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woozapooza · 10 months

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Miscellaneous post-s5 Sopranos thoughts

This is just a selection of the stuff I wrote in my journal this season.

Adriana La Cerva suffered more than Jesus.

One of my favorite things to think about in any TV show is character parallels, and The Sopranos is fantastic on that front, yet for all the time I’ve spent thinking about which Sopranos characters parallel each other, somehow it took five whole seasons for me to notice what now seems like one of the most obvious pairs: Silvio and Melfi! They’re both Tony’s confidants and his two main advisers. Melfi is kind of his emotional consigliere, and Silvio is his…business therapist? What I’m trying to say is that they complement each other in their roles in Tony’s life, and that was (finally) extremely clear in “All Due Respect.” Despite looking at Tony from such different perspectives, they give him essentially the same advice about the Tony B. situation. They both conclude that Tony S. is using noble rhetoric of love and loyalty to mask what’s really motivating him. For Silvio, that motivation is “pride” and “a problem with authority,” and for Melfi, it’s “guilt and shame” (I suspect they’re both right to some degree, though I also think they’re both being unfair by implying that noble motives and selfish ones are mutually exclusive—come on, guys, he contains multitudes!) but they agree that to make the right decision, Tony needs to be honest with himself.

Another interesting parallel: in “Long Term Parking,” Christopher essentially does to Adriana the same thing he’s mad at Tony for doing to him. He “gave [Tony S.] pieces of [his] soul,” yet Tony S. favors the loose cannon Tony B. over him. Well, Adriana gave Christopher pretty much her entire soul, yet Christopher chooses the ungrateful Tony S. over her. The difference, of course, is that Tony S.’s choice (pre-“All Due Respect”) only costs Christopher his position, while Chris’s choice costs Adriana her life. And Adriana died knowing that Christopher had chosen Tony over her, his ride-or-die. With an emphasis on the “die,” I guess. At least Pussy had some comfort in his final moments. Adriana had none.

In “Sentimental Education,” Carmela’s relationship with Wegler failed because she tried to treat it as a transactional arrangement (well, and also because he was a pretentious misogynist). In “Long Term Parking,” it’s a transaction that brings Carmela and Tony back together. I’ve seen some people paint her relationship with Wegler as pure conniving on her part, but I don’t think that’s fair. It’s clearly how she’s used to relationships working.

In that same episode, I was SO proud of Carmela for starting to wake up to the absurdity of some of the things the Catholic church has taught her.

I’m glad Carmela and Tony are back together if only because it was so painful to see how utterly alone she was during the separation. The suffocating feeling I got from watching her try to escape her awful husband’s clutches while also being vilified by her son was reminiscent of the feeling I got watching Breaking Bad, except worse, because Walter Jr. was never as vicious to Skyler as Anthony Jr. is to Carmela.

I’m generally a Meadow apologist, but she had some unbearable moments this season, especially in “Unidentified Black Males.” The drama with Finn was frustrating (and to be fair, Finn could probably have handled it better, too, but Meadow was worse), but the worst part, IMO, was what she said to Carmela: “Haven't you thought beyond being dependent on a man?” Girl that is LITERALLY WHAT SHE’S TRYING TO DO NOW. Going back to the topic of Carmela’s isolation, it’s maddening that both her “progressive” daughter and her not-even-pretending-to-be-progressive husband essentially blame her for not being able to take care of herself, while also refusing to give her credit for trying to finally carve out an independent existence.

On that topic, this season continues the theme of what I call the obstacle of expectations: the fact that change is far harder when it seems that no one around you believes that you can change. (Which is not to say that this skepticism is always unearned.) Carmela tries to have a relationship with a normal guy, but concludes that “because [she] was married to a man like Tony, [her] motives will always be called into question.” Tony greatly impresses Melfi by not hooking up with Adriana (side note, it was really sweet how proud Melfi was of him), but he’s widely believed to have done so nonetheless, so he concludes, “I might as well have fucked her.” Then he says a sarcastic “thanks” to Melfi, the one person who consistently believes in his ability to change even after all he’s put her through, as if she’s the problem. Christopher literally says that “Tony don’t believe a person can change” and is therefore holding his past as an addict against him; in the following episode, when the Tonys are making jokes at his expense, Chris, in a moment of genuinely impressive maturity, says, “Sobriety's hard enough without having to get mocked for it.” All of Janice’s work in anger management is undone in a matter of seconds by her brother deliberately trying to undo it. Tony B. justifiably complains about the stigma of being an ex-con, although he’s a complicated case because he backslides into criminality at a moment when no one is being prejudiced towards him.

On that note, I never quite felt like I got Tony B. as a character. For example, I couldn’t really make sense of why he backslid so dramatically in “Sentimental Education.” I enjoyed him nonetheless, although a large part of that is surely due to the fact that it’s basically impossible not to enjoy Steve Buscemi.

This post is getting enormous so I won’t go into detail about this, but the stories people tell—about themselves and about others, to themselves and to others—stood out as a huge theme this season. Excellent! Very Black Sails!

“The Test Dream” was so much fun. More shows should do episodes that let them bring back legions of dead characters.

Have I mentioned how much I love Melfi? No I haven’t because it’s beyond the capacity of human language to express. This season she was in 62% of the episodes (8/13). Next season she’s in 71% of the episodes (15/21), which is an improvement. I think she should be in a million percent of the episodes, but I’m also grateful that she’s ever been on my screen for even a single second.

#x #The Sopranos #Anna watches tv #Anna watches The Sopranos

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star-cherub · 9 months

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“In moments of clarity”

This is several years after my last post, warnings for violence and descriptions of graphic scenes.

The droning hum of fluorescent lights soothed Carmela as she slipped into the comfort of her familiar lab, leaving her worries in the employee locker room with her beat up tennis shoes. Despite her obvious relief to be back to work, it was known well that she was tormented by the loss she had endured, though her colleagues knew better than to bring it up and shatter her already fragile psyche.

Tracing her fingers over her clipboard she joined a group of fellow researchers in an elevator, the badge on her breast pocket and papers in hand apparently not clue enough to one of the fellow occupants that she was, in fact, a doctor just as he was. The man had a phone to his ear and forced a carrier full of hot coffee into her hands, waving off her protests as he carried on his phone call. Carmela scowled down at her hands, droplets of coffee staining her once pristine note sheet as she seethed, trying her hardest not to snap at the man. The metal doors of the elevator slid open again with a ding, and she shoved the coffee back into his hands with a look that could kill. She sighed and looked back down at her notes before carrying on towards her laboratory.

She had never been treated with quite the same respect as the other workers, perhaps it was because she didn’t attend any meetups after work, or her workaholic attitude and her insistence they break protocols for the comfort of their subjects. Or maybe.. maybe it was just because she was a woman with an aura most heinous.

Carmela slipped through the halls with her usual weary expression, eyes darting to every stimulant like a frightened animal. She was doubtlessly intelligent, her work flawlessly successful despite her lack of regard for the laboratory rules. A door slid open with a quiet whirring, the badge on her chest held up against a sensor to confirm her identity. As she entered her workspace, she was alarmed to find the room shrouded in darkness, as if no one had come through before her. This would not have been unsettling on it’s own, but she knew for certain someone should have already begun to prepare the stations for the day to come, after all she had seen her colleagues enter the elevator long before she did, there was no way she managed to slip ahead of them.

“Strange..” Carmela murmured, reaching towards the light without looking away from the darkness, the faint glow from one of the sample cases just barely illuminating a figure lingering just beyond her vision. She squinted at the odd shape, her heart rate only increasing when the light in the hall behind her flicked off.

Something was wrong.

Click click

Terribly wrong.

The more desperately she flipped the light switch the more she panicked, the situation digging its claws into her like a wild beast, leaving her with only her instincts in tact. She took a step backward into the hall, her eyes still fixed on the unmoving figure standing over her lab equipment. As she stepped back, chills thrashed across her spine, the feeling of someone pressed against her back finally bringing to light how futile any struggle really was.

A gloved hand reached around and snapped shut firmly around her mouth, suffocating her briefly and forcing her back into the pitch black lab. She stumbled forward, her assailant lifting her off the ground by the throat and snatching the security badge off her chest before they tossed the researcher aside. As Carmela was released from the vice grip, she felt her knees buckle, lungs finally swelling with air just before it was all forcefully knocked from her as she hit the floor. Her vision briefly darkened at the pain, her head throbbing terribly as she fought unconsciousness. It was there on the cold tile she was met with the milky white stare of that unmoving figure..

It was one of her colleagues.

He was strung up like a puppet, well over a hundred IV needles inserted into each of his veins and anywhere else they could fit. Held up around the throat by wires, those wide eyes were now devoid of all thought, the intelligent quips he once spat replaced by the intolerable sound of his throat gurgling.

Carmela stared slack jawed in horror, turning as quickly as her aching body would allow to try and spot their assailant, the researchers hand clammy and trembling as she grasped at the floor beneath her, searching for some sort of weapon. A hooded figure walked past her, and in a perhaps foolish attempt to stop them and demand answers, she pulled their cloak off, the strange bird like mask still hiding their true identity.

“who..” Carmela found herself gagging as pain gripped her body with a relentless and angry throbbing, warmth pooling beneath her neck. She didn’t want to know where it was from. She didn’t dare check. Her questions received no answer, and her actions barely hindered whoever it was. Carmela could hardly even make out their silhouette beyond her spotty vision. The figure seemed frustrated as they tore through the lab, clearly searching for something.

From the dangling corpse of Carmela’s late colleague, a terrible crunching and squelching could be heard, the intruder also stopped their rummaging to look at the man, who snapped his jaw reflexively towards Carmela. She gasped and began trying to push herself away, only to find that she could hardly move. Desperate for assistance, Carmela cried for help, her throat tight and aching as the words fell from her lips.

“oh please, please I can’t go through this again don’t do this.. please..” She felt a pair of hands slip beneath her arms, the intruder lifting the bleeding researcher into their arms. A deep, distorted voice crackled from beneath the strange mask, Carmela staring up at them with a dazed expression, one eyelid having trouble staying open.

“I found the data we needed. Yes. I’m taking care of it now.” Though it was warbled and unsettling.. Carmela felt a strange wave of distant recognition grip her unwaveringly. They spoke of data and orders.. seemingly into an earpiece.

“I know you….” Carmela coughed, disregarding what her assailant had said in favor of trying to remember who they were. For a moment, their head tilted down to stare at the woman in their arms, but it seemed as if they were fighting their own consciousness to do so. They didn’t respond, producing a syringe from their suit and slowly lifting it to Carmela’s neck, injecting her with some sort of sedative.

In her last moments of consciousness, Carmela lifted her shaking hand to tug the intruder’s mask off, her limp hand dropping it to the floor with an echoing clatter. They stared at each other, now face to face for the first time in years.. those blue eyes boring into Carmela, the furrowed brow.

“Jill…”

Carmela breathed, her eyes finally slipping shut after recognition dawned on her. Jill did not experience relief to be known, nor joy to recognize her dear fiancee. She felt nothing. She felt her mission, turning up her head from her cargo and making her exit with Carmela in tow.

#horror #resident evil #resident evil fic #resident evil oc #writing #gaming #angst #sapphic writing #wlw post #enemies to lovers #jill valentine

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afolderfullofstories · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022: Day 28

Note: 19 days completed as of 31/10/2022. Kind of sad I didn’t complete this year. But as I began missing more and more days, i didn’t really expect to complete it. But honestly 19 days was way more than I expected so there’s that. Everytime I’m convinced I’ve written everything I possibly can with this three, inspiration strikes and there’s something new (at least I hope so. I hope i’ve not been leaving you with rehashes of the same story) I’m not sure if I’m going to continue filling the rest of the whumptober prompts or move on to another prompt list. But if this is the last whumptober fill, I just wanted to thank everyone for your support in my stories. Believe me everytime I feel like stopping, I just scroll through my notes and I’m determined to write more. Thank you.

_______

Luigi rested his head on his arms folded on the table. The migraines were getting worse. A good night’s rest usually made it better. But he couldn’t sleep. Not with the pounding in his head. He didn’t know how many aspirins he’s taken but nothing seemed to help.

“Asshole.”

Luigi groaned. He lifted his head. A sharp throbbing pain shot through his head and he buried it back into his arms. “The light was fucking off for a reason.”

There was a click of the light switch. Footsteps approached him. “Brother?”

“Go away.”

“Are you alright, brother?” His sister’s voice was soft and full of concern. Bullshit. She was probably going to start nagging about the amount of work he had left. He would fucking see to it. He just needed to get the pounding to stop.

“Fine.” He growled. He lifted his head. His vision swam. Both his sisters stared at him. He put his head back into his arms. Lifting his head was not an option.

“Take the day off.”

“I’m fine. Just give me some fucking time alright?” But he had been lying there for almost an hour. The pain was not getting better. He wasn’t useless. He could deal with this.

“Have you been to the doctors?”

They both knew he hadn’t. Doctors were a useless waste of time. He would get through this. “It’ll pass.”

“They’ve been becoming more frequent.”

Luigi growled. “Have you been fucking spying on me?” His head shot up to glare at her. White spread through his vision as nausea burned in his gut. He buried his head deeper in his arms, breathing heavily to push back the nausea.

“Spying sounds so invasive. I was just getting updates.”

Luigi rolled his eyes. Fuck. He had to get himself in check. If his gophers knew he hadn’t been well enough to report to Amber, he was being transparent. “Mind your own business.”

“When’s your last medical check-up?”

Luigi groaned once more. “Fuck off, Carmela!”

“Fine.” Amber called his gopher into the room. “Luigi’s taking the day off.”

“Slu-”

“Please arrange for a medical check-up this afternoon and ensure he goes there.”

“I told you to mind your own fucking business.”

“Come up to me and tell me that you’re fine.”

Luigi lifted his head. His sister was standing to his left. No right. Fuck. Stop fucking moving. He stood and his vision turned black for a second. He caught himself before he toppled over.

“You’re not fine, brother.”

“It’s just a fucking migraine. It will pass.”

“You’re seeing the doctors today.” He turned to his gopher, gophers? How many did she fucking summon. “If he doesn’t go, inform me at once. I’ll send the GeneCops to drag him.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just have a check up, brother. It won’t kill you.” Amber left.

Luigi groaned and buried his head into his arms once more.

“Mr Largo?” His gopher squeaked.

“Just arrange the fucking thing or she won’t leave me alone.”

Luigi’s brows furrowed as he watched Dr Smith enter the room. “I thought the other doctor was handling it.”

“My colleague is afraid you would stab him if he told you.”

Luigi scoffed. “I’ve heard the whole spiel. Less coffee, more sleep, more regular meal times. What else could he tell me that’s new?”

Dr Smith’s face was serious.

“Is it bad?” He’d probably wrecked his liver again with all his drinking. He could just have it changed. It wasn’t a big deal.

Dr Smith was silent. His features were stiff.

Luigi forgot how to breathe. “How bad?”

Dr Smith sighed, “Mr Largo, the brain scan showed…”

Luigi just listened quietly. He heard the words but it felt like the television in the lobby, just background noise. He just stared blankly forward. He saw the lines on Dr Smith’s face and he realized just how old the doctor was. Pops never got to be that old. But pops lived his life. He built GeneCo, was married thrice, had 3 grown children. Luigi would never have that. Not that he ever wanted children but…he would never have any of that. He-

“Mr Largo.”

Luigi didn’t react. He just stared silently forward.

“Luigi.”

Luigi's eyes darted back to him. There was no pity in his eyes. Luigi was grateful. The other doctor was right. Luigi probably would have stabbed him. “Is that all?”

Dr Smith sighed. “Yes. I’ll give you time to process. Then we can discuss treatment options. There are still options, Mr Largo.”

Luigi stood and left. Process. What was there to process? Luigi always knew he would never grow old. It was just a feeling he always had. He knew he would never grow old. So what was this fucking pit in his gut. He didn’t care what happened to him. He didn’t care if he lived or died. So why couldn’t he breathe?

He wanted to be more like his pops right? He’d get to die like him as well. Something clenched in Luigi’s chest and he had to stop. He was going to die. Treatment options, his foot. They would have done everything to save pops if they could. They couldn’t. Pops didn’t have long. And neither would he.

Something clenched once more and he couldn't breathe. He slammed his fist into the wall. Something in his chest loosened. He slammed his fist once more. Why was he even surprised? With the way he treated his body. The lack of sleep, the overdose of coffee. Why did he expect any different? Luigi slammed his fist into the wall once more. His eyes burned but he forced it back. Why the fuck did he care? He didn't want to live right? This was just helping him. He-

He slammed his fist and a loud crack resounded from his hand. Luigi let out a curse and grabbed his hand. He slid down the wall. Why did he fucking care? He never cared before. Why the fuck did he care?

“Mr Largo.”

Luigi looked up to see Dr Smith looking at him in concern. And the nurses and staff were staring as well, whispering. Fuck. There were too many people looking at him. Why hadn’t he gotten back to his office first? There were too many eyes; too many people looking.

Dr Smith bent before him and examined his hand.

Luigi tried to pull his hand back but Dr Smith held firm. And there were too many people fucking staring.

“It’s broken.” Dr Smith said softly.

Luigi looked down at his swollen fingers. What did it matter? He was broken. What was one more bone or two? He was broken.

“It needs to be set back. Follow me back to my office.”

Luigi wanted to leave. He just wanted to go back to his own office and have peace. But there were too many eyes on him. He just wanted to get them off him. Stop fucking staring. They got what they wanted. They wouldn’t have to deal with his temper anymore. They would be fucking done with him. They-

Luigi just nodded numbly and got to his feet. He just stared forward and followed Dr Smith. He felt eyes on him but he refused to meet them. They would talk. They would fucking talk.

Luigi didn’t say anything as Dr Smith led him to the x-ray room. Nor when they took the x-ray. Nor when he brought him back to his clinic. He just sat there staring forward. The pain in his hand was a welcomed distraction. But it didn’t do much.

“The bones aren’t displaced. We’ll just put it in a cast and let it heal by itself.”

“No cast.”

“It'll take longer to heal if it gets displaced.”

“Those two assholes will ask too many questions.”

“Luigi.” Dr Smith sighed.

“I don’t need them asking questions.”

“What your father did to you was cruel. Don’t do the same thing to them.”

Luigi gave a sarcastic smile. “I thought you said there were treatment options.”

“There are. Doesn’t change the fact that you should tell them.”

“Mind your own fucking business.”

Dr Smith sighed and looked at his hand. “If you refuse a cast, I would insist on a splint. I would make it thin enough that you could hide it under your gloves. Would that be acceptable?”

Luigi just grunted.

Dr Smith placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t give up, Luigi.”

Luigi pulled off his glove and stared at his hand. It was beginning to turn purple. He pressed against the worst of the swelling. Pain shot through his finger, jolting him. He could breathe.

Treatment options. What a joke. More like ‘let’s see what shit they could put him through before he dropped dead’.

Surgery wouldn’t remove the tumor. But they could remove what they could and reduce the pressure in his brain. No more headaches and colors. Or they could fuck up and he could be paralyze or blind or mute or deaf or-

Luigi pressed against his finger once more. The pain cleared all thoughts. He didn’t want to think about this anymore.It wouldn’t change anything. Nothing he did would change anything.

Luigi’s eyes darted as there were sounds at the other side of the door. He just numbly listened as Pavi struggled with trying to open the door. He’d locked it. He didn’t know why he never thought of it before.

“Fratello?” Came his brother’s annoying voice from the other side of the door.

“Fuck off.”

“Is-a something wrong, fratello?” Pavi’s voice was serious. He hated it when Pavi’s voice was serious. It meant he was looking for something he could fix. But Pavi couldn’t fix him. He was broken.

“I’m just not in the mood.”

Luigi could hear his brother outside the door. He was probably deciding whether or not to listen to Luigi and give him space. The bastard had better listen. He didn’t have the mood to deal with his bullshit and he’d probably lose his temper.

“Are you sure, fratello?”

Luigi just grunted. He needed time. He needed to decide what to do without his siblings hounding him about it. He would tell them…eventually. He wouldn’t do to them what pops did to him. But…he would be sure first. If there really was no hope, he would tell them…maybe.

“The Pavi is-a just-a downstairs, fratello.”

Luigi sighed, “I’m fine, Paviche.” What a load of fucking crap. He wasn’t fine. He would never be fine. He was going to-

Luigi’s eyes burned. He pressed hard against his finger. He let out a curse as blinding pain filled him.

The door crashed open. Luigi’s eyes darted up. Amber stormed in followed by Pavi. Fuck. What did they want?

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Amber headed straight to his table. But Pavi stayed behind. But Luigi could see his gaze, studying him. Fuck.

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit. You’ve ignored us for the past two weeks. You’ve stopped coming for meals even when you’re home; refused to show up for any meetings; you haven’t said a fucking word to us. What the hell’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit brother. Something is wrong. You’re not acting like yourself.”

“Oh yea, how?” He was sure he was acting like usual. He made sure he wasn’t suspicious. Sure, he avoided those two assholes. But it was nothing different than how he was before pops died.

“For one, you won’t even look me in the eye.”

Luigi glared at her. Fuck. He hadn’t even realized he was avoiding her gaze. Luigi saw the worry in her eyes and his eyes darted away. She didn’t need to know.

“See?” She hissed. It wasn’t worry. She was just annoyed that he wasn’t answering her summons. She was just annoyed he wasn’t acting like her fucking lapdog. She wasn’t concerned. Why the fuck would she be concerned?

“Fuck off, Carmela.” Luigi’s eyes went back to the document before him. His eyes darted to Pavi for a moment. He didn’t say anything but he still stared at him with the same calculating gaze.

Amber slammed her hands on the table. “You’re going to tell me what the fuck is wrong, right now.”

“Nothing is wrong. Stop being such an annoying bitch and leave me the fuck alone!” And now that he was noticing it, he still couldn’t meet her gaze. He said he would tell them. But there was nothing to say. It wouldn’t make a fucking difference to anyone. He would deal with this on his own. He didn’t need anyone. He would fucking deal.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Are you deaf or just fucking dumb? I told you nothing was fucking wrong. Go and run GeneCo and leave me the fuck alone or are you too useless to fucking do that?” She wouldn’t leave. She still wouldn’t fucking leave. He needed her out. He needed her to leave him alone. “Pops was right, you’re fucking disgusting and disappointing. Better yet, how about you go deal with the mess you call a face and leave me alone.”

“Fratello.”

Too far. He always went too fucking far. But the worry was gone from Amber’s eyes and all was left was anger and hate. Good.

“Go fucking drop dead.” She turned around and stomped towards the door.

‘Yea well, you’re going to get your fucking wish.’

“What did you say?”

Luigi looked up and saw Amber’s wide eyes staring at him. “I didn’t say anything.” His eyes darted towards Pavi and the same concerned gaze met his. Fuck. Did he say it out loud? He hadn’t…He was sure…

Amber headed back towards him. “What the hell did you say?”

“I said I didn’t fucking say anything. You fucking hearing things?”

Amber’s eyes darted towards Pavi.

“What did you mean, fratello?”

Fuck. They both heard it. Why the fuck did he say it out loud? Why the fuck was he so fucking careless?

“Brother!”

Amber was right before his table and he still couldn’t look at her. He needed to fucking look at her or she wouldn’t believe him. His eyes darted upwards and he saw the worry and he looked away. This was what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want this. They couldn’t help him. What would them knowing change? “Fuck off, Carmela.”

“All this happened after I told you to go to the doctors.”

“I’ve just not been in the mood, Carmela.”

“Tell me. Or I will go to the hospital and find out for myself.”

“The doctors won’t tell you shit. It’s in their code or something.”

“So there is-a something to tell, fratello?” And again, Pavi’s voice was serious, too serious. And that wasn’t Pavi. That wasn’t his brother. He was stupid and annoying and not fucking serious.

"No there isn't."

"Fine. I'll ask the fucking doctors myself. They 'will' tell me what's wrong since I pay their fucking salary. Besides, you’re an employee of GeneCo. Legally, they can show me your medical records.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Luigi stayed silent.

“Fine.” She turned and headed to the door.

“Stop!” Luigi stood. A sharp blinding pain shot through his head. “Fuck!” He grabbed his head. The pain was overwhelming. He dug his fingers into his skull trying to relieve the pain. But it wouldn’t go away. He crumpled back into his chair, his hands in a vice grip around his head.

“Brother!”

Luigi couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. The pain was overwhelming. And he just needed it to stop. He was going to make them more suspicious.

“Brother…”

Pavi was beside him. He was searching through the drawers. There was a sound of pills shaken around in the bottle. “Take the aspirin, fratello.”

Luigi shook his head and another sharp pain shot through him. He let out a yelp and buried his head deeper in his hands. “No aspirin.” The tumor was vascular. Aspirin increased the risk of it bleeding out. He couldn’t…The pain shot through him once more and he was desperate for anything that would stop the pain.

“Then-a what, fratello?”

“Lights.” Luigi mumbled. He heard the click of the light switch but the pain didn’t lessen. He gripped his head tighter.

“I’ll get the doctors.”

“No.” Luigi forced out. “Left upper drawer. There’s painkillers in there.”

Pavi dug through his drawer. Once more there was the sound of pills shaking around in the bottle. “Here, fratello.”

Luigi downed the pills. Nausea built in his gut and he forced it down. He laid his head on the table willing the pain to stop.

“Brother…”

“Just give it a fucking minute to kick in.” Luigi was breathing heavily. The pain was getting worse. The medication the doctors gave him was doing nothing to reduce the swelling. Surgery seemed to be the only option. But he didn’t want-

Fuck. His pills were in the same drawer.

Luigi’s head shot up.

Pavi was staring at the other medication.

The fag wouldn’t know what they were. He was too much of an idiot. He wouldn’t realize…

“Fratello. What’s all this?” Pavi’s voice was serious.

“Migraine medication.”

Pavi’s eyes darted towards him. His eyes were hard. “Fratello, I helped clear papa’s things. These are…”

“Migraine medication. Just more symptoms he never bothered telling us about.” Luigi said, trying to push down the guilt in his chest. He said he would tell them. They would worry over nothing. They couldn’t do anything for him. Why tell them? It wouldn’t help anyone.

“You’re a terrible liar, fratello.” Pavi headed towards Luigi’s alcohol cabinet.

“Brother…what’s going on?”

“Nothing. The migraines are getting worse, that's all.” The pain had faded to a dull throb and Luigi could think again. Fuck. He had to fix this. He couldn’t let them figure it out. He just needed to make up a more believable story.

“Pavi, you know what’s going on.”

Pavi didn’t say anything. His back was towards them. Luigi just watched him silently pour himself a drink. He knew.

“Pavi please.” Amber’s eyes darted towards Luigi. Fear filled her features as her eyes darted desperately between them.

“Tell her, fratello.” Pavi still refused to turn.

“There’s nothing to fucking tell.”

“Wasn’t-a what papa did to us bad enough? You’d-a do it all over again!”

“Lu, tell me what’s going on!”

“There’s nothing to fucking tell. If you won’t believe me that it’s nothing, then there’s nothing more I can fucking say.”

“Fine. Sorella, call-a the doctors.”

“Pavi-”

“If there’s-a nothing, then there’s-a no reason we can’t-a ask the fucking doctors.”

Fuck.

Amber made the call.

Luigi watched her hand shake. They were figuring it out. He had to find a way to stop this. He didn’t want them to find out. He needed a fucking story. He needed to figure something out.

“Brother…”

Luigi refused to look at her.

“Pavi.”

Luigi’s eyes darted to his brother who still kept his back towards them. Luigi watched him down the drink. Fuck.

The doors opened, breaking the tension. Dr Smith walked in.

Relief filled Luigi. Dr Smith wouldn’t be threatened by his siblings. He respected Luigi’s privacy. He wouldn’t say anything.

“Dr Smith,” Pavi’s voice was hard. He still refused to turn to face them. “I was-a having problems deciphering the medication of-a one of-a our clients, to see if-a they were worth-a investing in.” Pavi’s voice was cold and sarcastic. “What is-a Avastin used for?”

Dr Smith was silent. “Mr Largo, there is a thing called doctor-patient confidentiality. I can’t disclose patients' records.”

“I’m-a not asking you to disclose anything. I just-a want to know what-a Avastin is-a used for.”

“It would depend on the patient. There are many things Avastin could be prescribed for.”

“What is-a it usually prescribed for?” And Pavi’s voice was low and dangerous.

Dr Smith’s eyes darted towards him. They knew. He wasn’t keeping this from them any longer. But he wanted to. He didn’t want to deal with this. He just wanted to ignore it and pretend nothing was wrong just like he always did. He just… Luigi sighed. His eyes met Dr Smith’s and he nodded slightly.

“It’s primarily used to stop tumor growth.”

“What?”

Luigi couldn’t look at them. He focused on his hands. He gripped his middle finger and pressed down. The sharp pain distracted him. He needed a distraction.

“How-a bad?”

Luigi heard how sharp Pavi’s voice was, the pain in his sister’s voice. He didn’t want this. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. He just wanted a bit of normalcy. He wanted…Why hadn’t he pretended better? Why did he avoid them? He should have pretended…

“How-a bad!?” Pavi never raised his voice. His anger was always quiet and promised retribution. This yelling wasn’t his brother.

“Luigi?”

Luigi shut his eyes. The words were clamped in his throat and he couldn’t say anything. But they knew, they already knew. There wasn’t a point of hiding things now. He gripped his finger tighter. The pain loosened his voice. “Just tell them.”

Dr Smith sighed. “It’s a brain tumor, similar to the one your father had. But Rotti’s was diagnosed too late. The cancer had already spread to other organs. The tumor is relatively contained in his brain.”

“How-a long?”

“An oncologist would be able to give you a better answer.”

“You would-a have discussed it with-a them. How-a long?”

“6 months without treatment.”

“And-a with?”

“It’s difficult to tell without having a clear view of the tumor and seeing how much we can remove.”

“Just-a an estimate.”

“It’s difficult to tell.”

Luigi gripped his finger once more. The pain dulled the growing tightness in his chest. “He doesn’t want to tell me.”

“Because you will give up and you know it. Even now I’ve asked you to make a decision regarding treatment and you refuse to do it. Instead you’d rather sit there feeling sorry for yourself. The earlier we start treatment, the better the prognosis.”

Luigi was silent and refused to look at him. He still wouldn’t give him a time frame. It meant it wasn’t long. He knew it.

“Younger patients survive longer. But we’re talking about aggressive, early treatment.”

Luigi could only stare at his hands. He didn’t want to look up and see the disappointment in Dr Smith’s eyes.

Dr Smith sighed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t…that wasn’t fair.” He took a breath. “The oncologist will deal exclusively with your case. I can’t…I can’t remain impartial and that isn’t fair to you.” He turned.

“I just need to know how long. I just want to know what to expect.” Luigi just kept his gaze down. “Whatever the average is, I need to know.”

“A year.”

Luigi shut his eyes. The grip around his finger tightened. But the pain was not enough to get rid of the tightness in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry.” The door shut.

Luigi clenched his eyes shut. He gripped his finger harder. Anything to keep it all down. Anything to keep himself numb. A year. What the fuck was a year? What could he even do in a fucking year? His breaths were heavy. He had to keep it all down. Not now. Not while those two assholes were still in the room.

“Brother?”

Luigi kept his eyes shut. He didn’t want to look at them. He didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes. He had to deal with own pain. He didn’t want to deal with theirs.

Arms wrapped around him. “Everything’s going to be alright, brother. I promise. I…I just need you to fight. Ok brother? Don’t give up.”

He wasn’t giving up by choice. He didn’t have time. What was 6 months? What was a year? He was running out of time.

“You do this all-a the time, fratello. You keep-a pushing us away.”

“What would knowing change!? It’s done nothing but put a fucking countdown on my head.”

“Wouldn’t you have liked to know papa was sick?”

“What difference would it have made? We couldn’t have helped him. We couldn’t have done anything.”

“But-a wouldn’t you have wanted to know?”

He would have wanted to know his father was running out of time. He didn’t know if things would have been different, if he would have been better. But he wanted to have been there for his father. He wondered if the opera had been his father’s way of lashing out. He was used to lashing out. Now he just felt numb. He should be fucking used to this. “Yes.”

“Were you really not planning on telling us, brother?”

“I was. After I made a fucking decision.” He sighed, and his shoulders crumpled and he just felt exhausted. “I don’t know what to do, Mela.”

“Take the treatment. It would buy you more time.”

“6 months. What the hell is 6 months?”

“It’s 6 months more!” Amber choked out. “6 months.” Amber covered her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders shook. Her hand clamped tighter as she desperately tried to fight back tears.

Luigi looked away. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to see this. He wanted them to live the next 6 months in ignorance… He… But this wasn’t just about what he wanted. “Mela…”

Amber shook her head desperately. Tears streamed down her face. She tried miserably to silent her sobs. “Don’t. I should be…I should be…” She took deep breaths trying to calm herself down.

“What’s-a the difference, fratello? What’s-a making you avoid treatment?”

“Pops was…he wasn’t healthy per se but he was still him. He could still go to the opera. He could still work. He must have been well enough if we never noticed.” Or they were too self-centred and blind. “Even if it bought more time; it would just be going in and out of hospitals. The side effects would make things worse. It wouldn’t be living.”

“Then-a you’ve made your decision?”

Luigi looked back at his hands. He’s been avoiding it all this time but… “I think so.”

“Brother, please. I know it’s selfish of me. But please. If there’s a chance…”

Luigi closed his eyes. This was too familiar. A sibling begging him to try. And he had, just to make Pavi happy. But it worked. He would be dead now if he never listened. But this was different… This was…

“The headaches are getting worse, fratello. You won’t-a be living your life in-a pain like this.”

“Maybe surgery then. Just to reduce the tumor. They think the headaches are caused by the pressure. But the complications…” And he didn’t want to admit it but he was fucking terrified. He didn’t want to go into surgery and take away that 6 months. He didn’t want to come out more broken than he already was. But the expanding tumor would cause more symptoms. His vision was already going. If they left the tumor, he would lose his vision.

“Then-a let the dottari remove what-a they can and-a see. If-a they can remove a good-a portion of-a it, if-a they think-a the chances of survival are good after the surgery, then-a why not-a try?”

Luigi stared at his hands then nodded. It seemed so simple now. He’s been grappling with the decision for 2 weeks. But it just seemed so simple now. “And if I still decide not to proceed with chemo?”

“That’s-a your choice, fratello.”

“Brother-”

“It’s-a his choice, sorella.”

Luigi still kept his eyes on his hands. But it was as if a weight was lifted off him. He had felt stuck for so long, trying to grapple with the right decision. Trying to figure out whether it was kinder or crueler to his siblings to tell them. But now they knew and he couldn't do anything about it. And he could finally breathe.

"You didn't-a have to do this-a alone, fratello."

"I know. I was afraid."

"Afraid of what, brother?"

Luigi was silent.

"You're an idiota, fratello."

"I know." Luigi felt a hand on his shoulder. And he was too tired to fight or protest. He was too tired to pretend.

“We’re here, brother. We’ll be here. Just don’t push us away. Please.”

Luigi couldn’t say anything. He just nodded. He felt his sister hold him once more and for the first time since he got the fucking diagnosis, he didn’t feel alone. If 6 months was all he fucking got then he wasn’t going to fucking waste it.

#whumptober2022 #no.28 #it's just the tip of the iceberg #anger born of worry #punching the wall #headache #repo! the genetic opera #fic #terminal illness tw #swearing tw #Luigi Largo #Pavi Largo #amber sweet

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modgirlyreposts-revamped · 9 months

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THE ART STYLE IS SO GOOD FR- it was done by my friend @/okthatsgreat!! (She takes commissions if you're ever interested, or if you don't have the money I could commission her for you since I definitely do :O)

Also yeah my fangans always go wild lmaoo 😭 I definitely made an extra effort to make Carmela and Rina's deaths not feel particularly drawn out or anything (Rina died from poisoning and Carmela was executed via a single gunshot, but both deaths were quick and comparatively humane for a killing game, both dying quickly- Carmela literally instantly- and neither dying in an excessive amount of pain or anything, and being treated humanely in general with Amaya's handling of Rina's body and the care the others showed for Carmela before her execution despite what she was technically responsible for because she was young and afraid, so it sets the tone to the audience but isn't excessive) but like. wow I really did just kill two child characters right off the bat-

Bro, even if I had the money to rn, I wouldn't have the confidence to commission anyone cuz I'm sure you know what I'd be askin' for-

YEAH FR, I was like "hol' up am I readin' that right-"

#asks #answered #valleyfthdolls

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blahandwhatever · 2 years

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Oh, how good it is to just wake up happy, to just be happy, without even trying. Some days are just effortlessly delicious. The shift between those stuck, suffocating, shaky states of mind and these open and free and serene ones is like night and day. The fears, the anxieties, the painful memories, the sense of being threatened and lacking control, no matter how much I reason with myself - it’s all still in me, somewhere in the dank basement of my mind, a place I can go long periods without venturing into, then suddenly find myself stuck in again. And then, just like that, I’m free and unperturbed again. And I know there’s situational factors to it, but I know there’s a huge chemical factor too, and I just wish I could crack the code once and for all. One thing I’ve considered, aside from poor sleep choices, is if maybe I’ve messed up my iron supplementation schedule too much, partly on account of the late-evening hours of my now-main job, which have left me often having dinner later than I used to. I’ve also had a resurgence of split lip corners, which had been gone for a long time and which could be related to the same thing. So I’ve been mindful to get my first two doses in before work, with dinner if I manage to have it by then or with something else. Who knows, maybe that’s what’s helped?

I finally finished the Sopranos, and I feel freed by that but also have a bit of that untethered feeling that tends to come after finishing a series. I have to reorient myself to watching YouTube for fun, which I am so weirdly not used to now - it was such a strong habit for a while! I have lots of thoughts on this series but don’t feel like writing a lot of them here. Part of me wants to get in some comment sections and engage in discussions, but the bulk of those happened 15+ years ago. I will just say the character crafting on this show was fucking. above and beyond. Especially for Tony and Carmela, who are so fucking real and psychologically cohesive down to the littlest nuances, and so fucking reminiscent of my own parents in a lot of ways. It’s interesting to have watched this show at this point in my life, knowing all that I know, having run the full course of my own and my brother’s upbringing and done so much processing.

I keep trying to make some dents in my shopping goals, with little working out so far and my brain pulled in 17 different directions at once. Again I find it frustratingly hard to find what I want for any given thing, and keep switching gears in the hope that the next thing will be easier. Today I tried to look for tapestries on Etsy to fill an empty space in my hallway and, as usual, found the filtering options sorely lacking for a site with such overwhelming numbers of offerings. I’m trying to treat it like a part-time job, diligently browsing the endless pages until I find what I’m looking for.

I keep putting off other things I meant to get done this month, but I’m still making progress in some ways, and, while December was shaky, I’m certainly having a better January than the last.

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obscure-imaginations · 2 years

Text

I'm thinking about my Mafiatale/swap/fell x The Godfather AU again, SO. Headcanon that all the Corleones have a small power.

Sonny can't get injured easily. Bruises heal in record time, what might be a bone breaking endeavor only splinters a bit, small cuts fade in a day. It certainly doesn’t help his temper, especially when he’s beating the group of creeps harassing people on the street (as he should). Sure, they have weapons, but he’s got adrenaline and an immunity to feel pain right now. Start running, creeps.

Tom can tell when someone is lying. It helps, being a lawyer. Sometimes, he can even sense what the truth might be- no guarantees, though. Even if it’s a tiny lie, such as “yeah, I took the trash out” even though you’re putting your shoes on now to do it, he can tell that you’re lying. Thankfully, bluffing doesn't count as lying so he is still invited to play poker.

Frederico can sense other people's emotions. It makes him anxious and overwhelmed, so he sticks to himself mostly. It has a radius- if he’s within five or six feet of someone, he can sense what they’re feeling, and he can sometimes piece together the why. Quit being rude to the nice store person, they’re not chipper because their partner broke up with them! He might not say that to the rude person, but he understands, and sometimes, the nice store person knows that just by looking at him.

Michael has a similar power to Tom, but instead, he can lie perfectly. Anybody but the Corleone family will seamlessly believe his lies. It’s hard not to believe whatever he says- he says it with such integrity in his voice! Thankfully, again, bluffing doesn’t count as lying so he is also allowed to play poker.

Connie can tell exactly how much money someone is carrying. Whether loose change or hundred dollar bills, she’ll know the exact amount. She’s a good pickpocket, despite the family thinking they are above crimes like those. She can also tell exactly how much money is in a cash register, but she’s never robbed those places.

Vito. Whereas Tom can tell when someone is lying, Vito can get them to tell the truth. Just a look into his eyes, and if you’re not careful, you’re spilling whatever secrets he wants to know. Your best bet to lie to him is to tell half truths, and skirt around the important details.

Carmela can calm people down with a single touch. Anxiety, anger, too excited, she can get them to a level that is manageable. Don’t be surprised when she pops into at-home meetings to bring coffee; she skims a rival’s shoulder and they’re suddenly much more open to the discussion.

Bonus! My Godfather OC, Alessandra Corleone:

Alessandra has instinct. She can tell when someone is about to come through the door, when Sonny is about to smack her with the newspaper from behind, when to cross the street without getting hit. The scariest instinct she’s had: the feeling of being aimed at.

#the dogfather au #the godfather #mafiafell #mafiaswap #mafiatale

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scullysflannel · 3 years

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top 5 tv articles

this is not my all-time top five (aside from the first one) because my memory isn’t good enough for that. but these are five articles that are still on my mind

1. “In the Dark” - Brian Phillips, Grantland — THE definitive piece of X-Files journalism

“But The X-Files was there, in the background, for that year and for several years after it. In my memory of that time it seems to be running, muted, on every TV in every room I enter after dark. We are huddled around a phone trying to figure out whether there are such things as girls we might plausibly call, and in the other room we see the back of my friend’s mother’s head and Mulder’s and Scully’s faces staring out at us. Years later, when I watched the show in sequence, I never minded the incoherence of the main story line, which infuriated longtime fans, because I was already used to imagining the series as a montage of empty atmosphere, and in fact I had fallen half in love with it as such. The show’s cinematography, lush by today’s standards and astonishing in 1993, looked shadowed and moody, and because Scully’s expression was a striking combination of horror and numbness and bravery and trauma, none of which we had experienced and all of which we wanted to pretend we had experienced, nothing could have seemed more natural than that the show would move along the margins of our secret world. Although if you had asked me whether we were the border surrounding it or it was the border surrounding us, I would not have known the answer.”

2. “‘X’ Factor” - James Wolcott, The New Yorker — the fact that this was written after season 1 makes me lose my mind

“The X-Files is the product of yuppie morbidity, a creeping sense of personal mortality. (The sense of mortality in The Twilight Zone was the prospect of mass annihilation—We’re all gonna die!) It tries to cheat the big sleep by prying open so many doors into the beyond. Where middlebrow culture has begun to ponder angels again, pop culture courts immortality through soul migration or in hologram images or through the rejuvenation of cells or conversion into electrical charges. Nobody on The X-Files is ever dead dead. People die with a shudder, their souls removed like luggage, to be rerouted elsewhere. Perhaps the afterlife will be part of the information superhighway, a hub in cyberspace. What’s erotic about the show is its slow progression from reverie to revelation, stopping just short of rapture. It wants to swoon, but swooning would mean shutting its eyes, and there’s so much to see.”

3. “The Leftovers series finale: EW review” - Jeff Jensen, Entertainment Weekly — love the way this builds from theology to close reading to personal revelation

“The stories gave us people trying to move on (or not) and thrive anew (or not) by putting their trust in the darndest things — or refusing to believe in anything at all. The perspective on the characters took seriously the idea that we possess a God-shaped hole — we need to believe in something — but the perspective on epistemology was such that it distrusted anyone or anything that claimed to have certain truth. There was grace for people of faith, even silly faith, and deep anger on behalf of anyone burned by it. Concluding amid a pitched moment of worry and mournfulness (as I write these words, London is reeling from yet another terrorist attack), The Leftovers ends right when we need it most. Here was a series that aspired to be a cultural friend to us in our dismay and disorientation, offering outraged witness for our pain and invitation to reflect on our remedies for assuagement. Keep the show near you; it’s a keeper that will endure. The Leftovers was, and will remain, a show for a time of sitting in ashes.”

4. “Culture in the 2010s was obsessed with finding community — and building walls” - Emily VanDerWerff, Vox — this goes way beyond TV, but it’s incredible culture writing

“But Twin Peaks stands at the edge of something dark and old, hidden out in the woods. It’s an age-old conflict — though not between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ exactly. Instead, it’s closer to ‘connection’ versus ‘dissolution.’ We want community, but the more we seek it by looking back to the past, the more we spin into oblivion in the present. Twin Peaks: The Return underlines this notion magnificently. The point of any revival series is to revel in nostalgia, to bring back a TV show people loved and let them spend a few more hours surrounded by its charms. But Twin Peaks pushes back against fans’ desires at almost every turn. Instead of serving up easy nostalgia, it sends the characters searching for a place that made them happier in the past, then deprives them of it over and over again. The more that life in Twin Peaks stays the same, the scarier it gets.”

5. “I Couldn’t Imagine Being Happy. But I Could Imagine Being Carmela” - P.E. Moskowitz, Vulture — recency bias? maybe. but it’s fun

“When, midway through season three, a psychiatrist tells her she’ll never feel happy unless she leaves her husband, she willfully misunderstands him over and over again, softening his words, telling herself that she needs to set boundaries and internalize less conflict, and ignoring the doctor’s blunt warning. Carmela may be a mob boss’s wife, but she also is the embodiment of a womanhood that many, cis and trans, yearn for, against their better instincts: one that replicates the infantilized yet secure state of the suburban housewife, where we can be both victim and perpetrator, but mostly have our agency taken away from us.”

bonus:

“The Apocalypse According to The Leftovers” - Emily Nussbaum, The New Yorker

“Alena Smith’s Subversive Dickinson” - Katy Waldman, The New Yorker

“Killing Eve Says Out Loud What Buffy Never Could About Catastophic Queer Desire” - Lindsay King-Miller, TV Guide

#anon #this was very fun in a stressful kind of way #I'm sure I'll think of something I'm forgetting #also editing that jeff jensen review was a dream and yes I have already noticed where I missed a sentence with a word missing

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zalrb · 4 years

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Favourite characters and dynamics from the Sopranos? Also who do you think got the saddest/worst ending?

My favourite dynamic was definitely Carmela and Tony, oh the painful --- and sometimes wonderful, but mostly painful domesticity of it all

was just beautifully done and beautifully acted. Their fight scenes are fantastic.

I also did like Carmela’s dynamic with Furio, I wish we had more scenes with them but the fact that we had so little was also the point

You know, I have to say, I thought the little/brief understanding/attraction between Adriana and Tony was done really well, when it got to that point I was like huh, they should’ve been in more scenes together, not necessarily romantically but there’s a compelling chemistry there

I actually thought Tony and Gloria’s relationship left a lot to be desired considering how much its eventual corrosive nature was meant to impact Tony, I didn’t get enough of their falling apart or of it really being a tumultuous relationship for it to be considered ‘amor fou’, it’s like this scene

before he nearly he kills her and that was kind of it and I wanted a bit more of an escalation.

I also loved Ginny and Johnny Sack! The one faithful man on the show and they did a good job in showing that he actually loved his wife

I know Adriana is considered to be the saddest death/the most gruesome death but maybe it’s because when The Sopranos was on the air, Adriana’s death and the plot surrounding it was my entry point into the series and when I’ve watched reruns on TV, it’s for some reason always season 5 and always Christopher and Adriana heavy episodes, and then I’ve rewatched most of the show from time to time and have watched the Adriana/Christopher clips on youtube and as an adult looking at their relationship and realizing how fundamentally toxic and unhealthy and abusive it was, and I mean her death IS sad, it’s especially sad when Christopher is choking her and she just ... lets him until he stops, but I don’t find her fate as sad as most people do or at least I don’t anymore. Like Drea spoke about the death of innocence on the show with her murder and I can understand that perspective

especially since she was a supporting-main character but the death that always fucks me up and that I always think is incredibly sad is actually a minor character, it’s Tracee who Ralphie beats to death outside of the Bing,

before I really started watching The Sopranos with the season 5 entry point, I remember seeing that death on TV and being fucked up about it and it still fucks me up, I have to forward it whenever I watch the show.

In terms of supporting-main characters, I mean I do feel sad for Vito because he was murdered literally for being gay

and it’s sad that he actually made a life for himself in New England where he didn’t have to hide who he was but ultimately left it for The Life, which I always found interesting considering that a big part of The Sopranos is how the mob is increasingly losing its place in a modern world.

There was also a kind of innocence to Bobby

so when he was killed, by that point it was like, I mean it’s the final season, shit’s going to go down but it was still like aw man, Bobby?? Especially since out of everyone Paulie is like the last guy standing (and Tony depending on how you look at the ending) which is like, LOL PAULIE?

I never cared for Junior but the show did a good job in making you kind of feel bad for him as an ailing man losing his memory/memory lost

In terms of favourite characters, I don’t really have one but I respect the ones I hate the most, like I hate Janice, I cannot stand Janice, she is Livia incarnate and doesn’t even know it, but her manipulation is kind of brilliant

Ralphie is fucking awful, I don’t think I’ve ever been more satisfied with a death on the show than with Ralphie but David Chase specifically went to Joe Pantoliano because he wanted someone charismatic and funny but also, like, you know, evil and Pantoliano did that very well and I respect it

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balmasedas · 5 years

Text

THE TRUTH.

(SHAWN MENDES).

WARNINGS: ANGST, SWEARING.

WORD COUNT: 2,5K.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Haven't written for a while so it may be shitty. This is my first imagine here, so I hope you enjoy it! Please make me know if you do so, maybe I'll make a part 2. :')

○○○

Thank god for makeup and alcohol. People like you needed it. Well, people in your situation, you deduced, cause it wasn't part of your nature to get extremely drunk. A radical change of plans, a sudden turn in the oceanic currents —you were sure many could relate.

But, then again, how many were secretly dating a superstar? And how many had to bear their lovers being publicly, and falsely, in another relationship? A better question was: How many of them could get through it? You had done it for over almost a year now. Six months of being silent —no, muted. You were a shadow, a secret.

You had done everything you could. When Shawn had asked if it was ok, you had nodded. You knew that success was part of his dream, and if a little white lie could contribute to that, then... whatever, right? After all you hadn't gone public and it was supposed to be only for a while. Two months top.

But two months turned into three. Your pleasent smiles turned into frowns. Silence turned into screams and discussions with him that drained you completely of energy. "I'm your girlfriend.", "I'm your boyfriend and you should support me.", and yada, yada, yada.

Then Shawn wasn't living with you anymore. He was on tour and you would've been fine with it if you hadn't went through tons of pictures of him passionately kissing Camila, walking hand-to-hand literally everywhere. And you started to wonder if they were even pretending anymore.

Apparently not.

Your first therapy was to dance to music in the apartment that you shared and pretend to not worry about it, but his scent was everywhere. Memories were too hunting, thoughts were too loud and your cries were unstoppable.

A club was the second obvious choice, you decided that night.

The first half of it you were with your friends, and yet you still felt utterly lonely.

The second part, you drank it all, and you felt carelessly free. Everyone was beautiful, everyone was your friend. The lights were pretty, the music was great and you were fucking ecstatic. No Shawn Mendes.

"Two Marg–marga shit ass." you laughed at your own word game. The bartender knew you should call it a night but who was he to deny you more poison? You recieved the drink and struggled to catch the straw with your tongue.

"Here." a hand appeared from your left and helped you take the straw with your mouth. You drank a bit and looked who was the misterious assistent: A guy. He looked older than you, thought the lights and your drunkness forbid you of guessing his age with more precision. You could, though, see his mocking and handsome smile. "You're a mess."

You smirked. "I'm single." Yes, shamelessly flirt, go fuck him and make Shawn pay.

"You are?" Unfortunately, you weren't that drunk. And you went from happy drunk to sad drunk.

"No. I'm not–tsk." you pouted. "I have a boyfriend." your forehead wrinkled "I think."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a celebrity and that shit. Shawn Mendezzz? You know him?" The name rang a bell, apparently. More than it, because the man's posture completely shifted.

"Yeah." he nodded. "And don't get me wrong, you're beautiful, but you aren't his girlfriend. Unlless you're Camila Cabello." that sparked anger inside of you.

"Of courrrrrse not, shtupid!" you poked his chest. Then you proceeded to clumsily reach inside your dress, between your breasts, and took out your phone. The device read your fingerprint and you shoved it in his face. "Look!" you weren't anymore aware of what you were really doing. You just smiled proudly at the photo of you and Shawn kissing in front of a beach sunset. It was your favorite picture. One of the last ones you had taken months ago, when both of you were still happy. "Yeah, Carmela Cabitch is only a– a promo! She's fake and shit!" you went to your inbox and looked for Shawn's chat. "Here! lmao! See?" You showed him his messages, where you talked of the PR stunt, of how he promised it would all be over soon. You were too busy laughing hysterically to notice this guy taking his phone out. "I'm a fucking no one so!" you shrugged, happily. As if you had no choice. He laughed with you and asked for a round of something, that you didn't hear, but when the glass of alcohol was set in front of you, you welcomed it.

He raised his cup towards you, "Cheers for... the truth. May everyone hear it soon."

You giggled and cheered with him. "Whatever dude." you emptied your glass. And you kept drinking and drinking. The man was with you for the rest of the night. He was fun, actually. You had fun.

So much fun that you let him keep your phone until you said goodbye.

○○○

There was a buzz. An annoying and incesant buzz. You had heard it too many times for not being able to recognize it as your own phone but you were too tired to do something about it. Your face was buried in the pillow, you were spread like a starfish on the bed with one leg hanging over the side. Too comfy to move.

You groaned when you had to stretch your arm and reject the person who was calling you non-stop. You thought you had found peace for your headache finally, but the phone started vibrating again. And you were fucking done. Your reached for it and squinted your eyes for the sudden light in your eyes. You thought your sleepy state had fooled you at first and made you see things that weren't there but a few blinks confirmed what was right in front you.

Over 5K twitter notifications.

Over 1K on Instagram.

Hundreds of messages.

Dozens of missed calls from Shawn, your best friend, your mom.

You quickly sat up. You brushed the hair out of your face. You suddenly felt sick and it wasn't because of the hangover. You had a bad feeling cause that didn't happen unless something was really, really wrong.

You went to your messages. Your mom was asking if you were okay, she was worried, "it's not your fault" she stated. Your bestfriend had texted "hmu as soon as you read this.". She had also called you a few times. Then your dad and last, but not least, Shawn. You were extremely anxious. His calls and messages were the most, and he was the one you'd rejected a few minutes ago. If something was wrong, it had too do with him:

"Y/N."

"Y/N pick up."

"R u ok?"

"How could you do this?"

"You fucked up. You fucked us all up."

"Jesus Christ, pick up!"

"What the fuck?" You murmured. Your hand went from your stomach to your mouth. You opened twitter, cause everytime something happened it was there first. 'Shawn Mendes' was trending, 'Camila' too, your fucking name was trending third and in 5th place was the word 'PR'.

You immediatly knew what it was, but how?

You started reading the tweets involving your boyfriend.

"I knew Shawmila was PR!!!1 I called it first but lol, how could Shawn's gf sell him like that. Yikes"

"Y/N was clearly jealous but how can you fucking expose your boyfriend?????? like????? You agreed to it, didn't you?"

"I know it was fake, but Shawn was better with Camila than a snake like Y/N. #Facts"

And the tweets got worst and worst, but not a million of them could prepare you to see your pictures all over twitter. Your photos kissing Shawn, him with your family. The screenshots of your texts. His and your intimacy violated by the world. The insults did nothing in comparision of the pain you felt then.

In the middle of desperation, you started wondering what did you do wrong, if anything could compromise your privacy the night before and suddenly everything came back: The man. The man stole your shit straight from your phone. You were so stupid, so drunk you didn't noticed.

Your hand went from your core to your face. You sprinted to the bathroom and emptied everything from your stomach on the toilet.

You were there for a few minutes, lying on the floor, crying, to weak to get up. Your phone started buzzing again, and you were ready to ignore it again when you remembered: "Shawn." you got up so fast you almost tripped. You put on a hoodie and pants over your pijama, went to the living room and dialed Shawn's number. You had to talk to him. You needed to explain yourself desperately.

"Please, pick up, pick up, pick up." you mumbled while searching your shoes. Suddenly, a ringing echoed in your apartment. And not any ringing, Shawn's. It was Shawn's tone for your calls.

You turned your head and there he was: Coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water. You would've jumped to his arms, it would've been normal if it wasn't for his face. You've never seen like that. You wish you never did.

"Shawn I–" you started but he stopped you midsentence.

"Had to take a flight all the way from Japan just to be here." he offered you the water and you drank it, with the pill that luckily would help with the headache. He observed you in silence. You felt little under his eyes, painfully ashamed of what was happening. You couldn't stop the tears from flowing again and sobbing with the glass still in your mouth. "Don't, please. You'll choke."

He gently took the glass away from you and you covered your face.

"I'm so sorry. I–I–"

"You what? Y/N" any hopes of discussing with calmness dissapeared when he raised his voice. You couldn't hold in your sadness and he couldn't hide hise anger. "Do you know what this means?! For all of us?!" you crossed your arms over your stomach.

"I saw it."

"You saw it? They're destroying you. Look." Shawn turned the TV on and did a quick zapping over most of the news channel. Half of them focused on Shawn and Camila's stunt, half of them focused on you. You tensed your jaw and looked at an empty point on the floor. Shawn said something else, but you couldn't focuse on his words as you recalled what started it all.

"How much more can I be destroyed?" you whispered. Shawn turned the TV off and looked at you, somewhere between concerned and taken aback.

"What?"

"Yeah, you heard well. What's a bit more of pain? I mean, everybody is hating me but at least they know who I am, right?" Shawn scrubbed his face and you could practically see the words inside his mind: Not again. But weren't you telling the truth? You wouldn't be in that situation if it wasn't for the contract extending that long. If Shawn had the decency to not push you to a side, you wouldn't have gotten drunk and the secret wouldn't be out.

"We already went through this!"

"No we didn't!" you screamed. Shawn stared at you speechless "We didn't talk it out! You just avoided it, and avoided it until I wasn't part of the picture anymore." At this point your face was drenched in tears. The sobs were painful but, at the same time, you felt free. You had contain your anguish for too long.

"You know I had no choice!"

"Yes you did!" you poked his chest with anger "You had the choice of calling me, of reaching out to me! You were travelling the world with Camila and I suddenly didn't existed. The contract said you had to pretend to be with her, not stop loving me."

"I never stopped loving you, what the hell are you talking about? I kept in touch with you."

You laughed. For the first time you laughed, but it wasn't filled with joy. You were frustrated, furious. You advanced a few steps and stood before him, chest to chest.

"You bet?" you asked low "Pick up your phone, Shawn." no movement. "Pick up you god damn phone. You'll find my fucking texts, my fucking calls and only fucking me caring for us."

"I forgot to call you a few times. That. Was. It."

"That was it." you repeat, nodding with your head, as you finally understand. "Then this is it."

Shawn blinked a few times.

"What?" he mumbled. Your eyes got teary, his too. You don't have to watch it anymore as you strode to your bedroom.

You grabbed a suitcase from your closet and started throwing some clothes in it. Shawn called your name a few times and stopped at that door.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You knew his tones enough to guess that he's scared.

"Going to my mom's. We're done." you laughed and corrected yourself "I'm done."

"What? No, no, no. This isn't over. If anything I should be the one quitting, you fucked this all by selling me." you turned abruptly, but your voice wasn't strong or determined. If it was even possible, something else shattered inside of you. You knew he was affected by happened, but never did you imagined that he'd believe what they were saying.

"You really think I am capable of hurting you on purpose?" you choked out a sob. Tears started falling again.

What he didn't said was enough. You slowly nodded.

"Y/N" he murmured, when you grabbed the suitcase and passed beside him. You walked to the door and his voice, again, this time did stop you. "Y/N, stay. Let's talk. Please."

You vaguely dried the tears on your face with your hand and turned around. It took all of your strength to look at him.and talk: "I was drunk. Was it my fault? Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I should've not drown myself in alcohol. But there were two people in this relationship. I tried to talk to you and you just didn't listen. You just didn't—" Shawn was crying now. His jaw was locked, his hands tugging tightly his hair. You wished you could erase that image from your head.

"Please, Y/N. Shit! I'm so sorry. We can work this out. I believe you, baby, but don't go. I beg."

You smiled with a certain nostalgia. Your memories were holding you in, hope had it's role too. But was there really hope for you both? If he really loved you, you both wouldn't be standing there. If he really loved you, he would've taken five minutes of his day to talk to you. Your heart was aching, and you've had enough. It was the fact that he evidently didn't love you that made you took a step out.

You slowly closed the door, but not before hearing his now-loud cries. "Goodbye, Shawn."

#shawn mendes #shawn #mendes #shawn x reader #shawmila #shawn imagine #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes drabble #shawn mendes angsty imagine #shawn and camila

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fragmentedshards · 4 years

Text

The Voices, Chapter Three: Artistry

With the shoveling finished, Euriel caught the next trolley heading back to The Downs and Eimear walked until she reached the GeneCo. building, dreading entering even more since her encounter with Pavi Largo that morning. She let two white-clad Genterns guide her to the elevator, which, to her surprise, took her straight up to the main office, which she found already painted over with coats of white gesso and a haphazard array of paint and tools laying on an unsteady-looking work table. There was even a large cup of water for rinsing paintbrushes.

“That’s odd,” Eimear said, more to herself than to anyone in particular. “I would have guessed that they would want me to work from the ground up.”

“That would be the logical thing to do,” Luigi Largo answered, taking Eimear by surprise; she hadn’t yet noticed him. “But my siblings and I thought it best to start with this room, since this is where we do most of our work.” he walked out from behind the desk and removed one of his black gloves. “You must be Eimear Hammond.”

Eimear removed her own glove, making a mental note to mend the hole that had formed in it. “I am.” They shared a brief and amiable handshake before she asked, “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to paint, for this or any other room?”

Luigi shrugged. “I don’t know much about art, and I don’t think my brother or sister do either. It’s pretty much up to you, just make it nice.” he chuckled as he returned to the desk. “Hell, if you or I or anyone else doesn’t like it, we’ll just pay you to paint over it and start again.”

At that moment the elevator doors dinged and an assistant walked in, carrying a pot of coffee. He poured a cup for Luigi, who took one sip and promptly sloshed the steaming coffee all over the poor assistant.

“Why do people keep bringing me this decaffeinated swill?!” he yelled as he whipped out a knife, only to find his wrist being twisted by Eimear.

“No!” she commanded sharply. “We don’t stab people!” she heard how ridiculous she sounded, as if she was trying to parent a child when in reality Luigi Largo was forty-eight, but it was the best she could think to do. “Now drop it!”

Taken aback as he was, Luigi actually let go of his knife, letting it fall to the concrete floor. Eimear kicked it away, then dragged the assistant to her painting table, where she dipped the first thing she grabbed - which happened to be her glove - into the cold water and began placing the cold, wet glove on all the places where the coffee had splashed. After a moment’s hesitation, Luigi produced a pocket handkerchief and joined Eimear in this endeavor, apologizing profusely to the assistant under his breath.

“Now, go get a clean uniform and be sure to keep putting cold water on any place that still feels like it’s burning,” Eimear instructed the assistant once they finished, who nodded and left in a considerable hurry as Luigi ripped open his shirt and stood staring in frustration. Eimear gave Luigi an odd look when he did this.

“It’s dirty!” he snapped, before using his wristband to contact a Gentern. “Bring me a clean shirt!” he barked.

“Ah, did you-a stab someone else, fratello?”

Eimear’s shoulders sagged. That voice could only belong to Paviche Largo. He must have been in the elevator when the assistant left.

“No, I spilled coffee,” Luigi answered his brother, about as convincingly as a child denying eating sweets before supper. Eimear shook her head.

Pavi made his way over to her before she could get started on her work, taking her hand in his with a flourish. “Eimear Hammond, the-a famous artist,” he exaggerated before kissing her hand. When he looked up, Eimear saw recognition flash across his features, and openly groaned. “Why, tesoro!” he exclaimed, reaching for her mask. “This is-a fortuitous! You must- a sing for my brother, show him your skills!”

Luigi laughed nervously, gently pulling Pavi away from Eimear, as he was obviously making her uncomfortable. “Pavi, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Your brother is convinced that my sister and I should sing for GeneCo., Mr. Largo,” Eimear explained in exasperation. “He overheard us singing while we worked this morning.”

Luigi’s face was somewhat blank. “Do you sing well?”

Eimear sputtered. “I don’t know... Apparently I do? I know my sister does; I can harmonize with her, and I tell stories well....”

“You could be the-a spokeswoman as well!” Pavi insisted.

“That role should still belong to Miss Largo, even if she is mute,” Eimear shook her head violently. “Speaking for the company should be up to you three and you three only.”

“Does that-a mean you and-a your sister will sing?”

Before Eimear could argue further, the elevator dinged again, this time to reveal Carmela Largo herself, being helped by two male Genterns, one of which even bore Luigi’s new clean shirt. Clearly, Carmela was sailing on Zydrate to help with the pain of her reconstructive surgery on her throat. She even wore a shirt with a high collar, no doubt to hide the scars while they healed. The Genterns helped her to the couch, where she reached for both of her brothers.

“Carmela?” Luigi sat beside her, concerned. “Do you need something?”

By way of response, the youngest Largo merely pulled her brothers in close in a haphazard hug. Eimear tilted her head as she watched, remembering the stories Graverobber had relayed to her about Amber Sweet and thinking how different the woman in front of her seemed from that storied woman. Maybe that’s the difference a decade as well as going mute makes, she thought to herself.

Pavi leapt up suddenly. “Even more a-perfect! Tesoro, you must sing-a for my sister as well! Who-a better to judge your talent than the soprano before you?”

Eimear drew back, putting her hands on her hips. “Now, that’s just mean-spirited,” she scolded, but Carmela looked up at her and mouthed something. Sing, that was what she was trying to say. Carmela wanted Eimear to sing. “I... I’m sure I couldn’t...” she insisted, even as Carmela grabbed her hand and pulled her to stand closer to the sofa. She took out a pen and some paper and wrote quickly on it while Eimear, Luigi, and Pavi glanced at each other in confusion. Finally, Carmela handed Eimear the note, which was written somewhat sloppily due to the influence of Zydrate. Eimear read it carefully:

I sang for eleven years before my voice was taken. It’s not mean-spirited if I had my chance and took it while I had it. Please, sing? I would love to hear it.

Sighing, realizing she didn’t want to disappoint Carmela, Eimear returned the note and nodded reluctantly. “Alright,” she said quietly, and Pavi immediately began clapping. Luigi put an arm around his sister.

Eimear fiddled with one of her gloves, wondering what to sing on the spot. Finally, her eyes fell on the art supplies, and she knew exactly which song to sing. Taking a deep breath and not looking at anyone in the room, she began:

Starry starry night

Paint your palette blue and gray

Look out on a summer’s day

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Shadows on the hills

Sketch the trees and daffodils

Catch the breeze and the winter chills

In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen; they did not know how;

Perhaps they’ll listen now.

She paused and looked up to see Carmela’s hands clasped together in adoration and Luigi gone slack-jawed. Pavi applauded and called for her to sing more, at which Luigi and Carmela both nodded, almost trance-like. Not knowing how to refuse, Eimear continued, this time looking at them as she sang:

Starry starry night

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Swirling clouds in a violet haze

Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue

Colors changing hue

Morning fields of amber grain

Weathered faces lined in pain

Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen; they did not know how;

Perhaps they’ll listen now.

There was no doubt about it. Somehow, she had completely entranced the Largo siblings. Pavi applauded once again, standing up and even giving a little leap. He grasped her hands in his enthusiasm before Luigi put his own hands on his brother’s wrists, letting him know to let go of Eimear’s hands.

“Oh please, tesoro,” Pavi pleaded once more. “You must sing for GeneCo., you and-a your sister both. It will break-a our hearts to a-lose you.”

But Eimear walked backwards a few steps, trying to gather herself. “Now, hold on just a moment,” she said. “My sister and I told you this morning, Mr. Largo; we can’t afford to be in debt to GeneCo., or belong to it. We are doing our best to take care of our family, we can’t take risks like this!”

Carmela mouthed something again, but neither her brothers nor Eimear could read her lips. Frustrated, she wrote on her paper again and shoved it at Eimear. No contract, it read. No debt. Just performing. She wrote on another paper, giving it to Luigi. He read it aloud; “Both sisters should be able to negotiate for themselves and make sure the terms of their employment are amiable.”

Eimear looked at each Largo sibling in turn, studying their faces. If news articles, as well as most firsthand accounts, were to be believed, she was almost certainly asking for trouble by getting involved. But then, eleven years had come and gone since Rotti Largo’s death, and in that time it seemed that his children - Luigi and Carmela, at least - were making an honest effort to be better people. Besides, she thought to herself, If they haven’t changed after all and they’ve set their sights on you and Euriel, what’s to prevent them from coming after Fortunato?

Touching her mask lightly right about her scarred cheek, she declared, “I’ll discuss this with my sister tonight. I will let you know what we decide in the morning.”

Once again forgetting all concepts of personal space, Pavi put his hand on Eimear’s masked cheek, presumably trying to be charming. “You won’t-a regret it, tesoro, I assure you!”

Luigi removed Pavi’s hand from Eimear’s mask and took his new shirt from Carmela’s Gentern before shooing both of his siblings out of the office, making sure his sister knew to ask for anything she needed. “That’s an idea, though,” he said as he redid his ascot after changing shirts. “For the mural, I mean. You could paint something like Van Gogh.”

Eimear looked at him in surprise. “You recognized the song?”

“Parts of it.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know much about art,” she quipped, crossing her arms. Luigi glanced at her, not quite smiling as he finally sat back down at his desk to get to work. “Knowing one artist isn’t the same as actually knowing a lot about art,” he said, and Eimear found she couldn’t argue with that. She laughed a little in spite of herself before beginning to sort through the paint colors that had been provided to her, finishing the song as she did so:

For they could not love you

But still, your love was true

And when no hope was left inside

On that starry, starry night

You took your life, as lovers often do;

But I could have told you, Vincent

This world was never meant

For one as beautiful as you.

Like the strangers that you’ve met

The ragged men in ragged clothes

The silver thorn, a bloody rose

Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen; they’re not listening still;

Perhaps they never will.

*note: for this chapter, listen to “Vincent” by Chloe Agnew

#fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #write #writer #repo! the genetic opera #luigi largo #luigi largo x OC #pavi largo #amber sweet #carmela largo #graverobber #zydrate #geneco

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afolderfullofstories · 3 years

Text

Day 16: On A Need To Know Basis

Sequel to Day 1, Day 3, Day 9, Day 7, Day 15, Day 6, Day 13

Pavi watched his brother through the glass. He still looked like a skeleton but at least he was able to sit up with support. He hadn’t talked to his brother yet. He came a couple of times in a wheelchair to see him but he didn’t let Luigi see him. He didn’t want his brother to worry. He’d managed to get his legs under control. He knocked the door and entered the room. “Fratello.” Pavi sang.

Luigi just stared at him. His eyes were dead. No recognition entered them. Dr Smith…Dr Smith said his brother was alright, was still himself. Why was he…

“Fratello?” Pavi placed a careful hand on Luigi’s arm.

“Don’t touch me!” Luigi pulled away. He stared forward at the wall in front of him, refusing to look at Pavi.

He was angry at him, wasn’t he? For letting him go through all that when he was supposed to help him. “I’m-a sorry, fratello. I was-a supposed to get-a help. I was-a supposed to save you. I couldn’t…” Pavi looked at the ground.

Pavi felt Luigi’s eyes on him. “Paviche?”

“Yea fratello, it’s me.”

Luigi’s brows furrowed. “You’re real?”

“Si, fratello. It’s-a me. I’m-a here.”

“I…I wasn’t sure. I thought…I thought you were dead. But Carmela said…I thought she just didn’t want to tell me. But you were in that room. But you were always there. But then you weren’t here. I wasn’t…I didn’t know…”

Pavi stared quietly at his brother. It…that wasn’t Luigi. He wouldn’t… What did they do to him? Pavi shook it off. He placed a slow hand on Luigi’s wrist. “I’m-a here, fratello.” He didn’t want to think about how big his hand was compared to Luigi’s wrist.

Luigi just stared at his hand. “You’re alive?”

“Si, fratello. I’m-a fine.” Pavi bit his lip. “I should have come earlier. I…I just didn’t-a want you to worry.”

“Worry?”

Pavi traced his thumb over his brother’s wrist. He didn’t want to think how Luigi’s wrist was closer to the size of his thumb than his wrist. “It’s-a nothing, fratello. I’m-a fine now.”

Luigi’s brow furrowed as he grabbed his right thigh.

“Does the wound-a hurt, fratello?”

Luigi shook his head. “The leg isn’t there. But it still hurts. Still imagining things.”

“No, fratello. It’s phantom pains. Dr Smith said-a it was a possibility.”

“Phan…tom.”

“Si, fratello. Something like your-a brain still thinking the leg is-a there.”

Luigi looked down at the empty space where his leg should be.

“Sorella is working on it. You’ll have both legs back in no time.”

“Months or years.”

Pavi sighed. “Maybe, fratello.”

Luigi looked at his left forearm still wrapped in bandages. “Dr Smith said if they can’t figure out how to graft the muscles and tendons soon; they’ll take the arm too.”

Pavi gripped his brother’s wrist tighter. “It’s-a going to be alright, fratello. It’ll just-a take some getting used to. But you’ll get-a through it. You’re the toughest person I know.”

Luigi just stared at his leg.

“I… When I get-a too stressed or upset, my legs just-a stop working. They get-a better once I calm down.” Luigi’s brows furrowed. “I can’t-a feel anything in my legs. It…took some getting used to but-a I’m getting there.”

Luigi reached an unsteady hand to Pavi’s thigh.

“I don’t-a feel it, fratello. But it’s-a fine. I’m-a alive.”

“How bad was it?”

“I was-a unconscious for 3 weeks. Then, when I woke up, I couldn’t-a remember where they took us. I…that’s-a why it took-a so long to find you. Mi dispiace, fratello.”

He looked up to see his brother staring at him oddly.

“I wanted to find-a help. I thought I could-a get help in time. I…I would-a never have left you otherwise.”

“I know, Paviche. That’s why I said it. It was never about finding help.” Pavi snorted. “It’s not your fault. I knew it was bad. I just wanted you out of there and safe.”

“You have no idea what it was like; searching for you, no idea if you were alive or dead!”

“I thought you were dead, Paviche. They…they told me they killed you.”

“I…” Pavi placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m-a here, fratello. I’m alright. You’re alright. We're safe now. Everything’s going to be ok.”

Luigi leaned against his brother’s hand. “You’re here.”

“I’m-a here. I’m-a ok.”

“Fratello.” Pavi sang as he entered the hospital room.

Luigi was staring at him, calculating.

Pavi slid into the chair next to his brother. He placed a gentle hand on Luigi’s wrist.

Luigi relaxed. He picked up the spoon and continued eating. Boiled vegetables with white bread.

“That-a looks absolutely disgusting.”

“It’s food. It’s better than the liquid diet they had me on.”

Pavi made a face. “It’s-a alright, fratello. You’ll be back to eating red-a meat in no time.”

He watched his brother turn green. Luigi didn’t say anything but he stopped eating. He had a faraway look in his eyes once more.

Pavi placed a hand on Luigi’s forearm and squeezed. “Then again, fratello. We’re Italian. Pasta is the only way to go.”

Luigi smiled softly. “Dr Smith says he might start me on tastier food next week if my bloods show improvement with the vitamins.”

“Bland-a vegetables for a week?”

“It’s food.”

“How are you going to gain weight like this?” Pavi said, poking at Luigi’s ribs.

“Very slowly.”

“They can’t-a be serious.”

“They know what they’re doing.”

Pavi smirked. “Well, the world must-a be ending if Luigi Largo is listening to the dottari.” Pavi poked the white bread. “Not even butter?”

“Hands off.” Luigi gave a weak tap at the back of his hand. “That would be half my daily calorie intake.”

Pavi froze. “You’re joking.”

“No. Now let me eat.”

“Here I thought I would join-a you for lunch tomorrow. But now it seems-a just cruel.”

“You could join me for boiled celery instead.”

“Grazie. But I’d rather starve.”

Luigi’s gaze dropped to the ground as his face fell. “No. You wouldn’t.”

“Fratello…”

“I’m ok, Paviche.”

“It’s ok to not-a be.”

“I know.”

“Fratello.”

“Pavi, can you please tell me why Amber pretty much ran out of the room when she found out you were coming?”

Pavi looked away.

“Did you two fight?”

“It’s-a my fault. I was-a…cruel.” Pavi was quiet for a moment. “Fratello, was-a she…was-a she high?”

“No. I don’t think… Has she been using again?”

“No. I was-a just worried.”

“You could ask her.”

“She’s-a been busy. GeneCo has-a been ignored for the past 2 months.”

Luigi scoffed. “What would you do without me?”

“I don’t know, fratello. I really don’t.” Pavi felt his voice catch in his throat.

“Idiot.” Luigi muttered. “You seem really free though.”

“Sorella doesn’t-a want me anywhere near GeneCo. She doesn’t want-a me to exert myself.”

Luigi stared at him. “Is she right to be worried?”

Pavi shrugged. “I feel fine. And the work would-a probably train my brain a bit.”

“You didn’t say there was anything else wrong.”

“My concentration’s a bit-a off. Conversations are fine. But when I have to actively start-a remembering things…it goes a little haywire.”

“Pavi…”

“I’m-a working on it. I’ve reached 20 animals with the rehab therapist. It’ll-a just take work.”

“Things are never really going to go back to normal, are they?”

“No. But normal is-a…relative. What was-a normal last year, wasn’t-a normal 10 years ago.”

“The brain injury has turned you into a philosopher.”

“I had a lot of free time in the hospital.” Pavi sighed. “It’ll-a take work, fratello. But we’ll be fine. We’ll-a survive. As long as we have each other, everything will-a be fine.”

“Fag.”

“Three days-a. That’s a record.”

“Idiot. Speak to Amber.”

Pavi groaned. “Fine.”

Pavi sighed as he watched Luigi eat.

“There’s salt this time. It’s fine.”

“You’d think-a the treatment for malnutrition was-a more food, not-a less.”

“It seems to be hurting you more than it’s hurting me.”

“I just hate seeing you so thin, fratello.”

“With some luck I’m getting some meat on my bones.” Luigi said, lifting his bandaged left hand with his right.

“Sorella’s figured it out?”

“Yes and no. The theory is there. She just needs a guinea pig.”

“And does that guinea pig have to be you?” Pavi sighed. “I don’t-a want you to be disappointed, fratello.”

“It’s fine Pavi. Even if they can’t connect the nerves and tendons, they want to put on the muscles to make it look a little more…normal. Even if I can’t use the arm.”

Pavi sighed. “If-a you say so, fratello.”

“So, why are you finding this out from me? Weren’t you supposed to speak to Carmela?”

“She’s-a busy.”

“Pavi.” Luigi said warningly.

“I don’t-a know what to say. I’m-a sorry I was a fucking asshole to you when you’ve done nothing but been-a supportive for the past 2 months. I’m-a sorry I took it out on you when…” He looked at his brother and trailed off.

“That’s a start.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, fratello.”

“She isn’t high. I asked and she didn’t seem to be lying.”

“That’s-a…a relief.”

“Pavi…”

He sighed. “I don’t-a get angry like that, fratello. It isn’t-a me.”

“Come tomorrow morning. It’s when she’s usually here.”

Pavi sighed and nodded. “Fratello…, do you…” He hesitated, he didn’t want to bring it up but he had to ask. “Do you remember anything at all about-a those who did this? Or what they wanted?”

He rubbed his head. “Amber asked me on the first day. I… They weren’t in the room much. They didn’t say anything to me. They just left me there. It was strange.” Luigi had a far-off look. “Then when the infection set in… I’m not sure what was real and what wasn’t.”

“It’s-a ok, fratello.”

“The first-time pops appeared… he asked me something strange. It wasn’t like the other times. I…”

“What-a was it, fratello?”

“He asked who he would have given GeneCo to if the three of us died.”

Pavi furrowed his brow. “That-a is strange.”

“I keep thinking about it. By law, even if the 3 of us died, it’s Amber’s will that would be in effect, right? Unless papa’s will had a stipulation…”

“The lawyer refused to show us the will. He only read to us what-a was relevant.”

“That’s what I’m thinking about too. If pops had a stipulation in his will on who would get GeneCo if the three of us died, regardless of what any of us had planned…”

“It’s-a probably them. To get us out of the way. But…” Something didn’t feel right. “Why leave you alive then? I mean-a torture is one thing but…if-a its about GeneCo then… wouldn’t-a killing us be easier?”

Luigi shook his head. “I don’t know. We need to find a way to get to that will; to know who’s behind this. And no leaving GeneCo without security. No event where they could take us again.”

Pavi nodded. “We’ll-a figure this out. They won’t-a catch us unaware again.”

“And you can explain all this to Carmela tomorrow.”

“Fratello.” Pavi whined.

“She’s not angry. She just thinks you hate her.”

Pavi groaned.

“Do it. I’m bored of being a messenger pigeon between you two.”

“Fine.” Pavi sighed. “Aren’t I supposed to be the peacekeeper?”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“I give it a month-a.”

“That’s optimistic.”

Pavi let out a guffaw. “A week-a, fratello. Especially if you’re stuck-a eating this crap-a.”

“Idiot. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“And I’m-a taking full advantage of it.”

Luigi rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”

Pavi smiled. He missed this. “Fratello. I’m glad you’re home.”

Luigi sighed. “Me too, Paviche.”

Note: Last part of the Kidnapping storyline unless I find inspiration in another prompt to continue but looking at the other prompts, so far nothing comes to mind. I’m really happy with how this story turned out and it was definitely fun trying to incorporate so many prompts in 1 story.

#whumptober 2021 #no.16 #recovery #aftermath #repo! the genetic opera #fic #swearing tw #slurs tw #Luigi Largo #Pavi Largo

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selphiealmasy8 · 5 years

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Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: My Own Private Idaho (1991) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Scott Favor/Me, Mike Waters & Me, Carmela/Scott Favor, Scott Favor & Jack Favor, Scott Favor & Mike Waters Characters: Scott Favor, Me, Mike Waters, Bob Pigeon, Carmela (My Own Private Idaho), Jack Favor Additional Tags: Self-Insert, Past Relationship(s), Overweight, Weight Issues, Prostitution, Regret, Pain, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Loss of Virginity, Virginity, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Abandonment, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, Shakespeare Quotations, defloration, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Missionary Position, Large Breasts, Breast Play, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Breast Fucking, Deepthroating, Pearl Necklace Series: Part 6 of Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic! Summary:

Years after I paid Scott Favor to sleep with me, and later he eventually turned his back on his friends following his trip to Europe with Mike Waters, I meet him again on the same Oregon street. When I let Favor take me back to his place and we make love, I am left feeling like the prostitute this time becoming angry at myself for being with a man I am severely disappointed with.

I soon learn, however, that my disgust of Scott Favor is overshadowed by someone else's hatred for the man:

Scott Favor, himself.

#my own private idaho #scott favor #fanfic #fanfiction #hetfic

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fairytellerxo · 6 years

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A fluff piece where Angel finds a familiar face to confide in and be comfortable with.

“Fine ass Angel Reyes.” The brunette cooed as she wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulders. “What brings you all the way here? Huh?”

Angel eyed the woman carefully before biting his lower lip slightly. “That face.” He smirked as he let the brunette lead him down the all too familiar hallway and into her private room. “Missed that face.

“Yeah?” She shrugged as she moved towards the bed and laid down. “So, missing my face made you drive all the way here to see me huh?” She held out her arms and grinned sheepishly at the handsome man. “Come on. Fresh bed. Promise.”

He nodded slowly as he kicked his boots off and shuffled lazily towards the bed before settling into it next to the brunette. “I thought you said you were gonna stop doing this shit.”

“That was the plan then my mom got sick and bills started piling up. So here I am.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “The bills are almost taken care of though. Figured three more months and I’ll be able to just work a normal full-time job. No more sleeping with guys.”

“We’ve known each other for a while, right?” He turned to his side and looked at her carefully. “Do you think I’m a bad guy or a good guy?”

She scrunched up her face slightly before it relaxed and she smiled at him. “Good guy. You have some bad traits but you seem to do everything with good intentions. Why do you ask?”

He let out an exhausted sigh. “I’ve been feeling off. Like I’m not doing shit right lately. My mind is all twisted up and I don’t really like myself all that much…”

“I’m sorry,” she ran her fingers over his cheek and frowned. “I’m here to listen if you need to vent and get it all out. We don’t even have to have sex. We can get out of here and we can hang at my place. It’s not that far from here. You’re my last visit of the night anyway.”

Angel sat up slowly, taking in the brunette again before he gave her a single nod. “I just realized that I’ve been coming here for years but don’t even know your real name. Pretty sure it’s not actually Carmela.”

She laughed as she wriggled into a pair of skin-tight jeans before shoving her feet into a pair of slides. “It’s for sure not Carmela but you never asked me about me before. We kinda just fuck and then I listen to all of your situations. Then you disappear for a while. I don’t ask questions and I don’t push.”

“Yeah but I’m asking for your name now,” he smirked at her. “Your name. What is it?”

The brunette piled her hair on top of her hair and smiled. “My name is Eztli.” She nodded. “Eztli Santamaria. There you go fine ass Angel Reyes. You got my name finally.”

He followed her out of the room and towards the exit. “Don’t you gotta check out with your pimp or something?”

She shook her head. “Check out with my pimp?” She laughed. “No. I don’t have a pimp. I can just come and go as I please. My clients book with me and not the front desk. I’m private.”

“So, you got a nickname or can I call you EZ number two?” He laughed as he stopped at his bike. “You need a ride home?”

“Do not call me that,” She shook her head again. “No, I drove here. Just follow me. I’m that red Impala.” She smiled at him. “Keep up if ya can.”

Eztli tossed her things onto the coffee table before stretching her arms above her head and glancing back. “Make yourself comfortable. Mi casa es su casa.”

“Does your mom live with you?” He looked around as he toed his boots off and left them by the door. “It’s nice.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, she passed.” She shrugged slightly. “I still have bills to pay though. I did all that I could to try to keep her but at the end, it was so bad, she just wanted to go peacefully and be pain-free. I had to respect that request. So, now it’s just me. Dad is off somewhere with a different family and living his best life. He showed face at her funeral but couldn’t bother to stick around to make sure that I was good.”

He nodded slowly, taking in the warmth that the home seemed to have. It was something that his own home lacked. This was welcoming, relaxing but most importantly it was familiar. It reminded him of everything his childhood home had been. The pictures, the smells, the stupid quilted blanket over the recliner. “You mind if I raid the fridge?”

Eztli smiled. “Follow me, I made enchiladas and rice before I left for work. It’ll all taste fine if you warm it all up.” She walked into the kitchen and pointed towards the oven. “Just, make yourself at home. I need to take a quick shower and decompress. There’s beer in the fridge and if you need to smoke, take it outside. Front or back, it doesn’t matter, just no smoking in here.”

“I know the rules, no smoking.” He pulled the pans out of the oven and set them on the counter before he sighed. “Hey, thanks for this, for being a constant even though I tend to blow you off and kind of treat you like shit.”

Leaning against the door frame, she eyed him carefully before shaking her head once. “It’s not that you treat me like shit Angel. It’s that you only seek me out when you have a troubled mind that cannot be eased.” She moved to him and kissed his cheek. “Sometimes you just need a familiar and welcoming face to ease your sorrows.”

His eyes fell on her, a smile playing on his lips before he pushed her away slightly. “Don’t be nice to me. I’m a bad guy.” He shook his head before pulling her back to him and hugging her tightly. “You know, I’d cause you nothing but pain and a few migraines.”

“I’m not trying to be with you, I’m trying to be here for you.” She rubbed the back of his neck lazily. “Eat then, I’ll draw you a bath or something. I’m sure I can dig up some sweats from my brother’s shit he left behind.”

“See, I didn’t even know you had a brother,” He looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I’m shit.”

She shook her head. “Listen, you paid for sex then it started to be me listening to you talk about shit that was weighing on your shoulders. I love to sit and listen. I wanted to go to school and be a therapist, do the listening and advice shit for a living. I never made it that far though, I’m like a few classes short of the degree. My mom got sick really bad the first time and I dropped out of school and focused on her and working. Now, I guess since she’s resting in peace, I can kind of get back to shit I have always wanted to do. I never planned on being a whore. It just was fast and easy money for the situation I was in. See, my brother got out of jail, not too long ago, he was here to see our mom and be with her when she passed. Now he’s off and it’s radio silence. He’s bad with feelings and shit. Says it’s not real man shit but I think a real man shows his vulnerable side.”

“Anyone ever tells you that shit happens for a reason? I hated hearing that shit when my mom was killed. That didn’t need to happen.” Angel shook his head as he allowed the brunette to lead him out of the kitchen. “It wasn’t her time to go but fuck did it hurt when I lost her. I lost myself alongside with her. It really fucked with EZ though, he lost his way, ended up in jail trying to avenge her death. He’s out now though. I think that happened between that last I saw you and now.”

She laughed as she walked them through her bedroom and into the bathroom. “Yeah, I hate it so much but I get it. It’s what they think is the right thing to say. I do think that she’s in a better place than here.” She started to strip down before pausing to turn on the shower. “I guess it’s time for me to start my life again and get out of the whole being a whore thing. I like to think that I’m so much better than this life I got into.”

He watched her for a moment before reaching out and touching a scar on her left thigh. “That’s new. What happened?”

“Bad client,” She touched her thigh. “He got mad that I wouldn’t shove a finger up his ass while giving him a blowjob. So, he proceeded to bite my thigh when moved to grab my shit when he finished. Yes, a grown ass man bit the shit out of my thigh. Laugh it up, I know I did when I made sure he didn’t give me like rabies.”

“He bit you?” He laughed and shook his head. “I was hoping you got too into some sex thing and got hurt. Nah, you got bit because you didn’t wanna finger a dude’s ass. Get with the times Carmela.”

“Yeah, well, Carmela doesn’t like butt stuff. She’s not there yet.” She laughed as she stepped into the shower and sighed as the hot water hit her skin. “Eztli, maybe if she was in a long term relationship, she’d be open to butt stuff on her man.” She smirked as she watched Angel get in the shower. “Time to wash the day down the drain. We’ll have a fresh start after this. It’ll relax you. You’ll be good, I’m here for you.”

#mayans mc #angel reyes #angel reyes x oc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #its just a drabble

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drvrslcense · 5 years

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of right now || chapter four

Masterlist | Wattpad | Taglist

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Pairing: Film Producer!Tom x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tom tries again to recruit you to his show and something happened.

Words: 2.1k +

Warning: Slight angst?, Fluff? and swearing.

Disclaimer: I do not own the plot nor Tom Holland. The plot along with some lines belongs to Everyday, I love you’s crew and it’s production. Tom Holland is also just a face and a name claim, I do not know him personally nor do I know his personality.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry that this was posted late! School got in the way and I-ugh. Hope you like this one! Pls, tell me your thoughts and comments so that I can improve my writing. Thank you for reading!

Tom slams the car door shut louder than he should have, leaving Paul inside. As much as Tom wanted to drive around Batanes, he can't. He still has to take a driving test since Filipinos drive on the right side. Along with adjusting to driving on the right side, he has to pass the test in which he will be required to drive the vehicle backward while going down the mountain since the roads are thinner in Batanes for him to have a driving permit.

He opened the gate that leads to La Carmela, an ancestral house which belongs to Tristan. It was where your grandma Julie told him you might be.

He saw you looking up at the house, holding your video camera, and closing your eyes. Then, you went spinning and spinning around until you went dizzy and tumbled to the ground.

"Hey!" Tom yelled running towards you. "Are you okay?"

"Ouch," You groaned, clutching your head as you stand up with the help of Tom.

"What were you doing?" Tom hissed. You just glared at him while fixing your skirt, clearly annoyed at the fact that he showed up. "Do you just want to get dizzy?"

"What are you doing here?" You asked him as you checked to see if your video camera is still working.

"Mama Julie told me you might be here," Tom answered, "I want you to do my show."

"Can't you understand the word, 'no', 'negative', 'I don't want', 'never'?" You said. looking over at him exclaiming synonyms of 'no'.

"Well, I prefer the words, 'yes', 'positive', 'I want', 'More than never', 'forever'," Tom answered, smirking a little as he saw your nose flare up.

"I don't think you can be trusted with the word, 'forever'," You retorted, making lots of hand gestures to release your annoyance. "For never! For never will I do your show."

You turned around and started walking towards the gate where you know your bike would be.

"Come on, Y/N! What will it take for you to say 'yes'?" Tom asked exasperatedly while following you towards the gate.

"Nothing! Stop following me!" You said walking faster to get away from him. "Leave me alone!"

"What if I don't want to?" Tom said, still following you. In annoyance, you rolled your eyes and stopped, facing him.

"I'll punch you harder," You said putting your camera to your left hand, getting ready to punch him.

Tom chuckled, "Okay. Do what you want. Come on!" while pointing his opening his arms. As if the bruise on his face doesn't say something.

"Take your best shot."

And you did, doing it harder this time, but in his gut. Tom felt like you just pushed air out of his lungs, and he doubled over.

"Ow!" Tom howled in pain as he is still doubled over clutching the part you punch him, squeezing it to try and lessen the pain. "Why did you do it?"

"You said so!" You defended yourself, shrugging your arms.

"I can sue you for physical injury!" Tom roared as he stood up, recovering from his injury.

"I can sue you for trespassing," You said, uncrossing your arms as a finger pointed towards the land the two of you are standing on.

"Is this your property?"

"No." You said as Tom chuckled, turning around done with the conversation. "Stalking! I'll sue you for stalking."

"Fine!" Tom said, following after you. "Whatever! You can think of me as your stalker or, the guy who's making your dreams come true."

You finally turned around putting your hands on your hips as you've finally had enough of him. "I don't want to do it! Okay!?"

"Goodbye," You said, waving as you finally reach the gate.

Tom smirked and crossed his arms, "Didn't you say 'here in Basco, there is no goodbye's?"

That made you halt from climbing your bike.

"Instead there are see you later's?"

You turned around and faced him, confused as to why he knows that line. "Where did you hear that?"

"I saw your audition. You've always wanted to be an actress, right?" Tom said walking over to where you stand beside your bike. "Why don't you want to be on my show?"

"I already let go of that dream. I don't want it anymore," You said, as you turned around climbing your bike when Tom grabbed your video camera from you.

"If you really did, why do you still have this?" Tom said, holding the video camera. You tried snatching it back, but he was faster. "Why keep making these videos, huh?"

"Your grandma told me, you're scared," Tom said, opening the camera and taking a video of you. "So, tell me, Y/N, what are you so afraid of?"

Your breathing started to shake and so does your body as you try to prevent your tears from falling.

"Come on, Y/N, tell me," Tom nagged you, as you stare at him.

Your phone rang and you grabbed it from the pocket of your skirt.

"Hello, Angie?" You asked as went near Paul's car to avoid Tom from hearing the conversation, worried. Angie only calls you if something happens to Aidan.

"It's Aidan," You heard her over the phone. "There was an emergency here at the hospital."

"What happened?" You asked, worried.

"His blood pressure spiked up. I didn't know how to tell you. But he's stable now," Angie said over the phone, still shaky.

"Okay, I'm on my way!" You said as you walked towards your bike and grabbed your bag from the basket and started rummaging through it.

"Why?" Tom asked confused, he doesn't think that it's important, and was confused by your actions. "What happened?"

"You'll do everything to save him, okay!?" You asked Angie as she hangs up the call, still rummaging through your bag for something but the items inside just kept falling out.

'Y/N, What's wrong?, Y/N!" Tom said, grabbing your arms and turning you around. It was a sight of you he hasn't seen before. You sighed as you finally let go of the tears that were threatening to fall, still really scared about what might happen.

"I'm in a hurry! I need to go, okay!?" You roared as you shook his arms off, just as Paul went out from the car. You immediately climbed your bike but Paul and Tom stopped you.

"Y/N! You're just going to get yourself killed!" Tom exclaimed as Paul went over to you, trying to calm you down.

"Nida, just told me what happened," Paul said, putting a hand on your shoulder. "He's stable now. Just calm down and I'll get you there faster."

You finally agreed and went down from your bike. You grabbed your bike and started to carry it towards Paul's pick-up when Tom stopped you and took your bike.

"Look, just go inside. I'll take care of this," Tom said carrying your bike and grabbing the rope Paul gave him to tie the bike.

---

"Angie!" You greeted Angie as you saw her. She immediately greeted you back but hurried to the back room to go and get you a hospital gown, a mask, and a hairnet which you'll be using to be allowed inside the intensive care unit.

"Y/N!" Mama Nida greeted you as Angie is quickly getting you dressed.

"What happened?" You asked quickly as Aidan's doctor is talking to Mama Nida.

"His blood pressure's unstable and he almost flatlined," Aidan's doctor explained. Hearing those words that he almost flatlined almost made you faint but you stayed strong. "He's okay now, but he needs to stay in the ICU for the next few days."

"He needs to undergo some scans," Mama Nida added.

"He's been stable for quite some time so, this was alarming," the doctor mused.

Angie finished purring on the gown and the hairnet then you hurriedly put on your mask and went inside the room where Aidan is.

You quickly went to his side and held his hand-- hoping and praying for a miracle to happen. That maybe someone out there would heal Aidan from his wounds and wake him up.

A hand of yours went to brush his hair away from his face as you know that he isn't one to have his hair on his face.

Then, you sobbed. You let out all those feelings that have been bubbling inside you for quite a while now. You squeezed his hand as you do, hoping that maybe in that little squeeze of yours, he'd wake up. You let tears quickly cloud your vision as the guilt continued to eat you up. Guilt as you still blame yourself for his comatose. That if it wasn't for you, he wouldn't have been in this state. Worry and fear continue to claw you up as you continued crying by his side. You've been scared that in his fragile state, he'd die. Scared, that he might let Mama Nida grow old and die without him by her side. Scared that for one wrong move, something bad might happen and you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself for it.

Tom, looking inside through the window that fully shows you and Aidan, can't help but remember back when his own father was dying. How his own father was in so much pain that he wished for it to go away. And it did, claiming his dad with it.

---

Tom was leaning against a wall when you walked out with Mama Nida, feeling exhausted.

"To be honest, I don't know where I could get more money to pay for Aidan's hospital bills," Tom heard Mama Nida say. "His savings are out. I was thinking of selling La Carmela."

"No, Mama Nida, not that, please," Tom heard you plead not to sell the house as you went outside. "You know how much Aidan loves that house."

"Okay, okay. I'll see what I can do," Mama Nida said, wiping your tears. "Now, stop crying."

"Thank you, tita! (auntie)" You said as you jumped and pulled her into a tight hug.

---

"Bye, Paul! Thanks for bringing me home!" You said as you jumped down the car.

"It's alright, my dear," Paul said as he climbed down.

"Paul!" Mama Esther greeted him. "Come and eat with us. You too, Tom."

Paul, upon hearing the word 'eat', immediately went inside the house, leaving Tom and you for the bike.

"Sorry for bugging you earlier," You sincerely said. "But, thank you."

"'is fine," He dismissed, "Are you okay?"

You nodded, clutching your backpack while Tom went back to untying your bike.

"You know, if Aidan saw this bike," You started, leaning onto the side of the pick-up.

"Yeah?"

"He certainly wouldn't be happy," You continued, chuckling a little bit. "He doesn't even want me to ride the jeepneys and tricycles around here, eh."

"He always wanted to be the one to drive me, wherever that may be," You continued, remembering how he'd always be disappointed if he can't pick you up and drive you to places. "That's why I'm sure that if he wakes up and sees me in this bike, he'd be mad."

"Really?" Tom asked in disbelief. He couldn't imagine you without that bike, it had always been how he pictured you. You nodded, smiling sadly, thinking about how you have to let that bike go once Aidan wakes up. "But it's one of the things that I like about you."

You only stared at him surprised that he's that nice to you right now and not like that cocky bastard he was earlier.

"Is that why you don't want to do the show? Are you afraid that Aidan will you riding a bike?" Tom asked, setting down your bike and leaning it on your garden.

"Even if I don't do the show, Aidan will still know about it," You said, sitting on the back of the pick-up. "It's in my videos, right?"

"I wanna ask you something," Tom started, sitting beside you. "Why were you spinning earlier?"

You stared at him and laugh softly. "My mom taught me that. She told me, that if one thing never changed even though the world kept spinning, you should keep it."

"But what if you have to let go of La Carmela, for Aidan to live?" You looked at Tom with wide eyes, surprised by his question. "I heard your conversation with Aidan's grandmother earlier. "

You continued staring at him. "Look, Y/N, if you really need the money, why not sell the house?"

You shake your head and scoffed. "Because Aidan loves that house. I'm that if he wakes up and found out about the house, he'll be upset. And, to be honest, me too."

"Because that's where our story began."

----

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