#shaking hands with sulla on that and on that ONLY

[sforzesco]

so. my laptop is Deceased, which means I don’t have half of my pdf library (because I wasn’t able to back it all up yet. weeping and wailing), and THAT means that I have a much smaller pool of texts to work off with and cite, so. this is a much more direct glimpse into my thoughts when I’m reading ancient sources and don’t have the poetry of scholars to direct my imagination

anyway, the tris homines alliance is also an informal club for people that had weird but formative relationships with sulla. like. a real Make Them Worse situation happened there. crassus becomes someone who is half shadowy rumor behind every dealing in the eyes of others, pompey and caesar drag rome back into civil war, sulla says that caesar resembles marius but it’s sulla’s playbook that caesar later runs. everyone dies in places where they do not expect to die.

Plutarch, Caesar

Plutarch, Pompey

Plutarch, Crassus

Rome, Blood & Power, Gareth C Sampson

Sulla: The Last Republican, Arthur Keaveney

The Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

[cardinalcanis]

Wheel of fortune: part 1.

"Hey kid? Wanna go down this ride as I make my OC miserable?"

[Next]

Summary: Cato discovers a well kept secret between the primarch and his right hand man.

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x Ovidius Sulla (M!OC)

Tw: Cato, violation of privacy

Word count: 707

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal

@moodymisty @lemon-russ @thisuserislilsilly

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea

@cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @finchly-tintinnabulation

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cato Sicarius strode through the hallways of the Macragge’s Honor  with military precision in each step. He had a simple task: deliver a set of vital documents to Primarch Roboute Guilliman. But as he approached the Primarch’s private quarters, an inexplicable sense of foreboding began to settle in his gut.

Sicarius reached for the door, hesitating momentarily, finding it slightly open. He should have knocked anyway, as Guilliman’s privacy was sacred. Something about the atmosphere emanating the room felt charged, he readied his gun in one hand, he had outlived enough tricks of the warp to identify when something was off. What if the Primarch had been secretly attacked during the recent warp jump? 

The commander of the Victrix Honour Guard’s training kicked in as he readily peered through the opening, just as if ambushing the enemy in the field. The sight that greeted him was unexpected, nothing in the Codex Astartes had prepared him for it.

There, on the edge of Guilliman’s grand, well-ordered desk, sat Ovidius, his disgusting mechanical hands wrapped around the Primarch's shoulders. Guilliman was sitting on the floor over his knees, the only way they could make it so their heights sort of match. Seeing his gene sire on his knees in front of a human overfilled Sicarius with scorn, this, this must be some ruinous corruption. 

The warmth of their closeness radiated between them. Sicarius’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with disbelief. In that moment, Ovidius leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Guilliman's in a tender kiss, their eyes momentarily closed as they gave themselves to the moment. His disgust grew as he saw how the Primarch melted and surrendered to the Head Logistician’s touch, weakness, that man is planting weakness inside his gene sire. 

There were so many feelings competing inside him; shock, a visceral jolt of confusion and anger. How dare they? The thought flared within him like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the shadows of jealousy and betrayal that lurked in his heart. As he stood frozen at the threshold, he found himself grappling with a tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

There was an undeniable sincerity in their connection, an authenticity that radiated from their shared gaze. Ovidius’s usual anxious demeanor melted away in Guilliman’s presence, replaced by a radiant trust that made Sicarius’s chest ache and stomach churn. The Primarch, the demigod, seemed lighter, almost human, in that fleeting moment. Impossible, Guilliman is not human, whatever this is it’ll only bring them ruin. 

Sicarius clenched his fists as the kiss lingered in the air, a silent promise between them, and as Ovidius pulled away, a shy smile graced his lips, illuminating his features. Guilliman’s eyes softened, a glimmer of affection and vulnerability that should not have a place in a being such as a primarch. How long has this been going on? How did it start? He had seen how competent the Head Logistican was at his position but there was something he couldn’t shake off. He knew mortals and how all they change and twist after having a taste of power. That’s why The Son of Ultramar reinstated the tetrarchs among his gene sons, so they would rule without the corruption that inhabits normal human hearts. The Avenging Son was powerful, and Ovidius had gotten just a taste of what that power was, the bastard wanted more. 

He leaned away from the open door and placed the gun back into its holster. Composing his emotions he would politely knock on the door. 

“My Lord, it is I, Cato Sicarius. I bring you updates from the situation on the western front.” he said, masking his disgust with many layers of cold formality. 

It took Roboute Guilliman a bit longer than usual to respond, Cato’s expression twisted as he waited. 

“Commander Sicarius, you may come in.” His gene sire’s voice answered in its usual tone, away from the human he was playing as. 

He entered, the room had shifted, with Guilliman back behind his desk and the Administratum leech sorting paperwork in a far corner. Cato wondered not for how long this charade had been going on, but how he would stop it. But not now, he must pretend nothing happened.

[catominor]

my fictional romeguys introductory post to contextualise the posting!!!!!

this is my little guys from my novel project which is currently in its Infancy very much. the story is set... somewhere roundabout the 80s-70s bce probably. it's broadly about two guys who make a jointly beneficial political alliance (and also become friends in the process) their psychosexual joint consulship and its consequences

main guys:

lucius furius m. f. sp. n. camillus: 45 years old, semi down on his luck patrician. he spends most of his time when he isn't trying to enhance his dignitas in the political sphere being a weird shutin and not leaving the house if he can avoid it. was injured very badly when he was young during a brief military career, preventing him from doing war stuff again... for now. (he also had a hugely comical and deeply formative crush on his commanding officer during said military career). ambitious beyond both his physical and monetary means. has been in a sexless arranged failmarriage for like 25 or so years with his wife, caecilia, whom he was married to because his family desperately needed money (but he does love her in his own weird way i think). also loves gardening, stoic philosophy, being maybe slightly addicted to opium wine, books in general, and being inside and in his house reading his scrolls (despite being in politics, having to shake all those sticky plebs' hands makes him want to kill himself fr. the price he pays for his rightful place in society as he sees it...). he is a huuuge sullan also. to him sulla did nothing wrong ever in his life. most famous for being a bit eccentric and reclusive, but still quite respected by most of the senate for his modest lifestyle and his refined and learned tendencies.

gaius martinus: our biggest handsomest general... a couple years older than lucius furius, wealthy plebeian senator. he's a bit of a new man; his family has only been in the senate for a couple generations and never attained the consulship. he's a simple type of guy really; he's a squarely competent (though not really that astounding) military commander, not very book-smart, and has an impressive appetite for all of life's pleasures. most people who don't instinctively look down on him for these traits tend to like him tremendously; he's easy to talk to, friendly, generous, and cheerful. he has a wife, poppaea, who he loves very much, and 6 horribly behaved sons to whom he is a beautifully absent father. his favorite things to do are hang out at the baths or the gymnasium, throw big dinner parties or go out partying with his friends, and do his thang commanding his troops and chopping people up with his sword in The Wars. he doesn't have very strong political leanings, and mostly just wants to be paid attention to, adored, etc. most famous for accidentally unleashing a pack of tigers intended for his games into the streets of rome while he was plebeian aedile, and for throwing big knock your socks off parties (and not getting mad at the guests for taking a little of the food home)

heres a main guys image (coin of them i drew):

others:

caecilia: lucius furius' wife in their arranged failmarriage. for her this relationship is constituted of a mix of resentment and love; they get along very well mostly, and in another life they could have been good friends, maybe, but in this one they're married and he's wasted her life. she helped him tremendously with everything he's done in politics, both with her advice and with her money, and in return she's mostly just been taken for granted. she wanted kids. there never were any. she thought he might die from one of his many ailments (he is the worlds sickliest man) soon enough; he never did. who's to say you can't love someone while also wondering if you could get away with killing them every now and then? she mostly passes her time by weaving, and writing vulgar epigrams which she publishes under a pseudonym for funsies...

poppaea: gaius martinus' wife. there isn't too much to say about her; she really is gaius' other half. like him, she's cheerful, easygoing, and enjoys the finer things in life. she loves gaius dearly, despite the fact that he's far from faithful; poppaea isn't the jealous type, or else, knows she can't really afford to be. she is also a wonderfully absent mother to their children, mostly preferring to leave the child raising to the nannies and take pleasant strolls around the gardens and go shopping in the big markets with her friends. she has a close relationship with her father, and often visits him.

quintus poppaeus: gaius martinus' father in law. a thoroughly slay old man. businessman who was never involved in politics (made his money from the mines), loads of money and mostly spends it on building hanging baths in his baiae villa, installing the latest garden fountains to flex on the neighbors, ridiculously swagfully effeminate outfits, and so. so many beautiful pet fish. his only child is his daughter, poppaea, and he adores her. he also has a very friendly relationship with gaius.

furia: lucius furius' younger sister and only living sibling. she's a bit like him if he were more mentally stable and normal. she's in a barely tolerable marriage with another aristocrat. her and lucius furius don't speak very often; she resents him a bit for having power over her i think (their father died when they were young) and he probably made her marry whatever crappy guy shes married to now (have i mentioned this is a work in progress)

theres other of my own characters but these are like. the ones who will Matter the most and that i will post about tbh

none of the stuff mentioned in here are things which would like. spoil any Plot so i wont say any more... im not too precious about spoiling things cause its such early days (plus i think if i write well enough it will be interesting to read even if you know what happens hopefully?) but i just dont want to make the post any fucking longer lol...

[xxmarvelouslifexx]

hello! dropped in to tell you that i really love your fics. they're some of my favorite things to chew upon in ao3. if you don't mind, i would be delighted to read anything crassus/sulla you can write. that tag's been sort of abandoned unfortunately.

Thank you! Your fic absolutely slaps as well! I actually don't have anything Sulla/Crassus in mind, though Sulla is a big character in the fic I'm currently attempting to write. Sorry I have not posted any new fics in a hot minute. I will eventually get to it, I keep getting distracted with the read alongs.

But here is a sneak preview of that fic. Definitely going to be the weirdest thing I've written so far.

tw: threat of sexual assault

As Caesar makes his way to the doorway of his mother’s house, the crowd turns and whispers. His mother waits there, with a grim look on her face, along with all her brothers. He is shocked to see even his Uncle Gaius is present, back from his exile.

She quickly embraces him, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“Gaius! How are you? Did they treat you hospitably? He swore they would.” Her questions tumble out in a rush. She is nervous. He hasn’t seen her in such a state since his father passed.

“Yes, he did. What is going on, mother? Where is Cornelia?”

His mother begins to respond but the words don’t come out. She is blinking away tears. His Uncle Marcus steps forward, he is holding a yellow veil.

“It is your wedding day. Cornelia declined her invitation, said she could not stomach it,” he says. He drapes the veil over Caesar, much to his confusion. There is the sound of an approaching litter and the crowd’s murmurs increase in volume. His mother wipes the tears from her eyes and takes a wreath from a nearby attendant.

Caesar takes a step back.

“No! No, I’m no woman. What are you doing?” They have lost their minds. Everyone has. Nothing makes any sense anymore.

“Gaius Julius Caesar, come here,” his mother demands. He shakes his head petulantly, like a child. Uncle Lucius grabs his arms and pulls him back. His mother adjusts the veil and places the wreath on his head. “This was the only way. This or your head out on the rostra with the others.”

“But what madman would want me as a wife?”

The crowd breaks into cheers. Caesar turns around to a sickening sight. Lucius Cornelius Sulla has arrived, and he is walking straight towards him. He is wearing a matching wreath.

He turns back to his mother and clutches her hands.

“You cannot make me do this! You can’t!”

Strong arms wrap around his waist and begin to pull him away. The moment had arrived, he remembered doing the same to Cornelia years ago. She wailed as he took her from her father’s household, a jest. Playing at being an unwilling bride so as not to offend the household’s lares.

He is not playing a part when he throws his arms around his mother’s shoulders. He holds on tight and Sulla struggles to break his hold. Caesar is making a scene, quite an embarrassment for his family he knows. His uncles try to pry his hands off and urge him to let go.

“Gaius this is enough!” His mother twists out of his grip.

He falls back against Sulla’s chest, who quickly grabs ahold of his hands and pins them to his chest. He is taller and broader than Caesar. He can feel Sulla breathing deeply behind him. He leans down, to whisper in his ear.

“Are you done, boy?”

Is he? He is trying to piece together what has transpired. But the pieces do not fit. Not in a way that makes any sense. He finally nods in response and Sulla lets go. Caesar can’t help but take the opportunity to throw a punch. It connects with Sulla’s jaw, not his best work but it is something. To remind the man he would not be defeated so easily.

Sulla stares him down and the crowd quiets. He receives a backhanded slap that sends him to the floor. Before he can reorient himself, he is pinned belly down. He has no hope of throwing off Sulla’s weight.

“Keep that up and I will consummate this marriage right now,” Sulla snarls in his ear. “In front of your uncles and your mother and all of Rome.”

[lovinglapislazuli]

So, Butler Yaraneda, uh? After studying him a little, I just think he is neat! I can't wait to see how his fight will work out, I hope they can reach him somehow  👀 

[ ID: Four ball-point pen and marker doodles of Butler from Tropical Rouge Precure in his Yaraneda form. From up to down, left to right: a bust drawing of Butler looking angry and shaking his fist; a full body shot with perspective from below in which Butler is reaching his hand toward the camera and only the light of his eyes can be seen in the shadow; Butler is bending forward with an upset and confused expression towards the Witch of Delays, standing in front of him and holding one hand towards him, he says “Isn’t this what you wanted?”; Cure Oasis comically hitting Butler on the head with her heart rouge rod telling him “Please stop!”, he has a pained expression and little tears in his eyes, a “Bonk” onomatopeia is right above his head. End description.]

[ ID: Quattro disegni a penna e pennarelli di Butler di Tropical Rouge precure nella sua forma Yaraneda. Dall’alto verso il basso, da sinistra a destra: un disegno a mezzo busto di Butler arrabbiato che scuote un pugno; un inquadratura a figura intera con prospettiva dal basso in cui Butler muove la sua mano in direzione dell’osservatore e nell’ombra si può solo vedere la luce dei suoi occhi; Butler proteso in avanti con un’espressione dispiaciuta e confusa nei confronti della Strega del Rimando, che si trova davanti lui con una mano tesa nella sua direzione, lui dice “Isn’t this what you wanted?”; Cure Oasis che colpisce comicamente Butler sulla testa con il suo heart rouge rod dicendogli “Please stop!”, mentre lui ha un’espressione addolorata con le lacrimucce, proprio sopra la sua testa c’è un’onomatopea “Bonk”. Fine della descrizione. ]

[mrs-gucci]

Wedding Bells [REPOST] {Maurizio Gucci x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! I originally wrote this story as an ‘x OC’ because that’s what I was writing at the time, but I decided to change it into an ‘x Reader’ story since that’s what more people like to read!

**I used a translation application for the Italian in this story. apologies if there are any typos and/or incorrect sentences/grammar. Italian sentences/words are in italics throughout the story with translations after the sentences in parenthesis.

**This is MY OWN INTERPRETATION of Maurizio Gucci’s character, as portrayed by Adam Driver in the upcoming film, House Of Gucci.

warnings: smut. fluff. maurizio calling reader “tesoro”™️. some wedding shit. light aftercare. grinding. creampie. implied consent. dirty talk, name-calling/degradation but in italian ;)

(possible) tw’s: infidelity/extramarital affair. brief mentions of tobacco use. implied age gap (reader is over 21, no more than 10 years difference).

SMUT under the CUT!

“Tesoro” means “Treasure” in Italian (an affectionate nickname)

You can’t believe this is really happening.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You’re supposed to be the one in the white gown, the one set to marry Maurizio Gucci. 

He insists that this overzealous ceremony is just for the press, that he’s not truly in love with her, but sometimes you see him looking at her and you lose faith. 

You almost didn’t come today. You almost just stayed at the house and pretended that this never happened, but you know that even if this marriage is a sham, it’s still a big day for Maurizio. 

And I can’t say no to him.

The crowd cheers as they kiss up at the altar, turning to face everyone in the church with big smiles on their faces. You clap softly, forcing a smile upon your face as they walk down the aisle together. 

He looks so handsome in his suit, the striped pants and impeccably polished black leather loafers completing the look. Maurizio was always dressed to the nines, but today, he was dressed to the tens. 

His eyes meet yours, and his face falls for a moment when he reads the underlying sadness etched in your outwardly happy expression. 

Everyone starts piling out of the church and you go along with them, hopping into one of the cars to take everyone to the headquarters for the reception. 

The car pulls up to the building a few minutes later, and you walk in, taking a deep breath. 

You should just go home, Y/N. You went to the reception, and that’s enough.

You look around at the decorated walls, all the guests mingling happily, all here in support of Maurizio and Patrizia. 

You’re here too, sure, but you feel oddly out of place standing amongst the other guests.

Perhaps it’s because you’re the only non-native guest here. Perhaps it’s because you’re not here in support of the couple. 

You find my place at one of the front tables and of course, you’re sat facing Maurizio, practically head-on. Great.

The meal is served and the room goes essentially silent as everyone begins dining. You make some casual conversation with the people sitting around you, some of them your coworkers, but you can’t stop myself from looking over at the groom from time to time. 

As night runs into early morning, you’ve found some solace in the champagne and the company of Giovanni, someone you’ve come to really like spending time with. You both have a lot in common and you get on great; you’re always joking around the office. 

Each time you begin talking with Giovanni, however, you feel a particular set of eyes on you. And, when you look over, you’re met with the deep brown eyes of your lover. 

You show him no reaction, simply smiling sweetly each time your eyes meet, as if you were simply boss and employee. 

Soon, you feel utterly suffocated by the thick air of the room, so you decide to step outside for a short while. You hope to slip out unnoticed, and you do for a little bit, but then someone comes out behind you. 

You don’t even need to turn around to see who it is, and the familiar sound of a lighter gives all the confirmation you needed.

Maurizio walks out and leans over the balcony, a thin cloud of smoke passing through his lips as he looks out onto the horizon. 

“I…”

He begins, trailing off. 

“Have you gotten a slice of cake yet? It’s quite good.”

You huff with a drop of humor.

“No, but maybe I’ll do that now, since this balcony is no longer exclusive to just me.”

As you turn around and begin to walk towards the door, his hand snatches your wrist and pulls you back. Your body collides with his, your back pressed against his front. 

You can feel his smoky breath against your ear, and your skin erupts in goosebumps. 

“Please, stay. I want to speak with you.”

There’s a brief moment where you truly believe that you’re going to say no this time, that you’re going to walk away.

But I can’t say no to him.

He feels you relax and lets go of your wrist, allowing you to return to the railing. He stands behind you, taking another drag. 

“I guess I should begin by apologizing, for you having to sit through the ceremony.”

You take a sip of champagne. 

“As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m simply your assistant.”

“Yes, but I know that you’re more, much more, than that. I can’t imagine that sitting there the whole time was easy. But, I want you to know that I appreciate you coming, it would’ve been weird not seeing you today.”

You look over your shoulder, up at him.

“You know I’ll always be here for you, Maurizio.”

He smiles down at you. “I promise that it won’t always be like this for us, tesoro. Things will change, and we will be able to show our love to the world.”

His hand runs down your arm gently, then falls to your hip, where he squeezes lightly. 

“You look so beautiful tonight. I wish I could kiss you, touch you, worship you like you deserve.”

You blush, stepping back a bit, now fully pressed up against him. His breath catches in his throat as his hand comes forward and trails up, fingers teasing just below your breasts. 

He leans forward, lips leaving a series of open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

“It’s been nearly impossible to stay away from you, mi tesoro. I just want to have you right here, right now…”

A whimper escapes your lips as his trail down to your shoulder. 

“Potrei alzare il vestito e fotterti, climelo.” (I could just pull your dress up and fuck you, christ.)

He breathes, grinding his hips against you, growling lowly in your ear. 

“Piegati sulla ringhiera, ti fa urlare il mio nome…” (Bend you over the railing, make you scream my name…)

You’re breathless as you try to resist the urge to let him take you right here. 

But, you know you can’t, it’s way too risky. Someone’s bound to notice.

“Maurizio…”

You whisper. 

“We can’t, not here.”

Something seems to switch in his brain and he freezes suddenly, almost as if he’s been snapped back into reality. He stands up straight again, breath shaky as he takes a final drag of his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray. 

“I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

He groans in frustration, running a hand through his hair. 

You turn around, resting your hands on his chest, staring up into his eyes. 

“It’s okay.”

“I need to have you tonight, tesoro, please.”

Maurizio says, resting his forehead on yours, lips mouthing at yours. 

You sigh.

“How? There are people everywhere, it’s too risky.”

A smirk suddenly stretches across his face.

“No one will be in my office bathroom…”

You bite your lip, holding back a smile. 

“Shall we meet in there?”

“I’ll have to sit with Patrizia for a little while, talk to some people, just to keep up appearances.”

He says, nodding. 

“But, how about we meet there in...let’s say an hour?”

“Saro li l’accordo.” (I’ll be there.)

You say, smiling up at him. 

He returns the expression. 

“Allora ci vediamo.” (See you then.)

One Excruciatingly Long Hour Later

You quietly step into Maurizio’s office, gasping when a pair of arms wraps around your waist, pulling you into the office. You look up and see him, immediately jumping into his arms, crashing your lips together. 

He carries you into the hidden bathroom, closing the door quickly behind him. His gaze is hungry as his darkened eyes rake up and down your dress-clad figure. 

“Bend over.”

He growls, head nodding towards the marble vanity. 

You bend yourself over, resting on your elbows. There isn’t much time before someone notices Maurizio’s missing, and you can tell he knows this as well, a sense of urgency in his fingers as he undoes his belt and pants.

You look at his reflection in the mirror, the sight of him in his wedding suit incredibly arousing, a certain sense of promiscuity surrounding us. Even more so than usual.

Maurizio quickly bends down and pulls the dress up over your hips, moving your panties to the side before rubbing his tip through your wetness. 

“We’ll have to be quick.”

He says, looking at you through the mirror’s reflection.

You nod, and he lines himself up with your entrance, chin resting on your shoulder as he pushes in, sighing loudly. 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, his cock stretching you out deliciously. You whimper as he pulls back and thrusts back in, your body jolting with his forward motion. 

“Tesoro.”

He moans into your ear, picking up the rhythm of his hips. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“O-Oh, Maurizio.”

You whimper, walls clenching around him.

One of his hands comes up from your hip and wraps around your throat, fingers shaking your jaw slightly. 

“Guardati, tesoro, guardati ti scopa allo specchio.”  (Look at you, treasure, watch yourself get fucked in the mirror.)

Your eyes go wide when you look at the reflection, seeing Maurizio positioned behind you, hips jackhammering into you. His glasses are steaming up slightly and his brow is furrowed, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

Our eyes meet in the mirror and we moan together, the sight so erotic. 

“Per favore, fottimi di piu!” (Please, fuck me harder!)

You say, pushing your hips back against him. 

“Sono cosi vicino!” (I’m so close!)

A low growl rumbles through his chest and his back arches as he pounds you harder, turning his head so that his lips are right at your ear, breathing heavy.

“Si, tu sborra per me? Vuoi guardarti su tutto il mio uccello?”  (Yeah, are you going to cum for me? Are you going to watch yourself cum all over my cock?)

You bite down hard on your lip, trying to hold back the loud noises threatening to spill from your lips. 

“M-Muh...M-Maurizio!”

You cry out, hips jerking as you spill your release all over his cock.

“Ah, oh fuck!”

He’s close, too, now.

“Sto per sborra! Oh Dio, ti riempiro io!” (I’m going to cum! Oh God, I’m going to fill you up!)

“Fallo, ti prego! Lo voglio tantissimo!” (Do it, please! I want it so badly!)

His eyes go wide for a moment as his hips stop, pressed deeply inside of you. He cums with a long, low moan, hips rutting as he rides out his high. 

“Prendila, prendila dentro di te...” (Take it, take it all inside of you…)

You fall forward onto the cool marble, body limp for a minute after your climax. Maurizio stays buried deep inside of you until he regains control of his breath, pulling his now-limp length from you, quickly tucking it back into his wedding pants. 

He helps you pull your dress back down and straighten yourself out. 

You gasp when he spins you around and crashes his lips onto yours, holding you against him. Your lips meld together perfectly, your hands gently tugging on his hair. 

You two pull away moments later, panting softly. 

Maurizio looks sad as he reaches down to hold your hands.

“You’re amazing, beautiful, you’re perfection.”

He kisses your knuckles, which makes you smile. 

“Ci vediamo presto, tesoro mio.” (I will see you soon, my treasure)

You nod, lip quivering slightly when the reality hits. He’ll be gone for two weeks on his honeymoon. 

You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him close, allowing a single tear to fall down your cheek. 

“I’ll miss you while you’re away.”

He buries his face into your neck.

“I will call you at some point, I promise.”

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the office door. It’s Giovanni.

“Maurizio, ci sei?” (Maurizio, are you in there?)

His eyes go wide as he pulls away.

“Si! Sarò fuori tra un attimo.” (Yes! I’ll be out in a moment.)

Maurizio looks down at you one last time, tears in his eyes.

“Addio, tesoro mio. Fino a quando ci incontriamo di nuovo.” (Farewell, my treasure. Until we meet again.)

[sciatu]

VITTORIA CERETTI mainly for D&G

FRAMMENTI INFINITI – CHE GUSTO HA 

Che gusto ha il suo sorriso e di che colore è la luce dei suoi occhi? Che odore ha la sua voce e che sapore la sua pelle? Qual è il profumo di quando la sogni ed il velato retrogusto di quando ti abbraccia? Che luce hanno i suoi capelli sulla tua pelle, e che suono fanno le sue labbra quando la sfiorano? Qual è il colore della bontà e di che cosa sa la pietà? Forse di miele o di tuberosa, forse di sangue o di pane appena sfornato? Che profumo ha chi sorride ai malati, di chi stringe le mani a chi è accarezzato dalla morte, o di chi nella vita ha avuto solo addii? Qual è il suono di un sorriso e di che colore è il dolore di chi ha bisogno? Che profumo ha la paura, la fame, l’impotenza di fronte al male del mondo? Quanto pesa il silenzio in una corsia d’ospedale? di che note si vestono i ricordi di chi ci ha lasciato? Quanto è alta una primavera e quanto pesa lo sbocciare di un fiore? Come canta il seme quando germoglia e come piange un albero quando brucia? Come gridano le onde quando portano il corpo di chi le respirate ed i suoi occhi sono aperti a guardare l’azzurro di un cielo che non vedono? In che fiaba crede un bambino quando ha fame? Il tramonto ha un profumo di limone? E che gusto hanno i raggi della luna?  Quale luce vede chi si impasticca in discoteca, o che canzone sente chi sta nascendo per strada? Le emozioni indossano sempre lo stesso vestito? Quanta fame ha l’indifferenza e come si trucca l’ignoranza? l’odio e l’egoismo hanno la barba? In tutti questi mille anni in cui la poesia mi ha cullato, ancora non ho imparato cosa sia, come funziona e dove nasce. La seguo incosciente e innamorato e lei ogni giorno, per la l’amore che ha per i poeti inutili, mi dona sempre qualcosa.

INFINITE FRAGMENTS - WHAT IT TASTE: What does your smile taste like and what color is the light in your eyes? What does her voice smell like and what does her skin taste like? What is the scent of when you dream of her and the veiled aftertaste of when she hugs you? What light does her hair have on your skin, and what sound do her lips when they touch it? What is the color of goodness and what does tast the pity has? Maybe honey or tuberose, maybe blood or freshly baked bread? What is the scent of those who smile at the sick, of those who shake hands with those who are caressed by death, or of those who only had farewell in their life? What is the sound of a smile and what color is the pain of those that need everything? What is the scent of fear, of the hunger, powerlessness in the face of the world's evil? How heavy is the silence in a hospital ward? What notes do the memories of those who already left us? How tall is a spring and how heavy is the blossoming of a flower? How does the seed sing when it sprouts and how does a tree cry when it burns? How do the waves scream when they carry the body of those who breathe them and her eyes are open to look at the blue of a sky they cannot see? What fairy tale does a child believe in when he is hungry? Does sunset have a lemon scent? And what does the moon's rays taste like? What light does someone who gets stuck in the disco see, or what song does someone who is being born in the street? Do emotions always wear the same dress? How hungry is indifference and how is ignorance put on? do hatred and selfishness have a beard? In all these thousand years in which poetry has rocked me, I still haven't learned what it is, how it works and where it is born. I follow her unconscious and in love and she always gives me something every day, for the love she has for useless poets.

[english-kirkland]

Là, Sulla Montagna

Inspired by the fantasy AU me and @bitchapalooza have been chatting about. I had this idea for how Feli and Ludwig meet and, once work stopped swallowing me whole, finally finished writing it. Enjoy.

They can’t follow their own hoofprints; the forest floor is covered in leaflitter, obscuring any sign of where they’ve previously stepped. The light is diffusing down through the canopy, and there’s no way to really tell what direction it’s coming from. They can’t even see far enough through the trees to tell if the forest thins out at all. They’ve already tried just going back the way they came, but apparently they’ve gotten turned around, and now Feliciano has no idea where north is.

There is a loud keening, and above them, Feliciano watches a large bird circle for a moment before landing in a high branch. He sighs, looking at the bird as it seems to tilt its head at them.

“If only we could fly up and see over the trees. Then we’d be able to get back easy.” He murmurs.

“Perhaps I can help.”

Read on below, or go here to read it on AO3.

“We are definitely lost.”

Feliciano wrings his hands together as he looks over at Lovino, who is scowling as he looks around them, trying to find any landmark or feature they can use to orientate themselves.

“We are definitely fucking lost and it’s all your fault, Feliciano!” The elder snaps, stamping his hooves – it’s supposed to look aggressive, threatening, but Feliciano can tell it’s a nervous gesture.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly. “I didn’t mean to get us lost.”

When he’d decided he wanted to explore the mountains that bordered the north of the Padana, he definitely hadn’t planned on this. The plan had been to climb for a while in search of an outcropping, where they could see the whole plain from above – a view Feliciano has always wondered about – and then make their way back down to their brothers before nightfall. But after a while of following what seemed to be a mountain path, Feliciano had heard laughter from deeper in the trees. He’d convinced Lovino to follow it, thinking perhaps there were other people who had found a perfect spot; but all it had led to was denser forest, luring them deeper and deeper before vanishing.

And now they are here – unable to refind the path, the light starting to filter orange and pink through the trees as the sun sets.

“Cazzo.” Lovino swears. “We can’t even see the sun to figure out where to go! And I can’t take a fucking step without branches getting caught in my antlers, mannaggia!!”

Feliciano winces as he watches Lovino throw his hands in the air angrily, grabbing at the branch tangling in his antlers and wrenching it free so violently that it snaps off the tree.

“We can just keep heading down? Eventually we have to reach the plain…” He offers sheepishly.

“Who knows how many sheer drops there are around here.” Lovino mutters. “And we can barely move through these trees. Besides, we have no idea where that would spit us out… I have no idea how far we are from where we started. We need to find the path.”

Feliciano casts around for any other solution. They can’t follow their own hoofprints; the forest floor is covered in leaflitter, obscuring any sign of where they’ve previously stepped. The light is diffusing down through the canopy, and there’s no way to really tell what direction it’s coming from. They can’t even see far enough through the trees to tell if the forest thins out at all. They’ve already tried just going back the way they came, but apparently they’ve gotten turned around, and now Feliciano has no idea where north is.

There is a loud keening, and above them, Feliciano watches a large bird circle for a moment before landing in a high branch. He sighs, looking at the bird as it seems to tilt its head at them.

“If only we could fly up and see over the trees. Then we’d be able to get back easy.” He murmurs.

“Well we’re fucking cervitaurs, Feli, not birds, so-” Lovino starts to retort, irritated, when a voice interrupts them.

“Perhaps I can help.”

Both Italians yelp, Feliciano kicking his hind legs in surprise as he whips around for the source of the voice. A rustling from above, and the bird Feliciano had seen before takes off from its branch and starts to descend down towards them. He realizes it is a much, much bigger bird than he had thought at first; a massive eagle, easily twice the size of any he’s seen before, with pale feathers that become white around its head and tail. Feliciano can’t help retreating a few steps as the eagle lands, unnervingly tall, eyes a piercing blue; beside him, Lovino lowers his head to brandish his antlers, even though Feliciano can see the quiver in his flank that means he’s ready to turn and bolt at any moment.

“You do not need to be afraid.” The voice is low, rich, and steady – and coming from the eagle, Feliciano realizes. It curls its wings around itself, and Feliciano can feel the electric spark of magic through the air as its form grows and shifts, until finally the wings pull back to reveal a being who looks almost human, apart from the huge wings still spanning from his back, and the pale feathers amongst his hair. His eyes are just as blue and just as piercing, like they can see everything.

“Vaffanculo!” Lovino spits, rearing briefly and thrusting his antlers forward again. The eagle looks at him, cool and unperturbed.

“This mountain is mine. You are trespassers here, and there was a time my kind would have punished you for threatening it with your presence.” He says, quiet and confident in his power. Lovino flinches and skitters away from him, all pretense of aggression gone. “But that time is gone. I can help you find your way back home.”

“W-We’d like that.” Feliciano says. “We were looking for a place with a good view of the plains, and we got lost…”

“It is easy to do in these woods.” The eagle nods. He gestures with his head, and starts to carefully pick his way through the trees. “Follow me.”

“Are you seriously going to follow the creepy bird-man through the forest?” Lovino hisses at Feliciano as he makes to follow. “He could be leading us even deeper!”

“Why would he bother doing that? We’re already lost. If he wanted us to stay that way he’d just leave us.” Feliciano murmurs back. “I think he really will help us.”

“He doesn’t even know where we’re trying to get back to.” Lovino gripes.

“You could tell me.” The eagle-turned-man says, making both brothers jump. “It would make helping you easier.”

“Vehh, we came up on a small path, with the plains to the east. It was pebbled.” Feliciano offers sheepishly. “We were following it until we heard laughter, we thought there would be a clearing nearby.”

The blonde pauses a moment, then sighs heavily. “I am sorry about that. Likely it was my brother – he likes to pull ‘pranks’ on visitors who wander too far up the mountain.”

“Not filling me with confidence in your good heart.” Lovino sneers to him.

“I told you that my people have dealt with trespassers in many ways.” He turns those blue eyes on Lovino for a moment. “Mostly he is trying to scare people away. He does not tend to leave them lost.”

“And you?” Feliciano asks.

“I find the most effective way to get people off the mountain is to show them the way.” The eagle says simply.

For a time, the three walk in silence – the trees start to thin out, making it easier for the two cervitaurs to navigate, and Feliciano feels relief lift a weight from his haunches as he spots a familiar-looking mountain path.

“This is it – this is the path we were on.” He beams. “Thank you so much! I was really worried we’d be lost in the trees forever.”

“I will accompany you down to the end of the path – ensure you are in the right place.” Their guide says lowly.

“Suit yourself.” Lovino mutters, trotting down the path at a pace that shows his eagerness to be out of the forest, off the mountain, and back to the familiar plains. And, likely, away from the stranger who helped them.

“I still didn’t get to see the view.” Feliciano sighs sadly, pouting as he follows after his brother at a more sedate pace. “The mountain is so pretty, I bet it has loads of beautiful places…”

The eagle is quiet beside him for a moment, regarding him sidelong.

“You could… perhaps… return.” He says carefully. “And I could guide you. Ensure you did not get lost. And ensure you did no harm to the mountain.”

“Ahh, really?!” Feliciano beams, bounding excitedly for a moment. “I would love that! Thank you!”

They reach the bottom of the path – Feliciano can see his family waiting, Ponzio scampering around Lovino and a disapproving-looking Santo. He pauses a moment, looking over to the eagle, who is watching his family as well, head tilted a little in curiosity.

“You never said what we should call you.” Feliciano says. “If we’re going to be friends, you should tell me, right? I’m Feliciano.”

He offers out a hand. The eagle regards it for a moment, before carefully extending a hand of his own, and shaking Feliciano’s.

“I am Ludwig.” He says.

“Ludwig.” Feliciano hums, smiling as he tests out the sound on his tongue. “Alright then. I’ll see you in a few days, Ludwig?”

Ludwig dips his head, and steps back, further into the trees. “In a few days, then. Feliciano.”

Feliciano grins, and waves goodbye as he trots over to his family. A moment later, he hears a keening call, and watches the majestic form of a pale eagle fly over the trees.

He’s looking forward to this new friendship.

[eiirisworkshop]

Untitled O Human Star fic

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

I read the first chapter of O Human Star for a class on comics and graphic narratives, loved it, and read all the rest of what was already posted--then I started writing a fic because that’s who I am as a person.  O Human Star was, itself, a work in progress at the time, and I felt like I needed to see where the story went before I went further with my fic.  O Human Star has now finished, and it’s beautiful, but the plan I had for my fic now feels out of place, and I just don’t feel like doing the retooling it would need for me to continue.

***

Sulla needed to find a book—she knew what book, and where it was supposed to be, just, actually getting it was a bit slow going since she was trying and failing to stare at the purple haired synthetic curled up in a beanbag in the corner.  He—she assumed he, definitely human shaped and flat chested under the baggy graphic tanktop, sharp jawline, black and white flannel tired around narrow hips, so he had a book propped in one knee, chewing his lip while he read, and a braided cord running from an outlet in wall next to the nearest shelf to plug in at the nape of his neck, parting his sleek bobbed hair.

He looked up and looked her dead in the eye.  Sulla squeaked in embarrassed surprise and hid behind a shelf.  When she peered out around it, he was still looking and he raised one lilac-tinted hand in a little wave.  She waved back sheepishly.  “Hi.”

“Hi,” the purple-haired, purple-eyed, just overall purple synthetic said with a touch of a smile playing at his lips.

“I didn't mean to stare, I just—” Sulla stammered, stepping fully around the shelf, “—you don't usually see people just kinda plugged in to charge out in public, you know?  Or I don't.  I haven't.”

“Uhuh.” He plinked placidly.

“Sorry. I, uh, I'm Sulla.”

“Aytrin.” He closed his book around one finger and held the other hand out to her.  “Nice to meet you.”

She hesitated slightly, grinned, tucked her books under one arm, and stepped forward to shake his hand.  “So,” she sank to her knees next to his beanbag, “you plug in.  Do you not have a respiratory engine, or…?”

“No.” Aytrin's cheeks glowed faintly blue.  “I was a hobby build and I'm old enough there was no way most hobbyists could afford that kind of thing.”

“Oh! That makes sense.  I'm a hobby build too—well, sort of.  And my, uh, my dad's a roboticist, so it's a little different, I guess.”

“A little, yeah,” Aytrin chuckled.  “I'm guessing by that stack of books you're not just at the library to meet strangers, though.”

“Oh,” Sulla glanced down at her books, “no.  I—sorry…. I didn't mean to bother you.”

“You're okay, I'm just, like, two pages from the end of a chapter.”

“I have one more book I need, so I'll go get that.  Yeah.  I—can I leave these here?”

Aytrin smiled.  “Sure.”

Sulla neatened her little stack then ran off to find her last book.  When she got back, Aytrin had set his book aside—it had a shirtless man with a sword in a cave on the cover—and had grabbed one of her books to read the back.  He glanced up at her as she approached and dropped the book back on the stack.  “[INSERT TECHNOBABBLE HERE] Unless these are for your dad, looks like you're the roboticist here.”

Sulla smiled shyly and set her new book on top of the others.  “I'm homeschooled and my dad lets my study whatever I'm interested in so...yeah.  What're you reading?”

Aytrin cast a sidelong look at his discarded novel.  “Oldest queer robot romance I could find. Was pretty good until about about a chapter ago.”

“What happened a chapter ago?”

“Author lost the plot.  I was hoping it would get back on track but it only seems to be getting worse. I've given up.”  He moved to stretch, arms over his head, and knocked his charge cord out in the process.  “Ah, crap.”  He grabbed the end of his cord, cheeks lighting blue again, and he looked at Sulla.  “Can you do me a favor?”

“Do you need me to plug you back in?”  She reached for the cord.

“No, I can do it, but sometimes when I plug in, something shorts out or something, I go limp and I can't move.”

“That's not good,” Sulla said, mentally running through and discarding guesses as to what could cause that kind of failure mode.

“If that happens can you unplug me?”

“Yeah, of course..”

Aytrin held his hair aside with one hand and carefully fitted the connector to the port at the nape of his neck with the other.  For a tense moment he was still, then he looked at Sulla and flashed a smile. “All good.”

Sulla sighed, relieved.  “Good.  I can't think what would cause that, but only some of the time.  It's dangerous for you to plug in if you're alone, isn't it?”

“Yeah. If I overcharge I overheat, too.  It's a problem.”

“You're not here by yourself, are you?”  Sulla looked around.  There was no one else in the section.

“No, I'm here with my boyfriend.  He's over—” Aytrin gestured to one of the mezanine levels, “—over, he's over, over in—he's over in, in the, he's over in the, over in—over in the, in the—”

“Are you okay?” Sulla asked cautiously.

Aytrin held up a finger.  “He's over in the, in the law section.  He's over in the law section.  Sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Sulla asked again.

“I get stuck sometimes and have trouble—I have trouble finishing sentiences.”

Sulla frowned.  “You're kinda glitchy, huh?”

Aytrin shrugged.  “Like I said, I'm an old hobby build.  It's fine.”

“It's not fine if it's hurting you.”

“I don't hurt,” Aytrin said simply, cheeks glowing.

“Causing you problems, then,” Sulla insisted.  “You could go to one of those debug shops on—”

Aytrin laughed once, coldly.  “Do you have any idea how much it costs to actually get anything done at those shops?”

“Don't they do free diagnostics…?”

“Free or a dollar diagnostics, yeah.”  He folded his arms.  “To fix any of the problems they find, though, the costs start adding up so, so fast.  I'm worth less sold as parts than they'd charge to fix me.”

Sulla blinked.  “I never thought about that.”

“I have plenty of 'glitches' I wouldn't want fixed, anyway, because to me they're not problems they're quirks, but even the ones I would want fixed I can't afford to do anything about.  Between me and Kash we don't make enough to cover rent in the city, let alone enough to drop a few hundred or thousand on maintenance, for me or him.”

“Kash is your boyfriend?”  Sulla hugged her knees.

“Yeah.”

“And he's synthetic too?”

“No, he's human.”

She tilted her head, hair slipping over her shoulder.  “Then what do you mean by maintenance for him?”

“Going to the dentist, things like that.”

“Oh.” Sulla looked askance and fiddled with the corner of the top book in her pile—a coding manual.  “I can't help with dentists and stuff, but maybe I could help you?  I could call it a school project.”

“I'd appreciate that.”  Aytrin smiled warmly, cheeks aglow.  His eyes flicked up behind Sulla and his smiled widened into a grin.  “Hey, Kash.”

Sulla almost fell over herself turning to see a dark skinned young man with a shock of wavy, blond-tipped hair walking up from behind her, a laptop bag slung over one shoulder.  He nodded a greeting.  “Who's this, Ay?”

“Sulla,” Aytrin said brightly.  “Um, Sulla, what pronouns do you use?”

“She,” Sulla said a little more sharply than she meant to.

Kash chuckled.  “Don't be offended by him, he sucks at gender.  Ay, we've been over this, boobs and long hair is usually a girl.”

Aytrin held up his hands.  “I'd rather ask than guess wrong.  Anyway, she's offered to fix some of my glitches.  Her dad's a roboticist and she's studying it.”

“Yeah.” Sulla stood.  “I can ask my dad if it's okay for you to come over sometime.  Or, I'd have to bring stuff with me, but I guess I could come to you if you don't live to far.  Aytrin mentioned you don't live in the city.”

Kash looked intensely down at Aytrin, who shrugged.  “All I said was that we can't afford rent here.”

Kash sighed.  “You're very kind, Sulla, but we'd have to come to you.”

“That's okay, I just have to ask my dad.”

“Of course,” Kash agreed.  He poked Aytrin gently with his foot.  “You got enough juice to get you to class with me tomorrow?”

Aytrin pressed the crook of his wrist, his cheeks lit along with a series of three dots on his inner arm.  “Not quite.”

“Well,” Kash jammed his hands into pockets, “I need food, so I'm going to go grab myself dinner—you charge.”

“Okay,” Aytrin agreed, drooping slightly.  “I think Burger King is doing that thing again where if you order on the app from next to a McDonalds you get a Whopper for a nickel.”

“I'll try that.”  Kash stooped to kiss Aytrin quickly.  “I'll be back.”

Sulla and Aytrin watched him walk away.  Sulla ran her thumbnail under one of her fingernails.  “Money's really tight for you guys, isn't it?”

Aytrin nodded.  “Law school's expensive.”

Sulla lowered herself back down to the floor.  “Kash doesn't like to talk about it, does he?”

“Nope.”

Sulla looked him over and pressed her lips together.  “You can't charge at home.”

“We live in his car,” Aytrin said shortly.

Sulla's eyes widened.

Aytrin shrugged.  “His school fees cover a parking pass for the campus deck so that's where we stay.  We usually manage a little better than right now but the semester just started so all his, all his books, the semester just started so all his books and start of term expenses have sunk our budget.”

“That...makes sense.  I don't think he'd want you to tell me that, though.”

“You were most of the way to figuring it out yourself.”

~*~

The front door banged open, announcing Sulla's return home.

“Brendan!”

“Up here, sweetheart,” Brendan called through his open office door without pausing in typing the email he was working on.

Sulla zoomed up the stairs and touched down lightly just as she came through the door.  “Can I have some friends over for a project?”

“Which friends?  Titus and everyone?”

“Um, no.  New friends.”

“New friends?”  Brendan hit send and swiveled his chair to face his daughter.  “Do I know these friends?”

“Well, no….”  Sulla rocked on her toes, hands folded behind her.  “I just met them.”

“You just met them, and you want them to come over.”

“Yes.”

Brendan rubbed his temple.  “Sulla.”

“One of them's synthetic and he's a hobby build and I don't think he's been updated at all—I know he's hardly had any maintenance—and he's got some really nasty glitches he can't afford to get fixed, but I can fix them!”

“Sulla….”

“Their names are Aytrin and Kash.  They're really cool and Kash is a law student and they're dating and they're homeless because rent and school and everything costs so much.  We're really lucky we have a house and money and all the stuff it takes for you to do maintenance on me and Al, and I'm really lucky I've always been able to count on you for that.  They can't count on anybody for it and it's not fair, but I can help!”

Brendan settled back in his chair, looking at Sulla.  Her hands had balled into determined fists at her sides.  Law student meant mid twenties at least, and he was pretty sure he didn't like the idea of Sulla befriending random men, but apparently that's what he got for letting her go into town alone.  And now she had her mind set on something.

With a sigh, Brendan turned back to his computer.  “Let me make sure there's nothing too worrisome about these guys online.  What did you say their names were?”

“Aytrin and Kash.”  Sulla leaned on the back of his chair.  “Aytrin doesn't have a last name but Kash's is MacAodha. Here, I've got his Insta.”

~*~

Al just about spat out his synth tea.  “And you're letting her?!”

Brendan crossed his arms.  “She's as stubborn as you and, honestly, I'm not inclined to talk her out of doing a good deed.”

Sulla wooshed through the living room, dropping her laptop on the couch as she passed.  It bounced lightly on the cushion.

“I looked these kids up,” Brendan continued.  “There's just about nothing online about the synthetic one besides the public record of his emancipation in 2020 and a few pictures on the other one's Instagram; that one, though, the organic one, Kash—he's in law school, he works for a nonprofit that provides legal aid to displaced women and youth. I was hesitant, but these really seem to be good guys in a tough spot.  Sulla just wants to help.”

Sulla flew through the other way and dropped a tool case next to her laptop.

“You've had three days to tell me this is happening,” Al grumbled.

“I didn't know until this morning.”  Brendan shrugged.  “Apparently Aytrin had to get his work schedule before they knew when they could come.”

“You at least could have told me people might be coming over.”

“It's my house, Al—”

“I know that.”

“—and you've been nose to the soldering iron all week.  Even if I had told you, you'd've given a monosyllabic answer, forgotten I said anything, and we'd still be having this same conversation.”

Al glowered at him and sipped his tea.  “How long til they get here?”

Brendan opened his mouth, paused, and turned to call, “Sulla, when are we expecting your friends?”

“Umm,” Sulla popped over the railing of the stairs, checking her phone, “in, like, five minutes.”

~*~

Kash's car was an old Honda minivan, still in good shape but showing its age in the outlines of old bumperstickers left in varying degrees of less-sunbleached than the rest of the paint.  It pulled up, parked in front of the garage, and the old converted engine cut with a descending whine.  The driver's side door opened and Kash got out. His door closed with a hollow thunk just as Aytrin got out of the passenger side wearing the same black and white flannel he'd had tied around his waist at the library, carrying Kash's laptop bag.  Aytrin hipchecked his door shut, the headlights flashed once as Kash locked it, the two young men looked at each other then up at the house.

Aytrin took Kash's hand, then a step toward the door—which Sulla then burst through.

“Hi!”

“Hi, Sulla,” Aytrin returned brightly as her feet touched down in front of him.

“Is it weird if I hug you or…?”

“Not weird.”

She hugged Aytrin, pulled back, held out a questioning arm to Kash, then hugged him, too, when he shrugged.  

“Come in,” Sulla beckoned, trotting up the front steps.  She held open the door and the boys stepped over the threshold.

Brendan was waiting just inside with a fresh mug of tea cradled to his chest. “Hello, there.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” Kash said politely, then turned sharply to Sulla. “This is your dad?”

“Yup.” Sulla bounced energetically.

“You didn't mention your dad is is Brendan Pinsky.”

“Well, no,” Sulla admitted, “but he is.”

Aytrin cocked his head toward Kash.  “She did say her dad does robotics.”

“A lot of people do robotics, not a lot of people are CEOs of the foremost company in robotics—it's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Kash segued abruptly.  He held out a hand.  “Kash MacAodha.”

[scribblindown]

Da Capo al Fine

[Bruno Bucciarati x musician!reader]  Inspired by the song “Nessun Dorma” 

“Da capo...” (violin version)

Nessun dorma, nessun dorma Tu pure, oh Principessa Nella tua fredda stanza

The first notes start off slow, low, then pick up as if by chance.

Bruno Buccellati first met you at a hard time in your life.

It wasn’t uncommon to see you out at this street corner at this time, when the sun still beat down the cobblestone streets in waves and the blue of the sky hung high overhead. Despite your young age, you didn’t disappear with the school hours and only faded away from this corner at the peak of the night or the cusp of the morning.

What measly bills you made always disappeared the next day.

Guardi le stelle che tremano D'amore e di speranza!

Then the tempo climbs.

A note stopped as if it was violently yanked aside and silence filled the streets once more.

“Excuse me, sir!” Your violin was lowered and a 100,000 lire banknote was tightly clutched in your hand as you waved it over your head. Your voice echoed in the empty morning streets as you called out to the mysterious figure dressed in the black raindrop pattern, watching as he stopped his careful stride at the sound. When he turned it gave you a good look at the darkness of his hair and the pin-straight strands.

“I think you accidentally gave me too much,” you said instead, holding the bill in your outstretched arm.

You remembered that day, thinking that there was no way someone could be that handsome as he fully faced you.

“No,” he had said, his voice strong yet gentle. “I gave you the right amount. That was my father’s favorite song.” He walked closer, closing the space between you until he was standing only several feet apart, but you thought that his smile was still brighter than the sun above. “You played it with love and care.”

At the time when money disappeared from your hands like dust from feathers, it was rare that you saw a number so high in your presence. Unable to help yourself, your vision blurred and your eyelids stung with saltwater. You couldn’t hide your red eyes as you looked toward him again.

“Are you busy, sir? As a sign of how thankful I am...please let me play this song for you again. Da capo al fine.”

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me Il nome mio nessun saprà!

Bruno always knew that you had wanted to be a musician long before he had you as a mafia member under his care.

It wasn’t love at first sight, but with the sounds that you created from your weathered violin, your gentle smile, and your burning honesty, it practically could have been.

And he hated that the music that mesmerized him upon your first meeting was being suppressed underneath a new lifestyle of murder, violence, Stands, and dirty money. 

He assured you through gentle kisses and lingering touches, that maybe he could give you the life that you had always wanted after everything was done, and maybe--he could finally escape from this spider web as well.

Only if it was by your side.

Poverty, hospitalizations, debt to Passione under your past lover’s mistakes, and then eventually joining the mafia at the cost of your own dreams and desires. His heart ached as if the hardships you went through in your life were his and he was sure that he could turn your sorrow into some kind of honey.

He made promises like he would do anything for you, that he would give you everything that you could ever want.

But you didn’t want anything else but to be with him.

The same note that stretches on for measures and measures.

No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò Quando la luce splenderà! Ed il mio bacio scioglierà Il silenzio che ti fa mia!

“Bruno!”

A masterpiece is underneath your fingertips.

Giorno Giovanna sharply twisted his body when hasty footsteps slammed onto hard stone streets. Heavy pants left your lips as you pushed yourself to race across the courtyard and over to the golden man that hovered above the new member like an angel in waiting. The moment your spirit reentered your body, you only had one goal.

To convince him to stay.

“Bruno!” The golden spirit and the young man both turned to you. “Please!” Your chest rose and fell with every heavy breath while your lungs burned, your legs hurt and your knees almost buckled with every step. Until you finally reached your lover and he was close enough to hold. You threw your hand out, reaching far above you to grip what was left of him as he rose. “Just grab my hand! Your body is still here--You’re going to be fine!”

To your horror, his lips only fell into a soft smile as they landed on you. You hated this--hated how at peace he looked. How his eyes have never been this youthful before and how all stress had seemingly left him.

You knew then--you were at a loss.

“[Name],” he addressed softly, his warmth for you as radiant as the rays that fell from the cracks in the clouds. “I’m sorry--my unfulfilled promises to you are my biggest regret--”

“But I don’t care about that! No!” you pleaded, voice rising into a higher pitch as your words shook and wobbled. You were trying to inch closer to a man who only became farther and farther from you.

His lips pressed down further and conflict crossed his eyes before he opened his mouth with a bated breath.

“‘Dilegua, o notte.... Tramontate, stelle--’” he whispered. Flashes of your past blew past your vision: the street corner, the initiation, Bruno, the first kiss, the first night, the whisper of lyrics upon your lips, your Capo, the turtle, the church, Bruno, the boat--BrunoBrunoBruno. This shared song that had so many amazing memories did nothing but create a pit in your stomach. 

“No!” you urged further, shaking your head violently as if you wanted to rip all of these memories from your head. Maybe you would be in less pain if you did-- Your voice broke midway, pausing for a stuttered exhale. “Please, I don’t want you to go! Please don’t leave me here!”

“[Name],” he repeated. You looked up at him and he took one last look at your face. The tracks that ran down your face, the frown on your lips and lastly, his own reflection in your eyes. He didn’t need to give you an explanation, you two have spent enough time together to know everything that he ever wanted to say with one glance. “It’s time for me to go. I apologize deeply for the hurt that I’m causing you but--” He looked over at the blond teen standing beside you, still staring up at him as yellowed clouds curl around the three of you. “This how it’s going to have to be.”  

Sapphire blue met [e/c] once more. And for the last time.

“But, Vita Mia...” you voice became so small, high, and fragile like glass. Giorno had never seen you so meek before: your hunched shoulders, your trembling lips; your life had been on the line multiple times this week, but you were never this defeated.

You hung your head lower. “...I’m going to miss you.”

“Bella... I love you more than anything else in the world, but please...” A hasty gasp left your lips and you quickly slapped your free hand over your face. Salty tears flowed over your fingers and against your skin. “You’re going to have to let me go.”

Your arm was aching from holding it high over your head for so long, reaching for something that you knew that you could never have again. Your arm trembled from weakened muscles and you shook like you were in the coldest blizzard during winter. A sob escaped your lips and the trembling fingers that were held forward finally flinched back into a clenched fist.

You had given in.

A cold hand had suddenly met with your skin and your face snapped forward. His palm slid forward until they met with yours and you held your breath as your fingers entwined with his. Your irises jumped back and forth to memorize every centimeter of the man in front of you--every curve that you have already known, but you couldn’t let it go.

“’Tramontate, stelle. All'alba vincerò,’“ he recited finally.

Your face snapped to the side, unable to look at him as your shoulders wracked with sobs. Smoke curled around your face and your hair blew even without any harsh winds. You looked up to see his face one last time, and you could’ve sworn that you heard the harps and the flutter of the angels’ wings from here.

“’Vincerò,’” you finally whispered.

And you let him go.

As he finally ascended to the heavens, you fell to your knees and let out a blood-curdling scream that he couldn’t comfort you from.

The high note.  

ll nome suo nessun saprà E noi dovrem, ahimè! Morir! Morir!

Da capo al fine.

"Excuse me, Mister Fisherman, can you help me find my way back home?"

There’s a stillness. The calloused fingers knotting in between the rough net that is patched and repaired again and again.

His lungs are filled with a heavy breath and the boat beside him remains in the push and pull of the waves.  

Ebbing, bobbing, flowing.  

He has never heard of that voice before in his entire life, and yet he feels as if you have told him entire stories, sonnets, and songs before. Bruno turns, and you stand there.

He’s mesmerized by the color of your eyes and the expression on your face as you tell him that you have just moved here to be under the tutelage of a famous violinist, but it’s getting late and you don’t know how to retrace your steps back to the apartment. It seems like he’s the only person on Earth who can help you right now, from the empty streets to the vacant beach. So you stand on a sandy shore in your leather shoes and your pristine violin case held tightly in one hand. He stands several feet from you, ankles wet from all the times he stepped into the water and sleeves frayed from overuse.

“Of course,” he rises from the edge of the pier and you thank him gratefully. “Where exactly do you need to go?”

Mauve starts to color your cheeks when you recede further into the shade of the umbrella in embarrassment.

“I don’t know.”

No name, no street names, no landmarks, no direction to go to.

NaplesCapriPompeiiVeniceSardiniaRome.

It’s about to rain.

Behind the thick grey clouds, the sun dips below the horizon, submerging half the sky in strokes of black and pull the world into monochrome. No one else is around, and today he is worried that he was going to be out here for so long that he would go insane from the single sound of his own heart and eardrum. He is out fishing late to help support his funds a bit, and normally this doesn’t bother him.

In another life, well into his adulthood he never had to worry about money and gave it out generously to every hurt soul he came across.

It seems like that last part, at least, hasn’t changed.

Water starts to hit your umbrella.

Drip, Drip.

When it starts to rain a bit harder, you step closer and hold your umbrella over him.

“Have we met before?” The question seems to take you by surprise from the way that your eyes widen slightly before you stare deeply at his face. The curves of his jaw, his lips. When he blinks his lashes seem to brush his cheeks like a raven’s wings taking flight before they open again and disappear under the edges of his ebony black bangs.

“No,” you answer easily. Your head tilts and a strand of [h/c] hair drapes over your shoulder like a curtain. “I’d remember a face like that.” Your face snaps quickly to the right as your face colors in the most beautiful shade of rouge that he has ever seen.

His face softens and his cheeks flare with the gentle flirt you had given him. He gently takes your umbrella after he finishes tying off his boat for the day and holds it high above the both of your heads.

You ask for his name and he gives you a word. You hold your lips when you suddenly decide that the name doesn’t suit him. You sigh instead and he smiles.

“Let me take you home, Signorina.”

[federicodeleonardis]

Brasil

A forza di dar fiato alla scienza, abbiamo raggiunto l’altissimo obiettivo dell’immortalità. La Dialettica dell’Illuminismo (Adorno) è arrivata al capolinea: la sintesi. Magagne e acciacchi non scuotono le nostre convinzioni ed è sempre colpa di qualche dottore se alla fine non ce la facciamo. Comunque “E’ sempre un altro a morire” (Duchamp in epitaffio). Naturalmente solo i ciechi possono ignorare gli incidenti di percorso: la cronaca quotidiana è un riflettore: le notizie positive sono ignorate dai media. Conseguenze: i tribunali sono oberati di lavoro e insieme il libero arbitrio, il rischio e la responsabilità sono scomparsi dalla vita sociale. La sicurezza regna sovrana fin dagli anni in cui ci portano in carrozzina (da quattro ruote sono passate a sedici ed è un miracolo che non ci mettano in testa un caschetto appena usciamo dal buco della mamma). In breve, è tramontata la coscienza della morte e quest’ultima si prende la rivincita avvelenando il pianeta.

Voglio essere più preciso e me ne dà occasione l’attuale psicosi esercitata dal “terrorismo sanitario” (Giorgio Agamben). Senza che ce rendessimo conto, facendo perno sulla naturale paura di crepare, si è preparato ad arte (è questa l’ipotesi di chi studia le statistiche, non solo sulla mortalità, ma anche sugli investimenti finanziari) un meccanismo di analisi della salute della gente, investendo in strumenti di indagine sofisticati che ci dicono se, quando e in quale quantità portiamo addosso uno dei virus più comunemente diffusi e dei più contagiosi sulla faccia della terra, quello dell’influenza: investire su tamponi, mascherine, vaccini e sull’immenso indotto che gira attorno alla salute pubblica (80 per cento delle spese delle regioni italiane va a quelle per la salute) ha arricchito alcuni e impoverito tutti gli altri. Fa poca differenza che anche i primi, pur dietro protezioni mediche tempestive ed esclusive, “purtroppo” qualche volta ci lascino le penne. Comunque gli scampati, e sono tanti, si strofinano le mani; le nostre invece rimangono legate ai debiti conseguenti. Stupefacente, significativa e preoccupante l’assuefazione della gente al nuovo dictact sanitario, emblematizzata da un’immagine quotidiana: giriamo tutti imbavagliati.

E’ complottismo questo? Ma via!, così va il mondo, così è sempre andato.

Esiste una via d’uscita? Questa sì è una domanda a cui è urgente rispondere. Dico una via che non prenda facili scorciatoie imperniate sul  consenso buonista verso la vita. Chi non la ama?

Ma vivere significa, oltre che competere (e competere anche intellettualmente), soprattutto rischiare e se la cultura non è rischio, reale e non solo intellettuale, ha fallito. Come insegna la storia di chi ha contribuito alla bellezza della vita, di chi spesso ha pagato con la propria questo impegno, la paura non fa parte del mazzo. Ricordiamo: l’uomo è un animale estetico, prima che etico (Brodzkji); allunga una mano verso la fiamma perché è bella, anche se poi si scotta. La sostanza sta tutta nel poi.

 By dint of giving breath to science, we have achieved the very high goal of immortality. Die Dialectic der Aufklärung (The Dialektic of Enlightenment, Adorno and Horkheimer), from Thesis to antithesis (Romanticisism) has arrived at its terminus: the synthesis. Flows, defects, weaknesses and ailments do not shake our beliefs and it is always some doctor's fault if in the end we do not make it. However, "It is always someone else who dies" (Duchamp in epitaph). Of course, only the blind can ignore road accidents: the daily news is a spotlight: positive news is ignored by the media. Consequences: Courts are overburdened with work and at the same time free will, risk and responsibility have disappeared from social life. Safety reigns supreme since the years we were carried around in prams (four wheels have increased to sixteen and it's a miracle that we are not made to wear a helmet on our heads as soon as we get out of mommy's hole). In short, the consciousness of death has faded and the latter takes its revenge by poisoning the planet.

I want to be more precise and the current psychosis exerted by "health terrorism" (Giorgio Agamben) gives me the opportunity. Without realizing it and exploiting the natural fear of dying, a mechanism for analyzing people's health has been artfully prepared (this is the hypothesis of those who study statistics, not only on mortality, but also on financial investments), investing in sophisticated investigation tools that tell us if, when and in what quantity we carry one of the most commonly spread and most contagious viruses on the face of the earth, that of flu: investing in tests, masks, vaccines and the immense induced industry that revolves around public health (80 per cent of the expenditure of the Italian regions goes to those for health) has enriched some and impoverished all the others. It makes little difference that even the former, albeit behind timely and exclusive medical protection, “unfortunately” sometimes leave us their feathers. However, the survivors, and they are many, rub their hands; ours, on the other hand, remain tied to the resulting debts. Astonishing, significant and worrying is the addiction of people to the new health diktat, emblematized by an everyday image: we all go around gagged.

Is this conspiracy? Come on! This is the way the world goes, this is how it has always gone.

Is there a way out? Yes, this is a question that needs to be answered urgently. I say a way that does not take easy shortcuts centered on the feel-good consensus towards life. Who doesn't love life?

But living means, in addition to competing (and competing intellectually as well), above all to take risks and if culture is not risk, real and not just intellectual, it has failed. As the story of those who have contributed to the beauty of life teaches, of those who have often paid for this commitment with their own, fear is not part of the deck. Let us remember: “man is an aesthetic animal, rather than an ethical one” (Brodzkji); he reaches out to the flame because it is beautiful, thereafter discovers that it burns. The substance is all in this thereafter.

[silviakonishi]

amsterdam, couchsurfing experience

(scendi per leggere il post in italiano)

Remember Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island? Okay, now let’s just take that idea to the next level and adapt it to an adult concept of  'Pleasure Island'. That's what Amsterdam is about. It's just insane. I like to describe it as "the city of contrasts" due to the great divergence between its traditional roots and the open minded culture. As I walk through the city, I can’t help but be captivated by the houses: tall, skinny and colorful, reflecting their architectorial beauty in the calm waters of the romantic canals, when all of a sudden, surprise surprise! I see a pair of tits in a shop window and realize I ended up in the red light district.

My friend and I are sitting by a canal and we’re overhearing a conversation between an old man in his 70s and a guy in his 30s. The old man is saying that today he smoked pot for the first time in his life and that he „kinda liked it“. I can’t help but imagine my sweet grandpa just chilling with his old good homies smoking a spliff getting blazed in a coffeeshop in Amsterdam. Just crazy

But here's the cool part of our trip: a few days before coming here with my friend I’d received her text „wanna couchsurf in Amesterdam?“. Couchsurfing.org is a community of people who host and/or get hosted by someone at their place for free. Millions of users use couchsurfing.org and you can leave reviews on your host‘s or guest’s profile. This is really useful, although the fact of sleeping over at someone’s you‘ve never met before could be kinda questionable, but at the end of the day you only live once, right? I texted her back: „Great idea, we can save money and get to know some locals, I’m down.“. So my friend got us a place to stay at this dutch guy‘s.

My friend and I are having some 7 Up and chilling at Hunter’s.

„So what does he look like?“ I ask. „Dutch“ she says. “Aight.” I respond.

It’s getting dark and it’s time to take the metro and head to this guy’s place. We get on the subway and a good 10 stops later we get off somewhere deserted in the outskirts of Amsterdam. It’s dark and quiet and nobody is around.

„So, which way should we go?“ I ask. She says „he texted me the way. So when we exit the metro we’ll need to go left and walk 500 meters, on the right there should be a parking lot, we gotta go in the parking lot and go thourgh the pedestrian underpass. When we exit the underpass, we should find a condo. We can’t go wrong because he said that’s the only building in the area.“ I look at her with my eyes popping out of my eyeballs „mmh, are you sure about these directions? Like, it sounds somewhat suspicious.“ „yeah, right? it sounds like the beginning of a horror movie.“ She laughs nervously. I say „Well, yeah… should we go?“ She says „well, at this point we can at least go and meet him, if he gives off some weird vibes we’ll just leave I guess.“ I say „Fair enough. Let’s go then.“

It’s getting kind of chilly and we’re rather quiet while walking towards the house of our host. All I can hear is our footsteps. 500 meters later we arrive at the parking lot. It’s very big with just a few cars parked and there are just a few lights on here and there. We look around and finally find the underpass covered in graffitis. I never liked tunnels, they make me feel claustrophobic, but we walk through it. „We should be close“ she says. We get to the end of the tunnel and see an enormous building: the only building in the area. All lights are off and it looks abandoned.

„Wait, is this like a hospital or something?“ she asks me. „mmh, kind of? looks like nobody’s living here.“ I answer. She says: „Let me call him“… „Hey, we’re here. Where you at? … Ok, see you.“. „is he coming?“ I ask. „Yeah, he should be here in a minute.“

We are in a very isolated area and this building looks like an abandoned hospital or hotel. I’m a bit anxious but I know we’ll be OK.

A few minutes later we hear a door opening and then footsteps on grass and twigs. We can hear the steps getting closer but we can’t see anybody as it is really dark. All of a sudden this tall, thin, blonde, smiley guy pops up from the building’s yard smoking a cigarette in his slippers: „Hi, I’m sorry. How are you? Nice to meet you, sorry for keeping you waiting.“ We shake hands and introduce ourselves. I have to admit the whole situation looks kind of bizarre and potentially perilous, but this guy gives off very genuine and trustworthy vibes. „How was the trip?“ he asks. „Fine, we arrived this morning.“ says my friend. „You’re coming from Brussels, right?“ „Yes, we came by train, it’s just a couple hours from here.“ she says. „Yeah, it’s not too far. I’m happy you had a safe trip.  So let’s go this way, I live here.“ he says.

We walk through the gate. The yard is messy, the grass is tall and I can’t really see where I step. As we walk towards the entrence he breaks the silence and asks: „So are you both american?“. „No, I come from a town near Bologna, in Italy.“ I say. “Oh, cool. I love Italy, I actually have many friends in Bologna because I did my erasmus there.” “That’s cool, did you learn any italian?” “A little. I mean, I understand the general sense of a conversation but I can’t speak it very well unfortunatey.”

We arrive at the entrance and get in. The building is dark, the electricity must not be working.

“Oh, uhm, by the way my apartment is on the 7th floor, unfortunately the elevator is out of order.“

We go for the stairs and we keep climbing and climbing and climbing. We get to the 7th floor, he opens the door and there is a long hall. We follow him and walk past a few closed doors.

„I live here.“ he says with a bunch of keys in his hands as he looks for the right one. He finds it and  opens the door. I wasn’t expecting to see this. We are in a nice lux apartment with a huge window with a superb view of the city. „Welcome, make yourself at home“. I put my bag on the floor and walk towards the window. The city lights are incredible. There are a few tall buildings in the distance. It looks like a movie. I could stare out the window for hours.

„We brought you some wine, I hope you like it, it‘s red italian wine“ says my friend. „Sure, cool, thank you! I should have a bottle opener somewhere.“

We drink some glasses of wine on these big leather couches in his apartment and talk about lots of different stuff. He seems a really nice person and I feel very comfortable around him. The wine makes me feel warm inside, it’s such a relief. He teaches us interesting facts about the dutch culture and the Netherlands. Did you know that with its network of more than 100km of canals, Amsterdam has a little over a thousand bridges? The oldest one, The Torensluis Bridge, was built in 1648 and it’s the widest one of the city. In 2010 UNESCO recognised Amsterdam’s inner canal ring as a world heritage site and placed them under protection. Nevertheless, up to 15.000 bikes are unfortunately fished out of the canals every year due to vandalism and incorrect disposal. After all, Asmterdam counts more bikes than people! In terms of numbers, Amsterdam counts around 821.000 inhabitants and more than 170 nationalities. It is a very multicultural and open minded city. The Netherlands indeed was the first country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage in 2001 and the recreational use of cannabis in coffeshops in 1972. I’m too drunk to memorize all the other data. But I promise it’s very interesting. We laugh and have a blast and lose track of time. We go to sleep very late at night.

It’s Sunday morning and we wake up rather late. We get ready and go out for breakfast all together. We walk through the city, take pictures, get some souvenirs and have some lunch. We walk towards the train station „Amsterdam Centraal“. Our train is leaving soon. We thank and say goodbye to our host and hope we will meet again in the near future. Now it’s time to head back to Brussels.  

Couchsurfing is an authentic travel experience, which differs from a touristic trip. Couchsurfing gives the opportunity to experience the real life of the city as a local and to become part of it. I am very thankful for this trip and for the kindness of all these humans. Bless.

Xo, Silvia

Ti ricordi il paese dei balocchi di Pinocchio? Bene, ora prendi quel concetto e adattalo a una versione adulta. Questa è Amsterdam. E' pazzesca. Alternativamente, la descriverei come "la città dei contrasti" per la forte contraddizione che c’è tra le sue radici tradizionali e la cultura moderna e di mente aperta. Mentre cammino per la città vengo catturata dalla bellezza delle case: alte, strette e colorate, che riflettono la loro bellezza architettonica nelle calme acque dei romantici canali, quando, ad un certo punto, vedo una donna nuda in una vetrina e mi rendo conto di essere finita nel quartiere a luci rossi. Sorpresa!

La mia amica ed io siamo sedute in riva ad un canale a riposarci un po’. Abbiamo camminato molto e ci fanno male i piedi. Per caso sentiamo la conversazione tra un uomo sulla settantina e un ragazzo sulla trentina seduti su una panchina a pochi metri da noi. L'anziano dice che oggi ha fumato marijuana per la prima volta e che "gli è piaciuto abbastanza". Dopo questa scena mi sto immaginando mio nonno fattissimo che si fuma un cannone con i suoi vecchi cari amici di una vita in un coffeeshop ad Amsterdam. Grande nonno!!

Ma qui viene la parte bella del nostro viaggio: qualche giorno prima di partire, ho ricevuto un messaggio dalla mia amica "ti va se ad Amsterdam usiamo couchsurfing al posto di andare in ostello?". Couchsurfing.org è una comunità di persone che decidono di ospitare viaggiatori, o di essere ospitati, nella loro casa gratuitamente per un paio di notti. Milioni di utenti di tutti i paesi del mondo e di tutte le età usano couchsurfing.org. Si possono lasciare recensioni nel profilo del tuo ospite o di chi hai ospitato. Le recensioni sono molto utili, anche se il fatto di dormire a casa di uno sconosciuto trovato su un sito internet potrebbe essere un po' discutibile, ma alla fine si vive solo una volta, no? Le ho risposto "Bell'idea, così possiamo anche risparmiare soldi e conoscere qualche persona del posto. Ci sto.". Così la mia amica si è messa in contatto con questo ragazzo olandese trovato sul sito e si è accordata per farci ospitare una notte sul suo divano.

Ora siamo a un pub chiamato “Hunter’s” e stiamo bevendo una 7 Up.

"Quindi come ti è sembrato questo ragazzo?" le chiedo. Manda giù il sorso e dice "olandese" Scoppiamo a ridere.  

Sta venendo buio ed è l'ora di prendere la metro e avviarci verso la casa di questo ragazzo. Saliamo sulla metro e una decina di fermate dopo scendiamo in un posto deserto nella periferia di Amsterdam. E' buio e silenzioso e non c'è nessuno in giro.

"Da che parte?" le chiedo.

Dice "mi ha mandato un messaggio con le direzioni. Allora, quando usciamo dalla metro dobbiamo andare a sinistra e camminare per 500 metri. Poi sulla destra ci dovrebbe essere un parcheggio, dobbiamo andare nel parcheggio e attraversare il sottopassaggio pedonale. Quando usciamo dal sottopassaggio troveremo un condominio sulla sinistra. Non possiamo sbagliarci perché ha detto che è l'unico palazzo in quella zona."

La guardo confusa e sgranando gli occhi le chiedo ridacchiando "mmm, sei sicura di queste indicazioni? Mi sembrano un po' sospette." "Si, vero? sembra l'inizio di un film horror" ride nervosamente. Le dico "Bhe quindi andiamo?" Lei dice "A questo punto possiamo andarci e incontrarlo, poi se ci fa una brutta impressione o non siamo sicure torniamo indietro". Dico "Dai ci sta, andiamo."

Sta venendo freschino e siamo abbastanza silenziose mentre ci dirigiamo verso la casa di questo ragazzo. Si sentono solo i nostri passi. 500 metri dopo arriviamo al parcheggio: è molto grande e ci sono solo un paio di auto parcheggiate. Ci guardiamo intorno e troviamo il sottopassaggio. Non mi sono mai piaciuti i tunnel perchè mi fanno venire la claustrofobia, comunque proseguiamo.

"Dobbiamo esserci quasi", dice.

Usciamo dal sottopassaggio e vediamo un palazzo enorme: “l'unico palazzo nella zona”. Le luci sono spente e sembra essere abbandonato.

"Aspetta, ma è un ospedale o cosa?" mi chiede. "Mmh, sembra che nessuno viva qui" le rispondo. Dice "Aspetta che lo chiamo"...."Ciao, siamo qui, dove sei? ...ok, a tra poco....” ha detto che tra un minuto è qui".

Siamo in un'area isolata e questo palazzo sembra un vecchio hotel o un ospedale abbandonato. Ho un po' d'ansia ma so che andrà tutto bene: le recensioni erano positive.

Qualche minuto dopo sentiamo una porta che si apre e dei passi nell'erba avvicinarsi, ma non vediamo nessuno: c'è troppo buio. All'improvviso questo ragazzo alto, magro con i capelli biondi spunta dal giardino con una sigaretta in bocca indossando un paio di pantofole. "Ciao, scusate il ritardo, come state? Scusate se vi ho fatto aspettare."

Ci presentiamo.

Devo ammettere che questa situazione è alquanto insolita e potrebbe potenzialmente essere  pericolosa, ma questo ragazzo sembra molto gentile e genuino.

"Com'è andato il viaggio?" chiede. "Bene, siamo arrivate stamattina". dice la mia amica. "Venite da Bruxelles, giusto?" "Si, siamo venute in treno, sono solo 3 orette da qua" dice. "Si, non è troppo lontano. Sono felice che il viaggio sia andato bene. Venite da questa parte, vivo qui".

Entriamo nel cancello del palazzo. Il giardino è abbastanza disordinato. L'erba è alta e non vedo bene dove metto i piedi. Mentre camminiamo verso l'ingresso rompe il silenzio dicendo "Quindi siete tutte e due americane?" "No, io vengo da un paese vicino a Bologna, in Italia" gli dico. "Ah, bello. Amo l'Italia, ho molto amici a Bologna perché ho fatto l'Erasmus lì". "Wow che bello, hai imparato un po' di italiano?" "Un pochino, capisco il senso di una conversazione ma non lo so parlare molto bene, ma mi piacerebbe impararlo un giorno".

Arriviamo all'ingresso e entriamo. Il palazzo è buio, l'elettricità probabilmente non funziona.

"Ah comunque brutte notizie, abito al settimo piano e l'ascensore è fuori uso."

Prendiamo le scale e continuiamo a salire, a salire e a salire. Finalmente arriviamo al settimo piano, apre la porta e c'è un corridoio lunghissimo. Lo seguiamo e passiamo davanti a tante porte chiuse. Si ferma davanti a una di queste e dice "vivo qui" e cerca la chiave giusta in un mazzo pieno di chiavi. Finalmente la trova e apre la porta. Non mi sarei mai aspettata di vedere questo. Ci troviamo in un appartamento di lusso molto grande con una finestra enorme con una vista stupenda sulla città. "Benvenute, fate come se foste a casa vostra". Appoggio il mio zaino sul pavimento e cammino verso la finestra. Le luci della città sono incredibili, sembra una scena da film. Potrei guardare fuori da questa finestra per ore e ore.

"Ti abbiamo portato del vino, spero ti piaccia, è vino rosso italiano" dice la mia amica. "Certo, grazie mille! Dovrei avere un apri bottiglie qui da qualche parte"

Beviamo qualche bicchiere di vino su questi divani neri in pelle e parliamo di tantissime cose. Finalmente sono tranquilla e mi sento a mio agio. Il vino mi da una sensazione di calore, è un sollievo. Il ragazzo ci insegna delle cose interessanti riguardo la cultura olandese e i Paesi Bassi. Lo sapevi che i canali di Amsterdam si estendono per 100km? e che ad Amsterdam ci sono più di un centinaio di ponti? Il più antico, il "Torensluis", fu costruito nel 1648 ed è il ponte più grande della città. Nel 2010 è diventato patrimonio dell'UNESCO ed è una grande attrazione turistica della città: ogni anno milioni di turisti scattano foto su questo ponte. Nonostante il centro di Amsterdam e i suoi canali siano un luogo storico e turistico importantissimo, ogni anno vengono pescate in media 15.000 bici dalle acque dei canali a causa di atti di vandalismo. Dopo tutto è risaputo che ad Amsterdam ci sono più biciclette che persone! Sempre parlando di numeri, la città conta 821.000 abitanti e più di 170 nazionalità. È una città multiculturale e di mentalità aperta. Infatti i Paesi Bassi sono stati il primo stato al mondo a legalizzare il matrimonio tra persone delle stesso sesso nel 2001 e l'uso ricreazionale di cannabis nei coffeeshop a partire dal 1972. Ora però sono troppo brilla per seguire il discorso, però giuro che questa conversazione è molto interessante. Ridiamo e perdiamo il senso del tempo. Ci addormentiamo molto tardi.

È Domenica mattina. Ci prepariamo e andiamo a fare colazione tutti insieme. Passeggiamo per la città, facciamo delle foto, compriamo qualche souvenir e pranziamo in un ristorante thailandese. Ci incamminiamo verso la stazione del treni "Amsterdam Centraal". Il nostro treno parte tra qualche minuto. Ringraziamo il ragazzo che ci ha ospitate e lo salutiamo, sperando di rivederci presto. Ora è il momento di tornare a Bruxelles.

Couchsurfing è un'esperienza di viaggio autentica, che si differenzia dal classico viaggio da turista. Couchsurfing.org da la possibilità di vivere la città con gli occhi di una persona del posto e di diventare parte di essa. Sono molto grata e ringrazio molto per questo viaggio e per la gentilezza e il buon cuore degli esseri umani.

Xo, Silvia

[massimomoscatellidrums]

🥰

Per quanto mi stia annoiando a morte.. Sono in vena di Restyiling e nuove idee, che spero, di pubblicare a breve ( le ultime parole famose ).

Tengo a precisare che: Non sono un compositore.. non sono diplomato in musica.. Sono solo innamorato delle colonne sonore. Questo solo per farvi capire che, rispetto ad un musicista di professione, tirare fuori dalla testa le note e cercarle sulla tastiera, per me, richiede più tempo del previsto..😅 ( W la sincerità ).

Questo è un brano a cui tengo molto..l'ho voluto scrivere per un amico "speciale".. quegli amici speciali che ti dimostrano di volerti bene anche solo con la loro presenza e che davanti alla morte, trovano comunque il modo di poterti dedicare un ultimo saluto.

Lyrics

On the ground I raise my eyes towards the sky take a deep breath… and slowly I get up listening to the wind it’s chilly voices whispers, touches me, weakens me

Step by step I slowly reach you, can’t arrest This time no running away, no reaching for help and I will not fear darkness.

My voice will be unheard body’s shaking and tears are falling but I’ll await you won’t leave without a last caress

Keep hold of me ‘cause it won’t be farewell you fulfilled my dreams and I’ll be in yours

Gonna be where I’ve never been before watching you through a veil Gonna find a way to walk you through space and time

Not afraid anymore looked back and found my way behind me only echoes of the past

My soul walks on but still can touch your hand close my eyes I’ll be far away from here

far away from here

be an echo of the past

credits released October 5, 2018 All songs written, performed, produced, mixed & mastered by Massimo Moscatelli

Voice by Sharm

Concept+Art by Pierluigi Bruni

license Massimo Moscatelli © all rights reserved

[aurorazuccarelloblr]

Commento del gioco “Eden”

1. Something isn't right today. You don't know what it is.

But you do have a feeling.  --> Ho un presentimento strano

2-You have this strange and eerie feeling SOMETHING is going to happen, but you have no idea what it is.

That is, until…. --> Continuo ad avere un certo presentimento e cerco di capire meglio

3.That is until your supervisor shows you the lab's new specimen. "We're not sure what it is," he says. "But it can't be human."

You take a look. --> Osservo ciò che ho davanti

4.You take a look at the specimen and try to conceal your horror. "Are you sure it isn't human?" you ask. Your supervisor just shrugs. "Keep an eye on it," he says. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Then, save for the "specimen" in the holding cell, he leaves you all alone.

You feel conflicted. --> Mi sento in conflitto con me stessa 

5. The creature in the cage looks like a person to you. Different, perhaps, but either human or so close that it hardly matters. The creature in the cage looks like a person to you. Different, perhaps, but either human or so close that it hardly matters. "What's your name?" you ask, hands curled around the bars. The specimen... no the prisoner wearily shakes their head.

You decide to rescue the prisoner --> Scelgo di salvare il prigioniero perché non mi sembra cattivo

No. It's safer to keep your distance.

6. You whisper to the prisoner, "I'm going to rescue you." The prisoner stares, disbelieving, and asks, "Why would you do this for me?" This person speaks perfect English, albeit with a curious accent you've never heard before. "Because it's the right thing to do," you say.

Let's get out of here.  --> Convinco il prigioniero ad uscire dalla cella

7. Your supervisor's been careless. He left his cell keys on the table. Your hands are shaking as you fumble with them, searching for the right-numbered one. Aha!

We're outta here. --> Siamo riusciti ad uscire

8. This rescue is going surprisingly well, and it looks like no one's around. You take the prisoner's hand and...

and…. --> Cerco di capire cosa sta succedendo

9. You don't know where the guards came from. They shoot you both dead.

--> What a gruesome end. --> Siamo morti entrambi 

10. You've had the same dream for three nights in a row. (Well, actually, the last three mornings since you're on the night shift.) It never ends quite the same. Maybe you're just THAT depressed your vacation is ending now. Anyway, it's time to get ready. Who do you see in the mirror?

I'm a woman. --> Scelgo di essere una donna perché riesco meglio ad immedesimarmi nelle scelte da fare

I'm a man.

I'm neither, actually.

11. I need to get more rest, you think. You shower, you groom, you dress, you grab breakfast.

Time to face the day. --> Incomincio la mia giornata lavorativa

12. You get to work on time like you always do. After all, getting ahead takes making a good impression. Though the "good impression" you've left on some, you could do without.

Hang up your coat. --> mi tolgo il cappotto

13. You put away your coat and purse and head for lab A-3. As usual, that Aaron guy chases you down to make smalltalk and say how he loves your hair. You don't like him, honestly, but you try to be polite. So, you smile and nod and say "Gotta go" as soon as you get the chance.

So, what's up? --> mi sento stanca dalla routine quotidiana.

14. When you get to lab A-3, almost no one is there. You ask an acquaintance named Kyra, "What's going on?" She tells you, "Check B-2. While you were gone, they brought in a real, live alien and everyone wants a look.". "Are you sure it's all right?" you ask. She says, "It's fine. I'll cover for you. Besides, Jones is there and he wants to see you." Jones being your supervisor, who's called you "brilliant" before.

Go to Lab B-2 --> sta succedendo qualcosa e vado verso il laboratorio

15. Phones aren't allowed in the basement labs, so you leave yours in your mini-locker. You go to lab B-2, where they keep the most secret of secrets—even for this place. You only earned clearance a week ago and you're eager to see what's inside. You swipe your card through scanner. The door unlocks. You go inside. You notice there's a card reader inside the room as well—likely an added precaution to help keep whatever's in here from escaping. Everyone is "Ooh"ing and "Aaah"ing over the new specimen that's in the cell in the corner. You nudge your way through the crowd and... and....

Oh my God. --> sono preoccupata perché ho appena visto…

16. Huddled behind those cold steel bars is the most beautiful creature. Beautiful... and if not human, close enough that it hardly matters. You're absolutely haunted by this creature... no, this person's mournful eyes. The captive is wearing loose gray prison clothes—pants and a short-sleeved shirt. You believe this ethereal being....

Is male.

Is female.

Is neither. --> scelgo che non sia nessuno dei due perché voglio portare avanti la mia immaginazione.

Is MESMERIZING. You'll work out the details later.

17. This person is pure androgynous perfection, beyond all the standard distinctions. "What... how...?" you ask Jones. It's difficult right now to voice coherent thoughts. Luckily, he knows what you mean. "We're calling it Eden, Jones replies. "Agents discovered it three days ago in a field not far from here, captured it and brought it in for study. We believe it's an alien life form." "Can they speak?" "It seems physically capable of speech, but we don't know its language. And that's why I wanted to see you."

Why me? --> mi sento importante, cerco di capire perchè ha scelto me

18. "Why me?" you "Why me?" you ask. "Several of us have tried already, but the creature won't respond. Essentially, it's your turn." As good an answer as any. You kneel in front of Eden's cell. "Hello," you say quietly so as not to frighten them. "You probably don't understand me, but... I'm not here to hurt you." Send them away, whispers a gentle voice in your mind. Please. Send them away. You blink in surprise since it isn't your voice. It must belong to Eden. It sounds....

Exactly like you'd expect. --> dall’aspetto che questa creatura ha, la sua voce me la immaginavo proprio così.

Different somehow.

19. Their voice sounds exactly like you'd expect: calming like autumn rain.

But back to Eden's request --> sto vagando nei pensieri, ma torno a concentrarmi

20. Eden asked you to clear the room. You look back and say, "Eden is telepathic. They asked me to ask everyone else to leave." Silence. The other scientists exchange puzzled looks and mumurs about the brain scans they took and how they were "different" from a human's. "All right," Jones says. "But I want a full report on your findings."

Now, it's time to talk to Eden. --> dopo esser riuscita a fare uscire tutti dalla stanza, siamo solo io e Eden.

21. You ask Eden:

Where are you from?

Why are you here?

Why did you pick ME?

Eden, how are you feeling? --> scelgo questa domanda per mettere a proprio agio la creatura, cercando di immedesimarmi in essa.

Can you tell me your real name?

22. You ask Eden gently, "Eden, how are you feeling?" Eden stares at you for a long time. "You're the first one here to ask me that sincerely," they say softly. Their eyes are shining with tears. "Thank you. I am.... I've been better."

Ask more questions. --> sono contenta della risposta, quindi continuo a fare altre domande.

23. You ask Eden:

Where are you from?

Why are you here?

Why did you pick ME? --> voglio sapere perché ha scelto me.

Eden, how are you feeling? (Already asked)

Can you tell me your real name?

-Or-

That's enough questions for now.

24. You ask Eden, "Why did you choose to talk to me?" Eden says, "Give me your hand." You do. Then, they answers you. I sensed you were different from the others. That maybe... you might help me.

Ask more questions? --> scelgo di saperne di più

That's enough questions for now.

25. You ask Eden:

Where are you from?

Why are you here?

Why did you pick ME? (Already asked)

Eden, how are you feeling? (Already asked)

Can you tell me your real name? --> cerco di indagare sulla sua identità

-Or-

That's enough questions for now.

26. You say, "I'm sure your real name isn't Eden. That's just the name they gave you. If it's all right, could you tell me your real name?" Eden smiles. "Maybe later. But not yet."

Ask more questions?

-Or-

That's enough questions for now. --> capisco che non vuole svelare troppo cose e quindi decido di fermarsi con le domande.

27. You and Eden both are silent for a while. You feel sorry for their being held captive like this, but what can YOU do? You're not in charge of anything here., and you feel horrible for what they must be going through. How can anyone approve of keeping this gentle, intelligent person as a thing to experiment on?

Try to console Eden.

Try to reach Eden with your thoughts. --> cerco di capire i pensieri di Eden per scavare più a fondo per ciò che sta provando.

28. Since Eden can reach you mind-to-mind, you decide to see if it can work the other way. With all your concentration, you think, Eden. Can you hear me Eden answers, Yes. Is there anything you can tell me that might help me get you out of here? Things you've noticed? Certain abilities you have? Eden says, If I'm close enough, I can "communicate" with technology and alter it with my mind. I can do it most accurately with things I'm actually touching. I can sense the presence of other living beings. And I doubt they've found my ship since it was cloaked when I left it. If I could use something as a tracking device, I could find my way back to it. Do they know what you can do? They only know about my telepathy. And that's only because of today. Hmm.

Figure out your next steps. --> decido di andare fino in fondo.

You're having second thoughts.

29. You and Eden work out a plan. Communicating mind-to-mind makes it go by quickly. Eden's technomancy skills can turn your card into a master key. They can likely disable security cameras and alarms as well, provided they can get close enough—and in very little time since destruction takes a lot less nuance than recreation. (You're glad they haven't tried that with the lock on they cell. Cell locks STAY locked if they're tampered with at all.) Also, perhaps most importantly, they can reconfigure any smartphone locate their ship. Since the cell has a keycard lock (located across the room and out of Eden's range), freeing them won't be a problem. The problem is that after that, you need to get them out of the building without getting caught. First, though, you take out your keycard so Eden can work their magic. You do your best to keep it hidden from camera view, knowing there's one behind you pointed directly at the cell. It's done, Eden says after a minute or so. It can open any electronic lock now. You put the card back in your lab coat pocket. Now, you can free Eden. But first....

You need to get your smartphone.

No, Nab a phone on the way out. --> Prenderò un telefono non appena uscirò.

30. It’s better to nab a phone on the way out. The coast is clear right now and you don't know when or if you'll see Eden alone again. Presently, Eden seems very focused on the camera on the wall. Trying to connect with it, maybe...? Anyway, you tell Eden, I'm going to unlock your cell. Then, you can disable the camera and get out. Eden says, All right.

It's Showtime. --> che il piano abbia inizio.

31. Quickly and subtly, you unlock Eden's cell and walk to the door, waiting for Eden to take care of the camera. You hear an odd crackling sound; the room's lights flicker into darkness and the emergency lights near the floor come on. You reopen the lab door with your keycard. A peek into the hall confirms that power has gone out. It might be overkill, but it's useful overkill. Regular staff will be leaving now. However, with such a suspicious outage (and perhaps suspicious camera footage), it seems like a sure thing they'll be sending in some guards to investigate. Once you've confirmed the coast is clear, you tell Eden, "Let's go." But since you didn't get your phone, you still need to grab one on the way out of this place. Time is of the essence, especially if you alert the guards.

Rush ahead while it looks clear.

Better to be cautious. --> bisogna proseguire con calma per non farsi beccare

32. It's a good thing you held back. A guard just rounded the corner. Get back in, you tell Eden. I'll hide behind that counter and 

HOPE he doesn't come in. --> speriamo di farcela.

33. The guard walks into the room. He sees Eden is still in their cell (but hasn't noticed it's unlocked) and hasn't spotted you yet. So, what now? Every option has its risks....

Make a break for it with Eden

Keep hiding --> continuo a mantenere attivo il piano.

Grab that digital scale from off the counter just in case

34. You decide to keep hiding and hope for the best. Then, the guard squints at the green light that shows Eden's cell is unlocked. He reaches for both his keycard and a gun.

Grab the scale

You and Eden RUN --> è arrivato il momento di scappare!

35. Suddenly, you hear a gunshot and a bullet rips right through you. You don't want to look; your hand drifts to chest. When you pull your hand away, you see that it's covered in blood. With your final breaths, you beg for Eden to keep running. You know you won't survive. But maybe Eden can be free.

And that's how it ends. 

You received the secret ending:“Sacrifice."

COMMENTO FINALE:

Il finale è negativo, perché Eden è morto, ma non è del tutto negativo perché Eden si è sacrificato per me e quindi sono riuscita a trasmettergli amore e fiducia. Penso che non sarei arrivata ad un finale positivo, perché avrei dovuto voltare le spalle alla creatura e trattarla come ogni essere umano presente, quindi sono contenta delle scelte fatte e di averci provato.

[thetimecreatoritalia]

Questo profilo istagram non è solo commerciale ma anche privato così conoscete sia me che il mio mondo.. Come far durare un amore? A tutti prima o poi sarà sorta spontanea questa domanda…forse il segreto sta proprio nel messaggio di questa significativa storia. Una mamma e un bambino stanno camminando sulla spiaggia. Ad un certo punto il bambino dice: “Come si fa a mantenere un amore?” La mamma guarda il figlio e poi gli risponde: “Raccogli un po’ di sabbia e stringi il pugno….” Il bambino stringe la mano attorno alla sabbia e vede che più stringe più la sabbia gli esce dalla mano. “Mamma, ma la sabbia scappa!!!” “Lo so, ora tieni la mano completamente aperta…” Il bambino ubbidisce, ma una folata di vento porta via la sabbia rimanente. “Anche così non riesco a tenerla!” La mamma, sempre sorridendo: “Adesso raccogline un altro po’ e tienila nella mano aperta come se fosse un cucchiaio… abbastanza chiusa per custodirla e abbastanza aperta per la libertà.” Il bambino riprova e la sabbia non sfugge dalla mano ed e protetta dal vento. “Ecco come far durare un amore…”This istagram profile is not only commercial but also private so you know both me and my world .. How to make a love last? Sooner or later this question will have arisen for everyone ... maybe the secret lies in the message of this significant story. A mom and a child are walking on the beach. At one point the child says, "How do you keep a love?" The mother looks at her son and then replies: "Collect some sand and clench your fist ..." The child shakes his hand around the sand and sees that the more he tightens the more sand comes out of his hand. "Mom, but the sand runs off !!!" "I know, now hold your hand completely open ..." The child obeys, but a gust of wind takes away the remaining sand. "Even so I can't keep it!" Mom, still smiling: "Now pick it up a little more and keep it in your open hand as if it were a spoon ... closed enough to keep it and open enough for freedom." The child tries again and the sand does not escape from the hand and is protected from the wind. "Here's how to make a love last ..." #forever #coppiadifatto #famiglia❤️ #noi #family #coppia #gay #fiero #lanostrastoria #home (presso Rimini, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/B2e5BpIoRuC/?igshid=uhpfo74a3ngu

[selvaggea]

15.06.2021 foto di C.B.

Sky blue butterfly.

La farfalla azzurra rappresenta la vita che è nelle nostre mani e siamo solo noi a poter decidere cosa ne vogliamo fare.

Secondo la leggenda della farfalla azzurra, molti anni fa un uomo rimase vedovo e dovette prendersi cura da solo delle sue due figlie.

Le due ragazze erano molto curiose, intelligenti e sempre desiderose di imparare. Avevano sempre molte domande da porre al padre per soddisfare il proprio desiderio di conoscenza. Spesso il padre riusciva a rispondere con molta saggezza, tuttavia le domande delle sue figlie erano piuttosto complesse e non sempre era sicuro di saper dare la risposta giusta.

Dato che le figlie volevano conoscere la verità, il padre decise di mandarle a vivere per un po’ di tempo insieme a un saggio che viveva sulla cima di una montagna. Il saggio era in grado di rispondere a tutte le domande che gli venivano rivolte senza mai esitare.

Le due sorelle decisero però di tendere al saggio una piccola trappola per misurare la sua saggezza. Una notte incominciarono a escogitare un piano per porre al saggio una domanda a cui non sarebbe stato in grado di rispondere.

La sorella maggiore decise di mettere subito in atto un’idea. Uscì all’aperto, andò a catturare una farfalla azzurra e la nascose nel proprio grembiule.

Alla sorella minore dette questa spiegazione:

“Questa sarà la nostra arma segreta per ingannare il saggio. Gli chiederemo se la farfalla che è nella mia mano è viva o morta. Se risponderà che è viva, stringerò la mano per ucciderla. Se risponderà che è morta, aprirò la mano e la libererò. Dunque la risposta che il saggio darà sarà sempre sbagliata”.

La sorella minore accettò la proposta e insieme andarono a cercare il saggio.

Ecco allora che le sorelle chiesero al saggio:

“Ci potrebbe dire se la farfalla che ho nella mano è viva o morta?”.

Il saggio rispose con un sorriso malizioso:

“Dipende da voi, dato che la farfalla è nelle vostre mani”.

The blue butterfly represents the life that is in our hands and it is only we who can decide what we want to do with it. According to the legend of the blue butterfly, many years ago a man was widowed and had to take care of his two daughters alone. The two girls were very curious, intelligent and always eager to learn. They always had many questions to ask their father to satisfy their desire for knowledge. Often the father could answer very wisely, however the questions of his daughters were quite complex and he was not always sure he knew how to give the right answer. Since the daughters wanted to know the truth, the father decided to send them to live for a while along with a sage who lived on top of a mountain. The sage was able to answer all the questions he was asked without hesitation. The two sisters, however, decided to set a small trap for the wise to measure his wisdom. One night they began to devise a plan to ask the sage a question he would not be able to answer. The older sister decided to put an idea into action immediately. He went out into the open, went to catch a blue butterfly and hid it in his apron. He gave this explanation to his younger sister: "This will be our secret weapon to deceive the sage. We will ask him if the butterfly in my hand is alive or dead. If she says she’s alive, I’ll shake her hand to kill her. If she says she’s dead, I’ll open my hand and release her. So the answer that the sage will give will always be wrong". The younger sister accepted the proposal and together they went to look for the sage. So the sisters asked the sage: "Could you tell us if the butterfly in my hand is alive or dead?". The wise man answered with a mischievous smile: "It depends on you, since the butterfly is in your hands".

https://www.greenme.it/vivere/mente-emozioni/leggenda-farfalla-azzurra/