#I’ve fallen victim to the thirst traps

[milf-murdock]

Breaking news: this is a Simon Riley thirst blog now I’m so sorry

#I’ve fallen victim to the thirst traps #I am so fucking deep in this rabbit hole and I am never climbing out #Simon Riley #simon ghost riley #honestly all those call of duty 141 men #are fine as FUUUUCK

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY #1

Divide We Fall - Chapter 2 -

I got a lovely comment on this fic recently, so I decided to share something from it. I do intend to update it eventually but I’m stuck in the middle of the chapter 😭 I’ve written the beginning and the end, its just the middle that’s giving me grief lol. I’m pretty sure I’ve shared bits and pieces from this before, but then I rewrote it at some point, and it’s going to be a lot of words, so might as well share the beginning, eh?

________

The first time Klaus killed a man, it was a mistake. An accident. A slip of control. 

He had always known one day he would take a life, that one day he’d have to swing his sword and go for the killing blow, and not the playful parry he would exchange with the likes of Elijah or Kol. Mikael always claimed he didn’t have the stomach for it, that when the moment came, Klaus would freeze and his enemy would slay him where he stood. For a long time, those words haunted him, still too much the little boy who would bring baby starlings to his mother’s door hoping she could save them, rescuing the little feathery things after they fell from the safety of their nest. Or still too much the wiry teenager who handed the knife to his younger sister when he couldn’t bring himself to slit the trembling rabbit’s throat, caught in one of their father’s traps. Rebekah always was better with a knife than he was, he used to tell himself. It wasn’t because he was weak. It wasn’t.

He forced himself to believe that it would be different, that for family, he would do anything to save them. Even if it meant staring his enemy in the eye and watching the life drain from their eyes.

But the first time he killed a man, Klaus didn’t look into his eyes as he died. He was too busy ripping apart the man’s throat, gorging on the blood gushing out of his carotid artery, vision white from the euphoria and bloodlust, finally, finally quenching his thirst. Then he moved onto the next villager, a girl a few years older than him this time, one that he once picked flowers for back when he was fourteen summers old and hopelessly sweet on her. She wouldn’t stop screaming, he would remember afterwards, but in the moment he was too busy feeding to notice because he was so, so hungry and he just wanted his throat to stop hurting, why did it hurt so much? 

And why was the girl’s skin cold under his touch? Why were his clothes soaked in blood? W-Why was he out on a full moon? Why, mother, why, why does it hurt so much-

His victims did not die an honourable death. He wasn’t slaying his enemies in battle, carving a tally of his kills onto the pommel of his sword like Mikael used to do. This wasn’t even a fair fight.

This was a slaughter.

Those first few decades as a vampire - even the first century - were stained by the blood on his hands he never did quite wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed them raw. Back then he still had some slither of mercy; back before Niklaus became Klaus.

And that was the lesson he learned the hard way: this world had no room for Niklaus, the little boy who crushed flowers and berries into paint and saved little starlings that had fallen from the nest. This world was cruel and vicious, and if Klaus wanted to survive, he’d have to be cruel and vicious too. Ruthless. Dangerous.

One might say he succeeded in that goal far too well.

Blood sprayed across the walls, bodies dropping left and right as he tore through the soldiers, teeth bared and claws extended. His monstrous visage flashed in the darkness every time a gun fired, the flash of the bullet illuminating his form for barely a second before he attacked, the last sight the soldiers saw before they met their end. Even their vervain and wolfsbane-laced bullets couldn’t stop him; the hybrid moving too fast for them to aim accurately, any lucky shots only enraging him further, lethal fangs going for the throat in a vicious display of violence.

One by one, the soldiers fell. And one by one, Klaus let the snarl twist and curl across his face, driven feral by the maddening smell of blood in the air. Eventually, only one soldier remained, a frightened cadet all alone in the dark. The man shakily raised his gun, aiming for centre mass.

Klaus pounced, grabbing the assault rifle with one hand and pointing it to the ceiling just as the soldier opened fire. In a single motion, Klaus had thrust his hand into the soldier’s chest, clawing through his insides and tearing out the heart without hesitation. It was over in seconds, the soldier’s heart falling from Klaus’ fingers moments after the body fell.

A fierce grin stretched across his blood-splattered face and Klaus raised his hand, about to lick the blood off his fingers. Then a gun cocked behind his head.

Klaus froze.

“Don’t move, beast.” A voice spat.

Klaus dared to tilt his head slightly in the hunter’s direction. He couldn’t be killed, but even a wooden bullet to the head would still knock him out for the foreseeable future, and he’d rather not give the human such an opportunity to incapacitate him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He considered possible paths to take, calculated whether he was fast enough to dodge the bullet at such close range. Klaus decided to take the chance. He raised his hands slowly, faking surrender. Unknown to the hunter, his eyes were blazing yellow, black veins crawling across his cheeks as his fangs erupted from his gums.

Then he spun, a blur of motion-

Muscles tensing, senses firing-

Eyes widening at the sight of the barrel of the gun closer than he guessed-

Suddenly, he was shoved backwards as another blur pushed the hunter’s handgun to the side as it fired, the bullet only just skimming its intended target - his head. Klaus stared as Caroline leaped onto the soldier’s front, legs around his waist, golden hair flying around her like a halo, tearing away the protective gear that covered the human’s neck and sinking her fangs into his carotid artery. The human screamed, deafening, piercing in its agony, Caroline ravaging the flesh at his neck. In a matter of seconds, she had snapped his spine, falling with his body to the concrete floor that was already stained red with pools of the hunter’s blood.

Silence fell.

Caroline’s heavy breaths were the only thing that broke it. Klaus watched as she slowly got to her feet, stumbling slightly as she tripped over the body, turning around to face him. Her lips and the skin around her mouth were bloody, the red liquid dripping down her chin and smearing her beautiful complexion. A few strands of her golden hair were sticky, smothered in blood, framing her furious expression as she kicked the prone body for good measure. Her chest heaved as she regained her breath, neck flushed from exertion, drawing his attention to her cleavage.

Klaus swallowed, all the heat in his body travelling south.

“Caroline.” He breathed softly, barely believing she was standing in front of him after all these years. Their eyes met, and for a moment time seemed to slow, Klaus reminded of the last time she had looked at him like that, watching him leave that day in the woods.

Then that moment was broken, Caroline’s eyes flickering to something over his shoulder, widening in panic.

“GET DOWN!”

For the second time that night, Caroline rushed towards him in a blur of supernatural speed, slamming into him and sending them both crashing to the ground. Bullets tore through the air in the spot where their bodies had previously been standing, one catching Caroline’s shoulder as they fell. Hearing her cry, Klaus instantly wrapped a hand round her waist, flashing them to safety behind an alcove, the bullets trying to follow them. He pushed her as close to the wall as he could, shielding her body with his own.

Then he waited.

In less than a minute, the bullets stopped, and the soldier that had caught them unaware was cursing, scrambling to reload. Klaus snarled, flashing out of cover and straight towards the soldier, grabbing him by the neck before he could even raise his gun. Lifting him high into the air with one arm, Klaus felt his fangs drop, revealing his monstrous visage, delighting in the terror flooding the hunter’s face. With a great heave of his hybrid strength, he threw the hunter through the nearest window, smashing the glass with a loud shatter and sending the screaming human to plummet to his death.

“Klaus?”

He turned immediately at her hushed call, flashing to her side. She had stood up, stepped away from the wall and was inspecting the wound on the shoulder, hissing slightly as she moved her clothing out the way.

“Are you alright?” He asked worriedly, hands moving to help her.

Caroline grumbled, hissing again as he caught a particularly tender spot. “I’m fine.”

“It grazed you-” He realised, concern rising upon seeing the burnt flesh.

“I said I’m fine.” She snapped.

Klaus stepped back, letting his hands fall, smothering the flash of hurt that spiked in his chest momentarily. As far as how he had imagined their reunion, this was certainly more similar to one of his more morose versions, cooked up on particularly despairing days when a bottle of bourbon was close by. Something of the emotion must have shown on his face, or perhaps he recoiled too quickly at her curt outburst, as Caroline looked up at him guiltily. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled, looking at her feet, the dried tear tracks on her face noticeable to him for the first time in the moonlight glinting through the window. Klaus clenched his jaw, wishing he had the time and security to tear every hunter in the building apart.

“Don’t be, love.” He said quietly, pushing the bloodied strands of hair away from her face. “It’s good to know you haven’t changed.” He tried to remark lightly, but it fell flat, both of them aware that although they hadn’t changed for the most part, still them, the world around them had.

Klaus glanced in both directions, checking again that the coast was clear. After all that gunfire, there was no doubt more soldiers on the way. They needed to move.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand, their fingers interlocking with ease, “we need to get out of here.”

He moved, stepping away, intending to pull her with him, but Caroline planted her feet, refusing to move as she shook her head.

“No, Klaus, I have to find Bonnie!” She protested.

The Bennet witch?

Klaus frowned. “Caroline-”

“She wasn’t there for the blast, she must be still alive-” She rambled hysterically, backing up and pulling away from his grip, dodging him as he tried to grab her again. She turned, eyes wild, looking in the direction he had seen her run from. Was she thinking of going back? Surely she wasn’t that idiotic.

She started to move, and Klaus realised she wasn’t idiotic, just still as self-sacrificing and infuriatingly loyal as he remembered her to be.

“Caroline.” He snarled, managing to snag her uninjured shoulder, spinning her to face him. “If the witch is still alive, and if she has any sense, she’ll be running just like us-”

“What if she isn’t? What if they’ve captured her?” She snarled right back, angry and hurt and afraid-

“Then getting yourself killed by going back isn’t going to help her!” He yelled in her face, eyes flashing hybrid gold.

Caroline froze, flinching in his grip as his voice rose.

-Turns out he was afraid too.

He swallowed, his hands dropping from her shoulders, letting her step backwards, away from him. His arms rose again, hands twitching towards her, as if trying to comfort her but realising too late he was now the object of her unease. “Caroline, please.” He begged, eyes softening, and offered her his hand. “Come with me.”

He watched as she looked down the hallway, back towards where the soldiers had come from, screams faintly piercing the silence if you listened closely. Then she turned back to him, meeting his eyes. One last tear fell, sliding down her blood stained cheek.

“We’ll find Bonnie after?” She asked, voice small and broken.

Klaus swallowed.

“I promise.” He vowed. “But now we need to run.”

A moment passed. Caroline bit her lip. Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his and nodded.

Klaus breathed a sigh of relief.

He pulled her towards him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and bringing her close to his side, glancing behind them as they began to walk away at a hurried pace. “Come on, I’ve got you, love.”

And then they ran.

#klaroline wip wed #klaroline #klaus x caroline #divided we fall #klaroline fanfiction #morningstar writes #my;fics #chapter 2 #sneak peak #i don't know when I'll finish this tbh #whenever the mood strikes

[aristocratic-otter]

Thank you all for the tags, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @fatalfangirl, @artsyunderstudy, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @cutestkilla, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @confused-bi-queer, @palimpsessed, @facewithoutheart, and @moodandmist. You guys are so goooood!

My snippets are long this week, so they're under the cut:

Playing with Fire, Treading Thin Ice

I’m brought out of the reverie I’ve fallen into by an odd crinkling sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Simon lifting something to his mouth. He’s acting furtive, moving slowly and carefully, like he doesn’t want me to see. Curious, I watch him from beneath my eyelashes for a few minutes. He repeats the motion that attracted my notice two more times and finally I can’t resist confronting him. 

“Simon Snow. Are you eating fucking butter packets?”

He starts, and swings the hand holding his latest victim behind his back. Simon Snow had better never commit an actual crime, because he has no poker face whatsoever. It’s too dark for me to see the colour of his cheeks, but I can smell the blood rushing to them and I’ve been dating him long enough to be able to visualise the way his cheeks are glowing right now, each freckle standing out like dots of inks against the brilliant colour of his skin.

“No?” he says, and I can’t stifle my laugh at what a terrible liar he is. 

“You are!” I accuse, still laughing. “What the fuck, Snow? Did you get them mixed up with the after dinner mints?”

Raising Dragons

Is it wrong to be thirsting over your gorgeous husband when your toddler children are running amuck at your feet?

If so, lock me up, because Simon just emerged from our bungalow wearing the tiniest swim trunks imaginable. I am the author of my own troubles, because I bought them for him. He looks like a god. 

I corral Ebb from dashing into the surf with one foot while I ogle Simon. He’s long and lean, but powerfully muscled. His bronze curls need cutting; they dip into his eyes in the front. His golden red skin shimmers from the sunscreen lotion I bought him, and his red scales sparkle in the light. 

His powerful tail is lifted high like a flag, and the designer sunglasses I bought him for the trip rest neatly in his curls right in front of his curling horns. He looks cool and hot all at once. I’m worried I’m going to get an erection just from looking at him, so I scoop up the triplets and busy myself adjusting their beach rompers.

Simon lopes over to me, a ball of energy as always and grins. “How do I look?” he says. 

I give him a smouldering look. I shouldn’t have to be the only one trying to control my baser urges around my hot husband. “I’ll let you know what I think once the kids are in bed tonight,”

Mystery Project

I drag myself into the basement of Pitch Music and take a forlorn look around. Nothing has changed. The same wood paneled walls, the same windowless gloom. Working down here has always felt like being imprisoned in a wooden box. It’s worse now that I thought I’d escaped it. 

You might think that I, being the only living heir of the Pitch family, would have a luxurious office. And I could, if I wanted. But a luxurious office comes with the trappings of that position; I’d have to give up music for myself and spend all my time handling the minutia and paperwork that goes with producing other people’s music. My father thinks that’s where I should be, but he’s not a Pitch. Fiona’s in charge, and she mostly lets me do what I want. 

Tagging (for Sunday, obvs): @angelsfalling16, @annabellelux, @asocialpessimist, @bazzybelle, @bloodiedpixie, @basiltonbutliketheherb, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggo, @fight-surrender, @foolofabookwyrm-activated, @frjsti, @gekkoinapeartree, @ileadacharmedlife, @johnwgrey, @j-nipper-95, @jbrrring, @krisrix, @kherub, @mrskrementz, @nightimedreamersghost, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @technetiumai, @tea-brigade, @urban-sith and everyone mentioned above!

#wip wednesday #carry on reverse bang #co/ws/awtwb #simon snow series #dragon babies

[saintobio]

go to hell, for heaven’s sake.

↳ gojou satoru/fem!reader

despite the red flags surrounding your relationship, did taking a wrong turn really leave you stuck with him to the point of no return?

genre. explicit smut, mafia au

tags/warnings. yandere!gojo, unhinged!gojo, dom!gojo, toxic relationships, stockholm syndrome, pure filth, obsession, profanity, guns, mindbreak, undertones of sadism, rough sex, unprotected sex, cunnilingus + fellatio, spitting, manhandling, hair pulling, asphyxiation, humiliation, cum eating, creampie, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, baby trapping, murder, blood, violence, dark content, a little twist in the end

notes. please do not ignore the warnings. 4.7k wc. i wrote this at midnight so if some things don’t make sense - yes it does :’P and also, this is highly inspired by the manhua who is the prey? bc i’ve been thinking abt it for days plzzzz.

1 year since you’ve met Satoru. 10 months since you’ve been living under the same roof. 6 months since he told you he loves you. 3 days since he promised to dedicate his whole world to you.

Anyone would assume that you were living every girl’s dream of having your undeniably handsome boyfriend with arctic white hair and icy blue eyes. He was powerful in every sense, charismatic without trying, wealthy with many successful businesses, and… a well-endowed cock that could leave you limping for hours. His god-like physique was not one to be ignored, and this was proven to you every single day just by the number of women who would have lingering stares on him whenever he was within their vicinity. They were ready to throw themselves at him, open their legs for him, and be violated by him. He’s so beautiful, they would blindly say. I want him inside me. It was like a mantra. He’s like an angel.

The truth was, his seraphic beauty was nothing more but a deceptive appearance.

Satoru Gojou, throughout heaven and Earth, was a ruthless Satan in disguise. He was an evil incarnate hidden by his mask of heavenly face. A fallen angel who delighted in cruelty and malignity. A demon who could only be satiated by other people’s misery. Tonight was just one of those many instances where he would do anything to fulfill his thirst for blood.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” said the albino devil, twisting a wooden chair so he could sit with his legs stretched open and have his arms against the backrest, “What were you planning when you asked her out?”

You were standing on the side, forced to be a spectator to the pitiful raven-haired man who was now on his knees, bruised and bloody as your boyfriend’s bodyguards beat him up into a pulp two hours after he was seen asking for your number at the restaurant he was working at. As you saw Satoru signaling his bodyguard to hand him a Springfield gun, you knew that you had to do your best to try and save the innocent man’s life. “Baby, please let him go,” you spoke in a cautious but persuasive tone while resisting his bodyguards’ tight grip on your arms, “Just leave this one be. I didn’t give him my number, anyway.”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll shoot your mouth.” Gojou ignored your appeal and unloaded the magazine to put in 10mm cartridges on his handgun. He then gestured his chin over at the man whose eyes were transfixed with horror, petrified by his fate at the hands of a ferocious mafia boss. “You there. Are you really not gonna answer me?”

The poor man was shuddering and begging for his life. “I’m s-sorry! I’m sorry. Please spare my life. I h-had no idea she had a boyfriend.”

A snicker of derision followed Satoru’s villainous smirk. “Isn’t she sexy? Look at her,” he mocked, raising his chin up as his thin lips curled upwards, “What was it that made you ask for her number? Was it her thighs?”

“N-No—”

“Was it her tits?”

“P-Please let me go—”

“Or was it her ass?”

“Help! Somebody help—”

“You know,” Satoru continued his twisted game while cocking his gun and pointing the muzzle towards his victim, “I recognize it easily when another man wants to fuck my woman raw. I can’t blame you, though. She makes my cock hard every time I look at her.”

Although his words were directed at the innocent man, the humiliation intended was subtly and undoubtedly aimed at you. The abandoned warehouse was full of men working under his command, so objectifying you and marketing your body to a stranger was his means of claiming his territory to make sure that not a single soul in that place would dare take an interest in his prized possession. However, despite how nauseating it was for you to hear his explicit utterances, this wasn’t the first time you had been in this situation and you already knew how to properly play this game instead of voicing out just how sickeningly obsessive he was.

So unlike the dark-haired guy who grew frighteningly scared from Gojou’s demonic eyes, you were holding it together to keep your composure.

“Did you know why I sat three tables away from her while talking to a business partner?” your boyfriend asked, but wasn’t really interested in an answer based on how quickly he continued his monologue, “It’s because I don’t know what I’d do to Mr. Watanabe if he tried to hit on my girlfriend.” Granted that he placed the pistol down on his right leg, it still didn’t mean that his little game was over. “And then this scrawny-looking waiter suddenly approaches her table, asking for her number instead of her order. She told you no and you were still insisting. Weren’t you staring at her tits the whole time, too? Did you enjoy undressing her with your eyes?”

The man showed adamancy in denying it. “I-I didn’t! I promise I’ll stay out of your way, p-please. I can even move out of town and you won’t see me ever again! She’s all yours. Just… Just please don’t kill me, Mr. Gojou.”

Satoru hummed, tilting his head to the side as though he was considering the negotiation. “You sure?”

For fuck’s sake. You could already tell where this was going.

“Yes, I’m sure! I’m sure!” Loud, desperate affirmations were echoing all over the warehouse. “I’ll leave as soon as possible.”

“Fine.” It didn’t take long for your boyfriend to tell his men to release the victim’s arms, soon doing the same towards the bodyguards that previously held you captive at their boss’ instruction. Satoru ignored the sigh of relief and the countless words of gratitude from the dark-haired male, and instead, offered him something in exchange. “Since you’re easy to talk to, I’ll give you a small reward before I let you go.”

The man sat on the floor, bedeviled. “Mr. Gojou, there’s no need to—”

Satoru feigned his kindness by chuckling. “No, no. If you’re saying I won’t get to see you ever again, I might as well indulge you, right?” he stated, glancing at you and pointing his finger across him, “Babe, why don’t you give him a quick lap dance? You’re quite good at it.”

Fuck. Here he goes. You tried to laugh it off. “Baby, you know I can only do that to you.”

“I don’t mind seeing you do it to another man at least once,” he claimed, rolling his sleeves up and loosening the tie around his neck, “Go on. Take your panties off while you’re at it. Let him feel how good your pussy is so he’d understand why I’m acting this way.”

With all eyes set on you, you had no choice but to slowly make your way towards the confused man who was probably concluding that Satoru was actually a cuckold who had nothing better to do with his life. In spite of the guy’s refusal, you saw how his eyes dilated when you slid your thong down your silk dress, tossing it beside him before you climbed on his lap and pressed your bare cunt against his hardening crotch. You turned your head around to get Gojou’s approval first and only started grinding your hips after he nodded, now intently watching the erotic movement of your body. The fabric of the man’s pants were getting tighter as they restricted his length from fully growing, but you didn’t stop and you wouldn’t stop rolling your hips until Satoru said so. You had already learned your lesson before.

“Mr. Gojou…” The guy was suppressing his moans while looking at your boyfriend. “I think I’m good. Y-You can make her stop.”

You couldn’t see Satoru’s face because your back was facing him, and yet you were able to register the sarcasm in his voice when he spoke again. “But aren’t you enjoying it?” he taunted, probably with a maniacal grin on his face, too. “Wanna put your cock inside her?”

“No, no, she’s yours! She’s all yours! She’s—fuck!”

“Ah!” A soft whimper unintentionally escaped your mouth when you felt the harsh friction on your clitoris rubbing against the man’s fly.

For Satoru, that was the trigger. A trigger, not just for his sick games, but also for the dangerous weapon that he was holding when a deafening gunshot had you jumping out of the man’s lap. You wanted to throw up when you saw the bullet on the center of his forehead—his eyes were wide and lifeless as blood seeped out of his skull. The macabre sight had you paralyzed and horrified until you were being manhandled by the murderer himself who pulled you by the arm and dragged you out of the place now that his little show was over.

That was his fifth kill. Five goddamn men were killed over the course of your relationship because they had gotten themselves involved with you—all sentenced to death on the grounds of igniting Satoru’s unhealthy jealousy. Such a ridiculous fucking reason for him to hold them sinners and deserving of an atrocious crime, leaving you with no choice but to fear for your life and learn your own tactic for survival. How did Satoru get away with his crimes? Fuck knows how. Only a mafia boss with all the power and money in the world could evade his offenses. Therefore, reporting him to the local police station and escaping his grasp were now crossed out of your list after he threatened to kill your family down to your last kin. He was deranged in the most frightening way possible, but you endured staying with a total psycho like him because you would be dead meat if you didn’t.

That, and because you ‘loved’ him.

“Get in the car,” he muttered as he roughly shoved you towards the vehicle, “Don’t make me waste a bullet for another man again.”

You drew in long deep breaths and got inside the black sedan, watching through the backseat window how Gojou ordered for the corpse to be disposed of in a nearby river. Because of you, another man was killed. Because of you, another man wasn’t given a chance to live. Yet the killer himself had no trace of guilt in his bones when he casually sat in comfortable silence on the way home. The hand that he used to pull the trigger was also the same hand that was on your thigh throughout the ride.

This gruesome killing happened five times now, so why were you still shaken up with how far Gojou could harm others just to prove that you were his and his alone?

You ran to the bathroom as soon as you reached the penthouse, stripped yourself off of every piece of garment, and hopped inside the shower to clean ‘the dirt’ all over your skin. If only you could tear your flesh and rip it off your muscle, you would have done it a long time ago every time you had to witness how many people your boyfriend was willing to murder for you. As warm droplets of water fell on your skin in rivulets, you closed your eyes and let your mind relive the demoralizing scene earlier. You knew that the moment Gojou asked you to ride the man’s lap, he was already thinking of shooting him straight away. He had never released any of his victims before, and never would he do it in the future, too. He was downright sick and twisted, and you wouldn’t be surprised if a man like him ended up suffering endless torture in the depths of hell.

But here on Earth, he was living as freely as he wanted. He had no sense of pity, or even the slightest bit of it, when he joined you in the shower and held your waist in his arms. Despite the wetness of your entire body, your throat was dry and parched when you swallowed your nervousness back in. Satoru’s lips began tracing soft kisses on your nape while he ran his fingers through your hair simultaneously, pulling it back and stretching your scalp as he forced you to face him. “Did you enjoy riding him, hm?” he asked, nipping on your earlobe, “Tell me, baby.”

Your breath hitched. “No, not at all,” you answered, leaning back and feeling his hardened member poking against your buttocks. “I kept imagining that he was you. Don’t make me do that ever again.”

“Good answer,” he praised you like the obedient girl you were before he cupped your chin and crashed his lips onto yours. He was completely devouring your mouth with rough and wide movements, shoving his tongue inside and allowing you to passionately roll yours around his. He could feel the vibration of your moans against his mouth and he pulled away to press his thumb on your lower lip, eyes darkening with lust and greed. “You’re mine,” he declared his possession, now sliding his hand down to your chest and squeezing your breast with his large, callous hand, “this,” he added, letting his hand travel further down to palm the entirety of your pussy, “and this. All of you. You’re mine.”

A gasp flew out of your lips when Satoru’s long, slender fingers performed circular motions on your clitoris, stretching your labia apart so he could insert two fingers at your entrance. “Ngh!” Your widened eyes were in great contrast to his amused electric blues who found entertainment at your submission to pleasure. You gripped his wrist and tiptoed when he started scissoring his fingers inside, forcing you to raise your leg so he could continue to move his hand in and out of your sopping cunt. “Ahh—ah! S-Satoru!”

His white hair was damp, clumping together as the rain shower dripped down on his body. The intrusion on your velvet walls never once stopped. “Say you want me,” he whispered in your ear, causing shivers down your spine as his warm breath fanned your neck.

“I w-want you,” you desperately cried, “F-Fuck, I want you… so bad, Satoru.”

“You’re like a bitch in heat, aren’t you?” He simpered, withdrawing his fingers all at once. “Then, I’ll fuck you like a rabid dog.”

You squeezed your legs together to hide the clench that you were feeling inside, looking up at his crazed cerulean eyes and tracing his pectoral muscles with your fingers. If this was what it would take to appease him, then you were a willing slut ready to be pounded on by this six-foot tall man. “Please.”

He reattached his lips back onto yours and pulled away just enough to keep your foreheads connected. “You have so much power over me, Y/N.” Lies. “I can give you the whole world as long as you stay by my side.”

In an instant, you veiled your emotions by displaying an amorous gaze. “Do you really love me that much?”

“Yes, I love you that much.” Satoru wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping his long, veiny shaft before rubbing the swollen head against your pussy. With your legs pressed together firmly, he forced his length between your thighs and caused a sensuous friction on your plump folds. He had his large hands on either side of your buttocks to aid him better in sliding his cock between your pussy lips, even stretching his legs apart to be at a satisfying angle. “Like that?”

You didn’t wait another second before you nodded, throwing your arms around his neck just as he started kneading your breast with his hand. “Mm… So good.” His index finger teased your nipple—first, by flicking the bud and second, by tracing your areolas in circles.

“Tongue,” he ordered and had you stick it out for him to taste every inch of your wet muscle. Even without a reflection to look at, this was the most erotogenic exchange you two had ever done as a couple. And along with that, his half lidded eyes were staring down at you, judging you and your every move. “You love being a slut for me, huh?”

You bit his lower lip, lasciviously. “Only for you.”

Satisfied by your ego boost, he pulled away and pushed you down to go on your knees. As much as you would prefer to deny it, you would be lying if you didn’t acknowledge how godly he looked when he raked his fingers through his wet hair and positioned his lengthy cock in between your lips. “Open up. I’ll fuck your mouth.”

You let him guide your hand into stroking his shaft before you ejected spit on the pink head, using it to lubricate his aching member while you lowered yourself further to fit his balls inside your mouth. It gave you utmost pleasure to hear his guttural moans when you swirled your tongue around his firm bollocks—tasting the same flesh that carried all of his sperm, and releasing it from your mouth to give his cock the same attention. At first, you kissed his swollen tip and treated it like a lollipop, then you started sucking every inch of his length by bobbing your head at a stable rhythm. “Mmm.” You could hear curses leaving his pretty lips as he held your head in place, snapping his hips forward until you were gagging from the intense penetration on your throat.

“F-Fuck. Keep sucking me like that.”

“Mmmh!”

You did your best to give him a stellar performance, did your most at pleasuring his member, and did everything that he liked whenever you were sucking his cock. And just like that, thick ropes of cum were sent straight down your throat. The musky, metallic taste didn’t stop you from swallowing all of his seed and you had to show your tongue to make him know that you did a good job at taking all of his semen. Nothing was wasted.

Not even time, because as soon as you finished giving him a blowjob, he was already carrying you out of the bathroom without drying yourselves off. You were thrown into his king-sized bed, manhandled into spreading your legs apart before your animalistic lover plunged his face onto your pussy.

“S-Satoru—! Mmm—fuck!”

He had your back arching because of how deep his tongue was going inside, tasting your walls and kissing your cunt like he would do with your mouth. He was smooching off your labia like a hungry beast, eating you out as if he wasn’t satisfied by the juices that he was sucking from you. You were already in your seventh heaven, unable to think straight when he added his middle finger to the movements of his tongue. If fingering your pussy and lapping your clitoris weren’t enough to drive you crazy, maybe grabbing a fistful of white hair was a sign for him to stop before you could truly lose it. You could feel fire pooling on your lower abdomen and your legs were already shaking uncontrollably, your toes curling wantonly—with the suction he was doing on your cunt, you ended up screaming for his name and engulfing his mouth with your Earth-shattering release.

“Ngh! Satoru, p-please… I’m…”

As he detached his mouth from your entrance, he started climbing up, visibly pleased with the way he ravaged your cunt. He was wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, pressing his lips down on yours to make you taste your own fluid. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his before he grabbed ahold of his erect member once again. It hasn’t even been more than two minutes! You were already being hauled into another position. “Let me hit from the back.”

“Satoru, w-wait.”

“Face down, ass up.” His patience was growing thin when he dragged your body by raising your hips close to his crotch and pressing your head down against the mattress. Your boyfriend cared none for the embarrassment that settled on your heated cheeks when he spread your buttocks apart so he could ogle at the exact hole that he was about to destroy. Did he give you any mercy? That word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary when he sunk all seven inches inside of your cunt, wrecking you open to the point where you could feel a stinging sensation on your entrance after being stretched by his fully erected cock. “Tightest fucking cunt I’ve ever been in.”

You were suppressing your tears from falling while you were biting on a pillow, nails digging on the sheets to the point where you could almost rip it the same way your lover was ripping your vaginal walls. “Ahh! M-More… More.” What a fucking whore you were. That must be what was on his mind when he continued jostling your hips at a harsher pace. He was treating you like a fleshlight as though your only purpose was to satisfy his fat cock, especially with how your warm pussy was perfectly accommodating his full length.

“I can fuck you like this every day,” he breathed, all deep and raspy as he gave you the most rhythmical skin slapping thrusts. He was so deep in your cavern that you could feel the base of his cock slamming against your ass. You didn’t even notice the hand that was snaking on your front to massage your bouncing tit because you were far too lost in the shockwaves of sexual gratification. “No other man can fuck you this good, baby.”

Your brain was short-circuiting from the amount of sensation that was entering your body, intoxicated by the waves of libido in your system that was heightening more and more as he continued to satisfy your insatiable heat. You could barely think straight. You lost all rationality. All of your morals. It was at that point where your womanhood was completely dissolving into nothingness, breaking your mind and turning you into nothing but a moaning mess. You didn’t even have any control of your own words when you started taunting Satoru. “Y-You say n-no one can… f-fuck me this good?” Another forceful slam elicited a mewl out of you. “A-Aah! That’s… that’s so unfair when you fucked another girl behind my back.”

All he did was to scoff. And then he grabbed you by the chin. And then he had your back arching into a C as he made you turn your face at him. “Jealous?” he spoke under his breath while continuing his thrusts, “I only fucked Himari to make you jealous.”

“Then…” You gulped and kept eye contact. “C-Can I fuck another man to make you jealous, too?”

Not even a second had passed when his eyes were already set on you with a deadly gaze. “The fuck did you say?” he asked through gritted teeth, forcing your jaw open so he could spit in your mouth, “Say that again.”

“Mmm! Ahh—ah! S-Slow down!”

“You wanna fuck another man?”

“N-No. Just y-you… Baby, just you!”

It was too late. You had already summoned the devil inside of him when he pulled out and propelled your body on the mattress, grabbing you by your ankle and spreading your legs apart. He was raising both legs into a V, aiming for your stretched hole before he hammered his cock back in. Your breasts were bouncing wildly, eyes rolling at the back of your skull, and mouth parting wide open for more screams to echo through the walls of his bedroom. Before you knew it, he already had his hand around your neck, restricting air on your lungs because of the compression on your windpipe. You let out a soundless gasp as he continued to fuck you into filth, ramming all of his length on your sweet pussy while you were slamming your fist against the mattress, begging for him to release your neck.

And he did, only when your pain had already fulfilled his amusement. Only when your pain sated his desire for dominance. Only when the pain blossoming in your midsection was signaling another round of intense orgasm out of you. Just like you, he was reaching his high, too. His climax was building inside based on how he was increasing his speed. He was grunting as he embraced you, and you were crying as you dug your nails on his back. Both of you were sucking in sharp breaths while your genitals were meeting each other through aggressive slams and slopping noises.

“I’m going to fuck a baby into you,” he whispered on your ear, kissing your temple before he sat back on his knees and dragged your body back and forth to be in perfect harmony with his pelvis, “I’m going to get you pregnant and you will stay with me for the rest of your life.”

You recoiled in horror and gaped at his resolute face, nothing but fear was consuming your soul. To spend the rest of your life with Satoru was not part of the plan. Your plan was to someday find an escape from the monstrous cage he had you locked in. “S-Satoru…” You closed your eyes and slammed your fist against his back. “Satoru!”

“Fuck!”

“Aah!”

You were no longer in a sound mind by the time he was shooting his warm load into your womb, filling you up with jizz as he ensured that every drop of his ejaculation would go straight past your cervix. His pace had become unsteady and you were already paralyzed when he pulled out and watched how his cum was seeping out of the pussy he destroyed.

“Good girl.” He tried to peck your lips, but you moved away.

Yes, you dared to scoot away and held the sheets closer to your chest, overthinking a miserable future with a psycho like him. While he didn’t pay much attention to the sudden shift in your emotions, he did try to recover his breath before spooning you. “I’m on birth control,” you stated, pusillanimously.

“I’ll throw them away.” He rolled on his back and ran his fingers through his hair. “We’ll get married next week.”

So sudden!

“B-But… I haven’t agreed yet.”

His face was strict and grim. “I’m not asking you to get married. I’m saying we’ll get married.”

This isn’t supposed to happen!

“Babe, please.” You placed a hand on his muscular chest. “I thought you s-said you loved me?”

His eyebrows furrowed at your words. “Exactly. I love you so much that I’ll make you my wife.” Satoru’s blue eyes became a shade darker. “I’ll make you carry my child and you’ll be with me forever. You and I… We’ll die together.”

You were sick and nauseated by the thought, but you held it all in as you analyzed your next move. Spending eternity in hell was better than having a life as Satoru Gojou’s wife. “Satoru,” you spoke carefully, sitting up on the corner of the bed, “One day, I’m going to kill you.”

Your threats only made him smile maniacally. “You’re gonna kill me?” he challenged, “When is that day?”

Tonight.

Grabbing the empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, you put all of your remaining energy into swinging the glass across his head. It shattered before your eyes thinking that you had finally managed to knock him over, but what it only did was to leave a smiling Satoru with blood oozing out of his head. He sat up to your horror while you were stumbling back on the carpeted floor, body full of trepidation with how your obsessive lover was breaking into fits of laughter.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, baby,” he taunted, wiping the blood off his face and tossing the duvet aside as the shards of glass flew along with it.

In your terror, you reached for the Springfield gun atop the sidetable. “You’re right. I’ll do even better than that.”

There was no scintilla of dread in his bones. No trace of panic in his eyes. No smidgen of hope that you would spare his life. Instead, he got up from bed and plastered a wide, frenzied grin on his devilish face. “Kill me.” He spread his arms open. “If I’m not dead after a minute, you’re gonna pay for it.”

Despite your shaking hands, you cocked the gun and pointed it at his head. “Good bye, Satoru.”

This was for your freedom.

Pulling the trigger was all it would take to end his atrocity. All you would have to do was close your eyes and shoot the gun. You would save more casualties in exchange for his life. Soon, you would be free from this toxicity. You have to do it!

Yet when you opened your eyes again, no bullet came out of the gun.

There, two feet across from you, was Satoru Gojou smiling at you with a predatory gaze. “Are you ready to pay?”

jjk general taglist: @kity @deeznutss @suhkusa @wonyoschubs @the-golden-jhope @6mattsun9 @hokageyamz @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @crashica @aizawap @juniorhooter @atsumusoup @gxtitobxby @dora-the-grownup @softy-woo @tsumume @kac-chowsballs @anime-nymph @kageyamakock @onlyonew @underratedmage @crapimahuman @fatal-impact @daylghits

#gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut

[ducavalentinos]

How would you rate Sabatini's biography on Cesare? I love it, but I wondered if you had any other (English) recommendations? Also take a shot everyone Sabatini interrupts his narrative to talk about how hot Cesare was sfhttjjggj

I think as far as Cesare bios goes, I’d rate his biography 7/10. I have conflicted feelings with Sabatini’s work, because I love his writing style, his sense of humour is great, it matched mine right away, and he has such a genius way of pointing out the hypocrisy and double standards applied to the Borgia family. He cleverly shows how much of the Borgia myths and general accusations thrown their way are connected to politics (shocker!) and to their Spaniard, and less nobly origins. Not to mention how he exposes the historical bias against Cesare, and general dishonesty with him, from primary sources to modern historians such as Gregorovius, that paragraph Sabatini wrote about him was truly a moment in the Borgia historical literature for me, I'm glad he said it. I just wish he hadn't fallen so hard for the Machiavellian Prince archetype about Cesare. The more I re-read his work, the more it becomes clear to me he took Machiavelli’s writings about Cesare at face value, fell in love with the image presented by him, and then proceeded (whether consciously or unconsciously) to apply this interpretation, one that has its limitations and flaws on their own, to all the facets of Cesare’s character, and all the other aspects of his life lol, which resulted in this too strict, robot-like persona. There is no nuance, no deepth to Cesare’s Sabatini, he exists only as the stoic, unscrupulous, unfeeling Machiavellian Prince. It’s a mistake I see being made time and again by most of Cesare’s biographers, many who follow Sabatini too blindly, or just Borgia biographers in general tbh, but Sabatini’s bio acutely illustrates this particular issue better than the other bios I’ve read I think, (with the exception perhaps of Beuf’s “work”, who somehow managed to outdone Sabatini in this Machiavellian presentation of Cesare, taking it to new extremes with super dramatic and misleading writing, for the most part). And you know, I always get the impression Sabatini had his own conflicted feelings in regards to The Prince, and its clear-headed, pragmatic politics. He seemed to admired it and feel repulsed by it at the time. And those mixed feelings sometimes ended up leaking into his view and writing about Cesare and some historical events, and what he believed had happened (e.g., the take of Urbino), and I find that very interesting. In any case, the point is: Sabatini’s Cesare is unrealistic, and it constantly enters into conflict with what Sabatini also presents as evidence for his history. I mean, he insists throughout the book in reaffirming Cesare was a utter egoist, cold man. Only moved by his ambition and thirst for power. He was incapable of kindness, or of being considerate with others, of feeling compassion, without ulterior motives involved. All of his actions were always calculated to only serve his own interests. Everyone around him were pawns to be used and discarded when they were no longer of any use to him. We are to believe he was a cynic, a block of ice, essentially. We are also to believe he never had genuine emotional bonds with anyone, much less with women. Women were interchangeble to him. Sabatini was convinced he was a man incapable of having a sentimental side, of loving or of having any connection with them beyond the physical aspect. But then, in between chapters, sometimes pages, he also tell us how Cesare seems to have deeply grieved the death of his cousin, Giovanni Borgia, whom he refers as Mio Fatre in his letters. He gives an honest, if quick, account about the marriage and relationship between Cesare and Charlotte d’Albret, in which Cesare’s obvious feelings for her can be seen, as well as his kindness and respect towards her. Sabatini admits the evidence shows they may well have loved each other, and that when leaving Charlotte in charge of all his affairs in France, as the governor and administrator of his lands and lorships there, as well as his heiress in case of his death, Cesare shows “his esteem of her and the confidence he reposed in her mental qualities.” And of Cesare’s policies and behavior as its ruler in the Romagna, it reaches a point where his mere self-interest doesn’t quite alone explain his relationship with this romagnese subjects and many of his decisions. It undermines Sabatini’s claim that it was for show and for his political gain. Last but not least, what is one supposed to make of the hypothesis he posits to the what I like to call, the Dorotea affair? This event is the peak of his contradiction and his mental gymnastics, because to be sure, his hypothesis is not far-fetched. I will concede I thought it was the first I read his bio. But over the years, between carefully separating fiction from history and reading other sources, then going back to his bio, I recognized his hypothesis is one of the plausible ones, certainly more plausible than the official sensationalistic narrative of Cesare simply abducting the innocent maiden Dorotea out on a whim, to satisfy his lust, (the fact Borgia scholars  are still repeating this narrative with a straight face is beyond my comprehension), I can see Cesare doing what he proposes, it def. aligns better with my understanding of him, and all the historical material I’ve read about him and his times, however, this hypothesis is completely irreconcilable with Sabatini’s Cesare. So, he says one thing, then he says another that’s incompatible with the first thing he said, and then proceeds to show evidence that either puts into doubt or confirms the opposite of his characterization of Cesare. And that’s only considering the historical info he dedided to include in his bio. If he had included some of the info Alvisi presents in his Duca di Romagna, a work he must have checked out, if not read it all, given one of the languages he spoke was Italian, and Alvisi’s bio is the best and most authoritative historical work made to date about Cesare and his life, I believe he would have struggled a lot more than he did. It just seems like he enters into a trap of his own making. Turning an already difficult task more difficult than it needs to be, honestly. Ironically, his stance is as messy and contradictory as the aforementioned Gregorovius in his Lucrezia Borgia, where you also have two Cesare(s): the one he sees and wants to present versus the one that emerges from the his own writing at times and historical material he himself exposes it. Overall, his work frustrates on some fronts, and I think it could have been better. It has its faults, some the typical faults/vices fond in Borgia biographies, others very much his own, but nevertheless I have a fondness for his bio which I do not share with others bios on Cesare, or the Borgia family. It is the only bio in the English language I find myself reading again and again, and the one I would put it first as better, or more decent, in this language about Cesare. I admire his honesty, and his bravery in challenging a little bit of Cesare’s dark legend, and the baseless accusations attached to his name. I appreciate what he tried to do, the very least of what I expect from a serious historian when dealing with figures as infamous in popular imagination as Cesare and Rodrigo Borgia. There is no denying his work was one of the main works which advanced Cesare’s historical literature, and the approach to his figure. Moving slightly from the literary, colorful, villain-like character of the Italian Renaissance, towards starting to be more seriously studied as a historical figure properly. And oh my god, yes, interrupting the narrative to talk about how hot Cesare was. It’s funny you mentioned that, because I don’t remember him doing that so much (time for a re-read!), but that's one of the characteristics of the Borgian/Cesarean historical literature heh. I’m yet to read a bio where authors do not feel the need to take a moment to talk about how hot he was, some even a poetic way lol, it’s so amusing, and always the one thing I know I will agree with them, if nothing else. Also, I think Borgia bios have huge potential for drinking games! Like: take a shot of tequila every time Cesare gets badmouthed for no reason, or baselessly asserted guilty of questionable murders, fratricide, rape, and abduction. Or when Juan and Cesare envied and hated each other narrative is repeated. Or when Guicciardini, Sanuto, Cappello and Giustinian are uncritically used as credible sources for Rodrigo and Cesare. Every time Lucrezia gets painted as the Good Borgia, the pretty, passive doll who was the helpless victim of the terrible Borgia men. Or when authors get uncomfortably shippy with the Cesare/Lucrezia relationship resulting in exaggerated claims such as: Lucrezia was Cesare’s only exception, or they were unusually close as siblings, etc. And of course, whenever Cesare’s hotness and allure has to be talked about dsjdsjsj, the list is long, and I think it will get you drunk very quickly. I know I couldn’t keep up back when I was reading Sacerdote’s bio, and I was drinking wine so. As for recs in the English language, I would say Woodward’s bio has its value in terms of sources and historical documents. I also think his analysis about politics, about Cesare’s goverment in the Romagna, and also concerning the conclave of 1503 are generally good. His last five, four chapters are the best ones imo, so if you are interested in these points I mentioned, it might be worth checking out. I would just open a caveat saying that as far as a biography about the person of Cesare Borgia is concerned, it is weak and to be read with a grain of salt. I was mostly unimpressive by his work on that front, and I thought about quitting time and again. He likes presenting himself as the impartial historian, (a big red flag that only makes me twice as cautious when reading any historical work) writing in a mostly sober tone, but of course like all scholars, all people, he has his bias, and they do come to surface from time to time. He displays an peculiar antipathy and ill will towards Cesare at times, which leads to harsh, confusing, unsubstantiated claims about his character and some of the events about his life. In contrast, you can see he is more benevolent and fair towards Rodrigo Borgia, and a constant thought I had while reading his bio was that he obviously chose the wrong Borgia to write a bio on. Had he chose Rodrigo as his Borgia subject, I believe we would have had a pretty good bio about him and his papacy.

#ask answered #anon ask #cesare borgia #césar borgia #house borgia in history #auth: rafael sabatini #long text #i thought many times about making this shorter #but as it is said: yolo djsdjsdjs #i have many thoughts about sabatini #and the influence of his Cesare in followers scholars' works #i also think he had an interesting mind of his own #and i think that's part of the reason why i love his writings so much #despite their flaws #so yeah

[ohprettyweeper-moved]

The Last Bandito

Part Eight: We Know What We Are

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The woman with yellow eyes, Tyler, and Quinn all come to terms with who they are now. Warnings: Violence, death, blood drinking.  Word Count: 1765 A/N: This series was borne of this picture. The bolded phrases are prompts I have compiled to use in this fic. Also, I’ve forgotten to mention before that for the phrases in Ukrainian, I’ve been using Google Translate; forgive me if they’re not accurate!

We know what we are, but not what we may be. -- William Shakespeare

Another soul escaping from the dark science of the Bishops. The moment the sirens had gone off, she was running on foot toward the escaped. This time it was a man and a woman, deep in Trench, whose absence had gone undetected until now. 

She approached them slowly, her yellow eyes glowing in the night. They both stood tall but cautious as she approached them, ready to fight for their freedom if necessary. 

“Don’t be afraid,” she assured. “I’ve come to help you. To bring you to New Dema.”

Their defenses lowered, but only by a minimal amount. The woman was shivering, so, in an effort to show that she was indeed there to help, the yellow-eyed woman offered her coat. Her arms were exposed now, but she would be fine until she could bring the couple into New Dema and have her jacket back. 

The lights of the city came into view soon enough, illuminating her bare arms, and part of her collarbone and chest. The woman was huddled into the jacket, eyes forward toward safety, but the man had kept a careful watch on the one with yellow eyes since she had approached them. 

“How does a woman like you get scars of that intensity?” he asked. “Surely not from retrieving the lost of us from Trench.”

They were on the boundaries of New Dema now; she held her hand out to the woman, a silent request for the return of her jacket. The woman complied. While she zipped her jacket and fixed the hood over her head again, the one with yellow eyes thought about her life; how she came to be, how much she often wrestled with who she was and what she had become. 

“You can’t even begin to imagine what I had to go through to deserve these scars.”

Then, she was gone.  

After their girls’ night out, Ildri didn’t hear from Quinn for a couple of weeks. She went back to work as usual. She continued digging into Quinn’s past and, at Andre’s urging, continued to try to contact the other woman. One random afternoon, while typing notes on The Conference’s latest meeting, she received a message from Quinn. 

I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. Could you meet me in my classroom?

Ildri immediately gathered everything, stuttered out a quick explanation to Andre, and made way for the university. 

When she arrived, Quinn was at the same podium she had stood at the first time the two women met. Her presentation on the dearg-due was up on the screen; once Ildri sat down, Quinn immediately began the same lecture she had given her students over the creature. 

“She calms her victims first with a siren song, and then steals their blood, leaving them mysteriously ill or dead.” She paused, and then continued. “That’s where I finish this lecture with my students, but there’s more.”

Ildri nodded, too afraid if she spoke, she might somehow spook Quinn out of what she had to say. 

“The descendants of that woman have been cursed with her need for blood and revenge. They appear to be as normal as anyone else, until their heart is broken. At that point, the thirst begins — not only for blood, but for murder.” Quinn came to sit next to Ildri. Tears were falling down her face. “I’ve never told anyone this before, Ildri. But what you said about everyone having demons … I don’t want to be this anymore. I kept myself away from love so that I could never be heartbroken, but that turned into keeping myself away from everyone. What I found out, is that loneliness can be heartbreaking.”

Still saying silent, Ildri reached out for her friend’s hand. This confession was not easy at all; in fact, it was the biggest risk Quinn could have taken. Perhaps bigger than she even realized. 

“I have dreams when the next one is coming,” Quinn continued. “I do my best to avoid it, but it’s like — like before I know it, I’m there. I’m in the moment and this monster that’s trapped inside of me takes over. The next one is going to be on my birthday.”

Ildri let go of Quinn’s hand to pull her into a fierce hug. “No, it’s not going to be. You and me and Faylinn, we’re going to go out and celebrate your birthday. You’ll have no reason to be heartbroken. And Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

Ildri held her at arm’s length and looked the other woman right in the eye. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Quinn hugged Ildri again. Ildri returned the embrace, and knew that her words were completely true. She wasn’t going to tell another living soul about Quinn’s secret. 

After their first trip into New Dema, the Bishops refused to allow Josh to accompany Tyler on future trips. Tyler knew the reason was related to his friend’s change in demeanor, but he didn’t dare ask the Bishops for any details. Josh refused to talk about it, leaving Tyler with no answers and on his own for the next venture into New Dema. 

This time, it was Keons who accompanied him to the gate. Tyler put up the hood on his black, zip-up jacket, and prepared for another small taste of freedom. In his heart, he was ready to run, but his mind knew that his plan was not steady enough to execute yet. 

“She’s out there,” Keons told Tyler as the gate slowly opened before them. “The one we need to further your race. Our race. Our people. We have waited until later in the day, past last call, for you to be released, so that you may have a different chance of finding her. Bring back information, before the sun rises again, and you will go to look for her again.”

Tyler turned to look at the Bishop next to him. Keons kept a steady eye on his charge, waiting for any sign of question or uncertainty. When he detected none, he nodded to the Heathens keeping the gate and it opened before them. With one more exchanged glance between them, Tyler moved forward, out of the gate, and into the forest that separated Old Dema from New Dema. 

Ahead of him, the sun was setting on the horizon. Only once did he look behind him, just before Old Dema was out of view. Being out of his room, out of the city, as this time of day approached was enough to make him long, only for a second, for the security of the wall and the rules of the Bishops. 

When he turned back toward the new city, that longing disappeared instantly, and Tyler began to run. He ran from the wall, from the rules, from this thing that he had become. He could feel the serum and the disease in his very smallest of cells, it seemed, and no amount of running would make that go away. 

Barely winded when he approached the border of the city, Tyler again pulled up the hood on his black jacket, as it had fallen while he ran. He cleared his throat and stepped onto a cement path that led from building to building, away from the cars and other vehicles that carried citizens from one place to another. 

As he approached a building busy with patrons, Tyler could smell her. The scent was sweet and strong and had a comforting undertone. He closed his eyes and breathed it in, reveling in the smell as it grew stronger. 

When he knew that she was nearby from the strength of the scent, Tyler fell back in with the crowd, and continued to follow the scent, until he had narrowed it down to the woman to which it belonged. 

They were on the west side of the city now. She was carrying two plastic bags, and a cloth one over her shoulder. A gentle hum floated from her throat, pulling Tyler in and making him wish he could follow her into the house where she finally stopped walking and unlocked the door. 

Just before she entered the house, her head lifted. Her lips parted slightly, and her brow furrowed only enough for Tyler to know she suspected something. The two of them were the only ones left walking the sidewalk now, with the exception of a few passing through the residential area. In order to keep his cover, he fell back into an alley between her house and the next. He had found her in enough time, he would do what he needed to remember the landmarks of the area, and then use the rest of his time until sunrise to explore Trench. 

Deciding he had spent enough time out in the open, Tyler backed further into the alley to find a way to stay in the dark as he navigated out of the city. He was three alleyways over when another man stepped out of a dark corner, wrapped one arm around Tyler’s throat, and held a knife to his carotid with the other. 

“Gimme what you’ve got and won’t be anymore trouble than this,” the man warned. 

Tyler closed his eyes and fought against the Heathen tendency. “Trust me. You don’t want what I have.”

The blade pressed against his skin. “Sure I do. Empty out your pockets, now.”

With the sharp edge of the knife threatening to bleed him out, Tyler could no longer stamp down the anger and fight rising within him. He grabbed both arms of the man, freed himself from the hold, and slammed the man, hard, against the nearby brick wall. Small pebbles of brick and cement peppered over the man’s face and clothes. 

Tyler held him against the wall with one hand on the man’s chest. “I told you. You don’t want what I have.”

The man’s jaw fell open and his eyes went even wider at Tyler’s red irises. Tyler opened his mouth, allowing the man a view of Tyler’s cuspid teeth, and the incisors next to them transformed to long, sharp fangs. The man drew in a breath, scratching at Tyler’s hand pressing on his throat. 

“What are you?” the man gasped out. 

“We are a new breed rising, with fire in our eyes. We don’t fear anything because we’ve already died.” 

In one last attempt at saving his life, the man plunged the knife deep into Tyler’s side. Tyler winced, but the wound deterred him only for a moment before he plunged his teeth into the man’s neck, drinking away the wretched life that flowed there. 

#twenty one pilots #fanfiction #twenty one pilots fanfic #twenty one pilots fic #tøp fanfiction #tøp fanfic #tøp fic #the last bandito #we know what we are #series #long series #bandito #trench #dema #inspired #sahlo folina #tyler #tyler joseph #josh #josh dun #original characters #can you save my heavydirtyqueue

[iamapoopmuffin]

Victims With Numbers

Fandom: Nanbaka/Corpse Party (crossover) Genre: Horror Characters: Hajime Sugoroku, Samon Gokuu, Kiji Mitsuba, Kenshirou Yozakura, Jyugo, Uno, Nico, Rock, Tsukumo, Liang, Upa, Qi, Honey, Trois, Musashi, Sachiko Shinozaki, Ryou Yoshizawa, Yuki Kanno, Tokiko Tsuji, Yoshikazu Yanagihori, Yoshie Shinozaki, Takamine Yanagihori, some OCs to take the role of Kizami later on instead of actual Kizami Includes major character death.

Chapter 7 of ?

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"You're not bothered by the ghost? Or, you know, surprised we could see it?"

"I'm more surprised you could see it. I've kind of always been able to see ghosts."

Rock was walking through the dilapidated halls with Liang hot on his heels. Back in the classroom they'd woken up in, they'd been met with the spirit of a teenage boy who had explained to the two of them where they were. Supposedly, the ghosts of some murdered children had been angered with them, most likely because of Tsukumo's ghost story, and had dragged them into an inescapable murder school where there were different dimensions. According to the ghost, these overlapping dimensions made the appearance of the school slightly different between each one, and meant that you could be in the same place at the same time as someone, but you could not see that person. Rock and Liang were told they were lucky to have been trapped in the same dimension, but the spirit claimed he was certain none of their friends were there with them. The spirit had also warned them that if they died, they would feel the pain of death for all eternity, but he'd at least been nice enough to wish them luck. Liang had seemed transfixed on what the ghost had said, listening to every word, taking in the valuable information.

Rock was more concerned with the other ghosts. The ones Liang couldn't see. Because they were everywhere. Mostly teenagers, but some adults and younger children mixed in. Lots of people milling through the halls that Liang paid no heed to, and who paid no heed to the two of them in return. They were mostly just wandering around, clearly injured and with no set destination, wallowing in their suffering.

Rock had decided not to tell Liang about the abundance of ghosts around them for now. He didn't think it would go down well.

"So it's something you're used to?"

"I guess so. In a way." He flinched away from a passing ghost whose eye was hanging out of her socket and almost bumped into his friend.

"Are you okay?" Liang asked, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

He received a look for that, but no more prodding for the time being.

The two of them didn't really have a plan. They'd started to wander around, perhaps hoping the ghost would be wrong and they'd be able to escape or find someone else, but they hadn't yet discussed any kind of game plan. There wasn't much to report in the halls, either. Liang could see clearer as his vision wasn't blocked by the multitude of ghosts, but what he saw gave him few clues. There were dead bodies, notes scrawled frantically by the dying, messages to friends, about injuries or hunger or thirst, messages of fear and misery, and someone had even scratched 'kill me' into the floor. They passed an empty, rusting bucket near one of the classrooms. There was no way beyond this point in the hall as the floor had fallen out. Another reminder of the dangers they were about to face.

He heaved a sigh and cast a look around. There had to be a clue of some kind around here somewhere. There weren't any signs of life, and any sounds seemed to be coming from the rainstorm outside. The nearest door, to a room marked '1-A', hadn't opened when they'd tried it. It had seemed to be locked.

"It looks like we have to go back." He admitted.

"Back where?" Asked Rock. "There's not really anywhere we can go."

"There has to be somewhere we haven't been, somewhere we can still get to."

"There's holes and ghosts everywhere, man. We might be trapped..."

Liang frowned. "There's ghosts everywhere?"

Rock seemed to freeze up, then he crossed his arms and sighed. "This place is super haunted."

"Huh." He looked around again, as if suddenly he'd be able to see all the ghosts. "I mean, I definitely get a really bad feeling from this place. Like a dark energy. It's really bad." That was, of course, not even considering the corpses. "We're definitely in great danger the longer we're here."

Before either of them could say another word, the building began to shake around them. Another earthquake? Still standing at the lip of the hole, Liang felt his heel go over the edge as he struggled to keep his balance. If he didn't manage to stay standing, he was at a very real risk of falling to his death. The intensity of the earthquake was like nothing he'd ever experienced. It seemed far stronger than the one that had launched them into this nightmare, and honestly, he wasn't confident he could keep his balance until it ended. It didn't seem safe to step away from the hole either. He'd definitely fall if he tried.

Rock had had the intelligence to flatten himself against the wall when the shaking had started. He'd been right by the wall anyway, so using it for support made sense. He seemed to notice Liang's predicament, and tried to reach out a hand to pull him to safety, only to overbalance and end up flat on his face. Helpful. Liang stumbled in his attempt to keep his own balance, and gasped as one of his feet met with no resistance and he slipped down into the hole.

As he tipped back, there was an uncomfortable wrench as his other foot tried, unsuccessfully, to stay up on the ground. He grabbed as he fell, hand closing around the jagged remains of the floor he'd fallen from. The splintered wood bit into his hand and tore through a few layers of skin, and his grip was not very strong. It wouldn't last unless he could get a better grip. He glanced down and saw only darkness. For a moment, he felt sick, and shut his eyes. His grip was failing, he had to try and get his other hand up...

He let go. His fingers scraped off the ledge and he could feel himself falling again.

And a hand was holding his. Rock. Rock had crawled over and grabbed him at the last moment. He was lying flat against the floor to make sure he didn't fall as well. He held strong while they waited out the end of the quake, and once the shaking was over, Liang found it easier than he'd expected to pull himself back to safe ground. While he took a moment to examine the damage to his hand (which wasn't too bad, but it was pretty scraped up - he just had to hope he didn't get any of his cuts infected), a click sounded from somewhere behind Rock, who turned his head to see what it could have been.

"What the...?"

Liang looked up, following his gaze. The hallway had changed. The location of the holes, the bodies that were present, the notes here and there. It was like the same place, but undeniably different. The door to the nearby classroom had opened slightly while neither of them were looking.

"The overlapping dimensions look slightly different to each other." Liang muttered, "That was what that ghost had said, wasn't it?"

"Yeah..."

"So is this...another dimension?"

"If it's different to the other one..."

"Someone else might be here!"

Rock nodded and got to his feet, helping Liang up as well. "We just need to look, right? If more of us get together, we can get out of here!"

"The ghost said it was impossible to escape, but with not just us, but the guards as well..."

"We'll get out of here! All of us! The ghost made it sound like we'd never see anyone again, like we'd be trapped in our dimension forever."

"But we can move between the dimensions. Or rather, we can be moved between them. So if he got that wrong, maybe there is a way out after all."

They went quiet for a moment after that. Just letting the positivity settle in during an otherwise dark moment. Rock glanced down to Liang's injured hand.

"You okay? You could have gotten really hurt back then."

"I'm fine. A scrape and a splinter at worst." On that note, he probably should try to remove the splinters. "What about you? You fell pretty hard."

"I've fallen harder, I'm good." They both found themselves slowly looking away from one another, and toward the open door. "You think we should go in?"

"You think it might be a trap?"

Rock shrugged and reached out to open the door. "If it's a trap, we can deal with it, right?"

"Right."

The classroom was pretty much like the rest of the school. Broken and full of death. Liang looked at the notices on the notice board while Rock tried in vain to open a window. The notices were similar to ones seen in other classrooms, mostly just warnings about staying safe and the usual sort of faculty to student notices one might expect in a school. School trips, special services following unfortunate events, a notice about a planned upgrade to the second wing...

There was a second wing?

They would have to keep an eye out for that. He looked over to Rock in time to see him try and grab a chair from the floor. He wasn't sure what he planned to do with it, but assumed either the American had seen something out of reach, or he was planning to throw it at the window. Whatever he was planning, he couldn't manage it. The chair wouldn't budge an inch, no matter how much strength Rock put into his attempts to move it. Liang moved further into the room, but kept closer to the wall still. The chalkboard was marred with deep scratches, and he found himself running his fingers across them, curious as to what weapon had made them. There was a crude drawing on the board as well, of four figures surrounding a fifth. The fifth chalk figure had red on it, where something the other four held touched him. Liang brushed his fingers across this as well, and found the red was definitely not chalk. It appeared to be dried blood, as if the fifth figure were being stabbed. A strange decoration, but he wouldn't say out of place. He looked then to the teacher's desk, and picked up a piece of paper resting on it. It looked to have been torn from a notebook or workbook. The pages were lined as a writing guide. Upon it was a hastily scrawled note, clearly from someone they knew.

"Rock! Nico was here!"

"What?" He came over and pulled the note so he could read it too.

"The handwriting's familiar too."

"So you know who he was with? Other than the guard?"

"If they found the guard again...it's Upa's handwriting, I've seen it before." They placed the note back where they'd found it. "If they're waiting here again, they must be in a different dimension. They might still be out looking, though."

"We're not going to wait here, are we?" Rock asked, looking toward a body in the centre of the room.

"No, but it's something to remember. People we knew were here, and they plan to come back to this room. Maybe we should leave something to show we were here too. We should keep checking back here too, just in case."

Rock nodded, still looking at the body, or at a point just above it.

"You okay?" Liang asked him, tapping at his shoulder. He jolted slightly in response, but nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll write a note as well, to let them know we were here. I can use the scraps from the notice board. You go see if there's anywhere we can go."

Liang gave a slow nod, and hesitantly left, leaving Rock alone with the ghost of the weeping girl, crouched just by her own body.

#It is midnight and I think I made them both too positive there #It's fine Michael shut up #Victims With Numbers #at last it can be posted #it's just over 2000 words so a teeny bit shorter than the others #also ghosts #ghosts everywhere #oh god wish me luck with actually trying to continue this

[keeraallsebrook0711unit18-blog]

Homework: Look at cool stuff

For my first example after looking at zine empire of ‘Behance’, I’ve discovered another visual dimension to the complex creativity of the visual cultures of print and photography or alternative artwork and that of graphic design. 

Anyhow one of the rior examples was ‘BATS’ Magazine which unleashes the ‘creative child’ of the designers; having said that it was founded in 2008, the Brisbane- based publication launches Austrailian artwork, fashion, photography, music, popular cultre and among them being some rather debateable controversial issues especially with the student life.

With their opinions aside, BATS magazine has a unique selling point with their tantalizing and cheeky tongue of journalism; the humour has a twist of its own elixir.  With the zine having fireworks of monoprint aestheitcs and with the final full-bleed content- it energises the consumer to look beyond an ordinary group of young individuals; it unveils a taste for life filled with new experiences to quench the thirst. 

On the other hand, what I find most appealing isn’t nececarilly the target audience, but the way that the zine has been showcased with the pristince amount of conituinity in each of the issues published on ‘Behance’. For example:

In each of the examples above, they all have their own secret persona on each subject matter being the issue or topic of discussion to the bespoke format of text- the inspiration looks as though it has been taken from the American phenomenon of psychedelic thriller franchise, ‘American Horror Story’. Each letter has an original outlook with a mysterious and gothic style- for instance the coffin roughly edged around the ‘t’ which has been symbolised to represent a crucifix. The way in which the headline has been written to compliment the topic; being the summer holidays or term time for the semester period is evoked around ‘KiLLing tiMe’ revealing a more elaborate response from the eyes of a (former) student. 

Working upwards, the middle image has the smooth continuity process which makes the zine hold a value much greater than many zines: professionalism and strong design prospects with the use of modelling. The only issue I have with the chosen front covers are that each of the three only displays a female model and never a male- which makes me wonder is this a feminist approach to the zine’s unique selling point (USP)? Or is it that gender equality isn’t seen to be a problem within this small development of colleagues? Whichever the case, continuity is a key attribute within any zine or printed process and I do believe this is one strong feature that has been showcased beyond high standards. 

My final example of choice has got to be the bewitched dream of doodles- all being handwritten to display talent and personal flair- to express the opinions on controversial issues and conspiracy theories, such as the Illuminati Theory- an agenda of government that dictates world affairs and political uprisings to eventually replace possibly the human race with artificial intelligence- as shown above.  The visual connotation allures the target audience to become more interested and focused on the topic; it produces a reportage on what the topic is about: being the greatest conspiracy theories that may appeal to students or young adults.

Initially, ‘BATS’ Magazine covers student life in a gothic, absent-minded state using contemporary art showcasing designs with a nostalgic aesthetic; with an edgy hipster ambience to the overall tone of the zine. The three attributes is the use of text and the ambiguous wording of headlines etc to entice the reader, the pristine professionalism used alongside the colour scheme inviting a nostalgic theme to the zine. 

Example 2

Mental health can have a staggering domino effect onto the population; there are over 200 mental illness conditions that have been professionally diagnosed by doctors; many more still to be recognised. Considering that mental illness is the primary feature, I believe that it’s important to excell the most within our knowledge of factual and statistical research alongside how we format our zine and the photography aspects- which speak out the most to me considering they’re wholly based on the male gender which is rather unusual to see. 

It has been known that men have a tendency to remain silent and to not allow their feelings to overrule them- by just speaking out- this results in the poison of mental illness for any individual: bottling up their fears. Scott Carroll- designer and editor of this project has noted that ‘the creative solution of the problem is to give men a platform and hep them understand that it is ok to cry and feel lonely because it’s a normal experience when mentally ill.’ Carroll hopes that this sentimental project will make men aware that it’s ok to cry and be yourself- it’s shown as a strength and not a weakness! 

Therefore by creating a mini book and a poster series, Carroll has provided the victims of mental illness in men to know what the harsh reality is on the inside; what they’re really thinking. Hopefully the optimism i Carroll helps that men will see more clearly that they can go for support and ‘kick out the stigma and give men a voice’.

The last two examples- that I haven’t yet discussed- are the book series that Carroll has vividly created for ‘mind’ charity raising awareness against mental health around the UK. Most importantly from the examples listed, the iconic use of the words resembles the integrity not just in the zine, but the photo which is a masterpiece and a great skill to master alone. The bolded words “I feel trapped” helps the reader to intensely understand what is happening in this scenario and through the greater scale of the miscommunication of mental illness which is what the words help to translate to the target audience being people who are suffering or know someone whom is a victim to mental health. 

Hence that this specific example of project isn’t a zine in itself, but a poster series developing the social, physical and mental scars of many men across Britain. At the end of the day, it’s our job to make peace and help those in need of support and aid- we can never leave the fallen even if they don’t seek the help... Inside they’re screaming for recognition and the signs of mental health have all been openly and photographically casted in the poster series being a wonderful and overwhelming source of a photographic example that I would love my team to create.

Although I view mental health as a new chapter and a gateway to a happier life- which is a rare prospect to have on such a controversial issue- it helps those that are suffering or know someone that is to be different and to embrace life and the challenges that we all may face. It’s a new dawn against mental illness and suicide so let’s make each word count. Tht is the main inspiration that I have gathered from this particular series with it being unique with the gender preference and with the two part collection showing creativity and dedication to the project. The only disadvantage is what I mentioned before about not embracing who they truly are as an individual- many if any zines don’t provide that different outlook and I would like my team to be the first to embrace and establish this. 

Example 3

“The painter has the Universe in his mind and hands.” by Leonardo Da Vinci... Truth be told artwork displays much emotion which can’t be seen and it entails how we visualise our lives and the people or the environment around us; how we learn to love life; how we grow as a race.

The artwork above found on ‘Designsnspiration’ by two different artists has captivated my eye to understand more about the style, colour scheme, tone of enrichment and the hidden connotation beneath the beautiful and extraordinary. 

From the first example I adore the idea of the multi platform of faces and it appeals to me in a perplexing easy of viewing the world as a paradox of many facades- particularly attractive towards our zine’s issue of mental health with music. The musical side however sings its way in with the colour tone of deep purples and subtle teal and turquoise blues which can give a festival vibe to the creation. 

Considering that the artwork doesn’t provide much contextual knowledge, the way in which the eyes are drawn creates a mass effect of the eye watches everyone and everything- which can be sinister, but true and once again it does link into the realism of how people suffering with mental illness can feel with someone watching their every move and mistake. Which is a piece that it compelling to resemble in our zine- it creates a doodle of imagination being the effect that we would like our zine to have on our target audience being those who suffer from mental illness. The ‘doodle imagination’ is a dream cloud on what happens in a mind of an individual on edge of life- it can create peculiar hallucinations or visions with how they perceive themselves or how society views them.  In addition, the artwork is entitled ‘Little Monster’ created by Damiano Plebani. 

What appeals to me the most in the second piece of artwork is how the woman is blindfolded by a crown or wreath of beauty: fluorescent flowers. The fact that the flowers are vibrant and full of life against a grey woman with a vibrant orange background can be a sandwich overlap of vibrant against dark to vibrant. Could this artwork be providing a social indifferent message: Is the woman hiding from herself to not be accepted or to not know the sublime embrace of natural beauty- is that why her face has been blindfolded by a wreath of flowers? Or more simply, is this just an artistic doodle- which is probably the answer. 

However, I’m enchanted with the way that the woman is outcasted with the grey colour tone and that the flowers are bold and they essentially make a statement in this piece; the artwork does speak volumes. 

Example 4

Now after looking through ‘Designspirations’, I’m truly amazed by what I see to be people’s view on lifestyle and how and why they enjoy it- what makes it special to them? Well there are many ways from fashion collecting or morphing ideas- as seen above- to revealing a different side to society- example 1- each way is someone’s form of lifestyle and how they pursue their daily lives. 

Example 1 tells the tale on a lock and key style zine- what allures the eye to the treasure perhaps? Being a zine example and bringing to light how different forms of layout can be appealing and adapt to our lifestyle is quite astonishing; this has the overall effect on how lifestyle can be incorporated into our zine through the way that just images can be represented.

After looking at the artist behind the print, Patrick Fry has released an article featured in the above zine saying ‘Exist to Resist’ which can be rather stifling in what context it has been viewed in- from what perspective and how does this affect lifestyle? Well it could mean the ideology behind the eye through the lock can be a treasure of secrets which may be harmful to see or understand. I particularly do like the idea of the neon blue print that has been sliced across the image, though it can appear to be unrecognisable beyond just a block of neon colour. 

Now what I find rather comical and odd about this piece is how the design artist has used a monarch that has been morphed into a hidden identity without a face; the bodice has been overlapped multiple times to create an illusion and a perpetual line which slowly creates the outline of a head: why is this? I do not know, but again it’s the idea of the colour being nostalgic and being taken from a royal or noble portrait to hide away the identity of the man behind the portrait. Fashion of course plays a vital role within this example- which is the main purpose and linking back to lifestyle in our zine fashion could be an element to further explore as it has been vital throughout history and status; it reveals an individual’s persona.

Example 5

Family is an important and humble backbone in life across all generations and just maybe there can be a way to help families, friends and those that are suffering silently with mental illness to pull through... Is there a zine that could do that for moral support?

From both of these examples I find that incorporating family and close support with memories of childhood can help on the road to recovery; whilst lifting spirits to increase the maximum chance of optimism is a vital ingredient when creating our zine. 

It’s not just the nostalgia and reminisce with memories, but it’s the thought of thinking of a happy childhood and how much that individual has came along from their adolescent stage. Yes it will be heard to create a style of a childhood zine without knowing nothing about our target audience’s personal life, but we do know that within everyone’s hearts childhood is the first stage in life where everything counts and friendships are made and lost as is family and early ambitions, but keeping the memory alive can help both family, friends and those in need. 

Another attribute that I’d like to include is comforting the reader- just like in the zines above with ‘HELLO FROM THE CHILDHOOD’- so they can get the printed feel of speaking in their mind to a family member or friend- this may help relieve stress and find a route across the billowing waves. Having a informal discussion can help reassurance that they’re not alone alongside finding alternative routes to take, such as, meditation advice, music, charities or ways that are known to relieve any mental pain. 

Everyone needs a friend in their darkest hour and comforting and supporting are the best that we can do. 

[sneeple-confirmed]

Salcis/Shahala: Part Two

Hi, Mod Mom Friend here! Here’s the second part of this character intro! Warning for blood and other bodily fluids in this one. As usual, story under the read more so that it doesn’t spoil things for my players!

After the evening passed uneventfully, Salcis assumed that he’d managed to avoid the Mutaphraen, so Elekas provided him with a few of their products to go deliver. However, on the way, a feeling of foreboding washed over Salcis. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. And it hit--someone was trapped outside the gate, without the code! He could hear them screaming for help, very faintly, and without another thought, Salcis sprinted to the gate, forcing it widely open.

But no one was there.

Slightly shaken, Salcis stepped out, looked around. No one was there, but he could still hear the screams, could still hear faint cries. Leaving the gate open just in case, he cautiously crept out to look for whoever was trapped, sword in hand. And after walking around for a good few minutes, finding nothing, Salcis started to lose touch with himself. Without truly absorbing that he was doing it, he started walking back to the city, ignoring the Coleoptids that had started to enter. Someone screamed, sprinting out of a home, followed by a Coleoptid, and suddenly, it hit Salcis--everyone in this town had been infected. He had to save the town. He had to save himself. So naturally, when the man being chased by a Coleoptid ran toward him for help, Salcis reached forward, stabbed, the motion too practiced, too mechanical. He felt no remorse--the man hadn’t even had time to scream. As the Coleoptids started to dismember the corpse, screeching in perverse delight, Salcis moved on. From house to house he went, propelled by something unearthly, something beyond his control. His thirst for blood didn’t stop at anyone--any person who screamed, ran, made sudden movements, was killed at his hand, because Salcis knew, for certain, that they’d all fallen victim to the Mutaphraen and needed to be culled.

Eventually, his sword was caked with blood, entrails, and other substances that he couldn’t identify. Salcis looked at it, numbly noting that it needed to be sharpened, and started to leave the final house, the one that he’d completed his mission in. But on his way out, as he was examining the sword, his eyes lit on the ring on his finger, one that Elekas had given him to celebrate their engagement, and suddenly, clarity hit. Like a rush, the delusions stopped, the voices quieted, and Salcis found clarity. And with clarity came the horror.

The first thing Salcis noticed in his newfound lucidity was the smell. Around Salcis’s feet, the floor was slick with blood and other bodily fluids, all of which stank in the hot desert air. He dizzily collapsed against the house’s wall, vomited, took a deep breath, vomited again, and then fully surveyed his handiwork. In this house, a mother and her seven year old son had been preparing food when Salcis entered. The mother was collapsed over the table, her blood oozing into the wood’s cracks. A wooden spoon hung limply from her hand for a moment before it clattered to the ground. The sound seemed to reverberate far too long in the silent room. Her son, who had been the second to die, was in the corner of the house. He’d fled there, Salcis realized with horror, when he saw his mother stabbed. His eyes were still open, staring forward in mute horror for eternity.

Salcis dry heaved, too stunned even to scream, paralyzed. His hands shook, the blood drained from his face. He had no words, stuck in a horrific limbo between feeling everything and nothing all at once as he numbly stared at what he’d done. In fact, the only thing that forced him to move was a single horrific thought: Elekas. Elekas. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be soon. The Coleoptids spared no one. Elekas. Salcis stumbled out of the house, almost slipping, barely catching himself. He could barely keep his feet, but Elekas drove him, Elekas needed him, if he got there in time he could make this absolutely fucked up situation marginally, marginally better.

After what felt like an eternity, Salcis burst through the door, but he knew almost the moment that he looked at his husband that he was too late. Salcis was efficient with his kills, and it was very rare for people to survive long. However, Elekas must have had the strength to marginally heal the wound, just enough for him to survive. The wound was grotesque, puckered, covered in dark blood...and Salcis just couldn’t take seeing it. “Elekas, El, El…” Salcis gasped, falling to his knees beside his boyfriend. “Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods El, I’m so sorry, El, El, El…”  He yanked the herbalism kit off the table, where it had been left after last night, and tore through it with shaking hands.

“Sssh, my love,” Elekas groaned, gripping Salcis’s hand. “Don’t...have time…Hold still…” he coughed, gasping for air, staring into nothing for a moment before hoarsely beginning an incantation.

“El, no, no don’t do this…” Salcis sobbed, but he held still, fearing that even the slightest jostling would prove too much for Elekas. But once the incantation finished, Salcis felt pure, cleansed, and refreshed.

“You’re...better...Damage...might be permanent...but...keep fighting...mil alul…” At the sound of the nickname, Salcis’s heart contracted, because suddenly it was all too real, he had killed the best thing in his life. Salcis knew he wouldn’t be able to handle Elekas’s passing, that’s why he’d been so glad that his lifespan was so much shorter than his husband’s. And now, as Elekas’s breathing stopped and his chest fell still, Salcis screamed, a scream of pure agony, hatred, because Elekas was gone, he’d destroyed the love of his life, and now that Elekas was gone, what was there to get him home at the end of the day? Who would ground him? Who would be there with him? No one. Because he’d murdered every person he could trust.

Salcis took a deep breath, staring at the sword that he still carried, coated in the blood of almost every person he’d ever loved or cared for, and prepared to put it through his stomach. The most agonizing death wouldn’t be as bad as he deserved, but he’d do what he could. He touched the point to his stomach, took a deep breath, began to push...and just before it broke the skin, his gaze fell on Elekas’s holy symbol. Elekas had used the last of his life force to make sure Salcis survived...and Salcis couldn’t waste that. He had to keep going. If not for himself, if not for anyone else..for Elekas, the light of his life. Salcis inched closer to Elekas, gently touching his holy symbol, the emblem of Helm, god of protection. Some part of him hoped that through contact with the holy symbol, Helm would allow Elekas to hear his words.

“Elekas, faeli...I don’t deserve you, I’ve never deserved you...but I’ll keep going for you. You’re the light in my darkness, my reason to take care. I’ll do it all for you, faeli. I...I love you.” Salcis clasped the holy symbol, weeping, paralyzed by grief for the time being but no longer ready for death. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but some time later, the holy symbol started to radiate a comforting, beautiful warmth. Startled, Salcis dropped the symbol, and the moment he did, a new voice resonated in his head. However, this one didn’t feel illusory, didn’t feel like a delusion. Somehow, it felt more real, though elevated.

“Salcis. I can feel your wishes to atone. In order to prevent others from suffering the fate of Elekas, I will grant you some of my power. However, this will come at a great cost. It will take much of your energy, and you will have to continue to fight. I can still sense the darkness in your mind, and it will be painful to combat. Will you accept this?”

“Yes, of course…” Salcis gasped. “I vow that no one will ever suffer my fate if I can prevent it. I’ll learn all the ways to destroy the Coleoptids, I’ll do everything I can.” And with the vow, Salcis felt power flowing through his veins.

“You will need the emblem. Take it with reverence, for its previous owner gave his life to save yours, and you must carry that burden with you for eternity. Begin your quest. Do not waste the life he gave you.”

After the voice faded, Salcis gently took the emblem from Elekas’s neck, putting it around his own. Tears continued to stream down his face, running down the chain and pooling on the engravings, but Salcis wiped them away. “This is for you, faeli. I’ll do what I can while I have time. And when I’m done...I hope you can forgive me so we can still be together...together in eternity like I promised you.”

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