Rosatrice’s Not Real @uminekorandomness - Tumblr Blog

I need help. Something came up irl and I'm in need of extra money. Posting my commission sheet here too in hopes of more exposure.

I will draw humans, pairings, animals, anthro, creatures, pokemon, etc. Price doesn't change with full or half body. Reblogs much appreciated!

uminekohigurashimemes

#but #why #umineko #umineko no naku koro ni #battler ushiromiya #beatrice

incorrectuminekoquotes

Ange: I have no idea what girls like

Dlanor: SWORDS

Ange: this makes everything a lot easier

ataraxixx

o lord she comin

#erika #umineko no naku koro ni #umineko #erika furudo #furudo erika #art

biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist

Bitch you think I won't wear sandals with socks any day any week? You hussies really think I would conceivay forsake the ease and comfort of slips on OR allow my toesy wosies to go cold? In the name of what, fashion? Hubris??? Check yourself you charlatans

uminekorandomness

It’s not in the law that we should not be bad people or sin but most decent people follow that unsaid rule

#gaud why do you sin #non umineko tag

biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist

one metaphor for trauma that sticks with me is that of pebbles or stones thrown into a pond. The stones sink to the bottom and disappear from sight, but their ripples spread outward, long after the initial stone is thrown. The other ripples and details of the water’s surface, even the ones that come after, are still affected by the impact.

And I love this for two reasons. First, in the acknowledgement that trauma can disappear from view and still have long-term, difficult-to-delineate aftershocks. The second in the idea that ripples are not something that can be erased by removing or exhuming the originally thrown stones. The past can’t be erased, any more than you can calm a lake by digging up the lakebed. What we can do is learn to understand it. By understanding its history, its current circumstances, the events of its past and present. And then we can move forward, onto the next thing.

#thank you Gaud #non umineko tag

l0veover-deactivated20180319

i want! to sit! in a lap! and i want! to hold! a hand!!!!!

biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist

do they have to be attached

aya-080

I love your need to make everything cute sounds creepy I love that

seb-vit

Well… It’s funny how you can make everything sound creepy/wrong but the things that you like

Make this creepy:

Skittles are very good

biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist

it depends where you put them

barack-obama-on-the-run-blog-de

you challenged a god

generichellsiteuser

Make this creepy:

Despacito Despacyeeto

biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist

An instrumental cover of a well-known song plays from another room. It starts slow, rhythm inconsistent, like a child struggling with a hand-played music box. It is the unmistakable tune of Despacito, played on an old circus organ. You open your eyes slowly and squint up at a single, flickering bulb. Your head aches. How did you get here?

The music throbs against the bathroom’s crumbling tile walls. You are standing in front of a ceramic sink, the bowl chipped and yellowed with age. You have no memory of this place. The music speeds up. Your hands are stained with something dark and rotting. A strange taste lingers in your mouth. How did you get here?

You lean towards the mirror. Your face is haggard, your eyes bloodshot.

Your reflection leans forward and whispers, “Despacito”

lianna919

I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist

Your reflection points to something behind you, and winks. You turn. Putrid water, muddy with rust, circles a drain built into the floor. It takes you a moment to notice the old bone saw leaning against the wall. You pick it up, and its weight feels familiar. You straighten up, liking the heft of it in your grip.

Outside the music is fading. Calmly you exit the bathroom, still holding the saw, letting its dull edge bump gently against your thigh. An aged calliope organ stands before you, its tune slowing to a halt. You hum in displeasure. Before it can stop entirely, you kick the thing violently into the wall. It lets out a crescendo and splinters into pieces.

You hear frantic footsteps behind you. You turn to find yourself in a maintenance tunnel, a large thing made of discolored concrete. The crash of the calliope had ended with a few notes that now echo in your head, bringing to mind an old tune. As you move forward into the tunnel, following the footsteps, you try to drag up the music from the dregs of memory. You take wide, heavy steps, trying to match that half-remembered tempo. How did it go again?

As you descend into darkness, you swing out your arm and drag the saw against the tunnel wall, like a child bullying a stick against a fence. Sparks fly out from the sawteeth and the metal screeches like something in pain. You hum loudly, letting the tune buzz through your ears. It’s all coming back to you.

Panicked footsteps echo up ahead. You smile, bringing the saw up to rest on your shoulder. You have all the time in the world.

You stalk forward, singing softly under your breath.

“Never gonna give you up.”