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desorden-en-letras · 5 months

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"𝐒𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐨"

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨 𝐁𝐮̈𝐥𝐥𝐞

𝐌𝐮𝐲 𝐝𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐳 𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐢, 𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚. 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐨 𝐜𝐨́𝐦𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨́𝐧 𝐲 𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐨.

𝐃𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐳 𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐨 𝐬𝐢 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐢.

𝐕𝐚𝐜𝐢́𝐨 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐨; 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨.

𝐂𝐨́𝐦𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐞𝐝𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐨́𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐚. 𝐌𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐣𝐨𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨 𝐮́𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐨 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐝𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞. 𝐌𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐮́𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢́𝐚𝐬.

𝐘 𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐫, 𝐦𝐮𝐲 𝐝𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐳 𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐬.

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐚́𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞́ 𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐚 𝐥𝐢́𝐧𝐞𝐚 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐲 𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫. 𝐄𝐧 𝐥𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐚́𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐥 𝐞𝐠𝐨 𝐲 𝐥𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐨́𝐧; 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐬𝐢 𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞, 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐞́ 𝐞𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞́𝐧 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨.

-𝒔𝒏𝒉𝒏𝒌𝒌𝒎𝒏

#desorden en letras #snhnkkmn #escritos #frases #letras #pensamientos #amor #textos #sentimientos #citas en español #textos en español #pub7 #enero2024 #tiktok #rich bülle #ricardo bülle #citas de autores #desamor #amor no correspondido

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nando161mando · 14 days

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"Una locura de matanza innecesaria recorre el mundo. Es la filosofía del aniquilamiento, entronizado con el poder y con la riqueza."

- Ricardo Mella.

"A madness of unnecessary slaughter runs through the world. It is the philosophy of annihilation, enthroned with power and wealth."

- Ricardo Mella.

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stone-cold-groove · 11 months

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From the car files: ad for the 1983 Chrysler LeBaron series with rich, Corinthian leather.

#chrysler #chrysler lebaron #1983 lebaron #80s cars #1983 chrysler lebaron #ricardo montalban #rich corinthian leather

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yoru-no-seiiki · 3 months

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Shit, I just saw you had different accounts for different genres and I already requested on your main non smut(??) account😭😭 Okay, okay, I have a new totally original idea. What about.. male pervert yandere enemy x gn or female reader? Like enemies to lovers but one is only in on it because of their masochistic tendencies and they just love being dominated. And please add nsfw of him jerking off, finding her sweaty (sweet) gym tshirt and it being mentioned that he has, I don't know, JERKED OFF TO THEM IN FUCKING CLASS. (The oneshot could be in class👀👀)

- I'm 🙈 anon from your main account, you don't have to complete both of the requests, either one I know would make me cum, but please I'm so desperate for cocky ass bakugo katsuki like bitch guys who are so submissive and vulnerable on the inside IM BEGGING YOU.. omg, now I'm like them, fuck.

This got me pissing my pants ngl- but aaaaa yess. This came at a perfect timing! (long story short i got sum good news from my scholarship stuff in Ateneo) Your audience with me has been approved.

(also I don’t think I received your other request unfortunately uhu)

YANDERE! PERVERTED! RIVAL OC x GN! READER

tw/cw: dddne, yandere themes, male masturbation, semi-public masturbation, yun’s trauma with enrollment procedures.

MINORS/AGELESS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU.

University was hell before it even started. Due to complications with your scholarship, you and your parents had to repeatedly go out to get a whole bunch of documents in searing summer heat to ensure you kept the damn thing from falling through.

It was safe to say, you weren’t going to just take all that for granted.

You wanted to be the best student in the history of the institution, no — the whole country. Anything less than perfect would tarnish the effort your family has put into you.

But a certain Ricardo Peralta was making that oh so difficult for you.

Not only was he already a member of the student council and potential president for the following years, he was oh so disgustingly well-rounded and rich. You thought you were a try-hard? Well think again. Ricardo had you beat in many aspects.

But not all of them.

You are a people person by heart. Charismatic, and sociable. You knew how to mingle, how to get a person wrapped around your fingers. Ricardo may have the vantage point with connections now but in the future? It wouldn’t be long before everyone will turn to you instead.

And so began your petty rivalry.

It was subtle at first. Smirking at the one who got a lower score. Congratulating the other for winning second place while having a golden medal dangling from their neck. Scoffing at their rival for having a life outside academics ( pfft imagine having good time management? The two of you can never! )

And then it steadily degenerated into full blown petty fights. Violence at times. Anything aside from murdering each-other was free rein and even then there were days you two took that sort of route. It was mostly you though. For some reason, his parents were quite fond of you and would always let you into their mansion. This gave you plenty of opportunities to drug his ass.

You didn’t know it was because of a deal his parents made with yours to give him access to your room.

Ricardo studied you harder than the academics he worshipped his entire life. He knew you far longer than you did him. You were the reason he strove so much to be perfect. The only reason he wanted to be perfect was for you.

He knew your parents would never think to pay for the outrageous fees the University you (and by extension him) wanted to go to, so he made his parents start a scholarship program for gifted students (Anything to make their son happy). You were already guaranteed to get in from the beginning, and he felt bad for having made you panic from the strings he had to pull so that you’d always have the same classes/schedules.

So he let you win some of the little games you two had. In any case, nothing beats the reward of your smile. And the smug smirk you’d give him as you loomed over the desk, your chest almost resting on his face.

He shook his head, he can save those thought for after he stole another set of used underwear.

He usually came to your locker after P.E. it was when your scent wouldn’t be covered by whatever you sprayed on yourself. Don’t get him wrong, Ricardo was a germaphobe and a half but those cheap perfumes and deodorants you slathered all over yourself so you wouldn’t smell half bad after your exercises couldn’t compare to the scent of your body.

In anycase, today Ricardo got greedy. Impatient. Something his parents were sure to have reprimanded him on. But he couldn’t help it. Could you really blame him? It suddenly started raining out in the field. The way the water made your shirt cling unto your clothes practically made you irresistible.

“Ngh . . . [Y/N]. J-just like that . . . use me . . .” Tears formed at the corner of his eyes as he mumbled in pleasure. If you just walked a little more, perhaps leaned your head around the corner. . . god, he could imagine the disdain on your face. The utter disgust you’d show him.

It didn’t help that you were slandering him just a few feet away.

“That piece of shit, Ricardo. He totally fucking cheated.” You cursed, so unlike your usual polite tone with your fellow batch-mates and the faculty. He hears a resounding thud right after wards.

The movement around his shaft only gets faster. His grip tighter, harsher, as he imagines the way you’d abuse his cock. If he added any more force he’d probably tear himself apart. The thought of disappointing you is the one thing keeping him from harming himself.

His hand only ever stuttered due to the sound of your friend’s voice, ear piercing and grotesque as it is in contrast to yours, “Aray! Nadamay pa talaga yung mukha ko-“

“Shut the fuck up!” You angrily replied, this time slamming the locker behind Ricardo, making him moan stumble forward a little.

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

Streams of white leave the tip of his cock, your threat shoving him off the ledge of pleasure. Your rain and sweat covered shirt now drenched with another type of liquid.

[Notes]:

Aray! Nadamay pa talaga yung mukha ko — Ouch! You really just brought my face into the fray.

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thosearentcrimes · 3 months

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Me for the past week: Damn I really need to focus on writing this paper about revolutionary self-perception in 1789-1794 France. No distractions, just relevant stuff, deadline's coming up.

Instead:

Maria Edgeworth's 1817 novel Harrington contains a vivid evocation of the Gordon Riots, with two unsympathetic characters taken for Papists and finding refuge in the home of the rich Spanish Jew, the father of the young Jewish woman at the centre of the love story.

huh never heard of her I wonder what was up with her

She held critical views on estate management, politics and education, and corresponded with some of the leading literary and economic writers, including Sir Walter Scott and David Ricardo.

that David Ricardo? from economics?

After Honora died in 1780 Maria's father married Honora's sister Elizabeth (then socially disapproved and legally forbidden from 1833 until the Deceased Wife's Sister's Marriage Act 1907)

wait what

The Deceased Wife's Sister's Marriage Act 1907 (7 Edw. 7. c. 47) was an Act of the Parliament of the United Kingdom, allowing a man to marry his dead wife's sister, which had previously been forbidden.

ok yeah that's pretty much what it says on the tin

The 1907 Act did exactly what it said and no more. It was amended by the Deceased Brother's Widow's Marriage Act 1921 to allow a widow to marry her deceased husband's brother.[36][37] This was a response to First World War deaths to encourage remarriages, reducing war widows' pensions and increasing the birth rate.[37]

the war really did do a lot for gender equality didn't it

anyway what was up with Maria Edgeworth, let's catch up with her

When passing through the village, one of the party wrote, "We found neither mud hovels nor naked peasantry, but snug cottages and smiles all about".[10] A counter view was provided by another visitor who stated that the residents of Edgeworthstown treated Edgeworth with contempt, refusing even to feign politeness.[11]

Ireland moment

Following an anti-Semitic remark in The Absentee, Edgeworth received a letter from an American Jewish woman named Rachel Mordecai in 1815 complaining about Edgeworth's depiction of Jews.[45] In response, Harrington (1817) was written as an apology to the Jewish community.

imagine if Graham Linehan had responded this way to criticism of his transphobic IT crowd episode :)

Rachel Mordecai married widower Aaron Marks Lazarus in 1821, and moved to Wilmington, North Carolina, where she lived for the rest of her life. The Lazaruses had four children together, three daughters and a son, M. E. Lazarus, in a household that also included Mr. Lazarus's seven children from his first marriage.

oh the lady had a son who she named after the author she liked who turned out to be willing to not be anti-semitic, that's nice

Marx Edgeworth Lazarus (February 6, 1822 – 1896) was an American individualist anarchist, Fourierist, and free-thinker.

oh well that sounds nice enough

Lazarus was a practicing doctor of homeopathy

ehhhh

Through his adult life, Lazarus tried to cope with apparent mental and physical disturbances, in particular what seemed to be chronic nocturnal emissions, a condition that at the time was labeled "seminal incontinence" or "spermatorrhea," believed to be detrimental and even fatal to the mind and body. Lazarus sought treatments through homeopathy, hydropathy, and electromagnetic treatments that seemed to bring some temporary relief. He also discussed the condition in his 1852 book Involuntary Seminal Losses: Their Causes, Effects, and Cure," where he suggested that the total sexual abstinence that he had tried to practice might be one of those causes. In 1855, Lazarus shocked some of his fellow Fourierists and free love advocates by marrying a 19 year old woman from Indiana, Mary Laurie (or "Lawrie).[1]

oh... a libertarian...

By the mid-1850s, social movements like Fourierism were in decline, and Lazarus's later life seems to have had less focus. When the Civil War broke out, most members of Lazarus's extended family lived in Southern states and generally supported the Confederate cause. In 1861, Lazarus, was staying with relatives in Columbus, Georgia and joined the local City Light Guard when war broke out, later serving as company physician for the Wilmington, NC Artillery.

on the one hand, obviously very bad to enlist in the Confederate army right, but on the other hand a semen retentionist doing homeopathy to them can't really be classified as "aiding" them can it

After the war, Lazarus continued to practice his areas of medicine and contributed articles and comments to various publications.[5] By his last years, though, he had become a disenchanted recluse known as the "Sand Mountain Hermit" of Jackson County, Alabama.

most normal libertarian

I wonder what those articles and comments are, and what kind of website they're hosted on. Oh.

#you start with the revolutionary french intellectual milieu #you end up reading about a jewish confederate anarchist semen retentionist homeopath hermit #wikipedia hole #I do have the paper done finally but unfortunately I didn't manage to deploy this section of the research

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 4 months

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1970's Chrysler Cordoba

1970's Chrysler Cordoba. The hood ornament is beautiful like a Roman gold coin. Chrysler made some interesting hood ornaments, and the Cordoba's was no exception. Although Córdoba is the name of a city in Spain, according to Chrysler, the car's emblem was actually a stylized version of the Argentine Cordoba coin. Either way, the implication was Hispanic, and this theme was carried out with somewhat baroque trim inside the vehicle. Chrysler famously secured movie and television actor Ricardo Montalbán as the car's advertising spokesman through its entire run. Notable was his eloquent praise of its "rich Corinthian leather" interior

#chrysler cordoba #chrysler #car #cars #mopar #cordoba #ricardo montalbán

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mariacallous · 2 months

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April 12, 2019, Updated at 12:22 a.m. ET on April 15, 2019.

In the end, the man who reportedly smeared feces on the walls of his lodgings, mistreated his kitten, and variously blamed the ills of the world on feminists and bespectacled Jewish writers was pulled from the Ecuadorian embassy looking every inch like a powdered-sugar Saddam Hussein plucked straight from his spider hole. The only camera crew to record this pivotal event belonged to Ruptly, a Berlin-based streaming-online-video service, which is a wholly owned subsidiary of RT, the Russian government’s English-language news channel and the former distributor of Julian Assange’s short-lived chat show.

RT’s tagline is “Question more,” and indeed, one might inquire how it came to pass that the spin-off of a Kremlin propaganda organ and now registered foreign agent in the United States first arrived on the scene. Its camera recorded a team of London’s Metropolitan Police dragging Assange from his Knightsbridge cupboard as he burbled about resistance and toted a worn copy of Gore Vidal’s History of the National Security State.

Vidal had the American national-security establishment in mind when he narrated that polemic, although I doubt even he would have contrived to portray the CIA as being in league with a Latin American socialist named for the founder of the Bolshevik Party. Ecuador’s President Lenín Moreno announced Thursday that he had taken the singular decision to expel his country’s long-term foreign guest and revoke his asylum owing to Assange’s “discourteous and aggressive behavior.”

According to Interior Minister María Paula Romo, this evidently exceeded redecorating the embassy with excrement—alas, we still don’t know whether it was Assange’s or someone else’s—refusing to bathe, and welcoming all manner of international riffraff to visit him. It also involved interfering in the “internal political matters in Ecuador,” as Romo told reporters in Quito. Assange and his organization, WikiLeaks, Romo said, have maintained ties to two Russian hackers living in Ecuador who worked with one of the country’s former foreign ministers, Ricardo Patiño, to destabilize the Moreno administration.

We don’t yet know whether Romo’s allegation is true (Patiño denied it) or simply a pretext for booting a nuisance from state property. But Assange’s ties to Russian hackers and Russian intelligence organs are now beyond dispute.

Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s indictment of 12 cyberoperatives for Russia’s Main Intelligence Directorate for the General Staff (GRU) suggests that Assange was, at best, an unwitting accomplice to the GRU’s campaign to sway the U.S. presidential election in 2016, and allegedly even solicited the stolen Democratic correspondence from Russia’s military intelligence agency, which was masquerading as Guccifer 2.0. Assange repeatedly and viciously trafficked, on Twitter and on Fox News, in the thoroughly debunked claim that the correspondence might have been passed to him by the DNC staffer Seth Rich, who, Assange darkly suggested, was subsequently murdered by the Clintonistas as revenge for the presumed betrayal.

Mike Pompeo, then CIA director and, as an official in Donald Trump’s Cabinet, an indirect beneficiary of Assange’s meddling in American democracy, went so far as to describe WikiLeaks as a “non-state hostile intelligence service often abetted by state actors like Russia.” For those likening the outfit to legitimate news organizations, I’d submit that this is a shade more severe a description, especially coming from America’s former spymaster, than anything Trump has ever grumbled about The New York Times or The Washington Post.

Russian diplomats had concocted a plot, as recently as late 2017, to exfiltrate Assange from the Ecuadorian embassy, according to The Guardian. “Four separate sources said the Kremlin was willing to offer support for the plan—including the possibility of allowing Assange to travel to Russia and live there. One of them said that an unidentified Russian businessman served as an intermediary in these discussions.” The plan was scuttled only because it was deemed too dangerous.

In 2015, Focus Ecuador reported that Assange had aroused suspicion among Ecuador’s own intelligence service, SENAIN, which spied on him in the embassy in a years-long operation. “In some instances, [Assange] requested that he be able to choose his own Security Service inside the embassy, even proposing the use of operators of Russian nationality,” the Ecuadorian journal noted, adding that SENAIN looked on such a proposal with something less than unmixed delight.

All of which is to say that Ecuador had ample reasons of its own to show Assange the door and was well within its sovereign rights to do so. He first sought refuge in the embassy after he jumped bail more than seven years ago to evade extradition to Sweden on sexual-assault charges brought by two women. Swedish prosecutors suspended their investigation in 2017 into the most serious allegation of rape because they’d spent five years trying but failing to gain access to their suspect to question him. (That might now change, and so the lawyer for that claimant has filed to reopen the case.) But the British charges remained on the books throughout.

The Times of London leader writer Oliver Kamm has noted that quite apart from being a “victim of a suspension of due process,” Assange is “a fugitive from it.” Yet to hear many febrile commentators tell it, his extradition was simply a matter of one sinister prime minister cackling down the phone to another, with the CIA nodding approvingly in the background, as an international plot unfurled to silence a courageous speaker of truth to power. Worse than that, Assange and his ever-dwindling claque of apologists spent years in the pre-#MeToo era suggesting, without evidence, that the women who accused him of being a sex pest were actually American agents in disguise, and that Britain was simply doing its duty as a hireling of the American empire in staking out his diplomatic digs with a net.

As it happens, a rather lengthy series of U.K. court cases and Assange appeals, leading all the way up to the Supreme Court, determined Assange’s status in Britain.

The New Statesman’s legal correspondent, David Allen Green, expended quite a lot of energy back in 2012 swatting down every unfounded assertion and conspiracy theory for why Assange could not stand before his accusers in Scandinavia without being instantly rendered to Guantanamo Bay. Ironically, as Green noted, going to Stockholm would make it harder for Assange to be sent on to Washington because “any extradition from Sweden … would require the consent of both Sweden and the United Kingdom” instead of just the latter country. Nevertheless, Assange ran and hid and self-pityingly professed himself a “political prisoner.”

Everything about this Bakunin of bullshit and his self-constructed plight has belonged to the theater of the absurd. I suppose it’s only fair that absurdity dominates the discussion now about a newly unsealed U.S. indictment of Assange. According to Britain’s Home Office, the Metropolitan Police arrested Assange for skipping bail, and then, when he arrived at the police station, he was further arrested “in relation to a provisional extradition request from the United States.”

The operative word here is provisional, because that request has yet to be wrung through the same domestic legal protocols as Sweden’s. Assange will have all the same rights he was accorded when he tried to beat his first extradition rap in 2010. At Assange’s hearing, the judge dismissed his claims of persecution by calling him “a narcissist who cannot get beyond his own selfish interests.” Neither can his supporters.

A “dark moment for press freedom,” tweeted the NSA whistle-blower Edward Snowden from his security in press-friendly Moscow. “It’s the criminalization of journalism by the Trump Justice Department and the gravest threat to press freedom, by far, under the Trump presidency,” intoned The Intercept’s founding editor Glenn Greenwald who, like Assange, has had that rare historical distinction of having once corresponded with the GRU for an exclusive.

These people make it seem as if Assange is being sought by the Eastern District of Virginia for publishing American state secrets rather than for allegedly conniving to steal them.

The indictment makes intelligible why a grand jury has charged him. Beginning in January 2010, Chelsea Manning began passing to WikiLeaks (and Assange personally) classified documents obtained from U.S. government servers. These included files on the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and U.S. State Department cables. But Manning grew hesitant to pilfer more documents.*

At this point, Assange allegedly morphed from being a recipient and publisher of classified documents into an agent of their illicit retrieval. “On or about March 8, 2010, Assange agreed to assist [Chelsea] Manning in cracking a password stored on United States Department of Defense computers connected to the Secret Internet Protocol Networks, a United States government network used for classified documents and communications,” according to the indictment.

Assange allegedly attempted to help Manning do this using a username that was not hers in an effort to cover her virtual tracks. In other words, the U.S. accuses him of instructing her to hack the Pentagon, and offering to help. This is not an undertaking any working journalist should attempt without knowing that the immediate consequence will be the loss of his job, his reputation, and his freedom at the hands of the FBI.

I might further direct you to Assange’s own unique brand of journalism, when he could still be said to be practicing it. Releasing U.S. diplomatic communiqués that named foreigners living in conflict zones or authoritarian states and liaising with American officials was always going to require thorough vetting and redaction, lest those foreigners be put in harm’s way. Assange did not care—he wanted their names published, according to Luke Harding and David Leigh in WikiLeaks: Inside Julian Assange’s War on Secrecy. As they recount the story, when Guardian journalists working with WikiLeaks to disseminate its tranche of U.S. secrets tried to explain to Assange why it was morally reprehensible to publish the names of Afghans working with American troops, Assange replied: “Well, they’re informants. So, if they get killed, they’ve got it coming to them. They deserve it.” (Assange denied the account; the names, in the end, were not published in The Guardian, although some were by WikiLeaks in its own dump of the files.)**

James Ball, a former staffer at WikiLeaks—who argues against Assange’s indictment in these pages—has also remarked on Assange’s curious relationship with a notorious Holocaust denier named Israel Shamir:

Shamir has a years-long friendship with Assange, and was privy to the contents of tens of thousands of US diplomatic cables months before WikiLeaks made public the full cache. Such was Shamir’s controversial nature that Assange introduced him to WikiLeaks staffers under a false name. Known for views held by many to be antisemitic, Shamir aroused the suspicion of several WikiLeaks staffers—myself included—when he asked for access to all cable material concerning ‘the Jews,’ a request which was refused.

Shamir soon turned up in Moscow where, according to the Russian newspaper Kommersant, he was offering to write articles based on these cables for $10,000 a pop. Then he traveled to Minsk, where he reportedly handed over a cache of unredacted cables on Belarus to functionaries for Alexander Lukashenko’s dictatorship, whose dissident-torturing secret police is still conveniently known as the KGB.

Fish and guests might begin to stink after three days, but Assange has reeked from long before he stepped foot in his hideaway cubby across from Harrods. He has put innocent people’s lives in danger; he has defamed and tormented a poor family whose son was murdered; he has seemingly colluded with foreign regimes not simply to out American crimes but to help them carry off their own; and he otherwise made that honorable word transparency in as much of a need of delousing as he is.

Yet none of these vices has landed him in the dock. If he is innocent of hacking U.S. government systems—or can offer a valid public-interest defense for the hacking—then let him have his day in court, first in Britain and then in America. But don’t continue to fall for his phony pleas for sympathy, his megalomania, and his promiscuity with the facts. Julian Assange got what he deserved.

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ciaossu-imagines · 5 months

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KHR CELEBRITY AU PART 2

OTHER CELEBRITIES

Skull - I'm kind of cheating here and taking from canon, but Skull is a daredevil through and through. Whether it's playing it up and astounding live audiences or putting on thrill-rides of a show for the television camera while doing special and guest spots, Skull's fame is accomplished through his career as a daredevil and his penchant for insane, death-defying stunts.

Bermuda I see as a mixed-martial artist or an ECW fighter.

Small Gia, Didi and Jeje are all notorious serial killers with their own dedicated fanbases. Birds is another infamous killer along the lines of Manson, who never physically killed anyone himself but orchestrated the murders of people. Daisy is another infamous criminal whose trial was hugely publicized, especially given the insanity defense used. Glo Xinia is infamous in the same way - a serial criminal who gained a lot of mainstream publicity.

Ricardo was a wrestler, well known for playing a heel. He became a huge celebrity though due to press coverage of his many out-of-the-ring fights and his later murder of another wrestler at a nightclub. He was acquitted of the charges due to insufficient evidence but everyone knows he did it.

Knuckle is, of course, a rather famous boxer.

Shoko Tanaka is a well-known female mixed martial artist.

Daigo Kazumi, Kenshiro Yamaki, Gosuke Takada, Renzo Oshikiri, and Nobuhiko Kakuta are all Olympic level athletes.

Giannichi and Giannini are both famous inventors and for anyone in the robotics field, they're absolute legends.

Timoteo is a famous movie director who owns Vongola Films, a large studio. He's recently moved from directing only movies to directing what's become a hugely popular television series. Coyote Nougat is an assistant director for Timoteo. Croquant Bouche and Ganauche III are really well known producers who often work with Vongola Films and Timoteo. Visconti does all the special effects work on Timoteo's movies and now the television show. Brabanter Schnitten is the sound mixer and Brow Nie Jr. the production coordinator on all Timoteo's works, employed with Vongola Films.

Hibari's famous to a select group of people who are already in the know and famous in their own rights, as he's the head of a company who supplies the rich and famous with the best of the best in security. Notoriously publicity shy, he's never been caught on camera himself and avoids seeing any of the actual clients himself.

Tetsuya Kusakabe is one of those well-respected, oft-photographed bodyguards to the stars. Romario is as well as Dino's private bodyguard. Gamma is bodyguard to the girl group Yuni is a part of, while Olgert is bodyguard to Bel and Rasiel both and is just as paparazzi-photographed as those he looks over. Nigella Beabankul is another paparazzi famous body to the stars.

Daemon Spade and Elena are famous politicians.

Bel and Siel are infamous socialites. Part of the Royal Family of another country, their diplomatic immunity protects them against any charges that arise from their very hedonistic lifestyles and the press coverage of their fights, accidents, and the bad endings of those hedonistic lifestyles are splashed all over the tabloids. They do eventually get their own reality show.

Spanner is known for his work in special effects and puppetry, kind of along the lines of Jim Henson.

Parenza and Tras are both stunt people.

Kensuke Mochida and Brutus are celebrities within the WWE circle.

Tyr was an ECW champion who became most famous for his live death in the ring against mixed martial artist turned ECW fighter Squalo Superbi.

Michael Chianu is a tennis star, Bluebell an Olympic gold medal winning diver, while Kaoru Mizuno is a famous baseball player with one of the major teams.

'NO JUST NO' OR NO INTEREST WHATSOEVER IN BEING A CELEBRITY

I honestly don't feel that Luce is the most comfortable in front of a crowd and she doesn't like to be the center of attention. She isn't comfortable with the idea of fame and celebrity, with no desire for them. She just wants a peaceful, happy, low-key life and I honestly don't even see her as someone who has Facebook, much less any other type of social media.

Fon has no desire for fame and celebrity either. There are some YouTube clips of him, found if you Google him, of prior martial arts matches he's been part of when he did compete in martial arts tournaments. However, he's not entirely comfortable even with that level of public attention, since he prefers a quieter and simple life.

Big Pino

Lanchia

Haruyoshi Miura

Alaude

Dr. Shamal

Fuuta de la Stella was actually a child star from babyhood until he was around six or seven, when he retired and now he just wants to stay out of the spotlight and be a normal kid.

Iemitsu is a retired action star, famous for a lot of big 80's action blockbusters. He no longer has an interest in acting, in fame and celebrity in any form but he supports and starts his child's film career despite being estranged really from Tsuna.

Enma Kozato was born into a world of celebrity but prefers to just live his life and doesn't want any attention on himself.

#replies #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #celebrity au #au headcanons #headcanons

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desorden-en-letras · 7 months

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¿𝐏𝐨𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐞́?

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐁𝐮̈𝐥𝐥𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐞́ 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐚 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐚, 𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐧̃𝐚𝐥. 𝐃𝐚́𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐯𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐞́𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐚́𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚, 𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞, 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚.

𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞́ 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐚, 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐲𝐨 𝐬𝐢́ 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐨 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞.

𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐢́𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐣𝐨, 𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐞́𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬: ¿𝐐𝐮𝐞́ 𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐥? ¿𝐐𝐮𝐞́ 𝐩𝐨𝐝𝐢́𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐫?...¿𝐏𝐨𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐞́?

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐚 𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐮 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚, 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢́𝐚 𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞. 𝐇𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐮𝐧 𝐝𝐢́𝐚, 𝐝𝐞𝐣𝐞́ 𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐢́𝐚𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐣𝐞́ 𝐝𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐨; 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐨.

𝐋𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐝𝐢́ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐨́𝐧 𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨, 𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 𝐲 𝐚 𝐦𝐢́, 𝐩𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐢.

𝐀𝐮́𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐢́𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐧��𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐢; 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐲, 𝐲𝐚 𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬.

-𝒔𝒏𝒉𝒏𝒌𝒌𝒎𝒏

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writercole · 1 year

Text

Drive Me Crazy

Summary: A chance at a promotion becomes more than a chance encounter and a date is far better than par. Words: 1330 Warnings: bad puns, objectification, innuendo, language Credits: @princessmisery666 for being the best beta ever. A/N: I could not have done this without my Opie. This AU has been in development for quite some time now and literally would not exist had my Ope not forced me to watched this stupid movie about these stupid planes and stupid hot boys. I still have strong negative feelings about Tom Cruise.

Carla knew that her best chance of getting her promotion lay in impressing her bosses at the golf game she was invited to at the end of the week. The only problem was her lack of skills.

Everyone at the office raved about the golf pro at Sandy Dunes Country Club. When she called, she was informed that lessons were available to non members at a higher price and more limited schedule. She booked for every available afternoon slot.

Now that she’d arrived, twenty minutes early for her first lesson, staring at the lavish landscaping in front of the columned building through her windshield, she wasn’t sure she had made the right decision. Golf had nothing to do with her job in marketing. Her performance over the last several years garnered rave reviews from both superiors and clients alike and her colleagues adored and respected her. She didn’t need to be good at golf.

My marketing game is on par, I don’t need a golf score, too. That thought drew a laugh from her and gave her the courage to go meet this golf pro, Bradley Bradshaw.

“Who names their kid Brad Brad, anyway?” she muttered under her breath as she stepped into the lobby. Her sneakers squeaked with every step she took, giving her the feeling that everyone was staring at her, judging her.

She saw a group of men standing over by the pro shop, impeccably dressed and impossibly handsome, all three of them. One of them looked like a living Ken doll and another looked straight out of the California surf. The third reminded her of a more handsome Ricky Ricardo with his jet black hair and brown eyes. They all looked up as she passed, her eyes darting away quickly to avoid being caught, though they didn’t seem to care if they were taking their turn to ogle her as their eyes followed her inside.

She scanned the small shop, spotting another broad shouldered man, his back towards her as he arranged stock behind the counter. She approached slowly, still dreading the actual lesson but slightly less apprehensive about meeting her instructor. If he was half as attractive as the male models standing at the door she’d have trouble paying attention, but at least she’d have some eye candy.

“Excuse me,” she called, stepping up to the counter. As the man turned, she had to suppress a gasp. His eyes drew her in immediately. Warm and dark, they reminded her of tidepools on the beach, the sand turning the ocean water a brownish shade before it washed back out to sea.

The depths of his enchantment deepened when her eyes landed on the soft brown mustache, something that would have been commonplace forty years ago but had fallen out of fashion - and rightfully so - yet somehow, this man pulled it off. The faded scars on his cheeks told of a deep past, something that piqued her curiosity without him ever having spoken a word. As his eyes focused on her face, his lips curled into a soft smile, making her swoon inside.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked. His voice was rich and velvety, wrapping her in a warmth that made her feel safe.

“I’m looking for Bradley Bradshaw? I have a lesson at 3,” she said, controlling her voice well enough that he didn’t hear the tremble of anxiety or the breathlessness of her attraction towards him.

“You’ve found him. It’s nice to meet you.” He rounded the edge of the counter and extended his hand. His hand engulfed hers, calloused and warm and strong.

“You say that now. But by the time our lesson is over for today you may feel differently.” She chuckled as she let his hand go, casting her eyes down in embarrassment.

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, I’m terrible at anything athletic.”

His eyebrows raised and his arms folded across his chest as he eyed her in disbelief. “I highly doubt that, sweetheart. I bet you could run circles around me.”

“Well, running isn’t really athletic and -”

“Running builds stamina. It’s important for pretty much every other sport as well as…other activities.” He winked and her face flushed, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth as her eyes found anything else to look at. The whistles and cheers from the group of men were silenced with a single look before he turned his attention back to her. “Let’s head out to the driving range. See what you’ve got.”

She let him walk in front of her when an idea crossed her mind. “What does driving have to do with golf?” she scoffed with a tsk. When Bradley turned around, his mouth ajar and eyebrows furrowed, it took everything in her to keep a straight face.

"You're kidding right?"

"I know about the golf carts but I mean, I drove here in a car. Shouldn't that count for something?"

Bradley scrubbed his hand down his face, folding his arms across his chest covering the sigh that escaped him with a hand over his mouth.

"I told you I'm not athletic!"

"That's not - I mean I - You -" he stammered as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, resting his hands on his hips when his gaze returned to her. When his eyes landed on her face, her eyes twinkled with mischief and her bottom lip pinched between her teeth, his jaw dropped. "You're fucking with me."

Laughter burst from her mouth, her head tipping back before she doubled over. Several long moments later, struggling to catch her breath, she wiped tears from her eyes. “The look on your face, Bradley. It was worth everything,” she stated through her laughter.

“Worth me dropping you as a client?” he offered.

“Oh, absolutely. I don’t even want to learn golf,” she shrugged.

“So why hire me?”

“It’ll give me an edge for a promotion,” she sighed. “Old white men and their boys clubs. They invited me to go golfing with them this weekend at some private course and I know zip about how to play.”

“Old white men and - you wouldn’t be talking about Mitchell, Simpson, and Caine, would you?”

“How did you know that?” she questioned, her eyes narrowing.

“They play on my dad’s course.”

“Wait, Goose is your dad?”

“Yeah, they were all in the Navy together -”

“Before they retired and went their separate ways and get together every couple of weeks to hang out.” She shut her eyes and groaned. Of course that would be the case. “I’ve heard their stories a thousand times. I work for Caine Technology.”

“In that case, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Bradley smirked, “he sucks at golf. So do the other three, my dad included.”

“Then how did you become a golf pro?”

“Sorry, that information is reserved for a second date.”

“A second date? I wasn’t aware this was a first date,” she flirted.

“Well, this isn’t, exactly. But I had planned on offering to buy you a drink afterwards at this great place I know that just happens to be attached to a restaurant.”

“Did I just ruin your plans?”

“Depends on what your answer is.”

“And if my answer is yes?”

“Then I guess you haven’t ruined my plans.” Bradley tucked his hands in his pockets and grinned at her, a boyish smile that made his eyes light up.

“Good,” she smirked, but her expression soon sobered and she looked very serious. “But my plans consist of beating your dad’s friends at golf so I need you to show me everything you know.”

“In that case, let’s work on your short game first. None of them can putt worth a damn,” he chuckled as he offered his arm and led her to the practice area. His track record with women had him sitting pretty in the nest as an Eagle, but with Carla, he wanted to get an ace or at least avoid the sand and land in the green.

#writercole #country club au #a drive for love collection #golf pro bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster #top gun maverick #tgm #cole loves stacey

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starrypawz · 3 months

Note

Orange Sunsets from the sensory prompts

Sensory Prompts AO3 (Another very old prompt in the inbox dealt with)

Another evening, another rooftop.

Another evening where Ronan had received texts that were a variant of “Are you busy?”

Another evening where Ronan had responded (maybe a little too quickly) with, “Not really,”

Ronan can feel the ever present background radiation of humanity as the late summer sunset starts to creep in.

This area seems to be the current darling of les riche, nouveau, vieux, aspirante. A playground of hedonism, seemingly mercurial and irreverent. And brings a glittering electric thrum to the background radiation of Los Diablos that constantly pulses through their mind.

But if they tune in further the thrum takes on it’s callous, paranoid and desperate and makes their brain itch if they pay too much attention.

But then, most things make their brain itch if they pay too much attention to it so that’s nothing new.

“Aren’t you meant to be down there?”

Down There in this case referencing a nearby club where the thrum of the music can just be heard and it almost matches the thrum of the background radiation of humanity and it’s a little overwhelming.

But then most things are a little overwhelming, what else is new?

Ricardo shrugs, “Probably,”

“You look like you’re meant to be down there,” Ronan eyes him up. He’s dressed in a way that on the surface looks understated, ‘too cool to care’ but to those who know they know better.

“C’mon,” He sighs playfully, “Do we have to play this game?”

“I mean do you blame me?” Ronan sighs, less playfully, “You’re the flavour of the month, and you’re meant to be at the latest flavour of the month to create intrigue and yet-”

“Yet?” He interupts with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re up here with me and not with your people?”

“My people huh?”

“Yeah,”

There’s something about that your people/my people that hangs weirdly heavy on the air now it’s been spoken but Ronan doesn’t have time to linger on that as he grins and takes a step closer and gently curls his fingers under Ronan’s jaw and that’s enough to make their pulse kicks up.

He kisses them.

It’s soft and tastes a little of whatever probably ridiculously expensive alcohol he’s been drinking and Ronan doesn’t even try to fight the way their body moulds to his as he pulls them in closer, a hand on the small of their back and they rest a hand on that deceptively understated shirt of his that was never intended to be touched by hands like theirs.

He’s the one to break it and catches his lip as he pulls back and Ronan feels their pulse kick up even more.

The sunset has no business making his artfully rumpled dark hair glow like a halo.

“Do you really think those are my people?”

#starry writes stuff #fallen hero #fhr #fallen hero rebirth #sidestep ronan brown #ricardo ortega #fhr ortega #ortega fallen hero rebirth #chargestep

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allthebrazilianpolitics · 9 days

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Guilherme Boulos Wants to Be the Brazilian Left’s Next Big Star

The activist turned lawmaker is running for mayor of São Paulo. Can he score a win for the left in an age of rising conservatism?

“This young man, he’s competing in a real war here in São Paulo,” said Brazil’s President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, as he grabbed the arm of a sheepish, grinning Guilherme Boulos, at a May Day event in São Paulo, and held it aloft. “Nobody can defeat this kid.”

It was a moment rich in symbolism, for both short- and long-term reasons.

In October, Boulos hopes to be elected mayor of Brazil’s biggest city, in what looks like a tight race against the incumbent Ricardo Nunes, who is backed by another former president, Jair Bolsonaro on the right.

If Boulos wins that race, he will be well-positioned to claim an even bigger prize. At age 41, and with a thick black beard, Boulos bears more than a passing resemblance to a young Lula—and has long been seen as a possible heir apparent at the national level. But first, he will probably need to complete a transition from polarizing left-wing organizer to mainstream politician, just as Lula himself did in the early 2000s.

#brazil #brazilian politics #politics #guilherme boulos #mod nise da silveira #image description in alt

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guardianbee · 11 months

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I just realized that what sets Netflix's Stretch Armstrong above the rest of contemporary superhero cartoons is that it gave each protagonist a rich inner and personal life, both separate from their superhero identity AND serving as their motivation to become a superhero. Compare Jake, Nathan, Ricardo, and Riya to Marvel's Spider-Man's main protagonists - Peter, Miles, Anya, Gwen, and Harry.

Out of the five MSM protags, only Peter has his personal life consistently explored. Harry's personal life is explored but only in opposition to Peter's, and once Harry's arc concludes in S1, he drops off as a protagonist entirely and becomes a supporting character in S2 & S3. While Gwen gets some personal life development in S1, it is to only forward the villain-of-the-week plotline. Once that resolves, Gwen is hardly given any real character growth except in a few key episodes with Anya. We never see her father or what her life is like outside of Horizon High. Miles and Anya both have a single episode that explores their family dynamics and THEN we only see Jefferson and (a fake!) Maria as poorly-executed villains to add drama to the last half of S3. Neither Miles or Anya organically develops without either Peter or Gwen around.

With Stretch Armstrong, each of the protagonist's family and past are explored. You get the backstory, you get familial dynamics, and you get motivations. Jake wants to be a hero to both escape the confines of the rigid expectations his father places on him AND because he feels like he can finally put all the lessons his dad taught him to use. Nathan wants to be a hero to protect his family and stay close to his friends. Ricardo wants to be a hero because he finally wants to belong somewhere - he wants community, and he wants friends that he doesn't have to leave behind. Riya's primary motivation is avenging her parents and taking down Rook before his corporate schemes go too far. And notice how all their motivations are distinct to their family dynamics and personal ambitions!

Why do Gwen, Anya, and Miles want to be heroes? We don't learn about Miles' desire to protect his neighborhood until S3! What are they motivated by? Just a desire to help? They're just naturally good people and want to make the world a better place? But why? Where does that desire come from? What do their family and community think of them - how are they motivated by those factors? MSM hardly explores that - MSM is primarily in service to the fantastical elements of Peter's life. And, when we do have time to catch up on the protags' personal lives, it is almost always Peter that has these moments. The MSM writers wanted to give Peter a team but then they never explored that team, never gave the audience to care about them other than "they're Peter's friends," while Stretch Armstrong gave Jake a team and THEN chose to develop each protagonist into their own fully-realized character. The show was about Jake but his team was not there to just serve his character and story - they each had their OWN character and OWN story. Had SAATFF been picked up for an S3, I'm almost positive Erika's personal life outside of Nathan would also have been fully explored to the point of being a main character rather than a secondary one.

IDK man, it just feels like contemporary superhero shows and comics in general can't balance the fantastical with the average, day-to-day lives of their protagonists. That's why ITSV and ATSV are so revered and stand out - because of that balance. Miles is a compelling character because he deals with and endures all these fantastical elements of his life WHILE having problems with his parents and deciding what his future will entail. Gwen is a compelling character for similar reasons. Their romance is compelling for these reasons - balancing the fantastical with the mundane - Gwen protecting Miles by keeping him away from Spider Society and all of its secrets, but still feeling jealous when Miles eyes Margo; Miles coming along with Gwen to earth-50101 to help her and then slightly panicking upon learning Gwen has been staying on another earth with a dude named Hobie.

If superhero writers have forgotten this, if they can't find that balance and explore it, then we're really in fucking trouble for years and years to come.

#idk i was just remembering that saatf was such a good show #and since i've been watching msm and thinking of how empty it is outside of parksborn #the comparison was bound to come #marvel's spider man #stretch armstrong #stretch armstrong and the flex fighters #saatff #peter parker #jake armstrong #posts on the run #text post

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knightotoc · 3 months

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One fun thing about watching a fuckton of movies all the time is I'll be watching some random old thing and slowly realize a classic movie took heavy inspiration from it. These are the ones I've stumbled across:

Hatchet for the Honeymoon (1970) -> American Psycho (2000)

Poor Little Rich Girl (1917) -> Wizard of Oz (1939)

Burnt Offerings (1976) -> The Shining (1980)

It would be cool if these older films were actually better than their famous descendants, like how books are usually better than their film adaptations, and original movies are usually better than their remakes, but this is not the case. At least for these three examples, the classics deserve the hype and the older films are elevated by the association.

It is a cool experience to identify some visual or conceptual similarity, and then see more and more similarities as you go, especially if the themes and ideas behind these images are very different. For example, the dream in PLRG is visually similar but much scarier than the dream in Wizard of Oz, because you're aware that she's in great danger from poisoning. It is a more melodramatic situation, told in a less ambiguous style (this is very much the case for all 3 originals).

I love comparing how different actors treat the same role, especially if I can get a contrarian opinion out of it (Ricardo Cortez' Sam Spade > Bogie's). It is especially striking to compare Oliver Reed to Jack Nicholson in the role of "scary dad." Nicholson is much creepier, but Reed is arguably scarier as he is so physically imposing and goes in and out of self-control. Certainly his death is scarier.

I suppose the main thing I'm trying to get my head around is this idea that classic movies are incredibly influential, but they themselves are not original sources, just better ones.

#american psycho #wizard of oz #the shining #hatchet for the honeymoon #poor little rich girl #burnt offerings

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mtr-amg · 2 months

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The world’s youngest billionaire is Livia Voigt, 19, who has a $1.1bn fortune thanks to a 3.1% stake in WEG Industries, a Brazilian electrical equipment producer co-founded by her grandfather Werner Ricardo. He died in 2016. Her older sister Dora Voigt de Assis, 26, is also on the list. Experts at the Swiss bank UBS said: “During the next 20 to 30 years, over 1,000 of today’s billionaires are likely to transfer more than $5.2tn to their heirs. How do we calculate this number? Simply by adding up the wealth of the 1,023 billionaires who are aged 70 or more today. “Looking to the longer term, the exceptional wealth resulting from the boom in entrepreneurial activity since the 1990s has established a foundation for future generations of billionaire families.”

All billionaires under 30 have inherited their wealth, research finds | Rich lists | The Guardian

#eat the rich

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cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal · 10 months

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For that ask game, “yeah no, 'sorry' isn't going to cut it this time." And/or “it’s not your fault” (for two different ones or whichever you’re feeling more!) open to the OC(s) of your choosing!

Sorry for taking forever on this. This was a stupidly challenging couple of prompts. I've managed to get the one for "It's not your fault" done. I'll keep working on "Sorry isn't going to cut it this time" and reblog this with the finished piece.

Pairing: Cassandra (Remus)/Ricardo

Warnings: Dysphoria, Suggestive Themes, and Puppet-Based Lies

Ricardo laughs as Remus throws popcorn at the screen. It’s a good sound, rich and full and accompanied by a crinkle at his nose as Remus boos at the wooden actors they’re watching. “You’d never come up with such a good line,” he complains. “This movie’s writing is unrealistic.” He stops himself from wincing as the voice comes out higher than his own, reminding him sharply that he is not himself right now. He is Cassandra. Ricardo is laughing at her, smiling at her, not him.

“Hey, I’m incredible at banter,” Ricardo protests, lacing his words with hurt for the drama of it.

Remus shoves Ricardo’s shoulder, just enough for him to rock gently in his seat and when he leans back into Cassandra, he wraps an arm around her shoulder. “How would I know?” Remus huffs. A lie, but it’s bound to push Ricky’s buttons. Cassandra’s lips twist in a wry smile as Remus lines up the shot. “You could be saying anything out there fighting villains. It’s not like you take a mic out with you.” He gasps, widening his eyes to complete the effect. "Is that why you don't? So no one can know how bad your one-liners are?"

He turns to face her, turning those warm brown eyes and brilliant smile that makes Remus melt every time. How long has he wondered what it’s like to have that smitten look directed at him? To know what it feels like for Ricky to want him?

Pressing his hand to his chest, Ricardo pitches his voice up incredulously. “Are you calling me a liar, Reyes?”

It was a mistake to let him call Cassandra by her surname. Too close to his old nickname, too close to old memories, too easy to mistake her for himself. It makes Remus bold. That and the couple of beers he’s had tonight. He brushes some of Cassandra’s curls - so much like his, same color and texture but so much longer than he’s ever been able to grow his - out of her face. He raises her eyebrow imperiously, “I guess that depends on if you’re lying.” He leans forward, knowing that it lets Cassandra’s already low cut shirt sink lower. He’s close enough to Ricardo that he can smell the cologne he always wears around Cassandra. “Are you a good liar?”

Ricardo’s eyes flash down to Cassandra’s chest and back up. If Remus hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed it. Ricky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. His pupils are a little too wide. Predictable as always. Ever the sucker for a pretty face and a good flirt.

“My mouth has many talents, I’ll have you know.” His grin is positively hungry. It makes Remus want to bite his lip, draw the hunger free from the smugness. “Lying, included.”

Remus slides Cassandra’s hand over the couch cushions and up onto Ricardo’s leg. He doesn’t take his eyes off Ricardo as he trails lazy circles across his inner thigh. He always did like to sprawl out. Leave himself open to anyone who might take advantage. People like Remus. And, by extension, like Cassandra. Ricardo’s eyes blow wide as Remus drags Cassandra’s manicured nails further up his leg. Not hard, just enough for Ricky to feel it through his trousers.

Remus doesn’t need his telepathy to see the way Ricky’s pupils blow wide. The way his lips part and his breath hitches ever so slightly. “I bet it does, Ortega,” Cassandra’s voice makes the words into almost a purr, pushes it past the threshold of suggestive and into the realm of the obscene.

He shouldn't do this. Agreeing to a movie night was bad enough - too close to their shared past. It’s too easy to fall into old habits, to be too comfortable. But he’s sitting closer to Ricky than he has in years, basking in the warm light of his deep brown eyes, sharing in the brilliance of his smile. So when Ricky leans in, close enough that Remus can feel the warmth of his breath, Remus’ heart skips a beat.

“Care to find out?” Ricky smirks, like the line’s something to be proud of.

Remus groans, but doesn’t lean away. “Dios, that was corny.”

Ricky opens his mouth, no doubt to defend himself, but Remus grabs the front of his shirt and drags him down. He tastes like popcorn butter and his terrible craft beers, but Remus doesn’t mind because he’s kissing Ricky. He’s kissing Ricky. He’s kissing the man he’s held a candle for as long as he can remember. Regardless of what he tastes like, it tastes like victory. Like coming home.

Ricky’s moans into his mouth and it takes all of Remus’ self-control not to melt into him. When Ricky’s hands grip his waist, he gasps, and lets Ricky slide him onto his lap without a fight. He cards his hands in Ricky’s hair, presses himself as close to Ricky as he can. He trails kisses across Ricky’s cheek, up his jaw, burying his nose in the curls behind Ricky’s ear.

He settles into the way Ricky’s touching him. Hands roaming down his sides until they slink around his hips, gripping his ass lightly. Remus sighs in contentment against Ricky’s neck before pressing open-mouthed kisses down the curve of it. Maybe he’ll leave a few bruises, just to piss off the Rangers’ PR team. Give the makeup department a little extra work in the morning. Leave something of himself behind for Ricky to carry.

He smiles when he hears the stutter in Ricky’s breath. It’s nice for the tables to turn, for him to be the one causing Ricky’s heart to race and breathe to catch. But it’s not enough. He wants more. Wants to feel Ricky want him, to hear the desperation for him. Remus grinds his hips down against Ricky, relishing in the feel of Ricky straining against his zipper.

Ricky grips him tighter, pulling him so close he can feel the rumble through Ricky’s chest as he groans, “Cassandra.”

Something hot and ragged rips through Remus’ chest, dragging a choked gasp from his throat. No, not his throat. Cassandra’s throat. He freezes, his eyes snapping open as the reality of the situation settles into his bones. The world goes quiet as Remus recenters himself, trying to shake the weight that’s dragging him further into the choppy waters of his heart, and he can just barely make out Ricardo’s voice.

“- Reyes…What’s wrong?” There’s worry in his voice, palpable even through the five walls between it and Remus’ mind. His hands are loosening their grip on Cassandra and he draws his head back to look at her. “Was it something I did?”

Remus shakes his head, fumbling off Ricardo’s lap. He presses his palms into his eyes. When did he start crying? He wipes away the tears furiously. “No, it wasn’t you,” and this time he doesn’t catch the wince at the sound of Cassandra’s voice. “I can’t do this.”

Ricardo reaches forward for a second, but drops his hands uselessly at his side. Every part of him looks tensed as though he wants to leap up and help. But he can’t. How could he? He doesn’t even know what’s going on. “I’m sorry.”

Remus laughs and it comes out high and hysterical and grows even more so as he hears it. He hugs Cassandra’s arms around her body, but it just highlights the differences, just makes him feel worse. “It’s not your fault.” And it’s not. It’s really not. It’s not fair to even pretend it is. Even if it would make Remus feel better. “It’s not. I promise.”

He stumbles to his feet, nearly slamming the back of his shins into the coffee table as he does. The pain brings a little more clarity to his mind and Remus clings to it like an anchor as he forces Cassandra’s feet towards the door. “I have to go,” he manages to choke out as he slips her heels back on.

“Cas- Reyes, wait!” And Ricardo is getting up to his feet, but Remus is already out the door. He’d always been the faster of the two. Funny. Just another thing he and Cassandra share.

He takes the stairs two at a time, not even bothering to look back as the doorman calls out a farewell in the lobby. If Ricardo follows him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care. Remus doesn’t stop running until he’s nearly home.

#fic: remus #remus ramirez #ricardo ortega #ortega/puppet #fhr fic #cigs writes

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