mind crayon

Reminder: Kakashi loves you.

A. 17 is too old to binge eat Oreos.

B. if in the weeks following hot night he ate the sadness from your mouth, your aura turned lavender, your eyes went moony: you’re not in love. say it with me now. sing it like a gospel song, build a church with chicken bones.

C. you we’re alive before he kissed you. you are such goddamn sap it’s pathetic to share a skin with you.

D. don’t think anything has changed just because you feel wanted. you still watch horror movies when you’re sad until you lose your empathetic capacity and stop recoiling when the knife shoves and twists, when you hear bones snap, until bodies look like toys that just have but red stuffing inside and you’re so numb you think you’re in a video game.

E. you’re still not afraid of running with scissors.

F. you still get wet between the legs at the thought of stealing concealer from rite aid.

G. you are still fucked. his tongue will freeze against that heart of yours. don’t kick yourself.

H. you can kill yourself if you want, though, lol.

I. 17 is too old to repeat funny things you hear in movies and slip them into loud group conversations you feel left out of and pretend you made them up.

J. he has an ex, and he told you about the long entangled pain of her hands (probably more feminine than yours) around his heart for 3 years. how did it hurt the most when she finally stopped clogging his arteries with her acrylics? how did it hurt more when she finally let go? she wrote him a poem about the break up, you smirk, and look evil, and try not to laugh, cause in your mind it’s drawn in crayon and rhymes “lies” with “eyes”, and she spent nearly two hours on it, and posted it to her private instagram without context. fucking poem, yeah right. fucking writer, yeah right. you could write a love song about garlic bread and it would make him break down on his knees.

K. in regards to the aforementioned, you are fundamentally mean. you can take pills for that. or: you should take a blade to where that shit lives. you should carve it out and use the hole to hide a flask so you can swallow something to burn the venom when it starts to bubble up again. and it will bubble up again.

L. simultaneously you are kinder than you think. she makes him believe he’s lonely, and so he stays and loves her. you make him believe he’s lovely, and so he leaves and loves himself.

M. you hate your body because you think it’s too strong. you force yourself to eat pounds of sugar so the hem of your skirt will glitter like your eyes don’t, and boys will pay attention to that and not your droopy face. your stomach regurgitates. armor doesn’t work when you wage war with yourself.

N. keep your hair in braids. keep your entitlement on a yoke.

O. you’re old enough now to stop pulling out memories from the back of the fridge at the bottom of the leftovers and force them down my gullet even when their 8 years old and buzzing with mold.

P. you have stopped pretending you don’t have a gag reflex just to get rotten things into you, just to get a boy to swear you’re an angel. (the pretty white birthday cake. with the pink frosting between the layers, with the red frosting “a” in “Happy” smushed into the plastic tupperware like all splat! like red dead bird guts on the window, and everybody stops and turns their heads and is quiet for a in a minute long funeral made of wrinkled skin and blue eyeshadow as high as the eyebrow).

Q. I’m not living off of dead things anymore.

R. yes this is in first person now, I can feel the blood coming back to my toes, pins and needles has never felt this good, I think i love this body,

S. i think I don’t need a reason to live anymore, because I had to die so many times before I could cut this nostalgia out of me, this pregnancy of memories, and eat it raw again like placenta, that blood around my mouth is my search warrant for purpose.

T. And everybody has told me the meaning of life, everybody has told me I look beautiful in white, but I have never agreed with either. But I’m so beautiful in red, when I’m covered in blood. I go all splat, my neck snaps like in the horror movies i have gotten so good at being numb to, and everyone stops and stares.

U. it is a celebration not a funeral, or a celebration of a funeral.

V. but I can use this, this wrench was made for broken things, this fork and knife was not made for surgery, don’t treat yourself like a slab of meat

W. yeah you are not a prodigy in any right, yeah you can be such a bitch sometimes, yeah you have not had real friends in about 2 years, yeah he doesn’t want to fuck you, so don’t be happy. don’t be happy, that way you can cut yourself with this poem and heal yourself with it by the end. get your music on, lock your razor with your pressed flowers, this roadtrip is gonna take sometime, I need to know you’ll stay alive for the whole thing.

X. this is not a happy poem. i don’t know how to write a happy poem yet. this is a poem with both of my eyes open, not written at 3 am. i will write a happy poem when I’m fucking happy, so for now i feed this sad poem the buttercups and raw meat that clot your veins to grow it big and strong

Y. and this monster will come alive to pull me to the light someday.

Z. 17 is before the storm, as traditional as it may be. So run after the ice cream truck, eat all the Oreos you want, buy them with your pocket change, scrape them from the bottom of a glass of milk.

17 is too young to feel so hurt. 17 is to young to hold back like some boring cubicle crony. 17 is too young for all these rules.

—  hey, happy birthday!! the big one seven lmao, what do u want? I mean like if u could have anything, what would u want?

memeingentity  asked:

can you draw davepetajohn or nepjohn please? (im not sure if my first ask went through so im asking again, but if it did ignore this one.)

So I know this ask has been laying in my inbox for way too long but I just didn’t know how to go about it. I like all the suggested characters but let’s be honest, I’m too lazy to draw three individual people so um… davepetasprite it is. I hope you don’t mind ^^“

Error and Ink + Steven Universe :)

Ok so here me out guys, I don’t usually do this because I don’t like comparing these two Fandoms together but it got me thinking. Hopefully you have seen Mindful education, if not you should.


Imagine the pressure of protecting the multiverse became too much for Ink, and eventually every little thing was getting to him. Ink has no one to go to, he hasn’t got his own AU. He’s all alone.


Who does he go to? Error.


Ink hopes – no, he prays – that the one being without his own AU would understand. So when Ink shows up Error is obviously uncomfortable. Not just because its Ink, because Ink is crying too. He tells Error what’s wrong and surprisingly, Error Listens. Error listens because he understands. Error has gone through this himself but without anyone to talk to. Error has had the pressure of his goal to destroy get the best of him. The voices, everything it had gotten to him too.


He listens to Ink; He comforts in the best way he can. He usually wouldn’t but Error, as I said, understands. Ink is genuinely shocked by this he doesn’t expect Error to allow him to explain, he doesn’t expect Error to listen at all.


So he explains, Ink tells him about how much pressure he feels. He tells Error how everything is getting to him. He even says that trying to stop Error from destroying is hurting him too.


Ink is even more surprised when Error offers to stop destroying for a short amount of time. Even though Error believes that’s his entire purpose, he still offers to stop long enough for Ink to get himself back together. Error tries the best he can to help Ink. It’s difficult because he can’t hug him and such. But Ink is happy at the fact that he tries.


After a while Ink leaves and these two never talk about this again; however, every time Error or Ink feel like it’s getting to them they both agreed to help each other in any way they can.


I don’t believe Error or Ink would act like this because I am not Crayon Queen or Comyet, I did not design them. It’s just a simple head cannon I made up in the shower. Thank you for reading.

Pretty Bird

Summary: just little moments in the life of Sam and Dean’s little sister and the nickname that Dean has for her. Based on the song “Pretty Bird” by Crooked Still.

Warnings: character death, angst, brotherly fluff, canon-level violence

A/N: I heard this song from the new Chris Evan’s movie Gifted and fell in love with it. I kept thinking it’d make a good fic so here is my take on it. I recommend listening to the song first before reading it - it’s really pretty.  It’s my first song fic and my second fic in general so feedback is welcomed and appreciated. I tagged some of the writers I follow for their feedback. Hope that’s ok! 

Lyrics are in italics and not mine, obviously. Gif from google.

Fly away little pretty bird
Fly, fly away
Fly away little pretty bird
And pretty you’ll always stay

You sat high up in your tree and smiled up at the sun as it beamed down to you. “Dean!” you yelled down, “Come up here with me!” You looked down at your older brother as he smiled up unapprovingly. 

“Oh come on down, Y/N,” he groaned from the base of the tree, “Dad’s going to be back any minute now and we’ve got to be ready to go. Besides – sitting in trees is for the birds.” Birds and seven-year-old girls, he thought to himself. Definitely not fourteen-year-old boys.

“Well I’m a bird, too,” you say with certainty and begin to sing one of the songs from the long drives with your dad and brothers. You see your dad’s car pull up in the distance and your heart sinks a little with the knowledge that your time in this tree was over.

“Come on, little bird,” Dean squints and reaches his arms up to catch you from your perch, “time to find another tree.”

He catches you with ease and tucks you under his arm as you both head towards the Impala.

Keep reading

  • Me, narrating the scene where Joyce watches the tape Will recorded: Joyce is gonna’ kick some teenagers’ asses.
  • Me, narrating the scene where she traces over the silhouette of the mind flayer with a crayon: Joyce is gonna' kick a demon's ass.
  • Me, narrating the scene where Will tells Joyce that Hopper's in trouble and she just gives 'that look': Not on my fuckin' watch; I'll punch a demon in the throat.

Today’s activities consist of blowing fat clouds, meditating, drawing utterly magical nonsense, and avoiding the cold.