Weirdly specific request that I'm making at a time where I really should be asleep instead: That video of Peter Griffin being like "holy crap I'm in Fortnite!" But it's your sona in pizza tower
these ones actually made me so happy to draw thank you
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IM CURRENTLY SCREECHING OMG.
I WAS WRITING MY BOOK AND A SONG CAME ON AND IT FIT SO PERFECTLY WITH WHAT I WAS WRITING I ACTUALLY STOPPED CLAPPED MY HANDS AND SQUEALED.
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rage
You know the expression "seeing red?"
Yeah, that never really resonated with me. To me, it feels more like a pot that's overflowing. Or a thermometer that's gotten too hot. A bottle popping its cork. Something like that.
I'm filled with the most violent thoughts and urges. It feels good to dwell on them sometimes. It feels cathartic in a way.
But not enough.
Just dwelling on those thoughts feels, in a way, akin to pleasuring yourself. It feels good, like scratching an itch. When you realize that it's only a fantasy, though, it's like stopping right before you push yourself past the edge.
So when he said those words to me, of course I took the opportunity. My hand was on the door handle but in a flash it was on his arm. Like it was second nature, I twisted it back and brought my knee up with a satisfying crack. He screamed, but I couldn't hear it over the blood rushing in my ears.
This.
This is what euphoria feels like.
I twisted his arm even farther and watched as his bones turned at an unnatural angle. There was a nice pop as I jerked his arm forward.
"Why?" He moaned. I payed his words no mind. Instead I leaned forward and grabbed ahold of his lower lip, and pulled it clean off with one forceful downward pull.
His knees buckled and he hit the floor hard. The flesh of his lip still in hand, I shoved his head back into the corner of the dresser behind him. It pierced his skin with a dull cracking noise. He gave a wail of pain. I threw his head back again. and again. and again. and again.
Finally, he passed out. I took a moment to inspect the back of his head. There was a bloody hole, akin to the kind you dig in your backyard. Wet at the bottom, and full of flecks of white. I shoved my finger in it, and was disappointed when he didn't writhe in pain.
I slapped his cheeks and he came to with a start. He groaned and tried to bring his hand up to his head to inspect the nexus of pain but I didn't give him a chance before I dug my finger deep into the hole. He gave a horrible howl while my face broke out in a grin. I kept trying to dig my finger farther and farther in until finally it woudln't go any more. He went limp once more in my hands.
Letting go of him, I allowed his face to hit the floor. I pushed his body with my shoe, turning him so his ear was to the ground. I raised my foot, and then I
crushed and
stomped and
pulverized
his face until it was unrecognizable. His skull had caved in and the ear facing skyward had been lost somewhere in the mess of blood and flesh.
I took my foot off and wiped it on his shirt, as you would on a doormat. I took a moment to fix my hair and to compose myself.
"You really shouldn't say things like that," I said calmly, one foot out the door. "They hurt my feelings."
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