Yet ANOTHER screenshot redraw! Gosh, I missed doing these.
So, I’ve remembered an old video from once again, good old Krazy Ken. And who better being depicted digging their arm into a box of Reese’s Puffs than Finnigan himself.
ALTFinnigan is a character created by @kaylarcreates for the project titled Bowie’s Parlor.
“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”
“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”
Braden squinted his eyes and pouted his lips at the camera, flirting with himself through the screen of his iPhone 17. Hitting stop on the TikTok record button, he exhaled heavily through his nostrils and his face resumed its previous agitated expression. Something was off. He rewatched what he’d recorded.
“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”
Good neutral lighting, suntanned skin, hair coiffed precisely, teeth freshly bleached. Maybe he’d gone a little hard with the eyebrow pencil? No, that wasn’t it, he needed that for angularity. Maybe the wall was a bad colour, did the white wash him out? No, high contrast makes the skin look tanner.
“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”
He looked closer. Was the chain tacky? Of course. But it was tongue-in-cheek, it was ironic, it’s meta. That definitely wasn’t it.
“Mami you remind me —”
The shirt was too tight. Tearing his eyes away from the phone, he looked at his outstretched wrist. The sleeve cuff sat too high on his forearm. Shifting attention, he flipped the bottom of the shirt to read the tag. Hollister, Men’s Small. This was Demir’s shirt. A fist banged on the door, punctuating the moment before he had the chance to form an internal reaction.
“Clav, I need to piss, let’s GO! You shit yourself or what?”
Fuck, he forgot Demir was here. How long had he been recording? With one quick stride he clicked back the lock and opened the door. Demir stood in the door frame, face to face.
“Jesus, I thought you fell in,” he cast his gaze downwards to the cheap cloth that clad Braden’s chest, “Is that my shirt?”
“Is it?”
Braden would never have admitted it, but his first summation of Demir had been that he needed to lower his expectations for ascension. Cruel, he knew it. That’s why he hadn’t said it. Weight loss, new wardrobe, maybe a few pointers on body language and a different haircut would all be an improvement. There was structure underneath the flab, he could tell. But the way Demir had spoken about what he dreamed was possible, what Braden could do for him? Frankly, he had dictated internally that Demir needed to be realistic about his maximum potential. Honestly, the promise of making content with a low tier normie, that had been the real draw. Braden was pitiless, the cruelty had never stopped him from relaying stabbing honesty before. But Braden had fallen victim to Demir, someone he could recognise himself in without confronting what that revealed, who he could feel close to without ever surrendering his distance, and Demir had made the unwise decision to let Braden impress him.
Looming behind Demir, he watched them both in the large bathroom mirror. Demir stood tentatively. He placed two fingers between Demir’s shoulder blades, pressing lightly until his posture straightened. He then placed his hands on Demir’s shoulders, pulling them back to align him. Demir moved accordingly. The gratification was instant, correcting someone and watching them fall into place. Braden found Demir’s responsiveness difficult not to appreciate, a quiet order that soothed his busy mind. Moving now to face his protégé, he tucked Demir’s floppy bangs out of his face. He traced his fingers over his jaw, measuring his mandible and gonial angle with his hands. He abruptly pinched Demir’s cheek and watched him wince. Demir’s skin lacked firmness, the tautness that Braden chased. The last gatherings of fat in his cheeks persisted, clinging unwaveringly to Demir’s face. Braden looked down at his jutting collarbones, then back to his face, today lacking the same definition. Water retention. The puffy appearance irked him. He rubbed Demir’s skin till it stung red, trying to mold his flesh into compliance.
“You’re bloated. What have you been eating?”
“Just what you told me to.”
“Well, your weight has plateaued for 3 weeks.”
Braden placed one hand on Demir’s sternum and the other on his back. He felt his body fill with breath, then exhale with a shallow sigh. He seemed nervous.
“You can lose 7 more pounds,” he concluded, “show me your teeth.”
Demir opened his mouth and exposed his teeth. Clenched and jagged, they had a natural structure, stained yellow, devaluing his face. Was he not using the cream he’d given him? Braden poked at his gums. A small pearl of blood dripped from the tissue. Braden swept it away with his finger. He deduced observationally the consequences of Demir’s urgency.
Now Demir began to take the shape of something people noticed. They were out on the town, streaming. Miami’s bustling streets hummed with Latin music and drunken conversation. Braden gulped down liquid assurance while Demir spoke buoyantly to the digital audience about driving Braden’s new car and the club they were about to dive into. They shimmied their way past bystanders and ushered themselves inside. For a moment Braden saw nothing, darkness blinding him. Then slowly shapes and colour pierced through as his eyes began to adjust. The crowd rolled in ceaseless convolutions, flashing red, blue and purple as the strobes flitted through colours that shone on their skin. Demir had disappeared, but adrenaline fuelled and restless, Braden heard him yelling out lyrics to XO Tour Llif3 along with the masses, and he snorted at the childish sincerity, knowing now that he was close by. When Demir re-entered his vision, a young woman with blonde blow out hair and perky tits had materialised beside him. Demir engaged her, and Breden watched her laugh and make eyes at him while Demir danced in a caricature manner. Braden directed the cameraman towards this sight, and stood behind to watch through the screen without commentary the two bob in and out of frame. She squeezed Demir’s arm to steady herself as the crowd swayed, bumping the two closer. Desire gripped them both at once, and could be felt washing through the camera. She leaned forward and held the nape of his neck to kiss him, and Demir’s hesitance melted away to meet her there.
When the two had first met, Demir disclosed prematurely to Braden his tribulations with the female sex. Tipsy and unthinking, he had lamented to Braden about his chronic virginity and the stubborn indifference women expressed towards him. Braden had lent an empathetic ear, and Demir had seemed relieved to discover his overbearing honesty had not scared him off. Braden set Demir up with a young lady whose loyalties lay more with himself than any desire for the man she was meeting. Demir had called Braden up that night and relayed to him the events of his maiden encounter. Demir had charmed her, wooed her, fucked her according to Braden’s precise advice. Of course he had, Braden had manufactured a home run. He had heard Demir’s anticipatory pauses over the phone, waiting for parts of the story to land. His voice had been a raspy whisper, hushed as to not disturb his sleeping company. Repeating her praises and whimpers, Demir had described the act as if it were foreign to Braden. For a moment Braden had become aware of his own body. Demir had wanted him to know more than he had wanted it. Braden saw Demir as a product of his design, somewhat an appendage by way of intellectual property, and so had included Demir’s budding sexuality as an extension of his own. He had been frigid and celibate, sexually frustrated, but through Braden’s authorship, Demir had ripened into an object of carnal ardour. Once they hung up, Braden had rolled over in his bed. Could Demir tell it was Braden she wanted? He had pondered the effect that may have had on Demir’s experience. He dismissed the thought immediately. Perhaps he should have felt shame.
Now at the club, Braden watched the way the light danced on the gleaming skin of the two faces in front of him, flickering in and out of vision as the horde stirred and churned. Demir slid his hand down to the small of her back and she caressed his chest, mouths open and voracious. When he broke away, Demir spoke inaudibly into her ear, then pulled back a little to read her reaction. His face had formed that imploring look. She giggled coyly. As per Demir’s responsive nature, his cheeks flushed and in seeking her approval, mirrored her expression of yearning. Braden noticed how he’d gripped her hips like he’d told him to.
So this was it, the point where people reacted to the transformation like they had discovered it, like they’d been there at the beginning. Archaeologists posturing alongside their spoils like they’d forged the lot themselves. Braden absorbed the sight, Demir rousing the intrigue previously exclusive to himself. Something he’d actualised, nurtured, sharpened, now moving through the world like it washed up on shore fully formed. Demir, naive and frivolous, acted now through the intrepidness her eyes were providing him, as though he were actually something impressive. Most people never examined their world or themselves long enough to come to any insightful conclusions. Demir, as dynamic and disarming as he was, was plagued by half efforts, and frustratingly, seemed to be unaware of the full extent of this quality. Demir’s vision would wander to things that were lenient, he lived for convenience, he detested challenges. Now his eyes were all over her, eager to satisfy and she responded reciprocatorily. That obliging look written on his agreeable little face, a trace replicate of his willing, dutiful advance the night when Braden misjudged his dosage. Demir had looked at him, and examined him, and had stirred in Braden his poppy bruise; that a curtain had torn that night that may never be repaired. The blonde pulled Demir by the belt out of Braden’s view, stroking his cheek. In a breathy voice, she surely gushed over him. He was entranced. She was easy. You let someone impress you, they’ll have you believe anything. Braden patiently awaited Demir to lock eyes with him. Demir didn’t look back.
Braden revved the engine of this rented BMW X7 down the quiet suburban roads of the palm-lined cul-de-sac where Demir was staying. He was flying home to California tomorrow evening. Braden hadn’t asked him how long he’d be gone. He knew that distance had a way of loosening habits, and time made it difficult to return to sources of discomfort. Braden was hard on him, yes. But he never asked him to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He imagined Demir’s parents. Mr. Basceri, passive and domesticated, would have his new girlfriend tell Demir vaguely that his father was proud of him and concerned for him, and Demir would be none the wiser on which was true and why. Demir’s delicate mother would cry at the sight of him, remind him that he’d nothing to prove and try to reconcile this visitor she saw before her with her son that had left her 4 months ago. Demir, stricken by the comfort of familiarity and Braden’s contrast highlighted by their separation, would let the bliss swallow him like the sheets on his old childhood bed, warm and painless. But still, Braden had learned Demir wouldn’t dare look at himself without a clear voice in his head to ease his worries and help him to compartmentalise them. No one had ever believed in Demir the way Braden had, no one had ever truly invested in him, it was completely reasonable to expect he would do him the fucking decency of develivering on consistancy.
As they pulled up to the rented condo, Braden turned off the engine and the pair sat motionless for a moment. Demir smiled at his phone, texting her. He ran his hand through his own dark hair. Braden studied him for a moment longer. Demir’s face now registered stillness. He looked at Braden. His eyes were clear, he’d always look right at you. Braden didn’t ruminate on it any longer. Demir would always feel the draw back to the place that had first shown him what he was worth. Braden reached out and gave Demir’s back one firm pat, then unbunched the back of his collar, which was about as fond as his emotionally stunted attributes would allow for at this moment. Demir laughed dotingly, smiled back reverently and returned the gesture. Braden heard that little rasp in Demir’s voice. He left the car wordlessly, uncharacteristically, perhaps to content him. They both accepted there was nothing that needed to be said.
Braden’s apartment was chilled, drafty. His refrigerator buzzed its mechanical rhythm. A pipe in the ceiling chittered above him. The lamp he’d left on mistakenly expelled its yellow glow. He felt the clammy sensation of sweat on his back. The urge to chemically release itched. Moving to his bedroom, he leaned on his desk to root through its drawers, when his eye was caught. Black cotton acrylic blend draped over his desk chair. He flattened the creased collar, re-buttoned the left cuff. Hollister, Men’s Small.
bipolar disorder is just wow, how are people living with this?! I’m loosing my mind every hour
megneztem a lokal kinalatot, ha mar itt vagyok, es hat
nem annyira szornyu, mint amennyire hittem! persze az mas kerdes, hogy intellektualisan milyen a szinvonal (es kozben rajottem arra is, hogy akiknek az ‘esete’ v7agyok az ai szerint, azok kurvara nem az en eseteim :D)
a projekt meg el, viszont mar sokkal gyorsabban el tudom donteni, hogy kik a cryptosok es kik az eselytelenek (es trnyleg alig van itt halas kep 🤣)
a pm meg rdmelem mar izgatottan varja, hogy egymasra talaljunk!!
egy pentek reggelt meg fel tudok itt ajanlani valakinek :))))
one more thing i will say about the blackpink comeback then i’ll stfu i promise is that i 100% believe this EP was supposed to come out before the tour but yg can’t do anything right so 🤷🏼♀️
دعت شركات النفط والغاز الاتحاد الأوروبي يوم الإثنين إلى تأجيل تطبيق قانون الانبعاثات الميثانية، محذرة من أن القواعد الصارمة القادمة قد تُعطل واردات الوقود إلى أوروبا بدءًا من العام المقبل.
تحذيرات من صدمة واردات الوقود
جاءت الدعوة بعد أن طالبت الحكومة الأمريكية الاتحاد الأوروبي بإعفاء النفط والغاز الأمريكي من القواعد الجديدة. ومن جانبه، قدمت بروكسل بعض خيارات الامتثال المرنة للشركات، لكنها رفضت…
شركات النفط والغاز تضغط على الاتحاد الأوروبي لتأجيل قانون الانبعاثات الميثانية
High BP, Low BP & Normal BP Range Guide | Symptoms & BP Machine | HealthyRaho.in
UFO leszàlló pàlya egy Dunaparty fövenyen, vagy egy kerek erdő random tisztásán UV fényárban? Goa partyt láttam már sok psychedelikus díszlet között, de ilyen monumentális effektje még NEM volt.. Soha! Ez lenyűgöző volt! Valószerűtlen. Unreal. Elképesztő.. elfogytak a szavak.
A screenshot of the romance movie, “Broken Hearts at First Sight”, featuring Thalia, circa 1999.
Prior to Thalia’s teaching career, she was a well-known 1980s starlet, who has been featured in many films. However, the last film she has featured was the 1999 romance movie, “Broken Hearts at First Sight”, a movie that, unfortunately, was getting mediocre reviews.
The movie featured Thalia as the protagonist, named Francine. She was given this news that her lover would rather stay as just acquaintances, than being significant others, stating that he doesn’t feel as much love as he does with her since the first time they met. It was only then that she finally started to accept that he is no longer someone she’s always going to look up to.
It was only sometime at around the year 2000 that she finally decided to retire from her career of being a film actress, and decided to become a teacher in Gelato Square instead, and the rest is history.
I had a silly idea where I should make some angsty scenes. I haven’t given ANY Bowie’s characters any sort of angsty treatment, and who else is better to give such treatment to, than Thalia herself? In all seriousness, I am still obsessed with Thalia, especially her absolute 1980s starlet appearance. UGGHHHH!!! SO ADORBS!
Thalia is a character created by @kaylarcreates for the project titled Bowie’s Parlor.
