#sanguinanti

[portaltothevoid]

you're losing me part v -- copia x reader, ex!terzo x reader

A/N: photos used in the banner aren't mine. i've never photographed ghost (not yet anyway...) that's all i got. run along now and go find some answers, some more questions, and a cliff hanger.

songs: elizabeth and ghuleh/zombie queen (bet you can guess the artist)

warnings: none, really. angst, obviously. fleeting comfort from copia. roughly translated italian and google translated latin.

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @bitchywitchygardener @da-rulah @deetz-ghuleh @fishwithtitz @ivycasket @water-ghoulette

Sister Imperator was shaking as if she was caught in a snowstorm without a coat. You held your sinister stare for a moment longer until you started chuckling and shaking your head. “Satan in Hell, what’s happened to you?” she mumbled through her trembling lips.

Your clever retort was stopped by a light knock on the door. Whipping your head towards the door your features turned into straight lines. Before anyone could blink, you swiftly opened the door and grabbed whoever was behind it by the throat. Kicking the door shut, you held them up, their feet dangling above the ground. You looked back at Imperator who looked so pale she might faint at any moment. “You know, I really hate being interrupted.” You turned your head back to the poor soul who was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. “Especially when I’m having a private conversation.”

Copia’s eyes were wide enough that even his green one appeared to be mostly white. You were smaller than him. You probably couldn’t even lift the man more than an inch off the ground, if at all, let alone holding him a foot above it with one hand. He saw your blackened eyes stare into his. The sight of you chilled him down to the bone. 

When you looked into his eyes, it took you a moment before you registered what you were even doing. He grasped at your arm, making a weak attempt to loosen your grip, or at least get your attention. You inhaled a sharp breath, before you eased up on him, guiding him down the door until his feet touched the ground. He coughed as he rubbed his throat. You dropped your hand and took a step back. Copia watched as the darkness in your eyes faded as if a fog was evaporating, as if smoke was being sucked out of you. 

“C-copia?” you whimpered apologetically before your body went limp. He lunged forward and caught you in time before you hit the floor.

“Seestor, you alright?” he strained as he adjusted to the weight of holding you after not being able to breathe. 

“I-I’m unharmed.”

“Good. Well, don’t just sit there blubbering. Get Primo and Secondo and Nihil to the lounge. Adesso (now)!” he barked. He groaned as he managed to maneuver you to carry you bridal-style. 

Imperator scurried around to get the door for Copia. “Terzo knows,” she rasped. 

"Sanguinanti figli dell’inferno (bleeding sons of hell)! What in Satan’s name fucking happened?” he growled. 

“I don’t know. I’m afraid it’s… I’m afraid he’s right. It’s the Awakening.”

“I told you we should have told. We should have told her last night.” Copia shook his head in disgust at himself for keeping in the dark for so long. “Why was she in your office?”

“She must have left the Summons and just barged in, talking about how,” she lowered her voice, desperately trying to keep up with Copia’s stride, “we’re playing some game with Terzo and she doesn’t know her place because we wouldn’t tell her anything, but she didn’t care about that because… The only thing she wants i-is… Terzo’s head.”

They exchanged an apprehensive look with each other before Imperator opened the door to the Emeritus lounge, a place for the past and current Papas to convene with other select members of the clergy in a relaxed setting. 

“At least… something’s… going right today, eh?” Copia huffed when he saw Primo, Secondo, and Nihil were all together already as he laid you down on the couch.

“What kind of trouble has the girl gotten into now?” Secondo groaned.

Primo rushed over to Copia. “You shouldn’t’ve brought her here!” he hissed. “Why do you think we’re all here?! He’s on his way–” the rest of his sentence fell off as Terzo charged into the room. 

“Is she alright?” he asked, rushing to your side.

Copia stiffened, slowly turning to Terzo beside him. “Potrei farti la stessa domanda (I could ask you the same question).”

“Pensi che sia colpa mia, fratellino (Do you think this was my fault, little brother)? I was simply having una conversazione with her about what had happened between us. She was getting upset. Her eyes… they went black,” he lied smoothly, but Copia didn’t trust a single word that left his lips.

Nihil took a deep breath from his oxygen mask, his eyes never leaving Terzo. “It’s starting much earlier than anticipated, no?”

~~~

Your mind was clouded in confusion as you came to. “Where the hell am I…?” you muttered quietly after your eyes fluttered open. As your senses returned, you found yourself in a great hall. Surrounded by stone, there was a chill in the air. You didn’t remember the Ministry having some secret medieval castle nearby.

Without even realizing it, your feet began to pull you to the other side of this long room. Gothic windows to your left were as tall as the high, vaulted, marble ceilings letting in what appeared to be moonlight. On your right, sconces with lit torches burned brightly every few feet. At the end, were pillars of marble, framing one large throne with two smaller ones on each side of it, all of which were occupied. As your eyes adjusted and you got closer, you were able to take in the sight of those sitting before you, waiting patiently. Behind them was the sigil of Baphomet… who you realized, after doing a double-take, was sitting in a throne on your left. Given everything that you were going through, it would be easy to completely miss a man with a goat’s head and hooves right in front of you. At least, that’s what you told yourself to make up for your obliviousness.

Sitting in the center throne was a woman. Probably the most divine and beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her aura was regal and commanding, yet she emanated motherly energy. She wore a dress similar to yours, only floor length. To her right, was this gorgeous man sitting casually. His black button up had lantern sleeves, fitted trousers, and knee-high riding boots. He had an air of mischief surrounding him.

You quickened your pace when you realized wherever you were, it was of monumental importance and you did not want to keep any of them waiting. When you reached them, you curtseyed. “Your Excellencies,” you said. 

“Aw, precious,” the woman sighed.

“Lucifer sends his regards, child. It is not time yet for you to meet,” the man drawled, seeming a bit bored.

“I… uh… With all due respect, um… What’s going on?” you blurted out, your eyes darting from each figure, hoping they wouldn’t take offense from your manner of speaking. 

“You think you know, child, who you are. You know nothing. You know nothing of what you will become,” Baphomet said to the others. Even with the head of a goat, you could tell he was encouraging the two at his side to get on with it from the side-eye he was giving them. “You will leave here with answers to questions that have yet to present themselves to you. We are here to bring you out of the dark they have tried to keep you in.”

“You have only just begun. You are awakening to your true self. You are being activated to bring forth a new age,” the man said.

“Who’s they? I’m what now?” you blundered. 

“The Emeritus clan are trying to take matters into their own hands. Should they continue on their current path, it will be the end of our Church,” he clarified.

“The scales must be balanced. It is why I present myself to you,” Baphomet said eloquently.

“The one who holds the power is blinded by it. He uses it for selfish motives. He must be stopped by cunningness and force. It is why Lucifer has sent myself, Belial, in his place.” No big deal, you are just having a simple conversation about your destiny with the Baphomet and a prominent king of Hell.

“The one in power has gained knowledge through another's ritual. The others know of the prophecy, but hoped it to be a myth. This is their confirmation that The Awakening is happening. Each side is trying to control fate,” the woman finally spoke. 

“But… why me? Why am I so special?”

“As the Emeritus line descends from Princes of Hell, you are the descendant of a much higher lineage. When our sanctuary on Earth is threatened, we activate those who possess that power to right their wrongs.” The woman smiled sadly at you. “Unfortunately, it is through pain and trauma that allows one to truly awaken. He knows this and has abused this knowledge. He is fully aware there is a ritual that could have been done. Your prayer to the Dark Lord was heard by us all, my child.”

“Is that… Was he the one that was speaking to me when…?” you trailed off, unable to say what had happened out loud.

The woman nodded. “The one in power thinks you will submit to him and rule beside him. He underestimates you.”

“He is what has awakened the beast inside you,” Belial added.

“There’s a beast inside me!? Is that why everyone was so scared of me?”

“Yes. It is a part of you. There is a way to control it. Your love who has brought you suffering brings out your darkness,” the woman said solemnly. The sympathetic concern on her face was as if she had felt your pain like it were her own.

“To balance shadow with light, the halfling will be what reminds you of your humanity. While there is someone to bring out the beast, there is also someone to tame it. The halfling will be the sole survivor. Together, you will lead the next chapter. Together, you will continue to spread our message.” Baphomet ended by pointing two fingers up and two fingers down in a salute.

“How? How am I going to do this? I don’t even know what I am or–” you frantically blurred your words together in your frenzy. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

You instantly stopped when Belial held up his hand. “The pure Emeritus line must be eradicated before you will be able to fully ascend.”

The woman held out her hands for you to come forward as she stood. You forced your cemented legs to move until you were directly in front of her. She grabbed your hands. You felt whole, you felt at peace, you felt loved.

“I’m to ascend?” you said through barely parted lips.

“Yes, to the mother of all demons and sin on Earth.”

~~~

Terzo crouched down beside you, scanning your body for any signs of harm. “It was time, Nihil. None of you had the balls to do anything about it.”

“The girl was oblivious! She still is!” Sister Imperator shrieked. Terzo shot her a glare. 

“Was she even made aware she was rumored to be a Prime Mover?” Secondo asked, still sounding so bothered by being involved in any of this.

Terzo rolled his eyes. “She is destined to be much more than that. What was the point of filling her head with Prime Mover cazzate (bullshit)?”

“What do you know?” Copia snarled.

Terzo looked over his shoulder to smirk Copia whose face was reddening, fists balled at his sides. Though immediately it was forgotten when your eyes sprung open and you jolted awake with a gasp. 

You felt disoriented as your eyes scanned the room. You knew you hadn’t been dreaming. You knew that was more than a dream, despite desperately trying to convince yourself that was all it was. You would keep it to yourself for as long as you could.

Being thrown back into reality after having your body chemistry changed drastically left you not knowing where you were or how you got there. The first person you saw was Terzo. Involuntarily, you bolted upright, pushing yourself back into the corner of the couch. “No, no, no!” you cried as you curled up into the fetal position, trying to make yourself as small as you could, and squeezing your eyes shut.

Terzo almost lost his balance as the Cardinal bulldozed over to you, but his stare never deviated from you like a predator watching its prey. Copia scooped you into his arms. You tried to get away from him. “Cara, cara, it’s me,” Copia soothed as he tried to move into your line of sight. Once you realized it was him, you rolled yourself into his side. You weren’t crying, but your breathing was erratic. He rubbed your back as you calmed down. 

“Are you alright, amore?” he asked, brushing hair out of your face as he held it. 

“I… I’m– I… No, no, of course, I’m not! I don’t know what the fuck is going on!” You moved your hands up by your face to get Copia off you, not in an aggressive manner, you just needed some space right now since your brain fog was slowly lifting and the day’s events were returning to you in full force. You got off the couch and turned to face everyone in the room. “What is happening to me?” you pleaded. They all exchanged unsure glances at each other. No one dared to speak. 

“Do you remember the story of Elizabeth I had you translate for us?” Terzo’s voice was inquisitive and calm.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything right now?” you snapped.

“It has everything to do with what is happening right now, tesoro.”

“Terzo, maybe we should–” Sister Imperator was interrupted by Terzo cutting her off.

“She deserves to know!” he shouted. When he directed his attention back to you, he softened considerably. “That text was bound by a ritual. Only her descendants would be able to correctly translate any of it. That project was supposed to have taken you months, but you completed it in merely a few weeks. I knew the moment I saw you there was just something… special about you,” he moved closer to you, causing you to turn your scowl directly to him, “something dark about you…” he added low enough for only you to hear, stroking your cheek. You could feel the coolness of his white satin glove, a fresh clean pair. You shot him a deadly warning glare. He took a few steps away from you to address everyone else. “And so, of course, I took it upon myself to reach out to The Seers in Roma. They confirmed that you come from a long line of very powerful women.”

“You involved The Seers? Why are we just hearing of this now, Terzo?” Secondo grunted. Even he was becoming annoyed with all these games, not that it would take much. 

“Sì, because I needed proof. Just because she is a descendant, and that much we all knew–”

“Everyone except for me!” you cut him off in a huff.

“And for good reason,” Terzo picked right back up, not pausing long enough for you to get another word in. “Being a descendant did not mean you were chosen. E ma figurati (and come on), Secondo, a man of your stature should know that. We all knew about the text. Do not patronize me for inquiring further, fratello.”

“There is a prophecy, cara. It was merely regarded to be a myth. We never thought it would be in our lifetimes that we would see its truth,” Primo said gently in an attempt to give a semblance of an answer and quell the bickering between his brothers. You gulped as Primo said almost exactly word for word what the ethereal woman had said to you. 

“Sì, that is precisely why I went to The Seers. You all would have dismissed any possibility of this, called me un idiota.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, your head was throbbing. “So I’m Prophecy Girl now? Care to elaborate on what this fucking prophecy even is?” you said through your clenched jaw.

“‘The descendant of the Mother will turn the tides through blood and sacrifice to breathe new life into the mission of Lucifer,’” Terzo quoted.

You could only stare at him. You’ve never heard any of this before in your life. The similarity to your dream… Your breathing labored as you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't anywhere near a dream. It had been a vision. “H-how do we know… I-I’m really the one?”

Terzo strode up beside you again. He placed his hands on your shoulders very delicately, using just enough pressure to turn your back to everyone. “She has her mark,” he said, tracing the birthmark on your shoulder which looked like an inverted cross with a curved line starting from the bottom right which wrapped under to the other side of the edge of the cross. “When I first saw it… bene (well), that’s when I had her try the translation.” 

His touch was so tender in comparison to the summons. Still, you felt your heart rate increase and your breathing start to shallow, breaths becoming rapid in pace as the overwhelming feeling of your vision dissipated. Your wrath was slowly taking center stage once again. His proximity to you alone was like dropping a lit match next to gasoline. You turned, lightly batting his hand away. 

“And this is why you kept dodging our suggestions of an engagement and moving her status to Prime Mover?” Nihil prompted with a raised eyebrow.

Terzo’s eyes batted between Nihil and you, noting how your fists clenched. “Eh, in un certo senso (kind of)... being a Prime Mover is beneath her.” His eyes became distant, seemingly lost in self-loathing. “My treachery is why I could never go through with an engagement,” he muttered.  

You let out a scoff as you shook your head. “Oh, treachery!’ What a poetic way to say how you fucking half of the clergy is what kept you from proposing,” you sneered. 

Second rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sweet Lucifer, can we focus on the real problem at hand?” he griped.

“Domestic issues aside, it seems like all the more reason to be engaged publicly. It would be a show of power, would it not?” Nihil suggested.

“Nihil, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” you growled as tensions rose further. “Who do you need to show off your fucking power to? Lucifer in Hell, this isn’t a damn monarchy! It’s a church with a glorified high priest to lead the way!” You shot Terzo an ‘I told you so’ look when you mentioned the monarchy thing, again proving your point.

Careful, dear child… do not fly too close to the sun. The same voice from earlier sounded in your head. Your eyes widened at first, now knowing Lucifer had a direct line of communication to you, but quickly you shook your head as if in frustration to disguise your reaction. 

“Amore,” Terzo began, rolling his eyes, “why must you keep–”

“I say we table this conversation for today and let the girl rest,” Sister Imperator suggested as she saw you start to shake when Terzo dared to counter you. “Perhaps do some research of our own.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Terzo tutted. “Did everyone forget the rest of the prophecy? Et de flamma irae nascetur. And from the flames of wrath she will be born.” Terzo gripped your arms where he inflicted bruises which had yet to show themselves as he pulled you to his chest. He didn’t hold you as tightly as before, but he used just enough pressure to cause you to wince as you pulled your arms into your sides. Before you could wriggle out of his hold, “Don’t forget, amata, you left some things in my office, hm? Pick them up tomorrow,” he purred.

Jutting your arms forward to get out of his grasp, you took a step forward. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you warned.

He stayed close to you then delicately placed his hands on your shoulders, bringing his mouth to your ear as he lightly trailed a finger down your arm, he whispered, “That’s not what you said an hour ago,” he laughed darkly before pulling away.

Copia saw the way he grabbed you, how you reacted to him, your quick shudder at his touch. That was enough for his eyes to fill with his own wrath. You whipped around to face Terzo, eyes ablaze with a fury unlike anyone in that room had ever seen. With your eyes focused on Terzo, and your back to everyone, they all missed how the blackness started to seep into your eyes. Nonetheless, Copia stepped in between you and Terzo. “If you touch her again–”

“What are you going to do, concubino (lover boy)? Ram me in the shins with your tricycle?” he taunted with a cocky laugh. Suddenly, Copia leapt forward, grabbing Terzo by his shirt and shoving him against the wall. “No need to be so rough, eh? Tuo topolino can fight her own battles.” He used his chin to point at you. “Vedi (see)? Et de flamma irae nascetur. Aveva solo bisogno di un sforzo (she just needed a push),” he sniggered.

“Copia, get out of the way,” you demanded gravelly as your voice darkened. 

He turned to you, his grip on Terzo went slack. You reached to push him away, so you could get at Terzo, but Copia’s reflexes kicked in. You weren’t as fast as before, so he was able to grab your arm. His touch halted you. “No, amore, you don’t want to do this,” he whispered tenderly to you, yet his voice shook with fear. 

You blinked rapidly and your eyes became normal again. It was too much for your body to handle. You stepped backwards, holding your head. The world started to spin as the door flew open. Three ghouls marched through and surrounded you as Copia guided you to sit back on the couch. 

You looked up to see Swiss leaning over you, placing a hand on your shoulder. We felt your distress. We’re here to protect you, Your Eminence. You heard him say in your mind. Don’t verbally speak to us. They cannot know the full extent of your powers right now.

Thank you, Swiss, you thought. Your look of awe at the ghoul in front of you was quickly discarded as you winced, your head throbbing worse than before.

You need to rest, my child. At this point, you couldn’t even tell who was telepathically speaking to you now.

The others in the room only saw an exchange of nods between you and the ghoul, if they were even able to tear their eyes from the scene in front of them. Mostly they all focused their attention on the other ghouls who guarded you. One had white horns protruding out of his mask and the other wore a distinctive blue cape draped over her shoulder. They usually worked in tandem with Swiss. Always being around Terzo, you had grown quite fond of these other ghouls. It was a relief for you to see them. Their stance, however, was intimidating as they growled at Terzo and bared their clawed hands, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“Wh-what is the meaning of this! This the one room that is off limits to ghouls! They shouldn’t be in here!” Nihil spluttered while grasping for his oxygen mask.

“They’re here for her, Nihil,” Terzo scoffed as he adjusted his jacket. “How much more proof do you need, vecchietto (old man)?”

“So it’s true… it’s all true,” Primo muttered, his voice airy due to his surprise. 

“Proof? Proof of what!” you cried out. Tears started to well up in your eyes as the stress and fatigue of everything caught up with you.

First, it was the ghouls that kneeled to you, the first ones to speak to you. Then you realized the mark on your back and where you had seen a sigil just like it. And now you had ghouls rushing to your aid, ready to defend you. The woman from your vision. That’s when it dawned on you. All the pieces were fitting together. She never identified herself. She didn’t need to. Her presence was so calming, so… motherly to you. She said you would ascend to become the mother of demons on Earth. Mother of Demons.

Terzo outstretched his hands at his sides, shaking his head like this was an obvious fact as he plainly said, “Proof that you are the daughter of Lilith.”

part iv | part vi

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia #copia x reader #copia x female reader #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #terzo x reader #terzo #terzo x female reader #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii x female reader #terzo angst #copia angst

[dodematt]

Buon Natale ai solitari, ai cuori tormentati, ai perseguitati, agli incompresi. Buona sorte a chi è in cammino verso la propria meta a discapito dei suoi piedi sanguinanti, a chi continua a credere ai propri sogni lottando contro gufi e iene di passaggio, a chi non si arrende e pretende di essere felice a ogni costo. Buon inizio agli incoscienti, ai matti, agli inventori dell'amore, a chi non negozia sui sentimenti, a chi spaccia speranza, a chi indirizza lo sguardo oltre l'orizzonte. Buon Natale a un Cristo che non scende a patti, a un diavolo che si commuove dinanzi alle lacrime di un bambino. Buona fortuna a chi farà della propria vita il più grande miracolo, a chi riconoscerà i propri limiti e li supererà solo per essere migliore senza danneggiare il prossimo .

#buon natale

[thelastdinner]

Quanto sono umide certe mattine

sembrano grotte abbandonate,

vuote o svuotate

dal tepore di una certezza.

Antri bui e silenziosi,

gelidi e dimenticati dalla Speranza.

Rifugi di anime perse e sanguinanti,

necropoli del palpito.

Azeruel

[monologhidiunamarea]

Scrivere è sempre stata per me una cura ,un attraversare ogni mio momento felice o no e memorizzarlo con cura e attenzione. Qualsiasi pensiero viene sviscerato , viene attraversato con prepotenza ,non conosco modo diverso di affrontare ogni cosa. Non ho mai avuto molte persone intorno fin da piccola il mio rifugio era buttare giù tutto quello che mi passava per la testa cercando di dare un ordine. Alcune volte lo facevo ridendo altre singhiozzando come un matta. Scrivere per me è sopravvivere.

Mi ritrovo a buttare giù questa casa che fosse stata di carta sarebbe stato più facile buttarla giù. Mentre questa casa era stata fatta con tanto sacrificio mattone dopo mattone , basi solide...pensate e ripensate. Cercare di smontare tutto , buttare giù con la testa ogni dettaglio ,ogni attimo. Perché c'è modo e modo sempre anche per dire Addio. E quando il modo che si usa è pieno di indifferenza e crudeltà non si può far altro che fare questo. Disfare a mani nude e sanguinanti tutto quello che con fatica , volontà, forza e determinazione hai sempre portato avanti. Imparando così a farsi male in tanti modi silenziosi.

Modi e modi.

#monologhidiunamarea. #buttare giu #4 gennaio #diario di bordo

[allecram-me]

Inalienabile

Che il potere è bello pure non averlo lo abbiamo capito più o meno tutti nel momento in cui abbiamo assistito al crollo della prima barriera di protezione che ci aveva tenuti al sicuro dal mondo, e allora abbiamo almeno in minima parte pianto le responsabilità che ci si affacciavano al collo, nuove e ciclopiche, più sorde e più cieche del nostro misero dolore. Qualcuno ha rifiutato quell’intuizione, ha preferito la strada vecchia del controllo di facciata, l’ha scavata da capo verso l’orizzonte, cercando di afferrare i sassi e la terra con le unghie sgretolate, per non cambiare o - che è lo stesso - cambiando senza volerlo osservare. Queste sono le persone che costantemente riempiono il silenzio col chiacchiericcio di voci qualunque, e che esercitano il potere conquistato senza alcuna saggezza: che il potere stia nelle mani di chi non lo vuole, io dico, e sono figlia della chiamata dell’eroe ed altre simili stronzate, che quaggiù comunque funzionano.

Chi non cerca il potere spesso soffre della malattia opposta, l’immanenza della morte si fa un fatto intimo, la paralisi è più dolce. Queste persone, spesso, non scelgono una strada, sono come montagne che si lasciano erodere dagli elementi, contemplando quel cambiamento senza forza né rabbia, per lo più.

Se fossi capace a farlo, invidierei molto più spesso le vostre dita sanguinanti ed il fuoco languido dei vostri occhi fissi. L’unico appiglio che resta alla nostra convivenza, per quanto mi riguarda, è la consapevolezza che, nonostante le divergenze d’arsenale, siamo figli della stessa battaglia. Ma, vi prego, ricordate: ognuno si sceglie veleno e salvezza da solo. È un diritto inalienabile.

#mi piacerebbe non dovermi spiegare #mi piacerebbe non doverla cambiare #mi basterebbe non doverti incontrare

[falcemartello]

-----

Qui ogni parola è sentita, profonda, intima, non mancano le cose più dolorose, ci sono anche delle parole addirittura sanguinanti; ma un vento di grande libertà soffia su tutto ciò.

Ecce homo - Friedrich Nietzsche

[ilragazzo-soldato]

Buon Natale ai solitari, ai cuori tormentati, ai perseguitati, agli incompresi. Buona sorte a chi è in cammino verso la propria meta a discapito dei suoi piedi sanguinanti, a chi continua a credere ai propri sogni lottando contro gufi e iene di passaggio, a chi non si arrende e pretende di essere felice a ogni costo. Buon inizio agli incoscienti, ai matti, agli inventori dell'amore, a chi non negozia sui sentimenti, a chi spaccia speranza, a chi indirizza lo sguardo oltre l'orizzonte. Buon Natale a un Cristo che non scende a patti, a un diavolo che si commuove dinanzi alle lacrime di un bambino. Buona fortuna a chi farà della propria vita il più grande miracolo, a chi riconoscerà i propri limiti e li supererà solo per essere migliore senza danneggiare il prossimo .

#frasi tumblr #tumblr #frasi #citazioni #frasi belle #tristezza #amore #buon natale #natale2023 #christmas

[fermatiqui]

Le promesse svanite sono come cicatrici nascoste dal corpo ma sanguinanti nell'anima.

#frasi #frasi tumblr #fermatiqui

[schizografia]

La sua mutilazione e la sua morte coronavano così l’immagine di lei alle prese con una tecnologia in collisione, divenivano celebrazione delle sue membra individuali e delle sue superfici facciali, dei suoi gesti e delle sfumature della sua pelle. Ciascuno degli spettatori doveva essersi portata via dal luogo dell’incidente un’immagine della violenta trasformazione di lei, del complesso di ferite fondenti insieme la sessualità di lei e la dura tecnologia dell’automobile. Ciascuno di loro avrebbe congiunto la propria fantasia, le tenere membrane dei propri tessuti mucosi, i propri fasci di tessuto erettile, alle ferite di codesta attricetta; e questo, per il tramite della propria auto, toccando tali ferite nel guidare in un intrico di posizioni stilizzate. Ciascuno avrebbe posato le labbra sulle aperture sanguinanti [...] premuto le palpebre contro il tendine esposto dell’indice di lei e il dorso del pene eretto sulle sfondate pareti laterali della sua vagina. Lo scontro automobilistico aveva così reso possibile l’auspicata unione finale tra l’attrice e i membri del suo pubblico.

James Ballard, Crash

#crash #ballard #jean baudrillard

[emz26]

La mia ragazza tiene duro

La mia ragazza tiene duro,

e io posso solo provare a sollevarla,

posso solo tentare di alleggerirle i giorni peggiori.

Quando la vidi mi accorsi delle sue mani sanguinanti,

della striscia di sangue vivo che le divideva i palmi,

teneva duro,

mi accorsi anche del suo sorriso nel dolore,

guardandomi le mani notai le bruciature della corda mollata anni addietro,

cicatrici molto vecchie,

diventate quasi invisibili,

come lo era anche il ricordo di quel tempo,

come poteva chi ancora teneva duro

sorridere a chi non lo faceva più da tempo?

Ma alla fine della storia l’unica cosa che conta è che

la mia ragazza tiene duro,

e io non posso che provare a sostenerla.

#resilienza #resistere

[gregor-samsung]

“ Nella gola, dove a malapena ci stava un cannone, erano ammucchiati i resti di non meno di quattro. Essi avevano notato soltanto il momento in cui era stato ridotto al silenzio l'ultimo pezzo messo fuori uso; non era stato sostituito rapidamente per mancanza di uomini. I rottami erano disseminati sui due lati della strada; in mezzo ad essi gli uomini avevano trovato il modo di tenere aperto un passaggio per il quale ora stava facendo fuoco il quinto pezzo. Uomini? Sembravano demoni d'inferno! Erano tutti senza berretto, denudati sino alla cintola, le loro carni fumanti, nere per le macchie di polvere e gli spruzzi di sangue. Lavoravano come pazzi con calcatoio, cartocci, leva e cordoncino. Mettevano le spalle gonfie e le mani sanguinanti contro le ruote ad ogni rinculo e sollevavano il pesante cannone per rimetterlo in batteria. Non c'erano comandi; in quel terribile ambiente di schianti di bombe, scoppi di granate, frammenti di ferro sibilanti e schegge di legno che volavano per aria, non si sarebbe potuto udire la voce di nessuno. Gli ufficiali, se erano ufficiali, non si distinguevano dai soldati; lavoravano tutti insieme — ognuno finché durava — guidati dall'occhio. Passata la spugna, il cannone veniva caricato; appena caricato, era puntato e sparato. Il colonnello osservò qualcosa di nuovo per la sua esperienza militare, qualcosa di orribile, contro natura: il cannone sanguinava dalla volata! Per la temporanea mancanza d'acqua, l'uomo addetto alla spugna l'aveva immersa in una pozza di sangue dei suoi compagni. In tutto questo lavoro non c'erano scontri; il dovere del momento era ovvio. Quando uno cadeva, un altro, che aveva l'aspetto un po' piú pulito, sembrava scaturire dalla terra sulle orme del morto, per cadere a sua volta.

Con i cannoni distrutti giacevano gli uomini distrutti, accanto ai rottami, sotto e sopra di essi; e dietro, giú per la discesa, quei feriti che potevano muoversi, si trascinavano sulle mani e sulle ginocchia. Il colonnello — per pietà aveva fatto fare dietrofront alla sua cavalcata — dovette passare col cavallo sopra quelli che erano già morti per non schiacciare gli altri che erano ancora parzialmente vivi. In quell'inferno persistette ad andare; si portò di fianco al cannone e, nel fumo della ultima scarica, toccò sulla guancia l'uomo che impugnava il calcatoio, il quale subito stramazzò credendosi colpito a morte. Un demonio dannato sette volte saltò avanti a prendere il posto del caduto, ma indugiò e levò gli occhi all'ufficiale che era a cavallo con uno sguardo spettrale, i denti che lampeggiavano tra le labbra nere, gli occhi fieri e dilatati che ardevano come brace sotto la fronte insanguinata. Il colonnello fece un gesto imperioso e indicò la retroguardia. Quel demonio s'inchinò in segno d'obbedienza. Era il capitano Coulter. Quando il colonnello fece segno di arrestare l'azione, simultaneamente sul campo cadde il silenzio. Il fiume di proiettili non si rovesciò piú in quella gola della morte perché il nemico cessò di far fuoco. Erano ore che il grosso dell'esercito si era allontanato, e il comandante della retroguardia, il quale aveva tenuto a lungo la sua pericolosa posizione nella speranza di ridurre al silenzio l'artiglieria federale, proprio in quel momento aveva fatto cessare la propria. “

---------

Brano tratto dal racconto Il fatto della Tacca di Coulter raccolto in:

Ambrose Bierce, Storie di soldati, traduzione di Antonio Meo, nota introduttiva di Francesco Binni, Einaudi (collana Centopagine n° 41, collezione di narratori diretta da Italo Calvino), 1976; pp. 83-84.

[Edizione originale: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians, San Francisco: E.L.G. Steele, 1891]

#Storie di soldati #letture #leggere #sacrificio #Ambrose Bierce #Guerra di secessione americana #Antonio Meo #orrore #libri #Guerra civile americana #pacifismo #XIX secolo #Italo Calvino #Storia degli Stati Uniti d'America #Francesco Binni #nonviolenza #letteratura americana #antimilitarismo #forze armate #narrativa #raccolte di racconti #abolizionismo #schiavismo #abolizionisti #citazioni letterarie #racconti brevi #schiavitù #Storia degli USA #Stati Confederati d'America #afroamericani

[volevoimparareavolare]

Devo smetterla di credere di essere importante per qualcuno, mi abbandonano tutti, sono destinata ad essere sola

A volte, alcune rose hanno un profumo migliore dele altre. Ci attirano verso di loro come fossimo farfalle, e come quelle diventiamo anche noi incredibilmente fragili.

Sfiorarle, ci riempie di brividi. Respirarle, ci fa tremare le labbra e il respiro. Ci avviciniamo sempre di più, ma loro non ci cacciano.

E noi incominciamo a fidarci di loro.

Crediamo di essere le uniche a poter vantare un rapporto così privilegiato, di vicinanza e intimità, e inevitabilmente finiamo per sentirci speciali.

Poi accade che ci avviciniamo troppo, e finiamo per ferirci con le loro spine.

Sanguinanti, strettiamo, col cuore che pulsa in gola e le ciglia grondanti di lacrime.

Ci ripromettiamo di non credere più al profumo di nessun fiore, e la cicatrice pallida che ci squarcia la pelle diventerà il nostro eterno promemoria.

Ma così facendo, finiamo per escludere anche i fiori che non hanno le spine. Anche i fiori che sono gentili e delicati.

Ma noi non lo sappiamo. Non possiamo distinguerli dagli altri, perché ci teniamo a debita distanza da loro.

Quello che con questa storia sto cercando di dirti é questo; ognuno di noi ha il suo fiore senza spine. La persona che la tratterà con cura e amore.

Ma non la troveremo mai, se non siamo noi, i primi, a credere in noi stessi. A capire che siamo importanti e meritiamo il meglio.

Non lasciare che qualche spina ti precluda per sempre chiunque altro

[smokingago]

Non è niente del tuo corpo

né la pelle, né gli occhi, né il ventre,

né quel luogo segreto che entrambi conosciamo,

fossa della nostra morte, conclusione della nostra sepoltura.

Non è la tua bocca – la tua bocca

uguale al tuo sesso –,

né l’incontro esatto dei tuoi seni,

né la schiena dolcissima e liscia,

né il tuo ombelico in cui bevo.

Né sono le tue cosce dure come il giorno,

né le ginocchia di avorio infuocato,

né i tuoi piccoli piedi sanguinanti,

né il tuo profumo, né i tuoi capelli.

Non è il tuo sguardo – che cos’è uno sguardo? -

triste luce distratta, pace senza padrone,

né il quaderno del tuo udito, né la tua voce,

né le occhiaie che ti lascia il sonno.

Neppure è la tua lingua di vipera,

freccia di vespe nell’aria cieca,

né il calore umido dell’asfissia

che sostiene il tuo bacio.

Non è niente del tuo corpo,

né un filo, né un petalo,

né una goccia, né un granello, né un momento.

È solo questo posto dove eri,

queste mie braccia ostinate.

Jaime Sabines

[canesenzafissadimora]

Tutti gli innamorati sono poeti...

Sono gli amori mai davvero vissuti, che diventano poesie, o canzoni.

Sono quegli amori di cui qualcuno non ha voluto prendersi cura, quelli che sembrava ed invece no, o quelli che erano fortissimi, ma da una parte sola.

Quelli, sono quelli che, non trovando spazio nel Mondo del reale, non riuscendo a diventare serate noiose passate a guardare la televisione insieme, o pizze ordinate e “tu, amore come la vuoi, io quattro stagioni” o non facendocela a trasformarsi in litigate sul come vada schiacciato il tubetto del dentifricio, prendono la via dello struggimento in versi, della frase ad effetto, delle note e degli accordi per chitarra.

Sono gli amori che, non riuscendo a far sospirare ed intenerire il solo ed unico oggetto del loro stesso esistere, allora provano a fare battere i cuori di tutti, allora provano a trovare un po’ di ragione e di vita in belle parole, belle ordinate e belle sanguinanti.

Perché tutti gli innamorati sono poeti, e tutti i poeti sono innamorati, ma quelli ricambiati baciano labbra e stringono mani, quelli lasciati soli, invece, scrivono versi.

cit.

[ilmerlomaschio]

Questa è una storia “dentro”. Dentro di me che ho voluto sperimentare la sensazione che immaginavo fin da bambino, cosa significa abbandonarsi con il culo in aria e il viso sprofondato nel cuscino di un hotel di terza categoria. Che ho voluto vivere nello spazio che ci insegnano a neanche nominare se vogliamo sentirci uomini sul serio, quella sensazione che ho visto provare a Didi durante alcune delle nostre serate. L’abbandono completo, la perdita del controllo, l’umiliazione che eccita, che sballa, che infanga e ubriaca. La sodomia. Farla e subirla da un corpo uguale. Ma questa è stata una delle tante esperienze. Tutta la nostra avventura di scambisti è una avventura che penetra. Dentro la vita di una coppia che ha trovato un equilibrio particolare.

....

Una storia dentro fino in fondo, in quelle profondità dove a lei piace sentirlo. Che sono profondità del corpo ma anche dell’anima e mi piace sapere di averle scopato l’anima e di poterlo fare tante e tante volte ancora, se lei me lo concederà, se lei vorrà ancora condividere con me coiti rapidi, coiti sanguinanti, coiti da homeless, coiti paradisiaci, coiti devastanti e traballanti, coiti da ricordare a frammenti e polaroid al mattino, coiti che lasciano aloni scuri, irripetibili momenti.

Francesca Mazzucato

Confessioni di una coppia scambista