#when there are so many crimes being committed against my sanity every day

[elephantbitterhead]

Why, in the midst of a modern Panopticon, are so-called ‘scientists’ relying on self-reported data for anything? I have had it with this. It’s not a ‘study.’ At best, it’s a compendium of delusions and it’s often just outright lies. 

#I thought we'd all agreed that it's not possible to use self-reported data #to study any behavior with a widely attached evaluative judgment #why is this still happening #when there are so many crimes being committed against my sanity every day #why must I also endure this affront to reason #I feel sure Alexa or one of her friends #can keep & probably is keeping far better track of your hand-washing practices #I am not interested in how often you wish you washed your hands #or how often you think the the interviewer wants you to wash your hands #or how often you would have washed your hands had you not been doing something else but decided to count that #as handwashing for reasons best known only to yourself #which is all this pseudo-science is conveying to me #down with self-reported data forever #if this is the only way you can get the data you need #I suggest designing a better study

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time. 

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.” 

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones. 

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus. 

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past. 

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father— 

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today. 

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot. 

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being. 

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts. 

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers. 

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him. 

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire. 

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed. 

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow. 

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.” 

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work. 

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in. 

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic

[cuntess-carmilla]

genuine question, not loaded or sarcastic or anything, just wondering if i fucked up with my vote: do you think it would have been better if we voted for another four years of trump? i thought i was helping the whole world by voting biden, especially in regards to climate change... but if i was wrong.. idk. would it had been better for everybody if we kept trump?

I may be wrong but if the information I read was correct and I'm remembering correctly, I'm afraid Biden never really promised to do much or anything about the environment, and considering he assures billionaires that "nothing will change", I get the feeling I'm likely correct.

Even with how dangerous Biden is (and not just for people from the 3rd world) I don't automatically resent Americans who voted for him, especially when it comes to non-white Americans.

I can sympathize with the stress of having a president that doesn't even attempt to hide how much he fucking hates your very existence and considering the US's history of extreme anti-communism, censorship, repression, and liberal brainwashing, most Americans aren't too well prepared to see much beyond democrats vs republicans, to realize the dems are actually pretty fucking right-wing, etc. I understand too that Biden's campaign made sure to not be too loud about his imperialist goals so that only specific interest groups would engage with that side of his campaign while the majority of other Americans wouldn't even consider his foreign policy.

Every imperialist state relies on not informing their people of the extent of the crimes they're committing unless it's dripping in propaganda justifying their bloodshed. That's why so much of, for example, British and Japanese youth don't know much about their countries' imperialist history. They're simply not taught about it OR they're taught that it was benevolent. Same happens with Americans. And probably Spaniards too but I wouldn't know for sure because you'd have to fucking pay me to willingly engage with a Spaniard enough to find out.

The Americans I do resent are the ones who knew (who aren't that many), and the ones who had they known, wouldn't have cared (and that's a huge majority of Americans, as evidenced by the reactions to me being afraid of getting nuked). By "wouldn't have cared" I don't even mean "everyone who would've still voted for Biden", I mean "everyone who would've still voted for Biden without at least some mixed feelings because they THINK (incorrectly, unless they're VERY privileged) that it's gonna benefit them so fuck the rest of the world".

All of that said, I'm afraid every single well-meaning American vote is always wasted at the end of the day. Think about it, Biden's biggest selling point was that yeah, he's evil but he pretends to be less evil is less evil. Almost nobody voted FOR Biden, they voted for or against Trump. That's a disgrace of a candidate. Basically a chicken could've ran against Trump and won too just because it wasn't Trump.

It's not that I'm saying people should've voted for Trump, I'm saying that every single US president is inevitably going to be a bloodthirsty warmongerer, Trump simply was a mediocre lazy one by comparison and that may have lessened the repercussions of US imperialism for a minute or so for the rest of us.

Sounds pretty hopeless, right? Well, that's exactly what they want. They want you to think that then there's no point in anything, because then you won't do anything.

Which is why I've been trying to say to Americans who genuinely care about anyone but themselves (admittedly, not that many Americans) that whether they vote or not, and who they vote for, is nearly irrelevant, BUT that there's so much more they could be doing instead of waiting four years at a time to choose between two equally horrid leaders.

Political activity isn't limited to voting and meaningless gestures. That's what your empire has worked very hard to convince you of, that that's all there is to politics and I guess that's why you guys are so heavily polarized between thinking voting within bourgeois "democracy" is the most revolutionary thing ever (as to not lose your sanity) and thinking that since voting has no power, then you have no power (having been blinded to the possibilities beyond electoral politics).

Take action. Blow up some shit. Fight. Be drastic. (And I, for once, don't mean this in a condescending or angry tone) DO something.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

A Spark To Ignite the Dead Wood

Cold, angular, gray. One door in, same door out.

A sleek reflective window, in which Jericho Kane could stare into his own sad mug, complete with all the ugly scars. His vision blurred as his mind wandered to what the window might be hiding on the other side of the interrogation room. A little camera on a stand with a blinking red light to indicate it was recording? A person, or two, waiting for some cop to enter the room and grill him for answers?

A thin chain connected his handcuffed wrists to a small metal hook on the table in front of him. The chain’s links rattled and ribbed against the hook whenever he budged, which he had to do every now and then, his fidgeting owed to the hard chair that made his sore butt cheeks ache, and a backrest designed to offer neither comfort nor invitation to lean back and relax. Everything here was perfectly engineered to make a stay as unpleasant as humanly possible.

Even the air in here was cold. A tiny little grate in one high corner of the room, big enough to fit two fists inside, took care of ventilation. Though it probably relied on air conditioning, he had to wonder if it was not allowing the cold wintry air to leak into this dreadful little room.

Following the sound of a key turning in a lock, a chunky clank heralded the door to the room opening. Jericho craned his head and spied the face of the person entering. Unfortunately, he recognized him. That recognition coaxed a groan to growl right out of Jericho’s throat.

It had been years, yet Jericho knew that unkempt beard, those horn-rimmed glasses on a flat nose, the receding hairline that framed a short mane of curly hair turning silvery, and that familiar face—now marked with days of sleep deprivation and wrinkled in what had to be disdain.

Using a hand that already gripped a thick manila folder while he carried a cheap plastic cup of steaming coffee in the other, Detective Augustus Shaw averted his gaze and slammed the door shut behind himself. He approached the table, plopped down the items from his hands, causing some coffee droplets to splash onto the surface, and pulled out the chair with an annoying sound of metal grinding against synthetic floor tiles.

Jericho shot a glance at the cup of coffee but tried not to let his thirsty gaze linger there. Neither would the cheap bitter swill help at all against the unpleasantly fluffy feeling of cottonmouth that plagued him right now, nor did he want to give Shaw any conversation material to work with. The career criminal and con man wanted to keep things short and painless. On some level, he did not want to waste the detective’s time, either.

“Jericho Kane,” Shaw said after demonstratively clearing his throat. “Long time no see. How long has it been since we’ve had the fortune of having your company around here in Maine?”

He took a sip from his cup and his forehead furrowed with crinkles counting both too many years of time on the force as well as from cringing over the coffee’s terrible aftertaste getting stuck on his tongue. Shaw shook it off and set the cup back down.

“Rap sheet tells me you’ve been pretty busy all these years, and up and down the whole East Coast, no less,” Shaw added, gently tapping the folder with his left palm. He cleared his throat again, audibly attempting to fight against the bitter film clinging to the roof of his mouth. Then he asked, “Do you want to hop right in and spill the beans, or do I need to flirt it outta ya?”

Shaw smiled at him, though no sincerity reached the crow’s feet framing the corners of his eyes. The detective hated being here as much as Jericho did, even though he could have walked out of the interrogation room anytime.

“Are we burying the lead here? How’s about you just tell me what business you had in any of the places you were trespassing in all week, and we both get to leave sooner? I know both of—”

“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer,” Jericho interrupted him sharply. He swallowed and stared at the place where the chain and hook on the table met, between the coffee stain and the pointless pile of papers and photographs jammed into the overflowing folder.

He could practically hear Shaw’s frown when a stifled sigh made the detective’s nostrils flare, and the seconds of silence that followed only underlined that air of disappointment.

“Okay,” Shaw said, taking another sip from his coffee and the smacking his lips indicating instant regret. “Alright. Fast-trackin’ this, then we both get to leave sooner. You work for the group that runs drugs across the northern border?”

“When’s the lawyer getting here?”

“Sources tell me you’ve worked for two crime syndicates—at least. One in NYC and the other all the way down in Miami. Any others send you onto an errand in our neck of the woods?”

“Not saying anything without a lawyer, man.”

“You went from being a two-bit drifter and con artist, constantly getting evicted from really terrible apartments, to your parole officer in Rhode Island refusing to offer any statement and looking like he had seen a ghost after you got out of the slammer.”

Jericho just kept his mouth shut. He jutted his jaw out and his lips curled inward, turning into a hard-pressed, thin, white line.

“Listen, man, I know you’re not a terrible person. Probably still got debt to pay off to some heavy hitters, right?”

Nothing.

“Some people in my position would mistake this monstrous pile of paper for proof that you’re a monstrous person, but I know better. Most people in your position got your reasons, constantly wonder if they’re bad people themselves, and deep down somewhere, buried underneath all the rotten things you experienced and any crimes you committed, you’re just—just a human being.”

Jericho deeply disagreed and looked up at the detective, locking eyes with him. He silently mouthed “lawyer” at him. Shaw ignored that and continued.

“You’re always down on your luck ‘cause people like us don’t get to win the lottery. We get dealt a bad hand in life, and we roll with whatever we’ve got.”

Shaw cradled the plastic cup, balancing it on an edge as his fingers idly circled it in his hand.

“Well, today’s your lucky day for a change, Jericho. Work with me here. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time.”

Lawyer, Jericho thought, hoping that telepathy might finally work for him, one of these days.

“See, you can disappear behind bars for a while for some petty bullshit, or you can cooperate with me, because I’m really not that interested in you,” Shaw said, taking another pained sip from the cup. “No offense.”

Lawyer?

The telepathy did not seem to be working, or Shaw was blowing it off. No way to tell. Maybe this was not the best opportunity to try it out, but it was not like Jericho had anything better to do right now.

“See, I know things got weird at some point,” Shaw said. The cup plopped down onto the table’s surface and he leaned over it, closer towards Jericho.

He was playing to make their exchange feel more intimate, the crook figured. But the detective’s tone had shifted, and a strange glint flashed across his eyes. Jericho could not help but feel intrigued.

Did Shaw know more than he was letting on?

“A cigar-smoking guy in a stretch limo invites you in after a botched 'milk run’ in a meat packing plant, says he can make all your problems go away,” Shaw said.

Jericho kept his eyes locked onto the detective’s. How in the hell did he know about that?

“He offered you new work and the money he was offering was too good to turn down, so of course you took it. Who in your position wouldn’t have? Lemme guess, he had big mean-looking fellas in white suits with big mean-looking guns, and Cigar Man’s speech was a monologue with you for an audience.”

Frighteningly on point. Shaw had arrested Jericho’s full attention. Not a single thought trailed off, not a single word formed inside his head. He still wanted a lawyer before he admitted to anything, but the eerie accuracy of Shaw’s description rendered Jericho’s attention rapt.

“But the guy in the packing plant made your mouth melt shut and you had some voodoo man in New Orleans get that fixed. And there was that crumpled bag from the golden arches that provided a happy meal and a poisoned apple every day. Or a serial killer priest who ritually crucified himself after mass and could turn into the Incredible fucking Hulk before you and some of Cigar Man’s boys put him down like a dog and several dozen rounds of point-fifty caliber ammo,” Shaw said.

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat. Though Shaw was only scratching at the surface of all the unreal things he had witnessed in his recent years working for the “club"—the detective somehow knew. Knew of what Jericho liked to call "the weird shit.”

Shaw shot a glance at the mirrored window and said in a hushed murmur, “There’s nobody over there, Kane. No camera, nothing. I know better than to let anybody else in on this. I know how weird and un-fucking-believable all of this is. Hell, I question my own sanity just saying any of this out loud, but I have seen some shit myself. And—listen—I’m here to hear you out. I just want to—I wanna know the truth.”

Jericho swallowed the big empty wad of nothing that suddenly lodged itself inside this throat, yet it refused to go down no matter how many times he repeated the useless motion. That ball of anxiety stayed stuck right there, a slimy void only adding to the rest of his discomfort. He leaned back in his chair despite how painful the metal bars bracing the backrest felt.

“Look, I know of the Carcosa Casino job you were part of, down in Atlantic City. What did they call the 'package’ you were supposed to take from those thugs? 'Lightweight ghosts?’ What in God’s name is that, anyway?”

Jericho shook his head, croaked out a clipped, “Dunno.”

“You didn’t ask questions. Can’t say I blame you,” Shaw said, shaking his head in unison. “Probably woulda done the same in your shoes.”

He broke eye contact and shoved the folder in between the two of them. Flipped it open. Papers rustled; glossy prints of pictures glided from the main pile onto the discard pile he started right next to it.

Jericho recognized the Heavenly Night bar from one of the big photos even though this image depicted it as charred black and burnt down—from that one time when he had set it on fire with a thought. From that one time when he had discovered what unnatural abilities he possessed.

Another picture portrayed Jericho in a black raincoat with a green surgical mask on his face and sunglasses concealing his eyes, toting a silenced pistol in one hand—but he easily identified the distinct shape of his own head despite the stubble left behind after shaving it.

His typical “job attire” whenever he worked for Cigar Man.

“You usually get self-deleting messages with simple, straightforward instructions and are left to figure out the rest. You’re pretty good at that, right?” Shaw asked.

More pictures. Incident reports. A timeline of all the weirdness that Jericho had lived through. Hints at the world hidden behind the world, a world of human monsters that could alter reality on a whim as soon as they figured out the cosmic cheat codes. Most people do their damnedest to rationalize the weird to the best of their ability, but at some point, it gets hard to deny it all. Shaw must have gotten there on his own.

“The four-digit numbers just kept piling up in your bank account and everything stayed untraceable. Shit, Jericho, one of the guys at Homeland Security admitted to me that they didn’t just fail to trace anything—they couldn’t. Every data trail just vanishes into thin fuckin’ air. Like the hand of God reached through every computer and wiped every record clean.”

Jericho had gotten a message from Cigar Man just last week, so his mind went there. The new job. He dispelled the thoughts, focusing on trying to get a read on the seasoned detective. What was his deal? Was he on the payroll of the other syndicate? The douchebags over in Europe?

“And I get it, man. You never ever stopped to question this, because it’s both too good to be true—and too scary to fuck with,” Shaw droned on.

His sympathy was grating on his Jericho’s nerves but clearly genuine. The crook sensed it. The detective felt that same spark he had felt himself, all those years ago.

That time when he still struggled to understand it all. When he felt ambition, wanting to know how the secret world worked. How things like magick functioned, and trying to understand what, if any, difference existed between ghosts and demons.

That spark always struck dry wood, igniting the debris that rested, dead and dormant at the back of one’s mind, bursting into flames and feeding roaring fires of burning curiosity.

Shaw finally fell silent and stopped shuffling through the papers and photos. He let his gaze wander back upwards, scanning Jericho’s face for a reaction until they locked eyes again. That glint in his eyes—it reflected the hungry fires, consuming any knowledge it could get.

“C'mon. I know you wanna talk to me. You wanna talk to somebody, anybody. I’m not your enemy, Jericho. I’m not like him. I’m not—”

Jericho’s heart began to race in that instance and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, knowing in advance what name Shaw was about to utter. A horrid premonition during which time almost slowed to a complete halt and his eyes went wide.

“No!” Jericho suddenly shouted. “Don’t say—”

Shaw’s brow furrowed but he continued anyway, oblivious to the trigger he was pulling, “I’m not The Way King.”

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat and his blood curdled. The harsh white light from the neon tube overhead in the interrogation room flickered in response to that name being spoken.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jericho hissed, elongating the vowel in agonized defeat.

“Something wrong with me saying that? The Way King?” Shaw asked, continuing to shoot his mouth off, oblivious to the smoking gun he unwittingly kept firing every time he flapped his gums.

“Shut the fuck up! Stop saying his fucking name!”

The lights flickered again. The background noise—that constant buzz of chatter and drawers and metal doors and shoes tapping against hard floors and someone shouting and some chuckling and people on the phones and—all the life in the police station, muffled through the steel door, it all went dead. All at once.

Jericho lurched forward, causing Shaw to shift back in his seat, startled. But the surprise written across the detective’s visage mirrored the dread that must have taken hold of Jericho’s own face. Jericho showed him his empty palms in surrender.

“I will tell you whatever the fuck you wanna know. But you gotta—you have to fucking unlock me, right now. We need to get out of here,” Jericho whispered at him, enunciating every syllable with sharp endings and harsh gravity punctuating every stop.

Shaw stared at him, slack jawed. Now it was the detective’s turn to swallow a big lump of nothing that had gotten lodged in his throat. He bit his lip for a second and his hand went for his pocket. Crammed his fist right in there and dug around to look for the key.

Then the detective started shaking, wracked with spasms like he was being seized by an epileptic attack. His mouth started to foam while he gurgled.

The chain ribbed and rattled as Jericho leaned back as far as he could, trying to gain as much distance as possible, until he felt the tug of cold metal keeping him locked in place, and he heard the crunch of the chain accompany his bondage bringing him to a helpless stop.

Shaw’s eyes rolled back so far into his head that they looked only white and bloodshot. Then a hideous grin shaped across his face, clearly not his own. Drool dribbled down from the curve of his lip, forming pearls on the way down Shaw’s beard until the saliva dripped down onto his lap.

“There you are,” the Way King spoke through Shaw’s mouth, stealing his voice but spewing it out in a different cadence and tone. “Told you, boy. I will always find you, no matter where you go.”

Blood rushed in Jericho’s ears, his heart pounded like one of those huge Japanese drums; just thundering away and drowning out everything, leaving him deaf to the rest of the world and mesmerized by the spiderweb of crimson in Shaw’s white eyes, knowing that the Way King now stared at him through the powerless borrowed vessel.

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

The handcuffs sprung open without anybody manipulating them. Jericho froze. Did not dare budge.

There was no point in running.

He was going to have to hear this demonic dickhead out now.

His deals always sucked.

—Submitted by Wratts

#spoospasu #spookyspaghettisundae #horror #short story #writing #my writing #literature #spooky #fiction #submission #surreal #hyperrealism #occult #supernatural #unnatural #preternatural #hidden world #secret world #urban fantasy #real magick #Jericho Kane #Detective Shaw #Evergreen #occult underground #unknown armies #possession #demon #trapped #helpless #interrogation room

[reveurmaudit]

MIND GAMES - PART ONE

TW: Gunshots, abduction 

It felt as though I had been enraptured in my own personal passage of time. The sun peeking through the custom drapes plainly brushes up against the headlined front page of the New York Times — it’s the word “abduction” that throws caution to the wind . . . And my father’s name painted as the suspect is written in bold, black lettering.

Before I had the chance to finish the well-researched article in its entirety, Father’s manservant came barging through the room’s French doors with a message of urgent matters in need of discussion. His reluctance when entering the illuminated room seemed to surprise even him the second he shot me a gaze.

I followed Alistair down the curved stair of the mansion’s east wing, through Dad’s mahogany office doorway. Numerous bookshelves of various popular poets and fiction authors who spent their entire existences devoted to the written word resided within these four walls, but they were all on display. Years ago, before separating his third wife who was fifteen years her senior, my father would actually sit down at the grandeur desk of his, the one I’d inherit after his passing, and read. Every single one.

Father dismissed Alistair with the wave of a hand before he glued his cold, amber eyes to mine. “Where were you last night, when you said you were with Emily?”

I practically laughed in his face. “I’m not tarnishing the family name, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I was almost too irked to claw my way further into the web of agony I had created, and yet, I couldn’t seem to help myself either. “Besides, it’s none of your business. It hasn’t been for a long time.” To those who came into this world with a name that grandfathers and grandfathers before him would vow never to defame, it was difficult to find time and space in which breathing the same air was no longer a viable chore.

“People talk, Lucien. Don’t you think I have eyes and ears everywhere in this Goddamn city? Being foolish and arrogant in random clubs and bars in a place that never sleeps won’t get you everything I’ve built over these last decades.” His stern voice carried through the still air like a kite soaring through the light of day. But his scolding lecture of rights and wrongs didn’t seem to faze me.

Whatever hopes and dreams Father had wished for me to obtain over the years, I’d come to realize I was a product of creation. It was ridiculous of him to believe I was still the same boy I once was.

“I think we’re done here. Believe it or not, Dad, you have much more important matters to attend to, instead of fixating on my whereabouts,” I spoke calmly and evenly, despite my father evidently boiling with rage. “You’ve read the Times this morning, haven’t you?” His face turned cold, and just by looking into those golden-like eyes of his, I could sense the panic burning inside.

I turn, temporarily hovering over my father’s desk before he inhales sharply, and I’m catching my breath. And with that, I left my father to the multitude of stacked papers beside him, as Alistair snuck back into Father’s office where his presence was requested immediately.

[Flashback - Yesterday Night]

The four enclosed walls of the bathroom in the Blue Ocean Nightclub, one of the most exclusive nightclubs in the entire city, made my skin crawl like the smallest insect had simply been eating me alive from the inside out until I was nothing more than a rotten corpse.

I had drank a day’s worth of bourbon, and after tending to Father’s expanding business like I was told, I wanted to implode — for being a puppet in a larger crusade made the days feel elongated.

Perpetually scraping away at the remnants of my sanity that was left to fend off aggravating, drunken souls, I was lost in thought. With memories lost in the void of darkened hearts, I feel a hand caress the back of my shoulder.

“Did you miss me?” I grinned pleasurably at the spoken words he uttered. I must have been lost in my own fragmented illusions for too long, because the next thing I remember was the man’s lips pressing mine, as he roughly slammed me up against the navy blue backsplash tile.

It wasn’t so much so that I had found anything resembling hope — no, it was but a longing sensation, as if aching for something, quivering at the mere mention of its name made it worth the heavyweight that it carried.

A distraction keeps the mind afloat in a thunderous wave of darkness which I lay victim to.

But alas, our time of love making came to an end when the DJ out in the main space lifted the turntable of the record player, and I could hear the muffled gasps and commotion from go-getters alike. I listened to the echoed vibrations that bounced off the bathroom walls before putting my clothes back on and kindly shoving the young gentleman off of me.

I pushed the door open, and immediately saw a horde of tasteless people hovered around one another in common chatter, as the smoke diffused into thin air. I stood there, stunned, as a young woman, likely underage, quietly handed me a coral iPhone with a renewed headline plastered across the bottom of the screen.

"Assistant to real estate mogul Gabriel Orza missing . . ."

I lifted my chocolate eyes up to see the shock painted across each of their faces and felt my stomach churning.

Father had far too many tales that ought to remain buried so as not to wreak havoc on the Orza name — as did I. And on this night, I had made a big one that needed to stay buried.

[End of Flashback]

Secrets in the eyes of the keeper needed to prevail in order to be the ones kept hidden from the public. And in a social media-ridden world, the crimes committed are part of the stories we must bring to our graves.

A duty to the name, I presume — never a product of creation, just a product of one’s own demise.

From the moment the story broke in the Times, every journalist reporter in the city was standing outside the Orza Estate, waiting for Gabriel to give a speech — a proclamation that he knows nothing about Mr. Shay’s whereabouts.

“I’m sure each of you have numerous questions in regard to the Shay case, specifically my involvement in my assistant’s abduction. However, I’m here to tell you all that I am just as curious as you are. It pains me that I am even considered a suspect in this case. Mr. Shay was a dear friend of mine for years. I hope the NYPD finds him and brings him back alive to where he rightfully belongs.” Gabriel’s voice echoed through the clouded wind distancing himself from the reporters of various magazines and newspapers, both local and national, such as the New Yorker and USA Today. He brought with him much poise and eloquence in articulating his words whole-heartedly.

I, myself, stared out into the vast majority of anonymous faces in the crowd of correspondents from the high steps leading up to the front door of the mansion. I felt the cool rush of air brush up against my tanned skin, as I stood beside Alistair — both of us representing the ruptured desolation to Father that existed following Mr. Shay’s abduction.

Of course watching Gabriel provide a heart-warming speech to ease the souls of those mourning the mysterious absence of a good man, in the distance was none other than my half-brother, Xavier, whom we shared different mothers. The glance we exchanged lasted only a few moments, but it was one filled with emptiness and contempt. Always two steps behind, three steps from slipping through the cracks of an endless void to Hell’s haven.

And that’s when I felt my heart sink, as the gunshots were fired into the air when the sound of the bullet scraped my eardrums before steadily breaking off into splintered echoes of disbelief. I watched, as the voices faded into oblivion, the reporters evading the shot. I could feel my body fill with paranoia and hatred before Father turned his head toward Alistair.

“My God, sir,” Alistair said in a soft murmur, the distress in his voice severely evident, as he drew breath sharply.

Utter hysteria was unleashed in the crowd of journalists who were gasping for air. My father’s eyes widened with horror, as we both followed his gaze, as it traveled from Alistair’s face to Dad’s lower abdomen that was gushing with crimson blood. I felt my mind slip into thought — into delusions of the head, and the heart. That’s when I knew it was only the beginning.

I made my bed, now it’s time to lie in it.

#writer #original character #white light #darkness

[universal-shenanigans]

Confessions (5)

(Warning: long as hell.))

     Vincent waited at the carriage with another jacket and dress shirt in hand. The seamstress had given him a nice blue one and a white shirt for the gala. She had some time so she did play dress-up with him for a bit. When Alexa arrived she saw him in a blue jacket with a tail and he accessorized in silver bands, rings, and chains. “Oh she must have loved you. She really gave the whole regal look.”

     He turned to her and scoffed. “Nevermind me. What’s with the cape?” She wore something that looked as if she stole it from a prince’s closet. She pouted, “What? You don’t like it? I think it fits. Gets the message across.”

     “And what message is that?”

     “That I walk with pride and purpose. And that I look good in capes~. Now come on.” He rolled his eyes and hoisted himself in the carriage after her.

~

     An hour and a half passed when they had finally arrived to the castle that the meeting was being held. A woman stood by the carriage with a smile. “Welcome your highness. If you will allow me, I can take your things to your residence for the night. I have been told there is a place that you frequent when visiting here?”

     “Oh yes! I actually stay at a lovely inn a couple buildings down the road. Take this as well. The inn-keeper will know.” Alexa handed her a bag of coins, along with a bag that she had brought along with to hold her and Vincent’s clothes for the rest of the day. She smiled, “Thank you so much. And please, take my carriage if you’d like.”

     “Oh! Well, thank you, your majesty.” The woman climbed into the carriage and it rode off. Vincent couldn’t help but chuckle. She raised a brow, “What’s so funny?”

     “Nothing. Your generosity and kindness just tends to tickle me because of how selfless you are. It astounds me sometimes, but in a good way.” She smiled and opened the door for him. “Thanks. I try.” He raised a brow as they walked inside, “Now I do have one question.”

     “And I will have one answer.” She chuckled.

     He scoffed, “Anyway, why did you book an inn? It only took us about an hour, maybe an hour and a half to get here.”

     “I like to make sure that the carriage man has enough sleep before I leave. Plus the gala tends to last past 10 and I’m always tired after them.” Vincent smirked, “So it wasn’t for any other purpose~?” At first she was confused as to what he was eluding to. It took her a minute to finally realize what he meant and she instantly punched his arm.

~

     Vincent followed Alexa down the halls of the castle. It seemed as if they were walking for quite a while. Soon they arrived at two large doors. Upon opening them they were greeted by a large table filled with food and several people sitting around it. By the looks of the many other empty seats, they had arrived earlier than Alexa expected. An older man walked up to them and greeted her with a smile and handshake. “Queen Alexa, welcome. I’m glad you can join us.” He turned to Vincent and noticed how tall he was. And the lack of legs. But mostly because of how tall he was. He gave him his hand and smiled. “Usually she brings her bodyguard to our meetings. And you are sir?”

     “Vincent. A friend of Alexa.” He shook his hand.

     “It’s very nice to meet you sir, I am King Adamere. Of course you two can help yourself to the food until the others arrive.” He straightened his coat and walked out of the room. Vincent raised a brow as he followed Alexa to their seats. “King Adamere? I don’t believe I have heard of him.”

     “I don’t think it really matters if you have or haven’t. He is the king of one, if not the, highest populated kingdoms in the land. He usually tries to call these meetings every few months. Very sweet and kind. Although he hasn’t been that way for forever.”

     “What was he like before?” He asked as he sat down next to her. He noticed that they were seated pretty far up the table. Very close to the head of the table. 

     “A bigot if you want the short version. Very small-minded, and extremely racist. But, he changed his ways, and became more open-minded. Some still ridicule him for his past, but things like that happen when your actions are the result of your own thoughts. At least he realized that he was wrong. Some people that will arrive in today, not so much.” Although curious, Vincent was a bit worried about these people. He assumed because it was a meeting, anyone could and will speak their piece. He heard the doors open once more and looked to see a young woman and a man walk in. Alexa noticed as well, but as soon as she saw the two her eyes grew brighter. The woman glared back at her as she sat down in a seat further down the table.

~

     “Alright, settle down. Welcome everyone to the Meeting of the Royals. I appreciate you all being here today, and I do hope you all are able to attend the gala that is being held here tonight. Now with that being said, let us begin.”

     The meeting was very slow, and each subject of the meeting slowly grew more important. Very slowly. Alexa only spoke a few times throughout the few hours that the meeting was held. Vincent gripped the bottom of the table cloth. He regretted his decision on coming along, and Alexa couldn’t help but grin at his agony. She was used to the meetings droning on for hours, so seeing someone besides Andric, who was also used to it, witness it was a funny sight to see. King Adamere flipped through a few papers, scribbled on one, and sighed. “Alright. Our last point is to address the Mythics.” Vincent perked up. Something that he could actually listen to with interest.

     Adamere continued, “The population is increasing rapidly, with Mythics mating with each other, branching to humans and creating half breeds, or other species to create hybrids. There is also the problem that some have been unfortunately kicking out Mythics because of the laws you have in place.” Vincent was obviously outraged by this statement, however he stayed silent. Adamere turned the woman that Alexa had a staring contest with before the meeting, “Princess Penelope Chandra, being the next in line to your throne, you have taken some steps into an...interesting rule. And you have unfortunately gained a more negative reputation for your kingdom because of the laws against Mythics. So forgive me when I say that I was a bit appalled by the accusations that were thrown at two Mythics who supposedly committed a robbery in your kingdom, and they are facing a severe punishment for it.”

     Penelope nodded, “Yes and there is no “supposedly”. These two stole from a jewelry shop. They admitted to the crime, and they said that they came from her kingdom.” She pointed at Alexa. All eyes landed on the young Queen. Her eyes were a bright blue now, but she knew how to keep her composure. Vincent was about to say something, but she raised her had to him. Her ears flicked with irritation, “Even if that were true, Penelope, why would I send them? Sending them to your kingdom would be a death sentence, and you know just as much as everyone else here that I would never do that. Not even for a crime as petty as theft.”

     “Then why would they say that they came from Kingdom Vandus hmm?”

     “Maybe because they’ve lived under the rule of your family for far too long, know that my family scares you because of our acceptance of Mythics, and is trying to start a movement.”

     Penelope scoffed. Alexa straightened her posture and fixed her gloves. “Now, let’s say that they were from my kingdom. I am well aware that they should abide the laws of the jurisdiction they end up in. However, your kingdom is known to be...to put it bluntly, over-the-top racist. I want to know the punishment they are facing.” She waited for a response from the princess. Vincent was just as curious. This Penelope, from what he gathered just from her talking, was one that wanted his race wiped out. Just because they existed. The princess didn’t answer, but the man next to her stood up and spoke. “I don’t think that is any of your concern, heathen.”

     “Frankly, King Isaac, I do not give a damn what you think. As her father, if you are going to teach this girl how to rule your kingdom, she should be able to speak for herself. Besides, she claims the Mythics in question are from my kingdom, so I am going along with the hypothetical. If my citizens were to say, die, as their punishment, I want to know about it. Their families or anyone close to them need to know about it. What, is, their, punishment...?”

     Silence fell over the table. Princess Penelope fixed her posture and huffed. “...they are to have their hands cut off, and are to be hung for their crimes.” Alexa’s eyes grew wide and brighter. But before she could speak against this injustice, someone jumped in before her. “Over stolen jewelry?!”

     She, along with the rest of the members turned to see Vincent out of his chair. Alexa took particular notice to the color of his eyes. They were a light gray. At that point she knew that she had said enough. Penelope grew red at the sight of him. The young princess had to admit that he was very attractive. Even taking into account his horns, spines, and obvious tail. She regained her sanity and scoffed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re allowed to speak about matters such as these. I will not-”

     “Penelope he is a stand-in for my bodyguard, who speaks on these matters all the time, a good friend of mine, and I would like to think he is a very big representative of the Mythics that reside in this land. Now I suggest you hold that Gods forsaken tongue, know your place, and show some damn respect...”

     Penelope jumped back and fell silent. Alexa turned to Adamere, “I apologize in advance for my behavior. Although you should’ve seen this coming, I do apologize.” The King nodded and motioned for Vincent to continue. He glared daggers at the princess, “How dare you give them such a sentence for a minor inconvenience? I do not condone stealing, but the punishment these two Mythics are receiving is overkill. This is one of the many annoying and unjustified problems my kind faces now. Just because you are in power, and for some reason hate Mythics, it does not give you the right to try and eradicate us without conssequence. My kind only fight back when threatened. If you go through with this outrageous punishment, trust me when I sssay this, my people are going to take it as a threat, and they are going to fight back.” He growled. Alexa couldn’t help but smirk at the fear on the young princess’ face. She placed a hand on his arm and gave him a nod. He huffed as he sat back down in his seat and folded his arms. There was more silence amongst the leaders. Adamere decided to break it, “What do you suggest she do, Alexa?”

     “Simple: turn them over to me. If they are apart of my kingdom, I want to be the one to give them a proper trial and punishment if they are willing to confess.” She explained as she stared down the princess and her father. “As for the other point before we discussed all of this, I have expanded land to allow a lot more Mythics to reside in my kingdom. Take into account how many you all have and let me know the ones who want to leave your kingdoms.” The other rulers murmured amongst themselves, and Penelope spoke quietly to her father. After a few minutes of conversation, the other rulers agreed to the offer. Alexa hadn’t broken her stare with Isaac and his daughter. They were still talking about her offer. It looked more like quiet arguing to the others at the table. Vincent had been watching and grew impatient. “It’s as easy as one, two, three. You either agree to the terms or you don’t.”

     They turned towards the Queen and huffed. “...fine. You will receive custody.” Adamere sighed with relief, “Oh thank goodness. Now that that’s settled we can end the meeting. I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day, and hope to see you tonight.” Everyone made their way out of the room. Alexa and Vincent left and she grinned at him. He noticed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t say it.”

     “Say what? I have no idea what you’re talking about dear~.”

     “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Is that Penelope always like that?”

     “Oh yes. She tries to pick a fight with me practically every meeting. She’s why I told you that you were gonna want to speak~.” She smirked as they walked down the steps of the castle. “I told you not to say it.” He groaned. She laughed and opened the carriage door for him. He climbed inside, she climbed in after him, and the carriage took off.

#Ask-the-rebel-the-nerd-and-friends #Alexa Vandus #mythologyvincent

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #18: Asphyxiation- Bungou Stray Dogs

I have to stop this here- the story will continue in the next upload, but I haven't decided which prompt it's going to be yet! This will be several parts long, as many of the remaining prompts fits this story! I might get back to this to fix the cursive writing- I just can’t be bothered right now- sorry. I don’t know why it doesn’t do that automatically when I have it in the saved documents, no matter where I copy it from. But, for the time being, just... add cursive where you feel it fits in. Arraaait.  --------- The red light of the black camera indicated that it once again was rolling. 

Another jolt of shooting pain seared through Dazai's body. Between clenched teeth, he stifled a muffed cry of agony while twitching viciously in his seat. His head shot up, slamming into the back of the chair he was tied to, while his body shook violently out of his control.

The zap cane was removed from his stomach, and Dazai heaved for a breath of air with a mixture of saliva and blood spilling out between his lips. He had bit his tongue again, tearing open the bearly closed wounds he had suffered from the day before  (and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that). 

“Let's try this again today,” the large man said in a dangerously calm tone. He looked to be in his mid to late fifties and was towering over Dazai's half-conscious form, wide and tall. The two other men in the room were armed with the electric prods and would shock him each time the larger man nodded his head towards them or gave them a hand gesture that indicated that he was getting sick of Dazai's lack of cooperation. The two younger men took a couple of steps back, making room for the big man to lean in close to Dazai's ear.

With heavily accented Japanese, the man asked again; the same question he asked Dazai endlessly, every single day for as long as he'd been there. 

“Are you ready to confess?”

At first, Dazai kept quiet, just like he did every day; forcing his lips tightly shut and refusing to meet the ice-cold stare of the man he assumed was the leader of this group of imbeciles. He turned his head demonstratively to the side, not even wanting to breathe the same air as him.

A hoarse smoker's laugh trembled through the elderly man, making his shoulders shake. Suddenly a large, firm hand had a tight grip around his jaw, forcing Dazai's head in the man's direction.

“I said; are you ready to confess?” 

Dazai's only answer was to chuckle in amusement, before gathering a mouthful of blood, spitting it into the man's face.

The broad-shouldered man sneered, backing up and turning away, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I'll give you one more chance,” the man growled in a dangerous tone. “Look into the camera, and admit to your crime. This will make this whole ordeal  a lot less painful for you. You were the one who killed Niko! You killed my beautiful baby-girl! Admit it!”

It was getting difficult for Dazai to keep his head steady on his shoulders, and his vision had doubled. The small window of sight he still had left in his right eye was completely gone at this point- hopefully, because of his eye being bruised shut and not because of any additional damage to his optic nerve.

Thick fingers grabbed a hold of his hair, yanking his head back forcefully, locking him in an uncomfortable position. It might have hurt if Dazai hadn't been dragged after Chuuya in more or less the exact same way for two years staight while still in the Port Mafia. But, being held directly into the path of this guy's foul breath was enough to make it seem tempting to break. 

Then again, if against all odds, he would survive this screwed up situation, and the damage was already done... he didn't have anything left to lose and he might as well have some fun along the way.

Dazai gave the man a broad grin, teeth shining mockingly with red lines of crimson running between them.

“Fine, fine...” he wheezed, a bit more pathetic than he had anticipated. “I give up, it was me... I did it..."

Dazai took a deep, shuddering breath, before he continued ceremoniously, "...I, and I alone... let the dogs out.”

Apparently, his captors didn't have a sense of humor, because the zap cane was quickly pushed against his neck. The buzzing sound of electricity was only heard for a short second before it drowned into a wave of blackness and his own strangled scream.

-----------

When Dazai woke back up, he was back in his cell; his small, cramped, cold purgatory. He had no idea how long he had been locked up in this place. There was no light, no set schedule for food or using the facilities. It seemed like it varied depending on which people were on guard- which also seemed rather random. That left him with little to work with in terms of keeping track of time.

The stone flooring was cold, and his bare back was pressed up against the door. His legs hardly fit in the tiny cell when stretched out, but that wasn't why he was pressed to the door. 

No, that was because of the chain around his neck.

The thick iron was locked tightly around his throat, tight enough to hurt his vocal cords and add horribly painful friction to the black burns caused by the zap cane. It made his breaths go in and out in rapid, hungry hicks, and each time someone opened the door, he would be dragged along with it, cutting off his air supply and efficiently subduing and choking him.

But the pain wasn't even the worst part anymore. He wanted it gone- wanted it to  stop  wanted to  die  more than he had his entire life and would end himself (he didn't even care about a pain-free suicide anymore- didn't care about it being convenient just wanted it done) as soon as he could... But they wouldn't let him.

At some point, he had tried. He had leaned forward, effectively cutting off his air supply for long enough to make him faint, while making sure he wouldn't fall unconscious in a way that made it loosen the chain enough to clear his airways. But it hadn't worked.

It was all because it was that damn camera. The only light in the cell, the only true constant that had been there (except for the pain- the pain didn't go anywhere- because that came with the light the small red orb looking tauntingly and laughing-)  since he had been brought to this place.

The fuckers revived him when he had managed to strangle himself with the chain, and on many other occasions too. So now... now he knew. 

He knew that they wouldn't let him die. They wouldn't let him get out of the one crime that he did not commit. He was guilty of many horrendous things, but he would never admit to killing such a sweet innocent girl. In which case, he would rather die.

Still, he was sure if he somehow was able to hang himself, overdose, cut his wrists, shoot himself in the head while jumping off a cliff and set himself on fire at the same time, they would still find some way to bring him back to life. 

It sounded surreal even to him, but he had finally, actually, given up on death.

A venomous voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn't deserve the release of death anyway. That after all he had done, he had this coming. Even if the tiny bit of sanity left in his mind tried to convince him that nobody (not even him)  should even fantasize about doing something like this to another human being... That  nobody (not even him) deserved what was going on here...

That maybe...  just maybe... he wasn't the worst human to ever leave a print on the face of the earth after all.

Because whoever killed poor little Niko, definitely deserved that title.

...and he also questioned if maybe the lack of oxygen was clearing  his mind more than muddling it, and tried to imagine what Kunikida, or Chuuya for that matter, would say if they could hear him now.

“Was a couple of weeks of torture all it took to get that into that shrimp-sized brain of yours? I wish I had known so I could have done it myself.” 

...that seemed pretty accurate, he decided.

The silence inside his solitary was disrupted by a hoarse, broken chuckle. The sound of his broken voice sent chills down his spine.

His eyelids felt heavy now. He couldn't remember the last time he slept- unless being unconscious counted as sleep.

Dazai shifted, trying to rest on his side, but a sharp pain shot through his hip. It made him startle and he rolled back to his half-seated position against the door, leaning his head to the harsh, wooden surface. There was a burning behind his eyes. Not tears, more of a desperate call from his body to fall into slumber, to relax and maybe... give in.

 No. 

 If he did- they would frame him for the murder of Niko, but without his confession, they would never be able to. There was    no    evidence to point to simply because he did not do it. 

But he wanted to give up on all of this... Kinda. Not really, but... he was considering it. At least, his body was.

Just the thought made him slam his head into the door behind him, punishing himself for those ridiculous thoughts- because those kinds of thoughts were unacceptable. He hadn't endured years of Mori's vicious training to withstand torture to lose out to fatigue.

All of this made him feel like a child. Nothing more than the poor helpless kid he had once been, that the Port Mafia had beat, burned and whipped out of him.

...still, the feeling lingered, and he realized slowly, painfully, why it did.

This experience woke up a demon that had hibernated in the pit of his soul for fifteen years. A ferocious beast he had fought and defeated and thought he had buried along with his humanity long ago.

For the first time since he could remember, he was truly scared.

--------------

 “He can't be in Yokohama.”

“Are you sure there's not anything we've missed? There isn't anywhere we haven't looked?”

The Armed Detective Agency was hurdled around a large, squared table, scattered with notes and documents. In the middle, there was a map with excessive amounts of large, black crosses drawn all over, eliminating each searched location throughout the city.

“We've scavenged every little creak and corner, from the border to Tokyo to the port. Our colleagues in Kobe, Sapporo, and Tokyo have done an extensive search too, without any luck.”

Kunikida crossed his arms with a grave expression. Atsushi was still eying the map, hoping to discover something they might have missed.

“I hate to say it, but I suspect that he actually is still in Yokohama,” Ranpo muttered gravely, not even bothering to pretend to be using his ability. There was no use. Their colleague had vanished without a trace and they had no idea how or why.

"If this had been a group from out of the city, they would have had some sort of motive, and they would have let us know what it was," he added.

There had been no ransom demands, no one that had taken responsibility, and most importantly of all, no body.

They had gone as far as to hire divers to search the bottom of every little creek in Yokohama, even if they knew that this wasn't another suicide attempt that had finally been successful.

The evidence was clear; their coworker, friend, and ally was kidnapped. If he had tried and succeeded at killing himself, he would have let somebody know. He always did, so they wouldn't have to go out on a wild goose chase looking for him.

Strangely enough, Dazai was considerate like that.

Dazai had his flaws, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that if he was ever to disappear, they would come looking for him. They were also fairly sure that he knew they cared enough about him to know that they wouldn't rest until they found him, and that was why he always gave them some sort of notice when he would try to off himself, so they wouldn't waste their time.

This time, however, there was nothing. No hint of where he had gone except a busted door, a few droplets of blood and 6 months of absolutely no trace of him.

The ADA had put everything else aside to find their missing colleague. They had even developed close cooperation with the Port Mafia. Their eerily creepy leader, Ougai Mori had laughed when they had reached out to them, but Dazai's former partner, Chuuya, as well as several other members of the Port Mafia, had become quite invested in the search when they had learned about his disappearance.

At this point, there wasn't really any profiled ability-based organization in Japan that hadn't partaken in the search for Dazai in one way or another.

In spite of all of his shortcomings, Dazai turned out to be widely respected in the community of ability users. Some because of his work in the mafia, some for his work in the agency, and some plainly because of the reassurance that he could cancel their ability if it got out of hand. 

It was fair to say that most of Japan were invested in finding Dazai at this point.

Still, no one had gathered any information that had lead them any closer to finding him.

“I hate to say this, but our resources are running out, and we're still not any closer to finding him,” Yosano started, always the voice of reasoning.

The dark-haired doctor ignored the venomous stares she harvested from several of her younger coworkers and continued.

“From a medical standpoint, I would say that he's dead.”

“Don't say that!” Atsushi retorted immediately, fists grasped tightly at chest level, with arched eyebrows. He turned around to face the young doctor, who he had eventually surpassed in height.

The thought of his friend and mentor being dead already haunted his dreams every night. Their continued search was the only thing that made him hopeful that Dazai was still alive- if they began to entertain the idea that his nightmares were real, Dazai would be dead eventually no matter what they did from this point forward.

“We can't give up on him.”

“I'm not saying that- Knowing Dazai, he's way too stubborn to be killed or die in any way that seems inconvenient to him. I'm just trying to be realistic... We're not going to be able to solve this if we run out of money. We might have to start taking on cases again.”

“Taking on other cases would mean that we have less time to search for Dazai,” Kenji stated sadly yet accurately.

“I know, but nobody is paying us to find Dazai at this point, and there's a large stack of forms on Haruno-san's desk of actual paid  missions that will eventually lead us to have more resources to find him.”

An argument broke lose between the agency members just as Fukuzawa entered the room.

“Yosano's right,” he said solemnly, effectively breaking up the fight before it could escalate to a loud shouting match. Eight pairs of eyes turned towards the entry as Fukuzawa stepped inside.

“I've been reluctant to tell you, but if we don't take on other cases soon, there won't be enough funds to sustain the agency at all.”

Two hands slammed into the work table and Kunikida stood abruptly.

“Are we just supposed to give up on him?” he retorted agitatedly, earning shocked stares across the room.

Fukuzawa's steel eyes looked at him, unaffected by the uncharacteristically rough tone. The blonde lowered his gaze, held his breath for a few seconds to calm down.

“With all due respect, director... Dazai-san has been missing for over six months now. He might be in great danger, and I don't know how any of us could live with ourselves if something were to happen to him, because we stopped searching.”

Fukuzawa's tall stature came closer, and a large, strong hand reached out, grabbing and putting reassuring pressure on Kunikida's shoulder.

“I know, Kunikida-kun. I don't want to stop the search any more than any of you do. But if we don't take on a couple of missions now, we will lose all the resources we have at hand here at the agency... because there won't be one.”

Kunikida cleared his throat, and looked back up and nodded affirmatively. “I-I understand, president. I'm sorry for speaking out of line, it... it's been trying times.”

“I know,” Fukuzawa assured him calmly. “I'm not saying to stop looking, but I do want some of you to take the time and do some of the missions. You can decide amongst yourselves who does what, and if there is anything that I can do, don't hesitate to ask.”

The tall man left the room, leaving the agents to digest this new information.

Kunikida quickly snapped out of it. “Kenji and Tanizaki, go and look over the missions on Haruno-san's desk. Don't pick anything that will take away too much man-power, please. Dazai still needs to be our priority. When you've found one, come back and do a short debriefing, and we'll decide who's going. I would rather have Ranpo free to continue the search, though...”

The two young detectives nodded in unison and darted off towards Haruno's desk.

------------------

 Darkness. Consuming everything. From as far as my eye can see- to the core of my soul, it eats away, leaving room for the uneasy, strangled fear that creeps up every time I forget to pay attention. 

 Fear doesn't need doors or windows. 

Dazai tried to keep in mind that fear was only an emotion and reminded himself how illogical all feelings were. Some people were scared of heights, while other people bungy jumped.

The hight wasn't any more dangerous for the person who sought it than to the person who feared it. The only difference was their perception of it.

Just like he had no more reason to fear his captors than they had fear him. 

 Because he was Osamu Dazai, previously the youngest executive of the Port Mafia in history, purely because of his brilliance and heartlessness. 

Still, one thought kept picking at his brain. Because even if that was so, someone was out to hurt and destroy him, which actually was a much more actively danger than what the space between a person and the ground was.

He wanted to tell himself that this was the kind of thinking that separated him from his persona as a mafioso. Those years ago, he believed more than anything that he himself was the only real threat to him.

He wasn't durable in a fistfight, wasn't bulletproof and was truthfully inadequate at taking care of himself. Still, what he was, kept being and had always been, was unbreakable. 

Maybe not physically  (not at all, really) , but emotionally, he was. No one had ever been able to throw him for a loop, make him unsure or scare the daylight out of him.

Not since he was a child, anyway.

...so why was it now, that he couldn't stop shaking?

In the distance, he could hear footsteps, and he held the breath he so preciously treasured, hoping they would pass him by. Keys were rattling, and the lock mechanism on the door behind him clicked.

He quickly exhaled before greedily gulping in another breath, ready for what was to come.

The door was yanked open, the chain around his neck tightening around his throat, effectively cutting off his air supply and crushing at his windpipe and almost strangling him. He was dragged back, his cuffed arms clawing at the chain around his neck while he struggled to breathe.

The zapping cane poked at his side, and he let go of the tight collar to protect himself, curling up and kicking with his legs while being zapped again and again until he lingered at the edge of unconsciousness.

Without a word from his guards, the two men picked him up between them and carried him between them, once again heading for hours upon hours of torturous interrogation. I have to stop this here- the story will continue in the next upload, but I haven't decided which prompt it's going to be yet! This will be several parts long, as many of the remaining prompts fits this story!

#whump community #whump #whump fic #whumptober 18 #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #osamu dazai #whumptober 2019

[kissmetae]

Smitten

X Taehyung

AU: Artist!Taehyung | Your boyfriend happens to be the renowned painter and photographer Kim Taehyung. The two of you meet a few years ago at the exhibition center you worked at and he immediately became extremely found of you and tried all in his might and power to have you fall for his charm, which of course was easier done and just as easily said.

One day when you were with him at his studio he got the courage to ask you to pose nude for him and for him to paint using your body as his canvas…

You accept on one condition… that you get to paint on him too.

SMUT | 6k | x reader

Disclaimer: This is fiction. Actions and events in these stories are often exaggerated and to a certain degree unrealistic.  Please have this in consideration when reading fiction, especially if it includes sexual content.

Rating: MATURE | sexual content, unprotected sex

A/N: Shoutout to kooksluv who gave me the idea for this a while back

You were seated on the wooden floors with your legs crossed and a warm mug in your hands.

Fuzzy socks were keeping your feet warm and protecting them from the wet paint splashes here and there on the floor.

Across from you was your boyfriend, holding up a vintage camera in his delicate hands.

“Your tea will get cold.”

“I just need to take one with this camera too.” He said eagerly.

You rolled your eyes and took a sip form your cup and he took another photo.

“Ok, now I’m done.” He chuckled and stood up and put his camera back on his desk.

You liked spending time in his studio and he seemingly liked it when you were there with him too. You’d pop by every now and then to keep him company.

He sat back down on the floor and grabbed his own mug and had a sip, looking up at you between long lashes while the hot beverage soothed his throat.

He was wearing an oversized white shirt covered in paint splashes that he had purposely caused to it to make it unique. Paired with it was a pair of distressed jeans.

His studio was large and spacious and half of the walls were decorated by red bricks. The ceiling was high and there were huge windows looking out over the city. Scattered around the space were various supplies and set ups.

Your boyfriend Taehyung was an artist and photographer and thus he spent many hours in his studio every day and sometimes he could be so into what he was doing that he’d forget the concept of time resulting in you having to come pick him up and drag him home so he wouldn’t lose his sanity.

But sometimes you just grabbed something from the café around the corner and brought it up for him to keep him company for a little while.

You worked part-time at the exhibition center and that so happened to be the place where you meet a little over three years ago.

He loved taking photos of you just as much as he loved having his own pictures taken by you. Getting to help you and teach you his passion closely and with plenty of excuses to touch your hands and your body made his heart feel warm.

“I have something I’d like to ask you…” Taehyung suddenly said, interrupting your drifting mind and grabbed a piece of the cinnamon bun you had brought for him.

“Go ahead.”

“So, you know how you’re my muse…”

‘Muse’, it was a word he used for you often but it always made you blush just as much as the first time.

“Yes?” You smiled shyly.

“Have you ever thought about posing for photography…”

“Oh, Tae-baby you know I’m not good at posing-“

“Nude.” He interrupted.

“Nude?” You repeated, surprised.

“Yeah… naked.” He swirled the tea around in his mug, distracting himself from the flustered feeling he got from asking.

“No I- I’ve never really thought about it but…”

“You have a beautiful body.”

You looked down and giggled, smitten by his words.

“I’d know, because I’ve seen it naked at multiple occasions and in its most beautiful state.”

“And what state is that?” You asked

“Aroused.” He said boldly and raised his brow in a flirty manner.

You began to cough lightly as you swallowed your tea weirdly, making Taehyung laugh.

He was sitting leaned back and the look on his face was slightly intimidating.

“Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to model for me, if you’re not comfortable it’s ok. I won’t put out anything you don’t want me to show or that I don’t want the world to see for that matter.” He chuckled. “Some things are for my eyes only.”

He pulled a hand through his hair nervously.

“What’s your vision?” You asked with an interest sparked.

“My vision is you, and a nice set of course, simple and minimalistic. I also want to paint on you.”

“Paint on me?”

“Yes, your skin would be my canvas.” He smirked.

“Only if I can paint on you too.”

“Deal!” He called out, excited. “I want some nice photos just for us too…”

“Just for us? I like that.” You smiled, tilting your head to the side.

“Should we say tomorrow then?” He suggested.

“Why not, but now I’m taking you home.” You said and stood up.

Taehyung looked down in defeat and held up his hand for you to grab. You caressed his hand gently and pulled at it to make him stand up.

To your surprise Taehyung wrapped his arms around your waist as he stood up and lifted you up, making you squeal and giggle.

“Taehyung! Put me down!” You laughed.

“Not until I get a kiss! I’ve missed you today.” He pouted.

“I can’t reach your lips from up here!”

He lowered you back down on your feet, keeping his hold tight around you.

He puckered his lips cutely and you kissed him gently. He kissed you back a second time, lingering passionately against your soft touch before pulling away with a satisfied grin.

He grabbed his coat and yours, handing it to you and you then escaped his studio together.

The snow was falling down lightly outside as you headed to your car that was parked outside.

The ride home was short and you were behind the wheel. There was something special about driving through snow. It was as if the world was suddenly a lot calmer and more peaceful, like the snow had brought a certain serenity with it.

The evening sky was fading darker by the minute and when you finally parked the car in the garage the sky had turned almost pitch black.

The two of you shared a penthouse apartment in one of the fancier districts in town. So to put it humbly, it was going quite well for Taehyung…

At the time you had met you were working full time at the exhibition center and you were in charge of a lot, one of the many things being Taehyung exhibition which meant the two of you had had a lot of contact with each other in order to plan the exhibition together. You had clicked almost right away and Taehyung had become awfully profound of you, always requesting for you to be in charge of his next exhibition and inviting you to each and every one of his events; auctions, parties, grand dinners and launches, you name it.

He was deeply smitten by you.

He’d show up on the calm days at the center to “have a look around.” Always stopping to talk to you or ask for you.  After one of the opening ceremonies for his then recent new collection of art he had approached you afterwards and bravely asked you if you’d like to celebrate with him in privacy, just the two of you, indirectly asking you out for a date.

Back then he didn’t know how to handle the whirlwind of his flustered emotions well around you. He brought you gifts… expensive ones. They were hard to accept and you were stuck in your working mindset and thought you’d get in trouble for accepting such a gift in case it would be passed at accepting bribes… but you weren’t working when you were out with him, neither was he.

You were spending time in private and getting to know each other…

What others didn’t know wouldn’t harm them but today it was a well-known fact that you were Taehyung’s partner.

He mentioned you often as his muse even in media, something you felt greatly shy about at first.

And the speeches…

“and thank you to my beautiful partner in crime who always supports me and inspires me.”

You always giggled at the thought of those memories.

Another big memory you had was of his grand confession. You liked to call it grand to tease him but it was indeed such for you. It was a sunny spring day and you had been on numerous “indirect” dates and they had gradually become more and more flirtatious to the point where you were head over heels for him.

He’d always bring his camera with him when the two of you were out and you didn’t even want to know how many candid shots he probably had of you in his camera by this time.

On the day of his “grand confession” he had brought you to a sky view restaurant, not too far from his old studio he had at the time. After the dinner you had walked to his studio because he wanted to show you something quickly, an opinion on his on-going project you assumed.

As you walked down the street his hand had done the movie typical thing and brushed gently against yours, testing the waters before committing. You brushed back against his fingers and his fingers intertwined with yours.

He had planned it beforehand.

In his studio was a white canvas with Polaroid pictures glued to it, each one with a letter scribbled on them and spelling out “love you” with a clear space left for the missing “I” Polaroid to complete in the sentence.

It might have been cheesy… but he handed you a polaroid camera and asked you to take a photo of him while he jumped.

The photo turned out really cute with him mid-air, hair in a mess and a wide smile all while trying to make a heart with his arms. The polaroid developed and he scribbled an I on it, beneath the photo and then handed it back to you.

“Can you glue it on the canvas for me?” He asked and handed you a glue gun as well.

He suddenly disappeared out of the room and you went to glue on the Polaroid. When you looked closer you noticed how the Polaroids for Y, O and U were all candids he had taken of you… Your suspicion was of course on an all-time high but your mind didn’t want to acknowledge the completed piece.

“What do you think?” He asked, appearing behind you.

When you turned around he was shyly holding a single rose.

“What’s the meaning behind it?” You asked, despite being able to figure it out, but you needed for him to let your mind acknowledge it before you could set your reaction free.

“You completed it… like my heart.”

You looked down with a wide grin, covering the lower half of your face with your sleeve and grabbing the rose he held out for you with the other.

The tint on his cheeks matched the flower.

“I love you.” He confessed boldly, with a faint hint of heart felt desperation. “I want you to be mine, I’m already yours, even if you don’t want me, I am yours.”

With a sudden rush of courage you dropped the rose on to the floor and his eyes followed it as you in the very same moment took a step towards him, placed your hand by the side of his neck and kissed him.

His hand immediately moved to your sides and pulled you closer, kissing you back with full force. You could feel how he relaxed into relief when your lips softly caressed his. Something he had wanted to experience for so long…

After that he had refused to have you away from his side for longer than a day, something you didn’t mind… He was a needy lover to say the least. You became his right hand and joined him on each and every trip he had, with you natural skill for planning and organizing you became a great help in his career and Taehyung began to feel bad about having you do all these things. You didn’t mind but suddenly Taehyung sat you down in the office of his studio and insisted that he would pay you.

“You’re the love of my life, not my assistant. I’m going to go crazy otherwise, just let me pay you for the work, please.”

You couldn’t accept the fact that he wanted to pay you for you just helping him organize his life a little, it was nothing near what an assistant would do. But he was stubborn enough to have you settle half way. You began to work part-time at the exhibition center instead so you could dedicate more of your time with him, something Taehyung gladly approved of.

It made it a lot easier for you to be able to join him on his bigger trips then as well. For Taehyung he of course wanted his love and muse by his side at all times.

“I feel incomplete without you!” He had cried out once, mentally drained from working too hard and forgetting the fact that he was a functioning human being who had needs to be maintained such as sleep, fun and hunger.

It was what made you finally accept his plead.

You were at work late, preparing and planning for the exhibition center while Taehyung was growing more and more lonely in his studio, missing you desperately.

“Baby I know I’m annoying, I know I’m needy and demanding! But I- I just can’t help it! Baby I tried… I tried so hard… please come here.” He had cried over the phone. “Please just come here…”

Hearing him this upset was heartbreaking and you left right away.

When you arrived at the studio he had almost thrown himself over you.

“I’m sorry.” He cried.

“Tae-baby have you had anything to eat? You look exhausted!” You grabbed the sides of his face, examining him. “Your under eyes are so dark…”

He sighed and sniffed.

“I can’t sleep.”

“That’s it.” You yelled. “We’re going home and you’re taking a week off at the least.”

“A week?”

“At least!”

You grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out of there.

That week off had been something he needed more than anything, especially since after that the two of you would be heading to Oslo for a business trip.

–

You crawled up to Taehyung who was lying next to you in bed. You placed your head on his shoulder, nuzzled his neck softly and rested your hand on his broad chest while his hand caressed your arm.

“You know I’m really grateful that I have you in my life right?” He whispered

You nodded against his neck.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too.” He let out a tiny chuckle.

“I’m thinking about what I should paint on you tomorrow.” You said, looking up at his face and drawing circles with your finger on his chest.

“I have some ideas for you.” He said with a smirk, still moving his hand up and down your forearm soothingly.

“I’ll draw a penis on you.” You joked.

Taehyung snorted.

“Where though?” He asked

“The back?”

“You have my entire body as your canvas.” He reminded. “And I have all of yours.” He lowered his voice and gripped your wrist, pulling your arm across him and suddenly rolling over on top of you.

Innocent wide eyes looked down at you before you were suddenly kissed.

His hands moved up your arms and pinned them above your head. His lips hungrily kissed you and he got short of breathe.

He pulled away.

“You’ll look so beautiful when I’m done with you.” He whispered with a wide grin and began to kiss down the side of your neck.

–

After a shower and breakfast you began to prepare to leave for the studio.

You found Taehyung snooping around in your closet innocently.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked. “What if I’ve hidden early Christmas purchases in here.”

“I didn’t touch anything!” He smiled and raised his hands. “I was waiting for you to find me here, I want to pick out something for you to wear…” He said shyly.

“Weren’t we going to be naked?”

“Yeah, but I want to take some photos in underwear too… if it’s ok.”

You walked past him and opened one of your drawers.

“All of these have matching sets.” You said and gestured at the numerous bras in the drawer.

Shy hands began to look through the various pieces until they stopped and picked up a black lace bra, embellished with tiny crystals. You went to pick out the pieces you knew matched it and the panties for the set.

“This is the full set.” You said and held out the clothes for Taehyung to look at.

“Are these socks?” He asked and felt the fabric of your mesh thigh high socks.

“Yes.” You nodded. “They have lace at the end that’s similar with the rest.”

His eyes moved from the clothing to your body as if he was trying to visualize them on you.

“I like them.”

You packed all your stuff up into a little bag and headed for the studio.

–

Taehyung was busy setting up his set while you got changed.

He himself was wearing black fitted slacks and a loose fitted turtleneck sweater.

You heard him put on some suitable music out in the main room and you bent down to adjust your socks slightly before you walked out of the office.

His hands were working on the camera settings but when he heard you walk in you instantly had his full attention. He smirked at you and bit his lips.

The music of choice was calm jazz music.

Not a surprising choice in the slightest.

“How do I look?” You asked and spun around.

“One side of me wants to say beautiful but the other wants to say lethally sexy.

He had you lie down on his sofa that he had moved to in front of a back drop.

The sofa was made of red velvet and had golden details.

“Let one arm hang off of it.” he directed and took a test photo.

“Now think of me naked.” He said, making you laugh.

“Beautiful.”

He was a natural.

He got a bit closer and dragged his right hands up your thigh, his fingertips almost barely touching your skin, so lightly.

“Can you put your finger in your mouth…”

He suddenly got on the sofa himself, standing on his knees over your legs and taking photos from above.

He caressed your abdomen, placing his hand low and stroking you upwards, moving his hand towards your breast and taking a photo of his hand on your body.

You giggled at the tickling feeling.

“Have you done this before? You’re so relaxed with me touching you.” He teased.

“Your touch reminds me of the touch my man has… he is just as delicate”

“Is he?”

“He is… but he can be rough when he wants to…”

He chuckled.

“Hold this dear.” He said and handed you his camera.

He suddenly grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it up and over his head, exposing his honey smooth skin.

“This is going to be tricky to do only two, but that’s the charm of it.”

He climbed off of the sofa and brought his sweater with him, removing it from his little set. He returned with a tripod and took the camera from you, placing it on it.

He aimed the camera towards your waist.

“I want some artsy close ups before you take your clothes off.”

He had a little remote in his hand and suddenly climbed back on to the sofa.

He leaned down on top of you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and grabbing your waist firmly.

“Grab my hair.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair and he clicked the button on the remote in his hand that was hiding by your other side, making the camera take a few faceless pictures of you two, with only your bodies on each other and his hand holding on strongly to your waist.

You ended up making out on the sofa and Taehyung dropped the tiny remote, distracted by your touch and taste.

He pulled back out of breath and got off the sofa.

“Take your clothes off.” He panted.

You followed his instructions and he started taking even more photos of you, but with you nude in front of him. The cold air made your nipples harden slightly.

After a few more photos he suddenly tossed his sweater to you.

You half-heartedly concealed yourself with it as he took even more photos.

Seemingly he enjoyed using himself and his own things as props.

“One last one and I’ll get the painting supplies out.” He encouraged and handed the camera to you.

“Take some close ups of my lips.” He said and sat by your side on the sofa.

His “visions” were surprising and this wasn’t an exception.

His hands grabbed your sides and leaned down to place a kiss on your nipple. Distracted by the action you forgot about the camera in your hands.

It was easier said than done to not accidently hit him with heavy piece of equiptment.

He suddenly took your nipple in his mouth and began to suck on it gently, causing your heart beat to go unsteady.

You managed to take a few photos of his lips while trying to remain steady.

He pulled at your nipple with his lips slightly before letting go with a light smack, causing you to inhale sharply.

He took the camera and sat back up like nothing.

Wasn’t he realizing that this was turning you on?

You squeezed your thighs together gently.

Without a word he got up and put the camera back in its place and disappeared into one of the other rooms.

You sat back up straight in the sofa and watched him return with a bunch of brushes and paints.

He placed them down on the floor and went back to get some more.

You moved to go sit by the brushes and paint on the floor and Taehyung returned with a few more paints and a blanket over his arm.

He put them down among the rest and laid out the blanket over your legs.

“You’ll get cold.” He said and sat down opposite of you.

“What about your clothes?” You questioned.

He looked down in shame.

“That’s right…”

He stood up quickly and began to unbutton the button and pull down the zipper when you noticed the straining against the fabric.

“You can’t expect me to not react…” He mumbled shamefully and pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his semi-hard cock.

He sat back down again and reached for one of the paints.

You helped him pour out some of each and every color he had selected on to a tray.

“Turn around.”

The bristles against your back felt relaxing and the cold sensation from the paint gave you tingles as he dragged a long stroke down your spine

”Does it feel nice?”

”Mmm” you hummed

He drew another line across your shoulder blades and you closed your eyes.

You suddenly felt the brush poke softly against your cheek.

”Don’t fall asleep.” He chuckled, now in front of you.

The tip of the thing paintbrush in his hands stroked across your nipple and a strong hand grabbed your breast.

He began to draw carefully around your nipple, concentrating deeply.

“You look so handsome when you’re drawing.” You pointed out, making him smile.

He reached beside you and dipped his brush into some more paint.

You got a sudden urge to kiss him but you didn’t want to move and ruin his work.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked.

He pulled the brush away and looked up at you with wide eyes and a confused innocent expression.

You leaned down and kissed his lips and he smiled widely, resorting back to his painting.

The way he was sitting made it hard for you to paint on him at the same time but you quickly got another idea of what you could do instead.

You grabbed one of the unused long brushes and began to draw slow gentle strokes across his cock.

“You’re going to make it worse.” He chuckled.

“Make what worse?” You asked innocently.

“You know what you’re doing, you can’t fool me.”

The brush moved delicately over your nipple again and he let go of your breast.

He put the brush down and grabbed your wrist.

“We’ll fuck later, don’t make me need you sooner.” He giggled. “Now draw on me instead.”

You dipped the brush into some purple paint and asked him to turn around.

The first stroke, you touched the cold paintbrush against the very top of his neck and pulled it slowly down and across his right shoulder.

The cold touch gave him a few goosebumps.

You drew the brush down his back and began to make a pattern with purple, baby blue and white.

“It feels so nice.” He sighed.

“Is it relaxing?”

“Mmmm”

“What did you say we’d do later?” You asked and dipped your brush into more paint.

“Nothing.”

“I sure remember you said something…” You teased and dragged the brush down his spine.

He shivered.

“Go out for a romantic dinner?” He teased back.

“That too would be nice.”

You dragged the brush to the side of his waist and down over his hip.

“Turn around.” You ordered.

He carefully moved around and you pressed one of the bigger brushes against the middle of his chest.

“Red?” He pointed out.

“I’m making a heart.”

“What did you make on my back?”

“Art.”

He laughed.

“Of course.”

“I call it art on art.”

“By art.” He filled in, making you giggle.

It was Taehyung’s turn again and he asked you to stand up for him. He moved close to your left leg and began to paint up the side of your thigh.

Things were going to turn dangerous from now.

His free hand travelled up your inner thigh, for support first until he suddenly moved his hand even higher. He tried to conceal a deviant smirk to little success.

He dragged one of his fingers up your slit, making you squirm at the sudden touch.

“Stay still.” He said, acting like if hadn’t just touched you.

The paint brush moved to the front of your thigh and without warning he suddenly slipped on of his fingers into you. You almost lost your balance and had to grab on to his hair.

“Stay still baby~” He sang, curling his finger.

You whimpered.

“What’s that?” He asked innocently, focusing on his pattern.

“T- Taehyung please-“

He slid in a second finger and you tensed your thighs.

“I thought that was what you wanted.” He teased and pulled out. “I’m all done.”

He had painted a matching floral print that travelled across your back, thigh and breast in charcoal black paint.

He had you stand sideways against the wall, twisting slightly to show how the pattern appeared in various areas on your body while he took numerous photos in different angles. He took a few close ups of each piece and then handed the camera to you for take of your creation. The heart was something you had drawn just for fun at first but it actually looked really cool when he was the camera, head tilted to the side slightly.

He turned around, showing off his broad back to the camera.

The pattern you had made of the colors all came together in the shape of a pair of wings and you were very proud of it. The purple was the main color in the middle and you had traced a long line almost like a ribbon from the wings that travelled down his spine and to his hip.

“Can I see?” Taehyung asked, curious of what was on his back.

You handed the camera to him and he scrolled through your pictures with a wide grin.

“It looks great!” Another click and he made it to the photos of you and you got to see the full piece on your body.

“Wow!” You expressed.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s so pretty!”

He smiled, satisfied. He clicked through a few more of the photos.

“Fuck, you look so good…”

He was getting distracted by the photos.

He turned the camera off and put it down on the sofa.

“Are you ready to destroy the pieces?” He smirked, walking back towards you by the wall.

You could hint his intention…

But before you could respond, his arms wrapped tightly around you, pushing you back against the wall and attacking you lips.

Your fingers dragged through the paint on his back and his hands smudged the pattern on your thigh as his hands moved down to pick you up.

You jumped up on him and he carried you to one of his tables without breaking the kiss. He knocked over everything on the table and put you down on it. There was paint on his face from your hands and he crawled up on top of you on the big table. He moved your leg to over his hip, smudging the paint even more as his hand moved down your thigh.

He moved closer.

Gently, he began to grind against you, his thickness rubbing against your wet slit, spreading it apart ever so slightly.

The red paint on his chest smeared over you, ruining the detailed pattern around your nipple.

He slammed his hands against the table on either side of your head, pushing himself up and pulling away from the kiss.

His hair hung lightly around his face as he looked down at you.

You could see clearly in his eyes and expression how turned on he was.

Lips parted and eyes filled with lust.

He leaned down by your ear, still out of breath.

“This is so fucking hot.” He whispered.

He nuzzled your neck aggressively.

“Do you want me baby?” He groaned.

“Y-yes, I want you… so bad.” You panted.

“My princess gets whatever she asks for.” He kissed your jaw.

“She wants you.”

“What does she want me to do?” He nuzzled your neck again. “You have to tell me what you want me to do to you sweetie.” He chuckled.

He loved it when you begged for him.

“Do you want me to kiss you some more hmm?” He suggested and kissed your cheek. “Kisses only!?” He questioned and stopped moving his hips.

“You know where I want you.” You pleaded, dragging your nails soothingly up the back of his neck.

“Say it.” He groaned.

“I want you to fuck me!”

“Fuck you? I only make love.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“But if that’s what you want…” He whispered.

He reached down between you, grabbed his now aching cock and dragged it up and down your slit a few times more while kissing your neck. Each time the tip hit against your clit you could feel your desperation growing stronger, your desires practically screaming for him to thrust into you.

You let out a soft whimper, moaning his name and begging to please just do more, give you more, more of him, more of his touch…

He dragged the tip down your slit a final time before letting it slide into you to your relief.

His hand moved back to the table, pushing himself up to hover above you while he looked down at your face with a serious expression.  His long fringe brushed lightly over your forehead and your head tilted back slightly when you suddenly felt him thrust deeply into you with a loud grunt.

Having sex in his studio was always something out of the ordinary…

His lips found yours again and he moved his hands to the sides of your face, spreading a few strokes of paint across your skin by accident.

His body was heavy on yours, pressing you down hard against the table. He pulled back and thrusted back into you again harder, skin slapping against skin echoing through the space.

He picked up a faster pace and it became harder to breathe with his tongue swirling around your own. You pulled away from the kiss to get a chance to regain your breath and in response he grabbed the back of your thigh hard.

He pressed his forehead against your and began to go even faster, almost brutal.

He was groaning with each breath as he desperately tried to fuck you as fast and hard as he could, driving you insane. Your thighs were aching and your breath was shaking when he suddenly abruptly stopped.

Your heart was racing and your muscles were crying out for relief.

His cock was buried deep and he kissed your lips again, smacking and pecking and sucking loudly.

His cock slipped out of you almost all the way before he thrusted back into you and picking up his brutal pace from before again, pounding into you with no mercy and making you scream out his name loud and clear making the smirk on his lips grow even wider.

He hid his face in the crook between your neck and shoulder and his heavy exhaled tickled against your skin.

He stopped again.

You muscles were pulsating.

His chest was moving up and down rapidly, out of beat to the soft jazz music that was still filling the room.

“I won’t be able to hold myself one more time.” He said.

Neither would you… more than one more time and he’d have you going numb from overstimulation.

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this?” He whispered, followed by a chuckle.

All you could do was nod against his shoulder.

You were holding on to him for dear life, your hands haven completely ruined the painting on his back.

“Can you take it one last time baby? One more, before I cum?” He asked, sounding almost begging on the tone as he began to move his hips slowly again.

“Mmmm” You hummed as a response.

This time he built up his pace, going faster and faster with each thrust from starting off slow and getting closer and closer to his release.

Nails were digging into skin and paint was smudged and smeared all over the table and each other.

He began to moan short and loud with each pounding motion as his climax grew closer and closer and you could feel your pulsating core come undone around his cock again when he thrusted into you with full force and spanked your thigh, triggering your orgasm.

He pulled out without warning, leaving you with an achingly empty feeling.

He reached back down again, supporting himself on his knees and with his lips desperately kissing you as he began to jerk himself off with his hand, moaning against the kiss with each ruthless stroke until his head fell to your shoulder and he exhaled deeply, followed by a shaky moan as he finally released and squirted his load all over your lower abdomen.

Breathless and sweaty he placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

He knew he owed you a big dose of aftercare after this

Carefully, he climbed off the table, landing back down on the floor on quivering muscles. You sat up and Taehyung reached for your hands right away to help you down from the table.

His heart was still racing and he caught a glimpse of your lower abdomen, covered with his sticky mess when you carefully got off the table.

You looked down yourself to see his cum begin to drip down you as you stood back up.

“I really need a shower.”

“Aren’t we both pretty dirty?” Taehyung chuckled shyly.

Taehyung’s studio was a remade apartment so luckily it did have a shower.

“Get in first, I’ll clean up here.” Taehyung said and placed a soothing kiss on your forehead.

Your thighs were aching as you carefully made your way to the bathroom.

Taehyung cleaned up the mess on the table and the wall while you showered and once he was done he joined you in the steam and you helped each other get all of the paint off.

“Was I too hard on you?” He asked shyly, worried.

“Not at all.” You smirked and shook your head.

You got out of the shower, dried off and got dressed again.

Taehyung walked into the office were you were getting dressed as you finished getting your clothes back on.

“We’re going home now.” He said.

“Already? What about your pictures?”

“They can wait, you can’t.”

“Me?”

“I owe you.”

You looked at him with a confused expression.

“Hug you, massage you, cook something, kiss you… caring.”

“Tae-baby…” You sighed sweetly and stroked his cheek.

“You already do all those things, especially caring. Don’t worry.”

“We usually snuggle after sex…” he pouted.

“Then let’s go home and snuggle.” You said and put your arms around him.

He picked you up and carried you out of the office, making you giggle.

#networkbangtan #taehyung #bts #taehyung smut #bts smut #bts v #artist taehyung

[darknessprinceofasuretha-blog]

The Seamless Boy Born In Blood

Notes: my soul intent is to horrify everyone who reads this but if it’s not scary to you? Oh well I tried my best to scare people. I hope you are disturbed too. This is what happens when I’m allowed to write whatever I want and I’ve been reading too many stories of horror and murder and this happens.

⚠️ Trigger Warning: this contains four semi detailed death scenes, mentions of suicide, Murder, insanity, profanity ! Tread carefully, if you have a weak stomach I do not suggest reading ! ⚠️

The boy sat in his parents blood, his cheeks tear stained and his hands bloodstained he had been sitting in his parents blood for hours days even and no one has yet to find him, how fitting for him, don’t you think? His eyes are blue his hair light pink, his mother's hair red and his father’s white. He was the direct result of his mother and father trying desperately for a baby and mother was so happy when she figured out he was coming and he was healthy unlike his miscarried siblings who lived for a max of thirty minutes or less after birth.

The boy had a perfect life now it meant close to nothing because of the fact that both of his parents were taken away from him so brutally and he hopes that he will be able to recover from this tragedy but who knows it basically depends on who took him in. it was seeming to get darker and darker and darker, as footsteps and worried voices grew louder, louder, louder. Though he had not the energy to care he had been with his parents rotting corpses for five days now, the smell was rancid.

The boy you will know as Reimlas Dorlana, five days ago witnessed his parents being brutally murdered in front of him. His mother sawed in half and then chopped into little pieces to be fed to fish though they beheaded her and kept her head, his father torn apart limb from limb and also cut up into tiny pieces that they were going to try and make the boy eat, they took his father's head too, even went as far as cutting out his tongue and digging out his eyes. Though why did they leave him alive? To suffer the burden of knowing the murderers of his parents? They were close friends they were jealous of his mother, so they killed her, though the behavior leading up to them killing his parents didn’t surprise him.

The boy was so weak he wouldn’t make it if paramedics didn’t show up soon. The door slammed open to reveal the face of the young man who lived next door but he couldn’t do anything at that point he then blacked out and he couldn’t remember what happened after that he woke up in a hospital bed. The next thing he knew he was being towered over by an extremely kind nurse who tended to his wounds, he too got wounds for trying to protect his mother which resulted in him getting hurt.

She could not yet fathom the psychological horrors that he just went through, she never will until she watches her parents torn limb from limb, tongue cut off and eyes dug out, just to be squished under a shoe. Oh, evidence the clothing would be burnt by now. That alone will put him through years of therapy, though even that will not ease the pain of seeing his parents murdered in front of him.

Every time it seems he has something good he seems to just lose it. Just like his sanity he’s begun to question it, he has lost all feelings, maybe it’s for the best, if he did feel things maybe he would act a bit more normal? Reimlas didn’t know nor did he care, he can’t seem to care about anything anymore other than his cat.

Yet the thought still is chilling when his mother died she smiled as if she knew it was coming, yet she didn’t care? Maybe but the motive for her and her husbands murder is unknown to the police but Reimlas knew everything he would not be mocked by the details so he simply just left he did not care for what the police found for they would mock him. But he was not of age to leave on his own, having both of his wings broken he was given to his grandparents and they were murdered too. The same way his mother and father were they were beheaded though this time grandma was just torn to shreds intestines everywhere blood was dripping from the ceiling, the intestines hung up as if a child was going to swing in them. Grandma had her eyes in her mouth and tongue cut down the middle and put in her eye sockets, that alone made Reimlas throw up. Though you didn’t see what happened to grandpa they broke his neck hung him and disemboweled him, he was in one piece other than grandma.

It was sickening he knew who did it but he couldn’t do a single damn thing, or they’d kill his cat, If they killed his cat the last thing tying him to his sanity will be gone and he will go f*cking insane, also he didn’t want his cat to be dead too so he kept quiet on the sidelines and it just never gets better. He’s slowly going insane, he can no longer take the mistreatments he’s done with it all. At this point to Reimlas he thinks that these people think it’s a game, who will become insane first?

Apparently it would be himself. Because if he told a single soul he would become labeled insane that’s how this world works if you say something someone else doesn’t believe they will fight you over it. But if you say something that is right, people have enough money then you will be the insane one. But that’s what the world has come down to, if you have money you will survive if you don’t then you’re irrelevant. It’s almost like saying only the fittest survive and the weak die, but that wouldn’t be the case at all.

Reinmlas was so done with the world what could he do? Slit his throat and die? No he isn’t going to go insane that’s what he thinks anyways and the thought just never seems to be getting better, it just seems to get more distorted. Reimlas woke up and seen his cat was dead, hard in his arms and he went out to bury mittens and said goodbye. Something seemed to break inside of him and he gently grabbed some of his pink locks and pulled starting to laugh maniacally, tears of sorrow, joy, and laughter he was breaking, he was finally going insane.

You know that moment when you’ve held something secret for so long, it’s starting to break you? That’s what Reimlas was experiencing at the moment he was going insane because he kept the truth from everyone now the only things that he remotely cared about are dead, but now it’s time to reap what had been sown Mr. and Mrs. Johnsonis.

Mind you Reimlas has went through multiple courses of study throughout the years so it wasn’t just that, he’s now a young man, he is a forensic scientist and he has a lot of degrees in the specific fields, his teachers even said they wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled off the perfect murder one day and that’s saying something sadly. Reimlas hasn’t been the same after that day, his emotions are all faked because he just doesn’t feel anything, gratification for his work does nothing either.

Reimlas was going to murder the Johnsonis, but he had an even better idea. Though at this point he wasn’t even human anymore, he murmured to himself as he twirled a scalpel on his gloved finger. “I am a monster..born in blood but something oddly reminds me of home, the place my parents were murdered, though something doesn’t feel right, I don’t think I’m even human anymore, though life doesn’t have to be fun, I suppose it only has to be lived and that’s the end of it.” Reimlas said throwing his scalpel and it shatters a pot. “The guilt of what they have made me will be enough to eat them alive.” He’s right if someone feels guilty enough for what they have done they will try and repent for said sin. “Though this game is over now... I win.”

Reimlas had a horrific smile come across his face as he started to laugh manically again. He broke completely, not even looking at the deep cuts on his wrists could get him to stop and even when looking at them he laughed harder. “Weakness is a sin, it’s top to stop being weak HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” Reimlas started twitching as he laughed, he reached into his pocket to grab his freshly sharpened scalpel and drove it into his leg, it cut into him like butter like he anticipated, he didn’t scream or cry he simply just stopped laughing.

Reimlas let the blood on his fingers fall to the ground as he held the wound he created it wasn’t that deadly. He lifted his hands to look at them and he immediately got flashbacks of that small room he was crammed in with his parents dead and rancid smelling bodies, he was crying, traumatized.

Reimlas got up and wrapped up his wound and headed towards the door with his keys in his hand and gloves on, a smirk on his face. It’s time to pay the Johnsonis’ daughter a visit. Reimlas got in his car loosened his pink locks opened the mirror and then did his make up and grabbed his guitar, the Johnsonis Family think that Reimlas has forgotten the crime they have committed against him but no he hasn’t in fact he thinks it’s fitting to say, an eye for an eye.

Reimlas closed the mirror and the thing it was on before starting his car and backing out of the driveway. Reimlas still lives in his grandparents neighborhood so he didn’t exactly go anywhere the house his parents got murdered in still belonged to him, people were fighting him over the house and losing terribly. Reimlas sighed he needed to put on an emotional mask real quick which he achieved by smiling to the old lady that’s just a hag and then he waved to the newly married couple who were watering plants together up each other’s ass.

To be clear the neighborhood that Reimlas lived in is for the rich people to live no poor people or middle class allowed here. Giant houses and mansions anything you could think of is probably here. Reimlas dodged a cat with his car that he almost hit and killed, he would have tried to be upset if that happened because that’s a normal response to killing something. Reimlas pulled into the driveway of the Johnsonis house and got out grabbing his guitar he made his way to the front door.

He rang the bell three times to have the door answered by the youngest daughter, Lola, Reimlas leant in and kissed her lips, her parents were home but were passed out. This is what he has to endure for five more seconds before she takes him up to her room. It’s very girly and pink, neon fucking pink. And he hates her room so much but he never says a word.

���Think like a forensic scientist on a crime scene what am I looking for?’ Reimlas thought before he covered Lola’s beautiful blue eyes and pushed her down on her bed, he had blind folded her, made her move into a comfortable position and told her an extremely sad story, his backstory and made her cry.

He still had gloves on as he seized the scalpel he had earlier sharpened but he didn’t use this one to stab himself, he made her take the scalpel she didn’t realize what it was and he told her it would check her heartbeat it had to be jabbed onto the place where her heart was.

She was stupid to believe it, killed herself instantly because she made her own heart burst. ‘That will be ruled a suicide.’ Reimlas said in his head and then he got up making sure no evidence was left behind and then he grabbed his guitar and casually left the room.

The brother how did he take care of him? He gave him a drug that makes you claw your own eyes out and itch until you bleed, the dude just shot himself in the head. He found the easy way out of the suffering and Reimlas smirked. ‘Two suicides that must be linked to something don’t you think?’ Reimlas thought grabbing his belongings and leaving. ‘Nothing extraordinary needed to happen just revenge and it feels good, I hope you guys like being childless. Like I liked having no mother and father.’ Reimlas thought as he walked out and laughed running a hand through his pink locks and then he left before the neighbors seen him.

[believerindaydreams]

not a gatehouse scene

but taking place during that long strange Lent. Probably towards the end. 

(following up, among other things, on the Pablo/Tuco discussion about what this monastery’s for and veiled reference to the church’s abuse scandal. Mentioning that in case it’s triggering.)

“For christ’s sake, put the gun down,” Blondie snaps. “We’re in a holy place.”

"He’s right,” Tuco says, quietly. “Have a little faith, Angel. In my brother if nothing else.”

“I hardly know your brother,” Angel says, evidently unmoved. “Do you two seriously think that incense and stained windows would stop police from doing, what needs to be done? Or that they’d stop me?”

Tuco’s never been sure, how one could bite a lip so hard the blood flows; but his are pressed together so thin it hurts. There’s far more anger mixed into it than he trusts himself to admit right now. Nobody should be pacing around a chapel like this, weapon at the ready and checking ammo- maybe he’s not the most pious believer, but it sickens him with a ferocity that he’d hardly have imagined himself capable of. 

Of course, he could do something about that. Could just open the door, yell down for the hunting pursuers- but then maybe he’d never make it to the door. Angel Eyes is not the kind to go quietly. 

Blondie squats down besides him on the dusty kneeler, a little awkwardly, and slips an arm under his jacket. An old, habitual gesture, comforting at times when they didn’t have anything else; and Tuco nestles against him anxiously, his head against Blondie’s shoulder. It can’t hurt any. If anyone finds them here, they’re probably done for regardless. 

“You three, stay in here,” Pablo had said, serious as he’s ever been. “I’ll find out what the police want and come back for you when it’s safe. They won’t come in here.”

(He’d obeyed, because Pablo’s his brother. Blondie had, because he trusts a holy father implicitly.)

(Angel's just here because they are. Tuco wonders if the man’s regretting that.)

“...I’ll give him this much,” Angel says, running a hand over the walls. “I didn’t expect to find an honest-to-god priest hole in twentieth-century American construction, let alone one that’s up to code. There’s enough soundproofing in here to cover for a herd of elephants.”

“So we can talk?” Tuco ventures uncertainly. 

“All you like. A man of unexpected depths, your brother- I would not object to learning how he arranged this,” Angel says, with a note of admiration. “Amateur work, obviously, but sufficient unto the day...”

“Stop,” Blondie says. Rather stiffly. 

“Cheer up, Blondie. If this is what’s going to stop me desecrating an altar or six, I should think you’d be all in favour of that.“

“We don’t even know they’re here for you yet,” Tuco points out. “Maybe it’s someone else.”

“Now what are the odds of that?” Angel asks. “An entire monastery of holy, reverent monks committed to vows of silence, two half-price hustlers who kept having to go straight they were that bad at crime, and also, one assassin of international prestige and reach. Now who else do you think might be here, who’d require that many police cars?”

“A lot of people,” Tuco says. It just slips out of him. 

“The-” Blondie starts, and has to choke off the sentence, swallowing down something crude. “Tuco, what are you talking about?”

Angel actually switches his keen glance from the door to him. “I must admit, you’ve caught my attention as well. Is this anything to do with what you kept hinting about, in all those letters?”

He wishes he hadn’t said anything, wishes it so badly. If he’d only been smart enough to keep his mouth shut, Angel would be grumbling and Blondie unhappy, but at least he wouldn’t have betrayed Pablo’s trust. Not admitted that there’s broken bones festering, beneath the altar’s bright gilding...

“I spent two days being sick, when Pablo told me,” Tuco says rather dully. “Blondie thought he’d talked me into being holy for a little while. It felt like the opposite.”

“Tell me now,” Blondie says, sure and intent. “What happened, that was so bad you wouldn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to think about it! I didn’t want you to have to think about it- maybe you don’t even remember, how bad you were last year. Feverish, so ill I thought- maybe I’m losing him, at the end- we didn’t have anywhere else to go. Or at least I thought we didn’t,” Tuco says, with a nod for Angel. “But that was the devil or the deep blue sea...and I didn’t think Blondie would have wanted your help then.”

“Possibly not,” Blondie agrees, with surprising sanity. “Maybe it would have been better that way.” 

“Shut up,” Tuco says sharply. Only two ways to deal with his partner getting into a slump, hard or soft; and he’s already as close as he can get to Blondie without doing something that’d make him blush to think of in a chapel. “It’s- look. My brother looks after bad priests. Too holy to imprison, too dangerous to leave be...he seeks them out, brings them here so they won’t hurt anybody.”

“And this is the place you asked me to save?” Angel Eyes asks, in a voice quite stripped of all emotion. 

“...yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Blondie draws away from him, as he knew would happen. There’s such a stillness in the air, while his partners contemplate how he’s betrayed them, lied and let them down; only to tell the truth, and maybe that’s worst of all. 

The moment lies suspended, while his body holds still, too frightened even to quiver. Conscious of every smallest sensation, an ache in his knees and the sweat of thumb against fingers. Perhaps he’s never going to feel anyone’s flesh against his own, ever again. 

(By now he could almost wish for that door to open; but he trusts his brother, damnit. Damn him. Damn everything.)

“They haven’t hurt you, have they?” Angel inquires. Same quiet voice. 

“Me? Christ, no, I’m not the kind they’d want...um,” Tuco says, for once struggling with his words. There’s no elegant ways, to explain without half-measures. “No. It was just because Pablo asked me to help, that’s all. Blood thicker than water.”

“Then I don’t think I’m in much of a position, to cast moral judgements,” Angel Eyes says. “You thought it was necessary. I’ll take you at your word.”

“That’s exactly what’s wrong with you,” Blondie says. “No idea of repentance for your crimes, no concern for morality in the slightest-”

“You’re more than right about that,” Angel Eyes agrees. “There’s no point in repentance, if you’re planning to repeat the crime- and I will have no compunction about making sure the pair of you get out of this with whole skins. So. Why even waste Pablo’s time?”

“Maybe-” Blondie starts. 

He’s muffled, then, by a mouth kissing his own and hands that grab him tightly; the pair of them topple over, from the force of Tuco’s lunge. 

Silly, Angel will say afterwards, once their three-way love’s been slaked, and so will Blondie; and he’ll spin it as nervous, death-induced lust for life, when honestly it’d just been the only desperate gambit he could think of that would save them all.

Because he’d seen the way his partner’s eyes had flickered to the door, knows the unspoken tells after too many nights, too many years; and let him be damned into the bargain, if Blondie hadn’t wondered whether letting in the police on them all wouldn’t be the cleanest way to end this.

He knows, he knows for sure and certain that Blondie wouldn’t have survived that move; but he’s not sure either, that Angel could have taken that consequence.

(And himself?)

(God, he doesn’t want to think about it.)

#70s au #the good the bad and the ugly #catholic #triggering #the trio

[thetragicescape]

He’s really doing it and he loves you!!

This is seriously getting on my fuckin nerves. I am about to lose it if I hear this one more time. Please. Please stop!!!! I am really not trying to be rude here but I’m about to fucking explode. You have no idea how many people tell me the exact same thing when they don’t personally know him at all. Well I DO know him and he’s been “really doing it” for fucking ever. Saying he’s really doing it, anyway. Do you know how many millions of times he’s even said the exact same words you just said, just to go back on them 5 seconds later? Oh, and then get mad at ME for calling him out on the constant lies and promise breaking?! It’s called integrity, idk if he even knows what that means cause he sure as hell never cared enough to show it around me. He can say whatever he wants, but when all he does is the opposite it doesn’t mean anything. Actions speak louder than words and his actions have shown me the exact opposite of his words. Look. I was dumb enough to believe his lies more times than you or I can count, and all that my blind trust in him has taught me is that he can’t be trusted. Also someone who really loves you doesn’t put their hands around your neck, pull a knife on you, call you a slut whore skank hoe idiot retard dumbass fat ugly worthless pathetic bitch piece of shit etc. They don’t tell you to fucking kill yourself and you deserve to die because nobody cares about you and it would make everyone in the world happy… Now what horrible crimes did I commit to get this evil Mr Hyde to come out? LEAVING THE MOTHERFUCKING DOOR UNLOCKED. ACCEPTING OUR EX ROOMMATES FIANCEES OFFER TO BUY ME TAMPONS. SMILING. THROWING UP WHEN I WAS SICK. TAKING A FEW SECONDS TOO LONG TO PICK A MOVIE. SAYING ONE WRONG WORD. BREATHING WRONG. BLINKING WRONG. MOVING WRONG. WANTING TO SEE MY FAMILY. BEING HIGH, EVEN THOUGH HE WAS ALWAYS HIGH WITH ME. BEING HIGHER THAN HIM WHEN HE WOULD PURPOSEFULLY GIVE ME MORE DOPE THAN HIMSELF (AND AFTER I TOLD HIM HE COULD HAVE MORE OF IT THAN ME). FUCKING EXISTING PRETTY MUCH!!! HE ONLY WANTS ME AROUND TO HAVE HIS GOOD OLD EMOTIONAL PUNCHING BAG TO ABUSE AND MAKE FEEL LIKE SHIT SO IT MAKES HIM FEEL BETTER ABOUT HIMSELF. Someone that loves you wouldn’t control every aspect of your life and force you to do what they want 24/7, ignoring your protests and cries. For example they wouldn’t wake you up at 5:30 in the morning and force you to go with them to the store across the street, getting mad at YOU and abusing YOU because you don’t blindly comply and want sleep. They dont go out of their way to pick at your insecurities just to hurt you more. They don’t tell you you’re really a guy who got a sex change operation to turn into a girl or that you have diseases you’ve never had in your entire life. Someone who loves you wouldnt accuse you of countless ridiculous things you never have done and have about a -1000000% chance of ever doing. They don’t create these huge intricate insane plots out of nowhere on how everyone in the entire world is against them and somehow incorporate you into the story (so they can make it okay in their mind to abuse you) when you’ve done nothing to them, never been against them a second of your life and love them more than anything. Constantly defending yourself against untrue and ridiculous accusations every day is fucking exhausting, especially when the person who “loves” you is completely committed to believing the accusations no matter how much evidence or proof there is against them. The fact that he would even think to accuse me of those things shows that he does not know the kind of person I am at all, which really hurt me because he should have known me better than anybody. Anyway… someone who loves you doesn’t tell you you’re a loser and you have an iq of 20 and they’re embarrassed to be seen with you in public… They don’t spit on you, flick their cigarette ashes on you, throw their burning cigarette butts and other objects at you. They don’t threaten to kill you or beat you up. They don’t break or threaten to break your stuff. They don’t threaten to call the cops on you even when they’re doing the exact same shit you are, they don’t blame their fucked up behaviors on you. They don’t destroy every shred of self worth you ever thought you had. They don’t lie to you pathologically. They don’t disrespect and ignore your boundaries, wishes and feelings. They sure as fuck don’t trade their wife’s WEDDING RING to a dope dealer for a 30 sack on VALENTINE’S DAY. Tina was his love before I ever was. Do you want me to keep going? Cause I could write a fucking novel of the horrible things hes said and done to me but then we’d be here all day. You have no idea what this man put me through. Mental abuse and hell and lying beyond your comprehension. I clung to his lies long after I actually stopped believing in them because I was so worn down and miserable that i hoped one day he would just decide not to be evil anymore and be the person he was when i first met him. I wanted so badly to kill myself and he was cheering me on. Telling me (because i was a cutter) that i wasnt doing it right and he would show me the right way to do it. You have no idea how it feels to have someone you love subject you to that. I am going to need fucking THERAPY to get over his abuse. I had to get the fuck away from the abuse or I would’ve fucking offed myself, no questions asked. I took as much of it as I could for his sake, but a person can only be pushed so much. Then I blocked him on everything which means I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO HIM. I WANT AND NEED SPACE FROM MY ABUSER. But of course he doesnt respect my wishes and boundaries and has a huge army of people measaging me on his behalf even after I told him millions of times to leave me alone and give me space and stop suffocating me. He has a new person every damn day. Hes good at charming and manipulating. They’re all likely brainwashed and manipulated with more of his lies. I know how he really is; i am married to him. So please kindly all of you stop getting involved in my business. I am not upset or angry with you but i have had it up to fucking here with people knowing only one side of the story and telling me to go back to the person who abused me. Do you guys know how fucked up that is? I wouldn’t ever tell anyone to go back to their abuser. Leaving him was vital self care that i need for my sanity and my life. Not only am I getting away from the abuse, I am now clean and sober, which I wanted all along and which it was absolutely impossible to do around him. It broke my heart because i love the person i first met and fell in love with, if he even truly existed (even after all he put me through) but I had to do it because his abuse was just too horrific for me to stand. I dont need or want people who know neither of us getting involed in this. This isn’t just to you but to all of his people messaging me: PLEASE STOP!!!!!!!

[raendown]

If my calendar is correct then it is my Sibi-wife’s birthday today! So of course I had to do something to celebrate and what better way than with a little MadaKaka just for you @purple-possibilities?

Pairing: MadaraKakashi Word count: 2560 Summary: If his first life had been his waning then the second was his waxing, first to wither and then to blossom. Imprisoned at the end of the Fourth Shinobi War, Madara discovers that there are somethings which may grow even in the dark.

Follow the link of read it under the cut!

To Wax And To Wane (Call Me The Moon)

He spoke the words inside the quiet of his mind, whispering them in the silence of his own tumultuous thoughts each time their eyes met. Madara had never been the type of man to keep quiet about how something made him feel. If other couldn’t handle his personality then generally he was of the opinion that they should simply fuck off and take their pitiful existence somewhere else. He’d never cared before what anyone else thought of him so it was new and strange to now spend a great deal of his time worrying over just that.

For his own sanity, he justified it by going over all the reasons why.

Kakashi was a man unlike any other and Madara had been fascinated by him from the moment he finally deigned to speak to the Rokudaime Hokage. Their first few interactions had been tainted by his own anger – story of his life, really, although he thought anyone might be angry after having been taken as a war prisoner and held in the dungeons of the very village that he himself had helped to create. Konohagakure belonged to him more than any of the other insects crawling about the place today. Even the name had been his invention. To be held hostage here now when all he had been trying to do was to create the perfect world was galling.

At first his meetings with the current Hokage had been because he refused to speak with anyone else, deeming them unworthy. Hatake Kakashi, however, he recognized as one of the faces who had orchestrated his own downfall. While that might not have endeared him to the man very much it did encourage a healthy amount of reluctant respect.

Several years had passed as Madara rotted away in his cell. It had taken two of them to convince him to speak with a psychiatrist and when those visits began to outnumber his sessions with Kakashi he’d kicked up a fuss and stopped cooperating until the Rokudaime had come back with an exhausted expression and rolling eyes. He told himself he only wanted to be as annoying as possible, to inconvenience Kakashi in any way he could from his position behind bars, yet that failed to address the way he began to look forward to the days when the silver haired man had an hour or two to spare for the monster locked in the basement.

Over time their conversations were less filled with insults and pointed jabs, more centered around getting to know one another and discussing how everyday life differed between this era and the one Madara had grown up in. Kakashi described random happenings from around the village for him, never anything that might be of use if he escaped and went rogue again but always interesting, and in turn Madara told him anecdotes from the very beginning of Konohagakure. It felt as though one day he had woken up and these words had been in his head, pressing against his forehead and the back of his teeth until he had to clench his jaw to keep them inside for fear of what reaction they might evoke.

Luckily for him Kakashi never seemed to suspect what he was thinking. These days their visits were so frequent it was rare for a day to pass without the pale man wandering down the corridors of the prison and quite often he would stay for several hours. Sometimes he did little but sit on the bench on the opposite wall and read that little orange book he never seemed to part from. Other days they would talk until both of their throats had gone dry. Madara cherished both occasions.

Now he stood so close to the bars of his cell he was nearly pressed up against them, his heart beating a wild tattoo in his chest and familiar words blocking the flow of air in his throat. Footsteps rang in his ears and as he listened to the small procession approaching his small corner of hell he wasn’t sure if he was feeling excited or downright petrified.

Today, for better or for worse, he would be released from prison.

Considering the crimes he had committed against the village, he wasn’t surprised that they had sentenced his chakra to be sealed for life. He’d had years to get used to the idea already and while he would never be happy about it he had learned to live with it. What he had spent the last few years pointedly not considering was the fact that now he was free and Hatake Kakashi might not see any reason to continue their association with one another. Had the man only continued to visit him to keep him sane? Was he simply a safe person to complain to about the stresses of being Hokage? He’d never found the courage to ask what he meant to Kakashi, not when the answer would be so embarrassingly dear to him.

Four people came to a stop outside of the cell in which he had lived the entirety of his second life time. Madara did not recognize the young lad with a bored look on his face and hair up in a spiked ponytail, nor did he recognize the wizened old woman with beads in her gray bun and a disapproving expression. He did recognize Uzumaki Naruto in all his orange and bouncy glory, one of the others who had helped defeat him during that folly of a war.

Right in front of all three of them stood Kakashi and he was the only one on whom Madara rested his eyes, taking in every detail about him in case this was the last they saw of each other, screaming his unheard mantra over and over in the silence of his mind. It was a wonder, as always, that the silence which was so loud inside his head was not audible to others.

“Uchiha Madara,” Kakashi intoned, likely for the benefit of those with him and the guards hiding in the shadows. “You have been deemed safe to be released back in to society. As part of your parole you will be required to talk part in a mandatory rehabilitation program and report to an assigned Keeper a minimum of once a week. Should you disagree with these terms you will not be released. What say you?”

“I agree to your terms.” Again, his words were only for the benefit of the others listening in. Kakashi had kept him updated on the demands the council had been making for weeks now as they considered whether or not to inflict him upon the general public. He had agreed to these terms days ago, just not in front of any witnesses.

“Very well. Should you violate these terms you will be punished as the council sees fit for each transgression. If at any time you injure a fellow villager with malicious intent you will be returned to prison with no parole for the rest of your natural life.”

“Not unexpected. I agree.”

Kakashi nodded and reached out to lay one hand against the seal covering the lock of his cell door. A spark of chakra jumped between his hand and the parchment before suddenly the seal disappeared in a miniscule puff of smoke. Then the door swung open and Madara was a free man.

Naruto bounced around them as he cautiously stepped out of his cage and he was forced to tune out the annoying barrage of comments about second chances and peace and a better world. He could care less for a better world. If the world were anything even slightly close to the way Kakashi described it, a better future had already arrived and that was all that he had dreamed of in his youth. Eventually Naruto was reined in by the other lad with the bored face and Madara was escorted above ground in a much calmer silence.

The sun was hotter than he remembered. Somehow that seemed a strange thing to forget. Madara squinted against the almost too-bright rays of morning sunlight and looked around slowly, watching a child dash across the street in to her mother’s arms, watching an old man shake his stick reprovingly at a pair of rambunctious teenagers, and he couldn’t help the words which bubbled out from between his lips.

“This is home.” It wasn’t until he had spoken that realized how true the statement was. So many years he had spent seeking to destroy this very place yet in all that time he had failed to remember, this was the home he had fought to build. Why had he wanted to tear it back down?

“Hmph.” From behind him he could hear the old woman give a disapproving sniff. She was probably disappointed that he hadn’t flown off the handle and given her an excuse to toss him back in prison. “Let the consequences be on your head.”

“As you say, Koharu-sama,” Kakashi’s voice replied while her heavy footsteps shuffled away.

Naruto bounced enthusiastically in to their faces with a few more phrases about peace and unity before his bored friend dragged him away as well. Then suddenly he was alone with Kakashi in a way that was different from all of the times before.

Strangely, no one seemed to be looking at either of them. Life passed by uninterrupted outside of the building where he had been held and none of the citizens wandering by gave so much as a single glance towards the two still figures standing in the doorway at the edge of a pool of sunlight.  As much as his now deeply buried pride demanded that he be paid the attention he felt he deserved, he was relieved that no one was giving him any now.

He was much more interested in the way Kakashi was stepping away around the side of the tower and indicating with a tilt of his head for Madara to follow.

Walking on grass again instead of concrete was interesting. It had been so long he’d forgotten the springy sensation of it and for the first few steps he tread extra carefully, wary of rolling his ankles on the uneven dirt. Once he realized how silly he was being he hurried to catch up, trailing after the Hokage until they had found an isolated area out of sight of the public. By the small wooden tables he would guess that this was meant as an area for those employed here to take their breaks, though there was thankfully no one present at the moment.

“As I mentioned before, housing has been provided for you and until you have been integrated enough to find work for yourself you will be provided an allowance for food and amenities.” Kakashi brought his hands together, both of them disappearing in to the sleeves of his voluminous white robe. “But before you disappear back in to the real world there is something I promised myself that I would say to you when this time came.”

“Go on then,” Madara replied. Nerves tied his stomach in knots and the words that he’d held at bay for too long now crawled up his throat like confessional goblins. He swallowed thickly to force them back down, ears straining for whatever Kakashi wished to tell him.

He didn’t have long to wait. Clearing his throat, the younger man raised his chin and looked him in the eye almost defiantly.

“I think I’m in love with you. And to be perfectly honest I’m terrified.”

For an extended moment all Madara could do was stand and stare, unable to even draw breath in his shock at hearing his own secret words spilling out of Kakashi’s lips.

“You…love me?” he whispered. Kakashi cleared his throat a second time and nodded, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes once more.

“I’m not sure how or when. One day in the middle of listening to you speak it suddenly all came together, the reason I couldn’t seem to stop visiting you, the reason I kept doing more and more to make you comfortable and fight for your release.” His mask shifted in a way Madara knew meant he had twisted his mouth in to a wry expression. “You were my prisoner, so I’m very aware that there is little chance that you would return my feelings. However, I did promise myself that I wouldn’t be too coward to tell you, so here we are.”

“Oh.”

Madara drew a full breath finally, lungs burning and body thrumming. Everything inside of him was suddenly blissfully silent. It felt strange but even stranger was to contemplate the idea that Kakashi returned the feelings he hadn’t even had the courage to fully acknowledge to himself.

Between one gulp of air and the next he realized that he was standing there like an idiot, staring without giving any indication of his answer. He could no more help the wild grin that broke out across his face than he could help the way his limbs trembled with excitement as he made his move. If Kakashi could take a chance then so could he. At least the chance he was taking now didn’t seem anywhere near as likely to fail.

When he stepped forward and fell in to Kakashi he was well aware that the younger man’s heightened senses meant he could dodge if he wanted to. It meant the world that he didn’t. Their first kiss was firm and passionate despite the cloth barrier, wasting no time on hesitancy after spending so much time concealing their feelings on both sides of a barred cell door. Madara caught the Hokage by his hips and pulled him close, tilting his head to deepen their kiss as he tried to convey without words how desperately he had dreamed of this, how hopelessly he had yearned. Fingers tangling in to the locks of his hair told him that Kakashi felt the same.

“I love you,” Madara whispered against the other man’s lips. He had never been the type to keep quiet about how he felt and it was a huge relief to speak freely now. “And I, too, was terrified.”

“Maa, how silly of us.”

He smiled at Kakashi’s words, glad he had dropped the air of formality at last. “Come what may, I am glad that I will face it by your side.”

“I like the sound of that,” Kakashi murmured.

Both of them knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. One of them was a war criminal and the other was Rokudaime Hokage of Konohagakure. Many people would disapprove of their relationship and many more would outright oppose it. There would be some who accused him of influencing their leader and there would be others who accused Kakashi of being bewitched or going soft. Many trials would face them both personally and professionally just for sharing this bond of love.

And yet, Madara found that none of it worried him too much. At long last he had found that which eluded him so many years ago. He had found that thing he had searched for, the absence of which had led to him abandoning this place and seeking to build a better world.

He had found a home and, in it, he had found peace.

#rae writes #madakaka #madara #kakashi #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

[cuntess-carmilla]

This is just an extremely long vent post sparked by my brother. ^_^

(Reclaimed r slur by the end in reference to myself)

Someone explain to me how my brother can be so smart yet always soooooooooo fucking wrong in everything other than thinking cops and Piñera are scum.

Actually? I know exactly why! It’s because in his colossal immaturity coupled with his trauma of having always been told that he’s dumb because he’s autistic and the combination of mostly STUPID awful teachers and bullying was the actual reason why he did so badly in school after like 3rd grade. Which I get! But the way he ~copes~ with his inferiority complex is by being possibly THE most arrogant person I’ve ever known!

Ok, no, the most arrogant one was my ex-boss who sexually harassed me, but my brother (being actually a good just really frustrating person) comes 2nd. Besides that insecure arrogance, he’s way too driven by his gut feelings without supporting those gut feelings with reason or proper sources. Sometimes AGAINST proper sources. He ESPECIALLY doesn’t inform his gut feelings with other people’s opinions to form any sort of balanced collection of ideas to consider!

Given that he also has really bad anger issues (I’m fucking uncle Iroh post-war crimes compared to him) and represses every emotion that isn’t Wrath, a lot of the time his gut is just going by whatever position, POV or idea causes him the strongest emotional reaction - again, without proper research - that aligns with his like, misanthropy and sense of The World Inherently Sucks, so a lot of the time it’s motherfucking conspiracy theories! And he sticks to the position that took 5 minutes to convince him no matter what anyone says if they don’t passionately agree with him.

AND when someone doesn’t passionately agree with him, or innocently asks questions that could make his position be exposed as wrong or unfounded, he takes it as the grandest personal insult meant to make him feel stupid and if we try to tell him that disagreeing with him or even just not being sure what we think of the positions he adopts, he literally, legit says we’re just saying that to demonize him and make HIM out to be the psycho.

I love him but he’s wrong a lot of the time EVEN compared to my very fascist parents when it doesn’t come to specific local politics (ie. hating cops and Piñera). Don’t get me wrong, they’re fascists so I disagree with 99% of their views (the ones I agree with being stuff like “rape is bad” and “femicides shouldn’t happen”), my mom herself makes up a lot of insane fascist conspiracy theories, and both of them source their information from right-wing mainstream media.

But like... At least they try to form opinions based on (the sadly biased) information they can get rather than immediately making up their minds with NO space for questioning anything based on what aligns with their emotions?

Ok, my mom not so much but she’s only like that when it comes to subjects she thinks she knows well. When it comes to subjects she knows she’s ignorant of, she doesn’t do that. She’s open to asking questions, being corrected and thinking things through in those cases.

My dad is generally capable of all those things that my mom does when she knows she’s not knowledgeable enough in the subject at hand, and actually has a pretty decent capacity to admit he’s wrong when he’s proven wrong by undeniable facts! He knows too that a lot of his own ideas and perceptions can change through time and he’d rather be properly right instead of clinging to past ideas and perceptions just to never admit he was ever wrong. What’s more, he fully accepts that people aren’t always going to agree with him on everything and that’s not a fucking hate crime! What a concept.

So like, yeah I think their politics are wrong almost entirely lol. But I can at least... Think of them as relatively functional adults when it comes to that shit even if they’re wrong and stay very wrong? My mom does take some things more personally but never to my brother’s level.

Just minutes ago my brother was spouting conspiracy theories about COVID (you know the shit, virus was human-made, it’s a conspiracy by some secret society to kill people, etc) like it was objective fact. My dad has stayed away from watching or reading any news for the sake of his own sanity so he doesn’t actually know all the facts, BUT with the facts he didn’t know, he asked him where his information came from in a very neutral way, or filled in the spaces with reasonable logic and distrusting things that are obviously conspiracy-mongering.

Just that my dad didn’t immediately agree with him and put the things he was saying to question my brother started fucking yelling and victimizing himself. I was so fucking annoyed that I committed the crime of interfering not regarding the subject itself, but regarding how my brother was handling not being agreed with. He word by word said “OH, SO YOU AGREE WITH HIM?" I told him I wasn’t agreeing or disagreeing with anyone! Because I wasn’t! I was just trying to calm the dude down and TRY to teach him, for the billionth time, to learn how to take CONSTRUCTIVE gentle criticism and to handle others having a healthy minimum of skepticism regarding the extreme ideas he proposes out of the blue! You know. Like a fucking (by tomorrow) 22 years old guy SHOULD. Ah, yes, he’s not a fucking teenager! HE’S TURNING 22 IN 23 MINUTES FROM NOW.

THEN he started victimizing himself, WITH ME.

ME! THE ONE BITCH IN THIS HOUSE WHO ALWAYS ADVOCATES FOR HIS ASS, HAS ALWAYS TRIED TO LISTEN TO WHAT HE HAS TO SAY WITHOUT DIRECTLY SHUTTING HIS IDEAS DOWN WHEN I THINK HE’S WILDLY WRONG BECAUSE EVEN THEN I MAKE SURE TO DISAGREE WITH HIM IN A WAY THAT HE DOESN’T PERCEIVE AS ME THINKING HE’S A STUPID PARANOID IMBECILE (paranoid he IS by the way!).

I’M THE ONE CUNT WHO’S ALWAYS TRIED TO MAKE THE REST OF THE FAMILY UNDERSTAND WHERE HE’S COMING FROM WHETHER HE’S RIGHT OR WRONG, WHO’S TRIED FOR YEARS (AND SUCCEEDED A LOT OF THE TIME!) TO TEACH THE REST OF THE FAMILY HOW TO ACCOMMODATE FOR HIM, HIS DISABILITY AND HIS TRAUMAS WHEN HE DOESN’T RETURN THE FAVOR TO ANYONE, SOMETIMES ASKING FOR MAYBE MORE COMPREHENSION AND PATIENCE FROM THE REST OF THE FAMILY THAN IT’S FAIR TO ASK FOR!

HELL. EVEN WHEN I TELL HIM OFF WHEN I GET PISSED AT HIM AND SAY PRETTY HEAVY THINGS TO HIM? I MAKE SURE TO ARTICULATE WHAT I’M SAYING IN A WAY THAT SHOWS COMPASSION AND IS COMPLETELY CODDLING IN TONE SO HE DOESN’T FEEL PERSONALLY ATTACKED. EVEN HE SAYS I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO “LISTENS” TO HIM.

THIS EMOTIONALLY REPRESSED DUDE WHO BREAKS FURNITURE AND DESTROYS OUR FOOD WHEN HIS ANGER OR ANXIETY TAKE OVER, WHO DOES NOT LET ANYONE SEE HIM VULNERABLE UNLESS HE’S HAVING A MELT DOWN ONLY BECAUSE THEN HE CAN’T STOP HIMSELF FROM CRYING? HE USUALLY TRUSTS ME ENOUGH TO HAVE CRIED ON MY SHOULDER MANY FUCKING TIMES.

AND HE ACCUSES ME OF JUST WANTING TO MAKE HIM SEEM LIKE HE’S THE INSANE DUMB DELUSIONAL AWFUL PERSON, SO I CAN SOMEDAY USE THIS INSTANCE AGAINST HIM IN ANOTHER “FIGHT”, WHEN I’VE NEVER FUCKING DONE THAT EVEN WHEN HE, TO BE HONEST, DESERVED IT? SERIOUSLY DUDE? FOR FUCKING REAL?

I’M THE ONE YOU’RE GONNA ACCUSE OF THAT WHEN I SPEND MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE CODDLING YOUR PETTY ASS, PROTECTING YOU, BEING A SECOND MOTHER AND CHARGE FREE SHRINK TO YOU?

OR PULLING ALL-NIGHTERS TO HELP WITH YOUR COLLEGE HOMEWORK WHEN I’VE HAD CLASSES TOO THE NEXT DAY? SOMETIMES DOING THE WHOLE COLOSSAL PROJECT ALONE THE NIGHT BEFORE IF I REALIZE YOU’RE TOO BRAIN FOGGED, FATIGUED OR TRIGGERED TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT GETTING SUICIDAL OR SOMETHING? SENDING YOU TO BED WHILE I DO YOUR SHIT AND DON’T SLEEP AT ALL? SOMETIMES GROUP PROJECTS WHERE YOU WERE GROUPED WITH LAZY ASSHOLES SO I’M DOING THE WORK OF 4 PEOPLE ALONE THE NIGHT BEFORE? FOR FREE?

M E ?

BITCH, I DON’T EVEN WANT A MEDAL OR TO BE THANKED BECAUSE BEING THANKED FOR ANYTHING MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE! BUT COME THE FUCK ON. I’D JUST APPRECIATE NOT BEING SLAPPED ON THE FACE IN RETURN, YOU KNOW?

*insert gif of Disney’s Hades exploding in red fire then calming down 2 seconds after*

Like you just! Can’t fucking have an adult conversation with this dude if you’re not validating him without question! You can’t! You can’t have any level of healthy friendly debate with him! You can’t beg him to be reasonable! YOU CAN’T!

He was saying “BUT IT’S OBVIOUS”, my dad asked CALMLY “With what proof?”, then it was “WELL, IT’S OBVIOUS TO ME”, then “That’s an opinion, not a fact. We can google the number” and OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!

Then to ME he was all “YOU JUST LOVE TO BE RIGHT, DON’T YOU?” calling US immature and saying WE are the ones who don’t want to listen to a different opinion!!!!! When I told him he fucking loves being right he victimized himself again with a “WELL, FOR ONCE I’D LIKE TO BE!”

I was about to tell him, with the last dying bit of my patience, that yeah, like most people I do actually like to be right and I like it a lot! But that being right requires actual fucking work and THINKING rather than just going by whatever supports your misanthropic Kill Society angry feelings, and the moment you’re proved wrong YOU HAVE TO CHANGE YOUR POSITION IN ORDER TO BE RIGHT, BECAUSE IF YOU CLING TO YOUR DEBUNKED FIRST BASELESS CONVENIENT OPINION OUT OF PRIDE THEN YOU’RE OBJECTIVELY WRONG AND A PISSBABY.

But I didn’t get to say that because something else interrupted it and then things cooled off while, like a good Scorpio Mars, I’m still endlessly ruminating on and won’t forget about the rest of my life as much as I’d actually LOVE to be able to forget this instance of him being an idiot. 8)

Like, does this motherfucker not fucking get that unless I already know the subject thoroughly and have a fully fleshed Opinion, I don’t often give opinions out loud BECAUSE I try to first shape my thoughts properly and THAT’S why I tend to be fucking right? That that’s why I always have a lot of arguments and am so certain of what I think, because I’m so insecure that I only fucking talk when I’m 99.999999% confident in what I have to say, rather than it being because I’m an inflexible asshole who thinks is better than him!

And he’s seen it. He’s fucking SEEN ME acknowledge when I’m wrong!!!!! Including the times I’ve been wrong TO HIM.

In all honesty I don’t enjoy admitting when I’m wrong (in big part BECAUSE I put a lot of effort into articulating the ideas I’m standing by!), but when I realize that I am, just out of a minimum of maturity and sense of DIGNITY - because I’d find it so fucking humiliating to not acknowledge being wrong when it’s obvious that I am to everyone involved and I can no longer defend my point - I still do it!

Bitch, you said it yourself, I LIKE TO BE RIGHT. I’m going to side with what I genuinely think is right even if I used to think it was wrong! There’s a motherfucking reason that as a teenager I was a Pinochet apologist, Gays Go To Hell, Communism = Evil / Capitalism = Freedom, pro-life, Catholic and now I’m THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF ALL OF THAT.

Does he think it didn’t hurt my pride to discover one-by-one that my views were absolute shit? IT DID AND GOD KNOWS MY PRIDE IS SENSITIVE AS HELL. Does he think it wasn’t depressing to have my whole world views destroyed? I NEED TO STAND ON FIRM GROUND ON EVERYTHING OR ELSE I LOSE MY SHIT, IT WAS AWFUL TO SUDDENLY HAVE MY WORLD VIEW WRECKED. Does he think I didn’t try to argue for my WRONG ideas for as long as I still thought I had decent arguments to back them up? OF COURSE I DID, I BELIEVED IN THEM FOR A REASON, AS WRONG AS I WAS.

But I changed! I changed when I no longer had any space left to think I was right! And I operate the same way with my current positions and ideas now! Dude, I tend to be right over you BECAUSE I don’t immediately get set on the first thing that makes me feel emotionally Validated, unlike you! You ARE smart but you’re SO driven by your own colossal yet insecure ego that you don’t even BOTHER to be critical of your own thoughts and all your potential goes to waste.

I ruminate on every single little thing obsessively, to my own detriment, being my own Devil’s advocate having an ruthless debate against myself in my mind, starting off COMPLETELY insecure about my own thoughts, paranoid trying to imagine in what way I could possibly be proved wrong by someone else if I said my ideas out loud and how to hold my stance in case it happens. I NEVER say my ideas out loud to people who I think know more than me or are smarter than me, to not make a fool of myself in front of anyone because I’m a coward and I was also bullied into firmly believing I’m a fucking retard!

All of that pathological effort because I actually don’t think I’m better than you or anyone else! I think I’m really fucking stupid! So I overthink it all endlessly and by PRINCIPLE I distrust and question my own thoughts and perceptions at every single second. For hours, days, weeks, months, EVEN YEARS.

That’s why when I do speak I’m one of those annoying bitches who have an answer to everything! BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU’D TRY TO PROVE ME WRONG ON THAT FRONT ALREADY AND I DON’T WANT TO GO THROUGH THAT HUMILIATION SO I ALREADY HAD THAT SHIT COVERED BEFORE I DECIDED TO SAY ANYTHING.

And nothing in that exhausting, paranoid process guarantees I’ll be correct! So even when I firmly think I’m right I keep it to myself some more in case that maybe two years later or something I’ll discover a flaw in my thought process.

It’s so tiring, it’s so fucking tiring how EVERYONE who knows me from afar or from very FUCKING close, thinks that any and every one of the fucking things I achieve just fell into my stupid hands out of the sky by mere luck because God felt like giving me an easy ride that day. They ALL think I’m some arrogant bitch for the very few things I don’t doubt anymore when I try my best to be humble as long as I don’t humiliate myself! But I’m SURE they all think I’m a conceited lucky show off!

EVERY TIME I’m for fucking once proud of anything I achieve, people tell me to my fucking face that I’m just naturally and inexplicably talented, taking away any merit of my fucking own.

Like it’s a FUCKING compliment that, supposedly, everything I’ve achieved by pushing myself to my limits despite being at a disadvantage in so many areas, destroying my already ill body and breaking my autistic little brain, barely sleeping for days, having panicked crying fits where I self-harm because it’s not good enough and I don’t know how to make it right... What I finally accomplish by putting in all that effort, self sabotage and sacrifice?

Oh, it just fell into my hands because I’m THAT blessed, apparently! It’s all just LUCK AND TALENT I DIDN’T DO A THING TO EARN! I’m SO lucky and effortlessly talented! I feel SO fucking flattered!!! :) Thank you SO much! :) I’ve never EVER doubted myself also! :D

#also i know there's typos but you know what there's nothing of? #my shits to give or any energy from how exhausted i already was before all this

[tessellated-lightning]

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Old video from 2016 in Charlotte. Seen it for the first time today and thought it was worth reposting given the recent murder of George Floyd over buying cigs with a fake 20$ bill. To the people who call it scripted: Even if the words could have been, this girl must be a legendary actress to cry this hard.

She cries because she gets it.

Regarding the protest/riots, I have something important to say.

I feel terrible for saying this to a community that has been told to wait over and over and over at every turn. Patronization is not remotely the intent.I have known discrimination, but not on that scale. That’s a conversation for another day.

I will hashtag it #BlackLivesMatter, and I don’t expect everyone to agree with me, and that’s ok. I’m just opening the conversation:

"Justice too long delayed is justice denied” - MLK

YES ! but please, not now. 

Not while the curve is this high and there is no clear vaccine in sight. For your own sake too.

=================================================

The virus transmits at exponential speed. (sorta, it depends on how many people it can infect around itself.)  As of time of writing, the number of case in LA county doubles every 25 days or so : 

https://www.latimes.com/projects/california-coronavirus-cases-tracking-outbreak/

Hundreds of protest of been held in California alone:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Floyd_protests_in_California

Most of them involving hundreds of people.

Which means hundreds or thousands of infected.

Which means hundreds of shattered families down the line, due to contagion to vulnerable populations upon returning home, in the 12-18 months (or more), it would take to develop a vaccine : 

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/04/30/opinion/coronavirus-covid-vaccine.html

See the second wave of influenza in 1918 being the most deadly:

https://www.cdc.gov/flu/pandemic-resources/1918-commemoration/three-waves.htm

A major reason for this wave was the public patriotic parade that was held back then: https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/flu-epidemic-hits-philadelphia

“After the Liberty Loan parade (celebrations to promote government bonds that helped pay for the Allied cause in Europe) on September 28, thousands of people became infected. The city morgue, built to hold 36 bodies, was now faced with the arrival of hundreds within a few days. The entire city was quarantined and nearly 12,000 city residents died.”

And as a community, you are among the first touched. 

And if you go, some of you will bring this back home.

And the media will paint you in impossible colors,

And racism will increase.

I understand that when non-violent action doesn’t work, in practice, other measures must often be taken. Violence against property is one thing. Fire and spreading disease are another. There is no peaceful protest during a pandemic.

=================================================

Please, take action online, make phone calls, sign petitions, write letters to your local papers, protest at your balcony if you have one, post signs, and report it for later. People are at home, with nothing to do. 

There is no better time to get them listening.

We’re all in this together, remember ?

=================================================

I’m sorry. I’m asking you to maintain an impossible level of sanity in the face of hundreds of black lives taken by the police every year.

I’m asking you to resist buying into the lie of kill-or-be-killed.

The Corona-virus killed more black people that violent racist cops did in decades. More than 100 000. Three times the rate of whites. And this will make it worst.

No doubt in large part due to systemic inequality. 

But most significant systemic transformation takes years.

Racism is no joke. Neither is seeing your children gasping for air.

I’m not speaking from nowhere: I’ve caught it a few months ago.

(Or possibly something like it.)

As cold as it sounds: Is a short delay worth dying over ?

Let’s be honest, this is not the first perfect storm, and it probably won’t be the last. 

Abuse happens everyday in America.

The Civil Right Movement did not and does not need a pandemic.

=================================================

Please do not perpetuate the cycle of violence.

I am in no position to be a judge, to speak from my privileged position.

Yet, I cannot help but remember the quote:

“If you act the same way they did, then what is the difference between you and them ?”.

Even knowing that your cause is just, are you ok with having that much blood on your hand, so long as the victims have the politeness to die off-screen ? Again, I’m in no position to judge, you may answer yes or no. Just please, be true to yourself.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere”  - Also MLK

=================================================

As a final note, even if it’s a drop in the ocean, here a 2 policies proposals: 

- Put a black officer in every police unit. It’s harder to commit a hate crime when you have to explain it to your colleague, and it’s harder to get away with it.

- Have a questionnaire that weeds out racists cops. Sure people can lie on questionnaires, but xenophobes tend to be pretty dense, so If this means fewer racists cop, I think it’s a good start. The one fear I have is that we’d just end up with a smaller, more tight-knit group of smarter racists. It might need some testing at a local level first.

=================================================

Alright, thanks to everyone who listened, I will now pass back the microphone.

Speak up !

#blacklivesmatter

[domoniqueistheone]

I found this in my text note app on my iPhone Max Pro 11 256 G on 1/10/19. Every time I open it up the date changes to the current date. I’m the primary account holder. My estranged husband pays me $1100 a month “allowance” as he and the judge referred to it as.

Last month I received word via email from my attorney forwarded from his threatening not to pay if I didn’t grant him access. November 11, 2019 my 30 year old son, a veteran with bipolar disorder type 1 and induced hypo mania, committed suicide by hanging him self in the garage while his brother, sister and adopted father were home. They left and he was discovered by his father (my husband) 10 hours later. My husband called a friend in law enforcement before contacting the authorities. I was removed from the home by being arrested for domestic assault without incident on 6/18/19 that occurred @ approximately 5:30 am. I have no memory of the incident. I didn’t know where I was (I do not drink or do drugs)

My husband was the only witness to the incident. I had been enduring years of sexual, emotional, mental and financial abuse by him and two physical assaults by my adult daughter. I’m trained in Muay Thai Kickboxing and did not retaliate. Yet, my husband was able to “subdue me and gently assist me to the ground” where my daughter witnessed her father “My dad was laying on top of my mom”

Which explained why I was having a nightmare that I was paralyzed from the neck down and I couldn’t breathe, my lungs filling with fluid.

Eventually I received the police incident report and crime scene photos. I took pictures 5 days after of my injuries. He received 5 staples to his head and no shaving. Evidently and allegedly I chose a bowling pin as a weapon. Passing through the kitchen twice! Leaving my pepper spray upstairs in my room along with my baseball bat and switchblade, chemicals and I didn’t have any eyebrows on either. Unscrewing the bowling pin from an eye hook attached to the ceiling in the garage. On the opposite side of the house from his room downstairs.

He gave statements to two officers. In one he stated: I was asleep in my bed.

In the other: I was awake and she seemed surprised to see me awake.

In court for our restraining order hearing:

“I’m a light sleeper”

Hmmmmmm That’s interesting because I remember when you said you were sorry for beating me up in you sleep and didn’t remember. You were having a nightmare last night and how many, many times you did that. Also, how many times you told me you didn’t have dreams or remember them. Also how many times you told me about your dreams.

You GASLIGHTING-PSYCHOPATHIC-MOTHER-FUCKING-PREDATORY-BITCH!!!

I recorded so many conversations! Just for my own sanity. Why do you think I went to counseling for so long? Because I knew I wasn’t well and I know that the court system doesn’t look favorable upon anyone who has a mental illness no matter how stable they are.

Ask our daughter what I said to her on Thanksgiving when she was against the refrigerator after ripping the hair from my head. When I didn’t lay hands on her. When I asked you three times “Are you going to let her speak to me like that?” And I was calm, polite and respectful as my best friend of 38 years ran out the door that you invited despite knowing that I had kicked her to the curb.

Your response was “You layed hands on her!” On the third time I asked you our youngest son came out from his room in the hall. He wasn’t even a witness to any of it. He chimed in with you like a parrot!

Ask our daughter what I said to her after I removed my glasses from my face and tossed them to my right on to the counter next to the breadbox. That’s the message I was sending to you. I would never cause harm to a child or animals. Only someone such as yourself would. Think about the options you were given that night. Silly disobedient child. You’re mother warned me about you. How dare you disobey your mother.

[greatawakeningreport]

WEEKLY REPORT: AG Barr Speech /// DS Golden Passports /// 2020 Deliberate Implosion

Published Date: November 18th, 2019

WEEKLY REPORT

TRUTH///AWAKENING///DISCLOSURE

AG BARR EXPOSES CORRUPTION, DEEP STATE GOLDEN PASSPORTS, 2020 DELIBERATE ECONOMIC IMPLOSION

Rosenstein, Kelly, and Tillerson Started The Coup, IG & FISA Reports Release Imminent, Venice Italy 150 Yr. Flood, New Extreme Censorships, Global Escalating Protest, US Infrastructure Crumbling, Prince Andrew Allegation Denials AG William Barr's Speech Exposing Deep State Corruption https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeMwdtbPR6g Bradley Saacks Business Insider Nov 16, 2019, Attorney General Bill Barr said the left "is engaged in the systematic shredding of norms and the undermining of the rule of law."  Attorney General Bill Barr attacked "the left" in an aggressive speech Friday night to the Federalist Society, a conservative group of lawyers that has provided President Donald Trump with many of his judicial nominees. The speech has prompted criticisms of Barr and his Justice Department, which is supposed to stand apart from party politics. The left, Barr said, "is engaged in the systematic shredding of norms and the undermining of the rule of law." In a fiery speech to the conservative law group, the Federalist Society, Attorney General Bill Barr laid out his argument for why the chief executive of the country is protected from laws that apply to every other citizen — a legal theory known as unitary executive theory that former Vice President Dick Cheney used as a justification for many executive actions following 9/11. "One of the more amusing aspects of modern progressive polemic is their breathless attacks on the 'unitary executive theory.' They portray this as some new-fangled 'theory' to justify the Executive power of the sweeping scope. In reality, the idea of the unitary executive does not go so much to the breadth of Presidential power. Rather, the idea is that, whatever the Executive powers may be, they must be exercised under the President's supervision," Barr said, according to a transcript published by the Justice Department. "This is not 'new,' and it is not a 'theory.' It is a description of what the Framers unquestionably did in Article II of the Constitution." Barr also largely criticized the left for "the systematic shredding of norms and the undermining of the rule of law" on the same day Democrats held impeachment hearings. The speech has been quickly criticized for its political slant and Barr's loyalty to Trump. Release of US Inspector General's FISA Abuse Report Is “Imminent   I know everyone is growing old waiting for it, but we continue to get reports that the FISA Report is coming very soon! And today’s report is not from a news anchor or “someone with knowledge”…..it’s from Attorney General Bill Barr himself. Does that give you some extra comfort? It’s coming, folks!   Attorney General William Barr confirmed on Wednesday that an internal watchdog’s report on the origins of the FBI’s investigation of the Trump campaign’s dealings with Russia during the 2016 election is “imminent.” The highly anticipated report, led by Justice Department Inspector General Michael Horowitz, seeks to establish whether the bureau violated laws and policies that govern the surveillance of American citizens. “It’s been reported and it’s my understanding that it is imminent,” Barr said at a news conference in Memphis, Tennessee. “A number of people who were mentioned in the report are having an opportunity right now to comment on how they were quoted in the report, and after that process is over which is very short, the report will be issued. That’s what the inspector general himself suggests.” The Justice Department inspector general’s office declined to comment, and a spokeswoman for Barr declined to elaborate on his suggestion about the timing. However, two sources confirmed that interview subjects had been notified in recent days that they would soon be shown portions of the review—typically a sign that the report is on the verge of public release. Horowitz had previously indicated, in an Oct. 24 letter to Congress, that he was in the process of finalizing his report. He said he had turned over a draft of his findings to the Justice Department and the FBI for a classification review. “The goal from my standpoint is to make as much of our report public as possible,” Horowitz wrote. “I anticipate that the final report will be released publicly with few redactions.”

READ MORE:  Here's Why President Trump Calls Him Liddle' Adam Schiff Barr has said little about Horowitz’s report, but in a May interview with CBS News, he described the inspector general’s inquiry as limited in scope. “He’s looking at a discrete area that is- that is you know, important, which is the use of electronic surveillance that was targeted at Carter Page,” Barr said, referring to the unpaid Trump campaign adviser whose meetings with Russian officials drew FBI scrutiny during the 2016 campaign. Republicans have alleged that the FBI misrepresented the basis of its application for a warrant to surveil Page to a federal judge, saying the bureau underplayed the importance of the so-called Steele dossier, along with its partisan origins. The warrant was reviewed and renewed multiple times, by judges appointed by presidents of both parties. Asked about the IG report, Page told POLITICO he was "just in the process of confirming specific details with DOJ, but I remain optimistic that this should happen imminently." FBI officials have said in official documents that the true origin of its Russia probe was not the dossier, a compilation of raw intelligence reports by former MI-6 officer Christopher Steele, but a tip that another unpaid Trump campaign adviser, George Papadopoulos, was bragging to an Australian diplomat about how Russia had obtained a trove of Hillary Clinton’s emails. A footnote in the warrant application, which was released by House Republicans over Democrats’ objections, does note the dossier’s link to partisan politics. But it does not specifically disclose its links to the Clinton campaign and the Democratic Party, which had commissioned Steele’s work.Horowitz’s report is wrapping up while a broader investigation into the Russia probe, led by U.S. Attorney John Durham, remains ongoing. Former top CIA officials, including John Brennan, have said they expected to be interviewed and pledged to cooperate. Attorney General William Barr said a release is "imminent" for the Justice Department inspector general's report on alleged Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act abuses. The product of a year-and-a-half-long investigation, Inspector General Michael Horowitz's findings are poised to create a new rift between Republicans and Democrats in their clash over the federal investigation into Russian interference in the 2016 presidential election. "It's been reported and it's my understanding that it is imminent," Barr told reporters Wednesday in Memphis, Tennessee. "A number of people who were mentioned in the report are having an opportunity right now to comment on how they're quoted in the report. And after that process is over, which should be very short, the report will be issued. That’s what the inspector general himself suggests." Deep State "Coup Plot Leader" Seeking Golden Passports The significance of Soviet Commissar turned impeachment coup leader US Congressman Adam Schiff vowing to send President Donald Trump back to his “Golden Throne”, states that if one is to start using precious metal references in regards to what is now occurring in the United States, it must now include the words “Golden Passports”—which refers to the three prime ministers who took to a stage in the ballroom of a five-star London hotel this week offering the world’s wealthiest people “golden passports” and citizenship in their countries in return for hundreds of thousands of pounds of investment or flat “contributions”—a shocking event headlined by former CIA Director David Petraeus on behalf of those soon needing these “Golden Passports” to flee America in order to escape justice for the coup plot crimes they’ve committed against Trump—not least of whom is “coup plot leader” former CIA Director John Brennan who has just threatened Trump with the warning: “May your downfall be swift, your penalty onerous, & your legacy condemned by all”—but whose truest present unhinged rage, along with those of Brennan’s fellow coup plotters, is against the US Attorney General William Barr led Department of Justice that has now blocked all of these state criminals from being able to submit written rebuttals to the charges soon to be leveled against them—a return to legal sanity in America that Barr furthered 48-hours ago by his excoriating the leftist socialist forces backing these coup plotters he says are “shredding norms and the rule of law to sabotage Trump by any means necessary”—and whose retaliation against by these coup plot supporting socialist forces came swiftly with their demanding that Barr be immediately impeached and thrown from power along with Trump. 

According to this report, while the minds of the vast majority of the American people are having their attention diverted to an inconsequential “impeachment clown show” being staged by their coup-plotting socialist forces—few of them realize that this entire fairy tale charade has been specially designed to blunt the catastrophic events soon to strike these socialist forces—events that began in early 2017 when Department of Justice Inspector General Michael Horowitz announced an investigation into why a spying warrant was issued against the Trump Campaign—and investigation that led Horowitz’s boss Attorney General William Barr to tell the US Senate in early 2019 that “spying did occur on the Trump Campaign”—after which Barr ordered US Attorney John Durham to start a probe to get to the bottom of how and why this spying on the Trump Campaign occurred—a probe Durham has now turned into a criminal investigation. The time, scope and massive resources devoted to this Department of Justice investigation into spying on the Trump Campaign during the 2016 Presidential Election, this report continues, is unprecedented in American history—with Inspector General Horowitz alone having hundreds of investigators probing these crimes for nearly three years—but whose most cataclysmic moment came when US Attorney Durham announced a few weeks ago that his criminal investigation now includes the time when President Trump was in office—thus bringing these investigations out of the realm of simple election interference, to ones dealing with sedition and treason.

If the rule of law of fair and equal justice is to be restored in America upon the release of both Inspector General Horowitz's and US Attorney Durham’s criminal investigation findings, this report details, the consequence will be the criminal charging, arresting and placing on trial literally hundreds of coup plot conspirators and co-conspirators—that could reach to the highest levels of power to include President Obama and former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton—most certainly would include former FBI Director James Comey and dozens of top FBI officials working under him—who would be joined by former CIA Director John Brennan and Director of National Intelligence James Clapper, along with nearly one-hundred of their underlings embedded throughout the US Intelligence community—not to mention the intelligence assets of numerous US allies who are known to have aided in this coup plot—but whose most contentious coup plotters criminally charged would be coming from American mainstream media companies and treasonous members of the US Congress. The decision as to whom will, and whom will not be criminally charged in this vast coup plot conspiracy, this report explains, rests with two people—President Trump, who must assess the political and national security implications should a mass arrest event of these coup plotters be undertaken—and—Attorney General Barr, whose assessment must include these mass arrests having a firm basis in US federal law, the Constitution and American history. In President Trump’s assessment, this report notes, no one doubts his having the full backing of his nation’s military and police forces to quell the socialist rebellion a mass arrest event would ignite—a socialist rebellion many experts believe Trump is not only expecting, he’s been planning for. Attorney General Barr’s assessment, this report points out, was just given on Friday evening when his Department of Justice posted a document titled “Attorney General William P. Barr Delivers the 19th Annual Barbara K. Olson Memorial Lecture at the Federalist Society's 2019 National Lawyers Convention”—which in all fact and reality is a full on “Declaration of War” against all of the socialist forces and coup plotters opposing Trump—a war declaration that sees Barr methodically laying out the entire history of America as it relates to the power of the President—sees him damning a leftist Supreme Court ruling that forbids the US military from taking any prisoners of war—has him exactly stating: “Immediately after President Trump won election, opponents inaugurated what they called “The Resistance,” and they rallied around an explicit strategy of using every tool and maneuver available to sabotage the functioning of his Administration”—the evidence of which being true sees Barr noting that 236 Trump nominees have been blocked from taking their posts in order to cripple his government, as opposed to Obama having only 17 of his nominees blocked and Bush having only 4—and in describing these socialist forces he’s preparing to do battle against, sees Barr un-fearfully saying about them: These so-called progressives treat politics as their religion. Their holy mission is to use the coercive power of the State to remake man and society in their own image, according to an abstract ideal of perfection. Whatever means they use are therefore justified because, by definition, they are virtuous people pursing a deific end. They are willing to use any means necessary to gain a momentary advantage in achieving their end, regardless of collateral consequences and the systemic implications. They never ask whether the actions they take could be justified as a general rule of conduct, equally applicable to all sides.

As this grim “Day of Reckoning” draws ever nearer for America and its peoples that will see their nation forever changed, this report concludes, left virtually unknown to all of them is that President Trump has a much clearer agenda than anyone can imagine on both foreign policy and internal affairs—but since he has to stay in power and even stay alive to achieve his objectives—sees his strategy being so refined and subtle that next to no one can see it—with his overall objective is so ambitious that he has to follow random elliptical courses to get from point A to point B, using patterns that throw people off on their comprehension of the man—that includes most independent journalists and so-called alternative analysts, as much as Western mainstream fake-news publishers and a large majority of the population—with his general plan exhaling from one of his favorite mottos: “We will give power back to the people», because the United States and its imperialist web is woven over the world have been in the hands of a few globalist bankers, military industrials and multinationals for more than a century”—and to achieve, he has to end wars abroad, bring back his nation’s soliders, dismantle NATO and the CIA, get control over the Federal Reserve, cut every link with foreign allies, abolish the Swift financial system, demolish the propaganda power of the media, drain the swamp of the Deep State that’s running the spying agencies and disable the shadow government that’s lurking in the Council on Foreign Relations and Trilateral Commission’s offices—in short, he has to destroy the New World Order and its globalist ideology—a huge and dangerous task to say the least—but in less than three years in power, He’s Already Accomplished 50% Off while his still confused and demonically enraged socialist enemies near their final defeat. 2020 Deliberate Implosion of Financial System Being Engineered to Kick-Start New Financial System By Weekly Geopolitical News Reports   A bigger than Lehman Brothers collapse of the financial system is being engineered in order to make way for a new financial system, Asian secret society sources say.  Recent trends in financial markets, notably a stock market bubble of biblical proportions, back up this assertion.  Any financial veteran will tell you that when financial markets fight against reality, reality always wins in the end.  This means stock prices could fall by 90% or more. However, in a sign the financial war is not yet over, European royals disagree, saying, “All of the world’s investment banks have begun to migrate away from the old system, so it is just a matter of time before it seamlessly or frictionlessly just morphs from the old to the new.” This may work for payment systems, ATMs, and credit cards, etc., but not for the Western system of Babylonian debt slavery as a whole.  This system has resulted in the top 1% owning 53.2% of all stocks and mutual funds, and if you add in the next 9%, the rich control 93.2%, leaving the remaining 90% with just 6.8%.  Further proof that this is a system of debt slavery comes from the fact the bottom 90% of the people owe 72.4% of all the debt. https://www.zerohedge.com/s3/files/inline-images/total%20asset%20held%20by%20wealth%20group.jpg?itok=mWryuKbR This stock market, controlled and owned by the super-rich and their high-level servants, has become fraudulent and parasitical and is actually sucking money out of the real economy.  This makes a collapse mathematically inevitable. Let’s take a look at some more numbers that prove this.  From January to October of this year worldwide, $339 billion has been put into bonds and $208 billion has been taken out of stocks, and yet the stock market keeps hitting record highs.  That’s because, since 2009, institutional investors and households have taken $1.9 trillion out of the stock market while corporations, using private central bank funny money, have bought $3.6 trillion of their own shares. https://www.zerohedge.com/s3/files/inline-images/equity%20bond%20flows%20oct%202019_0.jpg?itok=Nxl8qhbg https://www.zerohedge.com/s3/files/inline-images/total%20flows%20buyback_1.jpg?itok=WtOd33NR Plus, according to the Wall Street Journal, 97% of listed companies are not using Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP) in releasing their profits, meaning basically they are cooking their books. https://www.zerohedge.com/markets/wework-disaster-aftermath-97-companies-using-non-gaap-metrics-everything-fake https://www.zerohedge.com/markets/corporate-profits-are-worse-you-think Coca Cola is a good case study.  To quote from The Daily Bell: “If we just go back a few years to 2010, Coca Cola’s annual revenue was $35 billion.  By 2018 the company’s annual revenue had fallen to less than $32 billion.  In 2010, Coca Cola generated $5.06 in profit (earnings) per share.  In 2018, just $1.50.  And Coca Cola’s total equity, i.e. the ‘net worth’ of the business, was $31 billion in 2010.  By 2018, equity had fallen to $19 billion.  So over the past eight years, Coca Cola has lost nearly 40% of its equity, sales are down, and per-share earnings have fallen by 70%.  Clearly the company is in far worse shape today than it was eight years ago.  Yet Coke’s share price has nearly DOUBLED in that period.” To summarize, the families that own the Western (and Japanese) central banks are printing money and handing it to the corporations they also own, while sucking the lifeblood out of 90% of the population. https://www.zerohedge.com/s3/files/inline-images/how%20qe%20works%20in%20practice.jpg?itok=3994DpPy The financial system has become a giant black hole, which makes perverted sense since many of the ruling families worship the black sun. One likely trigger will be the collapse of Deutsche Bank, which just announced a third-quarter loss of 832 million Euros. https://www.cnbc.com/2019/10/30/deutsche-bank-q3-2019-earnings.html This chart of their stock price bears an uncanny resemblance to Lehman Brothers just before they collapsed. https://www.zerohedge.com/s3/files/inline-images/bfm9067.jpg?itok=cVit4Ln5 A collapse of Deutsche Bank would pull down the European Central Bank and bankrupt the EU, the Asian sources say. Needless to say, while it’s easy to spot a bubble, it’s harder to predict when it will burst.  However, the Asian secret society and the White Dragon Society (WDS) sources believe a collapse is likely in 2020. This Week's Report At a Glance France reportedly pushing EU away from dependence on NATO as Macron brands bloc ‘Brain Dead’. EU seeks US-lodged complaint on Amazon allegedly ‘abusing’ its power amid the antitrust probe. At least 100 protesters detained in Paris – Prefecture. Paris police use tear gas, water cannon on ‘yellow vest’ protests anniversary. Orion combat drone crashes near the apartment house in a town of Russia’s central Ryazan Region. During a BBC interview, the Duke of York was asked about Virginia Giuffre, during his answer, the Duke blinked no less than 10 times in the space of just 10 seconds. A couple of weeks ago, Trump said that he wouldn’t rule out a government shutdown. Unless Congress acts in the few days that are left, the government’s funding will expire on November 21st, next Thursday. Interesting timing, now that Q says the harvest has been prepared and soon will be delivered. Confirmed: Iran is now in the midst of a near-total national internet shutdown; realtime network data show connectivity at 7% of ordinary levels after twelve hours of progressive network disconnections as public protests continue. Vladimir Putin: “The Dollar Enjoyed Great Trust Around The World. But For Some Reason, It Is Being Used As A Political Weapon, Imposing Restrictions. Many Countries Are Now Turning Away From The Dollar As A Reserve Currency. US Dollar Will Collapse Soon.” Facebook app is secretly accessing iPhone users’ camera. Facebook says the strange behavior is caused by a bug that was added to the code by accident. A chemistry professor at Henderson State University in Arkansas, who once called ‘Breaking Bad’ one of his favorite shows, has been arrested for allegedly producing methamphetamine together with a partner. Hong Kong protesters unleash stash of petrol bombs; Chinese soldiers clear roads. Boeing says the timing of 737 MAX returns in hands of regulators to approve changes to the jet in the wake of two accidents. 88.61% of the worldwide search market is owned by Google. QAnon drop 3601 shows a video of Big Mike and Hussain disdain for the American Flag. Q: Many who ‘represent’ us, do not love us. Pakistan on Friday began vaccinating millions of children against typhoid fever, a dangerous bacterial infection that can spread through contact or contaminated food and water, in an effort to contain a drug-resistant outbreak of the disease that has infected around 11,000 people since 2016. In response to escalated, student-involved violence during Hong Kong anti-government demonstrations and “riots,” Taiwan’s Ministry of Education has moved to evacuate over 500 students from the semi-autonomous city via a government-chartered flight. As of Friday, nearly half of the Taiwanese student body attending universities in Hong Kong have returned to their home state, according to a November 15 announcement from Taipei. The US National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) has purchased $3.9-billion worth of seats from Russia to transport its astronauts to and from the International Space Station (ISS) since July 2011. As of December 10, 2019, “YouTube may terminate your access, or your Google account’s access to all or part of the Service, if YouTube believes, in its sole discretion, that provision of the Service to you is no longer commercially viable.” In other words, if you have a YouTube channel that YouTube employees decide isn’t profitable enough for Google, then the company has now granted itself the option to completely shut down your account without warning or consequence. US President Donald Trump has moved to issue at least two pardons to US military service members involved in multiple cases associated with charges of war crimes. The commander-in-chief granted Army Maj. Mathew L. Golsteyn and Army 1st Lt. Clint Lorance clemency and restored the rank of Special Warfare Operator Chief Edward Gallagher early Friday evening. Ankara recently raised the issue of the fate of captured Daesh terrorists, arguing that they must be sent back to their countries of origin, where they must be prosecuted in accordance with local laws. Many European states, however, have refused to accept those extradited from Turkey, claiming they were denationalized. Hermann Historica, an auction house in Munich, Germany, is facing backlash for planning to sell 147 items from the Third Reich on November 20. Some of the Third Reich memorabilia to be auctioned off later this month includes an edition of “Mein Kampf,” the 1925 manifesto by Nazi Party leader Adolf Hitler; Hitler’s top hat; and dresses belonging to Hitler’s wife Eva Braun. The dresses were discovered in 40 trunks obtained by US military officials in 1945 in Salzburg, Austria. US Army tests grenade-slinging drones. The Pentagon has been seeking a weapon capable of flushing enemy forces out of cover positions for years, testing a variety of weapons, including other kinds of armed drones. The latest project, a three-rotor drone produced by Australian startup Skyborne Technologies, can be fitted with existing US Army weaponry, including a grenade launcher and shotgun. Syrian President Bashar Assad has scorned the official story of wealthy sex predator Jeffrey Epstein’s apparent suicide, suggesting that people like him, or the late White Helmets founder, knew too much for the rich and powerful. Epstein “was killed because he knew a lot of vital secrets connected with very important people in the British and American regimes, and possibly in other countries as well,” Assad told Russian channel Rossiya-24 in an interview. Ecuador’s President Lenin Moreno continues to occupy the Carondelet Palace despite a brief relocation to Guayaquil as he faced mass protests over an austerity package, while Chilean President Sebastian Pinera is hanging onto power despite over three weeks of massive, daily protests that have pushed his approval rating to nine percent. “Bolivia is very rich, it is said that it has 70 percent of the essential material to make the new batteries. We all know that there is a change in energy taking place in the world,” former Uruguayan president Jose Mujica said. Internet Footballer Cristiano Ronaldo heads the ranking of the most popular 2019 Instagram accounts. He is the most-followed person on the photo-sharing app platform with almost 182 million followers. Instagram’s own account was ranked first with almost 312 million followers. As of the first quarter of 2019, Twitter averaged 330 million monthly active users, a decline from its all-time high of 336 MAU in the first quarter of 2018. As of the first quarter of 2019, the company switched its user reporting metric to monetizable daily active users (mDAU). With 2.41 billion monthly active users as of the second quarter of 2019, Facebook is the biggest social network worldwide. In the third quarter of 2012, the number of active Facebook users surpassed one billion, making it the first social network ever to do so. In 2018, companies in Italy lost over 8 million U.S. dollars to cyberattacks. This represented a 20 percent increase compared to the figure for 2017. As companies embrace digital innovation, they become increasingly dependent on the Internet. The U.S. states with the largest losses through reported cybercrime in 2018 was California that reported a loss of more than 450 million U.S. dollars through cybercrime, more than double the amount of second-placed New York, which reported 201 million U.S. dollars of losses to the IC3. Strongest EQ in Europe M4.5 Greece Strongest EQ in US M3.5 California Strongest EQ on the Planet M5.3 Chile Deepest EQ M2.7 122 km PNG Strongest EQ in Europe M4.6 Iceland Strongest EQ in US M3.6 Alaska Strongest EQ on the Planet M5.2 Morocco Deepest EQ M4.7 233km PNG Thank you to our readers and subscribers for your continued support.  If you would like to further help the Great Awakening Team and our efforts, you can donate, sign up for a paid subscription, or purchase something from the GAR shop. - The Great Awakening Team CENSORSHIP DOCUMENTARIES DOCUMENTARY LIBRARY / 32 UNIQUE CATEGORIES / 300 DOCUMENTARIES Arts /// Photography /// Music /// Videos The Journey of Awakening The Great Awakening Map https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hZeoyYOYgg4 User Guide Menu User Guide /// Our Positive Outlook /// The Big Picture  /// Overview - Summary /// Topic Descriptions /// Great Awakening Map /// Deep State Map /// Programming /// Article Classification  

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Global Awakening

Impeachment Inquiry https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wLDHEHF3mo Global Trafficking & Corruption https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=10&v=VQOOxOl9l80&feature=emb_logo  Geopolitical The Deep State Map https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0JByqsgu50 Global Geophysical Global Weather https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=88&v=gRITdWF5tJk&feature=emb_logo Health Watch The Healing Web https://naturalnewsblogs.com/how-fluoride-a-toxin-got-in-our-water-and-iodine-a-critical-nutrient-disappeared-from-medical-school-textbooks/

True History https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kRYG4Ax7KA

Cosmic Disclosure

Hidden Truths The Event  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENAv5kjebt0 Spirituality https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2RFZQjLMV6Y Path of Awakening https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwk-oc2QKHc WATCH LIST   Impeachment Inquiry, US House of Representatives skips the Vote on procedural articles of Impeachment moving forward with an Inquiry only? The House Committee chairmen have changed the rules regarding whistleblower testimony to include "hearsay" and the exclusion/barring of any Republican Congressional questioning of all witness subpoena to testify before all committees regarding Presidential Impeachment Inquiries. Congressmen Adam Schiff and Jerrold Nadler a stone-cold traitor guilty of spearheading a highly organized conspiracy to commit treason and overthrow the POTUS, Schiff is also guilty of lying testimony in front of Congress with regards to Trump's phone call with Ukraine's President and fomenting war with Russia based on a patently false pretext and bogus allegations.  The Mueller Report exposes Adam Schiff who "Knowingly" leaked and reported false information to the press. Global Trade Wars are a cover for neutralizing all tariffs in order to usher in new global currencies backed by gold. The Global Reserve Banking System will be dismantled and the SWIFT Global Trading platform will be replaced with GESARA. Internet and Social Media Alternative News Censorship lockdown continues across all platforms. Google, FB, and Twitter. Look for President Trump, the DOJ and 30 plus US State AG's to file class-action and anti-trust lawsuits in Federal Courts. New Earthquake swarms in northern CA increase predictions for the Cascadia Subduction Zone and New Madrid Fault Line.  New Government Reports on the increase in midwest earthquakes and oil fracking effects. A Russian scientist has issued a new prediction for the US to experience a 9.0 earthquake in 2019. UFO Disclosure is heating up, as daily sightings are being reported by US Navy and Airforce pilots. There is insider talk of a Fake Alien Invasion set for October? Timing is tied to change the MSM narrative upon negative breaking events; FISA Declass, Clinton Foundation, Comey IG Report, etc. Nick Pope reviews all the evidence. Antarctica continues to reveal anomalies and evidence of advanced civilizations. Disclosure of Pre-adamites going back 55,000 to 65,000 years ago. Testimony suggests well-preserved cities and advanced technologies. China Lake earthquakes to reveal the destruction of a large underground city. Run by the Deep State using the cover story of a secret Navy Weapons Military Base. New testimony will reveal a secret MK-Ultra mind-control training lab for 10s of 1,000s of kids held in cages. Facebook whistleblower blows the lid-off in a newly released Mark Zuckerberg Dossier.  Sighting abuse of the child prodigy using MK-Ultra techniques, and a controlled asset of Larry Summers President of Harvard, Financial Advisor to President Clinton, connected to DARPA and CIA programs.  Sheryl Sandberg assistant to Summers, COO of FB and Mark's direct handler inside FB. IG Report on James Comey,  Comey got a pass from AG Barr on leaking classified information to the press but will be indicted and prosecuted for multiple criminal violations dealing with his signing off on 4 FISA requests. This will begin the process of disclosing Spygate, and all its conspirators. The Structure Change / Alliance Exposure Mass Corruption Now Ready to be Revealed to the General Public, starting with economy crisis looming, closing the Federal Reserve/Central Banking  System, voter fraud in key Congressional & Senate seats, FBI & DOJ false Russian collusion, and the release of 300 pages of the Carter Page FISA redactions will lead to the much greater exposure of the Obama Administration's corruption, treason, and evil practices from the Deep State/Shadow Government. As of 4 Quarter 2019, the IG and DOJ Investigations have been completed by John Huber/IG/Horowitz/AG Barr on the Clinton Emails Scandal & Foundation Violations, FISA Abuse, and Spygate/Obama Administration Collusion. FISA Report Presidential Order to release 300 supplemental pages of redactions to AG Barr, said to be released in the Fall of 2019. Mass Arrests total 121,848 + Sealed Indictments, 35 US Judicial Districts (increases in indictments averaging 5,000 a month) Continued Mass Global Resignations 9,334; Government Senators & Congressmen, Fortune 500 CEO's, and Banking Execs. Global Peace Initiatives vs War Threats: North Korea, Venezuela, Ukraine, Iran, Syria, and Israel/Saudi Arabia signs of the total collapse in Deep State controlling influence in 3rd world governments. Exposure & Defeat of The Deep State/Shadow Government/Cabal/Illuminati/Syndicate Global Deflationary Markets Crisis / Global Currency Reset/return to the Gold Backed Standard Currency / RV / Replacement of NESARA/GESARA for SWIFT Trading System / Global Debt Jubilee / Refund of 21 to 71 trillion in confiscated Deep State/Cabal funds Global Trade Agreements Naturalized tariffs with EU, Stalled Talks with China, Russian, Canada, and Mexico agree to neutralize all trade in a new agreement. Trade War with China exposing more than just Trade, global naturalized tariffs, Technology Thefts, Political Tampering with US Elections and US Congressmen and Senator's payoffs. Congress Approves Legislation to release sealed 911 documents, exposing the Deep State inside job. Remaining Sealed CIA Kennedy Assassination Papers to be released, along with 911 Saudi Arabia collusion docs & Pearl Harbor papers from WWII Rouge Planetary System moving through our Solar System, bringing CME's, Planet X Solar System, Nibiru, Meteorite Showers, EMP, Alien SpaceCraft Sighting,  Closings of Planetary Observatories, questions regarding New Mexico's Observatory Increasing Global Geophysical Volcanic & Earthquake Activity, Hawaii, Pacific Rim, Latin, and South American, Antarctica (Galactic Energy Waves increasing Sun's activity) Global Geomagnetic Storms increase in larger magnitude CME's from Sun (The 1000x Galactic Flash in the nearest star system Alpha Centauri was recorded by NASA) Global Weather: 2019 escalating Droughts, Hurricanes, Sahara Sand Storm, Heat Waves, Rising Oceans Levels, Flooding, Solar System Planetary Climate Change, Chemtrails / Terraforming, HAARP Weather Wars. Health & Wellness: Truth About Cancer, The Plant Paradox, Truth About Vaccines, Big Pharma Industrial Complex. Earth History: 3,000 Global Pyramids, the cover-up of Ancient Giant skeletons by the Smithsonian Institute, Ancient Civilizations Ruins discovered between 1,000 to 6,000 feet below Sea Level. Disclosure: Secret Space Programs, 10 Programs, DOD $6.5 - $21 trillion missing. Partial vs Full Disclosure, Alliance agreement as to Solar Warden partial disclosure. Science/Technology: Department of Defense suppression of 6,000 patents, reversed technology, antigravity, warp drive, zero-point energy, cures for all diseases, age regression, replicators (all foods/clothing/metals, etc.) NASA: Plasma Energy Cloud, Energy Waves, Galactic Flash, 26,000 Year Grand Cycle The Path of Awakening: Global Mass Meditation, Jared Rand participant count now over 500,000 worldwide. DISCLAIMER: All statements, claims, views and opinions that appear anywhere on this site, whether stated as theories or absolute facts, are always presented by The Great Awakening Report (GAR) as unverified—and should be personally fact checked and discerned by you, the reader.  Any opinions or statements herein presented are not necessarily promoted, endorsed, or agreed to by GAR, those who work with GAR, or those who read or subscribe to GAR.  Any belief or conclusion gleaned from content on this site is solely the responsibility of you the reader to substantiate.  Any actions taken by those who read material on this site are solely the responsibility of the acting party.  You are encouraged to think for yourself and do your own research.  Nothing on this site is meant to be believed without question or personal appraisal.

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