Critter Guide for Earthtongue

Cones Overwhelming

 

 

Construct Additional Grubs

 

 

You don't need shovels when you have vicious parasites!

The bugs in Earthtongue are virulent, whimsical, destructive, erratic and beautiful creatures. Their numbers can soar the plummet in seconds, and a single critter can shatter your crystalline midnight garden. Woop woop.
If there is one thing the developer succeeded on, it was successful diversity. The game is too erratic to discover the perfect balance of critters and fungus, I've found, but at least that not because of balancing. Each critter performs a role that can fit into your little garden somehow.

There are a number of classes of bug, as with the fungus: the beetles, the crawling critters, the flying bugs, the predator bugs, and the cicada, which I guess is a beetle.


Beetles
These guys are your walking mossy counterparts. They reproduce by dropping eggs (small white stalks) and will quickly multiply across natural valleys. They can't really traverse spaces, and will be locked into pits very easily. Like most bugs, they're stupid.

Rhino Beetle. Small, blue and apparently rather vicious, it'll kill other types of herbivorous bugs around it. Be careful; they'll need a predatory population to keep them in check. The beginners pinkmold/rhinobeetle mix is good for a start, but in more complex gardens the hordes of beetles can quickly eradicate hard-to-grow fungi.

Roach. Small, brown, and apparently a lot nicer than the rhino beetle. Go figure. This one wont clash with other bugs, but will eat their corpses, which is good, because corpse buildup can be a problem with large populations. They can't climb walls either so will remain indigenous to wherever they are dropped.

Cone Beetle. He looks like the Dark Magician. They wont fight, but they are symbiotic with the sundew mold. The cone beetle is the only one who can forage in the deadly red stalks of the sundew mold, and in return spread its spores for it. Otherwise, they behave much like any other critter, consuming fungal matter (not corpses), and pose a risk to fragile fungi. They'll thrive in sundew patches, where they happen to be, but you'll need the wasp to keep them in check.

Crawlers
Snails. Neon blue-ish. They aren't hindered by hills like the beetles are, and thus they wont overpopulate bordered spaces. Unfortunately the common snail is prone to wandering past life and suffocating where the mold ends, as they cannot turn around! Useless. These guys don't eat very fast.

Erratic Snail. Hornby tossed ketamine into the petridish, producing these guys. They can turn around, and will do so after a certain distance or when food is scarce; thus they artificially mimic the same homesteading effect of beetles who cannot escape biome areas. Generally you're better off with regular slugs that will maintain low numbers but are difficult to extinguish.

Grub. After eating some grub, the grub will eventually become enter a chrysalis and emerge as a Moth. Whilst grubby, they behave much like erratic slugs, consuming food quickly and wandering back and forth. Moth stage brings flight, and a much lower consumption rate. They will land, place an egg then wander off. The egg will shit out a few more grubs before disappearing. Grubs are an excellent critter, but can get out of control. They eat a lot, but they replicate astoundingly fast. However, the number of moths that flutter out of a grub colony means windcombs get the food they need without removing flys or wasps.

Spiny Slug. Probably the stupidest looking bug. The spiny slug is like a grub or snail: it crawls, remains where the food is, typically not doing much. It cannot be eaten by typical predators, however. You need spiders to maintain this guy, as they can escape webs. That or starvation. Or Hungrypods. In fact, having a few hungrypods perched atop a hill is a good way of reducing crawler numbers in general.

Flying Critters
Fly. The common garden fly will perform the ultimate task: eat the dead bugs. Where your roaches may have trouble getting to the husks due to grumpy rhino beetles, the fly can swoop in and pick off the top without hassle. They will multiply quickly, and wont bother anyone else. Their numbers will survive throughout mass extinction and into the new age, and frankly are one of your best inhabitants.

Wasp. Keeping critter populations in check is by far the hardest part of Earthtongue. Wasps are important in performing this task. They're unconstrained by terrain, and can spread across valleys easily. They will attack and consume all land critters (chances are, a grazer) then swoop off to wait until they're hungry. In this way, they're prone to hungrypods and pitchers, and windcombs, but rarely will they die if there is food. They are also effective at spreading your cordyceps.

Locust. Your flying herbivores. They have a high survival rate as they can actively look for food across large spaces, and their flight makes them impossible to catch for ground-based hunters like mantises. If left alone, locusts will multiply, although they can be left starved when the ground is overwhelmed with grubs and beetles.

Carnivores
Mantis. The green mantis is your primary mobile predator. They'll carve through beetle ranks and multiply alongside them. Be careful, however, as the balance is delicate. Too many mantises and the food will very quickly dry up. Mantises will remain in valleys like other beetles.

Red Mantis. This guy will be your "mantis policeman". Essentially, drop him into a mix of mantises and beetles when the mantis population has grown too high; they're cannibalistic and will attempt to maintain mantis populations. Whilst they will also eat rhino and cone beetles, they do serve to reduce predator numbers.

Spider. Are good for you. Other than mantises, these guys are your main population moderators. They grow slowly, and their webs protect fungal growths beneath them. All critters that land in the webs are trapped and wrapped, ready for consumption. Normally,  spiders will flank a valley, consuming the trickle of crawlers or beetles that pass them. Spiders will eat all grubs, don't reproduce much, and thus maintain a balance in your garden. Their nets will spread quickly, however, forcing populations out.

Cicada. This peculiar guy doesn't have much of a purpose. He eats fungus, can't really climb walls, and doesn't propagate very fast. He does, however, hide underground whenever food is scarce (what seems most of the time). Typically, he behaves much like a cone beetle without the added sundew perks, and extra longevity. You wont see many running around your garden.

Fungus Guide for Earthtongue

Aid for all your garden needs.

There are two types of garden dweller in Earthtongue: fungus and bugs, which are then divided into a number of categories that determine method of spread and food type. We'll start with the simple ones first: molds.

Mold
The molds will provide the majority of your visible biomass and food for your ecosystem. The simplest is the Pink Mold. It erects lots of flowers, consumes minimal water and nutrients, and grows horizontally very quickly, and is thus resilient to over-consumption.

The next is Blue Mold. This variant only erects flowers adjacent to walls, allowing to spread up. It wont get trapped in pits and shortfalls like other molds are prone to. However, it also consumes more nutrients to do so. The blue mold wont be as blanketing as the pink mold, as it doesn't spread well over long horizontal distances; it thrives over rocky terrain though.

Green Mold erects flowers randomly across its surface. This means that spore production can be wasteful (as spores landing on occupied soil will disappear). Each unit of mold decides whether or not it will produce a flower. If the mold lands atop a protrusion and rolls sterile then the mold is trapped in that direction.

Yellow Mold will only erect flowers at intervals, remaining dormant otherwise. Its spread is slower, but it presumably consumes fewer nutrients and water for its duration.

Sundew Mold is by far the prettiest and most interesting mold. A green body with bright red flowers, it secretes a substance that slowly kills whatever attempts to graze upon it. Only by consuming its youngling stalks or by perching upon another bug (presumably already dead) can it be eaten safely. This mold is safe from hungry grazers and will likely survive locust or beetle overproduction because of its defences. The cone beetle also has a unique defence to the mold, and can graze within it free of harm; it has even go so far as to aid in the spreading of sundew spores by carrying them inside themselves outside of the colony. Thus the sundew will often grow patchily in distant areas across your garden.

Pink Mold; your best friend

Pods
The pods are stolid, more compact fungi than the molds. They often express fruiting bodies that spread spores in a dependant fashion. They are slower growing than molds, and significantly more vulnerable to consumption. They require less minerals typically than molds however, and can spread over much greater distances than molds.

Brown Pods are smallish and brown, with a flat base and short roots. After a time, the brown pod swells into a ball and ejects spores outwards, reducing down to its base in cyclic fashion. Compared to the red pod, this is a fairly slow method of reproduction.

The Red Pod is a tall, ugly fungus. It continuously ejects spores above it, forming a red cloud that spreads the pods across vast distances given time. The red pod can be a nuisance because of this; it will compete for space with your molds and generally clutters the place with its spores, choking out more fragile plants. It is also remarkably hard to eradicate with meteor showers.

The Fruit Pod is a peculiar blue plant, with short purple tendrils. Unlike its more mundane cousins, it doesn't ejaculate spores with wild abandon. Instead, it awaits some critter to come consume its seeds, which then survive the digestive passage and emerge elsewhere, to sprout a new pod. Thus, your fruit pods will be few and far between, and growing them can be a challenge. But they are very pretty.

The last pod is the Hungry Pod. A remarkably ugly plant, its open purple crocodile mouth consumes creeps as they walk across it. After a short period of rumination, it opens its jaws to eject some pod spores in a small area around it, and awaits its next dinner. Like the brown pod, its procreative method is slow, leaving them prone to being suffocated by the spores of more aggressive plants such as the red pod or molds. The Hungry Pod requires live food, and so is best placed near existing growth, meaning growing the pod successfully can be difficult.

This shit will take over

Mushrooms
They come in two varieties: blue and pink. Mushrooms generally looks quite cool, at least more so than pods.

The Blue Mushroom has the ability to grow to large heights, and can be quite impressive, although it must be left in peace to achieve anything. They grow in colonies, with a root system that can very quickly expand underground to reach deep water and nutrient. The roots of the blue mushroom are omnidirectional, unlike its pink cousin. They drop spores adjacent to each other, and often grow quickly, so large mushroom towns can sprout unchecked in the isolated parts of your garden. They don't fare too well in crowded areas however.

The Pink Mushroom is much the same as the blue, but instead of tall reaching caps, it will grow to a short colony height, with all further caps working towards the same. Thus spores that fall into crevasses will emerge at least to the surface, sometimes to match the height of the closest stalk. The roots will grow deep, but only vertical, unlike the blue mushroom. Both mushroom types are vulnerable to mineral shortages and grazing.

On a big enough hill, Blue Mushrooms can get mad big

Pink Mushrooms only grow down!

Stalks
Technically, mushrooms come under stalks, but hey ho. Here we have the pitcher stalk and the wind comb.

Pitcher Stalks looks like little red buttons that sprout a short distance above the soil. They are very fragile to grazers, but there is much fun to be had plucking flying bugs out from the night sky and dropping them into the little red mouths. It seems that they can only consume flying bugs; they also consume nutrients as it falls into their mouths. So if left on their own, the pitcher plant can survive. Like the Hungry Pod, they only eject seeds after a meal.

The Wind Comb is a tall, shaky fungus that at first took some time to figure out. It grows very quickly vertically, but can remain dormant in the soil for some time. Its short roots means it cannot grow on the nutrients of the ground alone, and so requires critters to die upon it to nourish it. Its stalk can reach a height greater than that of any other fungus, but will be quickly reduced by grazers. To reproduce, it needs a flying critter to get stuck in its entrapping stalk (hence the enormous height); it's death throes release spores adjacent.

Cordyceps
Whilst its actually a mold, the Cordyceps is very different to its colour-coded cousins. The "white mold" is modelled after its real-world counterpart. It grows small, whitish stalks, in a single tile of soil. When a grazer comes along to eat it, it remains within the grazer, until hopefully a carnivorous bug consumes the grazer (such as a mantis). When the predator dies, the cordyceps spores are released into the soil directly beneath, to continue the cycle.
Whilst its hard to properly monitor, when the cordyceps successfully emerges from its host, it will blanket the horizontal landmass, ready for consumption in a visible manner.

Bottom left, a cloud of death

Above are all the fungus' in Earthtongue. They can be beautiful, and difficult, and very fragile, and sometimes terrifyingly aggressive, but understanding how they work is key to growing your garden. A mixture of molds is necessary (not to mention much more exciting than just pink) to supporting every type of bug.

Tales From Yore - Fragment #1

by

Arcanister Thule 

Obsidian College 

By order of Grand Dean Ermillia

 
In the fifth year of the First Era, before the abolition of wont and the interring of desire; the Great Realms were gripped like swine in a vice, tight beneath the burden of unwelcome conflict. The wonders of people and edifices they had made were soot-stained and rent by lightning. The brotherhood of civilisation was unravelling and all was in indubitable chaos. Beasts spewn forth from frothy demon portals met savage horrors that once cave-dwelt, bleating a harmonious cry of slaughter all mortal life.

Indeed, it was a dark for the civilised forces of the Great Realms. Kings of every race rallied forth soldiers from city and plane, mountain and forest, thus armed under their great halls by mighty sorceress forges. Arcane-blooded conjurer's summoned their fractured horrors from beyond the black cosmos to counter the surging host of Hell; blue-white golems crafted from some ether stone and clad in flickering runes, held together by their magic, clashed arms with screaming furies and scaley footmen, and the sky turned purple from the haze of strewn power; apparitions drawn from the ley-fabric of existence had their gaze commanded in defence of the Great Realms, to make battle with the hungry beasts from beyond the cosmos. The Kings set forth, their now mighty cavalcades of horse-borne men and women, slave-beast and eldritch bound summons, sorcerers and enslaved dragons, mindless warrior elementals shackled by their whim, all marched now across ruined lands towards their fate. Over salt-crusted plains, once lakes and sea, through splintered woods now smoldering thornfields as far as the magical eye might see. Drawn up now ‘neath the frozen sun of the North they stood, upon the spindled Roof of the World, where the ice rose and met the sky. Their breath was a cloud and their spirit a raging bull beneath the tormenting spear. The mighty host touched either end of the world, ready to plant it’s shield before the rage of hell, in defence of their land.

And like a beacon upon the clifftops, the pulsing star that guides the millions towards home, before the eyes of every mortal being of the Great Realm, stood the hero. The chosen Warden, the Champion of the Sacred, the Final Hope of All: gleaming, golden. He was called Arthur.

He stood tall above all others; a man carved from nought but stone and gold and bedrock fused with magic, with the breath of dragons in his chest and the blood of lions coursing through his veins. Every facet of his marble face was like the risen cresting of iron upon the suit of armor, the bristling horns of the great fire-breathing serpent; the steely upper lip was necessarily adorned with a mustache more solid than perhaps the unquaking stalwart courage that resided within him. Arthur was more was the stone edifice mortal resistance. His name was legend and his deeds were the archetype for all others. He was the knight of yore and all spoke his name alongside the vastness of nature and the arcane.

Hoisting his blade above him, he spoke, words resounding more earthquake than voice, to all before him, and beyond.

“Tremble, ye host of Hell. The hour-hand has struck the End for all, and I am Time’s deliverance. Prepare, unwanted, to welcome the dust.”

Their untempered roar of valor split the skies and soon the hosts clashed beneath the glare of the sun. With Arthur at their fore, the mortal Will of man crushed all resistance led by those furious articles of Hell’s depth, seeking soon to erase their despoiling presence from their land. But not without a price. The brilliance of arcane expulsion, hellbourne magics and the effervescent spilling of souls warped the fabric of reality around them. Demons cut in twain ejected their energies into the sky. The scintillation above them twisted purple and blue and red. Great threads of lightning split the withering dusk and a spectral dust began to settle on each belligerent. Hues were sunken and the clouds whirled above them. The earth trembled. The host of Hell sunk into the earth, their blood river running towards the glittering horizon. The ranks of man lay spent, arms low, brows high. the Warden Arthur stood high upon an outcropping of stone, observing before him the irreversible buckling of the cosmos before him, as his mortal fellowship gathered beneath him. A ragged cry had taken hold of their throats, but no joy came to that lonely vigilant upon his obelisk of stone.

Mounting the formation, behind Arthur now stood the Sorcerer-King of Mythra. The old humans wizened face was distorted and the air around him hummed. “Warden, hear me, there is little time. I feel the world tearing beneath me. Hell has been sealed, but our own cosmos is now threatened. The powers beneath the world, it hungers, it can smell the magic. Such forces have been unleashed on this day, the souls of so many have been set free. They seek to consume it. You…” The old man shrieked and bent forward, a flame alight upon his brow, nay, his soul; the very reality around him was consumed by a devouring azure haze. Arthur stood his ground before that eldritch fire, as the Sorcerer-King became less than ash. The old man's cries subsided, but others took its place. The Warden turned, and before him, the world, his world, the Great Realms, was on fire. Deep into the horizon, blue flame was into the heavens. Fissures split the dark earth beneath the crumbling remains of the mortal army, and men fell into the swallowing deeps.

A spell formed upon Arthur’s lips. Words of magic once buried deep beneath the weight of years, an incantation privy only to his athenian mind. Raw thundering power swirled around him. The skies were boiling with unleashed magics and mighty geysers ejected swirling matter into the firmaments. With his final word spoken low, the sun exploded from his breast and all was consumed and turned dark.

Gareth Skettlebones: I Prefer Ice Fishing

“Welcome, friends, to this years annual Ice Fishing Exposition! Firstly, I’d like to thank the Ice Fishers of Ingratia (IFI) managing committee for allowing this amazing event to happen each year, and to Mrs Vermillia for her generous donations to the community. You guys are the best. Thank you, again.”

The chairperson, a Mr Zorbag the Forest Troll, sat down on a three legged stool. Besides him, a large avian, his adopted son, Thomas, squawked loudly and flapped it’s large yellow wings. Zorbag fished out worms from his jacket pocket and somewhat lovingly placed the squirming buggers in Thomas’ clapping beak.

The turnout for this years Expo was moderate. Numbers had been declining since the events heyday, but as times progress, as does interest in the age-old art of ice fishing; seemingly, in this case, for in the direction of disinterest. Gareth had been attending for a while now, after reading about the practice and event in an old gazette left as funeral gift, entitled “Sportsman of the World”. Ice fishing is an old practice, with it’s roots in the people who once dwelled upon the Great Lakes in the mists of prehistory; nowadays, of course, not many people are stupid enough to live on frozen water. To subsist, these ancient peoples would fish the waters beneath them using mixed ingenuity and sheer bravery.

The art involved carving a triangular hole into the crust of ice, then, after tying a rope to oneself, diving in and using a specialised, cone-shaped axe to hunt the fish. The fish, in this case, dwelt upon the bottom of the lakes, where the light barely reached. On his first attendance, he had attempted to swim to the bottom, but the lightness of his frame and buoyancy of his bones had hindered him, keeping him afloat. Alas, Gareth went more for the interesting people, and, more importantly, so he can say that he’s a veteran ice fisher; (“ice fisher? how interesting! you’re so cool, Gareth!”, “I am, aren’t I? Hah! And that’s not all; let me tell you about the bookbinding course I took last summer…”). Yes, Gareth truly is an insufferable hipster.



“Ho! That’s a big one!” The sun was high, and glittering light reflected up in blades across the plains of ice. A row of tents had been set up beneath parasols, opening upon woven carpets and small tables, each carrying a number of light drinks and snacks, including ginger ale, sausage rolls and, at the chairpersons behest, octopus-shaped cocktail sausages, lightly cooked, with peach chutney dip. Gareth was engaged in conversation with one of the newest arrivals, who sat besides a large walrus named Gumbo, who had just exclaimed very loudly in admiration of a rather large catch.

“I am not sure how you can condone their behaviour, Gareth. They’re just such icky people, they definitely do not deserve to be able to stand up like that and just say what they like without repercussion. It’s the duty of the powerful to be respectful of their power and not abuse it, and to maintain a degree of safety for all those who are without such power. By allowing those individuals and polyviduals the platform to spew their hateful rhetoric, you cannot predict how their words might affect those listening, be they active or passive, audience or passerby.”

“That may very well be the case, dear Marceline. But surely you must agree, being an independent, educated Dean of Neutral Studies, an academic to the fullest, surely you see that to shelter such individuals from disagreeable rhetoric instead leads to an insular mental state? If the lion is too afraid to eat the seal because it is afraid of breaking a tooth upon its hard shell, then how will it ever learn to hunt? If your listeners, passerby or no, never encounter words that might offend them, how will they ever understand offence?” replied Gareth, cocking his skull to the side, rubbing his bleached ulna. “Why, Gareth, do they need to know offence? Why understand a barbaric feature that society would best do without?”

“Surely you don’t mean that? Gosh, imagine the world! What would I say to all the sheeple who consume nothing but popular music and have their tea with cow’s milk! How would I ever inform them of the negative health consequences of drinking the milk of another creature, of the harmful bacteria and the hormone disbalance, if I must first consider how the sod would be offended at my slating of their drink of choice! Everyone may have the right to choice, but I must surely be free to tell one their choice is, frankly, a bit shite!”

The conversation was getting heated. Marceline the frilled lizard was shuffling in her seat, and Gumpo was eyeing Gareth, his lip twitching and his fins curling around his teacup. No doubt cow’s milk resided in that brew, but it was too late for Gareth.

“And quite so, Marceline, what if it was to transpire that you decided to take offence to something which I had quite deliberately posed to mean quite the opposite! Say, a warm-hearted compliment directed at your frills. Would I therefore be in the wrong for my good intentions? Nay, I say! Nay!”

“How dare you!” she trilled. “Just because I have frills does not make me any less of a citizen of this realm! You bigoted scum! I knew this was a bad idea….I’m getting...I...I...I’M TRIGGERED.” She shrieked loudly at Gareth and flared her frilly plume of lizard-skin, shaking it wildly at Gareth, repeating how she was now TRIGGERED. Gumbo, stepped up and started shouting furiously at Gareth, and the chairperson, Mr Zorbag the Forest Troll, came bounding over, Thomas squawking close at his heels but stumbling over its rather stupid feet.

“What’s happening here? Miss Macaroon, please calm down. Please, we have a nice safe trigger-zone in the far tent; there’s cookies and cow’s milk and lots of books on social oppression for you to read. Mrs Yiff, please take her to the TRIGGER-tent.” Zorbag turned to Gumbo, who was clouting the air with his fins and yelling at Gareth. “Ok Gumbo, that’s enough. You can go with her too.”

Zorbag was standing pensively in front of Gareth. Many of the other Expo attendants were glaring at him, or turning away. Zorbag’s hunched frame was taut, resigned beneath his robes; socked feet peered from beneath the hem and strap of sandal. “Gareth…” he hummed. But Gareth jerked, standing, towering over Zorbag. His white skull blocked the sun above his head; his eyes stared down upon the troll, enveloping him with their gaze, absorbing him. The ice was thrumming beneath them, the brightness of the sky glared from beyond his head. All stood still. Gareth leaned in closer.

“Hey Marcey you stupid skink, frilled lizards suck and you’re not very good at ice-fishing!”

Gareth strode from the Ice Fishing Expo, the sun framing him, painting the tall black figure with a brilliant glow. The echoed screams of triggered individuals cascaded like fire around him, into the sky and through the ice. He strode away, never looking back.

Gareth might be an insufferable hipster, but Gareth fucking hates stupid, self-entitled frilled lizards.

Gareth Skettlebones: What A Long, Strange Life It's Been

The rain was dancing outside. It looked to Gareth as if it were having fun, cascading in sparkling waves, down from an illuminated white sky. Ripples in puddles showed their steps and the patter upon wood their laughter. Tight rays of light struck some and iridescence flashed from behind it’s vibrant body. Gareth could hear the piano-piece of rainfall beyond his window, and it soothed him. He enjoyed looking out across the graves on a rainy day, when the sky is overcast yet lit from behind by a white sun. Rivulets obscured the image and made it impressionist, embellishing his windows with depth. He smiled, he sighed.

Within his mushroom, he waited for the rain to cease. Seated besides the window, where the light sat beside him, he read a book and drank tea. It was on days such as these that tucked into the pantry biscuits, where he lit a fire and put his feet up. His bony toes were exposed, and he wiggled them with a smile.

A small animal lay by his fire, breathing in slow rhythmic fashion, sometimes stopping for a moment before jerking and resuming. It wheezed and grunted, ever so softly, to the music of the rain, and the crackling of the hearth. This was Gareth’s home, his domicile-within-the-mushroom. He had spent many winters besides his porthole window, immersed in his bucolia.

Upon one of his bookshelves, across the room from where he sat, was a picture within a mahogany frame. It was on the highest shelf, scraping the roof, where he kept a stack of old pamphlets from his youth, a small box of fishing gear and a some mystery novels. Dust was thick and the webs where tangled. From where the oasis of distorted rain-lit light danced, from where he rocked gently in his chair, from where his eyes rested upon the pages of his yellowed book, he could see the picture. He could see the colours beneath the winter coat of settled dust. He could see it but he dared not look. Sometimes he felt that he had succeeded, and he couldn’t see it, that he needn’t reach up there and lay it flat any longer. But it was always there, always reminding him. When the rain fell and the gray-blue sky illuminated his rooms with its melancholic glow and the ivory keys played in his ears, that was when he saw nothing but the ache of the picture.

08/06/2015

why are we obsessed with nostalgia

 we’re not
 I mean, I’m not. what

i don’t know, I sometimes get really sad. I’ll go on youtube and look at videos and feel like that time was sooo much better than it is now

  lol
  isn’t that just called growing up

Do you think so?

  yeah, like, you always look backk fondly on your childhood or something.

I guesss
but then why do I get so sad then
I feel like those times are gone forever. I’ll probs then spend an evening trying to “reintegrate” myself back into them or something

  god you’re so bleeding heart

fuck you

  listen lol. it’s cuz back then everything was “new” and “wooo exciting” because you were like 12 or  something.

I guess. It just sucks

 well there we go
 plenty of things just suck
 being a child prostitute “just sucks”
 i think in the grand scheme of things
 being a lil sad because you remeber when Crazy fucking Frog came out and when you rewatched it on youtube it was balls but you still liked it
 and read all the awful youtube comments
 it’s really not that bad.

i guess

Rev 22:20

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. The walls folded into red and pooled around the feet and the sky turned black. The hands shook and bled, gripping a branch of thorns. Feathers crept across the smouldering skin as she saddled the body. The mouth cries and she leans in, the devil glaring from behind her eyes, behind two moons, behind two empty sinful suns, and the tongue screamed.

Screaming woke him, fists stirred him, scratching aroused him. His sister was hissing and spitting at him, the words of the Lord in her mouth like hot oil. She clawed between his legs and struck his face. Behind her stood his mother in her nightgown clutching her book and crossing her hands and his father’s car thundered, below his window. The maid was blushing and her face was a throbbing heartbeat, pumping hot wine through his veins.

She had witnessed his sins and called his sister. His arousal was plain beneath the discarded covers and red lines were now painted across his thighs. She grabbed his erection and twisted it until he screamed.

He saw the devil staring at him on the ceiling. It was bloody and its grin was terrible.

The doctor’s knife whispered in his ear; it begged him to scream, cajoled him into voicing his pleasure. Red hands gripped it tightly against his member and the devil’s face was pressed against his own, breathing deeply. It smelt of roses and sweat. It crushed his face, pressing its fat white eye against his own eyes, engulfing his sight.

The maid’s feathers were black and red like the feathers of a raven carelessly covered with wine. It looked higher and higher for dust. His blood flowed as she exposed her indecency beneath her skirts, and soon the wine was spilt all over his legs and tasted like blood. The maid’s face was passive and her teeth were sharp and her were red and the empty moonlit sun was screaming at him.

The skin was splitting and the bones were bending. The sky was black and red and a black figure hung above the flesh and bones, nailed to its ceiling. The eyes began to offer up tears towards it and the devil was standing by its side, holding the crumpled hand
They were all staring at him. Everyone was staring openly at his sins.