Zak (Pronounced
Would-be writer. Check me out on Wattpad. Frequent partaker of NSFW. Minors DNI, would you kindly?
30 Jan
Its been brought to my attention that the problems I face in my friendships and relationships are my fault. I have been informed that I ask for too much, do not do enough, refuse to properly communicate, and that I am inconsiderate.
I have been informed that, generally, I am an unpleasant person who refuses to admit any guilt. I am, apparently, lazy, abusive, manipulative, and gaslighting. Brain damage and severe PTSD are excuses that I should not use.
I have been told that I am not open enough with my feelings and that my expression of feelings is inappropriate, and more to the point, not aimed at myself, which is where the blame should firmly go. Others are, in fact, not part of the problem; it is, in its entirety, my fault.
Read 8 tweets
30 Jan
Part 3, the Final Test
I think the only time people misunderstand me is when I say "Im a bad person" and they dont believe me.
Not sure how else to say "No, seriously, I am not a good person."
Read 4 tweets
30 Jan
Part 2
Okay, shit be gettin' real.
Fucking Hell, the potential speech!?
Read 4 tweets
30 Jan
I was on board until the second one. Now yer just lying to me, game.
Read 4 tweets
29 Jan
Songs that make me wanna take you to bed, and Im tagging @KNubaya and @monke_become because they started this. These are in no particular order.

1. All To You, Sabrina Claudio
2. Absence, Ludovico Technique
3. Up To The Flames, Ludovico Technique
Read 26 tweets
18 Jan
Smiling Death:

Lt. Jurgen's hatchet-thin face twisted in disgust as he looked over the grimy leaflet handed to him by a trembling trooper. The air was heavy with smoke and the smell of charred flesh and rancid death.
No breeze stirred the stifling air of the trench, yet the greasy parchment in the el-tee's hand seemed to twitch and tremble, as though in a breeze all of its own.

"Private Simmons, are you familiar with this vile smiling abomination?"
The young man, face smudged by soot and filth, went white under the coating of muck. "Yes sir...its...the Smiling Death!"

"What's it mean, Private?" snapped Jurgens.

Superstition was for the weak minded, and these poor bastards in his company were the weakest for miles.
Read 11 tweets
18 Jan
"Inquisitor Rylek is dead, my Lord," whispered the aide into the man's ear. The man grimaced, teeth gleaming whitely in a tanned face.

"Thank you for letting me know."

"Does my Lord wish to know the details of the occurrence?" asked the aide, his voice still the barest whisper.
"Upload the relevant files."

The aide complied, and a moment later the man was reading the scant details. One particular datum stood out.

Warpcraft.

Heresy had consumed the planet, and daemons had burst forth all across the hab-blocks, slaughtering as they went.
Alastor Rylek had not survived. The old man had been a powerful psyker; any daemon who killed him had either been a creature of great power or a craven cur, striking from stealth.

What the 'slate did not tell him was the disposition of Alastor's young son, Mikel.
Read 9 tweets
13 Jan
"Why do you have to do it?!" demanded Rein. He clutched one of Day's shirts in his hands, his knuckles white. "Can't your dad handle it? He's the King, after all; isnt that part of his job?!"

Damien shook his head, trying not to look at his boyfriend. "Its not just his job."
"You told me you weren't going to cover for him again, remember?" asked Rein, panic obvious in his voice. "You almost died the last time."

"I'm just like my dad, Rein." Day buckled his belt, then pulled on his duster. Void energy crackled around him. "Death doesn't take."
"That's no fucking excuse, damn it!" Rein came up off the bed, wrapping his slender arms around the man he'd found so much happiness with. "I cleaned the blood off you last time, my love. I saw the scars, the old and the new. I hate that this is your life. Stay with me."
Read 7 tweets
9 Jan
The Purleighan Realms: Dragonfall

Darsyx held him, but only just. Part of the God of Protection understood exactly what his friend was going through, and refused to bring his full strength to bear, but he worried that might have to.

Vrayl was not himself.
"WHO FUCKING DID THIS, NERMAL?! WHO!?" Vrayl lunged, and Darsyx slammed him to the tiled floor of Nermal's throne room. Vrayl let loose a strangled roar as Darsyx expertly wrapped one arm around his neck, locking it in.
The throne room shook as a pulse of Vrayl's power sent tiles flickering away like leaves in the wind. Even with Darsyx's arm around his throat, Vrayl still dragged himself back to his feet, another step closer. "SHE'S DEAD, NERMAL. MY TENLEE IS DEAD!"
Read 47 tweets
9 Jan
The Board Meeting

The Board of Directors was caught in a deadlock situation. A secessionist state, called Freedom's Charter by its hard-bitten inhabitants, had somehow spawned almost overnight the month before.
It was causing the Societal Protectorate's Board of Directors no end of problems. The Board was still attempting to determine just how it had happened, but even more important was that it be ended.
And so they met, for the fourth time that month, in their dimly-lit conference room, with the various Directors seated around it, the walls lined with aides and functionaries of various levels.
Read 48 tweets
9 Jan
A Drazverse Tale: A Bedtime Story For Little Devils

"What's that, little one? A bedtime story? You can't sleep until you hear a tale? Oh, my little devil-child, you're adorable. Listen then to your mother.
Many millennia before our time, before our time's time, Satan decided to be God.

But of course, you know that, little one. You know as well as I do that Satan warred against the Most High and failed, falling to Hell. But do you know what really happened, my child?
Many facts and truths in the stories have been lost to the ages, however. Some "facts" are very over-exaggerated, or downright changed. Some "facts", my little one, are outright lies.
Read 26 tweets
8 Jan
Drazverse: Balance

"Well...what the Hell do you want?"

"Tsk, tsk, boy, such language." The tall man turned his head, looking at Draz over his shoulder with eyes that held the whole of existence. "And in my Heaven, no less."
"Fuck you," Draz snarled, waving his middle finger. The older man only chuckled.

"Come to see what I'm making?" he asked, gesturing with his chin to whatever was on the table in front of him, obscured by his powerfully-built frame. Draz furrowed his brow.
"I don't have time for the 'look at this new universe' bullshit," Draz responded, but he walked over to the table all the same. It held a birdhouse, nearly complete. A neat tap of the hammer drove in a nail, one after the other with practiced skill.
Read 85 tweets
8 Jan
Wolves of the Ardennes:

"Nazi werewolves" are an old trope that most of us just giggle at it, but have any of you ever thought about how fucking terrifying that would really be?

Think about it.
You're a 22 year old American soldier. You made Captain solely because you outlived the other guys. Luck.

Its 1940-something. You know you should remember, but time has a habit of melding together in these woods.
You heard something about Patton breaking through to Bastogne, wherever the fuck that was, but relief hadn't shown up and the radio's been silent since.

You've got a mixed bag of guys in your squad. Privates Simlan, Jantzen, Owens, and Belgrade, and Cpl. Flanagan.
Read 51 tweets
8 Jan
No Storybook Archetype:

"I used to think I was the stuff of heroes, that I was meant for so much more than all of this. I used to think that I was the hero of the story, the knight in shining armor, the dragonslayer."
"But life's a fickle thing and I realized I was never even the hero's sidekick. Rather, I was convinced I was the villain, the monster lurking in the darkness, the dragon that a noble knight rides forth to do battle with. Evil, but a necessary evil, an evil with a purpose."
"I look back on those days with a bitter little laugh, now. I've been through the pages of that story and come out the other side, and what's left is sobering enough to make you crave the drink."
Read 5 tweets
8 Jan
She Has To Sleep Then, Too:

"Hold me," she says, a low whisper in the dark. I wish I could have.

"Be close to me," she calls. "Its so cold, on nights like this."

I shake my head, anger and sorrow mingling in my heart.
"You said you'd love me forever," she sighs. I twist my fingers into the sheets.
Ignore her. Ignore her. Ignore her.

"I can feel you so close," she sobs, desperation in her voice. "But you're so far from me. Why won't you hold me?"

She knows why I wont. She knows why I cant.
She knows, but she asks anyway.

"Please, just hold me..."

I refuse. Its not the first time, not the first night I've listened to her beg and forced my heart to be cold.
Read 6 tweets
8 Jan
Death On VHS:

He'd watched it. The tape. Yeah, that one, the one where you'd die in a week after watching it, because some supernatural bitch would crawl out of the TV and murder you to death. He checked his watch.

Should be any second now.
-
She could feel it, the pulsing call of her newest victim. Something beyond good and evil, beyond life and death, bound them now, and she would follow that thread of life until she found the source...and then she'd tear it to shreds.

That static-glow doorway beckoned her.
She pushed her way through, head first, her eyes adapting to the gloom of the room she entered. She saw the empty couch, and a glimmer of a smile curled her blackened lips. Oh, how sweet would the suffering be!

She pushed her head completely through, teeth flashing in the dark.
Read 6 tweets
8 Jan
I figure its a good idea for me to discuss the 4 main settings I'll be writing in. This isnt to say that I'll be writing SOLELY in those settings, just a lot of it.

Follow along, yes?

First up is a setting of my own creation, Drazverse. No, its not the actual universe's name.
Drazverse is the massive world-setting that centers around Draz Valarauko, his family, and his friends. If you end up enjoying what you see, you can always feel free to ask me about it. The world is one with a lot of lore and history, and Im a loser who loves talking about it.
The next setting is the Bolter Bitches. Yes, the Bolter Bitches are, essentially, just Warhammer 40K fanfiction, but I love the idea. Who knows? Maybe one day Black Library will hit me up, and it wont just be James Swallow people think about when it comes to the Sisters.
Read 8 tweets
8 Jan
Bolter Bitches: Inquisitorial Rosettes*

*If you have not read Bolter Bitches: The Boy, it might help to do so:

The bolt shot rang out across the broken city, and Sarah's head whipped around to face the direction of the echoing crack.
"Val, are there are other Sisters here?" she snapped, voice low. Val shook her head.

"We're it, Sister Superior," she answered. "No Astartes, either."

The servomotors in their armor hummed as the Sisters bounded over shattered rubble and broken bodies, racing towards the sound.
Bolters were rare, extremely so, and the sound of one meant that either a servant of the Imperium was in trouble...or something far worse.
Read 22 tweets
8 Jan
Bolter Bitches - The Boy

The daemon's backhand sent the boy across the room, skidding through the viscera coating the small hab-cell. The boy spit blood, sobbing, hands scrabbling in the muck that had once been his family.
"What will you do now, child? Your hope is gone, your father the very pool of blood you lie in," intoned the daemon, dark mirth in its inhuman voice.
Tears left pale tracks in the blood coating the boy's face, his small body shaking in fear, but his fingers found what they sought in his father's remains. With both hands, the boy lifted the bolt-pistol.
Read 6 tweets
7 Jan
Bolter Bitches: Shot By Shot

The following Bolter Bitches material is presented in a series of amusing, one-shot-style tweets. Please enjoy.
"Sister Superior," offered Val. "I don't think it's our place to second-guess a Canoness."

"Val, you know what the difference is between my coffee and your opinion?" Sarah asked, taking a sip of the aforementioned drink. Val shrugged, clueless. "I asked for the coffee, Val."
-
"Fran, you ever wonder if these cultists think I'm a bitch?" Val asked as she strung together frag grenades, daisy-chaining them to a meltacharge and 4 bottles of expensive whisky.

Fran shrugged. "Maybe?"

"I better add more frags, then," Val said. "I want 'em to be sure."
Read 32 tweets
7 Jan
Bolter Bitches: Battle-Prayer

The mass of cultists swayed back and forth, just outside the crumbling fortress' walls. Already, Sarah could feel the greasy touch of witchcraft in the air; daemons would be appearing, and soon.
She raised her voice, a holy bell tolling in the dark night.
"A spiritu dominatus, domine, libra nos, from the lighting and the tempest!"

From either side of her, her Battle-Sisters racked bolt shells and responded in time-honored fashion.

"Our Emperor, deliver us!"
"From plague, temptation and war!"

The air around the cultists began to shimmer, and low moans came from here and there, amidst the chanting heretics. Sarah's squad remained undaunted; Val kicked open a box of grenades.

"Our Emperor, deliver us!"
Read 11 tweets