Moon_Boy
Bull in a china shop
TRIGGER WARNING! Gore, homophobia (even though the character is gay who is homophobic, long story) and murder.
Hello, I am looking for somebody to do a 1x1 roleplay with me. I do other types of roleplays this is just the writing example I chose. Please PM me if you would like to roleplay with me!
It didn’t take long for the smell of metallic to become addicting to Clay. He loved the sensation of warm blood on his skin, the thick crimson dripping from those he chooses to kill. The men he would lore home with a promise of sex. Ever since he had killed his abusive brother, he had been addicted. His instincts were to kill, it was in his blood. He had a duty to get revenge for what had happened, and that all started now. Clay’s house was like a show home. Everything had its place. His coffee table was perfectly polished and his carpet perfectly pristine. Clay spent all the time he didn’t kill cleaning, making sure every inch of his house was immaculate. His kitchen counters were cleaned twice hourly, and his floors mopped twice a day. That was if he didn’t have a visitor in his basement, then he would clean everything once a day or when dirty. Clays thoughts only seemed to stop for a moment when blood had been spilt and the vermin was dead. Gay people. It was them who had killed his mother and father and got way with it because the police didn’t want to be called homophobic. Ever since his parents had been killed he had been forced to live with his older brother who was sexually abusive. Years of abuse had shaped Clay into what he was today. A homophobic murderer who was too scared to admit to being gay too. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. Clay knew that it was his duty to get revenge for his late mother and father, and for himself.
If you looked at Clay’s house, you wouldn’t be surprised to see that his house wasn’t the only thing was perfectly presented; his black, skin tight jeans were ironed as was his black button up shirt. His hair was combed and not a strand was out of place. He had an image to uphold, and if he wanted to take a victim home tonight then he was going to need to be presented in an irresistible way. He was obsessive when it came to everything, so always put his left shoe on before his right shoe and he made sure that his shoe lace bows were perfectly central and symmetrical to one another. Order. He hadn’t had any control until he had murdered his brother so he wanted to use that power of control to create order. Clay made sure none of his clothes were messy before putting on his black trench coat which fit to his form perfectly. He picked up his keys which were always hung on the little hanger attached to the wall and checked his house one more time for any imperfections. He wished he hoover one more time even though it was immaculate. He didn’t only because he had his shoes on and didn’t want to make the carpet worse. Clay left the house instead and walked down the path, making sure not to step on the cracks. This ritual had been repeated every time he left the house for the last seven years of living there.
Money wasn’t an issue for Clay. Although Clay didn’t have a conventunal job, he concidered his murder kidnappings a service so he took the money they had on them which was how he could afford his house, food and the unhealthy amount of cleaning products. It wasn’t like the money was any used to them now. He would clean coins and keep the rest in a zip lock bag so that he didn’t catch anything. Clay had been adding to his murder cound for years now, his brother being his first victim. He deserved it after what he had done to Clay. He loved it and since he had a lot of practice, he had become practically perfect at it. Clay got into his car after cleaning in down with bleach wipes that he kept in his car. He drove of. He usually liked to walk everywhere, but for a higher chance of loring someone home he liked to use his car. It was no surprise that Clay was a natural born charmer and Clay used his charm to lore men home and torture and slowly kill them, watching hem bleed out and eventually die. There was nothing he enjoyed more than purging the world of these horrible people, the same people who where responsible for everything that had ever happened to him. They were rotten to the core.
Some people might assume that Clay was religious and used God as an excuse to hate gay people, but that wasn’t the case. He didn’t have time to believe in God. His mind was already plagued with post traumatic stress disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder, so where was the room in his mind for other thoughts? He was too busy obsessing over his addiction: murder and torture. He was addicted to seeing the pain in their eyes, hearing the screams and seeing the fear. The same fear that Clay had felt when he was at the mercy of his brother. Now it was their turn. It was a short journey to the gay bar he stopped at often. He parked in the car park and paid for the ticket before waiting in line. He had no issue getting in. He was handsome so they let him straight in. Clay hated being at the gay bar. Drag queens flaunted all over him and he had to pretend to enjoy it. Not to mention the flamboyant boys who pranced on him but he knew would never come home with him. No, he needed a shy one. One he could manipulate enough, make them feel good enough that their confidence shines through. Or someone who has had a drink or two and is drunk or tipsy. Clay was ready to play his favourite game. Catch the new boy in the club. A boy caught his eye so Clay approached him. He seemed so shocked that Clay was interested in him and after a good couple of drinks agreed to come home with him.
When they got home Clay took out the chloroform he always had on hand and put it over the mans mouth. He struggled a little, but in seconds he was out. Clay dragged him down the stairs, not caring that the body was getting battered and bruised as he hit the floors and walls. Clay turned on the light in the basement that only illuminated some of the room and tied the man to the chair. This man wouldn't move again until he was dead. Clay walked over to the knifes and blades he kept in the room and waited until the boy woke up. When he did the boy screamed and Clay laughed, fiddling with the blade in his hand. He stabbed the knife suddenly into the young mans arm, lightly first. He went in for seconds, thrusting the knife into his arm with all of his force. The other man screamed into the gag, crying as he kicked his legs about. Clay was angry as he was every time he kidnapped someone. The man was crying just as he had cried when he had been left with his brother. He was getting the revenge he deserved. The blood from the boys arm began squirting out like ketchup squirting out of a bottle, coating the concrete floor in the thick, red blood.
“It’s your kind that killed my parents. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life.” Clay continued to rip the blood out of the boys viens. He heated up a branding iron and put it on the mans skin. It blistered as his sweat bubbled and he tried his best to get away, crying as the skin tore and bled slightly. Clay was cooking this mans skin while the man was still alive. He didn’t the branding iron off until it had called, but he heated it up again and put it over the same spot, trying to cause as much pain as possible. The chair shock as he tried to get away from the pain, screaming at the very top of his lungs and probably adding to the pain by rupturing his throat or something the like. “Shut up you brat! Shut up!”
Clay took the branding iron off of him and beat down on his skin with it, causing fractures and bruises with every hit. The man only screamed louder which made Clay even more brutal. He got a knife and stabbed him in the stomach. The man chocked up blood, spilling in onto his clothes in long, thick strands. He looked a mess and Clay loved it. Clay took the knife and took one last fatal blow to his heart, twisting the knife and pulling it out before leaving him to die alone in his basement. This had been one of his faster killings, but this brat had been so loud and annoying that he had to kill him straight away. Clay got cleaned up before sitting down with a nice cup of tea and listening to the screams that came from the basement with a smile on his face. It was music to his ears.
Hello, I am looking for somebody to do a 1x1 roleplay with me. I do other types of roleplays this is just the writing example I chose. Please PM me if you would like to roleplay with me!
It didn’t take long for the smell of metallic to become addicting to Clay. He loved the sensation of warm blood on his skin, the thick crimson dripping from those he chooses to kill. The men he would lore home with a promise of sex. Ever since he had killed his abusive brother, he had been addicted. His instincts were to kill, it was in his blood. He had a duty to get revenge for what had happened, and that all started now. Clay’s house was like a show home. Everything had its place. His coffee table was perfectly polished and his carpet perfectly pristine. Clay spent all the time he didn’t kill cleaning, making sure every inch of his house was immaculate. His kitchen counters were cleaned twice hourly, and his floors mopped twice a day. That was if he didn’t have a visitor in his basement, then he would clean everything once a day or when dirty. Clays thoughts only seemed to stop for a moment when blood had been spilt and the vermin was dead. Gay people. It was them who had killed his mother and father and got way with it because the police didn’t want to be called homophobic. Ever since his parents had been killed he had been forced to live with his older brother who was sexually abusive. Years of abuse had shaped Clay into what he was today. A homophobic murderer who was too scared to admit to being gay too. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. Clay knew that it was his duty to get revenge for his late mother and father, and for himself.
If you looked at Clay’s house, you wouldn’t be surprised to see that his house wasn’t the only thing was perfectly presented; his black, skin tight jeans were ironed as was his black button up shirt. His hair was combed and not a strand was out of place. He had an image to uphold, and if he wanted to take a victim home tonight then he was going to need to be presented in an irresistible way. He was obsessive when it came to everything, so always put his left shoe on before his right shoe and he made sure that his shoe lace bows were perfectly central and symmetrical to one another. Order. He hadn’t had any control until he had murdered his brother so he wanted to use that power of control to create order. Clay made sure none of his clothes were messy before putting on his black trench coat which fit to his form perfectly. He picked up his keys which were always hung on the little hanger attached to the wall and checked his house one more time for any imperfections. He wished he hoover one more time even though it was immaculate. He didn’t only because he had his shoes on and didn’t want to make the carpet worse. Clay left the house instead and walked down the path, making sure not to step on the cracks. This ritual had been repeated every time he left the house for the last seven years of living there.
Money wasn’t an issue for Clay. Although Clay didn’t have a conventunal job, he concidered his murder kidnappings a service so he took the money they had on them which was how he could afford his house, food and the unhealthy amount of cleaning products. It wasn’t like the money was any used to them now. He would clean coins and keep the rest in a zip lock bag so that he didn’t catch anything. Clay had been adding to his murder cound for years now, his brother being his first victim. He deserved it after what he had done to Clay. He loved it and since he had a lot of practice, he had become practically perfect at it. Clay got into his car after cleaning in down with bleach wipes that he kept in his car. He drove of. He usually liked to walk everywhere, but for a higher chance of loring someone home he liked to use his car. It was no surprise that Clay was a natural born charmer and Clay used his charm to lore men home and torture and slowly kill them, watching hem bleed out and eventually die. There was nothing he enjoyed more than purging the world of these horrible people, the same people who where responsible for everything that had ever happened to him. They were rotten to the core.
Some people might assume that Clay was religious and used God as an excuse to hate gay people, but that wasn’t the case. He didn’t have time to believe in God. His mind was already plagued with post traumatic stress disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder, so where was the room in his mind for other thoughts? He was too busy obsessing over his addiction: murder and torture. He was addicted to seeing the pain in their eyes, hearing the screams and seeing the fear. The same fear that Clay had felt when he was at the mercy of his brother. Now it was their turn. It was a short journey to the gay bar he stopped at often. He parked in the car park and paid for the ticket before waiting in line. He had no issue getting in. He was handsome so they let him straight in. Clay hated being at the gay bar. Drag queens flaunted all over him and he had to pretend to enjoy it. Not to mention the flamboyant boys who pranced on him but he knew would never come home with him. No, he needed a shy one. One he could manipulate enough, make them feel good enough that their confidence shines through. Or someone who has had a drink or two and is drunk or tipsy. Clay was ready to play his favourite game. Catch the new boy in the club. A boy caught his eye so Clay approached him. He seemed so shocked that Clay was interested in him and after a good couple of drinks agreed to come home with him.
When they got home Clay took out the chloroform he always had on hand and put it over the mans mouth. He struggled a little, but in seconds he was out. Clay dragged him down the stairs, not caring that the body was getting battered and bruised as he hit the floors and walls. Clay turned on the light in the basement that only illuminated some of the room and tied the man to the chair. This man wouldn't move again until he was dead. Clay walked over to the knifes and blades he kept in the room and waited until the boy woke up. When he did the boy screamed and Clay laughed, fiddling with the blade in his hand. He stabbed the knife suddenly into the young mans arm, lightly first. He went in for seconds, thrusting the knife into his arm with all of his force. The other man screamed into the gag, crying as he kicked his legs about. Clay was angry as he was every time he kidnapped someone. The man was crying just as he had cried when he had been left with his brother. He was getting the revenge he deserved. The blood from the boys arm began squirting out like ketchup squirting out of a bottle, coating the concrete floor in the thick, red blood.
“It’s your kind that killed my parents. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life.” Clay continued to rip the blood out of the boys viens. He heated up a branding iron and put it on the mans skin. It blistered as his sweat bubbled and he tried his best to get away, crying as the skin tore and bled slightly. Clay was cooking this mans skin while the man was still alive. He didn’t the branding iron off until it had called, but he heated it up again and put it over the same spot, trying to cause as much pain as possible. The chair shock as he tried to get away from the pain, screaming at the very top of his lungs and probably adding to the pain by rupturing his throat or something the like. “Shut up you brat! Shut up!”
Clay took the branding iron off of him and beat down on his skin with it, causing fractures and bruises with every hit. The man only screamed louder which made Clay even more brutal. He got a knife and stabbed him in the stomach. The man chocked up blood, spilling in onto his clothes in long, thick strands. He looked a mess and Clay loved it. Clay took the knife and took one last fatal blow to his heart, twisting the knife and pulling it out before leaving him to die alone in his basement. This had been one of his faster killings, but this brat had been so loud and annoying that he had to kill him straight away. Clay got cleaned up before sitting down with a nice cup of tea and listening to the screams that came from the basement with a smile on his face. It was music to his ears.
