Awful? - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
me when:
really big blog that I look up to and take a lot of inspiration from and introduced me to one of my new all time favorite series actually LOOKS AT AND RESPONDS to one of my older/cringy/disgusting fanarts of their super cool comic that I made and submitted at like 3am AND IT GETS 40 LIKES?!?!?!
THEY ALSO DROPPED SOME MAJOR LORE WHILE RESPONDING ANDEHDHAJWEBDJKHAEDBCUHDEBUIHCWBEFUHIVBHUIWEFB
IM NOT WORTHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!! ðŸ˜
I am going to set discord hq on fire for this shit
finished dead boy detectives and absolutely nothing could ever convince me charles and crystal had a single crumb of chemistry
Fucking hate it when I know I'm gonna argue w someone, so I plan out comebacks to everything only to have them say something that will keep me up at night having six different existential crisis at once
Quote from Marian Keys
listening to music in public is so hard because i feel it in my entire body and i’m supposed to pretend i’m just chilling
Unfinished???????
The monster is a beautiful thing.
Cindy has been practicing the ritual for weeks, months. Murmuring each word under her breath on the brisk November walks to and from work. Laying naked on her bed, sprawled and feline, tracing every dark curving line of its shape etched into the odd book. The book was a gift, leaning on her doorstep one evening— but from whom or for what— she had no idea.
It was a perfect nightmare, a beautiful thing of corded muscle and dark chitinous armor. It’s horns tangled and bent, every bit the artistry of Hell itself. Each pristinely detailed picture had the jaws smiling a broad, wolffish smirk etched by terrible teeth and the hands spread wide were more talons than anything remotely human.
*Pleasure and pain mingle like tangled lovers*, the words said, ringed by arcane symbols. And Cindy, special girl she was— *craved* pain. Fantastical, enduring pain.
Cindy lit matches and clutched them, or doused her own cigarettes on her arms.
Cindy dribbled candle wax down her own pale, ivory skin.
Cindy found chemicals and cleaners, liquids that dangled just on the edge of poison, and doused her more sensitive regions in it, writhing at every sparking sensation.
So when she laid eyes on the monster, when she read it’s promise of liberating agony, and her eyes scoured over every thorn curve of it: how could she deny it?
It came to her, one night, when she spoke the words in the dark and everything bristled with unholy redness.
The monster had come. It loomed tall and hateful and dripping with insatiable hunger. It’s horns dragged at the ceiling like fingernails on chalkboard, it’s thorns glared like dozens of hateful eyes with their own little fervent fires. It’s maw blazed with the signature grin and Cindy could smell the inferno within, that burgeoning furnace she lusted to fill her.
It crushed her beneath a sprawling claw and it’s skin bristled with heat, stealing the voice and the words from her throat. It’s wordless, inhuman desires override her brain and turn Cindy into something pathetic, and tiny. A toy that bent to a greater will. The claws mark skin, sign gouging crimson marks into flesh. The monster presses her to the floor beneath its grip,
Thoughts of the day
And there was only one thing I wanted to tell him: How much I was in love with him and that I wanted to be with with him no matter what. But I couldn’t . Too many times he had hurt me, had not told me what was in his heart, had dismissed me and replaced me as if I was a toy sitting in a corner waiting to be in the center of attention again. My self respect told me how much I’d be devastated if he’d disappoint me again. Was there a point in trying again? It feels like I am splitted up. On the one hand there's my brain and it’s fears were protesting and on the other I couldn’t help but wonder how deeply my feelings have ran after I’d finally let them in. A decision had to be made. But I knew I couldn’t possibly answer or trusting in the fact the fog would disappear that lurred my brain. For now there was nothing to do but wait. Only this time I was waiting for myself to become clear, not him.
