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dailymallek · 5 years ago

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Wasn’t sure what you meant by The Party, but I assumed Ardata’s?

Mallek sat outside the small apartment building in his car. He was slumped in his seat, periodically checking his phone. He’d been asked by Diemen to take him to a party. He knew it was part of his friend’s attempts to make Mallek more social.

Mallek had agreed to provide a ride, he had nothing else going on and liked to help out. But he wasn’t going to fall for the obvious trap and actually attend the party with Diemen.

Mallek huffed as he glanced back at the apartment complex. He’d arrived at the agreed upon time – give or take 5 minutes – and had not heard from Diemen even after sending him a text that he’d arrived. With nothing better to do, Mallek found himself scrolling through twitter, not really paying attention or taking any of it in.

Mallek bounced his leg in anticipation and as he was starting to read a long post from a favorite programmer a loud THUMP against the side of his car caused him to jump. With a quick turn Mallek found himself staring at Diemen’s face, squished against his window.

Mallek scowled and Diemen – still pressed to the window – asked, “Did I scare you?!”

“Everyone gets scared when they see your face.” Mallek muttered, unlocking the door and allowing his friend in. Diemen snickered to himself as he settled in the seat.

“Where is this party of yours?” Mallek asked, pulling away once Diemen had fastened his seat belt.

“Tell you in a minute, we have to stop at the store first.” Diemen leaned forward in his seat, cycling through the radio stations as he spoke.

“For what?” Mallek asked, following the familiar route to the store by Diemen’s.

“Stuff.” Diemen settled back in his seat, content with his music choice – a popular pop music station.

Mallek frowned at the choice but chose not to say anything, he knew he had to choose his battles. The two rode in a comfortable silence as they approached the store. Mallek made the turn and as he passed by the front entrance, eyes scanning for a parking spot, Diemen shouted;

“STOP!”

Mallek jumped and pressed hard on the brake, looking around for what he may have almost hit.

“Cool wait here.” Diemen reached for his seat belt as Mallek realized he had not endangered anyone.

“What? I can’t park here.” Mallek insisted, gripping the wheel tighter as his friend unbuckled.

“Just wait here!” Diemen insisted, opening the door before Mallek had come to a complete stop.

“Die…Die I can’t- “

The door slammed and Mallek groaned. He watched as his friend ran into the store and disappeared down the aisles.

Mallek huffed and glanced around. He couldn’t park in the fire lane and he worried if he parked somewhere else Diemen wouldn’t be able find him. With a sigh Mallek began his laps around the parking lot, eyes trained on the door, waiting for Diemen to re-appear.

Mallek felt himself relaxing as he did slow circles, changing the music Diemen had put on to something he enjoyed. Mallek let out a sigh as he felt his shoulders relax. He’d always liked driving. He preferred boarding of course, but there was something powerful and freeing about cars. He liked being able to fill it with what he wanted and go where he pleased. He’d considered converting a van but knew he would never be able to work with the shoddy connections that would come with it.

As Mallek drove he glanced down, hearing his phone vibrate. Mallek picked it up and glanced at the sender – his eyes going between the screen and the parking lot. He grinned when he saw who sent it. He’d been talking to someone recently and while he never thought of himself as a relationship guy, there was something about this person that got him feeling some type of way. He grinned and sent back a snappy reply before dropping his phone back into his center counsel.

Mallek was still smiling as he rounded the corner again towards the entrance. As the door came into view, Mallek’s eyes widened. He slammed on the brakes as Diemen ran in front of his car.

“Go go GO!” Diemen demanded flinging the door open and all but throwing himself into the car.

“What the hell is going on?” Mallek demanded, but listening to his friend. Diemen barely had time to shut the door behind him as Mallek pressed hard on the gas and heard the tires squeal as they pulled away from the store.

Diemen turned in his seat to watch behind them for a moment before letting out a breath of relief. He grinned widely and turned back with a little cheer. Before Mallek could ask again what was going on Diemen pulled from his sweater pocket 3 packs of hot dogs. Mallek glanced over and scowled as Diemen then pulled 2 packs of buns from inside his shirt.

“Did you steal those?” Mallek asked, his eyes glancing between Diemen and the road.

It wasn’t that Mallek had a problem with theft per-se. He understood people had needs and stores often partook in outrageous price gouging. A few hot dogs wouldn’t hurt the corporation but not being aware of a plan could get him or others hurt.

“You know how it goes.” Diemen responded switching the radio back to the pop station and turning the volume up. He sat back in his seat and began opening the package of hot dogs.

Mallek watched, disgusted from the corner of his eye. He’d seen this many times before, but he couldn’t stop from asking, “Are you going to eat those cold?”

“Nothing wrong with a chilly sausage snack.” Diemen muttered as he pulled from his pants pocket a bottle of mustard. “Want one?” Diemen offered, opening a bun and placing one wet link of meat onto it.

Mallek had to hold back a gag shaking his head no.

Diemen shrugged and squirted a liberal amount of mustard onto his dog before taking a bite. Diemen sighed through his nose feeling his whole body relax as he chewed. There was nothing better than a hot dog on a drive with a buddy. Why the only thing that would be better if that buddy was also enjoying a nice pi-

“Where are we going?” Mallek demanded, interrupting Diemen’s thoughts.

Through a mouth still full of half chewed bun and meat Diemen answered, “Ardata’s.”

Mallek’s frown deepened and his grip on the wheel tightened. He knew full well where she lived. They had been neighbors most his young life. Mallek took a steadying breath in and focused on the road in front of him. He hated that neighborhood. The large houses, expansive lawns, and long driveways always made his stomach turn.

Mallek had been born into a well off family, and while he’d spent much of his youth enjoying his parent’s money, as he’d grown older and seen the unfairness in the world, the differences in socioeconomic classes, and how people were treated based off of how rich they looked he’d grown to hate it.

Mallek had left his parent’s not long after turning 18, he’d certainly used their money to go to school, but the legal degree he’d said he was getting was replaced with basic programming and computer science classes. Mallek had picked up a few skills in high school but wanted to hone them to help as many of his friends as he could.

Mallek had renounced his parents at the ripe age of 20 and, as he had expected, was cut off. He wasn’t destitute of course. He’d taken money from his joint account into a private one to cushion him as he found a job. With his computer skills it didn’t take long for him to get a basic IT job. It was easy enough and gave him plenty of free time to continue to work on his hacking and programming.

Mallek hadn’t been in this neighborhood since going away to school, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still remember it. He’d spent most of his childhood staring out the window and being forced to interact with other rich kids in the area. Ardata had lived three houses down and her parents were friends with Mallek’s. The two of them had never gotten along and had less in common than bricks and Doritos.

Mallek wondered if his parent’s house had been changed. He wondered if-

“Yeah, you got that yummy, yummy, yummy yum!” Diemen’s shrill voice cut through Mallek’s ruminating thoughts and caused him to involuntarily snort. Diemen was not a singer, and his mouth still had bits of hot dog in it. Mallek was torn between annoyance at the increased mess in his car and utter joy at how horrendous a job Diemen was doing.

Mallek gave into the humor of it and snickered. “Jesus, Diemen, no wonder no one invited you to join choir…those aren’t even the right words.”

Diemen snorted. “And how would you know?”

Mallek’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake; he bit his cheek trying to think of a comeback. Diemen didn’t give him much chance to before launching back into the chorus.

Mallek couldn’t help but grin and join in, everyone knew this song. Together the boys sang loudly to the cheesy pop hit; “Yeah, you got that yummy, yum, That yummy, yum yeah, yummy, yummy!”

Diemen’s smile split across his face as he watched his friend’s blasé façade break down for a moment. Diemen sang along loudly to the radio, challenging Mallek to out sing him.

Mallek took the bait and as the two all but yelled along to the song, they found themselves dancing as well. Mallek’s shoulders bounced arrhythmically and he looked over to Diemen who was facing forward his hands moving to and from his chest with a head bob.

As the two drove along, they found themselves getting too into the performance. Diemen’s gaze shifted to the window and widened in shock. He shouted, “STOP!” Instinctively pressing himself into his seat and away from the window

Mallek’s foot hit the break before his head completely turned towards the source of Diemen’s panic. The car squealed to a stop, both boys jolting forward. Diemen’s hot dog loosened from his grip and hit the windshield with a splat, spreading mustard all over the window.

From the other side of the windshield a deer stood, staring at them. There was a momentary pause before the deer, with one flick of its tail, calmly walked away.

Both boys sat, frozen in their seats, attempting to catch their breaths. Diemen’s air flow stuttered as he stared tearfully at the loss of his snack. Mallek’s chest continued to rise and fall quickly, the fear mingling with the annoyance at the mustard on his window.

A few more seconds passed, the only sound filling the empty space coming from the radio. It took the jingle for a local restaurant to break the tension. Both men dissolved into a fit of laughter as the nerves gave way to anxious giggles.

It took another few minutes for the laughter to subside. And with an exaggerated look around, Mallek finally took his foot off the brake and allowed the car to slowly roll forward. As the car made its way down the road, Mallek felt his heart rate slow as the journey continued.

Beside him, Diemen huffed and muttered to himself about the waste as he prepared himself a new hot dog. Mallek couldn’t suppress the snicker and Diemen smiled to himself as he bit down on the fresh dog.

The rest of the ride was filled with easy conversation about work and personal projects, Mallek felt himself relax as he fell back into the comfort of his friend’s jokes. He had almost forgotten where they were going, until Mallek made the turn into his old neighborhood. Diemen glanced over at his friend who had stopped responding. Diemen frowned to himself as he watched Mallek’s jaw clench and knuckles tighten.

Diemen pressed on to keep talking, hoping it would be enough to keep Mallek grounded and distracted not to have a panic attack. He knew about Mallek’s past and they both knew Mallek’s parents had moved out of this neighborhood when Mallek had gone away to school. He knew the risk he had taken by asking Mallek to come. But he also knew that Mallek was needlessly afraid of something that couldn’t get him anymore.

As the car pulled up to Ardata’s house, Mallek couldn’t stop from commenting about how it looked just as gaudy as he remembered it. Diemen snorted and agreed looking across the lawn at the amount of people spilling from the door and sitting on the grass. Mallek pulled up to the curb, parking at the end of the driveway and staring at the gathered crowd.

“Well…we’re here.” Mallek muttered feeling his stomach turn.

“Thanks man.” Diemen held his hand up for a high five. As Mallek went to give him one, Diemen was able to slip a plain dog and bun between their hands. “For the ride.” Diemen sighed with a forlorn look at the slightly squished hot dog in Mallek’s hand.

Mallek frowned and shook his head. He knew how to choose his battles. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

Diemen paused mid un-buckling. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Mallek gave the large house an uneasy look. “I’ve got better things to do tonight.”

Diemen snorted. “No, you don’t. Come inside for five minutes. Some of my friends think I make you up.”

“I’m busy tonight.” Mallek muttered again as his phone buzzed. He absentmindedly opened the message and saw a photo of himself and Diemen in his car. The picture had clearly been taken from the house they were parked in front of. Below was the message: ‘you coming in?’ Mallek glanced at the sender and felt his face heat up. They were here too. He heard Diemen snicker and when he turned with a dirty look there was a grin splitting the shorter man’s face.

Mallek huffed and put his phone away. “Five minutes.” He muttered moving out of the car and ignoring the cheer from his companion. Mallek took a bite of the hot dog as he realized he fell for his friend’s scam.

#mallek #Mallek adalov #homestuck #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #writing #mod pop #'who is they' you ask?#whoever you want!#maybe it's you!#maybe it's someone else!#go nuts

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psycho-slytherin · 5 years ago

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Strangers ch. 36

Your relationship with Yoongi gets picked apart, and the commercial begins.

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Genre: fluff, angst

|mlist|

<–– Prev Next ––>

Your heart drops into your stomach, rips through your body, and continues down through the Earth’s crust. “Oh, c’mon, that wasn’t me. You have to know that wasn’t me.” It’s who I was before I knew you, a voice in your head echoes. God, did you love this man before you met him, before you fully registered that he was real.

Yoongi laughs. “Oh, I figured– I only wanted to tease you. You’ve been hacked, right?”

“I must’ve been, yeah. I haven’t liked any tweets like that.” You wink exaggeratedly. “At least, not since I knew you.” There’s something about the newfound freedom in your heart, the lightweight truth, that lends you far more confidence than you’ve had lately. He is your friend, after all.

Yoongi rests his elbows on the table. “I just hope you’ve changed your password already, before your hacker does it first.”

“Oh shit, you’re right!” You’ve had the same password for most of your online accounts for years, and it’s probably time to change them around before someone else gets into your electronic life. You hurriedly grab your phone and change your Twitter password; thankfully, it doesn’t seem like whoever trolled you did so first.

“How are you doing, by the way? With the cold, I mean.”

“Heh, what do you think?” You unzip your jacket to reveal a sweater underneath. After your photoshoot yesterday, you felt like you’d never be warm again. “It’s weird, I never minded the cold before.”

“After what happened, it’s no wonder you’re traumatized.” Yoongi rests a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and some part of your heart begins to sing. “Just, you gotta know that your body is warm enough already, and I don’t want you to get heatstroke from all those layers.”

“I’ll be careful.” Seoul’s central hospital is probably sick of you at this point, not that you can blame them.

“Good.” Yoongi leans back, and the loss of contact is almost startling. “Watcha up to this week, workaholic?”

“Besides Moon Over the Sea?” You check your work calendar, the one both you and Lisa have access to. “I’ve got a commercial shoot for some cologne all day Friday and Saturday.”

Yoongi whistles. “Why’ve they got you scheduled for men’s cologne? And damn, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over to our place Saturday night for dinner but it sounds like you’ll be busy. We’re gonna be working in Japan but we get back Saturday.”

“Don’t count on it, but I’ll see if I can make it. I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Sure.” Your friend rises from his chair. “Well, I better be off. See ya tomorrow for filming, and…” he winks. “Don’t get too distracted by my tongue, hm?”

Every drop of blood in your body rushes to your cheeks as Yoongi bursts out laughing. “I was hacked, you goddamn flirt!” You swat at him, forcing your racing heart to calm. “God, does Hobi know you’re cheating on him?”

“You know him, he’s worse than I am.” Yoongi’s voice is still full of mirth, his lips pulled back to expose his gums. It’s the kind of expression you died for when you were an ARMY… and it seems it’s still affecting you now.

“Just go away, nerd. Aren’t you working on your next mixtape?”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna be fire.”

“Enjoy arson then, but enjoy it in your own studio. I have homework.” With a final lighthearted salute, Yoongi departs and you’re left alone in your apartment, your heart hammering dangerously. You don’t have homework. Or, you do, but you certainly don’t plan on doing it. You’re an actress now, and gaining acclaim. You have better things to do– which is why it’s so frustrating that you’re letting Yoongi mess with your head. You thought you’d put the feelings you’d had as an ARMY behind you– those childlike emotions, the rush of excitement that left you reeling, the breathlessness at his every verse– you’d fallen in love with Suga, just like every other ARMY.

Once you got to know Yoongi, and not just Suga, you were certain your heart would stop skipping a beat when you saw him. And it did for a while, when you were dating Xiumin. But now, now that you’re supposed to be dating Suga…

It feels… different. You feel different.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your buzzing phone. More hate comments, you’re sure. One of these days you’re gonna be mad enough to respond to the shit you’re getting, and that’s gonna be a fucking good day.

The days pass, and the filming of Moon Over the Sea continues smoothly.

“Ji-Woo! A letter! Ji-Woo’s got a letter!” The actress playing one of your sisters hurries to you, clutching an elegant envelope.

“A letter?” The rest of your character’s family crowds around you as your ‘mother’ speaks. “Go on, Ji-Woo, read it!”

You tear open the prop envelope. “It’s from Mr. Moon’s sister…” You pretend to read. The scene is all about you discovering that Yoongi’s character has gone back to the city without warning, even after he said he loved you. It’s about you learning that you’ll never see him again.

Never seeing Yoongi again… the thought makes your heart ache and you feel tears begin to well up, almost spilling over. You grip the paper tighter, struggling to maintain your composure. Yoongi’s not on set today, and it makes it easier for you remember those times, those terrible, stupid times when you and Yoongi stopped talking for weeks or months because of some dumb argument or another. You can’t even begin to imagine being truly separated from your friend again.

“Oh, give me that!” Your sister snatches the letter out of your hand– you’d been so zoned out you forgot to say your lines. Shit, what kind of actress are you? “It says that they’re leaving for the city! Without a goodbye? I thought for sure that Mr. Moon was in love with Ji-Woo!”

“Oh, mercy!” Your mother wails, wringing her hands. “I was so certain there’d be a wedding by the end of the summer!”

You turn sharply. A wedding? As if Yoongi would ever marry you. Yet how many times had you, as his fan, dreamt of such a day?

Bo-Young, the main character, draws you away. “Are you alright, Ji-Woo?”

“I’m-” At last, you’re able to recall your lines, what you’re here for. “I’m perfectly fine. We were friendly acquaintances… nothing more.” Yes, just strangers. You remember when you had to pretend Yoongi was a stranger to you, and not a man you’d fallen for four years earlier. You summon that familiar sense of utter denial and let it rest upon your shoulders, relaxing your features, even as you feel close to breaking.

“Come, Ji-Woo, I know that’s not true!” “I said I’m fine, sister.” you reply sharply.

“And cut! That was spectacular, ladies, I think we’re keeping that take– Jeongyeon, good improvising. And y/n…” Avery turns to you. “That was great acting. Really great. I could feel the emotion there.”

“No wonder, it’s her boyfriend that’s left,” one of your costars, Jeongyeon, giggles. “She’d better get used to it.”

“Jeongyeon!” Bo-Young scolds. “That’s mean.”

“What? Y/n’s dating Suga from BTS! You really think they’re going to stay together?” Jeongyeon shoots you a glance. “Sorry, y/n, it’s just the truth.”

“Oh, I…” There’s nothing you can say. “I mean, you’re allowed to speak your mind.”

“But you do like him, right?” Jeongyeon leans forward and you laugh nervously, shrinking back as she looms over you.

“What are you, a reporter?”

“I’m just curious! It’s not like you two are all lovey-dovey– you don’t even seem like a couple!”

“Love doesn’t need to be physical,” Bo-Young steps in and you smile at her gratefully. “As long as they’re happy together, it’s none of our business. I’m sure y/n has enough on her shoulders without her costars attacking her as well, Jeongyeon.”

“Sorry, sorry, sheesh– c’mon, y/n, you know we all love you! Except your haters, amirite?” Jeongyeon pokes you teasingly and flounces away.

“Sorry about her,” Bo-Young says later, as the crew packs up the set for the day. “She’s just a gossip– Jeongyeon doesn’t mean any harm. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. I’m used to it.” You chuckle hollowly while slipping on your street clothes. “It’s whatever. Thanks for the help.”

“Of course. You’re getting a lot of hate, I’ve seen it online. We’ve all been there, y/n, and the only thing you can really do is turn to your friends when it gets hard.”

“Thanks, Bo-Young.” You check your phone and notice the time. The commercial shoot is in forty minutes. “Shit! I gotta get going– see you at filming tomorrow!” You bid your costar a hasty goodbye and hurry to the door, already opening your phone to call a car when you hear a honk outside the studio.

For a second, you feel excitement flood your veins– did Yoongi decide to pick you up even though he didn’t have to be onset today?

Lisa pokes her head out of the window. “C’mon, girl!”

Oh, right. The members of BTS are promoting in Japan.

“Thanks for the lift,” you say as you climb into your friend’s car.

“Of course! I mean, your address hasn’t leaked online and we have to keep it that way, ya feel?” Lisa clasps her hands together. “No more rideshare apps for you, miss y/n!”

You laugh. “Love you, Lisa– and please keep your eyes on the road.”

Your friend coughs. “Right back atcha, darling. The love, not the road.”

The drive to your shoot is quiet for a moment before Lisa speaks again. “Hey, there haven’t been any weirdos around set, right? I’ve been seeing a ton of online rumors that there’s a plan to leak Moon Over the Sea footage to, and I quote, ‘ruin y/n’s career’.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ve seen those. Yeah, no creeps that I’ve noticed, and I have a feeling they’d only come to film Yoongi, not me.”

“Speaking of, how’s your Prince Charming doing?” Lisa asks, raising a brow.

You sigh. “He’s not my Prince Charming.” Honestly, the one time you tell the truth is the one time your friend doesn’t believe you. Talk about crying wolf.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re keeping it quiet for the cameras, I get it. Just let me know if he breaks your heart, got it?” Lisa cracks her knuckles menacingly.

“Hands on the wheel, girl!”

“It’s fine, I’ve never crashed before.” Still, Lisa straightens up and grips the wheel once more. “Hey, do you ever get to meet the rest of BTS?”

“Uh…” What should you do, what can you say? “Sometimes?”

“Woah. See, that’s fuckin’ amazing. My best friend, everyone! Casually meeting the greatest musicians on the planet!”

You laugh at Lisa’s enthusiasm. “Turn right, the studio is down there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyways, I was wondering if you could, y’know, maybe…” Lisa’s tone turns wheedling. “Let me meet them? Or at least just send me another video of Jimin talking to me?”

“I…” You should’ve expected this– it’s the kind of thing your best friend would consider a given. “I’ll see what I can do, okay? No promises.”

“Thanks, love! I appreciate it more than you could ever know.” Lisa stops the car outside the studio. “Break a leg!”

“Only if you don’t break yours,” you reply as you get out and head towards the studio door. “Drive safe, Lisa!”

Once inside, you make your way to the front desk. A pretty woman with a tight bun greets you.

“Hi, I’m l/n y/n here for the cologne shoot?”

“Miss l/n…” The woman shuffles through some papers. “Ah, here you are! Yep, that’ll be on set number three, second door on the left.”

“Thanks!” You follow the directions, wondering what exactly your role will be in a men’s advertisement.

Soon enough, you have your answer.

“Y/n, darling, come on, get a little closer to Wonho!”

“I– how do I even do that? Like, physically?” You adjust yourself on your coworker’s lap, hyperaware of your surroundings. Wonho is shirtless and– not that you noticed– very well built, with broad shoulders and an almost illegal amount of taut muscle.

The commercial director stands with a sigh. “Just… lean into him. The whole point is this cologne makes girls fall all over you, y/n. You gotta be all over him.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter under your breath. Wonho must hear you, because you sense him stifling a chuckle. You can barely inhale with the black halter top and high-waisted shorts they’ve dressed you in– and god, you’re cold. You’re sitting pretty in Wonho’s lap, and his hand is resting lightly on your hip.

“You’re doing fine,” Wonho says while the director is distracted by your latest take. You take the opportunity to slide off of him and sit in your own chair.

“W-what?”

“I can feel your heartbeat– it’s kinda hard not to. You’re nervous, huh?”

You laugh hollowly. “You can tell?”

“Yeah, but the camera can’t. You look great, y/n, and you don’t need to worry. If anything, I’m the one that should be nervous.

“Why’s that?”

“Ah, shit– I don’t want Yoongi to kill me once this commercial gets out!” Wonho grins mirthfully.

You start. “You know Yoongi?”

“Sure, our paths have crossed during work and we’ve been to the same parties– the fact that he’s gonna see me with you on my lap is probably gonna make him pretty jealous.”

You scoff to hide your blush. “Uh… Yoongi doesn’t really get jealous.” After all, why would he be jealous? You’re not really dating.

Wonho raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Back to work, people! We’ve got a day and a half to shoot this so let’s get it right and we can all go home early tomorrow, eh?” The director claps his hands and you and Wonho scramble back onto set. Yoongi gets back tomorrow, and if you finish up early, maybe you can surprise him. How cool would that be?

A/N: Please don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog! <3

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years ago

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Why This Teen Walked Away From Millions of TikTok Followers

This is part of a special series, The Future of Fame Is the Fan, which dissects how celebrity became so slippery. It’s also in the latest VICE magazine. Subscribe here.

Sixteen-year-old Ava Rose Beaune was hanging out at a friend’s house on an otherwise unremarkable mid-July afternoon when her cell service briefly shut off. She tried to text her dad, but it wouldn’t send—definitely odd, she thought, but not alarming.

Then people started messaging her: Did you see what’s on your Twitter? Your Instagram? What’s going on? She logged on to her social media accounts and saw that her new Facebook status alluded to suicide—but she hadn’t posted it.

“My whole family thought I was going to kill myself,” Ava said.

Suddenly, a man she’d never met was calling her parents, demanding to speak to her. He had control of all her contacts, texts, emails, and social media accounts. The next day, he texted her: I just want to talk to you. (Spoken and written quotes from Ava’s alleged stalker are italicized to indicate they are not necessarily direct quotes but are as she remembers them.) He called her, and she answered, begging him to do whatever he wanted to her Instagram account, if that’s what he was after. “Delete it. Delete it and leave me alone if that’s what you want,” she told him. You don’t want that, he said. “I do,” she replied. I just want to meet up with you and have sex with you, he said.

“That’s when I hung up the phone, and I was like, this is getting weird,” Ava told me. This stranger had managed to hack her accounts using a method called SIM swapping, in which he contacted her wireless service carrier and convinced them that he owned the account and needed them to transfer access to the SIM card to the phone in his hand—effectively taking over her digital life.

In screenshots viewed by VICE, the hacker can be seen posting a Story to her Instagram about being Ava’s new boyfriend, issuing rape threats, and writing things like “I can’t wait til I impregnate you and marry you. you only live 5 MIN away from me.” She got her social media accounts back in her own possession and resolved the problem with her carrier. “OK, this is, you know, the end, whatever,” she recalled thinking.

With more than 2 million followers on TikTok, Ava was a minor celebrity in her own circles. So, she said, she was used to men being creepy, or even hostile. This was extreme, she thought, but it was over.

But it wasn’t. This was only the beginning of weeks of daily harassment so severe it would uproot her life entirely.

As of this year, TikTok likely has more than 1 billion monthly active users, and the market research firm Statista estimates that adolescents between 10 and 19 years old make up 32.5 percent of those users. The spiritual successor to Vine, TikTok is a micro-video sharing platform that favors an off-the-cuff, do-it-yourself style: People of all ages lip-sync to movie clips and songs, mimic elaborate dances in their living rooms, and use filters to edit the 60-second videos into tiny works of art. It’s also something of a fame lottery.

All this manic, frenetic energy combined with massive audiences is addictive in the same way any social media platform is: with casino-style scrolling and a notification system and the looming chance at virality. Normal teens like Ava—who signed with a talent agency in January 2020—become voracious consumers as well as unstoppable creators, hoping to strike it big, get discovered, or at the very least, make it to the For You feed, where one video plucked by some mysterious algorithm from a user’s feed can get in front of millions of eyeballs instantly.

“I’d rather not give those people the satisfaction of being noticed.”

Despite all this, cyberbullying experts say that TikTok isn’t the worst social media app for harassment. “The way that TikTok is built reduces the likelihood of cyberbullying when compared to other apps,” said Sameer Hinduja, the co-director of the Cyberbullying Research Center. Features like direct messaging that only allow mutual followers to contact each other, and the inability to add images or videos to comment sections, set it apart from other apps. “To be sure, cyberbullying can manifest itself in hurtful TikTok videos directed towards others, as well as in comments and in livestream chats—but these possibilities are no different than on any other social media app,” Hinduja told me.

According to TikTok’s transparency report from 2020, 2.5 percent of videos the platform removed were for bullying or harassment. But there are some features unique to TikTok that make it prone to a different, more personal kind of harassment. “Duet” allows other users to repost your video with a split-screen video of their own. Most of the time, it’s used innocently, for singalongs or miniature skits. But some users say it opens a portal for disturbing abuse. In 2018, BuzzFeed News reported that people—often young children—would duet their videos with a video of them acting out suicide, putting plastic bags over their heads or belts around their necks, to show their disgust at the original post. And a Duet from a more popular account can send a wave of attention from their followers to your page, not all of it positive.

Nick, who runs a TikTok account with his five-year-old daughter Sienna (the family goes by their first names publicly, to protect their privacy), told me that they experience Duet-based harassment on top of the usual comment section cruelty. “Some users would duet our videos and say mean, nasty things that were just not true,” he said. “In the beginning, it made us second-guess the path we were going down.”

It hasn’t stopped since they started the account, in October of 2018—and they’ve since gathered more than 14 million followers. But they have gotten better at managing it, Nick said. “Sienna is luckily very intelligent and knows that this is not OK. I made sure to sit down with her, emphasizing how special she is and that people may not see that right away.”

Nick believes TikTok does a good job of handling harassment, and giving creators the tools to handle it themselves. “If there is consistent harassment from a specific account, I block and delete their hateful comments,” he said. “For the negative comments in general, I tend to just ignore them. I’d rather not give those people the satisfaction of being noticed.”

TikTok does allow users to opt out of Duets. But these are the features that foster that slingshot fame; opting out of them means opting out of your chance at going viral or just growing your audience.

Fatima and Munera Fahiye, who are sisters and TikTok creators with around 3 million followers each, told me that they also find the platform to be responsive when they need support. “There were multiple accounts on TikTok impersonating me on the app, and TikTok helped me by verifying my account to let people know that my account is the real one,” Munera said.

Whatever harassment they do receive—which often means racist comments—they say is outweighed by the support of fans. “I have been on TikTok for a year now, and I have not experienced any harassment, but after gaining some followers I have seen some mean comments about my hijab every now and then, but I try to not give it any attention, because the love and support that I am getting from my fans is more than the little hate, so it does not matter,” Fatima said.

The harassment that happens on TikTok doesn’t stay there, however. On Reddit, whole communities are devoted to catching women and girls on social media in the middle of wardrobe slips, where you can see down their shirts, up their skirts, or anytime they shift and move and reveal a glimpse of more skin. Standalone websites are made for this purpose, too, and for doxxing and harassing women who might have a TikTok in addition to an OnlyFans or other separate adult platform.

In 2020, a server on the gaming chat platform Discord took requests for TikTok creators to be made into deepfakes—AI-generated fake porn. Although child pornography is against Discord’s terms of use, even in the form of deepfakes, one of the most requested targets was only 17. A request for another deepfake noted, “by the way she turns 18 in 4 days.”

Creators also find their content, clothed as in the originals or deepfaked, reposted to porn sites. In concert, the people on each of these platforms work together to create an overwhelming environment of virtual assault for many young women.

Until TikTok, Ava had never really been into social media, she told me on a Zoom call in her parents’ house. She was taking a break from high school distance learning; this was her senior year, spent over video chats because of the COVID-19 pandemic. “I always told myself I’d never make a TikTok because my friends all had it and I was like, that’s so cringe,” she said. “Like, I’ll never start that. But they were like, ‘Come on make one,�� so I did.”

She said she made her first account when she was 15, and posted the usual stuff: trend dances, makeup videos. Within a few days, her audience went from the friends who talked her into joining to 150,000 followers—a leap in popularity that she still doesn’t entirely understand. The sudden attention startled her; she deactivated the account.

She accidentally reactivated the account later, and at this point, having gotten over the initial shock of attention, decided to give it another try.

A rock smashed through her mom’s car window with a threatening note tied to it: I want to take you and impregnate you.

Once Ava started posting new videos, the hateful comments started. “I thought that was like the worst it could get,” she said. “It was like, body shaming and hate—the body shaming especially never bothered me, and the normal hate comments were just like, whatever.” A few users created accounts to post rape threats about her, and this did disturb her, but she took it as par for the course as a young woman online.

That is, until one of her followers started stalking her and her best friend, Gabriel. That follower messaged Gabriel, mentioning her home address and demanding to know who she was dating. “So, we’re both kind of like laughing like this guy’s obviously just some weird fan,” she recalled.

I have something planned for Ava. You’ll see in the next three months. I’m planning something big, Ava says he told Gabriel. He hacked her phone three months later, on Gabriel’s 18th birthday. After that, the man texted Ava every day.

“It was stuff about how he wants to rape me, how he’s going to get me, how I can easily stop this—he was texting my dad saying, She’s not allowed to hang out with her friends, if she goes out I’ll know. Saying he’s watching over us and stuff like that.” Every time Ava thought the situation was as bad as it could get—that this man she’d never met was going as far as he could go—he went further.

Then a rock smashed through her mom’s car window with a threatening note tied to it: I want to take you and impregnate you.

Cyberbullying has proven long-lasting effects on teens and young adults. As Hinduja noted, studies show that it’s tied to low self-esteem, depression, anxiety, family problems, academic difficulties, delinquency, school violence, and suicidal thoughts and attempts.

“So at this point I was like, ‘OK, this is getting a little serious.’”

“Most important to me is how negative experiences online unnecessarily compromise the healthy flourishing of our youth at school,” he said. According to his and his co-director Justin Patchin’s research at the Cyberbullying Research Center, over 60 percent of students who experienced cyberbullying reported that it “deeply affected” their ability to learn and feel safe while at school, and 10 percent of students surveyed said they’ve skipped school at least once this past year because of it.

“That cannot be happening,” Hinduja said.

“In general, I hope people will remember that everyone is a human being just like them. We are all capable of feeling hurt and disappointment, and just because there are numbers and a platform attached to our lives doesn’t mean we are impervious to hurtful words or harassing comments,” Nick said. “TikTok is a space where everyone should feel safe to express their creativity, and in order to do that we need to be kind to others.”

Maxwell Mitcheson, Ava’s agent and the head of talent at TalentX Entertainment, told me that he’s seen harassment take a direct toll on young people. “A lot of creators are growing up in front of millions of people, and that involves making mistakes and learning and growing from them,” he said. “The hateful rhetoric definitely weighs on them; some don’t even look at their comments section anymore just to try and stay positive.”

“It’s the inability to make mistakes, being attacked for being authentically yourself, and the sudden lack of anonymity,” Mitcheson said.

Ava’s experience was on the extreme side, he explained, but creators at his agency have had instances of hacking and stalking, or fans randomly showing up at creators’ homes. “We’ve had to involve security and PIs before, but Ava’s was a situation that could have ended in tragedy if it weren’t for the Toronto police intervening.”

After the window-breaking threat, Ava said the police told her that she couldn’t stay at home. She went to stay at a friend’s house, but he still reached her there, she said. “He just kept going saying like, look at what you’ve done, this is all your fault,” she said. He sent her a private message that would delete after it was opened, so she recorded it using a friend’s phone:

I need you to accept the fact that I’m extorting you right now, you need to accept that this isn’t going to end no one’s gonna catch me, the police haven’t ever caught me when I did this before, accept it, give me what I want, I want you to meet up at this park right behind your house I want to do this this this this to you

if you don’t I will kill your parents in front of you in your living room and take you.

“So at this point I was like, ‘OK, this is getting a little serious,’” she told me.

She said she sent the message to the police, who told her whole family to stay somewhere else, hours away. They did, for two weeks. He kept texting her: are you going to be there Saturday you’re making the wrong decision you better answer me.

Eventually, Ava recalled, he was caught. He left the VPN he was using to mask his location off for a half a second, according to her—just long enough, she remembers the police telling her, for the investigators to capture his location data and pinpoint where he was texting her from.

Ava said that the police told her that when he was caught, they found six separate phones and a bunch of SIM cards in his possession—full of pictures and videos of Ava that he’d taken from her accounts. According to the Toronto area detective Ava and her family worked with, the case is still in the courts.

Talking to me now, over Zoom, in between classes and facing midterms, Ava seems fine. She’s able to recount this story in delicate detail, without flinching. She understands the gravity of what happened to her, and how it upended her life. Her family decided to move away, “to the middle of nowhere, pretty much,” she said.

But she is different now. She stopped posting to her TikTok to focus on her friendships and family, though she still posts sporadically on Instagram. She would like to be more active on social media, but she’s not pushing herself. She has anxiety that she describes as “really bad.”

“It’s really affected me, like, you know, just like not being able to live in your own home, and like, even when you are at home, not being safe… It’s really hard, especially when I was only 16 when this happened,” she said. “It is hard, and knowing that my parents were always stressed out and not being able to go outside and walk without feeling kind of scared…”

Before she stopped posting new TikTok videos, she tried to open up on the platform in videos about her mental health and her experiences. But people weren’t receptive to it.

“Especially when they’re like, Oh, a TikTok girl that all the simps love, or What are you complaining about, all these boys love you, kind of thing,” she told me. “I’ve been trying to go to therapy and trying to get over it, but when that kind of thing happens you’re not really the same afterwards. You have a different outlook on social media. You’re kind of scared of if it’s going to happen again. You don’t think those people exist until it happens to you, and then you’re like, wow, this is crazy.”

Online harassment has a silencing effect on people of all ages and genders, but women have it especially bad—and young women are pushed offline, out of the center of conversations and control of their own narrative, at earlier and earlier ages. As adolescents, harassment online makes them do worse in school, seek riskier behaviors, and contemplate or even attempt and follow through on self-harm and suicide. As grown women, this looks like anxiety, a lack of self-confidence, not sleeping, and stepping out of the online conversation altogether to protect their own mental health, and, in severe cases, the safety of themselves and their loved ones. When harassment is allowed to carry on, and women are shamed for seeking help, the damage digs deeper—and we lose those voices.

I asked Ava what she wishes more people understood—about her, about what it’s like to have a big social media following, about how it feels to have millions of eyes on you at such a young age. “I just wish they knew that just because you have followers, doesn’t mean you have this perfect life,” she said. “Just because boys love you, that doesn’t complete your life. When these kinds of things happen, you should be able to be open about it.”

Follow Samantha Cole on Twitter.

Why This Teen Walked Away From Millions of TikTok Followers syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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7livky · 5 years ago

Text

Dionysus - Park Jimin

CHAPTER 9

Baby, it's okay if I get drunk I'll drink you in deep now Deep into my throat The whiskey that is you

Kiss me on the lips A secret just between the two of us Deeply poisoned by the jail of you I cannot worship anyone but you and I knew The grail was poisoned but I drank it anyway

- Blood, Sweat & Tears by BTS

Diona's POV

With a resting pulse of probably over a hundred beats per minute, I was now standing in front of my lecturer.

I felt beads of sweat forming on my forehead as she watched my huge work. I closed my eyes before I started cursing. "This is all your fault."

"Pardon?"

We exchanged glances so I started to laugh hysterically. "Ah, ha hahaha ha" ,I pulled my hair back, "I mean everything is my fault. I knew you wouldn't like it."

Jimin, I hate you.

Rolling her eyes, I could feel the sweat under my armpits.

„Ew." I quickly put my hand over my mouth. This time she sighed loudly as she examined Medusa's snake hair.

I never thought I'd be someone like this someday.

A 20-year-old woman who based on a few...

A few?

Okay... who based on dozens of videos, has mutated into a fifteen-year-old girl who would get down on her knees for these seven men just to fulfill their every wish. Only two days since I haven't seen them, and in those 48 hours I haven't tried to make my painting look perfect, no. I've tried to stop myself from falling in love with every single one of BTS. And not just because of their stunning looks.

BTS are the angels on this planet who would give everything for Armys happiness, Armys wishes and just.. for Armys lifes. And by everything, I really mean everything they have.

Also-

"So Mrs. Park. Good organization of the picture surface, striking arrangement and colorfulness of the figure with the snakes, correct lighting. But the painting technique and brushwork..."

Can someone bring me my whiskey?

"..could really be those of a true artist."

She then winked at me, took a sip of her bitter coffee and typed something on her computer. "Full score. Now get out of my way, there's a new Cutie on probation!" With her shoulder, she pushed me aside and left me in her room.

What the fuck did just happen?

"Four meters to the right and you're at your destination."

I turned on my heels to see who?

Right, the pain in the ass who had to find me of all people on this earth.

"Oh, there you are!"

I crossed my arms and couldn't believe him. "How did you find me? In this huge, mazy university."

"Not with an app that hacks your phone and tells me your location! I swear to God!" He shrugged his shoulders while scratching the back of his head. How could he still look cute in his thick, black leather jacket and hot body?

"Did you get your results yet?" He pulled me out of the room before I could see my finished work lying on the table for the last time.

" Yeah." I murmured.

He stopped, showing me his sad face. "Failed?"

Nodding my head, I threw myself into Jongsuk's arms. I rolled my eyes as I inhaled the female scent when he stroke my head.

"Fuck it, shorty. Next time, just draw me and my beauty will blind them. Who the hell is Medusa?" ,he spoke up to make me laugh.

"Thank you Jong-suck suck. But..." ,I looked up at him while still hugging him, "Should I hear one more time" ,my sweet voice changed in a second, "that you hacked my phone to haunt me, then I'll boil your little eggs and make scrambled eggs out of them."

Disgusted, he looked down at me. "Why must your punishments always be so nasty?"

"Perhaps my predecessor was a goddess who enjoyed nasty punishments?"

After my answer, he let go of me and walked with big steps to the elevators. He waited for me until I was inside too and pushed the button. "Don't give me that shit again" ,he replied ten years later.

"What do you mean?"

"With the Gods" ,he answered whereupon we sat in the lobby, full of comfy sofas.

"Remember how you laughed at me when I said I met Jungkook?" ,I teased him.

He looked away in annoyance, " Yeah well, I should have believed you. But wait a minute?"

I tried to take a few sips of my canned whiskey without getting caught.

"Doesn't that mean that the old rich pedophile kookie monster is actually Jungkook?!"

He stared at me while I nodded. "Now the thousand dollars finally makes sense. The richest guys in South Korea found my best friend. Great!"

I ignored his sarcasm by opening up my Twitter. My entire home page was filled with BTS. Does that surprise me? I don't think so.

Beep.

new message (1)

from kookie-monster95

I just had five hundred butterflies thrashing around in my stomach.

hi!

can you come over to our place tonight?

"What? Why are you grinning like an idiot?"

Of course I can come over and bite your dimples off...

"Diona."

And paint your muscular body on your own wall at home.

"Oh my God! Is that Park Jimin?!"

What did he say?

"WHERE?"

Now my phone was in his hand. "I see. So that's how it is. Tell me, are you getting disloyal?"

I tried to hit him, "Give me that! And to whom should I be disloyal?" ,I growled.

Beep.

I could hear it vibrating in his big hand.

Jongsuk raised his one brow, "He wants you for something else? This is going too far! I'm coming too!"

I punched him in the chest, "What did he send?!" His arms were too long to be stopped.

"He doesn't want you there for the picture" ,he declared angrily and suddenly typed something.

"Jongsuk please stop!" I screamed as everyone stared at me. "Please!" I fidgeted in desperation.

Beep.

"Hey Jongsuk." He immediately turned around to see one of those college sluts. I took the opportunity to run away with my life in my hands. I immediately read the previous message.

from kookie-monster95

but not just for the painting..

from diona7

for what then you rabbit?

"Oh my God Jongsuk I will kill you!"

new message (1)

from kookie-monster95

Well, don't you think you should apologize to Jimin?

Absolutely not!

Flashback

"And then I witnessed your fist hitting his beautiful face."

Or do I?

- And here I was again. At the entrance of a heavenly ancient mansion.

Can anyone finally rid me of this dream? No common sense would ever be able to handle seeing BTS in private, would it? Can someone finally tell me that this fact can never be reality?

How can I ever face it? I want to finish this painting as soon as possible and never have to come back here again.

After my self-talk, I decided to make a next appointment with my therapist and got out. I dragged my heavy bag to the gate, looking at my trembling hand. "I should have drunk more" ,I murmured as the door suddenly opened by itself.

Great, now I had to deal with ghosts, too.

"Hello?"

I came in and moved my stuff in. I closed the door and stood on the mosaic floor I had fallen in love with.

"It's me, Diona." I looked around, but no one was there. And this time it was totally different. Knowing that two or three members lived here didn't take my nervousness away at all.

Knowing that Park Jimin lived here..

I put my hand on my chest and tried to keep my heart from popping out.

But I wanted to see more. More than the unpainted wall and the entrance hall. When I headed into the direction Jungkook was heading that day, something unexpected happened there.

The whole appearance, the building, the architecture was no longer the same as in the entrance hall.

It was a secular building of the Renaissance and Baroque at the same time. A palace that served as a residence, as a noble residence for rich and privileged families. But there was always an echo of an ancient Roman villa, with mosaic floors, hermen pilasters and grotto work, which surrounded me like a spring sanctuary.

I nodded decisively the more characteristics I recognized.

A strong beam shone in my eyes that belonged to the sun. I took my eyes from the window and followed the light coming from above. My eyes widened.

"Wow..." ,I whispered after I saw the ceiling. A pastel ceiling painting by an unknown artist. Depicted of people, with the assumed form of angels, helping two wingless people floating on clouds. When I lowered my head, I saw Corinthian columns decorated with animal heads.

The endlessness of the heavens.

As the sun set, the countless golden decorations sparkled throughout the room and all the small crystal chandeliers turned on.

I looked around immediately. "Is anyone there?" My stomach cramped up. With big steps I walked on before I stood in front of a big staircase with a wide marble staircase.

I left the first hall to climb the shiny steps. My small steps were the only disturbance that could be recorded. It was soulfully calm.

No way.

A large gallery of mirrors in thousandfold shapes on huge mirror walls with reflecting parquet flooring and a beautiful crystal chandelier that increased the light of countless candles.

With my inner concern, I ran towards my mirror images. Looking at my wavy hair, which took on a golden colour under the crystal chandelier, my yellowish light-brown eyes found me from all sides as I turned in circles. A hall that consisted only of mirrors.

Before I would see any other face than mine, I crossed this hall as fast as I could. I put out my cell phone to write Jungkook, but without success. I had no network. No wonder it takes him an hour to open the front door when he has to go through so many halls.

A cold breeze brushed against my skin, so I stroked my arms. I noticed a stream that probably seized me from the following hall. Coldness, an increasing echo and another sequent hall in front of me. Without even looking behind me, I hurried to the other side and was ready to see something sensational-

and not a hand in front of my eyes.

"Shhhh.."

I lost the ground under my feet and felt the fear down to my last pore. I opened my mouth slightly, but I could not speak, because my throat was closed. Raising my hand I felt the other hand under my fingers.

"Kill me softly.."

And there it was again. That melodious voice that sounded like velvet and warmed me.

"Close my eyes with your caress."

Jimin's words enveloped me like soft singing, awakening the desire in me to open my eyes so that I could see him.

My ears sensed sound waves of music with a slinking tempo as if the melody was flowing through my body and even touching my heart. My sense of sight was full of brilliance and silver shimmer. Transparent warm timbres that gave me a natural serenity.

I felt a deep trepidation when his other hand lingered at my waist and slowly moved me forward. On soft knees, he slowly followed me as he dragged me to a place.

I could hear someone snapping their fingers to the music. The next moment I heard a snap from the other direction, too, which matched the timbre of the song perfectly.

He removed his warm hands so that I could perceive everything again with my eyes and not just my hearing.

Flashback

But the most beautiful thing on his face was his cat-shaped eyes. They reminded me of the eyes of a predatory cat. To be more precise, he had the same of a desert lynx, as he had very dark and dense lower lashes, just like a eyeliner.

"Welcome, Diona. I am Taehyung." He winked at me with his broad smile as his hand floated in front of me.

"Pleased to meet you." I shook his hand, with which he later brushed through his turquoise hair. Then he sat down on the sofa to my left.

"So a rabbit then?"

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned to look to my right to see Jungkook lying on a beige sofa with his left leg resting on the backrest. With his legs spread, he pierced me with his eyes.

"That wasn't me, that was my friend Jongsuk. I'm sorry."

A door was shut behind me, which made me start up. I lowered my head to the side and stopped at my shoulder. I could already see him from the corner of my eye. With his back against the door, he watched me all the time.

"Isn't there something else you should be apologizing for?"

Every time he spoke, my nerves were strained to breaking point and I hated it. I turned on my heels and watched Jimin biting his lip. I counted every second his bite lingered on his lower lip and forgot everything I had learned. I gazed down at his crossed arms.

"Huh?" he almost complained.

Just another moment and I already sensed his dark aura around my own, over which he had seized power.

"Sorry that I hit you."

He lifted my chin so I could look him in the eyes. "I'll only forgive you," he licked his lips, "if you bear us company tonight."

He took his eyes away from me and looked at the boys behind me. I then heard a glass being filled with liquid.

"I'm just here to paint. Not to entertain you."

His smile didn't disappear, no. Instead, he smiled even stronger. "Oh.. But you already have been entertaining us since you came into this room, my beautiful."

My teeth clenched. I saw red with rage while he watched me amused.

"He's tipsy, don't listen to him" ,Jungkook spoke from the side, drinking his wine before sitting up.

Before anyone could say anything else, I left the room. "My beautiful" ,I imitated him as I stomped through the dark passage. "You can stick it right up your a-"

I heard a loud grunt.

"You'll regret this" ,Jungkook laughed as he passed me when I gave him my look of death to the back of his head. "Otherwise he'll drown you in booze."

I observed his trained back, which you could see through his white shirt but immediately turned around when he stopped to look at me. "I'm sorry if I come off bad too, but I've been drinking too. But actually.." He smiled shyly. „Actually I'm the cutest guy in the whole group, you know."

A soft clucking escaped me. "How is an international playboy supposed to be cute?"

He stared at me in shock when we arrived at the mirrors. "You... Where from? How-"

I rolled my eyes, "Yes Jungkook, everything you say is recorded and saved by millions of Armys as an insider. Good morning."

He just scratched the back of his head and ran down the stairs with me. I almost took a wrong turn, but he helped me right away. When we arrived at my place, I picked up my bag to get ready.

"I hope I don't faint again and can't start the painting a second time."

When nothing came up, I turned around as he looked like he'd been caught for a crime. "Ehh... ehehe" ,he half coughed, "scream out my name if you need me." He bowed respectfully before he disappeared from my sight.

"But how are you supposed to hear me!" I screamed after, but yeah.. Nevermind. I sighed in frustration before opening the lids of the acrylic paints. I put on my cape and pulled on the strings that I wrapped around my waist.

That song that just came out of my mouth as I hummed the melody, automatically thinking of his voice.

"Ugh" ,I hissed.

Why wasn't he the same in real life as he was in the videos? So sweet, loving and caring to everyone. Why wasn't he like in my dreams? The most beautiful angel I've ever been allowed to touch?

I digged out my finished sketch out of my sheets and held it in my other hand. Then I approached the wall to finally start with the base. Before dabbing my wide brush into the white paint, I waited. As always whenever the paint was about to touch a surface. Because after that there was no turning back. This kind of paint dried in seconds.

11:17 p.m.

That was my eighth yawn in a short minute, from when I knew I should stop. I put everything on the floor, which I had covered with old newspaper sheets to check the time on my phone.

"Three hours?!"

I shook my head in anger. "These assholes haven't asked once in three hours how far I've come or if I need anything?"

Crybaby.

"Shut the fuck up!" ,I screamed.

My senses suddenly picked up something unexpected. His scented essence. I froze at the sight.

"Yooou.. talk to yourself, tooooo?"

Have I lost my mind? Are my eyes no longer functioning properly?

Or did Jimin have silver streaks in his hair three hours before too?

"Wow!" He ignored me to stare at the wall. "Your hands can work wonders."

"Uh, thanks?"

His giggle sounded like a squeal. Just like I knew him from the videos.

"I should go now. This all has to dry by tomorrow, I can't put anything else on before then." I bent down to wrap everything up while he watched me silently as my nerves fluttered with fear.

"You can't just leave me like this. Not unless I tell you to" ,he said from up there.

Not this shit again...

"Let me guess. Because you're the one and only Dionysus?"

Even before I said that sentence, I already regretted it.

His veins popped out. Fuck.

He quickly pulled me up by my arm before a cold wall touched my back. He raised his hand, licked his thumb and put it against my cheek before he grazed a spot. After that, he showed me his thumb, which was tinted white. My cheeks heated up. God, how embarrassing. I didn't realize my face looked like a clown the whole time.

"You.. will come upstairs with me now and taste my unique wine. Understand?"

Nod. Just a nod that I could give him.

"Thank you, beautiful."

And for the first time, he locked his hand with mine.

Music is the wine,

which inspires new generative processes,

and I am Dionysus,

who presses out his glorious wine for mankind

and makes them spiritually drunk.

- Dionysus

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hail-to-the-republic · 6 years ago

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Menu Bizarro-World Media It’s obvious that the media abides an institutional racial double standard in how mass shootings and terrorist acts are reported. This double standard has the appearance of a coordinated operation, but it needn’t be to achieve the same effect. All you’d require is a media vastly overstaffed with shitlibs who think alike. Over at Sailer’s, Anonymous[396] calls this Bizarro-World media, Watching the MSM reaction to the Christchurch Massacre is like watching the Bizarro-World reaction to Islamic Massacres. 1) As soon as it happened everyone started calling the perpetrator a terrorist, which was 100% accurate given his elaborate streaming setup. But a Muslim can hack people to death while shouting Allahu Ackbar and we really need to wait until all the facts are in, preferably until people forget about it. 2) Muslim terrorists are lone wolves who have nothing to do with Islam but any time a white(or even partly-white guy) engages in terrorist behaviour, it’s part of a worldwide movement that somehow combines Islamophobes, White Nationalists, incels and 4chan, no matter how tenuous the links are. In fact, many Islamic terrorists in the west are the exact equivalent of Breivik and apparently this guy-people who got all their ideas from a specific messed-up corner of the internet but never attended a training camp of any kind or are part of a large network of co-conspirators. 3) MSM gatekeepers are doing their best not to give viewers any information that might cast Islam in a negative light. During a Canadian round-table on the CBC, the talking heads pointed out the unmistakable reference to Alexandre Bissionette on the terrorist’s gun case, while leaving viewers to wonder what “For Rotherham” meant. I find that the reporting on these mass shootings follows a trend. If shooter was nonwhite, it’s a news blurb then quickly forgotten. If the shooter was white, it’s a few days of “diversity & inclusion” sanctimony and goodwhite virtue signaling, plus candlelight vigils, but no in-depth, exploratory reporting of motives. The media isn’t keen for normies to know too much about what motivates White vengeance shooters. (In the case of the NZ shooter, he was motivated in part to avenge the death of a Swedish girl who was cut in half by a truck driven by a moslem terrorist. Steve Sailer thinks the shooting may have been blowback from the illegal Kosovo War from 20 years ago.) The media DOES NOT WANT anyone to know that the Whites who died at the hands of moslem terrorists is what motivated the NZ shooter. That muddies the anti-White narrative more than a bit, because it calls attention to a fundamental question: If there wasn’t so much moslem terrorism, there wouldn’t be an occasional White backlash. Likewise, if there weren’t so much diversity forcibly imposed on Whites in their own nations, there might not be so much intertribal violence. Normal Whites might begin to reasonably wonder about this whole forced diversity project. Just think how many lives would be saved if White nations were left to be homogeneous. All of anon’s points are spot on. The media gives the benefit of the doubt to nonwhite perps even after all the facts prove otherwise but is quick to indict White perps even before a single fact is known. The media excuses the nonwhite collective for the violent actions of many nonwhites, but blames the White collective for the violent action of one White person. The media hides evidence that undermines the anti-White narrative, but concocts smears to bolster that narrative. We dissident renegades know the score; now we just wait for the great bloated mass of inert normies to catch on to what is already very clear to us: Mass media is the enemy of White people. Polling over may years clearly shows that a significant minority to an outright majority of moslems all over the world say in surveys that they support the actions of islamic terrorists who target infidels. In stark contrast, there is barely a tiny fraction of a percent of Whites who support the actions of lone wolf White terrorists. Islamic terrorism feeds off a vast network of social support and leaders who will excuse their violent foot soldiers. Many islamic terror operations are the result of coordinated operations involving multiple family and clan members and even state level support, occurring within a social context that tolerates violent extremists when not outright arming them up and encouraging them to attack westerners. White reactionary terrorism enjoys none of that. They are almost entirely lone wolf attacks with no support from kin or clan, and no supportive social structure or tacit state encouragement to energize them. Therefore, it’s far more accurate and truthful to blame islamic terrorism on the moslem collective than it is to blame White reactionary terrorism on the White collective. But shitlibs do the opposite, because it’s not about accuracy or truth, it’s about scapegoating Whites for the dysfunction of nonWhites. J. Ross exposes the dark intentions of bizarro-world media, They are moving very strongly to censor social media and criminalize speech. BBC Radio in the immediate aftermath talked about the need to monitor thought in almost those words. No one considers that people might be reacting to what they see around them with their own eyes — there is always this faith that folks are captured by some conjuration and mighty magic, in other words, the thoroughly trashed premise of the SPLC and the ADL which led them to attack Gibson’s Passion of the Christ and Bavarian Easter celebrations. The mainstream national and international news already censors crimes against whites, and police agencies across Western Europe spent about half a year pretending that nothing happened on New Year’s Eve in Cologne. They must be looking at places like this next. Left-wing censorship, exemplified by media whorenalists calling for speech restrictions, is another case of psychological projection. Media shitlibs accuse their foes of fooling people with agitprop that media shitlibs themselves engage in to force an unnatural conformism to their anti-White worldview. The media cries out for censorship of political dissidents because they know the power of propaganda; they’ve been doing it for decades and have largely succeeded, until now, at keeping certain topics of discussion out of mainstream discourse. But the pressure built up way too much; the safety valves are blowing all over the anti-White hate machine. Media shitlibs know normies are “captured by [the media’s] conjuration and mighty magic”, and they want to keep that power out of the hands of the people and for themselves. Thus, Globohomo’s ramped up calls for tyrannical speech restrictions and Big Brother thoughtcrime censorship. By the commutative property of psychological projection, when the media says that dissidents must be monitored, what they’re really saying is “the media must be monitored”. Share this: Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)2Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)2Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Related That's An Imam, Baby!In "Beta" Yes We Khan....Send Them BackIn "Current Events" Freelance Comment Of The Week: The Jihad-Hashtag CycleIn "Comment Winners" March 17, 2019 54 Replies « Previous Next » Leave a Reply Your email address will not be published. Comment Name Email Website Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. stg58animalmother on March 17, 2019 at 4:07 pm My dad was calling them the Prostitute National Press in the 60’s. They’ve been at it a while. Liked by 4 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:40 pm Your ol man is(was?)BASED AF bro! Liked by 2 people Reply stg58animalmother on March 17, 2019 at 11:25 pm Yes he was Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 11:35 pm Did u not make it to being professional Athlete? Did he go out hard? Like Looch El Sicario on March 17, 2019 at 4:23 pm I doubt normies will ever have a sense of racial solidarity as long as whites are a majority. Liked by 1 person Reply P.K. Griswold on March 17, 2019 at 5:56 pm Normies won’t have a sense of racial solidarity until they are *scared*. Becoming a minority in your own country might do that. Then again it might not. Like Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:42 pm You’ve seen these twats…..they won’t. Like Jay in DC on March 17, 2019 at 7:00 pm What he said… there is already precedent well established. Every single one that has been killed even children, the family members put up their tail feathers with the bright virtue signaling plummage. They sacrificed their own flesh & blood on the altar of die-versity to wash the original sin of RAYCISS off of them. The brainwashed are religious zealots more than willing to die for their faith. This is nothing new and has repeated many times in history under different radical banners. Mass culling is the play here. Like NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:37 pm The most bizarre part of all is the ritual of self-abasement parents go through when their kids are slaughtered. Explained as an actual Jonestown-level psychosis actually explains alot. It’s remarkable that these killers haven’t, by sheer coincidence, killed a kid of an Ellie Nesler-type. Only a matter of time, I guess. Like Lichthof on March 17, 2019 at 8:10 pm White babies born today in the US are a minority Like Reply snarkwolf on March 17, 2019 at 4:37 pm It is worth noting that the perp shot nine people in the first mosque, then moved on the second mosque. Why did he switch? There must have been plenty more congregants! Then, at the second mosque, he killed about 40 people. Why the early switch??? Anser: Because one of the congregants at the first mosque starting shooting back. Liked by 3 people Reply Mr Meener on March 17, 2019 at 5:01 pm who cares Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:44 pm I do. It shows that an UNcucked populous FIGHTS BACK. We can despise them all we want, but we can’t call them cucked……… Theres a lesson in that. Liked by 1 person Lichthof on March 17, 2019 at 8:12 pm Snark…did you watch the video? Like Reply LOL on March 17, 2019 at 4:38 pm I don’t want to sound alarmist here, but it’s plainly obvious to me that the *only* thing that will shut Islamic forces up is more force. Even after 9/11, No-one dared respond with force (in the states at least). Force – even in its mildest form: academic critique -was actively condemned. in the absence of any force these fucks grew bolder. For the first time in years, these fucks are shitting their bitch pants. Rightfully so. Liked by 1 person Reply Corinth Arkadin on March 17, 2019 at 5:57 pm I think that’s only a taste of what’s to come. The genie’s out of the bottle. NZ, Australia…Europe? Or perhaps some enterprising American decides that enuff, no more. Liked by 2 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:48 pm Explaining his rage to a(((well placed))) nigress….this is why we lose. Liked by 1 person Corinth Arkadin on March 17, 2019 at 8:46 pm It’s just a clip. Context of the stream is what I was going for Like dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:45 pm YUUUUUPPPPP Like Reply NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:40 pm No one dared? Tom Tancredo used the bully pulpit of a congressional seat to call for the nuking of Mecca in retribution and even Ron Paul called for the issuing of letters of marque and reprisal (an excellent idea BTW). (((Someone))) muzzled, drugged and threw the raging momma bear down a well – and we’ve been there ever since. Well, until Brievik… Like Reply Ironsides on March 17, 2019 at 4:53 pm Well, the jews, the left, and the invaders have been sowing the wind for decades now. Can’t be surprised when the seeds eventually yield a harvest. And the original suggests the nature of what will grow. Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:49 pm H3il V1KTORY!!!!!! Like Reply Captain John Charity Spring MA on March 17, 2019 at 5:03 pm Brenton Tarrant did what Breivik didn’t do. He created a live stream of his terrorism and that means the press have literally no story to report and no ability to lie about. Liked by 3 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:49 pm You underestimate our foe, sir. Like Reply Mr Meener on March 17, 2019 at 5:16 pm I wonder if the muslims will get billions from homeland security like the jews get Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:50 pm Count on it. Like Reply NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:42 pm A millions Somalis in the Twin Cities and Fargo say “DurkaDurka amawahnajihad” which means “Yes” in Skinny. Like Reply Jack Archer on March 17, 2019 at 5:23 pm Do you really believe people are so inattentive so as to fall for media misdirection? C’mon, goys, that all nonsense… Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:54 pm WELL PLAYED, JA! Bet that guy gets endless puddy. Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:19 pm Talked so many orders so fast Touched him so many Times Had him jumping through his own Asshole Liked by 1 person Reply P.K. Griswold on March 17, 2019 at 6:10 pm “They are almost entirely lone wolf attacks with no support from kin or clan, and no supportive social structure or tacit state encouragement to energize them.” Total paradigm shift with Brenton Tarrant. I was personally stunned by the general indifference so many people expressed and even outright support the guy received from A LOT of people. Liked by 2 people Reply Lichthof on March 17, 2019 at 8:15 pm Yep. Shitlib media sites had to disable comments. The scum at the Guardian never opened a comment section. I read the manifesto and did not see Trump mentioned. Did I miss it? Like Reply NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:47 pm Totally surprised this Christmas talking to a certain Boomer of my acquaintance. He asked “Ever heard of Anders Breivik? What do you think of him.” “Meh, did what needed to be done, it seems,” says I. “Norway’s in better shape than other Scandi nations, now.” I was surprised when he said “I can’t really disagree with any of that.” His churchmouse wife was nodding silently in the background. Former hippies, a Unitarian and Catholic schoolgirl, earlier in life. We’re in a shift for sure. Gen Zyklon will bring the fire whether we’re ready for it or not… Liked by 1 person Reply Blue pill society on March 17, 2019 at 6:15 pm Attitudes are shifting regarding this. People in public are scared to speak their minds for fear of reprisal of loss of employment. The whispering voices supporting this are growing. Western civilization is starting to see through the BS. When you force a nation to accept multiculturalism it usually leads to a resurgence of nationalism. When the west rises this time we may not stop like in previous instances where we had enough. Liked by 2 people Reply Jay in DC on March 17, 2019 at 7:03 pm “When the west rises this time we may not stop like in previous instances where we had enough.” This must occur and in the ways most people are very uncomfortable with which includes women and children. In the same way that you wouldn’t look at a roach carrying an egg sac and think ‘well, they haven’t had a chance yet’. This is no different. They outbreed us geometrically and their women are the vector of that. The next generation will simply be more of the same. If this were to pop off it would have to be scorched earth until none remained. Liked by 2 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:51 pm You are welcome in my foxhole bro. Liked by 1 person NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:49 pm Balkans c. 1990s were the pregame. We’re in the top of the first inning of a global-scale Rourke’s Drift now. Like dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:38 pm “Mass media is the enemy of White people.” My stupid cunt of a daughter in law has a home tee-shirt applique machine and this WILL BE printed and worn by me out n about. OT buuuuuuutttt…… MAD PROPS to the Proprietor for scouring his bl0gs kk0mments section and recognizing his pupils greatness. Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:08 pm The enemy of all people Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:17 pm I get your point GSG but I only care about my own kin and kitlth Like walawala on March 17, 2019 at 6:42 pm First thing Western YTs do is try to separate themselves from this act. First thing Muzzies do following an attack or when a child sax grooming trial is revealed is cry wacism. Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:28 pm Nogs give a bitch crack heroin Then cut them off till do what they want No grooming needed really Drugs perfected pimping Like Reply JOSEPH ANGEL on March 17, 2019 at 7:41 pm So, when you say ‘Media’, you are trying to tell us something? It was on the tippy-tip of my tongue. It will come to me. Liked by 1 person Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:47 pm Not all jews in media Just some of them Like Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:54 pm GSG, you’ve seen too much and give too many a pass bro Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:56 pm Not all of the jews are in media Like dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:53 pm Jooing intensifies….. Like Reply Pingback: Bizarro-World Media | Reaction Times X on March 17, 2019 at 8:15 pm “I find that the reporting on these mass shootings follows a trend. If shooter was nonwhite, it’s a news blurb then quickly forgotten. If the shooter was white, it’s a few days of “diversity & inclusion” sanctimony and goodwhite virtue signaling, plus candlelight vigils…” In either case, the “trend” also includes the inevitable demands to ban and confiscate guns from the white population, leading them disarmed and defenceless against the brown hordes… Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 8:55 pm Yea Better take up swordfighting and buy bulletproof armour Its pretty cheap online Put rock filled cement Plates n Bullets richoche off Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 8:58 pm Bout three inchi cement rock combined Try it at range Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 9:02 pm Used to shoot cement trashcan like the with ak rounds when young Made little dents in it didnt come close to Going through now a car door yea go through Metal go through But not prob three inches Not Eastwood ahead of its time when he put metal plate over his chest to detect bullets A rope and piece of metal Of world can create own bullet proof body armour by hand Make knights great again Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 9:06 pm Hollywood told US how to defend in a western a long time ago Ironic shit Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 9:24 pm The army didnt really teach me shit bout Fighting i taught myself Just like i taught myself computers Excel and shit Up to other people id of been a moron Just like them lol Like Copyright © 2018. 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ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years ago

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The Untold Story of Robert Mueller’s Time in Combat

One day in the summer of 1969, a young Marine lieutenant listed Bob Mueller arrived in Hawaii for a rendezvous with his wife, Ann. She was hovering in from the Eastern coast with the couple’s babe daughter, Cynthia, a child Mueller had never fulfilled. Mueller had made a plane from Vietnam. After nine months at war, he was finally due for a few short daylights of R& R outside the battle zone. Mueller had seen intense action since he last replied goodbye to his wife. He’d received the Bronze Star with a distinction for spirit for his actions in one combat, and he’d been airlifted out of the jungle during another firefight after being killed in the thigh. He and Ann had told only twice since he’d left for South Vietnam. Despite all that, Mueller admitted to her in Hawaii that he was thinking of increasing his deployment for another six months, and maybe even making a career in the Marines. Ann was understandably ill at ease about the prospect. But as it turned out, she wouldn’t has become a Marine wife for much longer. It was standard practice for Marines to be rotated out of duel, and later that time Mueller determined himself to be given to a table undertaking at Marine headquarters in Arlington, Virginia. There he discovered something about himself: “I didn’t relish the US Marine Corps absent combat.” So he headed to law institution with the goal of dishing his country as a prosecutor. He went on to hold high positions in five presidential administrations. He produced the Criminal Division of the Justice Department, overseeing the US investigation of the Lockerbie bombing and the federal prosecution of the Gambino crime family boss John Gotti. He became director of the FBI one week before September 11, 2001, and stayed on to become the bureau’s longest-serving administrator since J. Edgar Hoover. And yet, throughout his five-decade vocation, that time of duel experience with the Marines has tower huge in Mueller’s mind. “I’m most proud the Marines Corps deemed me are worth heading other Navals, ” he told me in a 2009 interview. June 2018. Subscribe to WIRED. Illustration by Jules Julien; Source Photo: Gerald Herbert/ AP Today, the face-off between Special Counsel Robert Mueller and President Donald Trump stands out, amid the pitch-black humor of Trump’s Washington, as an epic fiction of differing American nobilities: a fib of two men–born really two years apart, raised in similar affluent backgrounds in Northeastern cities, both deeply influenced by their leaders, both wizard prep school players, both Ivy League educated–who now find themselves frisking most varied roles in a riveting national theatre about political corrupt practices and Russia’s interference in the 2016 election. The two men have lived their lives in pursuit of virtually diametrically opposed goals–Mueller a life of patrician public service, Trump a life of private profit. Those diverging routes beginning with Vietnam, the conflict that cried the country apart just as both men graduated from college in the 1960 s. Despite having been developed at an nobility private armed academy, Donald Trump famously attracted five sketch deferments, including information for bone stimulant in his paws. He would later joke, frequently, that his success at forestalling genital herpes while dating several women in the 1980 s was “my personal Vietnam. I feel like a great and very brave soldier.” Mueller, for his part , is not simply volunteered for the Marines, he spent a year waiting for an injured knee to regenerate so he could act. And he has said little about his time in Vietnam over the years. When he was preceding the FBI through the disasters of 9/11 and its aftermath, he would brush off the crush stress, pronouncing, “I’m getting a lot more sleep now than I ever did in Vietnam.” One of the only other periods his staff at the FBI ever heard him mention his Marine service was on a flight residence from an official international junket. They were watching We Were Soldiers , a 2002 film starring Mel Gibson about some of the early clashes in Vietnam. Mueller gazed at the screen and saw, “Pretty accurate.” His reticence is not rare for the generation that served on the front line of a campaign that the two countries never actually embraced. Many of the veterans I spoke with for this story said they’d evaded speak about Vietnam until very recently. Joel Burgos, who served as a corporal with Mueller, told me at the end of our hour-long speech, “I’ve never told anyone most of this.” Yet for almost all of them–Mueller included–Vietnam observed the primary formative experience of their lives. Practically 50 year later, countless Marine ex-servicemen who served in Mueller’s unit have email addresses that reference their time in Southeast Asia: gunnysgt, 2-4marine, semperfi, PltCorpsman, Grunt. One Marine’s email handle even references Mutter’s Ridge, the area where Mueller firstly fronted large-scale combat in December 1968. The Marines and Vietnam instilled in Mueller a sense of restraint and a relentlessness that have driven him ever since. He once told me that one of the things the Marine taught him was to determine his plot every day. I’d written a work about his time at the FBI and was by then very well known his severe, straitlaced demeanor, so I giggled at the time and pronounced, “That’s the least surprising situation I’ve ever learned about you.” But Mueller persisted: It was an important small-time daily gesture epitomizing follow-through and hanging. “Once you think about it–do it, ” he told me. “I’ve ever became my bunk and I’ve ever scraped, even in Vietnam in the jungle. You’ve positioned money in the bank in terms of discipline.” Mueller’s onetime Princeton classmate and FBI chief of staff W. Lee Rawls withdrew how Mueller’s Marine leadership style carried through to the FBI, where he had little perseverance for subjects who interviewed his decisions. He expected his line-ups to be executed in the Hoover building just as they had been on the battleground. In finds with subjects, Mueller had a dres of quoting Gene Hackman’s gruff Navy submarine captain in the 1995 Cold War thriller Crimson Tide : “We’re now to perpetuate republic , not to practice it.” Related Stories Andy Greenberg The White House Warns on Russian Router Hacking, But Muddles the Message Garrett M. Graff A Guide to Russia’s High Tech Tool Box for Subverting US Democracy Garrett M. Graff Robert Mueller Likely Knows How This All Ends Discipline must really been a defining aspect of Mueller’s Russia investigation. In a government era of extreme TMI–marked by rampant White House seeps, Twitter outbursts, and an administration that disgorges jilted cabinet-level officials as rapidly as it can appoint new ones–the special counsel’s part has been a fastened entrance. Mueller has remained an serene cypher: the stoic, speechless representation at the centre of America’s government gyre. Not once has he expressed publicly about the Russia investigation since he took the job in May 2017, and his carefully picked squad of prosecutors and FBI negotiators has proved leakproof, even under the most intense of media spotlights. Mueller’s spokesperson, Peter Carr, on lend from the Justice Department, has generally had one thing to tell a media horde devouring for informed of the Russia investigation: “No comment.” If Mueller’s discipline is reflected in the silence of his team, his relentlessness has been abundantly evident in the gait of indictments, stoppages, and law tactics coming out of his office. His investigation is proceeding on several breasts. He is excavating into Russian report functionings carried out on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and other social media platforms. In February his office impeached 13 people and three entities connected to the Internet Research Agency, the Russian organization that allegedly masterminded awareness-raising campaigns. He’s too following those responsible for cyber interferences, includes the hacking of the email system at the Democratic National Committee. At the same time, Mueller’s researchers are probing the business dealings of Trump and his associates, great efforts that has furnished arraignments for tax fraud and plot against Trump’s former safarus chair, Paul Manafort, and a guilty plea on business fraud and lying to researchers by Manafort’s deputy, Rick Gates. The squad is also looking into the countless bilateral relations between Trump’s people and Kremlin-connected chassis. And Mueller is questioning evidences in an effort to establish whether Trump has inhibited justice by actually attempting to squelch the investigation itself. Almost each week wreaks a amaze developed as police investigations. But until the next accusation or seize, it’s difficult to say what Mueller knows, or what he thinks. Before he grew special admonish, Mueller freely and repeatedly told me that his attires of brain and person is very much influenced by his time in Vietnam, a interval “hes also” the least explored section of his biography. This first in-depth history of his time at war is based on several interviews with Mueller about his time in combat–conducted before he became special counsel–as well as hundreds of pages of once-classified Marine combat accounts, official notes of Marine involvements, and the first-ever interrogations with eight Navals who served alongside Mueller in 1968 and 1969. They cater the best new window we have into the mind of the man conducting the Russia investigation. Mueller volunteered for the Marine in 1966, right after move away from Princeton. By late 1968 he was a lieutenant passing a action squad in Vietnam. Dan Winters; Archival Photo Courtesy of National Archives Robert Swan Mueller III, the first of five children and the only son, grew up in a stately stone house in a wealthy Philadelphia suburb. His father was a DuPont executive who had commanded a Navy submarine-chaser in World War II; he expected his children to abide by a strict moral code. “A lie was the worst blasphemy, ” Mueller remarks. “The one thing you didn’t do was to give anything less than the truth to my mother and father.” He accompanied St. Paul’s prep school in Concord, New Hampshire, where the all-boys classifies accentuated Episcopal principles of modesty and manliness. He was a ace on the lacrosse force and played hockey with future US senator John Kerry on the school unit. For college he choice his father’s alma mater, Princeton, and entered the class of 1966. The expanding war in Vietnam was a frequent topic of discussion among the elite students, who spoke of the war–echoing earlier generations–in terms of duty and service. “Princeton from ’6 2 to ’6 6 was a completely different life than ’6 7 onwards, ” supposed Rawls, a lifelong friend of Mueller’s. “The anti-Vietnam push was not on us yet. A year or two subsequently, the campus was transformed.” On the lacrosse province, Mueller matched David Hackett, a classmate and jock who would profoundly affect Mueller’s life. Hackett had already enlisted in the Marines’ version of ROTC, expending his Princeton times training for the escalating campaign. “I had one of the finest role model I could have asked for in an upperclassman by the epithet of David Hackett, ” Mueller recalled in a 2013 pronunciation as FBI director. “David was on our 1965 lacrosse team. He was not undoubtedly the best on the team, but he was a identified and a natural leader.” After he graduated in 1965, Hackett embarked training to be a Marine, giving top reputations in his officer nominee class. After that he carried out to Vietnam. In Mueller’s seeings, Hackett was a shining example. Mueller “ve decided that” when he graduated the subsequent year, he too would recruit in the Marines. On April 30, 1967, shortly after Hackett had signed up for his second tour in Vietnam, his unit was ambushed by more than 75 camouflaged North Vietnamese armies “whos” burning down from bunkers with weapons that included a. 50 -caliber machine gun. According to a Marine history, “dozens of Marines were killed or wounded within minutes.” Hackett set the source of the incoming burn and charged 30 grounds across open soil to an American machine gun team to tell them where to shoot. Times later, as he was moving to facilitate direct a neighboring team whose captain had been wounded, he was killed by a sniper. Posthumously apportioned the Silver Star, Hackett’s commendation explained that he died “while pressing the abuse and encouraging his Marines.” By the time word of Hackett’s death filtered back to the US, Mueller was already making good on his pledge to follow him into military service. The information merely enhanced his resolve to become an infantry policeman. “One would have thought that the life of a Marine, and David’s death in Vietnam, would argue strongly against following in his footsteps, ” Mueller said in that 2013 speech. “But many of us attended in him the person or persons we wanted to be, even before his death. He was a lead and a role model on their areas of Princeton. He was a ruler and a role model on the fields of engagement as well. And a number of his pals and teammates joined the Marine Corps because of him, as did I.” In mid-1 966, Mueller underwent his armed physical at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard; this was before the preparation of the proposed programme gamble began and before Vietnam became a divisive cultural watershed. He echoes sitting in the waiting room as another nominee, a buckling 6-foot, 280 -pound lineman for the Philadelphia Eagles, was regulated 4-F–medically unfit for military service. After that this organization is Mueller’s turn to be rejected: His years of intense sportings, including hockey and lacrosse, had left him with an injured knee. The military announced that it had a duty to heal before he would be allowed to deploy. In the meantime, he married Ann Cabell Standish–a graduate of Miss Porter’s School and Sarah Lawrence–over Labor Day weekend 1966, and they moved to New York, where he gave a master’s degree in international relations at New York University. Once his knee had regenerated, Mueller went back to the military physicians. In 1967 — just before Donald Trump received his own medical deferment for heel spurs–Mueller started Officer Candidate School at Quantico, Virginia. For high school, Mueller attended St. Paul’s School in Concord, New Hampshire. As a senior in 1962, Mueller (# 12) dallied on the hockey team with future US senator John Kerry (# 18 ). Dan Winters; Archival Photo by Rick Friedman/ Getty Images Like Hackett before him, Mueller was a star in his Officer Candidate School discipline class. “He was a cut above, ” recollects Phil Kellogg, who had followed one of his frat friends into the Navals after graduating from the College of Santa Fe in New Mexico. Kellogg, who went through schooling with Mueller, recollects Mueller scooting another campaigner on an obstacle course–and suffer. It’s the only period he can remember Mueller being bested. “He was a natural jock and natural student, ” Kellogg does. “I don’t think he had a hard date at OCS, to be honest.” There was, it turned out, exclusively one thing he was bad at–and it was a flunking that would become familiar to legions of his subordinates in the decades to succeed: He received a D in delegation. During the time Mueller spent in training, from November 1967 through July 1968, the context of the Vietnam War changed significantly. The vicious Tet Offensive–a series of arranged, widespread, surprise attack across South Vietnam by the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese in January 1968 — stupefied America, and with public opinion souring on existing conflicts, Lyndon Johnson said he wouldn’t run for reelection. As Mueller’s improving class graduated, Walter Cronkite proclaimed on the CBS Evening News that the fighting could not be earned. “For it seems now more particular than ever, ” Cronkite told his billions of onlookers on February 27, 1968, “that the vicious ordeal of Vietnam is to end in a stalemate.” The country seemed to be descending into chaos; as the spring unfolded, both Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated. Municipalities erupted in rampages. Antiwar dissents feelings. But the shifting tide of public opinion and civil unrest just registered with the patrolman campaigners in Mueller’s class. “I don’t retain anyone having anxieties about where we were or what we were doing, ” Kellogg says. That spring, as Donald J. Trump graduated from the University of Pennsylvania and began working for his father’s real estate company, Mueller finished up Officer Candidate School and received his next duty: He was to attend the US Army’s Ranger School. Arriving in Vietnam, Mueller was well trained, but he was also afraid. “You were scared to death of the unknown, ” he mentions. “More afraid in some ways of omission than death.” Mueller knew that simply the best young men went on to Ranger training, a strenuous eight-week advanced the competences and lead planned for the military’s society at Fort Benning, Georgia. He would be spend weeks practising patrol tactics, homicide goals, assault approaches, and attacks staged in submerges. But the aftermath of the duty were also sobering to the newly minted detective: Many Marines who progressed such courses were designated as “recon Marines” in Vietnam, a chore that are typically moved with a life expectancy measured in weeks. Mueller approvals the training he received at Ranger School for his existence in Vietnam. The coaches there had been through forest combat themselves, and their fibs from the front line schooled the candidates how to avoid several mistakes. Ranger trainees often had to function on time two hours of respite a nighttime and a single daily banquet. “Ranger School more than anything learns you about how you react with no sleep and nothing to gobble, ” Mueller told me. “You hear who you require on spot, and who you don’t want anywhere near point.” After Ranger School, he also accompanied Airborne School, aka jumping clas, where he learned to be a parachutist. By the autumn of 1968, he was on his action to Asia. He boarded a flight from Travis Air Force Base in California to an embarkation item in Okinawa, Japan, where there was an approximately tangible current of dread among the distributing troops. From Okinawa, Mueller headed to Dong Ha Combat Base near the so-called demilitarized zone–the dividing line between North and South Vietnam, launched after the collapse of the French colonial regiman in 1954. Mueller was determined and well trained, but he was also afraid. “You were scared to death of the unknown, ” he articulates. “More afraid in some ways of default than extinction, more afraid of being found wanting.” That kind of nervousnes, he announces “animates your unconscious.” For American corps, 1 968 was the deadliest time of the crusade, as they beat back the Tet Offensive and opposed the combat of Hue. All told, 16,592 Americans were killed that year–roughly 30 percent of total US fatalities in the fighting. Over the course of the conflict, more than 58,000 Americans succumbed, 300,000 were wounded, and some two million South and North Vietnamese died. Just 18 months after David Hackett was felled by a sniper, Mueller was being sent to the same part as his officer-training classmate Kellogg, who had arrived in Vietnam three months earlier. Mueller was assigned to H Company–Hotel Company in Marine parlance–part of the 2nd Battalion of the 4th Marine Regiment, a storied infantry contingent that traced its parentages back to the 1930 s. The regiment had been fighting almost nonstop in Vietnam since May 1965, making the nickname the Magnificent Bastards. The grueling action made its fee. In the precipitate of 1967, six weeks of duel reduced the battalion’s 952 Marine to just 300 is suitable for duty. During the Tet Offensive, the 2nd Battalion had received acrimonious and bloody battle that never let up. In April 1968, it campaigned in the fight of Dai Do, a days-long booking that killed virtually 600 North Vietnamese soldiers. Eighty members of the 2nd Battalion died in the fight, and 256 were wounded. David Harris, who arrived in Vietnam in May, affiliated the depleted legion just after Dai Do. “Hotel Company and all of 2/4 was devastated, ” he reads. “They were a skeleton gang. They were haggard, they were pummel to fatality. It was just pitiful.” By the time Mueller was set to arrive 6 months later, the human rights unit had rehabilitated its grades as its wounded Marines recovered and filtered back into the field; they had been experimented and surfaced stronger. By co-occurrence, Mueller was to inherit leadership of a Hotel Company platoon from his acquaintance Kellogg. “Those kids that I had and Bob had, half of them were ex-servicemen of Dai Do, ” Kellogg speaks. “They were field-sharp.” A corpsman of Company H facilitates a wounded Leatherneck of 2nd Battalion, 4th Marines, during Operation Saline II in the Quang Tri Province of Vietnam in 1968. Dan Winters; Archival Photo Courtesy of National Archives Second Lieutenant Mueller, 2 4 years and 3 months old, joined the regiment in November 1968, one of 10 brand-new officers assigned to the unit that month. He knew he was arriving at the so-called pointy mission of the American impale. Some 2.7 million US troops served in Vietnam, but the great majority of fatalities were suffered by those who defended in “maneuver battalions” like Mueller’s. The conflict along the demilitarized zone was far different than “its been” elsewhere in Vietnam; the primary antagonist was the North Vietnamese army , not the infamous Viet Cong guerrillas. North Vietnamese armies generally operated in bigger units, become better studied, and were more likely to engage in maintained fighting rather than melting apart after placing an waylay. “We pushed regular, hard-core army, ” Joel Burgos says. “There were so many of them–and they were really good.” William Sparks, a private first class in Hotel Company, recalls that Mueller get off apache helicopters in the midst of a rainstorm, wearing a raincoat–a telltale sign that he was new to the crusade. “You figured out somewhat fast it didn’t help to wear a raincoat in Vietnam, ” Sparks answers. “The humidity time compressed for the purposes of the raincoat–you were just as humid as you were without it.” As Mueller marched up from the operations zone, Kellogg–who had no idea Mueller would be inheriting his platoon–recognized his OCS classmate’s gait. “When he came marching up the hill, I chortled, ” Kellogg alleges. “We started joking.” On Mueller’s first night in the field, his brand-new tent was destroyed by the wind. “That thing evaporated into thin breeze, ” Sparks suggests. He didn’t even get at spend one night.” Over the coming days, Kellogg progressed along some of his wise from the field and interpreted the procedures for calling in artillery and air strikes. “Don’t be John Wayne, ” he said. “It’s not a movie. Navals tell you something’s up, listen to them.” “The lieutenants who didn’t rely their Marines went to early deaths, ” Kellogg says. And with that, Kellogg told their commander that Mueller was ready, and he hopped aboard the next helicopter out. Today, military units usually teach together in the US, deploys together for a placed sum of term, and return home together. But in Vietnam, rotations began–and ended–piecemeal, driven by the vagaries of harms, illness, and individual action tours. That made Mueller acquired a legion that mingled combat-experienced ex-servicemen and relative newbies. A platoon consisted of approximately 40 Navals, generally led by a lieutenant and divided into three crews, each was presided over by a sergeant, which were then divided into three four-man “fire teams” led by corporals. While the lieutenants were technically in charge, the sergeants operated the show–and could stimulate or undermine a new patrolman. “You land, and you’re at the pity of your staff sergeant and your radioman, ” Mueller says. Marines in the field knew to be dubious of brand-new young second lieutenants like Mueller. They were scoffed as Gold Brickers, after the single amber saloon that signified their rank. “They might have had a college education, but they sure as hell didn’t have common sense, ” suggests Colin Campbell, who was on Hotel Company’s mortar squad. Mueller knew his guys panicked he might be incompetent or worse. “The platoon was stupefied, ” he remembers. “They wondered whether the brand-new light-green lieutenant was going to jeopardize “peoples lives” to boost his own career.” Mueller himself was evenly terrified of acquiring land command. As he settled in, talk spread about the strange brand-new platoon commander who had gone to both Princeton and Army Ranger School. “Word was out real fast–Ivy League guy from an affluent clas. That set off fears. The affluent chaps didn’t go to Vietnam then–and they certainly didn’t finish up in a rifle team, ” announces VJ Maranto, a corporal in H Company. “There was so much talk about’ Why’s a guy like that out here with us? ’ We weren’t Ivy Leaguers.” Indeed , none of his fellow Hotel Company Marines had written their college thesis on African territory spats before the International Court of Justice, as Mueller had. Most were from rural America, and few had any formal education past senior high school. Maranto spent his youth on a small farm in Louisiana. Carl Rasmussen, a lance corporal, grew up on a farm in Oregon. Burgos was from the Mississippi Delta, where he was raised on a cotton plantation. After graduating from high school, David Harris had gone to work in a General Engine mill in his home mood of Ohio, then attached the Marines when he was set to be drafted in the summer of 1967. Many of the Marines under Mueller’s command had been wounded at least once; 19 -year-old corporal John C. Liverman had arrived in Vietnam merely four months from a neighbor of his from Silver Spring, Maryland, had been killed at Khe Sanh–and had heard heavy combat much of the year. He’d beset by shrapnel in March 1968 and then again in April, but after recovering in Okinawa, he had agitated to return to combat. Hotel Company quickly came to understand that its new squad chairwoman was no Gold Bricker. “He wanted to know as much as he had been able to as fast as he could about the terrain, what we did, the waylays, everything, ” Maranto says. “He was all about members of the mission, the mission, the mission.” Second Battalion’s mission, as it turned out, was straightforward: Probe and destroy. “We stayed out in the bush, out in the mountains, precisely below DMZ, 24 hours a day, ” David Harris pronounces. “We was exactly enticement. It was the same meeting: They’d touched us, we’d stumbled them, they’d disappear.” Frequent deaths and injuries meant that turnover in the field was constant; when Maranto arrived at Hotel Company, he was issued a flak jacket that had dehydrated blood on it. “We were always low on servicemen, ” Colin Campbell says. Mueller’s unit was constantly on patrol; the battalion’s preserves described it as “nomadic.” Its undertaking was to keep the foe off-kilter and disrupt their supplying words. “You’d march all day, then you’d burrow a foxhole and devote all night altering going on watch, ” announces Bill White, a Hotel Company ex-serviceman. “We were always tired, always starving, always thirsty. There were no showers.” In those first weeks, Mueller &# x27; s confidence as a captain developed as he triumphed his men’s confidence and respect. “You’d felt his nervousness, but you’d never see that in his behaviour, ” Maranto says. “He was such a professional.” The members of the platoon soon got acquainted with a better quality that would be familiar to everyone who is dealing with Mueller later as a prosecutor and FBI director. He asked a great deal and had little fortitude for malingering, but he never asked for more than he was willing to give himself. “He was a no-bullshit kind of chap, ” White recalls. Sgt. Michael Padilla( left) with Cpl. Agustin Rosario( right ), who was killed in action on December 11, 1968, during the operation at Mutter’s Ridge . div> Dan Winters; Archival Photo Courtesy of Michael Padilla Mueller’s unit began December 1968 in related silent, to protect the security for the primary military cornerstone in the field, a glorified campsite known as Vandegrift Combat Base, about 10 miles south of the DMZ. It was one of the only planned outposts nearby for Marines, a region for resupply, a rain, and red-hot food. Lance Corporal Robert W. Cromwell, who had celebrated his 20 th birthday shortly before beginning his tour of duty, entertained his compatriots with stories from his own reporting period R& R: He’d matched his wife and parents in Hawaii to be introduced to his newborn daughter. “He was so happy to have a child and wanted to get home for good, ” Harris says. On December 7 the battalion boarded helicopters for a new operation: to retake control of a mountain in an loathsome neighbourhood known as Mutter’s Ridge. The strategically important piece of ground, which rolled along four mountains on the countries of the south boundary of the DMZ, had been the scene of fighting for more than two years and had been overrun by the North Vietnamese months before. Artillery, air strikes, and cistern strikes had long since denuded the bank of vegetation, but the circumventing hillsides and depressions were a forest of trees and vines. When Hotel Company touched down and fanned out from its landing zones to support a bound, Mueller was arriving to what would be his first full-scale battle. As the American contingents boosted, the North Vietnamese withdrew. “They were all drawing back to this big bunker complex, as it turned out, ” Sparks mentions. The Americans could see the signs of past combats all around them. “You’d view shrapnel openings in the trees, bullet punctures, ” Sparks says. After three days of patrols, isolated firefights with an elusive enemy, and several nighttimes of American shelling, another division in 2nd Battalion, Fox Company, received the lineup to make some high ground on Mutter’s Ridge. Even nearly 50 years later, the date of the operation abides burned into the recollections of those who pushed in it: December 11, 1968. None of Mueller &# x27; s fellow Marines had written their college thesis on African territory conflicts before the International Court of Justice, as Mueller had. That morning, after a darknes of air strikes and cannon blast “ve been meaning to” faded the antagonist, the men of Fox Company moved out at first light. The attack vanished smoothly at first; they confiscated the countries of the western portions of the crest without resistance, evading simply a handful of mortar rounds. Yet as they continued east, heavy small-arms fire started. “As they fought their practice forwards, they came into intensive and deadly fuel from bunkers and at the least three machine guns, ” the regiment later reported. Because the vegetation was so dense, Fox Company didn’t realize that it had stumbled into the centre of a bunker complex. “Having crusaded their nature in, the company ascertained it extremely difficult to maneuver its way out, due both to the fuel of the antagonist and the problem of carrying their wounded.” Hotel Company was on a neighboring mountain, still feeing breakfast, when Fox Company was attacked. Glint remembers that he was drinking a “Mo-Co, ” C-rations coffee with cocoa gunpowder and sugar, heated by igniting a golf-ball-sized segment of C-4 plastic explosive.( “We were ahead of Starbucks on this latte bullshit, ” he jokes .) They could hear the gunfire across the valley. “Lieutenant Mueller called,’ Saddle up, saddle up, ’” Sparks pronounces. “He called for first squad–I was the grenade launcher and had two bags of ammo buckled across my chest. I could just stand up.” Before they could even reach the antagonist, they had to fight their route through the dense cover of the depression. “We had to go down the hill and come up Foxtrot Ridge. It took hours.” “It was the only locate in the DMZ I remember meeting botany like that, ” Harris reads. “It was thick-skulled and entwining.” When the platoon lastly crested the highest level of the crest, they confronted the repugnance of the battlefield. “There were wounded parties everywhere, ” Sparks recalls. Mueller said everyone to quit their jam-packs and preparations for a fight. “We assaulted right out across the top of the crest, ” he says. It wasn’t long before the unit came under ponderous fervor from small arms, machine guns, and a grenade launcher. “There were three North Vietnamese soldiers right in front of us that rushed right up and scattered us with AK-4 7s, ” Sparks says. They reverted fervor and advanced. At one point, a Navy corpsman with them threw a grenade, only to have it bounce off a tree and explode, wounding one of Hotel Company’s corporals. “It just got worse from there, ” Sparks says. In the next few minutes, several followers went down in Mueller’s unit. Maranto remembers being impressed that his relatively lettuce lieutenant was able to stay calm while under criticize. “He’d been in-country less than a month–most of us had been in-country six, eight months, ” Maranto says. “He had remarkable equanimity, targeting fervor. It was sheer terror. They had RPGs, machine gun, mortars.” Mueller realise rapidly how much hassle the patrol was in. “That daytime was the second heaviest barrage I received in Vietnam, ” Harris mentions. “Lieutenant Mueller was guiding commerce, outlook parties and calling in air strikes. He was standing upright, moving. He probably saved our hide.” Cromwell, the lance corporal who had just become a papa, was shooting in the thigh by a. 50 -caliber bullet. When Harris encountered his wounded sidekick being hustled out of harm’s action, he was funnily relieved at first. “I discovered him and he was alive, ” Harris does. “He was on the stretcher.” Cromwell would ultimately be able to deplete some time with his wife and new child, Harris figured. “You lucky chump, ” he concluded. “You’re going home.” But Harris had miscalculated the seriousness of his friend’s harm. The missile had nicked one of Cromwell’s arteries, and he bled to demise before he reached the field hospital. The death destroyed Harris, who had sold weapons with Cromwell the darknes before–Harris had taken Cromwell’s M-1 4 rifle and Cromwell took Harris’ M-7 9 grenade launcher. “The next day when we punched the crap, they called for him, and he had to go forward, ” Harris remarks. Harris couldn’t shake the be thought that he should have been the one on the stretcher. “I’ve only told two people this story.” The battle atop and around Mutter’s Ridge feelings for hours, with the North Vietnamese barrage received from the smothering jungle. “We got hit with an ambush, plain and simple, ” Harris suggests. “The brush was so thick, you had perturb hacking it with a machete. If you got 15 meters away, you couldn’t consider where you came from.” As the fighting resumed, the Marines atop the crest began to run low on quantities. “Johnny Liverman hurled me a handbag of ammo. He’d been ferrying ammo from one surface of the ridge to the other, ” Sparks withdraws. Liverman was already wounded, but he was still contend; then, during one of his runs, he came here under more shell. “He got hit right through the pate, right when I was looking at him. I get that ammo, I crawled up there and got his M-1 6 and told him I’d be back.” Sparks and the other Marine protected behind a dead tree stump, trying to find any defence amid the firestorm. “Neither of us had any ammo left, ” Sparks remembers. He slithered back to Liverman to try to expel his love. “I get him up on my shoulder, and I got shot, and I went down, ” he does. As he was lying on the dirt, he listened a shout from atop the ridge, “Who’s that down there–are they dead? ” It was Lieutenant Mueller. Sparks called back, “Sparks and Liverman.” “Hold on, ” Mueller answered, “We’re coming down to get you.” A few minutes later, Mueller seemed with another Marine, known as Slick. Mueller and Slick slipped Sparks into a missile crater with Liverman and kept a battle dress on Sparks’ wound. They waited until a helicopter gunship passed overhead, its grease-guns clattering, to amuse the North Vietnamese, and hustled back toward the top of the hill and comparative safety. An OV-1 0 criticize airplane overhead plunged smoke grenades to facilitate shield the Marines atop the ridge. Mueller, Sparks reads, then went back to retrieve the mortally wounded Liverman. The extinctions organized. Corporal Agustin Rosario–a 22 -year-old father and husband from New York City–was shot in the ankle, and then, while he tried to run back to safety, was kill again, this time fatally. Rosario, extremely, lived waiting for a medevac helicopter. Finally, as the hours transferred, the Marines coerced the North Vietnamese to rescind. By 4:30 pm, the battlefield had hushed. As his eulogy for the Bronze Star eventually predicted, “Second Lieutenant Mueller’s courage, vigorous initiative and unwavering devotion to job at great personal gamble is also contributing in the overcome of the enemy force and were in keeping with the highest institutions of the Marine Corps and of the United States Naval Service.” As night precipitated, Hotel and Fox held the anchor, and a third busines, Golf, was brought forward as added buttres. It was a brutal era for both sides; 13 Americans vanished and 31 were wounded. “We framed a pretty good hurt on them, but not without enormous expenditure, ” Sparks suggests. “My closest pals were all killed there on Foxtrot Ridge.” As the Americans searched the field around the ridge, they weighed seven enemy dead left behind, in addition to being able to seven others killed in the course of the clash. Intelligence reports afterward revealed that the duel had killed the commander of the 1st Battalion, 27 th North Vietnamese Army Regiment, “and had practically decimated his staff.” For Mueller, the engagement had proved both to him and his gentlemen that he could lead. “The minute the shit stumbled the fan, he was there, ” Maranto says. “He performed outstandingly. After that night, there were a lot of guys who would’ve sauntered through walls for him.” That first major revelation to combat–and the loss of Marines under his command–affected Mueller deeply. “You’re standing there consider,’ Did I do everything I could? ’” he answers. Afterward, back at camp, while Mueller was still in startle, a major came up and swiped the young lieutenant on the shoulder, saying, “Good job, Mueller.” “That vote of confidence helped me get through, ” Mueller told me. “That gesture pushed me over. I wouldn’t follow out life guilty for fastening up.” The heavy toll of the casualties at Mutter’s Ridge shook up the whole legion. Cromwell’s death reached extremely hard; his laughter and good nature had tied the human rights unit together. “He was happy-go-lucky. He appeared after the new people when they came in, ” Bill White withdraws. For Harris, who had often shared a foxhole with Cromwell, the death of his best friend was devastating. White also took Cromwell’s death hard-bitten; overcome with sorrow, he stopped scraping. Mueller tackled him, telling him to refocus on members of the mission ahead–but eventually accommodated more consolation than punish. “He could’ve applied me punishment hours, ” White announces, “but he never did.” Robert Mueller receives an honor from his regimental officer Col. Martin “Stormy” Sexton in Dong Ha, South Vietnam in 1969. Dan Winters; Archival Photo Courtesy of the place of Robert Mueller Decades later, Mueller would tell me that nothing he ever confronted in his profession was as challenging as conducting workers in duel and watching them be cut down. “You realize a great deal, and every day after is a commendation, ” he told me in 2008. The remembering of Mutter’s Ridge positioned everything, even terror investigations and showdowns with the Bush White House, into view. “A lot is going to come your behavior, but it’s not going to be the same intensity.” When Mueller ultimately did leave the FBI in 2013, he “retired” into a hectic life as a top spouse at the existing legislation house WilmerHale. He learnt some first-class in cybersecurity at Stanford, he investigated the NFL’s handling of the Ray Rice domestic violence case, and he provided as the so-called colonization captain for the Volkswagen Dieselgate scandal. While in the midst of that assignment–which required the kind of delicate give-and-take ill-suited to a hard-driving , no-nonsense Marine–the 72 -year-old Mueller received a final call to public service. It was May 2017, just days into the twirling blizzard start out by the firing of FBI director James Comey, and deputy attorney general Rod Rosenstein wanted to know if Mueller would serve as the special counselor in the Russia investigation. The job–overseeing one of the most difficult and sensitive investigations ever undertaken by the Justice Department–may simply graded as the third-hardest of Mueller’s career, after the post-9/ 11 FBI and after resulting those Marine in Vietnam. Having accepted the job as special counselor, he retreated into his prosecutor’s bunker, cut off from the rest of America. In January 1969, after 10 epoches of rain showers and cold weather, the unit got a three-day R& R break-dance at Cua Viet, a nearby brace locate. They listened to Super Bowl III on the radio as Joe Namath and the Jet-blacks defeated the Baltimore Colts. “One touch of actuality was listening to that, ” Mueller says. In the field, they get little information about what was happening at home. In fact, later that time, while Mueller was still deployed, Neil Armstrong made his first step on the moon–an incident that people around the world watched live on Tv. Mueller wouldn’t find out until daylights afterward. “There was this whole segment of autobiography you missed, ” he says. R& R breaks is likewise rare opportunities to imbibe alcohol, though there was never often of it. Campbell says he drink just 15 brews during his 18 months in-country. “I can retain drinking warm beer–Ballantines, ” he pronounces. In tent, the three men traded publications like Playboy and mail-order automotive catalogs, dreaming the cars they are able to soup up when they returned back to Position. They guided the time toy wino or pinochle. For the most part, Mueller bounced such activities, though he was into the era’s music( Creedence Clearwater Revival was–and is–a particular favorite ). “I retain several times strolling into a bunker and feeling him in a corner with a notebook, ” Maranto says. “He read a lot, every opportunity.” Throughout the rest of the month, they patrolled, meeting little linked with the enemy, although abundance of clues of their spirit: Hotel Company often radioed into allegations of concluding descended the organizations and disguised ply caches, and they are usually made incoming mortar rounds from unseen enemies. Command under such conditions wasn’t easy; drug use is an issue, and racial hostilities guided high. “Many of the GIs were draftees; they didn’t want to be there, ” Maranto says. “When new people revolved in, they imparted what happens in the United States with them.” Mueller recalls at times struggling to get Marines to follow orders–they already felt that the beating of serving in the infantry in Vietnam was as bad as it could get. “Screw that, ” they’d reply sharply when was necessary to do something they didn’t wishes to do. “What are you going to do? Route me to Vietnam? ” Yet the Marines were bonded through the constant danger of being subjected to duel. Everyone had close calls. Everyone knew that luck in the combat area was finite, fate hurtful. “If the good Lord diverted over a placard up there, that was it, ” Mueller says. Nights particularly were fitted with horror; the enemy elevated sneak assaults, often in the hours before dawn. Colin Campbell recalls a night in his foxhole when he turned around to find a North Vietnamese soldier, armed with an AK-4 7, right behind him. “He’d get inside our bound. He had our back, ” Campbell suggests. “Why didn’t he kill me and another chap in the foxhole? ” Campbell roared, and the infiltrator bolted. “Another Marine down the line shot him dead.” Mueller was a constant existence in the fields, regularly reviewing the code signals and passwords that marked friendly contingents to each other. “He was quiet and reserved. The plan was meticulous and detailed. He knew at night where every place was, ” Maranto recalls. “It wouldn’t be peculiar for him to come out and make sure the volley crews were correctly placed–and that you two are awake.” The souls I talked to who performed alongside Mueller, adults now in their seventies, largely had strong recollections of the kind of captain Mueller had been. But numerous didn’t know, until I told them, that the man who led their team was now the special guidance probing Russian interference in the election. “I had no idea, ” Burgos told me. “When you’ve been in action that long, you don’t remember appoints. Appearances you recollect, ” he says. Maranto says he only put two and two together recently, although he’d thought for years if that person who was the FBI director had served with him in Vietnam. “The name would ring a bell–you know that’s a familiar name–but you’re so busy with daily life, ” Maranto says. At the makeshift landing zone getting briefed before being airlifted to join the rest of the operation. Mueller is standing on the right with his back to the camera . div> Dan Winters; Archival Photo Courtesy of VJ Maranto April 1969 recognized a stark American milestone: The Vietnam War’s engagement death toll transcended the 33,629 Americans killed while campaigning in Korea. It too drew a brand-new menace to Hotel Company’s region: a laid of powerful. 50 -caliber machine gun nests that the North Vietnamese had set up to harass helicopters and low-flying airliners. Hotel Company–and the battalion’s other units–devoted much of the middle-of-the-road of the month to shooting down the lethal artilleries. Until they were found, resupply helicopters were limited, and flights were vacated when they came under direct flame. One Marine was even killed in the landing zone. Ultimately, on April 15 and 16, Hotel Company overran the enemy firearm and action a departure, uncovering 10 bunkers and three firearm positions. The next day, at around 10 am, Mueller’s platoon was attacked while on patrol. Facing small-arms ardour and grenades, they called for breath assist. An hour later four assault rolls thumped the North Vietnamese position. Five days later, on April 22, one of the 3rd Platoon’s garrisons reached under same attack–and the situation abruptly grew frantic. Glints, who had returned to Hotel Company that winter after healing from his wound at Mutter’s Ridge, was in the waylaid garrison. “We lost the machine gun, jammed up with shrapnel, and the radio, ” he recalls. “We had to pull back.” Nights especially were filled with frightful; the adversary wished sneak onslaughts, often in the hours before dawn. With radio contact lost, Mueller’s platoon was called forward as buttres. American artillery and mortars pounded the North Vietnamese as the team boosted. At one point, Mueller was engaged in a close firefight. The incoming fervour was so intense–the stress of the moment so all-consuming, the adrenaline pumping so hard–that when he was shot, Mueller didn’t instantly notice. Amid the combat, he glanced down and recognized an AK-4 7 round had overtaken clean through his thigh. Mueller prevented fighting. “Although seriously wounded during the course of its firefight, he resolutely maintained his position and, aptly guiding the volley of his squad, was instrumental in demolishing the North Vietnamese Army force, ” reads the Navy Commendation that Mueller received for his action that day. “While approaching the designated area, the team emanated under a heavy loudnes of enemy burn from its right flank. Skillfully soliciting and directing corroborating Marine artillery fire on the opponent outlooks, First Lieutenant Mueller ensured that burn superiority was gained during the hostile unit.” Two other members of Hotel Company were also wounded in the fight. One of them had his leg blown off by a grenade; it was his first day in Vietnam. Mueller’s eras in duel ended with him being lifted out by helicopter in a sling. As the aircraft peeled away, Mueller withdraws reviewing he might at least get a good dinner out of the harm on a infirmary carry, but he was delivered instead to a field hospital near Dong Ha, where “hes spent” three weeks recovering. Maranto, who was on R& R when Mueller was wounded, retains returning to camp and hearing oath that their commandant had been shot. “It could happen to any one of us, ” Maranto says. “When it has come to him, there was a lot of sadness. They experienced his company.” Mueller recovered and returned to active office in May. Since most Marine detectives spent only six months on a combat rotation–and Mueller had been in the combat zone since November–he was sent to serve at bidding headquarters, where he became an aide-de-camp to Major General William K. Jones, the head of the 3rd Marine Division. By the end of 1969, Mueller was back in the US, his engagement tour accomplish, working at the Marine barracks near the Pentagon. Soon thereafter, he cast off an application to the University of Virginia’s law school. “I consider myself extraordinarily lucky to have constructed it out of Vietnam, ” Mueller announced years later in a discussion. “There were many–many–who did not. And perhaps because I did survive Vietnam, I have always experienced compelled to contribute.” Over the years, a few of his former chap Marines from Hotel Company recollected Mueller and have watched his busines unfold on the national theatre over the past two decades. Sparks cancels dining lunch on a July day in 2001 with the story on: “The TV was on behind me.’ We’re going to introduce the new FBI director, Robert … Swan … Mueller . ’ I slowly switched, and I appeared, and I belief,’ Golly, that’s Lieutenant Mueller.’” Sparks, who speaks with a thick Texas accent, says his first thought was the running gag he’d had with his former captain: “I’d always announce him’ Lieutenant Mew-ler , ’ and he’d mention,’ That’s Mul-ler . ’” More lately, his former Marine comrade Maranto says that after devoting six months in fighting with Mueller, he has watched the coverage of the special advise investigation progress and chortled at the news reports. He says he knows Mueller isn’t sweating the pressure. “I watch people on the word talking about the distractions getting to him, ” he alleges. “I don’t think so.” Garrett M. Graff ( @vermontgmg) is a lending writer at WIRED and scribe of The Threat Matrix: Inside Robert Mueller’s FBI and the War on Global Terror . He can be reached at garrett.graff @gmail. com . em> Such articles is displayed in the June issue. Subscribe now . em> Listen to this story, and other WIRED features, on the Audm app . em> More Great WIRED Stories If Trump is laundering Russian fund now &# x27; s how it would work Spot the illegal in these airport baggage x-rays How a DNA transfer virtually imprisoned an innocent being of murder PHOTO ESSAY: Ominous view Read more: https :// www.wired.com/ narration/ robert-mueller-vietnam / http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/07/01/the-untold-story-of-robert-muellers-time-in-combat/

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baw74fanfic · 8 years ago

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Chapter 6 - Confronting the World

Shortly after Jingyu's emotions spilled over, they both decided to lay down for a nap. They felt exhausted, knowing that the emotional drain and stress can make someone feel like they just ran a marathon. As soon as their heads hit the pillows, both were out. Weizhou on the left, Jingyu on the right - with Weizhou characteristically curled up in a fetal position hugging his whale.

After an hour, Jingyu awoke feeling recharged. He glanced down to look at Weizhou soundly sleeping, and chuckled to himself. Little did their fans know how gut-busting funny it was to him that they assigned a cat persona to Zhou Zhou. Sure, it made sense from the point that Zhou supported cat charities, and was an admitted cat lover. But the real funny part was what he was witnessing that moment: Weizhou's habit of emitting a soft purr when exhaling as he slept. He would inhale through his nose, mouth closed. And exhale half way through his nose, and then his lips would part and exhale the rest of the way. Rinse, and repeat. And those lips, so cute popping open, then closed....

He had told Weizhou about it after their first night together while filming, and Zhou wasn't sure how to take the news from this guy. It's now a little part of his Zhou that he cherishes, when he can catch it happening.

He then reached out to gently caress Zhou's cheek. He didn't want to wake him, just gently touch him, to feel if he was truly real. It was hard to believe this was happening. Sometimes, he even can't believe how much he's accomplished himself. Deep down, he still views himself as the humble kid from the boonies. These last nine months have been such a whirlwind, yet, they've been little league training compared to what the future holds. And he was ready to risk it all for love, but at the same time, wanted to protect and ensure no harm came to Weizhou.

Weizhou's eyes slowly opened. He smiled when he realized Jingyu's hand was on his cheek. He kissed his fingers, and reached out to cup Jingyu's cheek. This man, with such a deep-thinking, caring personality... how did they get to this point?

Jingyu smiled, and got up to go to the restroom, leaving Weizhou to his thoughts. His mind wandered back to the first moment he realized he was falling for Jing. They had been rehearsing the movements for the intimate scenes, and it was a late evening. Jingyu was in a deep discussion with the director on where Gu Hai was coming from for a scene. Weizhou was getting bored just waiting, and was having fun hogging the camera while Chai was trying to film for behind the scenes footage. Then he had suddenly felt a hand pull him back, and ended up laying in Jingyu's lap. Jingyu continued to concentrate on the discussion, but Weizhou had felt mischievous and started banging his head into Jing's chest. Jingyu casually grabbed Zhou's head by his chin to make him stop. It was such a natural move, forceful, yet gentle... loving. The action was imparted in only the way that Jingyu could do. Weizhou became lost in thought about how nice it was to be in Jingyu's arms, and to be touched that way.

Jingyu returned from the restroom. "What are you thinking about?"

Weizhou was on his phone, pulling up the video. He showed it to Jingyu. "Do you remember this?"

Jingyu chuckled. "I do. You were being such a brat, I had to pull you down and make you behave."

Weizhou smiled, and paused the video at the spot right after Jingyu had held his chin. "This is the moment I started falling for you."

Jingyu looked at Weizhou and smiled. "Did you noticed that I started touching you more and more after that? I couldn't get enough. I had to feel you. Just like earlier, before you woke up."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Li Hao and Zheng Ge returned, looking exhausted, yet enthusiastic. They had been meeting with media contacts and friends in the industry all day. When Weizhou and Jingyu finished filling them in on how the meeting went with the DCU chief, Li Hao broached the subject of what they had decided as a path forward.

Weizhou spoke first. With a deep breath, and a glance at Jingyu, "We think it may be better to proceed without making that decision yet. Let the events and circumstances play out and make the choices along the way."

Li Hao murmured that taking that route would concede the initiative, and they would be stuck having to constantly react, instead of controlling the issue. Unsurprisingly, the PR/manager didn't like that idea. But Zheng Ge saw some benefit in it. Without the boys telegraphing their intent, it kept their enemies guessing. Eventually all four warmed to the idea.

Li Hao said, "The other benefit to going this route is without directly addressing it publicly, it would be hard for the authorities to issue bans or edicts. So what if you two just started appearing together in an unofficial capacity? As long as the joint appearances aren't part of any work or publicity events, there's very little argument to be made against you."

Zheng Ge's brows furrowed, "So are you suggesting we don't have a press conference, or perhaps even a press release, about the hacking?"

"Not at all. Give me a few hours, I'll come up with a draft." Li Hao was pacing, excitement about his idea had reinvigorated him. Weizhou had seen this often in Li Hao, and usually it meant a stroke of brilliance was about to be revealed. He gave Jingyu a smile and a squeeze of his knee, and got up to grab a drink in the kitchen.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Only about an hour had passed when Li Hao asked everyone to read what he had written.

****

OFFICIAL STATEMENTS FROM

TIMMY XU WEIZHOU AND JOHNNY HUANG JINGYU

****

OCTOBER 28TH, 2016

TIMMY AND JOHNNY WOULD LIKE TO CONVEY THAT THE RECENT VIOLATION OF PRIVACY THAT OCCURRED AGAINST THEM IS UNCONSCIONABLE AND SHOULD BE CONDEMNED BY ALL.

THEY HAVE WORKED HARD AND STRIVED TO BRING THEIR ART TO THE WORLD TO ENTERTAIN AND BRING JOY INTO THEIR FANS LIVES IN A PEACEFUL AND LOVING MANNER. AS SUCH, THEIR HUGE SUCCESS AND POPULARITY HAS UNFORTUNATELY MADE THEM TARGETS. HOWEVER, THEY WANT TO CONVEY TO THEIR MANY FANS THAT THEY ARE NOT BACKING AWAY, AND ARE MOTIVATED EVEN MORE TO CONTINUE FOCUSING THEIR EFFORTS INTO THEIR POSITIVE AND FULFILLING WORK AND CHARITIES.

TIMMY AND JOHNNY ARE WORKING TOGETHER WITH THE AUTHORITIES TO BRING THOSE RESPONSIBLE TO JUSTICE. THEY WOULD LIKE TO THANK THEIR FANS FOR THEIR SUPPORT THROUGH THIS ONGOING ORDEAL.

****

END OF MESSAGE

****

Once Li Hao saw everyone was almost done reading, he started in with his reasoning, "It doesn't address the subject matter of the leaked texts, while it tacitly concedes the messages are true.. It conveys that Timmy and Johnny are law-abiding citizens that deserve their privacy too, and humanizes them. It reminds others that they are involved in charity work. And it tells their fans that they would like to proceed with working, should there be any ban or edict that is issued or enforced."

Jingyu and Weizhou nodded. Zheng Ge slapped Li Hao on the back, "I like it. We put this on the wire, Weibo, and link it in Twitter simultaneously. And I even think in an hour - at midnight - would be the best time. Let that socialsphere rapidly circulate it everywhere, for the morning news hour."

Li Hao added, "And in a couple of days, the boys can each film a short video thanking their fan base and letting them know they are doing well."

So, it was decided. Weizhou and Jingyu took a deep breath and stood up. They knew the last 36 hours of silence from them was torture for the many that supported them. It was finally good to be able to respond, and Jingyu could see it in the way Zhou Zhou had more pep in his step. They both retired to their room, and changed into comfortable lounging clothes.

Weizhou had settled into the overstuffed chair near the window, pulling down apps and working on getting his new phone back to the normal state it was used to. Jingyu was laying across the bed on his stomach, browsing online with his laptop. He had wanted to see the initial responses to the press release when it hit. Weizhou started humming a tune he had been working on, slowly settling in on a melody that he had been revising. Jingyu took the moment to casually ask, "So, wanna get a place together?"

Weizhou stopped humming, and looked at Jingyu and smiled. The stress of the recent issue, he realized, had kept him from thinking about such things. The logistics of a relationship. Setting up house.

"Do you think it's wise to go buy a place?"

Jingyu shook his head no. "Who says we have to buy? I don't think we should establish firm roots like that, with the way things are. But we could rent a place."

"Yes. I want to." smiled Weizhou. Jingyu smile in return. "Makes things real, no?"

"It does. Yet I'm excited and hopeful, not scared." Weizhou replied.

"Me too, babe. Me too. Besides, it makes Gu Hai feel wonderful if you're living with him." Jingyu grinned.

Weizhou laughed loudly and threw a small pillow at Jingyu. "You big dork!"

*Ding!* A text arrived on Weizhou's phone. Jingyu's eyebrow went up inquisitively. Weizhou smiled and said it was from Chen Wen, and read, "Hey, I just saw the press release."

"Yeah, it was good to finally respond."

"Is it safe to message you here?" Chen Wen asked.

"Yes, the DCU confirmed that my new phone was set up securely."

Weizhou could see Chen Wen start and stop a reply several times. Finally a message came through: "Are you and Jingyu......staying together?"

"Yes, he's here in the room with me."

"No, I meant are you going to continue the relationship?" Chen Wen replied.

Weizhou read it and hesitated. Jingyu, watching the interaction play out on Weizhou's face, asked, "What?" Weizhou told him.

"Chen Wen's figured out we're in a relationship... though after the leaks, and the way he knows us, it wasn't hard to figure out."

Jingyu's face was solemn. "True. I miss those two. I have an idea, can you send me their numbers?"

Weizhou transferred Chen Wen and Lin Fengsong's numbers to him. "What are you going to do?"

"You'll see." Jingyu replied, while wearing his naughty smirk.

After a few moments, a text arrived. It was from Jingyu, to all three guys:

"Yes, Zhou Zhou and I are in a relationship. I love him deeply. And if anyone has a problem with that, I'll beat them up. -Gu Hai"

Weizhou's face lit up with his laughter. A reply came in.

Chen Wen: "GOOD. FENG AND I WERE UPSET THAT YOU WERE BREAKING UP!"

Lin Fengsong: "Chen Wen was. I kept telling him you two were fine. He's crying on my shoulder."

Jingyu's laugh could be heard across the floor.

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ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years ago

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The Untold Story of Robert Mueller’s Time in Combat

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