Sometimes When I See A Clown/jester Character I Can't But Feel Like A Bird.

it fucking sucks being a disabled person who can't work and having to see these fuckass posts where someone's like "ahaha jobless people have no life and that's why everyone shitty online has No Job" and everyone and their mother reblogs it joyfully onto my dash for me to see. yes unemployed and unemployable people are truly without exception dogshit people with no hobbies and no redeeming qualities. you're so right. anyway if you'll excuse me i have to start my shift at the I'll Never Be Employed Because Of Permanent Disability And I Love Knowing How You Really See Me store

Remus in a skirt in this pose

A while ago it was a trend to draw this screencap of Tamaki. I wanted to join in 🤧💖

I finally touched my busted computer again, it has been not working as well and part of the touch screen is broken. I love paint tool Sai 2 but using my computer is a hassle 😭. Where can I petition to get an app for Sai.

New blog specifically for writing my own posts so I can reblog more on this account without worrying I won't be able to find my own posts @crystal-cryptic-writes

Yandere Eldritch being who has taken over your entire town.

TW. Dead Dove Do Not Eat Horror, confinement, isolation, death, Stockholm syndrome, yandere

You didn’t know when it had happened, but there was something very obviously wrong with your town.

It was the little things like the warped street signs, the inconsistent cracks in the sidewalk, and the way that the uncanny faces of people seemed to stare at you. It didn’t use to be like this, but you found yourself cautious about your new reality on the daily. You did try to leave and call for help, but there was some mysterious force cutting off your network. And when you did try to pack all your bags and high tail it out of there, you would end up just looping straight back on your street no matter what direction you drove in.

So now you made do with the fact that nothing was normal.

You sometimes wonder why whatever has infected all the people decided to leave you alone. Because there was no way it wasn’t a conscious decision. Your favorite flowers would start sprouting out of concrete walls and glass despite the fact it would be the middle of winter one day and a scorching summer the next. Not to mention, those flowers didn’t even grow here to begin with. It was a gesture. If it was meant to tempt or be kind, you weren’t sure. 

The town functioned like nothing was out of the ordinary, though. Well, at least it tried to puppet the barely real bodies of your community to do things they would daily. The grocery store always had food and figures milling about, and even though none of the products ever tasted quite right or had words in a real language, you could tell “it” was trying to keep things running for you.

You’d once tried to hide away in your house, thinking that it was somehow protecting you from whatever was out there. But all you did was make it angry. Constant thunderstorms that shook the ground, and hail that pounded on your roof and walls. When you continued to stay inside, that’s when it made things clear: it was letting you stay as you were. The house shifted dramatically, doors disappearing and walls bending in front of your eyes. 

Come outside. Stop trying to resist.

Privacy was just another one of those far-out concepts now.

The thing, as you so liked to call it, had been more affectionate lately. You didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it had started morphing all the “people” into more attractive versions of themselves. Or at least, what it thought of as attractive to humans. Their faces were more tangible now and less blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but they were uncanny in a new way. Skin too smooth, too perfect in so many different ways. Symmetrical, full lips, pleasant expressions, soothing voices: all things that on paper would lure someone in, but it had alarm bells ringing in your head nearly all the time now.

“I don’t like this, you know,” You said one day as you sat in the diner. The room was stretched out wider than what it looked like on the outside, and the waitress had an unnaturally wide smile. Before you was a plate of… something. Your guess was pancakes.

“What do you mean?” Several voices asked at once. It came from all around, and the waitress’s mouth barely moved to match the words. 

“ I like you better when you aren’t trying so hard to be something you weren’t.”

There was a pause, and the building slowly unraveled into a jumbled mess of things that you could barely comprehend, the other patrons' faces and bodies melting away into linoleum floors. 

“You’re not human. You don’t have to be. I think I’d prefer that honestly,” You shrugged and poked at your food. From the corner of your eyes, a figure seemed to emerge from the mess of what used to be your favorite restaurant. It was a writhing mass of dark tendrils, reaching for anything nearby. You’re breath caught in your throat.

“Do you really mean that?”

The voice spoke, but there wasn’t any face to accompany it. It reverberated in the base of your spine, racing through your nerves like lightning. Your breath hitched, and you finally gathered enough courage to look at it. It was a mess of things you couldn’t quite make out, but it was almost comforting. 

“This is the first time I’ve actually seen you,” you admitted, a small laugh of disbelief caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time it had actually listened to you. 

The being twitched, pulsing as it slid over towards where you were sitting at the booth. It was the only thing that had stayed intact. For something so expressionless, you’d dare to say it seemed shy. 

From the inky mass, one tendril reached out for you, the air around it crackling. You stayed in place as it slid over your hand, and you felt the wonder and relief.

“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to force you, but I’m so alone… you’re the only one who doesn’t disappear when I’m near.”

You blinked as the mass filled the cracks between your hands, folding into the lines of your palms as if trying to memorize you. If it had a hand, you’d be holding it. If it had lips, yours would be slotting against them. If it had a heart, you were certain they’d be painted a similar shade of loneliness. 

You stood up and slowly approached it, holding out your arms as you leaned in, wrapped your arms around its slowly forming figure, and nodded in silence. 

reblog to give your headache to elon musk instead

There's just something about the idea of a conniving, two-faced, yandere guy that scratches an itch in my brain. Especially if he's a bit younger and face of an angel.

Just imagine it. Him being your junior in school/work, looking up to you because you guys are in the same club/team. While you are stuck supervising him because he can't seem to do anything right. He's such a crybaby too, always asking you for help with those watery eyes because he's scared you would get mad. But it's so hard to get mad with that face of his, pretty privileged is a bitch and you aren't immune to the affect of cuteness have on you. And, this little crybaby knows full well on how to use his appearance to his advantage, like a fox pretending to be an innocent rabbit. Luring you to him under a false sense of safety, making you think of him as some sort of meek, harmless prey. Only to bounce at you when it's too late to escape. And by the time you realize what happened, he already had you trapped under him, and he isn't the meek, crybaby you think he is.

And ughhhh, I need more younger sly guy Yandere x older woman reader scenarios. I might have to write some myself.

A lovely Comission from the wonderful Webratjen !! Never thought I'd be comissioned to draw my pookie, Bloodied gross remus below!!

"V. What is that."

"Hm?" Your partner grumbles, eyes never leaving their monitor as you point repeatedly at their bed. "What's what?"

"That. That right there on your bed. On your pillow."

The rapid clicking of their keyboard falls silent. "Oh. The plushie? Yeah, I bought that for you. No big deal.

"No big- Dude. That isn't just a plushie. It's the plushie. The one I told you I had since I was a baby. The one I lost when I was a kid. The one I literally showed you five days ago and haven't been able to find for years that wasn't an arm and a leg.

"Well... That's what having filthy rich parents gets you. I expect mandatory cuddles whenever, and wherever I want along with zero questions about white stains on your clothing for at least a month. You're welcome."