#aureliano au

[lunamadrigal]

Art by the_art_of_rome

Waffles for breakfast for his birthday cause Auri requested them and apron cause Diego didn't give him a say in that.

Auri the chef belongs to @daliceus

[ricsfiles]

ive only known this man for a short time but i already know he is ✨ WONDERFUL ✨

happiest bornday to your auri, @daliceus !

hoping i did him justice <3 and i hope he has a blast 🥳🥳🥳

[delizbin]

HELLO

I’m back from my “death” just to post a modern AU as a present for a very special person’s birthday … @lunamadrigal ,our boys are still well and alive!

happy birthday 🎁

[weardes]

[x]

[imaginary-wanderer]

Hey, how about werewolf!Aureliano? Or a kind of shape shifter. With those wolf rings, the Son of Rome turned into a beast. Aureliano "il lupo" Adami. He's some sort of fighter too, his nickname is more than a name. He keeps the rings when he fights (what rules?), more damages on the others but also he wants to feel the pain in return.

He's also a brooding and submissive bottom. True to his canon version (I said what I said).

Would Spadì be a werewolf hunter? I mean, he could be The Sword. He is The Sword.

Idk I just need to turn everything into an AU otherwise it's lost potential and we don't want that.

[gautierprotectionsquad]

The non english version based on the notes of the other poll (translations are not mine. Apologies for any inaccuracies)

Update: I realize after i made it i put the same Don Quixote quote twice but i cant edit polls so 4 and 9 are the same. oops

update 2: I accidentally put the first line of ch 1 instead of the first line of the prologue for Posthumous Memoirs. the correct quote is "Ao verme que primeiro roeu as frias carnes do meu cadáver dedico como saudosa lembrança estas memórias póstumas".

Translations and sources:

– Iliade by Homer. (“Sing, goddess, of the anger of Achilles, son of Peleus”)

Anna Karenina by Lev Tolstoy ("All happy families resemble one another; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.")

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. ("Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.")

Cervantes from Somewhere in La Mancha by Don Quixote, (“In a place whose name I do not care to remember")

The Aeneid. ("I sing of arms and men")

The Metamorphosis by Kafka ("As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.")

the Inferno by Dante ("When halfway through the journey of our life")

The Stranger by Albert Camus. (Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure”.)

Miguel de Cervantes by Don Quixote (“Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.”)

the Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas by Machado de Assis ("to the worm who first gnawed on the cold flesh of my corpse, I dedicate with fond remembrance these Posthumous Memoirs")

[shunshuntaiga]

this might be out of the blue and i am so so sorry but these italianvidiots are running my life rn...

what about a suburra au where our boys get together but aureliano refuses to say 'i love you' because, given his history, he is convinced that coming from him it would be a curse of sorts?? a death sentence rather than a declaration of love. cue some misunderstandings and angst that end in hurt/comfort because these two deserve nice things 👀

so sorry again for barging into your asks like this!!! have a great day <3333

Barg away anon! I too, cannot get enough of these Italian idiots and they take up about 70% of my brain functions lol

And gosh that's just so like Aurelia isn't it? Convinced that by even speaking his true feelings it's all but signing the death certificate for Spadì.... the angst! The drama! Lol

And oh my god it would fuck with Spadino SO MUCH. Because all he wants is for Aurelia to say the words when his actions seem to already say it. But he would *need* to hear it, because otherwise, how can he trust its true?

[julietianboy]

- auriden

definition: a xeniden related to gold, the mineral or the color, and related things.

etymology: aurum ( latin: gold ) + iden ( xeniden suffix )

themes: golden sunsets, crowns, royalty, animals with golden fur, reflected light, a hidden treasure, piles of coins, sunrise, brown eyes in the sun, a sparkle

pronouns: au/aur/aurs, aur/aurs/aurs, aur/aurs/aurum, yel/yellow/yellows, gold/golds/golds, gold/golds/golden, bri/bright/brights, shine/shines/shines, coi/coin/coins, coin/coins/coins

names: aurum, oro, gold, aurian, auriol, euros, golden, aureliano, eurwen, ouro, dourado, chrysanthemum, pyrite, ophira, cressida, gilda, eldora

jasper, rosegold, precious, treasure, solange, preciosa, arcelia, emony, gaspard, casiphia, royal, sol

fashion: golden accessories, jewelry, sun patterns, bright colours, glittery makeup, formal attire, tiaras, glittery fabric, rings and chains, translucent fabric

colour palette: yellow, orange and gold

hobbies & interests: mineralogy, history, chemistry, art, fashion, geology

# for day 13 of @epikulupu 's coining event ; prompt - gold

[nellycanwrite]

I feel the need to apologize cause I've sent all three of you questions but I hope it doesn't come off annoying XD

Summer AU ☀️

Do you think the triplets mama and Diego's mama are texting or calling each other? Gossiping about the kids while they are at the resort. Spill some tea Nelly!

The angst princess that you are: Of the five of them, a scenario where one of them is crying over something and one comforts them

An idea from your recent chapter but make it for this AU: The boys wake up and she's not there...

NO NEED TO APOLOGIZE!! I was actually in a writer’s block while writing the Summer AU prompt, so you came just in time! And you’re never annoying; I love answering asks! (even though I procrastinate on them most of the times KEK)

I 100% believe that Evalina and Luna would gossip about everything over a glass of wine. They’ll probably even talk about the pains joys of being a mother and being a wife of a very clumsy dedicated husband <3

Good lordy I’m called an angst princess now?? HAHAHAHAHA I AM SO SORRY I’M NOT USUALLY ANGSTY IRL I SWEAR HAHAHAHAHAHA But I could definitely see Auri and Javier in this situation HEHEHEHEHE PLEASE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE PLEEEAASE JUST READ THIS LITOL PROMPT. I personally think that Auri and Ignacio have more or less the same temperament. That’s why Javier kinda knows what to do when Auri gets all wild with his volatile gift. Also, Auri’s breakdown reminds him of something from the past that involves Ignacio as well, but stay tuned for the next few chapters of LMFE for that HEHEHEHEHEHE

Javier finds himself in a secluded part of the resort; where the mangroves grow closer to the shore and the palma de ceras reach out to the sky amidst the Colombian Mahogany. The underbrush was dense, but it wasn't something Javier couldn't handle. He knew the property like it was the back of his hand.

There he spots the hunched figure of none other than Aureliano—his hair standing up in a blaze of his own gift whilst his shoulders shook as he tried to extinguish the fire. It was all for naught, though, as his own tears had left him too vulnerable to control his powers. It was a feeling that Javier knew all too well with his own volatile gift. And the sight of Auri was familiar to Javier; yes, like his older brother Ignacio whenever he lost himself in his own emotions. 

A snap of a twig alerted Auri of a new presence. Javier cursed himself for being too careless with his steps. Auri looks up at the bespectacled boy, tears creating streaks on his cheeks and eventually turns to smoke at the heat of his own fire.

“W-why—” Aureliano’s voice cracks, but he swallowed the lump that formed on his throat. He didn’t intend to give Javier a glare, but such ferocity of his gaze made Javier scrunch his brows in reply, “why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

 “They were looking for you,” he answered simply. Aureliano narrowed his eyes. Javier sighs and crosses his arms while he slowly approaches the flaming boy, “you were taking too long to get back so they went looking. Unfortunately for me, I found you first. This situation isn’t exactly favorable for the both of us, don’t you think?”

“Go back, Javi. Just tell them I’m not here.” Auri grumbles as the fire from his hair slowly died out, but it was still burning brightly. Javier rolled his eyes and leaned on a nearby tree.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I can’t exactly leave you here. You’re literally a fire hazard,” Javier gestures to the fauna surrounding Auri that caught fire, but it was quickly snuffed out with a flick of Javier’s wrist, “mami won’t be too happy when she sees half of the property get burned down because you were having a mental breakdown.”

“I am not—!” Aureliano’s voice went into a crescendo, his fire responding with his growing emotions. But he quickly cut himself off and took a deep breath, “—I am not having a mental breakdown.”

“Then why are you crying?” Javier asks a-matter-of-factly, “you’re one of the gutsiest kids I’ve met—I’m surprised you could even cry. No stop crying before your eyes get even more swollen.”

Aureliano blinked in surprise, the fire from the crown of his head dimming. It was rare for Javier to give someone a word of positive affirmation. Even if he did have to roll his eyes and give him the most deadpan of stares, being called gutsy by the edgiest teen (as Ignacio puts it) was a surprise in itself. Auri’s troubles ceased for a fleeting second as he stuttered through his leftover tears.

“Did you just—did you just give me a compliment?”

“No, I meant that as an insult.”

“But you called me gutsy.”

“It doesn’t mean shit.”

“But it does!”

“No.”

At that moment, Aurelino’s fire had successfully fizzled out and turned back. The tie that kept his hair neat snapped earlier from the flames, so Auri struggled to keep his locks from poking his eyes every time he tried to clean himself up. Javier sighs and looks away as a pink hair tie with a beaded heart—clearly one of Angelina’s possessions—flew to his direction and dropped in the palm of his hand. The wispy green and golden sparkles disappeared as soon as it fell, but Aureliano still couldn’t help but stare at Javier in surprise.

“Isn’t this Angi’s—”

“She has three drawers full of hair accessories. She can afford to lose one,” Javier pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and waved his hand. A green handkerchief was immediately in Auri’s hand, “clean yourself up. You look like an idiot.”

“I am not—”

“Ay, cabron, just hurry up.”

OH GOOD GOD NOOOOOOOO WHY MUST YOU MAKE ME THINK OF THIS??? AKSJDHKASJD THIS HURTS THIS HUUURTS Imagine Angelina pursuing her dreams but momma Eva doesn’t allow her, so she sneaks out in the middle of the night and gets out of town to pursue her passion--//SLAPPED

Aurelieno belongs to the wonderful @daliceus by the way! And @lunamadrigal writes LOTS of Diego x Auri content, so go check them both out!

[thomas-querqy]

Quand le wokisme est arrivé, j’étais plein d’espoir, cela allait apporter de l’air frais. Puis c’est devenu une idéologie, et enfin du marketing. Cela donne des groupes fermés, beaucoup d’entre-soi, les queers avec les queers, les racisés avec les racisés. Ces gens non binaires ont une vision très binaire. Quid du droit au flou ? Je n’en peux plus des “alphabet people” [référence à l’acronyme LGBTQIA+ : lesbiennes, gay, bisexuels, transexuels, queer, intersexe, asexuel]. C’est le monde d’Internet, des catégories, qui crée de la souffrance pour ceux qui n’entrent pas dans le cadre… Tout ça, ce sont des élèves qui érigent des pyramides de pouvoir. Plus ils réclament de l’horizontalité, plus ils recréent de la verticalité. »

Jean-Luc Verna cité dans l’article du Monde de Laurent Carpentier et Aureliano Tonet “Quand les étudiants déboulonnent Godard, Koltès ou Tchekhov“

Jean-Luc Verna, l'enfant terrible de l'art est de retour à Nice

Jean-Luc Verna - Max Klinger, « Le philosophe », peinture, 1890  David Bowie, “Ziggy Stardust Tour” (détail)

JL Verna dans les NGT 2017

PERSONAL JESUS - Les dupont feat Jean-Luc Verna / directed by Amaury Voslion

[lunamadrigal]

Oh, do I smell angst coming....

[lilundeadarchangel]

Am I the only one that sees Aureliano and Spadino as the main characters played by Ale and Giacomo and every other character they play in other movies are just them in AUs?

[delizbin]

Lore enthusiast here, see you are answering possible asks! Which of the Madrigals would be most accepting of Aureliano as an outsider? Oh also do you know the ending or spoilers to his story within the au fic about him? Curious

Oh well, I feel like all the grandkids wouldn’t mind him being an outsider, they’d be fascinated by that actually

Personality wise I feel like Dolores and him would be great friends, also with Antonio :”)

Between the adults, Julieta, 100% (might be me putting a preference here but just think about how helpful he would be in the kitchen?!)

And no! I mean… kind of, but no, I know nothing, or very little anyway, @lunamadrigal keeps it all for herself

[fromthefishbowl]

the neverending “question” of mob-boss AUs and italian characters

Every fandom in existence has mafia AUs, for some reason.

Usually written by anglophones, they show the mafia as the one portrayed in The Godfather or Goodfellas: dudes wearing bespoke suits who push the barrel of their gun into their enemy’s mouth as the latter pleads for their life, tears spilling down their cheeks and snot dripping onto their upper lip, pathetic as they kneel and beg while the mafioso stands over them, proud and manly and so handsome, with his gold watch catching the orange lights of the dying sun.

Well... let me shut down it real quick: that is a purely American and purely fictional vision of the mafia. A, for some reason, entirely idealized version of organized crime that Hollywood has been shoving into theaters for decades, to the point that you don’t even need to be American to believe that this is how things are in reality.

I feel like that, as a first note, I should say that “mafia” doesn’t mean anything: “mafia” is merely the type of organization, and it indicates a violent criminal organization with a moral code founded on the concept of “omertà”, silence regarding a crime and the unwillingness to confess to be the one committing it or turning in the names of the people who did.

So... what mafiosa organization is being discussed? Sacra Corona Unita? Cosa Nostra? ‘Ndrangheta? Camorra? Stidda? Banda della Magliana (in action between 1977 and 1993)?

Usually it sounds like the organization in question is Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian one, but there is always so little research and conversation with actual Italians - who have said over and over and over again that you shouldn’t portray Italian characters as sexy mafia bosses - that I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the first time you even hear about the fact that there are different kinds of organizations.

On the same route, since the dialogue with actual Italians is not considered in this conversation, for some reason, people are still running with the idea of “mobsters/mafia bosses are just bad boys” and sometimes they just need a redemption arch to come clean and become stand out citizens, while other times they are the epitome of sexiness and their partner gets into the organization too. In most cases, they are written as these loveable doofuses who will murder a bitch in cold blood but will then come cuddle with you.

No.

A round, absolute no.

Mafia bosses exploit people, they rape people, they murder innocent people, they steal from people, they enslave immigrants, they melt children into acid tanks because their parents were going to collaborate with the police. How is any of this sexy or even redeemable? Do you know that one of the reasons why weed will never be legalized in Italy is not because of the strong presence of the Church, but because mafiose organizations make a lot of money by selling drugs, including weed, and legalizing it would ruin their market?

And here, this is the face of a mafia boss who actually did it! His name was Totò Riina, a true Italian mafia boss who thankfully croaked a couple of years ago. You are literally one Google search away from seeing the other hundreds of heinous crimes he and his colleagues committed, as well as actually informing yourself regarding anything that has to do with the mafia and how it still affects and enslaves and terrorizes an entire country. Roberto Saviano, a writer who dared to call out the names of the Camorra boss and his associates during a protest, has been living under protection for fourteen years because they threatened to murder him. He is only forty-one!

This concerns the TOG fandom because I have seen that, although there is a lot of willingness from the many artists and writers that populate it to learn about Joe’s culture, religion, and traditions, everything regarding Nicky seems to be taken for granted and no one is willing to inform themselves, creating an astounding lack of dialogue with Italian creators.

Writing Nicky as being part of a mafiosa organization is a horrible example of ignorance and xenophobia, as well as unwillingness to understand how truly damaging those kinds of organizations are for our country.

You wouldn’t write about a KKK member being sexy and cool, so why is it okay to write about a mafioso that way? What part of murdering children and raping women and enslaving people for profit is cool?

For once we have a good example of an Italian character in the mainstream media that is not played by an American actor who pretends to speak with a broken Neapolitan accent, and the first instinct is to turn him into a horrible, horrible monster who is actually plaguing our country? And the wrong kind too, usually, because he’s from Genoa and not Sicily!

Seriously, I’m not saying that you cannot write mafia AUs, it’s fiction, who cares, but at the same time it should be a given that you should check your ideas with people who are actually from that country and who can actually explain to you how to do it correctly. For how mafia AUs are written, the mafioso could as well be just a normal criminal that has found themselves with their hands in drugs and murdering people and pimping out women.

If you have ever watched an Italian show or movie regarding crime, you should know that the main characters, the ones the audience is supposed to emphasize with, are never mafiosi. In Suburra, both TV series and movie, neither Aureliano nor Spadino are mafiosi: they’re just criminals. You know who the mafioso is? Samurai, the guy the director never tries to make you emphasize with, as he was part of the Banda della Magliana. In Trust, Primo is not represented as being sympathetic: he’s evil and his actions aren’t forgivable. In Don’t Be Bad, you’re supposed to be empathetic to Luca’s character, Cesare, but he’s a simple criminal with no ties to any mafiosa organization.

It really shouldn’t be this hard to even just ask Italians how to write about Italian issues with some touch and empathy.

Writing Nicky as a mobster could be as bad as writing Joe as a terrorist, and it’s crazy that no one seems to notice it.

[imaginary-wanderer]

If you thought I was done with these guys. Well. I'm not

Devils!Aureliano meets Non mi uccidere!Alberto "Spadino".

The trader and the junkie.

[santipietroepaolo]

Oh gosh I love your Suburra prompts! Could you please do 27 with Spadeliano? ❤️

27. "I'm not leaving"

[Read on Ao3]

“You look a mess, you know. You should go home, once in a while. ”

Aureliano’s voice was still very scratchy, but unlike when the breathing tube had just come out of his throat, at least it was working enough to be heard somewhat decently from all the way across the room. Spadino jerked his head up, startled at the sound, before letting out a disgruntled groan. Eyes closed and chin resting heavy in the crook of his palm, he had slowly been slouching further and further down in the usual armchair. Aureliano was pretty sure he would have fallen off the bloody thing, if he hadn’t decided to wake him.

“Look who’s talking,” Spadino grumbled as he sat up straighter, voice almost as coarse as Aureliano’s – albeit for different reasons, “Sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’re not exactly Prince Charming yourself, at the moment.”

Aureliano scoffed – then immediately regretted it, because the sutures on his chest did not like it when he did that.

“I’m serious, Albè,” he still tried again, hoping to camouflage his flinch of discomfort as a convincing enough frown, “How long has it been since the last time you were horizontal? Get out of here and go get some decent rest, before you faint on me.”

Albè. It still felt kind of weird to call Spadino that – almost too intimate. Ever since that night at the junkyard, however – the one Aureliano had, despite his own intentions, miraculously lived through –he simply found it impossible to go back to how things used to be. Alberto and him had gone way past the point of nicknames and other more-or-less sensitive monikers, he felt.

When you took half a dozen bullets for someone, and in the process got them so mad at you that you weren’t even sure you had a friendship left to salvage, the least you could do was call each other by name, right?

Alberto sighed, wiped a hand over his eyes, then gave his unshaven cheek a clumsy scratch. He really had a sorry look to him: his hair was un-styled and outgrown, his eyes reddened, his face pale under a decidedly unkempt scruff. He wore boring, plain work-out clothes, very unlike his usual flashy style. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, had been the man’s mocking reply, when Aureliano had first remarked on that fact, I wasn’t made aware there was a dressing code to follow, to be let in the King’s chambers. My very bad, your Highness.

Aureliano couldn’t help but worry about him, even tough he knew he was in no position to do such a thing. Whatever anguish made Alberto that way, Aureliano was behind it: Angelica’s very close call concerning her pregnancy, Manfredi’s death, their mother’s exile, the ongoing struggle for power left behind in the wake of it all. Sure, the four of them had won their battle, but theirs wasn’t the kind of warfare which had the courtesy to stop going just because someone needed a few months of beauty sleep after a close encounter with a firearm or five.

“Stop trying to tell me what to do,” Spadino said, stubborn, “I’m not leaving.”

Aureliano would have rebutted again, but unfortunately for him, he was already running out of energy, he could feel it. His days, ever since waking up, were pretty much all like this: a long, foggy, repetitive sequence of stumbling out of sleep and falling right back in it after only a few moments of relative consciousness. Dreaming to get back on his feet and feel useful again, but exhausted from the very act of keeping his eyes open and exchanging a few raspy words with whoever was in the room at the time.

Which was often Alberto, since he seemed to be there practically every available moment, despite his more than grumpy disposition towards Aureliano.

“I can’t sleep anywhere else, anyway,” Alberto quietly muttered, maybe thinking Aureliano was already too out of it to hear him, “Need to have your stupid face in my god-damn line of sight at all times, to do it. Otherwise I just-”

He stopped, sighed, shoved his face in both hands and rubbed hard at his eyes again. The edges of Aureliano’s vision were already going all white and melty: no matter how hard he fought it, he was high off his mind and could feel himself losing consciousness again. Aureliano slept so much that it felt like catching up on a lifetime of insomnia, while Alberto and the others were, well. Like that.

That struck him as extremely unfair.

“Get your ass over here.”

Aureliano’s voice had come out even flimsier, as his strength left him, but Alberto heard him anyway, because he raised his head, eyes wide with surprise.

“Come on,” Aureliano slurred out, frustrated, “Don’t make me say it again.”

Alberto seemed to hesitate for a second, before finally agreeing to do as he was told, for once. Still looking wary of Aureliano’s motivations, he walked over to the hospital bed, in the middle of the safe-house’s living room. Once Alberto was close enough, Aureliano grabbed the side of his ugly grey sweatpants and tugged on them to make him sit down on the chair right by the bedside. He felt infuriatingly weak, arm numb from both the intravenous tube sticking out the back of his wrist - and even moreso from the wide drain he still had stabbed into his upper ribcage. Maybe because he knew all of that, Alberto offered no resistance to that tug, letting himself be pulled down instead.

“C’mhere,” Aureliano whispered, taking advantage of that uncharacteristic sheepishness to drag Alberto even closer.

“Wait, Aurelià, that’s not safe for-”

Aureliano made a lazy sound that meant “shut up,” and kept at his plan. Alberto was right: he probably shouldn’t have anyone laying their head across his chest, on account of it being riddled with only recently-sealed bullet holes. But it didn't matter. His powerful cocktail of medication kept him from feeling pain, anyway. The only real issue Aureliano had with the arrangement was that he was already falling asleep far too fast to fully enjoy what was surely a delightfully grumpy look on Alberto’s face, now pressed up right against his bandaged sternum.

“How’s that for line of sight,” Aureliano mumbled, “At least you won’t completely break your back, this way.”

Alberto said nothing, probably too stunned to talk, and Aureliano let his eyes finally close. Man, he really was high. No way the hair on the side of Alberto’s head was really that soft, was it? A little mesmerized, Aureliano brushed it some more, dragging his thumb back and forth across the outgrown patch of it right above Alberto’s ear, which he used to keep so prim and shapely.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” was all Alberto ended up saying after a while, his voice surprisingly quiet, “Is that normal?”

“I got shot,” Aureliano reminded him – as if he of all people needed the reminder, “Give the thing a break.”

He didn’t have any strength left in him for more than a whisper. Fortunately Alberto kept quiet, and Aureliano let himself sink right-back into the now-familiar oblivion of his drug-induced slumber.

That weird not-sleep had an advantage: it gave him a lot of time to think about a lot of things. Chiefly, what he had done, that night at the junkyard, and why he had done it – giving everything up, just to keep Spadino alive. Aureliano also thought about the talk – the long, difficult talk – he needed to have with Nadia, as soon as he was able. Judging by the sorrowful way she often looked at him, she had her own to have with him, as well. Something told Aureliano they might have been about the same topic.

As always, there was no way of telling how long he drifted off, but when he cracked his eyes open again, Aureliano could see that the light in the room had changed, and that Alberto was not only sound asleep, but also exactly in the same position he had left him.

His face was turned away from Aureliano, so all he had to watch were his neck and shoulders, rising and falling peacefully, for once. Alberto must have been really exhausted, not to care about people finding him that way. Aureliano himself couldn’t give a flying fuck, he realized: they paid that doctor more than enough to keep one more secret. And as for everyone else, well. Aureliano had come to a lot of conclusions, during his drug-addled meditations. The sooner everyone knew about those, frankly, the better, because he had no plans to hide more than strictly necessary.

You don’t take half a dozen bullets for a guy only to then be shy about confessing your feelings, as soon as you’re fit to at least stand to face him.

“How long are you going to stay mad at me?” Aureliano asked, but Alberto didn’t even flinch.

He was way too far gone to be able to hear him. Aureliano hazily wondered if the man was still listening to his heart-beat, in his dreams.

“You better get used to that,” Aureliano muttered, before resting his hand on top of Alberto’s on his chest, and letting his eyes close once again.