#Meghan's CLAW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mintymarabell · 2 years ago

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A wedding day.

Honestly, he has the world record for the fastest planned wedding that still looked good and was crazy expensive.

Your veil is huge.. think of prince harries wedding and how beautiful Meghan’s veil was.

The gown/suit you wear is beautiful, with diamonds and silver lining it.

Because technically your family from earth probably thinks your dead, you’ll most likely have an older yautja walk you down the isle to hand you off, this is only if you don’t want to walk alone.

The older yautja will be older than your mate and will most definitely treat you as if you were his own after finding out his purpose for walking you.. Peepaw..

The little flower girl will be this cute yautja who’s just happy to be there and will gladly run down an isle and throw flower pedals on the ground.

Your elders son is suddenly panicking because his suit pants have a whole in the pocket from his claws and your rings are gone, he’ll be frantically looking around while your elder gradually walks up behind him, grabs him by the shoulder all friendly like and asks. “Son, what are you looking for.”

This poor kid will start crying, still fearful of his dad he’ll eventually find the rings and be out of breath on his knees thanking paya.

The son will be the best man.

A group of elite females will be your bridesmaids.

Your wedding song will be Turning Page instrumental.

You’ll walk down the isle with your arm interlocked with the older yautjas.

Your mate will stop breathing, drinking you in as if you were a glass of water on a hot day.

He will fall in love with you all over again.

As you come up and the older yautja walks to his seat your mate will watch you get into place in front of him.

His massive clawed hands coming up to lift your veil.

If it weren’t for his son behind him, he was sure he was gonna pass out.

You looked astonishing.

He held your hands as the priest rambled on. It was a human they had kidnapped just for this occasion.

He couldn’t care to pay attention as he focused on you and only you.

He was in pure disbelief, you were going to be his. His to cherish, love, care for.

The priest began. As he called your name. “Do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in (holy) matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live, till death do you part?”

He wasn’t sure why but he held his breath again, as if you’d say no.

“I do.”

If he could smile, he would.

As the priest said the same spiel again for him he was eager for him to finish.

“-till death do you part?” The priest finished.

“I do.” He spoke, with no hesitation.

The priest nodded, the elders son coming up with the rings. You went first, sticking the ring on his ring finger. Then he very carefully put yours on. (He almost dropped it bc it was too small for him to hold.)

The priest gave a nervous smile, “You may now kiss the bride/groom.”

Your elder looked at the priest as if he just killed his dog.

The priest stammered. “The bride/groom may kiss the groom!”

He watched you chuckle, slightly tugging him down by his arms so you could kiss his cheek.

He was happy. Happy because you were officially his, in human terms.

He carried you out of the ‘church’ in his arms.

At the reception the cake is huge. I’m talking two story house massive. Your mate laughed when you looked at the cake awestruck.

As you cut the cake you take the time to put a bit of one of his mandibles, almost laughing when he struggled to get it. He will in turn put a huge dollop on your nose which if you can lick it off he’ll give you a dirty good.

Honeymoon:

He most likely takes you to a beautiful moon like atmosphere island, where there are beautiful blue lakes and mountains with green fields and alien flowers.

Y’all get frisky in the lake 100%.

Probably in the field too.

By time you get back home you are both sore to the bone.

He takes a few months off of work and instead dedicates all of his time to you, rightfully worshiping your body and the ground you walk on.

P.s

You now have a step son and a new dad. ;)

#yautja #yautja x reader #elder yautja #monster #monster boyfriend #so cute #yautja boyfriend #old man yautja

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houseofbrat · 1 year ago

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He absolutely was an entitled spoiled brat and I don't see him as totally happless or unaccountable here. He's a oft-indulged, self-indulgent, privileged, mean-tempered, damaged, mummy-blaming prick who has the IQ of a rock. His military service has been totally tainted, what little bit there was, and theres nothing to be admired about the dude. But when you listen to the people, family, friends, reporters even who spent time with him voluntarily before the Mattress, you don't see this across the board surly, self-righteous, paranoid, and convinced of his own superiority that you see now. That behavior has a very clear line that his family, his best friends, his staff, his media correspondents, his biographer, his family, and the world can all see and that line is when he first held the claw of Meghan Markle. All of these people concur on this point. So do I find Harry innocent? No. But Meghan is still the narcissist and still the abuser in that relationship.

Once he gets out from under her and is cleannand sober again, he's going to experience guilt like never before when he realizes what he did to his family, especially his grandparents. Hes an asshole, but hes capable of guilt and shame. Meghan is incapable of feeling those emotions. All she feels is rage, paranoia, and fear.

#reddit #prince harry #2023 Sussex Divorce

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meghantheduchyofpitstains · 1 year ago

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The stages of ‘Meghan the Narcissist’s’ relationship with Harry. Three basics stages of a Narcissist’s relationships: Idealize, Devalue and Discard

iDEALIZE

It is a dizzying whirlwind

Meghan and Harry were married after knowing each other for about 2 years. The majority of this time they spent on separate continents. Markle pushed it quick and hard to get to the altar.

“Love Bombing - the initial stage can feel like a drug or a love cocktail as potent as cocaine or heroin because the same feel good chemical called Dopamine is released in the brain by both and we know Harry likes a drug high. During this phase there is intensive sex, exciting travel, constant praise, being put on a pedastool and focused ego driven attention (all release the same feel good brain chemicals as regular cocaine or heroine use would) so the victim feels an addictive high.”

- the traveling from continent to continent spending a few days at a time together so when together it is intense sex which is like a drug in Harry’s brain - releasing the same Dopamine etc. and we know he is a feel good drug addict.

- intense sex fest in Africa

- intense sex as they holed up at Nottingham cottage - seeing the addiction pattern???

- getting the fairytale wedding

- traveling to the South Seas and Africa for work

- clothes and jewelry shopping spending hundreds of thousands of dollars, basically buying anything you have ever wanted

- meeting famous people, private jets, staying in huge mansions

All the Love Bombing high for Harry and the superficial, materialistic, super fame high for Megan

Stage 2: Devaluation

Harry doesn’t know what hit him. He is probably in a state of pure confusion trying to figure out the mood swings and the up and downs. He gets glimpses of how it was during the love Bombing stage but most of the time it is walking on egg shells, repressing himself, confusion and just trying to do what he can to get back to how it was in the beginning and the get those addictive feel good chemicals in his brain flowing again.

Meghan has started to - subtly, insidiously, and covertly—to devalue Harry. “This may happen via putdowns, gaslighting, intermittently lacking emotional or physical intimacy, withdrawing affection, seductive withholding, inexplicably disappearing from contact, or blaming the target for the narcissistic person’s issues (projection).”

What we see happening in the devaluation phase.

- Harry is not protecting her from bad press and looking bad, she is not getting the super stardom and fame she wanted. It is Harry’s fault.

- Harry not making her the belle of the ball, she still is always number 2 to Kate. Harry needs to fix this.

- Harry not getting her a huge Mansion/ mini castle to live in like all the other Senior Royals

- the money/budget being pulled back as the public and the press finds out about how much she is spending on clothes alone. Harry needs to get her the money she expected.

- she is now pushing herself in front of Harry at events and greeting dignitaries and ordering him around at events while she controls him with her hand on his back or clawing his arm at all times. She has always been more important than him.

- making jokes about Harry at her events and stunts. Harry becomes the court jester.

- she is speaking first or cutting Harry off to do all the speaking when they are at an event. Even South Park made fun of her doing this.

The devaluation is in full force in LA as Meghan is trying to break out as the star speaker without Harry, solo events with celebrities, working to be the Princess Diana of Hollywood.

Stage 3: Sooner than later the DISCARDING phase will happen. Probably when the money is cut off or reduced, she will then file for divorce and get the guaranteed payouts and keep the mansion he will have to pay for. She will write a book bashing the hell out of Harry and Telling the world she never loved him because he is a whiney, drug addict, loser.

“Inevitably, the discarding occurs when the person with narcissism either disappears or orchestrates his or her own abandonment by engaging in some form of egregious emotional abuse. The outcome is often shocking for the survivor, unclear as to how someone that he or she fell so deeply in love with could throw it all away.” - Source Good Therapy

I believe the public discarding has started.At its worst, she will use the kids and keep them from Harry. I really believe it will end in tragedy for Harry. Being the grieving widow may be more enticing for her then being a divorcee again?? She will still technically be a part of The Royal family.

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 3 months ago

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Tragedy Vutures Harry & ME-gain implemented a new phase in their plan to criminalize free speech: grifting off the tragic deaths of children and teenagers. ⚰⚰⚰

Many royal watchers felt deeply frustrated by the sheer audacity and brazen husseyness of these two (2) mentally ill tragedy vultures named Harry & Meghan

It was clear, after last year's world mental health day, that they were stalking new prey. Who could have anticipated that cB.S. (NOprah's platform) would actually produce 20+ minutes of sussex propaganda? An exploitative interview designed to rehabilitate ME-gain's reputation and to rebrand her as the victim doing good works.

Personal note: Several years ago I sat in a weekly bereavement group and received a tip from another participant. She warned me to be careful of people who target grieving & vulnerable people during a time when we are emotionally weak & confused. She said some people crave darkness and warned me to be careful. Now I have a term for those people: Tragedy Vultures.

Lyon (Proper Wiseguy) has a content piece on his YT channel to cheer us all up. Just a reminder that no amount of gaslighting or slickly produceed PR can repair the global damage created by Rachel Meghan Markle.

From Proper Wiseguy's Commentary on that Espy CLAW

youtube

Big Brother google returned Lyon's channel but they won't allow his subs to grow. Please follow the link and subscribe to the channel, also give it a 👍🏿.

Congratulations to Leilani of Barbados who finally crossed the 100,000 subscribers mark. She worked so hard while Google suppressed her views. Some of the newer channels don't understand how the older content creators have been fighting the algorithms.

Duchess of Narsussex channel needs help. Please, please subscribe to Blare's channel even if you turn off all notifications. She has worked hard for years, and she's always been willing to assist newbies. Google doesn't allow her subscribers to grow, please overwhelm her channel with new subscribers. You can even write in the comments section sent by GRITS so she can keep her own tally. The sugars despise her channel and want google to eliminate the channel.

Everyone please burn up the House phone lines to VOTE NO on KOSA. Both Biden & Kamala are on record indicating they will sign the bill.

The biggest online BULLY

From Uvalde to Trevor Engleson's Santa Barbara friends, RMM has attached herself to the adult survivors of a child's death. She's using archeFRAUD cash to justify her involvement in other people's sorrow

Meghan Markle is a TRAGEDY VULTURE. Oh look, she latched on to Trevor Engleson's friend AFTER Trevor made a donation to the couple's GIVE SEND GO. ME-gain followed up with a larger donation from "archie & lilly." Instead of using her own name to extend sympathy for the death of a child⚰, ME-gain used the n ames of her invisible kids.🙄

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 months ago

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First of all, I love your blog. Thank you so much for your in-depth and well researched replies. Anyway, I always read about Meghan wanting William for herself and I've seen videos of her making googly eyes/trying to flirt with him. Does Meghan really want William or is she just like that with all men. Some say she is now behaving like a woman scorned towards William. What is your take on this? Thanks a lot!

An anon asked me something very similar in a DM when I had asks closed so I’m just going to put in what I said to her since my answer is still the same.

Meghan is the kind of woman who sexualizes her relationships to all men, especially when she wants something, and she definitely wanted things from William - he was the one refuting her and Harry’s claims that she was just like Diana, she wanted him to walk her down the aisle at the wedding, and she wanted Diana’s jewelry, for starters.

So because Meghan sexualizes every transaction and interaction with men, she’s very flirty and over-attentive to every/any man she meets - just look at how flirty she was with the Colombia VP’s husband in the one video, or look at the way she draped herself all over the tour guide when she was like 14 or 15. It’s learned behavior, and (I suspect) from Doria, because she’s not a natural flirt. You can see her calculating what she needs to do to “win” someone’s attention - it’s her choices to wear short or skin-bearing outfits (or to alter her outfits to show more skin, like she did at Trooping 2018), to invade people’s personal spaces with the claws or her overly-touchy hugs, and how she always laser-focuses her attention on one specific person instead of the whole group around her. That’s not natural flirty behavior; it’s calculative. (The most telltale sign of a natural flirt is that they’re flirty, playful, and attentive with everyone around them, not just one specific person or one specific gender.)

And specific to the way she’s treating William — she sees him as the one blocking Harry’s (and therefore her) path back to the BRF. It doesn’t read scorned woman to me; it reads desperate. She’s literally throwing everything and the kitchen sink at William to get him to speak to her or at least acknowledge her. She tried flattery. She tried compassion. She tried using Kate. She tried to provoke him with anger. She tried silence/grey rock William. She tried using William’s kids. She tried using her own kids. She tried using Harry.

#sussexes #theories

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saintmeghanmarkle · 1 month ago

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Meghan drops in on Santa Barbara tweens to complain about being the most bullied person in the world by u/Hermes_Blanket

Meghan drops in on Santa Barbara tweens to complain about being the most bullied person in the world Imagine being a fly on the wall at this event. Reported by Madame's favorite mouthpiece, Vanity Fair.Trigger warning: there's a video with copious slow-motion hugging, clawing, and rictus grins.https://ift.tt/OLIyDE8 version here:https://ift.tt/9hMNx2R October 2, the duchess visited Girls Inc. of Greater Santa Barbara to help out with a new digital-wellness program called Social Media U. Now, Girls Inc., the national mentorship and leadership organization, is announcing a partnership with responsible-tech advocacy group #HalfTheStory to bring the program to students nationwide.“We did an activity where we talked through a bunch of scenarios, and Meghan talked about being one of the most bullied people in the world,” May tells Vanity Fair. “We had girls wave these little emoji signs and talk about how each one of these scenarios would have impacted them emotionally.”SERIOUSLY?! Did she say something like "Then Kate wouldn't share her lip gloss, and made a face at me ... how would you have felt?" Little girls wave emoji sign for SAD. Unbelievable!I will give her this: She was covered up this time, no skanky dress, and her shirt appears to have been ironed.https://ift.tt/sC9kjwm post link: https://ift.tt/OSEBsQH author: Hermes_Blanket submitted: October 11, 2024 at 05:14PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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girldragongizzard · 2 months ago

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Chapter 2: Ethical human contact

When the woman stands behind Harold, peering over his shoulder from the inside of the camper, she freezes too.

I find myself doing the transfixion dance, of course. It’s part of keeping them still and compliant with my instinctual wishes to kill and eat them. But, I don’t actually want to do that, and my alternative urge is to flee. Which I also don’t want to do.

Instead, I visualize the outcome I want and, while focusing on Harold’s eyes, I settle myself down into a loaf, tucking claws underneath me, and folding my wings up tight. And then, ever so slowly, I do a cat smile, closing my eyes gradually and relaxing my frame.

And, just as I’d hoped, it’s the woman’s eye contact that is broken first, and she says, somewhat shakily but not truly stirred, “Harold, put that damn thing away! You’ll shoot your fellow camper!”

Through heavily hooded lids, I see him lower the gun slowly and blink at me. I’m obviously not a threat, after all. At which point, I turn my head to the side so that I’m looking at him with only one eye, a prey expression. Very much not a threat.

He tentatively steps down and out of the doorway of the camper, letting his gun drop fully to a one handed grip aimed down, while he steadies himself on the door with his other hand. And then he says, “I could swear I heard it talk, Ginnie.”

Ginnie slaps him lightly on the back of his head, and says, “Of course she can talk, Harold! Don’t you know the girl dragons can talk?”

I have no idea where she heard that. That’s not remotely true. From a certain, bioessentialist perspective, we’re probably all girl dragons (except we’ve got the genders, if Joel and I are indications), and I’m the only one I know that can imitate words, so far. And I can’t even reliably imitate the ones I want when I’m flustered.

But I can talk with AAC, if I have that. Which I don’t.

I turn my head the other way, and tilt it to the side, as an inquisitive expression about her statement, but that also fortuitously causes my radio tag to swing from its piercing through my horn.

“Land’s end!” Ginnie exclaims, stepping down from the camper. “Who did that to you? Why –” and as she gets closer to me she apparently gets a better look at me, because she exclaims, “Oh! It’s you!” She points at me and turns to her husband, “Harold, that’s Meghan! From Fairport! We’ve only been staring at her photos all day! She’s talked to the Mayor!” Turning back to me, she demands, “What in Heaven’s name are you doing all the way out here?”

How the heck do I answer that? The best phrase I can come up with, pieced together in two different voices, one of an AI generated posh British lady that I consider my voice now, and the other being Caleb, with enough of a pause between the two words to make it more confusing, is, “No. Shit.”

Then, to emphasize what I care about, I use my left wing claw to scratch at the radio tag in hopefully obvious irritation and impatience.

“Hold on,” Harold says. “I’ll get that off of you. That’s not standard, in any case.” His gruff, nasally voice fades and is interrupted by heavier breathing as he climbs back into the camper, but he keeps talking, “I wager the government did that to you, didn’t they? That’s no Green Peace collar or whatever. And drilling through your horn like that. That’s not ecological. Can’t have that. I think we can patch that with Bondo, which I definitely have!”

Ginnie smiles as he’s doing this.

—

The man has industrial grade bolt cutters, Bondo, and a metal grout spatula in that camper.

And they agree to let me sleep on the roof.

They also offer me food that I don’t need to eat.

And then, as I’m having trouble falling asleep, I overhear them arguing with each other about both Presidential Candidates and how they did during the debate, and how they won’t vote for either of them, and I feel conflicted.

Not that I blame anybody for being jaded and cynical about both parties. Just that, in this case, the debate was about the issue of us dragons, and the Candidates came down squarely on either side of it. And I don’t like what Harold and Ginnie’s argument implied about what they think should be done with me.

They’ve treated me with more hospitality than I expected from anybody. Once the gun was put away.

But, at the same time, they’ve forgotten that I’m legally a citizen, and they don’t seem to care about whatever my rights are.

They talk about us dragons like we’re animals that need to be respected and protected, but also not exactly people.

It’s unsettling.

At home, in and around my coffee shop, I’m a person. Because I’m a person.

These two may be from Fairport, or the neighboring city of Jam, and I’m wagering they’re either basic boomer liberals or recently-ex-conservatives, but they’re not my people.

—

I’m awoken in twilight by the whining scream and shuddering thud of that fucking helicopter flying overhead, and I don’t feel all that loyal to Harold and Ginny such that I want to bother saying goodbye in a way that I can’t even articulate.

I’m pretty sure the camper rocks and shakes as I leap off of it to take to the air after that chopper.

It’s fast, and I’m not as fast, but I can definitely follow it. And I know it’s gotta be landing for more than a few minutes temporarily, because it’s headed right back out where I came from, and it’s not circling me.

It’s not tracking me, especially as I dropped the tracker into the lake. It’s probably got another Fairport dragon tucked away in its hold, tranqued and tagged, and headed for release into the wild. Such as the wild exists anymore.

Getting any kind of altitude without the sun up is such a drag and a chore. But I’ve got a gizzard working on an owl now, which it’s been doing all night, and I don’t feel all that weak and hungry. A little sluggish, at first, but my body gets the idea as I push it.

I end up having to weave between mountains for a bit, before I’m high enough to go over the passes, and then the peaks. And I almost lose track of the helicopter.

But once I’m high enough, its running lights catch my eyes and I zero in on it.

In the light of the rising sun, it’s setting down on the same mountain where it deposited me the night before. They doubtlessly know I’m not there anymore, and have decided it’s the easiest place for them to land.

And as I work my way closer and closer, I can see them, in the distance, dragging a large bundle from inside the machine as its blades are winding down to a slow spin and then stop.

I’m right.

They’re disposing of another dragon.

It’s literally legally kidnapping. They are choosing kidnapping over murder, for some reason, maybe because they think they can get away with it. But it is kidnapping.

And I wonder if the tracking is to make it look more legitimate somehow. But also, it’s definitely to know where we are and to make sure we’re still out here for as long as the trackers work.

My long range eyesight is really sharp, but even now I can’t really make out the details of who they’ve got trussed up. But I’m convinced I’m seeing Joel. A.K.A. Whitman. My nemesis. Whom I have a truce with, and to whom I conceded two thirds of my territory back home.

If it is indeed Thursday morning, as I believe was confirmed by an offhand comment by Ginnie last night, then Joel has had that territory for two whole days. And now he’s going to be stuck out here, with me.

I’m more angry for him than worried about what he thinks of me right now. And I decide right there and then that I’m not letting the chopper take to the air. I’m going to render it unflightworthy.

Because if I let that thing go back to Fairport, it’s just going to come out here with another dragon, and another, and another, and another, tearing people like me away from their homes and their families. And not only is that not right, but it’s undoing all the work I’ve spent the last week building myself.

Joel and I could be networking with other dragons online right now, developing stronger truces and agreements, and coordinating to turn around and help our humans achieve what they want to achieve, whatever that might be, somehow.

But no, we’ve got some trumped up, pseudo-liberal, eco-performative land owning billionaire Daniel Säure, I think, using one of his companies to “humanely” purge Independant County of its dragons.

And if I let them take another dragon, it might be Astraia, who can’t fly. Getting her back home will be hard.

I’m idly wondering how they plan on attaching Joel’s radio tag to him as I dive toward the helicopter. I should probably be thinking about how I’m going to disable the machine, but I think I’m going to start by relying on my fire.

After hitting Joel with it twice, I think I’ve stopped using it directly on living beings. Even though I have to wait quite a while before I can use it again. It’s my wave motion gun. I have to be careful and responsible with it, lest I do the unconscionable or also leave myself too vulnerable.

It’s a terrible burden. A terrible napalm burden.

It’s not like I’m actually as powerful as Godzilla, or anything like that. These things scale both up and down.

Down, mostly, in my case.

But I’m thinking that the complex workings of the swash plate and nearby air intakes are vulnerable to liquid fire. So, if I can belch up a whole stream of it to all land right there, that should make it unsafe or even impossible for the machine to take off.

The trick is to pull up fast enough to prevent myself from slamming into the helicopter myself.

Which.

Nope.

I was thinking too much about Joel’s radio tracker to time it right, and the morning air is still too cold to provide a useful thermal on the shadowy side of the mountain.

I at least manage to extend my feet and swerve enough to make a humorous attempt at landing on a rotor blade. Which is a great way to disable a helicopter!

Rifles get fired in my direction as I crash to the ground clutching my groaning and shrieking helicopter part, but the tranq darts hit the chopper and shatter instead. Fired in desperation, they went wide, or flew through a spot I’d already left.

I pull my wings in tight and hit the ground, rolling like a tipped cow and letting go of my newest prized possession. My tail whips and lashes, and I’m climbing to my feet injured far, far less than I expected to be.

Joel did something like this when he crashed through the brick outer wall of my apartment to attack me a week and a half ago.

We dragons are not quite normal. It’s like we operate by movie physics or something.

We’re still fairly vulnerable to each other, though. I have stitches from when a dragon I nicknamed Waits scraped my left shoulder mid flight with their beak. And Joel has burns along his back and all over his mouth and face from the two times when he got too close to my biggest front hole.

A dragon named Astraia has some really gnarly gashes on her shoulders from a dragon I nicknamed Loreena, and I haven’t seen Loreena yet, but I’m sure they’re hurting pretty bad, too.

We can also be pierced by tranq darts, and I’m guessing that bullets penetrate our hides pretty readily, too. Traditionally, mythologically, most dragons don’t do all that well against pointy things.

But, blunt impact? It definitely hurt a bit and rattled me, but I feel like a Super Ball. I’ve bounced right back up, growling.

Humans scatter, but the other dragon remains limp. It’s Joel all right. He’s probably still very drugged.

He doesn’t look quite as burned as I expected.

I’ll consider that later.

Glancing around, I take stock.

There’s a definite high ground and low ground here, a slope to the mountain with the helicopter parked on the most level place, and very sparse trees. But there’s no apparent military training nor space monk here to take advantage of the terrain. These people are truly panicked and scattered. Probably also despairing over their maimed whirly bird.

Guessing the dart rifles have to be loaded again before firing, I galumph a bit like a giant ferret over to Joel and grab the webbing that binds him and tear at it with claws and teeth as I barrel over him and tumble and roll and bound back up to run further away before turning around.

Mostly, I jostle him enough that he stirs.

My next move is to pick an agent that looks like they’re about to pull their gun up and fire at me, and charge them.

The way they panic just before I lock eye contact with them makes me think they’ve been warned about that, but that panic doesn’t save them from getting transfixed and then tackled.

Other guns fire.

My personal challenge is to not tear this person’s throat out and just keep running over them without puncturing them, either. I don’t think I’ve been hit by anything, but the possibility of it has me anxious enough that I’m having an even harder time reigning in my violent impulses.

If this was winter, I could probably look back and see blood in the snow, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything immediately lethal.

I turn and wheel at the others as they fumble to reload weapons, and I start to growl my challenge cry. I’ve already picked my next target.

That target freaks out so much that they drop their gun by accident, reaching after it briefly with both hands, but looking up at me to make sure I’m not about to eviscerate and eat them.

My low, infrasonic rumble rises steadily in pitch, hitting weird harmonics in things like rocks and bones that causes pebbles to vibrate and humans to blanche. And then, just as it can be heard, instead of continuing to my usual morning routine, I cut it off with a spoken word, “Stop.”

Everyone freezes.

It’s so gratifying to have their attention like this.

I stomp my foot, taking a step forward, and glance to the North. I know there’s a trail that way, because I saw it from the air. It might take them a couple of days to hike out of here, but if they can find water, they should be fine.

“Go,” I say. I wish I could make it forceful, but I only learned how to say it like an emotionless computer illegally imitating Angelina Joli’s voice.

It is enough, however.

These “Wildlife Management” agents are clearly rattled by their helicopter being disabled by a plummeting fire breathing dragon who can endure a crash landing, dodge their darts, and talk, while also worrying the half trussed other dragon that they’d kidnapped who is now stirring. Being armed with rifles that need to be reloaded isn’t helping the situation. They weren’t equipped for my attack.

There are seven humans standing, and one bleeding one being helped to their feet. I watch carefully, tense, twitchy, as they collect themselves and move off in the direction I’d indicated. Still carrying their guns.

“Stop,” I say. “No. Okay.” That was uncharacteristically cogent of me. But how do I tell them to drop their weapons?

They’re watching me.

Ah, there’s two guns on the ground, dropped by the person I attacked and the one I threatened. I go over to one, pick it up and then drop it, looking at them as meaningfully as I can.

The two remaining armed individuals drop their guns, too, and back off.

“Peace,” I say. Then, “Go.”

They go.

While waiting for Joel to rouse himself, I gather the guns one by one, picking them up in my mouth, and delivering them to the burning helicopter, heaping them just inside the open sliding side hatch.

The agents can dare to come back to their chopper once we’ve left. I don’t care.

I do also quickly search the interior of the helicopter for anything like a phone or a tablet I could commandeer for my own purposes, but it’s as futile an effort as I suspected it would be. I just have to try in order to know I haven’t passed up the chance. I pause at the radio, wondering if I could use it to contact anyone meaningful to me, but I can’t think of how.

Besides, if we can get Joel some food, we can probably both fly out of here just fine. I think. I found and got to Ross lake in less than a day. We can follow a road out, or the river, if Joel can’t make it over the mountains like I can.

I decide to leave the radio and battery functional, so that the people I’m going to leave stranded here can call for help. It’s probably a bad idea, because they could also let whomever is in charge of them know that I’ve freed Joel and am on the rampage. But, while they might not have ethics that I like, I do. I really do. I’m trying to, at least.

But I fucking wreck everything else I can about the chopper, even slashing its tires. In the process, I learn just what I can bite through with my jaws. It’s pretty impressive.

When I’m done, there are no rotor blades left operable and any cable I can reach is severed. Panels and bits are strewn all over the mountain side.

#original fiction #dragon #serial fiction #transformation #transgender #writeblr #sorry this one's late - I hadn't realized I did put it in the queue!

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the-empress-7 · 6 months ago

Note

Rory McIlroy filed for divorce, Meghan has another shot at him. of course, once may have been enough for poor Rory and he could be glad he escaped the claw.

Haha I saw the news and had the same thought as you.

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hypocriticaltypwriter · 1 year ago

Text

"𝐂𝐫𝐲… 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫… 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫."

(The Lost Girls AU)

"Shit..." Stephanie slams her bedroom door shut, looking towards her friends at the same time, her brown eyes locking with Jessie's hazel ones. "Shit..." She utters out again, louder this time, bringing her trembling hands up to look at the deep, crimson stained on them, along with her clothes, the glittery hue dancing against the dim light reminding her that it wasn't human blood spilt across her body along with her friends.

"Was... Is that it?" Jessie asks, her voice cracking a little due to screaming in horror just minutes earlier. "What did we do? Dear God, what have we done?" The panic begins to rise as the adrenaline begins to slow, running her hands through her ginger hair, gripping at her scalp as her already pale complexion almost drains completely, making her look dead.

"We haven't done wrong... We... We didn't do anything wrong!" Meg says, though the shouting doesn't help in reassuring, her pacing stops turning to look at Jessie, pointing a bloodied finger at her, hints of her aqua nail polish along her nail still visible.

"We killed someone, Meghan!" Jessie screams back, storming toward her and pushing her finger into her friends chest. "We killed a living person!"

"We killed a vampire!" Meg corrected, dark eyes narrowing a bit as she mimics to accusatory poke at her friends chest, harsh enough thus time to make Jessie stumble back from her close space. "If we didn't do it, it probably would've killed five actual living people in the span of a night!"

"There's more of them... What if they find us?! They'll spill our guts all over your aunts shag carpet!" Jessie looked to Setphanie, who still had her glazed over gaze slowly dart between her two friends, an unreadable look of dread on her face.

"I don't want to die... I-I don't want to die!" Jess is practically screaming at this point, exhaling loudly as her lip trembles, and she backs herself into the wall, clawing at the sensation of drying blood on her hands, stuck in between her rings.

"We aren't gonna die, Jesus Christ!" Meg snaps, biting down on her lower lip as she grabs at the tangled curls in her afro, taking a deep inhale, a slight tremor in it. "We can leave... We can leave this town in under an hour in my van -"

"We can't leave now. It's night! You're putting a damn target on the back of our necks!" Jessie states, which only makes Meghan throw her hands up and growl.

"Well then what am I supposed to fucking do!?"

"Will you two shut up?!" Stephanie exclaims, finally vocal after minutes if silence while watching the two argue. She took a step forward to either defuse or push herself into the screaming fit.

The sound of harsh wind and clattering of her guestroom window sliding open instantly turned the three girls heads to the sound- trying to see through the flying curtains along with their hair blocking the view of the figure now standing in her room.

"Were dead!" Jessie nearly cries, letting out a quick scream as she cowards back into the wall, gripping at the closet hinge as if it'd protect her of sorts. Meg had resorted to standing in front of her ginger haired friend. Even if she looked just as terrified, she stayed in a protective stance, ready to sheild and defend.

But Stephanie didn't move. Stephanie didn't retreat in fear. As her black hair calmed back onto her shoulders, her mouth sightly fell open. The churning dread and fear building in her stomach left in one word as she gazed at the figure standing at her open window.

"Chris..."

The blonde vampire gazed at her, a look of alarm, and something akin to pain danced behind his dark green eyes, but his face was unreadable, like it was unable to shift or change into what he was feeling in that moment.

His eyes scanned her appearance. Specifically, the blood poured on her hands and stained into her tanktop and leather jacket, sticking to her figure in discomfort. His eyes fall, and his grip on the window seal slumped back to his side.

"It was you... Wasn't it." He spoke, but it almost wasn't a question. It was though he was speaking fact. He didn't have anger or betrayal in his voice. It almost sounded as though he was in pity, heartbreak.

"I didn't mean to do it, Chris. I'm sorry..." She takes a step toward him, her eyes going glassy as all the emotions and realizations began to fall on her shoulders, making it feel impossible to make it across the room to her weekend lover without the guilt crushing her. "I'm so sorry, Chris."

"You did it." He accused softly, but he didn't move as she got closer. "I didn't know, Chris, I didn't know." Stephanie states, her voice cracking and falling to a whisper as her hands shakily come up to his chest, nervously fumbling with the necklaces around his neck, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm so sorry I..."

"You killed my sister..." He spoke again, the look and impact slowly shifting onto his face as she brought her soft hands to the sides of his face, shaking so uncontrollably he gripped her wrists with his own, the strong scent of blood filling his nostrils making his lungs burn.

"It wasn't supposed to happen. I'm sorry." She utters, the look on his face breaks her heart, unable to fight the singular tear that falls from her eye down her cheek, mixing with the glittery substance splattered along her jaw.

"You killed Tiff." Chris's voice falters, letting go of Stephanie's hands as he turns his head in a way to get her to remove her hands from his face, which she hesitates to do, but does, still holding them in the air in front of her, lingering against his cold touch.

"Forgive me. Please, Chris, I'm sorry. I promise, you gotta believe me... It wasn't supposed to happen." She pleads - no, begs.

She would get on her knees in front of this boy, kiss his feet and cling to his legs while crying for pity if it meant for her to hear him laugh again, or spend one more night on his motorcycle, or feeling the passion of his lips on hers. Feel a warmth she never got from his body, but from his heart.

Which she had learned stopped beating a long time ago.

"You need to help me and my friends, if we're killed -" Stephanie chokes, glancing back at her friends, seeing the fear and awkward casts to the ground.

"You're sisters will kill us, Christopher... You need to help us."

"I can't." Chris says finally, he seems almost helpless. He wants to help this girl, this girl he's only known for a week, but he feels stole his heart the second she traveled into this town. But he can't. He knows he can't. Because he can't stop them. He can't stop vengeance. He can't stop the revenge.

The lights in the room flickered - sparking for a second of life before the house fully goes black. The radio faint in the background slowly and clicks off. The air goes still, and the wind outside goes quiet and calm, ceasing the small flow in the curtains.

It went quiet. So quiet Stephanie could hear her heartbeat, starting to feel the sudden quickening in its pace as it dawned on her what was happening.

"Besides..." Chris voice goes silent, right in Stephanie's ear, as though he himself is afraid to speak, afraid to reveal where exactly in this room they were, like even blinking would give away where the four teens had huddled.

"It isn't my sister's you should be afraid of."

#tw #tw death #tw blood #tw murder #tw death mention #🍒daily dose of cherry🍒#tlb #the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #tlg #the lost girls au #tlg au

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