#Salon Cosa

[janeyseymour]

La Cosa Nostra- pt 1

*clears throat* ...hi. i present to you, the first part of the fic that @schemmentis are co-writing. and damn, if i do say so myself.

Summary: You're a part of the mob. Melissa is a part of the mafia. Together... it makes for an interesting life.

Let us know what you think because we are having an absolute BLAST with this!

WC: ~3k

You really don’t know how you ended up in this position. 

One day, you were working at the local hair salon, the next, you learned that your boss was tied up in the mafia and needed some help getting out. Luckily for him; you already had contacts. Just not on the side he was with. Which means you couldn’t entirely get him out of trouble but you could help. And you did. You had called your “Uncle'' Joe for a favor. A big one. Taking the loans of your boss at the hair salon off the Italian’s books and claiming them to the Irish instead. At least then, you knew exactly who needed to be spoken to for the loans and what was owed. And that’s how you met Melissa Schemmenti.

Melissa had been sent on behalf of the Italian’s. To negotiate taking the salon’s books. She hadn’t given it up easily. The only saving grace was the fact that the Irish taking the books meant the Italians didn’t have a problem to worry about anymore. It was hard not to want to agree from the Italian side of it. They had nothing to lose. And you were indebting yourself a great deal to your own “family” by taking it on. Except you knew you could turn a profit if you were given the chance. You argued with the red-head spokeswoman tooth and nail, like your life depended on it. Yours didn’t, not yet. Your boss’ life did, though. 

When Melissa finally agreed to turn over the books, she’d shaken your hand with an all too satisfied smile. One that you hadn’t forgotten since. You went around everyone in your extended “family” to ask her out. You half expected her to cuss you out and make it extremely well known you had tried. Instead, she’d said yes and told you to pick her up at six.

Fast forward seven years: you now own the hair salon, that red headed woman is your wife, and you have two beautiful little girls together. Everything is great- you would even dare to say perfect. Your front is working perfectly while still being one of the best hair salons in all of Philadelphia, your wife’s restaurant has taken off and she’s been named one of the most up and coming restauranteurs in the city, and your two children are well on their way to blossoming into two of the smartest kindergarteners you know.

The day your daughters were born is second only to the day you married Melissa in the happiest day of your life. Deciding to start a family as soon as possible, you began to lay down the foundations for a family. It had been decided that you would carry while attempting to find a donor that was as similar to your wife as possible. 

The two of you had tried a few times before and hadn’t managed to get pregnant. The day that you went in to take a test and the doctor told you that were indeed pregnant was one that you’ll never forget- Melissa jumping out of her seat and tackling you in a hug, her hand already resting gently on your flat stomach. And when you found out that you were blessed enough to be pregnant with twins, Melissa had gripped your hand, making a cross over her chest with the other. She thanked God for blessing you with two; she thanked you for carrying them since she couldn’t imagine being the one to. 

Having you carry was risky though, and it never left either of your minds through the entire pregnancy that you were technically on the forefront of this illegal business that you found yourself a part of now. But you were able to make it through your entire pregnancy without a hair on your head touched (you’re fairly certain Melissa had threatened both sides that if you were even looked at the wrong way they would be taken care of). 

Melissa, even five years later, is positive you were only flattering her when you had requested to name one of your girls in honor of her. She was the love of your life, after all, you had argued. Caterina Ann had been born first, and two minutes later her sister followed. Melissa named her Rosalina Marie. Gifting one of her sister’s middle names despite their estrangement. When the two of them did finally reconcile and Kristen Marie met your rays of sunshine, she wept at their names.

And then, it all comes crashing down on you. You’re out with your wife to pick up the girls from their day at school when your phone rings- and not your personal phone: the phone that you use specifically for your business.

“Hello?” you answer softly.

“Y/N,” the manager on call replies. “We have a bit of a problem over at the salon.”

“You can handle it,” you roll your eyes. “I’m out getting ready to pick up the girls.”

“They ain’t takin’ no for an answer,” he says lowly. “Insisting you come speak to them directly.”

You hazard a glance at your wife, who is looking at you with furrowed brows. “Let me pick the girls up, drop the family at home, and then I’ll be in.”

“Make it quick.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” you reprimand your employee. “Don't forget I can fire your ass.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, if you don’t get down here sooner rather than later, there’s gonna be a much bigger problem on our hands than we have now.” He hangs up.

You stuff your phone in your pocket, look up at the sky, and audibly ask the question, “Why?” All you wanted to do was pick up the girls and have a nice family night. You’d finally been able to take the day off after almost a month of straight work. Now though, that was being taken away from you, and you couldn’t even get a clear answer as to why.

“Why what?” your wife asks you, clearly concerned.

“After we get Cat and Rosie, I have to head down to the salon,” you huff. “Tony called and said someone is down there specifically asking for me over some sort of problem. So, I’m either giving out a ridiculous credit or I’m dealing with...” you trail off, knowing she’ll understand.

Melissa squeezes your hand. “Go. I can handle ‘em. Just... please be back for bedtime, because then I have to head to the restaurant to prep for tomorrow."

“I’ll do what I can,” you promise her. You peck her lips, and you turn in the direction of your business wondering what the hell you’ll be walking into.

You walk in through the staff entrance of the salon, swiftly ducking into the back office before anyone up front can notice. You dig through desk drawers and the small filing cabinet in the corner. You quickly slip one binder, the ledger of the illegal side of the business into the space between your belt and back before you tuck your blazer coat back over it. You grip the other binder you’d grabbed, the legal ledger, as you step back out of the office and towards the front.

“Tony,” You greet your manager with a big smile. Your eyes flashing your annoyance at him. “Who do we have here?” You quickly turn your attention to the two individuals standing in front of Tony. You hold your hand out to shake. 

Instead of a handshake, a badge is flashed from each of the suits now focusing on you. “Agent Danik, and this Agent Shaw, FBI. You own this establishment?”

“I do.” You confirm. “What can I help you with?”

“We have reason to believe this salon is laundering money. We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Danik tells you lowly.

“I’d be happy to answer what I can.” You say, attempting to seem cooperative. You know it won’t help you to dig your heels in. “But I can’t imagine where you’d get the idea of money laundering. I’ve owned this salon for almost a decade.”

“And you bought it from Bobby Esposito, is that right?” Shaw asks, brow raised.

“That’s right,” you tell them honestly. “I worked for Bobby for a few years before that; managing the office and schedules. All that.” What you’re saying is true- for years you had sent out schedules, managed different finances, and became the best stylist your business has to offer.

“Were you aware Bobby was murdered a few years ago?”

You blink. You did know. It would be next to impossible for you not to know. “Uncle” Joey had ordered the hit on Bobby and informed you about it so you wouldn't be surprised. Now, you make an effort to look shocked. “Bobby? Murdered?” You echo, your brow furrowing. “Why would somebody do somethin’ like that? Bobby’s just…an old man by now.”

The agents’ faces don’t change. You feel a shot of ice down your spine at the thought they don’t believe you. “We were hoping you might have an idea about that. The PPD has been kind enough to lend us a room. You mind coming down to the station with us, have a chat about all this?”

“I don’t mind.” You answer as calmly as you can. “But I have two little girls waiting for me at home. I promised them a bedtime story and all, you know how it is. Couldn’t I meet you down there tomorrow?”

“I know how it is.” Agent Shaw answers with a sigh. “I have a little girl myself. Unfortunately, you’re gonna have to miss the stories tonight.” He does seem a bit regretful at the knowledge of you having children, but it doesn’t change the fact that they need you down at the station tonight.

You curse in your mind. Not only are your girls going to be disappointed; so is your wife. Not to mention the binder you’re still hiding that is definitely going to be noticed at some point.

“Right…” You murmur, glancing away from the agents. “Tony, call Mel for me, won’t you? Let her know I’m gonna be late tonight.” You say before starting to follow the agents out. “Oh,” You say, pretending to remember something. You glance over your shoulder. “And tell her to take that ziti of hers off the menu, huh?” You pretend it disgusts you to even think about it. It’s something you’d never dream of saying seriously. Which is why you say it now. When Melissa hears you said to pass that along, she’ll know something is wrong. Very wrong.

As you make your way out of your business and are escorted to one of the cars out front, Tony practically shits himself inside. He knows what’s happening, and he does not want to be the one to have to relay this information to your wife. Still though, an order from the boss is an order from the boss. He calls her cell phone on his own.

“Hello?” she answers as she juggles making dinner, assisting the girls with their reading, and making a list of things she needs to purchase for her own business tomorrow.

“Melissa? It’s Tony,” your manager sighs into the phone. “Don’t shoot the messenger when I tell you this, but Y/N ain’t gonna be home for bedtime stories tonight.”

Your wife nearly fumes. “What do you mean she isn’t gonna be... yeah, Rosie, that says ‘think’, good job sweetheart... What do you mean she isn’t gonna be home tonight?”

“She’s handling her business,” Tony states. “And you need to handle yours. Y/N said to take your ziti off the menu- it’s lacking.” And then he hangs up.

Almost immediately, the redhead knows something is wrong. That anger that had been there just a few seconds ago disappears in a flash- you’re in trouble somehow. You would never, ever tell her that her ziti is lacking. It’s your favorite dish of hers, and has been- it was the first dish that she ever made for you and had secured a place for her in your heart. It was the dish that you insisted be at your wedding because you knew that it would only make the one of the happiest days of your life even better. 

She knows she has to call her manager and let her know that she won't be in until late tonight, if at all. The restaurateur is able to relay this information, along with the ingredients that she’s managed to put on a list to go shopping for, before turning her attention back to your girls and the meal that’s being made.

Once dinner is on the table, Cat and Rosie chat your wife’s ear off about their days- and while she would usually listen avidly, her mind wanders to you and what you could be dealing with right now.

“Mommy?” Rosie waves a hand in front of her mother’s eyes.

Melissa blinks a few times. “Sorry, baby. Mommy’s a little distracted thinking about the restaurant right now. What were you saying?”

She makes an active attempt to stay as engaged with the girls as possible. And they’re fine, up until bedtime. They know you’re supposed to be home by now; you had promised them that you would be home for a family night and to read them a story like you haven't been able to for a bit now.

“Mam is running late,” Melissa tells them regretfully. “But I’m sure she’ll read you a story another time, so can you please just let Mommy read and get to sleep? You have school tomorrow.”

That throws both of your girls into absolute conniption fits, and your wife can only get them to settle with her in the bed that the two of you share, each of them clinging to one of your pillows. The woman who so desperately needs to attend to her own business sighs as she settles into the middle of the bed, one of your twins on either side of her, and prays that you’re okay.

You rub your eyes as you sigh. Both Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek are sat across from you at the small table. The small interrogation room feels even smaller than it did when you entered. It’s warm with its lack of windows. It takes a good portion of your concentration every few minutes to remember you can’t remove your blazer despite the Agents having removed their’s a long time ago.

“For the fifteenth time,” You grit out between your teeth. Your hand falling away from your eyes to thunk onto the metal table. “I have no idea who would wanna hurt Bobby. He was a nice enough boss even if he was clueless about how to balance his accounting. I didn’t wanna hurt Bobby. I bought the salon from him years ago, which would have been the only thing he’d have that I’d want anyway.”

“Y/N, you know that just telling us the truth would get you out of here a lot faster.” Agent Dinek says. She doesn’t lean forward or uncross her arms that are over her chest as she looks at you. She looks bored now.

Your hand on the table curls into a fist. You’ve let the interrogation go on this long, hoping it would just be a few questions you could bat off. A couple answers and then home. Now, it’s nearing three in the morning and you’re still sitting in the uncomfortable chair. The agents are still staring at you from their seats next to the door. You swear the thermostat has risen a couple times since you’ve been here.

This, being in an interrogation room at the PPD with FBI agents, is dangerous. Asking for your lawyer is even more dangerous. If you have to resort to that; you’re well and truly fucked. In the few times you’d been in interrogation rooms, you’d only had to answer a few questions, clear up a timeline. That was it. Those moments though were never with the FBI. 

They had only been with the PPD. Police officers you were more than familiar with. People from your neighborhood. People who knew you. People that came to the salon or your wife’s restaurant. A small handful on the force know exactly who you are and what your business really is. Those people though are in the families pockets. Irish or Italian, or both. Paid for their information their unique positions give them access to. 

Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek aren’t in anyone’s pocket. They seem to know exactly who is, at least on the streets, though. They’ve brought up plenty of names you’re overly familiar with over the last twelve hours or so. Triple checking how you know them, and how well you know them.

You’re reaching your limit. If you don’t ask to speak with your lawyer, force the “interview” to end, your only other option is to come clean. You think about emerald green eyes. The eyes you fell in love with practically the first time you looked into them. You think about little faces that look like little minis of your wife even though she claims they look more like you. If you come clean it isn’t just you paying for this. Nevermind the people beneath you and the rest of the families. 

What kills you to picture is your wife and your daughters paying for it. You don’t really care what happens to the Irish or the Italians at this moment. The entirety of Cosa Nostra could fall apart and you wouldn’t give a damn. If your wife or your girls are touched even the slightest, even just inconvenienced, you would raise hell. 

You slowly lean back in your chair, feeling the binder beneath your blazer press into your spine. “I’d like to speak with my lawyer.”

TAGS, and let me know if you want to be added! : @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

[schemmentis]

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 4

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Summary: The search warrants on your salon and house are executed and Melissa turns to an unlikely source for help...

WC: 2k

You turn to your right, glaring hard at Sammy. And then you remember that the books for your family are stowed away- in your safe... at home. Melissa is at the restaurant as far as you’re aware, and if the FBI finds that safe hidden under one of the broken floorboards in your room, you’re dead meat.

What you don’t know is that Melissa, after making a few calls, ends up back at home. She immediately goes for the safebox to look for anything else that could somehow miraculously get you out of this sticky situation, but when she opens it she finds the binder that holds your fate. That’s the absolute last thing she wants to see in your house. She lets out a shaky breath before picking it up and holding it close to her chest. She has no idea where to even take it. If the interrogation leads to warrants, they’re going to check your salon, your home, your cars, even her restaurant.

And then an idea strikes her- and she hates that she even thinks of this. Barbara Howard has no connection to anyone other than being the sweet woman that your family engages with at church. And even at that, your girls are so popular among the congregation, that the entirety of that circle adores you and your family- they can’t certainly go there and interrogate every single person who gathers. Even if they did, nobody knows of the illegal business that she and you run- not even the reverend.

Before she can talk herself out of it, the Italian woman dials the number that she had only dialed a few times before- mostly to pray over you and your girls together, and once to gossip about the fact that Sister Sloss had been skimming money off the top of the church funds and dipping her own toes into a business she had no right to be a part of. 

“Hello? Melissa?” the other woman answers the phone.

“Hey, you remember when you told me I didn’t need to wait to meet you at Mass?”

“Of course I do, and I meant it,” Barbara says into the phone, eyebrow raised.

The redhead runs a nervous hand through her hair. “Care to have brunch?”

“I would be delighted,” the church going woman smiles into the phone. She has no idea what she’s just gotten herself into.

The two women meet at a small diner a few blocks away from the church, and Melissa has the ledger hidden in her all too big bag.

“Not that I’m not happy to be here, but what made you change your mind?”

Melissa lowers her eyes to the table as she lets out, “I need you to do me a favor- no questions asked.” When the woman across from her furrows her brow and bites her lip, the redhead continues. “I have something I need you to hold onto for the time being.”

“And what would that be?”

“I thought I said no questions asked,” Melissa grumbles. “Just... the ledger for the salon. You just have to hold onto it and keep it safe until I take it back.”

“Melissa, are you and Y/N committing fraud?” Barbara asks lowly, just barely audible.

The redhead shakes her head, and she’s telling the truth. “It’s just an extra copy of the financials, but I have a feeling they’re going to take the original copy and I need a backup so I can sue their asses when this is all over.”

Barb closes her eyes for a few seconds, internally wrestling with herself.

“Please,” Melissa begs. “If not for me and Y/N, then for Cat and Rosie.”

“Okay. Hand it over.”

“I’ll give it to you when we’re leaving,” the redhead sighs. “Now, can we talk about what Delisha was wearing today?”

The pair end up having a delightful brunch, and when they part ways Barbara takes the binder with explicit instruction from the Italian to never open it and to hide it somewhere safe- somewhere where even Gerald or the Howard girls won’t be able to find it.

And then Melissa is on her way back home.

Meanwhile, your salon is being torn apart as they look for anything suspicious. There is nothing though of course, because the one thing that they’re looking for isn’t there anymore. Hours go by, and as they move and rearrange everything in the building, you’re right behind them cleaning it up. Your salon might be a front, but you still do good business, and you’d like to keep it that way if possible. It’s the extra pocket money that you and your wife use to spoil the girls as often as you can.

You think of them as you put your business back together- how they’re probably running amuck right now in kindergarten with their all too smart little mouths that they undoubtedly learned from Melissa, their insanely high energy levels. If you can remember as you glance at the clock, they’re probably sprinting around the recess yard giggling with glee at this very moment. It makes your heart warm, and you silently pray to whatever God is out there that they’re safe, happy, and that they get to keep their innocence as life continues for them.

It seems like hours pass before the search is over. But then they move onto your house, and a nasty pit settles in your stomach. Sammy drives with you back to the house, but when he pulls in, the family car is sitting there. Melissa’s home?

Danik knocks on the door rather abrasively, and inside where your wife is folding your girls’ clothes in the living room she jumps.

“Hello?” She comes to the door and opens it wide, hoping to give off the impression that the two of you have absolutely nothing to hide- only she knows that there’s nothing here.

“Hey honey,” you sigh softly as you step past the officers to peck her lips. “Why are you home? I thought you had work today?”

She holds up her injured hand. “I got into a fight today... the knife won.”

“Baby,” you look up at the ceiling with an exasperated look as you take her hand in your own and start to unwrap it to check the damage. “Were you singing and dancing again while trying to dice the onions?”

“Maybe,” Melissa shrugs, although she knows that is very much not why she nicked her fingers today.

“Enough,” Danik steps between the two of you. He holds up the search warrant for Melissa to see. “We have to search your home now for any ties to the murder of Bobby Esposito.”

“To Bobby?” your wife plays dumb. “That was such a shame what happened to-” She doesn’t get to finish her sentence because the police push past her rather harshly and begin their search.

They look through the whole house- moving furniture, opening drawers and cabinets, even going as far as pulling back the blankets on your twins’ beds while you and Melissa just continue to fold laundry in the living room. Hopefully by just letting them do their thing and not trailing their every step, they realize that you were not involved in the hit on Bobby. They find nothing. But then, they head into your bedroom.

Melissa is clearly trying to silently convey something to you, but you can’t pick up on what she’s attempting to tell you. Her eyes dart to yours every few moments from over the laundry you’re both folding, returning to the doorway of your bedroom that the agents are currently tearing apart.

“We found something!” Shaw shouts to Danik, who is still combing through the girls’ room. The woman goes rushing into your room, and you blow out a breath as you know they’ve just found the loose floorboard with the safe... that contains your ledger. You know your arrest is only minutes away.

“Mrs. Schemmentis, enough of the domestic household act,” Danik rolls her eyes as she steps into the living room. “We found the safe, and we need you to open it.”

You take your wife’s hand in your own and squeeze it gently, as if to say, ‘I love you, and I’m sorry’. She just returns the gesture as you both make your way into your bedroom.

The safe is sitting on your bed, and the agents look all too happy to have found what they think they’re looking for.

“Open it,” Shaw instructs.

You do, and when you expect to find the ledger laying on top where you had put it last night, you only find all of your other legal documents- birth certificates for your family, passports from the trip to Italy a few summers ago, your marriage license, social security cards. You try to hide the absolute shock in your face- where the hell could the ledger have gone?

Admitting defeat for now, the agents leave your home promising that they will find whatever you’re hiding. You shoo them out, telling them that you weren’t connected to the hit on Bobby in the slightest and that you wish they would just leave you alone. You tell them that you would kindly appreciate it if they would leave you to take care of your injured wife.

Sammy also makes his exit after assuring you that they aren’t going to find anything. That leaves just you and Melissa. You gently unwrap her hand to change the gauze out when your eyes meet hers.

“Where the hell did the books go?” you whisper, almost afraid that the cops had somehow bugged your house and you weren’t aware.

“Why was it in our house to begin with?” your wife shoots out just as quietly. “We had one rule, and it was that none of that shit ever comes home with us to protect the girls. Do you know how pissed I was when I found it?”

You close your eyes briefly at your wife’s biting tone. She may be quiet, but you can see the echoes of how furious she was when she initially found the ledger in your home. 

You’re taken back to just after the girls were born. Barely six months old, swaddled in blankets and tucked safely in their car carriers a few feet away from you and Melissa both. The two of you helped put back together the apartment that had been flipped entirely upside down by the police. An hour before you had watched the tail end of the search being finished. It had, unfortunately in your eyes, been successful for the police and ended with Melissa’s younger brother Mickey in handcuffs.

It was then that Melissa had looked at you, in the middle of trying to put her brother’s apartment back together, with determination set in her features. ‘Business never comes home.’ She said firmly. It wasn’t a sentiment you were inclined to argue with, and if you had been, the look on your wife’s face would ensure you wouldn’t have.

“I knew they were going to search the salon, so I brought it home until I could figure out what to do with it,” you mumble. “I was going to get rid of it by the end of today.”

“Well you’re damn lucky Val convinced me to take the day off after I nearly cut off my fingers because I was so distracted worrying about you,” Melissa hisses out. “If you knew they were going to search the salon, you damn well knew they were going to search the house too!”

“I didn’t think they’d do it all in one day!” you defend yourself as you wrap her hand just slightly more aggressively than you usually would (and even then, it’s not aggressive at all... you handle your wife with such delicate care). “Now where is it?! My life depends on that book!”

“It’s somewhere no one will ever think to look,” the redhead tells you with a smirk on her face.

“Melissa Ann,” you huff out in frustration. “Now is not the time for games. Where is the damn book?!”

“With Barbara Howard,” Melissa whispers. 

[camicazyoaks]

SUPER TARDE, PERO, lo importante es que lo hice ☝️uwu

CEATD WEEK

08 DE MAYO

DIA 1: MODERNIDAD/ACTUALIDAD

(Algunos diálogos de la discusión están inspirados en la película de: "Beautifoul Boy" y "CEATD", algunos no tan exactos, pero cachan la idea XD)

P.O.V. NARRADOR

Una explosión se había escuchado proveniente del laboratorio de química, no había más que humo cubriendo los rostros de los alumnos que ahí se encontraban, los extinguidores se prendieron empapando a toda aquella alma que estuviera bajo uno tanto dentro como fuera del laboratorio, específicamente, en pasillos y salones cercanos. Aquellos que se encontraban en los alrededores de la escena suspiraron con frustración y cansancio, pues (por la reputación que tenía en la escuela) no les era difícil conocer la identidad del causante de dicha explosión.

Por otro lado, los estudiantes que se encontraban dentro del laboratorio, salieron tosiendo y carraspeando producto del humo que había inundado por completo el lugar mientras el profesor abría las ventanas para que se disipara por completo, que, gracias a los rociadores, ya no era mucho.

“Bien hecho hipo”, “Nuevamente metiste la pata, no puede ser”, “¿Otra vez este tipo? ¿Qué le sucede?”, “Es hipo ¿Qué esperabas?” podía oírse decir a los compañeros de clase del chico mientras abandonaban el salón.

Hipo, fue el último en salir, empapado, avergonzado y confundido, tenía la cabeza gacha mientras salía y pensaba ¿que había salido mal? Tomo el material adecuado y siguió todos los pasos del experimento al pie de la letra.

Una leve risa proveniente del fondo de la multitud de compañeros del salón de hipo que ahora se encontraban fuera del sitio de la explosión se escuchó, provocando que la mirada del ojiverde se enfocase en ese punto en específico, era patán, quien hablaba y burlaba junto con los gemelos en voz baja (salvo por la risa que patán soltó en voz alta con toda la intención de que hipo le escuchase). Cuando la mirada de hipo se cruzó con la de él, una sonrisa burlona se pudo observar en el rostro del pelinegro hacia hipo.

Claro… no sabía ¿por qué se lo preguntaba? probablemente patán había sido el culpable de la explosión (cosa que no estaba lejos de la verdad) pues, mientras hipo regresaba al almacén por el resto de sus materiales, patán le cambio el ingrediente principal del experimento por otro similar en apariencia, pero con una composición diferente al que se debería usar. Los gemelos eran brillantes en química y súper FANS de loky (el dios de las artimañas) eran el TERROR de la escuela en “El día de los inocentes” y cualquier broma que quisieras hacer, era SUPER SEGURO que los gemelos estarían dispuestos a ayudarte si decidías unirte a ellos (y claro, era mejor estar con ellos que en su contra, pues, muchos preferían trabajar con ellos que ser víctimas de sus bromas) así que, al escuchar la broma propuesta por patán, lo ayudaron. No le fue difícil de intuir a hipo, pues, patán no era un tipo demasiado inteligente y por sí mismo hubiese fracasado o peor aún, provocar un accidente grave.

- Hay momentos en que lo miro, este niño que crie, que pensé que conocía por dentro y por fuera y me pregunto ¿quién es? – dijo estoico, quien se encontraba en su oficina charlando con bocón, que era no solo su mano derecha, sino también el profesor de deportes de la escuela.

- No puedes frenarlo estoico, solo puedes prepararlo, sé que no le tienes mucha fe, pero la verdad es que no estarás siempre para protegerlo, un día tendrás que dejarlo salir, dejar que sea el mismo, por más desastroso que puedas considerarlo… - respondió bocón haciendo una leve pausa – yo creo que el que tú y los demás tengan altas expectativas de él hace que hipo cometa errores en un intento de poder encajar

- ¿Crees que estoy siendo muy duro con él? – bocón iba a responderle, pero la platica fue interrumpida por una llamada de la maestra de química a estoico (pues era el director de la escuela) informando del incidente. Estoico suspiro y llevo una de sus manos al tabique de su nariz – bien, hablare con el ¿puedes decirle que venga a mi oficina por favor?... gracias – colgó – hipo hizo estallar el laboratorio de química.

- Bueno, hay que reconocerle un poco, no había hecho nada en una semana.

Hipo llego después de un rato y antes de entrar, suspiro, no dijo absolutamente nada, solo dejo que su padre hablara, sabía que le echarían la culpa y dijera lo que dijera, no le creería, usualmente era así.

- ¿Y bien? ¿no vas a decir nada? – dijo estoico, imponente desde su escritorio.

- ¿Qué quieres que diga? – respondió hipo aun parado en el marco de la puerta con la mirada en el piso y el ceño levemente fruncido.

- Ven, toma asiento, dime ¿Qué sucedió? – hipo le miro confundido por el tono que su padre empleaba, se notaba claramente un poco más abierto al dialogo, incluso comprensivo, aunque con algo de molestia o cansancio en su voz por ser algo ya “usual”. Posterior a eso, miro a bocón, preguntándole con la mirada si su padre estaba bien y el mayor solo asintió, dándole la señal de que podía hablar. Hipo acato la orden y tras cerrar la puerta se sentó frente a su padre y junto a bocón del otro lado del escritorio.

- Es que… no lo sé, es decir, yo seguí todos los pasos del experimento al pie de la letra, tenía los ingredientes adecuados… o eso creía, tengo la sospecha de que patán pudo haber cambiado algo con ayuda de los gemelos.

- ¿Tienes alguna prueba de eso hijo? – hipo suspiro y negó con la cabeza – ¿cómo llegaste a esa conclusión?

- Ellos… se reían.

- ¿Se reían…? - repitió la respuesta del chico – hipo… esa no es prueba suficiente para culpar a alguien… ah ¿Por qué no simplemente admites que te equivocaste?, quizá te distrajiste en algún momento y lo entiendo, los accidentes pueden llegar a ocurrir, pero no puedes culpar a alguien solo por reírse

- si ya decidiste que yo soy el culpable entonces ¿Por qué tenemos esta conversación?, solo ponme mi castigo y terminemos con esto.

- No, no es… - estoico suspiro – hipo, antes éramos unidos, éramos más unidos que la mayoría de padres e hijos, no éramos así…

- ¿Sí? Entonces dime, ¿Por qué siento que estas decepcionado de mí porque no puedo encajar o ser como quisieras?

- NO PUEDES CULPARME, hace poco estabas leyendo y… escribiendo y… estabas intentando ser un poco más normal… menos desastroso Y MIRANOS AHORA, esto no es lo que somos… - estoico se levantó de la silla

- ¿Más normal?... – dijo hipo casi incrédulo mientras, al igual que estoico, se levantaba de su asiento. Sabía que su padre estaba decepcionado de él, pero no pensó que lo creyera algo anormal, ¿dolió? No lo sabía, quizá en el fondo si tenía una vaga idea de lo que su padre pensaba de él, pero escucharlo era muy extraño

- ¡No éramos así! – repitió al mismo tiempo que hipo pregunto.

- Estoico, los dos, ya basta – intervino bocón mientras hipo y estoico se veían de manera un poco restante.

- Tu castigo será un día de suspensión – comento estoico después de un rato – considerando que fue un accidente

- Bien – concluyo hipo para después retirarse del lugar.

Estoico suspiro y se sentó nuevamente mientras bocón los miraba con algo de tristeza. Hipo salió de la escuela algo molesto y estoico lo pudo observar por la gran ventana que se encontraba en su oficina. Camino a casa un pequeño gato de color negro de ojos verdes se enredó en sus pies con un ligero ronroneo que demostraba lo alegre que estaba por verlo de nuevo.

- ¿chimuelo?, ¡amigo hola! – el chico se puso feliz al verle y lo cargo, el pequeño gato trepo sus hombros y se quedó ahí – me alegra verte y creo que, a estas alturas, uno de los pocos seres vivos que me alegro de ver.

[lamargi]

Porto sempre la merenda ai ragazzi mentre studiano, al pomeriggio. È ormai un rito: a una certa ora busso alla porta della camera di mio figlio e porto a lui e ad Antonio, il suo compagno di banco fin dalle elementari, il vassoio, con il tè, i biscotti, le merendine. Sono una brava mamma, giusto?

L’altro giorno la porta non era ben chiusa e quindi….perchè bussare? È stato così che ho sentito chiaramente quelle parole “…..quel gran pezzo di gnocca di tua mamma…”

A dirle Antonio. La voce era bassa, i due stavano confabulando a bassissima voce, i libri aperti, ma, evidentemente, non era sulla lezione che era concentrata la loro attenzione. Ho fatto assolutamente finta di nulla. E loro avranno pensato che non avessi potuto sentire dalla soglia della porta.

Invece….

Ma guarda il ragazzino, ho pensato nei giorni successivi. Eppure senza che provassi indignazione per quella frase così sfacciata. Anzi….e dire che lo conosco da piccolo, chissà da quanto ha sviluppato questa “cotta” per me…..

Comunque sentirmi definire “gnocca”non mi disturba affatto, anzi mi lusinga e mi stuzzica. Antonio è poi un ragazzo adorabile, carino ed educatissimo, niente affatto sfacciato, anzi piuttosto timido e taciturno di solito…..avesse solo qualche anno di più, il fatto che pensi a me come “un gran pezzo di gnocca” più che soltanto lusingare, bè mi farebbe eccitare….

Doveva accadere, ed è accaduto. Antonio che viene a casa, non trova mio figlio, noi due che restiamo soli…..

Lo faccio sedere, anche se solo non è un buon motivo per non preparargli anche oggi il tè con i biscottini. Servirglielo non nella stanza di mio figlio, ma qui in salone. Farlo accomodare sul divano. Sedermi davanti a lui, sul puff….

Che dirgli? Canzonarlo rivelandogli che l’ho sentito definirmi “gnocca”? No, poverino, morirebbe di vergogna. E comunque mi ci sento gnocca, oggi. E da come mi guarda, lo pensa proprio.

È da gnocca questa gonna corta? Si, è vero, mi sono cambiata quando l’ho sentito al citofono, ma lo avrei fatto comunque, non certo per…..fargli vedere le gambe…

Anche i collant ….direi che sono da gnocca….ma porto sempre le calze velate, anche in casa…e a ben pensarci quante volte mi era sembrato che Antonio mi guardasse le gambe mentre stavo in camera loro e attendevo che sorseggiassero il tè …..esattamente come mi guarda le cosce adesso….

Certo, avrei potuto evitare di non mettere il reggiseno. Con il reggiseno, le punte dei capezzoli che si sono induriti sarebbero meno visibili sotto la camicetta. E questi seni gonfi non tenderebbero la camicetta in questo modo, e i capezzoli duri che si vedono non calamiterebbero lo sguardo di questo ragazzo…..

Mi alzo per prendergli la tazza di tè dalle mani. Noto che gli tremano. Mi seggo stavolta accanto a lui. Molto vicina. Non fiata. Spingo il mio corpo a contatto con il suo. Si sposta un po’ ma il divano è finito…..Lo guardo e poggio la mia mano sulla sua. “ Forse disturbo, vado via?” Non rispondo, gli sorrido e porto la sua mano sul mio seno. Spalanca gli occhi. Spalanca la bocca. Mi faccio toccare il capezzolo attraverso la stoffa leggera della camicetta, poi guido la sua mano sulla mia coscia. Mi protendo e gli sfioro le labbra con le mie. Sono morbide, dolci. Gliele lecco con la punta della lingua.

Poi la lingua la spingo tra le sue labbra, gliele faccio aprire, la infilo dentro la sua bocca per il primo vero bacio con una donna della sua vita.

Sento la sua mano contrarsi sulla mia coscia. Anche io gli stringo la patta con la mia. Duro come il ferro. Proprio come lo volevo.

“E così sono un gran pezzo di gnocca, vero?” I miei gesti e l rivelazione che so cosa pensa lo mettono nella confusione totale. Come un bambolotto si lascia guidare in camera da letto, mentre canzonandolo gli dico che merita una punizione…

Mentre lo spoglio nudo, guardo di sfuggita l’orologio per capire quanto tempo ho a disposizione per farmelo. Tre ore almeno, abbastanza per castigare come previsto di fare questo ragazzino insolente.

[libriaco]

Bologna, agosto 1980

Le nostre vacanze di quell'estate 1980, in Austria, finirono troppo presto e per colpa mia.

Avevo parcheggiato il camper (in realtà, un vecchio furgone 238 Fiat riadattato dal propretario) in un silo piuttosto distante dal Kunsthistorisches Museum di Vienna, mèta della nostra mattinata culturale. Il costo del parcheggio era diviso in fasce orarie e avevamo fatto i nostri conti sulla durata che avrebbe dovuto avere la visita per spendere il meno possibile. Il Museo risultò però incredibilmente interessante, Dürer, Bruegel, Bosch.... Il tempo passò troppo in fretta e quando ci accorgemmo di stare per entrare nell'orario in cui il balzello del parcheggio ci sarebbe costato un bel po' di scellini, uscimmo in fretta, più di corsa che a passo veloce; è vero che Orazio aveva inscenato una incredibile pantomima alla biglietteria del museo, mostrando il suo libretto universitario e cercando di far capire, un po' in inglese e un po' in pugliese, che, come studenti, dovevamo avere uno sconto, che poi ci fecero, ma avevamo veramente i soldi contati e il costo della vita in Austria era ben più alto che in Italia.

Arrivati appena in tempo al parcheggio, mi misi alla guida cercando di guadagnare l'uscita prima dello scadere dell'orario. Ahimè, così al coperto, e abituato a guidare una Mini, non avevo valutato l'altezza del furgone e, a una curva troppo stretta, feci impuntare il tettino in uno spigolo di cemento sporgente, producendo un gran di rumore e un notevole 'taglio' nella lamiera: accorsero subito un paio di sorveglianti per vedere che cosa fosse successo, passò una mezz'ora o più e ovviamente, all'uscita, fummo costretti a pagare per la salata fascia oraria in cui eravamo rientrati per quei minuti di ritardo.

La cosa più brutta era che il camper, Domenico, il terzo componente del gruppo, lo aveva avuto in prestito da suo cognato, con l'impegno di riportarlo a Firenze entro il 9 o 10 agosto, per consentire a lui e alla famigliola di andarsene in vacanza. Che cosa potevamo fare? Certo non raccontare l'accaduto, a rischio creare dei problemi familiari a Domenico; decidemmo allora, dopo una serie concitata di telefonate in Italia (non c'erano i cellulari!), di rientrare qualche giorno prima, per consentire a un mio amico carrozziere, che avevo rintracciato ancora nella sua officina, di porre rimedio al danno in maniera 'invisibile': avremmo usato i soldi risparmiati dall'accorciarsi della vacanza per pagare il lavoro.

Io fui immediatamente esonerato dalla guida in città ma poi mi alternai con Domenico durante il rientro; eravamo abbastanza abbattuti per l'incidente e per la brutta chiusura della vacanza, e decidemmo, per fare prima, di guidare anche di notte.

Orazio doveva andare a Pisa, con Domenico, per ripartire subito dopo verso la Puglia, dai suoi. Domenico doveva riportare il camper a Firenze, dopo aver accompagnato me nel mio paesello di mare e fatto aggiustare il danno alla carrozzeria del mio amico. Visto il rientro anticipato, Orazio decise di fermarsi qualche giorno da alcuni amici a Bologna, per poi andare da lì in Puglia; i bagagli li aveva con sé e non aveva motivo di ripassare da Pisa.

Il pomeriggio del primo di Agosto, arrivati a Bologna poco dopo le 16:30, parcheggiammo in prossimità della stazione per accompagnare Orazio a consultare gli orari dei treni e a fare la prenotazione e il biglietto per il suo rientro. La stazione, nonostante il periodo dell'anno, non era particolarmente affollata; girellammo un po' per il salone, mentre Orazio era in fila, poi lo accompagnammo col camper nella zona dove abitavano i suoi amici. Senza neppure scendere per salutare i suoi nuovi ospiti, riprendemmo la strada verso casa mia: volevamo arrivare dai miei sul fare della notte.

La cena, finalmente tra le mura familiari, fu veramente ristoratrice, così come gli abbondanti lavacri. La mattina dopo, sabato 2 agosto, Domenico ed io dormimmo fino a tardi; a tavola, all'ora di pranzo, saltata la prima colazione, eravamo famelici.

L'immancabile televisore rumoreggiava in sottofondo, ma non lo ascoltavamo, tutti presi a rispondere alle domande dei miei sulla nostra vacanza; a un certo momento però ci accorgemmo che alla TV parlavano di Bologna, della stazione e ci voltammo meccanicamente per vedere e sentire cosa dicevano. "Eravamo lì ieri pomeriggio...", feci alla mamma, con la bocca piena.

Il silenzio fu poi agghiacciante: capimmo cosa era successo. Un incidente? Un attentato? Decine di morti, centinaia di feriti... Muti, un raggrinzire della pelle... ci prese, stretti, quella commozione che ti fa luccicare gli occhi; e ci fu un pensiero non detto, negli sguardi tra me e Domenico: chissà, forse andando un po' più piano o non viaggiando di notte, saremmo potuti essere lì anche noi, a quell'ora.

[myagami-2417]

Hola... Pasó más tiempo

Siempre que escribo este tipo de frase, lo hago con la esperanza de que cuando regrese, habrá un cambio increíblemente diferente, pero al final, siempre terminaba decepcionando me cuando volvía.

Sin embargo, está vez si es diferente. Entramos a una gran escuela, tiene tantas cosas en las que te puedes distraer y relajar, la biblioteca es hermosa, los baños, salones e instalaciones son de otro mundo, y una de las cosas más importantes: estamos ejercitandonos constantemente. Ahora se ha vuelto parte de nosotros y si no lo hacemos nos sentimos depresivos.

Hemos avanzado mucho con el idioma, tanto que ya nos inscribí a algunas clases de nuestra carrera y tenemos amigos con los que sólo compartimos ese idioma en común. Lo más emocionante es que compartimos varias actividades con ellos qué nos benefician demasiado. Son honestos, cálidos, y por supuesto, comprensivos.

Aquí estamos, no solamente cambiando de página, si no de libro. Sé que comenzamos de manera triste el año, pero estoy segura y confío plenamente en que va a ser casi imposible que nos reconozcan a final del año por todo lo que hemos avanzado en todas nuestras áreas.

Nos estamos levantando, y más fuertes qué nunca, sólo tú yo nos entendemos, así que no dudes de lo que hago por nosotros, por que yo sé que este es nuestro ritmo y camino, pero no temas en recordarme algo importante ni tus opiniones, siempre son importantes al momento de revivir alguna situación.

Esto es lo que buscamos, pero se que podemos lograr más, por ahora disfrutaremos de este logro y paz para recargar baterías y seguir con el siguiente desafío. Parece que no, pero siempre avanzamos, no importa si hay personas adelante o detrás de nosotros, lo importante es que avanzamos.

Cuídate, te veré pronto ;)

[profesor-javaloyes]

En mi “molesta” opinión.- Del silencio de los corderos a los aullidos de los hipócritas.-

“Hoy la palabra progresista tiene un barniz de izquierdas, pero en el fondo habla de alguien que es profundamente conservador de su estatus. El progre es un esnob, un tipo de izquierda en los salones pero que no quiere entender que la vida es algo muy duro” (Julio Anguita, maestro, militante comunista y coordinador de Izquierda Unida en las décadas de los ochenta y noventa)

Figura 1)

07/10/2023, ataque de la banda terrorista Hamas que acompañado de numerosos civiles de Gaza invaden Israel y ejecutan el mayor pogromo (matanza de judíos) desde la segunda guerra mundial. Matan de manera brutal a mil doscientas personas sin distinción de edad, género, raza o religión. Torturan, queman, mutilan, violan y asesinan y secuestran a doscientas personas vivas, heridas e incluso muertas y las trasladan a Gaza en donde son recibidos por “civiles inocentes” de toda condición y sexo a golpes, escupitajos al tiempo que profanan sus indefensos cuerpos y mentes.

Respuesta de los defensores de los Derechos Humanos, campistas, odiadores profesionales, desinformados (voluntariamente), judeofobos de toda la vida, solidarios de vocación (de acción ya cuesta más), hipócritas a tiempo parcial y completo y señoritingos de la izquierda no diré caviar, esa denominación nació en Argentina, sino española, charcutera y embutido salchichero procesado: “Sssssssshhhhhhhhhhh”

“¡Bah!, Fake news”

Cola en el supermercado: “¿Que pasó?, “nada señora, unas riñas”. “¿Una niñas?”, “no señora, unas disputas”. “Ahhhhh, pues entonces no eran tan niñas”

“¡Cosas de judíos son unos quejicas y unos llorones!”

“Es un acto de resistencia llevada a cabo por soldados miembros del ejército de liberación Palestina”

“Un invento, se mataron entre ellos”

Figura 2)

El día 20/10/2023 tras la matanza y continuar recibiendo ataques a su territorio y contra sus ciudadanos de cohetes lanzados desde de Gaza, Israel da comienzo su respuesta con una ofensiva con dos propósitos; rescatar a los rehenes y acabar con los terroristas, las infraestructuras en donde se esconden y descabezar a las diferentes bandas islámico-terroristas. La respuesta de los “indignados” según qué y quién ya se escuchaba desde el mismo día siete de octubre: “¡Genocidas!”

“¡Israel asesino!”

“¡Sionistas criminales de guerra!

“¡Judíos mata niños!”

“¡Eliminación de la entidad sionista!”

“¡Palestina vencerá desde el río hasta el mar!”

“¡Viva la Lucha de Hamas, Hezbollah, la Yihad Islámica, los ayatolás de Irán y todos los mártires de Alá!”

Conclusión: como verán, queridos niños y pequeñas criaturas, ni una acampada universitaria, ni un comunicado o declaración del gobierno español y/o sus ministros exigiendo la liberación de los rehenes en manos de los terroristas desde hace siete meses. Hay quiénes no tienen suficiente con un sentido de la moral, por eso precisamente la tienen… doble.

[gregor-samsung]

" Avevamo visto insieme i risultati delle elezioni; eravamo in una casa con un salone molto grande, mangiavamo e bevevamo, eravamo chiassosi, e poi all'improvviso era calato un silenzio molto serio, preoccupatissimo, complicato. Scuotevamo la testa, ma non avevamo il coraggio di dire nulla. E vero che i sondaggi avevano suggerito di stare all'erta, ma ciò che stava accadendo sembrava impossibile a noi che eravamo l'Italia civile e moderna. Ogni tanto, se appariva uno di quelli che avevamo votato, qualcuno urlava un insulto - qualcosa di generico contro la sinistra; era un urlo stonato, in mezzo al silenzio, e veniva accolto con altro silenzio. E allora questa ragazza, che era seduta per terra davanti alla tv, si voltò solo un attimo per afferrare il suo bicchiere di vino rosso, poi disse: «Va bene, che sarà mai, Berlusconi ha vinto le elezioni e governerà, cosa può succedere?»

Quella frase ruppe il tappo del silenzio. Le si scagliarono tutti contro, dicendo che forse non si rendeva conto, elencando cosa aveva fatto Berlusconi fino a quel momento, come si era procurato i soldi, in quali rapporti era stato con Craxi. Il baratro che ci aspettava. E molti dicevano soltanto questa frase, come un mantra: dobbiamo andare via dall'Italia. Cosa ci sarebbe capitato, da quel giorno in poi, non si poteva nemmeno immaginare. Dovevamo andare a vivere in un altro Paese, più civile, più vicino a noi, perché l'Italia era caduta nelle mani di esseri umani che non sapevamo nemmeno che esistessero. Io non dicevo nulla, però continuavo a guardare quella ragazza che ascoltava tutti, diceva si lo so però dai, che sarà mai, e continuava piuttosto serenamente a sorseggiare il suo vino. L'unica impressione che dava era che quel vino le piacesse. Non so perché, e non importa, ma mi si piantarono dentro due sensazioni precise: una maggiore tranquillità verso quello che era appena accaduto, e un innamoramento diverso da tutti quelli che avevo avuto finora; non chiassoso, solido. "

Francesco Piccolo, Il desiderio di essere come tutti, Einaudi (collana Super ET), 2017 [1ª ed.ne 2013]; pp. 163-164.

[crazy-so-na-sega]

infatti...la cosa più ridicola è vedere quanto ci tengono alle false manifestazioni culturali tipo salone del libro (comunista) le mostre d'arte moderna (cioè comunista) conferenze comuniste, doposcuola comunista e tutto il comunistume spacciato per sapere...da suicidio proprio...

[raffaeleitlodeo]

"PURTROPPO ROCCELLA"   A Torino al Salone del libro la ministra alla Famiglia, Eugenia Roccella, quella che “purtroppo”; l’aborto è una libertà delle donne, è stata fortemente contestata. Quindici persone sono state identificate dalla Digos e denunciate. Alla faccia della libertà di espressione. La parlamentare, Augusta Montaruli, Fratella d’Italia, quella condannata in Cassazione per “spese pazze”, anche lei sul palco ha attaccato duramente il direttore del Salone, Nicola Lagioia per non aver difeso la ministra.   Questa la cronaca. Nel frattempo il movimento “Pro Vita & Famiglia” ha depositato in Cassazione una proposta di legge di iniziativa popolare che aggiunge il comma 1-bis all’art. 14 della legge 194/78, che recita così “Il medico che effettua l’IVG, (interruzione volontaria gravidanza) è obbligato a far vedere, tramite esami strumentali, alla donna intenzionata ad abortire, il nascituro che porta nel grembo e a farle ascoltare il battito cardiaco dello stesso”. Il che significherebbe aggiungere al dolore altro dolore. Come se chi compie questo passo non abbia già il suo tormento interiore. Già che c'erano potevano pure mettere un paio di frustate prima e dopo l'ascolto. L’iniziativa è una scopiazzatura della legge sul “battito fetale” in vigore in Ungheria. In realtà, spiega la Ginecologia, i feti nella fase iniziale della gravidanza, quando si verifica la maggior parte degli aborti, non hanno ancora un cuore funzionante, ma solo gruppi di cellule che inviano segnali elettrici. Il suono del “battito cardiaco”; viene generato dal monitor a ultrasuoni per rappresentare questi impulsi elettrici. Non è un vero suono di valvole cardiache che funzionano come si sente in un adulto o in un bambino usando uno stetoscopio. Da quando Orbán, definito dalla Meloni “patriota d’europa”, è salito al potere nel 2010, il suo governo ha promosso i “valori tradizionali della famiglia“ e ha introdotto una serie di misure volte a rispondere al calo della natalità nel Paese. Tuttavia, in precedenza non aveva mai tentato di modificare le leggi, già restrittive, che regolano il diritto all’aborto. La legge ungherese prevede che si possa abortire in quattro casi: gravidanza in conseguenza di un reato o violenza sessuale, pericolo per la salute della donna, embrione con handicap fisico grave, situazione sociale insostenibile della donna. Con la nuova legge introdotta nel 2022 c'è scritto che i medici dovranno presentare un documento che attesti l'avvenuto ascolto del battito del cuore del feto, senza il quale la paziente non potrà accedere all'interruzione di gravidanza. Leggi simili sono state introdotte in molti Stati del sud degli Usa, come il Texas e il Kentucky, anche in seguito al rovesciamento della “sentenza Roe v. Wade” che ne regolava la pratica a livello federale. Il timore, che misura dopo misura, di restrizione in restrizione, anche da noi, possa accadere qualcosa di analogo è più che fondato. “La cosa più grave sta avvenendo in Umbria. - ha denunciato la parlamentare di Sinistra Italiana Elisabetta Piccolotti - Abbiamo segnalazioni di donne che vogliono interrompere la gravidanza ma sono costrette ad ascoltare il battito del feto. Non si può fare l'operazione prima di ascoltare questo battito. Una pratica presente per legge nell'Ungheria di Orban. In Umbria non c'è una legge del genere ma si sta attuando questa pratica, costringendo le donne a tornare in ospedale più volte”. Nel primo giorno di lavori in Parlamento, lo ricordiamo, Maurizio Gasparri ha presentato un Ddl per modificare l’art. 1 del codice civile. In parole povere, il senatore di “Forza Italia “, vuole riconoscere la capacità giuridica al concepito, garantendogli pieni diritti già all'atto del concepimento e non dopo la nascita, come succede ora.  Quindi, occhio. Le donne che decidono di abortire, al contrario, meritano di trovare nei nostri ospedali personale capace di assistenza vera, e non di subire sofferenze ulteriori. E quasi mai è così, visto l’abuso che viene fatto dell’obiezione di coscienza.

Alfredo Facchini, Facebook

[janeyseymour]

La Cosa Nostra- pt 5

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

cowritten with @schemmentis let us know what you think! 🤍

summary: the girls spend some time with nonna while you get a few moments with melissa... and then someone visits you late at night.

WC: ~4.15k

“With—” You blink slowly as your wife’s words sink in. “With Barbara Howard?!”

“She’s the safest place and you know it. They’ll never think she knows anything because she doesn’t. Hell, she asked me if we were committin’ fraud, Y/N. I only told her the truth; we aren’t and it’s an extra copy of the financials and they were gonna take the originals from the salon. They did, didn’t they?”

“Of course they did, they took everything that wasn’t nailed down. But Barbara? If she finds out the truth, Mel—”

“She won’t.”

“If she does,” You barrel on over your wife speaking. “You and I both know she’ll turn it over to the Feds. And…we’ll probably lose her in both our lives- the girls’ lives… It won’t matter how much she loves you or me or the girls. Barb is all about the right thing no matter what.”

Melissa’s hand runs through her hair, pushing it away from her face. “That won’t happen, alright? We just have to get through this. Eventually they’re gonna realize there’s nothin’ here, and they’re gonna fuck off. Then I’ll take the ledgers back from Babs and everything will go back to normal.”

You sink back into the couch cushions, sighing heavily. You want to believe your wife. You want to think that’s true. Except the amount of pressure from the Feds just the last two days is more than you’ve ever had to deal with. You might have Sammy representing you, who is just as confident as your wife that they won’t find anything at all, except you can’t help but think they will. 

Every day this drags on, every bit of extra pressure put on, it’s beginning to wear at you. You grip Mel’s hand lightly, inspecting the newly wrapped injury all over again though you don’t undo your own work. Your thumb lightly strokes her knuckles before bringing the bandaged hand up to your lips in an effort to comfort her and you both. You’ll never give up Mel or your girls. You won’t endanger them.

Still, a part of you wonders if it would be safer for them if you gave up yourself. You could go back down to the station, request Agent Danik and Shaw, return to that godforsaken gray interrogation room and tell them everything. You wouldn’t cop to killing Bobby, because you didn’t, but you could come clean about the salon if it means it would get them away from Mel and your twins…it would be worth it, wouldn’t it?

Melissa’s arms wrap around you as she curls into your side. Her head rests on your shoulder. “You barely got any sleep last night and after today…I won’t say no to a nap. Ma called me to let me know she’s getting the girls…we could rest awhile and head over there for dinner.”

Instantly, thoughts of giving yourself up shift into fighting for yourself instead. With your wife curled against you, and thoughts of dinner with your mother-in-law and your girls. You wouldn’t give up for the world this little life of yours. 

You turn your head to kiss Melissa’s hair, gently easing the both of you to lay on your couch as you return her embrace. “Best idea you’ve had our whole marriage.” You tease, already half asleep.

It earns you a light slap to your arm. “Yeah, right. We both know the best idea of our marriage was the girls.”

“Yeah,” You mumble, your fingers lazily carding through red locks. “You’re right.”

“I usually am, amore, I thought you knew that already.”

You can’t even bring yourself to argue or call her over confident. You only smile, warming over with your affection for your wife like it’s the first time all over again. You never get tired of that feeling.

After a nap that perhaps was a bit too long for your liking, you blink your eyes awake to see that wonderful woman you get to call your wife scrolling on her phone as she continues to lay on you.

“How’s your hand feeling, mo ghrá?” you ask her gently as you kiss her temple softly.

“Hurts like a bitch,” Melissa sighs. “But I’ll be okay. You know I always am.”

“I know, I know,” you chuckle lowly. It didn’t happen often, but when she first opened her restaurant, the nicks and cuts to her fingers and knuckles were more frequent because she was always flying around trying to handle everything all at once. The number of times it's happened since she settled into her role and the business took off dwindled, but each time it happened you were always there to wrap her hands and nurse them back to health.

“What time is it?” you ask as you stretch just slightly, but you can’t with her still on top of you.

“5:30,” she replies. “Ma has the girls eating dinner right now I’m sure.”

“I suppose we should go be mothers to our children,” you sigh softly as your hand settles on her forearm and rubs it soothingly.

Melissa puts down her phone, and when you think she’s going to slide off of you, she only curls further into you.

“Ten more minutes,” the woman requests quietly. Her grip tightens on you. “Just ten minutes of the two of us... I don’t know how much longer we have.”

There it is- as much as she tried to convince you that you were going to be fine with your church friend holding onto the books, she’s terrified- terrified of losing you for an uncertain amount of time, maybe forever if things take a turn for the worst and your fate turns out to be the same as Bobby’s.

You oblige her request, pressing yet another soft kiss to her temple before holding her tightly against you. The two of you together silently pray that everything works out in your favor, you’re able to evade the feds over this debacle, and continue on with life. You contemplate how you can get yourself out of the mob, how she can get herself out of the mafia, and you can leave this dark world that you know. Unfortunately you know that the only logistical way out of this all is death- or to fake your deaths. But you still hope and pray that you can find a way out- if only for your daughters. They don’t deserve to grow up with two parents always putting them at risk and then to have to take on your debts once you are no longer walking this earth with them. You want them to have a chance to go to Heaven, because if Heaven and Hell are real and true... you and your wife are almost certainly going to Hell.

Those ten minutes pass by almost silently, aside from your breathing, and then you sigh, “We really should go over to your ma’s and spend some time with the girls.”

“We should,” Melissa smiles softly as she lifts her head from the crook of your neck. She kisses you gently. “Ti amo, mi amore.”

“Tá mé i ngrá leat,” you reply just as softly, mumbled against her lips.

She’s up and off of you a few seconds later, offering you a hand to help you off the couch. The two of you quietly make your way out to the car and drive off in the direction of the matriarch of the family and your girls.

“Mam!” Rosie runs as fast her little legs will take her towards you. You scoop her up in a hug and press a million little kisses to her still chubby cheeks.

“Mommy!” Cat echoes as she runs for Melissa. Your wife crouches down with open arms and is nearly taken to the ground at the force of your oldest twin daughter. 

“Gentle, my love,” the redhead says softly as she sweeps your little girl off her feet and props her on her hip- the right hip as opposed to the left that Cat usually sits on.

Ever the observant, the little girl crinkles her nose just slightly in a way that screams Melissa. “Why am I on this side?” she asks.

“Mommy can’t hold both of you for a bit again,” you say softly. “She cut up her fingers again at the restaurant.”

“Silly Mommy,” Rosie chirps from your own hip. She leans over in your hold to press a kiss to Melissa’s cheek while Cat sloppily kisses your own.

“Girls! I told you to say hello to your mothers and then come back to finish your meals!” You can hear Melissa’s mother from the dining room. Both girls make faces that clearly say, ‘Oops!’ before giggling.

You and your wife carry the girls back into the room with all of the food and set them down in their chairs before leaning down to kiss Melissa’s mother’s cheeks before sliding into your own chairs.

“Oi, Lissa,” the older woman groans. “Cut yourself again, did you?”

“It was an accident, Ma!” the redhead groans.

“You need to stop flying around that restaurant of yours,” her mother scolds lightly as she scoops out rather large portions of the ribollita. “Everything will get done in time, and you need to take care of yourself!”

Dinner is loud, as it always is, and then you find yourself holding both of your girls on the couch while Melissa and her mother clean up dinner and prepare to bring dessert into the living room. Both girls chatter on about how their days at school went, and it’s quite hard to keep up with who is saying what, but you do your best to keep their stories straight.

Once you’ve all had your share of dessert, you stand, both girls on your hips. “I think it’s about time we get the girls home and to bed... I promised a story last night, and while I couldn’t keep it yesterday, I’m here tonight.”

Both girls yawn against you as Melissa slings both of their book bags over her shoulder before you all bid her mother a goodnight. 

You're tucking the girls securely into their car seats in the back when you hear a shout. “Oi! Youse left your bag, Lissa!”

You glance over your shoulder to see your mother-in-law leaning out the door with your wife's large purse. She's always carried too big of one since the day you met. You glance back to Melissa in the passenger seat. She looks exhausted but is about to open her door to get back out of the car.

“I got it.” You say, stopping her short. You smile at her question if you're sure. You lean between the front seats enough to kiss her. “Anything for you.” You whisper. “You know that.”

You turn and jog back up the sidewalk from the driveway to the front door. Your fingers curling around the handle next to Melissa’s mothers. “Thanks, Ma. You know she'd be lost without her bottomless bag.”

She smiles at you, though her fingers do not release her daughter's bag. She uses the handle to gently tug you closer. 

“I'm hearing whispers, Y/N.” She says lowly. “Ya know things ain't good when the gossip starts reaching the old folk like me.” 

“You're not old.” You reflexively say. It earns you a smile that mirrors your wife's from the older woman.

“I said it the day you married Lissa. I'll say it again today. Take care of my girl, Y/N. She chose you. Don't turn that into a mistake. You know I hate cleaning up mistakes.”

You answer exactly the same as you did on your wedding day. With a smile and, “Always, Mrs. Schemmenti. Takin’ care of your daughter is the only thing I care about.” You lean forward to kiss both her cheeks in goodbye. “And now your granddaughters.” You add softly before making your way back to the car.

“What’d she say?” Melissa asks as soon as you slip into the driver’s seat. You gently set her bag in her lap.

“Nothin’.” You answer swiftly as you back the car down the driveway and out onto the street.

Melissa scoffs next to you. “Yea. she said somethin’, what was it?” Your wife presses as she reaches for your hand resting on the gear shift.

You tangle your fingers with hers, kissing her knuckles. “Only what she’s said to me since the first time she met me.” You assure softly.

“Take care of my daughter.” Melissa says in time with you repeating her mother’s words. You nod, pressing an extra kiss to her hand before you lower it slightly to simply hold it in your own.

“Y’know she loves you more than anythin’.” You murmur, squeezing her hand lightly.

“Hm.” Melissa hums, her eyes on the street lamps passing as you drive your little family home. “Maybe not more than Mickey. He is the baby of the family and all.”

“How much longer till he’s out? It’s gettin’ close ain’t it?”

“Early next year, I think. I’ll double check next time we go up for a visit. Those damn letters take too long.”

“You’ll make sure you tell him I said hi, huh?”

Melissa rolls her eyes at your request. They slide away from street lamps, to the ceiling of your car, to land on you. “Y’know, I always do. He loves you almost as much as I love you.”

“Uh huh, my backup Schemmenti.” You tease with a smile. Yours and Melissa’s brother’s inside joke. He always said if she was dumb enough to divorce you, he’d propose so you could keep the last name and still come to family dinners. 

“Yea, yea, backup Schemmenti that you ain’t ever gonna need.” Melissa mutters. A moment later her hand is pulling away from yours when you slow the car for the red light. Her fingers lightly gripping your jaw to get your head to turn to kiss you properly for a drawn out moment. She pulls away when the light turns green again. “Mickey ain’t ever gettin’ to do that. Not even over my dead body.” She huffs.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Shut up and get me home. I’m tired.”

You do end up getting all four of you home in one piece, and for that, Melissa is grateful. She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder before carefully removing Rosie from her carseat. You do the same with Cat. If you can get the two of them into bed without them waking up, life will be so much easier. 

By some miracle, you do get them into the house and in their rooms without them waking up. You then take your wife’s hand and lead her into the bedroom, only to see that your room is still flipped upside down from when the police had raided.

You groan. You really don’t feel like lifting the heavy safe off your bed and attempting to get it back into the floorboard. You do so though, before crawling into bed yourself. Melissa slides in next to you, turning on her side so that she can get as close to you as possible, resting her head on your chest. 

“When do you think this is all going to be over?” she whispers to you.

You look down to see her face being lit by the moonlight and the one street light that flickers outside of the window overtop your bed. 

You shrug and kiss her temple. “Níl a fhios agam,” you sigh. “Níl a fhios agam.”

She hates that you don’t know. She hates that she doesn’t know either. 

Both of you are usually so in control of everything that happens around you. The last time that you weren’t in control and your worlds were turned upside down is the day that the doctor told you you were carrying twins- and even that level of uncontrollable circumstances stemmed from a choice you had deliberately made.

 Melissa remembers the day that she had broken down in tears, consumed by her worry for you. She was absolutely terrified that there would be complications in the pregnancy because carrying multiples was almost always more dangerous than just a single baby. She was absolutely paranoid that somebody from either family would get you caught up in their own business, and that something would happen to you and the two unborn babies inside of you. The next day, she went to Thursday morning mass and prayed with Barbara for your safety and well-being. The day that you had safely delivered those two beautiful girls of yours and all three of you were healthy was a relief to her. But even then, thoughts of fear lingered.

Melissa also remembers the day when your belly had popped, and it made you a hormonal mess to see that you were actually carrying now. You had cried to her your own fears and doubts of your safety, their safety, that you weren’t quite sure if you were ever meant to be a mother. She remembers the way that you had clung to her in a moment of weakness as you choked out that while having children and becoming a mother was all you had ever wanted since you were little, you couldn’t believe that you were bringing two little ones into this cruel world. She recalls holding you that whole day, assuring you that not a hair on your head would be touched, that your unborn children were going to be safe and more loved than any other children, and that you were absolutely going to be the best mam to your babies. Those thoughts never quite dissipated throughout the months of your pregnancy. But once you had laid your eyes on those little girls squirming and crying on your chest, you knew that she was right- that you were all safe, at least for the time being, and Caterina Ann and Rosalina Marie were going to grow up with more love than they knew what to do with.

But this? The feds were on you for something that you had no part in, and if they continue to dig it’s only a matter of time until you get caught as part of the mafia and the mob. There are too many moving pieces for either of you to say with certainty what’s to happen in the future. There is no safety net or light at the end of the tunnel that you can see. These circumstances were absolutely, one-hundred percent, out of your control. And that? That horrifies Melissa.

You hold your wife tightly to your chest, your hand tracing mindless patterns across her spine to provide what comfort you can. Eventually, you hear her breathing even out into deep and slow breaths as she slips off to sleep. 

Your own eyes trail over the ceiling of your bedroom. What can you do? You're turning the entirety of the situation over in your mind repeatedly, trying to find the answer. You search for even something little to grasp, to control- even if it's just enough to provide some sense of stability and comfort to your wife. You don't really care if you get any; you'll deal with the fears and worries if it means Melissa is content and happy. 

You don't know when you do finally fall asleep. It feels like five minutes is as long as you've slept when you're startling back awake.

“What the fuck?” Melissa is grumbling as she pulls away from your side.

It takes another moment of you blinking sleep from your eyes to process. There's another round of banging at your front door, which must have been what woke you. Your bedroom is still dark, the only light seeping through being the light that radiates off the moon. Miraculously, the banging on the door hasn't woken up the girls, and you thank God for that. If they wake, you truly don’t know what you’d tell them.

It takes a heap of effort but you pull yourself from your bed to trail after your wife. You're just making it to the end of the hall to the living room when she's yanking open the front door in the midst of more knocking.

“Che cazzo fai?” Melissa spits as soon as the door is open. “It's not even five in the fuckin’ mornin’ and I got two kids sleepin’, what's wrong with you? Vai ai cacare!”

“Mrs. Schemmenti.”

You want to groan and bang your head into the wall when you hear Agent Shaw's voice. You're so tired. Somehow Agent Shaw sounds like he's had a full night of perfect rest. You can feel both you and your wife wearing thin. You know it's exactly what they want- to push you to the limit, force a mistake.

You trudge across the floor to stand behind Melissa. By now, your wife has deteriorated to rapid-fire Italian that you know is definitely only anger and insults. Agent Shaw is holding a packet of papers out that she hasn't taken in order to also be speaking with her hands. Usually, you would find her bigger than life and fiery personality and gestures adorable, but now you wish she would just take the papers. You reach past Melissa to take the papers from the agent who has blessed you with a home visit at 4:45 in the morning.

You sigh as you skim read the papers. You want to put your forehead to Melissa's shoulder even if it would jostle you with her gestures. It's a search warrant for her restaurant. You want to but you don't. You don't want Agent Shaw to see you in any more of a weaker state than you’re already showing him, half awake and absolutely exhausted after taking care of your girls. It’s not only a search warrant for Melissa's restaurant, but they're executing on a Friday- one of the busiest days for the business.

You put a hand on Melissa's shoulder in hopes of calming her down, even just slightly. With the amount that she’s cursing and shouting at this man, you’re afraid she’ll either pass out or wake up your girls. Neither option seems like a great one. But she's run out of words to spit at the agent still on your doorstep. The redhead takes a deep breath at the feel of your hand.

“Go,” you say, gathering by now that they need her to let them into the restaurant. “I'll call Sammy and tell him to meet you there. I'll make sure the girls get to school, okay?” you say softly. 

Your hand squeezes her shoulder. You make sure you kiss each of her cheeks before you kiss her lips properly. You hope the affection takes her anger down a notch or two, mostly for Agent Shaw's sake, truly. 

Reluctantly, Melissa is shoving on shoes and pulling a coat over her outfit from yesterday. You'd both been so tired you hadn't even bothered changing before all but crawling into bed. She grumbles about the fashion faux pas as she stomps down your porch to follow Agent Shaw to the car. 

You shut the front door only once you see the black car pull out of your driveway and down the street. Your forehead presses to the wood. “Fuck,” you whisper to no one but yourself. You force yourself to pull away from the front door and lock it once more.

It takes you a minute to track down where you left your phone. You struggle to remember little things of the last couple days. You rub your forehead as you listen to the ringing. Just as it's about to go to voice-mail you hear Sammy's groggy voice answer.

“They're searching Mel’s restaurant,” You sigh in place of pleasantries. “She just left with one of the agents to let them in.”

You don't even get the chance to ask Sammy to meet them there. He's saying he will before he hangs up without saying goodbye. If you were awake you'd have rolled your eyes at him. Except right now, you just appreciate his swift action and hope he can manage your wife and protect her for a few hours until you can get there after you drop the girls off.

You move back down the hall, barely able to lift your feet up from the carpet. You slip into the girls’ room, gently lifting them both from their beds. They don't wake up but curl into each of your shoulders. You carry them back to yours and Melissa's bed, curling up with your little twins like Melissa had the first night you'd been stuck at the station. Except you at least have the blessing of knowledge of where she is and what is wrong. Your eyes are so heavy though, you can't fight sleep even with the worry still filling you. 

tags: @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @dvrkhcld

[schemmentis]

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 12

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11

Summary: Melissa's side business begins, and you begin to feel the heaviness of your situation.

WC: 2.3k

“Good morning, Tony.” Shaw greets the salon manager as he steps towards him and his partner. “Where's Y/N?”

Tony crosses his arms. “Takin’ a vacation.” He answers coldly. “You got more questions; you're gonna have to ask me.”

“Tony,” Danik sighs. “We've been through this before, haven't we? The first time we were here. You know how it works, how about you save us the time and call your boss down here?”

“My boss?” Tony echoes. After a moment he nods. “Yeah, sure. I'll call my boss for ya.”

The last time they were here, the agents had paced the front of the salon as they waited, eyeing everything they could in their search. Today, they stay in a corner, watching the few stylists and Tony at work. Danik is a moment away from asking Tony how long this is going to take when someone walks into the front from the back of the salon.

The man is tall. His dark hair slicked back on his head, shiny with the product used to keep it in place. He looks at ease, calm, as he approaches the agents. He flashes a smile when he nears, white teeth shown and his eyes crinkling at the edges with the motion. His hand is held out to Danik and Shaw individually.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Agents. I had to finish things up with my other business.”

“I'm sorry…” Shaw starts as he shakes the man's hand. “Who are you?”

The man chuckles, nodding. “Ah sí, sí, mi scusi. I forget myself this morning. Luca Bellino, at your service. I'm happy to answer any questions you have or walk you through the back again if you like.”

The agents share a look between each other.

“I think there's been some misunderstanding.” Danik says as she looks back to Luca. “We asked to speak with Y/N.”

Luca’s head tilts to the side, looking back at the confused looking agents, matching their expression. “Did you?” He asks as his brow furrows. “I was told you requested the owner.”

“Well, yes.” Shaw says, a bit slowly. “The owner. Y/N.”

“Ah, I see, I see.” Luca sighs in sudden understanding. “Please, come with me.” He requests, turning and leading the agents to the back office of the salon.

“You must not have been informed.” Luca says as he steps through the office, opening a drawer of the filing cabinet and pulling a yellow file folder from it before closing it once more.

He sets the file folder to the desk, facing the agents standing on the other side of the wood. Deft fingers open the folder, tapping the papers now visible. “You see?” Luca says, looking back up to Danik and Shaw. “I'm the owner now. The salon was signed over to me a few days ago.”

“Y/N sold the salon to you?” Danik asks as she's studying the forms in front of them.

“Sí.” Luca answers as his hands cross at the wrists to rest at his waist, his head nodding. “You've seen our books, no? The salon hasn't been as profitable in the last few months. Y/N tried to bring it out of the red but in the end it was safer to sell, especially with her little family to think about.”

“So, now you're going to try to bring the salon’s profits up?” Shaw asks.

Luca smiles, though this time it doesn't reach his eyes. “Do not tell the stylists, or Tony.” He says softer, leaning a bit forward. “I haven't had the chance to speak with them yet and I'd hate for them to learn from anyone other than me but I’m working out the details of shutting the salon down.” Luca sighs, looking for all the world like he wishes he had another choice. “It's just too much to turn around and the clients aren't coming in like they used to. It's the best thing we can do before it gets worse.”.

Danik raises a brow, but he relents. 

The two agents head out, but not before Luca calls out to them, “Whatever you have against the Schemmenti family, drop it. They had nothin’ to do with Bobby’s demise.”

Your day is uneventful. You have nothing to do now that the girls are at school, Melissa is at work, and the salon is out of your hands. You mill around the house, doing as much cleaning as you possibly can before you groan and fall face first onto the couch, bored out of your mind.

You lay there for a few moments before you finally sigh and grab your keys. You make your way out of the house and towards Twelve Tables.

Melissa would say she’s shocked to see you when you come in through the back- but she isn’t. She knows how hard this is for you to not be involved in any of your work right now, both salon and other wise.

“Hi, my love,” you sigh as you pick up a knife and start chopping the broccoli next to her.

“What’re you doing here?” She just briefly glances at you before going back to her own work.

“I think I’m dying of boredom,” you tell her. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much time off from everything.”

“Would you mind chopping this up then while I attend to other business?”

“Other business?” Val asks as she makes her way out of the walk-in fridge.

“I have things to do in the office,” Melissa says, just a bit too quickly. “Scheduling, finances… I think we may need to look into other companies to deliver.”

You raise a brow, as does the manager, but you nod. You know that what she’s actually doing is trying to clean up the area in order to run your other business alongside this one. If you’re going to execute this, and execute it well, everything has to be in it's own place. 

So, that’s what the redhead heads into the office to do.

“Melissa seems frazzled lately,” Valentina notes softly. “Is everything okay at home?”

You shrug. “I uh… had to sell the salon,” you lie through your teeth. “It hasn’t been making money, so… you know. She’s probably stressed over that.”

The woman hums, and for the rest of the time that you’re there until you have to pick up your girls you’re directed on what to chop, dice, slice, and grate.

Finally, you pop your head into the back. “Mel? I have to go pick up the girls. Are you coming with me?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes don’t even leave the new ledger that she’s creating. “I have to wait for the shipment to come in, so… I’ll be home for bedtime though.”

She isn’t. And your girls are beyond confused as to why the three of you can’t stop down at the restaurant for a quick hug and kiss from Mommy and why they can’t have coloring time with Valentina. You can’t tell them the real reason- you just explain that Melissa is busy.

“But Mommy is always busy, and we still always get to go there!” Rosie whines. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” You sigh. You know you still could, technically, take them down to the restaurant. Just long enough to say goodnight. Except you can feel your wife glaring at you from across town if you did. Or worse, picture her having to keep her attention away from your girls because she's so busy. 

It becomes a point of contention the rest of the night. Your girls both throw fits because they don't understand. Just getting them dinner fed has you stretched thin. By the time you're fighting with them about bath time you're feeling yourself begin to shake slightly. The girls’ attitudes and fits this evening aren't really what upsets you; it's just the last straw on top of everything else.

You just barely get them both towel dry from the bath when you tell them to pick out their pajamas. The one thing they don't argue with you on this evening as they get to choose their own clothes; one of their favorite things.

You kneel on the tile, letting the bath water out. One of the girl's towels still in your hand you lean to wipe up a small puddle. You toss the towel to the pile near the door to put in the laundry. You sigh, and instead of getting up you let yourself shift backward to sit on the bathroom floor with your back against the wall. 

You bury your face in your hands as you try to stop the sudden tears from overflowing. You just need a minute, you tell yourself. Just a minute you'll let it happen and then you'll pull yourself together. Except you can't. You force deep breaths but you can't stop the tears still rolling from your eyes down your cheeks. You lean your head against the wall as you hear little voices calling.

“Mam! Mam!” It's both Cat and Rosie, steadily getting closer. 

You really try to stop as you wipe your eyes. You don't want them to see you like this. Yet each swipe at your face just sees more tears filling your eyes. 

“Mam! Look at my slippies! I did them on myself!” Rosie exclaims as she shuffles into the doorway, looking at her feet. She's wearing your wife’s house slippers. Backwards.

“Mam!” Cat is saying beneath her sister speaking, appearing at her side at the same time. “I don't have slippies! It's not fair, Rosie has slippies!”

You go to look up, but you hate showing any signs of weakness in front of your girls, so your head stays down as you attempt to pull yourself up from the floor. You lean against the sink, hands tightly gripping the porcelain sink, knuckles growing about as white as the utility in front of you. You keep your back to them, not wanting them to see you as the mess that you are right now.

“Girls,” you sigh shakily. “Mam cannot right now. Get yourselves to bed, and I’ll be in to read your story to you in a few minutes.”

“But Mam!” Cat whines out. You hear her stomp her little foot against the cool bathroom tile, and you can practically see the way that her arms are crossed over her chest- a look that she absolutely picked up from your wife. “Rosie has slippies, and I want-”

Wiping away your tears, you turn around. “Caterina Ann.”

At seeing your face so distraught and aged, both of your twins’ faces drop. “Mam?” They both ask.

“Mam just needs a minute,” you sigh softly, hating the way that your voice breaks just slightly. “Please, girls.”

At that, both of your girls slink off. Your oldest walks off while your youngest shuffles her feet quietly. You half-expect to hear her giggles at the way she’s heading down the hall, but you don’t. Even at their young ages, Cat and Rosie understand that your crying in front of them is not okay- something isn’t right.

When you find it in you to pull yourself out of the bathroom, you head for their room. When you get there though, they aren’t in their beds like you expect them to be. In fact, their pillows and the stuffed animals they insist on sleeping with every night have vanished too. That only means one thing.

You appear in the doorway of your own room, and you see them curled up in your bed. Silently, you thank God you had let your wife talk you into splurging and getting a king-sized bed. It comes in handy for nights like this when both girls worm their way into your bed and Melissa will be getting home and sliding in too.

“Mam,” Rosie pats the spot in between her and her sister. “We leaved room for you.”

Despite the sadness that had inhabited your soul just a few seconds ago, you let a soft smile slip at the kindness and thoughtfulness of your girls. You may not be doing everything right in this world, but you are raising two wonderful, wonderful young ladies.

“Give me a few minutes to change and prepare for bed,” you sigh softly as you wipe new tears from your eyes. “And then I’ll be in.”

It’s about ten minutes later, once you’ve gotten into your sleep apparel and shed a few more tears without the girls’ knowledge, that you slip in between them. Cat hands you a book- your favorite book to read aloud to them. 

After their story, they both curl up into your sides and promptly fall asleep, tired from their crazy day in kindergarten.

And once they’re asleep? Your tears return. Silent sobs shake your body as you mourn the death of Bobby all over again, one that you never wanted in the first place- you had actually pleaded for them to not order the hit on the man. You bite your lip and let the tears flow over the fact that you’ve been taken off of the salon- that you have no idea what’s happening there now despite the fact that it’s only been a few days. You hate the fact that your wife is taking all of this on- that her restaurant is in danger now because you got the feds on your tail and don’t know how to shake them loose. Your heart breaks when you remember that Barbara is now in danger because she holds onto the ledger that determines your, and now your wife’s, fate, and she was still there for you in a moment of weakness at the church. It gets to a point where you’re just crying over it all, a hand clamped over your mouth as the sobs bubble up inside of you, and you have to muffle the noise or else you’ll wake your girls. You end up crying yourself to sleep, body exhausted with all of the emotions coursing through it like a river. You’re drowning- absolutely drowning in it all.

[jamessixx]

ASMR cutting your hair while you sleep: Un Viaggio nel Relax Profondo.

Pertanto, ASMR cutting your hair while you sleep è una delle ultime tendenze nel mondo dell'ASMR, una pratica che combina la sensazione di rilassamento profondo indotta dai suoni delicati e i movimenti lenti con la simulazione di un taglio di capelli. Ma cosa rende questa esperienza così affascinante e rilassante?

Il Fascino del Taglio di Capelli ASMR

Inoltre, il taglio di capelli è un'attività intima e rilassante per molti. L'ASMR porta questa esperienza a un livello completamente nuovo, combinando i suoni delicati delle forbici, del pettine e dello spruzzino con sussurri rilassanti e movimenti lenti della telecamera. Tuttavia, questa sinfonia di suoni e immagini crea un'atmosfera di calma e benessere che può favorire il rilassamento profondo e persino l'addormentamento.

Perché il taglio di capelli ASMR è così efficace?

Stimolazione sensoriale: Dunque, isuoni delicati e i movimenti lenti stimolano i sensi, creando una sensazione di benessere e calma.

Associazione con il relax: Il taglio di capelli è spesso associato a momenti di relax e coccole, quindi questi video evocano sensazioni positive e familiari.

Distrazione: Oppure, i dettagli visivi e i suoni del taglio di capelli possono distrarre la mente dai pensieri negativi e dalle preoccupazioni.

I Benefici del Taglio di Capelli ASMR

Riduzione dello stress: Nello specifico, l’ASMR può aiutare a ridurre lo stress e l'ansia, promuovendo un senso di calma e benessere.

Miglioramento del sonno: Ascoltare video ASMR sul taglio dei capelli prima di andare a dormire può favorire un sonno più profondo e ristoratore.

Aumento della creatività: In tal senso, l'ASMR può stimolare la creatività e l'immaginazione, permettendoti di viaggiare con la mente verso luoghi tranquilli e rilassanti.

Come Trovare Video ASMR sul Taglio dei Capelli

Difatti, per trovare video ASMR sul taglio dei capelli, puoi utilizzare piattaforme come YouTube cercando termini come "ASMR haircut", "ASMR hair cutting", "ASMR hair salon". Molti creatori di contenuti ASMR offrono una vasta gamma di video su questo tema, con diverse tecniche e atmosfere.

Consigli per una Esperienza Ottimale

Scegli un ambiente tranquillo: Non a caso, trova un luogo silenzioso e privo di distrazioni per immergerti completamente nell'esperienza ASMR.

Utilizza cuffie: Le cuffie di buona qualità ti permetteranno di apprezzare meglio i dettagli sonori dei video.

Sperimenta: Prova diversi video ASMR per scoprire quale stile preferisci.

Crea la tua atmosfera: Accendi una candela profumata, utilizza un diffusore di oli essenziali o indossa una maschera per gli occhi per intensificare l'esperienza.

[lamargi]

Da non credere cosa può capitare a voler essere gentile con i vicini di casa.

Si erano trasferiti nel condominio da qualche settimana. Padre, madre e un ragazzo adolescente. Non si erano presentati e così mi è sembrato un gesto di buon vicinato andare a bussare io alla porta, e portare un dolce di benvenuto, fatto con le mie mani.

Quando ho suonato il campanello nessuno ha risposto e avevo già girato le spalle per tornarmene nel mio appartamento.

Quando si apre la porta. È il figlio.

“Ciao, gli dico, sono la signora Margherita, quella del piano di sopra. Volevo presentarmi a tuo padre e tua madre e ho portato una piccola torta che ho preparato per darvi il benvenuto….”

Il ragazzo è stranamente tutto rosso in volto. È in tuta e con tutte e due le mani tira verso il basso il bordo della felpa, come se dovesse nascondere qualcosa.

Sono abbastanza vecchia, ed esperta di ragazzi: ho capito subito che, complice il fatto che la casa fosse vuota, stava facendo qualcosa …che avevo interrotto…..

“Mamma e papà non ci sono….” Infatti dice, con un filo di voce. Non un buongiorno, non un grazie, chiaramente imbarazzato. Tanto imbarazzato, e tanto occupato a tirare giù la felpa con le due mani, che non fa nemmeno il gesto di prendermi la torta dalle mani. Sono io che devo chiedergli:

“La torta, posso lasciarla almeno, o devo riportarmela via?” Sorridendo.

A quel punto capisce di esser stato maleducato…”Ah si, prego, scusi” farfuglia. Si scosta dalla soglia, mi fa entrare, ma di prendere questa dannata torta non se ne parla. È evidente che il ragazzino si stava masturbando in beata solitudine e che io lo ho interrotto…..e che il cosino ancora non ne vuol sapere di abbassarsi…

“La poggio in cucina?” chiedo e lui non risponde ma fa cenno di sì con il capo.

Potrei andare via, a questo punto, ma sono molto divertita dalla situazione….e anche un po’ intrigata dall’ immaginare che quella felpa cerca di nascondere un bel pene duro….

Così, senza nemmeno chiederglielo, mi vado a sedere sul divano. Gli sorrido. Mi metto comoda e accavallo le gambe. Faccio cenno con la mano di sedersi vicino a me. “Come ti chiami?”

“Antonio…” risponde a bassa voce. Si vede che soffre per l’imbarazzo, ma non riesce a dire di no alla richiesta di una adulta, e così si viene a sedere vicino a me.

Eh si, l’erezione si vede tutta. Si stava masturbando, chiaramente, tesoro, e forse la mia gonna corta, le calze, quei bottoni della camicetta che con nonchalance ho sbottonato, non aiutano il suo pisellone a ritrovare la quiete.

Lo guardo bene. È carino. Un bocconcino. Mi avvicino a lui. Metto la mia mano sulla sua, per essere pronta a trattenerlo se, impaurito, tentasse di scappar via. I suoi occhi vanno dalle mie cosce al seno. Il pomo d’Adamo nel collo fa su e giù.

“Che hai da guardare, tesoro?” Guido la sua mano sulla mia gamba. Non oppone resistenza, bene. “Forse ti piaccio?”

Resta con la bocca aperta, ma non risponde. Mi chino su di lui, con l’altra mano gli prendo il mento fra le dita, guido la sua bocca verso la mia e lo bacio sulle labbra, facendogliele aprire finché la mia lingua non scivola dentro la sua bocca.

La mia mano lascia la sua che mi sfiora le gambe e va a controllare quanto sia duro sotto la tuta. Con piacere sento non solo che lo è, e tanto, ma anche che sotto la tuta non ha nulla: deve essersi rivestito davvero di fretta quando ho bussato.

Gli abbasso la tuta, continuando a tenergli la lingua in bocca, glielo scopro e lo accarezzo. Lo sento gemere, ma non lo faccio venire, non lì in salone.

“Vieni, mostrami dove è la tua stanza ….” Gli dico prendendolo per mano.

In camera sua lo spingo sul letto, gli ho tolto la felpa, i pantaloni della tuta abbassati sotto le ginocchia. In piedi davanti a lui mi tolgo le mutandine.

“Quando tornano i tuoi?” “Alle 6”, balbetta. “Ottimo” e gli sono di sopra, liberando i seni e dandoglieli da succhiare mentre mi impossesso del suo cazzo per scoparmelo come si deve.

“Da oggi ti aspetto a casa mia ogni giorno a quest’ora, intesi?”, mentre comincia a gemere sotto di me, “e basta seghe!”

[emmaanddani]

1960s: Nueva Canción Chilena - Violeta Parra

En este blog, escribiré sobre Violeta Parra. Violeta Parra era una cantante folklórica chilena y fundó el movimiento la Nueva Canción. Pero antes de ser una cantante famosa, ella tuvo una infancia interesante. Parra creció en un pequeño poblado llamado San Carlos. Su papá les enseñó a sus niños a cantar y tocar varios instrumentos. Esto la inspiró a empezar cantando en varios lugares, por ejemplo, los bares, pequeños salones de baile, y los circos. En 1952, ella viajó a Chile para grabar música folklórica chilena. Su exposición a esa música inspiró el movimiento Nueva Canción y su trabajo empezó a incluir tradiciones folklóricas chilenas y su creciente preocupación por las condiciones sociales. El movimiento llamado Nueva Canción fue un movimiento masivo de innovación folklórica, donde la tradición se nutrió de innovaciones musicales, donde la primera era Violeta Parra. Además, este movimiento resaltó los grupos que fueron oprimidos por estructuras políticas y no tuvieron representación en las políticas. Específicamente, las canciones de Violeta Parra critican el gobierno chileno, la iglesia, el ejército, y los ricos. Violeta Parra mantuvo la responsabilidad con estos grupos contra la opresión de la gente pobre. Las ideas de Violeta Parra sobre la opresión de la gente pobre la causaron usar tradiciones y canciones chilenas para luchar por la gente pobre. Creo que el hecho de que Parra creció en el campo le permitió para traer sus inspiraciones de tradiciones chilenas a las ciudades y el mundo mientras se entendió la importancia de preservar la tradición. Por ejemplo, la canción, “Gracias a la vida.” “Gracias a la vida” es sobre las alegrías y los desafíos de la vida y recordar a los oyentes que están agradecidos por la vida. Pero la cosa más importante es que “Gracias a la vida” representa la resistencia y la gratitud de la gente chilena. Esta canción trae las tradiciones del campo de Chile a la ciudad y el resto del mundo. Creo que esta canción es un gran ejemplo de cómo Violeta Parra trajó las tradiciones del campo chileno al resto del mundo y cómo ella habló sobre la opresión de la gente pobre. Además, la canción “La Carta” también habla sobre las duras realidades políticas de vivir en Chile. Mientras “Gracias a la vida” es en el mayor parte feliz, “La Carta” describe la violencia de la milicia sobre los pobres. Por ejemplo, “La Carta” dice, “Los hambrientos piden pan plomo les da la milicia.” En esta letra, Violera Parra dice sobre estos actos violentos. Además, ella no restringió su habla. Esto inspiró a muchas más personas para no tener miedo cuando hablar contra el gobierno y su opresión de los pobres. Su compromiso para resucitar la música folklórica chilena dio poder a la gente chilena y dio a la gente una voz para resistir el gobierno. Además, creo que la influencia del campo chileno inspiró a Violeta Parra para empezar el movimiento llamado Nueva Canción. Creo que la combinación de las tradiciones chilenas y la música es lo que hizo famoso el movimiento. 

-- Emma

[cablyunkataplum]

Stanford Filbrick Pines

Palabras: 4,338

Extracto: Él era tan pequeño a su lado, podía caber en la palma de su bidimensional mano y pelar capa milimétrica por capa milimétrica para hacer lo que le diera la gana con la materia prima y los residuos. Goce previo en este momento repulsión por lo sentido.

Maldición escrita: Vi a alguien que pedía esto en Tiktok y lo hice. Descripciones de locura y más locura, comportamiento suicida, manipulación, paranoia, tipo de trauma religioso, representaciones explicitas de autolesión (pensamientos y acciones) y tal vez temas más delicados, ten esto en cuenta, MDNI. Esto es básicamente mi testamento en donde confieso que necesito terapia, me la pasé busque que busque sinónimos para esto. See ya darlings!

Translated version-English

Caminaba entre nieblas de un limbo penumbroso… si es que hace sentido dicha descripción tan vaga, ponía mi atención a cada paso que daba pero no lo sentía, casi como si de un sueño se tratase hasta que esta fue redireccionada, algo se escuchó a lo lejos y me pregunté qué podría ser. Cargaba consigo un aire siniestro, tintes perversos que goteaban de manera flemática, lo prohibido,la tentación, el pecado que tal como su pasaje sedujo a acercarme, así, poco a poco no sólo era un cántico insólito sino también un olor particular, una sensación que erizaba la piel pero como todo aquí estaba lejos de comprender. 

El tiempo se distorsionó y mi mente cayó en una espiral de la que ni siquiera sabía que había entrado hasta que al verme en un reflejo lúgubre una realización develó, era yo. 

Ese olor, ese sonido, todo… no era más que mi propio cuerpo, aquel recipiente vacío y a su vez putrefacto que anda sin rumbo a la espera de un final pero incluso si sucumbiera ante las garras de la mortalidad, sé que mi cadáver no sería más que veneno para esta tierra que ahora maldice mi existencia. Suplico misericordia aún si no soy merecedor y cómo hereje recibo cruel castigo que acecha en lo más profundo de mi ser, lo que desde un inicio me carcome, lo que me llevó a este estado. 

Un simple acto como el desliz de unas cortinas se sentía tan traicionero, le estaba dando la espalda y dejándolo a la deriva. Se lo merece, después de todo lo que hizo era absurdo que pensara que recibiría alguna defensa de su parte. Colocó el recordatorio de la herida recién hecha en la basura y trató de conciliar el sueño pero en ningún momento pestañeó, los minutos pasaban ignorantes a su situación y emociones tan abrumadoras que parecían burlarse sin decoro. Había encontrado una motivación que se esfumó a la misma velocidad con la que llegó, tenía que hallar otra meta, un propósito, algo que le diera lo que siempre ha añorado. 

Los días transcurrieron sin algo recalcable, una rutina ciega y cansada entre pasillos, salones y su dormitorio con el cambio irregular de ir a la biblioteca o las charlas con su compañero de cuarto, con quien compartía ciertas aficiones. Se trataba de convencer que lo disfrutaba que a pesar de ser un resultado no esperado podía sacarle provecho y demostrarse a sí mismo que los demás estaban equivocados, que él era mejor. 

Al tomar la decisión de vivir en Gravity Falls fue cómo si esa pequeña llama luchara por seguir incandescente y quisiera hacerse más grande. Podría tomarse como una huída de su hogar de cierta forma, kilómetros y kilómetros de distancia entre sus padres lo cuál no hace mucha diferencia de lo que era en Backupsmore. 

Todo era distinto, una nueva vida a la cuál no dejaría que nada ni nadie la estropeara. Y así fue por bastante tiempo, no había día o noche en la que no encontrara alguna cosa fascinante, una distracción y un alivio temporal a sus pensamientos que más le abatían pero luego, tal rosa, se empezó a marchitar y los pétalos cayeron. Dejando de nuevo un apetito voraz.

¿Y qué pasó cuándo la serpiente se le acercó? Cayó en el engaño. Tan desesperado por una pizca de reconocimiento, la aceptación… ¿Y qué persona podría resistirse ante un ser más grande que su propia existencia? Era todo un honor ser el predilecto de tan excelsa presencia, un ser poderoso que sí respondía a sus ruegos, a sus dudas, donde creía caminar en el mismo piso que este y no por debajo como por tantos años fue con los de su especie, por fin era un igual.

Un caída en picada hacia la veneración.

La noche era más pálida que la propia luna, sus emanaciones se trabucaban al pasar por los vitrales con motivos que con mi propia voluntad repartí por toda mi morada. Inmerso en mis inscripciones Bill merodeaba en el mismo espacio y cututeaba de cosas a las que no les prestaba suficiente cuidado ya acostumbrado a sus acciones. Al terminar mi último trazo coloqué la pluma a un lado y cerré el frasco de tinta para dejar reposar y por lo tanto secar el contenido de la página.

"Oye, Seis dedos" giré mi cabeza y lo primero con que se encontraron mis ojos fue con el triángulo reflejando mi apariencia, arqueé la ceja hasta que prosiguió "Apuesto que no esperabas encontrarte con alguien tan guapo, ¿Cierto?" río para volver a su color, chasqueó los dedos y me apuntó "¿Entendiste mi juego de palabras?", "Claro que lo entendí, es algo bastante simple para no hacerlo" ajusté mis lentes antes de cerrar mi diario , levantarme de la silla y caminar para dejarlo en el estante junto a los otros libros de mi colección.

"Te demeritas mucho, ¿No crees? Date un poco de crédito" giró sobre sí mientras avanzaba conmigo "Me doy crédito, sé cuando las cosas son fáciles, Bill" volteé mis ojos y salí del cuarto, en las escaleras estaba atrás de mi "Eso es porque eres muy inteligente y perceptivo, no cualquiera lo hubiera entendido la primera vez o la segunda" ante estás palabras sonreí pero no por mucho ya que el día me había agotado bastante para utilizar mis músculos. La cabaña tan solitaria como el día que se terminó de construir, por una parte era tranquilizador no tener que lidiar con esos ruidos resultado de hábitos molestos de otras personas pero por el otro lado se llegaba a sentir de más la soledad… por lo menos tenía a Bill a mi lado, aún si llegaba a desesperar pero muy rara vez. Tal vez debería realizar una estadística sobre eso.

"Es mejor así como estás si me lo preguntas" volví a escuchar su voz pero esta vez no le miré, bajaba escalón por escalón hasta por fin llegar a la planta baja "¿De qué hablas?" realmente no tenía idea, "Nadie te merece, Ford" aquella confesión me intrigó ahora en la cocina dónde no prendí el foco y sólo abrí uno de los cajones de la alacena por un vaso "En serio, digo, sólo mírate seis dedos; atractivo, inteligente, gracioso, organizado. Eres muy bueno para los demás" se puso en mi campo de visión y cruzó los brazos "Y dudo mucho que te conformarías con eso de todas formas".

Las circunstancias que llevaron a tan fatal encuentro…

Cerré mis labios y me quedé callado, sus palabras como gasolina para que pensamientos y especulaciones se anidaran en mi cabeza "Eso nunca lo sabremos, son acontecimientos contrafácticos y situaciones hipotéticas"tomé del vaso que previamente llené de agua "Además, suena como si fuera un narcis…", "Oye, oye, para tu carro amigo" Bill empujaba y jalaba sus brazos en el espacio entre él y yo "No lo digo con esas implicaciones, eres muy humilde Stanford" movió su cuerpo de tal manera que daba la impresión de sacudir la cabeza, alzó los brazos "Todo lo que estás haciendo beneficiará a la humanidad, para mi eso es no ser un egoísta, todo lo contrario" se acercó y colocó su codo en mi hombro derecho.

"A lo que me refiero es que estás mejor así" con la mano abierta del otro brazo me señaló moviendo de arriba a abajo está para enfatizar su punto "Eres más feliz de lo que pudiste ser de no haber sido así" yo seguía con los ojos puestos en él sin hablar "Te lo enseñaré" se alejó un poco para extender su brazo "Confías en mí, ¿Cierto?". Me era algo extraño que Bill solía preguntar acerca de mi confianza hacia él con la frecuencia en que lo hacía, pero siempre supuse que al ser alguien con sus poderes era normal, después de todo era lógico que al darme conocimiento y su amistad necesitara saber que yo no haría mal uso de su generosidad.

"Por supuesto que lo hago" tomé de su mano, su ojo se curvó "Siempre puedes confiar en mí, Sixer".

La cabaña se empezó a desmoronar y con brusquedad el entorno se modificó a una construcción impecable que no reconocía, al menos no al instante, las risas y platicas llenaron mis oídos mientras que mis ojos se aventuraban a acostumbrarse a los adentros, el sonido de unas puertas abiertas me hizo rolar ligeramente dónde vi algo que me estrujó el corazón, al frente de butacas y más butacas ahí estaba yo, caminando en el escenario con una toga, recibía mi título y era claro. Me estaba graduando de West Coast Institute of Technology.

Era algo irreal verme en esta situación, el ver como mi rostro reflejaba verdadero entusiasmo y felicidad al lograr uno de mis tantos sueños que tuve en la adolescencia. Mis padres estaban ahí, Stanley estaba ahí y su rostro era una mezcla de orgullo y alegría por mi; decepción, soledad y duda en esos pequeños detalles. Continuaba con una celebración familiar hasta que la escena cambiaba por segunda vez donde ahora trabajaba de inventor en una especie de empresa, sabía que el tiempo avanzaba gracias al calendario ficticio, lo que en un inicio llenaba de motivación al Stanford en frente de mí ahora le producía desdicha al ser limitado por su contrato, ya no tenía tiempo de sus propios proyectos o la familia con la que mantuvo contacto.

Y cambió todo de nuevo, me hallaba en Backupsmore y otra posibilidad se desenvolvió, conocía a alguien y desarrollabamos sentimientos el uno por el otro para luego, ¿Casarnos? Eso sería una pérdida de tiempo a mis investigaciones y más siendo que observaba como ambos nos establecemos en Gravity Falls para luego iniciar una pequeña familia, con similar resultado gradualmente caía en lo mismo: desdicha, pena, recelo ante la insatisfacción de la vida que llevaba. Me separaba de quien era mi cónyuge para intentar tener algo de serenidad pero nada, con constancia me veía a mi otro yo sumergido en los recuerdos y los tormentos de su decisión, de la intensidad de aquellas discusiones; sobre lo que se dijo o no.

Al voltear a otro lado mis ojos se abrieron al encontrarme frente a la misma persona, esta hablaba o más bien vociferaba, me había tomado un momento procesar aquel cambio para que sus palabras hicieran sentido. "¿¡Quién va a querer estar con alguien como tú, Stanford!?" su semblante fue como una cachetada que ardió incluso antes de posarse con agravio en mi cara pero no pude musitar tan impactado por el constante recibimiento de información "¡Eres un maldito egoísta!" me apuntaba con acusación mientras proseguía con su alegato. 

Cada sílaba sólo servía para afilar la estaca y al final cuando se clavó en mi corazón miré hacia abajo, al parecer nunca podría escapar de mí. De algo que yo nunca pedí. Entonces supe que mis adentros cuestionaban y mortificaban. El amor es un concepto tan complicado para una mente como yo, he presenciado finitas formas de demostrarlo y parece que no puedo entenderlo por completo, desde mi niñez hasta ahora, sigo pensando que no son más que frivolidades que todo el mundo pretende saber y manejar para luego juzgar a quienes intentan llegar a ella con simpleza.

En muchas ocasiones había sido testigo de sus demostraciones de mi padre hacía Stanley y mucho más consciente cuando eran para mí. Tantas veces escuché las expectativas, sus decepciones o simplemente sus pensamientos sobre nosotros y cada vez yo sentía la necesidad de aliviarlo pero sin dejar de lado a mi hermano, quería ser yo el que fuera lo suficientemente merecedor para que me dejara entrar en su vulnerabilidad y hacerle saber que tal como él me amaba yo lo amaba a él. Sus palabras hirientes… sí dolían, me hacían sentir insuficiente y tenían el mismo efecto en mi hermano pero… supongo que era su manera de demostrar que éramos importantes, que sabía que podíamos ser aún más amables.

Fue así como esta persona desvaneció y ventanas me rodearon para mostrar cientos de otras situaciones, no importaba cuán diferente fueran todas terminaban en desilusión "¿Ves a lo que me refiero?" Bill por fin decidió hacer su presencia de nuevo y con actitud irritada se mantuvo frente a mis ojos sin que las ventanas dejaran de girar a nuestro alrededor "Ellos no te apreciarían, seis dedos. Ellos son los egoístas, los fatuos que no podrían aguantar a alguien tan genuino com tú" con sus manos agrandó una de las ventanas que permanece inmovil para dejar ver la imagen "Incluso antes de mudarte aquí" apareció mi madre, luego mi padre, Stanley y otras personas con las que una vez crucé caminos "Ellos te hacen daño pero esperan que des todo por ellos sin chistar" suspiró "Y es por eso que esto es mejor para ti".

"Me tienes a tu lado, yo he visto lo que los otros no" ahora mudamos al espacio de siempre y me hizo sentar, una taza de té a la mano "Y me siento muy afortunado de que fueras tú quien me llamó y no un científico de pacotilla o algo por el estilo" volteó los ojos y yo solo reí, ajusté mis lentes con pequeño empuje de mi dedo índice y sorbí del líquido "Soy yo el afortunado, Clave. No es una ocurrencia diaria que un ser tan intrigante y sabio decida responder a tu llamado" pensé que la conversación iría a una más amena de inmediato pero Bill sólo me miró "Eres muy importante para mi, Sixer" yo no supe qué hacer o decir por la seriedad con la que lo decía "Te necesito… me encantaría poder estar en tu dimensión para pasar más tiempo contigo, ¿Sabes?" me erguí para poder por fin decir algo hasta que sus risas fueron lo siguiente "Quiero decir, a este punto eres como mi familia y eso es lo que todas esas cursilerías hacen" yo sonreí y asentí divertido a su elección de palabras "¿Tú también me necesitas como yo te necesito, seis dedos?".

"Yo te necesito, Bill".

Años después, parado en la proa con la vista en el extenso mar meditaba aprovechando que el otro Pines descansaba. Las ondas combinadas con sus reflejos inducían a un estado apacible pero persistía una oquedad distinta a las otras. El movimiento le recordaba a pensamientos y debates internos en su peor momento, donde se dejó arrastrar hasta la oscuridad y sufrir en ella.

Si se lanzaba era probable que encontrara el instinto de vivir, apenas si era visible debido a las estrellas que se veían a ellas mismas quietas, la madera bajo sus pies no crujía o parecía reconocerlo, un fantasma en pena que divaga en la gélida noche. Dio un paso más cerca del borde pero no se despojó de nada, el peso serviría. Pero con la mitad de sus pies suspendidos y la otra mitad todavía en el muelle se quedó así. ¿Cuánto tiempo pasó hasta que siquiera su corazón palpitó? Cuando recobró la conciencia se encontraba en su cama sin camiseta o alguna prenda para su torso, unas meras calcetas empapadas la única tela en su cuerpo que no fueran las cobijas que mantenían una temperatura aceptable.

A la mañana siguiente salió de la cabaña y caminó para adentrarse inconscientemente en el bosque, algunas criaturas que ya había estudiado se asomaban con timidez al ver la figura afligida del hombre, que actuaba con la naturaleza de un imán, llegó a una zona dónde los árboles contenían líneas peculiares que no dejaban de seguirle. Murmullos empezaron a saludar y decir insensateces, al tratar de ignorarlo cayó en cuenta del lugar en el que se paraba y se paralizó. Miles de ojos se clisaban en él sin parpadear, no contaban con un iris por lo que lo negro de la pupila lo hacía más tetrico y cómo si le leyeran los pensamientos, los mismos empezaron a manifestarse a lo largo de él hasta que no era más que un cumulo de estos órganos.

Había llegado a considerar sacarse los ojos, el simple hecho de recordar que contaba con esos orbes ocasionaban en su cuerpo las reacciones más desagradables, el rechazo inmediato a objeto parecido de manera metafórica o literal, en cualquier formato de información, al igual que la otra figura geométrica. Lo que antes era un paraíso en su vivienda ahora se comportaba como un infierno. Sus nudillos seguían en proceso de recuperación limitado pero su mente era un augurio incierto. 

O veía sus muñecas que con palidez denotaban algo que había llegado a odiar y pensaba, que tal vez, con la ayuda de algunos instrumentos podía llegar a quitar esas cuerdas de todo su cuerpo, no importa el tiempo o cuán doloroso si significaba que Bill no sería capaz de usarlo nunca más. Qué importaba, si ya era ajeno a cualquier humanidad. Y lo intentó. Su manía por las cosas punzocortantes no era acomedida, si había la posibilidad de estar, estaba, sino; lo hacía a la fuerza. Como aquella vez, una de las tantas veces.

Era un momento como el otro, deambulaba por el bosque, ahora el ardor se flameaba entre las distancias de una flora a otra, la aberrante calma. Su cuerpo se mecía gracias a que los pies hinchados trataban de no sentir su condición además de apulismarse hasta que ya no pudo más y se sentó contra un árbol, se retiró los lentes para frotarse los párpados ya con la impresión de no estar lúcido. Al entreabrirlos asestó que el árbol que se empinaba hasta los cielos ya no lo era, un bloque astillado en su lugar rodeado de otras espinas como repuesto. Se arrodilló antes de ponerse en sus pies y caminar hasta que las puntas de sus zapatos tocaban las raíces liosas y volvió a ponerse de rodillas, sus manos posaron en el filo de este círculo, ¿Cómo es que podía ver con tal detalle si es que seguía sin los lentes puestos?

No había cabida para esa pregunta porque se encorvó y trajo su cara cerca… más cerca…aún más cerca. Repelía por instinto su rostro pero la palabra está ahí, instinto. Alusión macabra cuando el fino tejido no aguantó por mucho y se derramó en la madera hasta que por su anatomía impedía la ruptura, se apartó con complicada moción ya que algunas trataban de seguir en él  y en una distancia ligeramente considerable. Vapuleó. Y el chasqueo no tardó. Paralizado rezumó con más corriente, las espinas se apropiaron de lo demás hasta engullir el último pedazo. 

Abrió los ojos con apuro y refugió su cabeza para comprobar que seguía todo junto para salir de ahí sin espera. Fue solo un sueño.

Pocas interacciones con otras personas empeoraban sus delirios, unos desconocidos mañosos, tontos, faltos de criterio, narcisistas, roñosos… estaba 100% de que apestaban a Clave. Pero no haría evidente aquel ‘conocimiento’, con las manos y codos en la mesa daba la espalda a comensales y trabajadores, sabía que le observaban con esa maldita sonrisa y esos ojos del demonio. Repugnancia al que le tocó el hombro, su izquierda aprisionó la muñeca externa pero lo que vio fue miedo en pupilas normales y un cortocircuito ocurrió dentro de su lógica, el semblante se rugó cuando la mujer empezó a carcajear.

Le consecuentó otra mujer a unas mesas delante, para que como infección todas las caras alargaran. Sin control la suya imitó, el sudor plasmaba el pavor que la experiencia le daba, su derecha enganchó la mitad del rostro. Sus nervios se habían trabado al igual que sus cuerdas vocales con la misma calidad sonora que un fonógrafo. En las ventanas, palmas se azotaban contra esta superficie, sus ojos se movían raudos y en dirección contraria al complemento de su par "Todavía tengo mis ojos sobre ti, Stanford" hablaron al unísono "¡Qué mal que tú no tendrás ninguno!" y unas de las extremidades que golpeaban las ventanas las traspasaron y se abalanzaron contra él, con específico énfasis en estos. Se agachó y jaló de la mujer para poder salir del establecimiento.

¿Fue buena idea haber envíado esa postal? Lo hacía un blanco más fácil, no sabía lo que el supuesto secuaz de Bill podía hacer con tal de dar con él pero si estaba debajo de sus órdenes era sentido común que este ya supiera de su localización. No había manera de saber qué tácticas sería capaz de usar. Incluso podría ya estar en su casa y él no lo sabría.

Él era tan pequeño a su lado, podía caber en la palma de su bidimensional mano y pelar capa milimétrica por capa milimétrica para hacer lo que le diera la gana con la materia prima y los residuos. Goce previo en este momento repulsión por lo sentido. Al girar la manija y que la puerta le diera permiso para entrar todo contenía su esencia, desde los tapetes hasta el dinero que cargaba consigo, casi con el pecho tocando uno de los tapices se arropó e inhaló la intoxicante fragancia, la prensó en sus costillas y empezó a frotar su rostro contra el tejido. Al subir la cabeza ahora se suspendía por sus brazos semi extendidos, miraba el techo y las lágrimas brotaban. Todavía lo necesitaba.

"¡Wow!" Bill giró su bastón mientras seguía viéndome en el espejo "Te queda de lujo, tigre" arqueé las cejas sin dejar de sonreír "¿En serio?"  giré mi cuerpo sin dejar de ver el espejo y ajusté el abrigo "¿Acaso me llamas mentiroso?" produjo sonidos de chasquido y ayudó en acomodar la prenda "Vamos, hombre… prácticamente eres la definición de romántico, Beethoven estaría celoso" esto me dio gracia y repuse mi postura ahora con los dedos ajustando el cuello, tenía que admitir que el traje era bastante refinado y tal como esperaba que un traje de época se sintiera. 

"¿Listo para irnos?" se inclinó y quitó el sombrero que reciproqué con otra inclinación, caminamos hasta llegar al lugar del evento dónde los intelectuales más destacados de todos los tiempos esperaban con cócteles en mano y charlando entre sí. Al entrar tomé una copa y me acerqué a platicar con un grupo pequeño con la compañía de Bill, incluso con la magnitud de la revelación no sentía nervios, es más, estaba seguro de mí y en el fondo no me importaba que opiniones me darían en cuanto la cortina se desprendiera.

Al dar la hora ambos nos pusimos al frente y dimos un discurso, sus chistes no faltaron. Al jalar la cortina y que el portal se pusiera a la vista oí exclamaciones, hubo un silencio hasta que todos empezaron a aplaudir y preguntar su mecanismo mi sonrisa era tan grande que Clave empujó su codo contra mi brazo y sólo nos sonreímos antes de dirigirnos a los demás para responder sus dudas.

Al despertar no esperé para ponerme de pie e ir a trabajar en el portal.

Recuerda cuando su paladar captó el corroído impropio y jaló su labio superior que mostraban su dentadura colorada en el espejo, pasó un dedo para limpiarlos pero no indagó más, convencido de que Bill, al usar su cuerpo se metió en una pelea y que esto era una mezcla de sus fluidos con los de otros. Fueron varias veces que se repitió y que decidió aceptar su explicación. ¿Qué tanto había hecho mientras usaba su cuerpo? Por amor a Dios, las fotografías lo mostraban pero era un pedazo de algo más grande, que cosas tan repulsivas debió de haber sido capaz ese ser.

Durante los 30 años fuera de su dimensión la sed de venganza nunca palideció, al contrario, se volvió más fuerte con cada día que sentía su sangre hervir a cada mención de su nombre. Vivía por eso, tenía qué… para ver el día en que Bill Clave dejara de ser una amenaza para la realidad.

Pero nunca esperó que su derrota se diera en las circunstancias en las que ocurrieron. El ver a su hermano cabizbajo y ahora vacío tal como él solo añadió a sus culpas y aflicciones, ante sus ojos Stanley siempre fue fuerte, decidido y confiado. El otro lado de la moneda.Los días en que toda la familia e incluso Soos o Wendy ayudaban a que Stan recuperara la memoria avanzaban y con eso trataba de recuperar su vida, que ahora sabía que Stanley no le arrebató sino Bill. 

Antes pensaba que debía dar todo para recibir lo mínimo, pero al regresar y obtener perdón… amor… Era difícil aceptarlo al principio pero la noche en que encontró fotografías viejas al igual que videos caseros de su niñez que entre los hermanos volvieron a recordar, algo cambió. 

"No puedo creer que en verdad hicieras eso" se puso la mano en el estómago y rió, Stanley solo cruzó las piernas y los brazos antes de extender los últimos con un intento fallido de parecer molesto ante el comentario "¡Es comedia pura! Un cerebrito como tú no entendería mi desarrollado sentido del humor" aterrizó un golpe en el hombro de su gemelo "Vuelve locas a las nenas", "Oh, no lo dudo, completamente locas" asintió con burla en su manera de hacerlo.

Stan volvió a darle un golpe "Bruto" Ford se sobó antes de devolver el golpe con mayor fuerza, para estar justos "Nerd". Luego de un rato el sueño empezó a llegarles, Ford puso su cabeza en el hombro de su mano mientras las suyas mantenían el tazón en su regazo y al borde de sucumbir a este escuchó "Te quiero, Ford" un largo segundo transcurrió hasta que las palabras salieron de su boca "Yo también te quiero, Stanley". 

La gente podía amarlo por quien era, no por cuan merecedor él podía hacerse de ese cariño.

Seguía con la mirada en el ancho mar recordando los detalles de toda su vida y con esa voz que le decía que aún seguía roto. "¡Ford, los niños nos están llamando!" Stan gritó al otro lado del Stan O’ War II "¡Ahí voy!" así hizo su camino no sin antes detenerse y voltear para volver a ver el mar, con una inhalación del salado aire susurró "No te necesito".

"¡Apúrate, Poindexter o sino te lanzaré por la borda!" el sonido de las gaviotas, empujó sus lentes más arriba y reanudó sus pasos "Hola niños, ¿Cómo están mis sobrinos favoritos?", "¡Tío Ford!"

(FILBRICK ERES UN PENDEJO, UN ESTÚPIDO IDIOTA, PITO FLÁCIDO, NADAQUEVERIENTO, FALTO DE CONEXIONES NEURONALES, MAMA HUEVO, CARCA DE MIERDA, INÚTIL, BUENO PARA NADA, CARA DE ANO, FIFE, FAN DEL TEMACH, OJALÁ TE HAYAS AHOGADO CON TU PROPIA MISERIA VIEJO TONTO)