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anyoneknowwhatbrexitmeans · 1 year

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Edwin Hayward

@edwinheyward

(Long - please expand the tweet.)

1. The Tories will keep on wrecking things faster and faster as the GE approaches. They'll act like irresponsible teenagers who know they don't have to clean up in the morning after a wild drunken binge.

Why?

A) It's their last chance to firehose cash at their friends and cronies.

B) It's an opportunity to further feather their own nests before they're out of office.

C) It stuffs Labour even more - we'll return to this soon enough.

D) The more chaos they cause and the more scandals they trigger, the less chance there is of any one case of wrongdoing being investigated.

From a Tory POV, the best stuff to break is anything that's unfixable. For instance, the closure of all train ticket offices. Once those have been turned into coffee concessions and the staff fired or moved elsewhere, both the facilities and the expertise will be gone for good.

2. Regardless of actual policies, Labour will win the GE on a desperate tide of people wanting to Get The Tories out. However (and this will prove vital later) their future freedom to manoevre will be severely limited by the bright red lines they've been laying down on stuff like Brexit.

Related aside: Remember, the losing party has a blank slate. The electorate thumbed their noses at the manifesto, so they have total freedom to bin it. ("Nobody liked what we had to offer, so we need to do something different.") But this isn't true of the winning party. Even though pledges do get broken and manifesto commitments forgotten, they are still constrained by what they promised to win office.

3. Labour will start trying to fix the stuff the Tories broke. It will prove very expensive. Mending stuff is always more expensive than breaking it. It will be slow going too. And Labour will be trapped by the need to be "fiscally responsible" in a way the Tories never would, because our mainly RW media is waiting to tear them a new one if they spend as much as a single brass penny without accounting for where it came from.

Related aside 2: Is the political playing field level when it comes to British media? Absolutely not. It's totally unfair. But this is a known known, so Labour have to find ways to win - and win repeatedly - despite being hobbled by the press.

4. Labour will try to Make Brexit Work. The RW tabloids will tear bigger strips off them than usual, painting even minor concessions as a Great Betrayal. (If you're not paying attention, you need to realise that the tabloids pillory Labour every. single. day. So this will be a ramping up rather than a different attitude.)

Related aside 3: Since anything Labour does to "undo Brexit" will be portrayed as a betrayal, no matter how insignificant, they might as well take huge lumbering steps rather than teeny tiny ones. It won't make the tabloids more rabid than they're inevitably going to be.

5. Make Brexit Work won't. Work, that is. You might as well try and put the toothpaste back in the tube after you brushed your teeth with it. Brexit is inherently unworkable by its very nature. The small improvements won't be nearly enough for Rejoiners, will infuriate still-Leavers, and will barely move the dial on Britain's Brexit problems.

Related aside 4: Young voters who came of voting age since the referendum already break 86/14 in favour of Rejoin. By the time we get through a first Labour term, anyone under 32 will be overwhelmingly keen to re-enter the EU.

6. Meanwhile, Labour will also have to spend more and more and more to keep stuff from literally falling apart. Think sewers, water pipes, collapsing schools, crumbling hospitals. The legacy of Tory underinvestment has played havoc with already fragile infrastructure. Again, stern questions will be asked about where the money is coming from.

7. The rump of the Tory party, whatever's left after the GE wipeout, will sit on the sidelines laughing and jeering. "Typical Labour. Always spending money they don't have." They will point to every single broken thing, claiming they're all Labour's fault - and the RW media will amplify the message.

8. If they're very lucky, Labour will go into the GE-after-next with the overall situation in Britain slightly better than when they took office. We'll only be knee-deep in metaphoric (and maybe literal) sewage, rather than thigh-deep.

9. The Tories and RW press will continue their tag-teaming attacks. ("Same old Labour. Can't be trusted with the economy. Can't get anything working. Can't even fix Brexit, despite all their lofty promises.)

10. GE2: Electric Boogaloo.

Labour are stuck. The taunts about their flagship Make Brexit Work policy hit home - because they're true. And that lubricates the way for all the other lies the Tories and the RW media are spinning about them to slip down like honey.

If Labour pivot towards SM/CU/Rejoin to try to win GE2, they might as well tattoo "we wasted the last 5 years and prolonged the damage because we didn't know what the hell we were doing" on their foreheads. They may pivot anyway, because the alternative is even worse. This is where those bright red lines (remember them?) will come back to bite them in the fundament so hard, they won't be able to sit down for a month. The press will scream "U-turn" and again it will be absolutely true: a U-turn so big, it's visible from the Moon.

Related aside 5: There's no Get the Tories Out vote in GE2. Why? Because they're already out. The impetus to keep them out won't win over disgruntled voters who already lent their votes to Labour once with gritted teeth, despite Labour not doing what they wanted on things like Brexit and PR.

11. Labour lose GE2. A one-term wonder, and they're done. The Tories do what they do best: they blame all Britain's ills on Labour, and start wrecking the country afresh with a clean slate. Heck, they're still bleating about the "No money left" letter today, so we know exactly how this stuff plays out.

Related aside 6: From the standpoint of history, being PM is perhaps 100x more important than being Leader of the Opposition. A place in posterity for eternity is the grand prize that even very rich people can't buy (though their wealth can certainly help towards attaining it). So Keir Starmer won't be nearly as disappointed as you might imagine. If he makes it a full term, that's already longer than May, Johnson, Truss (!) and Sunak managed. His standing is assured. Put another way: his incentives are not our incentives.

12. Another ruinous decade or so of Tory rule. (We know how hard it is for Labour to win. They need the Tories to mess up so badly that a tide of outrage carries them over the finish line. That tide is unlikely to rise again over a term dominated by constant reminders of "Labour's failings" playing out 24/7 in the RW press and on RW TV and radio.)

Deep breath. Have a coffee and a biscuit. You've earned them. We've seen the problem. Now it's time to tackle the solution.

Scroll back up through the scenario above. Notice how Brexit runs through it, like a vein pumping poison.

That's why Labour need to change their fundamental attitude towards Brexit, and they need to do it now - not just before the GE.

Stop ruling things out. Not saying you won't do something isn't the same as saying you will do it. Read the previous sentence a few times - it does make sense. Think along the lines of "Labour will do whatever it takes to mitigate the damage Brexit is causing Britain". The actual message can be polished by the pros. It's the intent that matters. Without the red lines on SM/CU/Rejoin, anything becomes possible.

By making the change now, it blunts the moaning in the media. Why? Because it dilutes the impact of the u-turn over a year or more, rather than concentrating it into the last month of intense scrutiny just before the GE.

The other vital ingredient is PR.

Simply put, PR is the only hope we have of achieving any sort of long-term stability.

Why? Because many of the problems Britain faces will take 2, 3, 4+ election cycles to fix. And they need fixing. But the only conceivable way of unlocking the time to fix them is to form long-term partnerships in the national interest. In other words, PR.

PR rids us of the short-termism mindset that has dragged Britain down for decades. Though the exact balance in Parliament will change from GE to GE, even under PR, a coalition will almost certain be possible without involving the Tories or other RW parties. It is better to have a share of power forever than absolute power for a few years before the other lot come in and undo everything you worked towards.

Related aside 7: Don't think of GEs in terms of a 5-year cycle. When the party in power changes, their first year is spent trying to pick through the mess and understand what's going on. And the final year of every 5-year cycle is focused on the next GE. So there are really only ever 4 (and more often 3) years of actual governing possible under FPTP in every 5-year election cycle.

Summary: Labour needs to adopt a completely different attitude to Brexit (stop ruling stuff out, and make the change now) and move to introduce PR.

Phew, we're very nearly done. Congratulations on making it this far.

In parting: You may disagree with what you just read. You probably will. But please take a big step back and evaluate whether your disagreement is because it's just too horrible to think about the real world in the stark terms I painted above. Also, please consider whether your support for a particular party is blinding you to the reality of what they can hope to achieve in a short 5-year (really 3) period in office.

Thanks for your interest, and have a great day.

By @edwinheyward

(P.S. If you found the above interesting, please RT to share this with others.)

#Edwin Hayward

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royaletiquette · 11 months

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— MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strike through what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. ghosts. dark alleys. empty streets. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. suspicion. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the American South. the American Northeast. England. analog cameras.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw marks. bite marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking. backpacking.

GOTHIC.

gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. books. stitches.

PARANORMAL.

malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at unseen things. iconoclasm. black ooze. old photographs. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

SLASHER.

bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. passing shadows. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. cut wires. character masks. scrunchies. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

THRILLER.

daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms. empty rooms. killer in plain sight. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. a noise in the distance.

tagged by @cantuscorvi ♥

#ok miho asked for queen koko so ill give you hibiya lol #dash memes #musings #extremely even honestly #he lends himself well to horror though i feel

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arcxnumvitae · 10 months

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— MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strike through what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

GOTHIC.

PARANORMAL.

SLASHER.

THRILLER.

tagged by: @sansloii tagging: Anyone! Just say I tagged you

#{Iomhar Games #I was worried I wouldn't be able to highlight /anything/#because look at the golden retriever fae #but we got some!#horror tw

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sansloii · 10 months

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— MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strike through what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

GOTHIC.

PARANORMAL.

SLASHER.

THRILLER.

tagged by: @distopea tagging: @un1awful | @lured-into-wonderland | @arcxnumvitae ( Iomhar ) | @royaletiquette ( Queen Koko pls ) | @kinglyisms (Casimir )

#⚜ ┊ ( p. headcanons )#⚜ ┊ ( quizzes and memes. )#.for some reason i thought doing this for penny was going to be difficult #.and then i remembered that penny is like #.the quintessential horror trope of #.'eldritch abomination chilling in my body and killing me slowly'#.and i'm like 'oh yeah.... that checks off a lot of boxes'

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distopea · 11 months

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— MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strike through what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

GOTHIC.

PARANORMAL.

SLASHER.

THRILLER.

tagged by: @cantuscorvi (thank you 🖤🐧) tagging: @investigaticns (whoever you wish 👁) - @avaere (whoever you prefer!)- @nezumivc103221 (do DH Nezumi!) - @royaletiquette (Queen Koko) - @badheart (whoever you prefer!) - @tigermcth - @nvrcmplt (whoever you prefer🌟) - @sansloii (whoever you prefer!) - @un1awful and basically just say I have tagged you 💅

#⌇playing all the aces on the table ( 𝙈𝙚𝙢𝙚 )#⌇aesthetic ( 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙢 )#⌇character study ( 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙢 )#; Kaizen is truly a coded slasher movie bad guy #; the kind of dude who slaughters a camp in the wood gfysdg #; this was really fun

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spoekelse · 1 year

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Locke gazed out across the black waves and was startled to see a pale white-green shape, glowing like an alchemical lantern, leap up from the waves and splash back down a few seconds later. The arc of its passage left an iridescent afterimage when he blinked.

“Gods,” he said, “what the hell is that?”

There was a fountain of the things, now, about a hundred yards from the ship. They flew silently after one another, appearing and disappearing above the surf, casting their ghostly light on black water that returned it like a mirror.

“You really are new to these waters,” said Caldris. “Those are flit-wraiths, Kosta. South of Tal Verrar, you see ’em all about. Sometimes in great schools, or arches leapin’ over the water. Over ships. They’ve been known to follow us about. But only after dark, mind you.”

“Are they some kind of fish?”

“Nobody rightly knows,” said Caldris. “Flit-wraiths can’t be caught. They can’t be touched, as I hear it. They fly right through nets, like they was ghosts. Maybe they are.”

“Eerie,” said Locke.

“You get used to ’em after a few years,” said Caldris. He drew smoke from his pipe, and the orange glow strengthened momentarily. “The Sea of Brass is a damned strange place, Kosta. Some say it’s haunted by the Eldren. Most say it’s just plain haunted. I’ve seen things. Saint Corella’s fire, burnin’ blue and red up on the yardarms, scaring the piss outta the top-watch. I sailed over seas like glass and seen…a city, once. Down below, not kidding. Walls and towers, white stone. Plain as day, right beneath our hull. In waters that our charts put at a thousand fathoms. Real as my nose it was, then gone.”

“Heh,” said Locke, smiling. “You’re pretty good at this. You don’t have to toy with me, Caldris.”

“I’m not toying with you one bit, Kosta.” Caldris frowned, and his face took on a sinister cast in the pipe-light. “I’m telling you what to expect. Flit-wraiths is just the beginning. Hell, flit-wraiths is almost friendly. There’s things out there even I have trouble believing. And there’s places no sensible ship’s master will ever go. Places that are…wrong, somehow. Places that wait for you.”

- Red Seas Under Red Skies, Scott Lynch

#gentleman bastards #red seas under red skies #scott lynch #writing

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jazzy---j · 2 years

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Daughter of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief

“even the gods have to bow to fate”

Chapter Summary: A tour turns into a trial by toilet water. They never see the actual orientation film.

Masterlist >>> Read on ao3 (6/23)

My Brother Becomes Supreme Lord of the Bathroom

I still had not gotten over the shock. I had accepted it sure but it still felt like the whole world had shifted under my feet.

We had a nice tour, though I noticed Percy was careful not to walk behind Chiron. I stifled a laugh remembering that he'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times. And was probably wary of Chirons's backside.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horns Percy was carrying. Another said, “That’s them."

I tried to clamp down on my pride. My brother and I had fought off a monster as frightening as the minotaur and we are still alive. That's pretty freaking cool. But, the following thought of my mother immediately put a damper on my mood.

Most of the campers were older than me and my brother. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I’d realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when Percy nudged my shoulder whispering, "Do you see that?"

I frowned at him and looked to where he was pointing and saw a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct feeling we were being watched.

“What’s up there?” Percy asked Chiron. He looked where Percy was pointing, and his smile faded. “Just the attic.”

“Somebody lives there?" Percy probed. “No,” he said with finality. “Not a single living thing.” I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

“Come along, Percy, Cassie,” Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. “Lots to see.”

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron told us the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. “It pays our expenses,” he explained. “And the strawberries take almost no effort.”

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire.

“Grover won’t get in too much trouble, will he?” Percy asked Chiron. “I mean...he was a good protector. Really.”

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horse’s back like a saddle. “Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper, and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill.” “But he did that!" I argued. “I might agree with you,” Chiron said. “But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I’m afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there’s the unfortunate...ah... the fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover’s part.”

I felt so bad. None of what happened was Grover’s fault. “He’ll get a second chance, won’t he?”Percy asked hopefully.

Chiron winced. “I’m afraid that was Grover’s second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He’s still so small for his age....” “How old is he?” "Oh, twenty-eight.” “Whoa, wait, time out," I exclaimed, "He's twenty-eight and still in the sixth grade?” “Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Cassie. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years.” “Holy... that's- that’s horrible,” I said as a shiver went up my spine.

“Quite,” Chiron agreed. “At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career...” “That’s not fair,” Percy said. “What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?”

Chiron looked away quickly. “Let’s move along, shall we?” Percy's brows furrowed and I found myself doing the same.

For someone who said they would explain everything, Chiron was avoiding answering many of our questions.

“Chiron,” Percy said. “If the gods and Olympus and all that are real..."

“Yes, child?”

“Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?” Chiron’s expression darkened. “Yes, child.” He paused as if choosing his words carefully.

“There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now...until we know more...I would urge you to put that out of your mind.” “What do you mean, ‘until we know more?" My brother pushed.

“Come, you two. Let’s see the woods.”

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick. Chiron said, “The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed.” “Stocked with what?” I asked. “Armed with what?” “You’ll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Have you kept the bracelet?

At first, I didn’t understand until Chiron gestured to my right wrist, and I remember the bracelet that has been stuck on my arm for the past month.

“This a very powerful weapon, use it only in times of severe distress," he instructed seriously, "but it should do just fine for capture the flag this week."

"Umm ok?" I said not mentioning that I had no idea how to use this "weapon." I had not been able to get it off let alone get it to turn back into the spear I used to kill Ms. Dodds.

“Percy,” Chiron motioned “I don’t suppose you have your own sword and shield yet. I think a size six will do. I’ll visit the armory later.”

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn’t seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights. “Sword and spear fights?” I asked enthused. That sounded pretty cool. Maybe someone could teach me how to use the serpent spear thingy.

“Cabin challenges and all that,” he explained. “Non-lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there’s the mess hall.”

The use of the word usually piqued my interest even more. My brother turned to me, knowing what I was thinking, and just rolled his eyes.

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls. “What do you do when it rains?” I asked. Chiron looked at me as if I’d gone a little weird. “We still have to eat, don’t we?”

Finally, he showed us the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were, without doubt, the most bizarre collection of buildings I’d ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops.

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

“Zeus and Hera?” Percy guessed. “Correct,” Chiron said. “Their cabins look empty.” “Several of the cabins are. That’s true. No one ever stays in one or two.”

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty? Percy stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three. I halted next to him. It wasn’t high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor.

I felt almost a pull as Percy and I walked toward the cabin and peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that!”

Before he could pull us back, I caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, I was glad when Percy grabbed my hand as Chiron pulled us away and said, “Come along you two.”

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers. Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar’s head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared.

The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and me giving us an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

That boy from earlier Markus, who I guess was done cleaning the weapons shed, was leaning on the porch yelling at some of the other boys who were wrestling inside the cabin.

Suddenly he wiped his head around and looked dead at me sneering. I don’t know if he was trying to scare me or something but I was kind of tired of his attention.

I stuck my tongue out as I flipped him off.

His face morphed from surprised to mildly impressed. He then proceeded to wink at me.

I frowned as my face started to heat up and quickly turned my attention back to Chiron and Percy's conversation. What was that guy's deal?

“We haven’t seen any other centaurs,” Percy observed. “No,” said Chiron sadly. “My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I’m afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won’t see any here.” “You said your name was Chiron. Are you really...” He smiled down at us. “The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am.” “But, shouldn’t you be dead?”

"Ummm... Percy, he's right here?"

Percy huffed a breath looking at me annoyed.

I shrugged, "Just saying."

Chiron paused as if the question intrigued him. “I honestly don’t know about should be. The truth is, I can’t be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish... and I gave up much. But I’m still here, so I can only assume I’m still needed.”

“Doesn’t it ever get boring?” I asked.

“No, no,” he said. “Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring.”

I frowned “Why depressing?” Chiron again seemed to turn hard of hearing. “Oh, look,” he said. “Annabeth is waiting for us.” The girl we’d met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked over Percy and me critically. I didn't want her to look at us as a threat so I smiled at her in return. She seemed to be off-put even more but her face relaxed slightly.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn’t make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn’t even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book. “Annabeth,” Chiron said, “I have a masters’ archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Cassie from here?” “Yes, sir.” “Cabin eleven,” Chiron said, gesturing toward the doorway of a nearby cabin with an unordinary amount of mailboxes next to it. “Make yourself at home.”

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor’s symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it.

What did they call it...? A caduceus. Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn’t go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

“Well, then,” Chiron said. “Good luck, you two. I’ll see you at dinner.” He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren’t bowing anymore. They were staring at us, sizing us up. I knew this routine. I’d gone through it in enough schools.

“Well?” Annabeth prompted. “Go on.” So naturally, I tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of myself. Percy caught me before I could totally faceplant onto the floors. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, “Percy and Cassie Jackson, meet cabin eleven.”

“Regular or undetermined?” somebody asked. I didn’t know what to say, but Annabeth said, “Undetermined.”

Everybody groaned.

I just sorta looked around confused.

A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. “Now, now, campers. That’s what we’re here for. Welcome, Percy, Cassie. You can have those two spots on the floor, right over there.”

The guy was about nineteen, and not gonna lie he was hot. Like really really hot. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just below his right eyebrow, barely missing his eye, right down to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

“This is Luke,” Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over her, with eyebrows raised, and could’ve sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. “He’s your counselor for now.”

“For now?” Percy asked. “You’re undetermined,” Luke explained patiently. “They don’t know what cabin to put you in, so you’re here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers.”

I looked around at the campers’ faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets. “How long will we be here?” I asked. “Good question,” Luke said. “Until you’re determined.” “Well, how long will that take?” The campers all laughed.

“Come on,” Annabeth told us. “I’ll show you the volleyball court.” “We’ve already seen it. " my brother replied. “Come on," she gritted out again with a little more force. She grabbed my brother's wrist and dragged him outside.

I turned to look back at all the kids still laughing at us.

"Welp... I'm just gonna go now." I said nodding to Luke as I turned right back to the dorm and ran right after my brother.

I could hear the kids of cabin eleven continue laughing behind me.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, “Jackson, you have to do better than that.” “What?” My brother said annoyed.

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, “I can’t believe I thought you were the one.” “What’s your problem?” Percy said louder.

I could tell Percy was getting angry now. It may or may not be obvious but my brother has a bit of a temper. So, did I, of course, an explosive one at that. We've both always struggled with controlling our emotions.

“All I know is, I kill some bull guy—”

“Don’t talk like that!” Annabeth told him.

“You know how many kids at this camp wish they’d had your chance?”

“To get killed?”

“To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?”

Percy shook his head. “Look, if the thing me and Cassie fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories...” “Yes.” “Then there’s only one.” “Yes.” “And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So...” “Monsters don’t die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don’t die.” "Oh great!" I exclaimed, exasperated, "So he's like what, still out there?" “They don’t have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you’re lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form.”

I thought about Mrs. Dodds. “You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a spear—” “The Fur...I mean, your math teacher. That’s right. She’s still out there. You just made her very, very mad.” “How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?”

“Percy talks in his sleep.”

I snorted a laugh, I should have known. I've heard Percy reveal the most ridiculous nonsense in his sleep. From what he's had for dinner to his pet fish named Nemo that I accidentally flushed down the toilet that one time.

“You almost called her something. A Fury? They’re Hades’ torturers, right?” Percy asked miffed.

Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground as if she expected it to open up and swallow her. “You shouldn’t call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all.”

"Ummm, Mrs. Dodds was not very kind when I met her," I said.

Annabeth gave me an exasperated look and I only smiled sweetly in return.

“Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?” Percy whined.

“Why do we have to stay in cabin eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there.” Percy pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth stiffened. “You don’t just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or...your parent.”

She stared at my brother, waiting for him to get it. “My mom is Sally Jackson,” Percy said. “She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to.”

I stared down at my feet. Every thought, every mention of my mom only made me feel the absence of her even more.“I’m sorry about your mom, Percy. But that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about your other parent. Your dad.” “He’s dead. We never knew him.” Annabeth sighed. Clearly, she’d had this conversation before with other kids. “Your father’s not dead, Percy.” “How can you say that? You know him?”

I looked at him strangely, "Percy of course she doesn't!" “Then how can you say—” “Because I know you. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t one of us," she exclaims.

“You don’t know anything about me. Or my sister!"

I roll my eyes. Oh my god, please do not bring me into this. Nevertheless, he is clearly freakin so I grab his hand to try and calm him down.

“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them.”

“How—”

“Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too.” I blinked at her slowly.

"Uhhhhhhhhh... ok that's kinda personal information."

“What does that have to do with anything?” Percy asked testily.

“Taken together, it’s almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That’s because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you’re impulsive, can’t sit still in the classroom. That’s your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they’d keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that’s because you see too much, Percy, not too little. So do you Cassie. Your senses are better than a regular mortal’s. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don’t want you seeing them for what they are.”

“You sound like...you went through the same thing?” Percy asked cautiously. “Most of the kids here did. If you weren’t like us, you couldn’t have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar.” “Ambrosia and nectar.” “The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would’ve killed a normal kid. It would’ve turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you’d be dead. Face it. You’re a half-blood.”

A half-blood.

Oh my god, my dad was a God!

I'm related to a god.

I was reeling with so many more questions than before that I didn’t know where to start. Then a husky voice yelled, “Well! A couple of newbies!”

I looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. Along with that guy Markus, and three other girls behind her, all big and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets. Excluding Markus in his orange shirt, black cargo pants, and big black combat boots. I also noticed what looked like military dog tags hanging from his neck near the bandolier full of knives across his chest.

“Clarisse,” Annabeth sighed. “Why don’t you go polish your spear or something?” “Sure, Miss Princess,” the big girl said. “So I can run you through with it Friday night.” “Erre es korakas!” Annabeth said, which I somehow understood was Greek for ‘Go to the crows!’ though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded.

“You don’t stand a chance.” “We’ll pulverize you,” Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn’t sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward us. “Who’re the little runts?” “Percy and Cassie Jackson,” Annabeth said, “meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares.”

Annabeth gestured towards Markus, "You already know Mark."

Markus gives a smug smile and a wink in my direction.

I blinked. “So like your dad is... the war god dude?”

Markus snorted, "Yeah our dad is the war god dude. Can't you see the resemblance?"

Now that he mentioned it there was a sort of hard ruggedness to his features. He was tall and lanky, but a quick look in his eyes showed an intense ruthlessness in them that was a little unnerving for a kid around my age to have.

Clarisse sneered. “You got a problem with that?” “No,” Percy said, quickly interjecting for me. “My sister just means it explains the bad smell.” Clarisse growled. “We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy.” "Percy.” “Whatever. Come on, I’ll show you.” “Clarisse—” Annabeth tried to say. “Stay out of it, wise girl.” Annabeth looked pained, but she kept her mouth shut.

Personally, I wanted Annabeth's help but my brother probably thought since he was the new kid he had to earn his own rep and protect me by extension. Or some totally dumb crap like that.

My suspicions are confirmed when Percy handed Annabeth the box of minotaur horns and proceeded to get in a fighting stance, but before I knew it, Clarisse had my brother by the neck and was dragging him toward a cinder-block building that I knew immediately was the bathroom.

He was kicking and punching. And I was surprised to see that Clarisse did not seem to be affected at a. I've seen my brother in plenty of fights and they never ended pretty for anyone. Nevertheless, Clarisse continued to drag my brother into the girls’ bathroom.

The three other girls started to converge on me but Markus quickly stepped in and grabbed my arm roughly.

"Go help Clarisse with that dipshit over there," he looked down at me and snorted, "I can handle this one."

Ummm, hello?

One of the girls points a finger at Mark and comments, "That's very sexist Mark, but your right she doesn't look like she'd put up much of a fight." My jaw drops.

All three of them then proceed to follow Clarisse still dragging my struggling brother to the bathroom. Followed by a panicked Annabeth clutching the shoebox.

"Close your mouth you look like a fish."

I whipped my head swiftly to look back at his face as he began to drag me in the direction of the bathroom as well.

"Well... you look stupid!" I respond indignantly as I proceed to try and wrench my arm out of his grip. His eyebrow quirks up in question, as if to say "That's all you got?"

My cheeks burned in embarrassment at the idiocy of my comeback. I really could not have thought of anything better? He looked at me completely bored. "You're gonna have to try harder than that."

"Let go of me!" I scream all my patience gone.

That's right folks, I've had it up to here! I'm done! This dude manhandling me is the final straw!

Markus simply frowned, "Hey I'm trying to help you! So just shut up, keep your head down, and keep walking."

I didn't have time to respond as we finally reached the inside of the girls' bathroom.

There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any other public bathroom. Clarisse’s friends were all laughing as she dragged Percy over to a stall.

“Like he’s ‘Big Three’ material,” Clarisse said as she pushed my brother toward one of the toilets. “Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid-looking.” Her friends snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers as Clarisse bent my brother over on his knees and started pushing his head toward the toilet bowl.

My stomach dropped at the sight. I bet it reeked like rusted pipes and, well, like what goes into toilets. I started yelling for them to stop and fighting harder against Markus's grasp. Instead of letting me go he just grabbed my other arm to keep me still.

"Shut up and stop it!" Markus jeered at me. I kicked him in the shin making him hiss in pain but still held firmly onto my arms.

Then something happened. I felt a tug in the pit of my stomach. I heard the plumbing rumble, and the pipes shudder. Clarisse and her siblings started looking around nervously. Suddenly water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over Percy's head, and the next thing I knew, Clarisse was sprawled on the bathroom tiles and screaming in front of me.

She moved to stand up again but water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall.

She struggled, gasping, and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. The shower stalls to my left exploded in a huge torrent of water that caused Markus's grip on my arms to fall away as he was blasted into the bathroom wall by the cascade of shower water. Together all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door, I felt the tug in my stomach lessen, and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth hadn’t even been spared. She was dripping wet, but she hadn’t been pushed out the door. She was standing in the same place, staring at us in shock. I looked down and realized I was standing in a circle of dry floor around me. I didn’t have not one drop of water on my clothes. None.

I looked over to Percy and similarly, there didn't seem to be a drop of water on or around him. Percy stood up on shaky legs.

Annabeth said, “How did you...” “I don’t know, " my brother responded.

I looked over to Markus, who looked like a wet cat with his now darker hair plastered to his face, soaking wet clothes, and his mouth wide open gaping at me.

Percy, Annabeth, and I started walking out of the bathroom, and at the threshold of the door I turned to Markus, still gawking at me, and mocked, "Who looks like a fish now." And walked out the door.

Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to see what was going on. Clarisse’s hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. She gave Percy and me a look of absolute hatred. “You are dead, newbies. You are totally dead.”

Percy smirked and said, “You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth.” Her friends had to hold her back. They dragged her toward cabin five, while the other campers made way to avoid her flailing feet.

Annabeth stared at us. I couldn’t tell whether she was just grossed out or angry because she was wet.

“What?” Percy demanded. “What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking,” she said, “that I want you on my team for capture the flag.”

chapter 7 >>>

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nuagederose · 2 years

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kinktober 2022 // day thirteen: my girlfriend’s girlfriend prompt: face-sitting (courtesy of @the-purity-pen) pairing: eric/florence + eric/francine (flowers for alexander) also on ao3 💋

Not a single pillar of steam was to be found, although the next explosion could very easily have come about at the absolute worst time. All remained quiet throughout the corridor, the hallway to the boiler room and, ultimately, the place where all of the secrets remained hidden. There had to be another way in there, with the way in which the whole building was created out of the pipes and then everything else rose up all around them like the monolith himself.

Eric kept his collar buttoned up all the way to his chubby chin and his gloves tucked inside of his pockets. He fired his gun better when he had his gloves off, much like how he did other things with his gloves off as well.

There had to be another way in there, somehow, and there had to be another way where he never ran the risk of having poison darts shot at him.

Somewhere in there was Alex, tied up and with nothing more than those flowers nestled in between his legs to protect him, lest something come for him. Or someone, for that matter.

And somewhere in there was Eric and Florence’s baby, all alone and without the proper care.

Somehow, it all had manifested in the absolute worst way possible for them, as it had all gone from mere panic that surrounded the music to a full-fledged affair with the technology going awry and he found himself out on the job. The next thing he knew, and because of his own lazy habits, he missed every opportunity to rectify things for everyone.

Eric had found himself in the hero’s position perhaps more so than he would have wished. And yet, being the man of the house had given him a means to an end of sorts: he could fight his way through it with the utmost bravery, a feeling that he had never felt before by being in a band alone. Granted, he was the one who had started the whole band from the ground up, but there was so much fear that he had driven into it as well.

The copper and brass pipes which hung before him seemed to wind away and then back again: heaven forbid he touched any one of them with the side of his head or his bare hands, given the steam was superheated and everything. Any touch whatsoever and he would never live down the agony that he would feel right then.

The sound of the water inside of those pipes made him think of ghosts, much like the noises one would hear in the house when they were all alone for the very first time come nightfall. Eric brought his hands closer to his body as the pipes narrowed before him.

How he wished to back home with Florence and to soothe the new burns on her foot: yet another round of burns upon her poor feet. At least time she had given birth and they had something to light their way this time around. She had insisted on joining him there given it was their baby together, but Eric had assured her that it would be a one-run thing and he could find their baby as well as Alex, and then he would return home in one piece with them. Nothing more, nothing less, that was all there was to it.

He banged his elbow against one of the pipes closest to him on the right side and he bowed down before he had the chance for the pain to manifest.

He bowed his head and stopped right in his tracks, and he pressed a hand to his elbow. It was rather useless given superheated water and hot metal surrounded all around him at that point. His black hair streamed down from the sides of his head like trails of black water bleeding from the ceiling.

Eric nibbled on his bottom lip: he resisted the urge to yell out in pain, especially since the animatrons were nearby there, and especially since he spotted the microphone tucked up in the corner of the wall over his head: those mics were used to ensure that everything flowed smoothly through the pipes all around him. However, he found that any noise that seemed too human from the hallway there and he could be scouted down and captured without a second thought. Then again, they were animatrons: they had not a single shred of humanity to them despite being crafted out by humans.

Voices floated out from the corridor before him: two female voices. When he hesitated for a second, and he tried his damnedest to quiet his own breathing all so he could better hear the voices take shape out there. It was almost useless, given he stood too far away and the pipes made too much noise all around him for him to even so much as discern anything from down the hallway there.

Still with his hand clasped onto his elbow, Eric let out a low sigh through his slightly parted lips and then he stood upright and skulked onward to the far end of the corridor there. The voices came further into the volume department, even as the pipes on either side of him hummed even louder with the steam. The pipes spread out into even smaller pipes over his head and the humming subsided enough for him to hear what was there at the far end of the hallway.

He peered around the corner on his left and he was faced with a small room, filled with all manner of spare parts and tools to make anyone who worked in a Volkswagen factory laugh with hysteria at the seemingly amateur feeling of it all.

But he recognized the backs of the women’s heads in there as they worked away on something that resembled to an animatron.

The one on the other side of the bot peered over the shoulder and—

“Eric!”

“Francine!” he exclaimed. The woman closest to him turned her attention back to the doorway to behold the sight of her husband.

“Florence!” he added.

“What’re you doing here?” Florence demanded as she stood before the animatron: she held her arm before the robot’s chest but not enough to where Eric could see past her. He made the sight of the exposed nipple and breast, donned in the smoothest silver that he had ever seen in his life. Both women stood still before him, even as he kept his gaze fixated on the robot’s face behind the crown of Florence’s head.

“What is this, some kind of joke?” he demanded.

“Nope,” Florence promptly told him. “In fact, this is sort of what you get for leaving us behind, big guy.”

“What I get?” he echoed her, taken aback.

“What you get, yes,” she continued. “I may be your wife but I keep the house down while you’re out and about with the boys. Sometimes, I just want a little more out of it—my being a mechanic and everything.”

“I offered you to come with,” he recalled. “You said ‘no’.” She stooped down and she picked up the socket wrench from the low wooden work bench before her.

“I was too terrified and then—I found the grit in me,” she said. “I picked up my socket wrench and I remembered why I was here in the first place.” She patted the wrench in the palm of her hand a few times: the last time, she gripped onto the neck and curled her fingers around the sides. “I called up Frankie and I suggested that we do something to help you on your quest to find Alex and bring him as well as our baby together back to safety.”

“A naked woman?” he asked her with a gesture to the robot behind her.

“Well, it was much easier than we had realized,” Francine joined in right then. “Apparently, they had released your baby from the boiler room but we have no clue as to what they did with Alex.”

“Go on,” Eric declared with his hands pressed to his hips.

“We figure that if we make enough noise—enough human noise—we'll distract the robots and they’ll come for us instead. And that can be your cue to get him out of the boiler room.”

“What’s the robot got to do with it?” he asked her.

“It’s a part of our little distraction,” Florence declared with a wink and a stepping out of his line of sight all so he could have a better look at the ramshackle animatron, crafted out of that pure silver as well as smooth shiny tin and platinum for the joints. Eric paused for a second, all while he kept his gaze fixated on the fact that it was a faceless mannequin in full nude, complete with the nipples on the breasts and the sight of the clitoral hood and the vulvar lips once Florence wheeled her around and stooped her over for him.

“There’s a little microphone embedded in the neck,” she pointed out to him. “So, when we can get down to brass tacks, I’ll switch it on and then we can send it up through the pipeline up here—you know, the one with the microphone—and they’ll come for me and Frankie. And that’ll be your cue to save Alex from the boiler room.”

“Where is the boiler room, anyway?” he asked her, and Francine pointed over to the right.

“Right down there,” she told him. “The lock’s busted so all you’ve got to do is basically kick it open.” Eric could see the fear in her eyes as she told him that: he always knew that Francine felt a little something for Alex, and more so at that point with him held hostage in the boiler room.

Florence then strolled on up to him with one finger tucked underneath his chin.

“Give it is a boiler room, time is of the essence, too,” she whispered in a husky voice to him, and he flashed her a sly little smile at that. She smelled of metal and brimstone, and yet her astuteness and her tenacity were the things that reminded him to maintain a brave face himself all the while.

“It was why I married you, after all,” he recalled with a shrug of his shoulders and a little roll of his eyes. “Anyways, what do you think we should do?”

“Well, I figured that—since there’s three of us,” Florence started with a glimpse over at Francine, who was already undoing the buttons on her work coat. Eric could see she only wore a little camisole and skin-tight black spandex on her legs, and he raised his eyebrows at the sight of her.

“No,” he muttered. “No, we can’t. We can’t!”

“We can,” Francine insisted. “We can and we must, especially with the sheer level of anarchy outside right now.”

Florence undid the collar on her jacket as well and she tucked her gloves into her pockets. Eric took a glimpse up at the animatron before them and he swallowed.

“By the way, why did you even make a robot when you very easily could’ve hooked it up to the mic over our heads?” he asked her in a low voice.

“You’ll see once the animatrons start chasing us,” she assured him; she undid his collar for him, followed by the lines of buttons down his chest to his waist. He then raised his eyebrows at that.

“Oh, I see,” he declared.

“Yeah. They may not carry human traits and they may not care if any of us have hair or flesh, but they’re made by humans, after all.”

She flashed him another wink and that was when he lay down on the wooden bench before her, his bride, the mother to his child, and the reason that he was about to save Alex soon enough. There was a soft click over by Francine and Eric realized that she had turned the microphone in the robot’s throat.

“Sit down,” Francine whispered to her.

“This is what you get for telling me to stay home, big boy—and what I get for going along with it—” And Florence sank down upon her husband’s chest with the side of her hip pressed against his mouth. She exerted her full weight against his chest and the base of his neck. The feeling of the heavy wool against his head and neck, and he swore that he was suffocating. She dangled her legs over his shoulder as well as the edge of the bench.

Eric held his breath and he closed his eyes. Her full weight on his chest and part of it against his throat as well as his mouth.

How he wished to run his tongue along her lips, but he couldn’t. Not when she was making him close his eyes and his mouth for the time being. The wool on his skin sent shivers down his spine, all the way to the base of his hips: she wore those snug corduroy leggings as well. When she opened her thighs a bit, a bit of those cords brushed up against the side of his face, such that it tickled him a bit. The feeling was almost too much to bear, between the full weight of her body on him and those coarse fabrics up against his skin: plus, there was the fact that she wore clothes all the while, and a result, no way to stick his tongue inside of her lips no matter what he did right then and there.

She gyrated her hips a bit as if to massage his chest and his collar bones with the seat of her pants, and it only tickled him more.

“He looks ready to blow, Flo,” Francine chuckled.

Eric cracked open his eyes and he beheld the sight of his wife there on top of him, as if she used him as her own personal chair for the time being. She showed him a smile right then, and he couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He laughed for himself as well as their baby, for Alex, and for the world around them, the world that was about to bleed out before them if they didn’t save Alex there in the boiler room.

The full weight of the world on their shoulders. The full weight of Florence’s body upon his chest.

Though he could scarcely breathe right then, he still gasped for air in between bouts of laughter. His laughter and the cutting off of his circulation only added to his desire to eat and for one of these two women to tickle him all the while. The fact he couldn’t do it with his own wife only added to the feeling of being blocked: it only added to the frustration that welled up inside of him.

“Okay, my turn,” Francine declared as she peeled off those skin-tight leggings.

“Frankie!” Florence hissed in a hushed voice.

“Babe, it’s okay—she knows what she’s doing,” Eric insisted. Florence climbed off of him but before she stepped away all the way, she leaned to his face for a kiss on the pointed tip of his nose.

“Bad boy,” she whispered. “Bad, bad, bad boy.” She then cleared her throat and spoke in a louder tone of voice for Francine and the microphone behind her. “Bad boys get a double dose of trouble, don’t they, Frankie?”

“Indeed, they do, Flo—”

Eric continued to chuckle to himself as Francine took her spot there upon his chest: she sat there with her back pointed to his feet as well as to Florence who stood right by the robot right next to the low wooden bench all so the microphone could better pick up on the noises between the two of them. She set her right foot right next to Eric’s head, and he was met with the full view of her pink lips right in her face.

“Bad boys get a double dose of trouble,” Florence repeated in a singsong voice. “They get a little bit of torture from their girl’s girlfriend.”

Indeed, Francine sat more so upon Eric’s chest and thus, there was no way that he could extend his tongue closer to her without lifting his head. His laying on a hard wooden board made that all the more uncomfortable, and thus, he lay there with a full view of Francine’s pussy right there in his face and with nowhere to go. Her lips were smooth and bright pink, as pink and smooth as the pedals on the roses on his and Florence’s wedding day, as pink as the blush that crossed her face. The mere sight of that little vulva right before his face only reminded him of just how much he loved Florence, how much he loved her toughness and her bravery and how she was unwilling to take “no” for an answer, especially not in a world gone horrifically wrong. It didn’t matter to him that it was Francine: he wanted to eat.

He had to eat, especially right there with the feeling of suffocation so strong at that point inside of his chest.

He lifted his head and stuck his tongue out for a reach to her lips. Francine wagged her finger right in his face.

His neck ached and he lay his head back down on the wooden boards underneath him.

Florence had found that grit inside of her to come there and build the decoy animatron and set up the microphone. He had the same grit inside of him, to go with the plan. It was all to save Alex after all.

He held onto Francine’s thighs and pushed her closer to his mouth. Once she was technically perched upon his face, he slipped his tongue inside of those lips for a good, hearty slice of that pie. Francine gasped at the feeling of his tongue there. Florence gasped at the sight of her husband eating out her best friend.

Francine writhed her legs at the feeling of his tongue there but he had a good grip upon her. Nowhere to go except to laugh herself.

Eric meanwhile, closed his eyes as he drank her in. His tongue upon her lips and upon her clit, and then inside of her lips for a taste of that little love canal there. He stuck his tongue in deep inside of her like the tongue of a snake. He brought the tip of his tongue out of there for another lick of her lips, and Francine burst out into a fit of cackling at the feeling.

Florence started laughing herself. Eric wanted to laugh as well but his heart hammered in his chest, he had his mouth full, and he felt something touch him right between his thighs. It was Florence: she had unzipped his jeans and fondled his dick before she put her mouth down on the head for a good licking on her part.

“Oh, my god,” she laughed.

“Is he—is he!” Francine sputtered: his tongue hit her clit again and she let out a loud yelp as he made her orgasm.

“He is!” Florence burst out laughing. “Oh, man, let me help you, baby doll—”

He could feel her putting her lips around his head and his shaft. She was deep-throating him. She was deep-throating him while Francine sat on his face.

He made Francine come a second time with his tongue on her clit and she finally climbed off of him right then. Breathing hard and giggling like a madwoman, she clasped at herself and picked up her leggings. Eric lifted his head again for a look down at Florence, who kept her head down by his body. She glanced up at him and locked eyes with him.

In a strange way, it somehow made things better for the two of them.

She then lifted her mouth off of him as he came for her as well. Florence ran her tongue along her upper lip as his load had just missed her.

“I think we’ve got company, Flo,” Francine declared as she picked up her coat and slung it around her body. Florence closed the collar of her jacket and she picked up her socket wrench to act as her weapon for the time being. Delirious, Eric lay there for a second before he could feel his erection going down. She hung over his face for a single moment to unify them both.

“See you later, tiger,” Florence whispered to him.

“See your ass or your coochie later?” he asked her in a broken voice.

“Both.” She flashed him a wink and she kissed the tip of his nose again. “We’ll have our guns, too.”

“Guns and things...” he stammered, and she bowed away from him and the decoy right next to him. Eric finally sat up and he spotted the animatrons up at the very top of the pipes, far over his head. They were either chasing the girls or they were about to.

That was his cue as he stood to his feet and zipped up his trousers and fixed the bottom few buttons on his jacket. All the while, he looked on at the decoy. The sheer shininess alone would be enough to serve as a distraction as he could hear their humming down the corridor from which he came. It was going to be tight, but he had his eye on the prize at the far end of the hallway before him. Those pipes and that superheated water had nothing on his flesh and blood.

“Let’s go save Alex,” he declared as he put on his gloves.

#kinktober 2022 #kinktober #kink tumblr #kink tag #fanfic #fanfic art #fic with art #drawings #sketches #sketchbook #pencil sketch #flowers for alexander #eric peterson #oc tag #testament #testament band #artists on tumblr #badgalnirvhannahart

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dare-g · 2 years

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Through Fire, Water and... Brass Pipes (1968)

#through fire water and... brass pipes #through fire water and brass pipes #aleksandr rou #natalya sedykh #aleksei katyshev #georgi millyar #aleksandr khvylya #anatoli kubatsky #talks

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summeroffice · 2 months

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youtube

Власть vs Влащенко

43:45 For many of us, for those who are now sitting and those who are filming us, both for you and for me the war gave new people and those people whom we considered to be quite close [he nods] under these force majeure conditions turned out to be completely different [he adjusts himself and looks down]. And probably the brightest example, well, a vivid example against which everything is easy to consider--

At your place, Oleksiy Arestovych worked in the office for quite a long time [he closes his eyes, tilts his head and breathes] and well, as I understand it, there were not only professional relations with him. Well, such semi-friendly ones [his face is still expressionless]; it is natural when a person is with you for a long time at the beginning of the war in force majeure conditions for example in a bunker. You drink coffee with him, talk about something and so on.

How much was it for you, well, how do you now feel about his current statements, that he cannot return to Ukraine because he could be killed here [he blinks], that-- Well, I don't want to retell it, it's not important. Not important. Anyway, you have some kind of both professional, so to speak, understanding of why this is happening and human feelings.

As a missing factor. Not in any way do I feel about him.

Let's talk about 2 things and then it will be clear. There are 2 components in the modern life that determine your behavioural reaction, how you will behave, how you will act. The first is your ego [smirks]. Will it be realised and how--

I call it self-esteem [she smiles; she has a beautiful smile].

[Fast] This is not self-esteem; this is overvalued self. It is self. It is what am I, who am I. Am I valued and so on. That is, this is the desire to receive feedback from a person. And depending on his internal ability to control his self, the stronger the person is, the better he controls his self, the more will he has. And he can rebuild and work for an external product and not for his self. The weaker you are, the more your self will dominate. It will control your life, it will make you a hostage of ambitions, hostage of narcissism.

In this case we have a classic picture. Again, that is, his self started-- Well, and his overvalued self has started to overcome reality. And many people cannot cope with brass pipes [popularity, flattery, the most difficult moral test; not everyone who has previously successfully passed the physical tests of "fire" and "water" can withstand it], you know this well. This is the first component.

And the second component in the modern life, this is social networks. Excessive informatisation, when you, without being anyone, can become everyone through hate, hype, through the formation of some kind of trend, insult, and most importantly, you know, right, what always sells better, not your--

Of course. Hate always sells better.

Of course. Not some of kind of positive of yours that you want to prove, show, some better picture that you propose to implement. But when you insult someone. I call it the Herostratus syndrome. It is very easy. Before, you had to burn the library of Alexandria [he smiles], well, it's a slightly different story, but nevertheless, and in this way become famous, recorded in history.

Now it's enough to gain 10,000 subscribers and simply insult a person without knowing him, without communicating with him and so on. A significant part of the information and political contexts are built on this. Can we condemn this? No, because this is the age of growing up. The age of-- Like a child was given a toy.

The man was closed, he was hidden, in a shell. Apart from his friends, no one knew how brilliantly talented he was, how he understands everything, how he knows how to manage everything and so on. And then he gets this tool. And he goes out and realises himself. He understands a small part of what he is saying. But he is actually carried away now. And this is a childhood illness. It will pass. It will pass when responsible social behaviour is formed in the society.

47:55 For any young country that is looking for its identity as you say, who will it be, how will it look like next, what the internal social contract will look like, many people like to talk about the social contract. Right, you can sign a paper, the government guarantees this and we guarantee to the government that [fleeting smile], as if, you know, these people who say that, they think that they transfer their brains immediately to a million of other brains.

For me, this is also a mystery. Why everyone, well, you cited Pastukhov, why do they think that their reflection is similar to the reflections of a million other consciousnesses? We are subjective. We see life as we see it. We interpret the same events differently. You and I, we're different, and we will differently--

This is the beauty of life.

Yes. Yes. But it's impossible to transfer and unify something. But many today, I simply emphasise once again, they infantilely try to realise this opportunity to become public, to become popular. I would be calm about it.

You know, Mykhailo, it seems, it seems to me that you underestimate, just like atomic weapons were underestimated in their time. Because it changed the world [he nods]. The presence of atomic weapons changed the world.

And in the same way, the presence of social networks in one form or another, it seems to me that it is atomic information weapon. We see how wars are lost because there was no information weapon. In Israel there was no foreign information policy and they lost. Well, because Al Jazeera had it while Israel had nothing.

But how-- But I--

It's exactly the same with social networks. It seems to me that they change our lives very significantly.

No, they're just, as if, those diseases that have always been characteristic of the social infrastructure of humanity are being scaled up. Just once again, before, they were realised in small social groups, on those that you had influence on. And now, due to scaling, due to the social network, you can influence a larger social group. But this has not changed the structure of human relationships.

I'll ask you a question. How did atomic weapons change the world? Not in any way. In fact, conflicts--

War with a state that has atomic weapons; we don't--

[Coldly] We are at war with a nuclear state.

Well, yes.

And then?

This significantly complicates it, for example, well, it complicates, let's say, our relations with our partners, they say they have atomic weapons.

No. Let's go back to the year 1939. Were there nuclear weapons then? No [smiles]. But what was the position of Daladier [Prime Minister of France] and Neville [Prime Minister of United Kingdom] of the main countries that predetermined subsequent events?

Look. Human behaviour as well as the classic 6 plots in literature [he smiles] is always invariable. Your modern conventional weapon is much more deadly than in the middle of the last century. But the middle of the last century led to 50 million minimum victims. Minimum.

[She wants to interrupt]

A moment.

But for Russia, the gradation can go so far that they no longer fit into the world plot of the human race.

We're in "Divine Comedy". They fit. They are going through their next circle of hell. Look, once again, the invariability of behaviour, the invariability of ego, the invariability of the desire to prove that you are better through the deaths of others. The invariability of hatred towards others on any principle. It accompanies humanity all the time on different scales.

Gigantic wars led to incredible if we take not absolute but relative values for incredible victims. And they corresponded to the type of deadly weapons, but the essence of behaviour is unchanged. Humanity always goes through destruction, through the implementation of its overvalued ideas, through the complex of hatred, through hate, it's always the same.

The weapon that you're talking about, social networks, it's only scale and speed. Acceleration. The only thing all those types of technological improvements lead to is acceleration of the problem. That is, the war will be shorter, the time of the onset of the war will be shorter, but at the heart of everything are human emotions. They are unchanged. Hatred, predestined.

Because there is always less positive, love, in humanity. It tries to balance it, but nevertheless, the subject Putin always appears. Look at him, look at his rhetoric, facial expressions, how he behaves, look at the way he reasons. /.../

This is the driving force of modern humanity and it has always been like this. Your social networks only allow you to go faster. If only our psychiatry worked normally, or law enforcement agencies or regulatory standards.

53:26 It's the same with social networks when a large group of people for political reasons or for human reasons, because they have read few books and cannot accept that all people are different--

People read little in general.

53:56 If this is how it will go on, then, well, some irreversible changes may begin in the society.

It will go on like this. You won't stop any genies. This is the essence of a genie. Any demon, any devil. Seduction. How do you stop now, for example, artificial intelligence which will lead to very tragic consequences?

This is something else completely.

No. It's all the same, just scaled up. Right now, you'll need to look for people who will do this work, hate someone, and here you will have artificial intelligence, millions of accounts at the same time and the attack will be such that the person will simply commit suicide. It's all the same thing. You can't stop what is the natural development of the inner world of man. Once again, several essences coexist in a person.

So, do you see any way out of this?

Yes. The way out is exactly the same as always. There is a need for people who will take responsibility. There is a need for people who will not moralise but will say the right things. Even if it hurts them. The way out is always in people who will positively evaluate what is happening and who will tell the truth. It will be very difficult for them.

Is it compatible?

No, but it will be difficult for them.

To speak the truth and evaluate positively.

55:29 Aah. This is compatible largely because truth is not always-- We confuse different things. Technologically, the government very often thinks that if in the short-term strategy they give imitation of some things somewhere, it will lead to a positive trend. Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, yes. You don't always need to go straight in because in the short-term strategy not always the correct answer here will be like this there tomorrow because you will have an accumulated final result.

But the truth is not negative. The truth is positive. Often. We are now focusing on the main thing. What is the truth [smiles]? Again, this is a subjective interpretation. A subjective interpretation. Now a person must understand for himself how truthful he will be, how much he is ready to move away from the technology of his judgements, how much he is ready to move away from trying to adjust the result, well, or his words, to suit his own expectations.

That's why I don't see, I don't see a catastrophe. Humanity is walking along the road it always takes. Along the road of mandatory self-destruction with the number of people who are trying to stop this self-destruction.

57:15 That is, thinking about the future, I mean now not only the future of Ukraine but in general, so to speak, the future life, you exclude such an ending as the apocalypse?

Of course. No, it's very interesting to read in literature.

57:37 Control mechanisms, there will always be a sufficient number of people who will stop destructive or self-destructive tendencies in humanity. Even today they exist. And today even among Western politicians, I have great sympathy for many of them, they are trying to stop these negative trends.

1:00:53 Let's go back to the subject you mentioned, Arestovych. Ego [smiles]. Above is me. Value, fear us. That's it. And it was realised, unfortunately, there were specific signals.

Because of what qualities did you invite him to the office for the second time?

It wasn't me who invited him, so I'm not ready to say what qualities. In my opinion, at the start of the war, I'll remind you, there weren't very many people who wanted to take public responsibility at that moment. Well, I mean to talk about what's happening, bear responsibility for the words that you publicly say and so on. But Arestovych at that moment was able to do this work. This work. What was going on inside him, probably it's better [to ask?] a psychoanalyst or a psychotherapist or I don't know.

1:01:48 You know that I love short questions and short answers with you.

Was there at least one time during this war when you cried?

[Breathes in] Well, it's difficult for me to come to such an emotion. Upset, yes, many times. Many times, when I realised that decisions slowly lead to concrete death. And there are specific stories of life and death of people for whom I have great sympathy. And what their family went through later. I talked with many families of the victims and saw despair in their eyes. Well, it's hard. Very hard.

From your point of view, where there any mistakes made in communications with Ukrainian society?

[Breathes in audibly again] This is a difficult question. There are always mistakes. There are always mistakes, I wouldn't even say mistakes, you just live in conditions when you need to make a decision without having, I am not talking about us specifically, but in general situations are new and require some approaches and you expect for example one behavioural reaction from people, you build communication accordingly expecting logistics definitely but in the end, there is no such logistics. It concerns not only the partners--

But in the end are there some things that you, well, even if not in this stream but for yourself would call mistakes?

Yes, for me there are mistakes that I have made, including-- This is normal for people who make difficult decisions. You know what the paradox is? When they say after the fact that something could have been done differently. I like it. Because after the fact everyone is smart out of the blue.

Well, this is called l'esprit de l'escalier. Yes, there is such an effect. But analysis of system errors is always correct.

Yes, analysis of system errors needs to be carried out. I just always say that at the moment when you need to make the most difficult decision, there is often no one around. Out of those who will later judge you.

Is the Ukrainian society ready for the truth?

Not only is it ready for it, it constantly consumes it, it constantly discusses it. It seems to me that it discusses and debates even beyond the truth.

Well, during the war it learns not all the information.

All the information... We again return to the concept of what the truth is. For everyone, it will be subjective by the amount of knowledge that they acquire on a particular subject. The whole entirety of information is always missing for everyone and everyone draws a conclusion based on half or one third of the information and so on. But Ukrainian society, in my opinion, is most ready, I would say not for the truth but for a fair debate, for very tough internal debates.

That is, you think that it is ready.

Of course.

It's ready, and the overwhelming majority of people have this understanding that other people may have a different opinion.

No.

So, it doesn't mean readiness for debates [smiles].

Readiness for the truth, readiness for debate, and at the same time not willingness to admit that you're wrong. These are different things. That is, you're ready to hear but you're not ready to admit. It means that you're ready to--

This is not being ready for a debate [smiles].

Mm... This is a debate. It's just that it will be in this form. In the form when you don't accept someone else's point of view but insist on your own.

You have another Adviser of the Office Serhiy Leshchenko. Do you like him as a DJ? In general, how do you feel about his musical career during the war?

1:05:31 This is his right [shrugs], well, the war doesn't need to completely rebuild a person's life in its entirety and make him a prisoner of only one particular direction. I for example read a lot of books. And the war did not remove this habit from me. I love sometimes to watch high-quality Netflix series in order to switch to some extent. He has rave music, well, in which he is invested. This allows him to switch off psychologically.

In general, I think that-- It is a very important question, by the way, however paradoxical it is. Prevention for what today is an epidemic for modern humanity that lives in too of an information age. That is, already at the age-- in the old age, right, various types of Alzheimer's disease, dementia, and so on appear. This is precisely the prevention of this, this is the simultaneous opportunity to conduct several types of multidirectional activities. That is, here you read, here you make music in different senses of the word, either DJ or just play.

Any specialised doctor who deals with this will tell you that.

This is nothing new.

A close relative of mine fell ill with Alzheimer's disease and until the last day while he was still healthy, he was the head of a large department at the Institute of Physics and was a scientist and--

Once again, switch to different types of activities. Use different segments of your brain. I don't know who is talking about the fact that you need to concentrate on only one thing. You need to be versatile and-- Look, brain is a very specific substance and is used very weakly by a person. The more you live, the lazier you become and do not exercise your brain. But you need to exercise it. A lot. So, I recommend studying quantum physics for example [smiles]. It's hard.

At least.

At least, yes [smiles].

1:07:22 How often do you have to tell a lie? Not only in your service but in life, I don't know, in family, somewhere else?

This is a complex definition of a lie. You can minimise the amount of information, understanding that--

It is the third time you've told me that it's very important. "You know, this is difficult. What is justice? What is truth?" And when you told me, this is difficult, I suddenly thought, there are basic things. You and I are sitting on a chair [he sighs]. Of course, we can discuss whether it's a stool or a bench. But in fact--

Speaking of basic things, there is no point in not speaking the truth. But if you're talking about difficult life situations, when you should take a gentle approach to the world perception of another person, then if you tell such a blunt truth in your interpretation, this is called excessive moralising. You must be too much in white clothes to allow yourself to do it.

This is, by the way, disgusting. A disgusting tool that is used.

That's correct. Therefore, you need to feel - yes. Therefore, you need to be able to feel the moment where-- Because the word "truth", once again, is a subjective interpretation of the flows you're in. And therefore, you must understand how a person will perceive it. Give something, say something. This is a very important component that determines your behaviour in life. That is, how pleasant you will be to people.

1:08:45 You are a professional political strategist among other things and where, from your point of view these red lines lie? What can you do with your opponent, what not, because we have seen, for example we see now in the United States a very cool campaign [he sakes head].

I thought that nothing would help the Democrats, and suddenly they completely turned the game upside down and it turned out that they are again in a very competitive situation. That is, very often it can be done so that you turn the game around. Where is there a limit?

Exactly in that place where it concerns a person's personal self. Insults. Family, personal self is unacceptable from the point of view of insults. Everything else, about what you are talking now about a specifical technical issue, yes, a strong candidate was nominated. The candidate speaks very clearly. I mean the Democrats, says specific things. To insult him?

Well, it's pointless. You will then debate in the field that he will offer you. This is a specific solution in specific areas. It is not what the headquarters of the Republicans tried to do in relation to the previous candidate when they wanted to speculate only on the topic of personality, health and so on.

We are not interfering now, they have the right, again, the headquarters, to do what they see fit, but again the candidate from the Democratic party turned the agenda into a discussion of specific issues, how will you react to unemployment, how will you react to war, how will you react to global leadership of the United States. This is a completely different discussion. That's cool, yes.

Here's a discussion about the questions you need to answer. This is one, this is correct. The discussion that goes into the personal, insults, what is by the way characteristic of the Ukrainian political process, hate, insults, mythical incriminating evidence and so on and so forth. This is unacceptable. But unfortunately, we, once again, returning, we said a little earlier, we have not yet come out of the period of childhood, and our politics and our society.

About being childish, for this childish behaviour you sometimes just want to slap them in the face, you know.

Children, as you know, are sometimes the most cruel ones [smiles]. That is, they perceive everything very black and white.

Are we not confusing childishness with meanness?

[Sighs deeply] Ah, meanness. Well, look, man-- Meanness is one of the important components of competition for some people [she laughs; he smiles] and some people make a fortune due to meanness. Unfortunately. Unfortunately. But look, then what happens is that a vile person has made a fortune, made a career. Then he has a basic large amount of money and he hires other people who understand that he is vile, but money what? [smiles] Money doesn't smell.

1:11:26 Do you consider selling hatred, because we really have 95% of the big bloggers doing exactly this, a signal that your opponents have no other arguments?

[Breathes in] Of course, selling hatred is the last refuge of scoundrels [smiles] [he's referring to the aphorism of the English writer Samuel Johnson in 1775, patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel]. This is undoubtedly. I am paraphrasing. But unfortunately, our understanding of this, or understanding of the society of this will not stop the sale of hatred. This is the easiest way. Once again, we talked about this. Selling hate, selling meanness, selling lies is the easiest way. Hate. 10, 100 times more--

Fast food. I call it fast carbohydrates, you know.

This way you got fat; happy, but weak. We won't stop it all, unfortunately.

1:12:25 And in the finale I'll ask you a possibly unexpected question. Many people consider you a pragmatic person and even well, cold enough, I've heard about this more than once. Remember, there was such a book by [Frédéric] Beigbeder "Love Lasts Three Years". My question is very simple. How long does love live?

Forever and never. Both.

What does it mean?

If you are ready to give, it will live forever. If you are only ready to consume, it will never be with you. It's simple. Very simple.

That is, forever you can count on only your own love. To expect someone to love you forever is impossible.

Of course. Of course. But they will love you if you, if they feel that you are giving. But if they see that you are lying, are cynical, only consume, who will love you?

What about the rational side of life?

Rational, but that's facts.

You know, if it was all so simple, they would love only the good ones who give. But they often also love bad ones.

No. It is not a question of only loving the good ones. We are talking about love between people. We're not talking about how a person treats others, within the framework of a career and so on. He can be bad, he can be cynical, a scoundrel, but he can love sincerely. This is a little different. And therefore, not three years. And not ten, and not a day.

Depending on your luck.

Well, if the person you are with is yours. But this is very difficult. In general, there are many difficult things in life. And for this you need to do certain work and then you will be rewarded [smiles]. Well, then you will be given someone that is yours.

Thank you, Mykhailo.

Thank you.

#mykhailo podolyak #Natasha Vlaschenko #interview #podolyak about arestovych #Youtube

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technosmecom · 2 months

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spiritvssancti · 6 months

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— MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strike through what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

GOTHIC.

PARANORMAL.

SLASHER.

THRILLER.

#( ✝ inspiration )#( ✝ meme )

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royaletiquette · 11 months

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— MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strike through what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

GOTHIC.

PARANORMAL.

SLASHER.

THRILLER.

tagged by @distopea ♥

#thank you this was fun!!#dash memes #classic and gothic really fucked it up lol #which i mean fair #i dont think theres anything else she would fit #funny how different she is from princess honestly

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drainageteam1001 · 10 months

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10 Shocking Facts You Didn't Know About Underground Drainage

Underground drainage systems are essential for removing waste and rainwater from the house. They also need to be maintained regularly. The most common cause of drain blockages is tree roots. It is important to avoid planting trees near the drain system.

You can prevent blockages by using a snake or boiling water. If these methods don’t work, you can call a plumber.

1. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of PVC

Most modern drain lines are made of PVC plastic. This is due to its affordability, light weight, and high durability. It also has a smooth interior which speeds up the drainage process and resists blockages.

Older houses often have Orangeburg pipes, which are made of a wood fiber blend. These are still used in some older homes because they are inexpensive and easy to install.

They are also durable, but can rust if they are exposed to acidic wastewater. These pipes direct both sewage and surface water to a sewer system.

2. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Steel

In older homes, drain pipes are often made of steel. These are sturdy but can get rusty, leading to blockages. Eventually, they will need to be replaced.

When it comes to newer underground drainage systems, plastic is usually the material of choice. It offers a high lifespan, low maintenance requirements, and good chemical resistance.

APL APOLLO underground drainage pipes also have decent surface solidity and tensile strength. They are ideal for conveyance of surface water and potable water. They are also fire retardant. They are a great choice for residential and commercial applications.

3. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Aluminum

Many older homes have combined drainage systems that transfer both wastewater and rainwater. These pipes rust and can cause pollution to the environment, so it is important to upgrade to plastic underground drainage systems.

Metal drains can crack, break, or even completely collapse when they corrode. The resulting gaps and cracks allow ground water to seep through and pollute the surrounding area. Plastic pipes are a safe alternative that will last for years to come.

Getting the best underground drain system is a big investment, so hiring a professional is a great idea. A professional will make sure that the drains are installed properly and don’t cause any problems in the future.

4. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Copper

Copper is a durable material that can withstand underground conditions. It does not crack or leak like plastic pipes, and it is also resistant to oxidizing chemicals such as chlorine.

In older homes, you may find drain/waste/vent (DWV) pipes made of cast iron. These can rust, and you’ll need to call in a professional plumber for repair or replacement.

In newer homes, you’ll likely encounter PVC or acrylonitrile butadiene styrene (ABS) pipe. These are inexpensive and easy to install, with a lifespan that exceeds 100 years.

5. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Iron

In modern homes, most plumbers will use PVC or ABS plastic pipe for new drain line installations. These pipes are cheap, easy to install with liquid glue and have a long lifespan. They also resist root anchorage.

Older homes often have cast iron pipes that can rust over time. These pipes can also develop bellies that cause them to clog more frequently. These clogs can be difficult to clear. The best way to prevent them is to only put pee, poo and toilet paper down the drains.

6. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Brass

Brass is a great material for drain pipes because it is resistant to corrosion. In addition, it can withstand high water pressure. Plumbing professionals often recommend this type of piping.

Galvanized steel is another good option for drainage pipes. It is durable and has a long lifespan. However, it is prone to rusting and requires regular maintenance by professional plumbers.

It is important to only put pee, poo, and toilet paper down your drains. Otherwise, you risk causing blockages in the sewers. In some cases, these blockages can even be a hazard to your health.

7. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Glass

A drainage system is a key part of any home or business. It’s designed to move water away from your property and prevent soil erosion and flooding.

Typically, waste is flushed down the toilet into a drain which connects to larger sewer pipes and transports it to sewage treatment plants. However, it’s not uncommon for sewer workers to discover all sorts of odds and ends in their pipes, from the bizarre to the downright creepy. Some of them are even deadly.

8. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Plastic

Today, most underground drainage pipes are made of PVC. This material is cheaper and easier to install than clay or cast iron pipes, and it doesn’t rust. It also has a smooth interior that allows waste to flow freely.

When the malodorous sewage leaves our homes, it enters a sewer pipe and connects to larger tunnels that transport it to a sewage treatment plant. Occasionally, this waste can cause blockages. Plumbers have found all sorts of strange things in drains, including false teeth. In fact, Thames Water once ran a campaign to reunite false teeth with their owners.

9. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Wood

Historically, drainage pipes have been made of wood. A wood drainage system was a cost-effective and environmentally friendly way to improve soil health. It also prevented groundwater pollution and reduced the risk of water-borne diseases.

However, modern underground drainage pipes are made of plastic and do not rust or corrosion. These pipes are also easy to clean and maintain.

The most common types of underground drainage pipe are PVC and UPVC. They are lightweight and can withstand high pressure. In addition, they are resistant to cold temperatures.

10. The Drain Pipes Are Made Of Metal

Drain pipes are made of various metals, including galvanized steel, copper, and iron. They are usually used for water supply in homes but can also be found in drainage systems.

Drainage systems are designed to separate stormwater and sewage. The former is typically safe to drain into natural water bodies without treatment, but the latter can contain dangerous bacteria and other pathogens.

The first subsurface drains were probably bundles of brush or gravel and stones, but in the 1800s, mechanically produced clay tiles became popular in England. They were a great improvement over the old brush and stone drains.

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