#con chi? non so

[thistableforone]

ho bisogno che luca argentero faccia un film tipo all of us strangers

[machiavellli]

Le persone pensano di essere divertenti. Io lo dico sempre che l’audacia è stata distribuita alla cieca su questo pianeta.

10€ a chiunque indovina per quale paese è questa do to list(eccetto che non vi pagherò perché dovete prima pagare il pizzo a me🤩)

[persephoneflouwers]

That’s very… curious, convenient, even, how these people make millions with their ig accounts but sharing informational content will distress them.

What do you need 430 million followers for?

[ross-nekochan]

Giappone, grande paese all'avanguardia in cui:

- per paura che ad Halloween succedesse come a Seoul (dove per la troppa gente, molte persone sono morte soffocate dalla calca) quest'anno avevano deciso: PROIBITO OGNI FESTEGGIAMENTO DI HALLOWEEN a Shibuya (risultato? La gente se n'è sbattuta il cazzo e ha festeggiato lo stesso).

- muore un bambino di 8 mesi in macchina? PROIBITO LASCIARE DA SOLO QUALSIASI BAMBINO FINO A 8 ANNI (per inciso: la gente fatica e i bambini qui vanno da soli a scuola dalla 1 elementare + stanno spesso fuori a giocare come qualsiasi bambino della loro età). Risultato? Petizione di genitori contro sta cacata.

- Film Oppenheimer sulla bomba atomica? Assolutamente non si pu�� vedere in Giappone perché non sia mai i 90enni si pigliano collera per la bomba che hanno vissuto + non sia mai che i giapponesi si fanno una cultura storica e si fanno una cazzo di opinione (che non hanno quasi mai) su un fatto che li riguarda così tanto.

Vietare is the new solution a tutto, amici, non lo sapevate? Imparate da questo paese che (cito i reels su IG) "vive nel 2050!"!

[jabeur]

la verità è che nessuno, né fan ingrati né una società irrispettosa della nostra storia, potrà mai cancellare quello che paolo maldini è e sempre sarà per il milan

[zibaldone-di-pensieri]

In poltrone e sofà è già natale, a settembre 🙄

E si vestono da re magi, che è una cosa di gennaio 🙄

Hanno una concezione del tempo un po'... "a cazzo" 👀

[mchiti]

ma deschamps che su marcus dice "ottima stagione con l'inter ma confermarsi con la francia è un gradino sopra" ma un gradino sopra di che? una nazionale senza collante e alcuna idea di gioco, un livello degli europei a tratti imbarazzante, è un gradino sopra non riuscire a vincere neanche - con tutto rispetto - con questa polonia, certamente, basta parlare vecchio

[solocanzoninelleorecchie]

e non lo so chi sei, però anche d'estate, con Te, tremo

[likeastars]

Se ci sono dei cantanti in gara che mi possono rendere halleluja SONO LORO I SANTI FEANCESI

[phjlavtia]

guardando m*re fuori 3 perché alla fine nel bene o nel male se la vedono tutti e voglio entrare nelle conversazioni e sentirmi parte di una comunità anche se non è vero ma certi personaggi m stann pop ngopp o cazz nun i pozz vré. poi vabbuo non parliamo della recitazione certe volte sembra la recita di quinta elementare

[omarfor-orchestra]

Ma c’è qualche drama intorno a Greta Esposito che mi sono persa o no? Perché mi sembra che tanta gente non la sopporta :/ Cioè una volta hai messo quel post instagram del disegno di tutti i personaggi della serie dove lei non c’era, quindi per curiosità sono andata a cercarlo e ho letto i commenti e c’era una persona che diceva tipo “Nina è inutile” (like first of all leave my daughter alone) e Greta ha detto “tu sei inutile”, poi ricordo solo che l’altra l’ha chiamata cogliona ad un certo punto. Anyway, why so much hate?

Non lo so io ho le vibes che lei odi tutti in realtà AHAHHAHAHAHA ma non so se ci sia qualche storia dietro, io personalmente non ho amato lo sviluppo del suo personaggio nel senso che l'hanno fatto male perché aveva del potenziale e farla finire così meh, magari anche Greta la pensa così.

Comunque seguendola mi sembra che abbia un po' questa personalità frizzantina e che quando c'è qualcosa che non va alza la voce, ma io sono arrivata molto tardi quindi non so moltissime cose

[deathshallbenomore]

madonna quellə che fanno le moine al* docente a tutti i costi e a più riprese per ottenere chissà che cosa lə metterei sotto con la bici e per sicurezza ci passerei sopra anche col monopattino che non ho

[st4rg8te]

A Captured Dragon (BL)

Yandere! Half-brother X Crown Prince! Reader

[tw: graphic depiction(s) of violence, obsessive behaviour, betrayal, imprisonment, gaslighting, non-con kissing, incest!!!, teeny tiny bit of feminization]

✦✧✦✧

“You have done nothing to deserve that title. You were only lucky enough to be born the King’s son.”

A lot of things in life were beyond your control. 

But fate had been kind to you, gifting you a life that most could only dream of. Born into the royal family as their beloved Crown Prince, the world bent to your will from the very moment you drew your first breath. 

Spoiled, indulged, and never once tested by struggle—perhaps you were destined to fall from the start.

✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧

It’s getting harder to tell the days apart.

The world around you blurs into a cycle of sleepless nights. Your mind is a fog, heavy with the weight of guilt and fear. Each hour blends into the next, until time itself feels like a punishment.

The nightmares don’t help either.

Every time you close your eyes, they come—haunting, vivid dreams where blood stains the corridors and screams pierce the air. The sounds of blades slicing through flesh, of bodies collapsing onto blood-soaked floors, echo endlessly in your ears. It is relentless. 

You see the palace engulfed in flames, your servants and people—those you’ve known your entire life—crying out in terror as they are cut down by the cold steel of soldiers.

In every dream, you stand helpless, watching as they beg for mercy. Your people reach for you in desperation, their faces twisted in agony, but you can’t move. 

In every dream, at the center of it all, is him.

Daewon.

Your half-brother.

While you grew up in the limelight, basking in the affections and adoration of others, your half-brother was cast into the shadows. Born from a lowly maid, his very existence was a blemish on the royal family's image. He was the son who would never be acknowledged by his father—neither loved nor remembered.

Despite that, you had treated him kindly.

When did everything go so wrong?

After the slaughter, you were taken away and imprisoned. The room you were kept in was dark and empty—there was no light, or any warmth. It was a far cry from the luxury you were used to.

Occasionally, food and water would be brought to you—a guard would come every few days, sliding bowls of stale rice and cloudy water across the floor without a word, without so much as a glance in your direction. You felt like an animal.

But worse than the silence of your captors were the visits from Daewon.

You hated those days the most.

“Brother.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t make out his face within the shadows.

So you bury your head further into the damp pillows, hiding from the monster in the room.

It isn’t long before you feel the bed dip under his weight, the chain on your ankle rustles against the sheets. He kneels beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of blood still lingering on his robe.

“You haven’t been eating,” Daewon’s voice was soft, almost tender, but you could hear the dark amusement laced beneath it. “Is the food not to your liking?”

You keep your eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the thin blankets.

It'll all be okay. Soon enough, he would leave you alone.

Cold fingers brush against your cheek, and you flinch. He chuckles at that, a low, mocking sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Did you know that these meals are what I had to eat as a child?” He whispers, his breath hot against your ears.

You briefly open your eyes, glancing at the food scattered across the floor, remnants of your earlier fit of rage—destroyed, just like everything else in your life. 

“There were many days when the servants never even came. My mother often gave me her share, just so I wouldn't starve." 

You grit your teeth—

"Why don't you just kill me already?"

The words hang in the air, and a suffocating silence stretches between you.

But then, Daewon's firm hand suddenly grips your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

“Kill you?” A cruel, guttural laugh escapes him, sending a shiver down your spine. “But death would be far too easy.” 

“No... you have to live. You’ll live and endure. Just like I did.”

He had lived a life of invisibility, where no one cared to look beyond the stain of his tainted blood—no one, except you.

And the thought of it drives him mad.

His hand falls from your chin, trailing down until it rests against your chest. With that simple touch, your spirit breaks just a little more.

You hate him—hate him more than you’ve ever hated anyone. 

Without any warning, you feel the press of his soft lips against your own. His body heat seeps into yours as he forcefully pulls you closer and presses you flush against him.

You are too tired, too hungry to resist.

"No, stop—" You protest breathlessly, the words barely escaping your lips as your mind reels, still foggy from the kiss. A dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and disgust floods your senses.

"This is wrong, we can't—"

"They will never fully accept a half-blooded bastard like me as their king."

“What?” You swallow hard, blinking up at the man.

"But surely, they'll accept a 'bride' from the royal family.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, more possessive. The taste of him—bitterness and control—invades your senses completely.

A twisted smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you finally understand.

This is a debt of suffering, a price he intends to collect over and over—until you were broken.

"Don’t worry. For everything you’ve done for me, I'll repay your kindness tenfold."

✦✧✦✧

[A/N]

This was not proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

[myinfinitystory]

Alla fine di tutto penso che ci siano semplicemente giorni in cui si è "predisposti" a sentirsi belli.

Si, insomma, quei giorni in cui non noti tutte quelle cose che altri giorni invece ti pesano; ci sono invece quei giorni in cui sembra che nulla vada bene, le braccia un po' cicciottelle, le gambe un po' cicciottelle, la pancia che magari non è piatta se non quando sei distesa

E stesso in questi giorni guardacaso neanche i capelli che tanto ami vengono bene, in nessuna maniera eh, e il viso?

Oddio però non ho un viso così brutto, eppure se non mi trucco almeno un po' non mi sento tanto a mio agio.. dovrei uscire con questo cerchio nero sotto agli occhi? Ma perché sembra sempre che ho i baffi pure dopo averli fatti? Mettiamo un po' di correttore qua e là e magari si toglie tutto

Vabbè però il correttore mica ti toglie l'insicurezza

Eppure guardandomi, eccomi qua, mica so così brutta? In fondo no, ma ho bisogno di essere "predisposta"

E nei giorni in cui sono predisposta semplicemente tutto quello che vedo scompare, e penso: ma forse sono solo io a vedere tutte queste cose? Queste piccolezze, ma chi è che le va a guardare? Eppure alcuni giorni pesano così tanto che dopo aver messo l'armadio sottosopra passa anche la voglia di prepararsi per bene per uscire

Eh ma poi tu già ti senti brutta, poi non ti vuoi manco preparare?

Chiaro, dopo mi sento ancora peggio

Ma quando mi sento bella invece mi preparo ancora meglio e mi sento ancora più bella

Allora come funziona?

In teoria dovrei semplicemente accettarmi e basta, certo mangiare sano, ma accettare questa corporatura

Ultimamente sono ingrassata di due kili e vabbè magari leggendo, se state ancora leggendo, penserete "e che sarà mai?" E in effetti è vero, non è tanto il numero sulla bilancia il problema, ma è il fatto che a vederli su di me dopo averne persi 10 pesa così tanto che non sembrano solo 2

A volte penso che la gente se sapesse quello che penso realmente di me penserebbe che sono solo stupida e che magari "c'è gente che vorrebbe averlo il corpo come il tuo"

Ma come si fa quando vorresti essere più magra, semplicemente più piccola in generale

Allora mi auguro in futuro di sentirmi più predisposta a sentirmi bella per un periodo di tempo abbastanza lungo da superare il tempo in cui non lo sono

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | iv.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

A smile blooms on your lips as you watch Tilly play hopscotch with her friend near the street. Snow’s melted enough this morning to be able to draw chalk patterns on the cobblestones. The young girl woke up excited to enjoy the day. And while you’re nowhere as thrilled, seeing the joy and life return to her gaze is more than enough for you. 

The little girls’ buoyant laughs fill the street and you let yourself bask in the moment. It’s rare that you get time to yourself lately.  Your shifts at the factory take up most of your time. And you’ve been spreading yourself thin, hoping to keep concerns at bay by remaining busy. White wisps surround you as you blow a long breath. You readjust your scarf and rub your gloved hands. Cold air seeps through the tiny holes in your gloves. You’ll need to stay after hours on your next shift to mend them. Perhaps you could even purloin enough throwaway remnants of wool to make Tilly a new pair. She’ll soon outgrow hers.

Besides, her health might have improved for now, but you never stop worrying about her catching another cold, one that might be deadlier than the last.

Lost in contemplation, you draw a sharp breath when an object drops from the sky onto your lap. Your eyes widen as you lower them. A pair of knitted gloves rests in your lap. They’re clearly brand new and the wool quality is unlike anything you’ve ever laid eyes on. You can tell from the thickness and vibrancy of the twining threads. You’re tempted to give it a brush with your fingertips, revel in the warmth oozing from the fabric. But you refrain.

“I don’t want that,” you snap, whipping your head up.

A towering, lanky frame clad in the peacekeeper’s signature blue uniform fills your sight. 

You toss the gloves at him and he catches them with a deep sigh. He sits near you on the steps. The hairs on the back of your neck bristle with his proximity, his broad shoulder grazing yours as he turns to study you.

You shiver as his gaze runs along your frame. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to. You’ve done your best to forget about him these last few weeks, even if his ever-lurking presence is hard to ignore. Whatever you do, wherever you are, he’s never hovering too far away.

He seizes your hands, forcefully slipping the gloves on your frostbitten fingers.

“Come on, you’re freezing,” he says. Your lips tighten as you meekly comply. Arguing with the peacekeeper has never worked in your favor. So why even try? You let him put the gloves on you, cursing the comfort you feel when the warm fabric hugs your fingers. An absent thought drifts in your head as you admire the wool. You never owned anything this nice. The quality evokes the clothes that usually head straight to the Capitol.

All the nice things go to them first while District dwellers beg for scraps.

Coriolanus leans back, his large hands spreading over his knees. His stance is far too relaxed for your taste and you shrink further on your side of the narrow stairs. 

As his icy blue orbs settle on your cousin and her friend, you tense.

“She seems to be doing well. I’m assuming the medicine helped,” he notes, smugness oozing from his words. His attention scorches your skin as you pointedly evade his stare. You loathe the satisfaction he draws from this. More leverage to use against you. More opportunities to make you feel small, helpless.

“What are you doing here?” you curtly ask.

His small chuckle makes your stomach coil.

“Is this any way to greet a friend?” His tone becomes light, playful. “Especially one that comes bearing gifts?” 

Your brows knit. “Friends…”

Hot air tickles your earshell as he bends over you, whispering, “The closest of friends.”

Your heart skips a beat.

He grabs your chin, angling your face towards his. A shuddered breath leaves your lips as stark blue eyes drink you in. “Really birdie, not even a smile? Come now.”

You nudge a tremulous smile onto your lips. 

His thumb grazes your trembling bottom lip as his mouth twists skyward. “Better,’ he praises quietly.

A winning glint sways in his eyes and your stomach lurches. 

“Hi!”

Tilly’s cheerful voice shatters the moment. Coriolanus releases you and relief billows inside your chest. 

He beams at the young girl, replying in a similar tone, “Hi.”

Your young cousin bounces on her feet, excitement rounding her gaze as she admires  the peacekeeper. Your frown deepens at the exchange.

“I’m Tilly,” she announces solemnly, offering her hand to shake.

Coriolanus laughs as he takes it, mirth lighting up his handsome face.

“I know. I know all about you.” A mix of shock and awe decorates the young girl’s features with that information, as if the peacekeeper knowing anything about her was the most extraordinary thing in the world. “I’m a friend of your cousin. My name’s Coriolanus.”

“Coriolanus,” she repeats, as if mesmerized by the sound of his name alone.

“Here. I have something for you,” he says. 

He reaches inside the pocket of his uniform and pulls out a bag. Your cousin jumps, her eyes sparkling with joy when he hands it to her.

“Candy!” she exclaims. 

Your face pinches at the sight of the colorful sweets in the bag. These aren’t easy to acquire. 

“Tilly…”

“What?”

The young girl’s expression is dejected as she looks at you, almost like she can sense your disapproval and is preparing to return the gift. Your shoulder sag. You don’t have it in you to refuse her this small sliver of delight. 

You shake your head and smile.

“Nothing.” You hunker in front of her. “We should go back inside.”

“But I want to play…” she pouts.

“You have chores. And Coriolanus…” Your eyes lift to him. Amusement hasn’t left his expression. “is very busy.”

He doesn’t say anything as you shove your cousin inside the house. He lingers by the door and you fidget beneath his heavy stare.

“I’m guessing you have…somewhere to be.”

His gaze drags over you as a small smile dances on his lips.

“Yes, I hear I’m very busy,” he teases. Shock fills you when he leans to brush his mouth against your cool cheek. “See you soon, birdie,” he mumbles, his deep voice making your stomach flutter.

You’re relieved when he finally leaves. You chase away the peculiar sensation his closeness sparked as you shut the door.

You don’t get time to collect yourself,  your little cousin immediately asking, “Is he your boyfriend?”

The pitch of your voice goes high with shock. 

“What? Are you crazy?”

Tilly frowns. “But I saw him kissing you.”

Heat nestles in your cheeks. Maybe from an outsider’s perspective, Coriolanus’ closeness could be misinterpreted, the peacekeeper perpetually crowding your space despite your reluctance. Still, you can’t believe it’s what the little girl thinks from looking at the two of you. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Every fiber of your being burns with hatred for him.

“No, we weren’t. It wasn’t…” you sputter, your embarrassment cresting as the excitement in your cousin’s eyes doesn’t dwindle. “He wasn’t kissing me. We were just talking.”

“About girlfriend and boyfriend stuff,” she insists. 

You sigh. You approach her and grip her shoulders. 

“Tilly, I need you to promise me something.”

She blinks up at you. “Yes?”

You crouch before her so you’re at eye level. 

“You need to stay away from peacekeepers.”

She purses her mouth, glancing down at the bag of candy.

“Yes, but Coriolanus…he was nice to me.”

Your stomach sinks.

“Well, Coriolanus isn’t like the others.”

She nods in understanding. You’re glad she doesn’t ask any further questions. You wouldn’t know how to begin to explain your relationship with him.

Not in any way that makes sense at least.

For a fortnight, you don’t see much of him. You bask in the tranquility of your usual routine, going back and forth, from home to work, and preparing to celebrate the end of the year with your cousin. It won’t be lavish, of course, but you’re hoping to save up enough from your wages to get Tilly a teddy and perhaps even a toy this year.

While most of your family has passed away, you want to cherish the things you still have. Perhaps you can even create new memories for your cousin, happier memories. She has been bedridden for months now and it’ll be the first holiday she’ll get to truly enjoy as a healthy, normal child. 

He appears again as you’re working your usual shift, casually switching places with another guard. While you pointedly avoid looking in his direction, you feel the weight of his unwavering eyes, watching you as always.

Still, you diligently weave the silk on your loom. Your attention cannot stray. One mistake and the fabric will be ruined. 

“Your shadow’s there,” Yara notes from her station right next to yours.

Your eyes flick upward briefly as you nod.

“Yeah.”

Silence hangs in the air a while before your friend speaks again.

“It doesn’t seem to bother you that much.”

You shrug. “I’m getting used to it.”

Her eyes land on the gloves peeking from the pocket of your long skirt.

“By the way, I meant to ask…Is that from him?”

You hesitate a little before begrudgingly admitting, “Yes.”

She moves her head in acknowledgement. 

“I see, gifts now.”

Stepping on the treadle to slow down the motion of your loom, you snap your head to Yara.

There was something in her tone just then, an implication you didn’t like.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head and scoffs, “It’s just interesting, is all.”

“My hands were cold,” you defend.

“You could have thrown them away. I made my own. It’s what we do every year. Make our own.” Her gaze locks with yours. Licking her lips, she seems to mull over something before she asks,  “Is there something going on between you two? I mean other than what I already know.”

Your face grows hot.

“There is nothing.”

She studies you for a few minutes before turning her focus back to her loom.

“Right,” she says.

Your annoyance mounting, you give the treadle a vigorous push and start weaving faster.

You let your friend’s prickly comments fade somewhere in the back of your mind. You have no desire to explore this dangerous line of thought any further. 

There is indeed nothing going on between you and the peacekeeper. You keep repeating it to yourself as your fingers assemble the threads as if your life depended on it. 

It helps you ignore the way your blood races in your veins.

Relief fills you when your shift ends. Tension built in your body and firmly remained since Yara began questioning you. You can still feel it in the stiffness in your limbs, the heaviness in your chest. You make haste as you dart across the hallways, eager to return home.

Your escape is halted by a pair of strong arms pulling you in a dark corner of the factory. 

You look up at him through wide eyes. That teasing smile you’ve grown all too familiar with decorates his lips.

“Why the rush, sweet bird?”

“Coriolanus…” You step back from him. “Can’t you just leave me be, just once?”

He approaches you, forcing you to shrink against the wall. He cages you, his hands on each side of you as he drinks you in. You dip your head, overwhelmed with the scent of roses washing over you. 

“I can’t actually.” Warmth swirls in your belly as his tone lowers. “Look at me.” He puts two fingers below your chin to angle it upward. His eyes narrow. “You’re upset.”

“Just had a long day,” you elude with a shrug. 

He scrutinizes you. Your mouth quakes, his silence unnerving you. 

After some time, he finally announces, “I’m getting discharged soon.”

“Oh, where?”

“I’m getting sent back to the Capitol.”

You gape at him. That’s not what you expected to hear. Though you surmise it makes sense, with him being around less. A strange mix of feelings surges inside your chest. But mostly, relief, freedom. You’ll be able to breathe properly again, without the uneasy attention of the peacekeeper tailing you everywhere you go. 

Though you try not to let your emotions show. You give a tilted smile.

“Isn’t that a good thing? You get to go home, return to your life.”

His knuckles sweep over the apple of your cheek. 

“Well…I’ll miss some things about District 8.”

You clear your throat. “I should get back home.”

“Meet me tonight,” he says bluntly. 

“What for?”

His eyes darken, running over your trembling frame. His thumb skims over your bottom lip.

“I’m leaving. We should celebrate, just the two of us.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. You truly hoped to avoid…colliding with the peacekeeper again, in any way, but you suppose it was inevitable. One way or another, he’d have asked for more of you, simply because he could. Your fate is in his hands after all. He could easily make your life here hell just by whispering in the right ears.

Still, you can’t help voicing a feeble protest.

“Is that necessary?”

His eyes flare with danger. Your breath snags as he grips your jaw, his fingers digging painfully into your cheeks. Your pulse thrums beneath his palm.

“I don’t want to be mean to you right now, so don’t make me.” Though his tone is soft, his expression is harsh and inflexible. “Just do as I say.”

You give a shaky nod.

“S-See you tonight.”

He releases your face and you take a deep breath. His crooked smile is wide and victorious as he hops away from you.

“I look forward to it, sweet bird.”

You put a hand on your chest as he disappears, willing your thundering heart to slow down. You find comfort in a single thought. At least, after tonight, you will finally be rid of the peacekeeper.

[lady--vixen]

porto un reso amazon in posta. la tizia allo sportello deve vedere il codice e prende il mio telefono. lei ora ha in mano il mio cellulare e tra noi c'è un vetro. non potrei toglierle di mano il telefono nemmeno se lo volessi. inavvertitamente sposta più giù la pagina col qrcode del reso. questa donna davanti ai miei occhi si mette a cercare il qrcode

basterebbe un gesto, piccolo piccolo. basterebbe toccare la freccia in alto a sinistra per due volte, per caso, e si troverebbe sulla pagina dell'ultimo acquisto fatto

guardo preoccupata le sue dita, ma subito mi trovo a sperare che lo faccia. dai, guarda cos'ho appena comprato, tocca tutto quanto, entra nella gallery, guarda le foto al segno della mia abbronzatura, guarda le chat, scopri con chi voglio usare l'ultimo acquisto

lei toglie le dita dal mio telefono come se scottasse, mi guarda, la mia bocca sorride angelica, ma ho lo sguardo da jack nicholson

lo hai sentito, vero? hai sentito il brivido, la scossa, la voragine che si apre. la mia vita nemmeno troppo nascosta, tutta lì, in un piccolo rettangolo di plastica, vetro e silicio. l'hai sentito, lo so, e tu cosa nascondi nella gallery del tuo telefono? foto di nipoti e gattini? chi vuole scopare il tuo culo burroso? a chi pensi mentre vieni, sempre se vieni, chi riesce a farti bagnare con una sola parola di sei sole lettere "manchi", per chi rischieresti tutto? di chi è il cazzo di cui vorresti essere schiava?

- signora... signora! tutto ok? tenga la ricevuta del reso.

- ah, si, grazie. arrivederci

- signora! il suo cellulare!