#francis cheap & out of control

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐭.5

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Previously: After years of brutal torture by Francis, Y/N finally escaped, fighting her way out of the lab and fleeing into the dense woods. Each step was a struggle, but she knew she couldn't stop. With the guards on her heels, she disappeared into the shadows, determined to reclaim her life.

This story takes place between the second and third movies (warning: not 100% movie/comic accurate)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x (fem!)Reader

Genre: Angst, revenge, Fanfiction, Marvel

Warnings: Movie Spoilers! Explicit content, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 3640

The slums were from now on her home. Y/n had escaped from the clutches of the facility, but the scars of her past- both mental and physical- were still engraved deeply in her body. The nights were the hardest, when the world around her was quiet and the memories screamed the loudest. She lived in a cramped, old apartment, the flickering neon lights outside her window casting shadows on the walls.

It had been weeks since her escape, weeks of hiding and laying low, blending into the filthiness of the city. Here, she was just another face in the crowd, another soul struggling to survive. But she was different. She could feel the darkness within her, the uncontrollable power that surged through her veins. She had to find a way to control it, to suppress it before it consumed her.

Y/n spent her days looking for information, piecing together bits of knowledge about mutants, about powers like hers. She searched through the back alleys and seedy bars, listening to rumors and whispered conversations. Slowly, she began to understand the nature of her abilities, the twisted gift that had been forced upon her. But understanding was not enough. She needed control.

One night, in a ed bar that reeked of sweat and stale beer, Y/n finally found a lead. She had been sitting at the counter, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey, when she overheard a conversation between two men at the next table. They spoke in low tones, their words slurred from alcohol, but Y/n's ears caught every word.

"Essex House... that place was a nightmare," one of the men muttered, his face half-hidden in the shadows. "They did some real messed up shit there."

The other man, a burly figure with a ashen beard, nodded grimly. "I heard they had a way to control mutants. Some kind of device."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. She leaned closer, pretending to adjust her coat as she listened.

"Yeah, I know a guy who used to work there," the bearded man continued. "Big guy, real quiet. He hangs around here sometimes."

Y/n did not waste any time. She slid over to their table, her movements smooth. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice low and steady.

The men exchanged a glance, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" the bearded man said, gesturing to the empty seat.

Y/n sat down, fixing them with a piercing gaze. "I couldn't help but overhear. You mentioned Essex House. I'm looking for someone who worked there. A guard, maybe?"

The first man, looked her up and down suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Let's just say I'm looking for answers," Y/n replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If you can help me, I'd appreciate it."

The bearded man scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know his name, but he's usually around here. I'd be careful, though. He doesn't like to be bothered."

"Point him out," Y/n she said, her eyes scanning the bar.

The bearded man nodded toward the far corner, where a large figure sat hunched over the bar, nursing a drink. "That's him."

Y/n followed his gaze and saw the man- a huge, muscled frame with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of violence. He was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders hunched over as he downed another shot of whiskey. There was a darkness about him, an aura of danger that warned others to keep their distance.

Y/n thanked the men and made her way toward the bar, her eyes never leaving the figure in the corner. She did not approach him directly, instead choosing to observe him from a distance, waiting for the right moment. 

The man continued to drink heavily, oblivious to the world around him. It was not long before he started to show signs of drunkenness- his movements sloppy, his head nodding as if fighting off sleep.

Now. This was her chance.

Y/n moved swiftly, her steps silent on the worn wooden floor. She slipped behind the man, her hand reaching into her coat to retrieve a small vial of chloroform and a cloth. In one fluid motion, she pressed the cloth over the man's face, her other arm locking around his throat.

The man struggled, his instincts kicking in despite his drunken state, but Y/n was quick and precise. Within seconds, his body went limp, his heavy frame slumping against the bar.

She wasted no time. With the strength born from desperation, Y/n dragged the unconscious man out of the bar, navigating through the back alleys until she reached her hideout.

The basement of an abandoned building, it was cold and damp, the walls lined with old newspapers and broken furniture. She had set up a small, makeshift interrogation room- just a chair and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Y/n tied the man to the chair, securing his wrists and ankles with thick rope. She stood back, her heart pounding as she waited for him to wake up. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, her hands shaking slightly as she paced the room.

Finally, the man moved slightly, his dazed eyes blinking against the harsh light. He groaned, tugging at the ropes before realizing he was restrained. Panic flickered across his face as he looked around, his gaze settling on Y/n, who stood before him with a cold, determined expression.

"What the hell—?" he began, his voice stammered from the lingering effects of the chloroform.

"Shut up," Y/n snapped, stepping closer. "I'm the one asking questions. You're going to answer them."

The man's eyes narrowed, anger replacing his initial fear. "You've got no idea who you're messing with."

"Oh, I think I do," Y/n replied, her voice icy. "You used to work at Essex House. You were a guard there."

The man's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Y/n's patience was wearing thin. She had spent too long hiding, too long searching for answers, to be stonewalled by this brute. She leaned in, her face inches from his, her voice low and menacing.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed. "I know what they did in that place. The experiments, the torture. I know about the children. If you think I'm bluffing, you're sorely mistaken."

The man's boldness stopped for a moment, but he quickly recovered, sneering at her. "You don't know shit."

Her hand moved faster than he could react, striking him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I said, don't lie to me!" Y/n shouted, her voice trembling with fury. "I know what kind of monster you are. I know what you did to those kids. Now tell me about the device that suppresses mutant powers."

The man spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at her aggressively. "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."

Y/n's fist connected with his jaw again, this time with more force. The man groaned, his head lolling forward as he struggled to stay conscious.

"You have no idea what I've been through," Y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The things I've seen, the pain I've endured. If you think for one second that I won't make you suffer, you're dead wrong. Now, talk."

The man's resolve began to crumble under the weight of her words, the fear returning to his eyes. He took a heavy breath, finally giving in.

"There's a wristband," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "It was designed to suppress mutant powers. But that place... it's gone. Some kid blew it up, the whole building came down."

Y/n's heart raced as she absorbed his words. "Where can I find one?"

The man hesitated, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for a way out. Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"Maybe there's still some in the storage rooms beneath the building. But it's dangerous. The whole place is crawling with security, even now."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. She had what she needed, but the anger still burned within her, the memories of those children haunting her every thought.

"And one more thing," the man added, his voice a broken whisper. "There were others involved in that explosion. A man in a red and black suit... mutants from the X-Men... and some scary guy with a teddy bear."

The mention of the man in the red and black suit made Y/n's blood run cold. Wade. The man responsible for her suffering. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Thank you," she said coldly, before slamming her fist into his face one last time. The man's head snapped back, and he slumped in the chair, unconscious.

"You deserve much more, you little piece of shit," Y/n muttered, her voice thick with disgust. She untied him and dragged him out to a nearby street, leaving him there to be found. She had no use for him anymore.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

The ruins of Essex House stood before Y/n like a tombstone, a monument to the atrocities that had taken place within its walls. The once impressive structure was now a gutted shell, its walls burned and crumbling, overtaken by creeping vines and nature's slow reclamation. The air was thick with the stench of decay and rot, a fitting aura for a place that had been a living nightmare for so many.

Y/n moved silently through the rubble, her senses heightened, every sound increased in the stillness of the night. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long, sinister shadows that danced across the broken ground. 

She had checked out the area earlier, avoiding the main entrances, which were still patrolled by security teams guarding whatever was left in the aftermath of the explosion, a few months ago. She needed to find the storage rooms beneath the building, where the guard had said the wristbands might still be.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked through a craggy opening in the wall, her eyes scanning the darkened interior. The building's skeleton remains were a labyrinth of broken beams and collapsed ceilings, the floors plastered with rubble and shattered glass. Every step was a calculated risk, the floorboards creaking ominously beneath her weight.

Y/n made her way down a long corridor, the walls covered in peeling paint and faded sceneries that had once depicted happy, smiling children- an ironic touch for a place that had been anything but.

Her breath stuck in the throat like there's a blockage as she approached a large door at the end of the corridor, its frame cracked and splintered. The guard's words echoed in her mind, urging her forward. She pushed the door open, and stepped into a vast chamber that had once been a laboratory.

Y/n's breath stopped as her eyes landed on the twisted metal chair in the center of the room. It was unmistakable- a torture device designed to restrain and torment its victims. The cold steel of the torture chair, the searing pain of electric currents coursing through her body. The sight of it brought a wave of nausea crashing over her, memories of her own time in such a chair flooding her mind, the mocking laughter of Francis as he watched her suffer in agony.

Flashback

She was strapped to the chair, her wrists bound with cold, hard metal. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and blood. Francis stood before her, his cold eyes glinting with sadistic glee. He was dressed in his usual black combat gear and white coat, his arms folded as he watched her struggle against the restraints.

"Ready for another round, sweetheart?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling from the aftershocks of the last session. She had lost count of how many times he had done this to her, how many times he had pushed her to the brink of death, only to pull her back and start again.

"Please... no more," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Francis chuckled, his laughter a cruel, grating sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he said, reaching for the control panel beside the chair. His fingers danced over the buttons, and a low hum filled the air as the machine powered up.

Y/n's eyes widened in fear as the currents of electricity surged through her body, her muscles spasming uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable, like being ripped apart from the inside. She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, but there was no one to hear her, no one to save her.

Francis watched with detached amusement, his expression one of mild curiosity. "You know, it's fascinating," he mused, his voice calm and measured. "Watching how much pain a person can endure before they break. You're tougher than most, I'll give you that."

Her vision blurred as the pain reached a crescendo, her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. But she held on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken. She had to survive, had to escape, no matter what it took.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the currents stopped, and Y/n slumped in the chair, her body limp and exhausted. Francis leaned in close, his face inches from hers.

"Don't worry, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "We'll keep doing this until you learn to behave."

Present

Y/n snapped back to the present, her hands trembling as she stared at the torture chair. The memories were like a vice around her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. But she could not afford to break down now, not when she was so close. She forced herself to move, to search the room for the wristband.

The storage room was hidden behind a steel door, half-buried under rubble. Y/n unlocked it with a crowbar she had found earlier, using all her strength to pull the door free. Inside, she found a small, windowless room lined with shelves. Dust coated everything, the air stale and suffocating. She searched through the shelves, her hands moving frantically as she searched for the device.

Finally, her fingers closed around a small, sleek wristband, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. This was it- the device that could suppress her powers, that could give her the control she so desperately needed.

But as she pulled the wristband from the shelf, a shrill alarm pierced the air, the sound reverberating through the building. Panic surged through Y/n as she realized she had triggered a security system, her heart racing as the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the halls.

She had to get out, and fast.

Y/n bolted from the storage room, clutching the wristband tightly in her hand. She sprinted down the corridor, her mind a blur as she searched for an escape route. The footsteps were getting closer, the shouts of guards filling the air.

She spotted a window at the end of the hall, its glass cracked but still intact. Without hesitation, she launched herself at it, her shoulder slamming into the glass. The window shattered with a deafening crash, and Y/n tumbled through the opening, her body twisting in midair.

The world spun around her as she rolled to her feet, glass shards cutting into her skin. But there was no time to stop, no time to recover her injuries. The guards were right behind her.

Y/n ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she sprinted through the darkened streets. The sounds of pursuit faded into the distance, but she did not stop. She could not stop. Not until she was safe.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she slowed to a halt, her body aching and exhausted. She had made it. She had escaped, and she had the wristband. But as she stood there, alone in the shadows, the memories of Essex House lingered in her mind, a reminder of the horrors she had endured- and the revenge she would soon unleash.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Y/n sat in her dimly lit hideout, the cold, metal wristband clasped tightly in her hand. She had waited for this moment, the promise of control over her powers finally within her grasp. With a deep breath, she slipped the wristband onto her wrist. A series of tiny, almost inaudible clicks signaled its activation. She felt a slight hum of energy ripple through her body, a sensation that was both foreign and strangely comforting.

"Okay, Y/n," she whispered to herself, her voice barely more than a murmur in the silence. "Time to see if this thing really works."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked up a small, sharp knife. She took a moment to steel herself before pressing the blade against the palm of her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she drew the knife across her skin, wincing as a thin line of blood welled up. She braced herself for the familiar agony of her powers activating, but to her astonishment, the pain remained localized. The cut did not heal as it usually would.

"It works," she breathed, a mix of relief and awe in her voice. "It actually works."

She wrapped her hand in a bandage, her mind already racing with the possibilities. For the first time in years, she felt like she had a measure of control over her life, over her destiny. She was not just a victim of her circumstances; she could be the master of them.

Over the next two years, Y/n threw herself into training with a passion that bordered on obsession. She perfected her combat skills, mastering various martial arts and weapons. She trained with knives, guns, and swords, each session pushing her limits further. Her hideout became a makeshift dojo, littered with training equipment and weapons of all kinds.

Her reputation in the slums grew as she took on hitman jobs to fund her training. She became a ghost, an unseen force of retribution for those who could not fight back.

One evening, she was approached by a woman with bruised arms and tear-streaked cheeks.

"Please," the woman begged, her voice trembling. "My husband... he beats me. I can't take it anymore. Please, make him stop."

Y/n looked into the woman's eyes, seeing the same helplessness and desperation she had felt so many times before. "What's his name?" she asked quietly.

"Jack. Jack Thompson. He works at the docks," the woman replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded. "Consider it done. He won't hurt you again."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Two years had passed since Y/n had escaped from Francis, two years of relentless training and hard-earned survival. She decided it was time to visit her own grave, a symbolic gesture to honour the person she once was. She made her way to a small flower shop, her mind set on finding the perfect bloom.

As she approached the counter to pay for a single white lily, she saw a woman laughing and chatting with the shopkeeper. The sight made her freeze. It was Vanessa. Alive and well, her smile as bright as ever. Y/n's heart clenched painfully in her chest, pulling her hood that covered her face even more down. She quickly paid for the flower and fled the shop, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger.

She reached her grave, a simple, unadorned headstone with her name etched into the cold marble. The vase next to it was empty.

"I see," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Forgotten and abandoned, even in death."

She knelt down, placing the lily in the empty vase. "I can't remember my old self," she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. "She truly did die, as well as her trust in you."

Her thoughts turned dark as she slowly stood up. Wade had saved Vanessa, she realized, her mind piecing together the puzzle with cold clarity.

He must have used Cable's time travel device during the Mutant Rehabilitation incident to go back and save her... but he left me to die.

As she turned and walked away from the grave, she could feel a rising tide of hatred surging within her, anger directed at Wade for abandoning her, for choosing Vanessa over her.

Later that evening, Wade approached the same grave. He was dressed in his red and black costume, the weight of his grief and guilt heavy on his shoulders. In his hand, he held a brand-new flower and a polished vase. He had not missed a single visit, always coming back to this lonely, forgotten corner of the cemetery to leave a token of his sorrow and love.

As he knelt down to place the new flower in the vase, he noticed the fresh lily already there, wilting slightly in the cold night air.

"Who...?" Wade muttered to himself, confusion furrowing his brow. He looked around, but the cemetery was empty and silent.

He placed his own flower beside the lily, a pang of sadness piercing his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the grave. "I'm so damn sorry."

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the headstone as if willing it to give him some sort of answer, some sign that she knew he had not given up on her, that he still mourned her every day.

But the silence of the graveyard offered no reunion, only deepened the gap of misunderstanding that was growing between them, unseen and unspoken.

As Y/n made her way back through the slums, her mind was a storm of emotions. She was determined now, fueled by a dark purpose. She had been forgotten, left to rot in the shadows while Wade had moved on, living his best life with Vanessa.

A twisted sense of revenge began to take root in her heart, and she knew that the next time she crossed paths with Wade, it would be on her terms. And when that day came, there would be a reckoning.

[bewiiitched]

Sex doll (chapter seven)

WARNINGS: MDI, +18, alcoholism, violence, angst, a little of power background, fluff, smut, soft!Worst!Logan, P in V, creampie, age gap (reader mid 20's)

///////

It is only the background noise that ends up waking the mutant, and at first he sits up somewhat alarmed until his gaze travels to the end of the hallway, where the light in her bedroom is on and he can only assume that she is getting ready to go to work when his gaze focuses on the clock hanging on the wall, the fact that the room is in darkness is not a problem for him, since his senses adapt to the lack of light and he ends up deciding to sit up as well.

But the sound of the shower catches his attention and he grimaces, she is running late. He realizes this, since the light begins to filter through the curtains on the terrace.

She storms out of the room, her hair still wet and her uniform half-fixed, struggling to put on her apron, she walks blindly after turning off the light in the room so as not to wake him, her hand groping for her bag that she had left on the counter but she can't find it.

"Are you looking for this?" He mumbles, throwing the bag in her direction, the lack of light makes her not react in time, and it hits her abdomen but she catches it in time before it falls to the ground. He hears her curse under her breath.

“Did I wake you up?” she asks, rubbing the sore spot as she turns on the light, watching him close his eyes with a grimace, blinded by the sudden illumination. Logan groans, trying to adjust and lies back down on the couch, his gaze traveling to her but he doesn’t answer and sees her sigh, ending up putting the necessary things in the bag.

“Are you coming over tonight?” she asks, and out of the corner of her eye she can see a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

//////////

The bar doesn't always close with him inside, sometimes he waits outside after closing time, but on this occasion, she hasn't even seen him all afternoon and it's been more than a quarter of an hour since she should have closed but there is still the same group of men who had arrived hours ago and were still getting drunk, some sitting at the bar while she was busy cleaning the tables and she had already wiped down the pool table only for them to use it again a while later.

Disguising her frustration was not an easy task, and the temptation to talk to his boss about reducing her hours was starting to sound better and better, one would think that she would have managed to control herself with months she had spent on the project, under Francis' supervision, but the reality was that everything had gone quite downhill since her desertion, trauma and containment surfacing even years later.

Logan's addition to her life had been chaotic, comforting too, but there was still a part of her that was reluctant to the closeness she was taking with him, as he had even opened up to tell her things about his past in his dimension and she had barely detailed her life.

The sound of breaking glass makes her raise her head abruptly, squeezing the cloth in her hand until her knuckles turn white and she only has to breathe slowly as her only option, out of the corner of her eye she sees the broken bottle of cheap alcohol they had ordered, and she gets up to reluctantly go get the broom and mop, she still hears them talking in a mix of screams and laughter about the situation.

It’s hard not to look at the clock as she approaches them to clean up the mess, and her patience begins to wear thin when one of them snatches the broom away from her under the pretense of cleaning up the mess, she barely has time to reprimand him under her apologies when she feels a hand on her forearm and instinctively her body tenses, holding back her powers.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I wouldn’t want a pretty little thing like you to get hurt.” His grip is shaky from all the alcohol in his system, but that doesn’t stop him from tightening to the point of pain as she reluctantly struggles, wrinkling her nose at the smell that could almost make her drunk as well. The laughter intensifies and she begins to see red when she feels his fingers brushing through her hair with the hand that’s not on her, her power kicking in and enhancing her reflexes along with her senses.

“Get your fucking hands off of me. ” She hisses through her teeth, and she can feel the lingering tingle of her power but they keep laughing, and in the background her phone is ringing, the call waiting to be answered, when he roughly pulls her closer, and his hand travels to her jaw trying to kiss her.

It’s not like they could register it with all they’d had to drink, but the movement is fast and her hand connects with his cheekbone with such force that his head snaps to the side and he goes back a few steps, staggering and dazed. Angered by the idea of ​​involving her powers, her breathing is labored. “Everyone out.”

It’s all she says, and the laughter stops when the rest hear him curse, the mark of her hand red and prominent on his cheek as they drag him out ignoring his tirade and insults, their gazes travel to each other, suddenly in a hurry to leave.

She hears the jingle of the bell and strides to the door locking it, a frustrated cry leaving her mouth as she grabs a bottle from the shelf and the taste of alcohol makes her shudder, the burn in her throat familiar and she can feel the tickle turning into a sharp pain, her powers begging to be released on someone other than herself and when she looks at her hands there is a persistent tremor.

Humans had never been a threat to her, not when they were so weak to pain and so susceptible to pleasure. Even most mutants eventually gave in, except for those like Wade or Logan where the temporary solution was to keep them paralyzed and even then the disadvantage of their regenerative factor was too much.

She swallows, bringing the bottle to her lips again and feels everything spinning at the thought that she could have lost control,

She is more than halfway through the bottle when her gaze travels to the clock, more than half an hour since it should have been closed and it is not until almost another half hour later that she finally arrives at the apartment after having finished cleaning completely.

(...)

The darkness welcomes her and it is not difficult for her to notice the second heartbeat in the house and its characteristic aroma when her senses are still accelerated despite her attempts to calm down she still remains in a loop, the alcohol does not do much to numb her.

Part of her hopes to get to the bedroom without waking him, trying to avoid the situation this morning, but as she slowly closes the door sideways she realizes, thanks to the moonlight that enters through the curtains, that he is quite awake.

“Damn it, Logan. ” she grunts, feeling her heart skip a beat when she sees his gaze fixed on her. But he shifts his attention to the clock on the wall and then back to her.

He doesn’t say anything because he senses her annoyance in waves, enhanced senses or not, her expression is filled with frustration and he shares it, part of him feeling responsible for not having accompanied her in whatever happened. The smell of alcohol doesn’t go unnoticed either, which adds another layer of complexity because up until now he had never smelled it on her until after the day was over, which makes his suspicion grow.

“I called you.” It’s all he says, his tone cautious as he watches her undo her apron and leave it on the chair. Her guilty look lets him know that she hadn’t even looked at her phone and he runs a hand over his face, pushing back the hair that bothers him. “Doll.”

She sees him sit up out of the corner of her eye, causing her to shudder. The smell of alcohol can be mixed with the aroma of that group of idiots, but the handprint on her forearm is still present.

“I’m fine, I was just late cleaning up.” she answers, and her tone would be enough to stop the conversation, but Logan has never doubted his senses and the way he approaches makes her curse under her breath when his hand closes on her wrist, extending the arm that was marked.

There is a low growl that makes even her recoil, and for a second he says nothing, raising his darkened and questioning gaze.

“Leave it be-” she begins, looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and tiredness.

“Fuck it. What the hell happened?” He asks, with clenched teeth and she twists her wrist, managing to get away, making him frown.

“There was this group of drunks, but I'm fine-” His gaze flickers between her and the room, lost in his annoyance and this time it's her who grabs his chin. “Logan, I'm fine. I'm just angry that the situation could have gotten out of hand.”

As if it were possible his brow furrows even more and she can see the gears in his head turning, studying the workings of her powers. His fists clench and his pupils widen, getting rid of the green in his eyes.

“Did you use your powers?” he asks, and he sees her tense, her lips turning into a thin line.

“No. I just-” she cuts himself off, swallowing. “I could have killed him. If he'd managed to kiss me, I could have killed him.”

Somehow his gaze softens he can feel her anguish and although the fact of what had happened echoes in his mind, his hand travels to her face and rests on her cheek. “But you didn't. ”

He whispers and he can hear the beginnings of a broken laugh dying down, turning into a grimace, disgust and self-loathing written all over her face.

“I never learned to control them. Shit, even using them on myself was kind of accidental...” She speaks, almost tempted to pour herself more alcohol. Still standing she watches him lean against the side of the couch.

“Ever since they activated I could never really stop them. ” She gulps, avoiding eye contact. “Physical contact was enough to harm someone.”

The information makes Logan tilt his head, his eyes narrowing in interest and she gives him a weak smile when she can see him opening his mouth to speak.

“I thought you said you needed to share fluids.”

She answers with a light hum, getting up to grab a bottle of alcohol that she finishes emptying before throwing it in the trash. “It's true in a way, the state in which my powers were developed only allowed me to stimulate the nervous system of others, but it was not something I could control, any stimulus I could inflict was like being electrocuted at high intensity. It didn't matter if it was pain or not, the nervous system couldn't handle it and went into shock, or cardiac arrest.”

She explains, and takes another sip, licking her lips with a look of concern. “I can't even control the intensity now. But the only solution I found was to suppress them. So many times that it finally affected me, and I don’t know if it was adaptation or just something meant to happen, but something changed in my nervous system. My senses, my reflexes improved, and I could even decide whether to feel pain or not. But after that, my powers only worked through the fluids. It’s the only way I found a balance.”

His gaze seems to consider the situation, and there is a hint of caution in her gaze when she sees him approach. Even when he grabs her chin and runs his thumb along her lower lip. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t remember ever hearing him speak so softly, despite the request, she takes a step back abruptly shaking her head and looking at him with wide eyes. But she finds the edge of the counter colliding with her back. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

Her voice comes out sharper than it should and she crosses her arms over her chest defensively, her heart hammering hard at the thought.

“The risk of your powers is no different than the one you run by being around me.” He replies, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Why? Why do you have regenerative factor? What exactly are you trying to prove?

God, you don't control them in your sleep, I can never control them. The only solution I found is to switch between stimuli and even then...”

“And you don't have one. I could have killed you any of those nights.” He growls, reaching out again and grabbing her arm, his other hand traveling to the back of her neck. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you. But I don't trust myself the same way you do. ”

Before she finishes, his lips are on hers, and her protests are muffled, her hands traveling to his chest as they both feel the same tickle, but her hands clench into fists and her breathing pauses as his grip loosens, but still holds.

“You’re not using them.” He murmurs as she pulls away.

“That doesn’t mean I can control them. It’s not a risk to you or Wade, but the rest...”

“No one will ever get that close.” he murmurs, trying to reassure her and she doesn’t need any more words to know that he’s going to become a permanent customer. “Let’s go to sleep.”

Her doubt turns to confusion as she looks up, and her brow furrows into caution.

“I thought you said it was dangerous.”

He hums, wrapping an arm around her waist before kissing her again, pulling her closer to him as his other hand trails up her abdomen. “I changed my mind.”

Their kisses continue all the way to the bedroom, and he doesn’t bother turning on the light as he watches her slump back onto the mattress and wastes no time in grabbing her thighs. With the reminder that it’s her uniform, he reluctantly lets her strip before cornering her figure back against the mattress.

“Logan.” She pants, his caresses enough to dampen her underwear as his hands roam her body. He's being so mindful.

And unlike all the other times, there’s no rush or need, he simply takes the time to admire her even though a smile tugs at his lips when he notices the scent between her legs. “Don’t tease me…”

She whispers, but her voice loses strength as his hand cups her intimacy and he hovers over her with his nose running down her neck as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way to her ear. “We’re just getting started.”

A soft huff escapes her lips, and she wraps her arms around his neck. “I want you.”

She protests and watches as his eyes darken, it takes an effort to contain himself and remind himself that he’s decided to make her feel good first, but the way she looks at him makes his pants tighten. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Part of him has grown accustomed to her teasing and her gripping, the way they both fight for control until she’s decided it’s enough and she lets himself go. But it’s not like he can complain about the way now all that comes out of her mouth are pleas and moans.

Her legs wrap around his waist as if at any moment he might slip away while her hands are quick to undo his shirt and send it flying across the room before grabbing his face and kissing him again.

As his touch intensifies it is she who takes control of the kiss and her moans are muffled when she feels him pull her underwear aside and hears the metallic sound of the buckle, a wave of adrenaline runs through her and she lightly bites his lower lip before pulling away.

Her gaze drops, and she barely has time to see his erection still in his underwear when his lips are on her throat, by inertia raising her head back she can feel his cock resting against her inner thigh before the tip brushes her entrance, soaking in her excitement first as he moves up and down opening her lips, the touch against her clitoris causing a shiver to run through her.

“Put your hands on your head.” He murmurs, and doesn’t hide his smile as she complies, almost imagining her response if the situation were different. Despite her arousal and the way she grips him, he takes care to push in slowly in the absence of foreplay, and a moan escapes her mouth as she pulls him roughly into her, the tease on the tip of his tongue that he doesn’t quite get to say out loud.

“Logan.” She moans, relief written all over her as he shoves herself all the way in. And she doesn’t need to say anything else for him to start moving, one of his hands closing on her wrists and his thrusts soon gaining depth despite the slowness. The moans in his ear send a shiver through him and his grip tightens as he tries to hold back, every fiber of his being resisting to fuck her until she’s a senseless mess beneath him.

She’s not far off when his mouth catches her nipple and he hears her gasp, his free hand catching her other breast before pinching it, feeling it harden between his fingers, his hand squeezing it as his tongue wraps around the other.

“Please.” She moans, and the desperation in her voice makes him close his eyes, he can feel her walls clench around him and his hand moves down to her clit, his thumb making circular motions as he feels her release and bend her legs on either side of his hip. “F-Fuck, please let me come.”

There’s no part of him that wouldn’t let her do it, but he decides to shut up and his thrusts become rougher when he feels her tremble around him and he can feel his own release approaching. “Do you want it that bad?”

“Yes! ” she can feel the familiar tug in her abdomen, building up but not enough and he would continue to tease her if it weren't for how his own member was beginning to throb, not wanting to cum without feeling her.

Tightening around him, two fingers press against her clit in upward strokes as he enters her until his balls are pressed against her hip. “Come on, kid, cum for me.”

Her body inevitably tenses and he presses his lips together, swallowing his moan as her walls trap him, and he’s quick to follow, filling her while still feeling the spasms of her orgasm.

Her breathing is still labored as she feels him brush her hair away from her face, pulling out of her. “Better now?”

He whispers, and with the way he looks at her, she’s not sure whether to make the worst sexual comment that will put Wade to shame, or kiss him until he sees if he might die of asphyxiation.

“It would be better if you stayed to sleep next to me.” Is what she actually says, watching him get off of her and place himself, indeed, next to her.

//////////

Taglist: @bontensbabygirl @twinky-wink

[bit-odd-innit]

Fic: Somewhere That’s Green

[based on a post I made about Eddie’s future]

It’s a hole in the wall just off the main drag, the kind of place you can’t find unless you know to look. In a previous life it had been a pizzeria, which explained the bright green vinyl awning Eddie had no intention of replacing. He’d kept the pick-up window, too, used it to host “office hours.” (“Office hours” was supposed to mean “deliver personalized music recommendations to interested passers-by.” Now it means “help harried, double-parked parents reschedule music lessons.”) 

He’d also kept the apartment upstairs. They have a house now—a nice one, with a wrap-around porch and a big backyard and a cluster of hedges Steve always insists are “a mess”—but when Eddie trips into an inventory hole and loses track of time, it’s nice to have a place to crash. If it’s not a school night sometimes Steve joins him, and they’ll relive the halcyon days of their early twenties, buoyed by cheap beer, diner curly fries, and giddy infatuation. (The infatuation has only grown and flourished even as his tolerance for salty food has withered. Acid reflux is a bitch.)

He’s happy they kept the apartment. He happy knowing that if someone needs it—someone scared, broke, desperate for a lifeline and a scrap of no-strings-attached kindness—it’s something he can provide. 

Initial plans had been to focus on music, just music. It was supposed to be the utopic all-metal record store of Eddie’s nightmares.  But as he started to build stock, he remembered how hard it had been to find merch for the things he liked. How a pin or a patch or poster he’d dug up at a garage sale four towns over made him feel more seen than anything on offer at the local mini-mall. How he wanted to be a hub for the weird shit not everyone liked, but the people who did loved. His horrible little magpie brain fluttered from shiny thing to shiny thing, and by the time opening day rolled around the store was a one-stop shop for all things music, merch and whatever wacky knick-knacks tickled Eddie’s fancy. Or horrified Steve. Or both. Both was best.

The Corroded Coffin guys slotted in easily. Francis always liked doing promo for their gigs, was good at it, too. But by the early 2000s, his methods were apparently so outdated his daughter begged to let her take over. (“He’s stapling fliers to telephone poles, Uncle Eddie. You don’t even have a website.”  

“What is a telephone pole covered in fliers if not the working man’s web-ed site?”

“Oh my God give me your credit card I’m buying you a domain name.”

“A what?”)

Jeff got his CPA and took over the financials, reeling Eddie in whenever he was struck by the urge to make a impulsive, outlandish purchase. (“I genuinely don’t understand how you make money.” 

“It’s cause I don’t do my taxes.”

“I do your taxes. At a great personal expense.”) 

Gareth was instrumental (heh…) in building up the music program—soundproofing the basement and hiring instructors and coordinating concerts and organizing payment plans, all the nitty-gritty non-music stuff that made Eddie’s head spin. At some point it just made the most sense for Eddie to cede control, let him operate it however he saw fit. (“This is your baby, dude. It’s a baby that took form within my own, much larger baby. But it’s yours.”

“I’m touched by your words and appalled by your phrasing.”

“That’s the only way I could have said it.”) 

(Gareth also once described the store as an “Elevated Hot Topic.” Eddie still hasn’t decided when he’s going to kick his ass.)


Momentum grew. Ideas compounded ideas. A kid asked how to sew a patch to his backpack and it snowballed into the Build Your Own Battlevest Workshop. Wayne suggested knocking out the connecting wall between the walk-in freezer and the pantry, and now thrice weekly Eddie runs table-top games for varying age-sets and skill-levels. (At Steve’s request, the elementary school group is called H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS FIRE CLUB. Not because he thinks it needs to be censored. He just thinks it’s funny.)  (He’s right.)

It was supposed to be a record store but now it’s so much more. Now there are listening parties and movie screenings and little league teams with his store’s name on the back of their jerseys and and and—

Eddie used to think, if he got lucky, he’d last a year. Now he’s closing in on 30. He was profiled by the local newspaper. They called him “a pillar of the community.”

Wild. 

It’s a warm, sunny April morning. He’s sitting at the takeout window, sipping coffee from the bottom half of a teapot-teacup combo that reads, in a menacing blood-red font, THIS FREAK DRINKS TEA. His hair is gathered in a loose braid, the ends still damp from his post-run shower. (Sometime in their mid-thirties Steve tricked him into maintaining a consistent cardio routine, and now he’s the type of person who gets out of bed at the crack of dawn to knock out an “easy three.” He’s a monster, a husk of his former self. A husk with a much-improved lung capacity and thighs that can juice a watermelon but nonetheless HUSK.) The middle school is about a half mile from the shop; he pulls faces at all the students filtering past. (Steve’s kids, current and former, refer to Eddie exclusively as Mr. Munson’s Husband. It never fails to thrill him.)

He’s leaning back to flip the record piping through the store’s speakers (“Dustin I don’t care if it’s ‘easier’ to ‘create a Spotify account,’ whatever that means. We play vinyl only! Let me be pretentious about this one thing!”) when he hears a meek, polite cough coming from just beneath the window. He peers out and on the sidewalk stands a girl. She’s small, too little to be one of Steve’s. She clutches the strap of her backpack, blue eyes huge with nerves and determination. 

“Hail and well met, weary traveler!” He’s speaking in what Steve calls his Dork Voice, the slightly tuned-down version he uses to put shy kids at ease. “How might I be of assistance?” The girl purses her lips, sets her shoulders, shakes her shaggy bangs out of her face. Eddie thinks suddenly of Nancy and Robin and his heart clenches.

“Do you like games?” She asks.

He smiles softly. Drops the act. “Yeah.” He rests his scarred cheek in the cradle of his palm. “I like games. Do you like games?”

The dam breaks.

“Yes!” She replies at once, breathless with enthusiasm. “My family plays a lot of board games, like Game of Life and Monopoly, and they’re okay but kind of boring, but my brother taught me how to play Settlers of Catan and I really liked that, and my friends and I played Werewolf at a sleepover but we made up a bunch of extra rules to make it harder, and my cousin showed me this video game where the ending changes based on what choices you make and that’s so cool—”

“Alright, slugger.” Eddie can’t help but laugh. “What game are you looking to play?”

The girl collects herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, so. So I like it in games where there are rules, but also you can make stuff up? And you can do something weird that might ruin everything but also might pay off? And sometimes you have to work with other people to accomplish your goal, but alliances can break?” Eddie nods. “So there’s this one game. It sounds like so much fun, but nobody I know plays it. They play it on this show I like, well, okay, it’s not really a show, it’s, uh, okay do you know what a podcast is?” Eddie beams.

Steve swapped study hall coverage so he could pop in for lunch. Tonight is parent-teacher conferences, which means Steve’ll be home late, which means Eddie will get absorbed in a project and either crash upstairs or stumble home well after Steve’s gone to bed, which means they’ve got to snatch the time together they can get. They split a sandwich, a salmon burger from Costco Eddie threw in the air fryer and smashed up with avocado and grilled poblano pepper. (”It’s heart healthy!” “You’re heart healthy.” “Aw.” “I meant that as an insult.” “I’m not taking it as one, mwah mwah mwah.”) Eddie eats too fast, as he often does, and drags his nails over the veins of Steve’s forearm to distract himself from his gastrointestinal tract turning inside out.

“🎶Myyyy babyyyy myyyyyy babyyyyyy,” he hums against the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’reeee my babyyyyy sayyyy it to meeeeee🎶.” “Alright,” he huffs, tapping his fingers to the knobby bone of Eddie’s wrist. He presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and rises. “I gotta get back.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, gathers the papers he’d promised he’d grade but didn’t. Eddie watches him readjust, watches him smooth down the salt-and-pepper hairs dusting his temples, watches him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He catches Eddie watching and asks, slyly, “What?”

Eddie wants to say, I love you. He wants to say, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. He wants to say, I’m so grateful I built this life with you. 

But he’s still himself, so what he says is, “Those khakis make your ass look great.”

Steve scoffs, and with a bitchy eye roll he sinks his weight onto his back foot and says, “I KNOW,” and there he is. There’s the man he married. He looks over his shoulder before he leaves, his honey-warm eyes liquifying Eddie’s spine.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.” Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.  Pretty good life. 

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

Rambling About Charles and Evil and Empathy.

I saw a sweet Charles quote. And to be honest, even though we were completely smacked in the face by how evil his behind-the-scenes actions were, I do have a soft spot for him. There are tons of moments where he just broke my heart. Of course, it’s hard to tell who anyone in this book truly was at the end of the day… But I felt pity for the guy, while hating his vices. I think he did have good streak in him that his addiction wrecked. The neat thing about this book is that fans will empathize on different levels with different characters.

It sounds weird to say but I think TSH made me a more empathetic person. Obviously, I have to be careful with what I say here because none of the crimes in this book were excusable. In fact, that’s a key part of the conflict! The characters are delusional and challenge moral boundaries, and there was no other way this could end but their actions destroying them. Richard is problematic precisely because he paints away the flaws of these characters— much like Julian does— until he’s forced to admit how evil everyone has become. Things just get too out-of-control. Besides, society would collapse if we didn’t draw hard lines and refuse to justify people. That said, it’s also important to understand the types of things that make people break and to take them seriously. No character in TSH was just born evil. And we get periodic glimpses of who they could have turned out to be.

I do believe Charles, had he not come to rely on alcohol and face multiple traumatic experiences, could have just been a sensitive and thoughtful man; he loves animals and we see this when he saves Frost from being put down and when he takes in the cat. He’s also the most reflective about what the group did to Bunny and to his family (Richard reflects a lot too, but we are in his head. Charles voices this aloud multiple times). And I have to admit I nearly broke down crying when he was sick in Richard’s room and said, “I’m scared.” That’s a feeling so raw that it just really hurt me. Francis’s flippant attitude about serious things, honestly, annoyed me. But I felt the same thing for him when he was having a panic attack and didn’t know what was happening to him. Genuine panic, fear, and loneliness are just tough to watch.

I don’t know. Tartt writes with so much nuance, bringing light to the fact that we have to admit some people are bad people and that aesthetic beauty has nothing to do with it. But her characters, despite their evil, are also humanized in a way that isn’t just a cheap “but his parents died” few sentences. The slow burn aspect of this book and the time Tartt takes to actually provide a full psychological picture is breathtaking. Human minds are just tricky things, especially when they’re damaged at young ages. Eh, I’m rambling now but these are tough topics and the line between justifying and empathizing is thin and hard to understand.

[hellyesadultswim]

12 Oz Mouse “Francis, Cheap & Out of Control” S03E01

Bonus Dancing Eye gif:

[the-heaminator]

Chapter 15 of the murder fic

They didn't let Francis return home that night, they had too many things to discuss, and he was a little too, how should I put this, rabid, liable to bite if he wasn't beaten enough?

He was certainly not in a good place by any stretch of the imagination, which to be fair was what they wanted, but he hadn't got close enough to the brink of insanity to be considered safe in their odd little way, and certainly seemed simply too disturbingly human and fallible for them to simply let him go, and they did actually have things to discuss.

He was frogmarched through the woods, to stop him running away, though with his unstable he seemed as he walked, stumbling and tripping over roots and whatnot, even if he did try in earnest, he wouldn't have gotten very far, and he seemed too downright scared to even try, he was almost limp in Ivan's grip while Arthur led the way through the dark and gloom back into town, they all looked a little scruffy, Francis looked utterly dishevelled, there was mud on his clothes and face, his eyes were darting around like a caged beast, but with the two others flanking him now, less attention came his way, the other two started to rather pleasantly discuss utterly horrifying things, rapid pace and quick-fire, and if one wasn't listening too hard, which no one would be at this time, it was mostly tipsy students on the streets at this time, celebrating the end of term before many of them had to go home for the holidays, pity the students who either elected not to go home or had no place to go.

Just out of town, they told, rather drilled it into Francis, that he needed to collect himself, stop crying, look like he simply fell down or something of the sort, his eyes were red and puffy, hair a matted scraggly mess, but he had stopped crying, somehow, Francis did not know how he managed it, fear probably, he felt cold, too cold, yes it was near midwinter, but this felt different, not the nibbling on his skin that came with the wind, or the clear-headedness that such a stiff breeze causes, he felt full of wool, like a marionette conducted by strings somewhere above him that he could not see and have no control over, full of wet wool, heavy and cold, he wanted nothing more than to just curl up and die

He could barely register his limbs as his own, stumbling where the two led him, once again dimly wondering whether they would just kill him, this was discarded after he thought about it for a while, that would be too merciful of them, it seemed unlike them, and apparently, they had use for him yet, they wouldn't kill him, maybe they would torture him too, to keep his mouth shut maybe, he couldn't think straight and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to, somewhat he wished he would just die at their hands.

He was led to their house, he did know that they lived together, all the faculty did and so did most of the students, things spread like wildfire, rumour is halfway across town before the truth had a chance to get its boots on, but sometimes rumour is more reminiscent of truth than you might think, just without all the details; they were almost married in all but name, but even as he knew, it seemed odd to see their shared residence.

Maybe today's theme was just odd.

An understatement most definitely, but it wasn't wrong either.

The house looked old, not run down but certainly not in the best condition, a tad creaky, they must've gotten it cheap and fixed it up slightly, considering that it was in a rather sketchy part of town, not the place you would expect two professors to live, definitely not ones of such coveted subjects, and Francis mildly wondered whether they'd brought the house together financially, was that how houses work, joined ownership was it called? Shared ownership?

Ivan opened the door, unlocking the door with some difficulty, he had to barge into it just a little to loosen it enough to open.

Francis really was in too deep, like a spider after mating, he had already gotten in too deep, but now he most definitely knew it, the doorway yawned over him in all its creaky glory, and he was swallowed within, he had to tread carefully lest he ends up in the mouth of the others.

*

The last day of term was normally a joyous occasion, people could go home, of course there was always the crushing fear of exams and failure, but if drowned in enough alcohol and ignored for long enough, it seemed to go away, or if it was replaced with other more pressing problems, and Julchen had all three on her roster, too much alcohol in her system, the loud noise of the bar somewhat distracted her from her academic worries, though these, of course, were less of contributors than the continued disappearance of Ludwig, it had been a couple of weeks now, and she had filed a report with the police, they seemed to not be particularly interested, and there was only so much she and Feliciano could do.

He had been a help, and a wonder, though again she still had no idea why he was doing it, she knew Ludwig had mentioned him in passing, but never often enough or with enough fondness or any emotion really behind it to really constitute a type of attachment or bond, but now she couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, she was too tired to do that. He had gone off to flirt with someone or the other after he had a few drinks, he had invited her out after a particularly stressful night of poring over given information, suspicions, schoolwork and what not, it ended in her banishing Feliciano, not for any mistake of his own, she had started to sob quietly and did not want anyone to see her in that state after he tried to comfort her.

She felt bad that after all that, the next day he brought her out for celebratory drinks, there really didn't seem like there was anything to celebrate, he looked a mess that day too, but now he seemed absolutely fine, that man had a way of changing his moods with such speed and precision that it was a little scary, but now that she was pleasantly buzzed, she felt a little nicer about everything, she wasn't drunk per se but certainly wasn't all that sober, she didn't want to talk much and was content just sitting there.

It was kind of nice, loud and chaotic as it was, it felt oddly comforting, she normally didn't like bars and pubs and the like, she was usually only there for business purposes anyways, but coming here right now was probably the best ting for her sorry state, she needed no more time with her thoughts for a good while, she wanted them to shut up so very much, and the bar lent itself well to this.

She didn't expect anyone to sit next to her, and she expected less to actually recognise them.

"Tolys? Feliks?"

"The very same."

"Yep, that is I!"

Feliks span on the creaky barstool he was perched upon, clearly quite a bit drunk, and Tolys, his ever-suffering..friend?..at this moment Julchen couldn't remember if they were dating or not, the last time they talked they seemed to be, but that felt like it was so so very long ago, they'd drifted a bit after second year, and more every subsequent year, but they did talk sometimes, and right now, she didn't know why exactly, she wanted as many people as she could have around her.

What was I saying?

Ah yes, Tolys cuffed him round the head a little and kissed him on the nose, he was also clearly quite tipsy if he was doing such displays of affection in public, and they probably were still dating if this was anything to go by.

"So what's up with you?"

She remembered after a while that Feliks was doing art history and Tolys was doing medicine, they really seemed the opposite of each other sometimes, but then again they were also oddly similar, she was rarely this fond of people, it must've been the alcohol, there was no better way to explain it, and after a rather prolonged pause in which she hastily sought through her wretched mind for a good answer, she gave up and just said "Nothing much."

Feliks looked around, a bit like an owl, he had always been an odd kid, but the three were almost stuck at the hip until they got to high school, and even then they stayed close for far longer than most people can say early friendships lasted, they drifted yes, but not enough to become strangers to one another again, and when tipsy this shined clearer and he said "Where's Luddy?"

Julchen froze for a second, she felt terrible that she had forgotten about him, too wrapped up in her own silly little pleasures for once, and weighed her options she could lie, but she didn't have the energy for that, but if she just blurted it out it would completely ruin the entire atmosphere, so she moved her hand in an odd motion and said, almost defeated.

"Dunno, I dunno where he is anymore."

She took a big gulp of her drink to placate herself and her thoughts, the two looked at her oddly, and she noted their eyes two pairs of varying different shades of green, one like the forest and one like an emerald, the forest ones tilted with concern and Tolys spoke "What do you mean by that Julchen?" he sounded genuinely confused for a moment before seemingly coming to his senses as he sipped his drink causing him to give out a hacking cough "Wait, wait, shit is he missing!"

He certainly caught on much faster than she thought he would, but then again, he was almost like an older brother to Ludwig when they were younger, he would certainly, or at least was quite likely to still have a protective streak over him, and all Julchen could do was look into her drink and force herself not to cry, the night had been going so well, too well for the likes of her, clearly she seemed like she didn't deserve joy while Tolys panicked for a moment, roped Feliks in, who was not exactly the most lucid right about now, so that angle was dropped for now.

She was interrogated, though with good intentions by Tolys, and all the details she told him you already know, so I shall not bore you with them, he looked utterly distraught, he wasn't ready for that, no wonder Julchen seemed off.

She was about to get another drink when she was stopped by Feliciano, who had seemed to melt out from the crowd from absolutely nowhere, Tolys stood up, albeit shakily and threatened him, thinking he was some sleazeball who wanted to do unmentionable things to her, he was aware of her part way profession, so the threat was very real.

She was done right now, with pretty much everything and anything, and grabbed both of them, Tolys grabbed Feliks who really did seem to be on a different planet and stalked outside, she had good tolerance and hadn't had all that much to drink, at least compared to Tolys and Feliks, she wasn't sure whether Feliciano was sober or not, but he seemed attentive enough to at least corroborate her story if nothing else, and thus began the explanation.

But I shall not bore you with that, not yet at least, how about we move the scene a tad somewhere else? It's getting a bit boring here and there are quicker things to go onto, and I do sincerely apologize for jumping about so much, I don't usually do this.

*

Francis had been ordered to clean up a bit, something about him smelling like a barn, he couldn't remember, but he did end up in their shower not long after he had gotten into their house, home? The difference was arbitrary at best but it was a welcome distraction to his mind, it still felt like wet cotton, but now there were lice all infested within it, crawling and sticking to the cloth of his mind, itching incessantly, half-baked thoughts roaming free, not living long enough to ever come to a conclusion, but leaving dozens more in its wake, jumbled and bustling yet sodden and heavy.

Oddness was the energy of today, perhaps the feeling of oxymoron, was there an adjective for that? Oxymoronic? Francis supposed that his mind was playing tricks on him, trying to rationalize, he had asked them for help, he knew it would come at a price, and it wasn't all that bad, but these trivial thoughts were a comforting, really distracting blanket, albeit a thin one, over the tumult of nonsense that was his mind, like a scratchy but well-worn blanket during an illness, and his mind supplied what illness specifically, something horrific and incurable, spreading without want or reason, spreading to the mind, like rabies!

Though well that could easily be treated with antibiotics if he was under a threshold, he could be safe, rather he could've been safe, he had gone above that threshold, rabies, insanity, odd comparisons, but they all did have thresholds, as did pain, people have thresholds for a lot of things, sanity is a threshold isn't it, what was sanity, what is the difference between sanity and insanity, effectively an in at the beginning of the word changing the whole meaning, insanity was relative too, everything was relative everything was a spectrum, why didn't anything make sense, why was he here, he needed to leave, he needed to L E A V E.

His mind went blank as he swallowed, he had not a clue why, and wasn't sure whether he liked it or not, but right now he was just too tired to care, far too tired, he just needed to get washed up and leave, or do whatever the two told him to do, safest option right now, both for his shreds of sanity and his physical well being, he saw what Arthur could do, and if his fuzzy deductions were correct, the one on the far side, not Matthew the other one, the one with his head lolling, was Ivan's doing, he had no idea what was going on over there but that was somehow scarier than the blood and gore of the other two.

As he was...ah... going through it, as they say, Arthur and Ivan were in as close to marital bliss as two unmarried men could get to, believe me, it is close enough for you to really not know the difference, the only difference was that they were not in holy matrimony in the eyes of the lord, but at this point, it was scarcely possible to get into his good favours anymore, so they frankly could not care less.

The height difference was always fun, Ivan was tall but felt somewhat smaller than his height would suggest, he held himself in a way that made him look perpetually embarrassed of his height, and had an energy about him that was inviting, the type grandmothers would coddle over even at his age, and even with him towering over them, it was a natural ability, he had always been like this, and this was one of the better defences, when students said he looked like he ate children, it was meant entirely in jest, he was generally well loved by his students, and Arthur, both of which mattered equally to him, though technically his students were a large body and Arthur was only one, but hush with the semantics would you.

Arthur was about a good foot shorter than Ivan but seemed larger when in a room, if only because his presence was just somehow larger, like a swan almost, they seem larger than they are, and feel untouchable, beautiful with the opportunity to be deadly, but directly compared to Ivan, he looked tiny, and when with him Arthur felt not the need to pretend to be large, he liked being enveloped within Ivan's heart and body, he knew it was a foolish move, he was meant to be somewhat above most people, or at least he liked to think of himself as such, but the human heart was notoriously fallible, no matter what one did, and truly Arthur thought himself lucky.

He could have ended up with a whole lot worse of a man than Ivan, and currently as Arthur was stubbornly trying to force the lid of a tupperware container open without breaking the brittle box, the last of their meat, it just seemed fitting to give Francis a taste of what would be to come wasn't it, Ivan's cooking was always wonderful, and after a while in the freezer it had gotten a bit chewy, that was what usually happened at least, but something was better than nothing.

He failed and had to get Ivan to do it, though not without struggle, Arthur could open the box, but it would just break in the process, you would naturally think that Ivan was the one that relied more on brute strength, but it was more often Arthur, mainly because he had less of it to give, Ivan had constantly always been too strong for his own good and learnt to reign it in at an early age.

This means he could open the box without it breaking, something Arthur could scarcely be able to do, Arthur grumbled a bit, but as Ivan was standing right behind him he couldn't help but kiss the top of his grumpy little head, he loved this man more than he thought possible, honestly they would be terrible for anyone else other than each other, that was some of the beauty in them, it would quite literally be murder for anyone else.

He had never gotten used to how direct Arthur could be at times, he was generally more used to the reserved Arthur, or the sleepy cuddly type which he loved the most, the fiery passion that came over him sometimes was always unexpected, but most of the time it was very much welcome, Ivan was still wearing his suit, it was grimy but hell it was the last day of the semester, who cared, and Arthur pulled him around with it, now he was the one with his back against the counter, eyes wide and cheeks aflame.

He looked adorable, and Arthur really couldn't help himself, today had been a good day, and there were only very few instances where he could kiss Ivan without needing to tiptoe and Ivan having to bend down quite a bit, Arthur pressed him over the counter, probably hurt his back but hell it's home, they can do as they please, Arthur crashed his lips onto Ivan's, ok he did have to tiptoe still, but not much, Ivan's eyes, if possible, went wider, but he really wasn't complaining, he pulled Arthur in towards him, an easy task, and they continued until Arthur ran out of breath.

Ivan looked like a kicked puppy because Arthur had to disconnect, to breathe if nothing else, but tried and succeeded to placate Ivan with a lick on the lips, a little unsanitary but whatever, kissing was proven to be one of the worst methods of pathogen transportation, and for a moment they just stayed there, enjoying each others touch, before Ivan had to get up, and cracked his back doing so with an audible and somewhat painful sounding pop, and they finished heating the stew on the hob like nothing had ever happened, it took a while.

Frozen stews and curries were an absolute pain to melt properly, there was always something that stayed frozen or something that felt like the surface of the sun, but it would have to do, Francis would need his first taste, just to know that he could never go back.

Where was he anyways?

He hadn't left the shower but it had been a good 30 minutes he'd been in there, eh he probably needed the time, to clear his mind or something, Arthur knocked the door just in case, to tell him to be out soon.

Oddly domestic this was, at least Arthur and Ivan felt so, Francis was not in a position to have any say anymore, Francis came out not long after, he wasn't all that much taller than Arthur, so his clothes fit.

He never thought he would turn up in their house, bathing in their bathroom, and wearing one of his fellow Professors clothes, it was...odd, the whole situation was odd but right now he was in no state to complain, he could barely form a full sentence, he wanted to sleep.

Ivan and Arthur needed to clean themselves up too, neither took more that 5 minutes, and Francis was always in the sight of one of them, he didnt do anything, he just sat in the sofa, looking a different species of exhausted, it wasn't the exhaustion that came after an adrenaline high, it was similar, that played a part, but there was also the bone-deep tiredness that came with fearful acceptance, he had already gone through the gates of hell, there was no going back, but he hadn't been dehumanised the point that he could enjoy it, not yet at least.

They switched, the room remained in silence save for the quiet bubbling of the stew, Ivan was now out, sitting in his home clothes, he just looked innocent even when he was anything but it, he always did, it felt a little better anyhow, Arthur was just so overbearing like this, he was normally a bit scary but not to the point where just him looking at you did anything, he had heard that students of his did experience this, but he had never before and thought it to be silly, turns out it was not.

In the same way, Ivan was well loved, and often considered to be one of the nicest professors, but now it just seemed off-putting, it was probably a good guise but it worked even as Francis knew exactly what was happening, that cold dark little cabin, hidden away in the forest, no one would find them, he would have to do that too, he would be part of this whether he liked it or not, and no one would belive him if he did blab, and he would likely die from it, as his mind has supplied plenty of times before there was no way out other then obedience, and he was frankly slowly growing to accept it, a frightening thought most certainly, but it would keep him alive.

Yes, they would.

Probably.

His thoughts had just started to collect after what was a good half-week of them being everywhere, unfinished and jittery, scattered again, and his pulse quickened again at these thoughts, he was so tired but with adrenaline flowing through his veins again, his adrenal glands, poor things, working overtime to fulfil the wishes of the hypothalamus, he was still scared, like when a bear was made to dance, still a wild animal, just beaten into submission, people were slightly different, you could use words to break their minds too, ad he was sure Arthur would use this against him, but he was just too tired, even adrenaline can only do so much to one who hasn't slept in a good half week and hasn't eaten in about the same time, whose cried himself silly and experienced pretty much all of the negative emotions humans can feel in a very short period of time.

Arthur was out now too, he looked smaller when not wearing his suit and tie, he looked oddly human too, he went to go check on the stew, to move it about, make sure the meat was defrosting, with this Francis's eyelids drooped and closed, quite against his will, he was sitting as far away from the two as he could on their sofa, Arthur had climbed onto the sofa next to Ivan, partially on him.

They weren't as young as they used to be, and the stress of everything, marking and teaching were stressful things, and even as they both loved their jobs, it did become overwhelming rather easily, and they had two comforts, their toys as well as each other, Ivan fell asleep rather quickly, tired from the day that had just happened.

The house was pleasantly quiet, the stew was on very low heat s it was unlikely to burn or stick to the pot, human tasted nice, and like pork it was tough, and needed to be heated nicely as pork did, they could afford to waste some time here, at least for a little.

Though of course, this couldn't last all that long, the stew was done, Ivan was awoken with some difficulty, he slept like the dead when given the chance, and kept trying to hug Arthur and just go to sleep for the night, a fair move, but something they had to wait just a little longer to do, Ivan was drowsy as Arthur ladled out the stew, he looked younger with his hair all mussed up in home clothes with glasses on crooked.

Francis woke up to the bustling, he was anxious enough in his sleep, he didn't go all that deep into sleep either, hovering about the surface of sleep, and far easier to wake up.

They looked human. Monsters can be human though, don't let your eyes fool you.

The table was set and the stew was served, Ivan had the largest helping as usual, Arthur was oddly hungry too, they gave Francis only a bit to begin with, there was more in the pot, but he seemed hungry so it was likely he would eat more, even though he would probably just vomit it all out later if the anxiety got too strong, some food needed to get into him or it would be bad for all people involved, and it was good to give him a taste.

By the way Francis was eyeing it he did seem to have at least a good inkling about what was in the stew, but with the intent gaze of the other two, one questioning, one commanding, he took a bite, and then another, and another, his hunger got the best of him, and it tasted like pork, but milder, stringy but pleasantly so, and whatever spices were put into it had perfectly leached into it, he could almost forget that this was probably the flesh from some unfortunate student from god knows how long ago, they must only do this irregularly otherwise it would be suspicious, and the meat did have the texture of something frozen for quite a long time.

Ivan asked for more, and bread, which was given to him, and Francis didn't know what to do, he was starving and the food had only made it stronger, but he didn't want to dirty his soul by asking for more. Bit late for that Francis, bit late but alright.

He gave in, too hungry and tired to care, he knew he should've had a more violent reaction, but he was out of relations to give right now, and he ate in silence, the other two discussed things not of importance to mention here, but were somewhat distracting for Francis' mind, he could barely understand any of it, it didn't sound like words but they probably were, he was just too out of it to notice, or care, just the buzzing of syllables in his ears allowed him to ignore his mind, at least for the time being.

They stayed on the table for the best part of an hour, before Arthur called out to Francis, it took a while for him to realise they were calling out his name, his auditory processing had seemingly stopped working for a while, a completely normal occurrence during a panic attack, but he wasn't panicking, at least he probably wasn't, not to his knowledge, and when he looked at Arthur with completely blank eyes, his eyes were normally so pretty, even Ivan would say so, but now they looked broken, just scared even as Francis didn't realise, Arthur felt a list of things that normally aren't ones to coincide, especially not in him.

Pity, anger, guilt, and a couple others Arthur couldn't name swirled about, he wasn't meant to be like this, this wasn't well planned out, this wasn't even planned out, it had really just been a pipe dream for the longest time to get him to join, and now that he did, neither could understand why he was being so difficult, what was the problem in sacrificing your humanity for pleasure, it just made sense to them, but he looked just broken, and not the type that could be easily harnessed either, shattered rather than broken, with broken you could glue it back together with words and coaxes to slowly change it, with shattered that was far more difficult, some pieces would be lost, but it could still be salvaged, yes, but not right now, he needed sleep.

They would discuss this amongst themselves, if Francis wanted to get involved he could, but he didn't seem to be in the best place right now "Francis, would you like to sleep?"

He took a while to process before he shook his head and slowly said, lowly and a little cracked, nothing like the smooth suave voice they were used to hearing from him "N-no, not when I am the topic of discussion. What is it that you would like to say?"

The two looked at each other, emerald meeting amethyst, and the latter said "As you have been...indicted as it was, you have to get your own toy, we will help you of course, but none of us would be willing to share, and besides, it is necessary to know how to catch one."

It kind of sounded like catching a fish if the way Ivan was explaining it was to be believed, he wanted none of it, he wanted to go home, sleep for the entire winter break, maybe this was all just a bad dream or something, he didn't want to ruin some innocent life, it was unlikely that he would eat the body, it tasted nice apparently, but he was probably not to eat it, and that was certainly a lot of meat to have stored away.

"Do you have anybody in mind?"

He had not, and he said as such "No..?"

Ivan clucked his tongue "Have you information on any of them, ones with bad family histories, quiet or ignorable ones, disliked ones, knowing you that is very likely."

Francis could scarcely access his own thoughts to a functional level, let alone access his mental records about others, and he just stared at Ivan blankly, who grimaced, an odd expression on such a soft face and he said to Arthur, not even trying to hide it "I don't think he is with us yet."

Francis had a small spark of recognition in his eyes, but it faded quickly and said "C-can we discuss this later." he made an odd sound, kind of like a groan, went pale, got up, and puked into the toilet, all the food he had just eaten gone down the toilet, they had expected it, but it was a bit insulting for it to happen, especially to Ivan, but he forced himself to at least try to sympathise with his plight, they waited for him, he slumped over the toilet bowl and started to cry again.

Ugly tears of fear and whatnot streamed down his face, he curled up into himself, how had he just eaten that so eagerly, what was he even now, he was subhuman now, he barely registered being lifted up on one side by Arthur and the other by Ivan until they carried him into the bright living room and set him down on the sofa, put a blanket on him, and left the room, making sure everything was locked to stop him escaping.

They were confusing, scary, comforting and everything in between all at once and none at the same time, he couldn't dwell on this too long as he fell back into an uncomfortable, fitful, but deep sleep, the other two did the same, they were tired as well, and Ivan's back was not going to take anymore any time soon if he kept abusing it like so, the sound he made when he laid flat on his side of the bed was almost erotic, he slept quickly, and with Arthur buried in his chest, being held close with his arms, it was good, life was good sometimes, though as usual, Arthur squirmed a bit to be comfortable before falling into a deathlike sleep, they would have to catch up on a whole hell of a lot of marking during the break on days when they would be able to, at least they would be able to distress by way of their toys, and teaching Francis how to use and abuse them.

But for now they slept, some wept in an apartment not too far away, mourning a lost brother, no one mourned Alfred and Matthew, they were to stay for the break anyways, and they rarely called.

No one there to mourn or miss them, I'd say that's a bit worse, they wouldn't be missed until they were long, long beyond saving, probably gone, at least Ludwig had people to mourn, even if they were all a bit drunk right now, I shall go on about them in a bit, just you wait, for now I bid you adieu, though I hope not for long.

[whatyourusherthinks]

Megalopolis Review

There were whispers. Whispers the Francis Ford Coppala was making a movie that was a Libertarian parable. But they were just whispers, since we got no trailers for this movie. We got that poster, but what the hell is anyone supposed to take away from that poster? That Adam Driver is gonna use a T-Square like a pick-axe? I've never seen a movie directed by FFC before, but I heard he only makes wine now, so I was slightly surprised that this was an actual movie that was coming out. And then there were more whispers. Whispers that the movie was bad.

What's The Movie About?

Okay so... Bear with me. Adam Driver is an architect/engineer/mad scientist who wants to build a city called Megalopolis in another city called New Rome which is New York but Roman and Cyberpunk and Megalopolis can shapeshift into whatever it's citizens need, but since New Rome is super decadent and the mayor hates Adam for convoluted reasons involving a dead lady who may or may not be his wife, there is a conspiracy among the political elite and banks to stop Adam. ALSO, Adam can stop time and the mayor's daughter notices him doing it so she meets up with him and they fall in love. And also gender-fluid Shia LeBeouf starts a fascist popular uprising and fucks his aunt.

What I Like.

There are some shots that looked cool, and some concepts of the visuals are interesting. I think it's physically impossible for Giancarlo Esposito to act badly, so he was good as the mayor.

What I Didn't Like.

Oooooookay... Uh... Well, to start with, I'm not sure what happened in the movie. The plot is basically FFC combining The Fountain Head with The Fall of the Roman Empire and writing half of it in Middle English. The dialogue is terrible. I can only understand half of it, which is due to a mix of the weird prose and word choice that makes every sentence indecipherable, the fact that every other sentence is a non sequitur topic change, the awful attempts at juvenile humor that comes out of nowhere, or Adam driver mumbling all of his lines. Despite the star-studded cast, almost all the actors look either bored or just as lost as I was. The only one who didn't act like that was Shia, who was just acting insane. I'm not convinced he didn't just wander onto the green screen and he thought banging his sisters in real life. Because there is a shit load of random incest in the movie!

Speaking of shit and incest, I had no idea that this movie was gonna look like Trump's toilet. Covered in cheap gold film, not at all distracting from content someone forgot to take care of properly. Seriously, the special effects in this movie are ass. Actors pop out of green screen so badly that they might as well fall out of the movie screen too. The mega-substance or whatever the miracle element that made Megalopolis is called looks like it was a placeholder they were going to replace with the actual special effect later. I was confused for the longest time about the setting. New Rome is a sci-fi Rome, complete with a massive circus where chariot races and wrestling happen and everyone wearing togas. But also it's New York City? The movie opens with Adam almost falling off of the Empire State Building, complete with establishing shots of the actual NYC skyline that they forgot to scrub the METLIFE logo out of, and at one point someone mentions the Statue of Liberty.

I also don't know why Adam can control time. I know HOW, it's the power of love, but the only relevance is to introduce the mayor daughter to Adam. There are long stretches of the movie where I'm pretty sure it just forgets he can do it, and then they have to randomly insert him doing it in random trip out sequence that has absolutely no connection to anything else. That might sound fun in a weird, almost debaucherous way, but they movie half asses it and it's just boring. They make vague motions in that direction as well, there's this whole song and dance about New Rome falling into decadence but the worst it gets is a bunch of people enjoying a circus performance and doing ecstasy. That's not a whole lot shocking or, well, sexy about the movie. It tries to be. There's a ton of dirty jokes, and some sex scenes, but they are so flavorless. I don't know why it is that way, the movie is rated R, and they don't really shy away from gore or talking about taboo subject matter. It almost feels like FFC thinks he's better than showing nudity. Sure I get that the movie isn't really about sex and sexuality the same way a Yorgos Lanthimos movie would be, but then bring it up at all? Why have Aubrey Plaza grind her cooch against Shia's face if you're gonna hide any good stuff. This movie is so boring and confusing otherwise, at least a random explicit sex scene wouldn't lessen anything. I would just feel really weird because Aubrey is playing Shia's aunt in the movie and she makes him call her Aunty while doing the humping.

Am I harping on the incest too much? Well, sorry, but this movie harps on about... Actually, I don't know. I think the movie is about everyone getting out of this visionary's way and letting him cook, but events are so disjointed and the dialogue is so unable to be parsed this movie could equally be about 5 other things. I do know one thing though. FFC does have opinions about things that are happening. I shit you not, a plot point in this movie is Adam Driver being "cancelled" via a deep fake video with an underage pop star. But not only was that not him in the video, but the pop star was lying about her age to get some award or something. AND she was lying about origin. AND this was all set up by Shia in a dress strongarming people with Jason Shwartzman neo-Nazi. So, let me get this straight FFC. Not only are genderfluid people insane fascists, but they also try to ruin the lives of the upstanding smart people by manipulating immigrants who lie in order to get higher standing in society. Now. I don't know if that was your intended message. But that was kinda the message you sent out. It's not just in construction of scenes, random bits of dialogue will slip in little beliefs that he clearly holds dearly, like how women are really to blame for men being unfaithful. What, am I reading Heinlein? God, I even hate this movie's title. I keep thinking it is called Megatropolis, but no. That's me reflexively jumping to my Superman comfort zone in the face of shittiness.

Final Summation.

My initial impression of this movie was that I was too stupid to understand it, but then I remembered that Adam Driver gets shot in the face by a twelve-year-old in this movie, so I don't think it's that intelligent. I may not understand Megalopolis, but I do understand that it is shit. If I need to give it any credit, well, it is unique. There's not another experience out there that is like this movie. But the same thing could be said about swallowing a handful of bullet ants. If you want a movie about a corrupt society reforming with a famous cast including a wise Lawrence Fishburne, watch Transformers One. That movie the CGI actually looks good.

[newstfionline]

Monday, May 13, 2024

Wildfire in Canada’s British Columbia forces thousands to evacuate. Winds push smoke into Alberta (AP) Canadian authorities are urging all remaining residents in the northeastern part of the province of British Columbia to leave immediately, despite improving weather conditions, after thousands have already been evacuated due to a fast-growing wildfire. The blaze, which started Friday, almost doubled in size the following day, reaching about 17 square kilometers (4,200 acres). BC Wildfire Service maps showed the fire burning just a few kilometers (miles) west of Fort Nelson’s city limits. The fire is one of three major wildfires near Fort Nelson, located in the far northeastern corner of British Columbia, about 1,600 kilometers (994 miles) from Vancouver. The high winds pushed smoke from the blaze into parts of neighboring Alberta on Saturday, putting the city of Edmonton under an air quality advisory with hazard levels rated at 10-plus—or “very high risk”—forecast.

Crews prepare for controlled demolition as cleanup continues at bridge collapse site (AP) After weeks of preparation, crews are scheduled to conduct a controlled demolition Sunday to break down the largest remaining span of the collapsed Francis Scott Key Bridge in Maryland, which came crashing down under the impact of a massive container ship on March 26. The steel span landed on the ship’s bow after the Dali lost power and crashed into one of the bridge’s support columns shortly after leaving Baltimore. Since then, the ship has been stuck among the wreckage and Baltimore’s busy port has been closed to most maritime traffic. The controlled demolition will allow the Dali to be refloated and guided back into the Port of Baltimore. Once the ship is removed, maritime traffic can begin returning to normal, which will provide relief for thousands of longshoremen, truckers and small business owners who have seen their jobs impacted by the closure.

The elections next door: Mexico’s cartels pick candidates, kill rivals (Washington Post) This time, Willy Ochoa brought reinforcements. This time, unlike the last time, he’d be ready for cartel attacks. He was accompanied by three truckloads of National Guard troops. Two state police cars with flashing red lights. He rode in his own bulletproof SUV, and had a complement of muscular bodyguards. This is what it’s like to run for Senate today in Mexico. “You’re at risk every minute,” the candidate said. Organized crime groups are turning Mexico’s elections into a literal battleground, making the campaign this year one of the deadliest in the country’s modern history. More than two dozen candidates have been killed leading up to the June 2 vote; hundreds have dropped out of the race. More than 400 have asked the federal government for security details. The armed groups’ goal is to install friendly leaders in local offices so they can better exploit Mexican communities. Once largely focused on shipping drugs to the United States, the cartels now also smuggle migrants, extort businesses and win contracts for firms they control. They want to name towns’ police chiefs and public works directors.

Rise in UK knife attacks leads to a crackdown and stokes public anxiety (AP) A familiar horror reached Pooja Kanda first on social media: There had been a sword attack in London. And then Kanda, who was home alone at the time, saw a detail she dreaded and knew all too well. A man with a sword had killed a 14-year-old boy who was walking to school. Two years ago, her 16-year-old son, Ronan, was killed by two sword-wielding schoolmates while walking to a neighbor’s to borrow a PlayStation controller. In parts of the world that ban or strictly regulate gun ownership, including Britain and much of the rest of Europe, knives and other types of blades are often the weapons of choice used in crimes. Many end up in the hands of children, as they can be cheap and easy to get. Although the number of fatal stabbings has mostly held steady in England and Wales over the past 10 years, headline-grabbing attacks and an overall rise in knife crime have stoked anxieties and led to calls for the government to do more.

Economy scars voters in run-up to EU election (Reuters) The northern French port of Dunkirk, riding an industrial mini-boom thanks to a state-backed investment push, is a showcase for President Emmanuel Macron’s belief that fighting unemployment is the best way to curb support for the far-right. But the economic potential of two new EV “gigafactories” will not stop locals like Killiams Pierron backing Marine Le Pen’s nationalists in June elections to the European Parliament, after a surge in prices for food, heating and other essentials. “Bread, cheese, butter, it’s all gone up,” construction labourer Pierron told Reuters as he rode one of the region’s free buses, listing the ingredients of a ham-cheese baguette roll he said had tripled in price to 4.40 euros ($4.75) after three years of high inflation. “At some point you need to start thinking about the French before others,” he said, arguing Macron should prioritise domestic issues like affordable housing rather than pursue support for Ukraine in its war against Russia.

Bundeswehr's classified meetings found online (DW) Germany's military has admitted on Saturday a flaw in the video-conferencing tool it uses left thousands of its meetings publicly accessible online. Zeit Online reported accessing German Bundeswehr meetings by using simple search terms on the military's Webex system. "More than 6,000 meetings could be found online," some of which were meant to be classified, it wrote. The military said the bug was fixed within 24 hours after being made aware.

Russia says it has captured 5 villages in northeast Ukraine as more than 1,700 civilians flee (AP) Moscow’s forces captured five villages in a renewed ground assault in northeastern Ukraine, the Russian Defense Ministry said Saturday, and Associated Press journalists in the city of Vovchansk described multiple buildings destroyed after Russian airstrikes and barrages of Grad rockets. Ukrainian officials didn’t confirm whether Russia had taken the villages, which lie in a contested “gray zone” on the border of Ukraine’s Kharkiv region and Russia. The Institute for the Study of War said Friday that geolocated footage confirms at least one of the villages was seized. The Washington-based think tank described recent Russian gains as “tactically significant.”

Flash floods kill more than 300 people in northern Afghanistan after heavy rains, UN says (AP) Flash floods from unusually heavy seasonal rains in Afghanistan have killed more than 300 people and destroyed over 1,000 houses, the U.N. food agency said Saturday. The World Food Program said it was distributing fortified biscuits to the survivors of one of the many floods that hit Afghanistan over the last few weeks, mostly the northern province of Baghlan, which bore the brunt of the deluges Friday. The floods hit as Afghanistan is still reeling from a string of earthquakes at the beginning of the year as well as severe flooding in March, said Salma Ben Aissa, Afghanistan director for the International Rescue Committee.

Isolated and Defiant, Israel Vows to ‘Stand Alone’ in War on Hamas (NYT) Turkey has suspended trade with Israel. The world’s top court is considering whether Israeli leaders have committed genocide. Protests have overtaken cities and campuses worldwide. Ireland and Spain say they will recognize Palestine as a state by the end of the month. Even the United States—long Israel’s closest ally and benefactor—is threatening for the first time since the war began to withhold certain arms shipments. Seven months after much of the world pledged its support to Israel following a Hamas-led terrorist attack, the country finds itself increasingly isolated. With a war that has killed more than 34,000 Palestinians and left Gaza on the verge of famine, any international good will that Israel amassed on Oct. 7 has been all but lost. “If we need to stand alone,” Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel said Thursday, both acknowledging and seeking to defy his country’s growing isolation, “we will stand alone.”

As Israel Steps Up Attacks, 300,000 Gazans Are on the Move (NYT) Around 300,000 Palestinians in southern and northern Gaza are being forced to flee once again, the United Nations says, as Israel issued new and expanded evacuation orders on Saturday. But many are unsure where to find secure shelter in a place devastated by war. The expanded evacuation orders apply to the city of Rafah at Gaza’s southernmost tip, where more than a million Gazans have gathered after fleeing Israeli bombardment elsewhere over the past seven months. They have deepened fears that the Israeli military is set to proceed with an invasion of Rafah, which Israeli leaders have long promised, a prospect that international aid groups and many countries have condemned. “It’s such a difficult situation—the number of people displaced is very high, and none of them know where to go, but they leave and try to get as far away as possible,” said Mohammad al-Masri, a 31-year-old accountant who is sheltering with his family in a tent in Rafah. “Fear, confusion, oppression, anxiety is eating away at people.”

For Mormon Missionaries, Some Changes (NYT) Andres Gonzalez, 19, stands on the balcony of his Los Angeles apartment, his hands in his suit pockets. It is his first week as a missionary, but today, instead of approaching people on the street, he is shooting a [witnessing] video that he will later post to social media. Mr. Gonzalez is the image of the modern missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which has changed many of its practices—from how missionaries preach to how they dress. The faith, long known for sending tens of thousands of neatly and formally dressed young people across the globe each year to preach door to door, is encouraging new missionaries to spread the gospel on social media and, for some, with acts of community service closer to home. In the last few years, the church has also changed some rules for missionaries themselves—loosening restrictions on dress codes (women can wear pants) and how often they can call family members back home (once a week, not just on Christmas and Mother’s Day).

[the-firebird69]

I want things happening in Charlotte county

-that's also discussed his disposition and these two idiots it said as long as I asked for them to go and they looked at a lot but pulled out their notes and said he's a homicidal young turd it makes huge mistakes with our stuff and we can't figure out what to do now just leave them there didn't decide to do something. They're still trying to decide what it's going to do something

-allegiant Air and companies like that are coming apart. I'm going to be there to take over of course we need people to know these people need to be watched and they need to come down fast. We're watching this company fall apart and now we're moving in it'll take it over immediately explain too many jumps up there crap it's probably 20% that are flyable and the rest needs to be repaired seriously or cycled out the same with the other airliners they're cheap. How long was allegiant Air there's several other companies that are deteriorating rapidly of theirs

JetBlue it will be ours today

Southwest airlines it's huge 50% of jets are still in operation they own most of it still and they're going to bow out of the whole thing start doing the very good

Here a few other companies that they're abandoning and it will affect here

-Howard Johnson's apparently they're probably out of the company and pretty quickly too and nobody wants it and it's kind of a odd business. In the house in this building that are shaped like chalets not really for loggers it was his dad's company so he said the food is too small and it's cooked okay it's just that it's not the right food you need big French toast and large pancakes and they're hard to meal and you're going to buy me all these days so it doesn't even feed you so I guess he's going to take it over like with us we say good. And the color scheme is on he's never liked it his dad played with it and found in worked but second diner not a ski place so they're trying a few locations

-another company is Chrysler dumber they're actually falling out of this company so fast you can blink and another half would be gone. They're quitting and recording most factory jobs since the trumpsters and the Bja. Savannah Francis announcing that they were in those companies steel companies the oil companies and the automobile companies are fighting but they're in a lot of other companies and they're noticing that the other people are fighting and it is over at shares and they're doing it now and the max are fighting them and it's really heated up because the more like her on their way out

-here in punta Gorda the max are changing their tune towards these idiots again and they are getting them out of the sheriff's department fully is this phased thing but it's going to go on shortly and today Charlotte kind of sheriff will be laid off 1/3 of their patrolmen and then on this morning like 9:00 a.m. they expect more information to come out of them but really they're not that many in there it's 1/3 of the total and the more I could probably only 5% more than that if that's what they said. Also in PG

-the max got together and discussed what to do about our son and his problem and they had another meeting. And decided to award him a medal for bravery at some point and we also said this you have to get control of him he's in trouble and they said we need to add things for him to do places for him to go and money to get him there and it came up with some stuff the man who wanted it. He's got ideas and they work we want them and they start listing off things to do and came up with a list of money and how to get there and they're working on it

-they're also laying off people and poor people lots of them from most jobs and considerably more than normal then shooting for maybe 20% today or more 30% some sad and they haven't resolved it yet

-the government positions are seemingly going to fire themselves and it's true that the 500 additional will start firing themselves right away

-it's suddenly cooler here. Very cool. It drops 10° in about 20 seconds and a son felt it and it's going down oxygen is going up it's at 24 it's going to be at 30 in mo ments and it's probably these people apologize and it's too late.

-the max are knocking their plan and they are further building the wall and what is going up around PG and when it's going around PC it's around 5 miles outside of town but here is 80 ft high.

-a few more things happening and our son is trying to heal. But seriously the oxygen level is going up right now it's 25 in moments it's going to be 28 most of these people can't stand it at 20 and O'Reilly's shortly is there going to be screaming

-we have a few other things it's a terrible place to be so you decide to try and work on it you have several things that we're going to do and one of them is to make it more hospitable the places that dump and his idiots are thriving here and going to take houses out and replace them. We have houses picked out they're abandoned their owners gone and we're going to do it today and apply for permits immediately

-several other things are taking place including the wall getting bigger they're hiring soldiers from all over and from Charlotte county these people want these people and they wan't at them now. And violates a few rules not really but they're going to have.

There are other things current here and they're pretty big

-what they're up to the wall to go to fortify it it looked to add features to it to scan it's going to be big and real and shortly

-along with features will be personnel including hardware and then ordered a ton of it it's come from base and right now it's hitting here and these people don't get it yet very ridiculous. We want more to happen and it is

-along with the plan to my assist son their plans to stifle him. There aren't many but they come up with them so I just have to watch them

-that's it for now keep in mind that these three parties are fighting in both businesses and be careful out there

Thor Freya

They are helping those who call us and immediately thank you

We approve this message

Olympus

I'm happy about what's happening it's finally changed as we forced this people won't listen to anything but Force

Hera

Zues

[xtruss]

Sixty years ago, N.S. Savannah would have sailed beneath the Francis Scott Key Bridge, entrance to Baltimore Harbor, to ports around the globe. Now the world's first nuclear-powered merchant ship floats alongside Pier 13 of the city's Canton Marine Terminal. Photograph By Bill Newcott

This Ship Was Supposed to Usher in an Age of Nuclear-powered Travel

The N.S. Savannah was built to introduce an atomic age of super-clean, hyper-efficient sailing vessels, but ended up a relic in Baltimore Harbor. Why?

— Story and Photographs By Bill Newcott | April 5, 2023

The world had been living under the threat of nuclear war for the better part of a decade when President Dwight D. Eisenhower had an idea: Let’s give atomic power a makeover. Ike came up with Atoms for Peace, a three-pronged effort to rehabilitate our friend the atom as a harmless harbinger of unlimited possibility. Prong one: domestic nuclear energy. Prong two: nuclear medicine. Prong three: nuclear-powered transportation.

Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

One recent morning I was welcomed aboard the only surviving relic of Ike’s third prong: the N.S. Savannah (“N.S.” stands for nuclear ship), the world’s first nuke-powered merchant vessel. Put into service in August 1962, the hybrid freighter/cruise ship plied the world’s oceans for eight years, carrying trend-setting passengers and cargoes ranging from tobacco to cars, proclaiming to the world the dawning age of super-clean, hyper-efficient, nuclear-powered vessels.

Visiting the U.S. West Coast on her maiden voyage—following a transit of the Panama Canal—N.S. Savannah approaches San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge November 18, 1962. Photograph Courtesy Maritime Administration, NARA

In those heady days, some 1.5 million people at ports of call around the planet toured Savannah, pushing up the gangway of the sleek white wonder, visiting its space-age control room, and marveling at its iconic logo: two electrons encircling a porthole standing in for the nucleus of an atom.

Too soon, however, the economics of operating a nuclear-powered commercial ship in an age of cheap fossil fuels caught up with Savannah—as did her relatively small size compared to the new container ships. Now, she floats at Pier 13 of the Canton Marine Terminal in a remote corner of Baltimore Harbor, ironically rendered obsolete by her advanced technology.

Still, a defiant Savannah gleams gloriously white against the blue sky and dark water, her stylized electrons still whirling merrily around their portholes. Over the past few years, cars jammed the dock as more than 80 workers dismantled what was left of the ship’s nuclear power plant. The pieces were wrapped up and transported by train to a deep grave somewhere in Utah, completing the job 52 years after the reactor’s shut-down in 1971 and years ahead of the mandatory 2031 deadline.

Preferred guests would have been invited to the Captain’s Table—flanked by “Fission,” an expansive wall sculpture by French-born sculptor Pierre Bourdelle. Photograph By Bill Newcott

Nicer Than It Had To Be

“Very ‘Jetsons,’ isn’t it?” observed Erhard Koehler, Savannah’s senior technical advisor and the U.S. Maritime Administration official in charge of the ship. We were standing in Savannah’s lobby, virtually unchanged since launch—a low-ceilinged rectangle bisected by a long, burnt-orange Naugahyde couch. In gold print on the Linoleum reception desk were the words: “The Savannah is a Joint Project of the Maritime Administration and the Atomic Energy Commission.”

Some parts of the ship, like this lobby, appear to have arrived in the 21st century via a time vortex. The plush passenger dining room—with its miraculously intact original carpeting, atom-themed light fixtures, and a captain’s table framed by a vast, curved wall sculpture called “Fission”—seems ready to welcome spiffed-up passengers any second.

Original place settings, emblazoned with the ship’s atom-inspired logo, are preserved in a dining room display case.

On the upper deck, in the broad-windowed, brightly polished Veranda cocktail lounge, the bar is still dominated by its original, striking metallic blue, red, and yellow wine rack. Dramatically backlit, the rack was designed as an inside joke for nuclear science buffs who would have recognized it as representing the Trilinear Chart of Nuclides. Koehler and company have even found an original drink menu (“Atomic Cocktail: $1”).

“We’ve tried to preserve as much of the original look as possible in the public areas,” said Koehler. Considering the wild abandon with which substances like asbestos and PCBs were used in those days, he adds, “It’s not always easy.”

Other sections, like the former passenger cabins, are in decidedly rougher shape, victims of water leaks and rot. Still, it’s clear that Savannah was built nicer than it had to be, with touches one would never have found on a mid-century freighter. That’s because, from its inception, Savannah was meant to be much more than a nuclear-powered workhorse.

Floating behind the ship's cocktail bar, a multicolored wine bottle rack cleverly mimics the trilinear table of the nuclides, depicting isotopes of the elements.

“The passenger cabins were placed right next to the reactor,” said Koehler as we headed down a stairway to the ship’s holds. Savannah could take 60 passengers—and some of them, I was surprised to learn, slept within 50 feet of a sustained nuclear reaction.

“It was all on purpose,” Koehler said. “Eisenhower wanted everyone to see how safe nuclear power could be.”

Throughout its near-decade as a working merchant ship—then during decades of mothballing, interrupted by a stint as a floating museum near Charleston, South Carolina—Savannah has remained under the ownership of the Maritime Administration. The agency oversaw maintenance of the ship while the Nuclear Regulatory Commission dismantled and disposed of Savannah’s nuclear power plant.

During the final days of the disassembly, Koehler offered to let me see how it was going. We climbed a series of stairways to a chamber at the top of the ship's nuclear reactor. A small window had been cut into plastic sheeting draped atop the wide steel silo that contained the reactor’s innards, some 30 feet below.

Peering through, I looked directly down into the core, where 32 pillars of uranium once generated enough radioactive heat to bring circulating water to about 570 degrees Fahrenheit, creating steam to power the ship’s engine. Instinctively, I glanced at the two radiation gauges clipped to my shirt. Of course, there was nothing to worry about. Still, even with the ship’s nuclear fuel long gone, the team took the hazards of radiation seriously: That morning I had to sit through a 30-minute safety training session just to be permitted this far.

I recalled what Koehler had told me as we walked past an ancient Radar Range microwave oven in Savannah’s kitchen—a model that was so cavalier about the effects of microwaves that it could cook a hamburger with the door open.

“You’d get more radiation in the kitchen than you would standing near the reactor,” he chuckled.

Because of the flurry of workers below, I couldn’t visit the nuclear control room where three engineers monitored Savannah’s nuclear power plant 24/7. A large photo of the control panel sprawled along a passageway wall, showing a seemingly endless array of analog dials, gauges, and switches. Built just before the dawn of digital miniaturization, the whole thing was run with an army of vacuum tubes hidden behind those panels.

That thought delights Bob Adams, president of the N.S. Savannah Association, a nonprofit group of ship enthusiasts whose mission it is to tell the story of Savannah and assist in its preservation.

Adams, a self-described “tube head,” showed me around Savannah’s radio room. On one array, positioned above a seven-inch TV monitor, some 40 tubes bristled at attention.

“The tubes aren’t hard to get,” said Adams, fiddling with the ship’s vintage audio entertainment system. He was playing a CD of steel band music over the speakers, but his ultimate goal was to fire up Savannah’s old reel-to-reel tape player.

“That cabinet over there’s got the ship’s original reels of tape in it,” he said, like a kid anticipating Christmas.

On one wall of the cramped room, taped into place by some long-forgotten radioman, were yellowed sheets bearing broadcast frequencies for ports of call around the world: Portugal, Hong Kong, Okinawa. One of the complications faced by Savannah during her sailing years was the need for special clearances at each destination.

“Whatever the U.S. domestic regulations were for a nuclear power plant, you had to have reciprocity wherever you went around the world,” said Koehler. “A whole administrative structure had to be developed.”

In all, Savannah visited 45 foreign and 32 domestic ports. Only Australia, New Zealand, and Japan refused her entry.

A Future That Never Happened

National Geographic magazine ran a lengthy article about Savannah’s launch in August 1962. “If Savannah works,” writer Alan Viliers noted, “merchant shipping can be revolutionized.”

Savannah operated nearly flawlessly; it was the economics that didn’t work. By 1971, Savannah’s operating costs were outpacing income by $2 million a year. With just a handful of nuclear-powered merchant ships on the high seas, it was becoming clear the world’s shipping companies would prefer pouring tons of oil into their vessels to managing floating nuclear plants—even if those plants could propel their ships 300,000 miles on one load of nuclear fuel.

If the operators had held out for just two more years—when the price of fuel oil went from $20 a ton to $80—the story of nuclear-powered merchant ships might have been very different.

Savannah was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1982, but that by no means ensures her future. With the removal of her nuclear apparatus, by law the Marine Administration has three options: find someone willing to take Savannah, sell her for scrap, or scuttle her as an artificial reef.

Environmental concerns almost certainly rule out the last option, but Koehler hopes the ship will survive as a museum for generations to come.

“I think we’ll find somebody,” he said. “We’ve taken good care of her; it’s pretty much plug-and-play for anyone who wants to operate her as a museum.”

We took one last pass through the Veranda lounge. Outside the curving front windows, Savannah’s bell hung above the boarded-over swimming pool. In a display case donated by the Smithsonian Institution, relics of Savannah’s passenger-hauling heyday are on display, including a Bingo ball cage and a pair of wooden horses from an old Steeplechase deck game.

But my attention was drawn back to that magnificent metallic wine rack behind the bar. Koehler had turned on its lights, and it shone with an almost iridescent splendor, radiating optimism for a future that never happened.

It was sad—and at the same time subversively triumphant. I was reminded of the first steam-powered ship to sail across the Atlantic. In 1819 that commercial venture failed, and steam power seemed like a folly.

— The Ship’s Name: Savannah.

[cumaeansibyl]

Okay, first off, I don't have much time for Tim Burton once the year 2000 rolls around. I miss the days when he was actually good and not a self-indulgent mess. Happens to lots of creatives once they get successful enough that people are afraid to tell them no, it's a shame.

But I'm not gonna sit here and listen to this slander about Ed Wood, okay? Like... saying that it erased the crossdressing? There are several references in the film to Wood's crossdressing, including the whole bit where he goes into a producer's office and tells him "I can direct this movie about a trans woman because I'm a crossdresser," and then proceeds to create... whatever the fuck Glen or Glenda was), and the cast party where he dresses as a "harem girl" and all his friends cheer him on. The scene where he dresses in drag for a day on set is accurate to his real life; he often directed in drag. I didn't think the point of that scene was terribly obscure, since he as much as declares that he is taking back control of "his picture" from the investors, and then shows up in the angora sweater.

(I think it's important to mention here that Wood always insisted he was 100% a heterosexual man, and indeed I don't think we have any reason to believe otherwise. I wouldn't be surprised if he understood himself to belong to the queer community in some way, but he was straight and cis.)

Ed Wood definitely softpedals Wood's alcoholism, which contributed heavily to the breakup of that first relationship. Dolores Fuller objected to the movie because she felt she was being painted as an intolerant harpy, when she mainly left because of Wood's drinking. Burton made the decision to write out that part of Wood's life because he was telling a story about a man who faced difficulties due to his idiosyncratic artistic vision. He ends the film with a wildly successful movie premiere that definitely never happened, and with Wood celebrated in a way he never was during his lifetime.

Also, I'm sorry, but you know what, Ed Wood was a failed director with delusions of grandeur. I have seen multiple Ed Wood movies and they are terrible. His work was cheap and sloppy, his use of stock footage was borderline plagiarism, and his dialogue was risible. He spent the last years of his life writing porn novels, getting evicted a lot, and beating his wife, and he died of drink at 54. Again, the movie was a lot kinder to him than it could've been.

He isn't the worst director I've ever encountered -- that would probably be Coleman Francis -- but boy, is he bad. Don't get me wrong, an Ed Wood movie is always a fun time. But please let's not try to rewrite history to make him a misunderstood genius because he super wasn't.

Forever baffled by the fact that Tim Burton is still thought of as a defender of oddness. He treats monsters as things to be gawked at, to be drawn and imagined, then put away in a safe little box. He doesn't love monsters, he loves freak shows.

[gotolundon]

Exploring 7 Outstanding Bargain Basement Baitcaster Reels

Exploring 7 Outstanding Bargain Basement Baitcaster Reels

cheap baitcasting reels

Introduction

Fishing is a great way to get outdoors, exercise, and enjoy some peaceful moments with family and friends. What could be better? However, if you’re like most people, you don’t have a lot of money to drop on high-end fishing equipment. That’s where bargain basement baitcasters come in. In this article, we will explore seven outstanding bargain basement baitcasters that are perfect for anyone looking to get into fishing. From affordable options to high-quality machines, read on to learn more about these great machines!

The Best Baitcaster Reels for the Money

Choosing the right baitcaster reel can be a bit confusing, especially if you are on a budget. There are many great options out there for under $50, and we’ve put together a list of some of our favorite affordable baitcasters. First up on our list is the Shimano Stradic VGT-S2000 baitcaster. This reel features an 8:1 gear ratio, which gives it plenty of power to handle even the toughest baits. It also has a built-in drag control system, so you can keep your line tight without having to use too much force. The second reel on our list is the Daiwa SRC-3000 baitcaster. This reel features a powerful 7:1 gear ratio, which will help you catch even big fish with ease. It also has an anti-reverse function, so you can be sure that your line won’t get tangled up in the reel while fighting those big fish. If you are looking for an even cheaper option, we recommend checking out the Berkley Lures Counter Point baitcaster. This reel features a 4:1 gear ratio, which is perfect for catching smallmouth and largemouth bass. It also comes with a built-in leveler system, so you can be sure that your baits will stay put no matter how hard you fight them. Finally, on our list is the Black Wolf Baitcasting Reel by Russ Francis Designs. This reel

What to Look for in a Good Baitcaster reel

When shopping for a baitcaster reel, there are a few key features you'll want to keep an eye out for. Firstly, make sure the reel has a good capacity – many baitcasters offer between 1 and 4 inches of line. Secondly, check the weight and size of the reel – they should be lightweight enough to not fatigue your arm, but also big enough to handle big fish. Thirdly, consider the type of line it comes with – some baitcasters come with either mono or heavy-duty lines. Finally, be sure to read reviews before making your purchase to get an idea of what other fishermen think is a good value for the money.

Buying Tips for Bargain Basement Baitcasters

If you're in the market for a bargain basement baitcaster reel, there are a few things to keep in mind. First, make sure you're looking for a reel that will cover a good range of fishing situations. Second, consider the weight and type of line it can handle. And finally, be sure to check out the reviews to get an idea of what others have thought about the reel. When shopping for a bargain basement baitcaster reel, look for one with a good range of coverages. This means it should be able to handle both light tackle and heavier gear. It's also important to find a reel that can take your line type and weight capacity into account. For example, some reels can only handle super light lines, while others can handle thicker lines and heavier weights. Finally, always check out reviews before making your purchase decision. There are often different opinions on budget reels, so it's important to read up on what other anglers think about them before making your purchase.

Conclusion

We’ve all been there – we find a really great baitcaster reel at a great price and end up wondering if it’s really worth the investment. After all, how good can a baitcaster reel be for just $50? And if the answer is “not very good,” wouldn’t it be wiser to save up for something better? The truth is that you can find some great bargain basement baitcasters, but they usually come with some compromises. For example, these reels might not have the best quality components or they might not be as capable as more expensive models. However, when those factors are considered in relation to the price tag, many of these reels are actually quite impressive. So before you dismiss a cheap baitcaster reel outright, take some time to explore its features and see if it might be worth your investment.

[jillyb2004]

Family Bathtime!

a gift for @sunshinecookie109

[prettycooregrey]

aaaaaaaa @yukiyuuki‘s tags are so good it makes me want to talk abt what I think this panel means some more,,,,

the panel in question:

Post under the cut!

So when I was in middle school I had this blowout fight with my dad about something stupid and it escalated into yelling. But y’know, yelling back at your parents gets you in even deeper shit, so like... it’s best not to.

We had this cheap set of window blinds at the time that we got from a discount outlet that were “supposed” to look like wood but were really just plastic and tbh you couldn’t fool anyone. So in the middle of this fight I feel like I’m going to explode because I’m trapped in a fight with my dad and he’s yelling at me--instead of yelling back, I turned around and sank my teeth into the blinds like a bite block.

Again: these were made of cheap plastic and it left a very clear indent of my teeth. But the blinds were newish, they were a pain in the ass and took two men with DIY know-how to put them up, and my parents had to be careful with money, so they weren’t replaced for many years after. Any time I walked into the kitchen I would see it, and I would feel (irrationally, mind you) ashamed at my “loss of control.”

That’s what the phone is to Mike.

He’s had it for a very significant portion of the comic, over 40 chapters.

This is Call Waiting, page 2. It was posted in June 2011, just over ten years ago now. This is a very long ways back from the current chapter (Eternal Flame).

Oliver’s commentary on the page notes that Mike’s family is pretty comfortable as, in 2008, an iPhone would have been pretty expensive -- especially for a teenager. Mike was so desperate for the phone that he cashed in his birthday and Christmas presents for it so he could text Sandy.

sidenote: It’s been mentioned, probably by Mod Brambles iirc, that Mike’s lockscreen has never changed. It has always been this picture of Sandy from when they were much younger.

During their fight/breakup, Mike threw it very hard and with very little care across the room, causing the screen to crack. Presumably, like my window blinds, this serves as a permanent physical reminder of what happened that night. The phone is his link to Sandy, and represents nearly the whole of their relationship. Every since getting together, Mike and Sandy have met face-to-face twice, and all other communication has been through letters and phone lines. Mike’s cell phone is representative of them as a couple.

And... it’s about what you’d expect from two teenagers who have nothing in common.

In page 64 of Eternal Flame, Mike looks down at his cracked screen and tells his friend that they’re going to “get rid of distractions.”

As yukiyuuki said in their tags, this doesn’t just mean Francis. It means Lucy, too. Mike intends to continue his relationship with Sandy through the phone (with promised schedules calls and more frequent replies). But every time he unlocks it to text her... he’s going to see these cracks in the screen.

another sidenote: I don’t believe Mike would go out of his way to fix the phone within the confines of the narrative. The phone is expensive and a repair would be as bad--touchscreen electronics, if not insured, can be less costly to just replace instead of fixing. And while Mike gets along with his parents, unlike my relationship with my dad, he still understandably shrinks like a violet when they’re angry at him. also, Vero would have to dedicate writing/art to a scene as such and she has better things to be working on irt the comic it’s gonna be soooo funny if I’m wrong.

anyway.

additionally, there’s plenty of analysis on the way Mike sees cheating/cheaters and @bramblepaws​ put it a lot better than I ever could have, check it out here. the point is that he takes loyalty and commitment very seriously. while it wasn’t technically cheating since she’d dumped him immediately prior, I’m willing to wager that the fact that Mike went out and kissed Lucy as soon as he was cut loose is going to weight very heavily on their relationship for the rest of the time they’re in it, even and especially if it’s only by his own guilt. he absolutely saw this as a hiccup and not a true breakup, since it probably didn’t even last an hour. so not only was Sandy compromising fidelity, (wrt to Bramble’s post: “I really love him”/”you’re so... nice”), so was he.

after all, this wasn’t exactly the same at the other two kisses they’ve shared...

One of these things is NOT like the others, if you catch my meaning.

And while none of these kisses were technically cheating on Sandy or disrespecting his feelings toward her (the first two were before they got back together and the third is, of course, right after their breakup/makeup), Mike has always looked back on them as such because they represent the idea that when Sandy left, Mike fell in love with someone else and therefore he wasn’t “loyal enough,” hence the trauma surrounding being perceived as a cheater by his peers.

yet another sidenote: it occurs to me that these three kisses each have different instigators. the Confrontation one is instigated by Lucy, the Pillow Talk one is instigated by Mike, and while you could argue that Mike instigated in Eternal Flame, the truth is that they both made the decision and came together into that kiss and therefore it was a mutual decision.

so yeah. not only does Mike have another “tally” in his Wasn’t Faithful box, self-imposed and self-inflicted as it is, but Sandy does as well. Sandy’s as-of-currently [checks time] 4:51pm 7/15/21 emotional unfaithfulness (we don’t know how far it goes as the camera’s not on her, but it was unfaithfulness) paired with this third kiss is the coffin for Mike and Sandy that December was for Mike and Lucy (and in a previous post, I described Mike’s behavior toward Lucy in Eternal Flame as the “final nail,” and while we have yet to see Mike and Sandy’s this is a good way to frame the countless parallels between this chapter and December).

Neither of them are going to be able to forget about it. they’re attached to the point that I would describe their relationship as nearly codependent, and absolutely toxic... but it’s no longer a genuine relationship either of them are taking genuine pleasure in. they’ve each has encounters where they’ve experienced pretty explosive chemistry with other people, but they’ve been together since they were kids and for fear of hurting each other and in the unknown variables of new relationships, they’ve decided to stay together.

(please wear safety goggles in the fireworks lab, folks.)

but again, they won’t forget what happened here, and it’s going to have ramifications for how they move forward. the only thing they’ve done by getting back together is delayed the inevitable and gotten other people hurt in the crossfires.

and that’s what the crack in that panel means.

[acourtesanofedgewater]

It's Wednesday and that means I just read the script of OH Ch. 6 and now I will tell you if we get to see Bryce this week or else. And the answer is...

✨YES✨

Now, if you wanna know more details of the plots involving him this week, I'm gonna leave some specific spoilers below the cut

-MC goes to the gym early because they still feel shaken after the Francis situation, and there they bump into Bryce, who starts being cocky about a surgery he's gonna perform that day. You talk a bit about the surgery, then he gives you a kiss goodbye and that's it.

-Some time later, in Edenbrook, MC bumps into him again. This time, he seems a bit down and nervous and tells them he messed up his surgery. He didn't kill anyone, but it still sucks. Enter a premium scene where you can cheer Bryce up by playing paintball with him. Raf goes along too, and you have the chance to make out with one of them.

And that's it. I mean, is still better than not seeing Bryce at all, but after all that bad writing, I am starting to get tired of Bryce scenes being only about flirting and hooking up. This was the perfect chance to get Bryce to open up (you know, like they did with Ethan last week?🙄), talk about why he acts cocky all the time. They even could have added some dialogue about Bryce confessing the last time he was about to fail a surgery and faced a medical situation he had no control over, was when he was operating Kira and then found out MC had been sprayed with that toxin. So now he likes to pretend everything is easy and under control because he doesn't want to feel useless and scared again. CAN YOU IMAGINE THE ANGST? The paintball scene is just a cheap excuse to give both Raf and Bryce some screen time while not taking any away from @playchoices golden boy Ethan Ramsey and keep their stans barely satisfied so we don't call them out on being racist again.

What can I say? At least they didn't drag that shitty "Bryce fails surgery because he was overconfident" plot for too long.

P.S: Still no sign of Naveen Banerji or Kyra Santana.

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, August 22, 2023

Global food security at a crossroads (AP) Francis Ndege isn’t sure if his customers in Africa’s largest slum can afford to keep buying rice from him. Prices for rice grown in Kenya soared a while ago because of higher fertilizer prices and a yearslong drought in the Horn of Africa that has reduced production. Cheap rice imported from India had filled the gap, feeding many of the hundreds of thousands of residents in Nairobi’s Kibera slum who survive on less than $2 a day. But that is changing. The price of a 25-kilogram (55-pound) bag of rice has risen by a fifth since June. Wholesalers are yet to receive new stocks since India, the world’s largest exporter of rice by far, said last month that it would ban some rice shipments. It’s an effort by the world’s most populous nation to control domestic prices ahead of a key election year—but it’s left a yawning gap of around 9.5 million metric tons (10.4 tons) of rice that people around the world need, roughly a fifth of global exports. Global food security is already under threat since Russia halted an agreement allowing Ukraine to export wheat and the El Nino weather phenomenon hampers rice production. Now, rice prices are soaring, putting the most vulnerable people in some of the poorest nations at risk. The world is at an “inflection point,” said Beau Damen, a natural resources officer with the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization based in Bangkok.

Tropical Storm Hilary moves on (AP) Crews worked to dig roads, buildings and care home residents out of the mud across a wide swath of Southwestern U.S. desert Monday, as the first tropical storm to hit Southern California in 84 years headed north, prompting flood watches and warnings in half a dozen states. The National Hurricane Center in Miami said Tropical Storm Hilary had lost much of its force as it headed to the Rocky Mountains, but warned that “continued life-threatening and locally catastrophic flooding” was expected in parts of the region. Hilary first slammed into Mexico’s arid Baja California Peninsula as a hurricane, causing one death and widespread flooding before becoming a tropical storm. So far, no deaths, serious injuries or extreme damages have been reported in California, though officials warned that risks remain, especially in the mountainous regions where the wet hillsides could unleash mudslides.

Hot, Sticky Summer in the South (NYT) Grab-N-Go, a drive-through and walk-up convenience store in New Iberia, La., has a central air-conditioning system, a window air-conditioning unit and two small, portable air-conditioners. On a recent afternoon, all of them were running. Still, Don Vitto, the shopkeeper, was sweating anyway. “It’s a sticky, heavy heat,” Mr. Vitto said. “You can feel it in your breathing—I know I can. I can feel the thickness in the air.” In Louisiana, and along much of the Gulf Coast, the misery of summer has never been reflected simply by a temperature reading alone. It’s not just the heat, as Southerners have explained for generations. It’s the moist, soupy, suffocating humidity that swallows up everything and conspires with the heat to make any activity without air-conditioning draining and even deadly. And this summer it has been absolutely abysmal. The air has felt swampier and more suffocating. Yet, confoundingly, as moist as the air has been, a scarcity of rain and clouds has made the sun all the more blistering, leaving the earth as dry and cracked as peanut brittle. But what has made recent months so punishing is the relentlessness of it all, as the conditions have dragged on for days on end and the volume of excessive heat warnings has broken records.

Anticorruption Crusader Wins in Guatemala, in Rebuke to Establishment (NYT) An anticorruption crusader won a runoff election for Guatemala’s presidency on Sunday, handing a stunning rebuke to the conservative political establishment in Central America’s most populous nation. Bernardo Arévalo, a polyglot sociologist from an upstart party made up largely of urban professionals, took 58 percent of the vote with 98 percent of votes counted on Sunday, the electoral authority said. His opponent, Sandra Torres, a former first lady, got 37 percent. Alejandro Giammattei, the current president, who is prohibited by law from seeking re-election, congratulated Mr. Arévalo and extended an invitation to organize an “orderly” transition of power. Full official results are expected within the coming days.

Presidential runoff is likely in Ecuador (AP) Ecuadorian voters looking for a new leader to help curb the country’s unprecedented violence will have to head to the polls again in October for a runoff that is likely to see the ally of a convicted former president vie against the principal heir of a banana growing and exporting empire. No candidate in Sunday’s special presidential election received enough support to be declared winner. With more than 85% the votes counted late Sunday, results from the National Electoral Council had leftist Luisa González in the lead, with about 33% of support. She had been the frontrunner heading into the contest, but the Election Day’s surprise came from former lawmaker Daniel Noboa who received about 24% votes even though he never placed above fifth place in polls. To win outright, a candidate needed 50% of the vote, or to have at least 40% with a 10-point lead over the closest opponent.

Wildfire spreads on Spain’s Tenerife, forcing thousands from homes (Reuters) A wildfire on the Spanish island of Tenerife that has forced thousands of people to flee their homes remained out of control on Sunday, despite a slight improvement in weather conditions during the night. Orange flames lit up the night sky from Saturday into Sunday on hillsides just above the lights of inhabited areas, while thick black smoke billowed high into the air. Late on Saturday, emergency services said the fire was now affecting 10 towns, although 11 had been evacuated as a precaution. Regional authorities said over 12,000 people had been evacuated.

Ukraine running out of options to retake significant territory (Washington Post) Ukraine appears to be running out of options in a counteroffensive that officials originally framed as Kyiv’s crucial operation to retake significant territory from occupying Russian forces this year. More than two months into the fight, the counteroffensive shows signs of stalling. Kyiv’s advances remain isolated to a handful of villages, Russian troops are pushing forward in the north and a plan to train Ukrainian pilots on U.S.-made F-16s is delayed. Ukraine’s inability to demonstrate decisive success on the battlefield is stoking fears that the conflict is becoming a stalemate and international support could erode. A new, classified U.S. intelligence report has predicted that the counteroffensive will fail to reach the key southeastern city of Melitopol this year. Meanwhile, a war weary Ukrainian public is eager for leaders in Kyiv to secure victory and in Washington, calls to cut back on aid to Ukraine are expected to be amplified in the run up to the 2024 U.S. presidential election. “The question here is which of the two sides is going to be worn out sooner,” said Franz-Stefan Gady, a senior fellow with the International Institute for Strategic Studies and the Center for a New American Security, who visited Ukraine in July. Gady said that Russia and Ukraine are now in an “attrition” phase, attempting to sap each other’s resources rather than secure significant territorial advances. With its ground forces largely stymied, Ukraine has mounted a flurry of new drone strikes on Russian soil, including targets in Moscow, but the strikes have caused minimal damage.

Ukraine Will Get F-16 Fighter Jets From Denmark and Netherlands (NYT) The Netherlands and Denmark said Sunday that they would donate F-16 fighter jets to Ukraine—the first countries to do so—in what President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine said was a breakthrough. The procurement of American-made F-16s to supplement a fleet of Soviet-era jets has been a priority for Mr. Zelensky’s government for months as it seeks advantage over Russia’s air force and also to improve its own air defenses. Ukrainian officials acknowledged last week, however, that NATO countries would not donate the planes before next year, which is too late for use in a counteroffensive the government in Kyiv launched this summer. President Biden, setting aside months of resistance, said in May that NATO countries could train Ukrainian pilots on F-16s, and on Thursday a U.S. official said that the United States would allow allies to send the jets.

Rights group says Saudi Arabian border guards fired on and killed hundreds of Ethiopian migrants (AP) Border guards in Saudi Arabia have fired machine guns and launched mortars at Ethiopians trying to cross into the kingdom from Yemen, likely killing hundreds of the unarmed migrants in recent years, Human Rights Watch said in a report released Monday. The rights group cited eyewitness reports of attacks by troops and images that showed dead bodies and burial sites on migrant routes, saying the death toll could even be “possibly thousands.” The United Nations has already questioned Saudi Arabia about its troops opening fire on the migrants in an escalating pattern of attacks along its southern border with war-torn Yemen. A Saudi government official, speaking on condition of anonymity as he was not authorized to speak publicly, called the Human Rights Watch report “unfounded and not based on reliable sources,” without offering evidence to support the assertion.

Parents explain why they home-school their kids (Washington Post) One parent was fed up with an elementary school’s punitive approach to dealing with her 6-year-old son’s special needs. Another, home-schooled herself, reluctantly followed the same path with her daughter because of fears about her family’s vulnerabilities to covid. A third wanted to impart Christian values while exposing her kids to the food of the Philippines and the museums of Madrid. Their children are among the hundreds of thousands who have started home-schooling over the last three years—the most significant expansion of home education in American history. Aryanna Liddell, 32; home-schooling her daughters, ages 7 and 2, in Hillsboro, Oregon explained her reasons: “We believe that families are the fountainhead of a healthy, moral and functioning society. The family should be the child’s center of gravity. They shouldn’t be looking for that security in their peer group, because that’s not sustainable. In the Bible, it says in Deuteronomy 6 that you shall teach your children about the Lord. They have to be grounded on the truth of God, right? In education, we seek to nourish not just the body, but also the soul and the mind. We want them to appreciate what is true, and to seek what is good and what is beautiful. Because we are not just raising our children to make a living. We want them to have a life, and a life that is full of wonder, because wonder leads to worship. We need to bust the myth that home-schooled children are overprotected and not socialized. That’s not true. I find that my children actually socialize with a broader mix of people. What I’ve noticed is that she’s a lot more confident talking to people and having conversations with grown-ups as well.”