#california beatdown

[compare-and-conform]

His ass really got me

#me #its meeee #my dog #dog #husky #very good boy #he really tried to run with me #post workout #leggys #california beatdown

[insanethrottlebikernews]

HELLS ANGEL MEMBER IN BRUTAL BEATDOWN LEARNS FATE **VIDEO **

#HELLSANGELS #HELLSANGEL #CALIFORNIA Prosecutors said that in October 2021, two different victims — both of whom were members of a different motorcycle club that is considered a “puppet” (or subordinate) club of the Hells Angels — were beaten by Mahoney and other club members based on perceived infractions of the Hells Angels’ rules.  A total of four members of the Hells Angels were indicted on…

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#Biker News #HELLS ANGEL MEMBER IN BRUTAL BEATDOWN #hells angels #Hells Angels California #hells angels mc #insane throttle #las vegas #motorcycle clubs #motorcycles #motorycle club videos #one percenters #outlaw biker #outlaw motorcycle clubs #outlaws #vallejo hells angels

[bodyhorrorbeatdown]

Body Horror Beatdown, Match 16, Round 1

Vote for your favorite:

Propaganda under the cut.

Coraline:

Be careful what you wish for.

"The button-eyes thing. The Other Mother's transformation into a giant spidery thing. the Other Father slowly becoming more twisted and bad. Other Wybie having his mouth sewn into a permanent smile. The Other Spink and Forcible being a taffy monster. And how can I forget the guy who's just rats."

Invasion of the Body Snatchers:

You'll never close your eyes again.

(synopsis) "In Santa Mira, California, Dr. Miles Bennell (Kevin McCarthy) is baffled when all his patients come to him with the same complaint: their loved ones seem to have been replaced by emotionless impostors. Despite others' dismissive denials, Dr. Bennell, his former girlfriend Becky (Dana Wynter) and his friend Jack (King Donovan) soon discover that the patients' suspicions are true: an alien species of human duplicates, grown from plant-like pods, is taking over the small town."

#bodyhorrorbeatdown #body horror beatdown #gore #body horror #round 1 #polls #coraline #coraline 2009 #invasion of the body snatchers #invasion of the body snatchers 1978 #henry selick #philip kaufman

[xxavengingangelxx]

As the Rush Comes 1/1

Ya'll! I posted this fic a while ago. It was the post that took my Tumblr virginity. However, I was dumb back then and I'm still dumb now, honestly and I thought Tumblr had a low word limit so I removed some scenes like a director in a movie that's too long and I think that really took away from the quality of the story.

With Graves coming back, I figured now was as good a time as any to repost this. Although this time, I'm posting the whole thing. It came to me after a reading a fic by halfmothhalfman on AO3. Beginning is kinda boring but it sets things up for some good smut ;)

Summary: A female mercenary and Graves meet in a bar. @bellgraves because you asked for it ;)

Tags: Porn with plot, gun kink, hair pulling, borderline hate fucking, friends to enemies, blood and injury, shooting, top!Phillip Graves.

Tagline: You had 74 hits under your belt. A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

TRIGGERS: Alleged/referenced child abuse, referenced suicide/self-harm, triggers for domestic violence, possible character death. MDNI, 18+ only.

-

I hate you.

That was the first sentence you said when you were 3 years old. You screamed it, shrieked it, to this towering man standing right in front of you. While you don’t remember exactly what had transpired, you know that you both were standing over your parents’ dead bodies and that your pajamas were sprayed red. The man in front of you did not know how to respond. It was almost as if he had never been around children so young.

You were perceptive like that even when you were 3 years old.

Sirens in the background seemed to pull the large man out of his reverie. You saw panic in his green eyes despite the fact that the rest of his face was covered in a black mask.

Then he took you.

***

And the rest is history. You learned from him later that he grabbed you because the police were on the way, you were clearly verbal, and you might make a good witness. He admitted later that he had not been around any children much less raised one. My childhood was a shithole, he would tell you.

He told you eventually that the initial plan was to avoid doing the ‘hit’ when you, a toddler, were in the home but that the timing had not given him any other alternative. He mentioned his boss told him that if the child, you, were in the home, to avoid doing it in front of you. But if shit hit the fan, then, hell, he said he had been given the green light to get rid of you, too.

He told you many times, sometimes when he was drunk, that there was no way he could kill any child, much less one that’s not even school age. So he did the only thing that came to him. He eliminated the witness without killing you. He couldn’t just throw you into foster care or abandon you because then you could be a witness. Plus he mentioned to you a lot that foster care was fucking awful. You learned that when you spent almost 6 months in foster care after he was accused of abuse. He’d burned your fingerprints off when you were 10 and the teachers were shocked when they tried to do a science project that involved fingerprints. You denied abuse, saying you were a disturbed child (you really were disturbed so it was half truth) who’d done it to herself. You were happy to be home with him however dysfunctional the home was.

He raised you. He raised you the only way he knew how. He actually never really abused you. Sure he’d beat the shit out of you if you acted up. You tried running away once and he almost put you in the hospital with the beatdown he gave you. He smacked you across the face if you got smart mouthed with him. You saw your first murder/hit when you were 10. But you didn’t consider that abuse. You considered it being put back in line. He raised you and taught you the only thing he knew.

Murder for hire.

He’d given you the name Raquel, after one of the avenging angels of heaven. You never knew your real name and to be honest you didn’t really give a fuck. You were apparently born in California and he hauled you all the way to the miserable, lonely town of International Falls, Minnesota to grow up. No one would bother looking in the nation’s ice box.

Businesswise, all you knew is that he was paid by someone else. He was hired by different people to do different hits. His own boss, your boss’s boss, ran a PMC on the side or so you heard. That was your goal: to be a PMC contractor. You’d been all over the world with your job with countless identities. But PMCs got to go to the really fun places. You’d sniped once or twice but wanted to do it more often.

So now you did what he did. Kinda. You’d have to work your way up the ranks. You’d been killing since you were 18. He was ‘nice’ enough to not make you kill before you were 18. Besides, you’d be fuckin’ sloppy anyway. At least when you both thought you were about 18. You did not know your actual birthday and neither did he. Neither of you gave a fuck. You had 74 hits under your belt, all done in the last 15 years. About 5 kills a year and the rest off to do whatever the hell you wanted whether that be party and get drunk (no drugs allowed or you risked getting a target put on your back) or whether it was nothing in a hotel room. You needed 100 hits to be considered for PMC.

A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

You never asked the why. You never asked if they worked for him before and they had gone rogue. He made it a goal to not let his soldiers know about each other in case he had to order a hit on one of his own. The why was simply not important.

So, Phillip Graves. Someone above your boss had ordered the hit.

You were told to be careful, that he was the CEO of his own PMC. He was dangerous, you were told. You’d have to be on your toes.

I want to make your 75th special, he had told you. Try not to die. We could use a woman in the PMC. Ya’ll get to do stuff men can’t. And definitely do not let him recruit you. It’d be treason to me. Pays $50,000.

The hit was not ‘immediate’ which meant you needed to gather some basic information from him. When the final order came down for the hit to be carried out to “full term” you were to kill him. But not until then.

***

You initially met Phillip Graves in a bar.

You wore something revealing. A hot, tight black dress with thigh boots. Your hair curled over your shoulders and you had your fuck me makeup on. One of the ways you would attract your mark’s attention was to wear a black silicone wedding ring. And it worked this time, too.

“Your husband know you’re here?” A man with a Southern drawl called from behind you. Before you faced him your smirked to yourself.

“I’m not married,” you snapped, turning to face him.

“Coulda fooled me,” he shrugged and nodded towards the ring on your finger.

“Maybe I wear it to stop creeps like you from talking to me,”

“Ain’t gonna stop me, sweetheart,” he moved to sit on the stool next to you, removing dark aviator sunglasses. His blue eyes shone even in the low light of the bar. “Are you?” His cologne smelled intoxicating in a way. There was a slight smell of…gunpowder.

Hot motherfucker, ain’t he?

“Nope,” you replied.

“Name’s Phillip,”

“Ariel,” you lied.

“I’m just gonna ask, ma’am,” he started eyeing your body up and down without shame. “Are you for sale?”

You scoffed. In a way, you thought.

“What makes you think that?”

He huffed a laugh.

“Pardon my language but you’ve got fuck me written all over you.” His eyes focused on yours, looking for a reaction. “Hell several men in here are actively eye fucking you.”

“You mean that disgusting fuck in the corner?” you signaled to an overweight 50 year old eyeing you like you were prey. “Ugh,”

“He seems like the rapey type,” Graves added. “You can either hook up with him or me,”

“Or neither,” you rolled your eyes. “And no I’m not for sale, sir.”

“Sounds good to me because I don’t pay. If I see someone I like I get ‘em.” He paused. “Even if that means using force.”

You scoffed. The only reason you took him half seriously if because this is Phillip fucking Graves. “You come off a deployment or somethin’, man? You seem desperate.”

His blue eyes flashed anger and you could swear he was resisting the urge to smack you across the face. He seemed like the type that didn’t have a problem hitting women. Or killing them.

“It’s been longer than I’d like,” he admitted.

“Whatever,”

“Playin’ hard to get?” his blue eyes were dilated now. He liked the thrill of the chase.

“Start over,” you snapped.

You saw when he gritted his teeth. This man was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted to.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he smirked.

***

You led him back to your motel room.

You didn’t have to wait or ask for him to get things started.

He shoved you against the door, one of his hands tangling in your soft hair and the other gripping your ass in an almost bruising grip. He detangled his hands from your hair and your ass and then used them to tear your short dress from the bottom up.

“Asshole,” you breathed. “This was expensive, dick,”

He ignored you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiking you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. One of his hands went back to your hair, gripping it tight and pulling hard, causing sharp pain and making you hiss.

His teeth grazed your throat. If wanted to he could’ve ripped your throat out with his teeth. You had a fleeting thought, wondering if he’d ever done that to someone. If he had ever ripped a man’s throat out. His mouth moved to your pulse point. You felt him grin when he felt your accelerating heartrate. He bit and sucked. You were sure he’d leave bruises.

“No marks,” you retorted. “I don’t belong to you,”

“No, you do tonight,” he breathed.

He continued biting, sucking. Your boss would call you a fucking whore with a smile on his face when he saw.

You had never been afraid to sleep with the men your killed. It was weird in a fucked up kind of way. Your boss, also known as your caregiver when you were growing up, had never laid a hand on you that way but he’d mentioned many a time that women can use their looks to bait when men usually could not. It was one of the reasons he wanted to accelerate you to your 100 kills…to get you into that PMC. You’d feel a rush when you finished off men as they slept off their tirade. You’d call it a rush coming and it released only when they were dead.

Graves wouldn’t die tonight, though. But he would eventually.

Flirt, fuck, repeat until the order came in to drop him.

You were tossed on the bed roughly, bringing your mind back to the present. He finished ripping your dress open, saying something you didn’t quite get because no sooner than he tossed you on the bed he had unclasped your bra and started biting and sucking your breasts, again leaving hickies and bruises. He got lower…lower…

And lower. He made quick work of your underwear, his hot breath hitting your sex and making you sigh.

“I said, you’re sure moaning like a whore,”

And with that you wanted to hear him beg.

You shoved him, shedded the rest of your clothing and walked towards him. You then knelt in front of him and he was clearly confused by the way you went from shortly dominating the situation to submission. You knew Graves…at least enough about him…to know he got off on being in control. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun.

Your trembling fingers unbuckled his military-style belt and that was when you noticed his sidearm. You were tempted to grab it and just fucking kill him then but not yet. You didn’t have the orders. You easily worked the belt off but he grabbed his sidearm out of your reach.

You got on your haunches, appearing even smaller before him. You look at him through your bangs, through your lashes (real lashes not that fake shit), and you feel your mascara and eyeliner running, initiated by your sweat and the rain outside. You parted your lips slightly and he sighed, his blue eyes barely visible because his pupils were so dilated.

“I don’t trust you, sweetheart,” he grabs his sidearm and yanks it from the holster. Shit…you might have to kill him tonight.

You pouted, attempting to manipulate him.

“You seem like you’re into dark shit,” he grumbled as he freed his cock, the tip of it leaking precum and standing inches from your lips.

“What’s that mean?” you whispered as you licked your lips.

He aimed the sidearm at your head. “You sure as hell know what to do,” he hissed, his other hand stroking himself. “Get to it. Now.”

“Sick fuck,” you mumbled. You took him into your mouth quickly, knowing no man would willingly shoot a woman giving him head in the head or anywhere else. Teeth could be deadly to a man in more ways than one.

“No sicker n’ you,” he moaned. He kept one hand on his sidearm against your head and one hand then tangled in your hair.

You felt as he got harder and harder in your mouth. You moaned around him and he hissed, the vibration apparently rubbing him the right way. It was fucking hot. Here you were sucking cock with a gun to your head. You didn’t mind. Phillip Graves was attractive unlike most of the men you’d handled.

His hand started loosening on his sidearm and you took that as you doing your damn job right. His hips were thrusting into your face and you felt him hitting the back of your throat. Tears escaped the sides of your eyes as you almost, almost gagged.

It was at that point that he tossed the sidearm on the bed to grasp your hair with both hands. He effectively started facefucking you. But that was where you drew the line. He still had his uniform pants halfway on and you gripped the thick fabric, preventing him from bruising your throat. You stopped it all…you stopped using your tongue, stopped using your tongue piercing to get him even harder.

“Beg,” you said after you pulled away from him. His cock was angry…red.

“Bitch, you don’t get to tell me—” he grasped your hair and threw you onto the bed again. “You dress like a whore, you get treated like one.” He climbed over you. You found it hot he was still in uniform and you were totally naked. Well except for your knee boots. Hell, he still had the vest under his shirt on. “I don’t treat a lady like this, but you…”

He settled between your legs, his hot cock rubbing your entrance. You moaned like a porn star because you’d started getting wet the moment you saw him. He was hot. And the fact that you were going to end his life not long from now got you hotter. So easy to manipulate men…

He didn’t even bother preparing you. He slammed in to the hilt, making you cry out.

“Whatever, slut,” he snapped. “Take it.”

He reached for your wrists holding you down as he rammed into you. His eyes looked down on you, focusing mostly on the way your breasts bounced as he fucked you…hard.

He was hitting that special spot inside of you. One few men knew to hit. He ground against you, rubbing your clit in between you both. You had never understood women who couldn’t cum from vaginal sex. How could you not?

You wanted to break your hands free from his iron grip. You were sure he’d leave bruises on your wrists, something else for boss to tease you about. You’re fucked up, he’d likely say. But he never complained because you always got the job done.

You felt that heat building up deep inside of you as he continued his relentless thrusts. He was thrusting faster, deeper, harder. When he leaned forward and bit your lip with his teeth (and drew blood) that pushed you over the edge.

You cried out in his mouth. You finally got your hands loose, tangling them in his short hair. You wrapped your legs around his waist, as you rode out your orgasm. You moved your hands to scratch his back but you felt only unform and Kevlar, no blood like you would have liked.

He broke loose from the kiss, moving to leave another mark just under your jaw.

He followed with his own climax shortly after. You felt him throbbing inside of you and it was at that moment that you realized ya’ll hadn’t even considered safe sex. Not that you cared. Hot men got a pass on that. Ugly ass men had to wear condoms.

His breath came in hurried gasps as he rode out his own orgasm, pulsing inside of you all the while.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. He stilled his hips and hovered over you, his dirty blonde hair ticking your breasts.

You were both hot, both sweaty, and you had several marks all over you. Proof of his dominance. It was almost like he wanted to mark you so no one else would touch you. He wanted you all to himself.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed as he pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. “I said no marks.” You observed marks on your breasts and that the bony part of your wrist already had a light blue tint, promising a bruise.

He scoffed, rolling off the bed. All he had to do was pull his pants up and secure his belt. He secured his sidearm next.

“What’re you doing about…” he trailed off.

“About what?” You sat up, your body aching in protest. You felt his essence sliding out of you and onto the cheap motel bed.

He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly appearing shy. “You know what.”

“Pregnancy?”

“I’m actually looking to settle down and have a kid,”

His eyes widened and you saw panic in his blue eyes. His blue eyes had lost the indigo color they had when he had been fucking you. You wondered if that would be the same look in his eyes when you killed him. You weren’t sure yet if you’d use a gun or a knife but the orders said the mark has to be within arm’s reach so that meant no sniping.

“Kidding,” you laughed. “I don’t want no fucking kids.” You sighed before adding, “I’ll get Plan B but I have an IUD.”

He sighed in obvious relief.

“Leaving already?” you asked as he started for the door.

“You know what kinda relationship this is gonna be,” he replied, not even bothering to turn around. He opened the door. “See you next week?”

“Count on it,” you smirked.

***

It had been exactly 30 days since you met Phillip Graves when the ‘full-term’ order came through. You’d learned the basics about him. Some of his habits, that he was ex-military, that he owned his own company although he refused to tell you where he worked.

So you met him at another that Friday night. The Friday night. You met in different places, sometimes hundreds of miles apart. But all were close to a base. The bar was usually filled with uniformed men looking to have a good time and relax. It was colder then and so you wore tight jeans with knee boots. A beanie covered your normally cascading hair. It was sleeting outside. And it was about to turn into snow.

“Hey there,” he drawled.

“Graves,” you smirked.

”It’s gonna be hard to peel you out of those jeans,” he eyed you up and down. Little did he know you did not intend to take your clothes off for him this time.

You followed the typical schedule. Some drinks and then you both left to go to the nearby motel. It’s not like you had a home to take him back to. You’d lived in hotels and motels and extended stay inns since you were 18.

It had started to snow and you watched some of the small furry white snowflakes landed in your loose curls of hair.

“After you, ma’am,” he smirked, holding the motel room door open.

“Such a gentleman,” you purred.

“Not for long,” he sneered.

You had set an alarm on your phone. You’d timed it to go off right before he dragged you to the bed like he always did at least once a week.

“Ugh, my fucking boss,” you pretended to be annoyed.

“What’d you do?”

“None of your business,” you responded to his question about what you did for a living.

“Whore out apparently,” he laughed.

You glared.

“Let me text this asshole and then we’ll get down to business,” you smiled.

“I’m gonna take a piss then,” Graves said nonchalantly as he walked to the bathroom.

Perfect.

You heard as he took care of business, flushed and then went to wash his hands. His back was to you. Foolish move.

So you grabbed a 9mm you kept in your large purse. A 9mm had more recoil than you liked but it definitely got the job done. Especially at close range. You wanted to look in his eyes when you killed him. You didn’t know why he was on a hit list but he had apparently pissed someone off badly enough to want him killed at close range. You’d have to aim for the head because he had his heavy duty tactical vest on today. The one with the wires for communication, the antenna folded several times over. It had an American flag and a patch that read B-23. You suddenly regretted you hadn’t had him use zip ties with you in your month together.

He looked in the mirror and…the cat was out of the bag.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” he laughed. “You were too good to be true.” He turned and walked towards you.

You raised the 9mm.

“Don’t do that. Don’t. Do that,” he warned. He had a different look in his eyes this time. His hand brushed his own sidearm, almost as if he didn’t take your threat seriously, like he knew he’d kill you before you ever got the chance to even try to kill him.

You scoffed. He was a military man. He knew orders were orders.

“You work with a PMC? Or are you a hired slut with a gun?”

“None of your fucking business,” you said through gritted teeth.

“No one needs to get hurt here.”

“You know one of us has to get hurt.” You paused before you added, “mortally so.”

“Let’s not do this,” he said calmly. He knew that his heavy duty vest would catch almost any bullet you fired at his chest.

You shook your head.

“Why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation?” He demanded. “It’s not.”

“You’re right it’s not,” you stood strong. “I can’t fail. I’ve never failed. He always told me I don’t want to find out what will happen to me if I fail. He just said I’d wish I was dead.”

“Leave,” he snapped. “I like you but I will hurt you if you so much as try.”

You scoffed internally because none of the men you’d killed had put a fight.

You clicked the safety off and before your finger could go from straight to curled over the trigger, he lunged.

Suddenly you found yourself flat on your back with the back of your head hitting the thin, cheap, disgusting carpet with a thud. You saw black spots in your vision. You immediately came back to lucidity. Passing out would be certain death. Or Graves escaping.

“Get off me, you asshole!” you screamed. All the extra gear he had on made him heavier than he already was and some of the gear was digging into your ribs.

He didn’t respond. Instead Graves easily straddled you and pinned you down the same way he’d held your wrists down when he’d fucked you. He leaned forward, his dirty blond hair falling over his forehead. He easily peeled your fingers off the gun and tossed it out of reach.

You shouted, “Ugh, bastard!” before you wrapped your right leg around his waist, feeling bruises forming from his gear. It was usually a lot easier for you to wrap your legs around him but not tonight. Luckily your heels gave you extra height. You dropped your heel on the small of his back, where it was not covered by the vest.

Momentarily startled, he eased his grip on your wrists. You eased your right hand out of his grasp and punched him right in the face. He full on growled with fury as he fell sideways a bit and you shook your hand from the pain, knowing you’d broken something. He stumbled again so you put your right leg in between the two of you and kicked, pushing him off you.

He stumbled, falling sideways once more. “Bitch,” he growled lowly. This was a tone you had not heard from him before. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you. I’ll watch the light leave your eyes.”

You reached for a knife you kept in your boot and taking advantage of the fact that you were both still on your knees, you lunged and sliced.

Graves almost yelped. He pressed his gloved hand to the open cut on his face. On his right cheek. It was sure to scar. Not that it would matter since you’d be killing him tonight. You’d go to his funeral. You were actually going to miss him. If only you’d sliced lower than his right cheek you would have sliced his throat.

“Motherfucking bitch,” he snarled when his fingers came back with his own blood. “Walk away!” he roared. “Last fucking chance before I rip you to shreds.”

“I told you I cant,” You replied simply. “One of doesn’t get any older than tonight.” You reached for a small pink Beretta you kept in your leather jacket pocket. It was your go-to if things got too hot. And things were HOT right now. Not sexually so but dangerously so.

He got in front of you so fast you barely registered.

How did a man that large move so quickly?!

You felt him full on punch you with a closed fist across your face and you heard a sickening, nauseating crack as blood gushed from your nose. A choked sob escaped you despite your attempts to hide it because holy shit he hit you hard. Like he would hit a man. You were losing and losing badly. You stumbled but he then gripped your right arm in a hold.

Another second and he had broken your arm…easily.

You screamed because fuck it hurt and it forced you to drop the gun.

Your boss and caregiver had forced you to be ambidextrous with all your weapons and you silently thanked him for that now.

You reached for your second to last weapon. Another knife. You got it in your left hand and sliced towards him, almost catching his throat when he again attacked you, assaulted you, almost ripped you apart (like he said he would) again. It was so close you yelled out in anger, frustration. You’ve been close two fucking times now.

Two loud bangs and flashes threw you off.

Things blacked out for a second or to and…

You were back on the floor again, on your back, your head hitting it a second time. You immediately spat and coughed blood when you tried to take a breath. You felt a red mist fall on your face and chest. Your ears were ringing, painfully so and you vision had black edges.

What the hell had happened?! Your mind went into panic, something you’d never really experienced before. Your brain switched to a more primal state of survival.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he repeated a line he’d said earlier. “You there?” he drawled as your hearing went in and out, all while painfully ringing. “That was a big mistake. It did not have to be like this.”

You barely heard him over the ringing in your ears. And…were your ears bleeding?

“Sunovabitch,” he muttered. He said you’d made a grave mistake and some dark part of your mind laughed insanely, because his last name is Graves.

“I don’t usually kill or punch women but you’re an exception to that,” he said cooly. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

You saw him blurrily but you still saw him as he picked up both your firearms and your knives. He then walked up to you. He was getting hurried in his movements. While this was a shady ass motel with gunshots all the time, he knew he couldn’t be found anywhere near there when the police eventually came.

He then grabbed your jacket and dragged you closer to the motel door. You left red streaks as he crudely hauled you. He tossed you into a corner. Probably so when he walked out you wouldn’t have a clear view on him.

“Sorry, soldier,” he commented. “Should’ve kept an eye on the 9 I made you drop earlier.” He laughed. The sadistic bastard laughed cruelly and he added, “Shot with your own sidearm.”

“Kinda a shame,” he continued, his eyes glinting as they caught the bright neon streetlight just outside your room. The blood on his face was now running down his neck, to his shoulder, staining his uniform and vest. It look bright red in places and dark red in others. “I mighta hired ya for some of my less challenging jobs.”

It was probably the first time in your adult life you started crying. You likely had a pleading look on your face. You felt tears of frustration, of pain, or red-hot anger fall from your eyes and slide down the sides of your face. They landed in your hair and they were tinged red from the coughed up blood on your face.

He slipped your Beretta into a pocket, saying, “souvenir,” as he grinned callously. You expected him to hold it to your head and finish you off. You were going to make him look at you when he killed you.

But he turned away.

“You’d better kill me,” you gasped. The effort sent you into a gasping and coughing fit and you were again covered in your own blood. You swore on your fucking life this man would die if you survived this.

He turned back towards you and easily grabbed your cellphone from your jacket pocket, kneeling beside you. He rested one of his knees on your ribs, making you really start crying. You couldn’t stop it…it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

“Unlock it,” he demanded of your phone. He held it just out of your reach, almost as if he wanted to see you suffer. “You put up a good fight but fight’s over.”

Cruel, merciless bastard.

You were dying tonight so what the hell. You used your left index finger to unlock the phone.

He creepily knew right where to go. His rust-red fingers danced over your screen, his blue eyes shining bright with the screen’s light. Your screen would likely be caked with your blood and his blood. At least you’d made the great Phillip Graves bleed.

That scar on his face would make sure he never forgot you. But then again if your survived, the scars that would litter your body (the gunshot wounds, the plates probably required to repair your arm) would make sure you didn’t forget him either.

He showed you the screen.

He had gone into your text messages and somehow found your boss’s number.

He had typed: Come get your girl’s body. -Graves

And he hit send.

“You’re very likely as good as dead,” he said before he clicked his tongue. “But if they get to you in time, stay the hell away from me.” He reached down, grasping your hair with a ferocity he had not before. He raised you off the floor and you were pretty sure you lost consciousness for more than a few seconds. But he waited for you to open your eyes again before he asked, “We clear?”

You nodded despite yourself. Hell no you intended to make him suffer if you survived.

“Good,” he drawled. “If you don’t die tonight, I’ll fucking slaughter you if I see you again.” It sounded like a promise. “I’ll have one last fuck and then I’ll paint the fucking walls with your brains.”

He got up and tossed you your cell phone on your chest. You’d seen that curiously enough, weirdly enough he had dialed 911. He stood back up. The movement of air as he stood resulted in scents of blood, sweat, cologne, and gunpowder being sent your way. Usually it was hot. Tonight it almost made you gag.

You tried to roll into the recovery position on your side and you screamed as it felt like your inside were on fire. The phone slid off your chest onto the floor.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You ignored it. You looked for something, anything that could kill this son of a bitch. Like an attack dog you’d been conditioned since you were a child: Either finish the job or die trying. He had your Beretta and your 9mm and both knives. There was no way you could reach your last resort weapon. He was taking no chances and giving you nothing to strike back at him with. He knew you better than you gave him credit for.

Besides, he was gone.

The 911 operator kept trying to get in touch with you.

You tried to say you’d been shot but could only gasp for air, choking on your own blood. Being in the recovery position helped you not choke and gag as much but you were sure you had bad internal bleeding. You vomited the alcohol you’d recently drank, the liquid burning your inside wounds like lava. Something primal in your brain fought for survival and wanted you to reply to that 911 operator.

You set your head down on your left arm, cradling your broken right. You sniffled because fuck…fuck…FUCK. Phillip Graves had mopped the floor with you. He had beaten you within an inch of unconsciousness and then shot you. All in the span of less than 5 minutes. You’d been cocky, so sure you could manipulate him with sex and seduction. It had worked for all the other men.

But not Phillip Graves. Speak of the devil because you heard him start his pickup truck parked just outside the motel room window.

You opened your eyes again, not knowing how much time had passed. You then noticed something…your 9mm. You thought you were hallucinating so you tentatively reached out for it, choking back a sob of pain and misery. You’d been crying at this point so you gave up on trying to hold back tears. You gripped it with trembling, bloody, sticky fingers. So he hadn’t taken it. When did he drop it or set it down? You had no idea.

“I’m sending police and ambulance to your location,” the 911 operator’s voice echoed in your head and it seemed to reverberate forever.

You ignored her. You grasped the gun and pointed it to the left side of your head on your temple. You angled the gun downwards because you knew that made it more likely for the bullet to take out the basic part of your brain that controlled breathing and heartrate and blood pressure. You squeezed your eyes and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. You then saw that the son of a bitch had ejected the clip and the bullet from the chamber.

“Motherfucker,” you whimpered in a whisper.

Your phone dinged. A text message.

You better fucking explain yourself, Raq. What the hell kinda message was that? You lazily read the text message from your boss. Graves better be KIA. Another text bubble. Just because you grew up with me doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass and put you back in line if you failed me. You couldn’t reply and didn’t want to. A phone call from your boss. Another text message as you wavered in and out of consciousness. You blinked through tears and saw him text again. Answer your fucking phone. Yet another text bubble. You’re pissing me off, Raq. Answer me. I need a sit rep.

Oh well. You were likely going to bleed out anyway.

A fucked up end to a fucked up life. If by some miracle you survived, you might have to go rogue. Missing in action because there would be a hit on you for the failed job. Phillip fuckin Graves would die if you survived. That much you promised yourself.

But you were dying. Fast.

At least it was looking like you wouldn’t find out what happened if you failed.

***

I honestly don't know if she's alive or dead ;)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #mw2 141

[1americanconservative]

TaraBull

Top 10 headlines the media didn't tell you this week, Repost & FoIIow for more 10. Dr. Drew Credits RFK Jr for his Personal Awakening: 'I am open to everything now.' 9. Police believe four of the migrants arrested in cop beatdown fled on a bus from NY to California. 8. Capitol Police will NOT press charges against staffer who filmed having an*l s*x in the Senate Office Building. 7. 150 democrats vote NO on bill to deport illegal immigrants for DUI. 6. Elon Musk to transfer Tesla incorporation to Texas after Delaware scammed him out of $50.9 billion. 5. Speaker Johnson releases 64 instances of the Biden Admin undermining border security, encouraging illegal immigration. 4. Top cyber official divulged embarrassing White House secrets to undercover James O'Keefe disguised as a gay man in glasses. 3. Congressmembers call for Rep. Ihan Omar to be expelled after shocking Somalia allegiance video goes viral. 2. Senator Lindsey Graham demands the U.S. bomb Iran. 1. EU police go door to door arresting farmers who've protested the globalist agenda. If you appreciate this Top 10 recap, remember to Repost and FoIIow me for another week in a clown world

[frostbeees]

can we get an itid snippet🥺

well i suppose <3 i didn't get anything written today bc i've been sick (hello norovirus) but my fever is finally breaking sooo.

here's a little moment between thom and his sister. this takes place before the rookie showcase in DC (and after the breakup). sorry this is kind of a long one but it was too hard to trim it down bc i just LOVE this part

“You worried about having to spend time with Brendan again or is something else bothering you?” Jade asks as she picks through the pile of clothes closest to her, choosing pieces that she apparently thinks Thom needs to take with him as she places them into the suitcase. 

Thom drops the toothbrush he had just grabbed from his bathroom and it clatters to the ground. She’s always been blunt about feelings-talks and he wasn’t not expecting this to come up eventually but he definitely wasn’t expecting it today. 

“Okay so the first one,” she says, brow furrowed as she tries to read him from across the room. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Why would you even think that?” Thom asks carefully, trying to call her bluff. She doesn’t fold.

“You left for Cali in such a good mood and you came back in the form of a little storm cloud. We’ve all been tiptoeing around you for weeks and mom’s been bugging me to talk to you. Also, I’m pretty sure I saw you crying in your car in the driveway the other day when I was getting ready to leave for training so obviously something is up. You can talk to me about it, you know.” 

Thom takes in a deep breath. His chest rattles a little like maybe he’s coming down with something, a slight wheeze to the inhale. Maybe that would explain the tickle in his throat getting worse. 

“It’s—” Thom starts, pausing to shove a pile of clothes off the bed and onto the floor so he can flop down with his head near Jade’s legs. Her hand goes to his hair immediately which is exactly what he was hoping for, scratching softly against his scalp and sliding through to the ends. “He broke up with me. Or, well. I ended it with him before he could break up with me, I guess. I don’t fucking know. Either way, it’s over. He made it very clear he doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him.”

“Oh honey,” Jade slides down the bed and pulls Thom against her chest, arms firmly wrapped around him and his chest heaves as the tears finally break free and start falling steadily. “Fuck him then, honestly. You’re the best and if he can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

She’s just like their mom: soft and warm and welcoming with a touch of spice when needed. She’d probably fly to California to tackle Brendan in a way that would get her immediately booted from a game. That’s the only difference between Jade and their mom, really. Chantal has a sharp tongue. She can tear someone down in such a way that leaves them thanking her and then crying later. Jade, on the other hand, isn’t afraid to do a little physical beatdown when needed. Thom has the scars to prove it.

“Yeah, fuck him.” Thom’s a snotty mess against Jade’s soft sweatshirt but she makes no move to push him away or get up so he lets his little sister hold him until the tears dry up and his breathing steadies again.

He doesn’t mean it though, about Brendan. He doesn’t tell Jade that, too afraid of her trying to knock some sense in him or running off to get their mom involved if she thinks Thom’s being stupid. But it’s true. He still loves Brendan more than anyone he’s ever loved before. He’s still fucking pissed at him, but if Brendan called right this second and asked Thom to come back out to Manhattan Beach? To be with him again? Thom would go, easy.  

Jade doesn’t push him to talk about it anymore though. When Thom finally gets himself pulled back together he goes back to packing his bag and Jade sticks around for a while longer. Eventually, though,  she gets bored and leaves, but not before getting in another tight hug and securing a promise from Thom that they’ll get the good bagels for breakfast in the morning before he heads to the airport. 

#anon #jess answers #itid

[beardedmrbean]

Los Angeles City Council President Nury Martinez is facing calls to step down after leaked audio revealed her making openly racist remarks, including those about a White colleague’s young Black son. 

The Los Angeles Times first reported about the audio recording on Sunday of a conversation that happened back in October 2021 between Martinez, Councilmembers Gil Cedillo and Kevin de León and L.A. County Federation of Labor President Ron Herrera while discussing the redrawing of districts. 

According to the Times, Martinez criticized another colleague, Councilmember Mike Bonin, who is White, over the parenting of his Black son, who she said he treated like an "accessory."  Martinez remarked on the toddler’s behavior during a Martin Luther King Day parade, saying that the float would have tipped over if she and the other women present didn’t step in to "parent this kid."

CALIFORNIA POLICE FIND WOMAN'S BODY IN LOS ANGELES-AREA CLOTHING DONATION BOX  

"They're raising him like a little White kid," Martinez said, according to the recording leaked on Reddit. "I was like, 'This kid needs a beatdown. Let me take him around the corner and then I'll bring him back."' Martinez also called Bonin’s son "ese changuito," Spanish for "that little monkey."

De León chimed in, comparing Bonin’s handling of the toddler to "when Nury brings her little yard bag or the Louis Vuitton bag." "Su negrito, like on the side," Martinez added. 

Condemning the comments made by his Latino colleagues, Bonin issued a family statement Sunday. 

"We are appalled, angry and absolutely disgusted that Nury Martinez attack our son with horrific racist slurs, and talked about her desire to psychically harm him," Bonin and his partner, Sean Arian, wrote. "It’s vile abhorrent and utterly disgraceful. The City Council needs to remove her as Council President immediately, and she needs to resign from office."

"As parents of a Black child, we condemn the entirety of the recorded conversation, which displayed a repeated and vulgar anti-Black sentiment, and a coordinated effort to weaken Black political representation in Los Angeles. The conversation revealed several layers of contempt for the people of Los Angeles, and a cynical, ugly desire to divide the City rather than serve it," the statement added. 

It’s not clear who made or leaked the recording. 

But seemingly unaware she was being recorded at the time, Martinez also recalled a conversation she had with businessman Danny Bakewell about possibly transferring Los Angeles International Airport out of Bonin's council district and into that of Councilmember Marqueece Harris- Dawson. The council president said she told Bakewell, "Go get the airport from his little brother -- that little b**** Bonin."

"Mike Bonin won't f---ing ever say peep about Latinos. He'll never say a f---ing word about us," De León  added. 

Martinez also derided Los Angeles County District George Gascón after the group pondered whether Gascón would endorse Cedillo in his re-election campaign against Eunessis Hernandez.

"F--- that guy ... He's with the Blacks," Martinez is heard saying, according to FOX 11 Los Angeles. 

The conversation also steered toward Councilmember Mark Ridley-Thomas’ indictment on federal corruption charges, as Martinez said Controller Ron Galperin would decide whether Ridley-Thomas still gets paid during his suspension. "You need to go talk to that White guy," Martinez said. "It's not us. It's the White members on this council that will motherf--- you in a heartbeat."

After the Times published its story about the recording, Martinez and de León both issued apologies. 

"In a moment of intense frustration and anger, I let the situation get the best of me and I hold myself accountable for these comments. For that I am sorry. The context of this conversation was concern over the redistricting process and concern about the potential negative impact it might have on communities of color. My work speaks for itself. I’ve worked hard to lead this city through its most difficult time," Martinez said in a statement obtained by FOX 11 Los Angeles. 

"There were comments made in the context of this meeting that are wholly inappropriate; and I regret appearing to condone and even contribute to certain insensitive comments made about a colleague and his family in private," de León said. "I've reached out to that colleague personally. On that day, I fell short of the expectations we set for our leaders -- and I will hold myself to a higher standard."

#nunyas news #good thing it wasn't all just pointed at white folks #never would have gotten any attention

[bongaboi]

Georgia: 2022 NCAA Division I FBS National Champions

INGLEWOOD, Calif. -- For so long, Georgia was the flagship program of the really good but not quite great. It produced a few decades of pretty nice seasons ending in pretty nice bowl games played by a lot of really good players dressed in red, white and black. But the Dawgs were always a few steps behind the sport's elite.

They were always one play shy of beating Alabama. Always a few five-star recruits behind Florida. Always a few inches short when measured against the true ruling class of college football, even as the head of that class rolled through different eras and teams, from Miami and Nebraska to Southern California and seemingly every team in the SEC except for the one in Athens, Georgia.

But on a damp Monday night outside Los Angeles, the Georgia Bulldogs didn't simply engrave their names onto the measuring stick by which all other college football programs are measured, they pulled that stick off the desk and beat the TCU Horned Frogs with it. Now, the conversation about Georgia football isn't about what it hasn't been able to do. It's about what it might be able to do that few have ever done before: move past building championship seasons and move into building a championship era.

"I don't know about that word, era; I'm not even sure what an era is," Kirby Smart confessed as he headed from the confetti-covered SoFi Stadium field to the cigar-smoke-filled locker room after winning the College Football Playoff National Championship. "But I know what a great program looks like, a program that is built to last. I was part of four national championships as an assistant coach at Alabama. I know how hard it is to get to the peak of the sport, and I know it is even harder to stay there. I know what the foundation of that looks like. I think we are building that foundation. I hope we are."

Consider it built. Concrete poured, cured and seemingly built to last.

UGA won its second national title in a row, only the fourth team to do so since 1990 and the first in the nine-year College Football Playoff era. It did it via a beatdown the likes of which hasn't been seen in a college football title game of any format in 152 years of college football. Not the 1971 Orange Bowl (Nebraska 38, Alabama 6). Not the 1972 Rose Bowl (USC 42, Ohio State 17). Oklahoma 1985 (25-10 over Penn State). Nebraska 1995 (62-24 over Florida). USC in 2004 (55-19 over Oklahoma). Florida in 2006 (41-14 over Ohio State). Not even the previous standard-bearer for title game dominance: Alabama over Notre Dame 42-14 in the 2013 BCS championship. Miami in 2001, LSU in 2019, whatever comes up while thumbing through the record books … not a single one of those juggernaut teams or lopsided evenings on the gridiron comes close to approaching the 65-7 Bulldogs bulldozing that took place Monday night at SoFi Stadium.

It demoralized the upstart Horned Frogs and sent shivers into the souls of any team hoping to stand in TCU's cleats anytime soon. It was the most lopsided postseason victory since bowl games made their debut in Pasadena, California, in 1902, capping a 17-game winning streak, the longest for Georgia since 1947. The Bulldogs' 29 wins ties the mark for any major college team over a two-season span and is the most ever for an SEC school. Monday's victory rewrote page after page of the college football history book.

"Georgia, obviously you've seen them in the past couple of seasons now, really, they've taken hold of college football." That declaration was made by former Georgia All-American linebacker turned TV analyst David Pollack during ESPN's halftime coverage of the game, when the score was 38-7.

He said it while sitting beside the network's guest analyst for the evening, Alabama coach Nick Saban.

If it's possible to say it, the game was even worse than the score. It was such a throttling that Georgia quarterback Stetson Bennett, shortly after tying LSU signal-caller Joe Burrow's CFP title game for points responsible for (36), was pulled from the game … with 13:25 remaining in the fourth quarter.

This is a team that lost 15 -- yes, 15! -- players to the 2022 NFL draft, five more than any other team, and simply reloaded. A defense that was supposed to take a step backward after a 2021 unit that was statistically speaking among the greatest of all time instead limited TCU -- which came into the game averaging 474 yards and 41 points per game -- to 188 yards and one solitary TD. A team that looked emotionally and physically exhausted after a New Year's Eve thriller comeback win over Ohio State in the CFP semifinals responded by embarking on a week of practice that Bennett described in the days leading up to the title game as "a damn reconstruction project."

"You attack every aspect of this as a challenge," Bennett, 25, recalled of the week, quick to praise the UGA scout team that played the role of tough-as-railroad-spikes TCU quarterback Max Duggan. "Now I am done, but I think that those who are still here, and maybe those of us who are gone, have a responsibility to make sure this keeps rolling. Make sure you feel the pressure of keeping up what has been built."

The comment showed shades of those all-time teams that Georgia once chased. The legendary Miami Hurricanes calling out from NFL locker rooms to those youngsters now in their beloved orange and green to ask what happened after a loss to a rival or one that ended a streak. Saban's Alabama veterans showing up to spring practice to talk to their heirs about maintaining the principals of the process.

"That's what we all have to guard against, complacency, and I am talking about coaches, players, even fans, never taking a night like this one for granted," said Smart, who played defensive back on a lot of those good but never great Bulldogs teams of the 1990s. "You have to expect to be in these games and expect to win these games, but you can't assume that it will happen. And I think that's why trying to win a third straight championship will be an even steeper challenge than this one was. We lost so many guys last year and have so many more guys coming back next year. That's more chances for complacency."

It's also more chances to benefit from experience, to lean on been there, done that. More than half of this season's starters were redshirt sophomores or younger. They'll be paired with what will be Georgia's seventh consecutive top-three recruiting class.

Smart is only 47 years old. His former mentor, the guy sitting awkwardly next to Pollack, is 71. The GOAT was fully focused on what was in front of him. Saban always is. "I have hard time watching football because it's always work," Saban confessed the morning of the game. "How would we scheme against this? How are they accomplishing that? And in the case of what Kirby has done at Georgia, that is especially true. That's the greatest compliment I can give any program, that everyone in our business has to watch everything you do."

Yes, there are plenty of cautionary tales when it comes to college football dominion collapses. The transfer portal; name, image and likeness (NIL); an expanded playoff -- the list of what has derailed the mighty and could do the same to Dawgs in the future is ever changing. All of those teams listed earlier, from Miami to Nebraska to USC, have fallen from "they can't be beaten!" to "whatever happened to those guys?" It was just four winters ago when Clemson was playing in its fourth CFP title game in five years, and it has since slowly started sliding from the national conversation.

But even the players and coaches from those ruling-class programs, hailing from every spot along the timeline of college football history, likely spent their Monday night like the rest of us, watching the Georgia Bulldogs and wondering if what we witnessed against TCU might be a lot closer to the beginning of something big than it is to any conceivable end.

"I want to enjoy tonight, and I will," said Georgia's Brock Bowers, the All-American tight end who hauled in seven catches for 152 yards and a TD. He also is one of those sophomores. "But we go back to work as soon as we get home. There is always work to be done."

That's how it goes when you're building an empire.

#2022 #2023 #georgia bulldogs #college football playoff #national championship #college football #bowl season

[vibratoryblurriness]

I guess one good thing did come out of @silversprocket (also: https://www.silversprocket.net/) getting flooded by the recent Weather in California, which is that it motivated me to buy more of @funeralbeat‘s stuff from them sooner than I planned, and it’s all great.

Silver Sprocket is a publisher/store for a bunch of independent artists and creators, generally with queer/leftist/punk/etc. vibes, and Jenn Woodall has been one of my favorites since I first found her stuff. Her general aesthetic is kind of like what if Sailor Moon was sick of everyone’s shit and just murdered anyone who disrespected women, and she has multiple comics and other art like that that I’m totally here for. But also special mention to Marie and Worrywart for capturing the feeling of anxiety really well.

Now I have to go read my brand new copy of Space Trash while hoping Magical Beatdown 2 gets a reprint and I notice while it’s still in stock...

#jenn woodall #art #comics

[be4tdown-a]

# 𝐁 𝐄 𝟒 𝐓 𝐃 𝐎 𝐖 𝐍. a highly private and selective original fandomless musician based character. this blog will contain sensitive and triggering content —— follow at your own discretion. minors and personal blogs: do not interact. this is a sideblog , follows back from / rules can be found at @daevilhorns. under major construction: basic information is below the cut. ᴱˢᵀᴬᴮᴸᴵˢᴴᴱᴰ ⁰⁶ / ⁰¹ / ²⁰²³ ﹙ 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗬 ﹚ 𝑎𝑙𝑦𝑠𝑠𝑎. ˢʰᵉ  /  ʰᵉʳ ,   ²⁵

brief stats.

name: victor ángel hernández.

nicknames: vic , ángel / angel.

sex: cismale. ( he / him )

ethnicity: hispanic.

birthdate: june 19 , 1997.

age: mid - twenties.

place of birth: san diego , california.

languages spoken: english , spanish.

orientation: bisexual / biromantic.

religion: raised roman catholic. considers himself agnostic.

parents: elizabeth "betty" maria hernández ( mother , alive. ) luis victor hernández ( father , estranged. presumed alive. )

siblings: katherine "katie" sofía hernández ( younger sister , alive. )

occupation: founder and vocalist for hardcore / metalcore band betty beatdown. self employed mechanic.

criminal record: disorderly conduct , simple assault , aggravated assault , assaulting a police officer , resisting arrest.

hair: dark brown , almost black. reaches shoulders in length. typically cut and styled into a mullet.

eyes: dark brown.

height: six foot two inches.

weight: two hundred lbs.

piercings: both ears pierced.

tattoos: full sleeves cover both arms from shoulders to fingers. both calves. a small (idk what yet) on his upper cheek beneath his left eye.

other: various scars , including an obvious slit in his right eyebrow. his nose has been broken twice.

important notes.

seventeen year old elizabeth married eighteen year old luis in a shotgun wedding wearing a white dress that was noticeably too tight and almost didn't fit. the unprepared teen parents welcomed their newborn son on a scorching hot summer day four and a half months later. victor , given his father's middle name , arrived on his expected due date and born healthy after 14 hours of labor. his sister would follow two years later.

( alexa play daddy issues. ) luis was an abusive piece of shit and betty left him with her children in clutch when vic was nine. she struggled as a single mom but with the help of her parents , they managed to get by. luis' parents sided with their daughter-in-law and were also prominent figures in the lives of their grandchildren.

vic began picking up petty jobs wherever he could as a young teen in order to financially help his mom. the role of " the man of the house " was one he took seriously and he couldn't stand to see his mother struggling. he took an interest in cars and upon helping out at a nearby repair shop , he realized he had a knack for them.

something something where do you put the anger something something. the boy is full of rage and struggled to find where to put it. so he got into a lot of fights in school , and now takes it out in his lyrics or on stage or in the pit. but it still isn't something he's managed to fully master and has caught a few charges for mainly , you guessed it , assault.

most of his arrests have been for public fighting and disorderly conduct misdemeanors that resulted in a fine , or spending the night in jail. but one particular fight when he was twenty two resulted in an aggravated assault charge , as well as resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. he served eighteen months in prison.

betty beatdown is an american hardcore / metalcore band from san diego , california. it was formed in 2014 and founded by vic. the band makes great use of heavy , slow breakdowns , heavily downtuned guitars , and raspy vocals. their lyrical content often focuses on human rights , mental illness , religion , relationships , and violence against women.

the name is an homage to his mother , and while it may sound morbid and insulting ( as she had originally took it ) , it's his way of calling her a badass. a way to immortalize the fact that she came out on top after all the shit she's been through. if it isn't obvious , he's a mama's boy. and being raised predominantly around and by women , the struggles he's seen them and know so many other go through , is why it's a very large theme in his music.

PSD. PLAYLIST.

#𝐃̲𝐎̲ 𝐍̲𝐎̲𝐓̲ 𝐑̲𝐄̲𝐁̲𝐋̲𝐎̲𝐆̲.

[watcherwatts]

my biggest wish in life is being flown out to california all expenses paid and getting to do a top 5 beatdown episode of top 5 bugs (or top 5 mad scientists).

#ghost posts #watcher #top 5 beatdown

[bllsbailey]

NY Injustice: Illegals Who Assaulted NYPD Officers Can't Be Arrested Because They Were Freed Without Bail

Bailey: The Photo above shows what the world really thinks about America, and stupid liberal democrats just keep welcoming them in.

On Wednesday, we brought you the terrible story of a group of illegal immigrants savagely beating two NYPD cops in Times Square and how several were arrested and all but one were quickly released without bail by the pathetic Manhattan District Attorney’s office. Of course, it turns out they all had prior arrests, and there is suspicion some may be tied to a notorious Venezuelan gang, Tren de Aragua.

Mob of Illegals Savagely Beats NYPD Officers, Some Apprehended but Immediately Let Loose With No Bail

As if that wasn’t bad enough, several of the perps mocked us all as they departed the courthouse.

WATCH: Illegal Aliens Who Beat Cops Have a Nasty Message for America - This Is Where Biden Has Led Us

Not only is this how many of the millions of Biden-era illegals feel about America, it's how the US government feels about you. If you were born and raised here, if your children and grandchildren were born here, if you pay your taxes and follow the rules - they are flipping the bird right in your face.

Three of them are now believed to be on their way to California. But here’s where it gets even more ludicrous – even if NY cops tracked them down, they couldn't arrest them. Why? Because we live in Insane World.

The migrants who may have hopped on a bus to California after being busted in the caught-on-video beatdown of two NYPD cops couldn’t be arrested even if law enforcement tracked them down — because they were already freed without bail. John Miller, a former top NYPD official and CNN’s chief law enforcement and intelligence analyst pointed out the bail issue in an interview on the network Friday, saying that it’s “stirred a lot of controversy about the criminal justice reform and the assault on the police officers.”

This is where you just shake your head and think, “I have no words.” 

The perps are believed to be headed to Calexico, a town near the border in California, where they can presumably go back and forth between the U.S. and Mexico. But why not just wait for the bus to arrive and arrest them?

“Now normally, we probably wouldn’t even be talking about this because the US Marshals and detectives would be waiting for them in St. Louis,” Miller said, “but they were released on their own recognizance, which means police have nothing to arrest them on, on the assumption – which they have to operate on – that they’ll be back for their [March 4] court date.” “The chances of that happening when four people get on a bus with false names and head for the city that literally you can cross the street into the Mexican border is probably unlikely,” he added.

Call me cynical, but the chances of them showing up on March 4 are approximately zero.

This is what "criminal justice reform" and defund the police have brought us – get-out-of-jail-free cards for criminals in cities like the Big Apple, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. The phrase, “do the crime, serve the time” seems like a distant memory. Now it’s more like, “do the deed, get quickly freed.”

Related:

Venezuela's 'Most Powerful' Bloodthirsty Gang Is Now Operating Across America

[andronetalks]

Police believe four of the migrants arrested in cop beatdown near Times Square fled on a bus to California

New York Post By Joe Marino and Jorge Fitz-GibbonPublished Feb. 1, 2024Updated Jan. 31, 2024, 7:35 p.m. ET Four of the migrants cut loose without bail after allegedly ganging up on two NYPD cops near Times Square may be on the run, The Post has learned. Cops believe the group hopped on a bus bound for California on Wednesday after giving phony names to a church-affiliated nonprofit group that…

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#Crime #News #Police #Politics #World