#family business
Cappahosic Oyster Company, on the north bank of the York River, Gloucester County, Virginia.
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Photo dump. All photo credit to original owners (I’ve had these pics for so long I can’t remember where I got them all)
Mafia Madness - Family Business
tw: forced marriage, organized crime family, forced gender roles.
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Will Hear Us Screaming at the Cold
“Elodie, Alena, Xavier,” her father greets them all at supper, kissing her and her sister on their hair, claps her sister’s husband on the shoulder. “My love.” Her mother then, a quick peck on the lips. “Ça va?”
“Ça va, Papa.” She sits straight, gentle and demure in tone and expression. “Et toi?”
“Hm, ça va, ma petite puce.”
“Les affaires marchent bien?” Elodie tracks him with her head as he moves away from her and her sister, just like everyone else does.
You don’t take your eyes off Monsieur Lavoie when he enters a room.
Family Business
Its another monotonous day at the civil office. Working in the state’s government means an endless set of cases to be reviewed, meetings about tedious legislation and a whole lot of pretending to give a shit about things.
He looks down at his table screen, the holographic projector was glitching again but he could make out most of it. A gang leader by the name of Marcus Leonovic was causing trouble in the southern zones. His case was up for whether they should let the man be to avoid other gangs taking over and becoming more powerful. Or the other option, to arrest him.
If he thought about things objectively, arresting the man would let the next powerful gang take over and become a much bigger problem. Best to let these things brew for a while, the idiots might even take each other out. But-
His phone starts to ring and he lets out a heavy sigh. Here comes the ‘but’.
“David? Hello?”
He groans, this was going to be trouble.
“Yes, Tomas. It’s me. What do you want?”
“You lot got that info on that Leonovic bastard weeks ago. Why didn’t you fuckers wipe him already.”
David sighs, “You know it’s not that simple Tomas.”
“Yeah, well he’s fucking up my business again. I told you to get him designated. Do you know how hard it is to sell when he’s got his bastards round every corner?”
“You know, Tomas, I don’t know how hard it is to sell illegal drugs. And frankly, I don’t want to know.”
“Stop being such a little bitch. Getting all high and mighty on me when Dad is the only reason you got a fancy-ass job at the government.”
“Tomas – ”
“And you remember what he said. If you don’t help me out, he’s gonna stop helping you out.”
“Look, I said it’s not that simple, I need – ”
“Me and Dad give you the money and the criminals to make you look good, and you help us when we need some favours, that’s the fucking deal. If you won’t then I’ll just have to go and give a tip about some bitch at those tall skyscrapers I’m looking at now is being bribed by gangs to influence government decisions.”
“Look, fine. I’ll sort it. Just stop fucking calling me, especially at work.”
Tomas snorts, “Whatever, I better hear the news about him off the streets soon, or else.”
The phone gives out a long beep and David hangs it up. He sighs before sending off the file with his recommendation that the man whose picture was projected on the top gets assigned a designation.
They were usually only for government threats, but he’s sure he can come up with some kind of explanation for his reasoning if questioned.
He sighs knowing he just made his little brother into a bigger pain in the neck than he already was. But what choice did he have? He can’t lose his job, or worse, get designated himself.
Everyone who knows about them knows that the worst thing to happen to you is get designated, and once you do, there’s no coming back.
He picks up his briefcase and heads out of the office. He decides to get down to the bar before he heads home.
He swipes his card to get access to the bar that only higher-level officials were allowed into. It was a fine establishment, classical decor with a chandelier lighting the rustic interior.
He orders an expensive martini and sips it by a window. No, he couldn’t lose perks like these. He’ll play along with Tomas’ game.
And once he’s done playing, maybe he could get Tomas designated. He chuckles to himself, now wouldn’t that be nice
Taglist:@winedark-whump@whumpworld
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Family Business
Tagging a few people who might be interested: @painful-pooch@whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, organized crime, heavily conditioned whumpee, derogatory language, mention of severed fingers, not super heavy on the whump but a look at the McIntyre family, consensual sex mention
***
“Does the pet really have to be here for this?” Siobhan asks, crossing her arms across her chest from her seat at the head of the table, her pursed lips painted mulberry purple.
Rhys smirks. “Of course she has to be here. My toy can be good.” He sits down in his chair and pats his lap. “Up.”
Pumpkin gives Rhys a longing look, climbing up into her Master’s lap and burying her face against his chest. He grins, running his hand along her back. His gorgeous toy. So obedient. So perfect.
Siobhan rolls her eyes. “I still don’t understand why you bought a Romantic. My Guard Dogs are much more useful.”
Mafia Week: Family Business
Decided to put my Paul Higgs story on the backburner so I can have more fun with it, and wrote a wee little epilogue for this week’s Nanda and Jameson showcase instead!
For@amonthofwhump’s Mafia Madness - Family Business
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Kidnapping|Snitches and Stitches|Vendetta|Assassination | Family Business
CW: Pet whump, intimate whumper, internal injuries, injured whumpee, creepy comfort, some brief dubcon references, dehumanizing/degrading language, Nanda is kind of a possessive creep, but also this is pretty soft? They’re so weird. Just a little epilogue, of sorts.
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The pet’s eyes narrow as he watches Nanda enter the room. He’s weighted down under heavy blankets, layers that keep the air around his body warm, working with the painkillers to keep him loose-limbed and languid, barely able to move.
Not that he wants to. Every slight shift sends a thrill of pain up his spine from somewhere deep inside of him. Even taking too deep a breath brings to brief, blurry life the aches and pains he’s littered with. It breaks through the wall constructed by the drugs that hold him, fuzzy and protected from the awful ache of his own body.
The odd, unpleasant medic is gone – with his businesslike invading fingers, his way of causing pain without any method of making it good,his flat stare as he worked. His pet is gone, too, the Platonic who had come out of shock only to cry until Arvid took him in his arms and whispered to him, the pet nodding and nodding like a puppet on a string, his sobs turning to sniffles and then to whispers in return.
He had never looked at the pet, not once. The other pet had treated him like he’s invisible, like the others always treat the Romantics, but at least it’s better than treating him like he’s a lying little snitch.
Eventually, they’d gone, with Arvid shoving a bottle of rattling pills into Nanda’s hand and giving him timing and dosage the pet couldn’t overhear. He doesn’t know if he’s being given too much or not enough.
He just has to trust Nanda.
And he tries.
@amonthofwhumpMafia Madness day 3!
CW: organized crime, explosives/house explosion, implied death of a family, fire/arson, blinding, the second half is from the POV of a minor and there is a young child that is unharmed. Please let me know if I missed anything!
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“This isn’t what we agreed on, Jakobsen.”
“Isn’t it?” Anton turned around, flashing his smile. Dean scowled, slamming the briefcase shut.
“Yousigned on the amount. You can’t just take it all for yourself once everything is said and done.”
“Watch me.” Anton picked up the briefcase and turned to walk out the door of Dean’s office.
“Jakobsen,” Dean snapped.
Anton turned. “Yes?”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“What could you possibly do to stop me?”
Dean’s eyes were dark, his entire being trembling with rage. He didn’t speak, his expression communicating crystal clear threats.
Anton threw his head back and laughed, leaving with Dean’s portion of the pay, as well as his own. The door swung shut. Dean did nothing to stop it from slamming. He was seething, his blood boiling as he went to his window to see Anton walking to his car. Dean lifted a hand and punched the window, leaving a tiny crack.
The pain fueled him, sparking an idea in the back of his mind.
He knew where Anton lived. He knew that more often than not, he was home with his family. He knew exactly where to find the exact things that would prove his spite to be deadly, and he knew how to use them.
He pulled the curtain shut on the window, moved to lock the door, and sat down to make several phone calls.
Family Secrets
Jonas/909
CW/TW: sick whumpee, noncon (with an object), pistol whipping, threats, blood, violence, lady whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU, cursing. For @amonthofwhump Mafia Madness: Family Business.
She’s fever-pliant by morning.
His master is enraged by what his computer shows him, after it’s had time to decrypt what came out of her head.
“Those bastard sons-of-whores! Fucking using their slut to fucking spy on us! On family!”
She can barely stand, so when his master’s gun butt hits her face, she drops to her knees. Again and again Maxim hits her face with the end of his gun, splitting her lip, cracking her cheekbone, breaking her nose.
Not the face. Never damage the face echoes in Jonas’ mind. It lowers their value. He shakes it out of his head like a buzzing fly.
“I should put a bullet in your fucking head,” Maxim snarls at the Romantic, who is probably past understanding words. “Strip the goddamn whore, Jonas. It’s time to make a call.”
CW: NSFW, blackmail, minor character death
It started at a party. Glass and beads and jewels sparkle under the brightly lit chandelier hanging over the long dining room table. The light casts a sheen on the many different colored silk ties pressed over white shirts covered with dark Armani suit coats. Silverware tinkles and quietly clatters almost drowned out by the chatter of boisterous men and laughter of gossipy women.
A Month Of Whump Mafia Madness 2: Family Business. CN: hand gore, alcohol mention.
@iaminamoodymoodtoday,@wildfaewhump,@ishouldblogmore,@lektric-whump,@that-one-thespian,@raigash
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The only survivor of the Mannington family was the eldest son. He had long, well-moulded features, a smooth and elegant gait, and heavy brows that struck handsome severity into a look that would have been clean and inoffensive otherwise.
He was dressed almost entirely in black, like the evil prince of a Disney flick, though Sinclair would be pressed to name a specific film. Most of the costume design in those things was uninspired and designed only to sell toys that wouldn’t have too many removable parts for six-year-olds to choke on.
The shirt was silk and the trousers loose and long, not a traditional suit but something more distinct and casual. It was tailored carefully to show off his muscular shoulders, but obscure the lower arms and do similarly from thigh to shin. At ankle and wrist, the hem pulled close, hinting to a medieval style.
Stripes of gold accented one cuff, gleamed in the placard and wound down one leg in a thin, glimmering chain of thread. Further chains hung from golden rings on his fingers and dangled from his ears. His eyes were dark but his lids were edged with liquid gold. He stared out with every attempt at dignity, head perfectly still, hands raised slightly from his sides, back straight and shoulders squared in defiance.
He was perfect. The rebel prince cast out. Atop the close-cropped hair on his head rested a crown of heavy metal, simple and moulded into latticed spikes, exquisitely gold-leafed, and ringed around the base with tiny sharp teeth that held it firmly in place in young master Mannington’s scalp.
If you looked closely, you would see the rest. The faint glimmers of blood in his hair. The imprint of chains against his wrists and ankles, underneath the cuffs. The position of his arms, casual and elegant for his pose, but maintained with sharp prop sticks enforcing a distance between his arm and his body inside each loose sleeve. The slightly bared teeth of a lip-lined mouth were to help him keep his jaw locked, preventing the spring-loaded box inside his mouth from giving out its sharpened contents before someone was ready and waiting to remove it for him.
He was perfect, in all.
