#Mass Luciano

[4lenko]

Luciano Costa reposted a Kaidan Alenko magazine cover fanart on his insta! 🥹

He really cares about Kaidan even after all these years. I love him.

[canonqueercharacters]

The canon queer character of the day is:

Kaidan Alenko from the Mass Effect series, who is bisexual.

[transgaledekarios]

Thinking again about how James’ nickname for Ever is Sunny. And it’s corny and adorable and starts off silly and a way to make them smile/laugh. But over time, as his feelings get a bit more real, it becomes genuine. Their smile really does light up their face, he feels its warmth in his chest, and can’t help but smile back.

And then add even more time that nickname becomes Luz, mi luz, the light of my life, and it’s unbearably corny and sweet, and it makes them smile in that almost-shy way. Which is wild because they’re not at all shy, but they’ve never been loved before, truly loved, and it makes them soft and hesitant in a way they’ve never been before. Their hands which have brought so much violence into the world, feel soft and gentle in his. He’s safe waters, a warm, sunny day, gently lapping waves, inviting and soothing. Augh one day I will finish this fic

[fangirl-corey]

Having a chat on him (nonmention 😊) and found this picture which I hadn't seen by now. Holy SHIT! This is him. It's a real life Kaidan.

“You’re not watching me cook, you’re watching me drink beer.” - Kaidan Alenko (https://www.instagram.com/p/CO33KMfreB3/?igshid=1olj0u0vnr8rk)

Luciano Costa giving Kaidan fans a treat on insta today in celebration of Mass Effect Legendary Edition 💖

[justinspoliticalcorner]

LATROBE, Pa. — When fascism finally went mainstream in America, it came hawking a $60 made-in-China Bible and shadowed by a 50-foot American flag braced by construction cranes — and it opened with a story about Arnold Palmer’s private parts. I’d driven nearly five hours into and under the Allegheny ridges of Western Pennsylvania — up and down slopes that got steeper each mile with the volume of Donald Trump flags and yard signs that proclaimed “I’m Voting for the Convict 2024″ — out of a sense that the decline and fall of American civilization has reached a depth that I needed to personally bear witness. It was a fever dream — maybe I could find words that have eluded everyone else. Just six days earlier, Trump came to the Philly suburbs and turned a supposed town hall into a 39-minute dance party as his deeply confused crowd watched a once and wannabe future U.S. president sway awkwardly to Sinead O’Connor and Luciano Pavarotti or look utterly frozen in the bubble of his 78-year-old head. And yet when the alarm goes off the next morning, it’s still Groundhog Day in America, an election with a 50% chance of the music-trance guy winning. Something both incredibly momentous and weird is happening at the same time. Now, the sun was nearly setting over the runway at Arnold Palmer Regional Airport. With the most consequential U.S. presidential election since 1860 just 17 days away, about 3,000 to 4,000 of the most die-hard MAGA Trump fans who weren’t exhausted by the campaign and the GOP candidate’s frequent visits to Steelers’ country had been waiting for hours on a sunbaked tarmac. They’d let out the obligatory whoop for the obligatory flyover of Trump Force One, and then finally the man tasked with bringing their country back was on the podium, filtered by bulletproof glass. Donald Trump’s red meat of mass-deportation camps and R-rated attacks on his opponents would have to wait. Monday’s DJ was now Saturday night’s comedian, with his cult as captive audience. What started out as an obligatory shout-out to Latrobe’s famous native son — Palmer, the late great golfer who brought the sport to your TV screens in the 1960s — went on for five minutes, then 10, then 12. What started as a nice but meandering tale about Palmer’s working-class roots grew into a stone silence during long detours into stuff like types of golf club shafts as the tale grew increasingly instead about Trump — about how his own power and wealth allowed him to claim friendship with this great man. You are standing in the twilight wondering if this could get any stranger when of course it did. The man who bragged in his first campaign that he could shoot somebody on Fifth Avenue and people would still vote for him now wants America to know he can tell a penis joke with the cameras rolling and still get elected as the 47th president. [...] So I came to Latrobe to try and write the 72-point headline that the Times editors can’t — “PHALLUS-JOKE MAN AND DANCING FOOL COULD LEAD THE FREE WORLD AGAIN” — and to scream at the top of my lungs from the bluffs overlooking this tiny airport that this would-be emperor telling the shower story is actually wearing no clothes. Who will shout that Trump’s “closing argument” is the melding of his increasingly public breakdown with how that might lead to an all-too-real domestic war of midnight raids and armored personnel carriers against the fiction of an “Occupied America”? Ironically, Trump’s endless Arnold Palmer bit seemed part of an effort Saturday night to prove that the rambling candidate is not “exhausted,” something that his own aides reportedly said after several recent interviews were canceled. But the Republican nominee — kind of like Madonna’s “Sex” phase and shock photos when her 1980s were ending — also appeared to sense that he needs to get more and more outrageous to get attention, after numbing America to his Hitlerian language that immigrants “will cut your throat.”

Will Bunch at The Philadelphia Inquirer on Donald Trump's Latrobe rally (10.20.2024)

Will Bunch wrote in The Philadelphia Inquirer about Donald Trump’s fascist insultfest in Latrobe, PA in which he infamously obsessed about Arnold Palmer.

[umbra-borealis]

Dimitri Lousteau is the most 'human' villain in Sly Cooper

Hello and welcome to my TEDtalk, I've been meaning to type out my yapping for a long time but always talked myself out of it because I mean, this is coming from a guy with Dimitri for a pfp and I figured people would just take it as a guy on tumblr simping for a weird lizard but no. The reasons I care for Dimitri the way I do goes pretty deep and I could sit here and talk about it point by point but to save us both some time (and because I am DEAD tired) I made a graph!

I used Luciano, my little sona, to personify myself in this.

I focused mainly on formative things and similarities in personality without inserting headcanons, even if based on traits or even symptoms I recognize. Most of these are rather straight forward but some run a little deeper. The funny pattern here (maybe aside from the drug thing lol) is that there's a high likelihood that you reading this right now can at least relate to just one or two things on those list and while you could argue that you could do the same with other characters, I picked these traits because in my opinion they ride that thin line between just relatable enough to apply to a lot of people, but not too superficial to be on the same an interest or hobby. Anyone can get upset when angry, it's HOW you express that anger that says something about you as a person for instance.

I also want to quickly mention that yes, a LOT of characters in Sly Cooper are very human, but I said 'villain' for a reason. After all I don't think your average college kid can relate to Contessa, Rajan or Panda King because mass brainwashing, destroying villages and being a literal drug lord are bordering on supervillain and that's not what Dimitri is. A supervillain can be relatable to a degree as well, but it makes sense that the Panda King had to have a whole Moment TM (several really) to come to terms with the kind of person he allowed himself to become. When we see Dimitri in Sly 3, he seems to have already done this perhaps because his sins aren't nearly as great. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'll insert a read-more here but I'd like to ask you to keep reading anyway if you can because my biggest pet peeve is that Dimitri is seen as a dumb, sleazy (and old??? which is dumb and I got math to back up that he's not in fact in his 40s during Sly 2 lmao) lizard who's only good as a level 1 boss for beginners to learn the game and all he's remembered for, though fair, is his manner of speech and not what he's REALLY saying. None of you ever picked up on what he was throwing down so I'm going to spell it out for you.

(PS I have ADHD and it's 3 AM so go easy on me this is coming from the HEART baby)

To make it easier on myself and you, I'm going to start sectioning the word soup in my head into four categories based on Dimitri's enterprises and roles and just kinda... waffle on about my thoughts regarding them. I'll start superficial and work my way down to the Deep Shit. Feel free to skip around to whatever interests you since I include some lore too, though changes are you're already aware of said lore.

Lets start with:

Dimiti, the club manager.

Nightclubs, and the people that run them tend to have a bit of a sleazy stereotype attached to them, which I suppose is fair. Though a large chunk is attributed to movies and other media, there were in fact some really large and important movements surrounding nightlife and club culture. Just look up the Club Kids if you want to go down a rabbit hole, in short they were a fairly large group of partiers from the 90s who contributed a LOT to fashion and art movements as well as being generally very fluid when it came to gender. Unfortunately that too would eventually be plagued by drugs and members getting addicted to drugs. Again, I digress.

Dimitri is seen partying in the intro of his chapter in Sly 2,

which is a nice touch because not only is it in-character, it's something that would actually happen. Owners of a popular joints would be popular or just enigmatic figures that would regularly get subjected to patrons schmoozing up to them. Some weren't a fan but there were many that soaked up the attention, bought rounds on the house when business was good, maybe get a little TOO cocky with confidence. It's a bit too simple to look at Dimitri in relation to all this info and say 'no doi he was in it for the money it checks out.' because if you spend enough time in his club or just, in the safe house after placing the bug there's signs of more going on.

We KNOW Dimitri is a criminal and he did his whole art forgery business on the side, or maybe it's the other way round? Either way he seemed fairly confident in his skills with this. His biggest risk being that time he tried to marry someone over a STATUE. (Really dude?) So then why was he so damn paranoid? While you could argue that he was sippin' his own supply I don't think that's what it was. He was so paranoid he played his music super loud in almost all areas of the club JUST to keep his security detail awake through-out night and day, whenever his club wasn't open to the public. To compensate he would promise them they could all 'retire early'. with that fake confidence chuckle that masks a sense of 'haha please don't abandon me'

So, ever heard of Imposter Syndrome? Because his behavior as a club owner SCREAMS it. He wasn't JUST cocky and sleazy, he was simply fitting in with the culture of the time because *everyone* was overly confident, over confidence was something to be admired, something to look at and go 'yeah that guy has it figured out' while in reality most struggled with something, anything. So what is Imposter Syndrome? To keep it short and blunt, the overwhelming feeling that you're not worthy of your accomplishments. We know that Dimitri is a 'failed' artist who turned to forging art to make money, it could just be a sense of guilt telling him something he's not ready to hear so he starts overcompensating and this insecurity bleeds into Sly 3 after Sly puts him in his place. His success with this insanely toxic coping mechanism lands him a new enterprise.

Dimitri, the Spice distributor.

Rather than going chronological, I'm going through the 'layers' that is this lizard. So if his career as a club owner is the tip of the ice berg with some neat little facts and info about the stereotype he conveys, this subject is a tier deeper. Dimitri the Spice distributor is Dimitri the next level criminal, or so he thinks. When you think about it, it's pretty strange that they gave Dimitri some Clockwerk parts at all. He was never mentioned by the other Klaww Gang members and thus seemingly not missed either when he was the first to get busted. In fact, nobody was upset that their DISTRIBTOR was arrested, putting a hold on their primary income... or so we thought until the Contessa was revealed to have a rather large and lucrative side hussle Dimitri probably could never compete with. Dimitri was expendable, sure he had a role and he played it well but he was also a loss they could cope with without much harm done to their wallets or their pride.

I think about it often, Dimitri in his jail cell, maybe hearing from another criminal or even his lawyer after the whole Clock-La thing about the full scope of the plan. He might've gotten a reduced sentence for ratting the other members out because if you think back to his legendary conversation with Sly he really doesn't seem to know what he's talking about. ("What is it with clocks bro!?") All of Dimitri's other crimes aside, he was young and naive, Sly 3 reveals he came from some form of poverty as well so it makes sense that he'd chase easy money. That's all it was though, he wanted the money and the fame, he didn't want to brainwash an entire city, he didn't know about the giant robot owl. He's once again left feeling like a failure, this time one that was easy to fool and all the confidence he had as a criminal would've seeped out of him, starting this weird cycle of him trying something only to be caught breaking the law and ending up where he began.

Like I said all of this would bleed into Sly 3 and it's pretty damn neat that for how little lines he had and how little he was on screen, they managed to convey this well in my opinion. By the time we reach Sly 3, most of us don't remember him as a Spice distribtor at all. Which leads me to...

Dimitri the Artist.

Being an artist is a pretty broad term and while we know Dimitri as a painter, I think he applies his artist mindset in way, way more. He's genuinely creative an smart, he thinks out of the box to protect his secrets and to cover his tracks. His identity as an artist is also his most vulnerable and 'real' self. Folks will say art is about self expression and usually mean conveying complex topics with pretty pictures or thought provoking stories, however it can be apparent in smaller ways too and the most obvious thing for Dimitri is his business in forging art. Think about it this way:

Picture you don't speak a LICK of english, you're from a lower in-come family or even straight up poverty but you grew up on tall tales of your grandpa being a total badass who lived freely and seizes every opportunity he could to make money... or take it rather but you get the idea. Your grandpa used his talents as a diver and deep down, you know what your talent is. It's art. So you somehow manage to move across the world to Paris, go to an art school work your ass off to develop your own style, your own identity and when it came to making a name for yourself you were rejected super hard. You're now probably in debt, in a foreign country and all you're known for is being the art community's clown.

One thing that gets overlooked is that Dimitri's paintings aren't actually that bad.

He very clearly knows the basics quite well, he's using color theory to shade and add depth but as he goes from student to independant artist, he breaks away from the basics and develops a style. His color use becomes brighter, he adds little stars just because why not? He likes em! This style is PERFECT for the nightlife club scene he ends up in down the line of course, but in the world of pretentious parisian artist hipsters? Absolutely not. So while he's just being himself, he's shown that that isn't allowed, that wont get him success. It reminds me of artists who say shit like 'I'll just learn to draw furry porn I guess!' thinking it's a guaranteed money printer (heh) and whether they enjoy making that kind of content is irrelevant, which leads to burn out or in case they DO find success, imposter syndrome. The dread that you do not deserve this recognition because it's not something you're actually that passionate about, not something you want to be known for. Say what you will about Dimitri but he never compromised. And while the cutscene shows shoddy painted depictions of classical paintings, I think this was more to illustrate him forging paintings to a younger audience than imply he was a bad painter as just before those crappy version, we see what's probably the REAL version he would've painted and sold.

This is conjecture on my part but I have to believe it because well, art forgery is HARD. You'd have to actually be a freaking genius to do it and sell it for so high, you can just afford what is basically a freaking opera house in PARIS and turn it into a nightclub. Also did I mention Dimitri just, HAS a ~mansion~ in Monaco? Because he does.

I've also always liked that scene for the expression on his face. It's smug, it's so full of petty, passve aggressive anger, a stubborness to admit defeat and instead to just 'prove a point' even if that point is lost to the means being SUPER illegal. That being sad, I don't think any of us feel bad over this man stealing a couple thousand from billionaire pockets. Billionaires that probably have their own little illicit ways to get that cash. Funny... It seems Sly isn't the only one who steals from other criminals.

And you might've stuck around this long and gone 'Umbra, get to the fucking POINT already." to which I have good news.

Dimitri, the Marine Iguana.

My favorite part, feel free to skip ahead to this headline if you want.

So who is this guy anyway? Well, from Sly 3 we see that he has a mother, a sister and his grandparents and that's about it as far as we can tell.

Just look at that smile! He looks like your average, awkward teenager. No struggling on the streets from what we can tell, no bullying by bigger kids, no weird sociopathic tendencies, no childhood trauma or grudges. The events that changed him seem to all have happened after he left for Paris. Sure it aint much to go off of but even if his life was hard, it seemed he was close with his grandfather and got to know him for a decent couple of years. Marine Iguanas are, like the name implies, an aquatic species of reptile. They're well adapted to land but due to low food availability in-land, they migrated to the beaches and started living off of sea algae, learning how to dive in the process. Even in Sly 2 the devs included plenty of references to Dimitri's affinity for water. The windows in the dancefloor area of his club are partially submerged, there are two massive aquariums in his office, he lives on a boat (or hides there anyway) and has several water features but inside and outside his club.

When you take a step back and look at all that, Dimitri is... just a guy who left his home country, his family, to follow a dream only to have that dream shatter and he's left to pick up the pieces all alone, making poor choices in the process. Choices based on anger and a broken heart. And the truth of the matter is that ALL of this, could happen to anyone. Granted in varying different ways as not everyone's life is the same and not everyone will make the same choices but I think many of us had a dream career as a kid only to become a jaded adult who thinks it's unrealistic or only does that thing as a hobby, I think there's many of us that remember the moment our hearts were broken and we realized the cold, unforgiving nature of real, adult life.

We see the effect of ALL of this come to a head in Sly 3, when at first he's not sure if he should still be mad at Sly for putting him in jail while he's currently the only guy he knows that COULD break him back out of jail as well. He still overcompensates, he's still overly confident and he put himself in that cell but still, he honors his word and helps Sly and Bentley find their friend. Then in Holland we see him behind a bar, seemingly as if he's actually got a job as a bartender there. Heck, he DOES have a job! He's the announcer! He may not super like it but he's being humbled by it all the same and when Sly comes for help a second time, the bravado is gone for a moment. He expresses genuine fear, not necessarily for his own safety but for losing a job, for *failing*. Of course the right answer in this scenario is to hype up his confidence again. And because Sly has proven himself to be trustworthy in the past he figures he can trust him with a favor of personal, sentimental value. If anyone would understand how it feels to have your family name dishonored and an heirloom stolen, it's Sly and Dimitri knows that damn well.

I think this is about as real as Dimitri can get, aside from the whole scuba gear thing. I know the gang is disguised but I don't think Dimitri is at all. I think that's just... what he likes to wear, further making me think he's just a regular guy with so much heart ache he lashe out in some pretty vile ways. Tortured artists are known to do some crazy shit after all. And while he continues to be his funny eccentric self we know him to be, he starts to have his first real moments of genuine care and loyalty while a part of the Cooper Gang. He tells Bentley he 'has his own flavor' which is his way of telling him that he's unique an valid the way he is. He dives after Sly's cane in VERY dangerous waters, risking injury or even his life, no questions asked. He sends Bentley postcards and letters to let his friend know he's safe and doing well. But perhaps something that hits me harder than any of that, is how angry and shocked Dimitri looks upon Sly's 'retirement announcement'.

Here he was thinking he made a friend out of Sly, and just like that he was gone. It makes me wonder if he held onto that grudge or not but a part of me likes to imagine that he didn't. I think his time with that gang made him realize that although he might not understand and he might be upset, it's not all about him. If anything he silently continued the rivalry by seeing how many girls he could cram into one post card with him to one up Sly's act of running off with a girl himself or perhaps he took it as a sign to make a career switch as well. Either way, Dimitri ended up changing for the better, he became himself in the end. A sweet, goofball iguana who loves the ocean and loves to paint. Making money became a nice bonus rather than his main focus.

Coming from a similar, rough background, having gone to therapy and trying to find my place in the world, this gives me hope. Hope that if I look hard enough, I can find my niche too and that being myself is the best I can be. If you read all this, thank you. I fgured it was best to just get it ALL out at once. I hope it was a fun read or made you look at Dimitri a little differently.

[comediakaidanovsky]

boy does he ever

I did not know he cosplayed…uh, himself?

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

Hello! Can you please write about the 2p Axis (btw I especially love your writings about 2p Italy and 2p Romano! Love, love,love!) about the darling ask of the escaped and vanished for about a year and then one day they see them out in public ? Please and thank you for all that you write, it makes my day better ,always.

I don’t think I can iterate how thankful I am for how patient you guys are when you get your asks done.

The popping of colorful, confetti from their paper cannons and the cheers of a crowd full of delight rang out like the happy howls of a wolf pack.

Their loud songs of joy were directed toward the mayor’s marble balcony as he marched to the end of the platform. He looked down at them with a stressed smile as he welcomed them all to the summer celebration while sweeping his large arm to open the holiday event for everyone.

As the crowd thinned, with people moving about to start various activities, the mayor shivered. The dark glare burning into his back forced him to face the shadow that awaited in his office.

With the speed of a child knowing of an incoming scolding, he nervously shuffled into the dim room. His eyes were downcast as he looked at the feet of the sleep-deprived man, slouched on his navy couch.

“The festival’s begun.” The mayor licked his lips. “Is there anything else that you need to observe?”

The man spoke a simple “No.” as he slowly raised himself from the couch. His steps were heavy as he dragged himself to the blind-covered window. His cold hand pulled on the flimsy panel as his eyes slowly moved through the crowd.

The mayor’s continued cowering and questioning went ignored when familiar (H/C) locks flittered through the masses.

Locked on the locks his eyes followed them like a road map to gaze upon her face.

She looked so familiar, with the same faint scars and quirky grin. Yet, he noticed something new, the light in her (E/C) eyes that was once dimmed to mere dying embers had returned to their blaze. Instead of the fearful shuffle, there was a pep in skip that reminded him of the first time they met. 

He couldn't deny the rising hope at the sight of his long-lost wife. It felt like seeing the sun for first the time in a year, and yet a dark cloud quickly covered it. Reminding him of what had occurred almost a year ago to the day.

His darling wife had deserted him. Destroyed their happy home by slipping him a fatal concoction of medications, before slithering off into the night. Disappearing from his life, leaving nothing to hint at current her existence, until now.

Today, he thought, would change that. Today, she would be coming home whether she wanted to or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Italy: The Mafia Don never lost sight (Y/N)’s form, even as she began to blend back into the crowd.

The moment his eyes could no longer track her form, his hand dug into his pocket. The force that he used to pull a phone from its cloth confinements popped the seams of the pocket as he activated the device.

Two simple beeps before he held the silver phone to his ear. He waited with an intense focus on the crowds, searching for his wife again before a deep voice rumbled.

“Si, Don Vargas?”

There was no hesitation from the still-scanning leader as he gave his order. “My-a wife’s here at the-a summer festival. Find her.”

A simple ‘si’ came from the underling as he hung up the phone. A near-silent whimper made the magenta-eyed Italian turn to the trembling mayor.

He smirked as he pulled a knife from his brown suit and lifted the blade toward the coward. “If you-a value your-a short existence, you’ll say a-nothing.”

The mayor’s sweat-covered face bowed in a submissive nod before Luciano Vargas walked out. Leaving the mayor in the darkness and summer heat.

While Luciano’s men searched from the back alleys and dark corners, he walked more forward among the civilians. His pace was quick as he ducked and weaved.

Hours ticked by in the hot sun, and his stride never faltered even as his phone rang. The words that greeted him upon its answer, did make him stop. In fact, it made him smile like a crocodile that cornered squirming prey.

“Boss, we’ve got her.”

Luciano’s men hadn’t failed him. After last time, with the vivid memories of Medieval levels of torture and Pollock type of red mess, they refused to.

The confirmation of his darling wife’s capture, Luciano slipped away through the happy crowds. Allowing the alleys and shadows to guide him back to his car.

The drive was short as he sped over all limits and it screeched to a halt at the manor's stairs. 

Sauntering his way up through the oak doors and the large halls of the mansion, his men above breathed a small sigh of relief at their master's joy.

It was only a few turns along the marble corridor before he stepped down the stairs toward the dark, medieval basement. 

The Roman torches from long-forgotten eras cast long shadows along the iron cells. Each prisoner within attempted to hide when the Don walked by.

He paid no mind to the heavy chains shaking as walked to the heavy, iron door at the hall's end. It screeched open as he pushed against it.

The opening revealed a small, dark cell; furnished with only wall-mounted chains, a large pile of pillows, and a woman sitting upon it cuffed at the neck.

Luciano smiled wide as he reached up and pulled on the cord for the single lightbulb. He watched with joy as she flinched away upon its suddenness. Then trembling as she realized who stood in front of her. 

He stepped closer. A large smile on his face as grabbed the struggling woman's face. Dragging her toward him and tilted her head to the left as he whispered.

"Welcome back, mia Moglie." Luciano licked the shell of her ear before pulling back to look her in the eye. "I've missed you. Did you miss-a me?"

(Y/N) didn't answer, quietly shivering in his hold. Tears bubbled as Luciano's grin became feral.

"Because I'm all you have left."

Romano: (Y/N)’s body trudged forward with the unseen weight of exhaustion that comes from a day of excitement. Her lone footsteps were the only sound on the lamp-lit street that was still littered from the confetti released that morning.

She sighed heavily, but happily as she turned the final corner that would lead to the last leg of her journey.

Usually rounding the turn filled her steps with enough pep to skip her way home like a fairy tale bunny, this time however, she shuffled like a nervous horse stopped by an ashen rattler.

That serpent was no living thing, but a white limo with the nearest door opened like a snake’s jaw. Its light seeped out like venom from a bite, cascading along the sidewalk and highlighting her shoes.

Despite the shine, she could only see the shadows of a man within. His nice, white suit contradicted the black interior of the vehicle as his leg bounced. Whether it was excitement or nervousness she didn’t want to know.

Gulping, (Y/N) moved off the sidewalk to give the long automobile a wide berth.

As her path aligned with the open door, a sudden push came from her right. Shoved her into the door before being pulled into the limo that was now slammed shut.

The wheels screamed as the force caused her to crash into the man’s legs. Clutching onto them for some form of stability as the limo swerved.

Gentle fingers ran through her hair in a futile attempt to calm her down, but it only made her heart pound harder as (Y/N) finally looked at the mysterious stranger.

Her throat tightened as tears blurred her vision of the smiling Fabrizio. It wasn’t the loving smile he gave when he thought she had been broken. No, this one contained the traces of madness, obsession, and relief.

Like a spooked cat, she prepared to jump away, ready to duck and roll on the fast-passing terrain, but the hand tightened on her hair pulling her back to his feet.

“Now, now Bambola.” She flinched when he placed his silver stiletto against her neck. “You wouldn’t want-a make it worse when we get home, right?”

Germany: Like an old hound after a young vixen, Luther walked out of the office. Ignoring the mayor’s whimpering calls.

 His steps were quiet, yet quick as he slunk his way out of the City’s Hall. Into the streets, blending in with the crowds while his eyes searched for flickers of her clothing.

For moments, Luther felt that he was being led in circles. That his mind had played the cruelest of jokes as various flickers took him to multitudes of dead ends.

As the summer sun descended from its peak, the crowds thinned.

The lessened numbers brought out quiet conversations. One that made the German freeze.

The main voice was familiar, sounding like a lullaby that one’s mother no longer sang.

He followed like a bloodhound after a criminal. Its trail brought him to a small café with black wire seats under a cream-colored awning.

In the darkest corner were two women. The one to the right quickly faded into the shadows. The left one, his missing piece, was at first glance, like the warm blaze that welcomed heroes home from their quest.

Part of Luther wanted to embrace the blaze. Take in all the burns that would allow him to reunite with his heart. The other wanted to smother her. Place (Y/N) back into her hearth to prevent another wildfire like the one that gave her the chance to escape. To harness her passion to warm him alone.

Slinking toward the café, Luther went unnoticed in the dark as he entered the alley to the building’s right.

He watched with aid from a streetlamp as the women parted, hugging before they waved going their separate ways.

Luckily, Luther’s alley ran along (Y/N)’s route, allowing him to follow her like a shadow at sunset.  

Eventually, the sparsely filled streets became empty. 

Luther moved further ahead. Waiting at the next opening, back pressed against the near brick wall.

He held his breath as her footsteps approached.

At the same moment, his lamp-lit angel began her cross, his hands shot out. Grabbing (Y/N) and drugged her to his chest. His gun clicked as he lifted it from his waistband, muzzle pushed onto her temple.

Tears began to pour as she trembled in his hold. Small pleas for freedom and attempts at deals to prevent a return to their home fumbled from her mouth.

Luther heeded none of it.

Instead, he led her away. Far from the summer sun. Forcing her back into the damaged, cold hearth he called home.

Japan: As (Y/N) swam among the flood of sweat-covered people, a cold shiver vibrated her spine. The type that whispered the warning of danger to our ancestors on open grasslands. That gave way to the primal urge to hide from bloodthirsty beasts.

Yet, as her head snapped left, then right. Nothing stuck out. No one staring from amongst the crowds, no aggressive shoving, or screams of terror.

Swallowing her fear, (Y/N) shrugged off the feeling before jogging to the meeting point of all her friends. Trusting that the demon, who had claimed her as a wife, was nowhere near.

Not once did the feeling return as (Y/N) went about the festivities with friends. As the hours passed, she had long forgotten it ever occurred.

Even as she separated from the herd to return home, she felt relaxed. Safe, even as she moved through the empty, evening streets, but as she climbed the stairwell through her dark, apartment building that same shiver crept up her spine like a million, skittering centipedes.

Despite her glances showing nothing abnormal, the dark corners and shadows of the grey stairwell offered no relief with their shifting shadows. Instead, they seemed to reach out with long claws that caused her heart to race.

A door from the floor below slamming sent her running.

Up the stairs, she flew. Her arm acted as a balance as she swung the corner entrance to her floor. Panting, she leaned against her door as she struggled against her keys. Pushing them against the metal lock until the right one clicked in before a harsh turn allowed her to fall into her home. A simple kick, shut her own door as she scrambled away from it.

(Y/N)’s terrified clamber had become frozen mid-movement. She had hit something that did not exist within her dark entryway. It was warm and tall. Covered in loose-fitting cloth that felt of rough cotton. Her left hand moved backward and slowly slid across the smooth leather of military boots.

“Hime” At that simple pet name the tremors returned in full force. Tears collected on her lashes as she felt a gloved hand rake its way through her hair. With a little force, the hand angled her head upward.

Above her was the man she feared most. Kurai Honda.

 As she opened her mouth to scream, he covered it with a tight hand.

(Y/N) struggled against him. Flailing her arms and kicking at his arms. Kurai acted as though he felt nothing. Maneuvering (Y/N) like a doll into a choke hold and suffocating her.

As the dark spots crossed her vision, she heard him whisper.

“When you awake, our honor will be restored.”

Spain: Armando’s typically stoic face twitched for a moment before stretching into a mischievous grin.

A smile so sinister that the mayor’s teeth chattered as he backed away from the Spaniard. His spine shook as he cursed the hip bump that knocked the glass cup off the desk, it shattered upon impact with the wooden floor.

Like a predator mid-hunt, Armando’s head snapped toward the noise. His smile never waned as he stared.

“My apologize, Señor Mayor. But we will have to finish this discussion another day.”

The monster of a man turned on his heel, losing his smile as the mayor trembled with a prayer on his lips for the new target.

 The Spaniard’s loose-fitting shirt fluttered as he walked quickly through the administrative building, it whooshed backward as he stepped into the humid, summer air.

His eyes scanned the crowds once more from the marble steps. Another flick of (H/C) locks disappeared between the people at the market row.

Instead of forcing his way through the crowded streets, Armando sped his way along the edges. Cutting through the alleys like they were foxholes.

Immediately, he caught up. Watching his wife, like a lion prowling through tall grass.

She had changed so much, growing out her hair and wearing (F/C) jewelry. Yet, he noted upon closer examination her voice hadn't changed. It still sounded like his favorite lullaby.

Armando’s smile returned as she wandered closer. Leaving the sweet stand with a simple baggie in hand.

He stepped out, jogged to her side, and grabbed her hand in a constricting grip.

Before (Y/N) could scream, he hugged her tightly. Pressing her squirming form into his chest, before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Continue the fight and everyone will think you’re mad.”

For a moment, (Y/N) stilled. Armando could see her eyes were wide as he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

But that moment of peace didn’t last as her struggle returned. (Y/N) pushed and clawed at the Spainard like a fractious cat, yowling for help. Begging for someone to get her away from the madman.

He tchhed as the crowd formed a circle, tightening his grip on his woman before lifting her over his shoulder. Seemingly unaffected by her screams, Armando yelled over her, requesting the enforcers of the law appear as well.

Shocked, (Y/N) stopped mid-wail. Scrambling to figure out why he would demand to speak with the ones that would save her. Never once believed his warning.

It only took a minute for two black-clad uniformed policemen to shove their way to the front. Their gruff faces were marred by the annoyance of an easy shift gone wrong.

“What’s going on.” Questioned the taller of the partners. His eyes were sharp as they bounced between Armando and (Y/N).

“He’s trying to kidnap me!” (Y/N) shouted and attempted to fight. “Get me away from this freak!”

At her statement, the duo’s hands dropped to their holsters. Fingers grazed the leather-like excited hunting dogs on a thin tether. One wrong move and all hell would break loose.

The shorter of the duo lifted an open scarred, palm toward Armando. “Señor. Put her down.”

He complied but didn’t let go. Instead holding tightly to her hips with one arm as she squirmed. The other reached into his shirt to remove a letter, somehow maintaining its blinding whiteness while being pressed against his olive skin.

(Y/N) stared at the letter, while he made a silent gesture to the cops.

They approached and the taller took it from his hand. Opening it with a quick rip before scanning its contents.

The crowd remained silent as the shorter was then handed the letter. He read it much quicker, biting his lip before nodding to the first with pity in his eyes.

“Do you need any help getting her home Señor?”

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped as she looked between the three men. “What are you TWO DOING!? HELP ME!”

The taller policeman turned to her with sad eyes as he sighed. “Señora,” He nodded toward Armando. “Your husband just wants to take you home.”

“He’s not my husband!” (Y/N) insisted as she leaned down to rake the inside of Armando’s thigh with sharp nails, causing him to hiss and release her.

“Señora, you are ill. Let us help you.”

“Ma’am calm down.”

(Y/N) backed up panting as everyone approached. Citizens throwing in their voices, begging her to stop. Men stepped into the circle to help corral her.

As her head moved on a swivel, she noticed his dark grin. The smile never faded as the strangers held her down like wolves to prey. Presenting her toward their Alpha. Feeding her flesh to the beast she had tried to escape.

Never to be seen nor believed by anyone again.

Austria: His joy could not be contained as loud, frenzied laughter left him like a busted damn. Its power caused the monstrous nation to lean against the window as tears beaded and dripped down his ivory face.

As his guffaw slowed to silence, the room chilled chasing away any lingering summer heat. The darkest shadows shifted as they stretched themselves toward their master. Whipping like thin tentacles like cat tails as they curled around Jonathan. 

Their curling slowly turned into climbing as they pulled him downward like warped quicksand.

There was no fear from the Austrian as he looked to the terrified mayor. His serrated smile was wide as he called the government official before disappearing into the ink.

“Keep jour end of the deal, and jour family vill be zpared.”

The shadows fell away, revealing an upside-down office to Jonathan. A thump drew his attention to his feet, where he watched the mayor tremble before collapsing.

“Mortalz.” He chuckled before pulling out his umbrella from his jacket and bolting out of the office.

The change in orientation didn’t seem to affect him as the empty halls and streets aided him in his hunt.

As Jonathan approached the last location of his beloved queen, his carmine eyes returned to the ground. Quickly his vision bounced from person to person under him, scanning for the familiar (H/C) and (E/C).

 The dense crowd on the other side of the dimensional plane created a dizzying rainbow of features and colors that just weren’t right. It felt like hours for Jonathan as he worked through them, street by street and stall by stall.

The melodious sound of a guitar that was accompanied by the tender vocals froze him. He took in the words; broken love, unfair capture, and a promise to never allow love, created seismic shivers that rivaled earthquakes down his spine.

Only one bat could sing such a divine tale.

(Y/N).

Toward the town center, he sprinted. Kicking up dirt as he slides to a stop at a stage at the town center.

Mere feet from him stood his Angel of Music. Singing the songs, he had once thought he would never hear again. A healthy glow had returned to her sunken skin and a brightness in her movements that had existed at their first meeting.

Jonathan licked his lips as his mind concocted the perfect reunion. He prowled toward the stage and climbed down to the lights at the top.

He lined himself up so perfectly that a single jump would flatten her.

Jonathan crouched, hanging his umbrella off a single light, wiggling like a stalking cat. Allowing his muscles to tense like a coiled clock spring.

He jumped. Launching himself upward. The shadows opened, allowing him out.

He tackled (Y/N) mid-song. A gasp choked in her throat as they both tumbled back into the shadows.

(Y/N)’s fight did nothing as he kept her trapped in his arms. The sounds of hysteria from the world above were muted as he nuzzled into her back. Enjoying the warmth of her flesh.

The sickly groaning was ignored as Jonathan muttered a welcome home. Promising that this time they would be together until their final song was sung.

Prussia: Wilhem’s movements were stiff as the blinds snapped back to their original tension. His pale hand slowly dropped to his side as he turned toward the mayor.

The icy stoicism caused the low government official to shuffle in place like a nervous gelding. Rubbing his arm, the mayor spoke to the cold knight.

“Iz there anyzing elze jour bruder needs, Herr. Beilschmidt?”

“Nein, jou preformed az expected.”

With a simple nod in farewell, Wilhelm turned to leave the office.

The mayor, on the other hand, prayed that they wouldn’t meet again until next year.

For many the festival ended too quickly as the sun set and the streetlamps lit up like fireflies in a field. Vendors closed their stalls with a mix of clicks and tings as merchandise was packed away and doors were locked.

Soon enough, only a small group of young adults were left on the streets. Their laughter echoed like drunk parrots as they pushed against each other in youthful fun.

The loudest of them was (Y/N), her smile wide as she ducked and weaved between the members like in an impromptu game of tag. Jogging in place she watched them fumble in their reaches.

The gaggle unleashed a riotous roaring as (Y/N)’s jogging became teasing gestures. Peals of laughter bloomed as she danced along the street edge, allowing the crowd to convince her to create grander displays.

Panting with excitement, she failed to disappoint as the center of the empty road became her stage. Jokes and burns were shot off in rapid fire while she moved in swift excitement.

Just before the euphoria could reach its peak, a loud whinny silenced it.

Everyone looked to the source. Shocked gasps were heard at the sight of a large, grey and white horse. Upon its back was a man dressed in dark armor, his face hidden behind an enclosed helmet.

The mysterious being forced the horse to rear back. Its dark hooves waved in the air, the shoes catching the light like lightning before crashing down like thunder. Sparks flew as it galloped down the road.

(Y/N)’s friends called for her to move. Screamed for her to run to either sidewalk.

She couldn’t. Something about the knight had frozen her stiff.

As the thunderous hooves encroached her mind wondered why. Was it the feeling of familiarity with the entity? The way his hidden gaze seemed to command her to remain put like the monster she had killed or was it because apart of her believed that this knight was his ghost? Coming to drag her to his grave. To forcefully bury her beside the man she detested most of all. Combining their souls as one for all eternity.

The horse was five feet away when ancient instinct overrode the fear. She attempted to dive at her friends. Arms stretched out toward them. But she never connected. Never felt the touch of those who helped lift her out of the darkness.

Rough hands tugged her away. Throwing her across his lap as his steed sped off. (Y/N)’s screams disappearing into the darkness.

For hours (Y/N)’s friends and the authorities searched the city. Neither the hide nor hair of the beasts or the woman was found.

Some of the cops whispered about the Ghost of Order. Blaming his centuries of loneliness on why the woman was taken. Others were quick to silence that speak around (Y/N)’s worried friends.

It was a shame that no one knew how right they all had been. Except for (Y/N). For the ghost had been the man she once killed and had pushed her back into their shared crypt. Only this time, should one of them die then they both shall perish.  

[kaimaciel]

Ayy Friday prompt!

The first time, after years, that Port saw Luciano shirtless😏. They're in the beginning of their new friendship, still working on the bitterness left by their fight, but now more comfortable around each other.

Luciano had stopped at his hotel room to change before the meeting. Afonso knocks to call him.

"Come in, I'm almost finished." Says Luciano.

"You're taking too long. I came here to make sure you were not skipping the me-" he stops. He remembers when Luciano was still a skinny and gangly teenager. Now he could see clearly that those centuries gave him more muscle mass. His back was ripped, his arms looking stronger. He gets a better view of his toned chest when the man turned to mock him.

"here we go again you trying to babysit me"

"I'm not trying to babysit you. You are clearly not a baby anymore," Afonso said, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Luciano smiled, clearly realizing Afonso was staring at his muscled torso. The young man stood proudly, not hurrying at all to get dressed.

Afonso realized he was expecting to see the gangly, teen Luciano, even though that made no sense. Of course Luciano would have aged and grown. He was a powerful nation, it made sense his body reflected that. He looked... good.

"Yeah. I'm fully grown man now. I'm not the kid I used to be, so don't worry, Afonso. I can handle myself just fine."

Whatever Afonso was feeling a minute ago, was replaced my a sudden melancholy. No. Luciano wasn't the boy he used to be. He wasn't the kid he used to know. That boy was... gone.

He didn't know him anymore.

"Sorry for barging in. I'll see you at the meeting," Afonso said, turning around and closing the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Luciano's smile died on his lips as he stared at the closed wooden door.

[iln2001contextualstudies]

Researching the Women of the Sea, the free-diving haenyeo women.

I first discovered these haenyeo women while researching another free-diver, Kimi Werner, as she traveled to dive with them, searching for answers around her worth as a diver, as a woman, as a new/ soon to be mother. She was welcomed into this diving circle with warmth and wisdom. They spoke of their work, daily difficulties, pregnancies and births out on the boats, the value and freedom they experience being the first accepted working mothers of their culture. I thought this was a perfect research piece to bring into my project.

In an article I found, the writer, Luciano Candisani, writes:

“… the sea. I am fascinated by the people whose livelihoods depend on it, and I have come to Jeju to learn more about a traditional way of life that, like many such cultures, is at risk of dying out. At the age of 90, Hyun Seon-jik still spends most of her time in the sea, out beyond the waves of Samdal-ri beach. She swims a five-hour shift with her fellow divers, searching for the seafood she collects for trading. Only shells that have grown over 7cm in size are taken; anything smaller is returned to the water to grow.”

This tradition of diving stems from the 17th century off the coast of Jeju Island, South Korea. Both men and women used to dive with just the air in their lungs and swim down where they would harvest the ocean floor. However, when abalone was confiscated for tax reasons, the male divers were outraged, leaving en mass, searching for other work. The women were left, turning as before to the sea for survival. After each dive the women would return to their homes, talking in their own haenyeo dialect. They began to practice “then-marginalised shamanic rituals, brought to Korea by nomadic peoples from Siberia and Manchuria around 6,000 years ago. With offerings to nature gods, they would thank these animist entities for the copious sea life received, asking for protection against strong underwater currents, storms, and marine predators.” Today we can see this systematic, unique, cohesive culture, founded and managed by the women themselves, in a society ruled by state ideologies holding that women should be subservient to men.

Throughout history, the haenyeo tradition has remained strong, although now, currently, there are only around 4000 remaining haenyeo divers, as young women do not want to take on the lifestyle of their grandmothers. However, there is a wellness and peacefulness in the intensity of these diving women. They don’t want their daughters to have to live this way, but, as stated in the article, the haenyeo are closer than sisters. The sea is their life and joy.

I was really touched when researching these women decided to create a two part linocut of them in my graphic media section. (The second panel is currently drying in the print room.)

Sources:

[sorvete-de-pacoca]

Prompt! Port used to be more muscular, but lost muscle mass when he lost his empire.

One day, Luciano catches him glancing at his muscular chest with a weird expression. He asks him what he's looking at, but Afonso smiles and shakes it's head.

"It's nothing," Afonso says.

But after that, Luciano sees Afonso watching sadly at his reflection in the mirror.

Kai you accidentally touched a headcanon that I'm very soft about. The tans dealing with the changes on their bodies causes by time 😭.

Afonso still looks young but he's now less muscular and even has a bit of chub. Luciano is surprised that he also feels insecure about his body (Luciano still got muscles but they're less defined. He doesn't feel like a boy anymore) He thought those things were trivial for Afonso.

"hey, you look good." He says to him.

"I look weak" Afonso replies.

"what?! No way! You still know how to fight!"

"Antonio still kept his size."

"Tonio got a dad body. Look, if you want I can help you get some muscles back. I used to help training some of my players y'know?"

Afonso shake his head. Even if he did it wouldn't look like in the past.

"it's alright" Luciano sighs "I... Kinda of understand. I've been looking so old lately"

"you?!" Afonso turns to him incredulous "you're still 500!"

"I'm already 500! I'm afraid I will look like a raisin when I reach 800"

"I'm 800, do I look like a raisin to you!"

"No!"

"then stop thinking like that! "

"You first!" Luciano say.

"get out and let me mop in peace!" Afonso says annoyed. Luciano huffs and walks away, he says when he's at the door "we starting CrossFit tomorrow!"

"No!"

"you don't have a choice!"

"foda-se!"

[pilalaguna]

Don Felizardo de Rivera, Founder of Pila

Don Felizardo de Rivera y Evangelista (1755-1810) was the eldest of the three Rivera brothers, Don Felizardo, Don Miguel and Don Rafael. They were the owners of the estate Hacienda de Sta. Clara. They were the sons of Don Juan de Rivera, who had inherited the estate from the Spanish noble family, the Thenorios, and passed it on to his sons.

In the 18th century, due to flooding from its original location near the Laguna de Bay, the original town of Pila and its Church needed to be located to higher ground. So the Riveras planned to move it, just like their ancestor the Datu of Pila, Datu Maguinto, did in the 13th century.

However, a long, heated and controversial dispute rose between two prominent families at the time: The Riveras and the Relovas ("Pros" and "Antis". Don Regino Relova y San Antonio wanted the relocation on his land. Don Felizardo Rivera insisted that the town and church be moved to his hacienda in Sta. Clara.

Don Felizardo won after a long battle (starting October 14, 1794 and ending on July 13, 1803) after made an agreement with the parish priest: If the church was relocated to his estate, he pledged "the spiritual and material support of the Riveras to the church of St. Anthony in perpetuum up to the last of their line." The parish priest agreed.

Don Felizardo donated his lands to the church and to the municipal government but he also retained ownership of the lots surrounding what was to be the town plaza. He became the architect of the town's design, following Spanish colonial layout. He even built a kiln for manufacturing bricks and tiles for rebuilding the church, which was "transferred stone by stone" from its old location. The the ancestral houses were built around the plaza and the town municipio (municipal hall) was built opposite the church. With the assistance of the prominent families of Oca, Ruiz, and de Castro, he rebuilt the town of Pila ("Nuevo Pila") as it is to this day.

Don Felizardo served as gobernadorcillo in 1805, 1807, and 1809. He died on October 13, 1810 at the age of 55. He asked that "he be robed in the Franciscan habit upon his death and that a funeral mass be celebrated with him facing the altar of the newly-built church prior to his burial in the church crypt." His will (currently in the possession of the Rivera Family) was notarized by the town mayor at the time. At the time of his death, both pros and antis came to pay their respects and drop the long feud (the families later intermarried.) Don Felizardo's son Jose de Rivera later took over the gobernadorcillo post in 1811.

Don Felizardo de Rivera is the recognized founder of (Nuevo Pila) present-day Pila, Laguna, and the ancestor of the four main prominent families in Pila: Rivera, Relova, Agra and Alava.

WHEN A TOWN HAS TO MOVE: HOW PILA (LAGUNA) TRANSFERRED TO ITS PRESENT SITE (1794-1811) Luciano P.R. Santiago Philippine Quarterly of Culture and Society, Vol. 11, No. 2/3 (June/September 1983), pp. 93-106 (14 pages) https://www.jstor.org/stable/29791789

--------------------------------------------------

During the 16th and 17th centuries, one of the earliest known leaders of Pila under Spanish Colonial Period was Don Antonio Maglilo (1696-1712), who governed Pila like his father Don Francisco Maglilo (1599), (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 11), the descendant of datu Maguinto.

In 1728, Don Maglilo’s descendant, Don Juan de Rivera, the founder of one of Pila’s most prominent families, the Rivera clan, became mayor of Pila. The Rivera’s were a “major branch of the Maglilo(s)” and changed their surname to “Rivera”, the “Taga-ilog”, or “People of the River”. (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 17).

Don Juan de Rivera married Doña Josepha Thenorio, who descended from Spanish nobility from Extremadura, Spain. The Thenorio family matriarch was Doña Maria Cortés de Monroy, the sister of Spanish Conquistador Hernán Cortés (1485-1547). (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 16). (Writer’s Note: Cortes had relations and a child with the Aztec princess Doña Isabel Moctezuma (born Tecuichpoch Ixcaxochitzin; 1509/1510 – 1550/1551), a daughter of the Aztec ruler Moctezuma II, and Cortes’s sister Doña Maria’s descendants married the descendants of a Philippine Pre-Hispanic king.)

Don Juan's descendant, Don Felizardo de Rivera (1755-1810), was at first a town executive from 1792 to 1793. He was governor of Pila in 1792. During the town move, he had drawn up grid plans (Cuadricula) in 1790 for the new site (where Pila was to be moved) based on the classical Spanish system of 'church-plaza-town hall complex' as originally prescribed by the 'Laws of the Indies (1573)' (laws issued by the Spanish Crown for town planning). He had become a self-taught architect. When the transfer was officially sanctioned (approved), he implemented his plans by serving as gobernadorcillo (governor) in 1805, 1807, and 1809 (he died in 1810). Because of his orderly design (of the town), Don Felizardo is considered the founder of 'Nuevo Pila (New Pila).' Don Felizardo retained all the residential lots around the rectangular plaza between the church and the town hall for the ancestral houses. The principal street is christened 'Rivera', which connects (the town) 'like a long umbilical cord' (back to) Pagalangan. (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 25). All the lots around the town plaza were given by Don Felizardo to his heirs, and the ancestral houses now stand on those lots.

Pila was moved again due to flooding from the lake, to Don Felizardo’s Hacienda in Santa Clara, Laguna. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pgs 9, 10). On May 20, 1804, Pila Church was also moved to land at the hacienda. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pgs 10, 11, 13) Today, the 200-plus year-old church is now called the San Antonio de Padua church, which was declared the National Shrine of San Antonio de Padua, contains a relic of the saint and is one of the oldest churches in the Philippines. The ruins of the original church are still standing at Pagalangan and have a historical marker as the site of the original church of Pila.

Don Felizardo is considered the founder of the present-day town of "Nueva Pila" ("New Pila") and the town’s designer and architect in the Spanish colonial grid style of city planning. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pg 12). The Pila Municipal Hall was later built in June 1931, across from the Church, on land previously owned by Doña Corazon Rivera de Del Mundo, daughter of Don Luis Rivera. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pg 20).

In his 1810 Last Will and Testament, Don Felizardo identifies himself as “Taong Tunai at Maguinoo” (a true maginoo). The document is with the Rivera family of Pila, Laguna.

[zu-art]

Hi Zu! I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you have hc about Luciano when he hit puberty? Was he a late or early bloomer?

Hey Kai!! Lemme think about this one :D;;

Ok I never gave puberty much thought, but i do think Luciano was a skinny hyperactive kid, not necessarily small but shorter than the others, and then... I wouldn't say he was an early or late bloomer, I think he was pretty average??

Physically he never had much body hair but he did grow a lot of muscle mass in his teens (he also grew an ass suddenly which was interesting). He also got......... very horny all the time probably lmao??

idk I'm very open to discussion on this cause idk what I'm talking about ☠️

[josefavomjaaga]

Napoleonic daily soap, episode 3: extra challenge – no Napoleon screentime!

Scene: Marseille. View of ships in the harbour, seagulls circling.

CUT to new scene: Small, dark bedroom, small stripes of daylight falling in between closed shutters. Sounds of seagulls screeching outside. Letizia kneeling in front of a small madonna figurine on her nightstand. A candle burning next to it.

Letizia [mutters prayers in Latin]

Sounds of a badly tuned piano coming from the next room. Somebody’s practicing a melody, failing every time. Laughter of girls.

Letizia [getting fed up]

„Dio Mio!“

Letizia [scrambles to her feet, yanks open the door to the next room, revealing Pauline and Caroline together in front of the piano, with Elisa sitting on the sofa, reading]

Letizia [in Italian]

„Paoletta! Annunciata! Do you want to drive your poor old mother crazy! Let Maria Anna play if you want to hear music, at least she can play!“

Caroline:

„But Mamma! How are we supposed to learn if we must not practice?“

Elisa [without looking up from her book, in a bored tone]:

„Also, as I’ve told you a dozen times already, don’t call me Maria Anna. It’s Elisa now.“

Pauline [mockingly]:

„Oh, of course, it’s Mademoiselle Elisa now. Because Mademoiselle has gone to school and has become all accomplished and distinguished  and French. [To Caroline] We really should let her play, Annunciata. She needs to keep practicing those skills. After all, she’s so ugly she’ll never find a husband without them.“

Pauline and Caroline laugh. Elisa throws her book at Pauline, missing her.

Letizia [crossing her arms in front of her chest] „Stop this, and give your mother some rest. I’ll never understand why Joseph spent so much money on this instrument anymway. If you girls want to find a husband, better learn cooking.“

Elisa, Pauline and Caroline [role their eyes, make different exasperated sounds]

Elisa:

„Mamma, I don’t think any of us girls plans on marrying someone unable to afford a cook.“

Pauline:

„Ya betcha!“

Letizia [regarding Elisa]

„In this case you better really practice whatever skills you have to attract a husband. Wealthy men look for beauty, or a dowry. Unless Joseph manages to squeeze some more money out of his Clary relations or finally has some success with his money making scheme in Genoa, none of you will have a dowry.“

Pauline:

„I don’t need no stinking dowry. I’m beautiful enough.“

Letizia [gives her a stern look but ends up smiling]

„You sure are, darling. But it still wouldn’t hurt if you knew how to gut a chicken. That goes for you, too, Annunziata.“

Caroline:

„Caroline.“

Letizia:

„What was that?“

Caroline:

„I’ve decided about my new name. If Maria Anna can be Elisa, I want to be called Caroline. That sounds much better. Much more French.“

Letizia [exasperated]

„What is it with everybody wanting to be French these days?“

A knock interupts them. The door opens, Lucien and Fréron enter the room. Everybody rushes up to hug Lucien, talking over each other in Italian.

Letizia:

„Luciano! What a surprise! We thought you were in Paris, doing politics with all those Frenchmen?“

Lucien: „That’s where I’m coming from, Mamma. But I’ve been sent here to Marseille in order to work with one of our most famous politicians, one of the pillars of our Republic. May I introduce you all to Citizen Louis Stanislas Fréron?“

Pauline [regarding Fréron from head to toe, smiling while licking her lips]

„Why, hello.“

Fréron [returning the look, grinning]

„Hel-lo!

Letizia [looks from Pauline to Fréron and back, starts smiling as well]

„Welcome, Citizen Fréron.“

Elisa and Caroline huddle around their mother, start whispering anxiously.

Elisa:

„Mamma, I believe this man has done really horrible things during the Revolution.“

Caroline:

„Yes, I think he’s a mass murderer or something!“

Letizia [looks at them confusedly]

„So?“

[lesterplatt]

CIRCLE from Films.Dance on Vimeo.

An analogy between the modern human being, living in mass cities, and the phenomenon of the circle of death - observed in nature with ants who are separated from the main foraging party and lose the pheromone track. They begin to follow one another, forming a continuously rotating circle, commonly known as a "death spiral" because the ants might eventually die of exhaustion. Shot in Mexico City, this vibrant and impressive city is a protagonist, symbolizing a life in endless high speed movement and the humans who are dedicating their lives to endless movement, self-exhaustion in a modern capitalistic based world.

Filmed in Mexico City, Mexico

Director: Phillip Kaminiak Choreographer: Qiaoqiao Zhang Featuring: Brenda Loustaunau Aguilar, Juan Carlos Estrada De La Cruz, Fernando Guez, Elisa Romero Ramírez, Carla Segovia, Paulina Vargas, Frank Vázquez, Diego Vertiz Composer: Raven Bush Editor: Sander Houtkruijer Cinematographer: Phillip Kaminiak Drone: Luciano Larobina Gomez Dance Producer: Carla Segovia Production Company: Landia Mexico Executive Producer Landia: Thomas Amoedo Producer Landia: David Kohan Production Coordinator: Gustavo Ezequil Anselmi Production Assistant: José Antonio Covarrubias Cepeda Costume Designer: Constanza Nahmad Styling: Constanza Nahmad, Dominga Huidobro Colorist: Manuel Portschy CGI Producer: A Current State CGI Creative Producer: Robert Wunsch Generalist: Arber Gishto VFX Supervisor: Mark Scott Retouching: Sujan Sureshan 1st AC: Edwin Vladimir Olivera Ramirez Ronin Operator: Fernando De Alba León Ronin Ronin Assistant: Arturo David Andrade Mundo Production Design House: Alina Bashirova Makeup Artist: Thania Erika Diaz Gomez Location Sound: Aldonza Contreras Castro Location Manager: Miguel Vargas Location Coordinator: Julio Cortez Scouter: Diego Mota Transportation: Agustin Malavar Flores Driver 1: Oscar Javier Delgado Sánchez Driver 2: Joel Bravo Cabrera Special Thanks: Patricio Perdomo, Fran Paparella, Thomas Amoedo, David Kohan, Agnes Lupion, Omar Uscanga, Aldonza Contreras Castro, Aura Collective, Bite Management, Jolanta Kniebel

PRODUCED BY: Jacob Jonas The Company Executive Producer/Creative Director: Jacob Jonas Producers: Jill Wilson, Emma Rosenzweig-Bock, Associate Producers: Joy Isabella Brown, Francisco Cruz, Steve Hackman, Emily Kikta, Rubberlegz, Anibal Sandoval, Mike Tyus, Peter Walker Fashion Director: Christian Stroble

CO-PRESENTED BY: BAM, The Harris, The Soraya, Stanford Live, Stanford Global Studies