so i'll tag him anyway

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I’m sick.

While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm/That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”  and its hero the Conqueror Worm.

THE FINAL BOSS: A SPURNED WOULD-BE LOVER

I have decided to make this “final boss” series a thing, because I sincerely love all the varied, weird and beautiful antagonists I’ve created over the years! This is K, who is the mysterious head of a great and powerful corporation who hires a thief to steal the secrets of his competitors. Over time, he eventually finds he has feelings for the thief, but unfortunately, the other rebukes him. So what is a man who has received everything in the world to do when he can’t get the one thing he truly desires?

Why, do everything in his power to ruin the life of the thief, kill his loved ones, break him down, and either witness his destruction or make him understand that he really should accept all the love that K has to give.

But if that wasn’t bad enough, K is not a simple ordinary man. He constantly carries an umbrella over him and avoids sunlight, and while some may joke he is a vampire, the truth is far more horrifying. Many years ago, he happened upon a terrible creature, and forced the creature to fuse with him, becoming something far more powerful than even he imagined. The umbrella is not for him. It’s for everyone else. For, as soon as he steps into the sunlight, he violently transforms into a giant, voracious worm-like creature that will rampage until nothing around him is left alive.

A man with an umbrella who holds so much fury in him that it squirms like a worm within his rotting excuse for a heart. What a guy!

  • You: Lyle Bolton
  • Me, an intellectual: A monster who's tortuous methods would send shivers down even Great Granny Keeny's spine.

—– “You know,” Alec began, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’d stupidly dropped his box of contacts on the floor early that morning, resulting in him wearing his glasses out of fear that the floor-contacts were diseased with dirt and grime. Who knew what shit was on the floor of the firehouse. “I don’t work the night-shift a lot, but every time I do we end up getting called out for silly little things. You know like, drunk people telling us there’s a cat in a tree and it needs saving— which is exactly what happened. But, some other drunk person came up to me and asked if I was a stripper dressed as a firefighter. At least it made the night interesting, eh?” he huffed out, not necessarily amused.

Oh, my holy ghost,
how glorious it is,
to be haunted by you.
—  headstones are for the living, and darling, your name is written on mine | p.d
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Red is the most disgusting color, because it’s everywhere; I can never escape it. I tasted it when I bit my lip, because Titans were trying to climb the trees around us. I smelled it when we packed corpses onto the backs of carts and some of it smeared onto my boots. But I felt it when I looked at him and my lips touched his, trailed down his neck and bare chest. I felt it when he smiled across the mess hall and the world spun and nearly kicked me off my feet. It was in his eyes after he helped untangled my belts, because I was “so silly” for putting them on half-asleep. He whispered it under his breath and in my ear and in my hair, when our hands roamed and tangled together in an obsidian night. It dusted my cheeks and brushed against his, beneath a constellation of freckles that I could never keep track of. But I saw it on his face when he brought a Titan’s attention from me to him. I saw it dried up and sticking to his remains like a leech, clinging for its own sake and disregarding everything I felt for him. And I saw it when I tossed his mangled corpse into starving flames and it erupted into ash, and his bones melded with the rest of the fallen, and I couldn’t tell if I was crying from the smoke in my eyes or my aching heart.

I hate the color red.

—  JeanMarco Week, Day 5—Red
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six selfies of 2016 🌹✨💖
someone tell this bitch (me) to stop using snapachat filters and doing kissy faces

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“—Fuck,” he cursed, planting himself against the curb. Lighting a cigarette, the blonde blew out puffs of smoke, seemingly fustrated. “I can’t believe this place!” he exclaimed, purposefully loud enough for the bouncer to hear. “I’m fucking twenty-one!” Derek’s yells were like background noise to the people around him, as he gave no particular mind to anyone but the bouncer. He had been dying to get into ‘Adult World’ since he had arrived to the city five years ago, hearing about it’s many services from various people. Being twenty, and evidently baby-faced, didn’t help his desires. “Fuck this,” he spat, the stick planted between his teeth.