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Infected Saint (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/F41ArCO2vt A series of solos and solo series all surrounding the story of Hope Mikaelson (My most beloved RolePlay account @InfectedSaint on twitter), daughter of the vampire King, Niklaus Mikaelson and the Wolf Queen, Andrea labonair. This story follows a beautiful yet thrilling and at times dangerous, coming of age story in the bloody world of The Supernaturals. From her sweet innocence to her wicked nature, I've followed this character in first person. Please keep in mind that the explicit contents of this particular work and extreme violence, isn't for everyone, so if faint at heart, do not read this story.

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Turf Of War

William Langley It’s a grey day, damp and misty. The wind is from the south, moist as the kiss I placed on #Katherine’s lips after convincing her that today is not a game. No pleasure, strictly business The ruins of the old city are visible in the distance, threaded through with wisps of morning mist, reminding the people what we took when we first came here, after the war. What this place once was and what remains now. I walk towards the old cottage with faint wet squelching sounds of my boot each time it pulls free of the grey-green muck. The cottage too holds secretes beneath it like the city in the background does. In fact it’s not a cottage at all. It’s a gateway to my favorite office. Also in secret. The air is wet and heavy, and shallow pools of water dot the ground. Must’ve rained last night or in the early morning when I was too busy indulging myself in things only my kind could, to care for the outside world. It’s a charming attraction this place has. Makes you forget you have to pretend to be human to fit in. It isolates you, or me…It isolates / me / and makes me do as I wish without consequence. I have come this way before. It was then decorated with black roses on each side of the now muddy path, so elegantly that it pleased even #Adria’s eyes, whom this property belonged to in half, then. The land was bought and built on for me in secret and given to my sisters on their shared birthday in public. In private, #Tia and I knew that it was constructed to fit and satisfy each and every one of my needs, my quieted desires that I could no longer openly express in the new world. Hidden passage ways and disposal gates all concealed below the extravagant walls and paintings of the Salvatore manor. That too was a selfish act. I even had the black and iron sealed on the large S that welcomes you in our doors, so large it can be seen at the end of the road but the stag that was once the Salvatores’ mark changed itself to a large dark wolf. A beast my sister and I found more appealing to our true natures. A token of the empire we ruled together and not what our father threw at our feet out of hatred and well…Perhaps duty. Now the house belongs to someone who is not named Salvatore but still one that shares my bed. A safety measure to make sure what I’ve assembled will remain intact no matter the outcome of the war to rise. The call from @HomicidalDaft came in the early morning when I was just finishing the night’s heavy result. He had called in a favor after seven years of not seeing me in person. We fought together during #TheBrotherhood’s civil war and its grand collapse but managed to keep in touch from casino to casino. He’s a groupie but never a member. Always unaligned and with a great desire to live among humans. That is not a thing to be proud of in our society and I would have politely declined if I didn’t need the release and if it weren’t for @SeductiveBeaut. Her I know from a better life, a better city, a better me… So I obliged. The path becomes narrow in its end at the door and a low squeal accompanied by a loud puddle being smashed in, lets me inside the wooden door, left alone in a manner which would raise no cautions. “Downstairs.” Says David. So eager to get it done he can barely stand. He’s an impatient man. That personality trait is one of the main reasons I have not yet offered him a position in the companionship. I sometimes wonder if he is waiting for me to… Stepping aside, @HomicidalDaft walks to show me the way to / my own / place. “So when are you telling her?” I ask without moving. Without following. He watches me and I watch him. We both so clearly know what I’m talking about but none adds anything to it. “I’m gonna say it’s not my territory so not my business” David shakes his head lightly and attempts to move past me, a very stupid act when I’m trying to make a point, so with a finger on his chest, I push him back, pulling off my stern expression. “BUT! Revealing yourself to the human section is strictly forbidden.” “Oh you care about the laws now, do ya? Mate, don’t make me laugh at work.” His accent coating every word, he brushes me away and I grab his arm to make myself clear. “She’s gonna find out one way or the other and she’s gonna want to take you down. Oh she’s good, I’d know. She nearly wiped out my city, don’t think for a second that her cute little business is only training assassins for money! She’s training hunters and you’re too young to get in the way of / my / business. Tell her before she finds out and draws attention. Minimum damage. No blood wasted.” “I don’t work for you!” David snaps. “Oh you do! All vampires do.” I snap right back at him. “Gentlemen!” The third party arrives before David and I grab each other and start throwing punches, a fight that would end with me beating sense into him but would most likely leave behind no useful results. Jason who has joined us after the Fosters came to town, tilts his head down showing me the passage. “Get the one in the living room?” I suggest a task for him and he does so, giving me his ‘Please don’t kill each other’ look before he climbs up the dusty stairs and leaves open the downwards rail for me. Here I see only a normal cottage abandoned by the rich careless owners of the expensive mansion but as I reach the end of them, another world reveals itself through the iron door. A world much cleaner, much more cared for and much more captivating than of the one above. Jason has laid out all the favorite tools, polished and ready for me on the table. Near it a chair and in the span a moaning man half beaten to death. I always enjoyed the dramatic efforts Jason would put in his job, like how now the green apples sit perfectly in shape on the bowl for me. “Drinking vervain I’d heard of but injecting it to your blood and screwing the quality? You’re making our job hard. You bad bad / bad / boy!” I scold William Langley, #Frankie’s father before settling down on the chair and putting my feet on it. “Oh well I guess the old way wouldn’t hurt.” I pick my way between the knives and daggers on the wood, carefully, and once done, grab an apple to cut for myself, easily and relaxed while Hudson squirms and complains silently. David knew I may want to take my anger out on someone, most likely William. He knew that I’ve been forced to restrain my violent outbursts in the mansion as I need the loyalty of my family and the one of Fosters, but what I do behind closed doors and hidden from the locals’ view is none of their concern. So he most likely / is / expecting me in my truer form. We sit in silence with me trying to calculate the ways in which I could make the old man talk but he’s a hunter and hunters are usually trained to kill from a very tender age. That means having to sit through torture without ever opening your mouth has been a chore , the way normal kids take the trash out or close open windows in their homes. That is also why I’m the most eligible for the job. David is too harsh and has beaten the man to broken bones and a bloody nose with knuckles broken and a finger cut off, well maybe two, can’t tell from where I am, and @SeductiveBeaut…Well she / can / be an artist with torture but not when it’s someone she cares so deeply about. Someone that to my knowledge has refused to even accept the fact he is who we / know / he is. #Frankie maybe only knew it by paper and by an alias name but…I…I know it because I can see the genes. I can smell it on him even from here. I don’t usually concern myself with the business of the fragile and mortal, they are in the end only of flesh and bones but…She was one of us once and she was going to join, willingly so yet she chose the life span of a normal person as she saw fit. That does not mean she went back to being human the second her body accepted it. Once you pledge allegiance to a race or a nest, you will forever be of that nest and of that race. To me…Frankie will always be one of us and one of us always deserves respect. Jason returns from his task, holding the severed head in one hand and the body in his other. The eyes of the dead vampire have been squashed in with thumbs and what remains is an empty eye socket and blood. Blankness and blood. My wickedness makes myself chuckle. “Jay let us see if he can still play catch?” Immediately Jason snorts and throws the severed head for William to catch, which he cannot because of his maimed and restrained hands. No one can recognize the head as it is covered in blood, rotting, and bursting with maggots. I had it thrown to the garden before I found the need to detach it from the body and leave it as decoration inside the living room. A lesson for her as much as it was for him. “Oops…My bad. Didn’t remember you couldn’t exactly use your hands.” I smirk with a snaked eye as I chew the cut piece of apple. “That one pissed me off. I mean…You don’t get to be the leader of the most savage organization the earth has seen with an uncalculated heart but…What can I say? I go soft sometimes for what’s mine. Seventy five years he served us…Seventy five good years before the fall even but…” Sad contempt as if I felt sorry for the dead vampire washes over me, making me remove my feet from the table to lean towards William as if speaking to a friend and not a foe, mostly for myself than for him. “You can’t look at what’s mine. Plays with all the bad nerves. He was lucky he was one of us and I had to respect him with a quick death.” William has a hard time breathing, I can…David did him good by his methods, probably drowning him over and over again. That was a thing that he did. Standing up, I walk over to Langley and lean down. “That’s all a man ever wants, right? Respect. I thought him and I had an understanding like you and I do” I point a hand to William and then to myself. “I wouldn’t go and just fuck your daughter now would I? We have to respect these lines, some unspoken law between the men, you and I get that. He?” Empathizing, I show the dead vampire’s head to William with an angry palm pointed his way. “Oh he didn’t and there’s so much a man can take.” “I won’t answer to a low life vampire…” He groaned, barely speaking, barely breathing. If I had the time I would chain him to the wall and go about my days without caring but time is of the essence now. “My brother is called William and I keep him in respect. Don’t know why you don’t want us to know what’s true and what’s not. Now see my buddy over there?” My head tilts to show @HomicidalDaft waiting bored on the end of the dungeon like basement. “He is a bad host. You know how the war works. They all have PTSD and all of that shit going on. He used to be a general, you know? Yeah…Impressive for a lowlife vampire, isn’t it? But that’s the thing with the kids, isn’t it? They’re too impatient, too quick to thrust the knife into their enemy’s thighs…” Following my words, the dagger still stained with the sour sweetness of the apple, runs over his thigh, pressing enough pressure to tear at any given moment but it never does, it only teases the skin with a hard movement, following the muscles that I could slowly tear out. “I always wondered why they couldn’t wait two minutes longer before their belts came off. Rushing is for boys. Those years are way behind me…I’ve become a very patient man.” “I’ll die without giving you shit!” He said through gritting teeth, finding enough strength to lean up from his chair, well…What he could hold up which is his neck. “I’m a very patient man, Mr. Langley so don’t wait for death to devour you…” Leaning down to his old wrinkles face that homes black and purple bruises here and there and has dried blood on it, I whisper lowly. “I’ve come to do anything but.” William Langley stared into my eyes and I stared into his, boring myself with all the old memories it has to say. He is bleeding and he will eventually bleed the vervain out but something about that fierce look…That smirk, the way in which he holds himself…It reminds me of my own father and there is no man I have ever hated more than my father. “Bring me the bucket.” I order Jason and he does so, bringing the steel like bucket filled with cold water close to me. “I thought you didn’t do that…” David notes, his arms folded as he stands with no amusement showing, I can feel it even with my back turned at him. As Jason works the chords and brings out my little toy, something I haven’t used in years, I suddenly grab his hand , forcing my dagger into the tip of his finger and lifting it upwards till the nail is so viciously torn out. The shocking scream of pain finally pouring out pleases me greatly. It reminds me of the time @VengefulFangs and I made our father sound like that. Yet it doesn’t let me go satisfied for long, in fact I pull the blade out only to slam it down and cut off the injured finger. So sharply and swiftly it goes off for a second but that is why it hurts. The aftermath. He had lost two fingers but they were not cut off, only broken. I guess I started the game myself. “He called me a low life, oh trust me I’m gonna have fun with him! Just because I introduce myself as Damon Salvatore doesn’t mean I’m any less of a lord.” I spit out, walking over to the remote that controls the wires heading for the bucket and in the mean while #Jason makes it his mission to insert William’s legs inside the bucket. He struggles but Jason being a vampire wins. “YOU PSYCHO! I have had worse, boy!” From the pure adrenaline in his blood, he speaks, shouting with an energy he did not display moments ago. “I was born the count of the greatest republic the earth has ever seen!” Adjusting the voltage, I settle for a good 100 without the three that starts to warm the poor victim. I hate being called a boy, that’s what my father used to call me. “Let’s say I have pride.” I twist the little circle and cause a loud whizzing sound to travel from me all the way over to William and like flashlights, the dark damp basement brightens and as do lightening , the voltage travelling seems like a bright burning blue , making William’s body enter shock and the water beneath, forcing it to repeat itself over and over and over and over again. He dances and we watch. Oh how I’ve missed this! “What’s your name?” I whisper, knowingly so. Knowing that he won’t be able to make up my words far from registering it and replying to them. I know…I’m cruel like that and so, as the punishment for him not answering, another 100 meets his body, making him go straight into what seems like a caesurae but is not. The wire in the water goes on whizzing till the smell of flesh and chocking sounds are what remains. I have to roll my eyes and take a journey all the way over to him and grab his seemingly lifeless head to make him look at me. “What’s your name?” Through a hardly breathed exhale, he groans painfully. “Justin Charles.” “William…” I say with a nice deal of empathy feigned. “I’m a vampire. I can tell when you’re lying.” Playfully, I reach for his hand with the dagger still in my grasp and poke at where a finger used to be, making him scream in pain. “What’s your name?” “Jus…Justin Charles” He says sleepily, his head hanging over his shoulder now that I’m no longer supporting him. Going through electrical shock does take a lot out of you! I fiddle with the controller in my hand, looking down at it, trying to decide and his eyes, having lost their fierce gaze, close and open like an old woman’s in her nap. Truth is I get off on it. Not on inflicting pain but on inflicting fear. Of knowing I have all the power in the world. Clicking a button here and seeing something shake so vigorously over there. It’s why I like toys when torturing. To master that is to be a master. Another round of screams, this time very short lived, washes over him and then he goes silent, shaking in the chair as the electricity bakes his body, making him feel every ounce of it inside. The silence is taunting. For the company I keep anyhow. In one hand, holding the remote and in the other a dagger that threatens his ring finger, my body lowers itself to him while tears, uncontrobally leave his eye socket. “What’s your name?” His body shys away from me, shrinking into the seat but his eyes, without control stay still on my hands, not knowing which one to look at in their fear. He pants, expecting pain to follow and I act as a true servant of the expectations, tugging the dagger on his ring finger and cutting skin where it could hold and quickly remove the white of his flesh, exposing blood and bones. “What a simple thing it is to snap your neck. You are so fragile you mortals. Such things of…skin and air. Such things of a past. The future belongs to the strong. To the immortal race. To me and to my kind. Look upon your master…” I commend him, murmuring and he only wiggles, like a worm on a stick. “What’s your name?” “William!” He says with as much power as he can gather. “William! William Langley” “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Slowly pulling away the blade that holds the rest of the skin on her finger, I let the real pain to consume him. The pain of loss and the pain of the agony to come. “How did your wife and daughters die, William?” “Wolf attack!” “Don’t lie to me, William. How did your family die?” “I can’t…Please no, no more…I can’t” “How did they die?” I shout. “I killed them! I killed them!” Crying the admission, he drops his head back, moaning his cry out. The information is brand new even to me and I have no idea what I am to do with it…How I am to deliver it. That’s another thing about me…I’m too selfish, I’m not so good with delivering bad news, disappointing news… “Why?” I ask him with my knife at his throat, now angry and out of my own posture, out of the torturer I need to be to get the job done, ask him as Damon, seeking answers for a colleague. “WHY?” “She…She…was sleeping with another man.” He tries to yell but all that comes out is a low whisper which would probably make any man have to lean down to hear. Contempt dominates my face. “Wasn’t my daughter…She wasn’t my daughter so I killed them both. I killed them both.” He cries, weeping, as if the confession was being spoken for the first time and he as I do, is just understanding the meaning of his words. “I didn’t mean to…I hated her…I hated her…I let Francis go. I let my daughter go. I couldn’t…I couldn’t kill her too. Please…Let me go! Kill me! Kill me!!!” “I’m a disgusting lowlife psychopath and I have more honor than you!” I spit on the ground. “You killed the daughter you raised because she wasn’t your blood? and the mother of your other child? You call yourself a man?” I hold chin as much as touching him disgusts me and force him to look up with my hand on his neck. “You know what I’m gonna do? I’m not finishing you off as much as I want to. I’m letting her take care of you so you know how / badly / you’ve fucked up.” God I fucking hate men like my father! Pushing him back into the chair, I ask Jason to clean this mess up on my way out of the basement, a job well done. “Did he just call me a psychopath?” I stop to stare at David. “Ouch! I take great pride in being a very functional sociopath! Now I’m hurt…

#DemonicSolos #VengefulSolos #Frankie #DamonSalvatore #SoloSL #Maturecontent #TortureSolo #SoloRP #SangueBlu

The Salvatore boarding house

Nightmares…We all experience them. I’m talking about those heart-hammering ones that start to lose coherence even as you're waking up from them, but that still manage to leave their moldering fingerprints all across your day. We all go through those; even the monsters, even the martyrs, the best and the worst of us. My younger brother is the most careful. The decency of his lies hiding his PTSD; saves us all on daily basis. He so generously opens the ground for my littlest sister, #Tia, who wakes up screaming for help. Not tonight though. Tonight is silent and cold. This night’s cruelty is specifically designed to torment /me/. Nightmares exist outside of logic, and there's little fun to be had in explanations; they're antithetical to the poetry of fear. And this is the fear. We pad over the brown trembling floor of the boarding house, with our arms shielding our faces, to the edge of the hall where the door is visible. Swirling flames rising from the furniture is so bright that the wind blows hot and rich with the smell of blood and burnt meat, so strong we begin to slaver. Yet as one smell, the smell of blood, draws us onward, others such as smell of roasted meat, warns us back. I sniff at the drifting smoke. Fire, fire, fire. No smell is more dangerous than the smell of vervain burning in the air. The smoke and ashes cloud our eyes and just as they begin to water, we reach the door. Clean cool fresh midnight air slaps our faces a few times with its cruelty, as if we weren’t already awake from the burning floor beneath us! The ashes fall like a soft grey snow even outside and here it’s all clearer too. Top of the building is doing its best at not falling but won’t be long now. The crackling of dancing fire is going to make sure of that. “Vervain!” Says a choking #Katherine, coughing with her hands on her knees and her chestnut curly hair messy about her shoulders. I just noticed the hole in her palm; healing slowly and its effect making her hands shake unsteady enough for me to catch it by the eye. Vervain, an herb on the verge of extinctions, is something like acid for humans to vampires, it burns through our flesh and weakens us the way it has us now. #Katherine would have ran away by now in any other situation, she is not used to staying for the after math, she gets targeted, she runs away. Yet she’s standing…because I am, because this is our home, and in the wake of a burning fire in your home, you don’t run, you fight. “It’s…” I try to catch my breath, both hands on my waists, pushing back the jacket. I was planning on telling her, it’s not that I am a deceiver; it’s that…She is not to be taken lightly. Must be done at the right time, in the right place. Now is definitely not the ideal situation for it to spill out of my mouth. The rolling sound of wheels on stone accompanied by a roaring old engine, a sound as sweet as a lullaby to a child, saves me from having to speak. The light blue of the vehicle is barely noticeable on a normal night however it is shining under the orange from a burning house at the moment. Its rough sports structure is visible to my good eyes. My younger brother, #Stefan, and his blonde former ripper lover frantically get out of the car. In the chilly white raincoat my little brother looks like a corpse in a shroud. A side effect of keeping an unhealthy diet. Both his hands hold the back of his head in the anticipation of the scenery before him. “What happened?” Asks the half baby vampire, glaring at us with great concern in her expression. “Fire department?” #Stefan points at me. I shake my head lightly and result in him snapping with a “My whole life is in there!” before he heads for the car to supposedly make a call. I /could/ bicker but a burning sensation in my chest overwhelms me all of a sudden. I wish that was it but now I can feel the smoke inside of me. It’s swallowing me all but isn’t at the same time. My long fangs drop out without my control, speaking of danger I can’t see but feel. “Tia!” “No, Damon!” Nails pierce my forearm before I know it and scratch all the way down to my elbow but I manage to throw her out of my way, shouting at #Stefan “Get her!” It’s not until my eyes have watered from the vapor in the living room that I stop hearing her screams. The rational behavior in a situation like this would be to stay outside and await the fire department’s arrival, enter only after it’s safe, wish for the best but a vampire always knows when the vampire he’s created is in danger. It’s one of the unexplainable things about our nature. #Tia however is different…When she wakes up crying for one of her nightmares, /I/ would stay with her, brush her hair with my hands, collect her tears in thimbles for her to drink the next morning, the only way to overcome sadness is to consume it, and more than that: once her eyes close and she falls back asleep, I am left to bear the insomnia. There is a complete transfer, like a speeding billiard ball colliding with a resting one. Should she feel depressed - she was always depressed – I would sit with her until I can convince her that it’s OK. It is. Really. And when she would move on with her day, I would stay behind, paralyzed with a grief I can’t name and that wasn’t mine. Should Tia become sick, it was /I/ that would be bedridden by week’s end. Should Tia feel bored, knowing too many languages, too many facts, with too much knowledge to be happy, /I/ would stay up all night studying her books, studying the pictures, so the next day I could try to make the kind of small talk that would please my young mortal sister. It has been this way since I first laid eyes on her, before she was reborn as a vampire. Has a nice symmetry to it, doesn’t it? We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it. “Damon?” The neediest, helpless, scared voice calls for me from the basement. “Pomogitye!” “What are you doing there??” I snap, trying to find a route down stairs but everything seems to be burning. Fire, fire fucking burning fire. “Damon? Mnye plokho” Throwing the half burnt desk away to make way for the door she seems to be trapped behind, I clench my jaws, smelling my own insides roasting with the inhaled vervain. “Devay, devay!” I yell, holding my arm for her. She takes the aid with trembling hands not only hold her dagger but that reveal her burnt forearm, proving my theories of an attack correct. The symbol as big as they come, is a giant circle melting her flesh to her bones. “Ti spyatila??” I scold my sister, forcing her towards the only route out. “Mnye plokho” She says faintly, almost dropping to her knees in an effect of the vervain in her system. Protecting her side even with the fire kissing our skins here and there, we manage to pull through to the door. My vision becomes foggy with a heat inside of my lungs, my body stopping to work properly, I start coughing hysterically. Fortunately flames are now behind us. Fresh air makes the red dance when I open the door, though as per usual, instead of taking my command seriously, #Tia slips away from my hold, running towards the stairs. “My sister!” “Tia!” Shielding my face, I kick away the hundred year old coffee table. “I’m coming!” Says a softly spoken voice, similar to #Tia’s with her bags in her hands but the following sound of destruction coming from above overpowers her. Instinct helps us out of the house and not one of the three, turns to watch the floor fall behind us. Night’s air is now polluted and not one truck here to help clear it. “What the hell were you thinking running back in???” My naturally lent forward body jolts towards my little sister aggressively. “She’s my sister!” She complains as loudly as I. “Helena” says a voice in my head. “Brother, don’t!” Tia tries to stop me but it’s too late. I’m already running after the bitch. The smells of blood and shit and burnt flesh poisons the air and the air, the cruelest smacks my face when I run to the woods. The night is full of acrid smoke. Voices are groaning and whimpering all around me, and from time to time a scream pierces the air, thick with pain, as feminine as hers, a voice silenced many years before. When ravens soared through a grey sky on wide black wings, while carrion crows rose from their feasts in furious clouds wherever I set my steps. White maggots burrowed through black corruption. The wolves were grey, and so were the sisters; together they stripped the flesh from the fallen. There were corpses strewn all over the field. The sun was a hot white penny, shining down upon the grey river as it rushed around the charred bones of sunken ships. From the pyres of the dead rose black columns of smoke and white-hot ashes, and there she laid, with a stake in her chest and her eyes as blue as the open sea, /my doing!/ I sent her to her death, I commanded it. At first there is no sound in the world, but after a time of running in the woods, I begin to hear the voices of the dead, soft and terrible, calling for me. They weep and moan with their sinister nature reminding me of /it/. Men used to beg for an end to pain, they used to cry for help and ask for their mothers in a battlefield but never her. She was never weak, she never begged forgiveness. She was born a lioness and died a lioness. Which is why it is unfair. I walk alone amidst grey shadows, trying to remember, to gather all the rage stored up inside of me for half a century. I’ve seen so many dead, so very many. Their corpses hung limply, their faces slack or stiff or swollen with gas, unrecognizable, but none has enraged me more than this one. “It’s okay, Damon” Says the voice I’ve been meaning to muffle since the day I’ve heard it. She speaks but #Helena’s words come out. “It’s okay, Damon. I’m not afraid. It has to be me. Save /her/. I’ll be okay. I’m not afraid” My fangs aroused with the aching need to tear, I keep my cool, listening for vitals, for any kind. It’s dark but I can see beneath the moonlight. It’s time. “You’re going to get me?” A sick laughter fills my ears yet I know I am hearing it only in my head. I know it only by my heart beat which pounds more real than of the voice in my head. “Vengeance is sweet isn’t it?” She says. “Vengeance is sweet. Vengeance taken when the vengee isn't sure who the venger is, is sweeter still” “And you, you better run because I'm going to destroy you for what you've taken from me” I say beneath my breath. “DAMON!!!!” #Katherine’s voice mixed with #Stefan’s reaches me from afar. I can even hear #Tia’s light footsteps as she runs. Only a laughter is heard inside my head this time. “Vengeance is one of life's great motivators and I’m so /fucking/ motivated!” I say angrily. “You Salvatores…Always quick with the sword and slow in the head” She giggles, this time, for the first time, I hear her whispering. “Damon?” #Tia appears out of the darkness, forcing me to turn towards her. “The vault!” “Bingo!” Says the red head, now only a few meters away from me. That smug smirk tugging the corner of her lips up makes me want to rip her head off. “Go get the vault, little one” I whisper. There it is! That sudden change in attitude with her realizing I am not going back to save my hard work. That glimmer of ‘Oh fuck’ in her face. Nothing is more pleasurable. “You gonna run?” I ask wickedly. Again alone with my prey who has managed to trick me out of the house to get to the one thing capable of ending an old one, I smile, instead of retrieving my properties. Vengeance has always driven me and the ecstasy of wrath is not enough for vengeance! Vengeance is a selfish emotion, demanding to be taken brutally. She didn’t anticipate me staying or running after her the way I did, I hadn’t two minutes ago, I was actually shocked, knowing she did what she did but every time my latest progeny’s name is mentioned, all I can do is…act. “Do you know why the neck is a vampire’s weakness?” I whisper when my hands have wrapped themselves around her pretty little neck. “When you press, the tightness closes the air that goes to brain.” I can’t help my chuckle. “Body’s normal reaction is to signal the brain, thinking it’s dying without oxygen, releasing agonizing adrenaline, entering panic mode in the fear of death, suffering every second the body fails to breathe without ever actually dying.” It's harder to heal than it is to kill, so today, I kill. With a strike, my right hand penetrates her chest, breaking the rib cage to get to the squishy bloody muscle that is my intended and I lean closer to her as her eyes grow wide and large as though they were about to pop and whisper softly before I take from her what she values the most “Love is not the strongest power, pain is.” ***** Killing makes me feel good. There I said it. It makes me feel light and hazy in a euphoria people usually don’t get to have. It’s exhausting too. I rub my hand against the darkness of my jeans to wipe the blood and the remainings, even though I know it won’t do any good, you can’t exactly blame a killer for trying. Though no one heard. No one came. Alone in the dark, I headed back to what stands. I can see the house in its marvelous status, falling down in the biggest T I’ve ever seen, a secret message. It has to be a dream, they should be all thousands of miles away, this should be the little slut wanting to taunt me not /them/. Just can’t be. Bloody treacherous bastards! Sometimes I can hear them talking to one another, I can’t understand the words. Their voices buzz in my ears like wasps muffled in thick felt. Hands pat my nearly brunt jacket, poking and investigating, but they are not my hands. More delicate, more experienced feminine hands. “You got it? Yes I know you did!” She exclaims. “Katherine…” I try pushing her away by her shoulder, shaking my head negatively. “No, I know you did! Give it back!” She whispers, smacking her palm to my chest accusingly. “Please!!!” moans #Katherine, tugging at my arm. Finding no answer, she quickly goes from denial to grief, hiding her face in my chest. The boarding house is burning down. The dancing flames strangely the only sound I can hear. It’s not just a house and there’s a moment that it hits us all…Now. Tia is now done making sure of her other half’s wellbeing and is holding an arm around her, watching the biggest fire we’ve seen. #Katherine, disappointed and in a loss for words, for the first time in five centuries, around people when she is suffering, is probably counting way in which she could get out of it all. No one hears any of us and no firetruck comes to put the last of the fire out, and at least…at least brighten the night with a color that is not the color of fifteen years falling down. Even the dark forest behind us looks and feels on fire. The trees are lit up like funeral pyres. The boarding house carried our name, its walls were the warmth of Italy. The Salvatore boarding house was Tia’s salvation in her endless nights, Adria’s only habitation, The Salvatore boarding house was my brother’s only hope, it wasn’t only a place we lived in, it was our home. It was Florence. “Not only intentional but it was meant for you, wasn’t it?” Says #Stefan with eyes that are pale grey, oddly flat and lifeless in regards with me. His voice was enough to snap me out of my phase, and now I am too busy, investigating the open garage, finding nothing but burnt paper. They’ve already got it. “How…How did they find us?” I question breathlessly, pushing Katherine away. “You don’t even have the decency to deny?” “They found us /because/ of you!” I burst out, going after #Tia. She doesn’t take a step back in weakness; she stands where she is, still and with her head held high. Her clenching jaws resemble my own but her eyes falter, trying to push back tears that are making them wet like shinning crystal. “We were /FINE/ before you came!” I spit out venomously. “All on me, brother, is it not? Are you too afraid to admit your own faults? It was you after all who wanted to join yet you were the one too much of a coward to stay with your men after being defeated” She says calmly. “The brotherhood had fell! They would have fought over the throne like beasts; they would’ve torn you to bits for being royalty.” I point out. “When a man is the problem, kill the man, no problem.” “Just admit you don’t do well with responsibility” Tia says softly. “I did what I had to do for the good of this family” “WHAT Family?” Stefan forces his way towards us, me to be specific. “You bring savages into /my/ home and call it yours? You even dragged our sisters into your filth!” “Little brother, I /will/ end you if you keep talking!” I put a hand on his chest, pushing him back so I can finish my words with my sister first. “Liar…” murmurs #Katherine, joining Stefan’s side. “You’re one of them?” “I can’t deal with you now…” Biting my fist, I turn to Tia. “How long the attack took last time we sent a message?” “I don’t…I can’t remember. Less than a day.” She responds. “Who were the operators?” “Russel..you, I can’t..” “You have to go to the quarters.” I say eventually. “No…” Tia shakes her head, stepping back for the first time. “You can’t make me” “I can, I am.” I pace towards her, bringing her to me by her neck. She seems so childlike and helpless, fear flashing through her blue eyes for the first time in centuries. “Brother, please…They’ll kill me. I can’t” “I must…” I breath out. “Go to the headquarters and report in. Take the girls with you. They won’t hurt you without me being there. They’ll take you to the fourth room till I get there.” “No…” she holds my wrist, fighting hard to control her emotions, it’s difficult for her to hide her true intentions. “They’ll kill you too, let’s run, Stefan’s here, we go together. Cassie’s here too, you’ve got Katherine. Let’s just go, we’ll disappear. Us against the world, remember?” “That is not the respectful thing to do, little one.” My hand cups the back of her neck. “When they attack us in our home, we don’t run, we fight…Forgive me for what I must do, it’s the only way…Tia Serenity Salvatore, as your maker , I command you to go to the headquarters and turn yourself in till I get there.” “They’ll kill us, Damon…They will. They’ll kill us all” She points out, nearly in tears. I laugh bitterly. “Well that makes it simple, then.”

#DemonicSolos #VengefulSolos #vengefulfamily #VengefulTia #DamonSalvatore #SoloSL #SoloRP #Solo #SangueBlu #VengefulNest #TheSalvatoreNest #Stefan Salvatore #MatureContent

The story of how I ended up here: V Cannon Fodder

It’s been five already? I thought there might be less so get me how you get me when I say I feel absolutely smug about pulling through with this shit for as long as I have. I’m not usually the kind to sit down and you know…Write in a diary. That’s so what a girl I’d fuck would do and I’m just not into stuff like that but since this place gets more and more boring by the second, (Well really freaky and useless but boring…Yeah that’s the worst I am going with today.) , I have no choice but to find my own entertainment between these thin ass nasty walls.

My handwriting’s kinda hard to read sometimes, the shots I usually am very resistive towards, make me all dozy and they affect how my body reacts. I’m not a fan of that. It’s kind of weird having to be who you are and think the way you do but to have your body give out and not act the way it used to…

It’s kind of scary. Hah…At the end of the day, I am what I fear most? That sounds so fucking poetic right now, I can’t even…

Anyways, I haven’t been able to write more because of an unfortunate incident that I will speak about in another time and at a different place.

I want to talk about Cannon Fodder today. I feel like no one will be bothering me for the next few hours so it’s the perfect time to get to writing.

First let me start with explaining what Cannon Fodder means for those of you who are dumb enough to not be into strategy or you know war shit in general. I used to love it when I was in middle school or some shit but that got old as fast as it got cool.

Cannon Fodder: noun

Noun: Cannon fodder

Soldiers regarded merely as material to be expended in war.

I have my own understanding of Cannon fodder and I pull the card out each time it’s necessary.

Before I thought I only killed because I was bored, because I wanted to experience but once I had sacrificed more than anyone ever does for experimenting , my own version of cannon fodder in my head, I realized that if I wanted to, I could not quit. It wasn’t a habit I picked up while hanging with the wrong kids. It wasn’t a habit at all. It wasn’t like smoking and it isn’t…I can see it so much more clearly now. I need it. My life depends on it. My entire future has been built on it, my entire ideology, my entire being. If you take that part of me away then there’s no Mason left. It’s just….Some person stuck in a fucked up asylum that no one really gives a fuck about.

Because you don’t talk about those stuff. What are you gonna do? Open up a conversation about old people who use diapers and are being treated wrongly in an asylum a few states over at the dinner table like ‘Hey, mom have you heard about that old woman who got raped in that asylum?’ just doesn’t make sense so society kind of just ignores its problems. It’s better for everyone that way. No one wants to deal with those stuff and when you do, you are labelled an activist who lives a life differently than of others and those people who don’t understand you keep announcing to their family and friends that you are just experimenting and/or trying to give back and some people nod and awe about how much of a good person you are while the others ask ‘So when is he going back to school?’ because that life isn’t just realistic enough for them. Because you just can’t live with helping people. You have to go to a good college and graduate to get a good job. If you have a million dollar house and a smoking hot wife who cheats on you with the mail man and have a two year old with an over expensive manny , THEN you can start talking about people like me and actually doing squat about it. Even then everyone speaks behind your back like ‘Yeah he’s rich so he feels like he needs to give back. Poor guy. His wife cheats on him’ or ‘ Oh that thief is doing charity? Yeah vigilante? When are the police putting these people away?’

So there really isn’t any pleasing them. You have to be who you are fully. This is who I am and I’m going to talk about my pawn.

Back then (When the story I am about to tell took place.) I didn’t really know who I was but I was beginning to realize that this for me was more than just a game and a hobby. I was understanding the highs and lows of it slowly slowly and well…Like any other teenager does, experimenting with my craft. Practicing you could say…

I can still feel how cold that basement was….The cold, moist air and how it made my nose turn red. How the excitement had me on edge. How happy I was that I got another one. I don’t remember her name now but I do remember how she looked.

I remember her fair skin and how it shivered beneath my touch.

That was when I developed my love for blades.

The night was silent. Almost too cruelly silent that the blowing wind outside hurt…No…It burnt. The cold always burns doesn’t it?

I could hear slow tiers over the wet ground pulling to their homes. Something so silent, so quiet, so slow and calming helped me be at peace. To feel like I was at ease, like I was home when in actuality I wasn’t. Have you ever felt like that? Like your home is another place?

The mud and puddles made a loud sound as I made my way to the building. From outside just an abandoned warehouse but on the inside, my very own factory where my dolls were made. Given…I knew nothing about my message or why I was doing it, just that I needed to and more so…I wanted to.

The entire process excited me, it turned me on, made me happy and made me yearn more than I have ever for anyone. I wasn’t just someone begging for another person’s affection, I had my own collection, my own fantasies and my own world, my own piece of heaven on earth and I savored each and every moment before I even knew what I was going to do with it later on.

She was in the place all others were, hanging from the ceiling with the cotton tied behind her head to prevent her voice from getting out. The screaming to me was never as important as the squirming. I need to know they’re afraid. That’s for me the key.

And she was.

She was passed out when I got there but as soon as the sounds of me working my tools rose, so did she and as soon as she did, she started crying. Going through the same motion they all go through, asking why they’re there and why I’m doing this to them like they haven’t done anything wrong in their lives…I mean it’s pathetic. Come up with some new lines will you? But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy each and every bit of it!

My keys made a clinching sound on the iron table I had brought in with myself and after that I sat down, drawing her into my notebook exactly as she was, even with the drool running down her chin as I had the other girls, while she cried and tried to break free.

I remember her frantically trying to get away and crying with every pant. The sound chains and ropes moving around so angrily made me look up and roll my eyes with a shaking head. “It’s not going to work.” I had told her and after a few more minutes of fruitless movements, she gave in entirely, breaking into tears.

Her cheeks went red like a girl’s does when you’re complimenting an outfit you really couldn’t give less fucks about and soon she was just hanging there. Tired of trying, tired of begging.

When she had thought she was going to die, I woke her up with my blade removing the skin of her finger carefully and once she screamed from the pain and ruined my perfect calculations I stabbed her in the palm.

You’d think it’s hard to do that but it isn’t. We’re all just flesh and bone. Like steak but…More alive.

After she was done screaming and I was way done pounding into her, she kept asking why I did it.

Over and over and over and over and over FUCKING AGAIN.

It pissed me off at some point so much that I stabbed her at least twenty times…She was on my goddamn nerves AND she ruined the method I was trying to develop but then it hit me..

I was not angry because she kept asking me why I did it, I was angry because besides wanting to and needing to I really didn’t have an excuse.

That’s when I realized she was a pawn all along. All of them. They were just soldiers I needed to sacrifice to realize that not only the kill is important but so is the message behind it.

So I knew I needed to practice more. Not with my disposal ways but also with what I wanted to say with them. Every artist makes art to say something and that…was my art. My own piece. My own war.

I needed to find something to say and to say it through the girls I killed. Otherwise I’d just be a useless serial killer who raped and killed random girls.

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#DemonicSolos #CrackheadSolo #SoloRP #SoloSL #Solo #MatureContent #MentalCrackhead #GV #TheStoryOfHowIEndedUpHere

The story of how I ended up here IV: First hunt

“Do you know why I chose you?” I asked her calmly but she only winced.

Didn’t take long for her to start crying, choking on her own sob with that low pitched sound girls make when they’re whining. No response.

“Do you know why I chose you?” I asked again, my palm holding beneath her chin to make her look at me. The tears had gone dry on her pale face and the coolness in the air or perhaps the uneasiness had made her white, usually colorless skin to go pink in certain areas and the puffy eyes, having cried themselves to their current posture, did wonders to it. Made her look exactly like the captive she was meant to be with all that wet her pinned to her face from sweat and tears and well…A little bit of water dripping. Oh the water dripping…The dripping water…That was my first mistake. I should have paid more attention to it but then again when you have a girl tied to the ceiling and ready for your entertainment you don’t really pay attention to detail. For me the focus part takes place / before / the actual acts begins. Or it was that way at least…Now I know you should never turn that part of you off. You don’t want to get caught.

She moaned in pain and I whispered caringly. “Because no one will ever miss you. It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”

I know I know… I shouldn’t be teasing even the paper with starting it that way but if I didn’t write that down, I might forget. Things are starting to get blurry over here and I don’t exactly enjoy not knowing what will happen to me or what is…

The girl a few doors over committed suicide a few nights ago and since that has happened the whole security system has doubled. Well…It’s not like there are cameras or anything…It’s just the walks. They’ve doubles the guards and nurses everywhere to make sure everyone is sedated enough not to kill themselves or…Others.

That makes my job harder than it already is in here. You have no idea how many opportunities I have had here and just how many I had to let go…

It’s so sad I feel like strangling myself to death but that way they will never know my story…They have to know my story, and my name. And my face. They have to fear me and the thought of me. They have to wince, they have to be scared because I’m out there, roaming the cities. They have to be afraid. Oh wouldn’t that be lovely? To have women check their doors twice before they go to bed because they are afraid I’ll get to them? Ah that sounds splendid…

That’s why I haven’t killed myself yet. I can’t die unnoticed. Not after a quick spree and before they’ve learned the truth. The entire truth…And nothing but the truth.

All they know now is what I’ve told them which is what landed me here in the first place but I couldn’t exactly make any deals for the rest of them now, could I? I had to make them think I’m crazy. Who the hell wants to go to prison and be put on death row? Hah. Like I’d ever risk my life because of a few mistakes I made along the line.

I don’t really know how the others do it…Those who go unfound, uncaught and unheard of. It’s kind of sad though, isn’t it? No one knows their name or cares enough to do so but then again they probably are having fun with a blondie or a brunette right now and have no one doubting that the church going righteous man could be in fact a serial killer, spotting young women outside of the area he lives in.

That is the spookiest thing about us but I don’t quite count myself in with those.

I’m different…Younger, more experienced…smarter, better. An improved serial killer who with access to internet and various tv shows teaching everyone how to kill and get away with it, could make something so uniquely beautiful that there was no need for a mentor. I always had me. And me is fucking awesome.

So that is why I have to keep writing. With the double guards roaming the place at all times and the moaning and the weird noises the walls have decided to make, I know it’s fucking weird and sometimes I do wonder if it’s me imagining things but let’s hope I haven’t gone coocoo just yet, I find it hard to go on not thinking about it.

The need is growing inside of me, poking me and begging me to pay attention to it while I beg it to leave me alone but the need is much like eating…

You think it doesn’t control you but it takes over your body. Making your stomach growl and your head ache, making you dizzy and angry after its done making you hurt all over…So you eventually give in and shove food into your own face and after you’re done, you might feel bad for eating too fast but you know that the release you got from the agony that was controlling you was so fucking worth it.

Killing for me is like that. You think it doesn’t control you but it does. It practically takes over your entire life.

I hear it calling…It has been calling FOR DAYS now but I couldn’t find any pieces of papers to write this down on so I just had to browse through my memories and to be honest they’ve become blurry and are fainting away.

Must be all the drugs they shove down our throats.

I should be sleeping now…The lights have gone off and the wincing is audible on the background but still…It’s quieter than it is during the day and the nights for me are the worst.

I don’t like to be left alone with my thoughts when I can’t do anything about them.

Slowly drives me insane…

Which is why I have taken it upon myself to gather all the papers and tissues that I can so I can write. I can’t draw. That would take too much of my pencil away so instead I write and by the looks of it I pretty much suck but who cares? It’s not like I’ll show these to anyone.

No…This is just for me. For my own amusement and for my own pleasure so I could read back and remind myself of what I truly am.

Instead of moving out, I collected and saved all my money made with hard effort at the university ( I did research there, physicists and all of that crap) or whichever job I could handle to get a warehouse in an isolated place, never visited by anyone, like a paper town only pretty on the map, perfect for crimes I had planned to commit there.

I made sure I had easy access to it but at the same time it was safe enough to be locked from the outside and not opened from the inside when I wasn’t there.

Also…The basement made for a hell of a dungeon.

I know I know…Fantasy and all of that. Call it cliché but it’s the perfect place for me and still is standing like a good little boy.

I went through all the possible outcomes of just hunting freely and sometimes even before I knew it was a hunt, I would imagine what it would be like to just grab one of the passing strangers and do to them what I wanted to for so long but I knew that just anyone couldn’t do it for me.

The possibilities of one of them being best friends with the mayor or something like that just never seemed worth it to me so I made a list of all the areas I could actually do hit.

Women who live alone with successful jobs are the most appealing but you know what they have? Dogs and cats and those are just a no go for me and there’s no guarantee that one of them wouldn’t have a boyfriend waiting or a good friend at work who would immediately report them missing so the cougars were immediately a no go.

Same with the MILFS and housewives, the thought just makes me go ugh.

What you want to actually go after is not the pretty girl at school who has shiny hair, you want to go after the dorks who live alone and only have internet friends or…The best option of all…Prostitutes and homeless girls.

People that will not be missed or reported or cared for when found.

It’s sad when you think about it but it’s just too convenient to be forgotten.

I do have my own needs and wants under that category…

If you don’t count the no mistress, no escort, no agency bits of it, I like girls with a certain body type.

I never much did care for ‘sexy’ women. I never found that attractive, I mean yes, I will fuck one if we meet in a café or whatever but I won’t go after one. I like tiny petite girls. I always have.

That does count for the type of porn I used to watch as well by the way. Just putting it out there.

I met her well…I learned about her by whispers and the public records I couldn’t dig out, another good sign, but I made it my mission to learn everything about her.

When and how and where she took her coffee, where she lived, who she hung out with, what time she woke up and what time she worked, where she deposited her money…All of that good stuff.

They all screamed lonely and perfectly safe for me to fiddle with.

I like to give them a heads up before I actually do make a move so I leave them clues well…I know it’s dramatic but it’s so much fun!

I ‘accidentally’ bumped into her and made her coffee spill and oh my, we have the same taste in coffee! OF COURSE I would offer her mine and insist she lets me pay for the dry cleaning, which by the way I did and of course I would keep popping out in places she had business by sheer ‘accident’ but the day we met was the day I started the phone calls.

It’s an old trick in the book but don’t you just love that?

I allowed the audio from Jackson’s death to play on the background when she picked the phone up and did the same thing for every night two months straight, only missing a few nights to make her believe it was over but it never was.

Didn’t take long for her to become paranoid and start checking the doors twice each time she left and entered the house.

I even sneaked in a couple of times to rearrange the stuff she had put in , into my own liking , to mess with her head a little bit, something she had begun to notice.

Finally on a Friday night when her business would be the busiest and hardest to handle as it usually was, I stroke.

I can still feel her nails cutting my skin when I put the napkin over her face, that too taught me a lesson. ALWAYS WEAR LONG SLEEVES!

You don’t want DNA all over you.

But it was my first one and I was so excited and scared at the same time though nothing would compare to how scared / she / was. I picked up the three videos I had made so far and put them on replay on the crappy tv that was set in the basement and with her being tied to the ropes hanging from the ceiling, she had no choice but to watch them.

I think in a way her being scared was what did it for me.

I left her there for two days, I had set up cameras of course to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere but it I had to leave her there to increase the fear she already had built up.

Finally when I got to be with her alone, I turned the tv off and sat in the corner of the cold dim basement and opened my journal to draw her beautiful body and posture. I did it for hours and she cried and begged me to let her go, that she wouldn’t tell anyone.

Human instincts…Weird fucking stupid shit, that is , huh? How stupid you think I am? For fuck’s sake!!

I drew her as she was but something about the picture in front of me didn’t satisfy me enough and that pissed me the hell off.

I went to her and started fiddling with her, trying to get her in the right angles but she wouldn’t shut the fuck up so I had to use my personal gag to just shut her up while I inspected her.

I really did wanna hurt her so I tried it soft core, vanilla style and slapped her a couple of times and that got me going, which is when I knew just how much I needed to hurt someone in order to reach that certain level of ecstasy, something I felt with Alice and something I felt when I masturbated to the video of Jackson dying for the first time. That beautiful sudden moment of relief…

I couldn’t ever get there again and it frustrated me so bad.

That’s when I started actually beating her up. Making my fist crack a few bones here and there which now looking back was so enjoyable. It did hurt me as well as it did her but the way her skin changed color first to a fierce crimson and then to a blackish purple…That was euphoric for me and I knew in that moment that she’d do whatever I told her to do.

And so she did.

Said and did everything I wanted her to while I pounded into her and somewhere in between her moans , I managed to finally reach that euphoric place. Something I tried with her over and over again, for almost a week every night till I grew bored of her and well…You know how it goes.

I can still feel her bones crackling under my touch and the smell of her hair and how she bounced back and forth…I can still remember it all.

Oh hey…I actually do remember it all in details!!

The coldness of the basement, the heat of her body, her feminine voice and all the drawings of her I had sketched…

I might not be losing my mind after all!

#GV #Crackheadsolos #Demonicsolos #MATURECONTENT #Criminal #SoloSL #SoloRP #Solo

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The story of how I ended up here : (chapter III) Anger excitation

( NOTE : Before I begin the following solo I would like to let you all know that rape is not a matter of joke and that the solo has been written with only entertainment purposes and not promotion of violence in any shape or form. I strongly recommend not following me or reading my solos if you are underage or sensitive to brutal topics. The link below has some basic self-defense moves which in my opinion everyone needs to know so please take your time to read it before reading the solo. http://lifehacker.com/5825528/basic-self-defense-moves-anyone-can-do-and-everyone-should-know I would also like to give you a few tips on how to avoid violent acts :

1. Always be aware of your surroundings

2. In parking lots, don't park next to vans. Park up under the lights.

3. Be wary of strange men asking for help. Ted Bundy pretended to be hurt and helpless, playing on women's compassionate natures.

4. Always carry a cell phone

5. If you break down on the road, call for help. Don't accept help from strangers, especially at night.

6. I strongly encourage self defense courses for all women.

7. Don't allow yourself to get within an arm's length of a stranger. If you're within arm's length, he can grab you. Never, ever turn your back on one or look away.

8. Dogs are nice, both at home and in the car.

9. If you live alone, get a male acquaintance to record for your answering machine. Have a dog barking in the background. Dogs are one of the best deterrents.

10 . Always walk like you mean business. Don't walk with your head down or act like you're timid or vulnerable in any way. Look up, stay alert. )

Anger excitation

Have you ever been able to keep it up for a very long time but not actually…You know…cum? That’s the most frustrating shit that can happen to a human being. Like you’re aroused, fully erect and inside a girl with her bouncing up and down to the point of it / actually / hurting but nothing ever happens? No matter how hard you ram it in there? You only get too close to the end and never actually reach the goal? I don’t know why I remembered this but it’s definitely one of the things I need to stress on.

I did read the last entry I had and now It’s under my bed, crumbled and squished into a ball of paper. I had to leave because ‘medicine time’ or lunch…Can’t remember which. Doesn’t really matter neither. It’s all a moo point at this place. The good thing is that I know they are bullshitting me. I know who I am and where I come from and I know where I am going. Right now, this place is the safest place I could be.

Sure there are stinky old people and a lot of gay people…God I hate gay people, and the food is like literally stuffing your mouth with shit and piss. Just because the voices in here cannot be reliable, they think it’s alright so shut us up. As if it’s alright to feed us shit, both mentally , physically and emotionally; but the thing is…With my name showing up in the paper the way it does, the possibility of dying in here ( well…Getting killed) is very slim. I do like the security in here. It’s like free body guards protecting you form the outer world though it’s more not letting anything out than not letting anything in.

I think I once overheard one of the doctors tell a reporter that it wasn’t them protecting us from what lies beyond these walls but rather them protecting the world from us. Which is true I guess…In a way. Considering Agrys Asylum houses lunatics like me.

I heard they had a record for taking in the most serial killers in the past decades but in one way or the other all of the said serial killers ended up dead or unheard of. Isn’t surprising really…Considering the whole morality of it and all. Like how prisoners get rid of pedophiles a week after they enter the prison or how a pregnant lady can walk through jail without getting raped or even touched. Morality and all of that…Which by the way I never got. Morality is for the weak and stupid. It does no good to be honest. Only puts extra weight on our fucking shoulders, like we don’t already have enough of that with modern life…I need to find myself, see who I am, why I am here and how the hell am I going to make a name for myself….To become known…worldwide. I don’t have time for morality…Anyone who says they do is a freaking liar.

I hate liars.

Anyways…Back to my point about this thing I remembered last night. More like this morning…It’s hard to sleep in this place unless sedated. Sometimes I act up for no reason so they give me some of that shit that puts me out. So I can sleep and have a little bit of oblivion.

Killing was never sexual for me in any shape or form. It was always someone I needed to get rid of like Jackson or an accident like Alice; that’s until this one weird incident changed everything.

So I was at this girl’s place, whose name I cannot remember despite me recalling the incident in great detail….Like the smell of her sweet annoying perfume and the cool room…God that room was cold and the sound of a barking dog, God that dog was loud, but her name? I can’t remember…

So I’m in her place, and she wasn’t a school mate neither, I met her at a party I had no business going to, and logically she wants to get it going.

I remember her pulling her shirt off and just standing there. I mean…It’s nice and all, staring at a half naked girl in front of you but it can get weird though she was comfortable in her own skin and I love that in a girl.

Not as much as I love the quiet very pretty ones but confidence can be very arousing and attractive.

She was a short skinny girl with small breasts and a heart shaped face, too cute for her own good but she had these eyes…They called for mischief and perhaps were the only thing about her that could give her away were she to manipulate someone into be living she’s a good ol’ Christian girl.

She stumbled in and started kissing me softly while her hand ran up and down my jeans, lifing an erection. All chicks are that way…They like to start slow and gentle and soft and ugh.

I think it’s their way of trying to make sure that they actually want to screw a guy or maybe keep things vanilla enough so they could storm off when they no longer ‘feel like it’. That’s another thing about the opposite gender that I can just NOT stand!!!

By the time she had me on my back and had straddled me I was all hard and ready for her and believe me….It takes A LOT of restraining not to just throw a girl on her back and fuck the living hell outta her but I’d promise myself not to do anything that would trigger all that crazy stuff I needed to keep at bay.

Haha even writing that down sounds so fucking stupid. I mean…I’m smarter than to manipulate myself (more like deluding) into believing that all of the psycho shit I thought about were just a phase…Maybe teenage hormones and all that just wanted to believe something else about myself. After all….We all do search for who we are around that age, don’t we? I just happen to be something that most people aren’t. I don’t know why everyone has to make such a big deal out of it. Well…Yes of course, I do deserve recognition for the amazing work that I have done, and yes I do the job better than anyone I’ve known or heard of and yes I did get away with it for as long as I wanted but that doesn’t mean differences should be frowned upon. Someone like me who has the control over / humans / nonetheless should be respected, loved and of course…awarded.

Wasn’t until her hand between us had made her cum and her tits in my face had become a nuisance that I realized it wasn’t working.

She kept bouncing up and down and I managed to keep myself aroused despite how annoying and agitating I found her perfume and her low pitched moans, for which by the way I deserve a Goddamn medal! Though nothing seemed to be helping.

She placed her palm on my chest, half panting half disappointed “Okay, this is not working.”

By this point you all might think that I would give up and call it a day but have you met me? If it’s getting up, it’s getting emptied.

She slide down the bed and got on her knees, giving me a very good view of her eyes before her tongue slipped out and gently tasted the tip of my cock. And after that? The most pleasant feeling came.

Her experienced mouth devoured me at half and then fully, following its trail with a tight hand that pumped me fast.

“Good girl…” I whispered as she pulled away to work her drool all over the shaft, making sure it was wet. The spit and precum combined all along with her trying to deep throat me made her gag beautifully and it wasn’t till I had my both hands dangled in her hair and was thrusting my hips back and forth into her that I realized I had been making parallels to the sound of Jackson’s choking when I had slit his throat which at first scared me to an early grave because I hate gay people and the thought is just too gruesome but slowly as I forced her still to fuck her face whilst tears fell down her eyes, I understood that it wasn’t the gender but rather the act I was thinking about.

I took the same girl to where I had killed Jackson a few times and I had almost no troubles cumming there but as frequent the girl became as far away and fading my memories.

I got with this other blonde a while after that and when I could no longer do it, not even thinking about Alice or watching the videos I’d made ( oh and trust me, you’d be surprised as to how many torture porn videos are out there, my friend) , I tried something new. Something I had done with, well…/ to / Julia but never anyone else. I slapped her over and over again and made her tell me exactly what I wanted to hear and when my hand was wrapped around her throat and they had left a blue mark and she had been tied and I had been inside of her till she begged me to stop? I knew I had to have a ritual and tie them up exactly how I wanted to and that I should have a place for each of them to be devoured and used the exact way I wanted them to. Because I could and…Well…

I knew it then and there…There are two ways I can get satisfaction. One…When I’m thinking about really hurting someone and two…when I’m really hurting someone. They call it anger-excitation, I’ve looked it up. The anger-excitation sexual murderer is equivalent to the lust murderer. This killer takes sadistic pleasure in torturing his victim. For this murderer, the act of torture-killing is what brings him sexual gratification.

That? I can personally guarantee.

#GV #DemonicSolos #Crackheadsolos #SoloRp #SoloSL #Solo #MatureContent #Violent

The Story of how I ended up here : Story of Alice

( This is solo is extremely mature content and discusses sensitive subjects such as rape, murder, incest, substance abuse and uses bad language. You’ve been warned. )

Wow…I did really let go in the last one, didn’t I? I wrote so much shit about Julia that reading it back this morning made me sick. Sweet loving Julia, cared for and looked after…Sweet cunning fucking whore. Why does SHE get to have all the attention? I HATE how she ALWAYS ends up in the spot light. Kind of like an annoying version of Monroe…I mean there’s just a limit you shouldn’t pass.

So I made a promise to myself…I won’t let her win. I will talk and write about myself instead of wasting a breath on that pathetic little worthless piece of shit.

Anyways…

I read back what I wrote on the paper last night and this morning and on both occasions I found myself in lust and longing. Oh just what I would give to watch one of my videos right now…

Given…I did start making those with Jackson because I found the sound of his choking on his own blood amusing but I hear that taking a trophy…A souvenir of some sort, is what all serial killers do to relive the past. Well…I didn’t know this when I filmed Sarah, Alice, Jackson or any of them to be quite honest but I guess this is my own way dealing with it.

I mean…why go through all that trouble when no one truly gives you an award for it? No recognition, no love, no impressed applause…It’s all very depressing.

You know what else is depressing? This fucking place…The old ones are the worst. I try to stay away from them. They shit their own pants…Well I guess diapers. If I ever get like that? Put a bullet through my head.

I’m hoping it won’t be that way. I’m hoping to make a grand exit like the great minds I admire. Bonnie and Clyde would be a cheap example. They walked to their deaths… oh well…More like drove into it and waited to be slaughtered in cold blood but they were armatures on the extreme, killing at random and on a spree.

Murder like that doesn’t last long. I want to make a legacy…

See I’m not saying I was always like this or even that I woke up one day going ‘ Oh yes I wanna be a serial killer’ that shit’s just fucked up and stupid. More stupid than fucked up.

You don’t wake up broken and aching just outta the blue.

Everything happens for a reason and without a cause no action can take place. That’s just simple physics, friend.

I think little events like my whoring mother was what shaped it but this is not a story of how I became who I am today, this is a story of how the hell in the world I ended up / here. /

So…Writing is not the only thing romantic I do, right? I also draw. I started when they forced us into doing shades and in general black and white pictures in middle school and it wasn’t long after that when I started drawing pictures people called ‘Disturbing’

Of course no one knew I was drawing till one day a little mouse stole a few to masturbate to and forgot to hide them well enough and my sicko mom found it and made me go through all kinds of fucked up therapy sessions for the longest fucking time and don’t you even dare get me started on therapy…

I fucking hate therapy and more than I hate the nonsense they force into your brain, trying to convince you that you’re fucked up for a reason , (mostly because you got molested as a child) , I hate the therapists. But at least they are better than psychologists…Those are the real fun ones. They try to get into your head and play with you, always thinking smugly that they know you better than you do yourself.

That just is wrong on so many levels in my opinion. You can’t know what I am if I don’t…But hey…That’s just me and that is another story for another time.

I want to tell you the story of Alice today.

Alice….With the blonde hair and the blue eyes, Alice so kind. Strong cheek bones and a complimenting height.

She was always there I suppose…sitting two rows in front of me with her head bowed down over her desk, reading some book. I was never the one to take the front row seats in a class. I’ve always been the kind to stay away from all of that but also always failed to go below radar.

I first came to know Alice when she leaned down over my shoulder whilst I was drawing Julia, her hands tied to a radiator, a meaningless fantasy of me which Alice found disturbingly amusing. She bent herself over and picked her favorite one going “Oh you’re very talented!”

It was the first time anyone had ever said that to me. Acknowledged me…Seen me.

I guess I should’ve known then that girls like Alice don’t just recognize the beauty in others unless it benefits them. Back then…When was it, second year of high school? Maybe it was first, I don’t really remember, back then I was naïve and stupid.

I always had a way with girls, they genuinely like me and something about my ‘confident smirk’, as my mother puts it, attracts them hence getting laid was never an issue for me. I could have anything from freshmen virgin to a MILF if I wanted to…I just could never have that one interesting kitten that made my heart pound and I know there is such a fatal attraction that you could die just watching them...I know there is.

Anyhow….I slowly took back what she had taken and readjusted them into my folder. “It’s not meant to be on display.”

“Well why not?” She asked eagerly and that made me cringe. I’m not a fan of girls who talk too much or ask too many questions. I mean…Lay on your back and get it over with. The world doesn’t revolve around you it revolves around ME! It’s MY life. Ugh.

“It’s pornographic.” I teased and threw my backpack over my shoulder.

“What are you...Raised catholic or something?” Alice laughed and her laughter caused two cute dimples to show. I guess that’s when I thought to myself ‘Oh yes…I could watch her face go up and down on my dick.’

“Atheist family. We don’t believe in God.” I told her but that was a lie. Lying has always come easy for me. Especially lying to girls. Girls are genuinely more stupid. Somehow I’ve come to understand that if you smile at them even though they know you’re lying somehow that makes it okay. Strange huh? They think they are the superior race but keeping quiet no matter how much I think it’s the right thing, doesn’t make you smarter…Just makes others think they can boss you around.

I know Julia got into some trouble for what I told Alice that day as her father was a very respected man, hardly present? Yes but…Well known and respected. But what does that even mean? God…? Grow up…There’s no heaven, no hell…No God…No order. Don’t be stupid.

God is like…Money or Santa. Only present in a human’s dreams.

To cut to the chase, Alice liked my drawings and wanted me to even draw her in one of the poses she came up with. With a blind fold and a gag, her head slightly lowered and she asked me to draw tears on her face with blue. I don’t use colors in my drawings but I did it anyhow after she stripped down and got herself in the position she wanted.

It was rousingly beautiful to put the blindfold on her eyes and place the gag between her parted lips and soon? Her drool had moisten the gag and dripped down to her chin, something I did well to capture.

I took my time with it, drawing her over and over again. Perfecting my craft…I hate imperfections and maybe….Maybe just a / little / bit I wanted her to wait. For which she did…For hours.

She bitched and whined about it till I told her to shut up and she did.

After I was done I removed the blindfold and let her see the drawings and she was impressed I had done such an amazing job but she couldn’t wait to get outta that position as she squirmed and all of her bitching went unnoticed.

I licked her lips and pulled out the gag. It was the first time I kissed her and although she did little to move me, the nakedness and the station she had with her legs and hands all tied to a darkening bruise on all four places and a wet mouth and begging eyes, was enough to get me going.

I fucked her face with my fist pulling her head back till I came and it took me about five more sessions of tying her up and two teachers noticing she had bruises on her wrists and was spending too much time in the bathroom to realize that I didn’t want her to keep telling me to climb up the fire escape and pretend to force her into having sex with me but that I actually liked forcing her. I liked the idea of it…More than I liked slashing Jackson’s throat.

So this one time when she was tied to my parents’ bed and was getting on my every last nerve about how I should kiss her or do this and that, I turned her over and fucked her from behind with my hands on her throat trying to silence her annoying fucking moans and by the time I was done my fingers had left purple marks all around her milky neck.

I guess I should have stopped when I realized she wasn’t breathing but that was exactly the beginning of it…For me at least.

That’s when I knew that I had actually felt the life leave her body and still continued fucking her dancing little frame, it even turned me on more and as wrong as that was…I knew then that there was no stopping this.

I wanted to slash her throat and let her blood fill the bed my mother whores around on so much but I knew from experience that a dead body doesn’t squirt out the blood the way a live one would and I’m not one to get caught.

And so the story of the smart Mason Myers began.

I was so smooth about the disposal that still am proud but-

Someone’s coming.

#GV #AgrysAsylum #DemonicSolos #CrackheadSolos #Maturecontent #TheStoryOfHowIEndedUpHere #SoloSL #SoloRP #Solo

The story of how I ended up here

( This is solo is extremely mature content and discusses sensitive subjects such as rape, murder, incest, substance abuse and uses bad language. You’ve been warned. )

Before I say anything…Anything at all, I would like to stress the fact that this is all pointless. All of it. Life, this place, breathing…Becoming someone. It’s all so fucking pointless.

I will most probably get caught writing this and will lose my right to use this room and the therapist will most likely get ahold of it to analyze it for his psycho fucked up reasons, trying to figure out who I am and why I behave the way I do, eventually stamping some stupid ass diagnoses on top of the few I already have and linking it to an awful childhood to make it easy. That’s the easy way, everyone goes the easy way. Or worse…I could reread it and realize how truly pointless and idiotic this whole venture on the paper has been and scrape it, smash it in my fist like a girl’s breast and throw it away like I would her.

In any case it; all goes back to one and one realization: That this is meaningless.

Anyhow…After rambling about useless worthless bullshit no one really cares about, I would like to start now.

How / do / you start a thing like this? What is this? A diary? An entry on a piece of shitty paper, in a shitty room at a shitty hospital in a shitty town all falling beneath a shitty life? I have absolutely no reason as to why I am doing this…

Doing this to reflect I guess? To see where and what I did wrong to get caught. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m a genius who can’t ever be at fault, I can be but I’m also smart. I’m super smart and I don’t just say it like a girl who won a beauty pageant or had parents that kept telling her she was smart because in reality she was just a dumb cunt. I say it because I am. Advanced physics on higher level and AP extra calculus for the fun of it smart.

I could start with a cliché quote like ‘To be or not to be, that is the question’ or ‘ I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity’ But then again…. Oh YES! this isn’t one of those stories where the main character starts the shit with ‘I always knew what I was’ because BULL FUCKING SHIT! No one knows who the fuck they are or what the fuck they are doing at least two kids short and a marriage behind…No one knows why we’re here or what we’re doing and for sure no one wakes up one day ensured that they are a sicko. No one wants that…Like I said…POINTLESS.

Everyone just closes their eyes shut and just goes with it because that’s what you’re supposed to do. I’m just not up for that life so I guess instead of boring the whiteness of the paper and wasting what I can sneak into my room I should start. Maybe at the beginning…But where / is / the beginning? I guess I /could/ start from puberty but that would be a lie because I know it was before that when I realized I was about to do something crazy. It was way before puberty and I hate liars, so I’ll try to be as honest as I can.

Which reminds me…Trying to find an error? Yeah that’s a big fat lie. I think in my own twisted way I am writing this so I can have an excuse to reminisce without looking away at a distance like these old farts do, glaring at a dot on the wall for hours…Those are the real crazy ones. The ones you can’t imagine what they were like before this life in this place…That’s so depressing when you think about it. Most of these lads have had a life outside here but no one ever truly has the understanding to get it…No one can see them for what they once were and to stop my mind from becoming / that / pathetic I have to keep busy. However it may be…Because…Yeah. I do fear losing my shit. In a place like this? Who wouldn’t?

I didn’t really grasp the fact that something was wrong or maybe even different about me (Perhaps this is due to parents and basically everyone else always whispering how especial and different you are even when you’re nothing but a little piece of normal shit, wasting the air actual important people could use.) till the words took meaning; so I should probably start from the strange things that started happening. Things I now know were the beginning.

First event which strikes some sort of an alert now looking back, would be this girl named Julia. ( By Julia I mean Margaret and by a girl I mean my sister. It’s just easier to distance yourself from them, give them new names and new stories. That way the guilt never catches up and I am capable of guilt, that has been proven so don’t judge, fucker!) She used to cry when I was around four and she had just been born. See…I wanted to read my comics (Mostly Batman and Joker stuff. I hate Batman…I love Joker. Joker is awesome.) and she just wouldn’t shut up!! So I’d sneak into her room and put a pillow on her head, pressing it hard so that she may stop but she never did. Only cried harder but the good thing about the little adorable baby Julia was that she couldn’t be heard through the pillow. Some fact you and I both might need for future references.

Note : Pillows are good as a silencer in movies and in real life? They’re perfect for screaming into. No one hears a damn thing.

Anyhow, I kept on doing it till she quit crying but then…Not sneaking into her room and making her pretty baby face go red left a huge hole in my heart. As if something important was ripped out of my life and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I mean...It was weird. Why would I want to hurt her for no reason?

In case you’re wondering? That’s not why I started talking about Julia. I started talking about Julia because I did…Hurt her. Repeatedly.

At first it was petty things. Kicking her under the table or pinching her arm and slowly it progressed as I grew up. I once shoved her down the stairs just to see if she’d break her ankles…

She broke her arm instead. I was disappointed.

Juli Juli Juli…Julia. Oh the first girl I loved.

She’s so cruel but I guess…It’s all my doing.

I think the real damage was done after I was bored with picking on her here and there. I would always pull her hair, smack her around whenever I could but even after I had made her choke on a piece of an airplane she wanted so bad, I wasn’t satisfied.

Everything I did with her were just experiments or sheer boredom but then…She betrayed me. Jackson and Julia…Julia and Jackson. Everyone loved them together. Ugh even the thought is making me homicidal.

I probably shouldn’t have written that, if a doctor sees it, they won’t ever shut up about it but that was our deal…Truth and nothing but the truth.

So this guy comes around, right? Out of nowhere and starts playing with / my / toy! It was so unfair! Julia was mine. She was always mine, she will always be mine.

In my own idea and my own personal diagnoses of what and who I am…I always see this following part as the starting point.

So this is the part I tell you about the ‘incident’

When I was around fifteen I accidentally killed a cat…It was sick and all weird looking and I thought to myself…Something needs to be done about a cat like that and…While experimenting with how I could readjust his unkind features, I poked his eyes out and watched him bleed to death. Wasn’t because I was fucked up or anything…It was because I couldn’t do anything to save him and you try taking a cat with bleeding eyes to an adult…That just screams serial killer and I grew up watching shit like that. You know…Reading it in the news how psychos love to play mind games and shit? None of the names in the paper ever were magnificent enough for the attention they were getting and that boils my blood even today.

Though that’s not the point…The point is, Julia helped me bury the cat and never spoke of it again. She even slid into my bed the very night and held me after we fucked. I don’t really remember when that whole thing started…Only that it did and never stopped.

I would often place my hand on her lips with the excuse of my parents hearing us so I could recreate that beautiful baby face going red with no oxygen, even though I suspect she herself knew and knows I like it that way as she asked me to do it this one time when we were alone. Everything was perfect…Till Jackson.

The fucking amazing Jackson stealing away everything that was mine and one day? She comes back home saying it’s ‘wrong’ and we shouldn’t anymore. What the fuck kind of excuse is that? Of course it’s wrong and forbidden and you shouldn’t! But with our shitty parents? My ever absent father and my whore mother? We were all we had! She could not do that me and I wouldn’t allow it but for the first time instead of being mad at her I was…Upset. This liquid kept building inside and I couldn’t do anything to help it, it was disgusting. It was like…I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t breathe. How could she just change her mind about loving me? Am I that hard to love?

Then I just lost it.

I didn’t care for her wanting me anymore. I couldn’t let go and so I didn’t and she couldn’t really do anything about it.

I liked hurting her but I never meant to hurt her…I loved her and she betrayed me. This is how she betrayed me :

I spent MONTHS and MONTHS working on a plan to get rid of Jackson and the conclusion I came to was simple. I had to kill him otherwise he wouldn’t go away. I waited and waited and waited and waited some more till the time was right and I did. Slashed his throat and made it look like a satanic sacrifice.

Oh and I cut off his balls and made a necklace out of it and put it around his neck which strangely turned me on so bad that I couldn’t wait for Julia so I just masturbated while waiting for the glues to dry.

I made a public thing out of it as well, it was a gift. It was a love song…My love song for Julia. For how much I loved her and how much I could do for her…

Of course the media is too blinded by their own belief system that considered it a narcissistic act and call for attention. I mean…I do love the attention and I do deserve it but…I didn’t kill Jackson to get media coverage. I did it for Julia..

And I filmed it too…Didn’t know why at the time since I’m very careful with what I’m doing but I did it anyhow.

In return? When she saw the paper and saw that I left her the stones we colored together in secret? Instead of thanking me she refuses to acknowledge the fact that / I / killed him! She didn’t even believe me when I said it and I had to SHOW her the film so she’d believe me!

And obviously…She wasn’t grateful at all. She looked at me like she was disgusted. Like she hated me…Like she was my mother. She has that look on her face…That look my mother does…I hate my mother.

That’s when I started really wanting to inflict pain on her. I hated her. I slapped her, I beat her, I forced her to have sex with me and the most amazing thing above all? I made her watch.

Julia was no longer someone I loved, she was someone I need to hunt, and in my quest for finding myself I found that…She needed to see everything I did.

I hate animals…I never touched them. I know it seems funny not going the path every psycho does but I guess I’m just different. I started with humans. With girls...Pretty girls.

I filmed it all. Every single one of them and I have a collection.

When I moved out, I made sure to position the camera where you could see the girl but not entirely me and with her hands tied behind her back and a razor in my hand, I’d fuck them from behind and slash their throats the way I wanted and in the end? Post Julia the collection, always letting her know that I am there and will be there.

Later on I moved to sending them to the victim’s family which by the way they can’t and never have tracked back to me for which you can say I am pretty smug.

Anyways…

I have so much more to say but…My hand is hurting and the nurse keeps walking outside so I’ll have to hide this away.

I’ll tell you how the hell I got here later.

My fingers ache and now thinking about all of this I feel so turned on. This was a bad idea.

#GV #ArgrysAsylum #DemonicSolos #CrackHeadSolos #MatureContent #SoloSl #SoloRP #Solo