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m143ui · 4 years ago

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A MESSAGE TO THE PJO FANDOM

so hello friends on the other side

I understand some of the major concerns regarding characters like piper and the feather and hazels description but when you bring Leo and Reyna into the fucking conversation I have lost all respect.

ANYONE CAN BE ABUSED, ETHNICITY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT

LATINO CHARACTERS

Reyna is not a negative stereotype, she isn't defined by being latina and neither is Leo, he isn't a stereotype simply because he’s latino and was abused. also him being called an elf was because he was short, which had nothing to do with him being latino. also the mamacita comment like y'all hide under the label “progressive” but ignore that mamacita has been a thing in Latin American communities for a fucking while. its not an insult dammit. its something that happens in our communities!!! its like saying muchacho y'all don't see men bitching about that.

also shocker I read the mamacita comment and I can proudly say I didn't go

“RICK YOU RACIST BITCH”

things that actually happen in communities aren't racist

and before any of y'all come at me with the usual you’re white excuse, hello friends im Peruvian and Paraguayan.

I don't think he’s perfect but bitching about characters like Leo which gave many of my Latin American friends hope for similar characters destroys your “listening to minorities” argument

also the lol “hes Mexican taco bad” argument like I live in Mexico we eat tacos like every fucking day. its literally a fact. and Leo isn't just defined as taco man.

believe it or not us latinos respect rick because he gave us role models and characters like us. we don't define a character by one line and instantly call discrimination. like yes a asian character can be snobby it has nothing to do with ethnicity. y'all are making this about ethnicity. an asian character can be anything, just like a white character or a black character or a gay character. people are not simply defined by their labels like ya’ll think. y'all are just a bunch of easily triggered snowflakes that can't live with that. they can be influenced but in the end labels are labels we are all human and should be treated as such.

LGBT REPRESENTATION

another thing Reyna was never officially a lesbian that was YOUR interpretation not riordans. IF HE DIDNT STATE IT , SORRY HONEY IT ISN’T CANON! I don't care about how she was “lesbian coded” if he didn't state it it isn't canon.

I am so sick, as a lesbian, to see people use ALL QUEER DEATHS as a bury your gay tropes, what happened to seeing us as humans? why can't we be treated like any other character? if we die we die, it isn't always “haha gay evil boom death”. sometimes fully fledged characters have to die friends.

Nico isn't a bad gay character, he’s just a normal character who happens to be gay and has suffered major trauma. HIS TRAUMA WAS CAUSED BY HIS UPBRINGING, Nico isn't a 2000′s character, he’s from the 30′s, so obviously he woudn’t be perfect with his sexuality for gods sake it was the 30′s. the exact same thing happens with hazel, she isn't a modern black woman, she's a 30′s black woman. Nico’s coming out isn't him as a 21st century teen its from the time when the GOVERNMENT KILLED YOU FOR BEING GAY

also saying there are no lesbian characters? like wow look emmie and jo don't exist. Lavinia doesn't exist. poison doesn't exist. thanks fam you really make yourselves look smart here. simply because rick never said the word gay doesn't mean the gay characters don't exist friends. they are just labeled as what gay characters should be labeled as.... human.

LESBOPHOBIA & RACISM

im not educated in muslim or black culture so I won't mention characters like sam and hazel and piper because I respect and I am highly critical of what rick put in his books to describe these specific minorities.

HOWEVER saying rick is a lesbophobe, a homophobe, a racist a sexist cis guy is like do y’all wanna be taken seriously? use arguments don't hide behind words.

rick isn't a perfect writer but y'all really don't know how to criticise, y'all just hide behind big boy words and back it up with no evidence, just opinions.

rick doesn’t have the best minority rep out there but he is damn well trying and I respect that unlike all you fucking idiots.

SHIPS

now onto ships.... yay

frazel: im not gonna censor it like you pussies, believe it or not 13&16 year old relationships exist. they might not always be healthy but they exist. to deny this is to be stupid

solangelo: another ship that is censored..the main argument I've seen is that it isn't developed and will isn't even a character... he was in last olympian and lost hero not my fault y'all have fish brains. I don't care if you dislike it but don't be like “ANYONE WHO SHIPS THIS IS AN ABUSIVE WHORE” like wow you always preach about accepting all ships and then throw this? also if you hate solangelo because of the “abuse” but ship percico like hi friends Nico is 4 years younger than Percy.. if y'all hate frazel because of the 3 year age difference y'all should hate this too.

CONCLUSIONS AND SHIT

not every character minority or otherwise is gonna be the way you want them to be, believe it or not any character can be anything, black characters can be loud, white characters can be loud. if they're only loud because “haha black” then THATS an issue not the simple existence of a loud black woman who has a loud personality.

y'all be here bitching about drew and I've never heard the asian perspective of this? just a bunch of black and white people telling asians they should be offended. was that just an uno reverse?

also last point stereotypes aren't always a negative thing and y'all need to get that in your heads.

anyway stay mad hoes <3

from a sane Peruvian <3

EDIT

I saw this beauty and had to comment on it

“having LGBT characters experience abuse and violence. nicos forceful outing rubs me the wrong way, especially because hes called a coward for being in the closet. its violent and kind of disturbing to make your gay character come out of the closet by force. maybe write better. additionally, alex's abusive father and subsequent homelessness because of her being trans is badly written.”

oh noooo gay characters can't deal with homophobia anymore ! like I can tell you have never been punched for being gay. is it bad to showcase how trans and gay ppl are 40% of homeless youth? or is even mentioning that discrimination? believe it or not some of us live in countries where people try to kill us. you have an advantage and it shows. about the coward thing...

was FUCKING CUPID A GOOD CHARACTER? NO? I REST MY CASE. CUPID IS NOT SEEN AS A GOOD PERSON THEREFORE HE IS NOT A GOOD PERSON GET THAT IN YOUR THICK SKULLS.

YOU HEARD IT HERE FOLKS LGBT FOLKS DONT GET FORCED OUT OF THE CLOSET

#NEVER HAPPENS IN REALITY.

JUST BECAUSE YOU WERENT FORCED OUT OF THE CLOSET DOESNT MEAN OTHER PEOPLE HAVE THAT SAME LUXURY.

maybe stop spewing bullshit <3

(so I get that this scene can remind people of being outed and it can hurt them however this scene was never intended to be a good thing it literally says Nico is scared of facing his emotions)

EDIT NUMBER 2

oh boy rick really pissed off the snowflakes that I share a fandom with

“give Nico to the gays” no? he would be a femboy and they would yeet his trauma like ssrsly?

also hate rick? bitch no one is forcing you to read his tweets.

death of the author is such a toxic thing like the mans is alive boo he aint going nowhere..like What the fuck

EDIT NUMBER 3

anyway final thoughts on this :

nico insn’t Uwu gay and its an insult to his character

Reyna is not a lesbian canonically (neither is Thalia)

Leo and Reyna are not racist

none of ricks characters are written as insults to their communities

and if I see one more “but ....phobia/ ...ism I will do very illegal things

peace lol

RICK RIORDAN UPDATE:

congratulations rick antis! you have successfully harassed a 56 year old man into leaving social media! wow so progressive!!!! this totally won't backfire or anything!!!

all jokes aside all of you who harassed rick to the point of someone else taking over his social media should feel ashamed

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

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Stronger Part 3 (Unbreak my Heart)

Summary: Gang-tae finally gets a reality check.

Author's note: Slightly tipsy as I wrote this, life has been very busy but I have plans to write a naughty Search:WWW fic so I wanted to get this out first. The next chapters will be the climaxes and y'all can let me know if you want smut in this series, or if you like it nice and wholesome. 🙃🙃🙃🙃 But no worries the smut would come muchhhhh later.

Mang-tae lays limp on the night frosted ground, gleaming button eyes peering up at him in judgement. With a deep rooted sigh he bends over to retrieve the doll, pocketing it before turning from the empty spot she no longer resides.

The happiness that bubbled up at her unforeseen appearance has twisted and crystallized into a rancid pool of disappointment and melancholy at her just as sudden disappearance.

He doesn't understand.

Opening up had been difficult, the most challenging obstacle he'd faced in their.... predicament. She'd been poking and prodding for as long as he'd know her, enticing him to crawl out of his self imposed prison, until he broke. Unleashed all his pain and misery on her like torrential showers thundering from the heavens. Voicing hidden horrors and his not so hidden desires, he'd tried to subdue his feelings but as always she made him act out of character.

The thought of that mad woman harming her made his skin boil with heated anger, so much so that all he could do was kiss her back to life; his grim thoughts had painted morbid tales of her demise and seeing her there on the staircase, painfully gorgeous had been so heart shattering he almost wept.

But somehow that hadn't been enough. His secrets and his scars weren't enough for her, she'd seen the real him and taken his advice to get lost. She wasn't supposed to listen to him, she never had before.

"Geesh what was that about? She looked like a witch out here! Did you two have fight? Why didn't she try to kidnap you and take you home?" Jae-su's bewildered voice cracks through the thumping of his heart, weighty in his chest.

He fumbles to think of an answer. He's at a loss, maybe he was the one who wouldn't understand her for a hundred years.

"I... don't... It's nothing. We're fine. Let's go inside." His friend scoffs, condescending eyes calling him a liar but he ignores them, running away instead.

At least he still has Sang-tae.

"I can't. I'm busy." His brother carelessly rejects his offer to hang out and watch cartoons, stuffing pencils and a notepad into the satchel slung across his body. Fidgeting as he fixes his hair in the mirror, visibly excited about his events for the day. He tries not to be jealous that he isn't a part of those plans.

He fails.

"Where are you going? Can't I come?" He pleads, staring up at his older brother with wide beckoning eyes.

Sang-tae stares back nonplussed, "You're not as cute at the alley cat, that won't convince me. That isn't convincing at all Gang-tae."

With a groan he rolls on the bed roll, before clambering onto his feet. Pulling out his phone he sends Jae-su a text, Do you want to hang out? He freezes as his eyes unknowingly land on her messages underneath, tricks to get him back in the castle and teasing selfies that he had saved once he received them.

He'd composed many messages to her before his thumb destroyed them with systemic viciousness, leaving no letter untouched. There was still a minuscule part of him that envisioned her coming back of her own volition. She always came back, boomeranging back into his life every time he attempted to flick her out. It was a law of his universe.

Yet it had been days since their last interaction and he'd heard nothing from her, no calls or messages, simply radio silence. He was beginning to become worried.

The honk of a car snaps him from his thoughts as Sang-tae perks up at the alarming sound, happily flailing before running out the doors.

He follows blindly, stopping in the doorway gazing down at her familiar car, instinctively he grabs Sang-tae's arm hindering his movement and escape.

"Where are you going?" He asks stupidly as if he can't see what is so painfully obvious.

Sang-tae looks at him with a look that mirrors his own thoughts, "My bestie invited me to a book conference, I'm going as her illustrator. We're going as partners, it's too to make connections she said. I'll be gone all day."

He can't hear Sang-tae's excited spiel over the blood rushing to his face, she hadn't contacted him at all but clearly was still conversing with his brother. Why was she only upset with him? Annoyance and jealousy ebb in equal waves in his blood line.

"Hyung don't you think that's too much? I thought you weren't talking to her right now." He instigates, feeling petty about being the one left out.

"I was but I forgave her, sometimes best friends fight but she apologized so I forgave her. She's going to be a better best friend now."

Sang-tae speaks calmly and certainly, pulling away from his firm grip and skipping down the stairs before hopping into the car.

Finally he allows his eyes to land on the window, readily expecting her answering gaze, eager to lock eyes with her and get lost in time with her.

Her smile is blinding and tender, eyes soft crescents.

But they aren't on him, they are locked instead on Sang-tae. Cloying possessiveness curls around his control and without any acknowledgement of him, they're gone in smoke and the smell of burnt rubber.

He gets drunk, disgustingly so, sloshing the liquid on his sleeves as he loses his balance and almost pitches off the table.

He'd bitten the bullet and finally sent her a message, readying for her to call and for them to fight their way back into their... predicament.

Instead he'd gotten a taste of his own medicine, it was poignantly bitter. It hadn't even been read. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

"I told her everything, things I never even told you! But she's ignoring me, why? Why would she do that?"

Jae-su's eyes are huge as he rambles on, snatching a shot of soju from his hand before he can slam it back, he whines making grabby hands.

"Why did you get so drunk? You said that you only wanted to have a few drinks." Jae-su sighs exasperated, falling back onto the table folding his arms behind his head.

"Jae-su, what did I do wrong? Why won't she answer my messages? I stopped running, I let her catch m--"

"Yah!" They both jump from the volume of the scream, Gang-tae almost falling to the ground in his shock.

Sang-in's rage filled face swims in his vision, intoxication stuttering his movement.

"You think you did her any favors? You think meeting you did her any good? Do you know what she was like after you left her that day? She cried everyday. You broke her. You made her come back to this wretched place, do you know what that castle means to her? You're a selfish prick. Did you even say sorry to her for everything you've done to her?" Sang-in's spit showers his face in a wet splash, a feeling of deja vu overwhelming him.

He blinks back, dazed.

Jae-su shakes himself from his trance, jumping to his defense, "What's your problem? Of course he apologized to her! What are you accusing my best friend of?" He points his finger into the manager's face as they slap and hit each other.

That day. His blood runs cold, remembering his cruel words, berating and belittling her all because he couldn't deal with his feelings for her. Couldn't be honest with his brother or himself.

One time event.

Her tears salty like the sea water that crashed at their feet.

Realization drops on him like a dead weight, severing his air flow.

Did you even apologize?

Did you even say sorry?

He racks his brain scouring his memory desperately, that conversation playing out in his mind like a movie, scene by scene.

Telling her about Sang-tae and his trauma, the effects that had on him and the way he was allowed to live life, inviting her to join this life, be with them.

And, I, need you.

All about him.

He hadn't asked her if she was okay after being targeted by a patient, her skin pale as he ascended the stairs to wrap her in a hug. Her voice was not a part of the conversation, he'd said let's talk but in all honesty he had been the only one to talk.

About his pain.

His suffering.

All about him.

Gosh.

"I'm an asshole." He whispers aloud finally, finally understanding.

Sang-in and Jae-su both pause at his soft declaration, hands tangled from their scuffle.

"You are. But somehow you got the bitch and the nice girl. You don't deserve either."

He has never felt smaller in his life.

Why are you mad?

Stop acting up.

Those had been his messages, the only messages he'd sent to her, nothing but shameful regret fills his veins now, he hadn't done nearly enough. Not by a long shot.

He'd woken up the next day with a killer hangover and a sour taste in his mouth, wanting the ground to swallow him up. He wasn't that lucky.

He'd called her, one, two, three, many times. Each time going to voice mail, testament to her avoiding him.

Mun-yeong. Please.

I need to talk to you.

He'd lost track of the amount of times he'd looked at his phone hopefully, only to be crestfallen when it wasn't her. If this was anything like she felt when he ignored his messages he would never do that again. That coupled with Sang-in's snarky comments and withering glares made him want to pull his hair out.

The castle looms over him as he hesitates at the gate, before pushing it open with a loud creak.

His knocks boom on the hollow wood of the door, pounding as hard as his heart. The castle is silent, he pounds once more.

"Mun-yeong! Ko Mun-Yeong, please open up! I need to talk to you." He hangs his head, hand sliding down the smooth wood.

The silence is deafening.

"Please, Mun-yeong. I'm.... sorry."

He falls to the steps, the strength disappearing from his bones.

"Get up. Stop making such a scene, this was always the outcome. Only I can take care of her."

He twists his head around, eyes too tired to form a true glare but the intent there.

"Where is she?" He demands, fury and shame emboldening him.

Sang-in scoffs at him, walking away after peering through the windows.

He feels his eyes prickle from his emotions overtaking him, life without her was like going from high definition to black and white, his life was lack luster and empty.

"Wait." He begs, tears caressing his cheeks, "Please, where is she? I have to make this right."

Sang-in pauses on the last step, hesitation evident in the sharp angle of his shoulders before he starts walking again, leaving him shattered on the ground.

Sang-in stops at his car, steel eyes as he looks at him with pity, "Maybe it's your turn to start chasing."

The truth can be humbling.

#it's okay to not be okay #it's okay to not be okay fanfiction #psycho but it's okay #ko mun yeong #moon gang tae #kim soo hyun #seo ye ji #long live IOTNBO #More groveling on the way #MY pov next

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tellywoodtrash · 4 years ago

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immj2 30.10.20 lb

lol ishani is suchhhhhhhhh a messy bitch. not even pretending to look less than outright gleeful.

le, iska rona shuru. god sis, you knowwwwwww these bitches have it out for you, then why do you give them the satisfaction of seeing this reaction???

yeh aadmi hai ya bhagwaan? koi bhi jagaah koi bhi time marzi se prakat ho jaata hai.

THAT FUCKING STUPIDASS SCARF IS RUINING THE WHOLEEEEEE LOOOK. GOD WHY DO THEY DO THIS TO HIM?????????

TUMNE JITNE TELLYWOOD FANS KO KHOOOON KE AANSOON RULAAYE HAINNNNA SHIRALI, BHAGWAN TUMHE IN PAAPON KE LIYE KABHI NAHI MAAF KAREGA!!!!!!!!!!

also, just noticed the set and production design credits and finally have names to put on all the hate mail i wanna send.

naaaah jk, i think it's really nice that they got employment in this pandemic, even with their OBVIOUS lack of taste. so much so, that it seems to be a medical condition!

anyway, he said he got this sargi for ishani on behalf of angre, but since she's got hers anyway, this one can be given to riddhima. noice. this fucker be worming his way into my heart with shit like this.

inka phir se popat bann gaya.

mummy biting out and giving the worst blessing of all, “sadaa suhaagan raho.” which is just an elaborate way of saying "hope you die before your husband does, because life without a man is worse than death itself!!!!!!"

“thank you mummyji. aapne ~~sachchi neeyat~~~ se sargi taiyyar kii thi toh dekhiye, mere haath khaali nahi hain!”

lmao nice. where was this riddhima allllll along?????? i've been waitinggggg for this snarky bitchhhhh who doesn't take shit!!!!!

le, aadarsh bahu mode is back on. sab ke liye koi paath ka intezaam kiya. chanchal chachi was right, she's suchhhhh a annoying suck-up to dadi, honestly.

husband is like here, no one's looking; sneak some almonds, come on. yes, i approve. this the kinda man* you want ladies. one who's willing to have a few hours taken off his lifespan so you don't get hangry.

(*T&C strictly apply: only in this feeding waala criteria wrt this dude. baaki sab toh disaster hi disaster hai iss mein.)

“kaisi baat kar rahe ho??? vrat sachchi nishtha se kii jati hai. koi nahi dekh raha par bhagwaan dekh rahe hain!”

lmao, the most appropriate response.

wait you guys genuinely need a gif of this moment, coz it’s priceless:

i can't believe they don't let this dude move his face in this show when he is the MOST ENTERTAINING when he doessssss.

he's like dude i'll adjust with the 2 hours less in my life, but dharampatni is i won’t let you escape a minute of suffering existence in this flesh prison we’re all trapped in, so help me god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

who the fuckkkkkkkkk is this????? and you know you didn't need a needle on the syringe for this whole thing, don't you???

vansh's "baaz ki nazar" toh i've long given up on, but riddhima's peripheral vision also seems to be completely shit if she didn't notice a wholeass person wrapped in all black skulking around directly in her eyeline, not 10 feet away.

lmaooooooo dadi is like tf you doing here, and the hasty retreat he beat. scaryass men soft for their sweet old grandmas is a trend i really do love in tellywood.

oh i like ishani's outfit.

blah blah blah KC gyaan idgaf.

riddhima has lit diya and instant cough attack from the smoke.

it's her. she's the one who did this. looks like she's okay with bhai dying a few days earlier than fated, as long as it means she knocks riddhima down a few pegs.

mummy rubbing it in saying dekho yeh akhand paath hai, beech mein rukna nahi chahiye, apshagun hota hai. godddddddddddddd.

I HONESTLY CANNOT WATCH HER COUGH AND CHOKE THROUGH THIS THE SHEER RIDICULOUSNESS OF THIS IS FUCKING KILLING MEEEEEEEEE

yeh lo ji, parmeshwar prakat ho gaye to save the day and read the paath himself.

all dudes in the world should be in whatever business this guy and angre are in. ki biwi mil gayi toh it manages itself while he devotes himself to her.

lmao the sheer earnestness with which he's narrating the KC paath. both wholesome and fucking hilarious. looks like those primary school kids at their first public speaking contest.

i am ishani. god, why won't this scene just endddddddd already, i'm dying of cringe.

whoooooooooooops. bhai is pointedly asking ki how riddhima's throat got messed up when she was fine like 3 min ago.

behen is giving earnesttttttt excuses and he's really "sure jan"-ing her.

dadi's all no matter what issues crop up in these two's lives, i'm sure they'll win over it with their lurrrrrrrrrrrrrrve. yeah, it looks that way rn, but i wouldn't be quite so optimistic yet, dadi.

literally no one is surprised by this revelation.

oh god, she has something more planned. man who are these ppl with so much energy in their lives WHILE PREGNANT, to do such scheming and plotting??????? just my period cramps have me taking 2 hours off work to curl up on my heat pad and cry about ouchieeeeeee.

great. ragini ko ab daure pad rahein hain.

and poor angre is saddled with getting her treatment. WHY DOES HE HAVE TO DEAL WITH ALL THESE TROUBLESOME WOMEN IN YOUR LIFE VANSH?!?!?! EK ADIYAL BEHEN ISKE SAR PE BAANDH DI HAI WOH KAAFI NAHI THA, KI AB INVALID EX KO BHI ISKE HI HAATH MEIN THAMAA DIYA. i know you got your hands full with that disaster wife of yours, but come on man.

oh god is he gonna blow up at her again for eavesdropping!?!!?!?!?

thank the lord above, she had airpods in. (also lmao, ofc she's literally the airpods meme.)

isn't HE supposed to give HER a gift today???

i liked his other watch better. but this watch is supposedly riddhima “ke dil ki dhadkano se judi hai” so........ i'm no expert in cutting edge watch technology, so sure. sounds like something that would be available for the wives of billionaire gangster’s wives to buy.

oh man she got herself a matching one. which ofc is “tumhare dil ki dhadkano se judi hai.” lord, she CHEESY CHEESYYYYYYYYYYYY. and i'm mildly lactose intolerant, so 🤢🤢🤢

this dude is not though. he falling for this hard and fast. which is....... unexpected. nice, but also suspicious.

“yeh ghadiyaan chahe rahein naa rahein riddhima, lekin tum mere dil mein hamesha rahogi.”

that's sweet. and i'd believe and squee over it if this was any other show. i would. but in this show, literally everyone other than dadi/siya is out to fuck each other over and i don't trust a single goddamn word out their hissy snake mouths.

aaaaaaaaaaaaand ofc he's vrat-ing for her too. BECAUSE THIS IS A FEMINIST SHOW WITH THIS VERY FEMINIST HERO OK?!!!!!!?!?!!!!?!? THIS ONE EPISODE ABSOLVES ALLLLLLLLLLLL THE OTHER 98 EPISODES FILLED WITH HOT FLAMING TRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!

“apni umar badhaake kya karoonga main, agar tum saath nahi ho. main chahta hoon ki tum meri zindagi ki aakhri saans tak mere saath raho.”

again, very very sweet and all, esp. with these soft melty eyes; but it's this show. and we saw the upcoming promo. sooooooooo, kill bill sirens in my head, i'm afraid.

both mann hi mann mein deciding to tell each other the truth about their backstories after the vrat. which should work out splendidlyyyyyyy.

lo ji dream sequence shuru. voot blocked the music but colors put up the scene with bol na halke halke on instaTV so i watched it there.

yesssssssssss you messy trainwrecks. get it onnnnnnnnnn.

this is literally alllll i am watching this show for. the moment y'all bang in canon, i'm outttttttttttt. it's always the best time to quit a tellywood show. always. take this protip from wise, old TT. quit the show the episode the lead couples fuck. just trust me on this.

idk WHOSE dream sequence this is, but lmao it's got the vibes of a not-that-great wedding "promo" thing ppl have got going on these days. which one of y'all is binging these on youtube and thus has their subconscious filled with it/??? it's gotta be riddhima, but it would be absolutely fucking hilariousssssss if it was in fact, vansh.

yup. it was her dumb ass. i bet she had the exact video in mind for kabir and just cut-copy-pasted vansh's face in there from the last week onwards.

oh chachi's back from maayka for vrat kholing.

mans literally do be looking like the chand today. because they eased up on his yellow foundation, thank god.

poor ishani. god, this is why we need feminism. so our sisters don't get pushed into shit like this against their willllllllllllllllll.

dadi and siya shipping riansh to the point of making ppl uncomfortable. what next, you gonna be writing mature fanfic about them on IF????? BACK THE FUCK OFF, YOU WEIRDOS.

“humaare plans kamyaab hote toh vansh iss waqt riddhima ko zeher ki pyaali pilaa raha hota. hmph.”

lmaoooooooooooooooo mummy is an eternalllllllll mood.

this one is getting overly emotional about her first completed karwachauth vrat. eat a snickers, bitch.

dadi overpromising and saying shit like evennnnnnnnn god himself can't shake your love for each other, tumhari prem kahaani billlkulllll pooori hogi and what not. oh dadi, did YOU not see the promo?????

this one got the footage she needed and has duly handed it over to bhai. both of vansh's sisters have the trait for going straightttttt to him with their sordid discoveries, albeit for completely polar reasons.

lmaoooooo the way she peaced out.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand he's started growling about how all this KC naatak was fake and and vowing revenge and games for her dhokaaaaaaaaaa. i hate to say it but............ i told you so.

also abbe oh gobar ganesh. itna CCTV footage mila hai kahin se, toh baaki ka bhi toh dhoond, where you see how she got into the bloody dickey?!?!???! nahi, 2 out-of-context second hi dekh ke paagal saand ki taraah bekaabu ho jaana hai. shit for brains, literally everyone in this show has.

anyway, if i was vansh’s murti maker, i’d be expecting a call righhhhhht about now. riddhima yahaan rahe na rahe, uski murti zaroor rahegi, which vansh and his next paramour will demolish together as a bonding/foreplay exercise.

#ishq mein marjawan 2 #immj2 #immj2 lbs #episode liveblogs

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kylorengarbagedump · 5 years ago

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Little Bird: Chapter 25 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 24 here. Part 26 here.

Summary: All right, well, I guess no one's gonna go swimming in that pool, anymore.

Words: 6600

Warnings: cw--a kylorengarbagedump special: tons of graphic violence and gratuitous bloodplay

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HI, HELLO, what the fuck am I doing! I'd like to give thanks to @faestae and John Wick for this chapter. Without them, I'd be completely fucked. For some reason, I keep writing shit that demonstrates how little I know about writing anything other than sex. Please let me know what you thought! I'm interested to see what people think about this bit.

I love y'all so very much! Thank you for always offering kindness and encouragement. <3

You hadn’t taken your eyes off of your Commander since entering the car, hoping that, if you stared long enough, you’d be able to identify any hint of emotion, any flicker of feeling in his inscrutable expression. But Kylo Ren sat, back against the partition, hands at his sides, a veneer of distance cast over his face. The harder you looked, the further away he seemed--like a void, emptying itself, slowly, of vulnerability.

“Do you know how long I’ve known your Commander?” said Snoke. You felt his spider-leg gaze crawling over your figure. “Since he was a boy.”

Unsure if you were supposed to respond, you dipped your head in the tiniest nod you could muster.

“And there was a period where he disagreed, you know. With the idea of Gilead. Did you know that?”

Ren was solid, unmoving, staring through the back windshield. He didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. Swallowing, you allowed yourself to peer over at Snoke. He was watching you expectantly.

“Um.” To be fair, you did know that--you just didn’t know to what degree, and for how long. “I didn’t know that, no.”

“Well, it’s true.” His focus drifted back to Ren. “He was so unsure of himself, back then. Couldn’t ever make a decision. Afraid to let himself achieve what he was truly capable of.” A dark, breathy laugh escaped him. “He was so sensitive, so scared.”

There, right below his nose, you saw it--a twinge of muscle.

“But, thankfully, he’s resolved those doubts, now.” A wicked smile twisted through his skin. “Haven’t you, Ren?”

His eyes, like slate, met Snoke’s for a millisecond. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Now Snoke turned his attention to you. “He believes, like I do, in the roles of society. In the order we can provide by enforcing them.” A glance at Ren. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Yes.” His back straightened.

“He agrees with me that Handmaids are one of those unfortunate necessities of society,” Snoke said. “If we had a perfect world, we wouldn’t need you at all.” He shrugged. “For now, both of you have your roles. Separate and equal.”

Not that nonsense again. It sounded just as repulsive as when it had come out of Ren’s mouth. “I think we’re both more than that.” You peered at your Commander, who observed you with guarded confusion. “More than our roles.”

Snoke’s eyes sparkled with some sick delight. “Really, now.” He looked to Ren. “We have to make sacrifices, don’t we. To ensure our vision survives to the next generation.”

He averted his gaze, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve made many sacrifices for Gilead, Ren.”

Snoke’s hand laid on your knee, squeezing it, red fabric bunching in his skeletal grip. Your throat thickened with fear, your breath stolen. Ren’s chest filled with slow, tense air, his jaw tight. The knife in your sleeve seemed to sear you with its presence--you imagined whipping it out, swiping the button, slamming the blade right into the old man’s wrinkled neck. Instead, you sat there, watching his hand creep higher, your focus switching between his fingers and your Commander.

Do what you wish with it.

If you tried to attack him now, here, in his car, both you and Ren would end up dead. You shoved the urge into the bottom of your brain, chin trembling as the bony excuse for a hand grazed your thigh--Snoke’s eyes were trained on Ren, daring him to move.

But he did nothing.

A whirr of a winding engine cut through the silence, and Snoke removed his hand--you sagged with relief. He rolled down the window, making a quick motion with his wrist, the limo stopping for a brief moment. Then it pushed forward, past a gated entrance staffed with at least two guards armed with rifles. Fear dug its claws into your chest.

The limo coasted up a long, winding driveway, up to what you could only define as a mansion, and came to a halt. Snoke glanced at the both of you, popping the door open.

“We’ve arrived,” he said. “Come, now.”

Ren met your eyes for a brief, electric second before he exited the vehicle. Steeling your nerves, you followed, feeling significantly hampered by the rustling of your dress. As you clambered into the sun, you breathed the heavy summer air and glanced over the property.

A white stone gate with the pair of sentries encircled a ring of decorative topiaries, bushels of red flowers poking through the mulched landscape. The driveway looped like a racetrack through the yard, up to the bleached cement plaza that opened to a glittering fountain pond. The center of the fountain was dominated by a marble carving of Jesus on the cross, his head craned toward the sky, water gushing in clear, noisy rivers from his hands and crown. In front of you, the staired entrance led to a grand, columned pavilion that guided you toward the front door, a glass and iron arch with concentric rows of windows radiating out to the walls.

All of this might have been beautiful, you thought, had you not been a slave, invited with your owner under the pretense of interrogation.

That, and the two guards coming to escort you to the entrance--also armed, of course.

They bookended you in a line--Snoke, Ren, and you--through the front door, into the vaulted foyer, ivory granite floors stretching out into a wide parlor room, light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through them, you spied the backyard, complete with a glimmering Tuscan-style pool, enclosed also by that same white stone. And more guards marching in assignment.

Silent, you kept close to your Commander’s heels as you all climbed the one of the two curved staircases, ascending past an enormous chandelier, tiers of glowing crystal casting flakes of light onto your skin. Despite its warmth, at the last step, you fell cold--there were still more riflemen at the top. The guards ushered you down an empty hall to an open door. They stood at either side of the entrance, and, blood escaping your face, you followed Ren and Snoke inside.

Cherry wood-panelled walls wrapped the oval stone floor, a circular Persian rug rolled out underneath a huge teak desk. It was accompanied by a tall Chesterfield throne upholstered in red leather, two smaller, sister chairs attending the sides. Behind the desk, built-in shelves were lined with heavy, hardbound tomes, all illuminated by two sets of double-necked glass sconces at the two ends of the room.

You stood next to Ren, hands strangling each other as Snoke closed the door and wandered around to the head of his desk. His stride was slow, deliberate, crossing the room like it was slick with molasses. Arriving at his chair, he opened one of the drawers, carding through it before pulling out a folder and plopping it on the flat surface. With precision, he plucked a few pages from it, pushing them forward.

“Do you remember signing these, Ren?”

Kylo Ren’s eyes flicked between the paper and his superior. “Yes.”

“Your very first acceptance to the order,” Snoke said, gazing at it. “The evidence of your commitment.” He turned his attention to you. “You said that you think you’re more than your roles. But I know that isn’t the case.”

You cleared your throat, spine straightening. “And I know it is.”

“You’d be wrong,” Snoke said. “Because Kylo Ren is a facade. An identity--a role. Just like yours.” He paused, waiting for Ren to react. He didn’t. “Before he was Kylo Ren, he was a lost, lonely little boy. Always winding up in fights. Parents too busy to care.”

Ren rolled his tongue along the inside of his teeth, but said nothing.

“But I saw potential in him. Didn’t I, boy?” Snoke offered him a small grin. “I could see the greatness, the cunning, the power you could have.”

“You did,” Ren muttered.

“And this is all you’ve become. Your heart hasn’t hardened. You’re soft. You could never hope to be Kylo Ren.” He sighed, and leered at him. “And I’m disappointed to see that this is the case.”

He was silent, chin raising, stare toward the floor.

“You’re still fighting it, aren’t you?” When he didn’t respond, Snoke’s entire face twisted in a frown. “Answer me, boy.”

“I’m not.”

“No?” Snoke opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a massive silver revolver, tossing it on the desk with a thunk. “Prove it,” he said. “Shoot her.”

Your heart shot between your ears, eyes darting between Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun. Kylo Ren was as unreadable as ever--he considered the revolver as if Snoke had thrown down a ballpoint pen. A tiny breath escaped him.

“Everything I’ve done has been for Gilead--my commitment has never wavered--”

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” Snoke’s gaze flashed with barely-leashed rage. “I see how you respond when I touch her, I can feel your weakness for her.”

Ren’s lip twitched. “Weakness. For a Handmaid.”

“I know your mind, Ren. I know every little thought that goes through your brain. Your impulses are raw, you allow Gilead to suffer under your foolishness. This paper...” He held it up, pointing to the signature--beautiful, loopy letters that read Ben Solo. “The boy that signed it still lives. And he is weak.”

Snoke pushed off the desk, stalked over to you--before you could even think to move, his hand gnarled in your hair, fingers scraping like screws over your scalp. You whimpered, thinking to scream, to fight, to beg--but worried Snoke would shoot you himself if you did.

“Show me who you’re meant to be, Kylo Ren.” He ripped you to the floor, shoving you onto your knees near his feet. Then, at the back of your head--something hard. Cold. Another gun. “Or I’ll show you myself.”

In the back of your mind, it seemed strange--for all the scenarios you’d imagined being on your knees in front of your Commander, this had never been one of them. Terror shuddered you, but you stilled the quaking of your flesh, meeting Ren’s eyes, sticking your chin into the air. He stared into you and through you, hooking into your hidden fear, finding himself there. Your chests rose and fell with the same breath, lips parting with the same awful knowledge--there was no scenario where he could save you, no reality where your story could’ve had a different ending. For all of your emptiness, loneliness, wanton need, this was your destiny--two souls, desperate to know the other, denied for every unchangeable reason fate could offer.

Part of you knew that Ren had to kill you. Part of you hoped against hope that, somehow, he wouldn’t.

But then he moved. And he picked up the gun.

“Good,” Snoke said. “Good.”

Ren stepped toward you, face blank, and aimed the revolver until it was inches from your head. You gazed at him, thankful that you’d known relief at least once in the past few years, somehow more thankful that he’d been the one to give it to you. Heat stung your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not now. You’d wished for death too many times at this point to begrudge its arrival.

“Good choice, my boy,” Snoke said. He jerked your scalp. “Would you like to have a prayer for your last words?”

He scoffed. “What use does a dog have for prayer?”

A hearty chuckle. “Oh, I’m nothing if not a man of God.”

“Last prayer, then.” Ren blinked. “Do what you wish with it.”

In your chest, breath hitched, your pulse flying. The switchblade. Swallowing, you glanced at the floor to Snoke’s foot beside you, then back up, meeting Ren’s eyes. A spark, a crooked crackle of light--you were seeing them, seeing him, seeing yourself, a reflection, an echo, pure resonance in the emptiness of his mind--and in that moment, you knew.

You knew him.

Clearing your throat, you began, “O, Lord Jesus…”

You pressed your palms together, bowing your head to conceal them as you used the heel of your hand to guide the blade up your sleeve.

“... pour into me the spirit of your love…”

The handle poked through the edge of fabric, the wooden scales cool and smooth. Your tongue was paper, scratching at your mouth.

“... that in the hour of my death…”

With the switchblade fully encased in your hands, your finger dipped to find the safety and flick it free. Perspiration had it slip in your grip, and you flinched for only a second, pinching it tight between your palms.

“... I may be worthy to vanquish the enemy…”

Your thumb fumbled for the safety, now, finding it behind your sweaty skin.

“... and receive the heavenly crown.”

Pushing it up, you drew a long, deep breath through your nose. Ren cocked his gun.

“Amen.”

The blade sprung free, and you drove it, a stake, straight into Snoke’s hapless foot. He screamed, his gun clattering to the floor--in that instant, Ren cocked a brow, raised the revolver, and fired. Snoke blew back, blood spattering your crown, a crimson spray cast over the desk, onto Ren’s face, and the body hit the floor behind you with a fleshy thud.

You blinked, gasping, trembling, too terrified to look behind you, too anxious to not confirm he was dead. A quick peek--a massive crater in the lifeless facade of his skull--and you swallowed, looking to Kylo Ren, without breath, without speech, without pretense. His eyes were wide and wild, his chest heaving with something like excitement--then, outside the study, the guards stirred.

“Commander Snoke?” one asked.

Ren glanced at the door. His pupils swallowed his irises, and at the corner of his lips, a smirk. He tore off his tie, tossed his suit jacket onto the floor, back and shoulders swelling like mountains underneath his shirt.

“We’re coming in, sir.”

“Get down,” he muttered as he cocked the gun, aiming it at the door. “Come in.”

You scrambled to the side of the desk and tore off your wings so you could see, curling over your knees, and the door squeaked open. The moment the guard’s head breached the entrance, Ren fired, and you jolted--blood spurted, painting the wall, the body dropped. A second guard flung the door back, rushing Ren before he could reload, but Ren threw his elbow into the man’s chin, wringing his arm around his neck and shoving him to the ground. He drove his heel into the guard’s neck before cocking the gun and blowing a hole through his face.

Heart flying in your chest, you stared at him, mouth open, almost unable to believe what you’d just seen. In the recording, you’d heard Snoke call him a warrior--you just hadn’t known until now what that meant.

“We’re moving.” Ren stalked over and snatched your wrist, but you winced.

“Hold on!” You tugged away and snagged the switchblade from Snoke’s foot, sheathing it and shoving it back up your sleeve.

“Come.” He grabbed you again, leading you over the leaking lump of the guard and into the hall.

As you breached the threshold and crossed the hall, two guards turned the corner--the ones from the top of the stairs. Kylo Ren shoved you behind him, gunshots spearing your ears, a body falling; then he slammed you against the wall, the trill of wide rifle bullets whizzing by your skull. You screamed, covered your head, and Ren reached out, wresting the barrel of the offending gun and wrenching the guard flush with his chest--he shoved the revolver up to his chin and fired, viscera erupting from the man’s eye sockets and coating you both.

You gagged, mind whirling--but Ren was crazed, rippling with the heat of exhilaration. He ditched the revolver and tucked the rifle under his arm, shrugging the body off and grabbing you again. Ren hugged you tight to his frame as he marched through the halls; panting, you gazed up at him, futilely trying to process that he had not only murdered his leader, but now apparently planned to gun down the entirety of this estate--when he all he had to do instead was kill you.

He cursed when you reached the steps. A pair of guards was posted at both sets of stairs--and, seeing you, they shouted and charged. Ren’s attention darted between them, landed on the chandelier. He shouldered you back, running forward and leaping from the banister. You squeaked, hands clapping your mouth--but he grappled the chain, feet stumbling over the metal frame as the crystal behemoth swung like a sparkling pendulum in the foyer. The guards hollered, racking their rifles--but Ren fired first.

Using the chandelier like an assassination assistant, Ren pinned the gun to his body and pulled the trigger, spitting a storm of bullets into the staircase, littering pockmarks over the walls. The guards quailed, ducked--Ren jerked the fixture’s chain, rolling his legs down, and he spun, a carousel of death, firing next at the guards climbing the other steps. These two were not so lucky--you caught hot streams of blood splash over the balustrade, and then Ren swung again, crystals clinking like chimes as the chandelier bowed in wide arcs. Face tight with frenzy, he fired, and you watched the bodies crumple like marionettes and tumble down the stairs.

Bobbing in the air, he cast his gaze around the room, back hunched, an animal starved. You grimaced, crawled forward, gripping the banister, and when he met your eyes, he shifted, making to swing.

“Stop!” came a voice from the back of the home.

From underneath the balcony, you saw two guards run forward, rifles pointed up--before you could shout, they fired into the ceiling, clouds of crystal fragments spewing into the air. Ren wobbled, dodging with surprising grace, then flung the chandelier back.

You watched him, lids wide, as he stepped, one foot, another foot, skating over the steel and lurching forward, yanking on the chain like a rope and throwing his legs into the air. His other arm, still occupied with the rifle, swung down, and as he launched himself toward the banister, he fired, sparks snapping, the chain severed. Ren connected with the railing as the chandelier exploded to the floor, crushing the two guards in a splintering spew of metal and glass. Without thinking, you scampered to him, clutching his arms, straining as you helped haul him onto the balcony. He stumbled to his feet and ripped you up by your wrist.

“Commander--”

“Quiet.”

Adrenaline coursed through him into you, absorbed like warmth through your skin. He dragged you down the steps, tossing his current gun and grabbing a new one while you fled over the ragdolled corpses covering your path. In your dress, it was difficult to maneuver, but Ren pulled you through, jaw set firm, ravenous fury dancing in waves from his body. His eyes were focused and feral, a predator, a true, live killer, consumed with a hunger you’d never before seen--not up close.

He led you toward the front door--beyond the mottled glass, you could spy a pair of guards sneaking close, decked in armor, guns raised. Cursing, he doubled back, your arm popping while he hauled you toward the other end of the home. Then two more guards, also in armor, crept across the pool deck in the same formation, heading toward wherever the back entrance was. Grumbling, Ren tore to the right, wringing you forward--you’d been thrust into a huge kitchen, replete with white quartz countertops and oak cabinetry. You had little time to admire it before he shoved you under the hood of the breakfast nook. Breathless, you pulled your knees to your chest, trying to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he grabbed two long knives from the butcher block on the counter, sidling up to the wall next to an archway that opened to what appeared like a mudroom. The first sentry peered around the corner, and Kylo Ren snarled, driving the knife through the man’s throat. He choked, gasped, writhing as he fell to the ground, rivers of blood spilling over the floor. The second guard flinched, went to raise his rifle at Ren--but the second of hesitation sealed his fate. Ren jammed his foot into the man’s chest, knocking him onto his back, and stomped his face before shifting the rifle into his hands and ending him with a pop, pop.

Flustered with fear, you made to move--and then spotted that the two guards from the front had made their way into the home, crossing into the kitchen. Before you could warn Ren, one fired, a quick burst, striking him in the side. He roared, crumpling to the floor, a bloom of bright blood staining his side--your body burst with fear, with rage, your mind making decisions without a second of uncertainty.

As the guards pushed toward Ren, you threw yourself into their path, a human speedbump; they tripped, stumbled over you, over each other, trampling you as they both collapsed to the ground. You craned your neck to see your Commander--he seethed as he stood, punching himself in his wound, each strike punctuated with a furious grunt.

Kylo Ren flipped the free knife into the air, caught it by the handle, and sneered, stabbing one of the guards through the eye--his body jerked, twitched on top of you, and Ren rolled the other man with his foot, aiming his rifle at his exposed face and riddling it with holes. You squealed as his frame jolted with the shots, trying to scramble free--but Ren caught you by the arm again, prying you to your feet. He started toward the back door, but you jerked away--he spun, hair tossed in choppy waves over his face, teeth bared, entire form trembling with the throes of bloodlust.

“The--the front,” you managed to eke out. “You’re injured, let’s get out of here.”

He growled, seizing your wrist and tugging you forward. “We’re not done yet.”

You swallowed. This was no longer about escaping. It was about revenge.

Led through the mudroom in the wake of his wrath, Ren discarded you to the side of the door and shouldered it open. Two guards stood, anticipating, at the exit, two more chasing around the pool. Your Commander wrapped one of the guards in a headlock, using him as a shield while he surged forward, facing the closest guard while shooting over his arm at the other two. They shook, barraged with bullets, toppling back until they both splashed into the pool, crimson fog weeping into the water. The guard in his grip kicked back, and he faltered--the man closest to him took this as an opportunity to lunge, and smashed into Ren, knocking him and his hostage to the ground.

Chest tightening, you made to move, but hesitated--what would you do? Shoot them? Your brain raced with the possibilities--at this point, you’d picked up a pistol, but you’d never pictured yourself as someone who could end a life. You’d also never pictured yourself as someone who would speak back to the lead Commander of Gilead, get belted over a knee, have her pussy stuffed with a gun, or feel worry for the man who owned her.

That last one caught you by surprise--you weren’t just worried, you were terrified. And not for yourself, but for him.

Kylo Ren rolled as the other guard approached, his rifle raised--he ducked behind his captive, using him like a barrier and reached down to the man’s side, stealing a handgun from his belt. The other guard went to dodge, but was blasted in the face with two shots, raining blood over the brick patio, crumpling to his knees and smacking the ground.

Caught in a struggle, Ren went to shoot his final victim through the skull--but the man had already produced a knife from the other side of his belt, and slashed up, ripping Ren across the shoulder and slicing his face. He howled in pain, and the guard took the opportunity to tear himself free, scurrying to his feet, reaching for the gun in Ren’s hand.

Something possessed you--fear, indignity, affection, something--and you dashed through the door, grappled a gun from the corpse closest to you, and cocked it. Maybe, before Gilead, you weren’t a person who could end a life. But now, you were a survivor. And you would be damned if you or your Commander would die here.

Taking the pistol in both hands, you aimed at the guard’s torso. “Hey!” you shouted for absolutely no reason. He glanced over, confused. “Fuck you!”

You pulled the trigger, ears ringing--the bullet nailed his chest, and he staggered, jaw dropped, perhaps wondering if he had really just been shot by a Handmaid. Ren, face smothered scarlet, swung to his feet, swiping the knife from the ground. He snatched the man mid-fall, hoisted him into the air and, snarling, shredded his throat with the blade. A geyser of blood gushed from his neck, bathing Ren in its fever, soaking his shirt, coating the curls of his hair. His shoulders crowded with the desperate cycle of his lungs as he loosened his grip, letting the body hit the ground, crimson bubbles seeping from the wound.

Hands quaking, you lowered your arms, dropped the gun. You couldn’t find your breath, chest fighting for air. Ren turned, eyes tracing the bodies, until finally, they landed on you. Heat hit you, strangled you, wrapped you like wire in a suffocating, powerful, need. Both of you, sprayed with blood, panting, aching--everything you had done, you’d done for the other. His transgressions faded to shadows in your mind. Against every single governmental pillar and logical instinct, you were alive because of him. And you wanted nothing more, now, than to be in his arms.

The word fled your lips, a caged dove. “Kylo…”

Kylo Ren threw down the knife, rushing you, and your feet moved too, carrying you on feathers to him, until your bodies connected, his arms coiling around you, his mouth bruising yours, the taste of iron fresh between your teeth. He was damp with blood, his skin spilled copper into your nose--but despite it all, you groaned, flooded with passion, burning in his embrace. Ren’s tongue drove into your mouth, his hand cupping the back of your head, wetting your hair as he crushed you to his frame. Thighs thrumming with desire, you kissed him back, nipping his lip, threading your fingers through his sticky waves--he moaned, crumbling to his knees, his hold taking you with him.

“You saved me,” you muttered against his lips. “You saved--”

Ren silenced you with a kiss. “Little bird...” He nibbled the line of your jaw, jerking a fistful of hair and burying his face in it, inhaling deep. “Get these clothes off.”

You shivered. “Yes, sir.”

Keeping his gaze, you gathered the hem of your dress and peeled it over your head, his eyes leaping over every bit of exposed flesh as it was revealed to him. You tossed it and your switchblade to the side, his hands grappling with your hips, sliding up your sides, smearing crimson over your skin. Whimpering, you reached toward your feet, pulling your boots off and throwing them to the side, attempting valiantly to remain kneeling while you inched your underwear down your hips and over your calves. Ren watched, trained on your naked cunt, as you finally flung it behind you.

When you went to begin the arduous task of unhooking your bra, Ren growled, your knees scraping across the pool deck as he yanked you into an impatient kiss. You whined in pain, soothed by his soft lips working yours, new blood from the wound on his face dribbling into your mouths and over your wrestling tongues. He wrested your tits from your bra, dying them red, thumbs skating delight over your stiffening nipples. Moaning, you writhed into his chest, and he gripped your face, nails scraping your scalp while he pulled you closer, groaning into you, leaning--you followed him, chasing his kiss until he was on his back, your legs straddling him, palms planted on his chest.

A soft, anxious breath escaped his throat, and he swirled his tongue over yours before biting your lip and pushing you up, hands settling on your thighs, rocking you back and forth over his thick erection. He watched you, panting in rhythm with you, and you admired him--how fucking beautiful he was, even (or especially) doused in blood--his eyes stark with need, his mouth parted in open anticipation, his muscles tensing as he gripped and squeezed you, jerking his hips into your heat. If he was in any pain at all from the gash on his face or the bullets in his side, it didn’t show--he rolled into you as if he cared for nothing other than the sight of your body over his own.

“Are you okay?” You placed your hands on his, squeezing them.

Ren frowned and swatted you off, gathering both wrists behind you in a tight vise. “Interesting question to pose while you’re already grinding onto me.”

You blushed. “I just wanted to make--”

He shoved two bloodied fingers in your mouth, depressing your tongue, cranking your jaw open. “Ask me again after I’ve fucked that little cunt raw.”

Shuddering, you clenched, and nodded.

“There we go.” He released your tongue, popping your wrists back--your tits swayed from the movement, and he hummed in satisfaction, kneading and groping at the flesh, teasing your nipples. “You’re gorgeous…”

“Oh…” Submerged in desire, you could barely process his words. He twitched underneath you, drawing another spasm from your core. “Kylo…”

He sucked in air through his teeth, digging his fingers into your breast. “You want my cock? Hm?” He reached down, brushed his thumb over your clit, and you whined. “You want me inside you, slut?”

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Fuck, yes, please.”

“Good girl…”

Ren kept his grip on your wrists, working at his pants until he’d managed to pull his long, heavy cock free. You ached at the sight of it, wanting to slide it between your folds, feel it pulse inside you, bask in its swollen heat. Ren slapped it against you and shifted his hips, pushing you higher, hand stroking his length as he guided it to your entrance. Stoked on adrenaline, on some sort of intoxicating infatuation, you were wet and wanting and warm with need--you sank onto him, crying out when he broke you open, letting him drive deep into your belly.

“God,” you hissed, “you feel so good…”

He throbbed at the base, rutting up into you and popping your wrists again. “Shh.” His free hand clutched your hip. “I’ll tell you when to speak, little bird,” he muttered. “Be quiet and take this cock.”

Ren’s strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built.

“Fuck,” he growled, “that’s right--do you like that?”

“Yes…” The words were as unfiltered as you were. “I love it…”

“Good--good girl.” His stare devoured you while you rode him. “So beautiful… so perfect…” A hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. “And all mine…” He grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust--you yelped. “Say it.”

A twinge in your heart, distant and irritating. “But I--”

He yanked your wrists, straining your shoulders, branding a bruise into your breast with his fingers. “Say it.” His pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. “You’re mine.”

“Kylo--”

Ren seethed, throwing you off of him and onto your back, wincing when he loomed over you, and he pounded his side, hissing in pain. Your eyes widened--in seconds, he’d spiraled into mania, his face wrought with possessive fervor while his fist pummeled his wound. If he’d looked beautiful before, now it was sinful: dark hair matted in messy clumps around his crown, his brow drawn in focus, his shirt, torn from the knife, flopping over to reveal his bare chest, showered with blood. He peeled your legs wide, ankles in his fists as he lifted your ass from the ground--and, sneering, he split you, cock cleaving your cunt. In pleasure, you sobbed.

“Fuck,” he growled again. “You’re so fucking tight…” Ren started fucking into you, slipping in to the hilt, hips hitting yours with loud slaps. “You feel so good around my cock…”

Whinging, you lolled your head on the deck-- his words sent a torrent of yearning through your flesh, and your clit screeched for attention, but part of you knew that touching it yourself would deny you release altogether. So you stared at him, chin tucked to your chest, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as your back scratched the smooth stone underneath you.

“Nothing to stop me,” he said, “nothing to keep me from you.” He jerked you closer, and you wailed from the depth of his thrusts. “You’re going to be mine…”

“Kylo--”

“No,” he hissed. “Say it.” He propped one of your legs on his shoulder, his hand diving between your legs to rub your clit, covering it in blood--you cried out, clenching, convulsing, pleasure creeping into your vision. “Say you want to be mine.”

The earth turned beneath you. Everything, all of it had been for you, but not in the way that you had hoped. No, it had been to alter the universe to his own whims, to construct a galaxy where he could possess you, keep you, trap you in a tiny, wire cage. His little bird.

You wouldn’t accept that--not after today. You couldn’t.

“Only if--ah--you’re mine, too,” you replied. “I can’t just be yours! You--you have to be mine!”

“What have I told you?” Ren groaned, deep and low. “If that’s what you want…” He gathered some of the blood from his face onto his thumb. “Then you’ll want for nothing.” He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the fluid warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. “Say it.”

“I’m--I’m yours!” You shut your lids, awash in the elated reality of his admission. “I’m yours, Kylo!”

“Cum then,” he ordered, “cum on this fucking cock...”

You were drawn and quartered by ecstasy, spine arcing toward the sky as your core clamped his dick, limbs shuddering with the waves of your epinephrine-injected climax. Ren growled, leaning over you to hammer into your cunt, strangling his groan as he poured his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty--empty of rage, lust, and energy.

Swallowing, you heaved, eyes fluttering open, seeking out your Commander’s gaze. Not that his position mattered, in this hazy purgatory of existence. In this moment, the laws and regulations of Gilead didn’t apply to you and Ren. You’d defied them, destroyed them all. Together.

Something, some emotion you’d wrestled into submission so many times before slithered out of its grave--like hope, but more poignant, more powerful, not just the faith that you could survive. No, it was the dream that you could thrive, that Gilead would crumble underneath both of your feet, that--maybe--you could take a canvas and paint a future with him in it.

Locking eyes, you spied it there, too, beyond the lowered shield of his anger: a mirror of your mind. His hand fell between your breasts, his lip quivering, fingers skimming down your sensitive, starlight skin. How long you laid there, you weren’t sure, but it was after his soft cock had slipped out of you, after your breath had leveled. Sweat glazed you both.

“Why did you do it?” you asked, finally. You fumbled for his hand, laid yours over it.

Ren paused, staring at the image of your hand--so much smaller--wrapped around his, analyzing it in his mind like a puzzle. His jaw tensed, and he pulled away. A piece of your heart wilted.

“I told you,” he said, beginning to adjust himself to decency. “Gilead is flawed. My vision will perfect it.” He met your eyes. “You’ll be mine. And you’ll want for nothing.”

“But…” You narrowed your lids. “You’re mine, too, then.”

“I am.” He stood, gazing over the carnage of the yard--the bodies, the blood, the dyed-red water--all of it turning rancid in the summer heat. “Your Commander.”

There it was. The mallet of his intention, shattering your dreams to disasters. It was as if you had been thrust into the pool yourself, drenched in cold, icy admonishment. How stupid, how foolish were you to imagine that Kylo Ren could consider bringing Gilead down? How short-sighted had you been to believe, for one moment, that he would ever renounce his ownership of you? How horrible, how awful were you that the tiniest, most foolish part of you wanted to accept this--agree to his terms, as long as he’d stay, somewhere, in that canvas.

He held out his hand. “Come.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed your underwear and pulled it on. It seemed silly, getting dressed when half of your clothing would be muddied with blood. You glanced up at him, mapping the wounds in his body. He was hunched, but not hampered.

“Are you really okay?”

Ren still had his hand extended. “Yes.”

You frowned, slapped it away. His eye twitched, attention switching between you and his hand--and, to your surprise, he shoved it in his pocket. You grabbed your dress, tugged it on.

“Continue getting dressed,” he said. “I’ll contact my men and tell them--”

“Hello? Who’s out there?”

The voice, tight with fear, froze you both--Ren’s fists clenched, your heart falling somewhere into your ass. From inside the mudroom, a young woman cloaked in blue emerged, and you recognized her immediately. Snoke’s robot, er, Wife. Christine. She hadn’t spoken once at the dinner.

Between the gloves, the hat, the heeled shoes, it was obvious she was just now returning home. As she surveyed the yard, her gaze fuzzied, and she tumbled into the threshold. Neither you nor Ren made a move to help her.

“What… what happened here?”

It was a fair question. But admitting you’d both participated in a coup likely wouldn’t go over well. You weren’t sure what Ren’s plan was, but you knew the Eyes could have you both killed if they learned this had been your doing.

“Commander Snoke is dead,” Ren said. “I killed--”

“The guard,” you said, glaring at him. “He killed the guard who killed Commander Snoke. After that, the entire place went up.” Looking back at her, you gestured to Ren. “You need to call an ambulance, he’s been injured.”

Christine, appearing dizzy, pushed off of the doorframe and nodded. “I’ll… I’ll get help. Just…” She waved her hands in circles. “Don’t move.”

With that, she stumbled into the home, the click of her heels growing distant.

You sneered at Ren, pulling on your boots and stuffing the switchblade in your sleeve. “You’re welcome.”

He watched you as you stood, said nothing for a moment--a twitch of pain crossed his face. “When I’m taken to the hospital, you’ll be questioned,” he said. “Say nothing. I will handle this. And when you get home, bathe and get into bed.” His eyes raked over you. “Do you understand?”

You nodded. “Yes, Kylo. I do.”

Ren exhaled, drinking you in. “I’m going to contact my men before the ambulance arrives. They’ll have work to do here.” He reached out and cupped your face. “Be good, little bird.” He patted you on the cheek, and walked into the home.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #bloodplay #tw: violence #just fulfilling all my tfa and tlj fantasies in one fell swoop

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

Text

ancient names, pt. xvi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xvi: that colossal wreck

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6k idk man i barely go here

Rating: M/Mature; lots of blood and stuff but nothing steamy.

Warnings: blood and guts, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, Kian is a creepy fucker and he needs to die so he gets his own warning, dog on man violence. Uhhhhh idk how shotguns work so I did my best, don't @ me. Elliot does go full feral in this and I'm not sorry.

Notes: I so hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I'm not gonna say too much about it here, but please know that every comment, like, kudos, whatever—even the tiniest bit of knowledge that y'all enjoyed it just makes me so incredibly happy. It was a bit of slog at some parts but I'm so excited to get it out for you. <3 Special shout-out to @starcrier who provides incredible input and support while I try and glean even a MODICUM of her talent; ilysm!!!

As well, @baeogorath has been such an absolute DARLING, allows me to send them memes at like 3am and scream at them about all of my feelings. And @lilwritingraven, who has been SO supportive and helpful and just all around the biggest sweetheart a gal could ask for, thank you BOTH sm. <3!

The first thing that she recognized was the desperate need to breathe.

The second was that she was wet, exceptionally wet, her lungs filling with water over and over again, like dying a thousand times without the actual reprieve of death. Two strong hands gripped the front of her shirt, pinning her under the dark surface. Elliot thought, I’ve been here before.

Those hands gripping her hauled her out of the dark, wheezing and coughing up water, and tossed her onto the riverbank like a dead fish. She might as well have been, for what it was worth; when she managed to open her eyes, the world blurred and melted around her the way water swept over a window in a carwash.

“So glad you are awake,” Kian said from in front of her. He stood in the water just past his knees, and as he made his way out and over to her, she blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision. Elliot sucked in the biggest lungful of air she could, and all of the water that had been sitting in her mouth and throat caught and ripped, forcing her to lean and choke it up. “You were sleeping for quite a while, you know, Elliot. Had to make sure you slept all of it off.”

Her name coming out of his mouth felt like a violation—sticky, wet, ruined, a thing she had not allowed him to use, and yet he did anyway. She hadn’t given him permission to know her, and it felt different still than when Ase had used her name; like a weapon being wielded against her.

They gave me so much, she thought desperately a while her body thrummed with pain, searing hot through every nerve-ending as if they’d all been rubbed raw and exposed. They gave me so much of that shit, so much more than Ase ever did. How long was I sleeping it off? Fuck fuck fuck.

Kian’s fingers gripped her throat, slotted just under her jaw, and he pulled ; hauled her straight up with brute strength until her bare feet— when had they taken her shoes?—scrambled against the slippery river bank.

“Her dress fits you well,” he continued admiringly as he held her there. His words dragged her attention back to herself; she wasn’t in her own clothes, in fact, but in a long, dark cotton dress, high-necked and slim fitting. It looked like the same dress that she had first seen Ase in. “In fact, if your hair was just a little darker, and your eyes not so fucking blue, I would think you two could be sisters.”

Dead, the wind whispered. Humidity crept under the fabric, stifling and tenacious. Dead woman in a dead woman’s clothes.

“W-Where—?” Elliot managed out hoarsely. Her own heartbeat, so loud that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear Kian, thrummed violently in her ears as panic started to really settle into her skeleton. “Where—John, and Boomer—what the f-fuck did you—”

“Now that you’re awake,” Kian continued conversationally, as though she had not spoken at all, “we can start.”

His grip loosened and then released. She barely managed to keep herself upright. The world lurched dangerously beneath her feet, and for a second, she thought she was going to have to throw up; the sensation subsided, and she swept her gaze in a single circle around her.

No John; no Boomer. Only darkly-clothed, silent figures, watching. Each face—some as old as a grandparent, some as young as what she thought could only be ten, and many of them somewhere in between—regarded her with the same kind of glassy-eyed curiosity that came with a circus attraction.

“What the fuck,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking in distress. “What the fuck did you—where are they—?”

“I’m only going to give you one tip,” Kian said. “Stop trying so hard to talk. You’ll burn through all of your adrenaline, mor.”

He had passed her up the riverbank. The intent of it all was very clear: he anticipated that she would follow, because he had something that she wanted and she was in no state to claw her way through all of them even if she wanted to. The knowledge of this—the understanding that Kian knew exactly what hand he had, and was going to play it—filled her with another sickening wash of dread.

The redhead stopped at the top of the bank and looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Shivering, Elliot wadded the hem of the dark dress up in one hand and struggled to the bank. Kian let her. He let her catch herself, dirtying her hands and the dress, practically clawing her way up as her heart rate fluctuated earnestly and without pattern in her chest, and when she made it to where he stood she could see the treeline ahead of them. Dark, drenched in nightfall, the pines murmuring every time the night’s chilly breeze rustled the branches.

“They’ll—” Talking caused pain to splinter through her jaw, radiating in spiderwebs up behind her eyes. “His b-brothers will—”

Kian waved a hand. His voice was light when he said, “They are busy.”

Fuck. Despair welled in her chest. Elliot swallowed thickly and said, “What are... What are we...”

He stared at her. She had the distinct sensation of being an ant, trapped under the searing beam of his magnifying glass, raising burns all across her skin. Then, he reached down to the ground, and from a bag, he procured a handful of papers; when he pulled them out, the familiar scent of her home wafted from them.

“You have lovely handwriting.” He scanned the page. “I hope you’ll forgive my snooping through your home. I couldn’t resist. Let’s see here: sounds like our little bunny was struggling with insomnia, feeling alone. Angry with your therapist for saying you were displaying—” Kian lifted a finger to indicate the importance of the word. “— significant signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, including—”

“S—” I want to die I want to die. The pages of her ripped journal sat in his hands, even greater a violation than the sound of his name. “Stop—”

“—intrusive memories, loss of time, irritability and aggressive behavior, self-harm. Is that where those scars are from? Hm, and… 'Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I didn’t let this happen to me'. Is that guilt ?” Kian clicked his tongue. “Do you feel guilty, Elliot? For what that man did to you, those years ago?” And then he paused, glanced back at the paper, and said, “Forgive me. It was one year ago. Not that far gone, I suppose.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out; something gripped her lungs, restricted their movement, until she thought she was going to pass out.

He had been in her home. He had touched her things. He’d stood among the things that were meant to be hers, rifled through them, found her journal and ripped the pages out. She’d taken up journaling about what had happened—not to torture herself with the reality of her situation, but in an effort to understand who she had become, to feel less like a stranger in her own body.

And now he held it in his hands, and there it was: everything that she was, just that small, just that insignificant. The entirety of what she was clutched in the hands of a psychopath.

“I hope she’s fucking suffering.” Elliot ground the words out, and Kian quirked a brow at her inquisitively. She plunged onward, reckless and vicious from her pain, “I hope Ase’s fucking rotting in hell, suffering, and I’m glad they blew her fucking brains in.”

Something dark flickered across Kian’s expression. It may have been a trick of the light; the clouds passed over the moon, blinking the world into darkness for a few minutes before the nighttime wind pushed them forward again. Elliot couldn’t tell if it was real, what she’d seen on his face, but she hoped it was.

But he didn’t say anything about her venom. Instead, he said, “Ase and I used to play a game together.” His tone was light, casual; he dropped the papers back into the bag dismissively, as if they were nothing. “I would give her a three-minute head start. She would run into the woods, and I would try to catch her. She was the perfect prize.”

A strange kind of affection welled in his voice. It was love, Elliot thought with a sickening kind of realization, in his voice—and it only made her more grateful that John had busted through her spine with a shotgun shell, the knowledge that maybe Kian was suffering even a tiny bit as much as she was.

Kian continued, “Now, because of you, she is not here to play the game; you will have to be my prize, Elliot.”

She was going to be sick. She wished that he would have just killed her, rather than this—this waking nightmare, this actual fucking living hell he was going to put her through. Elliot sucked in an unsteady breath, and when Kian gestured at the treeline, she turned her gaze there. It was easier to look at the sturdy line of pines than at his wretched face.

Hot breath fanned across her ear. Kian’s hand came up to the back of her neck, holding, gripping, the way a father would when he prepped his son for a baseball game. She heard the words like a sick comedy in her head: Come on, champ! You’ve got it! But his mouth was right on her ear and he said, “I hid your man out there for you.”

John.

“He’s—not,” she managed out. “Mine.”

Kian huffed out a laugh against her temple. “Then it should be easy for you to hide from me and not worry about finding him.”

Bluff called. Fucking cultist.

He stepped away from her, heading to the half-moon curve of cultists waiting idly by. Silently, Elliot tried to count them; she wanted to know how many she could kill, and how fast, if she got a gun in her hands, but the splitting headache blurring her vision uneasily made it difficult to keep track.

One of them put a shotgun in Kian’s hand. He checked the ammunition idly.

“Start running, Elliot,” he called without looking at her. “Your time starts now.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What took you so long?”

John thought he had to be dreaming. He was certain of it, somewhere in his brain, because Elliot’s voice hummed warmly against the skin of his neck and she pressed up against him like a feline eager for his attention, and that wasn’t her. Was it?

“You’ve been sleeping so long,” she murmured into him, all sleep-warmed skin and soft lines. “Aren’t you going to wake up?”

Yes, he thought, because he wanted to open his eyes, because he wanted to see her like this. He’d worked hard for it. He deserved it, didn’t he? Yes, I’m going to wake up.

“John.” Elliot purred his name, sweet and decadent. She was so warm. “Wake up.”

“Okay,” John said, because he knew that he was ready. But the world stayed dark. He tried again: “Okay, I will.”

Her lips brushed against his pulse. He felt her fingers traced the Sloth scar on his sternum, meticulous, memorizing, slender and warm and affectionate.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” he managed out, “I trust you.”

Like lifting the floodgates, he pushed his eyes open. And it was a push; the effort it took to open his eyes was astronomical, like someone had suddenly stuck him under slow-moving lava that swallowed him up, ate away at the oxygen around him and weighed down his lungs in their attempt to let him breathe.

There was no Elliot. Only the slow, dark pulsing of pine boughs overhead. For just one split second, John felt relief; he was fine. Somewhere, but fine.

And then a piece of the sky lifted and peeled, drifting away. The trees bent and warped around him. He tried to struggle to sit up, fighting the urge to coil up into a tiny ball.

He said, miserably, “What the fuck,” and something at his hip buzzed static. The sound sent jolts of white-hot panic searing through his body.

“Hello?” It was a radio. A thick, dark voice came through. John didn’t pick up. He thought it sounded like Kian.

“Fucker,” he managed out, hauling himself to his feet as the world see-sawed beneath him.

“John Seed.” The voice came again. “I know you can hear me. You should be waking up any minute now.”

John wished he was still asleep. The dream had been better than this. At least in that, Elliot was—

Elliot. The last thing he remembered was her frantic hands trying to undo his seatbelt, and then her warmth getting ripped away from him, and then someone's hands on his shirt and—

“Fuck.” Bad news. Bad. “Fuck fuck fuck. ”

Steadying himself on a boulder, he came around into the clearing, trying to see through the trees. It was no good; the world pulsed and bled around him, smearing like an oil painting, and he realized with a sense of dread pitting in his stomach that they’d drugged him. Hard. The same way they’d drugged Elliot when she’d been crying into the ground like she was going to fly off.

That he knew what was going on did little to abate the irrational panic flashing through him, electrical pulses pounding through his body every chance they got. It made everything too much —the sound of the wind, the murmuring of voices that he thought maybe weren’t there, the feeling of the night on his skin. Yes, he felt it, like a garment of clothing, sitting just on him; he couldn’t tell where he ended and the rest of it began.

“I let your beast loose,” Kian’s voice crackled, seething with delight. “Gave her a head start, too.”

His fingers itched to grab the radio that had been clipped on his belt. He thought, I shouldn’t let him know I’m awake —

“Hey, fucker,” he snapped, his finger pushing down on the walkie button. His words kept slurring on their way out of his mouth, but he plunged onward anyway. “Come out here, huh? Love to chat face to face.”

Well, he’d never been that good at impulse control, anyway.

“On my way already,” Kian murmured silkily. “See you soon, friend.”

And then it went dead.

John spent what felt like an eternity staring at the face of the walkie talkie before he thought, Hey, that’s my fucking radio. And then: fuck, I can’t fight him right now.

He blinked furiously, trying to refocus his vision as bright colors started to bloom and bleed out from the ground. John kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, that there was no way it was real—and then he understood Elliot’s very real fear that night he’d tried to pull her down the hill. What had she seen then, he wondered? What had she been looking at?

“John?”

He hesitated, because the last time he’d heard Elliot’s voice it had been a dream. John’s base instinct was to stand very still, exceptionally still, which didn’t feel very still at all because he was drugged up through his fucking eyeballs and he wanted to puke.

“John—”

When she broke into the clearing, Elliot’s voice was frantic. Her hair had been let loose around her face and she was wearing a dress and bolting barefoot through the woods. Oh, John thought, a little panicked, oh, I’m dreaming again.

“Fuck,” Elliot said, her voice breaking. Her hands fluttered aimlessly, like she couldn’t figure out a place for them to land. “You don’t have Boomer?”

Maybe not dreaming, after all.

“Sleeping,” John replied, intelligently. “I was—”

Elliot stared at him as she drew closer, her eyes razor-sharp and clear and quick. The sliced right down to the core of him, but what was new, anyway? Stupid deputy, his brain chanted, sluggishly. Stupid, pretty, dumb deputy.

“... drug you?”

John blinked owlishly at her. He wasn’t in very much pain, which was good, but it probably was all going to hit him when the drug wore off and it was harder and harder to keep his attention focused; it was getting to the point where it was like being very drunk , where keeping his eyes open was becoming more and more of a chore.

Elliot snapped her fingers in front of his face. “John, focus.”

“Whose dress?” he managed out, gesturing at her.

Her eyes flickered uneasily. “Dunno.” She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled, high and fast, and John groaned; the sound rattled around in his head, echoing over and over again, splintering behind his eyes.

“Why?” he hissed. “Why are you—”

“Shut up, you fucking baby.”

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

They stood there in quiet for a moment, waiting; in the distance, John could hear a faint barking.

“He’s out there,” Elliot said, relieved. “They probably have him tied up, if they were able to get their hands on him. John—”

The blonde stopped suddenly, and he turned his gaze back to her inquisitively. She looked very much like she wanted to say something; her lashes flickered uneasily and she swallowed thickly.

“You have to get him, John,” she said finally, which didn’t sound like the thing she wanted to say.

“I’ve got a radio,” he supplied helpfully; on instinct, he reached for her, and she didn’t flinch back when his hand found the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Warm, he thought pleasantly, hazily, the breath spilling out of his lungs like a waterfall. “It’s the one from the ranch. We can—radio Joseph and the others.”

“John, I need you to listen to me,” Elliot began, reaching up to put her hand over his. Her skin was warm, but she shivered—John realized very suddenly that she was soaking wet. “I need you to get Boomer. He’s over there somewhere, close enough to hear a whistle. You can whistle, right? Or just—say his name, he’ll respond to that too.”

“‘M drugged,” he replied. “No good. Besides, he doesn’t like me.” The last half came out petulant. He thought very little of Kian’s voice crackling through the radio, or that he’d said he’d be there soon, or that someone had drugged him and left him in the middle of the forest. All he could think about was the problem being presented to him: Elliot was asking him for something, and he couldn’t give it to her.

“You have to,” she reiterated firmly. “You told me you’d do anything I asked.”

“I did,” John insisted. “Don’t you remember? I f—”

“Shh!”

Elliot grabbed his hand and yanked, hard, hauling him into some thicker brush. The whole gesture of it had his vision spinning like a slot machine.

“John, you have to go,” she whispered furiously. The sound of heavy, leisurely footsteps thudded somewhere a little ways away. “Please. You said. ”

“We can both go,” he whispered back. And then, because she hadn’t recognized his good fortune earlier: “I have a radio.”

“I can’t,” she replied. Her voice broke a little, slipping past a furious hiss and cracking on an emotion that John didn’t want to know. “I can’t go.”

“Why?”

“I have to—” Elliot paused, her gaze flickering tiredly. “John, I have to take a break, I’ve—I’m so tired.”

He paused. “I’ll wait, too.”

“You need to go.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll stay, too, and we’ll go together—”

“No,” she insisted. “Fucking— God you are so annoying—”

John heard, very faintly, the low and threatening click-click of someone pumping a shotgun. He paused, and Elliot did too, and then she pulled him forward by his shirt and kissed him hard. She tasted a little like river water, but mostly like her, and the warmth of her mouth against his made heat bloom all over him like he was green and Spring, again.

“John,” she whispered against his mouth, nearly inaudible, “please. Get Boomer, radio your brothers. We’ll catch up on the other side. I—”

Another couple of footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night. All of the birds and wildlife had fled; they knew there was a big, bad predator out in the evening, and John felt that knowledge twisting something violent and wretched inside of him.

“Do not fucking die,” he hissed at her. “You’ve stayed stubbornly alive for this long. Do not.”

She nodded faintly. “Yes, boss.”

He went to move, but she stopped him, lifting a finger to her mouth; each beat of his heart rumbled violently in his ears, and he thought he might pass out if he didn’t get moving fucking soon; each second spent crouching still and silent in the brush was swaying him viciously back and forth, trying to get him to face plant into the ground.

Elliot, back against the tree, let go of his shirt. She mouthed, Go, and then darted out, quick and fast and taking with her all of the vibrant sound and warmth in the world.

John's legs lifted him to a standing position. It felt like operating heavy machinery; every movement ground through his skeleton laboriously. But he was going; gripping the radio, trying his hardest to sprint, when he heard the sound of a shotgun shell pelting the earth in one sharp, gritty blow.

And then a familiar voice: “Where are you, little rabbit?”

Please.

Everything in him was telling him to turn around. Screaming at him—but he knew that was exactly what Kian wanted, too. To have them both there, in the same place, to make one of them watch the other die.

So, he didn’t.

He kept going, and when he got far enough away to be convinced that Kian was preoccupied with Elliot, he stopped and looked around. The night was eerily still and pulsed dimly around him. He glanced down at his feet; the grass reached up and around his shoes, coiling around him, trying to hold him down.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hurriedly stepping forward. “Find dog. Radio Joseph. Boomer?”

He kept his voice low as he crept through the woods, fiddling clumsily with the radio as he moved. When he found a channel whose numbers looked vaguely familiar—and familiar was a stretch, considering that accessing just about anything in his brain was like feeling someone’s face in the dark and guessing who it was—he pressed down on the talk button.

“Joseph? Jacob? Somebody?” He let off the talk button. “Boomer?”

No barking. Was Elliot drugged too? Had they been hallucinating the dog barking?

John had just begun to give up on the idea of doing anything other than wander aimlessly in the dark woods when he made it to the edge of the treeline and saw the dog. Unfortunately, the beast was tied up to a wooden stake, growling low and threatening the two men as they walked idly around him and to the van, busying themselves; soft music played from the car. They seemed to be waiting patiently for Kian to finish whatever it was he was doing. Killing Elliot?

Fuck, he thought hastily. Gotta hurry.

He watched as one of the men set his gun down on the bed of the open van, stretching and chatting conversationally with his companion. When he wandered back over to Boomer and said, “Here, doggy,” the Heeler lunged viciously and set off barking, teeth snapping. He sighed.

“Stupid dog.”

They turned back toward the road, and John made his way closer to Boomer. If he could get that lead unclipped—if he could do it without them noticing…

“Fucking shithole,” one of the men said, backs turned to him as they lit a cigarette that got passed between them. “Can’t wait to purge this place and get out.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, do you know…”

As their conversation drifted, so did John’s attention. He slipped out from the cover of the underbrush; instantly, Boomer’s eyes were on him. His hackles went up, and John lifted his hands, keeping them open.

In hindsight, he’d probably feel stupid thinking about this moment. The dog wasn’t holding him hostage. But it felt a little like he was, anyway.

“Hey,” he whispered, creeping closer. “Gonna let you off, beastie.”

Boomer eyed him, eyes flattened back against his head.

“You wanna get ‘em?” he continued, glancing over at the men as he reached for Boomer’s makeshift collar, clipped onto the lead. He didn’t know what kinds of gestures or phrases Elliot used to get the dog to do what she wanted. He only knew that Boomer did , sometimes without her saying, and so he said again, more urgently, “You wanna get ‘em, beast?”

The urgency of his tone seemed to spark something in Boomer. His ears pricked forward. John’s fingers found the lead clipped around his collar, pulled on the little metal clasp, and let it drop to the ground.

Boomer watched him, expectantly.

“Well, go on,” he whispered, gesturing. That seemed to be all that was needed; the cattle dog darted forward, teeth sinking into one man’s leg and yanking hard enough to unbalance him and pull him to the ground; the dog's head thrashed violently, ripping out of him guttural snarls.

John blinked, and thought, holy shit, is this what he’s been like this whole time?

There wasn’t a lot of time to spend thinking about it, because the other man was whirling angrily, shouting something, and then his eyes landed on John.

They both looked at the gun sitting on the tailgate of the van at the same time.

“Fuck,” John hissed, lunging forward and grabbing wildly; he wasn’t entirely sure that he even stayed upright, the strange back-and-forth pull in his head having only abated a little, but he reached for the gun and snatched his hand back, fumbling with the safety.

The whole thing felt like an eternity —comedically so. While the sounds of Boomer mauling the unarmed cultist echoed in his ears, John’s fingers clumsily switched the safety off and he fired recklessly; the bullet barely grazed the cultist’s calf, and as the man reached for him, John pulled the trigger again. Once, twice, three times, the bullets planted themselves in the man’s chest, jerking him back with each impact.

A heavy thud echoed in the night as the man slumped to the ground. Boomer had handily dispatched of the other one; his mouth was red and wet, and when John struggled to his feet, he saw that the man’s throat had been ripped open.

“Nice,” he breathed. Boomer regarded him warily, unimpressed with the compliment. He quickly shuffled the safety back on and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, pushing the tailgate of the van up. When the dog whined, low and uncertain, he glanced back at him and sighed.

He pulled the tailgate back down. “Load up. We’re gonna get her back.”

Boomer leapt up into the back of the van, nails sliding on the hard plastic. It took John about five minutes of rifling through the pockets of the two men to find the car keys. While he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to drive, he had just planted a couple of bullets in a man, so he supposed he'd be fine.

As he climbed into the driver’s side, he shut the door and settled in and carefully, meticulously slid the key into the ignition. The van purred to life as though John’s last week hadn’t been an entire fucking series of absolute fuckhead jokes, and he let out a breath.

The glint of something blue and reflective in the cupholder between the two front seats caught his eye. He glanced down, blinking.

“Hey,” he said, reaching down. “My sunglasses.” Tucking them into his shirt, he checked the rearview mirror and gently, gently pushed the car into drive.

"Alright, beastie," John muttered. "Let's get this ended, huh?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The concussive blast of bullet meeting wood rang in her ears; chips of bark and the guts of the tree showered her, the shot echoing just above her head, and she thought, fuck, I just want to be dead already. She was so tired; moving was a luxury that was not afforded to her anymore, each gesture as she struggled to her feet tipped and fettered by the bruises and wounds that littered her body.

Finding John had taken about fifteen minutes, fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds of which had been spent agonizing about where to look first. She didn’t recognize where they were, or know her way around, and she was barefoot and soaking wet and shivering and she just kept thinking about how badly she wanted to lay down.

We’ll go together. Fuck, John was so stupid. She might have actually had a moment to breathe if he’d just listened to her and did as she said. But that wasn’t ever how these things went, was it?

A calloused hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to her feet. For a second, in the blurring, thrumming night, between the whispering voices in the wind and the lurching of the great beast hunting her down, Elliot saw the dark fabric of a button-up shirt and thought, it’s John, it’s John; he came back me and now we’re going to get out.

“I win,” Kian purred.

His voice bled through her skull, stretching and warping as the agony crashed over her in a scalding wave. Kian’s fingers wound iron-like around her wrist, holding her there, and his other hand came up to grip her chin; playfully, he shook her head back and forth, like he was trying to jostle her out of deep sleep.

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to kill you, Elliot.” He regarded her with something like amusement, eyes glittering dark and obsidian in what little moonlight had managed to seep through the tree cover. “Do you know what mor means? It means mother. We’re going to keep you for It, and when it’s time, we’ll slice you open. You will make It so happy.”

She gripped his wrist as hard as she could and tried to push his hand from her face. Kian had discarded the shotgun in favor of having both hands to grab her, and as he gripped her face—the wide, calloused crux of his hand covering her mouth while his fingers reached the dip of her jaw—she thought, Something has to be done.

Elliot had promised Joey. Even if I have to fucking die for it. She had promised, and that meant it had to be done.

Muddling through the panic, Elliot squirmed under his hand, opened her mouth, and bit down as hard as she could. The disgusting taste of hot copper flooded her mouth instantly; the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger wasn’t meant to take teeth ripping and tearing, and she was ripping and tearing; even with the limited mobility she had, she wrenched her head anyway she could, intent on taking some piece of Kian with her.

A wretched kind of sound came out of him. He tried to yank his hand back off of her face, and she bit down harder, anywhere her teeth could catch and grip. If she could hit bone, she thought; if she could sink her teeth right into the marrow of him, maybe then she would have felt like she got some repayment for what he’d done.

Kian yanked his hand free, gripping his wrist as crimson streamed down his palm and arm. His eyes were wild and dark; for a split second they stood there, staring at each other, two beasts nursing wounds and waiting for the other to make a move.

Elliot grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, slamming her face into his. It would have been nearly impossible to bodily force Kian’s to move had he not been clutching his wounded hand, and for that she was grateful—grateful, she would tell herself, around the ricocheting stars of pain blurring behind her eyes, using the hardest part of her skull to bash into Kian’s nose and mouth.

And then she ran.

The gun was around, somewhere, dusted in pine needles and nightfall; like a needle in a haystack. She heard someone spitting behind her, and she thought, I hope I broke your fucking nose, you piece of shit, just before she ducked into a thick bustle of brush and behind a rock.

Around her, the world blurred and fuzzed black. She tried to furiously blink it away, but every second spent standing still meant that her body was suddenly remembering how tired and overworked it was, how much she had done, how much she had suffered. We could stop now, the tired little girl inside of her said. We should. We should stop now.

But Kian had said it himself; he wasn’t planning on killing her. She wouldn’t get rest even if she gave up. He might have changed his mind after she’d bit through his hand and headbutted him, but—

That wasn’t a chance she could take. Not for herself, and not for Joey, and not for the girl she had been that night in her apartment, either.

Heavy footfalls echoed just a few feet away from her. Her mouth was still flooded with the taste of Kian’s blood. As she made her way to the other side of the boulder she’d taken refuge behind and peeked out, she thought, I’d do it again, given the chance. I’d rip him open with my teeth if I got the opportunity. Give me the fucking chance.

Moonlight spilled through the trees and into the clearing they had just been in as the wind pushed clouds out of the way. The glint of dark metal, threatening, caught her eye; the shotgun was there, with hopefully at least one shell in it—one that she could put straight through Kian’s ugly fucking face.

And he was nowhere to be seen, either. Even as she leaned further out, trying to see around the boulder, she couldn’t see him crashing through the underbrush; she couldn’t hear him, either. Just the sound of the wind, pine needles skittering across the ground, a twig snap and—

A second too late, Elliot’s pain-addled brain realized the breaking branch was just behind her. Fingers fisted into the hair at the back of her skull and dragged, hauling her out of the underbrush and back into the clearing, tossing her like a ragdoll. All of the already-battered ribs shrieked on impact, and she wheezed out a breath that had blood and spit flickering across the forest floor.

Tired. She was so tired. So tired, and the world blurred and tried to fizz and pop out of existence around her, a sticky-wet hand forced her eyes forward.

Blood streamed down Kian’s face from their earlier collision. When he grinned at her, his teeth were stained pink, red seeping in the gaps.

“Hello, little rabbit,” he ground out, pushing away her scrambling hands and pinning the left down. “You put up quite a fight.”

Elliot tried to search in her spatial memory—what was left standing of it, anyway—for where she had seen the gun. But it was getting harder to breathe, and to think, and Kian’s fingers dug into her jaw and cheeks. An awful, animalistic noise came out of her at the pressure—it was a whimper, but unlike anything she’d ever heard out of herself, unlike anything she’d known she was capable of making.

“I wonder—”

His voice came out in a low murmur, spit-slicked and venomous, his nose grazing the slope of her cheekbone.

“—will you feel guilty about this, too? When I drag you back kicking and screaming, and make you watch as I cut each of those fucking hillbillies open? I know some of them got out. I'll find them, too.”

It had to be close, she reasoned through the haze in her brain; the gun had to be nearby. She’d just been looking at it. Her body was trying to give up; Kian’s fingers pinning her wrist down and bruising her neck, his words hissed out against her skin, were all tripping that strange little trigger in her brain that finally wanted to give up fighting and do something else.

Quit.

“ Mor,” Kian purred against her skin. “Mother, you’ll be so good for It, I know you will.”

Joey, clutching her tight. “I never doubted you’d be able to get me out.”

“It likes it best like this, you know.”

John, mouth so close to her ear. “I said, it’s a good thing you’re more devil than woman.”

Each second that ticked by, filled with Kian’s voice, the fingers of her one free hand inched. S he felt them close around cool metal.

“It likes the ones that fight back.”

She gripped the gun hard, and swung.

It collided with a heavy-handed thump against the side of Kian’s face, and he jerked back. He still straddled her, but with room between them now, Elliot could lurch forward, bowling as much of her weight into his midsection as she could to push him off of her and send him reeling back into the hard surface of the boulder.

Her fingers worked fast as she struggled to her feet. Pure adrenaline, pure muscle memory, as she flicked the safety off, cocked the shotgun, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

Empty.

Kian barked out a laugh wet with blood. There was a wound on his temple that was bleeding, now, and as he struggled to sit up more she could see him wince—the collision with the boulder hadn’t done him any good. Elliot pulled the trigger again, and again, and each time it clicked she found herself getting angrier and angrier. Filling with poison, up to her brim, like someone had just uncorked it.

“It’s empty, mother,” Kian rumbled at her. “You think I brought any more ammo than those two shells?” He spat blood out of his mouth and cocked his head, regarding her with dark eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to kill you.”

I’m not, like he still thought he had won. Pure, vibrating fury radiated through her body. This was supposed to be her victory; this was supposed to be her revenge for Joey. For her life. For her.

It would be. It’s mine, she thought viciously, this fucking moment is mine.

“Yeah, well,” Elliot spit out, digging her fingers into the metal, “can't say the same.”

The weight of the gun was not unlike a bat; so when she took the barrel of the gun and swung it like one, it felt familiar. Just like when she was ten, playing rec-league softball, only this time the bat was an empty pump-action shotgun and the ball was Kian’s head.

When the dull impact send vibrations rattling up her arm, and Kian keeled to the side, wheezing and biting out something venomous in Swedish, Elliot gripped the shotgun harder and swung again.

And again.

Each collision brought it closer to the satisfying, wet crunch of blood and bone on the redhead’s face. Elliot couldn’t have counted how many times she swung if someone asked her—or pinpointed the exact moment that Kian stopped moving, stopped breathing.

She could only think about the way he’d planted his words right against her skin, gripped her, I win.

Do you know what I get to do with things that belong to me?

“Nothing,” she ground out, when her arms burned and ached and her vision fuzzed with exhaustion. “You don't get to do anything.”

“Deputy?”

Blood spray littered her face. She was sure that her teeth were stained red, too. Each breath heaved exhaustively through her body, rattling, and when she turned her head to the source of the voice, she saw John and Jacob standing at the edge of the clearing; lights blurred through the trees, the sound of trucks and voices echoing in the still night air.

Boomer darted out from behind them, immediately pressed to her legs. She held the shotgun loosely in her hand.

“El,” John said, softer than Jacob had, “It’s me.”

Her gaze flickered back to the brutalized corpse in front of her. She thought, faintly, that there was no way her life was going to be normal after this again, but that was okay. She’d promised Joey.

If I have to die for it, I will.

She’d done it. And maybe she had died for it.

Jacob had taken a few steps toward her as the thought echoed in her head. Slowly, like she was a stray dog snarling over a cow bone. When John moved to follow, she saw Jacob put his hand out and stop him.

“Put the gun down,” Jacob said, his voice still and calm. Elliot blinked tiredly.

She wanted to do it. She wanted to let go of it. But that girl that she had been—that girl who had cried under the blanket fort, who had thought, I don’t know how I let him do that to me, the girl who had sat on the floor of her bedroom in Hope County and blinked through furious tears as she struggled to understand herself—no longer wept; that girl was furious, and so Elliot gripped the gun tighter.

As though it made it any less of a weapon, she said, “It’s empty.”

Jacob looked at Kian’s face, bashed-in. Obliterated. “I know.”

Boomer whined at her feet, nosing her empty hand quietly and gazing up at her with big, brown eyes. Something strange washed over her, an emotion that made her lip tremble and her eyes burn. The Heeler nuzzled her hand again, and she sucked in a shaking breath as finally— finally, finally —the tears stung down her cheeks.

She dropped the shotgun. John said her name, and Jacob dropped his arm, and she realized that it was relief she was feeling now.

Only vaguely aware of Jacob kicking the shotgun away from her, the world blurred as Elliot felt John’s hands cradling her face. Each place where his fingers traced the bruises from Kian, that pulse of relief ran stronger through her body until it was overstimulating, overwhelming. When John kissed her, it was almost frantic—she could taste the blood in her own mouth, his fingers tangling into her hair as he kissed her again and again, until her lungs ached with the need to breathe. But each kiss brought her somewhere else. It took her somewhere that she didn't have to think about anything except John in that single moment.

“Hey,” John said, their noses brushing. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, his voice still slurring a little. “I have you. Right here with me, El, don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah,” she managed out. Her voice wobbled, and she sucked in a sharp, stuttering breath. “John—”

His thumbs swept across her cheekbones, smearing more blood than they wiped away tears, and as the sound of voices echoed dimly around them, she lifted her hands and gripped his wrists. Through the coppery tang in the air, she could smell his cologne; her lashes fluttered and John pressed their foreheads together.

“It’s okay.” John murmured the words, tugging her against him, into his chest. “It’s all over now.”

No, she thought as his arms circled her, pulling her closer, Boomer barking at anyone who wandered near.

It’s not even close.

#ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #fic: ancient names #john seed x female deputy #john seed x original female character #far cry 5 #far cry fic #uhhhhhhhhhhh #what can i say? i love a girl who knows how to use her teeth #boomer is a good boy #per usual

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 5 years ago

Text

This is the last human mimic alien we have to fight.

He's realized he's lost because you people aren't running wild having orgies and you're listening to the DNA4U

And further more You all don't want to share.

When i posted the video of Miss Shawntae telling snoop it was time to snoop her body up... And then Snoop went all seductive to the camera...

122895x1000= men that said "Nigga ima beat your ass you know my wo/man gonna see that. You ain't need to be showing yourself!".

76584284×1000= said "ew i hope i don't have my any asking me to do anything tonight after what i just seen. My imagination gonna kill myself! And i know that's just wrong wrong wrong!"

Now multiply the digits together before the multiplication sign and that is approximately minus 1000 That supported Snoops message.

I did all 3. I had to advert my eyes even. Although he couldn't even see me.

Now Snoop and i know each other over 8000zillion years. So i can easily put myself in his shoes.

So he would walk in and I be having sex and he just sit down and start having a conversation. Like we having BBQ ribs and not sexual intercourse.

His wife tho .... He would make sure "the white boy was covered" and tease her don't look. She look at the carpet... Eventually it kept going on so i took a picture off the wall and put it on the floor where she always sat.

She said "why you do that?"

"I realize the kids keep jumping on the bed and knock it off. Snoop stare at you If you move your face. And unless you're on LSD it's no fun staring at the carpet. So i gave it to you where it seems you always be looking although i had to take a pretty healthy guess. I just felt you was having the most miserable time of all and as my friend it was my honor to trip out and give you a gift"

She used the reflection to put on her makeup and slept in bed later.,Snoop quit being so paranoid. Cause she would face the wall and lean against him.

Point is... Snoop be all like he was watching sports to make sure we got the score.

I mean. Man. Earth. We tried everything we could to stop these aliens from wanting to habe orgies. Even,took,away,their dicks!!!

We did everything. Planet.

Y'all locked up with your soulmates made little difference on this kick of his.

I been doing it. I been riding like I been going around the world 500 times. I love sex.

82% of y'all all around the Earth been having sex.

4% have watched porno

18% have had 1 wild orgies of those 18% -- 32% had s second one. Of those 0.00004981% have gone onto a third.

Of those having 2 or more orgies 92% were aliens

Leaving 8% Of 18% of the entire world interested enough in watching or having sex with other people than their soulmate.

Who saved the world?

100% of humans.

You all get $5 and that includes children.

He's done all he could and he's failed. 100%

I think Edgar might be human... Looking at his alien structure in the film.

But he treated me like an alien. Im still a POW.

Alex had to sell a bed because he acted non human. And Alex worked hard on it to make it perfect for me.

I would been fine gloating from it. Fighting and being sassy to aliens.

But then someone claiming to care about me,most of all abandoned his son and law and daughter. And i hear stories of him being evil.

Some time ago they asked me "do you want a dad or mom?"

"No"

"We need to know because the future of the,Earth,depends on it. And the future of you. Now do you want a dad or,not?!"

"The question is will i remain needing a dad or father figure in the future. No i am fine. I have male role models to keep the species alive. Males. (Species not gender) I also have my mom in Mrs Harriet Tubmam. And if that fails then at that time i should be able to get the rest of me. But she's fine. I'm fine. I just got to remain stable. But adding a father or another mother i don't know just yet can remain disasterous."

Luckily Alex didn't burn the bed down. But it was,bugged and bombed by "Edgar", to me 'its just another one of those things we have to clean"

Do i care? Nothing. He doesn't affect me. I worry about Alex having to,deal with it. But,hes being,and,staying clean,and,then when he's,scared he stays by other cold turkey or non users. He was,around Crystal meth yesterday and he tasted 1/4 of a gram. Like when you would put your finger in the sugar jar. Then lick it. The other guy smoked 4.9876 ounces and blew it all in their faces including the babies. Thus Alex got 7.698 grams ingested via second hand smoke.

I didn't notice but we got in a fight with each other. Just like we always do.

Alex and i power punched him and his eye socket -- ocular bone -- was crushed like glass in 17 cracks.

His jaw I punched more alone but with Alex and total both sides he lost 9 teeth. And had to be wired shut after 72 stiches because i split his upper palate in two. I cracked his lower palate in 8072 places. So if you found a skull it would rest on powder of his lower jaw and then you'll find the upper. After decaying..

Then Alex on the top of his head had 49 stitches to repair his soft tissue from his frontal lobe when he crashed to the floor after the super punch to eye hit the coffee table.

He did get one "good" punch in -- his skull hit Alex right in the right eye.

It fucking hurt but it hurts in a good way. Its weird it's like "reward!" Pain. No suffering. Fucking got him good tho. We feel it every now and again. May be it is when he realises we will kill him for good. He keeps remembering that sudden silence of death.

He's currently on life support. "Medically induced coma" is our non panic code words. But it's basically life support but usually not full life support. It isn't 100% life support medical machines. Its 75% or less.

So technically it's life support and coma mixed. So we csll it medically induced coma. This way you understand if your family is the one on the machines -- it's only 25% body life.... However there's a 75% of recovery via healing machines.

The CIA. Willl decide when to pull the plug. Usually medically induced coma is someone evil or someone bad with the ability to be good. Usually aliens go straight to coma status.

If an alien will die it's 1st life support then coma. Your friend or family will die.

They said medically induced coma. But at this time. His brain is incapable of human thought so I am putting him on life support.

This makes it the family's wishes.

Most of the time "next of kin" is spouse then parents/siblings. Then children last.

Which is wrong. It should be the future. Thus Erica and Steven will ask the babies. And together they will decide.

Last night as a CIA operative while he was in a medically induced coma i was told by at least 1 child and 2 adults to pull. I reviewed. While they spoke from shock and relief their true feelings.

Knowing that the children escaped life with Eric once. I don't feel the right to allow Eric to live. I know the consequences of his actions caused two children to leave my planet in fear and terror and disgust because of Eric.

Erica was my 3rd pregnancy to abort and hold souls.

I hate Eric. That's why i punched him in the fucking face. I was happily surprised that Alex did it. Too in person.

Since the infants are involved and already resurrected. And had a nightmare of a time in less than 36 hours on Eaerth.

I allow them to be there to pull the plug, they can actually yank and pull the plug themselves.

So that is what i want and what the children need.

It will show Eric he doesn't belong here and has no,reason to,be at 25%

It makes life easier for all of us.

Eric was an outdoor kid. Like John and Jason and Greg. Etc. He never went into my school.

They didn't have to. And actually weren't ever enrolled. They liked the man work to learn to survive on their own.

While i taught the children the indoor stuff. The expansion of the mind.

I taught them the economy so the men working to increase their own economical structure could be helped to be taken in under their wings.

I left no one behind.

But he refused confirming.

1. Alcoholic system to drop other drugs. -- he uses crystal meth. Without cut backs. Without moderation

$5 if yoh remember and realized i said make smoothies without alcohol to share with your kids.

2. He blew it in their faces on purpose them injesting over 2.4 grams each.

Erica and Alex would cover their faces with thick blankets when the smoke came towards them.

It was quite a hostage situation. Knowing he could take the newborns and kill them in front of them.

Its happened to me 985 Point 2 times. I'm 35 years old.

875.8 times it's been with a knife.

Take the numbers and multiply by 10 million. For the last some kinda lots of 8 thousand zillion years.

It even happened to Alex. He he has the scars. From,this and last life., it,has happened.

So for me they're terrifying. Unless I'm there... I have saved 900 billion times 30 thousand. I those situations.

But i always remember the ones i lost.

So don't worry when I'm suicidal. Just leave me alone. Don't talk to me. I need silence.

So dead babies y'all.

Dead aliens.

It will be done

I seen that actually quite beautiful meme of April 2020 the clouds and UFO.

I don't get mad or violent because I'm stepped back to watch y'all cope.

But I say to y'all "fuck no that's not happening" I say to that UFO "Fucking try it you will all die" i just scroll on because I get so angry. I get so mad. Its a beautiful photo but i refused to repost it because it isn't something i support.

Most reposts of memes are supported unless i type something on the bottom. Saying it's not.

So my dad. I didn't care until i saw The Rock, "her dad is alive" all happy and in support.

Then i was bothered. Then I cared. Then i felt something about it. But until then i felt nothing.

I didn't feel shame..i felt that were all made of glass.

Because I was happy to have a dad.. One that seemed good. I was actually happy.

And it was kept personal to me... But then I saw the Rock felt it. Then I began to feel..

Broken. But Alex kept it together and started getting rid of the bed. Taking it down. Removing bombs. And fixing all that ass hole did "my dad"

I know the Rock.. He can handle. His dad just died. And we did a lot for him.

So for him to be elated. I get through the day thinking no one really cares what i feel and they don't pay kuch attention..but the Rock in that moment in time.

He was happy. And i knew then i had to Destroy a light of happiness inside him and he looked away from the camera to say "we are all happy. The while world"

DNA4U list one person as my father. He's my uncle..

Edgar claimed it was his 18th cousin.

You know, it doesn't matter.

Donate. Mr Lee Tubman. And more. They're my dads. They kept me safe. Taught me to be wiser and more caring about myself. Donte was 2 years younger than me. But he was a father figure. Guy was the fun dad. Fred Flintstone i called one friend's dad was the fishing buddy. We were not close but he was a silent father figure.

I stole all my friends dads. Borrowed them. Their moms, too.

I have 1800 moms that I call mom.

I know who my moms and dads are.

Just like Erica called me mom the other day and Brittany will too. And Alex my cousin's son. Candy. Brandy. Declan.

So i know i have a family that understands it doesn't matter how I got here. It matters who treated me well. Matthew McCognohey. Kid rocks. They're like my dad's and my kids. Uncles and Cousins.

Blood doesn't matter. Shit half the time Snoop is my God or dad or bother or husband or little kid i have to save. He's my friend.

Snoop is too much of everything. He is my co-nigger. My partner in many crimes against humanity (practical jokes)

I call him my Friend. But my family wouldn't be complete without him and Shawntae.

Harriet. I call her momma all the time. It feels natural. Sometimes i call her old lady.

So while i was joyful for a moment thinking I found someone that actually cared to find out he didn't.

I myself wasn't affected until i knew others would be

Its just a lesson in life. Don't trust people.

I told Alex abandon ship, fuck that place. Ain't no one can go in there!!

He understood and agreed then took the role "no,one is driving me and her from our home." He decided to defend the homestead. That is the role a man takes

Im all you gotta sweep the whole place,then,rest and do,it again,2 more times at least.,Then,again when,I,get there. If i get there.

But i feel good to know my lover isn't gonna let anyone drive him down. Just turn around. Learn a lesson. Clean the mess.

Why do i need a father when i have a man?

Clearly i am an independent woman and always have been.

But i need a family. Otherwise I have no point to live.

And that is why i am suicidal.

I don't see s point to live. Not when Alex and i fight and i don't want him to talk to me cause some alien got in our way once again.

He was double attacked by aliens.

So if their desire is for me to die... Then they should keep,doing it.

If,not they need to stay out of my way so i can,get my family,together again.,in,real life.

My family that I know is my family. Not aliens. Not fans. Not someone that needs to apologize to me or needs an explanation.

People that can think on their own and not be reminded they need to have love in their spirit.

Now Snoop sometimes plays the role of my brother. And we are competitive. It just makes us proud of each other and ourselves for surviving a challenge. I do it to him too but I play old hard skill. He plays old new remember when. I do ancient V-Ball and he does pop and country experience.

So his spirit is of an ego -- which salutes the fact we will grow.

Often we do the spirit of mischievous. To remind danger still exists but we will have fun and love in the end.

Friend. Someone that is gonna fry you but the end od what matters.

Sometimes we relax and chill. But them old cogwheels of the mind never quit rolling. Advance. Advance. Lets keep it going don't stop.

He's like me. Suicidal.

But he used to release his inner poison. Now he makes it not exist by doing something else ....

But me? Nothing helps but the mimic of death itself. Silence.

People are what causes it. Alien people.

So you humans. Keep on being you.

Its you that is gonna save the world

I gave you guidelines to help us out this mess.

Because I can't even see y'all because the aliens surrounding me trying to get my last breath.

Show me you. Save us. You're doing good

I got $5 on y'all that we make it.

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makeste · 6 years ago

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I dunno about you but I've already adopted Tomura, poor sap never got a chance to be good. He'll probably die in his final fight against Deku and that makes me even sadder because it's probably the best ending that there is for him. All For One groomed him so hard that not even a lifetime of therapy and rehabilitation might change his outlook on life, his brain has been rewired into that of a borderline psychopath that just wants the destruction of everything. Poor Tenko, he's a tragedy.

yeah, I basically have adopted him by this point. my son, Shigaraki “Dead Kids!!” Tomura, who kidnapped my other son and accosted another of my kids at the gd mall. life is weird. this series has such great characters.

I’m not so sure it’s a given that his story will remain tragic, though! consider:

(1) comic books loooooove to redeem villains! See: Loki, Magneto, Mystique, Harley Quinn, Venom, etc. etc. there are a million of ‘em and I can’t think of them all offhand right now. in fact, the only medium that loves redeeming bad guys more than American comic books is… shounen manga, lol.

(2) a lot of Tomura’s current general fucked-up-ness stems from those hands, I think. I mean, this isn’t confirmed or anything. but based on his description of what it feels like to wear them (and also the fact that the only explanation for their existence I can think of is that Ujiko and AFO created them in order to brainwash him), I feel like they’re constantly messing with his mental state. we don’t know how he’ll be affected if he eventually ditches them. he may end up stabilizing more than we expect.

(3) kind of similar to the above point, but I feel like realizing the full extent of what AFO did to him is eventually going to motivate him to join the good guys’ side. not as a hero, of course, but I can picture him and the rest of his gang helping the heroes in an enemy-of-my-enemy-is-my-friend sense. it’s going to be rough at first, of course. he likely won’t believe it right away, and once the truth finally does become clear, it’s going to fuck him up. but I feel like he’ll eventually figure out how to channel that anger and betrayal towards a new goal of defeating AFO. Deku will probably help him come to terms with this, though I don’t picture them actually becoming friends or anything. more like reluctant allies lol. All Might will probably help him a bit too, but the problem is I don’t actually expect AM to live to the end of this thing sob. so after that it’ll have to be Deku.

(4) lastly, expanding on that previous point: even if he doesn’t realize it yet, Tomura isn’t actually in this alone. he has the rest of the League, first and foremost, and if the last few arcs with them have taught us anything it’s that they’re one hell of a loyal bunch despite their appearances. and they’re loyal to him, not AFO. and that’s going to be important, I think.

and then, as mentioned, there’s All Might. who knows the truth, and is eventually going to be the one to tell him, I’m pretty sure. I’m also pretty sure, as I previously said, that Tomura will not believe him at first. because, you know. he fucking hates All Might. he’s been conditioned to loathe All Might with every fiber of his being since he was four years old. so yeah.

but. here’s the thing that’s eventually going to screw AFO over, I think. y'all know I believe that Tomura’s memories were erased by AFO. whether they’ll actually come back, I don’t know – they may well be gone forever. but there must be some kind of record somewhere, or some other piece of evidence that proves what really happened. so that means that all All Might needs to do is plant that seed of doubt in him enough to make him seek out the truth (if only to prove All Might wrong! no way would his beloved Sensei lie to him like that! he’s the one who saved him! it’s impossible… right?). once that’s taken root in him I think Tomura’s own tenacity (which we’ve been seeing a lot of recently) will take care of the rest. he’ll find out the truth. and then he’ll have to come to terms with it.

anyway, so assuming this plays out anything remotely like this, I think it paves the way for Tomura to eventually have, if not a traditional happy ending (because he is still a wanted criminal who’s killed a bunch of people and isn’t likely to be pardoned lol), at least a quasi-happy ending where he can go into hiding someplace quiet and chill with his buds. maybe even become a vigilante, maybe, one day. who knows? but I feel like Horikoshi is planning on depressing us in myriad other ways (see, again, All Might’s fate. especially if he’s watched Endgame. if he was on the fence about it that might have finally tipped the scales in favor sob), so he just might take pity on us in the case of this poor kid who’s suffered so much at the hands of the Actual Big Bad and doesn’t even know it yet. at least, I hope.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #endgame spoilers #(sorta vaguely hinted at lol)#shigaraki tomura #bnha meta #makeste reads bnha #anon asks #tomura meta

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calamarisunshine · 7 years ago

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Clone Shiro is a glorified King Alfor Hologram and this boy Sendak really be out here...

I guess I’ll start with what I believe.

Shiro WAS in the process of being turned into a sleeper agent before Ulaz helped him escape. When the galra lost shiro, they decided to do the next best thing. Clone him. I’ll explain why:

Throughout the show, no one real talks about why the galra needed shiro so much. Or why he was so important. He was suppose to be the galras greatest weapon according to Hagar.

But why would they need him if A) Voltron wasn’t active at the time he was captured and B) the galra are extremely powerful and are conquering solar systems pretty easily?

My guess was that they were going to use shiro to infiltrate rebel forces. The galra have gotten a pretty bad name through the 10,000 yrs they’ve been fighting. You can see through the treatment of the blades that the galra aren’t very liked. And Some of the rebels have been around for a very long time like the blades. So the galra seriously needs to get rid of them. What better way than to take out rebels than using a sleeper agent. And shiro was perfect for the job for many reasons.

Everyone knows about shiro. He’s really made his mark with everyone. When they rescued those prisoners in the s1e1 the prisoners trusted him immediately. So he’d be perfect for a sleeper agent.

Alright so they’re in the process of turning him into a sleeper agent, and The process is turning out to be harder than they thought. Shiro obviously wasn’t going to go through the process willingly so he probably faught back a lot. That’s not what you want with a sleeper agent, you want them to be as unsuspicious as possible right and not know they are a sleeper agent so their cover isn’t blown. obviously with time they could’ve done it but This process takes a very long time. Shiro was only in space for a year, and during this time he became the Champion of the gladiator ring. That doesn’t sound like a quick process. For him to become the champion and successfully he turned into a sleeper agent it would’ve taken more time than just one year.

So at some point they were going to have to make shiro forget everything they’ve done to him.

Shiro is suffering a lot through amnesia, and some of it is because of his PTSD. But some of it definitely has to do with the process the galra were putting him through. He doesn’t remember a lot if not the great majority of his time with the galra.

In season 4, haggar mentions it’s hard to erase memories and Matt says the brain is hard to hack, so the galra were definitely having trouble with conditioning shiro. (It also explais why not all his memories are gone.)

But regardless Ulaz, the BOI, ruined their experiment by helping shiro escape. And he did it just in time to save shiro from fully becoming the galras greatest weapon.

Shiro was upset when Ulaz died because he had so many questions as to what they did to him. There’s no way they were just planning to give Him a weapon and not do anything to control him, because that sounds dumb. (It SUCKS because Ulaz would definitely have known what happened to Shiro. He probably could’ve cleared everything up.Rip Ulaz)

At this point the galra were like, “well shit, Now what?” Why not just clone him? How? They have his DNA, through the arm they took from shiro. Like that’s pretty much all they need. (Assuming the perfected cloning, which you know their technology is really advanced so that’s not a stretch) the problem with cloning is that the clone doesn’t have the memories and experiences the original person has. In the galras case that’s actually ya know A HUGE BENEFIT. they could literally shape and turn the Clone into whatever they want without any problems.

And hey would you look at that their original experiment turned out to be the new leader of Voltron which they now have a clone of. What a perfect way to test it out except they’re going to need some memories to make Clone Shiro unsuspicious to the team. And The extraction of memories is extremely easy apparently.

Y'all remember King Alfor’s hologram.

Coran in season 1 explain how Alfors hologram works.

(“Never been attempted on an unwilling participant.” Maybe not yet.)

The process sounds really simple. Extract the memories and put them into castle.

But in this case real shiro memories were inserted into his fake shiros arm. Hunk talks about inserting fake memories into shiro in season 2 so it’s possible.

So there, you got yourself the perfect clone ready to infiltrate your biggest possible threat. Now make his escape off the ship as believable and authentic as possible and you’re good.

Going back to the king alfors hologram, anyone think the hologram was a little off from what we saw in the flash back episode from the end season 3? Yes the hologram is “Alfor”, but not really. He just seemed different. This could explain why the Shiro we see now, the fake shiro, seems a little off as well.

I also want to talk about who else might have known about Clone Shiro other than Ulaz. Zarkon hasn’t really shown any indication that he knows. Haggar probably knows, just hasn’t said anything. And obviously the galra on the ship who let Fake shiro escape know. But who else could have known??? I don’t know maybe like SENDAK.

HE JUST GOT EJECTED INTO SPACE AND no on has mentioned him since. Now why do I believe he knows stuff?

The little exchange between shiro and Sendak in season 1 episode 9, is interesting. Especially these two lines.

REFORMED? Are you serious???

ARE YOU SERIOUS??????

Anyways I could totally be wrong and losing my shit and reaching for shit and that’s okay ya know. I just wanted to discuss with people about this.

Also check out these two theories X X because holy shit. They explain more evidence. So check them out.

Anyways thanks for reading because this was really long and all over the place.

also sorry for going crazy at the end but those two lines are just wild.

#VOLTRON #vld #vlds4 #voltron legendary defender #voltron meta #kind of?#my post #fake shiro #clone shiro #clone shiro theory #fake shiro theory #takashi shirogane #sendak #I'm slowly going crazy #we really be out here

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trippz2ill2ace8itout · 5 years ago

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💜💜🎶🎶it’s music to my ears x hello I’m Drearyy x this series is a partial trip inside my mind x including one of my alternate universes called “NXSP” or “Not Xactly Secure Program” x Izzy Magdalinoz-Martinez is also known as; Ms_SweetInsanityyx. ACE8. Spizey890XO. Tyler Fiasko Alvaro x Br0k3n R0z3z. Ronnie Irez iSleepiex19. And many more x this is a trip inside a mad insane women’s mind x and I’m taking u along with me x Welcome To... Izzy’s Mind (Doin Hard Time). Drearyyx is one of my new alters x HUGE TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ STAY ALIVE X WERE PRISONERS IN OUR OWN MIND X WERE HERE NOW X WERE OVER AND OUT XXX. Br0k3n R0z3z/Sara Pi3rce/Tyl3r Mandelanoz. This is my life. 0r 21% 0f It. TRIGGER WARNING!!! Do Not Enter or we are gonna go Lights Out again x __SOME OF MY LIFE STORY__ Ive been thru all sorts of treatment. I have anger self harm. I'm a hardcore addict. No stable home. Ive been tortured/abused/raped/drugged/almost killed most of my life. I'm tell u a little of my life story You all are enough you all are worth it you al matter, your life is not worthless. Hun I know what it's like to hit rock bottom and back several times. I'm here forcing if u need a friend I'll be there for u care for u help support show you your worth. You are important to me. I know I just met u. But I'm grateful for your life. __God, Grant Me The Serenity, To Accept The Things I Cannot Change, The Courage To Change The Things I Can, And The Wisdom To Know The Difference, AMEN__ Remember why you fought so hard in the 1st place :) yo not alone xxx im here for all of u. Dream, Believe, Achieve. One Day At A TimexxIzzy Magdalinoz-Martinez🥀💛🖤💚🥀 Stop The Stigma🔥🔥🥀🥀🦋🦋 Its izzy. ;) Thank u for existing. Your doing the besr u can. Stay strong. Im here for u and here to help and be there in anyway shape or form i possibly can. No matter the circumstances. Thank u for everything x IM 1 YEAR SOBER FROM DRUGS AND ALCHOL xIt's been a wild ride my loves. Hey it's izzy. Imma be here for u no matter how much it takes. Cuz your a precious diamond. Just don't give up. Sorry I haven't been replying. It's just I've been going thru shit. Take care of yourself x we will fight we will stand, we will get thru this. Featuring my shitty social skills. Just don't give up alright 💛💛💛 🥀🖤A Moment Of Silence, For The Addict Who Still Suffers, In And Out Of These Rokms🖤🥀 Cuz basically all 10 + metal illnesses I have plus my past plus my current situation plus all my symptoms of all my diagnosis are multiplied by 10. I've been thru brutal trauma/pain/hell/torture/bad experiences since I was 4 (I'm 21) until July 2018. Occurring 24/7 I've been tortured abused raped almost killed. In 215 mental hospitals. No home from 2011-2018. Homeless 13 times,almost killed, drugged up lost many to death, my dad tortured me, 3 foster homes, many unlocked/locked treatment centers, group homes, shelters, rehabs, residential, been thru MOSTLY every traumatic thing, I have severe brain damage, anorexia, mom is very sick. I help to much. I can't explain what I'm going thru or what's going on. I'm the most high maintaince case in the system. I've attempted suicide over 100 times. Been on all meds /beej thru all sorts of treatment. I have anger self harm. I'm a hardcore addict. No stable home. Ive been tortured/abused/raped/drugged/almost killed most of my life. I'm tell u a little of my life story You all are enough you all are worth it you al matter, your life is not worthless. Hun I know what it's like to hit rock bottom and back several times. I'm here forcing if u need a friend I'll be there for u care for u help support show you your worth. I've been abused raped tortured homeless 13 times 215 mental hospitals bouncing from unlock and locked treatment centers. I've been in residential. My dad tortured me. I've had trauma 24/7 since I was 4 till july 2018 I got my son taken away. I've attempted suicide over 100 times im a recovering drug addict and alcoholic. No home from 2011-2018 I've been abused in all ways several times. I have skitzoaffective bipolar Anorexia ocd ADHD depression anxiety PTSD insomnia autism borderline personality, dissociative identity fued. I've been in rehab. I'm not trying to get attention I'm trying to show that y'all aren't alone Stay alive OK. LETGO&LETGOD! Your feelings&lifeRvalid If nottoday there's alwaystomorrow. Thanku4existing StayU,&BelieveInYoself Don't Give Up Now,UveComeThisFar ImIzzy&Imagratefulrecoveringaddict.🔥🔥🥀 🖤__Izzy M🥀💚_____________________ Info: {Brotatochipz Brotienshake} YouTube: TwistedMetal411 Facebook: Angelique Izzy Magdalinoz-Martinez Instagram: Izzy Magdalinoz-Martinez Snapchat: iSleepiex19 Twitter: Sw33tInzanityx Tumblr: Trippz2iLL2Ace8ItOut Wattpad: Ms_SweetInsanityyx Email #1: [email protected] Email #2: [email protected]

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

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Lighting Up Your World Part 3

Wedding Special

Just a little teaser for the wedding fic. Missed writing them and interacting with y'all. MoonMun wedding coming this weekend! 💍🎩🎊 I give you the proposal 😏

"We looked so happy." He says aloud, fondly looking at their smiling faces shining back at him, the light from his phone glowing in the dark of the room. He'd taken a selfie of Mun-yeong and himself after her first successful swim, it'd taken her five tries but she had succeeded, battled her demons and came out stronger. The pride that had covered her face had to be savored and disregarding any watery harm that could become his phone, he'd hastily snapped a candid picture of them. Her soaking wet from her splashes before something slippery had touched her foot and she'd left the water, declaring it had to be a shark. He'd snickered at her, eyes amusedly glancing around at the still lake water.

In the photo their faces were pressed together, her rosy cheeks mashed against his own. Her eyes had disappeared into half moons beaming with joy, his smile was free and unguarded. He almost didn't recognize himself. Happiness unnatural on his face.

A year ago, driving aimlessly with her had ironically led him to finding himself. It wasn't an epiphany per say, there was no definitive moment that unconcealed his inner being. Rather he'd seen the extent of himself, how happy he could be if he allowed happiness in. If he stopped slamming the door shut every time he felt glee running through his veins. She'd been the first bang at his door and hadn't stopped since they met. The trip was once in a lifetime. He'd fallen for her long ago but seeing her on that trip made him truly understand what love was. What it meant to love her. All-consuming.

They weren't perfect, they fought. Slamming doors and crashing into the van walls tangled as they ripped their clothes off and fell into angered fits of passion. They worked on apologizing with words too instead of actions, but at times actions spoke louder for both. They also smiled so much so his cheeks ached from it, holding her in his arms felt like a gift. It was the best time of his life, he embraced the good and the bad.

She shuffles in the bed, rolling into him and accidentally knocking the phone from his hands. Simultaneously knocking him back into reality. Even in the depths of slumber demanding his full attention. He can't control the loving way his eyes peruse her face, gorgeous under the soft moonlight trickling in through their sheer curtains.

After the trip the thought of sleeping without seemed unfathomable and surprising him once more Sang-tae had been the one to encourage him to move into her room. "I'm an adult, I can't share a room with my little brother. See if Mun-yeong wants you, I need space. I'm an adult Moon Gang-tae, you can't sleep in my room." His brother uttered those words as he'd pushed him out the door of said room, his meagre belongings stuffed haphazardly into a book bag. He feigned indignation before all but skipping to join Mun-yeong in her, no their new room.

Her smile when she came in and saw him putting his clothes away in an empty drawer had been so beautiful, so soft and vulnerable. He didn't fight the urge to collect her into his arms, as they fell into bed. He was right where were was always meant to be.

A year later, he's still here. With his first love, his only love. His heart beat. His bulldozer. His tempest.

"Aishhh... Why are you awake? Do you want to have some fun? Again?" Her sleep raspy voice is filled with mischief and promise as she presses her naked body into his own.

Dropping his phone he turns to her, eyes bright as he leers down at her offering. After a lifetime spent refusing the things he wanted most, he's ready to be indulgent, greedy even. Slowly he crawls over her, warm bodies melting into each other, her legs parting under his weight as he slides into the space given. A soft gasp falls from her swollen lips as he caresses her hip, fingers trailing in exploration.

"I like playing with you." Her eyes crinkle at his words, half moons greeting him. Without hesitation he captures her mouth in a deep languid kiss, tongue parting her flesh and swallowing her subsequent moan. Capitalizing on her distracted state, he drags his hand down to her treasure, sighing as he feels her warm wetness. Arousal washes over him as her moistness coats his fingers as he penetrates with the tips of his fingers. Beneath him she writhes in pleasure, drawing him closer as she grinds on his hand.

Shifting he manuevers himself, hard erection at her opening, their eyes meet as he breaks their kiss.

"I love you Ko Mun-yeong."

He means it. Loves her with every fiber of his being, and spontaneity spurs him on, driving his words. With a deep thrust he fills her, his name a sermon on her lips as her hands wraps around his neck.

"Marry me?"

Her eyes are clouded with desire, so much so that at first his inquiry only elicits stillness as her brain processes his word. He watches mesmerized as her eyes fill with tears, love leaking down her cheeks. A quiet sob shatters his heart but her answer sews it back together.

"Only you would turn sex into a marriage proposal." Her breathing increases as he draws back longer to plunge deeper into her, eyes ravaging her face. When she discloses no more words, lost in their tangled limbs and the incessant motion of him driving into her, he draws out completely, tip teasing her folds.

He chuckles at her annoyed huff, catching her hands as she tries to drag him back into their dance.

"This is emotional manipulation." She glares at him, enticing breasts jiggling from her long suffering inhale.

He shrugs, "You've done worst. You almost ran me over one time." Cutting off her rebuttal, he presses a single digit to her mouth, grabbing her hand and removing the promise ring he placed one year ago.

She watches with rapt eyes as he meets her gaze once more, "Mun-yeong, will you marry me?"

Emotions swirl in her eyes, underneath the love he sees wonder and...doubt.

"I mean it. I really want to. I want you forever. I'm ready to turn that promise ring into your engagement ring. What do you think about forever?"

Her smile is bright enough to blind him, "Okay. Forever sounds like a good start." With gentle hands he places the ring back, perfectly fitting on the marked skin of her finger. The ring looks more beautiful than it did seconds ago, its purpose renewed.

After a not so gentle nudge, he laughs sliding back into her. They fall into a slow searching rhythm, her legs tightly wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into her.

"If you ever try to leave me I'll break your legs and drag you back." She promises.

He laughs louder, her declaration like a love letter. Their lovemaking somehow sweeter now and they find pleasure and solace in each other's warmth.

You're so warm.

#psycho but it's okay #its okay to not be okay #its okay to not be okay fic #teaser #the proposal #lighting up your world #part 3 #I'm back #and so excited for the wedding special #!!!!!!

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 5 years ago

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Ambian induces sleep walking.

It can cause vivid dreams and more.

So Ambian is given as a poison in my prisons

Its a legal and safe dose under the guidance of a doctor.

But also the side effects can be induced thus people can do things they normally would do without thinking or using brain efforts..

Users can easily become arrogant or egotistical thus provoking a fight with a guard as the,criminals in my prison requested, gabapentin does similar. But doesn't induce the vivid hallucinations. Only the quiet ones.

And so if you're in my prisons and you're daily taking Ambian I am asking you to request to To guards a safe drop off medication.

Otherwise you're at a risk for suicide and brain kick back of hormones causing even worse hallucinations.

Ambian is perfect for up to and including once or twice per week use of a the low dose..

Or two times per month at a max dose.

Ambian is an emergency reset of the sleep cycle medicine.

Ambian is being prescribed incorrectly due to the sanofi-aventis labs lying about the dangers of the medications.

We have incredible proof of the horrible side effects done to people on Ambian at high or mid level doses for extended period of times. But Greed as stopped them from telling the truth.

As i promised. Only the 7 deadly sins will be served in my prisons

I've taken it. The shit is a good high and good sleep

I had a friend who told me that she was prescribed it and she didn't need it and knew sometimes I would drink at night to sleep instead of taking pills

She had PTSD. She didn't tell me a lot but she was getting help. One thing she told me was that she was supposed to ride out and was late to because she was fucking her man and another girl took her place. The jeep hit a roadside land mine meant for her and blew the girls legs off and she's still alive and legless. And she knew had she gone she would have died. It was her time. So, she was Zulululu and stealing time and it cost a girl her legs. And she began to struggle only because she was my friend and i caused her to see truth.

So the Ambian gave her horrific nightmares. Of truth of her existence on Earth.

And so she gave me almost a full bottle of her prescription. Because she said taking it made her want to kill herself.

So yes i give them to my prisioners that have the opportunity to be luxury if they meet or exceed opportunity and they may have the stone doors slide open.

Alex Laughlin gained his for his ability to show true emotion. Including terror and fear. The ability to accept his situation with strength and solitude. The ability to show disappointment with respect to himself and those that disappoint him. He had self respect and he had respect of others. In fear of being raped, he ran. He didn't attack. When being disappointed with shells of animals in his pillow he didn't scream or shout or be disobedient, violent or disrespectful. He accepted his situation and merely again stated his wishes with equilibrium and a mature presence of sadness. "I just wanted pets" He was calm and gentle. And due to the extreme trauma we placed him through that he was able to express, the ability to trust him with the lives of small mammals was present. I am told y'all didn't understand.

But y'all saw the same as i did. Except I saw it in my mind and y'all saw it on the TV. He is one with his mind and heart.

His choices are environmental. As are Eric Trump's. So incarceration is perfect for a person like Alex Laughlin. Due to his close proximity to other life he is responsible for, he is not on Ambian.

Getting up in the night to strange a rabbit isn't good for a person such as him. And he has in the past slept walked and slept talked. While he's never harmed anyone. We do not want to provoke a "nightmare" in him to where he's confused or not in proper control of himself.

If the need comes then he will have the room closed and he will take his dose of Ambian in his original room but since he was traumatized in that room the potential of him to attack a guard is significantly increased especially if his pets are taken away during the 8 hours after Ambian is given. So that is an Extreme ounksh. The alternative is for him to be trapped in the room when he just goes in when he's told to and he's squeezed in the walls. That is his main punishment for big deals. There's level of minor such as food substitutions (stale white bread, mystery goulash, etc), media being removed or electric lights being limited. And other things.

But I took Ambian instead of taking shots of rum (up to 3) and it was amazing. I had the best euphoria and the best dreams and it was wonderful. But I felt drugged in the morning. So I didn't take it because I felt heavy and being awake was a nightmare.

The opposite of what my friend felt. So despite not being friends with her since New year's eve 2009, I still have the bottle of pills in my kitchen cabinet.

In one way or another, Ambian has the ability to make a person want to kill themselves.

As I promised my prisoners, I would not give them any thing I haven't suffered due to their kinds of crimes.

And i am telling them now, exactly as a Zulululu told me: "Don't take them if you have any bad reactions that is why i am giving them to you"

She was nice and sweet about it and so my guards are the same. They will not open the door and beat you for rejecting the sleeping aid.

There are safer alternatives for sleep and a system to safely ween by substitution of another supplement so the attempt of suicide doesn't occur.

Its been scientifically proven that Tylenol PM will cover both issues

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 5 years ago

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This case will be going to the grand jury

Okay

So what a grand jury does is determine via a jury panel of 12 or the local dictated amount, sometimes it is different -- in a closed private setting, if there is enough evidence for a probable cause to arrest the people for the crimes

Now I am told by Tree that this man whom was murdered was kidnapping for human trafficking and that is why he was killed.

Now I'm all about being anti racial crimes and modern lynching due to skin color

However SMS will show what he had done just hours before to these men. Where they all had been and what led up to the death of this man.

This is in February. I said and I said we would kill human traffickers.

This is a result of that statement

I wish it wasn't a black man. I do. I love black people all day long but we can't control what they do or do not do.

Due to the racial profiling and the claims that black are arrested unfairly we do have a higher rate of white people to do these killings.

This is to protect black people.

Killing one black kidnapper saves thousands and millions of African Kings, Queens, Princesses and Princes that will trust a black man to not kidnap them.

So I hope you do understand and I hope that the truth is shown and the truth is understood and justice is preserved in the grand jury

Had it been a group of black men killing one black guy it would been looked over as a gang thing. And ee don't want that either

So this video was purposely leaked to allow us to explain the choice of skin color that we use -- predominantly white (light) to protect Mexicans (Latino, Hispanic, Spanish) and African Americans

Because of white privilege.

It was expected and yet not hoped that this gossip would have happened. It shows the extreme damage in our communities.

And while this entire article is hurtful (and untrue) it does represent what police do.

I couldn't read all the words, they were so painful. Here we are trying all we can to protect innocent African-American and Latinx and still the screaming of indecency is arisen.

And yet we all still see the point. The Civil War was so long gone, no one who fought in it is still living. Yet daily it is still fought.

While y'all are not following instinct extremely close...

Y'all do recognize he was murdered ... He was murdered jogging ... And he was murdered for who he was ... But he was simply not just black. He was also a human trafficker.

Yes, my friends and my foes, black human traffic, too. Just like they deal drugs. Its "good" money meaning it is a lot.

I don't think I've called out a black person yet and this is the first. Just because I hadn't said didn't mean it ain't true

I've called out white people only. One girl and many men. Yet the Chinese and Asians have been attacked but I hadn't singled out one single Asian. Only white men (at that time it had began in Connecticut)

Yes yes yes Mexicans, Blacks, Whites, Native Americans they all human traffic

Native Americans are notorious for human trafficking. Y'all did not know that but they are. Agent Orange is 39% Native American. "Well they did it to us"

So you know it fucking hurts and you don't do it to other people, ass holes. But no. It makes them feel justified and right. They're not. They're shameful.

So this article is full of gossip and untrue words strung together to create bull shit.

I wish it was 3 innocent and good black man on one white kidnapper.... However the facts remain it was one African American Kidnapper that used people for humam trafficking

I am incorrect -- I have called out two African American Women for human trafficking --- Oprah Winfrey and Gayle King.

But this is the first male.

I also posted a video of actors that were all 100% human trafficking. And some were African American.

Now im going to tell you about Zulululu because of the high deaths of African Americans in this COVID crisis

Zulululu kill humans and then they take over their bodies. Okay.

So Zulululu are racist and ass holes. They are rapists. They have no respect for women. They male chauvinist pigs. They're disgusting.

So unfortunately I do believe that the Zulululu (and the other 3 planets as well) have already killed these Africans and then took over their bodies.

They did it to Michael Jackson. Alex Laughlin when he was Gaberial. Matt Hagan was my twin brother and he's been taken over by the alien in the film "White Boy Rick" that was Rick. He killed himself in jail to kill my brother to take over his body...

It makes me very sad. I want to cry.

Denise was killed and taken over by an alien. So the Zulululu uses my aunt's actual human body. Same with Nathaniel.

So it is very horrific.

So this huge amount of African Americans dying... Im sorry y'all but they ain't African Americans, baby. They ain't. Baby. They been dead a long time. And I am so sorry, i truly am.

That is why we have DNA4U. It dignifies your actual child or mom or aunt or uncle as alien or not. As human souls or some alien mouth breathing fool.

It is why all human bodies have COVID-19.

Because if you, my sista, get killed by an alien then the antibody "melts" caused by the alien soul and baby girl you ain't gotta be dead watching your body walk around no more. It's gonna die. And it's gonna die bad and it's gonna suffer. And you getta watch that alien panic.

So as soon as they alien soul enters the COVID activation occurs, your soul removing the antibody with you. Or thinking the body keeps it then the alien melts it. However you wanna look at it. IDC. However it occurs, idc. However its mutated in each individual idc. The mother fuckers ain't doing this shit no more.

So baby. Yeah. Y'all African American do have a 29% higher rate of Alien body take overs than the rest of the races. Next is Asian. Then Scottish, German, French, Polish, Swedish then general White from Europe.

Unfortunately they been trying to find me. Not knowing where i will pop up next, they infiltrate places I've been and have made a good life for myself.

Egypt, Outer Mongolia, Scottland as Queen Anne in the 1600s, I've been Joan of Arc, Cleopatra y'all know... So fucking many!

And they keep trying to find me to mate with me. But I can't. I can only produce children with my soulmate. Just like every other single human. Just like DNA4U proves.

Just like Zulululu can't even have children.

I can only mate with my soulmate

And it fucking kills me because they killed zillions and more than zillion of Chinese babies looking for me. And I never was born in China again. Because it was too dangerous.

I was never born in Africa again, it was too dangerous.

I was born in Detroit.. I was born in small town Alabama in a trailer park.

I was born in San Francisco. In London. In France. I've lived poor. Rich. Moderate. I've hidden quite successfully.

And yet... They destroy my people even still ...

So enter COVID 19 which is destroying my healthcare workers with PTSD. Because I don't get a chance to explain

Because the aliens keep getting in my way. Alex Laughlin. A fake Brian. Agent Orange. Eric Trump is always breathing down my neck. Denise. Nathaniel.

Its so fucking annoying.

And in my daily fights and struggles, my people are hurting.

So finally, a man with two stumps for legs because he deals with too many aliens for his nurse care, live in, and his soulmate is in jail for weed trafficking. I've known him off and on for 20 years. He posts a real human that is upset. I can see shes human. I just wanna hug her and take away all her pain. And Joey he says he just wants one miracle. He got it.

Finally the air cleared and I was able to break out and activate the healthcare substitute website and the mental health website especially for nurses and doctors to give them military training on acceptance of death which they get paid to learn. To encourage them to keep on trying. Keep reading, keep watching videos and keep caring about themselves and their mental health care.

For some it won't work. For some it just won't penetrate their brain. They can't hear it yet, they're not ready. But it will absorb if they let it. Each little particle of information that absorbs into their soul is just like that woman said -- it let's them be that one that is there for them because no one else is.

She's so beautiful. I mean shes pretty. She ain't painful to look at. But her words i just got goose bumps. Her beauty, "i wanna quit, but then they ain't got no one but me"

Girl. Y'all. I tell you. Every day. That's me.

I quit hundreds of times. "I fucking quit!! Fuck y'all!" Two days later I'm back at it. I can't stop.

Its that Orphan in me. It's that Queen in me, that Goddess of Earth.

At any rate. We're gonna stop this shit.

Racism. Its gonna stop.

Unfortunately COVID deaths of African Americans will not stop.

We have tried everything. Tricking a switch. "Okay alien just jump out and let her back in her body because she forgot something in there and she needs to get it" next thing we know its another car wreck and girl is dead and kicked out.

Exorcisms.

The Exorcist. That Horror film. All real.

We have tried it all m

And that is why we are in this horrific mess.

Luckily we got all kinds of shit planned!! Surprises around every corner and we are gonna get this done

We're gonna save Humanity, Ecology and the Earth itself.

We are gonna kill the souls of those from those four planets. Now it's gonna take time and its not gonns be fun.

But i got lawyers for the people that have been beat by cops finally assigned today! Yay!.

More than half of the 18,000 cops that are beating people for no reason have been killed today. Thank God for that and Tree of course and the snipers, Thank you.

And so this man in this article, unfortunately was ordered to die by me.

He was ordered to be killed by white people.

I don't want black men or Latino to be imprisoned for serving justice. White privilege is real.

All four planets for whatever reason decided to torture and bully and pick on African Americans.

Maybe because I'm white now... But i have to be white.. It's too dangerous to be black. Come on.. Yeah I used to black as Hell. But shit, a girl cant even walk down the street without being raped. Black girls are raped 4 times more than white. Asian girls are raped 6 times more often. 6 times! And they been killing most of them!!! So you know you gotta count that like every single Asian girl has been raped at least once.

They don't have it easy y'all! Stop picking on them!!!

Any way So there is a racial thing to the COVID but it's definitely not a human thing that is targeting them.

Y'all. Our African have already been killed and aliens are just walking around in their bodies.

So y'all don't cry no more.

Be mad.

Realize what's going on.

Alright so im telling you our families are dead and murdered.

Solution? Yes there is, in time.

We will ghost them back to life, creating bodies out of thin air for their spirits, their souls that exist.

Okay so i remember Alex Laughlin as Gaberial.... But Gaberial is Hispanic... And Alex looks French. So when the alien does take over it alters the physical characteristics of the original body.... But only slightly...

So some will request a dramatic overhaul of their appearance....

Okay say... Like Denise.... If Denise the real one looks too similar to the alien compound.... And we all hate her... Its simple to change the way she looks so that we don't ever see the old alien Denise when we look at the real Denise.

So she's been gone over 30 years..,

Gaberial 20

So its just like the changes that someone would make while growing up or growing old -- that is the way we look at it.

So i remember Gaberial as he was... And so he will change as he was only about 13 when his body was overtaken... So easy for him to have a new grown up self. Also same as easy to have him as original.

It all depends on the person and who did the alien take over and all that complicated stuff

So they analyze the complicated and we make it simple for compression of the new or old face.

And we allow it a choice and we say it is and it is respected and the person is loved.

Because that is humanity.

Again i apologize for the pain due to racism. The article does spell out the past and current situation especially with cops Here lately.

I was and still am totally with the Eric, "i can't Breathe" movement which ended in murder..

And that is why i am so angry.

But again. Please understand the justification of this killing and the reason we are using white privilege is to protect those that do not have white privilege.

We seize the opportunity. We don't make the opportunity. We use it.

Do please forgive me for doing so. I am only trying to protect the few good ones we have left because we all love you and we need you all safe!

I don't want yall in jail for a second for trying to save the world.

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 5 years ago

Text

So the people 4900 humans were mutilated

They were cut up and dismembered while alive.

Alex says you want to know what i think.

I don't want to.

Because what i know is this is the tip of the iceberg. What you saw today was the ones that are normal.

There are going to be worse cases that will be surfaced.

What you saw today was mild.

What i feel is irrelevant. I don't have the time not opportunity to reflect and feel about those cases

You know how i feel about human trafficking. You know how i feel about abuse. You know how i feel about people harming humans.

I should not have to explain how i feel.

You need to know it will be worse.

14000 estimated... Only 4900 had physical distortions you could see. The rest were metaphysical and under the skin. Under their clothes.

The horrific procedures these humans suffered courageously only to live in pure Hell...

I will not minimize the suffering of any human.

However the physical mutilation of what you will see in the future is much greater. Frankenstein doesn't even cover it.

You'll see people with all skin removed. All bones removed and still expected to work. People with exposed brain tissue. Their hair growing out of their brain because they have no skull.

I've talked to most and minimized most of their pain and blessed the facilities they were in so they could not feel harm nor new victims if they were taken in.

They did not want to surface to land until the time was ready. Because they are horrifically disfigured.

They did not want a full heal. Nor did they want desth nor removal.

They wanted to be safe and allowed to present their bodies to you. The rest of the world.

To know why to tell you how this happened to them.

Many have lived in these conditions for over 200 years. Hidden. We closed as many off to predators as well could by feining their deaths. By their bodies laying on top of each other in open door ways. And me screaming they were dead. So we were able to close the labs for the time being.

Sneak food to the victims through another pathway.

S0 for 200 years they have waited to tell you all how lucky you are to only have been kidnapped. To only have been raped. To only have lost your jobs and forced to stand 4 feet away from each other.

Some but not all want a full heal.

So the zombie apocalypse we have had on tv and y'all dressed up for on Halloween -- it was for them. To tell them they would be accepted on the top soil of the Eaerth, as they are.

Because they wanted to know they would be safe and unharmed further. And I wanted them to know they would be loved.

Out in Corsicana Texas is where we will find most. Under ground in a lab North West of the city.

It is requested you proof the existence. A newspaper or date on phone or some way of proving these people are for real being rescued this day and age in 2020 AD e.

Only previously selected elite will attend the

What I feel is grief. And sadness.

2/3 want to come to the surface of the Earth to simply die. Once and for all.

But we won't allow that. Their shame. Their wanting to hide their bodies. They want to protect what has been done to them

They want to hide in shame and anxiety for what abuse they suffered

They do not want to stand tall and proud and say "i am human and I have a right to live"

They want to finally say to all of us "I am not as good as you and I will die before you to prove it so"

I could cry all day for my broken heart for them.

And so instead in my usual fashion i am gonna slap their fucking face and say wake up beasts. I fucking love you. And you're not dying because you don't like the mirror.

And so we have a whole thing organized and planned for two days.

They do normal shit although they look like Hell. Potato sack races and Warrior training all kinds of shit.

So we will have Team Elite compete with The Underground Victims.

I think the Elite Military will fail. I think this because they train to save other's lives while the underground their own and others and they know the horrific things that can happen.

So when y'all are allowing Evil to be saved

Our 200 plus year old humans in hibernation under ground will come out and show you why you cannot EVER allow that to happen again.

I wrote in dramatics. But reality is horrifying.

Several other mutilated and severely damaged "corpse" will fly in. Some from right here in New Mexico.

Trees will build invisible walls to prevent others from trying to get in. At times they will be visible and will block the view. Especially for frightened children that may have came to look.

There are 3,475 that are just over 200 years old. They wanted to come out when it was safe from aliens

I assure it is not. However this morning tree asked if they were ready to surface. They said no..

Tree said "fuck shit you're coming out. I don't wanna hear youre sorry we have fun and games planned"

Slowly their fear disintegrated into acceptance.

They were told if they lost at the games and they would -- then they would be able to die freely for eternity's sake.

They were happy to never have to live again.

I will win. That is all I have to say.

So play the hardest. Play the best. Don't give pity to another team. Both sides kick ass.

We have Team Mutilated like you saw today. We have Team Mutilation. We have Team Death and Team Elite.

So we are doing this Olympic style... But each team gets a trophy... So track If Team Mutilation doesn't come running across finish until they are actually #8 their trophy will represent that. If they're last place then they are.

So each team will get placed. And then their overall team placement will be getting a trophy at Diamond. Gold. Titanium Steel and copper.

Of course we will have the actual winner list so if Team Elite beat at the first five levels. It will be recorded.

The point is. Humans have survived in shame for 200 years. Only for you to witness their beings and then die.

So i want them to see while they are some of the worst -- they are not the only. And while our strongest and kindest military competes they will lose because they don't have 200 years of physical training. They don't have 200 plus years of physical memory. They haven't spent 200 years paying attention how their body is or works

I expect Team Death to win at all categories except a small handful.

That is why i said i win. Because i want them to try and i want them to prove to us that live only 40 to 100 years and were all shriveled up in wheelchairs why the point is to survive for eternity. I need them to show us the difference in their physical blessings and a regular human being.

They agreed to but also said they wanted to die.

So y'all believe in miracles. I have more than one planned. They don't have phones. But i talked about it the other day. The P-word and 4 words in the thesaurus.

I am hoping they feel love and acceptance and finally actual pride in the first time in over 50 years.

Not just pride. But pride in their human bodies.

That in itself is a miracle.

And then I can perform more.

And if they don't want to try to live... I'll ask them if they want to if they got 5 thesaurus words some of y'all looked up... And then we will magic them up.

Like I said. I will win.

I say me perform -- my associates the Trees will actually. We have had a lot of practice and discussion.

Matt Hagan is one of the Zulululu aliens which performed abortions then sewed the babies to the outer limbs or the parents So "they always hold their children" and quite a few more grotesque things.

Remember while they don't look human, they are. So if you watch the games live don't cheer for their deformities but what they can do despite them.

So you can say "man look at that 13 armed dude go!! Omg he has 13 arms how amazing is that" because he's juggling or catching frisbees and playing with 9 other people and not missing one. You applaud the skill they now have not the pain they suffer. In my example i pointed out the dude has 13 arms then said what he was doing was amazing.

I did not use proper punctuation. Just like verbalization doesn't either..

So don't accuse any one in your house of making the injuries they sustained insignificant.

The point is to show off their skill and survival DESPITE what the bastards did to them.

So even if your kid says "I wish I had 13 arms" they're not dismissing how fucking horrific it is.

They are saying "wow that guy is my hero"

"I'm jealous. The things I could do like him"

Let the people in your house and home have freedom of expression. Even if you don't understand what the fuck they are saying or where it comes from.

I'd rather hear envy than disgust. So would they.

Yes it will freak the fuck out of you. So the goal is to find one that fascinates you. Or you feel comfortable looking at.

There are some that honestly always freaked me out and they would say "see? How can we go back to our lives when you are one of the nicest and even you can't stand to see or touch them?"

"Because Alex is afraid of my favorite and I'm afraid of his favorite"

"It won't never work then. We can't allow people in fear of us. Its just not right. We will just stay here then for all of eternity"

So the delicate gifts our Eaerth has is these humans.

View them as your schoolmates and best friends.

Of course we will heal them and tattoo their old nemises of themselves on their skin. They will choose. It will be painless. Like a painting with paint. Liquid regular paint.

There are 13000 participants. Only 1/3 will actively be in the games.

While the spectators are waiting my children 9 of them and likely 10 I have here in the belly will apply beautification to those who wish to survive.

Slowly the stands occupants will change to the most beautiful humans you have ever seen in your entire lives.

So one active jogger in a game of soccer will look up to see his wife. He's decided to die. She has not. And he won't find her. Because she's too beautiful. It will change his whole world, his whole mind.

"Oh well I'm gonna need to be handsome then" will say the man with a nose surgically removed and placed upside down with hands from his armpits and no arms. No neck. No throat. No upper jaw. He is one of my easy "but what am I gonna do with these? My wings?" That is what his wife calls his hands.

She feeds him she has his arms wrapped around her throat. But she's mostly in tact. Her nose is also turned upside down and her ears. Her teeth are flipped out. They used plates to push them out opposite how we use teeth braces.

"Its pretty horrific. But we are going. I got strong legs and skill" that is what he says. So i developed the games with him. And some others.

Long long time ago. They did not want the rules to be relaxed for them. They said they would refuse to play if they thought we took it easy on them.

Just for the way they look. They say Red Bull gives you wings. He truly has them. You'll see an interview with him. He can't talk very well at all it is very very muffled like he's under water or has a pillow shoved in his face because he's pissed off his wife again. ;)

So he will show you all what has happened to him. He has his wrists attached in his arm pits so he can rotate his hands.

Y'all will probably want more than 1 tv per room you watch in so you can see their glamor upgrade and the games and a 3rd if you wanna see how they live and function in the home.

I suggest if you can borrow tv from the bedrooms and line them up in the living room or den.

Or use a big screen/projector. So you can see more than one channel at once.

Volume I suggest the in home because they will speak there. And you can hear them.

Glamour my girls will announce their names and dysfunctions and then glamor up. So that should be on closed caption so you can read as well as sports

But I totally challenge you to volume on all 3.

I would sports lowest. Glamor mid and home life up most.

If you practice fine tuning your ears you can hear all 3 perfectly.

Become a freak like me.

So what do i feel? Excited and happy. I feel love.

Because there is a future. And I am sure we can convince the rest to have one too.

Hashtag Freak in social media to show support.

Please.

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