#Il colosseo

[thewayfaringowl]

Il Colosseo

11.04.23

[benjaminsblog]

Rome

I travelled to the Italian capital with Dad and Hannah for a few days, making it visit number III to the Eternal City, but the first as a tourist rather than a worker bee. We had all previously been on different occasions, but in varying degrees of detail, so we made sure to cover the things at the top of our lists.

On our day of arrival, we took things easy and wandered by the Trevi Fountain, threw in a coin apiece, and grabbed some dinner (apparently MMM euros a day lands in the drink there, and each night it is collected to be donated to a food bank charity).

Day II was the big day, and we hopped on a tour bus to do a lap of the city before stopping off at the main event; the one thing I felt I’d missed out on during my previous visits was a proper look at the Colosseum, but we were all keen to see it, so we’d made sure to have a tour lined up long in advance. Ours actually started with a VR version outside before heading in to see the real thing. I can’t fully explain why I’ve had such a burning desire to see it for so long, but I’m very glad I did. Despite being far from its former glories, there’s still an aura about the place, and I feel like I ticked something big off the bucket list.

For the night’s entertainment, we had a pizza cooking class, which was great fun - we were joined by a couple and their little girl from Brazil who were willing companions, and the young lady who instructed us was excellent, too. Once she started handing out ‘perfecto’s to the class, Hannah and I rekindled our sibling rivalry and competed for a higher compliment count. Sis edged it when the assisting chef gave her a sneaky ‘perfecto’ behind my back!

The dough recipe we prepared requires XLVIII hours to do its thing, so in true Blue Peter fashion we used a base that had been made earlier to dollop some toppings onto. They took III minutes to cook in the the CCC-degree furnace, and were absolutely delicious.

For the record, every single meal during the trip was fantastic, and I feel like I ordered correctly every single time. The homemade pizza and various pasta dishes were just beaten to the gold medal by a prawn risotto.

Day III was our final full day, and although we still covered a lot of ground, it was at a calmer pace. We stopped off at the pope’s house so Dad and Hannah to add another ‘country’ to their checklist, and then wandered up/down the Spanish Steps (punctuated by pizza). There was time for an equally delicious afternoon nap before one more lovely meal, topped off with some gelato at a nearby cafe run by a lovely woman from Napoli, who - despite having limited English - left us in no doubt that Napoli was also definitely worth a visit - maybe next year…?!

[i-am-a-polpetta]

Milano dateo sulla mappa un neo (ma ci passo stanotte)

[affogonellamarmellata]

[blogitalianissimo]

Sono arrivati ad usare il Colosseo per fare propaganda, boh

[slickchickchocolatier]

ROMAN HOLIDAY

Part one

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰:

Some fluff, minor comedy, slow burn type romance. Part 2 will have smut.

Had to take a break from MT's final chapter (it's almost done I promise) but I needed a break from Heedam (trust me…the man is getting juicy with his y/n.) so please enjoy this heartwarming piece based off the film with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. Sorry not proofread.

"Princess Y/N of (home country) has safely arrived to Italy as part of her European tour, becoming the diplomatic voice for the troubled youths of today's generation. The heir to King (your father's name) throne has received the warmest welcomes as she is greeted by the local nationals and the royal families of Europe.

Tonight, a grand ball will be held in the Princess’s honor, attended by the most pristine global guests at the Il Colosseo Rosa, where the sole heir will personally greet and address both, the royal and political unions of the continental divide.”

You gracefully appeared before the massive audience as General Hector Lucino, head of the royal guards, escorted you to the head of the ball room. The guests sigh and gasp at the sight as you delicately take your steps, greeting them with a warm smile and gently nodding your head in modesty. The level of class and sophistication within your aura wasn’t just a part of the years of royal grooming. No, this was the natural inheritance of your pure bloodline as the sole heir of your father’s nobility. 

Taking his place by your side, the general stands by amidst the colonels and high ranking officials, along with your closest staff, the Duke of Sagewick, the Marquis of Pemberton, and the Duchess de Barbarac, your personal headmistress that cared and looked after you religiously. 

The national anthem was played beautifully by a live performance, followed by your formal introduction as the announcer represented you to the public. Lined up before you, was the lengthy row of ambassadors, military officials, royal members of various continental houses, and more. As the announcer formally calls out their names, you greet them with grace and a formal introduction. 

The gems of your necklace, earrings, and tiara shined brightly, yet still was no match against your heavenly smile. Your eyes, glistened by the chandelier lighting, twinkled like the stars in the sky, while your gown flared your noble appeal. 

Moments after greeting the first ranking official, you lost track of the time. You were quite certain it had been at least thirty minutes since the announcer called the first name, and your feet were reminding you of it. You swore, it never mattered how often you wore these low heels, your body could never adjust to the extension as the balls of your feet began to beat with a sense of soreness. You did your best to shift between each foot, uncasting them from the intrusive pressures of the silkened pumps. Back and forth, between left and right, you shifted out of the pumps and wiggled your toes, stretched the arch, and returned back to your modest posture, never letting out a clue as to what was going on beneath your dress–at least, up until you mistakenly lost your balance, a rookie move for a seasoned princess. Failing to feed your foot back into the heel, you shifted in motion, causing a slight disruption when greeting the Grand Duke Casta of DeLatitia. You remained composed; your smile stayed ever so gentle as you tried your best to not pay any attention to the sudden note of humiliation. 

Finally, the last member was called, and you would have felt relieved if it weren’t for the fact that your right, silk threaded pump falls over. You did your best to delicately put it back in place so that you could slip it back on, but to no avail. Between the sheer, slick material of your stockings and the smoothness of the pump’s material, you lost all will to place it back on foot. The audience all wait for you to take your seat, you nearly forgot as you remained ever so focused in getting your slipper back on, when the Duchess de Barbarac gently places a hand on your elbow, giving you a slight tug as she guides you back into your chair. Admitting defeat, you take your position and watch as everyone takes a breath and is relieved to finally sit down, only to find that laying lonesomely before you, was your abandoned slipper. 

The general and royal staff members all signaled to the Duchess with a sense of urgency in their expressions. It took a few seconds for her to notice, but once she did, a frown of dismay nearly disrupted her calm look, but she caught herself and remained unperturbed, something she had mastered from years of training you. 

The General whispers into the Marquis’s ear. Standing straight and tall, the man presents his hand, a formal gesture to ignite the first dance, in which you took the hint and accepted as you placed your palm in his. Taking a step down, he levels your balance as you were able to strategically hover over your slipper, and slip it back into place. All was well. 

After spending the evening with the routines of royal responsibilities, it was finally time to lay the night to rest. 

“Duchess?”

“Yes?” 

“May I request a readjustment of my wardrobe?”

The duchess continues her tasks without pause, merely raising a brow in slight vexation. “A readjustment? What for?”

You finish brushing your long strands, placing the gold victorian brush down on your vanity. “My nightgown…I hate it.” 

“You shouldn’t use the word ‘hate’ my dear, it’s very unsuitable for someone from your station.” 

“But I do hate it–and I hate all of my underwear too.” 

Slightly rolling her eyes, the Duchess bids you to come to bed. “Come to bed Y/N, we have crackers, and milk in a fine glass.” Tucking you in, she sets the tray table over your lap while grabbing onto her filefax, preparing to go over tomorrow’s schedule. “Now my dear, I know you dislike going over tomorrow’s events, but it must be done. Finish your milk and crackers, I will proceed.” 

She places her thin glasses over the bridge of her nose, penciling her notes as she reads off the strict time hacks of all the press conferences, the visit with local orphanages, and the meeting with the Commandant of the Italian military forces. 

“First thing, we have the press conference to address the rising concerns of global inequality within the woman’s workforce and illegal recruitment of children conducting factory labor.” 

You sigh out as you munch on the saltine cracker. “I’ve visited this topic many times, how must I change the world when I am the sole individual addressing these concerns?”

“Oh my dear, that’s not proper language. You will have to accept and review the notes on the daily report.” Pulling out the document, the Duchess goes over the new avenues of approach to further emphasize the issue at hand, one that you had expressed on many occasions. Reading off each bullet point, you whispered out “Please…enough.” 

“And statistics also show that many women have…”

“Please stop.

“Then there are the points of view of the religious community that you will have to address.”

“No thank you…”

“Furthermore, there are many cultural aspects that interfere with the viewpoints of women in the workplace that you must take into consideration as the diplomatic figure of your family’s household–.” 

“STOP!!!”

The Duchess jumps at your tone, you finally snapped. It was long coming, yet the pressures of maintaining appearance and dignity only created a passive ball of depression that stormed in your chest, and tonight, it decided to burst out. “I can’t take it anymore! Just stop!”

“It’s alright Y/N, calm yourself, it's just nerves.”

“Nerves?! How dare you? Why does it always have to be this way? Why can’t I just be away from it all for once?”

“Your highness!” The Duchess raises her voice, doing her best to bring you back to a rational level, yet you continue to burst out in tears as you whimper out your absolute unhappiness with everything. The duties, the schedules, the constant controlling of your movements, the way you spoke, acted, thought, and felt–everything was too much, and you reached your breaking point. 

“I will get doctor Rue.” The Duchess dismisses herself, hastily telling the guard to quickly alert the general and royal staff that their presence was urgently requested at once. 

Moments later, the royal physician arrived with the royal staff following suit. You continue to cry and voice out your bitter disappointment; you certainly didn’t mean to act out, but who in the world could ever understand you? Everything was so mundane and dull, you lacked any excitement and spark in your life. WIth all the regulations and overhaul of agendas to fill your day, you barely had any time for yourself, much less to do anything memorable. The life of a princess, it was only glamorous and fashionable in the eyes of the public, but within closed walls, it was a disastrous lifestyle that you wish you could trade out in a heartbeat. 

Doctor Rue fetched out a syringe and needle, his face remained poised as he presented the solution to your ‘problem’. “Your highness, here is a little something to help you rest.”

“I don't need to rest…I want out! Out! I want out of this life!”

“Now, now.” Pinching the flesh on your arm, he sticks you with the needle tip, injecting the clear fluid. “What’s that?” you asked while hiccuping your tears. 

“Just a little something to help put you to sleep. By tomorrow morning, you’ll be good as new.” 

After taking your vitals, he and the staff left you alone; you laid fully awake, gazing at the cathedral ceiling. From outside your window, across the river, you could hear the laughter, dancing, and musical air that flowed and graced the night. How wonderful to be that free and joyful? 

“...I wish to be that happy.” you remarked to yourself, when your own mental voice presented you an ultimatum. So why don’t you? 

You quickly got up and out of bed, dressing yourself in modest casual attire, if you could even label it as casual. Everything you owned was sophisticated, elegant, and lavish. The most basic pieces were still eye-catching, regarding the most high end fabric and design. But that wasn’t going to stop you, not one bit. 

You peeked out through the door, to find the guards caught up in chit-chat. They stood in one end of the corridor, leaving the opposite path open, but just barely. You slipped through, hiding behind statues until the two pairs of eyes were looking away, which afforded you a chance to get by. Getting out from the inside was easy, it was the perimeter of the entire building and exiting the gate that was problematic. You were determined, which was further fueled by your success in getting out and hiding in the royal garden. Thankfully, you knew all the station points of where each guard and camera was set. The viewpoints of the camera lens were expansive, yet there were just enough blind spots for you to hide under as you swoop through, finding the organic market truck delivering fresh produce and meat for the chef and kitchen staff. Quickly, you snuck in the back of the cart, hiding behind a wooden cart of milk bottles as the driver closed up the tail, and started the vehicle. 

With a left turn, and straight ahead, you took a quick peek to find that the truck left the gates behind, closing for the night as everyone contained within are left thinking you are still in your bed, when in all reality, you were finally free. 

I did it…

You couldn’t believe it, this was entirely too good to be true. You finally made out and left the Colosseum. Resting your chin on the wooden crate, you watched all the happy couples taking their nightly stroll laugh and enjoy the Roman night. How dazzling it must be to be able to meet new people, go on dates, dress the way you see fit and to build companionship–a close and personal one at that. A world without having to be politically correct, not involved with the aggressive issues of world affairs and global diplomacy…just a life of chosen happiness and freedom. What a blissful and wonderful life that would be to have. 

The truck finally stopped, subtly waking you as you began to drift off. It would seem that doctor Rue’s medication was starting to take effect, but you had come so far to just merely return and fall asleep. You had to see and experience more, ride a motorbike, go sightseeing and even drink real Italian soda, or eat ice cream from a cone, for once. 

Walking along the sidewalk, you admired the dazzling architecture and fountains, graced by such remarkable statues. 

“I can’t wait to see everything.”

…………………………………..

“Alright, show face gents.”

“I got nothing.”

“Got a straight.”

Ethan strokes his chin, leveling out his hand, revealing a full house. “Oh, a full house. Bet you were feeling lucky, eh Ethan?” Jake, Ethan’s best friend remarks with a devious tune in his voice. “Let’s have it.” Ethan mumbles out, already figuring he lost this round as he tosses the remainder of his poker chips. 

“Royal flush! Go ahead and weep boys.” Jake announces delightfully as he scoops up his entire night’s winnings. 

“Whatever, I’m out. I got a early morning tomorrow.”

“Ah, the press conference with Princess Y/N?”

“Yup.” Ethan lets out a tiresome sigh while placing his jacket on. “You heading out soon?” He raises a brow and extends an inquiry towards Jake. “Yeah, after a bit.”

“Cool, see ya.” At his que, Ethan leaves. 

With his casual suit and tie, he takes a nightly stroll as his hands remain nestled in both pockets. What a night, another game ending with him losing a week's worth of pay, so much for a fun night out with the boys. 

Up ahead, he spots a peculiar view. Drawing closer in, he notices you asleep on the bench. Odd. Why would a young lady, neatly dressed be asleep on the street. 

“Miss?…Miss! Wake up.” 

You mumbled as he dipped down to shake your shoulder. “Miss, you shouldn’t be sleeping here.” 

“Mmm…not…not sleeping…”

“Uh huh.” Rolling his eyes, Ethan buries his hand back in the pocket before mocking your pitiful state. “You know, typically if someone can’t handle their liquor, they shouldn’t drink. Especially at this hour.” 

“Mmm…” you flutter your lashes as you blink, all the while Ethan half-heartedly sits you up. “Mm…Art thou afeared to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire?” You drew out your tired voice as you reiterated your favorite verse, succeeding in impressing the rather stoic young man at your side. “Do you know who wrote that?” You questioned as your eyes go back to being shut. 

“Huh…so you’re not only well dressed, but you’re also well educated.” Ethan tosses a small pebble in the air, catches it before skipping it against the placid surface of the water. “What is someone like you out here charting lines from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth”?” His tone was playful and teasing, but you hardly noticed as you drifted off. A nearby taxi drives close, and Ethan waves it down. “Well, see ya chica.” 

He opens the car door before taking another pitiful glance at you. Your body goes limp as you lay yourself back down, nuzzling against the backrest of the bench. 

Ethan comes back and taps your arm. “Hey, you take the cab. Come on, take it and go home.” 

“Mmmmmmmngh….”

“Come on…” lifting you, he rests you against his shoulder as he helps you inside the back of the taxi. “Senor, where to?” 

Ethan shuts the door as he does his best to stabilize you in the back seat. No matter how he tried, you kept slouching over, mumbling out tiresome moans as you expressed may times, over and over that you merely needed to sleep. 

“Senor—“ 

“I know, I know.” Ethan appeases the cab driver as he grips your shoulders, and inquires your home address. “Miss, where do you live?”

“Mmmmmnnnngh.”

“Miss?”

“Mmmm….the….the colosseum..”

Ethan and the cab driver both exchange looks before proceeding once more to get a legitimate answer. “Uh…miss? Miss, where do you live?”

“Mmmm.”

“야!” Growing impatient, Ethan’s Korean roots comes out as he takes a harsh tone and verbiage to you ”진지하게…“

“Signore, per favore devo andare—“

“Okay, okay.” Rubbing his temples, Ethan winces out of frustration as he reignites the question once more. “Miss, where do you live? Don’t say—“

“Mmm colosseum….”

“…the colosseum.” He whispers in defeat as faces the cab driver. “Please driver to Casa Gabriella.” 

“Ah! Thank you Signore!” The cab driver enthusiastically thanks Ethan before driving to the street belonging to his own residence. 

Between going back and forth with trying to get an answer out of you, and reasoning with the driver, Ethan found himself in a pickle, having no choice but to take you in for the night. “Damn…” he huffed under his breath.

He pays the driver before seeing you in through the gated entrance. Thumbing through his pocket, he fetched for his keys, yet paused upon feeling a sudden density resting against his back. He looks over his shoulder to expand his peripheral sight, catching the subtle image of you sleeping on his back and barely standing with his frame as support. Clearing his throat, he faces back forward as he unlocked the gate.

Leading you through the entrance, Ethan guides you in by the hand. You walked closely behind, practically sleep-walking with your eyes glued shut. He knew that your ‘inebriation’ was the cause in your lack of functionality, yet he couldn’t help but think of how childish you appeared as you rubbed your eyelids, tucked in your chin, and gently stomped your heels while being dragged through the outer corridor. 

He proceeds to climb the staircase, when your hand began slipping through his grip. He looked back, only to find that you managed to continue forward, but on the opposite of the stair rail. 

“Oh come on…” Ethan sighed tirelessly, raising your hand above head and once again, guided you all the way back around and on to the steps. 

He fishes through his key ring, grabbing the one that unlocked his front door. You stood behind, eyes shut, swaying as you waited, not at all coherent. He only looked away for a second as he grabbed the house key, when he looked back just in the nick of time. Aiming for the door, you recognized the structure of the entrance to Ethan’s neighbor, even at your sleeping state, you managed to not only realize that there was a door beside you, but also decided to act brazen as you marched straight for the frame with your fist balled up, seemingly ready to knock at such a late hour. 

“Shit!” Ethan harshly whispers as he leans forward and by the grace of God, was able to catch onto your wrist before you made contact with the door. 

“Wheeeeeeeew….” Breathing out steadily, Ethan regains his posture, while pulling you back in and behind him. He quickly enters and drags you to his apartment, finally able to take a breath. This was much harder than he expected. 

You merely stood by his bed, your chin still tucked in with your eyes closed. Now that you were in a stable environment, Ethan was able to take a breather and sipped on some scotch, trying to take the edge off from being bestowed as your babysitter. 

“Mmmmmnnn…do you know my favorite Shakespeare verse?” You mumbled out, drawing your words in a somber tone. 

Eyeballing you as he sips from the glass, with hand in pocket and his frame casually leaned against the wall, Ethan tucked in his lips as he relished the taste of liquor gracing his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” he sets the glass down and digs through his drawers. 

“Here.” Presenting you with a pair of cotton, checkered seat pants and an oversized tee shirt, you lazily received them as your eyes opened just a sliver. “Pajamas?” 

“Yup. The bathroom is to your right, you can change in there.” His tone expressed annoyance, watching as you half wittingly untied your neck tab. “May I have a silk nightgown with baby rose buds on the hem?” 

Ethan raises a brow, tucking his hands back in his pockets. Did you seriously just request for something so lavish after all you had put him through? ‘Huh…typical rich girl.’

“Sorry princess, you’re gonna have to rough it out with these tonight.”

He turns back over to fetch his glass and finishes off his drink. “May I have some?”

Ethan nearly choked out upon hearing you request for a drink. “No! Go change and get to sleep!” 

He wipes the leaked beverage from his lip and checks the time on his wrist watch. “I’m going to step out for a bit. Change over and you’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“Will you assist in my undressing?” 

‘What did she just ask me to do?’……

“Come again, young lady?” 

“Please undo my attire  so that I may retire to bed.” You expressed as you tilted your nose up into the air. Your eyes remained closed as you slightly spread your arms apart. 

Peaking a perturbed brow, Ethan rolled his eyes before ‘assisting’ in undressing you. He squares up and looks down and reviews your sleepy countenance. “Uhh….um…here.” Pulling the neck sash loose from your collar, he hands it to you and watches as you barely grabbed onto it. “There. I helped.”

Turning hastily, he locks up the scotch before grabbing onto the knob. “I’m going out for a bit. Remember, you sleep on the couch, got it?” 

You loosened the fabric belt and unbuttoned your skirt, turning around, you flared your wrist and delicately graced the air with a fingered motion. The moment you rotated, your skirt drapes downward and falls to the floor. “You have my permission to withdraw.” 

Ethan simply rolled his eyes once more as he shuts the door. “Whatever princess, don’t touch anything.”

……………

Walking back up the stairs, Ethan rubbed his eyes. He was so tired, while he was out, he effortlessly asked around to see if he could find anyone that recognized your description, but it was futile. Guess you really had to stay over in his apartment until you sober up in the morning. Re-entering his apartment, he tosses his keys before noticing, much to his dismay, that you were nestled into his bed. 

“Oh Hell no! Come on! I said couch…couch!” 

He flings his jacket aside as he loosens his tie. Placing both hands on his hip, what a night this turned out to be. 

He changed over to his own set of pajamas before attempting to configure a way to fit himself in the bed. Placing a row of pillows between both your bodies, he attempted to gain comfort and place head to pillow, when in a blink of an eye, his goose-feathered fortress was demolished as you turned over. Swinging your arm and leg, you rolled over in your sleep as you limbs held onto him. “What the—“

He flings your limbs away and sits upright. His full size bed was simply not large enough for you both, so he was left with only one other option. 

“Move over.” 

Bouldering you to the edge, he rolls you right onto the couch beside the bed and watches as you land against the stuff cushion. “So happy…” you mumbled out. 

“Shut up.” Fluffing his pillows, he lays back down and finally, at precisely 3 am, he was able to get some sleep. 

“….Mmm…so happy...”

“Girl, I swear to God…”

………………………..

“General, we’ve searched the entire premises. There is no sight of Princess y/n.”

“Keep each detachment commander on standby, we must handle this with the utmost discretion. Understand? The Princess is the direct heir to the throne, we must avoid any stir with the press.”

The guard snaps a salute before pivoting and taking his leave. The royal staff all sit around in complete disarray. “We will issue a public statement that the Princess is ill, that will excuse and cancel out the list of events we have coordinated.” 

The general strokes his chin as he listens to the Marquis. “Well…all that’s left is to notify their majesties…”

The royal staff all stood, eyes widening as they prepare to take in whatever was coming. Your father, the King, was known to be a fair and benevolent man, but overly harsh and stern when it came to grave mistakes—in this case, losing his only child.

……………

Ethan fluttered his eyes open, harshly greeted by the sun peering through the window. What time was it? Time…the time! 

Jolting up, he snags his watch from the bedside table. “Shit…the press conference with the Princess…Fuck!” 

Jumping out of bed, he quickly got dressed, not at all paying attention to the abandoned ‘drunk’ he had watched over from last night. You remained heavily asleep on his couch, which was all dandy with him. He didn’t have time to arrange for your departure; right now, his job was at stake. “Fuck fuck fuck!” 

Running out, he catches a cab ride and proceeds to the office, unaware that various media outlets had published countless articles of your ‘illness’ and the cancellation of the arranged conference. 

“Ethan! Mr. Park has been looking for you.” 

“Yeah…got it.” 

Taking in a breath, Ethan walks in to greet his boss. “Hey.” 

“Where have you been?” 

“You want the truth or a harmless lie?” 

“Don’t even bother Ethan.” Jay, a longtime friend and employer of Ethan and Jake, eaves his hand as he dismisses his friends lack of responsibility. “I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. If I continued to stress over you, you would have been fired a hundred times by now.”

Ethan smirked as he issued a slight nod. “Sorry, I overslept. I had a…rather rough night.” 

“What? Did boys night end so badly that it kept you from sleeping?” 

“I wish.” Ethan sighed as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “Anyhow, I know I’m late but I’ll head over to the press conference and see if I can catch the end of it.” 

Jay perks up a brow. “The press conference?”

“Yes sir.”

Jay scoffs as he rubs his forehead. “It’s rather ironic that you were for a media outlet but you can’t keep up with current events.” 

“What do you mean?” Taking a sip, Ethan stares at Jay wide eyed, completely unaware of what his friend was referring to. Tossing a bundle up newspaper article towards him. Jay snaps his fingers as he gazes at a mischievous expression. “Read it. Princess is out sick, the press conference was canceled, dummy.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed together as he unraveled the paper and proceeded to read the headline, when the image header nearly caused his heart to skip a beat. 

“It’s postponed until further notice, so saddle up because I have a feeling that once she’s in the clear to make public appearances, there’s going to be a riot of journalists trying to get their greedy questions answered.”

Ethan didn’t hear a single word, instead, he stared into the portrait styled photograph that graced every front page in the country. 

“J-Jay…”

“What?”

“Is…this the princess?”

Jay shifts his elbow on the desk, leaning cheek to palm as he breathed out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, smart one. THAT, is the princess, y/n.”

Ethan crinkles the paper, internally giggling as he grabbed on to the fortuitous opportunity. “If I got an exclusive interview…what would that get me?” 

Raising his brows, Jay slowly raises his head, his interest peaked at Ethan’s words. 

“Yeah, that’s right you heard me. EXCLUSIVE…”

……………………

Building up beads of sweat, Ethan hurried back to his apartment. He couldn’t relish the details to Jay, but he only hinted enough to shake on a granted promotion and independence, should he gain an one of a kind interview with you, Princess Y/N. 

He bursts through the door, and to his everlasting joy, you were still asleep. He quickly shuts the door and maneuvers the furniture in his flat, and tidies up the bed stand. Looking overhead, he made a sudden realization as it dawned on him that you were on the couch. He made you, the Princess, sleep on a couch. 

“Let’s fix that real quick.” 

Huffing under his breath, he lifts you up and over, placing you back on the mattress as he fixes the pillows and bed spread. 

The sirens of local national security could be heard roaming the streets, he already knew the meaning behind it. Taking a final glance at the paper, he compares your face to the image. “It really is her…” 

Clearing his throat, he shoved the paper behind his headboard before gently waking you. “Um…your highness?”

“Mmmm….”

Not exactly the response he was looking for. Trying once more, he issues a more authoritative tone as he lightly taps your leg. “Your royal highness…are you awake?”

“Yes, what is it?” You rolled over, refusing to open your eyes or get out of bed. You felt so exhausted. “Please close the curtains, the sun is too bright, doctor.” You softly commanded as you nuzzled your nose against the pillow.

“Ah…sure.” Ethan was ecstatic, this could practically be a route for him to take on early retirement. 

“Your highness, can you sit up for a moment?” 

“Mmm….doctor….I had the strangest dream.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”

Your eyes remained shut as you recounted whatever details you could vaguely recall from last nights ‘dream’. “I dreamt that I was away…and I met a man.”

“Oh?” Developing a mischievous grin, Ethan probes. “What did he look like?”

“Mmm…tall…he was so tall.” 

“Yeah?”

“Tall….handsome….and he was so mean to me.” You frowned at the bitter end of your sentence, which had Ethan’s grin quickly transitioning to a somewhat guilty look. 

“Is that so?….Sorry to hear that.” 

You flung your arm over your eyes as you bashfully grinned out. “It was wonderful…”

Ethan’s grin reappears. “Glad to hear it.” 

Basking in the warmth of the sun's rays, you slowly opened your eyes to spot the blurred silhouette of the man before you. It must be a side effect of the medication. Blinking, you cleared your vision as you re-opened your eyes one more, only to find that the clarity of your sight displayed the truth of your detailed account. 

‘What…..who….where am I?’ 

You stared endlessly as the voice in your head questions the current nature of the setting, when Ethan’s voice shocks you. “Good morning….” 

His face…this man is…

Part two coming soon…

Authors note: I promise “Devil Wears Prada” is in the works. That one has a more elaborate storyline.

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[curiositasmundi]

[...]

Sulla Topolino amaranto si va che è un incanto e dalle parti della Fiat (che ormai è un logo di Stellantis) hanno pensato che non ci fosse nulla di meglio che appiccicare una bandiera italiana sulle portiere del quadriciclo venduto in Italia sulla spinta del patriottismo. Peccato che quelle auto di italiano non abbiano nulla: non il progetto iniziale, non l’idea se non per l’usurpazione del nome, non la manodopera e nemmeno – figurarsi – le tasse per sostenere l’Italia, la sanità italiana, i conti italiani, i servizi italiani, le pensioni italiane e così via. 

La Guardia di finanza ne ha bloccate 134 al porto di Livorno per violazioni della legge sul Made in Italy (che non ha nemmeno un nome italiano). Per i funzionari della dogana e le fiamme gialle la produzione in Marocco e il tricolore sulla fiancata sarebbe in contrasto con la normativa a tutela del made in Italy, la legge 350 del 2003. Si tratterebbe di una probabile “funzione decettiva di tali segni”, ossia ingannevole, “che porterebbero il consumatore a ritenere che la produzione dei suddetti beni sia avvenuta in Italia”. 

Chissà che questa non sia la volta buona per accorgersi che Stellantis si atteggia da Fiat in Italia per poi diventare internazionale quando deve dislocare stabilimenti e tasse. Quella sì che sarebbe una difesa della Patria davvero originale.

[raffaeleitlodeo]

Qualche giorno fa avevo bisogno di una ricetta per un farmaco. Così ho chiamato il chiamato il call center, che mi ha richiesto il nome del mio medico. La ragazza del centralino mi ha sorpreso, perché mi ha comunicato che in realtà io non avevo più un medico di base. A mia insaputa, questa volta veramente, non come la casa di fronte al Colosseo di Scajola. Che cosa era successo? Da quando il mio medico, che mi ha seguito per 30 anni e al quale volevo bene è andato in pensione, in poco tempo ne sono cambiati tre. Tuttavia, mentre prima il passaggio con il nuovo medico avveniva automaticamente, con l’ultimo, che tra l’altro mi hanno detto essere molto bravo, no. Così mi sono rivolto al distretto, che mi ha candidamente risposto che “non ci sono medici”. Ci sarebbe stata una solo possibilità, potevo tentare il congiungimento con il medico di mia moglie. Anche questo, però, si è rivelato impossibile, perché abbiamo scoperto che anche il suo medico è temporaneo, e quindi non si può fare. Fortunatamente io ho 42 anni e, tocchiamo mille volte ferro, sto abbastanza bene, ma cosa può voler dire per i nostri concittadini con malattie croniche, per le persone anziane, per chi ha una disabilità, trovarsi senza un punto di riferimento essenziale? Gli ultimi dati disponibili parlano di 669 zone carenti in Veneto, mancano 62 medici di base solo nell’Ulss 7. Facendo un conto a spanne almeno 800mila veneti sono ancora senza medico di base, oggi anche a Schio. Grazie Zaia, grazie Meloni. Carlo Cunegato, Facebook

[papesatan]

Per onorar di gioia questo lunghissimo ponte, la mia famiglia, scortata dall'entusiasmo di mio cognato archeologo, è partita giovedì al gran completo per andare a Roma. Senza di me, perché essendo schiavo di me stesso, m'impedisco le ferie anche quando vorrei. Tuttavia venero e bramo la solitudine, perciò, da bravo Kevin McCallister, me la godo come posso, quando posso. Quindi giovedì ne ho approfittato per regalarmi due volumi da tempo in lista, Rughe di Roca (una meravigliosa pugnalata al cuore) e Il Bestiario del Crepuscolo di Schmitt (sul visionario di Providence) e trovare un degno regalo per gli imminenti 40 anni di mia sorella, ovvero un'incantevole agata dal pizzo blu, concludendo poi la giornata con un bellissimo film ingiustamente trascurato, Cattiverie a domicilio, sui mostri generati dagli orrori del patriarcato. Un film superbo, retto da una sublime recitazione (Timothy Spall e Olivia Colman di un livello superiore), in grado di far ridere, riflettere e arrabbiare allo stesso istante.

Tutto sembrava filare liscio, dunque, giocavo ai fornelli, preparando gaudente il mio cavallo di battaglia (figli di Cthulhu al sugo), quando mi hanno inviato una foto sul gruppo famiglia. I miei, mia sorella e il piccolo Rocco abbracciati dinanzi al Colosseo. Mi s'è crepato il cuore, scrutavo il vuoto fra mio padre e mia sorella, pensandomi fra loro e scoprendo mia sorella figlia unica, come se per un istante non fossi mai esistito, quasi fossero stati sempre e soltanto loro. Avrebbero allora gli stessi occhi? Gli stessi sorrisi? Guarderebbero il mondo allo stesso modo? Ho dovuto dunque rimediare, rammentandogli invadente la mia presenza spirituale fra di loro. Che stupida paura quella di essere dimenticati.

[ilpianistasultetto]

La donna, la mamma, la cristiana si appresta a cambiare casa. Una supervilla di 350mq con parco e piscina al prezzo stracciato di 1milione e 100mila euro. La cosa che non si capisce e' perche' ogni volta che c'e' un politico di mezzo ci sono mille impicci. Quando ci sono di mezzo acquisti di case di gran pregio, il politico dimostra sempre di avere un gran culo. Affari che a nessun cittadino comune sono mai capitati. Mai mai mai, eh! Cerchi qualcosa in zona Colosseo? A te vendono un seminterrato di 50mq a 500mila euro, il politico, a quella cifra, trova un attico da 200mq. Non e' culo, questo? Nell'acquisto della villa da parte della premier Meloni l'impiccio sta nelle clausole del compromesso. Il prezzo e' di 1.100.000, 00 euro pero' il venditore deve provvedere alla ristrutturazione, messa in opera di pannelli solari, di caldaie a biomassa e della costruzione ex novo di una piscina. Costo preventivato per questo capitolato, 4000mila euro. Ma uno si chiede, a noi comuni mortali e' mai capitato di acquistare la nostra casa con certe clausole? Perche' non acquistare la villa a 700mila euro e poi spenderne di tasca propria 400mila per farla bella e confortevole come piace? Forse perche', lasciando ristrutturare il venditore, prende lui il bonus 110% e lei si salva da figuracce dopo che lo ha messo alla berlina per mesi e mesi? (Chissa'). Comunque, una signora che in vita sua non ha mai lavorato e che si compra una villa di tale cifra, vogliamo farglieli due applausi? Clap, clap..

@ilpianistasultetto

[marenostrum-ac-dc]

Roma, circa 1850. La foto ritrae  l'arco di Costantino.  È  stata scattata dal Colosseo. A destra il Palatino. È ancora visibile  la Meta Sudans

[libero-de-mente]

Dear RAI, I tengo an idea.

A grand idea.

I credev, dopo la suspension of Noos and the success of Temptation Island, che we tutt'nnoi avessimo touch the found. Si il "found", il fondo pe' capisse.

Ma after avery visto la ceremony of the 2024 Olympics Games in Paris, agg' compreso che non c'é end al bad gusto.

Ora, torniamo alla mia great idea. (si legge "aidea" come "aigor")

Perché non metti on the air Temptatio Insulam next year?

Is fyco. (Si legge "is faico")

- Spiegazione:

Alberto Angela sarebbe conduttore, tentatore e narratore.

- Località:

Necropoli di Tarquinia / Lupanare di Pompei / catacombe di Priscilla e Colosseo /l'isola di Procida con i proci in piena prociaggine / città di Troi@ dove le troiane troiano / isola di Lesbo / isola di Creta

- Svolgimento:

Alcune coppie dovranno dimostrare il loro vero amore. (Per la cultura)

Verranno separate le coppie. Gli uomini andranno nelle lupanare di Pompei dove ci saranno le poppee, invece le donne nel Colosseo dove ci saranno i gladiatori. Quelli con il mirmillone assai pronunciato.

In qualsiasi momento un membro di una coppia può, tramite piccione viaggiatore, richiedere il falò dell'oracolo di Delfi.

Qui, alla presenza di Alberto Angela, la coppia si confronterà.

Se entrambi decideranno di mettersi alla prova, per sicurezza, l'uomo verrà mandato a Troi@ ("Ciao Penelope, vado a Troi@" -cit.; "Ma che pe' davero? E me lasci sola co' sti Proci?" -cit.), mentre la donna andrà a Cnosso dove c'è il Minotauro dotato. In un labirinto arredato con molto gusto da Arianna. Carinissimo, proprio... vorresti non uscirne più.

Se resisteranno alle tentazioni, ma sarà un'Odissea riuscirci, la coppia si ricongiungerà e usciranno di scena su una biga phiga che sfila senza sfiga in mezzo alla folla nel Circo Massimo.

Se la coppia non resisterà, l'uomo andrà a scontare le Forche Caudine a Procida con in Proci, la donna finirà sull'isola di Lesbo, indossando l'originale cintura di castità della Regina di Francia Caterina de' Medici, deve Saffo e le saffiche scrivono poesie e testi delle canzoni trap tutto il giorno.

-Finale:

Alla fine vincerà chi, tra le coppie riuscirà a dire correttamente, davanti ad Alberto Angela, i nomi de:

- i 7 re di Roma

- i 7 colli di Roma

- i 7 nani

- le 10 piaghe d'Egitto

- le 3 tentazioni di Cristo

- le 5 dita del piede sinistro

- le 5 Terre

Bonus: ripetere il nome dell'antico dio Maya "K'ukulk'an" in dialetto calabrese, guardandosi negli occhi senza ridere.

Dear RAI, what do you pens di questa my idea?

Is verry faiga second me.

Non ce ne sarebbe for anyone, all concorenza spazzata street (via).

Pensacete, think about it, atriment we're all cornut.

With love.

p.s. la scritta "Temptatio Insulam" non è grammaticamente corretta, sarebbe stato più giusto "Insula Tentationis", ma la prima scritta, seppur errata, assomiglia di più alla scritta originale di Temptation Island. ☺

[colonna-durruti]

Di questo 2023 ricorderemo, tra le altre cose:

- Musk che dice di voler picchiare Zuckerberg in una gabbia al Colosseo salvo poi inventare scuse per non partecipare.

- Sam Altman, licenziato e riassunto in un paio di giorni.

- Mark Stewart, COO di Stellantis, che nel corso di una diretta Zoom dalla sua villa ad Acapulco chiede agli operai di moderare le richieste salariali.

- Tony Fernandes, co-fondondatore di AirAsia, il quale partecipa al consiglio di amministrazione della predetta senza camicia mentre una tizia lo massaggia.

- Bernard Looney, ex CEO di BP, il quale si è dimesso dopo aver mentito sulle relazioni con le dipendenti alle quali aveva allungato circa 41,4 milioni di dollari.

- Scott Kirby, CEO di United Airlines Holdings Inc, il quale dopo la cancellazione di 751 voli in una sola giornata, mentre la gente comune veniva abbandonata a se stessa negli aeroporti, specie in quello di Denver, decide di risolvere il problema prendendo un jet privato proprio da Denver.

- Greg Becker, ex CEO della Silicon Valley Bank, fallita e salvata dalla FED per gli errori del suo management, il quale si è portato a casa 10 milioni di dollari di bonus dicendo che il fallimento non fosse colpa sua ma della FED e dei social networks.

- Casey Bloys, CEO HBO, il quale si è scusato per aver creato accounts fake su Twitter al fine di blastare chi criticava i suoi prodotti/le sue serie.

-Marc Benioff CEO di Salesforce, il quale è andato 10 giorni in vacanza in Polinesia per una detox digitale, per poi rientrare a lavoro e licenziare 8.000 dipendenti.

Post di Eric Packer https://www.facebook.com/share/p/TZvxQxsbV2yawpGD/?mibextid=WC7FNe

[blogitalianissimo]

https://www.tumblr.com/pettirosso1959/742118137920618496/da-andrea-brandi-molti-hanno-scoperto

Scrivono ste cose e poi sono i primi ad ascoltarsi Drake, Kanye, Travis Scott,… come se nulla fosse💀

No Tumblr user non googlare MILF di Ghali, NON LO FARE NOOOOO

No veramente ragazzɜ, stupirsi di trovare una canzone sessista nel repertorio di un rapper è come stupirsi di vedere il Colosseo a Roma

[slickchickchocolatier]

So after DT, we have The Devil Wears Prada one shot. After MT, we have…..

Summary :

Tired of your Royal duties as Princess and heir to your family’s legacy, you sneak out of your solitary stay at the Il Colosseo Rosa, and migrate into the abyss of Italian nightlife. There, you meet a dashing reporter who is considerate enough to take you in, through tooth and grind. Yet, once he discovers your real identity, things turn around and you finally get a taste of freedom…and it gets a taste of you.

Based off the classic film featuring Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn (icon!).

Pairings: HS x YN, feat. Sunghoon.

Warnings: smut, unprotected smut, vanilla smut, fingering, oral (fem. Receiving), cuddling, some fluff, slow burn, runaway princess, deception, and slight bit of corruption.

And don’t worry, I’m still going to work on requests, my mind has just been on a roll with ideas and I wanna get them on paper before I forget.

[gelatinatremolante]

A giugno tutti al concerto di Russell Crowe al colosseo a fare il ballo del qua qua e deridere John Travolta!!