#and i have watched some videos before about ocean oil rigs but not much

[artsy-book]

these thoughts have me looking up videos of how oil rigs actually work out in the ocean. they are making me Learn.

watching jacksepticeye's still wakes the deep play through and oooh boy i have so many cool spooky thoughts running through my brain hehe

[minghaos-pet]

unusual seventeen date ideas

zoolA/N: I’m posting these to fill in the space while I finish chapters for my fics. These ideas came from a ritalin-fueled afternoon so they are NOT intended to be serious. I definitely do not see any of the members engaging in these types of activities so, again, none of this is serious

Warnings: criminal activity, theft, “”borrowing””, mentions of drugs (no drug use), pyramid schemes, some softness and fluff, brief mentions of police (acab), mentions of trash, mentions of food, heights

stealing bikes with seungcheol

seungcheol would pick you up precisely at 5am from outside your house, he would drive you through some quiet suburban neighborhoods (so romantique) and you'd pick off any bikes, trikes, and (if you're really lucky) electric scooters you find sitting outside the pristine homes of the neighborhood. Then you both would spend the whole day at the local park having fun and trading the bikes you stole to kids for their drones, ice cream cones, lunch money, whatever you want! the options are limitless when you're stealing bikes with seungcheol.

dumpster diving with jeonghan

your dates with jeonghan usually consisted of going out to fancy restaurants and getting something to eat, most definitely in multiple courses. "let's try something different," jeonghan suggested when you popped the nightly question of what do you want to eat. Much to your surprise and delight, jeonghan drove you in his 2014 white honda civic to applebee's, one of your favorite establishments. "are we getting potato skins?" "haha," he chuckled with a light behind his eyes, "something like that." he parked behind the building and opened the door for you, leading you to the dumpsters. before you could process what was going on. jeonghan had whipped the dumpster lid open and was scaling the side of the structure.  you spent the rest of the evening going from place to place, scoring new makeup palettes and other goodies. needless to say, it was amazing how many potato skins your local applebee's threw out everyday.

squatting in abandoned buildings with joshua

joshua was the sweetest, most thoughtful boyfriend you could ever ask for. he was constantly waiting on you hand and foot and taking you on lavish vacations. however, you were growing tired of trips to dubai and paris, and wanted to go on a more rugged, adventure vacation. you brought it up to him and he smiled at you, reading your mind. two weeks later, joshua surprised you with an uber ride to the nearest abandoned Kmart in your town, giddy with excitement, you found that he had already bolt-cut the padlock on the expansive automatic doors. You spent the night walking up and down the aisles before going up to the roof. unfortunately, the door to the roof locked automatically, trapping you on top of the kmart.  you and joshua spent the rest of your stay pointing out constellations and falling asleep under the stars before crafting a makeshift rope out of your own clothes to get down the building.

climbing things with jun

jun was a man of many hobbies and recreations, and climbing was one of them. every thursday and sunday night junhui would shake you out of bed and drag you to the nearest climbable structure. ladders, fences, even flights of stairs that led to god-knows-where. one sunday night, jun with excitement and anticipation coursing through his veins, he woke you up and ran out of bed so fast he barely had time to put on his shoes, not even noticing that he was wearing his old gucci slides on the wrong feet. "i have a good feeling about this one," he assured you while you ran through the night, finally approaching a cellular tower. without warning, jun began to climb and climb and climb, leaving you scrambling to get your foothold on the tower. once at the top, jun held your hand while you shivered against the wind. "y/n, look!" he shouted and pointed frantically at the ocean before you. "what is it?" "let's find out." wading through the ocean together, you struggled to keep up with his freestyle swimming towards your next target. it was an oil rig. oh junhui, you thought and smiled, what a character. you came back to the rig every thursday and sunday night, that is, before you were arrested by the coast guard, of course. classic junhui.

zoological warfare with soonyoung

it was no secret that soonyoung loved (and you mean loved) tigers. tiger stuffed animals filled your couches, bed, and dining room chairs; tiger paintings custom commissioned and worth thousands adorned your walls, and tiger videos from animal planet and other sources played night and day on your 100 inch television. Soonyoung cultivated his appreciation for the big cat by playing Zoo Tycoon on his laptop, so much that you practically had to rip the mouse out of his hand and threatened to burn the fifteen year old cd-rom. "soonyoungie," you cooed one afternoon, "i have a better idea than playing zoo tycoon..." immediately his eyes darkened, he knew exactly what you were talking about. You'd been to the zoo so many times before, but this time was different. While Soonyoung oohed and awwed at the tigers in their habitat, you reminded him of the real reason why you were at the zoo that late afternoon. Wire cutters in hand you were quick to disable the motion sensors and electric fences surrounding the enclosure. His deliciously built muscles strained while he pulled open the large fence, "you're free now," he whispered to himself. you both ran out of the habitat and back into the more populated areas of the zoo. words can't describe the elation soonyoung felt while he watched his favorite animals prance into the crowd, finally able to be their true selves.

recreating fahrenheit 451 with wonwoo

wonwoo loved his books more than anything else in his life, except, of course, you. he was halfway through his favorite book when the thought hit him like a ton of bricks. i have to recreate this with y/n, he thought to himself. He read for a couple more hours--not wanting to lose the plot of his favorite dystopian novel--before seeking you out. "y/n," he patted the top of your head lightly, "have you ever read fahrenheit 451?" "of course," you replied, smiling at your silly boyfriend, "we all had to read it in high school." not twenty minutes later were you and wonwoo elbows deep in the pile of books you had stacked in the middle of the alley by your apartment.

scalping concert tickets with jihoon

jihoon was a master producer, everyone knew it. The only thing he loved more than producing was making money, and you and your determined boyfriend were constantly jumping from one side-hustle to another. One of jihoon’s favorite side-hustles was printing fake concert tickets and selling them at the same venues he performed at. It was a two-in-one package, he used to tell you when you were hesitant about the legalities of such a practice. He’d sell tickets for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars, a few hours before a performance and then he’d run inside, get ready, and perform himself! After a while, you stopped noticing the angry crowds that would gather outside the venues during shows and you let yourself enjoy the show from backstage surrounded by a heavy stack of cash. The best part was, you didn’t have to pay taxes on it!

Jihoon could do a number of jobs all at once, from starting etsy stores to mowing lawns for a couple extra dollars, but by far this was his favorite technique. With the money he made he could buy you the extravagances you deserved.

joining an MLM with seokmin

Seokmin was all about the newest, greatest thing. When Jihoon came by one day and told him all about his experience selling essential oils at house parties, seokmin was instantly hooked on the prospect. It took you a little bit of convincing, but after watching your boyfriend steal the show with suburban housewives at the parties he hosted, you knew you had to support him in every way you could. It took a second mortgage on your house and two paycheck advancements, but you were able to build up enough stock of essential oils from the headquarters to fill up your spare room. Party after party you and Seokmin gave out samples after samples, freebies galore, but you were never able to fully deplete the millions of bottles of clove oil and the blends seokmin swore would make you both rich. Even though you never broke even, you loved your new life with seokmin. You had to sell your house and live out of a mini-van you found abandoned on the highway, but it gave you and seokmin a great supply of #VanLife instagram posts.

grand theft auto with mingyu

Dating mingyu was always thrilling and there was always something exciting happening whenever you were together. Tonight was no different, as mingyu promised you that he was taking you out to get a new car. You were ecstatic, having only dated mingyu three and a half weeks, it was a little soon for such extravagant gifts like a whole car, but you weren’t one to complain and you certainly did not want to hurt his feelings.

The music blared loudly while you flew down the freeway in the new drop-top audi Mingyu got for you. You were a little worried when the car dealer insisted on coming with you for the test drive, but Mingyu’s charm and quick thinking, the dealer was nothing to worry about. Mingyu turned the radio up even higher when the sirens approached, adding to the thrill of the night.

“The lights make you look so pretty,” Mingyu fawned from the driver’s seat, “we should do this more often.”

You turned around to look behind you, the wind chapping your lips and whipping your hair, smiling. 

you’ve always wanted a police escort.

borrowing from designer stores with minghao

minghao's sense of style was unparalleled, and being his significant other, you were privy to plenty of style and fashion advice. not that you minded, of course, because minghao would usually get so fed up with your disastrous outfits that he would let you wear his own clothes to save time and hassle. "y/n," minghao sighed after watching you put layer three jackets on top of each other, "we're going shopping. I'm going to teach you how to buy clothes." the places minghao shopped were unbelievable; while you usually bought your clothes off of Wish and Aliexpress, minghao was a well-known regular at versace, hermes, louis vuitton, and every other designer you could think of. your minimum wage paycheck could in no way sponsor these purchases, so you were completely reliant on minhao for these types of shopping trips. once in gucci, minghao pulled his bucket hat lower, covering his eyes and instructing you to do the same. he swung around the large umbrella he carried with him to the shops (confusing since it was not raining), and you watched him drop item after item into the half opened umbrella. astonished and amazed, you grabbed a wallet off of the shelf and attempted to pocket it discretely, but were caught by security. You watched as minghao left the store while you were being interrogated by the mall security. Lucky for you, you were able to get away safely and caught up with minghao to grab a pretzel before leaving the mall.

hitchhiking to jeju with seungkwan

there wasn't a day that went by when seungkwan didn't miss home: the tangerine groves, the crisp sea air, and Hallasan mountain. on one of his routine pining sessions, you had the brightest idea you'd had in a very long time, it was your chance to finally go on a much needed trip with Seungkwan to the place he loved most. You whipped out yours and his favorite and most reliable tennis shoes, grabbed a bottle of water to share, and set on your way. Despite the heat and exhaustion, seungkwan was overjoyed to be on his way to Jeju, especially to be able to go there with you and show you his old stomping grounds. As you both walked, thumbs out, you found refuge in a few nice strangers' cars. Seungkwan loved the economical nature of your trip and you loved the fact that you got to spend it with him.

cult-hopping with vernon

vernon had some...interesting hobbies and past-times, but being his significant other you loved to share these moments with him, even if they were a little strange at moments. something that vernon had always, and he meant  a l w a y s wanted to do was something he called "cult-hopping" where the two of you would spend a few months to a year joining cult after cult just to understand and learn the ins-and-outs of each organization before leaving and moving onto the next one. For the first few weeks, the experience was painfully slow, but after you'd moved on to your fourth (or was it fifth?) cult, you began to develop the understand and appreciation for it that vernon always hoped you would. You drank kool-aid, had communal baths, and even shared in some unusual choices of meals. It warmed your heart t be able to spend this much needed time with vernon, and he was happy to learn more about cults.

drug trafficking with chan

airports were your absolute favorite place, something about them made you feel so comforted and at home. with chan there to hold your hand through security and sew up secret pockets in your luggage, it felt extra special. you weren't new to the drug trafficking scene, and found it as a lovely way to make some extra money when funds were tight; although chan was definitely not in need of money due to his idol career, he still loved to see what you did best. He watched a few youtube tutorials and already he was a pro at getting through security and past the drug dogs. You marveled at how chan even bent down to pet a few of the canine officers, amazed at his composure throughout the whole process. If things went well this trip, you knew that your boss would ask him to join the ranks, meaning you and chan could fly, take trains, and travel whenever and wherever you wanted.

[bountyofbeads]

I Worked for Alex Jones. I Regret It. https://nyti.ms/2PiTeFr

This piece by former InfoWars "video reporter" (?) Josh Owens reveals all the insanity you'd expect but also the pathetic sadness of those who continue to enable, peddle, and profit from his malicious lies.

Confession is good for the soul, but I'm trying to get my head around the fact that the author continued to work for Alex Jones for several YEARS after the latter made his vile claims about Sandy Hook.

Josh Owens was drawn to #InfoWars while "vulnerable, angry & searching for direction"; after 4 years w/Alex Jones, he saw "virulent nature of his world." Read if you can stomach Jones' deeply disturbing behavior. This model has infected right-wing media.

Josh Owens is a seriously good writer. Too bad he didn't make the subject of this piece himself. Why was he angry, why did he stay with Jones so long, how did he feel as he did his work? These unexamined questions are the heart of the story, not how disturbed a plainly disturbed man Jones is.

"Owens admits that his personal mental and emotional issues led him to Jones. We should be glad for him, that he found the strength to recognize it, address it, and walk away from a bad situation. Owens shouldn't be vilified for his past mistakes, but celebrated for his return. Prodigal son, no? But forgiveness does not imply absolution."

"This can't be the end of the road. As he is responsible for a lot of anguish and grief. Is he even an accessory to murder? The pain that he enabled will live on in families for decades and become part of our national fabric. How does he intend to make amends? This written catharsis is a good first step, but it's only a first step. Is he the little girl in the airplane, seeing the world for the first time? What does he intend to do with this revelation, and fix the damage he has done?"

"At 23, Josh Owens quit film school to work as a video editor for Alex Jones. This is his account of the years he spent within the Infowars empire." /1

"At first, he found it easy to brush off Alex Jones’s fever dreams as eccentricities and excesses. But he eventually found that he had his limits." /2

"Once, at a private ranch, Owens said, Alex Jones picked up an AR-15 and accidentally fired it in the writer’s direction. The bullet hit the ground about 10 feet away from him, he recalled. Jones claimed he had intentionally fired the gun as a joke, he said."/3

“Over time, I came to learn that keeping Jones from getting angry was a big part of the job, though it was impossible to predict his outbursts,” he writes."/4

“There was a time when I shared his anger. In fact, I was still angry. But this is where we differed: I wasn’t angry with others; I was angry with myself. And once I realized that, it was easier to walk away”/5

I WORKED FOR ALEX JONES. I REGRET IT.

I dropped out of film school to edit video for the conspiracy theorist because I believed in his worldview. Then I saw what it did to people.

By Josh Owens | Published Dec. 5, 2019 | New York Times Magazine | Posted December 6, 2019 |

On Election Day 2016, I sat in the passenger seat of Alex Jones’s Dodge Hellcat as we swerved through traffic, making our way to a nearby polling place. As Jones punched the gas pedal to the floor, the smell of vodka, like paint thinner, wafted up from the white Dixie cup anchored in the console. My stomach churned as the phone I held streamed live video to Facebook: Jones rambling about voter fraud and rigged elections while I stared at the screen, holding the camera at an angle to hide his double chin. It rarely worked, but I didn’t want to be blamed when he watched the video later.

Four years earlier, Jones — wanting to expand his website, Infowars, into a full-blown guerrilla news operation and hoping to scout new hires from his growing fan base — held an online contest. At 23, I was vulnerable, angry and searching for direction, so I decided to give it a shot. Out of what Infowars said were hundreds of submissions, my video — a half-witted, conspiratorial glance at the creation and function of the Federal Reserve — made it to the final round.

Unconvinced I could cut it as a reporter, Jones offered me a full-time position as a video editor. I quit film school and moved nearly a thousand miles to Austin, Tex., fully invested in propagating his worldview. By the time I found myself seated next to Jones speeding down the highway, I had seen enough of the inner workings of Infowars to know better.

Before we left the office, Jones instructed me to title the video “Alex Jones Denied Right to Vote” when uploading to YouTube. He knew before we left that they wouldn’t let us walk into a polling location with our cameras rolling. I don’t think Jones even intended to vote. Rather, he hoped to turn this into a spectacle, an insult to him personally, another opportunity to play the self-aggrandizing victim.

“Look at this great city shot,” he said pointing out the window at Austin’s skyline. As soon as I pulled the camera off him, he reached for the white Dixie cup. Is this really how I’m going to die? I thought to myself, imagining the scene: Jones veering too close to the guardrail, ranting about George Soros and Hillary Clinton. Sirens echoing in the distance, flashing lights reflecting off oil-soaked pavement as he grabs the camera and utters his final words, “Hillary ... rigged ... the car.” His listeners would have believed it. Years earlier, I would have believed it.

Fortunately, there were no sirens or flashing lights, and I was relieved when “Vote Here” signs began to appear. A line stretched out the door of the polling place, in a local strip mall, by the time we arrived. As I expected, Jones was told multiple times that he couldn’t film at a polling place, and he decided to leave. Walking back to the car, still taking sips from his white cup, he began noticeably slurring his words. A friend of Jones’s who tagged along — for “security purposes” — offered to give me a ride back to the office. Jones revved his engine, tires squealing as he sped out of the parking lot.

I began listening to Jones’s radio show — the flagship program of what is now a conspiracist media empire with an audience that until recently surpassed a million people — in the last days of George W. Bush’s presidency. The American public had been sold a war through outright fabrications; the economy was in free fall thanks to Wall Street greed and the failure of Washington regulators. Most of the mainstream media was caught flat-footed by these developments, but Jones seemed to have an explanation for everything. He railed against government corruption and secrecy, the militarization of police. He confronted those in power, traipsed through the California redwoods to expose the secretive all-male meeting of elites at Bohemian Grove and even appeared in two Richard Linklater films as himself, screaming into a megaphone.

But it wasn’t the politics that initially drew me in. Jones had a way of imbuing the world with mystery, adding a layer of cinematic verisimilitude that caught my attention. Suddenly, I was no longer a bored kid attending an overpriced art school. I was Fox Mulder combing through the X-Files, Rod Serling opening a door to the Twilight Zone, even Rosemary Woodhouse convinced that the neighbors were members of a ritualistic cult. I believed that the world was strategically run by a shadowy, organized cabal, and that Jones was a hero for exposing it.

I had my limits. I can’t say I ever believed his avowed theory that Sandy Hook was a staged event to push for gun control; to Jones, everything was a “false flag.” I didn’t believe that Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama smelled like sulfur because of their proximity to hell or that Planned Parenthood was run by “Nazi baby killers.” But it was easy to brush off these fever dreams as eccentricities and excesses — not the heart of the Alex Jones operation but mere diversions.

Once I started working there, however, it became obvious that one was impossible to separate one from the other. Soon after I was hired, Jones’s Infowars-branded store — which sells emergency-survival foods, water filters, body armor and much more — introduced an iodine supplement, initially marketed as a “shield” against nuclear fallout. Still learning the ropes, I was tasked with creating video advertisements for the supplement, which he ran on his online TV show. One of these ads started with a shot of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant as it exploded. I doubled the sound of the explosion, adding a glitch filter and sirens in the background for dramatic effect. Jones stood over my shoulder as I edited. “This is great,” he said. “See if you can find flyover footage of Chernobyl as well.”

Shortly after Jones began selling the supplements, someone posted a video on YouTube holding a Geiger counter displaying high radiation readings on a beach in Half Moon Bay, Calif. The video went viral, stoking fears that radiation from Fukushima was drifting across the Pacific Ocean. Jones saw an opportunity and sent me, along with a reporter, a writer and another cameraman, to California. We had multiple Geiger counters shipped overnight, unaware of how to read or work them, and drove up the West Coast, frequently stopping to check radiation levels. Other than a small spike in Half Moon Bay — which the California Department of Public Health said was from naturally occurring radioactive materials, not Fukushima — we found nothing.

Jones was furious. We started getting calls from the radio-show producers in the office, warning us to stop posting videos to YouTube stating we weren’t finding elevated levels of radiation. We couldn’t just stop, though; Jones demanded constant real-time content. On some of these calls, I could hear Jones screaming in the background. One of the producers told me they had never seen him so angry.

We scrambled to find something, anything we could report on. We tested freshly caught crab from a dock in Crescent City, Calif., and traveled to the Diablo Canyon nuclear plant in Avila Beach, asking fishermen if we could test the small croakers they caught off a nearby pier. We even tried to locate a small nuclear-waste facility just so we could capture the Geiger counter displaying a high number. But we couldn’t find what Jones wanted, and after two weeks of traveling from San Diego to Portland, we flew back to Texas as failures, bracing for Jones’s rage. (Jones did not respond to detailed queries sent before publication by The Times Magazine.)

Over time, I came to learn that keeping Jones from getting angry was a big part of the job, though it was impossible to predict his outbursts. Stories abounded among my co-workers: The blinds stuck, so he ripped them off the wall. A water cooler had mold in it, so he grabbed a large knife, stabbed the plastic base wildly and smashed it on the ground. Headlines weren’t strong enough; the news wasn’t being covered the way he wanted; reporters didn’t know how to dress properly. Once a co-worker stopped by the office with a pet fish he was taking home to his niece. It swam in circles in a small, transparent bag. When Jones saw the bag balanced upright on a desk in the conference room, he emptied it into a garbage can. On one occasion, he threatened to send out a memo banning laughter in the office. “We’re in a war,” he said, and he wanted people to act accordingly.

I also saw Jones give an employee the Rolex off his own wrist, simply because he thought the employee was mad at him. “Now, would a bad guy do that?” Jones asked as he handed over the watch. Once, when I went to interview a frequent guest of Jones’s, I was sent with a check to cover a potentially lifesaving cancer treatment. A few times I came close to quitting, and like clockwork, just before I pulled the plug, I received a bonus or significant raise. I hadn’t discussed my discontent with Jones, but he seemed to sense it.

Jones often told his employees that working for him would leave a black mark on our records. To him, it was the price that must be paid for boldly confronting those in power — what he called the New World Order or, later, the deep state. Once my beliefs began to shift, I saw the virulent nature of his world, the emptiness and loathing in many of those impassioned claims. But I was certain that after four years working for Jones, I would never be able to get another job — banished into poverty as penance for my transgressions, and rightly so.

When Jones wanted to blow off steam, we would travel to a private ranch outside Austin to shoot guns. Among other firearms, we would bring the two Barrett .50-caliber rifles he kept stashed in the office. Because we never missed an opportunity to create more content, we also brought along cameras to turn whatever happened into a segment for his show.

I remember one trip in particular. It was the summer of 2014, and I rode to the ranch in the back of a co-worker’s truck, surrounded by semiautomatic rifles, boxes of ammunition and Tannerite, an explosive rifle target. A few of us left early in the morning, arriving before Jones to film B-roll and load magazines; he had no patience for preparation. When he came hours later, after eating a few handfuls of jalapeño chips, he picked up an AR-15 and accidentally fired it in my direction.

The bullet hit the ground about 10 feet away from me. One employee, who was already uncomfortable around firearms, lost it, accusing Jones of being careless and flippant. This was one of the few times I saw someone call Jones out and the only time he didn’t get angry in response. He claimed he had intentionally fired the gun as a joke — as if this were any better.

I stood by silently, considering what might have happened if the gun had been pointed a little to the right. After a while the upset employee let it go, and no one brought it up again. We cracked open a few more beers, filled an old television with Tannerite and blew it up.

One weekend, a few people from the office went hunting at a game reserve. On the following Monday, I was handed a hard drive full of video files and told to edit them for Jones to air on his show later in the week. “There are clips in here that are pretty bad, things we don’t want to get out, so let me take a look at this before we upload it,” one of my managers said.

The first video I clicked on came from a cellphone. The camera pans across a blood-covered floor in what looked like a garage. Dead animals were scattered about: eyes lifeless, tongues hanging from their mouths, crimson streaks splashed on their fur.

In another video, a bison grazed quietly in the shade of a large tree; it reminded me of a tableau at the American Museum of Natural History. Then the camera panned over to Jones, maybe 20 yards away, holding what looked like a handgun. Jones began firing at the bison, tufts of hair flying with every hit. The animal remained standing as Jones shot round after round. Finally, the hunting guide yelled at Jones to stop and handed him a high-caliber rifle. Jones took a moment to make sure the cameras were still recording and fired a few more rounds as the animal finally collapsed.

I shared a large room with three other employees, and Jones often walked into our office after he wrapped for the day. His first question was always “How was the show?” If anyone said it was great — someone, if not everyone, always said it was great — his response was the same. “Really?” he would say, moving over to their side of the room. “Did you really think it was great? What did you like about it?”

Working for Jones was a balancing act. You had to determine where he was emotionally and match his tone quickly. If he was angry, then you had better get angry. If he was joking around, then you could relax, sort of, always looking out of the corner of your eye for his mood to turn at any moment.

Late one night, after an extended live broadcast, Jones walked into my office shirtless. This was normal; he removed his shirt frequently around us. He pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose from a storage cabinet and filled his cup. He stumbled into his private restroom, changed into a clean black polo shirt and stepped back into our office. “Hit me,” he said to an employee in the room. When the employee refused, Jones got louder, his face redder. “Hit me!” He kept saying it, getting closer each time. Finally, knowing Jones would never relent, the employee gave him a weak tap on the shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” he said, “hit me harder!”

The employee punched him hard in the shoulder. Jones grunted on impact, seeming to enjoy the pain. Then, it was his turn. Smirking, he planted his feet, reared back and lunged his body weight forward as his fist connected with the man’s arm. I could hear the dull thud of impact, then a wincing sigh. They traded a few more punches, each time seeming less playful. Jones became wild-eyed, spit flying from his clenched teeth as he exhaled. On his last hit, the sound was different. Wet. I thought I could hear the meat split open in the employee’s arm. Jones roared as he punched a cabinet, denting the door in. A few weeks later, I heard that Jones had broken a video editor’s ribs after playing the same game in a downtown bar.

Having aligned himself with Donald Trump during the 2016 presidential race, Jones might now be considered a version of a conservative, but his perspective is much more complicated than that. Infowars was like a lot of digital-media outlets, in that we reported on the things our top editor thought would go viral. But because our boss was Alex Jones, this was a peculiar process. Assignments were often handed down live on the air during his show. We were to have it playing throughout the office, always listening for directives. Ideas for stories mostly came from what other news outlets reported. Jones wanted us to “hijack” the mainstream media’s coverage and use it to our advantage. If it fit into the Infowars narrative, it played.

When I wasn’t at the office, I spent much of my time traveling for Jones. I inhaled the tear gas in Ferguson, Mo., during the Black Lives Matter protests, retching as I hid with protesters, corralled by cops in riot gear. I stood next to armed cowboys and ranch hands as they faced off against the Bureau of Land Management to retrieve Cliven Bundy’s cattle in Nevada. I had dinner with the leader of the Nation of Islam, Louis Farrakhan, at his home in Phoenix and spent a weekend at the compound of Jim Bakker, the televangelist who spent time in prison for fraud. Jones’s instinctual desire to distance himself from the mainstream led us to unusual and sometimes dark places.

In December 2015, the day before Jones interviewed Donald Trump, still a candidate at the time, on his radio show, I made my way to upstate New York on assignment, along with a reporter and second cameraman. We were sent to visit Muslim-majority communities throughout the United States to investigate what Jones instructed us to call “the American Caliphate.” After the California Geiger-counter debacle, we had meetings with Jones before trips in order to ascertain exactly what he wanted. If we “hit some home runs,” he said, we would get significant bonuses.

We landed in Newark at 12:30 p.m. on Dec. 1, 2015. The first stop was Islamberg, a Muslim community three hours north of Manhattan. It was founded in the 1980s by mostly African-American followers of a Pakistani cleric named Mubarik Ali Shah Gilani, who encouraged devotees of his conservative brand of Sufi Islam to establish small settlements across the rural United States. Gilani was suspected of association with the organization Jamaat ul-Fuqra, which was briefly designated as a terrorist group by the State Department in the 1990s; Gilani has denied any connection to the group. His followers in Islamberg had no record of violence, and some of them had denounced the Islamic State in an interview with Reuters earlier that year, saying they didn’t believe Islamic State members to be real Muslims. But unfounded rumors circulated around far-right corners of the internet that this community was a potential terrorist-training center. Jones, who thought the media consistently ingratiated themselves with Islamic extremists, believed them.

We pulled in, unannounced, to a dirt drive leading to the community, stopping at a flimsy cattle gate guarded by two men. The reporter, wearing a hidden camera, approached the entrance as we filmed the interaction from the vehicle. The men were calm and polite, if a little suspicious — reasonable given the circumstances. They denied our entry into Islamberg but took our number and told us we could return after they verified who we were.

It was only later, after listening to the audio from the reporter’s hidden camera, that I heard what he told the two men guarding the gate. “Basically, what we do is, we go around, and we do videos debunking claims of stuff,” the reporter said. “The word is, people say this is some kind of training camp, so we wanted to come in and get some footage and kind of put that whole rumor to rest.”

He gave them his real name — a name that, with a quick Google search, would lead back to Infowars, with its headlines like “Inside Sources: Bin Laden’s Corpse Has Been on Ice for Nearly a Decade,” “Special Report: Why Obama Brought Ebola to U.S. Exposed” and “VIDEO: ‘Demon’ Caught on Camera During Obama Visit?” Those headlines could be described by many words, but none of them would be “debunking.”

Because of the conspiracy theories about the place, Islamberg was a constant target of right-wing extremists. That April, a Tennessee man was arrested and later convicted of plotting to raise a militia to burn Islamberg’s mosque to the ground. Only days before we arrived, the F.B.I. issued an alert to law enforcement to be on the lookout for a man named Jon Ritzheimer, the leader of an anti-Muslim movement in Arizona who posted a video threatening violence against Muslims less than two weeks earlier. In the video, he brandished a handgun, saying: “I’m urging all Americans across the U.S. everywhere in public, start carrying a slung rifle with you, everywhere. Don’t be a victim in your own country.”

So the phone call we received later that night from a law-enforcement agent shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The officer who contacted us said he simply wanted to verify who we were after receiving a concerned call from someone in Islamberg. We told Jones about it, and he chose to believe the call was a veiled threat, an attempt to intimidate us into silence. To him, this verified that we were onto something. He even went so far as to include Michael Bloomberg, the former mayor of New York City, in the purported conspiracy, claiming he wanted to abolish the Second Amendment — and that somehow intimidating us would achieve that.

Jones told us to file a story that accused the police of harassment, lending credence to the theory that this community contained dangerous, potential terrorists. I knew this wasn’t the case according to the information we had. We all did. Days before, we spoke to the sheriff and the mayor of Deposit, N.Y., a nearby municipality. They both told us the people in Islamberg were kind, generous neighbors who welcomed the surrounding community into their homes, even celebrating holidays together.

The information did not meet our expectations, so we made it up, preying on the vulnerable and feeding the prejudices and fears of Jones’s audience. We ignored certain facts, fabricated others and took situations out of context to fit our narrative, posting headlines like:

Drone Investigates Islamic Training Center

Shariah Law Zones Confirmed in America

Infowars Reporters Stalked by Terrorism Task Force

Report: Obama’s Terror Cells in the U.S.

The Rumors Are True: Shariah Law Is Here!

Our next stop was Hamtramck, a Muslim-majority city embedded within Detroit that alarmists in neighboring communities called Shariahville. As we headed west, my phone vibrated, and a news alert appeared on the screen. There were reports that a mass shooting that week in San Bernardino, Calif., had been perpetrated by Islamic extremists, making it at the time the deadliest Islamic attack in the United States since Sept. 11.

I knew that when the details emerged, they would substantiate the lies we pushed to Jones’s audience. It didn’t matter if the attack took place on the other side of the country or if the people in Islamberg had no connection to the perpetrators in San Bernardino. Jones’s listeners would draw imaginary lines between the two, and we were helping them do it.

I quit working for Jones on April 7, 2017. When offered another job, an introductory position with a 75 percent pay cut, I jumped at the opportunity. Instead of giving two weeks’ notice, I left in three hours. Jones had gone home for the day, so I didn’t speak with him in person. I said goodbye to co-workers and managers, handed over my company credit card and hoped that would be the end of it. Two nights later, I received a call from Jones: “Let me tell you a little secret,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I don’t like it anymore, either.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” he said, “and I got all these people working for me, and you know, then I feel guilty. I don’t want to do it. You think I want to keep doing this? I haven’t wanted to do this for five years, man.” I sensed that he was pandering, but I couldn’t help thinking that for the first time since I started this job, Jones and I finally had something in common. Sure, there was a time when I shared his anger. In fact, I was still angry. But this is where we differed: I wasn’t angry with others; I was angry with myself. And once I realized that, it was easier to walk away. When I left, I tried to put myself in his shoes, to figure out why he said and did the things he did. At times I saw a different side to Jones, one that was vulnerable, desiring validation and acceptance. Then he would say something so vile and callous it became impossible to look past it.

Even though I was no longer beholden to Jones for financial security, I couldn’t be honest about how I felt. I was to blame for my actions, unequivocally, and yet I resented Jones for creating an environment of rage, fear and confusion that diminished discernment, increased self-doubt and left me feeling as if my brain had short-circuited. I wanted to say these things to Jones, but I didn’t.

He offered to double my pay, suggested I work remotely and even proposed funding a feature-length film of my own. I said it wasn’t about money and turned him down. To this day, I still don’t know why he wanted to keep me around. He said it was because he cared about me, but if I had to guess, I would say his main concern was losing control.

The next morning, he called numerous times, and then again that evening. I let the calls go to voice mail.

There wasn’t a single moment that persuaded me to leave, but there was a turning point: a moment that stuck with me long after it happened. I thought of it as I sat next to Jones speeding recklessly down the highway on Election Day, when I walked out of the office for the last time and when I decided to sit down and write this article.

It was early morning, and we were headed back to Austin after the trip that began in Islamberg. As we boarded our flight, I took my window seat close to the rear of the plane. An older woman wearing a hijab sat next to me. With her was a young girl, giddy with excitement, who bounced in the middle seat, holding a bag of pretzels. The woman leaned over and asked if I would let the girl sit by the window. “This is her first time on a plane,” she said. I agreed and moved my bag from under the seat.

I thought of the children who lived in Islamberg: how afraid their families must have felt when their communities were threatened and strangers appeared asking questions; how we chose to look past these people as individuals and impose on them more of the same unfair suspicions they already had to endure. And for what? Clickbait headlines, YouTube views?

As I sat on the aisle, the plane now lifting up into the pale blue sky, I glanced over at the little girl staring out the window in wonder, her face glowing from the light reflecting off the clouds. She was amazed, joyful, innocent, carefree and completely unaware of the world beneath her.

Josh Owens is a writer living in Texas. This is his first article for the magazine.

[investmart007]

FREDERICK, Colo. | Bodies of missing wife, daughters found in Colorado

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/gc90kl

FREDERICK, Colo. | Bodies of missing wife, daughters found in Colorado

FREDERICK, Colo. — After his pregnant wife and two daughters disappeared, Christopher Watts stood on his porch in Colorado and lamented to reporters how much he missed them.

He longed for the simple things, he said, like telling his girls to eat their dinner and gazing at them as they curled up to watch cartoons.

“Last night, I had every light in the house on. I was hoping that I would just get ran over by the kids running in the door, just barrel-rushing me, but it didn’t happen,” he told Denver TV station KMGH.

On Thursday, Watts was in jail after being arrested on suspicion of killing his family, probably before he spoke those words. Authorities did not offer a motive.

The body of 34-year-old Shanann Watts was found on property owned by Anadarko Petroleum, one of the state’s largest oil and gas drillers, where Christopher Watts worked, police said. Investigators found what they believe are the bodies of 4-year-old Bella and 3-year-old Celeste nearby on Thursday afternoon.

“As horrible as this outcome is, our role now is to do everything we can to determine exactly what occurred,” John Camper, director of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, said at a news conference in Frederick, a small town on the grassy plains north of Denver, where fast-growing subdivisions intermingle with drilling rigs and oil wells.

Watts, 33, has not been formally charged. A judge ordered him held without bail and told prosecutors to file charges by Monday afternoon. He set a Tuesday hearing to review the case.

As he was escorted into the courtroom, Watts did not speak. He looked down for much of the hearing but made eye contact as the judge reviewed his rights.

Watts’s attorney, James Merson of the Colorado State Public Defender’s Office, left without commenting to reporters. He did not immediately respond to a voicemail left at his office Thursday by The Associated Press.

A family friend reported Shanann Watts and her daughters missing on Monday, police said.

In his previous interviews with Denver TV outlets, Christopher Watts said his wife of nearly six years returned home about 2 a.m. Monday after a flight for a work trip was delayed.

He said the two had an “emotional conversation” before he left for work a few hours later and that he became concerned after she did not return his calls or texts or those of her friends. He said he came home to an empty house after a friend knocked on the door at noon and got no answer.

Shanann Watts’ Facebook account paints a portrait of a happy married life, with a constant feed of photos and videos of friends, relatives and herself. Her comments were typically upbeat, whether she was running errands, playing with her kids or promoting a health program. The couple got married in North Carolina nearly six years ago and moved to Colorado around the same time.

She posted selfies of her and her husband smiling in restaurants, at the ocean on vacation and at their house. On May 5, she wrote: “I love this man! He’s my ROCK!”

On June 19, she posted a photo of some texts with her husband after sending him a picture of a sonogram. He replied that he loved the baby already. She posted: “I love Chris! He’s the best dad us girls could ask for.”

Her page has photo collages and video slide shows praising Chris Watts, describing how their love was growing stronger and how he gave her the strength to have a third child.

The couple’s 2015 bankruptcy filing captures a picture of a family caught between a promising future and financial strain. The filing estimated that they had the same range of assets as liabilities, according to court records.

At the time, Christopher Watts worked for Anadarko, earning about $61,500 a year as an “operator.” His wife was working at a call center at a children’s hospital, making about $18 per hour. Combined, they earned $90,000 in 2014.

But they also had tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt, along with some student loans and medical bills — for a total of $70,000 in unsecured claims on top of a sizable mortgage.

A spokeswoman for the oil company said Christopher Watts was fired Wednesday, but she declined to provide any details, citing the active investigation.

Shanann Watts was one of the first customers to visit Ashley Bell’s tanning salon in nearby Dacona two years ago. The two women quickly became friends, and before long they were texting or calling each other almost daily. Their daughters also played together during salon visits.

On Thursday, Bell and her family added several items to a memorial of stuffed toys, candles and flowers on the lawn of the Watts family home.

Bell said she never detected that anything was wrong between Shanann and her husband. Bell also got to know Christopher Watts and described him as a loving father.

“I just don’t understand it,” she said, reaching out to accept a flower that her daughter picked from a nearby lawn.

Shanann worked from home as a saleswoman for a freeze-dried food company and took her two girls everywhere, Bell said.

“She was always about her girls,” Bell said. “She would do anything for her girls.”

One day she came into the salon and announced that she couldn’t tan for a while, then grinned and confirmed she was pregnant.

Shanann’s father, Frank Rzucek, said on Facebook that the family did not want to talk to the media.

y KATHLEEN FOODY and JONATHAN DREW , Associated Press

[turnabouttoothbrush]

Diamond Slut

Once again, we are joined by a special guest sporker, helpfully contracted out by my older brother, Sith Droideka. Said guest sporker may be familiar to our older readers: Queztalcoatl!!!

No, not that one! This one.

(We open up in our sporking theatre.)

Quetzalcoatl: Well, well, well, what do we have here? Seems like normal but something seems… off. Has it always smelled like gunpowder so strongly in here?

Chill: Q! It’s you!! I haven’t seen you in years!

Kiri: Yeah, not since the days when neither Chill nor I had a solid characterization to share between us…

Quetzalcoatl: It has been some time. I got a note from Tlaloc that he met Silverpelt and Hawksky. I hope they’ve been doing well. So, what do we have here today?

Chill: “Well” is a relative term with those two…

Kiri: We’re doing a Metal Gear Solid fic, unfortunately. (For me, mostly, since apparently I’m the “resident Metal Gear sperg”...) It’s written by the same author who has an omegaverse fic that is 23 chapters long and still updating… pretty sure we sporked something of theirs before once? *looks it up* ...right, right, that lame high school AU and the daddy kink fic...

Chill: The point is that, as far as we can tell since we just skimmed half of the first chapter in preparation for this, it’s just a gratuitous sexfic that is basically MGS in name only! Otacon’s even genderbent in it for no discernable reason~

Quetzalcoatl: I wonder if that would make Tlaloc happy or sad?

Chill: Well… doesn’t he like Solicon? Because the tagged ships are just Big Boss/Otacon and Kazuhira Miller/Otacon.

Kiri: They’re not even in the same generation...

Summary: This takes place a few years before Metal Gear Solid where gender switched Otacon is working for Big Boss, Ocelot, and Kaz on Metal Gear.

Kiri: Okay but why. This doesn’t contextualize the fic, it just makes us more confused! It doesn’t fit with the canon timeline at all!!

Chill: Kiri, we’re literally one line into the summary, calm down...

Solid Snake works for Big Boss and is Otacon’s bodyguard. Otacon will, eventually, sleep with a lot of people by the time this story is over.

Quetzalcoatl: #fanfiction

Chill: Anyway, the fic’s only two chapters long, so… no, ‘she’ won’t...

Otacon covered her mouth and tried her best not to cry out.

Big Boss was buried between her thighs;

Kiri: Six feet under, maybe.

his shoulders keeping her legs spread wide apart, his fingers pressed against the sensitive skin behind her knees, pushing her leg up to her chest. She couldn’t move, could barely wiggle, her eyelashes fluttering madly as he licked her clit, his other hand, large rough fingers, teased at her slick entrance.

Quetzalcoatl: What was the point of making Otacon a girl here? I feel like there’s plenty of other women they could’ve used. Like Paz or something.

Kiri: Paz would make marginally more sense, yes.

Chill: I have no idea, lol. Considering how much omegaverse fanfiction this author writes, I really think they just like straight sex. (Because you know, with the mpreg and the self-lubricating anuses, omegaverse sex is basically straight sex without the tits.)

Kiri: *shudders*

She was completely and utterly naked underneath him, the only saving grace being his great coat that he had laid on the ground of the cave before he beckoned her to come closer.

Quetzalcoatl: I feel like a cardboard box would be more likely.

Kiri:

Chill: So, uh, what happened to Otacon’s clothes, anyway?

One finger slipped in easily and Otacon shook her head, whimpering. She wasn’t supposed to make a sound, it would draw attention to them Big Boss had warned, rumbling into her ear as he lowered the zipper on her too large white coat.

Quetzalcoatl: So I suppose that Otacon still stands for Otaku Convention here. What’s her real name though?

Chill: Does- does ‘Hal’ even have a feminine equivalent?

Kiri: Knowing Strangelove, she’d name a daughter “Joy”...

Chill: Point. I wonder if the author actually thought this through, though.

She wasn’t quite sure who they were supposed to be hiding from, they were technically still on the base

Chill: So… uhh… hate to be that girl, but, like, why are they having sex here~?

Quetzalcoatl: Maybe I missed something, but… since when have abandoned oil rigs had caves? Or is this in Zanzibar Land or something.

Kiri: I… don’t think they’re on their base right now? Honestly, I have no idea. I’m imaging Camp Omega in my mind, which does indeed have at least one cave near it.

but hidden deep in a cave out of site. Away from distractions, away from the soldiers, away from them.

Another finger pushed in, stroking her walls, stretching her.

Otacon’s mouth fell open and she gasped, heat like hot lava sinking deep into her belly,

Kiri: *sighs* Ever since I wrote When I Think About You I Touch Myself, any body-related heat metaphor/simile makes me think of the line “hot and tight, like a vacuum crossed with a firepit”.

building as Big Boss’s tongue frantically rubbed against her clit. She arched her back, dropping her hands to grab his thick hair, holding on for dear life as her orgasm tore through her. She couldn’t both back the moans, her hips bucking against his tongue and fingers.

Quetzalcoatl: She “couldn’t both back the moans”? What, exactly, does that mean?

Chill: Author’s typing with one hand down their pants…?

She collapsed on his coat, shivering as Big Boss lifted his head, licking his lips. He slipped his fingers from between her thighs, and brought them up to lips. Otacon panted, watching him lick his fingers clean.

Quetzalcoatl:

“You taste sweet.” Big Boss murmured.

Otacon blushed, ducking her head.

Big Boss rumbled deep in his chest.

Chill: Like a lawnmower?

Kiri: Why was a lawnmower the first thing you thought of…?

Quetzalcoatl: Reminds me of Kirito and Asuna and their blender noises in SAO Chapter 16.5....

He tipped her chin up and pressed his lips against her, kissing her sweetly.

Quetzalcoatl: Well, that’s one word I don’t associate with Big Boss.

Kiri: Maybe if he’d just eaten a bunch of sweets. Or random dead things that happened to taste sweet, I don’t know. I’m a cat, I have a very poor concept of ‘sweet’.

Quetzalcoatl: I’m not sure that Big Boss would have any different of a taste...

Chill: Fruit or mushrooms would be my guess. Ooh! Or a simmered fruit with mushrooms, or whatever it’s called, from the new Zelda game! Since Breath of the Wild is basically the Snake Eater of LoZ.

Kiri: And the Xenoblade Chronicles, and the Cooking Mama....

Quetzalcoatl: And the Skyrim. Don’t forget that. Or so my wife tells me.

She moaned, tasting herself on his lips.

Kiri: Sounds gross, thanks.

He was gentler then she thought he would be.

Quetzalcoatl: “I expected him to basically kill me.”

Part of her had expected him to push her against the wall, strip her of her clothing

Chill: So she did have clothing at some point...

and fuck her until he came; instead he had shouldered off his coat and stripped her of her clothing, kissing every inch of her exposed skin. He was still dressed and he had brushed away her hands when they went to unbutton his shirt.

Quetzalcoatl: This is Big “Tactical Hugging Action” Boss we’re talking about here.

Kiri: If the date with Kaz mission was anything to go by, Big Boss’ seduction strategy employs a lot of chokeholds and spammed meows.

Chill: I don’t think you’re supposed to use the ‘meow’ in that op.

Kiri: Well… the game lets you...

Otacon shivered in the coolness of the cave, her nipples hard and aching. Big Boss hummed, letting go of her chin to cup her breast.

“Cold?”

Chill: That’s what happens when you’re buck-naked in a cave.

“Yeah,” Otacon murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting his warmth.

Quetzalcoatl: I wonder how well the human body burns. Perhaps I should ask Huitzilopochtli.

Kiri: Pretty well, I hear. Fat acts as an accelerant.

“Hm,” Boss grunted, resistant at first before he settled between her thighs again. He was a lot heavier then she expected but it was a good weight and Otacon nuzzled close to him. His fingers trailed down her breast, down her ribs, ticking her belly button and she shied away from his hand, then hummed, honey sinking into her bones, making her feel warm as his fingers cupped her sex.

Chill: I’m not the only one who thinks that referring to genitals as “their sex” is, um, aggressively boring, right?

Big Boss eased himself back a fraction and pulled down his zipper, reaching inside and freeing his cock.

Otacon flushed, catching sight of it. She wasn’t a virgin, not since a hazy alcohol induced night in college,

Quetzalcoatl: With Snake or Julie or Naomi or...

Kiri: College would be too late for it to be Julie or an equivalent (stepfather? Huey died instead of Strangelove, or their genders were also switched?). Huh, I don’t really find it fair that genderbending Otacon would make his backstory less traumatic.

Chill: Snake never went to college, I bet it’s Naomi.

Kiri: *stiffly* We don’t talk about Naomi/Otacon here, thank you.

Chill: *rolls eyes*

but she hadn’t exactly been with other men since then. Okay, maybe no men, but she had seen enough videos on the internet to not be completely naïve about what a man’s cock looked like.

Kiri: ....implying that the drunken night in college was with another woman, I suppose.

Chill: It really was Naomi!

Kiri: Oh, shut up!!

Although Big Boss wasn’t any ordinary man, and his cock was a bit bigger then she was expecting, and she wondered for a panicked moment if he would fit.

Quetzalcoatl: Plot twist. It doesn’t fit. Because it’s all plastic surgery.

Kiri: ...that comment is raising questions about TPP that I’ve never asked myself before...

Big Boss laughed and Otacon ducked her head into his arm, hiding her face.

Evidently she had spoken that last part aloud.

“Trust me, I’ll fit.” He smiled, rubbing his nose against her ear.

Chill: Did it smell like the ocean?

Kiri: ...what?

Chill: Nevermind, I just got I think two different comments mixed up.

Otacon peaked up at him, her cheeks pink.

Quetzalcoatl: Otacon sounds like some sort of animé.

Chill: He is.

He studied her with that piercing eye of his before he pressed his lips against her ear, flicking his tongue into the delicate shell.

Kiri: Sounds like it would taste bad. But again, Big Boss we’re talking about here...

She moaned, arching her neck as his gently nipped her lower lobe. She shivered when he rubbed the bulbous head of his cock against her entrance before shifting his hips a fraction and slipping inside.

Quetzalcoatl: I feel like we should make this more interesting. Suggestions on couples that aren’t Metal Gear?

Kiri: Isn’t your other go-to Soriku or Akuroku?

Chill: I was going to suggest Vash the Stampede and Nicolas D. Wolfwood~

Kiri: No. A different straight couple would make more sense here, anyway.

Chill: Cop-out!

Quetzalcoatl: But who?

Chill: Harmony.

Ocelot gasped,

Kiri: Wait, where the fuck did he come from?

Quetzalcoatl: Why am I not surprised Ocelot’s there to stalk Big Boss?

Chill: I could totally buy him being a voyeur. It just feels right, you know?

grabbing the front of his shirt, her wide eyes meeting his blue one. He lifted his hips, and with a shallow thrust, pushed in halfway. She shifted underneath him, trying to spread her legs, to ease some of the sudden pressure between her thighs when he thrust in again, quietly cursing under his breath as he sunk home.

Chill: Anyway, I don’t think we need to find + replace the names to prove that this sex scene is totally generic when the author’s already devolved into just using pronouns...

Quetzalcoatl: There’s nothing to replace!

She whined, high pitched and frantic, as he set the pace. He planted his hand on the wall of the cave above her head, his face tucked next to hers. His other hand wrapped around her right thigh, his grip so tight she could already feel the bruises forming.

This was a fuck of a lot better than any internet video on Friday night.

Quetzalcoatl: Ah… but what about Thursday night?

Kiri: Well, that’s different. Besides, new episodes of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure come out on Fridays, so that really cuts into the porn time.

Chill: Which she’s obviously referring to, because everyone knows JJBA is better than porn! Or sex, for that matter.

Her entire body shook with each thrust, and she tried to meet him, but the way she was positioned underneath him, she couldn’t, all she could do was cling to his broad shoulders and into his ear with every thrust.

Chill: I think she accidentally the verb.

She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist, desperately wanted to cling to him but Big Boss growled in her ear and Otacon’s toes curled at the sound.

Quetzalcoatl: I wonder what Ocelot’s doing now.

Kiri: Touching himself, probably. And/or filming this.

There was nothing she could do except shiver and tremble underneath him, her body open to him. She could feel his muscles flexing under his shirt, and drowned in his scent of heavy cigar smoke and aftershave.

Chill: Implying that Big Boss would bother using aftershave? Or… know that he’s supposed to use it in the first place…?

Quetzalcoatl: I’m sure Mr. I-thought-Santa-was-real-until-I-was-39 uses aftershave.

When the hand holding her thigh drifted back towards her core,

Chill: ….leeeeeeeeeeeading you doooooown into my co~re, where I’ve become so numb…

Kiri: I don’t think numbness would be… acceptable… here.

Chill: That’s the joke. This sex sounds awful.

Otacon stilled, her eyes growing wide, gulping air as his fingers traced around her stretched, slick, lips before drifting up to ruthlessly rub her clit with two fingers.

Quetzalcoatl: Oh, just get on with it already! Stop being so boring!

Chill: This is, like, the opposite of that YGOTAS “Just fuck already!” gif we always use.

“Thought you might like that,” Big Boss chuckled as he resumed thrusting.

Otacon tried to speak, to whimper, or cry out, or make some sort of sound

Kiri: Aren’t you two still trying not to get caught??

instead she weakly hit his wide shoulders, silently begging him to stop. It was too much, his cock to big, his fingers abusing her sweet spot while he watched her with that all knowing look.

He knew it was too much.

Chill: Sooooo… he should stop, or at least slow down, right…? I mean, it’s gonna start getting kinda rapey if he doesn’t, honestly.

Kiri: Rapey, or at least rude and inconsiderate as hell.

Otacon’s eyes screwed shut, clawing at his shoulders as she wiggled underneath him, trying desperately to focus on his fingers but his cock wouldn’t stop, and it was hard to be honest. Suddenly she felt claustrophobic, pinned to the ground underneath him, she couldn’t breathe, her head dizzy, panicked.

“Now cum like a good girl,” Boss purred.

Quetzalcoatl: Ah! Now the Boss is here!

Kiri: I would call that an improvement. Although Otacon is sort of her kid… in spirit, I suppose… not that she’d really know, being long dead by that point and all…

Quetzalcoatl: Wouldn’t that make it worse, then?

Kiri: It would… :(

Otacon couldn’t stop the high pitched whine, could only still for a moment, her body tensing underneath him before she bucked her hips up, desperate to meet his thrusts, desperate to follow his fingers, as those lovely lights danced behind her eyes.

Afterwards she slumped to the ground underneath him, her thighs spread wide, holding weakly onto the front of his shirt as Big Boss, satisfied with her response, bowed his head, his hand returning to hold her thigh and doubled his efforts.

Chill: Noooo, can this scene just be over yet??

Swallowing, her heart still pounding, Otacon wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his ear close to her mouth.

Quetzalcoatl: “I introduced your parents. And then your dad killed your mom maybe”

She was in that moment, that post-orgasmic moment when she wanted more of him, more of his weight, his cock. She wanted more of him inside of her. And she was going to poke the tiger and see what response she got. The idea of pushing Big Boss’s buttons thrilled and downright terrified her, but she so wanted to see what he would do.

Quetzalcoatl: It’s a Hideo Kojima game. He’ll probably just pee on you or something.

Chill: Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Otacon were into that stuff.

Kiri: I wish I could argue against that.

“Will you fill me up?” Otacon whispered.

Big Boss stilled, panting against her breasts.

“What?” He groaned.

“Will you fill me up with your cum? Fill me up until I’m dripping and sticky and your cum drools down my thighs?”

“You want me to cum in you?” Big Boss growled.

“Please.” Otacon whispered, kissing his ear.

Kiri: *insert pithy comment about the lack of protection and the law of badfic pregnancy here*

Boss rasped something in Spanish,

Chill: “Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas.”

Otacon didn’t know nor did she care. All she cared about was his sudden jerking thrusts; his increased speed as he fucked her body, fucked her like she was always meant to be there available and open for him whenever he wanted her.

Quetzalcoatl: Why Big Boss and Otacon of all people? Why not normal Solicon?

Kiri: I… have literally no clue. And this is coming from a person who currently has an Otacon/Solidus fic in the works.

“Please,” She begged, her voice getting higher and higher with each thrust until she was crying into his ear again.

“Fuck!”

He grunted, his body tensing above hers and she ran her hands down his chest to his stomach and down to his pelvis, stroking his hip bone as he thrust once, twice, and finally a third time before he collapsed on top of her.

She moaned.

She could fucking feel him cumming inside of her.

Quetzalcoatl: *yawns*

Otacon panted underneath him, stroking his back as he lifted himself finally, pulling himself out before he rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Chill: Are they done yet?

Otacon hemmed, keeping her legs open as her fingers drifted to her own pussy. She resisted the urge to shut her eyes, instead pushing two fingers into her abused cunt, thrusting shallowly. Satisfied, she brought her hand up to her lips, inspecting her cum covered fingers.

“You gonna eat that?” Big Boss breathed.

Quetzalcoatl: As always.

Kiri: His stamina gauge is starting to run low.

Otacon licked her fingers then suckled them, sighing happily as Big Boss silently watched her.

“I should lock you in my quarters.” He finally rumbled.

Chill: Ah, I see he’s been reading Liquid Snake’s How To Talk Dirty, a Guide to the Bedroom: “Raise as many red flags as humanly possible without saying you’re going to inhabit their skin (optional).”

Kiri: You really liked that joke so much you had to repeat it word-for-word…?

Chill: Er...

Otacon glanced at him, shivered at his stare.

Quetzalcoatl: I, too, get the creepy vibe from Big Boss.

She wanted to ask him what he meant, if it was a threat or a promise, when gravel crunching under boots both made them look up.

Her bodyguard Solid Snake stood five feet from them, his eyes taking in Otacon’s body, her spread legs, the bruising on her thighs, the blush blooming on her cheeks and spreading down her chest to her small breasts.

Quetzalcoatl: ?????????????

??????????

??????????????????

Kiri: Is this just, well, walking in on your (whatever the term is for someone you’re bodyguarding) in an awkward situation, or did Solid just get cucked?

Chill: Again?

Kiri: What did I say about bringing up Naomi/Otacon?!

Otacon shivered. She crossed her arms over his breasts, noting the shift in Solid Snake’s eyes. She moved to close her legs when Big Boss’s hand slipped between her knees, forcing her legs apart.

“Keep them open,” He rumbled.

Quetzalcoatl: This man rumbles more than volcanoes.

Otacon shifted, resisting his hand at first, but whimpered as he pried her legs apart, pushing them up, showing her off to Snake.

Chill: And… Otacon’s just fine with her lover(???) showing her off to his son like that…??

Kiri: That depends. Are we going to get any open acknowledgement of the fact that Solid is Big Boss’ son? Because if we can pretend he’s not/assume he isn’t in this AU, that would make this slightly less creepy and inappropriate.

Satisfied she wouldn’t move, Big Boss sat up, tucking himself back into his pants, and stood up. He straightened his clothing and turned to Snake.

“Boss!” Someone called from the cave’s entrance.

Kiri: Okay seriously where the hell are they. Why are there friendlies here, did Big Boss bring them with him or does this take place near his base?

“Snake, when I’m gone, wrap her up in the coat and bring her back to the base safe and unseen.” Boss said, eyeing the entrance.

“Yes, Boss.”

“You can look, but you can’t touch.” Big Boss ordered.

Quetzalcoatl: ...I guess Otacon is a piece of meat now for these two.

Chill: How… is Solid supposed to wrap Otacon up in the coat without touching him? ...her?

Snake’s Snake nodded wordlessly.

Quetzalcoatl: Nice of his pet to join us.

Chill: I hope it’s his pet, and not a euphemism...

“Follow when we’re gone.” Boss finished, walking towards the entrance like he had just had a nap, like he hadn’t fucked Otacon, and not like his cock hadn’t been in her moments ago.

Otacon swallowed, shifting uneasily under Snake’s gaze.

It was similar to Big Boss’s, but there was a rabidity, a feralness in those grey eyes

Kiri: *bored* He has blue eyes. Grayish blue, I’ll grant, but the blue’s more noticeable.

that scared Otacon. She whimpered, pawing at the ground as Snake wordlessly stepped closer and kneeled in front of her. His hands hovered over her thighs, and Otacon trembled as his hand drifted over her core, hesitant, before he sat back, his gaze racking up and down her body.

Kiri: ...have a little decency, man. Either of you!

Otacon waited until Big Boss was out of ear shot before she nervously closed her thighs, shifting uncomfortably under Snake’s gaze.

Wordlessly, Snake helped cover her with Boss’s great coat and picked her up bridal style.

“If it was up to me?” He asked, his voice rough, carrying her towards the entrance.

Otacon looked to him.

“I would never let you off your knees.”

Quetzalcoatl: There are no good guys in this story.

Chill: Oh, he’s also been reading How To Talk Dirty, a Guide to the Bedroom.

Otacon shivered, hiding her face in Snake’s shoulder.

How the hell were they supposed to share a room now?

To Be Continued…

Quetzalcoatl: Why

Kiri: Arguably the bodyguard sharing a room with the person he’s guarding makes more sense than Big Boss wanting to get it on with an inexplicably female Otacon. Not that the latter makes sense, of course, but the bodyguard thing kinda does. Especially if they’re not sharing a bed.

Chill: I’m just in awe that this fic never turned into Solicon, judging by the tags.

CHAPTER TWO

Otacon shifted nervously on her chair.

Quetzalcoatl: Much like me!

She was in sub commanders Miller’s

Chill: The way “sub commander” is written out makes me think it’s referring to Kaz being a sub, like, sexually… like, D/s sub…

Kiri: I get it.

Chill: I mean, he did like getting beat up and choked in the date with Kaz mission, so...

office waiting for the man. The room was decorated with supportive posters on the wall that encouraged the men to do their best, and fight for Big Boss.

Kiri:

?

Well, she and Snake.

Quetzalcoatl: Is Big Boss now a she?

Chill: Sure, why not?

She glanced over her shoulder. Snake stood behind her at ease, his hands behind his back, and a bored look on his face. The first few days after Snake had found her with Big Boss had been a bit unnerving, and tense, and completely awkward. She’d awoken to him groaning in his sleep in their shared room, before he rolled onto his side, his back to her.

Kiri: Alright, so they are apparently sharing a bed after all. Nevermind what I said. This makes no sense. How is this not a Solicon fic.

Quetzalcoatl: To be fair, this could be them sharing the room and him turning over in his own bed to have his back to her.

Kiri: Oh, true.

Chill: ...but do we really want to give the fic that much benefit of the doubt?

It wasn’t that she was scared of him. Except maybe she was a little scared of him,

Chill: Make up your mind, lady.

but his words to her had hit a core and left her squirming under her sheets, her fingers slick as she rubbed and fucked herself, biting the pillow to cover her moans and whimpers when she came.

Quetzalcoatl: I feel like this kind of thing is really common in badfic. *yawns*

Kiri: Wish I had a nickel for every stupid “masturbating in the same room as the person you’re fantasizing about while said person sleeps” scene I’ve had to read… I could afford to pay the fanfic characters’ rents so they wouldn’t have to share rooms anymore.

If Snake knew what she was up to, well, the thought made her shiver.

“Are you alright?”

Chill: *as Otacon* No. I’m trapped in a really poorly thought-out fic with no context and no way to return to my proper gender. Also I had sex with your dad

Quetzalcoatl: *as Snake* Yeah, I saw that.

Otacon blinked, noticing Snake was watching her with that piercing gaze. She flushed, turning her attention to Miller’s desk. Nervously, she pushed up her glasses.

“I’m, ah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Chill:

“Hmmm,”

His rumbled response made her shiver again.

Quetzalcoatl: Everyone is half volcano!

“What do you think he wants?” Otacon swallowed, trying to change her thoughts.

Before Snake could respond, the office door opened and Kazuhira Miller entered. His hair was tied back into a pony tail and his metallic arm glinted in the office’s light.

Kiri: So… there has been a definite passage of time here, it isn’t just an “Otacon (and Solid) are inexplicably adults when Big Boss and Kaz are in their prime” AU. So basically Big Boss was fuckin’ old during the first chapter.

Chill: Remind me again how much smut you’ve written that’s involved Ocelot?

Kiri: Uh.

Chill: And so far not a one of them had him any younger than fifty.

Kiri: Shush!

“Good, you came.” He said, walking around his desk. He shuffled some papers, piling them into three separate piles.

Quetzalcoatl: “I’m here to teach you about socks.”

Kiri: “Remember, you can drink your own saliva, but never spit it out.”

Chill: “What have I told you about waiting 30 minutes after you eat to play a game?”

“You did order me to come in, Sir, so…” Otacon said.

Snake straightened his stance, his attention focused.

“Right, right.” Kaz sat in his chair. “It’s been noticed that you seem occupied as of late.”

Otacon blinked.

Quetzalcoatl: “Something to do with you stealing my Big Boss away. You’re like that stupid Ocelot.”

Kiri: “You’re too young for him, anyway. Damn kids…”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“You have been distracted, moral is down,

Chill: I’ll say.

and your performance has been noticed.” Kaz said, his tone even.

Otacon’s eyes widened. “N-No! I have been making progress with the Metal Gear, and-and-“

Quetzalcoatl: What if they made him a genderbent Huey instead of Otacon?

Kiri: In this fic? There wouldn’t be a difference. ...aside from being a little more viscerally disturbing.

“Big Boss has been concerned that your attention might be waning, and that maybe you would be better suited in other sections on the base.”

Chill: Like the sex dungeon?

Kiri: Why do they have a sex dungeon?

Chill: Well, Ocelot’s mentioned in the summary, isn’t he?

Otacon’s breath caught and she flushed, looking down to her lap. She wondered if Big Boss was mentioning keeping her in his room. She squeezed her thighs together at the thought of the man’s broad shoulders and weight and, crap she was getting wet just thinking about it.

Quetzalcoatl: Someone really likes old men.

“Now, I have reassured Big Boss that perhaps through some discipline, you would be more appreciative of your position as head researcher.” Kaz drawled.

“Discipline?” Otacon gasped.

“Sir?” Snake asked, his voice uncertain.

Chill: *as Snake* I guess it makes sense that you’re into that kind of thing, Master, since you do make everyone call you ‘Master’. It just never occured to me that you’d be into not being on the receiving end of it…. You are kind of... twinky…

Kiri: *as Kaz* That’s just the pot calling the kettle black, Snake.

“Oh yes.”

“How am I supposed to be punished?” Her voice was dry, and she shifted nervously in her chair.

“Well, this is technically a military installation, and as such, punishment is in order.

Kiri: You’ve said as much, yes.

If you were one of the men, I would have you scrubbing the all the men’s bathroom with a toothbrush, but you’re not. And since you’re technically not a private contractor, I can’t send you off base for two weeks without pay. So, this leaves me in a bit of a quandary.”

Quetzalcoatl: How about… not punishing her?

Chill: Considering there were, like, medical and intel and R&D and cooking units and stuff like that with MSF in canon, you’d think there’d already be some protocol in place for staff members who weren’t behaving but weren’t technically “one of the men”, which I think just refers to the, y’know, the grunts.

Kiri: If Huey was any indication, it’s locking them in their labs and eventually putting them on trial.

Kaz shook his head.

Otacon swallowed.

“You’re not putting her in the brig, are you?” Snake asked.

“Oh no, no, no.” Kaz waved his metallic hand. “No. I have just the thing.” He stood up and went to the file cabinet. He reached behind it and pulled out a rattan cane with a black handle.

Quetzalcoatl: *as Kaz* So instead of physical punishment we’ll do… physical punishment.

Chill: *as Otacon* I’ll take the brig, thanks. Or the toothbrush thing. Actually, the toothbrush thing sounds pretty great right about now!

Kaz swished it in the air before striking his flesh hand. The smacking sound echoed in the office.

Otacon face burned and she squirmed on her chair.

“Master?” Snake’s voice sounded unsure, worried even.

Kiri: He is, after all, once again the only reasonable one in the fic. For this scene, at least.

“Quiet.” Kaz ordered.

Kiri: I don’t think she’d listen to you, dude.

Chill: Hey, who knows how long this takes place after TPP? ...or what its relationship is to TPP at all… anyway, maybe they get along now~?

Kiri: That’s a pipe dream and you know it.

Snake grunted.

“Ms. Emmerich, please stand up.”

Quetzalcoatl: “Will the real Otacon please stand up?”

Otacon swallowed again, and slowly stood. Her glasses slipped down her nose and she pushed them up, looking up to Kaz’s aviator glasses.

“Now, lean over the desk.” Kaz ordered, his voice smooth.

Chill: I’m starting to wonder if the ‘needs punishment’ thing was just a fabrication on his part, as opposed to the author just ham-handedly moving the “”””plot”””” along.

Kiri: That… would require thinking on the author’s part.

Otacon lowered her gaze, her face bright red. She leaned over the desk, trembling as Kaz placed her hands on the far edge of the desk. She felt completely exposed.

“Snake, sit in the chair and hold onto her hands.” Kaz said.

Quetzalcoatl: A mix of couple’s counseling and corporal punishment.

Snake hesitated before he came around and sat in Kaz’s chair.

Chill: Officially claiming it as his own.

He gripped Otacon’s hands in his, holding her firmly. In this position, she couldn’t look away, could only look into his eyes. She swallowed, jumping as Kaz’s hands slipped under her waist and effortlessly opened her jeans and slid them down to pool around her knees.

Kiri: Honestly, I would love to see what a sexual harassment “suit” would look like on Mother Base. I mean, it’s probably dealt with by the fact that everyone there is armed, but it would really hilarious to see someone go on ‘trial’ for it.

“I think eight are appropriate. Now count with me, Ms. Emmerich.”

The cane swished through the air and Otacon cried out at the first hit. It hurt like she’d been stung by a wide bee.

Chill: By a wot.

She wiggled, trying to pull free from Snake’s grip but his hands were locked over hers.

Chill: I think I mostly feel bad for Snake in this fic. He doesn’t deserve this.

“Count.” Kaz ordered.

“One,” Otacon gulped then yelped as Kaz brought the can hard on the flesh of her ass. “T-two!”

Swish

SMACK

Kiri: I don’t even remember if these were italicized in the original… come to think of it, if it had been then it would have been copy/pasted as such. So it’s just… there...

“Three!” Otacon squealed.

Swish

SMACK

Quetzalcoatl: Now they’re really doing the one-two-three-CRUNCH thing.

Chill: How many canings does it take to get to the center of fem!Otacon’s naked butt? Do you know, Mr. Owl Miller?

“Oh god, four,” Otacon huffed, trying to wiggle away from the cane. It was starting to border on being too much, the stinging sensation was too much for her soft flesh.

Chill: Also, apropos of nothing, but with Otacon being a skinny nerd with a desk job and all - does he/she even have much of a butt to speak of?

Swish

SMACK

“Owww! Ow, ow, owww! F-five!” Otacon managed. Her vision clouded before fat tear drops rolled down her cheek. She was shaking, wiggling badly on the desk. If Snake wasn’t holding her wrists in their vice like grip, Otacon would have wiggled away by now.

Swish

SMACK

Quetzalcoatl: I keep imagining the normal male Otacon.

Kiri: It’s not like it changes the scene much… seriously, what was the point of the genderbend…? Aside from the porn, that is.

Chill: Kiri, the point of this whole fic is porn.

“S-Six!” Otacon barely managed, her eyes squeezed shut. Snake squeezed her hands reassuringly and she opened her eyes, meeting his.

Snake’s mouth was parted, his breathing harsh, his eyes wide with that same feral look from in the cave.

Chill: So spray him with a water bottle! That’s what you usually do with animals in heat, right? No? I don’t want to google it.

Otacon shuddered at that look.

Swish

SMACK

Otacon squealed. She kicked with her back legs. “Please no more! Please, please, please! Stop, please!”

Swish

SMACK

Quetzalcoatl: This scene is dragging on and on.

“Eight.” Kaz said, letting the rattan cane drop to his side.

Otacon slumped against the desk and cried.

Kiri: Really, I’m just still baffled by the flimsy ‘officially sanctioned punishment’ premise of this. Like, why drag Kaz into this? I don’t get it.

Her shoulders shook and she trembled. Snake squeezed her wrists reassuringly and she lifted her head, her glasses askew. She hiccupped. This was the worst thing ever. Nobody had ever punished her like this, actually she had never been punished.

Chill: I think I’d expect her to have an attitude problem, in that case…

She sniffled and frowned as Kaz soothingly stroked her back.

It felt nice, calming even. She relaxed under his hand and pressed the side of her burning face against the desk, her eyes meeting Snake’s. It was nice and soothing and she felt so raw and—her eyes widened, blinking past her tears as Kaz pushed her panties down to spool around her hot thighs. Cold metal cupped her sex and Otacon gasped.

Chill: Well yeah but like we already knew this was sexual harassment, so…

Kiri: Why is he doing this with Snake still in the room.

“You handled that like a pro.” Kaz hummed, his metallic fingers spreading her neither lips.

Kiri: Her what?

Quetzalcoatl: Her neither regions. You know, like neither here nor there.

“So I think you deserve a bit of a reward.”

Chill: He didn’t, like, ask her if he could do this, so this kind of… well… rape as a reward? It doesn’t work like that...

Otacon parted her lips, to ask him to stop, to try and figure out what was going, instead her breath caught in her throat as he slipped in two fingers inside her hot core. The metal was cold, but she was so slick, but why was she slick? And his fingers glided in and out of her with ease.

Quetzalcoatl: Why is Kaz doing this again? This strikes me as being OOC.

Kiri: He is - well, was - a womanizer in canon, and if Paz’s audio diary is anything to go by he definitely bordered on sexual harassment sometimes, but yeah, I really don’t think he’d go this far.

Chill: I’m not sure even Strangelove would go this far, she might have groped Paz but this is just… extreme.

“Easy girl, easy.” Kaz soothed, his flesh hand pressed against her lower back and held her in place. He pumped his fingers into her, and smiled when she finally moaned.

Quetzalcoatl: Kaz sounds like he’s dealing with an animal here.

She danced on the tips of her toes, her eye lashes fluttering shut and she rocked her hips. Commander Kaz knew what he was doing, that was a fact and a point driven home when his flesh hand drifted down her back, past her hot ass, and thigh, and curled around her pelvis to her front. He found her clit and rubbed her roughly with three fingers.

Chill: *innocently* Must be a big clit if it takes him three fingers to rub it.

Otacon moaned, the sound pulled from deep inside. She spread her legs, inviting his fingers to push in deeper and he did until his metallic knuckles pressed against her swollen lips.

Quetzalcoatl: What’s Snake doing right now, anyways?

Kiri: ...watching?

Chill: Being cucked.

Kiri: ...he vanished into narrative limbo. He’s gone.

“Open your eyes, Ms. Emmerich,” Kaz purred.

Kiri: Also it only now occurred to me but why on earth does Otacon no longer have a doctorate here.

Otacon’s eyes fluttered open and she met Snake’s. He was staring at her like a starving dog inches from a full meal. She whimpered and Snake’s hands tightened.

Quetzalcoatl: Well, Snake’s not doing so hot either in the whole “morality” thing here…

Chill: At least all he’s done so far is just stare creepily at her and not doing anything while she was getting fingered without permission and okay wow yeah this fic has a really low bar.

Suddenly Kaz pulled his fingers from her pussy and smacked her ass hard.

Blinding pain coursed through and she cried out. He did it again, and she wailed. The third time his hand smacked her whipped ass, she came. Her eyes squeezed shut and she shuddered, grinding against his fingers that rubbed her clit until finally she stopped and stilled. She slumped against the table, panting as he removed his fingers.

Quetzalcoatl: *yawns*

“That will be all, Ms. Emmerich. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

Kiri: “Ocelot, get your flat ass in here. Your turn.”

Kaz hummed. He grabbed a file off the desk and left the office, licking his metallic fingers, and left Snake and Otacon alone.

Quetzalcoatl: I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Kaz…

Chill: I don’t think Kaz has a lot of good ideas...

Snake let go of her wrists.

“You alright?”

“No,” Otacon whined.

Kiri: I wouldn’t be if someone caned me and then fingered me without my consent, either.

Snake swallowed, his eyes darkened.

“Do you want me to carry you back to the room?”

“Please,” Otacon whimpered.

Quetzalcoatl: And… it’s done. Well. Short. Sweet(?). And really, really boring.

Chill: Yup.

Kiri: I am genuinely curious as to why it’s only two chapters long and marked as complete, despite the summary.

Quetzalcoatl: Apparently Big Boss and Kaz count as like ten men each.

Kiri: I’m sure this is metaphorical somehow.

Chill: I really want to know how the heck this never turned into Solicon… maybe that’s what it was leading into…? Why was Ocelot in the summary?? He only showed up because of a typo!

Quetzalcoatl: Then obviously he was there the whole time!

Chill: Clearly.

Kiri: Might as well, I suppose.

Quetzalcoatl: Well, final thoughts? I think I’ve made mine clear.

Chill: I kinda wish it were longer, just out of morbid curiosity. Big Boss/Otacon and Kaz/Otacon are such weird ships that I think it’d be fun to see what other random people the author could pair him (her) up with.

Kiri: Except that’s kind of the problem with it, too, since Otacon basically has nothing to do with his actual characterization and personality - it’s not really Otacon, it’s just some chick who uses the name. Same thing applies to all the others, come to think of it, except at least they get to be their proper genders.

Chill: Yeah, we know that Otacon being OOC isn’t just some dumb “he acts different because ~he’s a woman now~” genderbend thing. We’ve already sporked this author’s stuff, we know they can’t characterize anyone…

Quetzalcoatl: Joy. Well, I’m going to fly out now. *transforms into a flying serpent and literally flies out*

Chill: ...that looks like fun-

Kiri: No, you walk like the rest of us, Chill.

Chill: Pfff….

[investmart007]

FREDERICK, Colo. | Man who lamented family's disappearance arrested in deaths

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/wLJDqc

FREDERICK, Colo. | Man who lamented family's disappearance arrested in deaths

FREDERICK, Colo.  — After his pregnant wife and two daughters disappeared, Christopher Watts stood on his porch in Colorado and lamented to reporters how much he missed them.

He longed for the simple things, he said, like telling his girls to eat their dinner and gazing at them as they curled up to watch cartoons. “Last night, I had every light in the house on. I was hoping that I would just get ran over by the kids running in the door, just barrel-rushing me, but it didn’t happen,” he told Denver TV station KMGH.

On Thursday, Watts was in jail after being arrested on suspicion of killing his family, probably before he spoke those words. Authorities did not offer a motive.

The body of 34-year-old Shanann Watts was found on property owned by Anadarko Petroleum, one of the state’s largest oil and gas drillers, where Christopher Watts used to work, police said.

Investigators believed they knew where to find 4-year-old Bella and 3-year-old Celeste and were working to recover their bodies.

“As horrible as this outcome is, our role now is to do everything we can to determine exactly what occurred,” John Camper, director of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, said at a news conference in Frederick, a small town on the grassy plains north of Denver, where fast-growing subdivisions intermingle with drilling rigs and oil wells.

Watts, 33, has not been formally charged. A judge ordered him held without bail and told prosecutors to file charges by Monday afternoon. He set a Tuesday hearing to review the case.

As he was escorted into the courtroom, Watts did not speak. He looked down for much of the hearing but made eye contact as the judge reviewed his rights.

The judge approved a request by Watts’ attorney that police preserve all written notes and notify the defense team before performing any autopsies.

A family friend reported Shanann Watts and her daughters missing on Monday, police said.

In his previous interviews with Denver TV outlets, Christopher Watts said his wife of nearly six years returned home about 2 a.m. Monday after a flight for a work trip was delayed.

He said the two had an “emotional conversation” before he left for work a few hours later and that he became concerned after she did not return his calls or texts or those of her friends. He said he came home to an empty house after a friend knocked on the door at noon and got no answer.

Shanann Watts’ Facebook account paints a portrait of a happy married life, with a constant feed of photos and videos of friends, relatives and herself. Her comments were typically upbeat, whether she was running errands, playing with her kids or promoting a health program.

She posted selfies of her and her husband smiling in restaurants, at the ocean on vacation and at their house. On May 5, she wrote: “I love this man! He’s my ROCK!”

On June 19, she posted a photo of some texts with her husband after sending him a picture of a sonogram. He replied that he loved the baby already. She posted: “I love Chris! He’s the best dad us girls could ask for.”

Her page has photo collages and video slide shows praising Chris Watts, describing how their love was growing stronger and how he gave her the strength to have a third child.

The couple’s 2015 bankruptcy filing captures a picture of a family caught between a promising future and financial strain. The filing estimated that they had the same range of assets as liabilities, according to court records.

At the time, Christopher Watts worked for Anadarko, earning about $61,500 a year as an “operator.” His wife was working at a call center at a children’s hospital, earning about $18 per hour. Combined, they earned $90,000 in 2014.

But they also had tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt, along with some student loans and medical bills — for a total of $70,000 in unsecured claims on top of a sizable mortgage.

The oil company said Thursday that Christopher Watts no longer works there but did not say when he left.

Shanann Watts was one of the first customers to visit Ashley Bell’s tanning salon in nearby Dacona two years ago. The two women quickly became friends, and before long they were texting or calling each other almost daily. Their daughters also played together during salon visits.

On Thursday, Bell and her family added several items to a memorial of stuffed toys, candles and flowers on the lawn of the Watts family home.

Bell said she never detected that anything was wrong between Shanann and her husband. Bell also got to know Christopher Watts and described him as a loving father.

“I just don’t understand it,” she said, reaching out to accept a flower that her daughter picked from a nearby lawn.

Shanann worked from home as a saleswoman for a freeze-dried food company and took her two girls everywhere, Bell said. “She was always about her girls,” Bell said. “She would do anything for her girls.”

One day she came into the salon and announced that she couldn’t tan for a while, then grinned and confirmed she was pregnant. Shanann’s father, Frank Rzucek, said on Facebook that the family did not want to talk to the media. ___ Drew reported from Raleigh, North Carolina. Associated Press writers Colleen Slevin in Denver and Courtney Bonnell in Phoenix and researcher Jennifer Farrar in New York contributed to this report. ___ This story has been corrected to show Shanann Watts’ first name was misspelled in some references.

By KATHLEEN FOODY and JONATHAN DREW ,Associated Press

[investmart007]

FREDERICK, Colo. | Man who lamented family's disappearance arrested in deaths

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/wLJDqc

FREDERICK, Colo. | Man who lamented family's disappearance arrested in deaths

FREDERICK, Colo.  — After his pregnant wife and two daughters disappeared, Christopher Watts stood on his porch in Colorado and lamented to reporters how much he missed them.

He longed for the simple things, he said, like telling his girls to eat their dinner and gazing at them as they curled up to watch cartoons. “Last night, I had every light in the house on. I was hoping that I would just get ran over by the kids running in the door, just barrel-rushing me, but it didn’t happen,” he told Denver TV station KMGH.

On Thursday, Watts was in jail after being arrested on suspicion of killing his family, probably before he spoke those words. Authorities did not offer a motive.

The body of 34-year-old Shanann Watts was found on property owned by Anadarko Petroleum, one of the state’s largest oil and gas drillers, where Christopher Watts used to work, police said.

Investigators believed they knew where to find 4-year-old Bella and 3-year-old Celeste and were working to recover their bodies.

“As horrible as this outcome is, our role now is to do everything we can to determine exactly what occurred,” John Camper, director of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, said at a news conference in Frederick, a small town on the grassy plains north of Denver, where fast-growing subdivisions intermingle with drilling rigs and oil wells.

Watts, 33, has not been formally charged. A judge ordered him held without bail and told prosecutors to file charges by Monday afternoon. He set a Tuesday hearing to review the case.

As he was escorted into the courtroom, Watts did not speak. He looked down for much of the hearing but made eye contact as the judge reviewed his rights.

The judge approved a request by Watts’ attorney that police preserve all written notes and notify the defense team before performing any autopsies.

A family friend reported Shanann Watts and her daughters missing on Monday, police said.

In his previous interviews with Denver TV outlets, Christopher Watts said his wife of nearly six years returned home about 2 a.m. Monday after a flight for a work trip was delayed.

He said the two had an “emotional conversation” before he left for work a few hours later and that he became concerned after she did not return his calls or texts or those of her friends. He said he came home to an empty house after a friend knocked on the door at noon and got no answer.

Shanann Watts’ Facebook account paints a portrait of a happy married life, with a constant feed of photos and videos of friends, relatives and herself. Her comments were typically upbeat, whether she was running errands, playing with her kids or promoting a health program.

She posted selfies of her and her husband smiling in restaurants, at the ocean on vacation and at their house. On May 5, she wrote: “I love this man! He’s my ROCK!”

On June 19, she posted a photo of some texts with her husband after sending him a picture of a sonogram. He replied that he loved the baby already. She posted: “I love Chris! He’s the best dad us girls could ask for.”

Her page has photo collages and video slide shows praising Chris Watts, describing how their love was growing stronger and how he gave her the strength to have a third child.

The couple’s 2015 bankruptcy filing captures a picture of a family caught between a promising future and financial strain. The filing estimated that they had the same range of assets as liabilities, according to court records.

At the time, Christopher Watts worked for Anadarko, earning about $61,500 a year as an “operator.” His wife was working at a call center at a children’s hospital, earning about $18 per hour. Combined, they earned $90,000 in 2014.

But they also had tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt, along with some student loans and medical bills — for a total of $70,000 in unsecured claims on top of a sizable mortgage.

The oil company said Thursday that Christopher Watts no longer works there but did not say when he left.

Shanann Watts was one of the first customers to visit Ashley Bell’s tanning salon in nearby Dacona two years ago. The two women quickly became friends, and before long they were texting or calling each other almost daily. Their daughters also played together during salon visits.

On Thursday, Bell and her family added several items to a memorial of stuffed toys, candles and flowers on the lawn of the Watts family home.

Bell said she never detected that anything was wrong between Shanann and her husband. Bell also got to know Christopher Watts and described him as a loving father.

“I just don’t understand it,” she said, reaching out to accept a flower that her daughter picked from a nearby lawn.

Shanann worked from home as a saleswoman for a freeze-dried food company and took her two girls everywhere, Bell said. “She was always about her girls,” Bell said. “She would do anything for her girls.”

One day she came into the salon and announced that she couldn’t tan for a while, then grinned and confirmed she was pregnant. Shanann’s father, Frank Rzucek, said on Facebook that the family did not want to talk to the media. ___ Drew reported from Raleigh, North Carolina. Associated Press writers Colleen Slevin in Denver and Courtney Bonnell in Phoenix and researcher Jennifer Farrar in New York contributed to this report. ___ This story has been corrected to show Shanann Watts’ first name was misspelled in some references.

By KATHLEEN FOODY and JONATHAN DREW ,Associated Press