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edupunkn00b · 1 year

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Time Travelers Point and Laugh at Archeologists

Written for the TSS Fanworks Discord Remix Event, inspired by Marinia's story Gone in Sparks and Light on AO3. Rated: T - WC: 3725 - [ AO3 ]

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Logan was at a loss for what had brought him and Virgil to this very moment. Intellectually, he understood it was a simple chain of events. It started the moment his husband first spotted Remus, sopping wet and ecstatic as he stood in gleaming white robes in the middle of the muddy cobblestone street that thunderous evening.

He understood the facts of this mysterious magician who claimed to be from the future, claimed to be proof that his theories were correct. He understood that they were about to see whether he actually told the truth or if his husband had simply brought home a chaotically charming—or charmingly chaotic—charlatan that day. His heart told him Remus was honest. His head still had doubts.

The bit of periwinkle glass glowed before them, visibly expanded by Virgil’s quilt until every facet of the runes engraved on its surface glowed and sparkled in the candlelight. He held tight to Virgil’s hand with his left, his husband’s palm damp with nervous sweat and a little twitch in their thumb betraying the anxiety hidden behind the calm smirk they returned.

In his right hand was Remus’.

Equally nervous but unafraid to show it, the strange magician—scientist‚ he’d said when he’d introduced himself to Virgil in his strange vernacular—vibrated with nearly as much energy as the runestone. He bounced on his toes, jerking Logan’s hand up and down as he did. In another time, Logan might have joined in his exuberance, sharing in the joyous, bubbling cauldron of energy this strange man gave off, but, whether it was the fear of having his theories disproved or the nervousness churning in his stomach, he couldn’t quite manage more than a small squeeze of his hand and a brush of this thumb against the taller man’s palm.

“Calm concentration,” he murmured, and the mustachioed man nodded and took a deep breath.

“Just can’t wait to show you everything!” Remus whispered back, an excited uptilt in his voice. “The archeology department’s gonna flip!”

“Well, yes,” Logan murmured, his lips curling up as excitement fizzled in his own chest. “Let’s first ensure we will each arrive in one piece, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he nodded, vibrating again. “Are we ready?”

Virgil blew out a slow breath next to him, and Logan felt their hand grow warmer in his grip. “Ready,” they said, preternaturally calm as they dropped into their own magical trance.

“Ready,” Logan said sharply, staring down at the runes, concentrating on the curve that would loop them back to Remus’ time.

The air grew heavy around them, thick like smoke or fog, though nothing impeded their vision. It prickled against their skin, tiny hairs rising up on Logan’s arms and the back of his neck, and each of Virgil’s knuckles. Even Remus’ mustache seemed fuller. Each inhalation brought a spark with it, and the weight of the air pushing down on them somehow lifted them up, until Logan was left with the sensation of bobbing in an ocean of air.

His eyes never wandered from the glass in front of him and soon the runes began to shift and dance across the surface, growing and morphing until a bright blue light spilled out from the edges, warping around and between them. Tiny tendrils branched out from the glass, meandering along the quilt and across the floor, quickly closing the distance between them and the runestone.

Virgil’s eyes were squeezed shut, but the tendrils didn’t need their vision, coiling around their hands and arms and glowing brightly. Remus’ eyes were wide, almost manic in their glee, and he muttered quietly to himself, staring at the shifting runes. He’d described the portal he’d used to travel to their time and the differences were marked. The modern magician seemed unalarmed, though, so Logan relaxed into the trance.

Soon a set of tendrils found Remus, as well, wrapping around his waist and chest. He finally quieted, standing nearly completely still.

The last set of tendrils wound their way closer to Logan, growing and branching out at the first touch. They were comfortably warm, and tickled, like he imagined the fast growing leaves of ivy might be. Wrapped around his arms and over his shoulders, he felt safe and secure.

Then the world split open and he dropped to the ground.

~~~

The clang of metal against metal and a rough, mocking voice woke him.

“Wakey, wakey, Little John.” The sing-song tone matched the rhythm of the clanging and Logan slowly opened his eyes. The world exploded in light, the noonday sun directly overhead even though, based on the rank, stale air, he was clearly indoors. Slowly, his vision resolved and he made out dark iron bars in front of him.

“What—” His head hurt, and as much as the clanging still reverberated inside his skull, the sound of his own voice was even worse. “What have I done to warrant imprisoning me in this dungeon?” he said again in a lower voice.

“Maybe next time don’t try to sleep off a bender in the park dressed like a Renaissance fair.” The man’s taunt was barely audible over the racket of his keys against the bars. “Now, look,” he pointed a thick, stunted finger to his left. “You see that smartass lawyer over there?”

Logan squinted in the direction the man pointed. There was a large room filled with people bustling about, some in the same strange, navy blue clothing the man in front of him wore. They had insignias and angry, dangerous-looking tools attached to their belts. They appeared to be some sort of guards or military, but none Logan had ever seen before.

The man’s gesture had been vague, and Logan wasn’t sure if he was meant to look at the machines’ ringing alarm bells or at some animal or something else entirely. His gaze snagged on the way the guard’s hand hovered over the matte black tool holstered to his belt and he swallowed dryly. Logan nodded anyway. “Well,” the guard continued, “You can thank him for bailing your sorry ass out of here,” he muttered, slowly working his way through the keys on his giant ring.

“I believe the word you are looking for is releasing,” said a tall man with dark eyeglasses. “As in I am ensuring an innocent man is released for no other crime than hitting his head and losing consciousness in a public park. Your own field test proved Mr. Doe here had not been drinking.” The other man stood by the bars, and reached for him the moment a gate screeched open. “Consider it a professional courtesy, Officer Bardus, that you’re not being subpoenaed for unreasonable search and seizure for that breathalyzer test he was clearly too injured to consent to!”

A vague memory of some voice repeatedly instructing him to breathe floated through Logan’s mind, and he rocked gently, fighting for focus. “What is a—”

“Not another word,” the man in the dark eyeglasses murmured, shaking his head. “You see a cop? Shut up. C’mon, let’s get outta here.” The stranger with the glasses seemed at least marginally better than the guard, so Logan followed.

They walked in silence past a counter where two drunk men argued with another guard. As he walked, the man in the dark glasses held a flat black rectangle in his hand and hooked his arm through Logan’s, stabbing at the brightly colored side with his thumb before holding it up to the side of his face and speaking into it.

“Pigs fingerprinted him before rendering medical care.” He spoke into it as though having a conversation, pausing between phrases and listening. “Yeah, yeah, we’re on our way.”

“Pigs?” Logan began but the lawyer pointed to the box and shook his head again.

“Yeah, yeah, babes, relax. He’s fine. I’d like Doc to check him over, though.” Impossibly tall, taller even than Remus, he tucked the rectangle between his ear and his shoulder and lifted his eyeglasses. His other hand prodded at his hair. Logan flinched and pulled away. “Yeah, he’s got a nice lump. Yeah… Lemme see.” He peered into Logan’s eyes and asked. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up in that holding cell?”

“Cell?” He looked back toward the building they’d just left. The masonry was broken up by large, dingy, glass windows that faced a narrow walkway. Two foot tall letters, some cracked and bent spelled out East Precinct. That horrible place was meant to be a monastery? Logan shook his head, the ache reminding him of the man’s question. “I… I was performing a traveling spell with my husband and our friend and—”

Laughing, he pressed the rectangle against Logan’s ear and Remus’ voice poured out of it. “Damn right, that’s what we did! It worked! Welcome to the 21st century, Lo Lo!”

“You’re a magician, too!” he said, and Remus’ laughter rang out from the little rectangle, sounding louder and less tinny as he pressed it closer to his ear.

“Remy wishes he coulda invented cell phones!” Logan clung to the strange device in his hand and wrapped Remus’ familiar laughter around him like a blanket. It gave him the courage to ask the question he’d been quietly dreading since he’d first opened his eyes.

“Remus… Remus is Virgil with you?” His hand shook and he pressed the rectangle to his face, afraid of dropping it.

“Yeah, Lo Lo, he’s right here.”

There was a muffled scraping sound and then Virgil’s voice poured from the device. “Logan? Is that really you in there?” His voice was rough and thick with tears.

“It’s me, Ember, I’m here… not inside…” He struggled to control the warble in his own voice. “I’m in a town…” He looked up at the man in the dark eyeglasses—Remy? “Where are we?”

“Pike Street, babes,” he grinned and hooked his arm through Logan’s. “If we hustle, we’ll get you to your sweeties in less than ten minutes.”

~~~

Tucked between Virgil and Remus on a giant plush chair, a mug of steaming tea in his hands, Logan listened as Remy explained the University’s reaction to Remus’ disappearance and the coinciding theft of the periwinkle glass artifact.

“My PI called me the second the cops’ BOLO alert hit the wires,” Logan’s brow furrowed. “The last thing you needed was another outstanding warrant.” Remy spoke English, but at times like this it sounded little more than garbled nonsense. “That was yesterday afternoon. Pat and I’ve been taking turns babysitting the police radio.”

“You got the timing right!” Virgil exclaimed, smiling at both Logan and Remus. “You’ve been gone for less than a day!”

“Yeah, about that,” Remy started, tugging at the sleeve of the roughspun tunic Remus wore. “You said you’ve been gone for four years?”

Logan nodded, sipping his tea. “Approximately. Remus first arrived in our town three years, ten months, and thirteen days ago.”

“A lot can happen in four years,” Remus grinned and Logan hid his face behind his mug. “Needed to make sure I didn’t give the cops—or the University—time to build a case.”

“They’re pressing charges,” Remy muttered, taking a long draw of the bitter black liquid in his own cup. “This isn’t like the last time you ‘borrowed’ an artifact.”

“No, it’s not,” Remus beamed. “This time I’ve brought back more.” He met Logan’s eyes, who nodded once. Remus retrieved the precious cargo from his pocket and opened it up on the low table before them, laying out the sparkling pieces on their burlap wrapping. “I think these will win over even the hardliners in the Archeology department.”

Remy poked at one of the pieces, yanking his hand back when the runes zapped, sparks lighting up their faces. He stuck both fingers in his mouth and frowned, pulling them out with an audible smack. “Yeah, and if they don’t believe it, you can always just zap them.”

“Nah, that’s only for later for a treat,” Remus laughed and Logan shook his head fondly. Even in his own time, Remus seemed to be a bit of an anachronism. Logan couldn’t quite decide what that meant for all of them.

“And so this is why you believe the portal looked so different coming here than it did in your original trip to our time?” He indicated the runes laid out before them. “The presence of these in my workshop?”

“As far as I can tell, yeah,” he shrugged, picking up one of the pieces without being zapped with a smirk in his lawyer’s direction. Remy flipped him off just as the doorbell rang and he leapt up to get it, suddenly smiling.

Virgil chuckled, watching Remy practically skip down the hallway. “He’s changeable.”

“Just lovesick,” Remus waved a hand without looking up. “His husband is the doc we called to check you for a concussion,” he nudged Logan’s shoulder. Logan pretended not to see the way Remus smirked when they both drew closer to him, nodding.

“Highly understandable behavior then,” Logan murmured, smiling at his husband and best everything else. “Well, then,” he looked up when a man in bright pink hair carrying a large bag bearing a staff with two snakes entered the room.

“You must be Logan and Virgil,” the man said, smiling with his hand outstretched. “I’m Dr. Picani. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

~~~

“Mr. Prince—” the tired voice of the Dean of Archeology began. She slouched over the polished mahogany desk between them Logan caught Virgil surreptitiously stroking the side, nodding appreciatively at the craftsmanship. He was curious at her treatment of the beautiful piece, and from where he stood, spotted where she’d spilled something, a sticky-looking dried splotch near her elbow.

“Ah, what was that?” asked Remus, his joking tone belied by the iron in his gaze. “I bled for that PhD.”

“Apologies,” the Dean sounded anything but sorry. “Dr. Prince,” she began again. “Will you explain why I shouldn’t call campus police right now and arrest you?”

“Madam,” Logan stepped out from behind Remus and bowed his head. “Dr. Prince is telling the truth and we have brought the proof with us. Do you have a—” he turned to Remus when he forgot the name of the device, the onslaught of oddness in the day finally catching up with him.

“Put these under your microscope, Dean,” Remus said, dropping a velvet cloth in her palm with two of the rune stones inside. “Just don’t touch them with your bare hands unless—”

“Dammit, Prince!” she swore when the stone zapped her hand.

“The stones really don’t like to be handled by non-scientists,” Remus explained and Virgil stepped forward and reached for her hand.

She only glared at him and Virgil shrugged, rolling their eyes. Logan hid a smirk at that particular mannerism of Remus’ that Virgil had been quick to adopt. “I can heal that, if you want,” he mumbled. “We’re time travelers, not monsters.”

“Speak for yourself,” Remus chuckled before Logan could shush him with a poorly stifled laugh.

“And you wonder why I didn’t hire you,” the Dean muttered under her breath as she adjusted the microscope stage. She frowned into the eye piece for a long, long while before finally looking up at the trio. “We will need to verify this independently, you know,” she failed to disguise the excitement in her voice as she reached for a device on her desk and began speaking into it.

Logan peered at it. She held it similarly to how Remy had held the device he’d used to speak to Remus and he wondered if it was a primitive version of Remys’ device.

Remus merely shrugged and made himself comfortable on the sofa on the other side of the Dean’s decadent office. He waved his hand as though to say, be my guest, and reached over the armrest to click on a kettle. “Would anyone like something to drink?” he asked, helping himself to the box of teas at the center of the table.

The Dean reminded Logan of an angry bull and he almost expected her to plow across the room and throw Remus off the couch. Instead, she glared and continued to mutter into her device. Remus winked at them and patted the couch with a little tilt of his head. “Would you like some tea, Lo Lo? Virge?” he grinned, seemingly relishing his rudeness. He slid over to sit in the center of the couch, leaving space for Logan and Virgil on either side of him.

Laughing, Virgil shrugged at him. “Why not?” they whispered and made themself comfortable at his side. Shaking his head with his own surprised laugh, Logan joined them.

“You never fail to surprise me, Remus,” he smiled wryly, watching Remus prepare tea as though he was in their cozy kitchen back home. The modern magician’s ease in the office was slowly rubbing off on him. “Don’t ever stop.”

~~~

“Fine, just don’t damage it!” Remus snapped at the lab tech just before he plunged the rune stone into a graduated cylinder filled with a clear reactant. The tech had arrived quickly and unpacked his gear with shaking hands. He looked nearly as excited as Remus had the first time he’d seen the runestones in their home.

Logan reached for his hand, smiling when he saw Virgil do the same on his other side. “That solution will have no impact on the runestone,” he murmured. “It’s all right.” Remus just scowled at the tech, eyes narrowed as he watched him swirl the solution with a glass stirring rod. Within seconds, the solution turned bright blue.

“What did I tell you?” Remus stood a little taller. He was so careful with him and with Virgil, though, often sitting when they spoke, slouching as he leaned on some counter or the wall. It was easy to remember just how tall he was. Remus was easily the tallest in the room, even the 6 foot tall tech’s head would just graze the side of his jaw.

The Dean stared at Logan and Virgil. “And so you two really are—”

“They’re scientists from the fifth century,” Remus interrupted, his grin luminous. “Just like I said.”

The tech and the Dean exchanged a look. “You know what this means?” he murmured, leaning closer and whispering in her ear. Logan didn’t like the way she eyed them while she listened.

She didn’t speak at first, simply nodded to the tech and he left the office. “Why don’t you all have a seat,” she said, eyes on her desk. It wasn’t a question. “I need to clear my calendar. Drink you tea, and I’ll be right with you so we can discuss what this means.”

~~~

At first, Remus didn’t move to the couch, and instead watched her pick up the device with the spiral tether. She muttered quietly but intensely into one end for several seconds, then abruptly pressed the device back in its cradle. “Go on,” she murmured, sitting down and typing at her computer. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“I don’t like this,” he whispered once he’d turned his back. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Do you believe they may turn violent?” Stories of the treatment of magicians in other towns were… stories, weren’t they? But if this age, with its technologies and incredible devices had lost its magic so much that Remus was a rarity…

It made the darkly fantastical tales of entire towns burning their magicians seem all the more likely.

“They’re cowards,” he muttered. “It’s why I stole the runestone in the first place.” He shook his head and poured their tea. “They were too afraid to try to use it. They had it locked away in a file box in the basement.”

“Armed cowards are still dangerous,” Virgil murmured behind his tea, watching the door.

Logan smiled when his husband angled their own body between the rest of the room and his and Remus’, then reached out and touched their knee. “We’ll all remain vigilant.”

The Dean left them waiting for long enough to start on a second round of tea. “Are you sure I can’t pour you a cup, Dean Croft?” He showily poured Virgil’s second cup. “It’s quite good.”

“Yes, I know,” she muttered, glaring at him over the top of her computer screen. “It’s imported.”

“Hmm,” Remus nodded as he sat back and stirred his cup.

Declining a second cup, Logan tucked his hands between his thighs and the plush seat to stop from fidgeting. He rocked gently, his only outlet for the buzzy tension in his chest. He couldn’t tell if Remus was purposefully antagonizing her or if their dislike ran both ways. Both left him feeling vulnerable and trapped in her office.

The Dean stiffened in her seat, eyes darting to the closed door at the sound of voices on the other side. Remus followed her gaze, setting down his cup when he saw several shadows under the door. The door burst open and a half dozen men dressed like the guards who’d imprisoned him poured into the office, angry-looking weapons with light crackling at the end in-hand.

“Hands up, if you will,” the Dean said, like it was an invitation.

Remus raised his hands and gestured for both of them to copy him. His expression was calm and respectful as he addressed the officers, even as he nudged Virgil’s side. Their knife was hidden near their hip. Logan had only seen them use the thing to free a trapped fox, but they practiced with it each week in the woods behind their home. Remus then looked down at his own pocket where the other runestones almost buzzed with energy.

“You do understand, Mr. Prince, that the moment you stole the artifact from the institution, any tangible results you obtained became our property.” She eyed Logan and Virgil. “Any tangible results.” She nodded toward the officers. “Arrest the tall one and bring the others—”

They never found out where they would be brought because the moment they lowered their weapons, Remus pulled out Virgil’s knife with one hand and a runestone with the other. “Let’s go!” he shouted to each of them and they formed a tight triangle. “We don’t have time for caution.” Remus threw the stone to the ground, muttering an incantation, rousing the few spirits left in this time. Tiny hairs stood up against Logan’s skin as a rush of power circled them.

There would be no return trip. Not to this day, at least.

A portal surrounded by reflective shards of glass bloomed in front of them, blues and greens and purples. Tiny pinpricks of light bloomed and sparked, exploding into a swirl of colors. The very center cleared, green grass and sunshine pouring through and reflecting off the teacups on the table. The center grew, slowly pulling apart as though invisible hands peeled back the colored lights. The center was large enough now to see a broad field of wildflowers, surrounded in the distance by rolling hills topped with maples and sycamores. Warm, fresh air poured from the portal and Logan inhaled deeply, relishing the familiar scents.

Home.

Smiling, they took each other’s hands and scrambled through just before the portal snapped shut behind them.

#Time Travelers Point and Laugh at Archeologists #ts logan #ts remus #ts virgil #ts remy #ts fanfic #analogical #platonic dukexiety #platonic intrulogical #dukexiety #intrulogical #modern magic #urban magic #time travel #why‚ yes‚ that is a Doctor Who reference‚ thank you for noticing

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darkparisian · 10 months

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“𝓥𝓮𝔁𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓼 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲 — 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝒹𝓋𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒”

So I finished the first part of Dante’s Divine Commedia, Inferno… and this book is a classic for a reason. I had such a nice time reading. Seeing the Middle Ages’ world though Dante’s eye, a florentin when Florence was the center of the world was amazing. So many "famous" people in Hell, so many stories…

Two things really stuck with me though, the first was the fact that people who were born before the Jesus Christ are forever trapped in Limbo, not being punished or having a bad life, but forever with the feeling that something’s wrong, always wishing for a savior, a light that will never shine on them, Virgil, the pilgrim’s guide, being one of them. This just made me so sad. It’s so cruel the fact that years after creating humanity God suddenly decided to send his son and then just condemned all those people who came before him. It’s just so cruel.

The second thing, it’s actually one of the funniest thing I did while reading this book. I tried to figure it out to which part of hell I’d be sent to lol But at the end I couldn’t decide, basically everything people do would be a sin and they’d be sent to hell !! Can’t wait to read Purgatorio and Heaven to find out what those people did to deserve the light.

Lastly, I absolutely loved the descriptions of the different parts hell and specially the depths and the moments leading to the encounter with Lucifer himself. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting and that was really nice. Well the only regret I have with this book was that I didn’t have the original text in Italian vernacular to compare to, but besides the, it was awesome.

#books #moodboard #booksbooksbooks #books aesthetic #classic literature #dark acadamia aesthetic #light academia aesthetic #bookaholic #books and authors #inferno #books and literature #books and coffee #books and reading #summer reading #reading

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gender-i-hardly-know-er · 2 years

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I can’t find the post but I need y’all to remember kentucky virgil

virgil with a country accent please and thank you

this bitch says y’all and ain’t and bless your heart and all of those

yk what fuck it. kentucky logan

if you try to correct his grammar, he’ll go off on you about dialects and vernaculars and the differences in evolution of language and the influence of circumstances and how trying to pin down one set of rules for everyone who speaks english to follow is basically pointless and-

they’re country boys y’all

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders

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antonia-gergely · 29 days

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Romanian Symbols and Motifs

Balkan Vernacular Architecture

Bringing Romanian themes and motifs into work

Virgil Vasiliescu, Civilizația Tisa, Bucharest: Editura Orfeu, 2000.

Romanian Middle Paleolithic <--> Ogham ?

Outline of ancient Romanian cultural areas

Dacian ancient ideograms

today's motifs

#art research #painting #art theory #heritage #culture #home

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polyglotsguide · 5 months

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Italian Poetry: The Beauty of Words

Italian Poetry: A Journey Through Time and Emotion

Italian poetry is a tapestry of artistic expression that spans centuries, encompassing a rich and diverse range of styles, themes, and voices. From the epic narratives of Dante Alighieri to the lyrical verses of Petrarch and the modern works of contemporary poets, Italian poetry holds a special place in the world of literature.

The Origins of Italian Poetry

Italian poetry has its roots in the Middle Ages, with the emergence of the troubadours in the 12th century. These poet-musicians composed verses in the vernacular, or the common language, as opposed to Latin, which was the dominant literary language of the time. The troubadours' works explored themes of chivalry, courtly love, and human emotions.

Dante Alighieri and the Divine Comedy

One of the most renowned figures in Italian poetry is Dante Alighieri, often referred to as the "Father of the Italian Language." Dante's epic poem, the "Divine Comedy," is a masterpiece of world literature. It narrates the poet's journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, guided by the Roman poet Virgil and his beloved Beatrice. The "Divine Comedy" is a complex allegory that delves into themes of morality, theology, and the human condition.

Petrarch and the Petrarchan Sonnet

Francesco Petrarch, another iconic Italian poet, is famous for his Petrarchan sonnets, a poetic form that consists of 14 lines with a specific rhyme scheme. Petrarch's work revolves around themes of unrequited love, beauty, and the passage of time. His sonnets greatly influenced European poetry and played a pivotal role in the development of the sonnet as a poetic form.

The Dolce Stil Novo

The "Dolce Stil Novo," or "Sweet New Style," was a literary movement that emerged in 13th-century Italy. It emphasized the use of a refined and emotionally expressive style of writing. Poets like Guido Cavalcanti and Guido Guinizzelli were central figures in this movement, and their works explored themes of love, beauty, and the inner world of human emotion.

Renaissance Poetry and the Divine Poets

The Italian Renaissance witnessed the flourishing of poetry, with luminaries like Petrarch and Giovanni Boccaccio contributing to the development of humanist thought and literature. The Renaissance also gave rise to epic poems like Ludovico Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso" and Torquato Tasso's "Jerusalem Delivered."

Modern and Contemporary Italian Poetry

In the modern era, Italian poetry continued to evolve, with poets like Giuseppe Ungaretti, Eugenio Montale, and Salvatore Quasimodo experimenting with language and form. Their works explored themes of disillusionment, war, and existentialism. Contemporary Italian poetry is characterized by a diverse range of voices and styles. Poets like Sandro Penna, Alda Merini, and Valerio Magrelli have contributed to the vibrant landscape of Italian poetry, addressing topics such as identity, memory, and social issues.

The Influence of Italian Poetry on World Literature

Italian poetry has left an indelible mark on world literature. The Petrarchan sonnet, for example, served as a model for poets like William Shakespeare and influenced the development of English poetry. Dante's "Divine Comedy" has been translated into numerous languages and remains a seminal work in global literary history. Italian poetry, with its exploration of love, spirituality, and the human experience, continues to inspire readers and poets alike. It is a testament to the enduring power of language and the capacity of poetry to capture the essence of the human soul.

Who Are Some Iconic Figures in Italian Poetry?

Iconic figures in Italian poetry include Dante Alighieri, Petrarch, and Francesco Petrarch. Their contributions to the world of literature have been profound and enduring. To learn more about these poets, visit poetryfoundation.org.

What Are the Key Themes Explored in Italian Poetry?

Italian poetry has explored themes such as love, spirituality, human emotions, chivalry, and the human condition. These themes are richly depicted in various works throughout Italian literary history. To delve into these themes, visit britannica.com.

How Did the Troubadours Influence Italian Poetry?

The troubadours played a pivotal role in the development of Italian poetry by composing verses in the vernacular language, breaking away from the dominance of Latin in medieval literature. For more information on the troubadours and their influence, visit encyclopedia.com.

What Is the "Divine Comedy," and Why Is It Significant?

Dante Alighieri's "Divine Comedy" is an epic poem that narrates the poet's journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. It is considered one of the most significant works in world literature, exploring themes of morality, theology, and the human experience. To explore the "Divine Comedy," visit divinecomedy.org.

How Did Petrarch Contribute to the Evolution of Poetry?

Francesco Petrarch's Petrarchan sonnets greatly influenced European poetry and the development of the sonnet form. His works focused on themes of unrequited love, beauty, and the passage of time. For more on Petrarch's contributions, visit poetryfoundation.org.

What Was the "Dolce Stil Novo," and Who Were Its Prominent Poets?

The "Dolce Stil Novo" was a literary movement emphasizing refined and emotionally expressive writing. Guido Cavalcanti and Guido Guinizzelli were central figures in this movement, with their works exploring themes of love, beauty, and human emotion. To learn more about the "Dolce Stil Novo," visit britannica.com. Read more about italian poetry Looking for the place where this picture was taken? Comment on our instagram and we will reply. Read the full article

#italianpoetry

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graywyvern · 2 years

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The Melodic and the Logical.

" 'I like the wisdom after the event,' said Hugo. 'It tends to be real wisdom. The other has so often to be disowned.' " --The Mighty and Their Fall

Girl on the Beach.

Somebody got here by googling "definiton of poetry from great poet". I'm sorry if you didn't find your asignment here verbatim, but now maybe i can remedy it. Virgil never wrote any criticism, but i think he put his poetics into his Aeneid, & if you study it, you can discover some of the things he thought were important in poetry. First, he told a story, & not only an interesting story, but an important one. Then, he used what would be perceived in his own time as "elevated language": archaism, inversion, metonymy, metaphor, compression, allusion & even outright quotation abound; he avoids saying things in a simple, vernacular way unless there's a particular reason to do so, & most of the time he looks for an expression that is musical, succinct, & just a little bit "out of focus". You won't find any direct subjectivity of the sort made mandatory in 19-20c. poetics, but Virgil's personality is found everywhere as a sort of melancholy haze & lingering. His use of meter is both flexible & ritualized--there are standard kinds of departures, & he played them like chess combinations (sometimes wittily). And he loved names--place names, nicknames, even genealogies. The poet in English most akin to Virgil is of course Milton, & you can see almost all the same virtues (or vices, if you are determinedly contemporary) there. I myself think there is no use defining "poetry", or even trying to determine "the best way to write". I would rather have you read works you feel a strong kinship with--& read them over & over. That is how poets used to educate themselves in the old days, & how a few of them, even now, still do.

(2004)

Saint Jerome Tattooing.

"...we have more names for parts of horses than we have for kinds of kisses..." --William Gass, On Being Blue (1976)

I Miss Disco Diffusion, and Google Colab.

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eymisitalyexperience · 2 years

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Origins

All three of these authors encouraged the use of the Tuscan vernacular, which eventually led to Latin supremacy being challenged. Humanists, on the other hand, continued to favor Latin for intellectual purposes, basing their Latin on Cicero's for prose and Virgil's for poetry. The emergence of the printing press in Europe around 1450 provided further push to the aforementioned triad of authors and the democratization of knowledge. Dante's establishment of terza rima (poems comprised of stanzas of three rhyming lines) and Boccaccio's original written advocacy of the ottava rima (where stanzas are formed of eight 11-syllable lines) match that sentiment nicely.

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metahumanrightsactivist · 3 years

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Ooohhhh I hope they make static change his voice in the live action movie, I've thought that was such a cool idea since I first read about it and it makes so much sense!! 😭😭😭

#like your voice is sooo telling like ur vernacular emphasis and meet or w/e can be so recognizable #it makes sense that virgil would use his powers to mask it too ahhh its such a cool concept bro #static talks #static #i meant to write meter not meet lol #altho I'm not sure that's the right word

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rubyredsparks · 5 years

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Hey giant shout out to @marvelfangeek09 for all her tags on my story 'Blossoming Souls' I love them and her so much okay byeeeeeee

#they made me laugh so much #yes they all needed to talk to each other #yes i made you read a debate about whether the earth was flat or a cube #i am not a licensed debater #i still cannot believe no one told logan anything until the absolute last chapter #i wrote this #logan youre smart but you couldnt figure out youre getting married???#ah cutaway scenes made for perfect scenes #who knows there may be a se/prequel #about roman and logan?#about patton and virgil?#about patton's past?#about roman and remus' past?#lol thanks for reading and all your brilliant tags #vy's vernacular #vy's validation

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anxiousgaypanicking · 4 months

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If anyone could get Virgil to be loud or louder then normal, who’d it be ?

logan or janus

i think theyre the ones who'd pay the most attention to what really gets their partner loud. not so much pleasured - i feel like romans really good at memorizing the most pleasurable spots - but logan and janus know that a light scratch here, a pinch there, a bite over here will get virgil to be lippy, bratty, mouthy, whiny, and all of the sort

janus will be in the middle of teasing virgil and decide he's not being quite loud enough, and so will take a cane to the back of his thighs until he's crying and babbling

logan will riding virgils cock and decide that virgils vernacular consists too much of grunts and groans and so will pinch his nipples until virgils whining and begging logan to stop or slow down because hes too sensitive

so on and so forth :)

#ask

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theimprobabledreamersworld · 2 years

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These prompts all look so good!

How about... "You weren't supposed to laugh! I'm so embarrassed." with Roman and any other Side(s) of your choosing? 😊💙

Aww thanks for the ask, Lost! 😊💙

For some reason, the 'Return of the Jam' video was the only thing that came to mind for this prompt 😅 I have no idea if it's any good or not, but I liked writing it 😊💙

Laughter and Crofters

As the sound of uncontrollable laughter echoed around the Mind Palace, Roman crossed his arms angrily and pouted at the others. He scowled at Virgil exponentially more than the others as he saw the purple side wipe tears from his face. He was shocked to see that even Logan was laughing... In a mechanical fashion, but still laughing at his poor expense.

"You weren't supposed to laugh! I'm so embarrassed." He whined as the others tried to compose themselves, for Roman's sake more than anything else. Logan was the first to regain his composure, and he coughed loudly to gain everyone's attention. The racous laughter turned to controlled giggles as Logan began to speak.

"I apologise, Roman. We shouldn't be laughing at you... However... Even you have to admit, when Thomas surprised you with the Crofter's Jam and you..." He flicked through a series of new vocabulary cards, humming as searched before showing the one he wanted.

"Ah yes. You 'fell like a sack of spuds'... It was quite humourous to see." Roman smirked, almost proud of Logan's use of modern vernacular.

"Yeah, yeah, Teach. I guess you're right" He spoke fondly and looked around at everyone one last time as soft smiles graced their lips.

"Aww, c'mon kiddo! You know we love you!" Patton held his arms out making a heart with his hands.

"Yeah Princey... You may be an idiot sometimes, but you're our idiot." Virgil gently rolled his eyes and his voice was littered with sarcasm, but Roman knew he was being sincere.

"At least we now have something in common instead of being at odds with each other... And I'm actually quite... happy about that, Roman." Logan nodded at Roman, and as he looked around the room, only one thought crossed his mind.

He loved them all too.

#short story #one shot #drabble #sanders sides #sander sides fanfic #ts fanfic #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #ts virgil #prompt list #thanks for the ask friend 😊💙

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illogicallyinclined · 3 years

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Has anybody noticed Logan's mirroring? Or do they just pass it off as another Logan thing but its actually because of ~Trauma~

tws: abuse

see, the thing about Logan’s mirroring is that it isn’t always subtle, but it isn’t usually all that alarming either. for example, when Logan drops the words “girl” or “babe” into the middle of a conversation with Remy, Remy easily notices because this vernacular is very much something that would otherwise sound uncharacteristic coming out of Logan’s mouth. or, when Logan reflexively shimmies while talking to Remus, the team easily notices because it’s a pretty hard movement to miss, and it is one that Logan markedly Did Not Do before he starting hanging out with the Prince Twins.

but while some of Logan’s mirroring tendencies are a result of him learning how to adapt to abuse at home, a part of it is just... regular human behavior. after all, it’s fairly common for friends to pick up habits from one another; a number of Aces, for instance, have dropped the word “falsehood” into their interview responses because they’ve heard Logan use it liberally. although Logan starts to slouch in Virgil’s presence, Virgil will actually straighten up whenever he notices Logan doing it because he’s inclined to mirror Logan back. Roman’s even started making flash cards for his own fanciful phrases because of Logan’s Meme Cards becoming such a presence in his life.

in other words, Logan mirrors more (and perhaps more consciously) than the average person because he’s learned that it makes him appear compliant and disarming, which were important attributes to have while growing up in an abusive household; however, part of his mirroring tendencies are a natural consequence of him consistently hanging out with people who like him as well. ergo, it’s easy to pass off all of his mirroring as a Friendship Thing and miss out on the trauma aspect entirely.

(honestly, the fact that he doesn’t mirror Coach Thomas should have been more of a red flag than anything else, but. hindsight’s 20/20, you know?)

#hockey au #hockey hcs #logan crofter #mirroring #abuse tw #Anonymous

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fanficparker · 3 years

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A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER THREE

"The Gates of hell are open night and day, smooth the descent, and easy is the way..." - Aeneid, Virgil

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.17k words

Warning: Swearing, gun violence, car chase, full on action, cool dudes, anxiety and fluff in case you forget to blink ;)

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

A/N: The amount of time I waste on making these moodboards-- (I literally coloured the black and white pictures 💀 )

<< TWO [ MASTERLIST ] FOUR >>

A moment passed.

A shallow gust of wind tickled Harrison's left ear, making him squirm. He leaned back, pulling his rolled up sleeves down and buttoning them at his wrist followed by pressing the creases on his shirt—a habit of his, a ritual he can't seem to put away even when there was a sniper aimed at his head.

Worse. All this could be a trick.

Worst. It wasn't.

All in all, time wasn't the currency, Harrison had at his disposal. Yet, he found himself shoving a penny straight into the slot machine.

He cleared his throat in a failed attempt at clearing his foggy mind, "Don't you think, you shouldn't have let go of Tom?"

The more men, the better chances of survival. It worked this way, right?

Sandhya sighed, exasperated, the flicker of the candle animating a dance on her face was seemingly more lively than her at the moment.

"We suspect, at least one of your men were involved in Clarke's murder. Also," She paused, chuckling nervously, "I won't lie, I was expecting something like this to happen but not today, not right now." She referred to the rifle aimed at them.

"I am seriously...uh... ugh..." Harrison didn't know if there were proper words in the vernacular to reply to this. All he could do was grit his teeth.

How long will this day go, anyway? What was it? The solstice? Do solstice last this long?

In his prognosis, if he had one more revelation this day, especially if it had something or anything to do with the dead man, his brain would melt and leak out of his ears. On the non-fictitious scale: He would rip off his hair or empty a loaded .44 magnum into the head of the person closest to him.

But there were his men involved in Clarke's murder? His men?

And their respectable leader, Harrison Osterfield was trapped in a life and death situation, waiting for a can of smoke to allow him to escape? And on top of that, he was taking orders from one of their enemies?

What if it was her plan? What if she killed the old man? She had inherited his fortune— it was enough of evidence for Harrison to draw that conclusion even in its scant or flimsy state. He won't be surprised if she wanted him dead as much as he wanted her to be. Or that the sniper was one of her men. Or everything happening was a part of her bigger plan.

He had a pistol tucked away in his sock, maybe he could catch her at gunpoint?

The instant he glanced at the mirror of her flapjack, she had placed between them, he discarded the idea. No avail. The sniper could easily target him.

He was fucked up.

He could hear his life ticking away.

A click of tin hitting the floor ignited the dying flame in his heart. He felt Sandhya's hand slip over his, delicate fingers tapping against the back of his hand, gliding over his square signet ring that was sitting on his middle finger for ages now, moving further away to feel his rough, wounded knuckles, he never seemed to care about.

She appeared as afraid as him. Or maybe it was part of her plan. Harrison wasn't sure if it was the mutual fear they felt or the gesture, the little ministrations she drew over the back of his hand that had managed to ease his nerves, at least for the time being. His eyes swerved up, locking with hers again, her lips forming the words he was waiting to hear.

"Now!" She screamed on the top of her voice, retracting her hand as the smoke leaked out of the can, suspending itself into the air.

Harrison leapt on cue, ducking below the table. A single shot hits the wood of the chair, he was previously sitting on.

He tried to make the best use of the blindness that the grey smoke offered, pulling the table cloth in a swift motion. The wine and the lit candles fell over the fabric, igniting a fire. The flames and the smoke rose quickly, fanned by the stiff breeze, consuming the Pinterest worthy setting in a matter of seconds as he watched Sandhya's shadowy figure hopping off from the other side of the balcony, her red heels discarded by the decorated flower pots.

In a heartbeat, the fire alarm goes off followed by another shot. The people eating in the restaurant shrieked almost simultaneously as the second shot is wasted, their screams never subsiding as they run around, knocking over things, trying to get the hell out of the building.

Amidst the mist, Harrison grabbed the railing of the balcony, hopping off it, climbing down as promptly as he could, hearing more bullets fire on the place he just abandoned.

His planned smooth landing on the freshly mowed grass goes awry as he stumbles, falling over his knee in an attempt at dodging a shot that went over right his head, almost touching his hair.

There were more gunmen. His expressions were that of horror.

He quickly rose to his feet, pulling the pistol tucked in his sock out, looking around and over his shoulder before squeezing the trigger twice.

A man dressed in the waiter's attire fell from the first floor along with his rifle, hitting the ground, crumbling next to Harrison's feet, presumably dead.

Harrison didn't check. He was sure.

Aim. He was good at it. Way too good.

He paced his way with the pistol pointed downrange, pulling the slide back with his thumb and forefinger to the street full of chaos with people running in all directions, fire alarms blaring in the background. A maroon sedan stopped abruptly in front of him, a quarter of an inch away from hitting him and transporting him directly to hell.

He opened his mouth to swear but the driver was the first to flung the door open. He had red-brown shaggy hair, probably a result of the wind and was dressed in a grey trench coat with the belt undone. His eyes were hidden behind black wraparound mirror shades, hiding most of his face.

The only thing that sparked Harrison's interest was the shotgun poorly concealed inside his coat.

"Get in." Two words, another order. The driver was definitely way older than him, he could tell by his deep, rusty voice. The driver pushed the long barrelled gun in his direction.

Harrison groaned, shoving himself into the passenger seat, accepting the new weapon, discarding the smaller gun and shutting the door behind him.

"Where is she? Where is Sandhya?" Harrison demanded, looking over at the back seat, his frown deepening into a scowl but the driver popped the car into reverse and stormed the accelerator, hard, sending him flying backwards, his back hitting against the backrest.

"She'll meet us halfway." The driver replied, his eyes never leaving the road. Harrison settled himself on the polyester seat, taking a breath before the car took a sharp turn, almost knocking his head against the window.

"Watch out!" The driver warned and Harrison peeked at the rear view mirror.

A black Escalade SUV lunged towards them at a speed higher than theirs. At least four passengers were sitting in it, two of them pushed their heads out of the windows, hands holding shotguns, aiming a shot at the vehicle he was sitting in.

They ducked down, both Harrison and the driver evading the bullets fired at them. The rear windshield blew out with a boom and a crash, spraying glass over the unoccupied backseat.

Enough.

Harrison slid his window down, ducking again when more bullets were shot at them, before aiming straight to the front tire.

He fired one— two— three shots, one followed by the other. The third one successfully hits the wheel. He watched with a triumphant grin pasted over his face as the attacker's car tumbled, crashing against the telephone pole, now motionless.

But his grin didn't last long when they crossed the intersection. Two more cars emerged from the two sides, the same model as the one he had just shot down.

The panic was real this time. He could even hear police sirens.

What the actual fuck?

"We need to hurry!" Harrison instructed, restless in his seat, watching the black SUVs and the white police cruisers, red sirens blazing on their head, racing behind them.

It was a real chase.

They zoomed through the street, feeling alternately light and heavy as they shifted in their seats, leaning right and left as the roads forked as they sailed through the busy traffic, ignoring the honking cars, even honking themselves. The buildings, streets and the traffic began to blur as they raced down, veering frantically to avoid their pursuers.

A ray of hope: Another intersection. The signal was three seconds into turning red.

Perfect.

"You can do this..." Harrison whispered like a prayer, eyes glimmering with hope, focusing more on the road than the man operating the steering he knew nothing about, except for his remarkable prowess as a getaway driver.

You can do this!

The driver panted, breathing with his mouth as he puts the car into the sixth gear, pressing the accelerator as hard as he could, flooring the sedan through the blinking signal, it turning red the exact moment they tear through it.

The pedestrian cars came to a halt upon the red signal, breaking hard, forming a chain, successfully blocking the way of both the attackers and the cops.

The driver barked out a laugh, the type falling more into the category of a chortle than an actual laugh (not that Harrison cared), taking off his shades, shoving them inside his coat, a proud smile plastered on his face as he weaves from lane to lane, disappearing under a bridge, finally stepping on to the much calmer highway.

"Kevin." The driver muttered.

"Huh?" Harrison responded with a questioning look. The guy was at least fifty-five years old, Harrison could tell now. His natural grey hair stood in contrast with his dyed copper ones, adding to his overall charm. His adventurous demeanour has previously mistaken him for being any younger.

Stretching a left hand, "My name is Kevin," the driver clarified, his light brown eyes meeting momentarily with Harrison's blue ones.

Harrison nodded, putting away his gun, wiping the sweat on his palm over his pants, before taking his hand for a brief shake.

"Harrison," He offered his own name.

"I know," Kevin replied nonchalantly, shifting his focus back to the road.

The blond turned to the other side, head leading against the headrest, glancing out of the window, watching the scenery move backwards, carefree as a lark for once, until the driver slowed the vehicle down, parking at the side, near a divergence where a 91' Accord waited for them.

He leapt out of the car. Harrison followed suit.

Taking the back seat of the switch car, alongside a woman that wasn't Sandhya, Kevin slumped into the cushions, stretching his hands over his head, shutting his eyes, probably tired (of course), taking the much needed break. The woman, on the other hand, was busy typing away on her laptop, wired headphones tucked into her ears.

Another man emerged from the passenger seat, passing Harrison on the way, his face invisible in the dim highway lights, taking the maroon sedan. Harrison replaced him, getting into the switch car, sitting on the front, the only seat that was left unoccupied.

"Welcome back." The voice on the driver's seat greeted him.

Sandhya.

Harrison snorted, choosing not to turn his neck to meet her face and rather settling on passing a mere glance at her with a side eye.

She was back to wearing her coat, raven hair whipped by the wind, loose strands sticking over her face, her makeup no longer intact and slightly greasy, except for her bold red lipstick, sitting over her smiling mouth, complimenting her smooth dusky skin.

She pulled the gear, pressing on the pedal, putting the car in motion, its engine roaring for a full minute, her right hand on the wheel, left hand ceaselessly turning the dial of the radio back and forth, till Blinding Lights echoed from the speakers. She kept the volume low, possibly because of the other woman busy on her laptop, definitely because of the man dozing off, sitting behind them. But that didn't stop her from mouthing the lyrics or sway her body with the tunes.

Harrison looked away, outside the window, head slightly out, chin pressed against one of his hands he had kept over the window edge, feeling the cold air hit his face harder when she shifted the gear, speeding off the vehicle.

A ghost of a smile flickered over his lips, the upbeat music filling his ears.

He had different plans...

____________________

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…TO BE CONTINUED…

>> Send me an ask or just reblog/comment this post with ‘Tag me’ or fill this NEW TAGLIST to get added to the taglist of AGODAH.

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#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield fanfiction #harrison osterfield fanfic #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #mob haz #mob! haz #haz osterfield series #haz osterfield imagine #haz osterfield fanfiction #haz osterfield fanfic #harrison osterfield moodboard #agodah fic #agodah

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