Check Out My Sculpture

THERE IS DUST EVERYWHERE AND I AM DYING

I honestly love vacuuming because like noice canceling headphones blasting music and nice repetitive motions? Yes. The best combination to torment the little people in my brain.

You are a microcelebrity. One of your posts made it to yt shorts

i love deluding myself into thinking im a niche microcelebrity. i have like. 20 followers

Weird (creepypasta only) headcanon but I feel like the mansion changes based on who lives there and their needs. It’s ever growing, changing, and it never quite looks the same. I feel like the mansion would kind of be an extension of slenderman in a way, and maybe even a living entity itself. Of course I’m draw to a kind of ‘House of Leaves’ like concept, but I also feel like it might be reminiscent of the house in What Remains of Edith Finch, or even the Winchester House. Abandoned rooms of long forgotten proxies locked away, their history only to be left to the imagination. Hallways that seem to go on forever, progressively getting more decrepit and dated as you head deeper into the bowels of the house. The victorian architecture remains characteristic throughout the building, but certain areas seem to change in style slightly. The stain on the woodwork suddenly changes tint. The ornate details on the mantle and plethora of twisting staircases seem to change artists every so often. And every carving, painting, or sculpture of a person seems ever so slightly off. If you were to bring a piece of art with the portrait of a loved one, their face would morph so slowly over time to resemble someone else that you may never even notice. The man in that photo isn’t your friend, he never even existed in the first place.

Oh nooo I just can't stop myseeelff 👁️🫦👁️

I have a friend who only has insta so now I gotta find all my art and post it there

Wish me luck yall

Chai tea bag + lil but of brown sugar + apple cider packet + 16 oz. mug of hot but not quite boiling water

it will not Fix You but like. maybe. maybe.

Death was a sickening feeling, it was something no one warned you about.

Alex did suppose that made sense, no one who’d experienced it was around to warn about the experience.

Or maybe it simply felt so awful because it was slow.

Tim had certainly got him, he won. Bring a knife to a gunfight, he wasn’t supposed to win, but he’d gotten too close and- before he knew it he couldn’t breathe, gasping and wheezing like a breached whale.

The knife was gone and there was nothing but his own hand, clutching at the side of his throat, trying to hold the blood in. He could feel it pour between his fingers, like a twisted hourglass counting down the seconds until he was done for, he could feel the wheeze of air escaping the closest exit rather than inflate his lungs.

He was bleeding out, suffocating, and Tim was escaping.

He’d failed, again.

His body struggled, trying to wheeze in breath as his vision danced, speckled and darkened. He could barely feel the pain, and his hearing was clouded. He may have heard a clatter, but he couldn’t focus on it.

There was static. The comforting hum of T.V. static. Once his enemy, his fear, now brought him comfort. It was the only constant in his life, that static, that ringing, and Alex hoped it’d get him, get Tim, seek revenge.

Some say before you die your greatest memories bubbled to the surface to ease your transition into nothingness.

Rage bubbled in his weakened gut, and with one hand he’d tried to push himself up, to sit, a scream tearing from his throat, his hand falling from his neck. He was going to get them, he had to, this wasn’t fair. They’d caused this, he was going to end it.

Black seeped further and further into his vision, spots, tendrils coiling around as he heard less and less, only able to feel the empty in his lungs and the hot mess of blood across his body.

There was a white face before there was nothing.

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

Weep weep

💪

OMG LOOK AT IT