I miss you guys like sugar. Damn stupid freaking laptop. I’m working on getting it fixed till I can get a brand spanking new one with all the works.
22. Black. Female. Jamaican, New Yorker. Multi-Fandom Future Director. Biromantic Lesbian. History and Trivia Buff. Lover of all things Corny and Bad when it comes to Jokes. That's it. That's my blog.
I miss you guys like sugar. Damn stupid freaking laptop. I’m working on getting it fixed till I can get a brand spanking new one with all the works.
Reblogged from wolferose
WELL, that took me a while to write! When I first sat down to write this I realized that I had no fucking clue about how the Mafia works or about Italian culture. Rest assured lovelies, I did my research! Instead of my homework… Eh, summer school can wait! Chapter 1 of who knows how fucking many. Enjoy!
What is a mafia? Groups of people performing criminal deeds for the sake of money? … Yes and no. Famous gangs come and go, but the Mafia is eternal. Kept to this very day by how deeply it has ingrained itself into the soil of Sicilian culture. Fear, admiration, and perhaps even pride, are what keep the people of Sicily under the Mafia’s powerful grip. And it’s not about to let go either.
If you wanted to do business or negotiate with the Mafia you could never find them, but, it is rumored that they could always find you. Locals claim that their numbers have expanded, so much so that simply whispering of the Mafia in public could place you on their watch list.
There are many rumors, claims and tales of the deadly men and women of honour, and any number of them could be true, but only a mystery knows itself.
Dark clouds fat with moisture hid the sun from view and chilled atmosphere greatly. A man dressed in a black business suit with dark slicked back hair carried a leather briefcase. Interestingly enough, the clouds began to spill their load onto the nocturnal world as said man entered the city with quiet, evenly paced steps. None of the citizens paid him any attention as they focused on finding shelter in the nearby plaza shops. He darted into one of the old narrow alleyways with swiftness of a bird. His movements were graceful and his demeanor haughty, a prideful man all in all.
He frowned as he noticed four brutish men that seemed to be celebrating a victory. One of the ugly bastards held a manilla file in his meaty grip and Diaval knew it was the file he sought. Taking cautious steps in the shadows, the slender man coiled himself for a quick getaway and charged the man with steps of thunder. The large man flinched as Diaval predicted and with a twist of his body, he dodged around the man expertly, he thrust out a gloved hand and snatched the file as he used the adjacent wall to flip and kick off of. He fell far from the group and hit the ground running through the muddy plaza. The men scrambled about like headless geese and yelled obscene things at Diaval’s retreating form, they didn’t dare follow in such weather.
Diaval stuffed the weighty file into his briefcase and slowed his sprint to a speed walk as he exited the plaza and made his way through the suburban area. He smirked proudly to himself for accomplishing the task Godmother had sent him on, it had been too long since the last time he got to stretch his old bones. It was a shame Madrina had prohibited him from killing anyone on his little outing he mused, but the Godmother was known for being such a cryptic person. It mattered not for he had done what she requested, flawlessly, he might add.
For his amazing performance, Diaval felt it justified that he go and reward himself with a cup of coffee from his favorite little suburban cafe. The shop light was a beacon that called to him, he felt his mouth water and entered the cafe, humming a rather jazzy tune as he approached the barista, “One caramel macciato and blueberry muffin, if you please.” He held out the money needed and waited a few minutes for his order.
“Are you a business man by any chance?” The woman asked as she handed him his order.
Diaval pondered this question as he brought his piping hot beverage to his lips and took a sip. “You could say that.” He allowed and bit his muffin.
“That’s wonderful!” The brunette beamed. “I need to sue these people and-”
“Calm yourself!” Diaval cut her off mid-ramble. “I’m a man of business, not a business man!”
“Wha-?” She stuttered, “Buh-but you said-”
“I say many things, not all of them are true.” He took another swig of his coffee, “Why exactly do you need to see someone incarcerated?” He asked, genuinely curious, albeit slightly weary.
“Street punks from the city keep threatening to rob and assault me and my business, it’s incredibly stressful to deal with, not to mention terrifying.” The barista shuddered and sighed with resignation.
Diaval pulled out a spare scrap paper from his briefcase and procured a pen from his breast pocket. The barista stared at him as he scribbled a phone number on the neon pink paper and slid it across the counter to her. The black haired woman picked up the paper hesitantly and looked at the heavily scarred man. “What’s this?”
“The Madrina’s business number. Call her tonight and then eat the paper with her number.” His gaze was stern and somber as he explained. “Oh no,” He sighed dramatically, his earlier seriousness gone. “it looks like I’m late, give me a black coffee before I go.”
The barista’s eyes were gleaming with silent thanks for Diaval’s assistance as she clutched the number to her heart, although, a puzzled expression crossed her face as she handed him the coffee. “You like black coffee?”
Whenever Diaval graced the little shop with his presence he ordered something sweet or fruity, or even sour. Never something as bland and bitter as black coffee. “Heavens no!” He shuddered at the thought of the tasteless beverage sliding down his throat and clarified, “This nasty stuff is for the Godmother, she loves black coffee.”
Golden tresses whipped around wildly from lowered windows as a police car tore down the streets at break neck speeds. She loved how the wind felt against her stinging face, it was almost as if someone were kissing the throbbing pain away, at this she smiled to herself. She took a quick timid glance at the man driving the vehicle, her father. At least that’s what the wretched man liked to call himself.
“If you get me into any trouble while we’re in Italy,” He began flicking his eyes in her direction dangerously, “you might just end up at the bottom of one of those canals.” Sheriff of the U.S police, or “Sheriff Stefan” set his hard eyes at the road ahead as they made it to the border of South Italy. A tall, dark skinned Italian man in a suit stood behind a the toll booth at the entrance.
“May I see your license and passport?” He held his gigantic hand out towards Stefan stonily, his movements slow and almost robotic. “Also, we charge 200 euros per entry.” His words were almost rushed for some odd reason.
“I didn’t know there was a toll booth,” Stefan grumbled and retrieved the requested items along with the money. The blonde girl seated in the back passenger seat raised her eyebrow at this, the tourist guide she had read never indicated there would be a toll booth, and why didn’t the man ask for her passport? She craned her neck to try and get a better view of the man and noticed that while he flipped through the passport it looked as though he whispered something into his rather high collar. Stefan didn’t pay the man any attention as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel agitatedly.
“Here you are, enjoy your stay in Italy.” The man returned Stefan’s passport and license and raised the barricade before stepping back into the shadows of his booth.
After a few more hours of thick silence in the car, the two foreigners arrived in Sicily at around 8pm. The sheriff put on his brightest smile and jumped out of the car to greet the crowd that had gathered outside of their driveway. People cheered animatedly at the arrival of Sheriff Stefan, the most well known and loved police man from the United States. “Hello everyone!” He greeted, his perfect white teeth showing as he grinned. “I have arrived and will protect all of you from the Mafia!” He declared boldly and gave a gallant bow to the roaring crowd.” He turned and sharply glared at his daughter to exit the car quickly.
The blonde slipped out quietly and fearfully, her arms were tightly wrapped around herself as she ducked past the crowd and into their house. She breathed a sigh of relief and slid down to the floor, her arms were impossibly tight and she rocked herself back and forth on the ground. The sheriff’s eyes, good god his eyes! They were dark with promises of pain, pain for her.
Tears welled in azure eyes and she rocked herself harder, gripped herself tighter, oh so tight so that maybe, just maybe! She could feel that they belonged to someone else. Someone strong, someone who loved her… ‘Mother…' She thought helplessly, 'Please… don't let him hurt me anymore. I… can't remember a time when I was happy, when my body didn't ache, when bruises and cuts didn't litter my body and when I last felt loved.' She crawled over to her window where the stars twinkled above beautifully. She brushed her hair out of her face and winced at the pain in her cheek. 'Please help me.'
The door slammed open violently after an hour or so and Stefan flung in a pink suitcase that hit her in the side, she gasped as her breath was knocked out of her lungs and gulped for air as her carry on bag made contact with her face. “Get dressed!” Her father growled impatiently. “I’ve been invited to party in my honor and I’m forced to drag your sorry ass. Do not make me look bad!” His menacing brown eyes finally met her fearful watery ones. “Wipe those tears off your ugly face.” He sneered and went to his room.
The blonde unclasped the latches and opened her suitcase with sweaty fingers that shook violently. She reached in and grabbed her favorite pink dress. She stared at it sadly and wished she could ever feel beautiful in it, even for a moment. A hand went to her mouth and she resisted the urge to vomit at the sight of it. The mere thought of her atrocious body touching something so lovely made her want to cry all over again. It took her so long to put it on and do her hair that by the time she finished up it was time to head out.
Diaval took an appreciative whiff of the night air as he treaded through the forest quietly. His black dress shoes made hardly a sound even though he walked at a fast pace. He scanned the area and nodded to himself when he had made sure no one followed. He removed the black leather glove on his left hand and placing it on a wall of leaves. The seemingly natural door slid up to reveal a brown and black mansion. The mansion was huge, it had four stories, gargoyles on the rooftop, chips and cracks on the walls and kennel of guard dogs to the left of the front porch. The building was concealed and protected by a gigantic barrier of rosebush and while it was certainly old, it was only that way on the outside.
The deathly pale man entered a lavish office and saw the Madrina on the phone, no doubt busy. Diaval shrugged and got comfortable on the chair in front of the Godmother’s desk and waited for her to finish her call. When she finally set the phone down and trained her green and gold eyes on him he became weary. Something had upset her greatly as she appeared to be fighting back a snarl. Oh how Diaval wished he had reported earlier.
He slid the black coffee in his hand over to her silently, as though it were an offering to appease a mighty beast out for blood. Much to his dismay, she didn’t even spare the proffered cup a glance. She only narrowed her cat-like eyes at him and waited for him to start. Diaval cleared his throat, “Good evening, Madrina. How are you today?”
“Spare me the pleasantries and give your report.” She cut him off briskly.
Diaval felt ruffled up by this and went on nervously, “Yes, well, please excuse me-” A low growl was thrown his way warningly. “I have attained the file you requested,” He said as he slid the manila folder to her. Her eyes held a faint twinkle of delight as she leafed through the contents. “and as an added bonus we have a new client who should be calling soon.”
She raised an eyebrow at him quizzically, “I assume it’s the barista of the cafe you so love to frequent?” she asked distractedly while reading the documents carefully.
“Indeed.” He affirmed, the spies she had were top notch it would seem.
“Very good.” The Madrina put the file down and scowled, “Unfortunately, while one of our men was in charge of that false toll booth he intercepted a police officer from America. It appears that the conservatives have hired him and his expert policemen to track down and destroy the Mafia groups within Sicily.”
“As if those baboons could stand a chance against us!” Diaval scoffed arrogantly.
“… We’ll see.” Her response was ominous and foreboding, something just didn’t seem right about this affair. “In any case,” She continued gruffly, “These documents I had you fetch from our informant go into detail of a nearby Opium farm, ripe for shipment.” She stood from her leather chair and grabbed a silenced assault rifle before strapping it to her back and stowing away a pistol in her jacket.. “Assemble 26 of our stealthiest men and prepare the cargo truck.”
Diaval bowed with a hand to his chest and grinned, “As you command.” He strode out of the room briskly to relay the orders.
The event was grand; blue lights hung from the ceiling, mahogany tables were organized all around and a chandelier was suspended in the center of the room shining wonderfully for all to see. The floors were marble as was the stage in the back of the room. Italian music played as people danced merrily and waiters served others food. All in all it was a semi formal event. The attendees were dressed sharply in suits and dresses of a variety of colours.
She had never been to an event like this and avoided all contact with anyone that came by. Hands were held out to her, invitations to small talk, she wouldn’t have any of it and ducked through the crowd of people to her father’s reserved table. She pulled a chair out and sat down clumsily, almost falling on her butt. Fortunately for her, she managed to catch and right herself, just in time for the ceremony to start too.
“Welcome!” A well dressed older gentleman boomed into the microphone, “I’m so glad to see you all at this wonderful event, but not as glad as I am to see our wonderful guest! All the way from America, please welcome, Sheriff Stefan!” The crowd cheered as Stefan made his way up the stage with charm.
He took the microphone and smiled dazzlingly at the crowd. “The Mafia will be no more as soon as my men and I are done with it!” His proclamation received joyous shouts and cheers from the crowd. “You will never have to live in fear ever again!”
His words struck the girl almost as much as his beatings. What did he know about relieving the all encompassing force of fear! She couldn’t stand to listen to such filthy lies! Rage boiled within her, her fists clenched painfully and shook with rebellion. The words in her mouth caused her lips to tingle and tremble, and just like that, all her fears had been momentarily wiped away as she made a decision she knew she’d live to regret, “LIES!” Her cry of indignation was that of someone who had been horribly wronged. The hall fell silent in awe. “This man will never take away your fear, he’ll only help it grow!” She screamed as her azure eyes blazed furiously.
Hushed whispers and murmurs ran throughout the crowd and although his face appeared calm on the outside, she could see the pure murder behind Stefan’s brown eyes.
“Is everyone ready?” The Madrina asked the 27 men and women seated together in the back of their cargo truck before her.
“Yes!” The men and women called back. Diaval nodded at her.
“How wonderful.” Her ruby red lips pulled into a dark grin. “Your orders are this: wait for the signal and take as many crates of Opium as you can possibly load onto the truck before the next group of guards arrive. Simple enough, no?” She her entire presence screamed wicked as she tapped her watch, “You have 30 minutes.”
Diaval opened the the door of the armoured cargo truck and slid out first to silently knock out any guards and disable security. The group did not have to wait long before he gave the signal. The men immediately piled out of the truck and set to work on loading the crates. Diaval strode over and stood next to the Godmother proudly.
She eyed him with annoyance and gestured for him to load crates as well. He let out a snooty huff and joined the others.
The Godmother walked around and directed her men as they scrambled around getting the work done. “12 more minutes, gentlemen!” She shouted. “The next set of guards will arrive in 12 minutes!”
In the last six minutes the mafiosi sealed the back of the truck and loaded themselves in. Diaval sat in the front and instructed the driver to take off at full speed the moment the madrina got on as she was currently making a final sweep of the grounds.
She noticed that they missed a crate and moved to pick it up when she heard a whimper come from behind it. Her reflexes made her jump back in surprise. She pulled out her repressed pistol from inside her jacket and aimed it at the crate before kicking it aside to reveal a dirty blonde teen with ripped clothes and covered in blood. Her eyes were clamped tightly shut and she used her arms to try covering herself as she let out agonized screams. She had seen this girl before, she was Stefan’s daughter.
Her green eyes narrowed and her lip curled in disdain. She turned and marched away from the girl stiffly until a pained cry accompanied by sobs stopped her in her tracks.
If she left this girl here one of two things would happen, the girl dies from blood loss or she is saved by the guards and reveals who committed the raid. Her nostrils flared angrily and she pinched the bridge of her nose, why couldn’t things ever be easy?
She crouched before the girl and removed her hands from her face carefully. Afraid azure eyes stared back at her as tears streamed down the blonde’s face. “We can’t stay here anymore,” the older woman sensed the desperation in the girl with her piercing green orbs, “do you want to come with me?” It’s not like she had a choice, still, it was polite to ask.
The teen weighed her options, go with a complete stranger who was stealing the material in those crates or let security find her and probably take her back to him. She decided that the former option sounded much better and nodded shakily.
"Very well." Her rescuer said curtly and hoisted the teen into her arms. She ran for the armoured truck as it revved it’s engine at her. She leapt onto the false flooring and warped an arm around the shaking girl and used the other to hold the metal pole of the door to keep them from flying off.
Right on cue, the truck accelerated out of the compound and into the night. The blonde held on fiercly to the woman as their backs were against the outside of the back cargo door and the wind blew their hair around.
The blonde licked her dry lips and parted them, “Wuh- what’s your name?” She asked and felt herself getting closer to fainting.
"… Maleficent." Came the crisp reply. "And you?"
Reblogged from creature-a
Inspired by (X)
tumblr tag line: WHAT DO YOU MEAN STRAIGHT PEOPLE USE TUMBLR?!?!?!?!?
tumblr tag line: Porn? How shocking. NEXT!
tumblr tag line: we love each other but someone will get hurt
tumblr tag line: we belong together! (cuz we never go outside!)
Reblogged from malefistache-swan3ills
I have seen that edit going around about “evil queens” being princesses who weren’t saved by their prince and it bothers me, because “us”, women, aren’t weaklings who can’t do something for ourselves. And if a woman dares being independent and strong; they turn her into a fucking witch.
Reblogged from dee1711
Evil Queen: Really, Maleficent? REALLY? A teenager? Is that even legal? Wait you’re lucky you’re not in this world.
Maleficent: *eyes roll* Said the woman that date her son’s mama. And even tried to kill said mama before.
Evil Queen: is this how we villains gonna end up? banging daughters of our enemy for life?
Maleficent: …………. so it seems, my dear, so it seems.