#muse: valentina nott.

[hogwartshq]

the    following    blogs    are    to    be    unfollowed    due    to    failure    to    comply    with    activity    standards    outlined    in    the    previous    activity    check    on    friday    night.    please    note,    all    muses    and    faceclaims    are    now    reopened    and    if    at    any    point    you    should    wish    to    rejoin    us,    please    know    we    would    love    to    have    you    return    !

@ncvillcfm - neville longbottom & paul mescal.

@loveswrote - lavender brown & whitney peak.

@pvreslyth - lily moon & yang hye - ji.

@diviinations - cho chang, theodore nott, havana rose liu & lorenzo zurzolo.

@rcsilience - selina selwyn, padma patil, alisha boe & janhvi kapoor.

@cvrsedhero - harry potter & timothee chalamet.

and due to not receiving accounts or personal decision the following fcs are reopened; ruby cruz, madelyn cline, valentina zenere, camila mendes, renee rapp, josha stradowski !

[iinkheart]

SOCIAL MEDIA MEME ♔ Valentina Nott + INSTAGRAM

ft. lots of Christmas cheer and @seonhwang‘s Adara Nott, Arabella Wood, Molly Weasley and Liam Matheson, @litanyofdreams‘s Auden Burke, @prongslily‘s Anastasiya Krum and Barbara and Beau Griffiths, @fleurdelecours‘s Sibella Rosier, and @whispcr‘s Brent Nott, James Potter and Scarlett Macnair.

Send me a 👀 to see my Muses Instagram Page.

[smokehqs]

CHAPTER 03: TASTE OF HOPE

Litha has arrived and with it comes the heat of summer and short nights with swiftly approaching sunlight promises to fight away the darkness. After such gruesome and tragic attacks in the first half of the year, there’s a silent, but unanimous choice among the people of the wizarding world to rejoice in this light while it lasts.

Over what seems to be the course of a single night, a fair has been assembled in the same fields that would usually hold official quidditch league matches, flyers for the event tucked into copies of the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, and Witch Weekly alike. It’s announced on the Wizarding Wireless Network and posters are plastered across boarded up shop windows, usually without people knowing how they got there.

At the funfair, the grass is lush and the air is warm, the music that permeates the grounds overlaid with shrill sounds of pleasure instead of screams of fear. There’s a risk in having so many people gather in one place, there’s always a risk, but everything looks distance from the top of a ferris wheel, even the dangers of war. 

The peace won’t last forever, just like the summer will slip away, but that is what fuels people into flocking from their homes to take part in the event. For a week, they will be able to rejoice in knowing that the days are long and the nights are short, but they still know the darkness will return.

This fair/carnival will run for the rest of the month and while you’re free to interact with whomever you please (and encouraged to respond to any open starters you see), you will also be assigned a partner for the end of this chapter. 

Please find your muse and your partner on the list below and reach out to start plotting! And for any open starters you choose to create that are related to this chapter, please tag them as smokechapter:03.

Adelaide Boot and Luka Petrov

Hestia Jones and Pippa Strout

Iliana Solace and Zephyr Bell

Alastor Moody and Yuki Yamashita

Mafalda Hopkirk and Oskar Almstedt

Daisy MacNair and Patrick Finnegan

Han Lee and Narcissa Malfoy

Odette Vogel and Tristan Rojas

Bailey Shaw and Mirek Yaxley

Edith Clearwater and Zahi Shafiq

Henry Fawley and Miriam Clearwater

Cassidy Runcorn and Sofiya Nott

Leona Podmore and Valentina Nott

Nicholas Chastain and Vanja Novak

Juliette Fortescue and Zara Ivanova

Hilda Dagna Finnegan and Nathan Chastain

Alexander Church and Marcus Bulstrode

Kirsi Salo and Valerija Novak

Aliya Shafiq and Liliana Zabini

Levi Bulstrode and Lucius Malfoy

Felicity Grant and Rowan Montague

[teddylupines]

9, 22, 33, 45

9. What would your muse see if they gazed into the Mirror of Erised?

Teddy Lupin is like Harry Potter in many ways.But in this particular instance, when it comes to the Mirror of Erised, Teddy Lupin would see their parents.

They would see a woman with bubblegum-pink hair, and a man that has their nose. They would be bright and vibrant and there. But they would be alone. Andromeda would be there, so would all of the Weasleys and the Potters. It would be less obvious how war-torn Teddy’s life was from the start. They’d be a little more normal. The holes in their heart would be a little more full.

22. Does your muse have any skeletons in their closets?

Teddy has three things in their closet: a dust-grey suit for important occasions, a yellow and black Hufflepuff scarf that they always forget to pull out on chilly days, and a quilt Andromeda made folded up at the bottom. So, while there is room for hypothetical skeletons, they simply do not exist.

33. Would your muse be capable of using any of the Unforgivable Curses? And would they ever do so or have they ever done so in the past?

Teddy is soft. The idea of hurting someone in such a cruel manner? It leaves a sour taste in their mouth. It’s not in their nature, it never has been. But they might have to use one of these spells eventually, and that’s something they’re struggling to wrap their head around. They are pretending to be Valentina Nott, and she was not a kind woman. The Unforgivable Curses were spells she was familiar with. To keep up the facade of Teddy being this dead Wraith, they might have to hurt someone. If the time comes, and they hope it never does, they hope they will be able do what needs to be done.

45. What is your muse’s favorite myth or fairytale?

The Tale of the Three Brothers.What a young Teddy wouldn’t have done for the Resurrection Stone.

[whispcr]

💒 for the toast my muse would give at your muse’s wedding. [ idk go wild ]

💒 for the toast my muse would give at your muse’s wedding

There was a clatter of utensils clanking against the fine glass of the champagne flutes. The affair had been an elegant one, yet subdued enough that Brent didn’t deem it over the top. One area that hadn’t been skimped on, however, and where Brent imagined most of the budget had went was on the various wines that poured out of the fountain next to the buffet table. Brent’s own selection was a Cabernet Franc, personally more favorable to the red wines over the white. One his glass was etched ‘No die, but an ace for him.’ Each glass was engraved similarly with their own unique Shakespeare quote. When it was signaled that it was his turn to speak, Brent stood, lifting his glass. “As the person in this room who has known Valentina the longest, I suppose that is meant to qualify me as someone who knows her well.” He remembered the day well enough, even if he had only been a bit older than a toddler. In a way, Brent had almost resented her, then, knowing that she was welcomed into their home because their mother wanted her. He hadn’t realized then that Richard had merely given into Adolina’s desire for a child that she could influence. Considering their mother had little else to call her own, too meek to speak up for herself. Yet Valentina was no more a doll than he was a puppet. “But she has always been an unpredictable sort, and so long as she is appreciated as such, and her spouse is willing to further her flames rather than snuff them, I cannot voice any criticisms.” Well, he certainly could but she didn’t need his blessing. She had never needed anyone to let her do anything. “She’s the one that better knows how this goes anyway, if her consumption of romantic comedies is any indication. She’s always been one to chase adventure, to never be behaved, and to seize the day. May the embarking of this journey be a smooth one, but may there also never be a dull day. I’m glad that she has found a companion that is worthy of her time and boundless energy and devotion.” He tipped up his glass and nodded in indication to his sister, keeping his words simple but candid. He knew that Valentina would be able to decipher his good intentions and well wishes from them. 

There was a louder jingle this time as Molly cut off the end of the snooze fest and took it upon herself to up the ante. “Attention, attention! I know I missed my chance earlier, but I want to take this moment to object to this unholy union. We all know that Valentina’s one true love will always be ME.” She threw a wink in the direction of Zarah in the audience before she corrected, “Okay, okay, so I’m kidding. I’m number two in her heart. Number one will always be Pablo Neruda, but the chump she’s married to is gracious enough to take a lesser spot. That’s the sign of a real catch.” Molly began to wave her arms about, walking through the crowd as she made her speech to get everyone engaged. “Val’s my main one gal, and I’m still expecting bi-monthly sleepovers, so invest in a comfy couch for you to bunk in when I come around.” She couldn’t stop grinning, her pearly whites on full display. She was unable to contain her giddiness, how thrilled she was for her best friend. She hadn’t ever really thought they would be there. It still seemed a bit unreal, but, then again, it was Valentina’s style to disturb the natural balance of the universe. And so long as she was happy, Molly would keep her thinly veiled threads to a minimum. “She’s strong, she’s independent, she’s downright badass, and she deserves nothing less than someone who will keep her wild and free. As well as someone who can manage to stay awake through those philosophical talks that she loves too much AND shake their arse to some Beyonce. Because, obviously, they liked it, and they put a ring on it. To the lovely couple!” She rose her glass up to take a long gulp of her wine, draining the contents in one well-practiced swallow. “Now let’s all dig into some pizza so we can properly get this party started!” Pink’s pop hit began to play over the speakers and Molly waltzed her way over to Valentina, swooping her away from her new spouse before they could land the kiss and plopping one of her own flat on her friend’s cheek, leaving her mark with a lipstick stain.  

[theflatteringeye]

#Test scemo come al liceo: il gioco delle cento domande

Se qualcun* nei meandri sperduti di Tumblr dovesse raccogliere questo test, si senta pure liber* di taggarmi, sono curiosa.

1. Faresti mai sesso con l’ultima persona con cui hai messaggiato? Escluse le chat di gruppo e le amiche, sì. 2. Hai parlato con un tuo ex oggi? No, gli ex sono ex. 3. Hai mai ‘tolto’ la verginità a qualcuno? Hahah sì, a due uomini. 4. La fiducia è un problema per te? Problemissimo. 5. Sei uscito con la persona che ti piace recentemente? Purtroppo no. 6. Per cosa ti emozioni? Per poche cose, ma quelle poche cose per me sono tutto. 7. Cos’è successo stasera? Un cavolo, come al solito 8. Credi sia disgustoso quando una ragazza non si prende molto cura di sè? Non giudico, ma lo trovo triste personalmente, anche se mortificare il cervello è molto peggio. 9. È bello avere confidenza con qualcuno? Se c’è alchimia sì. 10. Qual è l’ultima bevanda che hai preso? Tisana Drenante 11. Di quante persone del sesso opposto ti fidi ciecamente? Solo di mio padre. 12. Possiedi un paio di jeans stretti? Molti! 13. Cosa farai sabato sera? Cena con amici. 14. Qual è la prossima cosa per cui spenderai soldi? Uhm, facile che sia trucco. 15. Hai in programma di uscire con l’ultima persona che hai baciato? Purtroppo devo. 16. Credi che cambierai nei prossimi tre mesi? spero di sì, almeno di testa. 17. Chi è la persona con cui ti senti più a tuo agio a parlare di tutto? Le mie due amiche che si chiamano entrambe Valentina. 18. Quand’è stata l’ultima volta che ti sei sentito distrutto? Distrutta davvero? Cinque anni fa, quando ho perso tutto nel cuore. 19. Hai già fatto sesso oggi? No, e non se ne parla. 20. Hai cominciato a realizzare qualcosa? Sì, un po’ alla volta. 21. Stai bene emotivamente? Per nulla. 22. Nuoteresti mai con gli squali? Sì certo. 23. Hai gli occhi dello stesso colore di quelli di tuo padre? Sì, castano verdi entrambi, ma i miei sono più verdi. 24. Cosa vuoi in questo momento? La persona giusta accanto, e un gatto. 25. Cosa diresti se la persona che ami baciasse qualcuno che non sia te? Nulla, tasto reset e avanti il prossimo. 26. Il tuo colore attuale di capelli è il tuo colore naturale? NO. 27. Usciresti con qualcuno che non ti fa ridere? Non mi sono mai piaciuti i pagliacci. 28. Qual è stata l’ultima cosa che ti ha fatto ridere? Una foto di dolci che mi ha mandato la mia amica Grazia. 29. Ti manca molto qualcuno? Chi? Mi mancano tante persone, ma più di tutto e tutti il mio gatto. 30. Secondo te, meritano tutti una seconda possibilità? No, mai date seconde possibilità, almeno non per errori a mio giudizio irreparabili. 31. Onestamente, odi l’ultima persona con cui hai parlato? No! È la mia amica Vale! 32. La persona di cui sei innamorato ne è al corrente? Non sono innamrata di nessuno, ma c’è una situazione complicata, e sì, sa che provo qualcosa per lui. 33. Sei una di quelle persone che non bevono mai bibite? Quelle zuccherate le evito al massimo. 34. Cosa stai ascoltando? Ora nulla,  35. Scrivi mai in matita? Mi capita, un tempo di più. 36. Sai chi è l’ultima persona che hai baciato? Purtroppo sì. 37. Credi all’amore a prima vista? Assolutamente sì. 38. Chi hai chiamato l’ultima volta? La mia prozia 97enne per farle gli auguri di compleanno <3 39. Con chi hai ballato l’ultima volta? Non mi ricordo, non ballo mai. 40. Per quale motivo hai baciato l’ultima persona che hai baciato? Abitudine. 41. Quand’è stata l’ultima volta che hai mangiato un cupcake? Non ricordo. 42. Hai abbracciato/baciato uno sei tuoi genitori oggi? No, sono lontani. 43. Ti sei mai imbarazzato davanti al tuo innamorato? Sì. 44. Ti fai il bagno nudo? In pubblico no. 45. Se potessi, ritrarresti l’ultimo bacio che hai dato? Sì. 46. La scorsa notte hai parlato con qualcuno fino ad addormentarti? Più o meno. 47. Chi ti ha chiamato per ultimo? Mia madre. 48. Canti nella doccia? Raramente. 49. Balli in macchina? No, come si fa? 50. Hai mai usato un arco con le frecce? No, ma mi sarebbe piaciuto. 51. Ti sei mai fatto fotografare da un fotografo professionista? No. 52. Pensi che i musical siano noiosi? No, alcuni mi sono piaciuti molto. 53. È stressante il Natale? Da un lato sì. 54. Hai mai mangiato un onigiri? Sì. 55. Qual è la tua torta preferita? Cheesecake  56. Da piccolo che lavoro pensavo di fare quando saresti cresciuto? Insegnante o cantante rock. 57. Credi nei fantasmi? No. 58. Hai mai avuto un Dejavu? In passato molto di frequente, negli ultimi anni no. 59. Prendi vitamine quotidianamente? No, quando mi gira. 60. Indossi le pantofole? Ora no. 61. Usi l’accappatoio? Alterno telo e accappatoio, di solito telo. 62. Cosa indossi per andare a dormire? Dipende molto dalla stagione e dalla compagnia. 63. Primo concerto? Primo, vero grande concerto? Iron Maiden 2007 Olimpico Roma. 64. Prodotti makeup che usi nella tua routine quotidiana? Quasi tutti direi, forse meno spesso eyeliner, per il resto uso tutto, fondo, cipria, ombretti, primer, mascara, fard, terra, illuminante, rossetto e gloss (quando ho tempo anche matita), poi smalti sempre, mai senza. 65. Nike o Adidas? Adidas 66. Fonzies o patatine normali? Fonzies 67. Nocciole o mandorle? Nocciole 68. La canzone che ti piace di più di un gruppo che odi? Se arrivo ad odiare un gruppo è perché non mi piace nessuna canzone. 69. Hai mai preso lezioni di danza? No. 70. Che professione vorresti facesse il tuo partner? Quella che vuole lui, indifferente. 71. Qual è l’oggetto a cui tieni di più nella tua stanza? La stella. 72. Quale CD c’è nel tuo stereo? Niente Stereo a casa mia, solo mp3 e spotify. 73. Hai mai pianto perché eri troppo felice? Capitato, sì. 74. Qual è il libro che stai leggendo? Diversi, di storia dell’arte, Barocco Napoletano. 75. Studi meglio con o senza musica? Senza, ultimamente. 76. Ti piacciono i profumi? Sì molto. 77. Sei mai stato innamorato? Pochissime volte, ed è sempre andata male. 78. A che concerto vorresti partecipare? Non saprei, eppure dovrebbero essere tanti vista la mole di musica che ascolto, per ora mi vengono in mente i Muse. 79. Qual è stato l’ultimo concerto a cui sei stato? Troppi anni fa, chi se lo ricorda! 80. Tè caldo o freddo? Preferisco freddo, anche se adesso inizio a volerlo anche caldo. 81. Tè o caffè? Caffè tutta la vita. 82. Tipo preferito di biscotti? Tipo pan di stelle o al burro. 83. Sai nuotare bene? Me la cavo 84. Cosa c’è nella tua borsa? Rossetto, stick spf, chiavi, portatessere, fazzoletti, gel igienizzante, buste in tela, telefono e power bank. 85. Sei una persona paziente? No, pazienza poca. 86. Al tuo matrimonio vorresti un DJ o una band? Band, musica dal vivo è sempre altra storia. 87. Hai mai vinto qualcosa? Sì. 88. Hai mai avuto operazioni di chirurgia plastica? No, anche se dovrei... 89. Preferisci le olive nere o verdi? Nere. 90. Cosa ne pensi del sesso prima del matrimonio? Siamo nel 2018. 91. In che stanza metteresti un camino? Salone. 92. Vuoi sposarti? No. 93. Cosa ami di più nel tuo partner? I suoi valori saldi. 94. Quali Stati vuoi visitare? USA, Mexico, E in generale Nord Europa, poi Canada e Nuova Zelanda. 95. Che lingue straniere sai parlare? Spagnolo, Francese, inglese, e sto imparando un po’ di portoghese che comunque capisco, anche il catalano lo capisco, sia parlato che scritto. 96. Profumo preferito? Cambia in base all’umore, periodo e stagioni. 97. Che cellulare hai? Alcatel Shine Lite 98. Che lettera porti nel cuore? R 99. Quali sono le tue caramelle preferite? Al limone, qualsiasi marca. 100. Quali tipi di locali preferisci? Irlandesi o scozzesi, con musica dal vivo, sicuramente non dove mettono pop trash e latino americano.

[imxthexhandler]

♬

Send in ♬ for a five song playlist about our muses.

( @notjustascienceproject)

1.) It is You (I Have Loved) // Dana Glover2.) Between the Raindrops // Lifehouse and Natasha Bedingfield3.) I See the Light // Jonathan Young and Valentina 4.) Try Everything // Nathan Sharp5.)Bella Notte // Carlos Ponce and Joy Enriquez

[tmnotizie]

ASCOLI PICENO – Torna la rassegna dedicata a cinema, arte, musica, letteratura e filosofia. Mercoledì 20 novembre il secondo capitolo di Muse al Cinema edizione Winter con l’autore Filippo Tuena e “Una commedia sexy in una notte di mezza estate” di Woody Allen.

Dopo l’esordio dello scorso 30 ottobre, durante il quale il direttore dell’istituto provinciale per la storia del Movimento di Liberazione nelle Marche ha tenuto la sua lectio magistralis sul tema “La dissoluzione della Jugoslavia e il massacro di Srebrenica” e Fabio Burattini e Paolo Pignocchi di Amnesty Interrnational hanno stimolato la riflessione sul film proiettato nel nuovo cineteatro Piceno “Il segreto della miniera” di Hanna Slack, il prossimo mercoledì 20 novembre il secondo appuntamento de Le muse al Cinema Winter Edition offrirà l’occasione di incontrare uno degli intellettuali più raffinati ed eclettici del panorama italiano. Filippo Tuenasarà la nostra guida attraverso le stanze magiche della bellezza, dell’arte e della grande letteratura.

Una serata che comincerà alla LibreriaRinascita con inizio ore 18.30, in cui si parlerà dei suoi più recenti lavori, la coltissima Opera-mondo “Le Galanti” e la struggente riscrittura del “Sogno” Shakespeariano, “Com’è trascorsa la notte”. A dialogare con l’autore Eleonora Tassoni e Valentina Falcioni.

Dopo questo onirico viaggio nella bellezza e nelle sue seduzioni ci sarà il tradizionale aperitivo al bar della Libreria Rinascita(costo euro 7,00 prenotazioni al numero 0736259653 entro il 19 novembre). Alle ore 21, infine, omaggio al “Sogno di una notte di mezza estate” al

Filippo Tuena è autore di saggi di storia dell’arte e di romanzi. Tra i suoi libri: Tutti i sognatori, Super Premio Grinzane-Cavour 2000; Le variazioni Reinach, Premio Bagutta 2006; Michelangelo. La grande ombra, 2008; Stranieri alla terra, 2012. Ha inoltre curato Robert F. Scott. I diari del Polo, 2009 e il fotografico Scott in Antartide, 2011.

Le galanti: La letteratura è un grattacielo nel deserto, un atrio nobiliare abitato da fantasmi, una galleria d’arte con pareti d’alabastro, pellucide, lattescenti, dove file interminabili di quadri ci trafiggono la vista, riempiendo lo spazio di volti e scenografie sfuggenti. A frotte compaiono davanti ai nostri occhi, ci disorientano, ammiccano verso di noi, ci traggono in inganno. È in quel momento, quando incrociamo il loro sguardo, che la galleria si tramuta in una stanza degli specchi: ogni cornice, a ben vedere, raccoglie al suo interno un’immagine di noi, e allora seguiamo il nostro doppio, con la coda dell’occhio lo pediniamo mentre svolta in un caleidoscopio senza fondo.

È questo lo scenario allestito da Filippo Tuena nelle Galanti: una Wunderkammer sorprendente di storie, immagini, ricordi, incontri amorosi, le cui stanze hanno ornamenti Rococò, baldacchini ottocenteschi, ceramiche protocorinzie e lampadari Art Nouveau. Chi vi entra può scorgervi il passo agguerrito di Ulisse, gli occhi avvitati al passato di Van Gogh, i fianchi sensuali dell’Ermafrodito. Qui Roma brucia ancora una volta e crollano le alte mura di Troia, l’Italia è invasa dai nazisti e la Medusa di Géricault veleggia verso l’ignoto – mentre lì vicino, a pochi metri di distanza, si consumano feste galanti in cui coppie di giovani amanti si avvinghiano sul talamo del più sfrenato erotismo.

Un’opera-mondo, Le galanti, che ha il gusto della storia umana e il sapore dell’introspezione biografica. In queste pagine Filippo Tuena ha convocato tutte le sue muse artistiche, letterarie e pittoriche, da Michelangelo a Velázquez, da Venere alle Sirene omeriche, da Bernini a Stendhal, per raccontare le loro storie e farci scoprire come le ha incontrate; e ha riavvolto i fili di tutti gli amori di una vita: quelli passionali, quelli drammatici e quelli consumati solo nella luce fioca della letteratura.

Un viaggio diurno e notturno fatto di narrazioni, ekphrasis raffinate, poesie e riflessioni accumulate nell’arco di una vita intera. Diventate libri, a volte, altre volte invece rimaste in apnea nella ghiacciaia dell’immaginazione, e raccolte tutte qui – mutata veste – nella loro dialogante complessità, a comporre il libro definitivo di un autore magistrale.

Com’è trascorsa la notte. Una notte trepida e incantata, interminabile, una notte animata da fate e folletti, da innamorati resi ciechi dai volubili capricci della passione, da attori che sfuggono al loro copione. È il Sogno di una notte di mezza estate, che Filippo Tuena rievoca esplorandone le profondità più nascoste, impadronendosi del testo shakespeariano e lasciandosene possedere, per dare vita a un romanzo che è, insieme, un atto d’amore nei confronti della letteratura.

E di una donna misteriosa, sfuggente come una princesse lointaine della tradizione cortese, a cui uno scrittore senza nome rivolge un lungo canto, convocando i personaggi di William Shakespeare – Ermia e Lisandro, Teseo e Ippolita, Titania e Oberon, Bottom con la sua testa d’asino e il beffardo Puck – perché intessano una volta di più le loro trame e, così facendo, lo aiutino a riconquistare l’amata.

Paradigmi di una fenomenologia dell’amore sensuale, effimero, gioioso o incomunicabile, destinato alla sconfitta eppure irreprimibile, questi personaggi diventano – in Com’è trascorsa la notte – emblemi di una condizione universale, trasfigurata, nelle ultime pagine, in visioni del cosmo in cui corpi celesti e corpi umani sembrano soggetti alle stesse forze di attrazione e ripulsa.

L’esito è una sinfonia di riprese, contrappunti e variazioni, il cui inestricabile fil rouge è il magico distillato di viola del pensiero che, versato sulle palpebre degli addormentati dal folletto Puck, fa cadere chiunque nell’incantesimo d’amore, o funge da narcotico per lenire l’amarezza che sorge insostenibile quando ci si rende conto che il domani sarà doloroso e l’amato perduto per sempre.

Seguendo la scia di questo distillato portentoso, Filippo Tuena compone un romanzo immaginifico in cui saggio e narrazione si fondono in un’armonia gioiosa e perturbante, intima e fiabesca. E trascina il lettore, pagina dopo pagina, a un finale inatteso e spiazzante, in cui amore e morte giungono a coincidere in un ultimo atto, in un ultimo attimo di sogno.

Una commedia sexi in una notte di mezza estate: 1982, commedia, 88 min. Andrew – un inventore dilettante un po’ svitato – abita in una villa isolata insieme a sua moglie Adrian, noiosa e trascurata dal marito, perso dietro i suoi congegni, ora saltuariamente volanti, ora magici. Durante un fine settimana arrivano altre due coppie.

Leopold, un anziano professore di filosofia, materialista dichiarato, presuntuoso e pedante, che sta per sposare la giovane e disinibita “fidanzata” Ariel, e Maxwell, un medico libertino, con la sua infermiera tuttofare Dulcy, tanto belloccia quanto oca e facile.

La casuale convivenza di questo campionario di gente senza reali interessi né perché di vita genera un gioco divertito – e in qualche momento divertente – di scambi, equivoci e appuntamenti al chiaro di luna, con composizioni e scomposizioni di coppie, schermate da raffinati passatempi di società.

[iinkheart]

( ✉ → sms ) [ File Attached: 001329. jpg ] of all the drunk pictures i have of you, this one is my favorite. // ( ✉ → sms ) should i get pizza or chicken wings for dinner? // ( ✉ → sms ) i dropped my pzziza o nt eh floror im fuckgin pissed // ( ✉ → sms ) i look so fuckigjn GOOD [ molentina ]

( ✉ → sms ) [ File Attached: 001329. jpg ] of all the drunk pictures i have of you, this one is my favorite.

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent]: I[sent]: YOU[sent]: [ File Attached: 03691.jpg ][sent]: Back at you, bae 😘😘😘

( ✉ → sms ) should i get pizza or chicken wings for dinner?

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent]: BOTH[sent]: Also, cheese fries![sent]: I’ll be over with the wine and the DVDs in 10

( ✉ → sms ) i dropped my pzziza o nt eh floror im fuckgin pissed

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent]: 5 SECOND RULE[sent]: It’s not gross if nobody else knows you did it 😉

( ✉ → sms ) i look so fuckigjn GOOD

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent]: GIRL YASSS[sent]: I bet you look 🔥🔥🔥[sent]: Go forth and slay my warrior :’)[sent]: And don’t forget to leave out water and aspirin for sober!Molly !!!!

[iinkheart]

❝ your expectations for me have been set way too high. ❞ [ nott sibs ]

Two thumbs stroked the rim of thepainted cup in studied interest, if such a thing were indeed possible, thecorresponding fingers cupped around the warm ceramic. There weren’t manyutensils that could be used so neatly as a prop, but – as evidenced by the coolmanner she regarded her partner in over the rim – teacups had been mastered bythe woman in question at a young age, who had schooled herself into using themas a tool in confrontation as easily as her mother did to avoid it.

She wasn’t irate exactly, but she didn’t know what shewas either. All she knew for certain was that the last time they had met, she hadended their conversation with a slam of her mug on the antique stone counterand nary a backwards glance as she had stormed out of the family estate’skitchen and into the sun room she had originally been targeting. Communicationhad been limited since.

Valentina knew it would remain sounless she fought him on it.

Brent had never been once who gave ineasily to the softer side of human emotions. To him, it was the logical thatwas an obvious choice; the sensible choice that was rational. She could neitherfault nor resent him for that: certain things just came easier to certainpeople, and while the reasons for him being so interpersonally detached and hermost co-dependently attached were almost the same, they were legitimate reasons all the same, ones sheunderstood above all. Besides, it was only in their last meeting that she hadrealised how skewed his perspective could be, even if it was entirely sensible to him. And, she could acknowledge, it wasentirely possible that she was being just as stubborn and myopic as he was,even if she couldn’t see it. Thepoint remained that the whole situation at hand was wholly unnecessary and entirelyavoidable, if only a little common sense and communication and faith could be employed.

Since it seemingly couldn’t,though, Valentina turned to her best defence: a good offence. “Yes, you couldsay that,” she readily agreed, the downturned moue of her mouth asserting herdispleasure as she put down her tea and dug two thin slivers of cardboard outof the inside pocket of her bag. “You missed The Merchant of Venice. Ireally was expecting more of youthan that, especially seeing as how much I thought you enjoy a goodsocio-economic debate based on racial diversity and discrimination and whatnot.But whatever, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. I did get your ticket for this year, see? It’s Julius Caesar, and you’recoming. No arguments.”

A careful slice of her cakefollowed, the tines of her silver fork sinking easily into the lush pillowy cloudof pastry. Good cake, she idlythought as she swallowed a forkful of red velvet and cream cheese icing, usingthe moment after to gather her thoughts again. The restaurant they dined at wasan upscale establishment, serving an afternoon tea to rival the best of thepureblood society’s crème de la crème. She had chosen it herself, based on thestark contrast between the greasy takeaways and kitsch diners she was used todragging him to. Her stupid brother.Even if he did seem hell-bent ondisturbing the dynamic.

But if he was determined to ignorethe bond it had taken years and years of hard work to build, she was fineplaying along, if only to prove a point. Besides, it was such fun to step intothe rink she hadn’t ever been able to truly call hers and steal some crucial points from the match. The high of thefight – and it was one, there was nomistaking that between the two siblings could rage a fearsome battle of wills –had her confidence soaring.

An arrogant wave of her handgestured to halt his response before it came and she took her time swallowingbefore she spoke again, the words that followed firm and brokering no argument.This time, the levity her tone had held earlier when mocking his statement wasentirely gone.

“Now if you were talking about the topic we abandoned theother day, I have no expectations. I have faith – and not blind faith, mind – because it is a fully informed and well-foundedsort of faith: I know you are betterthan this. You are a good father, brother, partner, human, and we both know it. And there’s not any sort of expectation that fuels this belief. Frankly,that might be the stupidest thing I’ve heard from you this year, and there havebeen a LOT of stupid things you’ve spouted in just two meetings. We both knowyou’re good, especially with Beau. You’re good for him and good to himand not a damn bit like the waste of space that was our parents. And you knowexactly why not. It’s because you love us, as implicit as the sentiment hasbeen for most of us all along. Beau, Barbs, Seph, Adara, Uncle Henry, me, even Mor. We’re human beings you care about,and you know neither Richard nor Adolina have a single affectionate bone in theirbody. Even I know that, and I knowyou know that, but beyond some misplaced fear of turning into a sick monsterlike them, I don’t what else could possibly have motivated you to abandon yourfamily and fuck off like this. And you’retoo smart to ever believe you could be anything like them.”

Valentina halted — half catching her breath, half dramatic pause.And then, she enunciated clearly, like a fuckinglady: “So what, in the of Merlin’s bloody fucking ballsack, is your reason?”

[iinkheart]

Close your eyes and let the fragrance transport you to the memory of a moment of quiet reflection. Around you, the city bustles, noisy and frenetic. At the heart of chaos is a break from the daily rush: a silent alcove behind a veil of steam, the scratch of an ink-loaded quill against parchment and the rich vapors of the finest ceylon tea accompanied by freshly baked muffins. The chemical tang of makeup accompanies — artificial but ever reminiscent of wild nights out.

♛ Character Development — AMORTENTIA                                                    ↳ Valentina Jane Nott 

[iinkheart]

“I couldn’t save him.” [ nott sibs hi i'm already having regrets :) :) :) :) ]

              Summer days bring with them thatwhich has no place in their space any longer: balmy days full of brightness andberries and laughter, the kind that warms one to the very core of their being,selfless and infectious, leaking through the pores of every single bystander’sskin and leaving them lighter in their bones for it. It’s almost like cottoncandy — soft, sweet and stained soft scrumptious rose, wispy enough to floataway on a cloud of possibility.

It providesa perfect paradox to the weight that settles in her chest, curling inkytendrils of dread around her heart so it can squeeze, tighter andtighter, until there is naught left in the hollowed out cavity of her chest butthe rancid taste of dying hope and the miasmal whiff of decay. All this time,and the darkness seems to have gained an odd sort of agency in their lives, sheimagines. The way it settles in her lungs certainly betrays the sentiment. Fuck,fuck, fuck, fuck, it goes, beating along with the lub, dub, lub, dub,that seems the last sign of her beating heart.

                                                  Because,the thing is,                           she was pretty sure he was never going to talk about it.

              Months have flickered by now,and there were no signs he was going to, not after that first initialconversation that followed his return and tore them open until their nerveswere bare and twitching, frayed under the violent paroxysm that was theiruncharacteristically charged exchange. It has been largely forced meetings and tenuouscalm since, an exercise in playing at the normalcy they had utterly shattered inthe short space of one evening. If there had been signs that the doors they hadkicked open that eve might have remained ajar in the future, all hopes had beendashed by their meetings since, each one of them a pristine negation of thenight they released demons they had never even approached before.

But itis not just frosty milkshakes and picnics that come with the arrival of summer,the world awash in ivory and gold. It also brings back memories of when it wascloser to rot and ruin, a picture of their society falling to decadence fromthe inside out. It brings the first anniversary of the week the world went tohell.

Otherswould most certainly consider it one day, though. 2nd May — the daythey simultaneously lost and gained so much. As a society, that is the nightthey will remember. But for individuals, there would always be private depthsof personal hells that would far eclipse it, just as the tragedy of only a fewdays before the final battle crippled the siblings in a way a hundred warsmight never be able to.

For thosebattles, there are entirely different steps that need to be taken. Tender, babyfootsteps – infinitesimal shifts of time and space – inching forwards towards amore whole future, presumably. Valentina hopes, at least, that better iswhat they are leading towards, because in that moment, all she can think of is,shit. Shit shit shit. She is still not fucking equipped to deal withthis, not when she’s barely learned to accept the dysthymic disaster of a human that her brother hasreturned as. At this point, she is hardly equipped to handle herself.

              On some mornings, she wakes upfine. Just stirs out of quiet dreamless sleep and moves on before she can thinkof anything beyond how tangled her hair feels and the probability of therebeing enough milk for an extra big mug of tea. Those are the good days. Theones so filled with the mundanities of daily life don’t hurt at all. Rebuildingis too much work for that, too full of the energy and joie de vivre necessaryto build a new foundation to linger on the worst of the damage.

Butthen, there are mornings when she wakes up after one of those dreams,echoes of ghosts still ringing in her ears. Lost voices that tinkle, a singsong AuntieVal? and the laughter-filled Yes, baby Beau? thataccompanies it. She may never again hear it the same way, with just the rightlevel of affront and childlike concern laced into the I’m not a baby,I’m a big boy, the tone clearly implying that’s she is supposed to be smartenough to know better.

              Valentina doesn’t know whatsmart enough is anymore. For a long time, she thought she was.Smart enough, strong enough, brave enough — just plain enough tohandle the world. But she doesn’t know what that counts for anymore. What isthe point, if it all ends for naught? she wonders. If, on somemornings, she still wakes up in a haze and fails to rememberwhat has happened immediately. On those days, when the first thing her gazecatches is the pilfered Piglet toy leaning against her desk lamp, the firstdisoriented thought that occurs to her later always feels like betrayal of theworst kind from her brain.

Ittakes seconds for half-lucid plans of animal pancakes and animal shelters tofloat up, and only as much longer for realisation to jerk the her head out ofthe clouds and into stern reality. It takes under a minute for the haze todissipate, taking with it every ounce of oxygen and sunlight and hope in theroom, leaving behind only the downright awful: the stuffed Piglet that isn’t therebecause her nephew slept over and left it;  that is there because she stole into herbrother’s house like a thief in the night after a fortnight of radio silence,only to find the place pristine but its air stale, and just had totake a little piece of her heart with her.

              It’s that feeling that ariseswith his words, filling her throat with the bitter disappointment ofremembrance layered over tiers and tiers and tiers of the useless and thefutile, the aches pain loss grief separation desperation. That precise cavernof emptiness that yawns open at the admission.

Becausethere it is, quiet and simple and heartbreakingly honest. The kind ofconfession she never saw coming — not from Brent, not in so many words. Itmakes her breath catch in her throat, choking on the lump that has risen tocentre of her throat and shows no indications of being dislodged soon. Her eyesmist as they stare at the years engraved on the headstone: 1992 &1998.

Inmoments like these, Valentina wishes she were better at people. That it waseasier to know how to respond to her brother. There are other people who are somuch simpler — people like Scarlett, whom she considers akin a sister soeasily, almost too easily. Her relationship with Brent is different, now morethan ever before, tenuous and frail in a way that leaves her fumbling somehow.For all the adversity that they have faced together, the doll’s house ofhorrors that they were raised in, that helped them forge inquisitive childreninto fearsome powerhouse adults, theirs is a bond built with fine gossamer. Orso it feels, at times like this.

              But why? Whythe difference, when he has been her family in ways she cannot even voice tothe others she holds close to her heart, she wonders. This dark grieving animalside is one that even Liam cannot be allowed to see – not because she does nottrust him with it, but because there is no fathomable way for him tounderstand, or even empathise – but she suspects the cavernous emptiness withinher would barely begin to brush the loss Brent has shouldered and buried withinthe meagre fortress of his bones. This should be easier. He should beeasier.

Andit’s almost as if deciding so bolsters her courage, because Valentinafinds her hand curling around her brothers before she is entirely conscious she’sdecided to, digits clasped tight around his with all the gravity of toddlersand summer and sticky sweet popsicle fingers. They haven’t ever held hands,especially not like this, but Val is familiar with the feeling and she thinksit’s about damn time they had it too. Brent deserves more of it in his life,more simple and pure and warm and caring, and she doesn’t know how to get morehonest than this. To her, nothing says more than the silences between peoplewho need less than words to communicate, who can betray affection in the barestbrushes of skin against skin.

Ifit were somebody else, she’d leave it there, too. Sometimes, a hug is all thatis necessary. But for someone who honestly, truly terrifies her with hisintellect sometimes and has done so since he was an alarmingly grim five year oldwith an iron will, Brent is equally alarmingly stupid about the tenuous silkensensations of affection and concern. Sometimes, things just need to be spelledout for him.

“Neithercould she or I or anyone else,” she mutters, an aging reminder, somehowmanaging gentle and firm all at once. “You shouldn’t have had to even considerit. It was neither his nor your fault that we all drew the short straw andwound up related to that sick megalomaniac monster,” she adds, the hatredpouring into her tone corrosive and dark and threatening. “I couldn’t save youeither. None of us could,” she thinks, hollow with the possibility of a lessfractured existence for him, of a boy who might have grown into a man who hadanything and everything he could possibly want.

Butwhen she does speak aloud, her voice cracks on everything it fights to contain,a jagged break in the middle: “I know. And I know you gave up everything so youcould and you lost him anyway. But it’s not your fault, Brent. Nobody thinks so, you know that, right?”

[iinkheart]

             Oh, where do we begin?                                  The rubble or our sins?

[iinkheart]

[ text ]: You were so drunk last night that you hit on your reflection. // [ text ]: I think you underestimated the power of vodka. You told me that rainbows were a conspiracy. // [ text ]: Who's house am I in? // [ text ]: I just got mistaken for a porn star. [ molentina ]

[ text ]: You were so drunk last night that you hit on your reflection.

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent 12:17 pm]: I mean. Are you saying I’m not pretty enough to hit on?[sent 12:17 pm]: Because it might honestly be an improvement[sent 12:18 pm]: #neverforget coyote ugly

[ text ]: I think you underestimated the power of vodka. You told me that rainbows were a conspiracy.

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent 7:56 am]: Fuck, I can tell. My head’s got a bloody mariachi band throwing a party in it.[sent 7:58 am]: Why are we suddenly too old to drink on Sunday nights.[sent 7:59 am]: And more importantly, can you clone me for my meeting?[sent 8:02 am]: But in re: rainbows — honestly, couldn’t they be? Everything is a conspiracy theory these days.

[ text ]: Who’s house am I in?

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent 9:23 am]: Lovely young chap by the name of George Bay, I think.[sent 9:23 am]: Nice hair, nice hands, couldn’t keep his hands off you[sent 9:24 am]: Also big feet I noticed ;)

[ text ]: I just got mistaken for a porn star.

✉ MAIN BITCH 💋👭

[sent 8:52 pm]: Was it the boobs?[sent 8:53 pm]: I feel like it may have been​ the boobs[sent 8:54 pm]: Fucking asshole tho[sent 8:54 pm]: Your real tatas are far superior to the over-sexualised fake tatas they just got compared to, my apologies on their behalf.

[iinkheart]

⌛ [ brent/valentinaaaa ]

⌛ the voicemail Valentina leaves on his phone when Brent hasn’t been heard from for the fifth night month this week year

Valentinapaces.

Nothearing from her brother has become the norm for the better part of the pastyear — mounting tensions before the final outbreak of battle had created avolatile environment, drawing them both to separate sides of the chess board.For each other. Carefully, she had been avoiding situations where even awhiff of the younger, newer crop of Death Eater was involved. Most around hersurmised that it was squeamishness because of her House; because fighting thekids she went to school with hewn into soldiers was distracting and harrowing.

Shedid not want to say that it was just one of them. Those who knew both siblingsunderstood. There was just one fellow Slytherin she was not interested inhearing behind a mask, arrayed in the garb of the army of murdering bigots hehad been coerced into.

Instead,she had kept her head down and her wand swift, until finally it wasover.

Inthe end, that was the one thing that the Battle of Hogwarts had going for it:it was over. The war was finally over. It would be days before thefighting would truly end, months before the first clear breath and years beforethe wizarding world would even consider moving on again. But for the moment,that was it – the one beacon that distracted from how quickly everything elsein her life had gone to hell in one fell swoop.

So now,Valentina paces.

Orrather, she stumbles from one end of her kitchen to the other, tapping thecordless phone against the heel of her palm. The open bottle of Absolut sittingon the counter parallel seems to glare reproachfully up at her, its mostlydrained depths stinking of judgement. Because what she is considering isinsane. No, it isn’t even crazy, it is just plain stupid. Insanity, at least, could be used as an excuse. Her decisionto be doing this, even if she is on the wrong side of drunk – especiallybecause she is on the wrong side of drunk – is inadvisable at the very least.But it has been months now. Valentina has just run out of the last of herpatience.

Itwas maybe motivated by an awkward encounter with her best friend’s brother ather favourite bar, the moment feeling tense and wrong, but it’s too lateto care now. Already, her fingers are punching in the memorised digits into thekeypad, trembling fingers jamming rubber buttons down with unwarranted force.

Fora moment, she forgets how to breathe, anticipation sitting heavy on her sternumwith all the force of the still-looming war. And then the line clicks overimmediately, almost like she knew it would, weirdly hollow voice automaticallyplaying out over the line. You’ve reached Brent Nott. Please leave your nameand number after the beep. There is no wait for the dial tone before itcomes. She almost expected this. It is powered off then. For the space of abreath, she wonders if she should even leave a message. Who knows how long it mighteven take to get to him? For all she knows, the phone could have been missingas long as he has been. But she has to try,at the very least. The deliberation flashes by swiftly, in the few seconds ittakes for his message to play out. Then there it is:

Beep. And suddenly, it’s the closest she’sbeen to him in months.

“Theoranges rotted.” It spills out automatically, the first thing that comes to herlips. Months later, and this is the first thing she has to say to him. “I hadto throw them out the other day because I only bought them for him and thenI forgot about them and they rotted and my stupid fridge stank and it’s not fair.None of it’s fucking fair. Do you even know who this is? Hell, it’s beenso long since we talked, maybe you don’t remember, but it’s me, Brent. It’s me,Val. It’s always fucking Valentina the arsehole.”

Alaugh escapes her, erring on the wrong side of deranged. Only thirty seconds,and already she is losing control. “Are you even there? No, fuck, that’sstupid, of course you aren’t, why would I be talking to voice mail if you were?But you are here, right? You haven’t done something stupid? I wasn’tgoing to ask – I haven’t asked, not in any of my letters – but before youcould be trusted to be too smart to even consider asking this question from andnow you’re not. Running away isn’t smart, it’s the least smart thing anybodycan ever do, but I guess you’re justified that, just for a bit. You deserved tolick your wounds in peace, even though that’s a very dog image and you’refar too dignified to be one of those messy losers. More like a lion,maybe. But fuck, why am I banging on about animals, that’s not even the point,oh my— Just. Are you okay? If you get this, that’s all I want to know, okay. Iknow there’s no way to be okay okay but you know what I mean. A one wordanswer would be fine. All I need is to know you’re not in any trouble and you’realive.” Her tone gets a little more frenzied with every word, until she gets tothe plea, and then it breaks. “Pleasebe alive, Brent.”

“I’mso worried about you. I’ve been so worried, and I keep writing you thesestupid letters like an arsehole full of how worried I am but also aboutall that you’re missing here and you’re not answering any of them and it’sso fucking stupid. I don’t even knowif you’re reading them, and I tried asking Griselda but she’s a stupid bloodybird who won’t tell me anything and I hate all of this so much, because literallyevery single bit of it is a piece of shit. You weren’t supposed to dothis, you fucking dickbag, you’ve only made it all a million times worse. He’sstill gone but now so is my lunatic brother and I hate it, I hate thatyou left us all behind. You were my brother. You are my brother becauseI chose you. We chose to be familyand it was so fucking important and now you’re gone and he is gone and Imiss you both so, so fucking much and you knew I would. You knewwe all would, every single person who knows you, including Barbara, but you’re still gone and nobody knows where you are and Ihate this I hate this, please come back, Brent, I swear I’ll—.”

Theline cuts off then.

Shedraws the phone back, stares it for a few seconds. And then she lets it drop tothe floor and reaches for the bottle again, inhaling a shuddering breath. Tonight, she refuses to cry again.

[iinkheart]

🌟💕👻👰 pansy & val

VALENTINA NOTT

🌟 …someone my muse trusts.

I’m going to go with @slytherinwritess‘ Adara Nott, who is definitely her favourite cousin ever? And Valentina definitely has no problem with loving or trusting people in general and trusts all her family and close friends, but her relationship with Adara is particularly notable because, in marauders au particularly, they can be separated by loyalties and preferences and their relationship can turn very quickly into hurt and betrayal in those verses, but even then, Val implicitly trusts Adara with her life.

💕 …someone my muse loves.

Her adoptive brother @drewroywrites‘ Brent is one those people who Val not only loves wholly and completely, but she also does not understand sometimes how she can love him so completely because Brent ?? is ?? ridiculous ?? The actual strangest person she knows and they are both so different that it should  be odd (esp because she’s adopted and their parents are a Disaster) but her relationship with Brent is possibly one of the simplest, most honest ones she has: once they realised that they were the same in not being easy to manipulate and willing to do their parents’ bidding, they’ve been on the same side always, bound by their mutual love for Shakespeare and independence and full of support and pride for each other 

👻 …someone my muse considers a best friend.

Hands down @drewroywrites’ Molly Weasley II who is an actual RIOT and one of Val’s favourite people ever?? Mostly because Molly isn’t just one of Val’s party people or one of her nerd friends or even one of her family, she’s all three rolled into one: she’s def a party people, but the two of them also bond over both being ambitious power queens who like letting lose and being wild a bit but are also highkey into winning and succeeding and supporting each other in all their endeavours. plus, like, they are 900% honest and Trash with each other.

👰 …someone my muse would consider marrying.

So far, only @slytherinwritess‘ Liam Matheson, because (as things normally do with us) this started as a complete crackship where we just considered that Val and Liam would make a hilarious pairing but they do actually make an a++ (br)otp in that they are Pure and soft and just very nice friends-to-lovers? Val drags Liam into more things than he would be adventurous enough to try himself and puts some pep in his step and brings out the lowkey sly, devious side that he normally only uses with his siblings and Liam tempers Val and lets her be a little bit calmer and more structured and is supportive and encouraging but not enabling of her Antic. Oh, and sometimes, they have share a dog but when they dont, Liam has a dog and Val loves it to bits, which is clearly a reason to consider marriage.

GET TO KNOW THE PEOPLE IN MY MUSE’S LIFE.