Claire Keane
The Stonewall Inn
$LAYYYTER
macklin celebrini has autism
untitled
Show & Tell
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Noah Kahan
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
#extradirty
hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
todays bird
Love Begins
pixel skylines
YOU ARE THE REASON
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@lsk2
Intro: ((he acts serious asf but mod is usually giggling behind him dw))
Hes a clone and lowkey dgaf🥀
This is oc friendly!!! Mod loves seeing all the cool ocs and stuff!!
His lore
Mood stuff
1
2
That's it for now have a wonderful day))
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You.
Scott jolted awake, covered in grime and sweat. Where the fuck was he? How long had he been unconscious? The last thing he remembered was.. being on a jet?
He looked around the room, taking it in. He was in a cell. Great.
He shakily stood up. His head still felt weird, and he so goddamn thirsty.
That's when he saw it.
A sink.
He hobbled over, turning it on and drinking the water like he'd never had a drop in his life. He didn't care what could be in it.
He stood there drinking the water for a solid five minutes, before turning it off and standing up straight, wiping the excess water off with the back of his hand.
He turned back to the bars of his cell, it was too dark to see if anyone was there.
Then he spoke.
Hello.??
His voice was surprisingly easy to use after everything.
- @lsk2
A man in a dark robe hit the cell bars to startle Scott, chuckling to himself as Scott nearly fell over. He mumbled something in Spanish, walking off down a hallway and leaving Scott by himself.
The walls and floor were made of stone, and the celling was made of dark wooden planks. It was dark and cold, the only light source being a torch in another room. There wasn't even a window.
Where had Saddler taken him? What was he going to do?
He flinched. Hard. And nearly lost his footing, only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the wall behind him.
Once the man in the robe left, Scott started searching the cell, looking for any lose bars or bricks, testing how strong the wooden ceiling was.
It was no use.
Scott eventually sat down and waited for whatever they had planned for him.
2 hours passed, but still nothing. Distant rumbling and footsteps could be heard from down the hallways nearby, the only thing keeping him company being a patch of moss on the floor and any insects passing through.
Just when Scott was about to doze off again, two cultists in detailed red robes entered his cell, grabbed him by his arms, and dragged him to another room.
The celling was covered with intricate shapes and patterns that looked hundreds of years old. Chandeliers made of dark metal hung lit above, suspended my chains. the walls were covered in detailed trims and paintings of historical figures. The floors were made of marble tile, accompanied by red carpet with golden edges.
Scott was dragged to a very fancy bathroom, the cultist letting him go near a shower. One of them pointed to it and very sternly said "clean" in a raspy voice with a thick Spanish accent.
Scott thrashed and kicked the whole way, putting up quite a fight thanks to how much sleep he got.
As soon as they stepped into the fancier area, scott had to squint. It was way too bright, and his head was starting to hurt again.
Once they let him go near a shower, he backed away from them as far as he could. It was thankfully darker here, so he could see he was in a bathroom.
He almost didn't catch the word "clean" among all the Spanish he was so used to hearing.
..what.? Clean?
A shower sounded great right about now, but there was no way in fucking hell he was doing that. Especially not with them around.
..fuck you. I'm not doing shit!
He threw a punch at one of the cultists.
The cultist took the punch without dodging it, his head turning to the side from the hit. He snarled and punched Scott in the chest hard enough to knock him back into the shower stall. He grabbed a bucket of cold water nearby and dunped it on scott while he was still on the floor; The other cultist stood nearby with a scythe.
"You will learn to obey us."
He snarled at Scott as he threw soap at him
"Clean. Now."
The air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the wall of the shower, and he had absolutely zero time to recover before the cultist dumped a bucket of cold water on him.
He coughed and wheezed, wiping the water from his eyes quickly, flinching when a bar of soap was suddenly thrown at him.
He glared at them as they told him "clean." again, and stood up as they left the room to stand guard at the door.
He got it over with quickly. The water was cold, and the soap smelled weird, but he did it.
When he was done, he looked back over to his soaking wet clothes, and then looked over at the black robe they had provided him.
As much as he hated it, the robe was dry, so he put it on.
He then opened the door and made a run for it.
Scott ran past the two cultists waiting for him, and they both started shouting in protest and ran after him. The cloth rubbing against his knees made it hard to run, and without shoes, the floor was slippery. Scott almost lost his balance a few times, losing enough speed for the robed mem to catch up to him. The stronger one, the same man who Scott punched earlier, picked him up by the neck and held him up in the air to watch him struggle.
"Your efforts are futile." He rasped in Scott's face.
He punched Scott again and put a bag over his head. The two cultists dragged Scott to another room, unceremoniously dropped him to the floor, and ripped the bag off his head. They were now in a throne room. Who was on the throne? Osmund Saddler, of course.
Saddler had one leg crossed over the other, a condescending expression on his face. His robe was much fancier and more detailed than everyone else's, purple fabric and gold seams, hand crafted. A mysterious amulet hung from his neck, which he idly played with while he spoke.
"Enjoying your stay?"
Scott ran as best as he could, but it was no use.
He fought and fought and fought, but like the cultist said, his efforts were futile.
Once he unceremoniously hit the ground, he coughed again right before the bag was ripped off his head.
A look of anger and fear crossed Scott's face when he saw Saddler.
He wanted to run at Saddler and tear him to peices, but the cultists held him back.
So instead, he spit blood at Saddlers feet, his lip bleeding from the punch.
Fuck you.
He watched Scott spit blood on his fancy red carpet. He will deal with that later.
"Such a filthy mouth on you... don't you think you should respect your savior?"
Saddler slowly stood up and approached Scott, the jewels on his fancy robe ringing with every step.
"Why do you still fight? Have you not accepted your fate? So... foolish..."
Saddler grabbed Scott's hair and growled in his face
"You are nothing... but a copy. Let me give you purpose."
I'll never respect you.
He watched Saddler approach, paying attention to his every move and micro expression. He could feel the zealots grip him harder as their lord got closer.
He was startled by his hair being grabbed, and he felt like he was going to be sick seeing Saddler up close.
.
Saddlers words hit scott like a train. He felt a pang of pain in his chest.
A purpose.?
Scott's angry expression faltered, revealing more fear and uncertainty underneath.
I have a purpose.
His words lacked confidence.
"And what, do tell me, is your purpose?"
Saddler let go of Scott's hair and began walking around him in a slow circle.
"You are an experiment. A mock clone of Mr. Kennedy. Here you are, already captured by me at the age of sixty seven. Mr Kennedy was able to take me down when I was still in my prime."
Dear god, he's monologuing.
"Do you know what that tells me, 72?"
He stopped behind Scott and leaned down to inspect the mark on his neck.
"You. Are inferior."
Only one thing could come to mind.
Killing. His purpose was killing. He was a weapon.
He felt that ache in his chest deepen.
Did he really have any other purpose? All he really did once he was "free" was wallow in misery and fear. Killing was all he was ever good for.
Saddlers words felt far away, but he snapped back into the moment at being called his old name.
He took a trembling breath in, and tears were running down his face before he could stop them.
He smirked down at Scott. He had done it. Her broke what little of Scott was left.
"Prepare the ritual."
He ordered the zealots nearby. They quickly ran off to do as their lord told them to.
Saddler began walking down the hall towards another door. The cultists started dragging him and following Saddler.
"You are a weapon. I've seen what you've done. Let me give you a new purpose."
His shoes clicked against the floor as he walked. His words went into Scott's head.
This time, he didn't fight. He let himself be dragged. He was tired. What was even the point?
Saddlers words just made more tears stream down his face.
They dragged him for a while, through many halls and doors, until they eventually stopped.
Scott looked up, and a feeling of immense horror filled him.
Fuck that.
What the fuck!?
He started thrashing again, not out of anger, but out of pure terror.
Let go of me!! What the hell is that thing?!
Scott jolted awake, covered in grime and sweat. Where the fuck was he? How long had he been unconscious? The last thing he remembered was.. being on a jet?
He looked around the room, taking it in. He was in a cell. Great.
He shakily stood up. His head still felt weird, and he so goddamn thirsty.
That's when he saw it.
A sink.
He hobbled over, turning it on and drinking the water like he'd never had a drop in his life. He didn't care what could be in it.
He stood there drinking the water for a solid five minutes, before turning it off and standing up straight, wiping the excess water off with the back of his hand.
He turned back to the bars of his cell, it was too dark to see if anyone was there.
Then he spoke.
Hello.??
His voice was surprisingly easy to use after everything.
- @lsk2
A man in a dark robe hit the cell bars to startle Scott, chuckling to himself as Scott nearly fell over. He mumbled something in Spanish, walking off down a hallway and leaving Scott by himself.
The walls and floor were made of stone, and the celling was made of dark wooden planks. It was dark and cold, the only light source being a torch in another room. There wasn't even a window.
Where had Saddler taken him? What was he going to do?
He flinched. Hard. And nearly lost his footing, only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the wall behind him.
Once the man in the robe left, Scott started searching the cell, looking for any lose bars or bricks, testing how strong the wooden ceiling was.
It was no use.
Scott eventually sat down and waited for whatever they had planned for him.
2 hours passed, but still nothing. Distant rumbling and footsteps could be heard from down the hallways nearby, the only thing keeping him company being a patch of moss on the floor and any insects passing through.
Just when Scott was about to doze off again, two cultists in detailed red robes entered his cell, grabbed him by his arms, and dragged him to another room.
The celling was covered with intricate shapes and patterns that looked hundreds of years old. Chandeliers made of dark metal hung lit above, suspended my chains. the walls were covered in detailed trims and paintings of historical figures. The floors were made of marble tile, accompanied by red carpet with golden edges.
Scott was dragged to a very fancy bathroom, the cultist letting him go near a shower. One of them pointed to it and very sternly said "clean" in a raspy voice with a thick Spanish accent.
Scott thrashed and kicked the whole way, putting up quite a fight thanks to how much sleep he got.
As soon as they stepped into the fancier area, scott had to squint. It was way too bright, and his head was starting to hurt again.
Once they let him go near a shower, he backed away from them as far as he could. It was thankfully darker here, so he could see he was in a bathroom.
He almost didn't catch the word "clean" among all the Spanish he was so used to hearing.
..what.? Clean?
A shower sounded great right about now, but there was no way in fucking hell he was doing that. Especially not with them around.
..fuck you. I'm not doing shit!
He threw a punch at one of the cultists.
The cultist took the punch without dodging it, his head turning to the side from the hit. He snarled and punched Scott in the chest hard enough to knock him back into the shower stall. He grabbed a bucket of cold water nearby and dunped it on scott while he was still on the floor; The other cultist stood nearby with a scythe.
"You will learn to obey us."
He snarled at Scott as he threw soap at him
"Clean. Now."
The air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the wall of the shower, and he had absolutely zero time to recover before the cultist dumped a bucket of cold water on him.
He coughed and wheezed, wiping the water from his eyes quickly, flinching when a bar of soap was suddenly thrown at him.
He glared at them as they told him "clean." again, and stood up as they left the room to stand guard at the door.
He got it over with quickly. The water was cold, and the soap smelled weird, but he did it.
When he was done, he looked back over to his soaking wet clothes, and then looked over at the black robe they had provided him.
As much as he hated it, the robe was dry, so he put it on.
He then opened the door and made a run for it.
Scott ran past the two cultists waiting for him, and they both started shouting in protest and ran after him. The cloth rubbing against his knees made it hard to run, and without shoes, the floor was slippery. Scott almost lost his balance a few times, losing enough speed for the robed mem to catch up to him. The stronger one, the same man who Scott punched earlier, picked him up by the neck and held him up in the air to watch him struggle.
"Your efforts are futile." He rasped in Scott's face.
He punched Scott again and put a bag over his head. The two cultists dragged Scott to another room, unceremoniously dropped him to the floor, and ripped the bag off his head. They were now in a throne room. Who was on the throne? Osmund Saddler, of course.
Saddler had one leg crossed over the other, a condescending expression on his face. His robe was much fancier and more detailed than everyone else's, purple fabric and gold seams, hand crafted. A mysterious amulet hung from his neck, which he idly played with while he spoke.
"Enjoying your stay?"
Scott ran as best as he could, but it was no use.
He fought and fought and fought, but like the cultist said, his efforts were futile.
Once he unceremoniously hit the ground, he coughed again right before the bag was ripped off his head.
A look of anger and fear crossed Scott's face when he saw Saddler.
He wanted to run at Saddler and tear him to peices, but the cultists held him back.
So instead, he spit blood at Saddlers feet, his lip bleeding from the punch.
Fuck you.
He watched Scott spit blood on his fancy red carpet. He will deal with that later.
"Such a filthy mouth on you... don't you think you should respect your savior?"
Saddler slowly stood up and approached Scott, the jewels on his fancy robe ringing with every step.
"Why do you still fight? Have you not accepted your fate? So... foolish..."
Saddler grabbed Scott's hair and growled in his face
"You are nothing... but a copy. Let me give you purpose."
I'll never respect you.
He watched Saddler approach, paying attention to his every move and micro expression. He could feel the zealots grip him harder as their lord got closer.
He was startled by his hair being grabbed, and he felt like he was going to be sick seeing Saddler up close.
.
Saddlers words hit scott like a train. He felt a pang of pain in his chest.
A purpose.?
Scott's angry expression faltered, revealing more fear and uncertainty underneath.
I have a purpose.
His words lacked confidence.
"And what, do tell me, is your purpose?"
Saddler let go of Scott's hair and began walking around him in a slow circle.
"You are an experiment. A mock clone of Mr. Kennedy. Here you are, already captured by me at the age of sixty seven. Mr Kennedy was able to take me down when I was still in my prime."
Dear god, he's monologuing.
"Do you know what that tells me, 72?"
He stopped behind Scott and leaned down to inspect the mark on his neck.
"You. Are inferior."
Only one thing could come to mind.
Killing. His purpose was killing. He was a weapon.
He felt that ache in his chest deepen.
Did he really have any other purpose? All he really did once he was "free" was wallow in misery and fear. Killing was all he was ever good for.
Saddlers words felt far away, but he snapped back into the moment at being called his old name.
He took a trembling breath in, and tears were running down his face before he could stop them.
Scott jolted awake, covered in grime and sweat. Where the fuck was he? How long had he been unconscious? The last thing he remembered was.. being on a jet?
He looked around the room, taking it in. He was in a cell. Great.
He shakily stood up. His head still felt weird, and he so goddamn thirsty.
That's when he saw it.
A sink.
He hobbled over, turning it on and drinking the water like he'd never had a drop in his life. He didn't care what could be in it.
He stood there drinking the water for a solid five minutes, before turning it off and standing up straight, wiping the excess water off with the back of his hand.
He turned back to the bars of his cell, it was too dark to see if anyone was there.
Then he spoke.
Hello.??
His voice was surprisingly easy to use after everything.
- @lsk2
A man in a dark robe hit the cell bars to startle Scott, chuckling to himself as Scott nearly fell over. He mumbled something in Spanish, walking off down a hallway and leaving Scott by himself.
The walls and floor were made of stone, and the celling was made of dark wooden planks. It was dark and cold, the only light source being a torch in another room. There wasn't even a window.
Where had Saddler taken him? What was he going to do?
He flinched. Hard. And nearly lost his footing, only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the wall behind him.
Once the man in the robe left, Scott started searching the cell, looking for any lose bars or bricks, testing how strong the wooden ceiling was.
It was no use.
Scott eventually sat down and waited for whatever they had planned for him.
2 hours passed, but still nothing. Distant rumbling and footsteps could be heard from down the hallways nearby, the only thing keeping him company being a patch of moss on the floor and any insects passing through.
Just when Scott was about to doze off again, two cultists in detailed red robes entered his cell, grabbed him by his arms, and dragged him to another room.
The celling was covered with intricate shapes and patterns that looked hundreds of years old. Chandeliers made of dark metal hung lit above, suspended my chains. the walls were covered in detailed trims and paintings of historical figures. The floors were made of marble tile, accompanied by red carpet with golden edges.
Scott was dragged to a very fancy bathroom, the cultist letting him go near a shower. One of them pointed to it and very sternly said "clean" in a raspy voice with a thick Spanish accent.
Scott thrashed and kicked the whole way, putting up quite a fight thanks to how much sleep he got.
As soon as they stepped into the fancier area, scott had to squint. It was way too bright, and his head was starting to hurt again.
Once they let him go near a shower, he backed away from them as far as he could. It was thankfully darker here, so he could see he was in a bathroom.
He almost didn't catch the word "clean" among all the Spanish he was so used to hearing.
..what.? Clean?
A shower sounded great right about now, but there was no way in fucking hell he was doing that. Especially not with them around.
..fuck you. I'm not doing shit!
He threw a punch at one of the cultists.
The cultist took the punch without dodging it, his head turning to the side from the hit. He snarled and punched Scott in the chest hard enough to knock him back into the shower stall. He grabbed a bucket of cold water nearby and dunped it on scott while he was still on the floor; The other cultist stood nearby with a scythe.
"You will learn to obey us."
He snarled at Scott as he threw soap at him
"Clean. Now."
The air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the wall of the shower, and he had absolutely zero time to recover before the cultist dumped a bucket of cold water on him.
He coughed and wheezed, wiping the water from his eyes quickly, flinching when a bar of soap was suddenly thrown at him.
He glared at them as they told him "clean." again, and stood up as they left the room to stand guard at the door.
He got it over with quickly. The water was cold, and the soap smelled weird, but he did it.
When he was done, he looked back over to his soaking wet clothes, and then looked over at the black robe they had provided him.
As much as he hated it, the robe was dry, so he put it on.
He then opened the door and made a run for it.
Scott ran past the two cultists waiting for him, and they both started shouting in protest and ran after him. The cloth rubbing against his knees made it hard to run, and without shoes, the floor was slippery. Scott almost lost his balance a few times, losing enough speed for the robed mem to catch up to him. The stronger one, the same man who Scott punched earlier, picked him up by the neck and held him up in the air to watch him struggle.
"Your efforts are futile." He rasped in Scott's face.
He punched Scott again and put a bag over his head. The two cultists dragged Scott to another room, unceremoniously dropped him to the floor, and ripped the bag off his head. They were now in a throne room. Who was on the throne? Osmund Saddler, of course.
Saddler had one leg crossed over the other, a condescending expression on his face. His robe was much fancier and more detailed than everyone else's, purple fabric and gold seams, hand crafted. A mysterious amulet hung from his neck, which he idly played with while he spoke.
"Enjoying your stay?"
Scott ran as best as he could, but it was no use.
He fought and fought and fought, but like the cultist said, his efforts were futile.
Once he unceremoniously hit the ground, he coughed again right before the bag was ripped off his head.
A look of anger and fear crossed Scott's face when he saw Saddler.
He wanted to run at Saddler and tear him to peices, but the cultists held him back.
So instead, he spit blood at Saddlers feet, his lip bleeding from the punch.
Fuck you.
He watched Scott spit blood on his fancy red carpet. He will deal with that later.
"Such a filthy mouth on you... don't you think you should respect your savior?"
Saddler slowly stood up and approached Scott, the jewels on his fancy robe ringing with every step.
"Why do you still fight? Have you not accepted your fate? So... foolish..."
Saddler grabbed Scott's hair and growled in his face
"You are nothing... but a copy. Let me give you purpose."
I'll never respect you.
He watched Saddler approach, paying attention to his every move and micro expression. He could feel the zealots grip him harder as their lord got closer.
He was startled by his hair being grabbed, and he felt like he was going to be sick seeing Saddler up close.
.
Saddlers words hit scott like a train. He felt a pang of pain in his chest.
A purpose.?
Scott's angry expression faltered, revealing more fear and uncertainty underneath.
I have a purpose.
His words lacked confidence.
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whumpee being told to get up over and over and over and over and being struck everytime. maybe tazed.
Scott jolted awake, covered in grime and sweat. Where the fuck was he? How long had he been unconscious? The last thing he remembered was.. being on a jet?
He looked around the room, taking it in. He was in a cell. Great.
He shakily stood up. His head still felt weird, and he so goddamn thirsty.
That's when he saw it.
A sink.
He hobbled over, turning it on and drinking the water like he'd never had a drop in his life. He didn't care what could be in it.
He stood there drinking the water for a solid five minutes, before turning it off and standing up straight, wiping the excess water off with the back of his hand.
He turned back to the bars of his cell, it was too dark to see if anyone was there.
Then he spoke.
Hello.??
His voice was surprisingly easy to use after everything.
- @lsk2
A man in a dark robe hit the cell bars to startle Scott, chuckling to himself as Scott nearly fell over. He mumbled something in Spanish, walking off down a hallway and leaving Scott by himself.
The walls and floor were made of stone, and the celling was made of dark wooden planks. It was dark and cold, the only light source being a torch in another room. There wasn't even a window.
Where had Saddler taken him? What was he going to do?
He flinched. Hard. And nearly lost his footing, only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the wall behind him.
Once the man in the robe left, Scott started searching the cell, looking for any lose bars or bricks, testing how strong the wooden ceiling was.
It was no use.
Scott eventually sat down and waited for whatever they had planned for him.
2 hours passed, but still nothing. Distant rumbling and footsteps could be heard from down the hallways nearby, the only thing keeping him company being a patch of moss on the floor and any insects passing through.
Just when Scott was about to doze off again, two cultists in detailed red robes entered his cell, grabbed him by his arms, and dragged him to another room.
The celling was covered with intricate shapes and patterns that looked hundreds of years old. Chandeliers made of dark metal hung lit above, suspended my chains. the walls were covered in detailed trims and paintings of historical figures. The floors were made of marble tile, accompanied by red carpet with golden edges.
Scott was dragged to a very fancy bathroom, the cultist letting him go near a shower. One of them pointed to it and very sternly said "clean" in a raspy voice with a thick Spanish accent.
Scott thrashed and kicked the whole way, putting up quite a fight thanks to how much sleep he got.
As soon as they stepped into the fancier area, scott had to squint. It was way too bright, and his head was starting to hurt again.
Once they let him go near a shower, he backed away from them as far as he could. It was thankfully darker here, so he could see he was in a bathroom.
He almost didn't catch the word "clean" among all the Spanish he was so used to hearing.
..what.? Clean?
A shower sounded great right about now, but there was no way in fucking hell he was doing that. Especially not with them around.
..fuck you. I'm not doing shit!
He threw a punch at one of the cultists.
The cultist took the punch without dodging it, his head turning to the side from the hit. He snarled and punched Scott in the chest hard enough to knock him back into the shower stall. He grabbed a bucket of cold water nearby and dunped it on scott while he was still on the floor; The other cultist stood nearby with a scythe.
"You will learn to obey us."
He snarled at Scott as he threw soap at him
"Clean. Now."
The air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the wall of the shower, and he had absolutely zero time to recover before the cultist dumped a bucket of cold water on him.
He coughed and wheezed, wiping the water from his eyes quickly, flinching when a bar of soap was suddenly thrown at him.
He glared at them as they told him "clean." again, and stood up as they left the room to stand guard at the door.
He got it over with quickly. The water was cold, and the soap smelled weird, but he did it.
When he was done, he looked back over to his soaking wet clothes, and then looked over at the black robe they had provided him.
As much as he hated it, the robe was dry, so he put it on.
He then opened the door and made a run for it.
Scott ran past the two cultists waiting for him, and they both started shouting in protest and ran after him. The cloth rubbing against his knees made it hard to run, and without shoes, the floor was slippery. Scott almost lost his balance a few times, losing enough speed for the robed mem to catch up to him. The stronger one, the same man who Scott punched earlier, picked him up by the neck and held him up in the air to watch him struggle.
"Your efforts are futile." He rasped in Scott's face.
He punched Scott again and put a bag over his head. The two cultists dragged Scott to another room, unceremoniously dropped him to the floor, and ripped the bag off his head. They were now in a throne room. Who was on the throne? Osmund Saddler, of course.
Saddler had one leg crossed over the other, a condescending expression on his face. His robe was much fancier and more detailed than everyone else's, purple fabric and gold seams, hand crafted. A mysterious amulet hung from his neck, which he idly played with while he spoke.
"Enjoying your stay?"
Scott ran as best as he could, but it was no use.
He fought and fought and fought, but like the cultist said, his efforts were futile.
Once he unceremoniously hit the ground, he coughed again right before the bag was ripped off his head.
A look of anger and fear crossed Scott's face when he saw Saddler.
He wanted to run at Saddler and tear him to peices, but the cultists held him back.
So instead, he spit blood at Saddlers feet, his lip bleeding from the punch.
Fuck you.
*dabs and does the floss*
...what. are you dancing???
What the hell.
*joins*
Scott jolted awake, covered in grime and sweat. Where the fuck was he? How long had he been unconscious? The last thing he remembered was.. being on a jet?
He looked around the room, taking it in. He was in a cell. Great.
He shakily stood up. His head still felt weird, and he so goddamn thirsty.
That's when he saw it.
A sink.
He hobbled over, turning it on and drinking the water like he'd never had a drop in his life. He didn't care what could be in it.
He stood there drinking the water for a solid five minutes, before turning it off and standing up straight, wiping the excess water off with the back of his hand.
He turned back to the bars of his cell, it was too dark to see if anyone was there.
Then he spoke.
Hello.??
His voice was surprisingly easy to use after everything.
- @lsk2
A man in a dark robe hit the cell bars to startle Scott, chuckling to himself as Scott nearly fell over. He mumbled something in Spanish, walking off down a hallway and leaving Scott by himself.
The walls and floor were made of stone, and the celling was made of dark wooden planks. It was dark and cold, the only light source being a torch in another room. There wasn't even a window.
Where had Saddler taken him? What was he going to do?
He flinched. Hard. And nearly lost his footing, only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the wall behind him.
Once the man in the robe left, Scott started searching the cell, looking for any lose bars or bricks, testing how strong the wooden ceiling was.
It was no use.
Scott eventually sat down and waited for whatever they had planned for him.
2 hours passed, but still nothing. Distant rumbling and footsteps could be heard from down the hallways nearby, the only thing keeping him company being a patch of moss on the floor and any insects passing through.
Just when Scott was about to doze off again, two cultists in detailed red robes entered his cell, grabbed him by his arms, and dragged him to another room.
The celling was covered with intricate shapes and patterns that looked hundreds of years old. Chandeliers made of dark metal hung lit above, suspended my chains. the walls were covered in detailed trims and paintings of historical figures. The floors were made of marble tile, accompanied by red carpet with golden edges.
Scott was dragged to a very fancy bathroom, the cultist letting him go near a shower. One of them pointed to it and very sternly said "clean" in a raspy voice with a thick Spanish accent.
Scott thrashed and kicked the whole way, putting up quite a fight thanks to how much sleep he got.
As soon as they stepped into the fancier area, scott had to squint. It was way too bright, and his head was starting to hurt again.
Once they let him go near a shower, he backed away from them as far as he could. It was thankfully darker here, so he could see he was in a bathroom.
He almost didn't catch the word "clean" among all the Spanish he was so used to hearing.
..what.? Clean?
A shower sounded great right about now, but there was no way in fucking hell he was doing that. Especially not with them around.
..fuck you. I'm not doing shit!
He threw a punch at one of the cultists.
The cultist took the punch without dodging it, his head turning to the side from the hit. He snarled and punched Scott in the chest hard enough to knock him back into the shower stall. He grabbed a bucket of cold water nearby and dunped it on scott while he was still on the floor; The other cultist stood nearby with a scythe.
"You will learn to obey us."
He snarled at Scott as he threw soap at him
"Clean. Now."
The air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the wall of the shower, and he had absolutely zero time to recover before the cultist dumped a bucket of cold water on him.
He coughed and wheezed, wiping the water from his eyes quickly, flinching when a bar of soap was suddenly thrown at him.
He glared at them as they told him "clean." again, and stood up as they left the room to stand guard at the door.
He got it over with quickly. The water was cold, and the soap smelled weird, but he did it.
When he was done, he looked back over to his soaking wet clothes, and then looked over at the black robe they had provided him.
As much as he hated it, the robe was dry, so he put it on.
He then opened the door and made a run for it.
Scott jolted awake, covered in grime and sweat. Where the fuck was he? How long had he been unconscious? The last thing he remembered was.. being on a jet?
He looked around the room, taking it in. He was in a cell. Great.
He shakily stood up. His head still felt weird, and he so goddamn thirsty.
That's when he saw it.
A sink.
He hobbled over, turning it on and drinking the water like he'd never had a drop in his life. He didn't care what could be in it.
He stood there drinking the water for a solid five minutes, before turning it off and standing up straight, wiping the excess water off with the back of his hand.
He turned back to the bars of his cell, it was too dark to see if anyone was there.
Then he spoke.
Hello.??
His voice was surprisingly easy to use after everything.
- @lsk2
A man in a dark robe hit the cell bars to startle Scott, chuckling to himself as Scott nearly fell over. He mumbled something in Spanish, walking off down a hallway and leaving Scott by himself.
The walls and floor were made of stone, and the celling was made of dark wooden planks. It was dark and cold, the only light source being a torch in another room. There wasn't even a window.
Where had Saddler taken him? What was he going to do?
He flinched. Hard. And nearly lost his footing, only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the wall behind him.
Once the man in the robe left, Scott started searching the cell, looking for any lose bars or bricks, testing how strong the wooden ceiling was.
It was no use.
Scott eventually sat down and waited for whatever they had planned for him.
2 hours passed, but still nothing. Distant rumbling and footsteps could be heard from down the hallways nearby, the only thing keeping him company being a patch of moss on the floor and any insects passing through.
Just when Scott was about to doze off again, two cultists in detailed red robes entered his cell, grabbed him by his arms, and dragged him to another room.
The celling was covered with intricate shapes and patterns that looked hundreds of years old. Chandeliers made of dark metal hung lit above, suspended my chains. the walls were covered in detailed trims and paintings of historical figures. The floors were made of marble tile, accompanied by red carpet with golden edges.
Scott was dragged to a very fancy bathroom, the cultist letting him go near a shower. One of them pointed to it and very sternly said "clean" in a raspy voice with a thick Spanish accent.
Scott thrashed and kicked the whole way, putting up quite a fight thanks to how much sleep he got.
As soon as they stepped into the fancier area, scott had to squint. It was way too bright, and his head was starting to hurt again.
Once they let him go near a shower, he backed away from them as far as he could. It was thankfully darker here, so he could see he was in a bathroom.
He almost didn't catch the word "clean" among all the Spanish he was so used to hearing.
..what.? Clean?
A shower sounded great right about now, but there was no way in fucking hell he was doing that. Especially not with them around.
..fuck you. I'm not doing shit!
He threw a punch at one of the cultists.
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maybe you could fix him, but I personally, don't intend to. i want to see him baring his teeth while covered in blood
Are you buzzing it or letting your hair grow?
I've been just letting it grow. I'll probably keep it relatively short, but I don't know yet.
Deus mortuus est, et hoc erat telum.
....what the fuck are you talking about? "God is dead, and this was the weapon"??
What the hell...
Ruffled your hair too bad
...my hairs gone, remember? @victor-gideon shaved it off when he did surgery on me.
Also, who are you..?
Scott jolted awake, covered in grime and sweat. Where the fuck was he? How long had he been unconscious? The last thing he remembered was.. being on a jet?
He looked around the room, taking it in. He was in a cell. Great.
He shakily stood up. His head still felt weird, and he so goddamn thirsty.
That's when he saw it.
A sink.
He hobbled over, turning it on and drinking the water like he'd never had a drop in his life. He didn't care what could be in it.
He stood there drinking the water for a solid five minutes, before turning it off and standing up straight, wiping the excess water off with the back of his hand.
He turned back to the bars of his cell, it was too dark to see if anyone was there.
Then he spoke.
Hello.??
His voice was surprisingly easy to use after everything.
- @lsk2
A man in a dark robe hit the cell bars to startle Scott, chuckling to himself as Scott nearly fell over. He mumbled something in Spanish, walking off down a hallway and leaving Scott by himself.
The walls and floor were made of stone, and the celling was made of dark wooden planks. It was dark and cold, the only light source being a torch in another room. There wasn't even a window.
Where had Saddler taken him? What was he going to do?
He flinched. Hard. And nearly lost his footing, only managing to stay upright by catching himself on the wall behind him.
Once the man in the robe left, Scott started searching the cell, looking for any lose bars or bricks, testing how strong the wooden ceiling was.
It was no use.
Scott eventually sat down and waited for whatever they had planned for him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hey don't cry. think about Blorbo struggling to get up, coughing up blood <3
I got nipples on my titties, big as the end of my thumb
I got somethin' between my legs'll make a dead man come
Oh daddy, baby won't you shave 'em dry?
Now, draw it out!
Want you to grind me baby, grind me until I cry
What
What in the actual fuck?
This image is necessary again
