#whatever che palle

[rafyki]

I really can't understand why, but there's so much useless discourse in the pjo fandom - about ships, about interpretation of characters, about headcanons, and all stuff like that. Like, are most people in this fandom unable to have fun?

I mean, I've been in the fandom for ten years now, and (maybe it was bc back in the day I was in the Italian fandom) but back then there wasn't this much discourse???

Please, just learn to have fun, that's literally what fandoms are made for

[steviesbicrisis]

Dustin had been waiting this moment for months.

Mind you, Dustin isn’t one to bring up his personal life to the public at any chance he gets, but a part of him really wants everyone to know his role in one of the most important up-coming weddings of the year.

“So, I’ve heard you had a big role in all of this, what happened?” The host asks, on the edge of his seat.

“Well, I know Eddie cause we’ve done some livestreams together, we’ve met a couple of times and he seemed cool. And I know Steve cause, other than working together, he’s basically a brother to me, you know-” the audience interrupts him with a big ‘aaaaw’ sound and loud clapping.

“I think you misunderstood me, he’s the type of older brother who is no fun and makes you wish either of you was adopted.”

The audience laughs.

“Anyways, we were all at a party and I introduced them and Eddie was, you know, immediately obsessed with Steve. But Steve was engaged at the time,” Dustin decides to not dwell on this part of the story, it was a very tough time for Steve and some of it was public enough to make it worse. Dustin is just happy that he can talk about Steve’s ex-fiancé in the past tense.

“Time goes on, and as soon as the news of Steve being single again hits the public, I get a call from one begging Eddie Munson-” he wasn’t really begging but Dustin wants to sell the story “-asking about Steve once again. Like, how was he? Was he fine? Ready to meet other people? and I was like 'I don't know dude, I don't ask him about his dating prospects daily' and that's when he asked for Steve's number."

Dustin takes a small pause before going into the next part of the story "Obviously I don't go around giving people Steve's number, and I get asked a lot," the audience laughs again, "so I do the decent thing and ask Steve can I give Eddie your number? is it okay?

And Steve goes all into this theatrical performance Oi, no, mamma mia," Dustin goes strong with the Italian accent "All these men, che palle, they never leave me alone. Oddio-”

The host interrupts him “wait, does Steve have this strong Italian accent?”

“Of course not, he was born in Indiana, I’m trying to sell the story man!” Dustin pretends to be annoyed and the host goes along with it, making the audience laugh and cheer.

“Anyways, he was trying to say no but clearly meant yes. So I gave Eddie the number and whatever Eddie did with it, must’ve been the right call.”

A photo of Steve’s engagement announcement appears behind them right after: Steve and Eddie’s hands, finger intertwined and matching rings.

“Clearly he did” the host agrees after the clapping and cheering from the audience dies down.

“And what about wedding gifts? Are you doing something with the whole group? Or is it a solo thing?” The host inquires.

“Uh, I gave Steve a husband?? He should be giving me gifts”.

———

Predictably, the interview goes viral.

A few days later, Dustin comes back home to find a gift waiting for him.

It’s two VIP tickets for one of Eddie’s shows under his and Suzie’s name (a YouTuber friend Dustin didn’t have the courage to ask out, yet).

The note attached to the box is simple and very clear.

“Thank you, little shit. Now that we are even, the wedding gift is expected or you’ll be grounded.

See you at the wedding

S&E”

Despite being a twenty something, successful and independent since he was 17, Dustin takes the threat very seriously.

[federicodeleonardis]

Tabula rasa

I do art. Mainly, in the sense that politics, economics, history and everything else are seen by me from the angle I have chosen to deal in. ” human being is an aesthetic creature before he is an ethical one" (Brodskij),  assuming it can still be argued that he has morals (Salgado docuit): this means that the above subjects and certainly also science must first of all have aesthetic criteria and that any philosophical conclusions (or if you prefer metaphysical and religious) can be drawn only after having well considered how they think about it, e.g., Caravaggio, Beuys.

Or Salgado. I deal with art in general, but in particular with the visual one and the image that opens this article alone justifies the previous suspicion about the morality of sapiens: it portrays a school in Rwanda and the balls you see are childrens’ skulls.

But will the same aesthetic trends, e.g. the dance of Pina Baush, be enough to save it? There is something to doubt, and not for justified distrust of the weakness of photography as a weapon of defense (Salgado himself had to sell thousands to repopulate some hundreds of deforested hectares of the flora of his Brazil and bring back the jaguars), but for the ferocity of the anthropomorphic monkey prince.

Art uses the weapons of passivity, discretion and silence, does not trade in economics and therefore has little chance of defeating human aggression in matters in which it is not a matter of copulating with someone, but of calming hunger, especially that of one's children. The matter is serious (if there are too many), but it must not question the priority of dance.

A simple look at the site you are visiting or at the images that will find you in a single day of your existence, starting from the passport photo you have in your wallet, can convince you, whatever the visual culture you possess, of the extreme pollution that impairs homo sapiens in one of the subjects that concern him more closely: the quality of what you have under your eyes is the most diverse imaginable and perhaps it is the most polluted on the planet between the sonorous, the respiratory and the constructed (in Italian “edile” from edire= to eat, in Latin).

Polluted by what? Mainly from the quantity, starting from the smartphone that you definitely have in your pocket to the billboards that have filled the surfaces of any city on earth and the countless roads that cross it. Nature, the aesthetics of the Good Lord (among sunsets there is but one a day and that suffices for us), even the non benign ones (floods and volcanoes) have taken a step back, forced precisely by the oil fires of the various Saddams, Kissingers, ecc. on duty and the various Brazilian deforestation workers  in the pay of large multinationals (American, Canadian, Chinese, European).

Far be it from me a mantra: I still have a lot of faith in art.

As long as it starts from a healthy Tabula Rasa.

S. Salgado: Ex asilo (Rwanda)

Mi occupo d’arte. Principalmente, nel senso che la politica, l’economia, la storia e quant’altro vengono da me viste dall’angolo  del quale ho scelto di occuparmi. “ L’uomo è un animale estetico, prima che etico” (Brodskij), ammesso che si possa ancora sostenere che abbia una morale (Salgado docuit): ciò significa che le materie di cui sopra  e certamente anche la scienza devono avere un criterio prima di tutto estetico e che eventuali conclusioni filosofiche (o se preferite metafisiche e religiose) possono essere tratte solo dopo aver ben considerato come la pensano in proposito p. e. Caravaggio o Beuys.

O Salgado. Mi occupo d’arte in generale, ma in particolare di quella visiva e l’immagine che apre quest’articolo giustifica da sola il sospetto precedente circa la morale del sapiens: ritrae una fu scuola in Rwanda e le palle che vedete sono teschi infantili.

Ma l’estetica tendenziale dello stesso, p. e. la danza di Pina Baush, sarà sufficiente a salvarlo? C’è di che dubitarne, e non per giustificata sfiducia nei confronti della debolezza della fotografia come arma di difesa (Salgado stesso ne ha dovute vendere migliaia per ripopolare  di flora qualche centinaia di ettari deforestati del suo Brasile  e far tornare i giaguari), ma per la ferocia della scimmia antropomorfa principe.

L’arte usa le armi della passività, discrezione e silenzio, non commercia in economia e quindi  ha poche chances di sconfiggere l’aggressività umana nelle questioni in cui non si tratta di copulare con qualcuno, ma di calmare la fame, soprattutto quella dei propri figli. La questione è seria (se ne fanno troppi), ma non deve mettere in discussione la priorità della danza.

Una scorsa anche semplicemente al sito che state visitando o alle immagini che vi capiteranno sotto gli occhi in un sol giorno della vostra esistenza, partendo dalla fototessera che avete nel portafoglio, potrà convincervi, qualsisia la cultura visiva che possedete, dell’estrema polluzione che impania l’homo sapiens in  una delle materie che lo riguardano più da vicino: la qualità di ciò che avete sotto gli occhi è la più diversa immaginabile e forse essa è la più inquinata del pianeta fra la sonora,la respiratoria e l’edile (da edire=mangiare, in latino).

Inquinata da che? Principalmente dalla quantità, a partire dallo smartphone che avete sicuramente in tasca a finire ai cartelloni pubblicitari che hanno riempito le superfici di qualsiasi città della terra e le strade innumerevoli che l’attraversano. La natura, l’estetica del Buon Dio (ma di tramonti ce n’è uno al giorno e ci basta), anche quella non benigna (alluvioni e vulcani), ha fatto un passo indietro, costretta appunto dagli incendi petroliferi dei vari Saddam, Kissinger ecc di turno e dai vari deforestatori brasiliani al soldo delle grandi multinazionali (USA, Canadesi, Cinesi, Europee).

Lungi da me una giaculatoria: ho ancora molta fiducia nell’arte.

Purché parta da una sana Tabula Rasa.

  FDL (trad. Rachana Raizada)

D’après Duchamp di FDL

[quodekash]

THE ATTENTION TO DETAIL AAAAA FJFJFJFJFB

SHE HAS LONG HAIR AND IN BLS THE CHARACTERS HAVE SHORT HAIR SO YOU CANT RLY SEE THE CHANGES IN HAIR COS IT ALWAYS LOOKS PERFECT NO MATTER WHAT

BUT WHEN SHE HAS LONG HAIR ITS CLEAR WHEN SHES WORRIED AND TUGGING AT IT AND IT MESSES HER HAIR UP A BIT AND FJFMFJFHFBF

omg now I’m thinking about gun thinking about playing with her hair and gun sitting on a seat/edge of her bed and Tinn sits on the floor in front of her and gun brushes her hair and it’s so tender and soft and sweet and oh my gosh I freaking love them so much, aiutami, le voglio bene troppo tanto

I love the way gun’s thoughts run on and keep going and the way they have the little interruption dash when her thoughts are distracted by something happening in the real world, like someone talking to her. and almost every time so far, that distraction has been Tinn, which makes me think that Tinn knows gun is an overthinker and her thoughts are so loud and she could very easily start spiralling if she doesn’t have some physical real world distraction and fjfjfjhfb

AND OH MY GOODNESS I JUST REALISED

gun absolutely has adhd, that’s just a fact and it is always canon I don’t care what anyone else thinks (I’ve actually been meaning to make a post for months about all of gun’s symptoms and stuff but I keep forgetting to… anyway). BUT it’s often seen that girls/afab people have different symptoms to boys/amab people, because of the way society expects women to behave, so they mask more often than boys and are therefore just seen as daydreamers or whatever and generally get diagnosed much later in life - or not at all - because they don’t have the hyperactive bouncing off walls stereotypical symptoms that we see in most media and stuff

SO gun being a girl could also influence THAT!!

but also you guys said that she still breaks rules and stuff, if not more than canon gun, which could be a byproduct of hyperactivity and stuff so I don’t rly think this version of gun would internalise her symptoms and mask much to fit in with society because she really doesn’t care at all about society but it’s still interesting to think about (@distant-screaming and @transpran if you guys have any thoughts on this pls tell me, I’m desperate)

the reference to the laundry thing that you mentioned in your silly gun thoughts post- fhfjfjfh this is so well written

I fan picture this as an actual series and in a previous episode or smth gun has a misadventure with laundry and then they reference it here and then later at some point tinngun have a little montage of scenes with a song playing in the background and one of them is gun trying to do laundry with tinn’s help and they’re being silly and smiling and laughing with each other and holy hell I need this to be made as an actual thing

I also freaking love the little bits in italics and/or brackets because they’re the thoughts that she’s scared to admit she’s thinking and they’re the thoughts that scare her the most and fjfjfjfjrjr

also using a lot of brackets is an inherently neurodivergent thing I think (because there’s always a little bonus thought) which adds to the adhdness fjfjfjfhfbfbbfbffbfbfjfjfj I love this

OOOO I DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT

well I vaguely remember reading something about people thinking Tinn and Tiw are dating but I forgot about it

anyway THAT MAKES FOR SOME RLY INTERESTING DYNAMICS FJFJFJFJFHB

CHE DUE PALLE THIS IS SO WELL WRITTEN OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS I FREAKING LOVE THIS SO MUCH

ITS SO POETIC???

MY ENGLISH/LITERATURE NERD BRAIN IS VERY HAPPY RN

“drown out everything until all that is left is her and Tinn and the space between them, a thousand miles and a few centimetres and nothing at all.” IM DYING, YOU HAVE A WAY WITH WORDS MY FRIEND

—-

THAT WAS FREAKING INCREDIBLE WHAT THE HELL???

folks, anyone who happens to see this, I BEG YOU to PLEASE READ THIS AND ALL THE STUFF THAT BEE AND DEE HAVE CREATED BECAUSE ITS FREAKING INCREDIBLE

check out dee’s masterpost for more stuff on it because it’s freaking incredible

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: แฟนผมเป็นประธานนักเรียน | My School President (TV 2022) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tinn Tinnaphob Jirawatthanakul/Gun Guntaphon Wongwitthaya Characters: Tinn Tinnaphob Jirawatthanakul, Gun Guntaphon Wongwitthaya Additional Tags: Angst, Introspection, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, they are lesbians now, heart emoji, Gender or Sex Swap, Gender Roles, Canon Rewrite, Art Series: Part 1 of a beautiful face shining back on me / stained with love (a wlw tinngun au) Summary:

Gun wonders if she should give up - if maybe she isn’t cut out for music after all.

or: a rewrite of the scene in episode 5 (but it’s lesbians)

—- 

IM ABOUT TO READ RHIS FREAKING BRILLIANT THING BY @distant-screaming AND IM GONNA POST MY COMMENTARY HERE BC I CANT SHUT UP ABOUT IT 

[pinkanonhopes]

i'm very sad. very blue.

[maneskintookawaymysanity]

BASIC MÅNESKIN'S ROMAN/ITALIAN SLANG DICTIONARY:

So, I've noticed that lots of people are interested at learning some italian because of Måneskin. The thing is, they often use Roman dialect or italian slang, and some words can be lost in translation. So here are some of the most common words that I've heard them say. As you'll notice, most of them are slur/swear words, but that's because italian has a myriad of swear words, it's just how we communicate.😂

A regà/ regà! (in the roman dialect people often use 'A' in front of words as an intensifier/to add emphasis): Hey guys!

A bbello(M)/A bbella(F): Hey handsome.

Ahò/Aò: can't really be translated; very popular way to address someome, used in a wide range of occasions. For instance if you're walking with a friend, and they walk in the wrong direction, you can say "Aò, where are you going?".

Ammazza aò: can't really be translated; expression of surprise/astonishment/wonder.

Aridaje: closest translation is "oh, not again", expression used with an annoyed/bored tone.

Avoja: closest translation is "yes, of course" (emphasized). For instance, if a friend asks if you want some water after you went running, you answer 'Avoja, I'm so thirsty'.

Bella (lit. beautiful): 'sup!

Bono(M)/ bona(F): hottie, good looking.

Bonazzo(M)/ bonazza(F): same as 'Bono' but emphasized.

Caciara: confusion, noise, bustle.

Caciarone: cheerful and noisy person (affectionate or derogatory).

Cesso (lit. toilet): ugly looking person.

Che palle (lit. bollocks): bummer, what a bore.

Coatto: basically the roman equivalent of a Chav.

Cojone (italian: coglione): asshole, jerk.

Daje: closest translation is "let's go!" or "come on!"

Eccallà (italian: ecco quì): there you go.

E 'nnamo (italian: e andiamo): let's go!

Esse de coccio (lit. being made of earthenware): being dense, thick.

Fregno(M)/ fregna(F) (lit. vagina): hottie, good looking person.

Grazie al cazzo (lit. thanks to this dick): no shit.

La maggica: the magical, affectionate way AS Roma supporters use to call their football team.

Ma chittesencula? (lit. who will f*ck you in the as*?): closest translation is "I couldn't care less about you"

Manzo (lit. beef): male hottie

Me cojoni (lit. my nuts): closest translation is "oh wow, I don't believe it", expression of stupor, bewilderment. 

Mò (italian: adesso): now, right now.

Monnezza (italian: immondizia): trash, garbage

Mortacci/ Li mortacci tua (lit. The soul of your dead relatives): very important and common roman interjection, not necessarily directed to a person, mostly used in a derogatory way but also in an affectionate way.

'Na cifra: closest translation is "a whole lot of", "plenty of". For instance if someone asks you if you had fun at the concert yesterday, you answer "'Na cifra!"

No vabbè (lit. no, whatever): expression of bewilderment, surprise, closest translation is "I can't believe it!"

Oh cazzo! (lit. dick): oh shit!, oh fuck!

Pazzesco: insane.

Porca puttana: holy shit, bloody hell.

Rompere il culo (lit. to break the ass): to kick ass

Rompersi il cazzo (lit. to break my own dick): to get tired/bored. For instance, you can say "Me so rotto er cazzo" when you are annoyed or bored.

Sborone: a person who's a show-off.

Spaccare (lit. to break something): to rock it, to kill it.

Sticazzi (lit. these dicks): closest translation is "IDGAF". For instance, someone if someone tells you that Prince William got married, but you don't give a sh*t about him, you answer "E sticazzi!". Sticazzi state of mind.

Stocazzo (lit. this dick): it's not the singular form of 'sticazzi', but it has a whole different meaning. Ikd how to explain it but it can be used as an answer in various circumstances, like to express surprise/admiration ("I got employed at NASA" "Stocazzo!") or to express disbelief ("I had a one-night stand with Victoria" "Seh stocazzo!) but also in other occasions.

Vaffanculo: one of the most important and vital words in italian; fuck off!

Ps. Feel free to add more words, I just put the first ones I could think of. Also tell me if I made mistakes or you have better definitions.😁

[agapintheskin]

Che significa avere la voce da etero Basic? Perché ieri guardavo Sanremo con un mio amico e lui ha detto “che brutto vestito che ha. E poi ha la voce da Etero Basic che palle !” E ha sbuffato. Che significa? Cos’è la voce da etero basico ? È una cosa negativa ? Ma poi gli ho chiesto “conosci SanGiovanni?” E lui ha detto “no, la prima volta che lo sento”. E poi gli ho chiesto “cosa si significa etero basic?”. E lui non sapeva come spiegare e ha detto “intendo innovativo”. Ma non ho capito cosa c’entra con etero. Spesso Basic lo usano per gli etero chiusi di mente. E anche lui l’ha usato spesso per descrivere gli etero mentalmente chiusi. Questo mio amico è gay comunque. Ma sembrava che a primo impatto SanGiovanni non gli piaccia perché ha la voce da Eterobasico. Cosa significa? Non sta in piedi quelli che ha detto. Tu riesci a capirlo e spiegarmelo? Sembra un insulto.

I don't want to disappoint you or anything but i had like one year of italian about 15yrs ago and my best friends sicilian grandma that called me names and taught me to eat spaghetti correctly. Apart from that google translate tells me something about hetero straight voice whatever that means. So if you're being sincere with this ask you might wanna try a different language lmao

[hellishchrissy]

chapter 1 - this will sound dumb 

chapter 2 - we need rules

chapter 3 - we’re in this mess together

chapter 4 - just don’t do anything i wouldn’t

chapter 5 - so fucking special

chapter 6  - it’ll mess everything up

WEDNESDAY 15:06

Two weeks had passed fairly quickly in Eleonora and Edoardo’s fabricated relationship bliss. Each day that passed they felt slightly more comfortable with each other, and each day they shared a bit more of themselves to each other. Every now and then Eleonora let herself sink into the relationship bliss, letting the facade fall - and to be honest, it felt nice to sometimes pretend that what they were doing wasn’t pretending. Sometimes she’d look at Edoardo, and she’d feel genuine dedication to him, and every now and then she could feel Edoardo looking at her in a way that had been very different just a few weeks ago. The line between play pretend blurred for a few seconds at a time, but Eleonora never let it go too far.

Eleonora was even making friends with some of Edoardo’s closest friends - Chicco and Federico, to be exact. The boys were surprisingly genuine and easy-going, and were very taken with Edoardo’s newest girlfriend. The two of them had revealed that Edoardo had usually dated girls that had no interest in being their friends, and usually had avoided any sort of conversation with the girls that Edoardo usually  spent time with. It felt strange to be so genuinely accepted by Edoardo’s friends, even if there was nothing genuine about their relationship. They had fooled everyone around them - maybe even themselves.

Eleonora pulled out her earphones as she approached Edoardo, Federico and Chicco on the school hallway after their last class, waving her hand at the boys as she stopped beside them. “Hi.”

“Eleonora,” Fede and Chicco said nearly in unison, their tones playful. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, just passing by,” Eleonora stated with a smile as Edoardo’s arm wrapped around her almost instinctively, and he pressed a kiss or two on to the girl’s forehead - the gesture felt almost protective.

“But I did have something to tell you,” she continued, tapping Edoardo’s chest. “Filo wants to have dinner with us. Tomorrow? Around eight?”

Edoardo clicked his tongue, leaning back on his heels as he quietly relived the horror stories of family dinners at the Sava household. Shitty asparagus risottos and burnt pizza, the staples of Filo and Eleonora’s homecooking - at least according to her. “Uh, depends who’s cooking. You or Filo?”

Fede was grinning as he watched the conversation unfold, clumsily trying to stifle his laughter.  Eleonora glared at him for a fraction of a second, then turned her attention back to Edoardo beside her. “Neither. We’re ordering pizza.”

Edoardo’s worried look melted into a smile so bright his eyes twinkled, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Okay, then. I’ll be there.”

“Great!” Eleonora said, sounding genuinely excited for Filippo and Edoardo to actually meet. They had that episode that one night weeks ago, but quite frankly Eleonora had doubted they’d still be doing this little play pretend by this point, so she had never really bothered to actually let the boys to get to know each other. “But I gotta run. Eva and the girls are waiting for me, we’re getting coffee together.”

Edoardo felt truly happy to hear that Eleonora had gotten new friends, and he let it show. He squeezed Eleonora’s hand with his own, reassuring her. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Eleonora nodded, looking slightly nervous for whatever - was it the girls or tomorrow night? Edoardo couldn’t quite read her, but he stopped worrying as soon as Eleonora got up on her tippy toes and pressed a kiss on his cheek, smiling. “Bye.”’

And then she was gone, hurrying down the hallway towards doors to get to her friends. Edoardo stared at her until she was gone from his view, disappeared around the corner. And even after that he stood there, frozen, his cheek still burning from Eleonora’s kiss. Fuck.

“You guys wanna go to my place and play Fifa?” Fede interrupted Edoardo’s daydreaming, and he felt himself physically flinch.

Edoardo cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his head absent-mindedly as he forcibly tore his gaze from the spot where Eleonora had disappeared. “Sure, sure, sure.”

THURSDAY 19:47

Eleonora jumped off the couch when the doorbell rang, knowing it was Edoardo since the pizzas hey had ordered had arrived five minutes earlier. She entered the hallway and raced her way to the front door of their apartment like an excited child, making Filippo chuckle in the kitchen as he sipped his wine. Eleonora stopped at the door, taking a deep breath as she gave herself one last look in the mirror hanging on the wall; her own, agitated eyes stared back, red lips curved up into a nervous smile. Oh, let this evening be normal. Just one normal dinner. Just one.

Eleonora opened the door, and a smile twitched at the corners of her lips as soon as her eyes set on Edoardo. The boy was wearing a white shirt that was in drastic contrast with his dark curls that were now almost falling onto his eyes. He started smiling when he saw Eleonora, his eyes lingering on the girls’ features for a few, extra long moments.

“Hi,” Edoardo said.

“Hi,” Eleonora echoed breathlessly, leaning against the door.

They stood there staring at each other like complete idiots for a few more seconds until Eleonora realized to awkwardly step back to let the boy actually enter the apartment. Edoardo looked thoughtful as he pulled off his leather jacket, hanging it on the wall before looking at Eleonora again. “You look good. The lipstick, it… Suits you. You look nice.”

Eleonora chuckled as Edoardo seemed to stumble over his own words, struggling to put them in an order that didn’t make him sound like a nervous child. Eleonora looked at Edoardo, stroking one runaway curl from his eyes. “You sound nervous, Incanti.”

The boy smiled, glancing towards the kitchen where Filippo was making a lot of noise perhaps to give the two of them a private moment. Edoardo leaned down to whisper: “It’s not everyday you meet your fake-girlfriend’s brother, now is it?”

The two of them shared a silent, meaningful laughter at the whole absurdity of the situation, and Edoardo couldn’t stop himself from staring at the girl. Fuck, she was beautiful. How had it taken him so long to realize how beautiful she was? Edoardo gaze turned to his hands when he felt Eleonora’s hand grasp his, and he followed without a word as she started leading him down the hallway towards the kitchen. They stopped at the doorway, and Filippo looked up from his phone when he heard the pair enter the room. He put down his phone and got up on his feet in an awkward attempt to greet Edoardo properly.

“Hi again,” Filippo said, his tone suggestive. Filippo Sava, the flirt. He offered his hand to Edoardo, and the pair shook hand as Edoardo attempted his best to seem proper.

“Filippo,” he said as he let his free hand fall back to his side. “It’s nice to meet you again. It seems that last time Eleonora seemed to be in too much of a hurry to actually let us have a chat.”

Eleonora rolled her eyes at Edoardo, making both of the boys smirk at each other - if there was something that was easy to do, that was getting Eleonora riled up, and they both had learned the art of it. Edoardo quite quickly, which Filippo admired. And though he clearly had learned how to get under his sister’s skin, there was also something about the way he looked at her; something completely bare, something so honest yet something so well concealed. They were a strange pair, but one that made a good fit, nevertheless. It felt good to know that Eleonora was with someone who looked at her with such intensity it nearly made everyone else want to look away as if not to interrupt their private moment. And that’s what Filippo did, suddenly feeling like he was imposing.

Eleonora broke the silence in the room. “So, what do you guys wanna drink?”

Filippo raised his wine glass to signal that he was good, but Edoardo shrugged. “Beer, if you have any.”

“Well, Edoardo, there’s not a single person in this household that drinks beer, but luckily I thought ahead!” Filippo said, gesturing towards the fridge where Eleonora found a six-pack of beer that he had bought hours before.

Eleonora offered the glass bottle to Edoardo as they sat down, but before Edoardo could have the chance to thank her, his eyes noticed something on the girl’s bare upper arm. It was a black tattoo of a spider, the design in such a dark contrast with Eleonora’s light skin that it felt silly that Edoardo was just now noticing it. “You’ve got a tattoo, Sava?”

Filippo looked like he could’ve just about choke on his wine as Edoardo tried to grab at Eleonora’s arm to examine the tattoo better. Eleonora was quick to yank her arm back, and she leaned back in her chair as both of the men were now staring at her with different looks on their faces. Filippo looked like an excited child who had just won a prize, Edoardo just purely confused, his eyes still slipping back to get a second look at the tattoo on Eleonora’s arm that she had now hidden behind her back.

Filippo grabbed his wine glass, turning his gaze to Edoardo. “Do tell him, Franky.”

“Franky?” Asked Edoardo, now even more confused as his eyes kept shooting between the two siblings sitting at the table with him. Eleonora was staring at Filo, and it was clear that they were having some sort of a wordless communication that Edoardo didn’t quite comprehend: Eleonora widened her eyes, her lips pursed together. Filo merely shrugged at her, smiling.

Eleonora huffed out all the oxygen in her lungs, forcing out the words: “It’s a stupid nickname. From my second name Francesca. Filo knows that I hate it.”

“She hates all the nicknames I give her, so I like to rotate them so she doesn’t get sick of them. Franky, annoying little rat, the less attractive Sava, Che Palle…” Filippo went on and on, and Eleonora felt mortified. She buried her face into her hands, shaking her head as Edoardo chuckled next to her.

Eleonora peeked at Edoardo, her cheeks heating up. “I have never heard half of those nicknames, I swear.”

“I never said that I call you by them to your face,” Filo interrupted, taking an extended sip from his wine glass.

Edoardo followed the sibling’s bickering with an entertained smile, sipping his beer as he let the two of them go at each other at full force. Eventually, as it seemed like Filippo was ready to stand down, Edoardo asked carefully: “So… The tattoo? What’s the story behind that?”

Eleonora glanced at her hands on the table before looking at Filippo, giving her brother her wordless consent for him to tell the story. Filippo’s entire demeanour seemed to change, and he propped himself up on the chair like an excited child as he peeled his long sleeve back a few centimetres to reveal an identical tattoo on his own forearm. “See, this was a few years back when our mom found his new boyfriend and decided to move to Lecce,” Filippo started, his voice tender as he talked of the clearly touchy subject.

“And Eleonora and I were pretty crushed, of course. She was never the greatest mother, but to up and leave-“ Filippo stopped himself, shaking his head. “Anyway. I saw how sad Eleonora was, and I did what I do best. I pulled out the vodka, and we got tipsy together. And after five shots we got the genius idea of getting matching tattoos to remind ourselves that no matter what happens, there’s always something permanent in our lives.”

Eleonora cringed, the entire sentiment seeming quite dumb years later. She could feel Edoardo’s eyes on her, but she didn’t return the gaze. Instead she kept eyeing the tattoo on her arm that she often tended to forget about, remembering it only whenever other people noticed it and would point it out in their curiosity.

“And you know, it obviously felt like the greatest idea after a half bottle of vodka,” Filo continued, rolling his eyes. “And we went to this nearby tattoo parlour, which was very shady to be honest. But the dude got the job done, even though Eleonora has the pain tolerance of a toddler and nearly started crying-“

“FILO!” Eleonora interrupted, laughing. She could hear Edoardo laughing as well, and the boy glanced at her with bright eyes.

“And!” Filo kept going, not giving any notice to his sister’s protests. “That night ended up with me holding up Franky’s hair in the bathroom as she swore that she’d never drink again,” he said, glancing at Eleonora with a grin, “How’d that work out for you, again?”

Eleonora’s eyes widened at the hint of another possible embarrassing story, and yet again she called out her brother’s name to stop him from spilling out more of their drunken adventures. The siblings were sharing yet another moment of wordless conversation that this time seemed to end in Eleonora’s victory, as Filo shrugged and turned his gaze on the slice of pizza on his plate.

“I swear we’re not related in any way. He’s adopted.” Eleonora joked, her expression pained.

Filippo shook his finger in Eleonora’s face. “Actually, little rat, I called mom and she said she can’t find your birth certificate. Oops.”

Edoardo couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped through his lips when he heard Filo’s words and how they affected Eleonora: the girl shook her head again and took a bite of her pizza clearly just to stop herself from saying something she would regret. Filo followed her with his eyes, his grin widening at the sight of his sister’s frustration. He took a sip of his wine and looked at Edoardo as he said: “Honestly, Edoardo, if I we’re you I’d run for the hills.”

“Because of you, he just might,” Eleonora muttered under her breath.

Edoardo shook his head, a genuine smile twitching at his lips. “No, I’ve had my share of crazy families. I feel right at home here.”

“We are a bit crazy, aren’t we?” Filippo asked, grinning at Eleonora. “But it’s all fun and games. After all, I do love this little rat.”

The rest of the dinner was fairly peaceful, aside from the occasional quips and bickers from either Eleonora and Filippo. They were a fairly entertaining pair, Edoardo had to admit to it. And after a few hours, more than a few glasses of wine and tons of laughter later the three of them were lounging in the living room couches, Filo seemingly half-asleep.

“Edoardo, are you staying the night?” Filo asked, his eyes still closed.

Edoardo glanced at Eleonora. “Uh, no. I’m driving home.”

“Ah,” answered Filo as he scrambled up from the soft couch. He ran his hand trough his platinum hair with a yawn, eyeing his bedroom door across the hallway. “Well then, I’m off to bed. Edoardo, it was nice meeting you and so on. You two be good.”

“Same to you,” Edoardo said with a genuine smile, and Filippo left the room. Eleonora and Edoardo stayed still and quiet until they heard Filippo’s bedroom closing with a quiet thud.

Eleonora slowly got up from the couch, then offered her hand to Edoardo. The boy stayed still, looking et Eleonora. “Where are we going?

“Just trust me.”

And Edoardo did. Eleonora led her out of the livingroom and into her room, but they didn’t stay there: instead she led him out of another door that was cracked open. It lead to a roof terrace so filled with plants Edoardo had to watch where he stepped to avoid stomping on any of them. The terrace was illuminated by fairy lights hung on the wall, on the plants, anywhere you could possibly hang them. The night air was warm, calming and quiet. Edoardo was used to living so close to the city centre that he was used to the constant, defeaning noise of Rome, day and night.

This was something else. It was like its own little world, closed off from anywhere else. “Are these all your plants?”

Eleonora leaned against the edge of the terrace, her eyes peeled on the city lights before them. “Yes. Some of them are Filo’s, but it’s me who takes care of them.”

Edoardo joined her on the edge, leaning against it. For a brief second he felt nostalgic. “You’re like my mom, then. She always piled up our houses full of plants. Everytime we moved, the plants came with us. They were like a lifeline to her.”

Eleonora smiled at the though of Edoardo’s mother, suddenly remembering the coffee mug that he had been drinking from at his eyes. The same, dark curls, the same smile. Of course. “Well, I have to meet her then.”

A silence so deafeningly loud fell between the two of them, that Eleonora knew that she had said something wrong. Edoardo gave no indication of it though, with his gaze locked on the horizon as his fingers tapped on the ledge. The rhythm was irregular, and after a minute the boy finally turned to look at Eleonora. “She, uh, passed away. Car accident.”

Eleonora could physically feel her lungs run out of air, she could feel her heart skipping what must’ve been at least five beats in a row. She looked away from Edoardo, closing her eyes. “Edo, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, forcing herself to look at the boy. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

But Edoardo merely shook his head, almost smiling at the though of his mother. “Don’t worry about it. She was an amazing woman. She’d hate for us to remember her and be sad. Mom was always the life of any place she went, so I figured that’s something that should be remembered with joy rather than sadness, you know?”

It was a beautiful sentiment, it truly was. Eleonora nodded, her hand slowly brushing against Edoardo’s in the dark. “I get it. It’s nice.”

Edoardo’s hand grasped hers even though his eyes were still stuck on the view before them. His fingers started drawing patterns on Eleonora’s skin, making her shiver under his touch. Edoardo turned towards Eleonora, taking a deep breath as his eyes dropped to their joined hands - he looked almost like he wanted to get something off of his chest, but Eleonora was too nervous to look at him. Even when she could feel Edoardo’s gaze moving from their hands to her face, trying to catch her gaze with his own, she just couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Eleonora was burning. Fuck, she wanted to look at him.

And when finally did, Edoardo was there waiting for her, his gaze intense. He took a step closer, but Eleonora felt like she was frozen right where she was standing. Edoardo’s hand let go of Eleonora’s, but it moved up to brush a lock of hair from Eleonora’s face, but instead moving away he let it stay there, on her skin, burning her. And when Eleonora caught his eyes with her own, Edoardo leaned in closer, so close she could feel his cool breath tickling at her skin, making her heart race in her chest.

Edoardo’s other hand found its way on Eleonora’s waist, pulling her closer. They stood there, nearly intertwined, but too afraid of everything and anything to do anything even though Eleonora’s entire being was yearning to be closer. She was resisting every single cell in her own body, and when she finally pulled away from Edoardo, it was like tearing flesh.

“Dont,” she whispered, turning away. “It’ll just mess everything up.”

FRIDAY 13:30

After the night before, Eleonora had been actively avoiding Edoardo the entire school day. She had made sure not to cross paths with the boy, she had nearly skipped a class to avoid seeing him on the hallways. She had barricaded herself in the bathroom when she had seen Fede and Chicco approaching. Fuck, it was childish, and it wasn’t like Eleonora wanted to do it - she wanted to see Edoardo. She missed him already. She wanted to hear his laugh, he wanted to tell every single detail of her day to her. But she was terrified of last night and her own feelings. If there was something she would not be, it was another girl fallen for Edoardo Incanti’s charm.

But when Eleonora heard Edoardo’s voice echoing through the empty halls, his voice agitated, his words rough, Eleonora couldn’t stop herself from feeling worried. Why was he so upset?

It wasn’t until she peeked around the corner that she realized that the boy was conversing - or rather arguing - with Elena in one of the deserted hallways. Eleonora couldn’t stop the feeling of devastation that was quickly spreading acorss her chest, numbing her. Of course, what else had she thought? Elena was the reason that Edoardo and Eleonora were a thing, after all. It would’ve been silly to assume that the boy who would come up with a ploy this elaborate to rile up another girl would be over said girl. And even though the sight of Edoardo and Elena was like a stab straight through Eleonora’s lungs, she couldn’t help herself from listening on.

“You were the one who broke it up!” Edoardo hissed, his words sharper than knives.

Elena sighed dramatically. “What am I supposed to say? I made a mistake, Edo! People make mistakes! And I know that breaking up with you was a mistake. I realize it now.”

“You can’t do this to me again,” Edoardo said, pained. “You can’t mess with my head again. Not like this.”

“I’m not messing with anything, Edoardo! I love you.”

“What am I supposed to do? Wait for you like a little puppy dog on the off chance that you’ll leave your new boyfriend?”

“I am leaving him,” Elena said, but her small voice was unsure. “I am.”

“Whatever,” Edoardo said, groaning. Eleonora could hear his voice go quieter - he was walking away.

Eleonora felt like her heart had just about fallen out of her chest, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen, all her hopes and misguided beliefs about Edoardo suddenly shattered. Elena still had control over him, over them both - she would call, and Edoardo would answer. Fuck.

Eleonora pulled out her phone and searched Edoardo’s number from her recent contacts. She opened their WhatsApp conversation, her fingers hesitating on the keyboard. What the fuck was she supposed to say? Hey, you almost kissed me last night but today you’re basically ready to take back your ex-girlfriend, and I know this because I was listening on your private conversation? Ugh. Eleonora sighed, then figuring that it would be easier to give no context or explanation whatsoever - a sharp, clean cut.

Eleonora Sava I don’t think we should keep doing this.

Edoardo Incanti What do you mean?

Eleonora Sava This thing. We should just end it. I’ve got new friends, Elena is officially jealous. We’re good. I think we’re done.

Edoardo Incanti Ele, don’t do this. You can’t do this now. There’s still the pool party tomorrow, you’d promise you’d come.

Fuck. The pool party. Fucking hell, Eleonora had forgotten all about it. She hesitated on her message again, erasing it multiple times before finally writing:

Fine. But after that we tell everyone that it’s over.

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 51

“Stop” she returned to her senses and abruptly disconnected her mouth from his, “babe, come on, nothing happened between her and me, I swear” he refused to let go of her, holding her arms, and that's when the inevitable happened. “Well, well, well, now that's a lie, Jared dearest, and we both know it” Val strolled inside like she owned the place “why don't you tell her what really happened, or should I do the honours?”. A black veil of anger fell over his eyes and if Shannon hadn't come in and pulled him back, he would have scratched her eyes out “what the fuck is your problem? You just waltz in here with all your lies, you even steal a key to my room just to be with me?! Fuck that Val, I told you over and over again that I love Harper”. Harper felt the blood drain from her face, what the hell was she doing here, she didn't have the energy to fight, at least not over a man “why don't I leave the two of you so you can battle this out together...I'm done, I really am” she just couldn't take it anymore, all of a sudden she felt so stupid standing here watching two people that had a common past, fight, who was lying? Who told the truth? Did it really matter? It was just one thing after the other with this man, maybe this was the universe reminding her of the stupid mistake she made falling in love with guys like this..or maybe she was just jetlagged out of her brain, whatever, she was outta here. Shannon gestured at his brother that he would take care of it and followed her out of the room “Harper? Wait, just wait” stopping her midway to the exit, “no Shannon, I think this was a mistake, I just want to get back to the airport” she gently pushed his hand away. “Nonono, I understand that this is hard for you right now but don't go, I'm begging you, I'll get you settled in a room at the hotel, you can rest, catch your breath..just don't leave” that sad look in his eyes was just..unbearable and she felt herself give in with a shrug followed by a nod. “Alright..I'll go with you, come on” his hand that lightly rested on her back felt nice, never in a million years woul she have guessed that the one person she felt she could trust right now would be Shannon.

”I wouldn't if I were you” after reassuring Harper, Shannon met his brother who came storming out of the elevator, “where is she? Stevie told me you put her up here, you don't want me knocking on every door, do you?” Jared walked around him in search of the right room. “Jay stop, she's sleeping, so why don't you come with me and leave her be for a while, you can talk later when she's calmed down” Shannon tried to steer him away from her room, hoping she was resting or being carried away by a dream that would hopefully soften her thoughts on this whole ordeal, because if they still were the same as when he had left her room and Jared would storm in there right now, then all hell would break loose. “Where is she?” Jared ignored every single word and pushed him aside, frantically trying to figure out which of the doors would be the right one “which one is it?” he breathed dangerously all of a sudden, he had enough of this nonsense, he needed to be with her right now. “Ok, you really need to chill the fuck out, leave her be and be fucking grateful she's still here, alright? Because she could have just walked the fuck out of here and you never would've seen her again, but she didn't, that's gotta mean something” Shannon angrily grabbed his arm and pulled him further down the corridor. Ok so he might have lost this battle but not the entire war, oh no, no way in hell was this over! Further down the hall Harper sat on the kingsize bed, looking out of the window and out over the Roman skyline when her phone bleeped the arrival of an e-mail, she didn't even look at it, she just pulled it out of her pocket, threw it over her shoulder before her hands returned to the same position. A tear rolling down her  cheek glistened in a ray of evening sun that lit up her face with that typical melancholical glow, what a mistake, what an absolute fucking waste of time and effort.

There was a knock on the door, go away, just leave, I'm not interested in anything you might have to say, “Coco? Hey? You in there? It's Sean”. She closed her eyes and shook her head, him? Really? “Just go, Sean, I just want to be alone right now” she yelled back, what was he here for anyway? Drive the knife in just that little bit deeper?! He could fuck right off!. “Harper, come on, I just want to talk to you” he didn't even hear the dry click, he was too busy checking out some chick that walked by, long legs, cute bubblebutt, what room did she come out of? 'Ding' when the elevator swallowed her, he turned his attention back to the closed door. “Coco, just open the door” he wriggled the doorknob and to his surprise it  gave way and he almost fell inside her room, had it been open all along? Didn't matter, there she was, sitting on the bed in a halo of evening sun, her back turned to him. “Hey..” he slowly walked over to the bed, “hey..” she answered, keep it short Sean, I'm not in the mood for more drama, “Shannon told me you had arrived..” oh my her face looked almost..angelic in this light, like a crying Madonna sculpted by Michelangelo..”so you met Jared huh?..Jared and his Russian queen, ok well queen is the wrong word, his Russian devil..”. Just hearing her mentioned made a shot of bile shoot up the back of her throat and she shrugged “where does she even come from? And why now? Has she been here all along? Tell me the truth, Sean..” she swallowed and shivered at the same time, like she was bracing for the inevitable blow.

”Uhm” he bit his lip and sat down next to her on the bed “she has..I'm sorry, babe..” he put his hand on her back to soften the blow but she didn't move at all “we all went clubbing..she's been all over him ever since..”. Harper hung her head and closed her eyes, this was unbearable “ok stop, I really don't need all the details” she lifted her hands in defeat, “ok ok, I didn't mean to..” he started. “I need to get out of here, it's like I can't breathe..will you take me to the airport? I just can't do this on my own right now” she stammered, “no, I won't take you to the airport but I'll take you out of here to get something to eat”. Anywhere sounded good as long as it wasn't here, she got up as on automatic pilot, grabbed her bag and let Sean guide her out of the room but abruptely stopped when the door fell shut behind her, Sean picked up on her discomfort. “They've got a show, don't worry..” his hand landed on the small of her back and slowly pushed her forward, it was like her feet didn't want to carry her, why was this hurting so much? She was stronger than this, she was gonna have something to eat, stop crying and walk out of here with her head held high. “No answer?” Shannon eyed his brother who was pacing up and down the dressing room, his fist squeezing the phone in it “no! I don't know what I'm doing here..I don't want to do this show, I just want to go see her, talk to her..” on impulse he headed for the door where he was stopped by Shannon. “You're gonna do this show, she's probably sleeping, jetlag's a bitch, besides she promised me she'd stay..at least for tonight..just let tempers cool..” he put his hand on his brother's chest. This show was gonna be crap, he just felt it and it was hell when Jared wasn't focused, he would mess up setlists and when he did his usual stupid stuff like throwing himself to the lions that were their audience but unfocused, you could bet your ass that things would end up in disaster. Let tempers cool? There was nothing to cool, he hadn't slept with Val and that was final, all he wanted then and now was Harper.

Show, wave, scream, make 'em sing, wave again, get them on stage, make 'em jump, automatic pilot it always worked, what time is it? What song next? This is the finale, oh great, I hope that car is waiting. His eyes kept scanning the crowd against all odds, was it that stupid to think that maybe she would've changed her mind and come see him? Yeah it was, what would you do if you were in her shoes, Leto? Huh? Yep, you'd do exactly the same or worse, deceipt always brought out the worst in any person, was this fixable? Were they over before they had well and truly started?. For the first in a very long time she was actually glad to be in Sean's company, he did all the talking during dinner so she could forget her misery for an hour or two, but walking back to the hotel had her stomach in knots again, where was he? Was he back from his show? Was she there with him in his room?. “Wanna go for a nightcap? There's probably some great bars around here” he stopped at the entrance of the hotel, “it's late and I'm tired..if it were summer I would have said yes, sit outside with a drink..it's lovely, but right now..rain check?” she pulled up her shoulders and dug her hands deep into the pockets of her trousers “you know, I've missed this country..more than I cared to admit, it's where I was born, maybe I should just come back, after all this is the country where the 'renaissance' was born, so moving back here can be a 'renaissance' for me as well”. His heart sank, what? If she moved back here, then he would never see her again “I guess” was all he was able to say, don't go now, please don't! He got so lost in her and being here, walking around with her that he didn't hear the cars pull up behind them.

Shannon grabbed his arm “Take it easy, Jay, don't scare her off again..”  but there was just no stopping him, “Harper!” he jumped out and ran up to them standing there talking on the pavement. His hand folded around her upper arm, yanking it in all his desperate excitement which had her almost losing her balance “Che due palle?! Ma che fai?!” she growled as their eyes met. “You're coming with me” he sternly said as he started dragging her with him inside the lobby of the hotel, “the fuck you're doing? Can't you see you're scaring her?” Sean rushed after them. He stopped in his tracks and hissed “stop meddling, Sean” but before he could turn around again Harper yanked her arm free and straightened her jacket “alright alright, I'll come with you but you've got to stop pushing me around”. She refused to make a scene for the first batches of fans that were starting to hover around the entrance of the hotel so she quickly hopped on up the stairs “well? Are you coming or are you just gonna stand there gawking?”. He nervously looked at Shannon who gave him a firm nod as if to say that he would take care of the fans with Stevie and then walked after her, she didn't wait for him, she just kept a firm pace towards the elevator without looking at him or even giving him the light of day. “Coco..I'm..” he whispered as they shot up to the 7th floor, “save it, Jared, just save it” she hissed back at him as she kept her eye on the LED-panel while the floors whizzed by. Finally the doors opened and to his surprise she just followed him to his room, there was a bounce to his step, having her this close, ready and willing to talk this through..it was more than he could have hoped for. He opened the door and let her go in first, god she smelled divine, “right, I'm here now so start explaining!” she took a deep breath and dug her hands in the pockets of her trousers into balled fists.

[theexecutionerssong]

I can’t possibly reblog all the posts I was tagged in today, or mention you all here because it’s really overwhelming to me, but I read them all and hit like, I just hope I didn’t miss any ❤  My heart is bursting by all the love. So thank you all so so so much, I don’t know how to say it any other way. I’ll share some love too, fitting at 21:21, just hoping I don’t forget anyone, please forgive me if I do

@elsarah @demauryy @mecschelous @some-people-call-it-tragic @yannsscarf @skamsremakes @lucaslallemants @lucasdemaurys @jonasaugustins @lallemante @tueschelou @lucasetelliott @aspewofnonsense @amorgignitamore @greathalesonfire @krishblogs @considerdinosaurs @demauries @paspeurdunoir @lone-explorer @eleaha @evnisak @skammedforlife @altereliott @martiinorametta @lovedoestoo @princelallemant @whatever-nicotino @onaimebienchelou @eliottdemmaury @lucasseliott @crickiesthalochild @grvywaren @ghostlovesc0re @greenflowar @tpanda073 @maxence3 @frencheliott @madonna-che-palle @isakvaltrsen@thrashton @peoniesandsmiles @hox-elu @eliottsmec @alecsmiled @choupichoups @caelysiiium may it be for your edits, your funny text posts, your memes, your metas, you incredible fanfictions, or just because you once wrote something very nice in the tags of my edits or messaged me when you saw I wasn’t doing so well and I’m forever grateful for you <3

[lonelypond]

Moonlight Becomes You: Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party, Ch. 4: Dropping In For Brunch

Love Live, NozoEli, NicoMaki, KanaMari, 3.2K, 4/?

Summary: Maki's in town, Eli's still out of it, Mari's not everybody's favorite person, and You and Kanan make time for a chat. Plus, Nico and Nozomi both have a severe case of Ayase on the mind.

Dropping In For Brunch

Maki Nishikino marched up to the desk. She knew her direct off the Paris runway Loewe fringed t-shirt, jeans and bucket hat screamed first class, private penthouse suite, don’t even blink when this woman is speaking to you to anyone who made a study of style and today, today, she was going to use that. The staffer at the desk looked up, adjusted her posture, lowered her eyes briefly and then Maki spoke, hand solidly connecting with the wood of the counter, “Where is Nico Yazawa? She’s expecting me.”

There was a giggle behind her, “Oh, Maki, don’t scare my employees Unless you’re actually going to accept one of my job offers.”

Maki turned, a perfunctory nod to the desk clerk. Mari Ohara stood there, slouching, amused, in a three piece white suit, long jacket, with bright black and yellow smudges scattered. Maki recognized Akiko Aoki. Not her style at all. Too flashy.

Mari winked, “Can I interest you in a suite? Or running a nightclub.”

Getting drawn into a conversation with Mari was stepping into a mire. Simple demands were best. “You can take me to Nico.”

Mari raised an eyebrow, “Oh, you’re very focused.”

Maki shrugged.

Mari sighed, clicking her tongue,“Ki Ki…one after another and we all have to cope. Your friend doesn’t understand trust.”

“I’m sure Nico is doing what she thinks is best.”

Mari turned and tossed her hand up in a gesture that brought Maki back to the Italian clubs she’d toured last year. So many cultural cues mishmashed so ruthlessly in one blonde bulldozer. Maki was too jetlagged to snap any patter or be polite so she just pulled her sling bag strap tighter and followed Mari.

###

Nozomi missed home, the way the room smelled, how the fabric of the drapes fluttered gently, but mostly she missed the comforting security as the atmosphere opened up and enveloped her. But here she was, again, somewhere else, with her oldest Tarot deck, at a new coffee shop with a different view, one of people rushing to jobs, and auditions, and brunch meetings. Was Eli one of them? Or had Eli stopped by for a taste of her past and be disappointed not to find Nozomi around...no texts since midweek, since that exchange that ended so flatly. Was Eli all right?

Nozomi sighed. Hanamaru would laugh at her and probably point out with a smirk that no matter where Nozomi took her cards, she also took her heart. Closing her eyes to let her mind open into a memory, Nozomi pictured Eli, sitting across from her, bright eyes morning dark with worry, lips a nervous line. Breathing in three times, Nozomi dealt out three cards. That was the simplest spread and one that seemed to suit Eli. Page of Pentacles...very solid, charismatic, not that Nozomi needed a reminder of Eli’s charms, what it meant would depend on what next...but its position in the past indicated that Eli might be living with the consequences of her own choices. Next card, reverse Page of Swords...Nozomi tensed...danger, confusion, difficulty communicating, powers out of your control threatening. Nozomi hurriedly flipped the third card, another pentacle, another reversal...another concerning clue...whatever was cutting into Eli, she would need patience to resolve it and to let go of the thought that there might be an ideal solution. Would Eli listen to advice? Last time....when Nozomi had offered some, Eli had abruptly ended their text chat. But Nozomi couldn’t stop remembering the last time she’d seen Eli, the eager gleam in those bright eyes when she’d announced it was ‘time for a fresh start’, the firmness of her handshake. Surely someone as careful, as grounded as Eli seemed would be relieved to be advised patience? Nozomi picked up her phone, leaving the cards out on the table, pentacles and flipped sharps staring at her as she thought back to the Five Of Pentacles she’d drawn for Eli the last time. Reach out a hand. She swept to Eli’s contact info. Maybe just a hello? To remind Eli she wasn’t alone.

###

After Eli had been distracted by the huge raw steak Mari had acquired, Nico had let Kanan talk her into sitting down for a bagel and fresh fruit and a HUGE sweet caramelly bucket sized latte shipped in from somewhere. Nico didn’t ask how or why, she just chugged the caffeine and sugar boost as she shifted in a chair, still trying to stretch out the kinks in her legs from sleeping curled up in front of the door to Eli’s room. Kanan had attempted some conversation but Nico just let the chat die, as she wondered what to do with Eli if she didn’t change back...that was too complicated, so Nico shook herself and decided fresh mango slices would be a nice bagel follow up.

“Nico?” Maki’s voice, very nervous, very tight, and as Nico glanced up from the fruit bowl, Maki started to step into the breakfast nook, then Mari, blonde and brusque and way too touchy, like all those women in the photos, took Maki’s arm and swept her into a seat. The fringe on Maki’s branded, Luxury™️ t-shirt swayed and Nico caught a glimpse of abs as toned as the arms Maki’s usual muscle tees had given her ample opportunity to view. Hadn’t Maki just flown over night? How did she look so fresh, with a hat that would look stupid on anyone else tilted at a cute and perfect angle, frowning, but her amethyst eyes still luminous...and here Nico was, hadn’t even brushed her hair, same clothes she wore last night, which Maki was taking too close a look at.

Maki shrugged off Mari, scowling over her shoulder, “Don’t touch me.”

Nico nodded in agreement, not that she needed an excuse to frown at Ms. Mari Ohara, but she added touchy around hot redheads to her growing list.

Nico finished biting into the mango slice, “You look good. How do you do that after flying all night? Nico wants to know your secrets.”

Maki’s eyes met Nico’s and then she ducked her head, flushing, “Are you all right? You look terrible.”

Confirmation Nico didn’t need, but Nico had other charms. “Nico was a hero and a human obstacle in front of Eli’s door last night.”

Mari stomped, tossing her hair back. “Hero? Che palle! She insisted on having le mani in pasta when we could have had everything under control. For one so tiny…”

“Basta, Mari.” Kanan stood, wrapping Mari up in a hug from behind that pulled her away from the table, “Let’s check on our other guest.”

Nico started a bit guiltily at that from her latte sipping, staring at Maki daydream, but Maki smiled and Nico couldn’t hear anything from the room Eli was in so maybe, just maybe, this was an actual minute she and Maki could have crisis free.

###

Nico’s voice? Eli was curled up into a tight ball on something softer than her futon mattress. Shaking, she opened an eye. Completely strange room, large brush paintings of sea scenes on the wall, a huge window leading out to a balcony with a view of the ocean. Still in Santa Monica? Eli sat up, every muscle sore, her head pounding. Naked. She grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around herself. What had happened? It was well into the day. The sun was too bright for early morning. Surely she’d heard Nico. Why was Nico here? Frowning, squinching her eyes to force memories through the painful wall of her headache, Eli searched for her last awareness. She’d been standing in front of the window in the rehearsal space, watching the sun dip closer to the rolling waves. She was itchy again, prickles pushing against her skin, distracted, two straight days of rehearsal had worn her through to weary and although Kanan still had a few things to work her through, Eli had enjoyed the challenge. It had been a rare moment of solitude, sipping tea, eating a Pryaniki from the stash she’d brought to treat herself. She’d loved the honey swirled through it...the honey had a different, sweeter tang mixed in with the Russian spices...Eli remembered thinking of her grandmother’s kitchen, then there were footsteps coming down the hall, and with a fast turn…snarling, a raw throat, the pressure headache where her brain tried to come out her forehead...Eli shook herself as a mood closed in, dangerous, blinking her eyes as she forced herself to stay in the brightness.

Eli tried out a sound, “Hello?” and her voice was a bare shadow of full volume, a scratchy mumble. A puff of s breeze was blowing curtains around and everything seemed very quiet, the roll of the ocean dominating the soundscape. What day was it? Eli didn’t see a clock or her phone.

She was going to have to get up to learn anything. Shakily, swinging her legs to the hardwood floor, sheet gathered around herself, she shuffled past to the door, cracking it open. Definitely Nico’s voice. And Maki?

Eli managed to make it through the office section and then Nico spotted her, jumping up to run and grab her in a hug that nearly knocked Eli back to horizontal, “You’re all right!”

Eli shook her head, trying not to tear up at Nico’s affection and familiar confidence. It was hard not to think Nico was here, everything would be all right, but as she glanced up to see Maki watching both of them out of the corner of her eye, one hand turning a coffee cup, the other arm crossed over her chest. Eli took an unconscious sniff of the room’s atmosphere and immediately realized Maki’s aloofness was some concern but mostly...resentment, probably at Eli interrupting their conversation. Eli couldn’t blame her, but she felt her own frustrations rise. Nico was there for her. Maki hadn’t woken up in someone else’s...Eli glanced around, taking in the art, the Turkish rugs, the fresh flowers perfuming the natural salt of the sea air, the elegance, the lived in comfort of casual affluence...someone else’s home.

“I’m a little shaky.” Eli raised her arms, bringing Nico’s attention to the blue and tan quilt patched blanket she swaddled in, “And underdressed.”

“You need to wash your face.” Maki stated sharply, swiping at the corner of her own mouth with a clenched hand.

“Oh yeah,” Nico somehow managed to make this sound like Eli had just woken up from a post pancake brunch nap, “Kanan’s wife got you a huge steak.”

Eli reddened, not wanting the quick skim of her memory to happen. Could she recall anything from last night, pull any images before waking up into daylight? Were the barriers natural or learned? Her grandmother had continually encouraged her to lock out any thoughts or urges that might originate in the non human part of her and Eli had become an expert at denying them any power over her waking awareness. She wavered, but Nico was still there.

“I’m so tired, Nico.” Yep. Crying. Eli saw Nico glance to Maki, and the redhead’s glower softened infinitesimally.

Nico was a cheerful blur of coping. “Well, Nico will tuck you back into bed, find your phone and shoes…”

Maki cleared her throat, “Maybe if Eli’s going to sleep…” she hesitated as Nico’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and the rest of her words came out in a rush, “we could get coffee or smoothies and sit in a cabana while Eli rests.” Maki frowned, then nodded, her eyes bright, “I want to talk to you, Nico,” the voice softened, and Eli tried not to start filing all the voice, body, and scent cues she was still sensitive to, “and out there, we won’t disturb Eli.”

Nico glanced back to Eli, who was rubbing her eyes, sickened by the discoloration under her fingernails. First, Eli told herself, she was scrubbing herself all over, BEFORE she looked into a mirror.

“Cover the bathroom mirror, Nico. Please. I want to wash up.” Eli slumped.

Maki stood, her voice kind, “I’ll do that while Nico finds your phone and stuff.” Resolute purple eyes met Eli’s, “We’ll be right outside. Don’t worry.”

Eli stopped a snarl. How did her life get so out of control that strangers who wanted to captivate her best friend were now patronizing her. Maki smiled encouragingly and Eli’s fists clenched, dirty nails digging into her palms, a growl rising and then Nico’s voice was a slap.

“Eli.”

Eli glanced down. Nico shook her head, a quick motion, lips pressed together in a frown. Eli closed her eyes and opened her palms.

“You’re okay,” Nico stated. “Just relax for now. You need rest.”

Eli knew that was the truth.

###

You was pacing the lobby, totally not dressed for the Ohara aesthetic in a polo and well worn nylon running shorts. She’d expected Kanan to be at their usual balcony table, but no, and after a half an hour and no response to any of her texts. You had been forced to ask the assistance of the hotel staff. And now she was waiting.

“You!” Kanan was rushing toward her, in leggings and a cropped sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry. There was an emergency last night and…”

All You’s danger tells went off and she stepped to Kanan’s side, her voice hushed, confidential, “Are you and Mari all right? What happened?”

“Let’s go outside.” Kanan led You through the lobby, to step out in view of the beach. It was either a slow day at the hotel or Mari had somehow made all the guests be occupied elsewhere. Mari had some kind of inherited hotelier hospitality magic that You thought made her more of a magical creature than many of those attending CRAAVI meetings, but it was a magic You avoided messing with. Give her the depths and shape changers and tentacled dangers, not hangry guests and thirsty vacationers.

Beach in front, pool behind, random wanderers on the wooden boardwalk, no one around the pool, easy to spot if anyone was approaching, Kanan stopped and fixed her ponytail, “I really need a run.”

“Not a swim?”

Kanan grimaced and gestured with her cast, “I’m tired of extra layers.”

You nodded sympathetically, “yeah, I bet you miss…”

Kanan cut You off, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night. There was an emergency. Eli, the dancer I’m working with…” Kanan hesitated, “became ill and then her roommate…” Kanan chuckled, gaze distant as she remembered Nico right in Mari’s face, not impressed, not backing down a centimeter.

“Sounds exciting.”

“Too exciting.” Kanan sighed and decided to drop dramatically into a chaise, “Plus, that DJ Mari’s been after forever showed up this morning. And wasn’t completely focused on Mari.” Kanan rolled her eyes, her non injured arm across her forehead, “and you know how my wife HATES not being the center of attention for all the pretty people in the room.”

“I do.” You dropped into the next chair.

“So why’d you call?”

“Check the LACryps hashtag sometime.”

You had spit sourness as she spoke. Surprised, Kanan pivoted on her hip to stare.

You kept staring at the sky, eyes nearly a matching blue, her facial expression and tone back to a carefully cultivated neutral, “Someone’s stirring up rumors, I had to warn Bo to stay off shore, but most of her group are with the whales this season. Yoshiko hasn’t heard anything yet, but she rarely dives into the internet.”

“No, that’s what she has you for. Inside information. Advance warning.” Kanan frowned, picturing Yoshiko frazzled, static electricity tightening her hair into curls, juggling her phone, brow furrowed as she kept her glamor carefully dulled, trying to organize the physical index cards she writes CRAAVI agendas on. So they can be more easily burnt when she was done with them. Yoshiko held too many secrets to live an online life. Kanan let her voice drop most of an octave, “Your godless technology burns at the touch of one who has swept the glory of Heaven’s dome with her wings.” Kanan stretched out arms, enjoying You’s amusement at the mockery, but then practical Kanan was back, “Has Hanamaru even learned to use that mini iPad you got her last year?”

You winced, “I might have seen it, next to her F L I P phone last time I stopped by. I think Yoshiko was using it as a coaster.”

Kanan blew out a long breath, “Let’s hope the fate of the world doesn’t rely too much on them.”

“Yeah.”

The waves and swooping gulls let both women exhale their worries as they sat in friendly silence.

###

The cabana was nice, Maki had to admit, with a breeze, a blueberry mango smoothie at hand, and Nico leaning in with the curtains drawn and no one watching and…

“Maki?” Nico, sounding worried.

Maki forced herself out of a fantasy, smiling, “I missed you.”

“You seemed busy.” Nico’s scrunched up grumpy face was as cute as the rest of her expressions, Maki decided, eager to catalog them all.

Maki leaned back, running both hands through her hair, hat tossed aside, remembering the relief she felt when Aya confirmed all her gigs were cancelled through the end of the month, “I was glad to be heading home…” She couldn’t say “to you” yet, they’d barely had any conversations that didn’t involve the words Eli, or cryptids, or werewolves…

“Nico could have handled Eli.” Nico sounded annoyed.

Maki sighed. There was that word. But then she glanced over and Nico was leaning even more forward, her eyes watching Maki’s fingers as they snagged on a tangle of curls. “I don’t mind.” Maki slid a finger through the condensation on her glass, “It seems like a lot though. You’re a good friend.”

Nico huffed and repeated, “Nico can handle it.”

Maki needed to make a quick detour away from the wall of exasperation she was about to SMACK into so she sat up and leaned forward, nearer to Nico, but not yet as near as she'd been dreaming about, “Want to take a walk? And get lunch?” A chuckle as Nico almost smiled so Maki dared to say what she’d been rehearsing on the drive from LAX, “I’ve been wanting to take you out since I met you.”

So much earnestness in the eyes that suddenly wouldn’t look away from hers. Nico felt her frustration and worry over Eli fade as new feelings took over, curiosity, longing, heat..the air seemed to close in, a tingle, electricity raising the hairs on Nico’s arms, wind picking up to tumble Maki’s curls with a restlessness that Nico wanted to tame, but before Nico could close the gap, a huge gust of wind slapped the curtains against her back, forcing her forward into a startled Maki as a scream arced over the roof of their cabana.

Something large splashed into the pool.

A/N: Right ho...and we merrily roll along. I am working my way back to 'Can't Get Started', but we have reached the fiddly bits of this one, where attention to detail must be paid.

Don't forget to tip your hat and say 'howdy' ; )

[fallynephemeron]

Drabble thing. 33.

“Mr. Zaccarda, you have a call on line 1″   Luca’s long time secretary chirped over his intercom.  “it’s your brother.”

He pressed the button to respond with a weary sigh.  “Grazie, Mary”  He let the intercom button release,  spun his chair towards his desk phone and then sat in stony silence, watching the blink of the irritating red glow.  He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for before answering,  it’s not like waiting would solve whatever problem was waiting for him on the other end of that phone call.  And to be sure,  there would be some kind of problem.   His much younger brother, Teodoro, had been a problem for as long as he could remember.  Impulsive, spoiled, no shame, no inhibitions.  Exactly the opposite of the careful, calculating, thoughtful way his own brain seemed to function.

He took a deep breath, tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.  “Ciao Teo"    

Teo didn’t even acknowledge the greeting.  “Hey,  could I have like,  50k?  From my trust?    It’s an emergency.”

Sure it was.   Luca rubbed his temple. Did not even want to ask the logical next question.   This time he couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice.  “Che Palle!”  he huffed under his breath, just loud enough for Teo to truly hear how annoyed he was.  “Why. Why do you need so much.   I’m quitting this call if it’s not a good reason, Teodoro.  Be sane.”      Last time Teo had asked him for so much money out of his carefully guarded trust for an “emergency”  it had been a call from New York during fashion week,  regarding a new wardrobe for his girlfriend or boyfriend of the moment. Luca couldn’t keep them straight from day to day and didn’t bother trying anymore.  Luca had hung up on him that time.

 The line was silent on the other end for several solid beats. ...  Luca waited in silence.  

 “Marco’s brother walked in on us ...    again.”    Another long silence.   

 Luca’s eyes closed  in frustration,  his fingers rubbing at his temples.   He was fully aware that Teo didn’t mean they’d been caught fully dressed, sitting together having a cappuccino.   “So blackmail?”    He already knew he was going to pay it.  He placed the blame squarely on Teo’s shoulders.  It was simple,  Marco Carro was in love with his brother and Teo did not return the depth of feeling and had no moral compass telling him to stay away from the lovestruck boy.    “Oddio, Teodorino,  I should just let you marry him.”   The threat was an idle one, the consequences of such a punishment would be far too high.   

“Luca please.”   the desperation in his voice was evident, reinforced by  the fact he didn’t immediately bristle at the insulting use of the diminutive of his name.   

Marriage is what Marco’s father would demand, the price for the public embarrassment of his son,  and by extension,  the entire Carro family.   But that would also mean turning Teodoro’s considerable trust over to the despised rival family,  along with Teodoro’s shares in the family business.  Nico Carro would expect both, and would have the social currency to force his hand on the matter.  Teodoro had a reputation and nearly everyone would take Nico’s side against him.   Luca couldn’t risk the business or his family’s standing.

“Fine.  I’ll make the arrangements.  But there will be no more Marco. Break his heart Teodoro and make it hurt. I can’t trust you to stay away from him,  so we must have him stay away from you.”

There was only sullen silence on the other end of the line.  “fine.”

[jefferyryanlong]

Fresh Listen - John Trudell, AKA Grafitti Man (Rykodisc, 1992)

(Some pieces of recorded music operate more like organisms than records. They live, they breathe, they reproduce. Fresh Listen is a periodic review of recently and not so recently released albums that crawl among us like radioactive spiders, gifting us with superpowers from their stingers.)

I approached John Trudellʻs 1986 cassette tape (re-released as a CD in 1992) AKA Grafitti Man with two significant biases. First, I have a strong distaste for the music recording technology of the period. Sonic engineers, with their updated machines, had the newfound ability to scrape the rust away from their records, smoothing and glossing the edges and sucking the space from an aural document so effectively that it came across as compressed and sterile as a snow globe. You listen to these mid/late-Eighties mainstream records and they extend through time and the imagination like brittle branches of plastic, all the living energy–the breath, the ring, the rattle, the bleeding, the overload–constricted out of the husk of a clearly articulated but dead idea. 

Second, aside from just a few exceptions, Iʻm skeptical of spoken word performances awkwardly conjoined with a musical context. Iʻve been disappointed too many times. Though a poetʻs words might resonate on a page, or upon the naked template of air, the same words sometimes fall dead against a drum or a guitar. Conversely, Bob Dylanʻs words may seem leaden and overblown in a book, but as a performer, he has the ability to empower the nasal delivery of his thought-dreams with a rhythmic electricity. Many people might tell you different, but songwriting  and poetry are not always complementary disciplines, and evoke different reactions within the gut and the soul. Experiments in marrying the two are sometimes excruciating as an experience.

On AKA Grafitti Man, John Trudell seems to have discovered a working formula for combining his poems with pop music. He builds his pieces around ear-clinging choruses, hooks that echo in the mind long after the more complicated parts are forgotten. Though less direct than what listeners are used to hearing on their pop music records, these are real songs, grown-up songs. Songs of regret and resentment, of protest and celebration. Trudell honors the traditions of rock, blues, country, and old-timey ballads and contours his poems around those forms, instead of the other way around. 

(If youʻve read this far and are wondering who the hell John Trudell is, I encourage to look him up on whatever media you have at hand. His personal story is more compelling, and important, than AKA Grafitti Man, though the record itself is a refraction of Trudellʻs past as a veteran in the US Armed Forces, Native American activist and spokesperson, and rogue DJ who, with a group of like-minded free radicals, snuck into Alcatraz and set up a radio station. A big thanks to Rodney Morales for turning me on to Trudellʻs music.)

Fortunately for the listener, Trudell has kindred-spirit helpmates to assist him in crystallizing his vision on the album. Jackson Browne served as Executive Producer–I thought I could hear his vocals on one or two of the choruses. I noted the lead guitar early on, a wonderfully peculiar tone, whether played as slide, blues, or straight-up rock, a tone that consciously avoids cliche blues regurgitations. Turns out the axman is Jesse Ed Davis. When you hear AKA Grafitti Man, youʻre not only getting a great John Trudell record, youʻre also getting a pretty damn good Jesse Ed Davis record. 

AKA Grafitti Man begins, as several of the songs do, with a Native American vocal, this first appearance against silence; a brief, vaguely familiar string of notes abruptly overtaken by a drum fill and a mid tempo rock groove. Trudell, claiming the expression of his people, infuses this expression with his own aesthetics, heavily influenced by Elvis, Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry, all the while calling back to Native American music. “Rocking the Res” contrasts indigenous ways of relating to natural phenomena and natural people with false commitments perpetuated by a decadent, commercialized reality in which war and consumerism are enmeshed, each dependent on the other. “A weird kind of living,” Trudell calls it, finding comfort in the soft-spoken resistance with which his people have denied the dominant American consumer/political message.

The characterization of the shaman has long been over-generalized and dissipated by American popular culture. In AKA Grafitti Manʻs title track, Trudell repurposes the essential function of the shaman–to tell a truth that no one of the tribe has the courage or foresight to tell–and applies it to a street artist, who uses their medium to illuminate the order of the world to a benighted populace. The Grafitti Man of the song is not of the upper class but of the people, is not cut off from the viscous mess and fecundity of life by fancy clothes and money. The Grafitti Man is able to accurately portray the reality of class in the United States because they are most acutely a victim of it. “Down with bosses,” the Grafitti Man writes, identifying authority as a meaningless layer that separates us from the rough texture of real life.

In “Restless Situations,” Trudell moves into RʻnʻB territory (neatly offset by Native America percussion between the soul groove), female backup singers doing the emotional work of communicating Trudellʻs empathetic portrayal of a woman swimming against confusion and insecurity.  In “Wildfires,” the poetʻs normally cool delivery builds toward impassioned (though still controlled) intensity, his words landing like notes against Davisʻs steady guitar and the organ of some unidentified hero. Here, Trudell is less a poet with a backing band and more a part of the band itself. The technique with which he carefully drops each phrase just behind the beat displays the skill of a true musician. “The nature of fire is to burn, every spark gets its turn,” the vocalist (not Trudell) melodically yells between the verses, commenting on the whims and notions that make up an identity. Some of these sparks lead to conflagrations inside and out, while some fizzle and die, and all we have is this residual smoke that ambiguously defines ourselves and our actions. Trudellʻs “wildfire” is interior–the wildfire is whatʻs released upon our loved ones and our hated ones, that makes us who we are. 

Itʻs the keyboardist who elevates “Baby Boom Che” to something near a masterpiece, folding in tuneful references to Elvis hits (especially “Love Me Tender”) in between the turnarounds. For Trudell, Elvis Presley, whom Trudell claims not only for Native Americans, or White Americans, but for all Americans, was a liberating spirit that exploded the haunted, post-war piety of Fifties USA with sex and dancing a a new consciousness in which the drab alternatives proffered by mainstream USA were no longer sufficient. “I mean, you take ʻDonʻt Be Cruel,ʻ ʻI Want You, I Need You, I Love You,ʻ and ʻJailhouse Rockʻ or you take Pat (Boone) in his white bucks, singing ʻLove Letters in the Sand,ʻ I mean hell man, what’s real here?” Elvis is not simply an entertainer–he is a revolutionary in the most political sense (whether he had any awareness of this aspect of his popularity), laying the groundwork for a new way to understand bodies and minds that had been dulled for so long by the psychopathic pall laid upon young America by two world wars.

I should note here that Trudellʻs words, and the ideas he conveys through those words, are far more complex and concern so many more areas of thought than can be described here. A full examination of “Baby Boom Che” would require more than a blog post. It would require a thesis, if not a full dissertation. 

The two most musically ambitious songs on Trudellʻs album are the similarly themed “Bombs Over Baghdad,” a prescient outspeak of inevitable events that were to unfurl several years after this album was recorded,  and “Rich Manʻs War,” which condemns the tendency of nation-states to callously sacrifice human potential for material and commercial resources. Where “Bombs Over Baghdad” rocks with a chunky electric guitar and furious leads alongside a mournful war cry, “Rich Manʻs War” is a swampy, synth-driven groove imbued with a heartbeat by Native percussion and intermittent chanting.

“Never Never Blues,” bookended by outlaw country songs “Somebodyʻs Kid” and “What Heʻd Done,” is a straightforward throwaway intensified by a group of female singers, another lament on the failures in relations between man and woman. It sounds like Kris Kristofferson helping sing the chorus of “Somebodyʻs Kid” (a credit sheet for AKA Grafitti Man has been difficult tracking down over the Internet), and Iʻd say it could very well be Mavis Staples showing up for some emotive lines in “What Heʻd Done.”

Jesse Ed Davisʻs soulful slide guitar and a heartbreaking chant provide visceral support to“Beauty in a Fade,” where, in his deadpan rendering, Trudell deconstructs the temporal nature of romantic relationships, sifting through the sweet pain of love, which can only reveal meaning after love is gone or as its going away.

Itʻs fitting that AKA Grafitti Man was celebrated by a songwriter like Bob Dylan upon its release. Both artists skillfully (and crankily) impart their hard-won wisdom through weathered sensibilities, persons who have sorted through he fragments of their memories to create a narrative of growth through loss. AKA Grafitti Man accomplishes its truth-telling by providing an alternative to pop music tropes, while still doing justice to popular musicʻs road-tested forms.

[sayitaliano]

Some random Italian slang

Com’è? = how is it (going)? How are you? What’s up? Dai = come on / forza / please (according on the tone, i.e. “dai, dimmelo!” = please tell me! // “dai!!” = come on!!) Meno male = luckily Boh = Idk, whatever Magari = maybe / if only / I wish so! (according on the tone, i.e. “magari piaci anche a lui” = maybe he likes you back // magari piovesse! = If only it rained! // ti piacerebbe andare al cinema? - ma magari! = would you like to go to the cinema? - I wish so!/I’d love to!) Che palle = I’m so bored / Oh crap (i.e. “non so che fare oggi, che palle” = Idk what to do today, I’m bored // Che palle, pure la pioggia! = Oh crap, here’s the rain too!) Merda! = Shit! Che figata! = This/that is so cool!! (at times is used also ironically) Basta = Enough Piantala! / Smettila / Adesso basta! = That’s enough, stop it! (piantala = lit.: plant it) Che schifo = This/that sucks Bella merda = it sucks (lit.:nice shit) Mi fa cagare / mi fa schifo = It makes me sick, I’m disgusted (lit.: mi fa cagare= it makes me shit) Vai/Va’ a cagare! (vaffanculo) = go take a shit! , fuck you! Ma sei fuori/sei grullo/sei matto? = Are you crazy / our of your mind? Mollare qualcuno = To break up with somebody Mettersi insieme = To start a relationship, to become a couple (ex. Luca e Maria si sono messi insieme = Luca and Maria became a couple) Ricco sfondato = filthy rich (lit.: limitless rich) Con la testa tra le nuvole = with the head in the clouds Veloce come un razzo = (lit.: as fast as a rocket) extremely fast Amore a prima vista = love at first sight (=lit.) Guastafeste = party pooper, killjoy Gufare = to bring bad luck, to jinx (ex. non gufare! = don’t bring bad luck, especially in sports, you “gufi” the team you want to lose, by saying stuff like “tanto oggi perdete!” = you’ll lose today!) Pisolino = nap Saccente (sapone - masculine / sapona - feminine) = know-it-all, smartass (btw sapone is commonly used for “soap”) Non starmi addosso = Don’t push me / Don’t stress me / Don’t stay on me (=lit.) (i.e = allora hai fatto quela telefonata? - la farò, non starmi addosso = did you make that phone call? - I will, don’t keep asking me/don’t stress me )

Bella! = Hi! Raga / Regaz / Raghi = shorten for ragazzi = Guys ( even as “bella raga” = Ciao ragazzi - pretty famous especially some years ago was the sentence “bella raga tutto rego?” = ciao ragazzi tutto bene (rego = regolare)? = Hi guys is all fine?) Fra’ / Frate’ / Fratello = Bro’ / Brother Sore’ / Sorella = Sister (beware commonly “sorella” is used for nuns) Gente = people / guys

A fagiolo - (lit.:to the bean.) “to the letter.” Quattro gatti -  (lit.:four cats.) really few people. i.e. “nel pub c’erano quattro gatti” = at the pub there were only four cats Avere le batterie scariche - To have a run-down battery  Spettegolare - to gossip Botte da orbi - (lit.:barrels from blinds.) “a knock-down-drag-out.” Uccel di bosco - (lit.:bird of the woods) when you can’t find someone, that person cannot be reached/disappeared to not do something, i.e. if your mum cannot find you to help her clean the house she might say you’re “uccel di bosco” Non sapere che pesci prendere -  (lit.:to not know what fish to take.) to not know what to do. Piove sul bagnato - (lit.:it rains on the wet.) “when it rains it pours.” Cotto a puntino - (lit.:cooked to the little dot.) a meal cooked perfectly  Sei proprio cotto! = You’re so in love! / You are crazy in love! (lit.: you’re cooked for real) Innamorato perso = (lit.: lost in love) crazy in love Da cosa nasce cosa -  (lit.:from thing is born thing.) “one thing leads to another,” Pavoneggiarsi -  (lit.:to peacock oneself.) to show off

(Some more of these sayings can be found on our twitter page)

[kingofthewilderwest]

Voltron Paladins’ Native Languages

So, I’m not like 100% sold on the idea, but I guess it would make most sense that Earth has developed a full-blown universal translator by the time VLD events transpire? Not going to get into the linguistics of where universal translators are problematic, but it’s still the most plausible thing I think could be going on in Voltron.

The Galaxy Garrison is likely an international organization. Now, the global lingua franca (ex: English) could be the official language of the school, and the students they accept might have to pass language proficiency tests. That’s a possibility. But it’s sort of odd that all the Voltron characters have American English accents despite their diverse origins. The United States of course does have people of all backgrounds in the country, but I always felt that the writers were intentionally diversifying the Voltron characters to represent the world... and thus they’d actually be BORN in Cuba, BORN in Samoa, BORN in Japan, BORN in Italy. And yet not a single human has a hint of a non-native American English speaker accent on the Voltron team... not even an American dialect with stigmatized regional features can be heard.

Then there’s the talking-to-aliens aspect we need to consider. The Alteans are capable of visually modifying themselves to help interact with different species, but I don’t think that includes suddenly being able to speak other languages. Not to mention every species that the Voltron team meets can be immediately understood. How are they understanding the Galra or the Balmerans? A universal translator again, avoiding scientific problems of this device would be the trick.

It also explains why Pidge can understand anything Allura says but cannot read Altean. It explains why the only words that don’t translate from Coran or Allura are the words which have no direct translation. So. It could be the case that there’s something like a universal translator each Voltron character has that analyzes audio of a species and translates the audio to the Voltron characters. Why they’re always wearing it and why it’s not seen... uh... let’s not get into it.

But anyway! What’s so great about the universal translator idea is that it opens up a world of amusing speculations. There are all sorts of fun headcanon questions to answer like what languages are the Voltron team actually speaking?

My headcanons, more or less:

(I don’t like the idea of everyone having this much English exposure, but the language is currently a global lingua franca and is an L1 or L2 of 20% of the world’s current population. So I did have to rationalize the language into this).

Lance is a full-blown bilingual. He knows English and Spanish completely fluently, grew up speaking both languages, and prattles in both of them with ease. He’d be great at picking up more languages if he had the motivation to do so - he’s a natural!

When he’s hanging out with the Voltron crew, he’s usually speaking English because English was the accepted international language used in the Garrison’s written reports. So since he first meets Keith, Pidge, Lance, and Shiro at the Garrison, that’s the language Lance defaults on with them. Hearing Allura speak in something that sounds like a British dialect is going to subconsciously keep Lance using English too while they’re in space. But there are times he’s switching between both languages. He definitely speaks both around the crew.

Pidge is somewhat monolingual with decent exposure to several other languages. My emotional heart says that Pidge speaks only Italian I really don’t like the idea of the Voltron crew having a common language and I want that to be my headcanon, but I realize that’s not realistic at all. 

She lives close to the Garrison, obvious in that she’s able to just hop in and break their security. Since the Holts live close to the Garrison, this means that the Garrison is either in Italy or she knows the local language where the Garrison is located. Between those two scenarios I’d say it’s more likely the Garrison is not in Italy... especially given as the news report for the Kerberos’ failed mission is in English. And I would imagine her father has been working with the Garrison for a while, so that disproves the idea of her growing up mostly in Italy and then moving close to the Garrison only within the last few years.

So Pidge knows Italian and whatever-local-language-is-around, and if the local language isn’t English, then also a decent amount of English. English would be useful for programming languages, after all! So she’s got no problem programming and reading in English. However, since her exposure to English is mostly text, she’s not competent at all in a conversation, either listening or speaking in English.

If my heartcanon for Pidge being a monolingual Italian speaker had made sense, then I’d love for there to be this moment that her universal translator glitches maybe the idea still slightly works if the Garrison isn’t in an English speaking nation. Suddenly she can’t understand anybody except for sort-of Lance when he speaks Spanish. The two languages are borderline mutually intelligible, after all. So Lance tries to help her out with Spanish while she’s speaking Italian, they’re somewhat making it halfway function (Lance’s slang is not helping), but she breathes this enormous sigh of relief when she gets the tech fixed.

Keith is monolingual. He knows American English and that’s it. Given as his father seems to speak in one of the Southern United States English dialects, I like to headcanon that little boy Keith lived in the South for about eight years and spoke a Southern dialect. Then he and his father moved northwest, Keith dropped that dialect through lack of exposure before adolescence, and picked up an Upper Midwestern American English accent in place (what we hear him speak on screen). Keith could still speak in a Southern accent if he wanted to, but no one’s ever heard him do it. And no one ever will.

Shiro is essentially monolingual. He’s only fluent in Japanese. He was taught Mandarin Chinese and English in school for many years, but despite being a good student, he was always bad at foreign language. The result is he’s highly limited in both. He’s more than alright reading Mandarin but not so good in conversation. Regarding English, Shiro can understand the language just fine when he hears it (since he’s heard it spoken enough), but he’s never been good at returning a response. If Shiro tries to talk in English, he’s got noticeably slow, broken, ungrammatical English and a reaaaally thick Japanese accent. He demonstrates his limited Chinese and English speaking abilities to the team at one time. They think it’s adorable.

Hunk knows Samoan. Again my heartcanon says it’s Samoan alone, but my head points out that Samoan + English makes sense (depending on where he grew up). Those are the two official languages in the country (with more L2 Samoan speakers than L1), and other Samoan populations are in English-speaking countries like New Zealand and Australia. So it’s just likely Hunk has been heavily exposed to both languages since he was young. But! That said... he’s terrible at English spelling. Downright terrible.

As for Allura and Coran... we don’t know anything about Altean languages and dialects outside of the few words Pidge hears in the training (the Alteans have clicks! woot!). My headcanon says that Allura and Coran don’t speak the same dialect (since the voice actors don’t speak the same English dialect) but they do speak the same language. Allura speaks the most sociolinguistically prestigious dialect of Altea. Coran’s dialect is noticeably different but doesn’t have too much negative sociolinguistic status to it. His speech sounds just as ridiculous to Allura as it does to the Paladins because he uses a lot of his regional slang.

So if everyone’s universal translators broke at once... Hunk, Lance, and and Keith would be able to converse just fine. Coran and Allura are able to talk to each other. Lance and Pidge could get some things to work if they speak slowly and avoid slang. With everyone else Pidge would be shrugging. And there’d be poor Shiro stuck, capable of communicating with absolutely no one beyond gestures, pained facial expressions, and the occasional grammatically incorrect English sentence.

And during the event of a Lion/Voltron fight with said translator glitch:

Shiro: Make... [forgets word for “sword” in English] ...stick???

Pidge: Che palle! Merda! Lance: Con esa boca comes? Keith: Wait, what are you saying? Lance: I didn’t catch it all, but I’m not translating! Hunk: Whoa. You saying Pidge has a potty mouth?

Keith: They’ve got the tactical advantage here. If we’re not careful, they’re going to outflank us. We’ve got to outmaneuver them before they outmaneuver us. Pidge: I don’t understand. Can you explain me in simple English? Lance: Explain me? No, no, Pidge, you mean “Explain to me.” Keith: Fewer grammar lessons, more fighting!

Shiro: Etou... robotto? Make-oo? Keith: What?!?!? Lance: Hey Shiro, we need that in English! Shiro: Ro... no... make-oo robotto. Lance: English! Shiro: Make-oo robotto! Pidge: That is his English! Hunk: What is he saying? Keith: “Make... robot?” Everyone else: Ohhhh! “Form Voltron!”

(P.S. I checked with a friend who speaks Italian for Pidge, and I speak a decent amount of Spanish, but I am only a native speaker of English so I apologize if I made mistakes!)

[feralcherry]

“You have to go. You have to run, and you can’t look back. Promise me.” Mattie x Frank :]]

It was a damn shame that everything was ending like this. Matteo clutched his stomach tightly, the blood seeping through his fingers and leaving wicked stains on his white button up. He’d just gotten home, had thrown off his coat, had been planning on popping open a bottle of the overly expensive beer his buddy Billy swears by.

The second his coat had hit the couch, bullets shattered through his high rise apartment. The entire place had been a gift from an old client of his, her version of a farewell gift before she sailed off on her ridiculous yacht. Now it and everything in it was getting shot up by some mooks with military grade weapons. 

He dodges them, just barely. Stray bullets ricochet and fly into his stomach, piercing the fragile skin easily and lodging itself deep. Matteo dives onto the floor behind the couch with a strangled noise, fluff from his couch pillows landing softly in his hair like drifting snow. 

Matteo unholsters his gun, pulling himself flush to the love seat. He takes a sharp breath and throws himself across the floor, crawling to a safe corner. No more bullets rain through the air. The silence was his only companion, but Matteo never once took his gaze off the shattered windows.

He clicked the safety off of his gun and brought it close to him, the nozzle pointing heavenward, both man and weapon ready for whatever hits next. Matteo’s face pulls into a grimace as the pain of his wounds starts to settle past the initial haze. He’s been shot before, been stabbed, been beat. It was always a shock to his system regardless of how many times he’s been hurt.

“Che palle, this is such bullshit! Man just wanted a beer, can’t he have one? Nope! Got shot instead.” Matteo walked himself through the entrances of his apartment once more, idly talking out loud, eyes sweeping across the room with such intensity it would take anyone’s breath away.

He always talked to himself when he was hurt, it kept him from drowning in the pain. Back in his special force days, he’d whisper quietly to Frank and Billy, his chatter calming, his hands steady under Curtis’s encouraging gaze. But he wasn’t out there on the field, he was in here in his own home, apparently getting stuck in a hit and run of some disastrous kind.

It’s still silent, the quiet ringing louder in his ears than any gun. The longer it stayed quiet, the more his pain crept to the front of his brain, demanding his attention. He couldn’t move in case whoever was hunting him was just waiting for his reappearance. That meant his wounds stayed open and gaping through the holes in his crisply pressed shirt, his own blood darker than he remembered.

“Are they sitting on their thumbs? They aren’t gonna come in here, that’s for sure.” He’s whispering to himself now, teeth gritting as nerves well in his gut.

He’s alone, with no backup, and he has a handgun against heavy weaponry. Usually, he’d talk till he couldn’t feel the fear anymore, couldn’t hear anything but Frank’s quiet groans telling him to shut up and pay attention. But Frank wasn’t here right now. 

Frank wasn’t anywhere.

Matteo poked his head around the corner cautiously, gaze useless in the dark of his apartment. A bullet races by his head and he lurches back, breath in his throat. 

“Cazzo!” He spat, wincing as his wounds pinched with his rash movements. 

He debated his next moves, wondering if there were any he could even make. One wrong move and he’s dead like Frank, and Antonia will never forgive him. His baby sister will pull him up from whatever part of hell he gets flung into to screech and cry at him before throwing him back down even further into his designated pit, dark hazel eyes not unlike his own boring worse holes into him than bullet holes.

If he was going to die, he decided, he wasn’t going to die tucked away in a corner bleeding out.

Matteo sprung to his feet and made for the door, his only option aside from letting death drag him under. The sound of bullets sang out, racing through his open door to colour the hallways with holes, his shirt catching and ripping but his skin free of new marks.

He kept running, pushing past the few people brave enough to flee into the hallway. He heard more gunshots, only closer and more violent, and a man screaming into the night with a rage he hoped he never had to face. Then more silence.

Matteo crept into the parking garage, gun still at the ready. He looked for anything out of the ordinary, any place too dark and too quiet that could be holding danger. He’d made it to his car, keys thankfully still in his pocket. Matteo never once stopped gripping his gun. His car automatically unlocked when he got close and let him in. Matteo peeled out, gunning for the exit, body flooding with untimely relief. 

A dark shadow scrambled in front of his car and he slammed on the brakes, a bright white skull staring at him from the chest of a man he thought dead.

“Frank?” 

Frank walked around to the side of the car and pulled open Matteo’s door, Frank’s eyes avoiding his as he reached for Matteo’s wounds. 

“I knew you’d get shot, I just knew it…You always got hurt at the worst times.” Frank sighed heavily and grabbed onto Matteo, pulling him from the car.

Both men stood roughly at the same height, each pair of eyes burning into the other. Matteo’s mind was blank, the hand holding his gun shaking. ‘Are you a ghost? A mirage?’ Matteo wanted to ask. His heart swelled with something deep and forlorn as he continued looking.

“Mattie.” Frank gave Matteo a small shake, brows furrowing with apprehension. Frank always thought Matteo to be too soft for their line of duty, had been worried that Matteo’s solid heart would be worn from all the stress. It had been proven true when Matteo pulled out of the force early, head too haunted and gaze guilty.

Gunshots echoed in the distance and Frank swung his head towards the sound, head tilting like a hunter’s dog. He looked back to Matteo who was silently falling back into his car, frowning at the unreadable gaze he was receiving. 

“Mattie, listen to me. You need to go.”

Matteo didn’t respond verbally but was already pulling his seatbelt across his chest. He looked at Frank as if waiting. Frank shook his head, hesitating before closing the door softly and taking a step back. 

“You have to go. You have to run, and you can’t look back.”

Matteo opened his mouth, pain etching his features at leaving his ghost of a friend behind.

“Promise me.”

Promises were never taken lightly by Frank. In fact, Frank never promised anything unless he was sure he could deliver. It sunk in how desperate Frank was for Matteo to get out, to stay alive. Their gazes met with more intensity, life returning to Matteo’s eyes.

“I’ll only promise if you promise to come find me after this.” Matteo wasn’t messing around. His knuckles turned white as they clenched the steering wheel, his words turning desperate as the gunshots sounded closer. 

This was Frank’s fight, his war to wage. He wasn’t leaving room for Matteo to stay, to be involved. Frank didn’t want to lose the one good thing left in his life. He’d rather die a million deaths then lose Matteo.

“I’ll always find you, Mattie. Now go!”

Matteo’s tires screeched as he drove, the rearview mirror showing him Frank as he turned away to meet whomever he was fighting.

“I’m such a fucking coward!” He choked, punching the steering wheel. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as he continued on. 

It was a damn shame indeed.