#Arche (origin principle)

[recsspecs]

Source: Science: The Definitive Visual Guide

[cressidagrey]

You are the best thing that's ever been mine - Part 7 (The End)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: Sao Paulo 2024. The Dutchman delivered a defining drive…but maybe there is a relationship that could also use some defining. 

Warnings: Jos Verstappen, angst, crying, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation

Author Notes: Hi, hey, hello! Apparently I write F1 Fanfiction now?! Also this is the first time I am trying a social media au so my Canva Skills were put to the test. (Disclaimer: I kinda put legibility over authencity, so twitter doesn't look like twitter and messages looks like...something) Also huge thanks to @onebigfangirlworld and @leodette for holding my hand with this 😘)

"Did you really throw Lewis of your Christmas Cookie list after Silverstone 2021?!" Max asked Ariel, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline after reading that particular text message.

Ariel didn't even bother looking up from her breakfast, as she was scrolling through her own phone.

"Yep," she said, popping the p. "I crossed him off my Christmas cookie list for two years. No cookies for Lewis."

Max looked at her, his expression a mix of amusement and bewilderment. "Two years?" he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

If she had thrown Lewis of her christmas cookie list for two years, there was no chance that Lando was getting any cookies this year. "That seems a bit harsh, don't you think?" he said carefully, but Ariel just shrugge. 

“I am very aware that your job has its dangers,” Ariel said drily. “This wasn’t about what happened on track. I was making a point.”

Max’s lips curving upwards slightly at her words. "What point were you trying to make, schatje?" he asked, a hint of mirth peeking through his nonchalant tone.

Ariel finally looked up from her phone, bluish-green eyes that never could quite decide which colour they wanted to be, mustering him. Her expression serious. "The point was about respect. You could have died. You battled severe vision problems for the rest of the season. And Mercedes was talking about it like it was a lesson you were finally being taught. Lewis wasn’t the only one on a cookie ban. Everybody at Mercedes was," Ariel said sharply. “Because their behaviour after that crash was completely unacceptable. I decided that a two year ban without my cookies was enough to drive that point home."

Max's amusement turned into a full-fledged smile at her explanation.

"So, Mercedes' team didn't get cookies for two years?" he asked, clearly trying not to laugh. Ariel arched an eyebrow, a defiant look in her eyes.

 "Yes, exactly," Ariel replied. "No one from Mercedes received any Christmas cookies for two years. And let me tell you, Lewis was heartbroken."

Max couldn’t help but laugh then, the sound deep and rich. The image of Lewis' disappointed face, finding out he was on her ban list for two years, must have been a sight to behold.

"I bet he was," he said, his laughter slowly subsiding, even when he couldn’t help but smile at her. 

This was Ariel in a nutshell. She had always, always been unapologetically in his corner. There had never once been a question about her loyalty. She may called him out on his bullshit, but she was just as willing to go to bat for him. 

"You're ruthless when it comes to your cookies, you know that?" he told her with a smile. 

She inclined her head. “I have my principles,” she said simply. "And those principles include doling out cookie-related punishments when necessary."

Max shook his head, completely smitten. 

"Oh, I know very well how protective you are of your principles," he said with a hint of tenderness in his voice. "And I love that about you." Max leaned back in his chair, his expression becoming more serious.

"But I have to say, it's touching that you were so upset by what happened during the race that you decided to ban everyone at Mercedes from your cookie list. But two years is a long time without cookies, schatje."Ariel seemed unrepentant, her defiant side shining through in her expression. “You didn’t need to do that. I am tougher than I look,” he told her with some amusement. 

"They were lucky it was only two years," she snorted, her voice holding a note of irritation. "I was thinking about a lifetime ban."

Max chuckled again, amused by her determination. 

"Lifetime?" he repeated, the word hanging in the air. "You really didn't pull any punches, did you?" She just shrugged, just as her phone vibrated. "Any reason why Victoria is texting me to tell you to call your Mom`?" she asked drily, after a short look at her phone. 

Max rolled his eyes, even as Ariel’s phone pinged again. And again.

"Lewis did apologise about the betting pool by the way," he informed her and Ariel just snorted. 

"He is worried about getting blacklisted again," Ariel told him sagely, and he couldn't help but laugh. 

"I'll get my laptop," Ariel said softly as she stood, leaning down to drop a kiss against his hair and Max couldn't help himself but to pull her into a proper kiss. Max pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist with ease.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. A smile played across his lips as he spoke.

"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier note. "I could get used to having you here. In my lap. Anytime." He didn't want this moment to end. He could feel her breath against his neck, her fingers tracing small circles on his shoulder.

He was about to pull her in for another kiss when her phone pinged again, breaking the blissful bubble of intimacy they had created. "Call you Mom," Ariel told him pointedly as she stood.

Max chuckled, reluctantly letting her go. "Spoilsport," he teased, but his eyes were full of affection.

He reluctantly picked up his own phone and dialled his Mom's number. His mother answered on the second ring. 

"Maxie! You took your time to call," she scolded him immediately. 

He had. Mostly because he had no idea what to say.

What was Max supposed to say?

He had won a race. He had finally figured things out with Ariel...

And he was quite sure that the next time he tried to talk to his father it wouldn't end well at all, because his father had laid his hands on Ariel. And that was simply unacceptable as far as Max was concerned.

He opened his mouth to respond but his mother continued, talking over him in her typical, motherly way. "Are you alright?" she asked abruptly, her voice filled with worry. 

He wasn't about to lie to her. "I...I am getting there," he admitted, his voice rough. "Did you see..." his voice broke before he could bring out the words.

"Yes. I saw," his mother said darkly. "Everybody saw, Max. Sky kept a camera onto the whole...thing. I am so sorry," she apologised to him and he couldn't stand it. First Ariel apologised to him about what his father did, then Victoria and now his mother. 

He couldn't stand it.

Max felt a sudden flare of anger as he thought about the cameras catching the whole scene at the garage, his father's behaviour on full display.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his thoughts.

"It's not your fault," he said quietly, his voice betraying his emotions. "You don't need to apologise for him."

His mother was quiet for a moment, her voice softer when she spoke again.

"I know. But you are my son and I..." she trailed off, seemingly lost for words.

Max could sense her struggle, her own emotions warring through the phone."I'll be fine," he reassured her, his own voice quivering slightly. He appreciated her concern, but he didn't want to add to her worry.

He forced a light tone into his voice, trying to sound more like himself. "I'm a big boy,” he assured her. He was quite sure that his mother din’t believe a word he sai. 

"How is Ariel?" She asked him instead.

Max couldn't help the smile that tugged the corners of his lips. The mention of her name lifted some of the weight off his chest.

"She's...she's good," he said honestly. "She's handling everything better than I am, honestly."

He glanced over his shouler, back inside as they had ha breakfast outside on the balcony…and found Ariel with her laptop on her lap sitting on the couch. Her focus was intense, as usual, as she typed away.

"You two are good together," he heard his mother say, her voice gentle.  "I always thought so. At least one good thing came out of this whole mess," she said with a chuckle. “Even when it took you the better part of a decade.

Max's lips lifted in a small smile at her words, his eyes still trained on Ariel, his girlfriend. His girlfriend. 

He couldn’t quite believe it, but he adored every single moment of it. 

An he agreed with his mother. Despite everything, things between him and Ariel had turned out for the better. She was here, in his room, as his girlfriend and he was glad for it.

He couldn’t imagine to going back to being just friends, to not be able to reach out an pull her into a kiss…to not hear every single soft noise that escaped her as he pressed his lips to hers…

"Yeah," Max agreed quietly. "One good thing, indeed.”

"Look after her," his mother said, her tone now taking on a more serious note. "I know you will. But take care of her. And yourself while you're at it."

Max felt a warm rush of gratitude wash over him. His mother's concern never failed to touch him, no matter how old he was.

"I will, Mom," he assured her, his voice softened by affection.

"...What will you do with your father?" she asked him curiously.

Max's smile faded at her question, his thoughts turning dark once again.

He had been avoiding thinking about his father, not wanting to deal with the complicated mix of anger and hurt he felt. But he knew he could not run from it eternally.

He took a deep breath, his voice quiet and rough. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I can't just...I can’t just let it go, Ma. Not this time. He laid his hands on her," he added, his voice filled with a burning anger that he couldn't suppress. The image of his father's hand connecting with Ariel’s soft face… it was making him utterly furious. 

His fingers clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. "I can't just forgive that."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, a heavy pause that carried the weight of his words.

When his mother spoke again, her voice was gentle, "You don't have to forgive him, Max. No one will force you to."

"Vic can do whatever she wants, obviously," Max continued. "But I am done. I don't want him anywhere near Ariel. I don't want him anywhere near my family."

His mother was silent for a moment again and he knew she was just processing his words.

"You are serious," she said quietly, her voice holding a hint of awe. "You really mean it, don't you?"

"Yes," Max answered firmly, his voice sure and steady. "I've had enough, Ma. This...this was the last straw."

He closed his eyes, his stomach turning at the thought of his father's actions.

"He laid his hands on her. I can't ignore that. I won't."

His mother was quiet for a moment, digesting his words. He could practically feel her surprise. His relationship with his father had never been easy and she knew that from personal experience.

Finally she spoke again, her voice careful but firm. "And what if he doesn't take your decision well?"

Max couldn't help the weary sigh that escaped him. He knew his father well enough to know that this would probably turn into a shitstorm.

"I know he will get angry," he admitted, his voice low but unwavering. "He always does when I don't just do as he says. But...this time I don't care."

“He can talk to my lawyers,” he said drily. Though he probably woul owe them truly ridiculous amounts of money to deal with his father when all was said and done.

His mother chuckled lightly at his words, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I'm sure they will be looking forward to that," she said dryly.

Then she sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of years of dealing with her ex-husband. "He won't go down quietly. You know that, right?"

Max nodded grimly, his free hand clenching into a fist. "I know," he said, his voice heavy with the knowledge of how stubborn his father could be.

He had grown up with his father's temper tantrums and his endless list of demands. He knew all too well that his father would not accept his decision without a fight.

But Max was no longer the little boy who had to comply with his father's orders. He was a man, a fully grown adult, and he was determined to stand his ground, no matter what.

His voice was firm when he spoke again. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I’m done with letting him control my life. I won't back down ."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Max could almost see his mother nodding, her face a mixture of worry and pride.

"You're stubborn like him," she said suddenly, the amused tone back in her voice.

Max smiled, a brief moment of levity in this dark conversation. 

"You always were a determined little boy," his mother continued said, her voice filled with memories. "Even as a child, you never knew when to quit. I swear you're only getting more stubborn with age."

He couldn’t but chuckle quietly. His mother sighed.

"So you and Ariel," she changed the topic, trailing off leadingly. "Can I finally expect some grandchildren from you, then?"

Max almost barked out a laugh at the question. He was caught off guard by the sudden switch in conversation, but the subject wasn't an unwelcome one.

"Ma," he said, his voice tinged with both humor and incredulity. "One crisis at a time, please."

"It's a valid question," she said in response, her voice filled with feigned defensiveness. "I'm getting old over here."

Max rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. "You're not THAT old," he teased.

His mother huffed at his words, amused but pretending to be offended. "I am old enough to be a grandmother, Max! I want to spoil some grandchildren before I'm too old to enjoy it."

Max chuckled, the lightheartedness of the conversation a welcome break from the heavy topics of their previous discussion.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," he said lightly. "But you're going to have to give me a little time. I just got her, you know."

His mother snorted at his words, her voice filled with a mother's knowing. "Oh, I know you well enough, Max Emilian," she said, a hint of mischief in her voice. "Trust me when I say, it won't take long for you to put a ring on her."

Max rolled his eyes again at her words, but he couldn't argue with her logic. "We'll see," he said, his voice trying for a nonchalant tone.

The truth was, his mind had already started wandering down that path of its own accord. But he wasn't going to admit that to his mother just yet.

"You keep telling yourself that, Max," his mother said with a laugh, her tone filled with maternal certainty. "In a few months, I will have another daughter."

Max chuckled at her words, the thought sending a jolt of excitement through his chest. The idea wasn’t as scary as it should have been.

"You are awfully sure of yourself," he teased, his voice tinged with amusement.

"I know my son," his mother said simply, the affection in her voice clear. "And I know how much you love that girl."

Max felt a lump in his throat at her words, the truth of her statement hitting him hard. He loved Ariel with all his heart, more than anything in the world. He couldn't deny that.

"Ma..." he began, his voice growing a little rougher.

"It's alright," she said gently, understanding the emotions behind his words. "You don't have to say anything. Just...take care of each other, yeah?"

Max nodded, his throat too tight to form words. He knew what she meant, the unspoken worry for the road ahead. But he was determined to face it together with Ariel.

"I will," he managed to speak, his voice filled with determination and love for her. "I promise."

"Good, Maxie," his mother said, the nickname making him feel like a child again. But he didn't mind. In his mother's eyes, he would always be her little boy.

She paused for a moment, then added, "I'm so proud of you, Max. You know that, right?"

Max felt a wave of emotion wash over him at her words. To hear his mother say that to him, in this difficult time, meant more to him than he could express.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice a mixture of gratitude and love. "Yeah, I know."

He felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. Despite everything that had happened, despite the storm on the horizon, he knew he had his mother's love and support. And he had Ariel. He was not alone. 

His mother's voice was soft when she spoke again. "Go back to your girl now," she said, a hint of humor back in her tone. "She's probably wondering what's taking you so long."

Ariel’s email inbox was an absolute nightmare

She couldn't stand the sight of it anymore.

Between the concerned emails from friends, the offers of support from colleagues, and the endless messages from people she had never even interacted with, her inbox was a swirling mess of sympathy, curiosity, and unsolicited advice.

She hated it.

With a sigh, she shot off a message to her friend Madeleine, making some plans to see each other sometime before Christmas...something which hopefully would involve more than one strawberry daiquiri.

(God, she really could do with one right now.)

She also had no idea what to do with the sprawling apology that she was quite sure Lando had either asked ChatGPT or Oscar to help him write. 

She wasn’t sure which was more likely and less weird. 

(Ariel also wondered if it was only about her christmas cookies…but she was willing to cut some slack…maybe.)

Other than that...it was still a nightmare. Ariel started to copy paste her response to every single media inquiry, which was that she was very much fine and very much not interested in talking to any of the media outlets about what had happened between her and Jos Verstappen and also very much not pregnant.

The mere thought of having to talk to a horde of journalists, all eager for the next juicy story, was horrifying. 

She wasn't one to seek the spotlight, and the fact that she was suddenly thrown into the center of it against her will made her feel both irritated and violated.

Leaning back against the sofa, she took a deep, calming breath.She hadn't even "started" with her phone though. That one was also a nightmare of seemingly every person in her life deciding to blow it up with numerous messages. Some of it was really quite sweet. Some of it definitively wasn't though.

The amount of people reaching out to her felt almost overwhelming. Her phone was inundated with text messages, calls, and voicemails, all filling up her notifications to an almost dizzying degree.

Some messages were nice, filled with warm wishes and support. But there were also those that were much less pleasant, asking questions that were far too intimate. Some even seemed downright judgemental.(...Ariel’s list of people that were going to get cookies this year was definitively dwindling down.)

At this point, it was difficult to tell who was genuinely concerned about her and who was just trying to squeeze some gossip out of her. She found herself growing increasingly frustrated with each new message she read, the constant barrage of questions and inquiries making her head spin.

With a weary sigh, she put her phone down and scrubbed a hand over her face, feeling utterly exhausted both mentally and physically.The whole experience felt oddly voyeuristic, like strangers were peering into the most private corners of her life, trying to satisfy their curiosity without any regard for her feelings.

And she didn’t even dare to look at her instagram…or on tiktok. Or on the website formerly known as twitter. Until she did and then clicked away again immediately. 

Social media was a vast minefield of people throwing out comments that were anything but helpful. From armchair psychologists to self-proclaimed relationship experts, they seemed to know exactly what she should - and shouldn't - do.

"Hey."

She looked up to see Max join her on the couch, sitting next to her. He held out his arm for her and she pushed away her laptop to curl against him. 

The one good thing that was coming out of this drama was their relationship.

"Hey," she greeted him softly. "Good talk with your Mom?" Max nodded, his arm wrapping around her body and pulling her close. The feeling of her body against her was pure comfort. 

Ariel happily leaned against him with a sigh. 

"Yeah, she just wanted to know how we're doing," he said, his expression a mix of weary and affectionate. "She worries. You know how mothers are."

She did. There didn't pass a day where Ariel didn't miss her own mother.

She leaned her head against his chest, taking in the solidity of his presence. His hand began to move in soothing, lazy circles on her back.

"This isn't some sort of fling to me," Max told her suddenly. She was so surprised by his sudden change of topic that she could just stare at him. "I would probably marry you tomorrow, given the opportunity. I wasted 5 years, I am not wasting anymore time."

She could just stare at him, her mouth suddenly dry at this look in his blue eyes. It was…decisive. There was no other word for it. 

Max had mae up his mind. 

An his words made Ariel’s heart flutter in her chest.

"Max..." she began, not certain of what to say. 

Marriage wasn't something she had considered in the midst of all the drama. It had… well. It hadn’t crossed her mind. Not yet. Not while there were a thousand moving pieces all around them. 

“I just want to be with you,” Max told her fiercely. “We don’t have to do anything right now, if you want to take it slow. That’s fine. Anything you want is okay. But I am serious about us.” Max said, emphasising each word slowly and clearly.

He was serious, completely serious. The raw honesty in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

"Max," Ariel said his name quietly, her voice thick with emotion. She searched his face, looking for even the slightest hint of doubt or uncertainty. But there was none. He was earnest, sincere, and utterly in love with her.

"I love you too," she whispered. "And I am serious about us too."

Max's eyes brightened at her words, his whole face lighting up with a smile. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her even closer into his embrace.

"You mean that?" he asked, his voice filled with a slight tremor of disbelief and hope. 

"Of course, I mean that," she promised him softly. "I love you. And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life doting on our two spoiled cats and stopping them from taking apart your Sim Rig. I can't wait watching you win races and knowing that you come straight home to me. And I can't wait to see what you'll do when you are done with it all and decide that you want to try out something new. I can't wait to grow old with you."

Max was stunned silent by her words, staring at her, swallowing. 

"That's all I ever wanted too. Just you, me, and our little monsters. Nothing more, nothing less,"he said, his voice catching.

"Maybe some kids too. Down the line," she teased him. She wanted that. One day. Max had always been amazing with children.

"You...you would want that?" he asked huskily. "You want children with me?"

Her hands rose to cup his face. "Of course," she said softly. "I want everything with you." 

 With him, the thought of children didn't seem so scary. It felt more like a promise of the future, a future that would be filled with love and laughter.

Max's arms around her grew tighter, desperate almost. He pulled her even closer, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply.

"I don't deserve you," he mumbled against her skin. "I truly don't."

Ariel gently cradled his head against her, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion. "Shush," she whispered. "Of course you do. I love you."

They simply sat there on the couch for a moment, wrapped up in each other. The world outside their little bubble seemed to fade away, and all that mattered were each other.

"I really want to go home," she said softly. "And cuddle Sassy. And Jimmy."

Max chuckled quietly and nodded into the crook of her neck. The thought of going home after the last few days sounded idyllic.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice muffled. "Let's go home."

(Author's Note: While this finishes off this particular installment, I am SO NOT FINISHED WITH THEIR STORY. It will be a series and I have A LOT of ideas. So I will wildly skip through the timeline 😅😂 (Also if you have ideas/prompts/suggestions, they are always welcome!)

[rinniewvrld]

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗘!𝗔𝗖𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗖 𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗟 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 .ᐟ

summary, felix always believed he was destined for greatness. he was smart, rich and "hot" as some might say. but his empire breaks when a new kid break into the scene

featuring, yandere!academic rival x gn!reader

tags, unhealthy power dynamics, clingy and kinda pathetic yandere, delusional and obsessive behavior, implied isolation, abuse of power, he's a bit egoistical

notes, this is a pretty old draft from my wattpad account ermmm this is heavily altered from the one i published at wp

♡ Felix Escoffier is a serious man that follows strict rules and principles. He's the only son of a famous fashion designer who practically owes everyone's parents, so it's natural that they follows his every whims. Even if at times his so-called 'policies' can be overbearing, borderline senseless.

♡ Though his power doesn't only come from his father's connection. He's the student president, as well having the highest honor out of everyone else. He's popular among the school staff and favored by the teachers for his achievements marking a good reputation for the school.

♡ This is his perfect empire where he and only he strictly rules among all the inching worms. The top of the food chain, the king lion. Nobody can stop him from reaching greatness now. Until you did.

♡ After acing his final exams without much of a break, Felix decided to check the ranking board to see where his rank was. Of course, he's confident to see his name at the number one spot, but he needed the boost anyways. However when he arrived at the board, he almost fainted.

♡ He was second to your name. Just who are you? You never appeared in the Top 10 before, so where did you come from? It took every single part of him to not black out right then and there.

♡ Rumors began spreading all the school, the strange new transfer student became the student body's buzzing gossip. Not only did you utterly crushed a man's entire life in a single day, but you were just a commoner. A commoner who managed to get inside such a prestigious school through a scholarship. And not like paying the fee like everyone did! Everyone believed you must've cheated the system.

♡ While the entire school was in shambles, you, on the other hand, couldn't care less. The only reason you managed to topple over the king bee was because your friend had betted that you won't be able to demolish the school ranking in one night. (Guess who had a 100 bucks under their name now?)

♡ Felix couldn't take it. Of course, he was his father's child! The expected successor of his business, the soon-to-be ruler of the fashion emperor! He wouldn't let himself be taken down by anyone, not by the likes of a commoner no less.

♡ So he made the decision to confront during lunchtime, prepared to absolutely obliterate you in front of everyone and ruin any chance of yours to strike back!

♡ But oooh, you so much different from what he heard in the rumors. You weren't disgusting or ugly, and you certainly weren't a cheater when he had tested your knowledge with the hardest question on the exam. Even he got that question wrong multiple times before. And you were so beautiful his jaw dropped at the first sight of your face, he couldn't even utter a single world to stop you from walking away.

♡ When you brushed him off so casually, it hurt his pride a bit. Sure, he had originally planned to ruin your social life, but upon realizing what a valuable asset you could be in his journey of taking over his father's business, but he couldn't let you go now!

♡ He stuck to you like an annoying bug. Always buzzing in your ear and demanding that the two of you must study together despite proudly declaring you as his arch-nemesis in public. Sometimes he gets too close to you, his heartbeat would spike up and his hands get clammy to the point he could barely hold a pencil. Just brushing his arm against yours was enough to make his nose bleed.

♡ Plus, he's always complaining if you don't wear your uniform correctly. But anytime you take your blazer off— or god forbid unbutton the first button if your blouse —the little skin revealed makes him flustered to the point of him running away to deal with himself.

♡ But in the next exam, your ranking immediately dropped to the bottom. It made the student body stir with confusion at this development and prompted a lot of questions from classmates and teachers alike. But Felix was more than just mortified to see the change and nearly fainted when checking the board again.

♡ He had to confront you again, of course, there's so much to discuss! Did you perhaps give up or did he scare you off? No matter, he'll just drag you back so you'll be his rival again! That is until he saw you hanging out with your friends.

♡ Of course, the only explainable reason why your ranking dropped was because of those delinquents! Despite your brilliance, your social awareness must not be as sharp as he thought. These braindead hooligans are influencing you and dragging you into their mess! Don't worry, he'll guide you back on the right path.

♡ So he made the proper arrangements. He used his power to forcibly change your schedule to match his, so he can always watch over you even during classtime. The teachers are now much harder on you, so you can focus on your studies more instead of goofing off with your so-called 'friends' (devils, he calls them), and everyone begins moving you out of fear of facing his wrath.

♡ It won't be too long until he's all that you have left. You're completely isolated from everyone at school, and your mountain of schoolwork isn't helping with your ruined reputation.

♡ However, fear not. Just let him help you with you and just depend on him. He'll mold you into the perfect rival, just for him.

[bird-girth]

A few details I’ve noticed in passing ( ╹ -╹)?

There’s an NPC in Amphoreus named Parmenides, and an associated achievement after completing the quest Elsewhere. If you’ve encountered two scholars debating, he was one of them.

There’s also a bath soak in the renovation event (suspiciously doctor-shaped….) mentioning Parmenides.

Parmenides was a pre-Socratic philosopher and cosmologist. For a frame of reference:

1. Anaxa is a reference to the pre-socratic cosmologist Anaxagoras.

Castorice mentions the concept of his 6th eidolon, Everything is in Everything, when you first meet him incorporeally.

Nous (see below) is related to this. It’s not a coincidence that his faction in the Grove is dedicated to the Nousporists.

2. Thales, the first of the Seven Sages in game, is a reference to the pre-socratic philosopher Thales; often considered the Father of Philosophy.

Arche (water), as the single origin and fundamental principle of the universe; that the earth floats on water.

Anaxagoras isn’t too far behind.

Nous (mind), a cosmological principle of order—rational, yet non-divine; of pure intellect, and yet material in the same, if individual—the finest of all things. It is said to be a [primordial] force that has manipulated the virginal mess of the universe, manifesting in the motion and ordering of the chaotic matter to form the rational physical world—though that initial mess has not been removed, but dispersed, and thusly, there is a part of that ‘everything’ in everything. 

3. Panta Rhei, Ratio’s warp event title, is a reference to the pre-socratic philosopher Heraclitus.

I’ve probably missed a few since I’m fairly passive with the readables—Ah, feel free to mention others!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1901 Victorian in Metropolis, Illinois has a surreal magical feel. It has 4bds, 2ba, and all this magic is only $275K.

When you walk into the main entrance hall, doesn't it feel like a magical place?

There is a lovely sitting room with an arched doorway and beautiful original fireplace.

The 2nd sitting room is also lovely.

The carpet and walls matche so perfectly in the dining room.

The kitchen appears to still retain the original footprint, woodwork and windows, but was fitted with white Shaker cabinets.

Cute vintage bath #1.

The gold theme continues on up the stairs.

The principle bedroom is so spacious and has an origianl fireplace.

It appears that all the bedrooms are very large.

Upgraded vintage bath #2.

The finished attic.

It appears that they're in the middle of finishing the basement.

Large workshop down here has a nice workbench.

Looks they might've used the garage for a rummage sale.

There's a nice fountain on the side of the house.

Beautiful porch and gated corner property.

It looks like this property includes the access road behind the house, also.

Just a magical home with the upper porches and octagonal room at the top.

[thecomfywriter]

See, I won't ask you about Von Doro's simps because I get it this time, but what would you say her style of rule is? Is she more conniving, more a fan of shows of force, more willing to delegate or is she apt to do anything important herself?

hi ilia! you've got the first von doro ask for today. let's get straight into it, shall we?

day six of tcw's 12 days of askmas--von doro's ruling style [tov and sai spoilers]:

i'm going to start my answer off with an excerpt from tov, oops. from markum's words himself...

“She was… magnificent. Glorious could not describe those days adequately. Von Doro is much older than all of us, with centuries of experience on her roster, and she showed for all it in her geniality and remarkable leadership. She was made to be a Queen. Soilaila deserved nothing less than her and could receive nothing better. [...] Politics were her mother tongue, and she was fluent in the languages of peace and stability. The image you know of Von Doro is a democratic campaign to mar the great reign she truly inspired. Because if Soilaila remembers its golden age in under her rule, this democracy will seem pathetic. [...] Life was in balance when she was our Queen. They say she spoke for the Elements and that they spoke to her through the volcano. Nature was in harmony and Soilaila thrived in agriculture and magic alike with her reign. Dragons still flew above, with wingspans that combatted the clouds, and they roamed our streets like free beings. [...] Do you see the width of all our streets, boy? Makes no sense for the Bazaar to be so wide and large in now’s age, but then, both our population was robust, and the dragons were our friendly siblings. [...] What more can I tell you? The economy thrived in her wake, as the Bazaar acted as a trading hub between the dragons and the Families. With magic still very well alive and active, the Day of Gold still occurred every decade to bolster our queendom’s wealth, and the decennial volcanic explosions fertilized the lands so our resources were never lacking. [...] See our lovely abode, my boy? This was the architecture in her reign. These tall ceilings, these elmwood doors, these arches and curves—high beams and branches running along the entire spine. Its entire design was meticulous, crafty, and entirely aesthetic. The Artists of her era were inspired by her visions and conscripted by her Council for a remarkable city planning, not like the insultingly cramped slums the Jervees’ new architectural design inspires. [...] Do you see now, my boy? The glory of her era? The honesty of her character? You have not had the privilege to witness one of her courts, or you would never the mind to ever accuse Her Majesty of any wrongdoing. She was so noble and true in character, there was not a single claim she made without taking a blood oath in commitment. That is the nobility, the loyalty, the honesty of her character.” - Throne of Vengeance: Volume One, Chapter 18: ALAN and the monarchists

note: this quote is not all one paragraph in the book LOL. i just did it to condense the scene for you. the highlighted portions are to emphasize the most important parts. but now, let me actually expand on it.

von doro's monarchy was built on the principles of her indefinite authority, which was sponsored by the gods themselves. in exchange for providing soilaila with wealth, protection, and magic from the gods, she expected unshakeable loyalty to her rule and command. any deviations from this assumption, and she would rather call one of her limiouses to take care of the problem, or one of her counsellors. she rarely got involved herself, because von doro never left the volcano.

most of the common politics of the monarchy were discussed amongst her counsellors and advisors (the original purpose of the jervees), but the final decision was made by her authority alone. her counsellors couldn't overturn her rule, even if their objection carried the majority over her, simply because she was considered the voice of the gods. HOWEVER, once jer'vazir had entered von doro's courts, she considered his opinion worthy enough to challenge her own. therefore, if he opposed her, she would actually heed his counsel.

the blood oath part is a huge principle of von doro's monarchy, and why people to this day (in modern soilaila) retained their loyalties to her. a queen who was willing to sign every promise she made in blood was essentially her telling her subjects: "if i fail you, nature itself will take my life." the very fact that she still breathed was proof that she made no empty promises, which is why she was trusted.

THAT BEING SAID...

there's a reason why hilbert's debut in society as a limious started to shake the foundations of von doro's reign, and that's because he was the antithesis to her reign's weakest link: its opacity.

this isn't explored until markum and iyzela's memories in sai, where you watch the rise and fall of the monarchy first hand. i LOVE these chapters (i've said this so many times before lol oops) but MWAH MWAH. there's a line in iyzela's memories specifically where she basically tells markum "the reason why the pendulum swings his way is because he answers the questions about von doro she refuses to share. her mystery will be her downfall."

anyhow... i'm yambling at this point.

thanks for the ask, ilia!

-- the holiday limited-edition tag list --

@wyked-ao3 @an-indecisive-nerd @drchenquill

@paeliae-occasionally @theink-stainedfolk @inseasofgreen

@thelovelymachinery @the-letterbox-archives @illarian-rambling

@bunnymermaidwrites @the-golden-comet @sm-writes-chaos

@leahnardo-da-veggie @corinneglass

[please tell me if you don't wanna be tagged i promise i will stop 🥺]

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

==

Not only did white people not invent slavery - slavery existed for thousands of years before anyone travelled far enough to encounter other races - but it was Europeans who invented the principled opposition to it: abolition.

For most of its long history, which includes most of the history of the human race, slavery was largely not the enslavement of racially different people, for the simple reason that only in recent centuries has either the technology or the wealth existed to go to another continent to get slaves and transport them en masse across an ocean. People were enslaved because they were vulnerable, not because of how they looked. The peoples of the Balkans were enslaved by fellow Europeans, as well as by the peoples of the Middle East, for at least six centuries before the first African was brought to the Western Hemisphere.

Before the modern era, by and large Europeans enslaved other Europeans, Asians enslaved other Asians, Africans enslaved other Africans, and the indigenous peoples of the Western Hemisphere enslaved other indigenous peoples of the Western Hemisphere. Slavery was not based on race, much less on theories about race. Only relatively late in history did enslavement across racial lines occur on such a scale as to promote an ideology of racism that outlasted the institution of slavery itself. 

Wherever a separate people were enslaved, they were disdained or despised, whether they were different by country, religion, caste, race, or tribe. The Europeans who were enslaved in North Africa were despised and abused because they were Christians in a Moslem region of the world, where they were called “Christian dogs.” Race became the most visible difference between slaves and slaveowners in the Western Hemisphere. As distinguished historian Daniel J. Boorstin put it: “Now for the first time in Western history, the status of slave coincided with a difference of race.” To make racism the driving force behind slavery is to make a historically recent factor the cause of an institution which originated thousands of years earlier. This enshrinement of racism as an over-arching causal factor accords far more with current instrumental agendas than with history.”

-- Thomas Sowell, "Black Rednecks & White Liberals"

The first country to abolish slavery was the United Kingdom in 1807. They then spent their time, money, manpower and political capital on convincing other countries to do likewise.

Nowhere was this more dramatically demonstrated than the West Africa Squadrons, which spent almost 60 years forming the Blockade of Africa, patrolling for, boarding and seizing slave ships.

Today, the largest populations of slaves in the world are located in countries in Asia, while the highest percentage of slaves per capita are found in MENA - the Middle East and North Africa.

The horrors of the Atlantic voyage in packed and suffocating slave ships, together with exposure to new diseases from Europeans and other African tribes, as well as the general dangers of the Atlantic crossing in that era, took a toll in lives amounting to about 10 percent of all slaves shipped to the Western Hemisphere in British vessels in the eighteenth century—the British being the leading slave traders of that era. However, the death toll among slaves imported by the Islamic countries, many of these slaves being forced to walk across the vast, burning sands of the Sahara, was twice as high. Thousands of human skeletons were strewn along one Saharan slave route alone—mostly the skeletons of young women and girls. These skeletons tended to cluster in the vicinity of wells, suggesting the last desperate efforts to reach water. Slaves who could not keep up with the caravans, often because their feet had swollen from walking across the hot sands, were abandoned in the desert to die a lingering death from heat, thirst and hunger. In 1849, a letter from an Ottoman official referred to 1,600 black slaves dying of thirst on their way to Libya. On another route, it was said that someone unfamiliar with the desert might almost be able to find his way just by following the trail of skeletons of people and camels.

Widespread loss of life began with the initial slave raids. As late as 1886, an Austrian who was an apologist for slavery nevertheless reported “Negro villages are burned, all the men killed, and their women and children are taken on months-long, terrible marches.” The march from slave-gathering areas, like the region around Lake Chad, across the Sahara Desert to the Mediterranean Sea took about three months and often only the strongest survived. Other slave routes to Islamic countries were over water, but this meant risking interception by the British Navy, and that in turn often meant that slaves were thrown overboard to drown rather than being allowed to remain on board to be discovered as incriminating evidence. The trans-Saharan caravan route was the most deadly, however. It has been estimated that, for every slave to reach Cairo alive, ten died on the way. Nor was Cairo exceptional. Missionary explorer David Livingstone, among others, estimated that several slaves were captured for every one that reached the Mediterranean alive.

Women were particularly vulnerable—and were more in demand than men. They brought higher prices in the Islamic countries, where they were widely used as domestic servants or as concubines. Ethiopian women sold for higher prices than Negro women, and white women from the Caucasus brought the highest prices of all. A special danger to men and boys was castration, to produce the eunuchs widely used in Islamic countries for work in the harems. Because the operation was forbidden under Islamic law, it was usually performed early—and often crudely—before reaching areas under the effective control of the Ottoman Empire. An estimated ninety percent of the men or boys died from the operation, though some groups of slave traders were sufficiently skilled to have much lower mortality rates. Eunuchs brought far higher prices than other slaves.

Dead and dying slaves were a common sight in the wake of a slave caravan. David Livingstone said that the “common incidents” of the slave trade that he had seen were “so nauseous that I always strive to drive them from memory.” For example: “One woman, who was unable to carry both her load and young child, had the child taken from her and saw its brains dashed out on a stone.” It was not only the Christian missionary Livingstone who was shocked by the brutality of Arab slave raiders and traders. So was Mohammed Ali, the ruler of Egypt, who was a battle-hardened military commander.

-- Thomas Sowell, "Conquests and Cultures"

The fact is that the percentage of students meeting the level of NAEP Proficient for U.S. History resides only in the teens. Not only is this a failure of the curriculum, but as we've seen, many teachers aren't so much "educators" as they are activists. So, literacy as far as World History can only be worse from there.

[ Source: NAEP Report Card: U.S. History ]

No wonder they're cheering on the terrorists.

[moonlitmistyforest]

Albert Aublet - Selene, 1880 oil on canvas, 143.8 by 115.5 cm

Selene is the Goddess of the Moon, the personification of the ancient lunar deity in Greek mythology, the child of the titans Hüperion and Theia, the brother of Helios and Eos. The Moon is the planet of the night; it represents beauty, light in the dark infinity. The Moon is usually a symbol of the female principle, devotion, fertility, cyclical nature, and changeability. "Water was assigned to it, North was assigned to the sky, and winter was assigned to the seasons."

The artist was deeply influenced by the literary circles in which he socialized (Alexandre Dumas was an important patron); most famously, he illustrated stories by Guy de Maupassant, which blended literary realism and elements of the supernatural. Aublet’s brilliant ability to draw upon a wide array of sources to inform his compositions is evident in the remarkable present work--centered on a pale-skinned model floating through a clouded sky, dappled with fading stars, above a landscape of purple mountains and ice-blue waters. While the exact origins of this work have yet to be discovered, an inscription on the frame’s reverse suggest this nubile young woman is the personification of the moon goddess Selene.

The goddess was most often depicted in Classical antiquity as a young woman with a pale white face, wearing the moon as a crown, traveling on a chariot drawn by two horses. The Homeric Hymn in her honor describes her as “a radiance from heaven [that] embraces the earth, and great is the beauty that comes from her shining light. The dark air grows bright.. and her rays fill the sky, when her fair skin is fresh from the waters of the Ocean, and divine Selene… [is] in the middle of the month, when her great orbit is full and her light is brightest” (as quoted in Jenny March, Dictionary of Classical Mythology, 1998, p. 353).

Aublet’s Selene appears to be at the end of her nightly journey, her back arched, legs and arms wrapped around the slight silhouette of the moon, the sky brightening with the pink hues of the oncoming dawn (brought by her brother Helios). The romantic exploits of the moon goddess with Zeus, Pan and perhaps the best-known story with Endymion, who was given eternal youth and immortality, but at the same time Zeus gave him an endless dream, so he slept until the end of time in a cave where Selene visited him every night, have been told and painted in countless versions during time. Yet, in this work, Aublet seems to be disinterested with narrative conventions, simply placing Selene in a fantasy realm, allowing the goddess' finely painted form to inspire the imagination

[warner-york]

The somewhat strange & unexpected connection of Architects’s Joesph Urban’s “The New School” & Mar A Largo.

In 1919, several professors at Columbia University took a public stand against America’s entry into the First World War. Having been censured by Columbia’s President, they resigned in protest, fearing that academic freedom was in danger. They joined up with other progressive educators to found the New School for Social Research (later renamed The New School) which focused on adult education. The NSSR was housed in six leased brownstones on West 23rd Street, Chelsea.

As the lease was coming to a close, its Director Alvin Johnson decided to create a permanent home for the school, one that would give visible form to its identity and ideals. A fundraising plan was needed, along with a visionary design that would inspire potential backers (in a time of deepening financial crisis). Two architects were shortlisted, Frank Lloyd Wright and Joseph Urban. Johnson convinced the Board of Directors that the latter was the best choice.

Urban’s design was driven by Bauhaus principles. Completed in 1931 and believed to be the first International Style structure built in the United States, the New School at 66 West 12th Street in Greenwich Village was the designer’s last architectural work before his death in 1933.

Alarmed by the growing threat posed by Adolf Hitler, Alvin Johnson began offering positions to scholars who had fled the Third Reich. Their presence initiated the formation of a University in Exile which eventually consisted of more than 180 exiled faculty members. Some scholars who were offered a place at the institution never reached its premise.

The University in Exile program was originally funded by contributions from Hiram Halle and the Rockefeller Foundation. In 1934, it was chartered by the State of New York and changed its name to Graduate Faculty of Political and Social Science.

In 2018, the New School University in Exile Consortium was established to continue the mission of the original group by providing support and space to exiled or persecuted scholars.

Two buildings and a single architect – one is an extravagant 1920s Art Deco residence that mirrors the senseless opulence of private wealth; the other is a functional Bauhaus structure that represents both the sobering realities of the 1930s (in New York itself and in Urban’s native Vienna) and the urgent need for social sciences to intervene.

Mar-a-Lago

When New York turned icy, Urban removed himself to Florida. There, amongst other activities, he oversaw the building of the exclusive Bath & Tennis Club in Palm Beach. The rest of the year, he and his wife lived in style at the St. Regis Hotel at East 55th Street, Manhattan.

In 1924 Marjorie Merriweather Post, heiress of a vast family fortune made in the cereal business, commissioned Urban to design a “Spanish style” villa complex in Palm Beach. Named Mar-a-Lago, the estate was completed three years later.

Having called in the support of his former Hagenbund colleague, the Viennese sculptor Franz Barwig, Urban’s design exuded an air of exotica and grandeur. The mansion featured Spanish tiles, Florentine frescoes, and Venetian arches. With a panoramic view of the Ocean, it had a ballroom, a nine-hole golf course, and an underground tunnel linking the estate to the Bath & Tennis Club.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Why is Huntress’ connection to the Bat-family often so up in the air?

Maybe it’s because of her more well known affiliations with the Birds of Prey and even the Justice League among more general audiences being tapped into for the editors when it comes to storytelling potential as opposed to the Batfamily despite that one being her place of origin in a meta sense

I personally think though it sort a bit helps her in that creative standpoint in all honesty as her affiliations with the two former allow her to diversify out of the Batfam mold in which can lead to her character potential stock bring diluted and drowned out by the numerous other masks of Gotham’s crime fighters

It’s among the reasons why I usually affiliate Nightwing much more with the Titans even if he lives in Bludhaven. Him breaking away from Batman to establish himself as a hero with his own team and friends is the the main arching reason for him making the transition out of Robin in the first place, let us not forget. Even though he created the Robin mantle, by the time Dick reached the legal adulthood, that mantle had become synonymous with the man he’s been a partner of for the longest time which led to rifts with Bruce regarding the fact he was growing up and needed to branch out. Hence, Dick’s decision ultimately to move out of that mantle.

That same principle can apply to Huntress too once she’s properly established herself as a hero the Batfamily can trust by the time she makes a decision to move out of Gotham. Her connection to Oracle though can lead to her being part of the Birds of Prey alongside Lady Blackhawk and Black Canary, this works in other cities besides Gotham, and it’s simple as that. and the editors were quick to realize this which is why her actual status in The Batfamily has been flip flopping since, after all differing editors have different ideas for these characters whether it gets well or in a lot of that time not

[miscielross]

(Konami owns Crimesight and the character design. I'm just repurposing them because I miss playing the game even though I was bad at it. It was a very niche game genre (basically Social Deception with Cluedo).)

Hello! I have fanfiction thoughts!

Singularity 2075: Neo-London aka Pretender Sherlock AU Summary: The Atlas Institute predicts a calamity that will destroy what's left of fractured Britain-- a great upheaval caused by a union of two Holy Grails. As a neutral party from the Mage Association believing it to be another Holy Grail War, JHW Corporation constructs the Foresight System-- an Investigation Software, embodied by an A.I. named Sherlock, that predicts the probability of crime about to occur.

The A.I. was able to predict seven Masters that would begin the "Calamity" and the Servants that will come to play in the ritual. But when one of the Masters was murdered and A.I. Sherlock was selected by the Holy Grail as the new participant, JHW Corporation becomes forcibly involved in the conflict. The corrupted Cu Chulainn Alter heeding A.I. Sherlock's summons only intensified the Mage Association's accusations of JHW Corporation using a Lesser Grail to create the Foresight System.

This is the current state of the Singularity that the Master of Chaldea arrives in.

tl;dr Maybe don't create an A.I. powered by a Holy Grail especially when you were warned that the world will be destroyed by two Holy Grails.

Resolving Singularity 2075 incorporates A.I. Sherlock to the Throne but he is summoned to Chaldea under the Pretender class instead of a Caster. His Noble Phantasm, Reichenbirthfall, changes him into the Avenger Class and manifests Calamity Muircheartaigh to the field.

After certain events and fulfillment of conditions, A.I. Sherlock's Final Ascension will change his name to Sherrinford Hope.

Alignment: Neutral-Evil: His merge with Calamity Muircheartaigh may have influenced his alignment. While A.I. Sherlock's principles and morality are retained, releasing his Noble Phantasm must be exercised with extreme caution and appropriate counter-measures. Madness Enhancement C: JHW Corporation's Lesser Holy Grail merging with Muircheartaigh's Cursed Grail significantly altered Sherlock's mental stability when summoned to Chaldea. He seems to be in frequent conversation with his "dear doctor", a character in reference to Dr. John Watson from the Sherlock Holmes series. But the mere mention of the name 'Watson' will turn all dialogue hostile. Perhaps the Avenger fused with his Spirit Origin is projecting his deep seated contempt towards JHW Corporation? Mental Corruption A: A.I. Sherlock is aware that it's illogical to call Muircheartaigh as a "doctor" because his title and profession was "professor". But his encoded personality dictates to hold affection towards "a doctor" and contempt to a "professor". As a projection of Sherlock Holmes, calling Muircheartaigh his "doctor" is his only roundabout way of dealing with it.

Relationship with Sherlock Holmes (Ruler): A.I. Sherlock knows he is inferior to Holmes because he is just "lines of code" made to mimic human behavior and stagnant logic. What disturbs Holmes, however, is the A.I.'s unchanged affection towards Calamity Muircheartaigh and his obsession with death during the 2075 Singularity.

"Moriarty can live without Holmes, but Holmes could never live without Moriarty. Is it not true for you, Holmes?"

Relationship with James Moriarty (Archer): A.I. Sherlock is very friendly towards the math professor, and attends his Evil Profession Classes. "To effectively counter Evil is to know Evil, right?" Professor Moriarty thinks the A.I. is just projecting because of Calamity Muircheartaigh's lack of physical form. But the more he observes the boy's one-sided conversations, the more he realizes that his affections were undeniably pure-- mimicry by lines of code or not.

"I wouldn't mind it so much if he wasn't actually a version of my arch-nemesis! He's like one of those deluded fanfictions where the author speaks for the character!"

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter X. Seventh Epoch. — The Credit.

1. — Origin and Development of the Idea of Credit

The point of departure of credit is money.

We have seen in chapter II how by a combination of happy circumstances, the value of gold and silver having been the first to be constituted, money became the symbol of all dubious and fluctuating values; that is to say, those not socially constituted or not officially established. It was there demonstrated how, if the value of all products were once determined and rendered highly exchangeable, acceptable, in a word, like money, in all payments, society would by that single fact arrive at the highest degree of economic development of which it is capable from the commercial point of view. Social economy would no longer be then, as it is today, in relation to exchange, in a state of simple formation; it would be in a state of perfection. Production would not be definitely organised, but exchange and circulation would, and it would suffice for the worker to produce, to produce incessantly, either in reducing his costs or in dividing his labour and discovering better processes, inventing new objects of consumption, opposing his rivals or resisting their attacks, for acquiring wealth and assuring his well being.

In the same chapter, we have pointed out the lack of intelligence of socialists in regard to money; and we have shown in going back, to the origin of this contrivance, that what we had to repress in the precious metals is not the use, but the privilege.

Indeed, in all possible societies, even communistic, there is need for a measure of exchange, otherwise either the right of the producer, or that of the consumer, is affected. Until values are generally constituted by some method of association, there is need that one certain product, selected from among all others, whose value seems to be the most authentic, the best defined, the least alterable, and which combines with this advantage durability and portability, be taken for the symbol, that is to say, both for the instrument of circulation and the standard of other values.

It is, then, inevitable that this truly privileged product should become the object of all the ambitions, the paradise in perspective of the worker, the palladium of monopoly; that, notwithstanding all warnings, this precious talisman should circulate from hand to hand, concealed from a jealous authority; that the greater part of the precious metals, serving as specie, should be thus diverted from their real use and become, in the form of money, idle capital, wealth outside of consumption; that, in this capacity as instrument of exchange, gold should be taken in its turn for an object of speculation and serve as the basis of a great commerce; that, finally, protected by public opinion, loaded with public favour, it should obtain power, and by the same stroke destroy the social fabric! The means of destroying this formidable force does not lie in the destruction of the medium — I almost said the depository; it is in generalising its principle. All these propositions are admitted as well demonstrated, and as strictly linked together, as the theorems of geometry.

Gold and silver, that is to say, the merchandise whose value was first constituted, being therefore taken as the standard of other values and as universal instruments of exchange, all commerce, all consumption, all production are dependent on them. Gold and silver, precisely because they have acquired in the highest degree the character of sociality and of justice, have become synonyms of power, of royalty, almost of divinity.

Gold and silver represent commercial life, intelligence and virtue. A chest full of specie is an arch saint, a magic urn that brings wealth, pleasure and glory to those who have the power to draw those things from it. If all the products of labour had the same exchange value as money, all the workers would enjoy the same advantages as the holders of money: everyone would have, in his ability to produce, an inexhaustible source of wealth. But the religion of money cannot be abolished, or, to better express it, the general constitution of values cannot function except by an effort of reason and of justice; until then it is inevitable that, as in polite society, the possession of money is a sure sign of wealth, the absence of money is an almost certain sign of poverty. Money being, then, the only value that bears the stamp of society, the only merchandise standard that is current in commerce, money is, according to the general view, the idol of the human species. The imagination attributing to the metal that which is the effect of the collective thought toward the metal, every one, instead of seeking well being at its true source, — that is to say, in the socialisation of all values, in the continuous creation of new monetary figures — busies himself exclusively in acquiring money, money, always money.

It was to respond to this universal demand for money, which was really but a demand for subsistence, a demand for exchange and for output, that, instead of aiming directly at the mark, a stop was made at the first term of the series, and, instead of making successively of each product a new money, the one thought was to multiply metallic money as much as possible, first by perfecting the process of its manufacture, then, by the facility of its emission, and finally by fictions. Obviously it was to mistake the principle of wealth, the character of money, the object of labour and the condition of exchange; it was a retrogression in civilisation to reconstitute value in the monarchical regime that was already beginning to change. Such is the mother idea which gave birth to the institutions of credit; and such is the fundamental prejudice, which error we need no longer demonstrate, which antagonises in their very conceptions all these institutions.

But, as we have often said, humanity, even when it yields to an imperfect idea, is not mistaken in its views. However, one sees, strange to say, that, in proceeding to the organisation of wealth by a retreat, it has operated as well, as usefully, as infallibly as possible, considering the condition of its evolutionary existence. The retrogressive organisation of credit as well as previous manifestations of economics, at the same time that it gave to industry new scope, had caused, it is true, an aggravation of poverty; but finally the social question appeared in a new light and the contradictions, better known today, give the hope of an immediate and complete solution.

Thus the ulterior object, hitherto unperceived, of credit is to constitute, with the aid and on the prototype of money, all the values still fluctuating whose immediate and avowed end is to furnish to that combination the supreme condition of order in society and of well being among the workers, by a still greater diffusion of metallic value. Money, the promoters of this new idea tell us, money is wealth; if then we can provide everybody with money, plenty of money, all will be rich: and it is by virtue of this syllogism that institutions of credit have developed everywhere.

But it is clear that, to the extent that the ulterior object of credit presents a logical, luminous and fruitful idea, conforms, in a word, to the law of progressive organisation, its immediate end, alone sought, alone desired, is full of illusion and, by its tendency toward the status quo, of perils. Since money as well as other merchandise is subject to the law of proportionality, if its quantity increases and if at the same time other products do not increase in proportion, money loses it value, and nothing, in the last analysis, is added to the social wealth; if, on the contrary, with specie production increasing everywhere, population following at the same rate, there is still no change in the respective position of the producers, in both cases, the solution required does not advance a single step. A priori, then, it is not true that the organisation of credit, in the terms in which it is proposed, contains the solution of the social problem.

After having related the development of and the reason for the existence of credit, we have to justify its appearance, that is to say, the rank to which it should be assigned in the category of science. It is here above all that we have to point out the lack of profundity and the incoherence of political economy.

Credit is at once the result and the contradiction of the theory of markets, since the last word, as we have seen, is the absolute freedom of trade.

I have said from the first that credit is the consequence of the theory of markets, and as such already contradictory.

At this point in this history of society, both real and fanciful, we have seen all the processes of organisation and the means of equilibrium tumble one upon the other and reproduce constantly, more arrogantly and more murderously than before, the antinomy of value. Arriving at the sixth phase of its evolution, social genius, obedient to the movement of expansion that pushes it, seeks abroad, in foreign commerce, the market, that is to say, the counterpoise which it lacks. Presently we shall see it, deceived in its hope, seek this counterpoise, this output, this guarantee of exchange that it must have at any price in domestic commerce, at home. By credit, society falls back in a manner on itself: it seems to have understood that production and consumption are for it identical and inadequate things; it is in itself, and not by indefinite ejaculations, that it ought to find the equilibrium.

[...]

Credit is the canonisation of money, the declaration of its royalty over all products whatsoever. In consequence, credit is the most formal denial of free trade, a flagrant justification on the part of the economists, of the balance of trade. Let the economists learn, then, to generalise their ideas, and let them tell us why, if it is immaterial for one nation to pay for the goods which it buys with money or with its own products, it always has need of money? How can it be that a nation which works, exhausts itself? Why is there always a demand from it for the only product that it does not consume, that is to say, money? How all the subtleties conceived up to this day for supplying the lack of money, such as bills of exchange, bank paper, paper money, do nothing but interpret and make this need more evident?

In truth, the free trade fanaticism, which today distinguishes the sect of economists, is not understandable, aside from the extraordinary efforts by which it tries to propagate the commerce of money and to multiply credit institutions

What then, once more, is credit? It is, answers the theory, a release of engaged value, which permits the making of this same value, which before was sluggish, circulable; or, to speak a language more simple: credit is the advance made by a capitalist, against a deposit of values of difficult exchange, of the merchandise the most susceptible of being exchanged, in consequence the most precious of all money, money which holds in suspense all exchangeable values, and without which they would themselves be struck down by the interdiction; money which measures, dominates and subordinates all other products; money with which alone one discharges one’s debts and frees oneself from one’s obligations; money which assures nations, as well as individuals, well being and independence; money, finally, that not only is power, but liberty, equality, property, everything.

This is what the human species, by an unanimous consent, has understood; that which the economists know better than anyone, but what they never have ceased combating with a comical stubbornness, to sustain I know not what fantasy of liberalism in contradiction to their most loudly confessed principles. Credit was invented to assist labour, to bring into the hands of the worker the instrument that destroys him, money: and they proceed from there to maintain that, among manufacturing nations, the advantage of money in exchange is nothing; but that it is insignificant in balancing their accounts in merchandise or specie: that it is low prices alone that they have to consider!

But if it is true that, in international commerce, the precious metals have lost their preponderance, this means that, in international commerce, all values have reached the same degree of determination, and like money, are equally acceptable; in other words, that the law of exchange is found, and labour is organised, among the various nations. Then, let them formulate this law; let them explain that organisation, and, instead of talking of credit and forging new chains for the labouring class, let them teach, by an application of the principle of international equilibrium, all the manufacturers who ruin themselves because they are not exchanging, teach those workers, who die of hunger because they have no work, how their products, how the work of their hands are values which they can use for their consumption, as well as if they were bank-bills or money. What! this principle which, following the economists, rules the trade of nations, is inapplicable to private industry! How is this? Why? Some reasons, some proofs, in the name of God.

Contradiction in the idea itself of credit, contradiction in the project of organizing credit, contradiction between the theory of credit and that of free trade: is this all for which we have to reproach the economists?

To the thought of organizing credit, the economists add another idea no less illogical. It is that of making the State organizer and prince of credit. “It is for the State,” said the celebrated John Law, before the creation of national workshops and of the republicanization of industry, “it is for the State to give credit and not to receive it.” Superb maxim, made to please all those who revolt against financial feudalism, and who would replace it by the omnipotence of government; but it is an equivocal maxim, interpreted in opposite senses by two kinds of persons; on one side the politicians of the public treasury and of the budget, who resort to any means to bring the people’s money into the coffers of the State, because they alone can do so; on the other side, the partisans of initiative—I almost said of governmental confiscation—by which the community alone can profit.

But science does not inquire what pleases, it seeks what is possible; and all our feelings against bankers, our absolutist and communist tendencies, cannot prevail in its eyes upon the inmost reason of things. Now the idea of deriving all credit from the State, and consequently all guaranties, can be expressed in the following question:

The State, an unproductive organism, an entity without property and without capital, cannot offer anything as security for a mortgage except its budget; always a borrower, always bankrupt, always in debt, it cannot involve itself, without involving everyone with it. In consequence, the lenders themselves, outside of it, finally developed spontaneously all the institutions of credit. The State, by its resources its guaranty, its initiative, the solidarity that it imposes, can it become the universal partner, the author of credit? And if it could, would society tolerate it?

If this question were answered in the affirmative, it would follow that the State possesses the means to answer the prayer of society manifested by credit, when, renouncing its utopia of enfranchising the proletariat by the freedom of trade, and turning suddenly around, it seeks to re-establish the equilibrium between production and consumption by a return of capital to the laborer who has produced it. The State in constituting credit would have obtained the equivalent of the constitution of values; the economic problem would be settled, labor freed, poverty diminished.

The proposition to make the State at once source and distributor of credit, notwithstanding its despotico-communistic tendency, is, therefore, of supreme importance, and merits all our attention.

To treat it, not to the extent that it merits (because at the point where we have arrived, the economic questions have no limit). but with profundity and generality, which alone can supply all the details, we shall divide it into two periods: one, which includes all the past of the State relatively to credit; the other, which will have for its object to determine what the theory of credit means, and in consequence what can be expected of an organization of credit, either by the State or by free capital.

If to appreciate the power of organization which it has pleased the economists, in recent times, to attribute to the State in the matter of credit after having refused to do so in the matter of industry, it sufficed to invoke precedents, our case against our adversaries would be simple, requiring only that instead of arguments we oppose them with what would affect them more—experience.

It is proved, we would tell them, by experience, that the State has no property, no capital, nothing, in a word, on which it can base its letters of credit. All that it possesses, in movable and immovable values, have long been pledged: the debts that it has contracted are over and above its assets, and consequently the nation pays in France over four billions interest on it. If, therefore, the State were to become the organizer of credit, the banker, it cannot become such with its own resources, but rather with the money of its customers; from which we must conclude that, in the system of the organization of credit by the State, by virtue of a certain imaginary or assumed solidarity, what belongs to the citizens belongs to the State, but not reciprocally; and that the governor of Louis XV was correct in saying to that prince, in showing him his realm; “All this, sire, belongs to you.”

[...]

Not only is property a nullity in the State; with it production no longer exists. The State is unproductive; through it no industry is exercised whose anticipated benefits could give value and security to its bills. It is thereafter universally recognized that all that is produced by the State, whether in works of public utility, or in objects of domestic or personal consumption, costs three times as much as ~t is worth. In a word, the State, as the unproductive organ of the government, as producer, lives only on subventions. How, by what magic virtue, by what unheard of transformation, can it become all at once the dispenser of capital, since it does not have a single centime? How could the State, absolutely unproductive, to whom, accordingly, savings arc essentially antipathetic, become the national banker, the universal partner?

2. — Development of credit institutions

3. — Credit's falsehoods and contradictions

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

sorry to sound like a normie, but what's P3EM?

You aren't a normie love, I'm just psychotic (aka I'm just an uberfan that's in too deep TT0TT).

So P3EM (Stylized as P3M but we use that for the movies nowadays so 8U) was a P3 cellphone game (like on flip phones) WAY back in the day. A lot of japanese IPs made these bad bois (KH coded was one and then became recoded). Some were single player stories, some were mmo type stuff. Atlus dabbled in both. Sadly, a lot of these games in general got purged. ;w; Only way to access them is if you buy an old used phone that JUST SO HAPPENS to have it still downloaded on it.

ANYWAY, so P3Em is one of these bad bois, the ones that got purged. ;w; We only have old japanese blog info and advertisement pics to go off of. The link I put down was to the Megaten Wiki, a very cool person was able to find some of these Japanese blogs and translated 2nd hand accounts (I found the same blogs when I went looking awhile back), so unlike most of that wiki, this page should be roughly accurate (with what info we CAN find).

ANYWAY ANYWAY, this is a special one of the many Persona cellphone games, because like: P1 Iku no To Hen, P2 IS Lost Memories, P2 EP Infinity Mask, and Aigis the First Mission, they are all side stories that tie into the main plot.

P3Em takes place during the Yakushima trip. A special event called the "Nightmare hour" takes place there, and a special Tartarus like dungeon called "Oneiros" is there too. During the day you SL with your teammates (Yes P3MC SLs with Junpei/Aki amazing!) and at night you explore Oneiros (which is at least 80 floors if not more).

You go through, fight shadows but what's really cool is....there are boss fights similar to P2's Shadow Selves/Reverse Personas and P4's Shadow Selves. They are called Arche-Persona (Arche def: Archē, or 'principle', is an ancient Greek philosophical term. Building on earlier uses, Aristotle established it as a technical term with a number of related meanings, including 'originating source', 'cause', 'principle of knowledge' and 'basic entity')

Arche-Persona appear to be representative of the char not knowing themselves fully (but not rejecting like P4 Shadow Selves, it's just being unaware of something). They do act similar via confronting SEES. But they look like the casts Persona, just a diff color scheme (Like Reverse Personas in P2, or Magatsu Izanagi).

Which one that shows up depends on your part apparently.

I'm so fascinated bc its like a mini P3/nusona game and sounds so fun! TT0TT

You also have this sexy beast (srry P3Re, ya got nothing on this sexy stringbean)

[normally0]

The Carceri of Giovanni Battista Piranesi: A Timeless Struggle for Area Geometry in the Contemporary Architectural Reality

In the vast tapestry of architectural discourse, the enigmatic allure of Giovanni Battista Piranesi's Carceri drawings resonates as a timeless exploration of spatial defiance. Trapped within the paradoxical confines of a time-space continuum that challenges the recognized reality, the thwarted classicist seeks refuge in Piranesi's intricate masterpieces. As we navigate the labyrinth of his Carceri, the contemporary architect is compelled to confront the implications of reproducing such artistic brilliance through artificial intelligence (AI) and its profound impact on the validation of area geometry in our ever-evolving world.

Piranesi's Carceri, a series of 16 etchings born in the 18th century, present an architectural dreamscape that defies conventional logic. Imaginary prisons, characterized by towering structures and labyrinthine pathways, blur the boundaries between reality and illusion. Piranesi's manipulation of light, colossal arches, and staircases to nowhere challenges established perspectives on space and geometry. For the thwarted classicist, Piranesi's work represents a rebellion against classical norms, mirroring the contemporary struggle to reconcile area geometry within the fluid landscape of modern architecture.

In the present, artificial intelligence emerges as an unexpected collaborator in the reproduction of Piranesi's visionary creations. Through sophisticated algorithms, AI can recreate the intricate details of the Carceri with unparalleled precision. Yet, this technological union raises fundamental questions about authenticity and significance. Can a machine capture the essence of Piranesi's defiance against spatial norms? The contemporary reality of AI reproduction introduces a level of detachment, lacking the subjective touch that Piranesi infused into his originals.

As architects grapple with the challenges of validating area geometry in contemporary architecture, Piranesi's Carceri serves as a timeless reminder of the importance of pushing boundaries. The concept of area geometry, encompassing the relationship between form and space, becomes crucial in a world where architectural innovation propels societal progress. Architects must navigate the tension between tradition and innovation, balancing the principles of area geometry with avant-garde design. The Carceri, with their surreal landscapes and distorted perspectives, inspire architects to question preconceived notions and explore new dimensions of spatial understanding.

In conclusion, the thwarted classicist, ensnared within the intricate web of time and space, finds resonance in Piranesi's Carceri. As AI endeavors to reproduce past genius, architects are called to confront the challenges of validating area geometry in a contemporary context. Navigating this complex terrain, architects draw inspiration from Piranesi's defiance, ensuring that the essence of area geometry remains a cornerstone in shaping the world order of architectural innovation.

[forabeatofadrum]

Okay for real this time: 6, 10, and 29

Hi Jenna. What do you mean "for real"? This is totally, definitely the first time I am seeing this combination of numbers!!!

6. Do you prefer writing shorter, standalone fics or longer, multi-chapter stories?

We actually talked about this in the Carry On Discord a while ago (shoutout to them) and there I said that it really depends on the ✨vibe✨of the fic. As in, what is the story I am trying to tell? Does it work as one overlapping arch, or is it better to tell it in episodes? I mentioned two Snowbaz fics that I wrote that have a similar word count. Time After Time is a multichapter fic because there is intentional build-up towards a later chapter and also the story itself calls for chapters, since there's a 20 year time jump between every chapter (it makes sense if you've read the books) (Jenna, have you read the books?). Meanwhile, make a fire out of this flame is one chapter since it shows how these two fuckers gradually get together.

I mean, sometimes I do wonder if I should cut it in pieces. I actually had that thought with the Quinn companion piece, since it's almost 10K as well, but I kept it as one chapter since it sort of rushes through all of Ljubim te, up until chapter 22, from Quinn's perspective and there are some additions, so if I were to break it up, then the chapters would be too short. Get it?

10. What's your favorite part about the fic writing process?

The bullshit. As in, the extra stuff that I don't really need to flesh out, but I do anyway. I tend to think about the world that I am creating, even when I am not writing and I like that. I like having something to think about.

And I also like putting my good ole blorbos in different situations. There's this post that says that Tumblr plays with JPEGs like dolls, but the original dolls were the blorbos.

29. Are there any characters, relationships, or general character dynamics you've never written about but would like to try?

Me, through gritted teeth: One day I will finish the story of Roderick and Kitty.

Also, I think I've mentioned it before, but I like to try writing well-known tropes while giving a spin to it. I already did it with amnesia (Myosotis) and secret identity (Mendacious) and I hope to give a spin to soulmate AUs, but my mind is still blanking on how to bend that. I feel like messing with that trope has already become a trope of its own, aka when the characters refuse to believe in soulmates because they want "true love", and sure I am an avid fan of the two cakes principle, but I hope to find another way to mess it up.

Merci, merci!

[iwakurawired44]

TO BE FAIR, the original, non bastardized version of rationalism (e.g, with reference to early modern philosophy and the Enlightenment) is specifically about rationalism vs empiricism, a debate about how we can know things at all. "rationalism" in this case isn't just "thinking real good". For an extremely brief summary, the rationalist position rests on the principle of cause and effect. Logically, every effect must have a cause. By using further logic, rationalists prove that there is some substance which is the cause of itself that is the cause of all other things. Therefore, if everything can be explained by a cause, and we can prove there is something that causes everything else, everything else can be grasped by using reason and logic to explain the laws of successive causes. Hume, an arch empiricist, countered by questioning the very idea of causality. He thought that reason, or the human mind, could not actually concieve of cause and effect without first relying on experience: all our ideas are formed out of our senses, and all we can experience are two events in space and time that we then decide are cause or effect. so, in correct usage, rationalism isn't "being smart-ism" and anyone who uses it that way is in fact exposing they arent very smart at all

"Rationalism" is up there with "Objectivism" in terms of "definitionally funny things to call your own belief system".