when i die i hope no one who ever hurt me cries, and if they cry i hope their eyes fall out
and a million maggots that had made up their brains, crawl from the empty holes and devour the flesh, that covered the evil that passed itself off as a person, that i probably tried, to love
One of several of Bill’s god forms. This one has no real connection to any earthen religion and is more of an in-between form, a transitionary phase that would only appear for a scant few second before man turns into massive monster. It’s easier to manifest than the big God form so it was also used as Bill’s power was slowly dwindling out of our world.
Yes his feet are backwards. That was a hallmark of the God Xolotl; backwards feet and a dog head. This lacks the dog head, but not the rear-facing feet. They swivel around for convenience.
His bones are black holes and his flesh is made of galaxies he’s absorbed, eaten and destroyed.
About the Fell!Bros being utterly fascinated by my piercings, especially my helix because I like to put spikes and chains in that one.
“THIS HUMAN IS MORE HARDCORE THAN YOU EVER WILL BE, SANS!” “ya just… punch a fuckin hole through ya own flesh?” “Um, thanks. And yeah basically.” “DOES IT HURT?” “Yeah it stings then it’ll burn for awhile. I actually got my helix infected cos the shop I went to was shady and I’m broke.” “ASTOUNDING!” “but… why?” “Um. Aesthetic?” “AH YES! THE AESTHETIC OF ARTIFICIALLY DECORATED WOUNDS!”
you don’t realize how much you love a person until you lose them. it leaves a burning hole in your flesh, a void that can’t really be filled. you keep thinking they’re going to walk back into your life but they’re gone. the house you live in no longer feels like home.
she is neptune. she is a dreamer and she is cast in an illusion. you won’t be able to avoid falling in love with her. her magic and her free spirit will draw you in and keep you there; forever floating and trailing along behind her. but she’ll never slow down and stop for you. she exists within her own world, and no one else can cross her celestial barriers. she’ll break your heart piece by piece and leave the shards to scatter in the forest she dwells. her weakness is the artificial paradise that substances bring her to. she drinks too much, and she snorts too much, and she cries too much. there’s no use in trying to stop her, she knows what she wants and no one can convince her otherwise. you’ll notice that she touches others with the most gentle hand, but then you’ll find her trying to burn holes into her own flesh. never try to interrupt her when she’s listening to music, and never try to convince her with logic. she hates science and believes in ghosts and witches and aliens. her blue eyes remind you of the ocean in a storm, beautiful but brooding. Once you meet her, her offbeat vibes attract you like a magnet; but she’s the farthest thing from the sun and she will be stone cold, repelled by anything real.
Khan grits his teeth through a snarl as he pushes himself up from the ground, knees pressed hard into the floor as he manages to force himself upright. His tongue sweeps his lip, and he casts a glance down at where his rib is protruding from his chest, a hole torn in his flesh just off the side of it. He immediately works to shut down the pain, growling through it as he pushes up on his knees to stagger to his feet. “I can walk– I’m fine–”
Summary: Hawke soothes Fenris through a panic attack
Breath pushing through a tiny hole in the blockage in his throat. He can’t catch enough of it, drink in enough oxygen to survive. There are hands clawing at his throat, pushing down, putting down a wild animal. His own? Danarius? Cold eyes staring holes into his flesh. His master’s sick grin.
There’s an arm around his shoulders. It doesn’t feel real against his skin. A dream, an illusion, his own mind punishing him for thinking that he could ever be more than nothing, more than a slave. His own body is rejecting a flow of steady breathing to keep him alive. He’s sure that he’ll pass out any second now, the fog in his mind is telling him so. The corners of his eyes are going blurry. His body wants to escape.
The room is spinning; it won’t stay still. He couldn’t stand, if he did he was sure he would fall. His legs are numb and fragile. Darkness creeps into his vision. He’s going to pass out. Gone. Unconscious. Vulnerable.
They’re laughing at him. That’s why his head is pounding. Everything is closing in on him.
Updates may up and drop randomly in the next coming weeks. I’ll be on the road going to see family! I’ll work when I can while on the road and before and try to make updates, but I can’t promise much! I’m trying not to overwork myself here, I’m going to see family to kind of relax a little! Gotta remember that myself!!
Accounts Merger [closed starter for blindeyedmastermind]
The first thing to hit Le Chiffre after the bullet that ended his life was the piercing sunlight of a cloudless afternoon.
Next came the sharp cold wind, like diving into the ocean after a sunbath. Wherever he was now – whenever /now/ was -, it wasn’t Montenegro in summer – and his sweat-coated skin tightened brutally in response to the change.
He squeezed his eyes shut with a shudder, his brain reeling with the shock like a computer going through an emergency reboot.
But, just like the powerful machine Le Chiffre pictured it as, it only took a handful of seconds for everything to come back online.
He opened his eyes again.
He was standing in the middle of what looked to be a nearly empty American street – in Massachusets, the license plates read on the parked cars.
His hand travelled experimentally up to his forehead and he felt, there, the hot, gelatinous texture of coagulating blood over the shallow hole in the thin flesh, about an inch above his right eyebrow.
White’s aim had been flawless – he thought he could remember seeing the bullet as it had left the barrel of his gun, though he knew intellectually that wasn’t possible – that it must have gone too fast.
That was, however, the only puncture he could see in the perfect canvas of what had to have been a drug-induced, suggestion-driven hallucination.
Anger briefly flared up in his chest at that thought – that anyone could so much as try to desecrate his brain in such a way. But he was confident, whoever that was, that he hadn’t told them anything.
And that he would find them, whoever they were.
Kratt. He needed to find Kratt – assuming his right-hand man had made the cut, too. Recent memory, now unreliable as it was, said otherwise.
He patted his pockets, grunted to himself when he found them empty, and started walking towards the busier avenue he could see ahead.