Only the finest of cryptidlovers

Kharis/ 18/ They-Them pronouns/ I expand on peoples asks about the universe and what the ideology behind stuff is. I may occasionally share a funny story. Probably manly rebloggs though. I will write cryptic expansions on a prompt for buildings, feelings, and vague descriptions of animals. Asks are open, I'm very friendly!

[kharismatic-kryptids]

KHARIS.

Friend. Darling.

Platonic love of my life

Could you kindly write a peice discussing liminal spaces?

Gladly festen!

Hallways that fizzle out in rays of florescent dust. A grandmothers quilt sitting still. Stagnant.

It’s the end of the world but not quite. You see.

You are there.

You are insatiable. You are you.

And you disturb the space the angels are cleaning out. Will you leave? Are you going to?

The writing on the walls will tell you to but you’re no one man to listen to invisible ink. There is nothing wrong with these spaces. You play a continuous game of solitare with yourself dear friend.

Are you falling now? How fun! Mind if I come along? Join you.

You’ve fallen into a ball pit, but it feels like your sifiting through air as you make your way back to the ground. There is so much going on in the room. Clearly designed for a child but you for right in. Is there a mirror you can look in? A puddle of spilled juice that distorts your vision?

Do you even remember what you look like?

Do you remember your name?

It’s time to sleep now. Your waking hours will be spent much better if you forget this place. Come back soon though friend. I’ll be waiting.

[kharismatic-kryptids]

Wanna come in?

[lookatmeenoww-deactivated201301]

Okay seriously. Reblog if you're OLDER than 11.

[danisontnonfire]

why is it that not more than 1/20 of Tumblr haven’t reblogged this

[your-gay-lawrence]

This is… disturbing.

[mrs-helmut-zemo]

I will happily announce that I am older than 11

[gaitwae]

I can’t believe I’m not 11

[thewinchesterandreidwhore]

It’s back on dash.

[beebowritessins-deactivated2021]

when i was 11 i didnt have my own gmail let alone a social media 

[of-aurora]

Reblog if you're not homophobic

Every url that reblog’s will be written in a book and shown to my homophobic dad. 

[thespiantherepist]

New tag game: Favourite oc. Can be from a show, book, or just your imagination

Name:

Picture: or description:

theme song:

personality:

Fun fact:

Style:

I’ll start! Name: Milo Breachmeyer

Picture/description:

Theme song: Money Machine: 100 gecs

personality: Easy going and stonerish, kind of stupid but a caring and an older bro type guy.

fun fact: Dungeon master for the residents of Disaster plains.

Style: Closet/ department store grunge. Beanies worn and aged jackets, some slight chains, more than one belt. Combat boots. See also: Cryptidcore outfits.

Have fun Y’all!

@har00u @aures-nook@cuterosa16@dabi-sunflower@emo-bnha-bean

[kharismatic-kryptids]

Ooh! I can give this a spin:

Name: Georgia Concious

Desc: A short and muscular female with a blonde bob, dark grey eyes, and a slight gap between her two front teeth!

Theme song: Put your head on my shoulder

Personality: Strong willed but soft spoken, a quiet admirer, and certain leader!

Fun fact: Played sax for a year in college

Style: More masculine cottagecore, a lot of overalls and toned greens!

Hope you guys like! 🌲☀️🧋

@bumbling-non-bee-nary

[remy]

URGENT TRANS MAN HAS 10 DAYS TO RAISE $2,475 PLEASE SHARE AND DONATE !

[remy]

$9,760/$12,000! Only $2,240 left!!

[kharismatic-kryptids]

You touch the bark and the wood breaks skin in your hand. Just from touch alone the cut is deep. No blood pours out.

Only sap.

Your face turns cold and shivers run up your body. Sending rivulets of sweat down your flesh.

Its a tender touch of a hand on your back that startles you next. Your eyes stop rushing back and forth. Instead you remember the knife that you stored in your bag. Pointing up. Your eyes focus on the forest... it’s treasured... not with trees.

But with you.

(Feel free to add anything to this in my submissions if you’d like! Hope you enjoyed.❤️🧋)

[pukicho]

You get turned back into a baby but you retain all your skills and memory, what do you do?

[kharismatic-kryptids]

Go up to my mother and recount the night I waltzed with death. Then go ask for apple juice and a cookie with the excuse that my asthma is bothering me.

[shutyourmoustache]

White supremacy and colonization really forced that male/female binary onto so many communities, lands, and cultures, huh?

[kharismatic-kryptids]

Toasters and the woods. Try making THAT morbid!

Alrighty

You placed the toaster down in the circle. Carefully this time.

You couldn’t afford to mess this up.

It could cost you everything.... so much was on the line. You looked up at the strong wire that attached the toaster to something above. A branch.

The moon had descended now and the shadows of leaves comforted you. You swayed with the light brush of wind that jest it’s hands upon you...

You slowly raised the fork. A loud clap of lightning bolting you from your calm position. You regained yourself and took a silver fork from your pocket. Rain fell and the toaster crackeled to life. Sending sparks of electricity all around you.

You quickly muttered/signed the words that you needed.

You gabbed the silver item in the slots after the third and last clap of thunder and the last ray of lightning. 

A drizzle poured over you.

You.

You did it.

Picking up the toast from inside your now decimated toaster you took a bite. Cooked to perfection!

[kharismatic-kryptids]

You look out into the misty morning.... it’s quiet. Peaceful. You walk. Listening to your footsteps fall onto the concrete. Thick soles clomping down on the stone work. How you got here is unknown. And frankly to this moment your aloof to the sensation. The sensation of a pause. The constant labour of silence booring over your head.

The serine eerie silence is permiated by the shrill clinging of a church bell. And even if you’re not able to hear or see... it vibrates and sends a jolt into your brain...

You walk closer now. A looming building hovers over you. Still mist covered and old.

Its shadow chills you. A school. You huddle in with more of your fellow peers. Until no rooms left to breathe.

You suffocate under homework. Peers. And expectations.

You succumb to a pleasant mist that overtakes your body.

You look out into the misty morning.... it’s quiet. Peaceful. You walk. Listening to your footsteps fall onto the concrete. Thick soles clomping down on the stone work. How you got here is unknown. And frankly to this moment youre unable to break the cycle.