#Indian woman head shave video

[legally-brief]

MOVIES WITH MEN IN UNDERWEAR (This is outdated- website shutdown early 2000’s)

“G”

Galaxy Quest (1999) Sci-fi comedy. "Commander Peter Quincy Taggart" (Tim Allen) is at home, asleep on the couch, hungover and trouserless, when awestruck friendly aliens come to visit.

Garp A locker room scene with several unidentified actors in jocks.

Georgy Girl Alan Bates in a couple of shots in his Jockey briefs.

Gharwali Baharwali (1998) Indian musical comedy. An overweight, middle-aged manager ritually humiliated, being stripped, head-shaved and left as a beggar in his underwear (white undershirt and big boxers).

Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999) Crime drama. Ghost Dog robs a couple at gunpoint off-camera, and they emerge into the street, the woman in her skimpy bra and panties and the man in his boxers.

Ghostbusters (1984) I can't believe that there has been no mention of the first underwear scene in a movie that I ever came across. Ray Stanz (played by Dan Ackroyd) is having a dream in which this female ghost is hovering above his bed moments before she vanishes into thin air. He looks around, obviously perplexed, and then his belt gets undone; the button on his pants is next, instantaneously followed by the unzipping of his zipper and then, his pants are opened. Voila! White briefs.

Gig, The (1985) Drama. A charming film, and including some of the middle-aged leads in their underwear.

Gimme an 'F' (1984) One of the main characters strips down to his white briefs and dances around the shower room. He does this for quite a while and gets them very wet.

Girl 6 (1996) Comedy. Phone-sex caller, a slim, fortyish black man, acts out his baseball-hitter fantasy in a room painted up as a stadium, wearing a baseball helmet and a white jock strap.

Girls Are for Loving (1973) Crime movie. At some point, just about everybody ends up naked and bound in one way or another. One interesting scene: two evil henchman have been captured and bound nearly naked with their hands above their heads.

Glitz (1988) (TV) Action/thriller. An attacker fires at Jimmy Smits, who's in bed with Linda Moon at the time. Clad only in his briefs, Smits chases after the guy, out into the street.

Gloria (1999) Thriller. "About 20 minutes into the film (which doesn't compare to the original), there is a cool scene where Sharon Stone forces her criminal ex-boyfriend and his henchmen to strip naked at gunpoint. Rear nudity only, but very intense scene. Every guy seems to have on a different type of undies. I watched the video with my roommate and she couldn't stop laughing at the guy with the leopard print briefs".

Go (1999) Close-up shots of Scott Wolf in his briefs, being wired for sound with a hidden transmitter attached to his thigh. Also, another guy putting on his dark boxer shorts in a suggestive scene.

Gods and Monsters (1998) In one scene, Whale mischievously makes a flamboyant, young male reporter remove an article of clothing for every question that he answers (until the man's down to his underwear).

Gods Must Be Crazy, The (1980) Comedy. Startled by a warthog while taking off his wet clothes, guy flees pants-down in his red briefs.

Going Ape! (1981) Tony Danza running around in a hospital gown and his briefs ... at end of movie.

Gold Rush Boys (XXX) ****my favorite*** This porn-vid is chock full of hot young "pioneer" men in union suits having fun in an all-male bordello. There are quite a few tender scenes (kissing, etc.) One gorgeous guy spends most of the movie falling out of his maroon union suit. Very sexy!! (Sorry I don’t know which studio made this - but I’m sure of the title.)

Gone Fishin' (1997) A witless comedy that at the very end has both Joe Pesci and Danny Glover caught with their pants around their ankles, showing their colorful boxer shorts.

Good Burger (1997) Mild, juvenile comedy. Disguised in drag to spy on a rival burger operation, the heroes are caught and unmasked - revealing the chubby one in his blue and white plaid boxer shorts, and the slim one embarrassed to be discovered in drag all the way down to women's underwear.

Good Man in Africa, A (1994) Colin Friels wears comic loud printed boxer shorts, as Diana Rigg sews his costume. Later, he must exchange every piece of clothing he has on with John Lithgow - even down to boxers and briefs being switched.

Good Will Hunting (1997) Drama. Matt Damon in white boxers in scene with Minnie Driver.

Goodbye Bird, The (1993) Chris Pettiet. His mother knocks on the the door...he gets up wearing only blue silk boxer shorts - you can see his pecker bouncing in his boxers.

Goodbye, Columbus (1969) Michael Meyers in boxer shorts, has a vapid conversation with Richard Benjamin. He is a fairly well-built jock with a rather empty mind.

GoodFellas (1990) Crime drama. Gangsters go to kill their oversleeping driver (Tony Sirico). Unsuspecting, in his yellow undershirt and briefs, he opens the door to them.

Gotcha! (1985) Anthony Edwards standing in Jockeys, briefly. Short scene but NICE.

Gotham (1988) (TV) Thriller. Two scenes with Tommie Lee Jones in a white A-shirt and white boxer shorts, one early in the movie when J.B. White wakes him up, and another later in the film while making love to Virginia Madsen.

Graduate, The (1967) A young preppy-looking Dustin Hoffman gets seduced by Mrs. Robinson, and winds up in bed with her in his white trim-cut boxer shorts.

Grandview, U.S.A. (1984) Drama. C. Thomas Howell spends the night with Jamie Lee Curtis. In the morning, he's awakened when the her boyfriend arrives ... in his trim plaid boxer shorts, he has to get to his pants on the other side of the room, but picks the wrong moment and is seen through the doorway. There is also a scene with Patrick Swayze in patterned boxers, and two scenes with Troy Donahue in printed boxers.

Grease ?

Great Balls of Fire! (1989) Dennis Quaid as Jerry Lee Lewis parades around this movie in loudly printed full-cut boxer shorts from time to time.

Great Santini, The (1979) Michael O’Keefe (most recently on Roseanne) plays a high school student who has Robert Duvall, military officer, for a father. Dad wakes O’Keefe up in the early morning of his 18th birthday to give him his present. O’Keefe is wearing nothing but white briefs.

Greedy (1994) Michael J. Fox in grey Calvins.

Green Mile, The (1999) Drama. Crazy death row inmate "Wild Bill" (Sam Rockwell) in a union suit.

Gremlins 2 (The New Batch) (1990) Mr. Clamps walks outta bathroom in his office in a pair of blue boxers, he then puts on a pair of pants (too bad).

Grim Prairie Tales (1990) Creepy short story compilation. In one segment, an old-west gunman is seen for a moment in his white undershirt and briefs.

Gross Anatomy (1989) Matthew Modine in bed in white briefs and maroon T-shirt.

Guarding Tess (1994) A minor Nicolas Cage movie with Shirley McLaine. Brief scene of Nick interrupted as he is sitting on the john taking a dump, with pants down and colored boxers very visible around his knees.

Guelwaar (1992) Drama. In an early scene at a police station, watch closely for two prisoners, stripped to their white briefs, crossing the scene in the background.

Guide for the Married Man, A (1967) Joey Bishop is caught with his pants down by his wife. Seen in his white full-cut boxers and with a pretty girl, Joey denies it all.

Guns of Navarone, The (1961) Classic WWII action. Scene of Germans officers being stripped for their uniforms.

[haomains]

Indian woman head shave video

INDIAN WOMAN HEAD SHAVE VIDEO PORTABLE

Along with the wigs, several small decorative items such as hair ribbons, kohl, various kinds of combs, stickers women put on their foreheads, and jadagantalu, the bells that hang from long, plaited hair, are all on sale, displayed on a wooden rack she carried with her. Devani also makes and sells beautiful, long wigs for women apart from buying hair. We will buy hair from you!” she shouts once again. She had been giving him the medicine they gave at the Government hospital thrice a day, but the fever hasn’t reduced. She touched him and realized he still had a fever. Her two-year-old is lying without movement in the bag, with eyes closed.

INDIAN WOMAN HEAD SHAVE VIDEO PORTABLE

Pushing the hair aside, she looked into her shoulder bag, which also functioned as a portable crib. But, the dry hair is clearly unable to withstand the wind now. She started at home after tying her long hair together. How long has it been since she applied some hair oil? The hair strands are too dry and are just flying in the air. Since spending any amount from that money would mean not having enough to pay those sellers, she has chosen to starve instead of buying something to eat.Ī strong wind blew Devani’s front hair away, covering her face with it. She has two hundred rupees with her to give to people who would sell their hair to her. Realizing that earning money is the only way to silence her mother-in-law, Devani took to the roads on an empty stomach early in the morning, soon after finishing her daily ablutions. Looking at Devani reminds her of her son, perhaps. So, Devani faces some harassment every day and her mother-in-law always taunts her. Her mother-in-law, who was good to Devani when her husband was alive, blamed her for his death. Her husband had died unable to handle the deceit of his business partner, not out of any disease. It has been three weeks since she had three meals a day. Her gait shows how tired she was, having eaten nothing since morning. She is thin, with a thinner face and sunken eyes. “We will buy your hair! Hundred rupees for a hundred grams of hair!” Devani walked into a street announcing her arrival.ĭevani is perhaps around thirty-five years old. With the author’s permission, I made the part where he explains the wig-making process longer, for clarity in the translated version. While translating, kinship terms, forms of address, and a few other culture-specific words are left untranslated, adding a brief explanation where needed. This story depicts one such wigmaker, who contemplates on the unsustainable nature of their trade in the present-day world, and takes a step towards self-reliance to support her small family. This competition for leftover hair made the life of the traditional wigmakers difficult, as they couldn't afford to pay such large amounts to buy the hair needed to make the wigs. Selling hair is now a lucrative business and some larger temples even hold auctions to sell such hair, with bidders from other countries willing to pay millions of rupees. However, changing lifestyles changed this traditional setup, and hair became a valuable commodity traded for large amounts of money. They made the wigs at home and sold them in the market to earn their livelihood. In addition to these, they also traded fallen hair strands from private householders offering small items such as combs in return. Wigmakers in the part of South India where the story happens traditionally relied on the hair they collected from barbers and temples where devotees tonsured their hair. It depicts the life of a traditional wigmaker. Translator’s Note: This short story first appeared in Telugu about a decade ago in the author’s short story collection bearing the name of this story itself. Telugu title: సిక్కెంటిక/sikkeMTika (Tr: Tangled Hair), Translation by V.B.Sowmya

[renegaedz]

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ID in alt text and under the cut

Some thoughts I had a couple weeks back when I realized how close Asian and Pacific Islander heritage month was--about my growing up being Black and Asian, and denied 'being' Asian at the same time.

[ID: A 6 page limited palette comic.

Page one: a hijabi whose face is cut off by the panel, is leaning on their hand, with henna drawn on it. The next few panels show a child surrounded by other children, and a baby being held by a grandmother, and finally a child with braids standing alone, facing the viewer. 

The text reads: Am I Asian? 

It’s not a question I ask, but one asked by others. It’s a test for me to see if I got the nerve to think I belong. 

My grandmother was Indian, and she helped raise me from birth–and now I’ve lost the one person who was my tie to that culture. 

If you look at a photo from back when I still called myself a girl–you’d have never questioned my identity, just said damn, my hair was messy. 

Page two: A mixed person with short, afro hair, has their head twisted, by one black hand, and one brown hand. The next panel shows an Indian man and a black man dancing together, and then a scene of a child saving a video game, while looking at silhouettes of people talking. The final panels show a hijabi wearing a mask, with half their face cut off by the panel, and drawn as a skull instead. 

The text reads: But intersectionality was taken away from me and my races. No stable ground left for me as my people moved between places. 

My Blackness and Asianness always brought up in conversations, as if one could not exist with the other. 

Like my file had been overwritten on who I was allowed to be, too adjacent to Asianness, but too Black for my family. 

I still feel that urge, to run into traffic, when people ask what I’m made of. How am I to summarize the amount of lies I’ve lived by just to categorize an experience you’ll never live and die. 

Page three: A panel of an ID card showing a hijabi child, with small text that reads age: 10, Sex: ur mom. The rest of the page is filled with three drawings of various black people, with varying hair textures, body types, and amounts of body and facial hair. 

The text reads: Before I was ten, I’d been told: 

My skin was too dark, 

or my hair was too curly.

I’d heard the implication I wasn’t girl enough–my Blackness was manliness and my existence was a shame. 

Not a shame to white people, they’d rather me just die, it was always my family–my own people’s eyes. 

Page four: Panels of a child straightening their curly hair, and shaving their upper lip. The next panel shows a plate with chole, rice, chicken curry, and roti, before zooming out and showing a darker-skinned hijabi eating closer to the camera, and two hijabis with light brown skin eating further away. 

The text reads: I remember straightening my hair, and being pissed it turned out frizzy.

I remember shaving as just a child, hiding my traits, because despite the ethnic neighborhood, every kid of color was colorblind until it came to me. 

It’s unspoken, and taboo, and quite frankly dumb as hell. 

Yes I lived most of my life, knowin’ I was Asian, but being the Black one out. 

Page five: A panel of a person with dark brown skin and a short afro, covering their face with their hands, peeking out with one eye to look at the viewer as their surroundings melt into a spiral behind them. The next panel shows the same person, looking at a mirror, and touching it, on the opposite side of the mirror, is a woman with light brown skin, and short, straight hair. The mirrored image continues on to the left of the viewer, reflecting itself.

The text reads: Born, lived, raised, ripped, traded and carted away, I was forced to be diaspora but not given a name for an experience I’ve only known MY way. 

I look in the mirror and every damn day I see the girl I was supposed to be, I see the girl everyone wanted from me. 

I see the Asian I “should” have been, according to the people in my vicinity. I live so on the edge of my own identity I’ll call myself “Asian” and have to amend reality to fit the life I was born for, and not the one I lived to see. 

Page six: A close-up on the face of a mixed person with brown skin and curly hair, the brightness of their monitor projecting light showing their art program on their face. 

The text reads: Still I live like an appropriation of my own fucking nation, and I ask their question Am I Asian? End ID]

[ad1thi]

as someone who loves listening people talk about feminism, could you expand on your desi feminism has become like white woman feminism?

absolutely!! first i’d just like to preface this by saying these are my personal opinions, and i am by no means an expert on the topic.

white liberal feminism is a lot of im a woman so i can do whatever i want which, while i don’t disagree with that fundamentally, a lot of how white feminism is acted upon is essentially in effect of turning white women into white men. i think the best way to explain it is probably through the growth and evolution of the concept of a ‘girl boss’ which went from women taking entrepreneurial strides and chasing after their dreams to if a man can be a capitalistic shithead and rip off his employees and exploit his workers, so can i!! and i should be praised for it because im a woman

you see a lot of this concept of “because men can do it, so can i” ideology in white feminism, which doesn’t consider the nuance of ‘maybe nobody should be doing this’. and that ideology has bled into desi feminism in an extremely dangerous way, in my opinion. because when we view our feminism from a white lens; we start erasing more important cultural markers.

i remember seeing this video a couple weeks back which started this conversation about the equation between long hair and beauty in bollywood; and it was an extremely interesting video and i won’t deny that it made some points: it basically talked about how all love interests and heroines typically had long hair, and it was rare for them to have short hair and essentially ended up at the conclusion that hair length was another way for indian society to control women’s looks and women who’re going bald/cutting their hair short were taking back control.

this, in my opinion, is a very white feminist view -- because while i’m not one to tell anyone how to style their hair; this video (made by indian women btw) neglected one very important aspect of desi culture in it’s analysis: which is that historically, women who were bald, were widows. my mom will never let me shave my hair, but it’s not because she wants to control my hair - it’s because in our culture, the only women who shave their hair, are widows. shaving my head, especially at the age im at, is seen as a bad omen, because it’s considered to be foreshadowing that my husband will die young and i’ll be a widow.

there’s a lot of reasons for why widows shaved their hair but one of them was that widows in olden days were more “vulnerable” and seen as easier targets, because they didn’t have a husband to protect them. If they had no hair, nobody could grab them by their hair. 

it was for that same reason that widows were asked to wear white, or other similarly “dull” colours, in an attempt to avoid any undue attention. it was for the same reason that some parts of the country would sequester their widowed women away, while others would enforce the idea that widowed women shouldn’t leave the house. Now, is the idea that women need to change their look to avoid the gaze of pervy men a good idea? o. neither is it by any means commendable that widowed women were essentially hidden away from society. i’m not defending these decisions. however, the link between hair length and desi women has historically never been about controlling women, but, in some twisted, roundabout way, about protecting them.

i am in no way denying that desi society has been hard on women and that there’s things we need to fix. but i think it’s important that we critically analyse and evaluate them from a desi perspective than we do a white perspective, because things that might be empowering for white women aren’t necessarily empowering for desi women. 

[brittapcrrys]

!!! for favorite

LET’S TALK FACECLAIMS !! stealing @embersilk ‘s formatting from the other day bc it was gr8, thx babe

FAVOURITES:

❗ — AMY ADAMS. let me honestly ask the rpc: is there anyone who doesn’t love this woman, at least a little?? stunning! talented! incredible! she has a range of good-sized gif packs from a range of roles like why is she not being played in every group all the time, why do we not all have at least 1 but maybe multiple amy adams fcs in our personal muse rosters?!?!?! (my personal excuse, which applies to a bunch of my Absolute Mega Faves, is that i want to play a Rly Gr8 Character n none of my ideas so far have been up to scratch n i dont wanna let Her — or my other faves — down smh)

❗ — DEV PATEL. not sure if this counts bc im like In Love with him in general so him being a fave fc is just a natural offshoot of that lol. but yeah um sometimes i see ppl say in posts like ‘there are more indian/south asian fcs besides dev patel’ and like yes OF COURSE we wanna see variety there but what rock am i unintentionally hiding myself under if dev patel is a popular-to-overused fc??!?! where is this happening? i wanna live in that world, 24/7. wanna play him with the short hair and cardigans from the newsroom, the beautiful curls from lion. the glasses from that show that came out a few months ago. there’s a gif pack of him with a shaved head in something idk what, maybe that too. @ everyone if u have a dev muse u wanna throw into a 1x1 or mumu or smth LET ME KNOW I AM HERE AND WAITING.

❗ — AMBER RILEY. ok i think i’ve seen her used/claimed as a fc... twice? outside of g/ee rp?? which i’ve never actually been involved in so idk if mercedes/amber as a fc were/are actually picked up that often i rly dont have any idea. she’s beautiful she has SEVERAL HQ gif packs out there ready 2 go. have u seen this woman’s smile?? it brightens my world n warms my heart in her pics and videos good GOD. give her the respect and attention she deserves @ everyone!!!! including myself! attn my brain: work harder at figuring out a character for her n then play her somewhere

[96thdayofrage]

News reports said Bagley was arrested near 27th Avenue and Indian School Road after authorities received a tip. He was then booked on one count of first-degree murder and is being held on a $2 million bond.

Police also discovered that Bagley was booked into the Maricopa County Jail on May 1 and then released on May 3. He was sentenced to two years in jail for disorderly conduct and attempting to flee from law enforcement. Court documents indicated that he served a year and was released on May 4, 2021.

Additionally, he was wanted for a felony warrant in Mohave County for unlawful means of transportation and criminal damage.

Police said the 26-year-old man shaved his head and facial hair by the time he was recently arrested but told investigators that the man in a video of the incident resembled him.

Surveillance video from the city bus revealed a man, who authorities said matched the Phoenix man’s description, strangling Craig, pushing her on the floor, putting straps around her neck, and repeatedly wrapping the straps around. Officials said he was then seen taking items from the 41-year-old’s belongings.

The bus driver said the man in the video got off at the southwest corner of 19th Avenue and Southern Avenue and that he found Craig unresponsive on the floor while conducting a bus check afterward. He also recalled her and the man previously sitting near each other in the back, as they were the only passengers in the vehicle. They reportedly entered it at the South 22nd Avenue bus stop north of West Buckeye Road.

The driver added that though he heard some noise in the back of the bus, he didn’t think anything of it.

The 41-year-old woman was rushed to the hospital following the attack and reportedly had strangulation marks around her neck. She later died from internal decapacitation, according to doctors.

“She definitely did not deserve this. Our family is hurting,” The victim’s cousin, Roshuanda Boss, told reporters. “Diane was a wonderful person. She was so full of life.”

“Diane is her name, but that’s Bubbles. That’s what we call her. [That’s] Bubbles. She was like the life of the room,” another one of her relatives, Shontae Vinson, said.

Craig’s family held a memorial with balloons and flowers for her in Laveen.

[ithelpstodream]

Brace yourself — the holiday season is upon us. Returning home for the holidays can be complicated for us queer folk, as our families are often unprepared to behold the incandescent, gender-transcendent, anti-establishment beings we have become. Take my family for example: We love baseball (not me, I’m too gay for sports) and we LOVE the holidays. Our Thanksgiving menu consists of classic American holiday fare: turkey, cranberry sauce, yams with marshmallows, plus The Outlier: sticky rice with Chinese sausage, to remind us where we came from. We are, dare I say it, very "diverse," so our holiday dinners look like a Norman Rockwell painting, if Norman Rockwell had had a 90’s post-racial utopia phase. I even have some relatives who are queer… though we don’t really talk about that. My fam is stuck in a time machine set to "early 2000s liberalism," so I find coming home queer for the holidays can be difficult. They’re not sure what to make of my constantly shifting gender presentation, much less my conflicting feelings about getting joy from a holiday I objectively know is about genocide. It gets awkward real fast. If you feel similarly, here are some #lifehacks for being queer and home for the holidays! 1. Wear a name tag. Maybe this is your first holiday season going by a new name. Maybe you look really different from last year. Maybe both! In any case, you deserve to be recognized for who you are. The first time I shaved my head, my dad walked me around a dim sum hall "introducing" me to relatives I’ve known my whole life, trying to justify my new look. “This is Jes, you remember, right? The flamboyant artist?” I thought to myself, “I’m not an ‘artist,’ DAD, I’m just queer.” (Since then I’ve realized I can actually be both.) Avoid this awkwardness with a handy dandy name tag! Now everybody knows you’re the baby cousin who took off your diaper and climbed into the cranberry sauce that one year, even though you’re grown up and have a giant septum ring now. Or, you have a new name and a giant septum ring, and nobody knows why you remind them so much of their baby cousin who took off their diaper and climbed into the cranberry sauce that one year. You’ll get to eat your siu mai, or mac 'n' cheese, or whatever, in peace. 2. Bring a decoy. Okay, so maybe the name tag didn’t work, and people are still calling you by the wrong name. Tremendous bummer. Really puts a lump in your mashed potatoes. Divert that negative energy by carrying a decoy that bears your deadname during all your interactions with stubborn relatives. It can be a teddy bear, a Bratz doll, a small porcelain cherub, really anything you like. I prefer a sock puppet. Suddenly, it’s [Deadname] the Sock Puppet who has “grown into such a lovely young woman,” [Deadname] the Sock Puppet who “should really man up for once,” and [Deadname] the Sock Puppet who “used to be so beautiful, before they got all those Friday the 13th flash tattoos.” It’s not about you anymore. It’s about the sock puppet. And your sock puppet will love the compliments. 3. Make friends with animals. Socializing with humans — especially humans you’re related to — can be extremely taxing. Instead, wander away from the party to make some animal friends. Animals don’t speak human languages, so they don’t have trash opinions about our current president (though it is highly speculated that all animals hate Trump), they won’t say your gender-neutral pronouns are “grammatically incorrect,” and they will never refer to your partner as your "roommate." One of my most distinct memories from a childhood Thanksgiving is of the time I met my cousin’s pet hedgehog, Barbie. Barbie didn’t care that she was more of a chubby, spine-covered ball than a leggy blonde — she knew exactly who she was, and she was proud of it. I was so captivated by her that to this day, I can’t remember anything else from that night. Barbie was a true queer icon. You, too, can forge such meaningful bonds with whatever cat, dog, or bearded lizard you can get your hands on. And before you know it, you’ll feel just like a Disney Princex. 4. Use your queer powers for good. There’s no doubt about it: queer people are powerful. Whether our experience with family is positive or negative, we have the power to heal, and the power to destroy. As a wise man in a gender-nonconforming, but culturally appropriative outfit once said, “use the force, Luke.” Unless your name isn’t Luke, in which case refer back to #1. Use your fashion influence — lez be real, you’re probably the most fashionable, or at least most self-actualized member of your family — to show your nieces and nephews that their “pilgrim hats” and “Indian headbands” aren’t a cute look ("so 1600s colonialism!" "so 20th century romanticism of genocide!"). Shadow your uncle in the kitchen so you can make a vegan version of his stuffing for your queer fam. Help Gramma pick out a new holiday sweater. Play video games with your burgeoning gender-nonconforming cousin. Who knows? Maybe you’ll help a family member find their truth, and then you won’t have to be the only Gay Cousin. 5. Eat. If all else fails, eat the food. That turkey (or vegan substitute) is calling your name, and yes, it’s the name you are meant to be called. https://www.them.us/story/survival-guide-to-awkward-family-time

[loudlytransparenttrash]

Updated: The Left’s Hate Crime Hoaxes Continue

Remember when the 21-year-old Pakistani-American college student from Queens had three Trump supporting racists rob him, assault him and told him to “get out of my country”? It was a lie. 

Remember when the St. Olaf student was left a racist note by racist white students that kicked off campus-wide protests, white staff were abused and the college was forced to cancel classes? It was a lie. The black student wrote the racist note himself. 

Remember when the black Rochester woman was racially abused by white police officers during a traffic stop? It was a lie. She’s now being charged for lying.

Remember when the Hispanic Milwaukee woman was racially profiled during a traffic stop, when the first question she was asked was about her citizenship? It was a lie. 

Remember at USC, where a racist white Trump supporting students hung a “no black people allowed” sign outside of a residence hall? It was a lie. A black guy did it. 

Remember when dozens of black residents in West Knox County reported they received racist letters and graphic death threats by a white racist? It was a lie. It was really a black guy pretending to be a white guy who he didn’t like. 

Remember when the Muslim professor at ISU received emails containing anti-Muslim messages and threats of violence against members of the Muslim community before he was assaulted from behind by a racist? It was a lie. 

Remember hate crime was committed in Charlotte by racist white supremacists who set fire to an Indian business owner’s store and left a note saying ‘We need to get rid of Muslims, Indians and all immigrants. God Bless White America’? It was a lie. A black thug was instead charged for the crime. 

Remember when the Jewish man in Upstate New York was a victim of antisemitism when racist white Trump supporters spray painted three swastikas across his house? It was a lie. 

Remember the 18-year-old Muslim girl who was assaulted and called a terrorist on the subway by Trump supporters and they tried to rip her hijab off and all of the social justice warriors had a complete meltdown? It was a lie that she made up to cover her parents finding out she was out fucking a Christian dude and getting drunk. It gets funnier, her Muslim father has forced her to shave her head completely for bringing shame on the family and she was arrested for making false accusations. 

Remember the Muslim student who was robbed, beaten and had her hijab ripped off and stolen by Trump supporters? It was a lie. She is now being charged for filing a false report.

Remember when racist white guys beat a Muslim woman to death in California and left a note behind saying “go back to your own country, you terrorist.” Yeah it was a lie, really her Muslim husband beat her to death in an honor killing because she wanted a divorce. Leftists went mental over this “hate crime” but again, silence when the truth came out.

Remember when those white supremacist, anti-Muslim Trump supporters burned down the mosque in Houston? It was a lie. While the mosque did get burned down, it was done by a black Muslim who had attended the mosque for years.

Remember when a group of white men killed a Muslim woman and called her a terrorist while she was walking with her husband and child? It was a lie. The husband planned for his mistress to murder his wife after “black magic spells” didn’t make her disappear…

Remember the Ohio student who was racially abused and assaulted by Trump supporters? It was a lie. She made it up the day after the election and after she made a post that she wants all Trump supporters to die of AIDS.

Remember when that racist horrible teacher choked, assaulted and bullied a 5 year old Muslim kid? Of course it was a fucking lie.

Remember the Michigan Muslim student who was harassed and threatened to be burned alive by the Trump supporter if she didn’t remove her hijab? It was a lie. Surveillance cameras show that she wasn’t even in the location where she claimed the attack took place.

Remember the Muslim woman who had her hijab ripped and forced off by police when they took her in for questioning? It was another lie.

Remember when that Muslim guy had Islamophobic messages graffitied over his locker, telling him to go back to where he came from. It was a lie, he graffitied it himself and filed a hate crime. He’s been charged for lying.

Remember the Muslim kid who was beaten up on the school bus by five white kids and it forced the family to leave the country? Yes, another fucking lie.

Remember the student who had her face slashed and was called a terrorist in Lower Manhattan? Yet another lie.

Remember when that student in Arlington was followed by a group of white men and held her at gunpoint because she’s Muslim? It was a lie.

Remember when the Muslim taxi driver was shot by a racist white guy and the left were demanding the arrest of a white guy for this hate crime against a Muslim? Well it stopped being called a hate crime the moment they found out the shooter was a black Muslim and he was let go.

Remember when that Islamophobic white guy threatened to kill a whole pile of Muslims and said there’s no place in America for Muslims? Yeah, it was another black Muslim.

Remember when the viral video of a Muslim student defending herself against a white guy who was trying to pull her hijab off? It was a hoax.

Remember when recently some white racist Trump supporters in Canada threatened to blow up Muslim university students? It was a Muslim.

Remember those three victimized black women who were assaulted and racially abused by a group of white men on a bus? Even Hillary Clinton and CNN were outraged at racist white guys and hundreds of BLM supporters protested. Lol it was a lie and the three women are being charged. Of course there’s silence.

Remember the black girl who was the victim of four white guys threatening to kill her and calling her a “black bitch” at a gas station? Huge lie.

Remember when some white racist Trump supporters left a racist note on the door of a black college student in Columbus which said, “We will kill you n****r”. Yep, another lie, he created it himself and he also fabricated several other hate-crime hoaxes to gain popularity.

Remember when a black guy was attacked by a white male who yelled he was going to be lynched because this is now “Trump Country”? It was a lie.

Remember when the young black guy was attacked by three white Trump supporters in an alley and broke his eye-socket and knocked out his teeth? It was a lie. He made up the story after losing a fight while he was drunk.

Remember when a 20 year old black woman was followed, attacked and robbed by two racist white guys? Yet another lie.

Remember when a black student running for president of student council received racist threats by white students demanding he drops out because he’s black? Lie.

Remember when KKK members held a meeting in the classroom of a university and the black student who reported it felt scared? She thought the cover on a projector was a KKK member.

Remember when two racist white Trump supporters spat on and racially abused black students after Trump won the election. Oh the lies.

Remember when a racist white student graffitied “Fuck n****s” along with “Hail the KKK” onto bathroom stalls? It was a lie.

Remember when black students were told that they’re all going to be killed tonight by a racist white guy? Lie. It was a black girl.

Remember when black students were told they’re all going to be shot on campus by a racist white potential school shooter? Lie. It was a black guy.

Remember when white Trump supporters burned down a Mississippi church and spray painted “Vote Trump” over its walls? It was a black guy.

Remember when KKK members left racist threatening messages targeting black men outside a black Colorado church? It was a black guy.

Remember when a white guy went on a graffiti rampage and wrote pro-Trump and anti-Semitic slurs throughout the neighborhood? It was a black guy.

Remember when a black waitress was a victim of a racist customer who didn’t tip her because she’s black? Another lie.

Remember when a black student was pushed down and attacked by a group of white guys who were chanting “Trump! Trump! Trump!” while attacking her? Yes it was a lie.

Remember when racist white Trump supporters displayed a sign saying “Hang a n***r from a tree” and social media had a complete meltdown? It was a black guy.  

Remember when white Trump supporters threw a brick through a black person’s car and set it on fire? It was a black guy who was mad at his girlfriend.

Remember when those white students who drew a noose along with “N***r and White Power”? Another lie, it was black students.

Remember when students found KKK graffiti on campus and blamed white racist students for it? It was a lie.

Remember when those white neo-nazi Trump supporters toppled over 42 headstones at a Jewish cemetery? It was a lie.

Remember when that student posted about her encounter with a white male who had stopped her to tell her to go back to where she came from so she punched him in the throat and when his buddies saw she was winning the fight they came to his rescue but she was the only one arrested because of, ya know, racist cops? Lol of course it was a fucking lie.

Remember when a lesbian from Lincoln was the victim of a horrific hate crime where masked men broke into her home, tied her up, carved anti-gay slurs into her skin and tried to set her house on fire? Remember how it sparked mass LGBT protests and a small fortunate was raised to support her. It was all a lie.  

Remember the lesbian couple from Tennessee had their house burned down and ‘Queers’ graffitied over their walls? Lie. They did it themselves.

Remember when a gay bar in Chicago was burned down and homophobic slurs were graffitied over the walls? Lie. The owner did it himself.  

Remember when a 15 year old trans guy was sexually abused and assaulted by male students in the male’s bathroom for being “in the wrong bathroom”. It was a lie.

Remember when the Grand Forks gay college student was beaten, choked and robbed by homophobic white frat guys? It was a lie.

Remember when a lesbian couple in Colorado had “Kill The Gays” graffitied over their garage and a noose was left on their door? Another lie.

Remember when the photo of a badly beaten young gay man went viral where he claimed to have been brutally attacked by three men for being gay and gay-rights activists had a complete meltdown? It was a lie.

Remember when a gay Delta chef was beaten unconscious, fed bleach, robbed and had homophobic slurs carved into his skin? You guessed it, another lie.

Remember the bisexual student who was constantly harassed by Trump supporters with homophobic slurs emailed to her and taped to her door and she cried to the media saying she “just wants it to stop.” It was a lie, she made them up herself.

Remember when a popular gay Youtuber was beaten and had his teeth knocked out by a pack of homophobic men outside a gay bar in West Holloywood? It was a lie.  

Remember when a gay pastor in Texas bought a cake only to later find out the baker had wrote a homophobic slur in icing and he attempted to sue them? It was a lie.

Remember when a lesbian college professor was punched in the eye and spat on her by a homophobic man and he called her a “cross-dressing fag”? Yet another lie.

Remember when the lesbian racist was denied a tip and left a nasty homophobic message on the bill? Remember how it was all over the media and she had thousands of dollars donated to her? It was all a lie and she’s been fired.

Remember when a gay-rights activist was abducted and put into the trunk of a car and he was told his family were going to be killed? Lie.

Remember the gay guy who was beaten up in his apartment and told to keep his “fa**ot mouth shut” because he was gay and didn’t support certain politicians. It was a lie.

Remember when a New York liberal arts college was flooded with anti-gay messages being graffitied and sent to student’s emails, including “Hey Tranny. Know Your Place”. Yep, another lie.

Remember when anti-gay parents replied to a child’s birthday party invitation, telling the gay parents that their child will not be attending as they are against the gay lifestyle and the media went crazy? It was a lie.

The worst part? All of these hoaxes are from the time Donald Trump ran for presidency and onwards. These aren’t outdated or pulled from years ago, they’re all recent and there’s still so many more that will be added to the list. 

[calcuttacosmoaid]

Cheers Ladies! You Can Now Avail Hair Transplant in Kolkata

Hair transplantation is not a new concept, however in past, it was only been considered as an option for males rather than females. While hair transplantation surely is an exceptionally successful alternative for male baldness, hair transplants likewise give a solution to the increasing number of females experiencing hair loss.

 For both men and women, hair is an important part of their identity, characteristic and looks. So it's justifiable that ladies who experience the ill effects of hair loss consider hair transplant as a solution and potentially a life-changing event. Good news is, both males and females can now avail top quality hair transplant in Kolkata.

 Why a woman might need a hair transplant?

In case of hair loss or baldness, people generally consider men first; however female baldness is a common case nowadays. According to a study, it is reported that around half of female population experience hair loss and female pattern baldness. Though it is likely to happen with aged women, it can likewise affect younger women.

 There are numerous reasons why a woman may lose her hair. For Indian women the first is obviously tight bun and braid from an early age, including hereditary qualities, stress and injury, a horrible eating routine, lifestyle, an ailment or clinical treatment, poor maintenance etc. Whatever the reasons are, most of the women find hair loss very upsetting and awful. Fortunately hair transplants can be a highly effective solution for long, thick hair.

 Procedure:

The most widely known hair transplant procedure for ladies in India is the FUT (Follicular Unit Transplantation) hair transplant. Indian women are very hard to convince to shave their head or go for a close shave. As FUE (Follicular Unit Extraction) requires shaved head, it’s rarely used in women hair plantation in India. That’s the main reason FUT is widely used in India in case of female hair transplant.

 This includes taking strips from a dense zone (generally the rear of the head). These are then precisely positioned into the affected area with minuscule entry points. This procedure has a quick recovery time with minimum scarring. The FUT procedure conveys natural and enduring results, and can be a complete solution to female baldness or hair loss.

 First step to take:

Once you decide to go for a hair transplant, it's important to research and locate an accomplished surgeon. Also, you should look for someone who has done multiple female hair transplants and realizes how to make results that look natural, blending in with existing hair while avoiding cell injury and trauma that can affect a clean recovery. You should also look for information like past reviews, videos before booking a consultation. A good aftercare represents a good clinic.

 Female hair loss is discussed less frequently than male baldness; however it's a common problem that can affect women of all ages and for a wide range of reasons. It very upsetting and traumatic for a woman to suffer from any sort of hair loss, and this might cause lack of self-confidence or disappointment with their appearance.

 No worries, there are solutions available, and a hair transplant can be an effective solution for ladies, providing life-long and natural results which can restore happiness and self-confidence.

[iwilldevourthebodies]

Things people have said in my classes over the course of the 2016-2017 school year

“One of the biggest mistakes you can make as a military officer is try to invade Asia”

“Napoleon looks like he’s about to dab”

“Donkey!”

“No you have to do it in a Scottish accent. It’s Donkeh”

“Eric. Do you want carrots? Diced,,, carrots”

“How many couches do you have?”

“I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it”

“I think the cereal aisle is amazing. I do”

“I’m a hoe for Obama”

“So what you’re gonna make him turn into the next Bill Clinton?”

“Wow. The sass. Didn’t I say there was always one delinquent?”

“Is Neanderthalian a word?”

“It’s not a word, Sufana, don’t be an idiot”

“Can we just like… abolish death?”

“Let’s just take it and,,,, fling it into the sun”

“It’s not a race if I don’t care" 

"I didn’t know what you were asking me”

“Yeah, but you acted like you did so confidently. ‘Yes! Sí, señora’

"You’re Muslim? I thought you were Indian”

“Guys, I’m gonna take a spaceship… and I’m gonna land it on the sun. And if it gets too hot I’m gonna take a parachute back to Earth”

“No, no, they’re too dumb to think like this”

“You’re crushing my heart. The more you go on the more I know I did something wrong”

“So let me get this straight. You quoted Hamilton at dinner. At your boyfriend’s house. In front of his parents. And he’s still your boyfriend?" 

"You’re being a racism”

“Sometimes I turn my os and us into a single character. It’s because I’m efficient. /Not/ because I’m illiterate”

“It’s about personal growth! I like to challenge myself! It’s not because my brain’s broken!”

“It is the wagon void”

“Up until I was 5 I was a wanderer. I was raised by seagulls”

“Honestly I don’t ever try to be dumb. It just comes naturally”

“But we aren’t octopi, unfortunately”

“Wouldn't  be a Monday morning if I wasn’t ruining his life”

“My dad works so he escapes the living hell that is my house”

“Was it fine?”

“Yeah, I got food”

“Is that a 7 or a live chicken?”

“I’m not from America, but I’m from the United States”

“Oh yeah I drove a go cart with a wheel made out of a Quaker Oats container”

“What do you mean you’re not fluent in Indian?”

“Well I wasn’t about to eat the tampon”

“If Satan Spoon starts talking to you let me know”

“Did he just say blame the gays on the mafia?”

“Dude we should test arsenic as a cure for Alzheimer’s”

“You dated him”

“Yes, well that was before I learned he was racist. And gay”

“Get off me I need to make a meme”

“I’m going to be that one awkward person who ends up sexually attracted to pianos”

“I don’t kms, I pms”

“Put that in your quotes I think it’s a good one”

“I really meant people conception. Misconception is gender exclusive”

“So what’s your point?”

“I don’t know”

“If your results end up to be true, like yes”

“Adolf Hitler becomes the chancellor of Germany”

“Wait who?”

“It’s a giant concrete chicken in Vietnam. Read the fucking caption”

“At least it won’t be Cold War part 2 because Trump’s in bed with Russia”

“Wow that is actually hot”

“Well it is fire”

“Well let it be the best stick it can be”

 "I had an English muffin today. It just wasn’t the same"

“Doesn’t covering your head make it harder for God to hear you?”

“No that’s tinfoil, Michael”

“Publishificating is good”

“Out-publish Bill. Cause Bill is the devil”

“Why are cheeseburgers such sexist objects?”

“Illinois”

“Illin-wah”

“Wait I just drew the Canadian parliament building”

“He looks kinda like a mop and I like”

“I could never be a murderer it’s just so confusing”

“Alex stare at her chest not her butt. Will is already staring at her butt”

“Russia is Serbia’s sugar daddy”

“Did they convert to Muslim?”

“What other fairies do you know?”

“Twinkle toes! No wait. Tinker bell”

“Captain America is Wartime Propaganda”

“Yeah man that’s yogi bear! Wait what the hell?”

“What’s that brown potato?”

“That’s a squash”

“Bob Marley died and so should I”

“Melanoma’s a disease”

“That’s not a disease that’s a cancer”

“What was the turning point of WWI?”

“The Versace treaty!”

“Don’t put orange juice in your iPad”

“We’re making cubes and he’s talking about concentration camps”

“Where do you think the Paris peace conference happened?”

“Berlin”

“Anything’s a UFO if you try hard enough”

“Jesse what are you working on right now?”

“The ICarly theme song”

“Why are white people so extra?”

“Is it offensive to call Rasputin daddy?”

“Zoie can you stab me?”

“No, sorry, that’s a Friday activity”

“Are Israeli passports made out of couscous?”

“What’s that thing from BFG called..? Cumberbumber?”

“So my sister’s a Russian major..”

“Can you major in a country?”

“Mown, like freshly mown grass”

“You can tweet from dead people”

“Wealthy farmers have fists”

“So do other people”

“Hitler killed Hitler, so he can’t be that bad”

“Three billion fists died”

“Everything’s a sphero to me now”

“Hey kids wanna buy some zip-ties?”

“There will never be a time where both of you are in the boat.. /amphibious assault vehicle”

“Did you know Italians get 8 weeks of paid leave”

“You know what fuck Italians. Actually wait yeah let’s /fuck/ Italians”

“What’s worse than the Gulags?”

“Siberia”

“My favorite satellite station is Hitler and Stalin. Hitler played the bass, Stalin played the spoons.”

“Shit. I missed my ass”

“Are you gonna sue me?”

“No”

“Are you gonna sue my kids?" 

"Yes”

“How are you a Jew and an atheist?”

“I’m a jewthiest”

“He deserves to be hugged. By an 18-wheeler speeding down the highway”

“My talent is…”

“Deepthroating a cinnamon stick”

“Does anyone know what the 21 game is?”

“Is that when you turn 21 and get to drink?”

“What’s next year’s musical?”

“Connor Gale: The Musical, starring Lisa Liubovich as Connor Gale”

“Somebody just compared Germany’s republic to the republic from Star Wars”

“The darkest blanket of Bill Nye”

“And her beauty was that of Medicare”

“Alright homework tonight, research vampires”

“Well I wasn’t gonna follow his mom’s twitter”

“28 lockers is inside your gastrointestinal tract”

“My dad hates Jews. Not actively though”

“That sounds like a cat choking out a hairball. Catholicism.”

“We’re catholic. And we’re not batshit insane”

“It’s not crack, Ms. Wright”

“Do they even know what vegetables smell like?”

“Why is there a cabbage in your backpack?”

“Hannah. Egg”

“Nothing’s fun when donald trump is president”

“What kind of gum is that?”

“Doritos”

“I’m better than Justin Bieber at guitar. I’m Kurt Cobain now”

“If George Washington tried to rap his dentures would fall out”

“Why did he come over here was I not Jewish enough?”

“Alright so we have bird images, and we have death images”

“You just fuckin stabbed me in the leg with a plank of wood”

“I have a velvet Jesus in my cupboard”

“Cow vigilantes?”

“There’s a meat ban”

“What did they ban?”

“Meat”

“I’m wrenching, bitch”

“What were they on?”

“Judaism”

“This kebab guy looks like wolverine”

“We have a common Jew”

“That’s like Hannah being gayphobic”

“According to my zodiac I’m light, hot, and wet”

“Haroon dropped his wood”

“I’m not racist I’m just ignorant”

“Why do people even harvest organs when they could harvest corn?”

“I’m not saying that cone heads is super high quality but let’s be real here”

“It is almost May don’t talk about snow or I’ll backhand you into the fucking sun”

“People are hanged, pictures are hung”

“People can be hung too”

“Jello monster incest”

“I just hit myself in the head with a boat”

“Dentists are people too”

“Really? I thought they were just a bunch of teeth stacked together in a lab coat”

“An interloper is someone who interlopes”

“Guys enough with the atomic bombs”

“I had weaponized the name quiz”

“Sin is a polygenic trait”

“Revenge is a dish best served under a tree”

“There’s Vaseline.. but it looks shady”

“Where’s the Cape? Is it in Maine?”

“The Soviet Union is cheese”

“Gets tetanus on boobs”

“Where’s that video of that woman aesthetically biting pickles into a microphone”

“I was too lazy to shave so my solution was socks”

“Anything is right if you can pull it off”

“Do Brooklyn have accents”

“Meme is my native language”

“When you smell me I don’t even feel uncomfortable anymore”

“That sounds like a great job. I’m gonna be a dick disector”

“My right pinkie is stronger”

“What if I just face slam on the keyboard, will my essay write itself then?”

“I wrote nyet instead of net on my paper. Figurative language dot nope.”

“Can I just remove both of my uteri?”

“Hannah you have one uterus”

“I’m dumb completely independently from the fact that I’m old”

“Why dinosaurs do not have the capacity to be fascist”

“Amanda and I are on team daddy”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hydra kink”

“My eyelashes are too short”

“Like your di- I mean, I’m fasting”

“Walmart brand eighth grader”

“Does anyone know who the daughter of Zeus is?”

“Hermione”

“Give your partner a hand-job from a million miles away for only $88 plus tax”

“The vase is thicc”

“Do you not recognize my supreme overlord?”

“Dr. Doofenshmirtz?”

“Stop sensually licking the mango”

“Triangular foot bath”

“I’d rather be peed on by a sheep than eaten alive”

“What’s the place where planes go?”

“Airports?”

“Oh yeah. I thought they were called plane stations”

“Did you say egg or dick?”

“They would give you a gallon of the white baby vomit and then you have to drink it”

“I have nightmares about Russian grammar”

“You could tell I was ignoring you, right?”

“I hear you talking about your grades in my sleep”

“Freshman salads”

“I wanna be a song… singer person”

“What do door locks keep out?”

“Your insecurities”

“I’ve never been attacked by a gang member”

“The gays worship the Babadook”

“I love Joe Biden, he’s so cute. I want a pocket Joe Biden”

“Surrogate sneezing”

“Golfing doesn’t require ankles”

“You guys all have boners but you don’t have any notecards you’re all useless”

[flannelsfloorboardsandflavo-blog]

WAM Reflective Essay

Reality Remix

My original video project used the show Big Brother to explore how reality television programs can be edited in order to manipulate the true nature of events that occurred. I compared scenes from a produced episode with live feed footage of the same events to show how the sequencing of and motivations for certain actions that occurred are portrayed in one manner on the show while the visual evidence presented by the raw footage suggests a completely different story. My original video project also focused on how producers can paint contestants in a better or worse light in order to brand these television personalities to be whatever the network finds most convenient to the narratives they want to push. I like using reality television as an example of the powers and possibilities of editing because reality shows gather as much footage as possible but have a relatively small amount of time at their disposable to construct a cohesive story, so the decision of which shots and events to include or omit become that much more crucial in reality television editing.

For my final remix, I wanted to expand on some of my explorations of reality television editing mainly because I had a lot of fun constructing the first video, but also because the original video felt very negative in some of the subject matter that it dealt with and just its nature of focusing on editing tricks and techniques in order to manipulate the truth. However, one of my favorite things about reality programs is just how much they are able to accomplish with editing. Reality television as a genre posits itself as being inherently transparent and almost an imitation of real life, which means that the tone of any given reality show ranges from sad to funny to intense to dramatic to any other emotion in between. Editors must be versatile in their ability to edit for these different tones, and I found an insightful interview with Julian Gomez, an editor of some of my favorite reality shows, speaking on a variety of topics about editing in reality television. The excerpt I pulled from the video has Gomez talking about his favorite episode of The Amazing Race that he worked on because of one specific sequence where a woman has to make essentially a million-dollar decision on whether or not to shave her head. Out of all the readings in the course, I felt that Wysocki’s “The Multiple Media of Texts” had the most holistic approach to media because she stresses how every element serves a purpose in constructing the overall argument of a media artifact and that’s why throughout the interview, I intermittently overlay the audio with stills from the episode or other pictures that relate to what Gomez is talking about in order to enhance the multimodality of the interview. This episode takes place in India and Gomez talks about how working on The Amazing Race, the producers and editors aim to incorporate the various cultures visited into the final product so that the setting of each challenge and episode becomes a living element of the show.

After the interview ends, I included the scene that Gomez was referring to in order to display some of his editing decisions that he speaks about in his interview. Hampe’s “Visual Evidence” was useful in this regard because Hampe’s stance is that editing shouldn’t have much of an impact on documentary footage because he believes only what is explicitly communicated through the video alone should contribute to the argument of a piece, but as an editor, Gomez is more interested in how editing can enhance the arguments of an artifact. The visual evidence we get from this scene is very clear. The audience sees the couple run to two men sitting by a river and, even without the audio, the entire sequence explicitly conveys that a woman is crying while getting her head shaved and this is evident because the woman’s crying face is shown in the same shot as a man cutting that woman’s hair off. However, from the footage, all that is evident is a woman crying while getting her head shaved, but the incorporation of cultural music scored to convey sadness (and eventually triumph) and shots of Indian temples and people are all aspects of the editing that contribute to the bittersweet tone of the emotionally impactful experience that the man and the woman in the scene go through.

As technology improves at an exponential rate, the creation and access of media content has increased in the same manner. Many people interact with multimodal texts on a constant basis whether it be social media, television, music, or any other medium, therefore, I believe that media literacy is a crucial aspect of living in and interacting with a digitally based culture. For me personally, however, my major is Media and Cinema Studies, so many of the themes, lessons, and texts covered in this course are ones that I’ve been familiar with and aware of prior. Probably one of the reasons I was so attracted to my major is because I already had a critical approach to most media I interacted with, understanding just how fundamental media texts are to our culture and society. I plan to pursue a career in television programming and development, so most of the topics we discussed in the course are directly applicable to my career because as an author and producer of media content, it would behoove me to understand things such as the value of multimodality in strengthening an artifact’s argument. This means paying particular attention to all elements of a text: the visual aspects such as color, composition, and typeface, the audio aspects such as vocal properties, music, volume, and silence, and the video elements like movement, angles, and continuity. By understanding just how each of these elements work in conjunction with one another, I’ll be more confident in the authorial decisions I have to make in order to communicate a clear and effective argument in the media content I create. I also am incredibly satisfied with insights that I gained from working on the projects because I got to do them about topics that I’m invested in and want to work with in the future. As much as I thought I understood about television, specifically sitcoms and reality programs, working on my audio project about the effect of laugh tracks helped me understand what it is about the sound of laughter that contributes to not just the quality of the humor, but also to the way that audience is experiencing that program as well. It’s not just about including cues so the audience is led to believe something is funny, the laugh track creates a unified and communal atmosphere which is crucial in comedy.

Sources Cited

Hampe, Barry. Making Documentary Films and Videos: a Practical Guide to Planning, Filming, and Editing Documentaries. H. Holt, 2007.

Wysocki, Anne F. “‘The Multiple Media of Texts.’” Writing Across Media Wiki, wam.wikia.com/wiki/Wysocki's_%22The_Multiple_Media_of_Texts%22.

[gamesmakers]

That Time We Took Over the World

For @mores2sl.

Kensington, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 8:42 AM

“Everdeen.” He rose his glass to her before taking a long swig of what had better be water. “And here I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

“You know, I just spent eleven hours flying here from Los Angeles. I even paid fourteen bucks extra for internet so Effie could get ahold of me if your condition changed. The least you could do is act like you had a heart attack this morning.”

“Yesterday morning, but I’m all right. They’ll get me some stints, and I’ll be better than ever.” Now that she got a good look at Haymitch, she saw what Effie had been so worried about when they talked this, fine, yesterday morning. The IV bag was all too obvious, but all the quips and one-liners in the world couldn’t hide the fifteen years he seemed to have put on since she’d seen him last Christmas. With the extra gray in the beard he never shaved but had never quite filled in and the deep bags under his eyes, he looked far older than fifty-nine. Those decades of hard living had finally caught up with him. “Y’know, I was thinking earlier.”

“You don’t say.” She didn’t care if he had been dead for almost two minutes yesterday. Haymitch walking into his own favorite insult was too good of an opportunity to pass by.

He glared at her. “As I was saying, I was thinking about your career after these goons were still trying to figure out if they’d saved me or not.” If he thought the legion of medical professionals who restarted his heart were goons, he had to be feeling better.

“And what did you decide?” she prompted.

“Now, hear me out. This might not seem like the most natural pairing, but the more I think about it, the more I think it could really work out well. People really dig that fusion shit, you know?”

“Haymitch!”

He took another drink of his water, then set it aside. “So, kid, tell me. What do you know about Peeta Mellark?”

Chelsea, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 11:27 PM

In the late nineties, nobody could escape the Tributes - not that anybody besides a few jealous teenage boys and tired parents really wanted to. The more enthusiastic members of the media heralded the five boys as a return to the Golden Age. They sang. They danced. They even made a film that, surprisingly enough, wasn’t terrible. “Like five Frank Sinatras,” one Rolling Stone critic wrote about them, “but more good-looking.” For teenagers who had been holding down part-time jobs at McDonald’s and Burger King not a year prior, it was high praise indeed. But the longer one watched them, the more justified the comparison seemed. With fourteen chart-topping singles and practically constant sellout world tours, they were on the road to the kind of superstardom that actually manages to worm its way into the history books.

But tastes changed, interest waned, and almost as suddenly as they had shot to fame, the Tributes’ career fizzled out. The former teen idols were suddenly the butt of jokes everywhere from late night talk shows to schoolyards. There was an attempt at a comeback, then another, but the only mercy came when the group officially announced their breakup. With that last blast of publicity, the group somehow managed to fade from the public consciousness completely.

Only one member managed to emerge from the rubble unscathed. Finnick Odair had in some ways always been the star of the group. The man was the closest thing the world had to a living, breathing Adonis. Nobody could really blame the army of managers, executives, and publicity workers that fueled any operation as big as the Tributes for wanting to place him in the center of every photograph or giving him the most solos. Issues of consent and sexualization of a sixteen-year-old hadn’t been the world’s main priority as they collectively drooled over the most recent pictures of him. At least publicly, Finnick seemed to have been able to brush that off with no big impact. Even fifteen years later, his new releases were almost guaranteed to land in the top ten, and he snagged the starring roles in some of Hollywood’s biggest movies.

Katniss had never been his biggest fan, but like every other heterosexual female she knew, she followed him on Instagram. Something about the muscular star holding his new baby and grinning really did it for her. She’d blame it on evolution.

Tonight, Finnick Odair wasn’t her main focus. She scrolled down the Wikipedia article to find the section on Peeta Mellark. Okay, she vaguely remembered him from the poster Prim had hung in their shared bedroom when she was in middle school. The article said he had released his first and only solo album seven years ago and continued to tour, though a quick scan of the upcoming dates and venues showed that he was mostly going to small casinos and clubs. Katniss kind of wanted to judge him for that, but then again, Haymitch wouldn’t go around trying to pair her up with a successful artist. Sure, she played guitar – really well, actually, well enough to make a very comfortable living off of session work – but you couldn’t start a conversation with random strangers on the street about Katniss Everdeen’s style.

She clicked out of that article and returned to the YouTube mix entitled ‘Tributes and Peeta Mellark Ultimate Fanmix :-)’. As a thirty-two-year-old woman and devoted artist, did she feel ridiculous sitting here, listening to ‘90s pop? Absolutely. Did she find herself humming along? Well, the Tributes had gotten popular for a reason.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 9:56 PM

Peeta Mellark took his job very seriously. One would have to if they were going to go onstage at the San Manuel Indian Bingo & Casino in an outfit straight from a music video that came out twenty years ago. The black pants and tight-fitting, primary colored t-shirts had looked a little too Star Trek in 1997, and the look hadn’t aged well. She applauded professionalism and devotion to one’s craft as much as the next person, but there came a point where one should walk away with their head held high and try something outside of entertainment. Katniss estimated Peeta had reached that point about ten years ago. The cheese value of this routine was through the roof. He did more flirting with the audience than actual singing, and every joke had the muddy flavor of having been used night after night for years. In a few spots, no matter how hard she tried to be polite, she had to roll her eyes. Good thing Peeta had managed to comp her a ticket for this show, or she’d be out more than the mileage to drag herself out to San Bernadino.

“For my next song, I’d like to mix it up a little and take suggestions from the audience. Anything’s fair game, mine or not.”

The crowd ate it up the same way they’d gobbled up the jokes earlier. Could they not see that he had a plant? At best, he might take a suggestion from an actual audience member and accept it if it happened to be in the lineup of songs he and his backing group had rehearsed, but otherwise, he’d move on to the predetermined ‘guest’ who’d lob him an easy one. Oldest trick in the book.

“Um, how about you, ma’am? Dark hair, braid, right in front of the stage, very pretty. What would you like to hear?”

It took Katniss a second to realize that he was referring to her. Her mind scrambled through an inventory of thousands of songs, but one kept coming up again and again. “’Til There Was You’.” Not exactly her usual style, and it came as a missed opportunity to see what he could do with something more folky, but oh well. She could grill him on folk’s greats later. It wasn’t like he would actually play her song anyway.

“Gotta love musicals. Who here likes The Music Man?” The crowd cheered as Peeta moved to the piano. Wait, was he actually going to follow through with this? She had to give him some respect for that. His accompaniment wasn’t what she would expect out of a professional pianist, but it got the job done. “I’ve got this on the CD I play when I’m driving to work. It’s one of my favorites.”

The voice she heard then barely sounded like the one she’d heard earlier. That had been as stale as his jokes, but now, he sent emotion rippling through the room. For a moment, Meredith Willson’s metaphorical bells were very, very real, and she did hear them ringing, and maybe, just maybe, Haymitch had been on to something.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 11:05 PM

After the show, several women her age and older loitered around the stage. Peeta chatted with them one at a time, all winks and smiles that promised something naughty. Now, she had hung around with enough big stars to know that chatting up women after the show was to be expected, but did he not remember that they had a meeting scheduled? According to the schedule Effie had found for her, he had three more shows at this very venue in the next week. There would be plenty of other chances to get laid, but he had royally screwed up his first meeting with a potential business partner. Good to know he had his priorities straight.

Only after he had gathered a few telephone numbers did he deign to join her. “Katniss?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He smiled, and she rose to shake his hand. “After that show, you don’t need any introduction.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person.” Maybe he was just a good actor, but the words sounded genuine. Then again, he had sounded pretty genuine a few minutes ago when he was prepping new notches for his bedpost, so maybe she shouldn’t put too much weight on that. “Sorry to put you on the spot back there. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You did really well with it.”

“Thanks. I really do have it on CD in my car, but I’d never performed it live before tonight. Especially coming from you, it’s great to hear I did all right with it.” He sat down at the table for two that had been hers alone for the show. “I’ve been reading a lot about you since we talked on the phone. I didn’t realize how many of my favorite albums you’ve been on.” God damn it, she couldn’t let him charm her the way he had those other women, but goodness did it feel nice to hear her work praised. “I mean, you’ve worked with everyone around. The Stones, Madonna, I think I saw McCartney on there too. I know you want to do something more on the folk side, but your catalog is pop and rock and roll royalty.”

“Thanks.” She was going to start blushing if he didn’t tone it down a little. He leaned in just a little, and Katniss met those gorgeous blue eyes, and well, it was too late on that whole not blushing thing. “Really, thanks.”

“Sorry, I just don’t think you studio musicians get enough credit. You’re the ones who make the rest of us look good, and we don’t bother to say thanks often enough.”

Definitely buttering her up, then. Good. That meant he wanted to go through with Haymitch’s scheme, erm, idea. She smiled at him. “Flattering as this is, if we don’t stop trading compliments, I think we’ll be sitting here for hours and I’d really like to go home at some point.” Two could play that game. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on Haymitch’s proposal.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he laughed. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I’m not sure it’s what’s best for my career.” Wait, what? How was it that Peeta Mellark, corny C-grade casino performer, was the one putting a stop to this? She had an actual career. At any moment, there were five or ten requests for her to come in and play, and with the big names too, and he thought this wasn’t right for him? Her knuckles went white as she fisted her hands into the tablecloth. He must have noticed, because he immediately backpedaled. “That sounded bad. What I mean is, well, this might not seem like a lot to you, but I kind of like it. I get to travel all the time. I constantly get to meet new people. It’s not a very glamorous part of showbiz, but it keeps food on the table and lets me sing instead of working at the bakery back home.

“That being said, I’ve been doing this at varying levels nonstop for twenty years, and I’m ready to try something new.”

“So you want to go for it.”

“I’d at least like to test some things out, yeah.”

“That’s about at the point where I am too,” she admitted.

He had a great smile. It wasn’t fair, really, that he got the eyes, the smile, and the voice all rolled up in one package. How was the female portion of the population supposed to resist? Katniss stopped herself before she could take that line of thought too far. If things worked out, they would be business partners, and even if people didn’t always respect professional boundaries in this industry, she was better than that. “Then I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Casablanca and The Music Man in one night?”

“Hey, if someone’s said it better already, why not let them say it for you?”

“I hope that’s not the approach you take to songwriting,” she deadpanned.

Peeta winked. “As you wish.”

“Princess Bride, and you’d better.”

Los Angeles, California

June 25, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“I’m so sorry, that session was only supposed to last the morning. He promised we’d be out by noon.” She really ought to spend some more quality time with that stupid treadmill she’d shelled out six hundred bucks for the Christmas before last. Katniss had only run from the corner to the front door of Haymitch’s office, but even after a few seconds spent panting and wondering if she was about to collapse dead, she still sounded like she was trying for a personal best marathon time.

On second thought, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad. Three sets of eyes were on her, the expressions on them a rainbow that went from concerned to amused to annoyed. Yes, an hour and forty minutes late was bad, but she had called as soon as she knew the session was going to run long.

Peeta broke the silence first. “Hey, Katniss. How are you?”

She smiled at him as she took the remaining seat. “I’m pretty good. Howa bout you, Peeta? Effie?” She didn’t need some smartass answer from Haymitch right now, so she left him out.

Not that that strategy ever worked. “So, who chased you up here?”

He got a well-deserved glare for that one. “I just couldn’t wait to get back in your presence. It’s such a magical place to be.”

Effie giggled at that, light and tinkling, but then it was all business. “We’ve been filling Peeta in on the basic business plan we have for you. Katniss, you’ve said that you have quite the catalog of songs built up, so we figured it would be best to use one of them for first single.” She turned to Peeta. “You’ll love them. She won’t brag about them, modest thing she is, but Haymitch has played a few of her demos for me, and they’re just lovely.” If Peeta wasn’t here, she would have hit him. She’d never given Haymitch permission to show any of those recordings to anybody. “If we can’t find anything we like in there, we can always find something to cover, but well, neither of you is getting any younger, and it’s better to get something out as soon as possible.” Katniss did her best not to flinch at that. She knew age was more of an issue for her than Peeta. Female stardom seemed to have an expiration date of around thirty-five, and she was getting closer every day. “Ideally, we’ll have you in the studio next week, have a single out on iTunes in six weeks tops. Then we’ll get you out on tour and hope for the best.”

“Do you ever hope for anything else?” Haymitch asked. “Ouch!” Oh good, if Effie hadn’t kicked him for that, Katniss would’ve had to, and after that admittedly short run, she didn’t feel like moving at all.

Effie smiled at them. “Any questions?”

She and Peeta exchanged glances and shrugs. “I think we’re good.”

“Excellent. Then let’s get started on the paperwork.”

To both of their credit, neither groaned audibly, but Katniss was pretty sure it was a shared sentiment.

Los Angeles, California

June 29, 2015

Local Time: 9:40 AM

Buttercup had only stayed with her for a week while Prim was out of town, and that had been a month ago, but she still found orange cat hair all over her furniture. On days like today, when she wore black, she might as well just add a pair of Tigger ears to complete the costume. Peeta’s black pants were going to be a mess when he got up too. Fingers crossed, he wouldn’t notice.

It would be a lot harder to ignore the fact that she’d said she was going to the kitchen to find some snacks but would return empty-handed. She blamed it on the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. Her minifridge currently held the three-day-old remnants of a meal at Chili’s, three bottles of beer, half a jar of dill pickles, and a thing of ketchup. She didn’t even like ketchup. The pantry wasn’t much better. She’d been trying to cut down on her salty snacks habit, which was both doing nothing to help her slim down and not very helpful when it came to being a gracious hostess.

Opening the fridge a second time did nothing to help finger foods magically appear. What a time for witchcraft to fail her. She settled for grabbing two of the beers and heading back to the living room. A+ hostess. They ought to stamp her high society entrance ticket right now.

Peeta sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes closed and swaying along with the music flooding through the oversized headphones. She had spent hours over the past three days going through the songs she’d written over the years. Like everything, ninety percent of them were absolute shit, but she hadn’t touched some of them since high school, and revisiting them had brought her almost as many smiles as cringes. Almost.

“Anything sticking out to you?”

Peeta slipped off the headphones. “Yeah. How do you not have a solo career? Your voice is great.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“But inquiring minds want to know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Want a Bud Light?” She hadn’t even been prepared enough to buy decent beer.

“Yes, please.” She handed him the bottle, and he cracked it open and took a long sip, studying her the whole time. “You know, I’m not sure what to think of you.”

“Thank you very little.”

He grinned. “Caddyshack?”

“Yep. Two can play at that game.” She sat down on her sad, worn couch and opened her own beer. “And one can win.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to turn it into a competition. I’ve been touring at least eight months of the year for the past decade, and Netflix and I have spent a lot of quality time together.”

“I thought you liked traveling.” He had said that, hadn’t he? She probably should’ve been paying more attention to the words he said and less to the lips that said them during their earlier meetings, but who could blame a girl for looking? A painfully single woman whose only serious relationship had petered out eight years ago had every excuse.

“Oh, I do, a lot. And I try to get a good taste of the local culture wherever I go, but when you’re in Boise for the sixth time, you kind of run out of new things to do.”

“Fair.”

“Okay, you’ve dodged the question for long enough. Who are you?”

That question made her feel like a Bond girl: sexy, mysterious, and more likely than not playing both sides flawlessly. Too bad she had no idea what those two sides would be in this situation and all her foreign, ‘exotic’ accents were shit. “I’m not sure what you’re after.”

He scooched away to lean back against the room’s single chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re just hard to figure out is all.” Peeta paused for a minute, collecting his thoughts. “What I mean is, I don’t understand why you’d be interested in this arrangement. You’re a rock guitarist, and you’re very successful at it, but the stuff you want to record is all pretty folky. I’m open to anything, but my background’s in pop.”

“Haymitch suggested it, and I thought it sounded like a good idea.”

“That doesn’t add up either. Why is it that you have a manager that’s mostly involved in the country scene?”

“Oh, that’s just coincidence. Haymitch was married to my mom for a very short time when I was a teenager, and we stayed in touch after they divorced. He actually got me my first break.” She rose one eyebrow. “That, or we’ve carefully crafted an intricate spider web of lies with which to entrap you.”

“A guy can never be too careful. The pretty ones are dangerous.”

She made note of that comment so the part of her that was still fourteen could overanalyze and obsess over it later. “Do you have a song picked out?”

“I’ve got it narrowed down to three, but I’m leaning toward ‘Mockingjay’.”

“I like that one too. Want to go for it?”

He laughed. “We’ve really put a lot of careful consideration into all of this, haven’t we?”

“Let’s call it great minds thinking alike instead.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 9:07 PM

Peeta looked over to her and grinned. Ready? he mouthed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the butterflies would fly out of her stomach as she exhaled. When had that ever worked?

“Don’t worry. You’ll be great.” He could say that all he wanted. He’d been doing shows practically constantly for twenty years. Bill Clinton had still been president the last time she did a live gig. No, maybe it had been in 2001, right after Bush the Younger came into office. Either way, if it had been long enough that she didn’t remember the year, she certainly didn’t know what it would feel like. Fuck, it had been a few years since she’d been able to ride a roller coaster without feeling sick to her stomach the rest of the day, and that was way less adrenaline than getting in front of two hundred people and singing. Never mind that most of them were there to see Peeta, and that she was a sideshow attraction at best, she’d still be up there with him, and –

“Katniss, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I mean it.” Peeta gave her upper arm the gentlest of punches. “You’re great. If you can play for Paul McCartney and impress him, you’ll amaze these people.”

Like wax strips, sometimes it was just better to tug things off as quickly as possible, bleeding or other bodily injury be damned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“All right.” He winked. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

She frowned at him. “Casablanca, and that’s not the spirit at all.”

Peeta gave her another one of those grins that she was quickly coming to hate – or love, if there was any difference. “But it got your mind off of it.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 10:56 PM

There wasn’t bleach strong enough to wipe the smile off her face. Who cared if she’d forgotten some of the words in the third verse of “Blowin’ In The Wind”? It hadn’t been her favorite song since middle school, and nobody could understand what Dylan was singing half the time anyway. It lent authenticity to their performance. The adrenaline had kicked in somewhere around the third number, and she hadn’t even wanted to take a break in between sets. While Peeta had gone to grab them some water, she had stayed on stage, singing any song that came to mind. Rock, folk, show tunes, at this point, she didn’t care. Why had she ever cared about that? Distinctions were stupid. She could play one thing as well as another, and if the audience didn’t mind, she wasn’t going to act all high and mighty about which things were better than which. Who got to decide what was good and not? Not her, that’s for sure, and if she had her way, they’d stop using words like that. Outdated language was what it was, not taking into account personal taste. As always, the patriarchy stayed hard at work, grueling over their 1950s-era language like they knew best. They’d be upset when they got home and realized she didn’t have dinner ready for them, but their time was long gone, and hers had dawned.

“It’s about time that we wrap up for tonight.” A few audience members groaned at Peeta’s words. He cocked his head and grinned. “Don’t be too sad. We’re going to miss you too. But, before we head out, we’ve got a real treat for you: our first public performance of our new single, ‘Mockingjay,’ now available!”

“One, two, three, four!” She started with the guitar, and there it was, out for the world to see. Katniss had practiced this song hundreds of times since Haymitch and Effie pulled this tour together two weeks before. Every night before bed, every morning when she woke up. If she wasn’t playing it, she was thinking through it, running through the chords, quizzing herself on the lyrics. Her fingers knew what to do, and the word slipped out without any conscious thought, and for the first time in years, she could just be.

She watched, and she listened, but mostly, she floated above everything. It sounded so cheesy in retrospect, but she felt like she was in the audience more than on stage, watching herself and Peeta as an outsider. She loved it, all of it. The words sat right in a way that only her own words could, the representation of feelings that, though shared in some respect with the rest of humanity, were hers and hers alone. She basked in his voice, swayed with her accompaniment, and the chorus slowly pulled her back to herself. At the second chorus, she and Peeta locked eyes, and they didn’t break their gaze until the last chord finishing reverberating through the room.

Applause made her nerves light up brighter than the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Center. Heat rushed to Katniss’ cheeks, and as soon as she finished two stiff bows, she got the hell out of there. Though Peeta had spent several minutes greeting fans after his show in San Bernadino, he followed only a few steps behind. “You were great!” he said, beaming. Post-gig afterglow was definitely a real phenomenon.

“You think so?” She should say something nice about his performance back, but her mind was still reeling from all of it, and that had only been a hundred and fifty people. What would she do if they ever sold out a stadium? Probably too early to be thinking about that, considering that before the show, they’d only sold ninety-seven copies of ‘Mockingjay’ on iTunes, and that number included Prim, her mom, and all of Peeta’s family, but it never hurt to plan ahead.

“Incredible.” He’d moved even closer. From here, it was impossible not to notice how brilliantly blue his eyes were, and she just wanted to stare at them for a while, commit every detail of them to memory. It didn’t register that there might be a reason Peeta’s face was so close until his lips met hers.

One hand found his shoulder while the fingers of the other carded through thick blonde hair. He wrapped his arms around her, warm and strong, and she sighed against him, moving herself in closer still. Peeta’s breathing turned ragged as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, and though she keened into the touch, the rational part of her brain finally kicked in. Katniss wanted nothing more than to give in, to do as she’d wanted to from the moment they’d met, but as warmth and desire curled and pooled within her, she moved her lips away from his. “Peeta,” she said, breathless. “Peeta, this is a bad idea.”

His forehead furrowed for the briefest of instants, then he stepped away. “I’m sorry. I thought – never mind. I apologize.”

“No, don’t.” God, she wanted to kiss him again, replace that regret with the passion she’d felt just seconds prior. She wet her lips, and his eyes followed the motion. “I mean, don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

“Of course,” he responded, avoiding her eyes. Somehow, she doubted the plain white wall was really that interesting, but Katniss wasn’t going to call him out on that. She’d done enough damage already. “Um, should I go, or do you want me to stick around and walk you back to your room?”

She was more than capable of finding her way from the hotel’s club back to her room, thank you very much, and any other time, she would make sure he knew that. “I’d like to walk with you.” Katniss glanced down at his hand, thought about how nice it would be to walk up hand in hand, invite him inside, let herself cut loose for the first time in months, but he stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Peeta?” she asked. “It really is all right.”

He gave her the stiffest nod she’d ever received.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

November 7, 2015

Local Time: 8:31 AM

“Katniss!” The door rattled on its hinges as he knocked. Wanted to wake up the entire hotel, did he? “Katniss!”

Eight thirty was way too early to be dealing with this kind of shit. Still, she didn’t want the poor guests that got stuck next to her to have any more of their mornings ruined. With a sigh, she hoisted herself out of bed and padded over to the door. “What’s wrong?” she said as the door swung open to reveal a far too excited Peeta.

“Wrong? We’re in the top ten!”

“Wait, really?” Any remaining grogginess disappeared in an instant. “Let me see!”

He pressed his phone into her hands and stepped further into her room.

Her hand flew up to her mouth to cover her gasp. There it was, everything she’d been dreaming of. A top ten chart, and there they were, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, right at sweet, sweet number three. She never thought she’d live to see the day. It had seemed impossible, the ultimate pipe dream. No, some random pipe had a better chance of being stolen and made into a found art item valued at a million dollars than she had of releasing a hit single. Incredible. Just incredible.

She turned at a popping sound to see Peeta standing next to the dresser, pouring two glasses of champagne. Usually, she’d say it was too early to start drinking, but today, Katniss could get away with anything. Damn responsibility. Who was going judge her for a little early-morning alcohol? The only other person who knew about this was right there in the same boat with her.

Wait, what chart was this? God, she hoped it was the Hot 100. Anything was a godsend, but Billboard… Billboard was something else, and –

Sverigetopplistan. There was no way that was a real word. She couldn’t even begin to pronounce it. But it had the words ‘top’ and ‘list’, and that couldn’t be good.

A quick Google search told her everything she needed to know. “We’re only number three in Sweden?”

“We’re actually at three in Finland too. ‘Mockingjay’ is doing really well all across Scandinavia. I know it’s in the top twenty in Denmark and Norway, and I want to say it’s doing about the same in Latvia or Lithuania – I don’t remember which. Isn’t it great?”

“Uh, yeah.” She couldn’t help that her voice sounded a little flat.

Peeta winced. “Sorry, the way I said that made it sound like we had it on the British or American charts, didn’t it? I wasn’t trying to get your hopes up.” He held up the glass. “Champagne? I shelled out for some halfway decent stuff.”

She accepted the glass. “Thanks. To us?”

“To our continuing success,” he replied. They clinked their glasses together. “You know, I think we’re looking at this the wrong way. We are now international pop stars.”

“We appeal to the more refined tastes of the European market,” she added.

“America might be our homeland, but it is also our respite from our legions of devoted fans.” The CDC probably classified Peeta’s smile as a communicable disease. “Why would you want to be on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood when you could be on the one in Stockholm? Much cleaner.”

Katniss laughed and went for another sip of champagne only to find it was all gone. He noticed and went to fetch the bottle. “We can’t have you running out of champagne. After that first hit, you never know when the diva behavior is going to start kicking in.”

“You know, you’re really lucky that you’re cute, because otherwise, there’s no way I would put up with that.” The words just slipped out before she could really think about what she was saying. She hadn’t drank enough yet to blame it on the champagne yet, either. Damn it. Alcoholism was a terrible disease, and she understood that, but what she wouldn’t give right now to use Haymitch’s ‘I haven’t been in complete control of my actions for a decade’ excuse.

Peeta’s grin widened. “Just how much would you let me get away with?” His expression was pure sin, and Katniss blushed practically down to her toes.

“Has Haymitch heard the news yet?” Time to change the subject before she said anything even more regretful.

And as though flirting was as easy to turn on and off as a light switch – and for him, maybe it was – Peeta was back to friendly but professional. “Yeah, he’s the one who called me. Believe it or not, I don’t spend my mornings browsing the Scandinavian pop charts.”

“You might have to start now.”

“Good point. Guess I can work it into my busy schedule somehow,” Peeta laughed.

Gary, Indiana

November 23, 2015

Local Time: 10:14 AM

Peeta was a world-class pacer. Unless social niceties dictated that he absolutely had to sit, the man kept to his little four steps forward, right turn, four steps, right turn habit at all times. And so when Katniss walked into his hotel room – they’d left knocking behind weeks ago – to find him talking on the phone and standing stock-still in the very center of the room, she immediately grew concerned.

He didn’t notice her presence, too focused on his conversation to hear soft footsteps against the carpet. She moved back towards the door. He deserved his privacy as much as anyone else. “Yeah, for sure. That’d be a great opportunity, and I’m sure Katniss is on board too.” At the sound of her name, she froze. “I just need to check that the schedule will work out. We’re on the road right now, and you know how I am with dates.” He paused while the person on the other end spoke. “Of course. I’ll call our manager right now and get back to you as soon as I’ve got something. Yep, talk to you soon. Say hi to Annie and Ronan for me.”

“Who was that, and what am I on board for?”

Peeta jumped at the sound of her voice, but he quickly recovered. “Finnick. He’s got a big tour coming up, and his opening act canceled on him at the last minute. He’s wondering if we’re available.” She managed to keep her mouth from falling open, but only barely. Peeta laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. He says he really likes ‘Mockingjay,’ and Annie – that’s his wife, she’s a sweetheart – has been playing it nonstop for days.”

In any other circumstance, she would be flattered, but her mind could only focus on one of those ideas at a time. “He wants us to tour with him?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it great? I mean, you do want to, right?”

“When?” She sounded breathless. Accurate.

“His first show’s in Seattle on the fourteenth.”

“Three weeks.” Okay, they could do three weeks. It might be a little bit of a logistical nightmare to get everything together, but it was an achievable logistical nightmare with some fantastic benefits. How many people attended each of Finnick’s concerts? She’d gone and seen him at the Hollywood Bowl a few years ago with friends, and that place had to seat twenty thousand, easy. He could probably sell out much bigger stadiums, too, and even if the audience wasn’t super excited by the prospect of listening to something kind of folky before the pop show, that was still twenty thousand more people exposed to their music, and even if only one, two percent wanted to go and pick up the album…

“Katniss? What do you think?”

She snatched his phone out of his hand. “I’m going to call Haymitch. He and Effie can make this work. I don’t care if we have to rearrange a few other dates.” She laughed, probably looking like a crazy woman. Oh well. Crazy old witch was one thing, but successful crazy old witch was pretty freaking fantastic.

Los Angeles, California

December 9, 2015

Local Time: 4:21 PM

Beyond a nice dinner with Prim at Sae’s, Katniss scheduled nothing for the two weeks she would be in Los Angeles before they started touring again. Nothing was going to get in the way of her sleeping as much as possible. She put in a grocery order with a delivery service and checked out of life for two weeks. After more than two months of almost-nonstop touring, she deserved it.

It got old after two days. By the third, she was ready to pull hair, and whether it was hers or someone else’s didn’t much matter. Most of her friends weren’t around on an everyday basis – she supposed that kind of came with the entertainment business – and anyway, she’d never been the most social sort. Katniss knew she should be resting up for the next tour, but instead, she found herself filling every waking moment with something. The pervs that hung out on practically every street corner in Los Angeles had always turned her off of walking around the city by herself, but almost every day, she took hours-long walks around her area. She ducked into art galleries and coffee shops she’d noted as places to check out but never managed to get to and wandered around the city’s parks, snapping photos and picking the occasional flower when no one was watching.

As she explored, she allowed herself to think. Big mistake. She didn’t confine herself to any single topic, and she covered quite a bit of ground. Art, the meaning of life, whether or not she’d remembered to lock the apartment on her way out, all of it came up. But she mostly thought about Peeta. He was three thousand miles away in Boston, and she still couldn’t get away from him. Peeta Mellark had ruined ogling cute blond guys, because none of them could quite measure up. She’d see some diet-busting pastry in a window, and her mind would leap to the cheese buns and raspberry tarts she’d tried from his family’s bakery when they’d played that gig in Worcester. He had even infiltrated her blessed TV-watching, because flipping through channels, she’d end up on TCM, and there he was again with one of those movie quotes that she hated but couldn’t get enough of.

When she ended up watching one of the films, she’d text quotes to him, and no matter the time of day, within thirty seconds, he replied with the title. Katniss hoped he cheated and googled them. Nobody should have watched No Orchids for Miss Blandish enough times to be able to quote it.

Damn boy was driving her nuts. She’d given Delly a hard time in high school for crushes far less consuming. How low had she fallen?

Three more days until she saw him again, but who was keeping track?

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“Peeta!” She ran towards him, luggage in tow. Two little old ladies moved to one side so she could pass, and one flashed her a thumbs up. Katniss had him wrapped in a hug the instant she got close enough. “How are you? How was Boston?”

He squeezed her. “I’ve been good. Kind of wondering why I thought it was a good idea to visit home in February, but it was good. Nice to see everyone.” He broke away first. Smart move – airport baggage claims were hardly the place for public displays of affection, even completely platonic ones between friends that definitely didn’t want to screw each other. “So, how’s California? Ten below and covered in snow like Boston?”

“Isn’t it always?”

Peeta laughed, and wow, had she missed that. Cliché as it was, Katniss was convinced that one noise could light up an entire room, maybe power all the street lights in Seattle for the rest of the year. “I’m sure you froze half to death.”

“I wore shorts every day I was home.”

“So did I. They only had to amputate one limb.”

“If you two are done, we’ve got the car waiting outside.” She spun to find Haymitch standing behind them and waiting.

“Hey, Haymitch. How’ve you been?”

“Good. Get in the car.” He pushed Peeta in front of him and stayed behind with Katniss a moment. “What do you think you’re doing, kid?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea anymore.”

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 11:30 PM

“You know, I’ve been to rehab three times, and marrying your mother is still the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Rehab was a mistake?” She couldn’t let something like that slide.

“No, the choices I made that landed me there were mistakes.” Haymitch took another swig of his Southern Comfort. “And the first time I went to rehab was a mistake too - made me think that getting clean was gonna make me come to Jesus or some shit like that, scared me off the idea for years – but that’s not the point. They always tell you that your drinking is affecting the lives of the people you love, and trust me, they’re right. They’ve got more scientists than I can count running all kinds of studies and coming up with figures to show you how right they are. And I’m good at fucking up the lives of the people around me – you’ve seen it more times than I want to remember.”

Katniss nodded, wary. She was used to Haymitch drunk, or angry, or the quiet, determined way he got when he had a plan that he was dead-set on seeing to completion, but she hadn’t seen this kind of open emotion from him before. Frankly, the thought of some baring their soul, particularly to her, made Katniss a little nauseous. She had signed up for Thursday night drinks and catching up, not a feelings orgy worthy of the Hallmark channel.

But he kept going, a steamroller headed downhill at a hundred miles an with no brakes. “Well, I really thought I had things under control this time. Y’know, I’d been to rehab, managed to stay clean for a whole year. Still wanted a drink from the moment I got up right up ‘til I fell asleep at night, but I figured that was to be expected. I know you’ve heard all that before, but it bears worth repeating. Your mom, she just seemed perfect. Too perfect, looking back on things. Gorgeous, smart, patient as can be – you’d have to be, to put up with me.”

She had her own opinion on that matter, but now wasn’t the time. “Haymitch, I’ve got things to do today. You sure that –“

“Let me finish. Long story short, she was too good for me, and I knew it, but I somehow managed to con her into marrying me anyway. And guess what? All I wanted to do was make things better. I really did, and still do, care about how you all ended up, but I couldn’t keep it together, and I ended up taking you all with me. Made you move, have to do the whole new school, new friends thing, made you deal with my problems, forced you to deal with my divorce because I wasn’t responsible enough to deal with my shit by myself.” Tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should try to comfort him or bolt. Katniss settled for reaching over and giving him an awkward pat on the back. Beyond a few handshakes over the years, this might very well be the first time she’d touched Haymitch. She’d been twelve when he’d come into her family’s life, and at a point in her life when she scorned physical contact with everybody, and neither of them had ever been the touchy-feely type. “Cut it out. You see, it’s happening again. I’m the one who made you hurt, and now you’re cleaning me up. That’s what happens when you let someone who’s too good for you in. You take and take until there’s nothing left to give, and when they finally give up and leave you, you’re both left with nothing.”

“You think Peeta’s too good for me.”

Haymitch’s eyes were steady as he nodded.

“Fuck off.” God, she wanted to leave with that, but something kept her rooted in place. She choked on something that wasn’t quite a laugh and bordered on a sob. “That’s precious, coming from you.”

“There’s a reason we get along so well, sweetheart. Here, have some.” He pushed the bottle towards her, but she pushed it away as she rose, spilling fat drops of amber liquor all over the pristine white couch. It’d be a bitch to clean up later, she reflected, but then again, so would she.

Katniss didn’t stop running until she was well into the parking lot, and even then, she only stopped because there was no place to go.

That seemed to happen a lot these days.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 11:11 AM

When she and Peeta had gone on tour previously, it really had been just the two of them, Peeta’s Lincoln, and four different hotel rewards cards. They didn’t have a lot of extra equipment, so there was no need for anyone to help them haul anything, and though there were at least daily phone calls with Effie and Haymitch, nobody needed to be there to hold their hand and get them to the gigs on time. It was bare-bones, but it was fun. Yeah, that meant that she had spent an evening in Peeta’s car with a bottle of nail polish remover after a less-than-successful attempt at giving herself a pedicure in a moving vehicle, but they also got to talk and joke and stop at stupid roadside attractions whenever they felt like it.

Finnick’s touring was as far away from that as one could get. First of all, they had a private jet. She supposed that made sense, as thirty-five people accompanied Finnick everywhere. Family, security, personal assistant, sound engineer, stage coordinator, the backing group, Katniss, Peeta, and two people whose purpose on the tour remained a mystery even four weeks into the three-month stint. She blamed those people for her current situation.

There was a timid knock, then the door opened just a crack. “Are you feeling okay?” Peeta asked.

“The only reason I know I’m not dead is that everything still hurts.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. Katniss had always liked to think that she could tough her way through just about anything. How nice of this cold/flu/sinus monstrosity to rid her of that delusion.

Peeta didn’t move away from the door. Smart guy. “Do you think you’re going to feel good enough to perform tonight?”

“Yes.” That wasn’t even a question. She would have to actually be dead to not show up for tonight’s show. In the halo ring that was this tour, tonight’s show, the only one that would be broadcast live to millions of home viewers, was the pendant diamond, the one your friends were really complimenting when they said how pretty the whole thing looked. They forecasted that twelve million viewers would tune in tonight. She was going to wow every single one of them.

“You can’t talk. How are you going to sing?”

“I’ll rest until then.”

Peeta frowned. “I’ll go to CVS. Do you like pills or liquid cold medicine better?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Liquid then. I’ll get some soup too. Don’t go around infecting anyone else.”

She mumbled something at that, but even Katniss wasn’t quite sure what point she was trying to get across.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 4:55 PM

She loved those green lights. They should make all the lights green. Then the cars could go faster because they’d never have to stop, and all the people would be happy because they spent more time with their families and less time driving. Lots of good things were green. In fact, she couldn’t’ think of a single bad green thing. Money, trees, kale, those rain boots she’d been eyeing at Target since last winter… they should make everything green. It would be nicer that way. “Don’t you think so?”

“Don’t I think what?”

“That everything should be green.”

Peeta shook his head. “I think you’re a lot less coherent on cold medicine than you led me to believe. I don’t have any strong opinions on the color green.”

“That’s too bad.” Peeta had a green sweater that made his arms look fantastic. Maybe she could convince him to wear it more often.

He had other things on his mind. Peeta’s voice dropped. “Look, we’re going to have you lip sync tonight, all right? Haymitch has a tape of your part on all our songs, and all you’ll need to do is mouth along with the words and pretend to play your guitar.”

“Okay.” She hated lip syncing, but it was hard to be upset about things right now. Why think about the bad things when there was so much green?

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 7:21 PM

The wiggles went through her entire body when she tried to shake the nerves out, tickling enough that she giggled out loud. Her fingers felt fat and sluggish as they danced over her guitar. The object was so familiar that it might have been another limb, but holding it now, it could just as easily have come from another planet. The weight was off, the balance just not there, and when had the strings gotten so little? No matter. She’d made it through three songs. She could handle two more before she went backstage and conked out.

‘Mockingjay’ shouldn’t be too bad. The first chords were easy. It started nice and slow, perfect for beginners and heavily-medicated Katnisses, before picking up speed. She knew what she was doing. Same thing, just faster, and faster, and faster, and then –

She realized an instant too late that this was her verse. Her eyes widened, and she did her best to start mouthing along, but the damage had been done. Whispers from the crowd rolled over her in waves, and it was all she could do to not cry on stage.

They struggled through that next number. She gave it everything she had – so not much – but she couldn’t sell it. Because of her fuck up, both of them would be in the papers tomorrow. They’d never have a successful album. Hell, they might not even be able to record an album. Nobody would invite them on tour again. Peeta might be able to go back to his old career, but maybe not. Opportunities dried up quickly in this business, which she knew better than anyone.

Katniss fell apart as soon as she got backstage. “Katniss, hey, it’s no big deal. I should have told Finnick you couldn’t go on. I’m so sorry.” Peeta’s words burned like acid over fresh wounds. He knew what she had ruined, and here he was, comforting her. If she was going to wreck something for someone, why couldn’t she pick some awful person who kicked puppies or something? Why did it have to be the nicest, sweetest man she’d ever been lucky enough to meet? Haymitch was right. “Katniss, I’m really –“

She kissed him. “Shut up.” Another one, this time harder – and now that he had gotten over his initial shock, he responded. Peeta dragged her close, pressing her tight against his chest. One hand found her waist, and the other toyed with the ends of her braid. His heartbeat was going nuts, but so was hers, so she supposed that was fair, and she –

“Hey, you two have a dressing room for that.” Peeta pulled away, and she turned to glare at Haymitch. He wouldn’t be cowed so easily. “Hey, if you don’t want to start damage control right now, I’m gonna enjoy the concert.”

“It’s okay, Katniss.” Peeta pulled her into their shared dressing room. “It’ll be okay, all of it. I promise.”

The worry swelled over her again. “You can’t promise that.”

“We can avoid the internet for a couple days. It’ll blow over.”

She closed her eyes and nuzzled up against his chest. “Maybe.” At least he smelled nice. Small consolation, but she’d take what she could get.

He kissed the top of her head. “Either way, we can’t do anything about it now.”

Another thought came to her. “I’m sorry if I gave you the flu.” Because she just couldn’t stop screwing up today, could she?

“Hey, it’ll make it easier to not go online, right?” he laughed. Then his voice dropped. “But since I’m already infected, I suppose there’s not anything to keep me from kissing you again, is there?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level.

Boston, Massachusetts

October 11, 2028

Local Time: 7:31 PM

She’d been convinced that it was Haymitch who always edited the “Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark” page on Wikipedia, but in the two years since his death, it continued to change. Every week, some new, strange story popped up that managed to keep the basic outline of their story the same while putting them into the strangest circumstances. She rather liked this one, a fairy-tale themed story involving dragons (poor Effie), a knight in shining armor, and herself as the beautiful princess trapped in the castle of studio work while she longed to be out among the people. Pity it had to go.

She copied and pasted the short version of the group’s history into editing window and hit ‘submit’. Nowhere near as interesting, but at least there were no beheadings in this version.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are an American folk-rock duo. Since the two artists began collaborating in 2015, they have released four studio albums and toured extensively. Though best known in the United States for their first single, ‘Mockingjay,’ and a lip-syncing controversy that occurred during a televised Finnick Odair performance, the duo has achieved great critical and commercial success in northern Europe. They are most popular in Sweden, where their third studio album ‘Girl on Fire’ held the number one chart position for thirty-one weeks between 2021 and 2022. The duo began dating shortly after meeting in 2015 and married on June 11, 2017 in Mellark’s hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. They are parents to three adopted children: Aster Mellark (born 2019), Rye Mellark (born 2024), and Senna Mellark (born 2026). In September of 2028, Everdeen and Mellark released dates for their Everlark tour, their ninth world tour, with dates across Europe and East Asia.

Only when she was reading it through for the second time did she notice that she’d forgotten to delete the prankster’s last line. Katniss smiled. She highlighted it, and her finger hovered over the backspace key, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

And they lived happily ever after.

After all, who was she to argue with the truth?

So sorry I posted this early on Ao3 and FFN. I promise that I can count. Don’t take away my math degree.

[global-news-station]

A local ward councillor viciously tortured a 48-year-old woman and her newly married 19-year-old daughter in Vaishali’s Bihari village for resisting rape bid.

After a video of the incident went viral on social media, the police taking notice of the matter arrested the ward councillor, a barber and three others on Thursday.

The local police said that ward councillor Mohammad Khurshid and his henchmen tortured the women, shaved their head and forced them to parade across the village.

Sanjay Kumar, station house officer (SHO) of the Bhagwanpur police station confirmed the incident and said that the matter is under investigation.

“Half a dozen people barged into the victims’ house and attempted to rape the daughter.”

After the mother tried to rescue her daughter, the accused physically assaulted the two women.

One of the accused beat them with wooden sticks, dragged them outside their house and held a ‘panchayat’.

One of the victims informed the police that around 6.30 pm, half a dozen armed men forcibly barged her house and attempted to rape her.

Eyewitnesses said that Khurshid alleged that the duo was involved in a flesh trade racket. A case has been registered against seven people.

The post Two women viciously tortured for resisting rape bid in Indian state of Bihar appeared first on ARYNEWS.

https://ift.tt/2X7PzMk

[mayardsale]

From readcarefully on Literotica

Neighbors

When the doorbell rang, I thought nothing of it. We often had food delivered since neither one of us liked to cook. Wilson usually ordered online before he got home, so I assumed we'd be having Thai or Indian. I was still a little homesick so I typically ordered pizza, burgers or burritos. But as Wilson jumped from his desk to get the door, he casually asked, "What did you order?" My heart skipped a beat as he opened the door to our apartment. I just had a funny feeling. "Hello!" was the choreographed greeting we received from the hallway. Holding what looked to be a bottle of wine, the man was tall and thin with a shaved head and glasses. Clearly the creative type, the name on his t-shirt was either a band or a grocery store. I wasn't cool enough to know the difference. But the clean white t-shirt did little to cover the tattoos that extended all the way to his hands. In contrast, her only visible tattoo was on her hand - a quote of some sort. Her ultra plain grey skirt and white button up blouse were not hiding her creative spirit, as her bouncy curls tried their best to cover her black rimmed glasses and nose ring. Expecting some sort of house warming conversation, Wilson immediately welcomed them through the door. "We're the Smiths," said the husband with a deep, sinful voice. "We wanted to ask a favor." As he spoke Mrs. Smith couldn't take her smile off of me. It was as if we knew each other. But typically, you recognize someone's face and can't make the rest of the connection. With Mrs. Smith it was the opposite vibe. I understood there was a connection, but I didn't recognize her face. "Uhhhh, shoot?" Wilson asked as Mr. Smith handed him the bottle of vintage Cabernet. At this point, Wilson got the vibe that this wasn't a generic introduction, so he tensed up. As relaxed as the Smith's were, Wilson was as confused as I was. We shrugged at each other as we collectively thought of reasons why we couldn't watch their cat or get their boxes while they were on vacation. "We live across the street," Mrs. Smith calmly said as though she was beginning to explain their request. Her smile, was still targeted on me and then I realized that her explanation was complete. And then she looked over my shoulder through our living room window. My heart skipped another beat. "Shall we pour some glasses," I interrupted to give myself time to catch my breath. "This way," Wilson offered as he did his best to follow my newly found hostess setting. We hardly ever had company over because we were that annoying couple that only spent time with each other. Equally jealous, we found each other to be more than enough. We had friends and family, but we were the reason the term 'pair bond' existed. Or so we thought. As I rushed the bottle from Mr. Smith's hands I tried not feel the connection that was growing mightily within me. As I raced to the kitchen to welcome them into our apartment, I wanted nothing more than for them to leave. "Across the street?" Wilson, asked as he offered seats to our guests. But they were too absorbed with the view out of our window. When we first moved into the apartment we worried about the six or seven buildings all within each other's view. We installed curtains but we never really used them except for those summer mornings when the sun baked our apartment. The view from the 17th floor was amazing during sunset because you could see downtown and the river. The Smiths, however, weren't interested in seeing the sun set. "Do you need any help?" Mrs. Smith asked as she peaked into the kitchen to notice that I had only hidden in the kitchen. There was no corkscrew or glasses in my plans. I merely leaned against the kitchen island as I held onto my fear and embarrassment. "Which building do you live in?" Wilson asked, becoming somewhat agitated by the mysterious nature of the visit. The smile that Mrs. Smith had used as a connection moments earlier turned into a smile of solidarity. She knew I wanted the conversation to end, so she got straight to the point. "We live on the 17th floor of the Smith Tower," she explained as my husband scoped the landscape through our living room window. "During the day when I'm working from home, I can see your beautiful array of Gordon Parks photography. And at night we can see you like to watch the business news programs. Bankers, I assume?" She was right. At that point I walked out of the kitchen and stood next to Wilson, so he couldn't see my reaction. I trembled a bit, so he naturally I assumed I was terrified that they were watching us. "We swear we have not been spying on you," Mrs. Smith from the Smith Tower shared. And that's when I made the realization that their names weren't really Smith. "Knowing that we have a clear view of your life from our window," Mrs. Smith continued, "we hoped you'd have an equally clear view of our apartment." "The red wall with the blue Matisse," Mr. Smith pointed out. Wilson looked at me as I stared out of our living room window. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. "Our bold, yet menial request is this: We simply would like you to film us," Mrs. Smith said as she reached for her husband's hand. "We aren't porn stars or artists. We simply enjoying seeing ourselves. And we hoped that your appreciation for photography would be an opening to make this monumental request." As Wilson struggled to fully comprehend the ask, I quickly answered, "Of course." Wilson's eyes nearly fell out of his head. But I wanted the Smith's to leave. Quickly. "Here's my card," Mrs. Smith said as she handed me a simple white card with only an email address. "Please send us any movies or photos you create and we will be forever grateful." With that said, she took Mr. Smith by the hand and headed for our front door. Wilson followed them out as I simply stared at their apartment, finally taking a deep breath. As I heard the front door close I gathered myself to present a shocked-but-curious front. By the time Wilson returned to the living room, I was in full control again. "Should we call the police?" he whisper-shouted as he sprinted back to the living room. "They've been watching us!" "She said that they haven't," I explained as I read the email address to myself. "Let's just watch." Wilson was relieved that I was looking okay with the situation. But I wasn't. As promised, the night allowed a complete glimpse into every apartment outside of our window. The multitude of lives on display were too vast to study. The older couple with the insanely large dogs. The eastern Eoropean man with sports on 24/7. The Korean woman with the piano. There were hundreds of stories happening, but most were not much more than people sitting. Eating. Waiting. Reading. Except for the Smiths. So we watched them. Not once did either of them look up to see if we were watching them. But we were. We watched them prepare dinner. We watched them talk on the phone. We watched them dance to music. We watched them watch TV. My palms sweated as we sat on our couch watching them sit on their couch. The glare from their television glistened across their ebony skin as the blue and white painting in the background flickered from the movie they were enjoying. "Are they going to get on with it or not?" Wilson complained as he got up to refill the glass of wine he'd been nursing since they'd left our apartment. So like a watched pot that was left alone, the boiling began. Promptly at 10PM Mr. Smith dropped to his knees in front of the couch. Without hesitation he pulled down her tights and panties and slowly buried his head in her overgrown bush. Her hands dove into his shirt as she lifted her legs to her sides. Within seconds I could feel myself getting wet. "Holy shit!" Wilson shouted as he entered the room. Whether it was the act itself or the fact that you could see so clearly into their living room, Wilson was clearly impressed. And soon mesmerized. Mrs. Smith had her feet arched onto Mr. Smith's back as he gripped her thighs. His head bobbed in and out as her curls bounced slowly. My hand wandered toward Wilson's mouth. I stuck my finger in it and pulled him down onto the couch. I stood up beside the couch and he immediately pulled down my shorts and panties. I then grabbed my phone from our glass coffee table and straddled my shaved pussy on his face. As I found the record button on my phone, Wilson's tongue found my clit. I could feel my pussy melting all over Wilson's face the same way I could see the glisten on Mr. Smith's face. I sat as still as possible so I wouldn't ruin the video, but I could feel both my orgasm and Mrs. Smith's orgasm rising. I knew what came next. For the past year I had the pleasure of watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith enjoy each other's company. While they had a medley of positions and places, each episode began with his mouth on her pussy until she came. Though their visit was a complete shocker, I understood why they hoped the conversation might go smoother. For a year I'd watched them - through quickies and all nighters. I discovered them innocently enough one day when Wilson was traveling. I was mesmerized. But for the last six months they had watched me masturbate back at them. I'm not certain when they first discovered I was watching them, but at some point Mrs. Smith and I began masturbating together. While she obviously had informed Mr. Smith, Wilson was still in the dark. Every evening at 10PM I checked to see if I would be joining them. I suppose they could have had sex at other times in rooms whose windows faced another direction, but 10PM in our living rooms were our time. At first I'd do it while Wilson was traveling. Sometimes I'd do it while Wilson was at the gym. Or asleep. Or washing dishes. A couple of times I'd fucked Wilson while I watched them. The Smiths thought that I must have told my husband by that point. I hadn't. I couldn't. I felt as though I was cheating. I had been in a sexual relationship with a couple across the street for over a year and I didn't know who they were. I wasn't sure if it was real. But when they stood there in our apartment, I quickly realized that our connection was real - even though I didn't know their names. I don't think I would have picked them out of a line up, but I could feel my nipples rise when she handed me that card. All of those sensations erupted for people I barely knew. Yet I knew how they fucked. I knew how he liked to get behind her. I knew how she liked him to cum on her breasts. I knew how she held his head down when she was close to coming on his face. I knew he liked heels. I knew how they liked to lay in each other and talk afterwards. And I knew they never really looked at me while I participated. If they had I probably would have stopped. I didn't want to be watched. I always turned the lights low so they couldn't see me. Though they knew when I was there, they never showed me. But they made certain I could see them. Early on I noticed they would start soon after I got home. I couldn't help but look out of the window as soon as I entered the apartment. So I started settling in before I took notice. And they'd wait until I took notice to start their activities. Over time we settled into a 10PM matinee. Like clock work. So after a year of shared anonymity, they broke the fourth wall. There I was recording their love while my husband joined our party. With Wilson firmly pressed between my thighs I watched as Mrs. Smith writhed in a gentle agony as Mr. Smith's tongue massaged her pussy. Soon her legs stretched and her toes curled. As always, her cum lead to my orgasm, but this time I was over the top. I came hard. I had to stop the recording because I couldn't control myself. I worried that Wilson would flip over this situation, yet there he was gripping my breasts like he wanted this as much as I did. As my orgasm subsided I found that Mr. Smith and Wilson had the same objective. I found myself bending over the arm of the couch as Wilson got behind me. Mrs. Smith found herself on the back of her couch. I picked up the phone and started a new recording. But as Mrs. Smith bucked with an enthusiasm I hadn't seen from anyone ever in my life, I calmly enjoyed the slow thrust Wilson was giving me in order not to ruin my directorial debut. Holding my phone steady made my pussy throb more. And knowing her efforts were being recorded threw Mrs. Smith into overdrive. As her hair danced into Mr. Smith's face, I could see that her ass was getting the best of him. Wildly she bounced on his dick like a carnival ride. Holding onto the couch she fucked him like there was no tomorrow. Her head was thrown back into him as her lips whispered to the ceiling - begging him to cum. And as his face sank into her hair and his ass began to tighten, I could feel Wilson's cum filling my own pussy. I didn't know if Wilson was watching the Smith's but he was definitely feeling them. Later that night I emailed Mrs. Smith the videos that I made. Wilson was already asleep, but I stayed up to see their response. I suppose I could have looked into their apartment to see them consume their new gift, but our relationship was strictly sexual. I'm not sure how to explain it, but any other peeping would have crossed the line - felt strangely perverted. A little passed midnight I received the response I waited for. "Thank you so much," Mrs. Smith began. "The video was everything we imagined. But meeting you both in person was like stepping out of an airplane. I was so afraid of what would happen when we knocked on your door. Truth be told, that was our third attempt. We ran with our tails between our legs the first two times." I nearly fell out of my chair. "But you and your husband are such beautiful souls," the note continued. "We felt as though we were meeting old friends." I smiled as I knew what was coming next. "We'd like invite you over for dinner next week. Maybe we can show you the rest of our apartment. No one will be watching."

[datingadviceonreddit]

I get rejected. A lot. My dating life recently has been abismal. I'm an "alright" looking dude, indian, 20 years old, a definite nerd, glasses and all, who was born and raised in the UK, shitty facial hair, like thin hairs slightly covering my face, but when I shave I have a serious case of babyface. Only recently have I started balding on the top of my head, genetic so no "cure" or going back, so I've made my peace with it.Before my follicular impairment (if you could call it that) I had a girlfriend, who I thought loved me for me, but then left the moment that I started losing hair because she was too embarrassed to walk out onto the street with me. (Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly happy now that she's left, I don't need people like that in my life). So I started "dating" again, at first it was alright, like nothing ever changed, and then as my hair situation became more apparent, I was rejected over and over again. Now I'm not a quitter so I kept on going, and from then on I haven't had one date in over 2 years. Even now, I'm not noticed by women, and only shirtless faceless fuckboy pics seem to get any attention.So I need advice. I am not the kind of guy to send those kind of pictures out. I'm good at holding a conversation, I've been told by dates before that I'm a romantic, I'm funny, in a sarcastic sorta way, but I stutter a little, and the truth is after this many rejections the notion of being a quitter is becoming way more appealing. Now, I don't drink/don't smoke, thats never gonna change, so I don't frequent bars, I don't like dancing so I don't frequent clubs, so my dating scene is mostly online. I'm a nerd in the sense that I play video games, read comics occasionally and attend comic-cons, but I still go to the gym regularly, and have a healthy physique.I don't want to be alone all my life. I'm usually a "look on the bright side" kinda guy, but after these past 2 years, I look at my life and think about the odds of me actually meeting a woman that's right for me, and those odds are getting shittier every rejection.So all in all, what do you all think I should do, and I'd love to hear some advice from a woman's perspective so I can try and improve myself further. I am annoyed, but the truth is the only thing I can do is keep improving myself and I hope that this will help me to do so. Thanks in advance (: via /r/dating_advice

[ramons7161849616-blog]

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The one thing that was actually going well for me was that I'd started seeing a girl we'll call Robin. Immediately after graduating I moved back home to look for a job, and it wasn't exactly going great; I'd picked an easy major because I grew up hearing how important it was to "just get a degree," and I didn't do any extracurricular activities while in school (not the kind you'd put on a resume, at least), so blowjob porn videos my prospects were almost nonexistent. I was living at best hd porn videos my mom's house with her and two of my grown siblings, one of whom had a toddler of her own (I wasn't the only one in my family who had trouble getting their act together and adulting up). I was working as a janitor, saving money and thinking about what I should do next. This was about two years after my last story. I had a lot of fun writing my first post here and got a really positive response, so I thought I'd share another story. Now she was back home, like me, trying to make a plan for the next phase of her life. We were introduced by a mutual friend earlier that summer after she moved in with her elderly aunt. You wouldn't call her fat. Robin was almost '" so a bit on the short side, with these piercing, icy-blue eyes and light brown hair that fell down to about her shoulder blades. As before, I'll mark the beginning of the sexy stuff with a row of hyphens. My type has always been short and curvy, and she was it to a T. We went to the same high school but didn't run in the same circles, so though we never met before, we had a lot in common from our youth and hit it off pretty quickly. Like me, Robin was going through a rough patch; in the span of the previous year she'd gotten married, moved to South Carolina with the guy, found out he was cheating, tried some counseling, found out he was still cheating, and got divorced. (I tried to find a picture of someone with her approximate body type, and this is what I came up with for those of you who require a bit of a visual aid can't really tell how tall this girl is, but the shoulders, chest, and waist look about right to me) She was a bit on the old fashioned side, too. As Stormy in Sealab 0 would put it, she had "an ass to match those cans," too. To top it all off, she had the tiniest hint of a southern accent not obnoxiously thick and drawly, but just enough to kind of put a guy in a trance and make him think he should do whatever she says. We'd go to an afternoon movie (empty theater) and sit in the back row so I could slide a hand up her skirt, we'd go out to a late dinner at a Denny's or something and park behind the restaurant so she could blow me before we went in and got pancakes, that sort of thing. One time at work I found a disused supply closet in a wing of the building that was closed for renovations, and when she met me for lunch that day I snuck her up there to pound a quick one out. It was quite an adventurous time in our lives, is what I'm saying. We dated for about a month and a half before we had sex, which was a terribly long wait for me at the time (I was fresh out of college, so I was used to an on-the-third-date type of timeline) and was surprisingly quick for her (she'd given blowjobs and handjobs to boyfriends in the past, but the only other person she'd actually had full-on intercourse with was her ex-husband). Once we finally crossed that barrier, though, you couldn't keep us apart. but she did have a bit of extra weight most of which she carried around on her chest (6DD). She'd taken the bra off in her car before we went to dinner, which I always enjoyed, but had a black jacket on to help preserve her modesty in case someone in the house was awake and came through. It didn't hurt that she was, physically speaking, my ideal woman. So it's getting to be fairly late, around :00 or :0 AM, Robin and I are still on the couch with the TV on and the lights off. The way the house was built, the living room (where I slept) and the kitchen and dining area were all in the back of the house, and all the bedrooms and restrooms were up front bit of a rough description, but the point I'm trying to get across is that we're in an area that isn't likely to have anybody else in the house passing through at this hour. Our living arrangements made it challenging to regularly get alone time, so as a result we were doing whatever we could whenever we had a chance. It gets to the point where we're desperately trying to think of a place we can fuck. And, of course, her boots. We'd had a bite to eat after I got out of work and came back to hang out since we were on my side of town anyway. Right here on the couch? I was never really attracted to any of the country girl kind of stuff before I dated Robin, but something about her accent and those boots was just. In one of the bathrooms? No, too close to the bedrooms and again, someone could wake up and need to use it. My nephew was at his dad's for the weekend and the other three occupants of the house were asleep, so Robin and I were starting to get very handsy with each other. Robin cocked her head a bit and shot me a sidelong glance with those big blue eyes. She was wearing this short red dress with a scalloped bottom that landed just above her knees. The door out to the back patio was right there in the living room, so we didn't have to go through the rest of the house to get to it, and as I said before all the bedrooms were in the front. We're racking our brains for a few minutes (challenging, considering most of our blood had been diverted elsewhere). On this particular night, we found ourselves on the couch at my mom's house (which doubled as my bed at the time yes, once again I was living on a couch) watching TV. The one risky element was that the house happened to back up onto a golf course; we were in the suburbs and there was a country club with a golf course built right in the middle of the community. No, there was still the chance that someone could come through to get to the kitchen for a drink or something. I thought about it for a second. I conveniently forgot about the misspent nights of my youth running around on the golf course with my friends, smoking and drinking and leaving garbage in the holes, and decided that the back patio was the perfect venue for tonight's main event. We'd done it in the car before but it's tight quarters. Robin removed her jacket as I slid my hand up the bottom of her dress, along her thigh, and found her shaved pussy (she never wore panties during this "anywhere, anytime" phase of our relationship). Out in one of our cars? Only a four foot tall wrought iron fence separated our yard from the eighth hole. it was :0 in the morning and there were no lights on the course. We made out on the couch a bit longer to get primed for the actual sex we were both okay with the back patio, but wanted to spend as little time as possible out there just in case. I pulled my finger out and quickly pushed it back in, along with a second one. The patio itself was paved and covered, and there were high hedges on either side of the yard so it was doubtful any night owl neighbors would see us. She sighed as I slid my index finger inside of her; we'd been groping each other on the couch for hours at this point, so I was met with very little resistance. With her jacket off, I could see her nipples straining against the thin fabric of her dress. After a few more moments of this, she reached under my waistband and gently closed her hand over my bare shaft, absentmindedly rubbing up and down the entire length of it while I continued to work her over. Robin sucked air through her teeth and closed her eyes. She pulled the hair on the back of my head with her other hand, and I bit down hard on her nipple. A few moments later she stopped stroking entirely and instead held onto my dick like a safety bar on a rollercoaster. I pushed my palm up against her clit and began rubbing, and she bucked hard against me, the plastic feet of the couch squeaking on the tile floor. She ran one hand through my hair while I continued biting and sucking her nipples through her dress. Soon I escalated by adding a third finger to the mix. She moaned, and I felt her cunt tighten around my fingers. I leaned down and gently bit on one. Robin's handiwork became more erratic and her breathing more rapid as she approached climax. Eventually the couch stopped squeaking and Robin's breathing returned to a more normal rate. There's something about the way that big, braless breasts move beneath a shirt or a dress like this that just gets me crazy, and watching Robin stand up and start walking towards the patio, I was practically rabid. More often than not, this was our sexual MO I would get her off with my hand or my mouth, then I'd be best free indian porn videos video (Visit Home Page) to do whatever I wanted to get mine. This way she was guaranteed to get off at least once, I didn't have to be self-conscious about whether or not I was satisfying her (a big part of my enjoyment in bed is the other person's enjoyment), and as a bonus for me she tightened up even more after cumming. I followed her right out (I left the patio light on it was an old fixture and thus pretty dim anyway, and there was no way the neighbors could see us through the hedges), closed the door behind me, grabbed her around the waist and pushed her up against the brick wall next to the door. A small plastic step stool was near the grill the kind you'd find in a bathroom so a child could reach the sink to brush their teeth. Outside," she whispered as she stood up. She released my fingers from between her legs. The height difference being resolved, we prepared to initiate docking procedures. I kicked the stool up against the wall, and Robin dutifully stepped up on it while I unzipped my shorts and pulled my cock out. After a quick glance around the patio, we found the perfect solution. I'm an even six feet tall, so she was considerably shorter than me. She hiked up her dress and lifted her left leg up and over my shoulder, still wearing those boots. I didn't know Robin in high school, but if I had I would've known she was on the drill team. With the other hand, she began rubbing my erection over my shorts. She threw her arms around my neck as I leaned forward and pressed my dick into her. I had to have her right there, but we quickly discovered a problem the height difference. We went at it like this for a few minutes. "Ohhhhh, Glib," she sighed. In the hazy patio light I could see her jaw clenching as I got to work. I let her left leg drop down beside me. This was the first time we tried a standing position like this the increased tightness from her recent orgasm and the added pressure of this particular angle. "Get your other leg up," I growled into her ear. It was working well, but I thought I could get a bit deeper if we got her other leg up too. Though she'd gained a sexiest porn video one porn of all time bit of weight since then (as we all do), she was still quite limber. I didn't really work out at the time, but I'm a fairly big dude and I was doing a lot of physical work at my job, so I knew I could handle it. She kicked her right leg up around my back the plastic stool clacking lightly against the pavement and squeezed her thighs around my waist. She opened her eyes and looked up at me. "Oh, fuck," she said, a little louder than was probably intended. " Robin tightened her grip around the back of my neck. The force of that first push caused her legs, which were crossed at the ankles behind my back, to uncross, and her boots now swung freely at my sides with every thrust. I was right I was now considerably deeper inside of her, and I felt the warmth of her body against my balls. The backs of my hands and her bare ass scraped against the brick outer wall, but neither of us cared. She hooked it around my back and I reached underneath her, bracing the length of her thigh against my arm and grabbing a handful of her ass to support her. "Hell yes I am," she hissed. Apparently it was outside so my nephew could "help" my brother at the grill. " Robin sat down on the stool with her knees up in front of her and her feet flat on the ground. I reached down with my free hand, grabbed young porn video one porn a handful of the other side of her ass, and leaned hard against the wall and into her. I wasn't wearing a condom so I told her I had to put her down so I could pull out. We went on like this a bit longer than I thought we would considering all the buildup (I guess the exertion of holding her up worked to delay things on my end a bit), but after about ten minutes, I began to feel that old familiar feeling. I set her down and reached down to finish myself off, but she grabbed my wrist. She leaned against the wall, her back straight, and held one of her hands straight up above her head. It was actually the first time I'd heard Robin use that particular swear word, so I was kind of alarmed. She was still holding my wrist with the other, so she put my hand on top of the one of hers that was against the wall. It took me two more to realize what she was getting at. She tilted her head back, looked up at me with those icy blue eyes, and opened her mouth. She did all this in the span of about two seconds. This gave me (and anyone who may have been behind us) a nice view of her shaved pussy. I exercised as much restraint as I could; rubbing her big ass raw against the brick wall was one thing, but I didn't want to accidentally crack the poor girl's skull. This was another first for us she'd blown me before a number of times, but she was always in control, and only swallowed maybe twice. I readjusted my grip and held both of her arms high above her head, against the wall, by the wrists. I went easy on her, being careful not to gag her, but I was really enjoying the whole domination aspect of it. I'd also never had a girl suck my dick immediately after I'd fucked her. Then she let go of my wrist and held her second hand up next to the first, wriggling her fingers to try and get them beneath my hand as well. I felt her tongue working my shaft, cleaning her juices off of me while I continued pumping in and out of her sweet face. Once again I leaned forward, slowly pushing my dick into her mouth and down her throat. Robin wanted me to fuck her face. As old fashioned and goody-goody as Robin was in most respects, she apparently had quite a kinky streak. It wasn't long before I felt my balls tightening again. I pushed my cock into her mouth one last time, grunted, and came straight down her throat. I fucked her face with slow, purposeful strokes all the way in, all the way out. A little lightheaded, I stepped away from her and zipped back up. I felt her tongue slowly working up and down the bottom of my dick, massaging out every last drop. Some distance behind me, I heard clapping. I spun around and faced the golf course. Thirty feet from our fence, there was an area of roughage with a few scattered trees. Finally spent, I extracted myself from Robin's mouth and released her hands. Holding her wrists against the wall with one hand, I reached down and gave one of her big tits a hard squeeze. She looked me in the eyes as I kept pumping what felt like the biggest load of my life into her. She gasped lightly each time I pushed into her, still trying to keep things relatively quiet. Robin and I froze, not sure how to react. She even still had her knees up, giving our admirers a full unobstructed view of her shaved goodies. All three started applauding. His buddy let out a loud "Woooooooooo! " one of the dudes shouted. I guess the golf course was still the place to be for bored, drunk kids in my neighborhood. The moonlight was fairly bright out on the golf course, and I could see that the two guys were holding bottles. " Their female companion yelled "I like your boots! I can only assume they had parked the golf cart there before we went outside and were hanging around the area drinking those electric carts are pretty quiet, but I THINK I would've heard one moving that close to us if they showed up after we came out. " That last comment shook Robin back into action and she immediately closed her legs and tried to pull her dress over her knees, but by that time the trio was already walking back towards the trees. I have no idea how long they were watching, but they must have seen quite a bit. No idea how Robin didn't see them creeping up to the fence though. About halfway between one of these trees and our fence, I could make out three people two guys and a girl. NOTE: A few years later, I heard this story from a friend of one of my sister's friends. He was one of the two guys, but didn't know my family at the time, and my mom had moved out of that house since then. She stayed sitting on the stool, rubbing her jaw and tilting her neck a bit. This is how I've been able to determine the rough ages of our audience. I kept as straight a face as I could and did not tell him that it was me he saw that night. TLDR: Girlfriend and I need a place to bone, have a pretty crazy late night session on the back patio, don't realize we have an audience on the golf course. If she has an exhibitionist side, she's kept it hidden from me (she is actually my wife now, so this story has a happier ending than my last one! Then again, I was pretty distracted. We stayed out there silently collecting ourselves for a moment. We watched, our faces burning with embarrassment, as they disappeared behind trees, reappearing on a golf cart and driving off further down the course.