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lostloveletters · 8 months

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Bruised Fruit Chapter 1 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Gloria falls like overripe fruit from a wilting tree branch, and Michael Corleone intends to devour her amidst the rot and decay that's long since taken root in his family, intent on dooming her with him for a chance at another heir.

Note: I first posted this and two other chapters to AO3, which I'll link if you'd like to read ahead as I begin cross-posting to here.

Warnings: Canon divergence, sexually explicit content, infidelity, period typical attitudes, negative discussions of abortion, Catholicism, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) related to WWII, breeding kink, death, angst, emotional manipulation

Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

AO3 Link | Masterlist

"I’m going to Cuba," he told her in a quiet, postcoital moment.

"Are you secretly a Red, Michael?” she teased, her brown eyes sparkling in the golden glow of the lamps in the hotel room they occupied. “Getting in with the rebels before they storm Havana? They’ve already got Santa Clara.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. "You and your newspapers. Do you seriously think Castro has a chance?"

She took a long drag on her cigarette, pondering her answer for a moment. "His people have nothing to lose."

"I’ll be fine."

"How long will you be gone?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month," he said, twisting a strand of her long black hair between his fingers, silent for a moment as to test the waters, "I’ll wire you."

"Wire your wife."

"Gloria—"

"I’m not saying that to be confrontational. She’s pregnant, focus on her,” she said, passing him the cigarette. “Where does she think you are tonight?”

“She knows I’m in Vegas, just not with you.”

She hummed, her fingers brushing the tender, bruised skin on her hips, a shade of lavender that would no doubt blossom into a plum monstrosity by the morning. For a man over a decade her senior, he was insatiable, devouring her with a ferocity as if she were ripe for the picking.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his gaze following her fingertips.

She shook her head. “Are you staying over?”

“Yes. I have to head out early, though. Lots of people coming in for Anthony’s first communion.”

“Get some sleep then. Don’t let me keep you up.”

He grinned. “You always keep me up.”

“Bathroom’s that way. I’m tired,” she said jokingly, turning over to bury her face in her pillow.

“I’ll wire you when I get to Havana. A few days from now, probably. I have some things to take care of first.”

She mumbled something from her side of the bed, eyes closed while he continued on in Italian. He landed a playful swat on her ass. Yelping, she turned over, glaring at him.

“Rude,” she scolded, “you know I don’t understand Italian. What’d you say?”

He laughed softly, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “I love you.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I called you lazy and insufferable.”

She smiled. “I love you too.”

“Good night, darling,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Night.”

When Gloria awoke the following morning, Michael was gone, though he’d left a note for her. With no reason to stick around, she returned to her apartment, the third one she has lived in since she moved to Las Vegas. It was more spacious than she needed, but Michael insisted, though he rarely visited her there. Their rendezvous were almost always in the hotel room at the casino that was exclusively reserved for him. Safer that way, a more public place with plenty of his men around. She wasn’t ashamed of their illicit relationship, but it made her feel exposed. As soon as they stepped into that elevator together, everyone knew what they were planning to do.

She sighed, sitting on the couch and running a hand through her hair. Her next shift wasn’t until the following evening, and she wasn’t sure what exactly to do with herself. Michael being in Havana was a test run of what was to come.

After Kay had the baby, she’d see less of Michael, busy being the doting husband, the proud father. Just as she didn’t receive an invitation to Anthony’s first communion, she wouldn’t be welcome at their new son’s baptism. She wasn’t sore about it. If she were Kay, she wouldn’t want her around the family either.

Her fear wasn’t that he wouldn’t return, but rather that he would, and she’d never work up the courage to build a life for herself without him. Moving to Vegas was her first attempt at that, but less than a year into the job, she was practically shoved into his hands, and he hadn’t let go since.

She glanced at the box of newspaper clippings on the entryway desk, to most people, it was little more than evidence of an obsession with the Pacific Theater. Gloria had been young when the war broke out, not fully understanding the difference between the branches of the military, only that her brother wasn’t fighting in Europe, and she rarely heard from him. The newspapers she had poured over introduced her to places like Guadalcanal and Peleliu, small islands that she could barely see on a map, yet somehow Jackie and millions of other men were there.

Then Life ran a special edition on war heroes, featuring Marines like her brother. A decade after its publication, when Fredo had requisitioned her to keep his brother company in the casino while he ran off to attend to some last minute business, she recognized Michael immediately, unable to stop herself from asking the former Captain about his service. When Jackie returned from the war, he had little to say about what he experienced in the Pacific. In fact, he had little to say about much of anything. Shell shock, they called it, aptly describing the shell of a man her formerly outgoing brother had become. Michael Corleone wasn’t a shell, enthralling her with the details of such places as Guadalcanal and Peleliu with the emotional distance of an observer rather than a participant.

As their acquaintanceship escalated into an affair, she saw the scars for herself. Both the physical evidence of his being wounded in action, and the invisible ones that’d rear their ugly heads late at night when they’d begun sharing his hotel room. If not manifesting through bouts of insomnia, then through nightmares that left him dazed and agitated when she managed to wake him from them.

Between the shell shock and his diabetes, she felt like she had to keep a close eye on him. Not only out of genuine concern, but a matter of personal pride. Just because he wasn’t her husband, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of him. God forbid he return to his wife in anything less than mint condition. It was the least Gloria could do.

He would be gone for some time, though, and as she always did during his longer trips, she grabbed her phone, making plans with friends to keep herself occupied. She had a life without him, secure in her independent lifestyle. If she were busy enough, she didn't think of him that often.

Almost a week later, she received the telegram from Michael at work, nearly forgetting his promise to wire her from Cuba.

In Havana. Beautiful weather. Miss you.

She asked the front desk to wire him back.

Miss you too. Have fun. Stay safe.

She didn’t expect a response. There was nothing else to say.

Gloria went about her business as usual, working and meeting friends for dinner and dancing when she could. Her style was undoubtedly cramped by the Corleone family associates who tailed her wherever she went. She wondered if it was humiliating for them to be the ones assigned to covertly babysit the Don’s mistress. After all, if the people behind the attack at his Lake Tahoe home truly wanted to cause her harm, there were ample opportunities to do so in Vegas.

Her bubble was small, safe, and secure despite living in the City of Sin. Her proximity to Michael almost always ensured that. In his absence, a mere phone call popped that bubble.

“Hello? Is this Gloria Marino? This is Kay Corleone.”

“Kay?” she repeated incredulously.

“Can we talk?”

The two women had met just once in person. Michael briefly introduced them when giving his wife a tour of the casino shortly after the family had moved from New York to Nevada. It was the only time Kay had ever stepped foot in the place. Even then, Gloria was sure Kay was smart enough to size her up at first glance, knew she wasn't just another back-of-house employee.

“I figure I’d be the last person you’d wanna talk to.”

“You’d think, but after all this, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t warn you. No one was there to warn me, or maybe I was too stubborn to care.”

Gloria hesitated. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. Consider it my penance.”

“For what?”

“Michael’s going to divorce me when he gets back from his trip.”

“He would never do that.”

“He will.” The certainty in Kay’s voice was shocking, but she didn’t pry. Kay wasn’t telling her for a reason. Prior knowledge of whatever was being omitted would put her in danger with Michael. “He will, and he’s going to go to you afterward. He trusts you.”

“Kay, I don’t—“

“I did something very selfish and desperate, something I can never be forgiven for,” she said cryptically. “You’re going to bear the brunt of the aftermath. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Gloria whispered, unsure if things would really end up that way.

“Goodbye, Gloria.”

“Bye, Kay.”

The line went dead, and she stared at the phone in her hand for a few moments. Michael would only divorce Kay if the baby were out of the picture, and the woman’s surety only confirmed that was the case. The aftermath. She could only hazard a guess as to what that meant. Nothing good if she needed to be forewarned.

Days later, when she heard about Kay’s miscarriage through the grapevine, it still didn’t exactly click. Not until there was a knock at the door at a little after one in the morning. She figured if she ignored it long enough, the culprit would get the message and go away, but the knocking was incessant.

Shuffling out of the bedroom, she turned on one of the lamps in her living room. She looked out the peephole, shocked to see Michael standing there, waiting impatiently for her.

“Gloria, open up!” he shouted, banging on the door again, causing her to flinch a little.

She took a deep breath, knowing it was a futile attempt to prepare herself for whatever she was about to get into. His expression unreadable when she opened the door, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Michael, you’re back,” she said cheerfully enough. “How was the trip?”

He was silent as she ushered him inside. Turning on another lamp, she nearly froze at the state of him. Bags under his eyes, unkempt hair as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“I warned you about those rebels,” she joked, only to receive a glare in return, his dark eyes almost black as they leered into hers. “Sorry, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay,” he scoffed, a coldness laced in his voice that settled as an unfamiliar freeze in her veins. “You have no idea what I’ve been through these past few days.”

“I heard Kay miscarried. I’m—“

“It was an abortion,” he snapped. “She murdered our baby.”

Gloria’s eyes widened at the news. Her hand shook as she made a sign of the cross for his unborn son’s soul.

When Kay had called, she never expected the pious wife to commit a mortal sin, damning herself with no hope of reconciliation. Gloria knew other women who had gotten abortions, an inevitability when they weren’t careful enough with the carousel of carefree men that came through Las Vegas. It wasn’t something respectable women with husbands did. Being the wife of a crime lord was hardly respectable, though.

"He was a boy!" he shouted. His eyes were glassy, voice breaking in a rare display of vulnerability. "We were going to have a boy."

"I’m sorry."

"I can tell."

Exasperated, she asked, "What do you want me to do, Michael?"

"Marry me. I want you to marry me."

"No."

In the four or so years she’d been with Michael, she only experienced the lover, not the husband, a different beast entirely. Husbands meant expectations and ownership, something she was woefully unprepared for.

"It wasn’t a question."

"Then I suppose you’re going to carry me off like the Arabian Nights? Drag me kicking and screaming to join your harem?”

“No harem. Just you.”

“Michael—“

“You’ll marry me. You’ll give me another son.”

Michael was the furthest from a holy man she could fathom, but the way his eyes blazed with a biblical ferocity, she believed for a moment that he could alter the will of God with the sheer magnitude of his desperation and humiliation. He wanted to send her into the depths of purgatory to retrieve the boy he was entitled to, the sacrificial lamb that freed his soon to be ex-wife from marital bondage. Forget that he already had a son, a young, healthy boy. It was the principle of the thing, a man of his influence and import being deceived by his otherwise unassuming wife, her dainty hand dealing the death blow. ‘It was an abortion.' Checkmate.

“Darling, you’re the only person I trust,” he implored softly, his hands cradling her face as he tried intentional gentleness over impulsive tyranny. “I love you.”

She wasn’t getting any younger. Most people considered her an old maid. Her mother sure did, sending letters that increasingly implored her to come home and settle down before it’s too late. Her best prospect was standing before her, a man who wasn’t one to be denied. Senators and executives bent to his will, whether a flexible reed or a rigid board, they all would bend. If not, they broke. He’d break her just to put the pieces back together in his image, a mosaic of desperate domesticity.

Her time ran out. Perhaps wishful thinking, or naivety in hindsight, but she always expected Kay to grin and bear it. The expectations of Michael Corleone were her cross to take up. Seeing no better option than to give in, she kissed him, allowing the pads of his thumbs to dig into the peachy skin of her cheeks, deep enough that if they were fruit, the tender flesh would be pierced, juice dripping down his hands. He lapped her up in kind, his mouth laying claim to her.

“Tell me you love me,” he pleaded against her bruised lips.

“I love you, Michael.”

And she did love him, but loving Michael was a burden. She couldn’t blame Kay for what she did. It was a long time to carry that weight. His love was demanding, unforgiving, red-hot to the touch despite his cool exterior. There were only so many times a woman could stand to get burned.

They ended up in her bedroom, no longer her domain but his, she could feel the shift as soon as he walked in, eyes hungrily taking her in like a hawk circling above a rabbit. Her nightclothes quickly discarded, leaving her naked and vulnerable before him. She laid back on the bed as he shed his own clothes, and felt an unfamiliar nervousness settle in her stomach. Perhaps it was the magnitude of the act, no longer for leisure, but purposeful, real. If it didn’t take then, he would try again and again until he got what he wanted.

Michael climbed over her, stroking his hard cock before positioning it at her entrance. Leaning down, he kissed her again, his lips taking the brunt of her pained whimper as he slid his length inside her.

His fingers made their home on her hips as they always did, squeezing as he thrust harder and deeper inside her. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

“That’s it, darling,” he praised. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Kissing the base of her throat while plowing into her appealed to an animalistic instinct in him, and he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh, claiming her, marking her.

In turn, she dug her long fingernails into his shoulder blades, only to find later she’d drawn blood.

“Michael, please just—it’s too much,” she choked out.

“Just a little longer.”

He released one of her hips, moving his hand between them to rub circles in her clit. The moan she let out only encouraged him as he thrust faster, bringing the both of them closer to climax.

Closing her eyes, she felt that familiar tightness build in her abdomen. Pleasure tingled through her brain, to her fingertips. She could grab it if she wanted to, reach out for ectasy and make it hers.

“Look at me, Gloria. I want to see you,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “I want to see you become a mother.”

Her eyes shot open, looking at him in near disbelief at his gentle vulgarity.

Before she could even attempt to respond, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her clit again, and she came, her cunt squeezing his cock, coating it in her juices, hips involuntarily bucking in his unrelenting grip. His name fell from her lips in a delirious whine as her orgasm coursed through her body. He shuddered, cursing under his breath as he slammed his cock deeper into her, letting her cunt milk him dry.

They were silent for a few moments, save for the weak whine Gloria made when Michael pulled out from her. Glancing at her hips, he could see the familiar blossoming of finger-shaped bruises. He kissed her again, his fingers brushing her sensitive folds, collecting the cum that was leaking out before pushing it back inside her, nothing wasted, nothing left to chance.

His lips trailed down her face, to her neck and each of her breasts until finally settling on her belly. He nuzzled his nose against it, the soft, fertile flesh ripening beneath his touch. She felt almost dizzy at his primal display of affection.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” he whispered against her stomach as it rose and fell with her heavy breaths. “I can feel it.”

#michael corleone x oc #the godfather #michael corleone #the godfather part ii #michael corleone fanfic #the godfather fanfic #michael corleone x ofc #michael corleone imagine #the godfather imagine #bruised fruit fic

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melis-writes · 1 year

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Blood Money (Tony Montana x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut) Chapter 1 – By Chance and Fate.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"You know how to protect yourself." / “I never say goodbye either. I say you’re gonna remember these faces—my face."

In the wrong place at the wrong time, you can hardly call your visit to Havana as a vacation but to secure your families legacy in empty promises and a forgotten home. From the moment you first laid eyes on Tony, you knew you'd never forget his face or his name. Tomorrow, Tony and Manny would be as good as American, leaving Cuba for good but with their minds set on your hometown in Miami. Having saved your life in the blink of an eye, you're set to repay the favor by finding out just who Tony Montana is, and why he's looking and waiting for you.

[WARNINGS]: Explicit depictions & themes of violence / Minor character death / Explicit mention of injury & blood / Guns.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: It's finally here, just as promised!! 🥴🥰 The first chapter of my newest multi-chapter fic and it's all about Tony and the reader! You can expect a lot of sexy, kinky, dirty smut upcoming in this one. 🥵🥵 I honestly wasn't planning on doing a multi-chapter fic for Tony but then the ideas hit and I couldn't help myself lmao. Our Reader is Celeste Navarro who was also in my Tony Montana x Reader smut oneshot! ❤️ This fic is gonna be following the entire plot of the film side by side with Tony and Manny with two different endings for you guys to decide which one you prefer too. 😏 Say hello to Chapter 1!

With a taste for success and dollar bills, Tony Montana’s drug empire grew in vast wealth, power and influence by your side as the kingpin’s lover. From sharing an intimate history in Cuba, you and Manny Ribera were the only ones to believe and support Tony from rags to riches. Embroiled in the same lifestyle and sharing enemies, you and Tony come to build your empire and world together with the threat of it collapsing from the inside. As partnership turns to betrayal and thrill to danger, you find yourself in-between ultimatums and sacrifices for the man you love.

[ Havana, Cuba, 1983 ]

‘This was supposed to be paradise. For me. For mama, and for Gina. Home was enough.’

Abandoned homes once filled with growing families, shattered windows only revealing the emptiness inside and barred doors to ward off curiosity and anyone leading from the path of nostalgia surrounds the streets in which Tony and Manny grew up.

‘I never knew my father well. I forgot him. I don’t care. He left us, I left him too.’

Spending their childhood playing ball with the other children for hours on end after school with a tight-knit community, neighbors who knew one another and looked out for each other now only to see it as nothing but an abandoned slum puts nothing but resent and disappointment in Tony and Manny’s hearts.

‘Then Mama and Gina left too, to paradise. Didn’t wait for me but I’m coming. I know then, I know now. My time was coming.’

Abandoned by most residents due to poverty and safety concerns, all Tony and Manny’s childhood neighborhood can do is serve as nostalgia and a final goodbye—nothing more.

‘I’m gonna go too. Make my own paradise. Trust nobody but me. I be the millionaire that thank nobody. That’s what I wanna be.’

Dressed in a pair of slacks and a white beater top stained with sweat from the heat and humidity of the day, this is nothing but a trip down memory lane for the last time since Tony and Manny might as well live it down.

“This no fucking family street no more, man,” Tony mumbles, looking up at the rotting wooden planks barring up doors and smashed windows; loose, twisted nails sticking out of crumbling walls with chunks of chipping paint peeled off. “This a fucking dump.”

“They ruined this place, man,” Manny frowns at his surroundings, realizing how noticeably dingy and disgusting the block appears with shadows cast over it from the setting sun. “We was right here, playing together in the streets.”

“Mama used to watch us up from there, remember?” Tony points up at his childhood home, no different from the rest remaining to be eyesores down the block. “When we play ball with the kids from the other neighborhood. Now look at all that.”

Whether some of the surrounding buildings may still be occupied as hideouts or drug houses are another story altogether, but it’s a bitter visit for the two prepared to never return back to Havana again.

“Knew it like the back of my hand,” Tony’s eyes dart over his neighbor’s worn down, abandoned home. “Mama always say gotta get through these kinda places to get what you want.”

“Mama didn’t see no communists coming, man,” Manny kicks a pebble in front of him glumly.

Poverty wasn’t completely unknown in these streets, but the bond and sense of community overpowered everything else.

When Tony and Manny were just children growing up, they witnessed firsthand for themselves families helping other families, neighbors taking turns to watch the kids out in the streets, keeping the neighborhood clean, and supporting every resident that one could.

But with Castro, the communists, and rebellions pouring through incessantly over the last many years, the next time poverty struck Tony and Manny’s hometown, it struck hard and was here to outlast every last resident.

Folks gathered all they had and wept through their goodbyes to all they knew was once their home but had to move on for their own safety. The last thing anyone wanted was trouble or to see murderers and petty thieves littering the streets.

Nobody looked back, no matter how much they wanted to, and the same was also said for Tony and Manny’s families too.

Manny’s family moved to an entirely different city altogether, but Tony’s mother and sister were easily and quickly approved to immigrate to the United States.

Tony saw the streets as an escape and knew his country like the back of his hand, but his absence from home and disobedience towards his mother was the exact reason why Tony found out the hard way that he was staying behind; everyone had already left and only looked out for themselves.

Tony had a deadbeat, absent father who already officially abandoned the family years back, but with his mother and sister leaving for the United States, Tony would have to be stupid to stick around in Havana any longer.

Memories or not, this neighborhood can’t mean anything to Tony and Manny now. Since the two left, they stayed in a house together and never looked back—waiting for their chance to immigrate to the United States too.

After months of bickering, confusion, and paperwork, Tony and Manny refused to relent and give up; they were determined on the process from beginning to end.

Tonight officially marks Tony and Manny’s last night in Havana, let alone Cuba. The two are set to board a ship bound for the United States, leaving everything behind for good as they sought.

Tomorrow, Tony and Manny may just consider themselves as good as Americans. Tomorrow, they’d start a new life and forget Havana—forget home—and gladly leave everything behind.

That’s what’s supposed to happen. That’s what’s waiting for Tony and Manny and all they were waiting for was an opportunity to get out and go into a paradise of their own in Miami, Florida.

Tony was never supposed to meet you. You were never supposed to see each other or cross each other’s paths. Tony wasn’t supposed to wait for you more than he wanted to wait for anything in his life.

It should have never reached a point where Tony couldn’t live in his paradise and call the empire he built up for himself home without having you in it too.

You think you’re simply in the wrong place at the wrong time but you’re exactly where Tony could ever want you to be right now. All Tony wishes he can do is change the circumstances.

“It wasn’t exactly home to us, but it was home to your grandfather. He loved Havana. For him it was a bit of paradise, so he decided to invest in it.”

Coming to a stop in your tracks, you pull out the crumpled note from your purse that your father gave to you shortly before you planned your trip to Havana for one reason alone—to visit the address scribbled upon it.

“It’s a villa, mostly used as a vacation residence but it's at the heart of the neighborhood. Your grandfather spoke very fondly of it up until his death, but I’ve never even seen so much as a photograph or deed of the estate before.”

You can practically imagine your father’s shock and disappointment if he was here with you right now. Standing at the very address the villa is supposed to be located is nothing but ruins and vandalism—a neighborhood intentionally left to rot.

“Is it home to you? To us?”

After all, you have no other reason to visit Havana other than to make sense of your family’s legacy and put the pieces together and despite having low hopes for what you’d find, you never expected to come face to face with nothingness—with destruction.

“It can’t be, can it? We have no connections to Havana. We don’t know anyone. It can’t be home to us of all people now.”

Nothingness has never been worth saving and you never felt it becoming your truth with every step you took down this lifeless neighborhood just to get here.

Greeted by chunks of glass sticking through dried mud, torn cloth, remnants of smashed belongings, broken nails, and garbage by your feet, there’s nothing that can possibly feel like home here to you now.

‘The least I can do is let father know.’ You frown at the address upon the note, only imagining the plot of land here can be sold eventually if this place ever gets cleaned up, but still unable to push past and ignore the swelling disappointment in your heart knowing you’ll forever be barred from appreciating what your grandfather loved so much in the past.

Only the calming evening breeze brushing up against you and taking away torn newspapers on the street can be heard with the distant sound of a dog barking from down the block now.

You’re neither familiar nor used to Havana; not the feeling of home that may have been here, not the environment, not the people, and not what seems to be the sounds of an empty street upon an abandoned neighborhood that deceives you so.

Eyes linger over you from the rubble of a half-burned-down home, well concealed and knowing where to remain to watch your every movement from the shadows promised by the evening hours set in.

There’s nothing you can do to appear inconspicuous—like you’re a nobody. Trained eyes from an experienced thief knows a tourist when he sees one, especially a wealthy American tourist.

Having someone like you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time only lets those with ill intentions benefit with ease, and this town’s thief isn’t hesitating to make you his next victim.

Sighing quietly to yourself, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as you slip the note back into your pocket.

Upon opening your eyes again, you stare back down at the rubble of drywall and shrapnel from damaged and destructed homes in front of you—mixed and clumped up amidst one another.

‘This could be from anybody’s home. This could mean nothing.’ Barely having an idea of what to do or look at you, you lean down and pick up a chunk of drywall that appears to be deliberately smashed out of a home.

‘But this could have been my home.’ Still, your heart ultimately feels indifference rather than any kind of relief or sadness.

Without having any connections or memories bound to this place, you simply can’t mourn what isn’t there.

You can’t help but wonder what happened to such a grand estate so highly spoken of after all of this time, but it’ll make more sense to your father than anyone else.

‘This is all that’s left of here now.’ You run your hand over the cracked drywall, giving your head a shake. ‘It’s too late to tell what happened here, but everything’s gone. Everyone’s gone.’

“Tony, c’mon man,” Manny gives Tony’s shoulder a nudge, “let’s head back. Ain’t nothin’ left here.”

“I know there’s nothing, man,” Tony grumbles, gesturing towards the streets. “That’s why we here, you know that. Look at this. I wanna see this place, just one last time.”

“Making memories?” Manny chuckles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Fuck kinda memories anyone can make here,” Tony scoffs, “they say where we going is paradise. Miami. Mama moved us to Havana, says this is paradise. No fuckin’ paradise look like this, man.”

“No, man,” Manny agrees, shaking his head. “This a dead man’s street now.”

Manny’s eyes fall upon the tightly boarded-up front doors, barring everything in and refusing to let anything out on each and every crumbling home down the block.

“No paradise left here for us, and you know I ain’t ever gonna come back. No way, man.” Tony lets out a huff of frustration.

“Oh yeah?” Manny grins back, “not for visit either?”

“Visit what, man?” Tony furrows his brows, “when I make it, I don’t wanna come back and see this again but I always remember where I come from, you know,” Tony points at his chest, “I never forget. I can think about it. I don’t gotta come back and see it.”

“Me too man, me too,” Manny shrugs—the smile beginning to fade off his face. “I don’t wanna feel like no fish out of water.”

Meanwhile, as you’re surrounded by a mountain of rubble and shrapnel in a blocked-off street, the only option for you to get back to your hotel would be to turn around and make your way down the same street Tony and Manny are on.

With no other exits or places to turn to, you’re hardly aware of the lurking thief well hidden from your sight but directly in Tony’s perspective just from where he stands alone.

Before you can even spin around or move out of the way as a reflex for hearing footsteps suddenly grow so loud behind you, you hear the voice of your stalker before you feel or see him.

“Put it down, princess.” A smoker speaking through a husky low tone threatens you.

You feel the thief’s chest pressing into your shoulder blade, prompting you to remain as still as possible.

Had you flinched just now, the very tip of the thief’s blade he teasingly presses against your face may have just sliced your cheek clean.

You swallow hard, immediately feeling your heart thundering in your chest from being caught unaware in complete shock—anxious and terrified as your mind attempts to process what’s happening to you.

“Don’t move now,” the thief chuckles quietly over your shoulder.

The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle hot in response, attempting to think through just how you’d be able to bash this man’s face in with the chunk of rubble in your hand without getting stabbed directly in the face.

“This isn’t a tourism center, sweetheart. What you doin’ in the rough neighborhoods?” The thief begins to slowly move his hand towards your cross-body purse by your hip.

“You’ll see. For now, we say goodbye to these streets—” Tony points out, all the more confident of his future solely outside of Havana.

“What, man?” Manny blinks, noticing Tony immediately coming to a halt down the middle of the street.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Tony’s muscles stiffen as a threatening scowl sours over his expression—looking towards you just a short distance down and around the corner.

Petty criminals loitering down in old neighbors are all the same to Tony and many others, but Tony and Manny both recognize the face of this one slowly inching his way toward you.

“You know her, man?” Manny asks quietly, whispering.

Both Manny and Tony remain completely still but poised to jump in and sprint down at any moment.

“No,” The glare over Tony’s expression has turned into a death stare as he analyzes the slow, creeping movements of the thief using the noise of the city streets around him to his advantage. “See this fuckin’ guy again back down here—fuckin’ asshole want another tourist as a victim.”

“Don’t wanna say anything?” Observant just as much as he’s sly, the thief begins to press the tip of the blade further into your cheek as he notices you gripping the rubble chunk tighter in your hand. “C’mon, talk to me.”

Your stare towards the mountain of rubble before you is vacant and unfocused, simply waiting for the right moment to strike and lunge out of the way when the thief least expects it.

“I can make this quick,” the thief places his grim-covered hand over your leather purse. “Tourists ain’t short of any money and you won’t find nothin’ down here. Empty your pockets. Maybe I won’t hurt you too much—”

“HEY! Fuck you, man!” Tony calls out from behind, sprinting down the street with Manny as he grips his pistol tucked behind him in the waistband of his slacks.

With the thief recognizing Tony’s voice and being momentarily stunned by the sight of two men rushing directly towards him, every precious second in-between has bought you all the more time to defend yourself.

Without hesitation, you swing your arm back and smash the chunk of rubble in your hand over the thief’s forehead twice with as much force as you can muster.

Before Tony and Manny can approach the two of you, the thief cries out in pain before slumping to the floor disoriented and beginning to heavily bleed from his forehead.

You back off from the man as much as you can, just a moment before Tony and you both make split-second eye contact then see the thief trying to reach for his knife over the pavement.

“Don’t fuckin’ think so!” Tony aims his gun at the thief’s legs, firing two shots into both kneecaps with impeccable accuracy. “Lady put you down for a fuckin’ reason!”

Your eyes bulge in horror as you watch the thief howl in pain—blood spurting from his shattered kneecaps and instantly immobilizing him and all of his movements.

Still clutching onto the chunk of rock in your hand, you stare back at the two strangers in front of you with caution but it’s more than clear to you that they aim to help you rather than rob or hurt you too.

“Damn,” Manny huffs, scowling down at the thief. “You again, huh? Fuck is your name? George something? Fuck you doing down here again?”

“NO! NO, STOP!” The thief shrieks the moment Tony takes another step toward him.

“You fuckin’ piece of shit,” Tony kicks up gravel towards him, cocking his pistol back and aiming it directly at the thief’s head this time. “Got tired of digging through old rocks, now you chasing women, huh? What I tell you, huh?! This is my neighborhood, so if you fuck with it, you fuck with me!”

“I-I don’t—I was going—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tony shouts over him, wrapping his finger around the trigger.

“Dead end, man,” Manny shakes his head at the thief; his eyes trailing upward to meet yours for the first time.

“I teach you what happens when you fuck with my neighborhood,” Tony grits his teeth, pulling the trigger.

‘Holy fuck!’ You flinch from the impact of blood and brain matter splattering around the three of you, painting over the layers of dust upon the rubble mountain just behind you.

Tony’s expression and disposition almost immediately cool as he glances down at his gun with a hint of amusement in his eyes—tucking it behind him once again before turning to face you with Manny as if nothing just happened.

You breathe heavily, attempting to make sense of everything that occurred in front of you within just a few seconds—now standing just a few feet away from a corpse and two armed men curious to see you more than anything else.

Both men before you are complete strangers but from appearances alone, you’re already mistaking them for brothers.

Your eyes fall upon Tony and Tony only, taking into account his sweaty and frustrated demeanor and fierce attitude—drenched in grease and grime from the Havana heat and filth of the city.

The fading scar slashed over Tony’s left eye immediately attracts your attention but your newfound attraction to this man begins to grow all the more apparent to you now with each passing moment.

“Nice weapon,” Manny chuckles, gesturing to the chunk of rubble in your hand. “But no match for Tony’s gun.”

You clear your throat quietly, dropping the piece of rubble as your eyes dart over to Manny’s.

Manny’s hair is a disheveled mix of gel and sweat combed back and he carries a mischievous grin over his lips.

Taller than Tony but sharing the same lean, slim build, you notice a genuinely friendly and playful look in Manny’s expression and hear genuine care in his voice whereas with barely any conversation in or knowing who these two men are, its already become clear to you that Tony may as well be the “tough guy” between the two, but with no need to pretend.

“Hey,” Tony gives Manny a nudge, rolling his eyes. “Gotta give her credit. How was that, huh?” Tony smirks at you, impressed. “That was a good move. You know how to protect yourself.”

“I have to,” you reply back, still standing your ground and unaware of it.

“Good, I like that,” Tony grins back. “Lot of guys like that in other neighborhoods, but not lot of guys like me. We gotta look out for another, you know? I here, Manny here—” Tony gestures to Manny, revealing his name to you. “This is our place. We gotta do the lookout. You okay?” Tony begins to approach you.

“Yeah,” you remain still, steadying your breathing. “Just… Startled, that’s all.”

Tony’s eyes dart up and down your body from head to toe, looking for injury but also taking in the sight of what he likes at the same time. “Okay, good. Little cockroach didn’t hurt our new friend either.”

“You a tourist?” Manny asks.

“Barely,” you answer back, dusting off your hands. “I came here to see if the estate my father inherited existed.”

“Ah, yeah,” Tony purses his lips, “lot of tourists come down from time to time for that but see—” Tony gestures towards the pile of rubble to your side. “Nothing left. They always leave empty-handed. All gone.”

“This a junkyard now, man,” Manny agrees, nodding. “Nothing here no more.”

“Fuck’s sake,” you sigh to yourself in relief, touching your cheek where the petty criminal was about to dig his blade into. “There’s nothing, there’s just nothing. All of this for nothing.”

“Heh, no danger, no reward, huh?” Tony chuckles to himself, “but no problem for you. You an American. One made of money.”

“And what’s it to you?” You raise a brow, beginning to grow somewhat offended by the way Tony’s so openly and casually speaking to you.

“Nothing,” Tony holds back a laugh as Manny looks down at the ground with a wide smile on his lips. “Just saying, we won’t be so different later. We not gonna be down here no more, like you. No, Castro fucked this place good. We calling America home, starting tomorrow.”

“Miami, right?” It’s not the first you’ve heard of it, and certainly not the first from Havana.

“Oh, you know?” Manny blinks, looking up at you.

“You two would neither be the first nor the last, I’m assuming,” you reply back. “Yeah, I know something about it. I live in Miami myself. There’s a camp down in Florida already.”

“So you know where we going?” Tony seems all the more amused. “American tourist one step ahead of us. What you know about the place?”

“I know that you can be in that camp for longer than you ever thought you could be anywhere,” you tell him, “for months on end, waiting to get approved and get into the process for a green card. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it? You can barely do a thing without it there anyway.”

“Well, yeah,” Manny shrugs his shoulders, “we gonna live in the country.”

“You know a lot, not just little,” Tony’s gaze over you turns curious, “maybe you help us, huh? Like you Americans say, I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

“I can’t say,” you stare back at Tony and Manny. “At least not here, and not now. The least you two could tell me are your names.”

“Tony,” Tony points to his chest with a devilish grin. “Antonio Montana.”

“Manny Ribera,” Manny says with a beaming smile.

“And you?” Tony’s eyes momentarily dart up from your chest to your eyes. “What you call yourself?”

“Celeste Navarro,” you introduce yourself—noticing Tony’s curious, wandering eyes already.

“Celeste Navarro…” Tony repeats to himself, “my first American friend and she wanna help me. All Americans like you must be so nice.”

“Only if you know who to talk to,” you crack a smile, nodding. “But you think I owe you two a favor now.”

“A favor? No, sweetheart,” a smirk forms over Tony’s lips, “not me, not Manny. Nothing.” Tony nudges the corpse of the thief aside with his foot, rolling the body over. “And you know, no worry about that. Bodies here disappear overnight. You know how it is. It dangerous here, so we can’t say it a favor. Just what you have to do. That’s why I carry one on me,” Tony pats his gun tucked in the back waistband of his slacks. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Tony,” Manny mutters, nudging his back. “Don’t say it like that, man.”

“I never said I was ungrateful,” you’re unphased by the comment. “I’m certainly not.”

“I know,” Tony rakes a hand through his choppy hair. “I never say goodbye either. I say you’re gonna remember these faces—my face. We not so far from each other, right? Not gonna be.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” you roll your eyes, up to your limit from enough tough guy talk. “But good luck anyway,” clutching your purse, you turn around to face the street and begin heading off.

“Don’t take no scenic route!” Tony shouts back after you.

Ignoring him, you roll your eyes and pick up your pace—only focused on getting the hell out of here and putting this day to rest knowing you could have gotten yourself killed over a pile of rocks and nothing more.

“Wow, man,” Manny cringes, putting his hands behind his back. “That could be better.”

“That was the best, man,” Tony boasts proudly. “You don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what, man?” Manny scoffs, chuckling.

“I thank her, she thank me,” Tony points out, “that’s all. Now if I American like her and I live in Miami—nuh uh, no way, man. No way,” Tony shakes his head, “I no coming down to see pile of rocks here even if someone tell me there’s a big house. No.”

“I don’t know, man,” Manny lets out a deep sigh of relief, “these Americans live different, you know?”

“She gonna see me again,” Tony decides, nodding.

“Tony, seriously—” Manny can no longer hold back his laughter, “it a small world here, huh?”

“Celeste, Celeste…” Tony murmurs, repeating your name. “I say this ‘cause you know how it’s gonna go.” Tony bends down, picking up a blood-stained chunk of rubble. “The police or whatever guys they got in the camps over there not gonna keep us safe. They just gonna ask the questions…”

Tony turns around, staring at the bloody, lifeless corpse of the thief before his feet. “Give you the green card, yes or no, but they gonna ask—” Tony’s eyes meet with Manny’s. “They gonna ask if you know an American, I gonna say yes. I say yes, I know Celeste Navarro. So she gonna see me again, Chico, not because she owe me for killing this cockroach. She gonna see me again because I wanna see her.”

#scarface #scarface 1983 #al pacino #tony montana #tony montana x reader #tony montana x reader smut #tony montana x oc #tony montana smut #scarface x reader #scarface x reader smut #blood money fic #blood money fanfic

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amekeii · 1 month

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Criminal Minds Characters as Cocktails pt.2

JASON GIDEON - ABSINTHE absinthe | sugar cube | cold water

ELLE GREENAWAY - SIDECAR cognac | triple sec | lemon juice | orange twist

ALEX BLAKE - CHERRY MANHATTAN rye whiskey | dry vermouth | angostura bitters | maraschino cherry juice

TARA LEWIS - SANGRIA red wine | licor 43 | havana rum | fruits

MATT SIMMONS - YOGURT SOJU lychee soju | yakult | sprite

LUKE ALVEZ - PENICILLINE scotch | honey ginger syrup | lemon juice | candied ginger

PART 1

#source: im a bartender #source: trust me bro #criminal minds #i was struggling with tara and sangria pics like damn i might as well make a jug myself?#does absinthe count as cocktail? honestly idk but it fits #can you tell i like whiskey lol #current fav is the cherry manhattan xx #jason gideon #elle greenaway #alex blake #tara lewis #matt simmons #luke alvez #headcanons #tw: alcohol #pics credits are added in image description <3

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astralbulldragon13 · 3 months

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Cuban Headcannons of Jean and Intern

Notice: This one will be a little spicy, but that stuff will be kept under the break, thank you for time!

So, Skyla’s hair is vvveeeerrrrryyyyyy long. It’s Lakota tradition to have long hair and they only cut it when mourning

So, she cut it on the day of her grandfather’s funeral, and after the funeral she went to a hairstylist to make it more of a pixie cut.

It grew back rather quickly, so it’s down to her thighs

She keeps it braided and twisted into a bun at all times around the boys.

As she and the boys were on the 10-hour journey to Cuba, she showed them the picture of her short hair.

‘Oh wow… your face looks so different with short hair.’ Jean is kind of in awe about it.

The entire boat trip they talked about their families.

This is the first time Skyla has opened up to the boys about her family and upbringing.

Once arriving in Havana and getting set up, Guy takes everyone to get some new clothes.

Skyla doesn't really drink a whole lot of alcohol, and only smokes on occasion. Her family has a history of addiction so she ain't risking that.

Completely fell apart laughing when she heard about the New Orleans

She didn't get jealous when they talked about Jean going nuts for Stacy.

Skyla doesn't get jealous easily, after a childhood of her cousins trying to make her jealous in school when they found out who she was crushing on

Also, Jean and Skyla share a room...

So, pretty much ever since the kiss on the boat, the tension between those two was... palpable, to the point where when they got to their accommodations Bing had to give Jean a pointed look as if to say 'keep it down'.

Once they were in their room, they start going at each other like horny teenagers.

You know what they say about the French and romance, am I right, Ladies?

Skyla has had relations before during college, but this is the first time that it has ever felt good.

During the afterglow is the first time Jean sees the Medicine Wheel tattoo on the back of her shoulder.

"I've seen this symbol before, but... I never quite understood it."

She tells him its meaning, the sacred hoop, the paths of man and the sun, they talk until they fall asleep.

#escaped audios new orleans rats #escaped audios new jerseys rats #escaped audios intern #escaped audios jean #escaped audios

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bcofl0ve · 8 months

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non spoiler bottoms review! spoilery one coming later today- as it’s gonna take me a little longer to put together and also *be* longer probably.

rapid fire thought that i can take out if y’all think it’s spoiler: not as nearly as vulgar as some people- both fans and puritanesque folks, were making it seem. the vulgarity is pretty much solely in the language/jokes. which tbh make sense when this is at the end of the day a movie about highschoolers!

overall- i loved it and will be rewatching 100 times when it hits prime, but i will also be very honest that i am the pinnacle of the target audience, a young queer girl who would follow rachel sennott to the ends of the earth and loves her style of humor. i don’t know how much people outside of the target audience are going to really jive with it, but i was surprised at all the demographics in my (sold out) showing, which without revealing too much about where i live was in the midwest. middle aged and up! gen z! men! women! and it was a really fun theater audience too, lots of laughing and cheering and just having a good time. the woman next to me who i think was maybe late 30s or early 40s laughed so hard she cried.

i found myself wishing i hadn’t watched all the clips that have been coming out on twitter bc it would’ve been fun to hear those jokes for the first time on the big screen like it seemed most of my audience was. but it was still VERY funny, there’s an ayo monologue in the first act that started right after i took a big swig of my milkshake and i started choking.

kaia thoughts without being too spoilery. am i making sense if i say that she’s very much a gretchen to isabel/havana’s reginia george? and this is very much part of the joke, there’s a little quip about that exact thing but. the moments she does have i think she did really well and like i said yesterday, found her “thing” with dry comedy. i think if ppl who want to “harp on her” over something say *anything* it’ll be screen time jokes- but there is *so* much going on in the movie (there are some plot twists i was not expecting!) and i think her character was given just enough to be funny and serve her purpose. also on a fangirl note there’s a brittany outfit that isn’t in any of the trailers and it was my fav brittany outfit bc she looked HOT.

josie and isabel are the main ‘b plot’ outside of the whole fight club thing and without saying too much they are *precious* and i loved that b plot more than i thought i would. ayo edebiri for president of the world. josie is my little baby pookie and i want to rock her in my arms. pj pissed me off- even though she was funny- but i’ll leave that at that and save the ‘why’ for my spoilery interview.

#bottoms 2023 #mollie goes to the movies

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ac3-76 · 2 days

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Kai Smith Headcannons

warnings: none😊

General

Idc what anyone says he can cook

like him and Nya were on their own for most of their childhood and bc Kai is the oldest he insisted on cooking

also because he grew up poor he gets really creative in the kitchen

his body temperature is constantly at 102° Fahrenheit

he does well in colder climates and doesn't struggle with feeling cold or freezing, but in hotter climates he gets heat exhaustion fast

He pretty much refuses on taking rest days

like he has to work out every single day or else he gets really insecure

He has the largest social media following out of all the ninjas(if you don't include Lloyd's graffiti account that no one knows he runs)

his body insecurity stems from growing up skinny and underweight

He LOVES Supernatural and sees a lot of himself in Dean Winchester

He has 3 tiktok accounts, one for fashion, one for thirst traps, and one where he just talks, rants, or does vlogs

he also has a YouTube channel that does really well, it's mostly vlogs, pranking the ninjas, doing challenges, trying things

his YouTube channel is kind of a mix of Jake Webbers channel, Kalogeras sisters, and the Sturniolo Triplets

He only has 1 Instagram and he mostly posts pictures of him and the other ninjas hanging out and having fun

He has a public and a private Twitter

the only thing he posts on his public account is i❤️my partner type stuff and dates for things

He definitely did a tweet about how exited he was for A Good Girls Guide To Murder TV show to be released

His private account has tweets for literally everything he does and thinks

"ate a fire cookie🔥🔥"

"just took a narly nap"

"you guys"(with absolutely no rhyme or reason, everyone was responding to that one really confused)

"just watched Teen Wolf, Chris Argent is such a dilf"

The crazy thing is his private account has over 4 million followers, he accepts literally everyone that requests to follow it

He's extremely good at math, put any math problem in front of him and he can solve it in his head in 15 seconds

He's also very financially literate, he's got all of his money related things in order and is a millionaire by season 10 bc he got into investing and stocks

No one knows abt him being a millionaire tho bc he doesn't buy things that look expensive and he doesn't flex his money

He totally buys expensive things tho

it's mostly high end clothing

he has a huge shoe collection that costs at least $2,813

He's an absolute fiend for cosmic brownies

He's a huge car guy

His favorite car brand is Koenigsegg and he owns a black Jesko Attack

He also owns 2 motorcycles

Dating

He's hispanic and fluent in Spanish

If his S/O doesn't speak spanish he'll tell them things in Spanish and won't tell them what if means

He does this all the time

It's bc Spanish is his first language and it's easier for him to say things in his mother tounge

(Yk in Modern Family when Gloria says that no one knows how smart she is in spanish, yea Kai totally feels that)

(he's also a chronic Modern family watcher and he relates to Gloria and Hailey so hard)

If his s/o speaks Spanish he prefers talking to them in Spanish

(he also loves if they speak it bc its also Nya's first language which means they can talk to Nya better)

He absolutely adores physical touch and cuddling

Hugs from behind.

Neck kisses.

he loves his hair being played with

if his S/O wants their hair braided, he can do it

French, Dutch, typical 3 strand, box, godess, cornrows, triangle box, twist, micro braids, fulani, Havana

whatever you want and whatever ur hairtype, he can do it

He can also do any hairstyle on any hair type like it's the easiest thing ever

He def does a soft launch at first

once your relationship is public, he post you all. the. time.

he just loves showing off his lover

However, he makes sure that while ur relationship is known, it's private

he's not gonna post any fights or issues that you 2 have, he works those out in private

he let's you steal any of his clothes(as long as you give them back)

He's the right amount of jealous and possesive

if someone else if flirting with you he'll just walk up and put his arm around ur shoulders or waist

he pretty much never introduces himself when someone else if flirting with you, he let's you do that

He's very secure in his relationship, he wouldn't cheat on you and he knows you wouldn't cheat on him

BUT, as mentioned above he struggles a lot with body insecurity so you'll have to reasure him that you love his body

He's been cutting meat for people his whole life(first Nya then Lloyd) so if you don't wanna cut your meat he'll totally cut it for you

He's so they fell first, he fell harder coded

also unexpected love trope, but it's unexpected for you two, everyone else knew the second you guys met that you were gonna be together

Nya and Lloyd had a bet on how long it would take for you two to get together(Nya won)

#ninjago headcanons #ninjago #kai smith #kai smith headcannons #hes so babygirl #kai ninjago

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fuckyeahmarxismleninism · 10 months

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By Scott Scheffer

The bipartisan nature of imperialist aggression toward Cuba has never been more evident as President Joe Biden carries forward the Trumpist assault on Cuba via the U.S. State Sponsors of Terrorism (SSOT) list.

Cuba has been hosting talks to bring an end to the bloodshed in Colombia since 2012. In the twisted line by the White House, Havana is accused of supporting terrorism because it rejected attempts to sabotage the process that offers hope for the people of Colombia.

#Cuba #Colombia #ELN #FARC-EP #negotiations #imperialism #Joe Biden #Donald Trump #SSOT #OffTheList #UnblockCuba #Latin America #struggle la lucha

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aqua-ginger · 3 months

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The third and final installment of the JTPP and Game Show crossover, and it’s a twist! Cause I included my favorite npc (though after drawing him that might have changed) Havana with Cammie! And they’re on Amazing Race, because Cammie is the navigator during ship combat!

As always I’ve come up with a few headcanons! Cammie is SO into it because she enjoys going to new places and meeting new best friends! Havana Tropicana, on the other hand, is so miserable all of the time. He is still in his frat clothes, and is sweating through his shirt. He just wants to go home so bad-

Credits as always to @jointhepartypod y’all are a delight :D

#jtpp #jtp cammie #camomile casis #join the party #join the party pod

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silvercrowbar · 5 months

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Townie Refresh: Eliza Pancakes! +Bonus Maple Pancakes! Enjoy! ^_^

I always thought it was strange that Eliza didn’t wear more pink, given the color of her bedroom in the EA house. I figured pink would probably compliment her complexion and the red of her hair. Well, now was the time to put it to the test! I don’t style with the color often, but I think she came out pretty well (better than before, at least)! I tried to lean more into her Materialistic and Neat traits with the new outfits. As a bonus, I’ve included the adorable Maple Pancakes, the cat that they own in my game. If you’d like to download her (and Maple and Bob), she’s up on my gallery (ID: TheSilverCrowbar), and her CC list is below! Please enjoy! :-)

Eliza Pancakes CC

Cover Pic: -”VS INSPIRED POSING SET” by Flower Chamber

Close Up (Pose Link): -”Comet Eyes” by Twisted Cat (Default, in both Before & After) -”3D Lashes Version 2 Skin Detail” by Kijiko -”EA Eyelashes Remover” by Kijiko -”Flushed Blush” by SimulationCowboy -”Real Lips Revisited” by PictureAmoebae -”Calluna Skinblend” by Chaotically -”Pearl Collarbones” by Eva Zetta -(Seasons Hair, Base Game Brows & Glasses)

Everyday (Pose Link): -”Havana Wedges” by DallasGirl -(Dine Out Dress, Get to Work Bracelet)

Formal (Pose Link): -”Dimante Dress” from GreenLlamas’ Sogue Collab -”Marija Bracelet” from Aretha’s Sunbeam Set -”Moon Crystal Necklace” from Kumikya’s Moon Shard Jewelry Set -Base Game Bracelet (Recolored) -(Vintage Glamour Heels, Spa Day Nails)

Athletic (Pose Link): -”Lexie Outfit” by Madlen -Spa Day Sneakers (Recolored)

Sleepwear (Pose Link): -Growing Together Nightgown (Recolored) -Base Game Slippers (Recolored)

Party (Pose Link): -Get Famous Dress (Recolored) -”Marija Bracelet” from Aretha’s Sunbeam Set -”Havana Wedges” by DallasGirl -(Base Game Necklace)

Swimwear (Pose Link): -Island Living Swimsuit (Recolored)

Hot Weather (Pose Link): -Base Game Dress (Recolored) -”Marija Bracelet” from Aretha’s Sunbeam Set -”Havana Wedges” by DallasGirl

Cold Weather (Pose Link): -”Bluebell Pants” from Vikai’s Sogue Collab -Seasons Jacket (Recolored) -Snowy Escape Boots (Recolored) -Get To Work Gloves (Recolored) -Base Game Hat (Recolored)

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kamikazeanimated · 7 months

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Inktober Hiatus - "Dodge"

Hey y'all! Alan here.

So things are a little topsy-turvy here at Team Kamikaze. Havana is still rocking her maternity leave with Baby Sid, and Carrie is currently sidelined due to some big health stuff that doesn't leave her much energy for well, really anything. That pretty much leaves me to fly the ship.

As a result, I'm declaring a Inktober Hiatus. I'll be doing Inktober prompts with a Kamikaze twist and post them here at least once a week. For those eager to see the story continue, don't worry! We're eager too, and we'll be back at it as soon as the full Team can put energy towards page production. Thanks to everyone who supports us on this wild project!

-Alan

#kamikaze #comic #webcomic #science fiction #cyberpunk #scifi #inktober

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westeroslive · 4 days

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when the sun rises in the west, the gods eyes are drawn. may the seven have mercy upon you as we welcome you to court, lady lihua, princess vaedaria, and lord gavriel ! now a victim of the court, the bards compare your beauty to havana rose liu, milly alcock, ismael cruz córdova as you play the game in the midst of seasoned nobles.

behave and follow the queen's word written in our checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ havana rose liu, twenty nine, genderfluid, they and them. announcing the arrival of LIHUA of house KARSTARK, the LADY of KARHOLD. whispers among the court name them to be both FAITHFUL and OBSTINATE in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in archery. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of a bear’s coat draped beautifully over its hunter’s shoulders , an undisturbed valley of snow blemished by the blood of a doe , the melodious sound of girlish laughter coming from an empty hallway . the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with THE NORTH. ( ooc : demon love ) * jaehaera's greatest obsession wc

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ milly alcock, 24, cis woman, she + her. announcing the arrival of VAEDARIA of house TARGARYEN, the PRINCESS of WESTEROS. whispers among the court name them to be both EFFERVESCENT and AUDACIOUS in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in reading. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of dark lashes fluttered against porcelain skin ; text splayed beneath a soft cheek as though it was the finest of feathered down stuffed silk ; fantastical stories depicted in her dreams, fingertips dancing within the heart of a flickering flame ; exploring what it would take to make a dragon born burn, long silver strands those of old valyria ; torn from a princesses braid as the wind whipped at her skin ; the first taste of freedom as she took to the starry skies atop a beast finally unchained ; the world trembling roar the only thing that could drown out the cry of her own jubilation. seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with THE TARGARYENS. ( ooc : nakita, 28, she + her, mst )

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ ismael cruz córdova, 36, cis man, he + him. announcing the arrival of GAVRIEL of house FREY, the HEIR of THE TWINS. whispers among the court name them to be both FORMIDABLE and TACITURN in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in swordsmanship. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of the reverberation of stone against steel ; sharpening the favoured blade that was always sheathed at his side ; drowning out the ceaseless speeches of betrothals from a ruling lady once revered, the face of a man suited for the horrors of battle rather than politics ; more adept at charging into an army of enemies than twisting words until they sounded like sweet nothings whispered into the ear of a lover, the glint of firelight in narrowed eyes ; calloused fingers working at an unhurried pace - whittling away at a piece of wood until you’re left with that of a beguiling figurine. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with HOUSE FREY. ( ooc : nakita, 28, she + her, mst )

#westeros.accepted #slayyyyyyy #got rp #mumu rp #period rp

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katnissgirlsmakedo · 8 months

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currently giggling and losing my mind over the idea of a red white royal blue sequel. what would that even be about. and also i want ten… red white and royal blue: the royal engagement. red white and royal blue: the royal wedding. red white and royal blue: the royal baby. red white and royal blue: a twist in time. red white and royal blue: dark web. red white and royal blue: the scorch trials. red white and royal blue: on stranger tides. red white and royal blue: rodrick rules. red white and royal blue: welcome to the jungle. red white and royal blue and zombies. red white and royal blue XXL. red white and royal blue: the final jam. red white and royal blue: havana nights. RED WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE: KILLER QUEEN. they should make all of these and pay the writers one billion dollars each xoxo ok goodnight for real

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melis-writes · 11 months

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You're Still My Brother [Godfather Part II AU].

Read on AO3. | Fanfic Masterlist | Fic and Prompt Requests Info.

18+, explicit oneshot.

Death is clipping at Fredo Corleone's heels and there's only one way out of Havana tonight. With chaos ensuing from the rebels and the kiss of death sealing Fredo's fate from Michael, Fredo's heart gives in. Helpless, desperate and terrified of his brother, Michael manipulates his Fredo's good nature into trusting him and leaving Cuba together. Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola are dead, or so Michael has Fredo believe in but Michael has no intention of letting Fredo leave Cuba alive.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy angst / Character death / Strangulation / Fratricide / Hurt with no comfort.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: From one of my favourite, angsty scenes from The Godfather Part II, here comes an AU oneshot I came up with in one sitting tonight with Fredo actually leaving Havana with Michael…💔 I had always wondered what would have happened in Fredo got into that car with Michael, how he would be convinced, what Michael would say and what would come next. 🥺 Playing on emotionally manipulative strings and lies in this AU, I've made Michael seal Fredo's fate differently. This is my first Godfather oneshot/fic that isn't X Reader, romance or smut related!! 🤭💕 I definitely plan to write more as they come amidst updating my multi-chapter fics! Heavy, HEAVY angst in this oneshot with all tags/warnings applying, just a heads up!! 👀🫡

Panic. Mass confusion. Violence answers the questions of the innocent, the confused, and the helpless. Michael’s amongst them, but not one of them.

Aside from the rebels leaving nothing but destruction and the ensuing chaos in their wake around the vicinity, Michael remains to be among the very scattered few who neither fear nor react to the violence surrounding them.

Seemingly coordinated enough on New Year’s Eve, Michael’s more than well aware of the threat the rebels have been posing at all times.

It was enough to see rebels give their own lives in order to take one of the police officers in front of Michael’s eyes to convince him the rebels would take any opportunity to spill blood and fight back even if cornered regardless of the consequences.

Despite the ongoing panic, Michael knows he is in no true danger nor is he a target of the rebels just as he knows the party is over and he has outstayed his welcome as have all the guests at the president’s party.

Michael slipped through the packs of crowds rushing out onto the street and did so without attracting unnecessary attention, but the same couldn’t be said for his brother.

Fredo pushed through anyone and everyone who got in front of him the moment before the onset of the violence began.

Fredo was already running for his life with fear swelling in his heart because of Michael; the truth of his betrayal was never as clever as any lie Fredo could tell Michael or any way Fredo could pretend he didn’t cause an attempted assassination on Michael’s life.

The darkness in Michael’s heart confirmed the death wish he bestowed upon his brother by sealing the kiss of death over Fredo.

Now, no explanation, no apology, and no justification can exist in this world where Michael may exercise mercy or forgiveness over his own brother.

As death itself follows at Fredo’s heels, his only escape is to flee Havana but hiding elsewhere in Cuba will spare his life longer so as long as Fredo doesn’t return to where Michael has eyes and ears in the United States.

With tears stinging his eyes and whimpers of fear escaping his trembling lips, Fredo’s breath quivers as he sprints out of the presidential palace; taking as many twists and turns as he can.

But it’s only a matter of mere moments before the planned attack takes place at the same time; its sole benefit helping Fredo blend in with the rest of the outpouring crowd seconds later.

Michael’s chauffeur never strayed far from the presidential palace; parked just a few meters away from the side of the building with intentions to take Michael and Fredo to the airport to catch their private jet later on this evening.

Standing by the vehicle now, Michael keeps the passenger door open with one hand over its rim as he looks out for any signs of his brother amidst the terrified crowds.

Fredo has no choice but to slow down the steps of the presidential palace when he spots the rioting rebels, seeing no prying eyes over him.

Among dozens of other black and white suits, Fredo is almost impossible to spot—mirroring the same body language as other rushing guests.

The vehicles of the rebels arrived in a circle around the presidential palace, honking incessantly and powering the noise and hollering of its drivers and the other rebels.

Rebels armed with bats and clubs swing at the pillars of the presidential palace and the windows of nearby guest vehicles, only causing further alarm.

Swallowing hard, Fredo stumbles down one of the steps and frantically looks around him to find some route of escape—seeing some guests have already gotten into taxis and nearby vehicles.

“Argh—” Fredo grunts out in surprise as a couple accidentally bumps into him—ramming their shoulders into his back.

Fredo almost trips down the next set of stairs before him, catching his balance before Michael’s eyes land on his brother just across from him in his line of sight now.

“Fredo!” Michael calls out from afar, shrouded in the darkness where he stands away from streetlights or any direction crowds run toward.

Fredo freezes in his tracks, feeling his muscles instantly tense up from nothing but utter horror at the sight of his brother; pure fear triggering Fredo’s fight or flight response.

Fredo’s fear of his own brother has intensified and tripled in a matter of moments back in the presidential palace to the point where Fredo trembles in Michael’s presence and practically feels nauseous being under his brother’s gaze.

Fredo’s eyes widen as his mouth runs dry, eyeing his brother’s body language for immediate resentment and hostility.

“Come on!” Michael gestures out with his hand towards him; only appearing as a concerned brother insistent on helping his brother and escaping together.

Nothing over Michael’s expression or tone of voice resembles the putrid hatred that promised death to Fredo minutes back at the presidential palace.

Refusing, Fredo begins to slowly turn around but keeps his eyes on his brother as his body screams for Fredo to move away.

“It’s the only way out of here tonight,” Michael hollers back, noticing Fredo beginning to pull away. “Roth is dead!”

Naturally, the fate Michael planned and anticipated for Hyman Roth has failed unbeknownst to him but with Fredo’s betrayal stemming from Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola, it appears to be very convincing and tempting.

Still, the fear Fredo feels towards his own brother is all the more overpowering and there’s not a shred of trust nor hope left in Fredo to believe in Michael’s words.

Michael extends out his hand, seeing his words having no effect on his brother. “FREDO!”

Fredo forces himself to keep moving—staggering through the remaining crowd down the steps but with his head still turned towards Michael as if Fredo expects him to follow or lunge after him.

“Fredo, come with me!” Michael raises his voice above the noise of the crowds; seeing his brother is about to run off entirely. “You’re still my brother!”

Fredo’s just begun to rush off again into the crowd but stops at Michael’s words—the most convincing above all, promising they’re still family.

“Fredo!” Michael takes a step further, beginning to move in Fredo’s direction and away from the vehicle. “FREDO!”

Sensing no harm or ill intention from Michael amongst danger and chaos, Fredo’s good nature does not lie to him but coaxes his heart to trust in Michael and escape out of Havana with his brother.

In Michael now, Fredo wants to see his brother’s emotional vulnerability; despite everything, family ties and bonds never break, despite everything, Michael would want no harm to come to Fredo and certainly not here.

“You’re still my brother!”

Fredo turns back around to Michael and swears to himself he can see a pleading look in Michael’s eyes, past the shadows that keep him almost completely concealed.

Tears spring from Fredo’s eyes as he runs toward his brother, unaware he’s accepting his damned fate but giving his trust, love, and belief in safety to Michael.

Michael steps aside to let Fredo into the passenger seat, moving to the other side of the vehicle to get in for himself.

Fredo scurries inside and slams the car door behind him; a pitiful state of worry and exhaustion over him compared to Michael who still remains composed and calm.

Michael does the same, needing to give no signal or word to his chauffeur who immediately begins to drive off in the opposite direction of the presidential palace.

For a moment as Michael’s preoccupied with looking towards the chauffeur and windshield to see what’s ahead of him, neither he nor Fredo say a word to each other nor make eye contact.

Fredo peeks out the window to see hoards of people pushing into the US Embassy and pleading with the guards by the gate for safety; everyone fending for themselves in desperate hopelessness.

Fredo even spots a private jet beginning to take off as others help their family onto nearby boats and ships eager to get off the dock.

As the vehicle continues to move and navigate around the rebels and crowds with ease, Fredo flinches at the sight of the rebels setting nearby garbage cans on fire and rushing into the presidential palace itself.

With all of this occurring in mere seconds as the violence worsens and fires spread to smashed-in vehicles and broken goods from inside the presidential palace, Michael’s eyes land on his brother inside the car once again.

Fredo catches Michael’s gaze, looking as pale as a ghost with worry crossing his eyes as the vehicle now begins to slow through crowds clamoring at every angle.

Michael’s chauffeur keeps his composure, honking again and again as he continues to drive.

Michael knits his brows, gazing out both windows and somewhat concerned himself not about the damage the rebels continue to do, but what can come from the panicking and desperate mobs of people surrounding the car.

“O-Oh my God,” Fredo shudders as the vehicle finally begins to pick up its speed and separate from the crowds.

In a split second, Michael makes eye contact with the chauffeur through the rearview mirror, signaling a change in the destination; one out of sight with no one to hear anyone’s helpless screams.

Fredo doesn’t notice, nervously sitting next to Michael and looking down to see his fingers trembling uncontrollably in his lap just from Michael’s presence.

“We’re almost out,” Michael finally speaks; his voice calm and soothing enough for Fredo to believe it.

Fredo keeps his eyes on the road, refusing to relax and snap out of his alarmed state until the car drives much further down the road and Fredo’s unable to hear the rebellion behind him.

“The plane—” Fredo stammers, swallowing. “Are we getting out of here?”

“We are,” Michael reaffirms as the chauffeur takes a different turn to drive upon the side of the road where Fredo’s door faces the ocean. “Fredo—” Michael looks at his brother, “it’s fine. It’s over now.”

Fredo gives a glum nod, attempting to relax in his seat. “I don’t know what to say, Mikey. I…”

Fredo’s voice trails off as the car comes to a slow halt by the ocean; the chauffeur avoids looking towards the rearview mirror or making eye contact with either Michael or Fredo.

“I d-don’t…” Fredo’s voice cracks as he attempts to speak again, looking helplessly at his brother.

Michael faces Fredo whose almost too emotional to even realize the car has stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

“Mikey,” Fredo breathes out—his throat tightening as hot tears stream down his cheeks. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Fredo,” Michael turns his body towards his brother, watching Fredo weep softly and break down in front of him.

“You have to u-understand, Mikey,” Fredo pleads—emotion straining in his voice, “I w-was caught in the middle. I didn’t agree—I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t know it would end up like this—I didn’t know it was gonna be a hit or anything.”

As Michael stares into his brother’s eyes, his grow colder and Fredo’s words ring out to him with no meaning, no justification nor anything worth believing for the man in front of Michael is no longer his brother but a betrayer, a traitor and a stranger bearing the same last name.

Michael gives a small nod to Fredo as if he’s understanding of it all and figured as much for himself, but the chauffeur hits a small button over his door which immediately causes all of the doors to lock.

“Michael—” Fredo croaks, flinching from fear and looking towards his passenger door in alarm.

“Fredo, look at me. Look at me.” Michael detracts Fredo’s attention from reaching out to attempt to open his passenger door—facing his brother directly again. “Listen to me.”

“I d-don’t want anything to happen to you, Mikey,” Fredo blubbers, sobbing.

“Look at me,” Michael cups his brother’s face with both hands, feeling Fredo’s warm tears against his palm. “I know. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Never, ever,” Fredo gives his head a little shake, clutching onto the fabric of Michael’s trousers with a shaky hand. “Y-you’re my brother, my brother—”

“I know,” Michael repeats again, eerily calm compared to Fredo’s distraught state on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.

“I c-could never live it down,” Fredo hiccups, his knuckles turning white from how hard he grips Michael’s trousers.

“And you don’t have to,” Michael replies, wiping a stray tear away from Fredo’s cheek.

“I’m s-scared, Mikey, when you look at me like that—”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Fredo,” Michael lies, “you know that. Wouldn’t I leave you to your fate there if that’s what I wanted?”

“Y-yeah, I guess—” Fredo smiles weakly at Michael, comforted by his brother’s lies. “I love you, Mikey. I j-just want you to know that.”

Shallow, empty words with no meaning that register nothing to Michael. He chooses to ignore them, unshaken by what’s to come next.

“I know,” Michael kisses Fredo’s forehead, slowly moving his hands down to Fredo’s neck.

Fredo’s eyes snap open in terror as Michael wraps his hands around his throat firmly just moments after. “Mikey—"

“Goodbye, Fredo,” Michael immediately begins to exhort force over Fredo’s throat—crushing his esophagus.

Fredo wheezes and whimpers, but can get barely anything other than a whine out. He attempts to thrash out at Michael with his hands but Michael tilts his body back while pinning Fredo onto the car seat to avoid his grip.

Kicking at Michael in the twisted position his body is in doesn’t help nor does kicking at the chauffeur’s car seat who gazes out the window to watch the waves of the sea; completely ignoring the murder ongoing in the back seat.

Fredo’s lungs burn, begging for air as Michael squeezes and applies as much pressure and might as he can with his hands to Fredo’s throat—watching Fredo’s helpless movements slowly coming to a stop.

Wide-eyed and terrified as the life and strength choke out of him, Fredo stares at Michael who remains to be much more physically strong and fit than his brother.

The cold, lifeless expression on Michael’s face doesn’t change throughout as the color drains out of Fredo’s face as Michael continues to strangle him; his grip far too overbearing and tight to squirm out of.

Just a few moments in of helplessly trying to pry Michael’s fingers off his throat, Fredo feels his life slipping away and falls unconscious seconds after.

Michael doesn’t stop there. To ensure his brother’s death once and for all in front of his own eyes, he clutches Fredo’s head in his hands and with one sharp swerve of his hands and arms, snaps his brother's neck.

A sickening crack can be heard out before Michael lets go of Fredo’s lifeless body plopping back down onto the car seat.

Michael breathes in deeply, staring at the corpse of his brother next to him with no reaction; only the relief he’s felt and continues to feel upon having his enemies assassinated.

Not a shred of remorse, guilt, or regret clouds Michael’s judgment or chokes his thoughts.

Michael reaches towards Fredo’s passenger door as the chauffeur unlocks it without looking back; nothing goes through Michael’s mind as he pushes open the door to kick his brother’s corpse out.

Fredo’s body tumbles out of the vehicle and off the ledge leading straight into the ocean on this side of the road.

From the sound of loud traffic afar and waves crashing upon the shore, Michael doesn’t hear Fredo’s body drop into the water nor does he bother to watch it sink.

Instead, Michael sits back in the vehicle and shuts the door as his chauffeur begins driving again, pretending as if nothing happened.

In the chauffeur’s best interest, nothing did happen and he only picked up Michael from the presidential palace. The chauffeur never saw Fredo or even heard that name; the chauffeur isn’t even aware Mr. Corleone had a brother.

“To the airport, Mr. Corleone?” The chauffeur spoke for the first time since Michael got into the vehicle.

“Yes,” Michael confirms, “I have a private flight to catch to Lake Tahoe.”

#the godfather #the godfather part ii #godfather fanfic #michael corleone #michael corleone fanfic #fredo corleone #melis-writes #godfather fanfiction #godfather au

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