It was originally built at the end of the 1st century BC to record the renewed alliance between Emperor Augustus and Marcus Julius Cottius, a celto-ligurian ruler, made king and Roman prefect of the Cottian Alps.
The arch has a unique arcade, in which the archivolt is supported by pilasters. The entablature rests on four Corinthian columns placed at the extremities of each corner, such that a quarter of each drum is embedded in the monument. The lowest architrave is composed of three bands of which the lowest band is thicker than the middle band, and this in turn is thicker than the top band. Above the architrave, a frieze composed of a bass relief stretches around all four sides. Above that is the cornice which has twenty-two corbels on each face and twelve on each side of the arch. The corbels’ panels are decorated with roses. On tob of that rests the attic, which displays an inscription on both faces.
Notes: a side story inspired by an idea that @kantonliu sent me, and I couldn’t resist throwing everything aside to write probably the soppiest??? thing I’ve ever written. Have this as my thanks for everyones amazing support. <3 p.s probably some typos. Find the rest of Masquerade here
Sometimes, they picked the worst places to meet.
Now was one of those times.
It wasn’t that this huge open spaced establishment sprawling with chairs and tables set for two was subpar. It wasn’t the ambient night sky of hundreds and hundreds of tiny glowing bulbs suspended at different lengths from the high ceiling like perfect stars in their own universe.
It wasn’t the amazing service and other patrons that kept to themselves in groups of only two, always two. It wasn’t the velvet lined booths at the edges of the room that looked safe enough to keep secrets and smother whispers, it wasn’t the fact that there were no Russians or Japanese in sight.
It was the fact that Yuuri was here alone, waiting with his solitary drink at the bar as usual.
Era matta, da legare.
-Aveva un disturbo mentale? Chiese lo psicologo aggiustandosi gli spessi occhiali da vista sul naso.
Weston rise di gusto.
-Uno solo? Quella donna ne era piena, era più disturbata che bella…e si fidi, era la donna più bella che io abbia mai visto, che qualsiasi uomo spera di vedere o incrociare semplicemente, prima o poi.
-Mi parli di lei.
-l'ho incontrata a tarda notte, dove tutto sembra magico, persino il vecchio pub sotto casa, ha presente ? Quello con l'insegna arrugginita e dalla brutta fama. Giocava a biliardo, aveva un orribile basco calato sulla fronte, Dio mio era proprio disgustoso . Ma lei continuava ad essere così fottuttamente bella, con quel viso da bambina e quello sguardo così nero da farti accendere tutti i sistemi d'allarme che il tuo corpo possiede. Le parlavo in fretta, avevo paura che fosse soltanto un sogno e prima o poi la realtà mi avrebbe strappato via da lei. Le proposi di bere, prese un succo di frutta alla mela verde, in un locale pieno di alcolici lei scelse un semplice succo. Ci crede? Primo sintomo della sua poco sanità mentale. Dubitai che avesse meno dei vent'anni, pensiero stupido. Le sue parole non erano quelle di un innocua ragazzina, bensì quelle di una donna, una donna che se avesse voluto avrebbe potuto staccarti l'anima con i denti da un momento all'altro.
La invitai ad uscire, più e più volte fino ad innamorarmene.
Io con l'amore non ci volevo avere niente a che fare. Ho sempre pensato che esso sia un sentimento disturbato, che ti uccide se non va a buon fine. E quasi mai va a buon fine.
Aveva la mania di decorare qualsiasi cosa le capitava a portata di mano, sedie, specchi, vecchie cornici: lei le innovava. Mi ricordo quando, dopo averle dato le chiavi di casa, la trovai in salotto intenta a pitturare le pareti con colori caldi.
“Che stai facendo?” Le chiesi allarmato. “C'era della muffa, questa casa è piena di spigoli. Ha la necessità di un paesaggio caldo. Ti faccio un murales.” La guardai sbieco e infine sorrisi: si, avevo bisogno di qualcuno che mi scaldasse il cuore, la casa, il letto. Qualcuno da amare e stringere. Così mi abbandonai a lei, alle sue piccolezze e ai suoi immensi abissi. Voleva che cucinassimo assieme, diceva di aver letto un libro in cui una sessuologa esponeva che la creatività a letto aumenta svolgendo attività che toccano il quotidiano insieme. Si, esatto! Aveva detto tali parole, non ci ho capito una mazza. Ma era bello passare del tempo con lei, vederla ridere perché non sapevo tagliare una cipolla o pelare una patata. Aveva un linguaggio tutto suo, frutto di tutti i libri che aveva letto, anzi, assorbito.
I libri erano la sua ossessione. Sa, alcune volte credeva di essere la protagonista dei suoi romanzi.
“Oggi chi sei?”
“Una ricercatrice scientifica, un pirata, una donna di poco conto, un uomo con problemi familiari, una gazzella, un fachiro.” Amavo questa piccola passione, sembrava vivere mille storie concentrata in una. Preferiva la marmellata alla Nutella e il the al caffè, guardava film sottotitolati per migliorare il suo inglese già eccellente. Quando era triste, si estraniava dal modo.
E quando arrivava, sembrava un vero e proprio uragano. Correva a piedi nudi per le scale, fino in cortile. Poi piangeva e urlava al cielo; diceva che la pioggia le alleggeriva il cuore, le puliva i dolori.
Era matta da legare, ed io ne ero fottutamente perso.
Weston fissava il vuoto con un leggero sorriso che faceva da cornice al suo racconto.
-E poi ?
-Lei andò via ed io divenni matto, senza una ragione. Un giorno mi alzai e lei era non c'era più. perché crede che mi trovi nel suo studio dottore?
-Lei non è pazzo.
-la normalità senza la sua follia mi annoia.
Un tuono illumino le finestre dello studio, Weston si precipitò sulle scale.
-Corro dottore, devo andare.
-Ma dove va ? Ha pagato due ore di seduta, abbiamo consumato solo quaranta minuti.
Ma Weston era già fuori, sotto il diluvio.
Una voce maschile si udì urlar contro il cielo.
Noi fantastichiamo oltre le porte degli altri, ci convinciamo che la nostra vita con un’altra cornice sarebbe andata diversamente, cerchiamo altri padri, altre madri, le protezioni che non abbiamo avuto.
Ce la prendiamo col destino, che ci ha fatto nascere qua e non là, perché con qualcuno ce la dobbiamo prendere.
Summary: The reader finds comfort in unexpected arms when the past returns to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He realizes a little too late that he had lost her forever.
Warnings: Smoking (I don’t encourage this, it was just for dramatic effect), cursing, a bit sad.
A/N: I changed just a bit the request because I wanted to make the reader a badass because she fucking deserved it, okay?? Hope you guys like it, and feedback this shit because I am a sucker for feedback <3
“Matt, I don’t care what your current deal with
her is—” she pointed at the slim brunette behind the sliding door that lead to
the Devil’s bedroom—“but you have to know that I can’t keep this shit going on
if you’re not gonna cooperate. A relationship is made by two, not just one.”
She shook her head, trying to hold back the tears. “I’m done, Matt. I shouldn’t
have believed you…”
“(Y/N), let me explain it—”
“No.” She smacked her lips. “I sure as hell
don’t want any explanation of yours. Enough I have with you being the fucking
Devil of Hell’s Kitchen; I don’t need to know why Elektra is back. All I need
to know is that you’re turning into who you were in college and back then, this
hurt like hell… I’m not gonna let it hurt again.”
“(Y/N), please…” Matt pleaded.
“Goodbye Matt, I hope you don’t get killed.”
She took a deep breath and turned around for good.
It wasn’t until she was in the safety and
privacy of her four walls that she allowed herself to break down. She sat on
the hard-wooden floor trying to remember when Matt had started to act different
and why she wasn’t able to stop this from happening. It was a cycle repeating,
and it had one thing in common: Elektra Natchios.
Several hours later, (Y/N) carried her coffee,
a pack of cigarettes, her lighter and a garden chair up to the rooftop of her
building. She was not sure if she was allowed there, but she just needed a
moment of peace and that was the only place she could think of. After arranging
everything into place, she sat down and lit up the first cigar, and as she took
the first, deep, drag, she also took a deep breath. She needed it, after all.
Steps behind her made her turn her head a
little just to have a glance at who it could have been. She sighed and smiled
lightly and took another drag. She took out her cigarettes and offered the just
arrived man. He declined, wrinkling his nose and sitting on the cornice of the
rooftop, beside her extended legs.
“Rough night, Castle?” She asked, looking at
him from the corner of her eyes.
“I dare say less rough than yours, (Y/L/N),” he
chuckled, “so… what’s with the tough look?” He nodded in her direction; truth
was that with the mug of cold coffee in one hand, the cigarette on the other
and the bad-ass sitting, she looked tougher than ever. Frank smiled lightly at
the sight as he awaited for an answer.
“I just had a terrible day.” She replied
She scoffed and rolled her eyes in exhaustion.
“At life.” She sighed heavily and sipped the remaining of the cold coffee. “It
seems like the past insists in following me around today.”
“Wanna talk about that, pal?”
“You know I had a boyfriend, right?” Frank
nodded silently. “Well, Matt and I met back in the day, when we were in
Columbia studying and all that crap, and boy he was a good guy. Like a saint
kinda guy, but a woman appeared in the way. Her name is Elektra Natchios and…
It all went to shit because she not only distracted him from… me,” she took a
deep breath, “but she also made him distracted from his studies and everything.
Long story short, she’s back in town and today I found them at his place and…
she had not changed a thing, and unfortunately Matt has gone back to who he
used to be with her.”
“So you hate this Elektra gal?” Frank asked.
“You could think so, yeah, but… truth is I
don’t. I just hate what she has done to Matt, and what she does to him. He
seems to be under some…” she twisted her lips, trying to think of the right
word to describe her thoughts, “some kind of spell. I mean, bitch is gorgeous I
swear to god. Like, tall and super skinny. She looks like a freaking model, but
again, it’s not her who I’m mad at.”
“Did you find them going at it?” Frank cocked
“God, no!” She squealed and winced in disgust.
“They looked like they were injured, and… well, Elektra was wearing one of
Matt’s shirts, that of course, totally suited her, but the shirt she had on was
one I gave Matt for his birthday.” (Y/N) bit her bottom lip. Frank had never listened
so carefully and he never seemed very interested about her relationship with
the lawyer, but that night it all changed and she was taking the opportunity to
let it all out. “I mean, he didn’t even have the fucking decency of giving her other shirt. Why did it have to be my
shirt? I don’t want it back but—”
Out of a sudden, both (Y/N) and Frank were
startled by the Daredevil himself.
“(Y/N) get away from him, he’s dangerous.” The
man in the red suit warned, quickly getting to her to try to keep her away from
the Punisher. Matt could be very protective and possessive when he felt like
(Y/N) was in possible danger, but now it was too late for him to play hero and
try to protect her.
“Get your hands off of her, Red.” Frank
threatened, dropping his gun on the rooftop. “I am not afraid of beating the
shit out of you.”
“Frank, no!” (Y/N) squealed, running towards
him and placing her palms on his chest, trying to sooth him. “There’s no need
Matt was taken aback by the smooth relationship
between them, and by Frank’s erratic heartbeat, he knew immediately that his
feelings for (Y/N) were as strong as his own. Matt was decided in not letting (Y/N)
go, but deep inside, he knew it could be a bit too late for that.
“Why don’t you tell him exactly what you were
telling me?” Frank encouraged (Y/N) by nodding at her. He knew how strong she
could be and he never doubted her. She just needed a little push.
“(Y/N)?” Matt asked, expecting the worst from
her. He deserved it, after all.
“You’re an asshole, Matt.” She started. “You’re
a dick. I mean, why? Why pretending all this time? Why the lies? Why did it
have to be just like college?” She asked. “I mean, haven’t you learnt your
goddamned lesson? Are you that much of an idiot?” She felt her voice increasing
its volume and her chest expanding with every air intake. “Seriously, Elektra
comes again, and you fall into her
trap again!” She was exasperated and
thanks to Frank’s little push, she felt empowered and invincible. Things were
different now from her college years and she was not afraid of speaking up. The
career in law had toughened her up. “And what’s worst, you’re not only lying to
me.” She pointed at herself. “Think about Foggy for once in your life, would
you? Think about how you’re turning the business you had together into shit.
Everything you’ve worked for, you’re really gonna blow it up because of her?
And don’t come with that ninja shit you’ve been rambling about, I don’t need
and I don’t want that explanation.”
She shook her head lightly. “I’m not that
heartbroken Matt,” she said after a pause, her voice had softened and her bottom
lip had started to tremble, “I’m just… tired and I’m hurt because this is like
college all over again and I thought we were all over that.”
“Tell him about the shirt.” Frank coughed.
“Oh yes!” She snapped her fingers, regaining
her confidence back. “Because how do you think I felt when I saw Elektra wearing
the shirt I gave you for your birthday? I mean, not only she was rocking it,
but it was all bloody and shit. Like, couldn’t you have at least a bit of
decency and respect for me by giving her another
thing to wear? Jesus, Matt, you’re a piece of shit.”
“I know, and—”
“No Matt, you don’t know shit.” She
interrupted. “If you knew something, you’d treat me a bit better. You know,
I’ve known Frank for a while now and as surprising as it can be, he listened to
me rambling about you, because you know what? He treats me well, and he cares
about me. And a lot. I don’t recognize you anymore, Matt…” her voice broke,
“and what’s worse… I don’t think I ever did. Just… leave, Matt. I don’t want to
see you ever again.”
“Are you saying Frank Castle is better than
“You heard the lady, man.” Frank stepped closer
to Matt, ready for the previously announced fist fight. “Leave.”
“I’m talking to her, not you.” Matt took
another step closer to the Punisher. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“Apparently I know her better, because guess
who has been picking up her pieces that I’m guessing you left today.” Frank
“You’re doing this because you like her and you
wanna get to her. I’m not an idiot, Castle.”
“I strongly disagree.” The alluded shrugged
carelessly. “Leave before I make you leave in pieces.”
“(Y/N), answer me.” Matt pleaded one last time.
“Is Frank Castle better than me?”
“You could say so, yes.” (Y/N) nodded. “Now
leave, for real, I don’t want to see you ever again or hear from you, I just
want you out of my life.” The tears pooled in her glimmery eyes and just before
she broke down, Frank’s huge arm rested around her back, giving her a sense of
safety and support. “You can keep all the things I gave you, or better, give
them to Elektra, I’m sure she’ll enjoy them.” She bitterly spat.
“Let’s get you inside.” Frank softly said,
placing a hand on the small of her back. “Red, get outta here.” His voice
turned from soft into a growl. Matt licked his lips and nervously and had no
other choice but leaving. (Y/N) was right, he was a piece of shit and he
realized that exact same minute that the one thing that kept him on the normal
side was her and that he had lost her forever. She didn’t even see him leave.
Once they were inside, Frank put some water to
boil and (Y/N) went to her bedroom to change into something more comfortable.
This was the second time she broke up with Matt, and it hurt as much as the
first time did. She stayed in her bedroom, crying almost naked for everything
that had happened. It hurt her seeing how little he had learnt and how little
he cared about what they had. It was incredible how Elektra could change him,
just flicking a switch on him.
“(Y/N)?” Frank knocked on her door, startling
her and making her dress up quickly. “I made you some tea, I’ll be waiting for
you in the living room…”
“Thank you, Frank.” She stammered.
When she got out, she discovered Frank smiling slightly
at her and holding the cup in one of his huge hands. She took it gladly, and
took a sip from it. She muttered a ‘thank you’ and wrapped one of her arms
around his wide torso. She tried to keep herself together, but truth be told,
she couldn’t. Fortunately, Frank was there to keep her broken pieces from
falling away. His arms were like glue to her breaking heart.
“I know you like me, Frank…” she whispered, “I’m
not an idiot.” Frank chuckled and nodded.
“Yeah, not like I’ve been trying to hide it…”
“But why listening all my blabbering about Matt?”
She looked up to him. “I mean, I was hurting you and you never stopped me, and
I’m sorry for not sto—”
“You were not hurting me, (Y/N).” Frank laughed
heartedly. “I mean, it wasn’t my favorite topic to discuss, but…” He shrugged.
Out of a sudden, he lets go of (Y/N) and goes away to sit on the couch. He
tapped on the spot next to him and she took the invitation. “I like you, ok? I
like you a lot,” he nodded at her, “but I do have a ridiculously elevated
amount of respect for you, so I’m not gonna push’ya into something you don’t
want. I might be a nutjob, but I understand the meaning of limits.”
“Frank Castle has feelings, after all.” (Y/N)
smiled lightly and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” She sighed
after a long silence. “Just thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Frank lovingly kissed the
top of her head and leaned his big head on hers.
Le amicizie più belle non nascono sotto le stelle, brancolano nel buio, s'incontrano e poi osservano il cielo. Le amicizie migliori sono quelle che nascono nei modi più strani, dietro un pc, tramite un messaggio, durante uno scambio di pensieri… ci si conosce giorno per giorno, pregi e difetti, attimi veri. L'amicizia, quella vera, riesce a stare dentro una cornice come un affresco sui muri delle cattedrali più belle. L'amicizia, quella vera, non chiede ma dà e riesce a vivere come quegli affreschi senza tempo.
C'è una ragazza, una ragazza all'apparenza cattiva, sempre pronta a litigare con qualcuno, sembra che nulla le faccia paura. In realtà quella ragazza è provvista di una fragilità immensa, ha paura di tantissime cose, ha paura di mangiare una brioche o qualsiasi altro cibo, lei non ingurgita cibo ma numeri, lei ha paura di vedere anche solo un rasoio o qualcosa di appuntito avendo il timore di ricaderci. Questa ragazza si pesa ogni mattino sperando di pesare meno del giorno prima, vede solo grasso in ogni singola parte del suo corpo e prova una vergogna immensa. Questa ragazza ha cicatrici indelebili sulle braccia e appena qualcuno gliele sfiora anche solo per sbaglio lei va in panico. Questa ragazza soffre di ipersonnia e passa notti intere a piangere nel suo letto. Questa ragazza sta arrivando a un punto di non ritorno, questa ragazza ora è seduta sulla cornice della finestra di casa sua e si domanda che cosa sta facendo della sua vita. Questa ragazza sono io.
Noi fantastichiamo oltre le porte degli altri, ci convinciamo che la nostra vita con un altra cornice sarebbe andata diversamente, cerchiamo altri padri,altre madri,le protezioni che non abbiamo avuto. Ce la prendiamo col destino,che ci ha fatto nascere qua e non là, perché con qualcuno ce la dobbiamo prendere. Perché non c’è niente di peggio del pensiero che, partendo da presupposti diversi, le cose sarebbero andate ugualmente…
Church of Santiago Apóstol, Pomata, Chucuito Province, Puno Region, Peru. Part 3: The main facade (c. 1794).
Facing a narrow street leading to the town´s square, the main facade of the church of Santiago at Pomata is more austere than the lavish lateral portal, but in no way less impressive. It was the last part of the church to be built and it consists of a portal within a projecting arch flanked by two huge tower bases. This particular arrangement, in which the portal is placed inside a deep projecting arch is rather common in Puno Region, and it is present in the churches at Lampa, Zepita, Vilque, Juliaca, among others. The portal is a large structure, three stories high - with a smaller fourth story- , with three bays framed by twelve columns, four on each story. These columns are different from those in the lateral portal, having a straight shaft carved in planiforme or mestizo style depicting a human figure holding vines entwined with flowers and leaves. The capitals seem to be highly stylized versions of the Corinthian order, consisting of two pairs of volutes in the first story and two rows of vertical leaves in the second and third stories. The entablatures, reduced to just a cornice, are also entirely carved with planiforme motives. The huge choir window, deeply splayed, occupies the second and third stories while shallow niches fill the rest of the spaces between the columns. The portal fits rather awkwardly within the projecting arch, with the outside columns of the third story not supporting its corresponding entablature.
Two huge tower bases flank the projecting arch that houses the portal. Of these, only the right base holds a belfry, while in the other an inscription states that it was built in 1794 (Quiroga año 1794). Over the base of the right tower two superimposed stories support the large belfry, composed of two arched openings on each of its four sides -an arrangement that resembles that of Cusco Cathedral - topped by a small dome over a cornice, surrounded by four pinnacles.