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Author Topic: — 𝙏𝙃𝙐𝙍𝙎𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇; 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩.  (Read 255 times)

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Offline ZyrelleTopic starter

[ - zyrelle's search thread - ]

Thank you for clicking on my search thread!

I enjoy 3rd person, past tense.
semi-literate, 100-1000 words per response.
Ghost friendly.


[ - plot-lines - ]

I'll be doing something slightly different with my plot-lines! I've seen it goin' around lately so I figured why not try it myself? Below is a specific story idea and it's own starter! If you're interested; reply to it!  It'll kind of be a way for us to jump straight in but we can still discuss if you open a separate PM!


"Which do you prefer? Your tongue or your eyes?"

Muse A was fifteen when she witnessed a man murder both her parents. She had hid under their bed, watching the life melt from their eyes, the colour drain from their faces. She had no idea why they were killed, nor did she care for the reason. She spent the next five years training to kill. And by the time she was twenty two, she ventured into the world, prepared to strangle the man with his own bloody intestines. Of course, nothing ever went to plan.

And before she knew it, she was kidnapped by that very same man. Muse B. He saw the whole thing as comedic, obviously. He thought it was adorable that she thought she could hurt him. She gave as good a try as she could though. That didn't change the fact that she was prisoner to the bastard.

"starter for this idea!"
“Where the fuck is he?”

The grunting of the body beneath her had the brunette rolling her eyes, why were they always such fucking pussies? “You have five fucking seconds to tell me where he is, or I swear to god I’ll cut your dick off and shove it down your throat.”

“You cut his tongue out. How the fuck is he supposed to answer you?”

Oh. Right.

Green hues flickered to the blonde strapped to a chair, luscious locks framing her face. She looked as if she were out of a modelling magazine, and honestly, she probably was. “So you’ll tell me.” She stated. Faster than the bitch could blink, the flick of a knife across the man’s throat signaled his demise. A brutal way to die, choking on your own blood, but she didn’t care anymore.

“I don’t know where he is.” The blonde lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. Though the amused smile on her lips said otherwise.

“Oh yeah?” Gracie mused, stepping over the body at her feet. “You sure about that?”

“More sure than I’ve eve-”

The knife slid into the woman’s stomach, a soft squelching sound echoing around the room. Her lips barely grazed the shell of her ear as she spoke. “You’ll tell me where he is, or you’ll end up worse than your friend over there.” The brunette mused, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. Almost instantly, the blonde turned a crimson red, her own blood. “And believe me, I can do a lot more damage than simply cutting through some muscle.”

Erika gasped, doubling over as much as she could whilst still being strapped to the fucking chair. “You’re fucking crazy.” She ground out, inhaling a sharp intake of breath.

“I sure am.” She grinned as if it were a goddamn compliment. “You want to see how much crazier I can get?”

“No,” She muttered, shoulders sagging. “Last I saw him he was at some motel downtown, Hayleigh’s or something it’s called.”

“What room?”

“Eighty four.”

“Thank you!” She chirped, yanking the knife out of the girl's stomach. “Actually…” She mused aloud. “Maybe you should keep hold of this for me?” With a sardonic grin she shoved the metal back into the soft flesh of her stomach. “Wouldn’t want anything being traced back to me, now would we?”

With a satisfied hum the young brunette practically fucking skipped out of the apartment. “Ready or not motherfucker,” She muttered, tightening her grip around the handles of the motorcycle she drove everywhere. “Here I fucking come.”

Gracie Davidson had never always been this way. No, she was a sweet kind hearted kid with a bright future ahead of her. Until the night he broke in and slaughtered her family, one by one. For no fucking reason. She had spent years preparing for this, years preparing to slaughter the bastard the very same way he did her parents.

It was said grief changed a person - for better or for worse was completely up to said person. Nobody ever said anything about how damaging trauma could be. It was worse than grief, it ate at you. It tore at your insides until there was nothing left but the shell of who you used to be.

She had been under their bed the night he broke in. She had heard every cry and plea as he pinned her mother’s writhing body beneath him and raped her. She had heard the distress in her father’s tone as he watched the entire thing. She had watched the life drain from their eyes the moment he carelessly tossed them aside, as if they were nothing.

And finally here she stood, outside his door ready to finally get the justice her parent’s deserved and never got.

She had no idea it was a trap.

Offline ZyrelleTopic starter