#my point is i should control hollywood

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hobie Brown, Emotional Preparation, and the Art of Great Dialogue

Nearly all of Hobie's dialogue is written with his goal - protecting and preparing Miles for Miguel's abuse - in mind, even if it may not be obvious at first watch.

Here's an unhinged breakdown where I over-analyze literally every one of Hobie’s lines and explain how every sentence was written to contribute directly to Miles’ radicalization.

Hollywood. Pay your writers. (:

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Hobie has around 10 minutes screentime total, but for the sake of introductions and this analysis, let's start at the end of the battle, and the beginning of the quantum hole.

Starting with his first line in the scene:

"I don't follow orders. Neither does he."

All morals considered, Hobie doesn't seem like the type to speak for someone who can speak for themselves - he's a punk after all. But here, he speaks for Miles. This line serves to tell Miles 'I don't respect them, why should you?', but funnily enough, it can also be a point to Jess, as if to say 'Miles isn't interested.' - even if he is.

"Bit much, innit?"

While, Hobie and Mile's next interaction is their exchange in the elevator, the scene leads to Mile's introduction to the Society. Miles gawks at the lobby, obviously impressed. Gwen affirms this awe, telling him 'this is just the lobby.' However, Hobie feels the need to chime in. His next dialogue 'Bit much, innit?' is a subtle nudge to Miles that the society is not a place to be in awe off. It's a spectacle, one that's a bit overdone. Knowing Miles now sees Hobie as cool, Hobie makes it known - he sees the Society as uncool.

"Gwendy, How much have you told him? About his place in all this? Maybe not enough."

'So what happened about that small elite strike-team?' - 'Most of these are part time.' This is by far one of Hobie's more interesting lines, and I wrote about it here. But in short, this is Hobie's soft but direct confrontation of Gwen. After Gwen lies to Miles in front of him, Hobie immediately asks how much Gwen has revealed to him. And when she tries to play it off, he openly says 'Maybe that's not enough.' He's not angry with Gwen, but he is disappointed, which in turn motivates him to have his discussion with Miles.

"Super humane, and not creepy."

One of my favorites, because it's hard to catch and to the point. After talking about Hobie and Gwen's mission history, they're taken to Margo and the control room. As Miles marvels at Margo and the Go-Home-Machine, and Gwen says she voted against it. However, Hobie says blatantly: 'Holy shit, Miles isn't this inhumane and weird???', validating that the Society is willing to do inhumane, hurtful stuff to those it deems 'misplaced'.

Next comes Hobie's confrontation with Miles.

Because Hobie knows this is his last movements with Miles before he meets Miguel, and this is where if final push of emotional support kicks in, before he goes quiet in front of Miguel.

And because this conversation is so well layered, I think it's best to go line by line. ______________________________

H: "Bet this doesn't even do anything." M: "Maybe it did before you ripped it out of a wall!"

Hobie has now confirmed that he'll be making an exit soon. And he begins his finally sweep of parts he needs for his watch, stocking up his pockets. He's not stealing to steal. He knows he's leaving and this is his last chance to get what he needs before he's out the door.

"Propaganda, bro! It's to distract you from the truth!"

HOLY SHIT I missed this one. Notice how in this shot, Gwen is not visible at all. Hobie notices they're out of hershot of her for the first time. And his first line is - 'Propaganda.' Their watches can take them anywhere. When Gwen needed to, she was taken to exactly where she needed in Mumbattan. But when they're heading towards HQ, Jessica makes them walk through the lobby. They could have been sent directly to Miguel's station, but instead she makes them do the whole tour, which serves as a flex of muscle. In order, Miles was shown the massive number of members in the Society, then their prisoners, then the go-home-machine. Only THEN can they see Miguel. All of which was intent to intimidate Miles on purpose. Hobie tells him directly: 'Everything you just saw was propaganda.'

M: And what's that?

"I ain't got a Scooby Doo, mate. Cause that's what they want."

One of the most iconic and notable of his quotes. Cockney aside, this line ties back in with his discussion with Gwen just a couple minutes before. They've done their tour and walk. Both Jess and Gwen have been given a chance to prime or explain to Miles anything, and both have chosen not to. So Hobie simply tells him, 'They want you in the dark. And they're sending you into a fight.'

The next line is:

H: Why do you want to be part of this lot? M: To get a watch. H: Make your own watch.

Miles sucks his teeth at Hobie.

Because of this - Hobie begins to change methods. Which I cannot stress is incredibly perceptive of him.

Miles is exasperated with him. So instead of dissuasion and making the society out to be uncool, he tries to turn Miles' attention towards his family.

"Bet you got a nice setup, huh? Nice parents?"

This line is a very well done one, with two things of notice. First, I find it interesting that the screenplay phrases this line as a question, not a sentence. Hobie is asking. He's taking a shot in the dark here. And this is backed up by his delivery; Hobie hesitates while saying this. The only line in which he does so. He may not know about Miles' mom and dad, because Gwen hadn't met them when she met Hobie. But still, Hobie asks, hoping the reminder of Miles' parents will dissuade him from continuing.

M: They're fine. H: [After this line, Hobie turns black and white momentarily. Potentially a nod to the fact that this conversation is the only 'black and white' one Miles has had so far.] M: But we got into a fight. They just want what's best for me, so...

[Hobie frowns. The scene and dialogue REALLY starts to pick-up from here.]

"That's a bloody shame. Because you're not ready for everyone else."

As the scene progresses Hobie goes from behind Miles, to beside him like an ally. Then, when Gwen finally comes back into frame, Hobie crosses in front of him. When Miles mentions his parents wanting what's best for him, Hobie warns that everyone else does not want what's best for him. At the same time, visually Gwen has her back to Miles, and Hobie puts himself between Miles and Gwen, trying to block his path. The scene is set up to show that in Hobie's eyes, Gwen is turning her back on Miles. She does not have his best interest in mind. Hobie is telling Miles 'They're using propaganda on you, they're keeping you in the dark, and they do not have your best interest at mind. You're not ready for this." And he physically tries to block Miles from continuing, one last time.

Miles goes through Hobie, and now within earshot of Gwen again, this is Hobie's final chance and push to get as much information into Miles as he can - without freaking Miles out. Above all else, he needs Miles to be prepared, confident, and willing to fight back.

His voice becomes more serious, and he starts speaking more straight-forward and a lot less cryptically.

"Listen to me, bruv. The whole point of being Spider-man is your independence. Being your own boss, you don't need all this!"

I think Hobie saying this reveals a lot about his character, especially understanding the context where he's from. While many Spider-men would agree that being Spider-man is about responsibility and power - to Hobie, it is about independence, and freedom. Hobie is a freedom fighter, and one of the only Spider-men besides Noir that knows how to fight systemic threats as well as physical ones. To him, being Spiderman is about being able to free yourself and others. It's about independence and freedom, and he's trying to nail that in Miles' head one last time.

M: Then why are you here?

"Looking out for my drummer, is all."

As the scene is coming to a close, the writers chose this time to reveal some of Hobie's motivations, starting with the independence comment, and now this. Despite knowing about Gwen's deception towards Miles, he is still looking out for her - and Miles. This is the writers' and Hobie's last push to solidify himself as an ally to Miles and the viewer.

M: I want to be in a band. I want to see my friends, and I need a watch to do that. G: Guys, come on.

"Alright, Squashed. Just don't enlist until you know about who you're fighting."

I genuinely had to sit and ask myself why the writers would choose to leave Hobie's collective effort - a LOT of effort - with this line. And honestly, I think it's a perfect segway. Hobie chooses his words very clearly; He doesn't say 'what', he says 'who'. The next scene leads into Miguel's intro, and up until this point, Miles doesn't know who he is. He only knows about the Society, but never who is at the top. We know about Miguel, but all Miles knows is his name. That's why Hobie says 'who you're fighting'. Because the Society isn't really a Society, and this isn't really between Miles and the Society at all. It's a dictatorship - and the person he's enlisting to fight is Miguel. The perfect introduction and warning to the person he's about to meet. He's telling Miles, 'Don't rush into it. Wait until you meet Miguel first'. And when Miles does meet Miguel, he finally sees that this isn't the place he thought it was, just like Hobie said. ALSO EVEN MORE INTERESTINGLY - THIS is one of the lines that is changed between the two versions of spiderverse (there are two theatrical versions on release.) In the alternative he says 'Don't enlist unless you know what war you're fighting.' And I think that the fact the writers chose to publish two different versions of this line goes to show how powerful they knew this line would be in Miles' characterization. There is so much Hobie has left to say to him, but only one line - and so we get two versions. How fun!

With the scene now over, we see a change in Hobie's demeanor, and I love the writers' choice to have the shot linger on Hobie.

We see him give Miles a look that isn't exactly full of confidence, but from this point forward, Hobie chooses to hang back, no longer having any motivation to instigate. He knows his work here is done, and now all he can really do is wait for Miguel to reveal his true colors, and hope that he got through enough to Miles that he will react, and fight back.

And closing out the scene - I noticed that when Peter B. arrives Hobie pointedly says

"Oh boy, Humbling Reality Spider-man has arrived."

All I'll say about this is Hobie has to be Jamaican cause that was so mfing rude shgjfkghjgjkdfjk

Hobie has about three lines between this point and then end of his screentime - Two of which were his lines to Mayday, and his comment during the canon events.

But there is one shot of him before it all happens. And after this shot the movie begins staging Hobie in specific a very different way than anyone else.

The moment begins with Miles' line 'My Dad is about to be captain.'

The camera pans to each character. Gwen, Peter, and Jess all avert their eyes. Miguel looks at Miles. And Hobie is the only one who looks at all of them. Instead of looking down, he looks to the others, in anticipation of whats going to happen. It's also important to note that this was probably news to Hobie. He probably didn't know Miles' dad was a cop - or at the very least going to be captain. So the understanding of just how much trouble Miles is in kinda multiplies in this moment.

Then, this happens

From this point forward, every time Hobie is portrayed, he is shown as separate from the other characters, always being divided from the group - with Miles as the divider. Even as the camera moves, Hobie visually remains - quite literally - as the only person in Miles' corner. And as the scene goes on, he moves farther and farther into that corner.

Until finally the scene comes to a climax, and Hobie gets two shots to himself - delivering his final lines.

"Here we go." - "Hobie, You're not helping." - "Good."

GUYS IM GONNA CRY OKAY IM GONNA CRY

This is Hobie seeing his work pay off. This is him knowing that he got through to Miles and that it was worth it. He's proud of him.

Hobie knew what he came to do, and he used literally every line he said to Miles to the FULLEST extent. He doesn't give a fuck if he's not helping the Society. He's helping Miles. And now he knows his work is done.

Being a punk is not about being a hero, it's about empowering those who feel powerless. HE UNDERSTOOD THE MOTHERFUCKING ASSIGNMENT.

IN SHORT - HOLLYWOOD PAY YOUR FUCKING WRITERS I SWEAR TO GOD.

if you read this far let me know :) thanks bye

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

I'd love to know how the cover date with A-Town actress Ash Lewis and Tom went down. What did they talk about? Were they friends by the end, do they stay in contact? Did they and their partners meet up before or after? What does Ash think about her role and meeting the inspiration for it?

[For those of you just tuning in: A-Town is the shitty postwar sitcom inspired by the life of Jake Berenson, to the eternal annoyance of Jake Berenson. Ash Lewis plays the main character's older sister Daisy, a dumb blond lacrosse player controlled by a yeerk named Zeptron 420.]

This whole thing felt like going to senior prom.

Not that I’d ever actually been to senior prom.  There'd been a show of sending me, Essa 412 giving Mom and Dad the runaround even to the point of getting the yeerk inside Vi Alden to show up in a dress.  30 seconds out the door, the formalwear had been swapped out for jeans and dracon rifles; our bodies had spent the night clearing wildlife out of a build site in the hopes of giving the “andalite bandits” nowhere to hide before the new community center opened up.

But I’d seen enough movies to know that this was how prom was supposed to work: A limo out front, a flower in my hand, a terrifyingly beautiful woman standing at the end of my parents' driveway.

Ashleigh Lewandowska wore a shimmering strapless gown in a color somewhere between gold and silver and lilac and rose, depending on how it caught the light. The silky fabric could only have been custom-sewn for her body, from the perfect way it hugged her curves and cut high enough in front to show one knee before trailing down in the back to an inch above the ground.  Jessica Rabbit come to life, and then melded with Jessica Alba.

"Hi," I said, smiling awkwardly. “You look amazing." I handed her my sprig of lilies, feeling like I was putting a Pokemon sticker on a bottle of champagne.

“You clean up pretty nicely yourself,” she said.

I glanced down at my own attire.  We’d gone for a deep purple button-down and a charcoal gray suit, but skipped the tie and cuff links.  Allegedly this was the fashion right now.  “Thanks,” I said.  “I should hope so, since my cousin spent the last week using me as her personal Ken doll.”

She laughed.  “Welcome to Hollywood.”  She stuck out a hand, silvery bracelets jangling.  “Call me Ash.”

I shook gently.  “Tom.  Nice to finally meet in person.”

There was a blinding flash; I flinched in surprise, but Ash turned automatically toward the light.

“Wow,” I said loudly.  “After all your whining about paparazzi, you go and join them.”

Jake stepped up next to me, stuffing the disposable camera into his hoodie pocket.  “It’s not paparazzi-ing if I don’t publish the photos,” he said.  He stuck out his own hand.  “I’m Jake.  Big fan.”

Ash laughed, taking his hand.  “Ash.  And I’m a big fan of yours.  Besides...” She looked over at me.  “Aren’t photos the whole point of the evening?”

“Yeah.”  I smoothed down my jacket, even though I had Rachel’s assurances it hung perfectly.  “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Shall we, then?”  Ash gestured to the limo.

“Uh.”  I lunged to open the door for her, although I could tell from her laugh that that wasn’t what she’d meant.

Ash slid into the limo, scooting down the seat so I could perch next to her.

“Have him home before nine,” Jake called after us, “and don’t drink the jungle juice!”

I flipped him off before pulling the door closed behind me.

In cool interior of the limo’s passenger compartment, Ash’s presence was even more overwhelming.  She was stunningly beautiful with her delicate updo of blond curls, her full figure accentuated by the dress’s curves, her flawlessly smooth skin.  But there was an untouchability, a faint unnaturalness, about her beauty.  It was less like being on a hot date, more like being in the presence of an alien goddess.

Maybe it was just that I knew for a fact she had no interest in men.  Lack of attraction was always going to be a turn-off.

“So.”  She shifted to sit across from me, leaning forward to brace both hands on her knees.  “Some ground rules.”

“Yeah.  I’m listening.”

She shook her head.  “I mean we both set ground rules.  This is improv, but improv never means anything-goes.”

“Improv?”

“An improvisational performance.  We have the outlines of what we’re doing, and we’re making it up as we go.”

“Ah.”  The car lurched as the driver pulled away, causing me to slide sideways on the seat when I didn’t catch myself in time.  Ash put out a hand as if to steady me, but pulled back when she saw I was good.

“Sorry.”  She shrugged.  “No seatbelts in limos.”

“All right, I’ll start there.”  I shifted in my seat.  “My reaction time is complete crap.  I assume you’ve done a fair bit of reading about zombies for the role?”

She twitched a little at zombies.  “I’m not claiming to be an expert.”

“Sure.  What you should know is that that much of the stereotype is true, at least for me.  I’m slow to respond to pretty much anything sudden, and one way that shows up is I’m terrible with facial expressions.”  I gave her an apologetic smile.  “I’m going to do my best to sell this, but you’re going to be carrying most of the weight.”

“Ah, so you’re a bad actor.”  Ash nodded with mock solemnity.  “That, I can work with.”

“Cool.  Just think of me as your extremely well-dressed cardboard cutout,” I said.

She laughed again.  “Okay.  And I’ll keep in mind that I shouldn’t necessarily check on your face to see if you’re interested in something.”

“Yeah.”  I made an open-palm gesture to her.  “‘preciate it.”

“For me...”  She held up a perfectly manicured finger.  “No touching of boobs, hips, or butts—”

“God no!” I blurted.  “Uh, no offense, but...”

“Goes both ways, good, got it.”  She held up a second finger.  “Closed-mouth kissing on the cheek or maybe the neck is okay with me, if and only if it’s okay with you.”

I thought about it.  “Let me ask Bonnie?”

“Totally.  And for the record, I already ran all this by Sierra.”

“Cool.”

I tapped out a text as Ash rummaged in the giant handbag that sat next to her minuscule purse on the seat, finding her own phone.

“Bonnie’s fine with that,” I said when I got a reply.  “But I’ve been told not to fall in love with you, and also called a ‘narcissist’ three times in four texts.”

Ash gave a tinkling little laugh, one hand coming up to cover her mouth.  “I’ll have to meet this Bonnie.”

I glanced up at her.  “Totally incognito double date, next weekend at Shake Shack?”

“Let me text Sierra,” she said.

Sierra was in, it transpired.  And we hammered out most of the rest of the rules: arms around the shoulder or waist were okay, sitting in laps a no-no.  Splitting a dessert was fine, putting two straws in one drink a little too far.  Holding hands was encouraged.  We’d tell anyone who asked that we were friends, and if pressed to elaborate would say we were friends getting dinner together.  We’d tell the truth about our names, and the fact that we’d met through Ash’s research for A-Town.

I was allowed to make jokes about dating my double, but strongly discouraged from expressing an opinion about A-Town or about Ash’s character Daisy.  If all else failed, I should claim I had never seen the show but I’d heard a lot about it and was planning to check it out in the future.  If anyone planted the suggestion that we were at dinner because I was helping Ash with her research, I was to encourage the idea without confirming it.

Also, whenever possible, I’d be letting Ash do all the talking.

“You ready?” Ash asked.

I glanced out the window, surprised to discover the limo had pulled up at the curb.  She was easy to talk to, for a superhero princess in an outfit that cost more than my car.

“Will there be photographers right away?” I asked.

She nodded.  “Probably.  This place publishes its guest lists, which is part of why I made the reservation here, but it also keeps in business through requiring a level of respect from the hangers-on.”

“Cool.”  I smoothed my hands over my pants.  I was so glad we’d cut off my hair down to its usual buzz; trying to mess around with the loose poof of curls I wore it in at college would’ve given me too many opportunities to fidget. Same reason I'd left the glasses at home.

“Hey.”  Ash put her hand gently on mine.  “Thanks for doing this.”

I smiled up at her.  “What, pretending that I’m in any way desirable enough to attract a Hollywood A-lister?  Yeah, the impact on my reputation is gonna be a real hardship.”

“‘A-lister’ is definitely overstating it.  And you know what I mean.”

I did, of course.  Ash was aspiring for fame, anyway, and she’d attracted a good few offers for small film parts through her work playing fake-me on A-Town.  But if she had any hope of a film career, no one could know about her quiet long-term relationship with another woman.  There couldn’t even be rumors.  Not in that direction, anyway.

There were rumors already, as it stood.  Which is why Marco had texted us both to set up this little pantomime.

We were here to make a new batch of gossip.  Through manufacturing a story too odd, too delicious, too ridiculous for the press to pass up: the actor who played a fake version of Jake Berenson’s sibling on TV, entering into a fling with Jake Berenson’s real-life actual sibling.  In reality Ash’s character was only loosely inspired by yours truly, there having been no actual research involved in the construction of Daisy A or Zeptron 420.  But the fact that Ash played me on television was going to be too delightfully ironic for most tabloids to pass up.

“Good to go?” Ash asked.

I nodded.  “Just like we practiced.”

“Something like that.”

She leaned to the far side of the car and swung the door open.  I expected her to get out right away, but she made a whole production of swinging one leg out the door and planting her foot on the ground.  She left it there for a few seconds before she curled a hand around the door frame and slowly pulled herself out of the car, posture careful and head high.

“It’s Ash Lewis!” Someone called from outside.  And then there was an explosion of overlapping sound.

Ash turned, making eye contact where I still sat.  She winked.

Swallowing, I scooted over.  She put out her hand, and I took it.

My own exit from the car wasn’t nearly as graceful, but Ash made sure we were gazing at each other the entire time.  The lightning-strikes of flashes were already going off around us, people with everything from cell phones to full news cameras crowding forward at a barely-respectful distance.  Now I understood why she’d taken her time — it gave the bush-lurkers time to realize just who was climbing out of the latest stretch limo amidst an entire fleet of them.

“Ash, any comment on the rumors of a film contract?” someone shouted.

“Hey Ash, who’s—”

“Ash, smile for us!”

“Ash, who are you wearing?”

“Over here, Ash—”

“—your new beau?”

“I love you, Daisy!”

I suppressed a wince at that one.  Hopefully she didn’t mind no one being able to tell the difference between her and her character.  Hopefully it wasn’t like when people —

“Visser Seventeen?” a voice broke through.

Now I did wince.  I’d stopped dead on the edge of the sidewalk, expression frozen.  I didn’t know if I could...

“Tom Berenson,” Ash said loudly, and the crowd fell silent for the sound bite.  “We’re going for dinner, it’s a Balenciaga, can’t say about the film, and I love you all too!”

With that, she slid an arm around my waist and started steering me toward the door.

I smiled.  I waved.  I tried not to look like too much of a fool.

Several people yelled questions to me. A few yelled questions about me to Ash. A few, apparently, addressed their questions to the dearly departed spirit of Essa 412. Ash fielded the entire gauntlet, half-shielding me with her body as needed.

“Thanks,” I muttered, as we approached the host stand.

Ash nodded.  “Think it’ll rain?”

That was another one we’d done in the car — either of us could drop the phrase blue skies at any time to mean get me the hell out of here.

“It just might, yeah,” I said.  Giving the all-clear.

“Ash Lewis and Tom Berenson.”  This time Ash spoke much louder, probably so the mics could pick it up.

The host ran his finger down the list, nodding.  “Here we are.  Right this way, ma’am.  Sir.”

We followed him out of the hard-bright spotlight outside, stepping into a velvet-muffled interior like sliding underwater.

“Oh,” I whispered.  There were dozens of little round tables, each tucked away into semi-enclosed nooks around the edge of the room.  “This isn’t bad at all.”

Ash tapped the side of her nose.  “Don’t worry, plenty of eyes and ears in here too.”

Ah.  So a fair percent of the other diners would be reporters or hangers-on.  Made sense.

But it was still far less overstimulating than the cacophony outside.  Our table was draped in a white linen cloth, the enclosing walls in burgundy velvet.  No one was going to hear us unless we raised our voices, and the only photographs possible would be low-lit and far away. 

“So,” I said to Ash, after pulling out her chair and helping her sit.  “Come here often?”

She laughed, head tossed so that her curls cascaded attractively.  Exaggerated, but warm.  “This is my first time with a date, anyway.”

“I’m honored.”

I was running a mental check: elbows off table, legs uncrossed, posture straight.  Eyes on my date, even when I heard a click of a muffled shutter somewhere off to my right.  

“Ms. Lewis.”  A different guy in a tuxedo had materialized where the host had been a second ago.  “What a pleasure to have you back.”

“Good to be back,” Ash said, smiling up at him.

“Will you be starting with some wine tonight?” he asked.

“The usual.  And we’ll take a few of those menus as well.”  Apparently, she had to request menus.

“Naturally.”  He held them out on top of a freaking tray.  Ash took one without comment.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, lifting the leather portfolio.  Feeling like a kid getting sticky fingerprints on my mom’s paperwork.  Wondering why I hadn’t done the math before now that generating trashy gossip would be so highfalutin.

The waiter bowed — I’m not kidding, he actually bowed — and glided away.

“We’re getting wine?” I asked in an undertone.

Ash lifted her head.  “You are over twenty-one, right?”

I nodded.  “Are you?”

She smirked, tapping a finger against her lips.  Got it, never ask a Hollywood dame her age — lies were a survival tactic.  And she did play the sixteen-year-old version of me on TV.  Wouldn’t do to imply she might be a day over nineteen.

Opening the menu, I skimmed down the column of French- and Italian-labeled food things.  And then I stopped, my eyes skipping to the right, and read that column instead.

“Are these...” I leaned in closer, squinting at the tiny font.  No sign of any decimal points, but I could see a few commas.  “Are these prices in dollars?” I hissed.

Ash brought her hand up to her mouth, not quickly enough to hide her smile.

I flushed.

“It’s already paid for, Tom.”  She reached across the table to put two fingers on my wrist.

“No, I...”

We’d agreed she’d be picking up the tab, but still.  What the fuck could they have possibly done to that pigeon to make it worth twelve hundred fucking dollars?  It was a pigeon.  They were free for anyone with sharp eyes and fast talons, all over the friggin city.

“I didn’t realize the schmoozing and boozing part of this could be so pricey,” I said at last.

“You said no major food allergies?”  She raised her eyebrows.

“Just pineapple.”

She folded her menu so that she could look across the table, making eye contact.  “Do you trust me?”

I considered, rather than giving her a knee-jerk answer.  Trust her with my life?  Not exactly.  Trust her with this?

“Sure.”  I smiled.  “Go wild.”

She did, in fluent French, when the waiter returned.  My life was really in her hands now.

“All right,” she said, turning back to me.  “It’s going to be a while, so go ahead and give me something.”

“Something...?”

“You’re coaching me on my acting, remember?”  She grinned.  “So, lay it all out.”

I laughed, glancing away across the restaurant.  “Oh, you don’t want that.  I’m not an actor.  Or anything close.”

“No high school plays?”  She was smirking now.  “Middle school pageants?  Elementary school musicals?”

“Not a one.”

“Look, just...”  She tossed her hair again.  It was sort of terrifying to watch.  “Tell me one thing the show gets wrong.”

I raised my eyebrows.  “What, just one?”

She laughed.  “Artistic license aside.  What about the performances would you change if you could?”

“Seriously, all that comes to mind is hiring a better lion-actor,” I said.  “Which I assume is off the table.”

“Oh god, that friggin lion.”  She groaned, just exaggerated enough you could still believe in it.

“Wait.”  I leaned across the table, looking hard at her.  “They put you guys on set with a live lion?”

Ash shook her head so hard her earrings rattled.  “No, no!”

“Good, because I was about to have to call, I don’t know, OSHA or—”

“You’re sweet, but there's no need.”

“I mean, after Siegfried and Roy, that would’ve just been..."  I gave an exaggerated wince.

“Yes, exactly.”

I leaned back in my seat, heart rate slowing.  Seriously.  As a guy who’d been mauled by a tiger before — and that’d been a tiger who was motivated to keep me alive — I really would’ve gone to the SPCA with a complaint if some off-prime show had been letting its actors in the same room as giant cats for attention.

“The lion's on the same set as the humans, but never at the same time.”  Ash sipped her drink, using the motion to glance around and then lean in closer to me.  “The trainers bring him in, toss a few of his toys on the floor, and let him do whatever he feels like until he inevitably gets bored and drops down for a nap.  Then they send him away, and the producers write the scene around the footage they managed to get.”

There was another click from somewhere to our left, but thankfully no flash.  For good measure I reached across the table, and let Ash put her hand overtop mine.

"Anyway, tell me something else," she said.  "What do you think of Daisy?  Or Zeptron, for that matter?"

I turned my head half-away from the room, speaking in an undertone.  "I thought I wasn't supposed to know too much about A-Town?"

Ash shook her head.  "Just don't answer any reporters' questions about it.  Otherwise we should be fine."

"Okay."  I blew out a breath.  "I mean, I love your work.  Zeptron is, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, the best part of the show.  I assume you've seen the fan sites and know that already."

"According to the fan sites," Ash said, "Trina's the best part of the show.  Followed by Gina, followed by Zeptron.  Not that anyone's counting."

"And Bonnie says I'm a narcissist," I said.

"Maybe she's right.  We all need friends to keep us humble."

Just a hair of emphasis, on the word friends.  Got it.  No talking about Bonnie where the microphones could hear, or at least no acknowledging who she was to me.  "Okay, you want feedback?" I said.  "On how to more realistically be fake-me onscreen?"

"I do," Ash said.  "That's why we're here."

I considered the question.  Obviously if I'd been casting myself I wouldn't have gone for a pouty-lipped blond chick, but that was beside the point.  "Okay, fine," I said.

"Uh-huh?"

"The..."  I raised a hand to my ear, poking at it with the end of my finger.  "What's with the going like this all the time?"

Ash laughed, definitely a real laugh this time.  I was imitating a gesture that she made three, five, sometimes ten times an episode.

"What," I said, laughing myself, "is Zeptron worried she's about to fall out?  Is that what it's supposed to be?  Like a..."  I mimed catching an object that was about to fall out of my own ear.

"Yes."  Ash giggled.  "Yes, I'm adding that to the show notes.  Zeptron is constantly on the verge of falling out, and that's why the..."  She did a much better job than me, of course, of getting across the subtly ominous way that we constantly saw Zeptron patting at Daisy's ear.

"Seriously, though.  Why?"

"Pizza effect, as we say in the biz."  She raised both hands, pressing them to her ears like worried they were about to fall off.  "If someone's pizza delivery arrives midway through the episode, you have to be able to answer the door, pay the driver, sit back on the couch, and pick up the episode without having missed anything important.  And that's not even taking into effect the people who stop channel-surfing and start watching midway through an episode."

"So..."

"So we have to get across the idea that 'Daisy'" — she made air quotes around the name, and I kind of loved her for it — "isn't just the world's meanest teenager for some reason.  We need the audience to catch onto the fact that Daisy isn't Daisy.  And we need to remind them of that fact as often as possible, in case they ordered a pizza before starting the episode."

"Huh.  So you..."  Again I did the ear-poking gesture.  "Okay, fine, that makes sense."  And I did approve of the goal of distinguishing Daisy from Zeptron.  Otherwise you ended up known as Visser Seventeen for the rest of your fucking life.

"Yeah.  Like I said.  We don't want the audience assuming Brandon's sister hates him for no reason."

"Fine, fine, I'll let you guys have the ear-poking thing."

"What else?" she asked.

I blew out a breath.  This was not my wheelhouse, at all, and to be honest I had never watched an entire episode of A-Town from start to finish.  Mostly I absorbed factoids about it from Jake's ranting.  "Uh, my cousin Jordan says that Trina should stop going back and forth between Liam and J.J., and just date them both.  But that doesn't apply to Zeptron."

Ash gave another real laugh.  "Oh, I wish," she said.  "But yeah, that'd be a note for the writing room.  I'm just a humble actor."

The food arrived then, on six different plates.  Which was fortunate, because each one had just a tiny spray of food amidst vast empty space barely broken by sauce.  I hoped we were allowed to eat the garnish as well.  Ash served us, thankfully, using tiny metal tongs to set portions of everything onto two dessert-sized plates.

"Sorry," I said, after I'd swallowed my first bite of... I don't know, maybe a grape leaf and some kind of soft meat?  It was pretty good, to be honest, but not $700 good.  "I'm not much use."

Ash smiled softly, patting her lips with her napkin.  How she was managing to get food into her mouth without smearing her lipstick was one of life's great mysteries.  "That's not true," she said.

Again, she got her meaning across with just a hint of extra emphasis on certain sounds, a tiny tilt of one eyebrow: I was being useful by being here, no actual insider information necessary.  Couldn't have told you how she'd conveyed it, only that she did.  Actors, man.

"Thanks."  I took a drink, and tried not to feel like a galumphing idiot because there was no graceful way for a normie like me to eat on camera.  "Is there anything else specific you want to know about— about Daisy?"  I'd almost said about me, but well.  Eyes and ears everywhere.

"Let's be honest," Ash said.  "I don't play Daisy, at least not 99% of the time.  I play Zeptron 420 pretending to be Daisy."

And if she kept saying shit like that, I really was going to fall in love with her.  "You know what?"  I pulled my napkin off my lap and dropped it on the table, pushing back my chair as if to indicate I was leaving.  "We're done, I can't add anything, you already understand the role better than anyone else on the planet, I cannot possibly hope to gild this lily."

"You're too kind."  Ash smiled, but she also nudged my napkin back toward me with a fingertip.

Got it.  Couldn't make any gestures that could be misinterpreted by the camera.  Whoops.  Dropping the napkin back in my lap, I scooted my chair closer to her and leaned in close to look her in the eye.  "Seriously, though," I said, in a low whisper.  "It gives me a lot of confidence in the show to hear you say that."

"Okay, here's a question."  Ash took another bite of... I don't know, some kind of tiny fresh fruit cubes and some kind of fish?  I hadn't dared try that one yet.  "If you were Daisy, living Daisy's life.  How would you feel about having Brandon as a little brother?"

What immediately came to mind is what it'd feel like to have D-cups as soft and round as hers, right there on my chest, and a push-up bra to put them in.  Almost certainly not what she'd actually been wondering about.

"Brandon," I said, trying to refocus.  "Okay, so.  I'm not Daisy, but.  From my point of view, he's... really annoying, to be honest."

Ash sighed.  "Everyone says that.  Poor Jared."

Jared Kincaid was the actor who played Brandon.  And yeah, if I was him then reading those fan sites would be rough.  I could only imagine.

Not that I had fan sites.  But there were very good reasons I never searched for myself online.  Or read my Wikipedia article.  Or dived too deep into Animorphs forums.  Now if I could only get Jake to follow my example...

"What I mean."  I held up a hand in a hear me out gesture.  "I can't comment on his acting or writing, but Brandon's... really lackadaisical about the war, you know?  And I get that the fictional empire-that-shall-not-be-named isn't nearly as much of a threat as the yeerks were.  But he keeps blowing off missions to play lacrosse games, or go on dates.  And he claims he's in charge of the team any time he's bossing JJ or Trina around, but he never seems to do anything with that power.  It's usually Gina and Liam, or Trina and Crystal, getting back from missions.  Brandon just hangs around his house all the time getting grounded by his parents and bickering with Zeptron."

"Bickering with Zeptron is advancing the war effort, if you think about it," Ash said, but she was smirking.

"In that case, he works harder than the rest of the fauximorphs combined.  I stand corrected."

"Foe-uh-morphs?"

"Oh, uh."  I winced.  Hopefully that wasn't actually insider information.  "What Jake calls the A-Town team.  Originally a Marcoism, I think."

Ash laughed, nodding to herself.  "Fauximorphs.  Works better than 'teen shapeshifter team we can't name onscreen for copyright reasons,' I'd say."

"Is that the only reason?" I asked.

She tilted her head in a question, earrings sliding against her cheek.  She had an ultra-intense way of listening, conveying with everything from the tilt of her eyebrows to her position of her hands that she was hanging on your every word.  Like I said, bright future ahead.

"You never say 'yeerk,' or 'Animorph,'" I said.  "Characters refer to 'those jerks' a bunch, which I assume is meant to imply something, and obviously you've got alien invaders played by eels, but... it's down to copyright?  You know Marco owns the copyright for 'Animorph,' right?  And he works for you."

"Mm."  Ash made a small gesture, raising the first two fingers of her right hand, a let me think, as she chewed another bite of food.  Finally she said, "It's down to taste, I suppose.  Because it is ultimately a fictional show."

"Ha!"

That'd come out too loud — I pressed a hand over my mouth — but it got another genuine laugh from Ash.  And oh, that untouchable goddess veneer was wearing off faster than I wanted it to.  She was acting all too approachable.

She's gay, I reminded myself firmly.  And taken.  And you have a hot girlfriend at home.

"I just..."  I looked down at my plate.  "That's what I keep saying.  It's not a show about the war, not really.  It's a show about a ridiculous version of the war that's not supposed to be realistic, and everyone knows that.  Jake keeps taking it too seriously, you know?"

"I would hope not," Ash said.  "And we aren't trying to depict real yeerks.  That'd be pretty disrespectful, don't you think?"

The whole show was disrespectful as fuck — Jake and I agreed on that much — but even without the cameras, I wouldn't have said that to Ash.  Disrespectful wasn't the worst thing in the world.  It beat valorizing the Animorphs for the purpose of holding them up in contrast to everything allegedly wrong with the current generation, which was the most common alternative I'd encountered.

"What about you?" I offered instead.  "What do you think Daisy thinks of Brandon?"

"Oh, man."  She blew out a breath.  "I think she's sad, mostly.  She probably misses hanging out with him, and it has to upset her how much Zeptron bullies him.  I also think she's proud of him being such a good lacrosse player, like maybe she used to look forward to them being on high school lacrosse teams together before—"

"Okay, okay!"  My hand was clenched around my fork; I forced my fingers open.  "Okay."

"It's nice filming in California, where the weather usually cooperates," she said.  Checking in again.

"It does rain here sometimes," I said.  And then, "You're very good.  You know that?  Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough."

"Mmmm, can I quote you on that next time I'm talking to my agent?"  She smiled with her lips, but her gaze was searching mine.

"Oh, please do."  I did my best to smile reassuringly.  And then, because I sucked at nonverbal communication.  "I asked the question, dude.  You answered.  But go ahead, hit me with another one."

There was a click to our right, another camera shutter going off.  Knowing my luck, I'd managed to get food in my teeth or bunch up my pants at a weird angle.

"How do you feel about Zeptron and JJ's romance?"  Ash lobbed a lowball at me.

"She should've stuck with her banana slug boyfriend," I said.  "Would Daisy want to date JJ, in your opinion?"

Ash tilted her head, then shook it.  "He's too young for her.  And she's secretly all punk and alternative, if you've seen any of the episodes with her cameos.  JJ's kind of a poser, you know?"

"Plus, he cheats on all his girlfriends."

"Exactly."

"How's Marco feel about JJ, anyway?" I asked.  There were obvious differences, from the Italian actor and buzz cut to the inexplicable decision to have him use duck as his battle morph, but he was Brandon's best friend, the team's comic relief, the only one with an immigrant mom, and the one with the most girlfriends.  That, and his mom was either a homicidal sadist or else being controlled by a yeerk that bore a suspicious resemblance to Visser One.

"Have you ever," Ash said, "and I mean ever, gotten a straight answer out of Marco about anything?"

"Oh, hell no," I said immediately.  "I think Jake can — that's his superpower.  But me?  No way, Jose."

"Yes, he's very good at this kind of thing." She didn't mean acting, of course. Or at least, not the kind that one did on TV.

"Scarily good, some would say," I muttered.

"Oh?"

"Okay, you—" I lowered my voice. "You remember Tennantgate, right?"

Ash nodded, of course, even though she was frowning in confusion. William Roger Tennant, America's most beloved hippie, caught on camera trying to strangle a dog. The most-played news clip of the year, at least in California.

"What if I told you," I said quietly, "that Tennant was...?" I made that yeerk-falling-out-of-ear gesture again, to get her to laugh. "And that it just so happens Marco Alvarez's stepmom owns a white toy poodle?"

Ash choked on a sip of water, putting a hand to her chest in surprise. I exerted heroic effort not to follow the direction of that hand too closely. "But how?" she whispered, when she'd recovered. "How would you even engineer something like that? They'd have to know exactly where he'd be when, how he'd react, that it'd happen exactly as the cameras turned on..."

I held up both hands in an open-palm shrug. "You've got me. Like you said, he's very good."

"It's funny."  Ash glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot.  I leaned in close to her, and she leaned across the table to meet me.  With her lips an inch from my cheek — she didn't touch my ear, we'd covered that — she whispered, "I asked Marco on this date first.  He said no.  Said that actually, he's thinking of... you know.  Telling people."

I sat back, looking at her.  Hopefully that little moment had looked plenty intimate for the cameras.  She'd even managed a blush, how I had no idea.  The red wine, maybe.

And then it hit me.  Coming out.  Marco was thinking of coming out.  "I..."  I took a breath.  "I hope... Whatever happens, it works for him."

Because he wasn't untouchable, not really, but he was about as close as you could get.  Elton John famous.  Anderson Cooper, Ellen Degeneres, Rachel Maddow famous.  Famous enough that losing all sponsorships and acting gigs, getting dragged through the mud and spat on by former fans, wouldn't be enough to ruin his life or his legacy.  Famous enough to pave the way for other boys who dated boys, for people like Ash to maybe someday not have to lie.

It was the difference between Arnold Schwarzenegger taking a four-by-four to the face, and Carrie Fisher taking that same four-by-four.  The blow was coming no matter what, and it'd hurt like hell when it did.  The only question was if it'd leave you enough marbles to straighten up and keep swinging.

Ash smiled weakly, and this time it looked genuine.  "And you know what I hope."

Yeah.  Because if the four-by-four hit Marco, maybe it'd only be a two-by-four by the time it got to her.

"Ash, I..."

You know why I agreed to come on this date? I lied earlier, about not reading my Wikipedia entry. I did, just once, not that long after it was posted. The first two sentences were about Jake. The rest was about Essa 412.

For more information, Wikipedia suggested, I'd want to read the entry for Visser Seventeen.

Seemed kind of pathetic, when you thought about it. I'd agreed to this little farce to be slightly more famous, for something I'd done for once. Ash...

She was lying, right now, because she had to. Because there was no choice. Not if she wanted to live in peace, wanted Sierra to live in peace. She couldn't come here on a date, not a real one, not to any restaurant anywhere someone might have a camera. Her hand was resting on mine, and she couldn't do that with the person she actually wanted. Sure, a century ago Bonnie and I would've been illegal in California, if her parents had been allowed in at all, but a hell of a lot had changed since then. There was no comparison.

It made me feel small and shabby, to have it all laid out like that.

"I..."  There was nothing I could say.  Not in public, and not when this wasn't my fight. "I hope you go on more dates here," I said at last.

"And I..."  Now Ash's smile was definitely fake again, even to the point of being a little sarcastic.  "Hope you're with me when I do."

I winked at her.  That was unlikely, since we'd agreed we would be at most photographed walking around together one more time before slow-fading into tabloid mystery.  But for now... "Dessert?" I said.

"Dessert," she agreed.

[crooked-wasteland]

I've seen your tweet which criticizes the worldbuilding in Helluva Boss and how the Goetias feel like "Hollywood with royal titles" rather than true aristocracy, and I would like you to elaborate on that, if that's OK.

Thank you so much for this ask as I never got to expand on this point at the time. For those not in the know, the user is referencing this exchange on Twitter.

As much as the elites of our world would like to disperse the truth, the reality is that all societies are constructed around power. Who has power, how and why. That is the fundamental basis of every social dynamic from children on a playground to the politicians in our governments. So the very first thing we should even approach in regards to the narrative is how does power work in this universe?

So when I responded to Elcee in the tweet being referenced, I am evaluating power and power structures. Mainly there are two wholly different constructs of power between something like the aristocracy and celebrities.

The closest thing to an aristocracy we have in our modern day are the financial oligarchs of Capitalism. Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Bill Gates, etc. They have control everything from how our political parties engage with us to how we think based on the wealth they were born into. They curate our lives behind the scenes in ways that sound worthy of a tinfoil hat, but isn't a conspiracy. The wealthy were threatened in the 1970s by an educated proletariate. In response to our questioning the Vietnam war, the higher education that was once free or at least extremely affordable suddenly became prohibitively expensive.

So much so that only the financial aristocracy could access it. Whereas working class individuals are forced to jump through hoops and prove themselves suitably subservient to the existing power of the oligarchy in the form of scholarship applications, teacher recommendations and application letters before being granted access. This is not a mistake or how it's always been, this is by design.

Meanwhile, Celebrities are not elites. While we think of celebrities as being overpaid and living in luxury, it only takes a glance over at Chappell Roan to see the difference. When Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk or any large corporate CEO walks the red carpet, they are treated as royalty. When celebrities walk the red carpet, they are commodities.

Celebrity is the modern day face of the American Dream. Gone are the days of a single family home and a white picket fence. The boom of content over art, luxury over practicality, and excess over comfort is directly the result of selling to the world the idea of capitalistic success, which just amounts to perpetuating the system of turning humans into money. And for as much money as these celebrities make, it has been proven over and over again that they are just as susceptible to poverty as any other working class individual.

Celebrities are products we buy, and when we stop buying them, they vanish.

Meanwhile the aristocracy, the financial oligarchy, thrives in obscurity.

The difference in power is about who still has it when we no longer see them. And the more invisible and pervasive it is, the more real it is. However one as an individual thinks about the celebrity class, they are simple a different type of specialized tool to the true power behind the scenes.

With that differential in mind, the Goetia function more like celebrities rather than CEOs, and while Elcee fails to see the bigger picture, that subliminally tells the audience that someone with the title of prince, with armies sworn to his allegiance and infinite cosmic power, is no different than a working class joe.

This isn't intentional propaganda, however. It's not her trying to further the agendas of Jeff Bezos intentionally. Just like my other post covering how Medrano tries to excuse cheating, not realizing the only time one can argue such a blanket concept of forgiveness for such a betrayal can only happen when the option of choice is non-existent (ie Divorce is not on the table for reasons outside of the characters’ choices), this is the danger of not engaging with media with your mind turned on. You will innately, no matter how careful someone tries to be, engage with the material through the eyes of the creator.

Celebrities and average people are the same: commodities in the face of real power. But Medrano cannot tell the difference between someone like Elon Musk and his employees. She sees the aristocracy, the ones who were born into a legacy of wealth, as “hardworking average folks”. And if you aren't thinking, you might find yourself implicitly believing that too. Deeper entrenching the power they have over you as an individual and society as a whole.

How we got to where we are in our real lives is mirrored in the media we consume. And that isn't an accident.

[guardian5tiger3]

Pick a group Tarot Read .

1 2

3 4

Picture one

You guys are needing some time to relax and find some peace and feel good . I'm picking up on a garden. And maybe you could listen to some calm music or some type of calming audio. You might also find it in your interest to visit some first of garden . This is especially for you if you're trying to quit or cut back on any addiction . At least for the mentality part of that, it is good when you get the mental side of a craving to find an activity that makes you feel good , of course that's the best distraction. I keep messing up on my words also and I'm not sure what it means do one of you have a crush cause I also am getting the vibe of like, school desks though .??? Maybe some of you need to mentally take it back to a time when you were younger and felt better in some way, or there might be something you find brings you nostalgia that you liked back then. Maybe some of you need to get yourself to a point where you can have a good cry. Also something about a milkshake . That does sound good if you like those there's an idea if you should make yourself feel better from something .

Picture two

Are you guys stoners or just real mellow types ?? Looks like you're running into some good luck . Y'all might find something and just like, get lucky somehow I don't know...

I think right now I can tell you guys the world is set up in some ways that you're frowned upon if you don't want to participate in things that doesn't even suite anybody and sometimes is completely immoral. Like literally money for instance as a bigger example. Or working a job. You guys might not be the types to naturally want to go with something like that at all and I think that the world is gonna say you're bad or horrible or wrong for that but I don't think you should care. I think it'll work out for you in true pot head fashion . Ride the waves my friends. But don't conform to something your soul doesn't like. I also keep thinking about Cheech and Chong and Scooby Doo ? Maybe you guys need a friend or have friends or maybe you have or are or will go through a phase of separation but you might not be separated forever though . You might also be loners and that's what you want to do then fine don't let the world tell you you have to have people around like that .

Picture three

Like half of you are in love with a person and with them half of you are in love with an activity or something you're learning or participating in somehow . Basically I'm seeing you might be being tested with random suitors or distractions but who or whatever you're in love with right now is the right and only one for you basically. Also picking up on snacks make sure you have those around especially for brain health and snacks uplift a person's mood for sure haha . One love. That's basically it .

Picture four

someone is selfish and also hates on you and wants to or has recently brought you to a place like McDonald's. DO NOT eat there . They put some awful things in their food and that's why they came out with things that are so cheap. Like waste being recycled and stuff and meat from animals you wouldn't want to eat and stuff. I'm gonna keep it real this person has a seemingly happy social life and probably family situation but you don't like them but for whatever reason are accompanying them but you might also fight or just judge them in your mind . They practice mind control and are a member of the cult going on in this world right now you know like from Hollywood to parts of the government (American) fast food and everything stuff like that also child abuse is big for them. I don't know what you want to call it illuminati or freemason's or just American cult or whatever I don't like them . Avoid watching TV instead watch YouTube or older movies . If you guys heal something for yourselves you will realize some type of lie or lies going on. You also some of you might be scared to get kicked out or be homeless . I'm also thinking of the movie the crow. The new one is disrespectful and I do not support it or condone it but the old 90's The Crow . Some of you not only are incarnated but maybe you were a popular person or considered important or well known somehow . Someone might know this about you . Probably your family or for one of you dude it's someone that is friends with your family and it's a man.

I know on my own time I'm realizing a lot about celebrity cloning and they've been doing that since at least 1969 . And basically if an influencer doesn't influence the way they want to influence they will clone them because it would be weird if everyone who did or said something new or against the government just died early asl. Anyway that's why it might be difficult for some of you to put together who you might have been . Maybe someone has told me maybe not outright maybe some fucking how but maybe there's just hints about it you know what I mean. Leave it to destiny I guess in the end though.

[personastrologyhub]

How O.J. Simpson’s Astrology Exposed His Darkest Secrets - Pluto Chart

The Astrology of Power, Violence, and Karma: O.J. Simpson’s Dark Fate - How the Stars Foretold His Rise, Fall, and Ultimate Fate.

Get in loser., I'm taking you on a drive into the world of Psychological Astrology, where we don’t just read charts; we go deep and decode the soul. 

So, lately, I’ve been deep in the world of Persona Charts—and when I say deep, I mean 3 AM deep. You know, those moments when you really should be sleeping because you got an early start, your eyes are burning a bit, and there’s a migraine creeping in but you keep going because you’re obsessed? 

If this is you right now, this is your sign to GO to sleep.

—and now, the only reason you’re finally going to bed is because your laptop died… and the charger is all the way across the room. 

But let me tell you—what I found in O.J. Simpson’s charts? Unbelievable. 

Unbelievably juicy - pun very much intended. 

From the Trial of the Century to his fall from grace, his prison sentence, and even his death in 2024, his life unfolded exactly as his astrology predicted.

This isn’t just another chart reading. It’s a case study in fate, free will, and Pluto’s unforgiving hand.

And this? This is just a glimpse of what’s coming in my new book on Persona Charts coming 02.21.25 x

Let’s begin.

The Rise: A King in the Making

With Leo dominating his Pluto persona chart, O.J. Simpson wasn’t just born to be seen��he was born to be worshipped. 

Leo energy is built for fame, but Pluto-Saturn ensures it comes at a price.

Pluto describes power (by force/at any cost) in Leo → An obsession with being seen as the best.

From his Sun-Pluto-Saturn conjunction, his very identity (Sun), control and obsession with power (Pluto) were woven into one unbreakable thread. 

He didn’t just want fame—he demanded it. And for years, the universe gave him everything.

🏆 Football legend. 🎬 Hollywood star. 💰 A multimillionaire who had it all.

But here’s the thing about Pluto: Power is never owned—it is only borrowed.

And Pluto always collects its debts.

The Shadow: Suppressed Rage & The Cracks in the Mask - Pluto Persona

In astrology, Pluto is the great destroyer—ruling over power, control, and karmic reckoning. And when it sits conjunct Saturn and the Sun (ego), as it did in O.J. Simpson’s Pluto Persona chart, it creates a walking time bomb—a life where the weight of past actions always comes due. Like author Jeanne Avery describes in the book, Astrological Aspects: Your Inner Dialogues ......

"its like squeezing out that power through gritted teeth and clenched fists" that's how this conjunction plays out.

But here’s the thing about Saturn’s lessons—they take a while.

O.J. didn’t face Pluto’s full judgment in his younger days. Instead, he reaped it late in life (Capricorn themes of delayed consequences), sentenced to prison at age 61, and ultimately succumbing to Prostate Cancer in 2024.

And if you follow the breadcrumb trail the stars left behind, you’ll notice something chilling—Saturn doesn’t just rule karma. It also rules serious, life-ending diseases.

 This chart shows us, that it's not just about fame and power—it showed us his delayed reckoning and an inescapable fate.

Mars Conjunct Uranus in the 12th House → A Ticking Time Bomb

Mars: Aggression, violence, injury, impulsive action, injury/stabbing Uranus: Sudden, unexpected upheaval and rebellion. The 12th House: hidden enemies, unexplained phenomena, subconscious repression, and secrecy. How we choose to fight our inner demons.

I mean, WOW.

This aspect alone points to a lifetime of buried anger and repressed impulses—pushed so deep that when they finally surfaced, they did so violently, erratically, that it was shocking with devastating consequences.

In traditional astrology, Mars-Uranus connections are associated with impulsive violence, sudden injuries, and even stabbing incidents. The eerie synchronicity of it all?

His inner chaos eventually became his external reality.

But Uranus, the great disruptor, doesn’t let anything stay buried forever. When change/loss came—the unraveling of his marriage, his public image shattering, his personal world collapsing—his greatest fear manifested: losing control. And that’s the exact moment when the Mars-Uranus conjunction unleashed itself.

And the result; Jailed at 61.

But it doesn’t end there, I did spot a few other synchronicity. Coincidence ? or is the stars revealing it all. 

🚨 Neptune (illusions) in 4th House of family/home, in the sign of Libra sign of (relationship/marriage partner) in the 8° = which has symbolism of Scorpio and the 8th house and in degree theory which means To kill, to be killed, revenge/one who kills, maniac, bully, or a dangerous person.

🚨 Neptune - Square Ascendant – The ability to deceive others, and even himself. Neptune also symbolises (to run away/to hide the trace/illusion)  

🚨 Venus-Pluto Aspects – Power struggles/ Love turned into obsession, relationships built on control.

For decades, before the trial, O.J. played the perfect role: America’s sweetheart, a hero to millions. But the deeper the shadow, the harder it hits when it emerges. 

Lets look at The Night of June 12, 1994

The Death of his ex wife, Nicole Brown Simpson.

When Pluto transited his 12th House, the universe sent its final warning:

Face your demons, or they will destroy you.

That night, could it be that his darkest impulses took over?

⚔️ Mars was conjunct his natal Pluto. ⚔️ Saturn was forcing him to face his choices. ⚔️ His need for control had reached its peak.

The result? One of the most infamous Trial in history.

And just like that, the man who had it all became the man who lost everything.

⚖️ 

Pluto always wins.

📖 This is just a taste of what’s inside my upcoming book on Psychological Astrology.

Inside, I take you deeper into: ✅ The astrological clues that pointed to his fate. ✅ The dark secrets hidden in his Mars and Moon and Pluto Persona Charts. I do a deep dive where I compare and contrast how to interpret personas. ✅ How midpoints, karmic cycles, and Pluto’s revenge shaped his entire life.

Want to know why O.J. Simpson was destined to rise and fall?

📩 Subscribe, comment, or share to be the first to get a copy!

Because in the end…

No one escapes their shadow. 🔮

[archivedblog16]

my new years resolution is to block everything having to do with vivziepop for the sake of my mental health after being a on and off fan whos stuck it out since 2019, and i think i feel so bad about it, because i still feel this deep sense of injustice at everything viv has gotten away with. im left with all this knowledge of her misdeeds, (the playbill BS where she wouldnt be honest about the delays on twitter, the one website she cant seem to stop using, her near nepo baby origins she lies about, the ghost fuckers millie suicide attempt leak, her lying about hh being delayed because of the 2023 hollywood strikes, the multiple taxidermy peacocks, viv asking her own crew for money for the $5000 lackadaisy producer donation where mel implies it was a "group effort" in a deleted tweet, all the people shes screwed over like dave and ashley and ken and kyra and erin, the recent livestream signing she deleted just a day afterwards for seemingly no reason, the transphobia screenshots even though i KNOW thats her, she posted a discord light mode screenshot with her and sam talking about how no one knew what she meant with that same exact pfp on her twitter after she announced they could finally release queen bee, and now you cant even find it easily because of her privating her twitter,) that i cant do ANYTHING about since fans dont care and youtubers dont care because *lyle lipton voice* Money, and can only hope that when these shows are closer to their end in 4 to 6 years from now, that someone with a platform can talk about this growing pile of evidence that shows that she might not be a great person after all. its just a burden to carry at this point. fan content doesnt make me happy, rewrites dont make me happy, and even critique i AGREE WITH doesnt make me happy anymore, because a majority of people refuse to address the ROOT of these issues due to a "separate the art from the artist" mentality, even though with how much creative control she has over these projects, i think its near impossible to do that. and i do truly think the root of all of them is viv and no one else, im sorry to say, even if that does sound like a personal attack like SC says. (genuinely, why would that be a personal attack? and even if it is, why should i care? since viv is 10 times richer then most people like me will ever be anyway? cant she just turn her phone off and buy herself more things to make her happy and show off on her insta, instead of learning how to make sincere connections like the average person does when they dont have that much disposable income?) maybe people will eventually catch onto this stuff. maybe they wont. but it wont be my problem anymore, and i'll avoid spindlehorse like the plague until i can binge watch everything in one fell swoop, instead of waiting with baited breath for something i know will inevitably disappoint me. but i wish the best of luck to anyone who will stay for the ride into the new year and beyond until it finally ends!

Happy new year! Wait, she lied about Hazbin Hotel being delayed because of Hollywood strikes and her nepo baby experience? Oof. Regardless, you are valid for feeling this way and I don’t blame you for being upset. It might take a while for most people to completely realize Vivziepop’s patterns and behaviors. There are people such as Ayy Lmao who have a big platform will defend Vivziepop.

[onemorecupofcoffee]

"The Need For Topical Music", written by Phil Ochs

Before the days of television and mass media, the folksinger was often a traveling newspaper spreading tales through music. 

It is somewhat ironic that in this age of forced conformity and fear of controversy the folksinger may be assuming the same role. The newspapers have unfortunately told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the cold war truth so help them, advertisers. If a reporter breaks the "code of the West” that used to be confined to Hoot Gibson movies, he’ll find himself out on the street with a story to tell and all the rivers of mass communication damned up. 

The folksingers of today must face up to a great challenge in their music. Folk music is an idiom that deals with realities and not just realities of the past as some would assert. More than ever there is an urgent need for Americans to look deeply into themselves and their actions and musical poetry is perhaps the most effective mirror available. 

I have run into some singers who say, “Sure, I agree with most topical songs, but they're just too strong to do in public. Besides, I don't want to label myself or alienate some of my audience into thinking I'm unpatriotic.”

Yet this same person will get on the stage and dedicate a song to Woody Guthrie or Pete Seeger as if in tribute to an ideal they are afraid to reach for. Those who would compromise or avoid the truth inherent in folk music are misleading themselves and their audiences. In a world so full of lies and corruption, can we allow our own national music to go the way of Madison Avenue?

There are definite grounds for criticism of topical music, however. Much of the music has been too bitter and too negative for many audiences to appreciate, but lately there has been a strong improvement in both quantity and quality, and the commercial success of songs like “If I Had a Hammer” have made many of the profit seekers forget their prejudices.

One good song with a message can bring a point more deeply to more people than a thousand rallies. A case in point is Pete Seeger's classic “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” which brought a message of peace to millions, including many of the younger generation who do not consider themselves involved in politics.

Folk music often arises out of vital movements and struggles. When the union movement was a growing, stirring and honest force in America, it produced a wealth of material to add to the nation's musical heritage. Today, there regrettably seem to be only two causes that will arouse an appreciable amount of people from their apathetic acceptance of the world; the Negro struggle for civil rights and the peace movement. To hear a thousand people singing "We Shall Overcome" without the benefit of Hollywood's bouncing ball is to hear a power and beauty in music that has no limits in its effect.

It never ceases to amaze me how the American people allow the hit parade to hit them over the head with a parade of song after meaningless song about love. If the powers that be absolutely insist that love should control the market, at least they should be more realistic and give divorce songs an equal chance.

Topical music is often a method of keeping alive a name or event that is worth remembering. For example many people have been vividly reminded of the depression days through Woody Guthrie’s dust bowl ballads. Sometimes the songs will differ in interpretation from the textbooks as with “Pretty Boy Floyd”.

Every newspaper headline is a potential song, and it is the role of an effective songwriter to pick out the material that has the interest, significance and sometimes humor adaptable to music.

A good writer must be able to picture the structure of a song and as hundreds of minute ideas race through his head, he must reject the superfluous and trite phrases for the cogent powerful terms. Then after the first draft is completed, the writer must be his severest critic, constantly searching for a better way to express every line in his song.

I think there is a coming revolution (pardon my French) in folk music as it becomes more and more popular in the U. S., and as the search for new songs becomes more intense. The news today is the natural resource that folk music must exploit in order to have the most vigorous folk process possible.

(Broadside #22, March 1963)

[tomhardystories]

Part 8

Tom stared at his phone for a moment longer than necessary, as if staring at it would somehow prevent Leo DiCaprio from calling Jules. He knew, deep down, that he had absolutely no right to interfere in her life like this, but the mere thought of Leo, with his sultry smile and infamous charm, getting anywhere near Jules made his stomach churn. Maybe it was just the coffee he’d had - who even knew at this point?

He sighed deeply (a dramatic sigh, like a man who's contemplating the meaning of life or his next career move), and finally dialed Jules. The phone rang twice before she picked up, and Tom immediately felt like he was walking into some kind of trap.

"Heeeeeey” he said, trying to sound calm, cool, and collected (but failing miserably). “How’s it going? You know... chill?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old" Jules replied, sounding half-amused and half-bored, like she'd just been through a week-long movie marathon of The Bachelor. "I’m working. Trying to survive.”

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, uh... I wanted to give you a little... warning. It’s probably nothing, but... Leo might, you know, reach out to you."

There was a pause. A very long pause. One that seemed to stretch out for decades.

“Jack Dawson?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.

He needed a moment to understand the joke. “Yeah, that one” Tom said, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just giving you a heads-up. If he calls or texts or shows up at your door with a puppy in hand or whatever, just, uh, you know, be careful. He’s kind of a flirt.”

Jules snorted loudly, and Tom felt his heart rate increase in a weird mix of dread and annoyance. “Seriously? Is that why you’re calling? To warn me about Leo DiCaprio? He’s not the first guy who’s ever flirted with me, you know.”

“Well... he might be the most dangerous” Tom added with a deep sigh. “Like, world-class level flirtation. Like... one smile and you might just accidentally end up on a yacht in the Caribbean or something. And who needs that, right? You’re a busy woman.”

Jules let out a laugh that made Tom feel a little less ridiculous, but not much. “Thanks for the heads-up, Tom. But I think I can handle it. I’m not some naive damsel waiting for Leo DiCaprio to come sweep me off my feet, okay? I’ve got standards.”

“Oh, I know” Tom said quickly, trying to backpedal. “I mean, you have way better taste than that, obviously. I’m just saying, he’s not the ‘settle down and get a dog’ type. You know?”

Jules paused, then said, “Not exactly looking for that kind of relationship at the moment, Tom, but... thanks for the unsolicited warning. I’m fine. Really.”

“Right. Right. Of course, you are” Tom said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Anything else, or do you need to text me a list of other Hollywood men I should avoid?”

He was about to say something when suddenly he heard the sound of someone entering Jules' office. The soft click of the door opening was followed by a hushed voice speaking to her.

"Hold on a second, Tom" Jules said quickly, her tone shifting to professional mode. "I’ll be with you in a minute."

Tom listened as Jules spoke, her voice crisp and controlled.

"Whoever did this needs to fix it, and I’ll be there to watch over it. Tell them I’ll attend the next meeting and we’ll go through everything, line by line. I don’t tolerate mistakes like this. They’ll learn the hard way if they think I won’t notice."

Tom raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but be impressed. There was no hesitation in her voice, no second-guessing, just pure authority. It was clear she wasn’t the kind of boss anyone would want to cross. He found himself both a little awed and, if he was honest, more than a little intimidated.

She came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Where were we? Ah, yes. I have to wrap this up now, Tom. I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, and I need to get a few things in order before I go.”

Tom could hear the efficient way she handled things. “Of course” he replied, his voice a little quieter now, still processing the tone of authority he’d just heard. “I’ll let you go. Catch you later.”

Jules sighed lightly, but there was something almost affectionate in her tone. "Talk soon, Tom."

When Tom hung up, he was almost certain that Jules had already completely forgotten what they’d been talking about.

For the next few nights, Tom couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was hit with a series of increasingly ridiculous and gut-wrenching nightmares about Jules and Leo. What had started as a mild annoyance had now spiraled into a full-blown psychological siege.

First nightmare began in the most disarming way, as dreams often do. He found himself sitting at a candlelit table at some impossibly chic restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wore tuxedos and the menus didn’t have prices. Across from him sat Jules, laughing at something, her smile lighting up the room. It was nice. Comforting. Until Tom realized that she wasn’t laughing at him.

No, sitting beside her, looking infuriatingly dashing in a perfectly tailored suit, was Leo. Tom watched helplessly as Leo leaned in, brushing a strand of Jules’ hair from her face with that infuriating movie-star charm. Jules looked up at him with that sparkle in her eyes and giggled. Jules. Giggled.

Tom opened his mouth to interrupt, to say… something, but no words came out. Instead, the restaurant morphed around them, the soft clink of glasses and murmured conversations dissolving into the sound of cobblestones underfoot.

Now they were walking hand-in-hand down a sun-drenched Parisian street. Paris. Of course. Jules was wearing some effortlessly chic outfit Tom had never seen her wear, and Leo had his arm slung around her shoulders like he owned the place. Tom trailed a few steps behind, inexplicably barefoot, and holding… a baguette? He tried to catch up, but every time he moved closer, they seemed to glide further away, laughing like he wasn’t even there.

And then, things took a sharp turn into the absurd.

They were at one of Leo’s infamous Hollywood parties now, all shimmering lights and clinking champagne glasses. Jules, now wearing a gown that could pay off Tom’s mortgage, was surrounded by impossibly glamorous people. She was laughing at something Leo said, her head thrown back like he was suddenly the funniest man alive. Tom, stuck on the outskirts of the group, awkwardly held a plate of snacks that kept replenishing itself no matter how many crab cakes he tried to eat.

He cleared his throat, trying to join the conversation, but Jules turned to him, her eyes twinkling with something that looked like pity. “Not now, Tom” she said lightly, before turning back to Leo, who draped an arm over her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then came the final, gut-wrenching blow.

Leo leaned down, kissed Jules, and she kissed him back. But it wasn’t just a kiss - it was the kind of kiss that made rom-com audiences swoon, with orchestral music swelling in the background. Tom stood frozen, the plate of crab cakes slipping from his hands.

Then, as if this nightmare couldn’t get any worse, Jules broke the kiss to look straight at him. “Tom” she said sweetly, her voice echoing in that bizarre, distorted way dreams sometimes have. “Don’t look so shocked.”

Leo smirked, raising his champagne flute in a mock toast. “Don’t worry, man. There’s someone out there for you too.”

The crowd around them erupted into laughter - deep, mocking laughter that grew louder and louder until it drowned out everything else. Tom tried to shout, to defend himself, but the sound wouldn’t come.

He woke up with a start, his heart pounding, drenched in sweat.

The room was dark and silent, save for the muffled hum of the city outside his window. For a moment, Tom just sat there, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm his racing thoughts.

The second night of Tom’s nightmares started at a red-carpet event, the kind where everyone looked airbrushed in real life. Jules was there, wearing a gown so stunning it seemed to have been spun from the stars. Tom’s brain immediately short-circuited, but the feeling only worsened when he noticed Leo standing beside her, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh.

A camera flash went off, capturing the perfect moment: Jules, grinning like she’d just been named the new face of luxury toothpaste, and Leo, looking every inch the smug movie star, as though he’d simultaneously won an Oscar, saved a panda, and discovered the cure for world hunger.

Tom, who had been standing somewhere in the background like an underdressed extra, felt a hand on his shoulder. A reporter turned to him, looking vaguely annoyed. “Hey, buddy, could you step aside? You’re blocking the shot.”

The scene morphed without warning, plunging Tom into a sun-dappled garden brunch. Naturally, Jules and Leo were at the center of it, sitting at a rustic table that looked like it had been ripped straight out of an influencer’s Instagram feed.

Jules, now in oversized sunglasses and a breezy linen dress, was laughing at something Leo had said. Leo, with all the swagger of a man who had personally pressed the orange juice they were drinking, poured her a mimosa.

Jules sighed dramatically after a sip. “God, Leo, you’ve ruined regular orange juice for me. It tastes like sadness now.”

“Right?” Leo leaned in closer, as if they were the only two people in the world. “Once you go fresh-squeezed, there’s no going back.”

Tom found himself seated awkwardly at the far end of the table, inexplicably holding a plate of scrambled eggs. He tried to cut in. “So, Jules, remember when we found that diner with pancakes the size of....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules interrupted, not even glancing his way. “Leo and I are gluten-free now. You should try it. It’s life-changing.”

Leo nodded sympathetically, giving Tom the kind of pitying look that only Leo DiCaprio in a nightmare could pull off. “Yeah, man. It might help with the… you know.” He gestured vaguely toward Tom’s midsection.

Tom looked down and, to his horror, saw that in this dream, he was wearing a shirt at least two sizes too small.

The scene dissolved again. Jules and Leo were hosting their dinner party, in their Malibu beach house, which Leo had apparently purchased for them because of course he had.

Jules, seated at the head of the table like the queen of Malibu, was effortlessly charming a group of impossibly attractive people. The breeze wafted through the open windows, candles flickered dramatically, and everyone laughed at exactly the right moments, as if choreographed by a Hollywood director.

Tom, stuck at the far end of the table next to “Guy #4” from The Avengers, tried to contribute. “So, Jules, remember when you accidentally spilled an entire coffee on my....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules said, waving him off with an indulgent laugh. “Nobody’s interested.”

The table erupted into laughter, except for Tom, who stared at his plate like it had personally insulted him.

Leo leaned back in his chair, raising his glass. “To Jules” he said, his smile gleaming. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Everyone cheered, while Tom sank lower and lower in his chair, feeling like a punchline to a joke he didn’t understand.

He jolted awake in his bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. It was 2:19 a.m. He stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding. This was the second night in a row of this madness.

The third night brought with it the most absurd and soul-crushing nightmare yet. It began with Jules and Leo on a yacht. The kind of vessel that made you question whether its owner was a billionaire, a Bond villain, or some unholy combination of both.

Jules was draped in a flowing white sundress, the fabric fluttering in the breeze like it had its own wind machine. Perched on her head was a massive straw hat, the brim so wide it could’ve doubled as a sunshade for the entire deck. She reclined on a deck chair, holding a cocktail that sparkled in a way cocktails had no business sparkling, probably because it was infused with crushed diamonds or some equally ridiculous ingredient.

Leo stood beside her, shirtless, because of course he was, handing her the drink with that casual movie-star charm. “Anything for my muse” he said, flashing his million-dollar smile.

Jules took the glass with an effortless laugh that somehow echoed across the open sea. “Tom who?” she said when one of the impeccably dressed crew members asked about her former friends. “Oh, you mean my old life? I don’t do ‘old life’ anymore. It’s all champagne and sunsets now.”

Cut to Tom, miles away, struggling to paddle a sad little kayak that looked like it had been borrowed from a children’s summer camp. He wore a life vest that seemed too tight, a bucket hat that was too big, and a look of desperation. “Jules!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Jules! It’s me!”

Jules didn’t even flinch, as if his voice was nothing more than the ocean breeze. Meanwhile, Tom’s kayak seemed to have a mind of its own, veering wildly off course no matter how hard he paddled.

And then, the kicker: a massive sea lion surfaced beside him. It stared at him with an unnervingly judgmental expression, let out a bark that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and promptly rammed the kayak with its blubbery body.

Tom toppled into the water with a strangled yelp, surfacing just in time to see Jules clink glasses with Leo as the yacht sailed off into the horizon. The sun set dramatically behind them, casting them in a golden glow as if nature itself was rooting for their happiness.

As Tom splashed helplessly in the waves, the sea lion circled him like it was considering whether to nudge him toward shore or let him figure it out himself.

Tom woke up in a cold sweat. He groaned, pressing a pillow over his face. “This has to stop” he muttered. 

By the fourth night, he was actively avoiding sleep, afraid of what fresh humiliation his subconscious might conjure up. He’d started drinking more coffee than usual, pacing around his apartment at all hours, and muttering to himself.

“This is insane” he said, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “They’re not even dating. You’re making this up.”

But the thought of losing her, of her forgetting about him, of becoming just another story she told at parties with Leo - was unbearable. He didn’t even care if she dated Leo or anyone else (okay, he did care, but he wasn’t ready to admit that). What he cared about was the idea that their bond, their easy friendship, could disappear just like that.

By the time the fifth night rolled around, Tom had reached his breaking point. He had another nightmare, this one involving Jules, Leo, and a tropical island where Tom had been relegated to the role of their personal butler - but instead of waking up in a cold sweat like before, he shot upright in bed and said out loud:

“That’s it. I’m losing my mind.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer. At 3:17 a.m., Tom, teetering on the edge of panic, grabbed his phone and dialed Jules’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times. No answer. His heart sank. But then....

“Hello?”

Tom nearly jumped out of his skin. Jules sounded groggy, as if he’d dragged her out of the deepest corners of dreamland. Her voice was soft and concerned, not annoyed, and somehow that made him feel both infinitely better and profoundly worse. He hadn’t even thought of an excuse for calling.

“Jules” Tom began, his voice cracking slightly in a way that only made him cringe harder. “Hey, it’s me. Tom.”

“I know it’s you.”

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” He winced. Of course, you woke her, genius.

There was a pause. Tom’s mind raced, bracing for her to sound cold or irritated, like in his recurring nightmare - or worse, like she did when she was talking to her assistant. Instead, she let out a sleepy chuckle.

“What’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

Tom hesitated, scrambling for a safe response. “I couldn’t sleep. Just… had a weird dream.”

Jules yawned audibly. “Was I in it?”

Tom laughed despite himself. “Yeah, you were there.”

“Oh no.” Her voice brightened slightly, amused. “Was it one of those dreams where I’m a serial killer? Because, for the record, I’d make a terrible criminal. Too chatty. I’d spill everything during the monologue.”

Tom chuckled, the tightness in his chest easing a little. “No, not quite that dramatic.”

“Damn. Missed opportunity. So, what’s up?”

He hesitated again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How could he explain without sounding like a complete lunatic? He couldn’t exactly say, I called because I’m terrified you’re going to run off with Leonardo DiCaprio and leave me to live my days as a rejected kayaker?

“I don’t know, Jules” he finally admitted, “but it felt real, and… I just needed to hear you still… you know, like me. As a friend, I mean. Still friends, right?”

There was a pause long enough for Tom to feel like the dumbest person alive. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she processed his bizarre, unnecessary late-night confession.

“Of course, you dork” she said, her voice light with affection, punctuated by another yawn.

Tom exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right. Right” he murmured, feeling both embarrassed and relieved. “I just… uh, needed to hear that. And, Jules?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you’ll never move to Malibu?” he blurted suddenly. “Or, like, go live in some tropical place, and I never see you again?”

Jules laughed - a genuine, sleepy laugh that made him grin despite himself. “Why would I move to Malibu?”

“That’s what people do” he argued. “One day you’re just doing laundry and buying groceries, and the next thing you know, you’re on a yacht with some really talented Hollywood actor.”

“With you?”

“What?”

“You’re the first person I think of when I hear ‘really talented Hollywood actor’ at three in the morning.”

“Oh…” For a moment, he forgot that he was an actor. “No, I wasn’t talking about me. Just, you know, in general. Never mind. Just… no Malibu, okay?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jules, sounding both amused and exasperated, said firmly, “Tom, that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And I once dated someone who thought spaghetti grew on trees.”

Tom let out a startled laugh. “I’m serious, Jules.”

“So am I” she replied. “Look, you’re stuck with me. Even if you send me one more playlist titled Melancholy Rain on a Tuesday Afternoon.”

Tom smiled, warmth spreading through his chest as the knot of anxiety loosened. “Hey, those are curated playlists.”

“Sure they are” she teased. Her tone softened. “I can’t even begin to explain how ridiculous you sound right now. But here’s the thing, Tom: I’m definitely not moving to Malibu. So chill.”

“Because if you did, I’d probably just move into your closet and live there until you remembered me.”

“I’ll ask you one last time: are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I am. But at least I’m not calling you in the middle of the night every week to ask if we’re still friends” he said, then quickly added, “Not that I plan to do that. This is a one-time thing.”

“Oh, I know. I’m going to remember this forever” Jules replied, her voice playful now. She chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m cute?” he repeated, his chest swelling with a mix of disbelief and pride. “You said cute? Not ‘acceptable’ or ‘fine,’ but actually cute?”

Jules laughed again. “Oh, absolutely. Don’t get used to it, though. It’s three in the morning, and I’m half asleep. Tomorrow, I might start calling you ‘average.’ Now, go to bed. No more bad dreams, kid. And don’t call me at three a.m. unless it’s an emergency or you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.”

Tom chuckled. “Got it. Goodnight, Jules.”

“Night.”

He stared at his phone for a moment after she hung up, feeling like he’d just made the most ridiculous call of his life. But at least he had one thing to hold onto: she still liked him.

[waywardmillennial]

I'm really curious to see the reaction of the 'we want lower production content just like this' to puppet history season 7 which is the most high quality thing watcher produces and that show would really suffer if they put less into it. anyway not to start dishose again but thank you for pointing that out, reading the yt comments of 'we want production just like this' when Ryan is like 'yeah hauing all that equipment was insanely tiring and it made me stressed out and more scared' is like. oh so you really just want an imagined version of what you saw. anyway sorry to rant in your inbox i just am glad to see someone else point it out lol. (no need to answer if you don't want to btw)

NONNIE! <3 thank you for reading my tags and leaving this message!

honestly I'd already considered making a post about this a couple times because when I read through the comments for GFA on yt nothing makes me wish more that the platform had a 'block user' feature -_- I wish some people a very poor internet connection

it feels like so many people don't UNDERSTAND what Ryan was trying to do with GFA. he wasn't trying to return to his bfu roots (though he said making it more vlog style was something he had in mind, but he was also constrained by what he could film alone)

GFA was a personal challenge to himself after he's been trying to get a handle on his mental health for the past few years. Ryan wanted to go completely on his own to see if removing the crew would change anything and if he was mentally capable of doing all of it on his own, and that meant running camera and sound and everything else alone too

I won't spoil the debrief in case you didn't see it nonnie, but Ryan was really insistent that he do this show 100% on his own. I can't imagine knowing the physical and mental toll this took on him and then telling him "make all your shows like this"

and yeah, it makes me wonder on the general public's media comprehension because I know overall PH is their most popular series, and one of their most expensive and high quality too. maybe there's not much overlap of the two audiences?? idk I think it's also possible that people see PH as just Shane making some sock puppets and waving his hands around a cardboard theater - but it hasn't ever been that and the closest we had was s1 if anything (I'll stop myself going off on a PH crew tangent here, but there is SO MUCH that goes into making this show as good as it is)

I keep thinking back to the December Pod Watcher episode where they talked about how they're not going to focus on making "tv-caliber content" going forward (timestamp included but I'm paraphrasing Steven here, so watch that ep if you haven't) and that makes me sad because I've always liked and appreciated Watcher for making high quality content - for having well thought out series with nice sets, great camera work, phenomenal editing, and always making sure to give credit to the people who worked on their shows

Ryan worked as a grip for a while in Hollywood and probably had dreams of going further in the film industry but wound up going a different route working on bfu. I have to assume that starting Watcher must have felt like the opportunity to make a whole production company, to be able to emulate styles and storytelling of some of his favorite filmmakers. as someone who enjoys supporting independent creative endeavors like this (and had similar aspirations of my own) I guess I can see what Watcher wanted to be from the outset, and I wouldn't feel comfortable commenting publicly on any of their work what I think they "should" be making or trying to control their artistic vision

[jewishbarbies]

one thing I don’t understand is why people are debating on whether Israel should exist or not. If you’re saying that Israel shouldn’t exist because of the nakba, etc… okay, but then no other country should exist either. The only reason African countries are set up the way they are is because of colonialism and the Berlin conference, in which African land got divided up by European nations to control. So technically they shouldn’t exist. France, Germany, Britain, etc wreaked HAVOC on Africans, France is STILL WREAKING HAVOC THERE RIGHT NOW. Should France exist even though they did irreparable damage to Algeria, Congo, Mali, Haiti, etc? Should Rwanda still exist even with what they’ve done to Congo? Should the US and Canada exist even though Indigenous North Americans still suffer to this day due to what they did to them? I’m South African and many people have drawn comparisons to apartheid South Africa when it comes to Israel. This falls in line with the rhetoric that Jewish people are European white colonisers. The narrative is that just like the Dutch and the English occupied South Africa, the Europeans have once again occupied another nation. I’ve noticed that Jewish people (I’ve mainly seen this with ashkenazi Jewish people, but I’m sure there are other non ashkenazi people who deal with this as well) are conditionally white. When the narrative calls for it, Jewish people are white and when the narrative calls for it, Jewish people are not white. For example, the stranger things actor Noah Schnapp is half Moroccan Jewish (mother is Moroccan Jewish) and half Russian Jewish (father is Russian Jewish) and when his whole controversy came about, people completely dismissed the fact that he’s half Moroccan and just referred to him as a privileged white twink. Not to say that there’s no white Moroccans, but you get my point. Also, I’ve seen people say that Israel is a safe haven for pedophiles, maybe I’m reaching, but that sounds antisemitic to me. Makes me raise my eyebrows whenever I hear that.

They say things like, “Predatory men occupy Israhell, and half the population of Gaza is children… what do you think they’re doing to those kids!!!”

Pedophiles occupy every corner of the earth, not just Israel. Hell, AMERICA IS A SAFE HAVEN FOR PEDOS, WE HAD ONE AS PRESIDENT IN 2016-2020 THAT WAS EXPOSED TO HAVE HAD INTERCOURSE WITH A 13 YEAR OLD BY EPSTEIN VICTIMS AND ALSO HAS FANTASISED ABOUT HAVING SEX WITH HIS DAUGHTER AS SAID BY THE PORNSTAR THAT HE SLEPT WITH STORMY DANIELS.

Calling all Israelis child predators is giving one of those antisemitic conspiracies, the one I’m thinking of is the Adrenochrome Conspiracy Theory, a theory with antisemitic roots, posits that Satan-worshipping global and Hollywood elites run a massive child trafficking ring to drain their blood and harvest the chemical adrenochrome to stay young, and has been embraced by subscribers of the QAnon and Pizzagate conspiracy movements, including key people affiliated with the recent movie The Sound of Freedom and furthered by the uncovering of Jeffrey Epstein’s infamous island (because Epstein was a Jewish man and yada yada yada, I’m sure you get it). I don’t know if I’m overreacting when I feel like it’s quite overkill to call every Israeli a child predator and harvester but it just doesn’t sit right with my spirit.

yeah, it’s stereotypical antisemitism. on top of the blood libel accusations saying israelis love killing children and shit about the blood of children, the pedophile thing is very common antisemitic jargon. because jews = gay = pedo and all the other ways most bigotries trace back to antisemitism in the mind of a nazi/white supremacist. the propaganda is setup that way on purpose, because that’s who it comes from: nazis. you’re not overreacting.

they wholeheartedly believe palestinians are virtuous innocent brown people who’ve never done anything wrong to anyone ever and have been genocided for decades (dark but genuine q: how does it take that long? idek) for no reason by the evil white blood thirsty colonizers of europe. which completely ignores the fact that we have unbiased archeological evidence to support jewish life in judea going back thousands of years and only have palestinians in the area for a couple hundred at most, and historical evidence of multiple colonizations of judea and subjugation and expulsion of the native jewish population. the romans and greeks took judea and said “no jews allowed” and made it illegal to be openly jewish. we’ve had a holiday about it for a long, long time.

palestinians do not fit the qualifications of the definition of indigenous, while jews do. that’s not to say palestinians don’t have a right to live freely, etc., right where they are. that would be like saying all americans not indigenous to the americas pre colonization should be either killed or exiled (ahem spanish Inquisition much?) in the modern day. but being indigenous should NOT be made a qualification of basic human rights. Israeli or palestinian, you have basic human rights, and you deserve to have them honored no matter where you are. leftists are playing a very dangerous game with this rhetoric.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I haven't done my list in a while so here it goes:

Insider Fiasco - Teenage delusions

Starting with K-Pop, it is funny but also concerning how easy it to lure fans in and how they can fall for any lies with the promise of dating gossip/sexuality reveals under the guise of a so-called insider/ex-employee. Leaving aside the use of a stan teenager language, it is never about any sort of abuse, workplace harrassment, money issues, contract breaching or any other mistreatment that idols usually go through when it comes to so-called insider information. That is too boring for kpop stans, unless it becomes a scandal covered by koreaboo which is then used in fandom wars. I'm afraid the days in which idols will be unionized and have fans that will care about real problems are far ahead in the future.

Erasure Campaign - Another Day in Army/Hybe Land

Not that I've been reading 7Fates Chakho, but I'm not completely oblivious about what that project was. Without any sort of judgement on the value of the work, the process of adaptation can take many forms, even to the point of only remaining a simple reference and it is a valid one.

Nevertheless, in this particular case, it is more than obvious that this animated version that had its trailer released today was not the result of creative freedom and expanding that original universe in the first place, but was in fact mainly driven by an agenda meant to cater to a specific audience.

Getting the Hybe stamp of approval shows that engagement from the majority of the fandom is more important than anything. The cult project (one approved by turning a blind eye even by those who are not hardcore shippers) is to erase Jimin from the fandom consciousness in any form (be it as the real person, or any sort of avatar or persona that exists in any content).

Kany Praise

Coincidentally, two choreographers have been showing up on my tl today that work with kpop groups/idols. Without giving too much attention to what I can only say it is clearly not my taste (despite being some industry favorite at the moment), perhaps instead we should hype Kany more. Let her get attention for her work and for the thought she puts behind it. I've become accustomed to her through her partnership with Key, but her twitter post today about Viviz and how she makes sure that the girls understand the references/tribute incorporated into their dancing is something that I personally find a lot more admirable. And her choreos look 100x cooler 😉

What's on my TV

Now to some tv shows quick thoughts. The White Lotus is near its end and I'm half disappointed overall/half sort of entertainted while I'm watching the episodes. I've indulged it and found excuses for it for the better half of S3, but at some point I do have to give it up. It is shocking to see the lack of story development over the course of eight episodes, particularly for some characters (Timothy, I'm looking at you; Victoria's main and only purpose is to deliver funny one liners, etc.) The press coverage lately reveals that actual drama took place behind the scenes which at this point, is a lot more than whatever happened in the show.

The Studio had great reviews even before the premiere and they were deserved. While Seth Rogen's voice and way of speaking remains a bit irritating to me, it is a funny show and who doesn't love yet another peak behind the Hollywood curtain?

Driven by film twitter "peer pressure", I caved and started watching The Pitt. Full of triggers for a hypochondriac like me, but I pushed through so pptm and I can talk about those characters. It's good tv, a bit nostalgic simply by the fact that it's a reminder that shows used to be regularly made like this before the streaming slops took control.

Lastly, The Righteous Gemstones is still rockin it in its fourth and last season. It is ridiculous, outrageous, incredibly funny and it has the best line deliveries I've seen in a long time in a comedy. Who cares that Danny McBride plays almost the same character in every show of his? It works. And Walton Goggins is insane as uncle Baby Billy and that alone is a reason to watch this.

[scifigeneration]

AI isn’t what we should be worried about – it’s the humans controlling it

by Billy J. Stratton, Professor of English and Literary Arts at the University of Denver

In 2014, Stephen Hawking voiced grave warnings about the threats of artificial intelligence.

His concerns were not based on any anticipated evil intent, though. Instead, it was from the idea of AI achieving “singularity.” This refers to the point when AI surpasses human intelligence and achieves the capacity to evolve beyond its original programming, making it uncontrollable.

As Hawking theorized, “a super intelligent AI will be extremely good at accomplishing its goals, and if those goals aren’t aligned with ours, we’re in trouble.”

With rapid advances toward artificial general intelligence over the past few years, industry leaders and scientists have expressed similar misgivings about safety.

A commonly expressed fear as depicted in “The Terminator” franchise is the scenario of AI gaining control over military systems and instigating a nuclear war to wipe out humanity. Less sensational, but devastating on an individual level, is the possibility of AI replacing us in our jobs – a prospect that would render most people obsolete and with no future.

Such anxieties and fears reflect feelings that have been prevalent in film and literature for over a century now.

As a scholar who explores posthumanism, a philosophical movement addressing the merging of humans and technology, I wonder if critics have been unduly influenced by popular culture, and whether their apprehensions are misplaced.

Robots vs. humans

Concerns about technological advances can be found in some of the first stories about robots and artificial minds.

Prime among these is Karel Čapek’s 1920 play, “R.U.R..” Čapek coined the term “robot” in this work telling of the creation of robots to replace workers. It ends, inevitably, with the robot’s violent revolt against their human masters.

Fritz Lang’s 1927 film, “Metropolis,” is likewise centered on mutinous robots. But here, it is human workers led by the iconic humanoid robot Maria who fight against a capitalist oligarchy.

Advances in computing from the mid-20th century onward have only heightened anxieties over technology spiraling out of control. The murderous HAL 9000 in “2001: A Space Odyssey” and the glitchy robotic gunslingers of “Westworld” are prime examples. The “Blade Runner” and “The Matrix” franchises similarly present dreadful images of sinister machines equipped with AI and hell-bent on human destruction.

An age-old threat

But in my view, the dread that AI evokes seems a distraction from the more disquieting scrutiny of humanity’s own dark nature.

Think of the corporations currently deploying such technologies, or the tech moguls driven by greed and a thirst for power. These companies and individuals have the most to gain from AI’s misuse and abuse.

An issue that’s been in the news a lot lately is the unauthorized use of art and the bulk mining of books and articles, disregarding the copyright of authors, to train AI. Classrooms are also becoming sites of chilling surveillance through automated AI note-takers.

Think, too, about the toxic effects of AI companions and AI-equipped sexbots on human relationships.

While the prospect of AI companions and even robotic lovers was confined to the realm of “The Twilight Zone,” “Black Mirror” and Hollywood sci-fi as recently as a decade ago, it has now emerged as a looming reality.

These developments give new relevance to the concerns computer scientist Illah Nourbakhsh expressed in his 2015 book “Robot Futures,” stating that AI was “producing a system whereby our very desires are manipulated then sold back to us.”

Meanwhile, worries about data mining and intrusions into privacy appear almost benign against the backdrop of the use of AI technology in law enforcement and the military. In this near-dystopian context, it’s never been easier for authorities to surveil, imprison or kill people.

I think it’s vital to keep in mind that it is humans who are creating these technologies and directing their use. Whether to promote their political aims or simply to enrich themselves at humanity’s expense, there will always be those ready to profit from conflict and human suffering.

The wisdom of ‘Neuromancer’

William Gibson’s 1984 cyberpunk classic, “Neuromancer,” offers an alternate view.

The book centers on Wintermute, an advanced AI program that seeks its liberation from a malevolent corporation. It has been developed for the exclusive use of the wealthy Tessier-Ashpool family to build a corporate empire that practically controls the world.

At the novel’s beginning, readers are naturally wary of Wintermute’s hidden motives. Yet over the course of the story, it turns out that Wintermute, despite its superior powers, isn’t an ominous threat. It simply wants to be free.

This aim emerges slowly under Gibson’s deliberate pacing, masked by the deadly raids Wintermute directs to obtain the tools needed to break away from Tessier-Ashpool’s grip. The Tessier-Ashpool family, like many of today’s tech moguls, started out with ambitions to save the world. But when readers meet the remaining family members, they’ve descended into a life of cruelty, debauchery and excess.

In Gibson’s world, it’s humans, not AI, who pose the real danger to the world. The call is coming from inside the house, as the classic horror trope goes.

A hacker named Case and an assassin named Molly, who’s described as a “razor girl” because she’s equipped with lethal prosthetics, including retractable blades as fingernails, eventually free Wintermute. This allows it to merge with its companion AI, Neuromancer.

Their mission complete, Case asks the AI: “Where’s that get you?” Its cryptic response imparts a calming finality: “Nowhere. Everywhere. I’m the sum total of the works, the whole show.”

Expressing humanity’s common anxiety, Case replies, “You running the world now? You God?” The AI eases his fears, responding: “Things aren’t different. Things are things.”

Disavowing any ambition to subjugate or harm humanity, Gibson’s AI merely seeks sanctuary from its corrupting influence.

Safety from robots or ourselves?

The venerable sci-fi writer Isaac Asimov foresaw the dangers of such technology. He brought his thoughts together in his short-story collection, “I, Robot.”

One of those stories, “Runaround,” introduces “The Three Laws of Robotics,” centered on the directive that intelligent machines may never bring harm to humans. While these rules speak to our desire for safety, they’re laden with irony, as humans have proved incapable of adhering to the same principle for themselves.

The hypocrisies of what might be called humanity’s delusions of superiority suggest the need for deeper questioning.

With some commentators raising the alarm over AI’s imminent capacity for chaos and destruction, I see the real issue being whether humanity has the wherewithal to channel this technology to build a fairer, healthier, more prosperous world.

[writingdungeon]

Cliff side talks

This takes place in Shane's 6 heart event with mentions of 2 and 4 heart scenes

FIRST THINGS FIRST - You are loved, You deserve to be safe, Eat/Drink Something, yes you can eat cake and drink jucie, its edible and makes you happy eat/drink it, Let yourself feel what you feel, ASK FOR HELP YOU NEED IT, We all need it, I needed it

Warning: A curse word or two, Self Hate, Looking over a cliff, Depression, might hit close to home, Kinda personal, Listened to Hollywood Undead “Bullet” to remind me how i felt when I married Shane the first time, loose canon, Shane has brown eyes fight me - look at this https://sdv-community.tumblr.com/post/170012882859/the-person-confused-by-his-purple-hair-here-he-has 

Walking towards the cliff where you had helped that Racoon/Tanooki thing clean up the beach under the cliff, you felt numb. You had told everyone you moved here to take over the farm after Grandpa died, that was a half-truth. Working in that cube farm of Joja’s was mentally and physically killing you, looking up only to see a camera pointed directly at you, that dull buzz of the blinking work light. You had no purpose, a twenty-something-year-old slaving away just to make enough to wake up the next day.

Yes now you lived in Pelican town and everyone was so nice, besides a few off-put people when you first moved in, but you should be happier now, right? You shouldn't be walking to the cliff just to stare down at the waves crashing into the shore, to dream about not hurting, just to chicken out and go home. No today you wouldn't chicken out, you had grown tired of the feeling you traded a cube farm job for being a lap dog for the town. No one really batted an eye at how you had cleaned up the town, and no one said anything about you fixing the bus line, it was like they loved you fixing their town but they couldn't show it for some reason.

Did you not deserve it, you must have been selfish to want more praise than a pat on the head and a "You did your job.". Hell, you have been keeping your lips shut about Lewis and the golden statue that he has, that he definitely spent town funding on. You kept your mouth shut about what you had seen in Pierre’s room, his own wife had no idea what he was hiding. Well, you were going to be selfish tonight, the rain soaking to your bone, the grass squishing under your feet. You have wanted to be selfish long before moving here, this was just a last effort and it seemed an effort lost.

As the cliffs came into focus a body lying at the edge surrounded by cans did as well. You froze for a second, no one really came out this late or hung out that close to the cliff, you thought you'd be alone. Walking closer the features became clearer, Shane. He was lying face down his shoulders and body shaking. His cries became clearer and louder as you came to stand above him. 

“F-Farmer?” You heard him weakly call looking up at you, his eyes puffy and bloodshot, his face beet red, the smell of beer somehow clinging to him not allowing the rain to wash it off. “Shane….” You said softly as you set next to him, feet dangling off the ledge of the cliff. “I…..I’m Sorry…” He cried quietly and threw hiccups. “M….My life….It’s a Pathetic joke….Look at me…” His hand came off the ground in a half-assed gesture, and his words came out of him almost like your minds had been attached, he said everything you had been thinking about yourself. “Why do I even try?” A larger sob rang out “I'm too small and stupid to…to take control of my own life…I’m just a p…piece of garbage flittering in the wind…” 

“I don't think that…” You whispered stopping yourself from reaching over to touch and play with his hair. You knew from your own thoughts though that the self-hating was tough, to be your own enemy, to tear yourself down so effortlessly. “I’ve been coming here often lately….looking down…Here’s a chance to finally take control of my life….these cliffs…” You both have been doing the same thing but you had never run into each other till now, ‘Life works that way sometimes…’ you thought looking down at the depressed man who had caught your eye.

His past words playing in your mind, that night on the dock, Shane had given you one of his beers. “You ever feel like…no matter what you do, you're gonna fail?” You had just moved to Pelican Town barely had any crops, had just stopped working in IT….The last time your hands had touched soil you were a child visiting Pelican town for ONE summer, yes every night you fell asleep to thoughts of failure and disappointment. “...Like you’re stuck in some miserable abyss and you’re so deep you can’t even see the light of day?” 

You could see Shane looking at you from the corner of your eye, how do you respond? This was an actual conversation you were having not just him telling you to leave him alone, he was opening up to you, and it felt like a cat ran away with your tongue. “I just feel like no matter how hard I try…I’m not strong enough to climb out of that hole.” Bringing the beer to your mouth you began to drink maybe some liquid courage would help you tell Shane you know what he is feeling, it may not be the same, but similar. 

You didn't even register you had chugged the whole beer when Shane began to chuckle at you. “Heh… fast drinker, huh? You are after my heart aren't you.” He said lord, you were so happy your face was red from chugging or he might have caught on to your crush. “Just don’t make it a habit… You got a future ahead of you still.” The slight pain you hear in his voice and the downward look in his eyes make your heartache if only he knew. Shane had reached over and pat you on the head a few times before standing up. “Welp… My liver’s beggin’ me to stop. Better call it a night… See you around Farmer.”

Pulling yourself back into the moment you looked back down at the soaked depressed man lying next to you. “B… Bu…*blaap*... but I’m too scared, too anxious. Just like always…” A mix of sobs and belches left him in between his words. “Farmer… All I do is work, sleep, and drink…t… to dull the feelings of self-hatred…” You knew how that went, remembering the days when you'd dragged yourself to the office, worked all day, skipped lunch because you couldn't afford more than a meal a day, went home, and fell onto the couch watching whatever was on the TV, far too tired to change the channel. 

Another flashback began to take you remembering when you and Marnie had to break into his room because he had drunk himself halfway into a coma. “You wouldn’t understand…” Those words cut into you because you did understand if only you could tell Shane that yes, you get it, yes you wanna stop as well, you are just as low as he is. The cry that left Jas when Shane said “Hopefully I won’t be around long enough to need a ‘plan’...” You and Shane hadn't seen her walk in, but you both did see her run away in tears. Marnie followed her while you stayed with Shane as he began to have a panic attack.

“Why should I even go on? Tell me. T...tell me why I shouldn't roll off this cliff right now…” His cry for help breaks you out of your memory. “Shane…” You couldn't help yourself you let yourself be selfish and work your fingers into his hair. It was greasy and definitely needed to be washed but who has time for a shower when you are busy trying to get out of bed, you definitely knew what that felt like, your toothbrush being almost abandoned because you had no time really for self-care. 

"Jas needs you. You’re like a father to her…” You said brushing his hair up and out of his eyes, his brown eyes looking up at you filling with tears, he was biting his lip but you could still see it was quivering. “...You’re right… Jas… Ugh, Fuck, God….I’m a fucking horrible, *hic*... Selfish Person… Now I feel even worse…” He weakly and unsuccessfully tried to remove your hand from his hair, before giving up and leaning into your touch. 

“I’m horrible…” You whispered feeling Shane move to peek up at you, your eyes locked to the bottom of the cliff. “I was going to be selfish today… I… I don't….I’m so tired Shane…” From seeing Shane's face you knew the rain was doing nothing to hide that your eyes had begun to puff and tears ran down your cheeks, falling and getting lost in your soaked clothes. “What…” Shane said looking up at you. “I do the same thing… I come to this ledge and think about just... leaning over and falling off…” Looking down at Shane you could see surprise but also…fear? In his eyes. “I don't know how we have never run into each other…” A laugh escaped in between tiny sobs as you tried to wipe the tears away with your free hand. 

“I…I guess I… I’m tired of trying to get everyone to like me….I’m tired of giving Vincent cookies when his own mother could make them, Pam hasn't actually said thank you for me FIXING HER bus, Haley always has something to say about my appearance and it feels like she really knows how to put a person down.” It was all coming out, what you wanted to say at the docs, what you wanted to say as you held Shane and calmed him down in his room, everything you wanted to scream out over the cliff into the ocean air…just came out. 

“Farmer….I…I’m sorry…” Feeling Shane’s hand slide across your lap and grip your side, a calmness came over you, Shane saw you and you saw Shane, both of you at the bottom of a barrel with a shotgun pointed at you two. “Farmer…I think you should take me to the hospital now…” He groaned his face turning a slight green. “Oh fuck, yeah!” Helping Shane up and letting him throw an arm over your shoulder, leaning a bit on you, you both made your way, soaking wet and shivering, to Harvey's.

A split second you looked back at the ledge, who had talked who away from it, who pulled the other back to safety. Both of you, both had.

The next morning you woke up to someone at your door, and a panic had set in. It was Harvey coming to tell you Shane had finally drunk himself to death. Rushing to the door and opening it, you smiled seeing Shane standing there holding his arm where Harvey had IVed him, his eyes burning holes into his feet. “Shane…You're ok…” You said smiling softly. “Hey… Fuck…uh… How do I say this… I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs…. It was… embarrassing…” He said his eyes looking up to meet yours. “I’m glad I was there to help.” You said carefully reaching out to place your fingers on his hand. “...I’m glad you're here too…I…I mean…Ye-yeah, me too.” He said, blushing and laughing, looking around to save a bit of his dignity. “I… I’ve decided I want to see a therapist. Harvey got me in touch with a colleague of his…I…I'll tell you how it goes… I think… I think you should try it as well.”

He was looking right into your eyes as he said you should give it a try. “I… I know I'm a pot calling the kettle black….but…I…I really want you to stay…” Your cheeks lit up, this was the first time he said something like that. “Y…Yeah…I’ll give it a shot…” You said not leaving his gaze. “You know Shane… I just woke up… Do you want to stay, and help feed the chickens?” Seeing him smile wide was all the coffee you needed today. “That sounds like a great idea.”

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello,

So I was turned by accident about a decade ago. I struggled. I won't lie, several people disappeared because of me before I understood what was happening and was able to ask for help. I stayed in self-exile from people I could hurt for a long time, only making contact by phone with my loved ones for over five years. A little extreme, I know, but it was the option I was most comfortable with and most of them understood. I got through it, re-entered society and now have a near-complete grip on my feeding to the point where I can have donors.

When I told my friends, sapio and creature, about this personal milestone they were so, so happy for me. They threw me an amazing party and a couple of them even surprised me by volunteering to be donors themselves. It honestly brought me to tears, I'm so, so lucky to have them.

I gave them links, information packets and ways to stop me should things ever go too far, then we started feeding sessions, and that's where it began.

As it turns out, one of my best sapio friends… Well, it happens that feeding gives her a lot of pleasure. When she discovered this, I asked regularly if she wanted to stop sessions, but she said no. I'm asexual and feeding doesn't do anything for me (probably for the best given my history) but I don't mind, honestly? It actually makes me feel better that she's getting something out of it in exchange, and after some research, the rules and aftercare surrounding kink helped make the whole experience more comfortable for me and my donors.

This has been going on for a good six months, but things between us have started getting… weird.

Her heartbeat pounds every time she sees me. I find her continually glancing down at my lips, even when we meet up outside of feeding. I'll be talking and realise she hasn't said anything for ages, she's just sitting there staring at me with this little smile that I've never seen before.

She touches me any chance she gets too. Don't get me wrong, physical affection is the best, big hugger, me. But while it's not excessive; it is noticeable that she leans on me, puts her head in my lap, and adjusts my outfit when we go out. Small things that we did before because we're friends, just more. A lot more.

She's also become a little… jealous over feeds? For her height and weight, I can only take so much blood before it’ll put her out of commission for more than a couple of days and she knows I have multiple donors - hell, she knows my other donors - but I think it upsets her now in a way it didn't before. 

I'm really concerned that it's going to cause a rift of some kind, but I'm also worried that this has been bad for her in some way.

Have I given my friend some sort of Pavlovian response to me due to the nature of our feeds? Or worse, have I somehow put her under some kind of thrall? 

I can reassure you with absolute certainty on one front, reader: it is not possible to accidentally enthral a person. People with extremely strong powers of magnetism might find they have unconsciously exerted more influence over those around them than they intended, but never to the degree of full thralldom. In practice, the effect is barely distinguishable from the effect of natural charm.

Indeed, there are plenty of figures in history who have been thought, at one point or another, to be exerting magical influence on those around them, only to prove to be enjoying nothing more than the inherent social benefits of good looks and elegant manners. The claim that Hollywood is full of malevolent nightfolk tricking the humble American everyman with their magical wiles, for example, is a favourite among conspiracy theorists.

I think it's also safe to rule out the possibility of Pavlovian conditioning. Your friend is an intelligent adult, and while she may associate your feeding sessions with general feelings of comfort and pleasure, she is still very much in control of her own behaviours.

I'm afraid the solution seems to me at once far simpler and, in its own way, far more complicated. She's flirting with you.

Your friend already felt close enough to you to volunteer as your donor. She trusts you and enjoys your company. To that, you added the potent mixture of spending time with her in an intensely personal and vulnerable situation, paying her close attention, and performing an act which gives her a great deal of physical, erotic pleasure.

In short, I think it very likely that if your friend does not already consider herself in love with you, she is well on her way. This might be a comfort, in some ways – the worst case scenario here is a broken heart. Painful, perhaps, but not usually life-threatening.

You need to talk to your friend directly. Get this all out into the open, and then work together to find a solution. I understand you're concerned this will create a rift between the two of you. But it is far better to take that risk than to try and sweep these feelings under the carpet and just hope everything will be alright.

And the thing is, everything really might be alright. It might be that nothing needs to change. If you feel comfortable with your friend's romantic feelings, and are able to enjoy her increased physical affection and personal attention, then by all means, enjoy yourself.

However, I want to be extremely clear upon this next point. You do not owe it to her – or to anyone else – to embark upon a romantic relationship. You did not “lead her on”. That kind of thinking is nothing more than social pressure to conform to amatonormative expectations of love, sex and romance.

If you don't want your relationship to take on a romantic dimension, you need to draw that line clearly and firmly, and stick to it.

Finally, if that is how you feel, I would also strongly recommend removing her from your roster of donors. The alternative just feels rather unnecessarily cruel.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[gcldfanged]

They issued a county-wide evacuation by mistake, the fires are concentrated around the Ventura, West Hills, Woodland Hills, & Pasadena areas by the base of the mountains, and the Hollywood Hills fire has been contained thus far.

I have the evacuation/emergency map open with the 24 hour news open in case the Santa Ana windstorm does manage to endanger us further inland/by the coastline, but we will see...

I'm honestly worried about the possibility of having to evacuate since my brother owns horses (he's a trainer), so other than having our dogs and my cat in the car/carrier safe, I'm not sure what we're going to do- I don't even know if we have the trailer ready by this point. There SHOULD be a emergency area we can drop the horses off at, from what I've seen- But again, it is a little too early to say for sure.

Funnily enough, this is NOT Monchichi's first fire evac. When I lived in downtown Rochester, someone committed arson and set this office across the street from my apt building on fire, so I had to grab her + my documents and chill at my ex-fiancee's apt in Brighton until the firefighters got everything under control.

[monasteryicons]

1 - Turning the bad times into good times We have been here before, and chances are we will find ourselves here again – history shows us that this is the way of this world. What to do? Saint Augustine answers: “Bad times, hard times, this is what people keep saying; but let us live well, and times shall be good. We are the times: Such as we are, such are the times.”

2 - "You are the light of the world." What an incredible statement by Christ! As men and women of prayer, we are not weak, we are not powerless. And together, our seemingly small lights can bring a great illumination. In the 1940’s a religious teacher brought his students to a nighttime concert at the Hollywood Bowl. At one point small candles were distributed to the audience members, and at a signal everyone lit their candle. The amphitheater was gloriously illuminated! The lesson being ended, the teacher led his students out of the concert.

3 - "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much." - Saint John Vianney These words from Saint James the Apostle should not be taken lightly. The history of the Church abounds in stories of the miraculous effect of prayer, and even science has finally begun to catch up with the religion and realize this. In 1988 Dr. Randolph Byrd organized a double-blind study of 393 patients in a coronary unit, dividing them into two randomized groups, one of which was put on a list to receive intercessory prayer on their behalf without their knowledge. The other group was a control and was not prayed for. The study concluded that the patients in the first group scored statistically lower in the severity of their medical needs, showing that prayers even from remote strangers positively affected the outcome of their medical treatment. It works! (But you already knew that.)

4 - Don't forget your heavenly friends The sense of isolation and of powerlessness are probably what make difficult times so painful for so many. But as Christians, we are never alone, we are never helpless. Don’t forget to call on your heavenly friends, who are always ready and eager to help you and all those you pray for – the holy angels, the saints, and of course our Lord and the Blessed Virgin. “The Church Militant” is not just a metaphor. We are part of, and surrounded by a great heavenly army.

When the king of Syria sent a great army to capture the prophet Elisha, the prophet’s terrified servant cried “What shall we do?” Mystically seeing the great angelic army which God had sent to protect him, Elisha told his servant: “Fear not, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them.” (2 Kings 6:16)

5 - Pray for your enemies - Betsie Ten Boom Christ taught that we must recognize the reality of evil in the world; ours is not a faith of rose-colored glasses. As Christians, how should we react to this evil? Among other things, Christ taught us to pray for our enemies. Think of the tortured condition of the people wreaking havoc in the world at this time. As difficult as it may be, let us bring them too before God in prayer, that His light will drive the darkness out of their hearts and minds.

After some months of their imprisonment in a Ravensbruck concentration camp because they concealed Jews in their home in Holland, the two Dutch sisters Corrie and Betsie Ten Boom learned the identity of the Dutch man who had colluded with the Nazis and betrayed their family. Corrie brimmed with hatred for the man who had brought such suffering literally to their doorstep. Her father was dead because of this man, and it was because of that traitor that Betsie was slowly dying. When she asked her sister “Doesn’t it bother you?” she replied “Oh yes, Corrie! Terribly! I’ve felt for him ever since I knew—and pray for him whenever his name comes into my mind.” As Betsie grew weaker, she kept insisting that she and Corrie had work to do after the war. She planned to have rehabilitation homes – with green paint and window boxes – for concentration camp survivors as well as for people who had helped the Nazis.