#trap italiano
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Rose sei la voce della mia vita 😍
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Lascio scivolare tutto via,
È un lato di me stesso che non voglio.
Il tuo amore ora è una farmacia,
Però oggi mi curerò da solo.
-Angeli; Tony Boy
#tony boy#umile#frasi rap#frasi tony boy#frasi trap#rap italiano#frasi canzoni#compagnia#pillole#depressione#antipressivi#pastiglie#farmacia#dolore#amore#ti amo#relazione#dipendenze#solitudine#stare male#piangere#overdose#voglio morire#suicidio#autolesionismo#anoressia
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So did everyone else’s spotify wrapped also very accurately represent their target languages? Italian and Spanish are my second and third languages respectively and they seem to be the only things I listen to ahahaha
#only one song in English in my entire top 100#I am Australian btw#italian#italiano#english#inglese#langblr#spotify#spotify wrapped#trap latino#italian pop#latino pop#italian hip hop#spanish pop
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In Cella 5 mi sento a casa mia
In diciassette ma tutti dalla mia
A mezzanotte si spengono le luci
E tutti anche là fuori sentono le nostre voci
~ Niko Pandetta (fratm) - Cella5
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Update post:
The Washington Post reports that Israel has been giving time for a diplomatic solution to be found for the Hezbollah attacks and murder of people in Israel's north since Oct 7, but it has now set the end of January as a deadline, after which it will escalate its activity against the Iran-funded terrorist organization in southern Lebanon. Israel says it did not set a hard deadline, but I can say I heard many Israeli officials interviewed, who were very pessimistic about the chance of finding a diplomatic solution.
The parents of young Israelis murdered at the Nova music festival had a special event today, where they planted trees at the scene of the murder as part of Tu Bishvat, the Jewish holiday of celebrating the birthday of trees, which is due in a couple of days.
Israel has confiscated 15 million dollars in cash found in Hamas members' homes in Gaza. This money was found as Israeli soldiers are going house to house, and terror tunnel to terror tunnel, in search of the hostages. They've now uncovered a booby trapped terror tunnel in which 20 hostages were held over time, with actual cages in it. The presence of the hostages there was corroberated by DNA findings, as well as the finding of drawings made by 5 years old Emilia Aloni, who was released in the hostage deal.
An American Grammy nominated artist of Slovak descent has released a song criticizing the atrocities of Oct 7, and the rise in antisemitism following it. It's called OK (with the main lyrics being "We are not okay") by Five for Fighting. This is being an ally to Jews everywhere, done right.
This is 24 years old Karin Giorno.
She had a ticket to the Nova music festival, but sold it, because a few days earlier she broke her leg, and her parents asked her not to go to the party. However, friends convinced her to go with them after all, so she bought a new ticket, and went. For 11 days, she was missing. Her parents asked for info, but their number was passed around on Arab social media, and they got flooded by hate calls from people (phoning from all sorts of Arab countries such as Tunisia and Egypt), telling the family that they had Karin, and would rape and murder her. Eventually, Karin's body was identified. She was murdered on Oct 7, at the scene of the music festival. Karin worked at Pizzeria Italianos, which has been making food for Israeli soldiers for free since the start of the war. When Dvir, the owner of the pizzeria chain, got the news of Karin's murder, he was devastated. "She proved to me how capable women were under pressure, she became like family and I admired her," he said. He decided to do something in her memory. Shortly before the massacre, Karin had sent him a recipe for cinnabon. Now, this dish is a regular part of their menu, under the name "Bon Giorno," incorporating Karin's last name.
(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
#israel#antisemitism#israeli#israel news#israel under attack#israel under fire#terrorism#anti terrorism#hamas#antisemitic#antisemites#jews#jew#judaism#jumblr#frumblr#jewish#israelunderattack
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Missed connection
A/N: I wrote a little Tom fic while my next sub!Loki marinates a bit. It's angsty and a little fluffy and totally self-indulgent.
Inspired in part by @dangertoozmanykids101 and this post. I hope that's OK with her :)
Summary: Stuck in a train carriage in Italy with Tom. Angst ensues.
W/C: 2.7k
Warnings: Very light, thirsty smut. Stay tuned for part 2 if you want the filth.
Two Three parts - but if you like where they end up after the first one you can totally leave it here.
Part 1
You sigh, closing your book and gazing out the window of the unmoving train into the night. You should have arrived in Padua before dusk, but your train out of Venice had ground to a halt several hours ago without explanation, and had sat here, with frustrating stubbornness, in the growing darkness.
You stretch your neck, looking around you. Your train carriage is mostly empty, and the few other passengers appear to be asleep. You envy them. It had taken several long flights to arrive in Italy, and to be trapped here on this final leg, so close to your destination, with zero information, is… infuriating.
A movement catches your eye as a tall man enters from an adjoining carriage. He moves slowly between the seats, past the sleeping occupants. You avert your eyes and pretend to concentrate on your lap, your innate introversion kicking in and insisting you avoid a conversation with a stranger.
"Mi scusi?"
Startled, you look up, meeting his eyes and taking in his face. Gosh, you think, surprised, he's very pretty. And... Familiar?
"Hai un cellulare da prestarmi?"
"Non parlo Italiano," you stammer out - one of the few Italian phrases you'd learnt in preparation for your trip. "Do you speak English?"
"Oh," he smiles, blushing charmingly. "Of course. I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but - would you have a mobile phone that I could borrow?"
As soon as he switches to English, recognition washes over you like a flood. To see him out of context like this was terrifically confusing - but that voice… It was unmistakable. You’re momentarily unable to speak.
"I… my phone battery is flat," he continues, misconstruing your long pause. "May I - would you mind if I sent a message to someone?"
"Of course," you manage, as you pull your phone out from your bag. His face relaxes in relief and gratitude as he takes it from you.
His hands, you think as you try to surreptitiously watch his nimble fingers tap the screen. By all that is holy, his HANDS. As though he heard you, he lifts his left hand to nervously run it back through his loose curls, while continuing to text with his other thumb.
Maybe I'm dreaming, you think cautiously. I fell asleep on the train and I'm… You pinch your leg. Nope. Hurts.
"Thank you," he says with a long exhale, looking down at you and handing back your phone. "I wasn't expecting to be stuck here…"
You can't help laughing. "Me neither, obviously," you smile. He smiles back, his beautiful lips parting slightly to give you a glimpse of his perfect teeth.
"Well - thank you," he says again, turning to move back the way he had come.
"Ah -" you begin, slightly confused. "What if - I mean, should you wait for them to reply?" You try to keep your voice low for the sake of the other occupants of the carriage in their happy slumber.
His eyes run over the book in your lap, where your small clip-on reading lamp is casting odd shadows.
"I'd hate to interrupt you further," he says, the question clear in his tone.
"Uh - it would be nice to have the company," you lie. As if that was ever true. Although this time… He narrows his eyes at you briefly; without thinking, you extend your hand. "I'm y/n."
He bites his lower lip, making your stomach flutter. And not just your stomach, if you're honest. But he takes your hand and shakes it. "Tom," he says simply.
You swallow hard at the feel of his long fingers grasping your palm and brushing your wrist. He thinks I don't recognise him.
"I - I know who you are," you laugh uncomfortably, unable to hold his gaze as he takes the seat opposite you, his thick thighs spread wide. Invitingly.
"Oh," he says again. And again with that subtle blush. Is he doing that on cue? "Well - it's nice to meet you, y/n."
There's a brief, thoroughly awkward silence, before he expertly transitions to well-practised small talk. “You’re clearly not Italian,” he says, mocking his earlier language faux pas. "How is it that you find yourself on an immobile train in the Italian countryside?"
You exhale, suddenly aware that you'd been holding your breath. Don’t look directly at him. "I'm here for a conference," you reply, making eye contact with his forehead and speaking a little too fast. “In Padua. I just flew into Venice from Toronto this afternoon.” You want to ask him why he’s here - alone? - but it feels too personal. Don’t interview the poor man.
“Toronto?” He asks. “You don’t sound Canadian, either.” Gods above, his face is so… expressive. He blinks slowly and you catch his glorious eyelashes as they flit against his skin. His broad chest expands with every inhale, straining against his tight, white shirt.
“Oh- no, I’m Australian,” Christ, could you stop sounding so fucking flustered? “But I live in Canada.” He pauses as though waiting for you to continue, even though you were sure you’d finished talking. “Just for the last few years. For work.” He sounds so… Interested. As though the inane nonsense that is inarticulately gushing from your mouth is all he wants to hear. Gosh, he really is charming. What a strange super power. Why am I still talking?
“What do you-” he begins, but he is interrupted by the ping of your phone.
“That must be for you,” you murmur, scrambling to pick it up. “Oh - no, sorry, just my husband.” A shadow crosses his face fleetingly. Keen to get a reply and get back to his seat, you think.
You flick a quick text back to your spouse. Still on the train - no movement. Nothing eventful. Well, that was a big fat lie, you muse to yourself, glancing at the stunning man sitting opposite you.
“You’re married?” he asks, as you return your phone to your bag.
“I - yes,” you reply, absently touching the wedding ring on your finger and trying not to think about the long years since your husband had made your body ache like the man sitting before you. A man who had barely even touched you.
“Do you like it?” He asks. You are momentarily confused. “Canada, I mean?”
“Yes. Sometimes. Mostly.” You take a deep breath, once again aware of the arousal he is stirring in you. Make sentences. “I miss home often.” Another awkward pause that you fight to fill, trying not to stare at his long Greek nose or the shadows cast by his ridiculous cheekbones. “They all think I’m British - Canadians, I mean,” you continue, hating yourself for the banality of your small talk. “They all ask me what part of England I’m from. I tell them ‘the very far south’.”
He laughs at that, throwing his head back and issuing a throaty expression of mirth that makes you quiver between your legs. Are… are my pants damp? You wonder silently, both quietly horrified and mildly interested at your body’s reaction to the close proximity of this beautiful man, and the inexplicable circumstances that have led you here.
“Well, you don’t exactly sound like Steve Irwin,” he laughs, eyes glittering in the low light.
“And you don’t sound like Eliza Doolittle,” you quip, before bringing your hand to cover your mouth, mortified.
“I’m so sorry. I - I’m lousy at small talk. And I’m… A little awed to be speaking to you.” Ugh. Gushing. How unattractive.
But he continues to smile that dazzling smile that touches his lovely eyes so easily. “It’s quite alright,” he says gently. “Most people are.” The words are arrogant, but his tone suggests something altogether different. Is he… Uncomfortable?
He looks briefly out the window into the darkness. Stars have materialised in the inky sky.
“Skip the small talk, then,” he offers, turning back to face you, voice deep and sultry, eyes piercing and intense. You press your thighs together to relieve the growing tension between them. No question now - you were wet with arousal. “Tell me something… Substantial.” He shifts in his seat and you try desperately not to look at his crotch. Just don’t stand up before he leaves, you tell yourself. His eyes slide to the book next to you. “What are you reading?”
You also glance at the book on your seat, remembering where you had been mere minutes prior, in that previous life before Tom had first spoken to you. It’s telling that he considers that a substantial question, you think. You swallow. “Ah - War Lord by Bernard Cornwell,” you say, picking it up.
“Are you enjoying it?”
“I - not really,” you admit, passing your eyes over the cover. Once again, his face encourages you to keep talking. “It’s the last in a long series. I was probably done with them a while ago but - it’s hard not to finish something you’ve come so far with...” You’ve run out of words again, and he’s still watching you…
You awkwardly clear your throat. “What are you reading?”
He laughs and reaches his hand into a large inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a simple, slightly battered-looking book.
“The Dispossessed,” he replies, his eyes sparkling, “by Ursula Le Guin.” His middle finger strokes the spine lovingly. “It’s beautiful. I read it every few years,” he confesses. “It’s a commentary on materialism and capitalism… and it’s also a thought piece about time - time as a product of mathematics and physics but also philosophy and ethics. But mostly,” he finally pauses for breath, “it’s a love story. Love that transcends space and time-”
“I’ve read it,” you interrupt him, and can’t help laughing at the sheer boyish joy that has come over his face as he spoke. “I - it’s one of my favourites, too.”
The wide, open-mouthed smile he gives you then transforms his entire face, and you suddenly feel that it is the first genuine expression he has given you. What just happened?
“Really?” He is suddenly abuzz with little-boy energy. Puppy energy. “I don’t meet many people who have read it. It’s a seriously underrated Le Guin book.”
“Yes!” you agree heartily. “She’s so renowned for the Earthsea chronicles but… The Dispossessed is so complex and… beautiful. And yes, a truly touching love story. Did you know that Shevek is modelled on Oppenheimer?”
“I had heard that, but he always made me think of Feynman.”
“Me too!” You laugh enthusiastically, before remembering your sleeping companions and lowering your voice again. “It has, I think, my favourite line ever written.” He raises his eyebrows. You quote, “You can go home again, so long as you understand that home is a place where you have never been.”
“That’s your favourite line ever written?”
“Yes!” you say again, mildly embarrassed. “It’s… it’s…” You search for the words, forcing yourself to form logical sentences again. “We believe that time is something real, that life is what’s happening outside ourselves. But time - life - is within us.” You lean forward in your seat, willing him to understand your point. “You know - you can’t step twice in the same river, because neither you nor the river are the same. Live now, because you won’t be here again.”
He nods. “We all get two lives, and the second life begins when we realise we only get one.”
You exhale, suddenly aware of the thrill that is coursing through your body. Careful, you tell yourself, then chastise yourself for such a foolish notion. But this one might hurt when you land. “Yes. Exactly.”
“I also have a favourite line in it,” he offers, hesitantly. “Maybe not ever written,” he teases you gently, “but…”
With surprise, you watch him open the book still in his hands to a dog-eared page. He reads. “If you can see a thing whole, it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives. But close up, a world's all dirt and rocks. The way to see how beautiful the Earth is, is to see it from the moon.”
He looks up at you expectantly, his whole energy shifted, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as though waiting for your approval. But you are momentarily stunned. He’s… Sad.
“Is that…” You stop, knowing that your question is far too personal, but unsure if you can carry on the conversation without asking it. You’ll never be here again, you remind yourself, and stumble on. “Is that how you feel? All… Dirt and rocks?”
He gazes back at you, his smile touched with a hint of melancholy. “Sometimes. I wonder if my life is more beautiful from a distance than from the inside.”
You consider your words carefully before we speak. “Don’t we all feel that way? Our lives are more perfect, more interesting, on paper, than they are in reality? Only the people closest to us see how messy we really are. Maybe no one knows us as well as ourselves.”
“Maybe,” he sighs. “I often have to remind myself that this is the life I chose, not the life that chose me.” You stare at him, astonished not only by the words he is saying, but by the brazen honesty of what he is sharing, and by the full 180 degree shift in his mood in the last few moments. Volatile.
“Anyway,” he smiles, almost convincingly, as if to say, that’s enough self pity. “Your turn. Marriage? How is it?”
The question takes you thoroughly by surprise. “M… Marriage?” He doesn’t speak, but raises his eyebrows as he continues to look at you with that unusual intensity… It is strangely intimate. “That doesn’t really seem like a fair question when I’m staring at Tom Hiddleston sitting opposite me.” You groan inwardly, wishing you hadn’t said it aloud.
He chuckles. “Close your eyes, then.”
You stare at him open-mouthed for a second, the simple suggestion ringing through your ears like a command. Your core clenches and you feel the slick in your panties practically gushing down your inner thighs. You swallow hard.
But to be fair to your husband, you do as he suggests. You immediately feel incredibly exposed. “It’s…” You pause, thinking; remembering. “You know when you take a long drive, and somewhere in between towns the radio signal drops out, and there’s nothing but static?” To your surprise, words begin to pour out of you, some kind of overflow triggered by the unexpected vulnerability. “And there’s nothing you can do but keep driving, and trust that you’ll get signal again when you reach the next town?”
You open your eyes again. He has leaned forwards towards you, elbows resting on his spread thighs. His eyebrows knit gently, and he cocks his head slightly, encouraging you to continue.
“Well… sometimes it’s like that,” you finish lamely, embarrassed at your familiarity with him.
His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his lips as he continues to gaze at you with his now familiar, interested intensity. “But you do trust it? That you’ll find the signal again?”
“Mostly, yes,” you reply quietly, meeting his eyes properly as a tingly powerlessness comes over your own body. Breathe, you concentrate, acutely aware of how close he is.
In the next second, two things happen simultaneously. With a sudden jolt, the train rumbles to life and begins to move again, light in the carriage flickering as power is briefly redistributed to the engine. You both gasp in surprise at the unexpected movement.
When your eyes meet again, the spell is broken.
In the same moment, your phone pings a second time. You pull it out, handing it to him when you don’t recognise the number. He swallows, a muscle in his jaw quivering. He takes the phone, smiling stiffly and nodding mechanically as he reads the message; he taps a short reply, then deletes the thread.
He stands as he hands it back to you. “I think we are not far from your destination,” he smiles, abruptly as poised and controlled as when he had first entered the carriage. The suddenness of the transition from friend to stranger leaves you feeling disoriented. “Thank you for your company, y/n. It’s been a pleasure.”
You take a breath and lift your chin. “Likewise,” you smile. He nods to you before turning away, and doesn’t look back as he leaves the carriage.
Damn, you think. I didn’t even ask where he's going.
Continued in Part 2
Hope y'all don't mind the tags.
@lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtigger @coldnique @holymultiplefandomsbatman @peaches1958 @chantsdemarins @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @vbecker10 @currish-rosewolfe @muddyorbsblr @so-easy-to-love-me @villainousshakespeare @caffiend-queen @peachyjinx @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @simplyholl @mochie85 @lokischambermaid @cheekyscamp @sarahscribbles @joyful-enchantress @muddyorbs @lovelysizzlingbluebird
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TOTO CUTUGNO
Mi spiace per la scomparsa di Toto Cutugno e quindi vi risparmio la mia opinione sulle sue canzoni. So solo che se la esprimessi, riceverei questi commenti: "Tutta invidia", "Non hai alcun rispetto", "Non sei l'Ideota, sei l'idiota", "E allora vai ad ascoltare i Måneskin", "Ha venduto milioni di dischi, tu cos'hai fatto nella vita?", "Ti meriti la trap", "Mentre tu eri sul divano, lui riempiva gli stadi", "Era un italiano vero, tu cosa sei?", "Voi giovani non capite nulla" (ehm, purtroppo ho 50 anni).
Quindi forse la mia opinione sulle canzoni di Toto Cutugno potete intuirla.
[L'Ideota]
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Your dog looks like one of the humans trapped inside a dog
Hehe yes spinone italianos are just like that… it’s part of their charm :)
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Who wants to read an analysis on how Lewis, Pierre and Daniel use their social media platforms?
My friend and I were talking about the marketability of the drivers on the grid. It was instigated by Pierre's posts. This isn't necessarily a comparison, they're just 3 very poignant examples with a lot of material we could go over. Here is where we differentiate between the 3 drivers' use of social media.
Lewis: His use of social media straddles the fine line between work and business. His use of social media is kind of an exchange (that sounds clinical but bear with me), we get Roscoe posts and thirst traps in exchange for supporting his various financial and charitable causes (+44 merch, x44 racing, mission 44 etc). A lot of Lewis' power, I would argue comes from his social media following (because the sport still disrespects him daily). He is always aware of the conversation surrounding him and uses it sparingly and usually avoids actions that make him look like he's punching down. He usually only responds to lateral jabs to his credibility (think Nelson Piquet, Alonso etc).
Pierre: Pierre is chronically online which is both great and problematic. When you're chronically online, you are always a part of the conversation but that comes with the caveat that you remain aware of what is appropriate to say/do and what isn't. He has a lot of inside jokes that only his following will understand (him posting a pisture of the perfume he uses because people were speculating how he smells). Pierre is in his influencer era and while he wants to influence people to buy his merch, listen to various podcasts and support his career, he forgets that people hold influencers to a standard (or pedestal depending on what type of parasocial attachment you have). This is why he trips into controversy every so often (grid girl photo). However, he rarely has to address the controversy because he posts so much content that it essentially disappears within one photo dump cycle. It's an inadvertent distraction technique that works.
Daniel: He is a very interesting case. Every video on Daniel's YouTube channel is an ad. It's very manufactured content. Even the pictures he posts on Instagram are just...fine. They look like any other guy's instagram so why are people so obsessed with him? What really propels him is the "BTS content" put out by his large group of friends. Whether it's Michael Italiano posting a training session, Felipe Massa posting their dinner date, Gang of Youths putting his name in a song, Scotty James posting their ranch adventures, Drive to Survive dedicating multiple episodes to his journey...you get the point. There are so many points of contact for Daniel that make him inescapable even though his personal content sometimes seems devoid of personality or purpose. If you care enough, you will piece together his thoughts and actions using the posts of the people he surrounds himself with. He's just posting what he remembers as a good time, even if it means that his followers don't get to be a part of the conversation.
None of this is shade, it's just an interesting analysis of how drivers use their platforms to their own ends, that's all. If you read this far, shout out to you.
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Five days | Traduzione in ITALIANO
Five days | Traduzione in ITALIANO
https://ift.tt/exkQ2ol
by Lunaa_slytherin
Nessuno sa che sono scomparsi. Nessuno sa dove sono. Nessuno sa che sono intrappolati. Nessuno sa che stanno morendo. Dramione.
Words: 2054, Chapters: 1/14, Language: Italiano
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/M
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Survival, Trapped, Blood and Injury, Drama & Romance, Suspense
via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/WYoidpD
March 13, 2024 at 04:14PM
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so uh. Link stash for Crim 'N Ale🥺.
Lmao Al's Long Ass Tail
Redesign Your Crimson by Citrus Imp
Le Translator For Ze Italiano
Bodyguard, Guarder Of The Body
✨Submissive And Breedable✨
Ale, I'm Trying To Invade This Rival Mob But I'm Dummy Thick And The Clap Of My Ass Cheeks Keeps Alerting The Don
Holy FUCK What Is He Calculating 🤨 Like Father Like Son Tbh
Please Don't Tell My Father That I Used His 1996 Honda Accord To Destroy The Town Of Willow Grove, Pennsylvania In 2002
God I love fanfiction {sobbing rolling on the floor dying in a glue trap}
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Elk vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is.
Elk vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is.
Elk vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is.
👉 Art-journaling : Elk vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is.
Elk vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is.
🐦 Betekenis : Ieder spreekt overeenkomstig zijn aard. / Iedereen spreekt op zijn manier, d.w.z. overeenkomstig eigen aard en opvoeding. / Iedereen uit zich op zijn manier, afhankelijk van zijn aard en opvoeding. / Ieder laat zich uit op een wijze die door zijn eigen aard en opvattingen bepaald wordt. / Ieder spreekt of uit zich overeenkomstig zijn aard, of de trap van zijn beschaving. / Iedereen heeft zijn eigen manier van converseren.
🐦 Varianten : Ieder vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is. / Elke vogel zingt zoals hij gebekt is.
🐦 Zinverwante uitdrukkingen : Ieder spreekt op de hem eigen wijze. / Ieder spreekt op zijn eigen manier.
🐦 Literal translation in English : Each bird sings as its beak is. / traduction littérale en français : Chaque oiseau chante comme son bec est fait. / traduzione letterale in italiano : Ogni uccello canta come è fatto il proprio becco.
🐦 Engels ; English : Everyone speaks in his own way. / Each man speaks in his own fashion. / Each bird loves to hear himself sing. / The bird is known by his note, a man by his word.
🐦 Frans ; français : Chacun parle à sa manière. / Chacun s'exprime à sa manière. / Chaque oiseau chante sa propre chanson. / Chaque oiselet gazouille comme il est embecqué. [obsolète]
🐦 Duits ; Deutsch : Jeder Vogel singt, wie ihm der Schnabel gewachsen ist. / Jeder redet, wie ihm der Schnabel gewachsen ist. / Jeder spricht, wie es ihm passt! / Jeder spricht in seiner eigenen Art und Weise / Jeder spricht auf seine Weise ( …. nach seiner Weise) / Jeder spricht auf seine (eigene) Art.
🐦 Italiaans ; italiano : Ognuno parla a modo suo. / Ognuno parla a suo modo. / Ciascuno parla a modo suo. / Ognuno s'esprime a modo suo. / Ogni uccello canta il suo verso.
👉 Doctissimo : Elk vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is.
👉 Pinterest : Elk vogeltje zingt zoals het gebekt is.
22-08-2022
#vogel#vogeltje#zingen#gebekt#zijn#spreekwoorden#zegswijzen#gezegden#spreuken#uitdrukkingen#idioms#dutch idioms#expressions néerlandaises#proverbes néerlandais#locutions#dictons#sprichwörter#redewendungen#ausdrücke#proverbi#espressioni#polyglot#multilingual#foreign languages#nederlands#dutch#langblr#learn dutch#learning languages#dutchblr
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Immagina un remake italiano di Tokyo Revengers intitolato La Vendetta dei Maranza, dove i membri della Tomare Gang passano le giornate a rubare portafogli suonando trap/drill a tutto volume a bordo dei loro fidi monopattini elettrici (rubati)
Sarebbe epico
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Pheelow feat. Inoki - “CalmoCalmo”
Con questa nuova produzione Pheelow si rilancia con un brano old school con la collaborazione di Inoki
Con questa nuova produzione, al seguito di un periodo di pausa, Pheelow si rilancia riscoprendo un genere ormai saturo e monotono, grazie all’unione tra vecchia e nuova scuola. Prende colore una collaborazione con Inoki, che rende il brano e la produzione un master pièce dal sapore old school.
Pheelow (Filippo Federico, Classe '98) è un cantautore e produttore emergente, nasce a Roma sotto le influenze di artisti appartenenti al panorama italiano ed Estero. Per quanto riguarda il suo percorso si ispira prevalentemente ai generi Rap/Trap/R&B.
Etichetta: Orangle Srl - www.oranglerecords.com
Spotify:https://open.spotify.com/artist/4ASRymYOZwjNudNiD3mApz?si=RKsOQy6_QvmbMutXZBPNWA
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pheelow_official/?hl=en
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On a Moonless Night
[English first, poi in italiano]
A nice and tight game, perfect for no-prep one-shots. The players take the role of early 20th Century detectives armed with the light of reason, who, brought together by an event in their lives, happen upon a mystery that reeks of the supernatural, and stake their reputation on getting to the bottom of it, and reveal it for what it really is: a completely mundane situation, camouflaged by the trappings of myth and superstition. The Terror they're about to witness, though, might not agree with them.
The game runs on a well defined structure, that guides the Investigators and their Host through a nerve-wracking delve into the Lair, determined to get to the bottom of it at any cost. The dice pool system is as simple as it is evocative, and the game's phases are neatly defined to highlight the moment. I was afraid the Climax phase would be difficult to run, but it flowed smoothly and dynamically, the only change I felt the need to make, though, was giving the Investigators a Clue when they let the Terror consume them on a failed Reaction.
Un gioco ben congegnato e perfetto per singole sessioni senza prep. I giocatori assumono il ruolo di investigatori di inizio ventesimo secolo armati con la luce della razionalità i quali, riuniti da un evento passato, incappano in un mistero che puzza di sovrannaturale e scommettono la loro reputazione sullo svelare cosa sia in realtà: una situazione assolutamente normale oscurata dai veli della superstizione e dei miti. Il Terrore che stanno per affrontare, tuttavia, potrebbe aver qualcosa da ridire al riguardo.
Il gioco gode di una struttura ben definita, che guida gli Investigatori, determinati ad arrivare in fondo ad ogni costo, e il loro Ospite nella inquietante esplorazione della Tana. Il sistema basato su una scorta di dadi è tanto semplice quanto evocativo e le varie fasi della sessione sono ben definite per portare in primo piano la narrativa del momento. Temevo inizialmente che la fase del Climax sarebbe stata complessa da gestire, ma è sempre scorsa fluidamente e dinamicamente. L'unica variazione che mi sento di consigliare, tuttavia, è di consegnare un Indizio agli Investigatori che si lasciano consumare dal Terrore a seguito di una Reazione fallita.
On a Moonless Night.
#ttrpg#indie ttrpg#rpg design#horror#penny dreadful#investigation#occult#collaborative storytelling#exploration
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