#how much longer

[mafaldaknows]

Timing is everything 👀⏱️🙄

THIS REEKS OF DAMAGE CONTROL …

…FOR A PROBLEM SHE CREATED 🙄🙄🙄

Maybe that’s what she means by “Self-Made”

[kennico]

waiting for the new episode…

[jamsandsuch]

goodnight america

[obviousprocrastination]

My Beloved Nightmare

CW: body horror/non consensual body modification, implied sa, domestic violence, gore, forcemasc if you squint and if it makes it funnier

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My beloved nightmare returns to me in the night, grasping an eye in one hand, pressing her intestines into the cavity of her abdomen with the other. She’s smeared tip to talon with blood, dark and thick and clotting, dripping down her armpit like freshly boiled silk cocoon. There’s meat on her teeth, and her claws. 

The soldier throws her inside her cell, in which I’ve been awaiting her arrival. There is nothing for her here but a mat to sleep on, graciously heated with fine lines of Core, and a mat for me, pressed edge to edge with hers. No Core in sight on my straw thing. I untangle my legs and stand, so I may greet her.

Kaugu grows handsomer every hour. Her jaw is hard, her spines long, her claws thick, her colors full. She’s is almost a spitting image of her father.

“What happened to you?” I ask. I always ask, because it lets her remind me why I suffer. There used to be a genuine sort of horror in my voice when she returned in such a state, a crack in my voicebox, a tear forming in my eyes. All I feel tonight is exhaustion.

She stumbles forth.

“That’s what you have to say?”

Kaugu yanks on my horns and forces me to my knees, so hard I can feel my flesh bruise against the cap. She’s still holding her eye, but her viscera spill free. She wraps her claws around my throat and begins to strangle me. I endure it. I endure as long as it takes for my vision to darken, long enough for my lungs to scream without words, long enough for her to roar and throw me aside as if I were a mold-clung slab of meat.

I gasp, retching up slime onto the sandstone floor. It drips onto the metal frame of my fingers. I spread them, and the slime clings.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, “Depths be darker, it hurts. Tempo, it hurts…”

“I know,” I say, all inflection lost to the tin of my voicebox. “Come here.”

She sneers down at me, her claws curling around her bloody, hollow socket. I’ve heard this voice before. I’ve heard her nightmares.

“Come here, or you’ll regret it.”

I swallow, bathing my voicebox in saliva, and shuffle over, hands clasped in front of me, head down so she can’t see what lies in my own eyes.

I wait. I have to wait. She is my heiress, and I am her Tempo. She is the most monstrous girl in all of Malaro, she is the product of a ram and what tamed her, she is torment taken form, given mind, granted soul. I am a gift.

“Sing for your heiress.”

I sing for her. Of course I do. I raise my hands and heal her, like I’ve healed her for days, months, years.

Her eye returns, first a shimmering ball of viscera bulging from its socket as she screams in pain, then solidifying, quieting, rounding, a slitted pupil carving its way through the vitreous, a brown iris gurgling into shape.

Her abdomen sews itself back together. Her entrails slither back inside her, and she grunts and groans and doubles over as they rearrange themselves back into their proper positions, held in place by their membranes and mucus and gore. The blood doesn’t clean itself from her body, but she does not die. 

And then the tune changes, and my heiress doesn’t notice. 

You know, Tegai hadn’t always been one piece, like the way it is now. It was found not so long ago that we live not on a solid globe of rock, but sheets of stone and soil, floating upon magma, itself dancing around a molten core. Upon these sheets are the land we stand upon. And these sheets are never still. Nothing ever is.

Ever so slowly, the plates move. It takes thousands of millennia, but they move. Inch by inch. Scale by scale. The pattern shifts anew. Until one day, there is no recognizing what it had been before.

I finish with a high note and a snap of my wrist. My heiress gasps, mouth agape—she throws her head back, lets her spines flick blood into the ceiling, dotting it crimson. I look up. Reddened eyes stare down at us for just a moment—needle-pricks in skin, tiny pustules ready to burst—and then they drip, and clot, and dry, and flake.

My heiress collapses on my mat and grasps where her intestines had once spilled from her. She might notice when she runs her fingers over her belly. She might notice the new thickness of her scales. She might see the brightness of her colors. Or she might not. She hasn’t seen, felt, known for six long months.

I don’t blame her for tormenting me, honest. This is her escape, after all. What other life could she have, besides what my puny body has to offer? At least here, in her cell, with her Tempo, her nightmares can’t have her.

I find a new patch of necrosis dug into the meat of my calf the next morning. The scales have already sloughed off from the blemish. I should’ve suspected that my leg would be the next to go—there had been a sharp pain and a reddened blotch between my scutes right at the epicenter where the rot now lies. I roll up the silk of my trousers and prod it. It is soft, liquefactive, and utterly putrid. From what alive flesh surrounds my dying meat, pus oozes and cakes and dries.

I have to show my heiress. I have worse to fear if I don’t. Kaugu sets my leg on her lap, my sole pressed to her chest, and she tastes the rotted flesh.

“How does it feel?” she asks. Her tongue is dripping with gangrenous fluids and pus, slick and creamy on the meat of her. 

“It hurts,” I answer.

“Good. Depths be darker, you’re so good for me.”

Her voice is deeper. She should feel it, should she not? The thickening of the vocal cords signals its arrival with ease. Her larynx swells, her throat grows hoarse. She speaks to herself, and grasps her own neck, and tries massaging away the ache. If she knew…

She might just kill me.

Each time she returns, each time I heal her, each time she’s furthered her father’s grip on Malaro, I sing a different tune, play a different note. The plates shift. Magma emerges from the cracks, solidifies and grows. Vegetation travels. Animals harden. The rot spreads up my leg, and one night she snaps it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, at the knee, and lets me taste necrotic bone. I walk with a cane while I await a rusted replacement. Her colors grow brighter still.

At night, her father calls. Before she leaves for him, she throttles me so severely I can hardly sing to her at all. In my dimming vision, I see my spittle spraying her face, her newly vibrant scales, her refreshed patterns, her lengthening, thickening horns. (Had she always had trouble fitting beneath doorways?)

She lets me go, leaving me to empty the meager contents of my stomach onto my mat. I wait, and then I follow her. 

She fears him. I know this, because I know her. Her nightmares are the one which make her scream his name in the night, in utter terror, in utter fright.

Imperian Hei’s study is always locked, except for the tiny moment of time his daughter is let in. There are no guards, no Vis to witness, nobody to share the nightmare. Nobody except me. I see a sliver of the room, and in that room I see myself, staring back at me. And then it’s gone.

I don’t press my ear to the door so I can hear. I don’t want to hear, not all of it, not her voice which turns too quiet to ooze through the wood. Hearing offers too much pity to my heiress. To know a brute can suffer; it is only dispiriting to the one who worships her. I can’t see inside. I can’t hear everything he does. But I know he’s twisting the wire. 

“Gaze upon yourself. Watch what hideous creature I’ve created.”

He describes the deformities that no longer exist. She looks at herself, and she sees them, because they’re from his mouth. My claws find their way through the crannies of my other arm, past the metal frame which makes them, into the sensitive sinew. My steel-core thrums, a song just for me. I listen, and I pluck my strings to her cries. 

In the end, she should be thanking me, too. I’m tormenting him just as much. That thought could ease the nightmares, if she knew.

“Nobody wants to see you like this.”

Nobody indeed. I reach a nerve, and the pain whites out my vision.

When he’s finished with her, when he leaves, when she’s allowed her time with her body…

When she regains her breath, she sneaks a glance at herself in the mirror once more. She looks at her reflection, and her reflection stares back. She notices things, but she’s never fast enough.

My heiress is handsomer than ever. Her jaw has become harder. Her spines have grown longer. Her claws have thickened. Her colors are as vibrant as a wetwoods frog, bright as the sun beating down upon this hallowed cliffside. Green, blue, black, brown. The patterns are no longer recognizable, not as hers. She’s healed again, and again, and again. 

She’s something new. 

She’s something old. 

She’s someone else. 

She’s her. 

She’s what made her.

Kaugu looks at her reflection, and her nightmares stare back.

[evermore-crow]

netflix renewing a new series has me like:

i AM SO TIRED

(they’re probably going to cancel this one too, who are we kidding…)

[etincelise]

how much longer are we going to pretend that lemon boy by cavetown isn’t an ultimate definition of tyrus?!

[i-ate-all-of-my-toes]

My name is Inut and I am evil

[maryjaneszombies-blog]

I just want to be happy

I don't want to keep waiting

[desiladis]

Why does every relationship have to be a lesson?

[jerichoes]

can we go. one month. without finding out that yet another russian company. owned by yet another rich russian fuck. that produces fucking rockets. managed to skate under the fucking sanctions. and keeps buying shit for said rockets from europe. who are more than happy to sell. as if the war isn’t happening.

[theeccentricwritter]

TW rant and Narcolepsy

I hate having narcolepsy. It is so expensive to treat so I just raw dog this chronic bullshit every day. I always just thought I was 'a little tired' as a kid. Now I can't fucking stay awake to drive 2/10 times. I can't seem to trust myself to stay awake my whole shift. My girlfriend/wife won't watch movies or tv with me because I can't stay awake. I can't write my stories without going into a transient space and drooling like an ugly useless fool. I hate myself. I have a reputation for sleeping. Co-workers, family, my kids. They first thing they always have to say is 'I bet you'll be sleeping later.'

It makes me so mad when my wife talks about it and how it hurts our relationship. It makes me so mad when people at work makes jokes about the fact, I'm too fucking stupid to hold my eyes open and sit at a desk. It makes me mad I had to stop driving so much because I would fall asleep at red lights, and repetitive roads.

My girlfriend doesn't want to believe it. I spend all my time just wishing I can make it through the god damn day without someone bringing up my sleeping. But I never can. I don't even notice when I fall asleep. I feel crazy. I have dreams of being awake, doing the activity I was just doing.

I talk and see things when I'm tired and fighting off a sleep attack. It feels like a god damn devil pulling me under. I awake without realizing I was sleeping. People in my life always argue with me about if I'm sleeping or not. No matter how many times I say it's not funny there's always a joke about how 'They will fall asleep lol'.

Why was my childhood not enough, was my mom being crippled not enough. Was my bi-polar not enough. Was teen homelessness not enough. Now when I finally feel secure, when I finally have a life of my own in my 20's I have this shit. Why can't I be happy. Why do I have to have this embarrassing disorder.

I can't even use caffeine because I have 1 kidney and don't want to have kidney failure, I've already come close enough to that hit once. I hate this I just want to be normal.

[feelsickwithme]

will the practices of jesus christ fix my zd obsession?

[peetaparkker]

SOME REVIEWS ARE IN!!!!!!!!! nothing but praise for Nick & Taylor TYSM AND GOD BLESS

[obviousprocrastination]

I understand the majority of those who are interested in my work are interested in the horny ones, which is absolutely fair; I love the disgusting horny stuff. But I do hope someday that the small audience I want to grow shall be a means to distribute my true passion projects, the ones built upon years of misery that I can only pray gives others like myself some relief.

[bulletpillarsinorion]

if steve dies in season 5 im gonna do something HILARIOUS outside the duffer brothers house

[fourthwonton]

apparently starlympic has taken the feb 2nd slot... why am i not surprised?