Eccomi qua. Riapro ‘sto tumblo dopo tipo dieci giorni e ci trovo questo:
Alla cortese (lo dico, davvero, senza alcun sarcasmo, dato che cortese è senza dubbio stata nel suo messaggio) sig.ra Sveva - che, mi par di percepire, ha già raggiunto e “convinto” un po’ di tumbleri (compresi alcuni dei presenti) - porgo, in primo luogo, i miei complimenti: io, per dire, non riuscirei a dormire la notte al solo pensiero di avere un Dell’Utri come cliente. Tipo, penso che prima di riuscire a finir di scrivere la frase “il mio cliente, Sig. Dell’Utri” le mie personali convinzioni più profondamente radicate mi spingerebbero inconsciamente a gettarmi in fiamme dal balcone mentre ingerisco acido muriatico e cocci di vetro. Congratulazioni, quindi, per la Sua serenità e pace interiore: invidiabili. Ben oltre la mia misera comprensione.
Ciò assodato, mi duole ammettere che l’assenza di un link nel suo messaggio mi causa incertezza circa l’oggetto della Sua richiesta. Si tratta per caso di questo?
(se per qualsiasi motivo avesse problemi ad aprire il link, fornisco un pratico screenshot:)
Se di fatto è a questo post che si riferisce, attendo sua cortese conferma per prendere le opportune misure. Potrei metterci un po’ - sa com’è, autolavaggi gomiti che fanno contatto con piedi, le solite cose della vita che a volte fanno perdere settimane o mesi o ere geologiche - ma vedrà che sarò lieto di accontentarla appena troverò il tempo.
Ché non sia mai che questa notiziola vecchia e sepolta - di sette anni fa e della quale non avevo la minima memoria, così come, credo, virtualmente nessuno - ricominci a fare il giro di tumblr e poi degli altri social network e da lì in su. Sarebbe davvero sconfortante, specialmente in un momento in cui del mai dimenticato (nel senso di “noi non dimentichiamo”) Giovanardi, citato a margine nella notizia ivi riportata, i notiziari sono tornati a parlare, e per tutti i migliori motivi. Magari qualcuno sta leggendo questo post e non è sufficientemente intimidito, magari reblogga lo stesso. Che disgrazia.
Se poi volesse un giorno amabilmente discutere di diritto all’oblio e cessazione della rilevanza di una notizia, diciamo che potremo parlarne quando il concetto di “oblio” significherà la stessa cosa per tutti. Finché per qualcuno significherà “uscirne pulito” e per altri “morto ammazzato dallo Stato”, temo che non avremo molto da dirci sul tema.
Se invece ritiene che i fatti citati non corrispondano al vero, sarò lieto di pubblicare le vostre critiche alla succitata versione degli eventi; sono abbastanza fiducioso che di versione ce ne sia anche, nonostante tutto, una agli atti. Magari potete trasmetterci quella, Le assicuro che le sarà dato il dovuto spazio.
In attesa di un Suo cortese riscontro e auspicabilmente di lumi circa i dubbi di cui sopra,
J-HOPE (JUNG HOSEOK) IS THE TYPE OF BOYFRIEND THAT
Finds new ways to make u laugh
Is all smiles
Does special performances for u
Shows u his spicy body rolls
Makes funny videos w u
Tries to do gymnastics in order to impress u*
*Falls on his face a lot
Plays a recorder w his nostrils (that vid has me weak)
Will throw snacks into the cart while u two are grocery shopping
Will try to piggy back on u
Brings u to a petting zoo/farm
(Gently) Wrestles u in the middle of the living room
Puts random objects in ur hair
Kisses u on the cheek
Fake cries until u notice him
Has jump rope competitions w u
Rolls down hills w u
Hula hoops in department stores
Picks wild flowers and gets itchy
Finds content when holding bunnies
Puts plants around the apt
Plays Wii w u
Is a big exploring enthusiast
Loves spontaneous dance parties
*Will try to glue everything back together
** Gets glue on his face
HOBI BF PLAYLIST
i feel like these would be chill songs to listen to when its a warm afternoon and both of u are going around the town; exploring the city that you both live in - running through the alleys, going into little shops, and trying new street food. as the evening winds down, hoseok and u are on ur way back home until the pulses of bass pulls both of u in; u soon find urself in a local restaurant where they’re holding a small party and dance the night away heh (*˘︶˘*)
A/N: honestly i think this has got to be one of my favorite mood boards and if u all also noticed i included 3 pics of hobi instead of 2 because i couldn’t decide and its just so nice ahh i hope u all enjoy my bf posts!! soon i think ill be adding day6 but for now i wanna finish up my lil bts + svt eggs
Tra i meriti di Sigfrido Ranucci, il nuovo conduttore di “Report” al
centro delle polemiche dopo il servizio televisivo sui vaccini, ieri
Marco Travaglio, nel suo editoriale sul Fatto, citava la trasmissione,
nel 2001 su Rainews24, dell’ultima intervista televisiva a Paolo
Borsellino. L’intervista fu realizzata nove anni prima da due
giornalisti francesi per Canal Plus. Rainews la presentò come
“l’intervista dimenticata”. A un certo punto i giornalisti chiedevano a
Borsellino di una telefonata intercettata fra Marcello Dell’Utri e lo
stalliere Mangano in cui quest’ultimo parlava di “cavalli” (droga) da
consegnare in un albergo. Quel passaggio fece scalpore, visto che
all’epoca era iniziata una indagine, condotta dai pm di Palermo su
Dell’Utri e Berlusconi.
Solo che Paolo Guzzanti, all’epoca senatore di Forza Italia, dopo
qualche tempo dimostrò che la risposta di Borsellino alla domanda su
Dell’Utri non era quella montata nell’intervista. Era stato fatto un
“taglia e cuci” che traeva in inganno lo spettatore a proposito del
parere di Borsellino su quella telefonata citata come fra Dell’Utri e
Mangano mentre era fra Mangano e un mafioso del clan Inzerillo.
Querelato dai tre giornalisti Rai, fra cui Ranucci, che avevano
curato quella trasmissione, Guzzanti venne assolto. La sentenza
descrisse la manipolazione come effettivamente avvenuta ma addebitabile a
Canal plus. Ci furono poi altre sentenze in sede civile in parte
contraddittorie con quella penale ma, in conclusione, se citando quella
intervista si voleva esaltare il metodo giornalistico di Ranucci, era
meglio scegliere altri esempi.
i have depression and find it incredibly hard to study, concentrate, pay attention in class, do assignments hell even show up to school half the time. my grades have suffered over the past two years and i'm stuck. i know you're not a mental health professional but just any tips for motivation would be greatly appreciated! thankfully i live in a country where only the last year of school 'counts' but i'm going into my last year next year :/
im so sorry that u are facing these issues :( i can try to help! *DISCLAIMER* i am a 16 year old girl without any mental health issues so if i say something that is incorrect please let me know
Embraces u in front of the mirror; staring at e/o’s reflections
Gets antsy when u don’t reply to him quickly
Holds ur face when ur upset
Tells u nothing is ur fault (even when it is sometimes)
Falls asleep when both of u are video messaging
Does coloring book therapy w u
Makes rough sketches of u
Sets pictures of himself as ur lock/home screen
Holds u close
Wakes u up at 2 A.M. to ask u if ur awake
Puts his head on ur shoulder
Dances in the shower (and u can hear him from the bedroom heh)
Likes to do his night routine alongside u
Tries to act cool when he sees something he really likes (but eventually starts smiling widely)
Dresses u up in his clothes
Gets upset at himself if he doesn’t do something right the first time*
*Goes to u when he wants to unwind and be nurtured
Rarely argues with u (but sometimes when it does happen its over little things like u didn’t call him when u left/arrived somewhere)
Secretly likes to knit w u
Reminds u of all the things u two have done
Keeps a journal (noting everything you’ve done together)
Takes u fishing
Always wants to go to the lake
Pushes u around in a shopping cart
Constantly has u on their mind
JUN BF PLAYLIST
its another relaxing afternoon in the apartment and these songs faintly radiate from the stereos. jun is quietly knitting while ur preparing snacks; he tsks to himself but then sighs of relief and holds up his finished product: a brown sweater that confusingly has two neck holes rather than one. you ask, “why is it like that?” and he chuckles and says “well it was supposed to be a sweater for u but since it has two neck holes we can both wear it” u then bring the snacks over to the living room and both of u put on the sweater laughing while doing so, he stops laughing and stares at u for a moment, then kisses u while both of ur foreheads are pressed against each other
this kid is a sunshine literally can u see him as a vampire? BC YESSSSS I CAN SEE IT LMAO
i can see him being nervous about telling you that he’s a vampire i mean who doesnt get nervous ok
“uh… …im a vampire” “that was a nice joke” and he’d tell you that he is serious and youd distanced yourself from him for a while bc hOW IS THIS LITTLE BALL OF SUNSHINE IS A VAMPIRE???? ITS A PRANK RIGHT????
he’ll get all upset probably thinking youre ignoring him for the rest of his life but no youre not aND HE IS GONNA BE HIS HAPPY SELF AGAIN
“i thought youre gonna leave me bUT IM GLAD YOURE NOT”
will be careful around you bc sometimes he could lose his control bC HMM U SMELL SO GOOD CAN I BITE U
trying to sing random whistle notes at 6 in the morning why is he even up at 6
likes to lay his head on ur lap bc then youll play with his hair and he’ll slowly fall asleep
one time he forgot to restock his needs and he accidentally pins u against a wall eyes so red and you can see his sharp teeth iTS KINDA SCARY BUT ALSO HOT WTF
but he’s trying to stop himself from biting you bc sUNSHINE
he’s gonna apologize so much i can see it bye
“lets get a puppy!!!!!!!!!!!!”
ended up getting a goldfish for some reason dont ask why
dealing with all the inside jokes he has with soonyoung seriously
seeing the legendary ‘hey hoshi hey dk’ live
halloween with seokmin????? WOULD BE REALLY WEIRD
like its all just gonna be a blur then you suddenly have a cat costume on while he has a dog one on
a lot of hugs
a lot of cuddles
a lot of kisses
bUT KISSING SEOKMIN THOOOOO I CNAYBTGDB
kissing seokmin would be vEry vERY NICE
like have u looked at those lips mhmhmhmmmmmmm
his kisses would be soft ans sweet but sometimes it could get all hOT NONONONONON
he’s the type to cut you with a kiss when youre rambling abt something aw
ok would seokmin bite you????? he is a real life walking sunshine but i mean youll never know right… … …
MAYBE HE WILL BITE U after so many ‘are u sure its ok’ ‘its ok’ convo and when he did ?????I CANT DOT IHSIHSISIJSIHSI
he’ll kiss the spot where he bites u and hold you close (even tho its a hard time for him bc he just wants to bite u again) and nuzzle his face in ur neck and probably sing to you too
seeing ‘his’ smile that everyone loves 24/7 goals
he’s gonna try and do all the cute things wiith you
he’s also a sucker for you isnt that obvious i mean
making out with seokmin tho do i need to talk about it im crying
i can see him smirking while kissing you and probably laugh while doing it bc he thinks its funny oK BUT AT TIMES IT WILL BE HOT AS WELL WHY AM I TORTURING MYSELF
when he’s away theres gonna be a lot of selfies of him and soonyoung bc soonseok duh and also video of him dancing to their new song ‘youre the first one besides us who listened to this ok ur lucky’
cute voicemails im sure of it
“…. ..ah why am i rambling? im kinda nervous and im not even in front of you did you put some spell on me”
“… .. but anyway uh …. ….i miss you.. …like so much”
“and uh… …i love you.. ..”
“THATS SO EMBARRASSING PLS TELL ME U FEEL THE SAME OR IM GONNA DIE HERE FROM EMBARRASSMENT PLS TEXT ME U DO FEEL THE SAME”
text him and on the other side he is smiling like a fkin idiot bc he’s sO WHIPPED BYE
OKAY I THINK I NEED TO DO DINO AND BAM IM FINISHED YOOOOO TURN UP GUYSSSYSYSYY for more vampire!au click here
Oltre a essere Trump lover ora sei anche un Dell'Utri Lover?
Evidentemente qualcuno ha pensato che appurata la mia presunta Trumpofilia (o Guardiofilia, o Chiesofilia, o Fasciofilia, non so… oggettivamente ignoro quale mio pensiero sia stato travisato), non dovessi manifestare anche il mio amore viscerale per il Dell’Utri politico e per il Dell’Utri uomo.
Ma io rimango umile e vado avanti nell’opera di travisamento.
Sebagai orang yang menganut mazhab ga mau di-surprise-in ulang tahun di tengah malam buta (karena pingin tidur :p), terpaksa lah awak mengikuti kehendak jeung-jeung di foto ini yang pagi-pagi butanya musti ke bandara karena mau liburan ke Bali dan takut tak keburu ngucapin selamat ulang tahun.
Duh, muka bantal gw jaya baya banget yah. Dan bergonya alay banget, hahaha. Untung pas sadarkan diri langsung ganti jilbab cantik *niat*
For the Makai Ouji Valentine’s Day event I finally got myself to finish this story.
won’t disappoint me again, Uriel!“
smears the sword which now points at the marble ground. I stare at it. My body
feels strangely numb and cold, at the same time burning hot. The moment seems
unreal to me, somehow surreal. My mind is blank.
sword vanishes before my eyes, taking with it the blood. My blood. Merely a
handful of red droplets on the floor remain.
voice hardly reaches me through the vapour clouding my consciousness.
may go for now. But the next time we meet I will kill you.”
portal appears beneath my feet. I am falling. Falling.
familiar warmth of Heaven fades away while I see the clouds zoom out of my
vision. I turn my head. Slowly the ground is coming closer. For the first time
there are no wings to carry me. Falling …
of Heaven, through the world of humans, into …
When I regain my consciousness I find myself lying in
a bed in a room that looks like the students’ quarters at Stradford. I need a
moment to process my last memories. Right, I had been summoned to Heaven for a
conference with Michael. He was mad about me breaking into Hell again to safe
the young master.
Realization dawning on me I startle up. The pain
jolting through my torso should tell me all I need to know, anyway my left hand
seeks out my right wing – nothing. It is gone.
The world around me stops dead. My wing. My wing! All
thoughts are hit out of my brain but this one. My wing.
I don’t know how long I am huddled here in stupor, too
shocked to do anything. Only when someone clears his throat repeatedly I look
up. One of the demons is standing by the door; the porcelain-doll, Sitri. Does
this mean I am in Hell? But, no, he’s wearing the school uniform.
He comes closer – unpleasantly close – and the
torturous pain in my back increases.
“Don’t!”, he says, reaching for my hand. I detangle
the fingers from the bandages I hadn’t noticed I was clutching – or wearing in
the first place – and shove him away harshly. The pain subsides.
I notice my hand is covered with blood. My eyes fix on
the red liquid. My blood. From my back. From the wound where my wing should
have been. The same red that smeared the blade.
Once again frozen by shock I am unable to avert my
gaze. On the edge of awareness I observe him detach the stained bandage, then
replace it by a new one. Lacking the resolve to rebel I allow it.
After he is done he seizes my wrist, provoking my
attention. It’s repelling but I don’t bridle. Who would have thought I’d ever
let a devil touch me. He looks me in the eyes with an expression I cannot
conceive, nods towards the nightstand and retreats.
“I’ve brought you a bowl of soup”, he explains,
gesturing at the item, “Drink it as long as it’s still hot. You’ll feel a lot
That said he makes for the door.
Opening it, attempting to take his leave, however
appears to remember something and closes it again. Without turning he adds: “I
am going to the common room until tonight. If you don’t drink the soup until I
am back I will force it into you.”
Then he is gone.
Time goes by without me caring or moving. I
desperately try to block out all thoughts on the impact of losing my wing.
Instead I focus on the pain. Like with the left wing I have to concentrate not
to try to move it, which is pretty hard because the muscles at my shoulder
blades react to every emotion, clenching and unclenching in an attempt to move
what no longer exists. As long as the wound isn’t closed the skin will rip open
with each motion. It is heinous.
A growling sound interrupts my concentration. I become
overly aware of a hollow sensation in my stomach, added by a salty nausea in my
throat. Startled I assume this must be what humans call hunger. Carefully I try
to sit up, swaying dangerously. Fortunately the bed borders the wall, so I have
something to hold onto. My gaze travels to the bowl of soup. For angels the
necessity to eat does not exist. But due to the loss of wings as power-source
demons have to consume food. Demons!
With a cry of anger I knock the bowl off the stand. It
crashes into the wall, spilling its contents everywhere.
“I am not a demon!”, I shout into the empty room.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no!!
My fists clenched to the sides of my face and my eyes
pressed close I try to shut out the truth.
I am an angel!
With or without wings, I cannot be anything else!
Especially not a demon! I can’t become one of these damned, detestable, rotten
devils, abandoned by God, living from human ill will and greed! But what if …
If I indeed am to become a fallen one? I never took falling for an option. I’d
rather die than fall. Michael must have known when he spared my life, masking
it as mercy.
Despair supplants disbelief.
I cannot end my own life, the Lord doesn’t approve of
that. My pride forbids to ask someone to kill me. And wouldn’t it just be
another kind of suicide? Despite I do not want to die, I do not want to live as
a damned existence.
While I brood day turns to night.
At some point Sitri returns to his room. I hear the
metallic clack of the handle and the click of a door closing. But I don’t care.
Nothing matters anymore. My inner turmoil perished and left a bitter numbness
which conquered all of my body, even the pain. No will to die anymore, no will
to live on. Something at the back of my head tells me I am deeply upset, though
no sensation is there to prove it either wrong or right. I’m apathetic.
Sitri doesn’t interact with me, or at least I do not
notice it lost in the dim vapour that is all I seem to know. The world turns
grey. The door clicks.
Time for morning mass, I think. A new
day is dawning. The second day that Uriel, fourth of Heaven, does no longer
The door clicks again.
Sky-blue mixes with the dull grey - Sitri is staring
at me. I return his gaze.
“How are you?”, he asks cautiously. “William
is worried since mass was cancelled the second morning in row.”
I incline my head, hiding my face behind long brunette
bangs. Shame claws at my chest. The shame for not paying any thought for the
young master. For making him worry. And the shame increases at the pure idea of
going before him as I am now. No, he shall not meddle with demons, regardless
if I want to see him or not. I won’t stain him with my undesirable presence.
So I lost him, too, I realise.
Sitri talks some more, but I don’t listen. He tries to
catch my attention, but I ignore him. The weight of all the things I’ve lost
pushes down my shoulders.
My wings are gone. Never again will I be able to set
foot into Heaven, my home. Never again will I truly fly. What does this
ridiculous imitation of hovering in the air count! My brothers despise me now.
Michael, Gabriel, Raguel. When we meet, one of us will have to kill the other.
From now on I may never talk to God again. Due to my actions I lost the love of
our supreme Father. And William … Even if he could accept me by his side as a
fallen angel still, I am unable to do this to him. The young master must not
develop a fondness for any creature from Hell. Of course the stubborn
adolescent wouldn’t listen. So it is my last duty as the Twinings’ butler to
cut ties with him. Cause who knows what I will become? I could never forgive
myself if I took his soul!
I have to swallow hard. That it would be this painful
to lose my family…
A sudden touch to my hair distracts me from my dark
musings. That demon dares to-
But actually it feels nice, somehow soothing. Without
further acknowledgement I close my eyes, letting him comb my hair. Shall he do
as he likes.
He gently brushes my hair and it is as if he catches
my attention with each stroke. The voices in my head quieten for the duration
of the procedure, my awareness occupied with mentally following the brush. Up
and down. Up and down. Until he is content with the result and retreats.
Before he leaves he places another bowl of soup by my
side, scolding in what he must think is a strict voice: "This time I will
follow through with my thread! So better eat it!”
Foolish demon, to think he could order me around. My
anger makes me raise my swing - a short cry of pain escapes my throat. Of
course, how could I forget… I bite my lower lip until it bleeds, creating a
contrahenting pain to focus on. Oh Michael, why haven’t you killed me?
After some deep breaths the worst pain ebbes down. It
The hours drag by with me still sitting there indifferent.
For what I know it could have been years or mere minutes until I feel the
weight and warmth of a hand on my shoulder. I ignore it. The hand squeezes my
shoulder slightly. Get off me, you filthy
devil! Don’t touch me! But his hand remains in its position, he is waiting
for me to react to him. His voice reaches my ears, but not my brain. Retreat!
Let me be! My awareness of that small hand intensifies with each heartbeat, the
hand of a creature from Hell, of a sinner, a traitor, an enemy. It is as if it
was tainting me. In my imagination darkness floods my body outgoing from the
point where he holds on to me. My insides wrench in repulsion. I want a dozen
speers of light to pierce that hand that makes me realise my body is no longer
sacred and pure, that forces me to face the inevitable descend into the
impurity of Hell. I want a jolt of lightning to burn his flesh so he never can
touch me again. But nothing happens. My eyes grow wide as I comprehend: Along
with the wings my source of magic is lost!
If I cannot defy myself with magic anymore my
education as Michael’s soldier will have to suffice. So my hand shoots out,
seizing his arm. With all the force I can muster I throw him of me, shouting
out: “Do not touch me!” He’s surprised.
I get up from the bed for the first time in days - at
least I try to. As soon as I draw myself up, I stumble to the left, almost
falling over. I manage to catch myself with a knee and both hands on the
mattress, still swaying. It’s like it had been when my first wing had gone. My
balance was disturbed for days until I learned to even out the missing weight
on the left side. Luckily back then nobody had seen my humble attempts at
walking straight, or worse, flying steady - with a little help of mirror-magic
in order to get off the ground with only one wing at all. Today I’m not that
lucky. He’s seen it, the demon. The useless puppet-demon. My jaw clenches at
the humiliation at loosing face like that. He has seen quite too much of my lapse
It looks as though he senses my distress. His hands
up, empathy in his eyes, he gestures for me to calm down, infuriating me
further. His pity is the last I need now. If looks could kill he’d be dead
“Please acquiesce! Your wound will reopen if you keep
moving like that.”, he tries to pacify me. “I understand how you feel. But I
must insist you take better care of yourself.”
“What do you understand?!”, I yell at him
furiously. “You don’t know anything!”
At my accusation his calm facade crumbles immediately.
“I don’t know?”, he hisses, his eyes forming
angry slits. I expect him to attack any instant. Instead he surprises me once
more, catches me absolutely off guard: He unbuttons his blazer, then his shirt
and, tossing both on the floor turns his back on me. My eyes automatically
settle on the scars covering his shoulder blades. The impressions they have on
me is unforeseen. There is no possible defence as my mind absorbs the view. My
back will sport a similar appearance soon. I react to this realisation in a way
I’ve never reacted to anything before: I start to cry. Hot, burning tears fall
from my eyes, accompanied by awkward whimpering. Helplessness and anger find
their outlet. And the idiotic demon makes it all worse by hugging me tightly.
“You won’t become a demon.”, Sitri whispers into my
ear when the worst sobbing subsides. Almost not hearable he adds: “You’re the
same as me.” By the sound of it it makes him happy. I indeed find some
reassurance in it. There’s a chance to stay whatever I currently am. I can
evade turning into a monster.
Shortly after my outburst he has to leave for class. He
left me another bowl of soup on the nightstand again. This time I eat it and he
is right – the warm fluid makes me feel better the moment it runs down my
Within the following days I recover more and more. My
back heals, as does my psyche. Somehow I will find a way to go on, I am sure
about it. Maybe I can begin my life again. Maybe I can find a new identity. But
this is not the end.
After class and at night Sitri keeps me company. He
does not touch me anymore and we talk few. But his presence no longer disgusts
me. I eat the food he delivers. He tells me about the day, mostly about
William, who still does not know where I am and what happened to me.
One day he asks me if I was ready to face the young
master. He thinks it’s vital for him as well as for me and he might be right
about it. So I nod. I will talk to him.
Sitri rewards me with a bright smile. I think he isn’t
so bad after all, seeing how much he cares for William’s wellbeing.
“Alright, then I’ll go and get him!”, he says
contently. “But before I do so…” He advances the bed which I inhabit. He sits
down directly in front of me, giving me a look I cannot interpret. He’s somehow
earnest, considering my face.
“Thank you that you’ll see him. He’s worried so much.”
And then he leans forward and his lips touch mine. As
fast as the kiss comes it is over and Sitri over by the door. He leaves the
room with an amused laugh. Too late I manage to throw a plate after him.