#giovanni gives me the creeps

[kai-sillyman]

Alrighty y'know what time it is heheh

TRR [Team Rainbow Rocket] Headcanons!!

[keep in mind this is just my AU you can have your own, this is just how I see these idiots]

[Also- yes I ship Lysandre & Cyrus, because I have my AU & my opinions, so don't like demonetize me saying some other ship is better stfu-]

-Giovanni-

Pansexual. Always been a little fruity, especially since he was a teen, & kinda crushes on Nanu- that's unrelated tho <3

Short as fuck. Like I mean this dude is 5 foot tall, whenever you see like photos of him with the rest of Team Rocket, he's usually standing on a fucking step-stool

Has rlly bad anxiety & shit like that, also takes antidepressants & medication because his mental health used to be rlly rlly bad [because of Ariana & just stressing out about managing Team Rocket] & he'll get like that bad if he goes long enough without them

Actually a decent father unlike his canon counterparts. Took care of Silver instead of putting him up for adoption after Ariana left, basically had to juggle trying not to be a deadbeat dad & managing a big mafia lmao. Silver turned out decent- he doesn't hate Giovanni so yippee!! [they actually get along whoa]

Absolutely fucking hates Professor Oak, due to some *personal* issues in the past.

Can cook rlly good. He actually wanted to get into culinary classes & shit but he got expelled out of highschool & then disowned so that was crushed along with his will to live

-Maxie-

Trans [FTM] Archie is rlly the only one who knows, because he's a nosy fucker lmao. Still has rlly bad body dysphoria- explaining all the layers & oversized jacket [didn't get top surgery because he's a chicken shit so he just wears a binder 24/7]

Not actually from Hoenn [surprise surprise!!]- originally from Orre but moved to Hoenn because it was transphobic as fuck & it genuinely just sucked lolz

One of the only sane ones in TRR, also actually smart [like he didn't wanna like dry up all the water he just wanted to make more islands in Hoenn- still a dangerous method haha]

Salty as fuck. Will find something annoying or unlikable about you, he doesn't care who the hell you are he will do it. Also, he fucking hates Archie- probably cuz he screws up his damn research & drags him along lmao

Overworks himself all the damn time, & has a bad habit of putting himself in uncomfortable situations- such as choosing his admins. Maybe he should've gotten to know Courtney & Tabitha more before making them the Team Magma admins [oki oki but Tabitha gives off the vibes that he streams League of Legends in a damn maid outfit every night. Also I don't like Courtney because she just gives off those creep vibes eugh]

-Archie-

Gay & polyamorous. All the surfer guys in Alola are NOT fucking safe because he's there lmao. Also him & Matt are exes, but since no hard feelings they're still friends

Aggressive wholesomeness 24/7- also THE ultimate extrovert who tries to be on good terms with everyone except if you're Ghetsis because if you're Ghetsis fuck you [he's an absolute sweetheart but also a dumbass]

Dumb as fuck. Half the shit he pulls he just did because he felt like it or he was bored- he doesn't have a goddamn reason he just fucking did it

His Sharpedo's name is Grace. This is very important because Grace is love Grace is life

Gives everyone stupid nicknames & makes horrible jokes & puns. Sometimes it's fucking unbearable because they're so damn cheesy & Maxie is yelling from across the room telling him to shut the fuck up but he thinks he's goddamn hilarious

-Cyrus-

Greysexual. Attracted to his opposite [sweet cute guys aka Lysandre]

He's emo guys!!! Omg real!!! If he's not wearing his Galactic uniform he's wearing oversized grunge style clothing- you will never see him wearing anything with colour. Also yes he wears eyeliner & people assume he wears eyeshadow but nah that's just his dark ass eyebags

He's a fucking empath & it's hilarious. He hates it because he tries so damn hard to ignore his emotions which only makes his already rapidly declining mental health worse

Horrible sleep schedule & just terrible at taking care of himself in general. He's running off of goddamn energy drinks & coffee- he won't sleep unless he passes out from exhaustion lmao. Also he only rlly eats like popcorn [which is usually like he's up at 2 in the morning watching a space documentary & he just binge eats it because he hasn't eaten in two weeks or something]

THE ultimate space nerd. If you even mention something space related he will give you a detailed explanation or description about said space thing- also he's got Team Galactic's base is all space themed & they have millions of dollars worth of stolen space tech lmao [autism moment yes Cyrus is autistic]

Has an engineering degree, also graduated highschool when he was 16 & got into college early. Moved out of his parents' house the second he had enough money

-Ghetsis-

Aroace. The most hardcore aroace guy out there. He has trouble with love & shit due to trauma, which also kinda makes it hard for him to admit that he does fucking care about N [he doesn't deserve N]

Do I really have to explain that this guy is fucking insane? Do I? [He's got actual BPD & he's narcissistic as hell but he's just gotten worse. Also autistic but that's not rlly- bad]

He looks like he'd be homophobic- but he's not. He just hates everyone. Also he's not like sexist or anything like that too

The most stylish & extra person you'll meet. He has a giant wardrobe & has all his clothes custom tailored- he has outfits for certain occasions & times, & he absolutely HAS to have the finest of jewelry & has to get himself all dolled up too. Bro is also feminine as hell sometimes. He knows he's fucking pretty

Has the most random talents & hobbies. I mean, he can swordfight- & also knows gardening?? Wha??? Also very musically talented- he plays 'elegant' instruments like the piano & harp

A goddamn drama queen. If his temper wasn't bad enough don't even get started on how damn overdramatic this asshole is. I swear Colress is so done with his shit

-Lysandre-

Asexual/Demiromantic. Attracted to everyone but preferably men, also will only be attracted to someone if he feels like he has an emotional bond with someone lol

Kinda on the dumber side. Also slow on things, like figuring out what he's actually doing. Genuinely a very sweet & kind person, also a bit of a crybaby but that's unimportant [undiagnosed ADHD]

He's a goddamn baker. He has a degree in business & finances or something- only because his parents made him. He's just an idiot lion baker man. That's also the only reason he took over Team Flare, the old leader kinda just appeared in an alley & told him he could have a bakery if he took up the offer lmaoo

Actually from another universe where he got shot by the Ultimate Weapon, but got swip swapped by Colress because why not!! Because it was a blast full of Xerneas's power [the whimsical deer fairy Pokemon of fucking life] he's immortal. He also can't get like injured- he'll just regenerate

He looks so goddamn intimidating- & he's oblivious to it. Half the time it's because he partially has a resting bitch face or he's squinting because he's kinda far-sighted. Whenever someone says something about it he just gets so fucking confused lmaoo

Thats all for now! I'll do a part 2 & maybe some extras for other characters like Colress- but yeah this is all for now lolzies

[mewintheflesh-2]

Would Nikey recruit some of the other Pokèmon villains to his cause or would they be on the side of the resistance?

I feel like Team Aqua and Magma would be against them for obvious reasons.

Team Skull is just there and Team Rocket is doing things in their own dark corner.

Team Plasma, Galatic, and Flare could join them as admins with their whole “Taking Over the World” stick.

The Aether Foundation/Lusimine would have mixed feelings. She probably would not like the sky destroying the world made for her beautiful Ultra Beasts, but that would give her motivation to work for Nikey so she can still have sunlight for her enclosure.

QUICK WARNING I might’ve gotten a few of these out of character for the leaders. Specifically Ghetsis and Lysander, those are toughies and enigmas to me, but I tried my best! (I’m so sorry Ghetsis enjoyers)

In one of my previous headcanons posts I did state that Winona is working with Archie and Maxie to help create sustainable life on Earth again.

Team Skull would be just as they are before, just a bunch of hooligans making things way harder than they need to be for The Sun’s Children. Plumeria doesn’t want them messing around with Winona or any of her colleagues though, they’re dealing with enough already.

Team Rocket is of course up to no good stealing peoples Pokémon and money. They’re still operating without a leader though, as Giovanni never came back to Team Rocket, so they’re just treated like regular ol’ criminals. Speaking of Jail, it’s actually a pretty decent place to be since Winona began her leadership.

Team Plasma… Oh Team Plasma. It’s always been a thing with me that Mikey had always hated Team Plasma with all his heart, ESPECIALLY and almost specifically Ghetsis. So when Ghetsis came walking into Nikey’s office all those years later, he nearly had a goddamn heart attack. I mean hey, the dude nearly killed him, and WAS going to kill him if N didn’t step in. (Events of BW2).

Nikey is very uncomfortable with Ghetsis and still thinks he’s a goddamn creep. Ghetsis kept getting way too close for comfort in his visit to Nikey, so much so that Nikey himself started to not be as handsy with people as he normally is even months after he visited. (again, hes not handsy in a sexual way).

He either: 1. Very reluctantly decided to work with him and distance himself as much as possible from Ghetsis, or 2. Threw him into the worst jail cell he had on hand and kept him there for god knows how long. (Can you blame him? Like I said the man nearly killed him.) That or he banned him to live under the gloom. God knows Winona wouldn’t accept him into The Sun’s Children. Maybe Ghetsis starts to cook up his own plans… :)

Team Galactic was reformed after the events of Spear Pillar as we saw in DPPT (and BDSP if you want to count those) under the command of Saturn. As it’s new form was (and I believe I’m remembering correctly) an energy company as they once masqueraded as, Winona would absolutely be working with them as to keep the abundance of artificial lights under the smog lit and working properly. Can’t have a total black out now can we?

As for Cyrus, his whole ideal world was one without spirit or emotion as he was unhealthily dealing with his own mental health issues and took it to the extreme. I don’t think he’d want anything to do with Team Nightsky, especially after the events of Spear Pillar.

As for Team Flare, I don’t really have a good gauge on what the team as a whole acts like, much less their admins. I don’t even really remember their names. But Lysander, if I remember correctly, was similar to Cyrus in a way that he took his own issues with the world and decided to deal with it in an extreme way. He’s a philanthropist who genuinely wanted to believe in the good of people, but it just kept backfiring as he realized just how awful people could be. So he took it to the extreme, trying to end the world and make it more beautiful by be-ridding it of awful people (if I remember correctly). Considering how awful Nikey is, I don’t think Lysander would have any desire to work with him, especially after his loss in Kalos.

And last but not least, The Aether Foundation. I’d always avoided Lusamine’s game counterpart as I believe that her anime counterpart is much more how she actually is, my own personal opinion. As a result I don’t have a good gauge of her in SM/USUM, despite being my first Pokémon games. But I do know that her desires did not stem into most of the rest of the Aether Foundation’s, especially Wicke’s, so I will be speaking on that instead.

The Aether Foundation as we know is made to help endangered Pokémon recover and release them back into the wild. As I’ve went into detail into how the world was effected by the smog in my headcanon posts, we know that wild Pokémon are struggling immensely. This is something Aether has dealt with a lot in terms of natural disasters effecting many Pokémon at once, so they have quite a bit of experience with this. Winona would absolutely work with them to help and rescue wild Pokémon and help them recover. Building more paradises across the world in places Winona does not have reach. If I remember correctly, at the end of SM/USUM, Lusamine does start on a better path, so I have my doubts she’d work with Nikey, and as an extension Team Nightsky, at all. If she decided to stray off that better path for whatever reason, I think she might if she burns through her other options first.

Faba, however, is an enigma to me.

Really quickly I would like to point out that since Nikey had gotten stuck in the past, he would have an opportunity to defeat all of these evil teams himself, which I actually believe is what happened with Team Flare kudos to a reddit comment I received two months ago. So I thought for a moment it’d be interesting for Lysander to originally think Nikey was a good man before his rule, but then I realized that would break my reality of Nikey having accidentally traversed realities instead of just time traveling. I might change Nikey having saved Kalos, I might not. Who knows! I think it’d be interesting for Mikey to see his future self on the news held as a hero for saving the world. Maybe that’s when Mikey realizes Nikey might be having a change of heart. :)

ANYWAYS there is absolutely a gang of assassins out for Nikey’s blood, have fun with that! He’s very cautious of new recruits/people he doesn’t trust being near him. He already has 15 attempts to his name. He rarely lets people come into his office for meetings, unless it’s someone he trusts. Even then he doesn’t really fully trust anyone. Unless it’s- *COGHCOUGHCOUGH* sorry what was I gonna say? Don’t remember ;) Anyways you can imagine why he was so shaken up about Ghetsis being in his office. He got a lot more strict with who he lets into his office after that.

WHOO BOY THAT WAS A LONG ONE. This was really fun to write! Though I might’ve written some peoples actions out of character for them. Honest mistake! Hope you enjoyed reading this!

[dcwnrisen-aa]

[ mouth ] — sender puts their palm over receiver’s mouth from behind to keep them quiet + reverse / gio

giovanni knew his healthy respect for women often came from the fear his mama had put in his heart from childhood. the same respect extends to harlow, who he and gianluca have adopted into their family without much preamble. and truly, like the drifter he is, the rabbit follows harlow around, making sure she's safe really. buying supplies she saw but didn't pick up, cute items she eyed. his sister had told him to do so, but it's the same thing he did for any of his siblings so it was second nature.

holding several small bags, he looks away for a second, then looks back up when he notices a random creep eyeing her. giovanni says nothing, his eyes narrowing. both he and the creep are following har now and the low simmering rage he feels sometimes is bubbling now. ugh, what he wouldn't give to take his gun out and pop one into the guy's head. but he can hear gioia's voice now ' no killin' gio, i can barely prevent luca from doing tha', give me a break please. '. giovanni near pouts, turning down an alley way to intercept harlow and he speeds up his steps just as she walks past the other end between the two buildings.

an arm loops around her waist, tugging her into the alley, free hand going over her mouth, ❝ ━ har, pleased t' see yer doin' well. got someone followin' ya, figured we'd lose him before i get in trouble with th' polizia. ❞ he lets her go, gently steering her back the other way. ❝ ━ i picked up some things for ya. let's go t' lunch, eat a big meal and then i can drop ya off, my car's not far from here. ❞

[ghetsis]

oops he sent ghetsis some of his incompetent grunts again :/

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for someone to manage to sneak in to Plasma HQ on stolen credentials. And the intruder was nearly always someone from Rocket (who else would know where to find him?). Rarely were they competent enough to make it past security. As was the case with most of today's onslaught. The one who managed to creep by cobbled a story about having crucial information of the highest sensitivity to be brought to Ghetsis.

That alone was telling. There were proper channels, for one thing. Few grunts actually wanted to face Ghetsis, for another. The ones who did want his attention were generally smart enough to try and earn it rather than demand it. So when the word came in of just such an individual wishing to speak with him, all Ghetsis could do was sigh.

"Send him in. After a thorough pat-down."

The disarmed grunt was shoved into his office like a goat into a tiger's cage.

"So, what is it," Ghetsis asked. "What is your dire message?" Annoyed boredom drenched his voice.

The grunt stammered something unintelligible as Ghetsis searched a drawer for a letter opener.

"Never mind," he interrupted. "I already know why you're here." He stood, the dull blade glistening in his weaker hand."

"You're here because you are among the most worthless agents Giovanni has in his ranks and this is your one chance to give value to your life. He wishes to insult me with your ineptitude, but you have at least surpassed your comrades, so I will grant you the chance to accomplish your mission."

He looms over the Rocket, offering the letter opener handle first.

"Go on then, give it the old college try."

The grunt stood on jelly legs, eyes darting between the tool and his target. This didn't go how he expected... He didn't want to try anymore, but he had his ultimatum: Come back with Ghetsis's head or don't come back at all.

A shaky hand reached for the offered weapon and Ghetsis's strong arm struck like a viper to seize his would-be assailant's throat. He lifted the Rocket off the ground and squeezed tight as the man kicked and gagged.

"No wonder he has no use for you..."

He squeezed tighter until he felt a satisfying crack beneath his fingers and Rocket's struggling ceased. His victim was unceremoniously dropped and Ghetsis returned to his desk to make a call.

"Have the body disposal team sent to my office immediately. And send the corpse back to Kanto, I am not cleaning up Giovanni's trash!"

Hmph. Irritating...

[lostonehero]

Uhhhhhh meanwhile in Alola

Nanu internally was finally no longer in pain, even his headache went away, but now he was hearing things. He tried to talk to Giovanni, but since Mitchell was staying with him it was difficult to get alone time to discuss matters. Mitchell didn't need to get wrapped up in old rocket drama, or have to deal with Gio. He loved Gio but even he knew the baggage that came with befriending him was vast, and Mitchell didn't need anything that would allow the public to crucify him.

The voices seem to be coming from the many meowths that he owned. It's physically impossible humans are not able to understand pokemon, it's that simple. Even the mimikyus that were visiting seemed to have things to say. It's been driving him up the wall all things considered. He sighs, maybe Mitchell coukd help he has been staying with Nanu for a month now, he would notice if something was wrong.

Mitchell smiled watching Nanu creep into the living room. "Ah you seem to be in better shape today Nanu." He hums letting himself be swarmed by the cats, who kept repeating alpha and thanks.

Nanu furrowed his brows trying to ignore the constant talking, but he couldn't. He threw his arms up and sighed. "I'm going crazy Mitchell, I just can't stop these fucking voices. First the body pain then I'm hearing voices my genetics are done."

Mitchell raised a brow and snapped his fingers making all of the Pokémon disperse with a ok alpha. "What are you hearing." He says getting up to check Nanu's temperature.

Nanu frowns feeling the abnormally cold hand touch his forehead. "Well they all just have different versions of yes alpha whatever that means." He sighs and slouches. "I'm just hearing things aren't I."

Mitchell eyes widen for a second looking down at Nanu. "Well I mean that's what all the pokemon call me Alpha because I am one it's a term of respect." He scratches the stubble on his chin. "They don't call me Mitchell even though I have asked."

Something in Nanu twists as the pieces come together. He wasn't a dumb man, but this sounded outlandish. "They are talking to you?" He waves his hand dismissing that thought. "You hear them too, it's the pokemon talking." More of a statement then a question.

"Well of course I do it would be a disaster if I couldn't." Mitchell hums. "And you don't have a fever."

Nanu presses his fingers to his lips. "You understand pokemon, and now I can too." He pauses biting his lip. "You're a half pokemon aren't you?"

Mitchell smiles. "No I am not, I am am alpha pokemon though." He frowns watching Nanu's expression change to one of something couldn't identify. "Oh shoot I'm sorry. I trust you but I shoukd of revealed that I'm sorry, did I scare you. Oh no uh I cam leave."

Nanu takes a breath. "Ok a lot of things make sense about you now, but it doesn't explain my predicament." He lets out a long sigh and gives Mitchell a blanket. "Just hold this."

Mitchell frowns in confusion his previous worry is gone. "Why a blanket?"

Nanu sighs and smiles. "I dunno feel better."

"I do? How did you do that?" Mitchell hums looking excited.

"Distractions are great for calming one down."

[seas-storyarchive]

Au where Zatara and Zatanna putting on the Helmet enraged Sindella beyond all mortal comprehension so she appealed to Arion and her "uncles" to let her return to Earth. Saying that Nabu abandoned his humanity for the greater good and it was doing nothing but hurting the world and tipping things in Chaos' favor.

Her Uncles argue that because she is Mortal, it is already a failed endeavor. That her return will ever further tip the scales in Chaos' favor - and she was a mortal doctor, having taken an oath to do no harm. Arion is the only one to agree with her, arguing with his brothers that because Sindella is Mortal but also Order, she is the perfect one to become Order's Champion - as Klarion was no a human so her oath did not apply to him. And, after some deliberation as well as the fact he is one of the Elder Lord's, Sindella is given the go-ahead. She would return in the body she departed Earth from.

When Sindella returns, it is fire. Literally. She is bathed in fire, being reborn in the Watchtower - during a League meeting with every Team member and mentor present. Wearing a white dress, long flowing red scarf, the Crown of Arion, and eyes of calm fury.

She first reunites with Zatanna, as she had been in the collection of people assembled - it is a tearfilled reunion. And then, she goes to the unconscious Fate.

"Tsk. Giovanni can't hear or see with Nabu being unconscious." She says, before a familiar smirk crosses her lips. She grabs Nabu's helmet and, with little resistance once Nabu feels the magic of Arion, gives a light tug.

Fate is gone. In it's place is it's host.

A month, he hadn't been seen. His hair was longer and he'd started to grow a patchy beard. He was also thinner, but that could be dealt with in a healthy manner. But, first..

"I can see your lips puckering, love. You won't get a kiss that easily."

The hope was just drained from his face as he opened his eyes with a smile. "Can't blame me for trying." He gives a dreamy sigh after a minute. "Still just as beautiful as the last time I saw you."

There was laughter and talking through check ups, Sindella meeting Zatanna's friends and being reintroduced to Giovanni's co-workers. She reveals to Arthur that they are cousins, through Orion rulling Atlantis and having two branches of heirs - hers obviously coming to the surface.

And when asked why exactly she was back, she asked for the Lasso of Truth because it was a lot to recall. But when she explained it all, some members of the league were relieved as Fate had creeped them out. Others (namely Batman, but my negative for him aside) where suspicious still.

But yeah, Sindella went back to work at the hospital (making her the majority bread winner again) and only really helped out if Klarion was present or there was a medical emergency - her death being retroactively changed in others memories to her being at home for those yeas where she died. Giovanni mellowed out big time. And Zatanna got to have a relatively normal childhood over all.

[lollitree]

So Ghetsis is just straight up a horrible manipulative person but you can TELL, he has an evil look in his eye. Not to mention his over the top attire.

Giovanni however is just plain creepy. Every interaction I have with him in Poke Masters leaves me feeling very uncomfortable I hate it

[yamujiburo]

Jessie and Cassidy reconciliation fanfic thing

I was going through my notes app just now to just clear out some junk and I found something I'd written like a year ago and totally forgot about hahhaha. I don't usually do fanfics but I guess I was in a writing mood that night. I can't remember why I stopped. I either got stuck, didn't know how I wanted it to end or was just having a hard time figuring out like,,,, the arcs and what I wanted the main focus of the story to be. Anyhow, here it is if you wanna read the set up I made for it haha

Jessie, James and Meowth have once again failed to complete a mission and Matori is TIRED of it. She brings it up go Giovanni who tells her not to worry about them. Matori can’t figure out why Giovanni puts up with them and starts digging on possible reasons why Giovanni would keep them around. She decides to go to HR to find answers. There, she meets Wendy.

“Ah– Matori!”

“Pull up records for Jessie, James and–“, Matori notices that Wendy already has Jessie’s files pulled up and gives her a strange look.

“I see you’re already doing your research on Miss Jessie…”

“N-no! Well, yes. It’s just that Jessie has continuously failed almost all missions she’s been assigned! Not to mention she’s singlehandedly almost made the organization go broke. Well, not really but she still owes a lot of money!”

“And the other two?”

“Huh? Oh yeah them, too I guess.”

“I just don’t understand what Giovanni could possible see in them. They’re not good for Team Rocket.”

“Tell me about it, I’ve been trying to get the boss to fire them for years. But he’s got a real soft spot for them apparently. Tch, to think they were the top of their class once.”

“Hmph, I find that hard to believe.”

“I can’t speak for James and Meowth, but Jessie really was a promising recruit. So much so that when she threatened to quit, she somehow manipulated every exec into fulfilling her demands.”

“Threatened to quit?” The gears in Matori’s head began to turn. Sure Giovanni wouldn’t fire the trio, but if they were to quit, there would be nothing he could do.

“Yeah, she had a falling out with her first partner. And instead of being PROFESSIONAL she wined until she got a new one. Then she proceeded to go through like 10 more partners until James came along. If you’ve ever talked to her I’m sure you can tell she’s not the easiest person to work with.”

“Hm. Perhaps it’s time to switch up some teams.”

“C-can you do that? Is that allowed?”

“I could pull some strings.”

“Isn’t that sabotage?” Wendy asks. Matori shoots her a look.

“Call it what you want, but it’s my job to make sure this organization is successful as possible. Getting rid of some problem lackeys will only benefit Team Rocket. If Giovanni won’t do anything about them, then I will.”

“Matori. You are my hero”

“Are there any potential candidates we could temporarily team them up with? Or members they’ve been known to… not get along with?”

A big, Gengar-like smile creeps on Wendy’s face. “I know just the agents.”

_____________________________________________________________

Early in the morning in Jessie and James’ base, they get a call from Matori. Jessie is already annoyed, knowing who’s calling, but she wakes up her team members just in case it was Giovanni.

“A little early don’t you think, Matori?” Matori composes herself and ignores Jessie’s jab.

“Giovanni hasn’t arrived yet, but I have very important news.” Jessie, James and Meowth’s interests are piqued. “Your success rates have been… less than exemplary. But, you have previously shown you are exceptional agents.”

Jessie is taken aback by the, sort of, compliment from Matori. “So what’s the issue?”

“We have reason to believe that, while neither of you are individually the reason for your constant failures, you are incompatible as a team and you are going to be reassigned to different partners, effective immediately.”

James and Meowth look at each other shocked, and the thoughts going through their head were interrupted by their soon to be, not-leader. “WHAT?! You can’t split us up! We–“

“I apologize for the inconvenience. But this is for the benefit of Team Rocket. I do not have time to argue this. It has already been decided and your new partners have been decided. James, you are to return to headquarters where you will meet your new partner and Jessie, you will remain where you are and your new partner will arrive tomorrow.”

“What about, Me-owth?”

Matori pauses. She hadn’t thought about the cat. “You can decide who you wish to go with. Thank you for your time. Best of luck with your new arrangements.”

Matori hangs up. Jessie, James and Meowth stand staring at the screen, solemn. What doe they do now? Years of working together over, just like that.

“UGH THAT LITTLE FOUR EYED BOWL CUT HAIRED FREAK! I’m gonna do something about this! They can’t do this to us!” James gently puts his had on Jessie’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing we can do,”

James packs up, Meowth has decided to go with James. They say their goodbyes. James and Meowth grab the rest of their things and leave. Jessie is left alone with her thoughts.

_____________________________________________________________

Back at headquarters, we see James and Meowth being led by Matori to her office where she says his new partner is waiting. She talks about how this member is in a very similar situation. They walk in and see short, green hair. “BUTCH???”

“Oh no not you guys!”

“If you’re my new partner, that must mean…”

“Oh no,” they all say in unison.

_____________________________________________________________

Jessie still lying in the same place on her bed. Why was she feeling this way? She’d been through so many parters before. Sure she’d been with James and Meowth longer, but she wasn’t one to get attached. Well, not anymore. In the middle of her thought, she hears the elevator to the base coming down. She gets up and makes herself as presentable as possible (over shirt is off, makeup kinda smeared, boots off). Before she can get her shit together, a pair of white boots click, clack in. Jessie looks up, and the flash of orange, blonde seared her eyes.

“CASSIDY?!”

“JESSIE?!”

“No, no, no there has to be some sort of mistake. I can’t be teamed up with you! I hate you!”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I can’t believe I going to have to work with your ugly ass every day.”

“You’re one to talk. Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Jessie turned to the standup mirror leaning against the wall. She was definitely not looking her best.

“You caught me at a bad time!”

“You sure? I recall you always looking this ratty. I guess it has been a while since I’ve seen you, thank goodness," Cassidy said smugly. Jessie was already pissed off.

“We’re calling Matori RIGHT NOW to fix this.”

“Gee, while you’re looking like that?”

“I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT.” Jessie picked up the communicator, which brandished a large R on the wall. Matori picked up.

“Good afternoon Jessie, are you aware that you’re not in uniform?”

“Cut the crap you clod! You set me up with Cassidy on purpose!”

“Ah I see you’ve met your new partner! Hello, Cassidy.”

“Matori,” Cassidy said with a small bow. Of course Cassidy was trying to stay composed. Just another way to try one-up Jessie.

“We can NOT work together. I demand you put me back on my old team!”

“While I’m not one to disagree with higher ups, Miss Matori, I unfortunately have to side with Jessie on this one. You might not be aware but Jessie and I were partners once in our training days. We simply are not compatible,” Cassidy explained as politely as possible.

“Was there a reason for this, incompatibility? I was looking through your records and it appeared that you two were quite the team back in the day. I had assumed that the executives just wanted two top agents to be on other teams with some less skilled trainees.” Both Cassidy and Jessie blushed.

It was true that Jessie and Cassidy were at the top of their class for quite some time. But the reasons for them being split up were quite… personal.

“Listen, we just can’t work together. Try getting that through that helmet head of yours.”

_____________________________________________________________

~aaaaand this is where i got to~

Anyone wanna finish this for me? /j

I can't remember where I wanted this to go. I think I was gonna have Jessie and Cassidy try to suck it up and work together so they don't lose their jobs. They fight Ash and Goh, trying to get Pikachu as usual and quickly fail because of their bickering. They eventually have a heart to heart, wondering where they went wrong back when they were a team. They say a lot of things that they'd failed to communicate in the past and reconcile.

THEN this is where I kinda got stuck on what I wanted the focus/them to me. There was a version in my head where after they reconcile they like,,, make out and start falling in love again (for those new here, I firmly believe Jessie and Cassidy are bitter exes and had a falling out during their training days). After this their chemistry and communication improve immensely resulting in them succeeding to catch Pikachu. Matori comes to retrieve it but Ash and Goh get it back while it's in Matori's hands (making it her failure). And then I wasn't sure how to end this version. Maybe things going back to normal after Giovanni finds out that Jessie and Cassidy are dating and deems it unprofessional. Jessie, James and Meowth are reunited and Cassidy and Butch are as well. Happy ending were things are as they were but now Cassidy and Jessie are on good terms and still together maybe???

The oooother version was centering the story more around Jessie and her inability to keep her partners/not appreciating them. If I went with this I think I'd start off the story differently with her being a dick to James and Meowth (which she is a lot of the time but this time she crosses a line). After the team switch she finds that she really had been taking her teammates for granted. I think Cassidy and Jessie still have that heart to heart but then it's more about how Jessie hurt Cassidy and Jessie kinda realizes that she's still making the same errors currently. They reconcile buuut the both of them still want their old partners back so they hatch a plan to successfully steal Pikachu but ensure that Ash gets it back when it's in Matori's hands. They request that they be paired up with their old teammates and in exchange, wouldn't tell Giovanni that Matori messed up. Everything goes back to normal the end.

I had too many jumbled ideas and because I don't have the attention span to write for more than a couple hours I just dropped this LOL. Just thought I'd share in case anyone found this remotely interesting or entertaining hehe

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #26

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Opera-phile

I had a hobby that I couldn’t tell anyone about. People like me were no rare breed.

Amongst the hobbies I had heard about from my friends until now, the one that made me think “this might be a bit hard to tell someone” the most was that keeping ice cream lids when they finished eating it. They said they would write down the date on each lid and store them in one of those clear files sold at 100-yen shops. They could only eat ice cream on special days when they were little, and they still couldn’t get over the habit of that time. The face of the person who had told me about this seemed simply satisfied in some way. Regardless, this may not have been something so difficult to say because it was revealed at a drinking party.

Now. Bringing the topic back to me.

If you were living alone in a foreign land called Sri Lanka, you could do whatever you wanted. I could get up at any time, eat whatever I felt like, study the things I enjoyed and go wherever I wanted with my Three-Wheeler. I didn’t have much, but the prices were cheap. My culinary repertoire was also noticeably increasing. Even if I danced alone in my room, no one would be watching. No, my dear dog ​​Jirou would stare at me with a bit of a strange look, but there were times when he’d eventually jump up and down and start dancing with me. Even if I listened to music at a loud volume, the same went for my neighbors.

Therefore, I was now thinking that maybe my stopper had come off a little.

I had bought the CD in Colombo, the real capital of Sri Lanka. As one would expect of the biggest shop in the country, they sold a lot of things that were unlikely to be available in Kandy.

The jacket featured a black-haired woman with a spellbound face, both of her arms outstretched. It was an opera CD with twelve songs.

I went back and forth in my room, shouting, “ah~, ah~”. What an opera was? No, I did know. It was traditional singing style – something like a musical, in which singers such as tenor, paritone, soprano and alto would perform along with a play. But something about them that diverged a bit from musicals was that the words used were old, the melodies weren’t excitable, and they were mainly either Italian or French, I believed.

I had no choice but admit it at this point. I liked opera.

Nakata Seigi had the words “I’m in love with opera” floating about in his head. I was driven by an urge to scream “gyaaah” and make said words disappear, but on the CD jacket, Maria Callas was making a spellbound face as usual, and that made me happy. I had purchased this CD after much hesitation over buying this or buying that. There was no way I wouldn’t be happy about it. Still...

Somewhere in my head, I recognized this as something embarrassing.

My dear boss was always telling me to think rationally at such times. He told me that whenever I thought my mind was moving in absurd ways, it always happened that there was some sort of timid development in me, which I either hadn’t noticed or, even if I did notice it, I’d ignore it – but once I understood it, it would stop being absurd.

Why would opera be embarrassing in the first place?

How I had come to like opera? The trigger was the radio. When I was staying at a hotel for a while back in Tokyo, I tended to feel down because I had nothing to do other than study, so I’d sometimes listen to the radio broadcast at the hotel while devoting myself to physics and English.

The singing voice I heard at that time was – how should I put it? – tremendously wonderful.

I couldn’t think that it was the voice of someone from the same world as myself. Someone was singing in a place just a few ways away, and as I listened to it, my body felt like my body was airily floating up – it was that kind of voice. I didn’t have any preferences for either male or female, and if anything, I liked both. The title of the song being streamed was written in the hotel’s guidebook, so I went to a video streaming site and searched for the same song by other singers and the songs that came before and after said piece. Faust. Madama Butterfly. Otello. Rigoletto. The Magic Flute. Don Giovanni. Whenever an opera song was used on a TV show, i became able to at least tell which prelude it was from.

And this passion hadn’t cooled down even now that some time had passed since then.

I walked around the room again, shouting, “Uuuh, uuuh”. Jirou energetically followed me from behind. It was almost as if he meant to say, “It’s fun to go a stroll even inside a room, huh, owner?”. Sorry but it’s not like I’m taking you on a walk, I thought, yet Jirou couldn’t care less, letting out a sweet voice as I held him up and rocked him, and then running off to the yard as if he had gotten excited. Just as I felt relieved, thinking about what a cute fella he was, I found myself imagining something. I could see myself at the drinking party, talking about how I liked opera. The reaction I pictured was an explosion of laughter.

“‘Opera’, you say. What’s up with that? It’s that thing where fat people raise their voices like crazy, right? You like that? Why? No way, Nakata, didn’t you just want to have a rich people hobby just ‘cause you’ve well-off these days? Like, those that feel like you’re superior. That’s exactly what opera is. Okay, I get it, but that ain’t very interesting, so how about we change the topic?”

It gave me chills.

I wasn’t creeped out by how people might talk about my hobbies. However, it was painful to have the whole genre of opera, which had saved me back when I was put in a spot like a light reaching out from the sky, be judged by people who didn’t even know the difference between Callas and Pavarotti and not be able to defend them. I had to protect what was important to me. Or else, it would get damaged. I wasn’t referring to the long-standing form of art that had been cultivated for hundreds of years. I meant my own heart. That was painful to me.

Yeah, I was somewhat aware that this wasn’t an “embarrassment”. But I was scared.

I was low-key terrified of having people pointing their fingers at me from behind with words such as “eccentric”, “weirdo” or “pretentious” for having a preference that was different from other people’s – and something that I seriously liked, no less.

With a deep breath, I took the CD’s vinyl cover. Unlike Japanese CDs, there was none of those convenient little ears that made the cover come off when you pulled it. I slowly cut it with a pair of scissors, set it on a nostalgic stereo radio and played it while referring to the table of track numbers on the backside.

Just from the intro, I already knew who was singing and what song it was.

Maria Callas’s “Casta Diva”. It was a song from an opera called “Norma”, and the meaning of it was “chaste goddess”.

What it made me reminisce to was a seriously horrible time, when I had to prepare for my death to a certain extent. Whenever this song played in the hotel’s radio program, which repeated itself over and over, this song would connect me with paradise, telling me that I didn’t need to worry about trivial matters, so I was able to leave it all aside and relax. It was that kind of song. Without a doubt, my biggest and best saver was that beautiful jeweler, but from the sidelines, opera had definitely helped me keep my sanity.

That was amazing.

I was grateful from the bottom of my heart that this form of art, which couldn’t be classified as mainstream at all in Japan and probably overseas as well, had maintained its thread of life across the centuries. It had saved me. Would the CD sales be of any help to it? Thankfully, I had some money to spend and was probably able to buy a set of all-track CDs per month. Would that be a form of repayment of any kind? It would be great if so, I thought wholeheartedly.

“Casta Diva” wasn’t too long a piece. With a voice that sounded like it was vanishing, the song ended. For whatever reason, it made me feel like crying, no matter how many times I had listened to it. It was too beautiful. It was an impossible speculation, but if Richard turned into a song, I felt that his form would change into something very close to this one.

Once I finished listening to the track, the “aaah”s and “uuuh”s had disappeared from my head. I liked opera. Opera turned into my strength. So I wanted to cherish it.

Even if someone ridiculed me for it, the problem was with the person, not with me or with opera. And my precious, beautiful shopkeeper had stated that “no discriminating other people based on their preferences” was one of the main principles of Etranger. What was I going to do by discriminating myself?

I was going to keep buying opera CDs from now on too, I swore proudly to my heart, yet secretly decided not to write about it in my blog or talk to Richard about it. Not because it was embarrassing. But rather because I had the gut feeling that I couldn’t predict what would happen in the end if I told him.

On that day, I was busy with preparations for cooking. First Saul-san, and then Richard would come to Kandy to hear the reports about the progress of my studies. It was also like a test. But I hadn’t studied half-assedly enough to chicken out at that. Above all, thanks to the negotiations in Ratnapura, I was conscious that my eyes were well-trained, if I could say so myself.

If it didn’t go well even with this, that was fine. I was happy to find new challenges. Lots of things became easier once I started feeling that studying was fun.

And since they were coming over, they wouldn’t get angry if I prepared a bit of a feast. More than anything, being able to cook a few people’s share in this house had me overjoyed. After all, I was basically living alone, so just how many times had I found delicious-looking and cheap food but had to tearfully give up because I wasn’t sure if I could eat it all by myself?

Being surrounded by things that made you happy was extremely good for the heart.

Deciding to go for an additional blow, I set the CD in the radio. A long aria began at the end of the first opus of all songs. It was a French opera called “La Fille du Régiment”, and being fond of this one had greatly helped me when I was studying French.

The man who started to sing that he was going to marry the army was a world-renowned tenor.

In the beginning, the man sang that he was going to do meritorious deeds in the army, cheered on by his companions. Since I had been listening to the words ever since back when I could only hear them as katakana spelling, my mouth moved without any reference. Of course, my voice didn’t sound like that of a tenor, but it had the same gist as somehow trying to sing in the range of a singer from some music show. Just that was fun enough.

A fish pie was baking in the oven. There were three types of curry in the smaller pots. My Nakata-style sliced veggies pickled in soy sauce, which were a mixture of chopped coconut sambal and dried fruits, were lined up on a cutting board, and the fresh fruits that I planned to make into mixed juice were all completely ready. The only thing I had left to do was preparing watalappan for dessert. It had to chill in the fridge for a while, so it was necessary to make it in advance. However, since it was my third time making it, I had the procedure memorized. No worries.

The tenor raised his voice amidst joy. The man who sang, “Ah, I’m going, I’m going to marry the army” didn’t like the army in particular, he was just in love with the abandoned girl that all the men from the regiment he was enlisted in were raising together.

The key switched to waltz. The true value of the tenor would ensue from that point onward.

The oven beeped, indicating that the pie had finished baking. With light steps, put on my gloves, took out the whole iron plate with the pie on it and gently slid it into a white porcelain plate.

A series of splendid high Cs. This referred to when the tenor raised their voice a great deal. If the composer was wonderful in reproducing the feelings of happiness into the music so keenly, then so was the singer who sang them so faithfully, I believed. The feeling of excitement turned into the melody just the way it was.

I arranged the dishes on the table and peeled the fruits. The high Cs continued one after another. I opened a can of coconut milk and mixed the contents with nut paste. The song was approaching the end. “What a fate, what a fate,” he sang, sounding merry. The highest note was near.

The song was coming to a close while celebrating happiness with the highest note. The feelings of the singer weren’t recorded in the CD, but I could hear them as comfortably as could be.

It wasn’t nearly high enough, but I sang along at a fairly loud volume.

At the same time as the song finished with a flashy grace note, I lightly kicked the open lid of the oven. It closed up neatly. With this, everything was all set. I was going to put away the CD set before the guests arrived.

Or so I had planned.

After the peak of my excitement, I noticed that someone was standing outside the window. He hadn’t come in from the front door. Hence the chime didn’t ring.

“Bravo, bravissimo.” A beautiful man wearing a white shirt and sunglasses, said glasses charmingly pushed up above his forehead, was smiling while applauding at my stiffened self.

The test was terrible that day. I didn’t think there was any issue with the contents of my answers. However, since I was stuttering so much, Saul, my mentor who was so picky about manner of speech as well as the contents of it, pointed out that I should “act more dignified”. I knew that better than anyone. There was too much noise interference in my head with things such as, “Why did I put opera on in such high spirits? What did he think of me now? As I thought, does he think that this hobby doesn’t suit me? No, that’s definitely impossible when it comes to my teacher, so I have to take control of my self-consciousness”.

And so, this is a story that happened more than half a year after that. Something that took place in Sri Lanka in May.

“Eh?”

“Happy birthday, Seigi. Here is a little present.”

“A bank deposit transfer certificate?”

“Good job reading it. That is from the USA.”

“USA...”

“There was a seat that you would probably like, so I purchased a year’s worth of it.”

“A year”? This wasn’t potato chips or cup noodles. What kind of seat was that? Was there a truck coming to deliver it? While thinking about such things, I continued reading the A4 paper, and when I got to half of it, I roared loudly. I let out a voice that sounded like a crushed frog, I believed.

The seat that Richard had given me was indeed a seat. But at a music theatre in America, which was likely the world’s most famous. It was a one-year membership card.

This was proof that “a seat will be reserved for you”. A seat just for me, for any performance, that I could use whenever I went there.

I felt lightheaded. Just how much had this “seat” cost him? What was he trying to do by giving something like this to someone who sat in swivel chairs sold at mass retailers? I did have such rational retorts in my head, but above that, I was so, so happy that I started jumping up and down. I could go to a theatre that I only knew about from CDs. Anytime, as long as I had the plane tickets. No matter who was singing.

“Can I really have this?!”

“Do you think I’m some sort of boorish lad who’d take back the treasure after making the other person happy?”

“No way! Uoooh, I’m too excited; that’s bad!”

“You are reacting like a dog again...”

“I’m gonna run in the yard for a bit!”

As I, with a messy katakana pronunciation, sang to myself the chorus part of the aria that had just finished while rolling around in the yard, Jirou ran over and mounted on me without restraint. “Owner, we’re going to play here, right? We’re going to play here, right? Come, let’s play,” he seemed to say, energetically wagging his tail. I was so happy that I hugged him and rolled about, but then I could see Richard laughing. The yard was on a slightly lower level than the house, so the house was wholly visible, so I didn’t think I was mistaken. He really was making a happy-looking face. This might have been my first time seeing that man laugh with such a child-like expression.

At that moment, something suddenly came to mind.

When Richard told me for the first time that he “likes pudding”, did he also think for a bit that it was embarrassing or wonder about what I was going to say? This man had thorough knowledge about the so-called “society”. There was no way that he hadn’t considered the possibility.

But he had told me about it.

Did I not say anything weird to him back then? “A man, liking pudding?” or “Why would a foreigner like a Japanese dessert?” It gave me the creeps. Back then, I didn’t have as much care as now regarding how to handle such circumstances. I just had words jumping out of my mouth like knives. This still applies even now, but I wanted to think it had gotten better, even if just a little.

Had I not said anything to him? Had I not hurt him? I didn’t have any way to confirm that now. If I apologized without knowing what I had said, it wouldn’t be a sincere apology.

But right now, Richard was looking at my happy self and smiling.

So I decided to stop thinking about these things. And from now on too, I would keep making heaps upon heaps of the things he liked.

I had to protect what was important to me by myself. But if I happened to notice something that mattered to someone who was dear to me, I wanted to cherish it too. I had no other choice.

After stroking Jirou, I went back to where Richard was and bowed to him again. He reciprocated the bow with a “you are welcome” and seemed about to start laughing again.

“That’s right, I was gonna make pudding. Wait just a bit more.”

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“You already got me a seat at the MET; I can’t go along with that flattery even as a joke. I’d be happy if you played with Jirou, though.”

“Then, I will take you up on those words.”

Rubbing my chest in relief, I went back to my room, patting my whole body to remove the dirt and dog hairs, and after washing my hands with soap, I returned to the kitchen.

By the looks of it, I was going to be able to listen to an opera in person one of these days – at least within a year’s time. Once I watched it live, all the curtains would close, right? For real? Was such a thing possible? Apparently yes. Hard to believe but it was true.

That man who was like an incarnation of the worldwide definition of “beauty”, and above that, who was a genius at pleasing me, was fooling around with my hybrid brown dog in the yard, illuminated by tropical sunshine. It seemed that the preparations for our feast would still take a while.

“What a wonderful day,” I hummed tentatively in French. A gorgeous tenor voice wouldn’t come out of my throat, but the things I liked would firmly support my heart nevertheless. Almost like a backbone for it. And there was someone supporting this backbone. Honestly, what a wonderful day. For now, I’d be making pudding. And share at least a little bit of this feeling.

[enviedear]

secrets that you keep → peter parker

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in a consolation trip back to europe, the kids of midtown high are eager to have a normal vacation, finally. but you on the other hand are on a mission. something weird is going on with peter parker, and you’re going to figure it out.

PAIRING ⌙ peter parker x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 2.4k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“-smaller group than before, but we’ll still have fun guys. the tour company has made precautions for you kids. there will not be a repeat of last year.” mr. harrington babbles.

you sink lower into the bus seat. you did not want to be back in europe. truthfully you want to be anywhere but here. wherever, here, was. no one knew. cell service went out about five miles back and the bus driver didn’t speak english. 

“yeah guys, don’t worry. this trip is going to be ten times worse than the last. it’s already started bad since we don't know where we ARE!” flash yells, running a hand down his face.

mr. harrington tries to calm him and the rest of the bus down, to no avail.

you block out the commotion and stare out of the bus window. grass, farm, cattle, shack, more grass, more farm. and not one single cell tower in sight. this is it, you think, this is how it ends, stranded in a foreign country with the most annoying people you’ve ever known.

“guys, GUYS! my service is back,” betty yelps. “it says we’re in wiveliscombe, and that it’s going to be three hours until we reach london.”

her words are met with groans.

“at least we have cell service now.” jokes peter parker, who’s sat in the seat across the aisle from you. he’s cute and nice, but weird. last year’s trip he had about a thousand excuses as to why he’d leave the group and if it happened this year, you were gonna figure out why. no matter what it took.

“mhm, and since we have access to the endless possibilities of the internet again, we don’t have to talk..” you huff.

“i.. sorry. i didn’t-” you cut him off by placing your earbuds back into your ears and turning the volume up. 

something about peter irked your nerves in a way you couldn’t understand. maybe it was the way he knew fucking everything. maybe it was the way his body became incomprehensibly fit in such a short period of time. you really couldn’t understand that. even went as far as to do research on steroids, but found there was no way he could be using those. most probably it was the nonsense of his idiotic excuses. he might be able to fool everyone else, but not you. you knew there had to be something going on.

he and his stupid cute little brown curls, button nose, and six pack were under your firm watch.

by the time the bus reached the hotel the sun was beginning to set. jet lagged and in need of a long shower, you’re one of the first to fly into the hotel.

“It's me and you for the next week.” mj smiles, holding out a room key for you. truthfully, you really liked mj. she was cool and liked a lot of the same things as you. but she had one fatal flaw in your eyes, she used to date peter parker.

it was a short lived relationship, almost everyone saw it as a fling. peter and mj were just… too different. but they remain close friends.

it’s not like you were jealous... just, a tad bit jealous. besides, that ship had sailed and your goal wasn’t to end up like mj on the last trip to europe. no, you had other plans.

“cool. we can watch murder mysteries tonight and grab some snack from the convenience store down the street.” you grin.

the rooming situation for everyone else took entirely too long. it started with flash being upset that his room requirements weren’t being met. he wanted nothing to do with a roommate. this, caused his previous roommate, zander, to object to rooming with someone so, ‘coddled’.

took a full twenty minutes to resolve the issue. 

“mj, you still wanna visit the national gallery tomorrow?” asks the one and only peter parker.

“uh, yeah. y/n, wanna join?” she questions.

you were ready to object, finding it far more intriguing to stay in and sleep but then you remembered your little mission. if you wanted to figure out what peter parker’s deal was, you’d have to be around him. 

“sure. nothing better to do.” you shrug, peering straight into peter’s eyes. 

“i, uh- i thought we’d get an early start to the day. ned wants to go on the jack the ripper tour, so that gives us until one to look through the museum.” peter rambles.

“alright, me and y/n will meet you two down here around ten thirty.” mj clarifies.

“see you then. night mj,” he looks to you. “goodnight y/n.”

you narrow your eyes at him, “sleep tight parker. busy day tomorrow.”

with that you and mj enter your room, ready to sleep off the jet lag. and soon enough, sleep carries you into her open arms, preparing you for the day ahead.

the next morning consists of peter and ned rushing in and out of their room. the duo forgetting nearly everything they needed for the day. it was extremely annoying. but you’d take watching the two ninnies scramble about over this tour you’re forcing yourself to get through right now.

the national gallery was proving to be a bore. maybe it was you. or maybe it was the dull ass tour guide. either way, you’re finding it hard to focus on any of these artworks around you.

“this is the arnolfini portrait. it’s the work of jan van eyck and it is believed to depict an italian merchant named giovanni di nicolao arnolfini. this painting has remained in the national gallery since 1843.” the tour guide drones.

you peer up at the art, searching for anything to interest you about it. you try to focus of the dark green of the woman’s dress, then the small dog, but nothing about this art is appealing to you. instead, you find the whispered conversation going on behind you to be much more intriguing.

“ned how am i going to make it all the way to japan and back here before the ripper tour?” peter grumbles.

japan?

“i don’t know, but i really don’t want to go on a tour of the most infamous and creepy serial killers of all time without my best friend.” ned whispers.

“but mj will be there, and.. y/n.” peter assures.

“great. they both creep me out. that’s like, two extra loads of creepy added onto the already creepy tour.” ned huffs.

“dude, i have to go… mr. stark is waiting on me.” peter pleads.

you hear ned give an annoyed, “fine.”

you wait a few seconds before turning around to face peter’s friend.

“where did peter run off to?” you ask, as innocently as you can.

“uhhhh- the bathroom. the uh, hotel bathroom. yeah, must have been those tomatoes he ate with his breakfast today.” ned gulps.

“mhm. well i think i’ll meet up with him. he shouldn’t walk all the way back alone.” you smirk, shoving past ned and running the direction peter went.

it took a good minute to find him outside, the boy running into a bakery. but once your eyes find him, you rush straight in, right behind him. eyes narrowed and full of questions. 

the brown haired boy quickly enters a bathroom and you grin. 

no escaping now, parker.

you wait outside the bathroom eagerly. only for minutes to pass. no sound escapes the room and you furrow your brows.

you knock on the door, no answer. annoyed you open the door, only to be met with an empty bathroom. 

an empty bathroom with an opened window.

what the fuck?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“we’ve been upgraded!” mr. harrington gleams, looking down at our tired faces.

“last time we were upgraded we almost died.” betty sighs.

“ah- what did i say, we’re not going to repeat last year,” harrington retorts. “now...how do you guys feel about paris?”

well those words certainly livened up the breakfast table. train tickets are soon passed around, and you study yours, spoonful of yogurt still in your mouth.

“hey y/n, mj and i are gonna go to the louvre when we get there,” ned grins. “wanna come with?”

you chuckle, “another museum? nah, i’m good.”

mj quirks a brow at you, “this museum is home to the mona lisa. it’s not just any museum.”

“and the mona lisa is not just any painting… it’s an ugly one.” you huff.

ned guffaws at you.

“honestly, i might skip out too.” peter says.

you turn to face him, “great. you and i can explore paris while mj and ned explore another museum.”

he shifts in his seat, “i dunno i was thinking of-”

mj cuts him off, “i think that’s a great idea y/n. don’t you, peter? you remember what harrington said.. no repeat of last year.”

her eyes are cold as she awaits his answer and he fidgets more in his seat.

“i just think it might be best for me to stay here… ya know in case mr. stark needs anything.”

you roll your eyes, “dude, you’re just an intern. what could he possibly need that his other ten thousand interns can’t do.”

“technically he only has like six other… interns.” peter mumbles.

“but uh.. they can handle whatever mr. stark needs from you. i mean they’ve been av- uh, interns, for a while.” ned says, eyes pleading with his friend.

peter sighs before smiling at you, “alright, me and you versus paris.”

no peter parker, me and myself versus your dirty little secret.

somehow you got to sit next to peter in an empty train car for the ride to paris. and holy shit.. could he talk.

his eyes did have a way of lighting a fire inside you as he talked but, that, was not the point.

it was between an empty car with peter or full car sat between flash and harrington.

peter is always better than the latter.

“-anyways, how’d you convince your parents to let you go back to europe?” he asks.

“i didn’t. they made me.” you say simply.

peter slumps into his seat a little, “uh, why?”

“because when they were younger they traveled the world. i dunno, i guess they expect me to want to as well.” 

“oh. well, are you enjoying it so far.” he asks.

i’d enjoy it more if i could figure out your damned secret, parker.

“sure.”

and then, finally, peter is quiet. 

but not for long, as the train comes to a screeching halt.

over the train speakers comes a booming voice, “veuillez rester calme. le train s'est arrêté en raison d'un dysfonctionnement du moteur.”

your body tenses and you look at peter, “please tell me you understand french?”

“a little.. i dont think we need to worry. they said it’s just an engine malfunction.” he nods, looking around the train car.

you try to breathe. 

everything is okay. there’s no evil robots coming to destroy a train car with two innocent teenagers. that’s so pre civil war. just breathe. 

suddenly a loud bang is heard from the car behind you. not just any bang… a gunshot.

“holy shit.” you whisper, stiff as a board.

peter on the other hand is rummaging through his bag.

“parker! what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss.

“i.. just trust me okay? when i tell you to run… run.”

you look at him with a scowl, “i’m not going to be the sacrificial pig for slaughter, asswipe.”

he rolls his eyes, “i’m going to run with you. we’re going to find an empty car and then… wait for spiderman.” 

you blink. the kid’s gone insane.

“peter. listen, i know coping with your own inevitable death can be hard but, spiderman.. really?” you groan.

another loud bang comes from the car behind you. 

peter looks at you, taking your hand in his. 

the door to your car bursts open.

“run!” peter yelps, rushing into the next car, the gunmen not far enough behind.

“holy shit i’m gonna die.” you scream.

peter throws something at the gunmen when the two of you enter the next car, separating the two of you from the monsters.

but the kid didn’t throw just anything at them. motherfucker threw a damn door. a metal train door.

by the time you process the information, peter is pulling you into a cramped bathroom.

“i don’t have much time but basically, hi, i’m spiderman. those guys back there are people tony stark pissed off really bad and i need you to hide in here until i fix this issue.”

with that he pulls his jacket off revealing the spiderman suit you’re so used to seeing on the news.

“that’s your secret? this entire time i’ve been hanging around you trying to figure it out, and it turns out you’re spiderman. i would have thought anything before fucking spiderman.” you dwell, eyes wide.

he slips his mask on, “wait, you only hung out with me because you thought i had a secret? i mean.. i did but-”

another loud bang interrupts him, “nevermind. we’ll talk about this later. stay here and don’t tell anyone what i just told you.”

you nod, and watch him exit the bathroom.

so much for “not a repeat of last time.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“at least it wasn’t witches this time.” mr. dell sighs.

your entire fourth period groans. 

“what! our world is infested with witches now. i don’t even know why i’m teaching science. i’m gonna turn around one day and suddenly i’ll be teaching witchcraft.”

your eyes return back to your desk, staring a hole into the old wood. your trance is broken by a crumpled piece of paper. you roll your eyes and turn your attention to peter, who after europe has been watching you like a hawk.

you open the paper to see, ‘listen, mr. stark said i need to get written evidence that you won’t spill the beans. please sign below.’

you grimace but sign at the bottom of the paper and hand it back to your new ninny friend.

that’s right. friend. despite being one of the most annoying people on the planet, with the weirdest secret ever.. peter was nice. he was really nice. he liked almost everything you did and listened intently to whatever you had to say.

“earth to y/n.” his voice calls from beside you.

“oh? is class over?” you ask.

he nods and holds his arm out to you. you take it and give him a half smile.

you may find peter parker to be the weirdest dude ever, but you can’t deny that the secret superhero is starting to flood your mind. you never thought you’d be the one to say it, but peter parker is the coolest weirdo you’ve ever met.

and besides, your mission was a success. you figured out his secret and obtained a friend along with it.

well, friend, until you could complete your newest mission.

telling him you like him. like, a lot.

[sins-of-the-sea]

I've been avoiding giving Giovanni's mother a name for the longest time, as giving names is a way to humanize monstrous people. But I guess it's inevitable she finally obtains one. Not only because I am a firm believer that vile human beings are still human beings, but if I am to interact with the Assassins' Creed verse, especially AC2, hearing or meeting with her will be VERY inevitable. Of the entire Venetian Vespucci family, she is the most power hungry, ambitious, and naturally, the greediest.

But now this got me thinking.... were the Vespucci family in AC2 ever involved with the Assassins/Templar conflict?? We know the Borgias are Templars. What reading I can get from Cristina Vespucci, her father, and Amerigo doesn't say much. I can possibly ride on them being neutral or oblivious. But with that said.....

Mariana isn't born a Vespucci--she married into the family as an outsider. Very likely she came from a native Venetian noble house, but ones that couldn't kiss up to the Venetian Council or the Doge. The Vespucci disgrace perhaps took place early in her marriage with Antonio, and thus, begins her ruthless attempts at power grabbing on HER terms. And honestly? Calling it right now.

She's a Templar. She's a fucking Templar. She's training her sons to be Templars but little Giovanni is too "broken" to be an effective one, and the enforced imprisonment/isolation is to keep him from interfering from their affairs.

From what I'm reading, the Spanish Inquisition in Spain was run by the Spanish Crown, but it has Templars among them. Perhaps Carles' death was an encounter with a Templar as he was undergoing secret Assassins training. Perhaps he's getting insights on Templars creeping into HIS family. Who knows? This is worth developing on. But GOD, I am living it.

For the sake of the Assassins' Creed Verse ONLY, I may keep Carles and Mariana alive, as the circumstances in the setting can make use of them more alive than dead. So this will REALLY change up the Frances-Vespucci family dynamics, as the heroic firstborn son Carles would be around to be the stable shining star of Josep's dark life, and in opposition the dark looming force of avarice and cruelty in Mariana over her husband and sons, especially the very young Giovanni.

.......

Fuck, I have to give Carles and Mariana faces too now, will I?

[ficforce]

Blind Spot Part 1

Obi x Reader Stalker trigger

Obi stopped mid-lift as he heard the sound of three women getting angry all at once, it could only mean that Y/N had come back from her date and that it hadn’t gone well. He grabbed a towel and wiped at his face before opening the door and heading toward the break room; Iris looked mildly scandalised whilst Tamaki and Maki looked ready to commit murder, Y/N stood in front of them looking a little disappointed. “So he just grabbed your butt and expected you to go home with him? What a pervert!” “You have the worst luck with that dating company, why can’t you find your prince charming already?” Maki looked close to tears and sat down as if defeated. Y/N pat her on the shoulder and then she realised Obi was stood in the doorway, he looked a little sweaty but she recognised the bright look in his eyes, he always got a good feeling after working out, “You called it, Captain. Another loser crossed off the list.” “Did you update your dating profile?” He wasn’t going to gloat, he hadn’t liked the guy’s profile when she showed him and he felt worse about it if the guy had touched her without her wanting him to, “What did you put in for your ideal match?” She sat down beside Maki and began counting off the points on her fingers, “Tall, fit, kind, fun. Adventurous, looking for a long term commitment, preferably someone in a similar line of work.” Sister Iris shook her head a little and exhaled, “Why don’t you just put in a picture of Captain Obi in that section?” Tamaki covered her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh out loud and Maki looked at the two hopefully. It wasn’t the first time someone had told Y/N that she and Obi would be a great match.

“Tall, check” Maki ticked off an imaginary box, “No ones more fitness mad than Captain, check.” Iris joined in then, getting up her own imaginary checklist, “Kind and fun, check. Adventurous… let’s just check that.” Tamaki pretended to grab Iris’ list, “Pretty sure Captain Obi said he’d only date for keeps, check. And he’s in the same line of work. Check, check and check!” The three of them looked at them excitedly, Obi rubbed the back of his head and fumbled with his words for a moment, eventually coming up with some excuse, “We’ve been friends for nearly ten years, I think if there was anything between us it would have happened by now, right, Y/N?” “And you’re my boss now,” she gave a shrug to the girls and sat down at the end of the table, still disappointed by the evening’s date. Y/N had always dreamed of a prince charging into her life one day, sweeping her off her feet and loving her until the end of time, she felt like she was running out of time now, she was nearly thirty and still hadn’t had a long, meaningful relationship. She wondered if Mr Right would ever find her… Feeling a warm hand on her shoulder she looked up at Obi and he gave her a soft smile, “You’ll find a guy who ticks all the boxes, you just need to relax a little more. How about I set you up with Hinawa?” “Great idea!” Y/N cheered, “Then I can borrow his gun to shoot you with!” Obi snorted and headed out to hit the showers, oblivious to Y/N watching him as he left, her eyes lingering on his muscled back until she heard giggling from the side, “What?!” The women couldn’t believe how oblivious the two were of their feelings. The next two dates were just as disastrous and put the usually cheery woman in a bad mood. She was almost grateful for the difficulty of their mission as it let her work out some frustration, Obi pulled her up out of the elevator shaft they had used to escape a collapse lower down and she made sure to adjust his hood when she noticed it coming loose - neither of them had fire abilities and made sure to check the other’s equipment. It was something they had done even when they were regular firefighters, they had been in some difficult firefights and they always tried to find something to laugh about at the end; it kept them sane. They had gotten separated from everyone else when two Infernals had flanked the team, “The floor’s weak here, watch your step, Ak- Obi.” Y/N still wasn’t used to calling him Captain or Obi after years of casual friendship calling each other by first names. They made their way through the building until they found the stairs, the fires were blazing hot and they rushed down the stairs to where they could hear fighting, a screech of metal made Y/N scream as the stairs sunk dangerously under their feet, she balanced herself in time but she saw Obi go over the side of the broken rail. “Akitaru!” She launched herself toward him and barely caught his wrist before he vanished - he was so heavy it was hard not to be pulled over too, “Come on, little help here…” Obi caught the edge of the stairs with his other hand and began to pull himself back up, the woman gripping his coat and belt to help him all the way, “Thanks…” he gave her shoulder a grateful squeeze, “Let’s keep going, stay alert.” The Captain took her hand without thinking and they made their way through the inferno together, it was early dawn by the time they had finished putting the Infernals to rest and Y/N’s head drooped as she fought off sleep, eventually her head dropped onto Obi’s shoulder and he opened one of his eyes to look down at her, a smile flitted over his lips as she let out a mumble. He closed his eye again and relaxed a little, there was still some driving to do before they got back to the station so he would have to enjoy this as much as he could. They’d been friends for as long as he could remember and part of him regretted that he wasn’t her prince charming… they had never even had a moment where he thought he could kiss her and she would respond favourably - perhaps he was a coward? He had told the girls what he

honestly thought, ‘if there was anything between them it would have happened by now.’ It ached every time she described her ideal man but overlooked him. Obi wanted her to be happy and if that meant helping her out before every date she had with a stranger then he would take it on the chin. — - “I give up!” Y/N announced and tossed her jacket over Vulcan’s workbench, “Vul, I need something to hit - gimme a job to do.” She pulled him out from under the matchbox, not too surprised by his animal-themed goggles but they made her laugh, “You’re so cute…” “I’m a star-nosed mole.” The redhead pointed over to a different bench, “The hubcap got a little banged up, wanna hammer it back into shape?” She passed him a bottle of water and the young man pulled his goggles off, he saw Y/N like a kind of mother but even he had to admit she looked good in her date outfit, “Didn’t it go well?” She shook her head, “It was fine at first but then he started talking about himself and it was way different than his profile, then he kept changing his story and I just got this… feeling about him. He was hot as hell but I started to really go off him by dessert.” Y/N took a breath, “You know how you said Dr Giovanni made even your bones feel creeped out - he was like that.” A little time passed with the two working away and then they were interrupted by Hinawa, the Lieutenant’s wide eyes landed on Y/N and she flinched, “…Um?” “Your date called the station, he wanted to know if you got home safe.” He would have gone on to lecture her on the proper use of the work phone but the ex-soldier paused when he saw her expression change, it was obvious the news wasn’t welcome. “Y/N?” “I didn’t tell him where I worked… I said I was in Emergency Services and there’s nothing on me to indicate I work here.” Her skin prickled and she glanced out of the garage door as if someone might be lurking there, “What did you say, Lieutenant?” Hinawa walked past her and pulled the door shut before tossing her her coat, “I told him that Company 8 only deals with Infernals in this district and hung up.” He told Vulcan to make sure he locked up when he was done and led her toward the kitchen. The kitchen with Hinawa always meant a heart to heart, Hinawa began preparing tea and she gave a sigh as she waited for him to say whatever it was he needed. “Tell me about the guy you went out with tonight? Description, occupation… concerns.” “Tall, dark hair and eyes, he was pretty broad.” He passed her a cup and she held it close as she leaned on the counter, “He said he was police force but then he kinda changed his story, I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his arm when he took his coat off and it looked military.” She watched Hinawa nod slowly and then he gestured for the door, having her follow him to the equipment lock-up, “Hinawa?” “I didn’t like his tone, Y/N, I don’t like what you’re telling me.” He pulled open his gun draw and picked out a handgun, checking it over before holding it out to her, “I’m lending this to you, I know you can use it so I’m not too worried about gun safety.” “Hinawa?” She took it from him hesitantly, “I’m… I think you’re overreacting.” “You looked terrified when I said you got a call… It takes some doing to rattle you, Y/N. Cancel your dating subscription, it’s embarrassing that you even signed up. You’re an attractive woman but you need to get your head out of fairytales and start looking in the real world.” Y/N kept the gun Hinawa had given her in a holster under her clothes, she figured he was being overprotective and the thought made her feel better about the whole thing, Company 8 were her family and they looked out for her, maybe Hinawa was right and she needed to relax a little. It was a full week since her date and everything was just like normal, at least she had thought it was. It was Arthur that pointed out a reoccurring figure at the scenes they went out to, the blonde pointed past her shoulder and she turned along with Shinra, “He’s here again.” Shinra squinted into the crowd and agreed, “Yeah, he was here last time and the

time before. Do you know him, Y/N?” The figure was already walking away when she tried to get a better look, she felt a chill all over and stepped backwards nervously - straight into Obi. His hands rested on her shoulders and he searched the crowd too, “Y/N… you’re shaking.” Obi had heard about the stranger in the crowd and he had been told by Hinawa that there was a problem with her last date, the Captain guided her back to the matchbox and searched the crowd one more time before ordering Vulcan to drive them home. They all kept an eye out from then on, the figure didn’t appear again but someone kept calling the station and hanging up, Vulcan noticed that the lock on the garage had been tampered with and one morning they found a bouquet of flowers left at the doorstep. It had gotten to a point where Y/N couldn’t go anywhere without an escort. — - “Maki, could you go tell Y/N it’s her turn to do the dishes?” The woman gave her Captain a nod and headed down to the garage where Y/N said she was going to grab a screwdriver to fix something in her room. She looked around and saw only Vulcan’s feet under the matchbox and Licht trying to convince him to help with modifications. They both seemed confused as Y/N hadn’t been there in the last half an hour, the three of them started a search throughout the large building and then there was a mass panic when no one could find her. Obi had been the last person to leave the station, calling ahead to Company 5 to see if they could spare some extra feet on the ground and then he would search the local area. The phone rang and he prayed it wasn’t an Infernal, “Company 8, Captain Obi speaking… Y/N! Where the hell are you?!” “I was taking out the trash and… I didn’t see him…” Obi pressed the phone closer to his ear, she sounded so faint, “Akitaru, I… I’ve been shot.” His blood ran cold as that sunk in.

[beebubb]

Alright you most recent reblog gave me an idea for an ask. Can I get some headcanons for Will, Isaac, LJ and Frankie's favorite type of music? Like what's their favorite songs and what genres do they then to listen to?

The creep's favorite music headcanons:

Will:

He was born in the 2000's, so he is the youngest and most "recent" out of all the creeps.

He is a BIG lady gaga and britney spears fan. So you'll see him vibing with their songs a lot.

He has a mix of favorite genres. His main ones would be pop and hip hop (ex. Nicki Minaj, eminem, etc) also he listens to Backstreet boys

Also yall know what energy he has, so he listens to "meme songs" like deepthroat by cupcaKKe (I credit @writingfromthetomb for that idea), milkshake, all star, never gonna give you up, etc

He also has a liking for rock and metal music sense he listened to it while he was in his early teens.

He doesn't listen to it as much now but he used to like Linkin Park, arctic monkeys, nirvana, and AC/DC

Isaac:

When he first arrived he didn't like the recent songs at all

He disapproved of will's favorite genres and favorite singers and bands.

Said they were "vulgar and obscene" (says the guy that literally killed a girl just because he couldn't get laid)

Isaac has more "sophisticated" taste (his words not will's or LJ's) and has liking to elegant music (aka classical music)

His favorite artists are Michael W. Balfe, franz xave Mozart, and Giovanni Umberto battel.

Will has tried getting him to listen to recent music but there has been no luck

Though William introduced him to aesthetics and isaac loves the dark and light academia aesthetic, so he listens to those dark academia/light academia Playlists on YouTube

LJ:

He likes weird al and creaturefeature (for obvious reasons)

but he also has a liking to a bit of classical music from the time he used to be with isaac

There are some days that he's just still and quiet (which is rare) and listens to classical music. It kinda creeps will out sometimes.

He's been around for a good while (sense victorian era to right Now) so he's listened to different genres of music and has seen artists and music rise and fall.

Also this might sound a bit strange to some, but he especially loved the disco music from the 70's and 80's.

He just loves the beat and rythm it had.

Frankie:

Fan of smooth jazz, country, and swing

He has a liking for "romantic" sounding music if that makes sense (the man needs some love even if he refuses to admit it)

Though will says he has "elevator music" taste

He listens to those relaxation videos with smooth jazz on YouTube.

Doesn't like many recent artists like drake, iggy azalea, etc

He does like Michael buble though

Loves "sway with me" specially

Even if he's tierd most of the time, the man knows how to dance, though he doesn't do it a lot sense he needs a partner for the music he knows how to dance too

[nineteenninety-six]

Luca fic involving his wife and son/daughter? or twins? thank you! love your writing btw! 😊

The house was oddly quiet when (Y/N) stepped in after going out to lunch with her friends and considering she had twins, silence in the house was rare. After no sign of them in their playroom or in the living room, (Y/N) ventured outside, the weather was lovely, so she wouldn't be surprised if she found them outside

Just like she guessed, they were playing outside but who they were playing with was rather unexpected.

Luca was running and rolling around in the grass with them, pretending to be the monster while their son, Giovanni acted as a knight who protected his twin sister, Gabriella who was the princess from him.

"Mamma!" Gabriella squealed once she caught sight of her mother, "Papa is a monster!"

(Y/N) barely had enough time to crack down and open her arms before her daughter crashed into them

"Is the monster chasing the princess?" (Y/N) played along with them.

Another small body crashed into her, this time it was Giovanni.

"I protected her mamma! I fought off the monster!"

"Oh, my brave babies! Mamma is so proud of both of you!" (Y/N) pressed kisses against her children’s face" ... But it seems like the monster is gaining his energy back"

The children looked behind them to see their father creeping, clearly about to surprise them before (Y/N) ruined his surprise attack

The children squealed and ran away but Luca kept making his over to where she stood instead of chasing them and his grin was a big give away at what he planned to do

"Luca, don't" (Y/N) warned her husband but she couldn't stop the smile from appearing on her face

Luca ignored her and increased his speed, running up to her and sweeping her up into his arms.

(Y/N) squealed as he spun her around, his arms gripping her tightly as he began to run around the garden.

"Gio, Gabi, save mamma!" (Y/N) called out for her children who immediately began to run after them.

It was only when Luca began to run out of breath and energy did he begin to slow down allowing the children to catch up to them.

"We've got you, papa, let mamma go!" Giovanni proclaimed

Luca fell to his knees and allowed (Y/N) to leave his hold before he fell to the floor completely, Giovanni and Gabriella taking the opportunity to climb upon his back and cheer in victory

Giovanni and Gabriella soon ran off to go play elsewhere leaving Luca and (Y/N) alone. Luca crawled over to where his wife sat and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I missed you" Luca murmured.

"I was only gone for a few hours" (Y/N) smiled

"I still missed you"

"Hmm, I missed you too" (Y/N) gave him a peck before she returned her gaze to their Children

They sat in silence as they watched their children play before Luca broke the silence after a few minutes

"I want more..."

"Yeah, another boy or girl?"

"Maybe we will get lucky and have twins again, another boy and girl" Luca suggested

"I don't think my body can do twins again" (Y/N) confessed

The mere idea of his wife dying in childbirth made Luca flinch, that was the last thing he wanted. He was perfectly happy with the family he had now and wouldn't dare sacrifice his wife just to have more children, Giovanni and Gabriella were more than enough

"Gio and Gabi are more than enough" Luca spoke his mind

"One more wouldn't hurt" (Y/N) argued

"We do not know that for sure. I'd rather not risk it" Luca spoke from the heart

"But you want more children"

"I want you alive and healthy more than anything else, please believe me" Luca pleaded.

(Y/N) sent him a sad look but Luca wouldn't budge, so she gave in with a sigh

"I Just don't want you to find someone else and leave me because it’s too risky for me to have any more children" (Y/N) confessed her fears

"I would never. You've already given me two wonderful children and I couldn't ask for any more. I have a beautiful and lovely wife and two wonderful children, my wife's perfect"

(Y/N) became shy at his words but she pressed a loving kiss against his ups in Show of her appreciation of his words.

"I love you, Luca"

"I love you too"

[kaetastic]

PRINCE CHARMING

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: Luca brings the Reader to a fancy family gathering, except, he can’t take his hands off of her when she’s in a fiery red dress, displaying her tattoos  [requested: @supermegapauselouca​]

word count: 3.4k (oop)

warning: slightly ??? nsfw lol couldn’t help it (’m horny for the man), a lot of interruptions

note: i’m so sorry this took long! i had to finish up history unfolds and was writing trouble on the side. bless you and your freaking amazing ideas 🥰 i hope this is alright :) also, i wanted to post this for my 2,000 post but nvm lol

Chattering and stifling of expensive giggles swirled in with clanking of metal on ceramic. Shufflings of polished shoes paced on the marble floors which had been drowning in shimmers of iridescent glimmer from the dancing flames huffing from the candles. The ball of hovering fire resided on the stick of wax. Beads of sweat poured to puddle on the silver tray.

With a smile, Y/N incessantly nodded her head at the woman who had been persistent on firing up a conversation. The mirror dangling from her neck blared sparkles of cerulean blue and innocent white under the howling moonlight. Although her mind directed to flickers of other thoughts, the hostess couldn’t help but stand and entertain her guest.

The woman had been rambling on and on about the origin of the diamond necklace that was up for display on her neck as if a museum. The gem was colossal, almost inhumanely possible to be sold as a worn necklace. The hostess wasn't uncomfortable with the elderly woman's declaration of the necklace's background which sounded it had a more complex, entertaining past than Y/N. It was slightly embarrassing. Every time her head had pulled her out to the abyss, the woman inquired questions like: What do you think about it? or What gem looked good on me? It felt like Y/N was tugged back to school. The elderly woman would raise her arm into the air, sparkles from the gold rings wrapped around her arm sung a choir of clanking with every jab of muscles. The amount of gold she had worn was enough to halt worldwide human hunger for at least a month.

“Zia Gianna,” The familiar English interjected the conversation. Luca’s voice was mellow honey poured over a freshly plucked out plump peach. The viscous sweetener glistened over the fruit, seeping into the minuscule pores to branch valleys of the sticky liquid. However, the Italian in his voice embedded a piercing gem on the peak of the fruit. Well, that was the popular comments quirked up towards the Italian, all sourced from his Italian family members.

Although most of the males did not bat an eye at the slightly toned-down accent, it did not pass the females without them darting a glance. His aunts were the one quirk up the English poking from his Italian. Even though he hoped the two aunties from his father’s side were the last ones to comment on his accent, hope was not enough as it went on with the night, “I see you’ve met my wife. Are you pestering Y/N about the necklace?”

The woman let out a laugh, causing her head to be thrown back, her neck nearly snapping in half. With her white silk-gloved hands on her chest, the elder woman grinned of glee after she recovered from his words. A charmer even towards his family members. Luca’s arms snaked around his wife's waist to brush his thumb gingerly over her hip as if she was a fragile plucked out flower. With the signature quirk of his lips, his pearly white teeth shot a sparkle towards his aunt, “Oh, Luca, of course. I will never stop talking about it until I die.”

The Italian shook his head, “Zia Gianna, you live under the same roof with Zio Giovanni, you’ll surely live longer than I will.”

Grinning from the mention of her hard-working (maybe over-working) husband who sacrificed his sleeping hours for the late-nights for the organization, the elderly lady clasped her hands to gawk at her nephew as if he was a hero who had saved her life, “Thank you for giving that man a day off. You don’t know how many times I've annoyed him to eat dinner at home.”

“Now I just need to give Gabriele vacation,” Gianna bopped her head, nodding in agreement with her nephew’s words. Although the woman had familiarized herself enough with the infamous mafia, she never had her sweat coated over the organization. However, the woman with prominent wrinkles can approve of the recent bustling days which was a fluctuated period of time since it was just a calm breeze before. Overhearing her working sons and husband during their rare days of consuming breakfast at home, she had picked up enough information from their ranting. Some problems that were rising in some ports had caused a rattle in the foundation of the business. “Well then, I’ll steal my wife back.”

“Of course, congratulations on the wedding once again and remember Luca,” Dragging her silk glove-covered index fingers down her cheeks, she flicked it in his direction, “Don’t lose her.”

A flicker in the aunt’s eyes was shot at the man before she left the room, strutting out of the main room to converse with her other cousins. 

“I like that,” Y/N mumbled, fingers furled around her husband’s arm, clumping up his suit while he guided them out of the crowds. The scent of lingering wood and expensive whiskey swirled into her lungs, the odour that smeared over their bedsheets. She continued. “You calling me your wife.”

“Yeah?” With a clench of his fingers, she jumped back at the abrupt feeling. A satisfied smirk sported on his lips, happy with her reaction. “Get used to it.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N couldn’t believe this was the man she ended up marrying. Although the pair had been together as couples for a long while, nearly three years, it wasn’t until he had brought up the ring. Which then led to the necklace wrapped around her finger, its diamond sparkling under the chandelier light. The wise man who was in his late thirties believed they should see how well the boats rock over the raging waves. 

After caressing his eyes over the party, he craned his neck down, hot lips puffing warm air into her ears as his eyes darted onto her inked skin that always managed to quiver his knees. A powerful woman with painting over her skin (even though he believed he could make better art on her), “Remember what you told me before?” Slightly confused, the quirked up eyebrows loosened once she understood what he had meant. Y/N couldn’t help the appearance of the satisfied smirk plastered across her face. A coquettish hum echoed into his ears. “It’s true?”

While his close cousins paced past, Luca gave a silent bop of his head as an acknowledgement of their presence. The woman peaked on her toes, whispering over the cross on his neck, “Why don’t you find out?” 

Tongue grazing his bottom lip, Luca's eyes beamed at his wife. The strings of wanton mumbling stood on the tip of his tongue, ready to flick into her ears. All that clogged in his head was pictures of her bare. His fingers trailed down, further from the appropriate position that was on her hip; down, closer towards her bare legs. 

“Luca!” The Italian yanked his hand back in a snap, fingers scratching the nape of his neck while he cleared his throat. Approaching the pair of the night was his uncle whose hair twinkled of stardust, neck drooping with the hefty golden chains that were the size for docking boats. An amused giggle brushed her lips. It was always amusing to see Luca get riled up even though she had to face the consequences which were then followed by days of resting. 

“Zio Federico.” The curled up corner of Luca’s lips etched a barely noticeable twitch, one only his wife could see. The dancing wine lapped against the glass flute as the middle-aged man hopped towards the married couple. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because of the incessant amount of chains he dragged upon, but the head of Luca’s uncle shot forward, shoulders too slow to meet a middle-ground.

There was one thing Y/N had learnt during the ride with Luca’s life, well, more like inspect. It would be the first thing for eyes to graze upon but their lips would be sealed shut. And now that she was officially Luca’s; it will always be the elephant in the room unless there was no article of clothing on him. Every man in the party wore suits. A fortune for those outside of the blood pool to purchase. A walking advertisement for those who wore it. The grey-blue of his waistcoat contrasted with the dying black jacket, his tie of a peculiar dotted pattern that nearly resembled that of a canvas painted by birds shit.

Trekking with a slimy gait, Federico’s arms were wide open for the boy, well, man. Even though they work in the same organization, the elderly man was positioned on a different station, somewhere lower of New York. Not so secretly, Federico had a soft spot in his heart for the youth, his nephews and nieces. It felt like days ago when Luca was no more than a 12-year-old boy. Visioning it wasn’t hard as Luca had been one of his favourites (also not a secret because it had been pointed out by nearly everyone) since the boy never matched up with the rest of his troublesome cousins. The man still remembered when the meddling boys sneaked out of their classes while Luca had remained, completing the whole school day. He was much easier to control. Well, Y/N wouldn't be able to agree.

“Ciao, Luca,” He let out a boisterous cackle, yanking the taller man by his neck to smack his lips, cheek to cheek. “Look at you, married.”

With a quivering smile, Luca became the temporary slapping victim for his uncle. The once grimacing clapping of skin died down when the man had enough of his teasing, “Said it yourself, wasn’t rowdy as Alessandro.”

“That boy will never settle down,” Inhaling in the liquid, Federico shook his head at the issues riled up by his nephew. “At least Alessandro didn’t get her first.”

Y/N wore a tight lip as Luca’s frigid hands rubbed her bare skin. Although slightly debatable, she was sure the creeping smirk on his lips was not because of the amusing rumours spiralled by his cousin but because he noticed the bulging bumps and her shuddering, “At least Alessandro didn’t get her first.”

“We’ll catch up later, I’m sure you two are busy. If you want to see Luca baby photos in his diapers, I can pass ‘em around.” With a wink, the elderly man stomped away from the pair to boisterously yank his cousins in a hug.

A sigh fell of Luca’s lips, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose at his uncle’s antics. Although he was annoyed at the man, Y/N couldn’t stifle her amusement at the thought. Luca Changretta in diapers? She will need to see that.

“Were you in baby nappies?” Y/N whispered as giggles weaved through her words. While pacing down the long side of the table, she shot a sparkly smile towards one of Luca’s many aunts who returned the same gesture. Arms locked tightly, the pair sauntered around the room, gazing over the party with hidden pride flared in them.

Humming at her words, Luca halted once they were in a dim corner before his fingers found its way up her neck. All he needed was to get the idea of his uncle introducing his wife to the embarrassing childhood pictures of him out of her head and out of her creative thinking. A shudder zipped down his body at the thought of her seeing him in the train-patterned pinned diapers. Oh, he could only imagine the days of her taunting. The area of skin his calloused fingers trailed over bulged with bumping hills at the cooling sensation. To be a mafioso, Luca’s hands were often smeared with a frigid kiss of a gun’s metal. Something she had grown to adapt to.

“Luca,” Y/N hissed at her pesky husband. With a hum, his fingers laid on her cheeks, his lips were nudged to the crook of her neck, nose swirling in her intoxicating scent. “Your family’s here.”

Another hum rumbled from him, albeit, it was just to give an indication of acknowledgement. Even though her fingers were clutching onto the lapels of his jacket to nudge him away, her staggering exhale said otherwise, “How ‘bout I check now?”

With no reply but faint moans, Luca’s fingers descended at a languid pace. Caressing his skin with frigid kisses was the silk fabric of her dress, “Fuck. How can I keep my hands off of you when you look ravishing, especially with this?”

Gently nipping his teeth on the smeared trail of a slithering snake tattoo, all he could imagine was ending the party so they could get out. A dark smear hazed over his already dark iris when he couldn’t feel the usual presence of the garter. Before he had the chance to inquire her, she exhaled an explanation, “Took it off before we arrived.”

Luca’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding over one another at the thought of her bare, ready for him, “All I can think about is just having you on the desk,” Luca mumbled. While the words puffed over her neck, the flesh of his warm lips caressed her with ever so feather touch. “Can you imagine? If we were at home right now? I would just tear this dress apart.”

A gulp plunged down her throat, warmed by her deadly acid. Luca was a tease; unfortunately, she had to learn it the hard way, “Are you wet?” 

He was so close. So close to dragging her out of the party to validate it himself, but, of course, what better night than a family gathering. After his name was once again called out, he reluctantly sauntered away.

As the night aged, Luca had been yanked into countless conversations, hurling him from one side of the room to the other as if he was a throw pillow. He could feel the gurgling acid ascending his throat at the dizzying motion. However, there was one thing his mind couldn’t wipe off and that was his wife. People were rambling on about work or meeting again at a café, but his focus was not set on them. Y/N was in the same room as him. He couldn’t help his mind but divert to the silk red dress she wore. Occasionally, his eyes would steal discreet glances across the room where she would be accompanied by an aunt or his. 

He wouldn’t snap his neck towards her direction if he didn’t know what laid under the sheer fabric. The dress she wore was the exact colour of the brassiere and lace garter she wore. Well, had worn. The Italian knew this because she walked in his studies while he was finishing up some papers, in only the two undergarments. If only they hadn’t have to be rushed. And fuck was it difficult for him to maintain his twitching. Despite them being the couple of the night as they were the one to host the party, the two barely spent time together while she was dragged into gossiping about God knows what.

Cutting off the water supply with a squeak, Y/N paced out of the powder room after she was satisfied with her fixed appearance. Even though her locks of hair had been poking out of its usual, organized manner, the absence of her comb gave her only one option and that was to tolerate the mess throughout the night. As she sauntered into the empty hallway, the sharp clicking of her heels resounded off the brick walls. A buzzing sang from the flickering lights who was starving for electricity. The location of the party might’ve been in an exquisite ball but the powder room had to be underground.

Y/N knew everyone was busy munching on the meals that were being served; however, she felt eyes brushing over her figure. Having ties with the mafia was one thing, married to a mafioso was another. There had been instances where she had let her guard down at situations like this. Thankfully, Matteo or Frederico had been present. It never ended without a smear of blood on her dress. No one could get in, right? The whole mafia was present in the building. As she sauntered down the dim hallway, her shoulders were tensed, eyes set only onto the open arch that led to the ascending stairs.

Steps after steps, she could hear her breathing overlapped by her thrumming heart. A few more and she could glide over the shimmering stairs. Just a few more.

As a chilled hand slammed over her hands, the scream she stressed clogged in her throat. Thrashing in their grip, faint slamming of her unsuccessful attempts to produce at least frantic clicks of her heels whispered. Her clenched arm was ready to plunge her prodding elbow into the figure. That was until a familiar musk trickled into her head; the familiar fabric of a suit made way into her peripheral. With a toothy grin, Luca craned his neck down. Y/N didn’t feel the same way. 

After a smack to his chest and an amused chuckle, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body onto his, “What're you doing?” Y/N hissed, annoyed at the stunt he just pulled.

“You were gone for too long.” He mumbled as his fingers gripped on her waist. His lips pressed chaste kisses on her neck. 

“I was gone for five minutes..” The woman stammered as the frigid bricks kissed her back. Luca’s mouth rested on the spot he knew too much of. The area of her sensitive skin he loved to mark. All she could see was a white haze smeared over her vision at his teasing pecks. Neck angled for better access, the Italian grazed his teeth over the tattoos trailing on her skin. Fuck. If there was one thing that can ruin Luca Changretta, it would be his woman and her tattoos. Too indulged in the ticklish feeling of his kisses, Y/N didn’t notice his hand lowering until it slipped to squeeze her inner thigh.

“Luca...” Y/N moaned, lips pressing one another as she tried her best to suppress the wanton sounds. There was one thing she didn't want. And that was to not be caught by a family member of his in such a public place. Chuckling at her bucking of hips, Luca retracted his fingers. An exasperated sigh brushed her lips, head slamming into the wall at his antics. Eyes blurred with the smeared scribble of his cross tattoo, her breathing puffed over the sole patch ink. At an agonizing pace, he pushed his fingers up. Heat radiated over his skin. Oh, he was close to the mess she had created.

A clearing of a throat trickled into their ears, snapping through the warmth that was shared between the two. Pulling away with flushed faces as if teenagers who had been caught, Luca feverishly sleeked his hair back. Still in shock, Y/N’s cheeks were smeared pink at the sight of her mother-in-law. 

“I know I said I want grandchildren, but I didn’t mean to conceive the poor soul at a family gathering.” Even though her words weaved with disappointment, there was a glint of amusement flickering behind her eyes. After her soft voice seeped through the cracks of the walls and she was no longer in sight, Y/N finally realized what had just happened.

Luca chuckled, head shaking before he burst into strings of laughter. He didn’t know what was funnier, the fact that his mother had nearly caught him fucking his wife or his frozen wife who had still yet to regain from her rigid stance.

Yanking down the hem of her dress, a frustrated groan brushed over her lips. Y/N shot irritated glares at her husband who was in a spell of laughter. Audrey Changretta just saw the hands of her son in her daughter-in-law’s dress, “What?” 

After a faint smack against his chest, Luca noticed her furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes, “What?” The woman hissed, mocking him as she clawed through her hair with her fingers in a makeshift comb. “Your mother just saw your fingers in me.”

“Well, technically, it wasn’t in yet,” Another chuckle fell off his lips when she slapped the same, sore spot. Y/N rolled her eyes. “What was I meant to do?”

Having enough of Luca, she let out a huff bnefore stomping away from the scene, “Luca!” The Italian grinned at her squeak once a boisterous smack of his hand against her back echoed through the tranquil hallway. Y/N didn’t even bother to shoot a glance at his words. 

With a matchstick dangling on the corner of his lips, he yelled out as she faded away, “Don’t get too tired, Amore! We’re not done!”

[the-darklings]

—𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 [01];

—PART I. | GASOLINE GIRL

pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

word count: 6.2k+

summary: “Carry that ice in your heart, always.”

warnings: mentions of: child abuse, drug abuse, death/torture; swearing, typical mafia-related situations/discussions so take heed because this is a mature read for sure. But we gotta be realistic, this life ain’t pretty. 

notes: so this can be read as a standalone though I do consider it a sort of mini sister series to COA. This will be short (no more than 5 parts) and only updated when I have free time. That being said, I do hope you enjoy. I even flexed my none existent photoshop skills to make the header pic lol. Get ready this one is going to be a ride. 

You don’t become a part of Camorra by choice.

No one sane enough would.

Your parents simply got involved with people who would have had you killed if they stepped out of the line. You know because that was a threat made with you in the room and a cold, merciless barrel of a gun pressed to your head.

Giovanni D’Antonio’s men came at night, dragging you and your parents out of bed in nothing but your nightclothes. They made you kneel on the dusty floor, your knees aching against the hardness of the wood.

The man himself is as awful as you heard people on the streets whisper. Everyone fears him. Fears him and Camorra and the terrors they unleash onto anyone who doesn’t fall in line.

“Such pity you didn’t have a son,” the head of Camorra notes dispassionately as he scrutinises you, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your cheeks. “What am I suppose to do with a girl?”

The man tsks as if some grave crime has been committed against him and takes a long drag of his cigar, turning your head from side to side. Your squirm, knees knocking, your lips trembling, but don’t let him see fear. You can’t afford to let this vile, cruel man who asked his men to beat your father to a bloody heap on the floor to see you weak. You can’t show predator fear if you want to live. Not when your mother is already a sobbing mess on the floor, clutching onto your father in despair.

You wonder if he’s alive. A part of you—

A part of you doesn’t care to know because the man before you stares at you with such finely veiled disgust, you can’t help but know that he will kill you all regardless. He might even enjoy giving the order. And your father is to blame for that.

“Are you at least smart, girl?” he demands and slaps you lightly on the cheek when you don’t respond. “Answer me. Or I will cut your tongue out, and then you will know what it’s like not having the gift of speech. Or maybe I will start with your parents instead.”

Your mother cries harder, practically hysterical and you feel a sting of bitterness, of anger, deep in your chest. She should be strong.

She should be defending you.

But she isn’t. She’s just crying. As if that’s going to save you, protect you, keep these men away.

“You will kill us all anyway,” you whisper knowingly, your words hollow as you stare into those dark, cold eyes that have no end. “They stole from you and you hate thieves.”

The man exhales smoke directly into your face but you don’t flinch—not even as your eyes water from the sting of tobacco, not even when he leans his malign, handsome face closer.

“But I reward loyalty,” he tells you, now almost pleasant, and his thick fingers tilt your chin up as he regards you critically. “Do you understand what I’m saying, hm?”

You nod once.

Giovanni is quiet and thoughtful but then a slight smile creeps across his face.

It’s the most awful sight you have ever seen.

“Then we are done here,” he announces and his hand drops away from your face, his dark gaze lifting over your slight frame and towards the men hovering in the shadows, awaiting orders.

Two shots follow.

You don’t flinch.

The sobs cease.

Giovanni’s grim smile widens, pleased.

“Come along, girl. You no longer have family here.”

. . .

Camorra is a pit.

A pit of betrayal and blood and drugs and more blood.

The first four months are near unbearable.

You’re younger than what they usually recruit and it shows. You don’t know how to navigate this world. You’ve been dropped off at a “care home” that operates more like a drug house but has to keep up a front for the public. Which, in itself, is hilarious because you doubt there is anyone in the nearby province who doesn’t know what this place is.

But it’s survival of the fittest here.

And it’s not a game you know how to play well.

Each person is given a task, a job, and you must do it or you will be punished. Severely.

Giovanni left you here, in this hellhole, with a dismissive hum and a harsh pat on the head, “Let’s see what you make of yourself, gasoline girl.”

Gasoline girl.

Because he didn’t bother asking for your real name. Because he gave you a canister of gasoline and told you to pour it through your house, onto your dead parents, and gave you the remains of his cigar, his order clear.

You watched your home go up in smoke, your parents’ bodies still inside, with gnawing detachment eating away at your heart, your soul.

The flame was hot and bright and Giovanni made you watch till there was nothing left but ash and ruin.

“Little gasoline girl,” he had said then, even more pleased. “Carry that ice in your heart, always. It will take you far in my family.”

The care home, however, is a desolate place that lacks warmth your home had—that lacks anything resembling anything humane, in fact. The only reason why you’re not drugged that very first night is because Giovanni told his men that you are too young for such a thing. Because he wants to see if you can be useful, your mind as sharp as he hopes it is.

But if you disobey…

It doesn’t frighten you, not at first, not until you see them. Those with sunken eyes and pale skin. Lips cracked and limbs trembling. They no longer have wills or dreams or aspirations. They are tools, shells, empty of everything that once made them human. Riddled with pain and despair that plagues them till their next fix or death.

They frighten you so much you hide away in the attic. You’re not sure how you find your way up there but you curl on the floor—in the darkest, deepest hole you can find—and sob and sob and sob into the dust and the dirt. Sob till your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw.

You rip and tear the girl you once were to shreds that night. Because even then, you know, that you will not survive long like this. That this dark pit will consume you unless you find a way to survive, to fight back.

Carry that ice in your heart, always.

You intend to.

You will.

. . .

Next four months are consistent of a few things: death, blood, drugs and violence.

It’s everywhere you look, all you hear at all times of day and night, and you can’t escape it.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide—not when Camorra owns this city. Not when Giovanni knows you by face, if not by name—something that’s a rare honour, you learn later, seeing the Boss in person. Being handpicked by him.

Money laundering, sex, drug distribution, torture; the care home cycles through it all on a daily basis.

Hunger becomes part of the routine, the attic your new home.

You exist in the shadows out of fear, at first. Then, you realize how much power comes from being unseen. If you are unseen, then you can never be hurt, never be abused.

Not like so many—young, so young—always are.

There is nothing glorious about this life. It’s just survival.

Ugly and filthy and dangerous.

So you listen and hide and learn.

The staff—mostly men who are loud and rowdy but follow the rules because they fear the Boss too much, and few older women—start calling you a ghost.

You don’t mind. Not even at all.

It’s better than being actually dead.

. . .

The first time you meet him, you’ve been at the care home for little over a year.

The sounds of pain, pleasure, and death no longer scare you at night.

They have become your reality. Your own twisted, lewd lullaby in a way.

Violence and hate. Pleasure and pain. Greed and death.

They have become levers and cornerstones upon which you have built stability and routine.

Giovanni is coming tonight, the people in the hallways whisper in hushed breaths that morning though, and if anything is out of place blood will be shed.

You haven’t seen him in a year.

You’ve grown and hardened, killed as many soft parts of yourself as you could since the last time you saw him.

You have also become useful.

So normal, so sweet-looking, so unassuming.  

Like a ghost the staff compares you to, you haunt the streets and collect information for Camorra; the perfect little spy.

You nurture that ice in your heart and project it outward, and when Giovanni comes and calls forth everyone at the care home, you hold your chin up; unmoving, stiff-backed, and defiant.

Much to your surprise, his dark gaze snags on you and he pauses in his step, recognition reflecting back at you.

The leader of the care home pauses too, hesitating, clearly unsure if he should comment until Giovanni speaks.

“So you lived.”

He sounds surprised, pleasantly so.

You don’t so much as blink.

“Santino.”

It is then, from the folds of Giovanni’s guard, that a boy steps through. He’s barely taller than you and clearly you are close in age, if not the same, you conclude as he steps beside his father.

His hair is dark and finely combed, his clothes neat and expensive, and he reeks of privilege even more so than his father.

He’s also terrible at hiding his thoughts. He’s repulsed to be here, he thinks it beneath him and being faced with this—grim, hungry faces and grime—he’s balking under the stark contrast to his no doubt princely life at home.

He is the prince of Camorra—every bit as spoiled and arrogant as you expected him to be.  

You hate him on sight.

“What do you see?” Giovanni asks his son as the two stand before you.

Santino’s dark brows furrow and he blinks slowly, looking you up and down. There isn’t much to you. Your clothes are dirty and worn, your features no doubt hostile and your gaze even worse. It’s how you keep yourself safe. Snarl and bite first. Some men like to mutter “rabid dog” under their breaths as you pass in the hallways, but you’re fine with that, too. Even when they make offhand comments that only one thing happens to rabid dogs eventually.

“A nobody, father.”

Oh?

Giovanni sighs, disappointed, and Santino sees this, scrambling for something else to add, “She’s—she’s a girl.”

“Obviously,” the man says, his voice bored, dismissive, and Santino’s expression falls, his eyes lowering. But the older man is still staring at you. “Keep that ice in your heart, gasoline girl,” he reminds you, mild but stern.

He walks away without another word, going back to business in a blink.

His son lingers for a breath, his eyes jumping up and finally meeting yours.

He looks resentful. He’s blaming you for his father’s disappointment in him. He thinks that you are to blame for the failed test.

He looks at you like you are beneath him, like you are less, a nobody he accused you of being.

His eyes are vivid green.

Green as your mother’s garden. Green as the oak that used to sway outside your window.

Green as the grass you used to roll around in when spring flowers bloomed behind your house.

You hate him even more, then.

For the reminder.  

Santino D’Antonio stares at you for another long, hateful moment until his father calls him.

He surprises you by hesitating, still staring, but you only glare at him. Openly, without fear and with clear contempt.

I hate you. I hate you and everything you stand for—everything that you are. You will never know what it’s like to be hungry or cold or scared. What it is to kill and survive.

You dismiss him. A simple sweep of your eyes over his shoulder.

He exhales sharply at your defiance.

You wonder if anyone has ever defied him before and not been severely punished for it.

It makes you feel alive, for a moment, that spark of disobedience.

It’s perhaps the most real you have felt since that night with your knees in the dirt.

The weight of his stare is suffocating and you feel seen, beheld in a way that strips you down to your core.

“Santino.”

Giovanni’s voice is a subtle, cutting blade and his son jerks after him like dog on a leash.

You hope you will never see him again.

. . .

Days turn into weeks, into months, and then years.

With each new day at Camorra, your heart ices over and over.

You meet people, and you lose even more of them.

It teaches you a lesson of not getting attached, of not caring, of things outside of yourself being fragile and breakable.  

First there’s Nari. Too sweet, too kind, and with circumstances that are a bit too similar to your own. Is it any wonder he seeks you out? Any wonder that you let him close? Becoming his friend seems inevitable when you’ve been lonely for so long.

He gets shot on a drug run gone wrong six months after meeting you. There is nothing left of him for you to remember him by. There’s only memories of dark, midnight hair and his wheezy, shrill laugh that you always told him was annoying.

Then, a few years later comes Lucie. You’re a part of the home by then. There is a place for you here; a strength and a steadily rising reputation attached to your person. The pain-soaked hallways are familiar and your own now because you claimed them as such. Attic is no longer a hole to hide in but your home, your sanctuary, your dark throne.

She’s too beautiful and too gentle to survive this place. You know it from the moment you see her. It takes one look to know that this place will gobble her up and spit her back out, crushed and broken.

But there is something about her. Something about the ring of her laughter and the spark in her eyes. The shade of her long hair that reminds you of your mother. Something about the way she trusts you, relies on you, and believes in you. Looks at you as a friend, as a companion, salvation. How during the cold, bleak nights she seeks your warmth and dreams out loud of the life you will have once you both break free of Camorra. Once you find a way to make an honest living. She dreams of a world far bigger and grander than you’ve ever had.

Your dreams are simple: survive, become a nightmare that sweeps through the ranks of Camorra.

Lucie dreams of a home by the sea with three chickens, a cow, and a loving family.

“I want a big one,” she reveals one night, turning to face you with a serious frown. “At least four kids.”

You suppress a shiver. Seeing what you have seen, living through what you have, you can’t imagine having a family. Not one that big, at least. But perhaps it’s because you haven’t felt safe in so very long that any extension of yourself will always feel like a weakness opposed to strength.

“Sounds painful.”

She laughs; a soft, soothing sound as she rests her cheek against your shoulder with a faint smile. “They will have an amazing, scary aunt to look after them. I’m not worried.”  

It’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “What about you?”

Noting your blank stare, she adds, “Don’t you want a family? Or at least someone to call your own?”

“No,” you shoot back stiffly, and take another deliberate bite of your soggy bread. “People you love can be used against you. Hurt because of you, or by you. If I love them,” you pause, the word foreign on your tongue. “I won’t want them to suffer because of me. If I’m hurting them, then it’s not love at all.”

It’s silent for a long time.

“Sometimes,” Lucie whispers eventually with a sad, quiet sigh. “I can’t help but think that they’re one and the same.”

You think about that for a while.

Think about how her father used to beat her mother but they still stayed. Think about how that takes a special kind of bravery and strength. How despite that, he was a loving father to Lucie. How sometimes humans can be ugly and awful but have some semblance of good in them, too. How good can be done by bad and bad can be done by good.  

“I suppose.”

She blinks up at you. “Well if I have a family, then you have to have one as well.”

Your lips curve and it feels strange on your face. “Is that so?”

She nods but her eyes are full of mirth. “We’re both going to be fat and pregnant with swollen ankles and awful cravings. Promise?”

Her eyes are full of dreams, full of light you have never seen before.

You try to protect that light, try to hide her away from the men who would hurt her, from the women who would drug her and bargain her away.

It’s foolish and reckless of you but you are almost frenzied with the need to keep something good alive. For once, you just need—

She gets taken.

It’s planned in advance, you learn later.

They had to get you out of the house first. They lied—a job straight from the high tier of Camorra, from the elite itself, no refusals—and used that time you were away to take her.

What they did—

They pay for it.

Everyone in the care home that had anything to do with it, anyone who knew.

You tear ten people apart. Slowly; piece by piece, muscle by muscle, sinew by sinew. Over the years you have found new talents, new hobbies. Ghost is an old name they called you around the house.

But you have others you prefer now.

When it’s done, you stalk through the too silent house, covered in cooling blood and—

You’re not sure how much of it is from the people you just killed and how much is from—

Lucie is where you found her.

Your eyes sting as you gaze at the sight in front of you. You gather her in your arms gently and even if it’s a slog, slow and painful, you take her to the tiny bathroom down the hall.

You wash her hair of dirt and blood and—

Tears fall heavy and hot the entire time you work and you have to pause in-between, choking down your sobs.  

Her body is next. Wetting a cloth in your hand, you clean her skin, fold her hands over her chest, ignoring the broken bones and broken skin.

You’re glad it’s late spring.

The ground is softer, more pliable.

Despite that, it still takes you four hours to dig a grave deep enough. Your hands are numb, bloodied and blistered by the time you’re done. The stench of sweat and death mixes with the blood but you ignore it.

Lowering her takes time—time and care and self-control. Because she’s so cold, so stiff, and it’s awful knowing that you will never see her again after this.

You bury dreams and hopes and aspirations with her—both hers and yours. A handful of dirt at the time. Your hands are raw but you force yourself to keep going.

And when it’s done, you collapse beside the grave and stay there for hours, days, maybe weeks.

It starts raining and you let the freezing spring rain wash over you. The smell of wet earth and grass drags you into hazy dreams. They transform into feverish nightmares eventually, haunting you and killing you over and over again. You failed. Failed to protect something good. Maybe saving Lucie was only partially about saving her—an innocent—from this awful fate, and more about…

More about some vague, distant belief—hope—that you could be saved, too.

Grief splits you apart and suffocates you with every breath as you lay beside the fresh grave.

Grief. You’re not sure if you even grieved your parents. Not really. Because they were dead and you still had an uncertain future ahead of you. You grieved a life you could have had. But it’s been so long. So very long now.

Time is not a concept you can understand any longer.

By the time they find you, a part of you wishes they would just let you die and bury you beside your friends. Let you rest at long last.

But there are voices.

A foot nudges you as you roll over onto your back with a heavy thud. Dark sky stretches out above you.

Then, through a haze, a face appears, peering down at your with mild disinterest.

Recognition; it comes fierce and sharp and you know it’s the same for him.

Urgent, angry voices blur together as everything fades away into nothing.

You fucking hate those green eyes.

. . .

When you wake up, the Devil is standing over you.

Giovanni D’Antonio lifts a single eyebrow, not bothering to mask his cool distaste at your wheezing, delirious state.

You scramble upwards anyway, wincing at the ringing in your head and the popping in your ears.

You feel heavy and fuzzy in the worst way possible—the way that makes one slow and vulnerable. Nausea rolls your stomach, mixing with the instinctual fear of seeing who is standing above you.

“What a mess,” Giovanni drawls and hitches his trousers up as he sits down on a creaky chair beside your cot. “What a mess, gasoline girl.”

You’re sweating but feel so cold your body trembles and you can’t hide it. This man should never see you vulnerable but he is right now and you hate your own weakness.

“Who knew you had such a gift for death,” he continues and you swallow, your throat raw—from crying, from screaming and howling at the sky, you recall through your delirium—and you tremble again. “Ten dead. So easy, too. And such…brutality.”

If you didn’t know any better you would say he’s paying you a compliment—that he’s impressed.

The man reaches into his pocket and your bandaged hands—why are they bandaged, what—constrict around the fresh, cotton sheets covering you.

Cotton. You haven’t touched something as soft, as luxurious, as cotton since that last night you slept in your own bed years ago.

But Giovanni pulls out a cigar holder from his pocket instead of a gun, offering it to you. You don’t move, hardly breathe, as you stare at him through your watery eyes. Your ears are still ringing.

“I asked others about what happened,” he begins after lighting his cigar. He rolls it between his thick fingers, his golden rings gleaming and you shudder. “What justified ten of my own slaughtered like barn animals. So rethink lying to me, if that was your intention, girl. Let me start with something easy, though: was the girl your lover?”

Your eyes find his and perhaps it’s the fever, or the hole in your soul, but you don’t look away even when his eyes narrow on you.

He doesn’t understand. Of course, he doesn’t. As if a man like him could ever understand what it’s like to be so lost and raw with loneliness your heart is ready to crumble away at the gentlest of touches. As if everything in this world has to be about physicality and desire. As if care and loyalty can’t come from a place of love that has nothing to do with gratification of the body.

“No.”

“Then why did you kill them?”

“Because they deserved it,” you croak out, and your voice cracks as you pant for breath. Your head spins and you drop back against the wall even as your chest rattles with a loud, wet cough. Giovanni waits, expectant, and your eyes narrow. Let him kill you after. But he will hear this, if he wants truth so badly. “They deserved it for what they d-did to her. It—those m-monsters. She was sixteen. And they did it on purpose. Because they enjoyed it. I would—I would do it again gladly. Over and over again till there is nothing left of them to bury. Till—till only pieces remain and even then it would be too kind.”

The bloodlust is surging through you like a river after the fresh spring rain, untamed and wild, and you struggle for breath. The regret that you didn’t take longer, hurt them more—

And perhaps that makes you a monster. No—you know it does. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Better to be a monster than a coward. Better to be alive and hated than loved but dead.

Giovanni exhales, his lips pressing into a displeased line. “So naive,” he mutters and takes another drag. “I figured the home would have eroded that away by now. Shame.”

You gape at him, shivering but silent. It’s like he’s reached down your throat and robbed you of speech.

“What do you think happens to people like that girl, hm?” he wonders out loud, slanting his head just so. Even with his hair starting to grey, he’s still handsome, still electric to look at. It’s the coldness of that dark, bottomless stare that sets him apart from others you have met. “She was no better than your parents. Weak. And weak do not survive in this world, they are used and that’s how we live. You could have been like her, but you fought back. That’s why I told you to keep that ice in your heart, yes? There are thousands like that girl and there will be a thousand more, and a thousand more after that. It is the way of the world. I am simply…reaping.”

His cigar flares at the tip again as Giovanni takes a steady drag, savouring the burn of it against the back of his throat.

You want to cry and scream and tear at him. This world—his world—is wrong and twisted and—

But you have chosen it, haven’t you?

Better than being dead.

And you’ve killed and stolen and lied and cheated for years now. You’ve gotten good at it. Better than most. Better than anyone in the home had been.

“Did it break you?”

Your eyes drag back to him, and you realise that you’ve been silent for so long, you’ve started to doze off. Laying in the rain for god knows how long didn’t do you much good. You feel worse and worse with every second that stretches by.

His emotionless question clatters through you though, settling in the pit of your stomach.

Lucie.

Her happy smile flashes through your weary mind and you try to draw breath into your wrecked lungs.

“No.”

It has only made you colder and emptier, you realise. You had laid next to Lucie’s grave because you had hoped for a quick end. But—

But no.

For the second time in your life, you lift your head and look the Devil in the eyes as you choose life.

Whatever form it comes in.

Regardless of what else it will demand of you.

Perhaps, you should be thankful for this lesson.

The head of Camorra nods once, considering you, and then asks a serious, “Do you remember what I told you about loyalty, gasoline girl?”

I reward loyalty.

“Yes.”

It’s an effort to keep your eyes on him. His features are blurring, and you can’t even smell the thick cloud of smoke in the air anymore.

“Who were you loyal to when you killed my people? Your people?”

You don’t hesitate, spitting out a vicious, “To myself. Just as you wanted me to be.”

For a moment, you think that Giovanni D’Antonio will smile at you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the shadows of the room.

“What do you see, Santino?”

You still. You’ve been so preoccupied with keeping yourself awake and lucid, with keeping your whole attention on this man without scruples normal people have that—

It comes rushing back.

The grave, the smell of dirt beneath your cheek, rain, the coldness sinking deep into your bones, green eyes—

He was the one who found you. You have no idea how; a part of you doesn’t want to know, either.

He’s changed as well. His frame stretches taller, leaner, than the last time you saw him. His hair is slightly longer but still curly and neatly combed. That boyish roundness still holds his features, giving him an appearance of a youth instead of a young man and you stare at him with open, dazed animosity.  

But there is something about the way he watches you from the shadows.

His pupils are blown wide open when he steps closer into the light, his shoulders coiled with tension that you have no name for.

He gazes at you like he is looking at something beautiful, something terrible, something—

Something he admires and hates and doesn’t understand.

No one has ever looked at you like that. Like they’re seeing right into you, through you, pulling apart every weakness and every strength.  

That anger in your chest ignites at the sight of him, washing away the emptiness and the loss.

“A monster.”

It seizes a part of you. Cracks it to pieces.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate the fact that he—

That he sees you. Just like last time, just like now.

Giovanni’s eyebrows rise slowly at his son’s blunt assessment. He peers at Santino for a pensive moment before the boy finally drags his eyes towards his father, almost reluctantly so.  

“Loyalty to yourself, was it, girl?” the man wonders calmly and takes another drag of his cigar. It’s almost gone now and black spots dance in your vision as you watch him tilt his chin upwards and exhale another lazy puff of smoke. “Give me your hand.”

You stare at him blankly, uncomprehending, almost nauseous now.

Giovanni turns his stern face back towards you and holds out his own large hand. “Your hand.”

His voice is eerily serene but it locks your muscles with fear. Like an animal being hunted down, even with your hazy, sluggish mind you still recognise the danger crowding in.

But what’s the alternative?

Your hand shakes but you hold it out, setting your jaw taut.

“I reward loyalty,” Giovanni reminds evenly, grasping your hand in his. His hold feels so cold you shiver. “But you still killed ten able bodies. Bodies I will now have to replace.”

“Father—”

Giovanni jerks your hand, palm up, and sinks his cigar right into the skin of your palm, burning right through the thin bandage.

Agony.

Splitting, sickening agony—

A sound that tears out of your throat is hardly human but the man has your arm in an iron-like grip; unmoving, bruising. You collapse face-first onto the cot, your scream growing silent and choked as you jerk weakly, unable to swallow your own spit.

Your hand is numb from a piercing, acute sort of pain.

Giovanni hums under his breath, and you feel him turn the cigar into your skin, making you yelp and twitch. “I hope you live,” he states coldly and pushes the cigar deeper into your palm, just once, before he drops your hand back onto the sheets. “There are a great many things I can do with that ice in your heart, gasoline girl.”

You don’t hear him rise over the sound of your pain. Your hand is spasming but you can’t look at it, can’t focus—

The door slams shut with a deafening bang and then—

Someone is speaking; hushed and soft, their hands on you, almost—

You barely manage to pull yourself over the edge of the cot and throw up before everything goes dark.

. . .

You’re burning.

There is a raging fire in your lungs and veins.

Your head is being held under a liquid flame, and you inhale it as it slithers down your throat, suffocating you.

You want to drag your nails down your body to get rid of the burn but you can’t. Someone—

Someone is holding you down and your lips part, a wounded sound slipping free. Why can’t you just be free?

A heavy weight pushes down on you and you try to fight it off, try to—

“Stop moving,” a voice urges, breathless but annoyed. “Stop—”

You think that you might be crying or screaming or both.

You’re burning.

There is no relief.

Not for a long time.

. . .

“Will she live?”

“It’s hard to say right now. The infection—”

An inpatient exhale. “I know what her condition is,” an irritated voice snaps. “I want to know if she will live.”

“I will try my hardest to save her.”

A lengthy pause follows. “No,” the voice speaks again, but this time with such soft malice that you shiver again. “My father wants her alive and so she will live. Or you will find yourself without a head, dear doctor. As will your family.”

. . .

Cool fingers brush against your hair.

“Lucie?” you rasp weakly and try to open your eyes.

Everything blurs around you so you let them close again.

Sickness cramps your stomach and you shiver for what seems like the hundredth time.

Still, the sensation of a glass pressing against your lips registers. Urgent, insistent. “Drink.”

It’s an order. Spoken by someone who is used to being listened to, obeyed, heeded.

You don’t want to but you’re so thirsty. There’s a painful itch in your lungs and you inhale again, deafened by the crackling in your lungs. Whatever it is that you’re wearing clings to your body in a sweaty, uncomfortable mess and you almost sigh when those cool fingers return. They press against your cheek, turning your head and the glass returns.

This time, you force your cracked lips to part and refreshing wetness slides down your throat seconds later. Flinching, you force yourself to swallow. The sensation is like a knife being forced down your chest but you bear it.

The fingers tilt your chin. “Slowly.”

You manage another few, shaky mouthfuls before your strength escapes you.

“Are you—”

The fragility of your own cracking voice might have disgusted you once. There had been plenty of times in the past when you had seen and heard Fredricko peeling back peoples’ fingernails to get the information he needed. That often resulted in such weakness—such fragility. Now though—

“Are you…”

Something freezing cold and wet comes to rest against your forehead and you sigh, gasping slightly. A wet cloth. A miracle, perhaps. It soothes the burning and the itch. It trails down your forehead and jaw and neck. Brushes over your dry lips, too. You almost sob in relief, making a miserable little whine at the back of your throat.

“Are…”

A quiet hum. “Am I what?”

“An angel?”

The cloth disappears for a few moments and you curl into a ball, silently willing it to come back.

A few moments later, mercifully, it does. As does the voice. “No.”

You lean into the refreshing cold again. Try to hide your disappointment, too.

The cloth presses against your forehead and stays there. A beat. Then, fingers ghost over your tightly clenched hand. Your other hand—

There is only numbness there.

An odd sense of fear follows that foggy observation. Like you’re forgetting something you shouldn’t—something important.

The fingers are delicate and careful but they help. They pacify that nameless, gnawing dread.

“Would you like me to be?”

There is a long moment in which you have no idea what the voice is asking. But your muddy mind finally manages to claw back a recollection of your earlier question.

An angel.

You think that the owner of this voice is an idiot.

He no doubt thinks that you mean a guardian angel. Something holy, fierce, and divine.  

But you had meant the Angel of Death. Finally here to take you. Finally here to reunite you with those you have lost.  

But is there any difference anymore?  

You’ve been half-dead and half-alive for years now.

A foot on the doorway to death ever since that fateful night. You have embraced it though. Bargained and stolen and killed. What you did for Lucie was just a fraction, you think through the delirium, just a fraction of what you can do.

You will turn that ice in your heart into a blade, and that blade you will use to cut down anyone in your path.

No half-measures, no mercy. You will be as terrible as they want you to be.

You will be the most terrible thing they have ever seen.

And when it’s done.

Oh, when it’s done.

You will set it all on fire and watch it burn.

“Yes.”

The fingers pause, hovering. Then they wrap around your still clenched hand. Slow but purposeful.

And the tightness of that grip makes you think that your hand will never be your own again.

. . .

an: wellllllllllllll, here’s that! Warning you all now that, yes, this story will get even more twisty and Santino/V will be hate-to...uh...love? We’ll see, I guess lol. Some familiar faces will appear in the future, too. And, uh, maybe some smuttiness is on the cards as well but you know how I roll - nothing too wild or explicit because this clown sucks at nsfw. 

Also because I have no idea when or how often this mini-series will be updated, I will be opening up a tag list for this series ONLY (I rarely do them because they’re often more work than they’re worth). So please feel free to comment or send me a message and I’ll add you. Thank you so much for reading!! Any feedback would be swell. <33