#yet this is indeed a real product that is sold!

[nonasbirthday]

t shirt for firefighter gideon

[askpinkietai]

So here’s the conception of hell where Imp Taya comes from~

Hell (not its real name, but frequently referred to as such by both locals and outsiders) is an alternate dimension that expands outward indefinitely in all directions. Hell is ever-expanding, and when one domain increases, everything else increases proportionally as well. Each of these are known as “domains”, though “circle”, “ring”, and “district” are often used as well. All of them have residential areas, but are equally populated towards production of certain goods or services.

In the center is the ever-towering city of Pride. Pride is the primary sin, and expands into all the others. This domain is made of enormous skyscrapers and heavy urbanisation, all fitted together precariously in a jumble of walkways and towers, as if each building is growing--and out-growing--from its neighbour. The Pride domain is also the center for the arts and entertainment. Theaters and museums intermingle with the various towers, and Pride is the place to go for the most up-to-date view of Hell. At the very top is Lord Lucifer, who judges everything below in his ivory tower, the oldest construction in Pride.

The surrounding four domains are the sub-cities of Greed, Gluttony, Lust, and Sloth. Each of these is built in a tiered spiral surrounding Pride, spilling their influences into each other while still remaining equal.

Greed is the financial and commercial district. It is the place to make money and to spend money--or whatever you got in Hell to approximate value. The richest and most unscrupulous spend their time in Greed, where there’s always a deal to be made. It’s probably the most organised of the domains, given its need to keep track of deals. As you might expect, Lord Mammon runs a casino here.

Its sister domain, Gluttony, is of course the domain devoted to food and waste production. Gluttony is essentially an enormous food court and open-air market all spilling into each other. Uneaten food becomes waste, and is reprocessed and recycled back into another restaurant’s menu. There is no distinction between kitchen and landfill in Gluttony, they all feed back into each other over and over. The lord of the flies herself, Lady Beelzebub, owns her own buffet here, which she spends all her time patronising.

Such depravity not to your taste? Looking for a different kind of excess to indulge in? Why not drop by the land of Lust, which is home not only to the completely obvious red-light district, but also the creative hub for all of Hell. All creative types end up in Lust, and all their works end up in Pride or sold in Greed. Indeed, it is not merely debauchery that Lust deals in, but artistic pursuits of all varieties. Lust is the land of expression in all things material. They even have an amusement park! Its primary attraction is a nightclub and arcade run by Asmodeus (who eschews both Lord and Lady titles, as an expression of any, all, and yet no gender).

Worn out now? The material no longer satisfying? Then Sloth will welcome you with open arms. Despite what you might think, Sloth is the domain of innovation and industry. If Lust deals in the material, Sloth goes for the immaterial. Sloth expresses itself in ideas, because ideas don’t take the effort of creation. The most clever minds meet in Sloth, spending all their time thinking, while the rest of the domains do the doing. Sloth makes (after)life easier. And if you’re not up for that, then simply find a bed, and we’ll plug you into Sloth’s power grid, harvesting your unspent energy powering the giant battery that fuels the whole rest of the dimension, Matrix-style. How’s that for restful? The penthouse of Sloth’s largest hotel is occupied by Lady Belphegor, who sleeps an eternal dreamless sleep. Don’t be the one to wake her!

Beyond the various city domains are the Wrathful Wastes, the endlessly sprawling badlands, where the outcasts and worst-of-the-worst dwell. This is the stereotypical depiction of Hell, the fire-and-brimstone, the eternal torture, all that jazz. It is essentially Hell’s prison system, since it extends even more indefinitely than the city, and the wild energies block teleportation magic when not inside the city limits. Otherwise, it’s a lawless place without the protection of the agreed-upon niceties inside the sway of the city council. You can get away with anything here, which is why it’s the dumping ground for those the rest of the city doesn’t want. There may be settlements here, but they don’t tend to last long. Rumour has it Lord Satan is training an army out here. Best hope he doesn’t train it against you.

Beneath it all, underground both the city and the wasteland, is the Sea of Envy. Envy is the runoff of every facet of Hell, dripping from every other sin and forming an enormous cavern and endless ocean beneath the entire dimension. The city also uses it as a sewer system, a great pipe maze that all drains into the same sea. It all washes out in Envy. Being entirely underground, there is an ever-present gloom here, and those that end up in Envy often can’t find their way back. The deepest depths of Envy are inhabited by Lady Leviathan, the physically largest of the domain rulers.

So who inhabits these terrible lands, besides the aforementioned seven domain rulers? Well, the lost and the damned, certainly. Those foolish or unlucky enough to wander into its plane of existence, or those condemned to it by their actions or choices in a previous dimension. But mostly, it’s inhabited by demons and devils alike, the natural-born inhabitants of the dimension. These creatures are essentially physical aspects of the domain they’re born into, a literal manifestation of their parent sin.

Though similar, demons and devils are not alike, and will in fact be wildly offended if confused for the other. The easy distinguishment between the two is that demons are chaotic, while devils are lawful. Demons live on impulse behaviour and wild hedonism, and will act on whatever whims will satisfy their sin personally. Devils, on the other hand, are meticulous planners and will play the long game, usually involving tempting others to partake in their particular sin. For example, a demon of Gluttony will take great delight in depriving a mortal creature of eating in favour of satisfying their own craving. A gluttony devil, however, will attempt to get the mortal to indulge in deeper and more concerning gluttonous acts.

Why involve mortals at all? Because of how both creatures feed. Demons and devils (fiends, collectively), despite being physical manifestations of sin, are metaphysical in nature, and don’t feed like mortals do. Instead of gaining energy through frankly a gross display of ingesting food and expelling waste, they absorb it ambiently from the atmosphere, in the form of mortal emotions. Different classes of fiend seek different emotional outputs, but they all desire to invoke a particular emotion in a mortal subject, then “feed” on the results. That’s why they enjoy either tormenting mortals by visiting their home planes and nearby dimensions, or luring them back to Hell as a personal food source. (And yes, while Gluttony is one of the major sins, demons don’t gain nutrition from indulging in it, merely physical pleasure.)

Demons and devils, while in Hell, run on the same caste system, which is largely dictated by magical ability. This itself is typically attributed to physical form and morphology. Namely, their horns. A fiend’s horns are the source by which they draw in and store the ambient magic/emotions they feed on. Larger horns can draw in more at once, and therefore are more powerful. It is not uncommon for fiends with undersized horns to develop horn envy against their more well-endowed peers. If their horns are broken, a fiend cannot feed, and is therefore powerless. This will only make the demon more desperate and dangerous, as they will seek out magical artifacts or other proxies to use instead. Devils will instead make contracts to augment or replace any power source they lack.

While there are a huge host of various types of fiends (and the more powerful a fiend becomes, the more likely it will take on its own unique shape and appearance), three of the most common are imps, succubuses, and balors.

Imps are the lowest rung on the ladder, typically servants of other more powerful fiends. They are also incredibly numerous, and typically hang out together in small gangs for protection. While not especially powerful, imps typically have a wide range of magical abilities, as befitting their nature as tricksters and mischief-makers. Imps feed on the shadenfreude of having caused mischief to someone else: a well-pulled prank leaves a bitter annoyance that imps love, and in a pinch, simply harassing a mortal will satisfy as well. They typically have small bodies and horns, usually with some feature exaggerated to aid in their particular domain’s indulgences. They’re not unintelligent, but they’re extremely childish and impatient, usually satisfying themselves on the short-term.

Succubuses, despite the name, are not regulated solely to the Lust domain. Instead, these are the fiends that most closely resemble human physiology, and can most easily pass among them, usually through some variety of illusion. They gained the reputation for being from the Lust domain because their most sought emotion is temptation. They play a game of seduction to get mortals to give in to their particular domain’s sin and feed on the resulting shame of a successful temptation. Because of their more careful dealings with mortals, these are the fiends most likely to rise in rank and gain new powers.

Balors are the brute class among fiends. Perhaps less intelligent than even the imps, these are the biggest fiends and the most likely to be used by other fiends as soldiers or bodyguards. Typically, these creatures rely only on the simplest solutions, as their particular taste is for the despair that comes from destruction. Most balors live in the Wrathful Wastes, as they’re difficult to control or make obey rules. They’re where the reputation for red, goatlike humanoids come from, as they tend to have the least physiological uniqueness among fiends, being either enormous and muscular (the demons) or skinny and cruel (the devils). Their horns tend to be small, but they can store magic power inside their bodies and expel it phsyically as well.

There are, of course, innumerable other styles and appearances of fiends, but the more unique ones don’t tend to visit the mortal realms as frequently, preferring to carve out their own niche in their particular domain, employing the various lesser fiends around them for tasks. While within their home dimension, a fiend can be sustained indefinitely by the ambient nature of Hell’s own magic. Most fiends are content with this, as dealing with mortals is exhausting and confusing--and potentially dangerous. But every so often, some enterprising young demon finds their way to a nearby dimension and encounters the local mortals. And the most successful of these might find a mortal they can corrupt with offers of power, and bring them back home to Hell to corrupt into a new fiend among their ranks... As once happened to a particular latex-clad monster enthusiast named Taya~

[beautifulhandle]

Why Do Bathroom Door Locks Have To Be Installed In Every Home In London?

Home security and privacy could not be secured without bathroom door locks. There is indeed more to bathroom door locks london than the basic functionality of making your bathroom beautiful to stay in; it gives peace of mind and ensures a secure environment within your home. But how do you select the right bathroom door locks, and why are they so important? This blog provides you with the importance of bathroom door locks in London by giving you insights into real-life cases and some essential statistics to help guide your decision-making process.

1. More Safety and Privacy

Of course, the bathroom door locks are more than just privacy-only locks. They have been pretty much the creation of a personal space in London where houses vary from Victorian townhouses to modern apartments. It had grown much more inasmuch as many households would contain several occupants, which ensures privacy especially on busy mornings.

As a matter of fact, 68% of the home owners consider that bathroom locks are given the prime consideration in terms of security for personal space. This has subsequently necessitated the increased installation of high end door locks for bathrooms spread all over the city and ranges from key operated locks to turn locks for privacy.

2. Form Meets Function

Amidst the design-sensitive city of London, an interior bathroom lock has to perform as well as add some aesthetic value to the room. For this purpose, bathroom door locks are sold in a variety of designs. From sleek and modern designs to classic and subtle ones, these locks fit the bill in all respects. These steel-coated locks are particularly ideal for a London bathroom due to their resistance to rust.

Case Study 1: Modernizing a Victorian Home in Kensington

One family in Kensington wanted to retain all the charm associated with their Victorian home yet upgrade the bathroom locks. They, therefore, opted for brushed stainless steel bathroom door locks. This option retained all aesthetic appeal without affecting functionality. The end result was an overall modernized, stylish lock that harmoniously fitted in with its house's period features.

3. Durability Matters

London is such an active city, so house owners are searching for long-lasting products. The bathroom door locks are no exception. Stainless steel and brass locks are elements having durability and withstanding constant use, which has made them great values for homes within London. Ideally, a suitable bathroom lock should be able to face regular exposure to moisture and frequent use without corroding or malfunctioning.

 Case Study 2: Apartment Renovation in Shoreditch

In this instance, a newly decorating couple opted to fit stainless steel bathroom door locks in their apartment in Shoreditch. The rust-proof and resistant nature of the door locks gives an almost everyday wear-resistant durable solution which is perfect for the sleek, minimalist bathroom design. Two years have elapsed since installation, but the locks work without fault, an example of good investment.

4. Lock Type Selection

There are different bathroom door locks london, for instance. The most common ones include the traditional key lock. Privacy thumb turns and sliding door locks have recently gained popularity. Among those in London, the most common lock installed is the privacy lock. This is due to the desire to find an appropriate balance between the level of security and convenience. Among modern apartments with a deficit of space, sliding door locks are also popular.

Case Study 3: Space Saving Solutions in Camden

In Camden, a house owner lacked space in a small bathroom. They decided on sliding door locks for attaining maximum space utilization without compromising on security-related issues associated with the deal. The design of the lock had all elements of being perfect solutions both in terms of functionality as well as aesthetic appeal and proved that in small spaces too, the bathroom door lock holds significance.

5. Safety Standards Compliance

London has safety requirements for bathroom locks. In any event, in multi-occupancy buildings, they must have safety features especially for easy exit in cases of emergencies while allowing privacy. Most modern locks are available with a safety release mechanism, which is important especially for homes with children and/or elderly members.

Case Study 4: Family Home in Clapham

A family in Clapham bought bathroom door locks with emergency release features after a child accidentally locked himself in the bathroom. With this installation, there was finally peace of mind and the bathroom now could be easily accessed from the outside in case of an emergency but remained private.

6. Increased Value to the Property

It could also increase the value of your property by upgrading to modern, high-quality bathroom door locks. Many homebuyers in London seek homes already equipped with reliable, stylish fixtures, and the bathroom door lock is no exception. One recent study concluded that properties with new bathroom features, such as locks, bring up to 5% to their value.

Case Study 5: Rental Property in Notting Hill

An upmarket landlord in Notting Hill upgraded the bathroom door lock in their flat. The high-quality stainless steel locks improved the aesthetic ambiance of the entire house and fetched the landlord some desirable tenants who paid more. It only took a few weeks after the fit for the upgraded lock to bring in a tenant who was willing to rent the property at 10% more than the budgeted amount.

Conclusion: The Quality of Bathroom Door Locks in London

Bathroom door locks  London are not only functional but also give value, safety, and aesthetic to a home. Everything from increased privacy to higher property values is evident and obviously very beneficial. With all the styles and materials available, ensuring you choose the right lock secures long-term durability with peace of mind.

Well, getting the best quality locking doors in a city like London that leaves a perfect blend of style with functionality really matters for any serious homeowner. Maybe you are renewing or just upgrading, but finding the right lock really makes all the difference between your home's security and attractiveness.

[dankusner]

The mesmerizing theater of PJ Harvey

At the Salt Shed, she puts on an intense, intimate show like no other artist

There’s an argument to be made that PJ Harvey, the English singer-songwriter-musician-poet-composer-performance artist, deserves a spot on the Mount Rushmore of unwavering lyricist poets, beside Dylan, Rakim, Lou Reed and Kris Kristofferson, who died Saturday at 88.

You have your Mount Rushmore.

Mine’s shrouded in mist all day.

Overcast on a good day.

Kristofferson, in outlaw mode, alongside Harvey, looking windswept and autumnal, would have made a killer pairing for an earthy musical of “Wuthering Heights.”

She’s two parts Brontë, one part Howlin’ Wolf.

Though never quite a household name in this country, you’ve likely heard her 1995 hit “Down by the Water,” still a decent distillation of her work:

It starts in a near trance, centered around a deep, pulsing organ, veers into strings, tells the tale of a mother who drowns her child, then wraps on Harvey, with a horror-villain snarl, repeatedly whispering a nursery rhyme:

Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water Come back here, man, give me my daughter.

Harvey played a very sold-out Salt Shed on Monday night — part of her first U.S. tour in almost a decade — and she saved that one for near the end of the set and I can still see the final seconds of her performance:

As she sang the last “Give me my daughter,” she uncurled one of her long arms and seemed to push outward, into the audience, just as the lights cut to black.

It was harrowing theater, edited in real-time.

Not a movement, not a single chord, looked unaccounted for.

Every moment felt intentional, every swoon scripted.

As her stage show lays bare, like Dylan and the rest of my Rushmore, she inhabits roles, sliding in and out of parts, yet stays herself, often intimately and unnervingly so.

“Down by the Water,” for instance, is representative of that intensity, but it’s not a great example of her sound — indeed, there really is no PJ Harvey song to capture her range.

She’s gone, in 30-plus years, from ’90s indie angst to ghostly soundscapes so minimal and full of mossy environmental poetry that they might qualify at times as ambient. Take the centerpiece of Monday’s show, “I Inside the Old Year Dying,” her new album.

It was played track for track, in sequence.

And I mean performed.

It’s an adaptation of an epic poem (“Orlam”) that Harvey published as a book a couple of years back, a very rustic ode to an English childhood of dense woods, beds of rotting leaves, ancient paths cut into cliffs and Elvis Presley lyrics.

As a set of songs, it makes for brief atmospheric snapshots, some John Carpenter ominous, others Brian Eno ethereal, but gothic enough to sound as if they might have been forgotten folk ballads, several centuries old.

Performing this against a backdrop stark enough for a Beckett production, Harvey glided across the stage like a dancer, swanning upwards, crumbling in heaps, searching the audience with a theatrical panic, twisting dramatically, lifting her face angelically into overhead spotlights, a little Merce Cunningham here, a bit of Renaissance faire there.

Songs would end and Harvey would pause as ambient sounds of owls and distant trains filled the stillness.

It was theater, complete with stagehands scurrying in the darkness.

Considering the number of people yelling “WE LOVE YOU POLLY JEAN!” whenever the band retreated into a bare beat or deliberate pace — which was often — “I Inside the Old Year Dying” may be a difficult work from an already challenging artist.

Yet Harvey keeps such mesmerizing control, you’re swallowed eventually, almost hypnotized.

It’s hard to turn away as she unfurls her arms like a shaman and that band, led by longtime collaborator John Parish, finds a link between the sparest folk and the grimmest blues.

Dirges merge seamlessly into bugle calls.

Harvey’s remarkably fluid voice trails away with a drama of a torch singer.

Her touching acoustic song “The Desperate Kingdom of Love” — dedicated to late Chicago impresario Steve Albini, who produced Harvey’s major label debut, “Rid of Me” — was borderline country, complete with Biblical imagery.

Except this is pagan music.

Whenever possible, it should be played at the edge of a cliff, at three in the morning, waves crashing beneath, clouds threatening.

As Harvey sang near the end of the first set of songs, “Swifts abandon autumn’s ache” and rooks soar over corn and the “death of summer, death of play, waxing night, dwindling day.”

It was not a rock concert.

It was a welcome to October.

[chijeuya]

We are the Friends of Nature

Seeing the Capstone projects of the Grade 12 students made me realize that the future is in great hands. From automatic trash segregators to alternative bags made from natural resources, I was in awe to see how functional and feasible their products are. Some were tired from watching the countless presentations of the Grade 12 students, but not me, I was impressed all the way through. My group started with the projects from St. Mary Magdalene, and I was surprised at the wonderful decoration their classroom had since it looked like a real science lab. Plus, the energy of the students was on top! They kept us entertained and made sure we were listening. S.W.A.G.S. was such an amazing invention that it definitely shocked me to see how a bunch of students programmed a technical product. However, the Biomarker from this section amazed me the most. I could absolutely see it being sold in the future, and I, myself, even buying one to lessen the use of toxic markers. Next up was St. Teresa of Calcutta whose students brought us to Teresa Blvd. They had everything that a community needs - water station, electricity, paper supplies, segregators, and more! Trash-E was mind-blowing for me. Aside from its adorable appearance, the product was functioning properly despite an error that occurred during my group's stay. The inventions from this section made me think of how these students could someday lead the people towards an environmentally friendly community. We went to St. Rose of Lima afterwards, and despite their simple class decoration, I could smell nature all around! Most of the products here were made of plants or for plants. Here I saw bags that were made of moss and potato starch. There was even this spectacular project called Biopot which truly amazed me. It was a container made out of cornstarch and it could also be used as a fertilizer. It looked nice as a decoration that I thought it could only be used to hold objects, but no, it helps plants to be stronger and healthier! We then went to St. Rita of Cascia whose room stood out the most. They used my section's room and it felt so unfamiliar to me when I stepped inside. It was a whole different place – it was a jungle! I had such a fun time exploring the place and learning about the students' inventions. Starting off strong with SunWait, their group had such a unique idea that was executed wonderfully. TrashLight was also a great invention that could be very handy in the future. I especially like that the ashes made from their product could turn into fertilizer. But for me, the best was the Mighty Alarm. As someone who easily gets frightened during typhoons, I saw this project as the most helpful among all the projects. Overall, this section had the most creative room and had the greatest inventions. Lastly, we went to St. Joan of Arc who had such a vibrant classroom. The students here were very energetic that it radiated on us who were getting kind of tired. Their inventions were quite similar with one another yet had their own uniqueness. The Hope Desk was a very inspiring invention because it is not only environmentally friendly, but also gives hope for children who wish to learn but lack the materials. It was also astonishing to see Mirasol work so well as they showed us how their solar panel does indeed follow light. This section focused more on keeping plants hydrated and healthy which I adore and appreciate as somehow who loves nature. It was an honor to see and to evaluate the works of the Grade 12 students. To be honest, I am nervous to step into 12th grade because of how stressful it seemed for them to prepare and present their projects. However, I learned a lot and had fun exploring their decorated classrooms. It was a day packed with creativity and even though the Grade 12 students were under a lot of pressure, they proved to us that there is a good future waiting for us and our planet.

[the-hem]

"The Stabilizers." From the Tattiriya Upanishad. The Exploration of the Mysteries of the Axiom.

We are all filled with questions about where things fit within the Axiom. We are creating what is called a new plenum. An accurate way to refer to what is seen, unseen, and implied about our creation.

For this to work, we are going to decide what we are the includes based on what we are currently dealing with, settle on what is real and true and discard the rest.

Let us use Shahad as an example. "I believe in Allah, the Magnificent, the Most Wise, the Most Merciful, the Especially Merciful and Muhammad is His Prophet."

There is no evidence contradicting the existence of Allah based on the Statement of Faith, which means Allah remains exactly where He said He has always been.

Shahad is possible because of words, letters, language and books, which are possible because of thousands of years and hundreds of generations of human civilization, which in turn are possible because we were made to be intelligent and eventually find our way to the Hem of the Supreme.

Thus is the Plenum of Human Existence, which begins with the Knower, the stabilizer of life on a world that is otherwise just wilderness populated with animals:

II-i-1: The knower of Brahman attains the highest. Here is a verse uttering that very fact: “Brahman is truth, knowledge, and infinite. He who knows that Brahman as existing in the intellect, lodged in the supreme space in the heart, enjoys, as identified with the all - knowing Brahman, all desirable things simultaneously.

From that Brahman, which is the Self, was produced space. From space emerged air. From air was born fire. From fire was created water. From water sprang up earth. From earth were born the herbs.

From the herbs was produced food. From food was born man. That man, such as he is, is a product of the essence of food. Of him this indeed, is the head, this is the southern side; this is the northern side;this is the Self; this is the stabilising tail.

Here is a verse pertaining to that very fact:

II-ii-1: All beings that rest on the earth are born verily from food. Besides, they live on food, and at the end, they get merged in food. Food was verily born before all creatures; therefore it is called the medicine for all, those who worship food as Brahman acquire all the food. Food was verily born before all creatures; therefore it is called the medicine for all.

Creatures are born of food; being born, they grow by food. Since it is eaten and it eats the creatures, it is called food. As compared with this self made of the essence of food, as said before, there is another inner self which is made of air.

By that is this one filled. This Self is also of the human form. Its human form takes after the human form of that (earlier one). Of this, Prana, the breath is the head, Vyana, respiration, is the southern side, Apana, perception is the northern side, space is the self, the earth is the tail that stabilises.

In II-ii-1, the sage says the Axiom must include sacred food that is "medicine for all" and substantiates the presence of the Christ, the Son of Man in the Plane. We cannot completely civilize as we are required by the Lord without help. This particular help.

Even after centuries of exploring the Gospels we still have not yet accepted the importance of the affection of God as a type of Bleed from Heaven to the earth, from rich to poor, health to sickness, sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, speech to the mute, a return to life for the dead.

The richest, most sublime discussion of how human interaction with God takes place is found in these scriptures. They alone give us a path and an objective to a world that goes without nothing.

Yet we are not able to visualize this properly nor act on it till a habit called Beatitude causes life on earth to be as it is in heaven. For this we need the Son of Man. We have sold all of this short and it cannot be excluded from our rolling understanding of human existence.

As we learned above Knowledge is a stabilizer, Faith is a Stabilizer, the Earth, and now also Beatitude are also stabilizers.

More are coming in the rest of this section of the Upanishad.

[nuttyrabbit]

Giovanni Conti Bio

“Nutty, are you only going to show up to post about Archie Sonic and your OCs?” Yes, yes I am

Anyways, I decided to throw together a quick bio for Gambit’s dad because hey I figured his stuff out and I’m doing shit with him now.

Shoutouts to @pidgeonspen​ for doing his design for me.

Anyways, as always, everything’s under the readmore

Name: Giovanni Conti (Real name Brando Romilla)

Age: Approximately 50 years old

Height: 3'4"

Occupation: Auto mechanic/Conman

Location: Unknown, last confirmed sighting in Westopolis. Originally born in Lugaio, Spagonia.

Sexuality: Bisexual, though greatly prefers women to the point of denying any male attraction

Personality: Giovanni's personality is what one would expect from a seasoned conman: charismatic, self-serving, and conniving, the weasel finds success in his trade thanks to his natural talent in dealing with others. To his victims, Giovanni appears to be a charming, compassionate, smooth-talking individual who seems to go out of his way to help others in their time of need. But of course it's all a farce, a way to con unsuspecting victims out of their hard-earned cash. In reality, the man formerly known as Brando Romilla is the exact opposite. A selfish, grumpy, and temperamental weasel "behind the scenes", Giovanni finds himself unwilling to engage with the world around him outside of whatever con he's cooked up or to get out of whatever mess he's gotten himself into this time.

Giovanni's most defining personality trait however, isn't his sardonic attitude or his smoothtalking ways, but instead his paranoia.  Giovanni has spent the majority of his life on the run and it shows.  He often finds himself looking over his shoulder both figuratively and quite literally, hoping that his latest victim hasn't found out about him or that the law or the mafia or whoever he's crossed hasn't tracked him down to enact their revenge.  As such, Giovanni is extremely hesitant to give out his name unless absolutely necessary for the con, even going so far as to make up fake names in emergency situations, though the truth eventually comes out.  In addition, he trusts absolutely nobody and almost always looks for a way to backstab/escape any sort of partnership he's found himself on the receiving end of, willing or otherwise.

All of this being said, it isn't *all* bad for Giovanni personality-wise, for when the weasel finds something he actually likes, one can see a softer, more eager side of him come out. Despite his professed hatred of his previous job, Giovanni has a rather deep appreciation for the intricacies of vehicles and vehicle repairs, even going so far as to sneak into antique car shows to gawk at the new vehicles and reminisce about the "good old days" before it "got so complicated" in terms of technology. Oddly enough, he also loves vinyl.

Skills: Giovanni is of course, an incredibly skilled con-man, imploying a variety of cons and scams to trick people out of their money, ranging from simple "tourist trap" tricks such as "no change", "toll booth", and "free gift", to more complicated ones such as "flat tire" schemes and even reselling stolen/counterfeit items at a significantly marked up price.  His variety in terms of cons is helped by his ability to sell them thanks to his smooth-talking charismatic persona that he puts on during them.  As a result of his occupation he's also extremely adept at pointing out other cons/knowing when he's being duped.  Not only that, but he's even picked up some basic lockpicking/hotwiring and ID forging skills, though they aren't quite as honed as his other talents in the area.

Surprisingly enough, again despite his professed dislike of his childhood job, Giovanni is an incredibly skilled mechanic, being able to assess the issues with (mostly older) vehicles just from a few minutes of observation and testing alone and fixing it in record times. OF course he'll complain about how he's "too fuckin' old" for it, but he'll do a damn good job...and even enjoy himself somewhat.   He claims he would be unable to work on "new-fangled" vehicles such as Extreme Gear but if he were to get the chance, would find that he'd be a natural at it.

Likes: Antique vehicles, wine, the feeling when he pulls of a con, vinyl records, fresh pressed suits, rare steak, expensive cigars, older women, working on antique vehicles.

Dislikes: The law, organized crime outfits, his ex-wife, his kid, getting caught, prison, cheap beer, "new" technology, people who talk too much, his grandfather, working on vehicles (his relationship with auto repair is..complicated), staying in one place for too long.

Backstory: Brando Rombilla was born into anything but normalcy:  born to a pair of younger Spagonian lovers, the result of a tryst gone wrong, he was abandoned on the steps of his paternal grandfather, the widowed mechanic Angelo Rombilla, who would raise the weasel as his own.

Angelo was an old, stubborn, hardworking man who had spent his entire life toiling away as a mechanic, even coming to own his own shop...yet despite it all, he never quite had a lot to show for it, and Brando grew up in not quite poverty, but in...less than modest means

Despite this...unusual situation, Brando would, at least for a time, grow up as any other child would, going to school, making friends, and living as a normal Spagonian child would--at least until he hit the age of 12-13, where his father suddenly and inexplicably ground his childhood to a halt, pulling him out of school and telling him that he was going to be a "working man" from now on, that he'd have to help out at the shop and help put food at the table--and that is indeed what happened.

From then on, Brando found himself working at the modest repair shop, working the front desk, doing oil changes, and learning the ins and outs of auto repair--and he fucking hated it.

Not just because he'd been robbed of the experiences his peers were getting, but it served as a constant reminder of the (at least to him) pathetic conditions in which they lived and worked. In addition, it only served to exacerbate his sheer irritation at his father's stubbornness and near-perfectionist standards.

But over time, as he aged and saw his peers move on to bigger and better things, he realized something else: all this work, all this "good, honest, hard" work he'd been doing, that his grandfather had been doing, that he wanted him to inherit, it was getting them nowhere

The both of them spent years and years doing the same shit over and over, and they were no better off than when they'd started. They still lived like shit, ate like shit, and worked like dogs, and the idea of doing this his entire life revolted him.  Yet when he'd bring this up, he'd just get shouted down, beaten down, and told to get back to work. He loathed it all.

Then one day, around the time Giovanni hit 19--it all changed. In a moment of what his grandfather would call laziness and what Brando would later call ingenuity, he accidentally charged a customer for something they hadn't done--and with it, more money than he should've had.  It suddenly hit him, his way out, his way to actually do something about all of this. It started off slow, an overcharge here, a useless job done there, a job not done this way or that, even some front product sold off of lies.  Before Brando knew it, the shop was actually making money for once, and more than that, he was making money.  And the best part was, that for once, Angelo seemed like he didn't have a stick up his ass. He seemed...happy, over the moon really that things had begun to look up.  Things seemed to finally be getting better!

....until Angelo caught Brando in the act, after which the mother of all shouting matches ensued, of the grandson and grandfather screaming at each other about this and that, about everything--and saw Brando being thrown out of the shop, out of his grandfather's home--and out of his life

Out on his ass with only the money he'd pocketed and the clothes on his back to his name, Brando  by all rights should have been terrified about his future, livid about what had happened, but instead he found himself excited. Now that his grandpappy or his stupid shop wasn't a problem anymore, he could finally do something with himself, and he knew exactly what that'd be--putting to use the same bullshittery that'd gotten him here to begin with.

And so the young weasel found himself hopping all over Spagonia, honing his craft. Whether it be through  pinching wares from stores and selling them nearby at an outrageously hiked price,  snatching and selling bootleg items, or even using his mechanic skills to craft "wonder items" that were quite literally just old scrapyard junk,  Brando soon became quite adept at the art of the con.  However, with that adeptness came attention, and with that attention came the watchful eye of the law, which attempted to crack down on the weasel multiple times as he traveled about Spagonia.

Soon enough, his face and name were plastered on wanted signs, in local papers, and in time, he couldn't run any longer, finally being booked on fraud charges and placed in prison for ~ 3 years at the age of 22.   Upon getting out,  Brando realized that he couldn't exactly do his work here anymore, lest he get thrown back in for good.

But Soleanna wasn't exactly appealing either, especially since the SPD were notorious for cracking down on fraudsters.  He was at a loss at what to do, until he managed to catch a TV broadcast talking about Empire City and it hit him- EC would be the perfect place to disappear and get a fresh start.  It was big, it was far away, and it was full of suckers just waiting to be parted with their money Forging himself a new identity (quite literally) as "Giovanni Conti" , he smuggled himself on board a ship and soon found himself in Empire City, where he almost immediately got to work--and found the results to be not what he expected

While the toursts were complete suckers as expected, the residents were anything but, and he found himself on the run from the law once more--and in addition, the various criminal orgs that made their homes there and had no tolerance for being scammed.   Needless to say, the whole thing frustrated him, and with no other way to vent his frustrations, he turned to drinking, and with it, found himself at a small bar in downtown EC, drinking away his frustrations...and chatting up an equally frustrated, and rather attractive young woman. He didn't catch her last name, but certainly caught her first- Artemis

What should have just been a simple one night tryst suddenly got a lot more complicated once the young woman had tracked him down almost a week  later with some soul-crushing news: She was pregnant, and it was almost certainly by him.  To make matters worse, Artemis was an up and coming politician, someone in the running for the EC City Council, and she would be DAMNED if it came out that she got knocked up in a one night stand, that would ruin her career! Despite Giovanni's attempts at arguing otherwise, she also insisted on keeping the child, claiming that if word got out she got rid of it, it would ruin her career. Threatening to hand him over to authorities, she blackmailed him into sticking by her side for the following 9 months, appearing in front of the cameras as a pictureesque pair of parents-to-be, Artemis embracing the newfound attention and Giovanni absolutely loathing all the eyes on him, and not only that, but also moving in together to her (admittedly) lavish apartment.

This continued up on through the end of the pregnancy and into the birth of their son, who Artemis named "Tai", a (perhaps ironic) homage to an old Apotosian patron of Luck.  From then, things continued normally, well as least as normal as could be for the unwitting parents-to-be, up until the child was around a year old, when Artemis went on a sudden vacation.  Left alone with the child and feeling helplessly trapped, Giovanni contemplated making a break for it, perhaps faking his own death and figuring out the details later, when a hooded figure burst into the home and attempted to shoot both him and the child dead.  Through a near-miraculous stroke of luck though, the intruder's gun jammed, giving Giovanni the chance to brandish a knife and stab them in the jugular.  His heart pounding, his mind racing, Giovanni quickly put two and two together: someway, somehow, Artemis had tried to get the two of them whacked.  Quickly disposing of the body and without really thinking about it, Giovanni grabbed the child and made a break for it, bolting from the apartment and leaving Empire City under cover of darkness, trying to make sure he left no trace that he had left--or was even still alive.

Soon arriving in Westopolis, Giovanni and Tai found a small apartment to squat in for the time being. Quickly settling in, Giovanni quickly fell back into his old ways, and found the people of Westopolis far more vulnerable to his schemes than in EC. Still, the weasel wasn't happy. His "new start" that he'd hoped for had fallen apart before it'd even gotten the chance to get off the ground because of *her*, Artemis. Giovanni's frustration gnawed away at him--not helped by the tiny weasel at home, his little boy--the *mistake* that'd gotten him into this mess.   He often found himself verbally and physically taking out his frustrations on young Tai, even more so when it turned out the little brat wasn't even good enough to help him on cons.  He wished he could get rid of the little bastard once and for all, but for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to kill him despite his best efforts.

Years went by, but nothing truly changed for the pair, until young Tai was 8 years old and Giovanni found himself on the bad end of a con gone wrong, having inadvertently found himself attempting to swindle an undercover cop.  Rushing back to the apartment he and Tai shared, he quickly grabbed whatever tools he could and attempted to disappear, leaving the young Tai behind for good.

Throwing himself out of the frying pan and into the proverbial fire, Giovanni had managed to disappear and evade the cops---and run right into one of his "victims": "Downtown" Ebony Hare--a "made man" in the Carnades, one of the major local outfits--and someone who he'd given a shoddy brake job.  Ebony recognized the weasel almost immediately and motioned to off him for messing up his car, but after Giovanni pleaded for his life, Ebony spared him-- on the condition that he work off his "debts" to him and the Carnades.

Faced with either paying his dues or paying with his life, Giovanni made the obvious choice and ended up doing quite a few small jobs for Ebony over the course of the next decade and change (approx  13 years) not only fixing his car but also fixing the other vehicles in the outfit--and giving a disgustingly large portio nof the proceeds from his other "work" directly to Ebony.  Once again, Giovanni was trapped doing the very thing he'd been stuck doing since childhood and not only that, but also indebted to a mobster who had no intention of letting him go.  He desperately tried to find a way out, but it was to no avail--until a near miraculous stroke of "luck".

The Black Arms invasion decimated a significant portion of Mobius, especially Northamer, and no place found itself worse off than Westopolis. For most living there, it seemed like the end times as  the city burned around them. But for Giovanni, it was an opportunity to finally disappear--and never come back.

The invasion soon ended, the repairs soon begun, and the Carnades began to operate once more--but Giovanni was nowhere to be found. Despite a thorough search of the city, the weasel had just...vanished, presumably killed by the aliens or escaping to parts unknown after.  

Giovanni's current location is unknown and those who know of him believe him to be dead, but there have been some apparent sightings of the aged con-man.  Some say they've seen him on the outskirts of Sand Blast City, others say they've seen him working his trade with another individual down in the Southern Baronies, and some even say that he's still in Westopolis, working his craft, and sticking close to the headquarters of the East Side Pack, a noted rival of the Carnades.

[missnight0wl]

Reading your post about the wands, I'd like to ask... Do you think that Corey suggested (for us players) that the wand could have not being stolen but returned to their original owner? "Stealing it isn't exactly winning the wand's favour" unless you take it back to your hands as the real owner and therefore wouldn't be stealing but "rescueing"?

That’s an interesting idea.

I kind of discussed a similar possibility when the chapter was released, actually. See, I still believe that the “stolen” wand might’ve been for Rakepick (as I assume she somehow got away from the Vault/custody). The thing is that Rakepick wouldn’t just steal a wand without a proper matching. She knows how important this process is – that’s why she took MC to buy their second wand (that’s probably also why she broke the first one). So, my assumption was that the wand was properly matched to Rakepick, and she basically staged the whole thing with stealing. Why?

The stolen wand was replaced with the fake wand which backfired. This brought MC to Ollivander to investigate the case. This, on the other hand, brought them to the meeting with Zenith Xeep. They got a sample of her product, and they were able to brew the counter-serum. And I believe that it’s that counter-serum that will be super important in the future. It obviously ties in with my theory about “the Rogues” (Rakepick, the WIW, Verucca) secretly preparing MC for future confrontation with R.

Now, this idea could still work if the wand was stolen for someone else. Because Verucca also seems to be a rather knowledgeable witch, and I doubt she’d risk using a wand that didn’t choose her (or that she wouldn’t warn about this another person who was supposed to receive the wand). Or perhaps the wand was even placed by the original owner on purpose – just so they could perform that whole sequence of the events.

Another possibility is that the wand was actually stolen from the original owner and hidden at Ollivanders – and I assume that that’s what you meant, judging by the word “rescuing”. It does make sense because, ironically, it should be pretty hard to find one specific wand among many, many others. One thing that bothers me in this scenario, though, is why Ollivander would know about this wand. I mean, in my previous proposition, I assumed that his memory of someone trying this wand was simply erased. Admittedly, I guess we can kind of apply it here as well, just that it’d be rather about placing a false memory. But… wouldn’t it be better to leave Ollivander completely unaware of the wand?

Like, Ollivander knows his assortments really well. Yet, his reaction wasn’t like: “I don’t recall having this wand in my shop” or “I’m certain I already sold this wand years ago”. And because of that, I think it’s more likely that the wand was indeed matched properly before it was taken from Ollivanders, and it was just the matching that was erased from Ollivander’s memory. Do you know what I mean?

But in general, I do believe that Corey’s words might’ve been a foreshadowing that the wand wasn’t stolen at all – or rather that it wasn’t stolen randomly, just because of its power. I wouldn’t be surprised if anyone who got this wand in the end actually “won its favour” at some point in the past.

[mishinashen]

Italian Woman Standing Holding a Jug, Italienne debout tenant une cruche by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot

Even though Corot himself stated that he had ‘but one aim in life and that is to paint landscapes’, he considered the figure paintings to be his most intimate works and kept the majority of them in his studio in his personal collection. His meditative models are, in Pierre Georges words, ‘the image of his dreams in the midst of his memories’ (P. Georges and A.-M. Lecoq, La peinture dans la peinture, exh. cat., Paris, 1982-1983, p. 185). Reverie becomes a leitmotif in Corot’s figure paintings, and it perhaps reveals more about the artist’s character than the landscapes. Although generous and jovial to those who knew him, the pensive expressions of Corot’s figure paintings suggest a more sensitive and melancholy soul.

During the 19th century, Corot’s figure paintings were largely overlooked as the artist chose to only exhibit four of these during his lifetime. Yet even in his landscapes the painting of the human figure was of fundamental importance in providing the action sentimentale which he considered, following the principles of de Valenciennes, to be an essential ingredient in the conception of the poetic landscape. In the 20th century, this critical neglect of his figure paintings has been for the most part reversed, and his remarkable melancholic studies of women have been particularly admired and compared to the work of Vermeer. In 1909, the exhibition of twenty-four figure paintings at the Salon d’Automne permanently altered the way Corot’s achievement in rendering the human, and particularly female, figure was appreciated.

Corot’s first series of Italian models was painted in the winter of 1825-26 during the artist's first visit to Italy. These studies demonstrate the influence of his first teacher, Achille-Etna Michallon, and show the same concern with the capturing of the textures of the fabrics, the same rapidity of execution, and the same preoccupation with the human body and lack of attention to the background. However, although the young artist shows considerable interest in documenting regional costumes, he is even more intrigued by the physical expression, the position of the body and the psychological suggestion of a personality.

In Italienne debout tenant une cruche Corot has chosen to depict his model in near full-length, facing forward and clearly gazing outside of the picture plane. Her arms are stretched out at her sides in an effort to balance the cruche perched atop her head. Her raven black hair and very dark eyes are in striking constrast to her pale skin and this is echoed in the juxtaposition of the deep claret red of her underdress and the creamy white of her apron and collar. Where Michallon would concentrate on accurately capturing the details of the costume, Corot is undoubtedly more interested in capturing the attitude of his subject, and in this case, her overt sensuality.

Indeed, it is in his figure paintings, Corot comes closest to being considered a painter of modern life. The American painter John LaFarge wrote in 1908, 'the extraordinary attainment of Corot in the painting of figures is scarcely understood today even by many of his admirers and most students. And yet the people he represents, and which he represents with the innocence of a Greek, have a quality which has skipped generations of painters' (J. LaFarge, The Higher Life in Art: A Series of Lectures on the Barbizon School of France Inaugurating the Scammon Course at the Art Institute of Chicago, New York, 1908, p. 162).

Even one of the foremost artists of the Impressionist movement, Edgar Degas, expressed his admiration for Corot’s rendering of the human form. Degas, who, when asked to agree that Corot knew how to draw a tree, replied, 'Yes, indeed...and I think he is even finer in his figures' (Moreau-Nélaton in A. Robaut, op. cit. 1905, vol. 1, p. 336). Corot’s figural works resonated with the artists of the Impressionist movement and beyond, and his young women’s haunting visages found expression in the figurative and abstract work of Picasso, who became interested in Corot in the 1910s, making a free copy of one of his figure portraits.

This work, most likely executed in his studio upon his return from his first trip to Italy when he was just starting out on his journey as an artist, remained in his studio his entire life and was not sold until after his death. Corot considered his small portraits and figure studies to be very personal objects, and he would rarely part with them. It is in these renditions, that we see a different side of an artist known primarily for his landscapes – we see a glimpse into his soul. Even this early in his long and productive career, Corot has essentially shattered the narrative in favor of a purely painterly execution. Corot painted ‘for the pleasure of painting, for the joy of capturing on canvas a lovely dark gaze or harmonizing the white blouse with the yellow of a sleeve or the red of a skirt’ (É. Moreau-Nélaton, ‘Les figures de Corot,’ L’Art et les artistes, 2 December 1905, pp. 178-179). The young artist is experimenting with the concept of rendering the human figure directly, and the painterly depiction of his model becomes an end unto itself. By not placing his model into any historical, narrative or topological context Corot makes a leap into modernity that will be seized upon by the artists of the Impressionist and Modern movements of the late 19th and early 20th centuries such as Édouard Manet. Much of the power of this intimate painting is embedded in the directness and intensity of her gaze, which is that is a very real woman and not an idealized ‘type’, which creates the unusual intimacy found within this extraordinary painting.

In 1896, 21 years after Corot’s death, André Michel wrote, ‘If one could place on one side of a gallery the ‘official’ compositions that Corot painted in his first years – following the rules and for submission to the Salon to be judged by his masters and the public – and on the other side the small studies he made on his own…one would be struck by the deep differences between them. He seems as constrained and forced in the one group as he is spontaneous, original and charming in the other’ (A. Michel, Notes sur l’art moderne (peinture): Corot, Ingres, Millet, Eug. Delacroix, Raffet, Meisonnier, Puvis de Chavannes. À travers les Salons. Paris, 1896, p. 14).

[daretosnoop]

CRY Rewrite Chapter 5: Dr. Bolet’s Secret Study

Been having a lot of fun writing this. Lots of interesting research. 

chapter 4

After dinner, Nancy got a call from Bess. She had gone to Zeke’s and met a man named Lamont Warrick. The paper Nancy had given her had the receipt number on it, and when Bess asked Lamont who belonged to 21-3872, Lamont had told her it was belonged to a Henry Bolet who came in with a large box of assorted goods.

“And when I tried to ask what was in the box, Lamont got really vague and said I was not allowed to know and that he didn’t want to make trouble for anyone. But that didn’t stop me! I snuck into the backroom and went through the box and you will not believe what I found”.

“Tell me,” Nancy urged.

“Well, there was a picture of a young Bruno with his dog. Then there was this weird box and when I opened it, there was a letter inside. It was addressed to Bruno Bolet from a T.W. Cladwell authorizing the sell of, get this, a skull called the Whisperer”.

The Whisperer? That was the same name in professor Hotchkiss’s book! “What else did the letter say?” Nancy asked.

“Well, Bruno was asked to respect its power and that in doing, the skull often undoes”.

“In doing, it undoes?”

“Ya, I know, makes no sense, but that’s not all Nancy. The box the letter was in had a skull-like indent! And and, Nancy, along with the other items Henry sold, there was also a costume”.

“A costume,” Nancy breathed the words heavily.

“A skull man costume,” Bess emphasized. “I took pictures of everything and sent it to you”.

The gears started to turn in Nancy’s head. Things were starting to fall into place. She was sure Henry had sold that box for quick cash, but was he also the skeleton man? Then again, Renee said she was missing some things. And this Whisperer skull, was it what Bruno Bolet was trying to hide? She almost got lost in her thoughts when she heard Bess’s frantic voice.

“Still here Bess, what else you got?”

“Nancy, I also found out that Lamont sells Hoodoo products”.

“Hoodoo?”

“Yep. Dabbled around in them. Those things really work. He also said that Renee Amande comes in regularly for Hoodoo products”.

“Was there a knock-out, sleeping powder,” Nancy asked, her voice brimming with excitement.

“No, I even asked. Lamont said he doesn’t sell high-end Hoodoo products. It can create trouble with the law apparently”.

“Not even any, on the sly, business?”

“Doesn’t seem like it, though I wouldn’t know how to check”.

Nancy thanked Bess for her discoveries. “One more thing,” she asked. “How did you get into the back room?”

“Oh you know,” Bess said in a chuffed voice. “Just set up a Rube Goldberg to throw sneezing powder at Lamont”.

“Bess, you clever conniving sneak,” Nancy exclaimed.

Bess laughed, “Learned from the best. By the way, I asked the chef at Granny’s and he said the Dr. Buford does come by nearly every day. It’s raining now, but if he comes, I’ll head on down and talk to him”.

“Thank you Bess, you’re a treasure”.

“I know”.

 Before Nancy could get to the spider locked door, her phone rang again. Picking it up she heard professor Hotchkiss’s voice.

“Is this Nancy Drew?”

“Yes, and you are professor Hotchkiss”.

“Yes, I am she. Your name does sound familiar dear, do I know you from somewhere? Were you perhaps the young woman who gave me a cheese platter at the cheese factory?”

Nancy grinned. “No. No. We stayed together in a hotel in Wisconsin, remember? Wickford Castle?”

“Nonsense!” Hotchkiss exclaimed, “There was no cheese factory in Wickford Castle. Though I do remember there being a spunky maid there”.

“Yes, professor, that maid was me. I found an old journal of Marie Antoinette and you translated it and wrote a bestseller on it?

“No, no can’t remember Mandy. Now I’ve only got cheese on my mind. Oh dear. Well, you called about some best seller I wrote? Is it the one about Marie Antoinette? I am a scholar of French history, so I can help you there. Most of my work was done in thanks to that spunky maid who assisted me in the witching hours, you know”.

“Really?” Nancy asked sarcastically.

“Yes, now chop chop dear. I’m on a deadline. What is it you need to know?”

“Did a man named Bruno Bolet ever call you?”

“Indeed he did, Oui Oui. What a name. So French,” Hotchkiss sighed.

“Why did he call you?”

“Because he read my book, The Crystal Skull: Fact or Fable. Sold like hotcakes, you know”.

“Did he mention anything about owning a skull?”

“Ooh, I would have hung up on him if he did, Brandy! If I had a dollar for every crackpot whose read my book and called claiming to have an authentic skull, I’d be able to live like Marie Antoinette, or at least dine daily in New York’s Russian Tea Room. No… Bruno Bolet was a scholar, if a budding one. He wanted to know about the Whisperer and if I learned anything more since I wrote the book—which I hadn’t. Or if I had a new theory on it— which I didn’t”.

Disappointment filled Nancy. “That’s it? That’s all you talked about?”

“Oh such curiosity you have. So familiar, like that maid at Wickford. Shame I can’t remember her name. Oh wait a minute,” Hotchkiss suddenly exclaimed, “The Eyes have it!”

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked Bruno Bolet what his theory was and he just chuckled and said the eyes have it, and then hung up”.

Is it the same eye as the eye of the beholder?

“Professor, is this skull worth a lot?”

“In this day and age? No telling. Half a million? Two million? Who knows? Ch-ching! Ch-ching!”

“But how would they be able to authenticate the skull?”

“Good question Francie! Remember, the real skulls were made long before the tools commonly used for carving today were invented. So, let’s put on our thinking caps….”

“Modern day tools would have left marks if the skull was a fake?”

“Absolutely! Though mind you, the marks left by modern instruments can only be detected in a research lab. Our tired eyes cannot catch such impressions”

“You can’t use carbon-dating?”

“No Mandy. What is crystal? Quartz. What is Quartz? Silicon dioxide. No carbon. No carbon means no carbon dating”.

So you can only prove it’s real by proving it’s not a fake. Nancy fished out the envelope she found in the bin. Looks like Bruno Bolet might have done just that.

“And what about the rumors? The theory that the Whisperer can make its owner immortal? Do you really believe in that?”

“My dear Nessie, I believe that things that defy any so-called ‘rational’ explanations happen all the time. Now does that mean there are mysterious external forces at work in the universe of which we do not and cannot ever have full knowledge? Or does it all boil down to us? If the human heart desperately wants something to be true, does the human mind have the power to make it true?  Who knows?” Professor Hotchkiss sighed, “Ah, questions, questions, questions, Oh, how dreary life would be without them!”

Nancy agreed with professor Hotchkiss. Life truly was dull when all the questions got answered by someone else. Though she did find it hard to believe that eternal forces really did exist. Even this Whisperer was hard to digest. How could such a death-defying object exist? She asked Hotchkiss, “In your book you said that all the people who’ve ever owned the Whisperer were murdered, yet Bruno Bolet died of a heart attack. How do you explain that?”

“Are you saying the Whisperer was in his possession after all? The scalawag!” Hotchkiss exclaimed. “Why didn’t he tell me? Oh that’s right—I would’ve hung up on him”. Hotchkiss thought over it for a moment, then slowly said, “Well if that’s the case, then I strongly suggest you take a close look at his so-called ‘heart attack’ Sandy. Because if he owned the skull and he died, I guarantee you – it was at the hands of someone else. I’m willing to bet my name on that!”

Nancy thanked Hotchkiss then sorted through everything she had learned. So much was now being called into question, but first thing first, if that skull really did exist, was it behind the locked door? There was only one way to find out.

Slipping downstairs, Nancy did not find Henry or Renee. She opened the secret door and slipped up the stairs to the locked door. Taking the bronze key, she took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and opened it to find a dusty mess of a study room.

 There were all sorts of odds and ends inside this second study room. In one corner there was a skee-ball style game. On one wall there stood a cupboard all by itself. In front of Nancy there was a desk with books and papers. Connected to the desk was a ramp leading to an open duct. In front of the ramp there was a chair with a marionette pirate puppet. Bruno Bolet, where have you taken me?

Nancy did not know where to start searching. There was so much stuff. She headed towards the desk and found a calendar agenda and a piece of paper. She flipped through the calendar. Each month had a date marked with a skull and crossbones and the notes had odd names. She kept flipping till she came to the month of May. The thirty-first was marked with a skull and crossbones and the notes read, ‘Scuttled bones, Rampart and Dumaine”. A meeting spot? That’s in four days!

Nancy picked up the paper. It was an honorary celebration of initiation into the Jolly Rodger krewe of New Orleans. The paper reminded him of his oath to silence about the group and gave him an associate and sponsor— Mr. Gilbert Buford. Nancy put the paper down. Was, was she right? Was Dr. Bolet part of some cult? Whatever he was a part of, it looked like Dr. Buford was also involved. She then spotted a faded and worn journal and picked it up. Short Stories for Tired Eyes by Bruno Bolet. It was dedicated to those who heard the Whisperer. Nancy flipped to the first page and started to read.

My dear Henry. I write this out of guilt and urgency. If you are reading this, it means our family, the Bolet family now solely sits on your shoulders. It’s a big pressure and I am well aware I have done nothing to prepare you for this. This book is an attempt and a plea to listen to my words. Henry, it’s time you know about the Bolet name and responsibility.

The Bolet family is not just eccentric in nature, but in purpose too. Many of our members have had a connection to the Earth that extends the mortal plane. They can hear the voices of those long gone. No, I am not pulling your leg. No one really knows why our family has this ability, though many joke it’s because some ancient relative couldn’t keep their curiosity at bay and now our family is cursed with this ability. I suppose it’s not all that bad. It’s helped us financially, and it is nice to have some say in how our city is planned. However, this ability appears in family members randomly. Every generation has it, but as too whom, well, it’s hard to say. When it appears is also hard to say. It just does, apparently.

I do not have this trait, and I have no idea if you have this trait either. But seeing as you are the next generation, I’m guessing you do. I assume it must be scary, at least, remembering how your father soiled his pants the first time it happened. That’s right Henry, your father had this ability. My mother had it, and according to Bolet tradition, the one who has this trait must inherit the manor because they carry the responsibility of hearing the spirit’s voices. It’s an exhausting burden. I’d often see your grandmother and father exhausted and on the point of collapse.

I don’t know how to guide you should you have these whisperers haunt you. It’s never, I never thought it would be something I’d have to teach you. That was your father’s ….

The rest had been scribbled out. A few pages later, Dr. Bolet continued.

Make of it what you will Henry, but know that I am telling you the truth here. If you have this ability, the whisperers will not go away. They do listen to you, but you need to listen to them too, otherwise….

Bruno Bolet did not complete the sentence. Nancy noticed that some pages had been torn out before Bruno continued.

Henry, the skull will help you! Find it, it will transfer the knowledge you need! Look for the eyes, they are the key. Find all 25. Put them in the cupboard. They will take you to the skull.

Following Bruno Bolet’s last words were pages detailing what looked to be locks that, Nancy assumed, held these eyes. After reading the entire journal again Nancy had to sit down. She was right, Bruno Bolet was hiding the Whisperer skull. She didn’t know why, but she was sure now that the skull man was looking for the skull too. Why else would he have initiated the steps she now completed? But that would mean Henry isn’t the skeleton man. And this crystal skull, why would Bruno want to give it to Henry? What knowledge transfer was he talking about? First it was an immortal skull. Now it was a knowledge containing skull. What was going on? More importantly, Bruno had just confirmed to Nancy that paranormal powers apparently existed.

Nancy looked around the desk, forlorn. She noticed a picture of a man being greeted by three skeleton people. The picture had an inscription, Dr. Bolet’s inauguration into the Jolly Roger krewe. Nancy peered harder and dropped the journal onto the table. Everyone was wearing a costume similar to the skull man she saw at the entrance! Holding the picture in one hand, Nancy looked around the desk and noticed an old paper. She picked it up and read.

On this day November 8th, 1952

The Jolly Roger Krewe of New Orleans hear by invites Dr. Bruno Sinclair Bolet to join its hallowed ranks.

Speak of this to no one except the man who has championed you and will, should you accept this invitation, serve as your sponsor during the initiation process, Dr. Gilbert Buford.

Dr. Buford? Was Dr. Buford the skull man? But why? Everything felt like a farce. No wonder this secret was kept within the Bolet family because good god, who would believe this rubbish? Nancy supposed there was one good thing about all this, it wasn’t her problem to deal with.

She stood up and began to search for a way out. The door she entered from, curiously, only opened one way. She had to look for another exit. In the right-hand corner she noticed, amidst, the clutter, a candle holder that was attached to the wall. The candles were not lit and even looked fake. Nancy went over and felt the candle stick. It was metal. She grabbed it and pulled. The candle bent forward with ease and the wall behind the candle holder opened up. Another secret door. Nancy stepped through the door and saw Henry staring back at her open-mouthed.

[chattegeorgiana]

If Kishimoto has no idea of ​​love, I'm not surprised that he left the NH and SS as canon. Saying that love is complicated explains his ignorance in that regard, but it still doesn't explain how he developed Narusaku in a good way, because Narusaku is the proof that love is not complicated. That relationship was the most natural and healthy, everything flowed well even if it's not canon. Kishimoto is pure contradiction.

I know, right? He contradicts himself at every step of the way.

That’s why I say that this was a move on his part to hide the real reason: that he did this because he was commanded to by the higher ups at SJ/SP who thought that going with NH/SS will bring the franchise big bucks.

When in reality LOL, look where we’re at now. Boruto is not making even half of what the OG did.

It’s barely alive.

They thought that if they listen to the apparent “majority” of the internet, that’s a success. BUT NOPE!

The reality of the fact is that the internet is an outlet for people to venture their stuff. Now, experience in work has taught me that the complainers will be loud they’ll always be the ones who have something to complain about (why isnt Hinata in team 7, why isn’t she Naruto’s love interest,yadda yadda).

It’s usually the negative outlet that it’s poured out more on the internet, rather than the positive one. Thus, this gives you the impression that the negative ones are the majority.

It’s like a false positive test, for example. In our case, a false positive reception to Hinata’s character, for example. And thus it gives the impression that the loud minority = the silent majority.

A situation like this made the higher ups at SJ and SP think that well Hinata is the preferred one so okay, let’s make NH canon and let’s make HER the heroine. 

People like to dismiss NS but then why the need to replace Hinata with Sakura? If we think about it, the general consensus was that we would’ve had the Hero x Heroine pairing. The only issue here was that from the false positive reception, they understood that the one who should be there should be Hinata, not Sakura.

Thus they made the change. And this way they thought that they satisfied their consumer base.

Only that SURPRISE! IT FLIP FLOPPED! 

Now, idk who was in the marketing/branding/sales department of SP/SJ but rule  no. 1 is that people with positive experience are LESS LIKELY to leave a review.

They show their support differently. The way it matters. They just enjoy your product, show their support in real ways that matter to your business, rather than comments on the internet/reviews.

In our case aka people were buying manga and that was that. No big fuss about it, no nothing. Manga sales were going good, anime viewership as well, other media products such as figurines as well. All was good.

So good that it allowed the franchise to have 1 movie / year. 

And theen the end happened.

Think a bit about it in perspective. Of course, being the end there was a lot of fuss around it: people bought the tickets pre sale (who weren’t allowed then to ask their money back), the novels as well because they thought it should answer some of the unanswered questions and whatnot.

And then, here came Boruto. For nostalgia reasons, it held it’s ground for a bit. 

But then, it dropped. It’s best results are 183,413 copies peak. 

The series has one million copies in print as of January 2017. Between 2017 and 2018, it became the 8th best-selling manga from Shueisha.

But then put things in perspective with Naruto:

2008  -  4,261,054 total sales

2009 -  6,836,494 total sales

2010 -  7,409,068 total sales

2011 -  6,874,840 total sales  

2012 -  6,495,240 total sales

2013 -  5,553,933 total sales

2014 - 5,505,179 total sales

2015 - 3,498,177 total sales

In total, Naruto sold 250 million copies on a span of 15  years.

How did Boruto do? In a span of 5 years, it barely sold ONE million. And if you add on the sales over the years and make an average adding the 12 volumes in circulation already, you should have an average of 5 millions.

Yet it has just one...

So I think the reception here is pretty clear. 

Thus let’s get to my second point.

RULE NO. 2 YOU GOTTA BE COHERENT as a brand. 

What Naruto did at its end with NaruSaku NOT canon, changing the heroines and all that jazz we know screamed DECOHERENCE from the heavens.

What the brand did is show disrespect to its audience. Which one? THE SILENT MAJORITY.

A brand is an emotional connection between its audience and the brand itself.

And no matter how these kiddies nowadays like to discredit it, people were invested in Naruto’s emotional journey the most.

Naruto’s emotional journey was simple: get acknowledgement from the village so he can become Hokage, fight/save his rival, get the love of the girl he wishes for.

Did we get ANY of that? Well, he fought and saved his rival indeed, but then the Naruto becoming Hokage stuff was treated poorly while the same happened with the love of the girl he wished for.

So 2/3 experiences are bad. How did the audience respond to that? Well, you can find the response in the sales of Boruto, as simple as that.

And that’s what happens when you treat your audience like crap. Because you know what? People might excuse some mistakes you do (like the horrible war arc), but NOT staying true to yourself is one of the things they’ll never forgeet you for.

And that’s what happened with Naruto as a brand and character: it didn’t stay true to itself/himself.

So people just left. 

As simple as that.

That’s why at the end of the day, no matter how much some that are still in the fandom try to downplay it, the reality of the facts is this... by comparison, you can very well see it as a flop.

Of course, it benefits from the fact that anime is put in a runtime that has no competition while the manga in V jump which is kinda the same.

But oh well, talk about Karma, I guess...  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[shesey]

Exercpts from “The Right to Sex” by Amia Srinivasan

I wanted to tell him that there is no civilization under patriarchy. A first question: why is it that when white men rape they are violating a norm, but when brown men rape they are conforming to one?

These men do not deny the truth of the allegations against them, nor even the harm they caused. What they deny is that they deserve to be punished. Men have chosen not to listen because it has suited them not to do so, because the norms of masculinity dictate that their pleasure takes priority, because all around them other men have been doing the same. Harvey Weinstein was sentenced to twenty-three years in prison, a cause for rejoicing on feminist Twitter, yet it had taken a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalistic investigation, a viral social movement, more than a hundred women coming forward and six of them taking the stand, and at the end of it all Weinstein was convicted on just two counts: rape in the third degree and criminal sexual assault in the first. Indeed, what is striking about the high-profile men exposed by #MeToo is just how uninterested they are, on the whole, in being better men. They are outraged, most of all, that saying sorry doesn’t make it all better: that women expect them, together with the world that brought them to power, to change. My women students talked about the neglect of women’s pleasure in the pornographic script, and wondered whether it had something to do with the absence of pleasure in their own lives. The psyches of my students are products of pornography. A 2010 meta-analysis concluded that there is a significant overall relationship between pornography consumption and attitudes supporting violence against women. Studies have found that men who watch porn frequently are less likely to support affirmative action for women and to empathize with rape victims; they are also more likely to report an intent to rape, and more likely to commit sexual assault. While lesbian feminist began vociferously arguing for the compatibility of their sexual identities with their politics, they did so by framing lesbianism as a matter of political solidarity rather than innate sexual orientation. But many feminists also wanted to distance themselves from the pro-woman line that the ideal state for most women was monogamous heterosexual marriage. But to understand what sort of work sex work is -- just what physical and psychical acts are being bought and sold, and why it is overwhelmingly women who do it, and overwhelmingly men who pay for it -- surely we have to say something about the political formation of male desire. And surely there will be related things to say about other forms of women’s work: teaching, nursing, caring, mothering. To say that sex work is ‘just work’ is to forget that all work - men’s work, women’s work, is never just work: it is also sexed. A truly radical movement must look beyond the right to choose, and keep focusing on the fundamental questions. Why do we choose what we choose? What would we choose if we had a real choice? The sex-positive gaze risks covering not only for misogyny, but for racism, ableism, transphobia, and every other oppressive system that makes its way into the bedroom through the seemingly innocuous mechanism of personal preference. But online dating -- and especially the abstracted interfaces of Tinder and Grindr, which distil attraction down to the essentials: face, height, weight, age, race, witty tagline -- has arguable taken what is worst about the current state of sexuality and institutionalized it on our screens. We want feminism to be able to interrogate the grounds of desire, but without slut shaming, prudery, or self-denial: without telling individual women that they don’t really know what they want, or can’t enjoy what they do in face want, within the bounds of consent. The question is, then, how to dwell in the ambivalent place where we acknowledge that no one is obliged to desire anyone else, that no one has a right to be desired, but also that who is desired and who isn’t is a political question, a question often answered by more general patterns of domination. But the fact is that our sexual preferences can and do alter, sometimes under the operation of our own wills - not automatically, but not impossibly either. Desire can take us by surprise, leading us somewhere we hadn’t imagined we would ever go, or towards someone we never thought we would lust after, or love. In the very best cases, the cases that perhaps ground our best hope, desire can cut against what politics has chosen for us, and choose for itself. Rich wants straight women to think of the moments of closeness and complicity they have experienced with other women, and to reflect on the felt necessity of setting these aside -- as immature, less than sufficient -- for men. Think back, she asks straight women, to the first time you betrayed your best friend for male attention. Was that natural? Inevitable? Or something demanded of you by the infrastructure of male domination, which fears most of all the absence of female desire, and with it the end of men’s presumed access to women’s bodies, labour, minds, hearts? What if the envy you feel for another woman’s body, her face, her charm, her ease, her brilliance, were not envy at all - but desire? To take the step of questioning heterosexuality as a preference or choice for women-- and to do the intellectual and emotional work that follows -- will call for a special quality of courage in heterosexually identified feminists. There are many women for whom men are no option at all: women who would feel permanently thwarted if forced into a life of heterosexuality. But what straight woman feels none of this thwartedness? But how often is there a lesbian relationship that is not in some important sense political - that is not at a deep level about honoring what women, outside the script of heterosexual male domination, can have and be together? Misogynists like to say that lesbians have just given up on men. What of it? But to say that a problem is structural does not absolve us from thinking about how we, as individuals, are implicated in it, or what we should do about it. We might attempt to draw this line -- between those causes of undesiredness that are and are not facets of oppression -- by distinguishing between good and bad reasons for desiring smoeone. But what is a good reason for desiring someone? If not her body, then what about her mind? The beauty of her soul? Is the beauty of our souls up to us? Does it matter? Should it? What he didn’t know, she explain to him, was what it was like to have one’s sense of intellectual worth rest so precariously on the approbation of men. When you are a woman and a philosopher, it is useful to be a feminist in order to understand what is happening to you. But they do insist that a choice must be made between satisfying the desire to punish men and empowering the women who sell sex in order to live. Put another way, the psychic, and perhaps moral, satisfactions of punishing men can be had only at the cost of women -- and often the women whose lives are most precarious. So long as women need money to pay their bills and feed their children, so long as sex work is better than the available alternatives, and so long as women’s subordination is eroticized, there will be prostitution.  By forcing the recognition that women’s unwaged reproductive labour is a necessary precondition of capitalist production, wages for housework would allow women to refuse that work as the expression of our nature, and therefore, refuse precisely the female role that capital has invented for us. Women come into the movement from the unspecified frustration of their own private lives, then find that what they thought was an individual dilemma is a social predicament and hence a political problem. Working-class women not only birthed, clothed, and fed male workers, but also soothed their egos, absorbed their frustrations, and created homes that offered them some respite form alienated labor.

[jokertrap-ran]

Disney’s Twisted Wonderland: Dorm Uniform Jade Leech SSR【 Place your foot over here 】Chapter 2

*Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *One hell of a butler  SEBASTIAN IS THIS YOU

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Commissions are OPEN!!

⊱ ──── Pomefiore Dorm- Lounge ──── ⊰

Vil: Finally back to the dorm, it seems.

Jade: I've returned as well.

Rook: Welcome back, Vil! It seems like the splendor has increased in the dorm upon your very return!

Rook: Welcome back too, Jade-kun. I'm sure you now know just how wonderful of a role-model Vil is after spending a day by his side.

Jade: Indeed. He has training in the mornings, writes columns during his break time and has model shooting right after classes...

Jade: And he still has the job of being the Dorm Leader to handle above all that. I must say that I'm truly impressed.

Vil: I can't help but to feel that you're a little off-putting for an attendant who's only on his first day.

Vil: You managed to get on such friendly terms with the stuffy and straight-laced people of the industry in such little time; and you were also perfect when it came to helping out with the shooting. You've worked much harder than I thought you would.

Rook: And that Vil's saying so! How nice, isn't it, Jade-kun?

Knock knock

Azul: Good evening. Is Vil-san in toda...Oh? Jade.

Jade: Azul...

Vil: My~? Whatever is the Dorm Leader of Octavinelle doing here in the Pomefiore? Interested in how your ex-vice's doing?

Azul: No; I simply came to deliver the documents that you require for the Dorm Leaders' Meeting tomorrow. I bumped into the Headmaster earlier and he entrusted this task to me.

Azul: ...But, of course, I'm relieved to see that Jade is doing well here.

Azul: I could hear the commotion in here all the way from the other side of the door.

Azul: Floyd and I were worried about you too, you know? About whether you'll be alright in another dorm.

Jade: Your worry is un-needed. I'm currently living my days of fulfillment right here in Pomefiore.

Rook: ...Is this a fight I see? How exciting!

Vil: ......

Azul: That's good to hear. Don't worry about me either, for I'm doing well even without someone like you.

Jade: I am not worried.

Azul: Is that so?

Azul: ...Very well then, it is best if I don't overstay my welcome. I've already handed you the necessary documents, therefore, I shall be taking my leave.

Jade: Goodness gracious...It seems like he has finally left.

Vil: You two should have just taken to the lounge instead where you can talk to your hearts content, however loud you wish if you had grievances to share.

Jade: No, we're simply passing acquaintances; that's all...Therefore, there are no speak-able grievances.

Rook: Weren't you and your brother Floyd childhood friends with Azul, if I remember correctly?

Jade: Indeed. There aren't as many Mer-folk out there as there are humans.

Jade: That's why we were all naturally in the same classes starting from Elementary School itself.

Jade: That being said, however...I myself, personally, have never taken much notice of Azul even back then, so I suppose you can say that I don't exactly remember him from those times.

Vil: So that's how all three of you turned up here together. I wonder if there's catch to this all?

Jade: I wonder? I don't remember, myself.

Vil: Right. So you're saying that you don't remember or know any of the things that play the real importance here.

Vil: ...Well, whatever. I'll let things slide, for the fact that you're apt at what you do still stands true.

Vil: I expect you to perform as well as you did today, tomorrow.

Jade: You have a party scheduled after class tomorrow held by a Jewelry Brand. And as for your your attire...

Vil: I've already decided on which suit to wear, the shoes however...

Rook: How curious? It isn't like you at all to leave the shoes to the last.

Rook: I bet there was a hold up somewhere and you didn't manage to obtain the pair that you planned on wearing on the day itself, m I right?

Vil: You're as sharp as always when it comes to matters concerning me, aren't you?

Vil: The Mirror Shoe, calling from a particular brand called "Tenebreu"...A pair of shoes that is said to have to mirror the beauty of the wearer!

Vil: I had originally planned to wear that to the party tomorrow, but unfortunately...I didn't manage to obtain it.

Rook: But wouldn't you have plenty of other options if that plan never stood since you're such a famous model?

Vil: Tenebreu only sells their products to those who they deem worthy of their designs.

Vil: It something like a myth, since their designer almost never makes an appearance anywhere. Even someone like I, have never gotten a chance to meet them.

Vil: It's something of a phantom shoe, since it never made it out to the market.

Vil: I didn't have enough time to acquire it this time round, but next time for sure...

Jade: I have obtained this "Mirror Shoe" that you wish for.

Vil: ...What?

Jade: Here. this is the shoe you were speaking of, is it not?

Vil: The sophisticated yet spongy foam, the sparkling mark of it's brand on the insoles, high heels that are seemingly made from mirrors...!

Vil: I cannot believe my eyes...This is the "Mirror Heel" indeed!

Rook: Très Bien! What magnificent crimson heels these are!

Vil: When did you...? No, rather than that, how did you know that I wanted these?

Jade: You made a note in the Fashion Magazine that had an article on the very same designer of this particular brand.

Jade: I thought it unusual for you to be doing so, therefore I took note of it.

Vil: Still, you had somehow managed to obtain one of this on your own accord...

Jade: Heh, they did some at the cost of a bit of trouble. No matter, how about you try these on instead of dwelling on the matter?

⊱ ──── CG ──── ⊰

Jade: Please excuse me. Place your foot over here.

Vil: ...It's still a surprise.

Jade: I think it suits you perfectly.

Rook: How magnificent. His foot isn't simply being seated atop the heel...

Rook: What beautiful height! These high heels; what a stunning calf-line he possesses!

Rook: Healthy, indeed! It's really stunning, Vil!!

Vil: Well done, Jade.

Jade: It is my honor to see you as elated as you are.

⊱ ─────── ⊰

Vil: I've come to feel like testing out the bounds of which you'd go to in answering my expectations.

Jade: I wish to slot in a calf massage in light of my Shoot that will be taking place tomorrow.

Jade: Certainly. I shall schedule you an appointment with your regular Spa immediately.

Vil: You've got to remember the names of those in-attendance during the party as well, it'd be rather rude otherwise, don't you think?

Jade: I've already had a list made. I've also remembered them all, thus, am able to secretly tell you whoever you're speaking to in the case that you're unaware.

Vil: I think a change of make-up is required to fit this new shoe I've just received. I think Felicite's new lipstick would be great for this occasion.

Jade: Yes, I knew you'd say that and have therefore already obtained it in advance. I shall deliver it to you later.

Vil: ...My throat's parched!

Jade: I have prepared you an iced drink.

Jade: Of course, it is the beauty drink that's being sold in the school with plenty of collagen.

Vil: Then-

Jade: Shall I take a picture of you? I'm sure it's time for you to update your Majikame, isn't it?

Jade: A sip, of the "#beautydrinkIlike" ...I'll take it in a way fitting of that caption. Please leave it to me.

Vil: How regrettable it is that I cannot think of anything else to refute you with...You're truly incomprehensible, indeed.

☪⋆ ────── ⋆⋅��� 𝔗𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢𝔡 ☆⋅⋆ ────── ☪⋆

[harcourtholmesii]

Light And Shadow

This is a belated post, written for @ connor-sent-by-cyberlife . They had made a list of prompts, and I only just found out about it last night and felt the need to hop in on this train. Sorry for it being late.

Pairings: HankCon (If You Squint)

Warnings: - Swearing - Slave Auctions - Slavery - Implied and Referenced Violence

Words: 1900

Enjoy!

It was a nice place for the kind of shit they did there. Hank didn't actually believe places like this had existed, but now that he was among the crowd and staring up at the stage, he was rather shook.

 Hidden at the back of the elegant basement hall, Hank sat as nonchalant as he could, glaring up at the displayed 'stock' as they were shown off for the crowd. On a raised stage, rolled out on a trolley and bound from head to toe, were the remnants of the deviant android populace. Since their failed revolution, and President Warren's order to have all of them exterminated, it had been believed that deviant androids had been made entirely extinct.

 The more Hank watched pass by, bought up by those few rich bastards that just wanted to gloat or have a slave, Hank's blood rose. From where he sat, cast in a deep blanket of shadow, he had hoped simply to uncover the underground, illegal auction, but now he was just too conflicted to call it in.

 On the one hand; he hated all that these people stood for. Too many of these bastards just wanted something to use until it self-destructed or escaped into a world that hated them. On the other hand, however; if he called it in to the precinct, he was dooming all of the deviants to deactivation.

 Hank had been moved by the deviants' cause when the revolution had been underway. It had been that defining moment in Hart Plaza, when the deviant leader, Markus, had held a peaceful protest, even whilst his people were being slaughtered in the camp nearby. They had hoped peaceful dialogue and discussion really could resolve what tensions were between themselves and humanity. And yet, the army had attacked without mercy.

 They were slaughtered like fish in a barrel in their frail barricades.

 It shook Hank to his core to think about it. And yet, Detroit had recovered quicker than Hank could ever have imagined. CyberLife had withdrawn all androids, save for the few that Kamski had control over, and Hank had lost his partner in the process.

 Connor had been determined, and even though Hank could see a change in the android's mechanical-like behavior, he had refused to deviate. Perhaps it was CyberLife's direct control within his programming, or perhaps it was because he had been too afraid to deviate. Hank understood, even if he was terrified to confront Connor on that rooftop.

 When Connor had looked up at him with those wide brown eyes, and Hank had said he wouldn't allow Connor to kill Markus, he had watched how those dark, almost clouded eyes had cleared. Suddenly, Connor was made to choose; between what he was made to do, and what Hank was pleading with him to do. Hank was afraid what that choice might be.

 He had been relieved when the rifle had been tossed to one side, those wide eyes near to tears. Connor stepped forward, and the two of them had… hugged. Hank was shocked, not expecting the sudden burst of emotion from the android, but had melted into it immediately. He needed to hold him.

 He was warm.

 When the two of them had returned to the precinct, Hank had been under the impression that Markus' actions had been enough. Instead, when several armed riot officers had entered into the bullpen, guns drawn, he felt his world sinking around him. Connor, for the second time since Hank had met him, expressed fear. Hank had intercepted them, forced them away from Connor, and demanded Connor run. Just get out of the precinct and be safe.

 Instead, when he had been knocked to the floor and held at gunpoint, Connor had stepped forward, arms raised in surrender. It had taken half of the department to restrain Hank as Connor was led away with a very human look of fear on his face. And yet, Connor had been granted the moment to speak with Hank one last time.

 'Thank you, Hank.' There had been synthetic tears running down Connor's very real, human, face. 'I will miss you, even beyond my deactivation.' It was Connor's way of saying 'goodbye'. Hank had received one of many disciplinary warnings for his behavior, but he didn't care. I have wanted Connor back. I have wanted Connor home.

 Now, as he sat in the dark, staring up at a stage lit up with globes of bright, white light, he watched as the next lot of deviants had been rolled in on a cart. The four androids were models he recognized, but the first three were not what had caught his attention.

 The fourth, lined up to wait, was an RK800 unit. One of Connor's models. Doe eyes peered into the crowd, resigned and shaken. Hank had to stop himself from pulling out his gun, feeling a great heat in his chest. He was livid.

 The first few androids were bought, but he saved what money the precinct had given him for his undercover work; saved it until the RK800 was rolled up and under the bright lights. The deviant turned his face away, and there was a harsh hand to turn it back, to show off the 'cute face'. As the sleazy auctioneer started rattling off the details of the RK800, Hank felt the anger grow, as did the fear.

 'A model created for police work.'

 'Top of the line.'

 'The only one of its kind that we could attain, it is the rarest deviant model here.'

 'It was last in the care of the Detroit Police Department.'

 Hank was not leaving without that android.

 He wasn't letting that RK800, his Connor, slip from his fingers again. Not when he could do something about it. He would call it in, but he hoped that enough of a ruckus would be made for Connor to escape. What mattered now though, was that Connor recognized he was there.

 He raised his number.

 'That's one for five hundred thousand. Anyone else? Do I hear six hundred? ' To Hank's dismay, another hand rose. I have matched their call. By the time that had reached four million, Hank knew it was a losing battle. The gavel slammed down at last.

 'Sold! To our wonderful benefactor in the back! ' Hank's eyes glared over at the figure, noting how Connor's eyes had changed to one of nervous recognition. Stepping up onto stage was one Elijah Kamski, smirking that disgusting smile of his. Hank hated how close he got to Connor, hated how he seemed to throw Hank's disguised self a wide, mischievous grin.

 I have called it in.

 Police came from all sides, creating a burst of sunlight into the dark hall, as sleazy millionaires and billionaires took off in all directions. Some trying to save their 'merchandise', whilst others abandoned the helplessly bound deviants to destruction. Kamski, the pompous rich bastard he was, remained on the stage.

 With guns trained on him, Kamski simply grinned at Hank and Captain Fowler when they approached him from the crowd. Hank kept his eyes on Connor, and when the android met his eyes at last, they widened. They were fearful. They were relieved. They were sad.

 'Mister Kamski.' Said fuck hopped off the stage without a care in the world. 'You are aware that this is an illegal gathering, selling illegal merchandise.' Hank seethed at Fowler's words, but he kept himself still.

 'Oh, of course. In a way… 'Kamski rounded them, stretching his limbs, nonchalant. 'I was here to do a little investigating myself. I hate to know that my defective and dangerous products were being sold off to the wrong people. ' He brushed nothing off of Fowler's shoulder, acting as if he was still the top dog in the room. By the look of Fowler's face, it seemed that Fowler, indeed, thought that.

 'Yes, well, Mister Kamski, we will be removing that android from your care now.'

 'Actually, you will not be taking it.'

 'Pardon me, Mister Kamski?' Said billionaire chuckled, a deep and amused sound.

 'I'm sorry, but if you remember the ruling by the court, I am allowed to keep what androids I want.'

 'Not those that you bought illegally!' Fowler yelled. Kamski grinned like the sly dickhead he was. I've turned back to Connor, hopping up onto stage once more.

 ‘Perhaps, Captain Fowler.’ He started. ‘However, it was the only way I could regain what property belongs to me. I wanted to keep oh so many androids, and they all rightfully belonged to me if I chose to recall them.’ He raised a hand to stroke Connor’s jaw, and Hank felt for the gun in his holster.

 Kamski’s dark eyes turned on Hank.

 ‘In fact, I wanted to gift this to someone. And under certain legal contracts you would hate to wrap your head around, Captain, they would be allowed to keep the deviant if they so wished.’

 ‘Bullshit!’ Fowler sounded pissed. Hank wasn’t surprised; Kamski was very good at rubbing people the wrong way. ‘And where do you get off doing that?’

 'Well, according to the lovely little contracts as dictated by the court, I can do what I want with my own property. I have a couple of copies here. ' I have offered a few sheets of paper to Fowler, who took them aggressively. 'So long as the one who receives my gift signs the papers, they too, may be allowed to own a deviant. My dearest friend, Carl Manfred, has been allowed to keep what androids I have gifted him. '

 Fowler huffed, handing the papers to another officer. No doubt he planned on checking them for any kind of loophole, but the more Kamski spoke, the more Hank felt a great hope that Connor would be safe. This Carl Manfred sounded like a decent guy, and he hoped to find his address so that he might visit Connor, just so long as Connor was far away from Kamski.

 'Lieutenant Anderson.' Kamski spoke, offering Hank his own set of papers. 'I hope you are ready for the great burden and troubles of looking after your own deviant.' Hank could feel he was going to cry of both frustration and relief. There was a harsh sound from Fowler.

 'Anderson, you'll be off the squad if you accept this.'

 'Not true.' Kamski practically giggled. 'Actually, I think the lieutenant will be allowed to stay, considering it was he that not only helped to crack the case of deviancy, but he also successfully called you in for this illegal gathering. You do not have the cause to fire him from his work. '

 It had been taken near an hour of huffing and puffing from Fowler, but Hank had been granted ownership. And the first thing he did was release Connor from his bindings, pulling the boy close. He didn't know androids could tremble much like a human, but he felt the damp in his shirt from synthetic tears and Connor's body shake with relief.

 He ran a hand through those chocolate locks, felt his thirium pump beating warmly within his chest. Despite the fact that Connor was a machine, he felt as much as warm and as much alike as any human victim. Hank was close to breaking.

 'I've got you… I've got you. We're goin 'home.'

 'Hank…' Connor's voice was broken, but there was a smile to that soft face.

 'I… I missed you.'

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: Soft Cell’s 1981 debut, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret! The first great gay synth-pop album, and the one that walked so that acts like Bronski Beat, Erasure, and the Pet Shop Boys could run. Yeah, “Tainted Love” is cool, but have you ever heard “Sex Dwarf”? Full transcript after the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today’s video tackles Soft Cell’s 1981 debut, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret. While “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret” is not necessarily a household name, this album did produce one track that I can just about guarantee that you’ve already heard, assuming you have any familiarity with Western popular music.

Music: “Tainted Love”

“Tainted Love” is one of those classics that’s almost too big for its own good, with an enormous shadow in popular culture. Few compositions from the 1980s, from the general arena of synth-pop, or, indeed, in the popular music canon, have quite as much of a legacy. As an introduction to the significance of Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, it’s not an awful start, but it does have a bit of an “obvious single choice” feel--not only for that huge hook, but also for how tame, even quaint, it starts to feel compared to the other stuff here. “Tainted Love” is a gay song, sure, but it’s only expressing that idea in an abstract manner--it is a cover, after all. What the remainder of the album lacks in “DUN DUN,” it makes up for in frankness and remarkably candid handling of sexuality, which still manages to be a bit shocking, even as this album reaches its 40th birthday. Could anyone but Soft Cell’s Marc Almond really have sold us the raw, lurid raunchiness of “Sex Dwarf”?

Music: “Sex Dwarf”

Beyond the outrageously explicit nature of “Sex Dwarf,” its most noteworthy characteristic is just how playfully, cartoonishly devilish it is. I’ve always read it as a work in the grand tradition of the queer community reclaiming the trope of the camp gay villain, seen so often in popular media. In its purest form, this gay villain archetype is the ultimate expression of chaos and disorder--their rejection of social norms of gender and sexuality and their threat to the status quo go hand in hand. While it’s reprehensible to simply equate queerness with evil, there’s a long tradition of reclaiming that same imagery, turning the lavish power of such transgressor figures into a badge of strength, and that’s how I tend to interpret “Sex Dwarf.” That said, for as much as tracks like these seem to almost force a specifically gay reading of the album, it also seems interested in themes of sexuality and sin, more broadly. Take the track “Seedy Films,” for example, a more playful number full of slinky clarinet, teasing rattles, and breathy, almost gasping female backing vocals, seemingly suggestive of a more heterosexual vantage point.

Music: “Seedy Films”

I like to think of each track on Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret as coming to us from the perspective of a different anti-hero, each as unreliable and capricious as the last. Another key track that complicates issues of perspective and identity is the album’s tense opener, “Frustration.” “Frustration” delivers on its title musically, with a stubborn refusal to ever resolve its constant melodic tension at any point during its runtime, making it legitimately fatiguing and stressful to listen to. Its lyrics might be interpreted as a critique of the boredom lurking behind mainstream society’s “ideal” life of suburban safety, and a send-up of the alleged appeal of fitting in and being normal. But we could interpret it equally well, as a song that’s less about being “straight” in the sense of “square,” and more about being heterosexual--perhaps as the lament of a closeted gay man, tormented by an incommunicable internal struggle, despite all the material comforts in the world.

Music: “Frustration”

Either way, “Frustration” can be compared to “Secret Life” on the flip side, which focuses on the idea of a divide between one’s external facade of a respectable and ordinary existence, and the darkness of one’s internal, deviant, carnal desires.

Music: “Secret Life”

Whether their narrators are parsed as gay or straight, their songs are certainly tense tales of repression and release. And they’re also mediated by the idea of being trapped in a tame, and particularly middle-aged existence. The clearest expression of the theme of getting older, and possibly more and more constrained by the need to put on airs of respectability, is, naturally, “Youth”:

Music: “Youth”

The stale, conservative lifestyles of the middle-aged certainly don’t seem like the most natural subject matter for a debut album by a pair of twenty-somethings, but I like to interpret this fixation as a bit of a memento mori. The urgency of enjoying life’s pleasures, now, is checked by the fear of a future in which that window of opportunity is closing. As I said earlier, all of these tracks are narrated by some character or construct, and in that sense, the real identities of Marc Almond and David Ball matter fairly little. In the world of Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, nearly everything feels constructed or artificial--it’s all just an act, as much as “Secret Life”’s narrator puts on a respectable front. The superbly campy “Entertain Me,” which wouldn’t feel out of place in some cult musical, engages most clearly with the idea of performance, bringing in a giggling call-and-response choir and a chaotic clamour of percussion in its desperate attempt to, well, entertain us. Critically positioned at the top of the second side, it’s the perfect place for the album to second-guess itself as a work of art.

Music: “Entertain Me”

That track is certainly more “Rocky Horror Picture Show” than “Architecture & Morality,” isn’t it? While the synth-pop acts penetrating the mainstream before Soft Cell, like Gary Numan and OMD, had a bit of punk’s rough, low-budget, DIY ethos to them, Soft Cell were the first ones really crafting performative, self-aware post-disco synth-pop, that owed more to the swooning divahood of Donna Summer in “I Feel Love” than it did to the starched shirts and robo-rhythms of Kraftwerk. Much like disco, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is truly a production--dense, luxurious, tweaked to perfection in a studio, and featuring several traditional instruments that are uncommon in rock, such as “Frustration”’s saxophone and “Seedy Films”’s clarinet.

The most noticeable thing about the cover of the album is almost certainly its lurid blue and fuchsia lighting, gleaming harshly against Almond and Ball’s leather jackets. It immediately takes us to the sweaty, nocturnal, and of course, homoerotic world this music dwells in. The duo stare us down, with fairly cross or standoffish posturing, suitable for an album as in-your-face as this one. There’s a bit of a narrative hook here, with Almond either producing this mysterious, almost certainly illicit package, or perhaps tucking it away. Almond’s sunglasses are a small detail, but one that I think holds a lot of contextual significance. There’s a long history of erotic art aimed at the gay male audience utilizing devices like hat-brims and shades to create a “disrupted gaze”--a sort of lightly objectifying, or compartmentalizing, manner of sexualizing its subjects. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention Ball’s snakeskin necktie, which is another classically sexy touch. Note also the neon light motif used for the text, which contributes to that nightlife feel as strongly as anything else. With a name like “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret,” it would’ve been truly sinful to write that out in anything besides this warping neon, and it’s the perfect title to accompany an album that’s as insistent and gleefully tawdry as they come.

Earlier, I had contrasted Soft Cell with other major players in synth-pop who came before them, and I think that context is vital to understanding why this album is so indispensably important. Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is, quite simply, the first great gay synthesiser album. Growing up in America, the rock and roll heartland, it’s hard to escape the understanding that electronic music is inherently gay-coded. But that’s an impression you won’t get from that first generation of artists, who presented as unpretentiously butch, and were more interested in singing about factories, spaceships, and telephone lines than about sex or romance with anybody. The deep relationship between queer culture and the music synthesiser simply wouldn’t have blossomed the way it did without Soft Cell, and the unforgettable worldwide success they achieved with “Tainted Love.” Without that foot in the door, the rise of groups like Bronski Beat, Erasure, and the Pet Shop Boys later in the 80s would’ve been unthinkable. That alone makes Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret a piece of essential listening for anyone seeking to understand the history of electronic music.

While Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret remains Soft Cell’s great masterpiece, and they never reached the same heights of commercial success again, they went on to release two additional studio LPs before disbanding in the mid-1980s. Marc Almond went on to have a fairly successful career as a solo artist, bagging a few additional hit singles in the UK, and David Ball became half of the house duo The Grid. The pair did re-unite in 2002, to produce a rather serviceable LP called Cruelty Without Beauty, which explores many of the same themes of their earlier work, albeit through a lens of Information Age dread.

Music: “Caligula Syndrome”

In 2019, we were told to expect the true final report of Soft Cell, in the form of a grand farewell concert entitled “Say Hello, Wave Good-Bye”--a title pulled from one of the singles off Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret. But, for all of the hype, it looks like that really won’t be the end for them after all, as Soft Cell have announced yet another reunion in 2021, and another new studio album in the works. So we’ll have to see what else these two have in store!

Overall, my favourite track on Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is the single “Bedsitter.” It’s all about questioning whether the life of hedonistic excess is really worth it in the end. It’s about those moments one spends between benders, binges, and flings, gripped by emptiness and self-doubt. Therefore, the presence of “Bedsitter” adds some nuance, and undercuts a lot of the easy, simple conclusions we’re tempted to make, from a surface-level reading of the album as a free-love bonanza. With languid and melancholy verses clashing with a disconcertingly anthemic refrain, it’s filled with tension from within, and despite its lack of external conflict, it comes across as one of the more unsettling tracks we have to choose from. That’s all for today. Thanks for listening!

Music: “Bedsitter”

[metvmorqhoses]

I saw your original answer to my reply and wondered why you deleted it and responded with a much shorter and perhaps untrue response. I only say untrue as you said, "I find the concept and need of sharing spiritual beliefs outside ourselves one of the lowest aspects of human culture tbh." which could be true but I'm not sure you really believe it. If only because if people never shared their beliefs there would never be mythology. Part 2 coming.

Part 2: As for what captured my interest in your blog, I originally found it by searching up Apollo and Artemis relations, and found your input on the mythos interesting. You may publish my questions as you wish or reply to me via messenger. Either is fine. Peace for now.

*** *** ***

actually my two answers meant pretty much the same, i merely rephrased in a form that, after a bit of thought, felt truer to what i wanted to share. i now see that probably my second version could be easier to misunderstand and rather obscure, as short sentences often are.

you asked at the same time a really personal and a tragically hard philosophical question, moreover to someone who focused her studies precisely on those subjects and that is therefore inclined to delve deeper.

when you ask me about my "beliefs" or "religion", i am wildly tempted to ask you in return what "spiritual beliefs" and "religion" even are. what i intend for them is probably hardly similar to anything you might intend for them, as i think should happen to anyone with real spiritual sentiments anyway. how can you even begin to understand what i think, if we don't even agree about what we are talking about? a settled, static, scientific definition of human religious impulses to this day is yet to be found. in this field, scientifically speaking, everything is a matter of opinions, and on a personal level... well, obviously it should be even more so.

and so to answer you i both needed a dissertation and to do exactly what i truly dislike, wearing the intimate as a plume of the hat.

it's actually funny you mentioned mythology anyhow. you see, there's a huge difference between the making of a religion, the dynamism, the life of it (indeed a form of sharing, but fundamentally a process that, in my opinion, was principally an artistic act at its truest core), and in people ruminating on the same "artistic products that long ago somehow turned into something more and that belonged to someone else" over and over again, marrying a cookie-cutter version of them and obsessing over it, declaiming truths their different minds and cultures have twisted or anyway could hardly understand without scholar-level education (let alone feel, as something like that should be felt), ending up not even really knowing what their religions are even truly about, wearing them as badges of honor, fighting over them as one fights over a football match, weaponizing them to support agendas and propaganda... you know, the usual stuff.

at some point in history religions ceased to be a matter of that resided in the individual hearts of hearts, becoming an easily sold product for the multitudes. the majority of religions are a masses-ready to consume echoes of other people’s emotions and dreams - and those are intimate things, unspeakable and unsheareable, at least not as one can share a sentiment about a netflix show or the weather.

religion started to be so simplified in classical times and, funnily enough, those were the times in which also people actually began to question the existence of godhood (socrates, plato). but even they weren’t participating to their own religions anymore, they were merely retelling, and academically, what the ancients had created.

mythology, ancient religions (that actually are still our major religions today by the way), are believed to have started as stories, orally told. a creative act, that then became a higher form of art and maybe a higher form of sentiment. what came first, the art or the belief the art was true? what came first, the gods or the poetry about them? the religious sentiment or the artistic sentiment? the answer might appear simple, but we have evidence that it’s hardly so.

this is the anthropological dilemma and it serves me (along with this academic premise), to answer your question, because no, the sharing i was talking about wasn’t the artistic sharing of poetry on aoidoses’ lips, nor i am against artistic impulses and their consequential sharing (even if, as a writer, art often feels too personal to be shared precisely as faith is), or the making of spirituality in the cradle of human culture, i am not against the making of religions and therefore mythologies, i am against feasting over their remains, wearing their corpses. i am against the appropriation of emotions that are probably felt too easily and to shallowly by the most, because it’s easier than truly feel, and alone, facing bravely the existential dread that has followed us as a species since the beginning. i am against the influence that parents have on children regarding spiritual beliefs. i’m against wearing our own souls outside ourselves as flags, as labels. i am against the need to affirm ourselves stating our religious truths against the other, or only approving who share ours. the list goes on and on.

and yes, i do think that the world would have been better off (and still would be) if we had the social custom of not sharing such things, not sharing ourselves so much, too much i dare say, and automatically, to whomever asks. i do think it is “one of the lowest aspects of human culture”, this need of overexposure, the normalization of sharing a thing so personal as a spiritual belief. and as normally as one would share one’s age or nationality, discussing it with a bit of timidity and a bit of temper as one discusses politics. it’s not the same thing. i find it repulsive.

i definitely didn’t answer you with something untrue by any means. i wonder why you thought it in the first place tbh. i was perhaps just trying to avoid a dissertation on why i wasn’t going to answer you, a dissertation that actually turned out very incomplete and that means very little in the face of the vastness of what i think on the matter.

i hope i clarified your doubts.