This is officially the last time I'm signing in on this account.
I've moved everything over to @eternivex, the blogs are set up, everything is ready to go and I'm officially done with my time on this blog.
I started this when I was real young, and as a result, I had a real bad fucking past on here. There's so much I'm not proud of that's thousands upon thousands of posts back, and I don't want the old stuff here tied to my new stuff anymore.
So, if you decide to join me on the new account, then I'll see you there! If not, it's been good having you here, enjoy yourself.
This is Dean, Michael, whoever the fuck you remember me as, signing off.
New main is up, gonna be working today and may possibly have the reset out before it's even done. Every single blog will be ported over there, including @ycurkxng , @eterniivexx and this one, of course.
art is made by @aaaagaronia
If you decide to join me over there, I appreciate it more than you know. If not, it was good having you here.
Say hello to King Spider! A fucked up 17 year old who's been bitten by a Darwin Bark Spider in a lab he rampaged through, killing a scientist who murdered his friend for threatening to speak of the numerous crimes committed by him and his entire goddamn group! I'm very normal about him you should ask me things
The art is made by the absolutely fucking FANTASTIC @aaaaagaronia, PLEASE go look at the rest of its art, it did this for me with absolutely nothing to gain and I owe it my fucking life
The situation Dean had been roped into was a little different than normal, he'd never fought a group of miners before, and they proved to be a bit more of a challenge than most other people. He'd come down to the mines looking for iron, and when he saw a minecart filled with the ore, of course he went for it. The miners didn't like that though, no one liked having their things stolen from them.
An argument ensued, well, if one sided shouting being cut off by a kick to the groin counted as an argument at least. Dean hadn't bothered to examine the sheer size of the men that outnumbered him, but when did something like that ever matter to him? He did the best he could as far as keeping the men back, hitting fast and hard to whoever rushed him. That could only work for so long though, as one man, of the larger variety, tackled Dean, although he didn't take him to the floor.
No, instead he continued to charge, his arms wrapped around Dean's waist. The charge only stopped when Dean's back slammed into the caves walls, which is when Dean was able to attack once more. Instead of letting the miner stand back up, he instead held him in place, pushing down on his back while he shot his knees upward into his cranium. One after the other, he ceased the attacks when the grip on his waist went down, and the man slumped to the ground. He wasn't unconscious, just unable to keep his hold on Dean any longer.
After he fell, Dean stomped down on his head, once, twice, three times, he couldn't tell if he was just knocked out or dead- but he wasn't going to stop and check. He proceeded to step over the man who'd fallen with his hands up, slowly moving, inch by inch, towards the rest of the group. They had armed themselves with their tools, shovels and pickaxes, which could prove to be bad for Dean. His entire being was on high alert, darkened hues scanning the combat zone as he moved in, one foot ahead of the other.
Dean jerked his upper half forward, attempting to psych out his opponents. He watched one or two flinch, but the others stood, unwavering. Some scrappers, fine by him. He knew who to target now, the weak links would go down first. He could pry their weapons away from them to take their friends out for good, which is what he began to do. In an abrupt action, he dashed towards one of the weak links to his right, ramming his entire weight into the other man's figure while his hands scrambled to grab onto his pickaxe.
That began a grapple, one that Dean would work to finish by pulling the pickaxe down to his left side, and then ramming back upwards. The handle of it being driven into the miners jaw, clattering it and his teeth together with a chattering sound following. His grip faltered, yet he didn't completely let go of it just like that. Being in a dazed state however meant it was considerably easier to wrench the tool out of his hands, and Dean did just that. He kept his grip on it while he spun around and used his back to slam into the man, forcing him between a rock and a hard place.
Although Dean did get the weapon from the man's hands, he wasn't able to keep it in his own for long. A spade cracked the side of his head, the pain sudden and sharp, tearing through his mind like a razor to flesh as he collapsed to the ground. He lost focus, he lost focus on everything around him and now he was paying for it. He let out a high pitched yelp as he hit the ground, the pickaxe he'd stolen laying just underneath him and making the landing a little harsher, as his stomach slammed against the wooden grip.
Every thought turned into static as he worked silently, footsteps drew closer, surrounding him. His head craned up to look, two pairs of shoes in front of him, and he heard one pair behind, but he knew the bastard he'd taken the tool from was still standing. 4 on 1, and he'd just hit the ground. What the fuck could he do in the moment? That's when his mind seemed to kick itself in the ass, forcing him back into action. The pickaxe.
Tap, tap, tap, went the footsteps behind him. He raised his upper half up to reach down and grab onto the pickaxe by the midpoint of it's handle, he didn't attack immediately. He waited, Dean knew if he wanted to make it out of the cave alive, he needed to time his strike perfectly. It was either pinpoint precision, or death, no compromises. He accepted that, and he played the events that would ensue in the next seconds in his mind.
When the steps slowed, that was his queue to make a comeback. He spun his entire body around, raising the pickaxe up and making sure the head was to the side before it made contact. It buried itself into the man's cheek, flesh tearing open and splattering blood from his new wound, which only grew larger as he ripped the pickaxe back down to himself. His entire jaw came off, leaving him sputtering and gagging as blood rushed from the torn off piece of his head.
There was a scream from one of the others in the small space, it made Dean's ears ring as he clambered to his feet swinging at the air, a way to ward off any possible attacks that would come his way. Two down, three to go. His eyes darted the area, spotting the closest man, he made his way to him quickly through side steps. He blocked high with a shovel, so the butcher attacked low. The head of the pickaxe wrapped around his ankle, and he ripped it out from under him, as he fell, Dean pulled it back before swinging it down on him.
Still midair, it pierced the man's forehead, leaving his corpse to fall on the ground with a sickening thud. He yanked it out with a grunt of effort, looking back at the last two who stood. One could only watch, stunned in place from shock and fear, a reasonable response, but a deadly mistake. The other man backed up, trying to avoid Dean's wrath as he proceeded to beat the first one down with his tool before stomping down once on his head and pushing all of his weight down.
His skull crushed underneath the pressure, blood oozing from his ears and eyes as Dean's boot almost peeled from his features. Before the other miner could make a run for it, he had found himself in a corner, with the butchers attention solely on him. There wasn't a second to even get a syllable out before Dean stepped in close, holding the handle closer to the pickaxes head and swinging it upwards, letting it dig through his jaw. When looking into his mouth, he could see the steel from the weapon glint, despite the blood that painted over its original white.
It twisted around in his head before Dean ripped it back down, surrounded by nothing but corpses, there was the sensation of pride that welled up in his core. His heart thumped heavy with adrenaline, and a mix of rage. He dropped the pickaxe, letting it clatter onto the ground as he walked back to the minecart. He hadn't forgotten the reason he went down there in the first place, taking a handful of iron ores and stuffing them in his jackets pocket before leaving the scene, becoming accustomed to the sharp headache that made his skull throb with displeasure while he walked out.
Characters: (Coasty SMP) Dean King, Retalon, Star Samson
Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation, injury, general violence
Notes: ghegsggsgss
What time is it?
Shit, he'd lost track. A bash to the head from an earlier encounter had left him disorientated, unable to focus on anything but moving his two legs to keep himself going. He'd finally gotten to a point where he could think straight however, and the sudden realization that there was no more light settled upon him in a tidal wave of anxiety. Night had shrouded the forest he stumbled into with a thick blanket of darkness, only adding to the sickening tension that twisted like a knife in his stomach.
The trees surrounding no longer felt like a place he could rest, and it only pushed him to begin moving, not in any specific direction. Not that he even knew where the hell he was going, he simply needed to move. He kept his hands balled up while moving, his knuckles looking as though they were going to pop straight out of his flesh. Every little noise only drove him to walk faster, running would only draw more attention then he could handle. If he had to run... Well, he'd get to that point when it came.
Every breeze, every little crunch, they drove him into a further sense of paranoia. Normally he would move through the shadows without fear, but he couldn't think straight, and he was far too tired to actually fight... Now that he thought of it, when was the last time he'd slept? Most every night recently had only had him trying not to die, and tending to minor and large wounds. The arrowhead that had been buried into his hand still hadn't been forgotten, he swore he could feel his palm pulsating with every breath he drew in.
When he started to question things, that's when he started to notice something else. Something just out of sight, but so, so close, he could hear it. Breathing, his own hitched in his chest, but he continued to move. He had to keep going, if he stopped, whatever the hell was there with him would've for sure taken the chance to pounce. That, and he didn't seem to be in control of his lower half anymore.
Are you-?
We need to keep moving, you're not going to like what's there.
What does that mean?
Trust me.
Well, he couldn't argue with that. Even if he had, he wouldn't have won, he knew that at the very least. That breathing though, it was familiar. Something about it resonated with his very core, and it only attracted him to it more. Although that attraction seemed to be sensed by the other being, who only forced his lower limbs to put one in front of the other a little faster.
Then breathing turned into whispers, incoherent, at first. Only to grow louder, oh, so much louder. The voice was all too familiar, there was however a clear issue with the fact that this particular voice was speaking. And that was because the woman who owned that voice, and Dean's heart, had been dead for a long time. He still didn't know what killed her, he only remembered holding her corpse in his arms as he let out soul crushing shrieks of sorrow, and a seemingly neverending wave of hot tears.
It's-
No, it's not.
Listen, for fucks sake! It's her!
Dean-
No, she's there, she's right fucking there!
Moving his legs had never been harder, and he began to twist his upper half and pull back on his uncontrollable legs to force them to a halt. The only way he was able to force them to stop was with a shot to his own knee, bending over and sending quick fists into it, forcing it to stop moving. He seized the opportunity, taking his control back and staggering back around before making his way to the voice, which called him closer.
Dean, STOP, GODDAMNIT.
Fuck you.
STOP-
Finally reaching the source of the voice, Dean smiled wide underneath his mask. "Doll?" Hopeful, a type of hope that was only attainable through a mind that could no longer think straight. A mixture of his head wound and the lack of sleep had driven him to make irrational choices, ones that if he were fully in it, he'd smack himself for. In the moment however, he felt as though nothing but good could come from this. He reached out, into the dark, watching his arm practically vanish.
"It's-" He stopped, hands latched onto his limb and his heart skipped a beat. When the source of the noise stepped closer though, it sunk into his stomach. It wasn't Star, no. A zombie had taken hold of his arm, and he quickly realized just how badly he'd messed up in this situation. It's jaw opened wide as it quickly leaned down to take a bite out of his clothed arm, letting out a guttural scream, Dean yanked back his arm while kicking his leg forward into its chest.
The monster lost its footing and stumbled back, hitting the ground before making an attempt to stand back up. The scream had drawn attention, too much for his liking. And he could quickly feel more than a few sets of eyes staring dead at him, adrenaline shot through his entire being and he felt a new burst of energy, one that was used to make a mad dash through the trees. He pushed other mobs out of his way, from zombies attempting to tear chunks out of him, to skeletons that shot arrows at him and luckily missed, all the way to creepers.
He didn't stop, he COULDN'T stop. That was true before, but even more so now. Leaping and cringing away from those who tried to end him right there, he didn't take a single second to breathe until he was far out of the forest, and a little more after that. Retalon remained silent throughout the whole endeavour, not wanting to say a word that could somehow mess with Dean any further. It could feel his heartache building up from the experience with that hallucination, but it could also feel the nausea inducing panic and fatigue that was quickly wearing him down.
It all seemed to stop suddenly, at a lit ditch. Torches that had been left there, presumably by someone taking shelter for the night there. Of course, no one remained, but the light kept those bastards at bay. The sudden ending came as Dean finally skidded to a halt, his heels digging hard into the dirt, before he promptly collapsed onto his back. His eyes slammed shut the moment he made contact with the grass, and his entire mind shut down, finally giving him a moment of reprieve.
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