#mafalda can breathe again

[mafaldaknows]

So now we know.

Ironically, in tying up his loose ends, Armie Hammer has finally released us from the limbo state that has held us captive for two long years.

I feel like a genie freshly uncorked from a bottle.

Anyone who has put in the hard work in order be able to tell his truth and to live his life authentically, and now can now show us that he’s ready to forge a new path forward, deserves any and all chances at redemption.

While it might seem counterintuitive, this is great news to me, since all I just ever wanted from this sad situation was to KNOW SOMETHING, anything, from Armie’s side of the story, after years of getting only side, and only partially, at that, and mostly hyperbole and chronic bullsh*t for internet fame and attention, from extraordinarily biased sources.

And just to clarify: Armie Hammer has not been charged with any crimes, unless you can count being an asshole as a crime.

I think this is the closest we’ll get to knowing the whole truth but that’s fine with me.

It feels good to breathe again.

#armie hammer #air mail #interview #in his own words #breaking his silence #at last #mafalda needs a moment #two long stupid years #i agree with tyler #even if he’s a dumbass #it’s not a crime to be an asshole #mafalda always looks for signs #mafalda can breathe again #tales from the charmiesphere

[inlocusmads]

risk management ~ trystan x nora

Captain Thompson gives them an unfair intervention. They can't afford to fly into a rage and make a bad landing - not when plenty is at stake. (takes place shortly after Crimes Book 2, Ch 2)

wc: 2.5k+ || teen and up, strong language

A/N: Can you hear me screaming because YES this wonderful art commission was done by the very wonderful, the ever-lastingly marvellous Rose from @rosefuckinggenius who is in fact, a genius at this, and I've been so so grateful to have won the giveaway hosted by the very very kind @choicesficwriterscreations as a part of their Pride Month event! (I hope ya caught that subtle bi flag in the background!) I also ended up writing a fic to go along with it! Okay okay, enough of the prelude. I'll expand in an A/N at the end of the fic, okay okay okay let's go.

***

Chatter from outside the interrogation room suggested internal discord within the precinct. On one hand, Captain Thompson’s Special Force were thankful someone did their job for them. But it isn’t Thompson’s job until she gets to deliver a long speech in front of the reporters who still wrote about her. She stormed in, closing the door and pulling up a steel chair.

“Morning, Rose.” she sent Trystan the barest nod of acknowledgement.

Nora didn’t answer. Trystan mumbled a response under his breath, more focused on trying to figure out a comfortable position to rest his left hand. His left and Nora’s left were cuffed together on accounts of “disrupting an investigation” as the police swarmed to raid Ricochet’s lair of illegal artifacts. It was obviously a massive “fuck you” from Captain Thompson. A simple thank-you was too much to expect from her. The harmonious coexistence Mafalda had initially proposed was thrown out of the nearest window, given people would rather avail the agency’s services for a nominal fee than run to the police and have their intelligence challenged.

“There’s a pattern with you. Isn’t it? You happen to know Roger Dupont was a wanted man by the police. You seem to know his trademark style even before we can look into a break-in. I’d hate to say it, but this has crossed a line. This has gone from you offering --” Captain Thompson had to muster up the courage in order to spit it out - “- consultancy services for the police department, to actively crossing a police investigation. Interrupting, even. We would have had Roger Dupont without any involvement from third parties, including some of Dupont’s retailers. This has blown out of proportion. Now anyone in association with Dupont will skip town. This has surpassed our jurisdiction.”

“Put a bolo out for them, then.”

“This isn’t about the case, this is about you.”

“No, seriously - put a bolo out for Roger’s associates.”

“We have.”

“Good. Problem solved, no? Can we go? I don’t see the point in being kept here.”

“With all due respect, Captain-” Trystan interrupted. “It was our case. I was contacted by a representative of the head of state of Monterisso, you might have surely heard of Queen Amalas? Her jewelry was also stolen from a bank vault kept in New York and upon our visitation, we were able to trace it to the stolen jewelry in the shop from earlier. The hollandaise sauce seems to be a recurrent theme with him. Sort of a ‘hello I am here’ sign; a message meant for the people he was targeting. I highly doubt you talked to the store manager. He would know tons more than whatever poor boy you have brought in for questioning.”

“Once again, this is not about the case. Or one case in particular.” Thompson said. “The home invasion of CEO Henry Burke. You were not offered to consult and yet, you showed up, uninvited, made a damning accusation against the secretary for organizing it and we were left to pick up the pieces-”

“But the secretary did, in fact, organize it.”

 “10th December. Rampant arsonry at the Bates Community Center’s Christmas Fair. Your intervention caused the NYPD a delay as much as two hours.”

“But you went after the wrong guys.” Nora admitted, calmly.

“Point is, Rose, you are a tripping hazard. An obstacle. You were never invited and yet, under the guise of lending a helping hand, you have caused all of us an unnecessary headache. So talk to me.”

“Talk to you? Like this?”

“Not the hand- not the hand-” Trystan protested, having to twist his wrist to give Nora room to lift her cuffed hand up to show. “Captain, there has to be a better way of dealing with this. At the Bates Community Center, we were in contact with an attorney’s client. She deserves to be updated as much as our client does. Henry Burke had contacted us earlier to have the matter dealt with in private, before his neighbors took to calling the cops.”

“I’m talking to Rose.” She paid him no attention soon after. “What do you want, huh, Nora? What do you want? A job here? A commendation of some kind? That you keep prying and prying until you get credit? Some sort of teenage angst against me? What I’m trying to say is, whatever you want, you come directly to me. You don’t mess up the work my team is deployed to do. Is that it? You want to come back? Talk. It’s your floor now.”

“Right, yeah I do have something to say. Kind of vaguely important too, actually, but first, would appreciate some coffee. You and I also know the machine is not broken either, so - would appreciate it if you made it quick.”

Two cups of coffee arrived soon enough. Trystan took long sips. It had been a while since either of them could eat or drink anything. Nora had some of hers, the midnight exhaustion melting away a little. She set her mug down, glared at Captain Thompson who waited for a response and said-

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t really want anything.” she shrugged. “I don’t need a commendation, I don’t need an award. And I give you full permission to put a bullet in my head, because clearly I’d be talking out of my ass if I want to come back and work here again. Fuck you.”

“Oh real rich, verbally assaulting a-”

“It’s okay. You can take it.” Nora took another sip of her coffee. “Your ‘team’-” she annotated it with air quotes, “- spent several years calling me a ‘China girl’, insulting my intelligence, hurling whatever you thought of at me just because I worked a desk, but quickly became ‘Miss Rose’ this and that when I moved up the ranks-”

“Rose, you cannot use the past as a tool to come back and pull this crap on us again. Do you have a problem? You take it up with me, directly. You don’t give the team problems.”

“Right, as if Holbeck and Morris had made it any easier for me. Like I said, you can take it. After all, nobody’s a threat to your position, right?”

That struck a nerve. Captain Thompson restrained the urge to give Nora a piece of her mind; Nora could see that. The clench of her fists, the tight exhales of air, the darting looks at Trystan as if she’d expected him to do damage control - as if. She massaged her tired eyes, choosing her next words carefully because Nora would read her like a hawk if not. A Freudian slip here would cost her a lot. Gossip got around the precinct. Even if it seemed like a private conversation, there were ears right outside the door. Not to mention giving Mafalda Ginovesi more information she didn’t need.

“This has gone long enough.”

“You want to end our partnership then?” Trystan asked. Thompson sternly expected Nora to at least recoil at the usage of the word ‘our’ - as if an exiled Drakovian royal had anything of interest to do with a detective agency. God knows it could just merely be a hobby to pass the time, but Nora didn’t say anything. In fact, she gave him a curt nod - almost approving of his work. Thompson wanted to yank both of them by the collars to give them a thorough understanding of the dangers of viewing things in black-and-white but she knew she had a lot to lose.

“No-” she redirected the conversation back to Nora. “I want a revision on the terms of our partnership so we can both be happy. I wrote it down too.”

“Which is?.”

“You work the cases we explicitly tell you to work on.” Captain Thompson read from a sheet of paper. “You will get safety and medical benefits in the off chance any harm comes to you, the police’s resources at your disposal that can be negotiated on a case-by-case basis and should there be any overlaps between your clients and the cases we get, you get jurisdiction and the client also receives any protection, medical help, depending on the nature of the case.”

“Okay, we’re going to need to have some - sort of guarantee that you will cooperate, because you cut us dry with Sonja back there.”

“What do you mean ‘cut you dry’?”

“My partner took a blade to his stomach.. Since the stunt with Mayor Brigham’s dirty laundry getting aired live, your folks have been strangely cooperative - Mafalda’s words, not mine. Despite your reluctance in taking after the ‘tips’ we provided, you still enjoy blaming it on ‘coincidences’ and ‘the agency interrupting’ instead.”

“Two people were injured, Captain, despite our warning, despite our pleas trying to - establish some civility if not complete cooperation - I have seen you accuse Nora blindly of interference, when the investigation she was leading provided you with the tip to chase after the imitation cult and reprimand Anika Deshpande and Nick Bastion-”

“Now listen-”

“Had it not been for the consistent slew of updates, I highly doubt you would have gotten there to the undisclosed location- somehow to also arrest the two of us? Either way, bygones are bygones now.” Trystan swatted his hand. “Problem is, this case - this ‘case’ that you have taken under your wing, has led to the death of Winston Reese. My sister and I were both injured. She was taken hostage.”

“Trystan got stabbed.” Nora added.

“Granted I could afford the medical procedures, including weekly physio sessions and my sister could also afford hers--”

“We still require some kind of guarantee from you, personally. Consultancy isn’t a one-way street. What’s a good number to start with, Trys’?”

“The threshold ceiling for victims’ compensation, I’d like to think. Or you know, any good round number works.”

“Wait - you want me to pay you guys?” Captain Thompson looked horrified.

“No, jeez.” Nora tch’ed, “Sonja’s family. She has one living father. He said he wouldn’t take any money from Trystan, but perhaps he’ll listen if he was compensated legally. He’s been trying to get his application through for ages, getting rejected each time. He can’t afford an attorney to fight for him either. We’d just learned he’d spent his last savings on arranging for his daughter’s funeral. And that’s just one person.”

“We know from Eleanor’s ledger there are tens and tens of families out there. God knows how many of them have given up already even if the verdict favors them. God knows if they even are around anymore.” Trystan added.

“I know you have friends up in the Office of Victim Services. Least you can do is to not delay it further, contact all the families and put in a good word there. Not only for Mr Dormer but whomever you could reach out to.”

“We have done our part.”

“Do better. Just ‘doing your part’ will get your institution replaced.” Nora urged. “That’s your guarantee. Then once you have done that, we can work the terms to our liking. Deal’s off if you don’t follow through. Has been a problem with the NYPD for a while. ‘Following through’. You prefer latching onto the easiest answers.”

Captain Thompson looked like she’d been slapped in the face. Nevertheless, she regained her composure. “We’ll talk soon, Rose.” was all she said, without giving away any promises or comments. She stood up to summon a junior officer (as expected, she found him with his back to the walls as if he’d assumed that if he tried really hard, he could hear what his captain was saying),  who had the keys.

“Real pity to see a wing of the law enforcement that so many people rely on, blatantly let the very same people down.” Trystan scoffed. “Would you mind letting us out?” 

“The hand- the hand-” Nora winced in pain as Trystan hovered his hand over her shoulder. 

____

“I miss it.” Trystan spoke, once they got themselves out of the stuffy precinct and walked their way back to the car. He gave his wrist a few twists and turns; adjusting his watch to a more comfortable position. The time read 1:00 AM.

“Miss -- the air?” Nora guessed.

“Actually. What are they putting in there? Mold?”

“Likely. You work there long enough and it gets okay.”

They reached Trystan’s car. He gave his key a few taps, the door clicking open. They took their respective seats, buckling in. Trystan turned the radio on, kept it to a bare simmer of a volume just to have something going in the background. It cut to some late-night news with Ricochet’s capture finally being made public and naturally, neither the Agency nor any of their individual names were mentioned. Nora didn’t mind not taking the credit anyway; it wasn't like a competition of any kind.

“Did they say those things?”

Nora quickly gathered what he meant by that. “Yeah. But it’s - been a while. Nothing really scares them. I doubt Thompson is going to help Mr Dormer out anyway.” 

“I have been talking to a legal advisor to work with Mr Dormer. I hope they agree. They are one of my best recommendations, but of course, Sonja’s father - if he is anything like her - will refuse any aid out of not ‘wanting to be a bother’. Let us hope the advisor helps him far better than any of them can.”

“It sucks. Reminds me of when I was an officer there.”

“Well, now - we can do something, right? We don’t have to sit still - there is no requirement for us to be compliant.”

“Hope so.” 

A pause.

“You have been a terrible influence.”

“Me? How so?” Trystan drove, taking a left turn.

“Made me cuss out my old boss and everything. I was one of these -- uh, big believers of ‘actions are louder than words’ but sometimes you need to hammer in a point, scream and give them something to stay up at night about.”

“Sounds like the best influence to me.”

Nora chuckled. “Yeah yeah, we’ll see when you don’t get us further into the pit of trouble than we are right now.”

Trystan raised his eyebrows. “Psh, what trouble? Holding somebody answerable shouldn’t warrant trouble. In fact, you could go for a more pointed swear word. Something stronger, even. I’m happy to lend you some Drakovian swears should the mood strike you. Nothing else would warrant its immediate and effective use more than pointing out incompetency.”

Nora gave him a really-we-literally-just-got-out-and-it-is-past-midnight look.

“‘Fuck you’ could work too.” 

____

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This fic (and the whole subplot with Mr Dormer) was inspired by this article talking about the sheer delay it takes for victims of violent crimes to get their compensation. It's a very good read! I highly implore you check it out!

And a huge thank you to CFWC for supporting creators and even more thanks to Rose who did an absolute fantastic, gobsmacking, teeth-shattering BEAUTIFUL JOB aaah I cannot stop staring at it! They're so cool, they're disaster bisexuals, they solve crime, they're hopeless and pathetic at the same time and incredible and I JUST CANNOT OKAY, TOO MUCH EMOTIONS.

I NEED to show you this version!

WHITE COATED TRYSTAN. HOLY SHIT. THEY. COMPLEMENT EACH OTHER. HOLY. FUCK.

I love both these variations, both the dark-jacketed one and this! I'd absolutely love to see Trystan in this beige or this tartan esque coat because they deserve to just serve looks, eat everything and leave no crumbs.

And ofc this is the sketch version and ugh, Rose did such a good job and I've stared at this thing for five hours now. Like the days leading up to the commission and the updates were NUTS! I had like exams going on and Rose's updates just kept me going,, just massive oceans' worth of dopamine here.

AND JUST. NORA. TRYSTAN. SCREAM. SCREAM.

I'm just so so grateful for this, words cannot describe the euphoria I feel right this second because it's just, when you see your characters on paper or portrait or wherever and you're like "holy frick this is real this is a real thing I'm doing" it just gives me so much joy. I'm so grateful for Rose once again, who put up with all of my messy, excited screaming! Thank you so so much!

Tagging:

Perma: @quixoticdreamer16 @tessa-liam

Crimes: @cassie-thorne @peonierose @ao719 @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter @fuckitweball0000

Also tagging @choicesbookclub because the brainrot is absolutely real

#trystan x nora #crimes of passion fics #crimes of passion #w:inlocusmads

[lilyoffandoms]

Crimes Drabble (Trystan x Noel)

Warning & A/N: A little gift for @hydn-jpg as a thank you for all the beautiful art you created for free a few weeks back for our little fandom. You are a gem!! Imagine this takes place right after book two.

The tension that leaves me with the momentary weightless feeling of the plane taking to the air has me breathing a sigh of relief. If I believed in a higher power, I’d say a prayer in thanks.

I watch out the window as the Drakovian capital slips further and further away. I watch until the clouds begin to blot out every neighborhood one by one. If only they could blot out the bad memories that linger in the air.

Luke and Ruby sit snuggled close together near the front of the cabin. Some Drakovian spy thriller plays on the screen before them. I can’t help the small smile that threatens to break at their critiques of the acting, realism, and cinematography.

Mafalda and Tommy sit with a glass in their hands sipping whiskey and reminiscing over old cases. Again, a small smile seeks its way to the surface as I think of how lucky I am to have all four of them in my life.

I start as a hand slips into mine and a bottle of whiskey is set between us.

Of all the people I am most thankful to have found in my life, I worry it may be him.

“What’s the for?” I question the bottle and no glasses.

“You look like you need it. Have you even taken a breath since takeoff?” he grins.

“I’ll breath when we are out of Drakovian air space.”

“Noel,” he chuckles at me.

The smile finally breaks and I shake my head at him and turn back to the window to watch the last of the godforsaken place and case disappear beneath the clouds.

“Have a drink with me.”

“We can have a celebratory drink when we touch down in New York,” I state and rest my head on his shoulder.

“Noel,” he laughs again.

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine. I can agree to that,” Trystan whispers into a kiss to the top of my head.

I close my eyes and pray to gods I don’t believe in that the worst is finally behind us.

#choices cop #trystan x noel #my drabble #forgive any mistakes as i don’t edit

[peonierose]

Top 10 Funny Moments 🩷 For @choicesfandomappreciation

I actually saw @aallotarenunelma post this and I thought this is genius, and so I’m going to share some funny moments from my stories 🤣

Summers Kiss

”I’m pretty sure there’s no magic involved in sex. It was pretty much watching my ovulation, waiting and peeing on test stripes to see the words pregnant. But if it makes you feel better B let’s call it the magic of our bed.“

”It was our bodies who created the magic, the bed was just a side piece.“

Cake by the Ocean

”What? I’m just saying. I can’t even say that I knew there was something going on? Way harsh dude,“ he says

Soraya gives him a pointed look

”I‘m not your dude,“ she says.

Aunt Joe clears her throat and they both shut up.

Bittersweet Symphony

”You’re my date, you shouldn’t have to do that.“ I say and lean on the kitchen counter next to her.

She snorts.

”Did you get stuck in the 18th century Sinclair?“ She teases me and I have to laugh at that.

Nightbound vs. Hänsel and Gretel - Chapter 2: Strange Encounters

“Pie-boy is getting roasted. I knew something was missing,“ Nik says grinning.

Hänsel cracks his knuckles.

“Bite me blondie,“ Hänsel says.

Niks grin widens and he just smiles at my brother.

“I’m afraid you’re not my type,“ he winks.

Neon Lights

”Get a room,“ Ethan and Aubrey say at the same time.

Bryce and I grin and share a smile.

”Is it just me? Or does anyone else think this is creepy?“ Elijah asks and I add.

”Me too. They’re almost the same person. Though Ethan is a bit grumpier, which makes him adorable,“ I say and Sienna nods in my direction.

”I thought I was the only one who thought so,“ she says and we fist-bump each other.

Ethan sighs deeply.

”Can we please just play? I don’t want to have front-row seats for Lahela's make-out session. I’m getting annoyed by this banter and about the fact that you’re trying to make it about me,“ he says his tone getting grumpy.

Bryce can’t resist adding.

”Oh come on man you’d learn a thing or two,“ B adds.

Ethan just sighs.

”If you’re talking about tips on how to make out? I’ll pass. Thanks though,“ Ethan replies.

Peppermint Kisses

“Buddy you picked the wrong nonna to pickpocket.“ I say and pull out my phone to dial Mafalda’s number.

“What’s a nonna dude? It’s not some weird fetish you guys have, is it? Because I don’t want any part of that.“ Zac stated.

“Nonna is the Italian word for grandmother you genius.“ I replied.

“Have you no manners? First, you steal and now you’re being a little punk?“ Trystan asks but Zac just rolls his eyes.

Girls Night Out - Chapter 3 - Streaking past your neighbors house

“I wish I had such good-looking strippers at my bachelorette party,“ Addi chimes in.

Both officers exchange looks, then turn to us again.

“You’re married ma’am?“ Officer Clarke asks, he looks more closely at Addi now.

“Well it’s complicated,“ Addi sighs

“I’m sure it is,“ Officer Clarke says his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“If we can’t have a lap dance, would you like one? So we can all forget about this little incident?“ I ask moving closer, but Sofia stops me with a hand on my arm.

“You are going to get us into trouble,“ Sofia mutters under her breath.

“And you are?“ Officer Kane turns to Sofia all mirth gone, replaced by a serious look on his face.

“Just an innocent bystander Sir. I was trying to help,“ Sofia stutters.

Home is where the heart is

”How’s the pregnancy going? Any weird food cravings that drive Bryce up the wall?“ he jokes and laughs.

”Does Bryce count as a food craving?“ I ask.

I am trying to act serious but I have to laugh at Ethan’s expression. He looks as if he bit into a lemon.

”I shouldn’t have asked,“ he mumbles.

Go Blonder

”Oh for fucks sake. Why in three hells are you only in your underwear Dr. Varma?“

Ethan’s voice. And he sounds super annoyed.

”I didn’t have any clean clothes,“ she says not wanting to admit she lost a bet.

He sighs

”You could’ve worn anything else. Please get something else to wear. This is just inappropriate,“ he says

”I can’t do that,“ she says.

He squints his eyes at her. Realizing there might be more to it.

”Clothes Varma. Now. And no that wasn’t a request,“ he says

Jackie laughs

”Aye aye sir,“ Jackie salutes and goes to get on some clothes.

You can see Ethan pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

”What kind of madhouse am I working at? I need a vacation,“ he mutters to himself. That’s when the video ends.

Go with the Flow

”Alright let’s go, before you turn into a popsicle,“ I laugh.

She just gives me the finger.

Which makes me laugh even harder and I have to stop and hold my stomach.

“So feisty today I like that side of yours,“ I kiss her fingers, which are ice cold.

#ChoicesFanworksDay #10 stories and lines that made me laugh #open heart

[engie-ivy]

Another one for @wolfstarmicrofic!

15th: Breathing Room

“Congratulations Padfoot!” James hugs him tight. “I know I’ve been hiding it well-” He hasn’t “-but I’ve actually been really worried! I’m so relieved your name has been cleared! Now you’re finally allowed to see Harry again. He’s been asking about you, you know. He’s been missing his Pads!”

“Sirius Black,” Amelia Bones walks up to them, looking grave as always. “I’m glad to know the verdict turned out in your favour. However, the issue of how you obtained inside-information about Pettigrew being the traitor still remains. I must ask you again to please disclose the name of your source.” She lowers her voice and takes a step closer. “If it was your younger brother, I understand your wish to protect him. However, if he is one of You Know Who’s followers, he must be trailed. His young age and his courage in passing on vital information that helped save the Potters’ lives will of course help in getting him a more lenient sentence, but there has to be a fair trail nonetheless.”

“Amelia,” Kingsley Shacklebolt places a hand on her shoulder. “Our primary objective right now is to track down Peter Pettigrew. Now that his plan to deliver the Potters to You Know Who has failed, and his true nature has been revealed, he is desperate, and desperate men are dangerous men. He already blew up an entire street, killing twelve Muggles, just in an attempt to frame Sirius. Who knows what he’s capable of doing next?” He turns to Sirius. “Sirius, I need you to give me an exact description of what the rat looks like, as detailed as possible. I want to be able to pick him out from an entire sewer full of rats!”

“Black!” Mad-Eye Moody paces up to him, his bad leg dragging behind him, one eye fixed intently on Sirius, the other restlessly scanning the room. “Going after Pettigrew alone was stupid! You should’ve informed the Aurors’ Office and kept a levelled head. It’s a good thing you at least sent word to Lupin and Potter about what you learned and what you intended to do. Without their testimonies, you would’ve had a much harder time proving it wasn’t you who killed all those Muggles.” He shakes his head, one eye continuing to look around undeterred. “But your name has been cleared, and despite your tendency to act on impulse without thinking and let your emotions get the better of you, you have potential. I want you to report for Auror Training.”

“Excuse me, Mr Black? My name is Oliver Quilling, from the Daily Prophet. Can I have a first reaction? You were the most hated man in the Wizarding World, how does it feel to now have your name cleared?”

“Mr Black! Mafalda Griffin from Witch Weekly! Tell me, what has hurt you more? Pettigrew’s betrayal of the Potters, or him trying to frame you as the traitor and a murderer?”

“Sirius...” A teary-eyed Emmeline takes his arm. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Merlin, I’m so sorry! I said such horrible things about you! I just thought... All the witnesses who heard Peter shout... And an illegal Animagus rat disappearing into the sewer after cutting of his own finger? It sounded so unbelievable!” She shakes her head. “But it doesn’t matter. I should’ve had more trust in you, and I’m sorry. I hope you can one day forgive me.”

“Mr Black, I have some documents that require your signature, regarding your new property at Grimmauld-”

“Can you all just back off?!”

Sirius pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says, taking a calming breath. “But these last weeks have been difficult and emotionally draining. I just need some breathing room. Please, for now, give me some space and leave me alone.”

People start filing out of the room, muttering to themselves.

“Where are you going?”

Remus turns around and blinks at Sirius. “You wanted people to leave you alone?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Not you, obviously.” He holds his hand out to Remus.

Remus raises an eyebrow with an amused expression on his face. “You asked everyone to back off?”

“I asked everyone else to back off,” Sirius corrects. “You’re not everyone else.” He waves his hand impatiently.

With a smile, Remus takes his hand, and Sirius immediately pulls him close. Remus wraps his arms around him and presses his face against the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted space.”

“Not from you,” Sirius mumbles against his hair. “Never from you.”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius

[kwaj115]

Trystan Thorne x MC: Stay

Request: a dialogue prompt for Trystan x mc ❤️❤️: "It was nice... not sleeping alone." I can’t wait to see what you come up with!

Warnings: Fluff with a bit of angst

Tags: @kulaykape @ikingsley @remnantsofthepast-if @loyalshrimpfan @barnibumblr @loyalshrimp @alleycat97 @blaine-hayes @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @luthorsxrojas @darlingnikki-prince

Author’s Notes: This is an anonymous request. Hopefully, it’s okay because it’s been a while since I’ve written. BUT I JUST LOVE MY TRYSTAN- Might edit this later, it was pretty rushed. But I just wanted to get this idea out. It's pretty short.

“Trystan! What are you doing?!”

The building crumbled around them, fire consuming everything in its path. 

“I came back for you.”

Trystan throws her arm around her shoulders as Amrita forces herself to stay awake. 

“Amrita! Stay with me..”

Trystan’s voice fades as she loses consciousness. 

*A few hours later*

Amrita gains consciousness. She examines the hospital room before she spots Trystan asleep—her hand in hers with her head resting over the linked pair on the bed. 

“Trystan?”

Trystan begins to stir, her tired eyes widening at the sight of Amrita.

“Amrita! How do you feel?”

“Sore but I’ll live.”

They take a moment to soak each other in, the feeling of constant adrenaline from the case is gone. 

“So what happens now? Are you going to stay in New York or travel again?”

Trystan drops her head back onto the bed with a grunt. 

“I’m not sure. I have to start thinking about it but..”

“But..?”

“You know, we make a great partner duo. You have the serious vibe and I bring in the charm to save the day.”

Trystan chuckles when Amrita rolls her eyes but they break into giggles before locking eyes.

“Stay with me, Trystan.”

Trystan’s breath hitched at the unexpected request.

“We can convince Mafalda and be partners. Stay here.”

“Okay.”

“Woah, the great Trystan Thorne agreed to just like that, huh?”

“For you? Yes, you’re worth it. Plus, it was nice..not sleeping alone.”

Amrita pat the spot next to her on the bed and shuffled as much as she can for Trystan to squeeze into the small bed. 

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank you, Amrita.”

With that, Trystan and Amrita fell into a slumber holding each other. 

#playchoices #trystan thorne x mc #trystan thorne #crimes of passion #choices crimes of passion #f!trystan thorne #amrita shivam #f!trystan thorne x f!mc

[theseshipsshallsail]

Often, it’s a sigh, barely more than a breath. Three lazy syllables dripping like honey from Elio’s mouth to his ears.

Sometimes it’s crisp, clear and demanding. A remnant of Mafalda’s surrogate parenting - though he’ll never dare tell him.

Other times, when the air in their bedroom is choked with the humidity of a summer afternoon, it’s a shout buried amidst the thick groans of their lovemaking, akin to the dirtiest curse he’s ever uttered.

Like now, for instance. With their sweat-slick bodies sticking to the dishevelled sheets, Elio’s heels digging into his ass as he urges him deeper, harder, faster, with each slow roll of Oliver’s hips. It’s a dance only time can perfect, and the sweet little gasps against his cheek are the perfect antithesis to the blunt nails digging into his back, fanning the fire within. 

His lips are drawn to the hollow dip of Elio’s collarbone, his tongue connecting the dots between a constellation of freckles as it journeys up to his earlobe. It’s there that he hears it again, tripping from his grinning lips like laughter. The heat of Elio’s breath denies him of his own, and the ache in Oliver’s groin grows all the more demanding when he stores it away, adding it to his never-ending catalogue of nuance and inflection.  

Whispered praise falls like rose petals as they move together, hearts beating in time until Elio arches beneath him, whimpering it now, soft and pleading. One hand grasps for his, anchoring them both in the storm that surges through him, and Oliver watches him ride it out on a deep moan, his rhythm never faltering, never failing, until -

“Oliver…”

Tired and sated in the aftermath of his release, sweeter than poetry as he follows him over the cliff’s edge, soaring to the stars.

His name. 

Just his name. 

And Oliver smiles as Elio burrows against him, knowing he’ll do whatever’s necessary to hear him say it forever.  

#cmbyn #fanfic #elio x oliver #fluff #traviamento

[gaypiratesandangels]

Piano

Male reader x Elio Perlman

Requested by : @pcterstark

Tw: slight smut , fluff

Your parents were both professors and were invited by one of their colleagues to spend the summer in Italy with his family. Thus there you were sitting in your car riding through the beautiful landscapes of Italy. You arrived at a big house surrounded by nature, on the porch there were three people standing. The professor, his wife and what you assumed was their son were waiting to welcome you and your family. Your parents shook everyone's hand and made you do the same, when you shook the son's hand you were able to take a better look at him. He was around your age and height, he had brown hair and eyes. You instantly felt a strong attraction to him. "I'm Elio, nice to meet you" "I'm y/n nice to meet you too" you smiled while your heart fluttered by the touch of his hand.

You went in the house and Mafalda showed you your room. You fell into the bed. It was already midnight and you were exhausted so you instantly fell asleep dreaming of the unfamiliar boy you just met.

The next morning you woke up by your dad knocking on your door. "Y/n wake up we already finished breakfast but you can eat with Elio while we take a look at the village." You putted your clothes and went downstairs, the table was standing outside and the dark haired boy was sitting on one of the chairs next to it. "Good morning" he said while turning his head towards you. "Uhm,good morning" you sat down and looked at the bit of food that your parents had left. "What do you want?" Elio asked while scratching his head. "We've got eggs, orange juice, peaches, bread...just pick whatever you want" You ate some bread, an egg and a peach. Meanwhile there was a comfortable silence between you two, only some glances where exchanged.

You finished eating and went upstairs. Right when you started unpacking Elio walked in "This is actually my room you know, but I sleep next to it when there are guests." He was standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, the sunlight that shined trough the window fel on him like a spotlight. You noticed small things about him you hadn't noticed the first time, you had seen that his appearance wasnt bad but now he looked different. The sunlight made his hair look almost like gold and his eyelashes made shadows on his cheeks. Your heart stopped for a second. "Sorry if I scared you" he laughed. "Its okay" you looked away from his breathtaking appearance painfully aware of your red face. "My parents are giving yours a tour, can I give you one too?" he asked, you said yes, I mean how could you have said no?

"...and this is the living room" you had been through the garden, kitchen and now you had arrived at the last stop. The room was pretty big, there was a TV and a few couches but one thing catched your eye. A piano. Ever since you were little you wanted to play it but you hadn't had the time. "You play the piano?" you curiously asked Elio. "Uhm yeah, you?" "No but I've always wanted to" you said casually. "I could teach you something" he said while taking a chair and placing it next to the piano chair. He sat down and patted to the seat next to him "Sit down". He started playing and you were blown away by his skills. He finished and asked if you've ever played before when you shook your head he stood up and took place behind you. His soft hands grabbed yours and placed them on the piano. He showed you wich notes to press but you couldn't really focus. Maybe it were his hands or his body against your back but a boner had started to grow. You were painfully aware that you couldn't just stop it and your face flashed red. "I need to go to the bathroom for a second" you said standing up and leaving Elio's body that was almost wrapped around you. You tried hard to walk normally but the second you where out of the other boy's sight you ran. You arrived at you bedroom and locked the door. You never had been in this situation before but Elio's touch did something to your body. It didn't take you long to be cumming all over your hand, you quickly wiped it off and went back down.

The next few hours you spend on learning how to play the piano, Elio was an amazing teacher even tough you payed more attention to him then what he was teaching you. You ate lunch with your parents who had just returned and then you played again. It was already 8pm when Elio proposed to show you around in the small village. He tought it looked better when the sun was almost down. You wandered trough the uncrowded streets talking about everything and nothing. You ended up on a small grassland just outside the village, you both sat down and looked at the lights from the streets that had become very small. A comfortable silence fell over you and you looked at him. The moon was just bright enough for you to take in all his little features just like you did this morning. His eyes, his hair, his lips...

You moved closer but stopped a few inches away from the lips you wanted to touch. What if he didn't want this? You were proved wrong when Elio closed the space between you and softly pecked your lips. Both of you backed away for a second to look at eachother but you instantly reached for his face and cupped his cheeks. The second kiss was much deeper and lasted longer, you were rolling in the grass while you held on to him tightly. He pulled away to breath and you laughed "I've been wanting to do that the moment you shook my hand" you breathed softly into your ear. He smiled at you and stroke your cheek "You're special y/n, there's something about you" if it hadn't been dark he would have seen your face flush red. He came closer to your ear and whispered "That boner from this morning was pretty hot " while moving his hand up your leg...

#male reader fanfic #male reader #male!reader #male reader x elio #cmbyn fanfic #elio perlman #elio perlman fanfic #male reader x elio Perlman #cmbyn

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟕: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  TONACATEC PALACE, USPANA, 1926

❧   𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  / 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

The queen’s personal gardens at Tonacatec had been a refuge for Alfonso during the turbulent early years of his father’s reign. Having no memory of the princely governor’s residence where he had been born, it is instead the desert oasis overlooking the new capital Alfonso fondly calls home. He spent countless late afternoons near his mother, reading beneath palm fronds’ shade or gazing into glittering fountain streams. Mafalda could have convinced him on occasion to climb the stone fencing and balance like cats, though she intrudes in admittedly few of his treasured childhood memories. Instead, it was Zuriñe’s turned back he recalls as a constant presence—her in a hat and pair of gloves, tossing stray rocks and snipping weeds and trickling water upon parched desert flowers.

She is engaged in such work when he finds her. The guards pointed wordlessly in her direction, though the simple fact that she was outdoors was enough to know where. Unlike in his boyhood days, he does not bound down the grand steps feeding into the flanking garden. He takes slow, measured strides instead, delaying with each purposeful footfall his inevitable arrival. In his marrow, he knows he would be—perhaps for the first time ever—no welcome sight. When had he ever been the focus of her ire? This was the sharp downside of endearing himself to her and striving admirably to meet her loft expectations; any failure to reach them is a hard, crushing fall.

Anxiety made a nest for itself in the pit of his stomach as of late, and it curls to strike the nearer he comes to the queen’s kneeling form.

“Mama?”

She makes no response, but Alfonso notices her hands still.

Seconds tick past, slow and painful in the silence. Again, “Mama…?”

Zuriñe sets her watering can on the ground, but Alfonso’s brows knit as he hears a soft sobbing gasp escape her. She rises to her feet, graceful as ever, and turns after another uncomfortable pause. Her gloved hands lift to her cheeks immediately, shielding the emotional expression Alfonso can only glimpse in the motion.  

Realizing she is crying, he lurches forward, exclaiming, “Mama! Why do you weep—”

Her demeanor shifts seamlessly in response. The queen’s anger had always been rapid, quick to ignite, as if there is always a ready tinderbox within her. The emotion twisting her features was an expected anguish, but it morphs now into indignation.

“So impudent! To come to me, now, mewling. Mama!” She spits the word, contorting it in her mockery. Alfonso startles. This version of her is the ferocious beast-woman others aroused at their peril; he could recall only oblique encounters in the scolding of siblings and verbal scourgings of politicians behind closed doors. Alfonso never bore the brunt of her anger alone, and he feels himself collapsing already.

“You have wounded me in such an unspeakable way—” Her finger jabs toward him as her tone grows impassioned and accusatory, “Betrayal festers between us. To have the audacity to come before me now?” Her voice wavers, rising for the question but also as she staves off a feeble sob. This vulnerability briefly tempers the cold outrage of her bare words.

However, the stunning strike that follows leaves Alfonso smarting and perplexed.

“Ow—!” He anticipated she would be upset, and had expected the unfamiliarity to bewilder him, but his misstep’s gravity only now becomes apparent. “This feels unfair,” he interjects. “I’ve come to explain, to apologize!”

 Zuriñe holds up her hand, her finger pointed upward, bidding him to silence. The tears he doubted seeing are apparent now, and she sends them cascading down her cheeks with a slow, purposeful blink. Collecting herself, she draws in a deep breath and exhales.

“You earned my trust,” she intones. “My best son but also a man worthy of pride. There has been no more exemplary a prince.” She clasps her hands as she speaks in a soft, earnest tone. “It would be unreasonable to not grant you the errant misstep, a mistake or a failure of wisdom.” With this concession, she shakes her head. “This is not that: I know you, I see your decisions, and it breaks my heart.”

Now, Alfonso inhales a sharp breath. The confusion plateaus, and in its place settles shock. “This is about Rowena,” he states. His tone is pleading as he insists, “It’s merely a beginning, mama—”

“Precisely.” Zuriñe cuts him off with finality. “You walk to a precipice, dragging the unfathomable weight of this kingdom, of this family, with you. You have no control here,” She pauses to scoff. “Willfully, knowingly. We have given you so much time to grieve, so much grace for having done what you must—was it enough rope to hang yourself, as they say? Let me tell you something else you know: your decisions are yours alone, but the consequences, foreseen and unseen, are not. Rest assured that my memory is long, and my foresight seasoned.”

Her stare is steady as she adds, “You are not my firstborn, Alfonso.” In the lingering quiet of this confounding statement, Zuriñe appears sympathetic. “Uspana is my firstborn, and I will always protect its future.” Her final words are dispassionate, more a suggestion than a warning, “From you, if necessary.”

She turns her back and walks away, stopping to pick up her watering can. Alfonso is left alone. The sun beats hard upon his back, but he feels his face growing warmer. More important than the words she has uttered are the ones unsaid. It’s true that he was not being rash or blindly following his heart; this is a calculated, informed act of risk-taking. Alfonso understands, in a keen fashion that had inspired pride in his likeminded mother, the delicate balance of Uspana in his lifetime. Beneath its thick but fresh façade was a hideous, precarious patchwork with fragile threads. Zuriñe is right to grow incensed and panicked when he reaches to pluck one; she had sewn so many of them herself.

History is not past, and there are signs it hasn’t even caught up to the present.

‘We prevent it from doing so,’ he hears his mother’s voice cautioning.

With a heavy sigh, he murmurs, “Either way, we only hasten it.”

#violence cw #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #ts4 royalty #ts4 historical #sims 4 story #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 royalty #sims 4 historical #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal family #royal sims #sims 4 history #sims 4 royal story #sims 4 royal legacy #ts4 royal simblr #historical sims #ts4 storytelling #reyes.story.post

[passivenovember]

to live for a dream.

--

It arrives wrapped in a brown paper bag during that first week of Spring when the skies had grown swollen and ripe with perpetual rain. It weighs no more than a loaf of bread but inflates, as the rain turns to hail, growing cosmic from its place between his fingers.

Oliver Levy, 3712 Morningside Heights, Harlem, New York, 30814.

Elio dreams of him every night. Always the same, that first full moon they spent here, together, tangled from chest to foot in a blanket of guilt. It doesn't feel quite like that, in his dreams. Not with the light slanting through the French window, brushing the hair back from Oliver's face as he watches. Breathes in the air that leaves Elio's lungs, holding pieces of him inside, until they become something singular. Holy.

When he wakes, Elio dusts the memory from his hands and leaves the tabernacle.

The paper bag crinkles as he traces the black ink return address. It's funny tasting on Elio's lips when he reads it to the darkening gray sky, like a spoonful of cherry-dipped medicine.

3712 Morningside Heights, Harlem, New York, 30814.

So this is where Oliver is hiding. This is the home he's built his shame around.

Elio had once dreamed of a moment like this, just after the train had left the station and long before the chord was sliced between them. Longing, love, packages saved from the rain that whisper I saw this and thought of you. My Elio, my Oliver, I always think of you.

He had been expecting something else. A doused hope that has not fleshed itself out yet, that sits half constructed in the back of his throat, burning a path of disappointment to his lips.

Oliver sent a cassette tape.

Blue, by Joni Mitchell, her ethereal, brightly alien cheeks scratched and cloudy from years of love and reuse, sheltered beneath a plastic case. With his eyes closed, Elio can imagine Oliver's fingers grinding over her well-used edges. Billowy white shirt drenched in ochre street light, somewhere in New York, cooking dinner while she sings softly in the background of love and loss and Northern Stars.

Elio runs his fingers, now, over those edges. Imagines hers are his. That Oliver might take love and use and mark his surfaces again, until he, too, can be passed on as a pitiful, I'm sorry.

Elio imagines the fiance waiting in the next room, her glass of merlot met with a silver band, while Oliver takes him out of his case and plays him well into the night.

Over and over and over again.

I saw this and thought of you.

What does she look like, Elio wonders? Surely, she must be beautiful. Small and flighty, like a bird. Is her hair the color of spun gold or crackling embers from the sabbat pyre? Does she have bright blue eyes, are her cheeks rosy and soft when they make love with the lights turned off, does her heart split like a canyon when Oliver says her name?

Do they bear any resemblance?

Has Oliver cut himself open to remove the scars left behind? Is it too painful? When he looks into her eyes does he remember peaches and bright summer days, a boy with dark curled hair getting on his knees and casting words into stone with his lips, his tongue?

Elio pops the case open and finds a note scrawled on butcher paper, no larger than one of the recipe cards that Mafalda keeps under their own sink in the kitchen.

I was cleaning my apartment and found this. You don't have to forgive me, I wanted you to have it, anyway.

Oliver.

He reads it twice more. Breathes through his nose and wills his hands to stop shaking when, minute by minute, Elio presses the letter and packaging together like two halves of a whole. He tears it in half. And then tears those halves to quarters until, like dirty snow, they lay together on the ground beneath his feet.

--

Two weeks later, just as the door slams against a burst of warming March air, the phone rings.

The house is empty, its inhabitants scattered to the wind in harried preparation for the new student that will arrive in a few months' time. Elio shrugs free of his raincoat and galoshes, not bothering to remove his headphones all the way, even as the receiver sits heavy and cool against the side of his face.

"Saremo dentro e fuori tutto il giorno, posso prendere un messaggio? We'll be in and out all day, can I take a message?"

He's met with silence and then the thick, syrupy sound of someone breathing smoke. "What are you listening to?"

Elio tugs the band from his head, wincing as the metal bar drags against his scalp. "Was it so loud that you could hear it in Manhattan?"

"Harlem." There's a smile, there. Tucked in the folds of his voice. "You were humming when you answered the phone."

Elio filters through a million and one responses. All clever, all pathetic. "Talking heads." He concludes.

Oliver doesn't speak for a moment. "Did you get my package?"

"Yes."

"Have you listened to the tape?"

"Does it matter?" Elio sits, bringing the stand to his lap. "No. I haven't."

"Haven't had the time?"

"Something like that. Haven't wanted to."

Oliver tries to laugh. Sounds like he wants to. Doesn't. "You're upset?"

Elio thinks about hanging up. Holds his finger steady over the button, just in case his voice gives him away. "No."

"So listen to the tape."

"I thought you said you were cleaning out your apartment?" Elio feels it rise in the back of his throat. Venom and timbre that means, you said I didn't have to forgive.

Oliver understands, without having to be let in. "I know what I said. I was wrong, maybe. Spoke too soon."

"Do you want it back? Is that why you called?"

"No, I just." Oliver steadies his voice. Smoothes it over. "No, it's for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, Elio." More smoke. More flames. "I want you to have it. Read about it, maybe. Listen to it."

"If it's mine to keep then it's mine to do with what I please, a destra. Right?"

Oliver sighs. "I suppose--"

"Then if I smash it to pieces and throw it in the river you won't mind?"

Oliver quiets once more. Then, through clouds and rain, "You're upset."

"You're getting married."

"I might be. Maybe--"

Elio doesn't want to talk about it. Can't talk about it, when the phone stand sits like a stone in his belly. "Why is it so important that I listen to your tape?"

From lightyears away, Oliver laughs.

It's genuine. Soft. It makes summer come months too soon. Elio hates it. Craves more. Wants to swallow it down and catch the feeling in his mouth even as Oliver says, "As many hours as I spent listening to you play Bach and Rossini, and Cimarosa, you can't listen to my composers? My greats?"

Elio doesn't understand. "Why does it matter who I listen to, now that I'm alone?"

"Art always matters. Exposure, doorways, and windows into feeling--"

His answering laugh falls wrong in the middle. "Addio Amico Mio, goodbye my friend."

"Elio--"

--

It only happens because he can't sleep. Because the tap-tap-tapping of the rain above gives way to rhythm, collapsing under the past.

call me by your....name....and I'll...call...you by mine.

The storm, in so many ways, ungulates like a gaping wound. Passes and then hits, tossing Elio between the height and the eye of hurricane-force winds. Oliver wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. He wouldn't have asked if there weren’t the spreading ache somewhere in his heart to see it done. He wouldn't have said those things if Elio meant nothing. If they meant nothing, the two of them together.

They wasted so much time.

Had Oliver brought the cassette with him last June? Was he homesick, Elio wonders, searching for bits of America to hold onto in the bright Italian heat. Blue, obviously means a lot to him, with its tranquil cover that looks and probably sounds like rushing streams all pointing toward the same thing.

Loss.

Just before our love got lost, you said I am as constant as a Northern Star--

He only listens to the tape because it would be wrong not to. Like rejecting a call for help, slapping the outstretched hand of a friend until they die, bruised and bloody, on a deserted piazza. The woman's voice knocks something loose inside of him. Takes Elio back to those nights in a trepid summer air and to every night before, too, every night since. Her voice calls to a part of him that had been buried in the attic, laid to rest under a dusty white sheet that would shudder and billow, hiss and spit, whenever another person dared get too close.

Elio cries that night.

For the first time in a long time, he lets himself bleed.

Will you take me as I am, strung out on another man.

California, I'm coming home.

--

Oliver calls again during the first week of April.

"Did you listen to the tape?"

It's become something new for Elio, something he can count on and hold close to his chest. Call me by your name, replaced and eclipsed by, did you listen to it yet? Tell me what you think.

Elio yanks the covers from his legs, reaching into the nightstand for a bag of ragweed. He rolls a small, tight joint, and lights it with one hand. Not missing the way Oliver stops breathing to hear him exhale. "I did."

"And?"

"I liked it." He lays down once more, tucks his feet under the folds of the blanket. "Her voice--"

"I know."

"And the dulcimer. mi ha aperto il cuore nel petto, my heart cracked open in my chest."

"You sound happy."

Elio snorts, balancing the ashtray on his chest. "It's the ragweed, it makes me loosey."

"And goosey," Oliver jokes, smiling again. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I didn't just like it." He says. "I loved it. Everything about it."

I love you.

Oliver listens. Elio imagines him in his sitting room, legs thrown over the edge of the couch as the glittering, gleaming world of New York thrives outside his window. "Me too," Oliver says softly. "So much."

Elio hums. Sucks in a huge lungful of reefer and holds in, chews it, and blows it toward the open window. "I might transpose it."

"What, the album?"

"No, a song." Elio takes another hit, feeling like his joints have started shooting firecrackers into outer space. "A Case of You."

Oliver chuckles. "That so?"

"Yes."

The gentle rustling of a hardback book hitting a table echoes through the phone. Oliver has given his full attention. "What made you choose that one."

"I'm not sure. When I first listened to the record, I thought A Case of You, meant something else. Like being stoned or being stoned, like in the town square. In front of your Rabbi and your mother while the sun beats down. Feeling your bones crumble and detach and plant themselves in the Earth. I thought it meant having a case of the sniffles. A sickness, maybe, of the mind and heart, but. After I listened to it again I knew it meant something else."

"What's it mean?"

Elio sucks on his joint. "She lays it out for you, nice and simple. I could drink a case of you, honey, and still be on my feet."

When he speaks again, Oliver's voice is honey-rough, dropping low into the darkness of night. "Have you ever felt like that before?"

Perhaps it's the reefer, turning his lungs to fairy wings. Or the night, clear and dark and shining with the silvery promise that winter's on the wing. Or maybe it's Oliver himself. His voice, rumbling so low in Elio's ear that it travels down his body, like shockwaves after a disaster. Whatever the cause, Elio speaks.

"Only once," He says, Rome on his tongue. "A long time ago."

They fall silent, after that. Reading and smoking in each other's company. Elio has to stop his mind from wandering to the fiance. The thief, who lays asleep in the bed Oliver has deserted to walk the weary roads of the past.

It must be late, in America. Just before dawn, or maybe just after.

Either way, Oliver's book hits the table far too loud for both their tastes and sighs. Long and slow, as if in pain.

"What's wrong?" Elio asks, just as the past swallows him whole.

"Would it be alright if I sent another tape?"

#eliver #call me by my name #oliver/elio #oliver x elio #hi I'm new here #I generally write for stranger things #specifically harringrove #but i was exposed to this new piece of media and naturally I'm obsessed

[sunnyie-eve]

33 | Saving Your Ass

Series: Misunderstood

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Torture 

"I still think your part of the plan is stupid." Hermione tells me as she gets their polyjuice potion ready. "Well there is no one else for me. Plus I'm in so much trouble already." I tell her as I lean up against the wall. "Could use my invisibility cloak." Harry looks over at me. "No, I have to do it my way or I'll get in even more trouble. They run the Ministry now and know me so if I how up it will look like I didn't run and hide." I explain to them before Harry goes to help Ron. They prop her up between the other two unconscious wizards. "Right. So let's do it. Who gets who?" Ron asks. "Well, unless one of you fancies wearing a skirt." Hermione leans down plucking a hair from the witch.

"Remember what we said. Keep your eyes down. Don't speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary. Act as normal as possible. Just do what you see everyone else doing. We do that -- and with a bit of luck -- we get ourselves inside. And then..." Hermione hands them there cups. "It gets really tricky." Harry tells her. "Correct." Harry and Hermione look once more at the stunned trio before them. "This is completely mental." Harry speaks again. "Completely, utterly, without question" Hermione tells him. "The world's mental. Come on, drink up. We've got a Horcrux to find. " Ron tells them as they take a drink.

"In case you're interested, I'm Reg Cattermole, Magical Maintenance Department." Ron says looking at who he was. "Mafalda Hopkirk, assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office." Hermione looks at hers. "I'm nobody." Harry pats his pockets. "You're a somebody who's very high ranking, Albert Runcorn, an investigator of alleged muggle borns. You basically lead them to their arrest and imprisonment." I explain to him as we walk the street towards the bathrooms to get in.

Once inside me and Hermione look at the statue of muggles all twisted in pain. "This is terrible." I whisper to her. "Are those...?" Harry joins us. "Muggles. In their rightful place." Hermione tells him. "I gotta tell you, I'm starting to freak out a bit." Ron joins us. Just then, a gang of young, rough looking wizards, led by their leader, Scabior, enter the Atrium, pushing along a small group of captives. "The Ministry must be hiring young these days." Harry says watching them. "They're not Ministry. They're Snatchers. They hunt Muggle-borns and blood-traitors for a price." I let him know. "How long did you say this batch of Polyjuice Potion would last, Hermione?" Harry turns to her. "I didn't." She says before we head to the elevator.

"Cattlemole!" Yaxley stops us as we all get in. "Miss Madeline, what are you doing here? I heard you have been gone." He eyes me. "Albert, saw me walking on the streets as I came looking for you actually... He told me to follow him till we found you because I think I know where Potter is. After the wedding I sorta lost them but I think I found them and what they are planning." I stay calm with my breathing. "It's still raining in my office. Two days now." He looks at Ron. "Really? Have you tried an umbrella?" Yaxley eyes Ron curiously, then leans forward menacingly. "You do realize I'm on my way downstairs, don't you, Cattermole?" He keeps his eyes on him. "Downstairs...?" Ron says.

"To interrogate your wife! If my wife's blood status were in doubt and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I think I'd make it a priority. You've got one hour. Madeline, come with me now. We'd started to think you were crossing us." He puts his arm out motioning for me to get out so I do. "Tell me." He says as we get in another elevator going down. "Potter, is looking for Horcruxes and they aren't staying in one place they keep bouncing around hiding." I tell him holding on so I can keep my balance. "You're lucky that the dark lord told us not to go looking for you because he trusts you." He looks back at me as the doors open.

We walk into a dark like cathedral, possessed of a palpable chill. The ceiling stretches high, disappears in darkness of Dementors floating. As we take a seat Unbridge comes in with Hermione before a woman is placed in the chair in the middle of the room. Hermione was sitting with a stack of parchment behind a balustrade alongside Umbridge, Yaxley, and me while Umbridge's Patronus sits next to her.

"Reg..." The woman look over at the doorway. Ron moves to the center of the room, taking his place behind the woman. Hesitating, he places his hands gently upon her shoulders, then glances up, seeing Hermione and me watching him. "Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?" Umbridge says her full name making her say yes. "Mother to Maisie, Ellie and Alfred? Wife to Reginald?" Mary looks up to Ron, her eyes glistening with fear. He smiles reassuringly. She looks away and replies yes.

"A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole. Is this that wand?" Umbridge displays a wand and Mary Cattermole nods. "Would you please tell the court from which witch or wizard you took this wand." She asks the poor woman. "But I didn't take it. I got it in Diagon Alley, at Ollivander's, when I was eleven. It chose me." Umbridge leans forward, teeth glittering as the cat slinks by and briefly illuminates her face and the chain at her neck danglings showing the locket.

"No, no, I don't think so, wands only choose witches. And you are not a witch." Umbridge says making me want to pull her head off. "But I am! Tell them, Reg! Tell them what I am!" Mary begs to Ron as I see Harry pull his wand out. "What on earth are you doing Albert?" As Harry speaks, his own face ripples through Runcorn's, the Polyjuice Potion was wearing off. "You're lying Dolores. And one mustn't tell lies... Stupefy!" Harry throws a spell at her.

A flash light hits Umbridge and she slumps. Yaxley draws his wand making me duck as Ron takes him out with a single blast. Hermione strips the locket from Umbridge's neck and leaps down as I rush over to them, "Grab your wife." I tell Ron as she says Harry's name. We run down the hall to the elevator as the Dementors follow us. As we get in they start to suck on our souls before Harry gets rid of them.

As the four of us, along with Mary Cattermole, pelts into the atrium slowly walking toward the fireplaces. "Keep your head down. If they see you..." I whisper to him before we turn back to see Ron talking to Mary. Mary takes him by the collar, pulls him into a deep kiss as Ron transforms back into himself. "Mary." All eyes turn to the real Reg Cattermole. "It's Harry Potter...? Harry Potter." A wizard says making more call his name.

"Run!" I tell the three as I run with them throwing spells to knock the men down then make the papers fly. "Seal the exits! Now!" Yaxley shouts. "Good luck guys." I stop running making Harry yell what am I doing. "Saving your ass." I yell making Harry, Ron and Hermione glance at each other, breaking for the fireplaces. "Expelliarmus!" I disarm Yaxley right before another wizard hits me with a spell sending me against the wall.

~

"You're a brave little girl for doing what you did." Scabior says as he holds onto my arm as we walk. "For what part?" I laugh. "For crossing our side." I nod my head, "I had my reason... How else will I still get Potter to trust me so I can gave what they are up to?" I glance at him making him stay quite. As we arrive at the Malfoy Manor Bellatrix was waiting outside for me, "Look who's back and is in big trouble." She smiles taking me by my arm dragging me with her. "Do I get to explain why I did what I did?" I ask making her turn to face me as we get inside. Before she could respond Narcissa speaks up, "Yes, you get to." Bellatrix glares at her sister. "She has the right to." She tells her sister as Lucius walks up to his wife.

"How else will I still get Potter to trust me so I can tell what they are up to? I will say that I didn't know that it was them at first till the potion wore off. Who I thought was the real Albert, saw me walking on the streets as I was looking for Yaxley. Albert told me to follow him till we found Yaxley because I think I knew where Potter was." I lie trying to make it believable. "You still helped Potter get away when we could have stopped him. You also haven't checked in with anyone for a long time. Death Eaters saw you flee with Potter at the wedding." Bellatrix takes my wand from me and I try to think of something since I lied earlier saying I lost them. "Okay, that part I may have lied to Yaxley about..." I had nothing else to say making Bellatrix backhand me across the face.

"Bella." Narcissa gasps as I keep my head turned to the side. "Cissy, she will deal with the punishments for running away." Bellatrix grabs my hair dragging me away and I hold back my tears. As she drags me into one of the empty rooms, like the living room , She throws me down making my head bounce off the floor. "Now you tell me the truth about everything." She demands. "I told you the truth." I look her in the eyes causing her to bend down pulling my head back, "You're lying." She pulls out her dagger. "I'm going to ask you once again." She places the blade on my neck. "I'm going to tell you once again, I told you the truth." She puts pressure on the blade then slowly cuts me. "You said you lost them yet you left with them." She slams my face against the floor.

"I left with them but I lost them as we ran on the streets of London. After some time I followed small things that showed where they went." I lie making her kick me in the side then my head making me wrap my arms around my head. "Liar! You can't deceive me!" She grabs my left arm pinning it down pulling out her dagger again. "I'm not lying." I finally start to cry. "There's the tears I wanted. How about more so you will spill everything?" She slowly carves into my arm making me scream in pain. "Still not talking?" She carves deeper over what she just did only making me cry out more. "Do you wanna join your mother?" She grabs my face before slamming my head down hitting the floor. "You're making this very fun, Crucio. " She laughs as I let out an agonizing scream.

I don't even know how long she keeps this going. She never gave me a long enough break to say anything. "Tomorrow same time?" She leaves the room as I just lay on the floor in pain. I start to cry happy tears because I got a long enough break to experience no pain. As I lay there I hear footsteps but I couldn't move to see who it was till they bend down in front of me. "Go to your room and rest up." Lucius tells me making me laugh, "Leave me here." My voice was hoarse from screaming. "Maddy dear, come on." Narcissa comes in front of me putting her hands out. I shake my head beaus I was still in too much pain to move or talk. "Get Draco to come help move her." She tells her husband. "No." I cry not wanting him to see me like this.

"Leave her there. Till she speaks up and tells us everything she will stay in here. Along with no meals too. Cissy, I mean it." Bellatrix comes back into the room making me slowly push myself to sit up. "I didn't hurt her that bad, see." She laughs skipping away. Narcissa grabs my bad arm making me cry. "Oh, my... We need to clean that." She ignores the blood on her hand from when she grabbed my arm. "Don't please." I whisper a she opens her mouth to speak to me as she cleans my arm. She nods her head finishing up, "Rest up." She kisses the top of my head before leaving me. "She's not to come out and no one is to go in." I hear Bellatrix outside the door locking it.

#harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #dolores umbridge #bellatrix lestrange #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy #malfoy family

[frcsca]

Elio

derived from the older generations of elio's that have passed and have breathe the same air, stepped on the same filthy soil, but no elio have done it as you have, no elio have been more elio as you have. I want that very same name to be replace by my own, imprinted on my birth certificate, on my skin, in my brain and in my heart. Every fiber of my body have been screaming nothing but elio. His name, your name, Every. Second.

i don't think i ever told you the meaning behind the words i uttered that midnight, i never did for I wasn't sure what it clearly meant. from your stupendous parents, your small italian town, your friends, your house, your room, your intellect, your life. You are the luckiest kid in the world. The luckiest! And i envy that. I on the other hand wasn't fortunate enough to be the same. To have the same name, same parents, same life. Or at least we could both share your body, it would almost work. I could be like a co-pilot, flying the same airplane.

When i submitted my application I wasn't quite sure if an italian summer job was my to-go at that moment. It was no one's concern that i'll be gone for 6 weeks anyways, my father — as he always does — disagrees and thought i've lost my mind, and for my mother, she didn't care, she never did, not in a i'll-accept-you-for-who-you-chose-to-be kind of way, just the plain carelessness like those who just committed a hit and run.

When I arrived at your house, just looking at the sea, tasting the summer air, the wind from the trees, knowing that i'll have a great time here, i had the urge to not leave and just stay here for as long as i can possibly want, i, like a sky diver who lifts their arms up as the wind blows away their face because for once i felt free. When i saw you i felt like picking up my bag, telling all of you i resigned and fly my ass back to columbia. I'd stay there the rest of my life if i had to.

The minute you picked up my bag i felt like dog commanding a trick, like a simple snap of your fingers and your wish is my command.

I have nothing to left say to his face, and I don't have the words to end our little chit-chat but to lay down and pretend i never knew his existence, i managed to stay like that until the next day, i felt bad for skipping diner that night i really do, i have no other choice but to lay there all day, let them think i am the kind of person who had the worsts jet lags.

i even heard my father —in his own voice— saying: Lay there oliver, don't move a muscle until you figured out what is this that's keeping you from getting up. Stay there for the rest of the weeks if you have to.

...

At breakfast i suddenly developed a deep hatred for eggs, “The fucking eggs” i always thought upon remembering my first day with the perlmans, I felt so embarrassed that I swore i'd never again crack, or peel or eat an egg after i left italy. When I attempt to crack my first soft boiled egg, i completely destroyed it, they all saw, elio saw for sure. Great thing mafalda was there who was kind enough to show me how to properly do it, i just never learned how, and i intend to never learn how. i remember saying about opening a bank account and elio said that he will acquaint me and i just thought great, at that time i don't want to be around him, for every time that i am with him i am confused and I don't know what i'm confusing about, the kid that i wanted to isolate myself from ends up taking me, just the two of us, around italy. This is great, i keep reminding myself, it will be great as long as you keep being good. We traveled around B by bike, showed me the train tracks, i remember asking about the gypsies. and in there i think i uttered my first "later!", at first i thought he didn't mind.

"Later!" because i have no idea what's happening and the more you talk, the more i get confused.

"Later!" because it's my only way, the only way i know to stop this queries that i shouldn't be asking the first place.

"Later!" because doing it now would be too much for me to handle.

"Later!" for i am only protecting myself.

it's cowardice wrapped inside a "cool" dude attitude

"Later!" because doing it now will only hurt me, i know. and I don't want to get hurt i wanted to be good.

Coming out clean is not what i feared, it's about knowing where this will all lead us, i know the consequences, and i'm not —at all— prepared for that and i never was, i never knew how. Later! because i never knew now. Later! for i really hoped that there was a ‘later’, but there’s no later’s for us just ‘now’. not even going back, all we have is now.

Maybe in your place all you know and could do is now, and i don't blame you if you can't understand, in fact i envy you, as i have always been the entire time.

#randomly found this in my notes back in 2018 when i was inspired lol #this is in oliver’s pov #i thought i’d share #call me by your name #cmbyn #oliver #this movie/book is v controversial but this book rlly helped me a lot in terms of bisexuality n shit i agree there are other books and films #for me about this topic but this one is where i come in to terms w myself #it helped me realized wow im not the only one #so yeah i just thought i’d share it cuz i miss writing and now im not writing as usual and i rlly miss that #this is one of my writings where i poured all of my feelings n really #connected with oliver’s character and tell his story through my pov

[soulscatter]

@prlman:

They’d both been flirting with this possibility for the last few days, Elio knew, and while a part of him never expected it to happen – well, perhaps that showed just how naive he really was. The tension’s been growing, building within Elio’s bones, and threatening to choke him with the intensity boiling in his blood. How could they ever expect to really, truly, resist one another? When their attraction hasn’t diminished even in all the time they’ve been apart?

There’s not even a moment when Elio thinks of not reciprocating. When his back hits the wall he reaches up to grab onto Oliver’s shoulders, then hair, and kisses him back with reckless abandon. It doesn’t matter that Oliver’s married – there’s no control in this for either of them. He’s tempted to jump up and wrap his legs around the man’s waist, but refrains, and kisses him like he’s wanted to since he left.

                                THEIR BODIES react to one another like they haven’t been apart a day, much less years. they kiss and it’s like it’s once again 1984. he swears he can almost smell the peaches in the air and mafalda’s cooking wafting from the kitchen. he presses elio’s body closer to the wall and therefore closer to himself, hands grasping and breath coming in strangled gasps. 

                                oliver is under no delusions of how wrong this is. there’s no denying that this is a terrible thing they’re both doing, but oliver would also being lying to himself if he said he’d ever stopped loving elio. which maybe, somehow, makes this even worse, even CRUELER to everyone. but it doesn’t matter, not now, not yet, because he has elio here, under his hands, mouth pressed against his own, and it’s the most right he’s felt in years, since italy. 

                                       ❝ oliver, ❞ he gasps into his mouth, a shudder going down his spine at just his own utterance, as if invoking a spell long lost to time. 

#[ o. para ] #prlman #ˡⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵖᵃʳᵃˡˡᵉˡ ˡⁱᶠᵉ [ o . 0 0 2 ]

[lilyoffandoms]

Are Trystan and Gabriel gonna celebrate Thanksgiving this year?

CoP & LoA Crossover Drabble - Trystan x Gabriel, Aislinn x Lex x Gabe

Warnings and A/N: No warnings. Sorry I didn’t get to this sooner. But here is a little drabble. And thanks to @noesapphic for letting me steal her lovely idea about LoA MC and CoP MC being cousins.

“Okay, table’s set. Wine’s chilled. Food is ready. What am I forgetting?” Trystan asked looking around.

“You are being weird. Why are you being weird?” Gabriel asked from their spot on the kitchen counter.

“I’m not being weird. You are.”

Gabriel only raised a skeptical eyebrow at them before hoping of the counter and stopping them from fussing with anything more.

“What is wrong?” Gabriel asked while taking Trystan’s face between their hands. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were nervous.”

“Maybe a little. This is the first thanksgiving I’ve ever had and it’s the first one with our friends, Mafalda’s family, my family - well Mags- and your family including your best friend slash cousin. So yeah of course I’m worried.”

“Trystan,” Gabriel laughed, “you’re thinking way too much about this. It’s going to be fine.”

“Since when are you the sensible one in the relationship?” Trystan teased into a soft kiss.

“Since always,” Gabriel chuckled.

Both breaking apart as the door bell rang and then the door opened to a cacophony of sound.

“I let us in,” Mags grinned as Mafalda and her family and Tommy and company flowed in around her. Well wishes and greetings and hugs abound. Mafalda held a bottle out to Trystan as Luke walked in and snatched it.

“Thank you,” he said and marched his way to the kitchen.

Ruby shut the door and gave both a hug as the crowd moved towards the main living area of the penthouse.

“See, no problem,” Gabriel smiled and patted Trystan’s cheek as they took and armload of coats to the closet.

“That should be Lex” Gabriel called out as the bell rang again.

Trystan pulled his shirt and jacket tight, taking a deep breath, before throwing open the door with a smile that dropped at the familiar face looking back at him.

“Gabe?” Trystan said confused.

“Trystan?” Gabe said just as confused.

“What are you doing here? On Thanksgiving?”

“I was- well I mean we were invited,” he nodded to the man and woman standing beside him.

“Aislinn,” the woman smiled and shook Trystan’s hand.

“Lex,” the man then introduced himself and shook Trystan’s hand. “We met a few times in passing at the office I believe. And Gabriel’s told me plenty. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“Lex! You all made it,” Gabriel smiled now beside Trystan.

“Gabriel!” Lex grinned and pulled them into a tight hug.

“Gabriel, this is Aislinn and this is Gabe.”

“Nice to finally meet you both,” Gabriel said and shook their hands before turning to Trystan. “This is Trystan.”

“Pleasure,” Gabe said professionally.

“Yeah likewise,” Trystan mumbled awkwardly.

“Why do you look like a deer in head- Oh my god! You know them, don’t you?”

“What? No. Well yeah now I do that introductions have been made,” Trystan tried to recover.

“How long have you been his lawyer?” Gabriel turned and asked Gabe who only smiled and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Trystan. Gabe’s the model of professionalism,” Lex laughed with a wink and looped his hand into Trystan’s arm. “Let’s get you a drink. Looks like you could use it.”

“We can go if-“ Gabe started to say.

“Ricci,” Lex called back to him laughing, “don’t even think of trying to duck out of this dinner.”

“I won’t let him, don’t you worry,” Aislinn smiled and looped her arm through Gabe’s to keep him in place.

“Looks like you and Trystan are stuck with us,” Gabriel smiled.

“Can’t say I mind,” Aislinn grinned. “Do we Gabe?”

“Not at all,” his smile was all professionalism. “Shall we rescue your partner from Lex?” he ask Gabriel.

“Nah, let’s give it a bit. It will be good for him. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of ‘em.”

——————————

All Choices Tag: @storyofmychoices @aallotarenunelma @inlocusmads

#my drabble #ask #anon ask #aislinn x lex x gabe #trystan x gabriel #choices cop #choices loa

[ladyhallen]

Torment (Red String Chapter 78)

Warnings: Torture, Blood, Gore, Allusions to Cooking people (is there even a tag for this?)

.

.

Reborn had been so furiously angry when he worked out what happened to Hyacinth.

Now, he has had thirty-six hours to think about it. He’s not calmer, oh no. The red-hot rage is simmering, and now it’s almost like all of him is seething.

The last time he’d ever felt like this, he’d caused an all out war and he still doesn’t remember why he’s banned from Palermo. Most of that week is under a red haze.

“I want to kill him slowly,” Reborn murmurs. “But I also want to leave a witness. Messing with Hyacinth...how dare he.”

Skull’s already purple eyes had been glowing, inner flames coming out. He may be a carefree Cloud, but he’s pretty much territorial too.

“Let Viper take a video,” Skull suggests. “You and Fon can maim him, I’ll keep him alive. He shouldn’t die of something as mundane as blood loss.”

Fon’s smile is bloodthirsty, making his resemblance to Hibari more remarkable.

“That is an excellent idea, Skull,” Fon says, tone as gentle as always. This is why Reborn has trust issues with reading Fon’s moods.

“I’ll record that video for free,” Viper says, which is astounding all by itself.

Reborn doesn’t keep knives on his person, but he knows Viper does. Filleting a person and letting them eat their perfectly barbecued flesh is something he’s always wanted to try. He saw a few stray dogs wandering around and they’re always hungry for meat no matter where it came from.

Sadly, he’s on a time constraint. He’d promised Hyacinth he’d only be gone for two days. He’d wasted a day looking for de Luca. Still, there’s a lot he can do with twenty-four hours.

.

.

Frederico de Luca is a man living on borrowed time, and he does not know it.

He flirts with women and continues on living his life as a worthless piece of vermin and does not understand that no; he is not charming but actually very sleazy. And that he is not subtle but very much like an oblivious bull in a china-shop.

It’s amazing what denial and self-delusion can do to a man, and Frederico has that in spades.

He does not know his contacts are going under, one by one and that no one is trying to save him, or even warn him.

Except Mafalda Rossi.

“Fede,” Mafalda says, voice rough over the phone. “You have to go. I fucked up. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

For a few moments, he has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.

“Mafalda,” he says. “Love, are you talking about Vongola? They’re not a problem. They have absolutely no idea. I’m still clean.”

There’s a shaky breath, then a hysterical laugh. “You think it’s Vongola that found out? No. It’s worse than that. I’ve got to go.”

What was worse than the Vongola?

He doesn’t have time to think of the answer because it’s about that time that the door to the bar opens and four people walk in.

He wants to run but his knees go weak and he muffles a whimper.

Yes, they are worse than the Vongola.

.

.

“We don’t want to kill you too fast,” Reborn informs the vermin hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

“Please, I’m sorry,” de Luca sobs unashamedly the moment he’d recovered from what Viper did to make him sleep. “What did I do? I’m sorry.”

Reborn goes still, then he yanks him forward, not minding his strength in the least. “Do you mean to say you sold out news of a pregnant Sky on accident? Hmm? Did you? de Luca, I have no idea if you’re extremely lucky or extremely unlucky. Probably a combination of both.”

de Luca cries silently, finally understanding he’d crossed the line that all mafiosos never cross.

“I’ll start with his back, Reborn can have the rest of him.” Fon says calmly, that unnerving smile still there. “Viper, do you have a knife?”

Reborn wants to pout, but the sight of the snivelling man has already soothed the savage anger in him.

“Of course, ” Viper nods, tossing over a small but wickedly sharp stiletto knife. “Don’t get blood on the handle.”

Fon, being a professional and having worked with the Triads for years, does it cleanly and quickly. The blood splatter is cleverly disguised by the red silk he’s wearing.

Really, if Reborn didn’t like Fon so much, he would absolutely not trust the man to watch his back. Men who smiled while carving a picture on someone’s back are on another level.

Skull, who had been pretty quiet so far, huffs and lets out a wisp of Cloud Flames, connecting it to the ring he’d slipped on the vermin earlier.

“Honestly,” Skull mutters. “Just because I said I’d keep an eye on the blood levels doesn’t mean you shouldn’t avoid the major arteries.”

Fon laughs, which. Hmm. What does Fon do for the Triads?

“Reborn, he fainted,” Viper says irritably.

Reborn directs a jolt of Sun Flames, enough for an adrenaline rush but not enough to heal him. The man wakes up and cries again, weak little whimpers that cooled the anger in him. The memory of Hyacinth’s trembling fingers fans it back to a roaring flame though. He will never forgive this man.

“Please, I’m sorry,” he sobs. “Please.”

Reborn tilts his head to the side. “Any of you know how to make him stop talking? He can still scream if we do that, right?”

Fon laughs again, moving to stand beside Reborn. “Put your Flames on his throat, I’ll take care of his tongue.”

The Storm Flames coating his fingers tell Reborn how he’s going to remove it. He has no qualms on how painful it would be. Burning tongues away is a novel way to do it though. He takes note of it.

.

.

The video rockets its way to infamy.

Frederico de Luca’s body is found in a bathtub, chains weighing him down, covered in honey and surrounded by flies that slowly eat him as he rots alive. Not that he has long when they find him. His lungs punctured by micro-thin needles ensure that he’s slowly drowning in his own blood.

It’s a slow and painful death.

Everyone knows who killed him, even without the video.

There’s a chameleon with a pacifier around its neck carved on the man’s back in exquisite detail.

.

.

“Love, everything alright?” Hyacinth asks, harvesting sunflower seeds carefully.

The four Arcobaleno lounge about. Viper is making notes, Fon is sleeping, Skull is eating his body weight in homemade pizza and Reborn is cuddling Teddy.

“It’s perfect,” he smiles at her. “That leak you found earlier is fixed. We spent all day plugging it.”

Hyacinth blinks, before finding herself caught up in a hug.

“Reborn,” Teddy says. “Haya pruned the fruit trees the normal way.”

Reborn ran a glowing yellow hand over her body in response. “The normal way being no magic, am I right?”

Hyacinth nods. “We’ve got a surplus of fruits now. Do you want it turned into wine or jam?”

“Why not both?” he says. “I didn’t know you knew how to make wine.”

She gives him a look. “I’m going to marry you. I mean, we’re magically married. How can I not know how to make wine when you buy three bottles every month?”

His heart swells. He loves this woman so much.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, sadly.

Teddy, still on his shoulders, kisses his head in comfort.

“Stop that non-sense, you’re perfect for me,” she corrects him. “So. Strawberry Jam and Orange Wine?”

Reborn laughs.

#fanfiction #harry potter #reborn #gore #torture #fon #skull #viper #teddy lupin #katekyou hitman reborn #hpxkhr #hpxreborn #crossover #genderbend #au #fanfiction: red string

[imagineaworlds]

Marco Polo (epilogue)

carequest(s): “can i request a elio x reader x oliver maybe?” “Omg i loved the cmbyn poly one. Can you do one where all three go to the vacation place (i forgot the name) and maybe later say goodbye to Oliver in the train part? sorry for my english, its my second language”

summary: just another summer with one of mr. perlman’s summer interns. but it’s not so normal.

pairing: elio perlman x reader x oliver (poly triad)

word count: 1,438

warnings: cursing. angst.

listen to: visions of gideon by sufjan stevens (from the cmbyn soundtrack)

(1) - (2) - epilogue

Early August was when I said goodbye to my best friend since I was little, and one of my lovers of late. Elio and I were surrounded by our parents as we hugged and cried into each other’s shoulder. Losing Oliver was hard enough, but I had Elio there after, but with Elio gone, I was alone.

Before he left, and with his parents on the train calling after him, I whispered, “Marco.”

Elio laughed through a small sob, “Polo. Even across the ocean, I’ll always respond.”

“We’ll always find each other.” Elio smirked as he kissed my forehead. “Ciao, bello,” I smiled up at him.

“Ciao, bella.” He grabbed his bags and joined his parents on the train. I turned to my mom, and she held me as we waved goodbye to the Perlman's.

That was over four months ago. The snow started falling in mid-November, and started sticking around the end of the month. As Christmas was approaching, I grew more excited about seeing Elio again, but I knew that Oliver wouldn’t be coming. Maybe that’s what hurt the most… the aftermath of missing someone so much. It stays with you, day and night, in every thought and every dream. Every movement you make causes you to wonder if they were doing the same thing, and if not, what were they doing?

For months, those thoughts consumed me, but more about Oliver, knowing that I may very well have never seen him again. Elio… Elio I knew would come back to me. So, even in the cold, I begged my mom and dad to take me to the station to greet the Perlman’s. I could hardly contain myself as I saw Elio’s nose pressed against the window to look for me. When he saw me, he bloated his cheeks and crossed his eyes to make me laugh. It worked.

Before the train came a screeching halt, Elio was already at the door, waiting to get off. Once the train was stopped, Elio opened the door and jumped out, and he ran to me. We collided in a tight embrace. “Mi sei mancata,” [I missed you.] we said to each other at the same time, and we laughed. Behind me, my parents were saying hello to Elio’s parents.

We pulled slightly from our hug so we could look each other in the eyes, but we were still embraced. “Marco,” I said as I brushed a curl out of his face. He had grown out his hair since the summer, so now it was longer and softer.

In that moment, Elio looked like he wanted nothing else but to kiss me, but alas, he kissed both of my cheeks instead. It wasn’t time for anyone to know about us yet. “Polo,” he whispered in my ear. “Mi hai trovato.” [You found me.]

“Non vieni con noi per cena?” [Won’t you join us for dinner?] Mrs. Perlman asked my family.

“Ci piacerebbe,” [We would love to.] my mom said.

“Venire.” [Come.]

At the Perlman’s house, my mother and Mafalda were in the kitchen, while Mr. and Mrs. Perlman were in their study. Elio invited me up to his room to help him “unpack”, but the second we were alone, Elio had me pinned against the wall and he was showering me with kisses. “È stata una tortura senza di te,” [It was torture without you.] he kept repeating, and his hands tickling me.

His hands then trailed lower. “Stiamo per essere scoperti, Elio.” [We’re going to get caught, Elio.]

Elio nuzzled his head in the crook of my neck. “He hasn’t called. I haven’t heard from him once. Did he call you?” I shook my head. “Does he hate us?” I shook my head again. “I feel as though he does…”

I didn’t know how to respond, so instead I said, “I should go downstairs. I promised my mom I would help them make latkes.” I kissed his lips one more time before leaving him in his room.

In the kitchen, Mafalda was making a salad, my mother was cutting and shredding the potatoes for me to fry. We gossiped about whatever we wanted, and laughed at each other’s comments, and scolded others. Dinner was about ready, the latkes nearly done when the phone rang. As it was not our house, neither myself or my mom thought about answering it. Elio yelled that he would take it.

We went about our business as Elio talked on the phone, and then I heard the Perlman’s join the call. My attention was caught when I heard them cheering Oliver’s name. I looked to my mom, who told me to go and she would take care of the rest. I wiped my hands clean on my apron before walking to where Elio was on the phone.

“They know about us,” he said into the phone before I could reveal myself from around the corner. I decided to stay hidden. “How?” My heart was racing in my chest. What was Oliver saying? Why was he calling now, and why did Elio look upset? Elio took a deep breath, “I have to go.” And he quickly hung up. As much as I wanted to talk to Oliver, something he said made Elio clearly upset, and he swiped away a tear that ran down his cheek. Before I could walk to him to ask what was wrong, he got up and went into the dining room. I quietly followed him, and watched as he sat in front of the warm fireplace, ablaze with crackling flames.

As I approached him, Elio tucked his knees close to his chest, and put his face in his hands. “Cosa ha detto Oliver?” [What did Oliver say?] I asked quietly, trying not to disturb him.

Elio, still hiding in his hands, said, “È fidanzato. Ad una donna americana. Qualcuno che ha visto e spento per due anni, ha detto.” [He's engaged. To an American woman. Someone he's been seeing on and off for two years, he said.]

Suddenly, my limbs went numb, and my heart fell to my stomach. And for a moment, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and the world was spinning around me. Every memory, happy and sad came rushing back to me, only making things worse… And I couldn’t say a word. I just broke into tears. We had given so much of ourselves to Oliver, we both loved him, and we were waiting for him… then he was gone. The pieces of ourselves that we gave away weren’t coming back, and without it how could we move on. I hid my red face and teary eyes in Elio’s side, and he adjusted to hold me close to him.

We both cried, but tried to stay silent as to not worry our parents who were likely listening in the next room. “They know.” Elio sobbed. “Both of our parents know about us and Oliver.” In just a few minutes, everything was falling apart, and I didn’t know how I would survive it. Maybe it was a good thing Oliver hadn’t called until we were together. If I heard the news alone, I might have died from a broken heart then and there. But there was Elio, there to console me, and I there to console him. “The worst part…” Elio croaked as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “He called me Oliver… which means he… lui mi ama ancora.” [he still loves me.]

With the snow falling outside, and the table set for dinner, we were supposed to sit around a full table with our families, and put on a good face, but we couldn’t. Mrs. Perlman was the first to come to us, and she saw how close and distraught we were. She said, “Oh, miei amori,” [Oh, my loves.] she cupped Elio’s chin. “Aller. Allez en haut ... rejoignez-nous quand vous le pouvez.” [Go. Go upstairs… join us when you can.] As Elio helped me off the ground, Mrs. Perlman looked at us with sad eyes, “Farà male. Forse per un tempo molto lungo ... ma ricorda, anche lui sta male. Sappi che siamo qui per te e ti amiamo entrambi molto.” [It will hurt. Perhaps for a very long time... but remember, he is hurting, too. Know that we are here for you, and we love you both very much.]

Stay silent and die in pain, or speak out and live in happiness. That’s what she always said… but that day it felt like speaking out meant living in pain. And I didn’t know when I would find my voice again.

cmbyn family: @peggy1999 @blu3-wine​

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