#i want to crawl in his chest cavity and live there forever until he dies so i can suffocate under his skin and die with him. immortalized

[venompeach]

I bought so much Cody and Guy stuff prepare to be SICK OF ME.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (14/17)

In which Savage tastes freedom. Zombie Savage AU | 2k | warnings for body horror, suicidal ideation, mention of sexual violence

The back is still against the doorframe, even though it takes all of Savage’s might to keep it rooted there. He only bothers because Maul is staring at him—Maul, his little brother, who is alive!—Maul is finally meeting Savage’s eyes, and he looks brittle enough that a mistimed movement might shatter his composure. Savage will not do that to him. Not in front of their enemies.

Their enemies: if Savage allowed the Mother’s body—no, that’s not right, Kenobi said it’s his brother’s—his—if he allowed the body he is inside to move, he would stand in front of Maul now, using his broad back to shield him from the man who mutilated him and laughed, and the Woman who might use Her power at any time to violate him. Savage would be the impenetrable wall that keeps him safe forever. Savage will be the wall. They will have to shatter it—to shatter him, tear him limb from limb, and obliterate even the chapped nail on his left little toe before they may pass. He will die before anyone touches Maul. He will never outlive his brother ever again. Even now, he can feel the cables slithering out of his chest cavity and the shrapnel taking flight, worming their way across Maul’s back in clear threat. One step towards my brother, and it will strike. I will. The destroyed ‘saber parts squirm out of his rib cage. Floor tiles uncrease as they scuttle out of the wreckage of his right eye socket, leaving a meaty chasm; and the repair kit debris that knit him together after his attempted death caresses his arm as it shimmies out. He is almost emptied of metal now, only an umbilical cord tethering his skewered heart to the trash wall that has metastasized into a creature like the dread rancour from Feral’s least favorite nighttime story. He is glowing green.

Kenobi is distracted away from Maul, gazing at the metal birthed from Savage’s body with barely veiled horror. The Sister looks nauseated. She has gazed appraisingly at Savage, gauging his use; she has smiled haughtily; her eyes have threatened sensual caress. From her current expression, she would sooner eat the carcass of a half-decayed veeka-bird than touch him.

Good, Savage thinks. Good.

He is safe from her, inside this patchwork undying body; he is safe and Maul is safe, now that Savage is too horrendous for these people to look at. He can read it in the blown white of their eyes: this body is too monstrous for Her to use anymore. It’s not the body of a mate, a tool, an opponent, but a loathsome and piteous creation that will revel in its new, raging, abhorrent triumphant freedom.

This is not the body the Mother gave him.

It’s not the body of the baby that Savage’s long-dead big brother cradled against his chest; not the body of a roughneck chasing his peers nor the body that sobbed before Maul’s empty crib and helplessly soothed Feral when he was little, the body that carried his brothers and fed them and shuddered with terror. It’s not the body Savage grew up in, the body he grew to become.

But it’s not the body the Mother gave him.

He allows himself to explore it, quickly. His fingers, metal and gnawed skin alike, are shy, but even they can feel some differences. The planes of immaculate muscles are gone. The body She made undid the scars of his previous hard-won life, a vain indulgence aimed solely at Her and Her ilk, but now it is overstuffed again with the proud marks of battle. He already noticed that the long powerful arm has shrunk—not the one he raised when She told him to kill Feral, that one’s long gone and replaced by Death Watch steel, but its twin is shorter again, the way it used to be—and shrunk, he hopes, shrunk too is the limp dick She engorged and crafted for a purpose he still does not want think about. He noticed these changes, before, absent-mindedly on his fleeing ship, but mourning the deaths of all brothers who ever lived he was far too miserable to care. He tallies up the evidence now with his fingers. No longer does Savage hit his strangely high head against doorframes and lamps he should have cleared. It’s so obvious, and he should have noticed it earlier, shouldn’t have needed Kenobi pointing out his liberation. This is not the body Savage grew up in, but it’s so much closer than he ever dared hope he could regain.

You created that body, Kenobi said to Maul. Accused him. You, Maul. You did this. Not Talzin. Not any Nightsister.

This single accusation is enough to turn upside down the current eternity of Savage’s life.

It was Maul.

The body was created by Maul.

It’s Maul: the fulcrum that changes everything. It’s hard to believe, to consider the body’s movements friendly after months of living in the dumb meat She made for Her weapon and after weeks of cursing the Mother for not letting him die, and Savage does not actually know what a technobeast or a mechu-deru is except that they are the thing he is, now—he will ask later—but the very idea that this is Maul’s doing creates nothing but utter, giddy relief.

It’s not the Mother’s body that Savage wears anymore. This body that averts Nightsister eyes in revulsion and that keeps murderous Jedi far from his brother, this body that let him stand up after a mortal strike and return to his brother who still lives, his alive, clever, precious little brother—it’s not a poisoned gift by Mother Talzin that unmakes the person he used to be and demands its price in his brother’s blood. The beating of his hearts—their silence, now—is no longer subject to the will of a heinous Witch.

No, Savage’s ingenious brother has found a way to tear him free from Her grasp. This body was made by Maul, it obeys him, and… it will not kill him.

Savage stifles his sob. They are in the presence of enemies. Still, his shoulders raise as the weight drops away, and the rancour of his innards curls around Maul in grateful adoration. This body will not kill Maul.

Maul made it. It obeys him. It won’t kill him.

Never again will Savage have to fear being used to murder his brother.

Never again, never again. Maul rarely allowed Savage to broach the topic, back before their separation after the attack of Maul’s evil Master, and if he did he insisted that he was far more powerful than Savage and therefore, if anything, he would kill Savage and not the other way around. Savage usually pretended that it soothed his worry, because he didn’t want to reject Maul’s unpracticed attempts at consoling him—and he was happy that Maul was so much stronger, even as he hated the treatment that had given Maul that power—but how could he stop being terrified he might be used to hurt Maul? He’d never worried about hurting Feral, and that had given him nothing but ruin. Besides, even the most impressive fighter will one day let down his guard, and the more time they spent together the less Maul seemed to even entertain the idea that Savage could be a threat. Maul slept leaning up against him; he turned his back freely; he joked about Savage’s cooking. The closeness was both joyful and terrifying. So Savage worried, and worried, and created schemes upon schemes that might stop him when the Mother’s body he was trapped in was used to attack.

Never again.

Savage settles into the body, for the first time since Feral died. He feels the background headache and the pulsating pain in his chest, but he also focuses on the fact that his eye line is at the height it was before he gave himself to the Witches. The debris crawling back into his bisected arm is not the Mother’s reluctance at giving up Her weapon but his brother’s love.

It is strange: Savage came here to die. He was ready to make an ally of the person who’d hurt his brother most in the world—bar one—to make Sidious bleed for killing Maul, but failing that…

He came here to die.

Kenobi, he’d decided, would mutilate him the way he’d torn young hopeful Maul apart. Maul had jabbered and raved about that moment often enough, early in their comradery or later-on unguarded after nightmares, and though Maul liked to pretend it was a lucky hit and Savage admittedly knew far less about lightsaber combat, the sheer cruelty of the cut suggested that it was deliberate. Having met the Jedi in the flesh twice afterwards just convinced him further. So Kenobi was supposed to dismember this meat prison—let the Mother keep control of Her weapon when its brain is in pieces!

Kenobi had refused to play his role, but he hadagreed to join forces against Sidious. Sidious was much more powerful than Kenobi—occasional sweaty nightmares against utter mindless terror—and if the Jedi would not grant Savage release, then both of them would challenge the Sith Lord. Kenobi, who’d hurt Maul, would die miserably. Savage’s misery would end in death. Two wishes fulfilled. He was going to die.

Freedom was death.

Death was the only mercy.

Mercy was more than he deserved.

Time ceased to matter after he thought he saw Maul’s death, and so he doesn’t know when he heard of the destruction of Dathomir, but—for the worst eternity of his life, he believed he was the last creature left of his murdered planet. He, who’d watched his brothers die and he who killed them. There was no glory in living on. Even if there was, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be alone. Every movement of his new body reminded him of the Mother, the Woman who made him kill Feral, the last person he ever wanted to remember, and there was no duty to a brother that would make the misery worthwhile. He wanted to die. He’d wanted to die since Feral, but after Sidious’ attack, there was no counterweight. No Maul.

Death was more than he deserved, but he could not help but yearn for it.

It wore itself deep into the grooves of his mind—no release from this body but death. No release until Her weapon strikes true.

But Savage is not a weapon now.

Maul, his clever clever brother, gave him a body that strikes fear into the hearts of Nightsisters and Jedi, a body that might even, now that Savage can consider the matter with a lens that begs for more than death, a body that might even be able to protect Maul from his monstrous Master.

Savage is not a weapon, and he is not alone.

Maul is here, standing before him and facing away from the Jedi who mutilated him and the Witch who once controlled Savage. Maul is alive, gloriously alive, and this undying body will be the wall that shields him. No-one will ever hurt Maul again.

There is still pain, in this body that Maul gave him. There is far more pain than in the Mother’s body, which smothered every feeling and every thought if he wasn’t careful; this body hurts constantly, but now Savage can recognize the near-forgotten brag. I am, the ragged ache that replaced his hearts screams. I’m mine. I’m no longer Yours.

He stands still, and watches Maul regain his composure and turn around. The rancour retracts, bleeding back into the body. Savage can feel its quiet shy reentry. The pieces of metal are trying, pointlessly, to cause as little pain as possible. Savage does not know whether he recalled them, or whether Maul did—they are reunited now, and nothing else matters.

[moldychocc]

saccharine | a seccolata playlist

pronouns and stuff are adjusted x)   [ the link is  h e r e  ]

saccharine — jazmin bean: everything you do/ i'm obsessed with you/i don't mean to scare/ but you're just so cute/ every move you make/ you're fucking sweeter than a cake/i wanna cut you up/ and put you in my oven just to bake/ this shit is scaring me/ the thought of caring/ for anyone makes me want to scream/ looking at you makes me wanna/ gouge out my eyes/ bloody surprise/ like cherry pie/ will you be mine?/ saccharine, feeling kind of sick vomit in my teeth/ i don't want this responsibility

baby eyes — green day: they say my middle name is danger/ the guy you keep away from strangers / i’m out of control/ oh baby when i see your pretty face/ god rest your fucking soul/ 'cause baby, baby I was born to kill

prescription — mindless self indulgence: i'm the doctor, i'm the patient/ don't forget that, it's important/ if ya love me, like i love me/ everybody will be sorry

nine inch nails — closer: i broke apart my insides/ help me/ i've got no soul to sell/ i wanna fuck you like an animal/ i wanna feel you from the inside/ my whole existence is flawed/ you get me closer to god

fuck time — green day: take a look into my eyes/ i wanna hold you 'til you're paralyzed/ oh baby, baby, it's fuck time/ you know i really want to make you mine

dna — little mix: no scientist or biology/ it’s only natural that i'm so affected/ and my heart won't beat again/ if i can't feel him in my veins/ no need to question, i already know/ it's in his dna

turn me on — nicki minaj: doctor, doctor, need you back home/ doctor doctor, where you at? give me something/i need your love, i need your loving/ you got that kind of medicine that keeps me coming

the dismemberment song — blue kid: hold still, my sweet/ i'm trying to measure the space between your molar and your jaw/ this caliper– no cause for fear/ no, it... it doesn't hurt/ it only helps me measure how much skin you have

can’t decide — scissor sisters: i can't decide/ whether you should live or die/ you'll probably go to heaven/ please don't hang your head and cry/ no wonder why/ my heart feels dead inside/ it's cold and hard and petrified/ lock the doors and close the blinds/ we're going for a ride

culling of the fold — the decemberists: cut him up boy/ he's a wicked disgrace/ and he said it to your face/ you better cut him up boy/ take him by the teeth/ get him down on his knees/ with your hands all shaking

what do they know? — mindless self indulgence: beat me up/ beat me down/ mess me up/ beyond all recognition/ for what it's worth/ i'd do it again/ with no consequence/ i will do it again

adrenalize — in this moment: i must confess i'm addicted to this/ shove your kiss straight through my chest/ i can't deny, i'd die without this/ make me feel like a god

love buzz —  shocking blue: would you believe me when i tell you/ you're the king of my heart/ please don't deceive me when I hurt you/ just ain't the way it seems

cascade — siouxsie and the banshees: the air was shining/ shining like a wedding ring/ barbed like sex/ i felt ten thousand volts/ my chest was full of eels/ pushing through my usual skin/ i opened up new wounds/ pouting, shouting

tear you apart — she wants revenge: he wanted her and this was bad/ he wanted to do things to him it was making him crazy/ now a little crush turned into a like/ and now he wants to grab him by the hair and tell her/ i want to hold you close/ skin pressed against me tight/ lie still, and close your eyes, boy/ i want to fucking tear you apart

drain you — nirvana: i don't care what you think unless it is about me/ it is now my duty to completely drain you/ chew my meat for you/ pass it back and forth in a passionate kiss/ from my mouth to yours/ i like you

touch — lights fade low: no one will stain you/ no one will pain you/ i'll keep you clean until my end/ no one will hurt you/ the way that i hurt you/ nothing will feel the same again

polly — nirvana: i think she wants some water/ to put out the blowtorch / let me clip your dirty wings/ let me take a ride, cut yourself/ want some help, please myself

qual — xmal deutschland: deine qual ist meine lust/ meine liebe ist dein tod/ nachts wenn du schläfst bin ich lebendig/ mein tag ist deine dämmerung/ meine wiege ist dein grab

clown — switchblade symphony: crying loud, you are crawling on the floor/ just a beautiful baby/ you're nothing more/ close your eyes/ you are crawling into sleep/ i swear i won't break you/ if you let me take you/ where the willows never weep

church of no return — Christian death: in the beginning there was sinning/ and in the end, well, let's pretend/ blessed is the fruit i dare you/ to take another bite of it/ and somehow i think you will/ in spite of it

bloody mary — lady gaga: love is just a history that they may prove/ and when you're gone/ i'll tell them my religion's you

spiritual cramp — christian death: crosses burn your temples on slaughter avenue/ it takes too much time to say 'i refuse'/ time is digging graves for the chosen few/ children dig graves for me and you/ describe the illness i'll prescribe the cure

cavity - first communion — christian death: nailing you to the wall/ nailing you to the spanish mystic/ i sit and hold hands with myself/ i sit and make love to myself/ i've got blood on my hands/ i've got blood on your hands

where did you sleep last night — nirvana: my boy, my boy, don't lie to me/ tell me where did you sleep last night

lithium — nirvana: i'm so happy/ 'cause today I found my friends/ they're in my head/ and i'm not scared, light my candles/ in a daze 'cause i've found god/ i like it, i'm not gonna crack/ i miss you, i'm not gonna crack/ i love you, i'm not gonna crack/ i killed you, i'm not gonna crack

carpe diem — green day: carpe diem, a battle cry/ are we all too young to die?/ making a living/ making a killing/ what's worth forgiving?

dirty rotten bastards — green day: calling all the demons, this is the season/ next stop is therapy/ we're the retarded and the brokenhearted/ the season of misery/ gonna take it further/ get away with murder/ and no one here is getting out alive

witness — mindless self indulgence (yes, unironically. no, i’m not writing down the lyrics.)

brain stew — green day: my mind is set on overdrive/ the clock is laughing in my face/ a crooked spine, my senses dulled/ passed the point of delirium/ on my own, here we go

minority — green day (my big cio song!!): i pledge allegiance to the underworld/ a face in the crowd unsung, against the mold/ without a doubt singled out the only way I know/ 'cause I want to be the minority/ i don't need your authority/ down with the moral majority

dr. feelgood — mötley crüe (dealer cio dealer cio dealer cio): i've got one thing you'll understand/ he’s not what you'd call a glamorous man/ got one thing that's easily understood/ he’s the one they call dr. feelgood

ich will — rammstein: ich will dass du mir vertraut/ ich will dass du mir glaubt/ ich will deine blicke spüren/ ich will jeden herzschlag kontrollieren/ ich will deine phantasie/ ich will deine energie/ ich will deine hände sehen/ ich will in beifall untergehen

gimme chocolate — babymetal: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

candy candy — kyary pamy pamyu (see above)

body — mother mother: take my eyes, take them aside/ take my face, and desecrate/ my arms and legs/ they get in the way

spellbound — siouxsie and the banshees: from the cradle bars/ comes a beckoning voice/ it sends you spinning/ you have no choice/ following the footsteps/ of a rag doll dance/ spellbound

someone’s in the wolf — queens of the stone age: he steps between the trees, a crooked man/ there's blood on the blade/ don't take his hand/ tempt the fates, beware the smile/ it hides all the teeth, my dear/ what's behind them/ so glad you could stay/ forever

gutter glitter — switchblade symphony: iridescent eyes, of the seahorse rise/ treasure he loves, others despise/ braceletes of silver adorn my wrists/ candy kissed from sugar lips

l’insetto — hiroshima mon amour: io voglio il cuore, io voglio il sangue/ voglio bruciare, voglio uscire/ io voglio andare dove mi porta la coscienza/ di essere un insetto/ voglio fuggire, voglio tornare/ é sempre il tempo per sognare/ ed ai miei occhi un fiore è differente/ un insetto è differente dagli occhi di un insetto

a day — clan of xymox: where are you/ when i am needing you… so far away/ i think you're the most important to me to me/ my sunken footsteps put themselves on/ through this gallery of deceased

restless heart syndrome — green day: i've got a really bad disease/ it's got me begging on my hands and knees/ so, take me to emergency/ 'cause something seems to be missing/ i'm elated, medicated/ lord knows i've tried to find a way/ to run away/ you’d be surprised what I endure

wallflower — switchblade symphony: something is happening underneath the ground/ for he’s been waiting to bloom/ thinking and wondering/ of his climb up to the sun/ “let me grow… the soil, it strangles me”

[1980stanley]

stanley uris takes a bath: a character study

alright so i hit 200 followers and i wrote a thing, here it is, i hope you all enjoy it!! ♥

saturdays begin with birds.

the same way the hours of the night feel different and special in the weekends, the rites of passage to stanley uris’s heart consist of late-night lessons on the japanese crested ibis, on magpies and their feelings and the wingspan of an albatross.

all of his ramblings start quiet, he takes the time to scan the face of the listener to see if they care, if the words fumbling their way from his lips matter in the slightest. but like a landslide his enthusiasm builds up and he can’t stop; everything he wants to say bleeds from him, from the margins in his chest where he keeps his birds and his friends, inside the hollow bones he wishes he had.

not since his childhood did he hope he’d be able to fly. not since before the weight of faith was placed on his shoulder did he imagine his skin as feathers, his arms as wings, his entire body as a means of escape from the stagnant town of derry, an outlet that would someday remove him from this clockwork where people lived and died and what happened in between was nothing but tick, tock, tick, tock.

late in the day, he tells this to richie, who’s got to be the loudest creature in the whole town, because he laughs and laughs and laughs like all that noise is caught under his skin, and he says, ‘that’s what planes are for, stan. nothing is forever. not you or me or birds or derry.”

except richie is wrong, because it is forever. stanley will forever be fourteen, derry will forever be a dead town, richie will always be laughing, and the birds will always fly, fly away.

yes, he thinks. years could pass, and his life would be nothing but a loop, a circle of ceremonies and sunlight, of the aladdin and the quarry, of richie eddie beverly bill mike ben—

underneath the stars, in his backyard, the lightning bugs come out. he watches them flicker like floating candles, and he can only dream of happiness, he can only feel a weary longing that keeps him tethered to the reality of wanting, of needing, and stanley blames the stars and his father and his heart for everything, but for a moment, he can stare straight up and blame the lightning bugs instead.

remembrance becomes a foreign concept to him later on. derry disappears behind him, a splatter on the walls of his subconscious, and after some time he can barely remember who he was. who his friends were. he remembers an inhaler, coke-bottle glasses, midday history lessons and red hair with a stutter, but it means nothing anymore. the flashes of memory bring him emptiness, as if someone opened him, took his bones and whittled them down paper-thin, left him nothing but a wilted ghost in his shitty, rundown apartment.

it returns. pain washes over him in intervals, a sense of panic and an image of a lady in a painting with her teeth tearing into his skin, his paper bones, filling those now-empty margins in his chest with his own fear and leaving him in the cold sewers of a town where everyone will forget, everyone, even the birds.

stan cries out, he wraps himself in his own arms and begs that the lord take mercy on him, that he won’t have to go back, back underneath the saturated stars and the muddy water of the quarry, to the best worst years of his life, ones that don’t even exist unless he fills his hollow bones, unless he imagines his own blood cells like unforgiving red balloons.

their house is already empty. their marriage is too. his wife, beautiful and kind and jewish, is everything he needs, but nothing he wants. stanley does not know which direction to turn; whether to go back to the cursed haze of derry or to stay, go to work and run the numbers, forget and forget and forget until there is nothing left for him to remember.

a rift forms between his obligations and his desires, between flight and fight and the nightmares that crawl into the cavities in his chest where important things used to be. the palm of his hand feels particularly tender each and every second he denies his own origins, the trauma that shaped him into the coward, the shell of a man he is today.

knowing that he’ll die either way is the hardest part. knowing that he won’t be strong enough to overcome it if he goes, knowing that he’ll rot in a suburban house if he stays—he feels lost, and for the first time since he was a kid, he wants to fly, to get so close to the sun that he doesn’t even feel himself burning. it hurts, like having his skin torn, like having his wings broken, and he’s never wanted something less.

evenings become the contemplation of ultimatums, a demand of finality that garners the worst possible results either way. stanley can’t comprehend it, he can’t bear the burden he shed years ago, and it’s almost funny, because he came full circle. he was still fourteen. derry was still cursed. and the birds were still flying.

saturdays begin with water.

after a cup of coffee and a nice breakfast, stanley goes outside. he takes the time to look out for magpies. cardinals. crows. the sky's a deep blue and the clouds inch along just as they do every day. everything is perfect. everything is beautiful.

before he realizes it, the day turns to noon, and he decides that it’s time.

a few moments of hesitation pass. he thinks back to bill’s stutter, richie’s laugh, and eddie’s pills; to mike’s sweet voice and ben’s terrible music; to beverly’s red hair, her undeniable beauty.

the decision has been made however. times of hollow bones and lightning bugs have passed. the stars are dead and the birds have stopped to rest.

he steps into the bathtub.

[thatweirdmod]

Beriphitar's Pillage 5: Impulse

Aachoo! *sniffle* *sniffle*. Ugh. Persistent vagrancy in harsh weather, rain and sleet is not agreeing with me. I sit against a large tree in the woods, bundled in my coat and layers of mismatched clothes. I must look the part of a true homeless.

The sheet of discarded plastic that I put under myself to keep the wet leaves from soaking my pants crinkles annoyingly as I huddle my limbs to my chest, and bring another spoonful of cold canned soup to my mouth. It tastes especially salty and metallic when it's not heated up.

I just need to continue keeping a low profile until Uorthem finishes forging my new identity. He didn't ask me what name I wanted, and he still hasn't bothered to tell me what it's going to be. That's the least of my concerns, however. My mind is overcome of a sensation grown in my body. Religious people call it lust, the Spanish call it passion, the edgelords call it craving, but what they would all be able to agree upon is that mine is twisted.

Drundam's poorly secured homes, its sloppy force of lawmen, and its mostly lethargic populous tempt me day by day, like a lion shown a suckling lamb from inside his cage. I can do it, I tell myself. I'll be more careful to not leave evidence. No, I must not! I'm on the edge of glory, and if I were to ruin this now, I don't know what else there would be for me. This time, the admonition of reason fails to reign me in. No! I will do as I please and hunt as I should.

I rise, throw the can aside, gather the things I need, and loop my binoculars around my neck. I go back to Uorthem's house. He's not a poor man, and his skill set makes him considerable cash, so it at first confused me that his home was in about the same neglected state as all the others. I wasn't paying attention to the wheels in the yard, then. He's one of those people. His home comes in at 5th place after his nice cars.

I knock on the door. He throws the door open, with cup noodles that he couldn't be bothered to put down in one of his hands. He waves me in, and I quickly step in and close the door to conceal us. "What? I'm kinda busy makin' you a new life." Uorthem talks like one of the local hicks, but he knows his trade well, even if he doesn't incorporate the high language of the legal documents he forges into his regular speech.

"I want the room upstairs with the window third to the left, facing from outside. I'll pay $50 a day for it."

Uorthem scoffs and slurps up more of his noodles. "You're gonna have to do better than that," he says with a stuffed mouth.

"$75 a day?"

He shakes his head and gulps down the mush of salt, fat, and processed wheat. "Hows about you cut the shit. I told youthe other day. Men know what a man wants. It ain't the paper to buy goods that you really need. You need the goods, 'specially the goods that don't got a price tag." Uorthem raises his eyebrows at me expectantly.

I sigh through my nose in exasperation. I want to storm away, but I just won't. "Okay," I say.

"'Okay' what?" Uorthem presses. "You should know, what you did last time isn't gonna cut it for letting a psycho fugitive camp out in my house."

I purse my lips and wait for him to specify his demands.

"You gotta bend it over," he gestures with his hand the motion he wants my back to do.

My rage is coming on me. This isn't the cold grey thing that bids me to disregard the lives of others in the interest of my own benefit. This is the red, roiling fury that compels me to destroy, to give ten fold retribution for every bit of  disrespect, and to clench my hands so tightly around the throat in front of me that not a wisp of air can trickle through. I can almost see Uorthem's flesh turning blue and black where my fingers dig in.

He snaps the fingers of his free hand. "Earth to Beriphitar." He peers around at the bag over my back. "You look like you're ready right now. Just let me finish this," he takes a huge bite of noodles, "and we can go upstairs." After one last session of smacking and slurping, he throws the greasy cup onto his overflowing trash bin.

"These things creak and snap like an old bag in bed," Uorthem remarks. Indeed, the fear of breaking the whole thing and falling through has helped me resist the urge to stomp on the way up the narrow wooden staircase. He leads me to a room that looks more like an attic than a bedroom.

Everything from the dark wooden floor to the sloped, discolored cream ceiling is coated in a film of settled dust. Muted bright light streams in from the two small windows facing the door. There are no decorations, but it appears the room is being used a storage for things Uorthem rarely uses.

"Hurry up and get all that shit off you," he says. "I'm on a schedule, believe it or not." He walks over to the bed as I stiffly undress. Uorthem throws back the comforter and sheets and immediately coughs when a cloud of dust flurries up to assault his face. "Ugh, damn, erhgm!" he says, clearing his throat. "I put fresh sheets on this bed after my ma died in it, and ain't touched it since."

He swipes some of the dust off, a futile action, then looks back at me*. "Well don't just stand there; get on. And get your boxers off too. You don't wanna test my patience now."* Uorthem watches as I pull my boxers off, and set them aside with the rest of my clothes and things. I walk over to the bed and crawl on, feeling unusually self-conscious.

I'm kneeling on all fours below him while he stands hovering behind me. He grabs my ass with both of his hands, squeezing  and rubbing so hard it feels like he's trying to tear it. "Mmm, nice and firm," he remarks with approval, and then he pulls his hand back and gives my bottom a fierce smack.

The resonation of the clap fills the small room. Perhaps it's a good thing he can't see my face. I'm beet red with indignation at being debased in this manner. It's absurd that this is what he would ask of me. I keep my teeth clenched and lips tightly sealed to keep from growling obscenities back at him.

He reaches a hand around my waist and tugs my penis a few times. He massages the tip with his thumb and index finger for a bit, then tugs the length of my flaccid wang some more. "You gotta get that back all the way down, and that ass all the way up," Uorthem says, and presses down on my back with his palm. I bend my elbows and arch my bottom up in what feels like a disgusting display of submission.

"Niiice," he says. Then, he grabs my ass cheeks in his hands again and forces them so far apart that I nearly feel skin tearing. He chuckles as he watches my exposed asshole spasm. I could kill him. Uorthem leans down and drags his wet tongue flat over my anus. I can feel red welts forming on the flesh of my bottom from where his fingers are digging in. He laves at my asshole with his tongue for a while, then pulls back and releases one of my cheeks.

Uorthem claws a dry finger inside my bottom hole, and moves it in and out. "Ohh yeah, that's tight," he breathes. Then he pushes another inside. I can feel the skin stretching and threatening to break. He fucks my ass with his fingers faster and rougher. He inserts another painful finger, releases the other cheek, then begins to masturbate while still fingering and making lesions on my anus.

I release a breath when he finally pulls his fingers out. He rubs my spasming asshole and then smacks my bottom cheeks hard a few times. He grabs my hips, and I groan in pain as he pushes his dick inside my anal cavity, spreading me apart to what feels like beyond my limits. I've never felt something so massive in my ass. I can feel the soft tissue of my anus tearing, blood smearing.

I can feel his penis ramming up and down my intestines, where I've only felt shit before, and where before things are only went down. The experience is jarring, nauseating, and agonizing. I feel constipated when his dick fills me up. It feels like forever that he rides me, banging my ass mercilessly, but I finally feel wetness fill my bottom cavity, and hear Uorthem release a deep sigh. "Whew, nothing like a conquering a fresh, tight ass."

This remark offends me. He's conquered nothing. "Well, enjoy your stay. Either pay again, or be out by this time tomorrow," Uorthem says, and then leaves me in the room alone, sore, tainted and icky from his sticky semen in my bottom hole. I waddle over to my discarded clothes, and fish a piece of paper towels out from the pockets of my pants to wipe my bottom with.

I go over to the window, pleased that I have the view into 2 of the neighbors' houses that I thought I would. These idiots leave the curtains of their blind-less windows open, or partially open. I've never understood why anyone would do that. From my observation over the course of these 5 days I've been waiting, one of the households is all female-folk. There's a matriarch who looks to be in her forties, another who could be in the final years of high school or early college, a vapid junior high cunt, and a little elementary kid. They all go to school or work.

I've decided that I can no longer leave bodies with my physical evidence for someone else to clean up, so someone is going to be my lucky kidnap-ee to have a mystical time in the woods with. There they will be used, and there they will be buried.

I observe all their manners for the rest of the day and night until they go to sleep. This open window house is really too much. I now know where each of these persons sleeps. The next day, I pay Uorthem again, and I wait again. They do basically the same stuff.

I stealth-rush across the street with a mask on that only reveals my eyes, and with my baggy black hood up. I quietly lean a ladder from their yard up to the window of the female of interest. While peering in to make sure she's sleeping, I observe that the decor appears as though the color pink projectile vomited 10 shades around the room, and passed out sick on the bed.

I slide the unlocked window up, and enter. I easily pull her out of bed and smother her face with a chloroform soaked cloth just as she starts to scream. I then put the conveniently sized female in a black suitcase bag, put her over my back, and go out of the window. I close it before going back down the ladder, which I place back as it was in the yard.

I walk out to the woods without interruption, and remove my game meat from the bag. An instinctual part of me longs  for the days depicted in history, when mankind's conscience seemed scarcely developed beyond an animal's. Those were the days in which dominant men were free and good to enact their base and selfish urges upon whoever their muscles would allow. Conquest, reaving, and pillage were normal. Oppressor became also protector, as the weak had the choice of being used by the few or by the many. The best, like me, were even revered as well feared.

I've never done one this type before, but in the boiling state of my craving this will more than suffice. I'm actually looking forward to how tight it will be. The gross thought of Reyfon comes to my mind, but I expel it almost as soon as it appears. I run tape around her mouth and head for in case she wakes up. I hastily pull my pants and underwear off and strip her of her bottoms as well. She begins to come to, just in time. Too bad for her.

Over what must be hours, I act out every vile and aggressive thought of lust that comes to my mind upon her body. The tears, groans, cries, and presumable pleas that I reveled in have begun to die. I feel her going limp while I'm still moving and tearing inside of her, and the bearings that were thrown aside in my hunger begin to come back to me.

I take in our state. Where before I saw her, I now see a mess of red and torn flesh. One of my hands is clenched tighter around her fragile neck than I ever noticed before. I also just now notice the ache in the arm of my other hand, which digs into her dislocated, deeply bruised shoulder and presses her down into the dirt and sticks with surprising force. My crotch is soaked in blood, sopping as I pull it out of her body. My knuckles are split. My hands and forearms are red, red, red.  A knife, which I only vaguely remember taking out and using, lies to the side, covered completely in blood and some bits of stringy  flesh.

I loose a sigh. It's like I lost my mind for however long. I check the time on my watch, and start when I realize how long it's been. It takes me until past first light to clean everything up, and bury the female. I thought I would have to kill her intentionally once I was done using her as a dump for my urges. I didn't expect to have done the job unintentionally.

I use an out-of-the-way payphone to call Uorthem's phone. He answers. "Hello, who is this?"

"It's me," I say.

"What did you do?" Uorthem asks gravely. "My neighbors are all worked up 'cause one of 'ems missing. I hear it must've been last night."

"Just, bring the stuff I left at your house out to the east entrance to the woods, closest to your house, okay? That little job pays $200."

"Right, because you kidnapped and killed someone from right across my fuckin' street! I actually didn't think you'd be nuts enough to bring this psycho shit to my doorstep. Are you outta your damn mind?!"

"Hey, if I get caught, or you give me up, I give you up. So, I think it's in both of our best interests if you just bring my stuff over as I ask today, finish making my identity, then bring that over. I'll be gone, never to return, after I get my ID and papers."

"Dammit, kid," he grumbles. "Alright, but I'll only make the trip out to your woods when I have your identification credentials ready. One trip for your stuff and your ID- not two."

"Okay, but don't expect the $200 bonus when you're tardy," I tell him, annoyed.

"I. Don't. Give. A shit," Uorthem spits through the line, then he hangs up.

I walk sleuth back into the woods, and slink down against a tree with a deep sigh.

Banging midgets is fun.... yeahhh....