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arya-is-a-fanatic · 37 minutes ago

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Lawrence being Bellini’s emotional support cardinal is so funny to me. Like “I’m having crippling anxiety about this, lemme run it by my emotionally stable friend, the one who’s crashing out so bad he couldn’t open a ziploc bag”. Unfortunately it turns out thomas IS the emotionally stable friend, because the whole curia has the collective sanity of a chihuahua on cocaine.

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arya-is-a-fanatic · 8 days ago

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Tedesco wtf??? Poor Aldo, I’d just cry if I were him

Ficlet (Conclave): "Gods of Italy"

Aldo Bellini is running late. Tedesco gives him a lift. (dark tone but PG)

Aldo Bellini is walking a road in the hills of Molise by the light of his signal-less cell phone at eleven PM. He is somewhere between the wreck of his car and the Sant'Agnese conference centre, and mud has infiltrated his ferragamo brogues. He has been walking for God knows how long, since his car began to spit smoke and then trundled to an anticlimactic halt. He is too late now for dinner, and the brothers will be wondering what became of him. He guiltily hopes that someone has alerted la polizia. The embarrassment would be terrible, but the blister beneath his left toes is growing immense.

Aldo has not met a single car on the road, so when headlights flare behind him he stumbles, turning, hand high to block the glare, his handsome face confused. Should he try hitching? Even getting murdered would be a preferable alternative to the carnage he is wreaking on his shoes.

The car jerks and screeches to a halt beside him, as though whoever is driving had no intention of stopping until the very last moment. Aldo bends to the window. There could not be a more hateful face staring back from that darkness. Smiling eyes and gleeful teeth.

"Tedesco," says Aldo, and perhaps the smile he forces looks natural in the starless night.

"Bellini!" Tedesco's mouth spreads in a bigger, worser smile. "You are on your way to the conference? You New Yorkers always go by foot, eh?" He stretches New Yorkers out with a parodic American accent.

"My car broke down," Aldo grimaces.

"Ha! Che sfortuna! Come. I'll give you a ride."

Tedesco leans over and unlocks the passenger door, and for a moment Aldo stands there in the inky black, contemplating the massive invisible hills, and he wonders if a lift from Tedesco would be worse than tripping over a rock and finding himself dead in a ditch.

God would probably not approve.

Aldo gets into the car.

"Molto bene. See? Nice and warm in here, eh? You do not have to worry about the wolves." Tedesco changes gear and the car rolls back into motion.

“There are no wolves around here,” Aldo mutters, but now he’s unsure. He clicks on his seatbelt and a few careful glances at the dashboard tell him the car is an early model Lancia Thema. He badly wants to take off his shoes and examine his blister, but he would rather die than allow Tedesco to see his bare, swollen feet. He tries again to smile. “So, you’re very late to the conference.”

“I had errands to run,” says Tedesco.

Aldo’s smile grows quizzical. “At eleven at night?”

Tedesco takes his eyes off the road to give Aldo a huge and frightening grin. “God does not sleep, Bellini. Neither should we.”

Aldo’s eyes flicker back to the rapid roll of headlight-stark roadway before them. “Please watch where you’re going, it’s very dark and these are bad roads.”

“Ah, yes, very dark, very dangerous, molto spaventoso, my American friend.”

Aldo thins his smile. “Possiamo parlare italiano, if you prefer.”

Tedesco takes one hand off the wheel to gesture wildly and the car veers slightly to the left. “No, no, let us not overstrain the American. He must have had such a long and tiring walk in the dark.” Tedesco laughs with what might be good humour. “But also, the sound of Italian in your yank mouth makes me sick.”

“Please keep both hands on the wheel,” says Aldo in what is almost a whine, and he covers his eyes with his hand so as not to see the undulating road. Of course Tedesco drives like a maniac. He drives as he talks: wildly, with nauseating abandon.

“Scared of wolves outside the car, scared of the road inside it,” mocks Tedesco. He still has only one hand on the wheel. “Always the neurotic, eh, Bellini? What do you think the psychobabblers would say about that, eh? Your subconscious neuroses, your little problems.”

“Preferring to drive sensibly is not neurotic,” says Bellini, then he smacks the dashboard. “Jesus Christ, watch out!”

The car screeches and makes an almost ninety degree turn as a deer stands stock-still, terrified in its confusion, and then the car barrels on around the corner of the hillside.

“Oh Christ,” breathes Aldo, and rubs his hands over his face. Beside him, Tedesco cackles.

“What an adventure! If I had been driving more slowly, we would have hit it. Perhaps we should go faster.”

“We are going fast enough,” Aldo snaps, but the speedometer begins to creep up. 70… 80… 90kmh…

“Are you afraid?” says Tedesco. The night screams past them: empty indigo skies, the abyss of the hills, the black scrawls of trees, the flash of headlights on white rocks. “There is nothing to fear. We are God’s chosen people!”

“Slow down!” Aldo shouts over the roar of the engine. “You’ll get us killed. Just slow down, or let me out, my God!”

“Your God?” And then Tedesco removes his other hand from the wheel, his smile so big it could rip his face in two. “The God of your American neuroses? The God of the new world? This is in culo ai lupi. This is Italian nowhere. The only God here is my God.”

“Put your hands on the wheel! Put your hands on the fucking wheel!” Aldo’s voice cracks and Tedesco’s laugh shatters again and again in his ears, and the car cruises past 110kmh, past 120kmh.

“If God loves us, He will save us!” shouts Tedesco, and he shuts his eyes as a cackle ascends the oubliette of his throat.

“Oh Christ.” Aldo reaches his body over the car, over Tedesco, and he grasps the wheel in both hands and holds it firm as he stares through bulging, terrified eyes at the winding roads of rural Italy, the unstable veins of the hills, the paths that might lead to his death—

Suddenly, Aldo feels the car begin to rapidly slow. He does not dare look away from the road to check the speedometer but the engine’s whine dies down and the blur outside the window resolves into the shapes of trees. Slowly, the car winds down to a halt.

Breathing hard, Aldo turns to look at Tedesco. The face behind him is granite cold.

“Do not presume to drive my car, Bellini,” he says.

Then Tedesco makes a hissing sound with his tongue and gestures, shooing Aldo away like he were a stray cat. Obediently, Aldo leans back to his side of the car.

“Americans,” Tedesco mutters, and he eases onto the accelerator once again. This time, the speedometer does not cross seventy the whole silent time that Tedesco drives Aldo safely, in one piece, to the conference centre.

Aldo’s heart beats like it’s trying to kill him and he breathes so hard it’s like he’s drowning. His blister has burst and dampened his sock. He closes his sweat-damp eyes and prays the ave Maria. It is all the same God, he tells himself. The God of the terrified deer and the invisible wolves and Tedesco is his God, too, and He loves him. But even when they pull up in the friendly glow of Sant'Agnese and men he knows come out to greet him with relief, Aldo cannot help but cast a glance back into the dark beyond, into the huge black mountains, with Tedesco standing before them and grinning with hysterical teeth, and he cannot be sure that the only God out there is his.

#conclave #aldo bellini #goffredo tedesco

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arya-is-a-fanatic · 16 days ago

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"Lovable Annoyance" a Xavi/Iker Casillas Fanfic

Title: “Lovable Annoyance”

Pairing: Xavi/Iker Casillas

Disclaimer: This is just a ton of lies…

Rating: 0+

Word Count: 720

Summary: Xavi is sometimes annoyed by Iker’s worrying, but he loves him nonetheless… a short fic completely inspired by that pic up there.

Comments: The more comments I get, the more motivated I am to write. I put a lot into these fics, so it’s nice to hear what you think of them, anon or not. Hope you enjoy it!

Notes: This is for Sese4r. Without her, I wouldn’t hate myself for liking Xavi. xD Also, as many of you know I’m sort of on hiatus right now, so new fics may not be posted for a while. And, as usual, thanks to iprefertosaynothing for the beta. Click her name to check out her fics! They’re great!

Language Note: Eres un pesado translates to: “You are an annoyance.” Thanks, Gab, for the Spanish lesson. xD

Don’t link this story to any other social networking site or copy and paste it anywhere, especially livejournal or fanfiction.net. It’s my original story. Have some respect. Read it and leave it here. Thank you.

Keep reading

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arya-is-a-fanatic · 16 days ago

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