#Elisabetta Gut

[garadinervi]

Elisabetta Gut, Pagina sperimentale (Corano), 1985 [gramma_epsilon, Athens. © Elisabetta Gut]

[marcogiovenale]

dal 13 febbraio, a napoli, "risvolti, 20 anni di linguaggi in movimento": mostra di poesia visiva

cliccare per ingrandire cliccare per ingrandire _  

[milksockets]

'book in a cage' by elisabetta gut, 1981 in the book as art: artists' books from the national museum of women in the arts - krystyna wasserman (2011)

[sweet-vanilla-sims]

Year 1680 - Part 1

TW/CW: Death, Child Death, Stillbirth

The year in Tartosa began with the family mourning the losses of the previous year and the young Collari twins growing into bigger infants with Sabina having ruby eyes and her brother having pale yellow. Though despite that, the famine and the lack of clean water had not been resolved yet and on January 16th, Alessandro collapsed and quickly passed in the early hours of the morning. He was buried near his late wives and passed surrounded by his family.

Just a few days later, Clement celebrated his sixth birthday with his family as Orelia and the girls had returned to celebrate with him.

Sadly the birthday of his much younger cousin was of little joy to Giuliano as he mourned his beloved wife but more pressing was that young Rustico was constantly crying from pains in his gut and the lack of comfort from his mother that he missed.

Sadly on January 24, Rustico finally slipped away after a fitful sleep that he never awoke from.

Borthola did her best as a big sister to cheer up Ricciardi as his closest playmate had just passed but the adults were devastated and even more so as Bastiano started showing signs of extreme lethargy not long after Rustico's funeral but they did their best to carry on.

By the time Orsetta's sixth birthday came around they were back in the islands once more which was fine with her as the waters were nice to swim in and the paths were much prettier than in Newcrest.

On the ever less common good days Bastiano had with energy, he, Borthola and their cousins would spend the day swimming and despite Giulia wanting the children to study after the past few months she was willing to be more lenient with them. Especially after the loss of Alessandro's mother on February 13th.

But a bad day came for Bastiano on March 6th and he took a nap that he couldn't wake from after being gripped with intense headaches and cramps. Sadly it was Ricciardi who found him and whose cries alerted the family. But the losses didn't stop there as just a few days later came news that Antea had also passed from similar causes.

While recently orphaned, Camilla grew up into her infancy in the care of Gabriella. But sadly her cousin, Sabina from the main branch of the Collari family passed away that April and on July 4th, the family Matriarch Bianca passed away as well leaving the family in the hands of Marcello at least until Salvador came of age.

As the birth of their child approached, Giovanni Cesare and Vivienne decided that it was time to put aside their unfulfilled wishes and make the best of things especially after Vivienne's eighteenth birthday that March. The young couple decided to genuinely attempt a real relationship.

While other adults of the house were out in town, Vivienne and her brother were happy to get along in secret.

In late July on the 24th, Vivienne went into labor and when the midwife told her there was a second baby on the way it made sense on how quickly her pregnancy had shown but sadly the joy of her daughter, Elisabetta's birth was quickly dashed as the second girl was stillborn. The young couple called their late daughter, Elena, and while she couldn't be buried in the churchyard, she was buried not far from the home.

Following the birth Vivienne had difficulties bonding with her daughter as the conflicting feelings of loss for her secondborn and the lingering thoughts of how if she hadn't gotten pregnant in the first place, she'd be free to marry into a similar life of luxury that she had grown up in reared their ugly heads. Giovanni Cesare though, was taken with his daughter. The loss of Elena hurt him dearly but after losing so many family members in his life, he was used to grief and dealing with it so he chose to refocus and give his daughter the love he had for both children especially as Vivienne only seemed to interact with her to feed her or change the occasional diaper.

Unfortunately for the family the losses did not stop as Giuliano and Ashley's only daughter slipped away on August 29th. Giulia couldn't believe just how quickly their household full of noise and children and young love had changed in less than a year.

[xtruss]

Sometimes, the decision to keep or toss moldy food isn’t so cut and dry. Though mold is often a sign the food is spoiled, there are exceptions. Photograph By Jon Snedden, Camera Press/Redux

What To Do When You See Mold On Your Food

Can one fuzzy berry ruin the bunch? Can you cut away a spotty piece of bread from the loaf? This is what the experts recommend.

— By Leah Worthington | November 10, 2023

So, you splurged on a carton of raspberries yesterday, and already they’re starting to look a little…fuzzy. But it would be such a waste to throw them out—maybe you can just pick out the moldy ones? Not so fast.

As innocuous as a few dusty patches might seem, foodborne mold can cause a host of issues, from indigestion to—in the most extreme situations—kidney damage or even cancer.

Of course, not all mold is out to kill you. In fact, most mold you see on your food is harmless, but it’s nearly impossible to visually discern what’s safe from what could make you sick. And some foodborne mold may not be visible at all.

Still, a little household maintenance can go a long way—from kitchen sanitation to food storage. Here’s your expert guide to best household practices to extend your food life and protect your gut.

Science of Mold

Mold is everywhere—on surfaces, in the air, in the soil. From the acidic brine of pickle juice to the grout between your bathroom tiles, mold can thrive in even the most inhospitable environments.

Although they can survive in less, molds are happiest in warm, humid, nutrient-rich environments, according to Elisabetta Lambertini, a senior research scientist at the Global Alliance for Improved Nutrition. Think of that steaming sourdough loaf or half-eaten apricot jam as an all-you-can-eat buffet for a hungry mold.

Because molds reproduce by releasing clouds of microscopic spores, they can travel anywhere accessible by wind or water. In fact, the average person inhales between 1,000 and 10 billion spores per day. With billions of spores floating around us, the only place foodborne mold won’t grow is unopened, airtight jarred or canned foods. However, there are some easy strategies to slow the inevitable growth process. For a quick rule of thumb, Lambertini refers to the core four practices for food safety: clean, separate, cook, and chill.

“Temperature is a big one,” says Don Schaffner, chair of the department of food science at Rutgers University. “Microorganisms are just little bags of chemical reactions, right? So by lowering the temperature, we just slow all of that down.”

Refrigerating or freezing certain foods, like bread or other baked goods, can maximize their shelf life. Be sure to keep your fridge around 35-38 degrees F, and avoid overfilling to allow for sufficient airflow, which removes moisture and prevents mold growth, Lambertini advises.

When possible, cover food to keep out airborne spores and store items, particularly those with high water content, separately, in clean, closed containers to prevent possible cross-contamination. Regularly cleaning your fridge, countertops, and sponges will also minimize build-up or spreading of mold colonies, she adds—common household products like vinegar or diluted bleach will do the trick.

Of course, some foods are more mold-friendly than others—produce being a prime example. One easy way to minimize that pesky fruit- and vegetable-borne mold is to wash your produce only prior to consuming it.

“Because they’re so susceptible to getting moldy, you certainly want to rinse off berries before you eat them,” Schaffner says. But wash them right from the grocery store and you risk storing them with residual water.

Allium vegetables (like onion and garlic) are particularly prone to black mold, a soil fungus, according to University of Wisconsin-Madison mold geneticist Jae-Hyuk Yu. While black mold can be safely washed or cut off, he suggests storing onions and garlic in netted bags that allow plenty of ventilation. Keep them in the fridge for maximum mold prevention, he says.

What Kinds of Mold are Common in The House?

There are thousands of different mold species, including a wide variety that might worm their way into your pantry.

Of these potential kitchen offenders, only some produce toxins. For instance, Yu says, Penicillium growth on apples and Aspergillus growth on grapes and coffee produce mycotoxins that, even from acute exposures, can cause poisoning or kidney damage. Consumption of high levels of aflatoxin, the most dangerous mycotoxin, can cause severe toxicity or—with prolonged exposure—even liver cancer.

Thankfully, Lambertini says, “These are generally not the type of molds that grow in your fridge.”

In fact, the majority of molds growing visibly on food in the U.S. are completely harmless. The bad news: It’s nearly impossible to pick out the dangerous ones.

“Accurate mold identification requires microscopy observation and other laboratory techniques, and is best left to trained professionals,” Lambertini says. Better to assume they’re toxic.

Mold is not always visible to the naked eye. The fungus can grow deep into a food before ever producing the billions of spores that create that familiar greenish white fuzzy layer. Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Fortunately our taste buds can be more discerning than our eyes. Even if you didn’t spot anything wrong before you took a bite, Schaffner says a “funky” taste is a good indication that something’s not right.

What To Do If You Find Mold on Your Food

What should you do if you notice a bit of unwanted growth? Which foods are salvageable and which are better off as worm-feed?

“A big part of it is the nature of the food,” says Schaffner. With dense hard foods like hard cheese or carrots, where you can clearly see the mold colony, he says it’s safe to cut away the moldy part plus an extra inch or so.

However, in moister foods—soft cheese, yogurt, jams, pickles, hummus—the extent of the mold growth is less obvious and hard to safely remove. “We can see the mold colony on top, but there's also a part of the mold that's underneath,” he says. Resist the urge to scoop it off; go straight to the compost bin.

Same goes for moldy meat and fish. As tempting as it might be to try to freeze or cook the growth away, that will only kill the fungus, leaving any toxins it produced unscathed.

For bread, Schaffner allows that you might be able to get away with trimming off the fuzz. But even then, it’s possible that the mold has grown deeper into the loaf. To avoid inhaling a cloud of spores, Yu advises sealing and immediately throwing away any loaf at the first sign of mold.

As for berries, it depends on the amount of visible mold. If it’s just an isolated berry or two, tossing those and washing the rest is fine, Yu says. But anything more than that is risky since it’s hard to see the full extent of the mold growth.

A bit of mold growth can also be a useful signal, Lambertini adds, describing it as “the ‘canary in the mine’ of food safety.” In other words, where there’s mold, there’s likely to also be bacteria or a looming expiration date.

What Should You Do If You Accidentally Eat Food with Mold on It?

Odds are that patch of mold you accidentally swallowed isn’t toxic, and even if it is, a small amount isn’t cause for panic.

Still, experts suggest monitoring for symptoms like nausea, diarrhea, and shortness of breath, and seeking medical help if you feel unwell. For those who are immune-compromised, Yu advises seeing a doctor about any possible consumption or inhalation of mold. (And don’t forget to bring a sample of the culprit for closer inspection.)

Ultimately, learning to live with molds is a necessary part of being human. As Schaffner puts it, molds “have been here longer than us and [will] be here after we're gone.”

[rbolick]

Books On Books Collection - Klaus Groh and Hermann Havekost

Books On Books Collection – Klaus Groh and Hermann Havekost

Artists’ Books / Künstlerbücher BuchobjekteLivres d’Artistes / Libri Oggetti (1986) Artists’ Books / Künstlerbücher Buchobjeckte / Livres d’Artistes / Libri Oggetti (1986)Klaus Groh, Hermann Havekost, Christiane Dierks and Anke SchröderFour-way bound book. 204 x 204 mm (closed), 420 x 420 mm (open), 1440 pages. Edition of 1000, of which this is #461. Acquired from Christian Hesse Auktionen, 7…

[daphneallard]

of good samaritans & pawns

@diveronarpg submitted:

DIANA has managed to establish a Robin Hood-esque reputation for herself among the Capulets and make it look graceful, even when confronted with more difficult decisions. It just so happens that a week ago, a Capulet soldier reached out to DAPHNE looking for financial aid on her part, begging for help in getting out of the city and away from the mob that they’ve both dedicated their livelihoods to. This sort of thing does not occur often, and could give her a significant advantage or a severe shortfall. What does DAPHNE do?

MENTIONED: @lavolumnia, @reginadalys, @dukemassetti, @stlapin, @la-bella-falco

TW: death, violence, grief, dark themes

There are approximately 590,452 things Daphne Allard doesn’t know about Luca Caprio, but here are five in particular.

1. His sister’s name is Marta; they’ve barely spoken in three years. Not because of anything serious, but Marta lives in Berlin and the two have just never found the time to put in the effort. 

2. When he was seven, he wanted to take over his grandfather’s bakery. It burned down when he was 14. The arsonist’s were never caught, but everyone whispered that his nonno had offended a Montague of some power and status.

3. Luca went to university in Milan.

4. He professed not to care about astrology, but he knew he was a Cancer Sun, a Leo Rising, and a Scorpio Moon because a date made him check. After he showed her his co--star account, she went to the bathroom and never came back. 

5. He deserved better.

Actually, she knew that last one. Counting that, Daphne knew precisely ten things about Luca Caprio.

1. LUCA IS A CAPULET. 

A soldato, more specifically. Daphne was hosting a small get-together for the initiates and soldiers. A sort of networking opportunity, if you will. A chance to feel like family. That was how this city worked – blood ties and bloodied ties, invisible strings wrapped around every citizen’s throat. It was a reminder that everyone in this city is connected with a vice grip. 

They were only able to do what they did because people felt like they were getting something in return – a mirage of a family, if you will. But Daphne wasn’t truly cynical – it was good for them to spend some time together outside of work. Make each other feel less alone. 

She didn’t remember Luca very well. He hadn’t been quiet because she’d gone and put a friendly arm around the wallflowers and made them feel welcome, and she would’ve remembered him. He hadn’t been particularly loud, because she would’ve remembered him. He ran in the middle, and he seemed happy enough.

Daphne remembered he wasn’t an initiate though. “I’m a soldier,” he’d told her when she asked, not in the least offended that she didn’t remember him. “I ‘graduated’ after the Castelvecchio blew up.” 

Before they count continue their conversation, Elisabetta – a lanky, freckled initiate, barely 19 – gathered up the courage to speak to her. “Signora Allard, can I speak to you in private?” The muscles in her shoulder tensed up, like she was expecting to be slapped. Daphne had told Luca she’d catch up with him later – she wanted to know everyone, and said it in a way that convinced everyone, even Daphne herself, that it was true, and to come to her if he needed anything – and pulled Elisabetta into a spare room. 

In which she’d promptly burst into tears. She needed help – an orphan with no family and no fortune, a cruel landlord who let her apartment become infested with cockroaches and threatened to evict her, and could Daphne help her? Of course, darling. That’s what I’m here to do. 

Daphne hired someone to break the landlord’s legs and gave Elisabetta the downpayment for a newer, nicer apartment, and a day job as a barista at a cafe her father invested in. Just something to help you get settled, until you decide what you want to do for your day job. No, no need to pay me back. This is a gift, Elisabetta. When you decide what you want to do, let me know and I can put you in touch with people. 

2. LUCA BELIEVED IN GOD

The boy was Catholic. He believed in the rituals. He was spiritual, too. Luca managed to find the balance that many spent their lives in fruitless pursuit of. His eyes lit up when he talked about it – something about how he saw himself as a prodigal son – and sure, Daphne thought it was a little naive, but perhaps that was her own envy. 

She could never feel at peace with the Heavens – and not just because of the blood and poison and atrocities hidden underneath a kind smile and an impeccable reputation. Whatever was in the skies, whatever or whoever governed the universe didn’t care for mortals who tried to fashion themselves as folly. 

Her heart sang when he’d shyly brought up that he heard what she did for Elisabetta, who mentioned to him that she’d done something similar for a Vittorio, for Massimo, for Charlotte, for Honoria, and so-on and so-forth. “You’re like a Good Samaritan,” Luca said. Daphne liked that.

Good Samaritans don’t want their pound of flesh, though.

She became concerned about Luca, though. Believers were difficult, and in all honesty, Catholic guilt was going to catch up with him sooner or later. 

The worries started after they’d gutted that spiare in the Cathedral. Her name was Valentina Gallo, and she mattered to someone, but the only memory Daphne had was of her bleeding out in the hallowed halls. It’s quite cruel, for the only memory you have of a person to be the light dimming from their eyes. 

Luca had been late to a few meetings, and his captain had complained to Daphne – not anything specific, only in passing. Daphne had assured them that she’d take care of it. She’d check in with Luca. He seems like a good soldier. He seems like a good man. 

3. LUCA CAME TO HER

She didn’t need to find him. He’d knocked on the door to her office and asked if she had time for a word. Daphne didn’t, but she smiled anyways and invited him inside, offering him his choice of water, coffee, or tea. Good seeds get overrun by weeds if they’re not taken care of. 

“Do you remember Elisabetta?”  Luca asked. 

Daphne nodded. Of course she did. She could never forget the face of a person who owed her their happiness. “Of course. She’s just started an apprenticeship at All That Glitters.” 

He wrung his hands. “Good, good. That’s good.”

She poured him a glass of water and placed it in front of him. “Drink, I insist. You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I might be.” 

But he drank the water and didn’t vomit all over her carpet. 

“I’m glad you came to see me, today. I’ve heard some colleagues express concern about you. It’s been....a long few months for all of us.” She brushed her hair out of her face, “Can I do something to help? Even if you just need to talk, I want you to know that I’m here for you.” 

4. LUCA DIDN’T LIKE BEING A CAPULET

But only because he told her. 

“I don’t like being a Capulet.” That was the most confident she’d ever heard it. Not a doubt in his mind. She could see it in his eyes that he meant. 

“Oh,” was all she could say. What else could she do? After a moment, Daphne got her wits about her and knitted her fingers together. “Is there something in particular that you don’t like?” 

“All of it. Well, not all of it. I -- it’s complicated, you know?” Daphne nodded, because she did. “But when I joined, I thought I would be doing something good for the city.”

To that, she was quick to respond. “You are.” 

“How?”

“The Capulet’s are involved with a number of charitable organizations – we’ve helped more than a few local businesses get on their feet and stay on their feet through hard times. I personally work with several local women’s shelters. If you want to do more work in that field, than you’ve certainly come to the right person. Here, let me --” 

He’d cut her off, “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters when we do things like what we did in the Cathedral.” Daphne fixed with a stony look and Luca stopped talking mid-sentence. “Sorry, Signora Allard. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

She softens, because Daphne isn’t cruel and that’s what he needed to see – that this work doesn’t make as monsters. “It’s alright, Luca. Really. I’m here to listen.” She takes a deep breathe. “You’ve made a vow to the Capulet’s, Luca, and the particular vow you’ve made....it’s not an easy one to break. I understand that you’re scared and frustrated and, well, horrified by what you’ve seen. We all should be. It’s normal, you know, for newer members to get cold feet.” She twists her engagement ring around her finger. “Like a bride before the wedding.”

“It’s more than jitters,” he says, desperate to make her understand. “I’m telling you that I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t.” She puts her hand over his, and gives it a squeeze. 

“I understand.” She said it with her whole heart.

“Can you help me then?”

5. WHEN LUCA MADE UP HIS MIND, IT WAS MADE

Daphne didn’t give an answer to his last question. Instead, she’d asked what exactly he was asking of her. How much have you thought about this, boy? How badly do you want this?

“There’s someone I know in Rome who can help me get the papers to start a new life.”

“Where are you thinking of going?”

“Athens, Berlin, or Marseilles – you went to school there, didn’t you?”

“Those are all rather different. I went to school in Paris, but I spent quite a lot of time in Marseilles. It’s beautiful. You would like it.” 

“After that, I would need help getting housing and a job. I’d also need my identity scrubbed – I, uh, I don’t know what I should do there. Faking my death is an option, but that seems a bit much.” 

“And you would what me to contribute financially?”

Luca nods vigorously. “Yes – about €60,000.” Daphne doesn’t blink at the sum; that’s mere change to the Allard fortune and to all of her personal investments.

“That’s a pretty penny,” Daphne says. She’s not talking about the money. She’s talking about the task. “Luca, this conversation – I’m more than happy to let this stay between us and do everything in my power to help you feel comfortable with your position in the Capulet’s, but if this is serious and it comes out that I knew someone was consider desertion....” 

“This can’t be the worst thing someone’s done in Verona. Orsino, Reagan, Cosimo, Volumnia, Iago, Othello, Lady Macbeth –  This can’t be the worst thing anyone’s been asked.” Oh, you darling, sweet, stupid boy. “You’ve helped others who needed...a higher price tag, though. I --- I wouldn’t ask unless I was serious. And I’ve thought about, signora. This is what I need to do. I need to leave this city, even if I have to bury Luca Caprio to do it.” 

“I see how much this means to you, but --” His eyes widen like a deer stuck in headlights. His arm twitches, and he almost reaches for his gun, but steadies himself. “Don’t worry, I’m going to help you, Luca. Of course I am. It’ll just take some time for me to get the funds in order and distribute them to you secretly and safely.” 

6. LUCA’S SMILE WAS BLESSED BY THE HEAVENS

Don’t worry. I’m going to help you, Luca. The boy audibly exhales and slumps in the chair, almost trembling. It’s then that she notices how deep the bags under his eyes are. Some bodies aren’t meant to bare the weight of the world – or their decisions – on their shoulders, Daphne thinks sadly. 

Then, he starts laughing and smiling and crying – but it’s all happy tears and relief. His smile makes Daphne wish she was as good of a person as he thought her to be. “A Good Samaritan,” he mumbles, still trying to process everything. “You’re a rare breed in Verona.” 

Daphne thinks of the Capulet ranks – how many twisted and lied and killed for no reason other than their own personal gain, or their own ego’s. She thinks of everyone in Verona who looks at life like a chess game – rook takes bishop, protect the queen, pawn to queen, sacrificial pieces. Those who shuffle the board so that it suits whatever their interests are. Daphne’s one of them, and she knows it, even if she’ll never admit it. I wish I was a rare breed, Luca. 

7. LUCA DECIDED ON BERLIN

Three days later, Luca’s captain lets her know that he’s been on time and that he seems like the soldier is back on track. “What changed?” Daphne had asked. “I don’t know,” the captain admits. “He said he talked to you, so I guess whatever you said helped.”

Later that evening, Luca returns and asks her how long it will take her to get everything together. “A few more days, at least. Have you decided where you’re going to go?”

“Berlin.” He says it with such conviction, and Daphne is scared to ask what made him decide to go there, lest it make her miss the boy too much. “How long will it take to get everything ready for me to go to Berlin?”

“Two days. I have a good friend there, actually. She’s good. Very discreet. And she owes me a favor. I can give you her address? That way you know someone in the city, at least.”

“That’d be perfect.” 

“What’s the name of your Rome contact? The one who can help you get new documents?”

“Alessandro Marino...do you know him?”

Daphne nods, “By reputation, primarily. As far as people in his field go, Alessandro is one of the more...ethical ones. You’re in good hands with him.”

8. LUCA CAPRIO WAS GOING TO CHANGE HIS NAME TO LUKAS SCHMIDT

"How quickly can Alessandro get you the new papers?” 

“I’ve already paid him half.” Off Daphne’s quizzical expression, he adds, “It cost all my savings. After I told him I was good for the rest and that you were helping me --” Idiot, Daphne thinks. “-- he’s agreed to messenger me the documents by the end of tomorrow.” 

“Are you still going to be called Luca?”

“No, something similar though. That’s what’s best, right? In the movies, they always give someone a fake name that’s close with their real name so they don’t get confused.”

“Daphne, Diana. Bernadette, Bianca. Vivianne, Volumnia. Same practices goes for the aliases here. It makes sense. What’s the name?” 

He hesitates. “Schmidt. Lukas Schmidt.”

“Pleased to meet you, Signor Lukas....did you tell anyone else?”

“Of course not. I’m not an idiot.”

9. LUCA BELIEVED IN DAPHNE ALLARD

She didn’t need him to tell her. She could see it in the way that he looked at her adoringly, like she was a guardian angel. A Good Samaritan, he’d called her. A Good Samaritan, he thought her to be. A Good Samaritan. A good person. 

There was something good in Luca that didn’t exist in Daphne. Something normal about him. He lived by a different set of rules that she couldn’t even begin to fathom, and she knew that. Luca was a good boy. She doesn’t know why she keeps calling him a boy when he’s 25 years old.

He is good. Not wise, but good. And good people always pay their debts. With this, he would owe her everything – his freedom, his happiness, his life. This kind of power, this kind of debt was the most powerful. Daphne could get him to do anything in the future. 

This was why she became a Capulet. To help people. 

It was quite a pity, though, that by the nature of this arrangement, the only thing Daphne couldn’t ask him to do was stay. 

10. LUCA DIDN’T SEE IT COMING. 

The second he asked her to help him leave, Daphne knew she would sign his death warrant. After he told her that he told Alessandro that she was helping him, Daphne knew she would need to oversee a larger clean-up operation. It wasn’t worth the risk. No matter how well she did the money, someone would find it. Her name and reputation wouldn’t protect her. And Daphne was many things, but she was not a fool.

It appeared that Luca was true to his word in that he told no one else about his decision to leave. That was the conclusion Daphne came to after using the Capulet pipeline to find a hacker who gave her access to his phone, computer, and all CCTV footage. No text messages, no phone calls, no late night meetings in his apartment or anywhere else in the city. Of course, as a precaution, she’d gotten someone – someone loyal – to trail him just to make sure. 

Daphne Allard was no Good Samaritan. She was a Capulet. 

Luca couldn’t have known that. Daphne didn’t want anyone to know of the rot inside of her. This decay was her problem, and no one else’s, and both she and the city had bigger problems than this. No one needed to know.

Daphne had informed his captain and the appropriate higher up’s of the upcoming defection. No one needed to remind her that the cost of treason was death. She remembered the Gallo girl’s fate.  No, I’ll take care of the details, she offered. He came to me, so I will deal with it.

He comes to see her before he departs. She tells him she’s wired the money to his new account. She hasn’t. She kisses him on the cheek, before sending him on his way. Luca Caprio doesn’t make it two miles out of the city before a masked assailant shoots him in the back of the head. 

It was a quick, clean death, Daphne tells herself, as she pays the hitman handsomely for the cleanup of Luca Caprio, Alessandro Marino, and the messenger who made the mistake of delivering the documents.

This is mercy, she thinks. This way he and his family get to keep his dignity and the Capulet’s are spared the embarrassment.

She helps pay for his funeral, but doesn’t attend. Daphne doesn’t know this, but when the priest informs Luca’s parents that everything has been taken care of, his mother wept and thanked the Lord. There’s still Good Samaritans in Verona, she had said through her tears. There’s still good. 

“If they ask, can I reveal their benefactor?” The priest had asked her when she stopped by to drop off the payment. 

“No, not this time, father.” She doesn’t see the benefit of having this family owe her. Maybe later, if it proves useful, she will reveal herself. But Daphne doesn’t see the advantage. Your son is dead and I paid for the funeral. The debt is paid. You owe me nothing. 

There’s a sixth thing Daphne knows about Luca: He died thinking well of her. It gives her comfort. It shouldn’t. But it does. 

Verona makes a different sort of monster out of everyone. This was the monster it had made of Daphne Allard. 

[evak-elu-nicotino]

A Gio & Marti friendship fic - part I

Okay, so I needed to write a Gio & Marti fanfiction because their friendship is iconic, and I wanted to do something pre-canon.

I hope you’ll like it ! Please let me know what you think of it !

And I’ll never be grateful enough to my wonderful beta-reader, @unfinishedbusinessss. Thank you so much girl, you’re a gem, truly !

Thank you for reading !

Fandom : SKAM Italia

Relationships : Giovanni Garau & Martino Rametta

Words : 4646

Chapter : 1/? 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143155/chapters/58132195

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I. My life is changing and I’m so lost

Martino Rametta just turned ten when his parents started fighting all the time. He was worried. Staying up quite late at night whenever he heard them screaming in the kitchen, oblivious to the fact that their own son had a whole day at a new school to worry about. Marti slipped through the door to his bedroom and stood in the hallway, eyes tearing up. He hated the fights between his parents. He hated hearing them screaming insults at each other. Fighting about stuff he knew nothing about, hearing words he couldn’t possibly understand. He was ten, for God’s sake. His parents were supposed to comfort him at night when he was having nightmares. Comfort him about changing schools right before junior high, not fight about a woman named Paola. He didn’t know anyone named Paola, and he had a feeling that this Paola wasn’t good news. Either for him, or for his parents.

Martino already heard the word divorce several times at this point in his life, in other discussions, other contexts. He knew what it meant, and he was scared. His dad meant everything to him, and his mom’s hugs were the best. Honestly, he couldn’t possibly comprehend how much a change this big in his life could mean. He laid in bed that night, eyes wide open, silently praying, even though he never believed in God. His parents never took him to church, even though he heard several times that they both grew up in religious families. But since his four grandparents died before he was born, he actually never entered a church in his life.

Elisabetta and Giancarlo Rametta were the only family he had, since neither of them had siblings, and neither did Martino. His parents were his whole world, and seeing them fight like that wasn’t reassuring at all. Martino wasn’t a confident child. Growing up, his parents told him all the right things: he was smart, beautiful, he could do whatever he wanted if he put his mind to it. Martino wasn’t lazy per se: he was just an almost-teenager who wanted nothing more than to play calcio with the kids in his neighborhood, whenever they invited him to join them. So for now, his mind was set on football, comic books, and reading. He was rather a quiet kid. Not really shy, but not really the type of kid you’d describe at exuberant and outgoing. He kept to himself, that’s all. He had a rather large imagination and could spend hours in his bedroom, sometimes drawing (rather badly, in his own words), sometimes just daydreaming, staring out the window. He grew up not having too many friends, and that was really fine with him. He honestly didn’t need a lot in his life, because he had the safety of a loving family and a few friends he could count on. That was more than enough to him.

Giovanni Garau was his best friend. They met on the first day of preschool, exchanged a few words, played football during recess, and that was that. They had been the closest friends could be ever since and honestly he couldn’t quite picture his life without Gio in it. And the fact that they managed to convince both set of parents to change schools a year before going to junior high was a fact he couldn’t possibly wrap his head around. Last year, Martino grew several inches. He got taller than any of the other kids in his class, but not really a classy kind of tall. He was the lanky kid that almost everyone started making fun of. And on top of that, Martino had brownish-red hair. Not the kind of in-your-face red hair, but still. He had freckles from a very early age, freckles that weren’t only on his face, but on his thighs, back, shoulders and neck as well. So yeah, being the tall, lanky redhead kid with freckles wasn’t exactly the most fun thing to live through.

As always though, Gio had his back. He was the one who talked to his parents and told them that Marti was having a tough time at school, kids making fun of him all the time, stealing his lunch, his homework, sometimes even his shoes whenever he was in PE class. At first, honestly Marti’s parents didn’t really take him seriously, but Marti, who was listening from the his own bedroom, door ajar, soon realized that his parents had his best interests at heart, and so did Gio. He talked to them for almost half an hour and when they finally said, “Okay Giovanni, I promise you we will think about it, thank you for telling us.” Martino almost couldn’t believe it. His best friend came back to his room, smiling like a madman. He looked so smug Marti almost wanted to smack his arm, but he was so grateful to him. He got up and hugged him hard. “Let me go Marti, you’re suffocating me,” Gio laughed, crinkled eyes and a smile tugging at his lips. “Seriously, if they say yes, I owe you big time. Those guys just...” Martino didn’t finish his sentence. Gio sat down on the bed and patted the sheet next to him. Marti sat on the bed, head hung low. “Hey, Martino, whatever happens, even if we don’t change schools, I’m always gonna be there for you, don’t you worry. I’ll be by your side day and night if need be. You should know that by now, nothing’s gonna stop me from protecting you.” He had such a serious look on his face. Marti had no other choice than to believe him. Thank God for Giovanni Garau.

II. Being a teenager : where’s the handbook ?

On his twelfth birthday, Martino wakes up to the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen, and his mother bustling around, moving pots and pans from one side to another. He enters the room yawning, scratching his hair which sticks in every direction. His mom smiles up at him, and kisses him fondly on the cheek. “Happy birthday honey, I hope you’re gonna have an amazing day! Auguri!” He smiles up at her. The divorce didn’t go smoothly, but his dad behaved like a complete jackass. Martino is a little mad at him, to be honest. And most days, his mother is crying in her bedroom and the worst thing is: he can hear her, and there’s nothing he can do about it. So he huddles up into his bedsheets pulling up the blanket above his head, putting his earphones on, and falls asleep listening to some random songs. Being twelve isn’t exactly easy for Martino. Gio is starting to really show interest in girls and Martino just isn’t interested. He really can’t see the point of them: long hair, frilly clothes and pink shoes, sometimes lip gloss or even worse, lipstick. But he sees Gio’s gaze lighting up whenever he sees one, trying to chat them up, strike up a conversation, manage to get a laugh or two out of them. Just being his charming self, and sure, having baby blue eyes doesn’t hurt.

The girls, to be fair, seem quite interested to Martino as well. One or two of them actually talked to him once or twice and Marti’s gotta admit, he kinda understands what Gio sees in them. Some of them are pretty. But at the end of the day, Martino’s better off reading or listening to music. Or better yet, talking to Gio for hours and hours on end. He doesn’t mind that his best friend doesn’t have a girlfriend, to be honest, because when he will, he just knows that everything will be different. He’s not ready yet for their friendship to change. So he clings on to Gio like he’s his rock, which he kinda is.

One morning, Martino’s waiting for his best friend in front of his house, checking his watch every now and then. He frowns upon seeing that it’s already past 8:30 and Gio’s nowhere in sight. He knocks on the door, only to have his mom tell him that he already left for school. And then she adds, with a smile tugging at her lips, the sentence that’s gonna make Marti sad for the whole day. “He was with a brunette. I think her name is Laura, or something like that. Didn’t he tell you?” Marti smiles, nods, and wishes Mamma Garau a good day, before turning on his heel, on the verge of tears. How could Gio have stood him up like that? And more importantly, what was he doing with that girl from their class... Laura? He shows up at school, puts down his bag next to his chair, anger boiling inside of him. He bites the inside of his cheek as the teacher gets up in front of the class and starts the lesson of the day. Ignoring Gio’s repeated whispers to his right, Martino tries to concentrate on whatever la Prof. Marca is saying. But for whatever reason, his ears are ringing, and his cheeks are flush. His hands are somewhat shaking and he knows he has a right to be angry at his best friend for standing him up for some girl he barely knows. Although, deep down inside, Martino has a feeling this isn’t the typical reaction you have when a close friend of the same gender gets a crush on a girl. His stomach drops a little, and he shakes his head, trying to think about something else. Anything else but the fact that the feeling he recognizes in his gut is called... Jealousy. Martino wakes in the middle of the night, drenched in his own sweat, and he frowns, disgusted by his own smell. He gets up, changes pajamas, puts on deodorant, and even takes the time to actually change his sheets. He focuses on the tasks, meticulously. His brain is reeling, heart beating so fast he was actually scared of having a panic attack. He has to forget the dream he just had, nothing makes sense. He goes into the bathroom, glances up at the clock. 4:17AM. And he has a big English test tomorrow. He needs to get some sleep before heading to school, or his mother will let him know how she’s furious with him for getting a bad grade. A grade he knows he’ll get if he doesn’t go back to sleep as soon as possible.

He turns off the lights and lies in his bed, eyes wide open, willing sleep to just come and take him peacefully. Half an hour later, Martino’s brain gone to places he just hates so much. He’s in the middle crisis of self-loathing, when he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, and slips into the bathroom, taking a glass of water, trying to think about something else. Honestly, anything else would be better than this torture.

Marti knows that generally speaking, teenage years are the toughest to get through. Sometimes identity and sexuality crisis can happen. It can be the time of your life when you start to figure out... stuff. But he really can’t wrap his head around the fact that he just had this dream. A dream that makes him recoil every time he thinks about it. God, what did he do in a previous life to deserve such a karma... Honestly?! At 6:30AM, when he finally gives up and decides that he won’t get back to sleep before his alarm goes off, he gets up again and prepares himself some breakfast. He’s in the middle of his second piece of toast when he hears his mom gets up as well. She enters the kitchen and makes a beeline for the coffee machine. Marti would gladly do the same, if only he was allowed to drink coffee. His mom has decided that twelve years old isn’t old enough and that it could mess with his still developing brain and body. She looks over to her son, smiles, then notices the dark circles under his eyes. She puts down her coffee mug and sits across from him, worry written all over her face. “Everything alright honey? You look like you haven’t slept at all...” Martino sighs, and runs a hand over his own face. “No Mamma, don’t worry, I just had a...nightmare, and woke up drenched in sweat. Couldn’t go back to sleep afterwards. Nothing to worry about.” His mom looks worried though. He tries to smile reassuringly, but fails miserably. He’s not really feeling up to going to school today, but he really doesn’t have a choice.

He puts his brave face on, gets up, brushes his teeth, puts on his favorite shirt, and grabs his backpack before giving his mom a kiss on the cheek. “Bye Mamma, have a good day, and please stop worrying. Okay?” She bites her lip, and Marti smiles at her. “Hey don’t worry, I’ll sleep better tonight, that’s all! Nothing to worry about! It’s not the end of the world. Stop worrying and go to work, you’re gonna be late,” he says, before closing the door of their flat behind him. He takes a deep breath and exhales shakily, eyes closed. No time to dwell on his dream from last night, which is still in the back of his mind.

Goddammit, this day is gonna be a long one.

III. Don’t ask me that

Martino’s fourteenth birthday was celebrated a few weeks ago, when his mother drops the topic he certainly didn’t expect in the middle of his carbonara pasta. He made it from scratch, since his mom lost her interest for anything cooking related a few months after his dad left. Martino’s actually quite good at it and his carbonara tastes amazing. He’s enjoying it, when he hears Mamma Rametta clearing her throat, which is NEVER a good sign. Generally it means that she’s getting ready to talk about a delicate subject. He lifts an eyebrow, curious as to what topic she wants to discuss. “Martino, you know, fourteen is an important age. What I mean by that, is that a lot of young people nowadays...” She interrupts herself, clearly not at ease discussing the subject. Marti looks like a deer in headlights; he’s frozen in his seat. He takes a deep breath and braces himself for what’s about to come at him. “You need to protect yourself, honey,” his mom finally says, and he groans from embarrassment. “Mom, please, can we PLEASE not have this discussion?! I beg you!” he says through gritted teeth, closing his eyes. God, this is the worst time to talk about this. He’s already dealing with the million disturbing thoughts he’s having about...well, girls, and the fact that apparently they’re just not that appealing to him. He’s afraid to dwell on that thought, so he just buries himself into drawing and reading. That’s a good enough solution to his problem for now. It works... for now, at least. She shakes her head, the wrinkles around her eyes crease a little more. She looks serious now. “Martino, girls and boys your age are generally very... enthusiastic and go quite far sometimes...without using condoms, or any idea of what they’re doing. So I want you to be prepared, and to never do something you’re not ready for.” “Oh my God Mamma, really? Are we really having this conversation now, in the middle of dinner? Dinner that I made from scratch?” “Martino, come on. You’re not giving me much to go on here.” “No, because I don’t want to! This is my private life you’re hinting at and I’m not discussing it with you.” He pushes back his plate on the table, and inhales deeply. No need to get worked up over this kind of conversation, he thinks to himself, she’s just looking out for him. He knows that, deep down, but he really doesn’t want to think about it. Any of it. Girls, sex, nothing. It’s not like he has a girlfriend anyway. Gio is much more advanced in that area, he noticed. He has had a girlfriend for a few months now, that brunette, Laura. Sure, she’s nice enough, pretty and funny, but what is it with girls exactly? He just can’t see what the big deal is, honestly!

In front of him, Elisabetta Rametta lifts an eyebrow, and just smiles at him, before putting her hand on his. “Is there anyone you like at school?” Martino gets up so fast his head starts to spin a little. He would run away from the kitchen, but the flat is not that big and he has nowhere else to go. “Please stop Mamma, te l’ho già detto, I already told you, I’m not discussing it with you.” She smiles knowingly, and it annoys the crap out of him. “Oh so you like someone, don’t you?” That’s it. He’s had enough of this nonsense. He storms out of the kitchen, leaving dishes, plates, glasses, cutlery, everything on the table, and just stomps into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Thank God his dad actually put a lock on his door, so he’s able to just put his headphones on and ignore his mom trying to talk some sense into him through the door. He puts on music, volume up, and just lays on his bed, eyes shut. God, he wishes he could be anywhere else right now.

IV. Crumbling down

Martino’s fifteen and he’s struggling like hell. Gio’s drifting further and further from him with every day that passes. He’s madly in love with Laura and Marti hates it with every fiber of his being. Terrified to uncover what it could possibly mean, he spends most of his time daydreaming. He avoids his best friend at all costs, which isn’t really hard. Laura and Gio spend all their time together anyway. They seem to be kissing every time Martino looks at them, and it makes him want to throw up so bad. At home, Martino’s mom dropped the subject of sex, and he is relieved to no end. He found a pack of condoms on his bedside table one day after school, with a note folded and taped to it. He opened it to find a somewhat endearing speech from Mamma Rametta, saying how much she understands that talking about it can be difficult, but that she’s here if he needs to talk. And that in the meantime, he needs to look after himself and to use condoms if he wants to have sex with someone. Marti sits on his bed, staring at the piece of paper, puzzled. He notices how his mom didn’t use the term girlfriend or girl, in her note. He might be reading too much into it, but the weight in his chest lifts a little.

Truth is, Martino Rametta has the biggest problem of all time. Last month, he stumbled upon an article which made his breath catch in his chest, and his heart skip a beat. His mom left a newspaper on the table, right before heading to work. It was Saturday, 13th of March. He remembers the date oh so clearly. His eyes fixed on the bold letters of the title: “Italians progressively changing their mind on same-sex marriage: a change incoming?” To his horror, Martino felt tears well up in his eyes, and he closed the paper forcefully. He hated this stupid newspaper, hated Italians, hated himself. He didn’t want to deal with it, with any of it. He just wanted his life to stay the same. He wanted to have a girlfriend, to be straight, to be normal. He wanted to fade into the crowd, not stand out because he was different than his classmates. He didn’t want to really address that question, the one that had been buried in the back of his mind for several months now. It all started in the locker room. They were on their way out of the PE class. Marti sat down on the bench, still catching his breath from all extra running laps they had to do. Only Gio and himself, just because Boccia decided that they were talking too much during class. Everyone had already left, of course By the time they reached the changing room, Gio scoffed dramatically, “Boccia is really a stronzo, making us run all these extra laps! Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is?” Marti chuckled. “The gym teacher, maybe?” he jokes lightly, removing his socks before they get all wet. The floor is disgusting as fuck. The other guys probably got out of the showers still dripping wet. They made a mess and didn’t bother to clean up after themselves. Marti gets up from the bench and his foot starts slipping. He screams, arms waggling, trying to steady himself, but to no avail. An arm slips around his middle, and puts him upright. Martino blushes a deep red when he realizes that Gio is squeezed against him, torso against his back, thighs against thighs, his warm hand right above his boxers. He can feel him everywhere and it’s too much, all off a sudden. Fuck fuck fuck!

“Thanks mate,” he mutters under his breath. He curses internally, almost runs to the showers, eager to drop his boiling thoughts under the water. “Everything okay Marti?” he hears Gio’s voice behind him before he steps into the shower stall. He closes his eyes, back to him. “Yeah,” he croaks, “almost fell and can’t seem to catch my breath! Talk about being in bad shape,” he laughs, trying to drown his shame and guilt. Stepping under the water and cries silently under the shower. He knows he’s known for quite some time now. He just knows that he’s attracted to guys. He just knows. The way he ignore girls and focuses on boys isn’t just a phase. Tries so hard to feel something for girls. Tries to get excited at the prospect of spending some time alone with one of them. But no matter how hard he tries, it’s still not working. Nobody has touched him before Gio. It’s not even a romantic gesture. Gio just caught him before he fell face first on the changing room floor, which could be a metaphor for his whole life, at this point. Gio is being an amazing best friend and Marti’s here, thinking about him that way. He can’t do this. He has no right to. He has no right to imagine Gio in his arms, in his bed, trying to kiss him senseless. Oh, he definitely can’t go there while showering next to his best friend. Naked best friend, his brain not so helpfully supplies. He groans into the crook of his elbow and closes his eyes again. He has to do something, anything, to try and prevent this from happening. He can’t be gay, right?

V. Please send help.

Martino is sitting on his couch, frowning at his biology textbook. His brain hurts, his legs hurt because he played calcio for several hours with the neighbors. His heart hurts because he now has a huge crush on his best friend, and everything sucks, really. Plus, he really hates biology. And he needs help. He grabs his phone, texts Gio, and drops his textbook next to him before closing his eyes. The flat is quiet, his mom has picked up a few extra hours at work and Martino’s grateful for the time he can spend alone. He needs it more than ever these days. His behavior has changed, slowly. He’s falling into patterns he hates, like lying about anything and everything. He’s hiding and he hates it, but for now that’s all he can do, really. Self-loathing has become his best friend; sadly replacing Gio. Gio who is supportive as ever, being the best friend Martino doesn’t deserve. Every time Marti shows up late at school, Gio is at the entrance, waiting for him with a smile tugging at his lips, as if nothing has changed. As if Martino doesn’t blush whenever he thinks about Giovanni. As if he doesn’t want to kiss his best friend as long as he can. As if Martino isn’t betraying their friendship. Marti sighs again, and picks up his phone. A text from Gio. He freezes when he reads it. “I’m on my way, I need to talk to you.” Martino closes his eyes and fights through a panic attack. 

Gio knows, he knows. 

He’s coming here to yell at him, to insult him, to call him names and to ask him to never talk to him again. Oh God, this is the end, Marti thinks, full-on panicking now. He gets up, wants to scream into a pillow, wants to run away from here. He wants to hide and die in a corner, where no one can find him. He doesn’t deserve a friend like Giovanni Garau, and now Gio knows it too. Marti cries into his own shirt, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He hates himself with a passion, and he wishes he could vanish into thin air. A knock on the door, and before Martino can even answer, Gio opens it and finds his best friend sobbing on the couch. “Hey, Marti,” he runs towards the redhead, who’s crying like a child. “Please, don’t hate me,” he says, swallowing his guilt and grief. “Please, don’t leave me.” Gio flops down on the couch next to him and hugs him without saying anything. What the hell happened to his best friend? Who made him this miserable? “Martino, talk to me. You can’t go on like this, you have to talk to someone, or else you’re gonna have a breakdown. I’m here, I’m your best friend, talk to me mate!” Gio whispers against his best friend’s shoulder. “I think I have a problem,”Marti whispered back, eyes still closed, trying to calm down. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not really, but he feels like he doesn’t have a choice. It’s either this or he’s gonna end up crazy.

Life sucks right now, and maybe he shouldn’t do this, maybe he should keep to himself, but the words fall out of his lips before he can even help it. “Gio... I think I don’t like girls.” A beat. Marti looks up at his best friend, who’s still snuggled up against him, body entirely turned towards him, and he can feel him smile against his shoulder. “Okay,” Gio says slowly, his eyes sincere, and full of affection. “Why do you say you have a problem then?” Martino feels tears welling up, and he swallows against the lump in his throat. A weight is lifted off his chest, and he feels like he can breathe again. “Gio, come on. You know as well as I do that it’s gonna be painful. And hard. And people are gonna hate me. And call me names.” Before he can even finish his sentence, Giovanni stands up, looking angry. “Like hell they will, Marti! Do you think I won’t be there for you? Do you think I’d leave you once I knew that you were gay?” Marti recoils. He hates that word. It embodies hate and fear, and he’s scared of it, more than he’s willing to admit. “Don’t say that,” Gio says, softly. He flops back down on the couch next to Martino, and grabs his shoulder. “Don’t think for a second there that I’m gonna leave you alone to fight this through. What kind of a friend do you think I am?” Marti smiles through his tears. He’s exhausted, all of a sudden. Coming out for the first time of his life, to Giovanni Garau, his best friend, was definitely the right choice.

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Don Carlo (ROH, 2008): Reactions, Part II

MY PRINCESS

also Carlo’s just like ‘‘oh crap girls exist I was having such a great time just. being gay.”

they’re both too cute

Elisabetta is trying so hard and she needs all the hugs

also: I love everything about Marina Poplavskaya

‘‘hello everyone, my name is Rodrigo and I am very happily gay”

gaaaaaaaaaaah they are both STUNNING

oh no oh honey

FIERCE

*cries even though it’s literally the exact opposite of what the aria says to do*

also: Harold???

and now for an epic showdown

you really don’t get it do you

best callout EVER

tfw your tough king starts pouring out all his Angst to you

“beware the Grand Inquisitor...”

seriously, Carlo, how do you get her face and voice mixed up with Elisabetta’s

poor Éboli. she’s sadder than anything else right now.

and now she enters the ‘‘hell hath no fury” phase

roles are briefly reversed

there is no heterosexual explanation for this

love this scene even though it’s still truly terrifying (also maybe partly because of it?)

this dialogue is so jarring

‘just because you all can work together does not mean you can do my stuff’

also: the above is extremely well done

the boys are fightinggggggggggggggg

this part just rips all my guts out every time

Elisabetta is all of us in this moment

and here’s a good place to end for now

[thaliagrayce]

if you’re still taking requests, may i have just some soft domestic jasico? just lounging around and enjoying each others company? i need my boys to relax. -sniffiewrites

…cooking counts as relaxing, right? You asked for soft and domestic, and this might be the softest thing I’ve ever written with these tiny hands

(also idk if I even know how to write something that isn’t an au, so they’re aged up and in a mortal au in this one. hope you like it!)

Jason rolled his head, bringing his hand up to try to rub the stiffness out of his neck where it joined his shoulder. He knew that six hours straight of grading and giving feedback on papers wasn’t good for him, but he had gotten into the zone and completely lost track of time. His thoughts slipped back to the last essay he had worked on as he unlocked the door to his building. The student had been doing an in-depth analysis of Elisabetta Sirani’s works, several of which Jason actually had to look up because he hadn’t seen them before. It was a genuinely interesting paper, one that made him glad that he took the TA position for the class. Sure, it was a lot of extra work that sometimes kept him in the library until—he glanced at his watch—nine-ish pm, but he was learning more from some of these students than he did from his own professors.

That didn’t help his stiff neck and back, though. He unlocked the door to his apartment, realizing with a sinking gut that he still had to make dinner before he could go to bed.

The lights were already on when he pushed open the door, and soft music came from the kitchen, dancing through the air along with the scent of mushroom, onion, and garlic. Maybe he didn’t have to make dinner after all. He shut the door quietly behind him and set his bag on the floor next to the battered black boots that probably shouldn’t have been there, but made his chest feel lighter anyway. He left his own shoes next to them and padded to the kitchen as quietly as he could.

Nico was swaying with the music when he got there, stirring the sizzling contents of a frying pan. His hair was half tied back—it probably started as a full ponytail, but it wasn’t quite long enough to stay. It always annoyed Nico, but Jason thought it was cute. The black jeans he was wearing were definitely his, but the purple t-shirt was a size or two too big—he must have come after work and gotten sick of his button-down, stolen one of Jason’s shirts. Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, smiling softly and just watching.

“You just gonna stand there, Grace, or are you gonna help me? Strain the pasta.”

Jason ducked his head and grinned. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that Nico knew he was there. He walked up behind him, putting one hand on Nico’s hip as he reached past him to get the colander out of its cabinet. Nico leaned back into him for a moment and Jason turned his head to put a soft kiss on his temple.

“Pasta’s gonna get soggy if you stand there too long,” Nico mumbled, but stayed where he was. Jason hummed in agreement, then put the colander down on the counter before snaking his arm around Nico’s waist and dropping his head to kiss the crook of his neck. He could almost feel the curve of Nico’s smile in his voice. “Hey, I don’t want mushy dinner. Come on, Sparky.”

Jason tightened his hug briefly, then let go reluctantly and got to work. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Nico snorted, turning both burners he had been using off and pushing around the contents of the frying pan. “Several times.”

Jason grabbed the big pot off the stove and brought it to the sink. “Okay, but have I told you yet today?”

Nico shot him a look as he dug two hot pads out of a drawer, fake annoyance that couldn’t hide the fondness beneath it. He gave up on the act after a moment, and Jason’s heart clenched at the way his eyes went soft. “I guess I could stand to hear it again.”

Jason poured the pasta into the strainer and set the pot on the counter next to the sink. He walked slowly to Nico, placed one hand on his waist, threaded the fingers of the other through the hair that had escaped Nico’s ponytail, cradling his head. He leaned his forehead against Nico’s, basked in the tiny smile on his lips.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much.”

Nico draped his arms around Jason’s neck, pulling him forward an inch or so—there wasn’t that much room between them to start with. Jason smiled as Nico angled his face up, brushed his lips against the corner of Jason’s. “I love you, too.” His voice was soft, matching the low music in the background, as if anything louder would shatter the moment. Jason suddenly felt thankful for everything that had happened to bring this man into his life, into his heart, into his kitchen even when he didn’t technically have a key.

“Now go set the table, I cooked.” Nico left one more kiss, then slipped away, bringing the hot pads and the frying pan to the little table set up in the living room. Jason watched him go and realized that he wanted to live like this all the time—maybe even for the rest of his life.

He went to the sink, poured the pasta back into the pot. He would ask Nico to move in with him later tonight. For now, he would set the table.

[gdbot]

Threading Spaces – Nedda Guidi, Elisabetta Gut, Maria Lai,... https://ift.tt/2HvXwI4

[garadinervi]

Elisabetta Gut, Pagina sperimentale, 1985 [gramma_epsilon, Athens. © Elisabetta Gut]

[marcogiovenale]

giocando con la musica / elisabetta gut. 1980

giocando con la musica / elisabetta gut. 1980

* (Grazie a Luc Fierens per aver pubblicato l’opera su FB, reperibile in rete @ Repetto Gallery, London)

[bisexualstokes-archive]

Hey I need to know for my nerves- do Hodges and Elisabetta work out? Like do they actually love each other or is this gonna make me sad lol

no they don’t work out in the end, from what I recall, but it’s not like...gut wrenching like his split from wendy was lol (if I remember correctly--I breezed through seasons 14 and 15 wayyyy too fast tbh lol)

[spellyjane]

Splashed, Mashed and Dashed on to the podium at Kona!

THAT'S ME, 3RD W45-49 IN THE 🌏

After my 1st go at this race in 2017, I was a little torn. Part of me was happy to tick IRONMAN World Championships off my list and never put myself through that sufferfest again. I hated it, it was hot, the run was horrible, and I found the layout of the transition, spectator areas and general logistics to be claustrophobic ordeals. However, on the evening after that 2017 race, I saw athletes heading home from the award ceremony with their ukeme bowls and I felt a strong pang of want.  My race had not gone to plan, I knew I could do better and I wondered where a good day at Kona would put me. After a few more weeks of reflection and recovery I decided that yes, I needed to give it another go.

I started to write my thank yous at the end of this report, but I realised that I may lose a few of you along the way and this is important. Thank you to my biggest fan and supporter, Simon. I love chasing him up hills on bikes, holding his wheel all these years had made me a better person and without his encouragement and support I just could not do this. My coach, Rick Schopp, gosh, I feel like I say this all the time, but he pushes me where I don’t always want to go and he must find it hard to sleep with all the pins I stick into that voodoo doll, (I have taken them all out now.)  I thank him especially for pushing me, for listening, for calling me out when I am being a slack ass and for the awesome giggle when he hears my results. Thank you to my team at INTENT, the messages before and after were off the charts! I know a whole bunch were tracking me all day and I was sending my thanks every time I hit a timing mat! Thanks to my Dad for coming all the way from Sydney to cheer and sherpa, that was pretty awesome. I don’t get to see him enough, to have him there was really special.

DAD, READY TO CAPTURE IT ALL

So I found myself at the starting line of this year’s race in quite a different headspace. I had 2 more humbling Ironman experiences under my belt, a crazy amount of fitness gained from lots of training in our new 1750m above sea level abode and some practiced heat coping strategies. I was going for a top 10 finish and a course PR regardless of the weather.  My race plan was full of lessons learned from last year, paces, watts, calories, salt and heat coping strategies. I hoped I could pull it all off but I knew that at some stage I would run out of script and just have to ad lib.

7:20am - BOOM! I am swimming. My mission was 8:35 per 500m. This would give me about 1 min faster than last year. I got kicked and pummelled last year so I positioned a little left to avoid the chaos. It worked, it was busy but not as bad. My watch buzzes every 500m, the glance at my splits was telling me we had a bit of current assist on the way out. So when we made the turn I just dug in and pushed hard, trying not to lose too much of the time I had gained on the way out. I kept asking myself if I was going hard enough and could I push any harder, I kept reminding myself to stay on the gas all the way to the finish.  I reached the sand and scrambled up the stairs, already thinking about how I was going to execute T1. Thank goodness for the volunteers helping out here as I was almost wiped out by a wave that came crashing over the stairs as I was trying to read the time on my watch. Woo hoo, 1:06:40, 3 minutes faster than last year.

OK, NOW FOR A LITTLE BIKE RIDE

I was handed my T1 bag and ran into the change tent. With the help of a volunteer I was on my way in moments.  I was jogging along at the pace of the pack as we made our way to our bikes, I turned on some hussle when I remembered that I was racing! I saw the lamp pole I’d scoped out to landmark my aisle earlier that morning and made the turn, I found my bike no problems. I had opted to clip my shoes in pre race, so by the time I reached the mount line my socks were super soggy from the saturated carpeting.  My feet were never dry all day, I’d post a pic of the result but I don’t want to freak y’all out too much. 😱 The mount line was a bit of a zoo but I made it out in one piece! 3:13 about 1:30 faster than last year.

My first 15 minutes of riding were at an intensity (IF) of .78, oops! I was aiming for .66, my goodness, this is rookie territory! Clearly I was a bit amped and buzzed with the good swim start. I lost a bottle of electrolytes/nutrition on a bump at the 5k mark but did not sweat it.  I had a back up in my special needs bag located up in Hawi at about the 100k mark. I was taking on cals and salt every 30 mins, I was taking water bottles and refilling my built in hydration bag and keeping a spare bottle on the back cage. I had some additional electrolytes to add to the water while I was on the go as well.  It was not as hot as last year, my data recorded an average temp of 32C with a high of 37C, last year I recorded and average temp of 36C and a high of 39C. We seemed to have a tiny bit of cross head wind on the way out to the Hawi turn around. I started to pay attention to race numbers. Last year I did not realise that we would not have our age groups tattooed to our calves and I didn’t realise that the race numbers were grouped in ages. I was on to it this year and I knew the range I was racing.  At this point, I was doing all the passing, I don’t recall being passed by anyone in my age group at all on the bike.

PROBABLY DOING 500W HERE 😜

I was pushing a few extra watts than I planned in order to keep out of draft zones and it did not seem to be hurting me. I struggled last year to hold my watts and ended up with an IF of .64 and in Boulder earlier this year same thing happened and I went .62, I put this down to the heat. I have managed .69 in other races but felt that that was too aggressive for Kona, knowing how brutal that run can be, so I felt that .66 was a good stretch for me this year. But on the day I felt like I was holding way too much back at those watts so I let loose a bit. Besides, I was kind of enjoying myself. The climb up to Hawi felt insignificant and I was well on my way to smashing out a great bike.  I saw some folks holding out an Aussie flag right at the U turn, crikey, that shit slays me, I felt quite emotional.

The ride back to Kailua was good.  I was not cracking. I pushed on, crunching splits in my head and feeling really good. I started to ease up a little and spin at a little higher cadence to get ready to run.  I came in at 5:10:23, a big course PR, and unbeknownst to me at the time this 4th fastest bike split had me sitting in 3rd place.

I handed my bike off to a volunteer and ran into the change tent. Helped by another volunteer I threw my shoes on, grabbed my race belt (all loaded up with my gels, hat, number and emergency Immodium) and took off. I missed the sun screen, not on purpose, I just did not see any. Ugh, this sport is turning me into a melanoma snack bar. I got out on the run with a T2 of 3:02, again, saved another 1:30 on last year.

I had loaded my pocket pre race with a couple of nylon panty hose cut into long sock lengths.  At the 1st aid station I filled one up with ice and tied it around the back of my neck, it dripped icy cold water down my back for about 30 min. It was awesome. I was using some new gels, loaded with salt and a lower but isotonic sugar concentration.  They go down so so easy and have as much salt as the salt tablets I was taking on the bike. I had zero gut issues this year. I calculated that last year I spent about 7 minutes in the toilets throughout the race and spent a good deal of time in a lot of discomfort.  This year no problems at all!

BEFORE IT GOT TOO UGLY 😂

I was holding a conservative pace, dying a little on the hills but pulling it back up on the flats and descents. I was not able to see the race numbers of the girls I was passing and being passed by. I was told by a friend at about the 3km point that I was in 3rd.  I was passed by Elisabetta (she went on to 2nd place) just before the halfway point so I wondered if that put me in 4th. I came up upon my friend Jeff, we reached an aid station together, I grabbed a water and dumped it down his back, I can't remember what I said, but he wished me well and I pushed on.  Another friend at about 21k told me that I was in 3rd and I was shocked. I was not sure where the other girls were but dang I knew they would be coming. I was remembering that feeling of seeing those ukeme bowls awarded to the top 5 and I began to think I could really get one. The toughest part of the race was the climb up out of the energy lab, the sun on my back was awful and I was tired.  I let my pace fall to a level that apparently had my husband and my coach, who were tracking me via the timing mats, having heart attacks. What I did not know, but what they could see was that I was being ferociously stalked by the gal in 4th place, she was gaining on me at at rate that had Simon and Rick on the edge of their seats. I am glad I was oblivious to the actual threat. I made it back up onto the Queen K and just held onto the pace as best I could. I told myself to NOT slow down.  The last 8k were tough, I was scared of every foot fall behind me. That kept me moving for sure. I made that last soul and body draining climb of the run, passing the crazy awesome peeps at the Base Performance tent before making that divine turn down Palani Drive. I bounded down that hill smiling my head off. I still had 2k to go but I was so close and the hard part of the course was done. Now it was time to wave to my Dad and friends, smile big and bring it home. I was passed by a gal in the finish chute, and I wondered if I had just lost 3rd but I did not care, I knew I had one of those bowls.  I nearly choked when I saw my time too. Whaaat! A 3:42:01 marathon gave me a finish time of 10:05:19. So much to be happy about!

WHAT DID I JUST DO!?

A bit of post race asthma had me into the med tent.  Ugh, thanks to Christian and Meredith for helping me out.  I was still in the med tent when I turned my phone on to dozens of messages.  The 1st one I opened was from Simon, it said, “3rd place, woo hoo!” I lost it, ugly happy crying, “I am ok!” I wheezed at the poor alarmed medic who did not know what to make of my sudden heaving outburst.

So that was the race, I have left out so many details, but to sum up, I feel like I had one of my most perfect races.  With hindsight, I feel like I could have pushed a tiny bit harder on the bike, but I could not have know that till after.  I wished I could have run under 3:40, I know in hindsight that I could not, I really did not leave anything out there. That 2 mins would not have made a difference in my placing, I just wished I could have held onto my pace. That gives me something to work on and I am fine with that.   I will call this an Ironman PR, (my 10:04 in Cozumel does not count because of the massive current assisted short swim course.) I am not sure that I want to right now... but I think I can still wring a little more out of this body. I really want to go under 10 hrs! As for placing 3rd in the women’s 45-49 AG, (IN THE WORLD - tee hee) I am really happy, happy that I was able to pull together my best performance on a day when it really mattered.  I absolutely know that I had some fierce competition out there, I know their A games and so I know that their days did not all go to plan, so I remain inspired, vigilant and on my toes.

Kudos to many many athletes on the day for pushing through the heat and distance to achieve some great results.  My very good friend Jeff, had his 1st go at Kona after many years in the sport.

PRE RACE SELFIE WITH JEFF

This was a dream day he never thought he would have, his joy, emotion and pride at being there was written all over him! He a great day, he was beaten up a little by the run but his smoking bike made up for it and his overall time was where he said he hoped it would be.  I bet he goes back for another crack. Kudos to my other Jeff, (I have a couple,) Jeff B took about 50 mins off his 2017 time. Kudos to Lindsey my friend the human fish who gutted out a run after tearing something important in her hip in T2. I mean she really gutted it out, she was black and blue but she still pulled off a very tidy performance.

The awards ceremony - ahh, where to begin without sounding like a real cow. Sorry, Ironman, this was not awesome. Charging my Dad $55 to eat dinner off a paper plate with a bottle of water at an out door folding table with a plastic table cloth made me a little mad. It was the only way to get into the awards so what can you do? 

I made the most of my time on the stage, soaking it in, congratulating Janette, Elisabetta, Linda and Tanja with whom I shared the podium.  I just wish my Dad had a telephoto lens to capture the moment a little more clearly. (I guess they assume we are all happy to buy the Finishers Pix.)

Family and friends were restricted to a barricade well away from the stage and off to the side to accommodate the VIP area and TV camera scaffold. VIPs were standing up and walking around with backs to the stage making it difficult for us common Age Groupers to get a picture of one of the MOST AWESOME MOMENTS OF OUR LIVES. I really could go on, but I will put it all in my survey.

One last heart felt thank you to the IRONMAN volunteers, I met people who flew in from all over the world to volunteer (including Meredith and Scott from BC Canada!) and thank you to the locals who embraced the chaos and gave up their time to help put this show on. I had many wonderful experiences with many volunteers, I am so grateful for all the help and cheers!

[thaegeiro]

ok but hey honestly can we talk about how fucking stunning and terrifying so many scenes in the book are. like. just little things, but they still make your skin crawl. 

— the scene where victor is agonising over whether he should raise the second creature to life or not, and he just raises his head and sees his first creation staring in and watching him. any face at the window is fucking terrifying to think about, but the face of an enormous, hideous, gut-wrenching corpse monster? jesus christ. and the sudden, rushing realisation that hits victor like a train, that this thing has followed him all the way from switzerland and has probably been watching everything he’s done for months.  — the nightmare i talked about in that last image set i reblogged. imagine holding someone in your arms and then they just shrivel up and rot and putrefy and suddenly you’re holding a mass of rotten flesh with worms crawling out of the eye sockets. and not only that, but when you wake up, instead of getting to relax when you realise you’re safe in bed, you open your eyes to see a massive, grinning corpse monster leaning over you and reaching out a hand and mumbling inarticulate sounds.  — the scene in the cemetery when victor is mourning elisabetta and henri and his father and he swears vengeance aloud, and then he just hears this sick laughter right next to his ear and feels the breath of the fucking creature on his face as the creature taunts him, and before he can do anything, the creature’s gone. what the fuck. — the final scene with walton, too. honestly, i think a part of walton didn’t really believe victor’s story, because of how preposterous and strange it was. but victor dies, walton leaves the room for a while, and then he comes back to see this huge, hideous, inhuman creature bending over the corpse and sobbing. how did he not shit his pants to death.