#hope it's the right translation i'm used to the italian name

[enjoljeacharlichele]

No, but how can it be a choice for Odysseus? How can he possibly not choose to go home, when to do so he has seen hundreds of his friends die, has renounced his principles - which he defended in the face of a goddess - and has killed people in their beds, a child?

What Zeus gives is not a choice and he says so. It's just a quicker way to get to a set course of action

[icallhimjoey]

Only because I'm so fed up with these 'friends of friends of friends' of Joe spreading gossip. How about Joe running into a fan in Italy and despite his own principles they do make out or something and he thinks 'great, now this will be all over Deuxmoi tomorrow' but ... he there's not a beep. Nothing. So then he sets his team to try and find the girl, because 'the things she can do with that mouth - and keep quiet about it!' 😂

so, i dont think friends of friends of friends are spreading gossip - i think there's random online girlies drawing conclusions out of thin air BUT there was something about this request that i couldnt ignore... hope you enjoy my version of italy!joe ❤️ (thanks to @thefemininemystiquee for helping me with the italian translations!) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Alla ricerca di Cenerentola

Joe fucked up.

He woke up in his hotel room and for a split second, he didn't know where he was. Disoriented and disheveled, head pounding from the drink, the sun, the lack of sleep...

It was hot.

For that lone second, Joe was fully within his body. Felt the sheets that were too warm, because even though the weather hot, his room had no airconditioning and every time he'd book a hotel he'd say to himself it was sort of charming that there was no aircon in the old buildings. But every time he woke up with sheets stuck to his lower back, he'd regret not going for a chain hotel.

Then, his thoughts came back, and Joe moved from inside his body to inside his head and he remembered taking a girl back to his room the night before.

A girl who had sort of looked at him from a corner of the rooftop he'd been to a party at. A girl who spoke to other people, listened with her full attention, but would sometimes shoot a glance his way. A girl who kept her distance, because, that's what strangers do, don't they?

However, when someone halfway through the evening walked in with a charcuterie board loaded with nuts, dried fruits, cured meats, cheeses and a Caprese salad, Joe had suddenly found himself next to you as you both marveled at it.

You clearly knew the person holding the tray. Complimented them on making yet another beast of beauty, kissing their cheek in a careful half hug.

Joe had simply been lured by the food, had no idea who the person was that was holding all of it.

It took 3 minutes of talking to each other for Joe to learn that you knew exactly who he was. Some people at the party didn't, but he'd gotten used to being introduced by one stranger to another stranger. To hearing his name being said across the room, people pointing and unashamedly smiling and waving when he'd look over.

It was all right.

He'd been introduced to people he admired in the same way. Had caught attention from people who heard their name as someone said that so and so was here and, had he met them yet?

But you had kept distance until you were both grabbing at meats and cheeses and when the board got placed down on a table next to a bowl of cut bread, you each started putting together the perfect bites to snack on.

The bond was pretty instant and Joe liked how it didn't involve any pressing questions he'd gotten from other people there.

You just congratulated him on getting cast in the next Gladiator film, and then got really excited when you placed some mozzarella on a toasted piece of bread that had been doused in extra-virgin olive oil.

Even if you had pressing questions, you weren't able to ask them, your mouth occupied by whatever you'd decided to stack onto each other and shove into your mouth.

So, you knew about his next job.

That kind of meant you probably knew more.

Dangerous territory.

Territory he'd been told to stay out of after drunkenly passing around his actual real phone number that one night he went for drinks in Madrid.

Easy fix. He'd just gotten a new number. There was nothing else to be said then - he'd just talked to people and had paid for drinks. Nothing scandalous to bite him in the ass later.

Not like now.

Joe fucked up.

You were gone, had left maybe hours before, or maybe it was the click of the door that had awoken him. He had no idea. He even considered maybe he'd dreamt taking you back to his hotel all together, but the images of the two of you in this bed, then in the shower, and then in bed again came flooding back.

Yea, you definitely had been there. The evidence was there in the smell of his fingers.

That made him remember more. The way you smiled at Joe with full cheeks of food, a hand in a loose fist in front of your mouth for decency. The way you giggled as he shimmied to songs that others sang along to. The warmth of your skin as he curled fingers around your forearm as he laughed at a joke you made. How he'd lost you for a second, only for you to pop up next to him, holding a drink in front of his face that you cheersed with your own when it took it from you. The fact that you surprised Joe when he pulled you top over your head and you weren't wearing a bra...

Joe hadn't intended for the night to end the way it did.

Not at all.

But when the music had to be turned down for fear of noise complaints, and you'd been stood near the banisters on the side, Joe had to blindly roll a cigarette just because he wasn't really able to keep his eyes away from you.

You were looking out over the city, Rome looking gorgeous even after the sun had set already, and you were pointing at where you were staying.

"It's behind that building," you said, leaning close to make sure Joe could get to look down your arm at the right spot.

"Which one?" Joe knew he was never going to be able to pinpoint which building you meant, but he used the moment to be close to you for a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

You smelled like tangerine and vanilla. Sickly sweet and summery.

His eyes never left you.

"Behind the yellow one, see that one, there?"

They were all fucking yellow, weren't they?

"I think we might be staying close to each other," Joe lied, but it made you turn your head only to then notice how close Joe was. How he was looking at you.

Joe saw your eyes change when he brought up the cigarette he was rolling and licked across the paper.

Yea, he was going to take you back to his hotel room.

Or he'd let you drag him along to yours.

Either way, Joe was going to get his dick wet. If you were up for it, that was.

Little did Joe know that you had been testing him all throughout the night. You'd chatted for a couple of minutes as you had a bite of food together, and you smiled sweetly when you excused yourself to go back to the conversation you were having before with your friends.

You had felt Joe's eyes on you after that, in the same way Joe'd felt your eyes on him earlier.

Moving around the party, you'd noticed how Joe's eyes followed. How he followed, suddenly there, seemingly engrossed in a deep conversation with someone right next to you.

Until swiftly Joe was a part of your conversation.

He hadn't left you after that.

Was this smart? Was this going to be a problem? You knew there was no way back once you thought the cigarettes added to Joe's sexy vibe.

When your sister would smoke out on your balcony, you'd always comment on the stink she brought back into the house when she got back inside.

Now? The smell didn't bother you all that much.

Yea, you were going to take Joe back to your hotel room.

Or you'd let Joe drag you back to his.

Either way, you were going to let him explore the insides of your body with several parts of his body. If he was up for it, that was.

But now it was the morning, so bright outside already, and Joe was alone. He checked his phone, which was on his bedside table, off the charger.

Dead.

Fuck.

Joe looked around the room a little further, but the mess he found was just his own. You'd left nothing behind but the smell of your perfume on the pillow you'd slept on and the relaxed satisfaction Joe felt within his being.

Thirst in his throat. Sweat on his brow. Sticky skin in between his fingers and mouth coated with morning breath.

Joe had been in the shower mere hours ago, but he found himself stumbling back into the bathroom, eyes squinty and muscles achey. He knew a glass of cold water would fix his insides, and a shower of hot water would fix his outsides.

Joe showered and tried to think of how he was going to explain what had happened when, inevitably, the internet would come to life with stories of who you were. Of who you weren't. Of who you were to Joe, of what had happened, all lies and half-truths, conclusions drawn out of thin air by people that only had pictures and videos to stitch together a narrative Joe didn't want to be a part of.

That was, unless you were the one to share the information. That possibility was always there.

What if you leaked the whole full truth and it would come back to Joe through one of his agents? He'd be advised not to comment. Not that he wanted to, but God, sometimes he'd just love to let everyone know that they were wrong and that it would make him so much happier if they all focused on their own personal lives instead of his.

But, you seemed normal enough.

It was risky to assume, but Joe kind of didn't want to assume different.

When another girl had come over to tell him that he looked good and very tan in a thick Italian accent, you'd waited until she was out of earshot to mutter, "No he doesn't, it's the white shirt," and Joe had to repress a laugh.

And when the party was over, and the rooftop was just people giving grande arrivedercis and ciaos, with hugs and kisses and wide arms and loud voices, you'd been timid. Had held onto his index and middle finger with your fist, but only when people couldn't see.

Confirmation of where the night was headed was small and secretive. Just how Joe liked it.

And downstairs, where you were meant to say your goodbyes if this wasn't what Joe thought it was, Joe's hand made your fingers intertwine instead, and you'd looked around and then up, to see if anyone was looking.

Joe appreciated that.

The lack of need to be seen with him.

Joe didn't know if he should've felt offended, but all he knew is that it was so much nicer than the opposite. Than girls pulling Joe into hugs for pictures without so much as a hello. Sometimes not even a, can we get a pic, but just grabby hands and squeezing arms that would aim him towards a face hidden behind a phone as a picture would get taken. Or eight.

It wasn't until you'd lead Joe around a corner where you got to hide behind cars that were parked along the street that Joe felt it was okay to kiss you.

Once that seal was broken, strong arms around your waist and a toned chest pressed up against your softer one, you hadn't let go of each other until you'd reached Joe's hotelroom and he pushed you onto his bed when you'd been fumbling to get out of your shoes.

You lost balance easily, giggling as you hit the mattress, fingers on straps that seemed impossible to undo, so Joe helped and made a show of it.

Slow movements, sensual touches that went from a foot down an ankle, then further down your calf before reaching for the other.

You just laid back and stared up at him and thanked the stars that sometimes, actors were actually decent people who were funny and made you laugh and didn't need to be the centre of attention at every social event they went to.

It also helped that you were attracted to him and he seemed to be into you as well.

You trusted you wouldn't be where you were if that wasn't the case, anyway.

Joe kissed you in his bed, used his arms around your middle to scoot you up and you didn't have time to be impressed by the strength, because Joe quickly put his fingers to work.

Then his mouth too.

Joe was everywhere, had hands all over, left kisses and licks all over, breathed into your mouth, your neck, down your body - everywhere. Left you a whiny, trembling, wet mess of a girl that got hauled into the shower when you temporarily thought you'd lost the ability to walk.

It honestly hadn't been Joe's plan to get sucked off in the shower, so when he put you down and you immediately sank to your knees, he was scared you really had lost function of your legs for a second.

It was just that Joe was hard, and, you know, he'd made you orgasm twice.

Time to return the favour.

"Oh my God, are you all ri– oh... oh, fuck..."

Joe never finished the question.

Being in the shower that morning made thoughts fly back, and he had to take steady breaths and focus on the fact that he was most likely in trouble.

Joe'd fucked, and thus Joe'd fucked up.

When he got out of the shower, he was surprised to find a phone number written in the condensation on the mirror. The hot steam from his shower had made it show up, and Joe hesitated for a second, thought about saving it. Writing it down somewhere, since the battery of his phone was still dead.

He looked a second longer before he wiped a hand over it.

Better not.

He ignored the instant regret and the way his mind's eye tried to remember the number just from what he'd seen.

No, better not.

Joe waited for a phone call. Even a text. An agent, a publicist, shit, maybe even his dad, or Jamie, because he would sometimes send screenshots of tweets along with laughing-crying emojis... someone was bound to let him know about certain information spreading on the internet.

You'd kissed each other in the street, for fuck's sake.

But then a day passed, any Joe heard nothing.

Then a week, and still nothing.

Every time Joe spoke to someone, he'd wait for something to be brought up.

It never was.

Shit.

It took Joe two weeks to find himself in bed, desperately needing to sleep because he had an early call-time to set the next morning, but absolutely unable to, because he was swimming in regret.

He should've saved that phone number.

Should've written it down just in case, you know? He could've easily done that without ever actually using it... why the fuck hadn't he? Idiot.

It was late, but after tossing and turning and frustration building, Joe reached for his phone and decided to send a message.

How was he going to get your contact details?

Who did you know at that party?

Surely, you'd know the birthday girl.

Joe didn't have her number. Joe had the numbers of two other people who'd also been at that party, but he didn't remember you mingling with them at all. They probably didn't know you.

Still, worth a shot.

"Hey mate, scusa l’orario, so che è tardi, but I’ve got a quick question…"

Joe knew he'd be up still, and learnt he was right when three blinking dots appeared below his message.

"Tardi? È presto! Are you still in Rome? Esci con noi!"

Joe snorted a laugh. Fuck, he'd love to be in Rome still. Missed it. Late nights, good drink, good food, always great company... He promised himself he'd go back the second he could.

"Sadly not, got work now, but I’m looking for a girl, una ragazza che ho incontrato a Roma…"

Joe waited, hoped his friend knew who he was talking about. Then his phone buzzed with a reply,

"Non sarai per caso alla ricerca di Cenerentola?"

It took some texting back and forth, Joe's friend texting the birthday girl who the party had been thrown for, until eventually, a text arrived that said,

"Ti farò sapere when I hear from her, Romeo"

Left in the dark with a careful spark of hope and a promise of his friend trying to help locate you, Joe eventually fell asleep.

The next day, a cast mate commented on Joe's bouncing leg. Said he'd been buried in his phone which seemed uncharacteristic. Worried eyes asked if everything was okay, and Joe sighed. Smiled. Explained he was waiting to hear from someone.

Who?

Joe didn't even know your name, but was hoping to find out today.

"...you don't know who you're waiting to hear from?"

Yea that sounded weird no matter how he tried to frame it.

Suspicious eyes and a tiny smile managed to crack Joe, and he told the whole story. Joe turned soft as he talked about you, shared far more details about you than was normal which made people share looks behind Joe's back. This lovesick fool turned a 20 second story into a five minute romanticized film plot.

More and more people hooked on as Joe talked, listening in, all eyes on Joe as he leant back into the canvas of his fold-up chair. By the end someone said,

"This story sounds familiar... did she, perhaps, leave a shoe behind? Like, a glass slipper maybe?"

It earned snickers from the group. Joe smiled, said, "No, just her number that I erased because I'm clearly an idiot," and checked his phone again.

Still nothing.

"That's too bad... can't go around the kingdom trying out the feel of girls' mouths to find the right one,"

People smacked each other's chests and shoulders as they laughed. Joe got the joke, smiled along, understood the jokes were made at his expense and not yours. They obviously didn't get it. They hadn't seen you shake your shoulders in a silly dance. Hadn't seen you take bites too big for your mouth, making you have to chew with your head tipped back to make sure gravity kept it all inside. Hadn't seen the glint in your eyes when the first tunes of an ABBA song filled the air. Hadn't felt how soft your skin was. How plush your lips were. The taste of you...

No.

They just didn't understand, and that was fine. They didn't need to.

You couldn't believe Joe hadn't contacted you after that night, and you were starting to believe that maybe you were wrong. Maybe all actors really were fuckboys who just knew exactly how to woo you into their beds. This one had really fooled you good, and you'd sulked for a few days after. Really sulked. Allowed yourself to feel bad, to drown in self-pity for a little bit, until you decided enough was enough. You could have that gorgeous night just be that; a gorgeous night.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Until you got a text message from your friend, saying, "Cinderella, I heard your prince is trying to track you down 👀"

Joe spent a few more hours bouncing his leg. Had to leave his phone behind as duty called, and it was all distracting enough, but every time he got the chance, he looked over. Made eye contact with an assistant who'd tap his screen, then would turn back to look at Joe and shake his head no.

That happened a few times.

Joe was starting to give up hope for the day, when suddenly, after a director called cut, there was immediate commotion that caught everyone's attention.

Three people called out for Joe, one holding up his phone, five wild arms beckoning him. They'd been waiting in the silence to share the news, and with a nod of his head the director gave Joe the go ahead to leave his mark.

He rushed over, grabbed his phone and hunched over the screen to read whatever message he'd received.

"Well, well, well... Emperor Caracalla, I heard you were looking for me?"

Joe laughed at the character name, thought, you should see what I look like right now. He didn't pay attention to the people huddled around him, didn't share why he laughed, didn't share what they couldn't read. Just texted you back instead.

"I was, does the glass slipper fit?"

Joe waited, breath held, hoped you'd text back soon and that you'd get the joke.

Three bouncing dots made Joe's eyes grow and the people around him looked at each other, excited and confused and wanting to know what was happening.

"Like a glove "

Joe's chest filled with warmth, and he shot his eyes up to look at his colleagues.

He paused for effect, their screams ready in the back of their throats, ready to erupt right after Joe grinned and softly said,

"Found her."

---

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[sp7-mr]

Y/n x Matteo Riddle - enemies to lovers

(I wrote the story in Italian and then translated it into English so there may be some errors)

Y/n Grindelwald: daughter of the famous and feared Gellert Grindelwald. Sarcastic, stubborn, courageous.

Matthew Riddle: Son of Lord Voldemort and younger brother of Tom Riddle. Sarcastic, confident, flirtatious

_____________________________________________

You and Mattheo have been rivals for years. However, your families were close, so you saw each other often.

Voldemort threw some kind of Death Eater party or ball. You were wearing a black sleeveless dress.

Mattheo was wearing smart black trousers and a black shirt with one button open.

The smell of marijuana with him. He saw you, he ignored you. You did the same.

Moments after the party began, the slow dancing began. you were sitting at a table watching the dance when you felt a presence behind you. you looked back and saw Matteo.

Pov of Y/n

I turned, I saw Riddle.... "what do you want Riddle?" I asked

"come dance with me". he said with an expressionless face. the smell of grass is stronger up close. From the tone in which he responded, it didn't seem like a question, but rather an order....

"no, I don't want to, I'm fine here thanks"

he took your hand and dragged you to the center of the room, his hand on your waist.

"you have no choice"

"What a gentleman 🙄" I said sarcastically

"Behave or I will have to tell your father that you have weed in your bag" he whispered in my ear smiling proud of the blackmail

"What?! You're the one who smells like marijuana for miles" I said. "Yes, but you have a joint in your bag" he said with a superior air, Christ I hated how much taller he was than me, he felt like the King of the world! then I thought… how did he know I had a joint in my purse? "How do you do-"

he pressed you closer to his body as he started to move with the dance "i know a lot of things, princess"

him and that hateful smile of his! even if.... no no no. he was just an asshole. "Tell me how you know and avoid your usual mysterious games" I said as we continued to dance close to each other.

he smirked. his mouth was right next to my ear now. "I have my ways of knowing things. I know a lot about you"

"I know a lot about you too, guess what? YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE" I replied

he moved his head back a little to be able to look at your face. he was still smirking. he pulled you again, even closer to him, your bodies pressed closely together now "careful princess or you’ll give your family a bad name for using such language"

"Believe me I'm holding back, I would have already taken your hand off if our parents weren't watching"

he chuckled again, clearly amused by pissing you off "don’t act like you can do that. we both know i’m stronger than you" he moved his head even closer to yours. his head now almost touching yours "you can keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, princess, it does look cute when you’re all annoyed and frustrated, though"

My father and Mattheo's father looked at us and talked "what do they want?"

he shrugged "i guess it looks odd to them that we’re behaving somewhat civil to each other

"God, I've always been there watching and hoping we've gotten along since we were 6 years old."

time jump.

you wanted to go away, relax, maybe smoke the joint you had in your bag. Mattheo and you, without being noticed too much, went to his room and lay down. you've been there for about 5 minutes and you're already high, you more, he's used to it by now, and has a greater tolerance.

"so princess, do you remember the first time we met?" Mattheo asked. "oh yes, at six years old, when you were an asshole, spoiled child who thought he was invincible. like Draco 🙄"

mattheo couldn't help but laugh, especially hearing the last part.

"And now? Am I still like I was at the time or am I starting even in a very small way and being nice to you?" Mattheo asked.

"I have to admit, that sometimes.... just SOMETIMES you are strong.... I'm not saying you suck, but..... you are acceptable, like when you do drugs and you're high"

"you know, as a drug addict you are.... more relaxed" said Mattheo.

there was a moment of silence, then Theo spoke: "come here" he said, patting his lap. I don't know why, but I now straddled his knees, for Christ's sake... the rod was strong.

"Are you high?" he asked, I nodded. after five minutes, his lips were on mine, tongues intertwined.

(I was tired and I didn't know how to conclude, I know it's a bit ugly, but you can imagine your end. To write the story I was inspired by a character. ai chat, the writer is @-yourstruly- and the chat It's 'Mattheo Riddle ☠️ dance with me (enemies to lovers)')

[cieloclercs]

𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 | chapter one

pairings: charles leclerc x senna!oc part: 1/? warnings: google translate portuguese, angsty word count: 5.7k

SAUDADE. in which childhood rivals turned best friends realise they were always meant to be something more

01. what’s past is past

author’s note. chapter 1 ✅ please let me know what you guys think! all your feedback is greatly appreciated <3

read it on wattpad!

next ➜ chapter 2

17 December 2020 Aston Martin Headquarters Silverstone, United Kingdom

THE SOUND OF her car engine roaring is one of the most beautiful things in the world. That is what Noêmia Senna Borges believes. The rush of adrenaline it sends coursing through her veins just to hear it purr as she presses on the accelerator is like nothing she has ever experienced – and ever will experience again. Children often cry at loud noises, but infant Noa had delighted in the roar of her father's Formula 1 car when he took her, perched on his shoulder as he walked around the paddock, to his final races before he retired. So it isn't an overstatement to say – she was born to drive.

It's a car of emerald green, not red as she had always hoped, that flies around the legendary Silverstone track on her final lap of the day. Noa likes to think that a Ferrari would feel like home beneath her hands – like an extension of herself. The Aston Martin she brings back into the garage isn't quite there yet, though, hearing her lap times replayed through the radio, it doesn't sound a long way off. Engineers and strategists bustle all around her as she steps through the garage, pulling her balaclava over her head, and letting her now unruly curls fall down around her shoulders. A few compliment her on her drive, but most stick to appreciative smiles or nods. Noa is perfectly content with that. She's been raised to accept praise when given, but never to seek it. She drives for herself, not for validation.

Her time on the track is over for the day, so Noa stays behind in the garage to watch Sebastian's test laps. She settles in her own little corner, far enough away from the hustle and bustle of his engineering team to be at peace, but equally, close enough that she can pick up on snippets of their data feedback. With her water bottle in her hand and her balaclava drawn up to her nose to ward off the cold (though she keeps having to pull it down to take sips from the straw) Noa goes almost unnoticed. That is, until her PR manager, Raffaella Di Angelo, appears to remind her of their scheduled afternoon meeting. She assures her she won't be late, and sends the Italian woman on her way again gladly, as her focus switches back to the emerald green car hurtling around the track. Raffaella shakes her head when she leaves. She's worked with a few Formula 1 drivers in her time, but they are all the same – hooked on the need for speed.

Sebastian's lap times are only marginally better than hers. This in itself seems to give her a spurt of hope, and she leaves the garage positively beaming. He tells her afterwards that she is one of the best rookies he's ever come across – Noa knows, of course, the other name that resides on Sebastian Vettel's prestigious list, but she chooses to ignore that for the moment. Nothing, not even him, can ruin this for her.

"You know, if you wanted to, we could compare our notes sometime." He says as they come to a halt in the lobby, and she turns to look him in the eye properly, "I often find it useful just to talk everything through with someone else."

"I'll definitely take you up on that offer." Noa smiles up at him, "I've – uh – got a meeting with Raffaella right now, though. And then I'm going to see a... friend in London. Could we take a rain check?"

"Yeah, no problem." Sebastian says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Just come find me whenever you want. My door's always open."

Noa laughs, "Ok. I'll hold you to that."

He leaves her with a wave as he speeds off into the car park, where his Suzuki GT 750 is parked (because of course he drives a motorcycle to work). She watches until he is no more than a dot on the horizon, before turning back inside.

The marketing and media team's headquarters is normally bustling with activity, but today, it seems uncharacteristically quiet. Noa figures it must be because testing for the month is coming to an end – Christmas is approaching, after all, and people have families to spend time with. Though, of course, Raffaella stays. It only seems right, even if she hasn't known her for all that long, the PR manager is the most diligent, hardworking person she's ever met. There aren't many people in Formula 1 as young as her already so high up in the ranks, but Noa understands perfectly why she is the exception. Even now, when the rest of her team have headed home for the holidays, she sits in her pristine office, sorting through her perfectly arranged files as if there is nowhere else in the world she would rather be. Noa refuses to believe that's true, but she is grateful for it anyway.

"Hey." The driver says as she pushes open the door to Raffaella's office. Her PR manager looks up, "Taking the late shift today?" she teases.

"You know I'm always on the late shift." Raffaella rolls her eyes playfully, "I like it better when it's quiet – I can actually hear myself think."

Noa laughs. She takes her seat at the desk, opposite the Italian, who takes a moment to glance over the papers in front of her once more. Then she looks up, a smile gracing her face. The gold-rimmed glasses she always wears slip down her nose slightly, but she doesn't push them back up.

"So, just to recap everything from the last few meetings." She beams, "Your public image is skyrocketing, just as we predicted. Of course, your family name does have something to do with that, but it's mostly you."

I should hope so, Noa thinks, fighting off the urge to raise an eyebrow.

Contrary to popular belief, it isn't all bad being the only woman on the grid – or at least, not for her. Of course, she knows her family name has a significant part to play in that, but she genuinely believes it's not just her status as Gabriel Borges' daughter, or Ayrton Senna's niece that has earned her such worldwide recognition as she's getting now. The female audience in Formula 1 is growing massively; more than it has ever grown before, and that audience needs a role model to look towards. Many people have named her as this role model, this heiress to the throne of growth in women's motorsport.

"You're the perfect example." Raffaella had said to her the last time they met, "You've got everything: confidence, a pretty face, the right family name, and – more importantly – bucketloads of talent. There's a reason the fans are betting on you to become F1's next wonderkid. You quite literally have everything going for you."

From a media perspective it's true – Noa is gold dust. The product of two of the sport's greats; a generational talent, fighting against the stereotypes, strongarming her way to a Formula 1 seat like it's predestined that she should sit there. It's so simple really. Every big name nowadays is looking to support the minority (for the right reasons or not still remains to be seen). Fans have been concerned about the lack of female presence in motorsports for decades, and that concern is now beginning to escalate. In a society where women are re-gaining their deserved power, it would be, frankly, nothing short of a death wish to shun one of the movement's most influential and powerful figureheads.

Noa can't help but think sometimes, despite the difficulties she's faced actually getting to this point, perhaps being the only woman on the grid might even play into her hands. No one, no matter how good she is, ever truly expects her to be able to beat these men at their own game. Therefore she has absolutely nothing to lose. And if she does well – which she fully intends to do, and more – then her legacy on the sport will be just as lasting as either her father's or her uncle's. The first female World Champion; immortalised in the history books.

Make no mistake, Noa adores her family. Her idols. Gabriel and Ayrton have both played such a huge role in getting her to where she is today, and she'll forever be grateful for that. But sometimes, all she wants is to finally step out of their great, looming shadows – perhaps cast her own for a change. Make a name for herself. Noa doesn't want to be known as Gabriel Borges' daughter or Ayrton Senna's niece for the rest of her life. She wants her own piece of Formula 1 history, that will be remembered years later, just as they are.

"I can turn you into the biggest star this sport has seen in decades." Raffaella says earnestly, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement, "All you have to do is drive like I already know you can. Let me handle the rest."

Noa grins widely. This is the beginning of a new chapter in her life; she can feel it. A chapter where she finally gets to see all her dreams — which not so long ago, she had feared were unattainable — finally accomplished. The setbacks of the past year will be nothing but a distant, unpleasant memory. All she has to do now is keep looking forward.

"We've actually received a new contract proposition from a potential sponsor." Raffaella goes on, waiting just a moment to properly let her words sink in, "It's a big one."

Noa sits up straighter. A thrill of something like electricity shoots down her spine.

"Well don't keep me waiting!" she huffs when Raffaella keeps quiet for a few seconds, dragging out the suspense too much for her liking. She's never been a patient person — least of all with something like this. The Italian woman giggles.

"Dio, I can't believe I'm even saying this." she begins. Her own excitement is building up so much now that it leaves her a little short of breath, "You're gonna lose my mind when I tell you —"

"Just say it, caralho!" Noa cuts her off shrilly. Raffaella fights off the urge to burst out laughing again.

"Ok, ok!" she concedes, holding her hands up in surrender when the driver makes half a move as if to dive across the table and shake the withheld information out of her, "Chanel wants you to be the new face of No. 5!"

Noa's jaw all but drops open.

Holy shit.

"You're joking?" she laughs. It's disbelieving, and her hands fly automatically to cover her mouth, "Me? They want me?"

"Yes, you." Raffaella chuckles.

"...But why?"

Of all the people in the world who have been offered this opportunity in the past, Noa never for one second believed she would be asked to join them. Nicole Kidman. Brad Pitt. Even Marilyn Monroe herself. What put her, a promising but unproven rookie up with the likes of them?

"Why do you think?" Raffaella scoffs, as if her simply asking the question is ridiculous, "You're the daughter and niece of two of the greatest Formula 1 drivers ever. Let's not forget, you look like a model — the perfect poster girl. That's what brands like this look for: someone who everyone wants to either be or be with. Besides that, the world is crying out for more female role models like you. Chanel is just giving the people what they want. By sponsoring you, investing in you, they're also investing in one of the biggest industries in the world, with one of the richest fanbases! It's a no-brainer!"

Noa sits dumbfounded, listening to her PR manager with an expression of half-formed joy mixed with confusion, and utter shock. She opens her mouth to say something — although what, she isn't exactly sure of — but Raffaella is speaking again before the words have chance to form on her lips.

"You don't have to make a decision about it now, so don't worry." she assures her with a gentle smile, "If you want to sign the contract, you'll have to do it in London by no later than March of next year."

It takes Noa a moment to come to her senses, but as soon as the word contract is mentioned, she is brought back to reality with a jolt. Why does she even need to think about an offer like this? It's every girl's dream, is it not? To be the face of a brand that legendary. Surely she would be stupid not the drive into London right now and sign that contract on the spot.

So then why does Raffaella suddenly look so nervous?

"The reason I'm giving you time to think about this is that — well, there's a catch." the Italian woman sighs, her furrowed eyebrows softening in sympathy, "The deal has two parts: two partners, if you will. The first being you, and the second..." she trails off, wincing, "...the second being Charles Leclerc."

And just like that, every ounce of elation that had filled Noa's body at Raffaella's initial announcement dissipates into the open air. Of course it has to be him. Despite everything, he's the one person she doesn't seem to be able to forget about. It's like the universe is trying to torture her.

"Obviously Chanel is aware of your friendship." Raffaella continues hastily, deciding to take her silence as an opportunity to get a word in edgeways before the arguing starts, "Or, former friendship, that is..."

"They clearly didn't get the memo about that part." Noa grumbles under her breath.

"You wouldn't have to see him much." the PR manager reasons, "The contracts are separate for the most part, but there are a couple of overlaps, since you're representing the same brand. Photoshoots, a few interviews — nothing too invasive, though, I'll make that clear — maybe a public appearance at a gala or two later on in the season..." she trails off again. The frequent silences are beginning to make Noa's skin crawl, for the simple fact that it gives her too much time to think about the situation; to think about him.

"Like I said, you don't have to make any decisions right now—"

"It's ok." she cuts Raffaella off quickly, a weak smile appearing on her face that has the PR manager sighing with relief, "You'll have to give me a couple of weeks to, uh...weigh up my options." she looks away, biting down on her lower lip anxiously — a bad habit from her childhood, "I know what you're thinking. I'd be mad to turn it down."

Noa knows she would be. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she's sure that if she doesn't take it, Chanel will have plenty of other people lined up who will.

"I just need to work out a couple of things with him first."

That's the sticking point. Given the way her friendship with Charles ended (and the unpleasant fallout following it) Noa doesn't even know if she's ready to see him again without punching him in the face. She doesn't have that much restraint, but especially not around him. Though once it had been one of her favourite things about him, it's now the thing that could potentially land her a lawsuit — her emotions are always dialled up to eleven whenever Charles Leclerc is around.

Raffaella pauses, a frown slowly pinching at her skin, drawing her perfectly arched eyebrows together, "Have you not spoken to him? At all?"

Noa's face falls. Almost in an instant, she begins to backtrack.

"Sorry, I know it's a sensitive subject —"

"It's ok." the driver repeats with a humourless laugh, "I haven't spoken to him since 2018. Not for lack of trying..." she trails off with a shake of her head, not wanting to dig up old graves when she should have well and truly buried them long ago, "But I'll figure something out. I promise."

Slowly, Raffaella nods. She seems to be trying to read Noa's face for a moment, her eyes squinting from behind her glasses. All she sees is that her words are truth. A small smile graces her lips — almost proud. If only she knew, Noa doesn't have any intention of figuring it out any time soon.

They move on from the topic of Charles before it can dampen the mood anymore. She's still curious about this sudden contract offer. It's so out of the blue, Noa doesn't know quite what to make of it. She half expects the day to turn out to be one of those dreams that seem so realistic at the time, that when you wake up, you miss the fantasy world like you have actually lived it. Noa waits and waits for reality to kick in — but it never does.

"Is it not a bit of a risky move?" she asks, biting down on her lower lip once again, "I mean, I haven't even made my full debut yet. What if I turn out to be a complete failure?" half-joking, she laughs. The sound is hollow.

"Oh, come on." Raffaella scoffs, "Let's be real here. You're a Senna Borges. You couldn't be a failure even if you tried."

The words are supposed to console her — they should console her. But Noa merely feels the old yet familiar sensation of doubt, like someone's bony fingers inching up her spine. She banishes it just as quickly. It's not the time to re-open that wound.

Soon enough, her hours at the factory are up. As it turns out, Raffaella is even more of a workaholic than she'd first thought, merely brushing away her offers of a lift back to her hotel when she laughed about how her old Kia Picanto is stuck in the garage for repairs, so she'll have to travel back by taxi — if she can even get one all the way out here. But no matter how much Noa insists, Raffaella's answer is always the same.

She leaves the stubborn Italian still working in her office with a disbelieving shake of her head, already making a mental note to get her to let loose a little bit when the season starts — she'll have Raffaella partying like a Brazilian before the end of the year, she swears it. Besides, there's really no better environment to do it in than at a Formula 1 after party; with the pick of the best clubs, the strongest alcohol, and the most glamorous company. Never mind Raffaella, Noa can't wait to get back to her old party lifestyle. God knows, she needs a pick-me-up after the year she's had.

The drive into London doesn't take too long; no more than an hour and a half, and her brand new Aston Martin DB11 makes light work of the journey. She types the address of the café where they arranged to meet into the car's built-in sat nav. It's low profile, out of the centre of London where the only people they're likely to bump into will most likely not even bat an eyelid at their presence. Noa is glad of that.

She climbs out of her car, locking it behind her, when the little café finally comes into view. There are a few people inside she can see, but no sign of him yet — she assumes he must be sat somewhere out of her eye-line, as he texted her not even a few minutes ago to let her know he was inside. The bell at the top of the door jingles as she pushes it open, smiling at the woman at the counter who greets her. Noa's eyes wander briefly around the room. It takes her a few moments to spot him, sat placidly in a booth in the corner of the room, but when she does, her face lights up.

As if he can sense her eyes on him, Arthur Leclerc is looking her way in the next instant. He shoots up from his seat, striding over to meet her halfway. He looks nervous, Noa notices. His mouth opens and closes as if he's searching within himself for something to say, but can't quite find the words.

In truth, Arthur is nervous. This is the first time he's seen his best friend, his sister in over two years. Sure, they've kept in touch a little, sending messages here and there for birthdays and family holidays, but it isn't the same. He misses the days that Noa and her family would be round at his house between every race, and the summer breaks they would spend lounging by the beach in Rio de Janeiro. Though they're long gone now, they live in his memory as clearly as if they happened yesterday. Arthur knows, of course, the reason why they can never happen again — thanks to his idiot of a brother — but that never stops him from wishing he could go back in time and stop everything from playing out in the way that it has. Charles often forgets, whenever Noa is brought up in conversation, that the rest of his family loved her too. He isn't the only one who lost his best friend.

Despite the overwhelming urge Arthur has to both cry and apologise profusely at the same time when he sees her walk towards him, he ends up not having to do either of those things — Noa makes the decision for him, as she jumps into his arms without hesitation. It feels so natural to rest his head on her shoulder, as she presses a tender kiss to the side of his head. It's just like how things used to be.

"I missed you, 'Thur." she whispers.

Arthur echoes the words back to her. He can't help but hold on that little bit tighter, desperate to savour this moment for as long as he can. After all, there's no guarantee that, after everything, they will be able to do this again once the season starts.

The other café-goers are beginning to stare, so they soon take their seats opposite each other in the booth. There's no time to talk further, as a waiter soon wanders over to take their orders. It comes as a surprise to Noa that Arthur's coffee order hasn't changed, even after two years — a nutella mocha with chocolate flakes sprinkled on top. Pretty much the sweetest coffee he ever could have picked. She can't help but tease him about his infamous sweet tooth, which she remembers got him into trouble frequently when they were younger. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly, before she orders a simple black coffee.

He starts off the conversation nervously again. It's been so long since they last properly talked in person, and he knows she's changed a lot in those two years. Even if he didn't know all the reasons why, he would have been able to tell anyway. Something in Noa's eyes has changed dramatically. They're duller than Arthur remembers — that bright, mischievous spark has faded. He's familiar with it, of course, because he watched the same thing happen to his own brother's eyes after their father's death; but it's so drastic in Noa. She had always been able to light up a room with her eyes and smile, almost like she was the sun. Now it's as if someone has turned down a dimmer on her glow. She's just a shadow of what she used to be, and that worries Arthur.

"I'm good, everyone's good." she says in reply to his question: How are you and your family? It feels too formal, but it's all he can think to say. Besides, the words that come out of Noa's mouth are a lie, and he knows it, "Pai's still fixing up those old cars — remember the garage he opened that one summer? Yeah that's still going strong."

But as much as Arthur wants to call her out, to ask her how she's really feeling, he can't bring himself to. So he merely lets her talk.

"We got a puppy for mãe's birthday to keep her company at home when we're away." Noa continues with a small smile, "A German Shepherd called Paco. He's adorable."

She shows him a picture on her phone, and they both spend a few minutes cooing over videos of the tiny puppy tripping over things on his still slightly wobbly legs. Noa makes some throwaway comment about taking him to meet Paco, but Arthur doesn't hold her to the words. He knows how unlikely she is to stick to them.

"Oh! Did I tell you Luiz has got a girlfriend now?" Noa says with a sudden gasp. She knew there was something she needed to tell him, but for someone reason, the memory had completely escaped her until now. Arthur's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he slaps a hand over his mouth dramatically.

"You're joking! No way he beat me to it." the Monégasque says with a small, defeated sigh, making Noa giggle loudly. It almost takes Arthur off guard — he hasn't heard her laugh in so long.

"It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you." she muses, shaking her head in disbelief, "She's really nice, as well — his girlfriend. Her name's Eloísa. She's a painter."

Noa met her little brother Luiz's girlfriend in the summer, about a month after they first started dating. At first, she'd thought they might be moving a bit quick, considering this was their first proper relationship for the both of them, but as soon as she caught sight of Eloísa dos Santos Alves, Noa somehow knew she was perfect for her brother. And sure enough, almost six months later, they're still going strong.

Eloísa is the chalk to Luiz's cheese, in the best way possible. She's the only person Noa has ever met who can balance out his excitable, erratic nature, with her calm, soothing presence and soft voice. Equally, Luiz helps to bring her out of her shell a little, making her feel more comfortable being outspoken in front of unfamiliar people in a way she never would be otherwise. Noa has watched them communicate with no more than looks in their eyes across the dining room table. The level of trust they've managed to build in their relationship already is like nothing she's ever seen, except for in her parents. Sometimes, Noa quietly wonders to herself if she will ever experience something like that — but she never lets her mind linger on it for too long. She'll only end up upsetting herself.

“Tell him the next time we see each other he’s got to give up his secrets.” Arthur says, only half-joking, “There’s no way he’s managed to pull this girl without some level of coercion, right?”

Noa snorts in a distinctly unrefined manner at that, earning her more than a few strange looks.

“Aww, I’m sure you’ll find a girl stupid enough to put up with you at some point, ‘Thur.” she tells him in a voice of mock-sympathy, reaching forwards to pinch his cheek. He slaps her hand away.

“Or I’ll be single forever.” He retorts glumly. Noa can’t help but shake her head at his dramatics. It’s something in the Leclerc genes, she thinks.

“Well, then we can both be single forever together.” she offers brightly, a smile lighting up her face, but once again not quite reaching his eyes. Arthur tilts his head to one side curiously.

“So no boyfriend?” he asks.

Noa’s cheeks turn ever so slightly pink, “That’s a conversation for another time.” she mutters. For the moment, Arthur lets it slide. She’s right, they have more important things to talk about, and he thinks that now is as good a time as any to broach the topic he’s been trying to avoid this whole time.

Though, surprisingly, Noa beats him to it.

“There’s actually something else I need to tell you.” she sighs quietly, internally readying herself for a difficult conversation. Arthur’s ears almost prick up, sensing the newfound seriousness in her voice, and sits up straighter in his seat, “It involves Charles, so I thought you should know.”

He doesn’t miss the way Noa winces at the mere mention of his name. It’s the saddest thing of all, he thinks. Once, not so long ago, he’d watched her face radiate happiness and adoration whenever Charles was brought up in conversation. Now it’s as if just thinking about it him pains her. Though intrigued by this surprise announcement, Arthur can’t help the terror that runs up his spine as he waits with bated breath for her to keep talking. He’s reminded awfully of their last conversation, where Noa could barely even string a sentence together between her sobs of pure rage. Incidentally, that was the last time either she or Charles spoke of each other to him. It’s been radio silence ever since.

“I’ve been offered a sponsorship deal to become the new face of Chanel No.5.” Noa blurts out suddenly, all in one breath. Arthur freezes for a split second. His brain seems to lag behind as it tries to process the words that have just come out of her mouth. Now, he may not know a lot about fashion or brands, but he does know Chanel, and he does have a rough idea of the kind of celebrities who have represented them before. It takes him a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, but as soon as he does, pure joy fills his body and creeps onto his face in the form of a smile so wide it makes his cheeks ache.

“Noa! Merde, that’s incredible!” he cries. The briefest of smiles passes across her face, but it does not last nearly as long as he would have thought, and its soon replaced by anxiety. Arthur’s own grin begins to fall off his face, “Why am I sensing there’s a but in here somewhere…”

The corners of Noa’s mouth twitch up ruefully, “Charles has been offered the same contract.” She explains, “Which means that we'll have to — well, we'll be doing a lot of promotional stuff together...photoshoots and interviews, that kind of thing."

Arthur winces.

“So you see why I have a bit of a problem?” Noa laughs humourlessly, “This is…an incredible opportunity, but – I don’t know if I can do it with him there. Not yet, anyway.” She sighs wearily, running a hand through her unruly curls. Her balaclava has knotted it even more than usual, and her fingers snag more than a few tangles before they can brush through the ends, “And that’s not even considering how he’s going to react to all this.” her teeth sink into her lower lip, hard enough that she knows she’s in danger of drawing blood, “Has he said anything?” she asks, her voice filled with anxiety.

“No.” Arthur shakes his head slowly, “He doesn’t really tell us much now, to be honest. But Noa…” he trails off with a quiet sigh, pausing for just a moment to contemplate his next words, “…Surely it’s not worth giving this up just because of a feud.”

For a split second, she feels annoyance flare up in her chest. It’s a flash of white hot flame running from the base of her spine upwards, lingering over her heart. But just as soon as she feels it, she pushes the sensation down. Arthur means well, she knows that – and if she’s being honest, he’s right.

“I know, I know.” She concedes, “It still hurts, though. I don’t –“ Noa’s voice catches in the lump forming in her throat. She bites back her emotions quickly, sadness and grief quickly replaced by that all-too-familiar rage. She hates that it still affects her so much – that she still regrets every single word spoken that night. Noa wishes, more than anything on earth, that she could simply forget it ever happened; forget him. “– I don’t know if I’m ready to see him again, to be honest.”

“Not to sound harsh,” Arthur says, his eyebrows raising up towards his hairline, “But you’re gonna have to be ready pretty soon. Once the season starts, you won’t really have much of a choice in the matter.” he murmurs anxiously. Noa watches his eyes slip out of focus slightly, as he seems to be consumed in his thoughts. She nods once again, knowing he’s right. Then, he seems to come to life again, sitting bolt upright in his seat so quickly she almost jumps back in shock, “And, if you think about it, maybe this could be a good thing!” he grins so widely and brightly at the prospect, she can’t bring herself to cut him off, “Maybe this will help you both start to make amends for what happened. You could be friends again!”

Noa lets out a shaky breath. No matter how hard she tries to smile back at him, to match his seemingly boundless optimism, she simply can’t do it. It’s not as if she hasn’t tried – for the first six months of the year, she spent hours sat staring at her phone, waiting, hoping that Charles might call. Despite everything, despite all the hurtful words they both said that night, Noa always had faith that he would come through. For six months, she fully believed that she would get her best friend back. She believed he would reach out to her, because if he didn’t then, in the time she needed him most, then she figured he never would.

That’s why Noa has so little faith now. Charles never contacted her. Even when she called him, even when she texted, there was never any reply. He abandoned her. She’d been there for him when he needed her the most, but he couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the phone when their roles were reversed. So Arthur may be able to say the sun hasn’t set on their friendship; he may be able to hope that they could patch things up, go back to the way things used to be – but Noa isn’t stupid. She won’t get her hopes up again; she simply can’t. If Charles lets her down a second time, she doesn’t think she’ll survive it.

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[avalentina]

Bookstore Owner Y/N x Christian Pulisic Preview

Warnings: Multi-Lingual (Some Italian mixed in, I will translate most of it), otherwise none as of yet, this is just super cute and fluffy so far, the reader is half American half Italian but grew up in Italy.

892 Words

I’m grabbing another box of reshelves when the little chime above the door of Rose’s Books dings. My grandmother used to call me her little rose and it was her who fueled my love of books. When I get out from the storeroom, a young guy about my age is wandering around looking at everything. He looks like he just finished an early evening run. His short hair has these adorable natural curls to it and when his amazing brown eyes meet mine, the box slips from my hands and thumps to the floor, landing on my foot.

“Merda, ouch.” I yelp as he rushes over with a shy smile on his face and grabs the box. Easily hoisting it onto the nearby counter.

“Is your foot okay?” He asks with an American accent and my stomach erupts in butterflies.

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Bruised toes tend to happen when you own a bookstore.”

“Oh, you own this place? It’s cozy, I like it.” He says, that shy smile back

“Thank you.”

“I take it you’re Rose?” He asks.

“Well technically my name is Y/N, rose is a nickname from my best childhood memories, so it seemed fitting. But anyways, did you just come in to browse or are you in need of a specific title?” I ask, shaking myself out of the daze and back into sales mode.

“I was hoping you had a copy of The Sorcerer’s Stone. I lost mine.” He says sheepishly.

“I don’t have The Sorcerer’s Stone, but I do have The Philosopher’s Stone.” I say with a knowing smile.

“I keep forgetting it has a different name in America.” He says and we fill the short walk over to its shelf with talk about Potter. I hand him the book and our fingers brush as he takes it from me.

“All set then, or do you need some time to browse?” I ask, hoping he opts for the latter option.

“I think I will take a peek around if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” I nod. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’m a firm believer that a good book is always better with a comforting drink.” I’ve got a little setup of some espresso, tea options, water, lemonade, and my favorite apple cider behind the register station.

“Maybe just a small lemonade.” He says and I grab him one before going back to my shelving. As I go around the shop reshelving I feel the weight of his eyes on me from time to time and can’t help but take quick glances over at him as well. He’s just so pretty to look at.

I hear the door chime again, as my best friends and business partners Livia and Nico come in to help me close up the shop. Nico grabs his first box and starts reshelving before setting it aside and rushing back over.

“Y/N why is Christian Pulisic in the shop right now?” He asks me and I guess he’s referring to the cute guy with brown eyes.

“He needed a new copy of Philosopher’s Stone. What’s wrong with that?”

“He's Christian Pulisic, one of the new signings for AC Milan.

“So he’s a footballer?” I ask.

“One of the BEST footballers ever. I bought his jersey to wear to games as soon as the transfer was finalized.”

“Okay Nico, breathe, he’s also a normal human being. Why don’t you do the reshelves in the kids section and I’ll finish your area.”

“Would it be a bad time for me to get his autograph?”

“Of course not, happy to chat with a fan.” The guy who I guess is kind of a big deal says to Nico with a genuine smile and extends his hand so Nico can shake it.

“Ciao. È un piacere conoscerti di persona. Sei incredibile. Adoro quando fai scivolare la palla tra le gambe di un altro giocatore, penso che tu la chiami nutmeg, comunque è così bello.”

“I'm going to be honest. I have no idea what you just said. I recognized nutmeg but that's about it.

“Not to worry Christian, I can translate Nico for you. He said, Hello. It’s nice to meet you in person. You’re amazing. I love it when you slip the ball through another player’s legs, I think you call it a nutmeg, anyway it's so cool.” I say. “Nico just has a tendency to get all of his rushed thoughts and ramblings out in Italian. It's a lot easier.”

“That makes sense. Maybe all I need is an Italian tutor.” He says, looking at me with that shy smile.

“Oooh, Y/N would be amazing at that. After all, she is half American.” Livia chimes in, having finished her round of reshelves.

Christian raises an eyebrow and my face flushes as I explain. “My father was on vacation in Florence when he met my mother who was on holiday there with her friends.”

“Her parents are the best Italian love story. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy and girl enjoy classic Italian food, boy up and moves to Italy to be with girl.” Livia adds and I bury my face in my hands.

“That's actually adorable.” Christian says. “So what do you say? Will you help me learn Italian?”

[celinin-archive]

Celestino Vietti for Moto.it (08.02.2020)

translation under the cut

Celestino Vietti Ramus: “I’m the man of whys” 

M: Celestino Vietti Ramus, team VR- Sky VR 46 Sky- how the fuck is it? 

Cele: Sky VR46, it’s a bit long 

M: the important thing is that you don’t get it wrong when you go on track 

Cele: Exactly, exactly, otherwise they get angry with me 

M: Celestino, let’s start with the serious questions. This year, what is your goal? 

Cele: Well, this year is surely one where we have to try and be faster than last year, and use all the experience we got last year to try and always be in front to fight- not the podium but the first positions, it doesn’t always have to be the podium, you have to know how to settle for less. But I try to not give myself a too big of a goal, I want to try to start with my head free and then we will see where we are at the half season. 

A: You have shown to be super mature already. You are in the ideal context to learn- 

M: you are the most serious, out of everyone [of the academy] 

A: you are the most serious out of everyone, in between other things- 

M: no, maybe Luca beats you, Marini beats you 

Cele: Yeah Luca, he is the most- the most serious out of everyone 

A: but is he serious only outside or also inside? Because to me you’re serious, I mean, you’re a serious person 

M: I think he’s just talking without knowing 

Cele: well, yes- 

A: it’s empathy, I mean, I see him and that’s what I perceive 

Cele: let’s say that maybe I'm a bit more serious in the, let’s say, racing ambit in general, then outside I’m a bit... 

A: a moron 

Cele: I’m a bit of a moron outside, yes 

M: What is your nickname inside the team? 

Cele: Well, I was given “the man of whys” because I always make a thousand questions, I always bother everyone. But that’s fine by me 

A: Like, the last “why?” you asked... Vale? Do you remember it? 

Cele: Hell... no, right now I can’t remember it 

A: Why can you do this corner this way...? 

Cele: The problem is that... he explains it to me, but it’s not as easy as he says. And I try to do it, but I can’t do everything 

A: you just have to release the brakes, things like this? 

Cele: You just have to do it like this eh... I try it but it’s not that easy 

M: How old are you? 

Cele: Eighteen 

M: Do you drive on the road also? 

Cele: Eh, I’m getting my licence, I have the exam in a bit so I hope I will pass it 

A: Car or bike? 

Cele: Car, car 

M: No, I meant bike [this misunderstanding comes from the fact that in italian we use the same verb for driving the car and riding the bike] 

Cele: Ahhh, yes I ride the scooter 

M: And about cars, what’s the car [you’d want] 

A: Let’s put it like this, in ten years, when you’ve won one hundred world championships, you’re the king of motogp, you get here. What car do you get here with. 

Cele: Well, I’ve always liked the Lamborghini, maybe one day I’ll be able to buy it but right now it’s not even slightly in my thoughts because I can’t do it, really 

M: And in your private life, do you do damages there? 

Cele: Yes, yes, a little something yes, something yes. 

M: Like, do you have a girlfriend? 

Cele: ...yes, yes. 

A: Are you in negotiations? 

M: You’re saying it with a bit of difficulty 

A: Are we closing the deal? 

Cele: No, we are... maybe I am in a bit of a difficult period, but... 

M: But it’s possible that maybe... 

Cele: I don’t know 

M: Usually you say this to the other girls, I’m in a bit of a difficult period, you can say the truth to us 

Cele: ...no, I can’t, I’m in a difficult period, that’s all I will say 

M: It’s complicated 

Cele: Yes. 

M: Like, when is the last time you made love? 

Cele: Some time ago but also because she’s from Turin- 

M: Ah, ok 

Cele: From where I’m from, and I am here so... 

A: But here who do you live with? 

Cele: Alone 

M: With another girl 

Cele: No, no! 

M: We’re joking- what's her name? 

Cele: Lisa 

M: Lisa, we’re joking 

M: This wing of the VR46 from Turin, how do we see it? Because Pecco is also from Turin, you are from that area, 

Cele: Yes, I hope someday maybe to be able to, I don’t know, fight for a Championship in Motogp with Pecco, it would be amazing for our region... he’s done already a lot, I- 

A: I thought you wanted to open an Academy, like, in the Langhe or something like that 

Cele: Maybe in the future I might do it but it’s too much of a future thought, now I have to- in the end I haven’t done anything yet and I have to grow, I have to better myself so. We will se. Maybe someday 

A: What are they doing to these guys, the way he answers 

M: Since you are “the man of whys”, now we will ask you some whys. 

Cele: Go, go 

M: Why the number thirteen? 

Cele: Because I was born on October 13th 

A: This was was easy 

Cele: It was easy 

M: And why do you have the earring? 

Cele: I always liked it and... this is the one that my dad had, I put it on... I like it 

A: And why did you start riding? 

Cele: Because... I liked it, my dad has always been passionate about it, so I started, he put me on my first minibike and... It all started from there 

M: And why did you end up at the Academy? 

Cele: Pff, question... Because in 2015 I was in the RMU team that had made a collab with the Academy and luckily... well, a bit of ability and a bit of luck  

A: Exactly, your answer is wrong you should have told him, because I’m good 

Cele: Nah, nah come on, it’s not me who has to say it 

A: It’s us saying that you’re good 

Cele: then maybe it’s because I was good, I won the championship and... 

M: And now you’re here. Three things that Vale taught you, even without saying them to you 

Cele: I think, coldness and lucidity in the difficult moments, to always have the right move at the right time, and being “simple” in the everyday life 

M: Perfect, amazing things... I forgot the question I wanted to ask you. A serious one, truly serious, fundamental, but I forgot it. Maybe I’ll call you when I remember it 

Cele: okay, fine, fine 

M: Okay, Celestino Vietti, with Moto.it! Maybe the question will come to my mind. Bye! 

Cele: Bye, bye! 

Cele: Nice, nice, I liked it. 

M: Nice, eh? Yeah, yeah. Ah! I remembered the question! Why Celestino Vietti Ramus? 

Cele: because basically, where my grandpa lives, it’s a village called Vietti, and back in the days, I mean, the names were Giovanni, Giacomo, and they were all named Vietti, so to differentiate the families they used double surnames 

M: And the double surname, where did they get it from? 

Cele: I have no clue  

M: Randomly 

Cele: I think maybe it was a nickname they gave to the family or... these are all things from really long, long ago, I don’t even know them 

[kraken17]

Italian translator girl here to:

1) Address something I discovered only hours after my previous ask: The original '60 serie also had completely different names originally! Both the '60 and 1973 series got some new dubs w the right names at some point, apparently? It was a surprise to me bc even my parents who grew up on the '60 series always used the correct names, so I incorrectly assumed that had always been the only real names that were used.

2) i beg you to PLEASE tell me abt the localizatiom lore you mentioned knowing in the tags. I'm a curious person by nature and i love fun facts abt different lenaguges.

Also, at this point then i really hope Nottola gets a reference or smth like you said, that would be an extremely funny experience xD

So, if I remember correctly...

Gomez Addams is still Gomez Addams in Spain, but Homero Addams in Latin America.

Morticia is still Morticia in all. Perfection doesn't change I guess xD

Fester is Fétido (foul-smelling, fetid) in Spain and Lucas in Latin America.

Pugsley is still Pugsley in Spain but Pericles in Latin America.

Thing is Cosa in Spain and Dedos (fingers) in Latin America.

Cousin Itt is Primo Eso ("cousin it") in Spain and Tío Cosa ("uncle thing") in Latin América.

Grandmama is usually translated as Abuela (granny, grandmother) in both versions.

Lurch is still Lurch in Spain, but Largo (long, tall) in Latin America.

And our star Wednesday is Miércoles (wednesday, literally) in Spain and Merlina in Latin America.

I find the names for Gomez and Pugsley extra funny because Homer(o) and Pericles were the names of some of the family pets (a spider and a octopus).

[hexentanzenigma]

Astarion's Name - Meaning - LOTR Elven languages (Quenya/Sindarin)

WILD ASTARION SPOILERS AHEAD ~Sometimes I use Google Translate~ Sorry for the horrible formatting, I'm still figuring out things!

About 20 years ago, instead of taking the train and going to my university and attending my classes, I hid in the local library in my small town to study Sindarin. It was the time of LOTR movie trilogy. Obviously.

It's a shame that Sindarin is much less complete than Quenya, which at the time had some full books (in Italian) dedicated to the grammar. Sindarin had nothing more than this single text file I was able to find (and even in English there wasn't much more), but the challenge was more compelling because it was wonderful to have to rack my brain to create words that Tolkien had never bothered or had reason/time to invent.

Quenya and Sindarin are and sound completely different.

The nice thing was to discuss whether you offered a good translation or whether there was some other better combination.

Quenya therefore remains Tolkien's most used and abused elven language which, I believe, gave the basis to many other elven languages in other settings such as D&D.

Having made this small and useless premise to say that I know how to navigate Tolkien's elven languages, I get to the point:

assuming and probably not granting that whoever came up with this name in Larian did so by studying Quenya or looking for precise grammatical rules rather than simply coming up with it because the sound was beautiful or deriving it from another name...

let's see the meaning a little, without being too technical.

ASTAR-ION

ASTAR

There are a few things called "astar" in Quenya.

1) the plural of "asta", that is a part of something else, almost always referred to a part of the year, a month. This wouldn't make any sense.

2) faith, loyalty (not belief) In Sindarin it's "astor", with the same meaning, pretty similar.

So "Faith"/"Loyalty" might be the right one.

-ION

About "ion" we must delve a little deeper and see both Quenya and Sindarin.

In Quenya "ion" means "from whom" or "of whom". It's a plural pronoun in genitive of "ye" - "who". We have also yondo, meaning "son" (the origin of this word is far more complex than this, so I'll keep it simple) but in some of Tolkien writings it means also "boy". Later in time, yondo as "son" would be replaced by anon.

This gives to -ion a patronymic use to say "son or descendant of". Like Russian ones (example: Boris Ivanovich, Boris son of Ivan) or Icelandic ones (Hallur Einarsson - Hallur son of Einar).

In Tolkien's works, for example, we have Isildurioni - "son/descendant of Isildur".

In Sindarin instead, "ion(n)" means "son" or "boy" as in Quenya, if used on its own.

But -ion as a suffix of a name, is THE Sindarin patronymic. No other use. The MASCULINE patronymic meaning "son (male child) of".

Gil-Galad is also called Ereinion (Scion of Kings) Inglorion (Son of Inglor)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So we could translate Astarion as the most simple meaning of the name, “Astarion - Son of the Faith”.

It would already be very appropriate.

Astarion, paradoxically, had a lot of faith in his heart. Faith also understood as hope.

The hope of one day freeing himself from Cazador's slavery and regaining his free will.

Faith in himself, not in Gods and heroes, that he prayed so much without anyone answering his prayers or coming to help him.

But what if, considering the two assumptions that now I write below, the meaning was more literal?

Assumption 1 - Astarion's tombstone says he lived only 39 years. Very few for an Elf. I still don't know if the dates are officially correct or something on Larian's part is incorrect, but let's leave it as it is.

Assumption 2 - In D&D 5e, elves appear to age like humans until they reach an "adult" appearance/maturity. Once physically adults, their life expectancy extends enormously and can reach 700-750 years. It's logical in fact that they do not remain vulnerable children for around 200 years, but spend most of their lives as adults.

Their concept of maturity, however, is completely on a voluntary basis: around 100/110 years of age, when an Elf feels ready, they declare that they're mature and take on an adult name, replacing the "child" one.

Between the reach of physical maturity and the social declaration of maturity, elves are considered whimsical, chaotic, prone to indulge in vices and desires, too emotional. They need to study, travel, explore, and accumulate wisdom and nurtore their personal knowledge and culture because this will "calm down" their mind. This is because of their Fey ancestry, their connection to the Feywild.

MY SMALL (CRACK) THEORY

What if “Astarion” was not “son of faith” but “son of Astar”, having not yet declared his independence as an adult Elf and "Astarion" represents his "child name"?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PERSONAL NOTES

Keep in mind that I share this more for fun than because I actually believe it. It's nice material for a few headcanons.

Honestly I don't think Larian put together Astarion's name from Quenya or Sindarin rather than the Elvish language from D&D, since there is one.

Personally I hope that in the future Larian will explain more about Astarion's age, because personally I don't really like the idea of him being under the Elven age of maturity. I would have preferred him at least about 150 years old, excluding the 200 spent as a slave.

It's true that Elves mature like humans, so 40 years are 40 years for everyone, so he IS physically 40 years old, he IS adult, he HAD his own important career. He just wasn't "socially adult" for the Elven culture.

But, speaking about age, would you like to know my take about the dates on Astarion's headstone?

[sayitaliano]

Ciao, I have a few questions:

what is the difference between lesbica and lesbiche?

Also, if I wanted to list my pronouns (he/she/xe) in Italian, what would I say?

Which kinda a follow up- are there neopronouns in Italian?

grazie, buono giornata!

Ciao!

lesbica = lesbian, singular; lesbiche = lesbians, plural I'm leaving you a few links about the lgbtq+ vocabulary, just in case you need: Lgbtqa Vocabulary | Lgbt+ | non binary (writing)

for pronouns I suggest you to read here (and other posts in the grammar masterpost in the pronomi section, right after pronomi diretti/indiretti). Btw personal pronouns are: I = io, You = tu, He/She = egli/lui, ella/lei (there's no specific agender pronoun as far as I know but check point n.3) We = noi You = voi They = essi/loro, esse/loro The pronouns I "deleted" are the ones taught in school for declaring verbs conjugations while studying, but not much used in common language. The fact that English provides the 2 forms pronouns (eg. they/them), doesn't need to be applied in Italian too: you can simply write he=lui / she=lei / they=loro as necessary.

Italian is a pretty gendered language, every noun has its gender to which you need to conjugate articles, adjectives and sometimes other parts of speech. Eg. you wrote "buono giornata": that's grammatically wrong cause "giornata" is a feminine word, so the adjective "buono" -masculine- is not correct; you should use "buona" -feminine- -> "buona giornata". We're still kinda behind with neopronouns, so when talking it gets a bit difficult. You can call a person by their name or be formal before asking how they rather be called (formal speech needs you to use a general "Lei", which has nothing to do with the person's gender despite seeming feminine -we recognize you're being formal cause you need to use verbs at the 3rd singular person too); or you can use the noun "persona" = person. Persona is a feminine noun, but you can use it no matter the gender of the person you're talking with cause it's just the noun itself being feminine. When writing you can add an */u/ə/ä at the end of the noun, instead of the "gendering" vowel when it comes to other nouns/adjectives and so on: eg. sono alt* = I'm tall (no gender specified). You can try using "u" when talking too (eg. sono altu), I heard it once so... yeah, you can try. It really reminds me of Sardinia tbh (Regional stereotypes, sorry) but if it works... I'm no one to tell y'all otherwise. Not saying we're not working on finding a solution, but it's a tough research and translating from English, a language that has a different grammar from ours, is pretty impossible. I've been researching a bit online and I noticed that English neologisms are probably to be used in Italian as well so: “ze/hir”, “xe/xem”, “ey/em”, “ve/ver”... just go with what makes you feel better anyway. You can still explain what you mean if someone doesn't get it (it doesn't have to be a bad/rude person, it's just that is something new for many of us, especially the elders, that are not so much online or informed about this kind of pronouns/changes). BTW you can try watching tonight's show about the Diversity Media Awards, maybe you'll get some more recent news on that matter too (IDK).

Hope this helps somehow, please feel free to ask for further infos if you need!

[thistableforone]

piling up here some tag games I’ve been tagged in ✨ pt. 3

🌼 this picrew chain - tagged by @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare

i'm so late to this but!! very cute

🌸 5 songs you’re loving right now - tagged by @julesnichols

i'm afraid these are mostly in italian rn ahah

too sweet (hozier)

considera (colapesce e dimartino)

so american (olivia rodrigo)

euforia (annalisa)

modì (gio evan)

ragazzi fuori (clara)

rocketship (llunr)

aria (margherita vicario)

picture you (mumford and sons)

ted lasso anthem (marcus mumford). always.

🌻 15 questions, 15 friends - tagged by @julesnichols

are you named after anyone? nope, no one. my dad just liked the name

when was the last time you cried? i don't remember clearly. maybe last week?

do you have kids? no thank you

what sports do you play/have played? i don't play anything currently, but i used to play volleyball when i was a kid (+ swimming for a couple of months)

do you use sarcasm? not much

what is the first thing you notice about people? the general vibe really, and if they smile or not.

what is your eye color? brown

scary movies or happy endings? i don't watch scary movies!! definitely happy endings :)

any talents? mhh... writing? taking nice pictures? but those don't really feels like talents...

where were you born? north of italy!!

do you have any pets? i have two babies (my cats)

how tall are you? 1,67 m more or less

favorite subject in the school? math, but at the end of high school i really loved literature, english, politics and IT, too.

dream job? as someone said, i simply don't dream of working :)

🏵️ 20 questions for fic writers - tagged by @beckstraordinary

How many works do you have on AO3? 20, a very nice round number!!

What's your total AO3 word count? apparently around 198,713

What fandoms do you write for? i currently write for the ted lasso fandom only

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Breaking down (the walls) - hope you'll be safe (in the arms of another) - Touch me (like you do) - we should just kiss (like real people do) - no one's keeping score

Do you respond to comments? yes i do!!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? i think i only wrote one and it was a ff about maura isles

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? it's rather hard to compare happy endings, so i can't choose

Do you get hate on fics? it hasn't happened yet

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes i do, that's how i started basically (i miss it a bit, recently i've not been in the mood much). i'd say that my smut is... unnecessarily long and emotional. i fully believe it's a great way to understand who a character is.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? i wrote two - one was a castle x rizzoli and isles crossover about kate and maura together in college that i dnf-ed at a certain point. the second was this supergirl x rizzoli and isles crossover i'm still very fond of. i had so much fun writing that, and i still think it makes perfect sense :)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of

Have you ever had a fic translated? yes, very recently!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? no, i don't think i could

What’s your all time favorite ship? i don't think i have one above all. i was really into caskett (castle) and supercorp (supergirl), but now i've grown past both, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? i have a supercorp wip that i thought was very cute

What are your writing strengths? i think... construction of the line as a whole, if that makes sense. i try to make the words flow well and sound nice together. also dialogue, showing emotions through little gestures, intimacy, and lately introspection.

What are your writing weaknesses? i can't for the life of me write descriptions. of anything. i hate adjectives. i also get hyperfocused on the dynamic between two characters and refrain from including anyone else. oh also worldbuilding/background stuff... i just don't care.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i don't think i've ever included it. but if i had to, i would do it with my own language.

First fandom you wrote for? only italians will get this one... un medico in famiglia. i still remember the first time inspiration hit.

Favourite fic you’ve written? definitely you said yes as I said please. i'm so proud of it and i was really inspired!!

no pressure tags, for whichever game you want to participate in!! @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare @rancoreedisprezzo @julesnichols @calicomarie11 @fuddlewuddle

[rjalker]

I don't speak Italian :(

Translation by @el-the-cell:

Yesterday the Great Circle came to inspect the State Prison for his seventh yearly visit, asking me for the seventh time:

"The prisoner insist on supporting his absurd lie?" "You know very well that you are tall, as well as long and wide." "Lie! Measure my height, then, I shall believe you!"

It's been seven years, and I'm still in prison, but I keep existing, in the hope that these memories of mine could let a class of rebels arise, that refuse to live in a limited dimensionality, which for the clarity of you, inhabitants of space, I will call "flatland".

Credits shown:

FLATLAND from the fantasy novel of many dimensions by Edwin A. Abbot Film-making by Michele Emmer

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on the surface of which shadows with luminous contours move without being able to lift or dip. Straight lines, triangles, squares, hexagons and other geometrical shapes. This way you will have a correct enough idea of my country and of my compatriots. However we are not able to see anything of all that. Nothing is visible for us, except straight lines. I shall demonstrate why right away.

Let's take an equilateral triangle. If you, inhabitants of space sink your eye to the level on which it lays, it will, bit by bit, cease to appear as a shape, to appear as a straight line. Well, that is exactly what we see in Flatland when an acquaintance approaches us.

"Good morning, my dear!" "It's a pleasure to see you again!" "Is everyone doing well?" "Please give my regards to your lady!" "Goodbye!"

-How do you recognise each other?- You will ask. I shall take my time to answer you later.

Allow me to talk about the climate and the accommodations in my country. As with you, so with us there are four cardinal points: north, south, east and west. Since there isn't a sun, or other celestial bodies, it is for us impossible to determine which way the north is with the usual method. We od have our own system, though. Here, a natural law dictates that there shall be a constant attraction towards the south. And this attraction constitutes our compass. In the cities we are guided by the houses, of which the roofs are always pointing towards the north, to protect us from rainfall. The rain further helps with orientation, as it alway comes from the north. In the countryside, where there are no houses, the trees can serve as a guide, with the points always facing north. But if you happen, like it happened to me, to walk on a perfectly deserted plain, you'll be forced to stay still for hours, waiting for rain.

But let us go back to the problem of inhabitants. The inhabitants of Flatland. Our women are straight lines. Soldiers and workmen, which are our inferior classes, are isosceles triangles. Our bourgeoisie consists of equilaterals, namely triangles with equal sides. Our professionals and gentlemen are squares (class to which I, myself, belong to), and five sided shapes. Immediately above that comes aristocracy, that begins with six-sided shapes and goes on until the many-sided ones, awarded with the honorary title of "polygonal". When the number of sides becomes so great, and the size of the sides so small, a shape becomes indistinguishable from a circle. That is how you become part of the sacerdotal order, or the order of circulars: the uppermost class. In our social order, a natural law dictates that the male son shall have one more side than the father, thus climbing the ladder of nobility. This way the son of a square is a pentagon, the son of a pentagon is a hexagon, and so on. It is not that way for soldiers and workers. The son of an isosceles will always be an isosceles. I remember one time when two isosceles parents brought an equilateral into the world. It was reason to celebrate for hundreds of metres! But the newborn, recognised as "regular", was immediately taken from the despairing parents. An equilateral without offspring was summoned by the congress of the Great Circles.

"Equilateral bachelor, at your command" "You shall adopt the newborn equilateral!"

Held under oath, the new father pledged to never allow the adopted child to see his parents ever again. He now belonged to a superior class.

(Isosceles triangles gather in a house)

"We no longer accept abuses!" "Let's bring down the unjust laws!" "No one will be able to stop us!"

The acute-angled hoi polloi managed, in some to their seditions, to find leaders capable of making the Wisdom of the Circles their superior strength and numerical advantage.

"Isosceles! United, we will win!"

But the polygons manage almost always manage to stifle the sedition in the bud.

"We need to convince the leaders of the uprising to accept to partake in a discussion." "I'll tell the medics to stand ready."

The isosceles, leader of the rebels, is induced into entering one of the State Hospitals, to undergo an accurate medical examination.

(Hexagonal medic, in a German accent:)

"How is an artificial expansion possible? Thanks to a perfect surgery, the isosceles - made regular and innocuous - is thus allowed to become part of the privileged classes."

This way, the hapless mob of isosceles, deprived of their leadership, will let themselves be stabbed by a small group of their brethren, hired by the Great Circle and kept ready in the State Forts, in case of emergency.

"Soldiers, the fatherland calls!" "Ready for inspection! Present, arms! Attention! Right face! Forward March! Present, arms! Forward March!"

"Fire! Fire!"

"Fire! Fire! Fire! Wipe 'em all out! Exterminate them!"

"Fire! Fire!"

In our annals there are no less than 120 revolutions. And they all ended like this.

Some very important figures in Flatland are women. Being straight lines, They are basically invisible for us, inhabitants of the two dimensional world. A law forces them to constantly move their back part, so that we, flat beings, can see them when they arrive. Their character is ever-changing, and they get angry very easily. Since their end part is very sharp, it is not advisable to start a discussion with them in the streets.

"Please, do give way. I am in a hurry. Move aside!" "Actually, I am as well. And I arrived before you." "I'm not in the mood to waste time. Move!" "My lady, you offend me. I don't understand." "My patience has a limit!" line stabs isosceles triangle

As we have well understood, being touched by a furious woman can be very dangerous in Flatland. When we notice a woman passing through the street, we, the men, are all very careful not to cross her, or make her nervous. Our women's changing nature often causes real family tragedies. It's not rare that a woman gone crazy will exterminate her whole family, husband and children first.

"Enough, I'm sick of being at your services! I want to leave, I want my own freedom!"

An insane woman that wanders through the city immediately results in the intervention of soldiers, who are forced to eliminate her.

"Enough, go away! Stop! I'm sick of this!" "Let's get away, quick! She's dangerous." "Halt! That's enough."

Women are not a joke. Despite this, our supreme rulers, the Circles, are profoundly attracted to women. Especially the most beautiful and corrupted ones.

"Did you see that Let's follow them."

Dancing is one of the most beloved activities by circles, and all the people of flatland. And without women, what kind of dancing would it be?

A very delicate geometric problem for us, inhabitants of the flat world, a problem that inhabitants of space don't even imagine, is how to recognise each other in the street. One method consists of going around the other shape, touching gently side against side, in order to understand what shape we have encountered. We must be very careful. A brusque movement - a simple touching of the edge - can cause immediate death. But what I the reason for our problem? It's an issue of plane geometry. If I, a square, encounter another geometric shape, I'll see (as opposed to you, inhabitants of space) nothing but lines. It can be very difficult to distinguish who I have in front of me, based on what I see. I could even fail to recognise a woman.

Another big problem in my country are irregulars: geometrical shapes with unequal sides. They have difficult relationships with everyone. They can't get a job. Nobody wants anything to do with them. Even their parents don't want them.

"Just leave." "We've had enough of the problems you cause us."

Thus, the irregulars vent their anger of excluded and different on whoever first happens to be in range, causing the intervention of soldiers, who are only waiting for an excuse to intervene.

"He's dangerous! Eliminate him! Immediately!"

There is no doubt that the irregulars live very unhappy lives in flatland. But we, on the other hand, must defend our geometric regularity. Does something similar, if I may say so, not happen in your spacial world?

Years ago the fashion of colouring your sides spread in our world. Everyone competed to show off the most dazzling colours. Even the soldiers put on their dress uniforms.

The time has come that I, the square, protagonist of this tale, explain why I am in prison, where I receive the periodic visits of the Great Circle, where he invariably asks me:

"Do you still insist on your absurd lies?" "I cannot do otherwise. You know it well." "Then you shall remain in prison." "I will retain the memory of what I had the occasion to see."

And what I lived through, was the greatest adventure of my life. It began inside my house, where I live with my three sons - pentagons - (According to the law of flatland, children have one side more than their parents) with the servants - triangles of various shapes - with my wife and my son, some of the servants and two grandsons (hexagons, obviously). Then, one night, I was coming home from a tiring day. As usual, I was welcomed by my wife, and by one of my grandsons, who was drawn to geometry.

"Grandpa, you taught me that in our world length and width exist: the directions in which anything expands. Therefore if I want to calculate the surface area of a square, with a side length of, let's say, three, you'll need exactly nine little squares of unitary length. The area is three squared, which equals nine. Then why couldn't you give a meaning to the expression 'three to the power of three'?"

"Oh, nonsense! Go to sleep, I'm tired."

And I retreated to my room. I could not have predicted that I would be so soon and so spectacularly proven wrong. In the middle of the night I was woken, together with my wife, from a loud noise. I ordered my wife to return to her room. The loud noise announced the visit, dream or reality, of a being that I have since then considered sacred: the divine sphere.

The sphere. Only later I understood what it was. It had descended to visit my world. To visit us, beings unworthy and incapable of contemplating it. Obviously, I couldn't understand or see that I had a three-dimensional object in front of me, which showed on the plane of my world, what you would call a section of its shape. I did not understand it until the sphere decided to let me rise with it into space as you know it. Since that moment, I have seen things that I can not even begin to describe, for my word is unsuitable. And taken by the thrill of space, I threw myself into the analogy. But if really three dimensional objects do exist, why not think about not only about three to the third, but also about three to the fourth, why not see the cube - yes, it is divine - but in four dimensions? And seeing the sphere as well, in four dimensions? Even though I am now in prison, where I will remain forever, for trying to convince my too unworthy compatriots of the existence of space, I thank the divine sphere, that allowed me to see, or maybe dream, for a moment, the wonders of infinite space.

[haz3-daz3]

Here I'm then with a drifters request ^^. What about some fluffy Naoshi hc's? I need some fluff in my life right now haha (tell me if it's too vague!)

I did it. idk if this counts as fluff however :/

I hope it's enough though!

lots of swearing because hey it's not a Naoshi fic without the swearing

Naoshi Kanno x F!Reader Fluff Headcanons (SFW)

So being stuck in the woods where a bunch dogs and cats walking on two feet referring to you as some weird-ass “Sky God” or whatever the shit they decide to label you as definitely going to grate on a guy’s nerves. Especially if your name is Naoshi Kanno.

Why in the hell is he even here? The man remembers seeing the blue sea fuckin’ plummeting into it in high speed and suddenly he’s in somewhere else where dragons and shit are hogging the sky who then burn a bunch of people to a crisp. Which Naoshi took care of because fuck that shit messing up with his head.

And now he’s in said woods, or jungle, he can’t fucking tell all he knows is that it’s hot as summer dog shit. Which wouldn’t surprise there’s way too many dogs in this place. And not to mention a goddamn Italian who can’t speak Japanese. Asshole.

So when you appeared all stupid with that dumb airheaded smile and speaking in his tongue he had to take a double take because what in the fuck, why the fuck was there some chick here??? Also what translation charms?? This world is too damn confusing he sometimes thinks he’s drunk too much and is dreaming at some bar or in the barracks drooling on the floor.

But ever since then, you’ve, for some reason, decided that you found him fun and have been following him around because…well fuck if he knows. This entire follow-Naoshi thing has been going on for some weeks now and…it’s not unpleasant. Not that he’ll ever admit that to you. Tch.

It’s not that Naoshi doesn’t know how to interact with women, he’s certainly asked his friends and comrades in the 343rd Air Group to send gals his way on account of him wanting to settle down after the war but you’re quite different from those more demure dames that he’s used to, huh? He finds it weird that he’s just accepted that he was kind of being pursued instead of being the pursuer. Not the kind of things a man thinks about while speeding through the air trying not to get killed before taking down everyone else with you but then again, Naoshi rarely thought too deeply besides where he’ll get his next meal, lay or drink. Or all of it.

In other words, Naoshi’s dumbly staring at you all unsure because for some reason you thought it’d be great to cut up those apples and peel mangoes you keep asking the Italian to help you get and feeding it to him because he was apparently being “too cranky”? He was pissed off because damn bugs keep getting stuck to his scarf and what the fuck keeps biting him?!

“The fuck do you mean cranky?! This hellhole’s got mosquitoes everywhe—“

That was the sound of you shutting Naoshi up by shoving a bunny-carved apple into his wide, spitballing, ranty mouth.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry.” You said, snickering like it was supposed to mean something but really it just made him chew on his fruit more, enraged. But just as he was about to speak, you shoved more fruits into his mouth.

The entire afternoon was spent with you being your weird 2024 self asking shit about him and his life and…being interested. Which he won’t lie was refreshing, but he hated the fact that it left him feeling unsure since his previous flings would ask him shit too but never with that look in your eye.

Naoshi still can’t believe you’re from a hundred and so years after he was born. “Are all the women in your time this forward?” He snorted, willingly snagging a bite of the mango you’ve peeled for the nth time, he doesn’t know nor care. It just feels oddly nice sitting down under a tree and not think about whether he’ll be sent to a mission that might mean his last, whether he’ll even have the chance to say goodbye to friends and family.

But your reply threw him off balance more than the first time his Kawanishi N1K failed on him and he thought he was gonna die.

“Only to the men we like.”

…Huh.

“The fuck?” Naoshi muttered, his voice not that loud, belligerence-laced tone that it usually was as he looked at you and oh shit, that blush is cute.

You only smiled to yourself all coy and bashful and he doesn’t know how the fuck you manage that but he stayed frozen on the ground, mango juices staining the corner of his lips while he watched you walk away.

And then his brain finally caught up with what happened and he scrambled to his feet, sprinting after you, catching your wrist.

Pulling you to him, your body pressed against his chest as he decided “fuck it” and smashed his lips against yours.

Was it uncoordinated as shit? It was but that didn’t matter.

Not when you tilted your head and your hands went up under his aviator’s cap to grasp at his trimmed black strands.

[annashadowstar]

A story about Chris Galeforce meeting Mirage Felizima. This is their first time meeting in my Au. I hope you guys like the story. I use google translate on the italian.

Tw: Stabbing.

Mirage Felizima - @capturecharlesau

Chris Galeforce - me

"Breaking news, after 5 months of mystery from the death of Dreamers family, the police decide to close the case. The dead body of Elizabeth Dreamer was sliced into three pieces and Michael Dreamer's body was tied up in strange blue strings. The police guess he died of blood loss. Their youngest child, Lily Dreamer, was gone missing for the past 5 months. Daniel Dreamer was also found missing after the death of Dreamer's family. How they died was still a mystery says to the polices."

The soldiers in the cafeteria were surprised by the news. They then start to discuss how the Dreamer family died. Some say they were robbed and other says the Toppat Clan did it. While other soldiers were talking, a young soldier named Chris Galeforce was eating, facing down as he overheard the conversation of other soldiers. Someone then walks over to Chris and sits next to him. "Hey, bro." Chris looks up and faces his adopted brother, Charles Calvin. "Oh, hey Charles. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing great! Um... Are you ok after you heard the news?" Chris knows why Charles is asking him this since he was the only person who knows about his secret. "Yeah... I'm fine. Don't worry about it." Chris gives Charles a small smile. Three other soldiers come and sit with Chris. Chris looks at the soldiers. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, Chris." All three soldiers waves. The three soldiers are Rupert Price and the Bukowski twins, Calvin and Konrad. "Yo, Chris! How was the mission with Rupert?" Oh yeah. The mission with the Toppat stealing the ruby.

"It was... Um... The Toppat got away." Chris answers. Calvin rise an eyebrow. "How do they get away?"

"I don't know. Maybe they are very good with the plans?"

"Plus, those Toppat we met is huge! They are like six feet tall." Rupert explains before taking a bite of his dinner. "By the way, What do you guys think happened to the Dreamer family?" Konrad asked. Chris flinch at the name as Charles put his hand on his shoulder. "Who knows? Might be killed by the Toppat. Or they might get robbed. Plus, who will hurt the world's richest and kindest family in the world?" Calvin ask, food in his mouth.

The 'kindest' family in the world? More like the world's most toxic. "What did those families do?" Rupert asked, curious. "Well, from what I heard, they give money to the poor and build a park for a school. They even give food to the people who needed the most." Calvin listed all the 'good things' the Dreamer family did. Chris rolled his eyes but no one could see it since his hair was covering it.

'They only know the outside but not the inside.' Chris thought, continue eating his dinner. "If they did all of that, a lot of people must love them." Rupert point his fork at Calvin.

"Yeah, I know. You know Daniel Dreamer, right? I didn't meet him in person but I bet he is very kind." Konrad comments. Well, they got that correct. "Well, we only know about them when they're outside, but what about the inside?" Charles asked, making the three soldiers look at him. "Well... On the inside, they must love their children very much. I bet they give their children a goodnight kiss." Chris spit his drink out and start coughing. "Excuse me, what?" Chris looks at Konrad.

"What? Most of the parents give their children goodnight kisses." Chris wants to throw up. His parents? A GOODNIGHT KISS?! He didn't give get a hug from them, let alone a goodnight kiss. The dinner is over and everyone was heading back to their camp tent. Chris cringe up, still thinking about the 'goodnight kiss'. "An interesting talk, don't you think?" Charles asks Chris.

"Yeah. The 'Goodnight kiss' was sooooooo good to talk with. I will rather burn the house down then get a goodnight kiss from them. Blaw"

Charles laughs. When they got to their tent, they sit down on their bed and begin to talk. When night hits, they got on the bed, and begin to sleep. Chris, on the other hand, can't sleep. He turns his body around and face Charles's bed. "Hey, Charles, you're asleep?" Chris whisper. Charles opens one of his eyes and looks at Chris. "What's wrong? Want me to give you a goodnight kiss?" Charles jokes. "What... No... Just want to tell you that I'm going out for a bit."

"You know you will get in trouble for that, right?" Charles sits up as Chris follows. "Well, get any better idea about how to sleep faster?" Charles shakes his head. Chris got off his bed and put on his uniform and put on his earpieces. "If I got into any trouble, I will call you from those earpieces, ok?"

"If you get in trouble, I am not involved." Chris give Charles a smile and a thumbs-up as Charles went back to sleep. Chris got to where the cliff is and sit down, looking up at the stars. Chris always loves to see the stars, since he will sit with their little sibling all the time to watch the stars. "I miss them so much..." Chris moves his hair, showing two large scars on his face. "They know nothing about them... whatever. It's better that they're dead... but what happened to them?"

Chris then heard something. He quickly covers his eyes with his hair and stands up, waiting for whatever comes out. A man, looking around 30, come out and saw Chris, froze in the spot. "Who are you and what are you doing in the government camp?" Chris asked, stay on guard. "A government camp? Little boy, I didn't see your government name here."

Chris notices the hat he's wearing and glares at the man in front of him. "You're one of the Toppat members, aren't you? Well, you're coming with me." The man smiles. "If you can catch me, ragazzino" The man then starts to run away. Without thinking, Chris runs after him. Jumping over the log and dodging the branches. Chris then started to catch up to the Toppat but then, he made a shape turn, making Chris crash into the tree. "Ow, I think my nose broke."

"Pfft, is that all you got?" The Toppat continues to run but then was run into a portal and was caught by Chris. "Che diamine?! You cheat!"

"You think this is a game? You're coming with me." Chris starts search the Toppat.

"Cool. Do you even know the way back?" Chris stands up and holds onto his shirt. "Of course, I know. It is... um..." Chris looks around the woods, but nothing looks familiar. "Let me guess, we're lost, no?" Chris looks at the Toppat. "Yeah, and that's thanks to you."

"Hey, not my fault that you starts to chase me."

"If you didn't run, I won't chase you. Whatever." Chris reaches for his earpiece but notices there's nothing on his ear. "Wait what?" Chris search for his pocket, but nothing. "If you're looking for that earpiece, it drop while you were running.” Chris turns to the Toppat. “Then why don’t you tell me?”

“Why should I?”

Chris groan made enough with this Toppat. "Oi, I never got your name!" Chris turns to the Toppat and glares at him, which of course, he can't see his eyes. "Why would you want to know?" Chris asked.

"Don't know. So I could stop calling you ragazzo carino." Chris rise an eyebrow. "What? Can you speak English please?"

"What, can't say my home language now?"

"Ok, 如果你想让我说我的母语，我可以一直这样跟你说话-"

"OK, OK! You win!" Chris smiles a bit and turns, start walking as the Toppat follows. "So... Where are we going?"

"I'm gonna try to find a way back to my camp. As for you, you're still coming with me." Chris answers. The Toppat looks at Chris. "Hey, Knock knock."

"Not now. I need to find my earpiece."

"...Knock knock~"

"...Who's there..."

"Joe!"

"Joe wh-"

"JOE MAMA!!!" Chris flinches at his loud voice and turns to the Toppat. "Why are you yelling? You're gonna call in the wolves."

"Wait, there are wolves?"

"Maybe. Come on, let's keep walking. I don't want my brother to me worried."

"You have a brother?"

"I was adopted. He is my adopted brother. I also have a little sibling." Chris answers. "What was your little sibling's name?" Chris looks at the Toppat and answers. "Lay. Their name is Lay."

"No last name?"

"They do have the last name. But it brings back a lot of bad memories." The Toppat replied with an 'oh'. "I also have a brother. He is a Toppat like me and I have a little sister." Chris suddenly stops walking and looks around. "Hey, why did you stop?" The Toppat asked. "Shh!" Chris continues to look around and notices something moving. "Hey, Toppat. Did you bring anyone with you?" The Toppat looks at Chris. "I have a name and it's Mirage, ragazzo carino" Chris turned to the Toppa- um- Mirage. "Just answer my question, did anyone come with you?"

"If I did, they already come and beat you up already." Chris turns back to the noise before something comes out. A bear. A giant freaking bear. " Holy S***!! Is that a bear?!" Chris turns to the Toppat. "RUN!!!"

Both Chris and Mirage start running while the bear follows them. "How is there a bear?!"

"How am I supposed to know?!"

"You have a camp here?! Who else am I gonna ask?!"

"Never this far from the camp!"

Mirage then trips on a branch and twists his ankle. "Ow!!! S***" Chris quickly turns to Mirage as the bear towered over him. It open its mouth and about to bite Mirage, it bit a large branch. Chris holds onto the branch and steps in front of Mirage, saving him. "You." Chris picked up another branch. "Stay AWAY FROM HIM!!!" He then stabs it into the bear's eyes. It screams in pain as Chris anger the bear.

Chris turns to Mirage and drops the branch and picks up Mirage continues to run. Mirage holds on to his hat and looks at Chris, blushing in embarrassment. Chris then stops running and looks ahead of him. A cliff. "Shoot." Chris looks behind him and saw the bear was still chasing him. "Hey, isn't that the cliff where we meet?" Mirage points at the cliff, which is pretty far. "Ok, you might want to hand on tight."

"Wait, wait, wait, what are you doing?"

"JUMP!!!" Chris jumps off the cliff as the bear tries to grab them. Mirage was screaming bloody loud as a portal appears under them as they land back to where they met. They watch the bear jump and fall into the ocean. "That's a dumb bear."

Chris then put Mirage down. "Are you hurt anywhere?" Chris asked.

"I should be the one that asking that. You were fighting with a freaking 7 feet tall bear!!!" Chris kneels to Mirage's ankle and starts healing him. "You got healing magic? Man, you should be a media. The Toppat Clan always welcomes you."

"Yeah... no thanks. There. Think you can stand and walk?" Mirage slowly stands up and tries. "Yeah, won't die."

"Oh, here's my earpiece." Chris put his earpiece on and was met by yelling. "CHRIS!!!! WHERE WERE YOU?! YOU WERE GONE FOR 7 HOURS!!!" Charles yelled, worried. "Dude, calm down! I'm fine. You're gonna pop my ear if you keep yelling."

"Chris Galeforce." Chris flinch. Oh no. "Heyyy, dad."

"You come back to the camp right now, young man. We will have a little talk." Hubert Galeforce says, clearly mad. "Yes sir." Chris took off his earpiece and put it into his pocket. "So... you're in trouble, right?" Mirage ask.

"Yep, pretty much. So... where are you gonna go?" Mirage didn't answer and looked around. "Gonna call my brother and told him that I'm going back." Chris nods. "Um... Tonight is interesting. Hope you have a nice day and... Let's meet up again... somewhere."

"Why not here?"

"Because me and my brother will sometimes come. I don't want you to get caught." Chris explains.

"Wow, is a government falling in love with a Toppat?" Chris blushes in embarrassment and looks away. "Oh... I will take that as a yes..." Mirage looks at the ground and kicks some rocks. "See you again, Mirage." Chris starts walking away and turns to Mirage and gives him a big smile. "Let's meet up again! Same time tomorrow." Chris runs back to the camp and meets up with a very mad Hubert and a worried Charles. 'I am in very big trouble, aren't I?'

"Where had you been, young man?!" Hubert ask-yelling. "Um... I can't sleep so go visit the cliff, sir."

"For 7 HOURS?!"

"I fell asleep?" Hubert pinches the bridge of his nose. "Go back to the camp with your brother. We will talk about this later." Chris nods and follows Charles. "Sorry, he just come in without any warning."

"It's ok, Charles. It's not your fault." Chris smile. "By the way, what actually happened?" Chris looks to the other side. "I... um... will tell you at another time."

"Okay?" Charles answered, confused and curious at the same time.

[asagisnobody]

As I said, I wanted to do a list of the books I've read about or with Odysseus in it, and give some feedback about this guy in them, but I warn you, there are some SPOILERS in it, so if you wanna read these books, be careful:)

Odysseus is a character it's easy to misunderstand, but all of these books have done wonderful with that... There are not the most famous, translated in every languages books. Some of them are only in English (don't even know if I translate them right) and other just in Italian:) so wanna ask if in other countries there are Odysseus' novel which have never been translated in other languages:)

Ok, let's start

1) "Odysseus: the oath" and "Odysseus: the Return" by V.M. Manfredi

Original Italian name: Il mio nome è nessuno (My name is Nobody)

Let's start from the fact that this book is of the amazing V.M. Manfredi. And that is gonna make you suffer so much you would hope to have never read it:') At least, that's my experience with it.

The narrator is Odysseus himself, who tells the reader his story from... The future. Yeah, because Odysseus never fulfilled the last part of Tiresias' prophecy so he never died and he never came back on Ithaca after some happy moments with his family.

So everything is sad. He remembered stuff and it's like you can actually feel him in the pages. It's a naive Odysseus, always looks like a child. It's wonderful his relationship with his father Laertes and all the connections with Greek mythology. What can I say? I love these books. I love that Helen always loved Odysseus. The use of παι and αττα as in the Odyssey. Ok, I'm crying.

2) Olympus series (Athena's Champion, Oracle's War and Sacred Bride) by Catherine Mayo and David Hair

Ok I read these in English so potentially I have not understood anything

Odysseus is not Laertes' son here. It's Sisiphus. And, for all the Olympians, the lore of these novels is absolutely amazing.

The narrator is still Odysseus in this fantasy series. Every character is different of how you can imagine him...except Theseus. Theseus is always Theseus. Odysseus is smart, but still a young boy, and there are sometimes looong explaination for him, but, in the end, it's him to save the day:)

And I loooooove Diomedes in there. Their friendship is pure gold, and Penelope (whops, Arnacia)'s first meeting with Odysseus....

Ok, here Odysseus loves a Trojan princess I'm not gonna nominate for spoilers (Kyshandra, better known as Cassandra) and his love for Penelope was born slowly... And actually never happens in the books. Shhhh.

Love the choose of the stories: the kidnapping of Helen, The war of Thebes, the Oath of Tyndareus....

And everyone always are bullying Odysseus for his height. Like, "I was expecting someone taller" Diomedes said once.

Really, I love the mix between the myths and the new fantasy ambience. Read it. It's only in English, but read it.

3) The Adventures of Odysseus (all the six books) by Glyn Iliffe

Ok, Odysseus here is great. He's not the main character- a guy called Eperitus is- but he's the second main character. It's crazy how in the first chapter you meet a guy, a guy called Castor, and the the Oracle reveals you that that guy is actually Odysseus.

And I love how Odysseus' voice is said to be so charming that everyone stopps doing their stuff when he talks, and he is always on guard.

Or how noone - not even his best friend Eperitus- gets what in the Hades is he doing. Oh, do not read these books if you like Eurylochus because you're gonna hate him:) Another thing I love is that scene with Diomedes where he meets this guy, a beggar, who steal some stuff from his camp. He and his men finally take him, and the beggar is like:- don't you remember all these stuff told in the kings' council?- and Diomedes:- how in Hades do you know it??- - bro I'm Odysseus.

And he is like:- not even your mother would be able to recognise you!!

Then there is a lot about Eperitus, he's always like:- can I trust Odysseus or not??- his friend and his girlfriend:- yeah he's gonna save everyone.

Both of them died and... No, that's spoiler.

The Voyage of Odysseus is my fav:)

4) Il Dio della guerra by Andrea Frediani

Don't know if it has an English transcription, but the name would be "The War God"

Ok,I like Frediani's books, I love "gli Invincibili", but I don't particularly like this book.

The story follows Tecmessa trying to destroy Achaeans putting discordance between them and manipulating Ajax.

And then Odysseus. Ofc she is able to trick everyone except him. He just comes to her and he's like:- know your game lady.

And me:- yeeeeeeaaaaahhh it's my guy!!!!

And when her plan is failing who is the responsible?

In the end, ofc Tecmessa wins, but does Odysseus really lose?

Whatever, he's always here:- I don't care about glory, I just want to come back home.

And you can't actually understand if he's serious or not.

5) L'eroe di Atene by Andrea Frediani

As I said on the last one. Title on English " the hero of Athens"

How could possibly a book about Theseus have Odysseus in it?

Easy, the prologue is set in the Trojan horse.

Odysseus is so funny there. Diomedes is bullying him of being from a poor island and he reacts so well. And in the epilogue he's pretty philosophical. Yes, Ody and Dio hate eachother in this book, but whatever....

I have still to read:

- Murder in Mykaenai and its sequel. Unfortunately it looks like it exists just in Australia and in New Zealand:(

-The eight arrow.

I skipped all the well known and famous novels because it's useless I said something about them:(

All credits to the authors.

[turuin]

Years ago, in a different city, in what feels like a different life, my then-girlfriend/now-wife and I bought a book. We loved it to bits, and afterwards we lent it, and then never got it in return (for a very good and very sad reason, so no grudges) and then we bought another copy. It was "Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch", in its italian edition aptly named "Buona Apocalisse a Tutti" (you can roughly translate it to "Merry Apocalypse, y'all!"), written of course (as the whole world now knows) by Neil Gaiman (a recurring presence in our book collection) and Terry Pratchett, which I mostly knew after Discworld and its adventure videogame adaptation. We loved every word of it - this is why we bought it twice. Many years later, we were absolutely delighted of being able to watch the Amazon adaptation of that book - as is our habit, I watched in english while she watched it in italian; and now here we are with a season two of a book that never existed, a continuation of a story that, for us, was more or less happily concluded with the first novel. I've just finished watching season 2, in english - my wife has started it in italian earlier this evening and I was delighted to see her reaction to episodes one and two, having already been there. Having finished watching it, I can confirm it is brilliant, but that is not enough - it is necessary. Every moment, to its very final climax - because that's what it is, that sentence, and I won't spoil anything about it - made me aware that I needed a continuation of that story. That Aziraphale and Crowley had so much, so much to give yet as characters - this needed to be done, exactly the way it has been done. So, even if this post is drowned in the infinite white noise of the internet, I really feel I have to say thank you for this story, @neil-gaiman. This kind of storytelling, this kind of story is exactly what I personally needed right now, and I suspect a lot of people in the world can actually relate to that. And I believe I know now, more or less, where you will be going with S3. And I can say, I'm definitely, utterly, ineffably hyped for that. Fingers crossed, and hope all our views and rewatches combined will help you make it.

[avalentina]

Love's Booked Part 1 📖

Image Not Mine

Warnings: None that I can think of. Some kissing, a bit of angst, but mostly cute fluff.

Word Count: 3.6k

I’m grabbing another box of reshelves when the little chime above the door of Rose’s Books dings. My grandmother used to call me her little rose and it was her who fueled my love of books. When I get out from the storeroom, a young guy about my age is wandering around looking at everything. He looks like he just finished an early evening run. His short hair has these adorable natural curls to it and when his amazing brown eyes meet mine, the box slips from my hands and thumps to the floor, landing on my foot.

“Merda, ouch.” I yelp as he rushes over with a shy smile on his face and grabs the box. Easily hoisting it onto the nearby counter.

“Is your foot okay?” He asks with an American accent and my stomach erupts in butterflies.

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Bruised toes tend to happen when you own a bookstore.”

“Oh, you own this place? It’s cozy, I like it.” He says, that shy smile back.

“Thank you.”

“I take it you’re Rose?” He asks.

“Well technically my name is Y/N, Rose is a nickname from my best childhood memories, so it seemed fitting. But anyways, did you just come in to browse or are you in need of a specific title?” I ask, shaking myself out of the daze and back into sales mode.

“I was hoping you had a copy of The Sorcerer’s Stone. I lost mine.” He says sheepishly.

“I don’t have The Sorcerer’s Stone, but I do have The Philosopher’s Stone.” I say with a knowing smile.

“I keep forgetting it has a different name in the U.S.” He says and we fill the short walk over to its shelf with talk about Potter. I hand him the book and our fingers brush as he takes it from me.

“All set then, or do you need some time to browse?” I ask, hoping he opts for the latter option.

“I think I will take a peek around if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” I nod. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’m a firm believer that a good book is always better with a comforting drink.” I’ve got a little setup of some espresso, tea options, water, lemonade, and my favorite apple cider behind the register station.

“Maybe just a small lemonade.” He says and I grab him one before going back to my shelving. As I go around the shop reshelving I feel the weight of his eyes on me from time to time and can’t help but take quick glances over at him as well. He’s just so pretty to look at.

I hear the door chime again, as my best friends and business partners Livia and Nico come in to help me close up the shop. Nico grabs his first box and starts reshelving before setting it aside and rushing back over.

“Y/N why is Christian Pulisic in the shop right now?” He asks me and I guess he’s referring to the cute guy with brown eyes.

“He needed a new copy of Philosopher’s Stone. What’s wrong with that?”

“He's Christian Pulisic, one of the new signings for AC Milan.

“So he’s a footballer?” I ask.

“One of the BEST footballers ever. I bought his jersey to wear to games as soon as the transfer was finalized.”

“Okay Nico, breathe, he’s also a normal human being. Why don’t you do the reshelves in the kids section and I’ll finish your area.”

“Would it be a bad time for me to get his autograph?”

“Of course not, happy to chat with a fan.” The guy who I guess is kind of a big deal says to Nico with a genuine smile and extends his hand so Nico can shake it.

“Ciao. È un piacere conoscerti di persona. Sei incredibile. Adoro quando fai scivolare la palla tra le gambe di un altro giocatore, penso che tu la chiami nutmeg, comunque è così bello.” Nico says in rapid fire Italian.

“I'm going to be honest. I have no idea what you just said. I recognized nutmeg but that's about it.”

“Not to worry Christian, I can translate Nico for you. He said, “Hello. It’s nice to meet you in person. You’re amazing. I love it when you slip the ball through another player’s legs, I think you call it a nutmeg, anyway it's so cool.” I say. “Nico just has a tendency to get all of his rushed thoughts and ramblings out in Italian. It's a lot easier.”

“That makes sense. Maybe all I need is an Italian tutor.” He says, looking at me with that shy smile.

“Oooh, Y/N would be amazing at that. After all, she is half American.” Livia chimes in, having finished her round of reshelves.

Christian raises an eyebrow and my face flushes as I explain. “My father was on vacation in Florence when he met my mother who was on holiday there with her friends.”

“Her parents are the best Italian love story. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy and girl enjoy classic Italian food, boy up and moves to Italy to be with girl.” Livia adds and I bury my face in my hands.

“That's actually adorable.” Christian says. “So what do you say? Will you help me learn Italian?”

“I'll think about it.” I reply.

A little bit later Christian is ready to pay and I ring him up. I scrawl my number on the bottom of his receipt along with a little note while he and Nico talk a bit more.

“Text me when you're ready for your first lesson.” It says and I stick it inside the book before handing it to him.

“Receipt is in the book. They make great bookmarks.” I say as he leaves the store.

Later on that night I've just gotten settled in my apartment above the shop when my phone pings with a new text.

Same time tomorrow? He had texted.

I suppose. We can use the lounge area up the rounded staircase in the shop. I answer.

Christian sends back a thumbs up and I go for a quick shower. As I fall asleep I can't help thinking about his pretty face and shy demeanor. But it's the curls on top of his head that get my stomach tingling.

I get dressed the next morning with him in mind. Wearing a slightly lower cut shirt than normal. It's bright red and I pair it with black dress pants and a gold chain style belt. My sneakers are the only thing I refuse to compromise on.

When Christian arrives he's wearing an identical outfit to yesterday but I notice the AC Milan logo on the zip up this time.

“I take it you had training again today,” I say to him.

He nods and follows me up the rounded staircase in the middle of the shop to the mezzanine style space where we have chairs and a sofa set up for anyone who wants to read a bit while they're in the store.

“So what do you know?” I ask him.

“Well I know that Ciaò means hello, arrivederci is goodbye, and grazie is thank you, but that's about it.” He says and I smile.

“And what do you need to prioritize for learning?” I ask next.

“I'd like to be able to communicate with my team on the pitch.” He answers with that cute shy smile. "After that, anything and everything that will help me with press and media interactions."

“So pass, see, drop, ball, cross, shot, man on, etc.?” I clarify after we share a laugh over press and media interactions.

“Yeah that covers most of them, I take it you know football.”

“I know both world football and American Football. Although I'm still not sure I understand how the latter is classified as football when the only players that touch the ball with their feet are the punter and the kicker. Plus it's not even spherical.” I ramble and he lights up with a huge smile.

“I get it. It is kind of funny.” He chuckles. “So does that mean I'll see you at the San Siro?” he asks and this time it's my turn to laugh.

“Maybe for the derby. But I'll be in black and blue.” I say with a smile.

“Ahh, you're an Inter fan.”

“Which makes you the archenemy.”

“Oh no, whatever can I do to change your mind?” He says jokingly.

It was then I noticed that we'd been slowly leaning in closer to each other and now we were just inches apart.

“Fanculo, baciami.” (Fuck it, kiss me.) I say and close the distance pressing my lips against his for a short moment before pulling away.

“Can I grab you something to drink?�� I say in an attempt to get a breather, but before I can get up Christian pulls me back, kissing me again. I can't help but kiss him back.

“That, that was amazing.” He says in a whisper, smiling.

Eventually we both venture back down for waters. On his way out for the night Christian kisses my cheek and I blush like crazy. “See you tomorrow Y/N.” He says as he leaves. You wave goodbye and turn your mind to closing up when Livia interrupts you.

“I saw that.” She says with a giggle and I just smile at her. “And don't you have the day off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, he insisted on taking me for ‘an evening coffee and maybe gelato,’ were his exact words.” I say, a smile forming.

“You're into him! OMG wait until I tell Nico!” Livia exclaims. “He'll be begging for pitch side tickets.”

“Oh good Lord, you're right. You can't tell him, at least not yet, let me have tomorrow and then we can talk.” I tell her.

“Oh sure, make me keep gossip this good from my fiance.” She says back and we both laugh.

-The Next Evening-

I pair my favorite navy blue and gold constellations cold shoulder shirt with light wash flare denim jeans and my Ja 1 Chinese New Year sneakers. My Inter Snake necklace and a light gray leather crossbody bag with my wallet, phone, and sunglasses as my only accessories. Christian meets me just outside the bookstore in a white puma tee with a black logo and jeans.

“Bellissima.” (Beautiful.) He says as I exit.

“Grazie.” I say back with a smile.

“Any suggestions on the best spots around here?” He asks and I nod as we make our way to one of my favorite espresso places.

We arrive and take a seat outside as a waiter comes out to greet us.

“Buonasera, cosa posso offrirvi per questa splendida serata?” (Good evening, what can I get you two on this gorgeous night?) The waiter asks.

“Due espressi e due cannoli, per favore, grazie.” (Two espressos and two cannolis please, thank you.) I respond in rapid Italian. Christian just looks at me wide eyed.

“I ordered an espresso and a cannoli for each of us, the ones here are fantastic.”

“Do they have the Italian doughnut ball things?” Christian asks.

“Zeppola?” I ask him back just to confirm we're on the same page.

“Yeah, those.” He says smiling shyly.

“They should, but if you're on a sweet kick you gotta try the cream cheese Sfogliatelle.” I say back.

“I'm sorry, the cream cheese what?” He asks.

“The Sfogliatelle. Sfol-ya-tel-le.” I have him say it until he gets it. Which is pretty quick. “It's basically a croissant filled with cream cheese. They can also be filled with a custard, or sometimes almond paste.” I explain to him.

“I'm at your mercy here, whatever you like I'm down to try.” Christian says before adding, “Go crazy with it, I'm going to have to try it all eventually.”

When the waiter returns with our espressos and cannolis I order the zeppola and sfogliatelle, as well as a cream puff and a classic tiramisu.

Christian's eyes alight when everything arrives. I can't help but comment on it, “Looks like someone has a bit of a sweet tooth.” I say with a laugh.

“I'm usually more careful with it, but this feels like a good time to just let myself enjoy it since I just have light training and film tomorrow. We play Torino on Saturday, my first game at the San Siro.”

We enjoyed the espressos and pastries with light conversation. Christian told me a bit about his time at Chelsea but was very vague about it. It seemed like a place that frustrated him more than anything. After we finished, Christian insisted on paying even after I offered to split it with him considering what I ordered for us. As we were walking back to the store Christian and I exchanged stories about childhood. When I told him I played football at university on a scholarship he seemed pretty impressed and asked if I ever wanted to go pro.

“No. Towards the end of uni I felt more of the stress, I wasn't playing for fun anymore, I wasn't enjoying myself on the pitch, and I realized I didn't want to lose my love for the game.”

“What position did you play?”

“What didn't I play is the better question. I had really good pitch awareness, I acted as the secondary goalkeeper, but I usually played in the center, whether that was at center back or center mid. Sometimes striker, but I liked center back the best. It was more of a defensive midfield almost, with the way we played, but I got my share of goals and assists and a few clean sheets too.”

“Leftie or Rightie?” He asked and I answered with a proud smile on my face. “Dominant leftie.”

“Impressive.”

“I'm also left-handed but I actually golf and bowl right handed.”

“You bowl?”

“Of course, it's great for grip training. It helps exercise and build the muscles in your fingers, which is good for keepers.”

“Ok, damn, that's actually interesting. I'll have to ask Mike if he bowls.” Christian comments just as we reach the shop.

“Well, this is me.” I say and he shakes his head with a smile.

“You live above the store? Why does that not surprise me at all.”

“It's like the shortest commute to work a person can have and then I have more time with Astra and Aurora in the mornings.” I say and Christian raises a brow. “Come on up, I'll introduce you.”

We go up the back set of stairs inside the building and I unlock my door. Astra my huskydoodle and Aurora my havanese are sitting in their respective beds patiently waiting for me to call them out.

“Okay, are you ready?” I ask Christian. They won't bite him or growl or bark obnoxiously, or anything but they will go beg for all the attention. He nods and I give my girls the signal.

“Ciao Ragazze.” I say. At the mention of their code (hi girls) they come rushing out of their beds towards me for a few nuzzles before they begin their investigation of Christian.

Christian ends up spending about twenty minutes with me and the pups, before heading home to get some sleep. I went about business as usual the next morning, it was shipment day so I had plenty to keep me busy all day. Nico arrived late in the afternoon. He does all the businessy managerial paperwork on Fridays. Livia and I call it his office day. I'm on a quick break when Nico comes and grabs me.

“Someone requested you specifically.” He says as I follow him out to the front.

Christian is standing there in his training kit with a small black gift bag. “Hey you,” he says with a smile.

“Hey yourself, I didn't think you'd be by today.” I replied with a wide smile.

“I brought you something.” He says and goes to hand me the bag when Nico pipes up. “Y/N why don't you and Christian head up to your place, I'll close up the store tonight.” He says and shoos us both up the stairwell that's inside the storeroom. Once we get inside and Astra and Aurora settle, Chris hands me the bag. I pull out a badge style pass to the San Siro which is attached to a black lanyard.

“It’s an all-access pass into the tunnel and the reserved section for the game tomorrow.” Christian explains and I sigh.

“I’m flattered, really, but I can't. I work an open to close at the shop.” I say. I go to hand it back to him when my phone buzzes. “What the hell did you do?” I ask Christian after reading my message.

“I messaged Livia about my idea and she said she'd be happy to cover it for you.” He tells me.

“So is this what happens? We kiss twice, go on one maybe-date, and suddenly my world is supposed to revolve around you? Because I hate to break it to you, but that's not how shit works.” I say back, mildly pissed off.

“Y/N no. I'm sorry, I thought I was doing something nice for you.” He says sadly and suddenly I feel like shit for getting pissy with him.

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that.” I say. We stand in an awkward silence for about a minute when I break it. “Listen Christian, I wouldn't say no to a second maybe-date or a first official date with you, but I love my job, I love that store, and I have worked way too hard to get it to where it is. It's my livelihood, just like football is yours. I need to be here for the store just like you need to be there for your team.”

“Then you'll let me take you out after the store closes tomorrow?” He asks.

“I'd like that.” I say back.

“I admire your passion and dedication to the store, so I'm sorry if I made it seem like I didn't care. I should've tried to look at it from your perspective.” He apologizes.

“Can we kiss and make up now?” I ask with a sly smile and Christian smiles back before pulling me into him and kissing me sweetly.

“I think I'm going to like having kiss and make up time with you.” He says with a smile. One I happily return. We watch a few episodes of one of my favorite American shows while cuddling on my couch with the dogs. Eventually we both end up hungry, and I pan sear some steak and vegetables, boil some of my favorite fresh pasta and then toss it all together with some granulated garlic, fresh grated parmesan, and a poppyseed vinaigrette. After dividing it into two bowls I rejoin Christian on the couch.

“So, do you prefer Christian or Chris?” I ask him in between a bite of dinner.

“I'm good with either, it's usually Chris during casual conversations like this with my family, friends, and teammates.” He elaborates.

“Noted… Chris.”

After we finish eating, Christian insists on helping me with the dishes. As he's leaving I go to hand him the badge.

“Keep it,” he says. “Just in case you change your mind.” He kisses me soundly and heads out.

I go to head to bed and see the gift bag on the coffee table. I can tell there's more in there just by the way it sits. Sure enough, under a few pieces of tissue paper is the mostly white US National Team jersey. When I pull it out a note falls out.

Y/N,

I was thinking that maybe we could meet in the middle. Seeing as you're half American and all, a US Soccer jersey wouldn't be treason.

-Christian

P.S. if you do feel so inclined and want to wear my club jersey, feel free, I included one of those too.

I set the note aside and pull out the red and black jersey. Flipping it to look at the back I see Pulisic 11 and can't help but smile. I grab the USA one and check its back as well.

“He thinks he's so smooth.” I say to Astra and Aurora. “Va bene ragazze, è ora di dormire.” (Alright girls, sleep time)

Astra and Aurora follow me back to my bedroom. As soon as I open the door they go and jump up. Aurora sprawls out on the pillow that I don't use and Astra curls up right in my spot. I take a quick shower to get rid of the dirt from the day. Once I've got my sleep shirt on I lift the sheets. Astra moves to the other side so I can slip in. Then she scootches back over for snuggles.

When I get up the next morning I glance around the room and my eyes land on the red and black jersey. I text Livia to make sure she's still ok with covering for me. I pull on black skinny jeans, the USA jersey, and combat boots. I pull my hair back in a braid, add my sterling silver football long earrings, paint on a dark red lip, and draw my cat-eyes. I grab my crossbody bag and the pass, before stopping in the shop to thank Livia.

“Go get him girl!” She hollers as I leave for the San Siro.

Hope you enjoyed! I'm still working on part 2. It will probably be 3 parts total with an open ending so I can do check-ins in the future.

-Ava