💚 To celebrate the 28th birthday of Luigi Mangione, let's give his legal fund some love and help him and his legal team continue to fight for a fair trial.
You need more info about his trials? ➡️ Legal Defense Information
Please share this post or the graphic far and wide and put #20ATE in your message when you donate!
it’s from dignityinink (formerly freeluigi_kr) and the story goes that a former firaxis co-worker reached to them and told them Luigi invited them to lunch after seeing them cry in the parking lot (they think that’s what happened), they ate together several times and little by little she told him about her problems. She said that the way they now talk about him breaks her heart 💔
Hi love!! Will you be updating your fic any time soon??
i really hope so!! i keep falling into little writing ruts unfortunately 😔 i’m just hoping that once my semester ends soon i’ll be able to focus more on the fic and feel less burnt out!!
i have a general idea of what’ll happen next chapter and honestly the idea of it stresses me out a bit lol i think that’s partly contributing to the delay too. but hopefully things will clear up soon <3
Trump seeking to replace Pam Bondi right after one year anniversary of that hag announcing that they are seeking the death penalty for Luigi. Luigi karma is real 🤍
Biggest takeaways from today’s Federal hearing (April 1):
- Luigi looked healthy a little tired and had a low taper fade. Luigi came in wearing his tan prison suit.
- Luigi had no cuffs on his hands. It’s unclear whether he was shackled at his feet.
- Judge Garnett had a discussion with the prosecution and lawyers on March 22 will remain sealed due to it specifying Luigi’s defense strategy.
- Luigi’s defense team stated that the state trial will take 6 weeks. The prosecution claims that a delay will prejudice them.
- The prosecution stated that they have an overseas witness in the case.
- The prosecution claims that they are ready to go and that the defense team had 15 months to prepare for this.
- Judge Garnett states the defendant has every right to be involved in the jury questionnaire.
- The prosecution had panned to Marc Agnifilo and stated that he has taken an individual case (Harvey Weinstein) and that the defense team is using the time conflicts to push a delay in this case.
- Karen mentioned that she is only asking for 2 / 3 month delay. And that they try other cases in which judge Garnett mentioned that other obligations are not her concern and that her concern is a fair trial.
- Judge Garnett proposed to accomplish what they can before the state trial.
- Judge Garnett is "skeptical of moving the trial wholesale into 2027 when the state trial has not been adjourned." Saying that she doesn’t have any control over the state schedule.
- Judge Garnet is rejigging the jury selection schedule slightly. She wants trial to start on either Oct. 26 or Nov. 2.
- There is a minor delay; the trial was supposed to start October 13 but it isn’t quite like the request the defense filled for January 2027.
- the next court hearing is set for June 5, at 11 AM (might change)
Luigi Mangione's April 1, 2026 Federal Hearing Summary
Luigi was uncuffed, wearing his prison jumpsuit. The hearing was scheduled in order to decide if Luigi's federal trail should be delayed until January, 2027 - as per defense's request.
The judge spoke to the defense ex-parte. A letter regarding all this was also filed on 23 March. For now, this letter and the ex-parte communication will be sealed (not available to the public) because they discuss defense's strategies.
Prosecution argued that 2 of Luigi's defense attorneys (Marc Agnifilo and Jacob Kaplan) and should not have taken on new clients (like Harvey Weinstein, whose trial starts on Apr 14) and then use schedule conflicts as an excuse to delay this federal case. Luigi's attorney Karen Friedman Agnifilo (who doesn't represent Weinstein) countered that they work on a lot of cases and that Weinstein's case has nothing to do with this one. Especially since Weinstein's trial is scheduled to start in less than 2 weeks.
The judge was reluctant to delay the federal trial until Jan 2027, because the state trial has not yet been adjourned until Sept, as defense expects it to be. We talked more about this previously here:
Judge Garnett said she'll slightly adjust the jury selection schedule and delay the start of opening statements until Oct 26 or Nov 2. Currently, this was supposed to happen on Oct 14. So, there will only be a 12 or 26-day delay in the federal case.
WHAT'S NEXT:
Federal judge set another hearing for Jun 5 to discuss jury questionnaires
Voir Dire in federal case will start on Oct 5 (as opposed to Sept 8)
Defense will likely ask the state judge to delay the state trial
If state trial is delayed, federal trial will be delayed even more
BREAKING: Luigi Mangione’s federal trial will begin later this year (late October or early November). The federal judge has decided to NOT grant the defenses motion of delaying.
Judge Garnett did say in court that she wants to ensure Luigi’s right to a fair trial, and will ensure he is available for the Jury questionnaire process
۶ৎ not my name, pretty | camp counselor! luigi ⋆˙⟡
⟡ summary: one late night 'bible study' in your cabin turns into a lesson in just how weak the flesh can be...
⟡ content warning: blasphemy, religious guilt, bit of corruption (?), fingering, virginity loss, p in v, mentions of weed use, christian summer camp
⟡ a/n: soooo i wrote this back in november but have held onto it cus i've never found the right time to post 😭 and the person who requested has kindly waited <333 this is alll just for fun ok??? but anyways i'm running low on ideas so hopefully this'll suffice my droughttt and you enjoyyy
.ᐟ.ᐟ PLEASE DON’T READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE THESE THEMES .ᐟ.ᐟ
Luigi thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen in these campgrounds, which feels almost unfair given what you’re wearing. The denim skirt hugs the curve of your hips in a way that definitely isn’t intentional – it can’t be – but from where he stands, it looks painted on. The stiff fabric curls at the dip of your lower back and lifts a bit when you lean deeper into prayer, the hem brushes your calves, trying to remain modest even as the shape of your ass beneath says otherwise.
The polo doesn’t help either. A camp issued white, a size too small, and damp from running around all morning. The top button gapes a bit near your collarbone, a fine sheen of sweat glows in the hollow of your neck, and the next few buttons strain gently, tugged outward by the soft fullness of your tits. A small silver cross glinting around your neck whenever you bow your head, and he has the ridiculous thought that if holiness had a face this morning, it would look exactly like you.
You’ve been a counselor here for a few years. Like long enough that you know which cabin has the squeaky top bunk, the shower that with no amount of fixing does not run hot, and the screen door that only closes if you lift and jiggle the handle first. Because you’re the most seasoned, they paired you with Luigi this summer.
Camp gossip did what it always does. By the end of week one, you’d heard the same story three different ways. That he came from a wealthy Italian family in Baltimore, that the parish absolutely adored the Mangiones, and that a very generous donation had solidified his position on the staff. Nobody seemed to care enough to question his genuine devotion after checks cleared. Like any Christian woman, you told yourself rumors were dirty and unholy. Still, you noticed things, though.
Sometimes during morning worship, he looked like he was only half repeating whatever the rest of you were singing. His eyes barely skimmed the songbooks, his mouth moved a beat behind when reciting “amen” at the end of prayer, unlike the rest of you. When the staff took turns sharing testimonies, he never volunteered. He’d flash his signature toothy smile, shake his head, murmur ‘you go ahead’, and let the silence linger until someone else decided to fill it.
With the younger campers’ Bible study, he was agreeable most times. You’d lead with a verse about patience or purity, and he’d echo your point with a gentle “Exactly,” nodding along as if agreement were the same as belief. If a kid asked a tough question, he’d reroute it back to you with a, “That’s a good one, what do you think?”
You just assumed it was nerves or awkwardness. Possibly, he was shy. Plenty of good men were quieter about their faith. And if he seemed a little detached sometimes, well…some people just needed longer to warm up. You decided to assume the best.
─
By mid morning, the chapel was full of sneakers and sleepy eyes and the projector humming behind you. You stood at the front with your lanyard and notecards, voice clear, hands holding tight.
“Abstinence isn’t about shame,” you told them, “it’s about patience and self respect.” You clicked to the next slide where you’d placed the verse in big, readable text. “For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each of you know how to control your own body in holiness and honor.” (1 Thessalonians 4:3-4)
You talked about choosing your future husband or wife with intention, about honoring God with your body, about how strength sometimes sounds like “not yet.” As awkward as it is teaching this to pre teens and teens, you smiled through it like you always did. Beside the cart, Luigi watched. He’d been doing this just long enough to clock you. Yes, your voice was steady, but also your thumb fidgeted with the corner of a card, your breath paused just a bit before sanctification, like the word was snagging on something inside you.
Do you really believe all of it? He wondered, not entirely unkindly. Or just enough to say it out loud?
You kept going, talking about saying no as an act of strength, about guarding your heart and saving your whole self for a promise that means something. The kids were listening – some of them anyway. Luigi wasn’t; he was focused on you.
When you reached the line about “waiting honors God and each other,” you glanced over, barely for a minute, just long enough to check if he was keeping pace with the slides. He was, and he was also wearing a small, unhelpful smirk.
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth for a split second.
That was all it took, really. His smirk deepened with victory and curiosity because now he knew. Maybe you believed it, or maybe you wanted to, but not enough to keep your mouth from giving you away, and definitely not enough to stop that reflex when his eyes were on you only.
─
You cracked your cabin door at the first knock that night.
The hall light caught you in a thin little night gown and your silver cross, the chain in a neat loop around your throat. Luigi thought it was adorable how you even wore the cross to sleep, like it could ward off the thoughts that surely always found you after lights out. He smells like a hint of weed and cologne, and he’s holding an old bible in his hands.
“Bible study?” he asks, casually, like he’s ever made it past Genesis without skimming. You don’t even know that, though, and don’t really want to bother asking. You just notice the faint red rimming his eyes, and that is enough of a reason not to let him in, but you step back anyway and open the door wider.
─
You were even more sure it was a bad idea the second he sat down. He chose the middle of your narrow bunk, close enough that his thigh pressed warm against your bare one. The Bible lasted all of 15 seconds before he tossed it aside to move along your blankets, palm smoothing over the sheet as if to make space for you. Then he leaned in, unhurried and with intent, and his mouth found the pretty chain at your throat. The kiss was soft at first, then surer, the cool cross tipping against his lips as he breathed you in.
You squirmed, a small sound catching in your chest. His hand slid to your thigh, thumb drawing a slow line that scattered all your rational thoughts. Long, thick fingers eased under the hem of your nightgown, the pad of his thumb pressing just inches away from where your pulse jumped.
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, voice a sinful whisper as he nips your collarbone. “God’s got more important things to do tonight.”
You tried to answer, to be good, but the words broke apart when his mouth found the soft place just below your jaw. He kissed there once, then latched gently, sucking slowly until you felt heat bloom under your skin. You stuttered, and your hands hovered uselessly at his shoulders.
“L-Luigi–”
He hummed against your throat, unhurried, like he had all night to turn you into putty. Another kiss, a longer pull, the faint scrape of teeth. You felt the marks forming, and your brain leapt ahead to tomorrow morning – having to pop your collar in the heat, tugging the polo higher, maybe even wearing a turtleneck if such a thing could exist in July – just anything to hide the proof of what he was doing to you right now.
“God– God sees everything," you blurt, the words tumbling out wrong, useless. You scramble for more, something stronger, something that might actually stop him– but your mind goes blank, pulse thumping in your ears.
He kissed lower, slower. You swallowed and managed, softer, “N-no sin is worse than another.”
He lifted his head just enough to look at you, his breath warm against your cheek. “You don’t believe that,” he murmured. He moved back, his teeth closing lightly on your earlobe with a nip, and it tore a small, shocked sound out of you.
No, you don’t believe that. There’s war, disease, corruption, murder – real evil. And God would hate you for letting a boy touch you? There was no fairness in that.
You give the smallest shake of your head, looking more dazed than decisive, but Luigi takes it as a ‘go ahead’ anyway. His hand moves higher, and your breath breaks when his fingers find the warm seam of your pussy between your thighs. He traces it through the cotton, and a low sound slips out of you before you can swallow it.
“Holy shit,” he breathes into your neck, like praise, but you’re sure the angels watching are condemning you. “Already this wet, huh?”
A blush overtakes your face. His thumb settles over your clothed clit and begins to rub, small, slow circles that steal your breath. Every thought about sin and purity slips from your mind.
“What happened to waiting, sweetheart?” he mocks softly, the rhythm never faltering. “So much for God’s plans, huh?”
His hand slips higher, and then he hooks a finger into the edge of your panties and pulls the cotton aside. Cool air hits you first, then his warm fingertips, and your breath stutters.
And the worst part – as your tummy flips, you become certain that maybe this was God’s plan, because the second his touch meets you properly, it feels divine. Like a man’s whole religion could live between a woman’s thighs.
One thick finger traces your slit, gliding easily through slick heat. He follows the shape of you with a patience that leaves you trembling, teasing the quivering muscles at your entrance, slow, circling, learning you.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the place his finger touches. Then he looks up and flashes that toothy grin – cocky and hungry.
Then he pushes in slowly and deliberately. His thick finger sinks into you inch by inch, and your hips jerk forward with a broken gasp. The way your walls clamp around him drags a curse out of him.
“Fuck–” he breathes, stunned. “Jesus, you’re squeezing me already.”
Your lips part, shaking, and he studies your face as he works deeper. “You ever let someone do this before?” he asks, voice rough.
You start to shake your head–
He doesn’t wait for the full answer. His grin widens, now wicked and knowing.
“No, of course not.” His fingers thrust just a little, letting you feel the width of him. “You’re really fucking tight. Just my finger feels huge in this tiny little cunt, doesn’t it?”
Your cheeks burn instantly at the word cunt – still not used to the casual obscenity of it and the way he says it like it’s nothing. Honestly, not used to him like this because up until now he’d done such a passable job pretending to be a clean-cut God-loving church camp counselor. Not entirely a good job, but good enough.
This version of him…the real version…is filthy in a way that makes your pulse thrum.
Then his finger curls. Just a slight crook of it, and it drags right against a soft and tender spot inside you. A place you hadn’t known existed, and white heat shoots through your belly and down your thighs.
A desperate, broken little whine rips out of your throat, and Luigi’s eyes flick up immediately, dark and sharpened with interest.
His mouth skims your throat. “You ever do this to yourself?” he murmurs, thumb stroking your sensitive nub. You shake your head fast – like even thinking of doing such a thing is a sin.
“No?” His breath warms your skin. “You really are the perfect little angel, huh?”
Heat blooms low in your belly as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing slowly. While he brings a second fingertip to your entrance. The first press stings unfamiliarly, and tears bead at your lashes. He goes slowly and gently so you can get used to it. “Breathe for me. That’s it.”
You exhale, and your body relaxes. He eases deeper inch by inch, stretching you until both thick fingers are seated to the knuckles. He looks down at you, and that smug smile breaks with dimples and all. “Atta girl.”
He starts to work you open in a steady, ruthless rhythm, until each deep pump has your cunt squelching obscenely around him. He’s slick to the wrist, knuckles glistening as he coaxes you higher, his thumb catching your clit on every pass.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, and then you can’t as heat lashes through you so fast it blanks your thoughts. The edge rushes up and hits before you can warn him.
Your cry breaks free, too loud for a sleeping camp, and he clamps his other big hand over your mouth, holding you there as you shudder. “That’s it,” he grits, fingers driving you through it. “Take it – good girl – take it.” Your eyes flutter, roll back, your thighs lock around his wrist, your walls flutter and seize until the pleasure rips through you in hot, pulsing waves.
He slows only when you’re shaking, easing the thrusts, thumb soft now as he milks the last tremors out of you. He slides his fingers free – wet strings breaking – and lifts them to his mouth without looking away from you. He sucks them clean, a pleased sound low in his throat. “Sweet,” he says.
Warmth floods you everywhere, but the moment his fingers leave, a hollow ache takes over. Your core is still throbbing with aftershocks and a shocking, new need that doesn’t feel sated at all.
“Come on,” he murmurs, spurring you on. “Ask for it.”
Your throat bobs as you meet his gaze and can’t make the words come. He takes your hand instead, wraps his fingers around your wrist, and brings you down to his lap.
Your breath catches as you feel his heat and the solid weight under the denim. He nudges you to press, guiding your palm along the thick line straining against his jeans. A ragged groan punches out of him, his hips buck into your touch.
“Will it… hurt?” you whisper, breath catching. “I’ve read…in books…that it hurts.”
His brows pinch as he guides your fingers higher, down again, showing you the pace he likes. A low sound rumbles out of him when you squeeze, his hips giving a helpless nudge into your touch.
“It’s gonna feel good,” he says, voice rough. “Like my fingers did, but better. You’re already soaked, baby.” His mouth ghosts your cheek. “It’ll be a little stretch, just like before.”
Just a little stretch. You bite your lip, palm still cupping him, and even through the denim you can feel the thick length and the way it pulses like it's got its own heartbeat. Two of his fingers had felt huge, but this wouldn’t be the same. But you also know you can’t exactly resist.
“Okay,” you breathe, lip caught between your teeth. “I…want it.”
His mouth skims your jaw. “It?”
Heat floods your face. “Sex,” you whisper.
Then, in a few deft motions, he’s easing the straps from your shoulders, tugging the night gown up and over your head. The cool air kisses your skin, his hands are warmer as his big palms cup your plush tits. He groans at the weight of you, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they pebble, then bows his head to kiss across your collarbone, down the soft line between your ribs, and the curve of one breast.
“Back,” he murmurs, guiding you, and you lie down on your tiny twin bed, your cross necklace tapping your sternum as you settle. He steps away only long enough to strip, and you can’t look anywhere else. His shirt goes first, revealing a softly toned stomach and a faint line of hair heading downwards, then the buttons of his jeans pop, and you’re met with strong thighs dusted with dark hair as he shoves the denim to the floor. The waistband of his boxers rides low on his hips, the trail of hair disappearing beneath, and when he hooks his thumbs and pushes them down, you forget to breathe.
He’s completely naked now. Thick, flushed, and heavy in his hand. His dick stands out from a dark nest of curls. You see it pulse just under the velvet looking skin, and he wraps his fingers around the base and pumps as his jaw flexes while he watches your eyes go wide.
He revels in the way you stare and slows his strokes just to make you track every inch of movement. The slick slide of his wrist, the thick pulse in his hand, the way his breath roughens when his thumb drags over his leaking tip. He lets you see all of it, eyes fixed on your face like your awe is everything.
“Gonna make it good for you,” he says, voice low. “All you have to do is relax for me.”
He comes closer, knees to the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. One broad palm skims up your calf, over your knee, then nudges gently until your thighs fall open for him. He slots in low between them.
“Breathe,” he coaxes, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the line of your jaw. “That’s it.”
He wraps his hand once more around himself, bringing the flushed tip down to you, rubbing lazily through your slick. The contact steals your breath – soft glides from your clit to entrance and back again, gathering you on him. He groans at the feel, shoulders dropping, eyes going heavy. “Perfect,” he says, almost to himself. “So soft.”
His free hand cups the back of your thigh and lifts, angling you open another inch to accommodate him and to make room for the length you were just holding minutes ago.
“Good girl,” he says as he circles the tip of his dick over your clit once, then drags down to your entrance, and your fingers dig into his shoulders as he starts to push in. Just a little stretch was an understatement. You whimper as his dick sinks in, and he groans as your pussy grips him, making it hard for him to move.
But he seems to manage as one hand cups the back of your thigh to keep you open as he rocks a fraction, lets you take him, waits for your body to relax, then presses deeper. You clutch his shoulders. “Fuck,” he grits as he fights the urge to drive in over and over again. He inches deeper until your hips finally meet, and his dick is all the way inside you.
“Gonna move okay? Just a bit.” He groans softly. It’s really the best he can do while you squeeze him so tight.
You nod, breath shaking. It doesn’t hurt. You’d braced for punishment, for something painful and ugly, God’s way of slapping your wrist for wanting, but it’s honestly not that. It’s strange for a beat, and then it’s… good. Like really fucking good.
He eases back an inch and slides in again. The drag of him against your walls pulls a gasp out of you, and another shallow stroke makes your toes curl. You moan softly when the coarse hair at the base of him catches your clit on the next glide. The friction sparks, and your hips tilt to meet it without thinking. He feels the change and angles his pelvis, giving you that brush again on the way in, a little firmer and deeper.
You can’t hold it in. “Oh, Jesus–” spills out on a gasp when he thrusts deeper and ruts right into that sweet spot inside you. Heat blooms low in your belly, spreading and tightening. He feels the way you jump and smirks, breath ghosting your mouth, then slips his fingers between your bodies to find your clit. The rough pads circle once perfectly, and your voice breaks again. “Oh God–”
He tsks, amused, never losing his rhythm. “Not my name, pretty.” His thumb is dragging tighter circles while his hips roll deeper. Then, he shifts and grabs behind both your knees and pushes your legs up and wide, folding you open like you’re meant to be offered to him. This angle knocks a loud cry from your throat as he sinks in deeper until your vision blurs.
“Yeah,” he pants, settling his knees wider, hovering over you as he starts pounding into you. “Keep this pretty pussy open for me.”
Your tits bounce with every snap of his hips, and he watches them shamelessly. You can’t stop the noises spilling out of you, each moan higher than the last, trembling around him as he ruts into that gummy spot again and again. Your hands scramble at his forearms, and your head tips back into the pillow.
“Look at you,” he groans. He thrusts harder and deeper than before. “You think God’s watching, baby?” He growls, leaning down to your ear. “Hope he sees me worshipping his greatest creation.”
Your eyes roll back. The words are so filthy, so blasphemous, so dirty that it snaps something inside you. The pressure coiled tight in your belly explodes.
“Lu–” Your voice breaks into a sob as your orgasm hits you violently, your body arching and squeezing around him so fiercely he chokes on a curse.
“Jesus fuck–” he snarls, losing his rhythm for the first time. “You’re – shit – so tight–”
He tries to keep thrusting, but your cunt milks him, clamps around him, pulsing in waves that drag a groan straight from his chest.
He pulls out fast, breath shattered. “Fuck–fuck–”
And then he’s stroking himself hard, desperate, and thick ropes of his cum paint your pussy, warm as they stripe your folds, your clit, the trembling seam where he was just inside you. His hips jerk as he empties himself over you, panting like he’s never come this hard in his life.
He groans low, almost sounding pained, and steadies himself on the mattress, eyes locked on the mess dripping over your swollen slit.
You don’t last long after that. Luigi wipes you off with some old hand towel, muttering something in between praise and tease that you’re too dazed to process. He tugs your night gown back down and presses a lazy kiss to your forehead, and tells you to sleep.
You do. You’re out almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. Not even registering whether he leaves or not.
─
Morning comes with the chirp of birds, alarms, and a dull, sweet ache between your legs. You hiss under your breath in the showers, carefully angle yourself away from the mirror as you dab concealer over the worst of the hickeys, and pop the collar of your polo as high as you can get away with.
By the time you step toward the dining hall, campers are already milling around in bright shirts and mismatched socks. You wear your usual smile and start directing the traffic of kids with your clipboard in hand.
Then you see him.
Luigi’s by the steps, talking to another counselor, curls still damp from his own shower. The morning sun hits him just right, turning the edge of him gold and even more beautiful. You’re about to look away like you always try to do when something at his throat catches the light.
Your silver cross.
It hangs against his chest on your familiar chain, gleaming above the edge of his staff lanyard like it’s always been there.
He feels it instantly and glances over. His eyes dip to the pendant, then back up to yours, and one corner of his mouth curls in a slow, knowing smirk, just for you.
Your heart lurches, and you look away first.
The bell rings for breakfast, kids rush forward, and you let them pull you along, the weight of your necklace and him on top of you missing and suddenly feeling very, very real.
