More ancient than the oldest tales.
fictional purposes.
Joined September 2025
- Tweets50
- Following11
- Followers10
- Likes14
I merely left you for a short while, yet you seem to have significantly grown. Mortals certainly change so much in short time.
of pain. He had always preferred his toy to be awake. In exchange for that, the pain might manifest into … a completely different sensation. What are you feeling, boy?
His other hand clutches the human’s slender wrists and pins them together above his head, against a tree.
The bark might dig into his bare back. The length of his finger further touches the slick, cramped tunnel of his soul, queasiness might ensue. The entity’s smile is rotten, “Is it fear that you’re feeling, @anarchiesm?”
َ retweeted
!2DFESS
“Hey, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 over there—.ᐟ” In a trice, a lass sprung up from behind you with a bundle of flower now hovering inches away from your visage. “This is for you!” ♥︎
To accept or to decline, it is up to you. Befriending her with an RT is also an option!
— W-OC
It inserted smoothly without blood spurting out. The uncanny sensation would resemble a blunt pounding to the stomach. Not that nausea had ever bothered the deity. “Even when I am not, you belong to me only.”
Death reeks. Let us begin the cleansing.
@anarchiesm
“Sure thing, I won’t touch him,” he finally reassures him with a returning smile, and probably the kindest voice Anarki had ever heard. The entity places him back down on his feet.
“Not a finger.” The hand brushes the ripped shirt off the human’s shoulder until it drops onto the
Apparently it wasn’t the case at all.
Red pair of eyes set upon the human boy. Any being with functioning fear would plummet and diminish into nothing. Our Wretchedness always welcomes surprises, but only when it entertains him enough. The human is still being held by his neck
alone. He’s curious rather than hostile — but, his curiosity holds the same amount of danger as a calamity. “Why?” That will depend entirely on how @anarchiesm answers that.
Akin to a string doll with abandon of how it might pain the human boy. However, one would notice how he isn’t crushing his airway and that his smile stayed gentle, as if he never actually meant it to hurt: simply unaware. The forefinger on his other hand grows a claw. “However, I
ought to clean you up right now,” and that claw rips through @anarchiesm’s clothes. He’ll have to let Death know that this vessel isn’t for him to lay a hand upon.
what does one name this gesture, if not fondness? Praise be to the most wretched.
Only when Anarki explains it does he finally understand what’s going on. Afterall, he’s all-powerful, not all-knowing. “Death doesn’t like your friend,” he tells the human. How ironic, for a human
that desires death so longingly. “So that’s why there’s the stench of Death all over you. He must’ve visited.” Another hand cups @anarchiesm’s face, large fingers dig into his cheeks, and tilts the small head around as if to check here and there.
“It displeases me a little.”
human’s reaches behind Anarki’s back, caressing with his thumb to beckon the human boy to sit on the open palm. Our Wretchedness stands much taller and bigger than any human, though there may come times he’s benevolent enough to match their sizes.
“Help him die?”
You may acknowledge that he’s bemused by what you’re saying. “You plan to cease his life, Anarki? I was under the impression that your kind wouldn’t do that to a good friend.”
Anarki had vaguely reeked of something since earlier. What could it be? ... @anarchiesm.