The Beauty & The Power

new muse tag drop !

♉ — lorenzo romagna tag drop.

tags

piarles + dreams

inspired by me having to take latin tho i thought i wouldn't have to, @mssr-monagato reminding me how easy it used to be to write them with a comment, me being in a weird mood bcs im studying, and @duquesademiel and @hourcat having bdays i wished to write them sth for but brain did not cooperate. love you all, this one is for you <3

Charles finds him in a dream.

There is always too much to do during the day and Charles gets to his bed eagerly, limbs tired and muscles hurting. Being an artist's apprentice mostly means moving huge slabs of marble and being an artist's muse means holding still in awkward positions for too long a time. The land under his sandals is hot with the remnants of the day's heat and it burns.

He gets to his house and kisses his mother gently before he goes to wash himself down. Some days, when wants to make something too complicated and he does not look too tired, she calls up to him to help with dinner. Lorenzo comes home next from his job in the Senate with scrolls, distracted by calculations and politics both. Arthur arrives last, out all day training with other boys who will be soldiers for the Empire. They all sit down to eat, wine and laughter flowing equally easily, and Charles feels happy enough he wishes he were closer to attaining his mastery in art so he could immortalise the scene of his brothers and his mother joyful and content. These days never seem to last long enough, Charles knows it, and he pushes the storm clouds away from his mind and tries to focus on the moment he's in.

The moment he falls into his bed, Charles dreams of the man.

He does not remember all the dreams. The Gods send him these visions for a reason that he is not privy to, nor will he be for a long time. The Empire is grand and Charles is insignificant in it, much in the way the Empire is insignificant in the eyes of the gods. What stays with him is the sense of yearning so deep he wakes with pain in his chest, his heart leaking sorrow and desire he knows not how to name. He pours it into his art, marble bleeding like his soul is, shattered and jagged as he chases the visage of the man he almost knows, almost recognises, in vain.

In his dreams, the man smiles. The smile is almost wolfish some nights, when the man's blue eyes narrow and his fangs look to be elongated as he presses them softly against Charles' skin, Charles' lifeblood pumping violently in his throat. Some nights, the smile is more vulpine, when the man's lips press against the centre of Charles' chest, like he wants to drink the life from the very centre of Charles' person. What never changes is the way Charles trembles every time, lips parted and heart galloping like the horses do down the streets of their town on the newly set roads.

All roads lead to Rome, the man tells him. Charles knows not what it means, and he never remembers to ask. The man distracts him with the touch of his lips and with the way his hands press down onto Charles' hips.

Who are you, Charles asks him sometimes, when he remembers to. The man usually smiles. I am who you need, he says some nights. I am who you want, he says the other night. Sometimes, he says nothing, only kisses Charles until he forgets to remember what he asked.

What is your name, the man asks him sometimes. Charles, he says, when he remembers. I do not know, he says when he forgets. Does it matter?, he asks in return.

Not many things matter, the man says. His voice carries the same lilt of the Gauls that Charles himself has and has never gotten rid of. What does, Charles asks, curious. The man's eyes shine in the dream landscape that Charles can never focus on, for the man is like the sun to him. Winning, I think, the man says. Winning matters.

Can you win, Charles feels the need to ask every time. Can you win?

The man covers Charles' hand with his. He pulls Charles' hand up, twists his fingers gently until he can play with them. I do not know, he muses, but he does not look worried. I think I may do anything so long as you are here.

Who are you? Charles asks. What is your name, and why are you here?

I am not here, the man always says, and neither are you, cher. The rest of his words get blown away by the wind that rises suddenly every time. Charles never remembers the man's name. The man's lips, though; they taste like honey against Charles'.

He wakes up with the fading taste of honey on his lips and an unavoidable weight on his chest and no memory of his dreams. He rubs his eyes as he goes through his morning absolutions.

Soon he is to accompany his master to Rome for the exhibition. He must finish the sculpture he is working on until then, to take with him on his journey and oresent it at the sculptor's assembly. His master said it was lovely, and where did he get the inspiration for the face, for it was so detailed, it must be someone Charles knows?

"I saw him in my dreams," Charles always replies, laughing, and his master shakes his head in fond exaspeartion. His heart always beats too fast when he says it, like it does when he lies.

He goes back to the sculpture of a man's face. He needs to fix the man's smile, but he knows not how, yet. Charles finally named the sculpture Man, Take 10 just last week, to his master's great amusement, when his master said it must have a name. They all just call it Take 10, for Charles had tried and failed nine times already.

What Charles does not know is that it will be done before they start off for Rome in a month, and Charles will pack it carefully so it does not break. It will be even more lovely than it already is, and it will bring Charles closer to his destiny.

What Charles will tell no one is that in his head, he calls the man Pierre.

Katherine ( @malka-lisitsa ) ▌sent 64 for a starter.

"You're not Elena." The subtle expression which etched itself across Enzo's visage revealed, under no uncertain terms, that he was pleased by that fact. Briefly, his dark eyes looked up at the ceiling, then back to the brunette's face. "So, you must be Katherine, then." Interesting. With a short gesture to himself, he continued, "Lorenzo, but my friends call me Enzo. Wait, scratch that. I should say friend, singular. The rest are dead." A humorless grin flickered along Enzo's lips. "But Damon's proving a bit of a bore. Won't help me with the fact Aaron Whitmore's still alive since he's trying to be ' good ' for Elena." It might be amusing to wait and see how long that lasted. "Honestly, I'm not sure if I'll be able to remain amiable if anyone starts throwing the word forgiveness around, either." Drumming his fingers against his arm, he tacked on, "Forgiveness — the taste all but poisons my mouth."

Kay's Whumptober Day #18

Prompt #18: Tortured for Information/Hit Them Harder Pairing: Tony D'Angelo/Carmen Donovan (OC) Mentions Of: Channing "Stacks" Lorenzo, "Two Dimes" Troy Donovan, Legado Del Fantasma TW: Kidnapping, Blood, Torture Verse: Mafia

Carmen Donovan could fondly remember the first time she had ever met her Tony. Her older brother Troy had brough his new best friend to their house and the Catholic school girl had been home to meet said boy. It was not love at first sight, God no. After all, he was a friend to her annoying older brother and in her eyes, that made Tony just as annoying.

But time had a way of changing all things.

The duo of Troy and Tony had evolved into the trio of Troy, Tony, and Channing. The boys had gone from mere annoyances to certified criminals, but then again it had always been in their blood. Tony was the son of the don of the D'Angelo crime family. He was destined to become mob royalty from the moment he was born. He had simply dragged Troy and Channing, ever the loyal friends, into the family business.

Not that Carmen had any knowledge of that.

A crime family was like a fraternity, the biggest news staying inside the male dominated society. That did not mean, however, that Carmen did not play a vital role for Tony. After all, it was her restaurant that the boys met in the back room of most nights to enjoy their drinks and play cards. At the end of the night, one of the three boys would help her clean and lock up before walking her home for the night. Since becoming Don of the family, Tony hadn't been able to stay so most nights anymore it was Troy or Channing.

Tonight it had been Troy and tonight had gone so 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜.

On the way home, a black van had followed before a trio of men had come from it and grabbed both Troy and Carmen, placing a rag over their mouths. Carmen had passed out and, when she woke up, it was in the blackness of an abandoned building. She struggled, her arms bound behind her back and a gag in her mouth. Her caramel brown eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, but she could heart what sounded like a pair of heels against concrete. Carme struggled to try and free herself, just as the visage of a beautiful woman, followed by the three men Carmen had seen earlier, presented themselves from the shadows.

The woman, extremely well dressed and extremely beautiful, crossed over to Carmen. She ran a hand along Carmen's jaw before pulling the rag from her lips. "Please...please..." Carmen begged, tears in her eyes, "I dunno what you want or-"

"Shh, shh," the woman soothed, cupping Carmen's cheek in her hand, "my employer simply has a few questions for you, dulce niña."

"I don't know anything. I promise I don't know anything about anything," Carmen begged tearfully. She glanced around for some sign of Troy. Where was her brother?

"We know you work with D'Angelo, dulce niña," the tallest of the men spoke. He was impeccably dressed in a black suit jacket over a black button up and purple tie. He snapped his fingers and the two men at his side went to grab something from the shadows they had come from. "And we are willing to do what it takes to find out what we wish to know."

The other men dragged Troy from the shadows, and Carmen let out a scream. He was bleeding from the nose, his right eye already forming a deep bruise and almost swollen shut. Carmen tried to look away, only for the woman who had a grip on her face to make her look back at the scene. "Let him go. Please. Let him go."

"Oh, we will. 𝙄𝙛you tell us what we want to know," the man, obviously their leader, spoke again, "If not...well..."

"I can't tell you what I don't know!"

"When do the boys meet?" the woman asked, digging her nails into Carmen's jaw, "When does Don D'Angelo come to your place?"

When Carmen refused to answer, Troy was restrained from behind. The one of the men who did not have Troy restrained drew his fist back and punched Troy right in the stomach. Carmen was helpless to speak. She wouldn't speak. "Hit him harder, Mendoza. Keep a good grip, Cruz."

Again a heavy punch was landed to Troy's stomach. He spat a mouthful of blood, and a tooth, at his attacker. Tears ran down Carmen's cheeks and she tried not to scream for her brother. She couldn't give in. She wouldn't betray her Tony. The leader seemed furious and he turned towards Carmen, producing what looked like a lead pipe from his inner jacket pocket. The woman let go of Carmen's face and the gentleman placed the pipe under Carmen's chin. "One last time, querida. One last time or I swear I'll-"

"Don't touch her," Troy croaked from where he was held up by Cruz, "Escobar, I'm tellin' ya if ya hurt her..."

Escobar smirked, sharing a look with the woman next to Carmen before turning to where Troy stood, "What are you willing to do, señor?"

"I..." Troy let his eyes glance down and he spat blood at the ground, "I'll tell ya whatever ya wanna know."

"No!" Carmen shouted, trying not to sound as scared as she felt, "No, Troy, you can't...please...you know what..."

Carmen knew very little about what went on in the family behind closed doors, but she did know about the code of omerta. Omerta was a code of silence, refusing to tell anyone about the families activities. If that code was broken, then there was only one way that the code breaker would be dealt with. "I gotta, Carm..."

Escobar slid the pipe back into his jacket with a smirk, "Cruz, Mendoza. Take our guest back down to the van. Mr. Donovan and I are going to have a conversation."

Cruz tossed Troy down before both he and Mendoza untied Carmen, pulling her to her feet. She forced herself not to look at her brother, though she could feel her own heart breaking in her chest. If he survived the night, Carmen would keep her own code of omerta. She would not betray her brother in such a way.

Not even for Tony.

@cxncordia It was not uncommon for Lorenzo to find himself in the beds of strangers from night to night. Since he had left his home city, he did whatever and whoever he needed to get by. Though in the process, he was starting to recollect memories he'd originally thought were dreams. One where he was constantly on the run from the pursuit of those who desired him for themselves. There was a man basked in gold sunlight that accompanied his ethereal handsome visage that demanded Lorenzo's heart and the dream always ended the same: a prayer to Mother Earth that led to him resting in laurels before waking up to reality. That dream played every night in Lorenzo's head from the time he had met Adan. He remembered the moment always when the two locked eyes as Lorenzo sang his soul into a ballad during a karaoke night at a club. A voice that actually prompted talent recruiters to leave their personal information with Lorenzo and yet the only number he'd end up calling back was the one he'd gotten from Adan after a few drinks. There was something magnetic about Adan that drew in Lorenzo, but then the instinct to always pull away when they got too close. The attraction deemed their lustful fall inevitable. They were stumbling into Adan's apartment. Lips smashed as their tongues clashed and hands roamed around the muscled physiques each male offered for the other. Into the bedroom they traveled never once untangling until Lorenzo found himself falling backwards....turning into a pile of laurels. Then the flashback ended as Lorenzo lay dazed upon the sheets, watching the other climbing on to settle over him. He breathed out slow as his chest rose, pectoral cleavage exposed as his shirt was half unbuttoned and ready to be torn off by his date. Adan. Adan Polo. Then another name whispered from his lips, staring into Adan's eyes. "Apollo...?"

“I’m a terrible dancer.” - Da'tura to whoever wants a clumsy dance partner

“Ah, is my lady worried about stepping on my feet?” The handsome visage of Marquess Lorenzo chuckles. He didn’t seem to think that Da’tura could truly be that bad of a dancer. At least, she shouldn’t be, he did just buy these shoes after all.

“I have the upmost faith in your grace. Surely a single dance can not hurt?” He spoke, with his hand extending out expandingly.

𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓷𝔃𝓸 𝓒𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓪

Lorenzo (Pride) tag dump! 

I N A C T I V E

“   FORGET? He never forgets.     he doesn’t forget the ghost in his lungs     or the skeletons in his closet.     he doesn’t forget when he wakes up screaming     and he never forgets as he falls to his bloody knees finished to the bone.     Don’t ask him if he forgets because he never forgets.     HE WILL NEVER FORGET THIS.   ”

meet nico lombardi  !

introducing nico lombardi — the 20-24 year old is a business major / trust-fund baby, and he’s described as hedonistic and reckless. the heterosexual cismale is portrayed by herman tommeraas with michel biel as an alternate faceclaim. 

the lombardi family tag dump  –––– -  heavily based on the soprano family.

thomas ‘tommy’ lombardi. big bad mobster.

angelina romano  ––– -  mother to tony and gianna, divorced from tommy hence why she has a different last name now. sticks around solely for her kids and sunday dinners.

gianna lombardi. 

anthony ‘tony’ lombardi. 

lorenzo ‘enzo’ lombardi  ––– -  uncle to tony and gianna, brother to tommy.

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