#savage mindset

[the-most-humble-blog]

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Humans: The Ultimate Flex—Suck It, Animals and Aliens

Proof We’re the Crown Jewel of Evolution (and Why No One Else Even Comes Close)

Let’s not sugarcoat it: humans are the GOAT species. We’ve got opposable thumbs, complex languages, and the ability to feel existential dread at 2 a.m. over a dumb thing we said in 7th grade. No other species—or hypothetical alien race—has anything on us.

Think I’m exaggerating? Let me prove it with some brain and logic magic that’ll make you want to high-five yourself. Animals? Aliens? They can sit down and take notes.

1. Opposable Thumbs: The OG Superpower

First, let’s talk thumbs. Most animals are stuck with paws, hooves, or tentacles. But humans? We have these magical little appendages that let us write novels, build cities, and scroll endlessly through TikTok.

What Makes Us Special: Our thumbs can touch every other finger, giving us precision grip. That’s why we’re holding smartphones while chimps are still throwing poop.

Think about it: If aliens show up without thumbs, we’re dominating the handshake game.

2. Pattern Recognition: Brain Magic Level 100

Your brain is basically a biological Sherlock Holmes.

You See Faces in Clouds: That’s pareidolia—a fancy way of saying your brain loves patterns so much, it creates them even when they don’t exist.

You Predict the Future: Well, kind of. Your brain analyzes past experiences to anticipate what’s coming next. That’s why you can dodge a falling object or, more importantly, guess the next plot twist in The Bachelor.

Here's a Thought: Meanwhile, a lion can’t even tell that the waterhole is a trap until it’s too late.

3. Language: The Ultimate Mic Drop

Other animals communicate, sure. Dolphins click, bees dance, and your cat meows at you for food. But humans? We’re dropping sonnets, memes, and political debates.

Infinite Combinations: With 26 letters (or however many your language has), we can create endless words and ideas.

Aliens Could Never: If they don’t show up speaking Shakespeare, are they even worth the hype?

Humble Brag: We’re so good at language, we invented emojis to make up for not having enough ways to roast each other.

4. Memory: A Blessing and a Curse

Your brain doesn’t just store information—it rewrites and replays it like a director’s cut of your life.

No Other Animal Remembers Like This: Elephants may never forget, but they’re not lying awake at night cringing over awkward trunk waves.

Your Mind Is a Time Machine: You can travel to the past (memories) and imagine the future (dreams). Animals? They live in the moment like some kind of zen monks.

Fun Flex: Humans can create fictional worlds better than reality. Ever see a dolphin write Game of Thrones? Didn’t think so.

5. Problem-Solving: We Literally Break Physics for Fun

No other species solves problems like we do.

Fire: We didn’t just discover it; we harnessed it.

Tools: We’re the only species that looked at a stick and thought, “Let’s kill something big with this and eat it.”

Space Travel: Meanwhile, most animals don’t even understand up and down.

Alien Diss: If they haven’t figured out intergalactic travel yet, are they really that advanced?

6. Humor: The Ultimate Sign of Intelligence

Here’s the big one: humans laugh.

Why It’s Special: Humor requires recognizing absurdity, connecting ideas, and delivering them with timing.

No Competition: Animals might look funny, but they’re not cracking jokes.

Weird Thought: If aliens can’t meme, do they even matter?

7. Consciousness: The Unbeatable Crown

You’re aware of yourself. You can ask questions like, “Why am I here?” and then immediately distract yourself with cat videos.

No Other Species Has This Level of Meta: Animals act on instinct. You can reflect on your actions—and cringe at them later.

We are our Brain: Sure, consciousness makes us anxious, but at least we’re not stuck chewing cud and staring at nothing.

Humanity Wins, Every Time

So, yeah. Are humans perfect? No. But are we leagues ahead of anything else on Earth—or in the universe (so far)? Hell yes. Our brains, thumbs, and ability to crack dark jokes about it all make us the species to beat.

Animals? Cute, but predictable. Aliens? Call us when they invent sarcasm. Until then, humanity reigns supreme.

Think humans are awesome? (Of course you do—you’re one of us.) Follow The Most Humble Blog for more unapologetic takes and hilariously sharp insights into why we’re the best.

[lipikkawrites]

No body is responsible for my happiness..; but I appreciate those who add to it..

Thank you for existing..!!

- @lipikkawrites

[wishchip106]

damn me and who 😭😭💔💔💔

[punkpandapatrixk]

[PPA Masterlist] [corresponding PAC]

🥀Sad Bitch Lilith ★ Concept Affirmations

🥀concept🥀

I am a BAD BITCH LILITH. I embody the Dark Feminine and am comfortable in my skin. There is not a man alive who can make me sad. I am in control of my responses and reactions to everything that is said to and about me. I am aware of everything that is happening in and around me. Words don’t hurt me. Words don’t impact me in any negative way. I know who I am. I am a BAD BITCH LILITH. I am empowered in my embodiment of the Dark Divine Feminine.

🥀e-motions🥀

I honour my emotions, all the good and the bad. I take good care of myself on days I don’t feel so great. There is not a man alive who could tell me that my feelings are bad. My feelings are my golden compass. My e-motions are energy in motion; they help me understand the inner workings of my mind and soul. I am at peace with the ebb and flow of my emotions. I am a divine being in tune with the melodies of Cosmos. I honour my emotions, all the good and the bad.

🥀ego🥀

My ego exists to protect me from other people’s disrespect. It is my ego that demands BETTER treatment from those who deal with me. I understand my ego’s responses and reactions. I have a healthy relationship with my ego. My ego sits quietly at the back, in support of my intuition who is at the wheel of my healthy navigation. My ego and intuition are balanced. They are both my reliable compass as they show me who’s a friend and who’s a fiend. My ego exists to protect me from other people’s disrespect.

🥀cunning🥀

I am the Countess of Cunning. I possess the sharpest intelligence. I observe everything around me, both the seen and unseen. I notice all verbal and non-verbal cues. I have strong intuition which helps me know what’s going on behind the screens. I see through people’s masks. I intuit people’s REAL intentions. I navigate through all the lies. I calculate in the dark. I turn the tables around me. Everything falls into place in my biggest favour. I am invincible in my cunningness, intelligence, intellect and intuition; and I am charming for days. I am invincible in my cunningness and beauty. I embrace all of that without apology. I am the Countess of Cunning.

🥀calculating🥀

The cost of messing with me is high for those who seek to harm me. I possess genius level intelligence that is cold and calculating. I get even with my enemies which results in me coming on top, always. My cold, calculating genius saves me from potential dangers. I skilfully turn the tables around. My emotions do not get in the way. My intellect leads the way. I manifest my highest destiny. I thrive in my own ways. I always win in this world of my desired reality. I am supported and safeguarded by my Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides. The cost of messing with me is high for those who seek to harm me.

🥀crazy🥀

I live courageously as myself, no matter the opposition. I bask in the glory of my eccentricity. I was born with uniqueness that is my own and it is my birthright to feel comfortable in my own skin. I shine all of my Light and express all of my Dark. I am both Venus and Lilith. I am both soft and crazy. This is my power. I love me deeply. I appreciate me honestly. I am a true friend to myself. I protect the core of my being with respect. I like who I am becoming. I am becoming my authentic self. I am proud of the child I have always been. I am my biggest hype man. I live courageously as myself, no matter the opposition.

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

[sarnai4]

Prison Again

I am a major fan of Dragons, but I'll admit it's rife with plot points that don't get fully used in my eyes. Another one of those was in "Something Rotten on Berserker Island." Dagur's turned on by his Berserkers and imprisoned. This all happens pretty quickly. There's the revolt, he's put in prison, Snotlout breaks him out, and they become the dynamic duo, powering my love of their friendship (that I STILL don't think was shown enough, but okay. That's what fanfics are for, I guess). Still, there's so much that could have happened.

First off, Savage shouldn't have done the coup that day. Of all the days, he literally picked the time when the Berkians were going to show up. Seriously? That's the equivalent of trying to usurp the throne the same day when some of the king's best allies are coming for a special feast. The level of arrogance/stupidity is hilarious.

The next factor is how Dagur's fear was proven true. He admitted that the reason he let people think he killed Oswald was so that they'd think he was tough enough to lead them. That's another way of saying he didn't think they'd believe he was tough enough if he simply took over. He couldn't just be himself. That wouldn't work. They wouldn't respect him. He had to be Dagur the Deranged, the feared chief. So, he goes against his own beliefs when he turns good. He tries out the alternative he could have the first time...and he was right. They didn't respect him. As soon as he stops being evil and threatening to his people, they turn on him. Sure, not everyone does, but I also wish we got a better idea of how many were part of this coup. It's even the first time since turning good that we see him interact with the other Berserkers again. This would be devastating. You finally turn over a new leaf to become a good person and the people you've been trying to lead just throw you in a cell. What makes this hurt even more is how much Berserkers value loyalty. This is what Dagur was teaching Heather. It's why he was shocked that the Hunters deserted. Loyalty is important in that culture, but they blatantly disregarded this to betray him. Lastly, the icing on the pain cake is that he really does care about his Vikings. Even back when he was a mean kid, there were signs that he cared. I often think back to the Skrill ordeal. Alvin referred to the dragon as his. When Dagur corrected him, he said it was theirs (referring to his Berserkers too). Easily, Dagur could've just been thinking about himself, but he was still thinking about his group as a whole. So, even bad Dagur did care about them. Imagine how much of a blow that would be to get betrayed after he tried to openly treat them with kindness.

A bigger part of this to me is the fact that Dagur didn't just get put into a cell. With context, he'd spent 3 years locked up, broke his people out, then some or all of them might have just put him right back in. We really don't know the type of mental toll that took on him. Sure, it's pretty obvious that it messed him up, but that's why this scene to me matters so much. There's the emotional betrayal combined with the fact that he probably promised himself he'd never become a prisoner again. Unlike others who have tried, the Berserkers even use the smartest way to apprehend him. The Outcasts had him in the cell, relatively free, and the Hunters and Riders tied him up. Neither option worked, but the Berserkers use chains because they know him and are more aware of what he's capable of. Sadly, if anyone could have probably kept him in prison for the rest of his life, I think it's the Vikings who have been around him his entire life.

The last thing from the episode that I wanted to see was what happened to the traitors. We never find out what Savage's fate was. Did he get executed? Imprisoned? Could have been either, but it's never mentioned. I just feel like there's a lot of potential where Dagur's made a prisoner again, but it's by his own Vikings. So, one of these days, I'll make it into a fanfic.

[felineandhustle]

WHEN HE/SHE SAYS: “YOU WILL GET OVER IT ”

BUT

STEVE MARABOLI WROTE : “I’M NOT CRYING BECAUSE OF YOU , YOU ARE NOT WORTH IT , I’M CRYING BECAUSE MY DELUSION OF WHO YOU WERE, WAS SHATTERED BY THE TRUTH OF WHO YOU ARE.”

[randomnameless]

So this may be an odd ask, but if you could pick a real-world culture to be the basis of a Fire emblem nation in a future game, which ones would they be?

Hmm...

Given what Fodlan did to Almyra...

I mean, we're on par with "Verdane was inspired by Persia" from Jugdral, and we're not in the early 1990s anymore, so I'm not really trusting IS with any "real world culture" anymore.

But for some sort of revenge bias - after Almyra and TS, well, Hyzante - I'd like to see IS, try to get designs and clues from the Middle East, but without the 1800s bias that ultimately created Almyra.

I know FE isn't like, an Assassin's Creed game so you can't explore "real world cultures" that much, but if they could just take inspiration for clothes and designs from one "real world" place without slapping obvious prejudices it'd be nice.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[impmage]

Sometimes media is a joy to watch and important connections to relevant ideas are made.

Keep a tile open.

Recent watches: Adam Savage on Youtube, and Miniscule: Valley of the Lost Ants (co-directed by the daughter of Moebius).

Tile Puzzle.

Adam Savage recently reworked his shop space. He offers fantastic advice about organizing your maker space, through explaining his philosophy and thought process.

The ‘scientist’ ant works on a tile puzzle. In the next part of the scene we see his shop and archive space.

This movie is a gem!

[motivatedsavages]

Personality Equals Personal Reality: 10 Ways to Rewire Who You Are and Transform Your Life

Your outer world is shaped by your inner identity. Learn how your thoughts, emotions, and habits create your personal reality. Discover 10 powerful ways to shift your personality and build a life you actually want. You ever feel like you’re stuck in a loop? The same frustrations. The same arguments. The same limiting thoughts. Maybe the same goals that have been on your vision board for the…

[the-most-humble-blog]

🔥 REBLOG If You Agree!

💬 COMMENT If You Have Thoughts!

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The Brain’s Magic: How Your Mind Reads the ᵾᶰᴿᵋᴬᵭᵃᴮʟᵋ͟͟͞

Can You Still Call Yourself Human If You’re This F☰☰king Amazing?

Our brains are incredible biological machines that can decode the undecodable, make sense of chaos, and turn gibberish into understanding. You’ve probably seen those memes or tests where the letters in a sentence are jumbled, replaced with symbols, or entirely flipped. And yet, somehow, your mind calmly steps in and says, “I got this,” assembling the scrambled mess into meaning.

Why? Because your brain isn’t just functional—it’s damn near magical. But let’s get into the messy, hilarious, and downright extraordinary ways your brain proves every day why the universe needs you.

1. Your Brain, the Overachiever

First off, let’s acknowledge the absurdity of what your brain can do. You’re sitting there, possibly sleep-deprived, scrolling through social media while multitasking a mental to-do list. And yet, you see a sentence like this:

“Y0uR Br@!n 5T!lL r3c0gN!z3s p@77ern5 & m@k35 it m3@ningful.”

… and you just get it. You don’t need a translation guide. Your brain leaps over logic like a gymnast and lands perfectly on comprehension.

Reality is a stand-up comedian:

Your brain: a quantum computer that can decode unreadable text. Also your brain: forgets why you walked into the kitchen.

The same organ that turns chaos into understanding also Googles “symptoms of mild death” every time you get a headache.

2. Pattern Recognition: The Mind’s Hidden Flex

Here’s where things get spooky. Your brain isn’t just reading symbols—it’s recognizing patterns, filling gaps, and using context to solve puzzles in milliseconds. This isn’t something you learned; it’s baked into your DNA.

Fun Fact:

Studies show that 93% of adults can read a sentence where the first and last letters of every word are correct, but everything in between is scrambled. Your brain doesn’t even flinch.

Let’s put this into perspective: Computers need programmers, algorithms, and updates to achieve half the things your brain does on autopilot. Meanwhile, your mind’s out here solving puzzles like Sherlock Holmes at 3 AM with no coffee.

Your brain is that one friend who doesn’t study for the test but still scores higher than everyone else. Smug, but you love it anyway.

3. The Ultimate Biological Quantum Computer

Your brain isn’t just smart—it’s a show-off.

Neurons: You’ve got about 86 billion of them, and they’re firing off messages at speeds of up to 268 miles per hour. Faster than your Wi-Fi, honestly.

Processing Power: Your brain can handle around 10 quadrillion calculations per second. That’s the equivalent of a supercomputer with a personality (and occasional existential dread).

But here’s the kicker: your brain isn’t just processing facts—it’s synthesizing them into experiences. It’s why you can laugh at memes, cry during Toy Story 3, and somehow still navigate rush-hour traffic without committing vehicular manslaughter.

4. Can Machines Compete? Not a Chance

Artificial intelligence? Cute. Sure, machines can replicate some human functions, but your brain operates on a level AI can only dream of.

AI struggles with context. You? You can figure out when someone’s being sarcastic just by their tone.

Machines need explicit instructions. Your brain? It casually interprets nonsense like,“C@n u 3v3n r34d th!s?” …without breaking a sweat.

Imagine a robot trying to figure out your drunk texts. “Dinnrs @ 9, bt wtf hapen 2 keys?” Your brain decodes that in half a second. AI would implode.

5. Why This Matters: You’re Not an Accident

Let’s get serious for a second. Your ability to read scrambled text, pick up on patterns, and make sense of the seemingly senseless isn’t just a party trick. It’s evidence of how extraordinary you are.

Consider This: Your consciousness isn’t some random byproduct of biology. It’s a vital thread in the infinite web of existence. Every time you recognize patterns, connect ideas, or laugh at a well-timed meme, you’re proving that you’re not just surviving—you’re thriving.

ᵀ͡ʰᵉ ⱻ̷ᶰᴵᵛᴱʳˢᵉ ⱻ͜ᵉᵉᴅˢ ᵞᵒᵘ̷!

ᵞᴱˢ, ⱻ͞ᵐ ᵀʟᴋᴵⱭᴺᴳ ᴛᴼ ⱻⱭᴜ͡.!

You are a living, breathing node in the infinite network of reality. Even if you’ve doubted yourself in the past, even if the world tries to convince you that you’re ordinary, remember this:

Your mind isn’t just a tool—it’s proof that the universe is capable of creating something extraordinary. And every time you use it, you reaffirm your place in the fabric of existence.

Sure, your brain is powerful. But let’s not forget it’s also the same brain that makes you forget passwords and cry over fictional characters. Nobody’s perfect, but at least you're human, and that's close enough.

Love truth bombs like this? Follow The Most Humble Blog for more takes that roast nonsense and remind you why the universe can’t function without you.

[clownacademygraduate]

Considering y’all belief that being a part of a marginalized group makes you inherently morally pure and by extension y’all’s insistence to only portray pre-colonization societies as Perfect Utopias Where Everyone Was Progressive And No One Committed Any Of The Leftist Cardinal Sins I’m starting to think y’all don’t see these people are human beings

[daisys-notes]

"I'm JuSt SaYiNg WhAt I tHiNk" - An Insecure Jerk.

Discover in my new blog how "I’m just saying what I think" often hides insecurity and ignorance. This witty blog explores the psychology of blunt honesty, self-glorification and the importance of empathy. Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words.

So, you’re the type who “just says what you think.” But really, you’re just a walking billboard of insecurity! Every time you spew those words, you’re not performing some heroic act of honesty; you’re just masking your own deep insecurities. The louder you shout about being ‘sHaRinG an hOnEsT oPiniOn,’ the dumber you sound. Sometimes, you just need to shut it. Let’s clear something up: the world…

[josephquinnswhore]

Little bird - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel is a merciless hunter for sport, seeking many anew victim when he comes across you. who changes everything.

word count: 3.8k

content warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONSUMING. joel is basically a psycho? he kills for sport, control freak, stalking, murder, dubcon, age gap, power dynamic, manipulation, gaslighting, forceful face fucking, reader spews on Joel’s cock, blood play, forced proximity, m orgasm, fingering, m and f oral receiving, f orgasm, pet names such as; little bird, birdie, princess, daddy.

Joel had adapted to the outbreak effortlessly, without thought, like a bird jumping from its nest, like instinct. It is in his nature alike to theirs, to adapt through the conditions to ensure survival for their species without second thought for consequence. Even after what had happened to his daughter.

The instance of her unnecessary death had sent Joel spiral into this mindset, serial killing and torture. Not even out of necessity, supplies, he just found a sense of control in the act.

He is constantly covered in blood, his hands, neck and clothes all had stains on them. But he found comfort in the act of squeezing his large hands around someone’s frail neck, seeing the light fade from their eyes.

Paired travellers were his preference. The men always tried to be heroes, and Joel found it amusing that they always thought they’d beat him in battle, underestimating Joel's pent up rage and obsession for control. His strength is unmatched—survival skill and pure animalistic rage is channelled with each plea for mercy.

He’d seen many people around him change, good hearted folk who had clawed so far deep into the instinctual rage of strength and determination within themselves. Just so they had what it takes to survive this world.

But Joel—this darkness was raging inside of him before the outbreak, before any real need to access this side for survival had even come into play. With decades of experience, he had become skilled at stalking, especially. Observing.

Often he had thoughts about doing bad things to women and men that he acted out on. He couldn’t find a goddamn ounce of sympathy within himself as he hunted people, stalking his next victims through every state and terrain.

It was sport for Joel, a comfort as he realises that everyone’s life is in his hands, that he gets to decide who lives and dies. That he remained victorious. Too brutal and savage for anyone to defeat.

Notoriously good at what he did, he had more blood on his hands than probably anyone, finding the stalking as exhilarating as the kill.

It had never been anything more than that, until now.

Until he had seen you, two days prior.

He had taken one glance at you, and his feet of their own accord, had started trailing you. Following from a distance as the memorises the size and depth of your footprints in the snow. Since then, he’d been listening in on the two of you bickering about how lost you were, namely you—terrified about where you were, and where you were going.

Walking through the thick snowfall of the mountains, carrying that overloaded bag that made your shoulders sag. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d see your face crumble in pain as you try to adjust the straps of the bag, or beg the young man you traveled with to put some items into his own bag to take some weight off your shoulders.

Watching every interaction between you and this man from the past two days, he could conclude that he was your boyfriend. He hated this boy, the way he walked ahead of you, made you keep first watch after a gruelling day of travelling.

You don’t argue or seem to mind which Joel concedes is a product of this being a constant for you.

He gathers that more than likely, you didn’t understand how you were being taken advantage of. That this boy didn’t care about you, not the way he did.

The thought infuriated him, sending a rush of heat through his body as he clutched onto the falling bark of a tree he had hidden behind, observing you through the forest, the only thing that separates you from him, is a small clearance of flat ground to your small, makeshift camp.

A natural formation of a cave like structure made of rock. All you had to keep you warm was a freying sleeping bag and the arms of the boy wrapped around you.

Joel thinks about all the ways he’d take care of you. Giving you his thick, insulated winter coat, lighting a fire for you in his cabin. Keeping watch the entire evening so you could rest your fragile body.

The more he thinks, the more he fuels his own obsession. He wonders what your skin feels like under his own sinful ones, wonders what your cries would sound like, if you’d give into him or run.

For the first time in years, he doesn’t want to kill, he doesn’t plan on wrapping his thick hands around your neck to crush your oesophagus. He doesn’t think about reaching for his sharpened hunting blade and driving it to the hilt into the soft, warm flesh of your neck.

No, you were different. So pretty, so mistreated. He had to take care of you. Bring you into his warm hands like an injured bird in need of delicate care.

You’re exhausted beyond belief. The old boots you wear are barely holding together, even with the duct tape you’d wrapped around the collapsing soul, and even that was wearing off the front of the shoe.

You know you can’t risk sliding them off for a moment to dig your fingers into your heels to relieve the ache, in fear of infected, or people.

It’s not ideal to stop here, in the middle of the snowfall, freezing your asses off. You’re so lost, and afraid.

There’s a sense of bitterness rising inside of you as you watch your boyfriend sleep, you love him, with each beat of your heart… but you needed to sleep too. If only.

Hours pass of you staring into the clearance of trees and snow, of nothing. Not a bird, not a wisp of wind. The lack of anything happening only fuelled the burning in your dried eyes, lulling them to close, just for a moment.

You don’t know that you’d fallen asleep, standing upright against the tree you were keeping watch from until you’re awoken by a blood curdling scream.

Shaking you out of your slumber, you turn to see your boyfriend is gone from the makeshift camp.

A sense of dread buries itself deep into your skin.

“No.. fuck.. no! Jacob!” You cry out, ignoring the ache in your feet as you run back the way you heard the scream. Holding your handgun in front of you cautiously, there’s another scream.

But it sounds like it’s encircling you. Surrounding you from every direction.

“Jacob!” You scream back, tears welling your eyes.

This was your fault.

A spec of blood catches your eye, like a trail of a clue leading you to a horrific mystery. But you follow, urging yourself to run as you come to see your boyfriends body tied to a lonesome tree in front of a small nearby cabin.

“Jacob… Jacob it’s me,” your voice cracks, tossing your gun down onto the snow as you reach for the tightly knotted ropes that had him restrained against the tree. Jacob’s voice is muffled by a rope fastened into his mouth, keeping his head upright against the tree.

Despite his desperate attempts to warn you of the looming predator behind you.. it’s hopeless.

The blood has created a small pool around him, seeping into the snow. “I’m gonna help you okay? I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

A sound behind you makes your fingers freeze in place around the rope, the familiar sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back—ready to fire.

Frantically, you look to the ground and realise that your gun is no longer where you’d tossed it. The only evidence of it was a deep imprint in the snow.

A deep, southern voice carries strong through the short distance between you, sending a nauseating shiver down your spine. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

You raise your hands above your head, kneeling on the ground, eyeing your boyfriend with tears in your eyes, mouthing to him with a tremble of your jutted bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“Turn around.” The deep voice instructs.

Obeying, you turn your body towards your captor, on your knees with your hands still in a surrendering gesture. Eyes stuck on his shoes that were in much better condition than your own, practically new looking.

The cool metal of your own gun traces the shape of your chin, lifting your face upward to meet the gaze of an older man. His dark brown eyes shift as he takes in every feature of your face, committing every detail to memory.

You’re even prettier up close.

“Please don’t do this, I .. we don’t have anything to give. We’re starving as it is and our supplies are worn.” The plea goes ignored, but you’re desperate.

“I’ll do anything, just help Jacob, don’t let him die like this,” you beg, fat tears rolling down past your waterline.

So pretty when you cry. Those bright, big eyes begging him to help you. It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Oh? You’ll do anything will you?” Darkly, he chuckles. “Remember this promise, little bird.”

The man holds your gun in his hand and grabs at you, one hand grasping the back of your head and bringing it flush to his crotch, rubbing your soft face over the hard bludge of his cock.

A breathy moan escapes him at how you protest, the palms of your hands against his thighs attempt to push him away.

“Tss. Maybe you don’t care about your little boyfriend after all, do you?” He scolded you.

A dry sob slips past your cracked lips, seeming to give up against the harsh grip of the man. A twisted rumble from within his chest vibrates against your palms splayed on his jeans.

“Unbutton my jeans and take out my cock,” the older man sneers, in a means to humiliate you.

Your cold, trembling fingers work at the tight button, and it pops open with a sense of release as his stomach slightly overhangs the right fitting denim. The zipper is freezing—but you manage to keep your fingers pinched around the small zip enough to pull his jeans down to expose him.

More tears fall down your face as you fail to accept what was happening.

“Tell me you want this cock, little bird.”

At your silence, the man redirects the barrel of your gun to your boyfriend. “You think I won’t fucking shoot him again?”

With his booming, threatening promise of violence against Jacob, you utter nonsense.

“I want your cock,” voice cracked thickly as you force the words out.

The man growls in approval, bringing the gun back to you, tracing the barrel of the weapon against your lips in a tantalising threat.

“If you try anything, including biting.. I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out princess.” The utterance through gritted teeth sends your blood cold.

He had no intention of actually killing you, but the way you were trembling beneath him was a good sign you believed it.

“Now be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick cock,” he hums, forcing the thick, blunt tip through your parted lips.

It burns, how far his cock has stretched your lips wide open, the intrusion so far deep into your mouth makes you gag around him, but that doesn’t deter him at all. Pushing further into your mouth, down the back of your throat.

“Fuck little bird, knew your mouth would take me perfectly.”

Tears, snot and saliva all accumulate at the base of his cock, urging his hand to force you closer to him. Holding his cock down your throat, legs trembling beneath him at the feel of you struggling, gagging against him and the palms of your hands frantically trying to push him out of your mouth so that you could breathe.

He pulls halfway out of you, and with that a small amount of bile from your throat coats his cock. Your mouth was so perfect, warm and stretched out for him. Taking him so well. Nothing deters this man from taking exactly what he’d dreamt of you these past two days.

The constant reminder of the gun pressed against your temple was forcing you to endure this. It would save Jacob, it would ensure survival for the two of you.

It hurts, the way he’s fucking himself into your throat relentlessly. The pace is brutal and each growl makes your stomach feel sick.

The worst part is that your body is reacting to this, the slick between your legs is gathering and becoming incredibly uncomfortable.

“Gonna swallow my cum, birdie, fuck.. can feel my cock down your throat.” He can see the thickness down your throat too, swollen full of him. He cums with a strangled groan, the sight of his cock twitching down your throat sent him over the edge.

“Such a good girl, ain’cha?”

You’re completely fucked out. Eyes blown wide and red from the tears you shed. He pulls his cock out of your mouth to trace the outline of your plump lips.

“Please let us go now,” the hoarse request is met with a twisted cackle.

The man stuffs his hard cock into his jeans, the outline of it is impossible to ignore as you look up at him with a pleading gaze.

You had done everything he’d asked, and perfectly too.

Which is why he had to do this.

“Sorry, birdie. But I can’t let you go now.”

He brings your gun upward to Jacob and pulls the trigger. Five pounds of pressure against the trigger causes your boyfriend's head to fall limp against the tree, a gaping, bleeding hole in the middle of his forehead.

“No!” Your voice cracks as a guttural scream tears through the air.

No part of your body is listening as you will it to move, for your legs to carry you to stand and run, but they’re numb from being knelt on the icy ground so long.

The man shoves you onto the soft, snow. Your head is right beside your lifeless boyfriend’s body. “Jacob.. Jacob please,” you beseech, hoping that he’d somehow be able to save you.

Your arms are flailing against his chest as he crawls on top of you, the weak attempt gains a thick hand down the front of your cargo pants, and a hot growl against your lips.

“Maybe I don’t need to clip your wings after all, birdie, seems this pretty fucking pussy is already wet. Don’t pretend to fight me, princess. She wants this.” Without warning, one thick finger pushes inside of your weeping cunny, before pulling it out.

A protesting whine rolls off your tongue as he removes his finger, before you could stop yourself. He sucks your juices off the digit. And his eyes darken.

“Been thinkin’ bout how this sweet pussy would taste, knew it would be perfect.”

The older man sticks the same finger that had just been inside you, into one of Jacob’s stomach wounds, coating his finger in the warm, red blood.

He thrives off the mortified expression that causes your face to scrunch up, wiggling as he brings the bloody finger down to your lips, forcing it into your mouth.

But as he retreats his finger past your lips it’s now stained red, albeit clean. But you reject it, gagging against the metallic taste, spitting the blood onto the snow in a messy spatter, some of it sticking to your cheek and chin.

“You’re sick!” A crooked smile stretches the man’s lips at your accusation.

“No, no little bird. This is exactly what you need. A real man to protect you, so that this..” he gestures to your boyfriend. “Doesn’t happen to you, I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

The condescending tone is lost on you as the griping reality of fear ensnares you.

Your throat aches at your attempt to swallow the saliva in your throat, bobbing thickly. The small notion of you shaking your head appeases him greatly.

“I’ll take care of you. All I ask is that you don’t run, or I will clip your wings, understand me little bird?”

A second nod seals your fate.

“Believe me when I say you made the right choice, you were comin’ with me either way.”

Turns out that the small, wooden cabin belonged to this man. He had kept his large hand on the small of your back the entire time he showed you around. His homestead was fully furnished with food, supplies, furniture, even toilet paper.

“This is where you’ll sleep.” He opens a door, and there’s no windows, just a bed. Accompanied by a giant lock on the outside of the door.

He wouldn’t need to clip your wings, if he could cage you in.

“Sit down,” he orders, and you obey, still in shock as your brain tries to swallow the past hour of events whole, not allowing you to process it.

The wooden stool creaks, and he silently fills a bucket of warm water and sits across from you on a chair at the dining table.

Delicately scrunching a small cloth in his hands to wipe the dried blood off of your face, he leans in toward you, an almost soft expression plastered as he concentrates.

“If you’re good f’me we’ll give that friend of yours ‘o proper burial. Would you like that?”

The sweetness of his voice lured you in, to stare into his deep brown eyes, to take in the concerned shape of his pinched brows.

“I.. I would like that.”

He hums, you were learning quickly. Once he’s happy with your face being cleaned, he stands, picking up the aluminium bucket by the handle and pouring it down the sink. Clunking as he sets it back on the floor.

“Let’s go bury him then.” Before he changes his mind.

The snow was too thick for Joel to penetrate the soil with his shovel, so he had just cleared a foot of snow and tossed the young man into it, burying him under the frost, stacking a few rocks on top of the unmarked, unnamed grave.

He’s impressed and grateful you don’t run away though the process. That would implicate some serious issues and more importantly, require some kind of punishment.

Joel was willing to do anything to train you, to ensure that you never ran from him. In that regard, since you did stay, he felt he would reward you.

His bed is warm, the duvet is thick and the smell of him brings a sense of security to you for some reason, despite all that had happened.

“When you appease me, as you have today. I’ll reward you.” He coos, gently lying you down onto his soft bed, crawling between your legs, hastily shuffling your pants down your legs.

His face is directly between your thighs, and he parts them softly.

“I can smell how badly you need me, little bird.” He groans, pressing hot, open mouthed kissed to your inner thighs, slowly, agonisingly closer to your core.

He’s surprised when you impatiently nudge the back of his head closer to you. “That’s my girl.”

The curve of his nose rubs against your swollen clit, his tongue darting upward and into your pussy with a newfound passion.

He growls against you, the notion sends a vibration through you, and you let out a soft whimper. Thick hands ground themselves in your hips, dragging you downward in the bed so his face could delve deeper into your hole.

The wet muscle is skilled in it’s explorative ministrations, licking a long stripe from your core to your swollen clit.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get some attention too.” The promise he utters to your neglected clit is fufilled as he clamps his mouth around the bundle of nerves and sucks on you, the pressure causes a suction that feels electric.

Your fingers stiffen as they grasp onto his unruly curls. Coaxing him for more, more more more.

And he gives—the tip of his tongue skilfully, slowly working you closer and closer to the edge you’d never been brought to before.

Your thighs instinctively clamp shut around his head, keeping him buried there, not wanting him to stop.

“Please, please, please need more,” your unintelligible begging implores him to double down on his ministrations.

He can feel that you’re going to burst against him, slowly, and slowly he was winding the burning hot coil inside of you, the pressure was becoming unbearable as your thighs quake and tenable at his command.

Two of his thick fingers are swallowed by your constricting cunt, clamping down as you cry out at the intense sensation. His fingers expertly work you, pumping deep inside of you, calloused fingertips hitting the spongey flesh inside of your slick hole.

“Fucking.. need you..” you’re slurring your words, and he’s convinced that your hole would swallow him if you pushed him far enough between your legs. He could feel how greedily your pussy was swallowing his fingers. Desperate for release.

In an act of desperation, you begin to forcibly rut your pussy against his face as you raise your hips, tiring of his pace not being quiet enough to give you what you needed.

“Please.. please I want to cum.. gonna cum..”

At the increase of friction, and him allowing you to use his face your orgasm comes crashing over you. Your pussy constricts around his fingers as he works you at a slower pace through your climax.

A delicious string of babbling moans and praise roll past your lips.

Thighs jittering with a delicious tremble as they finally relax from their tight vice around his head.

“Thank you.. thank you..” the faint, inarticulate cry was all he needed for him to grin against your pussy.

You’re left heaving, and he’s mesmerised by the way your chest rises and falls at his performance. It’s something he has become enticed with—seeing you alive. Breathing.

It’s unusual for him, admiring the life within you when he was so used to taking it.

And now, as he pulls away from your pussy, lying beside you in his bed. Your body in his arms.. he knew he’d made the right choice to keep your life.

“You did so well f’me little bird.” The praise falls on your ringing ears, but all that’s returned is a vulnerable whine.

Not bothering to correct him after a moment of silence, you can’t help the words that feel petulant to ask. “Who are you?”

“Joel. And this—is your new home.” He croons into your tangled hair.

All for a moment, in the blissful ecstasy you forget how you ended up here.

[lurochar]

Before It All (Pt. 2)

Warnings: Obsessive Alastor. References to racism, sexism, and racist terms

Part 1 + Part 3

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

Hell.

So it actually did exist.

The pure elation, raw euphoria, and sheer mania completely overwhelmed Alastor when it finally did sink into him that, yes, he was dead – savagely mauled by a pack of hunting dogs and then shot in the head by an utterly incompetent hunter.

Pathetic.

But Hell, it was real, absolutely truly one hundred percent a reality he was now living and he couldn’t be any more ecstatic that was the case.

(He certainly had a first class ticket).

Because if Hell was real, that meant demons were real and if demons were real…

You were real. You existed.

Alastor had never been a religious person before his encounter with you. He hadn’t really changed his mind afterwards either. God had never done anything for him, so why should he ever bother to devote himself to a being who clearly didn’t give a fuck about him or his Mama?

A demon cared more about him, if only briefly, than Heaven ever did in his lifetime.

You probably had no idea what impact you had on him, you may not even think of him, or even remember him, the kid whose soul you had spared on some sort of whim born from pity.

Alastor obsessed over you.

He had felt cold the moment you had pulled away from him and that chill had never left him – only his Mama’s hugs could temporarily relieve him of the complete indifference he possessed for the world around him.

Ah, his dear Mama.

He never understood it, he still didn’t understand now. 

That day, that night was a blessing in his eyes. He had met, if only for a few minutes, the only other person(?), being, other than his Mama, that had actually cared, held any concern for his well being. You had even gone against your demonic instincts and let him keep his soul, just so you didn’t condemn him to Hell.

(He condemned himself, but those were his choices alone).

You had killed a human being for him.

His father was a monster – so why did his dear Mama cry and grieve over the man who had abused them both horribly over the years? Why wasn’t she happy that he was finally gone? She no longer had to endure being hit, slapped, or even worse because of that man’s unpredictable mood-swings.

She could never properly explain it and honestly, Alastor didn’t want to understand that mindset of hers.

Because of you, his Mama could be free of the misery his father put her through. Alastor could take care of her on his own, just as you told him to do.

Because of you, he was free from hearing his father’s muttered insults about his skin – how he might've passed as ‘right’ if his skin was a little lighter. 

Those cruel remarks grew more and more frequent and so did the homicidal thoughts Alastor harboured for his father.

If not for the book he found containing old magicks, strange symbols and sigils, and a ritual for summoning demons, Alastor was sure he would have snapped sooner rather than later and would have ended up strangling that drunk waste of life in his sleep.

He would have been caught, no doubt, and put to death. Lynched even.

Who would take care of his Mama then?

But because you had killed his wretch of a father for him, he had been free to grow and pursue his passion for radio. Hunting had become something of a secondary hobby, it was the only thing his father had done him good by – even if the man had only taught him how to track and hunt small game, claiming he wasn’t nearly ‘good enough’ for bigger game.

Well, he could always teach himself.

Alastor had never really preferred any particular type of meat before, always happy to eat whatever his Mama put before him, but when he remembered the tingle on his fingertips, the feel of your soft ears…

He remembered he used a deer skull he found in the forest in the ritual he used to summon you.

Deer.

He probably has eaten venison before, but he honestly could not remember what it tasted like since he just didn’t have a preference then.

He wanted, needed, to learn every detail about that animal.

Alastor really did find the taste of venison to be the most satisfying over any other meat he stripped from the game he hunted. Deer quickly became his favoured target.

He never shot at a doe.

His life was looking rather bright – his career in radio was taking off, he had learned to blend in better, socialize by watching people, and he was frighteningly good at it. He was charming, despite the prejudices and racism, his skin tone and creole heritage didn’t seem to matter much anymore with how successful he was, men and women were clamouring for him in different ways.

It was entertaining to watch.

Still, his homicidal thoughts never left his mind.

Abuse of women by men who were just like his father was rampant and it angered Alastor more than he imagined it would. Only this time, there would be no you to correct things, you were just a lucky break for him.

(And only him. He wouldn’t share you even if he could summon you again).

He’s perfected his hunting skills over the years and hunting humans wasn’t much different, it just took a little longer and a little more patience to assure he wouldn’t be caught.

If there is a Hell, Alastor will burn.

But he doesn’t mind so much, not if he can burn alongside you.

~00~

Is it ironic?

That he is a deer demon too?

From what he has gathered, one’s appearance changes depending on what happened in their human lifetime and how they lived it. Some Sinners have very mundane changes due to mundane sins and deaths.

A traumatic death has a large impact on the soul and being mistaken for a deer and shot dead can certainly be counted as traumatic and impactful.

Alastor is just relieved enough he doesn’t spawn as a dog demon.

Would you be happy he’s a deer like you? 

Alastor has to wonder if you would even recognize him, his appearance is quite different from his human one and it has been over twenty years since your encounter.

If there was one thing he regretted about summoning you, it was that he never asked for your name. He had been much too blinded by his rage for his father and his fascination for your ears to even think to ask and he always lamented about it.

Nothing would get done regretting the past, however.

He needed to figure out his new body and the structuring of Hell and how it works before he can even begin to think of looking for you. 

He needs to amass power.

Hell, with no doubt, is a dangerous place with powerful demons lurking about. Besides the pure thrill of eliminating those very demons by his own hand, Alastor will assure your safety as long as you stay at his side. 

He can pay you back for what you did for him, he can be your saviour this time around, whether you needed one or not.

It’s time to get to work.

~00~

“Another one?”

The man before you shivers at the sound of your voice before giving a shaky nod, looking every which way but you, clearly wanting to leave your presence as quickly as possible.

You couldn’t blame him.

He deserved every second of torment upon his miserable soul.

“I would like for you to go and take a look at this demon toppling Overlords like they’re nothing more than a child’s plaything. You can come back when you have an adequate description of this demon.” You flippantly waved him off.

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me, you little bitch?” The man cursed, his previous meek behaviour gone at the thought of having to go and put himself in danger just so he could get a damn glimpse of whoever this new demon was. There was no fucking way he was doing tha–

A collar materialized around the man’s throat and he lost his footing and his face was smashed into the ground when you abruptly tugged on the chain that materialized at the same time the collar did.

“Did you forget something important?” You stared down at the man in disgust. “If so, let me remind you now. I own you. I own your soul. If I want you to do something, you do it without question. Do you understand, Hartfelt?”

The man, Hartfelt, simply could not keep his mouth shut. “You murdered me in cold blood, you fucking slut! And now you think you can order me around like some dog because you have my soul too? Killing me wasn’t good enough for you? Go back to the kitchen where you belong. Goddamn whore.”

“You made a deal with me. It doesn’t matter if you were newly spawned in Hell and didn’t know how it worked – a deal is a deal. I only took your filthy soul for one thing, otherwise I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten foot pole.” You huffed. “And yes, I can order you around like a dog. It fits your appearance, doesn’t it?”

Hartfelt stood up when you allowed him to, growling like the mutt he appeared to be. “What was that one thing?” He asked, cursing in his mind. If not for that ‘one thing’, he wouldn’t have been under this damn deer bitch’s control for the past twenty plus years.

It's laughable that he has to take orders from a woman.

“I gave your son a pass then, but I saw it in his eyes. I hope I’m wrong, but I do believe Alastor will end up in Hell.” You sighed, glancing over to see pure terror flash across Harfelt’s face. “Figured it out now?”

“You kept me on a chain just so you could give me to that shitskinned boy!?” Hartfelt attempted to lunge forward to unleash his fury on you, but you wouldn’t have it.

You speared your claws into his muzzle and he howled in pain. “Say something like that again about Alastor–no, I’m already tired of your voice. You don’t need that foul tongue to see what this new demon looks like, so I’ll be taking it. I’m sure it will grow back soon enough… if I allow it to.”

No one batted an eye when screams of pain were heard from an apartment before they abruptly stopped.

Hartfelt stood on shaky legs, blood dripping everywhere from his mouth and you didn’t even glance at him. “You know what to do.” You said coldly, waving him off once more and he went without complaint this time around.

Not that he could if he wanted to.

~00~

The Radio Demon.

It wasn’t exactly an original name, but it fit him to a tee, whomever he really was. Hartfelt could never get close enough to get a good look at the Radio Demon and could only give a vague description of the male.

Red. Lots of red. Tall ears maybe? Or a part of his hair, Hartfelt couldn’t be sure. Big, creepy smile with yellowed fangs, and he always carried some sort of cane. His voice was filtered like he was talking on air through a radio.

It was expected, Hartfelt did a crappy job.

It would have to suffice for now, you would rather save Hartfelt for Alastor rather than hearing him scream on the Radio Demon’s broadcasts.

In any other circumstance, that would have been preferred. 

You just needed to pay careful attention, it's how you survived Hell unscathed as a prey-based demon thus far.

The Radio Demon’s rampage was coming far too close to the district you lived in for your comfort and you have no idea if the Overlord in charge would be able to hold on to his power or not.

You had to be prepared for any scenario.

Beyond his insane broadcasting of the screaming souls of the Overlords he had conquered, the Radio Demon was almost pleasant to listen to. His voice was definitely made for radio and his taste in music was exceptional (well, considering you had been dead for some number of years, you had no idea how music evolved in the human world).

“This next song is dedicated to the one I hold dearest to me. I have yet to locate you, my nameless Doe, but I do hope you are listening to this.”

Your ears twitched and you opened your eyes in surprise. It was a bit of a shock to hear that the Radio Demon, of all demons, had a lost lover out here in Hell. You had thought he was a sadist through and through.

You supposed some sadists could love too.

(You did hear rumours that Overlords Zestial and Carmilla Carmine were… something, so much was possible in Hell).

“It has been twenty-four years since our last encounter, brief as it may have been. You have been on my mind ever since. If you truly are listening, my nameless Doe, then know the Radio Demon is Alastor Hartfelt.”

You fell off your couch.

No.

No way.

The Radio Demon and Alastor Hartfelt were one and the same?!

“H-he died?” You said out loud to yourself and to no one. ‘It's only been twenty-four years. He… he didn't even make it to forty years!’

What happened!?

Your ears flattened against your head, not sure what to think of this situation. 

He held you dearest to him?

You've been on his mind ever since?

Your encounter was brief, barely even five minutes long and somehow, Alastor thought the world of you?

That kid twenty some years back definitely had a screw or two loose and you think you just made the problem worse. 

You should not have let him touch you.

You should not have hugged him.

He was an adolescent boy probably starving for positive attention and a soft touch outside his mother and you unwittingly fucked up what normal development he should have gone through.

Well, you couldn't undo the past, but you could try to make up for it by giving Alastor complete control over the man who once controlled him.

You supposed it could be a start.

~00~

He hoped.

But he really expected nothing.

Alastor was rapidly gaining territory, toppling numerous Overlords with his newfound powers within just a year.

Along with wailing souls, Alastor always sent that little message out on his broadcasts, hoping you would hear and respond to him by showing up to the radio tower he built.

But the amount of power he had grown into wasn't enough yet, he could only hijack a portion of Hell’s radio waves at a time, not the entirety of it like he needed to.

You may not have even heard his message.

How irksome.

These were the times he actually craved Mimzy’s company and the atmosphere of her speakeasy.

Mimzy would just keep the whisky flowing until he was intoxicated enough to allow a couple select women a few touches here and there, barely even considered lewd by any means.

Getting drunk was the only way he could handle those touches without flinching or feeling a deep need to shatter the other person's hand – an unfortunate side effect of his father's beatings.

Your touch was the only one he longed for.

It only happened a few times, Alastor stopped as soon as Mimzy casually pointed out that he had a clear type, that the few women he chose all had similar traits.

The same hair colour and length, the same eye colour, and the same height.

All features you possessed.

Back then, the last thing Alastor had wanted was to end up drunk in some random woman's bed calling out for you, ‘my Doe’. Rumours of that nature just wouldn’t be good for his image and career.

And really, saying that whilst in bed with another was just plain weird.

Alastor would have to find a decent bar here in Hell, he could use a drink to take the edge off.

A chirp catches his attention.

His shadow, a magick he has just recently begun to delve deep into, chitters at him and Alastor raises a brow and tilts his head, his smile remaining in place despite his bewilderment.

A guest?

A guest at his radio tower?

Could it possibl–?

Hope, but expect disappointment.

~00~

You're nervous.

(Why?)

You just want to turn around and run.

(Why?)

The Radio Demon and Alastor Hartfelt may be one and the same, but the Alastor you met was just barely on the cusp of manhood, someone so trapped by his shitty situation that he was desperate enough to summon a demon of all things to get him out of it.

He was extremely lucky he had gotten you, very few demons, if any, would have let him keep his soul.

You didn't know Alastor anymore. He was the Radio Demon now, a being quickly becoming infamous and feared for his ruthlessness.

If this was a trick to lure you here, you just hope Alastor has it in him to spare you like you did him.

You tense and your ears and tail stand straight up when you can feel and hear static before he speaks.

“How I've missed your wonderful ears, my nameless Doe.”

What a peculiar greeting.

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

Sorry, thought it would be fun to end it here. Part 3 soon.

Tags: @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @godsent69 @eris-norwega @catticora @tayraedoll @michi-keinz @martinys-world

[smilesatdawnmain]

Based on your post about the big family kid’s conception, is it implied Mac had a miscarriage (or something similar) and his distress created the twins?

Sadly : ( Yes, that is what happened.

Macaque and Wukong had tried for months, with no luck. Macaque was feeling more and more disappointed and that something was "wrong" with him the longer they tried. Then, through a miracle, it finally happened!

Two months later, however, the baby was lost. It was no one's fault that this happened, as sometimes this stuff just happens.

It broke Macaque though. Made him irrational and depressed and desperate. He blamed himself. he felt he was letting Wukong down. His family down. His baby down.

He was a failure. And more than anything, he mourned the child he never got to know.

In this mindset, his powers went wild, and Rumble and Savage came to be. It took him a very long time to even set the twins down. He is very protective of them both as he is unsure how stable their forms truly are. As shades... he doesn't know if there is a chance they can be dispersed or not.

But he'll never forget the child they lost.

They hadn't decided a name yet for the baby, but Macaque quietly nicknamed them, "Nova".

[heyguys-itsnicole]

Here's something I'm sure you find infuriating;

"I'm not into politics. I don't really know, I'm just not a political person."

We know that this IS being political! It means you condone everything - you don't think anything is worth fighting for, you're fine with the status quo as long as it benefits you vaguely. It's the mindset of someone so aggressively individualist, that the suffering of others is simply not a concern - since the system can't be broken, if they're alright. The kind of people to vote for a fascist if it'll mean that their taxes are lower next year. To stand by and watch oppression is insidious. Not even watch - to Celebrate oppression as long as it's against the "savages" and "beasts." Mass mistreatment still exists beyond the gulf surrounding apathetic suburbia.