#andreas ravioli

[yanderepuck]

Salai-Chapter 6

WELCOME TO SALAI'S ROUTE. This is a FAN MADE route of my oc, Salai. This means this route contains my headcanons for the characters and in no way is suppose to represent the canon story. This is just a fun little time because I know many of you enjoy Salai. Feel free to engage, talk theories, send asks (even to @ask-salai ).

DISCLAIMER: His route his not canon to his character. Also, all of his lore in not in the route for simplicity reasons plus please feel free to ask about him.

Banner by @spooscribbles

You convinced Salai to do the gallery, and now you just need to get Theo here to help figure out which paintings he would want to display.   You sit on the couch and the two of you start talking while he paints a little bit.  Batuffola curls up beside you to cuddle. 

Mitsuki: So who are you looking for?

Salai: My Maestro.  We had a falling out years ago and he left me.  He was a popular artist so we moved around to where he would get work.   But we got into an argument not long after getting to Vienna.

His voice gets softer as he remembers.  Taking his time almost like he isn’t trying to cry.  You look at him and those eyes of his were as dark as a storm at sea.  They were remembering the pain he felt.

Salai: He left me.  I didn’t know the language… I barely had any money…

Mitsuki: And you are looking for him?

Salai: Yes, I-

Mitsuki: So you can tell him off

Salai: What?  N-no!  He means a lot to me.  He saved my life, on more than one occasion.  I want to make things right with him.

Mitsuki: He sounds like an awful person

Salai: It…it is hard to explain everything.

He starts to pull at the hem of his sleeves.  You let out a sigh.  You don’t know his story, who are you to judge?  There are surely things he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing.

Salai: Once I heard he was in Paris I did what I could to get here.  I haven’t been here for long and I don’t expect to find him immediately. 

Mitsuki: I’m sorry.  No one deserves to go through that.

Even back in your time with having technology you couldn’t imagine being stuck somewhere you didn’t know the language and didn’t have any money.

Salai: Sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten the mood down.  Are you hungry?  I could make us something to eat.

He’s back to smiling again, but his eyes are still dull.  He might be able to change his body language and the tone of his voice but he can’t hide it in his eyes.

Mitsuki: Andrea, you don’t need to-

He gets off his stool and goes over to the little kitchen.

Salai: I made my own ravioli a few days ago, but I tend to add a lot of spices. So I could make us just a normal pasta with a cream sauce if you would like.

He’s trying to change the subject, not wanting to linger on the emotional talk you two just had.  You just realized that if he’s offering to make dinner… How late is it?  You look down at the watch on your wrist and it's nearly 6pm.

Mitsuki: Shoot!  I need to get back.

You quickly get up, apologizing to Batuffola for disturbing her.

Mitsuki: I’m sorry, Andrea.  I didn’t intend to be out so long and I need to get back to make dinner.

Salai: Oh…right… Let me walk you to the main road.

He tried to hide the hint of sadness in his voice but it didn’t work.

Mitsuki: It’s just right around the bend, right?  I’m sure I’ll be fine.  I really need to get going.

You didn’t want everyone worrying about you, and there was no need for him to walk you out.  You may have been warned about the area but you remember where you came from.

Mitsuki: I’ll see you tomorrow maybe. Goodnight

You wave and head out.  Salai hesitated for a moment, but then also realized how late it was.

Salai: Mitsuki!  Wait!

He put down the pot he was holding and rushed to the door to quickly put his cape on.  He wasn’t offering simply to be nice, but also because it's dangerous.  It’s like you completely forgot.

You quickly went down the stairs and out the door.  Once you stepped outside you remembered where you were.  You are close to what you thought was the red light district.  Maybe if you just walk quickly and pay attention to no one you will be fine.  Yeah.  That will work.  It wasn’t that far from the main road. 

You start walking, picking up your pace as you walk past alleys.  Just as you are about to turn the corner your arm gets grabbed

Man: Where do you think you’re headed?

Mitsuki: Get off me!

You start to panic.  You really should have waited.  You try to push the man away.

Man: If you weren’t looking for someone then what are you doing in this area

The man holds you against a wall.

Man: Aren’t you a cutie

Salai: Let her go!

Your eyes lit up when you heard that voice.

Mitsuki: Andrea!

Man: Sorry fella. Finders keepers.

Salai: I said let her go!

He got a lot angrier.  Next thing you knew Salai was grabbing the man by his shoulder and ripping him from you.  The man is much bigger than Salai, you aren’t sure how he pulled that off, but that isn’t what is in the front of your mind right now.

Salai: Are you hurt?

In a panic he quickly looked over your body and didn’t see anything and let out a sigh of relief. Then turned around to face the man who was coming at him to punch him.  He ducked at the swing and punched the man in the gut, and as he was doubled over he kicked his foot up into his jaw.

You moved to the side, watching the fight play out.  The man pulled out a knife and started slashing it in the air.  Salai moved back each time but eventually got a wall to his back.  The man went to slash at him again, and by some instinct you ran over to hold onto the man’s arm to stop him.  Salai took that opportunity to grab the man’s head and slam it into the wall.

He fell to the ground groaning. Salai stepped on his hand to make him drop the knife and kicked it away. 

You took a few steps back to catch your breath.

Mitsuki: I-I’m sorry.  I-I wasn’t thinking and I-

Salai suddenly hugged you, holding you close to him.

Salai: You’re okay and that’s what is important

He didn’t let you go for a while.  He wanted to keep you safe in his arms.  When he finally let you go, he happened to see your arm.

Salai: You’re bleeding!

He lifts your arm.  When you grabbed the man’s arm the blade of the knife must have slashed you.  You’re filled with so much adrenaline that you didn’t even feel it.

Salai: Come on. Let’s get that bandaged.

He takes your hand and walks you back to his apartment.  When you first got here you couldn’t help but notice how run down of an area he lived in, but when you had to go you somehow forgot about that.  The front door didn’t seem to close all the way when he ran out but when he got up to his apartment he realized he never grabbed his keys.

Salai: Crap… I didn’t grab my key

Mitsuki: do you maybe-

You looked around to see if there was a place he might have hidden a spare, but you look at him and he’s kneeling down, picking the lock to his own apartment.

Mitsuki: Or..do that.

Within seconds he has the door open and helps you inside.  Batuffola is there at the door to greet you both.

Salai: yes, hello bella. 

He takes you over to his bed and has you sit there.

Salai: stay right there.

The bathroom was on this side of the room.  He turned to go in there and grab a few things.

Now that you are starting to calm down you are starting to feel the pain.  There’s not a lot of blood, but there is enough.  He comes back with a damp rag and some bandages.  He uses the rag to clean up the blood and to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

Mitsuki: He didn’t hurt you, did he?

Salai: Me?  No, I'm fine.

He pushed his hair back and out of his face.

It’s quiet for a few more moments other than Batuffola purring.

Mitsuki: How did you learn how to fight like that?

Salai: I’ve been in quite a few bar fights actually.  I’ve cut it close a few times.

Mitsuki: Really? What for?

Salai: Just stupid things.

He takes the rag off of your arm and you let out a hiss.  The bleeding has slowed down so he wraps your arm in the bandage.

Salai: I know you said you needed to get back, but why don’t you stay here for the night?  If you need me to come with you in the morning to explain what happened so you don’t get in trouble I will.  I just don’t think you should be out there right now.

He didn't realize it, but he rested his chin on your lap, and looked up at you as he pleaded.  Nor did you realize that you brushed your fingers through his hair.

Mitsuki: You don’t need to come with me, I won’t get in trouble.

Both of your movements seemed to be natural.  Salai finally stands up, wanting to take the bloody rag back to the bathroom, but Batuffola was next to him and he didn’t realize, and tripped over his own feet, falling forwards on top of you.

You fall onto your back onto the bed. Salai stopped himself from falling onto you completely by having his hands on either side of you. You felt your face get flushed.  It’s not like he was any closer than before, but it’s the position that you are in.  Your heart is pounding, and your chest feels tight.  This can’t possibly be the feeling you think it is.

Do you have feelings for him?

~~~

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[hyperactivewhore]

I despise both Renesmee Cullen's and Hope Mikaelson's existences. Both characters are plot holes and shouldn't exist.

Renesmee Carlie Cullen is the daughter of Bella Swan and Edward Cullen. She's half-human and half-vampire, and in Twilight, it was explained that only male vampires can have children with female humans. But that doesn't make any sense because vampires in Twilight don't have any blood in their bodies. Then, Stephanie Meyer explained that the venom that is in their bodies works similarly to the bodily fluids that are in humans. But if that was the case, then Bella shouldn't have gotten pregnant. She should have become a vampire after having sex with Edward. Renesmee is called 'half mortal and half immortal' by Aro, but how can a person be half mortal and half immortal? She's either mortal or immortal. She can't be both. Does she age, or does she not? Can she live forever, or does she have the lifespan of a human?

Now, onto Hope.

Hope Andrea Mikaelson is the daughter of Klaus Mikaelson and Hayley Marshall-Kenner. She's a werewolf, vampire, witch tribrid. In the pilot episode of The Originals, it was explained that since Klaus was born a werewolf and became a vampire because of magic and not by drinking the blood of another vampire and dying with that vampire's blood in his system, he was able to conceive. Vampires in The Vampire Diaries are infertile and can not have children, and while Klaus is the world's first werewolf-vampire hybrid, he's still part vampire. He shouldn't have been able to have a child, which was confirmed in Legacies. The only reason Hope exists is because Malivore. So, if Malivore never existed, Hope would have never existed. She wasn't born because her father was created differently from traditional vampires, but because it is her destiny to defeat a mud monster.

Both characters are great (more so Hope because she was given her own show, and I grew to like her over Legacies' 4 season run. Renesmee was kinda there. Her CGI in the movies creeped me out, and she absolutely did nothing in the book), but their existence goes against the canons of their respective movies/books and show.

It's funny because both are created as plot devices to Bella and Klaus and they're meant to be the magical powerful baby of their universe, but their existence alone just makes it look ridiculous by breaking every single canon law.

As you said, Renaissance came out of nowhere. She was soo incredibly intelligent from the very first moment her parents made her, but apparently not smart enough to control her own strength seeing she broke several Bella's bones (like honestly, what the hell) and this demon spawn craved human blood for absolutely no logical reason other than Edward being a vampire. Ratatouille also could not be seen in the ultrasound or any other thing: she had a impenetrable amniotic sac because yes, exactly, her daddy is a vampire!

Honestly, I kinda feel bad for Ravioli. I've never finished reading Breaking Dawn (and I won't), it was such a corny book and I could only bring myself to the third part, where Bella spends time with baby Rasputin but I've heard interesting things to how the Cullen rise this sim. Apparently, Bella and Edward couldn't care less about their daughter, because as always they were more obssesed with each other and Rosalie did all the parenting, because the love birds couldn't be distracted with their CGI spawn. If I'm correct, Edward even called Bella more beautiful than Rim Job right in her face and instead of being mad, because their kid was right there, Isabella was just like "gosh edward, ily sm 😘😜😍"

Parents of the year.

Stephenie Meyer didn't care about Bella and Edward being parents: she just wanted the aesthetic that came with it, and she pulled the reasons of the human-vampire pregnancy out of her ass.

Actually, when I was in my twilight phase, I read a fanfic where Bella got pregnant, and the reason was a little more "coherent" than what Meyer gave: Having died so young, Edward's body "froze" his sperm and because he had remained a virgin for over a hundred years (lmao), he was able to get Bella, the first and only woman he slept with, pregnant. It's still shitty, and bad, but if they wanted them so badly to have a kid this was a better reason.

I just can't take Twilight books seriously. Apparently, there are no black vampires for a barely explained reason that is clearly racist (if I remember, the venom that vampires inject you during death just... removes your skin color), the mistreatment to the werewolves is just terrible, and there's Ratatunga too.

Now, moving to Hope Andrea Mikaelson, the white witch that is hated and loved in equal measures by the fandom. Oh my, this is gonna be interesting.

I have my moments with Hope, to be honest. Sometimes I completely adore her, and sometimes I just can't stand her. Her existence was completely pulled out of Pl*c's ass, who wanted to have her own version of Renameme so badly. Klaus shouldn't have even been able to procreate in the first place, because he was killed before Esther binded his werewolf side. Though vampires in tvd are more alive than dead, but that's a whole different thing. But clearly my point still remains.

I like Hope Mikaelson a lot more than Ragnarok Cullen, Summer Fontana/Danielle Russell and Mackenzie Foy are all really amazing and beautiful actresses who did great with the role they were given, but their characters completely broke canon. I like the tribrid more though because at least, she wasn't a fucking sim that aged five years in a week unlike Nestlé. The only way I could ever like Radioactive is by having her completely loathe her parents and family, especially because she was born in 2006 aka she's part of Gen Z.

Both characters shouldn't even exist in the first place, and Hope's existences is as much of a plothole as Riptide's. Renesmee gets more hate simply because of how she was in the womb and also because of how fast she grew, but they're both plotholes and shouldn't have been created no matter their popularity.

[personal-reporter]

Buonissima 2023 a Torino

Tra le manifestazioni gastronomiche più interessanti d’Italia c’è Buonissima a Torino, giunta alla terza edizione prevista dal 25 al 29 ottobre, che ospiterà i più grandi chef in circolazione dal mondo, dall’Italia e dal Piemonte, per raccontare la cucina ma anche lo spettacolo e la creatività. Ci saranno cene-spettacolo in alcuni dei luoghi più iconici della città, piole, ristoranti, osterie, bistrot torinesi con menu e degustazioni, colazioni firmate dai migliori chef e pasticceri, workshop formativi per gli appassionati di cucina e fornelli in un dialogo tra alta cucina internazionale e tradizione sabauda, tra i nuovi scenari creativi e l’eredità del passato, unendo insieme spettacolo e cultura tra Ogr, Centrale Nuvola Lavazza, Castello di Rivoli Museo d’Arte Contemporanea, Eataly, tutti con un programma diverso. Tra gli ospiti più attesi ci sono Adrià, Alajmo e Redzepi che parteciperanno al talk La cucina creativa un dialogo che esplora i territori più originali della cucina internazionale, l’assegnazione del Premio Bob Noto, dedicato alla memoria del fotografo food e gourmand scomparso nel 2017, che quest’anno va  a René Redzepi, chef del Noma di Copenaghen e lo chef Virgilio Martinez,del tristellato ristorante peruviano Central,  nominato miglior ristorante del mondo dalla classifica 50 Best Restaurants 2023,  che proporrà un menu interamente dedicato al rapporto tra l’uomo e la natura in un allestimento teatrale ispirato alla foresta amazzonica. Buonissima nasce per puntare i riflettori sulla città di Torino e sul Piemonte in generale, per questo affianco ai nomi internazionali non mancano idee come Metti Torino a cena, una  serie di eventi diffusi per i bar e ristoranti della città che ospitano cene a quattro mani e menu speciali con chef da tutta Italia,  Piolissima,  che riunisce venti osterie fra acciughe al verde, vitel tonnè, ravioli del plin con menu a prezzo fisso per tanti locali in giro per Torino come Le Putrelle, Du’ Cesari, Barbagusto, Anctiche Sere, e Agnolotti & Friends,  il format itinerante dove gli chef torinesi sono chiamati a interpretare questo grande classico della cucina piemontese, dall’antipasto al dolce. Non è da perdere anche Il Pranzo della domenica alla piemontese al Castello di Rivoli, per una tavolata conviviale con i migliori prodotti e le migliori ricette piemontesi realizzate da chef stellati e cuochi della regione, tra cui Marco Sacco del Piccolo Lago (Verbania), Christian Milano della Trattoria Zappatori (Pinerolo), ma anche Andrea Chiuni del Tre Galline (Torino), Marco Massaia del Ristorante Radici (Costigliole d’Asti, At), Alessia Rolla di Cantine Nicola (Cocconato, At), Daniele Rota di Antiche Sere (Torino). Poi ci saranno laboratori di degustazione, momenti di incontro con i brand, e un clima magico che farà diventare per un weekend Torino capitale della gastronomia. Read the full article

[conflictandscotchblog]

Dealing the Good Stuff

If you heard this one side of my cell phone conversation, what would you think?

"Hello, yeah, is he gone?"

(muffled reply)

"What? You said he'd be gone by 5:45. I'm not just going to keep driving around waiting for him to leave."

(second muffled reply)

"Okay, well, then I'll meet you down by Bishop's Supermarket. Hurry up."

You would probably assume I was in the middle of some illicit affair with a married woman. If you thought that, you'd be wrong.

It was arrangements to pick up dinner.

Let me explain.

My ex-wife, Arlene, and I have a very good relationship. It is a much better relationship than the one we had when we were married. I hope my kids can appreciate that fact. There are untold horror stories of divorced couples, who use their kids as weapons.

There are divorced couples who, even after 30 years, can't stand to be in the same room.

And then there's Arlene and me.

Even though we're divorced, she handled and drops off my taxes at the accountant, picked me up when my car was in the shop, and sat together (along with Dennis, her forever-fiancé) at all our kids' events.

When our children were younger, Arlene would buy me presents for Father's Day (from the kids) and I would buy her presents for Mother's Day (from the kids).

During Hurricane Irene several years ago, my townhouse lost power. I called Arlene, whose house still functioned in the storm. She told me Danny (our youngest) was stuck at his girlfriend's house, and couldn't get home because of all the downed wires.

Although, I'm sure Danny wouldn't have used the word "stuck”.

However, that being the case, there was an extra room, and Arlene asked if I wanted to stay there. I thanked her, packed a few things (scotch and medications) and headed over. What normally would have been a 20-minute ride ended up being a two-hour ordeal. Streets blocked by fallen trees, power lines draped across broken branches.

I maneuvered back roads that I didn't knew existed; I followed some innate primal urge to get safe and dry (and drunk), and eventually made it to Arlene's house.

After I unpacked (poured a drink) I gathered in the dining room with Arlene and Dennis, along with Amanda (daughter) and her boyfriend, Paul. To round out this menagerie was Arlene's late sister Andrea (before she died) who had come for a visit, but was now trapped (stuck?) unable to get back to her own town.

After spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, Arlene announced, "Let's watch a movie."

Dinner, drinks and a show.

Don't get me wrong, I am very happy with the relationship we have. I just couldn't help think how odd other people would view the arrangement.

One thing that has evolved over the years, between Arlene and myself, that even I find strange, is our relationship with food.

For some reason, and I don't know how it all started, Arlene feels compelled to feed me. I certainly don't have a problem with that: Arlene is an excellent cook. However, it's the manner how I get the food that is strange.

Like something out of a spy novel, we started to have food ‘drops’. Not sure why, I'm sure Dennis doesn't give a damn that Arlene gives me leftovers, but it was just something that evolved over time.

I would walk in to pick up the kids and Arlene would whisper, "There's a bag in the front seat of my car-baked ziti".

She might as well have said, "The frost is on the pumpkin" then stroked her index finger across the side of her nose like Paul Newman in The Sting.

The food might show up anywhere: in my son's room, the front porch, a hollowed out copy of War and Peace. It's come to the point that when I pull into the driveway I check the mailbox for a forgotten Veal Parmesan sandwich.

As for the one-sided phone conversation above, I pulled into Bishop's Supermarket’s parking lot next to Arlene's van. I got out of my car with a bag full of empty Tupperware containers from previous drops. Arlene got out of her car with a bag full of containers filled with ravioli, turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy.

We exchanged packages, then back into our cars we went, and drove away.

Another successful prisoner exchange.

There is a consequence, however, to having such a good relationship with my ex-wife.

I really need to drop a few pounds.

[djs-party-edm-italia]

Fam Desenzano: i party dal 17 al 31 agosto 2023

FAM, a Desenzano (BS) è un ristorante d'eccellenza ed un meeting point amato da chi vuol vivere al massimo il Garda in ogni stagione. Di giorno, di sera e di notte, ci rilassa con un certo stile, con brunch, aperitivi, cene e party d'eccellenza. Gli eventi, musicali e non, qui, non mancano mai. Ogni ospite si sente, giustamente, al centro della scena. In primavera, soprattutto. La location è unica e ha un panorama mozzafiato sul lago.

E che succede, per quel che riguarda gli eventi, al Fam Desenzano, dal 17 agosto in poi dal punto di vista musicale? Il ritmo e la qualità sonora sono decisamente alti. 

Proprio il 17 agosto, ecco l'imperdibile Maurizio Danesi Live Show. Danesi è un vero professionista delle 7 note, capace di spaziare tra pop, musica italiana ed internazionale. Cantante di razza e polistrumentista (è clarinettista e saxofonista), ha collaborato con Ornella Vanoni, Fausto Leali, Franco Califano e con l'Orchestra dalla Rai. Ha al suo attivo anche la formazione del «Maurizio Danesi Jazz Quartet» ed esibizioni in tutta Europa e negli Stati Uniti.

Il 20 è la volta di Feel It Party. Il sound è internazionale, interpretato da dj come Andrea Viani, PasQ e Louis Garro. 

Il 22 agosto ecco I remember Yesterday con i dj Radio Studio Più, una serata perfetta per ballare andando indietro nel tempo.

Eccoci al 24 agosto, quando si sente forte e chiara l'elettronica internazionale di It's Folklor. Tra i dj spesso in console per questo evento ecco Antonio Battaglia, Matteo Gurra e Lvca 1812.  

Il 27 agosto ancora una bella collaborazione con Radio Studio Più, questa volta con un aperitivo divertente e musicale.

Il 31 agosto è al Fam Desenzano è la volta di Colazione da Tiffany. party ormai ben conosciuto sul Garda per la sua atmosfera scatenata... e informale. Possibilità di riservare: tavoli, lettini, baldacchini. Il tramonto non c'è bisogno di prenotarlo, quello è disponibile per tutti. Ingresso  in lista 10€ con consumazione, 15€ (con. cons.) tutti gli altri non in lista o dopo le 20:00. In console artisti come  O' Neal Ephraim ed Arienne, sempre capaci di stupire con il loro sound originale, all'altezza delle situazioni internazionali più sofisticate.

///

Come sa bene chi frequenta il locale, Fam Desenzano è un hot spot da frequentare all'ora dell'aperitivo, che qui emoziona sempre per la vista sul lago... e pure per i cocktail. E poi Fam Desenzan è un ristorante, all'altezza delle aspettative dei più esigenti. Ccco un appetitoso accenno al menu. Tra i piatti ecco Pancia di maiale, sfilacciato di maiale croccante, polenta fritta e sorbetto alla mela verde, un equilibrio di sapori tutto da scoprire. Oppure, Coniglio, foie gras glassato al cioccolato bianco, mugnoli selvatici e finocchio… O ancora, Ravioli fatti in casa con mousseline di rana pescatrice al pepe rosa, consommè di branzino, vongole e cime di rapa. E ovviamente, carne alla griglia. 

///

Al Fam,  a Desenzano (BS) va poi in scena da qualche settimana un menu tutto nuovo, che spazia dal pesce fresco alla carne alla griglia. E dopo cena, oltre a cocktail e drink, spesso ecco eventi musicali e non pieni di stile. Nello "slang" americano, Fam sta per famiglia, non solo come nucleo vero e proprio, ma indica un gruppo di amici legati tra loro da una stessa passione comune. La professonalità dei fratelli Guidetti, che insieme gestiscono il locale, si rispecchia proprio in questo termine che oltre a rimandare all'affiatamento della loro famiglia numerosa. Fam abbraccia gli ospiti facendoli sentire parte di quello che, più che un progetto imprenditoriale, è un vero e proprio stile di vita.

FAM - Desenzano (BS)

https://famlifestyle.it/

+39 030 9120281

Via Zamboni, 5 25015 – Desenzano del Garda (BS)

Chiuso il martedì

[sounds-right]

Fam Desenzano: i party dal 17 al 31 agosto 2023

FAM, a Desenzano (BS) è un ristorante d'eccellenza ed un meeting point amato da chi vuol vivere al massimo il Garda in ogni stagione. Di giorno, di sera e di notte, ci rilassa con un certo stile, con brunch, aperitivi, cene e party d'eccellenza. Gli eventi, musicali e non, qui, non mancano mai. Ogni ospite si sente, giustamente, al centro della scena. In primavera, soprattutto. La location è unica e ha un panorama mozzafiato sul lago.

E che succede, per quel che riguarda gli eventi, al Fam Desenzano, dal 17 agosto in poi dal punto di vista musicale? Il ritmo e la qualità sonora sono decisamente alti. 

Proprio il 17 agosto, ecco l'imperdibile Maurizio Danesi Live Show. Danesi è un vero professionista delle 7 note, capace di spaziare tra pop, musica italiana ed internazionale. Cantante di razza e polistrumentista (è clarinettista e saxofonista), ha collaborato con Ornella Vanoni, Fausto Leali, Franco Califano e con l'Orchestra dalla Rai. Ha al suo attivo anche la formazione del «Maurizio Danesi Jazz Quartet» ed esibizioni in tutta Europa e negli Stati Uniti.

Il 20 è la volta di Feel It Party. Il sound è internazionale, interpretato da dj come Andrea Viani, PasQ e Louis Garro. 

Il 22 agosto ecco I remember Yesterday con i dj Radio Studio Più, una serata perfetta per ballare andando indietro nel tempo.

Eccoci al 24 agosto, quando si sente forte e chiara l'elettronica internazionale di It's Folklor. Tra i dj spesso in console per questo evento ecco Antonio Battaglia, Matteo Gurra e Lvca 1812.  

Il 27 agosto ancora una bella collaborazione con Radio Studio Più, questa volta con un aperitivo divertente e musicale.

Il 31 agosto è al Fam Desenzano è la volta di Colazione da Tiffany. party ormai ben conosciuto sul Garda per la sua atmosfera scatenata... e informale. Possibilità di riservare: tavoli, lettini, baldacchini. Il tramonto non c'è bisogno di prenotarlo, quello è disponibile per tutti. Ingresso  in lista 10€ con consumazione, 15€ (con. cons.) tutti gli altri non in lista o dopo le 20:00. In console artisti come  O' Neal Ephraim ed Arienne, sempre capaci di stupire con il loro sound originale, all'altezza delle situazioni internazionali più sofisticate.

///

Come sa bene chi frequenta il locale, Fam Desenzano è un hot spot da frequentare all'ora dell'aperitivo, che qui emoziona sempre per la vista sul lago... e pure per i cocktail. E poi Fam Desenzan è un ristorante, all'altezza delle aspettative dei più esigenti. Ccco un appetitoso accenno al menu. Tra i piatti ecco Pancia di maiale, sfilacciato di maiale croccante, polenta fritta e sorbetto alla mela verde, un equilibrio di sapori tutto da scoprire. Oppure, Coniglio, foie gras glassato al cioccolato bianco, mugnoli selvatici e finocchio… O ancora, Ravioli fatti in casa con mousseline di rana pescatrice al pepe rosa, consommè di branzino, vongole e cime di rapa. E ovviamente, carne alla griglia. 

///

Al Fam,  a Desenzano (BS) va poi in scena da qualche settimana un menu tutto nuovo, che spazia dal pesce fresco alla carne alla griglia. E dopo cena, oltre a cocktail e drink, spesso ecco eventi musicali e non pieni di stile. Nello "slang" americano, Fam sta per famiglia, non solo come nucleo vero e proprio, ma indica un gruppo di amici legati tra loro da una stessa passione comune. La professonalità dei fratelli Guidetti, che insieme gestiscono il locale, si rispecchia proprio in questo termine che oltre a rimandare all'affiatamento della loro famiglia numerosa. Fam abbraccia gli ospiti facendoli sentire parte di quello che, più che un progetto imprenditoriale, è un vero e proprio stile di vita.

FAM - Desenzano (BS)

https://famlifestyle.it/

+39 030 9120281

Via Zamboni, 5 25015 – Desenzano del Garda (BS)

Chiuso il martedì

[sk3tch404]

I became 2 braincells smarter today (drops this)

https://imgur.com/a/ivl1cRy

Hopefully the link works O_O if your wondering about some discoloured places on the paper, one part is me editing our names out of the pics and the other was that the paper got slightly wet at some point so the color got smeared unfortunately (cough cough Nonny cough)

-Ren'py anon

Oooo I wonder what this is

Update after I see this on my pc: LMFAO OKAY IG I WONT TELL MY MOM???

Hacker nonny looks better than I expected. Though YOU NEVER TOLD ME HE HAD THEM ACRYLICS! DAMNNN THEY HOT PINK TOO I BET HES A NICKI FAN 😍😍😍

Pull up in the sri lanka 😎

Okay but why are the swedish cousins kinda hot though.

... It's the lack of face, BUT their outfits are good despite them looking like knock off 90s cartoon villains 😭 the shoes are killing me bro

Y'all said color theory 😍

INGRIDLEINCHEN TRUDY LASAGNA LOOKS ABSOLUTELY DIVINE. SHES SOOOO BEAUTIFUL AND LOOKS VERY KIND <33

Her sister looks less scary than I imagined her to be, but still scary enough for me not leave her photo on my screen 💀 her hair is very lovely though

Kim Hojungseo...

You know what it fits his description very well. Very vsco, but hypebeast 💀 the bangs reminds me of that emo hairstyle, but it doesn't cover his eye. 3/10 (Mostly because I hate him.)

Low-key looks like he's from Pinky Dinky Doo

Andreas is cute ngl. Im glad his ingame sprite is %0.5 cuter so 😊 his shoes just looks like some expensive, badly designed 'cool kid' shoe all the kids wanted in every cartoon ever.

Y/n is a baddie, but she be looking like Jeff The Killer 😭😭😭 Her hair is cute and chic though 😎

[1337wtfomgbbq]

Niki: Welcome back to ‘reasons the kids have been crying’.

Niki: Elio was upset because we wouldn’t let him swim in the Baltic sea. As it was 6 degrees cold... and he can’t swim.

Niki: I wouldn’t let Nigel eat a battery for breakfast.

Niki: Ayrton wanted ravioli for dinner. So I made ravioli for dinner. And then he started to cry because he didn’t want ravioli for dinner *eye roll*

Niki: Andrea had a whole ass meltdown because he couldn’t pick up the book he wanted... because he was sitting on it *stares into camera as if he’s on the office*

James: Don’t forget the fit Riccardo threw because I I told him he couldn’t go inside the dishwasher.

[normal-person-wannabe]

Talk less, smile more (LMM/Reader)

Chapter 2

Notes:

Hey friends, i finally found the time to write this second chapter. Hope you like it. Oh, and if you want to be added in the taglist for the following chapter you only have to ask. See you soon. Stay safe. Word count: 1093 tw: swearing, mentions of sex

Your apartment's door slammed shut and you flew down the stairs like you were being chased by that one old uncle -who's not your real uncle- that every Christmas asks you if you're still single and makes unpleasant remarks about how if he were younger he'd "show you" how beautiful you are.

But risking a couple of broken bones was worth it: you did not want to be slapped by your sister, although you must admit, she knows how to make you fall into line and save yourself -and others- from your horrible time management skills. Sometimes she can scare the crap out of you, even though you know she does it for your own good.

You walk through your building gate at 6:55, thank goodness. No sign of that yellow tuna can of hers that somehow manages to resemble a vehicle. You start playing the game that you always play when you are waiting for someone: "guess the story of this bystander's life".

Like, look at that guy over there. He has a briefcase in his left hand and his phone in the right. He's walking slowly, his head lowered as if he was eaten up by guilt or shame.

Oh, he must've fucked up real hard. It could be a work thing.

Or -wait- maybe it's something more interesting, like he lost a lot of money at a casino in Vegas, perhaps even cheated on his wife with the dealer, or-

Stop, just stop. Your brain is going too fast. You're not a 3-year-old on Adderall, you're an adult, responsible, and -Oh my God!!

What if he has murdered someone and now he's regretting it!

Nope, not ok y/n, not okay. You'll behave yourself, because you're not nervous, you're not afraid that this "thing" you have with him will go south just before it really has started and you will end up hurt and shattered into tiny little pieces because you believed in it, and you poured your soul into it only to be disappointed by the harsh reality: you are not worthy of love. You're chaos. You have no chill whatsoever. For you, it's all or nothing, and-

6.58. That's weird, she's not at least three minutes early. You were starting to worry when there it was, her yellow little tuna can.

«What the hell...» you muttered, causing a puff of condensed air to pirouette out of your mouth. Three pairs of hands waved frantically at you from within the vehicle.

«Oh no, the whole gang is here...»

«Change of plans» Your sister screamed as she got out of the car «Come in for a hug, sweetheart, I missed you!»

«I missed you too,» you replied in a whisper, almost choked by the tightness of her embrace.

«Hop in, hun,» She said «we -and by we I mean me, you, Kate, and Liz- have plenty to talk about»

«We sure do» you sighed. The prospect of three women interrogating you like they were the freaking FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit was not a good one. You'd rather spend a peaceful evening alone with your sister and a plate of linguine allo scoglio but there's no going back now.

   «Are you ready to order, mie care signore?» the waiter asked, with a big smile and a slight wink.

«Yes, we are,» your sister answered in a cheerful tone «And how are your wife and baby, Andrea? I hear he's got his mother’s beautiful green eyes.»

«Oh, he's a very well-behaved baby, if you don't take into account the part in which he doesn't let me and my wife sleep more than an hour a night. But anyway, what can I get started for you lot this evening?»

«For me a pizza caprise?» Liz replied hastily. Liz had to be always the first one to do anything, which is why she had "mommy issues" and written all over her face.

«Capreese? Sorry, I’ve not yet figured out how to pronounce it»

«It's actually Caprese, which means from Capri, ma’am. That’s also where my mother was born.» he said, with a glimpse of pride in his eyes.

«Oh, that makes sense. So a pizza Caprese and a medium brown ale.» said Liz

«A pizza Caprese and a medium brown ale for the lady» he repeated while scribbling on his notepad.

«I'll take the seafood linguine and a white wine of your choice. I trust your judgment» intervened Kate in an almost less than a whisper. She's the cutie and the shy one of the group. And the one men usually prefer since she has the face and the voice of a Cherub come straight from heaven.

«I’ll take the ravioli burro e salvia. And can we have a jug of water so we can share it?» my sister added. «Oh and bring also a hot hot tea, 'cause she has to spill some!»

It was a "wink wink nudge nudge" situation. You felt their eyes on you and their laughter, but your mind was oh-so elsewhere.

«And for you, Antonio's favorite, who’s always daydreaming and never pays attention to me? The usual?»

Kate gave you a first nudge in between your ribs, but you were far, far away, back to when your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just give up, and his cock was filling you up so completely you forgot that a world existed outside of the heaving mess you were. You'll never forget those moments of beatitude, nor the raspy groans and luscious whispers that into your ears and onto your skin felt like velvet and honey. Kate gave you another nudge, this time so hard your head bolted upwards. You looked like you were caught with your hands in a cookie jar. Your cheeks were a bright red. And you were insanely hot. And a tad bit wet.

«Hey, yes, sorry, I was... yes I’ll take the pizza fantasia, so Antonio can surprise me.»

You always ordered that, and Antonio even said to you that you’re his inspiration for new pizza flavors. He also bought a little notebook with your name on it, in which to keep track of all the pizzas he made, so as not to make you the same pizza twice. He’s been so kind to you you couldn't not invite him to your graduation. He looked even more proud of you than your actual parents were that day. You loved the man.

«Sure, he'll be pleased you came back, he was starting to worry you would go to that new place across the street»

«Oh, I could never. He's like family to me. To us. You all are.»

«Thanks, ma'am, I'll be back in a sec with your complimentary antipasti della casa,  and your drinks.» You thanked him and smiled sheepishly. You knew what was coming next and you braced yourself for the pack of wolves in front of you that now has shifted its focus from the waiter to you, ready to jump right at you and bite your ass. 

«So» They all exclaimed almost in unison.

«So» You replied, biting your bottom lip.

[inscmnus]

Beep beep! *pulls up a chair, makes tea*

Alright, so... Honestly? I was never a huge fan of Noctis, especially in his younger years. I think it's because I relate to him way more than I'm willing to admit, on many levels; our backgrounds, our dads, our incessant need to sleep and avoid responsibility, etc, etc. He was always one of those characters I could take or leave, and felt a bit odd about that considering how rabid the fandom can be over him.

Then here comes KAY. Not only did you bring me a Noctis that sparked a legitimate interest in the character that I'd never had before, but you came in tow with Andrea and dragged me in with open arms. It's so rare to find such genuine and kind people who also bring an amazing portrayal to the table!

I know this is intended to be a portrayal commentary about you, but I can't help that I've always viewed you and Andrea as a duo from day one. You two just go hand in hand and are absolutely amazing. I'm so grateful to be able to talk and write with both of you!

Your Noctis... He's just perfect. His mannerisms, his tone, all of it. You couldn't have perfected him anymore! ♥

Answering this one like this because reasons. First things first though , I'm appalled you didn't bring coffee to this meeting , Fox. You brought tea. Listen , I may be British -- but I despise tea. So all I can bring to this table is my cherry coke because I can not be bothered to go and make a coffee. The sheer effort of moving the blankets off me and facing the cold cold kitchen for the caffeine goodness. Anyway.

I'm not going to lie , this did bring a big smile to my face. I'm glad that you felt so welcomed by us (and yes in many cases me and Andrea are a package deal) but honestly , I adore you and your ravioli more than I can see. You know how much I adore the pair of you! Being in the XV fandom , despite my slow shy ass , I've had the pleasure of meeting so many fantastic people and seeing so many wonderful writers. And more keep popping up! I love how this fandom doesn't fizzle and the love for the game and the characters seems to keep growing! Off topic Kay. Sh.

But I'm glad you enjoy my portrayal! It means a lot to me , especially as I do often have wobbles about it and wonder if I am actually doing him the justice he deserves. <3 I write a lot of his introspective thoughts and feelings , his awkwardness at approaching certain situations and I'm glad that comes across the way I want it to!

As for Andrea. Yeah , I can't get rid of her. I tried. Multiple times but look. Right now she's sat right next to me. Nah , I'm joking. She knows I adore her and her friendship is so important to me. But you are right , we do go hand in hand a lot of the time! She's my best friend and I love her to iddy biddy pieces. She's the lemon to my melon. The bread to my butter. The bag to my uette. (:

Also , tagging @battleshot

[an-mallaithe]

🥝 🥝 🥝 🥝 🥝 🥝 🥝 <3

For every 🥝 I get, I’ll recommend a blog I love 

🥝 -  @sanguinepeccatorum​ - First recommendation goes to my longest running writing partner that I’ve had across all my blogs. Lyri is a gem and her Vincent is the most precious angsty babe, so well thought out and full of sincere emotion! We’ve written together for what feels like countless years and I’m looking forward to so many more!     

🥝 - @oflockharted - Another one of my dears from years ago, Garnie puts so much life into Tifa! Her enthusiasm and energy for her muse is so contagious, and how heartfelt she is with developing her! 

🥝 - @strictomiles - If you want someone to bust down your door and make you fall in love with Gladio, this is where it’s at! I love how Rissa writes him and I can legitimately hear his voice in every exchange! 

🥝 - @phantomdream - Since we’re going down the old school list here, I have to push my main Moon Moon! This may be a multi-muse blog and I know how some people feel about those, but you won’t regret it! This is where you’ll find the primary Lunafreya that’s referenced by default Luna across my blogs. She’s so perfect. ♥ 

🥝 - @infideliis - Anyone who knows me should be aware by now of how damn picky I am about Ravus blogs. Here you’ll find one of the beloved ones, though. I’m particular about my Raviolis; they need that passion and sincerity behind them. You’ll find that in this one, along with a mun who cares a lot for him!    

🥝 - @battleshot - When I came back from my hiatus and saw that so many people had left the RPC, I was a bit sad, but then I found Andrea here and everything changed! I was introduced to so many new people and came across one of the best Prompto’s I’ve written with! I’m looking forward to seeing how everything develops with this perfect sunshine boy! Highly recommend!

🥝 - @inscmnus - Kay is a wonderful bean and this Noctis has me wrapped around their finger. (I’m almost as picky about Noctis blogs as I am with Ravus, so that’s fantastic!) Another new one to my recent circle of writing partners and I’m so thrilled about it!     

[ravusnightblossom]

your portrayal? bold of you to assume you could give us THE ravus and we wouldn't notice... Honestly, the enthusiasm and love you have for him shines through in everything you write. I LOVE how you pick his brain apart, how you can go off about random headcanons and do it so naturally. I love plotting with you and it adds to all of the fun and fabulousness of this man c: ( speaking of we really need to get back to plotting after we jumped ahead by months on wire xD ) Anyway, thank you for approaching me, you've made mine and prom's life a million times more amazing, you ARE amazing. and i utterly adore you and your muses c:

Beep Beep! How’s My Portrayal? always accepting |  @battleshot

ooc;   ANDREA ANDRfiowjsedifosj, Andrea, my dear. LISTEN. I know this is supposed to be about me, but I could honestly say all the same about you and Prompto! I love the writing chemistry we have together and how everything has developed. And yes, we do need to get back to all of that! Life has just been so hectic for both of us, lately! Slow season will upon us soon enough, though! ♥

And thank you so much for all of this! I truly do love slamming down all those crazy headcanons and just screaming to the sun about how much I adore Ravioli! And some screaming about you, also. I’m so fortunate to have you in my circle! xo  

[spettriedemoni]

Dagli autoscatti che hai pubblicato, specialmente quello dove sei in mutande è evidente che sei sovrappeso, probabilmente obesità level 1 tendente level 2. Se hai un amico che può prescriverti una dieta, approfittane finché sei vivo. Defecare ti fa perdere peso ma solo temporaneamente, a meno che poi mangi meno e meglio. Io ti auguro di campare fino a 100 anni ingozzandoti di ravioli e di avere al tuo capezzale un mare di gente. Ma se vai avanti così si piangerà il morto prima del tempo.

Sono sopravvissuto a un tumore, sai che mi frega di morire lentamente in sovrappeso? Comunque l'ultima ecografia ha mostrato che il mio fegato non è più steatosico, per cui non c'è da allarmarsi.

Però sei gentile a preoccuparti per me benché questo tuo "affetto" in realtà nasconda un profondo senso di inadeguatezza e una profonda invidia.

I selfie cui fai riferimento sono piuttosto vecchi, dunque o mi segui da tempo o stanotte sei andato a frugare nell'archivio.

Ora, sarei pure lusingato di tanta attenzione ma temo sia un'attenzione malata.

Come ti chiami? Andrea, Antonio, Luca, Alessandro? No aspetta... Facciamo che ti chiamerò Marco.

Ecco l'analisi del tuo profilo.

Sei uomo perché una donna non avrebbe usato numeri circa massa corporea avrebbe detto solo "sei grasso".

Sei uno che si fa mille paranoie per mangiare, sta attento a quante calorie, quante proteine e quanti zuccheri immetti nel tuo corpo. Ah e poi stai attento anche a mangiare la giusta quantità di prugne.

Dopodiché ti ammazzi di esercizi in palestra, cerchi di avere addominali scolpiti e pettorali ampi ma, nonostante tutta questa fatica, non te la danno.

Poi vieni qui sulla mia pagina e scopri che ho un discreto pubblico femminile. Magari ti fai mille film mentali per un commento e pensi: "Ma come fa questo a scopare così tanto se è pure in sovrappeso?" eccetera.

Proprio non puoi accettarlo e il tuo ego ne risente. Di brutto anche.

Vedi che ci sono donne qui a commentare miei post, donne che hai provato a contattare in chat ma non sono mai state molto loquaci con te e questo ti ha fatto salire a livelli stratosferici la frustrazione.

Mi dispiace per te. Sul serio. Dovresti farti aiutare, liberarti dell'ossessione che hai per me perché ti fa male.

Ti ucciderà lentamente.

Ciao Marco, buona vita.

[kaos-94]

GUNS N’ ROSES

Guns N’ Roses, c’est quoi ? C’est un projet qui grandit un peu plus chaque jour, voulant offrir un contexte original et un rpg à votre image. Ma vision est  de mettre en avant l'évolution de vos personnages en priorité. j'aimerais créer un rpg à votre image, créer pour votre personnage. j'aimerais faire en sorte, que chaque membre se retrouve, s'identifie un minimum au forum, donc pourrait tout autant que n'importe qui investir de son temps afin de d'adapter le forum à son style de rp. GUNS N’ ROSES se veut collaboratif, mais qu'attendez-vous par projet collaboratif ? Une collaboration "est un travail en commun; un travail entre plusieurs personnes qui génère la création d'une œuvre commune. Le principe fondamental du travail coopératif est de placer tous les membres du groupe sur le même plan, d'égal à égal. Ainsi, dans cette même ordre d'idée, nous voulons vous laisser l’opportunité de créer quelque chose qui vous plait, avec nous.

Voitures rutilantes. Froissement de papier caractéristique ; des billets de banque qui changent de main. Poudre blanche magique. Écho d’un gémissement de plaisir. Rire gras, alcoolisé, diminué par le clapotis des vagues. Vibration électrisante de l’aiguille qui fait pénétrer l’encre dans la peau. Hélices qui tournent sans répit, déversant l’essence toxique sur l’asphalte. Goût ferreux de l’hémoglobine, bruit de chairs qui s’entrechoquent, qui s’entredéchirent. Autant de sons, de nuances, de saveurs qui se mêlent pour former la ville si célèbre de Los Santos, nichée dans l’État de San Andreas. Parfait milieu entre glamour et glauque, tourbillon et tranquillité, pognon et pauvreté.

Il y fait chaud, il y fait brûlant ; le sang bouillonne dans les veines des habitants. De tous horizons, de tous pays, ils sont tous venus à Los Santos pour se tailler un nouveau bout de vie. Prendre un morceau du rêve, arracher un coin du paradis avec leurs dents, ou ramasser les miettes de ceux qui y arrivent mieux qu’eux. Los Santos elle-même est un oxymore ; le luxe et les paillettes y côtoient la terre et l’odeur des gouttières. On entend « Rends-moi mon blé, sale chien, avant que je n’explose ta cervelle ! » et on entend « J’espère que le brushing ne sera pas trop long, j’ai un golf à 11h à Richman ». C’est le centre névralgique de l’audace, du culot, des projets. Dans cet Eden sur terre, tout est à construire, tout est à concrétiser. C’est la loi du plaisir : chacun selon ses désirs. Gérez votre entreprise, que vous vendiez de la coke, des organes ou des raviolis. Que vous jouiez dans les films où que vous soyez ouvreur de cinéma. Que vous soyez à vendre, ou à marier. Laissez l’air délicieux remplir vos poumons, et préparez-vous à conquérir la ville.

La vie y a un merveilleux goût de danger, l’excitation et l’adrénaline font déjà vibrer vos yeux. Attention à la concurrence et au hasard, aux âmes trop pures ou trop corrompues : vous n’êtes pas le seul roi sur le plateau d’échecs. Il vous revient de déplacer vos pions, de courtiser vos reines, de vous battre aux côtés de vos cavaliers. À Los Santos, d’une manière ou d’une autre, tout se termine en échec et mat.

discord collaboratif lien du projet - broc'art lien du projet - pub rpg design

[thejanewestin]

Gravity, chapter 1 (Mirandy)

Andy Sachs was not a scientist. 

 She felt that this was an important point to make, particularly in the weekly staff meetings, when the scientific editors’ discussion of the latest endosymbiont or cytokine or whatever devolved into semi-hysterical PubMed searches and emphatic data-set thumping. Eventually, after they’d worn themselves out squawking at each other, they’d turn to her to tie-break. 

 “Guys,” she’d say. “I am not a scientist.”

 But she was the managing editor, and despite having a pay grade significantly below that of the Ph.D.s in the room, it somehow fell to her to figure out which of the six nearly-identical Figure 1s to use. 

 “Your problem is you’re too capable,” Trixie said, examining the underside of her coffee mug with an expression that was half interest and half revulsion.

 “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Andy closed her laptop and scrubbed both hands over her aching eyeballs. “Are you ready to go?”

 “What do you suppose this is?” Trixie held the mug out to Andy, bottom-side first, where a wad of something grayish-blue was firmly affixed.

 Andy made a face. “Walt’s gum,” she said.

 Trixie shuddered. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she said. She reached over and put the mug onto Walt’s desk. “That dude is a sociopath. I can’t believe I dated him.”

 “Stop.” Andy let Trixie pull her to her feet. “I can’t handle any romantic navel-gazing tonight. I need ravioli.”

 They stopped at Trattoria Giulia on the way home, stomping their feet on the cracked sidewalk in a vain defense against the icy night wind as they waited at the window. 

 “Whoever thought a spaghetti counter was a good idea—” Trixie started.

 “Was a genius,” Andy finished, tearing into her bag and finding a breadstick. She crammed half of it into her mouth while they walked the rest of the way home. 

 “SVU?” Trixie asked, once they were ensconced in their apartment. 

 “Nyet,” Andy said, finding a spoon in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and wiping it on a dish towel. “Too tired. Going to eat ravioli in bed and pass out.”

 Trixie flopped on the couch. “Suit yourself.”

 Andy managed to splatter minimal tomato sauce on the bedspread, which was pretty good for ten o’clock at night, she thought. She scrolled through emails as she chewed. Submission, submission, submission, submission. The journal was pretty successful, even though its impact factor would never break the threes. And she liked her job. It wasn’t the hard-hitting journalism career she’d envisioned when she’d graduated from college, but it was good, satisfying work. 

 It was a little funny, actually, that she’d taken such a roundabout route to end up right back in New York. It had started with a little job in Boston—editing press releases for a medical journal—and when she and Nate had ended it a year later, she’d moved back to Ohio. A colleague from the Boston journal had put a good word in for her in Cincinnati. Eighteen months after she’d started, the whole publication had moved to Queens, and they’d taken her with them. Trixie’s claim that she was too capable had served her pretty well, all things considered, and she’d been promoted to managing editor just before her thirty-first birthday.

 Submission, submission, submission. All things that could be handled at the office tomorrow. She scrolled faster. 

 And then she saw a name. 

 Andy’s thumb slammed on her phone screen so hard she accidentally minimized her mail app. “Fuck,” she muttered, opening it again, and there it was, in bold Helvetica Neue. 

 Every cell in Andy’s body seemed to turn to ice. 

 EXTERNAL, the email said. Submission. 

 And the name above it:

 Cassidy Priestly.

 ***

 They’d be twenty-two now. It was hard to fathom—her brain had put them into a kind of temporal lock, freezing them eternally as bratty twelve-year-olds. She’d spent more time than she cared to admit Googling Miranda, but she had sort of forgotten about the twins.

 Cassidy didn’t have a LinkedIn, but Caroline did. She was following in her mother’s footsteps, apparently—her current position was listed as Photography Intern, Elias-Clark. She looked like a younger, freckled Miranda, all cheekbones and chin and that aquiline nose. Heavy eyeliner. No smile.

 Andy flipped back to Cassidy’s submission. It was a PDF, too small to read on her phone, so she put the ravioli container on her nightstand and reached for her laptop. Cassidy was the first author, so she would have done the bulk of the writing. The last name listed was a Ph.D. at Columbia. It was a name she’d seen in print a number of times, although never at Cellular Function. 

 Andy read. For a moment, absorbed in the text, she allowed herself to forget the paper’s author. It was a descriptive study on regulatory kinesins in microtubules, and although it was quite a bit more specialized than what the journal usually published, the writing was good and the design seemed solid. She skimmed enough to decide which of her colleagues should review it, deidentified it, and forwarded it to Rashad. Her hands, she realized, had become ice-cold. 

 She felt nervous. 

 It was a strange, foreign feeling, like someone had whooshed her consciousness back into her twenty-three-year-old body. She felt exactly like she had for the entirety of the almost-year at Runway, and she knew exactly why.

 Miranda.

 She wouldn’t be the one to decide whether or not the paper would be accepted—that was Rashad’s job, and he’d review it blindly, without knowing the authors. But it would be her name on the letter. She could just imagine Cassidy presenting a rejection to her mother. Would she remember Andy?

 She wondered, briefly, if it was possible to recuse herself from a submission, as an attorney might recuse herself from a case in which there was a conflict of interest. Oh, God. If the paper got rejected, she was going to have to quit her job. 

 No. She shook herself. What was she thinking? Cellular Function had nothing to do with Runway. There was absolutely no overlap between scientific journals and fashion writing. Miranda reigned over Elias-Clark, sure; her reach might even extend to print media beyond New York. But Andy would bet her left pinky that no one in her current sphere—besides Trixie, of course—even knew who Miranda Priestly was.

 She swallowed her anxiety with a few more bites of her now-cold ravioli. Old habits, it turned out, died hard. 

 She showered, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed, but sleep was a long time coming.

 ***

 The paper did not get accepted. 

 Andy had known it wouldn’t. Upon closer reading the following morning, it really was too specialized for their applied-science journal. More suited for Experimental Cell or Developmental Immunology. Three weeks after she sent it to Rashad, she got the email back that it had been rejected. Fuck.

 She copy-pasted the rejection template into an email reply to Cassidy and her coauthors, staring at it for a long time as she chewed on her thumbnail. It was a good study. It would surely be accepted at a different journal, and she could come up with four or five off the top of her head. 

 Cassidy’s mentor would know that. She was undoubtedly accustomed to rejections, and would have a list of next choices to which the article would be submitted. 

 And yet.

 It wasn’t exactly forbidden to deviate from the standard reply, nor was it exactly forbidden to give recommendations for future submissions. But in her seven years at the publication, Andy had never done so; had never seen the need. Now, though, she wanted to, and she had the uncomfortable realization that it wasn’t because she worried about Cassidy’s disappointment. 

 It was because she was worried about Miranda’s.

 She didn’t want Miranda to see Andy’s name at the bottom of that letter and think that Andy was responsible for her daughter’s failure to appear in the journal she’d selected. After all this time, after everything Miranda had put her through, she didn’t want to let Miranda down.

 She sent the template off to Cassidy, just as she’d done for the past seven years, with no additional commentary or suggestions.  Then she did something that was either exceptionally kind or exceptionally stupid: she opened her personal email and sent Cassidy a message. 

 Dear Ms. Priestly:

 Thank you for your submission to Cellular Function. Although your work was not accepted, the writing was — what? Andy thought. Good? No, it was better than good, although Cassidy’s youth and inexperience showed. The writing was more than acceptable. Please consider submitting to the following journals.

 She listed the five she could think of—she had friends at three of them—thanked Cassidy again for her work, and sent the email before she could think better of it.

 Probably exceptionally stupid, she decided, immediately after the soft whoosh of the message zooming away. She had no doubt that her boss would have something to say about her endorsement of journals other than their own. 

 She wondered if Cassidy would tell Miranda about it. The thought made her feel unsettled and uneasy—and, although she didn’t like to admit it to herself, just the tiniest bit hopeful.

 ***

 Cassidy’s reply that afternoon was just one sentence, and Andy’s burst of laughter was so loud that Trixie jumped and glared at her.

 ANDREA SACHS IS THAT YOU?

 Well. Maybe not so stupid after all.

 It’s me, she typed back. Surprised you remember.

 The response this time was almost instantaneous. Of course! Harry Potter! Are you still in the city? Let’s have coffee. And her phone number. 

 The immediate familiarity, such a stark contrast to her mother’s standoffishness, took Andy slightly aback. At least the brevity was familiar. 

 Sure, she sent back. Which was why, two days later, she was sitting in a Starbucks on the Columbia campus, waiting to greet someone she had thought she’d never see again.

 Cassidy arrived at precisely five-thirty, saw Andy at once, and beamed. “Oh my God,” she said.

 Andy got to her feet. Cassidy didn’t quite hug her, but she took Andy’s hand in both of hers and pulled her in for an air-kiss near Andy’s cheek. The residue of high society, Andy supposed.

 “I can’t believe it’s you,” Cassidy exclaimed. Her blue eyes were sparkling behind outsized tortoiseshell glasses. Her bright copper hair had been cropped into a shaggy lob, and she was wearing clothes that Andy was fairly certain Miranda would hate: a gigantic Columbia sweatshirt, leggings, and beat-up Ugg boots. A messenger bag with a seat-belt strap was slung over her shoulder. She looked every inch the graduate student. 

 “I’m sorry about your paper,” Andy said by way of greeting.

 Cassidy waved a dismissive hand and dropped into the armchair across from Andy’s. “Don’t worry about it. Aisha has a publication plan that’s sixteen journals deep for everything she puts her name on.”

 Andy felt a little silly at that, since in her mind’s eye, she had only really seen the disappointed face of a young adolescent. “Oh. Good,” she said lamely.

 “Your email was so nice,” Cassidy added quickly. “I really appreciated it.” She slid her bag off her shoulder and dropped it on the floor, and as she did so, Andy saw the flash of a small diamond on the ring finger of her left hand.

 Cassidy followed her gaze, and for a moment, Andy saw the impish twinkle of so many years ago. She held her hand up and waggled her fingers. “Two months ago,” she said, grinning wickedly. “He’s an engineer. Mom was pissed.”

 Andy laughed, even as something in her chest twinged at the mention of Miranda. “I can only imagine.”

 It was a nice visit—really nice, Andy thought, after Cassidy had left for class. She’d learned a lot about the twins’ lives. Cassidy was, as she’d assumed, in a Ph.D. program in microbiology. Caroline had graduated from the Tisch photography school. They didn’t live together, but their apartments were three blocks apart, and Cassidy was thinking of moving in with the fiancé after her lease was up. 

 What she didn’t mention—what Andy desperately wanted to ask, but didn’t dare—was anything about Miranda, other than a brief roll of her eyes when she mentioned “cohabitation.”

She didn’t say if Miranda was still in the townhouse, if she’d remarried, if she was happy. She’d be fifty-six in November; was she still the formidable figure of a decade ago, or had she softened with age?

 Cassidy hadn’t said; had carefully avoided the topic at all. Andy had the feeling that there was a lot about Cassidy’s life these days that Miranda didn’t know. So she doubted, very much, that Cassidy would mention their meeting to Miranda.

 And she couldn’t quite decide if that knowledge brought relief or disappointment.

 ***

 Cassidy texted her the following week—favor to ask. It turned out she was writing two other papers and wondered if Andy would look over them before she submitted, if she had time. 

 Andy didn’t have time, but she had liked seeing Cassidy and wanted her to do well. And she had to admit, it gave her a sort of gleeful satisfaction to see the apple falling so far from the polished-gleam tree. 

 They met two more times at the Starbucks, this time for revisions. The engineer fiancé, Patrick, stopped by the second time. He was sweet to Cassidy, and cheerfully greeted Andy, and for a moment Andy remembered how in love she’d been with Nate at twenty-two. She hoped Patrick and Cassidy would last. 

 The fourth time they met, Cassidy arrived looking pale and terrified. “I’m sorry—” she got out, just before the door swung open and Miranda stepped inside.

 Andy froze. 

 The Chanel sunglasses rotated slowly and stopped at Andy. One eyebrow crept up. 

 “I don’t know how she knew it was you—” Cassidy hissed, as Miranda took slow, deliberate steps toward them. Her cheeks were bright pink. “I’m really sorry.”

 “Andrea.” Miranda’s voice, cool and aloof, unchanged in ten years. 

 Andy realized she was standing. When had she stood up? Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her toes. 

 Miranda looked—well. Miranda looked amazing. It was still cool enough, in early April, for outerwear, and Miranda’s black fitted coat cut a silhouette far too classy for a college campus coffee shop. A white silk scarf was knotted at her throat—Hermès, no doubt. Her lips were pale pink, a shade entirely at odds with her terrifying deportment. Heads turned. 

 “Miranda,” Andy managed to say. Her voice sounded strangled. 

 Miranda lowered herself elegantly into the chair next to Cassidy’s, as though it was completely normal for the editor-in-chief of the biggest fashion magazine in the industry to be hanging around with graduate students and aspiring playwrights. She tipped her chin down just a little—just enough for Andy to meet her ice-blue gaze. “So you’re the mysterious proofreader,” she murmured, her expression entirely unreadable. 

 Cassidy collapsed back into her chair and put her face in her hands. “Why are you like this,” she groaned.

 Miranda appeared not to notice. “Sit, please, Andrea.”

 Andy sat. 

 “Cassidy, bobbsey,” Miranda said, removing her sunglasses and placing them on the crumb-dusted table, “be a darling and get Mummy a latte, won’t you?” 

 “Oh my God,” Cassidy said, with an adolescent flounce, but she got up and went to the counter. 

 Andy couldn’t think. Literally couldn’t think. How many times had she imagined this scene—reuniting with Miranda, apologizing for her phone-tossing temper tantrum and for her epic Parisian storm-out? Garnering Miranda’s forgiveness? Maybe, heaven help her, even earning a little of Miranda’s respect for the place she’d carved out for herself in publishing? She was, after all, an editor now too. 

 But despite herself, she was just sat here, dumbly staring at the woman whose presence loomed so large in her life even now, and she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

 Fortunately, Miranda didn’t seem to require much of a response. Or any, for that matter. 

 “Cassidy’s happiness is of utmost importance to me,” Miranda said softly.

 Well, duh. “Right,” Andy said blankly. 

 “She is an extremely driven young woman.” Miranda’s eyes darted momentarily toward her daughter, who was now nibbling on a pink cake pop as she waited for the latte. Then they fixed back on Andy, “And her drive has taken her into a field about which I know very little.”

 I’ll say. Still, Andy was surprised that Miranda was willing to admit any gap in her knowledge, no matter how obvious. She tried to keep her expression neutral, to avoid reinforcing Miranda’s assertion and possibly causing offense. 

 “You, Andrea,” Miranda continued, not quite meeting Andy’s gaze, “are in the unique position to influence my daughter’s career more than I.”

 Ah.

 So that was it. Miranda wanted to make sure she didn’t fuck up Cassidy’s trajectory. Of course that was what it was. She had no interest in Andy’s apology, no interest in Andy’s life. 

 Caught between dismay and indignation, Andy straightened her spine. “Look, Miranda,” she said, “I may not be walking the red carpet, but I’m good at my job. I’m not going to crash her plane into the mountain, okay?”

 Something that looked like surprise flashed across Miranda’s face, but before she could respond, Cassidy appeared at her elbow. “Your latte, your majesty,” she said, setting the cup onto the table. 

 Miranda’s expression morphed into a gracious smile. “Thank you, my love,” she said, reaching for her sunglasses. “I’ll let you two work, shall I?” She stood without a second glance at Andy, taking her coffee, and kissing the air beside Cassidy’s head before gliding out the door to her waiting car.

 Cassidy looked mortified. “What did she say? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

 “It’s fine.” Andy’s heart rate was starting to come back down into the normal range. “Don’t worry about it.” Although she still felt flushed and angry at the implication that she was going to —what? Get Cassidy blacklisted from Cell? Keep her from a tenure-track position? 

 “I’m sorry,” Cassidy said again, miserably. 

 “Seriously,” Andy said. “Stop. Let’s just finish this draft, okay?”

 ***

 Andrea,

I would appreciate a meeting. Wednesday at The Modern, 8pm?

 “What the fuck,” Andy muttered.

 What did that even mean? I would appreciate a meeting. “Well, I would appreciate a raise and an extra six weeks of vacation,” Trixie said, when Andy spun the laptop toward her emphatically. “Are you going to go?”

 “I mean—” Andy flopped her hands helplessly at her side. She didn’t particularly relish the idea of an encore of the Starbucks conversation. At the same time, the brief interaction had reminded her why she sought—why she craved—Miranda’s approval way back then. 

 Of course, a few other things had come to light in the past few years, as well.

 After she and Nate had reconciled and she’d made the move to join him in Boston, he had been so happy. The new job. A bigger apartment. He’d brought her flowers every week on his way home from the restaurant. Andy had blamed her diminishing interest—and libido—on depression: she’d been unable to find a position with any of the local newspapers, not even in Classifieds, and she refused to call Runway for a reference. Miranda had already handed her one favor and she would not be further beholden. When she finally landed the little position at the medical journal, she did feel better, but something with Nate had been irrevocably lost. 

 There was a girl at the journal. Her name was, improbably, Logan, and she had close-cropped hair and graceful wrists. 

 Andy would gaze at the ceiling while Nate groaned and sweated against her, and she would think about those wrists. She started to close her eyes when Nate kissed her. The feeling of his stubble against her skin made her flinch.

 Nate wasn’t obtuse. “Is there someone else?” he’d asked.

 No, of course not, she’d said, and there hadn’t been, even though her thoughts had wandered long ago to arms, and shoulders, and the brush of short auburn curls against the curve of a downy neck.

 He asked, and she protested. Again and again, for months, until one day he stopped asking, stopped trying to touch her at all. When she told him she was leaving, he didn’t look surprised.

 She kissed a woman for the first time two days after her twenty-sixth birthday, both of them happily tipsy in the middle of the dance floor of a downtown Cincinnati nightclub. Andy hadn’t even gotten her name, but the following morning, lying in bed with a screaming hangover, she thought a lot of things in her life had just become a whole lot clearer.

 It had taken Trixie’s droll observation after her third date in a week—“You definitely have a type”—to make Andy realize that there was a huge, terrifying reason that she had tried so hard to curry Miranda’s favor.

 “I wanted to sleep with my boss,” she told Trixie over the phone, at three in the morning on a Wednesday. 

 Trixie’s voice was thick with sleep, but she sounded shocked nonetheless. “Cheryl?” she said.

 “No.” Andy put her hand over her eyes. “Miranda.”

 “Oh.” The shock dissipated. “Yeah, dude, you and everyone else.”

 Andy blinked. “Really?”

 “Yes.” Trixie sounded like she was rolling her eyes. “Hot and mean? Duh. I’m going back to sleep.”

 ***

“So are you?”

 Andy blinked. “What?”

 Trixie pointed at the screen. “Going to meet Miranda.”

 “Oh.” Andy turned the laptop back toward herself. “Um. I don’t know. I guess so. Yeah.”

 “Good thing you have two days to make up your mind,” Trixie said, sounding amused, and turned back to her own computer.

 Would she go? Of course she would go. Any uncertainty was pretense. 

 She sent back one word.

 Yes.

[witchyangela]

Hi I just want you to know the San Andreas Fault has swallowed California, the sky is raining blood, and Australia is missing and it is 100% because you brought My Immortal into this place.

That’s just Renegade raviolis influence...