#and its true ive only ever been stung as a child

[mooifyourecows]

me and the metric paper wasp building a nest on my front door have a deep, emotional bond built from making eye contact multiple times a day through the glass and so naturally i wanted to express my love for him by way of little treat and looked up if paper wasps like sugar water but the search results were all "HERE'S HOW TO LURE WASPS INTO A TRAP TO KILL THEM AS HORRIFICALLY AS POSSIBLE TO ENSURE THEIR LAST MOMENTS ARE PURE TORTURE AND AGONY" and like no, sir, you do not understand, we are in love

[pen-observing]

My Only One iv - final

Diavolo and you have been together for a century. While time flies, the last decade has not been kind to either of you. He is about to become the King and while you have subjected yourself to transformations, just to live with your beloved, the pressure is unending. You live your life publicly. It is no luxury. Not having an heir when 100 years have passed tears you apart- just as much as it divides those that you inevitably rule. A solution comes like the last ray of hope. Go to an enchanted fortress used for fixes of the worst kind. Subject yourself to even more hexes to have the possibility of producing an heir. It’s just for a year. A short time for those immortal. A long time for those in a complex relationship, especially when for the sake of efficiency, letters are the only means of communication you are allowed to have with outsiders.

Warnings: none

i / ii / iii / _   

To say that your feet felt lighter and the frozen ground finally melted after the letter from the brothers would be an understatement.

Hope. Hope in its trues form finally existed for you again. Too many years did hope have the same colour as Diavolo’s eyes. You almost forgot other potent sources of such a feeling. My dear, you forgot that hope was held within.

As your sanity finally made peace with your inner being; everything else started to fall into place. Diavolo’s paragraphs upon paragraphs; drawing a lie within a dream still stung; but, you did not go crazy. Power was flowing back to you.  

The letters from the brothers varied on topics decided by the hand that wrote them. Admittedly, based on the handwriting, some were easier to read than others. But their meaning; their essence; their love was never to be questioned.

Karasu was proud with the step-by-step recovery you were making. Those watchful eyes were full of kindness and wonder while you grew into a cheerful state. Well, as cheerful as the circumstances would allow.

The room wasn’t messy anymore. Your treatment was moving along smoothly. The interest about people in charge of you grew. They respected, while still being able to doubt, the genuine curiosity held from a future Ruler. They did not tell you everything but a difference between privacy and secrecy was established. Based on such occasions you managed to find out that one of the witches dedicated her whole life to this. She could never, ever, have kids because of a pact. However, seeing others live out that oh so feeble dream of hers; would mean happiness.

It was astounding that a pure motive existed within these walls. You marvelled at it. And life began to marvel at you.  

Month nine marked the witch leaping at you with such joy in the privacy of one of the examination rooms. She held your arms tightly. She delivered the news with a strong voice. “You, you! Your treatment exceeded every expectation they set! You can have children now! You can bear a child. You can give birth to Devildom’s future!”

The news shocked you. Now? Right now? This was as sudden as time itself.   What does this mean when you are unsure about the man who swore to be the best father? He also swore to be a true lover; look how that turned out.

But there was no way you could allow yourself to break in front of this person. There was no way your humanity would disrespect the witch’s joy for you; the life long dedication.

You gently held her hands with a genuine smile prompted by her honest hope. You thanked her from the bottom of your heart; even if it was still broken.

That interaction meant that the time of your solitude in this fortress was at its end. It meant you had to return to the frightening outside world. But how?  

The end that once was sure to spark joy was no more. Confusion was torturing you now; unrelenting. 

What now?

A long conversation with Karasu followed where you weighted every option of return. Should you notify Diavolo? What will you do once you see him again? Could you ever find a small corner of your heart that would ensure forgiveness upon the man you loved more than any other?  

Karasu knew you. Karasu patiently listened and answered all questions.  

It was decided that as a person who makes memories out of feelings; as an impulsive human who observes and makes decisions based on natural states- Diavolo would not be notified of your return.

You had to see him in his true state: unprepared, surprised; to realise if the relationship could be mended.  

The brothers however, will know. You are not ashamed to admit that you asked them a favour - making necessary preparations. Evoking the pact to make sure secrecy was upheld like a virtue. They didn’t mind. They knew you trusted them and this was just to ensure Lucifer’s silence to the man that betrayed you.

And in uncertainty, while lacking bravery; you set out. Back to the castle. Back home.

But the ride back was less pleasant than the experiments. Countless scenarios plagued your mind. Your sanity was seemingly throwing different conversations your way. 

Menacing. Dramatic. Sad.

Then suddenly in a leap of love- it hit you with grandiose romantic gestures of apology. Honey words that felt true.  

What will Diavolo do when you meet again? Everything depended on that.

Could it be that he even betrayed those daydreams of yours? Stepping outside, in front of the gate, clearly showed that fate would not answer your questions soon enough. 

Time, bewildering time, my dear.

Diavolo did not welcome you- Barbatos did. How expected of him to be so calm by your sudden return. His demeanour always amazed you. Even while expressing his surprise upon such a turn of events he remained eloquent. Almost idyllic.     

The man controlled time, he toyed with it in an intricate dance; why were you so surprised? Was it because in those daydreams, in those silly expectations of yours; Diavolo was the only man you wondered about? Where was he right now?

Barbatos led you inside the tea room. Was he toying with you now as well?  

This room. This intricately decorated room was always your favourite inside a castle which felt enormous; never ending. Ceaseless. The word home could have been this room by itself. Why?  It was always warm. Cozy.  It was where you would spend time while Diavolo was relentlessly busy.  It was where you would relentlessly force him to take breaks.

Most of all, It was where the two of you existed outside of pressure. It was where the two of you kissed for the first time. Countless nights of love and pleasure happened right here.

Barbatos was definitely toying with you. If he did not become a close friend over all of these years you would have cursed him out.

He brought a sweet aroma in your favourite tea cup.   Yup. He set it down with a gentle smile. You definitely would have cursed him out for using gold-lined tea cups Diavolo gifted you.

Your eyes stayed on his figure while, unable to resist, the cup found way into your hand. There was no need to ask Barbatos anything. He remained a perfect butler.

“My Lord will be here momentarily. If we were notified of your return, we would have cleared his schedule.”

A slip up.  Barbatos made a mistake. Unfathomable.

His words were serene once again. Just like when you departed. The surface of the water is serene, what goes on below? What did his seemingly simple words hide?

Did he say it on purpose? Did he do so out of care for you?  

“Barbatos.”  

You have to be brave now more than ever my dear. Barbatos gave it away in case you were not aware. How kind of him.

“Yes? Is there something not to your liking?” “I noticed how you referred to Diavolo as my Lord, not our. This had changed since I left.”

Silence. Continue to be brave.

“I know Barbatos. I know that his hands have touched someone else. I know that he slept with them in our bed.”

Your voice was flat. Barbatos stayed silent out of respect for you. In reality, his masqueraded words meant much more. How could Barbatos, utterly loyal, admit that he himself considered Diavolo weak? His Lord was weak for the temptations. He could never say, but you knew.  

In that moment, rushed footsteps echoing outside in the hallway reached you. The door sprung open swiftly. In such speed and urgency unseen before. Diavolo stood there. In disbelief. Marvelling at your sudden return in ardent admiration.

He stood there, breathless from running to see you.  For months now this tea room was devoid of your presence. For months now he longed for your return. Oh how Diavolo yearned to open this door and see your form blessing it.

And here you were. Magnificent. Radiant.

Barbatos had to interrupt this moment because peace could not exist after what was spoken. He turned towards the door, walking out. His lips parted open for a whisper to Diavolo. “They know everything.”  He gracefully exited. Diavolo stood still, unable to meet your gaze.

He deserves this shame.

You sat there looking at him. He was breathless, bewitching. ...But was it because of excitement for you? His hair was messy, his tie was loose.

Was this the work of the other woman? His whore? When was the last time her fingers touched him so intimately?

How pitiful was it to glance up at him like this.

My dear, why do you call the woman a whore? Diavolo was the strongest man of them all. He was no easy target. Why do you make it sound like she took him? He gave himself away. He probably seduced her.

You stood up. Smiled at the man undeserving of kindness. He saw it. He saw it and yet his eyes still avoided yours. 

Guilt. For the first time,perhaps ever in his life, Diavolo was hesitant.   Approaching you like this was a confession of his betrayal.

He stayed silent as your hands gently fixed his tie that someone else tugged on not too long ago. “This is no way to present yourself. Do you wish for them to say the future King grew messy?”

How ironic was this rhetorical question phrased just like the one on the day you left? How much of a paradox was this position identical to the way you two said goodbye in love?

Diavolo still loved you.  

That much you knew when his hand grabbed yours in a desperate attempt to keep you close. To keep the magnificent presence within this room. His serious gaze was solely focused on you. If only you were the sole partner.

His deep voice, filled with regret, still charmed. “One word from you and she will be banished forever. I adore you. I was helpless without you around. That is what made me so weak to fall into this predicament. I love you. You know that.”

His fingers intertwined with yours. A pathetic attempt. How dare he cite your absence as his justification?! There is a clear difference between that justified and that which was just an excuse.  

If you had to say anything to get the other woman out of the castle it was already pointless to try and rectify this broken trust; broken love; between the two of you.

Good observation my dear, the other woman became pregnant while you were still receiving treatment. She gave him something you sacrificed every part of yourself for.

“Diavolo...” Your soft voice trailing off already told him the conclusion he was dreading. Begging to avoid. He knew of your humanity; he knew how pitiful he was. Diavolo, despite everything, still was enough of a man; enough of a lover, to know he had to respect your decision.

Your hand slipped from his hold. He remained still. Like a statue of a fallen hero.

“Diavolo, huh?”, a deep sigh. How long had he not heard you call his name? Was this the tone he must remember the end by? He cannot have that. His heart cannot have that. 

“Beloved, please. Just once more. It would be a tragedy to part like this. Have you really stopped loving me?”

You knew what he was asking for. How kind of you to fulfil his wish; gently fixing a few strands of his hair, while love still lingered in your eyes.  My dear, this is almost cruel from you.

With those eyes you looked into his. Gave him a sad smile and graced him, graced his wish, in a soft voice.

“My only one, my love belongs to those that are faithful.”

(I hope you have enjoyed reading it until now. I wonder how you feel and if you like it. Feel free to talk to me and ask me questions if you have any. Your feedback is treasured. I promise you. Posting this at 1:34am tho has me feeling a bit loopy. Is loopy a word? Unsure. However from the bottom of my heart- thank you for reading until now.)

[plaidbooks]

Can I request a reader x ada Sonny fic? Sonny is at the station with Liv when reader comes back from interviewing someone with Rollins/Fin and when she walks in she passes out and everyone sees. She gets taken to the hospital and Sonny finds out she’s pregnant and goes into protective dad/bf mode?

Misunderstandings

A/N: Look, anon, this took a fucking turn. But god, what I wouldn’t give for Sonny to curse angrily in Italian. Hope you enjoy! (translations at the end)

Tags: mentions of domestic abuse

Words: 1719

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @whimsicallymad @glowingmess @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @reading--mermaid

You glanced at your phone as you got a text incoming, reading through it before re-focusing on the conversation between Amanda and the newest victim in a long list of rapes. The message was just your boyfriend, Sonny, asking when you and Amanda were coming back to the station—he had to talk to you both, seeing as you were the arresting officers of the accused, Jared Donovan.

“And that’s when he attacked you?” Amanda was saying. But you were having trouble paying attention. You were lightheaded, dizzy. You could feel a cold sweat on your forehead, and you told yourself you’d grab a water and a snack from the vending machine once back at the precinct.

The interview was thankfully short; the woman didn’t have much to contribute, and Amanda gave the victim her card, telling her to call if she thought of anything.

“Well, that was a dead-end,” she huffed as she slid into the driver’s seat. You buckled up next to her, nodding absentmindedly. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just a little hungry,” you forced a weak smile, hoping she’d drop it. Amanda gave you a long look before she put the car in drive and went back to the precinct.

“We’ll call in takeout; have it ready before we make it back,” she smiled at you, pulling her phone out of her pocket. You nodded, sending a text to Sonny, letting him know you were on your way.

By the time the elevator doors opened to the precinct, your legs were wobbling, your head feeling worse. Food hadn’t been delivered yet, but that was fine—water was more important right now. You made your way to the water cooler, ice-cold water sounding like the best thing ever.

Sonny was leaning against the cooler, sipping on a glass himself, when he saw you. “Hey, doll. Glad you’re back—hey, are you feeling okay? You don’t look so hot…” he trailed off, his brow furrowed as you moved closer. You opened your mouth to respond before your legs gave out. The last thing you heard was Sonny calling out your name as you lost consciousness.

***

Sonny had never felt panic like when you dropped in front of him, your limp body crashing to the ground, bouncing slightly when you hit.

“Fuck, shit, [Y/N],” he yelped, dropping his cup of water as he rushed over to you. He rolled you over onto your back, screaming, “call a bus!” as he checked you for injuries. Your cheek was already swelling up, blood leaking from a split lip and a nostril. He gingerly felt your nose, afraid it was broken. Officers and detectives alike flew into a flurry of movement as they went for first-aid kits and calling an ambulance.

“She said she was feeling a little hungry earlier, but she looked a little…off,” Amanda said, coming to kneel by him, using a tissue to wipe at your face.

“And…and you didn’t do anything?” Sonny asked.

Amanda gave him a glare. “Hey, I ordered food for when we got back here.”

That had to be it, right? Just hungry? But he had made you both breakfast that morning; you had eaten…. No, something was off…something was wrong. Sonny had enough time to work himself up into a panic when the EMTs showed up.

Olivia had a hand on Sonny’s shoulder. “I’ll let you know if we get anything in the interviews. You go to the hospital with [Y/N].” Sonny nodded, following the gurney with your unconscious body on it. “And Carisi? Give me updates.”

 **********************

You awoke in a hospital bed, face on fire, sore, swollen. Glancing around, you noticed you were alone in your room, which stung. You vaguely remembered seeing Sonny before passing out, so why wasn’t he here with you? Was he forced back to work?

A nurse came in, seeing you awake, and giving you a soft smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Morning, Ms. [Y/L/N]. How are you feeling?”

“Like I was punched in the face,” you joked. “What happened?”

The nurse looked nervous, uncomfortable. “That’s actually what I was going to ask you.”

You recognized the look in the nurses’ face; you had seen it a thousand times before when they prepped you to talk to a victim. It didn’t take much to connect the dots. “Oh, I just passed out at work! I’ve been feeling light-headed and dizzy all day…I’m probably just hungry, maybe dehydrated,” you tried to laugh it off, but she didn’t join in.

“You did have low blood sugar. And now you have a split lip and a broken nose. Thankfully, it’s not out of place, and it will heal on its own.” She shuffled uncomfortably on her feet. “Just so you know, I’ve called the police.”

“What? Why?” you asked, but she had already closed your door, heading off to go check on another patient. With an IV in your arm and your phone nowhere to be found, all you could do was lay there and wait.

 *********************

There was a knock on your door, a very familiar face peeking in, before Olivia came fully into your room, looking confused, Amanda on her heels. “This can’t be right; is this the right room?” Amanda asked the nurse who was hovering by the door. She nodded, and Liv turned to you.

“[Y/N], what’s going on here?” she asked.

You huffed, scowling at the nurse. “Well, judging by the fact that you were called, and Sonny’s not here, I can only figure my nurse assumed I was beaten by my boyfriend.” You winced, your nose hurting with how your mouth moved.

Liv and Amanda both rounded on the nurse, who said defensively, “it is protocol to call SVU if we suspect domestic—”

“I told you I passed out at work! Now where’s my boyfriend?” you asked angrily.

Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Is Carisi not here? He left the precinct with you and the EMTs—we figured he’d be here.”

Slowly, you all turned to look at the nurse. “He—he was refusing to leave the lobby, so we called the police and had him arrested….”

“You WHAT?” you yelled, reopening the wound on your lip, tasting blood.

“It’s okay, [Y/N]. You rest; we’ll get Carisi out of holding and down here,” Olivia said softly.

The nurse, who now looked even more uncomfortable, spoke into the dead-silent room. “You should be taking it easy…. Your blood sugar was low because you’re pregnant.”

 ************************

Sonny was sitting on a cold, metal bench, fuming. He didn’t like his injured girlfriend alone in the hospital. He didn’t like that he didn’t know why you had passed out. And he didn’t like the implication that he had been the one to hurt you. He had anger radiating off him in waves; so much so, that even the other criminals in lock-up were avoiding him, giving him a wide-berth.

“Hey, testa di cazzo,” Sonny called to the nearest officer. “Quando posso partire? When can I leave? I’ll pay the fucking fine, just let me leave.” The officer glanced at him, then went back to his lunch. “Ay! Vaffanculo allora!” He didn’t think cursing in Italian would help him, but it did make him feel better.

“Excuse me, do you have a Dominick Carisi Jr. in holding?” Sonny recognized Amanda’s voice and he stood, coming over to the bars.

“’Manda?” he called. She came over to him while Olivia dealt with the politics of getting him released. “Have you seen—”

“Yes, and she’s alright, Carisi. Broken nose, split lip, and, uh….” Amanda wasn’t sure how to continue, if she should tell him, or if she should let you tell him when he got there.

Sonny searched her face through the bars. “What? Tell me, please. Why’d she pass out in the first place?”

He was so desperate for information, so worried, that Amanda couldn’t keep it in. “Low blood sugar…she’s pregnant, Dom.”

 *************************

A different nurse came in—you demanded a new one after the colossal fuck-up of the other—to check your vitals. She assured you that when you fell, the baby was unharmed; you weren’t far enough along for a fall like that to hurt it. You were relieved, along with a hundred other emotions; you and Sonny did want children, but now? You weren’t even engaged yet! Oh well, you could figure that out later. Right now, you just wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself, of the child within you…and you desperately wanted to see Sonny.

As if you had willed him into existence, Sonny rushed into your room, Amanda and Olivia trailing after him, making sure he wasn’t stopped. Once they saw him lean over you, your hands clasped in his, they turned to leave with a smile and a wave.

“Are you okay, doll? Amanda said you had a broken nose, and that—that you’re pregnant.” He leaned back to search your eyes, seeing the answer written all over your face. “It’s true? You are? Oh my god,” Sonny let out a little chuckle, grinning. He wanted to kiss you, but was terrified of hurting you with your swollen face, so he settled for a kiss to the forehead. Then, he looked panicked as a thought struck him. “Is the baby safe from the fall—”

“The baby is safe, thank God,” you smiled, squeezing his hand. The smile hurt your lip and nose, but you couldn’t stop yourself—it was finally starting to sink in. You were pregnant! You were going to have a baby with Sonny!

He gently wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. “I love you so much, sweetheart. We’re going to be a family…. Merda! We need to get married! We need to get engaged!”

You laughed. “We can; we will. We have time, baby.” Sonny nodded against you, holding you to him. He looked down when you started laughing again.

“What’s so funny?”

“You got fucking arrested,” you snorted, your laughter stopping as you winced in pain.

“That’s not funny. I was worried!” he admonished.

You glanced up at him, trying not to smile. “It’s a little funny.”

 **********************

Translations:

testa di cazzo – asshole

Quando posso partire – When can I leave?

Vaffanculo allora – fuck off then

Merda - shit

[40sbarnes]

Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Chapter 18: Of The Same Coin

just 2 chapters left! (i hope) they will more than likely be hefty ones so i apologise in advance <3 ive been considering writing an alternate ending and maybe some other little one shots for this story once its finished so let me know if youd be interested in those <3

pairings; lorenzo x reader, (platonic) francesco x reader

taglist; @brynthebulldozer​ @mythicalamphitrite​ @nana035​ @valravnsraven​ @hannahhistorian92​ @not-thatweird @isaac-lahey-is-bae​ @angrygardendeer​ @unstoppable-xavi​ @johnbolton @voidmalfoy​

The pounding in your head was all you could focus on when you first woke up, but you quickly recalled your last moments and frantically looked around, desperate to find out where you were. Your heart sank as you recognised the walls around you. 

You were in the Pazzi home, in one of the upstairs rooms, one you'd gotten changed in for a mission before. You tried to move but found your hands chained behind your back to one of the pillars in the room. You tried to move your hands in an attempt to free yourself, but they were tied tight. You changed tactics, pushing your back against the pillar to stand up, but you still couldn't get far. You glanced around the room, looking for something to use to escape, but the door opened before you could discover there was no escape.

"How kind of you to stand for me," Jacopo's voice was laced with spite, "but really, have a seat!" He motioned back to the floor. You stayed standing, confusion across your face.

"What is this, Jacopo?" You questioned, why had he done this?

"I said sit down!" He bellowed, harshly pushing you back to the ground by your shoulder. You knelt on the floor, looking up at him, fury running through you. The door opened once again, and relief washed over you as Francesco entered.

"I told you to wait," Jacopo didn't even turn to face his nephew. Francesco didn't spare him a glance either, his focus on you. You looked up at him with desperation, trying for pity.

"And you told me she wouldn't be harmed," his voice was quiet, but you still heard him.

"Have I harmed you, y/n?" Jacopo turned you to, as if you were a child.

You glanced between the Pazzi's and down at yourself, you were chained up in their home, you were struck with bewilderment at his question.

"See?" Jacopo turned to Francesco, but he certainly wasn't convinced, his eyebrow simply raised.

"Besides, she's no good to us hurt," he shrugged, looking down at you with disgust.

"Why are you doing this?" you questioned, not knowing what else to say, in the off chance they weren't doing this because of Lorenzo you didn't want to expose yourself, and even then, you were ready to deny, deny, deny.

"Don't act coy now, Bellondini," Jacopo snarled, moving to lean against the desk, "you've clearly never been good at it."

"What do you mean?" you whined, pulling at your chains beside your back, your wrists already sore. "What happened at the banquet? Lorenzo?"

"How dare you say his name," Jacopo was seething, "how dare you continue to disrespect us with this act?"

Frantic, you turned to Francesco for help, but he just looked away, refusing to hold eye contact. 

"What act? I was with Francesco and I felt faint, and then I woke up chained to this pillar like some dog?!"

"You are no dog, Bellondini, at least mutts have loyalty," Jacopo spat, and you took a deep breath, your fears having come true, he knew. "And don't act so offended. We simply did to you what you tried on us. And made Lorenzo feel as we were made to,” what ever did that mean? “I suppose you're not as tolerant of poison as you so thought," he raised his eyebrows, and you stayed still. How did he know of your mithridatism? How did he even poison you in the first place?

"You really meant to poison me?" Francesco took a step towards you, his voice steady but his inability to hold still was a tell all.

The pain shone in your eyes as they met his, you couldn't bear to look any longer and faced the floor instead.

"There is no more time for lies, y/n, you may as well be truthful. I'm sure your soul is aching for some honesty," Jacopo cut in, but you were still reeling over how they knew everything.

You bit your lip, readying yourself, before lifting your head once again. "How did you know?"

Francesco's eyebrows twitched at your words, but you focused on his uncle. "You think you're my only spy?"

"I know I'm not," you replied, "but why would you have your spies on me?" Your interest was sincere.

"Don't flatter yourself," Francesco scoffed, "we were already suspicious, and our spies that were rightfully set on Lorenzo confirmed those suspicions."

"You go around wearing his ring on your finger right in front of our very eyes, in our own home! Do you take us for fools?" Jacopo's anger was bubbling up again.

"I never meant to harm you, Francesco," you finally answered his question, turning back to him. 

"No? Then why was your lip paint full of nightshade?" Francesco raised his voice and pushed back against the pillar.

"It wasn't full of it!" You bargained, "Just enough to make you weak, hopefully faint," the guilt seeped through your voice, as you tried to make it seem like you had done a good thing.

"Because that is so much better," Francesco's monotone voice still pierced your heart.

"I didn't have a choice," it was barely a whisper, and it felt unfair to use his own words against him, especially now that you could reflect on their double meaning, but it was true. If you didn't stop them Lorenzo would be dead.

"Don't you realise, girl? Your lover was never in harm’s way," Jacopo shook his head, "We needed you to out yourself, and that you did." Chills ran through your body, and you ignored the relief that Lorenzo was okay, as you realised it had all been a set up. “Although his feelings may not be, he came looking for you soon after Francesco carried you out,” Jacopo continued his explanation, “I told him naught but the truth, that Francesco had taken you home, as he does with whore at balls, and now poor old Medici thinks that he had been the one you were double crossing all this time.” You had walked right into it. You cursed yourself, a couple months ago you would never have been so naive, so unquestioning, but thinking you had the upper hand had led you to turn a blind eye at just how wrong you were.

"You know, for some time I struggled with why you would risk your own life, sure the Medici could pay you handsomely but I had always thought you to be more intelligent than that," Jacopo continued on his spiel. "And as it turned out you were more stupid than I could ever have thought. All of this over that boy?" Hate seeped into his voice as he spoke of Lorenzo. Francesco turned to the side at his words.

"You are no more intelligent if you truly believe that was my reasoning," you narrowed your eyes at him.

"You'd do well to watch your tone wh-" Jacopo began again, but he was cut off before he could finish.

"Then why?" Francesco raised his chin slightly, gaining your attention with the two simple words.

"A Florence under Pazzi rule is not one I wished to see," you faced Jacopo as you spoke, your words clearly intended for him.

"What blasphemy! You feign this morality all of a sudden? What of all the tasks that funded your dinners? All those years you served me with no qualms and now you have these issues?" he shook his head, not buying your words.

"All those years are the reason I formed this opinion. All the things you made me do just to survive," you spat, enraged by his audacity.

"Made you do? Need I not remind you who came to me begging for work, just a little wench back then, I had already found you insufferable," he tutted.

"You needed me," you shook your head, there was plenty a time you had performed the impossible for the man in front of you.

"I needed someone I could trust," he pointed at you, "someone who would be grateful for all I did for them. You were never even a great spy," he sighed, and you bit back your hurt feelings, it was not the time or place, "I mean, you didn't even notice your own lip paint being swapped, some pickpocket you are." He huffed, pulling out the two lip paints from his pocket. You furrowed your brows; how long had they been listening to know so many details of your plan? "You were having far too much fun dancing to even notice, but I suppose that's what happens when you let a peasant into our world."

You lurched forward, the chains rattling against the marble pillar, Jacopo simply laughed at your futile attempt. You knew there was no hope with him, so you turned to where you'd always found safety.

"Francesco, I was simply trying to give you another choice. To stop you from having to murder Lorenzo, you had to know that wouldn't end well for you," you watched his expression carefully, for any sign that he was truly listening to your words, "I never meant for any ill to come of you. I knew the effects of the poison and you were never going to be harmed. I made him promise me as much. You know how I care for you," you shuffled from where you were kneeled, aching to be closer to him.

"Leave him alone!" Jacopo stopped you, clearly afraid of whether his nephew would listen.

"If you had gone through with it you can't say where you'd be! You know Jacopo would sell you out in a heartbeat if it meant his safety, he never truly wanted happiness for you! Only I can say I have, and you know this!" You kept pushing, until Jacopo stood up and crossed the floor, slapping you across the face with the back of his hand. One of his rings sliced just above your cheekbone, it was only a tiny cut, but it already stung. You remained looking the way he had forced you to, shocked.

"Uncle!" Francesco stepped forward, until Jacopo spun around and raised his arm, causing him to flinch back.

Jacopo pointed to the door with his raised hand, "Out! At once!" he demanded. Francesco glanced your way one last time, before doing as he was told.

"You have some nerve," Jacopo crouched down beside you after the door shut, his finger now pointing at your face. "You've already hurt that boy enough." You ignored him, staring at the ground so hard you swore it was about to burst into flames.

Jacopo didn't appreciate your lack of attention on him, and he grabbed your chin, squishing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. "Do you hear me? You will not speak to him in such way again."

You squinted at him, causing him to tighten his grip on you to the point where it hurt, you could feel the blood oozing out of your fresh cut more and more as he pushed at your cheek. You nodded, and he finally released you.

"Now," he stood up, away from you, "To hurt the boy that you haven't nearly harmed enough."

[lcnelyones]

here’s oli!

「 alex saxon. cis male. he/him. 」 —  is that OLIVER ‘OLI’ ARTIS i just saw in thornhollow? word around is that they’re a THIRTY-TWO year old HUMAN, but i doubt that’s true. they’re pretty CHILL from what i know, but i’ve heard a rumor that they can be LONELY too; must be why they’re a DINER OWNER & COOK. they kinda remind me of WORN JEANS WITH A NOTEPAD TUCKED IN THE BACK POCKET, ON OLD GUITAR GATHERING DUST ON THE WALL, A WARM SMILE & A KIND HEART. ( ooc ali. she/her. 27. est. )

— basics;;

NAME : oliver artis ALIAS ( NICKNAMES ) : oli AGE : 32 SEXUAL ORIENTATION : pansexual GENDER IDENTITY : cis male ( he/him pronouns ) SPOKEN LANGUAGES : english OCCUPATION : cherry’s pies ( a local diner ) owner and cook FAMILY : eleanor artis nee hanson ( mother, estranged ), ian artis ( father, estranged ), cherry rose hanson ( grandmother, deceased ) PETS : a golden retriever named bowie who frequently hangs out at the diner POSITIVE TRAITS : chill, confident, hardworking NEGATIVE TRAITS : sarcastic, lonely, guileless

— a look deeper;; ( trigger warnings: parental abandonment, alcoholism, parental figure death )

full disclosure: i’ve played oli before so this is structured by what the old bio is so i’m gonna give a few quick points followed by the full thing!

oli was born and raised in thornhollow. his parents both lived and worked in town until oli was around twelve when his father left their family, and his mother was never the same. she was a workaholic under the best of circumstances, but after his father left, she couldn’t handle being his mother as much anymore so he was essentially raised by his grandmother ( also a thornhollow native ) after that.

left for college, but came back when he found out his grandmother needed extra help, especially at the diner that was her pride and joy. his mother had since moved out of town for “bigger and better things.”

tried not to be bitter about his parents leaving him, but it was hard. his grandmother showed him unconditional love though and he was forever grateful to her. she passed away a couple months ago, and he’s not entirely over it yet.

he did take the diner over after her passing, but the bills are beginning to pile up, and he’s not sure if the diner is going to survive. 

personality-wise, he’s pretty chill and easy going. oli’s kinda a go-with-the-flow person who doesn’t have time for drama or manipulations. he’s more focused on making the diner successful and frequently is found working on something even when he’s not technically scheduled to be there. 

does not know specifically about the different species around town, but does know that there are weird things that happen in thornhollow. pretty open-minded about it all. operates under a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ sort of policy.

i.

A boy of six sat cross legged on the ground in front of his father watching with a bright and eager smile. His father had his own eyes closed, humming softly along with the melody he strummed on his favorite guitar. Oli wanted to bounce in rhythm with the music, to cheer, or even sing along. But he knew that was not allowed, not while his father was practicing. And because he wanted more than anything to be considered a grown-up, old enough to sit in and listen, he kept himself quiet and still until his father had finished and it was time to clap. It was this time that was precious to him, the time he had his father all to himself. His father might not acknowledge his presence other to bask in the boy’s love, but this time was still infinitely valuable to the child. He knew when his mother arrived home from work and sent his nanny home for the day, she would whisk his father away on some adventure he was too young for. He didn’t mind, really. Oli knew that people just felt better after being around his father so he couldn’t blame her for wanting him all to herself for a time. But it did make this time more important than ever. And he had always been his father’s biggest fan.

It didn’t matter to Oli that his father rarely had time for him outside of this. That he only wanted someone to play an adoring audience. Even when his father screamed at him for making too much noise during his song. Even when his father threw the glass of bourbon against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. None of that mattered to the boy. He understood then at such a young age that his father just wanted everything to be perfect. “I’m going to be famous one day, Oli,” he would say, his words slurred. And of course, Oliver believed them. After all, what father would lie to their son?

ii.

Oliver knew something was different from the moment he arrived home from school. There was something not entirely right. Some spark that normally resided in the house seemed to have gone out. He almost didn’t notice his father’s prized autographed picture of David Bowie was missing from its spot on the wall. He almost missed the pitying look his nanny ( that he was far too old to have now that he was almost out of middle school) gave him as he walked towards the stairs. He almost missed the low sobbing that seemed to be coming from above him where he knew his parents room to be. But he didn’t.

He sprinted up the stairs, though it seemed to take ages to reach the top. Instead of racing towards the crying he knew belonged to his mother, he went towards his father’s studio instead. He hesitated before pulling the knob, already knowing what he would find. Or not find. He let out a soft gasp at what he saw anyways. Empty.

“This was your fault,” a voice behind him said, thick with rage and heartbreak. He turned to see his mother, clutching one of his father’s shirts, tears streaming down her face. She already looked as if she regretted the words, but they could not be taken back now. They were already in the world, waiting for everyone to hear and know.

Oli was sent to his grandmother’s the following week.

iii.

Oliver looked too much like his father. Acted too much like him as well. A carbon copy if ever there was one. That was one of the reasons his mother didn’t like to see him. He knew that even if she insisted it wasn’t true. More and more of late, he had skipped out on holidays with his mother, finding the silence too loud and the house too empty. It had lost its spark the day his father left them. Instead, he spend the time with his grandmother baking far too many sweets for the two of them and delivering the extras to their neighbors. It had stung far more than he ever wanted to admit. He loved his grandmother, appreciated everything she’d done for him. But holidays had been difficult since his father had left, and his mother had essentially stopped seeing him on a regular basis. But now, Christmas Eve, he felt more in the holiday spirit than he had in a few years. He’d already done the obligatory phone call to his mother to wish her a happy Christmas, so he had the rest of the day to himself to binge watch Netflix and eat more sweets than any one person should be able to while his grandmother visited some of her friends who didn’t have any family left. At least, he had that free time until she came home, and it was time for their dinner. It was this night he found out why his father had left them.

He had never really liked social media. Far too much of it was just people pretending to be the ideal versions of themselves. He much preferred reality. Nevertheless, he was a member of a few sites as most teenagers his age were, though he did rarely use them. It was on one of these sites that he saw the message from his father. Already it was a week old and Oliver was torn between anger at himself for not checking sooner and wanting the satisfaction of deleting it without reading. But his curiosity won out as it normally did.

It was short, barely a few lines. It told of his success in music. It seemed he had finally found a band and it looked like they might get a record deal with a big name company. He invited Oli to a show sometime. It was full of excuses instead of explanations. His father had a dream that he just had to see realized. A dream that didn’t involve being a husband or father even though he had been both. But his father never once apologized. And Oli never responded even though the child inside wanted nothing more to have his father back in his life once more.

iv.

He was just out of college when he got the call from his grandmother. He was almost expecting to hear her tell him something had happened to his father or mother, that the alcohol had finally killed him, or the combination of a broken heart and being a workaholic had done her in, but instead she was just talking about things around the house and the diner. She didn’t mention anything was wrong, but Oli could hear it in her voice. It took a while to break her down, but she finally admitted that she hadn’t had a good visit with the doctor. She was getting older and couldn’t move around as easily as she could when she was younger. That and her bad habit of smoking had finally caught up with her. She wanted her family to be around instead of strangers in her home. Although she didn’t ask him to move home, Oli knew that was what his grandmother needed. It took him a few days to consider choice.

Oli had a job offer in the city, a good one that would set him up for life. He’d break free of the pattern of either being a deadbeat like his dad or a cold, workaholic like his mother. He had worked hard to graduate with honors from the university, getting his master’s in accounting and finance. He had looked at a few apartments and had found one he was sure would be perfect. He had a life planned out ahead of him that he was sure would be successful, one that would put his parents to shame.

Instead of following that path, he moved home and began helping out at the diner he’d spent his teenage years working at.

v.

Oliver was thirty-two when his grandmother died, leaving him everything she had ( the house, the diner, no savings, and bills that were piling up ). He’d been living with her for nearly a decade, working at the diner and taking care of his ailing grandmother as she got progressively worse. She hadn’t been entirely truthful when she’d called him; she hadn’t mentioned that her mind and body were both failing faster than she could really keep up with. But Oli did his duty as best as he could, was hailed as some sort of hero by those around him. Instead of living his life, he was at a sort of standstill. One that didn’t end even after her death. He knew he could have tried to get a job in his field, but he couldn’t really muster any sort of enthusiasm for the life he’d once planned. He felt like it was a dream long since gone. Instead, he was content operating the diner that his grandmother had loved so damn much. He liked his quiet and simple life, working and coming home to his dog, Bowie. Maybe it wasn’t the fame-filled one his dad had been searching for or it wasn’t typically successful like his mother, but it was something that was his.

— connections;;

would love some employees at the diner 

maybe some friends who he can chill with

exs? currents? idk

[modharlow]

Today was one of those days again. The sky looked stormy yet shed no rain, the sun barely peeking out for a second before sheltering itself away. People were bustling about to do their everyday work, all seeming to enjoy themselves. Oh, how you wish that were you, but alas it was not. No, you were out here, passing through Valentine, because some sorry excuse of a father left the camp again. “Probably drunk off his ass again.” You lowly hissed out.

When Charles came up to Dutch and reported the missing man, the leaders eyes happened to fall on you to retrieve him. Fortunately he also sent Arthur with you. “I trust you kid,” Dutch started off as he lead you to your horse, “but not enough to believe you won’t kick Mr. Swanson’s ass.”

Well… at least he was cautious because he was right. If it had been just you, you would’ve beat the man black and blue—mostly out of anger but if you happen to fix whatever the hell was going on in that mans brain then that’d work fine too.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve lied hands on him, though you never want “too far”. Given everything he’d done, or hasn’t done for better words, you going easy on him was a mercy.

”Aw, now now, little birdy,” Arthur’s voice cut through your thoughts, “I know that face. Don’t tell me you plannin’ on killin’ him this time?” His tone was joking but you couldn’t help the silent “and if I do?” that came out.

Letting out a whistle, the outlaw adjusted his hat. “You ever gonna tell me what’s the bad blood between you two?”

”On my deathbed, maybe.”

”Don’t be like that.” He replied, his tone growing soft. “He’s still your father. Doesn’t help that he’s always drunk, I know, but he’s tryin’.”

You swore you’ve never felt such hot rage boil deep inside your veins. Your knuckles turned white from your grip in the horses’ reins and your teeth clenched down to prevent you from shouting at your friend. “Arthur,” your voice was tense, just like your body, “don’t be defendin’ that man when you’ve no reason.”

The ride was silent now, save for the goodhearted people that said hello to either of you as you passed, until you both made it out of town.

Arthur let out a long sigh before taking lead and changing the direction you both were going. “C’mon, we’re gonna talk this out, you ‘nd me.”

”Arthur-”

”We’ll find him, trust me. We always do. Right now you just need to explain to me why the hell you hate his guts so much when neither of you even look at each other.”

You took note at the new destination. It was somewhere away from the roads, perfect for a private talk.

Now it was your turn to let out a long sigh. You didn’t say anything until you both ended up by some trees. From there Arthur got off his horse and motioned for you to do the same. When you did he sat both you down at the foot of a tree, perfectly protected from prying ears and the possible rain if it were to happen.

Leaning his head against the tree, Arthur spoke. “When you joined our camp you were so happy, so giddy. You didn’t have a care in the world. It was… nice. A nice change of pace.”

”I was young then. I didn’t understand anythin’.”

”What makes you think you understand now?”

Scoffing, you turned away from him brought your knees to your chest. Silently, you said, “I understand enough to know he’s a dead-beat dad.”

”Feel like elaboratin’?”

It became silent again. The horses were eating grass as the tree swayed itself side-to-side, birds flying overhead in a mixture of dull colors. All were unaware of the grief and burning hatred you held inside.

Taking in a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, you started to pick at the dirt and rocks in the ground. “I was four when mama died.” You breathed out. “I didn’t know that’s what it was. Just thought she was nappin’, y’know? She’d always seemed so… tired.” You faintly turned to face Arthur. “Was like she lost her light.” A soft chuckle filled the moment. “Guess in the end… she did, huh?”

”I’m… Listen, I-”

”You wanna know how she died, Arthur?” You were facing him now, your face calm yet the grip you had on a spare rock from the ground said otherwise. “She used the exact mechanisms my father’s usin’ right now.” You turned your attention to the rock in your hands, fingers nimbly toying with it. “Turns out, you know, that she didn’t want a child. She wanted to be free… but was tied down because of me—and dad? Oh, well, he had his teachings to do. No, he could never come home on time or spend some moments with his only kid.” You tossed the rock away from you, your eyes narrowing to keep yourself at bay. “Don’t think he wanted a child either.”

”Now that ain’t true.” Arthur interjected before flinching slightly at your glare yet not faltering. “I dunno about your mama but Reverend loves you.”

”If he loved me then why the hell are we out here having to look for his sorry ass?!” You yelled, getting up from your spot and walking away a few steps. “If he loved me then why was he never there for me? When men would be lookin’ at me weirdly, or when kids would hurt me ‘cause I only had one parent? What about when I was almost kidnapped ‘cause his dumbass had a damn “meeting” to go too, huh?”

Arthur got up too with his hands held up in surrender as he took careful steps towards you. “Easy now. It’s okay. You’re okay.” But his words fell on deaf ears as you let your pent up emotions explode inside you.

”I was six when I learned what death was. I tried killin’ myself, then tried again a few months later. I was eight when I tried to talk to him only for him to push me away. I was nine when I ran away before comin’ back. It’s funny, you know, ‘cause it was like he didn’t notice I was gone.” You swallowed down the sob that desparely wanted to come out, instead letting whimpers leave your mouth. “I was fourteen when I realized he didn’t care for me. He never did, he only worries about himself—if you can even call whatever he’s doin’, “worrying”.”

You furiously wiped at your eyes, teeth eating away at your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying more. “Arthur. Arthur, I’m bein’ honest when I say this,” you took in a shaky breath, “I’ve dreamt of killin’ him. I’ve always felt free when I did it, too. It felt so refreshin’ to me. Was like chains were melted off and I could finally run again. It’s a feelin’ I chase after every time we have to look for him.”

When you looked up at Arthur with those vulnerable eyes, he was at a loss for words. He thinks back to his own memories of you being that happy-go-lucky kid he grew up with and felt his chest tighten. So was that all a facade so you could hide away your pain? How had he not noticed to sooner? Did anyone else know? Dutch? Hosea? You were close to those two but… did you ever really let them in?

”I’m… I’m sorry, I…” Those were not the words he wanted to say. Truly, he didn’t know what to say. He knew Swanson was not an ideal father but this—this is how you were treated? How you lived your life? “I don’t… know what to say.”

”No one ever does.”

After a short pause, Arthur felt his own anger begin to form when your died down. “Why the hell do we still keep him ‘round then? If he’s like this to you, then why don’t we just get rid of him? You’re the only one we really need. You hunt, fish, and you can even haggle someone almost as well as Hosea! He doesn’t do shit-”

”Arthur, I thank you for feelin’ my anger for me but it’s… I hate him, I do, but it’s more complex than that.” Now you felt bad for pulling your friend along with your emotions. You should’ve kept your mouth shut like you always had, only showing anger when it was just you and your dad alone.

Huffing, Arthur let his hands hold onto his belt as he leaned on his foot. “Well… we got all the time in the world for you to talk.”

While you dried off your wet face with your sleeve, you tried to formulate the correct words. “It’s… hard to explain. If he’s gone then… I’ll have no more blood-family. ‘Nd despite everythin’, well, he still let me go with him to join Dutch when he could’ve left me.” You voice trailed off, your eyes straying from the looks Arthur was giving you. “I-I know, okay? It’s idiotic for me to feel like this even after all that’s happened but I just—I can’t leave him to fend for himself. He lost his wife, ‘nd now I’m all that he has. Even if we don’t talk…”

”I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.” Arthur muttered as he took steps towards you. “I ain’t ever been in your boots so I guess I can’t say much but,” cautiously, he put his arms around you, “if you ever want his ass gone, just say so. Or if you… if you wanna leave ‘nd let him stay with the gang then… that’s alright. Just tell me beforehand, okay? I’d be mighty down if you up and left without a goodbye.”

You nodded your head while you returned the hug. Your eyelids stung and your body felt heavy from your outbursts of emotions, though you couldn’t deny how safe you felt right at this moment.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of being openly loved by someone you held dear to you.

Arthur had been your first since you were first welcomed to the gang and a side of you berated yourself for keeping silent from him for so long. Still, within these moments, you felt alright. You felt… free. “I won’t leave. Not when I have someone like you lookin’ out for me.” You tried to bury yourself deep into his chest, wanting to stay with this comfort for much longer. Softly, you whispered out, “Thank you.”