Dave gets wewe a job as a waiter. soon enough, Dave also gets a katana press against your larynx. He was reciting how wewe must, yes wewe don’t have any other choice, die in order to reach eternal life. “To reach god tier,” as he states.
Now, wewe and Dave were best friends. Well, actually, wewe would like to believe wewe two still were. Many ask you, do wewe know about Dave Strider? Of course wewe do, who doesn’t?
The tip of the katana pools around your adam’s apple, it’s silent and cold. Not a single whisper would escape the blade as it slice your head onto the debris cover floor, unlike the gun pressing against your thigh. Surely, wewe had enough skill to mute a gun. Simply kwa drilling holes into certain vital points in the barrel. Thus making the exiting bullet just underneath the speed of sound, leaving it golden as ever. Though due to your lack of esteem and most all coordination, wewe will fuck up. Even with Dave’s help, wewe will fuck up. Fucking up means your scrawny punda wrist will explode faster than the building wewe and your best friend, Dave, is standing.
“Trust me bro, this ain’t death.” Dave reassures. “It’s eternal slumber, babe.”
Dave babies you, caters to you. Always calling wewe with sweet talk lingering off the tip of his tongue, those nicknames,” babe, sweety, honey, cupcake.” Always promising wewe the downfall of corporation so wewe can get out of that shitty accountant job at your dear nana’s baking empire. wewe accept the bittersweet lies knowing, acknowledging that Dave would rather upendo Karkat Vantas.
wewe would mock Karkat but right now, Dave is eyeing wewe from behind those damn shades. The very shades wewe got him.
wewe are John’s Infatuation for Dave.
Is this really an infatuation? wewe sat around listening to Dave’s rambles wewe gave him his first beating and he, he gave wewe meaning. au so it seems.
Dave kept his katana press against your throat and wewe can only speak out in vowels without piercing skin. wewe admit, the homemade anime sword was in great quality. It doesn’t take much to make a shitty punda sword. Gulping hard, wewe begin to pan out the process.
Steal some fucking copper from an abandon house and some metal from a car. Whether that car belong to someone au not, that doesn’t concern you. wewe gotta act like those damn space trolls if wewe wanna climb this mountain. Let’s get to it, wewe have the metal, now supply the heat. Painstakingly melt the two together, beat the shit outta it with hammer and soak it in a bath tub filled water cold enough to make your Karkat’s moyo look like a fireplace.
wewe know this because Dave knows this.
Nine minutes.
We as humans always kill what we love. Then again, that’s a double edge sword. Pun intended.
Dave leans towards wewe and with ease he guides the blade along your throat. wewe smell him. The musk mixed with Nitroglycerin but most of all, smuppets. Taken back, wewe allow your spine to curve along the back of the chair, trying to avoid Dave as much as wewe could. He knows you’re avoiding him, how? Because.
He is Dave Strider.
Eight minutes.
His shades strike a certain lighting where wewe could see the smolder glare. Your breath hike and instantly wewe were aliyopewa a new scent, smoke.
41 stories up and 3 down from the roof, wewe only imagine the Mischief Committee of Project Scratch escaping the building just as the demolition team would run down the building The English building. Where, if they keep up this pace without single doubt in your mind, they will hit plush rump and sit off this domino.
Just as this place blows, the trolls would linger in the crowd enclosing the area. They jiunge with the pointers and the awe’s, all but ignorant to fact that their leader is about to break your moyo and get away with murder.
Seven minutes.
Tomorrow in the newspaper, photo’s would be taken at every angle and then be splash about. Poor Ms.Rose Lalonde’s front cover issue about her latest New York Time best seller would have to put on page two for your story, for your tragedy.
Five minutes.
Karkat would be the only eyewitness, the only reliable chanzo to this mishap. Reporters would swarm him asking,” How did wewe know Dave Strider?”
“Because I fucked that asshole.”
He replied as he flick off the cameras and storm off to some thrift store and buy another suite of the best man.
Karkat is apart of this strange upendo triangle. wewe want Dave, Dave wants Karkat and Karkat wants you.
wewe had admit before Dave loses his cool and finally snaps your neck with metal, that the whole point of this operation was not to fuck with the man but Karkat Vantas. This mduara, duara circles back this man: the anarchy, the explosion, the excoriation of mind and soul was for this man.
Truthfully, wewe don’t want Karkat yet he wants wewe while he ignores the fact that Dave wants him. Sure enough, Dave doesn't want you, John. Dave doesn't want wewe and wants to get rid of you. Not because he doesn't like you. It has to do with the fact that wewe are getting in his way of getting his prize. That prize being Karkat. This sick pembetatu has nothing to do with love. This fuck up sex scandal has to do with ownership of property that rightfully belongs to what Dave belives is his.
Without Karkat Vantas, who is Dave Strider?
Four minutes.
You’re wasting time.
“We’ll become legend, don’t wewe want that?” He pushes the tip of his boot onto your groin, your needy, greedy groin.
Yes, wewe answer, wewe want to become a legend. Have your name spread across textbooks of he public education system. wewe kumeza once more.
Dave, wewe croak, dude, don’t you? I’ll make wewe into a legend. Unlike those space trolls, I’ve been here since the beginning.
I remember everything.
Three minutes.
Now, wewe and Dave were best friends. Well, actually, wewe would like to believe wewe two still were. Many ask you, do wewe know about Dave Strider? Of course wewe do, who doesn’t?
The tip of the katana pools around your adam’s apple, it’s silent and cold. Not a single whisper would escape the blade as it slice your head onto the debris cover floor, unlike the gun pressing against your thigh. Surely, wewe had enough skill to mute a gun. Simply kwa drilling holes into certain vital points in the barrel. Thus making the exiting bullet just underneath the speed of sound, leaving it golden as ever. Though due to your lack of esteem and most all coordination, wewe will fuck up. Even with Dave’s help, wewe will fuck up. Fucking up means your scrawny punda wrist will explode faster than the building wewe and your best friend, Dave, is standing.
“Trust me bro, this ain’t death.” Dave reassures. “It’s eternal slumber, babe.”
Dave babies you, caters to you. Always calling wewe with sweet talk lingering off the tip of his tongue, those nicknames,” babe, sweety, honey, cupcake.” Always promising wewe the downfall of corporation so wewe can get out of that shitty accountant job at your dear nana’s baking empire. wewe accept the bittersweet lies knowing, acknowledging that Dave would rather upendo Karkat Vantas.
wewe would mock Karkat but right now, Dave is eyeing wewe from behind those damn shades. The very shades wewe got him.
wewe are John’s Infatuation for Dave.
Is this really an infatuation? wewe sat around listening to Dave’s rambles wewe gave him his first beating and he, he gave wewe meaning. au so it seems.
Dave kept his katana press against your throat and wewe can only speak out in vowels without piercing skin. wewe admit, the homemade anime sword was in great quality. It doesn’t take much to make a shitty punda sword. Gulping hard, wewe begin to pan out the process.
Steal some fucking copper from an abandon house and some metal from a car. Whether that car belong to someone au not, that doesn’t concern you. wewe gotta act like those damn space trolls if wewe wanna climb this mountain. Let’s get to it, wewe have the metal, now supply the heat. Painstakingly melt the two together, beat the shit outta it with hammer and soak it in a bath tub filled water cold enough to make your Karkat’s moyo look like a fireplace.
wewe know this because Dave knows this.
Nine minutes.
We as humans always kill what we love. Then again, that’s a double edge sword. Pun intended.
Dave leans towards wewe and with ease he guides the blade along your throat. wewe smell him. The musk mixed with Nitroglycerin but most of all, smuppets. Taken back, wewe allow your spine to curve along the back of the chair, trying to avoid Dave as much as wewe could. He knows you’re avoiding him, how? Because.
He is Dave Strider.
Eight minutes.
His shades strike a certain lighting where wewe could see the smolder glare. Your breath hike and instantly wewe were aliyopewa a new scent, smoke.
41 stories up and 3 down from the roof, wewe only imagine the Mischief Committee of Project Scratch escaping the building just as the demolition team would run down the building The English building. Where, if they keep up this pace without single doubt in your mind, they will hit plush rump and sit off this domino.
Just as this place blows, the trolls would linger in the crowd enclosing the area. They jiunge with the pointers and the awe’s, all but ignorant to fact that their leader is about to break your moyo and get away with murder.
Seven minutes.
Tomorrow in the newspaper, photo’s would be taken at every angle and then be splash about. Poor Ms.Rose Lalonde’s front cover issue about her latest New York Time best seller would have to put on page two for your story, for your tragedy.
Five minutes.
Karkat would be the only eyewitness, the only reliable chanzo to this mishap. Reporters would swarm him asking,” How did wewe know Dave Strider?”
“Because I fucked that asshole.”
He replied as he flick off the cameras and storm off to some thrift store and buy another suite of the best man.
Karkat is apart of this strange upendo triangle. wewe want Dave, Dave wants Karkat and Karkat wants you.
wewe had admit before Dave loses his cool and finally snaps your neck with metal, that the whole point of this operation was not to fuck with the man but Karkat Vantas. This mduara, duara circles back this man: the anarchy, the explosion, the excoriation of mind and soul was for this man.
Truthfully, wewe don’t want Karkat yet he wants wewe while he ignores the fact that Dave wants him. Sure enough, Dave doesn't want you, John. Dave doesn't want wewe and wants to get rid of you. Not because he doesn't like you. It has to do with the fact that wewe are getting in his way of getting his prize. That prize being Karkat. This sick pembetatu has nothing to do with love. This fuck up sex scandal has to do with ownership of property that rightfully belongs to what Dave belives is his.
Without Karkat Vantas, who is Dave Strider?
Four minutes.
You’re wasting time.
“We’ll become legend, don’t wewe want that?” He pushes the tip of his boot onto your groin, your needy, greedy groin.
Yes, wewe answer, wewe want to become a legend. Have your name spread across textbooks of he public education system. wewe kumeza once more.
Dave, wewe croak, dude, don’t you? I’ll make wewe into a legend. Unlike those space trolls, I’ve been here since the beginning.
I remember everything.
Three minutes.
Okay! So this is literally only a paragraph because I wrote it in study hall and never did anything with it...... sorry!!! Okay and ................ now!
The night sky was dark, no stars shone bright. The only light that glistened on the lake was the moon, shining brightly in the night sky. I walked on the pathway, a few feet away from the lake, looking at the trees as they danced in the soft breeze. It was cold, so cold that it started to snow. I pulled the kofia of my koti, jacket over my head and crossed my arms in front of my chest. The snowflakes fell into the lake and cause ripples to appear. As the ripples increased, the reflection of the moon look disoriented in the lake.
The night sky was dark, no stars shone bright. The only light that glistened on the lake was the moon, shining brightly in the night sky. I walked on the pathway, a few feet away from the lake, looking at the trees as they danced in the soft breeze. It was cold, so cold that it started to snow. I pulled the kofia of my koti, jacket over my head and crossed my arms in front of my chest. The snowflakes fell into the lake and cause ripples to appear. As the ripples increased, the reflection of the moon look disoriented in the lake.