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faresramettas · 5 years

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prima di sorridere un po’ (eng trans, repost)

i decided to take my translation of this italian fic of mine off ao3 because i never really liked the idea of translating it in the first place, and when i see it between my works it doesn’t make me happy. i’m sorry! i definitely have a love/hate relationship with this fic and its translation, however i don’t want it to be completely gone because it’s over 3k too and it took time and effort, so i’ll be posting it here.

a couple of notes before reading: this is set in june next year, when marti is about to take maturità. maturità is the exam italian students take at the end of the 5 years of high school. notte prima degli esami (the night before exams) is a song about maturità and peak italian culture. there’s even a movie about it. the night before exams is supposed to be a big deal.

read below!

Martino was screwed. The day before maturità, when all he wanted to do was drown his sorrows in liters of beer, the truth was that he was behind on his history program, he hadn’t even touched his literature book and if he had to translate another text from Greek he’d throw up on the dictionary. His days were split between study groups, Eva and the girls for history and philosophy, Giovanni, Elia and Luchino for maths, only to go back home and keep revising, head bent over his desk or lying on his bed surrounded by books. Martino was good at school, he’d finished his essay a month ago, he had nothing to worry about, his mom kept telling him to reassure him. But anxiety was the issue, that fear of disappointing his and other people’s expectations that twisted his stomach and wouldn’t make him sleep. On top of that, he hadn’t seen Niccolò in almost a week. Martino had been the one to reluctantly force this distance, after the umpteenth study afternoon turned make-out session, turned fucking on his bed. “I can help you study, you know.” “You know perfectly well that when we’re together we never end up doing shit,” Marti had replied, running his fingers through Nico’s sweaty curls sticking to his forehead. “Case in point.” “But we barely see each other,” Nico had whined, rolling to lie on top of him. Marti had chuckled and wrapped his arms around his waist. It was almost the end of June and Rome was already too hot. Nico, naked and glued to him from chest to ankles, definitely wasn’t helping him fight the heat but Marti would have never complained. “I know, Ni. Just for a few days. I need to focus on terza prova. Then you can help me prepare for the oral exam.” “Okay,” Nico had sighed, a slow smirk making its way on his face. “Nerd.” “Fuck off. In case you forgot, you have exams, too,” Marti had teased him. Nico had rolled his eyes and mocked him. Marti had pinched his sides in retaliation and flipped their position in one swift move, earning himself a surprised gasp from Nico, who’d looked at him and pulled him down by his hair for a kiss. Schopenhauer can wait, Marti had thought. He missed Nico. They talked on the phone every day but it wasn’t the same. He was right, they’d been seeing each other less since he’d started university. It was an inevitable change that they’d made up for in advance, spending the previous summer always glued to each other. But they’d adapted to it, more or less, at least until January. Nico hadn’t been able to take all the exams he'd planned on his first winter session because his head had had other plans. Martino had been by his side every day, from the moment Anna had called him on Wednesday to tell him Niccolò hadn’t shown up to his first exam and was refusing to get out of bed. He had rushed to his house after school and all he’d needed was one good look at him to understand how bad it was and that Nico wouldn’t say a word. So he’d just laid down next to him, hugged him and stroked his hair, whispering in his ear that he was there, that he’d have to go home tonight because he hadn’t warned his mom but tomorrow he’d be back and sleep with him. The next day he’d brought a duffel bag with a change of clothes and his toothbrush at school and had asked his mom if he could sleep over at Niccolò’s for a couple of days, that had eventually turned into four. Finally, on the third day, Nico had gotten everything that was torturing him out, an avalanche of self-pitying and distorted opinions on his worth that Martino wanted to pull like weeds. “I should have never enrolled in uni. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing there. I don’t even know if I like sociology. I’m just wasting my time and flushing my parents’ money down the toilet. As if I wasn’t causing them enough problems already. I can’t do anything, I’m just a burden to everyone I know.” Marti had let him vent because he’d learned it was the best thing to do, even when listening to those words filled him with anguish. Marti’s heart broke every time Nico’s head didn’t allow him to see just how wonderful he was. In those moments, Marti wished he could lend Nico his eyes so he could see himself through them. “And you, Marti? I don’t even know where you find the patience to bother with me. You don’t deserve to have a noose around your neck at eighte—” He had interrupted him, then. He’d taken Nico’s face in his hands and looked him straight in the eyes, and one by one he’d tore down every single unfounded word that had come out of his mouth until Nico had stopped crying and had given him a small smile full of gratitude. Marti had spent the next two days on a mission to make him feel better. Cuddling him, taking a bath together, changing his sheets, making Nico eat and smile in front of his parents too, following the minute by minute motto that had become a pillar of their lives, a philosophy they’d both embraced outside of their relationship too. Three weeks later, they had celebrated Nico acing his first exam. Nico hadn’t had episodes as bad as that one in months and Martino hoped that the summer session wouldn’t bring a relapse. Although Nico still talked about his doubts on his choice of university every once in a while, he’d managed to settle in and make some friends. He still preferred the company of Martino and his friends, though, who scolded him all the time, because instead of helping them sneak into university parties full of hot girls, he was still spending his Friday nights drinking Peccio’s artisanal beer with them and listening to Giovanni’s relationship woes. Two years after their breakup and despite the short Argentina chapter, Giovanni still hadn't gotten over Eva and had decided he would try one last time before the end of their exams. Nico had been offended by their comments. He knew he was welcome. Martino had met his new acquaintances and, as nice as they were, his friends were better. Giovanni, Elia and Luchino had complained, yesterday, about Niccolò’s absence, because he’d always helped them study in the previous weeks and most importantly, as a survivor of the worst maturità in history, he had helped them not panic. “The last days are crucial, bro. Nico could’ve helped us,” Luchino had said. “Well, I can’t focus when he’s around. If you miss him so much, you can always text him, okay?” Martino had snapped. “Okay, calm down,” Elia had commented. Marti had swallowed and apologized. “Sorry, bro. I’m freaking out.” Gio had squeezed his shoulder and stared at him with that searching look he always had when he understood that something was wrong. Martino had sighed and complained about the derivatives exercises he couldn’t solve to change the topic, asking Elia for help. Because, yes, Elia was the best at maths out of all of them, although no one would have guessed. They had started seeing each other less and less sometime around April. Because Marti’s study load had tripled in an attempt to raise his grades in the last months of school and write his final essay in advance, so as not to worry about it in June. Because Nico, maybe suddenly nostalgic of Radio Osvaldo, had joined the university radio as a volunteer and had started giving piano lessons to earn some money, something that would give him a sense of independence. Those weekends spent in bed that used to be their routine were almost a miracle now. They barely managed to see each other twice a week, and never for two days in a row. It was hard, but Marti knew that it wasn’t forever. He cheered himself up thinking that soon they’d have entire weeks of sweet nothing and that they’d take a trip to Berlin together to celebrate Martino’s maturità on the first week of August. Niccolò wouldn’t stop talking about it, how he couldn’t wait to be there, to see the East Side Gallery and the Museum Island, to go to bars, to have Martino alone to himself in a hotel room for five days, and Martino had started counting down the days in his head, because Niccolò was Olympic champion of contagious enthusiasm. But today was the day before maturità and Martino was screwed. Because of all the stress and anxiety, he had slept six hours in total over three nights and he was on edge. Maybe that’s why when Niccolò showed up at his front door unannounced in the late afternoon, he didn’t react the way he would have expected too. “Ni, what are you doing here?” “I missed you,” Niccolò said, kissing him on the lips and making his way into the living room. “Don’t you want to spend the night before exams with me?” he added, chuckling. “Yes,” Martino replied, hesitating. He immediately recognized the signs of Niccolò’s impulsive behavior in his jerky head movements and the way his hands were shaking, and he furrowed his brows, worried. “But I have to study.” “For what? It’s just an essay.” “For everything else…” Martino mumbled. There was a small part of him that was almost flattered that Niccolò couldn't resist more than six days before knocking on his door, but something about his teasing was ticking him off. Maybe Niccolò got it from the tone of his voice and he stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on his neck and searching his eyes. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” “Of course, I am,” Marti smiled at him, trying to relax. “I can leave if you want, huh,” Niccolò said, raising his brows and tilting his head. Marti shook his head. “Stay. But I really have to study. At least another couple of hours. Then we can do whatever you want.” He didn’t want to kick Niccolò out but he hoped he’d been clear: no distractions allowed. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry,” Niccolò said, taking his hand and leading them to Martino’s room. “How are you? What are you studying?” “Greek. I wanna die.” “Shut up and be grateful you didn’t have last year’s fucking latin-greek combo,” Niccolò said, throwing himself on Martino’s bed while Martino resumed his place at his desk. He smiled, remembering the desperation on the fifth-year boys’ faces when the new seconda prova with both languages was announced. The worst maturità in history. And luckily, the only one. Marti picked up his copies of old translations, scribbled with pencil on the margins and heavily underlined. He wasn’t bad at it, obviously Latin was easier than Greek, but he couldn’t wait to abandon these shitty dead languages, like Giovanni always called them. Niccolò managed to stay put on his bed for about 10 minutes before he came behind Martino and bent down to hug his shoulders. Martino had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. He didn’t know why having Niccolò around was bothering him. He didn’t like feeling like this. It’d never happened before, and Martino knew it was his problem. “Ni,” he warned him. “Marti,” Nico replied, sing-songy. That unpleasant feeling twisting Marti’s stomach just kept building up. “I’m in deep shit, Ni. I mean it.” “Just spend ten minutes with me, what difference does it make? You barely said hi to me,” he said, with a sweet whiny voice. Martino was sure he was pouting too. “Can you wait until I finish this? Please, please, please," he begged too, looking up. If Nico could pout, he could use his puppy eyes. “Okay, okay,” Nico sighed, “got it. I’ll be good. I won’t move.” He lied on the bed again, pretending to be very still like a robot. Marti smiled at him, mumbling an apologetic “thank you” and turning in his chair to stick his nose back in the dictionary. “Don’t you have to study too? Why didn’t you bring your books?” Marti commented offhandedly. Niccolò sighed. “Fuck, Marti, you sound like my mom.” “Why? What did I say?” “You think I don’t know when I’m supposed to study or not?” Martino was taken aback by Nico’s snappy reply. And that was it, that pushed him over the edge. If there was anything that Martino had learned in the year and a half with Niccolò, it was that his patience went way over the limits he’d always thought he had. Being with him had brought out a better version of himself, a Martino who knew how to listen, how to think before he spoke, who always put Nico before himself, and this selflessness had never felt like an obligation, Martino had never felt forced to do it. The bitterness, pettiness and smallness that he had held before Nico only resurfaced after conversations with his dad or in moments of psychological and physical weakness caused by stress and insomnia, two things he hadn’t learned how to cope with yet. They made him lash out, even with his mom when she didn’t deserve it, and apparently, even with the boy he loved more than anything in the world. There were days when Martino couldn't handle his own emotions, let alone Niccolò’s unpredictable ones, and the pedestal he sometimes felt he was on crumbled. This is how Martino was feeling today: small, petty, irascible, and Niccolò had come here thinking it would make him happy, but instead he’d become the catalyst of all the anxiety and nervousness Martino had accumulated over the last few weeks. “I was just saying. Chill.” He realized how much he sounded like an asshole as soon as the words left his mouth and he regretted them immediately. A few moments of awful silence passed and then Nico stood from the bed. “Okay, I get it. I’m leaving.” Marti shot up from his chair to grab his wrist. “Ni…” “I don’t wanna be here if I’m just a pain in the ass,” he said, looking everywhere but at Marti’s face, avoiding his gaze. “You’re not a pain in the ass. I’m sorry. I’m stressed, you know I can’t handle it,” he tried to apologize. “It’s not your fault.” “Sorry if I thought you’d be happy to see me. Call me after the written exams, or the oral. Or whenever the fuck you want,” Nico said, his voice low and full of bitterness. He turned towards the door and Marti pulled him back. “Stop it, please.” “We never see each other anyway,” Niccolò mumbled, finally tugging his arm out of Marti’s grip. “And that's my fucking fault, Ni?”, he snapped. He swallowed harshly. He’d raised his voice with Niccolò. He never thought he could be so stupid. Neither of them had ever yelled at the other, in a year and a half. They’d had hard moments, moments of tension, disagreements, but they’d never had a real fight. And why had he yelled at him? Because he was in a bad mood? I'm a piece of shit, he thought. “It's no one's fault if I have to study and you’re busy with uni,” Marti said, lowering his voice and his gaze. His head was pulsing and he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. Niccolò, standing three feet between him and the door, bit his trembling lower lip and said nothing. His hands were clenched by his sides. Martino sighed and continued. “Of course I miss you, and it pisses me off that we don’t see each other often… but I just needed you to do me this favor, today.” “I see,” Niccolò nodded. “And I’m so useless and needy that I couldn’t even do this one thing?” Marti closed his eyes and sighed, again. “I never said that, why do you have to do this? Ni, please,” he stepped closer to touch his face but Nico moved away like his palm was scalding. Marti looked at him and lowered his arm, waiting for him to talk. Nico kept biting his lip and nervously bouncing his leg. “You know uni isn't going well. That my parents are badgering me about it. You know it. There’s no need for you to always remind me about it too,” Niccolò said, finally looking at him. His shoulders were shaking, and his green eyes were full of hurt. All the hurt Martino had caused. “If you hate seeing me, just say it.” I don’t understand why you hate spending time with me so much, his mom had told him, so long ago that Martino didn’t even remember when. He only remembered it was before he made up with Nico, before the terrace, because Martino had become such a different person ever since things had started working out with him that he would have never expected to hear almost the same exact words coming from his boyfriend. They hit him like a ton of bricks and Marti physically felt the fight drain out of him. Every cell In his body abandoned the fight and, this time, he thought carefully before he spoke, while Niccolò looked at him like he was waiting for the next blow. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear. When I’m like this… I act out, I can't stand myself. I can’t explain how sorry I am, Ni,” he whispered. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.” “I know. It’s not your fault. I’m just an asshole.” There’s always a turning point in an argument, when according to the words you choose the fight can go on or die out. Marti had given Niccolò the chance to choose an out. He hoped he would take it. “Hm. Yeah, a little bit.” Marti smiled at him, grateful, and closed the distance between them to hug him tight. He hugged him for minutes and Nico held him back, hiding his face in his shoulder. Marti kissed him and whispered apologies on his lips that Nico returned with a soft smile. “You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna close the books, jump in bed and--” “You don’t have to fuck up your study session because of me. Go on. But let me help,” Nico interrupted him. He took Martino’s notebooks and dictionary and put them on the floor, in the little corner under the window with the pillows and carpet, where they loved to spend hours cuddled up under a blanket next to the radiator in winter. He sat down and looked up at Marti, patting the floor next to him like you would do to invite a shy cat. “You sure?” Marti asked, sitting down by Nico’s side and hugging his knees to his chest. Niccolò nodded. Marti thought about it and then grabbed his notebooks, photocopies and dictionary and threw them by the foot of his bed, ignoring Niccolò’s amused protests. “No, fuck it. I want to be with you. Talk to me. How are you?” Nico smiled at him. He leaned his head against the wall and turned to look him in the eyes. “I miss you,” he whispered, fragile, shaken by a fight that had had no reason to exist, that should have never happened. Marti felt the raw honesty of those words hit him in the chest. “I miss you, too.” They kissed, and Marti kept muttering apologies until Nico forced him to stop, fondly exasperated. They talked while Marti’s hands played with Nico’s, twirled his curls, stroked his cheeks. They talked, but for the most part they just held each other, because sometimes silence healed better than words. The vibration of Marti’s phone startled him. It was a voice message from Gio. “Oi, Marti, we’re all meeting up at Baretto later. The girls are coming too. It’s the night before exams and you’re coming, don’t even bother with an excuse. And bring Nico cause we all miss him. Okay, bro?” Marti laughed and looked at Nico with a complicit smile. “Feel up to spending your night surrounded by a bunch of high-schoolers singing Venditti?” Niccolò laughed too, that whole-body laugh, chin lowered and eyes crinkling. That laugh that Martino had fallen in love with on that mid-October day on Nico's couch. Then Nico looked up and scooted closer to give him a kiss. “I’d be offended if I missed it.”

#skam italia #martino rametta #niccolò fares #nicotino #rames #fic #text

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callunavulgari · 5 years

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In which Cisco makes a bunch of plans, fails most of them, narrowly avoids being disintegrated, receives a hug or two, finds his groove, and gets his man. More or less in that order.

Heather Says: This one was long and wibbly wobbly, because it was basically what season 3 should have been. But it was also really great, and had some super quality Harrisco interactions.

19. Your Pretty Little Heart by Ever-so-reylo | Star Wars | Reylo | 64k

Modern day AU in which Ben is an Alpha, Rey is an Omega, and they are way better at having sex than at communicating with each other.

Heather Says: Speaking of people who are probably a little bit bad for each other... This particular fic was new to me, not because of the um, extensive sexual content, but because I’m usually not a fan of A/B/O. But this one was extremely good, enough that I actually liked it for a/b/o aspect rather than in spite of it.

20. Draconia by perceived_nobility | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 4k

"So I was driving. One ex wife and one ex husband later, stopping at the same fucking gas stations you and I stopped at."

Heather Says: This fic actually prompted a 3 hour long conversation on the ‘adult’ Mark/Damien discord where we basically outlined an entire fic that I never got around to writing where Damien is raising a child, has a farm, and runs into Mark ten years down the ride. One day, I might write it, because vaguely domestic, meet-again-ten-years-down-the-road fics always bowl me right the fuck over and just. There needs to be more fic like this one in the world. But until then, the world can marvel at the beauty that is this one.

21. Artifice by buttpatrol | Wolf 359 | Hera/Eiffel | 23k

A story told in parts about colour palettes, identity, robot uprisings, sensational trials, space, and messy love.

Heather Says: As I’ve recently finished relistening to Wolf 359 I have a fresh appreciation for this fic, which is one of the only longer fics on ao3 that just grips you by the heart and squeezes the same way that the series does. It might have been written before the end of the series, but it’s honestly just as perfect.

22. (shoot the lights out, hide) till its bright out by lipgallagher | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | 93k

The most dangerous thing walking around Hawkins goes by the name Billy Hargrove.

And he fucking knows it.

Heather Says: I’m kind of cheating here, because this is a series rather than a single fic, but I’m not picking just one part. I read the first four or so parts of this fic when I was visiting my family in South Carolina and spent the next few days wandering around the place half-in Steve Harrington’s headspace. It was an incredibly surreal experience, which lead to a pretty strong combination of mania, depression, and an indescribable craving for ice cream. So like, maybe don’t read this fic if you’re in a bad head space? But also it’s very good and features one of the most fucked up and intriguing Steve’s that I’ve seen yet.

23. Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by Reiya | Yuri On Ice | Yuuri/Viktor | 197k

‘…Of all the rivalries in the world of sports over the years, perhaps none has become so legendary as that of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov and his rival, Japanese Yuuri Katsuki…’

Heather Says: I actually read this one on the plane ride down to South Carolina, and kind of didn’t like it at first? I’m not sure if it was just the act of putting Yuuri and Victor into the position of rivals that made me uncomfortable or the goddamn delays that turned half a day of travelling into a full one, but eventually I was able to get into and enjoyed it quite a bit. I really like the rivals to lovers trope, so I’d been looking forward to this one a lot.

24. Traveling Far by @astolat | Game of Thrones | Jaime/Brienne | 24k

Three weeks into their delightful slog across Westeros, during yet another charming day of shitting in the woods, eating half-raw squirrel, and trudging his feet bloody, the single most dour and uninteresting woman Jaime had ever met in all of Westeros stopped in the middle of a field, drew a deep breath, and said, “When I was seven, my aunt came to visit with her son. My father told me that as the daughter of the house, it was my duty to show hospitality to my guests and to be gracious to them. I wanted to make him proud. So for three weeks, I let my cousin follow me around and talk to me about spiders.”

Heather Says: I’ve become very fond of astolat’s Jaime/Brienne fics, and I think this one is my favorite yet. Featuring Starks, found family, and a whole lot of walking.

25. lilies of the valley (cover me with kisses, make my garden grow) by diasterisms | Star Wars | Reylo | 8k

Every girl is entitled to the mistake. That one colossal fuck-up that permanently alters the terrain of who you are. You'll either learn from it or you won't, so might as well have the time of your life.

Heather Says: I just. I really like flower shop AUs, and the idea of a Kylo Ren who owns a sleek flower shop being menaced by a tiny gremlin in a leather jacket just. Kills me. It was really sweet and all kinds of wonderful.

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