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curiosity-killed · 4 years ago

Text

through your eyes

5+1 of Malik seeing Altaïr’s Eagle Vision

Word Count: 3500

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1. He first sees it on his first night in Masyaf.

He wants to wail, to scream until they bring Kadar back to him, but he is tired in a way that's deeper than his feet, sore from the hot miles, or his muscles, aching from carrying heavy gear. Deep within his chest, between lungs and spine, his soul rages like a wild thing, tearing and clawing at whatever it can reach, but on the surface, he can barely summon the energy to feel at all. His new roommate is quiet, at least. The white-robed stranger who led Malik here had introduced him as Altaïr, and that had been the end of conversation. They settle into the thin mattress, a careful space between them. It feels lonely, wrong, to have emptiness where normally Kadar would be wrapped around him till he could hardly move. Malik rolls onto his side, fidgety, and freezes. There are glowing eyes inches from him. No - reflective, like a cat's. They gleam gold and too-bright in the darkness. After a moment, Altaïr blinks and the gleaming irises disappear. There's a rustle and the mattress shifts as the other boy resituates himself. "Good night, Malik," he says. "Good night," Malik answers by rote. So. These hooded strangers are part djinn. Another time, the thought would have sent him running from the room, but now he can only summon the energy to roll onto his belly and stare into the shadows for a moment longer before he gives up and closes his eyes. He falls asleep with the consolation that there are surely stranger things waiting in his future.

2. There's something about Altaïr that's different. To their instructors, it's special; to their peers, it's weird. After living with him for a few years, Malik's opinion has settled somewhere in between the two. He's undeniably gifted - he excels in their lessons as if he was born for this purpose alone. It would be easier to dismiss if he was only skilled in one area, if he didn't breeze past everyone else in every subject from hand-to-hand combat to history. As it is, everyone who has seen him knows he is exceptional. Malik has even caught Al Mualim watching during their lessons, arms folded and expression inscrutable. He's also odd. His fondness for high perches borders on the unnatural, and he has a tendency to look at his fellow brothers as if they aren't quite there, as if he can see down to the marrow of their bones. It lends him an inhuman air, some times. Pupils and teachers alike have fled that eerie stare. And, of course, there is his Sight. "What's it mean?" Malik asks one night. They're sitting cross-legged on either side of their mattress, cleaning the short daggers they only just earned the right to bear. Earlier in the afternoon, they'd been split into pairs for an exercise in hiding and finding quarries. He and Altaïr had come in first easily; they are the top students in the class, but they were guided by Altaïr's Sight. Now, Altaïr shrugs. Malik waits. Though Altaïr is rarely gregarious, he doesn't hold back information. It just takes him a little time to order his words. "I think it's about people's intent," he says. "Or my relationship toward them." It sounds like witchcraft. If Malik hadn't seen it in action, he knows he would discount it as childish fantasy - if not outright delusion. "So how do you tell who is who?" he asks. "Friends are blue," Altaïr answers immediately, "enemies are red, and important people are gold." "Important people?" Malik echoes. While the other two seem straightforward enough, that one sounds like even Altaïr isn't sure what it means. "If I'm looking for someone," Altaïr explains, "or - Al Mualim is gold, too." With how often their teacher is looking for Altaïr, Malik is almost tempted to suggest it's some sort of referred association. He doesn't ask what color he is. Maybe it's superstition, maybe it's fear he'll be disappointed by the answer. He doesn't let himself think about it now. "What's it like?" he asks instead. This time, Altaïr falls silent for a long while. He finishes cleaning the dagger and resheathes it, starts folding the cleaning rag into a tight little bundle. "Lonely," he says finally. "Disorienting." Malik frowns. The answer was the last he expected, and he isn't sure how to reply. Altaïr never seems lonely - or even that he necessarily notices being alone - and he never wavered as they ran through the citadel this afternoon. Malik brushes the thought away, unsettled, and stretches out his leg to kick lightly at Altair's. "Well, you're not alone," he says. "I'm here with you." Altaïr smiles, one of those small, private ones that only comes rarely and only when no one else is looking. He ducks his head, and his hands have finally stilled. "I know."

3. He finds him alone on a parapet. The wind pulls his robes out past the edge of the wall, wraps them tight around his skinny frame till he almost seems frail. For a fleeting moment, Malik’s heart lurches at the thought of the wind taking him, whisking him away like a dry leaf into nothingness. The thought of him falling doesn’t even cross his mind. It is inconceivable, even on such a precarious ledge. “There you are,” he says, putting on a pretense of annoyance to cover his brief, irrational worry. It also helps cover a much more deeply-seeded concern, that fear that’s been nagging at the back of Malik’s mind for the last three days, ever since news spread of Ahmad Soffias’ death. He hadn’t seen it, but he had been witness to the aftermath. To Altaïr hunched over the edge of their mattress, staring unseeing at his hands as if watching blood drip from them. To the silence, deeper and shock-rooted, that’s overtaken their room. To the nightmares that have started, suddenly, to wake Altaïr shaking from his sleep. Now, when Altaïr turns to Malik, his eyes glow. Startled, Malik pauses midstride and stares back. Altaïr never turns his Sight on Malik, not since that very first night. But there’s no mistaking that uncanny gleam; the gold that fills Altaïr’s irises can’t be caused by even the most honeyed of sun- or lamplight. “Altaïr?” he asks. His voice comes out smaller than he’s used to, unsure. Betrayal, irrational, stings at the back of his throat. Altaïr has always trusted him – he thought. But there’s no need for that Sight where trust lies. With a shuddering exhale, Altaïr blinks away the unearthly glow in his eyes and turns back to the front. He seems diminished somehow, as if his shoulders have bowed in that blink and his whole presence withered. For the first time, Malik pictures him slipping off this ledge and falling to death on the hard ground far below. “Altaïr?” he asks again, coming a step closer. “I am tired,” Altaïr says. It isn’t any kind of answer. Malik comes to a stop beside him, leaning against the low part in the wall next to Altaïr’s perch. He tilts his head, watching him. Other than his words, Altaïr gives no sign of acknowledgment. He stares out into the distance, past the far-off mountain peaks. In his eyes is an aching fatigue, a weariness born of deep-rooted sorrow. “I – I am just so tired.” His voice wavers, and Malik feels a flash of shock at the thought that Altaïr might cry. No tears come, though; Altaïr only bites down hard enough to make the muscles in the back of his jaw bulge. Finally, Malik reaches out a tentative hand and holds it palm up. “Then come,” he says. “Let us go rest. I’ll read to you.” It’s a bribe, and a familiar one. Altaïr is plenty capable of reading, of course, but over the years, he’s developed a habit of laying sprawled out on their bed and listening to Malik instead. Threat of death would be required for him to admit it, but Malik likes it. He likes the way Altaïr’s attention rests so fully and easily on him, and the way he may seem to doze but always perks up to ask a question right when Malik’s thinking of stopping. It feels intimate in a way he has never felt before, as if this is some secret partnership nurtured between only the two of them. Now, Altaïr gives a wane smile and takes Malik’s hand. He walks close enough to let Malik throw his arm around his shoulders, bumping into his side with the swaying of his gait. They’re halfway to their room when Altaïr leans his head against Malik’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Malik,” he says. “I trust you.” The non sequitur should throw him, but instead Malik feels a small, warm burl of pleasure and relief.

4. It’s hard to remember that they used to be friends, now. They stopped sharing a room years ago, and Malik can hardly remember Altaïr’s face without the shadow of his cowl, much less easy with relaxation on their shared bed. Irritation roils up in his chest at his words, his walk, his silences. The moment Altaïr enters his sight, red boils over in his veins. And now, here they are on a mission together — with Kadar. Kadar, who still follows Malik but looks to Altaïr doe-eyed and amazed. Who practices things he’s seen Altaïr do as often as he practices the skills his actual teachers demonstrate. Malik doesn’t question their Mentor, but he thinks this trial might be unfairly weighed against him. If he doesn’t shove Altaïr from his horse and leave him here in the dust of the caves, he will surely deserve the rank of Master Assassin, if not Dai or a personal commendation from Al Mualim. He’s pictured three dozen ways of unseating Altaïr by the time they enter the caves, and then there’s the old man and red bubbles over and floods his vision. “Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent,” he hisses. “The very first tenet!” “Everything is permitted,” Altaïr rejoins, wiping the blade across the thigh of his tabard. “Now there are no witnesses.” Malik stares at him, teeth grinding in fury. Behind him, pebbles clatter against the stone floor as Kadar shifts. The torchlight catches the gold of Altaïr’s eyes under his hood, turn them animal and glittering. For the first time, Malik wants to hurt Altaïr. He wants to punch him straight in the face, feel the sick crunch of bone under his knuckles. He stands there with his jaw clenched so tight his teeth might crack, and he wants Altaïr to hurt. “I’m going to scout ahead,” he grits out. “Stay here and try not to dishonor us further.” As he stalks down the hall, he can hear Kadar’s voice lift in a clear tone of admiration. His hackles rise further, but he forces himself to keep walking, to focus on the mission itself. Part of him wants to turn around and order Kadar to help him tie Altaïr up and leave him here. Between the two of them, they could surely do it. But he’s honestly not sure Kadar would do it. He’s not sure who holds greater sway over his brother now. Dragging his thoughts away, he forces himself again to focus on the task at hand. Distractions cost lives on missions, and while he wants to see Altaïr knocked down a peg, he doesn’t want him to die. If nothing else, Kadar would never forgive him if he let the idiot get himself killed. He finds a perch to survey the chamber below and crouches, tucking himself into the niche made by the rocky protrusion. Eyeing the Templars below, he half wishes he had Altaïr’s Sight around now: it’s clear enough to see the members of that cursed fraternity, but who among them are just laborers brought in to find this treasure? He lets his gaze wander the whole cavern, relaxing so that in his focus he doesn’t become tunnel-visioned. It’s as he’s doing this that he catches motion in the corner of his left eye and turns to see Altaïr stop short, far from where Malik had left him. Idiot, he thinks as he stares. This time, when he catches sight of gold beneath Altaïr’s hood, it’s not from the torchlight. Some measure of relief and surprise eases through Malik. He’s actually using his skills for good purpose. It would be prideful to assume Malik had gotten through to him but perhaps — Altaïr tenses, straightening slightly, and Malik follows his gaze. Hope, if he ever had any, rushes out of him like wind from sails. Robert de Sable. Of course. Before Malik can do anything more than stand up, start to move toward Altaïr, Altaïr is already dropping down from his perch and walking out into the midst of the Templars. Behind him, Kadar lingers on the outcropping, hesitant. Malik scours the room. There are too many for Altaïr, no matter how skilled or swift he is, to take on his own, and without surprise or stealth on their side, hopes of success are ruined. The smartest course of action would be to flee, to grab Kadar and run. But Malik is not so wise as he likes to pretend, and if Altaïr was doused in a cask of pride, Malik still got a barrel. He runs forward.

5. Even after most a year in Jerusalem, he’s never seen fog this thick. It blankets the whole city, turns it ethereal and unknowable. Familiar buildings are turned to looming shadows and the trees look like cloaked travelers pausing in their journey. He cannot see anyone and yet he feels eyes watching him from every side. He can’t remember the last time he trusted Altaïr at his back, and even now, he’d run him through with the sword in his hand if he let himself. It’s his fault they’re in this mess to begin with, of course. He can’t be trusted to follow the Creed even on a novice’s mission. “There are five soldiers coming,” Altaïr says. Malik twists around to meet his eyes, question already scalding his lips, but it dies without being uttered. Altaïr’s gaze is focused far afield, but Malik recognizes that distance. They gleam in the haze, unearthly. So there are five soldiers. They’ve taken more. “If you return to the bureau, I can distract them,” Altaïr says. “Draw them away and lose them.” It’s not phrased like an order but a suggestion, gentled somehow. Malik’s frown deepens into a crease between his brows. How unlike Altaïr to offer a plan that minimizes bloodshed. How strange for him to suggest rather than command. He turns to meet Malik’s gaze, eyes still eerie and too-sharp. After a beat, Malik nods and sheathes his sword. “Remember the creed, Altaïr,” he warns. “If you lead them back to the bureau, I will not open the gate.” Altaïr offers no objection, only nods and turns back toward the hidden soldiers. He cocks his head to one side before setting off, a light leap into the unseen. The fog swallows him, clouds wrapping around his body like welcoming arms, and he is gone. Malik’s journey back to the bureau is less direct, winding along streets and rooftops alike. He’s offered some protection by the fog, but he’s still hesitant to make too much noise or draw attention. Unlike Altaïr, he has no way of piercing the mist to spot his enemies before they see him. He makes it back undisturbed and finds himself at a loss of what to do once he’s inside. Shedding his damp djellaba, he drapes it over a chair to dry and then waits. His robe has dried and he’s stoked the fire by the time he hears the grate slide against the stone. Altaïr’s boots hit the tile with a soft thud, a sigh of fabric and flesh landing, and Malik pauses a beat before crossing the threshold into the atrium. He still crouches in the center of the courtyard, bracketed by the grey light falling through the grate, but he’s lifted both hands to press his thumbs to the ridge of his brow. Frowning, Malik crosses the room —and then stops short as Altaïr lifts his head. His eyes still glow. Gold fire rings them, blots out his pupils like a cat along a street at night. Pausing in his stride, Malik wonders what Altaïr sees. For the last months, all Malik has seen with Altaïr has been red. Roiling, viscous rage sharpens his words and points his hate. He can’t count the times he’s thought about killing him, about letting loose all that anger and finally ending this. A dagger would be too impersonal. He wants something more visceral, wants to reach in and rip out his throat, his heart, break his ribs one by one. He wants Altaïr to know what it’s like to lose everything. Unbidden, a memory comes to him. Their old room as novices, the quiet work of tending their first weapons. A slow admission, two words. He crosses the room and rests his hand tentatively on Altaïr’s shoulder. Swallowing, he feels the scarlet calm to blue. “You are in the bureau in Jerusalem,” he says. “You are not alone.” Altaïr meets his gaze, blinks, and at last, his sight clears.

+1 The night is still and warm, suspended in the room like smoke. Lantern light flickers against the walls, languid and golden, and it casts patterns against the walls and ceiling. Altaïr is draped over his legs, tracing patterns over his low belly with his fingertips. Neither of them are quite tired yet, still caught in that sated half-doze where neither wants to go to sleep just yet. It feels almost like when they were novices, back when they huddled together on the shared mattress for warmth instead. The grandmaster chambers make their old room feel like a broom closet, and they never would have dreamt of doing any of this back then. Still, some sense memory of that time echoes back in the comfortable silence they share. "What color am I?" He asks on impulse, on a half-thought whim. Altaïr looks up and cants his head, but there's no hesitance in his answer. "Blue." Malik can't quite explain the disappointment that follows. He hadn't had any expectations, and it's not as if Altaïr's sight grants everyone special auras. Still, perhaps some childish part of him had hoped he would be special in this. They have been intertwined since childhood, two trees wrapped around each other and branching out only to return and seek the sun together. In some small way, perhaps, he had wanted confirmation. "My ally," Altaïr continues, still idly tracing whorls into Malik's skin. "My partner. You have always been blue." It's the last part that catches him off-guard. Always. "Even—?" Altaïr hums his assent. His gaze has dropped to follow his finger up along Malik's chest. "It gave me hope when I did not deserve it," he admits. "And most needed it." He adds the last with a small smile, familiar and private. Looking up, he lets that smile linger and drops his hand to splay comfortably over Malik’s belly. A tangle of emotions leaves Malik wordless. Reaching down, he catches Altaïr’s hand and draws it to his lips instead, pressing a kiss to the scarred knuckles. When he resettles, it is with their hands still together, and Altaïr laces their fingers as they lie there. His gaze is soft and amber, no hint of his Sight as it rests on Malik’s face. “I was afraid to look the first time I came to Jerusalem,” he says, low and gentle. “To see that I had turned you against me irreparably. After that, I would check every now and then — as assurance.” He says the last with a small smile, rueful, deprecating. A pang jolts through Malik’s heart, and he tightens his hand around Altaïr’s. He had hated him so much at the time, had wanted nothing more than to rend him to shreds. Altaïr had deserved some of it, he knows, and he knows this isn’t asking for an apology or promise now. It’s an offering, a quiet admission of the loneliness Malik had long guessed at. “I am with you,” Malik promises now, anyway. “Even when you are being a novice.” As much as he affects exasperation in his tone, he knows it’s only a mask. Altaïr’s smile draws up into something broader, warmer, than crinkles by his eyes. It’s the kind of smile only Malik sees, a gift he holds close. Ducking his head, Altaïr presses a kiss to Malik’s hand and looks up. The smile remains. “I know.”

#altmal #assassins creed #ac #ac fic #altmal fic #my writing #wee this is finally done!#spent way too long reading about barrels and casks but whateeeevs

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pretty-rage-machine · 8 years ago

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The Young Wolves in Springtime: director’s commentary

Good friend @transversely requested I do a commentary on my Blade of the Immortal fic “The Young Wolves in Springtime” a long time ago. I’m FINALLY around to it! You can read the original fic here.

Before all the fights. Before years so steeped in blood. Before all that killing, so many people. They were just skinny kids. Magatsu had the muscle, Kagehisa the grace. Magatsu's first night. He felt homesick. Anotsu had watched him with fish-flat eyes all night and barely said a word. Grandpa Anotsu slept the next room over. The thin door was pulled closed, with a little gap left open. Kagehisa still watched with the same deadpan stare, sitting up with his sleeping robe fallen open to show his shoulders. There was little light except for the silver fall of moonshine. Kagehisa's eyes bored flatly into Magatsu. “Well, let's see,” his voice hardly a breath coming in the still air. “What?” “They think you're good. Let's see.” What a weirdo. Magatsu sat up. He didn't feel like getting pushed around for however long by this kid whose ass he could probably kick with one hand tied behind his back.

Who the fuck makes friends like this? Only Kagehisa, that’s who. Let’s all be honest: he’s kind of a hyper-focused weirdo (I say this with love) even as an adult; as an awkward tween, he would have been far worse. I also imagine that Grandpa Anotsu is so horrendous to live with himself, and so unconcerned about Kagehisa having friends his own age, that Kagehisa’s social skills are bottom-tier no matter how good at fighting he is.

Magatsu, on the other hand, had a relatively normal upbringing. He seems to have cared a lot for his sister, so I presume his family loved both of them. He probably has friends. Now the only person around in his age bracket is Kagehisa, who is a complete freak, but the only peer Magatsu has.

Yikes.

Magatsu pulled his robe open, his right arm out of its sleeve, held it in front of him. He clenched his hand into a fist, curled up his hand to tense. It wasn't bad, he thought – he'd won fights. His growing muscle stood up like a burl from a tree. His skin prickled in the cold of night air. Kagehisa looked right back into his eyes. Did the same with his robe, his sleeve, his hand cocked up the same. The same muscle stood up. He was leaner than Magatsu, built different. The muscle the same, not the same, distributed different. Magatsu had been chopping wood for a good part of his life. He had some of the bulk for it, not all of it yet. But this kid was supposed to be good. Magatsu glared at him. Kagehisa smiled a weird smile. It looked like it kind of had a hard time on his face. Magatsu would bet for sure that he'd never got beat on by the big-kid coalition in town, when his dad took him in to help keep an eye on what they were selling. “Not bad.” Kagehisa put his arm back and Magatsu did too, glad of it. It felt like he'd had a long life. He wanted to snuggle under the covers and crash into sleep. But Kagehisa watched with a curious face like a cat's. That was why it was so unnerving. “Welcome to the Itto-ryu. You'll get to try.”

Kagehisa is sincerely trying to be friendly here, which I think makes it all the worse/much more awkward/much funnier.

I’m a huge sucker for characters who don’t really understand how to be nice trying very hard to be nice, and kind of missing the mark.

“What the hell,” Magatsu said. This kid was his sempai now. What the hell. “I'm supposed to lead it.” Kagehisa didn't sound too sure at all. “Congratulations. You'll be part of an effort to revolutionize the country.” “What the hell.” No one Magatsu had met talked like that, ever. “We're going to reawaken the true spirit of swordsmanship in Nippon. It's fallen into decadent worship of techniques that are practically speaking useless.” The kid watched him. The words were fervent, the tone went over them sort of by rote. Still, Kagehisa head was tilted, keen and curious. “If they didn't tell you that, why are you here?”

Imagine, if you will, that this is said in a perfect robot voice. You’ll-be-part-of-an-effort-to-revolutionize-the-country-bleep-bloop-I-am-a-human.

“I just really hate samurai.” It came out in a quiet rush. Magatsu didn't know what he expected, but Kagehisa's face went still with thought. “Oh,” the kid said after a moment, without judgment in his tone. “I hate them too.”

They are off to an awkward start, but here’s the first moment of actual connection and having something in common. Kagehisa’s miserable life is sort of a byproduct of the system that makes and breaks samurai, so he doesn’t have quite the direct experience with samurai Magatsu has - Magatsu has lost someone he loved to samurai - but it doesn’t matter so much when the end results are the same.

Scene change!

There wasn't much money around the place, which Magatsu was used to. There were a lot of creepy guys that stayed around and about, which he wasn't. “Allies,” Grandpa Anotsu said, when asked. “Aren't you supposed to be chopping wood, you little brat?” There was no mellowness to his tone nor gentleness to his hands to soften the words.

I think it was probably healthy for Kagehisa to have Magatsu around. I feel like Anotsu probably never knew what it was like to have a warm and loving family who thought of him as if he were a child in need of protection. He was expected to perform like an adult from a very early age. Magatsu can’t change their living situation, but he is like a breath of normalcy who at least gives Kagehisa some hints that all is not well with his home life.

Kagehisa joined Magatsu as acting woodcutter. It was apparently not a chore he'd had before. He was intense, the kind of kid who's chop til his hands bled and then chop a little more. Lucky he already had plenty of calluses. Magatsu got the clear idea without ever being told that Kagehisa didn't spend a lot of time with kids. But they talked, between beating up on each other and the old codger beating up on Kagehisa.

I recall Manji (or maybe Shira?) telling Rin that one way to build practical muscle (which you obviously need for sword work) was by chopping wood, and in general doing hard labor like that. Grandpa Anotsu is apparently a follower of the same philosophy. I imagine Kagehisa and Magatsu do plenty of other drills and exercises, but a lot of their spare time is spent doing backbreaking chores for the cause and FOR THE MUSCLE.

One day they'd just got done splitting wood. It was early fall, and they'd chopped a lot of kindling. Enough Magatsu felt like they were sitting pretty for an entire winter, just like he'd felt when they chopped every other day. “We're selling it, of course,” Kagehisa said when he asked. The ax dropped to the ground. The handle was stained dark from the oils of their hands and Kagehisa's old blood. He'd had calluses but the handle of an ax was different than the handle of a sword. The pressures different. “I figured. Man, it's shit that we get landed with the whole damn job.” “Don't let grandfather hear you saying that.” Kagehisa turned his way with the same smile as usual, glib and dry as a lizard. “Let's let him know we're done.” “Let's not,” Magatsu suggested, on impulse. Then went on with haste when Kagehisa stared at him. “He's had us at this shit all day. He's just gonna give us another job. Let's do something else?” “What stunning diversion would you suggest?” Kagehisa said, by which Magatsu knew he had him. “Let's walk. Hey, let's explore. We can take our swords. We'll tell him we decided to practice together.” “That's hardly a diversion at all. I expected better from you.” “Yeah, well,” Magatsu said, deadpan back, “I'll work with what I've got.”

Another incidence of Magatsu being the breath of normalcy in the situation. By himself, Kagehisa wouldn’t rebel against his grandfather even in this small way. I’m sure he kind of hated Grandpa Anotsu, but he wouldn’t have risked getting beaten up or otherwise abused just to skive off work for a couple hours.

Magatsu puts them both at risk, but he also opens Kagehisa’s eyes to a different way of doing things, also occasionally doing things “just for fun” and not to serve some ultimate purpose.

Again, it’s Magatsu’s ‘normal’ background showing up again. He did plenty of work with his peasant family but also had time to relax, play, and enjoy himself. Kagehisa might not take the lead with such things and its influence might be hard to see, but it’s good for him to have someone so different from his grandfather and his minions.

They got their swords. It wasn't that hard. It wasn't hard to sneak off either, gramps off somewhere, probably ruminating bitterly about all he'd lost and how he could make their lives harder to make up for it or something. Besides his being a good swordsman Magatsu was not impressed with him as a sensei.

Ok I know Kagehisa is a revolutionary who wants to burn the system to the ground BUT I think especially as a kid he would buy into authority and be inclined to follow the rules, and if he broke rules he’d probably try to rules lawyer his way out of trouble. Magatsu, on the other hand, has a healthy distrust of anyone who aspires to be in charge of him. If I were writing a high school au he totally would have been a baby anarchist.

“I've explored everything already,” Kagehisa told him, once they were out of earshot of their little house. “There's not a whole lot around here, anyway. We might as well fight and then go back.” “Dude, I've never been. Don't make me sorry I invited you.” “Sorry to put a damper on your little outing.” Kagehisa shrugged, his sword resting on his shoulder bobbing with the motion. They were climbing up a gentle hill now, precursor to a larger mountain. Magatsu didn't feel like a hike, so he led them left and Kagehisa at least didn't complain about that part, just went on: “There's nothing exciting or dangerous to do. Tell me, do you even like being a swordsman?” “I like it but this training is shitty. No bandits or dogs or anything?” “Well, there were dogs.” Kagehisa's face still like the surface of a morning pond. “But not anymore.”

/IMPLIED MAKIE

I really love fics that are not just�� about a duo. I like fics where characters have more than their ship partner or just one friend, even if it’s just implied. Makie does not appear in this story, but she’s very much on Kagehisa’s mind, just as she will be 10 years later.

Also again, Magatsu, the earnest anarchist, who just wants to explore and maybe chill a little and possibly have a normal friend moment or two with his weird lizard of a peer. Magatsu tries so hard.

Kagehisa and Magatsu aren’t naturally friends in this fic. If they weren’t sorta forced together by circumstance, they probably wouldn’t have become close. As it is, they don’t really have a choice.

It could have been a pretty walk. What leaves were left colored in red and yellow, branches scratched like ink strokes against the blue sky. The chill in the air even enlivened his skin like the scrape of a blade but Magatsu felt more aware of a hard winter to come and shivered with premonition. Besides that he kept an eye on Kagehisa. A furtive one. The kid walked with this weird look of still remove. He was always coming across glazed over, or several hundred ri away; a little slow sometimes, maybe. Except with a sword, where he was guaranteed on the ball. “I guess you know around here, huh?” Magatsu said it out a weird impulse to break the silence. “When did the dogs get lost?” “You talk so much,” Kagehisa said. Then, at a glimpse of Magatsu's offended place. “Not like that. Calm yourself.” “I do not,” Magatsu said, and sealed his lips up in preparation to maintain a manly silence for the rest of their jaunt. Kagehisa sighed. “Be an adult. If you have a question, why don't you ask it?” “I am an adult, and you are a real asshole.”

THEY’RE TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS

I’m still proud of this little exchange at the end, and Magatsu’s determination to keep his ‘manly silence.’ I imagine before his sister died, he was a sweet, chatty, affectionate kid; I can’t see him as a comedian type (he’d love to do silly things but get flustered when people actually laughed. I have had students like this and I know the type) but he probably would have been quite open and pure in a way.

Unfortunately, circumstances nipped a lot of that inherent sweetness in the bud. It’s similar to what happened to Rin, who had to become a harder, more calculating person over the course of the series, just so she’d survive. Still, Magatsu has empathy for others, some sweetness, and an inherent interest in people, and it peeks out now and again, even when the audience is Kagehisa.

“Speaking as an adult,” Kagehisa said with a smirk, “A kindly demeanor doesn't get you far in the real world.” “Shut up.” “Why are you angry?” Kagehisa's tone tended steadily more clipped. “When you're fighting seriously a temper is a liability.” Magatsu knew that. The assumption that he didn't stung. He uncinched his lips to mutter. “We're not fighting seriously.” “You're taking it seriously.” Kagehisa shrugged and glanced away. Magatsu thought he'd get ignored until Kagehisa spoke again. “The dogs got killed years ago.” “Some kinda training rite from the old man?” “Well, he tried.” Magatsu could always recognize now when Kagehisa's smiles weren't real ones. “It didn't go so well.” They walked over hill upon hill. Zigzag branches diced up the sky. Up close, black bark shone rich brown or gleamed with blue highlights in the autumn sun. “It's nearby,” Kagehisa said eventually, “If you want to see the place.” It was a plateau that opened out into a clearing. “The dogs scavenged from town and came here to bed down at night,” Kagehisa said. “But they never found enough. They were always hungry. Sometimes they tried to steal from us. Grandfather finally got tired of it.” “So he helped you fight him.” Already, Magatsu could guess that wasn't how it had gone. “No, he sent me...” There was one tree in the middle of the clearing. Kagehisa went to it and touched it. The touch of an old man, Magatsu thought, or someone blind, reaching to understand... “There was a girl,” Kagehisa said. “Oh.” “Not like that, would you stop,” but Kagehisa's smile lost some of its lines of unfortunate strain there.

Tbh it’s a travesty we never saw Makie and Magatsu interact more in the series itself. I like to imagine they’re friends; they’re very different people, but have a lot of interests in common. I think they’d have compassion for each other. Someday maybe I’ll try and write a friendship fic with them.

Also, Kagehisa and Anotsu are definitely at the age where they’d notice girls, if there were girls around to notice.

A moment came. A precipice. Teetered on, and then fallen past. Two old men fought and then only one of them had his blood decorating the ground. That was how it was, that was how it had to be. Magatsu went to help Abayama. It seemed to have taken it out of the guy, killing Grandpa Anotsu. Magatsu helped him sit. Abayama didn't let go of his sword. Anotsu was still looking at the wreckage of his grandfather with his back to them both. His black ponytail fell limply over his tightly squared shoulders. Magatsu wondered if Abayama would have to kill him next. Kagehisa turned and his face was wet, white and staring. Tight and confused, horrible with its tears. He stared at both Magatsu and Abayama as if surprised to find them there looking back at him. “I hated him,” Kagehisa said. “Take it easy, now,” Abayama said. “Family's family.” Men got crazy over less, Magatsu thought. Kagehisa stepped towards them. His eyes were still raw and staring, never having quite let out their tears. That was the moment that turned them both out into a new life.

Abayama definitely gave Kagehisa a hug after this scene change, Magatsu probably did too even though he was super embarrassed.

This series is haunted by Grandpa Anotsu’s ghost. He’s the one who was thrown out of the Asano dojo, and in a big way he’s responsible for setting Anotsu on his path. And he was a horrendously abusive guardian. Kagehisa is justified in hating him.

From that day they came a long way. It seemed like they were charmed with an easy work, or it was pleasant, as smooth as anyone could have wished. School after school, budding kenshi who’d never have blossomed anyway stamped out, the potentates gathered up. It became a blood-steeped story with more exposed entrails in it than Magatsu really thought there would be. The dead never went away. Not the new crowd, not his old tail. His sister was always at his heels, the flutter of her pink robes grabbing his eye from time to time. He could go a while without thinking of her and then circle back around and contemplate her existence for hours. Back around to her and Kagehisa and O-ren. Winter nights with their horrendous bite, summer nights slowing the world to a trickle, lulled in deep heat. Or the bitch-slap wind of spring. It came to a spring night with a nervous feel to it like a young horse taming to the saddle. A night at another brothel, one more upon an immeasurable number of flophouses and cheap inns. And nicer places. But the one night in particular: a brothel with a muddy yard, with a budding plum tree at the corner. A little sake for both of them. Half a bowl each. Magatsu had seen Kagehisa imbibe but they were past things like that. At least now was not the opportune moment for an alcoholic blowout. He who holds earth can conquer heaven but he who is too drunk to stand can’t even aim his dick to piss right. Magatsu would hesitate to say life was good, but it wasn’t horrible. And Kagehisa was filled with nervous, fever-bright energy.

I wish we’d learned Magatsu’s sister’s name in canon.

I like the imagery in these first paragraphs! Balancing dialogue, action and imagery is still a challenge for me. I can navel gaze with poetic images for paragraph upon paragraph, and it bothers me in my old work, but I don’t think I overdid it here.

Anyway, something that always bothers me in fiction is when characters so easily forget their dead. Magatsu is not perpetually sad about his sister, but I wanted to indicate that he never forgot her either, and always felt a bit haunted by her. He wants justice for her, not something that’s easy to find in the world of BotI.

He’s also not exactly a soft guy, but he is kind of sensitive to the awful things the Itto-ryu is doing.

It was hard to tell with him but they’d known each other for a long time. Kagehisa could always be controlled but his excitement gleamed in his eyes, the movement of his fingers on the ax-handle, his fixed smile. A warm spring night wouldn’t sway him. They drank together squatting in the yard. “Man, would you cool it?” Magatsu asked him finally. “You’re wigging me out.” “You talk so much.” “Yeah, well, try it sometime, maybe you’d scare off fewer women.” That made Kagehisa laugh. He could’ve pounded his hand bloody on a pulpit somewhere if he’d been raised to talk. Magatsu knew that much. Kagehisa had just been raised for something else. That was their high-water mark if Magatsu only knew it at the time. Kagehisa gazing up over the wall as the first stars wiped off their faces, Magatsu checking the Turk over, making sure it all fit quick, smooth and easy. They were on a trajectory towards greatness. They had so much to lose but it felt like anything lost would mean nothing. Would only be a move or two away from being won back. It wasn’t the first time Magatsu had heard the name Asano but it was the first time it stuck.

I imagine that Magatsu is one of the few Itto-ryu who’ll ever zing Anotsu, and probably one of the only ones (minus Makie) who could be called Kagehisa’s friend. They were kids together. Magatsu is one of the few people who remembers Kagehisa ever being vulnerable.

“They’re not a remarkable school,” Kagehisa told him, blasé and easy as always. “You know, it’s the one that threw grandfather out. The master has expressed some disrespect towards us now and, well…” His smile ironic: “You could say I’m putting grandfather’s soul to rest at last.” “Don’t go there, man. He was fucked in the head in the first place.” “Take care how you talk about the dead,” Kagehisa said with remarkable mildness, “They always might hear you. The master has a lovely wife and a young daughter, I believe. Almost fourteen. Somewhere thereabouts.” Magatsu thinks about that and then doesn’t. Almost fourteen, not much like his own sister at all. She’d be old enough to be wed by now, even. Maybe. Maybe with a child. “That shit’s not important. If they stand in front of us, roll ‘em over. But don’t do it because of your old man’s old man.” “I’ll do it for the Itto-ryu and the future of the country, not for him.” Kagehisa could do a cool snap withdrawal when it suited him. Like now. Magatsu looked sideways at him and Kagehisa looked back, steady. Family was always family. And, well – it was Magatsu’s ugly story too, there. But not all his. Magatsu likes little girls. In the healthy way, thanks, and he’s got the wherewithal to slice anyone who intimated anything nasty about his liking for them in half. He doesn’t show it much. It doesn’t have much place in the business. Just, he likes little girls, and bigger ones, watching them in the dusty streets, watching them shout at their brothers imperiously. Even the big girls. What his sister could’ve been. “That family must be put down,” Kagehisa says. He has a good capacity for casual cruelty. More than Magatsu’s got, enough like a leader needs. “Dude, kill who you want. I’m not attached.”

Of course this is a prelude to the incident with Rin. I would say the first cracks in Magatsu’s allegiance to the Itto-ryu showed there.

Gramps is dead, but Anotsu is still damaged by him. Honestly I don’t think he ever got over that damage. BotI was not a series that went easy on its characters, and frankly the Anotsu family line was not wrong that there was plenty wrong with the world they were living in. Magatsu is right to be uncomfortable with this though. Even as a kid he was always the more objective one regarding Grandpa Anotsu and his dream. Anotsu is going to do some terrible things in the name of avenging his grandfather and Magatsu can feel it even if he doesn’t know the exact details.

Abayama killed Grandpa when it became necessary but as they say you can’t kill an idea. Anotsu has carried the idea forward himself.

“We could spare the girl, if you like.” Kagehisa watches him. The offer sounds like it’s given without a care. His eyes have got no shine in them sometimes. He’s not paranoid but he’s always watching, and sometimes – Magatsu hasn’t got a hard-on for him. But sometimes it’s a look that’s vulnerable. “It doesn’t matter,” Magatsu returns, keeping the eye contact up, breaking it casually to turn back to the Turk. He would follow Kagehisa anyway. It was still the high-water mark. Before he watched his comrades rape a woman and walked away from it. Still there was no telling the future. What came ahead could be as important as anything that came behind. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Kagehisa says. If Magatsu knew what was all to come. If Magatsu knew his life, and the tempestuous years ahead. The whole business, when he stopped doing it to mend sandals or work fields he remembered why he hated it, and then remembered again why he didn’t have a taste for the simple life. There was no place for a good man to rest easy. Thinking like that he’d been on the run for all the part of his life that mattered. On the run, and putting his feet in Kagehisa’s footsteps. As terrible as the things they did were, as awkward and bizarre as Kagehisa was, it was just so familiar to be at his back. Magatsu felt sometimes at parting the squeeze of a bitter, fire-forged affection that would never rest easy between them. It had been more fair than he liked to say it didn’t matter what Kagehisa chose to do to the woman, to the girl. What Kagehisa chose to let others do to those women. Magatsu’d come much too far with him to cut it off easy right there, or not to go on with him for longer. They were brothers-in-arms by now.

I made myself emotional with my own fic, help

Anyway. The feeling at the end should definitely be that it’s maybe not a GOOD thing that these two are as close as they are. I would say Magatsu loves Kagehisa, I don’t make any distinction tbh if it’s friendship or a romantic ship; Kagehisa in all his weirdness and intensity is simply the most important person in Magatsu’s life at this time. And yet, he won’t be able to follow Kagehisa everywhere; he doesn’t always agree with Kagehisa.

The thing about Magatsu that makes him interesting is he basically is… too sensitive to comfortably live in the world of BotI as it is (which is why his ending of happily working in the fields was pretty terrible).

Kagehisa was never WRONG that the system he lived within was massively unjust and kind of broken and in need of huge restructuring. But the things he did to achieve that were absolutely wrong, and terrible. I believe he grew a lot over the course of the series (imagine end-series Anotsu redoing the scene with Rin’s parents; I think he might still have killed her dad, but things with her mom would NOT have gone the same way)... but no matter how much he grew I think he couldn’t do what would have been necessary to “escape” the system. At least, by the time he wanted to escape the system in that way, so much had happened and so many bridges were burned that it was impossible.

Honestly, as I say that, I’m not even sure what “escaping” the system would have looked like, other than leaving for China, which in the canon’s case was not an escape but a sign of just how broken and defeated Kagehisa was in those moments.

Anyway, I think the fact that Kagehisa had genuine desires to create a better system, but he didn’t think through what worst-case scenario consequences would be for people like Rin. And Magatsu, in the meantime, couldn’t escape what worst-case scenario consequences would be for people like Rin. He was too empathetic to ignore those things, and too sensitive to injustice to be as ruthless as Kagehisa when it came to changing things.

What it meant was that even though Magatsu loved Kagehisa, their friendship would eventually break apart, as it does on and off in canon until the very end where Magatsu doesn’t meet up with Anotsu to go to China. And I think even when they’re not friends, they still love each other; that’s what’s tragic about them. They’ll always be unique people to each other, and irreplaceable. But… the cost of one of them following the other would always be too high.

#blade of the immortal #boti #anotsu kagehisa #anotsu #magatsu taito #magatsu #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #commentary

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ultraisabarrosmartins1978 · 6 years ago

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UM ROTEIRO FORA DO COMUM DE SÃO PAULO!

O @entaovah te leva junto com o Catraca por um roteiro bem legal na cidade de São Paulo, com garoa ou sem! Já foi? Então Vah!

São Paulo é a terra da Garoa, a Selva de Pedras e a Babilônia em chamas. Chame como quiser, mas saiba, existe amor em SP! Esse amor todo vem das pessoas e da relação que o paulistano cria nas suas pequenas convivências com outras pessoas e com a cidade!

Apesar da cidade ser muito grande, é possível vivê-la de uma maneira “pequena”, escolhendo bairros e se permitindo sentí-lo com calma e atenção.

O entendimento de que não é possível conhecer São Paulo de uma vez só é muito importante e faz com que sua visita não seja frustrada.

O @entaovah escolheu alguns bairros para guiar vocês pelo tradicional renovado e por pequenas descobertas.

O roteiro é completo e passamos por hospegadem, bares e restaurantes e passeios diferentões.

MORUMBI, UM OÁSIS VERDE NA CIDADE

Em São Paulo, o Morumbi divide opiniões. Do outro lado da ponte, muita gente acha que é muuuuito longe e que não vale a pena a visita. ERRO. Ali tem lugares escondidos e pouco visitados que fazem você esquecer da correria que acontece logo ali. O importante aqui é estar atento aos horários de locomoção para chegar e sair de lá, já que o bairro conta com poucas saídas e pode ter bastante trânsito em horários de pico.

As dicas ali são de fuga do concreto massivo e passam pela harmonia de entornos verdes com arquiteturas bem planejadas para o conforto.

A Fundação Oscar Americano conta com um brunch bem gostoso aos domingos e pode ser um ótimo ponto de começo para desbravar esse bairro de São Paulo. Além da boa comida, tem jardins incríveis e te dá a sensação que o tempo é relativo, gaste algum por ali.

Meu lugar favorito no Morumbi é a Casa de Vidro, da Lina Bobardi, a mesma arquiteta que projetou o MASP, e que agora rola uma exposição simultânea nas duas “casas”. Realmente um oásis na cidade.

Para fechar, o bom e bonito Parque Burle Marx projetado pelo paisagista e arquiteto Burle Marx é recheado por trilhas e por jardins lindos e dignos de contemplação.

A dica de restaurante é o Bananeira, com almoço executivo e a lá carta a noite.

BIXIGA, O ENCONTRO DO NOVO COM O ANTIGO

O Bixiga hoje é o bairro com maior mistura do novo hipster com o tradicional italiano da cidade.

Você pode começar almoçando no C Que Sabe… , uma cantina fofa de massa boa, com bom custo benefício, com fitinhas e utensílios de cozinha pendurados no teto, perfeito para ir pro Instagram! Mas não coma a sobremesa por ali, a padaria 14 de julho tem o melhor cannoli da cidade e te espera com queijos a serem beliscados, um ótimo pão italiano e a possibilidade de levar o jantar pra casa, épico.

A tarde vai passando, e o MP Lab, já está aberto. Cervejas, drinks, cursos, workshops e a possibilidade entre ficar dentro e fora que tanto agrada um bom paulistano. Estica para a escadaria do Bixiga pra ver “a banda passar” com calma e tranquilidade, está linda e renovada com novos grafitis trazendo reflexões importantes para a cidade.

O Bixiga não para. Às sextas a noite tem o tradicional samba do bixiga na 13 de maio, com a banda Madeira de Lei, samba de rua, democrático e que respeita os horários dos vizinhos. nos outros dias, recomendo a Casa Barbosa, sempre com músicos bons trazendo vida para madrugada.

A NOVA PAULISTA

A Paulista está repaginada e hoje é um polo cultural e artístico de uma das maiores metrópoles do mundo. Fechada aos domingos para que possamos aproveitar a rua de São Paulo e retomar os espaços públicos com artistas de rua, aulas de dança, espetáculos e shows. Pegue sua bike, alugue um patinete e fique livre para explorar os melhores lugares da avenida.

Você pode andar por ela de cabo a rabo, começando no mural do Kobra do Oscar Niemeyer. Passa pela Japan House, Casa das Rosas, Sesc 24 de maio, para ver a Paulista toda do mirante. Fiesp, escadarias da Gazeta onde tem o Lina Cafeina em homenagem a já citada Lina Bobardi. O MASP que tá apresentando suas obras de uma maneira inovadora e limpa. O IMS, onde você pode almoçar no Balaio, restaurante assinado pelo famoso paulistano Rodrigo Oliveira, se sentindo de saída mais culta, só por estar dentro de um museu! (risos!)

Você consegue passar o dia todo ali como se tivesse passado somente uma hora.

Meu cinema do coração está na região, o Itaú Cinemas fica na Augusta e te permite sentir a cidade mais próxima, já que não fica enfurnado nos shoppings da cidade e resgata os deliciosos cinemas de rua.

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Minha dica certeira para finalizar a noite depois do cineminha é jantar no inovador Sliders, uma hamburgueria que faz lanches menores, do tamanho de meio sanduba. Um lugar pra ficar na rua e comer entre cervejas artesanais, enquanto um sliderzometro contabiliza a quantidade de sanduíches vendidos desde que a casa abriu. Eu amo.

VILA MADA, A CASA DA ARTE DE RUA

A Vila Madalena segue sendo o bairro queridinho e cada vez mais diversificado, recebendo diferentes tipos de viajantes. A arte de rua continua sendo o grande astro do bairro e preenche ele todo, no Beco do Batman dando espaço para rodadas de artistas poderem mostrar seus trabalhos e em todas as ruazinhas cheias de lojas autorais que mostram a cara do paulistano atual.

A A7MA é uma galeria de arte de artistas fodásticos e que trazem toda a cultura da rua, por exposições e disponibilidade do acervo. Ali é um lugar em São Paulo pra quem está atento, de reflexões e muita conversa solta com os meninos que te recebem. Essa é minha predileta, mas existem outras pela região, basta permitir se perder pra encontrar muita coisa legal.

A Barbearia do Paschoal está muito além das barbearias da moda, que são feitas só para homens que tomam cerveja e andam de moto. Ali é um espaço para todxs, os fios são cortados e cobrados não por gênero mas por tamanho do fio. Além dele tem a musa Naja, que vende seus kimonos bafo e artesanais e a diva da tattoo Gabrielle Navarro que fez minha última aquarela no free hand. Essa turma está na época certa, rindo na cara do patriarcado e atendendo pessoas e não gêneros entre cafés e risadas.

O restaurante certo do bairro é o Quincho, um vegetariano provocativo (“Você tem fome de quê?”) que entende e atende a todos e nunca vi nenhum carnívoro botar defeito. Aberto a noite, o que é inovador para o segmento e muito gostoso. Os drinks são incríveis, vá de Fitz Gerald acompanhando o bolovo que não tem erro.

O Mercado de Pinheiros é um passeio e tanto e bem diversificado. Ele conta com feira, o que já deixa qualquer ambiente lindo, com restaurantes deliciosos, como o Rainha, o esquina Mocotó e a Napoli Centrali, uma pizzaria fera! Mesas do lado de fora pra comer com calma e esquecer do mundo. Depois de se sentir bem alimentado, se jogue nas lojinhas de produtos artesanais, queijarias deliciosas e peixarias com tudo fresco. Imperdível!

Não temos como deixar de falar da Rua Guaicuí, uma rua fechada para carros, cheia de luzinhas e o maior astral com seus bares, comidas, sorvetes e pessoas na rua. Qualquer lugar ali vai ser sucesso, MAS, o Mica é meu favorito, com sabores orientais que vão dos petiscos aos drinks, é pra morrer de prazer.

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Opções de bares e drinks pela Vila não faltam. Acredite no drink de beterraba do Benzina, e se estiver por SP em uma terça feira, não perca o Viaje com o Barman. Um menu degustação de drinks e pequenos petiscos. Surreal!

PERDIDOS POR AÍ!

Além dos bairros já citados, temos algumas joias pela cidade, que podem valer o deslocamento e acertar dentro do roteiro! A doceria que ganhou espaço na cidade é a Tartelier, e fica na low profile Saúde! A Beth Bakery, uma padaria imperdível aos finais de semana e fica na Aclimação.

O Conchichine está nos Jardins e vale pela gastronomia específica do norte do Vietnã e muito boa. Apresenta texturas em sabores com muito cuidado. De entrada vá de Bahnboyloc e Dumpling Consume; para sobremesa vá no Brullee de Jaca e nesse meio faça como preferir, é tudo bom!

O Laje Pirajá fica na Faria Lima e te entrega os famosos espetinhos com cerveja de garrafa da casa <3.

O restaurante armeno Dozza fica em Osasco mas te transporta para as arábias. O grego tradicional Acrópoles, no Bom Retiro é unânime na cidade de São Paulo.

Para relaxar na cidade, nada melhor que o Buddha Spa, um lugar para permitir que cuidem de você, entre chás e massagens.

ONDE DORMIR

Foi pela Vila Mada que escolhi onde dormir, o bairro é ótimo para ficar pela quantidade de opções de coisas a serem feitas a pé, tanto pela manhã como pela noite. Ou seja, é ótimo para encaixar entre passeios pelo resto da cidade. Além de estar em fácil acesso para se locomover.

O Guest Urban tem um custo benefício de arrasar quarteirão, que nesse caso, estamos falando da Benedito Calixto que fica ao lado. O básico é todo bom. Cama, travesseiro, chuveiro e café da manhã. O resto é charme mesmo, muito bem decorado com design minimal e atual que faz você se sentir bem e em casa!

Já foi comprar sua passagem pra São Paulo? Entaovah !

AUTOR:

O @entaovah é um perfil no Insta de dicas para viajantes que não tem vergonha de turistar mas que adora parecer um local.

O perfil começou a pouco, mas a história é de vida inteira, feita com muito cuidado buscando pequenas descobertas! Já são mais de 30 países e 59 cidades brasileiras.

Não uso filtros, porque gosto das cores como são.

Faço roteiros bem personalizados e que realize os seus sonhos, filtrando pra você todas às um milhão e oitocentas possibilidades entregues pelo google e blogs!

Já me mandou um DM com seu próximo destino? Entaovah!

Entaovah descobrir tudo sobre a Ilha da Magia, Floripa!

Entaovah descobrir tudo sobre às aventuras de Boituva!

Entaovah descobrir tudo sobre Gonçalves, ao sul de Minas!

Entaovah descobrir tudo sobre o paraíso africano, Zanzibar!

Entaovah descobrir tudo sobre os safaris animais da Tanzania!

UM ROTEIRO FORA DO COMUM DE SÃO PAULO!publicado primeiro em como se vestir bem

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