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i miss yakuza i miss kimiko i miss nishiki i miss everyone
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yes, i love mde. yes, its my favorite of the mafia trilogy. yes, i can say with 100% conviction that objectively… tommy is not an interesting character. for him to be the protagonist, he sure does have no depth to his character written in the game
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putting up a fic on ao3 for the first time in years then instantly reminded why i stopped doing it
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1 hour after escaping the vault vs 1 month
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i cant think of anything good to write so have this ask prompt reply from 2016
“Phoebe, would you mind leading grace?”
It was a rare evening where Phoebe had been honoured with the presence of her father for dinner. For once, James had been gracious enough to peel himself from the vault’s clinic, granted he’d have to return sooner or later, and Phoebe brims with delight.
“Sure, dad.”
She bows her head, expressing a prayer she had whispered to herself so many times alone in the diner as if it were a secret she wished nobody else to hear of. With closed eyes, she doesn’t falter with her words, and once she lifts her chin from her knuckles her father is beaming at her.
“You’ve been practising,” he observes, sipping from a wine glass that’s half-full with purified water.
Phoebe grins eagerly before planting a soft kiss on the pendant that hangs from her neck.
“I read the book every night before I go to bed,” she proclaims, licking her lips as hunger begins to settle in, and she keenly reaches for the silverware next to her plate.
Despite his age, there are already crow’s feet that tug at the corner of James’ weary eyes. Working in the clinic had proved to be back-breaking work at times, and with the long hours that came with it he barely had any time to spend with his daughter.
His heart aches, for he knew Catherine would have been disappointed. He gestures to her necklace with the end of his knife. “That used to be your mothers.”
“I know.”
Phoebe tentatively sets down her fork, pieces of InstaMash still stuck to it, and drops her eyes to her fingers as they fiddle with the cross chained at her throat. “She’s with God, isn’t she?”
“That she is, sweetheart,” James replies, nodding solemnly. Phoebe was barely a teenager, yet had already shown to be excelling in all her studies and vault-standard tests, and with each passing day she blossoms into an image of Catherine. “She’s watching over you, much like God is.”
“Is she proud of me?”
James swallows thickly, but doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Of course.”
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it seems the lost little girl from vault 101 has become quite the adventurer these days…
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ruining the capital wasteland since 2287... together 💕
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#blorbo almost all the others are fine though#people will see some ugly middle aged sexist man and call him their blorbo. please please please stop#prommy is funny though youre all just haters#roman empire was funny at first but then it just got overused to a point where it lost meaning#logging in just to be negative sorry <3
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pov: you’re john donovan trying to figure out why these women are relevant
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Hi! I’m sorry if this is too excessive but wcif the hairs and clothes for these 4 outfits? Thank you so much! :)
outfit 1: hair / turtleneck / skirt / boots / necklace (tsr)
outfit 2: hair 2 / bikini (i can't find the link to it anywhere sorry :( here's a link to a similar one) / sunglasses and hat are both basegame
outfit 3: hair 3 (accessory bangs) / dress (tsr) / shoes / all jewellery is basegame
outfit 4: hair / dress / necklace / shoes are basegame
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lori/giorgi au wedding nonsense 👇
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch.
Well, aside from the bride who’d drunk herself to the bottom of a bottle and could just about muster putting one foot in front of the other, and the groom whose egregious time-keeping had led to a forty-two minute delay.
If that was the exemplar of sophistication then the rest of the day would be set to run as planned.
Lori sits at a table with a cloth so white it hurts her eyes, barely touching the food she didn’t even remember agreeing to serve. An untouched glass of water, promptly shoved in her face by her maid of honour who’d claimed it was painfully obvious she’d stumbled down the aisle, sweats next to it, clinging on to its last few minutes of coldness as the last ice cube melts.
The Paradiso’s banquet hall was overflowing with pleasant conversation as guests got acquainted over under-cooked steak and cheap red wine, chattering almost deafening as Lori tried to gracefully hide the fact the room was spinning, and in an attempt to quell the hunger in the pit of her stomach she gulps down some of the lukewarm water.
A hand rests on her arm, and even through the chiffon fabric she could tell it was clammy, and she rolls her head to find her now-husband staring at her with an unwavering malaise. “You ain’t sick, are ya?”
Lori notices his eyes dart to her untouched plate, and in turn she spots that his is very much empty. She averts her eyes back to the attendees, hoping to flag a waiter who could top up her wine glass.
“Giorgi, I’m fine.”
He knew it was a lie, but the way her eyes glowered with a drunken cloudiness told him not to poke the bear. Instead, he offered a noncommittal hum before finishing what was left of his drink.
“I need to use the ladies room,” Lori murmurs to nobody in particular, and she stiffly rises from her seat as the room begins to spin even more.
People are staring now, and Giorgi wonders if he should follow her, tear into her and ask her why today out of all days she had to drink so much and embarrass herself—embarrass him—in front of all his family and associates.
But he doesn’t.
There’s something anchoring him to his chair, allowing him to save face and not round up any more unwanted glances.
He watches Lori wobble away, and in the corner of his eye he catches his aunt fire a forbidding scowl as one of the bridesmaids desperately tails after her.
He turns to his father who’s already throwing a disapproving glare his way, and a wave of sickness submerges him.
A waiter skims past effortlessly refilling empty glasses, and as soon as his is full Giorgi is downing it almost instantly. He almost considers knocking back Lori’s glass, but a blear figure in yellow catches his eye. The bridesmaid from earlier, Karen, Kay—he wasn’t sure, he didn’t really care—comes back, and her fretful look cleanly cuts through him like a knife.
That was all he needed.
His legs allow him to stand, and now only does the alcohol rush to his head and seep into his bloodstream. He ignores whatever his father mutters into his very-full glass of bourbon, as well as any curious eyes that follow his movement.
When he makes it into the hall he doesn’t spot anyone, and while wanting to turn around and now finish that other glass of wine, he presses on until he reaches the nearest restroom.
He doesn’t even need to listen out for Lori, for her drunken, raucous chatter is almost ear-splitting, and he doesn’t even bother knocking. A startled gasp comes from the maid of honour as he barges in, and she almost drops the cigarette she’d been nursing for the last ten minutes. Lori doesn’t even react.
He tells Sylvie to fuck off. Harsh, even by his standards, but he didn’t want a biassed ear interrupting whatever he’d haphazardly planned to say on his way here. He’d deal with the fallout later.
“If you haven’t noticed this is the ladies room,” is all Lori lazily offers him, and he can hear she’s trying her best not to slur her words.
He takes a bold step forward, then another, then more, until he’s inches away from her face and close enough to smell the concoction of booze on her breath.
“And if you haven’t noticed this is our fuckin’ day. Look at ya, you’re a fuckin mess!”
“Oh, boo hoo, I’m so sorry I’ve ruined your big day and made you look like a fool the same way you made me look like one,” she spits venomously. “Over half an hour I had to sit there and wait to see if you’d decide to show up or not, at that point I’d rather ya just leave me there. Least it’s easier to explain than whatever you were doin’.”
“This is what you—what we agreed to.”
“Yeah but not whatever this was.” She wildly gestures to her surroundings, her brown locks flailing with each sharp movement of her head.
“Well, you’re lucky any of this even happened. You ain’t exactly popular with some people.”
“You think I haven’t noticed? Like I really care about what a bunch of rich people I don’t even know think about me,” Lori laughs bitterly, eyeing the pack of cigarettes Sylvie had left on one of the restrooms’ sinks.
“Yeah well maybe you should,” Giorgi mumbles, but he didn’t care if Lori heard him. He follows her gaze, and he deliberately shuffles to block her view.
Lori lets out a huff, declaring, “I’m not goin’ back out there.”
Giorgi notices an uncharacteristic glint of apprehension in her eye, and there’s a part of him that doesn’t blame her. He’d felt as if he was suffocating, and it wasn’t from the humidity or his too-tight necktie. His father’s well-voiced disappointment rings in his ears, and it was one of the things that had fueled his ire, but Lori’s unease was a sobering reminder that the day would only go to plan if she was placated. For once, he decides to be reasonable.
“Go and clean yourself up. I don’t care what you do but you got half an hour. I’ll just tell people you’re sick.” He knew people wouldn’t believe him but at this point he didn’t care.
Lori crosses her arms in defeat. The buzz from the wine had waned, and whatever energy she’d had earlier had been sapped out of her.
Giorgi turns on his heels, not even giving her a second glance as he leaves her, and before the door swings shut he’s certain he hears the click of a lighter.
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lori/giorgi au wedding nonsense 👇
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch.
Well, aside from the bride who’d drunk herself to the bottom of a bottle and could just about muster putting one foot in front of the other, and the groom whose egregious time-keeping had led to a forty-two minute delay.
If that was the exemplar of sophistication then the rest of the day would be set to run as planned.
Lori sits at a table with a cloth so white it hurts her eyes, barely touching the food she didn’t even remember agreeing to serve. An untouched glass of water, promptly shoved in her face by her maid of honour who’d claimed it was painfully obvious she’d stumbled down the aisle, sweats next to it, clinging on to its last few minutes of coldness as the last ice cube melts.
The Paradiso’s banquet hall was overflowing with pleasant conversation as guests got acquainted over under-cooked steak and cheap red wine, chattering almost deafening as Lori tried to gracefully hide the fact the room was spinning, and in an attempt to quell the hunger in the pit of her stomach she gulps down some of the lukewarm water.
A hand rests on her arm, and even through the chiffon fabric she could tell it was clammy, and she rolls her head to find her now-husband staring at her with an unwavering malaise. “You ain’t sick, are ya?”
Lori notices his eyes dart to her untouched plate, and in turn she spots that his is very much empty. She averts her eyes back to the attendees, hoping to flag a waiter who could top up her wine glass.
“Giorgi, I’m fine.”
He knew it was a lie, but the way her eyes glowered with a drunken cloudiness told him not to poke the bear. Instead, he offered a noncommittal hum before finishing what was left of his drink.
“I need to use the ladies room,” Lori murmurs to nobody in particular, and she stiffly rises from her seat as the room begins to spin even more.
People are staring now, and Giorgi wonders if he should follow her, tear into her and ask her why today out of all days she had to drink so much and embarrass herself—embarrass him—in front of all his family and associates.
But he doesn’t.
There’s something anchoring him to his chair, allowing him to save face and not round up any more unwanted glances.
He watches Lori wobble away, and in the corner of his eye he catches his aunt fire a forbidding scowl as one of the bridesmaids desperately tails after her.
He turns to his father who’s already throwing a disapproving glare his way, and a wave of sickness submerges him.
A waiter skims past effortlessly refilling empty glasses, and as soon as his is full Giorgi is downing it almost instantly. He almost considers knocking back Lori’s glass, but a blear figure in yellow catches his eye. The bridesmaid from earlier, Karen, Kay—he wasn’t sure, he didn’t really care—comes back, and her fretful look cleanly cuts through him like a knife.
That was all he needed.
His legs allow him to stand, and now only does the alcohol rush to his head and seep into his bloodstream. He ignores whatever his father mutters into his very-full glass of bourbon, as well as any curious eyes that follow his movement.
When he makes it into the hall he doesn’t spot anyone, and while wanting to turn around and now finish that other glass of wine, he presses on until he reaches the nearest restroom.
He doesn’t even need to listen out for Lori, for her drunken, raucous chatter is almost ear-splitting, and he doesn’t even bother knocking. A startled gasp comes from the maid of honour as he barges in, and she almost drops the cigarette she’d been nursing for the last ten minutes. Lori doesn’t even react.
He tells Sylvie to fuck off. Harsh, even by his standards, but he didn’t want a biassed ear interrupting whatever he’d haphazardly planned to say on his way here. He’d deal with the fallout later.
“If you haven’t noticed this is the ladies room,” is all Lori lazily offers him, and he can hear she’s trying her best not to slur her words.
He takes a bold step forward, then another, then more, until he’s inches away from her face and close enough to smell the concoction of booze on her breath.
“And if you haven’t noticed this is our fuckin’ day. Look at ya, you’re a fuckin mess!”
“Oh, boo hoo, I’m so sorry I’ve ruined your big day and made you look like a fool the same way you made me look like one,” she spits venomously. “Over half an hour I had to sit there and wait to see if you’d decide to show up or not, at that point I’d rather ya just leave me there. Least it’s easier to explain than whatever you were doin’.”
“This is what you—what we agreed to.”
“Yeah but not whatever this was.” She wildly gestures to her surroundings, her brown locks flailing with each sharp movement of her head.
“Well, you’re lucky any of this even happened. You ain’t exactly popular with some people.”
“You think I haven’t noticed? Like I really care about what a bunch of rich people I don’t even know think about me,” Lori laughs bitterly, eyeing the pack of cigarettes Sylvie had left on one of the restrooms’ sinks.
“Yeah well maybe you should,” Giorgi mumbles, but he didn’t care if Lori heard him. He follows her gaze, and he deliberately shuffles to block her view.
Lori lets out a huff, declaring, “I’m not goin’ back out there.”
Giorgi notices an uncharacteristic glint of apprehension in her eye, and there’s a part of him that doesn’t blame her. He’d felt as if he was suffocating, and it wasn’t from the humidity or his too-tight necktie. His father’s well-voiced disappointment rings in his ears, and it was one of the things that had fueled his ire, but Lori’s unease was a sobering reminder that the day would only go to plan if she was placated. For once, he decides to be reasonable.
“Go and clean yourself up. I don’t care what you do but you got half an hour. I’ll just tell people you’re sick.” He knew people wouldn’t believe him but at this point he didn’t care.
Lori crosses her arms in defeat. The buzz from the wine had waned, and whatever energy she’d had earlier had been sapped out of her.
Giorgi turns on his heels, not even giving her a second glance as he leaves her, and before the door swings shut he’s certain he hears the click of a lighter.
#this was in my google docs for a while and i finally got to a point where i was happy with it#blame the multiple weddings i’ve been invited to for this. it’s been on the brain#my writing#lori/giorgi#il paradiso au
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coming on here just to be controversial and say gta iv > gta v
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me on my 50th playthrough making my way to the tops to bang benny once again
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