#apples Tumblr posts

  • subwoofermania
    06.12.2021 - 3 minutes ago
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  • theletterunread
    06.12.2021 - 15 minutes ago

    Gothic Tale


    Not that I see much of anybody anymore, but I imagine that what would shock people most were I to tell them my story would not be the terrors of my three months in New Hampshire, but the notion that I once worked in reality television. For 25 years, I’ve been known only as a hermit and a luddite. My cabin has only one electronic device – a smoke detector that the woman who brings my bi-weekly groceries insisted I put up. “I get frightened,” she told me. “One night, you’ll leave one of those candles burning after you go to sleep, and you’ll cook to death.” Burning to death, I have long known, is not the worst fate that can befall a person, but to put her mind at ease – and to stop her continual offers to have her brother install “just a few simple lights” – I agreed to accept the device.

    It was not always so. In 2021, when I lived in Hollywood, I was in a first-floor apartment and kept late hours, so the lights were flipped on for hours. I kept my air conditioner running anytime the temperature threatened to rise above 78 degrees. My home was full of dozens of small gizmos burning up kilowatt-hours: cell phone chargers, coffee machines, an electric toothbrush and Waterpik, two video game consoles (one contemporary, one vintage), and of course, my computer, connected to my router and connecting me to the world outside.

    Like anyone who ventures onto the internet, most of my time there was wasted, but I forced myself to spend at least one hour a day hustling, a term I am disgusted to think I ever willingly applied to myself. I was searching for serious camera operator positions, having told myself a year earlier that I would no longer do student films. I believed they were holding me back, preventing professionals from taking me seriously. This may have been true, but they were at least paying my bills, and after a year without work, I was nearing the reaches of my funds. So when I at last received a response to my emailed resume, an invitation to come in for an interview, I was so relieved that I didn’t register for whole minutes that the job was for a reality show.

    Not that I can claim I had an objection to reality television. I didn’t watch it, and I enjoyed privately condescending to and disdaining those who did, but there was no moral objection, no concern for the audiences being lied to or the subjects being exploited. The job was well paying, and that’s as much as I needed to know before accepting it. I mentioned it to one friend, who warned me that reality television “burns you out,” and that I “oughta be careful, dude,” which was enough to stop me from mentioning it to anybody else.

    I had a week before I was expected to be in New Hampshire, which I spent catching up on 90 Day Fiancé. The show foreigners coming to the United States on three-month visas to marry their American fiancés. The couples had 90 days in which to get married, or the foreigner would have to return home. The task of us on the crew would be to encourage and capture awkward, humiliating, culture-clashing moments to be edited into a train wreck suitable for broadcast. Once I could watch previous seasons of the show without turning away in empathetic embarrassment, I knew I was fully prepped for the job, and I boarded my plane to Logan International with confidence.


    I had been told to expect my supervising producer to meet me at the airport, but I had assumed they’d be acting in the capacity of chauffer to New Hampshire, and that we’d spend the drive going over her plans for the shoot. Instead, I was met at baggage claim, yes, by Paula, our producer, but also by the rest of the crew and a Canon C300 MKII, which they handed to me without preamble. Apparently, the bride-to-be, Elena, was arriving on a flight from Romania just behind me, and we were there to film the meeting of her and her fiancé, Caleb. He was a patently dorky 30-year-old who surprised me none when he mentioned his work as a computer programmer. He’d arrived at the airport with a banner reading “WELCOME TO AMERICA MY LOVE,” which I remarked upon, scoffing, to a sound man. He told me that the banner had been prepared for Caleb by Paula, whom I now saw was deeper in the airport, ready to intercept Elena and give her some directions we began filming.

    When Elena did arrive, Caleb held out the banner smiling, and said, “Welcome, darling. Welcome to America.” Elena smiled in what read to me as a slightly self-conscious manner, and jogged over to him. As they embraced, the other camera operators and I pushed in closer. Over Caleb’s shoulder, Paula was making an encouraging kissy face. Elena took the cue and kissed her fiancé.

    Caleb’s car had already been fitted with cameras, so he drove back to Claremont while we followed in a van, watching feed of their drive on our monitors. Their conversation consisted mainly of Caleb saying that he was happy and that he couldn’t believe she was “really here,” and her replying with one or two words at a time. She was either jetlagged or uneasy with English or nervous – and my money was on the last, because Caleb would not stop mentioning that she was about to meet his family. I remember having a faint thought that it was unusual that Caleb would set up a meeting between his fiancé and his family without giving her a chance to recover from her overseas flight, and having a fainter thought that it was strange that his aged parents would still be awake near midnight, when we would be arriving at Claremont. Had I dwelt longer on these thoughts, I might have determined earlier that something was amiss.

    Perhaps these suspicious thoughts were disrupted by my first sight of Caleb’s parents. Debbie and Alan looked fit and healthy, waving to us from the porch of their enormous Victorian mansion. Their physical appearance and obvious wealth suggested to me a kind of high mental functioning that was immediately countered by their personality. All through dinner, Debbie and Alan condescended to and insulted Elena. Referring to the generous spread of food on the dining table, Alan nudged Elena and said, “Better than peasant food, right?” which inspired Debbie to wonder if Romania was “really as dirty as the pictures make it look.” When Alan asked Elena if she’d “ever used indoor plumbing before,” and Caleb failed to speak up in her defense, I nearly interjected myself. But a look from Paula told me that she knew what I was thinking and to keep the camera rolling.

    It was astounding to me that any family would willingly be filmed looking so terrible, but I chalked it up to the lure of fame and the promise of profits therefrom. As it turned out, Debbie and Alan were profiting immediately, having worked out a deal with our production company. We crew would pay to stay in their guest house for the duration of the shoot. I had been looking forward to staying in a hotel, but I couldn’t argue with the convenience of these accommodations, and once I was situated in my bed, I realized that sleep was sleep, whatever room you have.

    At least, it is if you can be undisturbed. And on that first night, I awoke to faint whispering voices. The room was pitch black, but a crack of light shone from beneath my bedroom door, and I could see shadows moving as the whisperers milled in the hall. Silently, I threw off my covers and crept towards the door. The whispering grew clearer, but not yet discernable. As I leaned forward to put my ear to the door, a floorboard beneath me creaked. The whispering and the moving shadows abruptly stopped. Hoping to catch my disruptors in the act, I instantly threw open the door.

    There was nobody, and glancing down the hall in both directions, I could see no indication that anybody had been there in hours. I assumed that I had let a dream bleed into my waking life, and turned off the hallway’s overhead light and headed back to my bed. But the whispering voices resumed, coming now from farther down the hallway.

    I froze for only a second before padding down the hall in the direction of the noise. (It is astounding to me to remember that there was a time when I was not only unafraid of what hid in the dark, but eager to meet it.) I picked up my pace and rounded a corner, colliding with something hard and heavy. I fumbled, found a light switch, and saw that I had bumped into a stack of equipment cases. I recalled now that this dead-end was where the rest of the crew and I were storing our lights, cameras, and sound equipment.

    I picked up a wireless microphone receiver, which was still switched on. It was emitting a steady, blank whispering noise. I switched it off and finally there was complete silence. I walked back to my room, telling myself that I had resolved the mystery. But a subconscious choice betrayed my true feelings: I did not turn off the hallway lights.


    Filming began in earnest, and it was a dull job. All but the most credulous viewers surely know this already, but the drama seen on reality television is highly manufactured. Being present to filming Elena, Caleb, and his parents was not at all entertaining. I requested to Paula that I be transferred to a b-crew, filming footage around Claremont to add color to context to the main story. This was no more interesting. The locals were intrigued by our cameras, but as soon as I told them what we were there to film, and asked if they would speak about Caleb or his family or his impending marriage, they would go white and clam up. Camera-shy, I assumed.

    The only exception was Toby, whom I met when, in a moment of desperation, I went to the local library. I thought that the library might guide me toward some local history to add color to our story – for which, read: I was looking for examples of old-fashioned Yankee racism and xenophobia that could be peppered in to create friction between the American family and the Romanian Elena. Toby was a librarian who was not only willing to help me dig up dirt on Claremont, but also, when I told him whom we were in town to film, was eager to dish about Caleb and his family.

    “I could tell you stories about that family. Stuff that would turn your stomach.”

    “Bring it on,” I said, and hoisted my camera. He waved me away.

    “No filming. I don’t want them finding out I told you this. Meet me in the staff parking behind the library at midnight.”

    Toby was highly conspiratorial – small town people are often drawn to that, I thought, commending myself for being so sagacious – and I was skeptical that any of the secrets he was offering to dish would be good. Still, there was a chance he’d give me some material that I could take to Paula (earning myself an attagirl), and a midnight meeting was no inconvenience for me. I hadn’t been sleeping well since my first night in the guest house.

    I stood behind the library for 40 minutes waiting for Toby to arrive. Eventually, I realized that the staff entrance was open, and wondered if he meant for me to meet him inside. But the library was empty too. Not only was Toby not in his office, but it seemed that the office had never been used. Mounds of whispering grey dust were pile on the floor. I felt foolish and walked back to the guest house, calculating how many days were left on Elena’s 90-day visa.


    The weeks went by. My studies of 90 Day Fiancé had led me to expect bridezillas who ran roughshod over the grooms-to-be, but in the case of Caleb and Elena, the roles were reversed. It was Caleb and his family who were micromanaging every aspect of the impending ceremony: calibrating the precise placement of the dais on the side lawn down to the inch, devising a precise arrangement of 1,000 candles to surround the happy couple, insisting on Alan as the officiant. Elena was not consulted on any of these details, merely handled like a prop to be placed “just right.” I wondered at first if this was another one of Paula’s invented dramas, but Caleb’s family seemed quite sincerely to insist on control of the wedding. The process seemed, in fact, to be rejuvenating them. Caleb’s parents looked even more sprightly than they had at the first dinner.

    The show had already begun to air, and the world from the network was that Caleb and Elena’s story was the season’s most popular, receiving the lion’s share of social media “engagement.” To capitalize on this, the executive producers had decided to film and broadcast the wedding ceremony live. Caleb and his family were excited by this (of course, I know now that it was them who must have planted the seed of that idea), but Elena made no mention of her feelings on that startling change of plans. In point of fact, Elena never voiced an opinion on anything until, in exasperation, I cornered her during a day’s shoot. I had been filming her trying on wedding dresses, and her total lack of any expressed opinions on the gown drove me to frustration. On our drive back to the house, I asked her, “Does it bother you that Caleb and his parents are making all the decisions about your wedding day?”

    “Caleb and his parents are being very generous,” was her response. It reads as wooden on the page, but there was some depth when she said it.

    “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get any input into your own wedding. Did you even have a choice of dress?” I wasn’t marriage-minded, but I channeled the language of friends who were. “A woman only gets one wedding dress. It’s meant to be an expression of yourself as at your most beautiful. That’s for you to pick.”

    Elena shook her head. “I don’t care about the wedding.”

    “At all?”

    “If Caleb and his family care, that is okay. I am just happy to be in America. When I met Caleb, I was just a poor student in Bran. Now, in America, I will have the opportunity to study at MIT.”

    I hadn’t known that she was a scientist at all, so this information left me silent. Elena interpreted this as dubiousness, and continued to validate her situation. “I want to study in America, and Caleb loves Romanian girls. That is an okay start for marriage.”

    Living in Los Angeles, I’d encountered plenty of fetishes, but not this. “He loves Romanian girls?”

    She nodded. “He had come to Bran many times before he met me.” The van pulled into the driveway and Elena returned to her customary silence.


    I was off duty the day before the wedding. Sick of television, I went to the public library and pulled an Abraham Lincoln biography off the shelf. I read up to the point when a passing mention of New Hampshire soldiers in the Union Army reminded me of my earlier trip to the library. I asked the librarian at the circulation desk for any books of local history. She said that I was better off perusing their archive of local periodicals and set me up at a microfilm reader. As I settled into my chair, I remembered Toby and asked the librarian to relay a message to him the next time he was at work: “Tell him I’m still waiting to hear those juicy stories.”

    The librarian didn’t even hear the message, as, at the mention of Toby’s name, she choked back a sob and said, “He’s missing. We haven’t seen him in weeks.” Before I could ask for details, or apologize for being so thoughtless, she rushed off, and I sheepishly turned to my old newspapers.

    “APPLE FARMERS CONFIDENT IN HARVEST YIELD,” was the first story I came to, and I made it only three paragraphs before giving up and scrolling forward in time. “GOVERNOR BELL SUPPORTS ADAMS REELECTION,” was a piece from 1828 that I brushed past. By the early 20th century, we were back to fruit: “BROAD STREET PARK HOSTS APPLE FESTIVAL.”

    “Again with the apples?” I muttered, losing hope of finding anything of interest. But my next scroll landed on a familiar sight: a photograph of Caleb’s house. It belonged to an article titled, “HANCHETT HOUSE RESTORATION COMPLETE,” dated August 4, 1976. The photo itself showed several volunteers with tools standing before the house, and was captioned “Some of the volunteers who helped in refurbishing Claremont’s oldest private home.” I looked more closely at the hippie volunteers. One of them looked like Alan, and zooming in on his picture confirmed that the resemblance was total. Not a younger version of the father I had been filming for two-and-a-half months, but the exact same man.

    I rapidly scrolled backwards through the film. I stopped at an article from 1942: “LOCAL GALS BAKE APPLE PIES FOR G.I.S.” The photo showed a woman in a victory suit holding up pies to the camera. She was Debbie. The first edition from 1900 featured “LOCALS CELEBRATE NEW CENTURY,” and a picture of Caleb himself posing stiffly in white tie. And at the earliest frame in the spool was a headline from 1865: “TEACHERS LEAD TRIBUTE TO SLAIN LINCOLN.” The photograph was old and fuzzy, but there was no mistaking the subject. It was Debbie again, looking exactly as she did in the year 2021.

    There were rational explanations: these were the family’s ancestors, I was projecting faces that weren’t really there onto these old photographs...but I knew those were wrong. With a certainty that I now think came from some long-buried, prehistoric defense mechanism, I knew that I was among long-lived, supernatural creatures. I backed out of the microfilm room, and searched the shelves for Dewey decimal 390: folklore. A book titled Monsters of North America popped out at me, its cover featuring pictures of Sasquatch, Mothman, and the Jersey Devil. In its index, I looked up “immortality,” for which there was a single subentry: “Immortality in vampires.” I flipped to that chapter and read it with growing horror.

    In central Europe, there were stories of vampir de timp – time vampires, who drank not their victim’s blood, but their youth. They regenerated themselves and could live forever without aging. Sometime in the first hundred years of the European occupation of the new world, a group of vampir de timp left central Europe for America, and were suspected in the disappearances of a number of people in New Hampshire. Four people in 1776, two more in 1825, and others in 1874, 1923, and 1972. Each disappearance was preceded by sightings and fragmentary reports of bizarre occult rituals, which the book suggested were probably ceremonies the vampir de timp held to properly sacrifice and harvest their victims. There was no description of what those ceremonies might involve, but the author said they were likely to involve very precise costuming and arrangement of props, and that if it was like other soul-stealing rituals, its power was augmented the more witnesses it had.


    I went straight from the library to Paula’s room. I didn’t dare bring my findings to Elena herself. The language barrier was minor, but I couldn’t conceive of what words would convince her that she had been brought over from Romania to be slaughtered by ancient vampires. Plus I couldn’t be sure that Caleb or Debbie or Alan wouldn’t be listening in, ready to crush my skull if I threatened their 250-year habit of murder. But Paula and I could privately confer and devise a plan to rescue Elena. I was sure that I could enlist Paula by pointing out that the vampires were using her television show, and the audience a live broadcast would bring, to amplify the power of their magic. Producers hate to feel that anybody is smarter than they are.

    In a hushed voice, I told her everything I had learned, bringing out Monsters of North America to lend as much credibility as possible to a story about time-sucking vampires. I was ready for skepticism and hoping for sympathetic terror, but Paula regarded the information silently. It was only after I laid out every detail that she spoke. “Hijacking our show for their own ritual…you have to respect how devious it is.”

    Her calmness astounded me, and I jumped to the worst possible interpretation. “You already knew? You’ve been part of this from the beginning?”

    Paula laughed. “Me? This is the first time I’ve heard any talk about vampires. And I don’t mean within this current production, I mean the first time ever in my life.”

    “We’ve been working together for three months. Have I ever made up insane shit before? We have to help Elena.”

    “My priority isn’t to help Elena,” Paula answered. “Or to help Caleb or his vampire friends. It’s to entertain our audience. It’s to make great television. And you losing your mind is great television.”

    “And what if I’m not crazy?” I demanded. “What if this wedding ceremony is what I say it is, and you’re going to broadcast a live human sacrifice?”

    Paula smiled and left the room, dreaming of the television history she’d make.


    The ceremony began promptly at nine the next morning. The preceding night had given me no sleep, but no great plan either, and I took my position behind the camera as if this were nothing but your average hasty, live-on-TV wedding. A cable trailed from my camera (and the four others in use) to an ad hoc editing bay from which Paula oversaw the broadcast. Her station rivaled but was overshadowed by the elaborate altar that the vampires had set up to facilitate their ritual. In addition to the promised 1,000 candles on tall, wooden candelabras, there were burning herbs and eerie symbols carved into the altar.

    By chance (or because Paula was trying to goad me into a televisable freak-out), I was positioned closest to the altar. While Elena looked sad beneath her veil, and Caleb held her hands with a hungry look on his face, Alan officiated the ceremony. After moving hastily through a generic we-are-gathered-here-today introduction, he declared, “In honor of the bride’s heritage, I would like to say a few words in Romanian.” With a dopey smile to Elena, he added, “Please forgive my terrible accent.” I had never heard Romanian spoken, but I was not fooled for a second by the words that came from his mouth. They were an incantation in some bizarre, ancient language, long forgotten by any living human.

    As he spoke, the sky darkened and a wind picked up. The candelabra nearest me swayed and, instinctively, I held out a hand to steady it. Caleb and his family seemed not to notice. The incantation (which Caleb and Debbie had now joined) was all that held their attention. They were reaching the end, and I was still without any plan to stop their sacrifice. With the wan hope that a 15-second delay might be all the time I needed to get to eureka, I dropped my camera, tightened my grip on the candelabra, and swung it hard at Alan.

    As if to confirm that, yes, he was a supernatural monster, he didn’t flinch. Like I’d hit a brick wall, the candelabra splintered and one of its arms broke off. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Paula laughing, thrilled to be capturing my breakdown on live TV. Caleb regarded me for a bored second (deciding, I’m sure, to kill me next), then knocked me down with a bored sweep of his hand. I thumped onto the lawn and as I used the broken candelabra to raise myself up, I noticed for the first time the simple shape beneath its ornamentation. Smacking the remaining arms against the ground, I broke them off. What remained was a long tall piece of wood, perpendicularly intersected by a smaller one.

    Coursing with what the devout would call the power of the lord, I rushed the stage, brandishing my cross. And this time, when I brought it down on Alan, he screamed. Smoke rose where the wood touched his skin, and he staggered away from me, howling. Debbie rushed towards me, and I swung a wide right-to-left arc. It connected with her ribs, although connected is not the right word, for when the cross touched her body, it passed through her, like a finger cutting through pudding. Recoiling in disgust, I fell into Caleb’s clutches. I felt something sharp against my throat ­– his hands had grown into long, thin claws – and I thrashed about. The cross made contact with his face and he released me, holding his hands up to his eyes – or what remained of them. A bubbling white goo was oozing through his fingers. Blindly, he ran towards the house, where his parents (or whatever relation these creatures truly were to each other) had already retreated.

    I grabbed Elena by the arm and shouted for the crew to pile into our van for a quick escape. They were ahead of me on that one, having abandoned their equipment on the lawn and fled for the driveway themselves. All except for Paula, who had picked up one of the discarded cameras and was following the monsters back into the house. She ignored my cries to come with us and passed through the garden doors. I came close to abandoning her, but instead, after leaving Elena with the crew, followed Paula inside. I could let you imagine that this was heroism, but I didn’t feel anything like bravery when I made the choice. Just a shameful compulsion to see this trainwreck through to the end.

    I followed the cable attached to Paula’s camera through the living room and up to a set of open double doors. Approaching them cautiously, I peered into the hallway beyond. At the far end, I could see Paula thrashing on the floor as Caleb and his family tore her to pieces. Debbie bunched her claws into a single talon and drove it into Paula’s chest. Blood sprayed from the wound and all life drained out of her. Before my eyes, Paula body turned grey, stiff and ashy.

    Caleb’s family rose, and in the brief moment before they continued through the far door (to their crypts, I presume), I noted that all three of them looked a little younger: Caleb’s hairline was lower, and there were fewer wrinkles on Debbie and Alan’s faces. The restoration had not been as grand as it would have been broadcast to 90 Day Fiancé’s audience of millions, but a few years had been bought.

    After they left, I tiptoed down the hall to examine Paula’s body, telling myself that I wanted to retrieve it for a proper burial in order to excuse what I knew was only morbid curiosity. For this, I was punished with a grotesque sight: Paula, though grey, powdery, and desiccating, was still alive. Her eyes, still human, looked at me pleadingly. Her mouth creaked open, but before she could form any words, her jaw unhinged and fell off.

    Unable to scream myself, I took a staggering step backwards and tripped. Paula had reached out a hand to grip my ankle. I shook her off, breaking off her hand at the wrist. As I backed out of the room, Elena, or what was left of her, shambled to her feet and tried to follow. But as she walked, her legs began to flake away, until she stumbled and collapsed. Hitting the ground, she burst into a shapeless pile of dust.

    I ran from the sight, ran out of the house, ran so fast down the driveway that I caught up to the crew’s van, which had not waited for me to return before leaving. I couldn’t blame them, of course. Once I was in the van and behind the wheel, I drove at high speeds, not stopping for several hours, until we were at an all-night diner in a well-lit part of Washington D.C.


    The next day, I put Elena on a flight back to Romania, and within the week, the crew and I were back in Los Angeles. I didn’t stay long. After packing up the barest essentials, I abandoned my apartment and set out driving, picking at every junction the least traveled road. For a time, I got calls and emails from the rest of the crew, wishing to discuss what we’d been through, but I solved this problem by throwing my phone out the window of my car somewhere in Idaho.

    I never returned to Hollywood ­– the town or the industry. In fact, it’s been 25 years since I stepped outside the borders of Benson County, North Dakota. But I think every day of that family in New Hampshire, perpetuating their evil every generation. And because I worry that they might still think of me, I keep my smoke detector in the farthest corner of the kitchen ceiling with all the blinds in that room shut tight, so that they will never see its red light blinking in the dark and know that they’ve found me.

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  • dandelion-wish
    06.12.2021 - 18 minutes ago

    I’ve only had my new iphone for a half hour and I already hate it.

    What the Hell is a “Lightning to USB-C” cable? How am I supposed to charge my phone?

    #diary #I guess I was right #I am too poor to have any business using an Apple product
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  • thelifeelsewhere
    06.12.2021 - 32 minutes ago

    Life Elsewhere Vol 262 - Reggae Special #2

    Life Elsewhere Vol 262 – Reggae Special #2

    There I was at a crazy busy airport, waiting for my delayed flight to board, I’m casually scanning through Twitter and noticed that Mark Stewart often posts links to rare reggae cuts. I sent a message to Mark saying, “I think you must keep popping into my reggae archive”. This is because Mr. Stewart was selecting obscure reggae cuts that could easily be found in my archives. With not enough time…

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  • hscharts
    06.12.2021 - 44 minutes ago

    Chart Update 2021-12-06 20:04 UTC

    Fine Line:

    Worldwide Apple Music Album Chart: #54 (-2)

    View all the current chart positions for Fine Line

    Watermelon Sugar:

    Worldwide Apple Music Song Chart: #147 (-14)

    View all the current chart positions for Watermelon Sugar

    #Fine Line album #Fine Line Worldwide Apple Music Album Chart #Watermelon Sugar #Watermelon Sugar Worldwide Apple Music Song Chart
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  • howwnowbrowncoww
    06.12.2021 - 44 minutes ago

    So I was kicking trees for apples and Toby walks by and I end up getting a mission to get him some apples. And I'm thinking "oh, this'll be quick, he's gonna wait for me to get them and I'll be on my way" right? THIS KID immediately runs full speed away from me back through town and now I'm hunting him down to finish this stupid mission and I DO NOT HAVE THE STAMINA TO KEEP UP WITH HIM

    #HOW IS HE SO FUCKING FAST #i just wanted to get some apples and honey and now im running my stamina bar into the ground for this shitty little kid lol #my time at portia #howw plays mtap
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  • glapplebloom
    06.12.2021 - 47 minutes ago

    The episode I hoped Mmmmystery on the Friendship Express was...

    The episode begins with Rarity showing off her latest wears inspired by her favorite series: Shadow Spade. There is also a scene with a delivery that shows her ability to, as Sassy puts it, “sweet-talk a filly out of candy!”. Some other reviewers harped on Rarity using this on a delivery person who was busy, but the shipment was wrong and he likely had the Dragon Cut Stones in that trolley going to someone who wanted Hoof Polished Stones.

    But the real thing to take out of this opening scene is Rainbow Dash is a Reserve for a Wonderbolt Show and is going to a party. Bringing in Rarity as her plus one, we see Rarity’s skills and interest in details that will help her figure out the crime that will happen. At the party, we are introduced to a Retired Wonderbolt called Wind Rider.

    Yes, Silver Quill is absolutely right that if you are familiar with detective stories you already know who is the person behind the crime before the crime even starts. But to be fair, this is a show for kids so this could be a child’s first introduction to detective reasoning. We meet him and know of the motivation and the clues that would point towards him.

    After setting everything up, we come to the Rehearsal for the show where Rainbow Dash finds out she’s replacing Spitfire because she had to go take care of her mother. But her mother showed up, meaning Spitfire is now missing. And because of them not seeing another Wonderbolt being responsible for her absence, the only logical conclusion is the person who benefited from Spitfire’s immediate absence was the one responsible for it: Rainbow Dash.

    Yes, I know Rainbow Dash has shown more loyalty than any member of the Wonderbolts numerous times over. It would have been nice for Soarin to give her the benefit of the doubt since he saw firsthand how far she would go for Loyalty. But between others pointing out things that would lead to her guilt and Rainbow Dash not having an alibi, she is the only one they could see. But she is given the chance to prove her innocence before the show begins. If she can’t, she’s out of the Wonderbolts.

    Luckily for Rainbow Dash, Rarity is there to help prove her innocence. The detective work is fun so I won’t spoil much of it, but it does show how Rainbow Dash couldn’t have done it without her. If it was up to Dash, she probably would have admitted it because by near the end even she thought she was guilty. 

    Rainbow Dash: I mean, even I think I'm guilty at this point! I really did want to fly in that show! What if I wrote that note when I was asleep?! Do you know what I do when I sleep?! Because I sure don't!

    But with all the clues Rarity gathers, she makes her pitch on the true culprit: Wind Rider. All the evidence that pointed to Rainbow Dash were proven false, incomplete or inaccurate. She also presented her own evidence that showed that not only was Wind Rider the likely writer of the note, but also the motivation that made him do it in the first place. Confident in his spot, Wind Rider admits it, sending Spitfire to the Crystal Mountains to find ice iris. With how little they grow this season, it would be too late to find her and bring her back.

    Well, too late for anyone not Rainbow Dash. She rushed to the Crystal Mountains and back just in time for the Show. Proving her Loyalty and her skills, Rainbow Dash was awarded Wind Rider’s spot in the show, with Wind Rider being dishonorably discharged. It ends with Rainbow Dash in the show and Rarity happy that not only have she shown off her new clothing line but helped a dear friend of hers.

    And that’s why this episode is so enjoyable despite how easy it is to know who killed who, Rarity shows off how great of a character she is, successfully does the Second of the Rarity Trio of episodes, and not really mentioned but paid back for Rainbow Dash saving her during Sonic Rainboom. So when the third Rarity/Rainbow Dash episode happens, they’ll be on even ground. This remains 100% the same in canon. 

    #mlp review#MLP Revisit #Green Lantern Apple Bloom #season 5
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  • the-talking-applehead
    06.12.2021 - 51 minutes ago

    and can i just say how grateful i am to the rpc ? #supportcontentcreators 

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  • virtualherovranger
    06.12.2021 - 51 minutes ago

    if nobody got me i know rad got me tbh

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  • electronicask
    06.12.2021 - 58 minutes ago

    Apple iPhone Xs Max, Boost Mobile, 64GB - Gray - (Renewed)

    Apple iPhone Xs Max, Boost Mobile, 64GB – Gray – (Renewed)

    Price: (as of – Details) iPhone XS Max features a 6.5-inch Super Retina display with custom-built OLED panels for an HDR display that provides the industry’s best color accuracy, true blacks, and remarkable brightness.¹ Advanced Face ID lets you securely unlock your iPhone, log in to apps, and pay with just a glance. The A12 Bionic chip with next-generation Neural Engine uses real-time machine…

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    #apple iphone 11
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  • amandarrollins
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Y’all I was today years old when I realized that I could connect my Airpods to my laptop.....

    I’ve had these damn things for a year now

    #in my defense i didn't think i could #bc like i don't have an apple laptop
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  • actugeeks
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Les séries iPhone 13 et Apple Watch Series 7 offrent des remises « non échangeables »

    Pendant la saison des achats de cette année, les principaux opérateurs de téléphonie mobile américains tels que AT&T, Verizon et T-Mobile ont tous accordé des remises pour l’achat d’appareils Apple. Toutefois, selon de nombreux acheteurs, ces rabais sont techniquement “irrécupérables”. L’époque où un iPhone se vendait à 199 dollars est révolue. Désormais, les acheteurs d’iPhones phares devront…

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    #Apple #Apple iPhone série 13 #Apple Watch série 7 #Regarder la série 7 #Remises Apple #Série iPhone 13
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  • catz4ever
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago

    My copy of Lee's Man About Town magazine interview came today...and I'm swooning BIG TIME.

    I'm about to just detach his part of the magazine and throw the rest out b/c compared to all other men featured in this edition, Lee Pace is King...

    #lee pace#brother day #most handsome man in the world indeed #send help#foundation #foundation apple tv #why is he so beautiful #please send help #daddy? sorry #what is wrong with me #literally paid over 60 US dollars for 6 pages of gold #excuse me while i drool in the corner for hours #a little bit of Lee all to myself #i can literally stare at him for years #totally worth every penny #what have i done? #my day is made #Lee pace for the win #i wish they had a scratch 'n' sniff of his cologne
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  • virtualherovranger
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago
    ✌️❤️ Dec 6 - 12 Schedule 🤍✌️  



    Socials / Discord / Merch

    ↓Details below↓

    what do i even have to explain here actually. yes i know this is 6 streams in a row yes i’ll be fine. i learned my lesson from somnium files so if im too worn out i wont force myself, so the back half of the week may get cancelled. im also going to take a few days off starting when i finish infinite, so again don’t fret i’ve got it handled. i just need to get this game finished before i get spoiled and i know that’s a race i won’t win unless i stream it as many times this week as possible.

    anyway, i hope to see you guy out there <3

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  • lunarruled
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago
    #🌙 photo #🌙 these are a few of her favorite things #🌙 Ky is drooling over this one #🌙 and that candy apple red! #🌙 yes please!
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  • virtualherovranger
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago

    but you know what? if you really want to know how i feel about people who identify as queer your first clue might be that my fucking fiancee is in fact one of those people

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  • jcstargirl
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago
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  • pyramidempire
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago
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  • arielmcorg
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Según informes el nuevo iPad Pro con carga inalámbrica se lanzará en 2022

    Según informes el nuevo iPad Pro con carga inalámbrica se lanzará en 2022

    Según los informes, Apple tiene planes de lanzar tres modelos de iPad en 2022, incluido un nuevo iPad Pro, un iPad de nivel de entrada y un iPad Air, según Mark Gurman, y su boletín Power On. En el lado del iPad Pro, Gurman dice que espera que la nueva versión del iPad de gama alta de Apple cuente con carga inalámbrica y carga inalámbrica inversa, permitiendo que la tableta cargue iPhones,…

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  • ewcore
    06.12.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Я давно не делал коллаж :( <3

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