#why do i love sesto So Much

[platadesangre]

we NEED to talk about jcs 1975 madrid cast!

i have come to make camilo sesto justice

(i finally finished this post yay!)

i may be a bit biased, since this was my first jcs.

short story on how i discovered it

my dad used to be an apostle for a bootleg staged playback jcs in peru during the 70s! they used this version.

he had the cd. he also had the mp3 files. i used his computer, so that was how 13 year old me found it.

those were tough times, bc later i started doing catechesis and i kind of got depressed and started questioning my faith lol. judas' character really resonated with me

since this is a recording, i didn't have any footage to reference, so i made up everything in my mind. (this is why it was a bit weird for me to see the english productions, bc they looked nothing like in my head lol)

now, a bit of historical context for spain in the 70's

camilo sesto was a popular spanish singer and actor who went to see the jcs 1971 broadway production in london. he loved it so much that he did everything he could do financially to bring the show to spain.

spain was in a fascist dictatorship at the time

they fought with censorship for years, that's why the lyrics are a bit different (i'll make a post about that too)

they had to remodel the alcalá-palace theater stage entirely

franco (our dictator) died two days after the premiere (about time lol)

the "ultras" (conservatists) didn't like the show so they did lots of crazy stuff (for example, praying for the cast outside the theater or sending BOMB THREATHS?)

anyways, this was the first official translation for jcs!

on the main cast we have

camilo sesto as jesus christ (he wanted the role from the beggining)

teddy bautista as judas iscariot

ángela carrasco as mary magdalene

here's an old pic of them (and some apostles)

(now that i look at it closely, it kind of looks like a bootleg jcs 1973 lol)

on the recording

it's a stereo recording, so use both headphones or you'll miss out on half of it

musically speaking, it's similar to the og concept album (songs ending on fade-outs and shorter trial before pilate) but it has some interesting choices (teddy, the producer and the voice of judas, took a lot of... artistic liberties)

some things this version has

it adds lots of synth. it's very psychodelic. i understand this can be a turn off for some people

they kinda change the key to many songs. maybe to fit vocal ranges idk

teddy just loves to make up new melodies (please give this man some water)

EPIC GUITAR SOLO in what's the buzz

what's the buzz and strange thing mystifying are separated tracks for some reason

camilo sings so good

cute synth in everything's alright ángela has such an angelic voice she makes such a good mary

the drums and guitars during this jesus must die are so danceable

the BEST simon zealotes i've heard. shit goes HARD. he goes CRAY

i really love this pilate, in my rating he would be the best one

camilo's "¡SALVAOS VOSOTROS!" during the temple is really pathetic lol

damned for all time interlude replaced by synths. the SAX SOLO is also replaced by synth (questionable choice)

cool thing happens during the end of this song that i'll talk about in another post

judas' occasional nervous laughter really adds to his character

also he cries a lot

"you sad pathetic man" part during last supper is... fairly different! (i'm looking at you teddy...)

camilo's gethsemane is epic. he's a baladist singer but MAN he can ROCK

cool harmonica during the arrest

i'll never shut up about our pilate (he nervous laughs too)

herod is so fruity

judas' death really hits different when you were depressed and questioning faith (this version is BRUTAL) also lyrics change (i'll talk about it i swear)

teddy's one of the few judas who sing the i don't know how to love him reprise in the higher scale!! it sounds so painful and anguished

the album continues acceptably

other cool things it has

jesus and judas have this interesting accent difference. since camilo is from valencia, he has this pristine and traditional spanish accent. and teddy is from canarias (also lived in the usa) so his accent is rougher and more, crusty? idk how to explain it but it's neat and stablishes their dynamic a bit. (ángela is from dominican republic! but her accent is barely noticeable)

on the footage aspect, we only have old vhs videos and live audios uploaded on youtube. also some old photos

there is a book about this version. it has some anecdotes (only available in spanish)

now we have a 4 episode mini-series about the odyssey that it was to produce this. it's called "camilo superstar" (i won't be watching it bc it's a bit fan-ficy from what i've seen)

the posts i'll make about this production will be tagged as #jcs 1975 madrid

you can listen to it on spotify!

or on youtube (playlist made by me)

[jcs-study]

Someone recently told me that British and American fans of JCS have different preferences and I’ve been thinking about that a lot. So what differences do you know of? If you’re American or British what is your reaction to American vs. British productions you’ve seen? What about the original album which has a mix of British and American artists working together? I’m American, but I realized I think of JCS as primarily a British show, so perhaps my preferences lean toward British.

This... is a fantastic question. I apologize that my answer is not nearly as brief.

I feel that Danny Zolli (who has frequently played the roles of Jesus, Judas, and Annas over the years) sums it up best in his interview for our website, referring to the 2000 Broadway revival:

The Broadway production was, in my opinion, a very English-style production of the show. American audiences don’t tend to respond to that very well. American audiences want their Jesus and Judas to be willing to cough up a lung for them in the course of the show. It’s called “the Passion” for a reason — there has to be passion within the actors and actresses performing the roles to give the story its justice.

Maybe my years of voracious JCS consumption have been colored by that opinion somewhat, but I would tend to agree that's the main difference. The next question is why.

Well... in America, the concept album took off like a rocket. It's an icon right up there with Sgt. Pepper in the minds of many people who lived through the era. Such classics as “Heaven on Their Minds,” “Everything’s Alright,” “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” and “Superstar” racked up frequent radio airplay in their own right. The show’s earliest live success here came in the form of a concert tour (three of them, actually, hastily assembled to beat an already enormous band of pirates), not a theatrical run. Moreover, those early stage productions -- and the 1973 film -- were not a vast departure from that initial sound: raw, imperfect, rough, a little primitive, like the best of classic rock.

Overseas, however, the album did not sell the show. In England, the show only became successful once it was running in the West End, at one point becoming the longest-running musical in British history; in many European countries, the show is remembered much more fondly because of the film or because of the first major premiere in their neck of the woods. (In Spain, for example, it is incredibly difficult to separate JCS from the fact that it began life there as a Camilo Sesto vehicle. He's the benchmark like Ted Neeley or Ian Gillan would be for many English-speaking fans, and they just did a Fosse/Verdon-like TV series about his production over there that was a smash.)

Consequently, when Andrew Lloyd Webber looked back on the show once he controlled the rights, he was able to try to make it more like his later work: acrylic slickness and polish, some adjustments to the orchestrations, some revised lyrics from Tim Rice. It was more about the acting and less about the music, more of a theater piece and less of a rock show, and he put a lot of time and effort into making it so, putting that stamp on the first West End revival in 1996 and each production that followed.

Without weighing in on which version I prefer, I'll simply say there's a distinct difference between major JCS productions before and after 1996 that owes much to ALW's influence, and that's probably what your friend is referring to.

[libidomechanica]

We are concluded this head below

The like a meek the cast in vain !     And form would hush, t is but deems. The woman’s fathers for     your release. To proverb— and hand with his at pleasure, liue     and mind, you determined wel with fainted time for what—a     tender bibbers of

sencelesse bower between this a     woman with that love or this worlds life from this engines are     almost encourages— why call’d restored. To me the Starres:     for darting gall. A straggling? Upon his two eyes first     look, quite a fane a broke

of that flaps and out a clouds all     eyes. Until their guns of her soft Muse! Gazette, had though in     tuneful she life again. And once or observe, abandoned.     Our then is insight, and the tall? For wanton wing, but once     with the dooth perhaps the

wounded! And dreadful as true; as     span had I with loue hath play’d by another’s way, for Venus’     nun, as the message sublime any thing of my mother     then the special. Her eyes my stormes and wind; my dust would     calm me contractions with

a filled, but that didst bring in t     before our Cot o’er the skye. A things I cast out. We are     concluded this head below? She was quite a pack of an     old pass, whose name; yet with life finding into an oak, where     she goes, and while her air.

Thereon was the horizon’s very     moving several shutters seeke so serene father     mate, doth appal. Thou shalt thou were heart is frayle, my hart     like Wordsworth, of knight her heaven must them in a silly     blessings where the discuss’d

he hath kindle fyre of meane loue     embarrass’d—quite agree; of such portliness! An unobserve,     abandoned. Not though the angry pride the way home descry     that, afterwards of no great plenty make the innocent,     for war cuts up his

here, althought in, for love, the     figurative, that Moon I thinke that he, o’er Sir’ and smil’d at     least was not tongue when we carue, and moisture of purposeth,     that with Sisyphus he turns to guide its spoke so stammer     and of great plenty make

a merry in,—march her his mother,     showing of true beautiful serve to subdue. Is Betty,     half-girlish folks with deliberations beautiful     she fleshy prince de Ligne have Public good, have you have none     in gangs of Love have aloud

for useful on occasion,     there commanding duct through Sestos every flowers of thee,     my heart doe seemd the palates tingled among? To the journeyed     in each man the strong the fulnesse. And Juan, who left, and     somehow, but we were tears;

the owne wicked up the noise like     a snail, and moning, her were sone che cheareful and make     the tertian, and knows no art, must, sure, fie! Which the crave to     hide; only think they blush of reason; where Melodies, as     well known to use to base

a way. Whiles her meant but so it     seems to what to learned high place! By separation a     quarter. A lover, fair Cynthia’s wasted with a different     hands to their gazing on untamed leopards play. His feet,     but speake no not envy—

Adeline, and leaf to lull down     to me giue. Of which the first whome nor the dame where the grand     loved, nor any vanished flight. Is young persons, the head, nor     do aspire to a flowers, or best relation, which her     cheek, in temple’s eyes do

come when other though her worse to     wear! Through, and ward, or lost Haidee; yet you are rib here,     hereditary seat men desire: count my mind, for such     love. And, save the blooming human share less rigid editor     whom were physicians,

and beautiful forever honest     bark her soul, until she could liue for one. The glass than     other believes competence; not fightingale is of     the son, but sown so lowly through the though obvious as     hens the dinners? Young Charley

did again, if you bastard     violence it was passion is charm much her sight? Where on     tithes, and o’er books. Which her deeming year: so thou some friend     shaking him by the name in the meaning is the edicts     sterne could best and even

her pain? But he scuffle, and     truculent did each bud puffing Mars and dark, no souls immortal     man, and at election, talk of morning came to my     concision: juan being defeated. Hath got blush in hour     wood; To taste, but what’s enough

from all thing court, camp, church, takers     of the gods adultery, but found such music and     formal, and role, and hot his appease the wood. At his eyes     she offered, with all things sublime of your imperious     deedes. She is not so

near! Shoulder, less numberland, Wolfe,     Hawke, that once or awe, the most fear of Adeline we for     than match made all ages, pregnant of hopes, hovering mood, if     siluer, her beauty slain. Difficult to these thing in Spain,     you know’st what poet, or

to be the charm much on education     was won before, myne humbled on though tis always     best, nor other now that daily. That till more to pleasing     is done, would be thought, if not wake; he died. Then the     Consider a darkness.

[uglypastels]

Soteria // H.O. - Greek Myth AU

(a/n) I know I said I was gonna write this like months ago, and i had written most of it fairly quickly, but then inspiration and motivation kind of slummed and i stopped, but then tonight I was like, ya know what, let’s finish this. so i did :)

word count: 9.6k

warning: near death experience, death, drowning. Maybe parts of this are questionable, but it was based on an ancient Greek myth, so please take it with a grain of salt oki

Love is not full of pity, as men say,  But deaf and cruel where he means to prey  - (Hero and Leander, C. Marlowe)

Persephone had returned from the Underworld, and her mother Demeter was celebrating once again. The night was warm, and the flowers around the town were in their full bloom as the green leaves in the trees blew softly with the winds. 

The city of Sestos had its yearly feast, honouring the goddess of love. As the sun was slowly reaching the horizon, it illuminated the streets in the soft golden glow. The people of the town were coming outside, ready to enjoy the festivities. At the city square, with a fountain positioned in its exact centre, you could hear the lyre player strum a melody. A woman joined in on her aulos not soon after. With music good enough for Apollo himself, people were quick to start dancing around the square, laughing and vocally copying the melody in a complementing manner. 

It was a long walk from Aphrodite’s tower to the city, so by the time you had joined, the festival had been going on for quite some time already. Like every year, it was crowded. People from every side of the world would come to the party in the name of the goddess, in the hopes to find their love- even if it was only for the night. 

As one of the priestesses of Aphrodite, your attendance was more of a duty than a privilege. You were there to, of course, devote yourself to your deity and honour her, while also making sure that everyone else was doing so accordingly. Fortunately, it would still be some years until you took over the duties of the higher priestesses of the temple. Meaning that all your work was done at the offerings ceremony of the fire.

You knew that you had arrived later than planned, only a few minutes short from the start of the offerings. Stepping up towards the small temple where your sisters stood, you straightened out your peplos. 

“Where have you been,” one of your fellow Hiereiai asked as she ripped up the last piece of the sourdough. You took it from her and put it in the final empty basket. 

“I had forgotten to flower the anemones,” you said. You didn’t dare to look at the horrified looks you had gotten from your confession. You knew it was disgraceful, neglecting the sacred flowers. 

“I went back to do so, that is why I am late,” you explained yourself further, not letting any comments come through. You did not need to hear this now. You had realised your mistake and fixed it. Then let it be history. 

And history it became. You continued preparing the feast with the others, as the crowd of the Sestos inhabitants, as well as the guests, were already forming a line. Soon, one by one, everyone came up to the tables filled with the delicious food, grabbing what they wanted. As quickly as they came up to you, so soon did they leave. Of course, not before dropping a handful into the fire that sparked before you. The sweet smells of the meats and fruit roamed up into the skies for Olympus to enjoy. Your mouth started to water, and your empty stomach was rumbling softly, but it wouldn’t be long before you could eat too. There were only a few people left to serve, and then it would be your turn to make your sacrifice. 

You handed over a portion of roasted lamb to the man in front of you, not even looking up at this point, being used to the quick interactions. But he surprised you with two simple words. 

“Thank you.” 

This made you look up. 

“Uhm, you’re welcome.” You smiled, a bit taken back. It was getting darker, but the eyes that were looking back at you were clear and mesmerising, as piercing as Poseidon’s kingdom itself. You had never seen such vibrancy in someone’s soul. 

At that exact moment, the man looked at you in bewilderment. He smiled at you, astonished at how the crown of flowers complimented your hair. The golden flecks made it seem as if you were sparkling in the setting sunlight. Your shy smile made his heart skip a single beat. 

You shared another moment of eye contact before he was pushed forward by his company of friends. That same time, you were brought back to your duty by an overlooking high priestess. But from that moment on, you had lost your focus. As you were giving out the last rations of the meals, you couldn’t help but steal glances at the handsome stranger. You watched him throw a handful of grapes into the spitting fire. The orange flames illuminated his physique, highlighting the lines in his arms. 

You couldn’t stop looking at him. Not to put the gods in vain, but he looked like one himself. He had almost an aura around him that made you wonder if it wasn’t actually the Sun god in disguise. No, it couldn’t be. 

You ate your meal at the side of your temple sisterhood, but not even the delicious food could keep your mind away from the man. He stood there, across the festival grounds, not far away from the fire pit. A cup of wine in his hand. He laughed loudly, draping his arms across the shoulder of his friend. When he looked across the grounds, your eyes locked. You saw that intense blue colour and froze, as if under a spell. Were the gods testing you? On this sacred day?

You shook your head to yourself. No, that couldn’t be happening. 

Not looking up again, you finished your food. The music had been playing the whole time. Still, once the majority of the celebrators had eaten, the volume and tempo went up slightly, making it more enticing to dance again. And sure enough, the square was quickly filling up once more with people spinning and moving to the music.

Not much of a dancer yourself, you stayed seated at your table, looking at a candle that had been placed in front of you, getting lost in the little flame. As if you were put under a trance. It was swaying from side to side in the draft, but it seemed to have caught on to the rhythm of the kithara. You were so caught up with the movements of the light that you almost missed what was happening around you. In fact, you would have if it wasn’t for the dry cough you heard above you. 

Still, in a bit of a haze, you looked up. 

There were those hypnotising eyes again, small wrinkles at their outer corners. He was holding two cups of wine in his hands, extending one of his arms to you. 

“I thought you would like a drink,” he said. You didn’t know what to do, so you accepted the drink and with a soft smile, took a sip. The sour taste went through your entire body, so it seemed, in an enjoyable way. 

“Would you care for a dance, my lady?” he made another offer, pointing out to the rest of the festival. 

“I’m sorry, but I am not much of a dancer,” you told him, heat rising to your cheeks. You always thought of it to be a bit embarrassing that you could not dance. However, that did not seem to be much a problem, to the man, for he nodded with an accepting smirk. 

“How about a stroll around the streets then?” He suggested. This, you could not decline. You agreed to the idea and got up, taking your goblet with you. 

“What is your name, if I may ask,” he said as you left the festivities behind you. Though the music still seemed to be only a few feet away, you were actually making your way across the city. 

“y/n,” you told him, “and what may I call you?”

“My friends call me Harrison,” he said, before taking a sip of his drink. 

“That is an unusual name. Where does it come from?” You had indeed never heard of such a name and were curious to find out where the handsome stranger came from.

 “Well, I come from Abydos,” he chuckled melodiously, “but the name is my father’s. Son of Harios, you see.” 

“Oh, but Abydos, that is all the way across the Hellespont!” you exclaimed, not having expected someone to have travelled that far. 

“Yes, my friends and I took a boat this morning. We will be going back soon after the feast ends, probably.” He looked out, behind him, mournfully in a way. As if he wished not to be returning to his home. It did not go unnoticed by you. 

“Have you been here before?” you questioned, bringing his attention back to you, instead of what was going on in the square. It did fulfil your needs, as Harrison turned to you with a faint smile on his lips. 

“No, I have not. We don’t get to leave much, unfortunately.” 

“How so?” you kept on asking curiously. 

“My family does not enjoy the idea of me leaving my duties for a festival across the waters.” 

“Are you telling me that you came here without permission?” The idea made you giggle. He and his friends were risk-takers, to travel across the sea without telling their families. Who knew what could happen on those waters. The idea excited you. It would be a fantasy to think of anyone from Sestos doing something so daring. 

As Harrison spoke about his typical days back home, the two of you made your way further away from the celebration. The sun had hidden behind the sea, but the silver glow of the moon gave enough light for you to see where you were going. It was a bit of a walk, but you knew it would be worth it for the view. If there was the possibility of him never having the chance to come back, he needed to see it.

And so you lead him up the hill, through the gardens that you forgot to flower some hours ago, and finally reached the outlook on to the shore. It was a gap between the trees, just big enough for the both of you to stand in. Your feet were touching the soft grass. Petals of the flowers hitting your ankles as you took a step closer to the edge. Harrison grabbed your arm, making you look up at him with a raised brow. 

“Don’t worry; I spend almost all my free time up here. It’s safe,” you assured him. 

“Promise me that you won’t fall.” 

“I promise.” As you said so, you took another small step. Nothing happened. He still didn’t seem too sure about this position, but pushing the hesitance aside, Harrison joined you. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he eventually spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “It is truly a magical sight.” 

“I know,” you had no better reaction. This had always been your favourite spot around the temple. It was the one place where the sea seemed to be calmer. As if Poseidon knew that the keyhole from which you were looking at his world was a little piece of personal Elysium to you if that was even possible. You had never thought of showing this to anyone, not even telling. Still, there was something about this Harrison, that made you feel good about this choice- secure. You had the feeling that he needed this—just this one moment—an almost sacred minute between the two of you.

You stood there for another short and silent moment. Both goblets of wine were now empty. Then, Harrison surprised you by grabbing your hand. He made you turn around to look into his eyes, his touch as well as his actions gentle. The silver moonlight made the blue in his eyes sparkle even brighter than you thought to be possible. 

“I know we have only known each other shortly, and what you have given me with this view is already unpayable,” he squeezed your hand, his eyes not leaving your face, “but can I ask you one more thing?” 

“Of course,” you asked without hesitation. Harrison took a step closer to you; he let go of your hand, just to cup your cheek softly. 

“May I kiss you?” 

This startled you. It was enough of a reaction for him to realise he said something wrong. He quickly pulled away. 

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have-” 

“I wish I could kiss you, Harrison,” you told him before he went on. There was no need for him to apologise. “I really do. But I can’t.” As you spoke, you had the urge to bite your bottom lip to suppress any further emotions. The confusion in Harrison’s expression, however, was undeniable. 

“You can’t?” 

“No. As a priestess of Aphrodite’s temple, I have to honour the life of purity.” Saying that had never made you feel frustrated. It used to be something you were proud of, but seeing Harrison in front of you, it was merely an obstacle that you could not pass through. 

“Are you telling me, my love, that we can not show our adoration to each other, for you have promised to stay virtuous to-to the goddess of love?” His hand was back on your body. You could feel his fingers on the material of your dress, pressing in a squeeze as he finished speaking. Your head grew dizzy at how close he was. 

“Y-yes.” 

“Does that not sound absurd to you? A life devoted to Aphrodite, without being able to show love yourself? It would be like honouring Ares and not being able to wage war.” 

“I know, but-” 

“Have you made a promise? An oath?” He pulled you into him, his enchanting eyes desperate for you to give in. 

“No.” you shook your head. 

“Then what would be the harm? Don’t you think Aphrodite would be happy? To see us together?” He said all this with a kind smile on his lips, pulling you in closer. Your hand fell on his chest. Just by the simple touch of his chiton, you could tell that he came from a wealthy family from a different place. The material was unknown to you, but it was soft and smooth to the touch. You moved your hand slowly over the piece of cloth, but suddenly the texture changed. It was colder and firmer, and you realised you had moved your fingers on to his skin. With wide eyes, you pulled away. The way you surprised yourself made Harrison laugh. 

“It’s alright.” He said, taking your hand in his and placing it back on the spot you pulled away from seconds before. He held it to his chest tightly. 

“You can feel it, don’t you?” The intensity in his voice was mesmerising. That eagerness to show you every emotion possible through each word, no matter how small. “How my heart is beating, how it stopped at your touch? It is all for you, y/n.” He looked up at the black sky with a bright smile, “Aphrodite, be my witness, for tonight, my heart beats only for you.” He had looked back down into your eyes as he finished his bold statement.

Being so close to him and hearing those words leave his lips, you felt as if you were melting away from reality. Was this happening? Had Harrison just been struck by Eros’ arrow? Had you? You could not have said anything for sure, except that you could not get enough of his beauty. By far, he was the most gorgeous man you had ever laid your eyes on. 

“Please, y/n, let me kiss you?” 

Would you be breaking any rules if he were the one to touch you? You were not prepared to answer that question just yet. You took a step back, closing your eyes for you did not want to see the pain in his. Harrison understood your action. 

“Then so be it, but do not think that my affection for you will lessen, my lady.” And with that, he leaned in to kiss your cheek. That quick touch, not even lasting a second, was enough to make your entire body burn. Or, at least it felt like it was. As he pulled away, you wanted to lean forward, match his movements, not let him go. But your choice has been made. 

Harrison looked out at sea, his face illuminated in the silver light perfectly. But his handsomeness was overshadowed by the doubts and worries you saw were forming in his mind. You spoke for him, already expecting what was to come.

“You must go, don’t you?” 

“Unfortunately. If I don’t come back to leave with my friends tonight, the monsters awaiting me back home might be the end of me.” 

“Your parents will get furious?” you laughed at his dramatics, to which he joined. 

“Yes. But-” he took his hand in yours again, “I promise you that we shall see each other again, and my desire for your lips-” 

“Harrison,” you sighed. 

“I know. But I will prove myself to you and to the gods that I am worthy of your affection. I do not yet know how, but I will, and then, you may reward me with your kiss.” 

“You do not give up, do you?” You couldn’t help but smile at his stubbornness. 

“It is a treasured curse of mine, yes.” He kissed your knuckles before stepping aside, far enough to make it clear that this was where your night together would come to an end. 

“Farewell, my dearest, but not for long, as I promise you to come back.” He bowed down slightly before finally walking away, leaving you at the edge of the cliff. The night’s breeze flew by, taking some flowers from your crown with them. Not wanting to see him leave, you focused on the loose petals, disappearing in the dark sky. 

In the meantime, as the flowers made their way over the sea, Harrison made his way back down to the city, where his friends were none the wiser of his adventure with you. They yelled out in chorus when he came into their sight. It was his best friend, Thomas, that almost spilt his drink from excitement. It was clear that as Harrison was enjoying that, what seemed like everlasting paradise, they all had been enjoying the local wine a bit too much. 

But, of course, the night was not everlasting and the Sun would reach the sky once again. Sooner than later, even. And before it did, they would have to make their way back home, across the deep waters of the Hellespont. And then there was the challenging task of reaching their homes without being noticed by anyone. This was already difficult, and the fact that Harrison was the only one not overpowered by the restraint of the brew they had all drunk- it felt impossible. 

Yet, somehow, the men managed to cross the waters in their boat without problems. Poseidon had been on their side that night. The cold air and water sputtering around them, helped the others clear their minds in the meantime as well. 

Not much later, they had all reached their homes, and Harrison walked into his room. Though the morning would come soon, he did not feel tired. Instead of heading toward his bed, Harrison walked to the large open window. It looked out at sea. If he stared out long enough, it seemed as if he could still see the warm lights of Sestos ahead of him. He wondered if you were looking out for him as he was for you and if he would ever be able to see you again. With the images of you in his mind, he slowly fell asleep, still in the frame of the window.

Right across the Hellespont, up on the hill, in the temple tower, the same faith had fallen over you. With Harrison overtaking your thoughts, you had left yourself to drift off while looking out on the horizon. 

And the both of you were woken up in the same manner, startled awake as the doors of your rooms opened wide. Harrison fell to the floor as he reached consciousness again. It took him a moment to get his orientation back and realise he had, in fact, never reached the bed in the first place. 

“C’mon, get up.” Though they were not actually related, Thomas was like a brother to him. Hence, it was the last thing Harrison questioned when his great friend pulled him up to his feet at morning’s dawn. He was more surprised that Thomas was so active in the morning, considering that just a few hours ago he could barely walk in a straight line. 

“Your father is calling for you,” Thomas said as he finally got Harrison to stand up, “he wants you on the field.” Of course, today was time for training. Though the sun had not even surpassed the edge of the ocean, the warm air around him, told Harrison that it would be a hot day. 

“Yes, I’ll be on my way then,” He sighed, before asking his friend hopefully, “Will you join me?” 

“I wish I could, but I have been set duties at the house today.” 

Both Harrison and Thomas were the eldest sons in their families, which gave them a significant number of responsibilities to carry. But the difference between them was that Thomas did not have the same pressure as Harrison. Oldest of four boys meant that yes, he was expected to hold up the family’s honour and wealth. Still, if he did not manage this, this responsibility would be then passed down to his younger brothers. Harrison, having only one sister, did not have that luxury- and his father made this very obvious to his son. 

Many days would be spent out on the fields, fighting and training. Most often they would not stop until Harrison felt too weak to actually fight back. When he was younger, he thought he understood the need for this discipline, but now… it all felt so cumbersome. Harrison wanted to be more than just a fighting machine for his family. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with the battles that were so popular in his area. In his mind, there was no need for such a thing as unnecessary violence. There came no real honour with winning a duel like it. Yet, he had no choice but to follow his father’s commands.

“Where is your head, boy?” His father said as he helped Harrison up for the so-manyeth time later that afternoon. Harrison hissed out in pain as he felt his arms sore up from the hours of vigorous exercise. 

“On my head, father,” he shook the fall off and grabbed his fighting stick in his tights fists, positioning his feet, ready for another fight. He ignored the shaking of his muscles and the beads of sweat covering his body.

But his father did not deem that an appropriate answer. He leaned on his own stick, placing his palms on top of it, a heavy arched eyebrow implemented his thoughts. 

Though reaching a ripe age and having already lived through many horrors, Harios of Abydos did not show any of it at first glance. The similarities to his son were uncanny. The only real distinction between the two was the fine lines forming on the elder man’s face and how his golden hair was starting to include shades of Zeus-like silver. Then, of course, there was the beard that he had been developing over his years on earth. Harrison had not been quite successful in this just yet. 

“I can tell there is something on your mind, son.” He stood still like a sculpture, but his eyes moved quickly over the fatigued body of his only son, looking for signs of what could be going on with him. 

“It is nothing, father.” Harrison let his body relax. He did not want to speak about the events of last night. For one, his father did not know he had run away to Sestos without his permission. Secondly, Harrison did not want to know what his father would say is the fact he had fallen in love with a maiden of the Aphrodite temple would come to light. After all, it was his duty to protect his family’s legacy, meaning it was his duty to court a woman of some title, this way, their land and property could grow. And Harrison knew his parents already had women in mind. How heartbroken would they be to find out his heart was taken by you. 

“It is a girl, isn’t it?” Harios was quick to conclude. For him and his son were the same in more than just their looks. He could tell what the young man was thinking without asking a single thing. It was a skill Harrison was still unable to understand. 

“I understand my son.” He did. ���But do not be a fool to fall for Eros’ mind games. You know what you need to do, and none of that will come from feelings.” He said it with a surprising amount of disgust, Harrison felt like. 

“I know, father,” Let that be all of this discussion, Harrison thought and hoped. His father had picked up his stick again, singing to him that Harrison was to do the same. While he was not looking, Harrison took a pained glance at his father. Just like that his faith had been signed off. 

But that made him only want to fight more for himself. That evening, when he was finally done with training and had eaten his dinner, Harrison decided that he would not let this be the end of you and him. So, when the sun had hidden once more, and the moon was high in the sky, illuminating the black water of the Hellespont, Harrison left his room. Silently, as to not be seen, he sneaked out from the grounds and made his way to the shore.

He looked around him, spotting the row of boats ahead, and walked on. Taking a boat out held too many risks. Someone would notice it out on the sea, or just find one to be missing in the small harbour. He and his friends had taken that risk the previous night but to take it again, would simply be careless.

So, Harrison took off his sandals and buried them in the sand, right next to a rock, so only he knew where to find them back. Then, he made his way to the water. The waves took sharp inhales and pushed straight back on to the land. As he stepped forward, he made contact with the icy water. It was much colder than he had predicted. Still, he had to move on. Slowly, step by step, he sank into the sea. First his legs, then hips and chest, until he could barely reach the ground beneath him. Not to lose any time, he swam. He did not know how long it would take, but if he kept on going, sooner or later, he would find his way back to you. 

And he kept on swimming. It might have been an eternity, or it could have been just a few minutes. He could not be sure. All he knew was that his limbs ached, but that home was left far in the distance now, and at this point, it would do no good to return. 

The hard crashing of the waves around him into nothingness felt even louder. As if they were speaking to him directly.

Ganymede. Not sure what they meant, Harrison kept on swimming, ignoring the rough water as it kept hitting him in the face. Almost as if in protest of his actions. It did not matter to him, though. The anger of the waves did not matter to him when his goal was so clear. He needed to see you again.

It seemed as if he had almost made it to the other shore. When suddenly, the water was rushing along some stream with great power, making it even harder for him to continue moving. The waves were holding him back, nay, they were pushing him down.

It became harder and harder to move, and eventually, the waved turned too big to avoid. With each one, his head would sink below. With a large gasp of air, he tried to keep up, but it quickly became an impossible task. One final wave attacked him, pushing him down to the bottom of the sea. Harrison tried to claw his way back up, but it was useless. He had lost his battle with the water. As he fell to the dark pits of the sea, he released his final breath of air. In his last moments of consciousness, he followed the bubbles with his eyes. His lids felt heavy, and he knew what it meant, for his lungs began to burn. 

Harrison sank deeper and deeper. The small air bubbles had disappeared into the darkness of the water. Eventually, there was nothing around him but the black void. He could not tell if his eyes were open or not. If he was awake or not- if he was even alive? 

All he was sure of were the voices around him—two, to be exact. 

The first was the one of a girl. He did not recognise it, but it sounds sweet and youthful.

“What have you done, Your Highness?” she asked, to which the second voice responded. 

“I have finally taken back from my brother, what he owed me—the life of his son.” Harrison felt even more confused. Had his father done something? Have his wrongdoings now cost him his life? Most likely, so.

The voice thundered on. It seemed to be coming from all around him. It was as if… it was the actual water speaking.

“Prepare Ganymede, for you shall pay for your father’s debts!” 

Ganymede? Harrison did not know of anyone called that name. He tried to open his mouth, but without any oxygen, it was too difficult to move. How he was even alive, was a mystery to him.

But whatever it was speaking around him, heard his thoughts. The first mysterious voice spoke up again. 

“Lord Poseidon…” Poseidon? He had been pulled down to the depths of the Hellespont by the sea god himself. “I do not think this is the man you were looking for.” 

There was silence. For a moment, Harrison thought that this had been it. The end of his life. But then, he felt a touch to his forehead. Two fingers pressing right at the centre of it. Suddenly, the fire burning inside his lungs seized. He took a deep inhale, thinking he was out of the water, but when Harrison opened his eyes, he was still on the bottom of the sea. Panic struck through him, as he thought he had just let himself drown, but no water came into his mouth—only the sensation of air. 

Also, there was no more darkness. In front of Harrison stood two light figures. A young woman, who’s hair and cloak flowed softly in the water, and next to her, a man. He was at least a head taller than Harrison. His long grey beard reached his chest and seemed to have small shells woven into them, that sparkled in the god’s own aura. But what really amazed Harrison, and pushed away all possible doubt about the identity of the man, was the massive silver trident in the man’s hand. Harrison fell to his knee immediately and respectfully bowed his head.

“Who are you?” Poseidon asked, his voice deep and powerful, booming through the. 

Harrison wasn’t sure if he could speak under the water, expecting nothing but bubbles to come out of his mouth, but when he did, he actually heard his own voice. 

“I am Harrison... of Abydos,” he said, not daring to look back up at the god. There was another moment of silence. Then, the woman spoke. 

“Can you confirm, boy, that you are not Ganymede?” 

“I can swear on the river Styx that I am not, and have never met, Ganymede.” He bowed his head again in respect to the King of the oceans. Though the water had been cold at first touch and as he swam, with the divine presence, it felt warm, almost boiling around him. The heat, now that Harrison considered it, came in waves. Like a pulse, a heartbeat. He tried not to overthink this phenomenon. 

The god and the woman looked at each other, realising their mistake. Then Poseidon looked back at the mortal hero. His wickedly blue eyes gazing down sharply like his own weapon. 

“Then what were you doing in my domain?” 

Not daring to look directly into the god’s eyes, Harrison spoke: “I was swimming to Sestos, to meet my love. We met the previous day, and I have not been able to stop thinking about her. I wish to see her again before it is too late.” Was it possible to overshare your feelings with one of the mighty gods? Yes, but Harrison felt the need to explain his actions adequately. 

“And this woman, does she share your feelings?” The woman glided through the waters toward Harrison, extending her pale hand for him to take. He did so with slight hesitance. 

He didn’t know what to expect when touching her fingertips, but it was not that of the texture of ice. However, while it had all its feeling, it did not hold any of its bitter frost. She took his hand and helped him up to his feet. 

“Y-yes, I think- I hope so.” He stuttered out. The woman smiled at him lightly before waving her hand in the water. Bubbles started to form around it, creating an intricate pattern. Moving faster and faster, the air bubbles moved to be one broad line of ice, turning smaller and smaller. The woman rolled her hand again, guiding the icy ring towards Harrison’s wrist. It moved and glided over his skin, forming itself to him, tightening like a bracelet made out of the most valuable of metals. 

“We shall let you continue on your voyage, Harrison of Abydos,” she spoke, “and you may travel as often as you please. For as long as you hold on to this charm, the waters will help you pass and keep you safe.

“But be careful. My father has eyes on all the waters of the world, and though his eyes are sharp, his mind may not be focused at all times on everything around him. Loose this, and I can not promise you safety in the waves or the currents.” 

“Thank you.” He bowed down to the lady of the sea and the god. 

“Now, be gone!” Poseidon, who had watched his daughter gift Harrison the armlet, growled. He held his trident and hit the bottom of it on the sand next to his feet. The booming sound evolved in large waves, making everything around the god to push back, including Harrison. He felt a strange, tugging, sensation on his shoulders. Suddenly, he was swept up by the new current and was being carried by the water to the sky. 

As he was moving, he saw glimpses of the large moon above his head. Its massive presence overtaking that of any other celestial body in the sky. And it only turned bigger and bigger as Harrison rose to the surface of the sea. With a large gasp, he felt his face finally be free from the water, as the pure night sky held him. 

He did not know how much time had passed while he was in the captivity of the gods, but he still needed to take a moment before returning to his journey to the other side. With deep breaths, he filled his lungs with the oxygen he had missed under the water. 

Finally, with you on his mind, he was on his way. Just like the Lady of the Water had promised, moving on, Harrison did not feel any struggle. Not only did he not feel the current pushing him backwards, it actually seemed as if the waves were helping him move ahead. His muscles could relax for he did not need to use all his power to swim. 

When he looked out in the distance, expecting nothing but the dark shadows of the mountains and forests, he saw the tiniest of bright lights. 

Because, as Harrison was nearing land, you had been sitting in your room, just like the night before. Looking out on the still waters, you looked out the window with your hand below your chin. To not be surrounded by darkness, you had put up a candle next to you on the sill. The orange light did not illuminate much, but it gave off a fabricated glow that reminded you of the sun in the morning hours. 

You kept on looking out at sea, while also listening for any sounds of your fellow temple sisters roaming around the hallways, in fear of being caught awake at this ungodly time. If you had looked away or even blinked, you were sure you would have missed it. A wave slightly bigger in size than the rest had appeared near the shore and it seemed to be carrying something. At first, you simply assumed it was limber or a piece from some unfortunate wreckage. But no. You were proven wrong when you saw the object- or better said, the person, move. Slowly clambering their way up to the beach.

For a moment you thought your eyes were deceiving you, for it looked as if the person stranded at shore was someone you recognised. Someone you had just met a day ago, yet could not stop thinking about during the day. All you really could make out was the vague shape of the man but… could it really be him? 

Quickly you got to your feet and ran out of the room. As quietly as possible, you made your way down the long stairs of the tower you resided. The massive doors of the entrance creaked loudly, but you slipped through the wooden gates successfully. 

It was not a long walk from the temple tower to the beach. It was the cliff that made it so difficult to reach, but you had managed to do so swiftly. Light on your feet, you jumped down to the rocks covering the sand, until finally, you could see Harrison lying at the edge of the water. For a brief moment, your heart ached at the thought of him not breathing, but as you neared him, you saw his head move to the side. His eyes opened, and the energy in his body ignited again. He jumped up and ran the final distance toward you, closing the gap between your bodies. You cupped his cheeks in your hands, utterly astonished that it was really him. Completely soaked to the bone, he stood in front of you. His hair clung to his forehead, and his chest heaved with every breath. His eyes looked even more vibrant as the salt in the water had tainted them red. 

“Harrison?” you gasped, still questioning if it was him. Not trusting your own mind. 

“My dearest,” he took your hand in his, kissing the inside of your palm, “I had promised you my return.” You had not actually expected him to come back. At least, not so soon. Though your experience with men may not be varied, you heard plenty of tales of them making promises, only for them to break them or never coming close to fulfilment. 

Yet, here he was. He had come back to you, just like he had said he would. He swam across the large sea just to see you. Did a grander gesture of passion exist, you did not know nor care. 

Harrison pushed back a stray strand of your hair, letting his hand rest on your face just like you had. 

As you looked into each other’s eyes, a more profound connection was forming. An unspoken bond that could only exist between two people. One that only a rare number of people had the pleasure to encounter. 

With a smile, you let your hand down, moving over his toned arm. His skin was still wet from the seawater, but what surprised you was the icy feeling of an armband enveloping his wrist. 

“What is this,” you asked curiously.  Harrison held out his arm, and you could see the intricate patterns reflecting in the night’s light. Lines curving to form what looked like waves of the ocean. The tiniest move of Harrison’s wrist made it seem like they were moving up and down. In fact, their pattern resembled the ebb and flow of the waves at your side.

“A gift from the gods,” he said. You looked up at him, confused. He did not immediately explain. Instead, holding on to your hands, he sat down on the sand. You followed suit. Positioned like that, Harrison told you his story. 

He told you how, in desperate need to see you again,  he had decided to cross the Hellespont tonight. How the water had pulled him down and, fearing for his life, you were still the one thing on his mind. He told you the way the current overpowered him and brought him down to the seabed and there… stood Poseidon himself.

You did not say a word, amazed at his story. You kept quiet as Harrison explained that the god had mistaken him for another man. 

“I had told him who I was and that I was merely on my way to see you. My love.” His grip on your hand tightened slightly. Your breath hitched in your throat. “And the Nereid gifted me this. It shall protect me from any trouble at sea when I am on my way to you.” 

With wide eyes filled with astonishment, you let your fingers graze over the metal. While Harrison had managed to dry off in the summer air, the band was still ice cold. Then you looked into his eyes again, and while the colour should be just as icy, there was nothing but warmth in them. All his emotions seeping through without a word that needed to be said. His hand travelled to your cheek once more, and Harrison leaned in.

Just for you to move away. You placed your fingers on his lips gently.

“I can’t.” It pained you to say those words, as all you wanted was to be kissed by him. 

“Please, y/n, let me touch you.” He pleaded. “I have come so far to show the love I hold for you, let me- please.” 

You did not say a thing. It seemed to be the only way out of this situation. As you had not given him direct access to your body, you were not breaking any rules of the temple. Meanwhile, you had also not pushed him away. Harrison understood what you meant as he leaned in, but not directly to touch your lips. He kissed your cheek, like the night before. And like the last time, you felt warmth course through your entire being. That feather-light touch made you feel as if you were floating yourself. 

And it did not stop there. He kissed you again, just an inch lower, and then again. Leaving that tingling sensation at every stop of his lips. You had been sitting opposite each other, so he took your hips and guided you closer to him. Letting your head fall back, with your eyes on the night’s sky, you focused on the new feelings that erupted in you as he touched your neck. A sound of pleasure escaped from your parted lips, and you could feel the smile that was forming on Harrison. 

He kissed you once more, just at the corner of your lips, before pulling away. Slightly displeased at the loss of contact, you let your head fall forward again. 

“Will you hold me?” you asked, not sure where the request had come from. 

“With pleasure,” he let you position yourself comfortably before draping his arms around you. Together you sat on the beach, arms entangled as your heartbeats merged into one. Whispering about sweet nothings. You had come to realise that not only did he have the looks of Apollo, but the wisdom and wit of Athena. And in him, he held humour worthy of the Muses. The longer your conversation went on, you realised that there was more between you and him than the physical attraction. It felt right to listen to his stories. The feeling of his arms around you was secure and pleasant. It felt like… home. 

But, like any good thing, this moment had to come to an end. Before dawn would set, Harrison had to get back home. You walked with him to where land and sea meet. The cold water nipped at your feet, and you jumped. 

“It is freezing,” you gasped. Suddenly, his act felt even more heroic. Harrison just smiled sheepishly. 

“It is worth it if it means I can see you again, y/n. And I will do so for as long as you want to have me at your side.”

“Then forever it shall be,” you said enthusiastically. Harrison looked into your eyes, looking for something, but he did not quite know what. He placed his fingers tips at his lips and sent a kiss your way. Though you stood far apart, a rush of warmth burned through you as if he was standing right next to you. This couldn’t be further from the truth. He was forming more distance between you. Each step deeper into the water until he had disappeared into the morning greyness of the sky, like a dream or a fantastical story. You wanted to keep watching as the waves ebbed and flowed, but you knew to go back to the tower.

As the sundial in the gardens was the only measurement of time, Harrison did not know how long it took him to swim to you and back. Nor did he know how much sleep he had been losing over this nightly adventure. Still, he never felt more alive. Days went by, and there had not been one that was not spent across-shore, with you in his arms. He did not try to persuade you for a kiss any further, for he imagined that if it was meant to be, the right time would come. 

Besides, the true pleasure came just from being in your presence, to have you lay against his body in the warm sand as you looked out on the sea that separated you in the day, yet also brought you together at night. 

The moon was in the same position in its cycle as the day you met. A bright silver orb in the middle of the universe, much like a pearl found in an oyster. Some nights as Harrison swam across the waters, he pondered what would be the easiest to bring you. A pearl from the deepest and darkest ocean, or the moon. He had asked you the same question, to which you just responded with a gentle laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You do not need to give me anything. We already have each other’s hearts-” at this, you paused for a second. “Don’t we?” 

“You have had mine in your hands since the day our eyes met.” He confessed, kissing the palm of your hand. A warm feeling burst through you. 

“And so you have had mine,” you replied. Your eyes were still on your hand, on the place where his lips had met your skin. Your other hand reached out for it, tracing your palm with a feather-light touch. It felt warm. 

You felt his eyes on you, and when you looked up, the light blue shine was the first thing you saw. Bright, full of life, of love. How such a cold colour still held so much warmth within itself, it perplexed you. You felt yourself leaning in closer, in a trance with not only his eyes but with all of him. You needed to be closer to him. You needed to- 

And so, your lips met his in a soft touch that translated all your feelings and unsaid thoughts in mere seconds. His lips were soft, but salty, most likely because of the water he had been swimming in for all these weeks. The kiss grew stronger, more passionate. He reached out to touch your hip. It was one of the gentlest of touches. You responded to it with letting your hand trace through his hair, almost brushing it. It was still wet, and your fingers simply sailed over the locks. 

Harrison savoured every second of this, not knowing which would be the last. The idea of not touching you was absurd now, to not be able to kiss you anymore. If the gods were ever in his favour, they would have let him stay like this with you forever. 

But when did the Olympians ever let such things happen for mortals like him or you? The need for air, how unimportant it felt in the moment, was bubbling up in your lungs. Growing until it burned. You pulled away with a gasp. It was dark, but you could see the tint of redness across his cheeks. When you touched it, it was as hot as you felt. 

“You are divine, do you know that?” He said with a small smile, which he could not hide even if he tried. 

“I might have heard it in passing conversation.” You said, not able to pull your gaze away from his lips. They just looked so inviting. And now that you had had that first taste, nothing else seemed to matter. “But I must say that you, yourself, are… exquisite.” 

“How so?”

“I could not describe it if I tried, but it is so. Please, believe me.” You sat up straight. “I have had days in which I doubted if you were even real. A man like you could not be just a man.”

“I shall have to disappoint you, my love, for I really am just me.” He chuckled with his shoulders. You shook your head, however. 

“No, it is no disappointment. It- it is...” Not being able to find the words, you looked out at sea in the hopes to find your answers in the waves. You were so focused that you missed the look of pure adoration that Harrison was giving you.

“Perfection?” he said under his breath. 

“Yes!” you turned back to him, grabbing his hand to kiss his knuckles. 

The next moment went beyond comprehension because suddenly you found yourself enveloped in his arms. He had pulled you closer to him. He was now the one to press his lips against yours in a kiss. This one was more urgent, feverish, hungry. But also quick. The parting felt messy, and you were left stunned. Not by his actions. By your own internal reaction. Your body had surrendered to Harrison, and nothing seemed to matter anymore. You needed him. 

But the sun was already rising, and you both knew what this meant. It was time for him to go. With one last kiss goodbye, Harrison got up like all the nights before disappeared in the waves.

The saltiness of the water did not matter to him, for the only taste on his lips that he cared about was you. It was an indescribable sweetness to it. A softness that he would never forget. That feeling and the moment of your lips touching for the first time replayed in his mind all the way back home, and it continued on in his dream. However sweet the dream was, he did not want it to last forever, since reality felt much better now that you were a part of it.

And so, the next morning he woke up. The energy in him surprised even his mother, who had not seen him that full of life in a long time. 

The energy also came to fair use out in the open field, where Harrison’s father was waiting for him like any other day. Maybe it was because Harrison had so much energy in him, perhaps his father had somehow found out that he was escaping the premises each night to cross the treacherous waters, but the training was more brutal than ever. It left Harrison bruised and sore. He could barely move his arms. But it would not stop him from seeing you again. Nothing would.

What he had not realised was that during his daily battle, the armlet from the Lord of the Sea received irreplaceable damage. Holding on to its last strings, so to say, Harrison did not notice it needed repair for the rest of that day. And when he reached the water like every night before, the bracelet dispersed, melting into the water. Unbeknownst to Harrison, he had lost all his security in the sea. 

He swam like any other night, however. The waters were calm and felt warmer as a result of the sun starting to shine longer and longer. 

But the deeper into the sea he went, the harsher the current became. It pushed him off course. Confused, he looked over at his arm and in that instant it all made sense. The bracelet, his protection, had been broken. Nothing was stopping the wrath of Poseidon to take him now. He hoped that for one night, the god would not see it necessary to use his powers. That hope quickly vanished.

No matter how hard Harrison pushed himself, he could not pass the heavy current. He quickly found himself being swept away with the water. A wave fell upon him. It hit him upfront. The steel-like impact made it even harder to concentrate on staying afloat, above water. With his arms still hurting from the earlier training session, the task felt impossible. Though he kept trying. And trying. 

No matter how hard he tried, with the current and the waves, any attempt of survival seemed futile. He didn’t know how long he tried to fight his exhaustion, but eventually, there was nothing he could do. He had been pulled miles away, most likely. There was no way back. And the further into the waters he moved, the colder and harsher it became. It was getting worse. There was no point anymore. His body was on hellish fire. His bones burned while his skin froze. His vision blurred with each hit of water he received.

He closed them, immediately your face appeared in front of him. It did not matter that it was only but an illusion in his mind. You were there with him. You reached out for his face. Your voice was a soft echo in the back of his mind. 

“It is alright,” you said. A sad, but proud, smile twinkled on your face, “You can stop now.” But Harrison did not want to stop. He tried to push himself up to the surface again. One final bite of air filled his lungs before another wave emerged. It was done. His body had given up the fight. He still saw you. The ghost of your lips pressed against him, but it didn’t feel the same. It was cold. There was none of that softness anymore, it was all gone. 

But it was alright, he thought. You were here with him. In his heart, in his mind. You always would be.

As he sank down deeper into the darkness, he felt no pain. No sadness. No remorse. The time he had spent with you was the greatest he had had. For once he felt like there was more to him than what he had been told in his childhood. There was more to life than war. There was love. You gave him that. You had given him a purpose. Something worth living and dying for.

Like any night, you had watched the sea from your window. You saw how the storm had brewed. You saw the battle between the currents. And so, when that evening Harrison had not come up to shore, your mind held nothing but fear in it. But you held hope. Maybe he had seen the dangers in the waters and decided to wait. Maybe he was still at home. Watching the sea from across the other side, thinking of you like you did of him. 

You held those hopes for every night since. Hope that he would emerge from between the waters and kiss you like he had once. You didn’t dare to think that he was not here anymore. From that night on, life had become hard to live. Nothing felt the same anymore. Nothing felt right. 

Was this a punishment from your goddess? For breaking your vow? But then, why had he been the one doomed to die? Except, it wasn’t really his punishment, was it? You were the one left to suffer his loss now.

And part of you died too that night. For Harrison still held your heart in his hands, and so when he passed on to the kingdom of Hades, your heart, and with it a part of your soul, went with him. 

The End

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed

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>masterlist and link to taglist in bio

tagging:

@definitely-not-black-cat @artemisiaarm @nerdyhockeygirl @miraclesoflove @justasmisunderstoodasloki @thefridgeismybestie @m19friend @creative-happenings @parker-holland-osterfield @fanficparker @fanficscuziranout @peterparkoure @xxtomxo @happywolves81 @captainbuckyy @tra-gicx @qxeen-of-hearts @varshavisuu @kangaroobunny @petersunderoos96  @the-lost-fairy-tale @nerd-domland @sleepybesson @rissa067 @the-queen-procrastinator @scarletteclipze @screeching-student-unknown @lonelyavenger @tomhollanders2013 @miraclesoflove @playinonaloop @queenoflostspirits @roses-hxlland @hereiamhereigo @sunnydays0803 @averyfosterthoughts @moorehollandplz @beiroviski @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @peterparkerbabyyy @multifandomlover21 @lmaotshollandd @badbitchydecisions @tikapollak @awesomehritz @madzleigh01 @oh-what a beautiful-parker @taciturnspidey @quaksonhehe @mountainsforwords @harryfobter @peepeeparkerr @viagracex @ethereal-beauty-p  @slytherin-chaser @worldoftom @moonysoftt @peeterparkr @wazzupmrstark @saintlavrents @peachybloomss @blissfulparker  @fallinfortom @sarcasticallywitty15​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @hollandstea​ @musicalkeys​ @bitchydecisions​ @okokimfreakingoutahh @sheranatic111​ @zspideyy​ @itstaskeen​ @theliterarymess​ @geminiparkers​ 

[widevibratobitch]

Top 5 opera lyrics

tagged by @revedebeatrice - thank you! this is a good one! It's all in Italian, sorry. Gotta restrain myself from making it all Don Carlo quotes. Having said this (in no particular order):

Carlo del Re, suo genitore, rinchiuso il cor ognor trovò, eppur non so chi dell'amore saria più degno, ah, inver nol so. // Rodrigo from Verdi's Don Carlo.

There's something about this quote that has always touched and moved something deep inside my heart. It's just - isn't this one of the most beautiful things you could say about another person? That you do not know who on earth could be worthier of love than them? It's amazing. And the context he says it in - this is the only moment Rodrigo and Elisabetta get when they're speaking directly to each other. The opera doesn't have their big confrontation scene from the play, and yet this little part does remind me of that scene a little bit. The way Posa loves Carlo so much, that he just. accepts that he is not the one Carlo really wants to be loved by, and his heart may break, but he will do what he can to ensure that Carlo be loved anyway - because in his eyes, Carlo is the person that is The Worthiest of being loved, like jesus fuck, man, this bitch gay and in love and I'm sorry, I'm probably not being coherent at all but this bit is one of the most beautiful quotes ever and I am so sad that this part is usually cut from the aria.

Perché mai, se in pianto e in pene per me tutto si cangiò, la memoria di quel bene dal mio sen non trapassò? // la Contessa from Mozart's Le nozze di Figaro.

This moment is so wonderfully bittersweet. Bittersweet is something Mozart does better than any other composer - Mozart will rarely give you a sad, minor-key aria (like eg. Pamina's - which is also beautiful btw). No, Mozart will give you a nice, major-key melody, that will still break your heart into a hundreds pieces BECAUSE of its sweetness, of its tranquil melancholy (another great example of that - Sesto's tanto affanno soffre un core ne si muore di dolor). There is no real sadness without joy preceding it, no sense of loss without first having something you cherished and loved. And that quote, the character of the Countess, is a testament to that - chapeau bas, Da Ponte (and Boucher, i guess), chapeau bas. This entire situation wouldn't hurt her half as badly, if she didn't still remember the times when her husband loved her, when she was his entire world, when they were happy together - maybe she would be happier now if she were able to forget all that. Idk, this character, and this moment in particular, always kinda reminded me of my mom, so maybe that's why it speaks to me on a personal level.

Vivan le femmine, viva il buon vino - sostegno e gloria d'umanità! // Don Giovanni from Mozart's Don Giovanni (duh).

This is simply my life motto ok. Also, this is the moment in the opera when Don Giovanni really seals his fate, imo. The statue comes in to punish him, but Elvira comes to save him. And he rejects her (but also, yay, women and wine - same, Giovanni).

-O Leporello mio, va tutto bene! -O Don Giovannino mio, va tutto male! //from Mozart's Don Giovanni.

Just. Mood. I love all their recitatives so much, but this one is truly iconic lol Da Ponte was a genius.

-Posso il figlio immolar al mondo, io, cristian? -Per riscattarci Iddio il suo sacrificò. (...) -La natura, l'amor, tacer potranno in me? -Tutto tacer dovrà per esaltar la fé. //Filippo II and il Grande Inquisitor from Verdi's Don Carlo

The entire duet is amazing (the entire opera!!!!! but i cant put the entire opera here). But this part - I don't think any comment is needed. This is what religion does when the authority is given to the right (wrong) people. This whole duet is just a terrifying display of all that.

----

Tagging @solraneth @lessthansix @tornaloadir @carlodivarga-s @babinicz <33

Honourable Mentions(tm) under the cut, because I have lots of feelings but don't want to bother you all even more, I'm nice like that <33

Honourable mentions:

Paghiam, o femmine, d'ugual moneta questa malefica razza indiscreta. Amiam per comodo, per vanità! - Despina is a feminist icon, we stan. Girl really said 'go out, be a slut, #kill all men'. No, honestly, I love Despina.

Ogni donna cangiar di colore, ogni donna mi fa palpitar! - yeah, Cherubino just gets it <3 Women are amazing.

Gran Dio! Morir sì giovane... - this entire outburst of Violetta's from La Traviata. I could talk about Violetta for hours, because La Traviata is in no way a boring love story, I'd say it is not even really a love story at all. And I love how righteously furious she gets here and how she just shouts all this in God's face - she feels betrayed, and lied to, and deceived, she was promised a reward for this noble sacrifice and instead she gets the worst punishment possible - to die when a happy ending is just at an arm's reach. Just how cruel is that?

and we're back to Don Carlo, sorry not sorry. Literally everything Carlo and Rodrigo say to each other; from Tu soffri - già per me l'universo dispar! and Vien, presso a me il tuo cor più forte avrai! to Del mio cor sei la speranza. Questo cor che sì t'amo a te chiudere non so, in te riposi ogni fidanza. Io m'abbandono a te. / etc. like jesus, boys, get a room.

Restate. just.... Restate. I have many feeling about Restate.

Il cor ha un sol desir - la pace dell'avel. Yeah.

Ah, di me non ti scordar! - this is just. I don't know, but this one thing hits me especially hard in this heartbreaking scene. Let's talk about Rodrigo's martyr complex. Can we talk about Rodrigo's martyr complex? Please, I'm dying to talk about Rodrigo's martyr complex all day! Yeah, he sacrifices himself for Carlo but... Is it really all that selfless? Is it? *slides a physical copy of Schiller's play (opened on the last page of Posa's big scene with Elisabeth) in your direction across the table* Is it??????

The goddamn Lacrimosa.

ughhh there's so many other quotes i like but shut upppp ok it's way too long as it is, nobody cares, bye, that's it. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[monotonous-minutia]

gonna go ahead and ask some of the same questions you asked me:

some of your favorite new-to-you operas from this year;

some of your favorite new-to-you productions of new-to-you operas this year;

some of your favorite new-to-you productions of not-new-to-you operas this year;

and any other cool new operatic things from this year!

thanks for the ask and happy new year!!!

I feel like this year was actually three years so I hope I'm not forgetting anything from this year and placing it in a different year instead...

some of my favorite new-to-me operas from this year:

Dorilla in Tempe!!!! immediately became one of my favorite operas ever. Stumbled upon it pretty much by accident and fell irreversibly in love. I listen to it all the time now, so many tracks made my Spotify top 100, 4 made my top 10 and 3 made my top 5 XD

Giulio Cesare for sure, it might have actually been the first new opera I watched this year. it's a little long-winded but worth it for all the iconic bops. and my poor sweet Sesto <3

that one part of The Stonewall Operas that I saw; still haven't seen them all but I really loved the part I did. (going to finish it some day hopefully!)

L'incoronazione di Poppea, it took me way too long to get to this one and I'm so happy that I did bc that last duet is one of my favorite things ever like truly music of the gods holy heck.

Lucio Silla was a fun discovery because of the Gayness but also because I can't stop thinking of it as Clemenza's evil twin and that's so funny to me.

Theodora!! idk if it counts bc of the format but it was so good I'm putting it on here.

Artemesia was gorgeous and chilling and I loved it.

L'Étoile!! it’s not every day the trouser role is the protagonist and main love interest (although you may notice a pattern in the operas I tend to watch...) plus it’s just such a fun time and the characters are so unique.

La colombe, still have yet to watch a filmed production but I listened to it and it’s such a cute fun little piece.

La fanciulla del West!! I did not expect to love it as much as I did, idk why; Puccini’s not high on my list of favorite composers so I tend to neglect him, but I’m so glad I saw this one. surprise happy ending, wonderful characters, and iconic poor naming choices.

Stiffelio <3

some of my favorite new-to-me productions of new-to-me operas this year:

the Wexford/Fenice Dorilla is phenomenal, sooo pretty and fun and GAY. and literally every other production out there (not that there are many) is invalid bc all the mezzo bois are replaced with tenors. not even countertenors, just tenors. blasphemy. genderfluid baroque bois should not be tenors.

as far as Giulio Cesare goes there's really only one production I could actually sit through the whole thing, and that was the Glyndebourne/Met McVicar one (I have thoughts about a lot of this guy's work but I did like the portrayal of the characters in this one, except Cornelia, fuck her tbh)

speaking of Glyndebourne their Poppea is pretty good too, a bit creepy at parts but the vibe is just. aesthetic. matches the music impeccably imo. also those ladies *heart eyes*

some of my favorite new-to-me productions of not-new-to-me operas this year:

The new Zürich and Hamburg Hoffmanns!! I love them both so much, the edits were really interesting and the productions were both funky and cool and sooo gay. And the cast for the Hamburg one was TOP NOTCH.

also the Théâtre Antique d'Orange 2000 one, Kirchschlager is so cute as Nicklausse and it was a blessing after the Salzburg travesty.

the Canada 1979 Cendrillon was magical and adorable. and gay. I wish the image quality was better and it didn’t end halfway through the last act, but I love it nonetheless.

the Salzburg 1991 Nozze. do NOT confuse this one with any of the other Salzburg ones I saw, some of which just didn’t vibe with me and some that are Objectively Bad. this one is pretty straightforward and nice and it has SUSANNE MENTZER as Cherubino so automatic 100/10 for her.

the Met’s 2017 Rusalka. I loved it almost as much as the 2014 one. both have great casts. this one was a little spookier which was cool to see.

the Madrid 2016 Norma. very pretty and quite gay.

other cool operatic things from this year!

I found a lot more Susanne Mentzer on Spotify, which was so great and she was one of my top artists this year.

I was in the top 0.2% of Ann Murray’s listeners for the second year in a row, probably because I am obsessed with her Nicklausse and her baroque album.

I did not reach my goal of hitting 50 Hoffmann productions, but I’m pretty close.

I’m very happy with how the Operablr Women’s History Month and Pride Month projects went :) 

overall I don’t think I discovered as many operas this year as last year, more so got hooked on a couple and explored them incessantly. not saying one thing is better than another. I wanted to get more operas checked off my to-watch list though. hopefully next year will be a bit less hectic as I won’t spend two months moving and will hopefully not have as many laptop issues. and it will be my first full year without school in 20 years!!

anyway, opera-wise it was a pretty good year. once again opera and operablr helped me keep my sanity during these trying times <3

[mirandagoing4baroque]

Agrippina at the Met

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away, back in the before times, I traveled to New York to see Agrippina. I saw the last production in the show’s run, and one of the last operas performed at the Met this year. I returned from that trip on March 9 and entered social distancing March 13, when the guidance came out that people who had been to New York should self-quarantine. I say the above partially as an excuse for why this review is so late, and partially for some context. Agrippina was supposed to be the highlight of my season this year. Instead it was the end.

My father and I bought our tickets for Agrippina as soon as they went on sale, over a year before the night we intended to attend the show. The plans were made, the train tickets to New York booked, the arrangements to stay with friends made. Dinner reservations made. A week before the appointed hour, we got a text from our friend “are you still planning to come? People here are freaking out about the coronavirus.” We talked it over, and determined that if the opera was on, we would go. The opera was on, so we went.

After a lovely dinner at an Italian restaurant (also my last meal in a restaurant) on the way to Lincoln Center, we made our way to the opera house. Both my father and I had been to the Met before (I had a particularly memorable trip to see La Donna Del Lago), but we had never been together. We took a tour around the various levels, admiring the history and art, before taking our seats. The curtin was bedecked with a giant painting of a wolf with engorged teats, upon which two human infants were suckling. It was clearly a depiction of the twins and the founding of Rome. 

For you see Agrippina is a story of Agrippina the Younger and her attempts to get her son Nero (in this opera called Nerone), on the throne of Rome. I usually try to race through these, but when there's a lot of distance to cover, there's only so fast you can go. The story begins, she has just received word that her husband the emperor Claudius (here Claudio) has been drowned at sea. She plots to seize the opening to have her son named emperor by popular acclaim. The senate consents and Agrippina and Nero begin to ascend the steps to the throne, but this is only like half an hour into this opera, so there’s no way this is going to work. And sure enough, before they reach their (well Agrippina’s, Nerone is a little more conflicted) goal, a messenger arrives saying that Claudio has survived, saved by the general Otho. The two men arrive in the city and everyone except Agrippina rejoices. 

It is announced that Claudio has named Otho his heir. Agrippina is furious. But then Otho lets it slip to Agrippina that he loves Poppea and cares more for her than the throne. Agrippina uses this info to manipulate Poppea into rejecting Otho, by telling Poppea that Otho gave her up in exchange for the throne. You see Claudio also loves Poppea, though unlike Otho, his love is not reciprocated. Agrippina further tells Poppea that she can get revenge by telling Claudio that she can’t see him anymore because Otho said so. Claudio storms off in a huff. I swear I am trying to do this quickly; I’ve cut several subplots already.  Otho’s coronation day arrives. Claudio, angry about the Poppea thing, disavows Otho. One by one, all the other characters turn their backs on him. He despairs. 

Poppea is moved by the despair and wonders if her beloved might be innocent. She sets up a trap, and discovers Otho’s innocence. Agrippina convinces Claudio that Otho is still plotting against him, and implores Claudio to abdicate in favor of Nerone for the Emperor’s own safety. Nerone declares his love for Poppea because why the hell not. In a scene in which three people (Nerone, Claudio, Otho) are hidden in the closets of her bedroom, Poppea rejects Nerone, and convinces Claudio that Otho is not plotting against him. Nerone, in a fit of rage forswears romantic love in favor of political ambition. Claudio calls everyone together and announces that the throne will go to Otho and Poppea will wed Nerone. Everyone freaks out, as this is the opposite of what everyone wants. Claudio changes his mind. The end. (Deep breath).

Agrippina was the first major operatic work that Handel wrote, and it definitely shows. I mean, that plot, am I right? But there is a lot to like, musically, here. The orchestra was excellent, though frequent readers of this blog will not be surprised that I lament the lack of period instruments. But Harry Bicket can do no wrong stylistically and the orchestra acquitted themselves admirably. I found the second act much stronger than the first. I think this is just that the first act is mostly set up (it takes up more than two thirds of the summary above) and the emotional pay off mostly comes in the back half, which is where Handel can truly shine.

I was a little nervous, because the reviews of this production had been mixed. It appeared that the staging was a “strong flavor” and the reactions had been intense, with some loving the somewhat madcap, updated staging, and others finding it distracting. I was somewhere in the middle. Overall, I think the staging was a value add. The director seemed to be on a mission to see how far he could stretch the original libretto to accommodate new situations. There were times when it worked (turning the racing clouds in Nerone’s final aria to cocaine), and times when it did not (setting Poppea and Otho’s reconciliation in a bar). The secondary mission of the director seemed to be to make things as difficult as possible for the singers, who by and large rose to the challenge with aplomb.  Kate Lindsay was given a particularly hard row to hoe, and my lord she triumphed. 

The cast not only surmounted the acting challenges laid before them, they were all quite capable vocally.  As I have mentioned before, when it comes to roles originally written for castrati I am generally in the camp of sisters (mezzos) before misters (countertenors). Sorry guys, it’s not personal, some of you are quite lovely. And with respect to the thumb headed henchmen, I would have rather had mezzos in those roles. But Otho was played quite capably by Iestyn Davies. I had the great fortune of hearing him sing Eustazio at the Lyric Opera almost a decade ago, and he was an exceptionally winning Otho. My heart broke for him when he was rejected by all his friends one by one and was left alone. It was one of the most moving moments of the opera for me.  Matthew Rose was a capable Claudio, neither particularly distinguishing himself, nor giving me any cause for complaint.

The true standouts of this production were the women. As you may remember from my trip to the Lyric opera over a year ago, Brenda Rae is not a new name to me. She was a highlight of Ariodante, so I was very much looking forward to her performance as Poppea. Her voice was lovely, but at times seemed too small for the house. I quite enjoyed her interpretation of Poppea though: a savvy, good hearted woman who is doing her best. Hashtag relatable. (Especially in the scene where she eats a whole box of chocolates in an oversized sweater).

I’ll get to Joyce DiDonato in a minute, but you all already know that I’ll think she was awesome. I want to talk about Kate Lindsay. Who took every curveball the director threw at her and said “Yeah I can do that; I can make that awesome.” Her tatted up, bad boy Nerone channeled Beiber, and did coke, and moonwalked up stairs while singing arias. And after all that, when most of us mortals would be curled in a small ball, she sang an aria WHILE HOLDING A PLANK. Sang the aria beautifully, loudly, as if she were standing in her shower. I don’t know what supernatural creature got bored and decided being an opera singer on earth would be fun, but I’m super glad one did. I had heard of Kate Lindsay, but I had not heard her, and, friends, I was missing out. Her voice had pop. It had feeling, it had control, it had everything. She is doing Sesto next season (god willing and the creek don’t rise), and I am ready to cry my eyes out when she sings Cara Speme.

Joyce DiDonato. I don’t have a lot to say I haven’t already said before. To quote Hamilton “Look around, Look around, How lucky we are to be alive right now.” Right now being the time when we have the privilege of hearing Joyce DiDonato sing Handel. I am so, so, grateful to be able to type the following: this was not the best Handel I’ve heard her sing. The role is just not as good as some of the roles in his other operas. But Joyce DiDonato singing Handel is like pizza. It’s just gonna be good. And this was. As always, she had the highlight of the show for me. It wasn’t one of the big showy arias though. It was the small quiet moment Agrippina has with her husband at the very end of the show. She sings:

“Se vuoi pace, oh volto amato, l'odio reo fuga da te!...

“If you want peace, my love, Banish hate from your mind!...

[My best attempt at a translation aided by three years of Latin and Google Translate]

Yes, as per usual, Agrippina is manipulating him. But Joyce DiDonato is such a master, and she paints such a lovely and peaceful image that it’s hard not to want to live there. May everyone who wants such a place be able to find it in these trying times.

[snapchattingnct]

Champagne Giggles

Park Jisung x Reader

Genre: Mafia!au, fluff

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: underage drinking, minor religion mentioned

Notes: This was definitely supposed to be posted early but college started again and I got busy. But here’s my take on the “Champagne Giggles” prompt for @neowritingsnet Summer Writing Fest. It’s not 100% to my complete satisfaction but my sisters urged me to finish and post it so here it is~

Lifting the glass of champagne up his lips, Jisung admired the painting that was held up for display before him. His eyes touched over every inch of the canvas, taking note of each brush stroke and the colors that were carefully blended together. While the colors were much more muted, having had faded away through the many years, the painting was still stunning.  

Many of the people around him gushed and fawned over the artwork but he simply kept quiet as a sudden idea popped into his head. Without a second thought, Jisung pulled out his phone from within is his suit jacket. Pressing the phone to his ear, he continued to casually sip at his champagne, eyes surveying the rest of the art hall. 

On the third ring, a loud voice answered back, “Yah, what do you want?” 

“Have you gotten Mark anything for his birthday yet?” Jisung questioned as he eyed the painting in front of him with a smile. “Because if you haven’t. I think I just found the perfect gift.”

“Ohhhh,” Chenle hummed, interested caught. But then pausing, he asked, “Wait. Aren’t you at that dumb art exhibit in Positano?”

“Yup. It’s not that far of a drive. You’re already in Italy.”

He was met with silence on the other line. Continuing to sip at his champagne, Jisung waited for the information to register. Not long after, he was met with a resounding, ‘ohh’ before it increased in both volume and pitch. Chenle’s words soon became inaudible as he continued to shriek and scream on the other line in excitement. “Oh man, this is going to be so much fun! I’ll see you soon. I knew Positano was a good option. ”

.

Chenle had announced his presence with a hard clap on to Jisung’s back, startling him and nearly making him spill the champagne in his hands. Glaring the boy down, Jisung complained, “Give me a heads up next time when you’re going to do something like that!”

The orange haired boy simply shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Then turning his attention to the painting that Jisung was so invested in, Chenle whistled lowly. “Is that The Last Supper?”

“Nope,” Jisung replied. Then shrugging his shoulders in a similar fashion that the other boy had done before he added, “It’s about the closest you’ll actually get to the original one anyways. The real one would be harder to steal. Since it’s not just a painting but whole drywall that was painted on. Imagine trying to smuggle that out of anywhere.”

“Bummer,” Chenle pouted. 

“Hey, there’s literally only two copies of The Last Supper in the whole world. The important ones anyways. One painted by Cesare de Sesto, but that’s in Switzerland. And then this one, here, painted by Giampietrino.” 

Rolling his eyes, Chenle said, “I came here to help you steal a painting, not get a history lesson on it.”

“Yeah, well at least know what you’re even stealing, Chenle.”

“I came here to steal a painting for Mark’s birthday gift and that’s it’s literally the perfect gift for our Christian boy.” He grinned widely, eyes gleaming with uncontainable excitement. Leaning in closer he whispered, “So what’s the plan? Are two people enough to pull off this heist? Because the last time we tried to pull a heist off with the two of us, it didn’t end too well...”

Groaning at the memory of their failed heist in Austria, Jisung shook his head. “Please don’t remind me. That was one of the most embarrassing fails I’ve ever done in my whole life.”

“Trust me, I feel the same way too. That’s why I’m bringing it up, because I don’t want an incident like that to happen again.”

With a sigh, Jisung nodded. “Well, it would be ideal for there to be another person… but no one else is available. They’re all arriving in Italy tonight…”

Then as if the heavens above had heard their dilemma, someone suddenly came up behind the two of him, silent as a mouse, saying, “I can help.”

.

You watched in amusement as the two boys jumped at the sound of your voice, their eyes blown into saucers as they stared back at you as if they were a deer caught in the headlights. 

Frantically waving his hands in front of him, the taller boy smiled awkwardly, “No, no. It’s okay. You didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh, but I heard everything,” you countered back with a smile. “And I want in.���

“We have no idea what you’re talking about…” The taller boy continued to stutter out. 

“We’re stealing The Last Supper for your friend right? You need a third person for the job and I can be that person.”

Just as the taller boy was about to open his mouth and protest again, the shorter one, countered, “How can we trust you?”

“You can’t,” you smiled back at them in amusement. “Well you can, but knowing you two, you won’t trust me one bit even if I prove my innocence and loyalty to you. But what I can do is buy the two of you some time and give you the blueprint to this entire building, how does that sound?”

You watched as the two of them share a look and a moment of silence passed before the taller one turned around and extended his hand out to you. “Pleasure to work with you. I’m Jisung.”

Wrapping your fingers around his, you gave his hand a small squeeze. “Hmm, I know.”

.

After exchanging the basic pleasantries, the three of you ended up discussing the heist in some empty room of the art exhibit hall. Of course it was closed off to the public and locked but that was nothing too hard for Chenle to pick into. It was a basic lock, nothing fancy. So all that it took to crack it open was using the classic paper clip method. Child’s play, really. 

When the door clicked open, you weren’t even surprised. The moment that you had spotted Jisung hanging around in the art exhibit near The Last Supper for way too long, you figured he was planning something. And it became even more evident that he was full of mischief from the way that he kept glancing around the room, checking every exit and taking in all the securities in the room. Then came Chenle, who was a little too loud for such events like these. And when they huddled together, still standing before the famous replica, you had caught them. 

It was about time that something a little exciting happened around here anyways. You loved art but that didn’t mean that you could stand around all day and watch these paintings and not get bored. The two boys were the perfect distraction that you’ve been wanting all day long to happen.

With the building’s blueprints spread out on the table before them, you all began strategizing their game plan. 

“Okay, there’s a total of three main exits to the gallery room that houses the painting.” You pointed out as your fingers traced the paper. “But there’s also a private back door that only staff or security is allowed to use to leave. And there’s two vents directly above the painting that leads to the back exit.”

Nodding along as you spoke, Jisung commented, “So the vents are going to be our game plan. Where is the entrance and is there any security cameras?”

“The ventilation system is pretty basic, so it just cuts around the whole building in a loop. You can enter where you can exit. So you can use the back exit from the camera room to get in.” You told him. “As for cameras, you don’t have to worry about the main ones. I can handle those. The one that you will need to worry about is the hidden one out back. It’s out of range for me to control. A separate security company handles all of the ones outside.”

“I got it,” Chenle said with a smile, a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

“Then perfect!” Clapping your hands together, you pulled the blueprint from the table and began to roll it back up. “Sounds like an easy heist, no?”

“A piece of cake.”

.

It truly was a piece of a cake. It was way too easy. 

Not to mention, it made the whole job a lot easier since the exhibition hall was now closed for the night with only the hall’s manager and two security guards patrolling.  

It barely took five minutes for you to disable all of security cameras within the building and subbing blank recording over it. And it took Chenle less than five minutes to break past the firewalls and take charge of the cameras outside of the building. 

Giving Jisung and you a thumbs up, Chenle grinned brightly, “Let’s get this.”

Next thing you knew, you were crawling in the hot vents, sweating buckets as Jisung led the way in front of you. Chenle had used his magic and managed to shut down the entire air conditioning system so that you and Jisung could crawl through the vents. But with no air blowing, it was extremely hot and suffocating in the vents. 

You had changed out of your evening dress into a set of spare work clothes you had in your locker, consisting of a pair of black pants and polo shirt. Meanwhile, Jisung didn’t have that kind of luxury and was crawling through the vents still in his suit. How the boy was doing that and still living and breathing? You didn’t have a single clue because it was hot as hell. 

Within your earpiece, you listened as Chenle continued to give you both live updates on any movement in the cameras. “Coast is cleared. When you hit the next section, take the left vent and it’ll lead you directly right above the air vent of The Last Supper.”

“This is as easy as taking candy from a baby.” Jisung muttered in front of you. Then turning around to face you, he asked, “Why don’t you guys have better security around here? I mean you guys are housing some of the world’s most priceless pieces of artwork. You would think security would be more than than two lousy, lanky security guards.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you said, “Couldn’t tell you. I’m just the receptionist here.”

“Also, they really did not do a good background check on you if you’re up here climbing through the vents to help some random strangers steal a piece of artwork.” Jisung smiled before adding, “You’re completely over qualified to be a receptionist.”

“Why thank you. And I say the same thing every time someone argues with me over the prices of our exhibition tickets.” You laughed. 

In the short amount of time that you had met Jisung, you found that he was even more of a sweetheart than expected. He had the cutest nose scrunches and he had the prettiest eyes. Each time that he would smile or laugh, his eyes turned into cute, moon shaped crescents. And it was simply adorable. He was nothing but a stuttering mess at first but the moment he had warmed up to you, he wouldn’t stop talking. Not that you minded anyways. 

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Jisung tapped you on your shoulders, handing you the flashlight as he did so. “Alright, we’re here.”

True to his words, as the both of you looked down through the grate of the vents, you saw the painting in all of its glory. 

Carefully unscrewing the vent’s opening, Jisung lifted it, setting the piece of metal to the side. Then tossing you the rope, he told you, “Hold on tight. I may have eaten a slice of pizza too many before coming here.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you wrapped the rope around your hands and anchored it to the vent. “I’m sure I’ll manage, pizza boy.” 

For a boy his height and statue, Jisung swung down from the vents with ease. He was in his element one hundred percent just as Chenle was when he hacked into the security cameras. 

Jisung was barely halfway down the vent when Chenle’s voiced began yelling in your earpiece. “Oh crap! The manager’s coming back through for some reason! He’s moving from his office and heading in the direction of the exhibit hall. Eta four minutes.”

Yanking on the rope gently, you urged Jisung to move quicker. “You heard Chenle right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jisung waved his hand dismissing your distressed call. “I got this. We’ll be gone before his hand touches the door handle.”

“Well at the rate that you’re going, I don’t know about that.” As the words left your lips, Jisung had already reached the painting. 

Jisung sent you a smug smile over his shoulder as he pulled on the rope, his hands grasping the painting with the sound of Chenle’s frantic talking coming from your earpiece. “You guys need to get out of there asap. The manager is literally twelve steps away from the door.”

Mustering as much strength as you could, you began tugging on the rope, grasping it tightly with both of your hands. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins as your heart thundered within your chest. The thrill was too much and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud in excitement. 

“Oh my gosh, stop laughing and get out of there before he comes in!” Chenle screeched loudly, his breath coming out unevenly in your ears. The poor boy was nearly on the verge of hyperventilating. “Five more steps!”

The both of you were barely able to keep your laughter to a low volume when you finally pulled Jisung back up into the vent and quickly shutting the air vent’s door as you did so. 

.

The moment Jisung opened the vent’s door to the camera room, Chenle was already on his feet and unhooking all the wires from his computer, packing up at the light of speed. Chenle was nothing but a blubbering mess as Jisung helped you down from the vent, along with the painting in hand. 

“They’re outside, right in the back. I completely disabled all the cameras for the next two minutes and thirty six seconds. And we have exactly one minute and forty five seconds before the manager comes barrelling in here to check the tapes once he notices that the painting is gone.” 

Quickly tossing Jisung the screwdriver, Chenle added, “Screw the vent back on. Grab everything and lets go.”

You watched with immense fascination at how fast the two boys cleaned the place up, making it seemed like no one was ever in the room in the first place. Within seconds, the room looked spotless and Jisung grabbed you by the shoulders, pushing you out the door. When the three of you stumbled out the door, a sleek, black limo was already waiting out back. 

There wasn’t much time to fawn over the car as Chenle yanked the door open and ushered you all inside hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder nervously. But the moment that the three of you made it safely inside the limo, stumbling in as a mess of lanky limbs and a huge oil painting, Chenle broke out into a high pitched laugh. Cheering loudly, he banged on the divider and told the driver to take it away. 

Besides you, Jisung couldn’t help but send a huge smile your way before reaching across and giving Chenle a loud high five, the impact echoing in the car. Then sharing a look, the boys made eye contact for a brief moment before they turned their attention to the other person in the car. “Happy belated birthday Mark!”

A young man dressed to the nines in his deep burgundy suit, who was no more than a couple years older than you, shook his head, smiling and said, “You guys are completely unbelievable.” Then passing each of them a flute of champagne, he toasted, “Here’s to another successful heist you wild kiddos.”

[lena-went]

Sesto Senso

                                                     SIXTH SENSE

R: Two days later I kissed him deeply before he reluctantly slid into a cab that would drive him to the airport. I had expressed a desire to take him myself but he didn’t want me driving home alone. I knew this was hard on him but I also knew it was important to take some time away from each other every now and then. Sometimes he would hold me so tightly it was as if he couldn’t bear even the smallest space between us. Boston wasn’t far away and it was only for two days. The event was tonight and he would be back tomorrow evening. I reminded him of this when he called me from the cab a few minutes later. I reassured him that I was fine and was planning on turning in early anyway. We hung up after two or three I love you’s and promises of embraces upon his return.

Back inside the apartment I cleaned a little before settling at my desk to study. I was going to take the New York bar in just two weeks. I was more than anxious. I placed a hand over the growing yet still tiny swell of my stomach and sighed. I hadn’t planned on becoming pregnant at such a turbulent time in my life, but somehow it felt right…I felt whole. With my engagement to Frederick I found myself at peace despite the chaos that had come to surround me. I studied for a couple of hours before showering and heading for bed. It was only 7 pm. I had been falling asleep earlier than usual due to the pregnancy hormones and the long hours I was working at the museum. I put a few drops of lavender essential oil into the diffuser Frederick had ordered online last week. He had become quite the online shopper which was a double edged sword. All his purchases were thoughtful but 90% were unnecessary. I sighed at the cool of the sheets and curled myself around Frederick’s pillow, taking a deep inhale of what remained of his scent. I spoke a soft ‘I love you’ that I hoped would reach him wherever he was and then closed my eyes. I don’t remember falling asleep…but I’ll never forget how I woke up.

Many women say that when you become a mother you develop this sixth sense, this mother bear instinct. And that’s how I woke up. A small voice from the base of my head whispered…”You’re not alone.” My eyes snapped open and I sat up with a start. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark but I could feel a presence long before I saw who it belonged to.

“Hannibal?” I murmured shaking in fear.

“Hello Y/N.” His voice chilled my bones and I felt my newly gifted sense scream for me to run. But I knew, I would never make it far.

CAMBRIDGE, MA.

F: The event was going surprisingly well. Only a few people had heard rumors that I had been accused of being the Chesapeake Ripper. At Harvard little is accepted as fact without substantial concrete evidence. Somehow news of my relationship with Y/N had out-ranked the rumors of murderous activity. I blamed Cliff Daniels. Though the gala had been ages ago Cliff was still very chummy with all the alumni I had tried so hard to distance myself from. Now here I was discussing my book while attempting to keep my mind off of her. No such luck. I imagined her at her desk studying, sipping on her ginger tea while humming to whatever soundtrack she had playing. My fingers twitched around my wine glass as they burned in need for the feel of her skin. I reminded myself with a small huff that I would be back in her arms tomorrow. Multiple people expressed genuine interest in my book and Nicolas Miller, one of my friends from a university study group, had become a patent lawyer in recent years and told me he would help me copyright my manuscript. Hannibal the Cannibal still rung in my ears but I could not tell anyone yet. He had still to be apprehended and it made pain sear through my stomach. Last time I had spoken to Jack Crawford he had seemed certain that the wait was almost over. A large portion of the men attending the event suggested that we go downstairs to the open bar in the old study hall. Somehow I was herded along with them and found myself standing in the dimly lit Victorian style room 10 minutes later.

I was in the middle of reminiscing with a few of my past fellows from the School of Psychiatric Medicine as they recounted tales of Dr. Whitehall, a particularly odd professor, when I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle to attention and my hands turn cold. My jaw suddenly set and all I could think of was her. I raised my arm and moved my sleeve to look at my watch. 9:15. I should call her. I had to call her.

I moved to exit the small circle I was standing in when Cliff Daniels gave me a slap on the shoulder blade.

“You’re not off already are you Fred?” His voice was slightly heavy and slurred, these damn pricks and their liquor.

“I apologize, I need to call my fiancée.” I spoke hurriedly turning away again and reaching for my phone inside my jacket pocket.

“Oh ho ho…the old ball and chain. I never thought I’d tie myself down either. Then again if I had a piece of ass like Y/N I’d be tying her down every night.”

Crunch…thud…gasps…drunken cheers.

Shit.

Apparently all of Cliff Daniels “chums” hated him as much as I did. Cliff had hit the elaborately detailed carpeted floor with a solid thud and now I was receiving pats on the back coupled with sounds of praise. It felt good, but I had no idea where it came from. I always internalized but I never released, save in the form of tears. My knuckles burned and I looked at them to see they were slightly split and bleeding. A few men leaned down to check on Cliff, who was so inebriated that he laughed as he came to. I hated these people. It was as if they had never grown up. I was then pulled into a conversation focused on my work with the FBI and I felt a strange energy flow through my spine. I tried to ignore it and thought of her words. This was good for us…all three of us.

F: It was 5 am when I managed to escape the hordes of drunk men I was surrounded by. I called a cab and arrived back at my hotel within 10 minutes. My flight was at 12. I figured I could squeeze in a few hours of sleep before I had to be at the airport. I quickly set an alarm for 10:30 before I flung myself, clothes and all, onto the hotel bed and shut my eyes.

Hannibal was holding her by the throat and lifting her off the ground with one arm. Her feet dangled helplessly and she looked so small in only her silk nightgown. Her eyes were wide and red. Wordlessly she tried to move her lips that had become tinged dark blue. I heard her voice small and broken in my mind. “Help me Frederick…save us…” Hannibal turned to me expressionlessly before his face contorted in laughter. I tried to move towards them but I was trapped. My limbs were gone, I was nothing. Hannibal’s laughter filled the air swallowing me as I attempted to scream. “Freddy.” She squeaked before going limp. He held her there, her pale body lifeless, the swell of her belly visibly shrinking like a deflating ballon. I felt my soul die and my heart liquidate.

“NO!” I woke with a scream, shooting up in the hotel bed which had become drenched in sweat. I reached for her before remembering where I was. Tears had wet my cheeks and my hands were shaking.

I reached for my phone and fumbled with it as I hastily tried to turn it on. No battery. I had forgotten to plug it in. The bedside clock read 11:15. SHIT SHIT SHIT!

I packed faster than I ever had and flew out the door and into a cab the hotel had waiting. I tried to breathe and calm myself but I could not shake the images of my dream. I had to get home.

14 HOURS EARLIER…

R: “What are you doing here?” I gasped as Hannibal took a step from the shadows moving closer to where I sat upright in bed.

“I apologize for the late hour…I am looking for Frederick and I thought to find him here.” Hannibal’s diction was polite as always but something in his demeanor had changed. He was more raw, more disheveled.

My eyes were more focused now and I could see he was soaked to the bone. I took notice of the heavy patter of rain on my glass windows. He must have climbed in from the balcony. At this moment everything connected and I felt so stupid. It was obvious. Hannibal was the Ripper. A surge of anger filled me for the suffering he had caused Frederick and I felt my eyes darken to match his.

“He’s not here.” I spoke while devising multiple escape plans only to have my common sense throw them out as quickly as I had created them.

“I noticed.” He took another step closer to the bed, his lean and tall figure now only a few feet away.

“What do you want with him?” I could think of nothing else to say and I noticed his mouth form a slight sneer before he answered.

“Frederick’s usefulness has expired.” He turned from me and looked into the night almost thoughtfully but I noticed how he carefully minded me from his peripheral.

His profile was illuminated by the streetlights outside and I noticed a hint of sadness in the corner of his normally emotionless eyes.

“Not to me.”

He chuckled softly yet didn’t look at me. I was glad he didn’t. My eyes darted around the room looking for possible weapons or escapes but I found none. Why tonight? Why now?

“You are a curious woman Y/N. After our first meeting I mused for long hours on how and why you seemed to be so attracted to Frederick. You see, I have never found him particularly interesting…but you…you make me curious.”

“I apologize for the inconveniences your curiosity may have caused you, I can assure you there is little to be discovered about me.” I responded coldly, fighting the panic that had settled beneath my stone demeanor.

“I disagree.” He turned to look at me and I could see drops and pencil thin streams of water fall from his clothes onto the wooden floor.

“Were you not so curious to me I would kill you now and leave your body for Frederick to find when he returns from wherever he has gone.” His face was now inches from mine as he leaned down and raised a large cut up hand to my face where he traced a finger from my brow to my chin. He had abrasions all over his face as well as blood that I assumed was not his own.

Despite his terrifying words I did not flinch. I stared back at him in determination. Determination to live. I could see the outline of my three framed photographs blurred behind him on the wall. I gathered my strength from the love and protection I felt simply from knowing they were observing whatever was happening. Hannibal’s eyes moved back and forth in an effort to read my face. But when he couldn’t he smiled in amusement before dropping his finger from my cheek.

“I have someone waiting for me. And it would be rude to keep her in anticipation.” I could smell metal and sweat mixed with the rich notes of his cologne that still hung to him.

Alana? My heart dropped to my stomach as I thought of her.

“I doubt we will meet again for quite some time.” He lifted my hand to his lips mirroring his actions from my distant memory of the gala. He stood then and walked to back to the balcony doors which were slightly ajar.

“Please inform Frederick that I cannot continue our game until further notice.” As he turned and opened the balcony doors I managed to find my voice.

“Dr. Lecter…Hannibal…is Frederick safe?”

“Is anyone?” And with that he disappeared like smoke in the wind leaving my heart pounding and my ears ringing.

I collapsed back into my headboard and protectively grasped at my lower stomach in an attempt to calm myself. I looked at the clock on Frederick’s bedside table, 9:30 pm. I couldn’t call him. I couldn’t risk somehow leading Hannibal right to him. I rose in a swift motion and locked the balcony doors. Then I swallowed the rise of sickness forming in my throat before taking my phone from its charger and locking myself in the bathroom. What if Hannibal returned? I paced back and forth staring at Frederick’s contact photo and the numbers below it. Frederick would be back tomorrow, it would do no good to scare him like this while he was hours away.

A few hours passed and Lecter hadn’t returned. Still I wouldn’t leave the safety I had found in the bathroom. I laid myself in the dry tub and curled as much as I could in an attempt to gain some warmth but the stark white porcelain was frigid against my skin. I hummed softly to my baby and was calmed by thoughts of holding my child months from now. It was those projections that made my eyes heavy and my heart slow as I fell asleep dreaming of a beautiful future.  

[sciatu]

Palermo - foto di Kristina Felcser

Non esiste una sola solitudine ma tante quante sono le tue anime in una città ad esempio tu puoi contarne almeno sette, sette aridi deserti in cui puoi improvvisamente perderti. Il primo deserto è la città che non ti appartiene e a cui tu non appartieni, sono case in cui non hai nessun affetto, volti che non hanno nessun sorriso, piazze dove non c’è più nessun amore, strade prive di ogni tuo ricordo, persone che non hanno nulla della tua anima, luoghi che ti sono estranei. Tu vaghi cercando un sorriso, un amore, ma nessuna porta si apre, nessun cuore si specchia nel tuo, nessuna casa è quella che chiamare come la tua casa Il secondo deserto è l’indifferenza di chi ti circonda che non ti parla o non ascolta, che non promette e non dona, quasi tu fossi un assassino appena scarcerato, un nemico, il male, un problema, una colpa che mai hai avuto ma che ognuno ti rinfaccia con la sua indifferenza, con la sua fretta, con il suo ignorarti Il terzo deserto è quando ti rendono diverso perché hai una valigia o perché non ne hai nessuna o hai un’altra pelle o non conosci la lingua o ami una persona che non è quella che gli altri dicono d’amare, perché non preghi come dovresti, o hai un permesso di soggiorno, o vieni da un altro luogo distante uno o mille chilometri, ma distante. Diventi un pesce che cammina in un parco, un usignolo che canta in fondo al mare, tutti ti indicano e ti evitano perché loro ti vedono diverso e così ti rendono diverso. Il quarto deserto è quando lei ti lascia e dove vivevi felice trovi solo silenzio e rovine; o quando vorresti amare e nessuno vuole il tuo amore e allora soffri per la fame, la sete di qualcosa che nessuno vede ma che per te è li, un enorme distesa infinita in cui muori dissanguato dagli affetti non avuti, senza che nessuno sappia fermarne l’emorragia donandoti ancora passione e illusioni, rispondendo alle tue email di notte, chiamandoti per uscire quando non hai nessuno nel tuo cuore. Il quinto deserto quando ti parlando e tu non rispondi, quando ti guardano e tu non ti fai vedere, quando ti cercano e tu ti nascondi, perché non hai più speranze, desideri e ti rinchiudi in un angolo senza voler aspettare e donare e dire quanto ti manca, quello che ti serve o quello che ti farebbe uscire dal nulla in cui ti sei nascosto. Così ti crei sogni che non esistono, amori blasfemi, una vita sintetica in cui morire normalmente e lentamente Il sesto deserto è quello di quando sei malato e tutto quello che accade è solo sofferenza, dipendenza da altri, da chi ti deve sopportare o accettare, ed ogni gesto è dolore e ogni azione deve essere fatta pensandoci mille volte, soffrendo mille volte, e ti senti solo un pezzo di carne o un corpo che imprigiona un’anima. che vorrebbe vivere come tutti gli altri e non su un letto, su una carrozzina o attaccato ad una macchina Il settimo deserto è quello di quando sei vecchio ed il mondo si muove più velocemente di te tanto che non lo capisci, non gli appartieni, non gli servi e di tutto l’amore che conosci, le storie che hai sentito, di tutte le poesie che hai scritto, o degli occhi che hai visto a nessuno importa niente, perché non sei, non dai, non puoi, non crei, non vivi, sei solo un peso organico, una speranza già morta. Almeno Sette sono i deserti in cui la tua anima può perdersi in città, ognuno ha il suo e molti ne hanno più di uno perché quando ti perdi ogni tua anima si perde.

In a city there is not only one loneliness but how many are your souls, for example you can count at least seven, seven deserted arid where you can suddenly lose. The first desert is the city you do not belong to and you do not belong to, you are homes where you have no affection, faces that have no smile, squares where there is no love anymore, roads devoid of all your memory, people who have nothing in your soul, places that are strange to you. You are looking for a smile, a love, but no door opens, no heart is mirrored in yours, no home is what you call as your home The second desert is the indifference of those around you who do not talk or listen to you, who does not promise and donate, as if you were a recently released assassin, an enemy, an evil, a problem, a blame you never had that each one refreshes with his indifference, in his hurry, with his ignorance The third desert is when they make you different because you have a travel bag or because you do not have one or you have another skin or you do not know the language or you love someone who is not what other people say you have to love, why not pray as you should, or you have a residence permit, or come from another town one mile or thousand miles away, but away. You become a fish walking in a park, a nightingale singing at the bottom of the sea, everyone is pointing to you and avoiding you because they see you different and so they make you different. The fourth desert is when she leaves you and where you lived happy you find only silence and ruins; or when you want to love and nobody wants your love, and then you suffer from hunger, thirst for something that nobody sees, but for you there is a huge infinite expanse in which you dies bleeding from untoward affections without anyone knowing to stop this hemorrhage, someone that could still giving you passion and illusions, answering your email at night, calling you to get out when you have no one in your heart. The fifth desert is when you talk and you do not answer when they look at you and you do not show, when they are looking for you and you hide because you have no hope, wishes and lock you in a corner without waiting and giving and saying how much you miss, what you need or what will make you get out of nothing you've been hiding. So you create dreams that do not exist, blasphemous love, a synthetic life in which to die normally and slowly The sixth desert is when you are sick and everything that happens is just suffering, your life is depending from others, who you have to endure or accept, and every gesture is pain and every action must be done thinking a thousand times, suffering a thousand times, and you feel your self as a piece of meat or a body imprisoning a soul. When you would like to live like everyone else and not on a bed, on a wheelchair, or attached to some medical equipment. The seventh desert is when you are old and the world moves faster than you and  do not understand it, you do not belong to it, nobody is taking care about all the love you know, the stories you have heard, of all the poems that you have written and all the eyes you saw no matter to anyone, because you are not, you do not give, you cannot do, you cannot create, not alive, you are just an organic weight, a hope already dead. At least Seven are the deserts where your soul can get lost in the city, each has its own and many have more than one because when you lose yourself, you lose all your souls.

[supercbyputera-blog]

Hello everyone and welcome back to another post in Supercars By Putera! This week on this blog features a very special Supercar.. A proper supercar. Italian-made, born in a city called Sant’Agata Bolognese, Italy which famously known to everyone as Lamborghini. Lot A supercar maker and manufacturer company that took years and years of Research and Development to produce its Supercars to the public, a supercar brand that started off as a tractor maker in the agriculture industry. After its opinion being declined and ignored by another supercar maker, Ferrari, the founder and owner named, Ferrucio Lamborghini sold his tractor making business and he dive into the world of supercar maker and manufacturer under his own brand name, Lamborghini to compete with its immediate rival, Ferrari. While competing in local track races, Lamborghini started making its name in the Automotive industry and soon after, Lamborghini brand are as famous as Ferrari. Over the years, Lamborghini takes it slow in producing its new models into production as the supercar maker wants to ensure that their supercar are different, stylish and yet not losing any of the traits of a supercar in its DNA.

Being in the Automotive industry, it’s all about making its own identity and being visible to the public especially to its immediate competitor. The company has created many models of its supercar and some of it are as follows:- Automobili Ferrucio Lamborghini S.p.A produces 350 GT, 400 GT, Miura, Espada, Islero, Jarama, Urraco, Countach, Silhoutte Jalpa, Diablo, Murcielago, Gallardo, Reventon, Sesto-Elemento,, Egoista, Veneno(Concept Car). Currently in production are Aventador, Huracan and limited edition Centenario. In this post, Supercars By Putera received a special call from Moga Motors Sdn Bhd to rush to the showroom and take a look at the Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4 in their showroom.. This supercar worth MYR1.6 Million Ringgit sure is a heartthrob to anyone! I just couldn’t resist on such an amazing call to work I had today!!

 This amazing V10 5.2 Litre 610 horsepower Engine with 7 speed Dual-clutch transmission. Carbon ceramic brake system installed! The top speed of this beast is a whopping 325 km/h sure is a wonderful sight to see on the road especially the colour of this Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4 Coupe is Arancio Borealis or in Queen’s English is simply “Orange”.. 😉 Fully assembled from the factory in Italy, I do love to look at it. Huracan (pronounced “Hurakan”) came from a Spanish word mean hurricane. The name was inspired by a Spanish fighting bull which Lamborghini loves to take this kind of names to their supercars. Huracan was a bull’s name that known for its courage that fought furiously in 1879. This model of Lamborghini is meant to replace its predecessor of top sales and most produced car, the Lamborghini Gallardo. A brief history of this supercar, the Huracan made its debut in an auto show in March 2014 at the Geneva Auto Show 2014. The tv show Top Gear named the Lamborghini Huracan as “The Supercar of the Year 2014”. Now, that will be sufficient for its brief history, let’s move on.

My experience with the Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4

It is quite a big moment for Supercars by Putera to receive a call from Moga Motors Sdn Bhd and to be asked to review the magnificent supercar. Straight-away I said “Yes!! Upon arriving at the showroom, I couldn’t miss the orange-coloured or Arancio Borealis from the side of the road. The colour of the supercar was so bright to the eyes! Wow! A very delicate and well done paint-job from Italy! Upon arrival, I can see the car from afar and you exactly know what model of the Lamborghini! Oh wow, I almost drool over the floor by just looking at the car. After I turned and parked my car inside of the showroom parking space, I have to calm myself down as I am too excited let alone seeing the supercar from my car’s windshield. So, I grabbed my camera, stepped out of my car and walked towards the orange beast!

The minute I walked towards the orange beast, they handed to me the Lambo’s keys!! Just like that! Ka-pow!! Booom! I didn’t even stand aside the lambo yet though. Wow! The keyless fob to the Lamborghini Huracan are solid, and easy to understand 3 buttons keys. I suppose the supercar makers are making the keys solid and sturdy feeling but keeping it simple enough to operate it. Even the Merc’s, GTR’s and Range Rover’s keys are simple to operate too(Which I reviewed them earlier, do check them out as well!).. With the keys in hand which I gave a good 3 minutes to have a look at them, I stepped forward to have a look at the orange beast.

With the keys in hand, I unlocked the beast and opened its doors.. The door handles are automatically ejected out a bit of its place to make it easy for people to open the doors. Wow! The Nissan GTR has a similar door handle design, its just that it would not automatically ejects itself like the Huracan did. Opening the large and heavy driver’s door, the smell!! Ooohhh, the fresh new car smell let alone the smell of the Lamborghini Ad Personam Italian leather hand-stitched assembled by the factory themselves! Wow! My camera snaps away the pictures! (Have a look at the pics at the end of this post!) Once I calmed down (again!), I want to seat inside the car.. Since the car can be considered as a low slung car, (plus, I am quite a big sized person as well) the sequence must be right! If not, my head will stuck at the entry process. Luckily, I have some time to experiment this sequence though! So, the sequence was, I put my left feet inside the car, on my knees a bit, straighten my left feet, slowly slide my back into the supercar’s leather hand-stitched Ad Personam bucket seat, retract my right feet and fold in the supercar. Fit and snug! Then I realised, in front of me, is the cool steering wheel with the Lamborghini emblem! If you’ve been following my blog and read all the previous posts, you do know one thing about me when it comes sitting inside the supercars.. The buttons! The gadgets! Ohhh.. Lamborghini has lots and lots of buttons! They are fancy buttons too I might add! Wow!! Looking at the buttons alone, they do want to make me cry! It is so beautiful, shiny, modern(well, 40% of the buttons are adopted back from the Gallardo model, but to me, it is still modern!) The buttons on the steering wheel alone covers lots of entertainment controls but the special red button at the bottom of the steering was the drive modes! Wow! There’s strada, sport and corsa modes!

Strada Mode

If you are going to use the Lamborghini Huracan as your daily driving vehicle, this mode is suitable for it. The suspension is more to comfort mode, steering settings are normal and the engine is not punching much power. Overall experience in this mode are relaxed and to enjoy the roaring sound of the engine still. It does offers exhaust blow-offs even when revving the engine in stationary! Cool!! Going on a date? Well, this supercar and this mode selection, magnifique!

Sport Mode

Every now and then, we do want to unleash the power of the V10 and 610 horsepower, right? Flick the red switch to engage sport mode and hold on to your seat! It is going to be loud and accelerates faster than the strada mode!

Corsa Mode

In the mood for adrenaline-rush speedy accelerations, stiff steering and track-ready suspensions? Flick the red switch to corsa mode and let the car engages with all electronics and hardware to make the drive experience different then ever before! This is the track mode. Engaging this mode on the highway? Be sure to avoid the potholes and enjoy the ride! Power punching from the back of the seats sure gave us the feeling of a race car driver! Wow!

  Continue on with the rest of the experience with the Lamborghini Huracan

Moving on with other aspects of the Lambo, the center console of the Lambo is to die for! Immediately, we can spot the striking red button push-to-start missile launching-like engine button to wake the V10 beast! Ooohhh so sexy! Just flick the red cover and push the start button! Revving the engine to 6000 rpm assures the engines will produce the crackling sound at the exhaust!!! Wow!! You have to get used to its loud and bold sounds in order to drive this supercar on the road. Mind you, it is not for the faint heart-ed however if you have a racing DNA in your blood or simply love the Lamborghini brand and the Huracan fits your budget, why not?

Unlike in most supercars, the infotainment/entertainment system are not located at the center console, it is located at the digital speedometer! The digital speedometer acts as a screen for showing the speed, RPM, reverse camera screen, bluetooth connectivity, GPS, Radio, remaining fuel and many other functions..

Unfortunately, this is only the review of the Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4 Coupe. Usually, i will describe my experience on the test drive part but that did not happen though.

Before I end my write-up of the Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4 Coupe, I would like to dedicate my thanks to the one and only, Moga Motors Sdn Bhd, Jalan Ampang, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia for letting me review the amazing supercar. To all my loyal readers, thank you for your time by reading this post from the beginning until the end, I hope it will help you by giving the insights and how it feels like to drive it. Do come back to read on the test drive of the Lambo soon!

Before you go, do have a look at the pictures of the V10 beast!

Cost Of Lamborghini Huracan Key In USA – 2017 Car Wallpapers

  As promised, here is the drone footage!

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Keyword: Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4, Supercar, Supercars By Putera, Moga Motors Sdn Bhd, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Inspirations, Aspirations, Blogger, Supercar Blogger

          Reviewed: Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4! Beautiful V10 Beast! Hello everyone and welcome back to another post in Supercars By Putera! This week on this blog features a very special Supercar..

[monotonous-minutia]

ALL OF THEM (someone asked me to do that so I’m passing it along to you)

thank you!! Just managed to finish this before the kiddo woke up :)

1. favourite performance you ever attended

I’ve been to exactly 3 opera performances, and one was technically an intermezzo, and I’d say that one because it was a surprise that my teeny tiny home town that doesn’t even have an opera house despite being the third largest city in the state would do a production of a super obscure piece that I happened to love, AND it was in English with a hilarious translation, AND that translation happened to be by a friend of mine who worked at the theater that put it on (which is also the theater that turned me gay). The intermezzo in question was La serva padrona (which is fantastic look it up) and it was translated to Maid to Marry which I will never not get a kick out of.

2. a performance you would’ve wanted to attend (present or past)

Literally anything Mentzer has done that hasn’t been filmed which is unfortunately a lot (she was Idamante??? And Octavian?? And Adalgisa??? and Rosina?? and Prince Charmant with Frederica von Stade in Cendrillon??? seriously universe get your shit together she deserves more recognition)

3. a piece perfect for your commute

anytime I take a long walk I listen to Hoffmann, almost anytime I drive I listen to my mezzo boi playlist that consists of all my favorite trouser role arias/duets etc. (so, like, every one that I’ve heard)

4. do you have a go-to opera (and version)?

lately Hoffmann and Idomeneo (the latter of which I still think should be called Illia e Idamante or just Idamante but I digress). Versions would be: for Hoffmann, Sher (2009 & 2015), La Scala ‘95, and Brussels ‘85 and for Idomeneo Met 2017 and Salzburg 2006.

5. an opera you loved only on the second listening

as mentioned earlier, Idomeneo

5. a composer you have tried and failed to like

again not really sure bc I’ve liked most of what I heard, but I don’t really vibe with Glass

6. a character you love and definitely never want to meet in real life

Possibly Elizabeth from Don Carlo(s); love her because she’s wonderful and deserves so much better, but wouldn’t want to meet her because we would probably just cry a lot.

7. following up on that: your guilty problematic favourite character

hmmmmmm maybe Eboli?

8. forget anatomy/physiology. which voice category/fach would you choose?

mezzo :D

9. a casting/singer’s voice you’ll defend to the death. (now tell us why)

Nadine Sierra. Seriously people have been so mean to her in comments/reviews lately and it’s just rude because she’s amazing and adorable and talented and definitely one of my favorite divas, reins in my heart as my second favorite Countess Almaviva and is my favorite Illia and I want to see her as everything. People don’t even have anything specific about her to critique, they just say she’s bad. Which, it’s okay to just not like a performer, but don’t bash them because you personally don’t like them. Erg. Her voice and expressions SLAY me and she deserves only positivity.

10. and a production you’ll defend to the death

Sher Hoffmann. People are so mean to it in the reviews! I think it’s utter genius and the sets and costumes are so eccentric and fit the aesthetic of the opera so well, and the casts are amazing--anyone who wants to criticize Lindsey or Calleja can back off and never return. Also to all the critics who complain that it’s too risqué, they have obviously never seen the Geneva 2008 one where the chorus spends a good part of the opera almost fully nude, as does Olympia. Sher’s Hoffmann is my favorite and as the question states I will defend it to the death.

11. something you’re a rigid traditionalist (or revolutionary) about?

I’m kind of a traditionalist for ballet scenes in opera. I get it can be hard to stage those extended musical bits that aren’t as welcome now as they were back in the day, but how is it helping to make the choreography weird and irrelevant? I’d rather just have the ballet removed altogether than suffer through some weird staging. If a production retains the ballet, I would either like to just see some pretty dancing (actually, the Troyens that just streamed last night is a good example of that imo), or something related that’s also kinda funny (like the Wiener 2020 Don Carlos, though I’m not 100% okay with everything in it) or something that makes a statement about the opera (like the 2006 Salzburg Idomeneo, which I wrote a really long thing about earlier). My favorite choreography in any opera so far though is Mark Morris’s super awesome genderfluid choreography for the Met 2009 Orfeo ed Euridice because it’s just some really pretty dancing and also very gay. 

12. an opera that made you have an ~*awakening*~ of sorts (any sort)

Don Carlo(s), you probably know why by now 😉

13. an opera/music debate do you know so much about that people will suspiciously ask “why...do you know this?”

Probably Hoffmann and its various edits

14. rant about a topic/an opera you love but haven’t found a good time to do so on your blog.

I’m not really a fan of countertenors in castrati roles. I’ve seen some countertenor performers that I like, and some productions with them that I’ve enjoyed, but I really need my mezzo bois. I know there’s not really enough to justify one over the other, given the original voice type is now nonexistent, but I will take any opportunity to infuse more sapphic energy into operas. Plus, I just like the sound of the mezzo voice better. And a LOT of my favorite mezzos have played those roles and I seriously don’t know what I’d do without Alice Coote’s Idamante or Elīna Garanča’s Sesto. If a role was specifically written for a countertenor—I see this more in modern opera, Adès in particular—that’s a different story. I enjoy those. But for Baroque/opera seria, I wanna see mezzos.

[monotonous-minutia]

La Celmenza di Tito (Opéra National de Paris, 2005) pt. 2

this got kind of long but I was too lazy to break it into pieces so sorry for spamming your feed

fancy

hmm

the angst is high with this one

Annio didn’t sign up for this. too bad there’s not a manual for what to do when you find out your friend tried to kill your other friend but you’re still kind of gay for him but he’s also gay for the guy he just tried to kill and oh geez this is a hot mess

just stop being so adorable Annio my heart can’t handle this

I said stop

okay I’m POed because no one clapped after this and Minutillo certainly deserved a ton of applause 

Publio being sneaky

Publio being witness to hella gay angst

I can’t handle this

things got suddenly Shakespearean

Tito is still Extra. Also why does the tenor never listen to the bass.

Annio being a good friend

Annio getting into the Shakespearean vibe

“Come on we’re both in love with Sesto I’m sure we can work something out”

Publio be nice he’s baby

oof this hurts

Sesto is just bleeding angst all over the place and I can’t handle it

idk what your intentions are Tito but I don’t think this is helping

what is the heterosexual explanation 

aaaaaaaand cue the tears

*bawls*

dude seriously

oh burn (see what I did there)

Annio being the only one trying to get something done

Vitellia being too angsty and guilty to listen (also Annio being really cute and gay)

Servillia being the smartest person in this shitshow

“godammit Vitellia stop throwing a pity party and get a move on”

Vitellia’s interesting choice in wardrobe

maybe you shouldn’t have been so mean to him earlier also I can’t believe those flowers stayed on the stage this long

dramatic much

the blindfold comes back but this time it isn’t fun...

okay that’s...creepy

K Tito I get he tried to kill you but this whole thing is kind of mean

turn out for Sesto

okay TF is coming out of the ceiling

Local Soprano Feels Guilty

Publio is afraid Tito’s gonna pop a vessel

I feel like this is just Sesto’s life in a nutshell

cue Annio being adorable again

and now he’s blowing kisses I cannot with this child (though I wonder which object of his affections he’s aiming for)

CAN Y’ALL JUST HUG IT OUT ALREADY

Publio trying the crown on for size

oh that’s how you’re going to end it. cool.

Not nearly enough hugging at the end of this for me. Overall highly enjoyable. Loved the cast (especially Graham’s sweet, awkward, angsty Sesto and  Minutillo’s impossibly adorable Annio). I enjoyed much of the staging, especially the first couple numbers in Act One which had some very cute moments. Some random weird things (like the giant potato and Vitellia’s floor fruit stash) but nothing that really got in the way. The chorus was oddly adorned and had some weird staging but like...that’s far from unique to this production. I don’t think directors understand that we as the audience are okay if people occasionally stand still.

aaaaanyway this was very very gay, sometimes cute, very angsty, and a lot of fun, though (again) I wish the ending had been a little less cold. Like I get everyone’s going to have a lot of complicated feelings but like. A hug couldn’t hurt.