#his father his father's father his f... being repeated audio

[copia]

delighted though i am for ghost's growing success i'm keeping my fingers crossed for an obviously low-budget ghovie like the chapters before it. because the papa nihil darth vader breathing and seestor's car crash montage and the shitty nihil ghost effects and copia living in the hall outside a bathroom with no door etc all add a certain je ne sais quoi

[msfett]

Chapter 6: This Side of Ultraviolet 

Boba Fett x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW Explicit 18+ Only

C/W: Explicit Sexual Content, Rough!Angry!Hate Sex, Breathplay, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

Some Stuff 😊 Alright y'all! Here we go! The smutty, naughty filth starts here (and will likely make appearances in every future chapter, cuz that can of worms just exploded). Always consensual. Let's have some freakin fun! 😁

To a certain extent, I've tried to remain relatively Canon compliant. That being said, I wrote this chapter prior to the release of the last 2 episodes of The Bad Batch. So, whoopsies! It's all fantasy anyway ☺️ For all the wonderful people who have been going down the rabbit hole with me or for any newcomers to this twisty tale, I’m so incredibly glad you’re here! If you prefer AO3 (msfett_ifyourenasty), this series is cross-posted there. If you’re enjoying this fic, I'd love to hear from you, and please feel free to reblog and share 💕

🎶 Musical Motivation/Lyrical Inspiration: Beggin For Thread by BANKS

**********************

The small craft has a poor quality long-range transmitter, the audio garbled on both ends as you input the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace.

“Repeat, affirmative. Put a leash on the Dogs, 315. Over.”

“I don’t agree with this. You are in a dangerous position. That bounty hunter needs to be eliminated. Everything you’ve worked so hard for will be compromised if you ask me to call them off. What gives you the impression you can trust a man like this? Money is all he cares about. His loyalty is bought and sold to the highest bidder. And you, my dear, are a priceless gem in his eyes. Over.”

“Please. Just for the time being. Pull them back. I’m going dark for a while. I’ll explain everything later. If you don’t hear from me within 4 standard weeks, you can…follow protocol. That’s all I can say on this channel. SG-401 out.”

“401, no! Listen to me —“

**********************

The torrential rainstorms on Kamino are commonplace to Boba, white noise as he views the events below from his higher vantage. His sniper rifle is aimed at the dueling pair of blue and red laser swords clashing in the downpour.

The blue sword looks similar to the one the wizard had used battling his father. His father had beaten the brazen man, but somehow the Jedi had lived. Boba would ensure that didn’t happen today.

The rogue clone is fast, more than rivaling his would be master, blindly enraged after Vader struck down the woman Boba had been hired to lure him in with. The young man disarms the Dark Lord, the hilt of the red blade flying into his open hand as he seems to invisibly push the man of metal to the ground.

Troops from the Rebel Alliance sent to rescue the woman announce their entrance with distant blaster fire as Starkiller’s clone advances, crossing the blades into an X. Boba knows he will have only one shot to fulfill the contract with Vader before the clone executes his source of income. The hunter focuses through the scope, tracking the clone’s head until it halts. The clone is poised to strike, ready to defeat Vader as Boba’s finger tightens on the trigger.

“Galen, stop!”

And immediately Boba is training his sight to a voice that kindles lingering embers.

“Don’t! He will win, even in death, if you give in to his hate.”

It’s an impassioned plea lit from an unexpected torch in the midst of his crosshair.

“Think of Juno.” He watches as you gesture to the motionless woman laying on the platform, a victim of Vader’s handiwork. “Think of all she’s worked for. What she would want. The Alliance needs Vader’s knowledge of the Empire’s inner workings. Don’t destroy him as he’s tried to do with you. This is not the vengeance you seek, Galen Marek.”

It’s as if time has stopped for everything except the rain washing away the tempers of heated revenge. Boba has felt this before, a sluice of cool water soothing a burn.

Boba recognizes the rage filling the clone’s face, a desire to succeed where his progenitor failed by killing Vader. But then Starkiller’s face is overcome by something Boba can’t place, and the young man reluctantly heeds.

Boba watches you retreat back into the shadows as Rebels arrive, surrounding and subduing Vader.

But the dark helmet is focused elsewhere as if he can see past the Rebel soldiers.

Boba refocuses the rifle, preparing to execute the target as the clone cradles Eclipse’s apparently dead body. But the woman wakes up, revealing she’s survived Vader’s attempt on her life, kissing the clone embracing her.

Boba steals a glance to the shadows, detecting indistinct movement, and to his own surprise lowers the rifle, staring at the tender moment the clone and woman are sharing.

“Next time, Starkiller. She won’t be there to save you.”

**********************

Though both forgotten by most of the galaxy, Kamino is a stark departure from Tatooine’s blazing desert landscape. Ruled by water, Kamino is a saturated hydrosphere of aquatic terrain. Deep oceans completely cover the planet as the gloom from never ending rainstorms drowns out the light from its single sun.

Tipoca City’s cloning facility had closed years ago after an incident involving the Empire. The facility remained standing, but in a state of disrepair after being deserted. Few windows had been incorporated in the original architecture. Instead, white artificial lighting permeated the sterile hallways.

After the encounter, Fett had found you standing in the shadows, held still with an unnatural daze. You can’t remember the details of him guiding you here to this room. Your mind had been coerced into a darkly sinister direction.

Lightning illuminates the dark sky followed by the steady rumble of thunder. Windows line the outer wall allowing a dim light to cast shadows across the interior of the small, sparse room.

Your mind feels distant. The dark horizon blurs seamlessly with the ocean and you barely register the soft clank of armor. It’s as if you’re submerged in the depths of Kamino’s waters, sound muffled, moisture fully bathing your skin through water-laden clothes, limbs too heavy to move against the drag.

Fett almost startles you when he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you out of this.”

A puddle has formed around you, water dripping in a constant plink, but it’s as if you haven’t heard him, your gaze returning to a fixed point.

“Hey.” He’s squeezing your shoulders and you close your eyes releasing a long exhale. Recognizing his words, you begin to unfasten the drenched jacket, rolling your shoulders back for him to help peel it off your arms. The few leftover clothes you’d donned on Tatooine were not meant to withstand water and the thin undershirt clings to your damp frame.

“He was clawing at me. He wanted in.”

“Who?”

“Vader.” The empty eyes had honed in, grappling with your energy. “He knows.”

His voice is less harsh without the modulator. “Why are you here? Why did you stop Starkiller’s clone?”

The filter begins to fail as you speak. “I had to. I had to be the one to stop Galen. I couldn’t let my brother fall back into darkness.”

Fett is silent for a moment comprehending the meaning. “That wasn’t your brother. That was a clone.”

Even before you turn around you picture his set facial features. “You of all people should know that doesn’t matter.” But your words seem to have affected his expression more than you’d imagined.

He’s carefully pulling a saturated glove from each of your hands, and is deliberately slow reaching up to remove your mask, not wanting to reveal your face too quickly, to overstep his boundary.

Few people have ever seen your entire face, felt your hands. These barriers have been essential for your survival, for continued anonymity. Even those that had gotten too close, accidental or otherwise, risked removal of such memories.

He doesn’t know any of these darker capabilities, but you doubt that knowledge would alter his premeditated actions. He’s a bold man with few occupancies for regret. The fact he is seeing your face, touching your bare hands, makes this infinitely intimate.

It feels easier to breathe, to speak your truth as he removes the metalweave. “He’s a person, and a part of my brother lives on in him. Galen saw through Vader’s deceit, and ultimately claimed redemption before he was killed. This clone…my brother, kept his promise to himself and to his partner even when he thought she was dead. In doing so, he found something stronger than hate.”

The weight of your words rests heavily upon him causing a sway in his thoughts. “You believe all of that.”

“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

He’s trying to find support, something dense enough to push his thoughts in a different direction instead of tilting from the uncomfortable truth you present to him. And it’s not just now, but every time he’s asked you to, gladly offering your hand to build something different, something better.

Unobtrusive, yet powerful, your exhale is the soft breeze that topples the dilapidated structure.

In the midst of release, his grip encircles your arms, pulling you against his chest, thrusting your body upward into his. And before you can inhale, his mouth is seizing yours with barely checked ferocity, opening and entering, rolling his tongue against yours as he elicits a low groan.

His hands sweep up through your rain-soaked hair, capturing your delicate head, pulling you deeper into him. You feel his emotions rush over you, raw and blistering, justifying your own intensity. Your hands slide up the back of his neck and into the depths of his rich hair as your body bows backward, curving, fitting against him to melt into the heat he radiates.

One step and he has you pinned against the cold, horizontal bars across the transparisteel window, his body tightly trapping, daring you to escape his hold with one arm outstretched, palm flat to the window as the other hand presses into you lower back pushing your hips forward. And just like every other situation you’ve been in with him, he relentlessly battles you for total control.

But you’re a worthy opponent, and pulling away you savagely yank him back by his hair as if you would put him at a distance, hissing, “You’re so fucking aggravating, Fett.” Your forearm is pressed across his upper chest, sharply digging your nails into his bicep with each word.

He leans his head forward, into the tightness of your grip like he’s enjoying the prick of pain it causes, comfortable with its sensation. His gaze turns primal as you watch the softness recede from his eyes. You hold your breath, brow furrowed, matching his as hunger licks hotly through his blackened irises. Your belly contracts in response as his eyes skim over you, consuming you without so much as a touch.

“No, Jedi.” His raspy address is not the acerbic curse you once heard. “It’s you that’s fucking infuriating.” He jerks your hips impossibly closer to him, like he wants you to feel his anger take shape, his erection hardening against your body.

You are suspended in this moment as war rages in his obsidian eyes, fingers gripping his scalp in a desperate message of conflicting needs, when unexpectedly he begins to closely trail down your body, eyes locked with yours as he slowly descends.

It does something to you, watching him lower before you, a posture of submission except there’s nothing submissive about this man even as he sinks to his knees. He is thoroughly controlling every second of this. And you wonder what degree of perverse insincerity desecrates his deferential action, like worshiping a goddess of peace forced upon a violent throne.

His hands slide up your ankle, fingers tracing the seam of your pants to the thigh strap of your holster, and your hand constricts into a fist at your side. He doesn’t break eye contact. He doesn’t need to see. He knows exactly what he’s doing, slowly unbuckling.

Looking down at him, water drips from your hair to stream across his cheeks and down his angled jaw. And it’s a depraved, wicked movement as the edges of his lips curl up. You want to absolutely rip that mocking caricature of a smile off his fucking face, but all the same it sends a shiver through your body.

“When’s the last time you used this blaster?” A dark sound, if it can even be classified as a chuckle, releases from the back of his throat, eyes steady with yours.

“Careful. Or it’ll be tonight.” The muscles in his jaw clench with your answer. He likes this weapon. He’s familiar with it. He’s exceptionally skilled in operating it. This type of violence is tangible, straightforward, simple cause and effect. He doesn’t want grey; too much room for error, uncertainty.

His hands glide up your other thigh, and you feel his seductive mix of fear and desire in knowing what lies concealed, hilt safely sheathed. “Don’t touch it,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Too personal?” He mocks the sanctity of the weapon, but you can sense his unease. His ignorance about the functionality scares him, a novel thrill. Unlike the other side, it’s a sharp pinch as he jerks loose the leather strap and your lip twitches in contempt.

He could never understand the sacredness of this weapon. It is your lifeblood, acting as a conduit between you and the Force, serving as a symbol of honor and commitment. He wants to break each part, smear your honor across your face, across his in spiteful derision.

You hold back, breathing through the waves of anger trying to pull you under. He’s stoic under your glare, but stubbornly complies with a snort.

In a smooth, continuous motion he runs a hand up the front of your hip while his other palm dips dangerously low, moving across before gliding up to unclip the holster. He refuses to disengage from your glower as he places your effects on the floor with surprisingly great care.

He’s disarmed you. Your safety has been set aside by him. You’ve allowed it.

You briefly see that same acknowledgment echoed in his eyes before he bows his head, a disingenuous pretense. The significance of his forehead resting against your belly is implicitly tarnished by his enduring scorn. But he is the first to look away, breaking the aggressive stare, the smallest of surrenders.

You remember his whisper. This changes nothing.

And though you recall how those words shook you, he’s the one on his knees, an undeniable vulnerability itself, a yielding of some portion of control, and something has changed with this position of his choosing.

The heat of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through your body as his hands firmly grasp the back of your thighs. His lips ghost over the small space between your shirt and pants, softly pressing until you acutely feel the scrape of teeth across your skin.

Reestablishing your grip against his scalp, you yank him back. He has the hem of your shirt between his teeth, lips pulled back ever so slightly revealing the glint of his bared teeth as he bites down. He locks eyes with you again, the shirt snapping back as he intentionally releases it, teeth clicking, his decision to let go.

Confidently he rises up, sliding his hands up over your ass, flexing his fingers to lock you against him. The tension you’ve been holding is made apparent as you completely release him, knuckles white from intensity, tentatively unfurling your hands on his chest. Though his position has changed, a charged balance is present, an unfamiliar give and take you’ve not felt from him.

His breath rushes so hotly, prickling the shell of your ear. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You make sure he can feel the indentations of your nails as they scratch down his chest, body shuddering in response as you grit, “I don’t need those weapons to completely destroy you.”

The sound rumbling from deep within his chest is absolutely feral as you willingly let him crush you against the warmth of his body, bending and not breaking from his intensity. “You made a bad choice coming back here. I took you somewhere safe.”

His mouth comes to hover over yours, ready to devour your words as they spill from your lips. And just when the weight of control seems to tip the scales, a secondary shift of balance occurs, an equalizing push and pull. “I wouldn’t be here if you had just left me alone. This is all on you.” 

You’ve matched his intensity and he proves capable of an uncharacteristic mutual concession, groaning against your lips. It’s a move in your favor, and you decide to break even, gasping into his mouth, fingers clutching the back of his neck, thumbs tracing his hairline. You feel his strong fingers gliding up your shoulder blades to follow back down the curve of your spine, sliding slowly over each contour, heading with purpose toward your waist, your hips.

He sinks his fingers into the swell of your ass, and you pull back slightly to draw a breath, a small sound high in your throat, lips glistening until your teeth find purchase on his lower lip, biting and sucking him into your mouth. He hisses, a small fissure on his lip opening and you can taste the hint of iron mixed with salted rainwater.

You realize this is what he’s tasted like his whole life.

Your hands begin to move over him with sudden liberty pulling his dampened shirt off, feeling the expanse of his muscled chest, fingertips drifting lower over his taut abdomen. He clutches your rounded ass tightly in both hands and you eagerly leap up as he lifts your feet from the floor.

You sling one knee over his hip, the other leg snaking quickly around him so he’s caught in the encouraging vice of your legs. Your torso rises up high in his embrace, your mouths separating as you guide the back of his head, pulling him toward the fullness of your breasts. You gasp when he captures a peaked nipple through your clinging undershirt, sucking it into his mouth and catching it gently between his teeth.

The table he places you on is littered with items still set as if the occupants had left hurriedly in mid-use. He doesn’t bother to clear anything and the cold temperature of the alloy penetrates the fabric of your pants. The sitting position naturally draws your thighs up so your knees bracket his hips as your ankles hook around his legs. The movement causes objects to fall, hitting the floor with varied resonances.

There is a rushed sense of urgency coming from him, from the environment. You glance to see a child’s toy ship become part of the scattered mess below in his haste with you. And now he won’t bring his eyes to your face. The combination of contrasting sensations pour into you, heartbeat quickening, and it feels like the vibration is humming through your entire body.

You can tell he’s acting purely on impulse, every wild twist of his mouth against yours a reflection of the need to rapidly remove thought from his existence. His demanding hands wrap around your hips and drag you forward to the edge of the table where balance seems unlikely. But just as your arms have been clinging around his shoulders, he holds you steady as he pushes himself deeper toward the juncture of your thighs. Your gasp becomes a moan beneath the command of his lips as you feel the hard impression of his erection pressing against the center of your core.

His cock is straining against the barrier of his pants and you make an abandoned sound of pleasure, wriggling toward his frame, slowly rolling your hips. Your hands glide down over his back and onto his firm ass where you can feel the muscles driving towards you. His abdomen flexes against you, the sinew of his thighs jumping tensely to attention, cock twitching in excitement with your engagement.

His course satisfaction is palpable through his groan at your eager response. He’s precariously soliciting a mindless state as he makes savage use of your mouth, kissing you, until breathless, you release little sounds of encouragement for him.

You feel his fingers thrusting hungrily under your damp shirt, burning back up over your hips and belly until he’s caught your breasts in impatient palms. His touch is aching skill, an assured manipulation that molds the supple flesh, rubbing his roughened hands against you. He draws an already peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it into a deft pinch. You gasp, your torso arching forward into him, moaning as he toys with the opposite breast, melting liquid down the center of your body until you are soaked with it. As you sharply inhale, you become aware of his musky scent. It is bitter rain spiced with sweat, heated by the warmth of his skin.

This is how he’s always smelled.

Mouthing along his jawline down his neck, your tongue flicks along the increasing pace of his jugular pulse and over the scarred skin where you deflected the blaster bolt that fateful evening. He recognizes your silent, veiled intimation, the first time you chose to spare his life. He growls a fast, foreign phrase through clenched teeth causing a pulse of heat to seep down your center, wet as it bursts the confines.

Then he’s ripping your shirt up and over your head, flinging it aside carelessly. You lean back on your hands and watch as he focuses on your bare breasts, his gaze completely transfixed, his hand slowly skimming feather light over the top of one, then traveling to the other. This measured exploration is nothing like his desire to dismantle you, nothing like the more aggressive need you can feel radiating from him now, expertly hunting your shadow. He is dangerous and you can feel it as he insinuates himself around your thoughts.

Your walls clench under his thorough visual examination, touch narrowing to a single fingertip that traces the slope of your breast until it is just his nail scraping over your rigid nipple. You jerk sharply, unprepared for the spear of heat the simple touch sends hurtling through you as he squeezes your breast harder. His mouth catches your nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth, suckling languidly as you moan softly. You cup one hand under his jaw as he alternates his attention to the other breast, feeling the grains of sand left behind by your shirt, pleasantly chafing with his tongue.

Looking down, you’re stirred by the fullness of his lips wrapping around your sensitive nipple, by the contrasting color of his flushed lips against your skin highlighted by streaks of lightning outside. You place your palms on the backs of his hands, urging him on, tightening his touch. And fuck. The intoxicating way he looks as he lavishes your body, how the half-mast of the thick lashes lightly tickle against your breast, floods you with moisture pooling hotly at the juncture of your thighs.

He releases you from his mouth, your body responsive in his embrace, and you can feel the need coursing through his body. He pants softly as your hands sweep through his soft, black hair, fingers curving until your nails are running over the sensitive back of his neck, teasing and making him even harder. You scrape your nails down his back, around and up to his chest, simultaneously drawing him deeper into the tender trap of your locked legs.

You’re not expecting the streak of pleasurable pain when his teeth latch onto your nipple and your whimper loudly until the pitched noise extends into elongated moan. His large hand reaches up to hold you still, almost completely encompassing your throat, lightly pressing, as a guttural growl of desire boils out of him to sweep fiercely around you, dark and carnal.

He breaks away to chase a bead of rain that slips down between your breasts, catching it with the tip of his tongue. He drags the velvet tool across your skin until he’s drawing a stiffened nipple into the warmth of his mouth as you release a small cry.

It feels like you’ve already lost the sensible part of your mind, swimming with the heat of arousal as his hands find the snap of your pants. You feel his hand slide around your hip and down over your ass again, but this time he’s touching your skin, having slipped his fingers past the loosened fabric. His depraved thoughts are exquisitely loud, knowing the rain-soaked material is the only physical barrier between him and his ability to fully experience your body. The material slides lower, setting your sensitive skin to screaming.

Your legs go lax as he supports your weight with one hand, pushing the pants from your body effortlessly and then urging your legs back to their embrace around him. His eyes rake over your naked figure. “Fuck.” He exhales loudly, biting his lower lip.

Breath quickening, he discovers you, training his sights on the glistening slit, lips slightly parted from the wide spread of your thighs. His furrowed brow momentarily relaxes as his eyes flick back up to meet yours. “Beautiful.”

There is truth in his words, devoid of his previous mocking tone, and you feel a natural softening in your chest at his revelation. Your entire body is exposed to this man and he’s chosen to stare at your most vulnerable area, your face, your eyes. It’s a challenge to look at him, wondering what he might see there.

As if reciprocating that feeling, he drops his gaze. Your body is easy to admire. He can make an objective assessment of each part, like any other man.

Shifting into a more comfortable frame of mind, he splays his fingers over the trembling muscles of your belly before rotating his hand to cup the mound of your sex. His middle finger brushes over you and you’ve been wound so tightly that this light touch inundates you with sensation, softly sighing as your eyelashes flutter shut.

“You weren’t supposed to be like this,” he gravels, burying his face into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply as if to drag your scent deep into his lungs. His finger is slow, deliberate, sliding just enough to gather slick for the tip so it glides without friction over your sensitive nub.

“You’re complicated.” His accented voice is coarse as his fingers thread through your hair, gripping hard enough to pull your head back. “And confusing.” He opens his mouth on the side of your exposed neck, sliding his hot tongue up its delicate length, dipping it into the hollow behind your earlobe.

“You make me think.” His confession unravels through guilt-burdened lips, unable to look in your eyes. “I don’t want to fucking think,” he mouths into your neck. “I don’t want to feel.”

“Is that why you hate me, Fett?” you murmur, forcing your hips to remain still under his increasing pressure.

His answer is audibly silent, but his is mind is booming decibels, breath blowing hot into your hair, over your skin, the speed chilling the sensitive back of your neck. His heavy panting makes you feel like your own short breaths are deprived of needed oxygen.

“I don’t even know your fucking name.” His fingertips slide into the collection of arousal between your soaking folds, running through until they’re completed coated before slipping one thick finger and then another into your wet, silky flesh. You gasp, a stuttering intake, encouraging his strong fingers to curl tightly as if he can coax your name into his covetous hand. Your arms drape over his shoulders, pulling him closer so that your face can burrow into the side of his neck, mewling as your walls clench tightly around the welcome fullness. He hums in satisfaction at your reaction, at the way he’s pulling these sounds from your tempered composure. And it’s messy as he presses open mouthed kisses along the top of your shoulder.

He feels you shudder, marveling at how tight you feel around his fingers, how your insides quiver with delicious, eager little spasms under his touch. Your hand grips around his taut bicep, muscles flexing as he pumps his fingers slowly into your cunt. You grind up against the calloused pads of his palm, stimulating your clit with every deep curl of his fingers. Allowing this momentary loss of control, you let him fuck you with his thick fingers and it feels so good. And you want to feel him too so you shove your hand down between your bodies, grasping the hard outline of his cock, preparing for the inevitable breakdown of will.

And just like this, he’s making you completely mad with dizzying sensation. He’s leading you up to the edge, and you’re so ready to cum all over his fingers, electricity branching out like lightening from your center…when his fingers suddenly stop.

And this time it is an unmistakable deviant chuckle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you pant, and it looks like evil retribution pouring from his dark eyes as he pulls back from your grip enough to rob you of both your orgasm and of the beautiful image your mind was creating of his cock.

Why his cruelness still shocks any part of you is beyond comprehension and your fingers claw into whatever you can find. Then you see what he’s staring at, and your eyes dart between his face and his hand, from looking at his reaction to watching him slowly remove his fingers from your cunt. He’s absolutely soaked in your arousal so as he parts his fingers, strands of glistening slick web between them.

It looks like he’s inventing a new way to sin as he opens his mouth, sliding his fingers in to taste you, wrapping his lips around dirty, criminal fingers. His eyes close, wide nostrils flaring as he takes a deep, purposeful breath, drawing in your scent, solidifying his violation, groaning as he palms his cock over his pants.

His eyes snap open to confront yours, removing his fingers to spread them over his lips. He drags his fingers down, tongue licking between them to consume your residual arousal.

“Tell me.” And you clench at the sight of him spitting into his hand to reach under his waistband, roughly stroking his cock. The flared, engorged head is just visible, shining with the mix of his saliva and your slick.

“You are a hateful creature,” you sneer. This is not justifiably reconcilable, chest heaving, and you fight to keep your lips sealed.

You can feel his urge to take you, to be buried deep inside, rolling off him in torrid waves. “Don’t make me say it again.” Though it sounds like a demand, he’s waiting to hear your answer.

Feeling insolent, you mouth off to him. “Is that all you have for me, bounty hunter?” Your own vicious smile turns up the corners of your lips. “I expected more vigor from the Fett line.”

And your comment has exactly the desired effect, purposely rousing the sleeping beast. He’s growling, flipping you around, roughly pushing you against the metal. The table is cold against your heated cheek, biting at your sensitive nipples as you hear his unfastened pants swoosh to the floor. One hand is pressing hard between your shoulder blades, the other gripping into your hip, holding you in place as he uses his knee to shove your legs apart.

His muscled arm is like a band of durasteel as it crosses your lower abdomen from hip to hip, his other hand grasping through your hair until he has a firm hold near the base of your head. He jerks you back hard against him, your ass snuggling deep into the well of his hips as his thick thighs keep you parted.

Your body is wet from rain and arousal, and becoming more so with every eager rub of his suggestive burrowing against you. Your breath comes out as sharp gasps of pleasure as you feel his head slide along the edges of your slick folds. You feel your body craving, seeking, fuck it begging to be filled as he’s leaning forward over your outstretched body. The clamp of his teeth on your shoulder and the bruising force of his hands only intensify those desires. He’s so conformed to your body, bent over your smaller frame, as if he can absorb your pleasure, your anger, fuck, whatever you’re releasing, through contact.

You can feel the raging of his body, his want to be deep inside, the slick welcome of your anticipation bathing him in invitation. You writhe back against him, demanding him with savage provocation, tilting your pelvis forward as if he needs help accessing your soaked cunt, your body wildly seeking the fulfillment the hardness against you promises so hotly.

Oh and he fucking wants it too as he tries to moderate the bastardized ego of his current control. His breath is ragged. “Maker you’re so confusing.” But it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

“Even if,” he’s barely managing to grit out between placing his mouth along the back of your neck, relentlessly teasing his cock over your clit, “I don’t hate you...” All the buildup is making you soak his length before he’s even entered you. “That’s exactly how I want to fuck you.”

You feel your cunt involuntarily clench at the words he’s growling into your neck, brutal in their honesty. His animalistic need to dominate you is overwhelming and you grind against his hard length until he can’t withhold. Returning upright, he grips your hips even harder with bruising intensity, dragging the tip of his head through your wet folds. He slowly enters you allowing you to adjust to the thickness of his cock. And though you haven’t seen the entirety, you can feel the breadth of it breaching you.

“Fuck.” He extends the word as you whine with the intensity of him stretching you, and you know he can feel you contracting around him. His thrusts are small, controlled, but deep, hitting against your cervix.

His hips are firmly pressed against your ass, letting his cock sit and twitch in your warmth, reveling in your little noises and desperate movements, when you realize he’s still taunting you. He’s barely moved except to take your overly sensitive clit between his index and middle finger, pressing and sliding his fingers slowly up and down causing you to buck your hips.

“Fucking move, Fett." It's an angry, breathy whine that sounds so unusual coming from your mouth.

You’re at that precious threshold as his sweat drips from his hair onto the small of your back. And he’s such a control freak that his restraint is torturing him as badly as he’s wanting to punish you by withholding. If there’s ever a next time, you’ll fucking remember this shit.

His groin is sticky with your arousal, and he’s got that good grip on your ass, kneading his fingertips into your cheek, indentations that will leave his mark of well-placed bruises. Beyond frustrated you tilt your hips, rocking forward, making his head press into you, hitting that aching spot in the front as your walls clench around him.

Without warning, his reaction is explosive, cursing and groaning as he pounds into your cunt, squelching with the brutal clash. He reaches for your neck, his thick, powerful fingers grasping and curling around the delicate column.

He feels you swallow, feels you breathe. Such vital, living reflexes. He can feel your pulse, feel it quicken under his fingers. And it makes him feel alive as if his world is tilting just a little off its axis. 

His other hand drives up from your hip to your waist, the dampness from the rain and his sweat coating your skin making it a slick movement. His thrusts are profound and rough, tipping you forward onto your toes. A primal sound erupts from his lips as you squirm eagerly in compliance, your rough breath rasping beneath the press of his index finger on your throat.

His exhales become groans, the transference of anger with each snap of his hips, a punctuated rhythm like his cock can shatter you, cause you to completely break down for him. You can feel him reeling from the unadulterated high as he surges into you, rooting himself deeply in your heat, feeling the impossibly tight wetness of your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…Yes,” you purr as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably. His groan a reply as he thrusts into you, reveling in the slick sensation of your folds, of affecting you enough to speak. And you can barely tolerate how he’s been able to do this to you, how his heartless, cold-blooded body has made you feverish for satisfaction. 

Then suddenly he pulls out, making you whimper in shock, overwhelmed by a sense of grasping loss as your hips writhe back to his instinctively. But he’s turning you over again, drawing your legs up, fitting them around his hips as he positions you back on the table. His thumbs are fitted into the crease of your thighs, fingers gripping low around your hips as you lean back on your hands.

And you’re so done with him teasing you, about to tell him he can go fuck off if he can’t finish the job he’s started, but he seizes your mouth with great need. His thoughts seem to flow through his lips with the nervous energy of being face-to-face. It’s as if he’s afraid he might see something telling in your eyes, and he can’t, no, won’t be able to turn away.

Breaching deeply into your eager body, he rasps. “Want to see you.” And you can feel his eyes burning back and forth between your gaze and where you’re joined, like he doesn’t want to miss out on visualizing either as he savagely drags your aching cunt over his thick length until he’s deeply seated in you. “You feel so fucking good.”

His brow is furrowed, eyes watching as he fucks into you hard, desiring to devastate, control, and he feels a sense of power. It’s like his cock is capable of conquering you, delivering his revenge by forcing your cunt to weep around him until he fills it with his seed, defeating you; defeating his own Jedi, cum dripping from his conquest, disgracefully marking her thighs.

He can do this if he avoids your gaze, make you an object, one more faceless acquisition.

But when he looks into your eyes, it’s entirely different, as if with each repeating deep thrust he’s letting go of some small thing. Like you’re giving him permission to release unwanted pieces of himself, his anger, his despair, the prideful parts that want to hold on to unfounded reasoning.

His eyes can’t seem to focus long on either, so you allow him to choose; his revenge, his peace, or something in between.

You cautiously slip past his projections and into the superficial areas of his mind. You can feel the build of pleasure climbing hot and tense around him. Rarely do you let yourself enjoy admittance to the mind, but it’s almost like he’s inviting you in, letting you access the lust, hatred, anger, confusion, the conflict of his want for you. It’s all tangled in tiny knots that only time and patience and determination have any hope of undoing.

He moves energetically within your body, and drawn in, he feels you match his rhythm. His hands glide over you, seeking sensitive spots, and focuses on your throbbing clit. His thumb rubs minute, firm circles in response to your walls squeezing his solid cock. You’re gasping with each successive movement he makes inside you, ruthlessly driving into you.

Your hands come up to clutch around his shoulders, pulling your chest against his. He’s tense, coiled, but the gentle way you press your lips against his neck causes him to involuntarily shiver. And as his muscles relax, you finally explode, crying out, cunt fluttering around him in rapid contractions. A screaming burst of energy flashes hot and bright from your center, radiating through limbs in pulsed waves. Your cum drenches his cock and you can feel the wetness spread down your ass making the table even more slippery.

There is a loosening of your limbs, weight falling against him, relaxing as you feel him tear into what’s left as you, yielding shreds of resistance you’re willing to part with. But he wants that piece you’ve been successfully guarding. His press against your hips asks you to lean into a new embrace. He supports your lower back, cradling the base of your head in the other hand, and it’s a only a whisper but has the force of something much greater. “Let me see you.”

And when your eyes drift to his, he’s not sure in his request, but your hand smooths back sweat-soaked strands of hair from his face, thumb removing the sheen from his cheek and his dark eyes lock with yours. His hips are beginning to lose rhythm, panting as his hips pull back, and his final thrust is shuddering, dislodging your gaze. His groan is long and undulating with violent, lurching spasms as his cock pulses with bursts of seed, filling you until drips of genetic material are smeared along your cunt.

Recovering, you almost don’t feel his come down, his give. He’s leaning into the light caress of your hand, mouth turning to kiss your palm; the palm that redirected and peacefully diffused his intended kill shot, that painfully bore shards of glass after the fall from his paralytic dart, that mercifully healed and granted him another chance at life.

And once again your palm is there, and this frightens him. Mind following body, he untangles from you and a different intensity replaces the more basic urges.

“Wait.” He motions for you to be still, and you can’t help but smirk at his muscled ass as he pads across the room.

“Here.” The blanket’s edges are frayed from age and use, but nonetheless soft in way that can only come from time and purpose. “There’s a bed in that room.”

“I’m fine out here.” Out of habit, you thumb back and forth over the worn material.

“I’d prefer you not be in the room with all the weapons.” He glances over to the separate piles accumulated on the floor.

“And I, you.”  This impasse was inevitable.

“Fine, but the bed is small.” He begins to replace items that had fallen during your activities back on the table, rearranging them methodically.

“I thought I saw another bedroom over —“

“No,” he interrupts, stopping you immediately. “We’re …you’re not going in there.”

You nod, not questioning him, and he follows behind you after repositioning the toy ship on the table.

Just like the blanket, the bed has its own imperfections. Made for one person, there are permanent indentations from previous use and you both become similar shapes around each other, shifting toward the center to better fit the impression.

“I’m a light sleeper.” You are cautious.

“So am I.” But he seems more comfortable.

“If you move, I’ll know.” The room feels particularly cold to you.

“Same.” As if for emphasis, his arm wraps around your hip. The warmth from his body is lulling you into that dream-like, in-between space of consciousness.

His breath is soft upon your neck as he murmurs. “You said the clone…your brother found something else stronger than hate.” You’re not sure how long he pauses before seeking an answer. “What?”

The rain has become a soothing background noise, something that belongs.

“Love.”

**********************

@yamaktaria @ocfairygodmother

So…that happened. 🤭 Too much? Not enough? This is just the beginning of this dirty debacle. Thoughts, feedback, concrit are always welcome and appreciated 🥰

Safe. Sane. Consensual.

[lmanberg]

Is Dream using a body double?

This post will include references to leaked images of both Dream and his brother and discussion of his old Reddit account, if you’re uncomfortable with that then do not read

TW/CW: weight & weight loss, dieting, eating disorder, scar mention, fatphobia, Dream’s ex (Sam), (verbal) abuse from a significant other

So before I get into it, I’m going to be talking about both a doxxing forum and Dream’s brother. I don’t want to say the name of either of them, so the forum will simply be called F and Dream’s brother will be called B.

There are five very different thought processes you can go through which will draw you to two very different conclusions, I’ll be talking about all of them and you can decide which you believe. I’d like to preface with the fact that I do not believe all of these theories and I’m just trying to explain all possibilities in this situation.

I will attach TLDRs at the end of every theory for convenience.

1. Dream is using his brother as a body double

So this is probably the theory you have seen discussed the most, but I’ll go into more detail as to why people believe this.

Firstly we start with Dream as a kid. We’ve already been shown an image of him by Dream:

Now there’s also a leaked image of “him”, in which he’s fat, fatter than he is in the image above. However his facial structure, smile, and hair are all the same. We can tell that Dream is 16 in the Facebook post that the image was found on. In the caption of the photo, Dream is called “Clay” and his father is in the image with him.

If we follow the theory, this would lead you to assume that Dream is still fat, and is using his brother as a body double for his merch photos. But why his brother?

There have been photos of Dream’s brother from his Instagram leaked on F, in one of these he’s holding a gun. The hand holding the gun has the exact same markings and scar as the hands in the unboxing video.

To continue talking about the unboxing video, the way he holds the objects and moves them off camera is also very suspicious. Just the audio quality already is weird, but then the way he moves items off camera and almost seems like he’s handing it to someone next to him, not to mention the obscene amount of cuts in the ending, it all extremely damning.

It’s pretty much undeniable that B is the person in the unboxing video, the scar being the most damning evidence. But what about the merch photos?

Firstly I will say that in the “face reveal” photos, Dream has the same markings on his arms as B and as he does in the unboxing video. But we can also talk about the hands in general:

As we can see, the hand in the bottom left has the same fingers as the one in the merch video, however the one in the bottom right (one of the more recent images of Dream) looks slightly different, in fact his hands look a lot more veiny and red. But we see his hand has similar veins in the image below, so it’s probably just lighting. The lack of tan is also to be expected, as the first image was pre-covid and the second was post, he hasn’t been able to see half as much sunlight as he used to.

TLDR: Dream is still fat and is using his brother as a body double

2. Dream is using his brother as a body double (V2)

So this theory has a similar thought process but deviates slightly.

In this theory, we assume that the leaked photo of Dream at 16 is him, but also that he has actually lost the weight.

Now at first you may think that’s a very drastic weight loss, however his old Reddit account had multiple posts on r/keto and even now he talks about how he has a very strict diet. A new piece of evidence came out during the recent podcast with George on his Discord, where they discuss whether or not a food had carbs in it. Dream gets audibly uncomfortable and changes the subject, whether to avoid triggering listeners or himself, we don’t know.

If Dream lost all the weight, why would he be using a body double? This I can’t explain, however the evidence of the merch photos being him is undeniable at this point. It’s possible he was in the process of losing weight and didn’t want people to see his weight loss, or maybe he weighs a little more than he feels confident in and feels more comfortable having his brother pose as him, but the weight difference isn’t so drastic that people would point it out when he face reveals.

Speaking of the face reveal; Dream vehemently denies that the kid in the photo is him, but if it is him and he didn’t lose that weight, he will be proven as a liar whenever he face reveals. This is the biggest flaw of Theory 1 in my opinion. At first Dream vagued the situation but never explicitly stated whether that specific picture was him or not, but now he has. There’s no logical explanation for Dream to deny that the kid is him, even though it is without a doubt him, unless he looks nothing like him anymore.

TLDR: Dream is using his brother as a body double, however he has lost weight

3. Dream is using his brother as a body double (V3)

This theory is the weakest in my opinion and is similar to Theory 2, with one deviation. There is a picture of Dream out there, and it’s a merch photo. In this theory we actually assume that the red merch photos are Dream, however the rest are B. Why?

First of all, this is (I believe) the first image we’ve ever seen of Dream (if I’m incorrect this theory is most likely void and you can stop reading now). In it, Dream weighs a slight bit more than he does in current photos, something we can see mainly in his thighs/hips, which I’ll attach below.

The date that the red merch photos released was 9/26/19, the date of his white merch photos was 7/21/20, and the release of the unboxing video was 6/4/20, giving Dream plenty of time to switch from taking the photos himself to then using his brother.

But why would he switch? We can guess it has something to do with Sam. According to Dream, Sam has tried to spread “false” info about him being obese before (which I would like to highlight, why obese? Why is that what she says, out of all insults? Most likely because he was, and just isn’t anymore).

This could have also intruded into their relationship as well as their breakup in the form of verbal abuse. Assuming that Dream was fat as a kid and later developed an unhealthy reliance on dieting and possible eating disorders to lose weight, it would make sense for him to be sensitive to rejection, especially from his girlfriend at the time, and stopped showing his body to the public.

We also know Dream and Sam’s relationship was very rocky in early 2020, therefore he may have had his brother pose for him on impulse to disprove the “slander” Sam was attempting to spread about his weight, and then decided that he preferred having B pose for him for one reason or another, most likely anonymity.

TLDR: Dream is using his brother as a body double in all photos except the red merch, he started using his brother after losing confidence in himself and his appearance.

4. Dream is NOT using a body double (V1)

From here on out, we become more critical of the images and information leaked by F. F is a forum known for their dislike of Dream. There are hundreds of people who use it for the sole purpose to hate Dream. The people in F are also generally homophobic, racist, sexist, etc., therefore it’s not a far reach to assume they’re fatphobic as well, and assumed that by spreading info that Dream is fat, they would cause him to lose support.

In this theory, we assume that the gun photo that I mentioned in Theory 1 is Dream, not B. We also assume that the photo of Dream at 16 is, in fact, Dream, but like Theory 2 states, he lost the weight.

By eliminating the hand evidence, there is almost no proof that the merch photos are not Dream. This would explain why Dream was so confident in denying that the kid in the photo was not him, because he looks nothing like him anymore.

In fact, this would also explain the weight loss between the red merch photos and the most recent photos of Dream. Dream was still dieting (or more) and therefore still losing weight. We all saw how much weight Sapnap lost by living with him for only a handful of months. Dream at 16 and Dream at 21 has a lot of weight to cover in only five years, it’s not unreasonable to assume that he was still in the process of losing weight in 2019 only to reach his current weight in 2021.

TLDR: Dream isn’t using a body double, F lied about the gun picture and it’s actually Dream

5. Dream is NOT using a body double (V2)

I will preface this by saying this is the theory I believe is most likely as of right now.

This theory is basically Theory 4 word for word, except we assume the white merch photos are not Dream and in fact B. Even before there were any body double theories, stans didn’t believe those pictures were Dream at first, mainly because of how much scrawnier he looks as well as his hair (not wavy OR blond).

An anon also claimed that when the photos first dropped, both George and Sapnap were streaming. Most people were watching George because Dream was in vc on that stream. In George’s stream Dream was repeating to chat that it is him and that chat is being dumb for saying it’s not. However, in Sapnap’s stream, Sapnap says that it’s not Dream. Sapnap is one of the only people who have seen Dream’s face (allegedly), and if Dream was fat or had already used his brother as a body double in merch photos (the red photos were released before the white) then he would know not to say anything.

But why would Dream lie? Most likely, his brother wanted to be in a merch photo and Dream just assumed that his fans would think it’s him. However they instantly began to call him out, and in order to protect his brother’s identity, he impulsively lied and said it was him. At that point he had gone too far and couldn’t back down without admitting he had lied.

TLDR: Dream isn’t using a body double, F lied about the gun photo and it’s actually Dream, however the white merch photos are B

—

And that’s it!

I probably won’t answer asks about this post because I really wore myself out writing it. I’d appreciate if anyone with a visible blog/on mcytblr didn’t reblog this and please do not repost this on any sites.

ALSO: This was written before the Sam photos leaked, some info may be outdated and I scrapped Theory 6 because of it

[marvinswriting]

a new friend

NEW AU????? Bear and I worked together to create this one. Continue reading to find out whos giant and who’s tiny and SEE BEARS FIC FOR PART TWOOOO  Janis and the borrowers au

Damian had only been on his own for maybe six months now. Yeah, it got boring, but it was manageable. The house he was living in had pretty predictable schedules, no bugs, and no noisy children.

There was a girl, Damian's age, maybe a little younger but no literal child like in his old house. She wasn't home much anyway, apparently always at a friend's house. 

Damian wasn't complaining. Between the mother working full days with overtime and the father never home anyway, it made Damian's life pretty easy. 

The Sarkisians.

Damian considered himself pretty lucky with this house.

Growing up with his mom, they live in a small house with four kids. Somebody was always out of their rooms and nobody slept at the same time as the rest of them.

So Damian deemed his life pretty easy at this point.

The front door slams signaling somebody's home. The mother and father typically fought a lot so it wasn't uncommon for yelling and door slamming. But when a younger voice began shouting Damian sat up straighter, paying attention a bit more.

Hey, life in the walls gets boring. Drama is drama.

"Janis, sweetheart, please come out of the bathroom."

"No!"

"Why not, honey. I understand this is hard for you-"

"You understand?! No, you don't!"

Jesus. Teenagers.

"My best friend outed me to the entire school! Somebody wrote dyke on my locker in sharpie! I can't walk down the hall without getting shoved or yelled at or-" The yelling was cut off by a sob. "You don't understand that."

Damian couldn't tell if his area in the walls was closer to the bathroom then he realized or if there was just a lot of yelling.

And crying.

There was no talking for a bit. Only the muffled cries from in the bathroom.

"Janis sweetheart, I have to go to work. I picked up an extra shift tonight not knowing this would happen. I don't know when your father will be back but just promise me you won't spend the whole time locked in the bathroom?"

"Sure." A bitter voice responded. "Bye, mom."

"Goodbye. Love you."

"Love you too."

The door shut, a lot quieter then when it was opened, and the house was quiet again for a bit.

And then he heard the crying.

Oh god, Damian hated hearing people cry.

When you live in the walls, you tend to hear a lot (if your thinking about that then yes, you can hear that too). But the one thing Damian hated listening to the most was crying.

Not because it was loud or annoying, but because it was sad. And he wished he could help. 

But he knew the borrower rules. He wasn't dumb. His mother raised him well and Damian likes to think he's a pretty skillful borrower. But every time he heard crying he couldn't help but feel like the borrower code wasn't such a bad thing to break. 

Like- he was right there. He could help. Or try to. 

Try to. 

Damian carefully pushed the outlet out of the way and stepped into the hallway not really thinking about what he was doing. He could see the bathroom from here with the door cracked open a bit. He walked over, still pushed up against the wall.

All borrower rules went out the window in his head. He needed to make sure this girl was okay, even if it was hidden and from afar.

There was a toiletries cabinet right at the bathroom entrance that Damian ducked under. 

The girl, Janis, was sitting in the far corner of the bathroom, knees pulled up to her chest, shaking slightly. 

Damian watched as she pressed her phone, audio filling the bathroom.

"Janis, I know you didn't let my call go to voicemail. Anyway, I don't see why you're so upset. I'm just looking out for you. You're a lesbian. I'm just doing what's best. How was I supposed to know you'd have a mental break and lose it? Also, you won't be sitting with us on Monday for- obvious reasons. Don't call back! Tata!"

Well, Damian already hated whoever that was.

He watched as Janis coughed out another frustrating sob and played another voicemail. "Hey, its Gretchen. Regina called and said you can't be seen with us Monday but she wants me to tell you again to make the message really clear. So yeah. Bye Janis!" There was whispering. "Oh- right. Bye Space Dyke."

Damian made a face at the nickname.

Janis did too. 

She continued to play more audios. Why was she doing that to herself?

"Hey!" This person sounded bubbly. "Its Karen. Listen, I don't fully know whats going on but remember the rule of twos! Yeah, Regina is mad at you, but now you don't have to deal with her being mad to your face." Karen laughed. "Okay, byeeee."

Janis let out a dry chuckle at this one. "That's rich."

There were more voicemails played and videos opened. None of them said particularly nice things. 

Yet Janis kept watching them.

Damian watched as she put her phone down, burying her face in her knees and pulled into herself more. 

Every time her phone dinged she jumped a little but make no efforts to check the messages. 

Her shoulders shook as she cried and Damian wasn't really thinking as he-

"Hey, are you okay?"

His hand slapped on his mouth as he froze. He did not just do that. 

Janis glanced up in confusion. Her eyes landed on Damian's small form and the confusion turned quickly to panic. "Ohmygod what are you?"

She pushed herself against the wall holding her phone up like she was ready to throw it defensively. 

Huh. Damian always thought he'd be the one scared of a human. Not the other way around. It strangely made him feel braver as he lowered his hand from his mouth.

"I'm-"

"Ahhh- oh my god, you talk- what the fuck. Tiny bug man talks- what the?! Whatever I did I'm sorry please just don't-" She put a hand to her chest, teary eyes wide, heaving slightly. "What is going on?!"

"Please breathe," He said tentatively, Janis did not seem to listen. Tiny bug man. Huh. Damian forced down the small smile that made way to his face. He was not gonna laugh at a girl freaking out.

Well, this will be interesting. Damian took a step forward before deciding against it and instead taking two steps back. He held his hands up in defense. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Janis did not seem extremely reassured by this. "Whatthefuck what the fuck?!"

Damian lowered his hands slowly. Before he could open his mouth to talk, Janis cut him off in a panic ramble.

"You're so small- you fucking talk- oh my god. I hate bugs they make me cry. Please don’t like- do anything- I’m sorry. I just- What ar- no. Who are you and what are you doing in my house?!"

Well, shes got manners. At least shes knows I'm not an 'it'.

"I'm Damian." He says slowly. Janis is still holding her phone like a weapon and he's not in the mood to dodge projectiles. Maybe next time. "I'm a borrower."

Hey if I'm gonna break one code may as well break them all.

"How are you so- small?" Janis slowly lowered her phone.

"Born this way."

"Oh," Her face flushed with embarrassment. "That was a bad question. Sorry if that was offensive or something."

Damian shook his head. "Not necessarily. To me at least."

Janis nodded. "A borrower? I thought those were myths."

"Nope," Damian grinned. "I'm standing here, aren't I?"

"I guess so." Janis mumbled. Her phone went off again and she cursed under her breath.

"What's going on with that?" Damian asked. "You seemed pretty upset."

Janis waved her hand, still shaking. "It's stupid."

"Clearly not if it had you that upset." Damian points out, but he doesn't push further.

Janis is quiet for a moment, picking at a stray string on her sweater. "So, borrowers? They're real, huh."

"Last time I checked," Damian said with a smile.

"How long have you lived here?" Janis asked. She slowly was starting to uncurl herself as she talked to Damian.

"Maybe about half a year."

"Half a year," Janis repeated in awe. "Wow."

"Yeah," Damian laughed. "It's pretty cool."

They chatted for a bit, just passing questions back at forth to each other. Janis avoided the topic of whatever had her so upset like the plague. But Damian knew other things about her now. Like he was exactly four months older then she was, Janis actually hated the color pink (despite her outfit) and she liked drawing but never looked into it further then doodles. 

Damian, who never thought he'd even talk to a human, found himself relaxed and opening up to this girl. Maybe it was risky but- Janis seemed nice. She didn't get any closer to him and gave him his space. He told her tales about his mom and borrowing and Janis seemed in awe by it all. Damian wasn't sure how long they talked but he didn't mind. After leaving his Mom, life got lonely. Talking to himself just made him feel crazy.

Janis looked at the clock on her phone. "My mom will be home soon."

"Then I should get going," Damian said, turning around trying not to seem upset. 

"Wait-"

Janis paused like she didn't even know what she wanted to say. Like her mouth just kinda spoke without thinking. Kinda like his brain not even an hour ago. That's what started all this.

"You- you won't leave now, right?" Janis asked softly. "Isn't that a borrower thing, to leave when they're caught?"

"Yeah," Damian said. "It is." His heart broke a bit at how Janis deflated slightly.

"Right," She said. "Then," She took in a breath. "I guess it was fun meeting you. Thanks for talking with me today. It was a nice distraction."

Damian paused. He didn't want to leave. He just morally knew he should. But-

Was it worth it to break every rule he set for himself in life? He liked talking to Janis, yes. But they've been chatting for half an hour at opposite ends of the bathroom. They both hadn't made any more to get anywhere near each other. But-

Did he like talking to Janis or did he like just having somebody in general to talk to? Damian didn't have any roommates. 

"Damian?"

He had been standing there silently for a bit too long.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," He said slowly. "I think- I think I'm gonna stay." 

Damian gave a soft smile which quickly grew when he saw the bright grin on Janis's face. 

Yeah, they only just met. And yeah, Janis was still slightly pressed against the bathroom wall like a bug was gonna fly at her- but something told Damian maybe this was worth breaking the borrower rules for. They both clearly needed somebody and hey, Janis wasn't crying anymore. 

Damian hated when people cried.

part two HERE! (i’ll add the tink when bear posts it lmao) taggggssss @realmisspolarbear @smallsoysauce @musicallygt @sourishlemons

[letterboxd]

Satisfied?

We examine what Letterboxd reviews of Hamilton reveal about the musical’s cultural currency in 2020.

In this absolutely insane year, when our love of movies feels helpless in the face of pandemic-induced economic collapse, some extremely good decisions are being made on behalf of audiences. Studio Ghibli on streaming platforms. Virtual screenings to support art house cinemas. Free streaming of many important films about Black experience. And: Disney+ releasing the filmed version of Hamilton: An American Musical—recorded at the Richard Rodgers Theater in 2016 with most of its original Broadway cast—a year ahead of schedule, on Independence Day weekend.

“Superlative pop art,” writes Wesley of the filmed musical. “Hamilton wears its influences and themes on its sleeve, and it’s all the better for it. Lin-Manuel Miranda and his team employ an unlikely cocktail of not only hip-hop and showtunes, but also jazz (‘What’d I Miss?’), British-Invasion pop-rock (‘You’ll Be Back’), folk music (‘Dear Theodosia’) and Shakespeare (‘Take a Break’) in service of developing an impressively vast array of themes. This is a testament to the power of writing, an immigrant narrative, a cautionary tale about ambition, a tragic family drama, and a reevaluation of who decides the narrative of history.”

2016 may only be a half-decade ago, but it feels like an eon in American political years. With theaters dark and America’s long record of racism under urgent scrutiny, the complex smash-hit lands back in the spotlight at an interesting time. Is Hamilton “the most offensive cultural artefact of the last decade”, as Lee writes? Or “timeless and wholly of the moment”, as Tom suggests? The answer, according to a deep read of your Letterboxd reviews, is “all of the above”.

First things first: why now?

Sophie has a theory:

“Disney executive: Hey we’re losing a lot of money because our parks are closed. How do we start making money again?

Other Disney executive: It might be nice, it might be nice… to get Hamilton on our side.”

Sure, business. Still, it’s historically unprecedented that a Broadway show of this caliber (a record-setting sixteen Tony nominations, eleven wins, plus a Grammy and a Pulitzer) would be filmed and released to the public while it’s still, in a Covid-free universe, capable of filling theaters every night. Will people stay away when Broadway reopens because they’re all Disney+’d out?

No chance, reckons Erika. “I’d still kill to see Hamilton live with any cast… I get why producers are afraid that these videos might hurt ticket sales, but I’m fucking ready to buy a ticket and fly to NY one day just to see as many shows as I can after watching this.”

Not every musical fan has the resources to travel, often waiting years for a touring version to come near their hometown. And even if you do live in a town with Hamilton, the ticket price is beyond many; a daily lottery the only way some of us get to go. So Holly-Beth speaks for many when she writes: “I entered the Hamilton lottery every day for almost two years but I never got to be in the room where it happens… however, this 4K recording of the original cast will do very nicely for now! Finally getting to see the context and performances after obsessing over the music for years was so, so satisfying.”

“Finally” is a common theme. Sydnie writes, “I love this musical with every fiber of my body and it was an extraordinary experience finally getting to watch it in Australia”. Flogic: “To finally be able to put the intended visuals to a soundtrack that I’ve had on repeat for such a long time: goosebumps for 160 minutes.” Newt Potter: “Now I fully understand people’s love for this masterpiece of a musical!”

I’ve got a small query for you.

Where’s the motherfucking swearing? Unsurprisingly, Disney+ comes with some limitations. For Hamilton, it’s the loss of a perfectly placed F-word.

“I know Disney is ‘too pure’ to let a couple of ‘fucks’ slip by,” writes Fernando, “but come on, it’s kind of distracting having the sound go out completely when they sing the very satisfying ‘Southern Motherfucking Democratic Republicans!’ line.”

Will agrees: “Disney cutting ‘motherfucking’ from ‘Washington on Your Side’ felt like sacrilege akin to Mickey Mouse taking an eyebrow pencil to the Mona Lisa.”

Nevertheless, sings Allison:

“Even tho Disney stripped the story of its f***s, Don’t think for a moment that it sucks.”

(Yes, she has a vegan alert for Hamilton.)

Does it throw away its shot?

The crew filmed two regular shows in front of live audiences, with additional audience-less sessions for a dolly, crane and Steadicam to capture specific numbers. The vast majority of you are satisfied. “It’s the most engaging and expertly crafted life filming I’ve seen since Stop Making Sense,” writes ArtPig. “The film does an incredible job of placing you right in the action. It feels like the best seat you could get in the theater. You can see the sweat and spit.”

“Translates perfectly onto the small screen,” agrees Ollie. “There’s a level of intimacy that feels hard to replicate in any other filmed production. We see those close ups, the passion and gusto behind every actor’s performance.”

“Shockingly cinematic for something filmed on such a small stage,” is Technerd’s succinct summary, while Paul praises director Thomas Kail: “He knows when to back away along with moving nearer when appropriate, and the choices always serve to govern the power and stamina of the performances.”

Though cast members’ voices were recorded on individual audio tracks, Noah had a few quibbles with the sound quality. “Some of the audio capture is off in the recording, sometimes voices being too soft or too loud. It’s not immersion breaking, but it is noticeable enough to irk me a little in pivotal moments. Some of the shot composition doesn’t fully work either. Of course nothing is going to be as good as seeing it in person.”

Robert, recalling another recent cinematic escapade of musical theater, lets his poetry do the talking:

“This will do for now until the true movie’s made, Though if Hooper directs, there’ll be an angry tirade.”

I think your pants look hot.

Hamilton fans have their cast favorites, but something about being able to see Jonathan Groff’s spittle and Leslie Odom Jr’s scowls in 4K has you losing it all over again. Several specific shout-outs we enjoyed:

“Daveed Diggs the Legend! Go watch Blindspotting (2018), it’s one of the best movies ever!” —Kyle

“It’s hard to believe anyone will ever top Leslie Odom Jr. as Aaron Burr. I already loved him from the original cast recording, but seeing his full performance in all its glory was just godly.” —Erika

“Thankful that it was made possible for me to view with such clarity the phenomenon that is Renée Elise Goldsberry and spectacular Phillipa Soo.” —Thea

“Daveed Diggs was electrifying and Jonathan Groff was absolutely hilarious. If they interacted together the stage would’ve combusted from the sheer will of their talent.” —Nick

This is not a game.

On one hand, the release of Hamilton is sweet relief for music theater nerds riding out the pandemic. A generation of kids knows every word by heart, rapping (this version of) American history like it’s no thing. On the other, the Obama-era musical already feels behind-the-times, even for many Hamilton lovers, and the filmed version has brought that into sharp focus.

“I listened to the OG cast album about 50 times when it came out, the production is about as good as I’d always hoped,” writes Josh. “Since then however there’s been a very important and broader reckoning with the failures of neoliberalism and the Obama years ([from] which this has to be the most emblematic piece of art) and for me personally a drifting further to the left that has resulted in a very different relationship with the material. So my feelings today are a bit more complicated.”

“Hamilton is extremely non-committal about its politics,” writes Sting. “It doesn’t examine much of what Hamilton dictated besides ‘he wants complete financial control of the country’ (which would sound like a fucking supervillain in any other context, including reality).”

That lack of political commitment, reckons Morgan, is what helped Hamilton as a musical become so popular: “It’s fun. It’s catchy. It interweaves trendy and socially relevant artistic tools to infer a subversive subtext, while simultaneously sanitizing and, at times, flat out fabricating the historical narrative and downplaying the brutality of the true origin story, for the sake of appeasing those in power. Classic Bill Shakespeare stuff.”

History has its eyes on you.

Much criticism lies with the fundamental storytelling decision to make a modern ruckus about America’s Founding Fathers, the men (including Alexander Hamilton) who in the late eighteenth century united the thirteen colonies and co-wrote the Constitution. Undisputed titans of history, they also have blood on their hands, and HoneyRose writes that the musical “glorifies these men, and paints them as self-sacrificing heroes, and honestly normalizes and validates slavery, as well as the behavior of slave owners.”

Stevie, who saw the Broadway production as well as the filmed version, confesses: “I’ve tried (I’ve really tried) to understand what makes people lose their minds over this but I’m still completely baffled by the hype… These were horrible men and a romanticism of them through song and dance just seems entirely misguided.”

Sean is not convinced that Hamilton is a hagiography. “I can’t imagine anyone watching all of this and thinking it paints a portrait of the Founding Fathers as anything other than childish, greedy, venal and self-aggrandizing.” Wesley agrees: “I don’t think Hamilton is trying to be a history lesson, so much as a lesson about how we think about history. It’s a compelling human story told in a revolutionary way.”

That “revolutionary way” is the musical’s central conceit: that of a cast-of-color playing the white founding fathers as they bumble towards independence. Journalist Jamelle Bouie, who regards the musical as “fun, exciting, innovative and, at points, genuinely moving,” wrestles with the “celebratory narrative in which the Framers are men to admire without reservation. Through its casting, it invites audiences of color to take ownership of that narrative, as if they should want to take ownership of a narrative that white-washes the history of the revolution under the guise of inclusion.”

It’s complicated for Matt, too: “It’s widely agreed upon that the show encapsulates the Obama era better than anything, how it coddles white liberals with a post-racial vision of history in a superficial sense, overlooking the insidious and oppressive systems that they benefit from (hearing the audience clap to ‘Immigrants, we get the job done’ unsettled me). Of course hopefully its legacy will be that it opened up more Broadway roles for POC. But I really think that the show doesn’t make Broadway more appealing and accessible to POC, it just makes hip hop more accessible to white people, a launching pad of course to listening to Watsky or something.

“No hate though to anyone that’s completely in love with this, it’s definitely worth seeing despite any hang ups.”

I wanna build something that’s gonna outlive me.

The story doesn’t end, just because the music does. Kai_Kenn has a suggestion: “I have been a part of discussions that dissect the culture that created Hamilton, as well as the culture that Hamilton created, and whether or not Hamilton appropriately addresses the modern issues [that] the cult following proposes it does.

“This is an ongoing discussion that I am trying to be an active listener in and, if you consider yourself to be a conscientious consumer of art, you should too.”

Noah is on board with that: “Reflecting on the past and focusing on the future are not two mutually exclusive actions. Both are a must, regardless of who you are or what you do. A five-star experience in a four-and-a-half-star film. I think that’s just fine.”

Related content

Want to see more of the key cast? Watch Daveed Diggs in ‘Blindspotting’; Renée Elise Goldsberry in ‘Waves’, Jonathan Groff repeat his role as Kristoff in ‘Frozen 2’, Lin-Manuel Miranda in ‘Mary Poppins Returns’, Leslie Odom Jr. in ‘Harriet’, Phillipa Soo in the forthcoming ‘Broken Hearts Gallery’, Christopher Jackson in the forthcoming ‘In The Heights’, Jasmine Cephas Jones in ‘The Photograph’, Okiereriete Onaodowan in ‘A Quiet Place II’ and Anthony Ramos in ‘Monsters and Men’ and ‘A Star is Born’.

Ways to support the Black Lives Matter movement

Official Black Lives Matter’s Resources

Teenagers that have ‘Hamilton’ stuff on their bedroom walls

Films where they mention ‘Hamilton’

[ralafferty]

84. Seven Story Dream

One of Lafferty’s better-known mystery stories, thanks to its inclusion in Does Anyone Else Have Something Further to Add?—actually, the only one of his mysteries to feature in any of his major-press collections. It’s a mordant tale of striking confidence; one can see why a platform as big as Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine went for it. And yet, without the efforts of Virginia Kidd, it probably would’ve been just another unpublished manuscript in the Lafferty archives.

Lafferty submitted the story to A.L. Fierst soon after writing it, in November 1961; the agent apparently didn’t reject it, as he did many of Ray’s SF stories, but he did not succeed in selling it—and likely did not try to. Unlike several other of the mystery stories which Fierst failed to sell, such as “Enfants Terribles” or “Almost Perfect,” Lafferty did not continue to shop this one on his own; instead, it would sit in his file boxes for almost a decade, when Virginia Kidd asked him which of his older stories might be worth a look.

It might not be quite the coup of “Enfants Terribles,” which Kidd succeeded in selling to the undisputed top-tier mystery mag, Ellery Queen’s, despite Lafferty trying that same market and many others years before, but landing an abandoned story in the market’s #2 magazine is no mean feat. Hitchcock Mystery had started back in the ’50s, piggybacking on the success of the Alfred Hitchcock Presents TV anthology series. The magazine kept their namesake’s famous silhouette and predilection for suspenseful tales, but otherwise operated completely independently—although on occasion the show would adapt stories from the print outlet; it’s sort of a shame that Presents was no longer running when Lafferty’s story did, as it would have made a fine episode.

Kidd’s other intervention with the story was a little more understated. It wasn’t her practice (with Lafferty, anyway, or with any of her other clients I’ve researched) to make changes directly to manuscripts; instead she would make the case that the material needed changes, and leave the author to provide them, or not. But in this one case, Kidd—who, though best known for her efforts representing SF/F writers, had a fondness for mysteries and a very keen eye for plotting and characterization—did the touch-up work herself, and only then mailed Lafferty for his approval. Sadly, the letter in which she initially proposed the change seems to have been lost (as opposed to the one where she acknowledged his acceptance), but we can recover the shifts by comparing his manuscript draft with the version as published:

Manuscript: The machine played now in the compelling voice of Gilford Gadberry, as it had often played to George Handle in his sleep till he had learned it: “I killed Minnie Jo Merry. I killed Minnie Jo Merry. Strangled her and threw her out the window. I killed—”

Published story: The machine played now in the compelling voice of Gilford Gadberry, as it had night after night played to George Handle, in his sleep, till he had learned to answer on cue; and the cue, of course, was the question: “Who killed Minnie Jo Merry?” “Pretty uninspired,” Gadberry had to admit, “but I had to assume uninspired questioners, to whom the cliché would come naturally.”

(As a side note here, what is Lafferty playing at by calling a character George Handle? I can’t find any connection to the composer, but it tantalizes nonetheless.)

There’s actually quite a few red herrings in the story, not so much at the basic level of whodunit—the identity of the real killer is never in any serious doubt—as it is about why he did it, and how he set up someone else to take the fall. As ever with Lafferty, these elements reflect on the meta level of the story’s composition.

Much of the story seems to revolve around sleep-learning, or hypnopedia. To educate himself, Handle listens to recordings, some of which he paid Gadberry to make, while he sleeps; Gadberry takes the opportunity to have Handle hypnotize himself into admitting he was the killer.  In pondering where Lafferty would’ve encountered this practice, we could turn to his self-education in science fiction, where it’s been a favorite trope since Hugo Gernsback himself put it into Ralph 124C41+, and Aldous Huxley put it at the heart of his Brave New World. But there’s a more immediate reason it might’ve been on Lafferty’s mind on or just before November 25, 1961, the day he finished the story: on November 16, an episode of popular sitcom My Three Sons revolved around sleep-learning—in this case, learning Spanish, which lifelong language-learner Lafferty might’ve taken particular interest in. Furthermore, the plot of the show involves the recordings being changed out surreptitiously, though for the purpose of a moral to be learned, rather than a murder to be covered up.

In the show they use a home record player; I went down a rabbit-hole trying to figure out exactly what sort of audio equipment Lafferty would’ve had in mind here; thanks to his engineering training and his job selling electronics parts, he was fascinated by consumer electronics and media technology generally, but he’s maddeningly imprecise in his descriptions here, with mention made of “the tapes, the wires, the records” crowding Handle’s apartment. In 1973, when the story was published, it clearly would’ve been standard-issue cassette tapes, which had been available for a decade. But in 1961, when he was writing this, cassette systems were much larger, and the bulk as well as the cost scared many consumers away from getting what seemed then like a novelty.

Ultimately it doesn’t much matter (he said, setting aside huge amounts of media theory dealing with modernism, hypnotism, sound reproduction, and death)—what matters is that the murder itself is getting displaced by a question of technology. As we discover, the reason for that murder is primarily aesthetic: the murdered woman was more aesthetically pleasing dead than alive. But this is the basis for essentially every murder mystery, nearly all of which require at least one corpse to fulfill their own aesthetic—something which Northrop Frye identified in assigning the genre not to the realm of moralism or any romantic restoration of society, but to the realm of sadism and ironic comedy. The exact identity of the character who made the corpse is ultimately irrelevant; it might be the person repeating “I killed Minnie Jo Merry. I killed Minnie Jo Merry…” or they might be ventriloquizing those words at the impetus of another, but in the end it’s the author who’s responsible: theirs is the aesthetic judgment that necessitated the killing. In making a mostly aesthetic decision to carry out a murder, Gadberry reflects also on the morality of the author as artist, even to the point of staging the opening scene for maximum sensory effect (in the process “savagely striking down” a lone white flower—again, subtlety not really the point of this piece). He cites as his motives “jealousy, frustration, curiosity,” but the first two are clearly deprecated to the third, which he shares with any author who creates a character for the sole purpose of killing them off.

This is a grim promontory on which to find oneself, philosophically speaking, and I wonder if it isn’t that which led Lafferty to shelve the tale for so long. There’s a further inquiry to be had over the degree to which this tale deviates from the spirit of oft-cited inspiration G.K. Chesterton, whose Father Brown treats murder less as a crime against morality than as one against rationality: there is evil in the world, and no amount of detection will make that wholly right again, but so long as such crimes can be made comprehensible within the wider moral universe then the logical coherence of that universe remains unshaken. By contrast, Lafferty’s Gadberry acts according to his own morality, in which the aesthetic is prime above all—a true Decadent.

Curiously, it’s Kidd’s edit that steers things back toward a more Chestertonian morality, by bringing in the notion of the cliché. In the original version of the ending, Gadberry’s deception is solely for the purpose of maximizing the aesthetic purity of his world, in which murdering a woman and framing another man is perfectly justifiable in the quest for artistic experience. The idea, however, that he is phrasing his hypnotic direction in such a way that it would be triggered by “uninspired questioners” shows that he is aware of the competing moral framework; moreover, that he is perfectly willing to betray his own artistic vision when doing so more effectively panders to the anaesthetic or the artless, thus undercutting any claim his competing moral universe might have to internal coherency. By pulling the story back from the madness of decadence, Kidd made it into a serviceable detective tale—one that critiques the genre and its clichés, without consigning the whole thing to oblivion on the basis of a single core flaw.

Completed November 1961. Published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, ed. Ernest M. Hutter, July 1973. Collected in Does Anyone Else Have Something Further to Add?, New York: Scribners, 1974.

Next entry: three centuries of history in a single afternoon, in “Among the Hairy Earthmen”

[mischiefandspirits]

Tutoring

Tony had just wanted to be sure his son protégé wasn't getting in over his head. He hadn't expected to find this!

“Tony.”

“And how did this even happen! Happy, you’re supposed to be watching the kid!”

“Hey, I told the kid to stay away when he first ran into Deadpool. He never brought him up again so I figured he’d actually listened for once.”

“The kid never listens!”

“Are we still just going along with the kid not being Tony’s?”

“Rhodey!”

“Just saying, Pepper.”

“He’s a teenager. He’s probably just going through a rebellious phase. It will pass.”

“Didn’t for Tony.”

“Thank you, peanut gallery.”

“Don’t push him, Tony.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I’m ser-”

“Kids are getting out.”

“Time to go!”

“Tony!”

“Love you!”

“Like father, like son.”

“Goodbye!”

Tony ended the call then turned to look out the window as MSST’s academic decathlon team wondered out of the doors. The first four were… unremarkable. Smart, sure, but not worth Tony remembering their names.

Next, Eugene "Flash" Thompson came strutting out with a swagger Tony recognized from his own early days. Flash was high on MSST’s hierarchy, both intellectual and social. He’s the son of a surgeon and DJ’s using a self-designed set up in his free time alongside being on the school’s robotics and AcaDec teams. He also had a few warnings on record for vocal harassment, mostly against Peter, which was the only reason Tony had looked into him in the first place.

Finally Peter stepped out of the school with Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones at his side, the former waving about enthusiastically and the latter with her nose pressed into her book appearing to be completely ignoring those around her. Those were also two Tony had looked into. Ned Leeds was Peter’s best friend, his Rhodey. Unlike Pepper and Happy, Tony wasn’t surprised when Peter told them Ned had found out his secret. He was more surprised it took that long. Michelle, on the other hand, had only really been a tagalong until recently, more by her own preference than the boys’. She was extremely smart and a social activist. Tony didn't know if she knew Peter’s secret, but he wouldn't put it past her to put the pieces together at some point, especially now that she’s spending more time around him. Not quite Peter’s Pepper. Banner, maybe. Or Natasha.

He’s getting off focus.

Tony leaned forwards to tell Happy to pull up so they could grab the kid, only for his words to be cut off by a loud roar.

A motorcycle shot past them, coming to a squealing halt in front of the school. Most of the kids shuffled back towards the doors, looking a few seconds short of fleeing into the building, while Peter and Jones braced themselves for a fight. Her book disappeared into her bag while his eyes darted about looking for a place to change.

“Tony?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., get me audio. I wanna know what’s going on over there,” Tony said as he looked over the newcomer. They were completely covered from head to toe between the black pants tucked into their knee-high boots, the motorcycle gloves peaking out of their baggy red school hoodie that boasted a wolverine mascot, and the black motorcycle helmet who’s tinted visor had to be too dark to be legal.

“Right away.”

“-ate property!” Jones was yelling.

“Sorry, gorgeous, could you repeat that? The readers at home missed most of it,” mystery guy -- or girl with a masculine voice? Eh, Tony was gonna go with guy until corrected -- said.

“What?”

Peter dropped his battle stance, though he stayed tense. “W-Wade? What are you doing here?”

“Wade? As in that Wade?” Leeds gasped.

“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m kidnapping you from this nerd palace!” Mystery guy reached back to the bag strapped to his bike. Tony thought he was going to grab the shiny metal bat peeking out, but instead he pulled out a second helmet. He tossed it at Peter and ordered, “Get on, bug!”

The kid caught it easily, but Jones stepped in front of him. “What’s up with this guy, dork? Do I need to tase him?”

“No, he- Wait, tase? You have a taser? Is that legal?”

Jones shrugged. “Probably.”

Mystery guy laughed. “I like you! What’s your name again, Mary? No, wait, that was the other guy’s MJ.”

Jones gave mystery guy an incredulous expression.

Peter waved it off. “Ignore him. He likes to say weird things to confuse people sometimes. MJ, this is Wade. He’s a… uh…”

“He your boyfriend?” Thompson sniggered.

“You got a problem with that?” Wade asked, grabbing the bat’s handle.

Thompson’s eyes widened and he staggered back.

“Wade, no. And he’s not my boyfriend. I’m just… just tutoring him. Long story.”

“Too long for this story at least. So you coming, bug?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, give me a sec. Ned, see you later for movie night?”

“If you live that long.”

Peter sent him a glare and Leeds sent a concerned one right back.

“I’ll be fine Ned.”

“I trust you.”

The kid gave him a look before pulling on the helmet and walking over to Wade. In a lower voice that was obviously only supposed to be heard by Wade, he said, “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise you. Plus, I wanted to see where you go to school. Should have known you went to a nerd factory!”

“Why didn’t you call first?”

“Don’t you know the definition of surprise? Besides, you would have said no.”

“For good reason.”

“Don’t be like that, bug!” Wade revved the bike as Peter swung on behind him. “Hang on!”

Tony leaned back in his seat as the two rode off. “Did the kid say anything to you about tutoring?”

“No. The way he always talks during his calls, I always thought he spent all his free time patrolling.”

Honestly, the same went for Tony. Tutoring did sound right up the kid’s alley though. “He must be branching out. Good. F.R.I.D.A.Y., contact S.I.L.K. I wanna-”

“Karen.”

“Oh not you too!” Tony groaned.

“Karen?” Happy asked.

“Kid named the AI in his suit and now she refuses to go by anything except Karen. I gave her a perfectly good acronym -- Spider Interactive Learning Keeper -- and this is what I get in return.”

“Should I be worried it’s going to be a repeat of-”

“No, no, she’s rebellious and a bit trigger happy, but she’s fine. F.R.I.D.A.Y., let Karen know I want to be informed the moment the kid activates his suit. We can talk then.”

“Right away.”

“Karen? Kid couldn’t be more creative than that?”

“Like Dum-E.”

“He knows what he did to get that name.”

“- on. Get o-”

Tony’s eyes widened as he heard Peter cut off with a groan. He dropped down into the alleyway F.R.I.D.A.Y. had led him to and prepared his repulsors to give the kid some backup.

His brain immediately shorted out at the sight before him.

Seeing Deadpool wasn't at all surprising. He knew the mercenary was working out of NYC and had taken to prowling areas near Queens recently. He was beneath the Avengers paygrade though since he had no connections to big crime rings and his targets all favored more the more dubious walks of life.

Seeing Deadpool pinning the kid against a wall wasn't too surprising either. They had a run in before and despite Happy’s protests, Tony knew the kid wouldn't keep his nose out of things, even though Deadpool was above Spidey’s paygrade, what with the killing and his reported overall ability to walk off anything and everything. The mercenary had also made it pretty clear Spidey had his attention as well, considering the notes that had brought Tony to town in the first place.

The kissing was… definitely surprising. Sure, the notes had clearly been meant to be interpreted as love notes (or the modern teenage texting equivalent at least), but Deadpool was reported to be absolutely insane and just as mouthy in a fight as the kid, if only with a darker sense of humor. Tony had assumed the notes were some sort of joke, not signs of an actual crush. Or more.

Peter actually reciprocating the kiss, with one hand looped around the mercenary’s neck and the other clenching the front of his hoodie though? That was the mind breaking part.

The two jerked apart as Tony landed (harder than intended thanks to his brain rebooting) and spun to face him. Both had their masks pulled up to their noses to accommodate the kissing so Tony could see the flush that overtook Peter as his mouth gaped open and his mask’s eye lenses widened. He could also see the hard line Deadpool’s mouth fell into as he stepped between Tony and Peter and reached for one of the swords strapped to his back.

“Do you mind?”

“M-Mr. Stark! I-I-I can explain!”

Brain finally functioning well enough to speak, Tony said the first thing to come to mind.

“What the f-!”

[mystudioflow-blog]

My Recording Studio Journey pt.1 (#mystudioflow)

I spent all of my teenage and adult life writing, producing and recording my own hip hop music treating it like a hobby although I claimed I would earn my living with it one day. In 2010 at around 30 years old after years of talking the talk and thinking I knew it all. I started to realise I was wrong. I had to start being honest with myself after I went and recorded with a local producer who was much further along than I was. He was working in Pro Tools, had a much better mic and a real outboard mic pre (UA710). Whereas I was working with outdated software and had no Idea what Plugins were, how to tune vocals or dial in a compressor. When I left his house I was driving home listening to the song we did. At first I was very excited about the pop sound with my vocals tuned and a decent rough mix…. even though up until that day I was ANTI-auto tune and hated modern pop music! After playing it on repeat for about 20 minutes my mood started to change. I started to get this indescribable gut wrenching feeling. All I could think was that he was five or six years younger than me and he was leaps and bounds past where I was with my craft. He was charging $40.00 an hour producing and recording for people in his apartment and I wasn’t getting any respect or making any money because my final product sounded like GARBAGE in comparison to his. As the days passed I started bugging out and feeling depressed.

After about a week of pondering on these thoughts and tormenting myself I came to a conclusion. I was going to need to either go ALL in on music production and engineering or I needed to just quit because I felt like a joke. Considering the fact that music and studio life was always how I identified myself and I felt so overwhelmingly passionate about it. I decided there was only one option….GO ALL IN!!! First I reached out to the guy I recorded with and asked him what mic and pre amp he had. I told him I was going to get some new gear, Pro Tools and some plugins so I could start making a living doing what I love like he did. He got quiet for a moment and responded by saying “Going and buying the gear I have isn’t going to make you as good as me”……… I took it well and stayed cordial on the phone but all I could think was “Oh yeh?!? Watch me mother effer!! WHATCH ME!!

My next step was to try and convince my wife to let me spend a few grand on some of the gear and software I needed to start working towards making a living in my own studio. After a considerable amount of debating I was able to convince her to give approval on a Guitar Center card to get the ball rolling. I also sold my 1988 IROC Z Camaro, my booming system and all the crappy equipment I had in an effort to raise money for some new gear. My first burst of purchasing went like this. i3 iMac, Pro Tools 8, Waves Native Power Pack, UA610 mk2, Sterling Audio st69 mic (yuk) and a pair of Dynaudio monitors. Oh yes and I also bought auto tune. I got all the equipment hooked up and software installed. Then the long road of learning and troubleshooting could really begin! I had been mixing all my own projects for years leading up to this but still didn’t really have a good understanding of mixing and mastering. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Over the next year or so I was layed off from work and home during the day with 2 babies trying to learn audio engineering while being Mr. Mom. I would wake up in the middle of the night and end up in my basement studio watching You Tube videos and franticly researching trying to learn my craft. I was reading books for the first time in my life!! I was going to Barns And Noble to escape my family and read all the audio magazines for free. About 2 years after my BIG decision to go all in on learning my craft we moved our family of four from Connecticut to Cape Coral, FL . This is where my wife is from and where we met years before. Shortly after arriving in Florida a friend at work recommended that I put an add on Craigslist as a home recording studio. That evening I sat down and did just that! It only took a few days and I got my first call which turned into my first steady client… A Christian Rapper. I was so excited and full of nerves for the first few sessions considering I had only recorded myself and a few friends up until that point and had never really charged much money. I was making $8.00 more per hour in my home studio than I was making at my day job doing strenuous physical labor. This was when my bad attitude towards my day job life began to escalate rapidly. I spent about a year recording with ten to fifteen clients before I decided to go take an audio engineering class at Vibe Recording in Ft. Myers, Florida. I felt I needed to go fill in the blanks with some formal education so I could gain the confidence needed to open my own commercial recording studio. This had been my dream since my first time in a real studio at 18 years old. I actually have an earlier memory of my uncle who was the lead singer in a band that took me to his friends house who had a recording set up. He had a tape machine, microphones and a mixing board. I was about 6–8 years old and all I can remember is how floored I was. I vividly remember being very excited that they could actually record music in their basement and play it on a tape in the car!!!!! I also remember them telling me that all their equipment actually sucked and was not good quality. I was not phased by there negative comments about their crappy gear. I thought it was absolutely AMAZING! This is the same uncle (Uncle Med) who took me to my first concert when I was six years old…. Michael Jackson (BAD)!! All I know is that as far back as I can remember music was a GIANT part of my life and seemed to be what made me tic.

Ok Im loosing track of the story…

I started my classes and just fell more and more in love with the process of recording, mixing and mastering. I started engulfing myself with information. I had podcasts going all day (Pensado’s Place, Recording Studio Rockstars and Working Class Audio) as well as reading magazines and books. Along with the obvious late nights in my home studio with clients or working on my own personal productions sharpening my swords. I was spending as much time as a 40 hour working married father of three could at the studio where I took classes definitely pushing the limit at times and straining my home life. I was going to work from 7am to 3:30 or 4:00pm. Then Picking my kids up from daycare to take them home, cook them dinner and eat with the family. Then I would go straight from the dinner table to class. At the end of class I would always try to spend some extra time. Whether at the studio sitting in on sessions or at the local brewery with people from the studio. Talking music, audio and making relationships with like minded people some work nights I wouldn’t make it home till as late as 2am. Actually I was hanging around people that were smarter than me in many cases which really helped to speed up my progression. I finished the class never scoring below a 99% on any test or project which is funny considering I had ALWAYS been an F and D student growing up. I started assisting my teacher and mentor Chad Zuchegno on saturdays as well as attending the next round of classes religiously in many cases assisting in the classroom as well.

After about 3 months of assisting and attending my second round of classes I did an 11hr day helping at the studio. Doing everything from setting up the mics to getting coffees and emptying garbages (keep in mind I’m in my 30’s). At the end of the day Chad took me out for a beer and a cigar which was kind of the norm. Then as I sipped my first bear Chad looked up from texting with the other owner of the studio and asked me “Hey do you want to work a session at the studio on your own tomorrow?” This would be my first session at a real established commercial recording studio! Of course I said yes! As the evening progressed he proceeded to tell me some things I really needed to hear. He said “YOU DO BELONG in the studio”….. “YOU are already a GREAT engineer!”…. “This IS what your SUPPOSED to be doing”…. This my friends was a pivotal point for the future of my life. On my ride home that night I remember having the windows down, loudly playing my own work and letting out shouts of extreme happiness “WOOOOOOOO YEEEESSS!!!! I DID IT!!! I AM DOING IT!!! I CAN EFFING DO IT!! WOOOOHOO”.

To be continued………….

[imran16829]

Who is Julianne Michelle Estranged Husband: Karl Reeves Biography, Wiki, Age, Family, Net Worth, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Fast Facts You Need to Know

Karl Reeves Biography, Wiki

Karl Reeves has been a professional in New York City for decades. He is best known for being the estranged husband of actress, Julianne Michelle. He owns CEI New York, an elevator installation and maintenance business in Manhattan that is an offshoot of his father’s company, Consolidated Elevator Industries of Queens. Karl Reeves Early Life, Family, Parents Karl Reeves grew up in New York City with his family. His father, Karl Senior, started Consolidated Elevator in 1970, growing it into a prominent and respected elevator service company. In the early 2000s, Karl Junior started to take an interest in his father’s company, devoting more and more of his time to streamlining it and updating its processes to keep it up to date as possible in the rapidly changing business world. Karl Reeves Education graduating with a degree in psychology from Potsdam University. This fascination led to an interest in business, which allowed him to use his innate barometer for behavior coupled with his academic studies as a way to stay ahead of trends in the market. Karl Reeves Career Karl tries to keep abreast of market trends and new technologies; he is involved with many public and private large developers and REITs. Karl Reeves finds the whole idea of free-market enterprise and investments as both as a means to gain upside and downside. Watching cycles boom and bust, knowing that history repeats itself and trying to anticipate the next move. In 2007 Karl officially took over, doubling the company’s revenue in the first two years as CEO. Karl Reeves has now been at the head of Consolidated Elevator for over a decade and only plans on expanding. Karl Reeves ELEVATORS From the first demonstration of a commercial elevator at the 1857 Worlds Fair held in New York City, the invention and its birthplace have been unequivocally intertwined as well. Before the elevator buildings struggled to climb higher than a few stories, but with the introduction of the elevator, NYC was able to climb higher and higher. Although the ideas of elevators have been around for centuries, the first commercial elevator was developed by the Otis Elevator Company and was installed in a five-story New York department store. Karl Reeves & Julianne Michelle Julianne and Karl met at a friend's party in Manhattan in November 2014. Julianne was 30 years old and in no hurry to marry anyone, she always wanted to marry at 35. Somehow he left her alone. Karl Reeves before asking Julianne to marry him first sought permission and blessings from his father. Later, in mid-2015, in a very romantic atmosphere in one of his houses in Miami Beach, Florida, he knelt and asked Julianne to marry him and gave him a beautiful diamond ring. The two celebrated their union at the Church of San Ignacio de Loyola on Park Avenue and 84th Street in Manhattan at 1 pm on Saturday, November 21, 2015. In what was described as "A royal wedding for the countess and the winner actress Julianne Michelle ", the bride left a Rolls Royce from 1933, which was built for a grandson of Queen Victoria. The ceremony was officiated by p. Daniel O'Hare in a magnificent setting. A reception, cocktails, dinner and dance followed at the Union League Club on Park Avenue and 37th Street at 5 pm. The guests at this royal wedding included celebrities, philanthropists, family, and close friends, who danced all night. Karl Reeves and Julianne Michelle Divorce The bliss of her wedding did not last long, as Julianne Michelle later revealed that Karl Reeves was an abusive husband and reportedly abused drugs, namely ketamine and cocaine, threatened to kill Julianne and her parents and He allegedly called Julianne a "whore" and a "prostitute" for being an actress before her wedding. The two are locked in full legal and physical custody of their two-year-old daughter. According to the documents presented in the Supreme Court, Julianne said Reeves is an abuser of domestic violence and abuse of neo-Nazi, homophobic children. On February 22, 2017, Julianne alleged that Reeves tested positive for amounts of exorbitant amounts of benzodiazepines, a class of drugs used to treat anxiety, as well as cocaine, 'according to an affidavit filed by Julianne in the Supreme Court of the State of NY. Julianne said that one of the people who reviewed the results of Reeves' tests told him that the presence of benzodiazepines ‘in his system was so severe that he was really surprised that he had been" conscious "at the time of the test." She also claims that Reeves admitted using "whips," bottles of compressed nitrous oxide inhaled for a moment, to a CPS supervisor that same month. According to N.Y. Post, the Manhattan Socialite said it had gone through 10 divorce lawyers in a bitter legal battle with her separated husband, she finally ran out of lawyers, she said Tuesday, November 12. "I represent myself today," philanthropist and actress Julianne Michelle Reeves told the Manhattan Supreme Court judge who oversees her divorce case against former Karl Reeves. Julianne asked Judge Tandra Dawson to expedite her case, reiterating her previous requests to increase the monthly child support payments so she can take care of the couple's daughter. "It barely covers the basic needs," he said of the payments of $ 1,681 per month. "That's why I'm without advice. That's why I can't continue litigating this matter." Julianne, who also receives $ 2,425 in monthly spousal support payments, told the judge that her friend offered to help her get on with the case. Karl Reeves was crazy about a sex scene Julianne played in a movie Reeves also disagreed with Julianne's career as an actress, which supposedly caused her to abandon her film career for years. Before getting married, Reeves allegedly called Julianne a "prostitute" and a "prostitute" for being an actress and was enraged by jealousy for scenes she had filmed for five to 10 years before they met, she said in court documents. Reeves became especially obsessed with a clip of Julianne from the movie Polycarp, later renamed Kinky Killers, which showed a simulated sex scene that contained no nudes, but ended up on the PornHub site. The CEO's friend noticed the clip on the site about three months after he started dating Julianne. But he continued talking about his marriage and his pregnancy. In an audio obtained by Daily Mail recorded in August 2016, when Julianne was seven months pregnant, Reeves begins to speak loudly about the scene before threatening to kill Julianne's mother and then tell her that she doesn't even want to have a boy'. "It's not real, it's a fantasy," Julianne tells her husband in the video. ‘Oh, a fictional f ** k scene, oh. Why don't you suck shit, why don't you fuck yourself, why don't you make blowjobs, why don't you fuck yourself in the a **, 'he tells her. "Most movies have sex scenes," she replies. "You can't say there is no difference between movies and reality." Karl Reeves' ex-girlfriend says he is a big drug user According to the Daily Mail. In a sworn statement in October 2017, Reeves' ex-girlfriend Sophie English claimed that he was a "big drug user" with a "big dependence on alcohol and pain relievers." English also claimed that she saw him buy "illegal substances from his drug dealer" and said he was "quite dependent on oxytocin" and that "his whole personality changed." Like Julianne, English discovered that Reeves was "incredibly charming" and very intelligent. But as they went out and out for four years, English said he discovered a "very dark disturbing evil side" for him. In the accusations made in court documents, she claimed that Reeves wanted his future children to look "exactly like him" and wanted to grow them in test tubes so he could "have full control of his destiny." Read the full article

[sleepymarmot]

MEA liveblog #7

Spoilers!

Multiplayer

This interface is a mess. I move my mouse onto "exit lobby" and it turns into "kick player". Buttons just jump around and transform all the time.

And the APEX mission shit needs to be fixed. When you select a mission to play, don't direct me to lobbies who play the same enemy/map/difficulty but not as the mission! Join lobby, see "custom", exit lobby, select "custom game", re-select mission, join, end up in the same lobby, rinse, repeat...

At least I can end up second when I join on wave 5 as a human vanguard lol

F Human Vanguard card!

Tempest

Non-custom weapons of different rank shouldn't exist as separate items in the inventory! Unlocking a higher rank should upgrade the old item like in ME3! This stupid inventory system exists solely because of crafting! If you need inventory limits so much, let them apply only to the crafted items! I've already complained about rewards being lost with no warning if the inventory is full and it's still bullshit! 

I crafted the N7 chestpiece! 25% shield on kill (of course), 5% damage resistance, 2% shield restoration, 2% health&shield regen speed, 2% max shield. I called it "N7 Slayer X". And turns out, it was dad's armor...

Oh right, it needs a new color scheme!

Havarl

I like this ex-STG, he's talking properly.

I don't like the sound effect from Annihilation -- it's like water in my ears!

Hey Peebs, how do you immediately know where the next piece is as soon as we pick the current one?

Kadara

Here's the bar fight. Animation is not bad but has no energy.

Told the asari dancer that I'm done here and she needs to talk to the dude herself, but the quest still sends me back to him -_-

Tempest

So, Kesh was adopted?

Okay, Kalinda is 100% Marjolaine. Peebee's personal storyline is even more copy-pasted from Leliana than Drack's is copypasted from Wrex.

Aya

So many sidequests again!

The Moshae's words about the definition of victory! That's the smartest thing I've heard in this game in hours.

It's really weird to hear her talk so sweetly to me... When we first met she didn’t seem to like me.

When Vetra said people were staring at her, I couldn't resist suggesting they're just all in love...

I suggested taking people who sold their Aya slots onto the Nexus. That's not even charity -- the same ambassador gave me a task to convince angara to come there anyway! So this would kill two birds with one stone.

For the visitor who wanted contact with his family, I had to reload. The options didn't even seem too different... Got it right for the other two: gave an honest professional answer about health issues, and a confident casual answer about finding work.

Great, now I have to head back into the city to buy stuff... This is literally a fetch quest lol

Eos

Omg, the Architect is in orbit now!

The Roekaar fight in an old settlement was very chaotic and fun with Flamethrower/ED/Lance, though it'd probably be easier to just charge

Tempest

Aaaand Jaal gives me his loyalty mission. It's funny that I'm going to do my own love interest's mission last...

Jaal's LM

I continue to be unimpressed with the Roekaar being pure antagonists. :/

Didn't shoot the guy, told Jaal he was badass.

Why are loyalty missions so short?

BTW Ryder just looks wrong in N7 armor... She's not Shepard, that's not her allegiance or her story.

Tempest

Jaal, just as we're leaving Havarl you decided to invite me for a visit down there?

Turian ark

Avitus has very stylish armor

For fuck's sake, Bioware, why do you hate gay men so much?

I convinced Avitus to take the mantle. It was a very sentimental decision for Ryder -- because her situation is very similar. Her SAM and the connection he had with her father are unique, but she didn't think of that in that moment.

Nexus

"Better to find your wings as you fly" Easy for you to say, Sarissa, your predecessor wasn't a loved one

Tempest

I'd agree with Peebee about relationship and baggage, but of course I felt obligated to take the romantic option

(I don’t think there’s an option to agree with her, though, so it’s only for the best)

Voeld

Liam, Vetra, don't fight!

Whoops, sorry for leaving you to die in the purification field, Vetra

...I liked the old color scheme better. Green light looks more alien, but less pretty.

Nexus

Final memory -- here we go!

My theory was that the Archon was somehow Ellen, but that made so little sense I didn't even write it down :D This is simpler.

BTW there's finally Shepard's gender we had to select in the beginning -- in translated subtitles :D Didn't hear it even once in the audio -- could it be Bioware actually took their foreign audience into consideration? :O

Honestly, it's weird that the Reapers info is so secret... From the OT I got the impression that Shepard was yelling about it to everyone at every opportunity...

Fine, fine, you made me emotional with Liara's message.

Shit, I was expecting this decision...

I feel pretty sad now. That's all?

Peebee's LM

Oh, so that's why she lives in an escape pod :D I thought this was only a characterization thing, not a Chekhov's gun!

I said I wasn't mad, though I was a bit. But I mean Ryder *is* mad but also having the time of her life so...

Shit I just shot Kalinda instinctively lmao

Ok I replayed the entire sequence and Idk. This is really the hardest choice in the game...

I'm tempted to say "Yes, literally" :D

Since it's so hard to reaload, it's fair game to watch videos before deciding for myself. Okay, "Yes, literally" is way too harsh.

Alright, this Ryder is not going to make Peebee sad, but I've already planned a Renegade-ish playthrough with a Ryder who values knowledge over everything, so... :D

(Btw, I love that MEA's brand of a more ruthless protagonist is not "uncontrollable brute" but "intellectual snob". As tedious as this game is, I'm already super eager to play character who has those values & takes urgency of tasks seriously.)

This mission is enjoyable and the choice feels maybe the most meaningful... But it has all the classic Mass Effect problems. Kalinda sends a shitload of people to murder us, we murder them, but when she's helpless and we have a finger on the trigger all of that suddenly doesn't matter. Sidonis all over again. Sure, murdering people begging for help is bad in a lot of ways, but she did just try to kill us, a lot of times... Plus, why the fuck can't Ryder jump over and catch the Remnant thing?! That needed to be a second, Paragon interrupt after the Renegade "shoot her." And Ryder is a goddamn biotic, as is Peebee, as is Kalinda! Peebee, Pull is your first goddamn skill! It'd actually be completely plausible if the artifact had shields and/or armor and therefore immune to Pull or Singularity -- but not giving the characters even an idea to try is just stupid!

Tempest

Inviting Peebee to live with together made me revisit my room and inspired me to make some changes. You know what, I'm going to play music in my quarters and change into the short-sleeved pajamas. It's my own ship, why do I walk around it in street clothes? The jacket is stylish but too much to wear at home. I wish we had a "formal" outift for Nexus/Aya/other hubs in addition to the "casual" clothes we wear on the ship.

Shit I went to read someone's post about Peebee's LM and caught a spoilers about the romance post-LM

Addison is right, getting pregnant in that situation was irresponsible

Ah the continuity in this game. "Found more outposts"? I have every possible outpost and all planets at 100%!

"On hold: Place an outpost" bitch where

Voeld

What, there's still a cold hazard?! What was the point of the vault, then?!

Whoa, so the angara believe exaltation not just kills their people but destroys their immortal souls? Wow! That should have been said by a major character during the main story, not by an easily missed NPC!

Oh great, I died and the game refuses to load the last autosave

Dear game. Why did you create four autosaves for the same second. All glitched. Half hour of gameplay lost... God please let the last manual save work. I was sure I saved in between, but just now my PC decided that we still have daylight savings clock change when we do not, and the timestamps on all recent saves are messed up. This especially sucks because I'm trying to rush Peebee's romance because I don't know when the sex scene comes up but I want to make sure it's not when my mom is home while I play it on her PC lol

Tempest

Fuck, that was cute! And Peebee did tackle Ryder, as promised! :D I wonder what she says through Zap in the platonic version...

Addison please don't say the baby screams "like a banshee". I fucking jumped.

"Before you say anything: no PDAs" :D

Level 50! Time to craft myself a powerful new Dhan. I've been running with rank three all this time...

I love that whenever you ask about Kalinda and then return to the general dialogue tree you say "Let's talk about something else" and Peebee responds "YES. Please."

Voeld

Alright, so: the kett leaders are dissatisfied with the Archon because he hasn't reported to them recently, the communication with the kett homeworld(?) might be disrupted in general and the Scourge might be to blame.

Tempest

Damn, SAM has a pretty insightful speech about death! The only thing that can't be rationalized after experiencing it, which is why it fascinates. I actually haven't heard it explained this way before.

My movie night quest hasn't progressed since I brought Jaal his device...

Eos

Ryder watching and playing football with two giant guns floating near her hips... omg

Elaaden/Kadara

What? I'm completely confused by all these identical salarians.

I don't understand this choice. He promises to give us the intel if we let him go... what proof do we have besides his word? And how would arresting him stop us from getting intel from his computer etc?

Reloaded to see both options, chose to arrest him

Havarl

I'm not hugging Jaal's mother wtf

Ryder has surprisingly good facial animation when Jaal shows his mementos

In theory Ryder should like Jaal for being such a nerd but the only thing he makes me feel is mild irritation. His interest in "taking things apart" is an informed quality just like his supposed emotional openness. It's not reflected in his dialogue or storyline at all.

And now I'm finished with all quests in the ally category. I wanted to finish the game asap, but now that we know the patch is coming on Thursday, I'll wait for it.

Multiplayer

Extracted from Silver for the first time as Human Vanguard (level 8, rank IV)! It was against Remnant, so Observers and Destroyers were the only problem. Nullifiers are ridiculously easy for a melee character -- like Ravagers, but without acid.

Got Krogan Vanguard from a pack. Will I have to tolerate the Rage overlay?

The first game with Kroguard was going well, he's got a stong melee even though he's slow... and then wave 6/upload/Kett killed us all :(

Completely unrelated to anything, but I just realized that if you pick the romantic option in the escape pod with Peebee, they don't actually have sex. Call me stupid because that's what Peebee's initial condition is, but I thought Ryder's response changed her mind! When Ryder said "Let's not rush things" I interpreted and meant it in the emotional sense, as "It'd be dishonest to hide that I have a crush on you, but you don't owe me anything, and if you don't ready for a Serious Relationship and Grand Romance yet that's fine because I'm not either, so let's just hook up and leave reflection for later" -- which I thought was pretty sweet and interesting? Because this whole relationship to me was built on the fascinating contrast between Peebee's emotional reservations and casual/flirty attitude, and conversely, on Ryder very consciously respecting Peebee's emotional space. Maybe I just fundamentally don't understand sex and romance lmao. But if character A propositions character B, character B says they have feelings for character A, and the scene promptly fades to black, I assume they do the do because that's how these things are filmed? Only in comparison with the other option, which is actually pretty explicit, it became obvious to me that's not what the director meant. I'm pretty disappointed because I thought it was a good subversion of Jack's "either sex or romance" thing in ME2. And it messes with my headcanon/characterization... I guess I'll have to retcon it into one of the two options. I'll probably go with casual, not romantic in that case. But I just read that Peebee will tell you she's glad you said no, so... :/

Multiplayer

Failed a Silver APEX mission agains the Remnant as a human vanguard :(

Got an asari sentinel!

The patch is here, but I can't launch the game now :( This needs some work.

Ugh, I stop playing for two days and have no motivation to pick the game up again...

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

Joints will probably be separated, physique reduce into items: New chilling particulars from Jamal Khashoggi's homicide

http://tinyurl.com/y3qylpch The gathering on the second ground of the Saudi consulate featured an unlikely assortment: A forensic physician, intelligence and safety officers, brokers of the crown prince’s workplace. As they waited for his or her goal to reach, one requested how they’d perform the physique. To not fear, the physician stated: “Joints will probably be separated. It’s not an issue,” he assured. “If we take plastic luggage and reduce it into items, it is going to be completed. We’ll wrap every of them.” Their prey, Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi, wouldn’t depart the consulate in Istanbul alive. And on Wednesday, greater than eight months after his dying, a United Nations (UN) particular rapporteur revealed new particulars of the slaying – a part of a report that insisted there was “credible proof” to warrant additional investigation and monetary sanctions in opposition to Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. The report introduced the grisly case again into the highlight simply because the prince and his nation gave the impression to be rising from the stain of the scandal. Nevertheless it contained no smoking gun more likely to trigger President Donald Trump to desert certainly one of his closest allies – and none more likely to ship the crown prince earlier than a tribunal. And but the small print of the October 2 killing had been so chilling, and now so public, that it is arduous to fathom that there will not be repercussions. On the recording, apparently picked up by Turkish listening units, intelligence officer Maher Mutreb is heard asking whether or not “the sacrificial animal” had entered the consulate, and a voice responds: “He has arrived.” (Khashoggi isn’t talked about by identify within the audio.) Two minutes later, Khashoggi enters the consulate, hoping to gather a Saudi doc that will let him wed his Turkish fiancee. He’s led into the consul normal’s workplace and informed he has to return to Saudi Arabia. Khashoggi protests: “I notified some individuals outdoors. They’re ready for me. A driver is ready for me.” “Let’s make it quick,” the official tells him, including: “Ship a message to your son.” “Which son? What ought to I say to my son?” Khashoggi asks. “You’ll kind a message. Let’s rehearse; present us,” the official says, prodding: “Kind it, Mr. Jamal. Hurry up.” Inside minutes, the official loses endurance and, the rapporteur stated, apparently pulls out a syringe. “Are you going to offer me medicine?” Khashoggi asks. “We’ll anesthetize you,” he’s informed. Then got here the sounds of battle, “motion and heavy panting,” and eventually – in line with Turkish intelligence relayed within the report – the sounds of a noticed. He’s believed to have been dismembered contained in the consulate. His stays have by no means been discovered. The almost minute-by-minute narrative is a part of a 101-page report from the UN particular rapporteur for extrajudicial, abstract and arbitrary executions. Agnes Callamard, who isn’t a United Nations staffer, launched her inquiry in January beneath her mandate from the UN-backed Human Rights Council. Her report is to be offered at a council session that opens Monday. The 47-nation Geneva physique has already supported extra scrutiny of a Saudi-led navy marketing campaign in neighboring Yemen that has been blamed for the deaths of hundreds of civilians. The Saudi minister of state for international affairs, Adel al-Jubeir, dismissed the report in a tweet, saying that it contained “nothing new” and was riddled with “clear contradictions and baseless allegations which problem its credibility.” 1 – Nothing new.. The Rapporteur within the UNHRC repeats in her non-binding report what has been already printed and circulated within the media. Adel Aljubeir (@AdelAljubeir) June 19, 2019 “The Saudi judiciary is the only real social gathering certified to cope with the Khashoggi case and works with full independence,” he added. 5. We stress that Saudi judicial authorities are the only real competent authorities to listen to this case and are exercising their competencies in whole independence. Adel Aljubeir (@AdelAljubeir) June 19, 2019 The report comes as harm to the crown prince’s status had begun to fade, with nations and firms resuming enterprise with the uber-wealthy kingdom. In latest weeks, the Trump administration has tried to ram by means of a sale of weapons to Saudi Arabia over objections in Congress. A British petrochemicals firm laid out a $2 billion funding to construct three vegetation within the kingdom. Callamard stated duty for Khashoggi’s killing falls on Saudi Arabia, even when she will’t attribute guilt. However the focus has lingered over the person who’s subsequent in line to turn into its king. There may be, she stated, “enough credible proof concerning the duty of the Crown Prince demanding additional investigation.” She stated individuals immediately implicated within the homicide reported to him. And he or she flagged Saudi Arabia’s observe file with human rights violations prior to now, saying “there was no approach the leaders of that state together with the crown prince weren’t conscious of these violations.” Callamard listed dozens of suggestions, and urged UN our bodies or Secretary-Common Antonio Guterres to demand a follow-up prison investigation. She insisted that the UN chief ought to be capable of set up one “with none set off by a state.” However UN spokesman Stephane Dujarric stated Guterres might solely accomplish that with a mandate from “a reliable intergovernmental physique.” Callamard referred to as for sanctions particularly in opposition to the crown prince, even earlier than his guilt or innocence is set. An investigation ought to look into how a lot the crown prince knew, whether or not he had a direct or oblique function, and whether or not he might have stopped the killing, she stated. The 33-year-old prince, who continues to have the assist of his father, King Salman, denies any involvement. Trump has defended US-Saudi ties within the face of worldwide outcry over the slaying. Many US lawmakers have criticized Trump for not condemning Saudi Arabia over the journalist’s killing. In an interview with the Arabic newspaper Asharq al-Awsat printed Sunday, the prince was quoted as saying Khashoggi’s homicide is a “very painful crime” and that the state “will search to realize full justice” in opposition to the perpetrators. The report consists of the names of 11 males on trial in Saudi Arabia for the killing; authorities there have by no means named them. It confirms that Saud al-Qahtani, a former high adviser to the crown prince who has been sanctioned by the US in reference to Khashoggi’s killing, has not been charged. Callamard stated Saudi Arabia ought to name off the trial and let the worldwide neighborhood examine, arguing that the case can hardly be thought of a home problem now. Saudi Arabia initially provided a number of shifting accounts about Khashoggi’s disappearance. As worldwide stress mounted, the dominion ultimately settled on the reason that he was killed by rogue officers in a brawl inside their consulate. However the UN probe stated it’s arduous to simply accept the idea that the chief of the 15-man Saudi staff despatched to the consulate on the time of Khashoggi’s go to had deliberate the homicide with none authorization from superiors within the Saudi capital, Riyadh. Saudi Arabia has blamed the operation on Saudi brokers who exceeded their authority. Saudi Arabia’s personal investigation stated the brokers had been solely given orders by two senior officers to forcibly carry Khashoggi again to Saudi Arabia, however to not kill him. Earlier than his dying, Khashoggi wrote columns in The Washington Publish criticising the crown prince’s crackdown on freedom of thought and expression, although he additionally counseled the prince’s social reforms. He wrote his columns after leaving Saudi Arabia to keep away from being swept up within the crackdown. In an announcement, the US State Division stated it supported Callamard’s “world mission to analyze extra-judicial, abstract, or arbitrary executions. State Division officers met along with her, at her request, to debate a number of issues, together with Jamal Khashoggi’s killing. We’re decided to press for accountability for each one that was accountable.” In Istanbul, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan stated the report had decided Saudi Arabia’s duty over the killing, including that the dominion must account for the killing. “They’ve declared that the Saudis are responsible and had data,” Erdogan stated. “They may account for this, they’ll pay a worth.” Callamard, an instructional and rights advocate, stated she by no means acquired a response from the Saudis on her request to journey to the dominion, and stated she solely had entry to a complete of 45 minutes of tapes recorded inside the consulate across the time of the killing. Turkish intelligence had referenced some seven hours of recordings. Callamard was not allowed by Turkish authorities to take notes whereas listening to parts of the tapes. Her account was primarily based on her reminiscence of the Arabic audio. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) {if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function(){n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments)}; if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)}(window,document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '605311446619075'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); fbq('track', 'ViewContent'); Source link

[bensaundersposts-blog]

Blog

Wednesday 14th November 2018 Sat down with my collaborator to discuss the upcoming project. I had already decided on doing a concept album based on The Great Gatsby, as we had actually started work on a song with such a concept a few months prior, titled Buchanan Street. We chose this source of inspiration because we both love the book and have great reverence and understanding of it, and we know it is a deep well from which to draw inspiration.

Wednesday 21st November

Had our first songwriting session dedicated to this project, repurposing a song we had started earlier in the year as I thought the mood and lyrical content of the piece fit with the direction of the project nicely. The lyrics evoked to me an image of Gatsby and Daisy Buchannan on their first night together, talking things out late in the evening after the excitement had died down, picking apart each other’s minds and motivations, and trying to peel away the layers of pretence surrounding their personas. The music is melancholy and atmospheric and suggests the beginnings of the disillusionment of Gatsby’s dream as he is finally presented with the object of years of his desire, only to find it imperfect and something that could never live up to the dream.

Wednesday 28th November

Continued work on the aforementioned song which we decided to entitle Behind Dark Glasses. Also started a new song, Sins of the Father, following a discussion on how nobody ever really thinks of the events of The Great Gatsby from Daisy’s perspective, focussing instead on Gatsby and Nick’s feelings, so it would be interesting to look at things through her point of view. As such, we began to think how she would view the situation, torn between an unhappy-but-stable marriage, and the distant promise of a potentially better future with the man she had all but given up on years prior. We also thought about a concept brought up in the book of the cycle of negative behaviours and how they are learned. Daisy is, in essence, as we all are, simply acting out based on her surroundings and upbringing - repeating the sins of her father, as each generation tends to repeat the same mistakes as the preceding one, because it’s how they’ve been brought up, and all they know.

Wednesday 5th December

Decided to potentially do Sins of the Father as a duet, with one verse from Daisy’s perspective and another from Gatsby’s, with the two of them singing in harmony by the end. To accomplish this we can get our singer’s sister to do a guest vocal spot. This was an idea from the mind of my collaborator, who noted that the vocal harmony part I had devised for the end of the tune would lend itself to this approach.

Wednesday 12th December

Decided to employ some of my reharmonisation skills in an attempt to make Behind Dark Glasses more musically interesting. Perhaps a symptom of having spent so much time playing/listening to it, the simplicity of the chord progression was starting to get to me. The song is in 7/8 and alternates meter with 4/4 several times throughout, so is interesting rhythmically, and structurally, but I still felt I needed to spice up the harmony a little. I went from a vi-IV-I-V progression of Am-F-C-G to a vi-ii-I-iii progression of Am-Dm/A-C-Em, which I felt was significantly more interesting and slightly less predictable, and the inclusion of the E minor especially lended a darker, sadder tone to the overall piece.

Wednesday 19th December

Again continuing work on Behind Dark Glasses, I looked at the B section of the song which modulates from A minor to A major and features the progression Dmaj7-E(7). I liked the way the E7 acted as a turnaround chord back to A minor via its appearance in both the A major and A harmonic minor scales, but suddenly realised that I could use the Dmaj7 and E7 as bVI and bVII chords respectively to modulate to the new key of F# major, which sounded extremely triumphant and lended itself to a big, bombastic final “chorus” section for our song. Initially the two A minor and A major sections were already in contrast with each other, one dark and brooding and the other more uplifting and catchy, but this third section really elevated the song to new heights, soaring and really giving the song the kick it needed. How exactly the lyrics would progress into this section after being about such a somber topic for so long, we were yet to discover.

Wednesday 9th January 2019

After a short (ish) break for Christmas, we got right back into the swing of things by practicing the two songs we had written thus far, making slight alterations to the lyrics and melody. We then re-began work on the song that started it all, Buchanan Street. We already had a vague idea that this would be a more general, retrospective look at the events of the novel, mentioning things like he green light, the expensive cars and the valley of ashes. We also had a line for the ending of the song, “Don’t know where to go//Got to go my own way”, which we felt encapsulated a feeling of wanting to move on after the life-changing events of the novel, albeit being unsure of exactly where or how.

Wednesday 20th February

Contact with my collaborator at this point had become very sporadic and it was becoming increasingly difficult to actually get any work done with him. In his defense he had a couple of good excuses - his uncle died, then he had to attend the funeral, then his family went away on holiday, then his grandma got diagnosed with dementia and he had to help out in the purchase and renovation of a property close to his own house to which he and his family members could easily travel to look after her, etc etc. Every week he had a new excuse and every week I began to get more and more anxious over whether or not I would be able to make the May deadline for our project, and it was my degree on the line, not his. I don’t really blame him for circumstances outwith his control, but he has also proven to be somewhat unreliable on occasions prior and since. Due to all of this, during discussions with my lecturer we elected that I make a final decision on whether or not to proceed with the collaborative side of the project, or just do it all on my own, most likely completely instrumentally. Feeling that our idea had a lot of potential and that it would be a shame not to attempt to push forward with our project as initially planned, I decided to carry on with the collaboration, but really start to drill into my partner just how important this is and how little time we have left. Perhaps I could have planned things a little better, met up with him more than once a week and had other avenues available for myself to explore should our partnership give way, but I was a little one-track-minded on this idea and hoped everything would work out well.

Wednesday 6th March

We decided from this point on to really get a move on and to try and get one studio rehearsal session and one at-home writing session per week, in order to work on vocal melodies and lyrics respectively. We found that writing at my house was great for coming up with lyrics but bad for trying to come up with vocal melodies as we couldn’t be as loud outwith a studio, so decided to combine approaches. Continuing to work on Behind Dark Glasses, Sins of the Father and Buchanan Street, I had by this point created MIDI demos with some recorded audio tracks in Logic, nailing out structures and sounds and other minutia of our songs, coming up with vocal melodies and harmonies, etc. I had also started music for two new songs, tentatively titled Sailing (Track 01) and Oatabix.

Wednesday 13th March

At this point I had noticed something - all of our songs thus-far are mostly mid-tempo, ballad-y sorts of songs, which are great in isolation, but a good album needs variation. Look at my favourite concept album, American Idiot, for example - it has a nice blend of short, punky songs (American Idiot, She’s A Rebel), longer, more operatic songs (Jesus of Suburbia, Homecoming), and slower ballads (Are We the Waiting, Wake Me Up When September Ends). Noting this, I decided to make our opening track Sailing a faster, more exciting, more direct and more simple, back-to-basics rocker, and attempt to come up with at least one other new song in a similar vein, as Oatabix was another slow-burner.

Wednesday 20th March

Finding it very difficult to come up with more exciting songs than the ones we have already, we turned our attention to first tidying up the lyrics we had written thus far, and then finishing off all of the lyrics for Behind Dark Glasses, Sins of the Father and Buchanan Street. Noting that is was getting very close to April, the month in which we had initially planned to begin our recording process, we chatted briefly about recording avenues, and decided to record at West College Scotland’s Greenock campus, as we know Andrew McDermid who works there, and my collaborator guaranteed that we could get in. For the recordings I decided I am going to re-amp all of my guitars, meaning I will get perfect performances recorded at home into my computer which I can then bring into the studio to be re-recorded through amplifiers, in order to save time in the studio. I am going to do guitars and bass and program any synth parts, and Mark is going to do all the vocals, and we are going to get my friend and longtime collaborator Jake Fisher to do the drums.

Wednesday 27th March

Another week of no correspondence from Mark, I was beginning to get very stressed. However, we arranged to meet up in a studio on the upcoming Friday and hopefully blast out as much as we possibly can in the three hours allotted.

[raft-emilytao-blog]

Homophobia as Portrayed in Troye Sivan’s Blue Neighborhood Trilogy

Within the past two years, Troye Sivan has grown immensely as an artist through the release of his full-length album, “Blue Neighbourhood”, and his various collaborations with other singers/songwriters such as Martin Garrix in the production of the song “There for You”, and Alessia Cara in “Wild”. However, his “Blue Neighbourhood Trilogy” has stood the test of time throughout all other releases, presenting itself as a beautiful, heart-wrenching story of forbidden love throughout teenage years. The trilogy begins with the upbeat song “WILD”, followed by a foreboding “FOOLS”, and finally ending with the melancholy “TALK ME DOWN”. “WILD” is first introduced with various shots of the sea and beach, broken up by quick shots of children running, along with faces and bodies in suits under an overcast sky. This helps to foreshadow the dark and sombre undertone of the trilogy, even as the music begins in a cheery manner with the lyrics:

Trying hard not to fall

On the way home

You were trying to wear me down, down

Kissing up on fences and up on walls

On the way home

I guess it's all working out, now

The video moves towards showing two young boys playing together, seemingly innocent as they bike and wait for each other outside to play various games. Between these shots, two teenage boys, presumably the two children now grown up, sit on a bed together. A father of the two boys is seen outside with various glasses and bottles of rum, and is inferred to be an alcoholic when he is unable to control himself when interacting with other parents. Troye suddenly begins to sing the following lyrics, indicating that he is beginning to understand that the alcoholic father is unable to support their friendship and budding relationship as time passes on:

Leave this blue neighbourhood

Never knew loving could hurt this good, oh

The first installment of this trilogy serves as a visual representation of the two boys and their friendship from a young age, while also serving to indicate the beginnings of a problem within the father. The video ends with the father and the child leaving Troye behind.

“FOOLS” starts off with a much darker colour scheme, using various shades of blue and grey, while “WILD” was noticeably brighter, with shades of green, sky blue, and white. Automatically, the piano notes instill a sense of deep sadness, and almost warns as if something devastating is about to occur. The two boys are seen kissing on a bed, confirming their romantic relationship. The song starts out with the lyrics:

I am tired of this place, I hope people change

I need time to replace what I gave away

And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small

Though I try to resist I still want it all

These lyrics, along with a shot of Troye’s face, show that perhaps people within their town and those surrounding them do not approve of their relationship. These lyrics are greatly different from the beginning of the previous song “WILD”, where a simple chorus of children singing the words “wild” repeatedly instills a sense of youth and joy. The line “I need time to replace what I gave away” foreshadows that the two boys will have to break apart and nurse their broken hearts in isolation to receive approval from their peers. In addition, the line “Though I try to resist I still want it all” shows that regardless of the disapproval and negativity faced by Troye, he still loves the other boy. The video then moves to show the boy with his father as they work together to build a shed, establishing a somewhat twisted father-son relationship, where the son still wants to please his abusive father. The father continues to drink, and a violent scene occurs where the father shoves the boy onto the bed and proceeds to physically abuse him. The boy avoids Troye from then on, with the lyrics indicating that the friendship/relationship between the two has officially ended:

Oh, our lives don't collide, I'm aware of this

The differences and impulses and your obsession with

The little things you like stick, and I like aerosol

Don't give a f***, not giving up, I still want it all

The lyrics then move on to show that Troye wishes he hadn’t pursued this relationship if he was the only one willing to make sacrifices, indicating deep regret and sorrow:

Only fools fall for you, only fools

The next section of lyrics only further amplify the feeling of regret and anguish over his mistake as he mulls over his memories of love, while also hinting at the idea that he understands that the boy’s father is to blame, with the line “I see quiet nights part over ice and Tanqueray”:

I see swimming pools and living rooms and aeroplanes

I see a little house on the hill and children's names

I see quiet nights part over ice and Tanqueray

But everything is shattering and it's my mistake

The video continues with Troye seeing the boy with a girl as they hold hands, as the lyrics echo repeatedly with the lyrics, once again creating a feeling of deep regret:

Only fools fall for you, only fools

The video ends with a repeat the previous scene of the boy being abused by his father, only with an audio clip of “Are you a fag? If he comes around again I’ll kill you, I’ll kill both of you” before quickly cutting to the next video.

“TALK ME DOWN” is the final installment of this trilogy, beginning with several shots of gravestones and angel statues under a dark, overcast sky. By now, the videos have progressively gotten darker in colour scheme, starting out with bright blues and greens in “WILD”, darker blues in “FOOLS” and finally ending with greys, blacks and navy blues in “TALK ME DOWN”. Although the video is situated primarily in a graveyard alongside a beach, the music and diegetic sounds mimic the noise of a muffled city, with low honking and car noises. This gives the illusion of loneliness of someone within a city, surrounded by people yet still feeling isolated. The video moves to show the boy and others standing around a grave, as Troye walks towards the funeral, seemingly late. Although Troye is pictured within the video, it’s not clear whether or not Troye is actually visible for others to see him. It’s ambiguous as to whether or not the father died or whether Troye died. However, looking at the ending of the previous video, “FOOLS”, it ends with Troye leaning off a balcony and a shot of an open laptop, as if to be found by others for a suicide note. This hints towards the suicide of Troye, and is later confirmed where no one is able to see him at the funeral, even though he shows up late. The lyrics begin by showing the innocence and purity of their love, with Troye simply wanting to be together with him:

I wanna sleep next to you

But that's all I wanna do right now

And I wanna come home to you

But home is just a room full of my safest sounds

'Cause you know that I can't trust myself with my three A.M. shadow

I'd rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone

These lines also indicate the possibility of a mental health issue within Troye, with the presence of a 3AM shadow. He would rather believe that their love still exists than deal with the heartbreak of loss and his possible depression. Several shots of the boy and the father having fun together with the same brightness seen in “WILD” is shown as the boy mourns and grieves, indicating that he is torn between blaming himself or his father for Troye’s death. The boy flickers between memories of him and Troye together, and of him and his father enjoying life together. He is unable to determine which one was worth more to him, and seems to regret many of his past decisions to ignore Troye. He suddenly sees Troye sitting on the steps of the graveyard, and is able to embrace him one last time. A passerby notices and believes that he is hallucinating, further amplifying the message of a mental health issue being present, and demonstrates the misunderstanding from an outsider's perspective where no one else is able to understand their pain. Various shots of children running across a dock is shown, and a final clip shows the boy standing on top of a cliff. The following lyrics echo in the background, and as soon as the two children jump off the dock into the waters below, the video cuts to black:

So come over now and talk me down

(Talk me down)

It can be inferred that both boys have committed suicide and the last song title “Talk Me Down” can be interpreted as a silent plea for help in changing their decision for suicide.

“WILD” was about falling in love—a secret, never to be romance.

“FOOLS” was about heartbreak, and for being foolish for thinking otherwise.

“TALK ME DOWN” was about how all he wanted was to love and be loved, but now never can.

Overall, the lyrics, cinematography and editing skills used to create these videos are able to accurately display and invoke a sense of devastating sadness within the viewer. The change in colour schemes as the story progresses is able to demonstrate the severity of the problem as the two boys are unable to pursue their own love due to homophobic parents and an inability to accept those different than the societal norm.

In terms of themes and subjects, Troye Sivan is able to present a somber and dark message throughout the viewing of these three videos, and is able to accurately portray the feelings of innocence, betrayal, misunderstanding and raw emotion. Since the videos began from when they were children and progressed to them becoming young adults, the whole story was displayed in a clear manner while also showing the longevity of constant abuse from parents and peers, rather than showing it as a short term problem. He is able to show the severity of homophobia in society today, while also showing others who may not have understood previously just how harrowing it can feel to become isolated solely based on who you love. While these videos portray perhaps a seemingly extreme circumstance of double suicide, many students face these problems of being unable to express who they truly are, whether it be in an educational setting, or a family setting. If those around you or you yourself are experiencing these feelings, do not hesitate to reach out for support, either through national hotlines or trusted adults.

[davidcustiskimball]

A HUGE Evil Is Descending Upon the World.... from FB...

“Karen Tyson 3 hrs · North Fort Myers, FLFOUND THIS INTERESTING,I don't believe Nikolas Cruz killed those kids. He was framed. I said this on February 16th. I believe it more strongly now. I know I'm in the minority. But, after closely studying Vegas, Pulse and the Florida shooting, and reading thousands of articles and witness statements in real-time, I think his entire background was fabricated by Broward county law and FBI, and his social media profiles engineered to create motive. Cruz is autistic. I found three articles that bury that fact. Explains a lot. He has the mental capacity of a 12 year old. Perfect patsy.I remind you that the same people who run Broward county are connected to the Globalist movement behind the last 18 months of trying to impeach Trump and frame him for non-existent Russian collusion. They will STOP at nothing. The UK slaughtered 16 kids 20 years ago at a school to get people to give up their guns. It worked. Biden made schools gun free zones in the US in 1990 so the gun grabbers could do the same here. 98% of shootings in gun free zones. This is PLANNED.Nikolas had no reason to shoot up that school. He and his brother were about to inherit $800,000 from their mother. His therapist reported he was fine. The media has done an excellent job of reporting hearsay and sound bites of behavior that likely didn't exist. They created a persona and sold it hard. There is no visual, audio or eyewitness evidence that Cruz was the shooter. Just the word of Broward county.Now the mother and brother are both out of the way to dispute anything. And Cruz pled guilty because his Broward county public defender told him to or he faced the death penalty.Who did have a reason to shoot up the school? The corrupt Broward county FBI, law and school district, home of repeated voter fraud, on behalf of the gun GRABBERS. Who shot those kids? A teacher said on ABC it was someone wearing a face mask, helmet, bullet proof vest and wielding a gun she had never seen before. Not Cruz. Another eyewitness placed him in street clothes at the other end of the building.Then, after the Broward police and EMS left those kids die alone for 45 minutes to die, they had their gun control narrative in hand, activist students ready to go and a horrified public ready to believe anything.Now you know how they sold us on the fairytale that lone wolves killed JFK, RFK and MLK and Joe McCarthy was wrong about Communists infiltrating our Government. McCarthy was right. In order to take over, the Communists need to disarm us like they did in Cuba. Communist China is on the record that they will replace the U.S. as the world's superpower by 2050 and have called for the U.S. to repeal the 2nd amendment. This is a key first step toward that end goal.I wish I was wrong. Sadly, I don't think I am. Evil. Here's detail to support my position. UPDATED 2/26. Here's a summary of what we know on the Florida shooting. It gets even more bizarre and incredulous day by day.1. Within minutes after the shooting, Florida Senator Bill Nelson went on TV saying the FBI confirmed that the shooter wore a gas mask, vest, threw smoke grenades and snuck into the building to set off fire alarm. Within 24 hours that narrative changed to Cruz arriving in a gold Uber wearing a black hat carting a rifle and they called the police. Witnesses did not take any pics of either narrative.2. Feis, the coach who was killed, has been reported dying in four different scenarios in four different local newspapers. Other national newspapers report he never encountered Cruz at all. Some say he was armed. Others not armed. The boy CNN labeled a hero for saving kids with Kevlar actually NEVER SAW CRUZ or Feis. Only heard about them from others. The assistant coach and Sheriff Israel said Feis "shielded" two or three students and died but that is total hearsay. No actual witness statements have been proffered.3. Broward County is the home to documented Clinton & Gore voter fraud in 2000, 2004 and 2016. Debbie W. Schultz district. Sheriff Israel is a close friend of Hillary's who was saved from a charge that he impregnated a 17 year old girl in 2012. Believe NOTHING coming FROM this county.4. Cruz's mother allegedly called police 36 times to her home. A therapist is on record LAST YEAR saying that Cruz was sane, not mentally ill, and not a danger to himself or others. The mother died mysteriously of the flu last November and Cruz's brother was grabbed AFTER the shooting and committed in a psych ward against his will. Now Cruz has no family. The family Cruz was living with said he didn't drive, worked at the Dollar Store and showed no signs of crazy and are reportedly after Cruz's money. He texted he was going to the movies on Valentine's Day. A picture of Cruz and his brother lovingly holding their mother's ashes has emerged.5. A cop from another precinct heard a description of Cruz's clothing on the radio and just happened to spot him 2 miles from the school, just 21 minutes after the shooting ended. He was casually walking down the street after visiting Wal-Mart and McDonald's for a snack. He was arrested without incident, had a panic attack because he appeared confused about being arrested and within minutes appeared too drugged to walk.6. The Broward county prosecutor told Cruz if he didn't plead guilty they would seek the death penalty. His Broward county public defender advised him to plead guilty within 36 hours after shooting.7. The son of an ANTI TRUMP FBI GUY, David Hogg, the head of the school TV station, was texting his father DURING the shooting from a classroom and filmed the screams! He is the SOURCE of the video. Immediately after the shooting he gave interviews that appeared scripted and had several outtakes to fix his errors in recall. He immediately sent the video to CNN, became the spokesperson for the global student gun control narrative, appeared on every network, tweeted for people to call their Congressman and push gun CONTROL. Interesting that a kid who just watched his classmates slaughtered has a video in hand, a professional narrative, is blaming Trump and glorifying the FBI instead of grieving. Rumors are that HOGG may be a 26 year old crisis actor. None of that has been verified. However, there is a 2017 CBS TV news appearance on the beach in LA by David Hogg who days his parents moved from California to Broward County, Florida in the past few years so he could become a student reporter. HOW CONVENIENT. He says it's a coincidence and he was just visiting LA last year.8. There is NOT ONE PIC OF CRUZ OR PADDOCK shooting. Why? There should be thousands. There were 3,000 kids at that school and thousands at Vegas.9. THE FBI has 1,000 agents in southern Florida, 35,000 nationwide. There is no lack of staff to follow up. In 2011, under Obama's direction, Broward County schools and authorities told law enforcement to stand down when dealing with offenders and let them go. Why?10. WTH. So, Cruz was ready to inherit $800,000 from his dead mother who died suddenly from the flu last November...so he decides to kill a bunch of kids while his brother is mysteriously swept off to the insane asylum after the shooting and Broward county can now use THAT money to pay the county for Cruz's legal and public defender legal fees? Are you kidding me?11. SMOKING GUN, PEOPLE. Sheriff Israel's ARMED Deputy was CAUGHT ON VIDEO outside the school DOING NOTHING for FOUR minutes of the entire 6 minutes of shooting. Was he told to STAND down? Did he let those kids die on purpose or was he just scared? I choose door number one. He resigned pending investigation.12. Several schools across the nation informed parents that they were threatened with gun violence on social media. All threats were HOAXES yet appeared to be identical and coordinated nationally. WHO is behind that?13. CNN is now trying to cover for all the inconsistent stories in the Florida shooting by reporting that the surveillance footage used to track the shooter's movements was on a 20 minute delay. So the police say they thought Cruz was still in the building when he was really ALREADY AT WAL-MART! They say this is why everybody is so CONFUSED and the timelines and stories don't match!!This is a joke, right? What surveillance system is on a 20 minute delay, or accidently rewinds, and what kind of idiot would believe that BS?PLEASE TELL ME THIS LATEST FABRICATION IS ENOUGH TO CONVINCE EVEN THE ARDENT LEFTISTS THAT THIS ENTIRE EVENT WAS ENGINEERED.14. More on the armed Officer who resigned for not going in to face the shooter:In February 2016, the Broward sheriff’s office received information that Nicholas Cruz “planned to shoot up the school.” A deputy forwarded the information to the school resource officer at Stoneman High. That resource officer was Deputy Scott Peterson. The same Peterson who stood outside 4 Minutes and DID NOTHING when the call came.Then in September 2016, a peer counselor at Stoneman High alerted the school resource officer — likely Deputy Peterson — that Cruz “possibly ingested gasoline” a week prior “in an attempt to commit suicide and is cutting himself.”In November 2017, a caller from Massachusetts, yes Massachusetts, told the authorities that Cruz had been stockpiling guns and knives. The Sheriff’s office said the caller worried that Cruz “will kill himself one day and believes he could be a school shooter in the making.”Deputy Peterson signed his retirement papers which basically amounted to a resignation. He will receive pension. He had been with the office for more than 32 years. “He is not someone who has much of a presence” in the school, said Samantha Fuentes, an 18-year-old at Stoneman High who was shot in both legs.Why was the Resource Officer outside to begin with? What happened to the UBER Driver? Was Peterson the only one who SAW the UBER arrive? Was Nicholas Cruz actually expelled from school? Then why did the Snead's, the family he was staying with, make a statement that Nicholas decided to stay home from school on Valentine's Day? Confused yet?15. "Before he moved in, one of our stipulations was that Nikolas had to get a gun safe. Nikolas didn't drive so we got him a gun safe on the way to move his stuff to our house. Nikolas did not have access to the gun safe. We had the only key," said the man Nikolas lived with after his mother died. How did he get the gun?16. Also, was Cruz really expelled? If so, why did the Sneads say Nik was not going to school on Valentine's Day and Nik texted he was going to the movies instead?17. A teacher said on video on ABC that she thought the shooter, in the hallway, was the police, in full tactical gear like a SWAT team. Until she realized he was killing people. She saw this masked man outside her classroom at the same time another student, on the other side of the school, said she talked to Cruz, he was unarmed and walking out with her while hearing shots.18. Remember the HANGING CHADS in the 2000 Presidential election? Where 1,800 ballots had to be recounted to determine if Al Gore really won the election or if there was some hanky panky going on?Guess which county that was? You guessed it. Corrupt BROWARD COUNTY. Bush prevailed.19. Wow. Turns out Sheriff Israel's Broward County Office FAILED to secure the scene in the Fort Lauderdale Airport shooting last year, too. 5 people died. 6 wounded.20. Another SMOKING gun. The Broward County Sheriff’s department told Fox News that the Deputies who arrived at the scene of the shooting were told not to enter the school unless their body cameras were turned on. Then Fox News found out that the Deputies did not EVEN have body cameras! Another lie.Also, police radio communications strangely went out during the school shooting while the surveillance tape was delayed 20 minutes. Sheriff Israel's team was criticized LAST YEAR when they also lost radio communication during the horrific Ft. Lauderdale airport shooting that left 6 dead and 5 wounded.COINCIDENCE? Not on your life. Pattern of corruption.21. Fox News' Laura Ingraham has received internal emails from the Broward County Sheriff's Office that strongly urges all staff to vigorously support Democrat Sheriff Scott Israel.22. An EMS first responder said they were not allowed to treat victims for 45 minutes after shooting ended. By then, everyone was dead.23. If officers waited outside, why wasn't the shooter arrested as he left the building?24. How did the gun control narrative script itself within 2 hours after the shooting?25. Sheriff Israel took money from the Cuban mafia for re-election. Broward County has 66 open cases of criminal activity AGAINST IT. DEN OF CROOKS. FUNDED BY THE CUBAN MAFIA.26. Zachary Cruz was held for 10 days and then supposedly posted a loving childhood picture of he and his brother. What did they do to him during those ten days? We still haven't seen him. Is he really posting?27. The police said they went to Cruz's home 39 times, then 36 times, now 27 times. No arrests were ever made. The only source of Cruz's alleged violent background is from the Sheriff's department. DCF made a home visit and found NO weapons! Somebody called Florida DCF in 2016 to investigate whether Cruz was being abused by his mother, Linda Cruz. I repeat, by HIS MOTHER, not the other way around. Nikolas is 19 but he supposedly has the mental capacity of a 12 year old.I assume it was the neighbors who are currently petitioning the court to take over the $800,000 inheritance.DCF made a home visit and FOUND NO abuse and NO firearms. So, why does Sheriff Israel say Cruz had guns and DCF says the boy had none? Because they needed the fake gun narrative for motive.28. The UBER driver now says, after 14 days, Nik was carrying a guitar case for music class. So he hid full body armor, helmet, vest, gun, smoke grenades in guitar case, suited up, shot 17 people, dropped his gear and SNUCK out of a surrounded school in 11 minutes and then casually walked two miles in 21 minutes? NOT POSSIBLE. He supposedly has the mental capacity of a 12 year old.Like Vegas, Pulse, and Sandy Hook this case has more questions than answers. I believed on 2/16 that Cruz was framed. I am 99% certain now. Who really did kill those kids for the gun grabbers?

[itsworn]

Why We Call TMI’s 1985 Ford F-150 an Undercover Cop

Where were you in 1962? Maybe you remember that question. It was the tagline for the movie American Graffiti, George Lucas’ homage to growing up in America during the original hot rod era. The movie was fictional and the characters in it were made up, but the story it told was real—anybody who was a teenager in 1962 could tell you that.

Fred Haralson was 14 going on 15 in 1962 and, like the teenagers in American Graffiti and in towns all over the country, had a love for hot rods. He was in ninth grade when his dad bought him his first car. It wasn’t a classic truck—there was no such thing at the time. It was a 1934 five-window coupe. Fred’s father paid $100 for the car and Fred started working to earn money to have it chopped and channeled and turned into a rod. Within a few years, hot rods were eclipsed by muscle cars. Fred bought a new Z/28 in 1969 and a new Trans Am 455 H.O. in 1971. In the years that followed, old trucks developed into classic trucks, getting the same amount of attention previously paid to hot rods and muscle cars. The farmer in Muskogee, Oklahoma, who used this 1956 Chevy 3200 as a work truck before selling it to Fred might be surprised to see it extensively customized and featured here—but maybe not.

When Fred bought the 1956 six years ago, at his son Aaron’s suggestion, it was in pretty good shape. The big-window, longbed exterior had a little bit of rust, but great patina, and the windshield was perfect. It ran the 235 straight-six engine and Hydramatic transmission. Fred figures that the old farm truck probably had never driven a mile on the highway and was ready for a second career having fun and frying tires. For help with the transformation, Fred contacted Nathan Hale at Hale’s Speed Shop in Lewisville, Texas. The two had collaborated on Fred’s 1957 Chevy car, and the one-man shop did all the work on his truck.

The factory frame is the only remaining piece of the pickup’s original chassis. Since Fred drives the truck all the time, performance is as important as appearance. He wanted the truck to ride well and he wanted it riding at shadow height when the airbags are emptied. The custom suspension provides a pavement-scraping posture and ensures safety. The ’rails were boxed in the front where the Fatman Fabrications Mustang II–style lower control arms, crossmember, and drop spindles were added. Nathan Hale designs his upper control arms and components in-house, tailoring them specifically for each vehicle, as in this case. A 1993 Mustang steering rack moves the truck around corners with ease. The Quick Performance rearend is packed with 3.50:1 gears and features a locking differential. The rear suspension includes a two-link and Panhard bar combo, also built in-house at Hale’s. QA1 shocks and Firestone 2,500-pound airbags at all corners improve the stance and ride.

Three different sets of wheels have been mounted on the truck since Fred’s been driving it. These 15×6 and 15×7 chrome reverse steelies from Wheel Vintiques are his favorite and add a hot rod attitude the truck never had on the farm. The whitewalls have a nostalgic look but are BFGoodrich Silvertown radials. The sidewalls are stiffer than some other whitewall choices for better stability on the highway. These measure 205/75R15 and 235/70R15 and were in stock at Wallace Wade Specialty Tires in Dallas.

The performance chassis is strong enough to keep up with the 650-700 hp coming from the LS engine under the hood. The 6.0L iron-block motor was bored and stroked, and loaded with Diamond 10.5:1 pistons with Total Seal rings—and a Bullet camshaft to keep the valves busy. Custom headers and exhaust pipes direct exhaust from the car, with MagnaFlow mufflers contributing the perfect tone. Hale’s specializes in blown and turbocharged engines. Fred wanted a blower for the LS and eventually a Whipple supercharger was installed, adding about 100 ponies to the horsepower rating. Sam Miller at Advanced Modern Performance in Grand Prairie does the final tuning on Hale’s engines and made sure the LS in the 1956 was meeting its potential. The GM 4L60E transmission, built at Hale’s, is equipped with a Precision Industries torque converter and a B&M trans cooler.

The truck was back in Grand Prairie for interior work at Hard Kandy Kustomz. The bench from a 1988-1998 Chevy regular cab pickup was found to be the perfect width for the 1956, with some cutting for height. The seats were restored with new foam, mounted on custom mounts and upholstered in pleated black leather—with the same being used on the door panels. The stock dash now houses vents for the Vintage Air A/C system. Dakota Digital instruments were installed in the factory location. For audio, Bluetooth and XM functions are paired with Kicker components. Hale’s wired the truck using PSI and Painless Performance harnesses. Quality Restorations resized the 1956 Chevy steering wheel and added transparent green to the ring. The wheel is mounted on an ididit tilt shifter column.

The body was treated to a few modifications. Like most custom truck enthusiasts, Fred prefers shortbeds, so the 3200 longbed was swapped. The raised bed floor was redone at Hale’s, oak boards stained black then clearcoated with green pearl and separated by stainless steel strips. On the cab, the antenna was shaved and the cowl vents were filled. The stock hood was punched with 125 louvers.

The paint you see in these pictures was the last thing done. Fred drove the truck wearing its Army green paint and hard-earned patina for a while before going back to Hard Kandy Kustomz for a fresh two-tone finish. Everything below the top is a light green custom mix with a little bit of silver stirred in. Fred and Hard Kandy Kustomz, inspired by nature, call the color OG Kush Pearl. The black on the top is mixed with green; the color is repeated on the dash.

The new paint—and success at the many hot rod and truck events where the 1956 Chevy is shown—has not stopped Fred from driving his pickup just about every day. The next time you’re near Dallas, look—or listen—for this highway-driven tire fryer.

1956 Chevy 3200 Fred Haralson

CHASSIS Frame: 1956 Chevy 3200, front boxing plates Rearend / Ratio: Quick Performance, locking differential / 3.50:1 Rear Suspension: Hale’s Speed Shop two-link and Panhard bar, QA1 shocks, Firestone airbags Rear Brakes: GM disc brakes Front Suspension: Hale’s Speed Shop upper control arms; Fatman Fabrications lower control arms, crossmember, and spindles; QA1 shocks, Firestone airbags Front Brakes: Mustang II disc brakes Steering: 1993 Mustang steering rack Front Wheels: Wheel Vintiques 15×6 Rear Wheels: Wheel Vintiques and 15×7 Front Tires: BFGoodrich Silvertown radial whitewalls 205/75R15 Rear Tires: BFGoodrich Silvertown radial whitewalls 235/70R15

DRIVETRAIN Engine: Chevrolet LS engine, built by Hale’s Speed Shop Pistons: Diamond 10.5:1 Rings: Total Seal Camshaft: Bullet Heads: OE ported Induction: Whipple supercharger Headers: Hale’s Speed Shop Exhaust: Hale’s Speed Shop Horsepower: 650-700 Transmission: GM 4L60E Torque Converter: Precision Industries Shifter: Column

BODY Style: 1956 Chevy 3200 Big-Window Modifications: Converted to shortbed, cowl vents filled, rear fender exhaust opening bezels, gas filler relocated, antenna removed Hood: Stock, louvered Grille: Stock Headlights / Taillights: 1956 Chevy / 1956 Chevy, LED lights Door Handles: Stock Front Bumper: Stock Rear Bumper: Stock Bed Floor: Raised floor, oak with stainless runners Body Prep and Paint: Hard Kandy Kustomz Paint: PPG custom colors

INTERIOR Dashboard: Stock Gauges: Dakota Digital Steering Wheel: 1956 Chevy pickup modified by Quality Restorations Steering Column: ididit tilt with shifter Seats: 1988-1998 Chevy pickup bench, modified Upholstery: Hard Kandy Kustomz Material / Color: leather / black Door Panels: Hard Kandy Kustomz Pedals: Lokar Sound System: Bluetooth, XM, Kicker components Air Conditioning: Vintage Air Wiring: PSI and Painless Performance

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