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More from GoldeneyeGryphonSadist
This is the part before the end.
This is the part before the end.
When you imagine dying violently, you think about the thing itself. The part when you get to scream and fight and your senses are giving you more than enough to concentrate on. And then darkness. If the part before even enters your mind, it's as a contrast. A normal life suddenly ripped away and replaced with pain. Light bulb all bright and shining, just clicks off and lets the darkness in.
When I watch him dying violently, I think about that. And nothing else. When I watch him trembling in the night at the slightest shudder, I think about that. And nothing else. But here, in this moment, against me, so small and fragile and tender... I think about him.
It's these moments now which are worst. When I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I am going to die. And that it is going to hurt first. But I can't run. I can't hide. I can scream and wriggle, and of course I have tried to at first... but every effort is effortlessly repelled. So now that the adrenaline has reached paralytic rather than just energising levels, I can do nothing but wait.
It's these moments now which are best. When I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he is going to die. And that first... first, so many things. Dying is just the end. I have so, so much killing to do to him first. But instead... we lie, entangled in each other, and wait for the end of the world. This anticipation screams at me, and the masochist I am holds it off as long as possible, for to hold back is agony, and to prolong is agony, and the agony is so so sweet. I can do everything but wait.
I feel him beneath me, so, so unimaginably vast. Mountains are big. Mountains are blind and unthinking and peaceful. The sky is big; the sky is merely there above you, and it's unlikely to fall on your head. Not here. Not against me, breathing with lungs like bellows which hum beneath me. Not as hot and silky and soft as the most perfect blanket, as comforting as the most loving and gentle intimate mass murderer the planet has ever known.
And I feel him on me, so unimaginably perfect. I've considered many beings to be perfect in my unlife. I've never felt it like this. Never as raw, as desperate, as all-consuming. Part of me wants to meld our minds together and let Alex feel as I feel, and see if he forgives me. Everything he suffers, everything I suffer when I make him suffer, is just a scrap of bread to a devourer of stars. I will never, ever, ever, ever stop wanting him to hurt. To cry. To be. To be mine.
Every second is endless. Every moment shunts me closer to the killing part. So why do they last so long? Why is it that I can snuggle against the massive fluff of feathers and inhale the terrible delicious musk and choke back sobs and then time just forgets us? Hours and minutes are meaningless. There is just the two of us, embraced, crying and purring with terror and joy.
Every second is endless, every moment shunts us closer to the killing. And that's why they last so long. We understand what comes next. We know how much it's going to hurt. We can think about nothing else except how long it's taking. And so I can feel him snuggle against the softness of my chestfeathers and breath tiny breaths against me and cry despite how much he pretends not to be, and time will not dare disturb such perfection, for it knows I would kill it myself.
And that silence... oh, the silence can't be broken. What can be said? By now the hope of mercy has been beaten out of me. Literally. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing which can divert or distract him, nothing to offer him except that which he finds it more fun to take. He's a god, my god. I'm beginning to realise that. The actual origins don't matter, what matters is the power. He created me. Maybe not the me who went for a walk in the woods because it was a perfect day so long ago. No, he created the cringing cowering heap of trembling white fur pressed against him. The me who is ready to fall to my knees at a moment's notice. I worship him not out of terror, but by terror.
And this silence... I will slaughter anything which dares even touch the silence. Even him, perhaps, but he's good, he's flawless, he treats it with the same fearful submission he treats me. What can he say? I've broken him, broken that sweet shard of hope, shown him that there's nothing in the world which will stop what is going to happen. He's... I can feel his soul quivering. Oh, my. He's thinking that I'm a god. An avatar of sadism and cruelty and alien greed. No, more than that... his god. His masterful murderer.
"Our Master, who art right in front of us..." you see, that's why this moment is so sweet. because I can end it as easily as I end him.
"Terrifying be thy name." Our gazes meet again, molten gold and shining sapphires. It's time again. I weep with despair at the smile which twists my beak.
"Thy Kingdom come." Gently, I slide him off, letting him stand upright as I stretch muscles which have never become stiff or sore in eight hundred years. "Thy desires be done."
"On Actura, as it is in the Void." His voice is dripping with glee and delight. My legs begin backing away, mindless terror ignoring the mutters from my brain about how useless it is. "Give us this day our daily torture, and adore our perfection, as we abhor you who trespasses against us over and over and over again."
"No. No, no, no, please." My throat is sore, my voice cracking with desperate pain. The wall flattens itself against my back as I press myself into it, and only now does he take a step forwards. Now that I have nowhere to run.
"And lead us not into thy throat, we beg you, please, but deliver us from the evil which is you incarnate." He's over me now, three steps enough to clear the distance. Mountains are nothing to this size which towers over me now. His great blunt beak nuzzles at my chest, and when I try to push it away he simply looks at me and locks my arms around his beak.
"For I am your kingdom, your power, your glory. For ever and ever."
He stands, hot breath pouring over me. I won't say it. I won't say it. We know what we want and we will not say it.
After this, the agony which will come is almost tempting. A comfort from a dear beloved friend, the fulfilment of my whole life.
I say it.
"...A... Amen."
The waiting is over, and the pain begins.
You know, that's probably the biggest disparity of cute picture and extremely serious flavour text I've done. But hey, adorableness and incredible suffering. Isn't that what the Taste of Terror is all about?
This lil' chibi commission is product of Arcanasigal of http://www.furaffinity.net/user/arcanasigal/. Many thanks to him. I especially like the little blush marks Damian has. "I hope Senpai notices me when I'm reintroducing his liver to the outside world in the most painful way anatomically possible."
Alex are Damian are each other's. I merely hold the media rights.
[b]THE TASTE OF TERROR
The story of Alexander Williams, a young, innocent, kind-hearted arctic fox, and the entity known only as Damian: a colossal, pitch-black gryphon, with a genius intellect, lethal telepathic abilities, an extremely predatory form of sadism and a burning obsession with his little vulpine toy. This is the tale of their relationship, as it develops through the tortures, swallowing, resurrections, and endless, eternal mind games.
Expect plenty of physical and mental torture, very unwilling m/m soft vore, lots of unwilling cuddling, and a focus on the intensity and the cruelty of such an intimate relationship.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 2: The Epilogue
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Prologue
Chapter 6: Part I
Chapter 6: Part II
Chapter 6: Epilogue
Artwork
The Gentle Murderer: A first illustration of the vulpine's torturer.
Utterly Inevitable: Alex goes down.
Contains: Anthro Arctic fox cuddling Despair Digestion domination Emotional Fantasy Fox Furry Goldeneye graphic Gryphon misery Sadistic snuggling Swallowing torture Unwilling Vore chibi
This is the part before the end.
When you imagine dying violently, you think about the thing itself. The part when you get to scream and fight and your senses are giving you more than enough to concentrate on. And then darkness. If the part before even enters your mind, it's as a contrast. A normal life suddenly ripped away and replaced with pain. Light bulb all bright and shining, just clicks off and lets the darkness in.
When I watch him dying violently, I think about that. And nothing else. When I watch him trembling in the night at the slightest shudder, I think about that. And nothing else. But here, in this moment, against me, so small and fragile and tender... I think about him.
It's these moments now which are worst. When I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I am going to die. And that it is going to hurt first. But I can't run. I can't hide. I can scream and wriggle, and of course I have tried to at first... but every effort is effortlessly repelled. So now that the adrenaline has reached paralytic rather than just energising levels, I can do nothing but wait.
It's these moments now which are best. When I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he is going to die. And that first... first, so many things. Dying is just the end. I have so, so much killing to do to him first. But instead... we lie, entangled in each other, and wait for the end of the world. This anticipation screams at me, and the masochist I am holds it off as long as possible, for to hold back is agony, and to prolong is agony, and the agony is so so sweet. I can do everything but wait.
I feel him beneath me, so, so unimaginably vast. Mountains are big. Mountains are blind and unthinking and peaceful. The sky is big; the sky is merely there above you, and it's unlikely to fall on your head. Not here. Not against me, breathing with lungs like bellows which hum beneath me. Not as hot and silky and soft as the most perfect blanket, as comforting as the most loving and gentle intimate mass murderer the planet has ever known.
And I feel him on me, so unimaginably perfect. I've considered many beings to be perfect in my unlife. I've never felt it like this. Never as raw, as desperate, as all-consuming. Part of me wants to meld our minds together and let Alex feel as I feel, and see if he forgives me. Everything he suffers, everything I suffer when I make him suffer, is just a scrap of bread to a devourer of stars. I will never, ever, ever, ever stop wanting him to hurt. To cry. To be. To be mine.
Every second is endless. Every moment shunts me closer to the killing part. So why do they last so long? Why is it that I can snuggle against the massive fluff of feathers and inhale the terrible delicious musk and choke back sobs and then time just forgets us? Hours and minutes are meaningless. There is just the two of us, embraced, crying and purring with terror and joy.
Every second is endless, every moment shunts us closer to the killing. And that's why they last so long. We understand what comes next. We know how much it's going to hurt. We can think about nothing else except how long it's taking. And so I can feel him snuggle against the softness of my chestfeathers and breath tiny breaths against me and cry despite how much he pretends not to be, and time will not dare disturb such perfection, for it knows I would kill it myself.
And that silence... oh, the silence can't be broken. What can be said? By now the hope of mercy has been beaten out of me. Literally. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing which can divert or distract him, nothing to offer him except that which he finds it more fun to take. He's a god, my god. I'm beginning to realise that. The actual origins don't matter, what matters is the power. He created me. Maybe not the me who went for a walk in the woods because it was a perfect day so long ago. No, he created the cringing cowering heap of trembling white fur pressed against him. The me who is ready to fall to my knees at a moment's notice. I worship him not out of terror, but by terror.
And this silence... I will slaughter anything which dares even touch the silence. Even him, perhaps, but he's good, he's flawless, he treats it with the same fearful submission he treats me. What can he say? I've broken him, broken that sweet shard of hope, shown him that there's nothing in the world which will stop what is going to happen. He's... I can feel his soul quivering. Oh, my. He's thinking that I'm a god. An avatar of sadism and cruelty and alien greed. No, more than that... his god. His masterful murderer.
"Our Master, who art right in front of us..." you see, that's why this moment is so sweet. because I can end it as easily as I end him.
"Terrifying be thy name." Our gazes meet again, molten gold and shining sapphires. It's time again. I weep with despair at the smile which twists my beak.
"Thy Kingdom come." Gently, I slide him off, letting him stand upright as I stretch muscles which have never become stiff or sore in eight hundred years. "Thy desires be done."
"On Actura, as it is in the Void." His voice is dripping with glee and delight. My legs begin backing away, mindless terror ignoring the mutters from my brain about how useless it is. "Give us this day our daily torture, and adore our perfection, as we abhor you who trespasses against us over and over and over again."
"No. No, no, no, please." My throat is sore, my voice cracking with desperate pain. The wall flattens itself against my back as I press myself into it, and only now does he take a step forwards. Now that I have nowhere to run.
"And lead us not into thy throat, we beg you, please, but deliver us from the evil which is you incarnate." He's over me now, three steps enough to clear the distance. Mountains are nothing to this size which towers over me now. His great blunt beak nuzzles at my chest, and when I try to push it away he simply looks at me and locks my arms around his beak.
"For I am your kingdom, your power, your glory. For ever and ever."
He stands, hot breath pouring over me. I won't say it. I won't say it. We know what we want and we will not say it.
After this, the agony which will come is almost tempting. A comfort from a dear beloved friend, the fulfilment of my whole life.
I say it.
"...A... Amen."
The waiting is over, and the pain begins.
You know, that's probably the biggest disparity of cute picture and extremely serious flavour text I've done. But hey, adorableness and incredible suffering. Isn't that what the Taste of Terror is all about?
This lil' chibi commission is product of Arcanasigal of http://www.furaffinity.net/user/arcanasigal/. Many thanks to him. I especially like the little blush marks Damian has. "I hope Senpai notices me when I'm reintroducing his liver to the outside world in the most painful way anatomically possible."
Alex are Damian are each other's. I merely hold the media rights.
[b]THE TASTE OF TERROR
The story of Alexander Williams, a young, innocent, kind-hearted arctic fox, and the entity known only as Damian: a colossal, pitch-black gryphon, with a genius intellect, lethal telepathic abilities, an extremely predatory form of sadism and a burning obsession with his little vulpine toy. This is the tale of their relationship, as it develops through the tortures, swallowing, resurrections, and endless, eternal mind games.
Expect plenty of physical and mental torture, very unwilling m/m soft vore, lots of unwilling cuddling, and a focus on the intensity and the cruelty of such an intimate relationship.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 2: The Epilogue
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Prologue
Chapter 6: Part I
Chapter 6: Part II
Chapter 6: Epilogue
Artwork
The Gentle Murderer: A first illustration of the vulpine's torturer.
Utterly Inevitable: Alex goes down.
Contains: Anthro Arctic fox cuddling Despair Digestion domination Emotional Fantasy Fox Furry Goldeneye graphic Gryphon misery Sadistic snuggling Swallowing torture Unwilling Vore chibi
Category All / Vore
Species Gryphon
Size 1126 x 1215px
File Size 529 kB
I...wasn't being sarcastic. I like this kind of artwork. I think it IS well done.
...thanks a lot for assuming the worst of me when the only problem I've had with you was with a certain character you write for, not YOU, because I know YOU aren't a jerk, unlike the gryphon you write.
Y'know, I get that a lot. I get that people think I'm just a troll or being contrarian for denouncing villain protagonists or the like who I think are not well written, for saying that a story doesn't make sense or the like. I get that a LOT, and-that, that's fine, okay? It's fine. I understand. It can be hard to read tone on the internet unless everything is in all caps and with lots of exclamation marks, etc, etc. But I don't criticize because I'm an asshole, I criticize because I think a character is acting like one, I don't understand WHY and why the author and the story expects us to view them as the one who should be succeeding.
I didn't, however, criticize this. I was being sincere, so...again...and this time it IS heavy sarcasm...THANKS. A. LOT. For such KIND. WORDS.
...thanks a lot for assuming the worst of me when the only problem I've had with you was with a certain character you write for, not YOU, because I know YOU aren't a jerk, unlike the gryphon you write.
Y'know, I get that a lot. I get that people think I'm just a troll or being contrarian for denouncing villain protagonists or the like who I think are not well written, for saying that a story doesn't make sense or the like. I get that a LOT, and-that, that's fine, okay? It's fine. I understand. It can be hard to read tone on the internet unless everything is in all caps and with lots of exclamation marks, etc, etc. But I don't criticize because I'm an asshole, I criticize because I think a character is acting like one, I don't understand WHY and why the author and the story expects us to view them as the one who should be succeeding.
I didn't, however, criticize this. I was being sincere, so...again...and this time it IS heavy sarcasm...THANKS. A. LOT. For such KIND. WORDS.
Awww shit. You know, when I first read this it wasn't entirely clear, and I was intending to reply with a "was that sarcastic"? before launching into all this... thisness. Then I came back, and... obviously it didn't seem so ambiguous, because that was uncalled for. You didn't deserve that at all and I am sorry, both for jumping to conclusions and for blowing up at you. While we may at times disagree, I respect your commitment and patience and do to some extent sympathise with your thoughts on these matters. I'm sorry, man. Absolutely my bad. And thank you. It is a good picture.
Im doing my best to not totally fan girl over your work but its truly amazing. Your stories r extremely well written and your style keeps me riveted to the story. Your characters though are the best part. Damian continues to scare me, just thinking of him showing up for me gives me the chills. The Alex. Hes just so cute! God, i just want to hug him so bad and make him feel a bit better (not like anything i could do would help). But, anyway, just wanted to say again, great work. I hope i didnt sound to much like 15 year old girl discovering Starbucks for the first time.
Awww... I'd forgive you for fangirling. Thank you. I do appreciate comments like these a whole lot. Maybe some people would say I put too much effort into what are really just weird weird little horror stories, but when people enjoy them it seems worth it.
Yeah, Damian's scary. Glad he had such an effect. And poor, poor Alex... hey, he has someone to cuddle and cry with. At least he has that. : >
Yeah, Damian's scary. Glad he had such an effect. And poor, poor Alex... hey, he has someone to cuddle and cry with. At least he has that. : >
Yes, I work in terms of thousands. The huge hoarde of treasure for me to lie on won't make itself.
...nah, it isn't correct. Is that what I'm saying? Sorry. My commission rate is 0.75 cents, or $0.0075, a word. So that 1000 worder would cost $7.50.
Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I'm really not open for commissions at the moment, and if I do I will have a few to work through before I can take requests. I am sorry, but thanks for the interest anyway.
...nah, it isn't correct. Is that what I'm saying? Sorry. My commission rate is 0.75 cents, or $0.0075, a word. So that 1000 worder would cost $7.50.
Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I'm really not open for commissions at the moment, and if I do I will have a few to work through before I can take requests. I am sorry, but thanks for the interest anyway.
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