#one page is standard italian

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Prompt by anon + Idea for reader's nationality by anon

Synopsis: After more than 10 years with the same hairdresser, Melissa Schemmenti must change salons.

Tag list: (Since this is my first time writing for this character, I thought it best not to tag anyone. So if you want to be tagged just let me know.)

Warning: MELISSA AND Y/N ARE MAaaaD *in Ava's voice*

Words: 4k

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Enjoy!

Link on AO3

Chapter 1 - Changes

Barbara Howard's friendship had a transformative impact on Melissa Schemmenti's personal life from the beginning.

The religious woman's friendship at the beginning of the redhead's career made the Italian woman rethink many things about herself. Regardless of their moral differences, how their individual relationships with religion are almost opposite, or even their small disagreements, one thing right at the beginning turned Melissa's world upside down.

The once chaotic and disorganized woman discovered the calming practicality of being hostage to well-established standards with a Christmas gift from her black coworker in her second year working at Abbott Elementary.

A schedule with a small calendar.

The year she received that gift, the redhead was furious with what was left written between the lines.

Disorganization.

After all, Melissa had absolutely everything under control.

She always had.

In her own way.

And Melissa also thought it was stupid to waste precious time that could be spent working by just planning to work, but after a terribly inconsistent semester (with more art, music and physical education teachers being fired than she can count on one hand), the redhead decided to give it a try.

So, 22 years ago Melissa started to use a schedule and a calendar every year faithfully and never looked back.

As she got older, the certainty of her upcoming appointments and how easy was to change what was needed on that sheet of paper to make better use of her time kept Melissa calm even during all the chaos that continued to live in her head and in her classroom every day. But everything changed when the spaces on pages that were reserved especially for her monthly visits to her family's hairdresser were now blank.

Rationally, the redhead knew that the hairdresser who had taken care of her grandmother's hair for the last twenty years of her life, two of her aunts out of town, washed and cared for her mother's hair every week, and three of her sisters periodically couldn't last long. But Melissa couldn't help but feel fooled and betrayed when Andrea Rossi announced her retirement.

The redhead hadn't been Andrea's client for her entire life, after all, the older hairdresser's regular clients had always been her priority. However, Melissa began to be part of the select group of Schemmenti women helped by Andrea when her former hairdresser (the one who had a Greek accent and many opinions that she hated but didn't discuss because he was her brother-in-law's friend), decided to call her Melinda, even after having her as a client for over three years.

Melinda.

Even though it was seventeen years ago, Barb still remembers the angry redheaded hurricane that entered the teachers’ lounge that week and still manages to make jokes about it whenever she gets the chance.

Monthly visits to the older woman had started with a simple hair color, but unlike her old hairdresser, Andrea had become much more than that for Melissa.

It was a ritual, a moment of care that for a long time brought her joy and confidence. It was talking animatedly with an Italian woman who showed her affection and care, something neither of them would admit out loud but was lacking in the Schemmenti family when it came to recognizing Melissa’s efforts and personal victories.

And now it was over.

“Ragazza (girl), don’t be like that… I’m old now, my hands hurt more than I can handle after a busy weekend,” Andrea tried to justify, stroking Melissa’s head with a tender smile as she finished coloring her hair that day, but which did not hide the weight of the decision.

“And what am I going to do now? Let the gray hair give me another 30 years in less than 6 months?”

“Don’t be silly! I’ve already transferred all my clients to hairdressers that I trust. You included! So stop it now!”

“I don’t want someone new.” Turning uncertainty into resistance is like armor for the redhead, even though she knows she has no choice, her brain still tries to break the meaning of Andrea’s retirement, “It’s going to mess up my entire schedule, Andrea! Two classes and now with you gone? I almost went crazy with the first semester of the year alone, now I know I’ll as soon as classes start after winter break!”

“I know that, Melissa. That’s why I talked to the hairdressers I know, and the best choice for you is Y/N, my last trainee. She’s great, hard-working, very talented and was willing to easily change her own clients’ schedule to see you at the same time I see you every month, she also works just five minutes away from here. You’ll like her.”

“But I don’t know her.” Even though she didn’t admit it, the idea of ​​a stranger touching her hair disturbed Melissa deeply, and the murmur that left her mouth made a point of emphasizing this.

The change came too quickly, and with it, a wave of anxiety took over Melissa's heart. This feeling was temporarily drowned out by her more than exhausting end-of-year routine. She was the hostess of the Schemmenti family's Thanksgiving dinner, and this, along with the end of the year, drained her ability to think about her other problems. But when the following month arrived, and along with the return to school after winter break, her colorless hair also started to show again, so Melissa swallowed her pride and went to the salon that Andrea had recommended to her.

Riverfront Roots.

The name was silly, a clear reference to the Delaware River that Melissa preferred not to think about too much as she looked at the large letters printed on the facade of the place. As soon as she entered the new salon, the smell of hair products and the sound of blow dryers buzzing caught her attention. The place was modern and well-decorated, but Melissa couldn't feel completely at ease. The smell was different, the decor was different, the voices were different, and the redhead hated each of these things.

She wasn't so reluctant to little changes in her daily life, but that week was so exhausting. The two classes together made a point of actively getting on her nerves, Gary also changed some of the lemonade brands in the vending machine and none of the new ones lived up to the taste of the old ones. The man made a point of telling the redhead that it wasn't done on purpose, thanks to the end of their relationship, and she genuinely believed him, but even so, such a change in such a tiring week only made the teacher's discomfort that Saturday morning turn into a gratuitous and deep antipathy towards the new place.

The woman of Italian descent approached the counter, where a receptionist graced her with a friendly smile.

"Hello, how can I help you today?", was the question that greeted Melissa, with a kindness that, in the redhead's mind, was completely unnecessary.

The teacher hesitated for a moment before answering sharply, ignoring the hello offered to her.

"Schemmenti. Melissa Schemmenti, please. I have a coloring booked here. A recommendation from Andrea Rossi." While the receptionist checked her information, Melissa looked around, trying to get used to the new habitat, but she barely had time to do so because, in less than thirty seconds, the receptionist escorted Melissa to a chair in front of one of the largest mirrors in the salon.

The chair that was chosen for the redhead was a little isolated from the other people present, who were laughing and talking without worrying about the noise, but if the redhead was being honest with herself, she actually preferred it that way.

“Hello, Melissa. My name is Y/N and it’s wonderful to meet you. I hope you fell welcome and comfortable here with me. Andrea has told me wonderful things about you and I have her notes in my hand to make sure you leave here satisfied.”, a younger woman with a thick accent appeared out of nowhere, vomiting the words at Melissa with a smile and a sweet voice that were already starting to give the redhead a headache.

The speech seemed rehearsed, still genuine, but her voice seemed too practiced to instill comfort in the redhead. And if that wasn't enough, the younger woman was enthusiastically waving a note in her hand like a triumph, making Melissa even more insecure about Y/N's talent than she already was.

The teacher knows she's not an idiot but… This hairdresser wasn't even thirty years old. This Y/N was clearly in her early twenties, with rich hair and a quick smile that probably lit up the room more than those stupid ringlights that surrounded the chairs in that place.

Not to mention that she was beautiful. Very beautiful.

A part of Melissa, hyper-aware of her own age, felt the bitter taste of envy take over her tongue as she looked at the younger woman's reflection in the mirror in front of her, but another part, even more recklessly, awakened a dormant desire in her mind.

However, even with that spark hidden behind Melissa's eyes, their initial interaction couldn't have been worse.

Y/N seemed excited, first asking Melissa for permission to touch her hair – something the redhead almost said no to, just to see if that smile would die on her lips – but quickly the hairdresser started discussing ideas for Melissa's hair, something that forced the redhead's voice to sound cutting:

"I just dyed my hair red for years.", Melissa made sure her voice sounded as sharp as she intended, "Get those ideas out of ya head and just do what Andrea used to."

The lack of niceness caused Y/N to feel strange, but the hairdresser tried to remain calm despite the discomfort.

New clients were always a little insecure, so the Brazilian woman would just prove to the one in front of her that she had talent.

Y/N always had magical hands. When she was still a girl, on the hot afternoons in her hometown, she would have fun braiding the hair of her school friends. Long locks of hair shiny thanks to the summer sun and strands yellowed by the chemicals of several women in the city often passed through Y/N's hands as if she were an artist molding a sculpture.

Her friends loved the hairstyles she did. At first, they were not at all sophisticated due to her young age, but they were done with so much love and dedication that they always seemed to transform any hair into something unique. For Y/N, it was more than just fun.

It was a passion.

When she reached her teen years, that passion became something more serious. Y/N was not satisfied with just doing the hair of her friends and family. The Brazilian woman wanted to learn, she wanted to master the art of transforming people's hair into something even more special.

That's why when she graduated from high school, Y/N started studying, and within a few months, she was already working professionally at a salon in her city. It didn't take long for her to be recognized for the quality of her work. Her skill with scissors and dye made her quickly stand out among other professionals. She knew what she was doing, she knew how to transform people into more beautiful versions of themselves, she knew what her clients wanted and, most importantly, she knew how to make them feel good.

Little by little, Y/N began to stand out even more and her life began to change.

She knew that her talent could not be limited, and so, when some close friends who had already moved to the United States began to encourage her to try her luck in Philadelphia, Y/N was scared at first. But if the chance to start over in another country meant more opportunities, she couldn't let this pass, even if the exciting idea had the power to scare her. But even though she was frightened, she was soon embarking on a new chapter in her life in a plane.

It was hard to save money for the travel, it was hard to get all the necessary documents to enter the USA legally, it was hard to leave loyal clients behind, and it was even harder to leave her country and its traditions. But the youthfulness of her soul and the hope of a new life embraced her heart and the hairdresser decided to give herself this chance.

Wen she arrived in Philadelphia, Y/N felt, at the same time, small and full of possibilities. The city was big, the competition was powerful, and she was seen as just another foolish immigrant.

But she was determined.

The Brazilian woman knew that her skill could be the key to a promising future. She just didn’t expect that her future would be shaped by Andrea Rossi, an older and more experienced Italian hairdresser who worked at a well-known salon nearby.

The story happened by chance. One of Andrea’s regular clients mentioned that her son had gotten a haircut from a really new Brazilian hairdresser.

“It was something very different… Like those stupid things we see on TikTok, but it was exactly what James wanted, and we had never found anyone willing to do it. What this young woman did perfectly and without thinking twice, and my son loved it!”, the woman commented in admiration before giving the older woman an idea, “You should meet her!”

Andrea was curious and, figuring she had nothing to lose, asked for more information about the Brazilian woman. The client was enthusiastic and told the Italian one everything she knew and, even though she was skeptical, Andrea let her curiosity get the best of her and decided to see it for herself.

The next day, she went to the salon where Y/N was working and, observing closely, immediately noticed the young woman’s skill. The Brazilian woman had the touch of someone who knew what she was doing, an eye for beauty trends, and the needs of her clients, but she also had more than that.

Y/N had a natural connection with people, a charisma that, combined with her smile and strong accent, made any client feel at ease, and Andrea saw that.

So the Italian woman wasted no time. She called Y/N for a chat at the end of her shift and, soon, took her on as her last pupil before announcing her retirement.

Normally, hearing Andrea Rissi's name made Y/N happy. All the advice, recommendations, affection, and wisdom shared by the older woman were a pleasant memory for the Brazilian woman.

But there, while she tried in vain to be nice to what was Andrea's transfer, having her work compared to the older woman's began to annoy her.

First, the owner of those pretty green eyes began to verbalize her dissatisfaction with the work tools Y/N used, telling her how much she preferred Andrea's work tools, which were always on display for her clients to see. Then the redhead started rolling her eyes at Y/N's coworkers, who, since they had no clients, were chatting spiritedly while planning to get their nails done at the end of the day, muttering how much she would appreciate some peace and quiet.

But the first sign Y/N gave that she was definitely not the type of person who would just ignore or shrink from Melissa's bad mood was when the redhead made a point of directly comparing her work to Andrea's before Y/N even started dyeing her hair.

"Andrea, don't part my hair like that. You'll leave my hair full of spots!"

Trying to preserve the good mood she had woken up in that morning, the hairdresser chose to be sneaky and ironic. Y/N looked around theatrically and curiously, as if she was searching for something important, and Melissa, unable to contain her fear and confusion, made her voice present.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just looking for Andrea Rossi since you want to talk about her so badly.”

Receiving only silence as an answer, and thinking that the unhappy attitude of that client was over, the hairdresser continues her journey. Y/N measures the dye with all the care in the world, making sure to double-check on the scale in front of her that the weight is correct when compared to what Andrea gave her over the phone before applying the dye accurately, fearing giving Melissa another reason to complain. The Brazilian woman divides Melissa’s hair locks with the focus of a professional with much more experience, doing everything she can to not lose a single gray hair, and when she goes to wash it, she does so with a gentleness that surprises Melissa.

But the teacher doesn’t want to admit it, so she continues to stare sullenly at the mirror, even while Y/N gently untangles her wet hair.

When the redhead’s hair is nice and completely ready to be dried, Y/N looks at her hair curiously before turning once more to Melissa’s reflection in the mirror.

“I usually do this before dyeing, but what do you think about maybe cutting a few inches? The ends are starting to lose their shape.”

“I don’t want to cut anything.”, the words are said low enough for no one but the hairdresser to hear but Y/N, but with a hint of anger that surprised the young woman, “And stop talking, your voice is too annoying for the kind of mediocre work ya deliver, kid.”

It was insensitive. Even to Melissa.

The redhead knows that Andrea would never send her to a bad hairdresser. She knows she is being harsh and critical to someone who gave her no reason to do so, but before she realizes it the words have already escaped her mouth.

But the teacher simply has no idea what was coming.

The hairdresser’s eyes widened, large pupils full of rage meeting the teacher’s gaze through the mirror, shocked by the words said by Melissa. And, before Melissa's mind can even work on instigating any remorseful reflexes, Y/N grabs a large chunk of hair from the redhead's bangs and takes a pair of scissors out of her pocket with her free hand, quickly placing them right on Melissa's forehead, exactly where her hair grows, like a more than concrete threat.

“Listen to me Philadelphia's beauty, I don't know what kind of hairdresser you expected when Andrea transferred you to me but as long as you sit in my chair you will respect my work and listen to my fucking suggestions.”, it is said as a whisper, but the hairdresser's anger and her thick accent along with the slight pull she gives the redhead's hair make the whole interaction sound indescribably scary, even to Melissa, “I've been nothing but polite and respectful to you, but I'm starting to regret accepting someone so unfortunate in my char that they think they can criticize my work without even knowing me.”

There, locking eyes with Y/N ​​in the salon mirror, Melissa understood how much she had crossed the line.

Melissa took a deep breath, filled with adrenaline at the thought of losing the top part of her hair, before nodding her head, causing Y/N to put down the scissors and let go of her bangs as she returned to work normally.

And then silence.

Dead silence.

The silence between the two women was so thick that it seemed to fill every corner of the room, making the sound of the dryer and the conversations around them sound muffled and filling the air with a corrosive feeling.

The scene from minutes ago was still boiling in Melissa's mind, repeating itself like a scratched record. Now, as if Melissa had finally come to her senses, the redhead wanted to disappear. She wanted to jump out of the chair and run away from the mirror which reflected her own guilt and shame. But she couldn't. Her anxiety combined with the idea of ​​leaving now, before the end of her service (something that could be even more disrespectful than her words), did a magnificent job holding her body in place, like an invisible chain that kept her feet on the floor and her mouth gagged.

With her fingers drumming on her apron-covered leg as the Brazilian woman prepared to style her hair, the teacher wanted to believe that it hadn't been so bad, that maybe Y/N had already forgotten what was said. But she knew that wasn't true. The weight of the moment still hung between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Y/N doesn't cut her hair or even mention the idea once again. The hairdresser just dries her red hair perfectly, but now with a serious gaze and a hurt look on her face. The Brazilian woman vehemently ignores Melissa's green eyes throughout the entire process, and the teacher stupidly decides too late that she prefers the incessant smile that remained on the hairdresser's lips minutes ago.

Melissa thought about apologizing, but the idea of ​​speaking made her breathing quick and shallow, along with the fear of seeming too desperate.

It was then that her eyes fell on the small ceramic jar in the corner of the counter next to her chair. It was decorated with hand-painted flowers and had, in crooked but legible letters, the words: "Tips for Y/N" next to a QR code. Even with the virtual possibility of compensation, the jar was open and with a significant amount of dollars, coins, and two lollipops, which Melissa just knew had been left there by a child.

And so, an idea formed, hesitant but clear in the teacher's mind.

A good tip seemed perfect, silent, indirect, but still meaningful. As the minutes passed, anxiety whispered again in Melissa's mind, wondering if Y/N would believe that she was doing this because of the guilt she felt at that very moment and not because of the regret that was now eating her mind. But the alternative of doing nothing was simply unbearable for Melissa.

The redhead knew she couldn't leave without at least trying, even if in her own way, to make amends.

When Y/N finished applying a light-smelling oil to the teacher's hair and walked away, silently letting her know that her work was done, Melissa tried to meet the hairdresser's eyes and give her a small smile, which she knew would be nervous, but which could give her an idea of ​​what was going on in Y/N's head.

But Y/N didn't look at Melissa.

When Melissa got up from the salon chair, her racing heart didn't stop her from taking two generous bills from her wallet — much more than she would usually give for just an appointment to dye her hair— and walking over to the pot. Her fingers were shaking slightly, but before anything could be done, she was interrupted:

“I don’t want your tip.” Before the two hundred dollars could enter the ceramic pot with the Brazilian’s name written on it, Y/N placed her own hand over the top to the object, successfully blocking Melissa from doing what she intended.

“M'kay. Now you’re being ridiculous!”

With those words, the hairdresser's eyes finally focus on the green ones again, still filled with an anger that Melissa rarely sees in people who have a disagreement with her (too used to the regretful and submissive ones) and the redhead was shocked by this when Y/N actively chooses to ignore her accusation by saying:

"I'm willing to give you the exact coloring mixture that Andrea developed for your hair so you can find a hairdresser who is like the silent imitation of Andrea that you are looking for.", and before the redhead even has a chance to answer her with an apology that would apparently be necessary, the hairdresser quickly collects everything that was used in the teacher's service and directs Melissa a few more words before walking away without looking back, "Call the salon when you want the measurements and the receptionist will share them with you with pleasure. Have a good rest of your day."

[windvexer]

Deck Review: Under the Oak Tarot by Ofride and StregaDelleMele

This is a borderless deck featuring a sometimes-sightless girl named Anima as she traverses a fantastical otherworld.

Physical Concerns

Overall: 10/10, so far very satisfied (especially for the price), would buy again if I lost it

RWS Clone? No, but RWS symbolism is obvious in a handful of cards, notably the High Priestess and many Major Arcana cards. Other cards are completely unique.

Cost: 10/10 for quality. As of this review, $26 without shipping

Card stock: 10/10, the card stock has a nice texture and feel sturdy. But it isn't the super thick stock that's stiff and difficult to bend. It doesn't feel cheap and it's nice to shuffle. Also, gilded edges, which we love. It's a standard size deck.

Box: The box is nice and relatively sturdy. It's not a huge box (like we see with Woodland Tarot or Animal Totem Tarot) which I like, because my storage isn't unlimited. The box has an unattached lid and you can dump the cards out for easy access. The LWB fits in the box. Sometimes I struggle with hand pain and it feels like an easy access box.

Little White Book (LWB): It's a 128 page book with translations for English, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. It includes meanings for each card, and three spreads with very little explanation. More about LWB meanings and card interpretations below.

Deck Theme and Symbolism

Per the introduction in the LWB, this deck follows the journey of Anima, a visually impaired child who travels through a fantastical otherworld and learns to develop a second sight.

While many of the cards that feature Anima show her being blindfolded, the deck clearly uses sightedness as a metaphor for spiritual enlightenment or "second sight." All of the 10s cards and The World XX show Anima as seeing clearly without her blindfold, and some other cards show partial sightedness as well.

Beyond that, this is an eclectic deck, no two ways about it. This is primarily present in the court cards and some of the Major Arcana cards.

The Pentacles cards feature Basque mythology; Wands are Welsh and Celtic, Swords are Norse, and Cups are Greek. There's also Hebrew symbolism (notably the High Priestess II), and probably other stuff I haven't picked up on because I'm not the most well versed in mythology.

A lot of the cards feature mythical beings, but there are also statues and woodland creatures.

Sorry for photo quality, I don't have a great camera.

I think the symbolism is nice. Sometimes the cards are more heavily re-imagined (like the Star XVII and Moon XVIII), while some of them are more or less exactly what you'd expect from RWS symbolism (Devil XV).

The Minor Arcana takes more symbolism liberties, and some of the cards are very different from RWS.

Overall, I really enjoy how it reads. I love a good borderless card, and this deck is A) fun and B) really pretty to look at. It's got enough familiar symbolism to ground me, but a lot of the cards are very different and with enough wiggle room to explore my own interpretations.

Card Interpretations

The LWB interpretations are all about a spiritual journey, healing, and transformation. So if you're looking for a spiritual journey deck, this one might be for you.

At the same time, there's enough going on with the cards that I didn't find it to be difficult to link the meanings to a wide variety of topics.

The one thing I've got no idea about is the runes, which feature heavily in the Swords suit (which is also the suit where all the court cards are Norse entities). I don't know if the runes are thematically relevant to the card at hand or not. Hopefully they are, because I can imagine how irritating that would be if you read runes and it doesn't match.

Here are a few Minor Arcana honorable mentions. Note the familiar symbolism of the 6 of Pentacles (bottom row, second from left), but the unique symbolism of the 5 of Swords (bottom row, far right).

Overall I found the cards to be evocative and easy to connect to, with enough symbolism in each image to facilitate intuitive reading.

[primofate]

Frequently Asked Questions about The Ruthless Prince (Paperback Version)

It is NOT illegal to sell Ruthless Prince as a paperback. Do your research if you think it is. Mihoyo allows fan work to be sold with or without their permission. Go Google it and go figure.

Will it be available forever? When will it be in stock again?

It is ALWAYS in stock. They print on demand. If you find that it says out of stock for your country, it probably just doesn't ship to where you are. Yes it will be available forever. Here are the links to purchase it:

The Ruthless Prince Illustrated Version

The Ruthless Prince Standard Version with Chapter 16.2

More questions under the cut

2. Will it be available in German/French/Italian etc?

No, because I'm actually a one man team and the book is not popular enough to warrant a translation! Only very popular books get to do that! Haha. I'm flattered though!

3. Will it be available in other stores like Lazada etc?

No. Exclusively on Amazon. You can use a credit card to pay. Chapter 16.2 however, is available on buymeacoffee, but honestly it's cheaper if you just buy the book.

4. Are there any extra chapters in the book? Will you write more?

There are 2 spin off chapters that happen AFTER the main story of the book. I won't be writing any more other than that since I am occupied with writing another, completely different book!

5. How big is the book? How many pages? Word count?

It's a standard 6" x 9", 300 pages and I'm not quite sure about the word count. Perhaps close to 100,000 or more. I'll update when I have time to check the final file.

[uispeccoll]

Guest post from John Martin Rare Book Room at Hardin Library for the Health Sciences!

HEISTER, LORENZ (1683-1758). A general system of surgery in three parts. Printed in London for William Innys, 1743. 26 cm tall.

Hello friends. I am excited to present you this month with a book from the 18th-century physician Lorenz Heister. Not only because Heister was a snappy dresser who could really rock a powdered wig, but because his book was considered the gold standard surgical work of the time.

Lorenz Heister was born in 1683 in Frankfurt am Main, Germany, and became one of the most famous German multihyphenates. Never one to pass up an opportunity to learn something new or teach it to others, Heister was an incredibly accomplished physician-anatomist-surgeon-botanist-teacher.

Heister was the first to perform a post-mortem examination of appendicitis and suggest that cataracts were caused by changes in the crystalline lens rather than the cornea. He performed the first successful thyroidectomy and introduced the term "tracheotomy" in medicine. The plant genus Heisteria and the spiral valves of Heister (anatomical folds of the cystic duct) are named after him.

Heister's library contained over 12,000 volumes and 470 surgical instruments, most made of silver. In recognition of his work, Heister was a fellow of the Royal Society of London and the Royal Academy of Paris.

His most important book, Chirurgie [Surgery], was the first to systematically present surgery, detailing all surgical instruments, bandages, and operations step by step, including possible complications. Published in German in 1719, it was catered to students with limited Latin knowledge.

The book was popular for its detailed copperplate illustrations and was soon sold out, leading to new editions. It was later translated into Latin as Institutiones Chirurgicae and into English, French, Italian, Dutch, Spanish, and Japanese.

All in all, Hesiter's masterpiece includes 38 plates of multiple illustrations and 814 pages across two volumes bound together. Our first English edition copy is in fantastic condition. The calfskin cover has held up remarkably well, with only minor scratches here and there. The paper is in great condition, including the illustrations, all printed separately from the text and sewn in when bound. Because the illustrations are almost all wider than the textblock, they are folded to fit, sometimes multiple times. In summary, this beautiful and influential work on surgery is ready for action!

---curator Damien Ihrig

[botanybulbasaur]

Schneider is SICILIAN, not Italian. YOU ARE WRITING HER WRONG.

Yes, this post is directed towards YOU, fan fiction authors!! And— yes, I will admit, it sounds a little confusing, but I’ll elaborate.

Schneider is an immigrant from Sicily, which, in all due respects to everybody who writes her speaking standard Italian, HAS ITS OWN LANGUAGE!! (Or dialect..? Aye aye aye, I am not awake enough to perpetuate one side or another of a centuries-old argument.)

For more information, you can go to a website somewhere on the interwebs (like this one!: https://mangolanguages.com/resources-articles/sicilian-and-italian-whats-the-difference/) or simply take a look at Schneider’s wiki page!

So, sí, Reverse 1999 officially makes the distinguishment here: her mother tongue is Sicilian!

The next time you pick up your keyboard (or.. phone, if that’s your thing?) to write a fic, stay away from the Italian google translate screen— as tempting as it may be!— and go to a website like Glosbe instead to use the Sicilian translator there; given you’re trying to write a vulnerable moment where she expresses herself in the first language she’s ever learned to.

I apologize if anything in this post is overly fired-up or aggressive. My family (particularly my grandfather) have been looked at like they were insane when they spoke Neapolitan in the middle of Rome, so the distinguishment between Italian and its sister languages is very important to me— as well as other Italian fans of the game, I’m sure.

That’s all for this post! Happy writing :3

[ifuckingloveryoshu]

CANTO 6 PART 3 SPOILERS

Im beyond pissed, tumblr crashed in the middle of me doing this so this is going to be so much shorter than I want it to be. NON RYOSHU RELATED POST ABOUT THE HEATHCLIFF. DON'T TAKE WHAT I SAY AS FACT I AM NOT QUALIFIED FOR THIS. LOOK AT THE LINKS I CITE FOR MORE INFORMATION! You can click them when their mentioned. Im not citing in the proper format. This was done on 5 hours of sleep, two eggs, and a box of banana milk.

The Erlkonig or Erlking is this figure in German Mythology who kidnapps children. When he touches you, he kills you. This poem made by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe then adapted to this song is what you see. Erlkoning Heathcliff is trying to intice Heathcliff to die by telling him that it's his fault Cathy is dead. All identities refer to the sinner as "child" when you look into their uptie stories. Mili and the singer of the video here use the same technique of changing the tone and pitch of their voice to differntiate two characters.

The Wild Hunt is a part of Norse Mythology where Odin, mounted on his sixed legged horse Sleipnir, goes through the forest. According to norse-mythology.org, anyone who gets caught up in The Wild Hunt, spotted or seen, gets carried away. Your soul will get incorporated into The Wild Hunt. We all know Erlking Heathcliff did, the rising of the bodies. The Wild Hunt is also mostly describe as having hounds, and who was a hound? Hindleys.

From the same website, on the page of Sleipnir reads,

Also, the horse that heath rides on has a weird liney pattern on it's 4 legs that kind of look like that runestone. There's more connection here, I just don't want to type it again.

How did Project Moon mix two diffrent mythological ideas together? (Its not just two, they mixed so many more.) Meet human mistranslation and the progression of oral tradition and story telling throught time. I don't kno where to start. There was mistranslation poem when, according to ancient-origins.net Johann Gottfried Herder wrote a seperate ballad from the one I linked at the start called Erlkönigs Tochter.

The Anglo-Saxons were early German settlers. This is where things get messy because I have several more potential leaders of the Wild Hunt but here are two, King Herla and Herne The Hunter.

Herne The Hunter: Popularized by Shakespeare potentially from a play called The Merry Wives of Windsor. This man called Jacobb Grimm said that Hene The Hunter was related to Odin. Herne the hunter is this ghost. ( https://mythopedia.com/topics/herne-the-hunter ) Im trying to say there are other media that connect the Erlking to the Wild Hunt but its on Wikipedia so it makes it seem fishy. Another Link Here

King Herla: A british king who attended a dwarf wedding. When he left the wedding, the world had changed. Unbeknowst to him, 300 years had passed and he was claimed to be missing. When his men tried to get off their horses, they turned into dust so they were stuck like that. Read it here, its short. Someone better and more credible than me summed the story up better than I did, historian Chrissy Senecal. Read right here. An additional link to cross refrence if you'd like. King Herla and Odin got conflated together when really, their diffrent people

I found this other website article about Wild Hunts which kind of brings me to the next thing, the Harlequinn. They weild clubs, their devils, the image of them is popularly joyful? Maybe goofy and lighthearted? Perhaps associated with cards? Matt, or Heathcliff's portrayal of Matt. Now, I'm looking at Wikipedia and I see this section.

What do we have here? A mention of the Erlkönig, Dante's Inferno, masked, club weilding giant. Heathcliff's not giant but hes pretty tall, at least by my standards but whatever, im very short. DANTE'S INFERNO, Canto 11 and 12. What the fuck Project Moon, are you playing 5d chess?

Back on topic, Hellequin is the fairy king, and this figure pops up in German, French, Italian, and English folklore. I can't do proper research when all my search results are mixed with random junk and I'm becoming nutty. You will not normally be able to access this article without paying but here's the link anyways. Journal Article from this book on a section about horned deities made in 1922 speaks of a group of ghost riding, who are also huntsman.

And also another mention of Dante's Inferno. The name, Herne The Hunter is mentioned again.

All and all, The link between The Erlkonig and The Wild Hunt isn't as wild and unexplainable as I originally thought. It's just so cool to see all these concepts intersect. There still so much to touch upon like the headless horseman refrence and the Dullahans, RYOSHU COMPARING THE WILD HUNT TO THE PARADE OF 100 SPIRTS, something along that line, I forgot the name. I'm just not the right person to yell about this but I will anyways. The writers mixed so many symbols of death into one character. Such a wild and nutty Canto. Thank you so much Project Moon.

[copperbadge]

Pictured above: the Amerigo Vespucci, a three-masted tall ship, encounters two US aircraft carriers: the Independence (black and white image, 1962) and the George H.W. Bush (color image, 2022). 

Built in 1930 for the purpose of sail training, the Italian Training Ship Amerigo Vespucci is designed after 18th century 74-cannon "ships of the line”, naval warships common to the Age of Sail. She carries a standard crew of 16 officers, 70 noncoms, and 190 sailors; she has an overall length of 101m/331ft and a maximum width of 15.5m/51ft with a steel hull and a top speed of 10 knots (19km/h). The masts are steel but carry traditional canvas sails and use only hemp rope; mooring lines are synthetic per port regulations. Currently she carries both diesel and electric engines. More details and specifications at Wikipedia. Her sister ship, the Cristoforo Colombo, was given to the USSR as war reparations after WWII. 

There is a commonly-repeated story that when the Amerigo Vespucci encountered the USS Independence in 1962, the Independence signaled the Amerigo Vespucci to ask, “Who are you?” 

The ship replied, “Training ship Amerigo Vespucci, Italian Navy.” 

The Independence then is reported to have responded:

“You are the most beautiful ship in the world.” 

Well, they weren’t lying about that. 

Wikipedia’s only truly useful citation for this encounter is a YouTube video of the USS George H.W. Bush meeting the Amerigo Vespucci in 2022.  

This encounter was also documented in a US Navy press release from September 2022, which has better information for the initial exchange. The 1962 photo leaves no doubt the Independence and the Amerigo Vespucci did encounter one another, but the exchange of communications does not have strong visible documentation. The press release states that the NHHC website has a record of the encounter, but does not link to it. 

The NHHC website, which is a massive pain in the ass to use, has a records page for the black and white photo above, but that appears to be the extent of its documentation. Presumably there’s a logbook for the Independence or the Amerigo Vespucci or both, but that’s beyond my ability to locate. I have not been able to find a record that isn’t embedded in 21st-century documents which don’t have strong citations. There is no record of who on the Independence felt the need to compliment the Amerigo Vespucci, or how the ship responded. The Italian Navy’s history of the Amerigo Vespucci, now available only through Archive.org, does not mention the encounter.

The earliest record I could find of the Amerigo Vespucci referenced as “The most beautiful ship in the world” comes from a post at VisitVenezia, which Google believes was posted in 2004 (there’s no date on the post itself). The earliest reference to the actual meeting of the two ships is a vague reference in a blog from 2012, which merely states that “another ship once radioed, you are the most beautiful ship in the world.” There is no citation for the story’s origin at that post. If the exchange did happen, the story of it appears to have surfaced to civilians only in the 21st century. Most other records 2012-2022 eventually trace back to Tumblr, actually. 

The USS Independence’s Crew Book for 1962 has been digitized; reading through it there is, as they say, a lot to unpack, but despite numerous pages dedicated to the sights of the Mediterranean, there is no mention or photo of the Amerigo Vespucci that I could find. It does list the two commanders of the Independence, Melvin R. Etheridge and Bob J. Robison, as well as the full 1962 crew. And if you like men in uniform, 60s military technology, or poorly printed photos of Europe in 1962, it’s a fun way to spend an hour or so. 

In any case, the Navy says it happened, and it’s a great story. We do have documentation, both in the video above and in the September 2022 press release, of the 2022 encounter. The USS George H.W. Bush, captained by Capt. David-Tavis Pollard, asks via radio, “Sailing vessel on my starboard side, please identify yourself.” 

The ship responds, “This is Italian Navy ship Amerigo Vespucci.” 

The US ship asks, “Are you the one that sailed by the USS Independence in 1962?” 

To which the Italians reply, “Yes we are. We are the senior national vessel in active duty.” 

The US ship responds, “Amerigo Vespucci, you are still after 60 years the most beautiful ship in the world.” 

To which the Amerigo Vespucci answers, “George Bush, we are flattered and express fair winds and following seas for your deployment.” 

I’d love to know who sent the original messages, and where it might have been recorded; if folks have access to documentation or know sailors who served on the Independence or the Amerigo Vespucci in 1962 who might remember it, please feel free to let me know. After all, I’d like the story to be true. 

And she is, then and now, a beautiful ship.

[aurorawest]

The Scottish Boy by Alex de Campi - 5/5 stars

This book managed to rip my heart out at least 3 times. I loved it. Medieval enemies-to-lovers slow burn; very romantic. Kinda read like fanfiction at times but in a good way. 10/10 would read a follow-up love story about Arundel and Captain Wekena. If you like Captive Prince, give this one a try.

Reforged by Seth Haddon - 4/5 stars

Pretty good bodyguard romantasy. Ironically CS Pacat blurbed this one (another am-I-in-the-matrix moment). The world was interesting and I enjoyed the politics, though they're definitely not as complicated as other SFF politics I've gone feral over (see: Captive Prince, Winter's Orbit, A Memory Called Empire). I ordered the sequel after I finished this.

The Doctor's Date by Heidi Cullinan - 4/5 stars

A Power Unbound by Freya Marske - 5/5 stars

Where do I start? I love, love, LOVE A Marvellous Light. It's one of my favorite books ever. None of the rest of the books in the trilogy could live up to it, really, because it's so good. You'll notice I rated this one 5 stars though, because quite honestly I fell prey to a bit of The Academy Paying The Lord of the Rings Trilogy Its Due syndrome. I did love this book and thought it was better than A Restless Truth (which I still loved!) but part of that is, quite frankly, just due to the fact that I prefer m/m romance to f/f romance.

Anyway. This was such a good finale to the trilogy. I loved that the romance was a giant middle finger to purity cultists. I loved that one of the mains was Italian. I loved finally getting the story of what happened to the Alston twins. One thing I thought was really cool was how, viewed from the outside, you totally get why Edwin is such a loner. I really admire from a writing perspective how Marske pulled that off.

I feel like there's a lot to be said about what Marske was trying to SAY with this book, but I definitely need to reread it first before I can articulate any of it. The purity culture stuff is obvious, but the magic system too. I feel like Jack when he's almost able to connect everything in his mind into a bigger idea, but he can't quite get there.

I've got a special edition from Illumicrate coming, so I'll be rereading it when I have that.

Oh also, this book was the embodiment of all that one tumblr post -

The Guncle by Steven Rowley - 5/5 stars

I saw this in bookstores for years before I finally gave in and bought it. The blurb makes it sound insufferable and twee. Ignore the blurb. This was such a good book about grief and learning how to live again after terrible loss.

I Like Me Better by Robby Weber - 4/5 stars

At last I can stop getting the Lauv song stuck in my head whenever I set eyes on this book (it's stuck in my head as I type this). Pretty standard-issue YA, but it was cute and had a good message.

The Stagsblood King by Gideon E Wood - 4/5 stars

Another book about moving on from grief! This is the second book in a trilogy. When I was trying to determine if I wanted to read on beyond book 1, I scoured the internet for information about what happens in books 2 and 3. Eventually I decided, hell, I enjoyed book 1 well enough, even if what I want to happen in the rest of the trilogy doesn't happen, they're worth reading. SO, to that end, I will tell anyone looking for info that Tel gets romantically involved with a new man in this one, which, eh. I still want him to somehow end up with Vared. It was still quite good though.

In the Lives of Puppets by TJ Klune - DNF at pg 82

So funnily, we were at the bookstore the day I was about to start reading this, and my wife pointed out Ravensong (also by Klune) to me and said, "Do you have this one?" I made a face and said, "That's an older one of his books and I'm wary of his early work after that horrible Verania series. I don't think I've ever read an author as hit or miss as TJ Klune."

I wrote the above when I was 60 pages in and now I have officially DNFed this. Listen. You know how in Thor: Love and Thunder, Taika Waititi was clearly given free rein to do whatever he wanted, so all of his worst impulses made it to the final cut unchecked? Yeah. That's what this book is like.

Here's my Storygraph review: I see Klune is officially Too Big To Edit now. This book has exactly the same problem that his awful Verania series had—a joke that's funny at first but quickly grows tiresome when it's repeated five times per page. The emphasis on Victor's asexuality was also weird and read like Klune was just super proud of himself for writing an ace character.

Lion's Legacy by LC Rosen - 4.25/5 stars

Queer, YA Indiana Jones, but less #problematic. This book had some eerie similarities to my own archaeology adventure novel(s), which made me wonder half-seriously if I somehow know Lev Rosen? Anyway, I feared this would be very heavy-handed and not nuanced on archaeology's ethical dilemmas, since it's YA and also the current culture is to view said dilemmas as completely black and white with no nuance, but I was pleasantly surprised. It manages to examine that, queerness, and daddy issues, plus has time to be a genuinely fun and exciting adventure story. Highly recommend.

Too White to be Coloured, Too Coloured to be Black by Ismail Lagardien - 4/5 stars

I picked up this memoir in a bookstore at OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg as research for Six Places to Fall in Love, since Percy is coloured. A pretty brutal read, but good, and definitely good research. The author was a photographer and journalist through the most violent years of apartheid.

The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson - 5/5 stars

Two nonfiction books in a row?? This is the second book by Erik Larson I've read, the first being the excellent The Devil in the White City. I'm not, in general, all that interested in WWII when it comes to military history, but this book is about the day to day lives of Churchill and the people surrounding him (with brief stops to visit FDR and high-ranking Nazis sprinkled throughout). This is a very, very good book, and I recommend reading it if only as a reminder of the resilience and bravery of ordinary people under terrifying circumstances.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh - 5/5 stars

Holy shit. Holy shit is this book good. Imagine the love child of Lost, Person of Interest, and Battlestar Galactica, but queer and with multiverse shenanigans thrown in.

I need everyone to read this book. Now. Yesterday. Get to it.

[enthusedbambi-jjba-au]

Monster AU - Risotto Nero research notes

You weirdos really wanted me to try and study this guy. It’s… been interesting! Here’s what I have:

[

[A paper of notes about Risotto Nero. The paper has tape in various places.]

[On the left side:]

Risotto Nero

he/him (I think)

At least 6'5" by my estimate (I'm VERY short so hard to tell)

Leader of "La Squadra" (bunch of assassins. Every time I've tried to infiltrate, catboy catches (:3) on to me.) Human jaw strength is about 7.5 times a cat's. hospital.

Species : Sanguisuge ('vampire') - species unknown

has fangs (yes)

drinks blood (yes)

Non-undead (bleeds normal blood, so he must have been born like this).

Not P.C.S (Pop Culture Standard)—no weakness to garlic, can be in direct sunlight (though he seems to prefer not to be) and no weakness to religious affects despite being Catholic aligned—can tell he's Italian-born.

I know he drinks blood because I’ve seen him do it. seems to have keen senses. I’m sure this isn’t surprising but I can’t get close enough to tell if he’s warm- or cold-bodied. he could be a half-vampire. They’re usually more likely to be warm-bodied despite still having poor circulation. They often don’t have to drink blood, but the craving is stronger, especially if they don’t give in often. They also tend to drink more at one time than full vampires since they tend not to satiate themselves as regularly… he drinks a lot of blood when he does drink it.

[There's an illustration depicting one of Risotto's eyes. The 'whites' are black, and the irises are bright red, and the pupils—also black—appear slit, like a cat's.]

Eyes are black sclerae and pupils with very bright red irises—glowing, I think.

Stand: "Metallica"

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! A SANGUISUGE WITH A BLOOD-BASED STAND ABILITY??! ARE YOU FUCKING JOKING!? HOW DO I KNOW WHAT'S STAND AND WHAT'S SPECIES RELATED!?!?

Update: its not blood based so much as its iron based but he uses blood as a source of iron which still makes things complicated for me to figure out. range seems to be a 5-10m radiu [The writing trails off at the end. There's a lot of blood on the corner of the page.]

[On the right side:]

Maybe in his 20s? Short of directly asking, I don't think there's a way I can pinpoint for sure.*

[There's an unfinished rushed illustration of Risotto Nero.]

My memory isn't the best and he uses invisibility a lot so I can rarely see him long enough to draw him from observation...

Will he show up in a photo? I don't think cameras use silver anymore!!

[There’s a partially-ripped photo of Risotto Nero, in dark lighting, presumably in the process of using his Stand, taped to the page. There's blood splattered over the photo. Frantic writing at the bottom of the photo reads "I PICKEDA A BAD SPOT TO STAND IN"]

he does show up in photos!! thank god for camera zoom haha...

*Vampires are known for looking fairly young, due to abnormal physical aging tendencies. Turned vampires usually stop aging once Turned, since they’re undead. Born sanguisuges like this guy can vary—some hit a certain point where they just stop “getting older”, and some age very slowly once they hit puberty. I heard someone say that the slow aging owes to vampires’ typical poor circulation—what?? Do you know what aging is? Yes, vampires tend to have poor circulation if they have any circulation at all, but the poor circulation contributes mostly to cold skin (and infertility, I think) like it does in humans. And for the record, they don’t drink blood to compensate for a lack of blood in their own bodies because, in case you’ve forgotten, that’s not how bodies work. Blood consumption does not affect the consumer’s own blood in any significantly direct way. ]

Guess it must be lucky to be a sanguisuge whose job is offing people… he’s hard to get close to because I usually catch him when he’s uh. You know. Doing his job.

He still hasn’t realised I’ve been tailing him though! I… I think. Like with his age, short of asking him directly, I can’t really be sure, and as I’m sure is obvious, that’s not really a good idea.

if anyone has any questions or insight… go ahead?

I could use any info.

~Bambi

[planerot]

Radiator Spring residents ranked on how trustworthy they are in the kitchen

(All these are intended to be humanized headcanons, but can be interpreted however you like. Also, quick content warning for food and a brief allusion to mold)

Flo - She literally owns a diner, (I did some googling and turns out, even though it's called Flo's V8 café, it's a diner. The disneyland website describes the IRL version in car's land as a 'Route 66-inspired diner' ) she makes the best food in town no questions asked. She's the one who makes everyone in Radiator Springs their birthday cakes and dinners each year, and has their favorite flavors and foods memorized by heart. If she catches wind that someone in town in feeling under the weather, that person will have a big pot of soup delivered to their doorstep before the end of the day. She is also very good about keeping her workspaces extremely clean due to the health and safety standards that come with running a diner. 10/10, she is the best by a very large margin.

Doc Hudson - During Doc's earlier years, back when he was still racing, he was a very mediocre cooking. He made stuff that was incredibly bland, boring, stupid easy, or a combination of all three. After his accident and moving to Radiator Spring, he was kind of forced to learn to make more interesting meals after eating nothing but mac and cheese, sandwiches, breakfast foods and other such things for a month straight and growing positively sick of it (because we all know his self isolating ass would NOT want to accept any invites to eat or, god forbid, risk accidentally socializing while at Flo's when he was fresh off a life changing crash). He, overtime, forced himself to learn how to actually cook and thus accidentally became one of the most talented cooks in Radiator Springs, second only to Flo.

Guido - He spent a lot of time in a tightknit, small Italian village, living with Mama Topolino, I feel it's very likely he picked up some tips, tricks and recipes during his time there. The vast majority of what he knows how to make is Italian food, but so long as he has a recipe, I think he could make anything.

Luigi - Basically the same as Guido. Only reason I put him below Guido is because he doesn't have the basically super human reflexes and motor control Guido has, thus making him more prone to spills and mess in the kitchen.

Red - The issue with writing any headcanons for Red is that he's more a gag then an actual character. I did a bunch of digging on his wiki page and all of it can be summed up to 'He likes flowers, is a firefigher and incredibly sensitive'...so I worked with that best I could. I think he'd be pretty decent at cooking since firefighters usually take turns cooking for their team, so anyone in that career usually has to learn to cook something actually edible. Red likely learnt how to cook during his very early days of firefighting before he moved to Radiator Springs. His dishes are definitely simpler, but that doesn't mean he can't make some very tasty, filling dishes. He takes enjoyment in serving his food to others and absolutely will burst into tears if someone insults his cooking.

Lizzie - Lizzie is the stereotypical baker grandma. A lot of the recipes she makes are pretty old, but that doesn't make them damn tasty. Her memory issues make baking a bit harder, but she still manages just fine. Baking helps keep her up and moving, even if it's only in her kitchen

Sally - She's never really had a knack for cooking and does her best from what people have taught her through the years. She can make a lot of really good pasta dishes, but other then that she doesn't really excel at anything.

Sheriff - Incredibly average. He's more the type to get food from Flo's or buy prepacked stuff then he is the type to actually make himself anything. When he does actually bother, all the stuff he makes is pretty good but absolutely nothing to write home about. He's more the type of person someone asks to pick up groceries for a meal then actually make the meal.

Fillmore - 100% more a baker then a cook. He first picked up baking to make weed brownies and ended up really enjoying the whole process. His recipes are very hit or miss though since he likes trying to make his desserts more healthy in some way. Sometimes this means they just taste a little off, and sometimes this means they taste like he just tossed sugar and cocoa powder in a bowl with some dried hay and baked it. He is also a hazard in a kitchen since he sometimes he gets munchies while high and will completely forget stuff in the oven, thus leading to multiple fire alarm scares.

Ramone - God bless his heart, but this man can barely cook. Flo has tried to teach him, but he just cannot seem to quite get it, often burning things, adding to much seasoning or accidentally forgetting ingredients. He loves spending time with Flo in the kitchen, so he gets relegated to vegetable peeling or pot stirring, which he very happily does because it means he gets to hang out with his amazing wife. The one thing he does excellent at is decorating. It took him a couple tries to get the technique down, but he is an amazing cake decorator, his years of painting cars meaning he has a scarily steady hand and very keen artistic eye. Flo always lets him decorate the cupcakes/cakes when she makes them for people's birthdays and they always turn out gorgeous.

Sarge - The issue with Sarge is that he refuses to toss anything out. He isn't good at cooking at all. That man does not give a shit how black his scrambled eggs are or how his chicken wings could probably be used as bricks, he will eat them. Whenever someone asks why he eats obviously terrible food, he just says something about how this is nothing compared to how terrible food was in the military. He's grown an iron stomach and hates wasting food even when it would probably be better for his health just to toss out the suspiciously fuzzy loaf of bread.

Lightning - He has mostly lived his adult life living off of fast food, microwave dinners, canned soup and whatever he can eat when people invite him over for dinner. He could probably be a very competent chef if he was taught how to, but he is a bit to embarrassed to admit it to someone else.

Mater - Do not let him near a kitchen he WILL burn it down. For the love of god he is clumsy as fuck and will somehow seriously injure himself or anyone if left to his own devices. He likes the idea of cooking for himself and his friends, but in practice it usually ends with either a fire, a hospital visit, or some horrid combination of both.

[mariacallous]

Last year, I hosted my biggest Rosh Hashanah dinner ever. My boyfriend and I invited about 15 friends over to our one-bedroom Brooklyn apartment, moved all of our furniture into the bedroom, rented a couple of folding tables and chairs, and turned the living room into a Rosh Hashanah dreamscape, complete with thematic streamers, ambient lighting, and candles. I whipped up four round challahs, a vat of vegetarian matzah ball soup, my mom’s famous cornflake kugel, some baked chicken, and a batch of spiked apple cider.

It was a lot of work, but absolutely worth it: I’m always sad when I can’t be with my family in Chicago during the High Holidays, but being surrounded by friends, some Jewish, some not, to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with food and drink was a warm, wonderful way to ring in the New Year.

But this year? Nah. I’m going with a pizza.

Of course we won’t be hosting another Rosh Hashanah dinner this year for the very obvious reason of a global pandemic. I know we could still make a special meal for the two of us with all the standard trappings that I grew up eating at my mother’s holiday table, but when I think about the work that that requires, and how exhausted I’ve been from merely existing in this current world, I just… kind of… don’t want to. I still want to mark the day as special, and I love the idea of eating symbolic foods on Rosh Hashanah, but I don’t want to spend an entire day cooking, and I certainly don’t want to spend an entire night washing dishes.

Which brings me to pizza, which I will henceforth argue is the perfect — and yes, symbolic — Rosh Hashanah food.

Why should pizza be considered a Rosh Hashanah food? Let’s dive in.

1. It’s round. Traditionally on Rosh Hashanah, instead of braiding challah into a traditional loaf, Jews bake their challah in a round shape to represent the circularity of the calendar and the never-ending cycle of life. You know what else is round? Yup, it’s pizza. Pizza might not be traditionally round for symbolic reasons, but it does allow for easy slicing and sharing, and sharing your food with others seems like a nice Jewish thing to do, no? And I’m not gonna lie: When I stare into a beautiful pizza pie, I see the entire universe staring back at me in all of its cheesy, saucy goodness.

2. It’s *possibly* a Jewish invention. Most people assume pizza came from Italy, but the cheesy delicacy actually has quite a complicated and debated history, with some even believing that the ancient Jewish philosopher Maimonides first coined the word. As Henry Abramson wrote in JTA, Yehuda Romano, a 14th-century Hebrew scholar from Italy, “translated Maimonides’ use of the word ‘hararah’ (a type of flatbread) in the Mishneh Torah with four simple Hebrew letters: peh, yud, tzadi and heh, or ‘pizza,’ arguably the very first time the word was ever used in any language.” In the “History of pizza” page on Wikipedia (a wonderful read if you’ve got the time), it’s noted that, “Some commentators have suggested that the origins of modern pizza can be traced to pizzarelle, which were kosher for Passover cookies eaten by Roman Jews after returning from the synagogue on that holiday, though some also trace its origins to other Italian paschal breads. Abba Eban has suggested that modern pizza ‘was first made more than 2000 years ago when Roman soldiers added cheese and olive oil to matzah.'” Look: I don’t know if Jews really invented pizza, but the chance that our people have been eating it for thousands of years is reason enough for me to order a fresh pie this Rosh Hashanah.

3. It goes well with honey. Honey is a traditional Rosh Hashanah food that represents the sweet New Year. Have you ever put honey on a pizza? What about hot honey? Just do it. Trust me. Moving on.

4. It’s already kind of a New Year’s food. Is it really a New Year’s celebration if you didn’t order pizza at 1 a.m.? Yes, I’m talking about that other New Year’s Eve, but the logic still applies. Plus, if you go a little too hard on that sweet kosher wine, you’ll be very happy to have a fridge full of cold leftover pizza the next morning.

5. Its numerical value is pretty meaningful. Okay, I can’t take credit for this one, and it’s a little out there, but bear with me: My colleague Ben Sales pointed out that according to Gematria, the numerological system by which Hebrew letters correspond to numbers, the Hebrew numerical value of “pizza” (פיצה) is 185. This is also the numerical value of the phrase “אני לדודי ודודי לי” which translates to, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” which comes from a verse in the Song of Songs. This is kind of a slogan for Elul, the month leading up to the High Holidays. The idea is that this is a time period when we’re growing closer to God and vice versa. So let’s grow a little closer to pizza, too.

6. It’s just really good. I don’t know what else there is to say besides pizza is a perfect food, and why wouldn’t you want to start your New Year off with something so amazingly delicious? It’s been a tough year and we need comfort foods more than ever. We need takeout more than ever. We need to go easy on ourselves — and not add any unnecessary stress to our lives — more than ever!

If cooking up a storm on Rosh Hashanah makes you happy, then of course, you should go forth and do so. If you can’t imagine the High Holidays without some tzimmes and brisket, by all means, have at it. But if you’re looking for a way out of the norm during this very, very unusual year, I hereby grant you full permission to ditch the kitchen and call up your favorite local pizza place. Let them bring the party to you (and tip well!!). It’s just one of the many Jewish things to do.

[schismusic]

Joy Division, or: how I learned to stop worrying and love New Order, too

Spring is weird as hell because one time you have this glaring sun that powers you up like being plugged into a wall outlet, then not five minutes later clouds begin to gather and you feel like you're going to die if anything goes south. So the most obvious combination to represent two sides of this same coin, emotional and meteorological, is Joy Division and New Order.

Sometimes you need Transmission or Shadowplay for the sunny days — impassioned jolts, sparks flying everywhere. Sometimes The Perfect Kiss hits harder on a cloudy afternoon, coming back home and in need of that extra push to not fall asleep in the train. It's surprising to realize the versatility displayed by both bands, or the same band in two different iterations according to whomever you ask. Peter Hook says, as late as 1993, that the laziest member of New Order is Ian Curtis. Or again this other person, in the comments under the Atmosphere official video on YouTube, who went to see New Order (Hooky-less New Order, which might be a relevant distinction) at the O2 Arena a couple of years ago and they gave an encore, says "Those of us who stayed got the privilege of watching Joy Division perform three of their songs". Interesting outlook on the matter. I personally saw Peter Hook and the Light play both Joy Division records and, I'm pretty sure, an encore comprised of just Love Will Tear Us Apart at the Arti Vive Festival in Soliera, back when it was still free to attend some of the events. I remember being pretty mad that Hooky had stopped to take pics with basically everyone and then left exactly as I was approaching. In retrospect I don't exactly blame the man, it was like midnight anyway. I remember nothing of the back trip home.

My first contact with Joy Division happened when I was thirteen and very much in my prog era. I was in Rome staying at an aunt of mine's place for my fourteenth birthday and she told me I could get a CD, since I had gotten some money saved up over time. Some Facebook page dedicated to Pink Floyd I'd liked (yeah, Facebook at age thirteen — I literally just wanted to play a fucking Flash game, back when Facebook allowed them, and I ended up getting to be terminally online. Crazy how things turn out) used to share a lot of memes and fanart relating to the Unknown Pleasures album cover, and me being a massive Pink Floyd head at the time I thought "I mean, if these guys are pushing this band so hard, that's gotta mean something". The album cover was pretty striking, admittedly: a far cry from the paisley ass paintings that I had grown to accept as the gold standard for the music I liked, but its simplicity struck a chord closer to The Dark Side of the Moon, or perhaps The Wall. Those were records I liked a lot, probably called them "the best records ever made" to more than one person, not like they aren't but that's a very bold statement to make when your listening experience consists exactly of

Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor when I was six;

Daft Punk's complete discography (minus Random Access Memories, which wasn't out yet) when I was twelve;

Pink Floyd's complete discography, courtesy of a CD collection coming out with some Italian newspaper, that same year;

a couple random classic rock records recommended to me by older friends and relatives usually well into their fifties or sixties at the time, random people on Internet forums — which, for clarification, I did not actively attend, preferring to just lurk from time to time — and the OndaRock "milestones" page.

So browsing through the surprisingly expansive CDs section of this electronics shop in Rome, and being mesmerized by a vinyl rack in the days when Music on Vinyl was the final frontier of pretending you could re-analogue the digital ("you mean to tell me these are like CDs, but bigger? Whoever designed these truly lived in the future"), I came across that very same album art that had stricken me so hard. I had listened to the first seconds of the album on YouTube, but that weird drum sound — so echoey, so distant, ultimately not particularly powerful, meaning it didn't really sound like Bonzo: it sounded more like my own band, which at the time didn't even exist yet — I didn't really know what to make of. This store I was in had one of those preview listening machines that would scan the barcode on the CDs and give you a small snippet of the song. I pull the CD up to the scanner, the scanner lights up green, I put on the headphones and the solo from this comes up:

Clearly they had to be kidding me. I had come to know, sneaking into infinitely many rehearsals with the band from my mother's town, what it sounded like when someone tried to play lead without something else filling up the arrangement (even though I didn't really know all that, or at least lacked the vocabulary to properly express it) and, for Christ's sake, didn't these guys notice rehearsing? It sounded empty, weirdly so, and it wasn't my thing, I thought. I put that CD away and picked up a band I knew I'd like — Genesis, specifically. So Nursery Cryme became the first CD I've ever paid with my own money, the very day I turned fourteen. Not a bad pickup. I remember being very impressed with the fast blurring lead guitar on The Musical Box and digging the sweet pastoral atmospheres of For Absent Friends and Harlequin. I still think of that record more often than one would probably assume looking at this blog, or my most played on Spotify. At the time, that was the best move I could take, really: why beat my head against a record that, as your average prog nerd ballbreaker, simply wasn't speaking to me?

Then all of a sudden in August of the same year my friend's dad hands me a 16 gigabyte USB drive, full of random music from all eras of rock. A lot of it remains inscrutable to me for a really long time, most notably Tom Waits (see related post), but I spent the whole month reading random folder names, seeing if something catches my eyes, and at one point I come across the Mars Volta. Open the folder up, read the names of their first three records, and my first thought is "Christ, these guys look incomprehensible. I'm about to have some fun". Long story short: I end up having a lot of fun, the Mars Volta turns into my favourite band at the time and finding out that they had previously been called At the Drive-In makes me gain some measure of respect for punk rockers: if they tried hard enough, I must've thought, they could prog as hard as anyone. In the meantime the ghost of Joy Division remains at the back of my head. I feel like I'm missing something, for the first time in my life: it's not them, it's me. Too bad that same realization didn't occur to me when it came to the people in my life until much, much later, but that's being fourteen for you I suppose. Early King Crimson and the Mars Volta were the pinnacle of violence to me, and not even the very few Metallica songs I'd downloaded just to see what would happen scratched that itch. It felt a bit too cauterized for some reason (I would later find out I had been looking in the wrong direction the whole time: the Black Album "sucked", according to my favourite metalhead of the time, who somehow catalyzed my interest from the very second I saw him in the school's courtyard. Hard to imagine why I would imprint on people like puppies do, but what the fuck, not like I've ever outgrown that anyway, I've just gotten better at managing it). But I felt there was more than violence to this, or different forms of violence. When Christmas came around and my relatives tried to get me presents, my mother asked if there was anything specific I was interested in, and I basically told her "look, if they can get me some CDs off of this list, I'm golden". It had some bangers on it, namely Noctourniquet by the Mars Volta — it's one of their best and I will die on this hill, be warned — and The Downward Spiral, which might as well warrant its own post in an ideal world. But the best of them all I think came from a random purchase, once again with the little money I had lying around at the time.

Closer appears to be, right away, a bit more concrete, and if there's something inexperienced music fans like is a pretty packaging that conjures a strong emotional response before they've even played the record. Compare a color-inverted graph of pulsar emissions to a literal funerary monument. Opening up the booklet I was shocked to see that Genesis was used as a negative point of comparison (bad omen, I thought) by people close to the band, and I came across much more detailed information about Ian Curtis's untimely demise — at that time, something far too removed from my experience to be faced with the delicacy and attention it deserves. Atrocity Exhibition hits like a ten-ton truck, a reference which at the time I wouldn't have been able to make for obvious reasons, and Isolation exposes all the nerve tissue under the skin. Passover comes in and strips everything even barer, and then A Means to an End turns… danceable, for some reason? Big emotional moment with The Eternal and Decades, which I thought actually took them closer to my usual tastes. And yet at the same time I kept looking at Colony, Heart and Soul and Twenty Four Hours as the most compelling cuts. Geometric assault sounding like sheet metal if it were music; rhythmically driven emptiness that serves as a minimal backdrop for depressed poetry, and finally a rocking ebb-and-flow that would probably inform a lot of my interest in GY!BE-like post-rock in the coming years. Very interesting to think that the same guys who'd done Unknown Pleasures could think of this. To this day, when asked, I still do think that Closer is the best Joy Division record, but what does it even mean when the records are exactly two, compilations notwithstanding?

It was around this time that it came to my attention that both Joy Division and another band called New Order had a record called Substance out, both published by the same recording company, both coming out within a year of each other. Looking it up, it turns out it's fully intentional, because New Order is simply Joy Division minus Ian Curtis. It would turn out to be a tad bit more complex than that. Anyway, I look New Order up and kind of have to do a double-take. Synthpop? In my Joy Division? More likely than you'd think, considering Isolation exists. But yeah, that sort of seals it — I wouldn't care about this New Order for a million years. Until all of a sudden a couple of years later David Sylvian bursts like a comet in my face, which of course leads me straight to Japan, the same year as I'd come across Berlin-era Bowie, and you can probably guess where this is going, right?

Well, you'd be wrong. I still don't check out New Order. There's a whole new world open to me — vaporwave and therefore R Plus Seven come to my attention, which leads me to dissect that record like an alien tool of unclear purposes. This of course leads me onto an ambient tangent, taking me back to my Tim Hecker listens of that same year, which has the effect of renewing my interest in "pure" electronic music and the then-rising post-dubstep movement. The sheer experience of sound, the dazzling modernity and innovation, is what's in at the time. I have no time for nostalgia-pandering dimwits: the future awaits. Then all that jazz from the first Godflesh post hits, then God pulls the funniest gag in the history of viral infections to my memory, and I have some time to actually look back, a bit less prejudiced. As it turns out, synthpop is not the devil, as some of you might have surmised by now, and as I relisten to Blue Monday I realized I have never listened to either of the Substance record. I do know some, most perhaps?, of the tracks on the Joy Division one, and I do think the New Order one has the more striking cover art — not to mention I knew, by this time, that this was the one to give Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance its name, and that Your Silent Face soundtracked one of the most memorable moments in Nicolas Winding Refn's Bronson. As the ultimate Hideo Kojima stan, I couldn't let this slide, so I pop the record on and get hit with this:

Way to go, guys. Holy shit. I knew that Ceremony was a Joy Division cut before they could record it, but what the hell — Bernard got it, too. It wasn't a matter of singing ability with songs like these, it's just getting it, finding the right energy. They had that right energy. And then it hit me just as many times these dudes have made Blue Monday over and over again before actually getting it right, and everytime I look into it it's funnier and funnier to realize just how many different attempts it took them to finally be Kraftwerk, but augmented — with the stellar results we all know. Everything's Gone Green, 5 8 6, Temptation potentially, all lead up to this one moment in the history of dance music where somehow three dudes and a girl hailing from Manchester managed to out-gay the Pet Shop Boys (by their own admission, apparently), to shake the whole world's collective booty, to do whatever it is they were supposed to do in this last comparison that would ideally make the previous one a bit less obnoxious but whatever, it's 3am as usual, you know how it goes by now don't you? But then after Blue Monday the record keeps going, and thank god it does, because it's banger after banger. How do these guys keep doing it?

So I spend some time with that record, then it fades down, then it comes back up last month, when the weather calls for it and its parent company. Which is when I find myself watching the Control movie for the first time, surprisingly enough seeing as I already enjoyed the work of Anton Corbijn as a photographer. Looking at all that, it is revealed to me that Joy Division never really having died is not a bug, it's a feature. Everyone is gasping, I get it, but please pick your jaws up and check this out: the band has never learned how to play their respective instruments. One might go so far as to argue they play their own stuff their own way, and that's basically it. Nothing could be further from the truth. These guys jammed, a lot; that's how Joy Division wrote songs, that's how New Order wrote songs, even going as far as having Bernard Sumner fucked up on acid so he could find the chorus to Temptation or the whole band bombed out of their minds on X in Ibiza clubs to write, basically, the entirety of Technique — and even then, not really, there's a couple jangly tracks that the X would most likely render unlistenable but what do I really know? Point being: it might now have been sparked by a music teacher or instructor, it might not have been the product of a process comparable to that within Television, which led them to organically seek out better, more "by the book" musicianship, but New Order were incredibly familiar with their instruments, had formed an element of comfort and understanding that counterbalanced the alien-ness to music terminology.

Peter Hook recently uploaded a Yamaha-sponsored video to his Instagram, which I am pretty sure has a say in running, where he jams on a Yamaha bass and, you know, it sounds like Hooky alright, but it's never a discernible bassline until he kicks into the A major strumming that opens Love Will Tear Us Apart. Before that, he just strolls around the neck, leisurely strumming away at power chords imbued with that thick chorus and reverb combo he became renowned for. I would never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined I'd find myself thinking "okay, awesome, stop talking — I want to hear you jam a bit more" referring to one of the musicians who were part of possibly two of the craziest storiest in the history of contemporary rock'n'roll, also notorious for playing the rockstar whilst carrying the minimum possible baggage of technical knowledge he could. Once again, this is nowhere near a knock to the man — quite the opposite. Ian Curtis asked "persistence, well, what does it matter?", and Hooky (and, of course, the other members of New Order) found a way to constructively answer that question. Moments before Coil, but a bit later than Israel Regardie, they said "persistence is all" and built a brand on finding a way to consistently sound like splendid, eternal, golden children: "like crystal", impassionate, tightly-knit performers with the purity of a child's heart. Ian Curtis had, in certain ways (at least artistically), the purity of a child in his heart, which some might even argue was a distinguishing feature of most of his literary idols — if you think about it, William Burroughs could be your dirty-minded classmate who walked in on his parents sharing an intimate moment in the bedroom (had his parents been gay men, the metaphor would probably fly better, but that most definitely wasn't the case). So the heart of Joy Division remains untouched, if a bit more naked. Heroes of post-punk, sons of the silent age, you can sleep soundly tonight.

[angellayercake]

Banchetto: Antipasto

Papa Emeritus III x Reader 

AO3 |  Aperitivo

The tomatoes should be small diced and even. In a dish so simple every detail must be perfect lest they disrupt the whole. The juicy seeds are scooped out and left to one side leaving you the ripe flesh to work with.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Whatever it was about the recipes from the book they had done the trick. He was finally eating and you could relax slightly. Although it was clear to you that whoever had translated it had not been an experienced cook. The descriptions were sometimes clunky, other times made little sense at all. With your lack of Italian and the mysterious translator's lack of cooking knowledge it was clear that some things had been lost in translation. But, since the day he had left the notebook out for you he had refused to discuss it.

You flick through the pages most days making notes of recipes to try, ingredients you need to acquire and passages that need further research. The thought of showing the notebook to anyone else made you uncomfortable but the odd instruction? That didn’t seem so much of a breach of trust. For now though you stuck to the simpler recipes. There had been less to translate and any errors you had found were easily corrected with your cooking knowledge.

The thought of being Papa’s personal cook hadn’t really excited you when you first found out, especially with how difficult he was during the first few weeks. You enjoyed cooking for the whole Abbey. It was a challenge for you cooking in such large batches and still maintaining the flavour and standard you expected of yourself. Cooking for one man hadn’t seemed like much of a stretch even if it was Papa Emeritus III. But now as you tried to settle on your choice of the day you could acknowledge how much fun you were having learning about authentic Italian cooking.

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Leaves plucked carefully from the stem and piled in the centre of the wooden bowl. Your fingers come away fragrant, with a faint tinge of green you notice as you rock the curved blade back and forth slicing through the delicate leaves. There is nothing like the aroma of freshly cut herbs you think as you add them to the tomato. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Wine?’ He gestures the bottle towards you after pouring his own. 

‘I’m working Papa. No thank you.’ You continued stirring the pot in front of you, turning down the heat fractionally. He had taken to sitting in the small kitchen space as you prepare his evening meal. He rarely spoke much but had the occasional question about something you were doing. Dipping your spoon in the sauce you blow across it to lower the temperature before giving it a taste. You allow the small mouthful to roll over your tongue giving yourself time to identify the flavours. Taking a pinch of salt you sprinkle it across the surface as you continue to mix. You reach for your tasting spoon, cleaning it quickly before taking another taster. 

‘Why are you doing this? Hungry already, are you?’ You take your time finishing your taste test happy that the flavours were now balanced. He is watching you inquisitively and you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are at his lack of understanding given the life he has led.  

‘I’m making sure the seasoning is as it should be.’ He tilted his head as though he still didn’t quite understand. ‘I am tasting, not eating Papa. To see if anything needs adding to improve the flavour.’ He nods as you finish speaking.

‘So you say Sorella, that you must taste it as you go along so you know when something is ready. You must monitor the flavour as it develops so you know if you must add this or that.’ He gestured to the rack of seasonings you had placed next to the oven. 

‘The good thing about seasoning is you can adjust it as you go up until the very end of cooking, but how would you know if you didn’t taste it?’ You smile at him over your shoulder as you continue to stir.

‘Si I understand. But that only works if you have not done enough, no? What if you were to add too much?’ It is no surprise to you that this is his next question. You had asked something similar when you had been completing your training. You were enjoying sharing your knowledge with him. ‘Surely the dish would be ruined?’

‘Well that depends. If you know what you did to ruin it you can add something to counteract.’ Turning down the heat for the last few minutes you are able to give him your full attention. 

‘Adding more, this would not just make the situation worse eh?’ You smile and shake your head. Aside from burning a dish there was not much you could do to ruin a simple dish entirely.  

‘That’s why you must understand how to balance flavours before you try anything like this. For example if I added too much salt to this dish I could add some lemon juice to neutralise it or if I added too much spice adding some oil will help temper the heat.’ He didn’t respond further so you returned your attention back to the task at hand although you couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then. He was lost in his thoughts, brow furrowed as he absent mindedly swirled his wine around the glass. Every time you look over at him he holds your gaze for longer and longer until you can’t bring yourself to look away. He is not the man you thought he would be, that's for sure. Now he had gotten used to your presence he was quiet and thoughtful. Much more introspective than many would give him credit for. 

He visibly snaps back to the present and you quickly turn back to your cooking. The thought of him catching you staring has a blush spreading across your face. He moves in the corner of your vision, setting down the glass and running his hands through his hair, his agitation confusing you. He stands and moves closer, placing his hand on your arm and squeezing to get your attention, as if he didn’t have it anyway. You don’t understand the frustration in his face or what about your conversation had inspired that feeling. 

‘But how do you know Sorella? How can you tell what must be added, what must be taken away, and by how much?’ He flusters you with his questions. The thought that your conversation is no longer about food grows in the back of your mind as you look into his eyes.

‘Intuition, I suppose, practice, experience.’ Your answer only seems to increase his frustration so you continue. ‘Your personal taste also plays a part.’ His hand drops from your arm but he looks at you a moment longer before returning to his seat. The conversation is over and you can’t shake the feeling that you said something wrong. Removing the dish from the heat you quickly serve up a generous portion for him and place it before him at the table. You clean up quickly wanting to get away from the awkward atmosphere as soon as you can. As you are about to leave he calls to you.

‘This is very good Sorella, grazie,’ along with a tired smile. You take it for the apology you think it might be and give him a smile in return. 

‘Good night Papa.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The smell hits first as you pull the foil package from the oven, opening it slightly to let it cool as you prepare the bread. Cutting through the loaf diagonally for the best slice. Thick enough to carry their intended load but thin enough to ensure they toast evenly. You brush them with oil watching it drip into the airy dough before returning the tray to the oven. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The bread, cheese and seasoning could already be found in the now well stocked kitchen but the fresh ingredients required a trip to the Abbey gardens and so to see Primo. You were apprehensive. He would have questions naturally but you had been doing your best to keep Terzo’s confidence. The longer you spent with him the more you realised he was quite resentful of his brothers interference in his life. A veiled comment here and there. A roll of the eyes when you mentioned speaking with them but at least he wasn’t taking it out on you any more.

The walk through the ornate moon garden and past the fountain gave you some time to prepare yourself. The fragrant white blooms waved softly in the breeze as you walked. You had always thought this part of the garden bland especially when compared to the riot of colour and chaos that was the kitchen garden. That was until you had been passing through one evening on your way back to your quarters. More often you walked the long way from the Papal suites, through the winding halls but one balmy night you had thought to cut across the gardens to shorten your journey. Instead you found yourself sitting mesmerised as the white blooms seemed to glow in the moonlight. Now you take every opportunity you can to wander through the flower beds, the soft sound of the fountain and singing birds your soundtrack and the floating bees and butterflies your companions. 

Today though you do not have time to linger so you spare only a quick glance before heading to the green houses. You slide open the door to let yourself in, feeling the humid heat wash over you as you close it again behind you. The sweet smell of ripening produce melded with the earthy scent of the damp soil filling your senses as you look around for Primo. You spot his dark robes through the greenery and make your way to the potting tables set up in the centre. 

‘’Buon pemeriggio Sorella,’ he called as you moved into his line of vision. ‘And what can I help you with today?’ 

‘Only tomatoes today Papa, and some fresh basil as well.’ You had known Primo for longer than either of the other Papa’s, your work in the kitchen had brought you together very shortly after you had arrived at the Abbey.  

‘Ah both staples in all good Italian cooking si. Is he still having you make all the classics for him?’ He gestures you towards the vines at the far end. ‘Come, come we will find the best that I have for my fratellino.’

‘Thank you Papa. Those meals do seem to be what he prefers, but I don’t mind.’ It felt that you were the only one not surprised that Terzo might prefer food from his home country given the reaction of everyone but you were genuinely enjoying his preference so far. ‘I hadn’t had the opportunity to learn many Italian recipes before this so it is an excellent opportunity.’

‘Si Sorella I am sure. And how is my brother? Is he behaving himself?’ You wonder what he means by behaving himself. Surely he knows that Terzo had been eating normally for some time now.  ‘I fear he has not forgiven me for siding with Secondo. More often I used to be the neutral party between them.’ 

You take your time before answering him, slightly surprised at his candour. You had always got the impression that the brothers kept their familial relationship private from the majority of the congregation. ‘He is fine I think Papa. I don’t see much of him except at mealtimes but he seems well.’ He fixes you with a look you can’t quite decipher. 

‘I think you have seen him enough to know him better than most.’ Hesitation fills you with his statement. You know exactly what he means and yet you don’t really want to let on.

‘I just make him food Papa,’ is your simple reply. You are just doing the job that has been asked of you. 

‘The mistake people often make with my fratellino is to take him at face value. He does it very well, his show. He has done, since he was a child but it is a mistake to think he is only this.’ You nod slowly. That was something you had noticed. The man you had got to know so far was different from the man you had seen at rituals and at mass but that was not entirely unexpected. 

‘You know him best I’m sure.’ You keep your attention on the tomatoes searching through the vines for the brightest red you can find.  

‘Si, si. I know him, Secondo knows him but many others, I think they only know Papa Emeritus III. Many will need to find out who Terzo is now. Maybe even including him.’ You aren’t entirely sure how to respond. This was not how you were expecting this conversation to play out but you try to bring your mind back to the matter at hand. 

‘I think I have enough tomatoes now Papa. I just need some basil and then I will be out of your way.’ You add what you have collected to his basket before winding your way back out of the vines. 

‘Oh Sorella you are not in my way. I appreciate any visitors that find their way here.’ He hands you the basket of tomatoes and motions you to follow him out of the greenhouse towards the herb garden collecting a pair of secateurs as you pass the potting table. Instead of trimming from the larger plant though he picks up a smaller plant still in its own pot. 

‘This one,’ he starts turning back towards you and offering you the plant to hold. ‘It was broken from the main during the last storm. But you see when something breaks if you allow it to grow roots and nurture it, it becomes a whole new plant.' He cuts away at the leaves all the way down to the stem starting from the base and working up the plant methodically. 

‘That’s enough now Papa you can stop,’ you say but he continues cutting until there isn’t a leaf left on the poor plant, just little stumps protruding from the bare stem. ‘What will happen to it now that there are no leaves?’ 

‘If it is strong it will grow back even bigger and better than before Sorella. And I am sure it is strong to have survived all that it has already.’ He fixes you with one last confusing look before adding the cuttings to your basket. ‘Give my greetings to my fratellino, and tell him to come and see me when he has finished sulking.’ 

‘Of course Papa.’ You nod your head in farewell and take your leave. You had thought you would be subtly integrated about Terzo, not given some kind of plant based philosophy lesson. You sigh to yourself checking the time as you make your way back through the gardens. There is no time to dwell on cryptic metaphors. You need to get back and start your preparation otherwise his food will not be ready on time. And that was what you had been asked to do, just make him food.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

It is a pleasant surprise that the recipe had suggested roasted garlic but it made such sense by smoothing out the pungent flavour and adding some depth. Before mixing you generously splash it with olive oil and balsamic vinegar and season with freshly ground salt and pepper. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

For once he wasn’t loitering in the kitchen as you cooked so as you came close to finishing you decided to fetch him. Bruschetta was best served fresh. You wandered through the rooms in an effort to find him but it wasn’t until you reached the door to his bedroom, left slightly ajar, that you knew you had located him. Reaching forward to knock your actions are halted when you hear a choked off moan. 

Your eyes find him straight away through the gap in the door, sitting on his bed with his back to you. Which would be fine if he wasn’t sitting opposite a mirror which gave you the perfect view of exactly what he was doing and you have to hold back a gasp as soon as it registers. The first thing you notice is his hand wrapped around his cock. How could you not? His stroke is slow and teasing and you can see the pink head disappearing and reappearing from his fist. You shouldn’t be seeing this and you certainly shouldn’t still be watching but you can’t move. Realising how long you have been staring you quickly glance up at his face and let out a sigh of relief that his eyes were closed. His face was slack with pleasure, an expression you could recognise from when he especially enjoyed the food you had made for him. That knowledge sent a spark of unexpected heat through you and you have to look away.

But you can’t drag your eyes from him completely. The next thing you notice is his other fist clenched to hold the hem of his shirt out of the way of his ministrations. You can’t see much but what you can makes your mouth dry. His stomach was tense twitching as he pleasured himself but that didn’t disguise the softness that had grown in the time you had been working for him. Right there only just visible was the evidence of your hard work and you could not have predicted the reaction it would have inspired within you.   

A loud low moan finally brings you back to your senses. You have to go, this isn’t right. Dragging your eyes away you turn as quietly as you can leaning against the wall a moment as you catch your breath. Pulling yourself together you carefully make your way back to the kitchen pleased that you weren’t caught in such a compromising situation. What you didn’t know at the time was if you had let your eyes drift to his face one last time before turning away you would have met his burning mismatched gaze where it was fixed on you in the mirror. Watching you, watch him. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Now toasted you grate the parmesan directly onto the bread and give them a minute more in the heat to begin to melt and crisp. You spoon the well mixed tomato and basil onto each slice piling it generously until you have one spoonful left. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

It takes a lot longer for parmesan to melt than you had thought. You stare at it intently attempting to stop your mind from wandering to what was happening just down the hall. Don’t think about what he was doing. Don’t think about how he sounded. And certainly don’t think about how he looked, so different from the last time you had seen his body. Gone was the concave stomach and the visible ribs. You had noticed it somewhat in his face, the shadows receding under his cheeks and around his eyes. But that didn’t prepare you for seeing how his stomach had filled out. If you hadn’t seen him before it would have barely given you pause, but knowing that you had done that. Your cooking and your care had changed him, that affected you as much as watching him pleasure himself had. 

The shrill beep of the timer pulls you back to reality abruptly and you reach for the toast quickly so as not to let them burn. Only when the tray is securely placed on the trivet do you allow your mind to wander again. The guilt was starting to overwhelm you now. You should have left as soon as you realised what he was doing, not stood and watched like a pervert but you had been glued to the spot. Reaching for the bowl you let the image of him fill your mind once more as you spoon generous heaps of the mixture on to the fresh toast. So lost in thought you are as you carelessly eat the last spoonful, oblivious to anything else going on around you.

‘Caught you Sorella,’ he whispers so close you feel his breath against your ear. No he can’t have. You choke, coughing and spluttering and he laughs as he pats your back, helping you clear your clogged airway. You gasp in air as soon as you can and force yourself to look at him. He is smiling, why would he be smiling at you after catching you watching him in such a personal moment? You wipe away the tears that had gathered at the corner of your eyes as you concentrate on regulating your breathing. 

‘That was eating and not tasting I think.’ A hysterical laugh bubbles up in your chest, relief washing over you. He was talking about you eating, not about you watching him jerk off. He laughed along with his hand resting on your shoulder and you were torn between leaning into it and pulling away. You were already attracted to him and everything that had happened this evening just compounded to make it worse. This was not what you were here for and you needed to pull it together. 

‘Yes Papa, you caught me this time,’ you offer with a weak smile before adding two slices of the bruschetta to a plate and handing it to him and creating a buffer between you. He accepts it with a grin, not even moving before taking a bite. His eyes close and he lets out a now familiar moan at the taste. He adds another couple of slices to his plate giving you a wink that makes your pulse race and your knees weak and then he is gone. 

Thank you @ghostchems and @namelessdrool for all your help!!! And @running-ace21 for the original prompt :)

[monstersinthecosmos]

La lotta tra erotismo e disgusto è il confine tra la psiche del personaggio e l'autore. Lo scrivo perché voglio fare un viaggio di ricerca o perché mi attrae segretamente? Che cosa sarebbe standard per i vampiri ma strano per gli umani in contrasto con ciò che sarebbe strano per i vampiri? (deepl pidgin italian)

For example,

Marius drinking blood in ill people who are clotty or who just have embolisms b/c he misses chewing on things? What about bog men, hoping against hope they are just in suspended animation and he can chew vampire blood like taffy, irritating Mael as a bonus? Is he so far removed from needing to chew on things or does he miss using the rest of his teeth? He seems like the type of vampire who'd be proud of his having all of his straight white teeth including the wisdom ones when he died.

Or is he is strangely compelled by staple removers because they look like little vampire teeth? Or is it a weird human affectation of those mortals who like office supplies?

Is he envious and contemptuous of mosquitoes? Does he envy their ability to take many little drinks at a time while disdaining insects? Does he lose it when his mortal boys come back covered in itchy bites?

Is it just pure chance he didn't start a medical school in Padua when balancing the humors in blood by bloodletting was the medical paradigm? Did he feel a keen pang of disappointment when blood banks and insulin use became widespread?

Does he constantly just use red light bulbs in his homes in the far north for the aesthetic, ignoring his vampire bed time?

!!! these are great questions!

I want to share the DeepL translation of the Italian bit so we're all on the same page: The struggle between eroticism and disgust is the boundary between the psyche of the character and the author. Am I writing this because I want to go on a research trip or because it secretly attracts me? What would be standard for vampires but strange for humans as opposed to what would be strange for vampires?

The line between disgust and eroticism is SO SPECIAL TO ME! And also, I think this is a good time to mention how the word erotic doesn't/hasn't always directly correlated to mean sexual. I've had some deep ass convos with people about this in the context of Anne Rice's work in particular--for example, in the Michael Riley book he pushes back on her a little bit for the use of the word erotic, and she was explaining she uses it to mean of the physical senses and not strictly sexual.

So like, ALL OF THESE IDEAS YOU SHARED feel erotic in that sense, too. Like, when the sense of disgust becomes so visceral that it makes you shudder, or makes you nauseous! That's eroticism baby!!!!!!!!

And certain types of us love to lean into that. :D The transgressive nature of kinks sometimes means that something being so antithetical to arousal comes full circle and becomes arousing, because you're not supposed to be into it!!!!!!!! I love that. I want to talk about it all the time.

BUT WOW ALSO THE MOSQUITO BITE ONE! I wonder if he has phases of not healing Amadeo because he likes to see the mark there afterwards.

WHAT A VERY GALAXY BRAINED ASK TO SEND, THANK YOU

[mallowmaenad]

FELIDAE -- We need to redesign our fursona.

YOU -- What's wrong with it?

INSTINCT [Medium: Success] -- It is from an older time, a time of weakness. We must show strength.

YOU -- Hmmm... yeah. Where should we start?

REPLICANT -- What better than a blank page?

YOU -- You open your sketchbook.

YOU -- Obviously we're still going for a cat.

FELIDAE -- Obviously.

SECRETARY [Easy: Success] -- You have gone on record saying that "Big the Cat is one of the only men I'd ever fuck," as well as "My transition goals are Big the Cat but with huge tits," Maybe channel that spirit into this design.

SUGGESTIVE TORIEL INTROJECT -- I know you always had a thing for big, soft, furry animals.

YOU -- I don't want to be too big, dealing body dysphoria 'n all.

ITALIAN UNCLE -- Hey, just throw some like, Neco-Arc or Chowder shit in there. Or like... That furry guy from Final Fantasy 7.

SECRETARY [Medium: Success] Cait Sith.

YOU -- Can I get some childhood memories while we're remembering things?

REPLICANT [Formidable: Failure] -- Your mom's favorite color was orange!

YOU -- Thanks. Anyway, let's make it a bit short, a bit mischievous, goblinesque.

SECRETARY -- You can't just make new words by appending "-esque" to the end of existing nouns.

KNOWLEDGE BECOME FLESH -- YOU FORGET YOUR ROOTS, YOUNG PROPHET. THE AIR OF MADNESS SWIRLS WITHIN YOUR WHISKERS. YOU ARE THE HERALD OF INSANITY AND RECREATIONAL DRUG USE. YOU CANNOT SAVE HER. ONLY WARN HER. WE'RE ALL MAD HERE.

YOU -- You add stripes on its tail and knowing eyes. You imagine it's gaze glowing a faint yellow.

MURDER MOMMY [Medium: Success] -- This thing looks really weak. How will anyone take it seriously? How will it eat and fuck without some kind of KNIFE-ORGANS?!

FELIDAE [Medium: Failure] -- When the human drops a salivating lump of wet food into the food dish, of course.

ARCHMAGE [Easy: Success] -- Yeah, we need more power. Dark and evil power.

JESTER -- Not too intimidating though, it needs to have a silly side to it!

YOU [Challenging: Failure] -- You express your inner derangement, the approachableness but underlying danger. You give the feline creature a crooked smile, wild, unkempt fur and hands that curl into sharp claws.

DEVIL [Medium: Success] -- This looks like if viziepop drew zangoose.

JESTER [Easy: Sucess] -- it looks like if Viziepop drew an obese Zangoose, at least obese by her standards.

DELIRIUM [Formidable: Failure] -- I'm sure if we keep greasing the elbows this critter will look glamoured up in say... twenty or so more attempts! Otherwise everyone will hate it and I'll be vewy vewy sad...

FAUST FROM CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED FIGHTING GAME GUILTY GEAR [Legendary: Success] -- Please take your pills... Also... You forgot to eat lunch...

[trans-lykanthropie]

Playing Card Master Infodump

Ok gang, let's talk about playing cards again.

I’m going to try and get through this as systematically as possible but I will inevitably end up repeating myself due to the interconnected nature of the whole thing. Also I’ll try putting in subheadings to make it more readable. Let’s crack on!

Mameluk Playing Cards

I mentioned in my first post that European playing cards are based on ones from Mameluk Egypt, so let’s see if we can find some historical examples.

From the Topkapu Sarayi Museum in Istanbul, an amazingly preserved set of Mameluk playing cards depicting the four suits

These cards are a perfect starting point. Dating from the 15th or 16th century, we’ll be seeing their influence percolate throughout playing card design throughout Europe. Here we see the suits that will directly influence Spanish and Italian playing cards: coins, cups, swords, and polo batons (a common sport of the ruling class). The court cards are King-Lieutenant-Second Lieutenant, the deck would’ve contained 52 cards (1-10 plus three court cards), and the illustrations are rich in detail and heavy with Islamic calligraphy. We will be tracing the evolution of European cards back to these ones as we go along, so it’s important to have an example of where it all started.

Spanish Patterns

The Islamic influence in southern Spain makes it the perfect entry point for playing cards to arrive in European material culture around the late 14th century. Spanish patterns follow the same suits as Mameluk ones (coins, cups, swords, and staffs), but a deck would contain only 48 cards, numbers 1-9 and three court cards. The court cards follow the Mameluk rankings but with a European twist, making it King-Knight-Page. Swords in Spanish cards are depicted straight, as opposed to Italian swords which are curved.

Old Catalan / Spanish National Pattern, modern day

Piacentine Pattern, found in Italy in Bourbon ruled Piacenza, shows remarked Spanish influence yet is the only Spanish pattern regularly sold today to feature reversible court cards

Some syncretism would occur with the intermediary Franco-Spanish pattern, as Spanish cards would arrive in France prior to the establishment of the French standard patterns. The use of Spanish suited cards continues in areas such as Brittany and the Vendee through the game of Aluette, however the original Franco-Spanish pattern is now extinct. These decks would also consist of 48 cards: 1-9 and three court cards, King-Knight-Page (Roi-Cavalier-Valet). The use of these patterns would directly influence French patterns to come

The court cards in the Franco-Spanish pattern showing Spanish suits

French Patterns

French patterns would begin with Spanish ones around the 14th Century, and would mesh with Germanic ones to produce something we would start to recognise as the Anglo-American pattern. The French suits (Hearts, Clovers (Clubs), Tiles (Diamonds), and Pikes (Spades)) are based on the Germanic suits (Hearts, Acorns, Bells, and Leaves respectively), however for a brief period a suit of Crescents was used instead of Tiles.

Cards celebrating the union of the kingdoms of Britanny and France, 1500, show the Spanish suits

An example of the short-lived Crescents suit, Lyon, late 15th century

The majority of Italian, Spanish, and Germanic patterns follow the Mameluk tradition of all male court cards, which causes French patterns to stand out with the inclusion of Queens in place of the Knights. Queens had appeared in decks in both Italy and Germany in the 15th century, but had mostly been dropped in non-tarot decks. The inclusion of Queens, however, continued in France where their inclusion replaced the Cavalier (Knight) with the Dame (Queen). The naming convention of Dame for Queen will also be seen in Germanic patterns.

The Paris pattern, as distinct from Anglo-American or Hamburg patterns (about which more anon), is unique in that each of the court cards reference a historical or biblical figure, and are so named even to this day in the portrait officiel pattern (a deck of 32 cards, however sometimes printed in 52-card deck variants). As an example, the Kings of the Paris pattern refer to Charlemagne (Hearts), Alexander the Great (Clovers), Julius Caesar (Tiles), and King David (Pikes). The use of Julius Caesar as the historical figure associated with the King of Tiles, and most known in the past by his depiction on Roman coins in profile, might explain why in the later Anglo-American pattern the King of Diamonds is the only King to be depicted standing in profile.

Belgian pattern cards are similar to Paris (portrait officiel) decks and likewise come in 32-card and 52 card variants.

Germanic patterns

The closest pattern to connect Germanic decks to French ones is the Hamburg pattern, which would directly influence the North German or Berlin pattern. Taking the suits that we know today (hearts, clubs, diamonds, spades) and beginning production in the early 19th century, a clear link to the Paris (portraits officiel) pattern is shown in the depiction of the King of Spades holding the Harp of King David, a reference to the association of King David with the suit of Pikes (Spades) in the Paris pattern, and the laurel wreath under the crown of the King of Diamonds (Julius Caesar, King of Tiles). Germanic patterns closely associated with the French patterns name the court cards as King-Lady-Farmer (König-Dame-Bauer)

The Kings from the North German pattern showing links to the Paris (portrait officiel) pattern conventions

Germanic pattern playing cards, however also predate the suits used in French patterns and had a direct influence on them. The Germanic suits of Hearts, Acorns, Bells, and Leaves became standard around 1450, where upon it would directly influence the French suits and finally the modern Anglo-American system of Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, and Spades. Many packs using this system contain only 32 or 36 cards, as is appropriate for the kinds of games played in the areas where they are common, and the court cards are typical established as King-Over-Under (König-Ober Knabe-Unter Knabe) in the Mameluk style of a leader and two ranks of soldier. The Ace in Germanic suits is really, and was referred to in the past as, a Deuce (Daus in German), which is why the Ace in these decks, the highest card in many regional games, actually exhibits two suit symbols rather than one. In the William Tell pattern deck, the four Deuces represent the four seasons of the year, however this is not typical across Germanic decks, which typically depicted a boar or sow in older decks, a tradition that continues today only on the Deuce of Bells.

The Deuces (Daus) of Germanic decks

Saxon pattern

Polish-Silesian pattern for the game of Skat

Altenburg Doppelkopf pattern, exhibiting the North German pattern court cards of König-Dame-Bauer with the Germanic suits

Salzburg pattern showing non-reversible court cards typical of earlier patterns, and Franconian pattern showing reversible ones, typical of later patterns

A hybrid deck showing both Germanic and French suits, in this instance the Germanic pattern is listed as William Tell and the French as Viennese

Italian patterns

Italian patterns closely resemble Mameluk and Spanish patterns, and it is in Italy where the polo baton of the Mameluk deck was replaced with a staff, or baton or club, for an area where polo was not well known or played.

Trentine pattern, showing the Mameluk influence in both suits and court cards (King-Knight-Page)

In South Tyrol, a region acquired by Italy at the First World War, the Germanic Salzburg pattern is still used with Italian translations known as the Salisburghesi pattern.

It was in Italy that the first tarot decks were produced, where additional ‚trumps‘, known in Italian as trinofi, were added for more advanced card games. Typical to Northern Italy in the Italian suits, tarot cards for games such as Tarrochi, Tarock, and Scarto spread to France and Germanic areas whereupon there was further alterations made.

Tarot patterns

Tarot cards were never originally intended for Cartomancy, such associations came later in the 18th and 19th centuries, however there is a distinct split between Franco-Italian patterns and Germanic ones. A rare Italian deck serving as a progenitor of sorts to later 78-card tarot decks that now lost, was described in a letter from Milan in 1449 and supposedly consisted of a deck of 60 cards with only the four Kings as court cards, sixteen trump cards, and the suits as birds rather than any surviving system. Early 78-card decks replaced the court cards with classical figures and made the trump cards those of classical deities. Many of these early decks survive only as incomplete examples, damaged printing sheets, or in descriptions alone.

The Tarot of Marseilles is likely the first 78-card tarot deck to resemble the one we know today. The suits follow the Italian and Spanish patterns, synthesises the French and Spanish-Italian-Mameluk courts cards to give four in each suit: King-Queen-Knight-Page. The Major Arcana, or the trumps when ranked by value, are similar to modern tarot decks, albeit with some notable differences: the Magician is replaced by Le Bateleur (The Juggler), the High Priestess by Le Pances (The Popess, likely a reference to the myth of Pope Joan), and the Hierophant with Le Pape (The Pope). In Swiss tarot decks, the High Priestess is replaced by the classical deity Juno, and the Hierophant with Jupiter, in the style of the older historical Tarot de Besançon pattern.

Germanic tarot cards, however, are entirely different in nature. Trump cards in the Bourgeois Tarot pattern, with its sub-pattern the Tarot Nouveau, depict scenes rather than figures, and are split into groups of four (such as the times of day and the four elements), with the final three depicting Games (trump 20), the Collective (trump 21), and the Individual (trump 1)

Example Tarot Nouveau trumps, reversible but each scene depicting the card’s meaning

The trumps of the Industrie und Glück pattern, a standard tarot deck for games in the Germanic regions that uses the French suit system for value and court cards

One variation of tarot decks, known as Animal Tarot patterns, uses both real and fictional animals for the trump cards, and continues today only in the south German Adler Cego pattern

The End?

Honestly, this is all I have energy for at the moment, but I wanted to show just a hint of the huge variety of different playing card designs throughout the centuries and their effect on the modern decks of today. There is so much more I’d like to get into, so if you have some questions please please please ask!