#minatory

[thesaltofcarthage]

even ostensibly handcuffed, he looks like he’d fuck you up without breaking a sweat.

[dubstepmurder]

legendary melodic deathstep track

[aktualitet-al]

Aksident Fatal Në Minierën E Katjelit – Humb Jetën Kryetari i Sindikatës së Minatorëve

Një ngjarje tragjike ka ndodhur në minierën e Katjelit, në zonën e Prrenjasit, ku minatori Sajmir Bego, 57 vjeç, ka humbur jetën si pasojë e rrëshqitjes së një masivi mineral. Viktima ishte jo vetëm punonjës i minierës, por edhe kryetar i sindikatës së minatorëve në këtë sektor, duke e bërë humbjen edhe më të rëndë për komunitetin e punëtorëve. Detajet zyrtare nga policia Ngjarja ndodhi rreth…

[pier-carlo-universe]

Pablo Neruda: Ode alla paceUn inno universale alla vita e alla speranza. Recensione di Alessandria today

"Ode alla pace" è un'opera che rappresenta l’essenza della poetica di Neruda: un invito all’armonia universale che si snoda tra immagini potenti e simboliche.

Biografia dell’autore.Pablo Neruda, pseudonimo di Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto (1904-1973), è uno dei poeti più celebri della letteratura mondiale. Nato a Parral, in Cile, Neruda ha dedicato la sua vita all’arte poetica, combinando un’intensa riflessione politica con un profondo lirismo. La sua opera spazia dall’amore alla natura, dalla lotta per i diritti umani alla celebrazione delle…

[viviween]

Dopo anni disastrosi, con amministratori indecenti, finalmente ne è stato scelto uno, nel condominio in cui vivo, che se ne frega altamente delle recriminazioni ingiustificate degli anziani: che non scrive lettere minatorie ai condomini, sulla base di sole affermazioni, ma pretende prove; che non ha interesse ad approfittare di disagi inventati, dell'odio sociale, per fare cassa.

È giovane, è razionale: l'essere giovani è questo, a qualsiasi età.

[divulgatoriseriali]

Monografie Seriali: Michele Profeta, l'assassino delle carte da gioco

Michele Profeta fu un serial killer dalla complessa classificazione: edonista per guadagno permeato da tratti missionari ma vendutosi per visionario. Stratega del crimine, organizzato e risoluto, pose scomposti tasselli d’ego intarsiando l’affilato mosaico dalla foggia disfatta d’un mito morente. “Serial killer delle carte da gioco”, aggredì lo Stato con messaggi e minacce, ricatti e rebus…

[viaggiaescopri]

Fotografie di Montevecchio #viaggiaescopri #travelwebtv #lelelatta

[giodano64]

[lelelatta]

Fotografie di Montevecchio

[rzrxn]

my new vid N3ÜRØ - ERROR 404 [lunnadotmp3 Remix] - YouTube

[vintagebiker43]

Nella sua rubrica del Foglio il giornalista Andrea Marcenero si dice dispiaciuto perché Sigfredo Ranucci non è morto mentre era a Sumatra nel 2005.

Le parole del figlio, Andrea Ranucci, sono da leggere:

"Caro Andrea,

fortunatamente mi sono imbattuto così poche volte nelle pagine del "giornale" in cui scrivi da non sapere né il tuo cognome né se tu - spero vivamente per la categoria di no - sia un giornalista professionista o un comico satirico, sono il figlio di Sigfrido Ranucci e nonostante alcune volte me ne sorprenda anche io, non sono ancora orfano di padre.

Vivo da sempre con il pensiero, il timore che ogni volta che saluto mio padre possa essere l'ultima, del resto credo sia inevitabile quando vivi per decenni sotto scorta, quando hai sette anni e ci sono i proiettili nella cassetta della posta di casa tua, quando vai a mangiare al ristorante e ti consigliano di cambiare aria perché non sei ben gradito nella regione, quando ti svegli una mattina e trovi scientifica, polizia, carabinieri e DIGOS in giardino perché casualmente sono stati lasciati dei bossoli, quando ricevi giornalmente minacce, pacchi contenenti polvere da sparo e lettere minatorie, o semplicemente quando ti abitui a non poter salire in macchina con tuo padre.

Ricordo perfettamente il periodo dello Tsunami e dell'isola di Sumatra, che giusto per precisione si trova in Indonesia e non India, quando papà con il parere contrario del suo Direttore Roberto Morrione decise di raccontare la vicenda in uno dei luoghi più martoriati dalle inondazioni, lontano dalle comodità e dai luoghi privilegiati dai quali tutti i media scrivevano.

È uno dei primi ricordi di cui ho contezza, avevo 5 anni, mia sorella 6, mio fratello forse 8, eravamo in macchina, erano circa 40 ore che nessuno riuscisse ad avere contatti con papà, mamma tratteneva le lacrime a fatica, sola con noi tre, faceva finta che andasse tutto bene, forse è stata la prima volta che ho avuto la sensazione che dovessi percepire la vita con papà come se fosse a tempo, con una data di scadenza.

Ebbene sì, è tornato sano e salvo e a distanza di 20 anni purtroppo per te, Andrea, per fortuna per noi e credo di poter dire per il paese è ancora qui, a svolgere il suo lavoro come sempre, vivo e vegeto anche se in tanti lo vorrebbero morto.

Il morto del giorno è il giornalismo italiano, ancora una volta, e chi è l'assassino è evidente a tutti.”

Chapeau. Solidarietà a Ranucci, viva ammirazione per il suo coraggio e la sua forza. Evviva Report, uno dei pochi presidi di democrazia ancora presenti, capace di incarnare l'idea per cui il giornalismo deve essere il cane da guardia del potere e non, come spesso capita nel nostro paese, il cane da compagnia o, addirittura, da riporto.

@CarloCunegato

[littlemissstel]

Miss Detective- Shiu Kong

detective!reader, use of (Y/n), swearing, not proofread

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Shiu gets a visit from an old co-worker who knows a little more than she should.

Shiu sprung up with a sleep drunken expression, cursing out at whatever being dared to disturb his much craved slumber. The poor man had spent more nights awake than days; and while the incessant knocking that threatened to break down his door was irritating, what annoyed him the most was that he knew it couldn't be important. Besides for the old man that lived two doors down asking for help with his thermostat, there were no other reasons for the intrusion; he'd already messed with all the salesmen to the point of being blacklisted and no one from work knew his home address, even going as far to send packages to a separate storage unit.

So why wouldn't they just shut up?

Begrudgingly leaving the warmth of his estranged bed he made his way to the commotion, not bothering to look through the peep hole before swinging the door open with a deep sigh. He hoped the force didn't leave a hole in his precious wall- one more thing to do this weekend- but the exaggerated display felt more than justifiable in the moment.

He scrutinized the audacious figure with squinted eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep that clouded his gaze. The hair...The face...a woman?

You?

"Hello Mr Kong, long time no see." you say, offering a smile that faltered as fast as it came.

Shiu's mouth hung open slightly before moving, though the words struggled to come out as he shook his head in unsettled confusion.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

He slowly steps out, blocking the entrance with his body. You both had worked in the same precinct as detectives years ago and as the time past the people he once worked with faded from his memory. Yours, however, was becoming ever the more vivid. Working for an established agency there were many people who matched his prowess, you included, though what set you apart was your unmatched ability to get on his nerves. The two of you shared a mutual feeling of contempt as you fought for the recognition you deserved over your peers: taking any measure to avoid working together, being discreet about sharing case information on potential leads. He didn't really need to ask how you found him. As much as he would never admit it, he had faith you could do it simply because you wanted to. But that was a separate lifetime, in Korea, and since he has moved onto more...controversial means of work, he doubted your appearance would bring anything good with it.

And with the way you flashed him your detective badge, ducking under his arm to push past... he knew he was right.

He followed you with hurried steps to the kitchen as you seemingly made yourself at home, discarding your bag on the counter and rummaging through the fridge, stopping occasionally to check the information of an item. He could feel the absurdness of the situation create a surge of exasperation through his veins. Maybe you merely existed to antagonize him. He stood across the room, an island separating you both.

"Get out of my house or hurry up and tell me what you want." His minatory tone would serve as a warning to any other person and had he of known no better- he'd deem you dumb, watching as you continued your thorough inspection.

Closing the fridge with a yogurt in hand you leisurely made your way across the kitchen, opening each draw with a sigh as you presumably looked for a spoon.

"That's no way to talk to an old friend who has a warrant out for your arrest.""

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Suspicion of murder." You peeled back the yogurt lid with an amused expression, "You know i almost laughed when i saw the footage, someone with your expertise being caught by something as simple as a camera- it is laughable isn't it Shiu?"

"I'm not a murderer-"

"But it was even better when your DNA popped up all-too-close to the crime scene-"

"I don't know what hallucinatory state you're in right now-"

You snorted a laugh.

"--but I am not a murderer (Y/n). So i suggest you take your business somewhere else." He says gesturing a rough hand to the door.

He wasn't lying. He had never killed anyone before. It was very well possible that DNA could have been traced back to him but other than that you would have no proof of his involvement. Saying that, you shouldn't of been able to come here in the first place. Shiu's heart rate went up for a number of reasons, none of which he could decipher, as he watched you with uncertainty. With more to live for now...he didn't want to test his luck.

"You should stop putting on a front with me, I'm the one who's been covering for you. Yeah, you're not a murderer but I know what you do- and by taking out the magical powers and unicorns the rest of the world doesn't know about- I could easily get decades added to your sentence."

It took a moment for Shiu to render what you said in momentary disbelief of your awareness. You knew about his world--Surely he would have realised if you were able to see curses too? And you chose to live normally? Too much is happening and he's gaining more questions than answers.

Your face brightens as you finally reach into the designated cutlery draw and it makes Shiu feel sick. You bring up the pink toddler spoon and place it into the carton before making eye contact with him for the first time since you entered his home.

"The poor babe."

"Get to the point (Y/n)."

"Why don't we make a deal?" you continue taking his silence as an agreement, "I'll make sure your little activities are covered up if you give me a cut of whatever your making and help me get evidence for other cases."

"That's ridiculous. Get out."

"You forget about your daughter Shiu."

That seemed to be the all you needed to make Shiu's patience dissipate entirely as he stalks over to you, pushing the carton to the side so it fell off the counter and leaning in close.

"I could kill you right now. And then what? No deal, no threats, and life continues as before."

"I've got someone waiting outside with instructions to call for backup if i don't come out in three minutes...you're running out of time."

Fuck. What should he do? What would he do? Go on the run? He couldn't, he had someone else to think about. Irrational thoughts ran rampant in his mind, trying to find, for just a second, a single reasonable solution. What should he do? He releases a breath before slowly standing to his full height.

"We'll discuss how much I'm paying you later."

Your face lights up with that sickening look once again as you match his stance, reaching for your bag and pulling out a burner phone which he takes with hesitance.

"It only has my number on it. I'll call first"

"Leave before you cause a problem." he says and is somewhat grateful when you do just that without a word. He awaited the sound of the doors click before allowing himself to relax, if you had told him what would happen when he first woke up he would've laughed in your face. It did feel like some kind of twisted joke.

You had found him, you knew where he lived, that he had a daughter, could see curses. You blackmailed him. Now he wanted to find out why, or maybe he should get Toji to take care of you now that you've left- The scenarios he created became more and more extreme as the minutes went by, though each came with their own major flaws. He couldn't allow the agency to find out about his connection to you, they'd no doubt get rid of you both but maybe- just maybe, he could use a few of their connections within the police force to help him out. Get rid of the evidence and then get rid of you. There were many calls to make, but for now, he had to focus on picking up his daughter on time from school.

Please feel free to leave any ideas/recommendations x

[isnotwhatyourethinking]

The Warrior & The Healer - Chapter 3

Cassian x Winter Court Healer Reader

Summary: Y/n's healing powers are unparalleled, a gift from the Mother that she wields with precision and care. Sent to Velaris under the guise of a diplomatic mission, Y/n is secretly bound by a darker duty—spying for the Winter Court's ruthless war general, Isarn, to protect her imprisoned mother. But as she works to heal the wounds inflicted by Hybern, a chance encounter with a certain Illyrian warrior changes everything.

Word Count: 5.8K

A/N: sorry this took so long, I had to organize an auction T.T though I loved loved loved diving more into the plot and introducing new characters! hope u like this one, angst and all xx

Warnings: girl can't catch a break, angst, mentions of family abuse, blood, violence, waterboarding, language if you squint, some fluff at the end, sorry if I missed anything!

All ACOTAR rights to the genius of Sarah J Maas✨

Upon arriving at the Winter Court, I was greeted by a too-familiar frigid air that clung to my bones, making me long for the warmth of Velaris, and by a structure before me that loomed like a minatory giant, challenging me with its sheer presence. 

The Hailstone Citadel stood majestically atop a rocky hill, its towering spires piercing the frosty air. Constructed around a grand meeting hall where the leaders of the Court gathered for official events, and made from spotless white marble with delicate veins of silver, its walls shimmered like freshly fallen snow under the pale winter sun. The battlements, adorned with intricate carvings of long-forgotten runes, were fashioned from pale blue quartzite, their surfaces glistening as if perpetually coated in a thin layer of frost. 

Inside, the grand halls were lined with smooth alabaster, casting an ethereal glow that mimicked the natural luminescence of ice. Blue calcite pillars rose to support the vaulted ceilings, their icy hue deepening the castle's wintry ambiance. Even the floors, polished to perfection, reflected the cold beauty of the surroundings, with inlaid designs of glacial stone that told tales of ancient winters. 

I stared at the mythical beasts that welcomed me, standing as majestic statues at the base of the blue pillars, symbols of the Winter Court’s strength and ferocity. Great white glacial bears, their fur eternally pristine like the marble walls, were carved to perfection. Snow griffins and frostfang wolves, their watchful gazes following my every move, guarded the halls with silent vigilance. They had always made me feel so small, as if they might jump and shred me to pieces at any second.

The entire structure exuded an icy aura, both in temperature and in its hauntingly beautiful design, perfectly encapsulating the essence of my court. I was caught off guard by the subtle shudder that thought caused.

As I made my way to the tactical wing, I felt a shiver run down my spine, and not just from the cold: a large group of soldiers greeted me with their imposing presence. Isarn might be playing the role of a vigilant warlord, but the overabundance of soldiers spoke volumes about his paranoia. Still, they were a formidable sight, their uniforms a mixture of elegance and intimidation. Each soldier wore a long, icy blue tunic of thick wool embroidered with delicate silver snowflakes. Over this they wore white, fur-lined cloaks, fastened at the shoulder with silver clasps in the shape of direwolves—the well-known beast form of our High Lord. 

Trying to shake off the thought of what Kallias would do to me if he discovered what I was doing, I shifted my attention back to the formation of the soldiers, the details of their armor gleaming in the pale light, silver breastplates intricately engraved with frost patterns and beasts, polished to a mirror-like finish that reflected the icy surroundings. 

I slightly nodded at the formation, heading to Isarn’s office. I raggedly filled my lungs and held my pendant before walking into my cursed fate. No fear. One deep breath. No hesitation. Another deep breath. I knocked once announcing myself, and opened the door.

❄❄❄❄❄❄

Isarn's office bore none of the elegance of the grand halls of the Citadel. The walls were adorned with detailed maps of Prythian, some marked by battle plans. Shelves lined one wall, filled with tomes on warfare, tactics, and the history of the Winter Court. Weapons of all kinds—swords, daggers, and axes—were meticulously displayed, the room was lit by a single obsidian chandelier, its dark crystals casting sharp light across the space. 

In the corner, a fireplace donned with a shiny grease black tile crackled with blue-tinged flames, the firelight casting eerie, flickering shadows across the room. The hearth was decorated with carvings of snarling beasts, and despite the warmth it provided, the fireplace only seemed to add to the cold, merciless atmosphere. A large desk dominated the center of the room, made of dark, polished ebony that looked almost black in the dim light. Behind it sat a high-backed chair, its design as austere and commanding as the man who occupied it. 

Despite his stature, the General's presence was overwhelming, his authority radiating with sheer force. He was a short, chubby male with skin so pale it almost appeared gray, the black ponds of ink he had for eyes missing nothing—a cold, calculating gaze that seemed to see through any facade. His gray hair, balding at the crown, was meticulously combed straight and sleek in a strict military fashion that only added to his stern demeanor. Dressed in the immaculate regalia of a warlord and topped with a prominently displayed black onyx blade, he projected an aura of intimidation and behest. I loathed this visit, though I was looking forward to hearing news of my mother.

"Sit down", he commanded in his screeching voice. 

"I’d rather stand", I spat back. An evil smile crossed his features. 

"Y/N… You’re in no position to negotiate, and I’m not in the mood for insubordination. Sit. the fuck. down". 

Prick.

My back tensed as I reluctantly sat in one of the chairs located in front of his desk, hands still in my pewter cloak’s pockets. 

"I hope, for yours and your mother’s sake, you’re not wasting my time."

I nervously looked at his chubby hands, adorned with rings shaped like bears, tapping rhythmically against his desk. Every other plump finger was wrapped in a band of platinum, a showy attempt to command respect, as if a reminder of his authority had to be displayed at all times, I thought. 

"The Night Court is heavily secured since Hybern’s attack," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thanks to the Ancient One’s powers and the Cursebreaker defending the city, Hybern did not stand a chance." 

Isarn’s expression remained inscrutable as he leaned back in his chair, calculating. "Go on," he pressed, his voice a dangerous murmur.

I took a deep breath, the weight of the pendant around my neck grounding me. "Amren’s powers are… unlike anything I’ve ever heard of. She can seamlessly control mind and body, the Cursebreaker herself was impressed by her skills."

"What about that winged bastard? Did the treacherous High Lord reveal anything useful about their plans against Hybern?" he said in a mocking tone, each word a poisonous blade cutting through the tension in the room. 

I hesitated, the memory of Rhysand mentioning a book to Feyre flashing through my mind. I knew, I knew this was wrong, and I hated the thought of putting the Night Court at risk. But the desperate need to gain leverage gnawed at me. No, I couldn’t reveal this information before negotiating my mother’s release. "Where is my mother?" I asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Isarn’s eyes narrowed, and he stood, moving around his desk with the grace of a predator. "Information first," he said, his voice unyielding.

A power struggle unfolded as he circled me, each step calculated. "Your dear mother is expecting you to fulfill your side of the bargain." He hesitated for a second, carefully measuring his next words to avoid giving anything away. "And the Night Court is not your concern," he added with a tone of casual malice, as if the subject was of little importance to him. 

Interesting.

In a blink, he was beside me, and before I could react, I felt the cold touch of his onyx blade at the nape of my neck. Isarn was faster than I had anticipated, his military training evident in his swift, lethal movement.

I summoned a burst of chilling force to my upper body, just in case, trying to remain grounded. 

"Tell me… what you know," Isarn demanded, slowly pressing the blade harder against my neck.

I felt a warm liquid trickle down my back—he had pierced my skin. The pain was sharp, but the realization of my vulnerability was even more cutting. My wound was healing quickly, though the gash hurt like hell. 

He kept pressing with intent and what felt like... pleasure? I fought back tears until they finally broke. 

"I heard Rhysand and Feyre talking about a book the Ancient One is working on. It could be a weapon, I don't... I don't know anything else." 

Isarn’s smile was victorious as he released the blade from my neck. "A book?" His eyes gleamed with greed. "See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?" he taunted, his voice mocking and triumphant. Then the bastard licked my blood from the tip of the blade, never breaking eye contact. Repulsive, dishonorable, evil shred of a male. 

I forced a gag down my throat and kept an impassive expression on my face to avoid giving him a reaction, but I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I was disgusted, enraged, frustrated and tired. How much longer did we have to put up with this prick? From the moment I was recalled from the Boreal Retreat to the Citadel a few weeks ago, Isarn had made it his personal mission to humiliate me every chance he got. The Commander, Gods only knew how, had managed to convince Kallias to assign me to aid the Night Court, so I hadn't even had time to delegate my duties, and I often wondered how my patients at the Retreat were doing. 

Fortunately, a knock on the door interrupted my torment.

"Sir?" A soldier peeked his head in with hesitation and fear. He had been summoned by the Commander but clearly did not want to disturb him. He knew better than that.

"Alfson. Take the lady here to the lower chambers. Make sure she sees how her mother is being well cared for." Isarn snarled with disdain. Then he pinned me down with his resolute obsidian eyes as he reclined on his desk, their fixed stare anchoring me in place. 

"We are done here. You're to remain in the Night Court until I say otherwise, and you better not try any funny business." He tapped the ebony with his fat fingers, emphasizing the last three words. "I've got eyes and ears everywhere."

"I've got eyes and ears everywhere," I scoffed in my head. Honestly, what was his interest in the Night Court? 

What is your endgame, Commander?

A surge of strength coursed through me, a defiant fire igniting in my chest. While my resilience had always been a silent force, manifesting through actions rather than words, this newfound courage startled me. 

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out of my mouth.

"You mean Hybern’s?"

His head suddenly snapped up, a shadow crossing his face. Without warning, his hand lashed out, striking me across the face with a force that sent me reeling. The sting of his platinum rings bit into my skin, and before I could even touch my cheek to ease the pain, his gaze shifted to the soldier. With a slight nod and a silent command in his eyes, he conveyed his next order.

A sudden, searing pain exploded at the side of my head, and my world turned black.

The barren, snow-covered ground crunched beneath our feet as we searched for anything to stave off our gnawing hunger. It had been two weeks since my father had left us to fend for ourselves, his absences a common trial we had learned to endure. The biting wind whipped through my thin clothes, but I barely felt it, my focus solely on survival. 

I ran ahead of her, a small figure stood out a few meters away in the sea of whites and grays around us.

“Mama, look!”

We had stumbled upon a rabbit, its fragile body barely clinging to life. I looked at my mother with young, inexperienced eyes, searching in hers for an answer to the rabbit's pain, though knowing this could be our dinner. 

She knelt beside the animal, examining it with gentle hands despite the harshness of our surroundings. Her eyes, a blend of resolve and sorrow, met mine with a weight that belied her calm exterior. She cupped her hand on my left cheek, a mother's heart breaking at the lesson she was about to teach her little girl. 

"You must choose," she said gently, her voice trembling yet firm as strings of mist came out of her mouth. "Help it get better, or let it go peacefully. The decision is yours, my love."

Her tone carried not just the necessity of our survival, but a plea for understanding. 

I hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on my small shoulders. The rabbit's labored breaths filled my ears, and I felt a pang of empathy for the creature. But the growling of my stomach and the desperate look in my mother's eyes forced my hand. With trembling fingers, I reached out, knowing that this choice meant survival.

I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering my strength, then made the call. 

I snapped the flimsy neck, ending the rabbit’s suffering to provide us with a meal. The act felt heavy, its significance settling deep within me.

My mother’s gaze hardened as she stroked my hair and looked into my eyes. 

"You did good. Sometimes we must do not what our hearts desire but what our needs demand, without fear nor hesitation” 

Her words replaced the feeling of guilt and grief, they had etched themselves into my soul, becoming a cornerstone of my resilience and determination.

I bolted upright on the cold stone floor, my mother's voice echoing in my mind. The nightmare, the memory, had faded, but the longing for her warming presence remained.

As my senses returned, I realized I wasn't in my bed but in a dark, dank dungeon. The chains binding me were a deep, otherworldly blue, shimmering faintly in the dim light. Each link felt like liquid metal solidified into an unbreakable structure, wrapped tightly around my wrists and ankles. The subtle chill from their touch seeped into my bones, sapping my strength with powerful magic. 

I groaned as I tried to reach for the back of my head where an intense headache originated, pounding behind my eyes, likely from the blow Alfson had delivered in Isarn’s office. My vision was still blurry, but as I blinked rapidly trying to clear my sight, the full extent of my situation became painfully clear: I wasn't healing.

I struggled against the chains, my movements slow and sluggish. Each effort to free myself only seemed to tighten their grip. Panic began to set in, my breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. Then, amidst the silence of the dungeon, a familiar whimpering voice reached me over the ringing in my ears.

Across the cell, through the dim light and shadows, I saw her. She was huddled in a corner, her once-vibrant form now frail and broken. 

No. No, no, no–

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized the horror of her imprisonment. Isarn hadn't been keeping her in some quarters as I had hoped; all this time, she had been held captive in a dungeon cell. 

"My child," she murmured. 

It pained me to hear her voice barely audible carrying the weight of all the suffering she had endured.

"Mama," the call came from the bottom of my heart, out to my lips, hoarse and desperate. The sight of her, more than the chains, more than the cold, more than the headache, shattered my core. I fought against the bonds with renewed desperation, my mind racing to find a way to free us both. A thousand questions swirled in my mind, and I could see the same confusion and urgency reflected in my mother's eyes.

I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady, "I've been out assisting the Night Court."

Her eyes widened, a spark of shock briefly flickering through her weariness. I wanted to tell her everything, about the beautiful city of Starlight, the people I had met, the mission I had undertaken, about my mate, but there was no time. The sound of boots echoed faintly in the background, so I continued.

"Mama, I’ve been well, but I can't talk for long," I said, my words hurried. "They're coming."

She nodded, understanding the urgency. Despite her frail state, she reached out to me as if she could hold my hand from a distance. "Bjorn," she said, her voice dry and raspy, "he's been aiding me."

Bjorn. The mention of his name brought a flood of emotions. My uncle, my mentor, the one who had always been there for us. While my father abandoned us, Bjorn had stepped in, teaching me everything I needed to know to survive in this frozen hell. As the Captain of the border forces with the Autumn Court, he had been a figure of fortitude and tenacity, walking alongside me every step of the way, from treating soldiers in makeshift tents to becoming indispensable to the court. He was more of a father to me than my own ever was. 

"He sneaks in when he can... Isarn still doesn’t know," my mother continued in a whisper, forcing a gulp. "He doesn’t know you’re related. It’s our only advantage."

I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. The thought of seeing Bjorn again gave me a glimmer of hope. I had kept it together up to this point but gods knew I needed a lifeline. 

"Do what Isarn says for now, my love. Find Bjorn. He’s been looking for you, too."

My mother fought a cough, struggling to talk. As her eyes met mine, I silently pleaded with her to stop, to save her strength, but she pressed on, defying my unspoken request. 

"He mentioned tensions at the border are growing, and that he’s been looking for a way to undermine Isarn's influence, to exploit his vulnerabilities."

The sound of boots grew louder, the guards getting closer. Panic surged through me, but I held on to my mother’s words. "We’ll get through this," I promised. "I'll find Bjorn." As soon as Isarn grows bored of this hissy fit and sends me back to Velaris.

The Mother must’ve heard my prayers, as two soldiers finally approached the cell’s gate, each carrying a large bucket filled with what looked like water, and two thick linen cloths. This couldn’t be good.

"Rise and shine, ladies," one of them sneered.

Fuck, how long had it been?

The soldiers walked into the cell with a menacing air. "This is a mercy from the General, a little reminder." one of them said, his words dripping with that characteristic malice of Isarn’s personal guard.

Before I could react, they grabbed us and forced us to the cold stone floor. The first splash of icy water hit my face like a thousand needles, the shock making me gasp for air. The cloth was pressed over my face, and the torture began.

I struggled to breathe as they poured more water on me, each inhalation bringing it into my lungs. Panic and pain overwhelmed me as I heard my mother's muffled cries close by. I fought against the restraints, desperately trying to break free, but the chains held me fast.

Just when I thought I would drown, they stopped. I laid there, coughing and gasping for breath, my body trembling. The soldiers laughed, their eyes savoring their making.

"If you don’t comply with the General’s orders," one of them said, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "or if you dare to question him again, he will personally stab you both with faebane, bathe you in cold water, and leave you out to freeze to death."

The other soldier removed the dark indigo bonds and spat on my face.

“Scum.”

But I ignored it all as I crawled towards my mother, every movement a struggle. "Mama, please," I begged, "stay with me."

Darkness was closing in, my strength fading. The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was my mother’s frail form, her eyes filled with love and desperation. 

I drifted in and out of awareness as rough hands grabbed me, dragging me out of the dungeons. My body felt heavy, my limbs barely responding. Through blurred vision, I saw the dimly lit corridors of the lower levels of the Hailstone Citadel pass by, the cold seeping into my bones.

"Keep moving," one of the soldiers muttered, his grip tightening on my arm.

They hauled me through a hidden exit at the back of the citadel, into the freezing night. The biting wind stung my face, jolting me closer to full consciousness. They dragged me into the bailey, the snow crunching under their boots, until they finally dropped me unceremoniously onto the ground.

I laid there, shivering, hardly breathing. I had to move. Summoning the last of my strength to heal the tightness in my muscles, I pushed myself up, staggering towards the stables I knew were nearby. Each step was a battle as I reached a horse conveniently saddled, its breath visible in the cold air. I had always prided myself on being self-reliant, I’d been taught to never depend on a male for strength or comfort. But now, as my body temperature kept dangerously dropping, I found myself wishing for Cassian’s warmth, his strong arms wrapping around me. I held onto that feeling for solace, while focusing on mounting the animal. 

I urged the horse south, towards the Autumn Court border where I knew Bjorn was positioned. The ride was a blur of icy wind and snow-covered trees. I fought hard to stay awake and to listen to the rhythm of the horse’s gallop—it was the only thing keeping me from slipping back into unconsciousness.

When I finally reached the border at dawn, the outpost where Bjorn was stationed came into view. It was a watchpoint where the soldiers of the Winter Court kept an eye on the shifting lines between territories. Tents erected around a tall brick structure dotted the landscape as far as I could see, blending into the snow-covered ground.

A soldier approached as I dismounted, recognizing me from past encounters at the recovery camps. "Y/N," he greeted, his voice filled with concern as he saw my condition. He helped me unmount, his hands steadying me as I stumbled. 

"I have urgent business with the Captain," I muttered as I could.

The soldier nodded, understanding the urgency. "This way."

He tied the horse to a post and guided me through the site as I made my way to Bjorn's tent. The sounds and faces of the outpost, once familiar and comforting, now felt distant and blurred as if they were fading away. At last, we arrived at Bjorn's tent. The soldier stepped inside first, clearing his throat before speaking, "Captain, someone’s here to see you." I followed, my legs barely holding me up.

Bjorn turned around, shock registering on his face when he saw me. "Y/N," his voice broke, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and worry. 

I couldn't contain my tears any longer. I ran to him, collapsing into his embrace. He wrapped me around tightly in a fatherly comfort I had longed for since I left for the Night Court.

As we stood there, memories of our time together surged through my mind. I recalled the countless hours we spent in the training grounds, his voice calm and steady as he instructed me on how to hold a blade, how to keep my balance even on treacherous ice. He drilled me in the military structure of the Winter Court, ensuring I understood the hierarchy and strategies that could one day save my life. 

His patience never wavered as he guided me in harnessing my healing powers, teaching me to channel my energy and focus it precisely where it was needed. Every lesson, every word of encouragement had shaped me into who I was today. He had been there for me in my darkest moments, offering his support and wisdom when I needed it most. Our familial tie was forged in those early days of hardship, and it had only grown stronger over the years.

"I thought I'd lost you," Bjorn whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I pulled back, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. "My mother…" I pleaded, "she needs help."

Bjorn’s face set with resolve. "We’ll take care of her."

He turned and called for the soldier who had brought me to the tent. As the soldier approached, Bjorn drifted to his work table, quickly scribbling something on a piece of paper. He handed it to the soldier. "Take this to Eirik," he instructed. "He’ll know what to do."

The soldier nodded and swiftly left the tent, leaving me sighing with a sense of relief. Bjorn finally faced me, studying me with worry. 

"I look like hell, don't I?" I managed a weak smile.

Bjorn chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound. "You always did have a flair for understatement," he teased, his teal blue eyes scanning me for injuries. He quickly urged me to sit, gently helping me as I sank onto a nearby stool. As he helped me remove my wet cloak, no longer pewter but a light charcoal due to all the dirt, and my boots, he gazed at my wrists where they were still hurt. My powers were almost depleted.

When he took off my boots, he noticed the bargain tattoo. His lips pursed. "Your mother told me about..." He pointed at the tattoo with his chin. "When you left... I couldn't, I haven't forgiven myself. I should've been there for you. I'm sorry." 

I reached out for his arms, like I always did many, many times when I was younger and none of this mattered. 

"You had no way of knowing, and I won't let you carry the guilt of Isarn's doing," I whispered in our embrace.

I took a deep breath and slowly let go, still holding his hands. "I was in the Night Court, sent to work as a healer, but I was spying for Isarn. He..." I looked down at my wrists, cuts from the chains still open, "did not hold back when I returned. The moment I mentioned the King of Hybern, he snapped. I don't get it, why is he so interested in the Night Court?"

Bjorn's face hardened. "Because he’s an ambitious prick. I have spies within Isarn’s close circle. He's working with Hybern. He’s promised him the Winter Court in exchange for his help." 

He saw the blood leaving my face as my heart sank, waves of blame and dread suffocated me. 

Dear Mother. What have I done?

"Is that even possible?"

"The fool is a loyalist. He’d gladly sell his own pathetic life to bring back the days of human enslavement."

Weariness was creeping in. I hadn’t slept all night, though the gravity of the conversation was enough to keep my mind alert. 

"It gets worse," Bjorn continued. "Isarn plans to help Hybern destabilize the Night Court by kidnapping the Cursebreaker. Apparently Hybern wants to use her powers against all humans down the Wall, though we still don’t know how."

"Feyre... But why would Isarn do this?" 

Despite his cruelty, Isarn was a military commander through and through, his loyalty to the Winter Court woven into the very fabric of his being. Betrayal felt out of character.

Bjorn's eyes locked into mine, his demeanor to the brink of desperation. "Isarn has long harbored resentment towards Lady Viviane for commanding the Winter Court armies during Under the Mountain. He felt..." 

The soldier that brought me to the tent interrupted, bringing two steaming bowls of stew, the savory aroma filling the tent. 

"This might not be a feast, but it'll keep you going," he remarked while he offered me a shy smile, approaching me with a bowl.

Ever the overprotective parent, Bjorn grabbed both from his hands, dismissing the soldier with a nod, and continued. 

"He felt small and undermined—no surprises there." He winked at me conspiratorially. I would have laughed at the joke if the guilt within me wasn't drowning me.

"Especially after discovering Lady Viviane's leadership role. His supposed captivity by Hybern was a ruse; he was collaborating with them all along."

I felt a sickening twist in my gut. I lowered my head into my hands, resting them on my legs, overwhelmed by exhaustion and frustration, and unable to process any more information. Telling Isarn about the book had been a mistake. A grave mistake. But I couldn't burden Bjorn with the weight of my call, I'd rather keep him focused on my mother's well-being. Then there's the safety of my mate… I had to fix this. I knew what I had to do. 

"I have to go back to the Night Court." I uttered with a stammer. 

Bjorn's eyes blanked with a resolve that startled me, he’d seen right through me and instantly knew my intentions. He stood up and started pacing around the tent. 

"If you plan to share any information about Isarn and his plans with the Night Court, you need to be prepared, Y/N.”

He was right. If I approached Rhysand and Feyre, laying out everything I knew about Isarn while also proposing a solution, they could not only be warned but might also offer resources and intelligence to our advantage, in a joint effort. A pang of gratitude hit my core when I realized that, in the rush of the moment, Isarn wasn’t too specific with the terms of the bargain. 

A fool, indeed. This might just work. 

I felt a hint of pride in my chest.

"Not bad for an old captain," I winked at him, and replied with a smirk when I shared my conclusion. 

"I'll need to devise a plan that ensures Isarn can't retaliate. If I can present them with a strategy to counter his, they may be able to support us."

Bjorn agreed, his expression serious. 

"Exactly. They have as much at stake as we do."

He slowly leaned towards me, placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes, his gaze full of emotion. I knew this moment would come once more, the moment we part without knowing when we’ll see each other again, but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It seemed like all we had now were these fleeting moments, and there was still so much I wanted to share with him.

"You can do this, Y/N. But remember, you must keep up the facade with Isarn until the very end. Any slip, and he will come down on you hard. On both of you.”

"I understand," I said firmly, taking his calloused hands in mine. 

Then he searched my eyes for the tenacity he'd taught me to maintain in these situations, and found another emotion seeping in instead.

A longing for the male I'd been relentlessly pushing away, leaving him behind at the Night Court.

"Alright, spill it, child. What’s going on?" Bjorn pressed, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated, my thoughts a whirlwind. I wanted to tell him about Cassian, but how could I explain this to Bjorn when Cassian himself didn't know about the mating bond? Not that I was planning to tell him either. 

The risk of exposing such a deeply personal truth made me feel incredibly vulnerable. Still, I wanted him to know. I needed his guidance and support, now more than ever.

"I..." I started, struggling to find the right words. "There’s someone at the Night Court. Someone... important to me."

Bjorn's thick eyebrows burrowed, but he waited patiently for me to continue.

"I think... I think I've found my mate. He's very well known and a person of trust in the Night Court. He doesn't know though, about the bond."

Bjorn's lips drew a line. 

Oh, Gods. 

I hadn't been this nervous since the first time I met Kallias. I forced a swallow down my throat and continued, the words coming out of my mouth in a hurried tirade like a child who had been caught being naughty.

"I cannot, will not risk this mission for a male I barely know, though," I continued, determination hardening my voice despite the pounding in my heart. "There's too much at stake, and I need to focus on what matters now."

Bjorn’s lips twitched, and for a moment, I saw the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. 

"So, you’re just telling me now that you found your mate?" he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "And here I thought you were keeping all your secrets from me."

Despite the tension, a small smile crept across my face as I lowered my chin and looked at my bare foot. "It's not like that."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I know, child. I’m just teasing. But seriously, a mate? And an important one in the Night Court, no less,” his hands reaching his hips. “You sure know how to pick them."

I mentally sighed as all the light-hearted taunting eased some of the anxiety gnawing at my insides. 

"I didn’t exactly choose this, you know." 

Bjorn’s expression turned more serious, though the warmth didn’t leave his eyes. "I admire your determination, Y/N. And I’m happy for you, really. But you need to be cautious. Especially if he’s a significant figure in the Night Court."

He elbowed me with complicit eyes, "Can I know who this significant other, I mean, figure is?"

I rolled my eyes, tempted to fall into more of his tease but instead I hesitated, thinking about the answer. 

"You’ll know, Bjorn. In time. If everything goes well after Isarn is dealt with. For now, we move forward with the plan."

Bjorn nodded, understanding the boundary. "Fair enough. Just promise me you’ll be careful. And be smart. Remember your training."

"I promise," I said, knowing that I would cling to those words when the moment demanded it. I stood there for a moment, trying to hold on to this precious instant with him. His concern for me was evident, and it mirrored the worry I felt for him. 

"Good," he replied with a reassuring smile. Bjorn’s blue eyes softened as he pulled me into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of mist and pine enveloped me, grounding me in the moment. 

“Please be strong, petal,” he murmured, his tone carried a hue of anguish. I nodded against his shoulder, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall upon hearing the affectionate nickname he’d given me since I was a child. “I will.”

We pulled back slightly, our hands still clasped together. His rough palms were a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I looked into his eyes again and recognized the unspoken devoted love that had always been there. 

"This isn't goodbye," I said softly, squeezing his hands. "Please keep her safe. Who knows, the next time we meet I may bring some allies, Mother willing."

"I'll hold you to that. Now go," he held my chin up gently, with a caress. "Go back to the Night Court and show them what you're made of," his eyes shone with affection. 

With a final nod, I gathered my now somewhat-dry cloak, and some clean clothes and supplies for the journey he'd packed for me. 

Before I walked out of the tent, he called after me.

"He better be good with a sword."

I hid a grin, knowing the answer. "Something like that."

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dividers by @estrelinha-s

[rideretremando]

Caro Andrea, fortunatamente mi sono imbattuto così poche volte nelle pagine del "giornale" in cui scrivi da non sapere né il tuo cognome né se tu - spero vivamente per la categoria di no - sia un giornalista professionista o un comico satirico, sono il figlio di Sigfrido Ranucci e nonostante alcune volte me ne sorprenda anche io, non sono ancora orfano di padre.

Vivo da sempre con il pensiero, il timore che ogni volta che saluto mio padre possa essere l'ultima, del resto credo sia inevitabile quando vivi per decenni sotto scorta, quando hai sette anni e ci sono i proiettili nella cassetta della posta di casa tua, quando vai a mangiare al ristorante e ti consigliano di cambiare aria perché non sei ben gradito nella regione, quando ti svegli una mattina e trovi scientifica, polizia, carabinieri e DIGOS in giardino perché casualmente sono stati lasciati dei bossoli, quando ricevi giornalmente minacce, pacchi contenenti polvere da sparo e lettere minatorie, o semplicemente quando ti abitui a non poter salire in macchina con tuo padre.

Ricordo perfettamente il periodo dello Tsunami e dell'isola di Sumatra, che giusto per precisione si trova in Indonesia e non India, quando papà con il parere contrario del suo Direttore Roberto Morrione decise di raccontare la vicenda in uno dei luoghi più martoriati dalle inondazioni, lontano dalle comodità e dai luoghi privilegiati dai quali tutti i media scrivevano.

E' uno dei primi ricordi di cui ho contezza, avevo 5 anni, mia sorella 6, mio fratello forse 8, eravamo in macchina, erano circa 40 ore che nessuno riuscisse ad avere contatti con papà, mamma tratteneva le lacrime a fatica, sola con noi tre, faceva finta che andasse tutto bene, forse è stata la prima volta che ho avuto la sensazione che dovessi percepire la vita con papà come se fosse a tempo, con una data di scadenza.

Ebbene sì, è tornato sano e salvo e a distanza di 20 anni purtroppo per te, Andrea, per fortuna per noi e credo di poter dire per il paese è ancora qui, a svolgere il suo lavoro come sempre, vivo e vegeto anche se in tanti lo vorrebbero morto.

Il morto del giorno è il giornalismo italiano, ancora una volta, e chi è l'assassino è evidente a tutti."

[multiverseofseries]

Transformers One: un film d’animazione per piccoli (e grandi) spettatori

Primo film animato del franchise, Transformers One racconta l'origin story degli amici-nemici Optimus Prime e Megatron.

L'animazione si sta rivelando una possibile reincarnazione (letteralmente) di franchise creduti morti e sepolti, tanto in tv quanto al cinema. Soprattutto perché si tratta di un linguaggio che oramai ha sdoganato il suo parlare solamente ai bambini. Ne è un chiaro esempio Transformers One. Primo adattamento interamente animato della saga - la CGI, in fondo, è animazione sotto mentite spoglie - la pellicola prova a reboottare la saga anche per i neofiti, svelando retroscena inediti ai fan della prima ora.

Storia di due fratelli

I transformers minatori

Il film d'animazione è prodotto tra gli altri da Michael Bay (regista dei primi live action del franchise) e Steven Spielberg, realizzato da Paramount Animation sempre ispirandosi ai celebri giocattoli Hasbro e diretto da Josh Cooley, già penna dietro il successo del primo Inside Out e del suo corto Il primo appuntamento di Riley oltre che del quarto Toy Story. Torniamo agli albori della storia su Cybertron, quando Optimus Prime e Megatron, nemici storici giurati nei film live action, erano in realtà amici quasi fraterni, sempre pronti a darsi un bullone e fidarsi l'uno dell'altro.

Qualcosa poi ad un certo punto è andato storto - ed è proprio qui in realtà che il lungometraggio fa cilecca, perché pur approfondendo i personaggi, mostra un cambio troppo repentino del loro rapporto. In questa origin story dei robot minatori che non possono trasformarsi: questo il destino di molti degli abitanti rispetto a coloro che stanno ai piani alti, in una società in cui il privilegio e la classe sociale contano molto, un po' uno specchio del sogno americano. Peccato che quel sogno si rivelerà presto un incubo pieno di false promesse e che l'origine di tutta Cybertron verrà messa in discussione.

Il primo film tutto in CGI del franchise

Come primo esperimento totalmente animato della saga, propone una qualità tecnica indubbiamente interessante ma non totalmente riuscita. Non è sempre fluida, sia sui personaggi che sui fondali, e non sempre riesce a tenere incollati allo schermo, pur proponendo una regia dinamica curata da Josh Cooley. Complice anche il ritmo del film, che prova ad essere scanzonato perché principalmente rivolto ai bambini - eppure, proprio la storia dei due protagonisti ha una svolta estremamente dark per quel tipo di pubblico - ma allo stesso tempo si perde in alcuni risvolti del racconto soprattutto nel terzo atto, finendo per essere un po' ridondante nonostante la durata canonica della pellicola (un'ora e mezza).

Il futuro Megatron

Non solo: in Transformers One ci sono varie citazioni ed easter egg che solo gli adulti potranno cogliere. Pregevole però il tentativo di parlare di temi maturi e attuali come il potere e ciò che rappresenta, il pericolo del suo accentramento su un'unica persona e la cecità della massa che spesso segue un leader senza farsi le giuste domande o metterne in discussione le fondamenta e le dichiarazioni.

Transformers One: presente o futuro della saga?

La mappa digitale che cercano i protagonisti

Non sappiamo se il film possa diventare il primo di una nuova trilogia - il finale strizza l'occhio a questa possibilità pur chiudendo le storyline - ma quello che ci sentiamo di dire è potrebbe risultare per molti una ventata d'aria fresca all'interno del franchise. Sicuramente il cast vocale messo insieme nella versione originale - Chris Hemsworth e Scarlett Johansson che si riuniscono dal Marvel Cinematic Universe, Brian Tyree Henry, Keegan-Michael Key, Steve Buscemi, Laurence Fishburne e Jon Hamm - contribuisce a creare quel lavoro di squadra fondamentale in questo tipo di progetti. Nel complesso, un film che intrattiene e strappa qualche sorriso, avvincente nella sua esposizione anche se non completamente riuscito.

Conclusioni

In conclusione Transformers One è il primo film completamente animato in computer grafica della saga nata dai giocattoli Hasbro che dopo la (s)fortunata vita in live action prova a reinventarsi per spettatori grandi e piccini. Buona (anche se non eccelsa) nel comparto tecnico, la pellicola ha qualche battuta d’arresto anche a livello narrativo nella seconda metà ma funziona nell'intento di voler raccontare un’origin story inedita e nell'affrontare temi maturi come l’accentramento di potere e l’amicizia che a volte può diventare l’esatto opposto in un battere d’occhio.

👍🏻

L’origin story di Optimus Prime e Megatron.

La caratterizzazione immediata dei personaggi.

Le tematiche mature…

👎🏻

…che però potrebbero confondere sul target a cui questo film sia effettivamente indirizzato.

L’animazione non è sempre fluida.

Il film è un po’ ridondante nella seconda parte e il plot twist centrale non funziona totalmente.