. First off, she’s intelligent in the same way Ada is; able to play to another’s empathy and strengths. Secondly, she has a story, and I LOVE when OCs come from complicated or even straight up evil pasts. Must be the sadist in me, I guess. 

“We get you to Tommy Shelby,” Rose said confidently. FUCK YEAH. I’m so excited for these two to cross paths. Talk about a power couple. 

“I just want out, you understand? I want out from under him," she confided, her whole body beginning to shake. There it is. There’s that other side of her I knew was in there. It’s beautifully written. It’s different as soon as she doesn’t have to walk on eggshells trying to placate a man while also holding her own power in place. I love that she’s able to have both self-respect and a deep-seated terror of her husband/situation.

My Sun, My Moon and All My Stars-Part 1

Luca Changretta x OC (Aurora Sabini Changretta) x Tommy Shelby

Summary: Luca and Aurora Changretta come to the UK to avenge the murder of Luca's brother and father. However, as their volatile marriage unravels, events take an unexpected turn.

Author's Note: This has been on my mind since I created the moodboard ages ago. And it's been requested in several forms, the most recent being a lovely anon who wanted to see Tommy with an American mafia girl. OC Rose Solomons belongs to @raincoffeeandfandoms. Prequel has been posted as phone calls in two parts here and here. I would def recommend reading that before starting this fic! One more part coming soon!

Warnings: language, domestic violence, mention of blood, use of ethnic slur

Luca stood pointing at a map with his forefinger, tracing a path from the garden to the center of Arrow House, mumbling in a low voice to his men. Thunder rumbled overhead as Aurora made her way into the room, unnoticed by everyone, skirting the perimeter of the room as she listened carefully. When she’d heard enough she spoke up from the back of the room, voice even and measured to show she was in control as much as her husband. “Non sono d’accordo, Luca.”

Luca’s head shot up as he searched between the faces to find his wife, though he thought he’d caught a hint of her perfume moments earlier, taunting him as he attempted to strategize. 

“It’s too risky to approach him at home again,” Aurora declared, stalking toward the desk with cigarette in hand. The smoke parted the men before her arrival at the table and she stamped out her cigarette a bit too forcefully before joining her husband where he stood. Although she hadn’t been invited to give her opinion, she’d been listening to every word, silently judging the ludicrous plan Luca was suggesting.

“Don’t you remember what the intelligence said about his family? They’re gypsies, fucking savages,” she emphasized. “And he’ll be expecting us this time so he'll have even more protection,” Aurora said with a dismissive shake of her head. Luca’s face and neck reddened at the scolding tone of her voice, his blood boiling instantly at the brazen way she dared to usurp his power.

The air grew thick with their silence and as Aurora’s eyes scanned the room, she noticed not one of the men looked in her direction. They shifted uncomfortably as Luca reached for a matchstick, placing it between gritted teeth.

A low growl emitted before his words, causing everyone to stand at attention once more. “And what would you have me do, tesoro?” he said the pet name without any hint of warmth, but Aurora did not back away. In fact, she stepped closer to her husband, standing just below his shoulder as she placed a hand to his forearm gently. 

“I’m only asking that we consider a few more options,” she said diplomatically. Then she reasoned, “There must be another way to get to Tommy Shelby. His sister’s home in London or perhaps one of his factories. We’ll have to wait for him to come to us this time.”

Luca removed the match from his mouth as she spoke, lighting it and held it perilously close to her face as he taunted, “We smoke him out, principessa? Is that what you want?” he asked moving even closer, the flame in danger of catching her loose curls on fire.

Aurora didn’t blink as she watched the flame dance before her eyes. She could feel the heat close to her skin and her pulse quickened. “Basta cosi!,” she warned with raised eyebrow.

As lightning flashed outside the office window the spell was broken, Luca blew out the match with a dark chuckle. Turning to his men he concluded with a wave of his hand, “You heard my wife.” Then rolling up the map before him with haste he added, “We’ll pick this up tomorrow when everyone’s rested.” Everyone filed out, but Matteo and Enzo remained to ensure nothing else was needed for the evening. Aurora remained at the window as Luca instructed, “Seven o’ clock sharp, you understand?” 

“Yes, boss,” Matteo and Enzo replied, trudging toward their rooms. It was only their second night in England and they had not yet acclimated to the time difference. They felt the exhaustion seeping into their bones, the relentless demands weighing on them heavily. 

Before they could move more than a few steps down the corridor, they heard the shouting begin. As the sound of glass shattering broke the crescendo of voices, Matteo ran a hand down his face, a hint of irritation as he sighed heavily. “Do you have the number for the hospital?” he asked his associate.

Enzo nodded slowly. “And the morgue,” he added solemnly, eyes lingering on the doorknob. He didn’t want to listen to the distinct sounds of Luca’s blows striking the object of his ire or Aurora’s muffled cries, but he would have to stand watch until it was over to know how to proceed. 

Luca tired easily tonight and Aurora limped from the suite thirty minutes later, hair disheveled to hide the bruise forming across her cheekbone. She fell once, picking herself up from the hard wooden floor with a sniffle and Matteo and Enzo turned from her as though they hadn’t seen her in ruin, a familiar routine of make believe.

“Let’s get some fucking sleep,” Matteo said when she disappeared into a separate room.

Enzo had just closed the door to his room and kicked off his shoes when the phone began to ring.

“Enzo, what’s going on? Luca hasn’t phoned,” Mr. Sabini grumbled.

“Luca’s been…working on strategy,” Enzo fumbled, thinking of the fight he’d just witnessed. He didn’t dare mention it to Aurora’s father though. Out of everyone who knew of their tumultuous marriage, Antonio Sabini was somehow unaware of his daughter’s plight. 

As if on cue, Antonio asked, “How’s Aurora?” 

Enzo gulped as he thought of a reply. “You know, she’s got her ideas,” he said truthfully.

“That’s my little girl!,” Antonio answered proudly. "She's got a sharp mind and she's good under pressure!" he boasted. "Mark my words, Enzo, this vendetta will end as quickly as it started now that Luca has my Aurora by his side. She won't lose any of our men either because she's much more delicate than he is with these affairs you see. Luca's always been too temperamental," he mused.

"Yeah," Enzo agreed quietly, hoping Mr. Sabini was right.

“Keep me informed. I want to know everything,” Antonio said sternly. “And keep Aurora out of danger if it comes to that.”

“Yes, sir,” Enzo reluctantly agreed, unsure how he was going to keep the promise. 

“And Enzo, buy her blue hydrangeas tomorrow,” Antonio ordered. “They’re her favorite. I don’t want her feeling homesick,” he added softly, the fondness of a memory seeping into his voice and making it much quieter than before.

“Of course,” Enzo said, replacing the heavy receiver in the cradle and falling into bed, only to be awoken an hour later by the sounds of lovemaking in the room next door.

—————————————-

At seven the next morning, Aurora entered Luca’s office, smiling to herself as she held a large bouquet in her arms. All the men in the room turned to drink in the sight of her glamour, a trait that lived on in her from her exceptionally beautiful mother. Enzo and Matteo exchanged knowing glances as they traced the lines of her face, noting how talented she’d become at hiding the swelling and bruises. 

Although it sickened them to watch, she bent low to capture Luca’s mouth in a tender kiss, pulling away to breath a near silent “mi dispiace” against his lips. For reasons known only to her and Luca, they always fell back into each other’s arms. It was as predictable as the rising sun.

“I know you are, baby,” he replied, turning her out of his lap. 

“Grazie, amore,” she said sweetly holding up the flowers and stroking his cheek adoringly.

Luca knitted his brow, a hint of confusion noticeable, before he glanced up at his wife with a smug grin. “Of course, sweetheart. If you’ll excuse us, there’s business this morning and I think you had your say last night.”

Aurora nodded obediently and went to put the flowers in water as though in a trance. As soon as the door had shut behind her, Luca’s expression changed to a deep grimace. “Which one of you assholes got flowers for my wife?” He leaned forward onto his elbows, awaiting an answer.

Soon Enzo spoke up with a slight tremble in his voice. “It was me, but it wasn’t because of last night, Luca.”

Luca narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“Her father asked me to get ‘em,” Enzo clarified with a slight cough, suddenly remembering his lines in the play they were subconsciously rehearsing at any given moment.

“Figlio di puttana!” Luca said, smacking the desk with his palm. “He spoiled her and now look how she acts!”  He shook his head with an indignant scoff, turning to look out the window. “Thank God she married a man like me to keep her in her place, right?”

———————————————

“We aren’t in Darby’s territory any more. Where are we going, Luca?,” Aurora asked as the car bumped along the narrow roads. Luca turned to look out the window as though he didn’t hear, second guessing his decision to bring his wife along to the negotiations with the mad baker of Camden Town. However, Aurora would not be ignored. She had played the dutiful wife for weeks so as not to insult his manhood further, but every attempt at moving closer to Tommy Shelby had failed, resulting in multiple casualties. To make matters worse, every man lost was a member of her own family, brought from New York to aid the Changrettas in their vendetta. The idea of losing more men sickened her and she began to consider the possibility that she would have to challenge her husband once more.

Then Luca spoke up, but he only offered a sliver of information. “We’re on our way to Camden Town, alright?” he said before settling back into his seat with a sigh.

Aurora was raised at her father’s elbow watching the deals he made and how he researched his enemies. However, there were things she’d learned on her own as a result of being the only woman in a room full of men. How you had to demure and make them think an idea had been their own. She’d learned the art of manipulation and weaponized it early on as a means of survival. Today called for such an approach.

“An alliance with the Jews? That’s clever,” she praised, hoping her guess was correct. Running a hand along his knee seductively, she waited for Luca to confirm her suspicions.

Luca turned to face his wife, a surprised look on his face. “And how do you know about Alfie Solomons?” 

“He’s connected to the east Boston Jews. But, Darby knows him, of course. Says he’s unpredictable and violent,” Aurora added wearily.

She watched the muscles in Luca’s jaw tighten beneath the shadow of his fedora, knowing he didn’t like Aurora involving herself. Rubbing two fingers against his chin thoughtfully, he dismissed her concern. “I’ve spoken to your father and he approves. That’s all you need to know,” Luca said firmly.

“I wish you would tell me more about today,” she cajoled.

“No, amore. Not this time,” Luca said, clasping his large fingers over her gloved hand and giving her a squeeze that bordered on painful reprimand.

As the car jerked to a stop in front of a dilapidated building in Camden Town, she turned to her husband and took once last desperate chance as they exited the vehicle. “Luca, let me speak to Mr. Solomons. A woman’s touch to the negotiations might be just the thing to keep him from erupting,” she said innocently.

This infuriated Luca and he pulled her back, making her stumble on the rough cobblestones. “Like hell you will. This is my deal!” he spat.

“That concerns my family name and my blood!” Aurora retaliated, batting at his chest with her fists, unable to control herself further.

Luca’s eyes blazed with fury, striking her with full force and causing her to fall to the ground. Landing on rough stone, she sliced her arm as she hit, immaculate clothing ruined in the filthy street.

“Get the fuck up,” Luca commanded through clenched teeth.

Aurora winced involuntarily as she pushed her body forward, feeling the pain in her arm throb as soon as he placed weight onto her hand and blood trickle from her nose. “Vaffanculo!” she yelled, placing her fingertips to her chin and thrusting them toward him. 

Luca leaned down and dragged her to her feet, fingers digging into her flesh as he swore, "You make any more trouble for me and I swear to God you'll die here, Aurora. No one will know the difference if I tell them the Shelbys did it," he hissed in her ear as a small woman with dark hair appeared before them. 

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, looking the couple up and down, hands on her hips with more authority than someone her size ought to have. 

Luca released his wife immediately, straightening her clothes as he painted on a charming smile. “She fell on the cobblestones,” he explained smoothly. “I’m here to see Alfie Solomons. Is he in?” he inquired as he stepped forward, seeming to forget his wife in distress.

“Depends on whose asking,” the woman replied, glancing at Aurora with concern. 

Luca removed his hat as he introduced himself. “I’m Luca Changretta,” he said, extending a hand.

Thoroughly unimpressed by his charisma, the tiny woman tilted her head at him. “And who is she?” 

Luca coughed to cover his embarrassment. “This is my wife, Aurora. She’ll be staying outside,” he said with a pointed look at his wife, who stood, cradling her arm.

“If you want to see my husband, I insist this woman come in as well. She requires medical attention,” Rose said sternly. 

“If you insist,” Luca said, pursing his lips. 

“I insist,” the woman said with a definitive nod. “I’m Rose Solomons, Alfie’s wife. Come in,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Darling,” Luca said with a sneer, extending his arm toward Aurora.

Aurora pushed past him and followed Rose inside. Luca followed two steps behind, removing a match from his pocket and chewing it ferociously. He didn’t like being humiliated by the Solomons woman and made a mental note to make Alfie pay dearly for it.

As Luca was shown to Alfie’s office, Rose took Aurora to a separate part of the distillery. Her interest was peaked now that she’d witnessed something between husband and wife that felt unsavory. The Solomons’ liked to make it their business to know everything about their associates and this felt like something worth noting.

———————

Rose expected someone quite different from the woman she was meeting today. She’d heard Aurora Changretta was a tigress, someone who never gave an inch to her enemies. However, the woman who stood before her bloodied and broken was not in a position to argue. She might listen to the plea on Rose’s lips so she began in earnest.

As Rose handed over a flannel dipped in cool water, she admitted what she wanted. “I’ll be blunt, Mrs. Changretta. My Alfie has cancer. He’s riddled with it. The doctors say it’s probably from the gas during the war,” she explained with furrowed brow as though she didn��t understand or believe the words that came from her lips. However, Aurora knew them to be true. They were the admission of someone who loved deeply and had not yet come to terms with an imminent loss. 

“I’m sorry,” Aurora responded. “But I don’t see how I can help,” she admitted.

Rose cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, rising to her full height. “You can get that man out there to go home. Leave us in peace for the days we have left,” she asserted.

Aurora bit her lip to keep a bitter laugh from escaping. Instead she just shook her head. Taking a deep breath she turned to Rose and spoke slowly to make the other woman realize her predicament. “You think I tell him the ways of the world? No, he doesn’t answer to me,” she admitted, dabbing at her wounds. “He has very little use for me these days,” Aurora admitted in a soft whisper.

"I thought your family ran New York?" Rose asked slightly confused.

"And now it's my husband so you see we're bound," Aurora replied with a look of resolve.

Rose took in the sight before her, bruises covered by layers of make up, bones badly healed over time. The limp when she walked inside and the arm she cradled gingerly now. This was a woman who knew suffering and yet there was tenacity in her hazel eyes that couldn't be denied. It was this strength Rose appealed to now.

“You’d die by his hand? Because that’s where you’re headed, love,” Rose warned, recalling her own difficult past. “Won’t you try?”

Aurora paused for a moment, a trickle of bloody water running down her elbow as she washed. This went against everything Aurora had ever been taught. You never spoke against your family, no matter what happened. Her parents ingrained that in her at an early age. However, her parents’ marriage had been one based on love and respect. No matter how many times they reconciled, she and Luca did not carry the same affection.

As she sat in the damp distillery, listening to the distant sound of machinery, she thought of her future with Luca and his intention to crush her beneath him became abundantly clear. He didn’t care for her as he once did. When the money and the resources were gone, he would dispose of her.

Finally Aurora mumbled one word into the darkness of the small room, keeping her voice low in case Luca was nearby. “How?”

Rose inhaled a sharp breath, chin rising suddenly with renewed hope to meet Aurora’s wide eyes, full of questions and doubt. She knew how hard it would be to ask this of kind of trust from a stranger, but if she could convince her to take the first step, the rest would fall into place.

“We get you to Tommy Shelby,” Rose said confidently.

Aurora shook her head violently. “No, please. He’ll kill me.”

“He won’t. He’s not Luca,” Rose promised, rushing the rest of her speech for fear Aurora might bolt in fear. “This vendetta was started by the Changrettas and your husband is using your family to fund his war. Now he’s asking my husband to help. It won’t stop unless we say so. We can stop him, Aurora. Will you join me?” Rose asked, reaching for Aurora’s bloodied hand.

Aurora’s lip trembled thinking of crossing Luca, but she had had enough. If there was one thing her father taught her it was to fight for her own interests and she knew she still had fight within her. 

“Yes, I’ll help you,” Aurora agreed on a shaky breath, reaching for Rose.

“We’ll protect you, I promise,” Rose said, intertwining her fingers with Aurora’s stained fingertips. The blood that tainted her would soon be washed clean.

————————————

It had taken another week and several clandestine phone calls before Aurora could steal away to meet Rose. She’d convinced Luca that she needed medicine for her cuts and he allowed her to leave the hotel though she knew she didn’t have long. Rose knew a man who could help them meet in neutral territory, but it would be brief as Luca sent someone to watch over Aurora whenever she left. With that in mind, Aurora stole away one afternoon wondering if this was all a mistake.

The bell above the door of the chemist rang out and Aurora took a deep breath, scanning the small shop for Rose. The tiny woman stood in the corner, observing a box as though she were another patron and when she spied Aurora she beckoned to her. Aurora felt her heart thundering in her chest as she followed Rose through a narrow doorway, descending a dark staircase. However, it was far too late to reconsider and she marched ahead with as much courage as she could muster.

Aurora soon found herself face to face with Tommy Shelby who paced the length of a small, dimly lit room. She knew him instantly from photographs and descriptions of his deep blue eyes like two pools that could drown you if you stared too long. The moment she entered, she was mesmerized by him.

“You killed my wife,” Tommy said, a stillness coming over his features when he caught sight of his enemy. Aurora sucked in a breath, recognizing the inherent danger facing her. Violent men all had the same deceiving comportment, a snake coiled and ready to strike. 

“Tommy, please....” Rose interjected in a pleading tone, willing the meeting to continue. Rose glanced at Aurora and noticed a visible change in her demeanor, a hardening of her exterior as she refused to show any kind of weakness.

“Luca killed your wife. I only tried to kill you,” Aurora said defiantly, head held high.

A moment of silence passed as Tommy considered Aurora. Then she spoke again, "You misunderstand, Mr. Shelby. I'm trying to end this. It was never my fight," she said softly, feeling the weight of every life lost in service to her and the family.

“If this wasn’t your fight, why the fuck are you supplying your husband enough money and soldiers to overthrow the British empire, love?” Tommy countered.

“Loyalty. I hear that you’re like me when it comes to your family, Mr. Shelby. You would do anything to protect them. I didn’t agree with my husband, but I promised to protect him….”

“Do you honestly think he’d do the same for you?,” Tommy asked, blue eyes icing over to match the chill in his voice. He knew he was being cruel, but he had to test her in this moment to see if she would crumble.

“I have no illusions about our marriage,” Aurora confided on a low breath. She forced herself to make eye contact as she said, “That's why I'm here. Rose told me you might be willing to strike a bargain.”

Tommy scoffed, turning away from Aurora and she worried what she’d been told about his mercy was false. 

“Fucking hell, Tommy. She’s here and she’s willing to talk. Isn’t that enough?” Rose asked.

Tommy turned with a look of warning, “Alright, give him up.”

“What?” Aurora asked.

“Give up your husband and we’ll call it even,” Tommy demanded.

Aurora swallowed harshly, considering the choices at her disposal. Stay and see more bloodshed or end it with one final betrayal. It took only a fraction of a second to see the choice she had to make. 

“An ambush,” Aurora agreed quietly, fixing her gaze on Tommy. “But we have to make Luca think you aren’t expecting him. That he can take the shot.”

A smug look came over Tommy's handsome face. "You are as ruthless as they say, aren't you?" he commented. Then just as suddenly the amusement in his features disappeared and he turned stone faced once more. “How do I know I can trust you?” Tommy asked.

Aurora began to laugh bitterly.

“That’s fucking funny to you?” Tommy asked.

Aurora shook her head as a tear fell from her cheek, the enormity of her decision causing her to fall into a momentary fit of insanity. “He married me and he saw cashmere, cologne, red racing cars…All I wanted was love. It wasn't supposed to be like this,” she sniffed as she looked away from him, trying to catch her breath and regain composure. She pushed the pain away and felt her anger rise up in its place, “I just want out, you understand? I want out from under him," she confided, her whole body beginning to shake. 

Rose approached her and covered her with her shawl. “It’s alright, Aurora. You’re going to be alright,” she promised, looking to Tommy.

“Artillery Square, two days time,” he said with a satisfactory nod. 

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

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[gladdygirl18]

I posted 2,219 times in 2022

That's 1,090 more posts than 2021!

437 posts created (20%)

1,782 posts reblogged (80%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gladdyator18

@creepychippy

@gladdygirl18

@giggly-squiggily

@eye-cri

I tagged 55 of my posts in 2022

#thanks for the ask! - 32 posts

#jojo tickle - 2 posts

#jjba fic - 2 posts

#literally me - 2 posts

#youtube - 2 posts

#tickle - 2 posts

#tickle fic - 2 posts

#jjba part 5 - 2 posts

#my face - 1 post

#relateable - 1 post

Longest Tag: 73 characters

#i wanna go to comic con but never got the chance and i hate myself for it

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

The Touch-Starved Capo

This idea/request was given to me by the amazing @theneondemon-2020! Thanks so much for the idea! Sorry if it’s bit late; I had finals, but I finished them! I made it a bit lengthy to make up for the lost time. Hope you like it!

Summary: After helping with Mista and Narancia's plans to torture their other companions, Bucciarati had been left with the desire to get tickled. The thought of such a thing was funny to him, but he doesn’t know how to express his little concern.

Word Count: 3071

⚠Warning⚠: Mild swearing (in both English and Italian)

Within Passione, Mista and Narancia are the two jesters, always finding ways to make their companions smile and laugh. They always succeed; they even made Abbacchio smile a couple of times, and that's already a challenge on its own. One of their favorite pranks to pull on their friends is tickle pranks. By their calculations, Mista and Narancia have successfully tickled everyone in their group, even their beloved Capo.

Now, it was rare for Mista and Narancia to ask for help while doing these pranks, but there was this particular prank in which they needed an extra pair of hands. They wanted to get Abbacchio again, for whatever reason, but since the ex-cop knows of their antics, he's always aware of when they might strike.

"Come on, Bucciarati! Please?" Narancia begged, "Just this once!"

The Capo couldn't help but chuckle at his young friend's pleas.

"Abbacchio would never see it coming," Mista chimed in, "It'll be the perfect prank!"

"I don't know..." Bucciarati said, playing along, "What's in it for me?"

"We'll do patrols for the next two weeks." Mista said.

"Three." Bucciarati countered.

"Two and a half." Narancia said boldly.

Bucciarati nodded as a grin formed on his face.

"Deal," he said, "So, what's the plan?"

Bucciarati's part in the plan was simple: Zipper Man would create a zipper portal under Abbacchio to one of the bedrooms where Mista and Narancia would unleash their attack. After that one prank, Bucciarati would often help the two teens with more of them. The teens' attacks couldn't be more sporadic than they already were. Giorno was the first to catch onto Bucciarati's assistance after falling victim to the two for the 7th time.

"Why are you helping them?" Giorno asked one day, "Aren't you a little concerned that they might double-back and get you?"

"As long as I'm helping them, I'm untouchable." Bucciarati said with a sly grin.

Giorno pulled back before grinning at the Capo.

"So you'll continue to help them attack us as long as you don't get attacked yourself?" Giorno asked, "I didn't think you could sink so low."

"It's not just that, mio amico," Bucciarati said, "I like seeing you and the others smile, just as much as Narancia and Mista."

Giorno couldn't be mad at that.

"Besides, we'll get them back soon enough..." Bucciarati said.

In truth, Bucciarati wanted Mista and Narancia to turn tails and attack him for a change. It's been a while since the teens tickled him, and he missed it. Being able to laugh freely without a care in the world, who wouldn't want that? When the teens first attacked him, it felt like he was on cloud 9. The last time Bucciarati got tickled was by his father when he was younger; it was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time, and the Capo longed for it. Whenever the two troublemakers would tickle one of his companions, he squirmed and chuckled as if he were getting tickled. However, Bucciarati couldn't reveal this little secret; he was a Capo. Even still, he was only human, just like the rest of his friends and everyone else in the world. Was it so wrong to be touch-starved?

It was a crisp summer afternoon, and the two teens were at it again with their pranks. Their victim for the day was Fugo. Bucciarati had once again helped the teens make this attack possible. Bucciarati leaned against the doorframe, watching Mista and Narancia tickle the 16-year-old. The blonde had an adorable, dorky laugh that made Bucciarati smile.

"Guys, enohohohough!" Fugo giggled out, "Stohohop ihihit!"

"Sorry, Fugo, but y'know the saying," Mista said, "You're never fully dressed without a smile!"

When the gunslinger said this, Fugo exploded with laughter. Bucciarati grinned before leaving, chuckling as he placed a hand over his side.

"Shit, it feels like I can feel it more now." Bucciarati thought.

See the full post

19 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

#4

🎓TODAY IM GRADUATING FROM HIGH SCHOOL🎓

I'll reblog this with pics from my graduation! Wish me luck!

21 notes - Posted June 21, 2022

#3

The Best Stress Reliever

This Mista x reader fic was requested by @nagitoshopejar! Thanks so much! Sorry for the wait. School is a pain, and so are college applications. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Mista has been stressed out lately and no one knows why. Luckily, you know the perfect way to help out your friend.

Word Count: 1676

⚠Warning⚠: mild swearing (in both English and Italian

Y/S/N: Your Stand Name

When you first joined Passione, you felt like you didn't fit in. But after some time, you and the guys became a family, something you never really had before. All of the boys were like your brothers. The constant "I hate yous" are only ever in jest when directed at them. Mista, for example, was like your older brother, always there to cheer you up and annoy you. He was a bundle of annoyance and fun, a deadly but perfect combination for someone like Mista. You two would always hang out, play games, and often patrol together. You couldn't ask for a better friend.

However, Mista wasn't himself today or yesterday. You had noticed this, and it worried you; it worried the others. He wasn't his usual laid-back or relaxed self; he was more skittish and alert. With each passing day, you could see his award-winning smile fading away, the thing you loved most about him. To see it slowly fading is almost sickening. You could tell that he was stressing over something, but you didn't know what. Seeing him like this bothered you, and you wanted to help. Luckily, thanks to some intel from Narancia, you had a sure-fire way to get Mista back to his old self again.

It was a warm afternoon, and you and Mista had gotten back from patrol. When you opened the door, Giorno welcomed you home.

"Thanks, Giorno," you said sincerely, "Where are the others?"

"In the living room." Giorno said, stepping to the side.

When you stepped inside, Mista walked past and walked upstairs. You sighed as you watched him go.

"Is everything okay, Y/N?" Giorno asked.

"No. I'm worried about Mista," you said, "He's stressed, I can tell."

"Well, luckily, you remember the special way to make him smile again, right?" Narancia asked, walking up to you and the blonde.

You grinned at the young boy and nodded.

"Right," you said, "Give me a few minutes, and Mista tornerà di nuovo al suo vecchio io!"

You smiled at your brothers-in-arms before sprinting up the stairs. When you reached the last step, you slid and stopped in front of Mista's room. Breathing out a sigh, you raised your hand and knocked on the door. A low grumble came from the other side of the door.

"Aw, c'mon, Mista! Don't be like that," you said, "Sto entrando, che ti piaccia o no."

You turned the knob and pushed the door open. Your shoulders slumped when you saw your friend sprawled out on his bed. You sighed silently and walked over to your troubled friend. You sat down on the sheets and turned to the gunslinger.

"Stai bene, Mista?" you asked.

Mista grumbled a "yes" before going silent.

"Do you want a hug?" you asked sweetly.

All Mista did was nod. Knowing he wasn't going to budge, you laid across his back and hooked your arms under his, cuddling the gunslinger. Mista groaned and brought his hands up to squeeze yours.

"Vuoi parlare di questo?" you asked.

Mista shook his head and tightened his grip around your hands.

"I wanna stay like this if that's okay..." Mista said softly.

You nodded against his back and melted into it. You almost felt bad for what's about to come next; keyword, almost. When Mista's grip on your hands loosened, you pulled them back and positioned them under his armpits. You called upon Y/S/N and had it hold down Mista's wrists.

"Preparati a ridere, amico mio stressato..." you whispered.

Chuckling to yourself, you dug into the gunslinger's armpits. The gunslinger yelped and tried to pull his arms down, only to realize that he was trapped.

See the full post

24 notes - Posted February 13, 2022

#2

I GOT ACCEPTED TO SETON HALL UNIVERSITY😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆

ONE OF MY TOP PICKS

See the full post

27 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

3 MORE HOURS UNTIL THE NEW YEAR OVER HERE😆😆😆

How long until ur New Year? 💚(reblog ur response)💚

33 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hello! I saw you opened requests... May I ask for a female character x Tommy Shelby?

Here's the plot: the protagonist wants to kill him cause he's responsible of her brother's death. She knows he's vulnerable due to Grace's death and she gets close to him taking advantage on his need to have someone beside. A night of love is the perfect moment in which she can carry out her plan, having him alone, disarmed and off guard.. (So NSFW is perfectly ok 😝)

Whether she ends up killing him or not is up to you 🍷 surprise me ✨

I'd just like to have the female protagonist on the "dominant" part. Like... In the show Tom is always the one who wants everything under his supreme control and many fics depict him as such ... Well, he gives me totally opposite vibes, if you know what I mean 😂

That's all ✨ I'm looking forward to reading this! ❤

This was a super fun request!!!! I hope I got what you mean..... I tried really hard. Honestly kind of a slut for sub Tommy. Never thought about it before- but - I might be in love.

Any way because I'm such a softy I made two ending options.... I'll let you all decide which one I was more into ;)

Warnings: dealing with loss, murder, gang type stuff, seduction with bad intentions, sex, oral sex fem receiving, orgasms, kinda kinky, hopefully hot

Eventually the moment he was dreading was clear in view. The large house came into sight making his stomach turn violently. As if sensing it Charlie started to kick up a fuss. His little cries for his mother doing nothing to settle the pain in his chest. 

Grace was dead. This house was horrible. Charlie seemed to loudly agree in his own way. So why did he come back? 

Appearances mostly. He needed to get his feet back on the ground and settle the situation. The Russians had a tight rope around his neck, if only they would pull a little tighter. The Italians were waiting in the shadows like hungry wolves. 

Charlie’s pudgy little hand tugged on the white collar of his shirt making him hate himself for thinking such things. 

He got Charlie settled back into the house, envious of the sleeping child next to him. He had no idea when the next time he would be able to rest. 

There was a lot of work to be done. 

______

Readers POV

Growing up in a mob family was not what most people expected. Your brothers carried an unhealthy amount of pressure, while you were completely ignored.

The Shelby - Italian feud had carefully made its way to your family. Your youngest brother was to prove himself to the family & organization by killing the ever annoying Thomas Shelby. Not a simple task by any means. 

You wished it was you that pulled the trigger, you wouldn't have missed. The aftermath of Grace Shelby’s body crumpling to the floor left you with two dead brothers, and an engagement to a man you hated. They fought hard to get out but it was no use. He went for a grand shooting in the middle of the room, your other brother's attempt to get him out was useless. Your stomach twisted as you knew taking a shot like that was a suicide attempt… Maybe this was his way out of the family business. Tears stung your eyes and you shook your head, surely he wouldn't have left the consequences on his siblings? 

You felt trapped by this grief, maddened by it. The way everyone reacted, especially your father, started a mass unraveling of your whole life. You became buried under harsh realizations and questions on how you were raised. Everything started to evaporate once they were dead, leaving you with a drive to fix the unfixable. You knew that there was no way out of your life's path, yet your mind was determined, spinning in blood lust. 

You laid in bed as the cool summer air caressed your skin. Mind engulfed by every bit of information you had collected about what had happened. The cocky smiles of their faces the last time you saw them slowly fading, replaced by the heavier, more traumatizing memory of their broken bodies being returned to your family. 

The rest of the crime families your father associated with thought it pathetic, and embarrassing. Out of shame or fear from the Shelby family, people started to try and back away from your father. This meant you were requested to marry into the Changretta family. You were given the task to clear the family name, strengthen bonds, bring the business back, all well someone else got to destroy Thomas Shelby….

A plan had started to form in the absence of sleep. They were your brothers, it was your family given the task, naturally it should be you to complete the task. If you could kill Thomas your family's reputation would be restored earning you enough praise to slip out of the unwanted marriage. Not to mention they would surely benefit from the division of the Shelby estate. 

You drape yourself in black fabric and sit in church everyday. Asking for forgiveness, asking for a direction forward. More than revenge, you wanted a way to escape all this life. Killing Thomas just seemed like the best way forward. Looking at the statue of Mother Mary in front of you, her eyes filled with something you’d never felt. You wanted her to tell you what to do. 

No clouds in the sky broke, sending a beam of light into the room. No one descended from the sky. No messages fluttering from the grand ceiling. 

Instead a group of girls sat in the back of the church attempting to speak in hushed whispers. You were annoyed at first, until you recognised one of the voices to be Ruth Berryman, a known friend of Ada Shelby. You listened as she described the family's peculiar way of grieving the loss of Grace. How Thomas had disappeared and would be returning to the public eye in a charity event hosted at his house. She went on to speculate that he’d hidden himself away to drown in women and opium. 

You didn't have any opium, but you were remarkably pretty when you wanted to be… All you needed to do was dress up and sneak in, then get Thomas alone.

A silence fell over the space as Elizabeth Gray made an entrance. You pulled your scarf around your head a little tighter as you watched her slender frame fall into a seat. She looked exhausted, you felt a strange sense of sadness for her. The image of your brothers flashing in your mind pushed that feeling down until it was unreachable. 

___________________

Your parents were more distant than ever, no one noticed you plotting away in your bedroom. As long as you were on top of your wedding planning no one paid you any notice. The loneliness started to seep into your bones again, making you feel weighed down. You poured another cup of coffee trying to shake the feeling off. Everyone would see you clearly once this was over…

The night of the event had come around. You had an entrance secured and a clear exit plan. 

You looked over your body in the gold framed mirror. The fabric rested heavily on your curves. You would never normally wear anything like this, and you couldn't escape the powerful feeling it gave you. Your body was displayed in a way that was elegant while also being undeniably sexy. You pinned your dark hair up and did your make up. 

You’d never seduced anyone before but looking over your final look you felt it shouldn't be too hard.

You pulled up to the large house, leaving your car down by the road. You were late enough that no cars were pulling up the drive to notice your descent on the house. Your long black wool coat covered you from chin to ankle, making you look a part of the woven night. 

You made your entrance under a fake name and joined the mess without anyone thinking twice about you. 

_________________________

Tommy POV

He wished that this event had been unnecessary. The effort it took to stand about moving from conversation to conversation was almost unbearable. His bones were on fire, head pounding, all he could do was pour more whiskey and hoped it would take the edge off. The night dragged on, until a woman caught his eye. 

She was tall, wrapped in a tight red dress, and had a look in her eye. The room seemed to be swallowed by her presence, the light bending to wrap around her. Her dark eyes held a gaze that made it hard to breathe. She walked over to him like this was her house, tall and proud, despite not being invited. 

“Mr. Shelby.” Her voice floated around him like smoke. She looked content as he held the silence between them, searching her eyes for what secrets they were holding. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Y/N L/N” She held her hand out to him. He knew she was lying but he couldn't help but the wave of desire that crashed over him and holding her slender fingers in his hand. 

They chatted for a while, no mention of Grace, or work. He met everyone of her lies and questions with honesty. He watched as his answers spun around in her eyes, she seemed conflicted, but not surprised. He wanted to impress her, but she was unmovable, like stone. She conducted the conversation, and decided which of his answers she wanted to elaborate on. 

Things started to wind down, and he regretfully had to remove himself from her presence to wrap the evening up. She showed no interest in leaving, pouring herself another glass of whiskey. 

Polly set in on him about how stupid this was, but he shrugged it off. He knew that there was something this woman wanted to say to him, he was determined to figure it out. Everything about her was weighted heavily with significance. She was here for a reason, maybe because of the Russians, maybe the Italians, but he felt it was something above business. She had nothing vicious in her eyes, there was something she wanted desperately, but it wasn't violence. 

___________________________

Readers POV 

Thomas Shelby was an interesting man. He didn't try to step on your toes, he let you lead the conversation. Never mocking, always hanging on your words. His answers were not what you expected. He wasn't what you expected. Every time you touched him you felt something bigger than grief for the first time in so long. 

Eventually he took you into his study to wait while he wished his guests well. You listened as his family loudly made their way upstairs. Stumbling and laughing on the stairs. Elizabeth Gray’s voice carried into the office as she laughed and poked fun at another Shelby woman. 

You thought about snooping around his desk but you were stopped by the picture of a woman staring back at you. 

His wife's eyes found the words in the back of your head and twisted them painfully. She was dead, and the sadness in him was still very visible to someone who was grieving just the same. Dead at the hands of your brother. He flashed before you and you started to feel sick. 

It was either this or be married. Unfortunately your mind was already set. 

Thomas entered the room slowly, his eyes dragging over your lounging body. The couch was comfortable and the fire light only made everything seem more warm and  intimate. 

“Sit with me?” It was meant to be a question but it came out more like an order. He looked at you for a moment before sitting next to you. He was so close you could feel the cold air still attached to his suit jacket. 

You didn’t want to talk anymore. It would only make this harder for you in the long run. You needed to get him out of his jacket, make sure he didn't have any weapons still on him. 

You raised your hand to brush your fingertips along the short hair on the side of his head. He closed his eyes, and leaned into your touch, your heart gave a twinge as the fire light only made him look more tired. 

You were going to fuck up if you kept this up. You dragged your hand down and tugged on his jacket, he wordlessly removed it. 

“And the vest” You whispered, there was something in his eyes that made you hate yourself. A wetness started to pool between your legs, even your own body was betraying you. 

You pulled your skirt up your thighs and moved to straddle his lap. His hands went to your hips to help settle you into place. You felt the power of sitting here on his lap, his eyes heavy as he looked at you. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” You asked in a smoky tone. His eyes flashed in a way that made you feel like gravity had increased. You were falling into him more and more.

“Yes” His tone was breathy and you wished things were different as you studied him. He was so willing to let you take charge. You liked being seen. 

He waited patiently for your mouth to reach his, he let your lips take charge, and you deepened the kiss slowly. He was breathless, cheeks flushed, his hands were digging into your hips painfully. You loved the way he clung to your body, how badly he needed you to take his pain away. 

Your hand wrapped around the side of his neck causing him to moan. You pushed his head back to rest on the top of the couch exposing the length of his pale throat. You went in for a deeper kiss, holding his neck firmly in place you—----

Option one: 

Take your other hand up to your chest and pull the small knife from between your breasts. Quickly you drag it across the skin of his neck. He gasped into your mouth as the blood started to rush down his body. You looked into his eyes and admired the love you felt. 

“Thank you” He whispered softly. You held his body while he left this earth for something better. He slipped away so peacefully you knew that it must have been more of a favor to him than anything. 

The house was quiet and you made your way to the window behind the desk and slipped away into the night peacefully. Things went back to usual in your family so you decided it was in your best interest to move on. The war got worse, Tommy's brothers took over and his Aunt was determined to destroy your family. You had the money, so you ran away, unnoticed, placing as much distance between you and Birmingham as possible.

Option Two:

You stopped suddenly. Looking over his face.

“Tell me what it is.” He whispered, pupils blown out. You knew that it would be suicide to tell him the truth. Death seemed like a friend you would greet with open arms. Your vision was filled with the photo on his desk, his wife. His dead wife. The smaller photos of a little boy. Eyes bright, motherless. You pressed your head against his and took a shaky breath. 

“My brother - I - I came here to kill you.” You watched how his face didn't change. Stayed just as relaxed and calm. 

“What have you decided then?” He asked like he was asking if it was raining. You knew a part of him wishes you would go through with it, just like there was a part of you that would be more than happy to die at his hand. 

“I can’t do it.” You said feeling a weight lift off of you. 

“Why not?” His eyes were back in focus now searching you. 

“You feel different -” You couldn't explain it. He was different and it was intoxicating. “And you have a kid upstairs.” You shook your head. You would either die right here, or you would go home to die everyday beside your husband. Either way you’d finally made your choice. 

His big hands ran along your body and you could see him weighing his options carefully. 

“Be a shame if either of us died without fucking first eh?” 

You nodded at his crude words and your mouths met again instantly. 

You both fought for control at first, ripping each other's clothes off, hands groping frantically. You ended up falling off the couch landing flat on your back. The texture of the carpet was surprisingly soft and the heat from the fire kept you comfortable. He parted your legs, leaning down towards you. You gripped a handful of the longer hair at the top of his head and used all your strength to push his head where you wanted it. He let out a deep moan as you pressed his face into your hot flesh. He submitted entirely and ate you out like he was starved. Tongue caressing you coupled with the sharp suction created by his mouth had you writhing. 

“Ah yes. So good. Fuck -Tom” Your words came spiraling out of you as he worked you over. His eyes flashed up at you with a different kind of need. He wanted to make you happy, he wanted to know it made you happy. 

You were getting close, but you wanted to cum around him. You pushed his face off and he got up on his knees, heavy cock standing proudly. You wrapped your slender finger around him, the walls off your pussy fluttering at the size of him. God he was going to destroy you. You could see he was about to lose his patience with your hand, you were naked and strung out. It was his time to take charge. 

“Are you ready?” You asked him, tightening your grip on him, you wanted to push him further. 

“Yes” He moved toward you but you only squeezed him further causing him to moan. 

“See if I’m ready” You whispered into his ear like it was a dirty secret. You felt his fingers push into you slowly and his head dropped to rest on your shoulder. You let out a moan when his fingers rubbed against the spot you needed him the most. 

“Feels so good, so good at stretching me open” You whisper, feeling his jaw clench against your neck. You wanted to see his face but wouldn't push him. You had no idea what you were doing or why it felt this good. 

“Feel how wet you made me?” He let out a deep groan and you felt his cock twitch in your hand. 

“You think I'm wet enough?” 

“Yes” He answered out of breath. 

“Are you sure? You're so big” 

“Fuck - Yes” He was so far gone and you’d barley touched him. You were fairly confident that you could make him cum just like this, and it would still be the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. 

“You want to fuck me now?” You pulled his cock against your wet folds causing him to make a small strangled noise. 

You took that as the answer it was, lining the head of his cock up with your wet entrance you guided his hips forward. You expected him to take over, rip through you to find his release, take his revenge. Instead he followed the wordless directions of the hand you had placed on his hip. This time it was your turn to groan. He stretched you out so slowly, soon you were at your limit. Taking all of him was a beautiful and painful task. Guiding him to pull out and slowly move back in pleasure won over the pain and your hips moved to meet his shallow thrust.

“God, you fill me so well” You felt his body melt under the praise. You guided his hips in and out of you slowly feeling yourself slip away. The pace got quicker gradually and eventually he was fucking you with a stregth that ruined you for anyone else. 

There was only so much you could take before you demanded he touch you. His thumb circled your clit, his body pushing you somewhere it hadn't been before.

“Please, dont stop - Tom - Ah - youre going to make me cum - fuck baby make me cum” Words spiraled out of your moth and he drank each one of them down. Fucking you harder, he took you over the edge, your body swallowing him. Walls rhythmically contracting pull him over the edge spilling inside you. He rode both of the orgasms out before collapsing on you. Your arms held him tightly, not wanting him or the feeling inside you to go. 

He broke your hold and held himself above you. His hand came up to caress the side of your neck and you took one last look of his blue eyes before closing your own. You tilted your chin up exposing his neck. You waited for his other hand to embrace your neck, for him to take your life. 

“Promise you won’t bring harm to me or my family.” 

Your eyes flew open and met his gaze. “I promise” He gave you a nod then pulled out of you slowly. His mouth moved to suck a deep mark into your throat before he pushed himself back inside you. After pulling another orgasm from you he cleaned the both of you up. 

“What are your plans for next friday?” He asked as you both sat on the floor in front of the couch. You were sipping whiskey and smoking cigarettes unsure of what to make of the situation that just happened. 

“I’m supposed to be getting married.” 

“For business or love?” 

“Business, my brothers couldn't kill you and that led to a lot of problems.” 

His face twisted briefly remembering the problems it caused him as well. He was quiet and you felt yourself yearning to apologize. 

“We both lost a lot because of this. I don't even know who started all of  it but I’d like to end it. Leave all of it, everyone and thing behind if I could” He studied you carefully before lighting another cigarette. 

“How bout I make a counter offer then?” His words hit you like a truck. Surely he couldn't be serious. 

“I’ll marry you. Take the territory that would have been handed down to your brothers. In return you can do what you like within reason and the fighting stops.”

You thought about it for a long moment. You thought about all the plans everyone was making, how much destruction was about to move into action.  

“Can I do what I like to you?”You asked in a cheeky tone, desperate to stop thinking about everything. You watched his gaze get hungry. 

“Most certainly” 

“I won't share you. With anyone, ever” The words were out of your mouth before you realized what you said. He may not love you, this may be for business, but the thought of someone else touching him and having him like that caused your blood to boil.

“Somehow I don't think that will be a problem” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a ghostly smile. 

You clink your glasses together and fell back into a comfortable silence, your head resting on his shoulder. 

___

They did get married, it was a business deal that ended the feuding. (Saving John) 

She freaks out about how to look after Charlie because her parents were so distant towards her growing up that she has no idea what to do. Polly and her bond over this. Charlie almost immediately gets attached to her. Eventually she proves herself to the rest of the family. 

She takes good care of Tommy, giving him someone to trust. But she's very opinionated and they fight a lot. Its explosive and usually ends with them fucking against any surface. She just wants the family to be protected and doesn't like taking big risks. So they balance each other out a little. Tommy’s calm and she’s so tired of being calm that the first chance she gets to lay into someone she takes it. 

The first time she had to kill someone it was to protect Charlie. She broke down after the situation because she almost did that to Tommy. Everything she had now - a family that loved her and respected her, a husband that paid attention / was kind to her, a little boy that called her mum and ran to her every time he was scared - She got all of that from Tommy - He has to hold her for hours before she calms down. That's when they realize that they really love each other.

Tags list: @tommydoesntpayforsuits @misselsbells06 @kpopgirlbtssvt

If anyone wants to be added to the list just let me know in my inbox!

[violettduchess]

Aheeeee!! FIRST OF ALL, I'd love to take this chance to say that I have always been awed and inspired by your writing! You are the third person I followed ever since I joined tumblr and aaaaaa you're so so good! You always inspire me to write!

I will throw my shyness away and hehe wanna request🙈 Can you write about an MC who gushes or cries while reading a book? I really love your Ikevamp works so hehe, maybe 3 ikevamp dudes? SORRY AND THANK YOU!!

Have a nice day!!!

A/N: Thank you for the request anon and for the kind words. Here you go: 3 different vamps, 3 different fic flavors 😉

Theodorus

It’s later than you even know as you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, your eyes never leaving the page they are fixed on. The ticking of the clock, the slow arc the moon is making across the sky just outside the library window, the candle slowly but surely sinking to its waxy knees are all lost to you because you are not there. A book has caught your imagination, sunk its claws deep into it and taken complete control. Nothing exists for you outside the world you are seeing so vividly in your mind.

You are so enchanted by the story you are reading, you don’t notice the door to the library slowly open, nor the man who steps inside, his gaze sweeping the room like a lighthouse scanning the sea for dangerous rocks. He sees the dim candlelight and the top of your head peeking out from the wingback chair and can’t help the clucking noise his tongue makes against the roof of his mouth as he walks towards you. He’s been worried. No one he asked knew where you were.

His steps die the moment he sees your face. Delight has made your eyes bright as stars, your cheeks pink with pleasure and your lips pressed together in anticipation as you read, one hand gripping the book tightly, the other pressed unwittingly against your heart. 

Theo slowly lowers himself into the chair adjacent from yours, quiet so as not to disturb you. Because he recognizes the way your soul is freely showing itself, the way a work of art has loosened it from the shackles of your body and given it fragile, temporary wings. It is a feeling he is intimately acquainted with.

You finish the chapter you were reading and a visible shudder runs through you. It is only then that you look up, startled when you see Theo rising from the chair and heading toward you.

“Theo?” He kneels in front of you, bending his head and takes your hand, the one that was pressed to your heart, and lifts it to his lips, placing a tender kiss to the top. Setting aside your book, you reach out to stroke his sun-kissed hair. “Theo? Is everything ok?” you ask again, your tone soft with affection and pitched in slight concern.

He offers you a smile, one that holds all the love he feels for you in its curves. “Everything is fine, Hondje.” He glances at the book you’ve set aside for him. “Would you like to tell me what you have been reading?”

Leonardo

“Sei pazzo?? Perchè lo hai fatto?!” Are you crazy? Why did you do that?

Lumiere is very displeased as he watches the hallway bop up and down from his prison in Leonardo’s arms. His ears are flat, his tail flicking in annoyance as he has to listen to his vampire scolding him in very rapid Italian. He should be praising him for his daring attempt to tackle the entire flock of geese that had been waddling around so temptingly on the lawn of the mansion.

He also knows his human will likely be cross as well. She is never pleased when he does things she considers “not safe.” Bah. What do they know about the thrill of the hunt?

The door to Leonardo’s room opens. His vampire stops walking when he takes in the sight before him. His human, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her face wet, surrounded by sodden handkerchiefs and a book in her lap. This causes Leonardo’s muscles to go slack in surprise for just a moment. Lumiere seizes his chance and leaps to freedom, dashing around a pile of papers and wiggling himself into a cat-sized darkened corner under the desk where he knows it will take them forever to find him. 

You don’t notice Lumiere’s daring prison break. You’ve been sobbing for almost a quarter of an hour. Leonardo rushes to your side.

“Cara mia? What happened?” He wraps his arms around you, his beautiful sunlight eyes now clouded with concern.

“Oh, Leo,” you managed between stuttered breaths, “It’s-It’s s-s-so sad!” You are lost again to a wave of tears, a veritable monsoon of emotion and your poor boyfriend is wracking his brain while cuddling you close, trying to figure out what on earth could have happened in the twenty minutes he was chasing Lumiere around outside. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” He reaches for the least-used looking handkerchief and hands it to you as you nod, blowing your nose.

“You know the book I’ve been reading? Well the poor but handsome soldier with the heart of gold who fell in love with the wealthy daughter of an evil Baron and won her affection through sweet antics and acts of bravery, including saving her favorite pony from a poisonous snake, has died a very heroic death saving a group of orphan children on his way back from the war, and will now never know that the daughter of the Baron, who he secretly married right before he left and was banished to her grandmother’s estate when her father found out about the marriage but then escaped, was rushing back to find him because she has given birth to his child and was only a few kilometers away from the place where he died and now they will never, ever reunite and it’s just SO SAD.” You burst into a flood of fresh tears, wrapping your arms around Leonardo and burying your wet face in his shoulder.

He has no idea what on earth you are talking about. He understood maybe a third of what you said. But what he does know is how to hold you to him, a hand running up and down your back, comforting and calming as he kisses your temple. “Ah, cara mia. Amore mio. It’s ok. Shhh.” He rocks you in his arms, continuing to murmur sweet words and letting you ride the wave of emotions you are so swept up in.

Lumiere watches the both of you from the dark corner under the desk and feels justified in his opinion that you are both the crazy ones, not him.

Faust

Diligent. Focused. Stubborn. Johann Georg Faust is all these things. But even he is having difficulty concentrating at the moment. Because right now, as he sits at the desk in his room, trying to write down his notes about the day’s experiments, you are already in bed, knees up with a book resting against your thighs and you are sniffling. Loudly.

He glances over his shoulder, his elegant hands splayed across the blank pages of his notebook, and draws a breath as he attempts to assess the situation. You are reading something that is apparently triggering a very emotional response. You’re crying…..and then he turns fully in his chair, thoughts of his experiments dissolving as he focuses entirely on you.

Your eyes are liquid stars, their light clinging in radiant drops to your eyelashes. Your cheeks are pink and wet as rose petals in autumn rain. You are Isolde, leaning over Tristan’s lifeless body, a vision of captivating sorrow.

He stands, moved to action by both your sadness and the beauty connected to it. You are startled by his sudden weight on the bed next to you, blinking as you reach up to wipe away your tears.

“I’m sorry, Johann. I didn’t mean to-” The rest of your words wilt on your lips as his index finger presses against them. His other hand is touching your cheek, cupping it in his hand as if it were made of the finest porcelain. His eyes remind you of the unearthly green of burning copper sulfate. Spellbinding, unsettling, heart-racing. 

He moves faster than shadows when the light is blown out, covering you with his body, his mouth claiming yours. Two flames burn within him, vying for control. The first wants to warm you, to chase away your sadness with a heat that wraps itself around your bones like a bonfire on a cold, autumn night. The other wants to incinerate you, to have you burn in the flames of rapturous pleasure until you are nothing but soft ash between his fingers. 

As you wrap your arms around him, as you hear the soft hiss of his fangs protracting, the book that had so moved you falls to the floor, its spine hitting the wood with a loud thump.

Neither of you notice.

💧

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru

[casualpersonapersonpeach]

The punishment of Atlas.

(a Thomas Hewitt FanFiction)

Hello, this is my first time writing a long fic! Please bear with me, I'm not used to it. Enjoy!

(TW: mentions of the word abuse. No other details mentioned.)

Hurt, comfort, angst

Title: Crouching Figure of Atlas

Artist: Baldassare Tommaso Peruzzi (Italian, Ancaiano 1481–1536 Rome)

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

During the wet seasons in texas, Tommy was stuck outside working. Hands calloused and bruised. For the past 3 hours Thomas had been breathing in cold air, his lungs shaking a little bit more with each breath. It was getting dark. Thomas had been feeling stuck a lot more in particular today. He feels like his world is so small. Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, bad family, being constantly berated. He had felt like his whole world has always been reduced.

He had a fixed routine, and it never changed. For even a man of such few words, it was a dreadful existence.

Peaking through the window, you could see how gloomy he looked. All this rain had been feeding the flowers you had planted, the grass a lot greener too. You thought a small gesture might make him feel better. You knew you couldn't save him from his situation, but you wanted to at least help him feel more free, more alive.

You finished tying a bow around the flowers. You hadn't known it, but Thomas loves flowers, they remind him of you. Gentle, beautiful, a sign of growth. A second chance to him. As soon as Tommy came through the door, into his bedroom, you had been waiting with a towel, a warm drink, and a beautiful handmade bouquet in your hands. Tommy dropped to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nestling his face to your stomach. Sobbing his poor aching heart out. He felt so guilty offloading onto you. And you could tell by his attempt to muffle his cries. Half of it was all that stress, anger, and hopelessness. But a lot of it was his gratefulness for you. He thinks you're otherworldly. He never imagined he'd have somebody so willing, so faithful to help him. To comfort him. To love him wholely. His entire existence had been lonesome.

"... Tommy... Are you alright?" You asked knowing there was an obvious answer, but you asked because it helps Thomas communicate with you more. Those small steps. He found it so hard to tell you what was bothering him, because so much was wrong with his life. He didn't know how to put it into words, but he wanted to tell you. His eyebrows furrowed. " I-I am so unhappy. My uncle's, my work, how we live.... It's too much for me to bear".

You had run your fingers through his drenched hair. For this would go around in circles, it always had, it always would. He had felt unsalvageable. You had promised Thomas that moment you would help him get through, no matter how impossible it felt. But you knew deep down, it wouldn't change, you knew it couldn't.

Still, you'd do all you can.

You were the only person Thomas felt comfortable telling how pressured he felt. But unfortunately, it all takes a turn. No matter how much of a sun ray you are, this can't go away. He was Atlas, and the whole world was crushing on his shoulders. On him. Thomas had felt punished. Had a god somewhere have it out for him? Who was his Zeus bestowing this upon him? Why had he been sentenced to such a life. Such a burden. Being belittled his whole life, being abused by his family. Been forced into killing, cannibalism, his heinous crimes. Not a day went by without guilt. Why did he have to be responsible, bear the weight of the entire world, for people who abuse and discard him? The worst part to him though, was that this will never change. He felt somehow he had been sentenced guilty since conception. But why? What crime punishable by divinity did he commit while being a child to deserve it?. He knew now that he would forever be inherently evil. He can't take back his crime, no matter how forced into it and how trapped he was. For his eternity, he'd spend every waking moment, cracking under the weight. Tremblimg. Paying back his crime on his shaking knees.

He could scream, bleed, shake, cry. Only for a deep void of space would be forced to hear.

The pebbles are falling.