#copy proof labels

[checko-ai-technology]

Anti-Counterfeiting Labels,2023

Do you need a packaging partner who can do the impossible? That has Checko Anti-counterfeiting labels are technology driven and are impossible to clone. Transpack packaging services by Checko are developed by the scholastic minds at renowned academic institution IIT Kanpur.

[foone]

I love finding out there's weird drama behind a song.

So, in 1967, a french songwriter named Jacques Revaux composes as song called "Comme d'habitude" (As Usual) with lyrics by Claude François and Gilles Thibaut. Claude François releases a version with him singing it, and it's enough of a hit that some music execs are trying to get someone to do an English version.

David Bowie's publisher happened to share an office with another publisher who brings in the record, and Bowie's publisher suggests Bowie could sing it. Bowie's manager thinks it's a sure-fire hit: He thinks Bowie is a good singer and lyricist, but not so good a composer, so by using the music of Jacques Revaux and Bowie's lyrics and voice, it'll easily sell lots of copies.

Bowie writes new lyrics, calls his version "Even a Fool Learns to Love", and records a demo in 1968. The French publishers of the original song turn him down, however: They want some big name singer if they're gonna sell the rights, not some unknown "David Bowie" guy (Space Oddity wouldn't be until 1969, so he wasn't a star yet, especially internationally).

So Paul Anka enters the picture, after hearing the song on French radio while on holiday. He's been a successful songwriter since the 50s, and he's a big enough star that the publishers of "Comme d'habitude" agree to sell him the rights (for 1 dollar. But Jacques Revaux's label retains the rights to the music, so they get royalties).

He then has a meeting with a singer and "some mob guys". The singer says he's getting out of the music business, he's sick of it. Paul Anka rewrites the lyrics to be about that idea: at the end of your career, looking back, and not having any regrets. He calls up the singer and offers the song.

in 1969, Frank Sinatra releases "My Way" to immediate success.

And this pisses Bowie off. He was going to release a version of "Comme d'habitude"! He wrote his own lyrics and even recorded it! Reportedly he was angry about this for a year, and decides "screw it, I can write a big song like that!". So he does, makes it sound "a little like My Way", and

So in 1971 he writes "Life on Mars?", as a parody of "My Way" and proof he can write songs like "My Way". It's included on his 1971 album Hunky Dory, and released as a single in 1973.

And since it's considered one of his best songs (as well as one of the best songs of all time), I guess he really succeeded in proving he could do that.

But yeah. Listening to "Life on Mars?" I never would have guessed it was connected to Frank Sinatra's "My Way"

[kanmom51]

https://twitter.com/parkjmwins/status/1782358915939774874

Idk whether you will even answer this ask or will block me but this is exactly why JK had similar concept pics like Jimin. Jikookers made it to be romantic while Fandom made it to a joke 'JK always copy Jimin' (ofcourse). I've seen you making multiple posts about Jikook concept pics being match is a proof of them being a couple when in reality Hybe don't even take permission of original artist before using their ideas for another. One hybe label just got into trouble for copying newjeans and according to CEO min heejin it was BANG SHIHYUK who wanted to copy newjeans to create a second version of them through illit. And guess what he made sure illit gets 10x more success than newjeans, a 2 day song was already charting in different charts including hot 100. The same bang shihyuk who ignored every bit of Jimin's success but shamelessly copied his ideas and visions of concept pics for another favorite member. He shamelessly asks staffs to copy original ideas of artists who created them and use them for a cheap version of the said artist, Newjeans and Jimin are just examples.

Was it JK's fault ? Not necessarily but unlike rookie Illit he had power and capability to make his own decisions and use his own visions instead of doing what he was asked to do by the staff (his words) but he didn't and sat comfortably while using another person's hardwork. If you still think those similarities were because they were couple then idk what to say because in that logic Newjeans girls and Illit girls are dating.

Talk about TikTok generation ask.

Linking me to a tweet that has zero actual information and/or proper discussion, just stating a fact that isn't necessarily even a fact. Ignoring the full picture (like y'all do when it comes to Jikook as well, btw).

And I also find it so so funny how you are basically hanging your all on something that a very problematic figure within the Kpop industry is claiming, all to try and deflect from despicable behaviour she's being accused of, including using and revealing private info of Hybe idols obtained in illegal and despicable manors, perhaps including having to do with certain private info leaking of certain BTS members (including the one person that you so vehemently claim to love and stand in defense of).

You think that by sending me this link you are proving something?

You say that you read through my posts. Well, obviously you've missed those many posts I've written explaining how JM and JK being a couple can be deducted not from one action or one behaviour alone, but the combination of many many actions or behaviours. A puzzle built of not 10 or 50 or 100 pieces, but one built of so many many more.

I find it funny how with everything that has been going on with JM and JK you guys are still at this.

We're back to JK copying JM.

Like seriously.

Like even if the whole NJ Illit thing was true there was some kind of a comparison to be made with these two men.

Like JK, who's album concept is 180 degrees different than JM's doesn't have stylists at his beck and call to create a concept that isn't a full on copy of JM's. Right down to the studs and colours and minutiae details of some of the outfits.

Like if he did copy JM, that same scorned poor JM (that's how you guys love to portray him, as a damsel in distress awaiting you to swoop in and save him) CHOSE to fly to NY to be with JK and spend Silver day there with him, travel with him multiple times and spend his entire 18 months in the army with that awful copy cat JK.

Your ask tells me that you have zero understanding in human interactions and relationships. JM saying time and time again, JOKING time and time again, about JK copying him, it's a tease but also something that he LOVES. How he inspires JK, how JK perceives him as his catalyst.

But this here, the photo concepts and the whole of JK's wardrobe while promoting, claiming it's all about copying JM is just bull crap. This was planned. And it was planned by the two of them. It's not a coincidence that JM happens to wear the bottom part of a two piece outfit months before JK wears the top part of the same exact outfit.

And if we are talking about copying, is it the concept he's copying or is he so far gone that he's literally copying down to the smallest of details?

Like seriously. You think that's about copying JM?

Or because it worked for JM so he thinks it will work for him? Literally same hairstyle rocking as JM had in Face? Cause why not use a concept that works? Seriously? JK's all "I should do this cause it worked for JM so it will work for me"?

Was that what he was thinking when he rocked a highlight of JM's hair colour over the years? That the colour works for JM so I should have a strand of that colour in my hair as well, copying his success? Is that the theory you're working with?

Or when JK wore the same jacket as JM on Valentines day, you know, in a clip that JM himself records and uploads, that JK also copying JM?

Babe, this isn't just about the concept pics either. And it's not just about Face and Seven or Golden. Wearing the actual same black leather or leather-like pants just because he couldn't find any other pants? That level of copying? Or perhaps it wasn't about copying and more about mirroring.

About "You are me I am you", which they have been screaming at the top of their lungs for years now!!!

It amazes me how you have zero issue in taking an over decade long complex super close relationship (no matter how you perceive it they are super close) and simplifying it into "JK copied JM's concept because JM's concept worked for him", or to even compare whatever went on with JK and JM and those similarities to a claim made (by a disgruntled and caught red handed employee of Hybe) about one new GG copying concepts and whatever from a GG that's been around for 2 years now. No connection between them. No long term relationships between the groups. One group supposedly copying from another. Yeah, definitely the comparison needed to be made between that and Jikook's behaviours or decision making.

How infantile of you.

Oh and that paragraph of yours at the end. Laughable really.

Like I already said, go compare 2 GGs in two different companies to 2 men that have been close for over 10 years now. And let's also disregard the long history of those two doing the similar and same outfit (during official shoots, performances etc, or during their free time) thing and look at this one single concept.

Probably styled (funny how the styling seems to be similar for years now on many occasions, and just with the two of them)

Not styled.

These are just examples of MANY MORE instances.

Oh, and I suggest you go read this post too. Not mine, but recently written and oh so relevant to the conversation.

I can't help but wonder how different your pov would have been if one of those two young men was a female. Just thought I would throw that in here too.

But I gotta give you an A for persistence. You guys, you never give up, do you? No matter what JK and JM will throw at you, you will find a way to twist it around to fit your narratives. I guess you also think that JM was forced into enlistment with JK, ah? And their trips together and the content that will drop, also forced on him? I guess him saying otherwise isn't enough to convince you guys either, right? I love the way how you guys are so intrenched in your belief of victimhood that you don't even listen to what JM himself tells you. You love him so much that basically call him a liar. Good for yous I guess.

So, to clarify my answer to you, just in case it wasn't as clear as day already...

You do you, cause nothing I tell you, or show you, or you know what? Nothing that even JM himself will tell you or show you will satisfy you. Because you are living in a self built fantasy of what and who JM is and what and who those that surround him are, all to fit that narrative of yours in which he needs you guys as his saviours and knights in shining armour to swoop in and save him from the big bad JK.

One more thing.

JM's Face was a masterpiece.

We all agree on that. JK included.

He adores JM, he's his no. 1 fan and he's been showing us this throughout 2023.

JK is not a person that would callously copy a concept used by a bandmate just because it succeeded for his bandmate and might work for him too.

Let alone from JM.

His person.

Not even if, as you put it, he was told to do so by the powers at be (which yeah, he'd tell to go shove it up their asses if they ever did 'tell' him to do that btw, and they wouldn't do it anyway seeing that they know that would be his exact reaction).

So, no.

That is my answer to you.

Just a whole big fat NOPE.

No to copying. And surprisingly no to blocking you.

Yet.

[valyrfia]

f1 drivers as tracks from the tortured poets department: a very abridged and very biased list.

DISCLAIMER: this is all for fun and should be taken very lightheartedly. Not all drivers were included, but I am open to suggestions as well as constructive criticism.

Without further ado:

CHARLES LECLERC - I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

Absolutely suicidal lyrics that should be mildly concerning but all in all very upbeat and makes you want to run around doing side quests. Such as write an album, or open an ice cream shop. I'm thinking this is specifically 2022 Charles when he trusted no one at Ferrari, or mid-2023 when everyone was calling him washed and calling for his teammate to be n1 driver, and then he proceeded to put it on pole in a tractor multiple times and still hasn't finished outside the top 5 since. Either way, I am looking forward how this song will hit when Charles gets his eventual championship.

MAX VERSTAPPEN - Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

This one is for Mad Max, who was thrust onto the world stage as an untested young prodigy at seventeen, who was called too young and immature and proceeded to win a GP upon debut in a top team, who was called Crashtappen from 2015-2019 and labelled as overly aggressive to his detriment, who was painted as a villain by every media outlet and documentary and DTS episode, who said "fuck the haters" and won championships anyway, who broke records, and made his own national anthem the expected song for every podium. A driver who is fast approaching greatest of all time status, for his win streaks alone. A driver that most others now just shrug about, because there's no shame in not choosing to fight the inevitable.

LEWIS HAMILTON - So Long, London

Ah, the heart-wrenching track of letting go of your long-term British relationship that doesn't serve you anymore. So many lyrics from here I could apply to the rumoured break down of amicable relations between Lewis and Mercedes, the team he won six championships with. From "My spine split from carrying us up the hill" to "I didn't opt in to be your odd man out. I founded the club she's heard great things about" to "you say I abandoned the ship But I was going down with it. My white-knuckle dying grip. Holding tight to your quiet resentment". Honestly, I could copy and paste all the lyrics here and they would apply to Lewis' Merc swan song. Taylor wrote "you swore that you loved me but where were the clues, I died on the altar waiting for the proof." about Abu Dhabi 2021.

CARLOS SAINZ - The Prophecy

Carlos has been delivering some of the best drives of his career this season, but it doesn't matter because he's not the chosen one, he's not il predestinato, he's not the son of Maranello. No matter what he does, he would never have kept that Ferrari seat over the mythos of Charles Leclerc. "Let it once be me. Who do I have to speak to, to redo the prophecy?"

LANDO NORRIS - Guilty as Sin?

Specifically given for half-flirting with Red Bull for most of last season, only to shake himself out of it and re-sign with McLaren, but I have one eye on him, not entirely sure he's given up on the Red Bull daydream, and Red Bull have been open about wanting to get him, if they can. It's all on Lando to stay faithful.

OSCAR PIASTRI - Fresh Out the Slammer

Piastrigate continues to inspire and compel an entire generation of F1 fans, and as such should form the basis of Oscar's song selection. What was the promises that Alpine made him, if not "Gray and blue and fights and tunnels Handcuffed to the spell I was under For just one hour of sunshine"

FERNANDO ALONSO - Florida!!!

Florida!!! is a big and powerful song about being a Shakespearean villain with a History and questionable morals and motives. Who is that if not Fernando Alonso? "Tell me I'm despicable, say it's unforgivable." "Is that a bad thing to say in a song?"

LANCE STROLL - But Daddy I Love Him

Yeah this one is self-indulgent and too good to resist. He's singing it about Fernando btw. Next.

DANIEL RICCIARDO - Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

Someone is getting that Red Bull seat next year, and every name is on the list except Daniel Ricciardo. "As the decade played us for fools, you saw my bones out with somebody new." Who knows what would have happened if Daniel hadn't left Red Bull, all those years ago? "Just say you loved me the way you were" Oof. We could spend years living in the What Ifs of it all.

[abstract-moth]

One detail I really like in Nimona is that everyone is a terrible detective

Ballister is in the spotlight the most bc he’s actively trying to prove his innocence. Except he’s real bad at it. Like the first time we see him after the whole Queen killing fiasco, his notes on the wall show that he already suspects the Squire knows something.

But then he does literally nothing about it.

Instead he strolls into the Institute with an iron-clad “trust me bro I’m innocent” argument that leads to extremely predictable consequences.

After Nimona gets him out of that mess, he actually talks to the Squire and miraculously get proof of his innocence! And then he promptly decides to not make a backup copy of the recording... or secure a witness statement... or even ensure the safety of his single witness (some knight he is). Instead Ballister simply walks straight back into the Institute again with a new “trust me bro, I’m innocent just look at this thing in my pocket first” and predictably looses all his evidence.

Then a third time, he and Nimona get sneaky and record the Director’s actual confession, uploading it for everyone to see. But they only take a small soundbite, which backfires on them later when the Director makes the very logical “we have proof Boldheart is working with a literal shapeshifter, so maybe it was a shapeshifter that said that.” Ballister and Nimona didn’t even show that the Director was in possession of Ballister’s sword or that she tried to stab Ambrosius.

And Ballister (and by extension Nimona) aren’t the only terrible detectives. It’s implied that nobody did a proper investigation after the Queen’s death or else the Squire’s testimony would have been uncovered.

Plus Ambrosius‘ suggestion that ‘hey maybe we should watch the clip for ten seconds longer to see if there’s anything else we missed” seems like a novel idea instead of standard practice. And upon discovering Ballister’s real sword, Ambrosius also makes no attempt to secure evidence of it’s existence within the Institute (which could prove Ballister’s innocence) and instead gives it away. 

Taken at direct face value, this makes the characters seem incompetent and unintelligent. But the genius is that it makes perfect sense within the larger narrative of the story why the knights are not taught investigative or problem solving skills.

They live in a society where “monsters” exist.

If monsters were allowed to have a voice, to prove to others that perhaps they are actually innocent, it would fundamentally shatter the perception that the accused were evil monsters to begin with. And this, in turn, would bring the entire system crumbling down.

Their society is one where anyone can be labeled a monster and there is no room for questions or analysis.

Truth does not matter.

Facts do not matter.

There is simply blind obedience to those already in power.

And this leads to innocent people being hurt. 

[persicipen]

ノ FICS FOR GAZA ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

all fics i’m working on and that are listed here are available for sponsorship through fics for gaza project. if you wish to sponsor any wip, please refer to @ficsforgaza for more information.

₊ ˙ ⊹ . how it works ノ donate to a verified fundraiser and send me a screenshot with a proof of donation through inbox, together with information which fic you wish to sponsor. the ask will not be posted.

USEFUL INFO — minors do not interact! i write adult fics for genshin impact and honkai star rail, mostly afab reader, no pronouns or gendered forms used unless stated in content warnings at the beginning of the fic (despite me adding fem labels to avoid displeasing someone).

₊ ˙ ⊹ . UPDATE 08ノ09ノ24 — a lovely soul sponsored two kinktober prompts (emotionally charged sex with zhongli and secret gothic romance with capitano) and four of short stories for a later date!

₊ ˙ ⊹ . UPDATE 14ノ09ノ24 — another big hearted soul sponsored ALL remaining kinktober prompts and additional short stories! please stay tuned for any future changes to this post.

( ≽⩊≼ ) ノ WHAT’S AVAILABLE…

ノ FIVE FICS KINKTOBER ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

first priority. prompts may slightly change (the base stays the same, i may add content warnings) or switch order. regardless of the word count (which definitely should be above 2k per fic as my average writing length is around that), each prompt is for an individual character and $5 to sponsor ノ except for the last one featuring more characters for $10 to sponsor.

✔ oct. 1st — emotionally charged sex

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . genshin impact ノ zhongli

✔ oct. 8th — edging . orgasm denial

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . honkai star rail ノ jiaoqiu

✔ oct. 15th — corporal punishment

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . genshin impact ノ kamisato ayato

✔ oct. 22nd — secret gothic romance

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . genshin impact ノ capitano

✔ oct. 29th — gangbang

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . honkai star rail ノ foursome with aventurine, dr. ratio and sunday, inspired by their shared scene during the 2.1 penacony quest (reader is sunday’s servant)

ノ SEPARATE WORKS ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

₊ ˙ ⊹ . these take a lower priority than five kinktober works, but i will focus on them once fics above get sponsored. will be regularly updated if anything changes or gets sponsored.

you can pick a short story from my work in progress list (also copied below) and sponsor it for $5 to force me to write them faster ノ a lighthearted joke, but technically true. i will feel obligated to finish them in the chronological order of receiving proof of donations. no sponsoring for longer wips for now.

CURRENT SHORT STORIES (not) AVAILABLE—

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . feixiao’s favourite concubine visits her in a tent during the resting hour to bring a special scroll from lingsha…

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . waking up from a nightmare where you died — aventurine . dr. ratio . sunday…

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . helping wriothesley fight the fever in a certain way…

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . dragon zhongli returns from the archon war and claims his gifts, including a young priestess sent to welcome him in the shrine…

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . dendro archon alhaitham testing your loyalty by subduing you to his vines and flowers, and a certain pollen…

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . a maid at the dawn winery brings breakfast to diluc, but he wants to eat something else…

SPONSORED! ₊ ˙ ⊹ . moon rage takes the best of jiaoqiu’s foxian instincts in your presence…

[lucystark12]

how to convince the ga that byler isn't rushed (kind of just a rant about lettergate)

they need to and i mean NEED to vecna mike because the only way the ga will understand that byler has been built up since the beginning is if we’re given scenes in context. we as bylers obviously get it but byler is at risk of being labeled “too rushed” if they don’t put effort into referencing the important parts of mike’s feelings developing.

the audience doesn't really have a problem with believing that will is gay and in love with mike because there are things in his arc that are just obvious and clearly point to that.

but mike on the other hand is in the middle of a love triangle. unlike most of the other main characters, mike isn't open about his feelings. we don't get his internal monologue. he doesn't tell others how he's feeling. thats why its so easy for bylers and milevens alike to interpret his every move in either direction. it's purely because we don't know. so, in season five, there are things they have to address and give concrete meaning to so that people understand how byler actually does make sense.

the most important scene that i’ve already kinda talked about to do this is...

this one, obviously, the most important little part of all of byler's season three. i want vecna talking about this. i want mike thinking about this. it’s crucial. it’s essential. his behavior here is weird as hell! it even reads weirdly in a script that was released and then edited quickly after. it's important and it needs to be addressed and treated as such. in the script (forgive me if i'm off, i don't have a copy of it so this is from memory) it reads as "what's wrong with me?" that obviously points our way, but since we don't get his internal monologue there's no way to be sure. it needs to be addressed.

this is also kinda lettergate proof because i think the unsent letters and the fact that mike did try to call will also be essential to proving what was going on with him during the gap between season three and four. if i were in charge of the show, i would do a whole flashback sequence to these six months. i want to know exactly where he is, what he’s doing, what he's thinking, how the people around him are reacting to his behavior. we need a shot of the love, mike. it's SO IMPORTANT.

literally i could scream about how important (and likely) lettergate is.

one thing that REALLY scares me about lettergate is the possibility of them reddieying us. yes that is now a verb. for any of you who never had an it 2017 phase, reddieying is where richie and eddie, two characters, had feelings for each other but never admitted it. at the end of the movie after eddie dies, we get this scene:

this is what i like to call reddieying. and yes that is also finn wolfhard. this is why we are scared.

the letters could be used in a VERY similar way if either mike or will dies to express the love that they both once had for each other. closure of sorts. i think that would be VERY poor writing (we've all heard my theory about how mike's love for will is literally essential to the ending of the show) but i think it's highly possible especially given the overlap between it and stranger thing's fandoms. the letters could be read at the end in a similar way to the way hopper's was, sad heroes and all. this draws another parallel.

yes i am bringing newtmas into this. fuck you.

above is a letter written by newt from the maze runner to thomas. newt is confirmed gay by the author of the book, and this letter is written to thomas but never read by him until newt dies. letterboxd reviews of this movie read:

"that letter at the end was the gayest thing I’ve ever witnessed and I’ve seen call me by your name."

"homophobia is thomas reading newt’s declaration of love and the shot cutting to thomas scratching his ex’s name into the rock ABOVE newt’s"

"newt, to thomas: "and i remember you. [...] i knew i would follow you anywhere. and i have." me: *im ready to be queerbaited again meme*"

and i didn't even have to search for these. these were like the top couple reviews of the movie. they were all on the first page of reviews.

all i'm saying is, by having the letter be an idea in our minds, they've set up a way to kill off one of the characters and still have a slightly resolved, weirdly up to interpretation ending. i do still think it's poor writing. i could kind of go into that too if anybody is interested.

i think that if lettergate is used as a device during mike's flashbacks to show how long he's felt this way that they will be using this thing they've set up for good, however, if they newtmas us and reddie us i might die. just letting you know.

[lieswetell]

IFHY (Jordan Li x Alt!Reader) PT 1

Tags~ roommate au, enemies to lovers, alt reader, tattooed reader, slow burn, supe!reader, afab!fem!reader

Warnings~ angry sex, jordan might be a lil mean, porn w plot bc im freaky like that, drugs, alcohol, gay shit

Monday, August 7th

“It’s only one semester. This will be over before you know it,” Mia said.

You want to hear her out and try to be optimistic about the situation, but it’s complicated. Having your own dorm was rare in Godolkin. Students who did usually paid an ungodly amount for the extra privacy or were gifted one because of their current sponsors. For you, in your previous two years, it had been a mixture of both.

“This is bullshit.” You complain and have to force yourself not to roll your eyes at your phone.

Mia hadn’t done anything wrong. She was doing everything she could to get you what you wanted. However, it wasn’t playing out in your favor this time. You were still in your dorm, trying to cling on to that last bit of single dorm life you could, even though you were moments away from the move.

“Look. I love you, but there isn't anything else I can do. Some of these kids will probably be out in a few months.” Mia tried to help you look on the bright side of the situation.

You have yet to respond to what your assistant was telling you. Instead, you just kept looking around the now-empty dorm with a mournful gaze.

“Shetty says it’s a large roo-” Mia added.

“My room was plenty big enough,” You complained again. This time, the words came out in a sort of whine that would remind anyone else of a toddler.

 You got up from the floor and wiped your hands on your pants. After taking a deep breath, you closed the last bin in your room.

“One semester.”  You sighed.

“One semester,” Mia said, her voice a lot more positive than yours.

“When are you recording that video for-”

“Alright, look at the time the moving team is here. Can’t be late.” You cut her off and blew her a kiss before hanging up on her.

The moving team wasn’t anywhere near your room, and you knew that. If you focused, you could hear everyone in the building. There wasn’t a trace of dickheads with whistles anywhere near you.

The Godolkin University moving team usually consisted of sophomore students with too much strength to know where to put it. Many were from various clubs or programs that forced them to help incoming students. 

You started to stack your bins and luggage outside of your room on your own. Typically, the moving team would assist the students. Still, it was effortless for you to carry the items, and you thought if you looked around your dorm for any longer, you might burst into tears. That wasn’t very productive or good for your image if anyone were to see it. So you popped in your earbuds and started to lift the bins. When finished you put the label on your crate 465.

 With the headphones in your ears, you didn’t notice just how much more lively it was. Most of your floormates were in other single dorms with other upper-level students. So you would only really run into a few people if any, daily. With the influx of incoming students moving in, you would easily have trouble avoiding anyone. According to your assistant Mia, every dorm room was filled(yayyyy godolkin for not allowing students to live off campus).

After skipping an array of songs, Spotify somehow thought would suit your style, someone poked you on the shoulder.

“You’re 17#, right? Big fan, honest.”The boy said. Something you noticed everyone said after they wanted to snap a quick picture with someone. You couldn’t complain, though you had no proof this person was lying to you.

“Nice to meet you.” You said and copied the same amount of excitement. The perfect amount to seem genuine but still cool enough to feel above them in that weird way you can only get from social media. You extended your hand, and he shook it eagerly.

You didn't feel that way, of course. That’s just the game and how you needed to perform. All to get where you needed to be. Being a hero was a machine full of moving parts, and Mia has been training you since you were fourteen.

“Can I get a picture?” He asked, and you nodded before he could get the sentence out.

Always…

“Always always…” you answered happily. You quickly adjusted your hair and gave the boy a side hug.

The selfie came out nice. Cute and wholesome. You made sure he tagged you on the picture and used a few of your hashtags. You gazed around, wondering who was assisting him with the move. He just looked around at your bins before looking back up at you.

“Is there anything fragile in there?” He asked awkwardly. It seems he hadn't shaken off the nerves from meeting you. It was so silly to you. You weren’t Homelander or Queen Maeve.

“Yeah, the fragile stuff is in that box right there. Marked fragile in bold red tape…”

The boy then looked back at you with a look you couldn’t place. Before you could even realize what was about to happen, his arms stretched out to unnatural lengths as if he were made of rubber. He lifted all of your bins simultaneously. He wrapped and stacked them into the carts and secured them as if his arms were bungee cords. It was astonishing. You had never seen that power before, and although it was slightly disgusting, it was cool.

Just as you went to pat him on the back, a box on top crashed to the floor. You heard the glass shatter and knew instantly it was the fragile box he so kindly placed on top of everything to avoid it getting crushed. Just my luck. That was definitely the bong in there that you’ve had for a few years. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I've been stretched out all day. Things are starting to fall out.” he apologized genuinely.

“Lemme guess you are usually super tight?”

Your roommate was finished moving all of her things to the other side of the room. It definitely started as a struggle, but after a bit of time, Jordan started to get the hang of it. Early in the process, he was just bitching to himself about having to do this in the first place. He didn't really have anyone to complain about it to. His friends were rooming with each other, and he was the only one stuck rooming with a new person.

 His parents didn't understand his frustrations, and instead, they were just happy he would be rooming with a girl. Jordan tried explaining his irritation to Brink, but that was also a no-go. All Brink did was reframe the situation by saying it could somehow make Jordan a better hero.

“Are there seriously no fucking quads in this place?” Jordan complained to no one.

He sat on his loveseat on his couch and scrolled on his phone. He debated not being in the room when his new roommate arrived. Jordan heard that people had done that, but he was too nervous to do it himself. What if you stole something? What if you wanted to put your stuff on his side? Maybe you were a weird freshman? Or worse, a fan of him?

He sat back on the couch. His feet were planted firmly in front of him, and he scrolled on his phone. It was a position he often found himself in. In this form, his feet were actually able to reach the floor when he sat all the way back on the couch comfortably. In the other one, her feet dangled and gave off a less intimidating look than the one he was currently in.

There was a soft knock on the door. Jordan rolled his eyes and stayed in his position. Why would he open the door? If they were supposed to be moving in, they surely would have a key, right? He looked at his door open. Jordan wasn’t really sure what to expect to be standing in the doorway. 

When the ugly beast finally reared its head, Jordan finally exhaled. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until you waved at him.

“Hi” You said

It’s all you can offer him at the moment. The little helper you had assisting you barged in soon after you greeted Jordan. Jordan didn't even say anything to you. He just looked at you from his spot on the loveseat then his eyes trailed over to the freshman who couldn’t maintain eye contact with you.

“Looks like! Holy shit Jordan”

“Yeah.” He just nodded, confirming that he was indeed Jordan Li

The freshman stood awkwardly with your things and stared at Jordan. The interaction was just already a lot weirder than it needed to be. So you stood at the door and tried to think of a way to intervene in the impromptu staring contest.

“Thanks. You can just leave it right here. I can do the rest.” You thanked him with a big smile

With another resounding crash, he let go of the bins, and you winced. Jordan even was taken aback by the sound and rolled his eyes

“Are you sure, ma’am?” he asked 

He sounded genuine even though he treated your belongings like they were indestructible. You buffered for a moment and realized what he said

“Ma’am? How old do you think- never mind, just leave thanks.” You shooed him away and exhaled softly

“Bye”

He watched you. You unpacked your things, and he stayed put and just watched you. He was cycling through so many things in his head. Being so last minute, this situation didn't give him any time to prepare. The only thing he did was clean and move his shit to one side of the room. He was grateful that he could at least recognize you from the ranking. The unknown was scary like that. Jordan knows you have been slowly climbing your way to the top. Your reputation was squeaky clean. Your brand was sweet, innocent, and confident. 

Your brand didn't mean he trusted you, though. Anyone with more than two fucking brain cells at this school knew that your ‘brand’ or ‘online presence’ meant absolutely nothing. Just because you waltz in here with your big smile and wave doesn't mean he will let his guard down. Roommate or not, you still had the potential to be a big fucking dick.

“Yeah, just don’t touch any of my shit, and we should be fine.” Jordan said without looking up from his phone.

He sat comfortably slumped on the sofa. The uninterested appearance he’s in pissed you off. Oh, so he’s just like this? You could do this, though. You wouldn’t let him see that you were frustrated. People like him lived off of that shit, and you wouldn’t give him what he wanted. You just nodded and gave him another smile, one real enough to be convincing.

“I understand. You do have some nice things. Probably wouldn’t want anyone getting into it either.” You said in that cheerful voice that you had been trained to perfect. 

That time, Jordan did look at you. He was now thoroughly annoyed and over the roommate situation. In his eyes, he tried. In the twenty minutes you had been in the room, Jordan considered everything he had done ‘trying’. This situation wouldn’t work, though. He just wasn’t built to share rooms with a random person.

-

-

-

Wednesday, September 27th

“Jesus Christ, do you ever fucking fucking knock?!” Jordan shouted

You did knock. You dented the door to your room because you were banging on the door for about ten minutes. You even shot Jordan a few texts saying when you would return to the dorm. Of course, she hadn’t responded to any of them; she never did.

So you said fuck it and broke the lock on your door and walked into the room. Jordan was riding some junior in her bed. The sight wasn’t new to you, so you were unfazed. Seemingly to you, Jordan never really cared about you seeing her naked. It was more of the fact you were interrupting her that was the problem. In the two months you have been rooming with Jordan, you have walked in on her having sex four times.

The first time, it came as a shocker. You squealed and covered your eyes, immediately leaving the room and shooting her a few apology texts. When you left, Jordan just continued on like it was nothing. Like you were just a temporary pause. This time wasn’t like that. You walked in and closed the door behind you.

So you waved at the man who was underneath Jordan on the bed. He looked at you with a confused look, then turned to look back at Jordan, who was bewildered.

“You're not usually my type, but I think I could be down for both of you,” The man said, then looked back up at Jordan curiously.

You just walked toward your desk, sat down, and started up your laptop.

She climbed off him and huffed, “Get out”.

Then the man shuffled awkwardly around the room and tried to pick up his clothes. He slipped the condom off and didn't know what to do with it, so he tried to hand it to Jordan. She pointed towards the door, so he just nodded and held it as he left the room. His clothes were still crumpled in his other hand, covering his dick. You shook your head slightly, knowing that type of thing was far too normalized in this school.

“Do you purposely do that?” Jordan asked you sharply. It was more of an accusation. He barely spoke to you, and when he did, it was always intending to fight.

“Do what?” You asked and logged into the Godolkin portal.

“Wait until I’m using the room to appear out of thin air” She complained and stepped closer to you.

Whenever Jordan spoke to you, it was like they were a nagging little voice that you had to physically restrain yourself from losing your cool with. You didn’t want to risk an argument with Jordan, no matter how much of a bitch she was. It just wasn’t worth it. It would be optimistic to think that Jordan wouldn’t somehow get you lousy press from the situation. It was also optimistic of you to think that one day, Jordan would just stop trying to fight the fact that they would have to live with someone.

Every day you felt like you were seconds from Jordan finally saying fuck it and starting beef with you publicly just to fuck up your rank. Being ranked seventeen wasn’t the best you could be, but to most people, being in the top one hundred was quite an accomplishment. Job security was a hard thing for supes to find, and you weren’t going to fuck up your brand just because Jordan was having a bad day.

“Oh, please. I texted you, Jordan. Multiple times,” It came out with a little more emotion than you intended. Patience wasn’t your strength today.

“You didn’t,” She said flatly.

You huffed and pulled your phone out of your bag. When you pulled up the text chain to show her. You looked away awkwardly when she turned around to grab her phone. For some reason seeing her ass suddenly felt invasive, although she was so chill about it. Once again, she was more pissed about the fact she didn't cum.

“That’s not even my number.” She showed you her Apple ID and rolled your eyes.

“Who’s fault is that?” You asked her this time; your tone couldn’t have been mistaken for anything but annoyed.

Jordan realized what she did and grabbed your phone out of your hand. You scoffed at the action and tried to snatch it back, but she was faster than you. Probably in both forms, unfortunately. Jordan just updated the contact info and handed you back your phone(which you snatched out of her hands immediately).

“You could’ve knocked,” Jordan said, and you did a sharp inhale.

You looked up at her, then back down at your phone at the updated info. It was hard not for you to be pissed about the fact he lied to you. So many arguments could’ve been avoided, but of course, she couldn’t even give you her number.

“I did. For about ten minutes. Maybeyouweretoobusycreamingondicktohearaboutit” 

The words came out as a rushed whisper. The struggle of trying to hold your anger was starting to become not only a mental challenge but a physical one.

“What did you say?”Jordan asked. This time, he almost seemed kind of excited, which didn't help you calm your nerves in the slightest.

“The locks broken, by the way. You locked me out, so I had to break it open. I’ll schedule a maintenance worker to check it out around five,” You told him. The facade was back up. You were no longer spewing attitude at him.

The maintenance request was sent, and Jordan was left confused at the sudden change in demeanor. He was excited for a second that it seemed you finally had a moment of real fucking emotion with him. Jordan would much rather be alone in his dorm, but your unwavering positivity threw him off more than he intended.

Jordan could recall a few times he would complain and rant about you to his friends during smoke seshes. It had only been two months, but he felt like he wasn’t even rooming with a natural person. Something about you was too perfect, too clean, just all around, too bland. He was excited to talk to a person for that quick moment there. It's not the brand you posted for everyone to see. 

He went back to the other side of the room in defeat. He sat on top of his bed. Jordan never stopped looking at you. You slipped up, and maybe that gave him hope(he would never admit it).

“I need the room at five,” Jordan said.

You furrowed your brows and looked over at the calendar on the wall. Each day that passed, scribbled out with a blue Sharpie. You shook your head and looked over at him.

“You have class. It’s Wednesday,” You said matter of factly.

Jordan rolled his eyes and mumbled

.“No, I don’t.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. He could be so petty sometimes for no reason, and this was one of those moments.

“Did you just disagree with me just because?” You asked him.

Jordan couldn’t think of a comeback or words to say. You talked to him in that weirdly positive tone despite clearly being irritated with him again. Maybe his dick twitched a little, but he ignored that.

“Jordan, put some clothes on, okay?” 

“Fuck you”

“Your dick is out”

“Have a great day”

Maintenance fixed the door problem by 5:13 pm. It was a simple fix. A new doorknob was installed, but a couple of dents from your early frustration remained a reminder. Afterward, you were alone in your dorm, struggling to wait forty minutes to join a lecture.

  It was a struggle not to nod off in front of your computer. Online classes always felt like a good idea when you signed up for them, but you soon realized they were a trap. It is a carefully crafted trap for you to waste your time on the course because you couldn't keep your eyes open long enough to listen to your professor drone on about the importance of… You fell asleep.

You needed the relief anyway. It was a struggle to keep holding up the illusions you were. The influx of incoming students fucked you over. Having a roommate who hated you meant you were always using your powers. You couldn’t trust him not to try and ruin your brand. The only times you would have a break from having to cast an illusion was when Jordan was out doing whatever the fuck he did besides training and sulking.

Illusions fell around you—your side of the room that was once pale blue and pink warped into black and purple. Your hair, which once seemed to be tied tightly in a bun, fell around your shoulders. The pink sweater you wore was replaced with a black hoodie you had for years. The illusions you had concealing your tattoos shattered. The ink from your arm sleeve peaked out from the wrist of your hoodie.

-

-

-

“Who are you texting?”Andre asked 

It was late. Jordan sat on the couch in his friends' dorm and tried not to be bitter that there were only three bedrooms. He typed in his phone, angry you weren’t responding. Why does he have to deal with this? He’s pretty sure when he leaves that, all three of them just crash in the living room in a pile like cavepeople anyways. Andre’s room was always too fucking clean for anyone to actually stay in there.

He leaned over on the couch to try and take a peak at Jrdan’s phone. Jordan leaned away, mildly irritated with his friend. Andre just shrugged and made a face at Cate. Cate rolled her eyes, already knowing where this conversation was going to go. It was the only thing Jordan talked about the past couple of weeks.

“My hell of a roommate,” Jordan complained and rolled his eyes.

You hadn’t responded to the last ten texts he sent. He was trying to be better to you. He might've felt a bit guilty about giving you the wrong number for that long. So now he was trying to do what you would have done for him. He planned on bringing the same guy from earlier back over, but you wouldn’t respond to him.

“Oh, she cant be that bad?” Cate said, trying to be positive about the situation.

“Cute, you guys are texting,” Andre whispered.

Jordan heard him, however, and switched. Before Andre had a chance to react, Jordan slapped him in the back of the head. The touch was light but quick. Andre chuckled softly and then raised both of his hands.

“Well, I’m trying to tell her I'm on my way back to the dorm. Might need it in a few,” Jordan explained and put his phone away.

“Why do you look so stressed?” Luke asked.

To be honest, he was the only one not caught up on the whole Jordan hating her roommate thing. He thought she would get over it in a week, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. Jordan still hated you basically for existing at this point. Luke tried to lock in on the situation, but he was still pretty high from the session that just ended.

“She isn’t fucking responding,” Jordan whined.

“It’s fine. It’s only been like ten minutes,” Luke stated.

Luke’s eyes looked around the room for whatever the fuck he was missing. Cate just laughed beside him.

“Since the last text I sent. I texted her five hours ago,” Jordan added, her arms crossed in front of her.

“It’s probably nothing,” Luke assured her, although he didn't understand why the situation was that. 

Serious. Cate understood it, though. Even if, at the time, Jordan didn’t understand, she could have seen it already. Cate had a weird way of just knowing.

“Yeah, what are you so worried about?”Andre asked, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

Jordan looked away and flipped him off. Cate and Andre shared another look, and Jordan wanted to flip the couch over. She didn’t though

“Fuck off, Dre.”

“Who is she again? Freshman?” Cate asked

“No, junior.” Jordan answered.

“Who is it?”Luke asked, hoping that maybe that would explain Jordan’s frustration.

When Jordan answered, none of them had much of a reaction, which wasn’t very satisfying for Jordan. Andre didn’t even know who you were talking about(he didn't pay attention to the rankings much). Cate just nodded, taking in the info. It was always funny to her how the most liked people could be some of the worst. Luke didn't run with Jordan’s opinion of her roommate. He knew how dramatic Jordan could sometimes be, and he was pretty sure she would've hated any roommate she was assigned to just because they were an inconvenience to Jordan.

Jordan didn't like the feeling of being interrogated, so the hangout was cut shorter than normal. Once she answered one question, it was like he opened Pandora’s box of bullshit, and everyone wouldn’t get the spotlight off of her. So, she gave up on reaching out to the guy from earlier and instead was banging on the door of her dorm room like a mad woman.

“Dude, open the fucking door!”Jordan shouted.

He didn't want to break the door again, but the longer he stood outside, the more appealing of an idea it became. Inside the dorm, you were still fast asleep at your desk. The exhaustion from overusing your powers took a severe toll on your body. You had been out cold the entire time. All illusions previously placed on you and your things were deactivated.

“C’mon, this is really petty. Just open up.” Jordan said again, but you couldn’t hear him.

A hard alarm sounded in your ear. You shook your head awkwardly, then scrambled to check your laptop.

Take your pill

You nodded and stood up to take your birth control. You made it three steps before you fell because of the loud bang at your door. Shit. Jordan’s voice yelled something behind the door that you couldn’t quite make out at the moment. All you knew was that you needed to hurry and get all the illusions back up. You waved your hands a bit, trying to tap into Jordan’s psyche once you were confident enough that the illusions were back up, and you dry-swallowed your birth control and made your way to the door.

Act normal

“Hey, sorry I got caught up in studying?” You answered the door with a smile.

“Fine, whatever. I texted you, though.” Jordan looked at you, partially confused

It didn't make sense to him. You went hours without answering him, and your excuse was that you got caught up studying. What the fuck? You didn’t even look tired? Jordan hated you. You closed the door behind him and sat on your bed.

[wickedfreakho]

You and Eren just moved into the city. The streets are busy as cars rush by, trying to get absolutely nowhere, buildings stand tall and block out certain areas of sunlight.

It's fairly nice in the heart of the city. You've had a bit of city girl in you, having traveled to the city with your parents from a small town just a few miles away.

Eren on the other hand was from the country and lived on a farm with his parents. He rarely ever visited the city unless it was to get a surprise gift for mother's day or tools that his father needed when it came to harvesting crops.

You both decided to move to the city for better job opportunities, especially since you had plans to travel the world in the future. But for now, you guys had to focus on getting and saving up the money for that.

Eren worked at an environmental justice company that helped brainstorm ideas to fix climate change while fundraising and putting in the action. You worked as a nursing assistant at a local clinic close to your apartment.

You loved your job, your apartment, your life in the city. It was quite enjoyable, especially with Eren around. When you guys both came home from work in the later afternoon, all you guys wanted to do was cuddle and soak in each other presence.

The apartment was modest, nestled in a charming brick building that has seen generations come and go. The apartment wasn't too small or too big, but just right for the both of you. There were still cardboard boxes that needed to be unpacked such as old books, personal documents, photographs and decorative items; but the important things were set up.

Today, the both of you were unpacking the rest of everything so that your apartment could take a sense of home. Eren picked up the heavy cardboard box labeled "books" and carried them over to the large white shelf closest to the balcony of the apartment.

You on the other hand, pushed the box labeled "family photos" over to the same shelf. Eventually, organizing the two to blend the both of your backgrounds and start to create a unique tapestry in this new chapter of your lives.

"Oh I have something to show you by the way" Eren exclaimed all of a sudden, his eye sparkling. Curious, you followed him out to the small balcony that overlooked the city's skyline. Eren unveiled a series of potted plants he's been nurturing overtime. "I thought we could start a small garden here on the balcony..it's not much but it's a start"

Smiling like an idiot in love, you were so touched by the gesture as you stood closer to Eren. You never noticed this, so it was a shocking surprise. "I love it! It's so perfect, thank you Ren." You looked up at him then down to his lips. It's like he read your mind when he pulled you into a gentle kiss.

The softness of his lips against yours lightened your soul. The kiss conveyed all the unspoken words and emotions you shared. It was a kiss filled with warmth and promises. A silent pledge of love as your hearts synced with the rhythm of your shared, intimate moment.

BITCH I ATE THIS SO BADD LMFAOOO anyways it look me a fkn while to find the time to write this but i hope you guys enjoy it a little. lmk if there's any grammar mistakes that need to be fixed even though i proof read.

@ wickedfreakho , pls don't copy, translate, or repost my work without my permission babes <3.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

“Israel is going out of it’s way to be cartoonishly evil, for literally no benefit, when they could already turn Palestine into a parking lot with conventional weapons.”

Also, if the device is so dangerous, why is someone just casually handling it? Is it somehow set up so that only pulling the key releases it?

The irony is that sayruq is posting this nonsense to stan for folks who directly attack Israeli civilians with conventional weapons, and also tell their own civilians to ignore Israeli warnings.

https://youtube.com/shorts/CJFm1e5O_K4?si=DDrgWZBUB7yShBs5

https://youtube.com/shorts/rJO1zPaDjtc?si=q4_Tk2OKKK9VZCnc

Disclaimer: didn’t watch these videos that Angerybell linked.

Someone else’s post:

Those are containers for M603 fuzes for detonating landmines, and they are literally labelled as 'fuze mine'. They're dropped on the ground because they are small objects that aren't super important, and sometimes people drop things.

And it takes a minimum of 140 pounds of force to activate that fuze and set off the explosion. Given that people normally don't have to apply the force of literally an entire human body to open a goddamn can of meat, I really doubt anyone's going to be 'tricked'. Especially since the supposed fake can of meat is literally labelled as actually being an explosive.

(Source)

This particular line of bullshit was posted in January, and quickly debunked. And if you'd click on the notes at all, you'll see the reply section is also full of people pointing out that this is a blatant lie. Also, OP I'd love to see some sources on that 'exploding toys' claim, because I've seen multiple blogs posting a photo of the debunked exploding can story with that exact paragraph copy-pasted underneath, and frankly that's a bit of a red flag in terms of reliable information. Given that you're not fact checking something you posted yesterday that was debunked over a month ago, I really don't trust your unsourced copy-pasted paragraph accusing a Jewish state of going out of its way to kill children. Because given the very long history of Jewish people being brutally murdered over false accusations of them killing and eating christian/muslim children, you need to be very fucking careful when you make a claim like that. If your accusation isn't backed with rock solid proof that you are openly presenting, you're just blindly spreading blood libel, and that's basically the textbook definition of antisemitism.

(Explanation of blood libel)

I wish people would stop misusing “blood libel” for things that are not in fact blood libel, but are still racist, anti-semitic horseapples.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more

Read after the cut...

-

For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.

Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.

You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.

As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.

Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.

In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.

Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.

Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.

Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.

You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.

It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.

Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.

You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.

When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.

So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.

Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.

One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.

You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.

You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.

“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”

An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.

It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.

The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.

You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.

Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.

Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.

Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.

Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.

You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.

In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.

“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”

You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.

Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”

Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”

“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”

You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.

“So what do I get if I say yes?”

“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”

At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.

“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”

Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”

“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”

With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.

“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”

“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”

He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.

“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”

“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”

You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.

Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.

That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.

You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.

Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.

“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”

The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.

Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.

Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.

“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”

Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”

Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”

The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.

“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”

“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”

Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.

Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.

“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”

“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”

Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.

“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.

The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.

“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.

“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”

You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.

“Just okay?”

At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.

*

As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.

At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.

It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.

Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.

Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.

You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.

Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.

"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"

It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.

Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.

"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."

You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.

"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."

Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.

You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.

He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.

Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.

Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.

Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.

Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.

In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.

If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.

Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.

“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.

"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”

Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.

“What about me?”

“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.

“I’ll bet.”

Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.

“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”

The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.

Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”

Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.

“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."

“I see,” says Hannibal.

He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.

“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”

This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.

“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”

You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.

By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.

Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”

Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”

The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.

Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.

“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.

“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”

He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.

“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”

Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.

Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.

“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.

An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.

“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”

“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”

He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.

For once you do not care.

The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.

Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.

The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.

“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”

“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”

Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.

“Alana was here earlier,” he states.

“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”

“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.

Hannibal chuckles.

“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”

You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.

“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.

“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”

The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.

“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”

“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.

Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”

The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.

“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.

“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”

Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.

Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”

Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.

“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.

“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”

You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.

Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.

“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.

His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.

“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”

His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.

“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”

Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.

“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”

“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”

Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”

Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.

Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.

“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”

You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.

Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.

Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.

This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.

“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”

You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.

All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.

“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”

This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.

You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.

“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.

Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.

Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.

Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.

Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.

His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.

“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.

Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—

Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.

Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.

Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.

He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.

But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.

He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.

No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.

Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.

You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.

Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.

You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.

Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.

“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”

Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”

The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.

The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.

The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”

[hello-nichya-here]

My love for MJ aside, speaking purely as someone who is looking into all the accusations against him and trying to be as unbiased as possible, it's CRAZY how the fans are labeled as being "in denial about the truth" when they are clearly correct in saying there's more than enough proof of his innocence.

Literally EVERYTHING is on Michael's side: eye-witnesses, videos, recorded phone calls, documents, and well-over a decade of FBI investigations, all of which contradict every single part of the stories about the supposed child abuse.

The proof of his innocence goes from "The pictures police took of Michael's genitals did not match the description the kid provided" to "This family that claims Michael kidnapped them and forced them to sell all their stuff, including their house, so they'd be dependent on him was confirmed to be lying since they still owned all the things they said they were forced to sell", all the way to "Michael wasn't even in the same country as the supposed victim at the time, and in fact, the very ROOM in which the the abuse allegedly happened did not even exist yet"

Not to mention proof that first "victim" (Jordan Chandler) was coerced by his abusive father into accusing Michael, that the family of the second "victim" (Gavin Arvizo) already having a history of scams that included lying about sexual abuse, and the Leaving Neverland documentary (that talks about the alledged abuse of James Safechuck and Wade Robson) was discovered to be copying an erotic book written by a confessed pedophile that wanted to share his fantasies about Michael abusing children.

Meanwhile all the people who say he was guilty have as proof is "Well, I saw an interview with the pedo that wrote that pornographic book and assumed it was true" or "I heard on a TV show 30 years ago that he was guilty and paid hush money to the victims and never checked that the investigation was still going and that the boy was even allowed to testify in court if he wanted to" or "This maid that was fired for stealing stuff from Michael's home claims she saw him molesting Jordan Chandler in Neverland - even though Jordan says he was abused during the tour, not in Neverland, so even if you were to believe his story you'd still have to assume this woman is lying."

It really is no wonder the 1993 and 2013 allegations did not even managed to get a proper trial with how little there was to work with, and the 2005 one led to Michael being found innocent of all charges in record time - I strongly suspect that if it wasn't for the former case, it wouldn't even have made it to court in the first place either with how nonsensical it was.

[archeolatry]

Go take a look at this beautiful trove of old SparkSound magazines someone is selling on eBay. For the price they might as well be made out of gold, but the seller's been nice enough to take big, largely readable photos of so many of the issues. Is there a similar digital hoard of scanned versions? I'd love to see more! (I've seen photo pages in full but only snippets of the rest.) The absolute like... raw, sloppy, fanzine chaos of these as as official publications from a major label band is blowing my fucking mind, even if it is just for the fan club. It's literally their mom cutting and pasting and cramming mentions from both Melody Maker and TV Guide onto an A3 sheet of paper, layouts be damned. The apostrophe on her typewriter is broken for a couple issues but she carries on with an asterisk. She's also around 60 by this point and banging this out to an audience of hundreds or thousands like it's a local Kiwanis club newsletter. But she's doing it with gusto, by gum, and it's punk as hell. The best thing about it is that the lack of style is made up for by the absolute top-tier access to the band, and her being surprisingly on top of pertinent details.

For those of you who weren't in a fandom before the internet, those behind-the-scenes photos were like your favorite band's proof of life. There was no Instagram or Twitter, or anything that proved they existed between national TV appearances and touring in your area (besides those mentions in Melody Maker anyway). If you were lucky, your fandom had the capacity to trade videotapes and people in Scranton could see local TV appearances in Los Angeles and vice-versa. If you were really lucky they weren't all copies of copies with potato quality sound and video. Likewise, if you wanted the 12" extended European dance mix of a song with a B-side unavailable in the US, you had to either special order it somewhere and pay through the nose, hope it was in the imports section of a record store (and still pay through the nose), or you had to trade cassettes or burned CDs and hope the other person didn't flake on you. The fact that she's saying "Don't go running to the import section yet, the single will be out on ____ record label on this date with this track listing" is WAY more info than we usually got from our official sources. All "Mary Martin" needed to do for exclusive content was take pictures of her sons on vacation. On one page she's absolutely dunking on Russell them in wry cut-and-paste captions and on another she is the perfect hype man, telling people shows at The Greek Theater are gonna sell out so get your tickets early (but hold your horses on travelling- they're working on Japanese dates for September so you may not need to fly to the US). The personal thank-yous! The CARE! *slams fist on table* If any other band had their mom as the head of their fan club it'd be the most contrived shit in the universe, a complete lie, or both. I fucking love these guys.

[luvyeni]

The whole Hybe drama is crazy let me give you the details. I will say most of this is alleged, but it's what's being said right now.

She used to work with SM, and came under fire there for apparently having photos of naked women in her office and pushing young underaged idols into doing inappropriate photoshoots while there. After SM she got hired at Source Music, they hired her as a creative director, after this all the trainees were selected, this includes NewJeans members, boys that were on Iland, and others. These trainees were trained using Source Music's money, which during this she started Ador, also using Source Music's money. She then transferred the members of NewJeans she had at that point to Ador, along with many Source Music staff members. This basically made Source Music go broke, and the group they were going to debut fell through because of this. This is around when GFriend disbanded, it is not confirmed, but it is being rumored that her actions might have something to do with the disbandment, since at that point Source Music was a sinking ship, and it's possible they thought there was no way to survive with them. At this point, Hybe transferred Big Hit employees to Source Music, and started trying to find new trainees for the girl group. That's a big reason why Le Sserafim didn't have a really long training time, since they found already skilled trainees, and already had a concept and all worked out.

She claims that she saved NewJeans and that Hybe would have ignored them if she didn't move them to Ador. She says that Le Sserafim would have debuted and then basically any other girl group would have gotten crumbs from Hybe. She was apparently really mad that Hybe selected Sakura and Chaewon to be trainees without her input, and when Hybe said they would debut, she really didn't like that, and apparently openly spoke of her hate towards the girls since according to her trainees come to be in a 'Min Heejin girl group' not a Source Music girl group.

So coming to what's going on now Hybe is doing an audit into Ador, the sublabel that Heejin is the CEO of, they have asked her to leave the label, and are reporting her to the police. Apparently Heejin had a plan to take over the Ador label fully, she tried to make the management of Ador find ways to get Hybe to give up all their shares of Ador, so she could basically take the label over fully. She owns 20% of the label while Hybe has the other 80%. She apparently was trying to find outside investors to buy those shares, the outside investors were apparently foreign investment firms she had contacted regarding this plan. Hybe has evidence that she was planning to have someone buy out Hybe's shares of Ador, if they were willing to sell them, since she was apparently stupid enough to do all that with her work computer, which like pro tip if you wanna do something illegal don't use a work computer since your work has access to everything you do on it, they claim the document was called ESCAPE PLAN DO NOT TOUCH, like pro level thinking there.

She claims that Hybe copies all her ideas, like she says Illit it a copy of NewJeans, and has also said BTS, RIIZE, and TWS are copies of her ideas, which it's been brought up that some of NewJeans concept and all are copied/influenced from other artists too, so it's rich that she claims everyone copies her, but when she copies others it's okay. She was also planning with another person to form an attack on Hybe and Hybe's artists,; she also apparently had these people leaking Hybe artist and trainees personal information, health information, and leak things about other artist in the groups she claims copied her ideas, like there is no proof right now but it's being claimed that she could behind a lot of RIIZE leaks, since Seunghan was a Source Music trainee before he was a SM trainee. She even got the members of NewJeans parents involved, by having them claim they think these groups are copying NewJeans. Hybe asked her to resign and she said no, she came out saying she filed a whistleblowing report against Hybe months ago, claiming that Belift was copying Ador. She is claiming that Hybe has been mistreating and ignoring Ador and NewJeans. She claims they never responded her to her copying claims, but Hybe has the receipts that they both sent her an email response and physical response, which she claims she never got, but Hybe has the email read receipts. Over all, she is trying to basically split Ador from Hybe, without having any sort of contract penalties.

It's being said as of right now the girls of NewJeans are siding with Heejin, but no public announcement has been made. She has openly said the girls say they back her, but if they do side with her and leave with her, they will no longer be able to be NewJeans; Hybe owns the name NewJeans, so they would have to rebrand and after a scandal like this, there is probably no coming back from it. As of right now, the best thing for them to do would be distance themselves from her, and if it comes to it, side with Hybe. But nothing has officially been announced, and their comeback plans seem to be going forward as planned.

damn that is a lot, but it's a shame they're name dropping all these groups , because it taking attention away from this , cause i didn't know any of the illegal stuff they were doing, i only saw the drama with bang pd and mhj acting like teenagers over a concept and talking about other groups , they need to stop putting groups in the middle and focus on the important stuff.

[sonicasura]

I got done watching playthroughs of Poppy Playtime Chapter 3 from EmotionalMarcus and Superhorrorbro. Highly suggest the latter if you want to check it out as he found all the hidden tapes. Man was this chapter insane so here's my take on it with obvious massive spoilers.

Edit: For those who need a refresher, Ch 1 +2 VHS tapes, Chapter 3 Analog Trailers, Project Playtime VHS, Interactive ARG, and In-game Documents.

First off, Deep Sleep definitely answered a lot of questions but also left more too. The important ones revolving around the Prototype and the toys themselves. Here's a summarized version.

CatNap ran a cult worshipping the Prototype as his god. Toys were forced to follow him to survive in Playcare including the other Bigger Bodies Smiling Critters. However the food issue led to not only infighting but also cannibalism.

Picky Piggy ate Bubba Bubbaphant, KickinChickin and Craftycorn. Dog Day was labeled a heretic thus was slowly eaten by the smaller Critters until only his upper torso left. The horrific thing is he been left alive to suffer. At least until the smaller Critters' puppeted his body to chase after the Player.

Poppy and Kissy Missy wants to kill the Prototype. There's a possibility Kissy cared about a child in Playcare before she became a toy. Part of this being the theory that the Bigger Body was once a worker.

There were toys who served as teachers in the schoolhouse. Due to the Hour of Joy, one toy called Ms Delight gone insane and killed all her fellow teachers to survive. CatNap avoids her haunt for an unknown reason. Maybe because she's an ally or someone he once cared about.

CatNap had been a tool to the Prototype as he's killed for his failure. This might've not been a case once upon a time due to a theory about him used to being Elliot Ludwig. Apparently the Prototype acts as a hivemind with him assimilating and copying others.

Tom Sawyer/The Doctor gotten killed sometime before the Hour of Joy. It might've been the Prototype due to an interview tape between the two prior to Leith Pierre interview with CatNap. The abuse done to the toys might've spurred on the takeover.

Hour of Joy was a massive slaughter where every human been killed no matter who they were. CatNap might be responding for the kids death with Ollie being a possible toy survivor. Kissy Missy was taken over and been a participant as well. She might've gotten captured or killed at the end of the chapter.

Now onto my personal theories starting with the Prototype.

He is a hivemind based organism most likely made from Elliot Ludwig. The Prototype could've gone insane as he kept assimilating others. Possible breaking point that led to the Hour of Joy being the Doctor since he been studying him too than it being one sided.

The slaughter had an massive ulterior goal. Prototype doesn't require food and the shrine CatNap made of him has multiple human bodies in it. Ollie also confirmed that the shrine is nothing compared to the real deal.

The Prototype might've assimilated most of the victims before moving onto the other toys. Further proof is CatNap's state once you fully see him. He's so thin that you can his bones and ribcage. The employees were their only food provider which led to this post apocalyptic style cannibalism.

If the Prototype was benevolent then a lot of strings could be pulled where the corrupt humans perish and they puppet Playtime Co in the shadows. No more experiments as the company would function under them. Clueless employees delivering a constant food supply and the kids could actually see the real world. Maybe the toys follow them out as no one is aware.

Poppy even mentioned the Player running the company so she knew there was a better way to handle things. The Prototype locked her up to prevent this foil in his plans. Hour of Joy was a purposely planned slaughter.

Second theory involves Huggy Wuggy and the Player. Throughout the chapter, our first Bigger Body had been a major constant element. He is the first and last one we see through CatNap's nightmares. There's a hidden important connection which involves the Prototype too.

I think the hivemind spared him as it's clear they were more of a victim than foe. CatNap would've spare him if he left this all behind. Huggy Wuggy might've attacked the Player near the entrance during the Hour of Joy before leaving.

Final theory revolves around the toys. Dog Day and CatNap are further evidence that the Bigger Bodies can have diverse bodies. Mommy Longlegs died when she cut in half but the canine Smiling Critter didn't. Boxy Boxy devours people whole hinting at very strong stomach acid despite his small body while CatNap has an expanded ribcage and can breathe gas.

There is one common similarity amongst all the toys except for Poppy. All of them can be affected by the Prototype. My theory involves their brain containing an actual fragment from him. The Doctor constantly dissected the Prototype and might've added portions to the other toys as a key material in their creation.

It also explains why Mommy alongside Kissy aren't on his side. The Prototype's influence acts sorta like a suggestion meaning they can resist him. Mommy Longlegs was left alone as the more hostile Bigger Bodies look over their own territories. Huggy Wuggy is an exception since he acts more like a puppet until the Prototype activates him.

Things are heating up as Chapter Four might be the last one for Poppy Playtime since CatNap was the Prototype's final key player. I won't say there could be complications on the way as more experiments were mentioned in Chapter 3 specifically Experiment 'Void'.

For now, this is all we got.

[idrellegames]

hi there! sorry if you've gotten a similar ask before. do you write wayfarer directly into twine or do you keep it in a separate doc? do you just have really clearly labeled sections in a word doc or something or is there a specific program you use to keep track of every story path? basically, with something as expansive and w/ as many routes as wayfarer, how do you keep all your writing organized?

I have answered this before, but I can't seem to find my posts on the subject (you may want to peruse my coding in twine tag, the masterpost has a bunch of different resources for this kind of thing!).

But in short, no, I do not write Wayfarer directly into Twine. This could functionally work for a very small game, but I would still advise against it as Twine doesn't really work as a word processor. You can't proof-read in it.

My process has three main steps:

Outlining

Writing

Coding

Compiling

Outside of my big beat chart (which spans the whole game), I break each episode down into their own outlines, and then break the routes of each episode down into their own outlines. Sometimes specific sections end up with their own outlines too. My system probably doesn't make much sense to anyone other than me, but as long as I know what the divisions are, then it's all good.

I write in MS Word. Each episode has its own folder (sometimes with subfolders) and every section of the game gets its own document.

Here's the main folders, each episode goes into its own thing.

This is an subfolder for Episode 1, specifically Route B.

Within my word documents themselves, I use a colour-coding system for separating out branches and sections. This is extremely useful for writing dialogue loops, like this:

I also add in any coding notes (variables, true/false states, stat checks) while I am writing so I know what I need to do when I sit down to code 4+ months later. I usually throw a X or XX on choices after I have written them as a note to myself that I have finished it (this is just personal shorthand - X means I've done the pass version of a check, XX means I've done the pass and fail states).

I use about 8-10 colours in my documents; I have a set of MS Word macros set up so I can easily switch between them.

I share my word documents with my editor via OneDrive, which makes it easy for her to got through and proofread.

I use MS Word because I've been using it to write since the 2000s and it's what I prefer to use. I have also been writing professionally for over a decade now, so I have systems and strategies in place that work for me that I've developed for myself over time. But if you're new to writing and you're looking for a word processor that can also help you with outlining and keeping your story straight, something like Scrivener may be helpful.

One the text is ready to be coded, it's a lot of copy/pasting from Word into Twine. When I'm coding I will typically be running multiple programs at once:

MS Word

MS Excel (for my variable sheets)

Twine

Notepad++ (which has some regularly used code stored in it; I also use it to edit CSS and Javascript, as well as any really code-heavy sections since it's easier to do that in Notepad++ than it is in the Twine editor)

Notepad (just the regular version - I use it for writing notes to myself while I'm coding)

a web browser to launch tests in as I code

Once I am done coding and I have tested things, it's time to compile. The Twine editor can only handle so many passages and text in one file (around 500-700 passages before you hit massive lag), so I break Wayfarer into multiple story files. Having multiple story files also makes it really easy for me to cross-reference events (if I need to grab a passage title to reference it later) because I don't have to look through one big file. If I know the event happens in Episode 2's first scene, then I know I need to open Chapter_2.1.

My Twine library looks like this at the moment:

I am using an old version of the editor (with an up-to-date version of SugarCube) since I didn't like the new one. I don't necessarily recommend using the Twine editor when you can easily make your game with Twee extensions in Visual Studio Code and have better support and functionality, but this is what I like and it really comes down to personal preference.

But because everything is in separate files, I have to merge them altogether. I have Tweego installed on my PC; it's run through the command prompt and outputs multiple story files into one HTML file. I've talked about this process here and here.

And that's basically it! I don't think there's a one-size-fits-all solution to keeping track of your IF. You need to figure out what works for you, based on your writing and outlining habits, how big your story is, and how much you intend to keep track of.

Hope this helps!