#Salo Press

[cherylmmbookblog]

#Blogtour The Venus of Salò by Ben Pastor

It’s a pleasure to take part in the Blogtour The Venus of Salò by Ben Pastor. About the Author Ben Pastor, born in Italy, worked as a university professor in Vermont before returning to her country.. She is one of the most talented writers in the field of historical fiction. In 2008 she won the prestigious Premio Zaragoza for best historical fiction. She writes in English.  About the…

[weltraum-vaquero]

A pillar, familiar

Summary: Jayce returns.

Word count: 1k

Tags: SFW, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, Jayce being the world’s wettest dirtiest saddest guy, and being plagued by The Visions

Notes: Just a little drabble to tide over the fact that I desperately need to hold him but my brain refuses to write anything longer until I am provided context for what he’s been through.

Everything rings, frays around the edges. Fractals in his vision — a disconnect from his body, a forceful rebirth as different forms of him seem to conjoin themselves back into a disjointed, damaged whole. A whole that will not last, cannot last, damaged to its core, rusted in the cogs of its barely moving mechanism.

Jayce has learned far before however long he has spent out of this world that there is one thing to make his brain cooperate, and that still holds true. In spite of every other rule — of the universe, of himself — that has been shattered and cuts into his brain with the aftermath of his resurrection.

He needs a singular point of focus.

And Viktor, Viktor could, should be that. He needs to, he needs to, he needs to. He can’t fail, he won’t, but…

If the world has waited this long for him to be spit out unstrung and wrong, it can wait a moment longer. It can wait until he stumbles down dimly lit streets, it can wait until he trips over himself, heaving, nails digging into the wood of the still familiar door.

He pleads you haven’t changed — but does not expect it to be an answered prayer.

Jayce pounds his weary fist against the door, until it shakes so thoroughly the hinges protest.

The door opens and he is greeted with the curse of his own making pointed at him — all blue lenses raised, gem humming, barrel staring back.

“…Jayce?”

And then it’s your eyes that stare him down instead, and the buzzing, the fractals, the zaps — quiet. Oh, so quiet.

“Oh my god.”

He lets himself stumble into your arms, disgusting and filthy and weary to the marrow of his broken fucking bones.

“Jayce,” you choke out again, arms around his frame, pulling him close, squeezing him so tight it hurts good. A reminder of a constant, a pillar, familiar. You start to sob. He wonders if he’s still capable of reciprocating. His old self, the self you’d loved, would have been bawling. “Oh, Jayce,“ you croak, all of you shaking with the vehemence of your cries. “I thought you were… Jayce, where—? How?”

Familiar fingers thread through his hair the way they used to. Lips to his filthy cheek where they used to fit just right above the stubble of his five o’clock shadow, bottom lip now presses to his thick beard.

“I’m sorry.” Everything else is much too complicated, or too insignificant to put into words. “I-I’m so, so sorry.”

You pull him closer.

“It’s okay.” Your voice ripples down his spine in a soothing wave, every one of his aching muscles sags as if on command, and Jayce goes limp. His knee — the fucked up one — creaks, pops, gives. Forced into it just the way he had been after… after Salo, he kneels, and you kneel with him, brace his weight.

In the quiet of the night, you savor it, savor each other, for a long moment. Jayce swears he can hear the street lamps buzzing when your breath begins to settle, and something about it stings his brain like a needle.

You notice — you must have, because one hand comes up to cradle his face.

“Let’s get you inside,” you tell him, palm sliding from his middle to below his elbow, supporting him on his shaky way up. “I’ll run you a bath, I have some leftovers you’ll love, I still have your tea, Jayce, anything you want. Anything you need.”

And that sounds like everything he could ever want, or need.

But it’s not something he can afford.

“I want… to kiss you, please.” His voice finally comes out as broken as the rest of him feels when he pleads for it, man starved. Something in the edge of his vision pulses, darkens, he has to, he has to.

“Anything you need,” you echo your previous words, and he does need it. Both hands on his cheeks again, cradling him the way they used to when you would smile at him and call him puppy in the warmth of your kitchen on early mornings.

He puts his hands over your own and dreams of it as soft as his mind will let him.

“Come here, puppy.”

Jayce knows patience intimately. An ever present companion throughout his academic journey, as much of a partner as Viktor once was on his job.

And he kills it with the same heavy hands and heart that he will kill Viktor with.

His teeth hurt from how he hurls himself at you, into you, lips smashing like the crackle of lighting, he wants, he wants. He holds you like he wishes he could have before; before the voices and the visions and the pain and the aching fatigue, he kisses you like it’s air. Digs his tongue into your mouth to sample what is the first — and might be the last — taste in a long, awful time. You suck on his tongue and locks it up somewhere in the unfamiliar twists and turns of his altered mind and prays it’ll keep.

You’re the only one who’s waited.

“Come on in,” your voice is breathy when you pull away, the words hit his lips before they reach his ears. He envies how little you know. “It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.” Hands on the nape of his neck, he feels small. Not the puny kind, not like prey, but protected. “Oh, Jayce, I’ll take care of you.”

And Jayce Talis can still cry after all.

He clings to your shoulders, a crumbling, pathetic version of the man you once loved, and he sobs, makes an even more unloveable display of himself.

How he pities you for being still so eagerly up to the monstrous task.

“I c-can’t,” he sobs. “I can’t. I have… a promise to keep.”

[talafamily]

Donation link

Please do all you can to donate

any amount to help. My family needs your help.

.Press every button

@90-ghost @sayruq @sar-soor @appsa

@just-browsing1222 @palestinegenocide @mangocheesecakes @girlinaf##family #love #care freels #explore #peaceful

#subhanallahwabihamdihi #subhanaallah

#alhambra #yaallah #halallovestory

#muslimlifestyle #muhammadsaww #journey

#halallovequotes #exploremore #reelsinstagram.airytale @ophanic @nabulsi @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @ibtisams-deactivated20240709 @vakarians-babe @el-shab-hussein @taamarasmilee-blog @humanvoicebox @plomegranate @feluka @commissions4aid-international @soon-palestine @palestinegenocide @northgazaupdates2 @ghost-and-a-half @kyra45-helping-others @kyra45 @commissions4aid-international @feluka @feluka-blog-blog @lonniemachin @rhubarbspring @degenderates @radioactive-corpsegirl

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Ira Stoll

An encouraging development in the Israel-Hamas war is that the online pro-Israel press watchdogs finally seem to be getting the upper hand over the New York Times.

A few recent examples tell the story.

A New York Times Sunday opinion article by Megan Stack, headlined “Don’t Turn Away From the Charges of Genocide Against Israel,” was authoritatively debunked by Shany Mor in a thread on X that has attracted nearly a quarter-million views.

Mor faulted Stack’s piece for “rank dishonesty,” noting that it “truncated” the “legal definition of genocide,” omitting “a crucial part of the definition.” Mor also faults the Stack piece for misquoting Israelis to depict them, falsely, as having genocidal intent.

More concludes: “Rather than trawling the internet for truncated quotes, we might want to investigate why so many of our self-appointed humanitarians have spent decades fantasizing about the day when they could drag the Jews in before a tribunal to face the charge of being the real Nazis.”

A column by Nicholas Kristof that also ran in the Sunday New York Times got a similar online dragging, and deservedly so, from the X account of Salo Aizenberg. Aizenberg noticed that in a comparison between American bombing Iraq and Israel bombing Gaza, Kristof used a comparison that started in 2004 rather than 2003. “To push fake narrative one must misrepresent,” Aizenberg wrote, in a post that attracted more than 380,000 views. “If one seeks to compare US & Israel bombing numbers to draw conclusions one MUST begin with the start of each invasion. Anything else is grossly misleading.” Aizenberg described the Kristof column as “statistical manipulation and a “major misrepresentation.”

The Kristof column conceded, “The attack on Oct. 7 was particularly savage, and no doubt my perspective would be different if I had been on the receiving end.” No doubt!

[melmedarda]

@meljaymicrofics   ⸻ mafia au ⸻ wc: 755 ⸻ rated T

Piltover, the playground for the wealthy. Her mother's wetdream. Casinos, seaside resorts, yacht clubs, the city has it all. And it all belongs to Mel. Her mother runs the syndicate in Noxus on drugs and weapons smuggling. Mel deals in vice. In desire. And though so well acquainted, she doesn't see her own hunting her down until its too late.

She's got the Mayor of Piltover in her hand. The previous Mayor had been a short, mousy sort of man, with whiskers too big for his round face and policies that mirrors something from last century. But this mayor is sleek, ambitious, and weak for power. It's why Mel chooses Salo. It's something she can give him.

She's got the man in Zaun in her palm as well. Though he doesn't know it. Silco. A man who serves her purposes more than his predecessor. He is leader of his own gang, and keeps the chembarons in hand, while Mel runs her dark operations under the cover of the Gray. It works quite well for her. She likes playing in Zaun's shadows.

It is House Ferros who has the Enforcers in hand; a forcer of blue hats tasked with the protection of the city. Truly though, they operate at Camille's bidding. Camille has never forgiven Mel for taking Zaun from beneath her grasp. Mel will never apologize. And so she is hunted.

Their hunting dog is a man too sincere for his own good. Jayce Talis sculpted by the gods, and his eyes inspire a pool of want in Mel's abdomen. But he's a hound with a scent, and she knows he'll break his teeth in her neck if he catches her. She wonders if she'll let him.

Talis pursues her across districts. Between cities. Mel does not fear him. Leaves notes of her perfume to keep him on her scent. Sly smiles at security cameras where she knows she will be seen. Her men hover, guard her closely on her way back from the Mayor's office. She meets his gaze from where across the street. Pulls her fur coat closer about her shoulders in the cool afternoon. She looks away.

Their cat and mouse game is a highlight in her life for a moment. He's ever so close, but not close enough. Not until she's pressed up against a wall outside the Last Drop, the night air thick with shimmer and bass and gray. Cold metal of a barrel pressed into the flesh of her side.

His breath is vapor in the chilled Zaun air. Winter has come, and so has he. But she's never felt warmer than in his presence. And with his gun against her side, Mel feels hotter than the fucking sun.

"So you've found me,” she says. Her knife is trained on his throat, blade winking neon in the dim light of the alleyway. Jayce Talis looks like he might kill her, and Mel feels the more alive for it. Her men are no where to be found. Mel leans forward her lips ghosting against his ear as she leans up and closer. "What will you do, Talis? Now that you've caught me."

His nostrils flare. Perhaps in indignation. Perhaps in something else. One can never be to sure when in Zaun. His teeth bare now, like to good hunting dog he is. Mel wants him at her throat. Drawing blood.

"You belong behind bars. You are vermin." Passion flares in his eyes. The kiss of the gun grows warm against her skin, and she tilts the knife at his neck to kiss him in turn. He does not flinch. "If there is any justice in this world, I will see you punished for your crimes."

"Take me, then," Mel murmurs. Drops her knife. Listens to it clatter against the cobblestone as she stands defenseless before him. The gun lowers, and he presses her further into the wall, body a furnace against her own. She could burn in a hell of his making, she thinks as she leans up again, this time to press her lips against his.

His hand comes up to encircle the column of her neck, none too gentle. Her eyes flutter open as he presses her back, and away. Talis' eyes are glazed, lips slick, and it softens the heat of his glare. Her own personal vice. And then, she slashes him with the other knife she'd hidden within her jacket. Deep, across his chest.

"Nothing personal, Talis." The gun clatters. Mel does not look back.

[thedustybunny]

Chamomile kisses - Chapter 10

Viktor (Arcane) x Fem!Reader

As days passed, (Y/n) delved deeper into her research on the peculiar yellow flower from the Zaun forest. The potential of this discovery was exhilarating, and her mind buzzed with the myriad of possibilities. She tirelessly analyzed the properties of the pollen, noting its vasodilative effects on the human body. This was groundbreaking, not just for herbal medicine but for modern medicine as well. The medicinal applications seemed endless, ranging from treating high blood pressure to addressing heart failure, and who knew what other conditions could benefit from this newfound knowledge.

Yet, amidst this scientific excitement, (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder about Viktor's absence. Had he been avoiding her? Or was he preoccupied with his own work? The uncertainty nagged at her, but she knew her research was crucial, so she pressed on.

As her findings continued to flourish, (Y/n) took a significant step by scheduling a meeting with the council. She hoped to persuade them to allocate resources for a greenhouse at the academy, a space where she could further develop her discoveries and adapt them for various medical applications. It was a bold move, but she believed in the potential of her work to transform the world of medicine.

The day of the meeting had arrived, and (Y/n) stood resolutely before the council members. The faces of Bolbok, Kiramman, Hoskel, Medarda, Salo, Shoola, and Heimerdinger stared back at her, a mix of anticipation and curiosity in their expressions. (Y/n) had garnered considerable support from them in the past, but today she was requesting a substantial increase in funding, a decision that would carry a significant cost.

Viktor, positioned among the onlookers, watched with a cold and unyielding gaze.

Undeterred, (Y/n) began her presentation, outlining the importance and potential impact of her research. She passionately described the vasodilative properties of the Zaun forest flower and how it could revolutionize both herbal and modern medicine. The council listened intently, and as the room gradually settled, Heimerdinger, the most senior council member, voiced his support for (Y/n)'s project.

"I don't see why not to grant this," Heimerdinger said, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Unless anyone has any objections, we will provide the necessary funding."

A spark of joy lit up (Y/n)'s face upon hearing these words. She was so close to achieving her dream, but that dream was suddenly cast into doubt by Viktor's sharp voice. He stood up, taking the opportunity to voice his numerous objections.

Viktor vehemently argued against (Y/n)'s herbal remedies, denouncing them as pseudoscience that had no place within the academy. He claimed that such funding could be better utilized in more worthwhile areas of research, dismissing her work as a stain on true scientific progress.

The atmosphere in the council chamber became tense as Viktor launched into his objections, his words a sharp contrast to Heimerdinger's earlier support.

"You can't seriously be considering funding this nonsense!" Viktor exclaimed, his voice dripping with disdain as he pointed at (Y/n) and her presentation. "Herbal remedies have no place in our pursuit of true scientific advancement. We should be allocating our resources to projects that actually matter."

(Y/n) bristled at Viktor's words, her frustration evident. "Viktor, I've presented evidence of the potential benefits of this research. It could save lives, revolutionize our approach to medicine—"

Viktor interrupted, his tone cutting. "What you're proposing is a waste of valuable resources. We need to focus on technological advancements, not rely on outdated practices."

Council members exchanged glances, some appearing torn by the debate unfolding before them. Hoskel, known for his pragmatism, spoke up, addressing Viktor. "While we appreciate your perspective, Viktor, we should consider all avenues of research. If (Y/n) believes this could yield promising results, it's worth exploring."

Viktor scowled but didn't back down. "You're all blinded by sentimentality. This is about science, not feelings."

(Y/n) shot back, her voice determined. "And science is about progress, innovation, and the pursuit of knowledge. Closing off potential avenues of research is a disservice to our commitment to advancement."

The debate continued, the room filled with passionate arguments from both sides. It was clear that this decision would have a lasting impact on the academy's direction and (Y/n)'s future.

The room seemed to hang on a precipice as (Y/n) and Viktor locked eyes, their argument escalating. Heimerdinger's voice, when it came, was a bellow that echoed through the chamber. "Enough!"

The council members fell into immediate silence, their attention drawn to the diminutive yordle at the center of the room. He gave Viktor a brief, sympathetic glance, knowing the inner turmoil his protege must be experiencing. "Viktor, my dear boy," Heimerdinger began in a voice that was both gentle and firm, "we value your concerns. Science, after all, thrives on skepticism and debate. However, we must also consider the potential benefits to the academy. The revenue generated from (Y/n)'s research could fund countless projects for generations to come."

Heimerdinger turned his gaze towards (Y/n), a twinkle of approval in his eyes. "And that's why, (Y/n)," he addressed her, "you will be granted the permission and funding to continue your work."

Viktor tried to interject, his frustration palpable, but Heimerdinger cut him off with a raised hand. "Enough," he reiterated, his voice commanding. "This session is over."

With those words, the council members began to disperse, leaving behind a defeated Viktor and a triumphant (Y/n). It was a moment of victory for her, yet the growing divide between her and Viktor couldn't be ignored, casting a shadow over her elation.

As the council meeting concluded, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Triumph coursed through her veins, the sweet taste of victory lingering on her lips. She had won this battle for now, securing the funding and permission to further her research. It was a significant step forward in her quest to revolutionize medicine.

However, she couldn't ignore the heavy atmosphere that had settled in the room, much of it emanating from Viktor. His defeat was palpable, and his resentful glare bore into her back as she made her way out of the council chamber. The divide between them had deepened, a vast chasm of opposing beliefs and priorities.

Outside the meeting room, (Y/n) couldn't help but ponder the cost of her victory. Her once-friendly interactions with Viktor had devolved into bitter arguments and icy silence. The camaraderie they had once shared seemed irreparably shattered.

Jayce, who had been observing the proceedings from the sidelines, approached (Y/n) with a congratulatory smile. "That was quite the battle in there," he remarked, clearly impressed.

(Y/n) returned his smile, though it was tinged with sadness. "Yes, i suppose…" she sighed, casting a glance back at the council chamber where Viktor remained, a solitary figure surrounded by fading echoes of dissent.

With the victory she had long sought now in her grasp, (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder if it was worth the growing chasm between them. The path of progress had a price, and she had just taken a significant step down that road, leaving a deep divide in her wake.

[night-spectrum]

Thinking about my spidersona:

Small angst; small suggested smut at the end; mostly fluff and comfort. TW: Mention of death, depression, healthy issues, and isolation.

Wish my computer could work so I could draw my Spidersona...😩

🕸 Spidersona, who was bitten by a funnel web spider (💀) and is still traumatized. She takes appointments with Spider-Therapist every Thursday. Spider-Cat helps her copes with stressful memories.

🕸 Spidersona, who's Caribbean and wears traditional superhero suit. Bright madras tissues wrapped around her head and hips and Creole earrings (hoop earrings).

🕸 Spidersona, who was the only Spider-Girl in Nouveau Fort in Martinique (don't look for it, I made it up, but it's based on Fort-de-France) until a certain Miguel "Fat Ass" O'Hara came to enroll her.

🕸 Spidersona, whose best person is clearly Pavitr because we support cultural representation, and obviously because he's the most adorable boy I've ever seen. ❤️ Besides, they usually chat about new clothes they like to embellish their suit and wardrobe.

They even have Indian nickname for each other : Pavitr is Munna (used for pretty and gentle boy), and Spidersona is Choti (used for girls and means small) based on this.

🕸 Spidersona, who loves dancing with Gwen late at night in her home. Spidersona shows Gwen how to move her butt like there's no tomorrow, and Gwen gives her tips to achieve a boneless split. There're also countless sleepovers and "Girls Talk" about boys, which is pretty much awkward at first, but they both like gossiping.

🕸 Spidersona, who has the fattest crush on Hobart "Hobie" Brown, 'cause let's be honest who wouldn't. Always avoiding him when he comes her way. Obviously, Hobie notices, and he thinks she doesn't like him or his style makes her feel uneasy.

🕸 Spidersona eventually confesses that she likes him :

"That's why you've been dodging me, luv?" Hobie rhetorically asks her, his full lips stretching into a genuine smile.

She feels her face heating up and her hands becoming sweaty. "Yeah, but I don't expect anything y'know. Just wanted to tell you..."

Hobie leans forward, and she presses her lips together, gazing down because she never noticed how interesting the ground could be. She feels his breath on her neck, and she shivers when his lips plant on her cheeks fondly.

"You're too cute, luv."

From that day, he's always close to her. His arm rests on her shoulders, and he's never too far when they're fighting anomalies. They both rely on each other when something goes wrong.

🕸 Spidersona, who curses in Creole when she's pissed.

"WHO STOLE MY SALTFISH ACCRA?! AY KOKÉ MANMAN ZOT! LAN DJET MANMAN ZOT! OU SÉ AN SAKRÉ TI ICH SALO-!"

"Wow! Wow! Okay, okay, we got it. That's enough bad words for today, luv." Hobie covers her lips and drags her out to cool down a bit.

Peter B. covers Mayday's ears, though he doesn't understand a thing he knows what she's saying isn't lovely.

🕸 Spidersona, who has arachnophobia, watches Penni petting her spider with disgust (don't get me wrong, her spider is adorable, but I don't want it near me). Miles makes fun of her and eventually chases her with random spider he finds around through the lobby.

🕸 Spidersona, who slips in Hobie's universe to spend some time together. She watches him play guitar on his bed and turns red when he hands her his instrument and sits behind her, his fingers brushing hers as he teaches her how to play.

🕸 Spidersona, who brings Martinican food to Mrs. Morales when she comes to visit Miles. Rio observes her chat with her son from afar along with Jefferson.

"She looks nice," Rio says after a while, still looking at them, "and she calls me 'Mrs. Morales." Her lips turning upward.

"Yeah, definitely Caribbean. Besides, I love these." Jefferson says, grabbing a slice of butter bread she made with her mom, accompanied by communion chocolate.

Spidersona and Miles look at their feet awkwardly, feeling Miles' parents' gaze on them.

"'M sorry 'bout my parents, they're... protective."

"Yeah, don't mention it. My mom does this, too."

🕸 Spidersona, who invites everyone one in her universe in Nouveau Fort. The tropical climate welcomes them fiercely, and everyone change to wear swimsuit. Peter B. applies sunscreen on Mayday and himself and lays down on a towel.

🕸 Hobie and Pavitr bury Miles in the sand, mermaid body in process as Spidersona and Gwen take Mayday to a swimming lesson, her Spider-Man rubber ring assisting her.

"Damn Gwen, you're red as hell." Spidersona hands her Peter's sunscreen, snorting.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

...

🕸 After 3 weeks and still no news from her, Hobie and Pavitr head to her universe. When they slip into her bedroom through the window, they find her in her bed, barely breathing. Pavitr rushes to her, worry in his eyes as he brushes her now sunken cheeks. She hardly opens her eyes, dried tears staining her face.

🕸 Hobie takes her face in his hand, caressing her cheekbones slowly before kneeling to be face level with her. He takes her blanket off her, and it pains them to see how much weight she lost. They can clearly see her ribcage under her skin.

As they discuss what to do, they hear her mother's voice in the living room. She sounds exhausted, her voice quavering.

"I don't know what to do, mom. She hasn't eat anything in days and she keeps losing weight. The doctor said we should bring her to the hospital because of her iron deficiency and underweight. Otherwise, her anemia might come back and-" her voice cracks, as she can't handle her overwhelming emotions. The phone slips from her grasp as she falls on her knees.

🕸 Hobie grabs her without hesitation and opens a portal, quickly followed by Pavitr. He mumbles apologies when she groans pain. When they arrive, Hobie pushes open the medical department's door with his foot. Spider Meds are quick to take care of her, using advanced medical tech.

🕸 Spidersona, who wakes up after 2 weeks, looking less of a momified monk. She sees a red-haired baby lying down on her belly. She recognizes Mayday, and Peter B. reaches out, his hand caressing her head.

"We missed you." He says genuinely, worry fading away and replaced by a look parents would give to their child after they injured themselves.

🕸 Spidersona, who just cries. Her pain and grief pouring out of her chest and she can't help it. Peter B. hugs her tightly, kissing her forehead.

🕸 Miles appears and stands still when he views the scene, his brain analyzing everything. He comes close, taking her hand in his, squeezing it kindly. When Peter lets go of you, Miles replaces him.

🕸 Spidersona, who after she calmed down, thanks them and asks where the others are, only to find out that they are on a mission.

🕸 Spidersona, who is surprised to see Spider-Man Noir paying her a visit, flower is his hands.

"Everyone's been worried about you." Miles explains, her hands still in his. "When Hobie and Pav came back with you almost dead, we freaked out."

"Jessica even talk to your mother so she wouldn't pass out when she found out you disappeared." Adds Spider-Man Noir.

She is grateful but also a bit ashamed she worried everyone.

"So... what happened?" Peter B. asks cautiously.

She looks up to him and tries to suppress the tears, creating in the corner of her eyes.

🕸 Spidersona, who wasn't fast enough to save her uncle Henry and faced the reality of the world.

Though everybody can relate, Miles feels like he knows exactly what she feels. He remembers when he found out that Uncle Aaron was the Prowler, the look in his eyes when he discovered Miles was Spider-Man. His hand slipping from his as he exhaled his last breath.

🕸 Spidersona, who spends her day with Miles since Peter went home to put Mayday in bed. She eats empanadas Miles brought for her.

"My mom made them for you. When I told her you were hospitalized, she wouldn't stop asking about you. Besides, since we didn't know when you would wake up, she made some every day." Miles scratches the back of his head; cheeks and ears red. He knew his mom liked you, maybe too much for his liking.

"Well, please, thanks her for me. This is delicious. My taste buds are dancing hard right now." She giggles, making Miles smile.

🕸 Spidersona, who eventually encounters Jessica and Miguel. She thanks the pregnant woman, hugging her slightly, knowing she's not a big fan. To her surprise, she rubs her back and smiles.

🕸 Spidersona, who turns to Miguel reluctantly and apologizes for being off without warning. He brushes her off, as usual, talking about how it was her canon event. Gee thanks.

🕸 Spidersona, who hears familiar voices. She turns around, and there they are : Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr. She launches herself on them, arms fully extended. Pav sees her first and rushes toward her. They both collide, their hands grasping any pieces of clothes, hugging like the world would disappear.

"I missed you so much, Choti." Pav cries, his hands hold her tightly. "You almost gave a heart attack. Don't do this ever again, please. I love you."

And she cries again, hearing her best friend voice trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Munna. I promise. I love you so much, too."

Gwen joins in, her lips quivering, and they open their arms for her to come.

🕸 Spidersona, who wipes her face after a while, then proceeds to notice Hobie, who stayed back. Pav hugs her one last time, then leaves with Gwen. She approaches Hobie, not sure why she feels so nervous all of a sudden.

🕸 Spidersona, who follows Hobie to his universe, their pinky intertwined. When they are both alone in his room, he smashes his lips against hers.

🕸 Spidersona, who feels like a tsunami washed over her: emotions and feelings blending in her core. It's slow at first but quickly bursts into a wildfire when she feels his body against her. It feels strange, and she's a bit insecure, but Hobie reassures her. It's overwhelming.

"Are you okay, luv?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper, like she'll shatter if he's too loud.

"Yeah. I am."

🕸 Spidersona, who slowly moves on, enjoys her life with those who remain and never forgets those who left.

[arya-skywalker]

The Miracle Worker (Arcane fanfic)

Summary: [Season 2 Act 2 Spoilers!]

Desperate, Salo seeks out the mystery miracle worker in the Undercity. Nothing could have prepared him for the outcome and his new life.

Notes: When Lest mentioned the miracle worker to Salo, I wanted to see how that interaction played out. The show skipped over it, so I’m filling in the gaps. Even if Viktor believes he’s doing good, his “healing” gives weird vibes.

TWs: cults, Salo is classist and ableist until his personality gets rewritten by forces outside human comprehension, mental influence / hive-mind, mild body horror, magically healed disability

AO3 link

~*~

“You will take me to this… miracle worker. I will pay you double… no, triple your usual rate,” Salo said, head held high. The very thought of going to the Undercity made his skin crawl, but this wasn’t working. He needed something more.

“If you insist,” Lest said with a shrug. “You might want a disguise. Zaunites aren’t fond of Topsiders.”

Salo frowned. “It’s clear they hate us. The feeling’s mutual. What kind of… disguise did you have in mind?”

Lest looked back at him. “If you hate them so much, why bother?”

“I hate this more,” Salo retorted, gesturing to his useless legs. “The disguise?”

Lest threw him a mottled cloak that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in months. Salo barely managed not to gag, putting as much distance between it and his face as physically possible.

“You don’t want them to recognize you, wear something you’d never usually touch,” Lest said. “Hide your face. Besides, you said everyone averts their gaze when you roll by. Maybe no one will notice you anyway.”

She was right, but he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Salo scoffed and tossed her a coin pouch. Reluctantly he maneuvered himself to put on the repulsive cloak and let her take him to the Undercity.

It was just as he feared, perhaps even worse. Disgusting. Rotten. Decrepit. Beggars and thieves crowded the streets. Revolting creatures covered in filth. The air was thick with a foul stench. His stomach turned. Somehow no one attacked them. The disguise must have worked.

Then, there was light. A camp unlike any he had ever seen. Strange geometric archways with stained glass. Verdant gardens that nearly rivaled those above. The aroma of flowers filled the air. Laughter danced upon the breeze.

“Here is where I will leave you,” Lest said, stopping his chair.

Salo whirled on her, panic gripping his chest. “Don’t you dare abandon me down here!” he hissed.

Lest was infuriatingly not intimidated, looking down at him coolly. “I got you here. That was the deal. Your miracle worker is inside those gates.” Her ears twitched as she nodded towards the entrance. “Go on.”

A man with iridescent markings on his skin approached, wearing simple white robes. “Welcome. The Herald awaits. He heals all our ills.”

Salo sputtered, looking between them. This was not in his plan! But it was too late to turn back now; he was so close to a cure. He took a breath and smoothed his expression, sitting up straighter. “Lead me to this Herald of yours,” he said.

“Of course,” the man said, bowing. Then he took a step closer, reaching for the handles of the wheelchair. “Would you like me to—“

“I can manage myself.” Salo pressed the button to move his chair forward. Having one of them breathing down his neck would not do. He didn’t look back. Doubtless Lest would be gone already.

The man nodded and led the way, pointing out a few landmarks. The market, the forge, the greenhouse, the well. Salo barely listened, wanting to get it over with already.

The people seemed happy and at peace, going about their day as if everything was normal. Everyone had the same type of marking, on different parts of their bodies. The same unnatural eye color too.

“All here work in harmony for the betterment of all, doing their part to bring the Herald’s vision to life,” the man explained. “We all bring our skills to the table, even skills we were unaware of.”

“How quaint.” Salo rolled his eyes. He had no intention of working for anything. “Does everyone stay after their healing?”

The man shrugged. “Everyone has chosen to thus far. We have all we could ever want here. But we do not force anyone against their will.”

Soon they arrived at the golden orb-like structure. A church of some sort, perhaps, or a strange palace. Either way, it was clearly where the leader resided.

A man wearing blue robes walked out with the aid of a staff. His markings were similar to the rest of the commune, but a darker purple and covering nearly all visible parts of his body. His eyes shifted between pale colors. He had an aura of power about him. Doubtless this was the Herald.

“Councilor Salo,” the Herald said, stopping a few feet in front of him. “Or… not councilor anymore, I suppose. How desperate you must be to come here. You have changed since last we met.”

Salo tensed, glaring at the so-called miracle worker. “You mock me.”

“Mock?” The Herald tilted his head to the side. “No, I only state facts. You were a councilor, now you are not. Do you remember me? Or was I so far beneath your notice?”

Salo stared at him. Of course he would have remembered someone with such unique features. He’d never seen anything like it before coming here.

Except… that voice. There was a distorted echo to it, but it held remnants of an accent. An accent that was often raised in contempt of the council. And the face without the strange markings was… familiar.

The pieces fell into place. Salo’s eyes widened. “You were the Golden Boy’s assistant.” Salo found himself gaping and stopped. “But how? You were…” Nothing. No one. How had he risen so far in such a short time? It was inconceivable.

“Partner, not assistant,” the Herald corrected, then shook his head. “Not that it matters anymore. You would not understand. Hextech was beyond you, and this is beyond even Hextech. The Arcane has chosen me, and I have chosen to use such powers to heal.”

The Herald’s gaze went distant for a moment before refocusing on him. “But yes, you do remember. I remember, too, that you always hated the Undercity. My people. The attack fueled the fire to rage. But now… you have used Shimmer, and you are here.”

The longer he spoke, the more Salo’s surprise turned to impatience. He had rambled long enough. “Are you going to heal me or not?” Salo snapped.

“I will heal any who ask. I no longer hold grudges.” The Herald reached out a hand, which started to glow.

His touch burned hotter than any flame. The glow was blinding.

Salo wanted to scream as his legs were torn apart and rebuilt, every fiber of his being crying out. But not a sound escaped his lips.

Then an overwhelming calm washed over him. Bliss more than anything he had ever experienced. Peace. Tranquility. The Herald’s touch melted away every sorrow and fear, every imperfection whether physical or emotional.

Salo blinked and looked down to see his legs, reformed into a brilliant masterpiece, shimmering in the light. His clothes too had been transfigured into pure white garments.

“Stand and walk,” the Herald said. “Run, if you wish. It is a feeling unlike any other. When you are ready, you will know what to do. Welcome to your new life.”

Salo had never felt such joy as when he took that first step, laughing in pure elation. He was a new man, the best possible version of himself. All the riches of Piltover paled in comparison to the Herald’s vision. What could be better than working in harmony to bring about a perfect society? Free from pain, from suffering, from his own vanity. His eyes were open, his body and soul healed. He would gladly devote his life to the cause.

[fostersffff]

Even taking Umineko's artistic liberties into account, I was trying to figure out how the Salo Republic pressing on the gold could look like the Ushiromiya family crest, but that ties it up in a neat little bow.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Thoughts on Arcane Season 2 Episode 5

Spoilers below

Okay cool now we have actual WWE in this show.

Is that Vi? Yeah it’s Vi.

I’ll say this definitely fits her better then bring an enforcer. Damn she took the break up hard.

Wish I could say the same for Cait.

Oh shit I thought she was just hallucinating or something but no Jinx actually came to visit.

Says a lot about Vi’s current state that Jinx seems like the normal one right now

I do love that Jinx told her about Vander as soon as found out though.

Cait walking around like a Sith Lord.

Peacekeeping my arse.

“In my experience no one in power is innocent” is such a line.

Yeah why was this guy turning Vander into a wolf?

Ayy Mel!

Oh Mel.

Oh this guys cool. He’s got a voice for audiobooks. Wait that’s her brother?! So that’s where he’s been.

Love Vi seeing the mural of Jinx.

“Why would he be down here” I think why is he a wolf is the more pressing question Vi.

Okay but like it’s kinda sweet that even though Vi kinda thinks this is one of Jinx’s fantasies that she still came.

“At least they didn’t get to see their daughter turn into a psycho” “which one?”

Deserved.

I am now henceforth only referring to Vi’s gauntlets as bitch mittens.

The slap! Like oh couldn’t defend yourself from that did you?

They’re talking. They’re arguing and think the others insane but they’re talking. More than they’ve done in a while. This isn’t a fight to the death. There aren’t guns or rockets.

This is the banter between siblings.

Even the fist fight ends the moment Isha gets hurt. And Vi knows that there’s a part of her sister still alive.

That, I told you because no matter what happens between us that’s still our father and you deserve to know.

Oh the wolf maker is joining Ambessa.

Gotta love the Medarda siblings bonding over complaining about their mother.

Ambessa falling in love and having an affair and that’s why the black roses have a vendetta against her. Was not on my bingo card.

Wait so they have another sibling? That or Mel is the one they’re looking for because she seems to know what’s going on?

Ayy we got the wolf makers name too. And he’s a Mr Freeze kinda dude.

OH SHIT?! Plot twist?! Who was that then?!

Poor Mel.

Oh shit it was Mel and also not because oh look another sibling? Maybe.

Guessing the S stands for Silco?

Something about Vi letting Jinx read the letter, to hear Silco’s words instead of reading it herself. The hesitant reach out before ultimately not doing it.

Oh wait..the wolf’s senses blood right? And Isha’s got blood on her face.

Fuck.

Vi not even hesitating to save Jinx fuck man. And trusting her and calling out to Vander, so good.

Man this would’ve been so sweet and wholesome had it lasted. And that baby they were all fighting for was Vi.

“What are you waiting for he’s your dad too?”

Sobbing and Isha joining in too hell yeah.

I love how Jayce shows up for 5 seconds and immediately finds Viktor somehow.

Very concerned there’s a Viktor hive mind apparently.

Yeah in Jayce’s defence you walked out in him man. Didn’t even apologise or anything just bought a cult member to see him.

Oh you made discoveries but you did so after leaving me and saying our paths diverted. Doing the same shit you condemned me for.

Yeah no Jayce has the right to be pissed.

Maybe killing Salo wasn’t the best idea but, yeah after seeing the horrors of hex tech…yeah makes sense.

Wonder where Hemindinger and Ekko are.

[danihwang882]

Hyunjin, Changbin, and Han will watch the personal songs after Twilight TONIGHT. Have it up right now but nofucking spoilers during a dosmestic dispute ignore with my parents. Might have to call police to press charges.

THE MOMENT WERE I WONT EVER RETURN TO PARENTS AFTER I MOVE OUT. EVEN IF HE DIES NO FUNERAL FOR THEM BECAUSE THE GRUNGE ON MY MOMS SHITTY ASS BEAHVIOR LIKE A SPOILED ONE CHILD CUNT. Soft safe word is now lollipop. Because of the fact I might call it off just because. 🍭Got evidance to show police for my dad slapping me. Glasses almost broken.

Just spent like 140 on more new clothes but also a tarot deck and oracle deck, no salo santo or sage. I wanna open a dark portal in parents house so they get fucked with. I just had one of my many metaphsyical shop keeps confirm I am chosen to see evidance of light and dar while being light.

My first metaphsyical friend was in shop today and she gifted me a small light amestst and my intution alone knew she was there.

personal unboxing of my crow tarot card deck. lets have fun with this awesome deck. cant wait to see it. also got a oracle deck with fem fairies on it and just did me a 8 card read and only positive.

first reading on it got like 5 major acanca where hANGMAN JUSTICE WHEEL OF FOUNTUNE The Hermit and the Strength card all came up. THOSE ARE HYUNJIN, FELIX AND ME ALL WORKING TOGETHER TO FLIP OUR SITUATIONS UPRIGHT. TWO MORE THE CHARIOT AND THE LOVERS I KNEW THOSE WHERE CLOSE IN THIS READING THE IT WASNT FINISHED. 7 MAJOR ACRANA IN ONE READING I HAVE NEVER GOTTEN THIS MUCH FROM MYSELF MUCH LESS ANY OTHER READER.

ALL THE MAJOR ACANNA IN THIS READING UPRIGHT EVEN BamBam and Jackson thanks guys. bows in friendship to you both again.

when doing tarot, you see the fool dont do more. its a hardcore sign to stop from what i have learned. its like a the grey area before it goes good to bad.i shuffled like playing cards 10 times and they all came up. what the fuck. the fuck the emperor right before the empress exactly what signs i was waiting my whole life for.

more like 2024 when you ally with your lightworker girlfriend.

i knew this reading was gonna be strong why because it made my uber and phone disfunction during trying to find a ride home after its buying.

do ypu understand how energy works now. you tap in on youtube and it all feeds the tarot decks. was streaming only stray kids during it.

[voidofryu]

Can you help me 🙏 please

This is Doaa's go fund me for them and their family. Please do your best in donating, sharing, or even engaging with this post so that it gains traction. It doesn't take much. Firstly, you can click on the link, and it will take you to the campaign itself. There, you can either press the donate now button or the share and copy link button to share the link to the campaign all around. You can also like and reblog this post so that more people can see this. Please help these Palestinian families find the peace and freedom that they need.

Free Palestine forever 🇵🇸 ❤️

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"...the activities of both the OBU [One Big Union] and the IWW [Industrial Workers of the World] in the Lakehead region did lead to increased surveillance by federal, provincial, and municipal authorities. The existence of the Monthly and other publications in the declassified files of American and Canadian archives indicates that authorities in both countries watched both organizations carefully. The RCMP and OPP [Ontario provincial police] were keenly aware that the IWW was indifferent to borders. Minnesota was an IWW stronghold in the United States. The Lakehead Finns, especially, were suspected of being influenced by cross-border radicalism. Suspected agitators were often arrested on both sides of the border. Worried about a possible repeat of Winnipeg in Northwestern Ontario, authorities identified the Lakehead as the centre of any potential problems and began to clamp down on the activities of all groups. Anything and anyone even remotely suspected of being revolutionary fell under surveillance. Suspected agitators were often arrested. The OPP in Northwestern Ontario worked closely with its American and RCMP counterparts in investigations involving the OBU and IWW. The proposed strike of January 1920, for example, saw RCMP, regional OPP, and District Intelligence Officers from St. Paul, Minneapolis, and Duluth all working together. Officials shared intelligence and coordinated their activities in an attempt to disrupt these organizations and arrest workers. The OPP concluded that the OBU and IWW were the same (even if they were in fact two separate bodies). They noted that most of the OBU organizers in the region had come from British Columbia and Minnesota. According to a plan adopted on both sides of the Minnesota-Ontario border, if a strike did occur, lumber companies would shut down and “try, and starve the strikers out.” Canadian and American authorities also worked together to stem the flow of socialist material between the two countries and to deport to Europe suspected Wobblies.

Following a tip from American authorities, the RCMP, for example, arrested William Salo of Fort William for possessing “socialist” literature. His Winnipeg lawyer, E.J. McMurray, described Salo’s actions as merely

stepping outside of the iron band that the government proposed to put around his mind, and desired to find out what was being done in the outside world, which the government endeavours to keep hidden from the eyes of the people of this country.

For McMurray, this was an issue of liberty and freedom from the growing intolerance of the Canadian government, which he compared to pre-revolutionary Russia. The case against Salo, he argued, was

a case of brainless police court jurisdiction, a performance by an immature mind on the magisterial bench that has made the justice of this land in many cases an object of contempt and enmity rather than a respected institution.

McMurray was also involved in the deportation case involving Sava W. Zura, a leading member of the Ukrainian League formed in April 1919. A resident of the Lakehead for over seven years, Zura’s bakeshop had been searched in late September and, after being apprehended by police at the border, he had been arrested and convicted for possessing “Bolsheviki” and IWW literature. Police in Fort William considered him the “main promoter” of “prohibited literature among the foreign element.” Workers in both cities rallied behind Zura, with Harry Bryan being the most notable voice. Despite the absence of prior transgressions and the testimony by many local residents as to his good character, Zura was sentenced to two years in Stony Mountain Penitentiary in Manitoba. Mrs. Zura was later apprehended by Immigration Department agents in Winnipeg, and was also interrogated concerning the evidence."

- Michel S. Beaulieu, Labour at the Lakehead: Ethnicity, Socialism, and Politics, 1900-35. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2011. p. 79-81.

[sarisinema]

Pier Paolo Pasolini photographed by Richard Avedon, New York, September 24, 1966

Pier Paolo Pasolini: His Films and His Death

27.04.24 - Blog Post #9

Pier Paolo Pasolini was a famous writer, film director and poet. Known for his films that criticized capitalism, the fascist government of the time, and depicted ancient European culture and myths, Pasolini was 53 years old when he was brutally murdered in Rome on November 2, 1975, and had just finished shooting his last film, Salo, which would be considered his masterpiece. Pasolini's body was found on the side of the road, badly beaten, repeatedly run over by a car, and set on fire before he died. The next day, a 17-year-old boy who had been caught speeding in Pasolini's car went to jail and claimed to have committed the murder. The press claimed that Pasolini had tried to seduce the boy because he was gay, so the boy attacked Pasolini to protect his honor. In 2005, the "killer", now an old man, spoke to the press and said that a group of five men had committed the murder and that there were others behind them. After this statement, it was almost certain that the government of the time had murdered Pasolini, who had always had problems with the government and criticized its policies in his films. So what had Pasolini done to deserve such a painful and horrible death, and what was the Italian government trying to show the public by killing him?

Pasolini's confrontation with the fascist government began when he was studying dialectics at university: Pasolini, who entered university in 1939 as the world was drifting into a new war, had this to say about the government that was terrorizing the public at the time:

"Fascism did not tolerate dialect, the symbols of the irrational unity of the country of my birth."

The use of dialect was also an act of breaking the hegemony of the church over the underdeveloped masses. Throughout his career, he began his criticism of the church and the fascist government for oppressing the working class, which he saw as the true representative of deep-rooted Italian culture, by writing for magazines. The Second World War was very difficult for him and the letters he wrote until his conscription in 1943 are enough to understand his state of mind:

"My health is good, not bad, good, everything is good. And morally, when everything is calm, which is rarely, that's good too. But other than that I'm very afraid, afraid of losing my life. Do you understand, Rico? Not only mine, but everyone else's too. We've all been so fated, poor naked human beings! I don't know if we'll ever see each other again. Everything smells of death and end and guns. It's disgusting to see these types fucking up the world. I'd like to spit on the earth, with yellow and sky-blue flowers and jewels on the branches, while the leaves spew green shoots."

Pier Paolo Pasolini, Young Portrait, Sixties. Photographer: Unknown 

The day after his conscription, Pasolini escaped during a scuffle with the Germans and, after wandering for a while in the Italian countryside, returned to the family home, where he began teaching. His brother Guido gave up hiding and joined the partisans. For two years Pasolini supported him financially and received letters from him describing the conflicts between the anti-fascist groups and what was happening during the war. In February 1945, Gudio survived a firing squad with a hundred other partisans and, wounded, walked to another village and took refuge in a woman's house. The soldiers took him out of that house, made him kneel in the snow against the wall and shot him. It was only after the war was over that Pasolini learned what had happened to his brother. He wrote these lines to a friend: "Sometimes I think of that road between Musi and Porzus, how my brother walked that road. My imagination becomes clear like an inexplicable white snowflake, like the brightness of the sky."

After the death of his brother and the end of the war, he returned to the university and after finishing his studies he worked as a teacher. He became close to the Italian Communist Party. His family blamed the communists for Guido's death, but Pasolini remained close to the party in order to resist the fascist government of the time. Because of his closeness to the party and the death of his brother as a partisan, his writings were harshly criticized by the right-wing press and he was blackmailed by powerful men of the Right to leave Rome. The worst of these blackmails was that he was accused of molesting three young children and was prosecuted in the press, although neither the children nor their parents ever pressed charges. Pasolini, who did not hide the fact that he was gay, was accused of pedophilia, which the right-wing press equated with homosexuality. Even after the cases were dropped and he was proven innocent, Pasolini, his reputation ruined, could no longer continue writing and lecturing and moved to the outskirts of Rome. As a gay and educated man, the difficult years he lived here would leave damage on his psychology, but it was also during these years that he had the chance to closely observe the working class that would be the subject of his films.

In 1953, Pasolini published his first book and was again subjected to insults and slander by the right-wing press. Accepting that his leftist acquaintances would not back him up and would not rescue him from the slums of Rome, Pasolini took a job as an art director on a low-budget film and began to expand his circle. He wrote the dialog for Fellini's La Dolce Vita, of which he was a great admirer, and opportunities began to present themselves for him to make his first film. Pasolini's first film as director and screenwriter was Accattone in 1961, again set among Rome's marginal communities, a story of pimps, prostitutes, and thieves that contrasted with Italy's postwar economic recovery.

Stills from Accattone, dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini (1961)

Teorema, based on his own book, maybe the first film to understand Pasolini's cinematic style: Surreal and allegorical, it tells the story of a typical bourgeois Italian family who are seduced one by one by a handsome stranger who comes to their home. The film makes almost no sense if one is not aware of Pasolini and the political climate of his time, when in fact the bourgeois family that is seduced is portrayed as hypocritical, perverted and twisted, capable of abandoning their values for the sake of pleasure. The only person in the film who truly feels guilty and punishes herself for what she has done is the maid, and she is the only character who achieves sanctity at the end of the film. Pasolini, who was constantly ridiculed for being gay and treated as a pervert, made fun of the right-wing by making the son of the family's father gay: The stranger and the son of the house look together at Francis Bacon's paintings of violence and homosexual intercourse, and the bourgeois boy, who has nothing to do in the midst of his material freedom and privilege, resents life by making worthless paintings after being abandoned by the stranger.

Stills from Teorema, dir. P.P. Pasolini (1968)

The mother of the house is seduced by a strange man who comes to the house. Far from regretting it, she seeks more pleasure and seduces a very poor young man and has sex with him in a hotel room. The mother's young daughter, who had been raised like a princess, also has sex with the stranger, and realizing that she can no longer be a bride for a rich bourgeois family because she is no longer a virgin, she stops eating and drinking and becomes mute.

Pasolini took revenge on the right-wing, who had been calling him perverted and immoral for years, and mocked them to such an extent that the film was banned by the government and Pasolini was declared an enemy of the people because he was able to attribute such perversions to the Italian families, the smallest unit of Fascist Italy. The book was confiscated from everywhere. Pasolini, now a world-renowned director, would continue to make films with support from abroad.

Although Pasolini came from a religious family and identified himself as a Catholic, he did not hesitate to criticize the church, which was closely linked to the fascist government. His film about Jesus Christ, The Gospel According to Matthew (1964), was criticized by the Church and the government. Pasolini, who had grown close to Italy's lower class, the working class, during his years living on the outskirts of Rome, believed that the most important reason why these people fell for the government's propaganda was the support of the Church. In fact, the fascist government, which cared neither for religion nor for traditional values, was able to bring the people to the consistency it wanted with the pressure of the church, which was flooded with money. Pasolini, who criticized capitalism as well as fascism, thought that the government and the Western world, in order to control the people, had separated them from their traditional values and turned them into empty customers. Pasolini was disgusted by the bourgeoisie riding on the backs of the lower class, the lower class which was confused about what to do with the empty words of the church, government propaganda and post-war poverty, and after Teorema he literally declared war on bourgeoisie.

The Gospel According to Matthew, dir. P.P. Pasolini (1964)

Porcile, my favorite Pasolini film, is based on two stories. In the first story, Julian, the son of a German factory owner, is unable to get out of bed for some unknown reason. His father's rival, Mr. Herdhitze, who has a Nazi past, seeks to blackmail the factory owner by using a trait of Julian's that is known to everyone but ignored by his family. In the other story, a young man living in an isolated mountain far away from people cannot resist the urge to kill people and eat their flesh, and becomes the head of a cannibalistic tribe. The film portrays the only son of a bourgeois family, supported by the state and the establishment, who is constantly committing crimes against humanity, as a rapist who breaks into peasants' pigsties and has sex with the pigs. Julian, who is promised to the daughter of another rich family, tries all sorts of ways to escape from her, falls into bed because of his repressed urges, and finally starts having sex with the peasants' pigs in order to suppress his sexual desires, which are against the world order. Julian, who should be punished for his inhuman behavior, is protected by his father's bourgeois position and the villagers are forced to keep quiet about the matter. In the end, Julian is torn apart and eaten alive by angry pigs. The wild impulses that humans have given up for protection and order cannot be controlled by the state and are punished by nature itself. Julian, an abnormality of nature, becomes the victim of his own victims.

Still from Porcile, dir. P.P. Pasolini (1969)

The other story is about a young man who has fled civilization: Like Julian, he harbors forbidden urges, but without the connections and money to protect him from the wrath of society, he seeks refuge on Mount Etna. Killing and eating the people he finds in poverty and hunger, he eventually gathers people like himself and forms a tribe on the mountain. He is eventually captured by the inhabitants of a nearby village and executed by the forces of civilization. Pasolini's use of two stories so different in both texture and time actually strengthens the impact of the movie: The scene transitions are so sharp that you realize you are watching a movie all the time. Julian and his fiancée talk theatrically and play games non-stop; the man who comes to blackmail Julian's father is a fake Hitler. In the bourgeois world everything is fake, a game, and stupid. The scenerio and how people behave are so stupid that you might think Pasolini is mocking your intelligence, but in fact he is mocking the bourgeoisie. Setting Mount Etna, an uncanny mountain without a trace of civilization, in front of the magnificent estate of the bourgeois family, Pasolini gives us a realism that chills you to the bone, thanks to Pierre Clementi's wonderful acting. The young man, who is unclear why he killed his father, eats human flesh and society comes to punish him, even if it is done out of sight. While Julian commits a direct crime against nature, the cannibal young man commits a crime against the rules of society and the church. Or so it is shown. Pasolini makes us question what it means to be human, what is a crime and what is not, where man's betrayal of nature should be taken seriously, where nature itself does what the state or the order cannot do (no matter how much the white man opposes and outsmarts nature, in this order the outlier is somehow eliminated). He states that the Italians were slaves of the Germans during and before the war, and that the fascists and bourgeois who think homosexuality and sexual freedom are perversions are the real perverts and are protected from the punishment that they deserve.

Pierre Clementi as the cannibal, in Porcile dir. P. P. Pasolini (1969)

Pasolini's last film was the last straw for the Fascist government he had mocked. Pasolini, who liked to touch on subjects that disgusted and sensitized people, adapted the book of Marquies de Sade, known as the father of sadism, for the cinema. Moving the story to the fascist Italy of the 1940s, Pasolini made what is still the most controversial and difficult to watch movie of all time. Set in Salo, a puppet government in Northern Italy during World War II, four of the city's leading fascists kidnap eighteen adolescents, nine girls and nine boys, and imprison them in a castle. Sexual abuse, physical and mental torture will continue for 120 days.

In the movie, young boys and girls who are hunted like partridges trying to escape in the countryside are subjected to various tortures by four rich and powerful politicians. Apart from the torturers and the tortured, there is also an old prostitute in the castle: She, like the captured youngsters, was once tortured and raped. She has been convinced that what she is going through is normal and has become a puppet of the bourgeois men. Sipping wine and powdering her face while the young men and women are being tortured, she acts as a bridge between the audience and the characters in the movie: She becomes a mirror for us, the audience, who have chosen to side with the evil and the powerful, or who have been brainwashed, who have learned to enjoy rape, who have been lulled to sleep with food, makeup, beautiful music and art. Thanks to this woman, one feels ashamed of oneself. Even though she does not physically take part in the rapes and tortures, she is as despicable as the torturers because she is only a spectator, just like us, the spectators. While so many terrible things are happening in the world, we, who are distracted by our toys given to us by capitalism and block our ears, squirm and writhe trying to watch Salo, because someone on the screen is just like us and we can neither call her good nor bad. In this way, Pasolini brings out our ego, which is normally suppressed when we watch movies. This, rather than the nudity and violence, is what makes Salo the most difficult movie of all time to watch.

Still from Salo or 120 Days of Sadom dir. P. P. Pasolini (1975)

In the film, Pasolini portrays the fascists as sadists. Everything they accuse "enemies of the people" and "communists" of doing, these four men do in excess. All four are pedophiles, and homosexuals (both passively and actively), they have no faith in God, no morals, no shame, no compassion. While Pasolini was targeted for years for being gay, in Salo he chooses to show directly that clergy and politicians are also gay, and many of them are pedophiles. These men, respectable and powerful on the outside, are isolated in their mansions, having sex with peasant girls and peasant boys, bending over them for the sake of fantasy and rolling on the floor like dogs. With Salo, the events are no longer allegory, but direct accusation. In one scene, these men who keep the prisoners on a leash, marry boys to boys and girls to girls, serve them shit on golden plates. Perhaps the most famous scene of Salo is like the summary of Pasolini's career: "Capitalism gives you shit on a golden plate."

Still from Salo or 120 Days of Sadom dir. P. P. Pasolini (1975)

Pasolini, who was murdered only a few weeks after the film's shooting, but whose death was covered up because he was gay and dissident, accused of pedophilia, was also trying to keep forgotten European myths and stories alive with his films Decameron and Arabian Nights to ensure that oppressed and alienated people did not forget their past. Attacking both the fascist and capitalist government from every possible angle, Pasolini is, in my opinion, the only director who completely succeeded in using cinema as a powerful weapon, as Walter Benjamin suggested. Almost fifty years after his death, it is good to know that a man once fought with everything he had against the political oppression and capitalism that surrounds us now. Long live Pasolini!

Still from Salo or 120 Days of Sadom dir. P. P. Pasolini (1975)

[beardedmrbean]

Ilta-Sanomat describes Sauli Niinistö's last week in the presidency as "a whirlwind of travel from country to country and city to city."

Niinistö has not been taking it easy, even though his term ends Friday when Alexander Stubb takes over as President of the Republic.

A week ago, on Thursday, Niinistö was still touring Finland. He visited his home town of Salo for the last time before the end of his second and final term in office.

From Salo, he headed for Windhoek, the capital of Namibia, where the funeral of President Hage Geingob took place over the weekend.

From Namibia, Niinistö flew back to Europe to Paris, the where he attended a meeting to reaffirm Western support for Ukraine, hosted by French President Emmanuel Macron.

Following that, Niinistö returned to Helsinki. On Wednesday he had his final formal meeting with the cabinet. On Thursday, Niinistö will hold his last press conference as president.

The week, and Niinistö's final term, will culminate on Friday in Parliament. At 11:50 am, Niinistö will inspect an honour guard in front of the Parliament for the last time. He and Stubb will then proceed to a plenary session of Parliament, where Niinistö will present an address to the house.

During that session, power will change hands and Stubb will become president.

Niinistö's legacy

The Uutissuomalainen news group asked three researchers what Niinistö's legacy will be and what issues from his time in office will go down in history.

Professor of Political Science Tapio Raunio from the University of Tampere, political scientist Johanna Vuorelma from the University of Helsinki and Associate Professor of Political History Johanna Rainio-Niemi from the University of Helsinki all believe that the last two years of Niinistö's presidency will define his legacy.

Rainio-Niemi said she believes that Niinistö will be remembered as a president who served during a time of upheaval, most remembered for Finland's quick ascension into Nato. Vuorelma also believes that Niinistö's legacy will be defined by Nato membership.

Vuorelma pointed out that Niinistö was not publicly in favour of Nato membership before Russia's attack on Ukraine. For example, in his New Year's speech before the Russian invasion, Niinistö said that Finland had a crisis-resistant foreign and security policy that did not need to be changed.

"Niinistö himself was not the one who dictated or persuaded the public to back this change," Vuorelma told USU.

According to Raunio, it would be wrong to say that Niinistö is the one who brought Finland into Nato. Raunio points out that during Niinistö's first ten years in office, practically nothing happened with regard to the western alliance.

"It was only when Putin invaded Ukraine in 2022 and public opinion changed that Niinistö and the rest of our political elite turned the corner and started moving towards Nato," Raunio noted.

Finnish arms in Russia

According to a report in Helsingin Sanomat weapons and ammunition produced by the Finnish arms industry companies Sako and Nammo Lapua have ended up in Russia despite the arms export ban.

In February, a report by the Russian online magazine IStories and the Italian newspaper Irpi Media claimed that Finnish arms and ammunition had ended up in Russia. HS says it has verified this information and obtained new information, for example on the routes of the weapons took from Finland to Russia.

According to some Russian war bloggers, these weapons and ammunition have also been used by Russian soldiers in Ukraine.

In total, reports HS, several million rounds of Finnish ammunition have ended up in Russia. Between 2022 and 2023, nearly 700 rifles made at the Sako factory in Riihimäki and about 67,000 boxes of Sako cartridges were registered in Russia. During the same period, about 174,000 boxes of Nammo Lapua cartridges were registered there.

Sako and Nammo Lapua denied to HS that they exported these products to Russia. According to the companies, the weapons and cartridges were exported to Russia without their permission and without their knowledge.

According to HS's investigation, the Sako rifles and parts entered Russia via Italy.

Lapua Sako is owned by the Beretta group, which is originally Italian. Nammo Lapua is part of the Nammo group, which is owned by Finland's Patria and the Norwegian state. The Finnish state owns 50.1 percent of Patria.

Household spending down

Karjalainen reports on a fresh survey showing that more than half of Finnish households have cut back on spending in order to balance their finances.

The survey, carried out by the pollster Taloustutkimus for the loan comparison service Sortter, asked households what measures they have used to offset rising interest rates and living costs over the past year. A majority, 54 percent of respondents said they had trimmed back on everyday spending on items such as food and medicine.

One in three said they had also spent less on energy. One in four has drawn on their savings.

Just over 40 percent of households reported having less money available to spend each month compared to a year ago.

English-only ban?

On Wednesday, MPs debated issues related to the use and status of Finnish, and what some members see as threats to the majority national language.

Ilta-Sanomat is among the papers reporting that Pekka Aittakumpu (Cen) issued a call for a tightening of language legislation along the lines of the French model. He believes that the Finnish language should be protected in particular from the dominance of English.

"The law could also require private sector operators to provide services in Finnish. In Estonia and France, for example, language law also applies to private service providers. In those countries, a café that provides service only in English is illegal," Aittakumpu was quoted as saying.

Aittakumpu also demanded that it should be possible to obtain degrees in Finnish at all educational levels.

"In many fields, it is no longer possible to continue studies in the national language after obtaining a bachelor's degree, as master's degree courses switch to teaching in English. This is not right. University funding must be more strictly linked to the opportunity of studying in Finnish," he argued.

Minister of Justice Leena Meri (Finns) told MPs that there are several government-initiated projects underway examining the status of the use of Finnish.

Minister of Education Anna-Maja Henriksson (SPP) pointed out that the national language strategy aims to ensure that the Finnish language does not become less widely used. She added, that on the other hand, speakers of Swedish, Finland's second official language, do not always receive even legally-mandated services in their mother tongue.

[rare-books-finder]

Creating an Instagram post for “A Social & Religious History Of The Jews – 18 Volume Set + Index”: Dive into the rich tapestry of Jewish history with this remarkable 18-volume set!

Author: Salo Wittmayer Baron Publisher: Baron Columbia Univ. Press, NY / Jewish Publ. Society Of America, 1952 Description: Complete in full blue cloth with gilt title to the spine, these volumes are in near-mint condition. This set is an invaluable resource for those interested in Jewish history, culture, and religion. ISBN: 9780231088381 / 0231088388