#unless the person who made this is a genius with a new hill to die on that i have not yet thought about but am dying to be informed of

[dontgofarfromme]

Watched Anyone But You and I just think if ur gonna do Much Ado About Nothing its rude to just adapt the fun bits and ignore all the themes and social commentary and an entire half of the plot. Like I don't think u get to make Claudio a lesbian for diversity points and then wriggle out of thinking about how the fuck you actually make the story MEAN something after youve made that change by just not adapting the claudio/hero plot at all come onnnnnn

[mcu-fan-fics-blog]

The Helping Hand

This is a Repost from my Ao3 I wanted to bring it to Tumblr. I hope you like it Its currently 5 chapters I will be uploading the rest throughout the rest of the week.

Word count: 2400 approx

Summary: Y/N Krast Illegitimate Daughter of Tony Stark. Product of an unwanted teen pregnancy. What would Howard Stark be capable of doing to assure his sons future? What will happen when Tony meets our Beautiful, young, genius, rich philanthropist.

Tw: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug use, Drug addiction, Teen Pregnancy. (If there are any I missed please tell me.)

Ch.3

Chapter 4: Age of Ultron pt.1

Ch.5

It has been a couple of days since your last dose. You were starting to feel the withdrawal and were not having it. "Y/N are you even listening to me?" You snap out of your thoughts turning to face Logan. "Of course in listening to Logan this is also important to me." You stand up and walk towards him "Don't you ever question that again."

You notice Logan flinch at your words, you hurt him. You look at the floor "I'm sorry Logan it's just been a couple of days since..." He nods and looks at you reassuringly "I thought you had gotten a handle on it." You sigh as you sit on the couch with him sitting next to you. "I'm an addict Logan we both know there's no controlling that." He holds your hand. 

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have kept giving them to you when Howard adopted you." You hold his cheek and clean the tear rolling down his cheek. "It's not your fault the Oxy it was just… your way to keep seeing me. It's not like I gave you much choice in the matter."

You were given Oxycodone at a young age… It was a mistake you were taking it for a couple of days before the nurse noticed. Hoping to cover her mistake she told no one and gave you extra to help with withdrawal. She probably never thought about it again, after all she was never going to see you again. There were no parents in the picture so no repercussions fell on her. It a shame you couldn't say the same of yourself. 

Logan was a couple of years older when he noticed your "habits" 15,16 maybe. He just wanted to help. Unbeknownst to you both, you just made it worse. You were able to hide or play off your addiction, for anyone looking in from the outside you were a normal kid. In Sokovia let’s just say the practice always had inventory. "Do you need me to get you a contact… I still know some people." Logan says looking forward." You swallow hard. "I… I need one bottle. Logan, I want to stop, but just having it on hand helps." 

"I'll be there every step of the way Y/N" Finally you let out a tear… as soon as one falls you come undone. Quietly crying while Logan holds you. "Logan you are the one person who knows all of me… Thanks for not running for the hills." He laughs "I couldn't even if I wanted to you're my sister, my family." He nudges you "Plus I'm also not the easiest person." you Laugh At Him. Your phone rings and you're quick to answer. "Y/N Krast who is this?"

"It’s Pepper, Y/N. I hope I haven't interrupted you." You mouth to Logan that it's Pepper, you put the call on speaker telling him to be quiet. "It's okay Pepper, you didn't interrupt anything what is it." She sighs and starts talking. "We need your help… Tony needs your help." You begin to worry, taking the phone off speaker and talking to Pepper. 

"What's going on Pepper you're worrying me." She just takes a deep breath and continues. "There's an Iron Suit waiting for you outside." You nod and hang up. Make your way to the office. "Logan If you could please get that for me all be back soon." Logan nods and waves you off. Sure enough, there was an Iron suit outside just kinda standing there waiting for you. 

As soon as you step in you're greeted by Pepper in the coms. "Just enjoy the ride see you soon." The ride was quiet but it just got you more on edge for what was waiting for you. Once you land you are greeted by a waiting Pepper. "Hey what's going on, I'm starting to get worried." Pepper only looks at you and gives you an apologetic look. You were rather pale today the building stress and the withdrawal aren't really sitting well. 

"Pepper I'm okay, but I won't be If someone doesn't tell me what's going on." Soon behind Pepper, you see a woman's shadow walking towards you. "You're being recruited Mrs. Krast to be a part of the Avengers… at least temporarily we'll work out the conditions later, what do you say?" Pepper scenes you confusion and steps in. "This is Director Hill. We need your help just say yes so we can tell you what's going on."

You just nod your head. Not long after Maria calls the team in. "Team meet your new member. I'm sure most of you already know her, as I’m sure she knows you." You stand rather defensive; you know none of them. Other than Tony. Then suddenly Natalie walks up from behind you. "Hey, stranger welcome to the team." You smirk. "What should I call you Natalie, Natalia, Natasha, or just Nat." She laughs and the rest of the team chuckles. "Touché" is all she says. 

You follow the team as they make their way across the tower you realize the tower is destroyed. "And I thought I knew how to throw a party… Clearly not." Once you make it to the meeting room Captain Rogers walks in with Maria Hill. You learn a lot in the hour and a half that has passed. You excuse yourself and make a call. 

"Logan remember what I asked you to do earlier. If I'm going to make it through this I'm going to need them." You're interrupted by a familiar deep female voice. "What do you need to get through this Y/N?" Natasha asked bluntly. "It's not nice to eavesdrop… Okay, just don't judge it’s for the greater good, remember that." Nat gives you a flat look not even bothering to change her defensive stance. "Do you guys have a medical unit? I need something." You say whispering while looking around to make sure no one heard you. 

"Are you hurt, do you have a condition or something." You sigh knowing she's not going to drop it unless you tell her. "I'm going through withdrawal Nat." She laughs. "You expect me to believe you’re some kind of junkie." You stay quiet avoiding her gaze. "And you're not kidding. Y/N since when." She asks. 

"You don't want to know alright. Will you help me? I just need to stop the symptoms long enough to think." The desperation growing in your voice. Nat sighs "What do you need and how much?" You let out a deep breath and give her a thankful look. "Oxycodone… 3. Is that possible if not I need to call Logan?" She just nods and leaves you standing there in the hallway. Not long after she comes back and with something in hand. 

"Since when?" She asks again you can tell she's ordering you not asking you to tell her. You answer reluctantly. "I was ten alright." You extend your hand and take the pills from her, taking one before heading back into the meeting room leaving her in the hallway alone. She walks back in clearly shaken up by your revelation.

A couple of hours later you're in the Quinjet heading to South Africa. You catch nat looking at you from afar. "Stop doing that…" You say to her. "Looking at you?" She says you shake your head. "Stop feeling bad for me. I don't need it. Yes, it's fucked up, but it is what it is." You say getting slightly annoyed at the situation. “You know I can’t let you get off this plane in good conscience?” You scoff. “ With all due respect, you’ve known me for all of three minutes. You can’t make decisions for me Natasha.” She only sighs. 

“I know me, Nat… I’m okay as fucked up as it might sound. I just need it to function at the moment I’m not high or anything. Just let me help you all.” Nat gives you an angry look. “At what cost are you going to help us? How far will you take this ‘to help us.’” You didn’t mean to raise your voice but you did. “Well, I’m sorry to break this to you but if I DONT help there won’t be a price to pay!” That surprised her but she knew you were right. “For the greater good.” she says, and you nod. “For the Greater Good” you repeat more towards yourself than towards her. 

Once the Quinjet landed Tony lent you a suit and taught you some basic commands. “Just be careful Kid.” You can only nod your head. “What are we actually going to do with Ultron.” Tony sighs “For now we talk to him and try to stop him from getting the vibranium.” He’s about to walk out when he gives you one last look. “Don't engage in direct combat.” he says. You can’t help but laugh. “I grew up in the system and learned how to defend myself quite early on. But just in case I do die, bury me in the suit.” Tony tries to hold his laughter but can’t. “You're a funny kid thinking I’ll go to your funeral. Much less bury you in one of my suits.” You chuckle.

Hours later 

It was a complete shit show… It started off great and went in feeling great and hopeful even. You went with Nat and she insisted on staying near you… More like you following behind her like a lost puppy getting in a couple of shots when necessary. It was all going well until suddenly it wasn't. The Hulk was loose and Tony was after him. The Maximoff twins really did a number on us… You knew that they were going to be a hard obstacle but not like this. That crazy bitch quite literally sent you to your worst nightmare. It's not like you haven't seen it before, but this just felt more real. 

You're back on the Quinjet and everyone is on edge, you're heading god knows where… and to top it off you're quite literally shaking. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't realize that Natasha had sat next to you until she put her hand on top of your shaking hands. “Are you okay Y/N?” you shake your head not really knowing how to process what just happened. “Are you okay, how did she do that?” Nat goes on to explain what actually made them what they were. Hydra… 

“I had heard rumors, whispers of Hydra, but I never thought anyone actually took them up on the offer.” Nat sighs “Desperate people do desperate things wouldn't you agree.” Clint interrupts you two announcing that you were landing soon. You're greeted by a very friendly looking woman, pregnant Laura Barton, a very sweet woman. Apparently no one on the team knew about her except nat. After the very awkward meeting we all just kind of went our separate ways. Bruce was off hating himself, Thor just kinda up and quite literally left, and Roger’s and Tony were just fighting outside. “Are you going to tell me or are you gonna make me find out the hard way.”

You simply lay back on the bed. “What do you want to know?” she sits “If it's actually true.” you laugh sourly. “What the fact that i'm a raging addict since the ripe age of ten. Yes, Natasha it's true.” all she can say is, “How?” You sit back up looking at her. “The how isn't important Nat… I was just a kid I didn't fucking know. All I knew was that when I stopped taking it I felt like complete shit.” You walk out the room before she could continue, not wanting to continue the conversation you go outside. 

Not long after you're all in the dinner room listening to Fury tell us about how we are at the end of the line, the last defense against ultron. Dr. Banner and I came to the conclusion that Ultron wanted to evolve to change into something better. Rogers, Nat, and Clint leave to find Dr.cho. While Tony, Bruce, and I hit the nexus. “Tony you will not believe what I just found… your old friend Jarvis.” He stops what he's doing and goes to your work space. “Old friend indeed he's been scrambling the nuclear codes all along.” Not long after Clint arrives with the cradle. 

Bruce is starting to explain how we should dismantle the android when I cut in. “What if we don't do that?” Bruce drops the tablet and looks at you. “What are you insinuating we do Y/N? Do you need a reminder of what this thing could do.” Tony cuts in. “Bruce, think about it we don't need utron for this to work.” Bruce just sighs “We’ve got Jarvis back.” you continue. “So you want me to help you to put Jarvis into this thing?” You laugh “No… no-no don't be silly we'll help you put Jarvis into that thing.”

Tony nudges you a smile forming on his face. “Great minds think alike don't they Y/N?” you can only nod in approval. You're almost done when Captain Rogers walks in. “I'm going to say this once…Shut It down” Tony cuts him off followed by Bruce. “You don't know what you're doing.” Rogers retaliates. “And you do? She's not in your head.” Wanda cuts in after Bruce mentions her. “I know you're angry…” She starts off and you cut her off. “Oh… We've passed that point believe me. This isn't about revenge or some vendetta, this is life or death. And like it or not this is our only way to fix this.”  

Suddenly all of the connections to the cradle are disconnected and an all out fight begins. Captain goes against Tony, Clint against Pietro. You on the other hand aren't interested in fighting if not preventing another green rampage. “Bruce calm down okay…” he stutters before speaking. “Y/N she deserved this what she did to me… what she made you see I heard your scream on the jet.” You grimace at his words. “Bruce let her go, we're not that, we are broken and damaged in a way many wouldn't understand. But we’re not this type of monster alright not you not me, and not the green guy… Let. Her. Go!”

As he begins to let her go, Thor flies in and shocks the cradle… bringing it to life or powering it up, not quite sure but it worked. He woke up...

[kermab]

The Morgulon Chapter 2

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/34542/the-morgulonWhen Greg came back to his senses, he was still laying on the ground. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was back at the camp. Someone had wrapped him in blankets, and there was a fire just a couple of yards away, but his feet were cold anyway. His whole left leg was a dull, throbbing ache. He grunted softly and turned his face to look away from the flames. He could see a couple of more campfires, and people sitting around them, but the atmosphere seemed subdued. When his father, David, Andrew, and Nathan returned from a hunt, that was always cause for celebration.

Speaking of his family, where were they? At the very least he would have expected Andrew to be there, to yell at him for putting Dolly in danger.

He turned his head back towards the fire right next to him. Beyond the flickering flames, all he could see were shadows. He thought he did see someone standing there, but he couldn’t be sure.

After a few minutes, he heard people coming closer, several pairs of heavy boots and a whispered argument. They stopped on the other side of the fire. At least one of them was still wearing the ridiculous white cape, and then he could hear Nathan growl:

“Just let her have a look, David. They checked him out, I had a look myself, he’s fine. If it makes her happy, let her waste her time.”

Greg blinked. The person in the white cape turned out to be Lane deLande, not Nathan. She was flanked by his brothers, though. David’s fingers played with Greg’s pistol when deLande kneeled down next to Greg, in a crouch that would allow her to get up again quickly.

“I want to see your face,” she said, and David said:

“You don’t have to. This is stupid. This whole thing was stupid.”

“We agree on that, at least,” deLande sighed. “He shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“He wasn’t the problem,” David growled back.

Greg looked up towards Nathan since David’s gaze was fixed firmly on deLande. The youngest of his brothers rolled his eyes at him and shrugged.

Greg had to clear his throat and start over before he managed: “I got nowhere to go tonight.”

Which at least brought the ghost of a smile to Nathan’s face.

So Lane deLande reached for his face and turned it towards the fire, staring at his skin intently. It was incredibly uncomfortable. Greg had never been this close to a woman who wasn’t his mother, and after a few seconds, he closed his eyes. A moment later, he heard David hiss, and then he felt cold metal on his skin.

“What happened to your face?” deLande wanted to know.

“Just some twigs,” Greg said, and let her turn his head a little more so that she could put the cold blade against his neck. Was this what the cow felt like before the butcher cut its throat?

Finally, deLande grunted and got to her feet again.

“Happy?” Greg asked.

“Not really,” the huntress replied, though when Greg opened his eyes, he saw her put the knife away.

“Your skin is too dark,” deLande went on. “Makes it really hard to tell whether it reddens or not, when the silver touches it. Especially in this light. You should better keep an eye on him,” she added in David’s direction, who did not go for her throat, although Greg could see that it was a close thing.

“Of course, Lady Inquisitor,” Nathan griped.

DeLande glared at him, but finally left.

“Well, that was fun,” Greg muttered.

“You,” David started, stopped, and dropped to the ground. “You are so ridiculously lucky, do you even realize that?”

Nathan settled down next to him.

“I’m too pretty to die,” Greg replied, but when that didn’t even earn an eye roll from either of them, he asked: “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” David just said.

Nathan added: “You weren’t the only greenhorn who thought he’d check a copse of conifers all on his own.” He paused and added: “You were the only one who survived it. Thanks to Dolly.”

“Is that where Andrew is?” Greg asked. “She’s okay, right?”

“Dolly is fine,” Nathan sighed. “Dad’s dealing with the family of some of the men who – didn’t make it. Andrew is with him.”

Greg shuddered. “How many?”

“Thirteen, all together.”

“We lost four shooters, too,” David said quietly.

“Four shooters?” Greg echoed incredulously. Sure, it happened that a shooter wasn’t fast enough on the draw, but four of them? With a plan this well laid out? “How did that happen?”

“Well,” David said, “we shot four werewolves, and your inquisitor back there gave the signal that you guys had killed two more. So some idiots left their post, because hey, six werewolves are dead, the hunt is over and we never receive false information about anything, ever, do we? So of course the remaining two werewolves went on a rampage through what was left of the formation. They must have gotten some beaters early on, too, but no one can tell when and where at this point.”

“Crap,” Greg muttered. Four shooters and nine beaters dead.

Eight werewolves, Mithras have mercy.

 Late the next morning, the mood in the camp improved slightly: Coaches and riders were coming up the road. It was time to present the dead werewolves to an official, either from the Church or an Imperial magistrate, to have the kills confirmed, and reap the rewards. With a pack as big and as dangerous as this one, there would likely be representatives of both. Possibly other interested parties as well.

Indeed, there were no less than eight men coming up the hill towards the camp. Greg had a good view of them from the back of a cart, where his brothers had put him earlier. The cleric was easy to recognize in his red robes, as was the Imperial magistrate, since no one else was allowed to wear that colour of blue. A third man wore a bright servant’s uniform, probably from a nearby Valoisian noble – hopefully, someone who had put up a bounty.

Next, there were three men in the more sober suits of the Loegrian fashion, and lastly a couple of men who were quite obviously farmers. They probably wouldn’t have any rewards to hand out, but they would carry word of their success.

For those new hunters who still needed to make a name for themselves, that was almost as important as the money.

Greg watched from a distance how the men with the gravitas of their respective offices inspected each carcass and then had to witness how the heads were cut off. He couldn’t quite stop himself from grinning: the cleric and the Imperial magistrate were so clearly uncomfortable. Bram was standing right next to them. From his gesturing, Greg was guessing that his father was trying to leverage their discomfort into a higher reward. After all, the agreed-upon rates had been for only six werewolves, not eight.

 Eventually, the last head fell and a cheer went through the huntsmen gathered close to the negotiation. The magistrate fled, waving to his servants, the cleric stayed just long enough to see the eight heads bagged before he too fled down towards his coach. Greg’s father ambled after them. The cheering grew louder when the armed servants of the officials carried up huge strongboxes full of silver.

Greg closed his eyes. Dividing the silver would take its sweet time. His father would get extra pay for organizing the whole thing, and deLande probably a little something for leading the beaters, too. Then there were fixed rates just for showing up, which generally barely paid for your expenses if you were a beater. Next, there was the success premium, which again, everybody would receive, and made the whole thing worthwhile.

Lastly, there were the general kill awards and the bounties, by far the most money, which would go to those eight individuals who had fired the killing shots. Unless of course one of the monsters had been brought down through a group effort, in which case things could get really complicated. Because the one who fired the killing shot also took home the pelt, and werewolf pelts fetched high prices with the Valoisian nobility, especially back in the homeland. If a werewolf hadn’t been active long and hadn’t amassed a bounty yet, the price of the pelt often trumped the official rewards for the kill.

 Greg woke with a scream when the cart under him started moving. Even the slightest bump made his leg hurt as if there was a draft horse kicking him in the thigh.

“Oh, hey,” Andrew said. “You’re awake.”

“No shit,” Greg muttered to himself. He had to bite his tongue to suppress another whimper of pain.

“Yeah, sorry,” Andrew said. “It’ll get better once we reach the main road. Here, that should cheer you up.”

He dropped a leather bag full of something heavy onto Greg’s chest.

“What’s that?”

“Your reward, genius. One bag full of silver, and some gold to pad it out.”

Greg closed his eyes and breathed through the pain when they hit the next pothole. Andrew was right, though. The thought of his first earnings did cheer him up. He could buy a horse with the money – once he could walk again, anyway – and still have plenty left for a rainy day.

He really wished he had some laudanum, but all he got was a bottle of whiskey when they stopped for the night. They had just made it over to the next village, which didn’t even have an inn. When the farmers heard who they were, they were happy at least to let them stay in one of the barns, which was dry and sheltered from the icy wind that had picked up. Greg was cold anyway. By the time his brothers heaved him back onto the cart, he felt hot and feverish.

For the remainder of the journey, he dropped in an out of consciousness. Whenever he woke up, someone was sitting with him, mostly Andrew, but David and Nathan took turns as well, and once, there was his father poking at his broken leg. That time, Greg was really glad when he passed out again.

 Finally, he woke up in his own bed, in their townhouse in Deva. Dr. ibn Sina was sitting at his bedside, who had taken over for his father as the family’s doctor just recently, and on Greg’s other side was his mother Imani. It was embarrassing how incredibly glad he was to see her. When she hugged him a little awkwardly, he was relieved that the young doctor got up and left them alone.

Had David cried like this in their mother’s arms after his first hunt, Greg wondered as he blinked away the tears. Had Andrew and Nathan?

If they had, his mother didn’t mention it. She did ask, however: “Does this mean that you do not wish to go hunting again?”

Greg pushed himself upright as much as he could and wiped the tears from his face. “What?” he asked. “No! I – it was just…”

He stopped, confused, when his mother reached for his hand. “I did not think you would change your mind so quickly,” she said. “But I can live in hope, can’t I?”

“Uh, sure,” Greg muttered. “Uh – what would you have me do?”

His mother smiled sadly, just with her glittering black eyes. “I always thought you liked the city,” she said, standing up. “The theatre, the music halls, even the lectures of Mr. Higgins. And I would have liked to keep at least one of you closer to home. Mr. Higgins will be disappointed, too. You know, he had some hope of getting you perhaps even into parliament.”

“Or poetry,” Greg muttered darkly to himself.

“You used to enjoy literature,” his mother pointed out.

Greg shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “But I don’t want to be one of those sappy romantics who waste all their time just dreaming of adventures, instead of living some.”

“But what if all your adventures go like this one?”

Greg thought about it for a moment. “Then at least I’ll have done some good in the world, instead of just talking about it,” he decided.

His mother nodded slowly, but she didn’t look convinced, Greg thought. He was almost sure she would say something more about the matter, but ibn Sina returned to take his temperature. Greg closed his eyes and tried to think himself somewhere else.

 Ibn Sina insisted on repeating the embarrassing and uncomfortable procedure three times a day for a whole week, even though Greg didn’t feel feverish at all anymore. He actually felt really good. The doctor had secured his leg in a splint, and with help from David and Nathan, he spent a lot of time out in the garden, where, despite the cold, he had lessons with Mr. Higgins.

Mr. Higgins was the teacher who had educated them all since they were kids, and he was at least as disappointed as Imani when Greg’s injury didn’t stop him from wanting to go hunting again. So he spent the whole time trying to change Greg’s mind, until, at the end of the week, Greg actually felt relief when ibn Sina interrupted a lecture because he wanted to talk to him in private.

“I have to ask you,” the doctor started, as soon as they were alone.

“Sure,” Greg said, perplexed, because the young physician stared at him intently, looking worried.

Ibn Sina huffed softly, opened his mouth, stopped himself, started again, and finally asked: “Did you use any kind of magic to speed up the healing process?”

Greg just stared at him, mouth agape.

“Magic,” he finally managed. “Where would I have found a healer? When?”

“So you didn’t use any magic?”

“No,” Greg said, as firmly as he could. He knew that ibn Sina, just like his father, had strong views about using any kind of magic. Apparently, there was a taboo against it in their religion. There had been a time, when Greg had been very young and the last plague had hit Deva, when his father had consulted a healer about his mother’s illness. Greg had been too young to understand the details, but he remembered ibn Sina senior storming out of the house and not returning for over a year.

He didn’t want the doctor to run out on him. And he really hadn’t used any sort of magic.

But to his surprise, ibn Sina didn’t look assuaged. Quite the contrary: he buried his face in one hand for several seconds. Eventually, he looked around and led Greg upstairs to his room. Walking the stairs became easier every day, but the doctor’s firm grip surprised Greg, and nearly pulled him off balance.

“I need you to think very carefully,” the doctor said, as soon as the door closed behind them. “Did you ever – purchase some kind of amulet, a charm maybe, or make some sort of deal with – with an entity of some sort, even as a child, even if you thought it was just a joke, or – or a dream... Maybe some strange blessing…”

When Greg kept shaking his head, he trailed off, looking crestfallen. He rubbed his face again, swearing in a language Greg didn’t understand.

“What’s going on?” Greg asked when the doctor wouldn’t say anything further. “What’s the problem? I’m feeling great.”

“Yes,” ibn Sina sighed. “That is precisely the problem.”

When Greg looked at him blankly, he continued: “You were really, really sick when you got here, Greg. You fevered for the three days of the journey, and then another day and night after you were back home, and I don’t think you even remember. Because you were slipping away, Greg, we were losing you. And then suddenly we weren’t anymore, and you woke up, and you were fine. Even your leg is healing way too fast.”

“So?” Greg asked.

“Gregory, bodies don’t work that way. I would have been willing to shrug off the fever as just incredibly good luck, or possibly even a heavenly blessing. But what your bones are doing – magic is the only explanation for that. And if you didn’t – acquire – this magic by your choice and free will, then – then you have to consider – then the most likely explanation is that you were bitten.”

“No,” Greg said. “No, I wasn’t. I was checked. Twice, actually.”

“Greg, if it was that easy to spot, don’t you think there would be fewer werewolves around?” The doctor looked at him seriously. “Especially with darker skin tones, such as yours, it’s hard to be sure before the first full moon. In fact, even a simple sunburn can make it impossible to see the reddening around the wound. Especially if it’s just a scratch.”

Greg opened his mouth, but he had no idea what he should say to this, so he closed it again after a few seconds.

“Because of your father’s occupation, I have not spoken to anyone else about this,” ibn Sina said. “And if I am wrong, I will be back after full moon and take off that splint, since you will not need it any longer. But I doubt that I am wrong. May God have mercy on you.”

With that, the doctor left. Greg just stood there, staring after him. Without thinking about it, his hand reached up to his face, to the cuts there, that had already faded to pink lines, still lighter than the rest of his skin. It couldn’t be. One of the things that made werewolf bites stand out was that they took forever to just scab over. In fact, there were a lot of stories about people who survived the initial encounter with the monster, but bled to death hours later, because even small wounds wouldn’t close.

But all of his injuries were healing faster than they should, not slower.

He stepped in front of his mirror and pulled down the neckline of his shirt. There was nothing on his neck or his shoulders, and as far as he could twist his head, nothing on his back either. He hesitated for a second, then slipped out of his room and over to his mother’s boudoir, where he nicked a hand mirror from her vanity. But that didn’t show him anything but the smooth, dark brown skin of his back, either.

Which, admittedly, was a little weird. A month ago, like most seventeen-year-olds he had had plenty of pimples on his back and face. Now, there were only a couple of tiny spots left.

The black curls on his head were too thick to see anything underneath, but when he returned his mother’s mirror, he found a silver letter opener, so he used that to run it over his head. He felt stupid doing it. Silver was supposed to be inimical to werewolves, shouldn’t he feel something when he gripped the handle of the letter opener? But the silver just felt cool. Not bad, just very cold. His fingers were starting to feel chilly from holding the letter opener.

Greg dropped the silver and stared down at his fingers. Warmth flooded back as soon as the metal cluttered onto the table. And when he stared at his hands, for the first time he noticed the teeny tiny cuts at the knuckles of his right hand. No bite marks, he was sure of that.

But. He suddenly remembered that moment when the werewolf had gripped his white cape, shaking him, remembered reaching for his knife and just blindly hacking at the wool, right next to the werewolf’s teeth.

So scratch marks?

Carefully, hesitatingly, he held out his hand, palm up. He had to take a deep breath and close his eyes before he could bring himself to brush the back of his hand over the letter opener.

It was cold, icy cold. Unnaturally cold. And it hurt. It started slowly, barely noticeable, but then the chill and the cold turned into a burn as if glowing embers had landed on his skin. Not everywhere, but he didn’t have to open his eyes to know that the burn was everywhere where the skin was still scabbed over.

Ibn Sina had been right: He was well and truly screwed.

find the whole thing here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/34542/the-morgulon

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the Present - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 6

Nygma’s plan was amazing, simply superb! He created a set of traps not even the biggest geniuses could solve! Sharp spikes, electric fences, guns, that all wrapped neatly behind puzzles and riddles. Not even the greatest detective will get to him!

Great victory for the Riddler! He could celebrate now, but he decided to keep it for later. He will dance to mock the Batman! He will show all of them his superiority! Jump on his grave! Livestream it to all homes, to the whole world! He could almost taste the victory. The Riddler, man who took down the Bat!

“Nygma!”

Edward turned around, shocked.

“W-What?”

Dark shadow was approaching him, held him at gunpoint.

How!? Impossible! Nobody was supposed to get here!

He yelped as Banshee held the gun to his neck and pinned him to the wall. There was blood all over her face, not hers. She was muddy, bleeding, shirt on left arm torn, clean cut under the tear. She had maniacal look in her eyes.

“B-Banshee, you shouldn’t be here,” he stuttered.

“I had a baaaad day, Nygma, you better talk,” she hissed. “Where is the League?”

“I-I don’t know, I wasn’t told!”

She painfully pushed the gun more to him. He chocked.

“I really…”

“You are the genius; you better start using your brain!”

“Agh! Killer Croc knows sewers u-under Narrows! They wouldn’t ask for his help anywhere else!”

“That’s still miles to search.”

“I can’t give you more, Banshee, I don’t know, I swear!” he wheezed.

She clenched her teeth angry and took away the gun. Edward stumbled, holding his neck. The fear left him as fast as Banshee let him go, instead anger caught him. She ridiculed him in front of his mental audience!

“You bitch, you will pay for this!”

“Shut your trap, Nygma, your puzzles are stupid.”

***

They caught up with her at toyshop. Bad for them – her arsenal was there, hidden properly in the backroom. Miranda got out with just a few bruises. She was considering her options.

How to get out of the city fast and unseen?

Where should she go so the League won’t find her?

Now they knew she was alive, will she ever be safe?

Two guns, some bullets. A dagger, a sword. And five sound mines. She was horribly underprepared for anything. Running is the best option.

Hunted forever.

“No,” she whispered. “No, it’s not worth it.”

Khulan will never stop the hunt. Master was the most headstrong person in existence. Failure wasn’t an option and Miranda being alive was evidence of Khulan’s mistake. She will want to erase Miranda under any circumstances.

Master must die.

So must Jonathan.

Now in the sewers she started to doubt her decision. Whatever she was going to do, results were the same. Miranda will die here. If she doesn’t drown in shit, she will get killed by the League, or eaten by the Croc, or her body will just give up after long torture.

She carried on anyways. Stank of sewers was horrible. Narrows were the worst part of the city, so she imagined even the sewers will hold this prime. A ghetto, full of drug dealers, addicts, poor people, everyone in one big pile of misfortune and dirt, couldn’t have nice sewage. And at the top of that all, like the king of the hill – Arkham Asylum.

Whatever curse left Arkham, it rooted in Narrows, making it worse every day. Miranda kept away from Narrows unless work called her here. Not that she was a coward; she just considered it stupid to walk into shark’s mouth willy-nilly.

Or Croc’s mouth.

After what felt like forever she reached an enclave with something looking like a nest, and smelling like rotting butcher’s shop. Pieces of furniture, newspapers, feathers, that all almost neatly built into bedding. Miranda coughed, the source of the smell was pile of rotting bodies in the corner. Ha, not a butcher’s shop, but the butcher.

“Croc!” she shouted. “Where are you?”

Is that your plan?

Do you have better one, reason? I’m listening.

…

I thought so.

She walked at the end of the tunnel. No signs of giant crocodile. He might be anywhere in this maze. So might be the League. Fucking hell, Europe would be beautiful this time of year. She would visit vineyards in France and then Germany. She’s heard that Bavaria is great. Sun, meadows, booze, no stink or dark places. She’d drink whole day, she would sing and get to know new people. This time she would find someone who isn’t paranoid. Someone normal. If anyone normal would have her.

Disruption of the water caught her attention.

Second later a monster leaped from the depths, maw ready to gnaw Miranda alive.

Miranda jumped out of the way. Croc hit the wall and stayed visible out of water. Yellow fish eyes staring right at her. He growled. Miranda had to convince every nerve in her body to not start shooting.

“Waylon Jones,” she said and kept her distance as Croc drew nearer to her. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I am looking for the League.”

“What’s in it for you, fresh meat?” he grumbled.

Woah, a compliment! What a gentleman! Maybe she could date cannibal crocodiles!

Focus!

“I’m looking for Scarecrow.”

“Of course you are.”

Miranda contemplated her surroundings. Croc has been trying to corner her slowly. So far she always slipped to side tunnel, but this dance cannot go on forever. Act, Miranda!

“I want to kill him. Do you wanna tell me where he is?”

Croc had no interest at all. Drool dropped from his mouth.

“And the League too. Imagine the amounts of meat when I am done with them!”

“Mmm,” agreed Croc eyeing her.

Yeah, no…

“Tell me where they are, or I will blow your fucking brain out!”

“I won’t.”

He jumped her again grunting loudly. Miranda stumbled on wet bricks, took out the gun and shot at that bloody, monstrous face. Croc screamed and fell into the water.

“The bigger they are…”

He disappeared.

“Fuck!”

Miranda looked around dark muddy water. Where is he? Did he swim away? Is he waiting?

Carefully and slowly she moved. What now? What were here options other than being a lunch?

Lunch?

Gun still ready she made her way back to the nest. There was one clue she needed to investigate. The rotting bodies kept there were in different stages of decay. Bright vests of sewer workers were drenched in blood and moved as worms ate the meat. Next corpse was police officer – wait, no. The uniform of the freshest corpse has visible A on it. Miranda looked closer. Arkham guard.

Arkham? Could the League operate under the asylum? Jonathan once told her the building had very deep foundation, reaching into a cave system hidden under the city. Rumours were that the founders of the asylum went little crazy themselves and used the underground for a lot of weird things.

Splash! Water behind her rose in wave and Croc grabbed her by shoulders. Miranda ducked and slipped away, Crocs claws cut her. She yelped, ignored the bleeding and shot at him again. Croc laughed as if the bullets were just annoying flies.

“You are trespassing, meat!”

Miranda gasped for breath and ran. One lady ninja is faster than one giant crocodile, right?

Waves following her spoke different.

“Fuck!”

Ladder! She jumped on it and started climbing.

Giant hand caught her leg.

“No!” Miranda slipped, stopped her fall by hanging by the elbow. Screaming. Croc was pulling hard, claws deep in her meat. He will tear her leg off!

In last effort, she activated the mine and threw it. Croc screamed in shock. In the tunnel the sound echoed of the walls. He let go off her leg. Miranda climbed out, the noise followed and then it end abruptly as Croc destroyed the bell.

Street! Fresh air! Miranda stumbled out, on the verge of fainting. Run! Hide! She got to the closest dark alley, blood oozing from her leg. Fuck! Way to alert whole League, Miranda! Banshee, but this time, you will be the one dying! Stupid bitch! Couldn’t you make your weapons any louder?

She tore off her sleeve and patched the leg. That stopped the worst bleeding. Miranda sat by the wall fighting the pain. Her body burnt, her leg pulsated… And you want to face the League like this? You are insane!

She couldn’t stay at one place for long. Moaning, she got up, limping through the street. Her wound made her an easy target, but sword on her back stopped anyone from bothering her.

Somehow, she made it to the asylum. No assassin was waiting at the gates of the area. There were three buildings connected to each other, all in typical Gotham style. Dark, broody, only thing missing was rain, evil lightning, and Adams family.

No wonder Jonathan liked to work here. It was perfect environment. Fear inducing. Patients had to hate it.

Fuck Jonathan, he can die!

Miranda climbed the fence, not sure where she wants to go. The property was silent, eerie in cold air. What now? Will you just walk and demand they let you underground? Elevator ride to hell!

Calm down. Take it one step at the time.

Step one – find a guard.

Step two – make them take you down.

Step three – don’t die.

Miranda limped to the entrance. No way she can hide herself effectively like this. For a while maybe. Not properly.

Behind the glass in the office sat a guard. She was well built dark lady and she looked at Miranda intensely. The closer Miranda got, the worse feeling she had. Right at the glass she understood why.

The look was empty. Pupils dilated. The guard was drugged.

“Hi,” tried Miranda.

Nothing.

“I am from the League, understand?” she continued.

“Yes,” agreed the woman.

“Take me to… my leader.”

Guard smiled and opened the caged door with a buzz. Miranda amazed by the situation followed. “Wait,” she realized. “Do you have something for pain?”

Ten minutes later they were in the elevator and Miranda could finally stand at least bit straight. She couldn’t believe her luck, but she didn��t celebrate just yet. Drugged guard was evidence of the League being here. Down, down, down we go to the belly of the beast!

The light of the elevator buttons showed the last floor – basement, but the elevator kept going. Miranda swallowed, throat stiff. The lower they went, the more terrified she got.

The door opened.

Any fight Miranda had, left her. She sighed and leaned her back on the elevator wall.

“Welcome, Miss Bradbury,” said the Demon’s head. “I’ve been expecting you.”

***

“Sit down.”

In silence she did what the Demon’s head ordered. Ra’s sat across her. They walked here through foundations of the asylum. Long pillars and cat walks brought them to this cave that was already turned to sort of living quarters. League members were breaking a wall at the far end in perfect rhythm as if they all attended a music seminar.

They didn’t even bother taking her weapons That’s what she was for them. Useless. Safe. This broken tool won’t hurt anyone. Definitely not the Demon’s head.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he started.

“Hardly.”

“Master Khulan agreed your hunt with me, you can say I know you better than yourself.”

Miranda rubbed her eyes. “And?”

“I wanted to see the legend herself. You survived the survival’s curse and avoided us for a decade. I must say, I am disappointed with your approach.”

“I didn’t come here to impress.”

“Why did you come?”

“To kill Khulan.”

Rhythmical beating of hammers and pickaxes echoed through the cave. Ra’s looked their way from time to time in anticipation. This closely he looked like friendly uncle. Miranda smirked under that idea. Friendly uncle ready to destroy your soul.

“Curious, isn’t it, what is one person ready to sacrifice for their goals,” Ra’s said eyes pinned on the wall. “You came here ready to die just so you reach peace.”

“And you?”

“That’s it, isn’t it? Why did I come here?”

“To destroy the city.”

Ra’s smiled. “If only life was this simple.” He turned back to her and she realized he is… old. The wrinkles around his eyes got deep, the whites were ugly yellow colour, his lips pale and cheeks lost his shape. Ra’s al Ghul was dying.

“I will let you fight Khulan. Under her own rules.”

Next chapter

[aviewfromtheclouds25]

Tell me your other theories on his return. I’m intrigued if you say it all fits together.

What’s you feelings on a reunion in the future? How would it happen?

Oh don’t be intrigued haha! That was really just in terms of the Luke aspect (because he has to have a bigger purpose, because otherwise his introduction and role in this storyline is such an utterly perplexing choice even for the current state of ED) and the timeframe, in that I expect Luke to have some knowledge which he’ll reveal eventually - not any time soon, because Aaron needs to spiral (and breakdown please) and he can’t even start that until he stops suppressing his feelings and distracting himself with Cain’s drama etc (all the while Vic and Luke will be progressing I imagine) - and this could help to change Robert’s sentence from murder to manslaughter, or even the original GBH with intent, and therefore shorten his sentence. So with time served, Robert could be out a fair bit sooner (how much, I don’t know) than the 14 years he was given… Which just helps me reaffirm to myself that half the reason they gave Robert the longer sentence in the first place (aside from the plot of tearing him away from Aaron obviously) is because ED are prepared to wait a few years to see if Ryan wants to return. With the potential of being able to change the charge and sentence, it means their options are relatively open for the time being to see how things develop both on and off screen. (If I’m wrong, just let me stay here please.)

I don’t have any fully-fledged theories yet, it’s a bit too soon for that! All I have at the mo are vague thoughts which aren’t that exciting… I’ve seen quite a bit of talk about “affair 2.0” but I have to admit I’m personally not interested in seeing that. Because 1) The drama and angst and intensity of the original affair just could never be emulated again, even by the very same and always amazing Ryan and Danny! 2) How would nobody pick up on it this time? 3) The whole point of everything that happened in 2017 and the creation of “Robron 2.0” was that their marriage has been built on far more solid foundations than those forged during their affair, and I would hate for all the progress they made together to be taken backwards. 4) It is madness to me that anyone could even contemplate that if Aaron is with another dude (if ahem), that he wouldn’t just drop him as quick as Alex the incompetent doc in that club. Regardless of whether he was prepared to take Robert back or not, if the love of his life has returned, I just don’t see any potential new guy sticking around. (Unless there’s a plot.) (I also say all of this in the hope that no new guy becomes serious or long-term.)

I’d like the reunion 3.0 to be dramatic and angsty, but at the same time I want it to be true to Robron and where they were in their life together before they were torn apart. I don’t know that I can really form any theories on what I expect to happen so soon after Robert’s gone (I love that he’s been gone a week and all we can all talk about is when he comes back haha), but I can offer you a vision of what I personally would quite like..? :P

So I have no clue on the timescale - I guess that depends on Ryan! :P I always thought Vic would be the natural choice (for the show, not me haha) to bring Robert home, but then @nooneelsecomesclose17’s post put the image of Jimmy greeting Robert outside that prison in my head and now I can’t unsee it (nor would I want to, it’s genius). So I’ve decided to tie that image to a long-held dream of mine…

So in this dream Aaron will have signed the divorce papers once he’s finished spiralling because we need wedding 3.0 obviously, but in his heart he still won’t have given up on being reunited with Robert some day. So I’d like him to spend much of the time Robert’s locked up doing things which remind him of Robert and help him feel closer to him - things like ripping people off, scamming them and trying to get his hands on Home Farm. Because my old dream which I think I’ve covered before (although probably just in my tags haha) was for Robron and the Kings to own Home Farm together; for it to become the hub of Home James once more, for the sheer comedy of having these two power couples and their chaotic families getting under each others’ feet, making it more relevant to the rest of the village than the house on the hill with its panto villains, and for it to actually become a home. So in terms of this new dream, I would have Aaron and Jimmy team up on this endeavour - and they’re actually the only ones left from that original portacabin quartet! So Aaron because he needs a goal and a focus and if it’s one in which he feels more connected to Robert then even better, and Jimmy because Nicola is always going to be up for improving their lot. I also quite like the idea of Aaron being able to do what Robert never could, and I have no idea who will be at Home Farm x amount of years down the line but if it was still the Tates (although could we at least get rid of Kim + co. and bring back Joe instead?) then I would be delighted to see the Kings take it all from them once more! :P

So I would have Aaron and Jimmy very close to achieving their goal by the time Robert is about to be released. And because Robert still hasn’t had any contact with his family and is nervous about how they’ll feel towards him, who does he contact? Jimmy! And Jimmy of course is a great oaf and would immediately let it slip to Aaron. And regardless of what’s passed, I think Aaron would have some understanding and empathy of how daunting and overwhelming it would be for Robert to return to the village after so long of complete isolation, from the world and from the people who are his world… So he and Jimmy would hatch a plan…

Cue Jimmy driving Robert back to the village, chewing his ear off or “pecking his head”, when they suddenly happen to “break down” in the lay-by… Robert would get out of the car to get away from Jimmy’s incessant talking and because it’s obviously a small confined space, but then he would realise where they actually were and become overwhelmed by that too - and since this is my dream world, they would treat us to another little montage of memories to come full circle from that too! :P Meanwhile, Jimmy would be “phoning for a mechanic” before joining Robert outside because he might be an oaf, but he cares… And then much quicker than it should be, Aaron of course turns up. So then he would step out of the car and we would get the delightful combination of intense Robron eye contact and a very obviously awkward Jimmy… And because it’s still my favourite thing, I would like a wordless embrace with alllll the emotions similar to when Aaron was released. At which point Jimmy would clumsily make himself scarce and drive off (in the vehicle which very obviously had not broken down, bless).

So then we’d be left with an awkward, tense Robron because neither of them know what happens next, only how good it feels to be even breathing the same air again… Perhaps at this stage Aaron would be in some kind of relationship (because he tried to convince himself he had to “move on” and because I might be able to accept it for a few weeks if I have the guarantee that Robert’s on his way home already :P), so we’d obviously get a conversation with a lot of callbacks and then Aaron would just dump that chestnut in there and we’d get something along the lines of; R: So why are you still here? A: You know. [But Robert doesn’t respond. Unsure of what Aaron is saying, he waits.] A: Because I love you, that’s why. I never stopped. And they can both be emotional, not knowing the next step, so Aaron could fill the silence with some quip about also needing to give Robert a lift home now Jimmy’s gone which Rob, bless him, wouldn’t even have noticed. And then Robert and I would both be left pondering what exactly Aaron means by “home”. But on the journey home, Robert will find his watch in the car (yeah, I’m really going with that old theme and sentiment of the cars here!)…

Beyond that I would have Aaron finish with this new dude and then for him to have a proper conversation with Robert about where they stand, once Robert’s started adjusting to the outside world again. And in this conversation we’d see that they’ve both been hardened by everything that’s happened since Robert went away, that Robert in particular has some issues he needs to work through before they even contemplate what the future might look like for them, but I’d want Aaron to tell Robert that line “I’ll wait for you. ‘Til you’re ready.“  And then I’d like them to embark on friendship…3.0?…with Aaron being supportive to Robert and helping him through the process of adjusting back into normality after x years of total isolation on that island. (The phrase "no man is an island” would definitely come into play with all of this, especially with Robert having cut all lines of communication.) And gradually they’d grow closer, and I’d be reliving the good old days of “It’s going to happen soon! It has to happen soon!” :P Meanwhile, Aaron and Jimmy would have one last big job to do to have the means to get Home Farm and naturally Aaron would have told Robert all about the scheme. So Robert would want in on this last stretch but Aaron would put his foot down, reminding Robert that if it all went wrong he’d end up back inside. But if Aaron’s getting mixed up with dodgy people and risking his life, there is absolutely no way Robert is going to listen to that of course. So he gets involved and the two of them help Jimmy escape before they themselves get stuck in some life-and-death situation and acknowledge that they absolutely cannot live without each other ever again. They both live, the dodgy people either get carted off to jail or die by their own ends (I have no specifics on the deadly situation, you know), and we get settled for wedding 3.0 and years more of Robron…

This is a ramble which serves absolutely no purpose except to distract me from the current Robert-less situation, so if you actually committed to reading all of this, I’m sorry haha!

[analogscum]

HELLS ANGELS ON WHEELS (1967, d. Richard Rush)

Way back in 1966, before he was reduced to a Johnny Depp caricature and the personal hero of that one libertarian douchebag in your college Philosophy 101 class, Hunter S. Thompson burst onto the literary scene with his debut book, Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gang. Expanded from a 1965 article for The Nation, Hell’s Angels introduced America to not only the Doctor’s freewheeling, lysergic brand of prose, but this new underground culture of the motorcycle gang. No longer the leather-bound toughs of The Wild Ones, these bikers were hairier, freakier, and ten times more drugged up. They didn’t even bother to ask what you had for them to rebel against, they let their chains to the talkin’, maaaaaaan.

Hells Angels on Wheels roared into movie theaters the following year, when the Summer of Love had cooled down into the Winter of…I guess still Love? I dunno. I imagine the film must’ve been very shocking in its day and age, but for today’s viewer, Hells Angels on Wheels is notable for other reasons, namely its nascency. It represents ground zero for an entire sub-genre which played a major part in cementing the explosion of creativity that was American cinema in the 1970s, and provided a launching pad for a number of players who would go on to become indispensable cornerstones of that scene. But, before they could do that, they had to shoot a bunch of establishing shots of bikes parking in places.

In the spirit of the Peace movement, why don’t we be generous and describe the narrative structure of Hells Angels on Wheels as…episodic? Yeah, that’s the ticket! Basically every scene in the movie follows this structure: the Hells Angels show up somewhere and park their bikes for like five minutes, go into a place where everyone hates them, get into a fight with the people who hate them, then leave when either they kill someone or the cops show up. That’s it. That’s the whole movie. The audience’s surrogate is a young man named Poet, who quits his job at a gas station when a customer is a total jerk to him. Then his bike gets sideswiped by one of the Angels, who has, shall we say, questionable facial hair. Either this guy’s mustache just grows weird, or they did a terrible makeup job on him, anyway, you be the judge:  

So Poet’s headlight is damaged, and he proceeds to start a fight with the Angel with the questionable facial hair. Now, instead of just beating him to death with some wrenches, the lead Angel, Buddy, appreciates Poet’s ability to scrap. They all hang out for awhile. They get into a fight in a bar with a rival biker gang. They get into a fight at a carnival with some sailors. Then they all go back to a swingin’ pad full of groovy wall decor and have a drug orgy for what feels like nine hours. At one point, a painter who looks and talks suspiciously like Hunter S. Thompson — floppy hat, sunglasses, gruff mumble — begins doing body paint on all the women, which takes up roughly six hours of this nine hour scene. But most importantly, Poet falls for Shrill, one of the biker mamas who he can tell is a little too smart to be around this scene, because so is he. Just one problem: Shrill is Buddy’s woman. I’m sure this won’t lead to awkward, poorly choreographed violence at all!

Speaking of, kudos to the filmmakers for going for realism; there’s a lot of handheld camerawork, plenty of Nouvelle Vague-influenced jump cuts, and the film seems to feature quite a few actual Hells Angels. In fact, Sonny Barger, the president of the Angels’ Oakland chapter, gets his own title card in the opening credits, even though he appears on camera for less than two seconds. Surely this title was properly earned, and not the result of any threats against studio people with switchblades. However, we’re talking about an era where filmmakers still hadn’t quite figured out how to properly choreograph a fight scene, so every scuffle still kinda looks like drunken acrobatics. And the death scenes are even worse. Here’s a short list of how people die in this movie: they’re awkwardly knocked down and punched once; their car is run off the road but otherwise totally unharmed; and their bike runs into a two by four, slowly tilts over, and catches on fire for no discernible reason. It’s a shame that the one thing that reads as hokey in a movie dedicated to portraying the reality of this violent lifestyle is, well, the violence.

Eventually Poet is made a “prospect” by Buddy, and the whole gang hits the road. One of the bikers and his woman get married at a Catholic Church in Nevada. There are more fights with people who don’t like them. In once scene a biker drives his bike up a real tall hill for awhile. One biker gets arrested on a murder beef, but the gang busts him loose less than a minute later, because stakes or tension is for squares, I guess. By far the most interesting part of this movie is watching the relationship between Poet and Shrill develop, and how that begins to threaten Buddy. These two are joined together by their discontent: they both want something outside of the ordinary from life, but are paralyzed by their self-destructive tendencies. This is especially true of Shrill, who isn’t happy unless she is causing unhappiness all around her, which leads her to play Poet and Buddy off of one another, until it all blows up in a powerful final confrontation that is unfortunately capped off by a truly stupid coda that never should’ve happened.

Hells Angels on Wheels was directed by a gentleman named Richard Rush. Though he wouldn’t be as prolific after the sixties, and hasn’t directed a feature film since 1994’s Color of Night (speaking of truly stupid codas that never should’ve happened), this film helped propel him to greater artistic heights: 1970’s Getting Straight was a critical darling and called the “best American film of the decade” by none other than Ingmar Bergman; 1974’s Freebie and the Bean was a box office smash and more or less invented the buddy cop movie; and 1980’s The Stunt Man earned him two Oscar nominations. Richard Rush has kinda been forgotten these days, but, I mean, François Truffaut called this guy his favorite American director. Have YOU ever been François Truffaut’s favorite anything? I doubt it, he’s been dead since 1984, genius.

Eagle-eyed viewers may have noticed that the cinematography on Hells Angels on Wheels was credited to one “Leslie Kovacs.” If you’re a hopeless dork like me, you probably whispered to yourself, “I bet that’s Lázló Kovacs.” Well, fellow hopeless dork, we were both right: this was one of Kovacs’s first American feature jobs, after shooting commercials and nature documentaries for much of the early sixties. He continued to collaborate with Rush throughout the seventies, as well as lensing classic films by the likes of Peter Bogdanovich, Bob Rafelson, Martin Scorsese, Dennis Hopper, and Norman Jewison. Shockingly, he never won an Oscar, but odds are if you paint a mental picture of American cinema in the seventies, you’re imagining an image shot by Lázló Kovacs.

That finally brings us to Poet, who was played by a young upstart named Jack Nicholson. Is it even necessary to point out that he’s the best actor in the film? Well, he is. The character is a bit underwritten, but he makes the most out of it. Nicholson can do more with a smile or a glance than other actors in the film attempt with an entire monologue. Best of all, he still hadn’t gone full on bug-eyed, jive talkin’, scenery chewin’, Lakers court side Jaaaaaaaack yet. There’s a vulnerable, wounded quality to his acting here that is incredibly compelling, I would argue that he perfected it in Five Easy Pieces, one of yours truly’s favorite films of all time, before moving on to the more ostentatious work that would net him 3 Oscars and turn him into a tabloid playboy.

Hells Angels on Wheels would help establish the counterculture motorcycle gang as a cinematic force to be reckoned with, at least on the drive-in circuit. More quick and dirty films of that ilk followed in its wake, such as The Wild Angels, Born Losers, and Hells Angels ’69, before one such film broke on through to the other side: an acid-soaked exploration that pitted the battle between the bikers and normal society as the struggle for the very soul of America in the Vietnam age. Oh, and they brought Kovacs and Nicholson along too. Obviously I’m talking about Otto Preminger’s Skidoo.

Nah, just kidding, I’m talking about Easy Rider. Released in 1969, the film proved to be the flashpoint for the most artistically fertile decade in the history of American cinema. And to think, it all may not have happened if it wasn’t for a little movie that’s mostly establishing shots of bikes being parked.

[peterguralnick]

Memphis Blues Again

L to R: Son House, Skip James, Mississippi John Hurt

I had never been South before.

My brother and I set out for Memphis in a Volkswagen that lost its clutch in Knoxville, and as we got closer, it seemed like I knew a blues lyric (“I’m going to Brownsville, take that right-hand road”) for nearly every town we passed. Our destination was the 1969 Memphis Country Blues Festival, which took place at the Overton Park Shell, where Elvis’ career had been launched fifteen years earlier. It was early June, hot, humid, sitting on the old wooden benches at the Overton Park amphitheater, there was no escape from the sun. But the music was magical: rediscovered (or recently discovered) blues legends like Bukka White, Furry Lewis, Reverend Robert Wilkins,

Fred McDowell, Joe Callicott, and Sleepy John Estes, all in their sixties and seventies, were the stars of the show, along with an assortment of young white disciples like John Fahey, Sid Selvidge, and Johnny Winter.

I had seen many of them before, certainly, in coffee houses and college concerts, but it was a different experience to see them for the first time in a steamier climate, and there was no question that the music benefited from the change. A new ten-album series on Fat Possum, developed in collaboration with Amazon Originals under the umbrella title of Worried Blues (most of the albums were originally issued in a limited edition by the Genes/Adelphi label in the ’90s), presents the first three on that 1969 Memphis bill, plus such other luminaries as Skip James, Mississippi John Hurt, Houston Stackhouse, R.L. Burnside, and Honeyboy Edwards, all recorded in what appear to be relaxed, easy-going settings at the outset of their new careers. And yet in few cases did those careers live up to the expectation of either artist or audience. The gulf between anticipation and achievement was simply too great.

Bukka White, one of the towering figures of pre-war country blues, whose 1940 recordings rivaled the taut poetry and tightly controlled performances of Robert Johnson (his indisputable masterpiece, “Fixin’ to Die,” was featured on Bob Dylan’s first album), is a case in point. To his young cousin, Riley B. King (soon to become B.B.), his visits home, to Kilmichael, Mississippi, in the early ’40s were like the visits of a Hollywood star. “Razor sharp. Big hat, clean shirt, pressed pants, shiny shoes. He smelled of the big city and glamorous times; he looked confident and talked about things outside our little life in the hills.” But it was Bukka’s music that impressed his younger cousin most, the ability “to connect [his] guitar to human emotions,” a standard that B.B. would strive to uphold all his life. Bukka (more properly “Booker” as in “Booker T. Washington White”) was rediscovered in 1963, when guitarist John Fahey, a brilliant blues abstractionist who preferred to describe his music as “American Primitive,” sent a letter to “Bukka White (Old Blues Singer), c/o General Delivery, Aberdeen, Mississippi,” on no other basis than that White had proclaimed in one of his early recordings, “Aberdeen is my home/But the men don’t want me around.” As it turned out, the letter was forwarded to the Memphis boarding house where Bukka lived while working part-time in a tank factory, and his musical career, on hold for the last fifteen years, almost immediately resumed.

Certainly the recordings on the Fat Possum album, originally titled 1963 Ain’t 1962, and made within weeks of his rediscovery, retain some of the power of his early work, and there are evocations, as there would be on subsequent recordings, too, of influences like Charlie Patton and contemporaries like Howlin’ Wolf. But it was clear at the same time that the knife-edge quality of his voice had coarsened, and the astonishing focus and fluidity of his songwriting and performance had ineradicably declined. And it was clear as well to anyone who had contact with the man that at fifty-four he was not looking for rediscovery, he was ready for the stardom that his cousin B.B. King had long since achieved. I think for me the most poignant manifestation of this dilemma came when I first saw Bukka, in the spring of 1964, as part of a folk series at the Boston YMCA, where the featured performer showed up for his Boston concert debut in a tuxedo, with little more than a dozen people in the audience (and not well-dressed ones at that) to applaud his performance.

With Skip James, the situation was somewhat different. Rediscovered in the Tunica County Hospital in June of 1964 by a trio of fans (once more including John Fahey), he was playing again, for the first time in years, at the Newport Folk Festival in July, his singular musical skills and imagination largely undiminished. He continued to develop his music, and even write new songs reflecting on his current situation, until his death five years later, but in a dark and characteristically introspective style that set him apart from almost every blues singer of his, or any other, generation. Playing in an open D-minor tuning that can best be described as “eerie” (it was a style that was confined almost entirely to his hometown of Bentonia, Mississippi, population then and now: less than 500), he sang fully thought-out and composed songs far removed from a blues mainstream that for the most part defines itself by fervor, not form. As a result, Skip never achieved anything like the popularity of many of his fellow rediscoveries, and it clearly ate at him to see the adulation that his good friend Mississippi John Hurt got from a young audience that was won over by the charm of both his personality and performance.

And just in case you should have any doubts on that score, listen to the music on almost any of Hurt’s recordings, early or late – I defy you to resist the nimble finger-picking and winsome charm of such performances as “Richland Woman,” “Louis Collins,” and “Avalon Blues,” or his self-deprecating star turn at the end of the PBS series American Epic. To Skip, though, this was little more than “play-party music,” perfectly good for dances and country suppers, as Skip’s manager Dick Waterman put it, but “not to be taken seriously as ‘great blues.’” And just for the record, Mississippi John Hurt agreed; he considered Skip a “genius,” beyond any doubt. But on the other hand, you wonder just how much of John’s irresistible charm was that very agreeableness.

There were few moments of rest for Skip, it seemed – he was ill, and he was troubled –  but I remember seeing him once with John at a Boston coffee house, where in addition to presenting their own songs in separate sets, they performed together as well. The two songs that I recall were utterly…all right, charming “Silent Night” (though you haven’t heard “Silent Night” until you hear Solomon Burke’s soaring, soulful version, recorded live in a Georgia church at the blazing height of summer) and Jimmie Rodgers’ epochal country (as in country music) blues “Waiting for a Train.” But let’s pause here for a moment, if only to recall all the different strands that go into all the different kinds of music. Jimmie Rodgers, as I’m sure everyone knows, was almost universally hailed as “The Father of Country Music,” and to all intents and purposes he was. And yet his music drew upon the most diverse sources, not the least of which was the ululating blues of Tommy Johnson, who (just to illustrate some of the complications endemic to every form of cultural transliteration) greatly influenced that purest of all blues singers, Howlin’ Wolf, who in turn cited as one of his greatest inspirations none other than…Jimmie Rodgers.

This was all, for me, in 1969, a vast unexplored land, and like every realm of the imagination it remains so to this day. There are always going to be new, or overlooked, or simply misconstrued, treasures to discover, there are always new and unexpected connections to be made. And I hope this is not beginning to sound like, ‘There were giants that walked the earth in those days,’ and that with the passing of those giants this kind of music is no more – that isn’t what I mean at all. If you need a mantra, just remember the lesson of the Internet, nothing ever really disappears, and listen to the music of new champions of the old and new, like the North Mississippi Allstars’ Luther and Cody Dickinson, who learned at the feet of such legendary champions of the hill country style as R.L Burnside and Junior Kimbrough and Otha Turner, listen to no less dedicated disciples like Dan Auerbach or Paul Burch or Colin Linden, or poetic practitioners like Kevin Gordon – and who knows how many more?

Because by now it should be clear there’s no end in sight – how could there be, unless we’re talking the twilight of the gods or the inescapable impermanence of the flesh? When I first came to Memphis in 1969, I did my best to imagine the world as it must once have been. A world in which Elvis’ performance of the Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup blues “That’s All Right” at the Overton Park Shell in 1954 stood out as a revolutionary act. And yet as I was later to learn, Elvis listened to the Metropolitan Opera, too, as a child, he went to Overton Park on many Sunday afternoons (“The same place that I did my first concert”) to hear the Memphis Symphony Orchestra play. While at the same time he was tuning in religiously to WDIA, the first all-black station in the country. And listening every night to DJ Dewey Phillips’ aptly named Red, Hot, and Blue show, which mixed r&b and pop, the sacred and the profane, the trivial and the profound for a black-and-white audience that competed in its fervor for both the music and its egalitarian champion. It took a long time for me to disimagine categories, but as Howlin’ Wolf said the first time we met, in response to one of those foolish questions we all tend to ask, like, What did he think of all these white kids, like the Rolling Stones, who had so recently adopted his music? Well, he said, he liked Paul Butterfield, “he grown up in it just like that other boy out in California, [who did] that ‘Hound Dog’ number.” You mean Elvis Presley? I finally managed to blurt out – I mean, I was caught. “Yeah,” said Wolf impatiently, as if the reference should have been obvious to anyone. “Elvis Presley,” he said, “he made it his way.”

Which only goes to show that nothing ever really changes. Marketing strategies (which, after all, is all that categories are) may rise and fall, but to the democratic listener they are beside the point. The music calls attention to itself, and then takes you somewhere else. It isn’t really any different than going to Memphis was for me in the first place. One thing inevitably leads to another, and before you know it, you are caught up in the ecstatic dance, the ecstatic trance of the music. But just remember: If you’re going to Brownsville, take that right-hand road.

This piece appeared in a slightly different form on The Oxford American website.

[sheilacwall]

Jesus Walks… in Adidas

Jesus Walks… in Adidas

Jesus is King has finally dropped. This is Kanye West’s first Christian rap-gospel album since turning into a born-again Christian in April after the hedonistic indulgence of Coachella.

The Lucifer, Mercy and New God Flow producer has given up secular music and has now turned his career toward the servitude of God.

However, his return from hospital and new found faith will flow nicely into his plans to expand his fashion, music & entertainment empire as well as possibly delivering him the top spot in the White House. This is a man not to be underestimated.

Saint Pablo

‘Ye recently turned around a personal debt of $53 million into a nearly $50m profit. Back in 2016, ‘Ye went out cap in hand to Mark Zuckerberg for $1bn for his ideas, but was promptly ignored. Zuckerberg was raised in a Jewish household, although his wife is a Buddhist and he hasn’t publicly stated his faith. But, this wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by ‘Ye and may have pushed Kanye toward his born-again Christian position.

Soon after, the “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” star seemingly finally started listening to his wife.

“My wife said, I can’t say no to nobody, and at this rate we gon’ both die broke,” West raps on Saint Pablo. “Got friends that ask me for money knowin’ I’m in debt, and like my wife said, I still didn’t say no.”

Stronger

Whilst facing the cold shoulder from Zuckerberg, Jack Dorsey – the Square & Paypal founder who was raised a Catholic, offered to invest in Kanye early on.

Jay-Z also kicked in a loan of $20m triggering tensions between the two ending in a public feud.

Here’s Jay-Z on “Kill Jay-Z”:

“You dropped outta school, you lost your principles / You gave him 20 million without thinkin’,” Jay-Z raps, seemingly confirming the rumor that he lent West money. “He gave you 20 minutes on stage, f–k was he thinkin’?”

Recently, Kanye has tried to dead the beef with the recent track “Brothers” with Charlie Wilson.

Power

‘Ye never got that billion from Zuckerberg, although they apparently became friends and even performed karaoke together, but it appears West has now healed his own financial woes: His apparel brand Yeezy is a billion-dollar empire, according to Forbes and over the past 12 months, Forbes estimates West has earned over $150 million before taxes. His wealth is due largely to Yeezy’s Adidas deal, a line that is expected to top $1.5 billion in sales in 2019.

The Jordan line does approximately $3 billion in annual sales, so the Yeezy line is catching up fast. If he can latch onto the Christian vote, sales could explode even more rapidly.

Touch the Sky

Christianity is the most adhered to religion in the United States, with 65% of polled American adults identifying themselves as Christian in 2019. This is down from 85% in 1990, 81.6% in 2001, and 12% lower than the 78% reported for 2012. About 62% of those polled claim to be members of a church congregation.

Kenneth Copeland is the number one pastor in the USA and his net worth is $300m. After the backlash for supporting Trump, the natural progression seems to be for Kanye to target the Trump supporters and Christians who make up the large majority of America with around another 20% of the population perhaps open to conversion back to Christianity. It is a huge target market… and that is just America.

Christianity is by far the world’s largest religion, with an estimated 2.2 billion adherents, nearly a third (31%) of all 6.9 billion people on Earth in 2010.

Jesus is King

The new sound track has been carefully crafted to be sung by large audiences to worship god. With tracks such as “Follow God” and “Use This Gospel”, Kanye is on a mission to convert. He has brought the Church to the streets and into the hills… No Church in the Wild.

His carefully chosen purple hair and purple cloths are to portray himself as an Emperor, clergy-like figure, if not Jesus himself, I don’t think it will be long before Kanye professes himself as a Prophet of some sort.

Kanye pronounced himself “I am a God” back on Yeezus.

I just talked to Jesus He said, “What up, Yeezus?” I said, “Shit—I’m chillin’ Tryna stack these millions” I know he the most high But I am a close high Mi casa, su casa That’s our cosa nostra I am a god I am a god I am a god

Rappers as Jesus

This isn’t new in rap. Check out the images below from Kanye, Nas, Tupac, DMX and The Game.

Jeru the Damaja, who follows the Nation of Islam, like Wu-Tang, Rakim & Brand Nubian, famously wrote a song “Can’t Stop the Prophet”.

Rappers have always seen themselves as street prophets, telling war stories, from Rakim, Nas & KRS-One right back to Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five in The Message.

Purple Robes

Throughout history, purple robes were worn by royalty and people of authority or high rank. Many believe this to be true because the rare occurrence of purple in nature made it one of the most expensive color dyes to create.

Purple and violet represent the future, the imagination and dreams, while spiritually calming the emotions. They inspire and enhance psychic ability and spiritual enlightenment, while, at the same time, keeping us grounded.

At the time of Jesus, the dye used for making the colour purple, extracted from shell-fish and was one of the most expensive dyes. The colour-fast (non-fading) dye was an item of luxury trade, prized by Romans, who used it to colour ceremonial robes, usually worn by Emperors. The very fact that purple was an expensive color made it affordable only to the royals. That Jesus was made to put it on before his crucifixion, implies that the Romans were sending a strong signal to the Jews against any coup.

A.D.I.D.A.S.

ADIDAS was founded by German, Adi Dassler (Adolf Dassler). In fact, one of the founders, his brother Rudolf Dassler later went on to found Puma and started a bitter rivalry between the brothers. There is a popular myth among fans (not true) that Adidas stands for All Day I Dream About Sports, whilst in 2003, Killer Mike dropped a hip hop track called A.D.I.D.A.S. (All Day I Dream About Sex).

Like many of their fellow citizens, the brothers joined the Nazi party after Adolph Hitler came to power in 1933. Their shoe business remained modest until 1936. In that year, Germany hosted the Olympics.

In an ironic twist, the two party members got legendary African-American runner Jesse Owens to wear their running shoes while competing. Owens went on to win four gold medals during the games. The exposure of their product gave Dassler Shoes a huge boost in sales. You can read more in Sportsweek History.

It does seem ironic, given Kanye’s sex addiction that he would align himself with this particular shoe and his plans are to get the shoes made in America and give “second chances” to inmates.

But, he is going to run into problems with the media as the average wage of a prison inmate ranged between $0.23 and $1.15 an hour  – According to the International Labor Organization, in 2000–2011 wages in American prisons 

In Texas, Georgia, and Arkansas, inmates aren’t paid at all for their labor.

The “New Slave” indeed. I initially thought another way to make money would be to make inexpensive Jesus style sandals and sure enough, I found that is exactly what ‘Ye is planning. They are called “slides” in America and Adidas will be making these from injection moulding and it hasn’t gone unnoticed from Twitter that they are basically prison shoes, but now they are being remarketed as a high fashion item for children of rich kids. That is marketing genius.

Why do the yeezy slides look like the slides worn in prison.. pic.twitter.com/LsR8dbFyqE

— Cyn ☕️ (@Kingxxcyn) October 17, 2019

ADIDAS YECHEIL

The first shoe in Ye’s collection is the Yecheil, which is a Hebrew masculine given name meaning “May God live” or “God shall live”. Several people in the Bible also have this name.

ADIDAS YEEZREEL

For the second shoe of ‘Ye’s collection, there is the“Yeezreel”. It has no exact translation but it seems he might’ve been inspired by the word “Jezreel” which was an ancient Israelite city and fortress originally within the boundaries of the Tribe of Issachar, and later within the northern Kingdom of Israel.

ADIDAS YESHAYA

The third shoe is called the “Yeshaya” which directly translates to “God Is Salvation”. The name Yeshaya (Yesha’yahu) translates from Hebrew to English as the name Isaiah, who was one of the four major prophets of the Old Testament, and the author of the Book of Isaiah. He was from Jerusalem and probably lived in the 8th century BC.

Many of these shoes use Adidas “Cloud” foam, so ‘Ye and his fans are figuratively walking on clouds.

Click the pic to get the best prices on Adidas below

Through the Wire – Prison Reform

Kim Kardashian announced her decision to study law back in April. Since then, she’s met with President Trump to discuss prison reform, teamed up with the 90 Days of Freedom campaign, and is producing a documentary on the subject.

CNN reported that Kim Kardashian West helped free 17 inmates in 90 days.

Kanye West has donated $1m to prison reform, but is now getting US prison workers to make his shoes at 25% of the cost of having his shoes made in China, unless somehow, he is quadrupling the prison wage.

There will be Church factions and sections of the media who will most likely attack Mr. West for essentially using slave labour in prisons to increase profit. Chinese factory workers are now getting paid more than ever: Average hourly wages hit $3.60 in 2017 compared to around $1 for an American prison worker.

Kanye West’s Interview with Zane Lowe

If you don’t want to watch the lengthy interview below, scroll down for a quick summary.

In the interview Kanye talks about the following:

How billboards are guilty of sex trafficking

How he became a born-again Christian in April after Coachella

Why he wants to create jobs and bring jobs back to the USA

How he experimented with Domes & living in them then “the man” tore them down as a metaphor for tearing down his ego

How his farm will be growing cotton & wheat

He will employ prisoners to make his shoes as a “second chance”

His respect for founders, especially Warren Buffett, Amancio Ortego (Zara), Elon Musk, James Turell (artist concerned with light & space) and Jack Dorsey (Paypal)

He calls himself a Christian innovator

How his daughter North drives his passion for church

How Sunday Service may become a church and how he may become a Pastor

He is asking people to fast & not have premarital sex

How he had a porn addiction due to seeing Playboy at 5 years old & his sex addiction

People should pray together, fast together, stay together to increase power

Getting stumped by Zane Lowes question on whether he had to work for his 4th house

How white owners controls hip hop

How God is using Kanye to show off

Compares himself to Nebuchadnezzar, the King of Babylon, diagnosed of Bipolar disorder. This was also the ship in the film The Matrix which “woke” people up

According to the Bible, Nebuchadnezzar II was king of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, who reigned c. 605 BC – 562 BC and conquered Judah and Jerusalem and sent the Jews into exile.

How he will become the President of the United States, perhaps as early as 2024

How Facebook & social media is a disease

How porn is ruining marriages and brainwashing children

How to keep the eternal, imaginative 3 year old at all costs

How he’s undeniably the greatest artist of all time, no question!

How wearing the red cap was a joke on all the liberals as well as Drake living four blocks down from him was also a joke from God.

I guess him wearing blue fur whilst talking and making a blue record is also a joke on the liberals

How he will now rewrite and censor all his old songs for performances

How some of the merchandise money will go to the church

How the Louis Vuitton boss reneging on a handshake to make him the LV don and his wife getting robbed helped put him in a mental hospital

Jokes about being the pastor at Drake’s wedding

How he objects to the censorship of speech of the left

Jesus is King is out now on Spotify, mp3, vinyl & CD

Jesus is Born, another new album, is arriving on Christmas Day this year.

Kanye West’s Journey

There is a bigger story here. How hip hop can be cathartic. Hip hop is bashed left, right and centre in the mainstream media daily, mainly times rightly so, for enforcing stereotypes. But, real hip hop can be a spiritual journey.

Some artists have found solace and teachings much earlier on in their lives such as Rakim, Wu-Tang Clan, KRS-One & Jeru the Damaja. Other artists take longer to mature. It seems to me to be better rapping about street crime then taking part in it. This is something most non-hip hop heads seem to not understand.  Hip hop is way out the streets, just like a sports contract.

Everyone has their own journey and Kanye’s has taken him into Christianity. If record sales pick up, it will turn into a bigger movement. Time will tell what happens if it “All Falls Down”,  streams sour and Adidas sales start to Fade. In such a scenario, it may be very hard for Kanye to stay on the straight and narrow, but I wish him luck. Time will tell.

I’m looking forward to see how he reacts surrounded with Angels in future fashion shows singing his new songs.

I’ll leave you with the last verse from Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five’s “The Message”, possibly still the greatest hip hop song ever written. The message is as relevant today as it was back in 1982.

A child is born, with no state of mind Blind to the ways of mankind God is smiling on you, but he’s frowning too Cause only God knows, what you go through You grow in the ghetto, living second rate And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate The place, that you play and where you stay Looks like one great big alley way You’ll admire all the number book takers Thugs, pimps and pushers and the big money makers Driving big cars, spending twenties and tens And you wanna grow up to be just like them Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers Pickpockets, peddlers and even pan-handlers You say I’m cool, I’m no fool But then you wind up dropping out of high school Now you’re unemployed, all null ‘n void Walking ’round like you’re pretty boy floyd Turned stickup kid, look what you done did Got send up for a eight year bid Now your manhood is took and you’re a may tag Spend the next two years as an undercover fag Being used and abused and served like hell Till one day you was found hung dead in a cell It was plain to see that your life was lost You was cold and your body swung back and forth But now your eyes sing the sad sad song Of how you lived so fast and died so young So, don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge I’m trying not to lose my head It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder How I keep from going under It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder How I keep from going under

Watch Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five – The Message

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from Hip Hop World Music https://hiphopworldmusic.com/jesus-walks-in-adidas/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=jesus-walks-in-adidas from Hip Hop World Music https://hiphopworldmusic.tumblr.com/post/188656152948

[morganbelarus]

Reactions to the death of a Fox News titan vary wildly

Roger Ailes speaks at the Hollywood Reporter celebration of "The 35 Most Powerful People in Media," in 2012.

Image: Stephen Lovekin/Getty Images

The past two decades saw Roger Ailes rise from obscurity into perhaps the most influential and allegedly abusive person at the intersection of American politics and media.

That rise earned him rabidly loyal fans, begrudging respect from others, and an army of detractors, which is easy to see in the comments that flooded Twitter after his death was reported on Thursday.

SEE ALSO: Roger Ailes, embattled former Fox News exec, dead at 77

Ailes launched Fox News in 1996 and turned it into a megaphone for right-wing politics in the United States. He was ousted from his job as head of the network last year after former Fox News anchor Gretchen Carlson sued him for sexual harassment. Other women made similar accusations, and soon media outlets churned out articles on the culture of sexual harassment (and racism) that Ailes enabled as he built his network.

After news of his death broke, reactions ran the full spectrum of emotion.

A lesson of today: if you live as an abusive, cynical scoundrel who loves nothing more than your own power, no one will cry when you die.

Anand Giridharadas (@AnandWrites) May 18, 2017

For better or worse & the ignominious end 2 his reign at Fox News, the impact of Roger Ailes on American politics & media was indisputable.

David Axelrod (@davidaxelrod) May 18, 2017

Roger Ailes has died. Wow. Sending deep and heartfelt condolences to everyone who was abused, harassed, exploited, and unjustly fired by him

Marc Lamont Hill (@marclamonthill) May 18, 2017

Roger Ailes behaved egregiously toward women in his organization and changed our culture for the worse, making people dumber and angrier.

Josh Barro (@jbarro) May 18, 2017

Today America lost one of its great patriotic warriors. Roger Ailes. For Decades RA's has impacted American politics and media.

Sean Hannity (@seanhannity) May 18, 2017

Its OK to be happy when bad people die

Barry Petchesky (@barry) May 18, 2017

Just because he's dead doesn't mean you have to say something nice about him. Would he give you the same break?

Jack Shafer (@jackshafer) May 18, 2017

Liberals,

Unless the man committed genocide or some crime against humanity...let him rest in peace. Decency is possible.#RogerAiles

Prox (@proxcee) May 18, 2017

Roger Ailes ruined the lives of many women during his brief time on earth. May he be appropriately rewarded in the afterlife.

Xeni Jardin (@xeni) May 18, 2017

Statement from Rupert Murdoch on Ailes http://pic.twitter.com/zqZvEPATsA

Hadas Gold (@Hadas_Gold) May 18, 2017

Yes, Roger Ailes was a TV genius. He also had an apparently monstrous personal life and nasty, dangerous editorial instincts.

Sam Stein (@samsteinhp) May 18, 2017

Whatever your thoughts on him Roger Ailes was the single most influential political-media figure of our times

jimrutenberg (@jimrutenberg) May 18, 2017

Roger Ailes, despite all the vile shit he pathetically did to gain wealth & to make himself feel powerful & virile, died anyway.

Caissie St.Onge (@Caissie) May 18, 2017

WATCH: Trump's outrageous insults throughout his campaign

More From this publisher : HERE

=> *********************************************** Post Source Here: Reactions to the death of a Fox News titan vary wildly ************************************ =>

Reactions to the death of a Fox News titan vary wildly was originally posted by 16 MP Just news

[sheilacwall]

Jesus Walks… in Adidas

Jesus Walks… in Adidas

Jesus is King has finally dropped. This is Kanye West’s first Christian rap-gospel album since turning into a born-again Christian in April after the hedonistic indulgence of Coachella.

The Lucifer, Mercy and New God Flow producer has given up secular music and has now turned his career toward the servitude of God.

However, his return from hospital and new found faith will flow nicely into his plans to expand his fashion, music & entertainment empire as well as possibly delivering him the top spot in the White House. This is a man not to be underestimated.

Saint Pablo

‘Ye recently turned around a personal debt of $53 million into a nearly $50m profit. Back in 2016, ‘Ye went out cap in hand to Mark Zuckerberg for $1bn for his ideas, but was promptly ignored. Zuckerberg was raised in a Jewish household, although his wife is a Buddhist and he hasn’t publicly stated his faith. But, this wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by ‘Ye and may have pushed Kanye toward his born-again Christian position.

Soon after, the “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” star seemingly finally started listening to his wife.

“My wife said, I can’t say no to nobody, and at this rate we gon’ both die broke,” West raps on Saint Pablo. “Got friends that ask me for money knowin’ I’m in debt, and like my wife said, I still didn’t say no.”

Stronger

Whilst facing the cold shoulder from Zuckerberg, Jack Dorsey – the Square & Paypal founder who was raised a Catholic, offered to invest in Kanye early on.

Jay-Z also kicked in a loan of $20m triggering tensions between the two ending in a public feud.

Here’s Jay-Z on “Kill Jay-Z”:

“You dropped outta school, you lost your principles / You gave him 20 million without thinkin’,” Jay-Z raps, seemingly confirming the rumor that he lent West money. “He gave you 20 minutes on stage, f–k was he thinkin’?”

Recently, Kanye has tried to dead the beef with the recent track “Brothers” with Charlie Wilson.

Power

‘Ye never got that billion from Zuckerberg, although they apparently became friends and even performed karaoke together, but it appears West has now healed his own financial woes: His apparel brand Yeezy is a billion-dollar empire, according to Forbes and over the past 12 months, Forbes estimates West has earned over $150 million before taxes. His wealth is due largely to Yeezy’s Adidas deal, a line that is expected to top $1.5 billion in sales in 2019.

The Jordan line does approximately $3 billion in annual sales, so the Yeezy line is catching up fast. If he can latch onto the Christian vote, sales could explode even more rapidly.

Touch the Sky

Christianity is the most adhered to religion in the United States, with 65% of polled American adults identifying themselves as Christian in 2019. This is down from 85% in 1990, 81.6% in 2001, and 12% lower than the 78% reported for 2012. About 62% of those polled claim to be members of a church congregation.

Kenneth Copeland is the number one pastor in the USA and his net worth is $300m. After the backlash for supporting Trump, the natural progression seems to be for Kanye to target the Trump supporters and Christians who make up the large majority of America with around another 20% of the population perhaps open to conversion back to Christianity. It is a huge target market… and that is just America.

Christianity is by far the world’s largest religion, with an estimated 2.2 billion adherents, nearly a third (31%) of all 6.9 billion people on Earth in 2010.

Jesus is King

The new sound track has been carefully crafted to be sung by large audiences to worship god. With tracks such as “Follow God” and “Use This Gospel”, Kanye is on a mission to convert. He has brought the Church to the streets and into the hills… No Church in the Wild.

His carefully chosen purple hair and purple cloths are to portray himself as an Emperor, clergy-like figure, if not Jesus himself, I don’t think it will be long before Kanye professes himself as a Prophet of some sort.

Kanye pronounced himself “I am a God” back on Yeezus.

I just talked to Jesus He said, “What up, Yeezus?” I said, “Shit—I’m chillin’ Tryna stack these millions” I know he the most high But I am a close high Mi casa, su casa That’s our cosa nostra I am a god I am a god I am a god

Rappers as Jesus

This isn’t new in rap. Check out the images below from Kanye, Nas, Tupac, DMX and The Game.

Jeru the Damaja, who follows the Nation of Islam, like Wu-Tang, Rakim & Brand Nubian, famously wrote a song “Can’t Stop the Prophet”.

Rappers have always seen themselves as street prophets, telling war stories, from Rakim, Nas & KRS-One right back to Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five in The Message.

Purple Robes

Throughout history, purple robes were worn by royalty and people of authority or high rank. Many believe this to be true because the rare occurrence of purple in nature made it one of the most expensive color dyes to create.

Purple and violet represent the future, the imagination and dreams, while spiritually calming the emotions. They inspire and enhance psychic ability and spiritual enlightenment, while, at the same time, keeping us grounded.

At the time of Jesus, the dye used for making the colour purple, extracted from shell-fish and was one of the most expensive dyes. The colour-fast (non-fading) dye was an item of luxury trade, prized by Romans, who used it to colour ceremonial robes, usually worn by Emperors. The very fact that purple was an expensive color made it affordable only to the royals. That Jesus was made to put it on before his crucifixion, implies that the Romans were sending a strong signal to the Jews against any coup.

A.D.I.D.A.S.

ADIDAS was founded by German, Adi Dassler (Adolf Dassler). In fact, one of the founders, his brother Rudolf Dassler later went on to found Puma and started a bitter rivalry between the brothers. There is a popular myth among fans (not true) that Adidas stands for All Day I Dream About Sports, whilst in 2003, Killer Mike dropped a hip hop track called A.D.I.D.A.S. (All Day I Dream About Sex).

Like many of their fellow citizens, the brothers joined the Nazi party after Adolph Hitler came to power in 1933. Their shoe business remained modest until 1936. In that year, Germany hosted the Olympics.

In an ironic twist, the two party members got legendary African-American runner Jesse Owens to wear their running shoes while competing. Owens went on to win four gold medals during the games. The exposure of their product gave Dassler Shoes a huge boost in sales. You can read more in Sportsweek History.

It does seem ironic, given Kanye’s sex addiction that he would align himself with this particular shoe and his plans are to get the shoes made in America and give “second chances” to inmates.

But, he is going to run into problems with the media as the average wage of a prison inmate ranged between $0.23 and $1.15 an hour  – According to the International Labor Organization, in 2000–2011 wages in American prisons 

In Texas, Georgia, and Arkansas, inmates aren’t paid at all for their labor.

The “New Slave” indeed. I initially thought another way to make money would be to make inexpensive Jesus style sandals and sure enough, I found that is exactly what ‘Ye is planning. They are called “slides” in America and Adidas will be making these from injection moulding and it hasn’t gone unnoticed from Twitter that they are basically prison shoes, but now they are being remarketed as a high fashion item for children of rich kids. That is marketing genius.

Why do the yeezy slides look like the slides worn in prison.. pic.twitter.com/LsR8dbFyqE

— Cyn ☕️ (@Kingxxcyn) October 17, 2019

ADIDAS YECHEIL

The first shoe in Ye’s collection is the Yecheil, which is a Hebrew masculine given name meaning “May God live” or “God shall live”. Several people in the Bible also have this name.

ADIDAS YEEZREEL

For the second shoe of ‘Ye’s collection, there is the“Yeezreel”. It has no exact translation but it seems he might’ve been inspired by the word “Jezreel” which was an ancient Israelite city and fortress originally within the boundaries of the Tribe of Issachar, and later within the northern Kingdom of Israel.

ADIDAS YESHAYA

The third shoe is called the “Yeshaya” which directly translates to “God Is Salvation”. The name Yeshaya (Yesha’yahu) translates from Hebrew to English as the name Isaiah, who was one of the four major prophets of the Old Testament, and the author of the Book of Isaiah. He was from Jerusalem and probably lived in the 8th century BC.

Many of these shoes use Adidas “Cloud” foam, so ‘Ye and his fans are figuratively walking on clouds.

Click the pic to get the best prices on Adidas below

Through the Wire – Prison Reform

Kim Kardashian announced her decision to study law back in April. Since then, she’s met with President Trump to discuss prison reform, teamed up with the 90 Days of Freedom campaign, and is producing a documentary on the subject.

CNN reported that Kim Kardashian West helped free 17 inmates in 90 days.

Kanye West has donated $1m to prison reform, but is now getting US prison workers to make his shoes at 25% of the cost of having his shoes made in China, unless somehow, he is quadrupling the prison wage.

There will be Church factions and sections of the media who will most likely attack Mr. West for essentially using slave labour in prisons to increase profit. Chinese factory workers are now getting paid more than ever: Average hourly wages hit $3.60 in 2017 compared to around $1 for an American prison worker.

Kanye West’s Interview with Zane Lowe

If you don’t want to watch the lengthy interview below, scroll down for a quick summary.

In the interview Kanye talks about the following:

How billboards are guilty of sex trafficking

How he became a born-again Christian in April after Coachella

Why he wants to create jobs and bring jobs back to the USA

How he experimented with Domes & living in them then “the man” tore them down as a metaphor for tearing down his ego

How his farm will be growing cotton & wheat

He will employ prisoners to make his shoes as a “second chance”

His respect for founders, especially Warren Buffett, Amancio Ortego (Zara), Elon Musk, James Turell (artist concerned with light & space) and Jack Dorsey (Paypal)

He calls himself a Christian innovator

How his daughter North drives his passion for church

How Sunday Service may become a church and how he may become a Pastor

He is asking people to fast & not have premarital sex

How he had a porn addiction due to seeing Playboy at 5 years old & his sex addiction

People should pray together, fast together, stay together to increase power

Getting stumped by Zane Lowes question on whether he had to work for his 4th house

How white owners controls hip hop

How God is using Kanye to show off

Compares himself to Nebuchadnezzar, the King of Babylon, diagnosed of Bipolar disorder. This was also the ship in the film The Matrix which “woke” people up

According to the Bible, Nebuchadnezzar II was king of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, who reigned c. 605 BC – 562 BC and conquered Judah and Jerusalem and sent the Jews into exile.

How he will become the President of the United States, perhaps as early as 2024

How Facebook & social media is a disease

How porn is ruining marriages and brainwashing children

How to keep the eternal, imaginative 3 year old at all costs

How he’s undeniably the greatest artist of all time, no question!

How wearing the red cap was a joke on all the liberals as well as Drake living four blocks down from him was also a joke from God.

I guess him wearing blue fur whilst talking and making a blue record is also a joke on the liberals

How he will now rewrite and censor all his old songs for performances

How some of the merchandise money will go to the church

How the Louis Vuitton boss reneging on a handshake to make him the LV don and his wife getting robbed helped put him in a mental hospital

Jokes about being the pastor at Drake’s wedding

How he objects to the censorship of speech of the left

Jesus is King is out now on Spotify, mp3, vinyl & CD

Jesus is Born, another new album, is arriving on Christmas Day this year.

Kanye West’s Journey

There is a bigger story here. How hip hop can be cathartic. Hip hop is bashed left, right and centre in the mainstream media daily, mainly times rightly so, for enforcing stereotypes. But, real hip hop can be a spiritual journey.

Some artists have found solace and teachings much earlier on in their lives such as Rakim, Wu-Tang Clan, KRS-One & Jeru the Damaja. Other artists take longer to mature. It seems to me to be better rapping about street crime then taking part in it. This is something most non-hip hop heads seem to not understand.  Hip hop is way out the streets, just like a sports contract.

Everyone has their own journey and Kanye’s has taken him into Christianity. If record sales pick up, it will turn into a bigger movement. Time will tell what happens if it “All Falls Down”,  streams sour and Adidas sales start to Fade. In such a scenario, it may be very hard for Kanye to stay on the straight and narrow, but I wish him luck. Time will tell.

I’m looking forward to see how he reacts surrounded with Angels in future fashion shows singing his new songs.

I’ll leave you with the last verse from Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five’s “The Message”, possibly still the greatest hip hop song ever written. The message is as relevant today as it was back in 1982.

A child is born, with no state of mind Blind to the ways of mankind God is smiling on you, but he’s frowning too Cause only God knows, what you go through You grow in the ghetto, living second rate And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate The place, that you play and where you stay Looks like one great big alley way You’ll admire all the number book takers Thugs, pimps and pushers and the big money makers Driving big cars, spending twenties and tens And you wanna grow up to be just like them Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers Pickpockets, peddlers and even pan-handlers You say I’m cool, I’m no fool But then you wind up dropping out of high school Now you’re unemployed, all null ‘n void Walking ’round like you’re pretty boy floyd Turned stickup kid, look what you done did Got send up for a eight year bid Now your manhood is took and you’re a may tag Spend the next two years as an undercover fag Being used and abused and served like hell Till one day you was found hung dead in a cell It was plain to see that your life was lost You was cold and your body swung back and forth But now your eyes sing the sad sad song Of how you lived so fast and died so young So, don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge I’m trying not to lose my head It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder How I keep from going under It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder How I keep from going under

Watch Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five – The Message

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