recai iskender
Unfunniest FUCKING user
- Joined
- Oct 28, 2024
- Posts
- 4,129
- Reputation
- 6,969
Recai Iskender stood in front of the bathroom mirror, running his hands through his thick, dark hair. He couldn’t help but notice the sharp contrast of his Kurdish features against the soft, fair skin of the person he thought about most lately— @ivantheterrible ,the infamous white supremacist he’d been chatting with online.
Recai wasn’t the kind of man to shy away from his heritage. Standing tall at 6'8", his presence alone was enough to command attention. His dark brown eyes, and the proud, angular features that told stories of generations past, all shouted of his Kurdish roots. Yet, there was something about IvantheTerrible that both intrigued and frustrated him.
IvantheTerrible had always been clear about one thing: only those with Aryan blood were worthy of his attention. "We must preserve the purest lineage," Ivantheterrible would say in his posts. But Recai, though proud of his lineage, couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. His Kurdish heritage—his very identity—wasn’t "Aryan" by their strict definitions. It made his heart ache with frustration.
Still, despite their differences, Ivantheterrible was charming in a strange, captivating way. The intensity in Ivantheterrible’s words and the clear passion for his beliefs pulled Recai in. They had been talking online for weeks, and though Recai tried to ignore it, there was something there—something deeper than ideology, something that stirred something within him.
But now, standing there, in front of the bathroom mirror, Recai questioned himself. Could he ever truly be enough for Ivantheterrible, or was he destined to remain on the outside? Would his bloodline always be a barrier?
The next day, Recai decided to take the plunge. He sat down at his computer, took a deep breath, and opened Ivantheterrible’s latest message.
"Are you really an Aryan, Recai? Your people’s bloodline is complicated, you know. I need to be sure you meet my standards. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t fit the ideal."
Recai stared at the screen. His heart sank. For a moment, he wanted to lash out, but he had a better idea. Instead of responding with anger, he typed carefully.
“I know I’m not the purest Aryan, Ivantheterrible. I’m Kurdish, and I can’t change that. But I’ve never believed in genetic purity. I believe in strength, in passion, and in the connection two people can share. Does that mean nothing to you?”
There was silence. He hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for a response.
Hours passed. No reply. Recai's mind raced. Maybe it was over. Maybe Ivanthe would never see him as worthy.
Then, late that night, a notification pinged. Ivantheterrible had responded.
“I thought about what you said, Recai. And maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe Aryan purity isn’t the only thing that matters. I’ve been so caught up in my beliefs, but the truth is, it’s about more than blood. It’s about who we are on the inside."
Recai’s fingers trembled as he read the words. Ivantheterrible was changing. Or at least, Ivantheterrible was willing to change.
Months passed. The two men continued talking, their connection deepening. Ivantheterrible’s once rigid worldview softened, and Recai’s initial doubts faded. They eventually agreed to meet in person.
When Recai stood at the edge of the park, waiting for Ivantheterrible, his heart pounded. He hadn’t seen Ivantheterrible’s face in person, only in photos from his online persona. Recai wondered if he would recognize him. He didn’t have to wait long.
Ivantheterrible was tall, though not nearly as tall as Recai, and his pale skin stood out in stark contrast to Recai’s deeper tones. He was exactly how he had imagined: sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and that unmistakable air of superiority that now seemed more like insecurity.
When Ivantheterrible approached, he didn’t say a word. He simply stared at Recai, as if taking him in, before stepping closer. Recai held his breath, waiting for something—anything—negative to be said.
Instead, Ivantheterrible smiled. “You’re exactly who I needed, Recai.”
“Really?” Recai asked, half in disbelief.
“Yeah. I was wrong about a lot of things. You’re strong, passionate, and beautiful in a way I can’t explain. I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”
Recai smiled back, a little unsure but also relieved. "So, does that mean you’ve changed your mind about all those Aryan purity ideas?"
Ivantheterrible chuckled softly. “I guess. I still believe in strength, but I’ve learned it’s not about skin color or bloodlines. It’s about who we are, who we love, and the connections we create."
As they embraced, Recai realized that maybe love was not about adhering to old ideals or fitting a mold. Maybe it was about growth, understanding, and, most of all, choosing to embrace someone for who they truly are, no matter the heritage.
Recai Iskender, the proud Kurdish man, had found something far more valuable than an "ideal" love. He had found acceptance, not only from Ivantheterrible but from himself.
And so, Recai and Ivantheterrible lived happily—not as figures trapped by outdated ideals, but as two people who had found a love that defied labels.
Recai wasn’t the kind of man to shy away from his heritage. Standing tall at 6'8", his presence alone was enough to command attention. His dark brown eyes, and the proud, angular features that told stories of generations past, all shouted of his Kurdish roots. Yet, there was something about IvantheTerrible that both intrigued and frustrated him.
IvantheTerrible had always been clear about one thing: only those with Aryan blood were worthy of his attention. "We must preserve the purest lineage," Ivantheterrible would say in his posts. But Recai, though proud of his lineage, couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. His Kurdish heritage—his very identity—wasn’t "Aryan" by their strict definitions. It made his heart ache with frustration.
Still, despite their differences, Ivantheterrible was charming in a strange, captivating way. The intensity in Ivantheterrible’s words and the clear passion for his beliefs pulled Recai in. They had been talking online for weeks, and though Recai tried to ignore it, there was something there—something deeper than ideology, something that stirred something within him.
But now, standing there, in front of the bathroom mirror, Recai questioned himself. Could he ever truly be enough for Ivantheterrible, or was he destined to remain on the outside? Would his bloodline always be a barrier?
The next day, Recai decided to take the plunge. He sat down at his computer, took a deep breath, and opened Ivantheterrible’s latest message.
"Are you really an Aryan, Recai? Your people’s bloodline is complicated, you know. I need to be sure you meet my standards. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t fit the ideal."
Recai stared at the screen. His heart sank. For a moment, he wanted to lash out, but he had a better idea. Instead of responding with anger, he typed carefully.
“I know I’m not the purest Aryan, Ivantheterrible. I’m Kurdish, and I can’t change that. But I’ve never believed in genetic purity. I believe in strength, in passion, and in the connection two people can share. Does that mean nothing to you?”
There was silence. He hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for a response.
Hours passed. No reply. Recai's mind raced. Maybe it was over. Maybe Ivanthe would never see him as worthy.
Then, late that night, a notification pinged. Ivantheterrible had responded.
“I thought about what you said, Recai. And maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe Aryan purity isn’t the only thing that matters. I’ve been so caught up in my beliefs, but the truth is, it’s about more than blood. It’s about who we are on the inside."
Recai’s fingers trembled as he read the words. Ivantheterrible was changing. Or at least, Ivantheterrible was willing to change.
Months passed. The two men continued talking, their connection deepening. Ivantheterrible’s once rigid worldview softened, and Recai’s initial doubts faded. They eventually agreed to meet in person.
When Recai stood at the edge of the park, waiting for Ivantheterrible, his heart pounded. He hadn’t seen Ivantheterrible’s face in person, only in photos from his online persona. Recai wondered if he would recognize him. He didn’t have to wait long.
Ivantheterrible was tall, though not nearly as tall as Recai, and his pale skin stood out in stark contrast to Recai’s deeper tones. He was exactly how he had imagined: sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and that unmistakable air of superiority that now seemed more like insecurity.
When Ivantheterrible approached, he didn’t say a word. He simply stared at Recai, as if taking him in, before stepping closer. Recai held his breath, waiting for something—anything—negative to be said.
Instead, Ivantheterrible smiled. “You’re exactly who I needed, Recai.”
“Really?” Recai asked, half in disbelief.
“Yeah. I was wrong about a lot of things. You’re strong, passionate, and beautiful in a way I can’t explain. I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”
Recai smiled back, a little unsure but also relieved. "So, does that mean you’ve changed your mind about all those Aryan purity ideas?"
Ivantheterrible chuckled softly. “I guess. I still believe in strength, but I’ve learned it’s not about skin color or bloodlines. It’s about who we are, who we love, and the connections we create."
As they embraced, Recai realized that maybe love was not about adhering to old ideals or fitting a mold. Maybe it was about growth, understanding, and, most of all, choosing to embrace someone for who they truly are, no matter the heritage.
Recai Iskender, the proud Kurdish man, had found something far more valuable than an "ideal" love. He had found acceptance, not only from Ivantheterrible but from himself.
And so, Recai and Ivantheterrible lived happily—not as figures trapped by outdated ideals, but as two people who had found a love that defied labels.
