Alpha Male drag

TIFU by drinking at school as a freshman

2020.10.29 01:03 Beetlejuicebigboi TIFU by drinking at school as a freshman

TIFU: Obligatory, this happened a few years ago.
Excuse me if I spell something wrong, but English isn’t my first language.
Here I was a freshman in highschool not even 15yrs old at the time of the f up, one day before this happened I’ve been joking with a classmate about him stealing a bottle of whisky from his father and bring it to school. Nothing happened that day, but the next day 8AM at school he takes something out from his backpack, a bottle of whisky.
All of my classmates trying to impress one another were taking small sips out of the bottle, and this is where I fucked up, I , in one big sip, drank about half a bottle which at the time that I’ve been doing that I felt like I was an alpha male the biggest baddest guy in the room, I did it because somehow my dumb brain thought that I will be cool if I drink that much.(we are in Europe and minors drinking isn’t a big deal at all you can even buy alcohol from some stores and they won’t ask anything). 10-15 minutes pass and the alcohol stars making its effect, I get past first period more asleep than awake. Second period I have biology with my fav teacher, classmates told me that the whole 50minutes I have been smashing my head on the locker behind me because I was sitting on the last row. When the period ends one girl went to our teacher and told her that I am drunk.
When the next period was about to start our teacher ( the one that was like our guardian I can’t find a translation, but you get it) comes to me and says Beetlejuicebigboi are you drunk? to which I replied: No, I am just feeling a little sick. It is obvious that he did not believe me and sent me home with a classmate because I was unable to walk at that time. Well my classmate dragged me home and put me on the bed to get some sleep. Consequences start now because word got around and some of my teachers started having a bad attitude at me because yeah and I almost got expelled, but at the end I only got my grade lowered (a grade where it shows how you have been behaving that semester, 95% of all kids grades are a solid 10 but mine wasn’t because of my f up) Lucky me parents never found out about this because there would have been some really bad consequences. This is just a minor f up but I thought why not share it? TL;DR Drank at school almost got expelled
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2020.10.26 06:51 pablowquarantine Don't Drink the Kool-Aid

Don’t Drink the Kool-Aid
By
Pablow Quarantine

PART I
Jones hugs -n- disharmony
The catchphrase, “Don’t drink the Kool-Aid” is taken from the Jonestown Massacre. Whenever somebody tells you that you’ve “drank the Kool-Aid,” they’re insinuating you are brainwashed, incapable of thinking for yourself like the gullible cult followers at Jonestown. The Jonestown Massacre took place in Jonestown, Guyana on November 18th, 1978. A demonic cult leader named Jim Jones killed nearly a thousand cult followers at an agricultural settlement located in Jonestown during the late nineteen seventies. Jim Jones killed the cult followers at Jonestown with an artificial grape beverage laced with potassium cyanide.
Nine hundred and nine cult followers died at the Jonestown Massacre. Two cult followers escaped and survived the massacre. The total amount of cult followers at the Jonestown Massacre equated to nine hundred and eleven. The number of cult followers that lived and died at The Jonestown Massacre symbolized a future tragedy that would eventually take its place in terms of the most casualties lost at a mass killing, nine hundred and eleven. Stop drinking the Kool-Aid, otherwise the next tragedy our country faces will make the Jonestown Massacre and Twin Towers attack pale in comparison.
Guyana translates to “the land of many waters.” New York is also a “land of many waters” like the place where the Jonestown Massacre took place. There are approximately seventy five thousand rivers, streams and lakes located in New York. William de Blasio is the Mayor of New York City. Mayor de Blasio’s birth name is Warren Wilhelm Jr. William de Blasio worked for a communist organization during the nineteen eighties in Nicaragua before he became an American politician. Wilhelm de Blasio is married to an African American woman named Chirlane McCray. Chirlane McCray claimed to be a lesbian prior to marrying Wilhelm de Blasio in 1994. The Mayor of New York City’s wife, Chirlane McCray, wrote an essay for Essence magazine in 1979 called “I am a Lesbian.” The essay for Essence magazine is based upon Chirlane McCray’s homosexual lifestyle. Chirlane McCray and Wilhelm de Blasio honeymooned in a communist nation, Cuba. Because they are communists. Communists don’t actually believe in homosexuality except when they’re glorifying it for population control.
Wilhelm de Blasio changed his birth name from Warren Wilhelm Jr. to William de Blasio approximately twenty years ago. The Mayor of New York City claims he changed his birth name from Warren Wilhelm Jr. to William de Blasio because he wanted to honor his mother’s maternal surname rather than conceal a paternal surname, heavily steeped in Nazism. Wilhelm de Blasio’s mother, Maria de Blasio, was a communist and a former editor at Time magazine. Maria de Blasio spread lies and propaganda at Time magazine like Wilhelm de Blasio’s wife spread lies and propaganda about her sexuality shortly before venturing into a biracial, heavily politicized heterosexual marriage with the Mayor of New York City.
The last German emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm II possesses the same name as the Mayor of New York City. Wilhelm I was Kaiser Wilhelm’s grandfather and the first emperor of Germany. Wilhelm is a cognate of William hence William de Blasio. Wilhelm is Germanic and translates to vehement protector. Vehement means forceful and intense like Wilhelm de Blasio. The German empire ended in 1918, shortly after the Spanish Flu spread across the world like the Coronavirus. Woodrow Wilson was the President of the United States of America during the Spanish Flu Pandemic. President Woodrow Wilson contracted the Spanish Flu during his presidency like Donald Trump contracted the Coronavirus during his presidency.
Kaiser Wilhelm II was born January 27th, 1859. Wilhelm de Blasio officially declared a candidacy for Mayor of New York City on the anniversary of Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm II’s birthday, January 27th, 2013. The demonic cult leader, Jim Jones was born May 13th, 1931. Wilhelm de Blasio delivered a Coronavirus press conference update on May 13th, 2020. Wilhelm de Blasio gave the Coronavirus press conference update on the 89th anniversary of the demonic cult leader Jim Jones’ birthday.
Wilhelm Frick was a German Nazi. The German Nazi, Wilhelm Frick possessed the same name as Kaiser Wilhelm II and Wilhelm de Blasio. Wilhelm Frick served as Reich Minister of the Interior in Adolph Hitler’s cabinet from 1933 to 1943. Wilhelm Frick was born March 12th, 1877. The Mayor of New York City, Wilhelm de Blasio declared a state of emergency for the Coronavirus pandemic on the anniversary of the Nazi Wilhelm Frick’s birthday, March 12th, 2020. Wilhelm Frick defined the Nazi racial policy and Nuremberg Laws for Adolph Hitler during World War II. Adolph Hitler and Jim Jones were communists and they rose to power preaching equality and social injustice, concealed beneath a veil of deceit like Black Lives Matter.
Eric Mann was a member of the Black Panthers and a lead terrorist organizer for the domestic terrorist group The Weather Underground in the 1960’s. The domestic terrorist, Eric Mann, was arrested in 1969 for conspiracy to commit murder after bullets shattered a Cambridge, Massachusetts police station window. The founders of Black Lives Matter are self proclaimed communists and trained Marxists like the domestic terrorist Eric Mann. Patrisse Cullors is a
Black Lives Matter co-founder. The domestic terrorist, Eric Mann, is Patrisse Cullors’ long term mentor. Patrisse Cullors co-wrote a book in 2016 called “When They Call You a Terrorist.” When somebody calls you a terrorist they are generally correct, especially when your long term mentor is a convicted domestic terrorist from The Weather Underground like Eric Mann.
Jenny Durkan is the Mayor of Seattle and former U.S. Attorney under President Obama. President Obama appointed Jenny Durkan to a U.S. Attorney position in Washington D.C. during Obama’s presidency. While mayoring the city of Seattle, Jenny Durkan allowed anarchists to take over a police station and create a murderous autonomous zone in Seattle. A reliable source speaking under the condition of anonymity claims Mayor Jenny Durkan is a plant, working sinisterly for a dark state clandestine organization desiring to destroy capitalism and create civil unrest in America prior to the 2020 Presidential election.
Wilhelm de Blasio presented the Coronavirus state of emergency at a panel, seated directly in front of an Alexander Hamilton painting. Alexander Hamilton was accused of treason like the treason Wilhelm de Blasio is brazenly committing against the United States of America and the City of New York. Alexander Hamilton was the treasurer of the United States of America during George Washington’s presidency. Alexander Hamilton became the United States treasurer on September 11th, 1789. September 11th symbolizes an emergency like the state of emergency Mayor de Blasio delivered on the anniversary of the Nazi Wilhelm Frick’s birthday.
There’s a purple Coronavirus banner hanging directly in front of the panel where Mayor de Blasio delivered the Coronavirus state of emergency. The color of the Coronavirus banner symbolizes the color of the artificial grape beverage Jim Jones used to poison the brainwashed cult followers at Jonestown. The American flag was positioned next to the Alexander Hamilton painting during the Coronavirus state of emergency. The American flag featured at the Coronavirus state of emergency was fully open yet hanging straight straight down to illustrate subliminally the American empire falling to its demise.
Kaiser Wilhelm II, Jim Jones II, and Warren Wilhelm II are named after their fathers. Jim Jones committed suicide like Mayor de Blasio’s father. Jim Jones’ middle name is Warren like Warren Wilhelm Jr’s. legal birth name and democratic Senator Elizabeth Warren’s surname. If you think the signs related to these immorally fallen political figures are a derangement rather than an enlightenment warning you against communism, then you’ve possibly drank deeply from a vat of ice-cold Kool-Aid laced with potassium cyanide like the gullible cult followers at Jonestown.
Shortly after the fall of the German empire, Adolph Hitler attended a communist meeting. Adolph Hitler attended the communist meeting on September 12, 1919. Germany is nearly a half day in front of America. The communist meeting Adolph Hitler attended as a young, impressionable man took place on September 11th, 1919, American Standard Time. At the communist meeting, Adolph Hitler listened to a controversial speech by one of the early founders of the Nazi Party. The controversial speech Adolph Hitler listened to at the communist meeting was based upon eliminating capitalism and replacing it with communism. Black Lives Matter, the DNC and Wilhelm de Blasio are brazenly trying to accomplish the same particular feat the Nazis accomplished shortly after the fall of the German Empire. September 11th symbolizes emergency and the day Adolph Hitler became enlightened to communism. Adolph Hitler became enlightened to communism on 9-11, American Standard Time, approximately a year after the fall of the German Empire. Communists are trying to cease control of America like the Nazis ceased control of Germany shortly after the fall of the German Empire.
A police officer killed an African American man inside of a Wendy’s parking-lot on June 12th, 2020. The killing took place in Atlanta, Georgia. The police officer responsible for killing the African American man was a police officer named Garret Rolfe. The police officer, Garret Rolfe possesses the same surname as the English settler John Rolfe. John Rolfe was an English settler during the 1600’s. The surname Rolfe derives from the words renown and wolf. Edward R. Murrow said “a nation of sheep will beget a government of wolves.” John Rolfe created the first tobacco plantation in Virginia. African Americans were enslaved on tobacco plantations like the plantation John Rolfe created in Virginia during the 1600’s. The English settler, John Rolfe, was married to the Native American Pocahontas. Donald Trump called Senator Elizabeth Warren Pocahontas because Elizabeth Warren claimed to posses a Native American bloodline. Elizabeth Warren received tax breaks and profited from affirmative action when she lied about a Native American bloodline. Elizabeth Warren wanted you to believe a lie for profit and gain like Black Lives Matter and the DNC want you to believe a lie for profit and gain. Elizabeth Warren’s first husband was a man named Jim Warren like the demonic cult leader Jim
Warren Jones. Whoever believes Elizabeth Warren descended from the lineage of Native Americans drank the Kool-Aid like the cult followers at Jonestown. Senator Elizabeth Warren’s paternal birth name is Herring like a red herring. A red herring is a clue, a misleading distraction preventing you from discovering the truth behind what’s actually happening in life. The phrase “Red Herring” derives back to the 1800’s when a boy threw red herrings to bloodhounds simply to throw the bloodhounds off the scent of a prey. Black Lives Matter is a red herring like Elizabeth Warren’s paternal birth name. Black Lives Matter is impersonating a civil rights organization for political gain like Elizabeth Warren.
“Where’s the Beef” is a catchphrase like the catchphrase “Don’t Drink the Kool- Aid.” The catchphrase, “Where’s the Beef, relates to a classic Wendy’s commercial, advertising a considerably small hamburger patty, nestled inside of an overly colossal hamburger bun. The Wendy’s catchphrase became a cult sensation phenomenon during the nineteen eighties like the catchphrase “Don’t drink the Kool-Aid.” The Wendy's catchphrase symbolizes the superficial substance behind an artificial product you are deceptively being sold.
A woman burned down the Wendy’s restaurant in Atlanta, Georgia, shortly after Police Officer Rolfe killed the African American man inside of the Wendy’s parking-lot. The woman they claim burnt down the Wendy’s restaurant was a white woman ironically named Natalie White. Natalie White possesses the same name as the color of a race you are being brainwashed to systematically hate. The last syllable encapsulated inside of the arsonist’s first name spells the word lie like the lie you’re being artificially sold and brainwashed to systematically hate. When you reverse Natalie White’s surname with the last syllable of the arsonist's first name you receive white-lie.
Part II
Kracker
Act Blue is a non-profit organization working in secret unison with the Democratic Party. Whenever somebody donates to the non-profit organization Act Blue they are not donating to African Americans like they think. When you donate to the non-profit organization Act Blue you’re actually donating to the Democratic Party and progressive democrats like Joe Biden and Elizabeth Warren rather than African Americans. Black Lives Matter and Act Blue have raised over 200 million dollars for the Democratic party, underneath the guise of black oppression. Yet, nobody knows where the donated money for the African American race actually went aside from the donations laundered to the Democratic Party.
Albert Einstein said “the ruling class has the schools and press under its thumb. This enables it to sway the emotions of the masses.” Rahm Emanuel is the former Mayor of Chicago and former Chief of Staff underneath President Obama. Ari Emanuel is the founder and CEO of Endeavor Talent Agency. Ari Emanuel was instrumental in merging his company (Endeavor Talent Agency) with the William Morris Agency. William Morris-Endeavor is one of the most powerful talent agencies in the world. Rahm Emanuel and Ari Emanuel are brothers and they’ve been placed into highly powerful positions in Washington and Hollywood, simply to “sway the emotions of the masses.”
The Democratic Party wants to defund the police force for reasons other than what they’re telling you. The Democratic Party wants to defund the police force and abolish it for reasons other than police brutality. The Democratic Party wants to create a centralized government where the government surveillances your life rather than city and state. Black Lives Matter claims they need to defund the police force and abolish it before they could eradicate violence in America. Black Lives Matter and the Democratic Party are demonizing our law enforcement and citing malicious things like police brutality. Because they want to implement a centralized government where they surveillance your lives rather than city and state. Police brutality is a red hearing like Elizabeth Warren’s paternal birth name.
The Broadway musical Hamilton is based upon African Americans impersonating white slave owners. The cast of the Broadway musical Hamilton is comprised of flamboyantly pretentious African American males rather than white alpha dogs like our founding fathers. Aaron Burr was a lawyer and an American politician. Aaron Burr killed Alexander Hamilton in a deadly duel. The deadly duel between Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton was based upon Alexander Hamilton’s sexual affair and treasonous acts against America. Leslie Odom Jr. is an African American actor. Leslie Odom Jr. portrayed an African American-Aaron Burr in the musical Hamilton. Leslie Odom Jr. is married to an African American actress named Nicolette Robinson. Nicolette Robinson co-starred in a cable television show entitled “The Affair” like the affair Alexander Hamilton committed. Nicolette Robinson also co- starred in the Broadway musical “The Waitress.” “The Affair” is based upon a married man having an extramarital relationship with a waitress like Nicolette Robinson’s characters’ occupation in “The Waitress” and “The Affair.” Aaron Burr granted a divorce to Alexander Hamilton’s mistress. Mistress? Waitress? The deadly duel between Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton was based upon treason and an extramarital affair like the theme fueling the cable television show, co-starring Leslie Odom’s on screen and off screen wife. “The Affair.” The cancelled ABC television sitcom “Modern Family” aired an episode called "Weathering Heights” in 2016. The “Modern Family” episode “Weathering Heights” was based upon parodies related to the musical Hamilton. The Modern Family episode “Weathering Heights” aired October 12th, 2016. The cable television show “The Affair” debuted on October 12th, 2014. The cable television show “The Affair” featuring adultery like Alexander Hamilton’s adultery and “The Modern Family” episode featuring parodies related to the musical “Hamilton” aired the same exact day two years apart. The “Modern Family” episode and “The Affair” pilot debuted on the same exact day (October 12th) in 2014 and 2016, respectfully.
Hollywood and Washington use internal models of the world to desensitize you to forthcoming events. Hollywood and Washington are conditioning you with subliminal messages and dates like 9-11 and October 12th. Because, they are preparing you for the treasons they plan on committing against you in the near future. Leslie Odom Jr. and Nicolette Robinson portrayed a married couple in the television miniseries “Love in the time of Corona.” Leslie Odom Jr. and Nicolette Robinson portray a married couple in the television miniseries like their relationship in real life. “Love in the Time of Corona” is based upon social distancing and an immoral, entirely fake perception of love. Hollywood and Washington are striking fear inside of you about social distancing and causing you to mistake perversions and fetishes for love, fantasy for reality in “Love in the Time of Corona. Black Lives Matter and the Democratic Party are attempting to rewrite history and create a new racial policy in America like the racial policy Wilhelm Frick created for Adolph Hitler during World War II in Nazi Germany. However, they have to reveal violent acts to you subliminally before committing them literally.
Recently, anarchists destroyed a statue of Francis Scott Key during a riot in San Francisco. Francis Scott Key wrote the Star Spangled Banner. The writer, F. Scott Fitzgerald was named after the writer of the Star Spangled Banner, Francis Scott Key. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s full name is Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald. Francis Scott Key and F. Scott Key Fitzgerald were second cousins thrice removed. Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald’s magnum opus is the classic novel, The Great Gatsby. The Great Gatsby is named after a fictional character in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic novel. The fictional character, Jay Gatsby is a wealthy tycoon from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic masterpiece. The novel, The Great Gatsby states Jay Gatsby’s character might possibly be related to the German emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm II. The Mayor of New York City, Wilhelm de Blasio is possibly related to the character Jay Gatsby if only communists like Wilhelm de Blasio were capable of being related to a fictional character from an elegant, beautifully written, historical work of art.
When I was a little boy my neighbor owned a Black Labrador. My neighbor named the Black Labrador Satchmo because my neighbor loved the jazz musician, Louie Armstrong. My neighbor would be labeled a racist today instead of a lover of jazz music if he named a Black Labrador after a famous jazz musician's nickname. An African American family can name a golden retriever Redford as an homage to the actor Robert Redford and nobody will say anything nor criticize the homage for that narcissistic matter. However, the moment a white man names a Black Labrador Satchmo due to a fondness for a portly stout, pudgy African American trumpet player with chubby cheeks, he’s getting strung up by a noose. Lynched.
F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about jazz music during the “roaring twenties.” F. Scott Fitzgerald popularized the term the “jazz age.” F. Scott Fitzgerald brought prestigious acclaim, an exorbitant amount of respect to jazz music with the classic novel The Great Gatsby, arguably the greatest American novel ever written. However, African Americans like Ella Fitzgerald made Jazz music legendary. Ella Fitzgerald was nicknamed the “Queen of Jazz.” Occasionally, Ella Fitzgerald and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s mentally deranged wife Zelda Fitzgerald are mistaken for each other in spite of the contrast of their lovely skin tones. Ella Fitzgerald and Zelda Fitzgerald are occasionally mistaken for each other because they possess the same legendary surname rather than contrasting skin tones. And, because they are both closely associated to jazz music. Marilyn Monroe loved Ella Fitzgerald. And that displeases Black Lives Matter quite a bit. Black Lives Matters would love nothing more than to call Marilyn Monroe a racist and diminish the spirit of Marilyn Monroe like they are diminishing the spirit of Martin Luther King Jr.
The United States General, Ulysses S. Grant helped lead the blacks to freedom during the Civil War. Ulysses S. Grant was given a slave from a family member. Then, The United States General freed the slave due to a grotesque disdain for slavery. However, anarchists destroyed Ulysses S. Grant’s statue after ignorantly mistaking the abolitionist for a racist like some of our founding fathers. Vladimir Lenin was a Russian communist dictator responsible for killing nearly a million people. Anarchists tore down a statue of Francis Scott Key and a statue of Ulysses S. Grant yet brazenly left a Vladimir Lenin statue standing in Seattle. Whoever tore down the statues of Ulysses S. Grant and Francis Scott Key yet absentmindedly leave a statue of the dictator Vladimir Lenin standing unscathed on American soil are certifiable racists, drunk on the anecdotes of Kool-Aid. And they are lovers of self rather than God and Country.
F. Scott Fitzgerald helped produce black vaudeville in spite of the African American stereotypes he satirically placed inside of his beloved literature. F. Scott Fitzgerald would be deeply saddened and thoroughly appalled to hear anarchists tore down his cousin’s statue knowing what F. Scott Fitzgerald’s literature beautifully accomplished during the "roaring twenties" for black musicians like Ella Fitzgerald and the portly stout, pudgy jazz musician with chubby cheeks, Louie Armstrong. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s literature helped give African Americans like Ella Fitzgerald and Louie Armstrong a powerful musical voice. Anarchists tore down Francis Scott Key’s statue and Ulysses S. Grant’s statue because they are fascists-hard core Marxists rather than civil rights activists. Next, the anarchists are going to burn the novel The Great Gatsby. And, they’re going to blame the burning of the novel upon F. Scott Fitzgerald’s raging alcoholism and despicable infidelities rather than censorship if tolerance continues to prevail and the sheep keep partaking from the Kool-Aid that Black Lives Matter and the Democratic Party are slipping into their wine and fluoridated water. Stop drinking the Kool- Aid, otherwise you’re going to wake up fairly soon wishing you were still living in a capitalistic society where elegantly written masterpiece’s like The Great Gatsby were still in existence, thriving breathtakingly in the minds of our youth.
PART III
Luna-Sea
Robert Indiana was a homosexual pop artist from the 1960’s. Robert Indiana placed satanic and demonic subliminal messages inside of his carnal artwork simply to pervert the minds of the public without their superficial knowledge. Robert Indiana created the iconic Love sculpture in 1970. Robert Indiana’s Love sculpture symbolizes promiscuous sex and debauchery rather than romanticism and chivalry like you've been brainwashed to systematically believe. The letter o featured on the Robert Indiana Love sculpture is crooked and symbolizes brokenness. The center of the o featured on the Love sculpture symbolizes an erect phallus. When you mail a letter with a Love stamp you’re actually sending a message sealed with a cock rather than an overture of love like you’ve been naively lead to believe.
Robert Indiana also created the Hope slogan for President Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign. Robert Indiana’s Hope slogan and Love sculpture contain the same demonic subliminal messages. The Hope slogan was unveiled in 2008 at the Democratic National Convention. The 2008 Democratic National Convention where they unveiled President Obama’s Hope slogan took place in Denver Colorado at the Pepsi Center. Pepsi spelled backwards upside down reveals a demonic idiom that reads subliminally: is de”a”d. The Pepsi logo is a depiction of an ancient Chinese symbol illustrating dualism, the Yin and the Yang, the good and evil. Water and fire. When they unveiled Robert Indiana’s Hope slogan at the Pepsi Center during the 2008 Democratic National Convention a legion of demons chuckled noiselessly as the slogan read subliminally: “Hope is De“a”d.”
Bobby Knight is a retired Hall of Fame college basketball coach. Bobby Knight was the head basketball coach at Indiana University from 1971-2000. The pop artist, Robert Indiana was born and raised in Indiana like the place where Bobby Knight coached basketball for three decades, winning three NCAA Division 1 national championships. Eleanore Ward was a famous art dealer. Eleanore Ward curated Robert Indiana’s first art show in 1962. 1962 was the year the actress Marilyn Monroe tragically died. The pop artist, Robert Indiana created a painting called Metamorphosis.
The Robert Indiana painting Metamorphosis is a depiction of Marilyn Monroe standing naked in front of a satanic pentagram. Marilyn Monroe was born in 1926 and died in 1962. The numbers ’26 and ’62 are written on the Robert Indiana-Metamorphisis painting simply to commemorate the year of Marilyn Monroe's birth and the year of her tragic death. The life and death of Marilyn Monroe symbolizes a palindrome. A palindrome is a word, number, phrase, or other sequence of characters which reads the same backwards as forward. When you connect the stars empowering Gemini you’ll suddenly become illuminated like something akin to rapture unless of course you’re drunk on Kool-Aid rather than astonishment.
Bobby Knight’s middle name is Montgomery like Montgomery Ward. Montgomery Ward was a successful businessman from the 1800’s. Montgomery Ward created the mail order retail chain Montgomery Wards in 1872. The art dealer, Eleanore Ward possessed the same last name as Montgomery Ward. And Bobby Knight possessed the same middle name as Montgomery Ward. Robert Indiana displayed Marilyn Monroe paintings like Metamorphosis at Eleanore Ward art shows. Montgomery Ward’s headquarters is located in Monroe, Wisconsin. And, Montgomery Ward’s main warehouse, where the mail order retail chain stored its merchandise, was located on Monroe Avenue in Maryland.
There’s a statue standing atop the old, iconic, Montgomery Ward’s building located in Chicago, Illinois. The statute is a depiction of the mythological goddess Diana. The statue is called the “Spirit of Progress.” Progressives and Luciferians and homosexuals like Robert Indiana govern and rule Chicago. Diana was the goddess of the hunt, the goddess of the underworld and the goddess of the moon. The goddess Diana possessed a twin sibling in Greek mythology. Diana’s twin sibling was named Apollo. Apollo was the god of the sun.
A corona is the white plasma surrounding the sun (Apollo) and moon (Diana) during a solar eclipse. Apollo and Diana were twins like Gemini, the constellation governing the soul of Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe was the first victim of MK Ultra mind control. When you look at a solar eclipse you’ll discover a darkness illuminating the sun and moon hence the god Apollo and goddess Diana. You’ll see a corona during a solar eclipse when the sun, moon and earth align themselves with each other. Luciferians are star gazers and they worship satanic deities like the god Apollo and the goddess that stands atop the Montgomery Ward’s building in the progressive city of Chicago.
George Floyd was born October 14th, 1973. Pink Floyd’s album, The Dark Side of the Moon, was released in the same year as George Floyd’s birth, 1973. Pink Floyd’s, The Dark Side of the Moon, album was released March 1st, 1973. George Floyd’s last name was the same last name as the psychedelic rock band Pink Floyd. Pink Floyd is named after two African American blues musicians. Pink Floyd is named after the blues musicians Pink Anderson and Floyd Council. Pink Anderson passed away October 12th, 1974. October 12th is a date placed subliminally inside of art like 9-11, simply to program you thoughts for future events prior to them happening. The date Pink Anderson passed away matches the date the Modern Family episode “Weathering Heights” and “The Affair pilot aired, October 12th. When you look at a solar eclipse, you’ll discover the solar eclipse bares an eerily strange resemblance to an eye. The Coronavirus spread across the world in the year 2020. In Medical terms, 2020 symbolizes perfect vision. However, in worldly terms, 2020 symbolizes blindness. Darkness.
Wilhelm is a lunar impact crater. Wilhelm, the lunar impact crater is located on the southern part of the moon. Wilhelm, the lunar impact crater was named after an astronomer named Wilhelm IV, Landgrave of Hesse-Kassel. A long list of Nazi soldiers responsible for killing countless Jews were named Wilhelm like the lunar impact crater located on the southern part of the moon and the Mayor of New York City, Wilhelm de Blasio. They say the moon is a mechanically built satellite rather than a natural astronomical body. An urban legend claims an ancient civilization transported the moon to our solar system from a galaxy somewhere north of Beetlejuice. The urban legend claims the ancient civilization strategically placed the moon into our solar system millions of years ago, simply to hypnotize us and control our thinking. However, that's a conspiracy theory and you shouldn't believe in conspiracy theories like that otherwise you’ll possibly become a wonderful enlightened child of God drunk on astonishment rather than the horrors of Kool-Aid.
There’s a song on Pink Floyd’s album, The Dark Side of the Moon, entitled Breathe like the breath taken from George Floyd. Roger Waters was the bassist and special effects composer for Pink Floyd. Roger Waters possesses the same last name as a vital compound, exasperating your consciousness during a drowning. Water. The musician, Roger Waters’ birth name is George Roger Waters. George Roger Waters possesses the same first name as George Floyd. And George Floyd possesses the same last name as the psychedelic rock band, Pink Floyd. A Police Officer named Derek Chauvin killed George Floyd. You’ll discover a song on Pink Floyd’s, Dark Side of the Moon, album entitled Money like the counterfeit money George Floyd tried pawning off as authentic twenty dollar bills prior to his arrest and subsequent death. George Floyd cried for his mom while Police Officer Derek Chauvin chocked him to death. Mom is a palindrome. Mom spells the same thing backwards and forward like the palindrome illustrating the years of Marilyn
Monroe’s birth and tragic death, ’26 and ‘62. Police Officer Derek Chauvin’s full name is Derek Michael Chauvin. Derek Michael Chauvin’s initials are D.M.C. The nineteen eighties rap group, Run D.M.C. possess the same initials as Derek Michael Chauvin’s initials. The initials of the rap group, Run D.M.C. stand for Devastating Mic Controller. The last song on the Pink Floyd album, Dark Side of the Moon, is called Eclipse like a solar eclipse. There’s a triangle illustrated on the Pink Floyd album, Dark Side of the Moon. The triangle illustrated on the Pink Floyd album symbolizes the “all seeing eye” like the eye you see during a solar eclipse. Hollywood and Washington are hypnotizing you with a devastating mic controller transmitting something hypnotic off the moon. And if you don’t agree then you’ve possibly partaken from the Kool-Aid and there isn’t any hope for you.
The Wilhelm Scream is a sound effect filmmakers place subliminally in movies. The Wilhelm Scream is similar to a devastating mic controller like Run D.M.C.’s and Derek Michael Chauvin’s initials. The Mayor of New York City, Wilhelm de Blasio possesses the same name as a lunar impact crater and a special effects technique filmmakers place subliminally into movies to distort your thinking and control your thoughts. You hear the Wilhelm Scream in a movie when somebody’s drowning in water or suffocating like George Floyd. A 1951 movie entitled Distant Drums introduced the Wilhelm Scream to cinema. The Wilhelm Scream is heard for the first time during a scene from the movie, Distant Drums. You hear the Wilhelm Scream during the movie when an alligator drags a soldier into a swamp. Sometimes, I think the Wilhelm Scream is the sound of an actual murder taking place like something from an old Brian De Palma film, starring the sodomite John Travolta. You hear the scream of an actual person dying shortly before they drown in water in the Brian de Palma film. The scream is spliced deceptively into a film without anybody’s knowledge. The Wilhelm Scream is placed into a film simply to pervert a viewer’s mind and distort their thinking and elicit violence inside of us all like a Robert Indiana painting illustrating brokenness, a false hope for humanity- love. However, that’s a conspiracy theory and you shouldn’t believe in conspiracy theories like that otherwise you might possibly become a wonderful enlightened child of God drunk on astonishment rather than Kool-Aid.
Satan masquerades around like an angel of light seeking those he can possibly destroy. Satan was the lead worship leader before getting cast down from heaven. Satan is a clever musician and deceives people with controversial and deceitful art like Pink Floyd and Robert Indiana. The Book of Ephesians states “we struggle not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”
The classic actor, Gary Cooper starred in the 1951 movie Distant Drums. Gary Cooper passed away May 13th, 1961. Gary Copper passed away on the anniversary of the demonic cult leader Jim Jones’ 30th birthday. Gary Cooper was born May 7th, 1901 and Wilhelm de Blasio was born the following day, sixty years later. Black Lives Matter and the Democratic Party are aggravating the spirit of Gary Cooper. The spirit of Gary Cooper is coming back. The spirit of Gary Cooper is coming back to make atonement for the sins of Jim Jones and Wilhelm de Blasio.
The demonic cult leader Jim Jones should not be mistaken for the African American gangster rapper Jim Jones under any circumstances. Otherwise, Black Lives Matter will call you a racist for mistaking an African American gangster rapper for a demonic cult leader. The African American gangster rapper Jim Jones was named after his father like the demonic cult leader from the Jonestown Massacre. The gangster rapper Jim Jones Jr. was born approximately a year after the demonic cult leader Jim Jones Jr. passed away like something incarnate. The gangster rapper, Jim Jones’ middle name is Guillermo. Guillermo is the Spanish name for William like Wilhelm de Blasio and the lunar impact crater located on the southern part of the moon. The gangster rapper, Jim Jones Jr. wrote a rap song called “When Thugs Die.” “When thugs die do doves cry" like little J.J. raps about or do they merely wait in silence, anticipating an awesome coming judgment.
When the alligator drags you into the swamp like the Wilhelm Scream you’re going to wish you didn’t Drink the Kool-Aid Hollywood and Washington and Robert Indiana slipped into your wine and fluoridated water. When the alligator drags you underneath the water and pulls you into the swamp like the Wilhelm Scream you’ll discover yourself gasping for air, claiming you can’t breathe like a clueless Black Lives Matter protester depicting a silly meme. The Democratic Party and Hollywood are demoralizing our lives and demonizing Donald Trump for attempting to drain the swamp Black Lives Matter and the Democratic Party and Wilhelm de Blasio are desperately trying to drag you into without your superficial knowledge like the Wilhelm Scream.
THE END
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2020.10.25 16:05 InfiniteDoors Star Trek: For the Shows Are Hollow and I Want to Cry

Star Trek joke! I'm back. This is more of a part 1.5 than 2, because this isn't big picture stuff, mostly specifics and nitpicks. I just need to vent my frustration some more.

Discovery

The characters

The story

I don't really recall too much about S1's story beyond T'Kuvma started the war and Burnham basically sealed the deal by killing him. Then Mirror Universe detour, then we gotta bomb Qo'noS because the Federation is one foot in the grave. S2 though, despite being more confusing, I remember a little better. Let's see how close I get: 7 red signals appear simultaneously throughout the galaxy so after the Enterprise is mysteriously crippled Captain Pike commandeers the Discovery to use its spore drive to reach the signals where they discover Jett Reno and Terralysium and a temporal anomaly coincidentally above Saru's homeworld and a planet related to the Red Angel project and the time crystal on Boreth and that one queen alien from that Short Trek and then I guess at some point the writers realized that they focused too much on the Control plot because they only had 4 or 5 red signals planned so they decided to Bill and Ted this fucking plot and have Burnham be the source of the 7 red signals so in the middle of this giant CGI clusterfuck she has to go back in time and place the previous 5 red signals so that the plot can make sense but then after Control is defeated they still have to strand themselves in the future... why?
Airiam was corrupted but is now dead. Leland/Control is now dead. So, what's the danger? Is it like, as long as the Infosphere data exists in the past, future Control or whatever will always have a chance to steal it, so then Burnham and Discovery travel to the future to "skip" over future Control? But then what's stopping future Control from waiting for Discovery to reappear in the timeline? We know almost nothing about future Control, all we DO know is that Pike sent the probe into the anomaly, it returned all upgraded, it corrupted Airiam, and she tried to help present Control. If Control is dead, then there shouldn't be a future Control, so no need to get stuck in the future. If there still is a future Control, or even a copy of Control left in the present, then "skipping over" it doesn't 100% keep the data safe. It'd be better to send Discovery to the fucking Big Bang, or the heat death of the universe, or right next to the Romulan sun when it goes supernova, or some other more foolproof method of total destruction. Idk, it's confusing. Or maybe I'm just stupid. Probably both.
There's also just some little stuff to mention.

Picard

The characters

The story

The plot is somewhat disjointed and the connections are tenuous at best. Let's go through it all. So we have the Zhat Vash, a Romulan group thousands of years old and dedicated to wiping out synths to prevent the Synthpocalypse. Because of the Romulan supernova, the destruction of the Romulan Star Empire and countless other systems is imminent, so the Federation dedicates Utopia Planitia to churn out enough rescue ships by using synths. If the plan works, then everyone in the Quadrant will see how valuable synths are and will no doubt mass produce millions for their own use. To prevent this, the Zhat Vash manufactures a synth uprising to destroy the shipyards and set Mars on fire, ensuring that synths are banned... as well as doom the majority of their own people. The supernova is only in play because of the reboot movie, and really has nothing to do with the rest of the plot. It easily could have been a plague, or new enemy, or anything else not even related to the Romulan people to prompt a huge synth workforce. But of course, ZV's big opportunity has to come at the cost of their brothers and sisters. Tangentially related to this problem is Data. Data was in Starfleet for 38 fucking years, showing everyone how useful he is, and ZV never took him out or discredited him. Maybe they tried and failed, but if they had gotten rid of him, there wouldn't have been a synth workforce in the first place and thus no need to bone themselves. Good job guys! Back to Picard's plot series of events, the supernova and lack of ships resulted in a small Romulan diaspora, with refugees scattered here and there. With such big consequences, one would think it wold tie in to the plot more closely. But no, all it really gave us was two Romulan ex-spy housekeepers who could let Picard know about ZV, Elnor the samurai and a never-ending source of guilt for Picard. It was also an ill-conceived attempt at addressing the real world refugee crisis, something Patrick Stewart wanted to tackle. Nice tackle. About half of the show takes place on a derelict Borg cube called the Artifact, where Soji and Narek play hide and seek with their genitals. It is also the site of the Borg Reclamation Project, which I'll talk about more later. Now this is probably the most pointless part of the plot. The Borg Cube has absolutely NOTHING to do with anything. Maddox sent Soji there to learn about the Mars attack conspiracy, and she learned dick (haha gross). It also could have been any other location and still have as much relevance. The only reason for having a Borg cube in the show is for that sweet sweet nostalgia bait: Locutus, Hugh, Seven becomes a Queen, and all the trailer shots. Then it anticlimactically crashes with still no bearing on the plot. Lastly, the Soong/Maddox synths. They were so unconnected to everything, that Maddox had to specifically create Soji and Dahj to investigate the Mars attack. That lead to ZV discovering them, Oh showing Jurati the Admonition, Jurati and co. finding Soji, they all go to the synth planet and Sutra sees the Admonition from Jurati, leading to the very thing that ZV was trying to prevent. Whoops. While my summary makes it sound like a lot is happening, it's quite the opposite. After the first episode, things move so fucking sloooooowwwwwwwwwww. It's not a slow burn, it's the show dragging its fucking feet. And it's all so trite, there's nothing clever at all. In fact, this isn't even a thoughtful character study of Picard, it's a typical YA sci-fi story about a special girl and her importance to the galaxy that also happens to have Picard.
More complaints here!

Lower Decks

All of it.

I said it before and I'll say it again. References are not jokes, and that's more than half of what Lower Decks is. Half the time it feels like they're just hitting the random button on Memory Alpha. I don't give a fuck how deep a cut Xon is, tell real jokes. While you're at it, write better characters too. Mariner is insufferable, Boimler is annoying, Tendi is like Tilly cranked to 11, Rutherford is basically male Tendi but gets a boner for engineering, and the bridge crew are terrible parodies of good Trek characters. When we do get good Trek characters, they're flanderzied to hell. Q, Riker, and Troi probably won't be the last to cameo on this garbage cartoon, I bet Shatner will want to use this as an opportunity to bring back Kirk. One more thing. This is from the latest episode of Discovery:
Regulation 256.15: Starfleet officers shall show professional behavior at all times.
ಠ_ಠ
Well, I've just about bitched myself empty. This post is almost twice as long as the last, and I've slowly written it out over the past week. If I still have anything else to say at this point, it will probably be just from Discovery S3 as it airs. I just have one final thought to share: Art from adversity. TOS had shit sets and shit effects, so they had to make the writing strong to counter that. Same goes for TNG to ENT, CGI was expensive so they used it as needed. Big dumb action is a crutch for poor writers, and more action-oriented shows like DS9 did not have poor writers. The writers of DSC and PIC range from poor to barely acceptable, and what a coincidence, they are both filled with big dumb action.
I hope these shows don't live long and prosper. Star Trek joke!
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2020.10.25 12:13 RoxyETyler Highschool werewolf (Discord)

(Due to all the responses I'm no longer looking for partners for this idea) "You're to keep a low profile. No arguments, no snapping, no fights." M/C sighed softly as she closed her locker door and looked at the teenaged male leaning against the metal containers. If it weren't for the rather disdained look in his bright blue eyes and the fact that she was more interested in women than men she would've found him attractive. He was fit, his shirt more than generously displaying his toned muscles, with medium length black hair that hung around his head and a sharp jawline. He was also the son of her father's Beta who hated her guts. His father no doubt ordered him, after her father ordered his, to keep an eye on her while attending human high school which she didn't understand considering she had been her father's "perfect" daughter by following his little rules. Apparently, it wasn't enough to keep him from having someone keep an eye on her.
M/C could've argued with the Beta's son, saying she never did any of those things, but she didn't waste her breath. It would've fallen on deaf ears. "Fine. No arguments, no snapping, no fights." She repeated like a broken record, resisting the urge to release a weary sigh or an eye roll as she kept her Topaz colored eyes away from his. Looking into his eyes would've been seen as a sign of disrespect or a challenge, both of which would make him stand and put on an air of intimidation to put her back in her place only to tell her father later. That would lead to lashings or being tossed in a pit with a wild dog that would attempt to tear her limb from limb as "punishment". After all, she had been labeled as an Omega at birth. Lowest of the low among werewolf packs aside from pups. She was seen as a disappointment all her life by her Alpha father and in his eyes the one who took his mates life. That burden was more than what Atlas from Greek mythology endured.
"Good. Wouldn't want to tell your father how his little Omega caused trouble." The raven-haired male warned before standing upright, holding himself with confidence and an air of importance that just made him seem like a convicted snob. Females who walked by couldn't help but gawk at him while men stared with envy over how he captured the female's attention so easily. It only boosted his ego. "I'll see you at lunch." He said before walking off though she didn't watch him, focusing more on the anger that had built up upon being reminded that she was nothing more than an Omega. She knew this! There was no need for him to rub it in like salt in a wound! Her eyes, which now looked more red than topaz, closed as she took a few calming breaths to collect herself. She wouldn't have to see him till lunch considering they didn't have classes together and that was still hours away. The reminder calmed her inner beast enough for her to open her eyes once more only to head to her class.
Math class wasn't hard to find considering the school being a large two-story place to house humans and werewolves alike thanks to the plastic plaques on the wall, stating the room number along with the teacher and subject being taught in said room. Two rooms were labeled math on the same wall though only one had a Mr. Jensen which she entered but that was when her whole life changed dramatically. Most of the students were standing around talking to one another until the teacher came while others sat at their desks napping or doing last-minute work but one student caught her eye. A female who was sitting at her desk in the middle of the room. A change happened within M/C while her inner wolf screamed Mate!, causing her heart to pick up in a rapid tattoo while her eyes dilated and her breathing became slightly shallow yet quickly left and entered past her lips. Many werewolves experienced this upon laying eyes on their mate, causing an imprint, but it felt like it was going to knock her to her ass from how strong it hit. How right it felt. Giving her head a rather firm shake she dug her fingers into her book, causing her knuckles to go white, as she dragged herself to an unoccupied desk and sat in it rather than going to her newfound mate.
Any werewolf worth their salt would go to their mate the first chance they got and claim them as theirs through the Imprint but she could never claim her. Same-sex relationships were highly frowned upon among werewolves as it wouldn't produce pups which was important should one wish to extend their lineage. Considering she was looked down on by all and could never be "perfect" it would essentially allow her father to stick a fork in her from how done she was. She would be exiled from the pack and turned to a Rogue that could never rejoin, forever putting her mate and herself in danger unless taken into another pack. The young werewolf couldn't risk it and she wasn't going to drag some poor human she imprinted with down with her. She was going to ignore the female, as hard as that would be, and finish out the year to graduation which would feel like eons. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for her.
The teacher soon came in, sending the cluster of teens to their seats, before clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. "Settle down, class. Settle down." He spoke loud enough to be heard but not enough to be booming which surprisingly made everyone go quiet. "I'm well aware that everyone still has energy from the summer break however let's direct it to learn math that, let's face it, none of you will probably ever use." His words produced laughter and she couldn't help but let a little smile tug at her lips. She had a feeling she was going to like this class. "But first, we have a new student. M/C why don't you come introduce yourself?" The man looked right at her and she was quick to change her mind about liking class. Standing in front of people wasn't her forte, especially knowing her mate would look at her. "Come on now, don't be shy. We don't bite." The teacher joked, producing chuckles, which caused her to sigh before standing. It'll be quick. Just say your name and what species you are before returning to your seat. She encouraged herself as she made her way to the front of the class before turning to face them. Her eyes stayed on the carpet at first before rising to glance over everyone, trying hard to keep from locking her eyes with her mate even though she failed miserably. Her eyes connected with hers and the whole world seemed to fade away, leaving only her and her mate which strangely gave her a boost of confidence. She cleared her throat before speaking though felt as if she were only talking to her mate. "My name is (blank) and I'm a werewolf."
Hello, and thank you for taking the time to read my post. The setting is that my character is attending High school for her senior year when she meets her mate (your character) though struggles to avoid her considering the pack laws as well as her social standing though love tends to be persistent especially when it's an imprint.
If you're interested please read over the rules before reaching out to me. Thank you!
+ This plot features werewolves, romance, plot, sensitive/dark themes subjects along with possible adult subjects in aw high school setting. Due to this please be 18+. Adult subjects are not guaranteed so don't reach out expecting it. Romance and story are the main focus along with the sensitive/dark themes.
submitted by RoxyETyler to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]


2020.10.24 12:55 incisrongirl [Discussion] Hinata and Sakura are both terrible characters, and it's ok to hate either or both of them

Sakura and Hinata, Hinata and Sakura. They're literally the two worst female characters in the Naruto series and are, at the very least, contenders for the positions of the two worst characters in the series in general, but people who like one of them or who don't like either, but feel some kind of sympathy towards one of them can't comprehend or accept the fact that many people strongly dislike the character in question, let alone why someone would like one, but not the other.
"I understand disliking Sakura, but how can you dislike Hinata?!"
"I understand disliking Sakura, but if you like Hinata, your opinion is invalid and you dislike Sakura for the wrong reasons!"
"People who don't like Sakura for any reason just hate her because she rejected the nice guy / loves the cool guy!"
"If you like Sakura and dislike Hinata, you're a hypocrite who thinks Sakura is a stronger woman even though she's a submissive doormat whose love interest tried to kill her!"
I used to think that although Hinata wasn't the best-written character around, she was better than Sakura. When I gave it some thought, though, I realized that Hinata was the only character in the series who was WORSE than Sakura. They're both absolutely terrible characters, and, while I don't think it's productive to hate a fictional character, NOONE needs to justify disliking either one of them. I'd never tell anyone that he / she shouldn't like these characters, but honestly, it's LIKING either of these characters that needs to be justified.
All of Naruto's female characters, with the exception of Lady Chiyo, are poorly-written, but character-wise, Tsunade, Ino and even Karin are LEAGUES above either of these two "main girls." With the exceptions of Sakura and Hinata, pretty much every single female character that Kishimoto created had to have a reason to exist, even if she contributed little to the story. Kishimoto wouldn't create and waste panel time on a female character who, on introduction, literally only existed so that a male character would have a love interest - except for the love interests of the two "main" guys. Lady Chiyo was the grandmother of Akatsuki member Sasori, a strong kunoichi in her own right and the one who saved the life of the Kazekage. Tsunade is a powerful kunoichi, the creator of medical ninjutsu, the descendant of the first Hokage and a Hokage herself. Mei is a strong kunoichi and the Mizukage. Ino is the future head of the Yamanaka clan. TenTen is a weapons-user who wanted to become a strong kunoichi one day. Karin is a sensory ninja, a healer, the warden of Orochimaru's prison, a useful member of Team Hebi / Taka and, at the end of the Naruto series, basically an employee of the "reformed" Orochimaru (which means at least she did something with her life other than becoming pairing fodder or the desperate, adoring wife of a neglectful, indifferent husband who abandons her and her child for a decade with no contact). Temari is a competent kunoichi and Gaara's sister. Inuzuka Hana is a veterinarian. Anko is a proctor in the Chuunin Exams. Kurenai is a jonin and the leader of Team Eight. Karui and Samui are combat ninja. Granny Cat and Tamaki work with ninja cats and provided Team Hebi with supplies. "Mom" characters like Kushina, Mikoto, Uzumaki Mito and Nara Yoshino exist because the important characters had to come from someone's womb. Even the blond girl who crushed on Shikamaru (I have no idea what her name is, if she has one) is a scientist who helped Naruto decode Jiraiya's message.
But Sakura and Hinata - Jesus Christ. One is a character who, when she is introduced, has literally no purpose other than to lust after the deuteragonist of the story, spends the rest of the series TRYING to justify her existence because her author knew how useless she was, and fails. I'm sorry, but when you have to try to justify a character's very existence, that should probably be an indication that you've written a horrible character. The other is, like Ino, the daughter of the head of an important clan and COULD have EASILY been written to fulfill a purpose in the story that was related to her role in the clan. Once we got her backstory and Neji's in the Chuunin exams, the character arc that Hinata SHOULD have had practically WROTE ITSELF, and I'll prove it by going into more detail in another post sometime. But, unlike Ino, Hinata threw her chances of fulfilling a purpose in the story away to spend ALL OF her panel time on so-called NaruHina moments.
Sakura and Hinata are glorified romance-wish-fulfillment characters. The only difference between them is what audience they were written to cater to. Sakura is a character who embodies Kishimoto's misogynistic ideas of what a real woman is like and whom he later tried - and FAILED - to turn into some kind of symbol girl power.
Hinata is a character who embodies Kishimoto's misogynistic ideas of what a woman SHOULD be. Kishimoto wanted Naruto to have a love interest, but the first problem was that his ideas of "romance" are weird and terrible. The issue with Naruto pairings was never that Kishimoto wasn't "good at writing romance" (he didn't need to be; it's a shonen manga); the problem is that he himself chooses to add a bunch of - often unnecessary - romantic subplots to his story, but is allergic to the idea of just letting a man and a woman spend time together and come to like eachother like real, normal people do. He prefers to do what I would think are two of the LAST things someone who "isn't good at writing romance" would do - try to "show how" one character fell in love with the other and / or making the romantic subplot revolve around drama. He does the first thing by having two characters never interact with eachother prior to (and often even after) the point where he makes one character "fall in love" or become interested in the other, which he does by reducing the relationship to a single moment or incident that "made" that character fall in love. The drama he dabbles in consists of love triangles, stories of unreciprocated love that I found more irritating and disgusting than sympathetic, big, dramatic, emotional moments, people trying to destroy the world over girls who didn't even like them romantically and, of course, girls loving guys who treat them like trash because of all the DAAAAAARKNESS in their hearts.
The second problem Kishimoto faced with giving Naruto a love interest was his unwillingness to actually have Naruto put any effort into finding the "girl of his dreams." That's understandable since, again, this is a shonen manga, except for the fact that Kishimoto felt Naruto just had to have a love interest, anyway. Therefore, he created Hinata, who is basically a glorified prize love interest, someone who adores and is literally willing to be a martyr for and die for the main character (even when her dying for him would actually benefit noone, such as in the Pein arc, or would make her worth as a ninja amount to nothing more than being a literal meat shield, such as in the incident leading up to Neji's death) for no reason other than the fact he's the main character. Kishimoto seems to think that being the ideal love interest basically amounts to being somebody's mother. It's your mother's job to adore you and be willing to do anything for you just because you exist.
Yes, I know, Naruto had a difficult life; he was an orphan and was hated, neglected and lonely; he needed and deserved love. But creating a character who loves him for no reason even though they only interact a handful of times over the course of 700 chapters wasn't really the solution, especially when, in spite of all of the dramatic "NaruHina" moments and the "special bond" we're supposed to believe Naruto and Hinata have, their relationship goes nowhere, as Naruto almost never initiates interactions with his "soulmate," never expresses clear romantic interest in her, never thinks about her outside of the few "NaruHina" moments in the series and, most pathetically of all, needs a genjutsu and help from Sakura of all people to "realize" he loves her because he and Hinata NEVER bothered to even discuss their relationship at any point in the two years of post-war peacetime they had to do so.
If you want Hinata to be the one who heals Naruto's lonely heart so badly, whose "love" actually has a real impact on him, kill the "love interest" role and just make her Iruka instead, because he is what the neglected, lonely orphan Naruto really needed - a parental figure who's present in his life, not a romantically-motivated stalker who spent years doing nothing but watch him be lonely and neglected, then, instead of doing anything with her own life, spent all of her panel time watching him and waiting for any opportunity she could find to be "useful" to him.
Hinata is basically Lollipop Girl from Kung-Fu Hustle. The hero of Kung Fu Hustle starts out as an underdog and has a childhood flashback in which he encounters a mute little girl who's being bullied over a lollipop and wins her appreciation by trying to defend her from the bullies even though he fails. The hero encounters Lollipop Girl again towards the middle of the movie, but by this time, his frustration with his life has led him to become a gangster. He doesn't recognize the girl from his past at first and robs the stand she's working at. Unable to communicate with words, Lollipop Girl shows him the lollipop from his flashback and makes a heart sign to tell him that she loves him. He remembers her then, but he slaps the lollipop out of her hand without a word and walks away, rejecting her love and the innocence of his childhood. At the end, when the hero has become good again and has triumphed over the villains, he and Lollipop Girl reunite and walk off into the sunset together.
I like Kung-Fu Hustle, and I actually like the love story between the hero and Lollipop Girl. However, Lollipop Girl never pretends to be anything but a love interest and only appears to be introduced into the story, to carry a poignant scene in which the hero rejects her love and his childhood innocence because of all the hardships in his life, and to get together in the end. Hinata is a Lollipop Girl on whom Kishimoto wastes panel time by pretending she's supposed to be a ninja (she never wins a single fight or proves useful in a significant combat-related situation) and who takes far, far, FAR too long (700 chapters and a movie!) to fulfill her real purpose - winning the romantic love of the hero and getting together with him - for no good reason, engaging in a bunch of pointlessly-suicidal theatrics in the process (Hinata almost gets killed for no good reason in every single significant "NaruHina" moment, first by provoking Neji, then by going up against a villain she knows she can't do anything against, and finally by trying to serve as a meat shield). She fails at having a purpose in the story other than being pairing fodder, and she even fails at being pairing fodder.
Basically, Sakura is a romantic-wish-fulfillment character for girls, and Hinata, though she has plenty of female fans, is a romantic-wish-fulfillment character for guys. Disliking either character is COMPLETELY understandable because the main reason people dislike these characters comes down to pairings. In order to make Sakura a good character, you would have to rewrite her character from the very beginning, give her a real purpose that she fulfills in the story and stop making her beg for attention from Sasuke, a guy in whose character arc she has no part to play and no agency, who doesn't reciprocate the devotion she shows to him in canon and for whom, whenever the DAAAAAARKNESS in him becomes an issue - and it is an issue for the vast majority of the manga - she can do nothing but serve as collateral damage by being hurt by him.
In order to make Hinata a good character, you would have to get rid of her "Naruto-kun" obsession, remove Naruto from her backstory, allow her to make kind overtures towards him like her offer of help during the paper part of the Chuunin exams, but limit her interest in him to a platonic sympathy for him as a fellow hard-working outcast, and, before the end of her arc in the Chuunin exams, have her resolve to take the initiative to make things right with Neji and work on inspiring a change in the way the main branch of her clan treats the side branch by getting stronger and leading by example. You would then need to take all of the "brave, selfless, protective" energy Hinata directs towards Naruto in Shippuden and direct it at NEJI instead, but actually have her accomplish things instead of making her serve as a plot device by failing when she tries to do something.
Am I saying that NaruHina and SasuSaku shouldn't still happen? Of course not. Maybe Kishimoto could throw in a panel here and there to show the members of the respective couples talking, complimenting eachother on their achievements, smiling at eachother, maybe a tender, suggestive look here, a dinner invitation there. Do I care whether or not they'd still happen in this scenario? Not really. Would ANY reasonable person hate Sakura and Hinata if they were written the way I described? I seriously doubt it.
People hate these characters because Hinata's potential and Sakura's chances of being a tolerable character, let alone justifying her existence, were SACRIFICED for the sake of pairings, and the people who jack off to one character, but obsessively bash the other are OKAY with the fact that their favorite characters were ANNIHILATED for the sake of pairings. Naruto never did anything to deserve Hinata's senseless, martyr-like obsession with him, and had she focused on mending the issues with her clan, she would have had no time to engage in "NaruHina moment" theatrics. Naruto wouldn't have had time to get all starry-eyed over Hinata and chase after her with bouquets of flowers every third chapter of the manga, either; he would still be busy with trivial things like TRYING TO SAVE THE WORLD. No panel time would be wasted on having Sasuke lie awake at night on the floor of Orochimaru's hideout and jack off to the memory of Sakura's face or swooning over what a STRAWNG, INDEPENDENT WOMYN she was every time she breathed, and a strong Sakura wouldn't beg for his attention, be impressed every time he treated her like something resembling a human being or let him make her miserable. It's called actually HAVING A LIFE.
Many people who love these characters, however, love them mainly for the sake of pairings, and they'll defend Sakura's submissive obsession with Sasuke and the "sniff beautiful NaruHina moments" to the death. They may pay lip service to the idea that their favorite girl needed more fights or deserved power-ups. They may even say that the characters would have been improved had Kishimoto wasted more panel time on trying to "develop" (a.k.a. justify) their favorite terrible pairing or having the male character pay romantic attention to the female character more often or sooner. But the truth is that these two crappy female characters couldn't be redeemed in 700 chapters of the manga. Bad characters can't be fixed and shouldn't be rewarded with tacked-on, undeserved power-ups, forced, retconning romantic backstories and adoration from their love interests. The powerful Hyuuga princess Hinata who was childhood friends with Naruto, surpasses Neji before the Chuunin exams arc, bravely changes the Hyuuga clan by taking Hiashi down in a duel, defeats a bunch of powerful villains, STILL has the stupid "NaruHina" moments and leaves Naruto in awed adoration with everything she does belongs in the realm of bad fanfiction, as does feisty "Queen" Sakura Haruno who somehow has the powers of the Senju clan at the beginning of the story, spends the entire manga kicking butt, scares Sasuke with her temper and wins his everlasting love and adoration just by being so Uber-special.
You need to take the panel time and the abilities that these characters have and use it to make them decent characters instead of fantasizing about giving them power-ups, making this 700-chapter much longer for the sake of contriving moments to make them look good and having your favourite male characters validate them. Many fans of these characters are unwilling to admit that anything is wrong with the way their favorite female character was written or believe (though alot of female fans in particular do so without realizing or admitting it) that she only needed power-ups, fights, more male attention or a bunch of fanfiction-worthy wanking from the author to improve her. Meanwhile, if these same people like one girl, but dislike the other, they'll act as if the character they dislike is irredeemable or talk about how bad her romantic subplot / every pairing moment she gets is. It's ok for their favorite character to be pathetically bad in canon if it means their favorite pairing will happen, and God forbid anyone criticize any of their favorite character's awful "shipping moments" or her behavior in canon, even though these people are happy to salivate over FANFICTION in which their favorite character actually IS a strong female character (and is probably completely OOC), but they can recognize the flaws in the character and the pairing that they dislike and criticize them hypocritically. No redemption, no power-ups, no added romantic moments for the character they hate; she's just terrible, and God forbid she gets any crappy Mary-Sue fanfiction devoted to her.
It is COMPLETELY ok and valid to dislike Hinata, Sakura or both characters because many of their fans are happy to pretend they're good characters, but will resist the idea that their potential was SACRIFICED for the sake of the pairing they jack off to and that maybe, just maybe, most of these "pairing moments" shouldn't have happened and should have been replaced with moments of actual character development. How can you argue about how much worth your favorite character has outside of her role as pairing fodder when you yourself put a crappy pairing above her worth as a woman and a character?
That being said, I'll admit that I can respect the NaruHina fans who are really just Naruto fans and want him to have a caring love interest more than I can respect female fans who wank either character while criticizing the other and the male NaruSaku fans who pitched a fit when Naruto ended (because, let's be honest, other than male NaruSaku fans, there aren't that many guys who like or care about Sakura). I actually like both Naruto and Sasuke as characters (or I did before they both started to become boring, one-note characters after the Pain arc), and it isn't Naruto's fault that Hinata is an awful character. He's kind and respectful to her whenever they interact (the same thing can't be said of Sasuke when he interacts with Sakura), so it's not like the Naruto fans are advocating for abuse of women or anything. They're just accepting and, unfortunately, celebrating the crap that Kishimoto chose to write in the name of giving Naruto a love interest.
As for male NaruSaku fans - I honestly don't care what anyone ships, but I do have to mention the ones who threw their toys out of the pram when their pairing didn't become canon because it's kind of hilarious that people who claim to identify with an interesting, decently-written character like Naruto decided that everything was lost because he banged one terrible, irrelevant character instead of another terrible, irrelevant character. Apparently, not getting with the right person in the very last chapter of the story ruined Naruto's character (as if he hadn't already become a lame character hundreds of chapters ago) and Sakura's character (as if she were ever a good character to begin with) and Sasuke should have died (even though he still has more character development in his little finger than either Sakura or Hinata has in her entire body).
It was hilarious to see them complain about things like Sakura getting together with Sasuke without ever thanking Naruto for fulfilling his promise to bring Sasuke back. Sakura has treated Naruto somewhat poorly throughout the entire series, but you considered her an amazing character who had undergone SO much development. Now that you see she didn't spread her legs for Naruto, you decide to worry about her sense of gratitude? And why the hell do you want Sakura to thank Naruto for bringing back a love interest whom you say is horrible and abusive and should have died? Speaking of which, you guys go on and on about how awful Sasuke is, how he should have died in the final fight as a punishment for his atrocities and how Sakura shouldn't have married him, but does Naruto have no accountability in this situation? He's the only one who was strong enough to kill Sasuke, but he's also one who refused to kill the "ebul wimmen-beater," who considered him his best friend and who brought him back with the knowledge Sakura was in love with him. The fact that Naruto confirmed he and Sasuke were friends and that he wouldn't be killed several chapters before the ending, but you all were most upset when you saw he didn't marry Sakura in the very last chapter shows where your priorities really lie.
Then there's the crying the NaruSaku fans did about every other aspect of the ending once they realized their pairing wasn't going to come true. Yes, Naruto was crap after a certain point; are you really JUST realizing that? The funniest part was when they had the audacity to cry about InoSai and ChoKarui - "Where the hell did those pairings come from?!" You know what - who the hell CARES? Do you realize how LONG the Naruto manga is? Let me remind you - 700. Freaking. Chapters. That's fifteen years that Kishimoto spent slaving over this manga, for better or for worse. Give the man a break! Did you really expect him to stretch this already-overly-long manga out further just to add more pairing moments, or would you rather he'd wasted what little panel time Ino and Karui got on romance instead of doing things like, I don't know, giving Ino a chance to shine in the War Arc?
Kishimoto does NOT need to justify giving Ino and sweet, precious Chouji life partners. Quite frankly, I'm glad he didn't try hard to justify them, because, as much as you NaruSaku fans like to jack off to pairings like Minato x Kushina, Jiraiya x Tsunade and ShikaTema ("THe oNLy PAiRIng ThAT MaDe any SENse!") his writing of romance is literally always a nightmare. Regardless of how these two couples got together, at least InoSai and ChoKarui have cute families. I mean, I don't watch Boruto much, but did you see the Parent-Child Day episode starring Choji, Karui and Chouchou? It was beyond cute. 😍 At least Ino actually did something with her life, and her character didn't revolve around pairing drama that was centered around whether or not she'd end up with the good-looking guy who made her miserable or the nice guy she'd friendzoned in the beginning of the story. You guys were just so stuck on the idea of Sakura being the best female character ever and NaruSaku the best thing that could ever happen that you couldn't see the good points in other female characters, so when your pairing didn't happen, when Sakura didn't fulfill your expectations, you decided that everything else was awful, too.
The cattier Sakura / Hinata fangirls are something else entirely. I already dedicated paragraphs to explaining how terribly-written Hinata is, but let's talk about Sakura, who's more popular with females than Hinata is. People will swear that they love Sakura for her personality, but the reality is that she only exists to be a stand-in for the female fans who want to bang Sasuke. Personality-wise, you could take a bland character like Rin Nohara, remove her "team-peacemaker-Uber-nice-girl" attitude and give her all of Sakura's negative qualities - her violent anger issues, her desperate boy-craziness, her submissiveness towards her love interest, the laziness she exhibited in OG Naruto where becoming a stronger ninja was concerned, her vanity, her self-absorption, her obliviousness and stupidity where Naruto and Sasuke are concerned and the fact that when it comes to her role as a useful combat ninja, she constantly alternates between an attitude of helpless passivity and an attitude of arrogant bravado, to name a few - and she would literally be Sakura. It's not that Sakura doesn't have any positive personality traits at all, but strip her of the negative qualities that drag her down as a character and she's pretty much a blank slate - again, Rin without the "team-peacemaker-nice girl" attitude.
Sakura spends the entire series trying in vain to justify her existence. After wasting all of OG Naruto by doing nothing, Kishimoto basically duplicates Tsunade in her by making her a healer who punches hard. Even then, with the exception of her fight with Sasori, Kishimoto has to contrive moments to make her look useful combat-wise because she can't help with the issue of Sasuke or stand up to any of the major villains (except for the time she got one punch in on Kaguya, the worst villain in the series). If Kishimoto wanted a "girl power" character on Team Seven so badly, he could have just tweaked the story and put a 12-year-old Senju Tsunade on the team instead. I mean, maybe that wouldn't have been a good idea, but I don't know why he decided to create a character who served no purpose, who was never useful when her teammates actually could have used her help, and then copied off of another female character's abilities when her teammates had already become so much more powerful than she was that she was no longer really relevant.
Honestly, Kishimoto could have even removed Sakura from the story, let Tsunade handle all of the healing and punching really hard and put Ino on Team Seven and the story wouldn't have been impacted negatively in any way. At least Ino had SOMETHING to bring to the table as a ninja from the time she was introduced, unlike Sakura, who had no role to play on her team and was just desperate to prove she was "useful" when what she really needed to be was not "useful," but actually RELEVANT. In other words, Sakura isn't special. And I can also guarantee you that not only would noone care about Sakura and her "personality" if not for her closeness to Sasuke, the most desirable male character in their social circle, but if Ino and Sakura switched teams, the girls who fawn over Sakura now would all like Ino BETTER and would probably call Sakura a desperate fangirl and an ungrateful, jealous bitch who broke up her friendship with Ino over a boy. I guarantee it.
You know what else I can guarantee? That if Sakura were replaced as the main girl by someone with Rin's sweet, mild personality, the same people who adore Sakura would self-insert into Rin, furiously ship her with Sasuke and call her an amazing character. As it is, Sakura fans claim they prefer her because she displayed "agency" by not playing the peacemaker and being equally kind to both of her teammates. Get real. It's ok to fantasize about being in the role of the girl who gets the hot guy, but be honest with yourselves. Sakura is just a Rin with a more unpleasant personality who got a power-up and got her Kakashi in the end.
Basically, I respect catty female Hinata and Sakura wankers less than I do male NaruHina fans because the fangirls heavily identify with their favorite vapid, horrible female character and pretend she's actually important to the story. At least Naruto actually IS important and relevant, so identifying with him as a Naruto fan isn't pathetic. Naruto fans who like NaruHina just like it because they want an important, relevant character to be happy. SasuSaku fangirls, on the other hand, like their pairing because they want SAKURA (i.e their irrelevant, badly-written self-insert) to be happy, not because they care about Sasuke, the deuteragonist of the story.
That brings me to my next point - how hilarious it is that certain Sakura fans not only have the brass nerve to criticize Naruto fans who don't like Sakura for "self-inserting," as if their fave has any worth beyond her role as a self-insert, but accuse Naruto x Hinata fans, not NaruSaku fans who jacked off to Sakura as a character until she didn't end up with Naruto in the very end, of being pathetic "nice guys" who "can't handle" the idea of being rejected by a girl. Again, get real. You are not and probably never will be the cute, talented girl who wins the eternal love of the extremely-good-looking, rich, powerful alpha male. You are living vicariously through a badly-written character whom noone but self-inserting girls and pairing fanatics cares about, so remember that before you allow this fantasy world to swell your head and point the finger at someone else for being pathetic.
In reality, YOU'RE the "nice guys" - or, shall I say, "nice girls" - in the situation because you can't handle or get over the fact that some people rejected your self-insert as a character, and, even worse, might have "friendzoned" her by preferring another terribly-written female character, such as Hinata, over your favorite terribly-written female character. So Sakura's allowed to have preferences when it comes to her love interests, but real people aren't allowed to have them when it comes to characters?
Anyway, the reality is that Sakura and Hinata fangirls reject any criticism or dislike of their favorite characters because they can't handle having their self-inserts criticized, especially when it comes to their pairing-related behavior, or disliked. It doesn't matter who the criticism comes from, whether the critic dislikes their favorite character alone or both girls. Noone needs to justify disliking either of these terrible characters regardless of what characters they DO like. Sakura fans anger people by pretending their awful character is a "strong, independent woman" while putting other people down for their preferences. Hinata fans anger people by setting their glorified pairing-fodder-love-martyr character up as a rival to characters they don't like (not just Sakura) for the position of "better female character" - in other words, putting other people down for their preferences, too.
Both characters are hateable in their own ways, so please, get over yourselves. It's a competition between an unlikeable idiot who fangirls over and chases a guy who ignores her at the best of times and often treats her like garbage and who contributes nothing positive to the story and an empty shell of a character who is idealized for "selflessly" having no ambitions of her own and repeatedly putting her life at risk on the off chance that the man she loves will eventually return her feelings instead of marrying the other girl (NaruSaku was still a possibility). No sane person would want to be like either of them.
submitted by incisrongirl to Naruto [link] [comments]


2020.10.24 07:29 dweebletart How do I sound less "gay"?

I've spent most of my life (including now) having either mixed or primarily female groups of friends, and it shows in the way I speak. I know it shouldn't bother me and that the stereotypes are garbage, but this has been the subject of a lot of insecurity for me lately and it would make me feel better to figure out how I can present myself in a more traditionally masculine way when I talk. Most of the voice training things I've found on the internet are directed at either macho men trying to project an "alpha male" voice, or in the other direction aimed towards drag queens or trans women who want to feminize their voices.
Are there any less extreme ways I can practice to sound less stereotypically "gay"?
submitted by dweebletart to Advice [link] [comments]


2020.10.22 23:27 Rockafellor The Space Orcs are coming, hooray, hooray!

Billie Badass is from one of the galaxy's most dangerous and hearty species – a Genomorph (a [fully] hermaphroditic species halfway between Futurama's Gelatinous Blobs and Red Dwarf's Pleasure GELFs; not precisely an ST:DS9 Changeling, but similar enough) – though not suicidally stupid enough to go near Humans... until one fateful trip. Now cast away, ze learns from a local – Avery, a Deathworlder – adapts, overcomes, and survives.

***

Chapter 1: Welcoming party

Deathworld
The ship crashed on private property, deep within Arkansas. It wasn't picked up by the airport or the airbase due to its “invisibility wax” – a membrane of entangled pre-squarks1, but that wouldn't take care of everything.
Fuck! ” the Deathworlder said, some long and primitive metal weapon lowered by its side.
That one word said it all.
The crash, the mess, first contact; the terror.
Its scent drove itself into zer awareness. It emitted a cloud of chemicals, each alone establishing it as dominant and calmly sure of its preeminence.
Billie's body was still bipedal from zer most recent cultural immersion, with reflective symmetry and centralized processing, and so of broadly similar form to that of the Deathworlder, hence likely to trigger proportionately less fight or flight response. Non-programmed data acquisition had left Genomorphs one of the galaxy's naturally dominant species, but the galaxy wasn't full of mental stimulation to the point of any given deathworld. That was the point, too: it was civilized, at least mostly. Billie was a xenologist, but they weren't going to risk a naval wing just to come in and try to save zer.
First problem: strongly oxidizing atmosphere, somewhat alkaline water planet, hints of ozone even this deep down in their sludge of gasses, radiation coming in from both directions... Ze should be able to adjust to it – nominally – soon enough; zer system had been exposed to such environments before, so it was only a matter of time. If the Deathworlder let zer live that long. There were hair-raising tales about these things, though nobody knew enough about them to be sure of anything; that was why ze was here, after all.
It reached out at zer.
This was it. Ze was dead already, no time to so much as scratch the surface... well, no, ze'd certainly managed that much, at least.
Then it was on zer.
Ze was lifted bodily and hurled... gently into its arms as if ze weighed nothing at all.
In only a few strides, it had carried zer to the edge of the pond and set zer down.
Ahh, more of a chasing instinct, of course. Something to work up its appetite and my adrenaline.
“Are you alright, ma'am?” it asked, its hulking body leaning down and peering at zer as it pawed away, removing bits of brush.
Ze blinked. It hadn't registered on zer before, but it could talk. In fact, it spoke Audible Galactic Common reasonably well – or un-reasonably well, all things considered.
“I'm Avery,” it said, removing its protective head gear for a moment, revealing some longer fur that matched the fur around the fringes of its face, “AY-vuh-Ree,” then stabbing itself in the chest a few times.
“I was feeding the ducks whenever your... passenger drone or whatever smacked into the pond. Can I call someone for you?”
Ducks? Drones? What is it babbling about?
“I'll tell you what. Let's you and me go back to my place – no funny business, I swear – and we'll get you all cleaned up and looked at. Then we can worry about what next.”
Though nervous at this, ze didn't put up one whit of resistance: small yellow things were closing around them menacingly, quacking and snapping their bills as if to devour them whole. Normally a ridiculous notion, given their size, but this was a deathworld after all...
Suddenly, the stiff brown plants to the left parted and a shaggy beast came rushing out, jaws wide and fangs flashing.
“Yeller! Heel! Down, boy!”
Amazingly, the fang-beast ceased its charge and settled down, slabs of muscle rippling as it leaped all around them, for all the world as if frolicking with mates.
“You're lucky there weren't no water moccasins in there, though I guess the splash probably startled them all away,” the Deathworlder went on as they continued to walk, Billie never taking zer eyes off of the fang-beast trotting along nearby.
Glancing suddenly to zer right, ze saw a small furry thing scuttle down a tree to chitter at them, staring at them with beady eyes, tiny teeth bared for all to see the threat in its noises. Ze drew closer to the Deathworlder.
Moments later, a small motion caught zer eye along the path ahead of them. Something tawny, not much larger than the Deathworlder's fang-beast. It watched them, its head full of pointed branches of bare bone menacing them even at this remove. The Deathworlder stood still, raising its weapon toward its shoulder, then lowering it again as the bone-monster darted off and fled. The fang-beast came trotting back from somewhere; ze'd lost track of it in that brief span, but apparently it had been operating in tandem with the Deathworlder. This bestial thing – Yeller – saw it as a superior, performing flanking movements in unspoken communication!
“Dang it.”
It wasn't long before the Deathworlder pointed to the side, saying “Watch for that there poison ivy,” as it detoured slightly toward the other side of the path. Ze saw nothing but some underbrush and a vine climbing a tree, but took its warning to heart in any case.
“Mostly isn't much around here, most of the time, but you're not near much else here anyway. Mostly you just gotta keep your eyes out for hawks... and feral dogs... and snakes... and briar patches... and skunks... and maybe cougars... not a lot of home invaders in these parts. Wait, gotta get some of this here thistle2;” it calmly wrapped a hand around the prickly plant, showing not the slightest concern nor sign of debilitating pain from what must surely be devastating wounds, “good eatin'. Now, I know you don't go picking mushrooms without double-checking – that whole kingdom is iffy,” it smiled as it plucked some red-topped fungi covered in little white dots, “but you just have to learn how to pick your poisons,” it finished with a wink.
“You eat toxic fungi intentionally ?!?” ze asked, the question blurting itself out before ze could think.
“So, you do talk!” it teased, “But as for magic mushrooms... well, only sometimes, and just for some fun on the weekend; besides, half the plants we eat are toxic anyway, you just gotta find the right balance is all.”
Shock ran through zer to a cellular colony level.
It's true. It's all true. Everything that they'd ever said of these Deathworlders, and more!
“Cookie?”
It was holding out just that: a small pastry-thing, seemingly.
Ze thought to ask what was in it, then realized that the local food words would be meaningless. Ze took a cautious nibble. It didn't bite zer, which ze half-expected even of inanimate foods here, but ze waited to observe further reactions to its chemistry over time, rather than gobble it down blindly. Ze didn't have the food-o-mat at hand, but ze also didn't have the autodoc up and running either, and this was a deathworld, after all.
It was then that ze noticed the Deathworlder still watching zer, its eyes absently traveling zer body as if sizing zer up for a roasting spit.
“Sorry, wasn't thinking!” it said hastily, its face growing red.
Chromatophoric communication, ze was sure of it, some sort of danger or challenge signal. Perhaps I should make myself look big? No, utterly preposterous unless I hope to distract it with laughter until it dies of exhaustion or hunger. Do they even laugh? Small and weak might not work well either though, and it already outpaces me easily, and its lung capacity does seem to argue no little stamina were we to compete so. So: neither fight nor flight, and I certainly have no interest in being food.
Having eliminated three of the five “F”s, ze stared at zer only remaining options: friend or fuck.
*Fuck is obviously not on the menu – there's simply no chance that I'd be of any reproductive interest to it whatsoever. That leaves only '*friend,' if Deathworlders even hold that concept. Maybe I could feed it, and hope to register as non-enemy, at least.
Absentmindedly, ze finished zer cookie and accepted another as ze continued to weigh zer hazily forming plan. Something in the cookie found zer steps pick up again rapidly. Zer entire system soon felt energized as they zipped along again. What had the Deathworlder put into this “snack?” Were they all drug-fueled addicts? Was ze too, now?
“Umm... so, you got a name?” it asked.
“Billie” ze replied.
“Nice name, Billie. Pleased to meet'cha.”
Ze wasn't sure where it was heading with this, and so settled for a neutral shrug.
It seemed to accept zer attempt as being friendly enough, smiling. Its teeth argued hostile intention, but it made no move to devour zer, so ze simply opted to glance downward rather than risk challenging it with sustained eye contact.
“The flytraps don't get bigger than a small frog or so, around here,” it said after a dozen paces more.
Zer eyes darted hastily around as ze hunched inward a little, hoping not to walk into any flying traps inadvertently. Why would these Deathworlders litter the region with traps intentionally? Unless the traps were only a game to play on zer mind, or a basic training mechanism for their young – the ones that survived said traps, at any rate...
It slowed its pace.
“Not up in the air – look,” it continued, crouching by some low-lying foliage, “these little guys down here.”
Ze stared in fascination. A patch of greenery showed open mouths, a garish puce in most cases, their finger-like tendrils splayed outward. Some few were closed, giving no hint as to why.
Then ze learned their nature.
A large insect landed along the edge of a mouth, crawling around at random. Searching for something, it stepped on one of the tendrils, then away. Stepping on another a moment later, the mouth snapped shut around it in an instant, quivering against the insect's futile struggles.
Even their sessile plant life is focused on hunting and killing.
“Do you have many of these?” ze asked, fearing the likely answer.
“Well, these and sundews, and some butterwort – they use a sticky glue to catch dinner, and mostly live down by the pond. I haven't seen any pitcher plants around – they wait for things to fall in and drown in digestive juices and stuff – but I wouldn't be surprised. Same with lobster pots: the genlisea just lets 'em crawl in, and they can't get out, so they crawl farther along, and then they're in its stomach. Won't see them around here neither, though I'd like to. There are definitely some bladderworts around though, but they live in the water and just suck things right into their sacs.”
Ze listened to this litany of blood lust, almost glazing over as ze imagined these plants coming for zer, or accidentally walking into one of the larger ones unawares.
Ze watched all of the plants around closely, avoiding everything large enough to constitute a potential threat, hoping that none might lunge for zer – or strike at a distance with lashing whips or toxic darts, or tangle zer feet and drag zer to zer doom, or puff mind-numbing agents into zer face, or shower zer with a digestive rain – the need for safe shelter weighing down on zer increasingly as they forged onward.
“How much farther?” ze asked, feeling as if ze were about to collapse between physical exhaustion and nervous tension.
Are we there yet? ” it laughed in a sing-song voice, “Oh, no time at all. We're about halfway home, now!”
Ze faltered. Halfway? They'd already trekked farther than most of the more persistent species might undertake for a day's walk!
The weather was unpredictable – hot, cold, wet, dry, blustery – but held off in its fury until they'd made their way to his home, doing no more than drizzling on them lightly and sporadically until then, and making the way somewhat slippery and unsure of foot, everything just wet enough to be made a nuisance. Avery shrugged it off, saying that at least there were no funnel clouds or hail, and the bulk of nearby pollution was downwind, so no worry of acid rain, probably just some lightning. These thoughts churned in zer mind and gut as they approached its cabin, its last comment coming with a just such a stroke as it opened the door and motioned for zer to enter, which ze did with great relief. Zer eyes already wide, it showed zer one its prizes: a gnarled and twisted, branching mass that it called “fulgurite,” going on to explain the formation as being sand that had been blasted with gigawatts of electricity, and mentioning a few of its other pieces of meteorites and basalt as it fussed around in the kitchen.
Then there was lunch.
Sitting with the Deathworlder, ze looked over what it offered for food. Irradiated “timber rattlesnake” tenders (“They're cut plenty far back from the venom sacs, don't you worry.” – It devours venomous things that seek to devour it? ) and stir fried “ 'gator” tail steak strips (“Gotta cook 'em well done, sorry about that – they're crawling with parasites, otherwise.” – As if to say that it might normally prefer its meat raw and bloody...) swimming in “butter” and “garlic” with a dash of “hot sauce,” and a beverage of diabetically sweetened carbonic acid with cyanide fruit flavoring that it called “cherry cola”; dessert was “mint ice cream.”
Ze managed to consume all that was given to zer, including second helpings, even though zer tongue had screamed from the capsaicin and mesquite, burning as if having been filled with molten lead (ze'd watched the Deathworlder intentionally burn wood simply to flavor the food and caramelize the proteins, thus intentionally introducing mutagenic heterocyclic amines and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, along with acrylamide and a host of other byproducts!). Dessert came first as a welcome relief, zer tongue now soothed for a moment, before it continued its plunge into a frozen escape orbit.
“Wait'll you sit on krazy glue some time,” Avery laughed gently as it watched zer mild panic, “you can actually feel orange as a sensation!”
So, not simply color vision – though apparently lacking polarization to any great degree, and limited to only three opsins – but synesthetes even? How much more do these Deathworlders carry in their arsenal that we are as yet unaware of?
The storm dropped in its intensity, the rain now taking a cold edge, threatening to become daggers of ice as they sat on the porch and basked in the warmth of full bellies with sandwiches to soak up the ample juices leftover from dinner.
Avery stepped inside for a moment, coming back out with huge, steaming mugs of hot chocolate, grating fresh cinnamon onto each as they sat to watch the weather as entertainment. Zer system began to buzz as the drink's toxins worked their way through zer.
“We'll go back tomorrow after the mosquitoes settle down, then haul your ship – umm, I mean your passenger drone – out with the truck,” it said as ze watched everything jitter, zer hearing coming and going to an extent, and zer nerves jangling, “before any sinkholes swallow it up.”
Even the Deathworlders' home vehicles are monsters, ze thought muzzily.
“Mosquitoes?”
It smiled, nodding its head as if realizing that it should have explained its cryptic remark.
“Little things you can barely see, but they suck your blood and it's a real pain in the ass.”
Ze drew zer chair's blankets more tightly around zer hips and thighs as it went about the porch lighting candles, explaining that they were “citronella” to ward off the blood suckers.
That was when ze noticed the strange markings on the Deathworlder, patterns of ink in its very skin, and objects that appeared to puncture its ear. Shuddering, ze decided not to inquire.
Dinner was another array of different meats, along with fruit, vegetables, mushrooms, and tubers set over fire. The smoke was intense, zer eyes watering, the air almost too thick for zer body's configuration to handle the gas exchanges, but ze pressed on, stalwart in zer commitment.
“I know, I know. Typical man. But out here, it's not just us guys who have a carnivorous streak, y'know, and who doesn't love a barbecue?” it joked. The humor was clear in its – his, ze thought to zerself – voice, but humor that still seemed to share space with his subtext. An intimation that “it” was male.
Well. At least that establishes that, without risking any forbidden conversational territory.
The lumps of meat weren't simple insects or similar such either, as might be expected of those few carnivorous species that had risen to sophont3 – or at least sentient – levels. Unlike the bite-sized pieces that they'd had for lunch, these were whole portions of larger creatures, entire body parts and organs. Perplexingly, the plant and fungal matter present for their encore appearance certainly credited an omnivorous capability, which was the rarest of all survival strategies for galactic sophonts. Autotrophs could afford to invest the time and energy necessary to develop sapience, in order to deal with failing resources more adaptively than by random circumstance; herbivores (or psychologically: grazing lifeforms that consumed sessile creatures, these typically being plant, fungus, mold, etc.) sometimes had to develop sophonce in order to avoid predation, or more often sapience in order to ensure sufficient plant or fungal production; obligate carnivores (or more properly: hunting lifeforms that preyed upon mobile creatures, not necessarily restricting prey to meat proteins as such) had to develop sapience and some degree of sophonce for group coordination; omnivores... they simply took whatever was handy, often even settling for carrion if nothing more convenient presented itself, and so only some limited degree of sentience at all was typically ever needed. These Deathworlders had apparently decided that everything was food, especially things that weren't, and developed strategies to cover every scenario and approach.
The fang-beast, Yeller, followed him everywhere, as if expecting a share in the food. It – he – wasn't disappointed, receiving an equal portion when dinner was finally served.
“Hey there, Paws!” the Deathworlder called suddenly, his eyes shifting to something behind zer.
Ze turned zer head to see some new furry thing slink along the porch railing, smaller than Yeller, the confident swagger of an alpha predator evident in its every move.
How many of these guardian-species does he command? Does he intend to invade a neighbor's lands, or do they all keep such an army at hand as vassals?
Stretching and yawning, the beast on the railing exposed murderous claws, actually shredding the hardened wood with ease, before leveling its stare on zer. Ze could feel it assessing zer every weakness, weighing and measuring zer and finding zer wanting before dismissing zer as irrelevant.
Closing on the Deathworlder, it butted its head against his arm.
The Deathworlder casually rubbed his hand over the claw-beast a few times, slapping its hind quarters gently, and handed it a few tidbits as if feeding a small child. He even made small crooning noises and nonsense words at the claw-beast while doing so.
Leaping down, the claw-beast approached zer.
Ze stayed still, far from calm, but leery of injudicious movement.
Sniffing to see if ze were worth eating, it decided against this, and hopped into zer lap only to curl up in a proprietary fashion and use zer as a cushion, a continuous growl warning zer not to move.
The Deathworlder smiled and nodded as he returned his attention to the food, now nearly done being burned. “Well, you got her approval, and that's enough for me. You're officially good people.”
So then: the claw-beast – Paws – is his assessor, or perhaps empathic analyst? Some sort of intelligence agent, at any rate. How did it – she – communicate her findings to him, or even reach them so swiftly?
The conversation eventually turned to the skins and guns on his walls... and zer disbelief that the country was currently at peace.
“Well,” he amended, “sure, there's a little nuke-worry, but...”
“Nuke?”
“Yeah, y'know, nuclear bombs. Heavy metals that explode when you put too much of 'em in one spot. But we haven't dropped any for decades–”
Decades?
“I mean, there were a couple in the war, but–”
“A couple?!?
“Well, them and a few thousand tests.”
Thousands – on your own world?!?
Ze realized zer mistake too late, and could only hope that this might go unnoticed.
“Tell ya what. We got no wars right now, no more'n usual I mean, not like that. Relax and watch the fireflies.”
Flying things made of fire*?* ze almost asked, only barely managing to hold back the thought.
It wasn't long until he mentioned that there were “only ” black bears around the area – “Just how it is, ever since I've been here,” he explained, glancing at his rifle, “but you still gotta be a little careful.”
Zer reaction evident, he went on with a small smile, “Well, at least it ain't like we gotta worry about 'raptors or nothing.”
“Raptors?” ze asked. Zer one-word replies were bothering zer, but his outlandish statements were playing hell with zer equanimity.
The topic then turned to mass extinction events as he explained about dinosaurs, ammonites, and the great oxygen catastrophe.
This was zer last complete thought, as ze soon found zerself hypnotized by strange glowing lights winking in and out in the darkness; at first only a handful had appeared, and zer mind had wandered lazily over the distinct possibility of deep-atmosphere nocturnal predators luring the unwary into their maws with body parts presented as tempting glowing morsels, but soon had become captivated by their flickerings. Zer fears were assuaged when the Deathworlder had brazenly captured one of the monstrosities and let it crawl along his skin. He laughed good naturedly as he explained to zer that they didn't spit acids or anything – which only set zer on edge again, reminded that this was even a possibility at all, much less a truth in fact of this particular deathworld, something to be blithely mentioned in passing.
Ze was still pondering this as ze noticed absentmindedly that zer Deathworlder had taken out some paper and was rolling it around what appeared to be dry leaves.
He looked over to zer, smiled, and said “It's just some tobacco, nothing else. Well... maybe just a little something else, but only enough for a light buzz,” then winked as he placed the tube into his mouth, lighting the far end of it on fire through the use of a small object that emitted flammable gas – He keeps that in his pocket?!? – and inhaled the sweet-scented smoke.
Of course. Why not? This is a deathworld, after all.
Billie's head was already spinning before he had taken three further drags, but ze was acclimating to zer Deathworlder's bizarre behavior, zer chemistry adjusting slowly to this torrential assault, and so ze found zerself surrounded by a warm bubble of pleasant feelings as ze simply watched the small plumes escape from his lips. Passing the tube to zer, he rolled a few more, and in short order ze found zerself coughing inexpertly, the thought failing to cross zer mind that this was utterly inexplicable behavior on zer part, even accounting for partaking of local ceremonies. The chemical cocktail set zer nerve clusters and neural net abuzz while simultaneously dulling zer senses and lulling zer reactions.
And they do this to relax?
As the evening progressed, he talked away – not monopolizing the conversation, just filling the silence companionably at moments without pressing zer for details of zer own life. He brought out a large pot of “coffee” soon enough, which set zer mind racing even while he passed zer another hand-rolled tube, the smoke continuing to let zer thoughts drift from one fleeting but crystal-sharp observation to the next. Ze noted to zerself, as ze relaxed more and floated calmly in place, that ze'd need a complete assay of their genome and everything that they consumed variously if ze were to even hope for a sub-psychological profile of this insane species.
Avery glanced over, making sure that his guest was alright.
She seems a bit more settled in now. Amazing what a little food can do for you, sometimes.
Poor girl was all frazzled before, but she has a nice personality.
Not bad looking, either.
Not one bit at all.
The moon now high in the sky – a ridiculously large thing, as improbable as everything else about this planet, fully one quarter the radius of its primary – the Deathworlder decided that it was at last bedtime. He showed zer to his bedroom, saying that ze could sleep there and that he would take the couch for the night.
Before adjourning entirely, he pointed out the en suite. A ceramic chair filled with water, a ceremonial monopodal bowl, and a curtained-off closet that one must step into. That last was clearly for bodily functions – waste elimination – given the privacy of the curtain. The chair might be meant for cleansing hands and face, or awkwardly washing themselves in general. The bowl was a mystery, though its handles indicated some functionality.
Ze nodded to him as he left the room, leaving zer to zer own thoughts as ze nestled into surprisingly comfortable, albeit primitive, bedding. No insects bothered zer, the materials were soft and welcoming... but ze soon found zerself responding to the musks permeating the whole, zer body beginning to respond as if a mating cycle had been agreed upon. Ze fell asleep to strange visions, wondering how these Deathworlders exchanged genetic reference material, and what zer little Deathworlder in particular thought of such things...

O ~~~ O

***

I didn't want to take up too much space here (and this is currently awaiting approval-to-post at HumansAreSpaceOrcs), but the rest of the story can be found at https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063373/chapters/66076930

UPDATE / EDIT: Chapter 2 (same material as at the above URL) is now posted here to HFY "The Space Orcs are homing, ch. 2: "Turning and returning"".
Tune in next week for the next short story in the series, "Heart of the GNACHO" (and yes, there's more coming after that).

= = = = =

FOOTNOTES

1 Pre-squark: Most of the physics names and terms in this story can be looked up easily and explained in far better detail than a footnote might hope to do, but this one is my own invention, and so requires some explanation since you won't be able to get it anywhere else.
TL;DR: picture entangled quantum dot pairs spread out into a diffuse wax-like haze and applied to the flying saucer as a non-gravitational event horizon membrane (cf.: membrane paradigm), and then replace these metaphorical standard dots with a pre-squark QGP (we'll say techniboson-superconducting, just for fun). As for the pre-squarks themselves, therein lies the story: take SuSy Models' squarks and Preon Models' pre-quarks, and connect the dots (only somewhat metaphorically in this case).
I'm estimating this surface at maybe a mid- to high-Type II tech. It's a pretty specific application, and unlikely to be used outside of recon situations.
Calling it “invisibility wax” is a nod to story in Analog (I think, but possibly Omni or Amazing Stories) magazine decades ago (I read it in the '80s, but the issue could well have been from the '40s).

2 Thistle: I haven't gone hiking in what feels like forever, but I like food, and I like being ready for emergencies; put these together and you have edible plant identification. For those interested in eating the weeds of your back yard or local park, please peruse my survival playlist (of other people's videos) and food preservation playlist below (with suffix added so that you can import them to your own channel with ease)
▐► https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzdQ9vN7FdPZjyGGlpnZzCvvsOH0-tlgA&disable_polymer=true
▐► https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzdQ9vN7FdPYz26kyxUPj67UsJSq-RDwp&disable_polymer=true

3 Sophonce: Bear in mind that in the Icewall meta-setting, sapient, sentient, and sophont are distinct terms, following much the same path as described at the Orion's Arm website, with a key deviation regarding sophonce.
Sapient = problem solving, like a calculator or a slime mold.
Sentient = self-aware, knowing that one exists – that there is an “I” in the mirror, observing one's own thoughts.
Sophont = other-aware, feeling for others' plights and suffering (empathy in modeling “other”, not empathy of inductive signals).
submitted by Rockafellor to HFY [link] [comments]


2020.10.22 22:10 Rockafellor The Space Orcs are coming, hooray, hooray!

Billie Badass is from one of the galaxy's most dangerous and hearty species – a Genomorph (a [fully] hermaphroditic species halfway between Futurama's Gelatinous Blobs and Red Dwarf's Pleasure GELFs; not precisely an ST:DS9 Changeling, but similar enough) – though not suicidally stupid enough to go near Humans... until one fateful trip. Now cast away, ze learns from a local – Avery, a Deathworlder – adapts, overcomes, and survives.

***

Chapter 1: Welcoming party

Deathworld
The ship crashed on private property, deep within Arkansas. It wasn't picked up by the airport or the airbase due to its “invisibility wax” – a membrane of entangled pre-squarks1, but that wouldn't take care of everything.
Fuck! ” the Deathworlder said, some long and primitive metal weapon lowered by its side.
That one word said it all.
The crash, the mess, first contact; the terror.
Its scent drove itself into zer awareness. It emitted a cloud of chemicals, each alone establishing it as dominant and calmly sure of its preeminence.
Billie's body was still bipedal from zer most recent cultural immersion, with reflective symmetry and centralized processing, and so of broadly similar form to that of the Deathworlder, hence likely to trigger proportionately less fight or flight response. Non-programmed data acquisition had left Genomorphs one of the galaxy's naturally dominant species, but the galaxy wasn't full of mental stimulation to the point of any given deathworld. That was the point, too: it was civilized, at least mostly. Billie was a xenologist, but they weren't going to risk a naval wing just to come in and try to save zer.
First problem: strongly oxidizing atmosphere, somewhat alkaline water planet, hints of ozone even this deep down in their sludge of gasses, radiation coming in from both directions... Ze should be able to adjust to it – nominally – soon enough; zer system had been exposed to such environments before, so it was only a matter of time. If the Deathworlder let zer live that long. There were hair-raising tales about these things, though nobody knew enough about them to be sure of anything; that was why ze was here, after all.
It reached out at zer.
This was it. Ze was dead already, no time to so much as scratch the surface... well, no, ze'd certainly managed that much, at least.
Then it was on zer.
Ze was lifted bodily and hurled... gently into its arms as if ze weighed nothing at all.
In only a few strides, it had carried zer to the edge of the pond and set zer down.
Ahh, more of a chasing instinct, of course. Something to work up its appetite and my adrenaline.
“Are you alright, ma'am?” it asked, its hulking body leaning down and peering at zer as it pawed away, removing bits of brush.
Ze blinked. It hadn't registered on zer before, but it could talk. In fact, it spoke Audible Galactic Common reasonably well – or un-reasonably well, all things considered.
“I'm Avery,” it said, removing its protective head gear for a moment, revealing some longer fur that matched the fur around the fringes of its face, “AY-vuh-Ree,” then stabbing itself in the chest a few times.
“I was feeding the ducks whenever your... passenger drone or whatever smacked into the pond. Can I call someone for you?”
Ducks? Drones? What is it babbling about?
“I'll tell you what. Let's you and me go back to my place – no funny business, I swear – and we'll get you all cleaned up and looked at. Then we can worry about what next.”
Though nervous at this, ze didn't put up one whit of resistance: small yellow things were closing around them menacingly, quacking and snapping their bills as if to devour them whole. Normally a ridiculous notion, given their size, but this was a deathworld after all...
Suddenly, the stiff brown plants to the left parted and a shaggy beast came rushing out, jaws wide and fangs flashing.
“Yeller! Heel! Down, boy!”
Amazingly, the fang-beast ceased its charge and settled down, slabs of muscle rippling as it leaped all around them, for all the world as if frolicking with mates.
“You're lucky there weren't no water moccasins in there, though I guess the splash probably startled them all away,” the Deathworlder went on as they continued to walk, Billie never taking zer eyes off of the fang-beast trotting along nearby.
Glancing suddenly to zer right, ze saw a small furry thing scuttle down a tree to chitter at them, staring at them with beady eyes, tiny teeth bared for all to see the threat in its noises. Ze drew closer to the Deathworlder.
Moments later, a small motion caught zer eye along the path ahead of them. Something tawny, not much larger than the Deathworlder's fang-beast. It watched them, its head full of pointed branches of bare bone menacing them even at this remove. The Deathworlder stood still, raising its weapon toward its shoulder, then lowering it again as the bone-monster darted off and fled. The fang-beast came trotting back from somewhere; ze'd lost track of it in that brief span, but apparently it had been operating in tandem with the Deathworlder. This bestial thing – Yeller – saw it as a superior, performing flanking movements in unspoken communication!
“Dang it.”
It wasn't long before the Deathworlder pointed to the side, saying “Watch for that there poison ivy,” as it detoured slightly toward the other side of the path. Ze saw nothing but some underbrush and a vine climbing a tree, but took its warning to heart in any case.
“Mostly isn't much around here, most of the time, but you're not near much else here anyway. Mostly you just gotta keep your eyes out for hawks... and feral dogs... and snakes... and briar patches... and skunks... and maybe cougars... not a lot of home invaders in these parts. Wait, gotta get some of this here thistle2;” it calmly wrapped a hand around the prickly plant, showing not the slightest concern nor sign of debilitating pain from what must surely be devastating wounds, “good eatin'. Now, I know you don't go picking mushrooms without double-checking – that whole kingdom is iffy,” it smiled as it plucked some red-topped fungi covered in little white dots, “but you just have to learn how to pick your poisons,” it finished with a wink.
“You eat toxic fungi intentionally ?!?” ze asked, the question blurting itself out before ze could think.
“So, you do talk!” it teased, “But as for magic mushrooms... well, only sometimes, and just for some fun on the weekend; besides, half the plants we eat are toxic anyway, you just gotta find the right balance is all.”
Shock ran through zer to a cellular colony level.
It's true. It's all true. Everything that they'd ever said of these Deathworlders, and more!
“Cookie?”
It was holding out just that: a small pastry-thing, seemingly.
Ze thought to ask what was in it, then realized that the local food words would be meaningless. Ze took a cautious nibble. It didn't bite zer, which ze half-expected even of inanimate foods here, but ze waited to observe further reactions to its chemistry over time, rather than gobble it down blindly. Ze didn't have the food-o-mat at hand, but ze also didn't have the autodoc up and running either, and this was a deathworld, after all.
It was then that ze noticed the Deathworlder still watching zer, its eyes absently traveling zer body as if sizing zer up for a roasting spit.
“Sorry, wasn't thinking!” it said hastily, its face growing red.
Chromatophoric communication, ze was sure of it, some sort of danger or challenge signal. Perhaps I should make myself look big? No, utterly preposterous unless I hope to distract it with laughter until it dies of exhaustion or hunger. Do they even laugh? Small and weak might not work well either though, and it already outpaces me easily, and its lung capacity does seem to argue no little stamina were we to compete so. So: neither fight nor flight, and I certainly have no interest in being food.
Having eliminated three of the five “F”s, ze stared at zer only remaining options: friend or fuck.
Fuck is obviously not on the menu – there's simply no chance that I'd be of any reproductive interest to it whatsoever. That leaves only ' friend*,' if Deathworlders even hold that concept. Maybe I could feed it, and hope to register as non-enemy, at least.*
Absentmindedly, ze finished zer cookie and accepted another as ze continued to weigh zer hazily forming plan. Something in the cookie found zer steps pick up again rapidly. Zer entire system soon felt energized as they zipped along again. What had the Deathworlder put into this “snack?” Were they all drug-fueled addicts? Was ze too, now?
“Umm... so, you got a name?” it asked.
“Billie” ze replied.
“Nice name, Billie. Pleased to meet'cha.”
Ze wasn't sure where it was heading with this, and so settled for a neutral shrug.
It seemed to accept zer attempt as being friendly enough, smiling. Its teeth argued hostile intention, but it made no move to devour zer, so ze simply opted to glance downward rather than risk challenging it with sustained eye contact.
“The flytraps don't get bigger than a small frog or so, around here,” it said after a dozen paces more.
Zer eyes darted hastily around as ze hunched inward a little, hoping not to walk into any flying traps inadvertently. Why would these Deathworlders litter the region with traps intentionally? Unless the traps were only a game to play on zer mind, or a basic training mechanism for their young – the ones that survived said traps, at any rate...
It slowed its pace.
“Not up in the air – look,” it continued, crouching by some low-lying foliage, “these little guys down here.”
Ze stared in fascination. A patch of greenery showed open mouths, a garish puce in most cases, their finger-like tendrils splayed outward. Some few were closed, giving no hint as to why.
Then ze learned their nature.
A large insect landed along the edge of a mouth, crawling around at random. Searching for something, it stepped on one of the tendrils, then away. Stepping on another a moment later, the mouth snapped shut around it in an instant, quivering against the insect's futile struggles.
Even their sessile plant life is focused on hunting and killing.
“Do you have many of these?” ze asked, fearing the likely answer.
“Well, these and sundews, and some butterwort – they use a sticky glue to catch dinner, and mostly live down by the pond. I haven't seen any pitcher plants around – they wait for things to fall in and drown in digestive juices and stuff – but I wouldn't be surprised. Same with lobster pots: the genlisea just lets 'em crawl in, and they can't get out, so they crawl farther along, and then they're in its stomach. Won't see them around here neither, though I'd like to. There are definitely some bladderworts around though, but they live in the water and just suck things right into their sacs.”
Ze listened to this litany of blood lust, almost glazing over as ze imagined these plants coming for zer, or accidentally walking into one of the larger ones unawares.
Ze watched all of the plants around closely, avoiding everything large enough to constitute a potential threat, hoping that none might lunge for zer – or strike at a distance with lashing whips or toxic darts, or tangle zer feet and drag zer to zer doom, or puff mind-numbing agents into zer face, or shower zer with a digestive rain – the need for safe shelter weighing down on zer increasingly as they forged onward.
“How much farther?” ze asked, feeling as if ze were about to collapse between physical exhaustion and nervous tension.
Are we there yet? ” it laughed in a sing-song voice, “Oh, no time at all. We're about halfway home, now!”
Ze faltered. Halfway? They'd already trekked farther than most of the more persistent species might undertake for a day's walk!
The weather was unpredictable – hot, cold, wet, dry, blustery – but held off in its fury until they'd made their way to his home, doing no more than drizzling on them lightly and sporadically until then, and making the way somewhat slippery and unsure of foot, everything just wet enough to be made a nuisance. Avery shrugged it off, saying that at least there were no funnel clouds or hail, and the bulk of nearby pollution was downwind, so no worry of acid rain, probably just some lightning. These thoughts churned in zer mind and gut as they approached its cabin, its last comment coming with a just such a stroke as it opened the door and motioned for zer to enter, which ze did with great relief. Zer eyes already wide, it showed zer one its prizes: a gnarled and twisted, branching mass that it called “fulgurite,” going on to explain the formation as being sand that had been blasted with gigawatts of electricity, and mentioning a few of its other pieces of meteorites and basalt as it fussed around in the kitchen.
Then there was lunch.
Sitting with the Deathworlder, ze looked over what it offered for food. Irradiated “timber rattlesnake” tenders (“They're cut plenty far back from the venom sacs, don't you worry.” – It devours venomous things that seek to devour it? ) and stir fried “ 'gator” tail steak strips (“Gotta cook 'em well done, sorry about that – they're crawling with parasites, otherwise.” – As if to say that it might normally prefer its meat raw and bloody...) swimming in “butter” and “garlic” with a dash of “hot sauce,” and a beverage of diabetically sweetened carbonic acid with cyanide fruit flavoring that it called “cherry cola”; dessert was “mint ice cream.”
Ze managed to consume all that was given to zer, including second helpings, even though zer tongue had screamed from the capsaicin and mesquite, burning as if having been filled with molten lead (ze'd watched the Deathworlder intentionally burn wood simply to flavor the food and caramelize the proteins, thus intentionally introducing mutagenic heterocyclic amines and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, along with acrylamide and a host of other byproducts!). Dessert came first as a welcome relief, zer tongue now soothed for a moment, before it continued its plunge into a frozen escape orbit.
“Wait'll you sit on krazy glue some time,” Avery laughed gently as it watched zer mild panic, “you can actually feel orange as a sensation!”
So, not simply color vision – though apparently lacking polarization to any great degree, and limited to only three opsins – but synesthetes even? How much more do these Deathworlders carry in their arsenal that we are as yet unaware of?
The storm dropped in its intensity, the rain now taking a cold edge, threatening to become daggers of ice as they sat on the porch and basked in the warmth of full bellies with sandwiches to soak up the ample juices leftover from dinner.
Avery stepped inside for a moment, coming back out with huge, steaming mugs of hot chocolate, grating fresh cinnamon onto each as they sat to watch the weather as entertainment. Zer system began to buzz as the drink's toxins worked their way through zer.
“We'll go back tomorrow after the mosquitoes settle down, then haul your ship – umm, I mean your passenger drone – out with the truck,” it said as ze watched everything jitter, zer hearing coming and going to an extent, and zer nerves jangling, “before any sinkholes swallow it up.”
Even the Deathworlders' home vehicles are monsters, ze thought muzzily.
“Mosquitoes?”
It smiled, nodding its head as if realizing that it should have explained its cryptic remark.
“Little things you can barely see, but they suck your blood and it's a real pain in the ass.”
Ze drew zer chair's blankets more tightly around zer hips and thighs as it went about the porch lighting candles, explaining that they were “citronella” to ward off the blood suckers.
That was when ze noticed the strange markings on the Deathworlder, patterns of ink in its very skin, and objects that appeared to puncture its ear. Shuddering, ze decided not to inquire.
Dinner was another array of different meats, along with fruit, vegetables, mushrooms, and tubers set over fire. The smoke was intense, zer eyes watering, the air almost too thick for zer body's configuration to handle the gas exchanges, but ze pressed on, stalwart in zer commitment.
“I know, I know. Typical man. But out here, it's not just us guys who have a carnivorous streak, y'know, and who doesn't love a barbecue?” it joked. The humor was clear in its – his, ze thought to zerself – voice, but humor that still seemed to share space with his subtext. An intimation that “it” was male.
Well. At least that establishes that, without risking any forbidden conversational territory.
The lumps of meat weren't simple insects or similar such either, as might be expected of those few carnivorous species that had risen to sophont3 – or at least sentient – levels. Unlike the bite-sized pieces that they'd had for lunch, these were whole portions of larger creatures, entire body parts and organs. Perplexingly, the plant and fungal matter present for their encore appearance certainly credited an omnivorous capability, which was the rarest of all survival strategies for galactic sophonts. Autotrophs could afford to invest the time and energy necessary to develop sapience, in order to deal with failing resources more adaptively than by random circumstance; herbivores (or psychologically: grazing lifeforms that consumed sessile creatures, these typically being plant, fungus, mold, etc.) sometimes had to develop sophonce in order to avoid predation, or more often sapience in order to ensure sufficient plant or fungal production; obligate carnivores (or more properly: hunting lifeforms that preyed upon mobile creatures, not necessarily restricting prey to meat proteins as such) had to develop sapience and some degree of sophonce for group coordination; omnivores... they simply took whatever was handy, often even settling for carrion if nothing more convenient presented itself, and so only some limited degree of sentience at all was typically ever needed. These Deathworlders had apparently decided that everything was food, especially things that weren't, and developed strategies to cover every scenario and approach.
The fang-beast, Yeller, followed him everywhere, as if expecting a share in the food. It – he – wasn't disappointed, receiving an equal portion when dinner was finally served.
“Hey there, Paws!” the Deathworlder called suddenly, his eyes shifting to something behind zer.
Ze turned zer head to see some new furry thing slink along the porch railing, smaller than Yeller, the confident swagger of an alpha predator evident in its every move.
How many of these guardian-species does he command? Does he intend to invade a neighbor's lands, or do they all keep such an army at hand as vassals?
Stretching and yawning, the beast on the railing exposed murderous claws, actually shredding the hardened wood with ease, before leveling its stare on zer. Ze could feel it assessing zer every weakness, weighing and measuring zer and finding zer wanting before dismissing zer as irrelevant.
Closing on the Deathworlder, it butted its head against his arm.
The Deathworlder casually rubbed his hand over the claw-beast a few times, slapping its hind quarters gently, and handed it a few tidbits as if feeding a small child. He even made small crooning noises and nonsense words at the claw-beast while doing so.
Leaping down, the claw-beast approached zer.
Ze stayed still, far from calm, but leery of injudicious movement.
Sniffing to see if ze were worth eating, it decided against this, and hopped into zer lap only to curl up in a proprietary fashion and use zer as a cushion, a continuous growl warning zer not to move.
The Deathworlder smiled and nodded as he returned his attention to the food, now nearly done being burned. “Well, you got her approval, and that's enough for me. You're officially good people.”
So then: the claw-beast – Paws – is his assessor, or perhaps empathic analyst? Some sort of intelligence agent, at any rate. How did it – she – communicate her findings to him, or even reach them so swiftly?
The conversation eventually turned to the skins and guns on his walls... and zer disbelief that the country was currently at peace.
“Well,” he amended, “sure, there's a little nuke-worry, but...”
“Nuke?”
“Yeah, y'know, nuclear bombs. Heavy metals that explode when you put too much of 'em in one spot. But we haven't dropped any for decades–”
Decades?
“I mean, there were a couple in the war, but–”
“A couple?!?
“Well, them and a few thousand tests.”
Thousands – on your own world?!?
Ze realized zer mistake too late, and could only hope that this might go unnoticed.
“Tell ya what. We got no wars right now, no more'n usual I mean, not like that. Relax and watch the fireflies.”
Flying things made of fire*?* ze almost asked, only barely managing to hold back the thought.
It wasn't long until he mentioned that there were “only ” black bears around the area – “Just how it is, ever since I've been here,” he explained, glancing at his rifle, “but you still gotta be a little careful.”
Zer reaction evident, he went on with a small smile, “Well, at least it ain't like we gotta worry about 'raptors or nothing.”
“Raptors?” ze asked. Zer one-word replies were bothering zer, but his outlandish statements were playing hell with zer equanimity.
The topic then turned to mass extinction events as he explained about dinosaurs, ammonites, and the great oxygen catastrophe.
This was zer last complete thought, as ze soon found zerself hypnotized by strange glowing lights winking in and out in the darkness; at first only a handful had appeared, and zer mind had wandered lazily over the distinct possibility of deep-atmosphere nocturnal predators luring the unwary into their maws with body parts presented as tempting glowing morsels, but soon had become captivated by their flickerings. Zer fears were assuaged when the Deathworlder had brazenly captured one of the monstrosities and let it crawl along his skin. He laughed good naturedly as he explained to zer that they didn't spit acids or anything – which only set zer on edge again, reminded that this was even a possibility at all, much less a truth in fact of this particular deathworld, something to be blithely mentioned in passing.
Ze was still pondering this as ze noticed absentmindedly that zer Deathworlder had taken out some paper and was rolling it around what appeared to be dry leaves.
He looked over to zer, smiled, and said “It's just some tobacco, nothing else. Well... maybe just a little something else, but only enough for a light buzz,” then winked as he placed the tube into his mouth, lighting the far end of it on fire through the use of a small object that emitted flammable gas – He keeps that in his pocket?!? – and inhaled the sweet-scented smoke.
Of course. Why not? This is a deathworld, after all.
Billie's head was already spinning before he had taken three further drags, but ze was acclimating to zer Deathworlder's bizarre behavior, zer chemistry adjusting slowly to this torrential assault, and so ze found zerself surrounded by a warm bubble of pleasant feelings as ze simply watched the small plumes escape from his lips. Passing the tube to zer, he rolled a few more, and in short order ze found zerself coughing inexpertly, the thought failing to cross zer mind that this was utterly inexplicable behavior on zer part, even accounting for partaking of local ceremonies. The chemical cocktail set zer nerve clusters and neural net abuzz while simultaneously dulling zer senses and lulling zer reactions.
And they do this to relax?
As the evening progressed, he talked away – not monopolizing the conversation, just filling the silence companionably at moments without pressing zer for details of zer own life. He brought out a large pot of “coffee” soon enough, which set zer mind racing even while he passed zer another hand-rolled tube, the smoke continuing to let zer thoughts drift from one fleeting but crystal-sharp observation to the next. Ze noted to zerself, as ze relaxed more and floated calmly in place, that ze'd need a complete assay of their genome and everything that they consumed variously if ze were to even hope for a sub-psychological profile of this insane species.
Avery glanced over, making sure that his guest was alright.
She seems a bit more settled in now. Amazing what a little food can do for you, sometimes.
Poor girl was all frazzled before, but she has a nice personality.
Not bad looking, either.
Not one bit at all.
The moon now high in the sky – a ridiculously large thing, as improbable as everything else about this planet, fully one quarter the radius of its primary – the Deathworlder decided that it was at last bedtime. He showed zer to his bedroom, saying that ze could sleep there and that he would take the couch for the night.
Before adjourning entirely, he pointed out the en suite. A ceramic chair filled with water, a ceremonial monopodal bowl, and a curtained-off closet that one must step into. That last was clearly for bodily functions – waste elimination – given the privacy of the curtain. The chair might be meant for cleansing hands and face, or awkwardly washing themselves in general. The bowl was a mystery, though its handles indicated some functionality.
Ze nodded to him as he left the room, leaving zer to zer own thoughts as ze nestled into surprisingly comfortable, albeit primitive, bedding. No insects bothered zer, the materials were soft and welcoming... but ze soon found zerself responding to the musks permeating the whole, zer body beginning to respond as if a mating cycle had been agreed upon. Ze fell asleep to strange visions, wondering how these Deathworlders exchanged genetic reference material, and what zer little Deathworlder in particular thought of such things...

O ~~~ O

***

I didn't want to take up too much space here (and this is currently awaiting approval-to-post at HumansAreSpaceOrcs), but the rest of the story can be found at https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063373/chapters/66076930

= = = = =

FOOTNOTES

1 Pre-squark: Most of the physics names and terms in this story can be looked up easily and explained in far better detail than a footnote might hope to do, but this one is my own invention, and so requires some explanation since you won't be able to get it anywhere else.
TL;DR: picture entangled quantum dot pairs spread out into a diffuse wax-like haze and applied to the flying saucer as a non-gravitational event horizon membrane (cf.: membrane paradigm), and then replace these metaphorical standard dots with a pre-squark QGP (we'll say techniboson-superconducting, just for fun). As for the pre-squarks themselves, therein lies the story: take SuSy Models' squarks and Preon Models' pre-quarks, and connect the dots (only somewhat metaphorically in this case).
I'm estimating this surface at maybe a mid- to high-Type II tech. It's a pretty specific application, and unlikely to be used outside of recon situations.
Calling it “invisibility wax” is a nod to story in Analog (I think, but possibly Omni or Amazing Stories) magazine decades ago (I read it in the '80s, but the issue could well have been from the '40s).

2 Thistle: I haven't gone hiking in what feels like forever, but I like food, and I like being ready for emergencies; put these together and you have edible plant identification. For those interested in eating the weeds of your back yard or local park, please peruse my survival playlist (of other people's videos) and food preservation playlist below (with suffix added so that you can import them to your own channel with ease)
▐► https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzdQ9vN7FdPZjyGGlpnZzCvvsOH0-tlgA&disable_polymer=true
▐► https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzdQ9vN7FdPYz26kyxUPj67UsJSq-RDwp&disable_polymer=true

3 Sophonce: Bear in mind that in the Icewall meta-setting, sapient, sentient, and sophont are distinct terms, following much the same path as described at the Orion's Arm website, with a key deviation regarding sophonce.
Sapient = problem solving, like a calculator or a slime mold.
Sentient = self-aware, knowing that one exists – that there is an “I” in the mirror, observing one's own thoughts.
Sophont = other-aware, feeling for others' plights and suffering (empathy in modeling “other”, not empathy of inductive signals).
submitted by Rockafellor to humansarespaceorcs [link] [comments]


2020.10.20 01:36 Green_Leader_Edd Part 5.

I looked around me. The land was flat and absolutely covered in a thick layer of randomly coloured flowers. Some smelled like vanilla. Others like coffee. Some like chocolate. A bunch like a Christmas tree. It was wonderful. I just aimlessly wandered in the feild of endless flowers. "Its nice here, isn't it? An escape from the horrors of the real world." Someone said. I looked around a whole bunch but couldn't find him. It was definitely a guy though. "No wars. No injuries. No assholes. No monsters. Just a blue sky and flowers. Its a good place to collect your thoughts, or to just relax from whatever the world has thrown at you." He sounded as if he was daydreaming from within a dream. I turned around again and saw him. He was just laying there, about 10 feet away and looking at a blue flower. He had a soft smile. His hair was a dark brown and I could barely consider it short. It looked really fluffy, and a lot of it was falling in his face. He had a bright blue shirt with some random markings all over it, Similar to how Jasons coat was. And speaking of coats, He had a black trench coat. He also had black jeans and dark gray sneakers. I chose to ignore the gun clipped to his belt. He looked up at me and I could see that his eyes were about the same colour as his shirt. "I'm not sure how you got here but hey, You're always welcome back." He said. I'm pretty sure that he was expecting me to say something. I didn't know what to say. "Well, Anyway.. Judging by the fact you have wings, You go to Camp Dreamscape, don't you?" He put the flower down. I figured that since this was a dream, he couldn't really hurt me. "Well.. y- yeah.. Horse cabin." "Nice.. ah, The Horse cabin. Full of amazing people, Even if Roman was a bit crazy. Say, Is she still like that? Also, I suppose you've met Ila, Do you think you could say 'Hey' to her for me?" He smiled a bit more. "How do you know... whatever. Yeah, I'm gonna guess that Roman hasn't changed much. And sure I can say 'Hey' to Ila for you." I said. Couldn't hurt.
I blinked open my eyes, Feeling refreshed. I rolled over and looked at the bunk bed across from me. Roman wasn't there at the moment but of course Ila was. I figured I probably should deliver Mr. Mystery Trench Coat Boys message before I forgot to. "Hey Ila.." I tried to get her attention. "mm?" That was fast. "Some dude from my dream wanted to say hi." I shrugged. "What..? Who?" She seemed pretty confused and honestly, I can't blame her. If I was told that some guy from a dream wanted to say hi to me, I'd be pretty confused and concerned. I explained the dream to her. She seemed to understand. "Don't worry about all that. Its complicated and confusing" she shrugged. "Anyhow, I guess it's time to start the day now, eh? Some campers made you another set of clothes and I'm getting them to make more for our quest. Its over on the chair. Welp, I'm gonna go annoy some some people in the main room. Come get me whenever you're ready to have a bit of a planning conversation." She got up and disappeared out the door.
I stretched and dragged myself off to the showers then realized I forgot the new clothing. I stumbled back and grabbed them before returning to the showers. I walked into a random stall and shut the door. I dried off (and struggled with the wings. Ugh) and looked at my new clothing. You know Patton from Sanders Sides? Thas what I looked like once my new clothing was on. I walked out of the showers to locate Ila, which wasn't hard because she's a certified tall-ass. I also realized she was doing a Jeremy Heere cosplay. Interesting. "Hey tall-ass!" I laughed. "Ah, gotta go guys." Ila walked over to me and put a arm around me. We walked out the door and not too far from the cabins before she let go. "Ready to head out?" She asked, Stretching her wings. I unfolded mine and nodded. We went to roughly the same spot as our training area from that one time. We glided down and sat on the ground.
"So.. I assume you have some ideas." I started. "Slightly. My current idea is us heading out day after tomorrow to hunt down JD and his friend.. who happens to be linked with the Bronze Alpha. Then we'll train and plan with them. Chances are, Neither of them have done much since I left them. And they're actually smart. Usually." She explained. I nodded "Where are they at?" "Toronto. Canada, If you don't know. It shouldn't be hard to get there. It'll be a bit to get there, But it shouldn't be too hard to find them once we get to Toronto. Two plane trips. Only one if we're lucky." She shrugged. "Do you have any ideas how we're going to drag them with us?" I asked. "Enough annoying them and we'll get them. It'll take a lot of discussion and convincing, But I'm going to try to give this thing.." She motioned aggressively to the silver gear "..back to JD." I nodded in agreement. She seemed bothered by the expectations set for her because having it. I didn't argue with that. "So.. You said day after tomorrow. What are we going to do tomorrow?" I asked. "Well, Basically, The camp is going to be attacked while we're gone so that our enemies can wipe out the only thing that'll stop them from destroying everything in existence. So, we're going to warn everybody and help them prepare a bit. And the rest is going to be us preparing a bit to get to Toronto. Sound good?" She said this way too casually. "Yeah. Are we taking anyone with us from camp?" I looked off at the mountains barely visible on the horizon. "Probably not. It'll be too hard to explain this all to them and I don't want to put anyone else at risk." Ila swiped some of her hair out of her eye. "Not even Roman or Jack?" I felt bad leaving them behind. We hadn't talked to Jack in awhile but still. "Nobody." She stated. "A- alright.." I didn't want to cut them out of this, especially Roman, But I guess it's for the best. "So.. Who's the Bronze Alpha?" I had this thought for awhile but hadn't asked it. "You'll find out." She smirked. These people must really like keeping secrets from me. "Well, This was a short meeting and it probably seems a bit much to come this far out but.. if we're gonna discuss this, We gotta make sure nobody can hear us." Ila got up and stretched again. I hopped up and stretched my wings out. "Well, C'mon" Ila said as she launched herself in the air using her wings. I followed her back to the cabins. I had the feeling that someone else heard us.
"So, What's our next move?" I asked as we hovered in the air way above the cabins. "I guess we could order a gathering of all campers to alert them of the current events. I'll go find the campers that aren't in the cabins, You get the people in the cabins. Just tell them that there's an emergency meeting being held in front of the cabins and that it'll start soon." Ila said before heading off. I slid down on the ground and started with the Horse cabin, Which was on the far right. I knocked on the door and was greeted by- yep, you guessed it. Roman. "Hey Roman! Can you tell everyone that there's a meeting being held in front of the cabins and that it'll be starting soon, and that we need all of the campers there?" I requested. She responded with a "sure!" and I walked off to the next cabin, The Raven cabin. I knocked on the door and was greeted by the man I had only met once at the campfire, Finn. I gave him the same request. He nodded and I walked to the Lion cabin. Repeat. Bull cabin. Some campers had started gathering in a group in front of the cabins like asked to, Probably guessing why this was happening. Dog cabin. Repeat. Coyote cabin. My job was done. I stood around outside my own cabin and watched others trickle in from elsewhere. Ila dove in with way too much speed and crash landed, being sent about 5 feet from her destination. She groaned in pain a bit. I walked over to her and looked down at the idiot. She had scraped open part of her left leg and some of both of her arms. "I know what I'm doing, I swear. Lets wait a few minutes for everyone else." She groaned.
The minutes passed and everyone was there. Ila got up and dragged a table out from the Horse cabin. She put it basically between the Lion and Bull cabins then stood on it. She motioned for me to join. I hopped up and stood next to her while silently hoping she was going to do all the talking. "Campers of Camp Dreamscape!" She announced loudly to get everyones attention. Everyone stopped their conversations and turned to face her. "Yesterday, As you may remember, The skies had gotten dark and the air was chilled. It was a warning for what is to come. Day after tomorrow, at morning, Two of us will be leaving. Me, And our new friend Bee here. The reasonings and specifics are complicated and confusing, and I wish to not speak of it. In about 28 days, This camp that we call home will be attacked. To ensure survival, please spend the following days setting up defenses and training. Do not fool around. Do not take this lightly. Do not forget. Any questions?" Ila could be dominating and serious like Jason if she really tried. Her voice was pretty fitting for this. "How do you know the camp will be attacked?" A girl yelled to get her voice heard but seemed calm. "I will not explain my sources." Ila said. "Why are you and Bee of all people going instead of someone strong or smart? How was this chosen?" A male stepped forward slightly aggressively. "Why are you keeping things from us?" Someone else asked. The voices of these people were getting more aggressive. Ila looked mildly pissed. "How do we know it isn't you and Bee launching the attack?" A girl screamed. "Why are you being secretive?" Another guy yelled. "Why should we trust you at all?" Someone random screamed. "SILENCE." Ilas voice sounded a bit more male and I swear there were some silver computer-y markings on the ground for a second. Everything was silent. Everyone was silent. She relaxed a bit before saying "Whether you like it or not, I am right. I am not allowed to share how I know this knowledge. I will not share how me and Bee were chosen. Bee will not share either. Any other questions?" She sighed. Roman shuffled through the silent crowd and quietly asked "May I come..?" "I- I'm afraid not, Roman. I wish I could take you. But I don't want you to die. And the camp needs a smart, brave leader. Do you mind taking control of the camp during this?" Ila sounded sad. "I will not let you down." Roman stepped back into the crowd. "You all are dismissed." Ila nodded and stared off into space with a slightly sad face. I hopped off the table and headed back to the cabin without realizing Ila was following me. I headed back to our room and Ila headed to the showers.
I stared at the bottom of the upper bed and just thought about everything. These past few days had been the most crazy days of my entire life. First being thrown on a bus and being brought to an unknown camp. Realizing that the only adult here gives absolutely no shits about any of us. Joining the Horse cabin. Being taken on a tour then falling into the void. The dreams I'd been getting. Learning more about void magic. The training. The cave stuff. Everything else. It was so much, so fast. I had no idea how I had been able to process anything. I kept wondering why I was chosen to have one of the gears instead of Roman or someone. I wanted answers even though I knew I'd probably never get them. I then rolled over to grab a sketchbook. For some reason, I felt like I should draw the the guy from my dream last night. He was definitely important, but I didn't know why. I knew that Ila told me to not really worry about it but.. I couldn't NOT think about it. I kept trying to figure out what he meant by "I'm not sure how you got here but hey, you're always welcome back." He also sounded like he'd been in that flower feild many times before. I wasn't sure if I even wanted answers to these questions.
Ila walked in and closed the door quietly. She tiredly walked over to and just gave up on existing as she draped herself across the bed and my legs. "Hey." I greeted. She make a small noise to acknowledge me. "Got something on your mind..?" I asked. She shook her head. I didn't think that position was very comfortable or healthy. "Wanna do something fun while we still can?" I asked, trying to brighten the mood in the room. "Eh, Why not I suppose. Any ideas?" She dragged herself onto me. "Hmmm.. Not really. I was hoping you'd have an idea." I laughed awkwardly. "Hm. Well actually, I know a really pretty place nearby. We could just sit and chat I guess." She looked as if she had been crying while she was in the shower. "Sounds good." I helped her off the bed.
We went outside and then into the air. Ila looked around a bit then took the lead. We flew past our training spot and twords the mountains. It was pretty far away and this amount of flying was pretty tiring. Soon enough, We approached a smooth platform, There was a small wall of rocks at the front edge of it and twords the back, A random large rock sat in the middle, pointing towards the top of the mountain, which was still really far away. We touched down gracefully before just sitting on the platform, leaning against the pointing rock. I looked around at the view. It was pretty hard to see the camp. It just looked like a bunch of black spots. There was basically nothing on the horizon, just a line where the ground is. I looked at the sky, which was a pretty mix of pinks, purples and blues. The sun was setting to the left of us. I could faintly see stars. "Its beautiful here." I whispered. Ila nodded. She was staring off at the sky. I noticed that at some point, She had swapped out her contacts for glasses.
"Theres definitely something bothering you." I stated as I looked at her. She just sighed. "Come on. You can tell me anything. I won't judge." I didn't want to pressure her to share if she didn't want to, but I had the feeling she really needed to tell someone what she was thinking. "Fine.. Its just.. I'm worried about JD. You see.. Society doesn't really like anyone with powers. Most people will just send you off to Camp Dreamscape but.. If a cop catches you..? You're dead. They won't hesitate to kill people like us. A lot of the time, They actually do public executions. They torture the poor victim, then kill them, often. They also force the friends and family of that person to go to the execution. Its horrible. And well.. JD is basically a magnet for danger. He's good at keeping secrets and most importantly, his power hidden but.. gah, saying it out loud makes me realize how stupid it is. I just.. I just can't get the thought of them killing him out of my head. I probably should have written to him a long time ago but.." she struggled to choke out the words. I wasn't sure how to process this information. I inched closer to her and put an arm around her. "I'm sure he's fine." I didn't know how to help her but this seemed to help a bit. We both stared off at the sky and neither of us said anything else for the next half hour. "So ah.. We probably should head back to the cabin, huh?" She said, getting up. I nodded and we flew off.
Once I was in bed, I looked over at Ila who was chilling on the floor for some reason. "Cuddles..?" I asked with a slight smile. "Yes cuddles." She said as she got up. So yeah, I cuddled tall-ass that night.
submitted by Green_Leader_Edd to TheOfficialDreamscape [link] [comments]


2020.10.13 00:01 fractalfay A mango tree cannot start bearing lemons: Recap of 90DF The Other Way S02E15

90DF The Other Way is back, to prove that marriage can be miserable anywhere, so long as the only thing you pack in your carryon bag are lies.
Sumit slow-walks the mean streets of India like the protagonist in a power ballad, mumbling lyrics about loss and the strength of men, while a dude with a single snare drum follows at a safe distance and an iPhone captures road shots from a car window. This is how he walks. To his fate, to his future. In flannel. This is Sumit, alone. A man who loves a woman. Soon he’ll climb to the top of a dune and scream into the sunset, and this is a great time to use the bathroom.
Once in the family home, he yells his grief about the arranged marriage he didn’t want to the parents who paid for his divorce. If you’re new to this show, Jenny was meant to be a one-night scam between her vulnerable facebook profile and Sumit’s alter ego Michael, but oops, he actually liked her, and her warm embrace of compulsive lying makes them a match. Sumit’s mother Sahna attempts to remind him of all they’ve done for him, while Sumit’s father Anil apologizes for pressuring the arranged marriage. Sumit demands they accept his relationship with Jenny, and support his bid to marry her. They don’t budge on that whole marriage business, because Anil still thinks this is gross, and Sahna still can’t wrap her head around her former BINGO! Partner getting it on with her son.
“Before Sumit was even an idea, Jenny was someone’s mother,” Anil explains. “She could have been the nurse cradling him at the hospital. His elementary school teacher. A clown at the circus he watched from the stands. She could have been Mrs. Claus in the department store when he was still looking at the elves, and we’re not even Christian. I cannot with this.”
Sahna agrees. “Jenny developed her first uterine fibroid around the same time Sumit was born. She was tweaking the nipple of menopause when he had his first legal beer. How is this for my stomach to turn only?”
“Well in fairness to me, I’m really immature,” Jenny is happy to clear things up.
“A mango tree cannot start bearing lemons,” Anil insists, and we’re on fruit.
Sahna cries, because she doesn’t want to be on this show, but knows this is the only chance of her son ever paying her back. Sumit says that now that they’ve bailed him out of his marriage, he’s prepared to bail on his parents completely, if he has to, but not really. After a few rounds Sumit comforts his crying mother.
Later on Sumit meets Jenny at a café, and even though she’s literally waiting for him with a camera crew, she’s surprised to see him all the same. Jenny continues to not understand why they’re not embracing her, and thinks Sumit should drop them if they’re not going to accept her, which fits her preferred Bonnie and Clyde narrative.
“They don’t pay your bills,” she protests.
“Tell that to our bank account,” Sumit’s mom here with the layup.
“Yeah, I’m not ditching them even if you want me to,” Sumit has some lines.
“Well I’ll change course and be supportive!” Jenny exclaims. “So long as you say we’re going to be together forever, and that we love each other, and they just need to leave us be!”
“Yes, that has been most of our conversation over multiple seasons,” Sumit agrees, further underscoring why queue cards are not required here.
Just landing now in Bullshit, IL is Brittany, who still thinks anyone believes she’s serious about Yazan, despite “moving” to Jordan with just two suitcases and two weeks notice. Now she’s in Chicago with both of those suitcases, because she received an excuse to beat feet out of the Middle East for her urgent appointment anywhere else.
“It really helped Usman’s hip hop career to be on this show,” Brittany says. “I mean, you can’t court elderly men with braces fetishes forever. Now, check out this lyric about Middle Eastern money and bank account access. Edgy, right?”
“Needs more baby,” Usman has notes.
“Did someone say baby?” Stay in your parental shakedown lane, Biniyam.
Brittany is upset that Yazan wants her to get married right away, because that’s her whole storyline, but this is difficult because she’s still married, and that’s her plot twist. They could have had a discussion or two about whether or not she’d be expected to transform into a completely different person, but prematurely selling her conversion plans to his family is Yazan storyline, and likely the origin of his future ass-kicking.
After her mother picks her up they have the same conversation she’s had with various people all season, and Brittney insists once again that she’s there to finalize her divorce. A master of observation, Brittney suspects that if Yazan’s fam knew about this they might be angry, so it’s a good thing she’s thousands of miles away and doesn’t care.
“Maybe you could stop being a liar,” Brittany’s mom has suggestions.
“No,” Brittany has retorts.
Britt breaks down the social media she’s being asked to sacrifice, and Britt’s mom tells her to be herself and just stay in Chicago, because no one believes this. Later they both walk out the house wearing furs, as one does to a divorce, and disappear inside the courthouse for three hours. When they emerge Brittany reports something incoherent about missing paperwork, because “oops” apparently takes three hours, and probably buys Brittany another three weeks away from Jordan.
In actual relationships, Kenny and Armando wrangle the unsettling assignment of ‘only non-toxic couple on screen,’ and were cast because the 90DF producers just want to destroy something beautiful. They’re en route to get Armando’s sparkle day-glo dream engine of a child, Hannah, and somehow Kenny looks even younger, proving that sex is the best skincare routine. As they get close to his family home, Armando’s throat tightens with anxiety, which worsens when he realizes that his entire family is there. They should have brought Kenny’s daughters as buffers, but they didn’t, so the pressure is on Truffles the dog, who is editing his memoir in the backseat. Armando takes his engagement ring off so that he can slowly roll out the news of their forthcoming nuptials , and Kenny is hurt but eats it, because he knows Armando’s family is not prepared.
In a 90DF first, Kenny has regrets about not bothering to learn the native language prior to meeting the parents, because it’s hard to sell yourself when you can’t offer anything beyond hello. He could have rocked Rosetta Stone all the way from Florida, so that was just time wasted on techno. What have you learned about house music, Kenny?
“Mucho gusto?” Kenny negotiates his new phrase.
“Como?” David, what are you doing in this segment?
Kenny is the first man Armando has brought home, and only the second person, and the pair has chosen to remain in Mexico for proximity to Armando’s extended family. The two families appraise each other in awkward silence that feels like home. After an initial round of introductions, Armando’s mother Virginia offers to take them upstairs Armando Sr hideout, where he’ll yell “go away!” Through a slot in the door. This is not exactly a good start, but it’s what Armando expected. After they linger outside his pouting place while Virginia has one of those clenched teeth “get the fuck out here” conversations that populated many 90s-era sitcoms, Armando Sr. finally emerges to appraise his son’s would-be husband. He greets Armando, and then all the color drains from his face and his eyes adopt the venom required to banish demons back to hell, and this is hello to Kenny. Then he returns to hiding.
Kenny and Virginia manage to bond a little when Kenny confesses that he misses his children terribly, and it was a difficult decision to leave them behind. Virginia starts crying, and Armando’s sister says that it’s not just about losing Armando, but losing Hannah, who they’ve helped raise since she was born, and it’s also not about Armando at all, apparently.
“The way this works is that I conceal everything about myself that makes them uncomfortable, and then they thank me by punishing me for whatever I share,” Armando explains. “Just kidding, that’s Fractalfay’s interpretation, which is super judge-y, because she has no tact. You should insert something thoughtful and nice here, because that’s me.”
Armando finally decides to just rip the fucking bandaid off and announce his engagement. He stands up and puts his ring back on, and everyone stares at them, as Kenny reports feeling, “Like animals in a zoo.” Instead of congratulations, his mom can only manage, “It’s your decision.” Ouch. Finally someone breaks the tension and says, “We’re invited!” And there’s timid laughter. Kenny is sad that Armando’s family sees their relationship as something to overcome instead of something to celebrate.
In her interview Virginia says that she would have wanted to hear about this first, away from everyone else, so she could be embarrassed and hurt for several days in advance. She also says that she has no intentions of telling Armando Sr about this development.
Throughout this whole mess, Kenny takes pains to empathize with how Armando’s mother must be feeling, his father, his relatives, but no one seems interested in empathizing with Kenny outside of Armando himself. By the end of the evening Kenny has deduced that he’s not even perceived as human, and you can tell by his face that he’s checked out of his default warmth in favor of the guarded skepticism reserved for street preachers and election seasons. Armando then awkwardly asks if they can stay there that night, and after a few more agonizing seconds, she manages an okay. Before she retreats to her own grief cave, Virginia says a “welcome to the family” that doesn’t erase her actual facial expression, and they return to Armando’s old room to hide.
Kenny doesn’t feel remotely welcome, and who could blame him. He also doesn’t want to let Armando’s dad off the hook just because there are cultural differences, and it seems likely that their inability to appreciate Armando is going to lead Kenny to put his balls on the table and ask them to observe. “It’s almost like what Armando warned me about is true,” Kenny says. “I just don’t want anyone to dislike me. Ever.”
“We don’t dislike you, Kenny,” says the gnomes, who have emerged from hiding to plant a protective toadstool behind him. “We’ve brought you this necklace of dancing animals to preserve your golden glow.”
“We like you too!” Sings the animated birds that have manifested in the backdrop, to hold a tiny ‘congratulations’ banner between them.
Meanwhile, Ari is still disappointed that Ethiopia is nothing like the brochure, but she’s willing to play the part of Veruca Salt as pregnant lady. The hairstyle that anchored her relationship is no longer happening on Biniyam’s head, and she’s struggling to adjust to life without her parents doing everything for her, but her mom did pin a note to Ari’s shirt with her phone number on it in case she wanders off.
After some time considering their options, they pass on the expensive apartment, and find a place with a bathroom and kitchen that still offers Ari something to complain about, which is apparently the couch. Real talk: As I type this, there are two men in the kitchen of my rented apartment, cutting a giant hole in the ceiling, because the roof is caving in. This hole will then be covered in plastic, and abandoned for an uncertain amount of time. If Ari set foot in this dilapidated shack that is paradise by Portland rental standards, she would lose consciousness and not recover until I dragged her by the ankle to a wealthy shopping district and abandoned her in the linens section of a department store.
Binyam doesn’t make enough coin playing ass-bongos to keep them in food and shelter, but he knows Ari’s mother is going to firehose them in America, so he might as well maintain his evening disappearance schedule. Sure enough, Ari reports that her mom is going to import all their baby needs, and she’s already sent a list, and Biniyam nearly swoons in ecstasy. She then says that while Biniyam is not making enough money for her standards, he’s also expected to stay home with her the first month, and there’s no mention of what kind of support the country offers to new parents (if any).
“I’ve never lived in a college dorm,” Ari explains. “I don’t see why I would, when there are all those abandoned mansions around the campus. Yes, they say, “eviction notice” on the front, but I think it’s really nice of the landlord to let them know. This is long before my difficult life as a international traveler ignited. See, I’m prepared.”
“Have you thought about vaguely alluding to non-specific ‘work’ you do for your dad, to keep the haters at bay?” Libby has thoughts.
“Oh, I already do that. I call it ‘freelance writer who also works for her dad’.”
“So long as I can keep smacking ass and calling it a payday, this is good for me,” Biniyam is so all-aboard he’s pulling the train whistle.
“Yes, just be very alpha male when you are demanding gender norms only when they suit you,” Andrei is also reporting for advice dispersement.
Later, they shop for a used car together, and a salesperson dares to math at Ari, who promptly dissolves. “This can’t be right,” she cries. “My car wasn’t this expensive when my parents bought it for me!”
Biniyam tries to explain to Ari that she’s in a different country, so Ari calls her mom to see if that’s really true. Her mom then offers to come by and give the country a second inspection, and Ari says yes and starts crying into the phone, clutching the receiver and demanding an exit option from this permanent camping trip.
“Ari, this car is something we need,” Biniyam hustles. “No, I don’t have the money for it. But we need it if you know what I mean.”
“Of course I don’t mind taking money from Ari’s parents,” Biniyam clarifies in his interview, as if there were any questions. “Why do you think I’m at this car lot?”
“I never wonder if I’m asking too much,” Ari whines, throwing herself on the floor and demanding someone unwrap a chocolate bar with a golden ticket.
Then they go to another prenatal appointment, where Ari asks the radiologist to play doctor.
“I’m the radiologist,” this poor bastard tries.
“Yeah, but can you tell me everything you see, what it means, and how we’re going to proceed?”
“I am still a radiologist.”
In the doctor’s office we learn that Ari’s amniotic fluid is less than it should be, and the baby is still breach, so they’re going to have to perform a C-section. This breaks Ari’s melodrama dam, and she transforms into one part Nicholas Cage, one part Oprah from The Color Purple. “NOT THE BEES!” She screams. “All my life I’ve had to fight!”
“How much of a bonus do your parents award for c-section,” Biniyam wonders. “Like, ballpark figure.”
Milquetoast, aka Cheesestick, continues his international apology tour, while Melyza pulls an Evelin and double-dips dicks while he’s away, and somehow still claims the moral high ground. Tim is at another job interview, and remains bummed that no one thought to learn English before he arrived. The most important part of this segment is the robust money tree plant in the background, teasing Tim about his rapidly shrinking bank account. Can someone give this guy a few spritzes real quick? Can this be Tim’s job?
Meanwhile, Melyza is working out a way to justify being almost as bad as Tim.
“I don’t know how this works exactly,” Melyza is new here. “But I’m disappointed in Tim, which is a Get Some Dick Free card by my estimate. I’m looking forward to humiliating him on television.”
For reassurance that she continues to be better than Cheesestick and her lying is justified, she meets up with everyone she knows with aviator glasses. She tells her brother Miguel and friend David that she hasn’t told Tim about the wheel of dicks she spun after he cheated on her, and thinks she’s entitled to ‘live her life’ while Tim is entitled to ‘assume he’s still in hers.’
The drumroll to her predictable confession to her friends is played up like a telenovella, and I’d like to extend my gratitude to David for removing his sunglasses to better communicate his side-eye before unfurling the intense question: “Como?”
“I love you,” Kenny has answers.
“I love you more,” So does Armando.
And with that, the warning shot for the rest of our season has been fired! Still to come: Ari is inconsolable because that’s the only way she could possibly have a baby, Jenny is Jenny and has no responsibility for anything (ever), Deavan gets really excited about the possibility of Jihoon cheating on her and finds a way to sulk about a big wedding after sulking about money, Melyza and Cheesestick are super boring, Kenny and Armando are denied a wedding license because there is no justice, and Ari saves her baby from genital mutilation.
Thank you, Patreon supporters!
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2020.10.13 00:00 fractalfay A mango tree cannot start bearing lemons: Recap of 90DF The Other Way S02E15

90DF The Other Way is back, to prove that marriage can be miserable anywhere, so long as the only thing you pack in your carryon bag are lies.
Sumit slow-walks the mean streets of India like the protagonist in a power ballad, mumbling lyrics about loss and the strength of men, while a dude with a single snare drum follows at a safe distance and an iPhone captures road shots from a car window. This is how he walks. To his fate, to his future. In flannel. This is Sumit, alone. A man who loves a woman. Soon he’ll climb to the top of a dune and scream into the sunset, and this is a great time to use the bathroom.
Once in the family home, he yells his grief about the arranged marriage he didn’t want to the parents who paid for his divorce. If you’re new to this show, Jenny was meant to be a one-night scam between her vulnerable facebook profile and Sumit’s alter ego Michael, but oops, he actually liked her, and her warm embrace of compulsive lying makes them a match. Sumit’s mother Sahna attempts to remind him of all they’ve done for him, while Sumit’s father Anil apologizes for pressuring the arranged marriage. Sumit demands they accept his relationship with Jenny, and support his bid to marry her. They don’t budge on that whole marriage business, because Anil still thinks this is gross, and Sahna still can’t wrap her head around her former BINGO! Partner getting it on with her son.
“Before Sumit was even an idea, Jenny was someone’s mother,” Anil explains. “She could have been the nurse cradling him at the hospital. His elementary school teacher. A clown at the circus he watched from the stands. She could have been Mrs. Claus in the department store when he was still looking at the elves, and we’re not even Christian. I cannot with this.”
Sahna agrees. “Jenny developed her first uterine fibroid around the same time Sumit was born. She was tweaking the nipple of menopause when he had his first legal beer. How is this for my stomach to turn only?”
“Well in fairness to me, I’m really immature,” Jenny is happy to clear things up.
“A mango tree cannot start bearing lemons,” Anil insists, and we’re on fruit.
Sahna cries, because she doesn’t want to be on this show, but knows this is the only chance of her son ever paying her back. Sumit says that now that they’ve bailed him out of his marriage, he’s prepared to bail on his parents completely, if he has to, but not really. After a few rounds Sumit comforts his crying mother.
Later on Sumit meets Jenny at a café, and even though she’s literally waiting for him with a camera crew, she’s surprised to see him all the same. Jenny continues to not understand why they’re not embracing her, and thinks Sumit should drop them if they’re not going to accept her, which fits her preferred Bonnie and Clyde narrative.
“They don’t pay your bills,” she protests.
“Tell that to our bank account,” Sumit’s mom here with the layup.
“Yeah, I’m not ditching them even if you want me to,” Sumit has some lines.
“Well I’ll change course and be supportive!” Jenny exclaims. “So long as you say we’re going to be together forever, and that we love each other, and they just need to leave us be!”
“Yes, that has been most of our conversation over multiple seasons,” Sumit agrees, further underscoring why queue cards are not required here.
Just landing now in Bullshit, IL is Brittany, who still thinks anyone believes she’s serious about Yazan, despite “moving” to Jordan with just two suitcases and two weeks notice. Now she’s in Chicago with both of those suitcases, because she received an excuse to beat feet out of the Middle East for her urgent appointment anywhere else.
“It really helped Usman’s hip hop career to be on this show,” Brittany says. “I mean, you can’t court elderly men with braces fetishes forever. Now, check out this lyric about Middle Eastern money and bank account access. Edgy, right?”
“Needs more baby,” Usman has notes.
“Did someone say baby?” Stay in your parental shakedown lane, Biniyam.
Brittany is upset that Yazan wants her to get married right away, because that’s her whole storyline, but this is difficult because she’s still married, and that’s her plot twist. They could have had a discussion or two about whether or not she’d be expected to transform into a completely different person, but prematurely selling her conversion plans to his family is Yazan storyline, and likely the origin of his future ass-kicking.
After her mother picks her up they have the same conversation she’s had with various people all season, and Brittney insists once again that she’s there to finalize her divorce. A master of observation, Brittney suspects that if Yazan’s fam knew about this they might be angry, so it’s a good thing she’s thousands of miles away and doesn’t care.
“Maybe you could stop being a liar,” Brittany’s mom has suggestions.
“No,” Brittany has retorts.
Britt breaks down the social media she’s being asked to sacrifice, and Britt’s mom tells her to be herself and just stay in Chicago, because no one believes this. Later they both walk out the house wearing furs, as one does to a divorce, and disappear inside the courthouse for three hours. When they emerge Brittany reports something incoherent about missing paperwork, because “oops” apparently takes three hours, and probably buys Brittany another three weeks away from Jordan.
In actual relationships, Kenny and Armando wrangle the unsettling assignment of ‘only non-toxic couple on screen,’ and were cast because the 90DF producers just want to destroy something beautiful. They’re en route to get Armando’s sparkle day-glo dream engine of a child, Hannah, and somehow Kenny looks even younger, proving that sex is the best skincare routine. As they get close to his family home, Armando’s throat tightens with anxiety, which worsens when he realizes that his entire family is there. They should have brought Kenny’s daughters as buffers, but they didn’t, so the pressure is on Truffles the dog, who is editing his memoir in the backseat. Armando takes his engagement ring off so that he can slowly roll out the news of their forthcoming nuptials , and Kenny is hurt but eats it, because he knows Armando’s family is not prepared.
In a 90DF first, Kenny has regrets about not bothering to learn the native language prior to meeting the parents, because it’s hard to sell yourself when you can’t offer anything beyond hello. He could have rocked Rosetta Stone all the way from Florida, so that was just time wasted on techno. What have you learned about house music, Kenny?
“Mucho gusto?” Kenny negotiates his new phrase.
“Como?” David, what are you doing in this segment?
Kenny is the first man Armando has brought home, and only the second person, and the pair has chosen to remain in Mexico for proximity to Armando’s extended family. The two families appraise each other in awkward silence that feels like home. After an initial round of introductions, Armando’s mother Virginia offers to take them upstairs Armando Sr hideout, where he’ll yell “go away!” Through a slot in the door. This is not exactly a good start, but it’s what Armando expected. After they linger outside his pouting place while Virginia has one of those clenched teeth “get the fuck out here” conversations that populated many 90s-era sitcoms, Armando Sr. finally emerges to appraise his son’s would-be husband. He greets Armando, and then all the color drains from his face and his eyes adopt the venom required to banish demons back to hell, and this is hello to Kenny. Then he returns to hiding.
Kenny and Virginia manage to bond a little when Kenny confesses that he misses his children terribly, and it was a difficult decision to leave them behind. Virginia starts crying, and Armando’s sister says that it’s not just about losing Armando, but losing Hannah, who they’ve helped raise since she was born, and it’s also not about Armando at all, apparently.
“The way this works is that I conceal everything about myself that makes them uncomfortable, and then they thank me by punishing me for whatever I share,” Armando explains. “Just kidding, that’s Fractalfay’s interpretation, which is super judge-y, because she has no tact. You should insert something thoughtful and nice here, because that’s me.”
Armando finally decides to just rip the fucking bandaid off and announce his engagement. He stands up and puts his ring back on, and everyone stares at them, as Kenny reports feeling, “Like animals in a zoo.” Instead of congratulations, his mom can only manage, “It’s your decision.” Ouch. Finally someone breaks the tension and says, “We’re invited!” And there’s timid laughter. Kenny is sad that Armando’s family sees their relationship as something to overcome instead of something to celebrate.
In her interview Virginia says that she would have wanted to hear about this first, away from everyone else, so she could be embarrassed and hurt for several days in advance. She also says that she has no intentions of telling Armando Sr about this development.
Throughout this whole mess, Kenny takes pains to empathize with how Armando’s mother must be feeling, his father, his relatives, but no one seems interested in empathizing with Kenny outside of Armando himself. By the end of the evening Kenny has deduced that he’s not even perceived as human, and you can tell by his face that he’s checked out of his default warmth in favor of the guarded skepticism reserved for street preachers and election seasons. Armando then awkwardly asks if they can stay there that night, and after a few more agonizing seconds, she manages an okay. Before she retreats to her own grief cave, Virginia says “welcome to the family” that doesn’t erase her actual facial expression, and they return to Armando’s old room to hide.
Kenny doesn’t feel remotely welcome, and who could blame him. He also doesn’t want to let Armando’s dad off the hook just because there are cultural differences, and it seems likely that their inability to appreciate Armando is going to lead Kenny to put his balls on the table and ask them to observe. “It’s almost like what Armando warned me about is true,” Kenny says. “I just don’t want anyone to dislike me. Ever.”
“We don’t dislike you, Kenny,” says the gnomes, who have emerged from hiding to plant a protective toadstool behind him. “We’ve brought you this necklace of dancing animals to preserve your golden glow.”
“We like you too!” Sings the animated birds that have manifested in the backdrop, to hold a tiny ‘congratulations’ banner between them.
Meanwhile, Ari is still disappointed that Ethiopia is nothing like the brochure, but she’s willing to play the part of Veruca Salt as pregnant lady. The hairstyle that anchored her relationship is no longer happening on Biniyam’s head, and she’s struggling to adjust to life without her parents doing everything for her, but her mom did pin a note to Ari’s shirt with her phone number on it in case she wanders off.
After some time considering their options, they pass on the expensive apartment, and find a place with a bathroom and kitchen that still offers Ari something to complain about, which is apparently the couch. Real talk: As I type this, there are two men in the kitchen of my rented apartment, cutting a giant hole in the ceiling, because the roof is caving in. This hole will then be covered in plastic, and abandoned for an uncertain amount of time. If Ari set foot in this dilapidated shack that is paradise by Portland rental standards, she would lose consciousness and not recover until I dragged her by the ankle to a wealthy shopping district and abandoned her in the linens section of a department store.
Binyam doesn’t make enough coin playing ass-bongos to keep them in food and shelter, but he knows Ari’s mother is going to firehose them in America, so he might as well maintain his evening disappearance schedule. Sure enough, Ari reports that her mom is going to import all their baby needs, and she’s already sent a list, and Biniyam nearly swoons in ecstasy. She then says that while Biniyam is not making enough money for her standards, he’s also expected to stay home with her the first month, and there’s no mention of what kind of support the country offers to new parents (if any).
“I’ve never lived in a college dorm,” Ari explains. “I don’t see why I would, when there are all those abandoned mansions around the campus. Yes, they say, “eviction notice” on the front, but I think it’s really nice of the landlord to let them know. This is long before my difficult life as a international traveler ignited. See, I’m prepared.”
“Have you thought about vaguely alluding to non-specific ‘work’ you do for your dad, to keep the haters at bay?” Libby has thoughts.
“Oh, I already do that. I call it ‘freelance writer who also works for her dad’.”
“So long as I can keep smacking ass and calling it a payday, this is good for me,” Biniyam is so all-aboard he’s pulling the train whistle.
“Yes, just be very alpha male when you are demanding gender norms only when they suit you,” Andrei is also reporting for advice dispersement.
Later, they shop for a used car together, and a salesperson dares to math at Ari, who promptly dissolves. “This can’t be right,” she cries. “My car wasn’t this expensive when my parents bought it for me!”
Biniyam tries to explain to Ari that she’s in a different country, so Ari calls her mom to see if that’s really true. Her mom then offers to come by and give the country a second inspection, and Ari says yes and starts crying into the phone, clutching the receiver and demanding an exit option from this permanent camping trip.
“Ari, this car is something we need,” Biniyam hustles. “No, I don’t have the money for it. But we need it if you know what I mean.”
“Of course I don’t mind taking money from Ari’s parents,” Biniyam clarifies in his interview, as if there were any questions. “Why do you think I’m at this car lot?”
“I never wonder if I’m asking too much,” Ari whines, throwing herself on the floor and demanding someone unwrap a chocolate bar with a golden ticket.
Then they go to another prenatal appointment, where Ari asks the radiologist to play doctor.
“I’m the radiologist,” this poor bastard tries.
“Yeah, but can you tell me everything you see, what it means, and how we’re going to proceed?”
“I am still a radiologist.”
In the doctor’s office we learn that Ari’s amniotic fluid is less than it should be, and the baby is still breach, so they’re going to have to perform a C-section. This breaks Ari’s melodrama dam, and she transforms into one part Nicholas Cage, one part Oprah from The Color Purple. “NOT THE BEES!” She screams. “All my life I’ve had to fight!”
“How much of a bonus do your parents award for c-section,” Biniyam wonders. “Like, ballpark figure.”
Milquetoast, aka Cheesestick, continues his international apology tour, while Melyza pulls an Evelin and double-dips dicks while he’s away, and somehow still claims the moral high ground. Tim is at another job interview, and remains bummed that no one thought to learn English before he arrived. The most important part of this segment is the robust money tree plant in the background, teasing Tim about his rapidly shrinking bank account. Can someone give this guy a few spritzes real quick? Can this be Tim’s job?
Meanwhile, Melyza is working out a way to justify being almost as bad as Tim.
“I don’t know how this works exactly,” Melyza is new here. “But I’m disappointed in Tim, which is a Get Some Dick Free card by my estimate. I’m looking forward to humiliating him on television.”
For reassurance that she continues to be better than Cheesestick and her lying is justified, she meets up with everyone she knows with aviator glasses. She tells her brother Miguel and friend David that she hasn’t told Tim about the wheel of dicks she spun after he cheated on her, and thinks she’s entitled to ‘live her life’ while Tim is entitled to ‘assume he’s still in hers.’
The drumroll to her predictable confession to her friends is played up like a telenovella, and I’d like to extend my gratitude to David for removing his sunglasses to better communicate his side-eye before unfurling the intense question: “Como?”
“I love you,” Kenny has answers.
“I love you more,” So does Armando.
And with that, the warning shot for the rest of our season has been fired! Still to come: Ari is inconsolable because that’s the only way she could possibly have a baby, Jenny is Jenny and has no responsibility for anything (ever), Deavan gets really excited about the possibility of Jihoon cheating on her and finds a way to sulk about a big wedding after sulking about money, Melyza and Cheesestick are super boring, Kenny and Armando are denied a wedding license because there is no justice, and Ari saves her baby from genital mutilation.
Thank you, Patreon supporters! Patreon.com/fractalfay
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2020.10.08 00:27 Goober353 Rant I got from a MauLer fan

Someone liked a movie and this guy went off. Disclaimer: I actually like this movie.
It was objectively terrible.
I know you're saying it subjectively, but the way you said it gave it the impression of you saying it is objectively not as bad as people are saying it is.
Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom was a terrible movie objectively, what with it reversing character development, retconning past movies to the nth degree and having inconsistent plot and characters.
e.g girldude pulling a gun on hunterdude after he shot MCdude with a tranq dart - a tranq dart that should have killed him seeing as it was for DINOSAURS - despite hunterdude only shooting MCdude because MCdude was charging him down, and MCdude was only charging because a random soldierdude shot bleudude, and random soldierdude only shot bluedude because bluedude was trying to eat soldierdude.
So hunterdude would have no reason to do anything to girldude, and girldude saw all this happen and so knows this and so why the fuck did she pull the gun on hunterdude? It's not revealed that companydudes are evil until later, as far as she knows everything was caused by bluedude attacking soldierdude because another soldierdude accidentally shot a bit too early. It was very obviously an accident. So the only reason girldude would have for pulling a gun on hunterdude is to save MCdude's life... and she leaves MCdude lying on the ground unconscious from dinodude level tranqs in the middle of a dinodude infested forest, when she knows the island is going to fucking explode.
Also, the movie appears to have entire sections simply cut out. After MCdude gets to the group he mentions that companydudes are trying to sell the dinodudes on the black market. How the fuck is MCdude supposed to know this? It was never established him learning this at any point in time. He just magically knows it after it is revealed to the audience.
Please don't take me as trying to be mean, I'm not. I just got angry at the movie itself and not you, as these are pretty basic flaws that should have never appeared.
Now... while MauLer is mainly focused on being as objective as possible and leaving out emotional stuff, except when he is talking about things he likes or is making a point or is joking. In his "Unbridled Rage" videos (or Unbridled Praise) he is mainly focused around the negatives in the movie (Praise is the opposite, looking at mainly the good). During these videos he is also less focused on objectivity, though it is still prevalent because that's just how MauLer is.
So, while his Unbridled Rage Jurrassic World Fallen Kingdom video is not focused too heavily on being objective, it would still be good to have a look at it. As even when being purely subjective MauLer makes extremely well put together points.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YY8OgxKUlg&t=1777s
I cannot recommend watching this video enough. Even if you love the movie, and you disagree with MauLer, I still recommend you listen to him and keep at least somewhat of an open mind. He does make good points.
I'll also admit, the two points I made above are stolen from MauLer, he's just able to articulate things I'm normally unable to. I saw the movie and hated these scenes and yet was unable to explain why. Then I saw MauLer's video and he put my thoughts into words, as it were.
When was it established that Sorna also had a volcano? Was that in Jurassic World? Jurassice World: Fallen Kingdom? Jurassice Park 1, 2 or 3? Because... if it wasn't established, then it doesn't have a volcano.
The gate wasn't cut open, it was open. They had to press the tablet to close it and it failed to close the door because the T-Rex stepped on it. MauLer makes a great point on this, wouldn't it be binary? You push the button the gate closes. Any other system is just frankly, stupid.
I do think you're a good person as you've given me no reason to believe otherwise, but yes I also disagree with you. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is the worst in the Jurassic Park franchise.
Also, yes all movies have flaws, but we judge them on how frequently they have flaws (and other things, but this is a pretty big one). Does a movie only have 2 or three mistakes? That might as well be a perfect movie. Is a movie filled to the brim with bullshit like The Last Jedi and Captain Marvel or to a lesser extent Black Panther? It's a terrible movie.
Also, what about I get your answer on a few questions on the movie? I think this might be fun, and it'll get the both of us thinking and that's never a bad thing... almost never a bad thing.
Why did the younger girl pull a gun on the lead hunter when Chris went down? It was never explained that she liked him beyond professional courtesy. Plus, Chris went down because he tried to attack lead hunter dude because a different person shot Blue, because the big ass raptor was trying to eat his face. I always that super weird.
Why didn't Chris go for the guy who shot Blue? If someone shot my dog, I wouldn't go punch someone in the opposite direction of the dude who shot my dog, I'd go straight for the bastard who shot my dog!
Why didn't the tranq kill Chris? I have heard that the dart wasn't full, but I can't exactly remember because I watched the movie again months ago and haven't since, so such a small detail is missing from my brain. But if the dart wasn't full, that brings up a whole load of other questions which I will get too later. For now, this question is for if the dart was actually full, because that was a tranq meant for a dinosaur several times larger than a human, and was meant to put her to sleep long enough that the hunters can drag her all the way back to the big ass boat, so it's obviously quite strong.
Now, assuming the dart wasn't full. The tranq was still meant for a... you know... a freaking raptor several times larger than a human and strong enough that the hunters can carry Blue all the way back to the boat. let us assume the dart was a quarter full.
Would that not still Chris Prat? Either from overdosing (the Jurassic Park raptors have far more volume than a human, so the dose would be significantly larger than a human's) or from sleeping as the whole island under his feet exploded and/or lava cooked him alive, because even a quarter of a dart of dino-tranqing liquid would put you to sleep for a good while.
Also, if the dart wasn't full... why wasn't it? That seems like a massive safety risk. What if you're in danger and need to put a dino to sleep or you'll get killed, so you shoot it and it turns out the dart had barely in it and you get eaten. Or are they using the same liquid and the same darts just different amounts for different dinosaurs? That sounds needlessly complex and stupid, because then each member of the hunters would need to individually work out the dosage to not kill the dinosaur or for it to wake up... on the fly, in the middle of a forest full of dinosaurs who have been shown to love eating people despite them being so large that eating a human would be more of a waste of energy than eating us would actually gain.
It seems far smarter to do something like... find out what dinosaurs are there which shouldn't be too hard, there's an island full of dinosaurs sitting in the middle of the ocean for the past 3 years, surely people have gone and stolen some because the hunter group was able to get there pretty damn easily with, as far as I can remember, no real reason given they're able to access the island that is not only full of dinosaurs that happily eat people, but is also going to explode. A throw away line would have been nice.
Chris: "How are we even going to get there? The place is heavily guarded by the military. The government doesn't want people going bringing dinosaurs back to civilization, which would end badly." Or something along those lines.
Dude whose name I can't remember: "Do not worry, I have it all worked out. Money can buy a lot of things, such as making people look the other way." or something.
That exchange would have fixed the entire problem of how they got to the island in the first place. Because if people haven't stolen dinosaurs and sold them before, which this movie establishes makes you fucking rich, then that means someone is keeping people off the island, such as the military and government.
Anyway, that was a long tangent... I need to get back to the question at hand. A better system for the tranq darts would be to find out what dinosaurs are on the island which, once again, shouldn't be too hard as you have the lady who god damn ran the place. Just ask her what dinosaurs are on the island.
She'll be able to name off a few of different sizes and variety, which should give you a much better time figuring out the best dosages. Then you make tranq liquid for each general size of dinosaur. So, T-Rex and Brach would go in the same category of "fuck ass huge", and you then mark the darts a different color or symbol based on what general range you want to hit.
If you, say, wanted to tranq a T-Rex you'd pick up the bright red dart and shoot it. If you wanted to tranq a Brach you use that same dart, but maybe you shoot two or three.
Not perfect, but a far better system than "guess the dosage for each individual". And if they do have to guess, then that means Chris was shot with the dosage meant to take Blue down, which would kill him.
Let's move away from the tranqs now.
How the hell did Chris learn about the auction? Is there a scene missing? I can't remember Chris ever hearing about it before he mentioned it. MauLer also mentions this point but I found it so fucking jarring, because as MauLer said it feels like Chris just watched the scene we did where the auction was revealed.
Also... how the fuck does the Indoraptor work? It uses Chris' "research" of the raptors to control the Indoraptor.
What about the time where the raptors tried to fucking eat him and he needed to roll under a closing gate to avoid getting torn to shreds? What about that time they betrayed him for the Indominus? What about the fact that Chris spent years with the raptors, raising them and training them?
And the movie says it can just be... turned into a gun. Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know mental conditioning could be turned into a fucking gun! That is honestly one of the stupidest things in the entire franchise.
Please excuse me while I rant a bit, it's going to seem like I'm really angry at you, but I'm angry at the movie for being so fucking stupid, as this is an easily solved problem and the writers are just fucking incompetent. I, as in ME, the random fucker on the internet, can make a better god damn justification than professionals, which is fucking disgraceful for them as they get paid an absolute fuck ton to do this, and yet put in little to no effort because people are simply accepting mediocrity and bad movies instead of pushing for good movies.
Alright, my comment was too long so I had to cut out the rant. But I'll paste it into another comment which I'll put in response to this comment of mine you're reading right now. Now, Reddit may just make me wait ten minutes before posting, so I'm going to go have something to eat real quick before posting the second half so if you want, you can write out your response to everything on this comment and I'll put the second half down later.
second half, here we go!
WHO FUCKING WROTE THAT AND SAID "YEAH! THAT SEEMS LIKE A GOOD IDEA"!? WHO THE FUCK GREEN LIT THIS!? WHO READ WHAT THE FUCKING MORON WROTE AND SAID TO THEMSELVES "THE AUDIENCE WILL SUSPEND THEIR DISBELIEF FOR THIS!?
CLONING DINOSAURS IS NOT THAT MUCH OF A STRETCH! FUCK, WE COULD DO IT IF WE HAD ENOUGH DNA TO DO IT! IT'S EASY TO SUSPEND YOU DISBELIEF FOR "DNA OF DINOSAURS IS ABLE TO BE PRESERVED IN A SPECIFIC WAY IN THIS UNIVERSE, THAT DOESN'T WORK IN OUR UNIVERSE" BUT NOT FOR "MENTAL CONDITIONING IS NOW A FUCKING LASER POINTER! I COULD GO PICK UP A LASER POINTER AT MY LOCAL SHOP AND FUCKING COMMAND ANYONE TO ATTACK ANYTHING I POINT IT AT BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT THE FUCK THE MOVIE SAYS THE INDORAPTOR AND THE GUN DOES!
FUCKING HOW!? IT'S NEVER SAID, IT'S SIMPLE NEVER EVEN GIVEN THE BAREST OF EXPLANATIONS! THE FUCKING ORIGINAL WAS SO GOOD, BECAUSE IT EXPLAINED THAT THE DINOSAURS CAN'T REPRODUCE NATURALLY IN THE WILD BECAUSE THEY MADE THEM ALL FEMALES, BUT IT ALSO REVEALED THAT THEY USED FROG DNA TO FILL IN THE GAPS. THAT WAS FUCKING GENIUS, BECAUSE WHEN THE CHARACTERS REALIZE THE DINOSAURS ARE BREEDING GRANT FUCKING HAS AN EPIPHANY THAT IT'S BECAUSE OF THE DNA OF FROGS THAT THE DINOSAURS ARE ABLE TO CHANGE THEIR SEX WHEN THERE'S NO MALES OR FEMALES AROUND!
IT COMES OFF AS NATURAL BECAUSE ALL THE INFORMATION NEEDED IS PROVIDED ORGANICALLY TO THE AUDIENCE EARLY ON AND ESTABLISHED AND SO WHEN THE TRUTH IS REVEALED IT'S A "OH I GET IT" MOMENT AND NOT A "HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN WORK" MOMENT!
IF IT WAS ESTABLISHED THAT CHRIS' "RESEARCH" HAD LITERALLY ANYTHING TO DO WITH MAKING RAPTORS RELENTLESSLY ATTACK WHATEVER HE POINTED A LASER POINTER AT, I COULD BEGRUDGINGLY ACCEPT THAT. BUT HERE'S A BETTER IDEA!
DON'T HAVE THE DUMBASS FUCKING GUN! WHY NOT MAKE THE INDORAPTOR INTELLIGENT!? LIKE, HAVE IT ABLE TO UNDERSTAND ORDERS AND HAS A COMPULSION TO FOLLOW COMMANDS SO LONG AS THE ONE ORDERING IT IS THE "ALPHA", THE BOSS, THE BIG BADASS AT THE TOP!? AND IT GOES ON A KILLING SPREE BECAUSE THE DUDE WHO WAS PREVIOUSLY AT THE TOP SUDDENLY SHOWED FEAR TOWARDS IT, AND THE INDORAPTOR REALIZED THAT THE TOP DOG WAS TOP DOG NO LONGER!?
THAT AT LEAST MAKES SENSE, AS THAT IS SIMILAR TO HOW PACKS FUNCTION IN REAL LIFE!
WHY THE FUCK DO MOVIE WRITERS HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING INCOMPETENT!? IS IT SO WRONG TO ASK FOR GOOD MOVIES!? I DON'T WANT MEDIOCRE MOVIES OR BAD MOVIES, WE SHOULD STRIVE TOWARDS BETTER AND BETTER MOVIES INSTEAD OF SIMPLY STAGNATING AND WATCHING DUMB ASS MOVIES LIKE THE LAST JEDI BECAUSE "MUH THEMES" AND THE PRETTY LIGHTS!
ALL I WANT IS GOOD MOVIES! THAT'S ALL I WANT FROM THE MOVIE INDUSTRY. I LITERALLY COULD NOT ASK MORE OF THE MOVIE INDUSTRY THAN FOR THEM TO JUST MAKE GOOD MOVIES, OR AT LEAST ALWAYS STRIVE TO MAKE THE BEST MOVIES THEY CAN INSTEAD OF SETTLING FOR SHIT!
Alright... I'm calm now. I've got it all out of my syst- oh wait I think there's still some there... no... wait... oh, that's not rage I just need to fap.
That's a joke, by the way. Just want to make that clear. I felt a little humor would lighten the tension after my long ass angry rant (which felt really nice, by the way, very cathartic). But I also have the humor of a two year old with a brain tumor, so it's probably not a good joke.
submitted by Goober353 to copypasta [link] [comments]


2020.10.07 16:02 WNYguy37 SGT Todd M. Neiss Encounter

Few moments in life have such a dramatic impact on a person’s life that it classifies as an ‘epiphany’, a moment where one’s concept of reality itself is utterly and permanently altered. Such a moment happened to me one sunny day in early spring of 1993.
April 3rd was a day which is, and will always be, seared in my mind as if it were yesterday. Even after more than 14 years, the specifics of that event should illustrate the impact it had on my life.
It should be noted that, with regard to even the possibility of these creatures existing, I was beyond skeptical. Simply put, I had relegated these beasts to the realm of Native American legend or merely a classic campfire tale to freak out young, gullible children. I rarely watched sci-fi programs and never had read a single book on the subject. Ironically, as fate would have it, I would later become the topic of many such programs and books. I digress.
As a sergeant in Charlie Company (1249th Combat Engineers), it was business as usual as we headed up into the dense temperate rain forest of the Coast Range in Northwestern Oregon. The mission of Combat Engineering can be boiled down to two words: ‘mobility’ & ‘counter-mobility’. In other words, ensure our troops overcome any obstacles (man made or natural) and deny the enemy passage (or route them to where we want them) by placing obstacles in their path. On that particular day, our mission was to conduct training on private timberland near Saddle Mountain; just east of the coastal resort town of Seaside. We would be executing demolitions (explosives) operations at three rock quarries. Each site had a unique battle scenario to accomplish.
At the first site, we practiced ‘cutting charges’. This is where we would use plastic explosives (composition four or C4) to shear steel I-beams like a hot knife through butter in an effort to simulate dropping a bridge. Simultaneously, we also cut a five foot diameter Douglas Fir tree in half by wrapping a belt of C4 around it. Both charges were a resounding success! One sheared steel I-beam looking like an exploded cartoon cigar and a whole lot-o-bark dust.
The second site held a ‘complex obstacle’ consisting of a field of surface-laid anti-tank mines followed by a triple-strand concertina wire fence. We were to clear a vehicle lane through both. In addition, we were tasked to construct a field-expedient ‘claymore’ anti-personnel mine out of a #10 coffee can with improvised shrapnel. After securing the area and checking for subterranean mines, we strung a ‘ring-main’ (a circuit of detonation or DET cord) through the mine field. DET cord looks similar to fuse cord with the exception that it contains a tremendously explosive compound (PETN or Pentrite) which burns at a consistent rate of 8,000 meters per second. It is said that if you could string a line of DET cord from LA to New York, it would take approximately 14 minutes to get to the other end! It is essentially used to synchronize several explosive devices to detonate virtually simultaneously. You definitely do NOT want to confuse DET cord with fuse cord! In any event, my squad set about placing C4 charges next to each of the anti-tank mines and tying them into the ring-main while another squad began fashioning a field-expedient (read: homemade) version of a ‘Bangalore Torpedo’ to breach the razor-wire obstacle. Normally a Bangalore Torpedo is essentially a 3″ plastic pipe filed with C4. Sections of this pipe are generally fitted together to form a pipe long enough to breach the entire obstacle. In this case we had to sandwich C4 between sections of U-channel fence pickets then wrap them together with duct tape (same effect). The homemade ‘Bangalore’ was then tied into the ring-main. Lastly we constructed our field-expedient claymore mine by poking a hole in the bottom of a #10 can and inserted a blasting cap. Next we lined the bottom of the can with about 2.5lbs of C4 then covered it with three layers of cardboard for wadding. Finally, we loaded the can with rocks, bolts, nuts and anything else that would ruin the ‘enemy’s’ day. The can was then buried into a hillside (pointed towards the enemy) and angled about 12 degrees off the ground then it too was tied into the ring-main.
While I had not yet seen these creatures, there was a brief incident which, in retrospect, made me think they may have seen us. While I was directing my squad to emplace their charges next to the anti-tank mines, there was a rather loud, crescendoing ‘WHOOOOP!’ that emanated from the west end of the mine field. At that moment, I was bent over placing my own charge. Upon hearing this somewhat shrill noise, I immediately stood up and sought out the perpetrator as we were under orders to practice noise discipline during the exercise (in case the ‘enemy’ were nearby). As I glanced around the mine field, I was surprised to find all of my men still busily preparing their changes and not, as I suspected, goofing off. I shrugged my shoulders and went back to work. In hindsight, it seemed to me that the WHOOOOP sound had came from farther back in the tree line. But that made no sense as everyone was present and accounted for.
Once all of the charges were set and the area was cleared, I yelled “FIRE IN THE HOLE!,” then pulled the dual-primed M-60 fuse igniters. The fuses hissed and began snaking their way towards their primary charge while we mounted up and began to convoy down to the safety staging area to await the ‘report’ of the explosion a short eight minutes away.
At that moment, we developed radio problems. The field commander could not reach the base commander back at Camp Rilea. I was tasked to take my HMMVE (‘Humvee’) up to the top of a nearby hill, where we had a ‘two-niner-two’ radio relay station set up, to see what the problem was. Upon arrival, they had already repaired the relay, so I decided to watch the impending explosion from that vantage point. Even from two miles away, the sight of 200lbs of C4 detonating is an awesome sight. The huge flash was followed by an even bigger black cloud which began to build into a mushroom cloud. Simultaneously you could see the trees in the immediate vicinity shudder in succession as a shock wave rolled across the forest below in a perfect concentrical ring. Finally, about a two seconds later, we heard the BOOM! Another resounding success.
The third and last training area was situated in yet another gravel quarry on a hillside that overlooked the second blast site. Here our mission was to emplace a ‘cratering charge’. As the name implies, this type of operation involves the making of a rather large hole. Generally this is done to sever a road thus denying the enemy use thereof. To the uninitiated, an explosion is an explosion. To those of us who deal in the science of explosives, there are very distinct differences based upon the target, its composition, type of explosive (dynamite, C3, C4, ammonium nitrate, PETN, TNT, RDX, etc.), amount of explosive, its placement, shape of the charge, tamping, etc. Whereas C4 produces a super-hot/fast explosion, ammonium nitrate (essentially refined chicken or pig manure) soaked in diesel fuel for several hours, results in a ‘slow’ concussive blast. Properly placed and tamped, it will effortlessly relocate a generous section of real estate. It should be noted that, absent a standard issue shaped charge, we had the ‘heavy junk’ (read: heavy equipment) section pre-dig a starter hole with a backhoe. After emplacing several bags of diesel-soaked ammonium nitrate into the aforementioned hole, we (read: privates) filled it in and tap danced on it to tamp (pack) the charge. Once again, the area was cleared, and I initiated the dual-primed M-60 fuse igniters. I took my place in the waiting convoy and, per S.O.P., we began the descent down to the safety staging area.
Being a squad leader, I had the privilege of having my own Hummer, complete with a driver and an A (alternate) driver. Ours was the second vehicle of a five-vehicle convoy (2 Humvees up front, 2 covered troop carriers called ‘deuce and a halfs’ and the Commander’s Humvee in the rear). I took up a position behind the driver’s seat and, as we were descending the narrow winding road down towards the staging area, I had the opportunity to enjoy the scenery. As an avid hunter, it is just second nature to me to spot for wildlife. As it was a rare sunny day in April, I had my window unzipped for a better view. Rounding a corner, I had a good view of the rock quarry where we had done our second blast at less than an hour earlier. Standing right out in the open, in the middle of the gravel pit, were three, jet-black, bipedal creatures. They stood inline (shoulder to shoulder) staring directly at our convoy as it descended the hillside across from them. Between us was a ravine populated with eight to twelve year-old Douglas Fir and hemlock ‘reprod’. At a distance of several hundred meters, I could not make out facial features or gender, but there was no doubt what I was looking at were not humans. Had these creatures been standing in front of a backdrop of trees, I most likely would not have seen them at all. But in this case, there stood three dark black figures contrasted against a light grey cliff of basalt on a bright sunny day.
In the middle stood, what I assumed to be, the alpha male of the group; as it towered a full head above the two creatures that flanked it. I would estimate it to have stood approximately nine feet high, with the flanking creatures approaching seven feet in height. Their silhouette was unique in that their heads sat directly on their shoulders with no visible neck. They all displayed broad, square shoulders and barreled chests which tapered down to a svelte waistline, unlike the creature seen in the Patterson-Gimlin film of 1967 (for the record, I am of the impression that the PG creature was either pregnant or had recently been so; accounting for her girth). The arms of these beings hung well past their knees. In the case of the two flanking creatures, they were exhibiting a swaying motion (rocking side-to-side) as the larger creature stood as still as a statue. Bear in mind that, all the while I was staring at the creatures, we were bounding down a dirt road with the occasional hedge of blackberry and Scotch bloom obscuring my view. That being said, I had approximately 25 seconds of viewing time.
At this point most people ask me, “Didn’t anybody else see them?” “Why didn’t you say something to your driver(s)? or “Why didn’t stop your vehicle?
The answer is that
I assumed I alone had seen them; I was still in shock and disbelief; my jeep didn’t have a radio to call for a stop and even if it did, we had a rather large BOMB ticking off behind us! Once the vehicle rounded a sharp corner, I knew I had seen the last of them. I fell back into my seat with a mixture of shock for what I had witnessed and an odd sense of depression. It’s a hard to explain what goes through ones mind in such a moment. Fate had somehow came together to create a once-in-a-lifetime moment that was now lost as suddenly as it had found.
My head began to swim with questions.
“Oh my God! They DO exist! And not just a solitary beast, but a group of them!
How could they exist and not be ‘discovered’?
Having extensively hunting this area, how could they exist and I not have seen them, or signs of them, before? Some hunter!
What do I do now?”
I felt the sudden urge to tell someone,but who? I had seen something scientifically, if not historically, important and SOMEONE should be notified! There must be an authority that NEEDS this information!
I began to make a mental checklist.
The US Fish & Wildlife?No. The Forest Service? No. The zoo? No. The police? HELL NO!
Then WHO?!?! And better yet, who would believe me anyway?
In the final analysis, I reluctantly decided (like most people do) to keep my mouth shut. Here I was a family man, a vice-president of a shipping company, and a Non-Commissioned Officer in the Army National Guard. I had worked long and hard for my reputation. And yet, with one simple sentence, “I saw Bigfoot!”, I could throw it all away. Nope. If I knew what was good for me, I could never tell a soul.
Thus is the curse of the Bigfoot: living with the burden of the truth. A truth so absolutely incredible that merely suggesting that you ‘might’ have seen something that ‘may’ have been a Bigfoot will cause people to question your very sanity and even destroy your reputation. Great! I have jokingly suggested that I should start a Bigfoot Support Group for those afflicted with ‘the curse’. One thing I can say, from years of interviewing other eyewitnesses, that there is something therapeutic in sharing such mutual experiences.
Arriving at the staging area, I immediately jogged back up the road in a futile effort to get one more look at these amazing creatures. Unfortunately there was a knoll which blocked my view of the gravel pit. Again an odd sense of depression swept over me. I felt a genuine sense of loss that was difficult to explain.
My activity hadn’t gone unnoticed. Suddenly I heard footsteps heading my way. Then a voice yelled out, “Hey Neiss!” I turned and saw SGT Jeff Martin heading my direction. As he approached me, he looked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. Satisfied that we were alone, he said something that I will never forget. He took a long drag off of his cigarette, exhaled, looked me squarely in the eyes and said, “I don’t suppose you saw what I saw back at the second blast site?” It was more of a statement than a question. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he knew something. I felt overwhelmed at the possibility but decided to err on the side of caution. I replied, “I don’t know Jeff, what did YOU see?” Once again he looked left then right to make certain of our privacy and then stated rather matter-of-factly, “I saw three, huge, hair-covered, for lack of a better word ‘BIGFEET’.
Trying to contain my excitement I hissed, “Yesssss! I saw them too!”
I was overwhelmed with sense of utter relief! I wasn’t alone!! It wasn’t that I needed validation of what I had seen. Corroboration could not have altered the truth, but it sure felt good. It felt somehow liberating. At that we began to compare notes.
Fate was busy that day. What were the odds? The odds that I ever would have seen them in the first place? The odds that someone else did (independently) as well? The odds that they would have even imagined that I had shared their experience and even in so considering would have had the courage to ask me? I can only guess that observing me looking in the direction of the quarry and straining to get a glimpse of ‘something’ was enough to pique his curiosity. Thank God! And finally, what were the odds that we were the only two witnesses? As I would come to later learn, we weren’t!
That evening, we had an ‘open post’ so I decided to stay the night at the home of my friend (and Platoon Sergeant) Don Braden and his wife Lena. After debating whether to tell them my story, I reluctantly opened up (few beers didn’t hurt either). Being my first ‘Bigfoot confession’, I found out the hard way that even your best friends can be hard to convert. After some initial ridicule, I had to settle for a bit of patronizing sympathy. This wasn’t to be my last bout with ridicule.
Fate wasn’t quite done yet. At the next Guard drill, Lena Braden and the other wives and girlfriends of soldiers were conducting a bake sale in the foyer of the armory at Camp Rilea as was their custom. I, on the other hand, was split-training in Portland some 100 miles east. Lena was in the middle of sharing my ‘Bigfoot confession’ with the other ladies when two soldiers entered the building. As they passed the bake sale table, they happened to overhear Lena describing my encounter, then froze in their tracks. They turned to her and asked her to repeat the story then both confessed to having seen the creatures as well!
A lot has transpired since that fateful day. It has been my personal mission to provide irrefutable evidence of these amazing creatures existence in an effort to gain their recognition and, if need be, play a role in their protection. I have spent countless days and nights conducting field research (including six major expeditions) throughout the Pacific Northwest, California and one foray into the Mazetzal Wilderness of Arizona. My quest has given me the privilege to meet and/or work with some of the top researchers in the field: Peter Byrne, the late Rene Dahinden, John Green, the late Professor Grover Krantz (a.k.a. ‘The Four Horseman’), Bob Gimlin, Loren Coleman, Don Keating, the late Richard Greenwell, Larry Lund, Dr. Jeff Meldrum, Cliff Crook, Chris Murphy, Dan Perez, Joe Beelart, Ray Crowe, Dr. Wolf Henner Farenbach, Rick Noll, Thom Powell, Cliff Olson and the late Fred Bradshaw to name just a few. I thank them all for their generous insight, advice and companionship. Over the past 14 years, I have had the honor of appearing on more than 19 television programs, several radio talk shows, and given speeches at numerous symposiums and colleges. Bigfooting will always be a part of my life and I look forward to many more adventures in the future.
SGT Todd M. Neiss
https://cryptosightings.com/tag/todd-neiss-bigfoot-story
submitted by WNYguy37 to bigfoot [link] [comments]


2020.10.01 15:43 welcometosouthapp Welcome to South App #7: "Home Trailer Advantage"

Welcome to South App #7:


Monday, September 7th, 2020
“Gigi, come quick! Winston’s bleeding!”
Sarah hung up the phone. Gigi sprinted down four flights of stairs in a 500-dollar fleece bathrobe. (“Hooray, fake ID money!”) In front of Winston’s room stood Sarah - the color drained from her normally golden skin. Drops of blood trailed from Winston’s room to the men’s bathroom down the hall.
“His fucking crown fell out!” Sarah blurted out.
That morning, Gigi had put her dental knowledge to the test. Ah, the Guitar Guys broke Winston’s lateral incisor! She had sneaked Winston into the campus dental lab to fit him with a temporary crown. “Don’t bite down on it or eat anything too messy!” she had warned him. No chance. It was wing night at the Chubby Beaver Cafe.
The girls followed the blood to the bathroom door.
“I’m not going in there!” Gigi confidently declared.
“Oh, what was I thinking? Let me just magically fix his tooth with my 19 fucking years of dental experience!”
“But, but, but...that’s a male lavatory! And as his fraternal sibling, I surmise that you have unintentionally borne witness to his nether-regions...in the least intimate of circumstances, of course!”
“Stop bickerin’ and help me out, will ya?” came Winston’s muffled yell from the bathroom. “Fuck, this pain! Mama, make it stop!”
Gigi burst through the bathroom, where Winston and Tai wielded huge toy rifles. Sarah locked Gigi’s arms behind her head in a full nelson choke.
“What?! You’re okay?”
“First rule of paintball: never trust anybody,” Winston sneered.
Paintball was certainly on the menu on this first day of Fall Break. That night, Mama Beavers’ residence would be hosting the annual paintball tournament. And this morning, Winston, Tai, and Sarah were to give Gigi a proper introduction to the sport. With Super Soakers.
“Whatcha think, Winston?” Tai chuckled. “Shall we light her up?”
“I reckon we shall, roomie.”
Whipped cream spurted out of the Super Soakers, gagging Gigi’s mouth; tangling her jet-black hair; staining her luxurious robe.
“Whaaa! W-w-w-what the fuck, guys?” howled the Gigi sundae. “I just took an hour-long shower for nothing!”
“Hey, Winston, I have an idea,” Tai suggested, strolling over to the window.
“Oh, whatever may that be, Tai?” Winston played along.
Tai flung the window open, staring down the tunnel of a huge inflatable Slip-N-Slide. Only this slide was lubed up with light beer - not water.
“Time for your second bath, Gigi!” Sarah teased, tightening her grip and dragging Gigi to the window.
“You...do…not have permission to touch my body!” Gigi screamed. “This is sexual assault under North Carolina General Statute section 14-27.21, as signed into law by Bill-!”
The three freshmen heaved Gigi onto the beer slide. She continued rattling off state penal codes three stories down.
“Got ’em!” Winston cheered, celebrating with crisp high-fives. “Sheesh, is Gigi a lawyer now? What was that ramblin’ all about?”
“Beats me,” Tai mumbled. “I assumed Gigi knew everything but social skills.”
“Nah, Winston has a point,” Sarah agreed. “That legal mumbo jumbo is beyond the pale even for her. She and I will have to have a little chit-chat. Anywho...Winston, why don’t you go down there and check on her?”
“Fuck it, why not? I reckon I’ll enjoy a booze bath.”
Winston dived head-first onto the beer slide, careening against the sides. He consumed a pitcher’s worth of cheap beer before splashing three stories down into the Boozewalk: an inflatable moonwalk full of beer, enclosed by huge inflatable walls on all sides.
“Wait, what the hell?” Winston gasped, as a bathrobe floated in the booze bath. “G-Gigi? Is that you?”
The petite form of a woman rose to the surface, baring her pale face and smooth shoulders.
“Heeey, Winston,” slurred a seductive Gigi. “Looks like we’re finally alone in the dark. So...do you like me, Winston?”
“W-what? I...I think you should put your bathrobe back on, buddy.”
But Gigi did no such thing, likely naked below the frothy surface. Instead, she swam toward Winston as he backed up to the inflatable wall.
“What if I, like, totally sounded like Claire?” Gigi cooed, mimicking the southern girl. “Wouldn’t you, like, totally wanna get in my pants?”
“First of all, you’re not wearing pants. Second of all, you’re my best buddy. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“As you wish...I shall force myself on you instead!” Gigi shot to her feet, dressed in a pink South App tube top and black shorts. She pressed the muzzle of a paintball gun to Winston’s forehead. “Guys, now!”
Tai and Sarah burst through the mesh entrance. Paintball guns in hand, they splashed through the Boozewalk like the goddamn invasion of Normandy. “Freeze, mothafucka!” Tai screamed in a rare gangsta voice. As three armed assailants surrounded him, Winston raised his shaking hands.
“First rule of paintball,” Winston reminded himself, exasperated. “Never trust anybody.”
“Now where, oh where have I heard that before?” Sarah asked, throwing an arm around her brother’s shoulders. “Come on, it’s wing night!”
“Go without me and I’ll meet you at the truck!” Gigi said thoughtfully. “I’ve never tried beer, but I bet I can catch a buzz if I just float around in here!”
“Suit yourself,” Winston sighed, stepping out of the Boozewalk onto the grass. “It’s a damn shame my best buddy ain’t gonna be there to wipe the buffalo sauce off my face.”
They left Gigi alone in that dark, five-percent ABV bath. A sensory-deprivation chamber of sorts. She floated on her back, eyes closed and mind racing.
He turned down my romantic advances. Then again, he called me his best buddy! Now...I don’t know much about southerners, but methinks that’s a start.
Sarah stuck her head through the mesh entrance. “Heeey...so only lawyers and criminals know state penal codes. And, well, you’re not exactly either of those. Ya dig? So, I’m going to come straight out and ask: did someone sexually assault you?”
Gigi blinked. She slowly lowered herself into the beer bath as her fling with Twinston flooded her mind. Deeply kissing a man...that she thought was somebody else. Sliding off the boxer-briefs off a man...that she thought was somebody else. And telling that same man that she loved him.
Bubbles rose to the surface. Sarah grabbed Gigi’s shoulders and hoisted her to her feet. Her South Korean roommate was laughing her ass off, one eye twitching.
“Nope!” Gigi lied, shivering. “I willingly gave up my V-Card in a steamy one-night stand!”
***
Ryan blasted a .30-06 round from his Remington 783 bolt-action rifle. The bullet pierced the paper target 100 meters downrange. Heart shot.
Twinston walked into Dam Good Shot Gun Range. He and Ryan had the whole place to themselves on the Monday afternoon of Fall Break.
“Survey says it’s pure!” Twinston declared, slapping ABK’s bag of blue-and-white cocaine on the counter. Teja, their Indian brother, had tested the coke in the science lab that morning. (Meanwhile, Gigi had been sedating Winston in a dental chair a few floors up). The results: the only difference in BDE’s and ABK’s cocaine was the color of Walmart-brand glitter. ABK wasn’t just trying to compete with BDE. They were trying to run them off the fucking block.
“Well, you know what to do,” Ryan said matter-of-factly, racking the slide. “Confront Clyde about this shit head-on.”
“Hell yeah, I gotcha. Uh...should I get Winston to tag along? I reckon we’ll be more intimidatin’ with us both there. We’re the fuckin’ Wonder Twins when it comes to gettin’ shit done.”
Ryan blasted another round and missed his target. “Twinston, do you wanna borrow some mouthwash?”
“Huh?”
“I figure you’ll be needing it to wash the taste of Winston’s dick out of your mouth.”
Ryan racked the slide while Twinston dropped his jaw. But in light of the insult, he closed his mouth. Ryan’s fired again. Headshot.
“You’re BDE’s second-in-command,” Ryan reminded Twinston, holding down a button as the target returned to him. “And I need you to act like it. Deal with Clyde solo.”
The target came into full view. It was a security camera photo of Gigi in her baby-blue evening gown from the Masquerade.
What in the actual fuck? Twinston thought. It finally dawned on him that he had slept with a wanted woman that last weekend. Ryan’s wanted woman.
“Twinston, meet Ji-hye Moon, AKA Gigi. At first, I was pretty fucking pissed that you brought her to the house to fuck her. But after we got some footage, I was able to gather intel from students around campus. Not only is she friends with our very own Winston. But that filthy libtard hippie cunt, Sarah, is Winston’s fuckin’ sister! And not only did these bitches blow up my father’s ashes...they’re taking control of our entire fucking fake ID operation!”
Ryan paused. He unzipped his tote bag and withdrew an Uzi submachine gun with an extended suppressor. Twinston gulped as Ryan racked the slide and aimed at the photo at point-blank range.
“So, uh...what’s the plan?” Twinston stammered. “I mean, we ain’t got beef with Winston now, do we?”
“Word on Greek Row is that Winston and the girls are on the way to his Mama’s house as we speak. In my eyes, he’s harboring fugitives. That poor son of a bitch probably fears for their lives. Ha! Can’t I can’t say I blame him. I’ll be paying Cleft Falls a visit very, very soon.”
Ryan unloaded a 32-round clip into Gigi. 45-caliber rounds peppered the photo from head to toe. Finally, the barrel clicked, smoking and hissing. The photo was reduced to charred dust and ash on the floor.
Ryan fetched the cocaine, shoved his nose straight into the bag, and let out a carnal scream. Twinston slowly backed out of the gun range. He drove straight to the ABK house. But it wasn’t to confront Clyde about his cocaine empire. It was to warn him that Gigi’s life was now in danger. And given the history between Twinston and Gigi, Clyde would be a better man for the job.
***
The four freshmen were off to a late start to the siblings’ hometown of Trinity. Winston and Sarah were to blame. At the Chubby Beaver Cafe, they had challenged each other to a wing-eating contest (vegan wings for Sarah). Gigi had manned the ropes as Winston’s mouth-wiper; Tai as Sarah’s. Winston had won with flying colors. But Sarah hadn’t paid much mind, a lemon pepper smile beaming on her face. All she had cared about was being full.
Gigi and Tai exchanged puzzled looks in the back of Winston’s truck. “Hey!” she piped up. “Didn’t you wanna save room for your mom’s dinner?”
Sarah and Winston burst out laughing. Yes, their mother would be preparing a home-cooked meal from scratch. No, it would not be hamburgers and hot dogs.
“Oh, sweet summer children,” Sarah said condescendingly. She turned around in the passenger seat, her dreadlocks whipping Gigi in the face. “You have no clue, dude and dudette. See, we were born and raised under Mama Beavers. Do you know what that means? Why don’t you explain it to ’em, brother O’ mine?”
“With pleasure, sis! See, Mama Beavers is the most frugal woman on this side of the Mississippi. Prepare for a meal of epic backwoods proportions. Let’s see, Sarah. Do you reckon it’ll be fried gator skins or pickled chicken feet?”
“Oh! Don’t forget boiled okra soaked in fatback. Now that was quite a merry Christmas.”
Tai and Gigi contorted their faces in disgust. Their empty stomachs growled in protest. They hadn’t eaten anything all day.
“Hold tight,” Winston said, pulling up to the ABK frat house. He reached behind his seat and grabbed a wrapped present. A gift for Clyde. After Winston’s beating last week, the ABK president had turned in the Guitar Guys on aggravated assault charges. In return, Winston had torn down the Crenshaw Ave street sign, had fired a couple of pistol rounds into it, and had back-lit it with Christmas tree lights to create a custom neon sign. A rustic addition to Clyde’s man cave.
“Tai, will you go with Winston?” Sarah asked. “Gigi and I need a little girl time.”
Gigi’s antenna shot up. Winston and Tai got out of the car and headed up the driveway, intending to leave the present on their doorstep. Sarah whipped her head back, smacking Gigi with her dreadlocks again. Sarah rattled off questions like an auctioneer with Alzheimer's.
“So, how was it?
What positions did you try?
Were you drunk?
Was he drunk?
Did you use condoms?
How big?
Did it hurt?
Are you on the pill?
Do you need a pregnancy test?
Cut or uncut?”
Gigi flashed crazy eyes and forced a painful smile. She cackled psychotically. “Yes to all of the above!” A lie. “I...lost all control.” That was true.
Winston and Tai hopped back in the truck. “Welp, that’s that,” Winston declared, satisfied. “I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful-.”
“Gigi finally got laid!” Sarah blurted out.
***
6 PM: two hours until Ryan’s arrival
It was a painfully awkward car ride after Sarah announced that Gigi was no longer a card-carrying member of the Virginity Club. Gigi fought the urge to reach up front, pull Sarah’s dreads, and slap her to last week. But the passive Gigi merely sank into the hot leather seat while Tai and Sarah engaged in a heated debate about wearing leggings as pants.
“Um...I think you made the wrong turn?” Gigi broke her silence, tapping Winston on the shoulder.
“Nah,” he responded. Nonchalant. Robotic.
Winston pulled into Cleft Falls: a trailer park community in rural Trinity. A one-way bridge crossed the sewage runoff river. Dilapidated trailers were clustered on a small plot of land. Past that: a weed-infested open field as far as the eye could see. At the gated entrance, an old man with a shotgun snoozed in a rocking chair.
“Ay, Chuck!” Winston greeted, rolling his window down. “It’s been a while since-”
Chuck sprang up from his nap and fired birdshot into the air. Tai and Gigi screamed, hitting the floorboard. But Winston and Sarah laughed their asses off as the old man came to.
“Oh, my!” said the old man in a raspy voice. “Winston! Sarah! Hey, everybody, the Beavers are back!”
A flurry of broken screen doors sprang open like the intro to a Disney sing-along. Chuck raised the gate arm to let Winston through. Cautiously, Gigi and Tai sat back up in their seats.
Winston parked in front of the only double-wide trailer in the park. As soon as he stepped out of the truck, two little boys and a girl ran out of the trailer. “Winston’s back, Winston’s back!” they cheered, latching onto his knee and squeezing tightly.
“Oomph! Man, y’all are gettin’ big! Hey, easy now! Bahaha! Remember, hands off the beard!”
The kids wrestled Winston to the ground. Sarah leaned against the truck and crossed her arms with a sour face. Nobody ever paid the village liberal any mind...unless it concerned weed. Even the kids ignored Sarah to play with Gigi’s and Tai’s matching earrings.
“We picked these out together!” Gigi giggled. “Hey, wait! You can’t climb me like - whaaa!”
The three kids scaled Mt. Gigi with ease, reaching past her hair bow for that shiny silver earring. Gigi went tumbling down hard. Suddenly, the kids spotted something behind her, gasped, then sprinted away. A strong, calloused hand pulled Gigi to her feet.
Why...why do Winston’s rough hands turn me on so much?
But it wasn’t Winston. He was standing beside Sarah. The mysterious hand belonged to a short, plump lady in a denim pinafore dress and an ugly mustard flannel. A shaggy mullet that was the same shade as her childrens’ hair. Her rosy baby face formed a buck-toothed smile.
“Whale now!” cackled Velma Beavers. “I shoore hope y’alls hungry! There’s a’plenty chowda t’go ’round!”
7 PM: one hour until Ryan’s arrival
Gigi held her sour stomach on top of the trailer park’s huge dirt mound.
Dinner had been a stunning goat head and rich salmon carcass chowder. Winston and Sarah had defaulted to “We’ll pass, but our friends would love some!” Tai had snapped to the acting role of a lifetime. He’d gracefully dunked the ladle into the pot - only to spoon the chowder straight into the trash when Mama had turned away. Gigi was neither lucky nor skilled. So, she had sliced off a fatty portion of the goat’s cheek to garnish the thick, fishy brine. “It smells delicious!” she had lied, as the eye of the goat head mean-mugged her in that musty, cramped trailer.
Gigi vomited on the hill a third time, coating her tongue with hot stomach acid. There went yesterday’s breakfast. Now, she was starving.
“Ya know you’re sittin’ on a pile of dirt and manure...right?”
It was Winston. He walked up the mound and sat next to her. He scooted close, offering her a light beer and something wrapped in tinfoil. “Here, I whipped this up on Mama’s flat-top grill. It ain’t much, but-”
Gigi ripped open the Steak-Umm sandwich and shoved it into her mouth. She closed her eyes, letting the Grade-D meat, store-brand mayo, and Wonder Bread fill her empty stomach. Drunk food, you never let me down!
“Th-thank you!” Gigi yelped, hiccupping as she wolfed it down. She swiped the glass bottle of Bud Light Lime and took her first-ever sip of beer.
“It ain’t as sweet as that sugary cider,” Winston chuckled. “But we’re in a trailer park so that’s all we got. Now...while you eat, I wanted to have a word with ya.” Gigi nibbled her sandwich and sipped her beer, listening like a good student. “Shit, I feel like your dad,” Winston continued, scratching his head. “Giving you your first beer and...well, talking about...uh, sex. Look, I get it! I can’t be mad at ya for having your first experience and all. I just wanna make sure nobody hurts ya or takes advantage of you. So, I got a little gift for ya.”
“WHAT?!” Gigi choked, spitting out her beer. She looked down at the variety pack of condoms on her lap.
“Look, I know it’s weird,” Winston admitted to a beet-red Gigi. “I just...well, you never know when you’re gonna be in situations where you’ll need one and the guy ain’t got one.”
“Uh...Winston?” Flash floods from her night with Twinston.
“And who’s that type of guy, I reckon you’d ask? Well, I know him. He’s me.”
“Winston, stop.” She recalled when Twinston had pulled out a few seconds too late. After which, he’d fished out 50 bucks from his wallet for a Plan B...
“Okay, okay. One more thing. No means no, ain’t no matter if he’s more revved up than a Rausch engine at a tailgate, in the middle of the Indianapolis-”
Gigi stuffed her steak sandwich into Winston’s blabbering mouth. She gently placed the condoms on his lap while he fought a severe case of lockjaw. “I...I don’t use condoms?” she lied. “I’m on the pill. And I don’t have a boyfriend. It was...um, a one night stand!”
Winston spat out his food at Gigi’s shocking revelations. He cleared his throat, stood up, and chugged the rest of her beer. “I, uh,” Winston stuttered, catching a surprise light beer burp. “I’m gonna...get the guys ready for paintball.” He stumbled down the dirt mound, holding his head down in shame. Then, he straightened his shoulders, staring confidently at the sunset with his back turned.
“Sorry to be all overprotective and shit,” Winston muttered. “It’s just that...well, I’ve got a sister that I love. And I love you like a sister, too.”
Gigi’s heart pounded as Winston headed for the bonfire in the center of the trailer park. Gathered around was an army of rednecks in their 20’s and 30’s, suiting up in paintball gear. Suddenly, Gigi had fleeting psychotic thoughts of snatching a paintball gun and sticking the barrel into Winston’s gasping mouth. “You only love me like a sister?!
“Whale, whale, whale,” cackled Velma from the top of the dirt mound. “I reckon at least one of muh family’s fixin’ ta marry up in this wurrrld. Thasss right. I reckon yew will live in a better place than this. Ain’t dat bad though. Some call’a muh home a trailer park. I like tuh of it as a...modular mansion. Oh! Muh baby said yew fixed his’a broken toof! That was mighty neighborly of ya’s.”
“Oh! It...made me happy to see him smile properly again. Your son is the brother I never had!” With that sudden admission, she politely bowed and headed for the bonfire.
8 PM
The trailer park boys had taken their sweet time drinking light beer and dicking around for an hour. Even Sarah had joined the fray, passing out joints like Willy Wonka. Gigi and Tai were sitting quietly in their lawn chairs, people-watching. “Let’s count how many times they pee on a tree!” Tai had suggested. They had soon run out of fingers and toes and had promptly given up.
“All right, game time!” Winston announced, picking up his paintball gun and firing off a couple shots into the air. They had purposefully delayed the game so that A: it would be darker, and B: they would be buzzed.
“Yee-haw!” cried a Coca-Cola addict with twelve teeth. “I want the purdy Asian gurrrl on muh team.”
“She’s a’mine, asshole!” responded a guy with teeth in the single digits. “I wanna shoot shit wit Miss Jackie Chan.”
Gigi smiled at her admirers, wishing for nothing more than to pull their rotten teeth and replace them with new veneers. Such a skill was beyond her reach...now.
“Man, y’all stop that fuckin’ nonsense!” Winston commanded, firing paintballs at a nearby tree. They exploded into glow-in-the-dark neon splatters. Soon, this entire park would turn into a meth-fueled rave. “Y’all know the routine already. Everybody open your hopper and look at your match. If the match has been lit, then you are it.
Fear drove Gigi to open her hopper first. Pulling out a fresh match, she slumped into her lawn chair like a proud dad after a good yard-mowing. She panned across the bonfire to see similar reactions from Winston, Sarah, then the snaggle-toothed trailer park boys.
Tai slowly backed away from the bonfire.
“Oh, my duuude!” Sarah crooned. She fetched a joint and placed it between Tai’s quivering lips. “Better toke up while you can. Should help with the gnarly pain that you’re about to experience!”
“All righty, then,” Winston called out, swiveling around to his teammates. “Y’all know the drill. Tai gets a two-minute head start. Starting-” Winston swiped the pistol from Gigi’s purse and fired a real gunshot. “-now!”
Tai shrieked, then jetted off into the woods. Winston and the gang laughed their asses off while a furious Gigi balled her small fists. She swiped her .22 back and kicked Winston in the shin.
“Ow, okay! Damn, Gigi...my bad!”
“I won’t sit idly by and witness my fraternal sibling mold his advanced bipedal hominid behavior into that of an ancestral neanderthal!”
Blank stares from everyone. Drool dripped down the meth heads’ mouths.
“I mean...I love you like a brother too!” Gigi announced to the world.
Meanwhile, Tai weaved between trees. He heard the burst-fire of paintball guns as the meth heads riled themselves up. Then, he stumbled over a gnarled tree root, plowing into a man wearing all black.
“Yo, shitskin.”
Ryan Hughes smacked Tai in the head with his Uzi, knocking him out.
After the two-minute countdown, Winston and Gigi cut their headlamps on and approached the woods. Unlike previous years, Sarah dragged her feet behind her brother, staring at the ground.
“Come on, scout,” Winston said, turning around to her sister. It was tradition for her to rustle bushes, scaring out prey for Winston to unload on.
“You don’t need me, bro,” Sarah said, smiling weakly.
“Sis...”
“Yo, Sarah!” a meth head called from further down the treeline. “Help us flank him from down yonder. And bring that kush witcha!”
Sarah took a deep breath, letting out a pilates sigh. “I’ll admit: I don’t dig this at all. Gigi and I sharing joint sisterhood with you, that is. Roomie, I never thought I’d say this...but I wish you two were in love instead.”
Sarah walked off. Winston’s headlamp illuminated the shock and awe on Gigi’s face. She quickly shut their lights off, then began choking on tears in the dark.
“Gigi, no - it’s all right, buddy,” Winston consoled her. He dropped his gun and pulled her into a hug.
“I’m...I’m ruining everything!” Gigi whispered, sobbing into Winston’s shoulder. “First, I ruined your brotherhood with the frat. And now, I’m ruining your sisterhood. I...can’t stop ruining your life.”
Winston cradled Gigi’s chin in the crick of his neck. He softly ran his fingertips up and down the petite girl’s spine. Gigi moaned softly, submitting to the harrowing strength of his arms. She pressed her ear against Winston's chest, listening to his sputtering heartbeat.
“If this is you ruining my life,” Winston began, “then please keep doing it.”
Winston released Gigi from his embrace. He reached up to her face to wipe a tear - but poked her eye instead.
“Eeek!” Gigi gasped.
“Ah, shit,” Winston muttered nervously. “Now if that ain’t some pure-tea-mouth-full-of-dick garbage. Fuck, I ain’t too good with words. Or aim. I-I’m sorry.”
“Well, that’s quite all right!” Gigi cheered confidently. “Because you just said the only words that matter. You gave me permission to ruin your life! And you. Can’t. Backpedal.”
Winston’s and Gigi’s phones vibrated. A text from Tai. Your buddies flanked me. I’m by the sewer. Meet me there.
“How the fuck did they reach him so fast?” Winston thought out loud. “Come on, Ji-hye.”
He...finally called me Ji-hye?!
Winston grabbed Gigi’s clammy hand and led the way through a labyrinth of gnarled roots and fresh spider webs. His stomping grounds for the past 18 years. Winston’s first kiss, first cigarette, and first taste of moonshine had all happened within this quarter-mile radius. All on the same day. When he was nine.
But no premature life experiences could prepare Winston for what he saw next. Tai lay face down on the ground in handcuffs. Towering over him was Ryan in all black, pointing a modded Uzi at Tai’s head.
“Whoa, what the fuck?!” Winston spat. Instinctively, he reached down where his paintball gun should have been. But he had been holding Gigi’s trembling hand instead. They had left their guns behind.
“I’m here for my bounty, Brother,” Ryan declared, beckoning Gigi with his Uzi. “Do you have any idea how much fucking shame she brought on my dad and our frat?” Gigi panned over to Winston, her face ghostly-white. “Not only did this yellow-bone slut defile my father’s ashes,” Ryan continued. “But she, along with this faggot over here, and your libtard sister stole our fucking fake IDs and kept the profits!”
“Winston, I’m fucking sorry, man!” Tai bawled, curling up in a fetal position.
Now Winston’s skin went pale. His allies’ betrayal was somehow more jarring than Ryan with a gun. Unlike this morning’s prank (commissioned for pure fun), Sarah, Tai, and Gigi had just stabbed a knife in Winston’s back and twisted it with a smile.
Winston released Gigi’s hand.
“Wise choice, Brother,” Ryan sneered, pointing the laser sight at Gigi’s forehead. “Now...walk forward, you fucking bitch!”
Gigi’s shoulders stiffened. Her large black pupils were resigned to death. She tossed a feeble smile Winston’s way. “W-what do you think we should do...brother?” A final attempt to muster what little sympathy Winston had left.
“I’m no brother of yours.”
“Please!” Gigi panted. “I was poor and desperate, and I really needed the money!”
BRRRAT-AT-AT.
A flurry of silenced Uzi rounds peppered a nearby tree, causing Gigi to shriek. Tai placed his mouth against the ground and wailed, knowing good and well he would be killed on the spot if he alerted the others.
“I guess karma’s a bitch after all,” Gigi whispered as a wet spot slowly formed on her jeans.
“Enough yapping, dumb bitch!” Ryan bellowed. “Get the fuck over here.”
Suddenly, Winston reared back and smacked Gigi in the face, sending her to the dirt.
“You fucking heard her, you goddamn double-crossing cunt!” With his steel-toed boot, Winston kicked Gigi in the stomach, causing her to lurch as she prostrated herself. As a million thoughts flashed through her mind, one stuck out.
Winston’s faking it? He must be faking it! Right?!
But fear struck the hopeful Gigi as Winston pulled out his Swiss Army knife. Even Ryan stared in confusion as he lifted her shirt up to reveal her slim waist.
“Bitch ain’t worth the fuckin’ bullet,” Winston snarled. “I’m gonna gut her like a fucking pig!” He pressed the tip of the cold blade on the smooth, pale skin just above her navel. Gigi sucked her stomach in, staring up at him with pleading puppy-dog eyes. He’s faking it, he’s faking it, he’s faking it! But the red-hot fiery pain that shot through her body was very real. A faint trail of blood followed Winston’s knife from her belly button to the cup of her lacy, black bra. A surface cut that ruined her immaculate porcelain skin.
The agnostic Gigi closed her eyes, murmuring a silent prayer as tears rolled down. But Winston spat in her face, breaking her trance.
Fuck it! Let’s toss her in the goddamn sewer and let her rot with the shit and needles.”
Ryan narrowed his eyes, signaling both respect and approval. “G-goddamn, Brother. Now that’s what I’m fuckin’ talking about. Talk about a clever way to hide this bitch’s body!”
“Ain’t no cop in the world gonna search a trailer park sewer,” Winston sneered.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck’s wrong with you, you fucking bastard?!” Tai blurted out.
“Shut the fuck up, you babbling fucking faggot!” Winston yelled. Taking out his frustration, he snatched Gigi’s ponytail and dragged her through the mud toward the sewer. She kicked, screamed, and gnashed her teeth as she felt the roots of her hair being pulled out. Tai’s helpless hand reached out for Gigi as they passed him.
“Go on, pick it up,” Winston commanded, pointing down at the manhole cover. “You made your bed. Now fucking lie in it.”
Gigi sucked in a breath and slowly knelt down to slide the cover off. As she struggled to lift, Winston noticed that she was no longer crying. In his eyes, she was holding onto some vain hope that this was all an act. Or that she would wake up from this nightmare soon.
“Yo, Ryan!” Winston called out, as Gigi set the manhole cover aside. “What d’ya say after this, we drive over to her mom’s house and wine and dine the bitch? After we’ve had our fun, we can snap her neck and toss the old hag down here with her daughter.”
Gigi’s face twisted into a look of horror that was simply inhuman. Her tears flowed freely again. Even Ryan’s hands trembled as he steadied his gun. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Winston,” he whispered, excited and hesitant. “Her mom’s that fuckable, huh?”
“Nah. But once she sees that gun, I reckon she’ll be willing to try on her daughter’s lingerie. If we ask politely.”
“This…is real,” Gigi mouthed through chapped lips and a hoarse throat. The hyperventilating, blubbering girl managed one last breath.
“I...f-f-fucking hate you, W-w-winston.”
Winston shoved Gigi into the sewer. A silent 50-foot drop. Tai buried his face into dead leaves, wailing like a dying animal.
“No fuckin’ witnesses,” Ryan muttered, cocking his Uzi. Tai’s short life flashed before him as the red-dot sight blinded his eyes.
“FUCKING COCKSUCKERS!!!”
Suddenly, a screaming man burst from the woods and tackled Ryan to the ground. A flurry of Uzi rounds pierced the air. Coming to his senses, Winston dived on top of Tai, shielding him from any stray bullets.
“Winston, what the fuck man?!” Tai screamed, ignoring the two mens’ struggle beside them.
“She’ll be fine, roomie,” Winston stammered, tears welling up at Gigi’s last statement. He averted his gaze to see that the mystery man had won the struggle. The man stood up with the Uzi barrel at Ryan’s head. Emphasis on ‘stood up’, because that man was Alpha Beta Kappa’s very own Clyde Crenshaw.
“Fuck me, I don’t know what the fuck to ask you first,” Winston groaned, pushing himself to his feet. Sure enough, Winston was stuck between How in the sam fuck did you know we were here? and How in the sam fuck are you walking? But none of that mattered now. Winston limped over to the sewer entrance and called out. “Gigi! Can you hear me?”
A soft voice echoed from below. “Mmm...wha...I...I’m here. What...what h-happened? What’s...going on? So soft...”
“Winston, you fucking traitor!” Ryan spat. Clyde pressed his Converse onto the back of Ryan’s neck - gun at the ready.
An explanation: Cleft Falls was North Carolina’s largest dumping ground of used mattresses. In the dead of night, drivers would back their trucks up to the sewage canals to heave their beds overboard. Twin, queen, and even king-sized mattresses would make the long, filthy trek down the sewage runoff, backing up to this sewer entrance. Winston’s mom would beg her young son to play outside while she brought over new men to the trailer. Young Winston’s favorite passtime? Stacking mattresses 10 layers high, climbing up the ladder, and swan-diving from the top.
As part of Winston’s plan, those mattresses had broken Gigi’s fall.
“Thank fucking God you’re alive!” Winston yelled, tears streaming down his face. “You’re safe now. No one can hurt you anymore. Clyde, I reckon you’ve called the cops?”
“You’ve reckoned right, Brother,” Clyde responded, calling him that just to piss Ryan off.
“Fuck you!” Ryan scoffed. “I swear I’ll fucking kill all of you!”
“Good,” Winston responded to Clyde, ignoring his former brother. His tears dripped down the long, dark descent, sprinkling onto Gigi’s face.
“It’s...raining?” Gigi asked, slipping in and out of consciousness on an old, surprisingly comfy, Tempur-Pedic.
Tai came up from behind and swung his handcuffed arms in front of Winston, playfully choking him. “That’s not rain! Hey Gigi, Winston is crying for ya! Remember, he loves you like a quote-unquote brother!”
“Ah, fuck me,” Winston chuckled, exasperated.
“Hey, Gigi, did you hear that?” Tai yelled again. “Winston wants you to-WAH!”
Winston shoved Tai into the sewer to join Gigi on Mattress Mountain.
***
Cop cars lit up the trailer park as Winston, Gigi, Tai, and Sarah stood outside the entrance. A shivering Gigi huddled for warmth beneath Winston’s childhood fleece blanket. Turns out those old, rotten mattresses had been soaking in every form of mystery liquid in the sewer. The smell was rancid. An equally-rancid Tai distanced himself from Gigi while he recapped the incident to Sarah. Winston stood behind Gigi with his arms wrapped around her waist. Gigi fell asleep standing up, snoring gently as he rested his hand on her scar.
“Whoa, that’s fucking gnarly!” Sarah reacted with dilated pupils. “Shit, I sure did pick a bad time to get high with the other guys.”
“You what?!” Winston and Tai’s voices cracked.
Sarah shrugged. Then, a tall, muscular guy approached. “Whoa, you’re...walking?! Fuuuck, how high am I?”
No-longer-permanently-seated Clyde joined the circle. He crossed his arms, admiring his own two perfectly-working legs.
“Look, this stays between you and me,” Clyde mumbled in his deep, baritone voice. “If word gets around to the other brothers…” He hissed as he dragged a finger across his neck.
“Hey man, we owe you our fuckin’ life,” Winston said, squeezing Gigi’s waist tightly as her breathing quickened. “Your paraplegic secret's safe with us. But...how in the sam fuck did you know to come here?”
Clyde’s stone-sour face formed a twisted smile. “I’ll spare you the details, but...Twinston tipped me off.”
Gigi was still fast asleep in Winston’s arms, and it was probably for the best that she was unable to react to such news. “I see,” Winston responded. “Shiiiet. He is my better half, after all.”
Clyde nodded, then walked toward his truck. Through the windows, they saw the custom paraplegic hand controls. A reminder that Clyde would now be returning to his wheelchair-bound self.
“Winston! Oh muh lawd, muh baby!”
A tearful Velma rushed Winston and Gigi, gripping them in a bear hug that only a Mama could muster. Gigi gasped, awakened from a dream of Winston spooning her on a floating mattress in the sky.
“Ahm so glad y’all’s okay!” Velma continued, showering her son with kisses. Tai grinned at a frustrated Sarah, who threw her hands in the air.
“Hey, what about me, Mom?” Sarah complained. “I got so high that I got lost in the shower! Why don’t I get any fucking love around here?”
“Muh sweet daughter, of course ya do! H’why, I reckon you’ll get plenty of lovin’ from the guys tonight! There’s a gig of trailer park boys just a’sleepin’ in your old childhood room as we speak.”
“WHAT?!” Sarah sprinted toward Velma’s trailer, hell-bound to get to those meth heads before they raided her panty drawer. Or worse: before they found her secret stash of California kush. Tai, Sarah’s closest ally, chased after her.
Winston, Gigi, and Velma made small talk about their Michelin-star dinner. Then, a five-year-old neighborhood boy approached. Gigi stopped laughing, analyzing the boy’s mutated facial features. Cleft palate. Severe underbite. Angular cheilitis.
“I’m vewy sowry for evewything. I hope you come back see us.”
Gigi crossed her arms and bowed, her huge brown eyes beaming pitifully. “I promise when I get my dental degree, I will return and fix everybody’s teeth for free!”
“Pwahmise?” the boy responded in wonder. Even Velma flashed a toothy grin at such a grand proposition.
“If I don’t, Winston has to kiss me!”
“Ewww, cooties!” the boy cringed. He turned around and sprinted off toward Velma’s modular mansion: the home base for all kids in the trailer park.
Velma leaned forward and gave Winston a quick peck on the cheek. “Stole ya kiss, Gigi! So long, son. I luh ya’s.”
Velma left for her trailer. The cop cars finally peeled out, heading for the county jail. Winston and Gigi stood alone at that trailer park entrance. As a cool breeze hit, she pulled his blanket over her shoulders. She closed her big brown eyes, leaning forward for a kiss...
But before she could, Winston placed a hand on Gigi’s shoulder, signaling her to stop. Her eyes shot open, and she shuffled back. “Oh! I’m...sorry! I failed to discern that the atmosphere of such a…rustic locale may sap the romance from a potential initial kiss! And fail to mention will I not the fact that I was stranded in a sewage depository! And...that I may or may have soiled myself…”
But it wasn’t the location or the smell that stopped Winston from kissing her. He took a deep breath and placed both hands on Gigi’s shoulders like a fourth-down huddle.
“Look at me,” Winston began. “Aside from this whole...fake ID debacle, is there anything else I need to know about?”
Gigi’s heart sank. She audibly gulped. Winston’s suspicions were correct, and all she could think about was Winston’s prized gun marinating at the bottom of Rumwood Lake. The lost gun that caused him so many sleepless nights - that prompted him to flat-out buy a new gun that he re-gifted to her, of all people.
After tonight’s battle, Gigi was in no condition to bury it in her conscience.
“Ji-hye,” Winston repeated her real name again, attempting to calm down the twitchy-eyed girl. “I just need to make sure I’m gonna be able to trust you.”
“I’m so sorry!” Gigi cried out. She buried her face in his chest and confessed the ‘where’, ‘when’, and ‘why’ of his prized Colt Single-Action Army revolver. But as she wound down her colorful story, Winston wasn’t seething. He was...grinning mischievously.
“Mom, now!” Winston called out.
Winston broke away from Gigi’s embrace, and Velma fired a pair of paintballs at center mass. Brilliant neon splatters coated Gigi’s small breasts in a dazzling display of sweet, sweet revenge.
Gigi’s jaw hit the floor. Then, with a bashful smile, she opened her mouth to speak.
“First rule of paintball,” chanted Winston, Gigi, and Velma in unison. “Never trust anybody.”
submitted by welcometosouthapp to welcometosouthapp [link] [comments]


2020.09.30 04:09 AAFourAA False Deities (PART 22)

HUB
Sazra crept behind a slumbering silver soldier. She placed a hand over his mouth as she stabbed her gauntlet into his throat. She waited for the soldier's death-rattle to silence before she progressed through the camp.
Ibelong's keep stood tall in the center of the city. Surrounding camps filled its courtyards and gardens. Campfires brought some light for the soldiers, but not enough to alert them to the stalking she-beast.
She came to the large double-doors that led into the main hall of the keep. Drunken banter resonated from within as she carefully squeezed inside. She sought cover behind a large stone pillar as she eyed the posse of men who indulged in whatever drink would give them a buzz.
She saw a man enter through a door, a ring of keys on his belt. "Alright," he said, tapping on the shoulder of a drunken man. "It's your shift, you drunk bastard. I'd like to get a little shut-eye before the morning."
The man snagged the key chain from his belt and tossed them into the drunkard's lap. He took a seat and snatched a mug and took a few hearty gulps.
Sazra crept over to the door where the keyring’s new bearer moved. She followed him down winding stairs until they led to the keep's damp basement.
Her heart sank at the sight of cages, stacked bar to bar as far as the walls could contain. Each cell could hold one person, maybe two, but in reality, it had six or seven. Her kin, along with terrified citizens of Ibelong, shot their heads up as the drunken guard whacked the cages with his truncheon.
"Alright, you rats, I'm watching over you now," he said as he plopped himself on a wooden chair perched by a desk. "If any of you disturb my nap, I'll have you beaten and tossed on the next fire."
The she-beast prowled to her target, holding a finger to her mouth as bright-eyed prisoners shot their gaze to her. She got to the guard; the keyring left his body as her dagger entered it. He fell to the damp stone, causing the chair to tumble toward the wall.
Sazra quickly ran to each cage, fumbling through keys as she matched each one with the proper lock.
One by one, steel chains and locks hit the floor as the gates swung open from the cells. Loved ones embraced each other as others showed their gratitude to the she-beast.
"Sazra." A familiar voice rang the soul of the she-beast.
She turned and saw her old friend. Memories rushed to her, bringing back the days when she was the leader of her clan. So many looked up to her and praised her for her bravery and leadership. But only one soul she looked up to—one she loved.
"Denzo," she said as she gazed at the tall he-beast.
"I didn't think you would ever come back," he said, walking over to her side. "You proved me wrong--" he held up his manacled wrist, a chain dangling from each. "--in the best way."
Sazra couldn't help but examine the he-beast. He was tall and powerfully built. Her kind were all naturally gifted in physical capabilities, but Denzo would be considered on a different tier in that feat. He was a natural-born alpha male of any pack, and at one point, Sazra found herself by his side as the alpha female. This is, of course, before she became the leader of the Udawn Clan.
"How did they even catch you?" she said absent-mindedly, shaking her head to fix her gaze on his narrow eyes instead of his stout figure.
"You'll be surprised what you would give up when a knife is held to your mother's neck."
Sazra could relate to that statement too well.
"Someones coming!" a prisoner said, crouched by the winding stairs.
"Quickly, to the shadows." The she-beast took her position by the stairs, her fanged gauntlets ready.
A drunken guard stumbled down the stairs with a plate of food. He froze in his tracks at the sight of his companion lifeless on the floor. Before he could turn and scream, Sazra was on him, bringing a swift end to his life.
"Where are the weapons?" she asked as she gently dragged the body to the darkness of the basement.
"In the strategy room," Denzo said. "There's no way we can escort all of the prisoners there."
Sazra puzzled at the situation as she gazed into each troubled eye. It didn't matter if they were a beast or man; each face wore the same truth: we are scared.
She reached down and grabbed a short sword from the dead guard. She tossed it to Denzo and said, "who is the best fighter aside from Denzo and me?"
A tall, sinewy man stepped from the shadows. "I'd like to cast my name, Mordin, in the ballet, Uusa."
The she-beast winced at the word. A man of flesh and bone using the esteemed title of my clan? She thought. Indeed he is a man born and raised in Udawn's old tradition.
"Quickly, grab the man’s weapon over there." Sazra pointed at the other corpse. "We will secure the weapons. Then the keep."
###
The drunken soldiers in the keep dozed off as the massive bonfire that lit the hall bright followed them to decent. Sazra counted fifteen men, all armed but more than half without their armor.
She motioned to Denzo, who motioned to Mordin. In unison, they leaped into the dim firelight and began their ambush.
They hacked and slashed as the guards hollered and struggled to get battle-ready. Sazra felt a heat in her chest as her eyes grew cold. Each silver soldier she separated from this realm brought her pleasure. Pleasure for all of the terrible innocents they’ve slaughtered. For locking up her kin in cages like rats. For trying to kill her mother.
She feared this pleasure, deeply.
The final soldier fell to the cold stone. The three stood over them and examined their surroundings.
“Which way is the weapons room?” Sazra asked.
“This way,” Denzo said, pointing and leading the way.
Up a small flight of stairs was another room behind large double doors. Inside, one silver soldier leaned on a chair, snoring quietly. Sazra motioned for Mordin to take care of the slumbering guard as she and Denzo strutted over to the table piled with weapons.
“Are there more prisoners in the city? I saw a few outside of the walls,” Sazra said as she examined a few spears.
“Aye,” Denzo replied. “They’re planning to execute them all tomorrow. They had prisoners digging trenches to dispose of the bodies.”
“How many war-ready prisoners do you think are down in the basement?”
Denzo scratched his ear. “Probably twelve. Maybe fourteen.”
“And of our kin?”
“Eight.”
“I’ll take those numbers versus an army.”
“So, you’re back for good?” Denzo smirked.
Sazra glanced up at the tall beast but pretended to examine the window behind him. “I--”
“Shall I get the prisoners, Uusa?” Mordin stepped by the weapon-cluttered table, taking a cloth to his bloody sword..
“Yes,” the she-beast said. “Bring them here quickly; we will focus on securing this keep.”
Mordin nodded and ran out of the room.
“So, you were saying?” Denzo pursued.
You haven't changed one bit, have you. Sazra thought. Here we stand surrounded by a legion of zealots and you insist on inquiring about my company. If I were not so fond of you, I’d have your tail as my belt.
“Well?”
“I’m here for good,” she said, flipping a dagger in her hand. “I’m here to reunite the clan to march upon the false Deities with the sun shaper.
A broad grin came upon Denzo’s face. “Welcome back, Uusa,” he said. “Or to the unknowing ear of the Realm, my Beast Queen.”
PART 23
submitted by AAFourAA to AJHWriting [link] [comments]


2020.09.29 12:27 Gemini540x Today you, Tomorrow me.

Today you, tomorrow me.
--------------------------------------
"Stop!".
Tyler barked from across the room. The uncharacteristically aggressive tone of his voice causing all three of us to turn around and face him.
Mark and Jess exchanged cautious glances, hesitantly lowering the rolled up magazine which Mark intended to use to smash an admittedly large but obviously harmless spider that was casually dangling from the living room light fixture.
This wasn't uncommon. I lived in a farmhouse surrounded by woodland with the closest neighbouring property being almost a mile away, unless you count the guest house which was basically a glorified cabin with two bedrooms which we just so happened to be using for our little get together so as to not make a mess of my parents house once the inevitable drinking games ensued.

Spiders in the house were a regular occurrence and here in England, even the big ones are not dangerous.
Unless of course you happen to be a big juicy fly.

In the nicest possible way, Mark was.. well.. a bit of a dick! He was your best friend one minute, then talking behind your back the next. The kind of guy who was used to being the funniest one at a party and wasn't afraid to take things too far in order to get a laugh.
The type who's idea of lightening the mood was "dead baby" jokes.

Tyler, on the other hand was quite clear about the fact that he didn't like.. well.. anybody!
Quietly confident and kept to himself. He wasn't mean or anything. Just preferred his own company to that of others and had enough mixed martial arts experience to beat blood from a stone.

The only thing these two guys had in common, was Jess, my annoying but thoughtful little sister.
While Jess had never shown any particular interest in either party, both of them had their own little ways of expressing their feelings for her.

Tyler simply kept his distance, seeming to always be around when she needed some comfort or to borrow some money.
Mark used his "humorous" personality and boisterous "alpha male" confidence to show her that HE was top dog.

In this particular instance, Jess had noticed a fairly big spider dangling menacingly from our "poor mans" chandelier and in typical teenage girl fashion, leapt across the room, cleared the coffee table in a single bound and screamed "EWW! KILL IT!".

To which Mark had decided to "heroically" step in and slay the unsightly beast before Tyler interrupted him, quickly crossing the room and gently pushing a hand against Mark's chest before cupping his bare hands carefully around the spider and smiling at my nervous sister as he backed up towards the cabin door, opening it with his elbow and heading outside.

Jess smiled back causing Mark to sigh audibly and roll his eyes as he slapped the magazine against his palm.
We watched as Tyler stood in the doorway, tilting his head as if examining the weather before crouching at a large plant pot just outside the door, the contents of which were long dead due to being neglected.

He opened his hands and let the spider scurry off into the dried out, crumbling leaves of the dead old plant and spoke softly...
"Today you, tomorrow me"
Although his calm voice was barely audible from the door, we all knew what he had said. He would use this term every time he found anything somewhere that shouldn't be.
A spider in Mark's bathtub, a mouse in Jess's dresser or a wasp that got itself trapped inside my car on the way here almost causing me to crash by beating itself repeatedly against my windshield.

Mark finally found his voice again and let out another sigh, louder this time as he threw the magazine onto the coffee table.
The sudden noise getting everybody's attention.
"Dude, don't put it so close to the door! It's just going to get back in". He droned, causing my sisters eyes to widen anxiously again.

This was met with Tyler silently smiling at the creature as it scuttled freely into the leaves, then glancing out at the open field where the main house stood. "It's going to rain", he said matter-of-factly.
He was right, the greying sky and ominous clouds gave a clear indication that a storm was most certainly on it's way.

"Pft!" Mark snorted, "it's just a spider dude, you should of just let me put it out of our misery!" He said, his gaze shifting between me and my sister, as if seeking some form of approval.

"So? Why does his life mean any less than yours?" Tyler said, closing the door and making his way back inside, dusting what I can only assume was a strand of webbing from between his fingers as he spoke.
"Just because some people don't like them doesn't mean they don't deserve a chance".

I couldn't help but smile at this statement. I'm not a huge fan of anything creepy or crawly, but the fact that Tyler, somebody so outwardly confident and physically capable has enough warmth in his heart to care for something, even if nobody else does.

It was exactly those qualities, coupled with his outrageously ripped physique, that made him so attractive to me. It was also the main reason I agreed to this little escapade in the first place. While I don't care much for alcohol, social gatherings or, well... Mark.

I thought that maybe if he could see the beauty in something as universally repulsive as a spider, then perhaps he might even be able to see the the beauty in me...

I know I probably sound petty, but I have always been a little jealous of my sister. Her gymnast frame and silky blonde hair made her easy on the eyes.
Even her irritating, high pitched voice added to her demeanour, giving her an air of vulnerability that guys seemed to love!
Honestly, she could easily be compared to a traditional "Disney" Princess. I, on the other hand...? Well...

I was broke from my thoughts by a distant flash of lightning, followed by a low rumble of thunder, made all the more tumultuous by the miles upon miles of empty fields leading up to the forest which cradles our property.

"Told you" Tyler said, a small smirk appearing on his face as his suspicions were confirmed as if on cue. There was a brief moment of tension as the boys stared at each other, only to be broken by Jess thrusting a bottle of whiskey against Mark's chest.
"Here! open this while I go get us some shot glasses!"

Mark obliged, offering one more glance at Tyler before noisily twisting the lid off the whiskey bottle and taking a long swig from it before setting it down aggressively on the coffee table and slumping back into his seat.

I let out a sigh, shrugging my shoulders as I inched my way into the centre of the room, making sure to sit on the chair between Tyler and Mark.
Partly so that I could be closer to Tyler but mostly to deter any more eye contact between to two of them.

The night went on and tensions died down, the sound of rain hammering against the cabin roof and the rumbling thunder made us all grateful to be inside the house, safe and warm, drinking by the fireplace which was burning excessively, mostly due to me trying to secretly tip away my shots of whiskey.
Like I said, not a fan of alcohol, but I couldn't be the only one NOT drinking.

I glanced up at the dark, ornate looking clock above the fireplace and blinked in surprise when I read the time, "2:36am".
I drew in what I hoped would be a gasp but ended up being an embarrassing fit of coughing brought on by the taste of whiskey on my tongue as I pointed at the clock, and tried to catch my breath.

"Oh my God!" Jess squealed, jumping to her feet. "What!?" I bark, startled by my sisters sudden outburst, glaring at her as she jumps to her feet.
"I have to pee!" She laughed, scurrying across the room and disappearing down the hallway to the bathroom at the back of the cabin.

The boys and I all breathed a collective sigh of relief as Mark once again reached for the whiskey bottle and proceeded to pour us all another shot.
I lifted my glass and placed it to my lips when I heard my sisters voice calling me from down the hall, growing in urgency. I paused to make sure I heard what I thought I did.

"Lucyyyy! Heeeelp!" She crowed, causing the guys to look at each other with concern. I however, recognised my sisters remarkably "subtle" way of telling me that she needs my help in a way only a girl would understand... if there was another spider, she would have called on one of the boys.

I pick up my bag and head down the hallway, digging around for a moment before tapping on the door and pushing it open just enough to fit my hand through, taking note of the fact that having our parents out of town has done nothing to inspire her to grow up and start organising things for herself.

I'll spare you the details of the conversation that followed and skip to the part where I walked back into the room with an audible sigh which was met with a resounding "SHH!" from the boys who were now both on there feet, their faces pressed up against one of the windows looking out into the darkness, there hands cupped around there temples to block out the reflective light of the chandelier.

"There's somebody out there..." Tyler said. This normally wouldn't of bothered me and at first it didn't, until I heard it...
Loud, deliberate footsteps, moving along the wooden decking that surrounded our cabin. Now, at the risk of sounding like a big baby, let me add some perspective.

I live approximately 4 miles by dirt road from the nearest town on a farm with my parents, who currently were not home, hence our little "party".
There's a storm raging outside and none of us have noticed any cars pull into the open plan driveway. Now, not only is there somebody outside the house who didn't think to knock on the door, but they are now walking around the house and to make matters worse. They're getting faster...

The footsteps seem to quicken in pace, a sharp cracking sound being made under them as the old wooden boards of our deck splintered and creaked under the pressure of our unseen sprinter. The sound moved rapidly along the side of the cabin, so loud it could have been coming from inside.
My concern turned to panic as I called for my sister, noticing that the sound was heading towards the back of the house where she was undoubtedly still in the bathroom, preening herself in the mirror.

"Jessica?!" I called out, not even attempting to mask the obvious tremble in my voice as the guys moved back away from the window and moved in unison towards the hallway.
A clatter of footsteps coming to a halt and stumbling high heels could be heard as they practically run strait into her in the hallway, her eyes now wide and puzzled. "What's going on?"

I pressed a finger to my own lips and raised my hand to keep her quiet. The footsteps... they had stopped.
We all stayed silent, occasionally glancing at each other as if to communicate our growing apprehension, the silence finally being broken by Jess's voice, her tone no longer the usual sing-song annoyance it normally was.
It was now filled with a sickening fear as she raised a hand and pointed directly to the window and whispered "O-oh my God..."

A chill ran down my spine and we turned around, as if in unison staring directed at the looming, dark shape that now filled the window frame.
It wasn't moving save for the occasional twitch, but stood unnervingly still in the heavy wind which we could heard was still whistling between the fragile old wooden panels that made up our cabin walls.

We stood close, huddled into a group as if seeking warmth, our arms touching as we stared, frozen in fear at whoever... no... WHAT-ever was staring back in at us.
Then, as if to answer my curiosity a bright flash of lightening tore through the darkness, illuminating the creatures hideous frame.

It was hard to get a good idea of what this thing looked like, the bright flash of lightning doing little more than accentuate the unnatural shape of the beast, briefly illustrating it's pointed, insectoid looking head and sharp, jagged shoulders that seemed to point directly upwards, as if the head sat between them in a wet, brown crevice that I assume must have been a chest.

I gasped, my chest starting to throb with the familiar kind of pain that made me instinctively reach for my bag, turning my head slightly, trying to glance into my bag but not wanting to take my eyes off the shape fumbling around inside it for my asthma inhaler.
The dark shape remained still at this, only tilting it's head in what appeared to be curiosity, although the tilt was more of an unsettling crack which resulted in the monster looking at us from a slightly different angle.

The rain beat down around the thing and the thunder that followed the lightening caused us all to jump out of our skin. Me and my sister screamed simultaneously the way only sisters can, almost mimicking each others scream in both length and volume, the only difference being a couple of key notes.

Mark grabbed a hold of Jess's wrist and pulled her towards him. More for his own comfort than hers, I'm sure. Tyler took a step towards the window and raised his hand.
"What are you doing man?! Are you crazy!?" Mark spat, moving quickly behind my sister and now holding her by the shoulders like some kind of tiny, blonde meat shield as Tyler held his hand up.

"Shut up" Tyler hissed as we all watched the monster raise a long, jagged appendage and press is against the darkened window frame. The tip of which clattered noisily against the glass, there were no hands... Just a single, sharp claw.

This was apparently too much for Mark who once again assumed the mantle of "Alpha" by picking up an empty shot glass and hurling it across the room towards the window.
"GET LOST!" He yelled, his voice cracking with obvious fear. The tiny glass smashed loudly against the wall, scattering tiny fragments of glass around the wooden floor of the cabin.

We all froze as another flash of lightning lit up the frame of the monster which had moved backwards slightly in reaction of Mark's attempt at frightening it.
The momentary radiance giving birth to an all new horror as the monster tilted its head back, a series of gurgling, snapping sounds seeming to come from inside it as it opened an elongated, bizarre looking mouthpiece... and it screamed... the baffling sound clearly a disembodied mixture of the screams me and my sister had emitted just a moment ago.

Tears started to fill my eyes and my legs trembled relentlessly as the garbled amalgamation of both our voices poured out of the thing just before it disappeared again. The rattling sounds of it's unhesitant footsteps now crashing along the decking and up the side of the building.

We all huddled together again, our eyes following the sound as it made its way furiously up the wall and across the roof, it's speed unnaturally fast and the sounds of its claws against the tiles not seeming to follow any kind of pattern, instead just sounding as if they simply crashed down wherever they landed at random intervals.

The sound grew distant, then stopped altogether and we stood for a while, the fire starting to burn dimmer and dimmer as we waited for any kind of movement, any indication that this thing was still there.

Tyler was the first to move, slowly raising his hands and lowering them slightly, as if signing to us to remain quiet as we started to move around. I turned my attention to Jess who was shaking, sobbing hysterically but trying her best to hold back any noise.
I rested my hand on her shoulder and raised my inhaler to my lips, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, trying my best to exude some semblance of calm in an effort to soothe my little sisters whimpering.

Tyler and Mark stood over by the fireplace, what started as a whispered conversation now building up to be a buzz of hissing and snapping, punctuated with quick and stern gestures, obviously blaming each other for the monsters sudden outburst.

Mark eventually lets out a sigh and glances at the door, staring at it for a moment. "We have to get out of here!" He announced, glancing at the ceiling and listening for a second before walking towards the door. "Lucy, we need to make a break for the car".

"No!" Tyler snapped, stepping towards him. "You saw the same thing we did... You have no idea what we're dealing with here! That.. that THING is intelligent! It probably WANTS us to make a break for it! We need a plan..."

"Who died and made you queen?!" Mark yells, the echo of his voice now apparent in the overwhelming silence of the cabin. "Shh!" I chime in, frowning angrily at him. "Tyler's right Mark, just.. l-lets think of a plan okay.. it's not safe out there!"

Mark scoffs and shrugs his shoulders, rolling his eyes at me and forcing a derogatory laugh "Ha! Oh what a surprise! Lucy agrees with Tyler! Hmph!"
He throws his arms up exhaustively and walks an anxious circle around the table, picking up the bottle of whiskey and taking another swig.

"Look, if you want to stay here and get eaten, that's fine by me! Just give me the keys, and I'll go by myself!" The presence of alcohol now making it difficult to differentiate between Marks confidence and stupidity.

I subconsciously clutch my bag tighter to my chest, knowing my car keys are inside. Then suddenly, Mark lunged for my bag, snatching it out of my hands, shoving Jess aggressively when she tried to intervene, causing her to fall back against the chair.

I let out a stifled scream, trying to protest his actions. I was too late, in one movement he tore the bag from my hands and made a break for the door, fumbling around inside as I crouch down to pick up my sister, now more concerned about her health than Marks.

Tyler darts towards Mark, charging him and tackling him with a loud clatter into the door, the brittle wood seeming to bend and augment under the pressure of the two boys falling into it. Tyler starts to pin Mark against the door, fighting over the bag and trying to pull it away from him, all the while pinning him against the fractured, splintering wood.

Eventually the door gives way, the loud crack of the rupturing door-frame causing everybody to fall silent and scramble away from the door. I feel the colour start to drain from my face as we all listen intently. The boys back away from each other, the contents of my bag now strewn about the floor near the doorway.

I spot the car key on the ground, as does everybody else in the room. However, a sharp clicking sound from above us pulls everybody's attention to the ceiling and both the boys start backing up slowly. Mark reaches for the whiskey bottle again, shaking his head and letting out a sombre sigh before taking a deep swig.

"I'm sorry Tyler..." He says, his tone low and ominous, not the kind that would register as a sincere apology. Then out of nowhere, he turns around, swinging the bottle at Tyler. Jess and I both scream, shielding our faces, expecting the glass to shower us as it smashed, but instead, the thick glass bottle strikes Tyler in the back of the head with a deep, dull thud, dropping him immediately to the floor!

We uncover our faces, bringing our trembling hands down to see Tyler on the ground, still conscious, but barely as he clutches the back of his head in pain.
Jessica tries to stammer out something barely audible but chokes on her tears as she falls down to her knees, covering her face once again.

Mark points the bottle towards me and shakes his head, backing towards the door and leaning down to pick up the car keys. He looks around cautiously as he makes his way to my car, his face darting up to the roof, then around the sides of the house. Jess crawls her way over to Tyler as he groans in pain on the ground, clinging to consciousness as she tries to comfort him.

I side step to the window, watching Mark as he clutches the bottle, taking an immoral pleasure in the fact that he's shaking so badly that he can barely hold onto the instrument that put us all in danger.

He backs up into the car, letting out a broken yelp as the sudden feeling of something solid catches him off guard and he drops the bottle on the ground, his hands shaking violently as he starts to scratch at the car door, trying to push the key into the lock.
I watch him struggle for a few seconds before he freezes, as if he's just suddenly given up on trying to get in the car, but he doesn't move, just stands perfectly still.

It takes me a moment, but I soon discover why. The sound... the broken and distorted but eerily familiar sound of my sisters voice.. "Luuucyyy... heeeelp"...
I look down at Jess who is still sobbing into Tyler's shoulder as he sits up, trying to compose himself and I can't help but feel sick as this Godless abomination mimics my sister.

I watch from the window, feeling my knees bend instinctively as two, large, clawed appendages reach up from the other side of my car and scramble over the top of it!
The thing was massive, it's limbs cracked and bent unnaturally as it practically unfolded itself from it's hiding place and stretched out a bizarre and uncomfortable looking form.

It's face, still hard to make out in the darkness, seemed to warp and change as it loomed in closer to Mark. It's sat perched, so still that I would of thought it had frozen in time, like the worlds ugliest statue. Then, with no warning it's front appendages widened, freeing a smaller pair of.. arms..? Legs..? I don't know!

Something shot out and snatched Mark so harshly that his heels almost touched the back of his head and I turned around, crouching under the window frame and covering my ears as I tried to drown out the sounds of whatever it was doing to him.

I don't know how long I sat under the safety of the window frame, but I was suddenly jerked from my position by a terrifying tremor as it rippled through the cabin.
I crawled across to my sister and Tyler who, like me, had remained still. "Jess! Jess are you okay? Wh-what was that...?".

She didn't respond. She instead stared across my shoulder, her face white and her eyes shimmering. The reflection of peculiar, freakish movements gave me an overwhelming sense of dread.
I felt the wave of fear pass over me, only suppressed by the desire to protect my sister as I turned around and watched helplessly while the frightful atrocity came scrambling in through the broken doorway, pulling itself through the gaps awkwardly like a spider through a plug-hole.

It shifted and rocked as it leaned it's top heavy, lumbering torso towards us.
The light of the cabin made me question every time I'd seen the monster, as only having it this close had given me enough of a chance to focus on its face.
It had two parallel plates which clung together to create a mask which appeared vaguely human... They writhed and twitched as a thin, wispy antenna poked around behind them, sliding over it's dark eyes like an obscene windscreen wiper.

I tried to speak and as I did so, the bottom of it's face plates moved, letting out a probing tongue like proboscis. I was certain that it was trying to copy my movements. I was reminded of the long pause it took before devouring Mark and I braced myself, closing my eyes and tensing my whole body.

I tried to focus on something other than the feeling of warm, wet air that seemed to radiate from the monster, the rain which covered it's body starting to drip onto my legs as I sat in front of my friends awaiting the inevitable.

A harsh tug caused me to gasp and I kept my eyes closed, my back bending as I'm dragged backwards and I collided with something else. Torn between curiosity and self preservation, I cautiously opened my eyes to see Tyler. He stood between us and the monster, a hand raised up in the air.

I wanted to scream, my chest hurt and my lungs felt like they were getting smaller as the creature curiously wrapped it's long, wet, stringy antennae around Tyler's outstretched hand before recoiling slightly and wheezing out a raspy screech, its unsettling facial features contorting hideously again as it propped itself up onto it's back legs, staring down at him and clicking menacingly.

We watched in both horror and amazement as the back half of the thing started dragging it towards the doorway, it's fore-limbs lagging a little before they too started to move. It clambered around the doorframe and twisted it's body outwards the same way it came in, glaring at Tyler from the doorway as it reversed.

We held our breath, half relieved, half braced as it lowered the top half of its body with a threatening snap, leaving only its face in the doorway as the unsightly mouthpiece throbbed and spluttered while a sinister but somehow comforting resonance rattled out of it.... "Today you... Tomorrow me..."
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2020.09.29 10:52 RubySmith1 God’s Salvation

God’s Salvation
By Yichen, China

God’s Salvation
Almighty God says, “Every step of God’s work—whether it be harsh words, or judgment, or chastisement—makes man perfect, and is absolutely appropriate. Never throughout the ages has God done work such as this; today, He works within you so that you have appreciated His wisdom. Although you have suffered some pain within you, your hearts feel steadfast and at peace; it is your blessing to be able to enjoy this stage of the work of God. Regardless of what you are able to gain in the future, all that you see of God’s work in you today is love. If man does not experience God’s judgment and refinement, his actions and fervor will always remain at surface level, and his disposition will always remain unchanged. Does this count as having been gained by God? Today, although there is still much within man that is arrogant and conceited, man’s disposition is much more stable than before. God’s dealing with you is done in order to save you, and although you may feel some pain at the time, the day will come when there occurs a change in your disposition. At that time, you will look back and see how wise is the work of God, and at that time you will be able to truly understand God’s will” (“Only by Experiencing Painful Trials Can You Know the Loveliness of God” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). Reading this passage, I can’t help but think of how arrogant I used to be. I used to have such unrestrained desires, always seeking fame and status, vying with and comparing myself to others. I lived without any human likeness. After experiencing God’s words’ judgment, chastisement, and discipline, I began to understand my satanic nature a bit. I became capable of regret and self-disgust, and became a little more honest and humble. I really felt that the judgment and chastisement of God’s words are salvation for mankind.
In 2005, more than a year after accepting Almighty God, I was chosen as a church leader. Having been elevated by God and trusted by my brothers and sisters, I prayed to God, resolving to do my duty well to repay His love. I immediately became immersed in church work. When others fell into certain states or had difficulties, I’d find some of God’s words to help them out, and though what I fellowshiped was shallow, I still saw some results. Brothers and sisters said my fellowship helped them a bit. Since I had some success in my duty, a leader later had me take on work for several churches. I was thrilled. Especially when I saw I grasped God’s words faster than the sister I worked with, and the leader thought highly of me, I was quite pleased with myself. I thought the leader saw me as someone with real potential, an indispensable talent in the church. With time I became more and more arrogant and thought I now had a little reality of the truth. I stopped focusing on eating and drinking God’s words or reflecting on myself, and I didn’t seek the truth when I encountered an issue. I was always full of myself, haughty, and looked down on my brothers and sisters. When I saw some of them were constrained by their corrupt dispositions and couldn’t perform their duties properly, I stopped fellowshiping on the truth to help them out of love, but impatiently scolded them: “God’s work has gotten to this point, but you’re still greedily enjoying the flesh. Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall into the disasters and be punished? If you don’t start doing your duty well, you’ll be eliminated.” I saw they were being constrained and didn’t want to see me, but I didn’t reflect on myself, instead grumbling they weren’t pursuing the truth.
Before long, a leader came to our gathering. I thought it was to promote me. To my surprise, she said my entry into life was shallow, that my fellowship couldn’t resolve problems, and that I wasn’t fit to stay in charge of the work of several churches. Hearing this, I was stunned—my mind went utterly blank. I don’t even know how I got home after the gathering. I just remember crying the whole way, thinking: “I’ve worked so hard in my duty, but instead of getting ahead I’ve sunk down. What will the brothers and sisters think of me? It seems I can’t take on such a large scope of work, but how can I resign myself to such minor duties?” For some days I couldn’t eat or sleep, but was steeped in misery. I just prayed to God, asking Him to enlighten and guide me so I could understand His will. I felt much calmer after praying, and I read these words of God: “In your seeking, you have too many individual notions, hopes, and futures. The current work is in order to deal with your desire for status and your extravagant desires. Hopes, status, and notions are all classic representations of satanic disposition. … You are now followers, and you have gained some understanding of this stage of work. However, you have still not put aside your desire for status. When your status is high you seek well, but when your status is low you no longer seek. The blessings of status are always on your mind. Why is it that the majority of people cannot remove themselves from negativity? Is the answer not invariably because of bleak prospects? … The more you seek in this way, the less you will reap. The greater a person’s desire for status, the more seriously they will have to be dealt with and the more they will have to undergo great refinement. Such people are worthless! They must be dealt with and judged adequately in order for them to thoroughly let go of that. If you pursue this way until the end, you will reap nothing. Those who do not pursue life cannot be transformed; those who do not thirst for the truth cannot gain the truth. You don’t focus on pursuing personal transformation and entering in; but focus instead on extravagant desires and things that constrain your love for God and prevent you from drawing close to Him. Can those things transform you? Can they bring you into the kingdom?” (“Why Are You Unwilling to Be a Foil?” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). I understood God’s will after reading this. He set up that situation to deal with my desire for status, to get me to reflect on myself and take the right path in pursuing the truth. I thought about whether my eager pursuit and sacrifices in my faith had really been to pursue the truth and do the duty of a created being. The reality was that it was just to satisfy my ambition to get ahead of others, and not at all to pursue the truth! So once I had a position I was quite pleased with myself and didn’t try to progress. When I was dismissed, not only did I not reflect on myself, but I was negative and weak, and blamed God. I even thought about throwing in the towel and betraying God. I was so devoid of conscience and reason, so selfish and despicable. Being dismissed was God protecting me. I shouldn’t have become negative or misunderstood God, but should have sought the truth to resolve my corruption. Once I realized that, I came before God in prayer. “Oh God, I don’t want to pursue status anymore. I wish to submit to Your rule and arrangements, really pursue the truth, and fulfill my duty to satisfy You.” In the following days, I focused on eating and drinking God’s words and reflecting on myself, and when I revealed my arrogant disposition again, I consciously prayed to God and forsook myself. I felt much better after practicing this way for a while, and I could interact properly with brothers and sisters.
After a few years of this, I was once again selected as a church leader. Not long after that, my church merged with another one, so we needed to hold elections for leaders again. My desire for status reared its head again because of this, I was really afraid of losing my position. In gatherings with the other church’s leaders, I found their understanding of God’s words and fellowship on the truth to be nothing extraordinary, so I thought being selected as leader was a sure thing for me. To secure my position and have more people see how capable I was, I offered to go deal with some issues in a weaker church, promising to resolve them quickly. I busied myself in gatherings every day, fellowshiping and resolving problems, and in my fellowship I purposely talked about how I did my work in the past, what great achievements I had made, and how leaders at the time valued me. I also intentionally talked about mistakes and deviations in the work of the other church’s leaders to covertly raise myself up and put them down. But God sees into my hearts and minds, and since my motives in my duty were wrong, God hid Himself from me. During that time, though I was constantly busy, I achieved nothing in my work. I developed sores in my mouth, and even drinking water was painful. I was really suffering and I thought about how since I’d been there I hadn’t resolved a thing and my work hadn’t achieved any results. I wondered how the leaders would see me, if they would think I wasn’t capable. What if I was dismissed even before the election? What a humiliation! At this thought I was itching to resolve all the problems right away, but no matter how I fellowshiped, things just dragged on as before. I felt so tormented, all I could do was come before God and call out to Him in prayer: “Oh God! I’ve fallen into darkness and I don’t understand any problem at all. Oh God, I must have defied You, so I beg You to guide me. I’m willing to reflect on myself and repent to You.”
I later read a passage of God’s words. “You have the tongue and the teeth of the unrighteous in your mouths. Your words and deeds are like those of the serpent that enticed Eve to sin. You demand from each other an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, and you struggle in My presence to wrest position, fame, and profit for yourselves, yet you do not know that I am secretly watching your words and deeds. Before you even come into My presence, I have sounded the very bottom of your hearts. Man always wishes to escape the grasp of My hand and elude the observation of My eyes, but I have never dodged away from his words or deeds. Instead, I purposefully allow those words and deeds to enter My eyes, that I may chastise man’s unrighteousness and execute judgment on his rebellion. Thus, man’s words and deeds in secret remain always before My judgment seat, and My judgment has never left man, for his rebellion is too much” (“The Work of Spreading the Gospel Is Also the Work of Saving Man” in The Word Appears in the Flesh).God’s words of judgment and revelation left me trembling with fear! I thought back on how I’d been thinking and acting. To ensure my position as a leader and have more people look up to me, I made a show of resolving problems through fellowship to prove myself and capture hearts, elevating myself and belittling others at every turn. I treated brothers and sisters like competitors, employing tricks and tactics. I had no likeness of a person of faith, no humanity. How was I any different from an animal fighting over a bite of food? I was so selfish and despicable! I was doing evil and resisting God with my deeds and had long before offended His disposition. Suffering with those sores and achieving nothing in my work were God chastening and disciplining me. His will was for me to reflect on myself, to repent and change. I gave thought to why I was always pursuing fame and status, placing them above all else. It was entirely down to being deceived and corrupted by Satan. It used education and social influences to steep my heart in these toxins and philosophies, just like “Those with brains rule over those with brawn” and “Distinguishing oneself and bringing honor to his ancestors.” These satanic philosophies were deeply rooted in my heart and had become my nature. I was living by these poisons, becoming more and more arrogant and conceited, worshiping fame and status, always trying to get ahead and be better than others. Since I wasn’t on the right path, but was living within this corrupt, satanic disposition, I was blinded and couldn’t see the root of any issues, nor could I resolve others’ problems, and I delayed the church’s work. I wasn’t doing my duty, but was doing evil. I prostrated myself before God and repented to Him: “God, I’ve neglected my duties for name and gain, trying to fool and cheat You. I should be cursed! Oh God, I don’t want to be like this anymore. I want to repent to You.” I then read these words from God: “Since you are God’s creatures, you must perform the duty of a creature. There are no other requirements of you. And you will pray and say: Oh God! Whether I have status or not, I now understand myself If my status is high it is because of Your elevation, and if it is low it is because of Your ordination. Everything is in Your hands. I don’t have any choices or complaints. … I do not focus on status; after all, I am just one among creation. If You place me in the bottomless pit, in the lake of fire and brimstone, I am nothing but a creature. If You use me, I am a creature. If You perfect me, I am yet a creature. If You do not perfect me, I will still love You because I am no more than a creature” (“Why Are You Unwilling to Be a Foil?” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). God’s words gave me a path of practice. Whether I was replaced or whether I had any status, I still had to pursue the truth and do my duty well, and focus on practicing the truth in my duty and casting off my satanic disposition. After that I corrected my motives in my duty and focused on quieting myself before God to read His words and pray. I put the church’s problems in God’s hands and looked to Him, and I sought the truth with brothers and sisters. Those issues in the church were resolved very quickly. I was filled with gratitude to God. God is so real, so lovable, and He was by my side, setting things up to purify and transform me. I also realized how critical it is to pursue the truth and dispositional change in my faith.
Six months later, I was given responsibility for a few more churches’ work. Knowing how strong my desire for status was, and how arrogant my disposition was, I prayed earnestly to God so I could correct my motives and do my duty well. I was paired with Sister Wang at the time, who had a clear perspective on issues and was mature in handling problems. I asked for her advice frequently and learned from her strengths. After a few months like this, I’d progressed quite a lot in fellowshiping on the truth to resolve problems and doing a variety of church work. Brothers and sisters looked up to me, too. Before I knew it, I started feeling really pleased with myself again, thinking that, though I was relatively new to the faith, my fellowship was as good as Sister Wang’s and I had grown in my ability to handle issues. I thought my stature had grown. I didn’t realize my arrogance was showing at every turn and my desire for name and status had come back stronger than ever. I wanted Sister Wang to listen to me in everything. I couldn’t stand seeing others approve of her fellowship or that she took the lead in church matters. I felt I’d had some practice and had accumulated a lot of experience, that I wasn’t a clueless newbie, and that my caliber was on par with hers. We were both leaders, so why did she always take the lead? Why should I listen to her? If that went on, wouldn’t I be a leader in name only? I started working harder and equipping myself with God’s words so I could outdo her, and during our discussions of church work at co-workers’ meetings, when she expressed her opinions, I intentionally nitpicked and found fault with them. I would then share my “brilliant idea,” to put her down and raise myself up. A little while later, while discussing church work, a few co-workers liked my ideas and they started coming to me when they had problems and listening to my suggestions. I just loved seeing them all crowd around me. Later, Sister Wang became unable to go out to perform her duty because the CCP was tracking her, so I became solely responsible for the church’s work for the meantime. I didn’t feel overwhelmed by the work, but was really relaxed, and thought finally I could have final say on everything. At the time I realized that my way of thinking wasn’t right, but I didn’t reflect on myself or take it to heart at all.
One day a leader told me I needed to attend a gathering in another area, that only 10 or so were selected, although it included a large region. I also overheard that I was to be promoted. I really felt like I was something, that I was the cream of the crop in our region. I got on a train with four other sisters in high spirits, but something unexpected happened on the way. We were tracked and arrested by the CCP police. Their interrogations were fruitless, so they sentenced me to two years of hard labor for “organizing and using a xie jiao organization to undermine the enforcement of the law.” I went through a trying time after my sentencing. Misunderstandings and doubts about God arose in my heart: “Why was I arrested and thrown in prison when I was about to be promoted? Isn’t it God stopping me, using this to expose and eliminate me? Have I lost my chance at doing my duty and being saved?” I was in such pain, and I was so lost. So many times, I wept and prayed to God: “Oh God, I don’t understand Your will now. It feels like You’re rejecting me, that You don’t want me. God, I beg You to enlighten and guide me to understand Your will, so I may know how to enter into the truth in this situation.” Thank God for hearing my prayer. One day, a sister in the same prison ward stealthily slipped me a note with some of God’s words she had copied out. They said: “For all people, refinement is excruciating, and very difficult to accept—yet it is during refinement that God makes plain His righteous disposition to man, and makes public His requirements for man, and provides more enlightenment, and more actual pruning and dealing; through the comparison between the facts and the truth, He gives man a greater knowledge of himself and the truth, and gives man a greater understanding of God’s will, thus allowing man to have a truer and purer love of God. Such are God’s aims in carrying out refinement. All the work that God does in man has its own aims and significance; God does not do meaningless work, and nor does He do work that is without benefit to man. Refinement does not mean removing people from before God, and nor does it mean destroying them in hell. Rather, it means changing man’s disposition during refinement, changing his intentions, his old views, changing his love for God, and changing his whole life. Refinement is a real test of man, and a form of real training, and only during refinement can his love serve its inherent function” (“Only by Experiencing Refinement Can Man Possess True Love” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). My heart brightened immediately. This situation was God’s trial for me. It wasn’t His will to eliminate me, but to make me better able to reflect on and know myself, and enter into the truth. I knew I couldn’t be negative and weak anymore, and I really couldn’t go by my own notions and speculate about God’s will. Instead, I should quiet myself and seek the truth, and reflect on and know myself in earnest.
One night, I just couldn’t get to sleep, and in spite of myself, I wondered why God had allowed this to happen to me. Then God’s words came to mind: “Do you truly hate the great red dragon? Do you truly, sincerely hate it? Why have I asked you so many times? Why do I keep asking you this question, again and again?” (“Chapter 28” of God’s Words to the Entire Universe in The Word Appears in the Flesh). I asked myself over and over: “Do I truly hate the great red dragon? Do I really, truly hate it?” Then I thought of this passage from Sermons and Fellowship on Entry Into Life: “Some say, ‘I’ve forsaken the great red dragon. It oppresses me and I despise it now.’ You may forsake it with your words, but not with your heart. Maybe you do hate it within your heart, but your behavior and nature are still under its control. That’s because the great red dragon’s poisons, thoughts, perspectives, philosophies, and outlooks on life still have hold over your heart. The way you see things is still the way it sees things. Your thoughts, your outlook on life and on things in general are the same as its thoughts and outlooks. They all belong to the great red dragon, so you are still under its power. … If you truly want to escape from Satan’s influence you have to completely purge all of the satanic poisons within you …” (Sermons and Fellowship on Entry Into Life). In light of these words, I realized I only hated the great red dragon for arresting and persecuting brothers and sisters, and disrupting and sabotaging God’s work, but that wasn’t truly hating and forsaking it. Truly hating and forsaking can only come from fully seeing its evil, reactionary essence, so we can genuinely hate it from the marrow of our bones, and renounce its toxins within us. By personally experiencing arrest, persecution, and torture by the great red dragon, and being forcibly indoctrinated, I really saw it’s a demon that hates the truth and hates God. I saw its ugly face as a deceiver and corruptor of man. It bangs the drum for atheism and materialism, hell-bent on denying God’s existence, and doing everything it can to exalt and flaunt itself as being “great, glorious, and right.” It extols itself as the savior of the people and wants everyone to worship it and believe in it as if it were God, vainly hoping to replace God in people’s hearts. The great red dragon is so despicable, evil, and shameless. And I realized my essence was pretty much on par with its essence. God elevated me, letting me practice in the duty of a leader, and learn how to resolve issues through fellowship on the truth so others could know and submit to God, but I used that opportunity to show off as much as possible, just wanting others to look up to me and do what I said. Wasn’t I opposing God by doing that? I was jealous of Sister Wang and I excluded her, always pouncing on her faults and belittling her. I was even dying to have her removed so I could have final say in the church. Wasn’t I acting like a dictator? Wasn’t I being controlled by the great red dragon’s poisons, such as, “There can only be one alpha male” and “I am my own lord throughout heaven and earth”? God’s administrative decrees say, “Man should not magnify himself, nor exalt himself. He should worship and exalt God” (“The Ten Administrative Decrees That Must Be Obeyed by God’s Chosen People in the Age of Kingdom” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). Looking back on everything I had displayed, how could that be called doing my duty? I was doing evil and resisting God! My actions had long ago violated God’s administrative decrees, and if God hadn’t disciplined me, if He hadn’t used that situation to stop me in my evil tracks, if I had continued on according to my own nature and ambitions, I’m sure I would have stopped at nothing for fame and status until finally I did a great evil and ended up punished by God. Realizing this was a serious wake-up call for me. I had reached such a dangerous point, but had been totally oblivious. Without this devil, the great red dragon, as a foil, I probably never would have seen how much of its poison was within me, that I actually am of its ilk. I really wouldn’t have been able to truly forsake it and seek to free myself of its poison. I saw that everything God had done was to cleanse me and I thanked Him for saving me from the bottom of my heart.
I reflected on myself a lot in prison and I particularly regretted that I hadn’t treasured my opportunities to do my duty. Instead, I’d insisted on seeking fame and status and had lived by Satan’s poisons. I did so many things that were against the truth, and which hurt brothers and sisters, and I hindered and disrupted the church’s work. I had hurt God so much, I owed such a great debt and was filled with regret. Only then did I have a deep desire to pursue the truth and experience God’s judgment and chastisement so I could soon be rid of those poisons and live out a human likeness. I resumed my duty after getting out, and when I was elected as a church leader again, I didn’t feel as complacent and self-congratulatory as before. Instead, I felt it was a great responsibility, that it was God’s commission for me that I should treasure, and that I should do my utmost to pursue the truth and carry out my duty. Being chastened and disciplined time after time finally awoke my soul that had been hoodwinked by Satan. I recognized that only pursuing the truth, pursuing change in my disposition, and doing the duty of a created being well are the right pursuits! My desire for fame and status isn’t as strong as it once was and I’m becoming less and less arrogant. I can work well with others and do my duty properly, and I now live out some human likeness. I feel deeply that the little bit of change has not come easily. This has all been achieved by the judgment and chastisement of God’s words. I give thanks for Almighty God’s salvation for me!
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2020.09.25 19:50 NLLumi Rudimentary sex education to young children can be a good thing when done very carefully and responsibly, and can even innoculate them against grooming.

Let me start by sharing a few personal anecdotes.

1.
The first took place a few years ago. I was waiting for a train, and other than myself there was a mother with two or three children on the platform; they were sitting just far enough so I couldn’t be too sure of their ages or genders (or maybe I could, but I can’t recall now), but still within earshot.
One of the children, who may have been about 6 or 7, kept smacking their younger sibling, a toddler, on their head (it may have been two, I can’t say for sure), and at one point the mother intervened and told them to stop. However, the youngest sibling actually confirmed that they were OK with it, so the mother basically just shrugged and said if that’s the case, she doesn’t get it, but they could continue. So they did, at least for a bit, as far as I could see; I don’t remember if the younger sibling decided to stop or not, and at any rate I soon had to board my train.

2.
About two years after the first incident (I think), I was talking to a friend of mine from a very liberal city in the US. Somehow the topic of sex ed came up, and she mentioned that her parents had taught her what sex was at a fairly young age. Somewhat counter-intuitively, she claimed that it made her less inclined to experiment dangerously with it, because it did not have the enticing air of secrecy around it, and helped her develop a more healthy attitude later in life. It was very eye-opening to me.

3.
This barely counts a personal anecdote, but it is worth mentioning regardless. About 3.5 years ago, Yedi‘ot Akhronot’s weekend extra 7Days published this shocking piece (in Hebrew, paywalled) about children who sexually assault other children. It mentioned a particularly horrifying case of a boy boasting having ‘raped’ a girl younger than him by telling her that her father was waiting for her in the shed in the backyard. It went on to feature an interview with a psychologist who explained the difficulties of handling such situations, and said that children normally engage in exploratory sexual play with each other; the difference between this kind of innocent, healthy (her words) play is that in normal situations they giggle a lot and obviously have fun with it. The article also went on to include a guide for parents to monitor their children’s behaviour to make sure they’re neither abused nor abusive, which I sadly can’t recall in detail.
Naturally, the anecdote mentioned horrified me, and explaining the normalcy of children’s sexual urges and how they explore them made me reconsider a lot of my assumptions about children’s sexual innocence in their pristine state.

4.
The second incident took place just over a year ago. I was playing PoGo with some friends and acquaintances at a local park when I heard a young girl, about 3 years old, complaining loudly about her two older sisters (the oldest of them being about 7 as well). They were standing/strolling next to some Pokéstops, so I could hear how the whole thing went down: the older daughters were feeling uncomfortable, but the mother still egged them on to kiss their sister because ‘kisses are nice!’. Also, they were apparently in the middle of a game of ‘truth or dare’, so the mother dared them to kiss her. The younger sister tried to keep her distance from the rest of the family and refused to join them as they kept walking, but eventually relented.
I was absolutely appalled by all of this. I could already see how cementing this callous attitude towards personal boundaries would have catastrophic results when she became a teenager and boys tried to violate them the same way. I wanted to say something, preferably in English so the girls wouldn’t understand, or even openly confront the mother, but I eventually decided against it because I felt it might be counter-productive; I’m still not sure I made the right choice.

5.
Last year or so a young rapper by the stage name Dudu Faruk was all the rage in Israel. He rapped about being a violent alpha male who dresses in quality brands (most prominently Armani & Givenchy) and basically seduces women by the truckload. In some of his later tracks, it becomes more obvious that his character is entirely delusional and is aware only for fleeting moments of how much disdain people actually have for him, and his faith in how fancy and sophisticated he comes across as is completely false, and he is in fact little more than what TV Tropes calls a lower class lout.
Now, the problem with him was that most of his audience was generally very young, like pre-to-mid teens or so, and of course parents all over the country and even some prominent media figures here were outraged! at the wicked influence of his explicit lyrics on their poor innocent children.
I happened to be working at a daycare for elementary school kids at the time, and there was one particular kid I spent most of my time with—he wasn’t very popular and I’m almost certain that he, like me, is somewhere on the autistic spectrum, and what’s good about autistic kids is that they’re more inclined to take authority figures seriously. So I used this to explain to him that Dudu Faruk’s work is meant for grown-ups, because grown-ups who listen to him have enough experience to realize that normal people don’t think, talk, or act like that when it comes to women or violence and that he’s supposed to be a delusional braggart, but kids don’t and might try to emulate him. And I could get that point across without any kind of formal training.
Unfortunately, other parents couldn’t even do as little as that—rather, there were cries to ban his music or even use legal measures against him. One religious figure even claimed that he was a literal demon trying to drive people to sin, citing his obnoxious affected accent as evidence (he claimed it was a ‘gentile accent’, which is very much not a thing). I was honestly shocked: apparently, rather than sit down and talk to their kids and give them context for the media they were consuming, parents wanted to lazily offload the responsibility for what their kids were exposed to onto others, freedom of speech and personal responsibility be damned.

The point of these anecdotes is that the kind of moral outrage people express at things like ‘drag queen story time’, explaining terms related to gender & sexual identity, or even letting children learn how to twerk or interact with people doing puppy play (I’ve seen photos of this happening at Pride Parades in some Western countries; see below) can actually be good—under tightly-controlled conditions and with proper mediation by responsible adults. Hell, puppy play can sometimes be explicitly non-sexual, as this Oh Joy Sex Toy comic explains; also, twerking can be some good core muscle workout and perhaps a healthy outlet for underdeveloped sexual urges (which, as anecdote no. 3 demonstrates, seems sorely needed).
As a matter of fact, such interactions can be used as teaching moments for some very valuable lessons:
  1. Being a grown-up has its perks but it can still be stressful, and there’s no shame in wanting to unwind, even in unusual ways.
  2. People can have very different tastes in personal style, mannerisms, you name it, and they might have an idea of fun that is very alien and unrelatable to us—and that’s OK. (Imagine if the mother from anecdote no. 1 had ignored her youngest child’s desires: they may have grown up feeling that their desires are wrong and are rightfully overridden, which is a horrible message to internalize.)
  3. Our bodies are natural and not something to be ashamed of.
  4. It’s perfectly fine and even necessary to assert personal boundaries, and we should never violate those of others (as anecdote no. 4 demonstrates, this is vital to assert and often isn’t).
The same also applies to basic sex ed. Not too long ago I came across some internet outrage at a news story about children in Ireland being taught how to masturbate, which turned out to be completely overblown; a few months ago, I saw similar outrage about YouTube channel ‘Queer Kid Stuff’. Both examples were decried as ‘grooming’, but the way I see it it’s actually the opposite: it’s teaching children the vocabulary to describe their experiences, express and assert their boundaries, and in worst case scenarios describe exactly what a predator did or tried to do. As a matter of fact, you can see that QKS actually does just that here.
It also dispels some of the taboos around their bodies and sexualities, which, again, is vital for them, for two reasons:
Of course, all of that depends on adult authority figures actually picking up the slack and mediating, making sure that kids actually receive the message they need to hear. While an adult might be inclined (fairly rightfully so) to feel appalled at a scene like this, but with the right guidance this kid’s take from that interaction could be as innocuous as something like, ‘Haha! Those grown-ups sure are funny, they dress kinda weird, but that’s OK, they’re fun to play pretend with!’, and leave no more scarred than by watching Steven Universe, Shrek, Animaniacs, Pee-wee’s Playhouse, or any other bit of media that contains sexual innuendos that go over their heads, or going to the beach and seeing men in Speedos and women in bikinis.
The problem is, as I can tell you from my experience both as a tutor and from anecdote no. 5, that parents would rather offload this responsibility to others and clutch their pearls at anything inappropriate their kid happens to be exposed to. And if anything, that is the real problem.
TL;DR: Kids should get rudimentary sex ed, among other things so they can describe what’s happening to them, feel confident to say ‘no’ to would-be molesters trying to manipulate them, and feel no hesitation-inducing guilt that prevents them from reporting if they are molested anyway. If they’re exposed to sexually suggestive material, responsible adults should divert their attention and turn it into a teaching moment about personal expression, boundaries, and consent, but the prevailing attitude seems to be one of lazily placing this responsibility on others.
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2020.09.24 06:40 hollarbabymama Welcome Home.

Read Part 1 Part 2
“I don’t need you to babysit me.” I said for the 100th time. “It isn’t necessary.”
“Yes, it is.” Sargent Jean Marc Fontaine said, pulling around another bend. I was sitting in the passenger seat, arms crossed and glaring at him.
“This is ridiculous.” I huffed. It was nearly 2am and I was tired as hell, all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and sleep. It had been a long, and horrific night. It had been my first time out on patrol since joining the RHPD a month prior. I was riding with Fontaine when a report of drunk and disorderlies turned into a literal bloody mess. I needed a real shower too, the smell of death was still on me.
“I never would have taken your offer to take me home,” I spat, “if I had known you meant your home.” I was livid. “I thought we had come to an understanding about...us.”
“I ain’t leaving you, Cher.” He said, eyes fixed firmly on the road. “Especially not in that rinky dink little trailer. An Ursid would tear through them walls like paper.” I was just starting out with the dept., so I didn’t have a whole lot of money. RH was such a small town, the rental market was almost non-existent. I was lucky to find anywhere to stay within my budget. So when I found that “rinky dink” little trailer with a rent that was less than the cost of my health insurance I took it. It was small, but being it was just me (and I had intended for it to be that way for a while) the size didn’t bother me.
“I am fine. I will be fine!” I said throwing up my hands. “And I happen to like my trailer. I think it’s cute.”
“Cute?” Jean Marc gave me the side eye. “It’s a cardboard box on wheels. You’re staying with me, and that’s final.”
“You’re insane!”
“Letting you sleep under the same roof as me? Probably. But that the way it be right now.” I didn’t miss the amusement in the Cajun’s words. “It’s not like we’re sleeping in the same bed or anything.” He grinned. “Not unless you want to, in that case-”
“Wait, where are we going?” I asked, suddenly recognizing the road we were on.
“Um, to my place?”
“No, I mean…. The address?” He told me. “Oh my god” I whispered. He was taking me home. To the house I shared with my parents. The place that held every happy memory I had with them. It was also the place where true loss had touched me for the first time.
“You alright, Cher?” I could hear the concern in his voice. “Baby, you’re crying…”
I reached up and felt the tears on my cheeks. “I-It’s…” I closed my eyes. “Home. You live in my old house, where I lived before…”
“Before what?”
“Before my parents died.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Fontaine hit the brakes and skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. He cursed and slammed the car into park. “I didn’t know, dammit, I swear, I didn’t know.” He looked at me, guilt in his eyes. “Look I ain’t about to leave you alone tonight, but if you don’t want to stay there, then we go back to your place or-”
“No, it’s fine… I”I bit my lip. “I kind of want to see... it’s been such a long time.”
Fontaine sighed heavily. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
My hands were shaking as we pulled into my… the old driveway. It was an old farmhouse, the kind you see on HGTV, with the wood siding and tin roof. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it still looked the same shade of creamy white, but you could tell it had been freshly painted recently. The wrap around porch had been screened in, but Fontaine had kept the porch lights on and I could see the same shiplapped wall my 5 yr old self decorated with colored markers for father’s day. Daddy made sure to take pictures of it from all angles before he, mama, and I cleaned it all off.
The Sargent cut the engine and said softly. “You ready?” I nodded and opened the door to step out. I walked up the side of the driveway towards the front door when flood lights came on. Those are new, I thought. I looked down and smiled, the concrete drive was much easier to see now, and I tipped toed to a little corner near the house.
“Did you know this was here?” I said, squatting down and brushing away leaves.
“What is it?” Jean Marc had come to kneel next to me. I traced the faint marks in the concrete with my finger.
“It’s me, well at least my baby feet and one little hand.” I let out a small laugh. “Daddy said once I touched the cold cement with my hand I didn’t want to do it again.” I looked up at Fontaine and he was looking straight at me. The look on his face was hard. I furrowed my eyebrows. “What-”
He shook his head. “You need to get in the house.”
“I don’t understand…”
“I need you to get in the house.” He reached for his shoulder strap and pulled out his revolver. “Once you are in there, lock the deadbolt. If it ain’t got a key, it ain’t getting in.” I began to get up and he whispered. “Slow, Cher.” and handed me a key. “It’s my spare. Now get!”
I nodded dumbly and made my way to the front of the house. It was dark, but I navigated the stepping stones easily. You learned to walk on these stones, my brain said to me in an attempt to distract myself from whatever the hell it was Fontaine wanted me away from. As I climbed the steps and entered the porch an ear splitting screech cut through the air.
“Get in the house Sam!” Fontaine yelled. I fumbled forward and forced my shaking hands to cooperate and shove the key into the lock. I turned the knob and shoved, slamming my body into the door. I hissed in pain and I heard Fontaine curse. “The deadbolt, woman!”
“Arggh!!!!!” I yelled and undid the dead bolt, pushed against the door again and fell into the foyer. I turned and kicked the door with my foot then scrambled upright to lock the door behind me.
The screaming grew louder, loud enough to shake the windows of the old house. I fell to my knees, my head against the door. It’s alright, Cher. Fontaine’s voice drifted into my head. She won’t hurt me.
She? I furrowed my brow who is sh- Another screen came from the direction of the driveway and I could hear Fontaine cursing loudly.
“I am right here!” He yelled “Tell me what you want and leave!” The screeching continued and then suddenly began to change, the octaves becoming less animal and more… human. The level of noise began to die down as the sound of a woman’s deep throaty laugh drifted in the night air.
“Jean Marc?” a sultry voice spoke, breaking up the laughter. “I expected a lot… warmer greeting.”
“What do you want Cassandra?” I could hear the irritation in Fontaine’s voice. I moved through the dark house to the window closest to the driveway. Under the floodlight I could see Fontaine, arms crossed and glaring at the woman in front of him. The naked woman in front of him.
“Not in the mood for pleasantries tonight, lover?” The woman shifted her hips and moved closer to Fontaine. “Such a shame.” I felt my ears burn and stifled a growl. Lover? I bared my teeth.
“I say again, what do you want.”
“Your pack killed an Ursid beyond the barrier tonight.” the woman named Cassandra said, “It’s former mate is out for blood.”
“No, shit.” Fontaine spat.
“What you don’t know,” the woman hissed, “Is that she has a message.”
“A message?”
“All she wants… is the girl.” My heart jumped into my throat. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as the woman saunterned closer to Jean Marc. “A mate for a mate.”
I could see the Sargent’s face in the flood lights, it was full of suppressed rage. “She can’t have her.”
“Oh?” The woman drew closer to Fontaine, “So it is true… she’s yours…”
“Benny Bear killed a man. He was executed.” Fontaine growled, “It doesn’t matter what Mama Bear wants.”
“The Ursid male killed a Wolf.” Cassandra snapped, “The same Wolf that left the Ursid’s young for dead. The same whom your Alpha made an outcast. The same Wolf who shamed your bloodline!” Cassandra started to pace. “And he killed that wretched dog on the Ridge.”
Realization flashed across Jean Marc’s face for a brief moment, before baring his teeth again, “She can’t have her.”
“Have you bedded her yet?” Cassandra crooned. “Have you tasted of her?”
“You have delivered your message.” Fontaine said flatly. “Get the hell off my property.”
“You haven’t…” the woman moved even closer to the Sargent. “Have you? Are you afraid, Jean Marc, afraid of what you will do to her? This small, fragile… child.”
“Cassandra...”
“I remember having you, I remember the blood…”
“Shut up.”
“I remember you begging me for more…”
“You, bitch.” Fontaine pointed his gun at the woman’s face. “Your voodoo shit don’t work on me no more. Our business is done, you are not welcome.”
The woman let out a shrill that made me throw my hands over my ears. “I WILL SAY WHEN WE ARE DONE, DOG!” And she lurched at him. Without a second thought, I tore through the house and out the front door. I saw the woman atop Fontaine, he was trying to keep her talon sharp nails away from his face, and she was screaming. “She will never be able to satisfy you, you will break her, then I will break you!”
“Get the hell away from him you psycho!” I roared. The woman’s head spun towards me and I could see her face in the floodlights. Her too sharp features were contorted in anger, even so, she was unnaturally beautiful. Or at least she would have been if it hadn’t been for her blood red eyes.
“Ah…” The woman’s mouth twisted into a mad grin. “Look Fontaine, your mate is stating her claim..” She slammed her forehead into Fontaine’s nose and I heard a sharp crack! Blood spouted from the Sargent’s face and he turned his head to clear the airway in this throat. The red eyed woman shook herself free from Jean Marc’s grip and, on all fours, started across the lawn after me. I watched as bones jutted from her shoulders and her long black hair snake over her body. Her crimson eyes grew larger and her mouth grew wider, as her skin scaled around her limbs. She was a few feet away from me when she reared back and let out an earth shattering screech.
Despite the earlier horrors of the night, I could not help but stare in disbelief at the thing that was Cassandra. It stood on its hind legs, its knees bent backwards, its feet were menacing talons digging into the earth. It’s upper body was covered almost completely by pitch black feathery fur. The bones that came out of her back were now enormous bat wings, the skin stretched almost painfully around the joints. Her long, sinewy arms were tipped with razor sharp clawed hands, and she clicked her digits together. The worst part was her face. The skin was pulled forward, the eye sockets stretched and torn, revealing bone underneath. The place where her nose and mouth should have been were jagged, beak-like and bloodied set of bones slowly opening and closing as she breathed.
What’s the matter, child? A raspy, deranged version of the Cassandra woman’s voice flooded my senses. Her deep red eyes seemed to burn inside her mangled skull. Having second thoughts as you face your betters?
I grimaced and took a firm step forward. “Lady, I don’t know who or what you are. But, Damn you’re ugly.” The bird lady let out a scream of rage. Knowing my smart ass comment was my undoing, I steeled myself and said through gritted teeth, “Come get me, Tweety bird.”
As the fowl monster lunged toward me, the Silver wolf pounced. They both went flying across the grass, a rolling in a heap of feather, fur, and fury. Get in the house, Sam! The Sargent’s voice commanded in my head. Get in the damn house, now! I scrambled backwards towards the front steps, my eyes never leaving the wolf. Don’t worry about me, Cher, just get in the house!
The wolf let out a yelp as the bird demon kicked at his abdomen and I would see the talons digging into his flesh. “Jean Marc!” I screamed. Dammit woman GET IN THE HOUSE!
I clumsily crawled up the front steps and swung open the screen door to the porch. As soon as I stepped onto the old wooden planks, the buzzing sound filled my ears again and I spun to look to where I last saw Fontaine. He and Cassandra were circling each other on the lawn, and their voices once again drifted to my ears.
Would you like to watch her die, Fontaine? Came Cassandra’s voice. We could call it foreplay.
Touch her, Harpy, and I will tear off your wings and shove them-”
The harpy shot into the air and hammered her fist into the silver wolf’s muzzle, she swooped down again and slammed his head into the ground. She then changed directions to fly towards the porch where I stood. She screamed, reaching out her hands towards me, her blood red eyes ablaze.
SAM! Fontaine’s voice rang in my ears and all I could do was watch as the harpy’s mad gaze locked me in place. “I’m sorry Jean Marc,” I whispered.
A blinding light appeared between me and the porch screen. I heard the harpy scream in frustration and pain. Again and again, the light flashed as the harpy pounded her body against the screen over, and over again. Samantha… a voice drifted into my head, and I began to sob instantly. Welcome home.
Howling came from either side of the house. Ghostly white figures rose from under the porch and shot at the harpy, forced her to the ground and began to drag her off into the night. I sat frozen staring off to the direction of Cassandra’s screams until they all but faded away. I heard the screen door of the porch creek open and was greeted with Jean Marc’s sideways grin.
“Hell, Cher.” He sagged against the frame of the screen door, “This place never done anything like dat for me.”
I blinked. “i-I don’t know what happened.”
Fontaine nodded, “I reckon you don’t. You say you grew up here?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes, well” He came over to sit next to me on the floor of the porch. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Homes offer protection from those that want to do us harm. This is your home.”
I shook my head. “This hasn’t been home for a very long time.”
“It’s always gone be home. Cher.” He placed a hand over mine. “The earth know dat, and it remembers.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hard to explain really, but I reckon, because of what we are, um…” I saw him struggle for the words. “You ever seen dat Disney movie with the Native American princess. Whens it say, like, every rock, tree and creature having a spirit and a name and such?”
I felt my cheeks stretch into a grin. “As in the song Colors of the Wind?”
“Yeah, dat be it.” He opened one eye and looked at me. “It’s a good movie.” He grinned, then continued, “It’s like that, mortals, meaning normal folks, they chose not to see it like dat a long time ago. But us, and those like us, we see it. We know it. We see the barriers and the other places.”
“Other places?”
“The places where things like dat” He pointed towards where the harpy was carried off. “Come from.”
“And it’s the wolves’ job to protect the barrier from those things?”
“That’s the gist of it, Cher.”
I nodded and looked out onto the lawn for a moment. “So, those things.. Were earth spirits?”
“Yep, looks like it,” Fontaine looked at me then. “You thought were someone else didn’t you?”
I felt my throat tighten and my lip quiver a bit, but I shook my head and said instead, “So, you have anymore ex girlfriends I should know about?”
I could see in the flash of irritation in Jean Marc’s eyes when the sound of his car radio blared to life in the driveway.
“John Marc, come in John Marc!” Gloria’s voice crackled through the radio. With a groan John Marc got up and trotted down the steps then to his car. I followed.
“Copy that Gloria.”
“OH THANK GOD!” Gloria sounded nearly in tears. “We have been calling you two for over an hour and we couldn’t get a hold of you! I swear I am going to take off my chancletas the next time I see you!”
“Whoa, calm down Mama, we were, um… busy.”
“John Marc Fontaine! She wasn’t ready, please tell me you were at least gentle-”
I grabbed the handset from Fontaine, who was grinning ear to ear, “Gloria, I’m fine, and nothing happened.”
“Samantha!” Gloria wailed through the radio. “Oh sweetie, I am so sorry!”
“For?” I was confused.
“Luis and Tyrel were on patrol near your trailer and… oh honey we thought the worst!”
Jean Marc took back the handset. “What happened?”
“The trailer, it’s been wrecked.”
“How bad?”
“The walls were ripped down, and everything on the inside, all Samantha’s clothes, her furnitures, her books, all shredded.” I sucked in a breath. “There is blood, skat, and urine everywhere. We didn’t know if Mama Ursid had come and…” Gloria went silent for a second, then I heard her shakily add, “Thank God she is with you Fontaine.”
Jean Marc looked at me and gave a small smile. “Me too, Gloria.”
We decided there wasn’t anything else we could do for my trailer at almost 4 in the morning, and what we needed was to get some sleep. I took a long, hot shower in the Sargent’s spare bathroom, and he lent me an old t-shirt and a pair of drawstring basketball shorts. Both pieces of clothing hung on me, and I felt like a little kid playing dress up. I motioned for Fontaine not to say a word as I marched out of the bathroom and into the living room. He nodded, though he was grinning wickedly, I bid him goodnight and walked straight down the hall… to my old bedroom. I stood at the door, my hand on the doorknob and stared down at my hand. Fontaine hadn’t told me which room he had designated for the guest room, I just walked to my room, as if by habit. I heard more than saw Fontaine coming down the hall to stand next to the door.
“You alright, Cher?” He asked quietly.
“Um,” I said biting my lip. “Is this the guest room?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, j-just making sure-”
“It’s your old room isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I sighed, “I think I’m just preparing myself for it not to look like it did when I was a kid.”
Fontaine took my hand from the doorknob and slowly opened the door for me. He smiled softly and nodded for me to go in. “Get some sleep, Cher. We got a lot to do.”
I nodded and stepped into the room. The room did look different. The twin of my youth was replaced by a comfy looking queen set, with a white fluffy comforter and matching plush pillows. The once rose pink walls were now robin’s egg blue. The old brass overhead light fixture was now a simple ceiling fan with a single bulb. As my eyes scanned the room, my heart skipped a beat when I saw my own vanity table in the corner of the room. It had been repainted, the knobs replaced, but it was the same table. I looked at my grown woman reflection, and a tear slid down my cheek as I remembered looking up at my mother as she braided my hair in front of that mirror.
“It was here, in this room, when I bought the place.” Fontaine said from the door. I turned to look at him. “I didn’t have the heart to just throw it away. It felt like it belonged here.”
“Thank you.” I said.
The Sargent nodded. “Get some sleep, Cher.”
Sleep came easy, and soon I was dreaming. I was in a field under a full moon. The stars shone a little too bright in the purple sky. I was lost, looking at something or someone. Then I heard a deep rich voice call my name. I turned to see Sargent Jean Marc Fontaine. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans, he hair slicked back like a rebel kid in the 50s. He had a rolled cigarette in his ear, and a pack rolled in the cuff of one sleeve. Other than the Grease Lightening get-up, there was something off about this Jean Marc. Something not right.
“Hey there, baby,” Not-quite Jean Marc said. “You ready?”
“Ready for what,” I heard myself say.
Not-quite Jean Marc grinned a wolfish smile. I took a step back. His smile was wider than normal, his teeth shone bright, white, and sharp. His beautiful green eyes were now dark pools. “Why, to go all the way of course.” He began to swagger obnoxiously over to me. His movement was unnatural and stiff, he kept his black eyes on me, and his teeth sparkled. “It’s gonna hurt at first baby, but then… then…” his voice was now a deep growl, and he licked his lips with an impossibly long tongue. “It’s gone feel, real good…”
I woke up with a start and heard the whispering almost immediately.
Bad dreams? It was a woman’s voice, sickly sweet and laced with malice. They are all monsters. The Wolves. I sat up in my bed and looked around my room. There wasn’t anyone there.
False, guardians. The whisper came again, Mortals are no better. They have forgotten us, banished us. We were once GODS. My lips were dry, and the static in my ears was almost painful.
We are nothing to the mortals now. Less than nothing. I wanted to scream. Call out to Fontaine, but I could barely breathe.
I will end it. I will end the Wolves, and we will be set free. We will take back what the mortals have stolen and neglected. As if my body was working on it’s own, I slid out of bed and walked slowly over to the window. I will end them all. No longer will we bow down to the barrier keepers. Those who interbreed with mortals, no more will they produce their abominations. I pulled back the curtains and stared out onto the tree line of the side yard. The sun was peeking it’s way over the horizon, but the patch of woods was still dark, untouched by the light of dawn. The bloodline will end.
I stood at the window staring at the large figure in the tree line. I was fully aware that whatever it was I was looking at, was looking right back at me. Goose pimples ran up my arms and I set my jaw. What do you want from me? I let my mind reach out towards the figure.
A laugh echoed in my ears. From you? Nothing. You are merely a vessel for the wolf seed. I watched as the figure stepped forward from the tree line. It’s towering form fully came into view and I swallowed. The bear creature was bigger than the Ursid from the night before. It’s coat was a deeper, richer tone of almost red fur. It’s claws, though uneven and chipped in some places, still looked dangerously sharp. It’s read rimmed eyes held almost nothing except contempt. It’s teeth were bared and wet with salivation. It was looking straight at me.
I am going to kill you, Wolf maiden. I am going to tear out your insides and feed it to the low ones. I stared wide eyed back at the Ursid. It was the mother. I felt it more than knowing. I could feel her hate. Feel her vengeance raging. My heart began beating in my throat, and I felt the most terrifying emotion of all resonate from the Ursid. A mother’s grief. It was maddening, the complete emptiness of her soul. Her child was taken from her, and she had nothing left to lose.
There will come a time you will not have protection. Where you will be alone. They will fill your womb and abandon you, as males do. When that day comes, I will be there, to kill you, and the bloodline will die with you.
I watched as she disappeared with the sunrise, and my knees gave out. I sat on the floor of my childhood bedroom and wept.
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2020.09.23 20:44 JeSuisJosito LA MÁS DRAGA – AN ENGLISH GLAM-UP

WATCH HERE
Aló Pececitas! Next up, you’ll find out a very detailed review of La Más Draga’s 3x01, Hope you enjoy and if you want me to explain any special thing or regionalism you might not understand because you either don’t speak spanish or you do speak it but well, mexican slang…Enjoy!
TIMESTAMPS!
00:00 – 3:10 – We see glimps at auditions for the season, from Queens who weren’t and were selected, towards the end we get a look at the Final Live Audition, where the public knowledge Queens are chosen to be a part of the season.
3:26 – 8:06 – Public knowledge Queens unveal themselves, they all chit-chat, talk and shade each other
8:07 – 13:43 – Secret Queens are revealed to the rest of the Cast. These Queens did not need to pass any Live audition, they were either asked to film an audition tape and were selected or their tape was enough for the producers to choose them.

Queens enter the workroom, sponsored by NYX Cosmetics. They are welcomed by Johnny Carmona, workroom consultant and judge, who welcomes and thanks them for bringing their art to the show. Johnny explains that they were supposed to be a 14th queen, who, was dropped because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut about being on (this queen might or might not be s2’s first eliminee), tells them to keep the energy.
Johnny explains the first challenge, which is to present a Runway Look inspired by a very popular mexican board game: La Loteria (you might know Bingo!; which has the same mecanisms of game). Johnny gives them a History lesson about the game. The winner of this week will be deemed as “La Más Suertuda” (The Luckiest, LMD tends to use “La Más + theme” to refer to the winner of each weekly challenge, which means the one who was The Most amazing at it). A one-minute talent show is also requested to be performed after their runway presentation.
Carmona later welcomes Internet sensation duo Pepe & Teo, who will also play as workroom consultant and stres relief for the Queens the whole season. Pepe and Teo play with the Queens a little game of General Knowledge, ask each a question and the one who can answer better will win the right to select their station in the workroom. Al lof them suck and should go back to middle school; later, Memo earns this right and plays the game by aligning the Queens by his perferences.
Pepe and Teo then welcome one more guest, which is Gaby Lu, representative for FOREO Sweden, which is a skin care Brand that will help the Queens with free products for them. Queens shade Mista for her age and she is selected to be the try girl for the producto right there. Gaby Lu announces that the winner of the whole season will be awarded with 50.000 pesos in FOREO products and becoming an ambassador for the Brand for a year.
39:50 – 43:40 – Season 3’s host, our resident RuPaul; Miss Karla Díaz (Singer and host known for being in the girl group JNS) comes out in the mainstage, presents the prizes (150,000 pesos in cash, 50,000 pesos in NYX Cosmetics, 50,000 pesos in FOREO + ambassador, and a 2-people flight to New York) and judges: Johnny Carmona, Yari Mejía (make-up sensation, AFAB Drag Queen and Instagram influencer), Letal (make-up artist, drag queen and icon). Guest judge this episode is Miss Regina Orozco (Gay icon in México, Singer and TV personality). Karla also introduces the Drag Altar, which is the place where each week, the picture of the eliminee will be hung.

Rudy Reyes: Rudy comes out as The Rooster, headpiece and wings included, all feathered. Her talent show is a lipsync mash-up of famous latino songs.
Madison Basrey: Madison also chose The Rooster as her Loteria card; she comes out in a prostetic mask with a much simpler outfit than Rudy, with the addition of heles that give the appareance of chicken feet. Her talent show is a comedy skit centered around being an actual rooster.
Huntyy B: Comes out in a dress with every Lotería card printed oni t with yellow and blue details. Her talent show is a Burlesque act.
Luna Lansman: Luna comes out first with The Shrimp on her head and a silky blue robe, which she reveals into a giant The Fish gown, which she floats around for a while before taking off the top part to reveal a topless illusion and a mermaid tail in The Mermaid, she then strips to a full nude illusion. Her talent show is a Lipsynced Magic Show.
Yayoi Bowery: Yayoi comes out as The World in an all baby-blue look and a 37 in one of her piggytails, 37 is the number for The World in a Loteria deck. Her talent show is singing.
Regina Bronx: She comes out as The Mermaid, in a two piece gown which mimics scales all way around, with feathers on the bottom part. Her talent show is an arabic-inspired dance.
Raga Diamante: Raga presents The Pot, coming out hidden inside of it, with flowers on top included. She then reveals a green and red bodysuit. Her talent show is singing.
Aviesc Who?: Aviesc comes out as The Spider, with an asisstant as her web. Blue hair, and glasses that mimic the spider’s eight eyes. Her talent show is something about black paint and a canvas, posing slowly to the camera; she trips at the end while trying to finish her act.
Mista Boo: Mista chooses The Devil, coming out with black horns and a caped long dress, with a trident as a belt accesory. Her talent show is a frightning spoken word act.
Iviza Lioza: Iviza comes out as The Sun. She has an all-red gown with spikes on her back, which then she reveals are supposed to be the sun rays, but it malfunctions, the effect not working as it should. Her talent show is a Tarot Reading act with pictures of the judges as Lotería cards.
Memo Reyri: Memo comes out as The Devil, in a full-bodysuit in red with Golden, black and red embelishments in the corset, with fringe in the pants area, black and red wings and a geometrical mask. His talent show is singing with fire handling.
Stupidrag: Chooses The Devil as well, with a black and gold cape with yellow in the inside, a red bodysuit with black leather sleeves and black splashes in the torso and horns. Her talent show is a lipsync number with fire handling, but the fire burns out quickly.
Wynter: Comes out as The Sun in a yellow gown with red detailings and a wide red spot in her back with Golden rays and a big afro wig. Her talent show is a Frozen (not the Disney franchise, just coldness) theme lipsync.

Queens are mostly scolded harshly by the judges for not meeting the expectations of a premiere for a third season, every judge is disappointed by the queens’ performance, either because of their lack of performative uniqueness or simple outfits. Letal asks which Queens did prepare themselves in different areas of performing; Aviesc, Luna, Madison, Raga, Rudy and Wynter say so, the rest didn’t.
Aviesc is criticized on being shy and too calmed and having used liquids which made her fall, her look was fantastic.
Huntyy is criticized for doing burlesque, which has been seen already,
Iviza was congratulated on letting go of her nerves, but Yari scoldes her for her reveal fail and lack of professsionalism because Iviza apparently blamed it on someone else who helped her make it.
Luna was told that less is more, but congratulated on her unique show by Yari, but Johnny wasn’t sure about her time frame and lack of actual magic tricks.
Madison was deemed basic for her look but was louded for her comittment in the comedy of her talent show, Regina Orozco hated her because she thought pretending to be a Rooster isn’t a talent.
Memo receives great critiques on his outfit and makeup, his song is also louded because of how deep it was, outside of the typical “Me, Me, Me” drag music.
Mista got glowing critiques about her talent show and how she was able to get out of the pretty side and the fact she only needed herself to connect with the judges. Look was louded as well.
Raga was criticized about not looking too-much as a pot, but was congratulated on her attitude overall.
Regina gets critiques on the lack of rehearsal for the talent show but is warned not to try to copy the looks of one Valen-other queen.
Rudy is congratulated on her outfit and energy, but the lack polishness on her talent show gets hard critiques.
Stupidrag is given the advice about how her fire burned out before, her look got great critiques on her look.
Wynter’s talent show gets meh critiques and is asked to take better care of her reveals, to keep the shock factor.
Yayoi gets the roughest critiques, her card is not seen at all in her conceptual-look, pretty and all.

LETAL’S RANT

Being completely honest, I don’t feel this like a third season¸from so many auditions, how did you guys ended up here? I want you to understand that performers go from 10 to 30 auditions just to land a part in something, you passed and are standing here. WHAT IS HAPPENING? What’s happening? You guys get your chance to walk the runway and nothing happens at all, imagine, you get two chances to walk the runway, not just one, the runway all in al lis “Okay, she kinda missed it here, but she’ll give me something later” but then NOTHING HAPPENS, okay, cute looks, good make-up, detailing and shit, but what happens with the people behind the wigs, make up and outfits? Those are not drag characters, those are you, real people, the artista who is standing there. Why would you all need to stay here and not go? Not one should go, many of you should. DO YOU GUYS WANNA BE JUST LIKE THE REST? You want to be standing in the best stages in the world, right? I RESPECT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THE STAGES YOU’VE BEEN ON, but to be an artist and earn what you wanna earn, because I know the budget you put into all of this, you NEED DISCIPLINE AND HAVE THE BALLS to stand in any place you go. I want you to understand you’re standing here when there are Queens who ARE DYING TO GET A CHANCE not only on this show, but on anything, on any Project, and when they got it they don’t ruin it. THIS IS NOT ABOUT BEING THE BIG BITCH BUT ABOUT WHO IS THE BEST ARTIST. The one who asks themselves who they are and FIND IT. Right now you are already performers who are visible through this project, ITS UP TO YOU TO HAVE THE CHANCE TO BE THE ARTIST THAT COMES OUT OF THIS, I WANT YOU TO RESPECT THIS STAGE, MANY PEOPLE ARE WORKING THEIR ASSES OFF TO MAKE THIS POSSIBLE, so, if I don’t feel like this is a worthy third season, what do I have to say to you?
Regina Orozco then asks the Queens why do they do Drag.
Wynter replies that she does it because she finds a lot of freedom and because she can do whatever she wants with it, as it is limitless, there’s no yes’s and no’s.
Aviesc says she’s a fashion designer, adds that clothing should not have gender (YES), clothing is a reflection of our soul, you créate art through your body from your sould. Drag is such an elevated art and you can have fun and showcase your soul at the same time.
Luna wants to entertain, the people is what keeps her going, to créate an outfit, to stand in a stage and keep them entertained, she might not be sexy or stunning, but if she can make people laugh, that’s her place.
Raga says she does drag because being on stage makes her happy, showing what she can do. Its her own world when she performers, and that happiness can spread to others when she is in front of people.
Rudy does drag as an spectacle, says there’s a lot of trouble going on around the world, and wants to be a distracction and a happy moment for everyone and it can fill up the soul with joy.

REGINA RANT

I CAN'T CALL ANY OF YOU AN ARTIST, THERE’S OUTFITS, MAKE UP AND RUNWAYS BUT NOTHING HAPPENED BEYOND IT. AN ARTIST IS SOMEONE WHO WORKS THEIR ASS OFF. IF YOU’RE A FASHION DESIGNER (to Aviesc), STAY THERE. I DIDN’T SEE ANY ENERGY, EVERYTHING WAS LOW. THERE WERE BRILLAINT MOMENTS BUT IF YOU’RE GOING TO SING LEARN TO SEE, RAGA, YOU CAN SING, BUT THE REST? PLEASE, WHOEVER WINS THE PRIZE MONEY, PLEASE PAY FOR YOUR ARTISTIC EDUCATION, IF NOT, JUST STAY DOING SHOWS TO ENJOY YOURSELVES, BUT IF YOU WANT TO TRASCEND, THINK ABOUT THE PUBLIC AND WHAT YOU’RE GIVING TO THEM. MAKE IT HAPPEN. A LOTERIA IS SO MUCH FUN BUT I NEVER FELT IT ON HERE.

Iviza Lioza, Memo Reyri, Mista Boo, Yayoi Bowery, Stupidrag and Aviesc Who are deemed the best and worst of the week.
Iviza, Yayoi and Stupidrag are in the bottom, Iviza is spared while Yayoi and Stupidrag are announced to have to Lipsync to Stay.
Memo, Aviesc and Mista are the tops, at the end, Mista wins the challenge and is deemed La Más Suertuda.
Yayoi and Stupidrag are asked to prepare a Lip Sync performance of Tsunami, by judge Yari Mejía. Stupidrag gives energy and sex appeal, while Yayoi moves awkardly around the stage, and lying on the ground.
After the LipSync, Karla announces that guest judge Regina Orozco will decide who is the first eliminee, but before, they ask the whole cast to return to the stage and Karla explains that there has never been an elimination before in the first episode of both seasons. She says the safe Queens will decide whether there is an elimination or we have another double-save premiere.
Mista Boo is the only one who is unsure about her choice, as she feels that if someone did bad, they should go home, but after pretty much everyone says there shouldn’t be an elimination, Mista agrees with them, and everyone decides there was no elimination, although Mista still voices in confessionary that there should have been an elimination.
Stupidrag and Yayoi Bowery are both saved.
#BESODETRECE

TIME FOR SLANG!

2:01 – Regina Bronx, in her audition calls her drag carácter a “Vaquerobvia”, which is a portmanteu in the words “vaquero” y “obvia”, “obvia” in spanish is used to describe (most of the times in a demeaning way) a gay guy who fits stereotipically into the mold of how a gay guy talks, dresses and acts. “Vaquero” is cowboy, which is a style of clothing and living (people who dedícate themselves to farm, catter, etc).
3:52 – Madison mentions “Quedarse fría”, which, in the words of Monique Heart means “Gooped”
4:30 – Mista Boo asks “Do I look like Un Kilo de Ayuda already?”, Un Kilo de Ayuda is a mexican program which helps secure mexican kids who need it all the food and supplies they need. To mention Un Kilo de Ayuda refers to the fact that Mista might look tired and skinny (A kinda bad taste joke, but, well, mexican humour)
8:53 – Mista refers to Yayoi as “Alexis 2XL”, Alexis 3XL is Season 2’s Winner and Yayoi’s style has been compared a lot to Alexis’ in the past. The 2XL part can be either for the Part 2 joke or because Yayoi might or might not be skinnier than Alexis.
10:33 – Stupidrag makes reference to “El Libro Vaquero” (The Cowboy Book), which is a very popular small comic book here in Mexico that tells small and VERY VERY dramatic stories, which tend to be a mix of western drama, erotism and some weird ideas. Very popular among older people.
43:14 – Karla mentions a “Drag Altar”, which comes from the Day of the Dead Altar, which if you don’t know much about mexican culture when it comes to Día de Muertos, an Altar is a small crafty construction created to honor the dead relatives of a family, you put the pictures of the deceased, together with a mix of flowers (Flor de Cempasúchil is the worldwide known flower for the dead), decorative paper and food that the people you put he Altar for loved in life, with the belief that on November 2nd, the dead can cross from the other side and visit the earth.

ENTRANCE DIALOGUES:

Madison: Hey, how are you? My name’s Ricky Balrey, from Gdl, Jalisco and I’m 25 years old. I consider myself a biological woman (in a jokingly tone). I consider myself a bio woman because when I transform everyone is shook. My drag is inspired by everything’s that pretty in life, I’m very smart and very beautiful, better beware.
Luna: Hey there, I’m Abraham Luna, I’m from CDMX, My drag character is Luna Lansman, inspired by unicorns, fantasy, fairytales and everything you believe to be pretty, sweet and pink, very dreamy,
Mista: Do I look like Un Kilo de Ayuda already? I’m Mista Alex, my drag name is Mista Boo, I’m from Monterrey, I’m 367 yeards old, my drag is very dark, witchy, very alternative, not like the other kind, I’m also very dark literally, I don’t like using glitter because I want that shine to be from the inside
Rudy: Hi! My name is Rodolfo, aka Rudy Reyes. “The Caribbean’s Pearl”, Ruby is from Monterrey, my nickname is because I love the mexican caribbean . Ruby is a dancer, very showgirl-y, lots of glitter, stages are my life. I love to dance, its everything I can ask for in life.
Huntyy: My name is Edgar de la O, I’m 27 years old and I’m from Ciudad Juarez, Chihuaha. I bring HuntyyB to life. She’s a collectible, you can dress and undress her as many times as you wish. I have many sides to myself because I’m kinda crazy. Huntyy can be very vintage, elegant or maybe turn into a chinese doll with purple skin.
Aviesc: My name is Aviesc, and my drag name is Aviesc Who?, I’m a designer and I’m from Gdl, Jalisoc, I am 32 years old. Aviesc is an extension of my clothing line; I mix art with fashion; take inspiration from trends, art and movies and then craate something from that mix so Drag Queens can be trendy as well.
Wynter: I’m Huicho Lozano, I’m from Tamaulipas but I live in León, I bring Wynter to life. Wynter is this fantasy, something you can have but it will cost you a lot. Wynter leaves you frozen, entertained.
Iviza: My name is Franco, I’m 26 years old. My drag name is Iviza Lioza and I’m very inspired in powerful woman, I come from a family of very strong woman, I draw inspiration from any character of empowered women like witches, Queens.
Yayoi: I'm 32 years old, my drag name is Yayoi Bowery. I’m a mix of kawaii, club kid and pop culture. I’m a publicist so I love to play with all of this so people can reminiscent their childhood or old times.
Regina: Hello, I’m Luis Peña, I’m 29 years old. I come from a small town in Chihuahua but I currently live in Aguascalientes (STAN) which is where Regina was born. Regina is a queen from the north, vaquerobvia, loves to show her curves, take care of her makeup, and dance; to share something very special with the public. I’m not that experienced, I’ve been in this career for a year but I wanted to elevate my level and bring it to here.
Stupidrag: Hey, well, I’m Pepe Favila, I’m 29 yeards old. I’m a queen from Gómez Palacio, Durango. What makes me me? Fire. The Origina Fire created this creature who has curves, that came out from the Cowboy Book. Everything is sexy, all hips for her. When I saw the rest of the Queens most of them were like “Who this?”, but luckily some did recognize me.
Memo: Hey, I’m Memo Reyri, I’m 33 years old and I’m a Bio King from CdMx. My drag is very masculine man, what I try to do with my character is to play with whatever is known as masculine and mix it with pretty, grotesque and rough stuff, but always with a very delicate attitude. I want to make a difference between what is known as an Alpha male.
Raga: I’m 32 years old, I’m from Mérida, Yucatán and I bring Miss Raga alive. Raga Diamante is a pop girl, a superstar in the scene, a song and dance icon. She’s a person, not just a character, she loves to make people happy. I didn’t know most of these girls, did not recognize them at all.

HELLO PECECITAS. I hope I did help you out with having a better understanding of the show and please leave a comment if you have understood most, if you want me to elaborate on anything else please tell me as well.
Also, tell the producers to hire me, I'm nice. SEE YA!
submitted by JeSuisJosito to SoyLaMas [link] [comments]


2020.09.22 22:25 Code_Race The Wolf Rider

The Wolf Rider

The wind blew up the seam in his helmet as he raced down the stretch of easy highway away from the city. He wasn’t late. He had all day to do the job, and it was an easy, simple job that didn’t take thought or effort beyond checking for directions. No issue at all.
He raced as fast as he dared, for the thrill. He enjoyed running and hunting and chasing down prey, but nothing boiled his blood like looking physics in the eye and daring it to stop him. His engine shouted under his chest as he accelerated out of a slight turn in the road, the bike leaning down and back again as the pavement leveled out. The lights in his mirrors flashed beautifully on the edge of the rear horizon and -
“Oh, hell.”
His speedometer read a hundred and six. Safe enough for his reflexes. Not for the law. He’d been careless. Even if he’d done it a hundred times before this early in the day, it was stupid.
A light touch of the brakes and a turn signal let The Man know he had no intention of making this difficult. But he though it anyway. Run!
No. Fun as it might be to race the law down the open road, he’d never get away. They had backup, and air support, and cameras that would pick out his license plate from 500 feet. And they might crash and kill someone. His boss would skin him alive and tan it for a new wallet. Or fire him. As he pulled over he tapped at the side of his helmet and spoke the words that just might, slightly cover his ass.
“Pause. Text Ty. Pulled over en-route, sorry. Will call after officer is gone, or emergency.”
The bike rolled softly to a stop on the shoulder as the sirens whooped one last time. The much more responsible drivers moving past him slowed to look at the idiot who didn’t notice a cop. He sighed again, shushed the purring engine, and flipped up his visor as he waited for the law.
The law wasn’t there. Neither was the highway, or the passing cars, or the pavement under the wheels. Instead of sweet asphalt and concrete, the rubber met a brown and green field. His heart caught in his chest.
Don’t panic.
“Call Ty,” was met with a tone he’d only heard when the whole pack was camping way out in the mountains. No connection. Do not panic.
“Call Ty.” Tone. “Call Hal.” Tone. Do not panic.
“Call Mom. Call Jenny. Call Steve.”
Don’t panic. Do not panic. Deep breaths. His bones itched under his skin, and his nails threatened to ruin his nice leather sleeves.
Deep breaths. He smelled the oil and metal and plastic in his helmet and bike, but beyond that – he lifted away his helmet. Deep breaths.
The grass was green and smelled of pollen and little bugs and wild animals. The mud still smelled of damp dirt, but it was free of the tiny specks of pollution that suffused everything of home. The air was clean. Cleaner than the mountains and the ocean breeze. He’d smelled it once before, when he’d fought demons and witches and a god over dying earth. Four years prior.
It smelled like a goddess.
His heart stopped trying to beat out of his chest. He breathed in the clean air again, as he took in his surroundings.
His bike stood in a slightly muddy field. A forest of trees to… the south? The air seemed to have a mid-morning chill, but the sun was hidden behind a cloudy sky. Mountains beyond, just visible over the treetops. They were taller than any he’d seen, but he’d only seen the Rockies and some in Canada. They were snow-capped just a bit at the top, and green nearly to that point. Hills rose around with a few bushes and trees but not like the dense forest behind. Which was to the south, probably. He didn’t have a compass. Did he?
He thumbed his phone and confirmed – no connection. No satellite. Would it still work? He found the app, and was delighted for a moment. It must not need GPS at all! The compass app stayed pointing in one direction as he turned in a circle.
So trees to the south. Hills around – he had landed in a small valley. He pushed his bike up the northern hill to see what he could see.
The horizon stretched as far as he’d ever seen on a clear day. The southern forest came up and around on the west, while the eastern side was clear, rolling hills to the curve at the edge of the world. Wild fields and low hills spread out, but he spotted something a few miles away that made him smile. A strip of cleared and packed light brown dirt that extended east as far as he could see and turned north, visible between the rising mounds and grassy knolls.
Moving on it, little dots of passing people.
So.
He checked himself. Phone, helmet, leather and Kevlar jacket highlighted in purple with a tiny rainbow wolf on the shoulder. Wallet in the outer pocket. Two hundred and seven dollars, plus two-fifty in quarters. For laundry. A fancy lighter in another. Other people smoked, and he didn’t mind helping, but he really liked the lighter. A pack of gum in the inside pockets. Receipts? Yup. Seven receipts.
He checked the saddlebags. A holster for a big damn knife on the inside, empty. Damn. Tool kit, tire patch, jumper cables, flashlight, duct tape, two loose pens, no notepad, first aid kit, water bottle, phone chargeUSB cable, four road flares, and half a bulk pack of Juicy Fruit that had spilled little baby packs all over. Also, a tuna, bacon and cheese sandwich. He stuffed the food and gum into a little mesh side holder, and took a drink.
The bike was a dark purple Kawasaki. Non-standard color. A gift from his mother, who taught him to ride when he’d been a little human. And a little more human. Nearly a full tank – 180 miles left, if he was careful. Hopefully enough to get more gas. If there was more gas.
The package.
He opened his delivery and found – papers. Two passports. Two drivers licenses. Fake IDs for a man and woman. Great if you needed them. But here, now? Useless. He wrapped them back up and put them down in the bottom of his bags. He doubted he’d be able to make the delivery on time. He doubted that was his biggest problem.
He turned off his phone and helmet sound system. No need to waste battery, with no one to call.
He closed his eyes for a moment. The beast was quiet again. Calm. Nearly a month before the moon, and so long as he didn’t stress – well. He just wouldn’t stress, then. He couldn’t feel his alpha now, so the solution was simple. No stress.
All things considered, it could be much worse. He could have been fined. Or fired. Or made into a wallet.
He kicked his bike to life and the beautiful roar of Japanese engineering greeted a new world.
---
The grass and dirt was treacherous. The motorcycle rider had nearly fallen twice now thanks to his road tires. They were absolutely not suited to this terrain. He still rode as fast as he dared, but on the grassy hills he didn’t dare more than 25. At least he didn’t see any cops.
As he crested the last hill that hid the road, he slowed and looked down. It was definitely a road, not just a worn path. Even better, it wasn’t packed earth at all, but brown stone! Filled in with dirt, but still stone, which was less slippery than mud and grass on his road tires. Probably. Wide enough for a pair of cars to pass each other without too much trouble.
He didn’t spot any cars. Though the road wasn’t crowded at all, there were a few travelers. All on horses. Or riding a horse drawn wagon. A pair, he saw in the distance, were walking along steadily.
He felt very out of place on his purple not-a-horse. But he was alone and very much lost, so he picked a middle aged man driving a pair of horses on a covered wagon, aimed his bike at the approaching wagon driver and went ahead. He found the ride on the stone was smoother than he’d expected, and gave it a bit more gas. The engine growled happily.
-
The rider came at the wagon driver from the front, waving a hand in greeting as the older man gave the rider in strange garb a discerning glare. He looked the rider up and down, and the rider stopped in the road. Not quite blocking the wagon, but he’d have to turn slightly to go around. And the rider clearly wanted to chat. He’d stopped a bit away, but the rumble of his magical vehicle was clearly audible and broke through the sounds of the horses clip-clopping on stone. The merchant looked about suspiciously, but his [Dangersense] was quiet and besides, this stretch of road was fairly well patrolled. And with his cargo, he had little to fear from casual [Bandits]. The merchant pulled his horses to a stop, and spoke to the four adventurers behind the canvas.
“Mister Gilam, there’s some rider on a mage-thing up here. Seems to want a word. I’ll stop and see.”
An armored hand lifted the canvas and revealed an equally well armored man, who looked about and found the strange rider ahead. The stranger stopped waving and lifted away his smooth, shining helmet that was clearly not steel or iron, revealing a hale young man with dark hair and eyes, and a complexion that the adventurer pegged as Chandrarian. He had friendly face. Well, he was smiling nervously, at least.
“Trouble, Gilam?”
“I don’t think so. But come see this, Stethani! What is that thing?”
A woman with pointed ears and young face took a weary look where her companion pointed.
“Its a human, like you. Obviously.”
A guffaw came from the wagon, and another voice joined it in laughter.
“I think he meant the thing he’s riding, Miss Half-Elf.”
“How should I know? Its probably some new Wistram invention. Maybe he stole it.”
“You think he’s a [Thief], Stethani?”
How should I know? You ask him. He’s coming. Let me know if I should torch him. Otherwise, I’m going to try and sleep.”
The laughter died down and a male half-Elf replaced the put-upon female looking out of the wagon, and raised a glowing vial just out of sight.
“Are we torching somebody?”
-
The rider was much more apprehensive about approaching after hearing that exchange, but he was still lost and the group didn’t seem too eager to murder him. He calmed himself, but still kept the engine idling as he pushed the bike on foot toward the wagon.
He went to call out to the wagon driver, but the older fellow beat him to hit.
“Good day, sir. I am Melkin. Might I ask who you are? And why you’ve stopped us here? We do have places to be.”
“Oh, um, yeah. Places. Yeah! I’m lost. Where is this?”
The driver, who had been seeming a tad suspicious, turned incredulous.
“You got lost? On that magic-thing? I saw you coming down the road there. Faster than a horse could ride.”
“So where are we?”
“Ah! Sorry. Ailendamus of course. Though, again, how’d you find yourself lost, good sir? That thing seems to be a bit of good magic.”
“Magic? Oh! Yes. Umm. I don’t know how I got here.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. I was riding and then I was here. Or like two miles south of here. By the forest.”
“Dead gods. How’d that happen?”
The pointy-eared man spoke up.
“Was it a memory spell? Did you get ambushed by [Bandits]?”
“How would he know if it was, Strel?”
“Oh. Good point.”
Another voice spoke up.
“And if he doesn’t even know what kingdom he’s in, its a long way to get dragged, with his magical riding artifact, and then let go. By [Bandits] who didn’t steal it.”
“Yes, thank you, sister.”
The rider cleared his throat. Less nervously, now. He made a movement obscured by his large artifact, and the rumbling ceased.
“So, where’s the nearest city? I need to find somewhere before I run out of… Power. For my bike.”
“Ah! Well, there's a small town perhaps fifteen miles back west, down a southern fork in the road, if you need a rest from being lost all night. Logging town. But if you’re looking for a real city, we’ve come from Erenwaise. Hundred and fifty miles on the road. The nearest though, is Ailendeast. Eighty miles east, on the ocean bay.”
The wagon driver licked his lip, just a bit.
“Might I ask how you intend to travel? If your, ah, ‘bike’, was it? If it is running out of mana? I am a [Merchant] between cities, but I happen to have a selection of mana crystals to offer you at a discount. Truly, excellent prices.”
“Oh. No, thanks. I doubt they would fit.”
“Are you certain, sir? I’d be willing to offer you a fine one for only, say, twelve gold? Two-thirds what you’d pay in Ailendeast! And a fair price on an equal specimen in Erenwaise.”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
“Ah, well. Good day, then sir, a delight to meet you. Though, did I hear your name, sir?”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m Bellamy. Thanks for the help, Melkor!”
“It’s Melkin, sir.”
“Sorry.”
“Indeed. If you find yourself in need of a minor artifact while in the future, mister Belly, I hope you will think of me.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
Disappointed with the lack of a sale and apparent obliviousness of a man who clearly didn’t deserve his excellent, valuable artifact, the [Merchant] rolled his reigns and made to carry on with his day. The adventurers ducked back into the canvas shade as the rider fiddled with his helmet.
-
The assortment of adventurous types sat around on the boxes and barrels of merchandise and spoke cheerfully about the little encounter that, happily, had not ended in any torchings. Except for Stethani, who was, true to her word, already trying to sleep. She’d cast a veil of silence – or at least quietude – around herself.
“Did he say how he got lost, Gilam?”
“He said didn’t know.”
“Yeah, but that’s really weird! How do you get lost so bad you don’t even know what nation you’re in or how you got there?”
“Drugs?”
The third member of the still awake adventurers waved her hand.
“Not a chance. He looked way too healthy to be so messed up that he forgot the kingdom he was in.”
“True enough. We’ve seen some odd things from some of the cities back home.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah! Some of the villages way out in the jungle have their secret [Alchemists] with their secret recipes, and all they do is trade their secret brews. The whole village, two hundred Lizardfolk, and they all work for one [Alchemist].”
“That was one village, Nell.”
“Yeah, but remember you when took a whole vial at once? You cut three stelbore in half with my axe and then tried to join a company!”
“It was not a good day. Thank you for reminding me.”
“And after you slept for a day and your hair had two colors of mud in it.”
“The [Swindler] said it was a strength potion!”
"It was strong enough to put you out."
The younger half-Elf was wide eyed. Then his ears twitched, and he turned to the wagon’s rear, peeking out of the cover at the stranger still fiddling with something.
“I like him.”
“You like everyone.”
“Yeah, but he’s really interesting. What is that thing he’s riding?”
“He called it a ‘bike,’ I think, Strel.”
“It looks fast.”
“I didn’t see it moving. Mister Melkin might have though. You could ask him about it?”
He shook his head. “I want to ride that thing.”
“It’s probably very valuable. And we might not see him again. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“I won’t.”
The young man quickly sipped a tiny bit of potion, then whipped open the back of the wagon.
“Hey, no, Strel-”

“HEY! I’m Strel! Come find us in Ailendeast! We’re the Burning Vines! Silver-Rank!"

"There. No hopes.”
A sleeping figure tossed a waterskin at his head, as behind them the figure on the road looked up and waved once.
“Ow!”
The three awake adventurers now peeking surreptitiously at the stranger waited as the figure mounted his device. It rumbled a bit as it started up – and then it roared.
The stranger, whom they’d left behind minutes ago, balanced on two wheels as the thing roared higher and higher. In seconds, it had caught up, and it screamed past the wagon with a gust of wind and a whining, heavy cry they felt through their bones. They’d never heard anything close in their lives. The horses whinnied and one tried to rear as Melkin worked to calm them. Abandoning subtlety entirely, three adventurers scrambled to watch the thing go, faster and faster as it kicked up a billowing cloud of dust on the stone and packed dirt road. It had outpaced them in moments! And their [Driver] had a Skill for speed, too! They were going at least ten miles an hour, maybe eleven. Not a gallop or even a trot, sure, but still. The thing – the bike – had to be going four times as fast as they were! No, eight! Ten!
They watched it disappear around a far away hill, still roaring back at them faintly. A distant rider on the road startled as the stranger passed, but didn’t fall from his horse. One walking traveler did fall, tripping over his companion as they both turned to stare at the speeding bike.
Melkin harrumphed.
“Out of mana, my [King’s] royal jewels.”
He harrumphed again.

Notes---
I’ve loved fantasy of all sorts for a long time. A few favorites were the Dresden Files, Ender’s Game, Mercy Thompson, Harry Potter. Not too out there, I think.
I found The Deathworlders while poking around in the comments of a webcomic, and that was my first webserial. It’s not perfect, especially in the recent chapters (I can read a description of rippling muscles only so many times), but it led me to the Wandering Inn.
My all-time favorite.
I love Erin, I love Mrsha, and I even love Ryoka, even when she’s mean and prickly. I’ve never seen a protagonist act so unfriendly – it felt real in a rather odd way. But I love the Innworld most of all.
Before I fell in love with the Inn, I loved the Iron Druid. A world of gods and magic, thriving under the surface of a world that scarcely believes anymore. And the friends of the Iron Druid never seemed to get a fair shake as he let the werewolves run around handling the legal hellstorms he triggered battling gods and demons.
So, taking a side character that hypothetically could have existed, and a world that absolutely does -
I made this fanfiction. Hope you like it.
Also, who doesn’t like motorcycles? I do too, but I’m also scared of them. My uncle tried to teach me to ride, and I was tense and terrified the whole time. I’ll take a car any day. Big metal shield. But if I could heal in minutes and shrug off road burn – I’d still be scared. Yeah.
My characters don't have to be, though. And if Solca can have a boat, Bellamy can have a bike.
If you got this far, thanks for reading! Let me know what you think of it.
---CodeRace
submitted by Code_Race to WanderingInn [link] [comments]


2020.09.21 20:04 SloppyEyeScream I Cock-Blocked The Hawk Twice In One Night!

The world is full of microcosms, and the Army is no different. The majority of civilians typically assume everyone in the Army is a Special Operations Forces (SOF) war-monger with a healthy propensity for violence. Truth be told, the number of jobs in the United States Army, rivals the amount of bones in the human body. Each job is vitally important, but Hollywood and the video game industry have an undying thirst for the Combat Operations Cool Kids (COCK). Hollywood loves the COCK.
I have learned the Army is more akin to family though. I sincerely mean that too. There are Leaders whom are raging pricks and served as steadfast fatherly figures. I have countless brothers whom have followed me to hell-and-back, and would find it comical if we replaced the tennis balls on grandma's walker with racquet balls. There is even crazy uncle Jeff, the family pervert who had a crush on the Olson twins, before they were famous.
The setting for this story is post-Iraq. The rookies had just completed their first deployment, and the "old-heads" completed their second deployment. The married Soldiers returned home with a one-penis reservation to park the beef bus in tuna town, while the rest of the Soldiers hunted or paid for it. I have personally never understood the need to pay for sex. My father imparted sage advice after basic, regarding sex, and it is never failed me. "There are only two factors regarding sex. There are standards and statistics, and in order for one to go up, the other must go down."
We sincerely love each others like brothers, but months of living in close proximity with "brothers," can drive you insane. There were numerous times I envisioned drowning Hawk in shallow puddle of my own piss. I am equally certain my own Soldiers would draw and quarter me if given the opportunity. My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) does not bother me, but the slobs I roomed with needed a reprieve from my "perfection". There was certainly going to be a post-deployment celebration, but we all needed that first week to reestablish our own personal routines.
There was considerable deliberation as to "who" would host the party, but there were no volunteers. Not this time. I was gracious enough to host the previous post-deployment blowout, and I have zero desire to steam vacuum piss out of the carpet, in my walk-in closet. There is not a house on earth that is built to withstand the chaos of forty drunken alpha-males, and the infinite "hold my beer" moments that occurred.
Wife: (Puzzled) Why in the fuck are we missing two ceiling fan blades?
OP: Sword fight!
Wife: (Less puzzled, and more angry) WHAT?
OP: SWORD FIGHT!
Wife: I fucking heard you asshole, but why was their a sword fight?
OP: There was an argument about "who" was a better sword fighter, and we needed swords.
Wife: So you guys used ceiling fan blades, as swords, to fight each other?
OP: Yes.
Wife: (Laughing) Why ceiling fan blades?
OP: We didn't have enough broom sticks, and fan blades are less-lethal. Just be thankful we don't own real swards.
Needless-to-say, I was not hosting. I am now qualified to re-patch drywall, but there was no fucking way I was going to volunteer my house ever again. We eventually decided to not jeopardize anyone's marriage and wreck havoc at a neutral location. One of the Squad Leaders recommended a large dance club in a very large college town; a road trip was in order. Forty, mostly single, alpha-males embarked on an epic journey to open the meat-curtains and diddle the squish mitten in a liberal college town. It was like mixing bleach with ammonia, it was a great idea, and I was certain nothing would go wrong.
Fast-Forward to Fuckery!
We had successfully conquered space and time, and magically all arrived in the parking lot to this large dance club. We had all rallied in the parking lot prior to entering the establishment. It was clearly evident that all of the non-drivers consumed "road sodas" during the trip. Nobody was shit-faced yet, but it was clearly our final destination. We needed to accomplish two very important task before entering the club which were to take accountability, and conduct a brief. Multiple locations were recommended, but John sold this club to the single Soldiers when he guaranteed, "Everyone's dicks will get wet." John frequented the establishment in his college days, and therefore was the most equipped to provide the brief.
John: Remember the rules guys. We are here to have a good time. We are not here to start fights, but we will fucking finish them.
Crowd goes wild!
John: Furthermore, if some asshole in there wants to fight one of us, he will fucking fight all of us and the wives will take care a the bitches!
Male crowd goes wild!
Wives: (Collectively) The fuck we will.
John: Lastly, and this is the most important rule, everyone gets an ORANGE BAND. Remember that at the door. ORANGE BAND ONLY!
The fuckheads were ready to party! Everyone started our short journey to the door where beer and chaos would be our salvation. However, what the fuck was that bracelet brief about? John was very mysterious when discussing this particular club. John side-stepped any and all questions about it, and simply stated, "It's a surprise, but I promise you will like it." My brain may carry water buckets for a living, but I am still fairly intuitive. All the other lemmings were getting ready to jump of the cliff, but I wanted to know why the bracelet color was so fucking important. I was still going to jump off the cliff, but I had questions.
I was one of the first humanoids to arrive at the door. It was clearly obvious this was a college town bar, and not a military town bar. The bouncer looked like a young Danny DeVito. He probably had problems leading turds to the toilet due to his small stature, and there was no way he was capable of tossing any of us out without the assistance of at least twenty more Oompa Loompa cohorts. All six feet and eight inches of John was in front of me, and I found it comical when Danny Devito asked John's cock to see identification. I was next.
Danny: ID.
I give him my military ID and watch him fumble with it in order to find my date of birth.
Danny: Band color?
OP: What are my options?
Danny: Yellow, Pink, and Orange.
OP: Interesting, so what the fuck does it all mean?
Danny: (Laughing). You don't know where you at do you kid?
OP: Nope. I was told to go with Orange, but I have no fucking clue what it means.
Danny: (Still Laughing) You're going to have a blast inside. Anyways, the Orange band is for straight people. The Yellow band is for bisexuals, and Pink means your a flaming homo!
OP: Orange band it is!
Dear Reader, John saw fit to recommend a gay bar, to forty freedom fighters, but didn't see fit to inform any of us. Super! I, personally, treat religion, politics, and sexuality like a penis; don't show it to my children, and never shove it down my throat. I simply don't give a flying fuck. However, I don't know about the rest of my battle companions. I was going to find out after I walked through the doors though.
Dear Reader, this club was fucking awesome. The bar was fucking huge. The dance floor was fucking huge. The stage full of drag queens was fucking huge. I instantly make my way to the bar and find a suitable vantage point on the door. I want to see the everyone's face when they entered the club. Image going to the a titty bar. The entire facade of the building screams bouncing titties. "Diamond Dave's Boom-Boom-Room." The main attraction is Princess Ping Pong, and you win a free shirt if you beat her in beer pong. That allure? She kegel-flings the balls from her baby-cave with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. Now imagine opening the doors to "Diamond Dave's Boom-Boom-Room" to find a Catholic mass. What the fuck? Yeah, that was the look on everyone's face when they walked in.
Jess: OP NICKNAME. Did you fucking see that?
OP: What?
Jess: That drag queen there?
OP: Yup!
This drag queen was sculpted like a Greek God. It was fucking Hercules, in a beautiful sequin dress, because 30-inch biceps just won't fit in fucking shirts.
Jess: My god. You don't fuck her; she fucks you! (Did we just enter a parallel universe scream) Where the fuck are we? What the fuck is this place?
It now appears everyone is aware, and there are some questions that beg a fucking answer, specifically, "Where the fuck are we?" We are forty physically fit alpha-males whom just returned from knuckle-dragging terrorists, but we were like a school of pussy-ass fucking fish. Everyone was huddled around the bar as if the other patrons were fucking sharks or gay dolphins. We had strength in numbers. It was time for another fucking brief.
John: (On top of bar stool) Yes. I brought you to a gay bar! I promise; you have nothing to worry about so long has you have orange bracelets. Please stop being pussies, and go find some pussies.
The men were staring at John like he was Moses. Moses parted the Red Sea. John didn't part anything. He made us walk the plank into a gay bar, and we were now swimming in the deep end. John didn't part shit. Oddly, nobody was upset they were at a gay bar, they were upset they were unknowingly lured into a gay bag without proper notification. Luckily, and I fucking kid you not, John was saved. We were swarmed by a large school of not-gay women, and the group of pissed off gunslingers suddenly realized this club had more chicks than Tyson Foods. Men were the sexual minority and the hunt was on.
Hawk: (Very serious) OP NICKNAME. So, do you have any tips for picking up women?
OP: Yes. Lift with your legs and not your back.
Hawk: (Not pleased) I was being serious.
OP: I know. I have a technique that has never failed me. Wanna hear it?
Hawk: (Excited) Yes!
OP: I'd find the most gorgeous lady in here and ask, "Does this smell like chloroform?"
Hawk: WHAT?
OP: Or duct tape! It turns, "No, No, NO!" to "Um, Um, Umm."
Hawk: You're a fucking asshole.
OP: Just talk to them Hawk. Be honest, and just talk to people. You will be fine brother.
Hawk: Okay. You're still a fucking asshole though.
The married guys and myself planted ourselves at the bar. We conversed with another, and the very diverse crowd of patrons around us. We found ourselves liking the establishment more and more. It was truly a great bar. "Where the fuck is this going OP?" I understand! We are here to talk more about Hawk, so how about we do that now? Great idea!
The bar is very large and "U" shaped. I spot Hawk on the opposite side of the bar, and he is talking to a beautiful women. Far too beautiful for Hawk, and I doubt they are bonding over their mutual love of finger painting, or Spaghetti O's. Maybe she was just ordering a drink and noticed the bar had lowered their standards and began service alcohol to retards? I turn my attention to the conversation I was having with John and others and again notice Hawk is still talking to this princess. Fuck casual glancing, it was now time to just plain fucking stare at them.
Twenty Minutes Later
The princess grabs Hawks face and plants a giant kiss on his cheek, and that fucking hand is wearing a fucking PINK BRACELET. My fucking god! I get up to make my way around the bar, and then Hawk grabs her face and plants a disgusting kiss that was more appropriate for a hotel room that charges by the hour. Also, Hawk was wearing a fucking YELLOW BRACELET. My happy-go-lucky retard was about to walk his ass into a dick if I didn't save him.
OP: Hawk. Let's go take a piss.
Hawk: I'm good.
OP: Get the fuck up. You have to piss. NOW!
I fucking drag Hawk off his perch, and towards the bathroom.
Hawk: What the fuck OP NICKNAME. I was about to close the deal and give her the dick.
OP: Oh, I am certain there would have been MORE DICK GIVING THAN YOU EXPECTED.
We are now in the bathroom and Hawk is FINALLY picking up on then indicators.
At The Urinal
Hawk: Why are the urinal stalls so tall? They go all the way to the fucking ceiling!
OP: Because it is a gay bar.
Hawk: WHAT?
OP: Gay bar! We are at a fucking gay bar.
Hawk: REALLY? Are you sure!
OP: Oh I am pretty fucking sure. The drag queens that have been doing performances the entire night pretty much clued me in. Oh, and the bouncer told me it was a GAY BAR, SO I AM PRETTY FUCKING SURE THIS IS A GAY BAG.
Hawk: (Full-Retard) At least I found a hot chick right?
OP: With a dick!
Hawk: NO. She is a fucking chick. Did you see her tits?
OP: Yes. I saw HIS TITS. They are nice.
Hand Washing Time (Fuck you COVID)
Hawk: You're an asshole just trying to cock-block me.
OP: I am not cock-blocking you. I AM TRYING TO COCK-BLOCK HIM. WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING A YELLOW BRACELET?
Hawk: Yellow is my favorite color.
OP: Yellow also means you're bisexual here. Pink means you're gay. Your "Lady-Friend" is wearing a mother fucking PINK BRACELET, MEANING "SHE" IS A "HE" AND VERY GAY.
Hawk just doesn't want to a believe it. He seems to think he is a "combat-killing-pussy-slayer" and not, well, Hawk. He is now in complete and utter denial, and trying to convince me that Santa Clause is real.
Hawk: No. It's a women. Maybe she fucked up the bracelets too!?!
OP Brain: Should I unblock the cock, and let him finger-it-out on his own?
OP: Hawk, do women have Adam's apples?
Hawk: No!?!
OP: Then why is her Adam's apple the size of a coconut?
Return to Bar
Hawk: (No subtle conversation; just pure Hawk) Are you a girl?
Princess: Not yet, but I'd like to be your girl.
Hawk: I am sorry, but I think there has been some miscommunication here. I am straight...
Princess: (Not so fucking happy) Then why in the fuck are you wearing a yellow bracelet?
Hawk: It's my favorite color.
OP Brain: (Hysterical laughter) "It's my favorite color"
Princess: FUCK YOU, and you own me ten bucks for that drink.
Hawk: You bought it for...
Princess: For a bisexual guy (Pause) I was gonna fuck tonight. You ain't that guy.
Hawk pays up! I rescue Hawk from the Princess and return him to the circle of married guys.
John: (Laughing) You kissed a dude!!!
Hawk: Fuck you! He kissed me first.
Hawk went to the bouncer and replaced his "open of all comers" bracelet and got an Orange one. It was the end of Hawk's ham wallet hunt. His new bracelet indicated he was a sad single guy, and thankfully, there were no mentally deficient ladies willing to swim in the shallow end of the gene pool. Hawk went 0 - 1 that night which was a good thing. The news of Hawk's endeavor spread like chlamydia in a whorehouse on payday. He would never live "kissing a guy" down, but it was still a better outcome than letting Princess turn Hawk's "Exit Only" balloon-knot into a "Yield the Right of Way." Dude almost got butt-fucked for real.
I will post another Hawk tale next Monday Fuckery-Folks. I hope you enjoyed this non-military tale of Hawk.
Cheers.
submitted by SloppyEyeScream to FuckeryUniveristy [link] [comments]