08-07-2020, 03:03 PM
Requisite warning: he likes to swear a lot lmao
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Average" rel="stylesheet"><style>#ashhalnekkie{width:542px;border:25px #000000 solid;border-radius:400px 400px 0px 0px;overflow:hidden;}#ashhalnekkiepic{position:relative;z-index:0;margin-top:0;}#ashhalnekkiecontainer{background:-webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-o-linear-gradient(bottom, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);width:542px;position:relative;z-index:1;margin-top:-160px;padding-top:100px;}#ashhalnekkietext{font-family: 'Average', serif;font-size:14px;color:#bfbfbf;width:450px;margin-bottom:0px;}#ashhalnekkiequote{font-family: 'Average', serif;font-size:15px;text-transform:uppercase;line-height:14px;color:#ffffff;}</style><center><div id="ashhalnekkie"><div id="ashhalnekkiepic"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/3N0LWsPr/Ashhal3.jpg"/></div><div id="ashhalnekkiecontainer"><p id="ashhalnekkiequote">I tried to sell my soul last night<br/>Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite</p><p id="ashhalnekkietext" align="justify">There are times he thinks life is impossibly dull. And then there are times where he regrets ever having that thought. Times like now, when, in an instant, he knows his life is about to get even more impossibly fucked up than it already is.
The summons is less like a request and much more like sharp fingers digging mercilessly inside his head, insisting he obey. Naturally, his first instinct is to tell whoever the hell it is, in no uncertain terms, that they could fuck right off. But the way his brain seems to squeeze into mush at the mere thought tells him even more clearly that ‘No’ would not be an acceptable answer.
So, grudgingly, he turns to the beach.
When you’re as old as dirt, like he is, it would be nearly impossible not to know who is currently pulling the strings. He’d always avoided him like a damned plague (for many reasons, though some he was much less willing to admit than others), so he has no fucking clue why the hell he’d want him here out of all the thousands of other poor bastards he could’ve picked.
No doubt he’s about to find out though.
When he does find out however, he really, really wishes he hadn’t. But if the scowl doesn’t give that away, the <b>“Fuck you”</b> he tosses out certainly would. Not that he was especially worried about dying (not after dying a hundred times in a hundred different ways), but he’s been around long enough to know there are a whole hell of a lot of things worse than death.
Although, given the reactions of some of these other idiots unlucky enough to have found themselves on this beach with him, not everyone seems to realize that. Dumbasses.
As Carnage’s chilly gaze turns to him, Ashhal’s jaw tightens, a faint tick pulsing as he glares back. He’d laugh at the absurdity of this whole scenario if he weren’t also perfectly aware Carnage is likely one of the few creatures who could kill him and ensure he stays dead.
It’d almost be a relief, except that this death only meant being used like a fucking pawn. He’d never claimed to be the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he’s not so dumb that he hadn’t realized why Carnage wanted them. In a former life, he’d been a general (and not an entirely shitty one). He knows this strategy. They’re the sacrificial troops.
He would have chosen that moment to spit another choice insult had he not (with disgustingly suspicious precision) been walloped in the teeth with what felt like a massive boulder. Instead, only a grunt of pain and a spray of blood is expelled as the nerves of his face spark with hellfire.
But it doesn’t stop there (of course it doesn’t fucking stop there). Though in reality it’s probably no more than a few a moments, the way his body seems to pull apart - skin from flesh and flesh from bone - feels like an eternity. Until even his very atoms are violently separated, leaving nothing of the irritable winged stallion on the beach, save a bright red spray of blood.
---
As he materializes on the still and foggy gray beach of the afterlife, he explodes into violent cursing, shaking himself free of the lingering taste of death. As though that would also shake free the memory of such excruciating pain.
Goddamned fucking cocksucker must have fucking read his thoughts (probably not, but it makes him feel better to think so).
It’s sorely tempting to leave this beach. To accept this death and say fuck him and everyone else. But some bullshit part of him (the same part that knew absolutely nothing good could come from having the doors to the afterlife flung open like they had been) wondered if somehow, by following this wretched plan, he could close them again. Not that he really gave a shit about anything or anyone that might be affected by it.
Except that he did. Just a little bit (or more than a little, but there’s no way he’s going there). And isn’t that the stupidest, most idiotic thing he’d ever done? Well, not quite as stupid as this. But, as it turns out, he is going to let himself be a fuckwitted pawn. If for no other reason than to spit in the eye of the asshole who sent him here for everyone still alive that (he pretends) he doesn’t care about.</p><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/s1FTWnrY/Ashhal_Name2.png"/></div></div></center>
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Average" rel="stylesheet"><style>#ashhalnekkie{width:542px;border:25px #000000 solid;border-radius:400px 400px 0px 0px;overflow:hidden;}#ashhalnekkiepic{position:relative;z-index:0;margin-top:0;}#ashhalnekkiecontainer{background:-webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-o-linear-gradient(bottom, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);background:-ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(113,113,113,0), rgba(113,113,113,1)150px);width:542px;position:relative;z-index:1;margin-top:-160px;padding-top:100px;}#ashhalnekkietext{font-family: 'Average', serif;font-size:14px;color:#bfbfbf;width:450px;margin-bottom:0px;}#ashhalnekkiequote{font-family: 'Average', serif;font-size:15px;text-transform:uppercase;line-height:14px;color:#ffffff;}</style><center><div id="ashhalnekkie"><div id="ashhalnekkiepic"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/3N0LWsPr/Ashhal3.jpg"/></div><div id="ashhalnekkiecontainer"><p id="ashhalnekkiequote">I tried to sell my soul last night<br/>Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite</p><p id="ashhalnekkietext" align="justify">There are times he thinks life is impossibly dull. And then there are times where he regrets ever having that thought. Times like now, when, in an instant, he knows his life is about to get even more impossibly fucked up than it already is.
The summons is less like a request and much more like sharp fingers digging mercilessly inside his head, insisting he obey. Naturally, his first instinct is to tell whoever the hell it is, in no uncertain terms, that they could fuck right off. But the way his brain seems to squeeze into mush at the mere thought tells him even more clearly that ‘No’ would not be an acceptable answer.
So, grudgingly, he turns to the beach.
When you’re as old as dirt, like he is, it would be nearly impossible not to know who is currently pulling the strings. He’d always avoided him like a damned plague (for many reasons, though some he was much less willing to admit than others), so he has no fucking clue why the hell he’d want him here out of all the thousands of other poor bastards he could’ve picked.
No doubt he’s about to find out though.
When he does find out however, he really, really wishes he hadn’t. But if the scowl doesn’t give that away, the <b>“Fuck you”</b> he tosses out certainly would. Not that he was especially worried about dying (not after dying a hundred times in a hundred different ways), but he’s been around long enough to know there are a whole hell of a lot of things worse than death.
Although, given the reactions of some of these other idiots unlucky enough to have found themselves on this beach with him, not everyone seems to realize that. Dumbasses.
As Carnage’s chilly gaze turns to him, Ashhal’s jaw tightens, a faint tick pulsing as he glares back. He’d laugh at the absurdity of this whole scenario if he weren’t also perfectly aware Carnage is likely one of the few creatures who could kill him and ensure he stays dead.
It’d almost be a relief, except that this death only meant being used like a fucking pawn. He’d never claimed to be the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he’s not so dumb that he hadn’t realized why Carnage wanted them. In a former life, he’d been a general (and not an entirely shitty one). He knows this strategy. They’re the sacrificial troops.
He would have chosen that moment to spit another choice insult had he not (with disgustingly suspicious precision) been walloped in the teeth with what felt like a massive boulder. Instead, only a grunt of pain and a spray of blood is expelled as the nerves of his face spark with hellfire.
But it doesn’t stop there (of course it doesn’t fucking stop there). Though in reality it’s probably no more than a few a moments, the way his body seems to pull apart - skin from flesh and flesh from bone - feels like an eternity. Until even his very atoms are violently separated, leaving nothing of the irritable winged stallion on the beach, save a bright red spray of blood.
---
As he materializes on the still and foggy gray beach of the afterlife, he explodes into violent cursing, shaking himself free of the lingering taste of death. As though that would also shake free the memory of such excruciating pain.
Goddamned fucking cocksucker must have fucking read his thoughts (probably not, but it makes him feel better to think so).
It’s sorely tempting to leave this beach. To accept this death and say fuck him and everyone else. But some bullshit part of him (the same part that knew absolutely nothing good could come from having the doors to the afterlife flung open like they had been) wondered if somehow, by following this wretched plan, he could close them again. Not that he really gave a shit about anything or anyone that might be affected by it.
Except that he did. Just a little bit (or more than a little, but there’s no way he’s going there). And isn’t that the stupidest, most idiotic thing he’d ever done? Well, not quite as stupid as this. But, as it turns out, he is going to let himself be a fuckwitted pawn. If for no other reason than to spit in the eye of the asshole who sent him here for everyone still alive that (he pretends) he doesn’t care about.</p><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/s1FTWnrY/Ashhal_Name2.png"/></div></div></center>